As crazy as it seems, another month is coming to an end. Looking back at the end of last month’s
review post, in which Kait wrote what we were expecting to come to pass in
June, I’m satisfied to report that all of those things in fact came to
pass. Unfortunately, my ability to
say, “it’s rained,” hinges more on a technicality than would be ideal. It also prompts a good opening
anecdote, as the events I’m about to describe missed inclusion in the May blog
post by about a few hours.
Right around when May was becoming June, we were out in
Ndiago to do our final home visits for our Michelle Sylvester Scholarship
candidates, so we could complete and submit all of the necessary documentation
(which we have since done, you’ll be happy to know!). We met with the last family around 3:30 and were ready to
hop on a Guinguinéo-bound horse-drawn charet around 4:00. After about six people piled on, we
were off. The first person to
notice something might be amiss was (surprise to nobody who knows her) Eagle
Eyes Hammersley. She spotted what
looked like a pretty angry sky off to the east. Missouri in tornado season angry. However, the same Missouri roots that prompted that last
analogy resulted in a quick dismissal of any trouble because… weather patterns
move SW to NE. Duh. The Senegalese on the charet further
diminished my worries by casually dismissing Kait when she said that it looked
like a storm over that way. They
all knew it was too early in the season for a rainstorm. As we pulled away from Ndiago, and
passed through Nguick, it became increasingly apparent that something serious
was going on in the sky, and that my weather pattern assumption was nothing
short of asinine. We cleared
Nguick at a good clip, and we all figured we would make it back to Guinguinéo
before the weather caught us.
Nearing the midpoint of our journey, about 3+ km away from
any structure, it became obvious that we weren’t going to beat the storm
home. Luckily (luckily and
sarcastically) it wasn’t a rainstorm after all… but a dust storm of truly epic
proportions. It looked like a
mountain range coming at us faster than a car driving at interstate speed. Kait and I both agreed that it was one
of the coolest things we’ve ever seen, and kicked ourselves for not having brought
a camera. Before the mountains hit
us, Baay called us frantically to ask where we were. He only got more frantic when we told him. But there was not much to be done at
that point. We assured him that
the charet had stopped, and we planned to just wait it out.
Watching the wall of sand and dust close the last few
hundred meters, crossing a recently cleared, and ready for planting, peanut
field in a handful of seconds was a bit scary. It went from bright full light, to black moon-less night
instantaneously. Even if we could
have opened our eyes (which was impossible what with the debris) it would have
been impossible to see each other, though there was less than a foot between
us. It was pitch black and the
wind was shrieking louder than I’ve ever heard it here. At one point, using my fingers to plug
the gaps between my sunglasses and my face, I was able to open my eyes. The only thing I could see was the
single headlight of a moto (a Jakarta motorbike) that had stopped a few feet
away from us. Everything else was
complete dark.
The utter blackout lasted for about a half-hour. I felt worst for the horse that had to
just stand there and be buffeted from all sides by sand and wind. Once the blackout became a mere
brownout, we continued on our way, with neither horse nor driver seeming any
the worse for wear. We had all
weathered the storm pretty bravely, though we looked like coal miners coming up
from a long day of work. After the
dust abated, the rain part of the storm commenced. Giant, freezing-cold, stinging drops pelted us in what might
have been refreshing, if the storm hadn’t caused the temperature to plunge and
evaporated all of our sweat in the dust/sand interlude. We completed the journey home, arriving
looking quite pathetic, and feeling a touch worse. Our dust had turned to mud, but somehow retained its
uncomfortable gritty texture. The
cold rain, for the first time, made us look forward to the hot water that comes
out of our shower this time of year (because of the long run of pipe just below
the sun-baked sand). Unfortunately, when we got home, the water and power were
out so showering away the grime was out of the question. Luckily, we had a few buckets of water
in reserve for just this crisis. A
bucket shower never felt so good.
The buckets continued to come in handy as the water failed to return for
another 24 hours. The next day, as
other households desperately searched for water with which to boil their fish
and rice, we made Yaay’s day by offering her a whole bucketful.
We are both grateful to have been able to experience the
sand storm, but if all goes according to plan, we won’t have to experience it
again. For the lack of photos (of
our hopefully once in a lifetime experience) I must apologize. I hope my long-winded dramatic
rendition has in some way made up for the lack of visual media. I say that our May in Review rain
prophecy was fulfilled only on a technicality because that was the only rain
we’ve yet gotten, almost a full month ago. And now, on to things that happened in the rest of the
month!
After challenges in communication with the director of the
SDDR (Senegalais Department de Development Rural, I think) where our ancienne
had a demonstration garden, we decided to attempt a demonstration garden at our
home. This would require a pretty
substantial home infrastructure changes: bumping out sheet metal fencing to
expand the yard, changing the location of our big gate, and stringing up a
bunch of chicken wire. We (especially
Baay) got a little swept up in the changes and ended up catching full-on
home-improvement fever, with which our family is still stricken. Now, Yaay has a new kitchen. Still hot as an oven inside, but way
bigger, with a roof that doesn’t leak, and a tile/cement floor instead of dirt.
She’s happy, and will only get
happier if the trees we’ve transplanted around it survive to give her a bit of
shade and cool her off a bit. Baay
also had the roof of the main house repaired, which is an important step to
take before we’re inundated with rain.
The old kitchen got converted into an ATV garage, to keep that
arm-breaking money suck nice and dry.
Even as I type, the mason is working on the windows on the windward side
of the house, capping them so rain can’t get in between the cement and metal
shutters. The house looks like a
bit of a disaster area right now, as many active construction sites do, but
everyone’s really excited about the home improvements.
Moving the sheet metal fencing outward and expanding the
yard has resulted in a gardening space of about 7m x 10m (~22ft x 32ft for the
metrically challenged). It’s a
pretty decent-sized space for inside the city. Some of you may recall our blog post about the challenges of
starting a garden in the confines of an urban area, during our training in
Tassette. Our work in Tassette,
setbacks and all, did in fact prepare us to not get frustrated when we went
through many of the same challenges again, as we expanded into, and took over part of, a vacant lot behind
our house.
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| Working in the expanded yard to make a garden. Yaay's old kitchen (bottom center) and new kitchen (bottom right) |
It was not vacant because it was a virgin space, neither
built on, nor farmed on, since the founding of Guinguinéo. It was vacant because a 2+ meter wide
Baobab tree toppled and easily flattened the building that used to be in its shadow. This means that instead of a nice barren
sand patch to work with, we had a nice barren rubble field. It also had more than its fair share of
trash, since it used to be outside our yard, and therefore fair game for
chucking any trash items one doesn’t feel like bagging up to give to the possibly
mentally-ill Pulaar trash man. (He
runs a private trash-disappearing business, and a few mornings ago, he came
into the yard at 6:30am, and apparently finding something amiss with our trash
situation, blew on a whistle like castaway who’s spotted a sail on the
horizon. The trash waits for no
man. Also, he mumbles to himself a
lot.) The third leg in our "Why
Gardening Here is Hard Trifecta” is, once again, the heat. It killed another container vegetable peppiñeer. It makes working hard outdoors between
11am and 4pm unpleasant, and if you don’t monitor your water intake and
sunscreen application, potentially dangerous. Despite these challenges, it is incredibly satisfying to
finally get down in the soil and work hard on improving the immediate area in
which we live. After so many peppiñeering
setbacks, we decided that since many of the things we really wanted to grow are
more easily grown from cuttings (basically sticking a branch into the soil,
resulting in a clone of the mother plant) than from seed we needed to go to the
Thies Training Center to get as many cuttings as they could spare.
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| In the face of our setbacks, one success: Amaranth! Two very large plants, and a fair bit of water, and we got... about a half cup of seeds! World hunger solved. Next problem?! |
We arrived at the training center and, our priorities straight, took showers, naps, and then went out to dinner at the nicest (or at least yummiest) restaurant outside of Dakar. Salads, lasagna, good beef, and a little wine hit the spot in a way it only can if you’ve gone without for a few months. After that, totally not our fault, it was just too late to get the cuttings, so we went to the bar near the TTC and caught up with the King of Training, Austin Peterson. The next morning, we went out to breakfast with Austin, and after a giant savory crepe each, which comes with a béchamel bath, everyone involved had some intestinal distress (in wolof: biir buy daaw, literally, “running stomach”). By the time we got back to the center and got all the cuttings, it was the heat of the day, and we had a ton more stuff to bring home than we’d come with, and we had the runs… so, again not our fault, we would just have to stay another night, and play Settlers of Catan. So we did. I know most of you just won’t believe this as you read it, but I’m afraid it’s true: I didn’t win. I blame it on the fact that it was a version I had never played before (there were rivers and bridges and fish and gold!). Next time Austin’s mine. The next morning our dear host made us huevos rancheros and sent us on our way. It was a perfect conclusion to a mini-vacation/food-orgy in which we also got some cuttings of stuff. We came away with pomegranate, chaya, glyricidia, aloe vera, sweet potato, lemon grass and a ficus… and ravenous appetites for fancy food somewhat sated. When we got home it was satisfying to put stuff in the ground that we’re pretty sure even the baking Senegalese sun can't kill before the rains come. Take that, agriculturally hostile environment!
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| Planting the ficus in front of "wing" of the house! |
In parallel with preparing our own garden for the coming
rains, we’ve got a few other irons in the fire as things here ramp up
agriculturally. We’ve been working
closely with our master farmer to make sure all of his needs are met this rainy
season. As we may have blogged
about in the past, instead of doing field crops in the rainy season and gardening
in the cool season afterward, he’s going to be doing both during the rains
(because the grasshoppers in the dry season make it impossible to garden). He’s on thin ice with Peace Corps, due
to chronic under-performance, so his ongoing participation in (and support
from) the Master Farmer program is heavily hinging upon his performance and
follow-through this rainy season. We
are supporting in every way we can (including the completion of my first grant
in PC) so as to remove any obstacle, other than himself, from his way. Inshallah he’ll be able to turn things
around and get off the naughty list.
Another prong of the PCSenegal agriculture program is seed
extension. We get a little bit of
improved (usually hybrid) seeds from ISRA, Institute Senegalais de Recherche
Agricole, which we are then supposed to extend to farmers to plant alongside
their seeds, to see which performs better under local conditions. This year, I was given about 6kg each
of improved varieties of corn, millet, sorghum, and beans and extended them to
about six farmers who all live in our quartier. During the rainy season I’m supposed to visit their fields
about once a week to assess progress, collect data, and troubleshoot any issues. There will certainly be more to come
about the booming success (or morale crushing failure) of this project in
future blog posts!
In addition to the impending hydrological inundation we are
facing another inundation… one that may actually have more destructive power
than the frequent, torrential rains… summer vacation. As of early this month, all four kids are home, all day,
every day. Before I address the
destruction foreshadowing, I’d like to recount a occasion that signaled the
official end of the school year for one of our siblings. Unlike his two older sisters, Fallou goes to Arabic school. There he studies the Qur’an, usually by
rote memorization and recitation as well as some other subjects, I think. To conclude the year, his school had a
big ceremony in which each student would sing Qur’anic passages and other
school-y things. He was only given
one official invitation, in an envelope and everything, and chose to give it to
Kait. He’s such a sweet kid. Anyway, we all dressed up in our nicest
clothes, and walked together to the community center to watch him perform.
Despite his adorable stage fright (subsequent videos in this
post will show just how un-bashful he can be when hundreds of people aren’t
looking at him) Fallou knocked it out of the park. Or we assume he did, because we couldn’t understand a word
he was singing. I credit myself
with at least some of his performance because I’m pretty sure most of the stage
fright-inducing eyes in the place were on the scruffy-looking white guy
escorting him to the front, rather than on him.
Fortunately, Fallou was fourth in the order, so we could
leave before we had to sit through too many of performances like this one…
All in all, it was a lot of fun. Fallou did great.
He made some coins from the other moms (each mom walks around collecting
coins for their kid while he or she sings) and bought candies for his
siblings. What a nice boy.
Unfortunately, summer vacation is not all singing, unicorns,
and 10 CFA candies… Having the
kids at home all day, every day, can occasionally wear on the nerves. Doing the garden at home is fun, but
contrary to traditional wisdom, many hands don’t make light work. Many hands make me laugh. Or if you prefer the dehydrated,
late-in-the-day version: many hands make me grumpy.
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| Papa Gorré: Immediately post-bath, wearing his dork costume, wanting to come in the garden, and being cute. |
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| Helpful garden helpers! |
Luckily, when my temper runs short, Kait’s able to be good
cop to my bad. I have about an
hour of fun in me per day. This
usually takes to form of “Human Jungle Gym,” “Put One Kid On My Shoulders And
Run Away From Other Kids: The Game,” or “Lift and Throw Kids Into the Air, In Turn,
Until Arms Fall Off.” It’s a
delight, until it’s not. These
games usually leave me pretty drenched in sweat, but it’s good, because other
than manual labor, it’s the only exercise I get.
When I run out of gas or accidentally make one of the kids
cry (which doesn’t happen too often) the rough housing stops. Kait is usually willing to supervise
the kids while they color and draw.
They’re really creative, but after two of them completed a 26-page
coloring book in about 10 minutes flat, we’re starting to get the idea they’re
going for speed. Luckily we have a
ton of crayons and printed pages with blank backs.
One of the things we’re most looking forward to this summer
(and not just because I’ll get to escape these wonderful children for a week)
is the Kaolack Girls Camp that we’ll be putting on in August. We had the final big preparatory
meeting for it this past month in Kaffrine, a city about 60k east of
Kaolack. There we got the
final word on our responsibilities during the week, which I thought might
interest you, the reader. Kait and
I will be queen and king of first aid, chief tie-dye technicians, and captain
and first-mate of the nature boat trip in the mangroves. Kait will also be a beautician for “spa
night,” and a teacher of art as a means to express identity. I’ll be PE coach for the daily playing
of sports (I already have a moustache, so all I need to find are a wind suit
and whistle) and working in the kitchen.
It’s gonna be funnnnnn!
About a week ago, our site mate, Kathryn Harrawood, with her
mother in tow, came through our town en route to her little village. It was really nice to meet Ann (named
Ami Gueye for her time in Senegal) and doubly nice that Yaay cooked chicken and
onion sauce (yassa ginaar) for the
occasion. She was an absolute
delight, and seemed to be taking everything completely in stride despite how
busy the family-packed house was.
It was really fun to see Senegal, Guinguinéo, and our family, through
her eyes for an afternoon. It made
us both really look forward to the Very Fritsche Senegalese Christmas that’s
coming right up.
Another interesting, ongoing event in Guinguinéo has been
all the campaigning leading up to today: Mayoral Election Day! As I type, everyone in town is casting
a vote for their preferred candidate (and Baay is a poll watcher and vote
counter!). We're technically not allowed to get involved with politics, nor are we interested in doing so here in Senegal, but Kait and I wouldn't be disappointed if the incumbent Rokhaya “Daba” Diouf, were to come out on top. Political agendas aside, we know her (yes, she's a woman, and a powerful one at that!), and she knows us, which is good for our work. If she wins, our city beautification
project (which has been on hold for the campaign) can move forward and
hopefully get whipped together before out-planting time in early August. Leading up to today, The Road to Hotel
de Ville Guinguinéo 2014, had been quite a show. Starting about a month ago, political posters started to
appear, and quickly they were everywhere.
Luckily, it seems to be a fair campaign tactic to have your supporters
rip down your opponents’ posters or every cement wall in town would be covered
in glued-on posters.
At least twice a week there would be giant political parades
(probably around 1000 people) wending their way through town, always past our
house (a benefit of living on one of the four paved roads in town). There would be moto boys out front,
going too fast, often doing tricks speeding away from the people on foot behind
them, only to spin around and speed back at them, then 180 again and repeat. Like Shriners in American parades,
except instead of sensible older men, they’re reckless teenagers operating
their first ever motor vehicle, which has only two wheels, and going waaaay
faster. The fact that we haven’t
seen someone die yet never ceases to amaze me. It’s only a matter of time, I’m afraid. The people on foot would wear matching
t-shirts, or at least buttons, and carry signs and chant slogans. Interspersed with the walkers would be
cars and SUVs plastered with the same political posters, giant speakers/subs
strapped to the roof, and with people sticking out of the windows and standing
on the runners. Someone, the
candidate I presume, would be shouting campaign stuff into a mic, which would
then get piped to the HUGE speaker array.
In summary: hard to miss.
In addition to these parades, two days ago, last Friday night, there
were several huge parties in various main intersections in town: one for each
candidate. Each prospective mayor
trying to out-do the other, there were even bigger speaker arrays, musical
acts, dancing, speeches, and I think even a fire breather (but all I saw was a
giant blast of fire as we walked up to Daba Diouf’s party). I think the main point was just to jazz
up one’s base, and it seemed to work, as the crowds at each of these parties was
HUGE! Anyway, if we hear who won
before we get all the videos and pictures uploaded (they kind of take a long
time) and get the blog post up, I’ll just throw the results in here…
In June:
1) The biggest challenge we faced: Motivation levels. Unlike last month, where it was flagging motivation levels of work partners that threw us, this month, it was more our motivation levels. In the face of two desiccated vegetable peppiñeers, and a barely limping along tree peppiñeer, it’s hard to find the motivation to keep going with our personal agricultural work. And a little disconcerting that we’re supposed to be passing along knowledge to farmers here. Thank goodness for the few tree species that are robust enough to survive here, and for the cuttings we got from the TTC.
2) The most exciting/best experience: Starting on our personal garden. Despite all the challenges and setbacks it is incredibly satisfying to work up a sweat laboring outdoors and see some of the plants grow and even, dare I say, thrive.
3) What we are most grateful for: As the heat persists, and the rain only teases, we are, slightly embarrassingly, again most grateful for electricity. Electricity powers our fan, which is on probably about 20 hours a day (only off when we leave our house, or the electricity temporarily shuts off) and cools our water. There are days at the end of which, if I couldn’t go next door and buy ice and then drink cold water in front of a fan, I would be profoundly grumpy. Or maybe it’s actually our pets, who despite being annoying turds, always seem to be able to make us laugh…
4) Language factoid: The universality of some linguistic concepts never ceases to amaze. A particularly fertile ground for this is insults and curses. In Wolof, one of the worst insults is to call someone a doom u xaj (pronounced dome u haj, where “u” rhymes with boo) means literally “child of dog.” No matter where you go in the world, nobody likes being called a son of a bitch.
Things we’re looking forward to in July:
- An ultra-fun July 4th celebration down in
Kedougou, in the far southeast of Senegal. There will be tons of pork, jean shorts, and at least a few
adult beverages. Perhaps most
importantly of all, my really long, totally Peace Corps, dirty crop of hair,
will be turning into a mullet… for America.
- Rain. This time
we mean it. Inshallah.
- Consequently, plants growing in our compound. Perhaps having a peppiñeer that doesn’t
all die. Our garden becoming a
smashing success.
- Ramadan (but kind of looking forward to it in a sarcastic
way, or looking forward to it with anxiety, rather than anticipation). Starting tomorrow, almost all of
Senegal will not be eating or drinking water (or tea, GASP!) between sunrise and sunset. Our family is Baye Fall, as we’ve said, so they won’t fast,
but the majority of people will be tired, hungry, and short-tempered during the
day for a whole month. We’ve heard
that collaboration from work partners slows a good deal.
Jamm Rekk,
Peter
