July in Review

In America, July is probably my favorite month. It’s usually defined by a big 4^th of July bash, weekends on Branch Lake, several family birthdays (on both sides), and as a result, lots of beer and swimming.  Because we drank beer on only 3 days in July and swam on only 1 (and we both got staph infections as a result), it doesn’t really feel like July. But the calendar doesn’t lie; tomorrow it will be August!

Despite this month’s departure from what we usually know and expect this time of year, it was a good month. We saw new parts of Senegal, spent time with Peace Corps friends, and enjoyed lots of time home in Guinguinéo, and in our new demonstration garden in our back yard.

Peace Corps Senegal has a few major annual social events hosted by volunteers at various regional houses across the country. One of the biggest, and most fun, is the 4^th of July party in Kedougou, the lush southeast part of Senegal. This year, to add more of a service component to this massive gathering of volunteers, several Kedougou PCVs planned a tree planting event preceding the 4^th of July party. The event was a great success; all told, a group of Peace Corps volunteers and Senegalese counterparts and volunteers planted over 400 trees in the city of Kedougou. Inshallah, those trees will bring shade and beauty for many years to come.

After a solid 13 hours of travel in a packed car to get there, and two days of working hard to pick through laterite rock and heavy clay soil, digging holes, amending them with manure and charcoal, planting the Flamboyant seedlings, and erecting bamboo seed protectors (to shield the trees from roaming livestock and children), the 4^th of July debauchery commenced. As with any good 4^th of July celebration, it involved mullets, jorts, and beer. We enjoyed every minute of it, although we certainly missed the friends with which we usually share this great American holiday.

You may remember from our May blog post that we were hoping to find an American NGO who would be able to provide mobility assistance to more people in Baay’s Handicap Organization. It happened! After sending out countless emails to large mobility assistance organizations in America and receiving no responses, Lisa Fritsche, Peter’s wonderful mother, connected us with PET International. PET international is a volunteer-run, faith-based organization providing hand-cranked wheelchairs, or mobility devices, called personal energy transportation devices (PETs), to those in need. They are unique in that they are sturdy, simple, and low cost. Turns out PET sent a shipment of PETs to Senegal in March, through the U.S. Navy’s Project Handclasp, and PET quickly and efficiently connected us with Keur Yaakar (the House of Hope), the Senegalese organization who is handling the distribution of PETs. Keur Yaakar is located in another small city, Nioro du Rip, in the Region of Koalack (our region), about 90 minutes away. Baay was familiar with Keur Yaakar and their work, and had met their director, Dialla Toure, before. Our friend and fellow PCV, Vivian, also lives in Nioro, and knows Keur Yaakar and Dialla. It is a small world indeed!

Within two weeks of contacting Keur Yaakar, Dialla came to Guinguinéo to present Baay and the Prefect with 4 PETs to distribute to Guinguinéo residents. Dialla arrived at our house to bring us all to the Prefect’s office about 30 minutes after we got home from Kedougou. Crazy!

We came home and assembled the PETs under the big neem tree out front, drawing more and more onlookers as the afternoon went on.

Two of the recipients, Mbaye Samb and Mbaye Ndiaye, came to our house to get their PETs, and the third PET was delivered to an unsuspecting Serigne Sow, who had no idea he was getting a PET. He was so excited! The last PET is awaiting transport to a town down the road.

We see the PETs and their new owners around town almost every day. While it always feels good to help someone, what gives me greater pleasure is knowing that these people were able to get the resources they needed because of strong community connections. We put the need out there on our blog, Lisa connected us with a friend, who connected us with a co-worker, who connected us with a work partner, who our father and another PCV already knew. It was just a few degrees of separation. We still haven’t heard back from any of the other organizations we contacted, where we didn’t have personal connections, and it’s been nearly two months. I truly believe our world is more interconnected than we think, and if we intentionally expand our community and express our needs and the needs of those around us, our community, and the universe, will provide.

In terms of agriculture work, Peter has been busy supporting our Master Farmer, Cheikh, by writing a grant for his material needs, and managing the purchase of said materials (neem oil and mosquito netting to control pests, new tools, fertilizer, manure, etc).  Peter has also extended improved field crop seed (corn, millet, beans, and sorghum) to 5 farmers in Guinguinéo. He will track the performance of this seed in relation to the farmers’ own seed, to figure out whether improved seed will outperform conventional seed here in Guinguinéo. It is a little more work for the farmers, but it’s important data that could make a big impact on our community.

I had another site visit from two of my bosses, to check in on my tree pepiñeering work, and help troubleshoot any issues.  They were pleased with our work, and said they had never seen so much grasshopper damage!

Moving from one crisis to the next (the first crisis being the grasshopper invasion I mentioned in previous posts), the rains are essentially nonexistent and it’s nearly August. Last year, the rains started in earnest in mid-June. Guinguinéo has seen more rain that the surrounding villages, but it still isn’t enough to sustain field crops, which are a dietary staple here, and often the only source of family income. Most of the farmers have planted most or all of their crops after rains earlier this month, so if we don’t get more rain soon, everything will die and there won’t be enough time to reseed. The consequences are dire, and yet all we can do is simply hope that it rains.

Despite the lack of precipitation, our home garden is growing. It’s hard to tell in the photos, but we’ve got corn, radish, beans, peas, basil, a few tomatoes, and some squash seedlings coming up already, in addition to five species of trees. Yesterday Peter planted hot pepper, okra, and bissap (related to hibiscus; the flowers are made into juices and sauces). We’ll seed more beans and melon and squash once the corn gets a bit bigger, for a “Three Sisters” demonstration. For everything that has germinated, many things haven’t. We seeded over 40 different seed varieties and only about 6 germinated. Some of the seed was old, and some of it didn’t like the heat, and/or salt in the water. However, our third attempt has definitely been our best, despite the seemingly pathetic germination numbers.

Because our garden is small, and because we have a steady paycheck from Peace Corps, we can afford to pay the increased municipal water bill. The purpose of our garden is to show people that we can actually grow things, and that they can do it to. Right now, we’re focusing more on seeing what we can grow here, and in future seasons we will focus more heavily on experimentation and demonstration (ex: fertilizing with compost versus manure, watering with greywater versus municipal water, mulching some beds and not others). However, we feel a bit foolish that most people who are interested in gardening wouldn’t have the kind of disposable income to do what we’re doing, and literally pour liters and liters of expensive water into the garden every day. If a normal Guinguinéo citizen had started a garden expecting the rains to come, like we had, and the rains didn’t come, as they haven’t, they’d probably just have to let the garden die rather than pouring more money into it. Since we only have two agricultural seasons left after this rainy season, we have decided that it is more important to continue to water the garden, and learn what works best, so we are better qualified to advise people in the future.

As always, we have lots of helpers in the garden! The kids will each have a plant to take care of this summer; we’re planning to seed the kids’ plots tomorrow. Ouli chose bissap, Soda chose a sunflower, and Fallou and Pa Gorre both chose okra. They have been a huge help in rounding up the seemingly endless rocks, concrete chunks, pieces of plastic, and random trash items in the garden thus far, and we’re excited for them to be able to play a more active role in growing things.

In pet news, we’re halfway done with sterilizing them! A new veterinarian was recently transferred to Guinguinéo to serve as the head of the Bureau of Livestock. His primary role is to inspect meat, and provide support for livestock health in Guinguinéo and her surrounds. However, he also knows how to spay and neuter animals. How convenient for us! The alternative would be traveling to Dakar to get it done, which would cost hundreds of U.S. dollars. It just feels too weird to do something like that when we know how much of a difference that amount of money could make in most households. Plus, it would certainly be a topic of conversation around town, if we were to make such a trip for a cat or dog, which most Senegalese people loathe.  We were leaning toward letting Happy Cat keep his balls, until he sprayed Peter’s pants on the floor of our bedroom…

Thus, we put our trust in Docteur Sarr, who did a great job with Happy Cat, despite slightly overdoing the anesthesia (he was cross eyed for a full 24 hours after the surgery). Happy boy is recovering well, and warding off infection thus far. We’re giving him antibiotics 2x/day (Cephalexin from our med kits, chopped up into kitty dosages) and washing his “baggage” morning and evening. Lady’s procedure will obviously be more invasive, and more dangerous. However, we can’t handle male dogs trying to get into the compound when she goes into heat, and killing or abandoning the puppies that would ensue out in the bush (which is what would be expected). This predicament is the reason that Senegalese people almost never keep female dogs to guard their homes or livestock.

We left Happy Cat alone for about an hour post-op, and in his drugged stupor, he managed to get himself stuck under the bookcase.

The first waxing crescent moon on Tuesday July 29^th marked the end of Ramadan, with the celebration of Korite, or Eid Al Fitr (which means the Festival of Breaking Fast, in Arabic). Although our family doesn’t fast during Ramadan because we are Baye Falls, Ramadan is the hardest month financially, since Baay’s dibi (BBQ restaurent) has very few customers (or on most nights, none). For our family, Korite means moving closer to financial stability once again.

Prepping for our Korite feast!

We all got a special treat on Korite: Caitlin, our wonderful ancienne, and “big” sister, came home to Guinguinéo. Caitlin extended her Peace Corps service for a third year, and is currently based in Dakar working on a film about motherhood in Senegal, The Yaay Project.  She was just on home leave in America, and practically came straight back to Guinguinéo to celebrate Korite with the family, and to bring a host of exciting gifts from America! Thus, the morning of Korite was spent prepping for our lunch feast, playing with new presents, and resting. I can’t remember another morning when it was just our family at home (we usually have lots of Baay’s visitors coming through), and oh it was sweet!

Presents from America!

To celebrate Korite, we had 6 chickens for lunch, nestled atop a bed of salad, with fries and onion sauce. Yum! We all ate until we were stuffed, and rested for a few hours before putting on our fancy Korite clothes, a big part of the tradition of the day.

We spent the evening sitting outside, drinking attaya (tea, Senegalese-style), chatting, and taking photos. It was a special day of relaxation with the family, and it felt great to just be home, with no obligations other than to eat a lot, rest, and take turns entertaining the kiddos.

Korite from an adult perspective (we were taking the photos).

Korite from a kid perspective. Ouli, Soda, and Fallou were allowed to take turns with our "unbreakable" camera for the special occasion.

Finally, for those of you following the news on the Ebola outbreak, we wanted to let you know that we are fine. Peace Corps announced yesterday that they are evacuating PCVs in Guinea (our next-door neighbor to the southeast), Liberia, and Sierra Leone (close neighbors, but we don’t share borders with them). Senegal remains unaffected; there have been no Ebola cases here, and hopefully it will remain so.

I want to end on a lighter note, though, so I'll share a dirty little secret. We used to have limited access to refrigeration, mostly for cold water and keeping well sealed condiments from spoiling. I say limited, because Baay's dibi frig looks like this on a typical day... Yes, those are sheep eyes staring back at you from below a sheep stomach (sheep head and edible inside-parts dishes are a staple in our house, as these are every-day by-products of the dibi slaughter), and yes, that is a film of blood and sludge in the bottom of the frigo. So appetizing!

We decided our health and morale would improve if we had a, well, more sanitary refrigeration situation. And by we, I really mean I.  After hearing about it for a few weeks, Peter finally consented. We certainly don't need it, which is why we're slightly ashamed to share that we bought a frig. However, it greatly expands our food options (hello, dairy!), and allows us to make bigger meals and save leftovers, which means we can spend more time on our agriculture work. We're currently both taking Cipro, a strong antibiotic, for gastrointestinal issues, and my hair is falling out in heaps. The hope is that the frig will also allow us to eat more nutritious food, to help stem these health challenges. I'll leave you with this image of our new frig, that lives next to our kitchen counter (metal table), so I can go pour myself a cold glass (or rather, metal cup) of water!

In July:

1.     The biggest challenge we faced:  Lack of rain. While it makes our work very difficult, the lack of rain poses a major challenge to Senegal’s food security, and many families’ income. Every day, we hope for rain.

2.     The most exciting/best experience: Spending Korite with our family was a reminder of how far we’ve come (in terms of language learning, cultural competency, and building relationships), and how good it feels to be Diops. As in America, we are surrounded by love here.

3.     What we are most grateful for:  Serving together. As July brought some nasty intestinal illnesses for us both (thankfully at different times), as well as more work than ever, we are grateful for the support and stability that we provide each other. We are becoming a stronger team every day!

4.     Language factoid:  Moroom means peer, or equal, in Wolof. The other day we were walking around town with Peter’s counterpart, Via. I asked him how old he was, and he replied that he was Peter’s moroom. Knowing that Vieux was at least in his mid-forties, I asked how old he thought Peter was. His response: he thought Peter was 46, just like himself. Peter and I laughed, and concluded it must’ve been because of the mustache and the overflowing wisdom.

Things we’re looking forward to in August:

- Agro Forestry and Urban Agriculture Summits, where we will get together with our respective sector PCVs and PC Staff to share ideas and technical information.

- The much anticipated, week-long, Kaolack Girls Camp will commence the second week of August.

- A mangrove reforestation planting weekend on the coast, organized by the amazing Roz Vara, Elise Swanekamp, and Patrick Wauters.

- In between all of the traveling, we’ll be busy outplanting tree seedlings from tree nurseries to their permanent homes in family compounds and farmers’ fields. Hopefully it will start raining so they survive!

Finishing the Harry Potter series (finally!) on my kindle, while Fallou naps after our Korite feast.

Jamm Rekk,

Kaitlin

Diop > Ndiaye

I’d like to start this post with a joke…

Pape Diop and Ablay Ndiaye walk into a bar.  Neither orders a beer. (Because they’re both good Muslims)  Ablay is hungry.  He reaches into his pocket for his wallet so he can buy a snack.  He remembers to his embarrassment that he’s already eaten his wallet, and the money it contained.  Then he realizes he’s not reaching into his pocket at all, because there is no pocket, because he’s already eaten his pants.  His stomach rumbling loudly, he turns to his friend to ask for a few CFA to buy some rice, his favorite food.   He realizes to his horror that his friend isn’t there, because he’d eaten him before coming into the bar.  Delirious with hunger at this point, and clearly hallucinating, he has no choice but to eat the punch line.

All the stories we told about Baay broken arm up to this point were lies.  Ablay Ndiaye came over for lunch one day, and the meal was about 15 minutes late.  He got so hungry that he had to take a big ol' bite out of Baay's arm.  We've been lying to protect Ablay Ndiaye from the consequences of his appetite.  It's not his fault he was born an Ndiaye.

I suppose it’s half joke, half public service announcement.  One should never trust an Ndiaye around food, or even non-edibles, because they’ll eat them all.  All they do is eat.  All they know is hunger.  They eat rice a thousand times a day.  They eat with both hands.  They’re never full.

And now I would like to assure you that everything I’ve written thus far isn’t strictly true.  It does, however, give one a good view of some aspects of Wolof culture, Senegalese culture and interactions in our daily lives.  In Senegal, there is a concept called “joking cousins.”  When you are born, you are born into a rivalry.  On one side are you, and people who share your last name.  Pitted against you are people with another specific last name.  In our case, as Diops, we have a joking relationship with everyone of the last name Ndiaye.  (I realize now that we may have never explained how to pronounce these names, so here goes… “Di” makes a “J” sound, and Diop rhymes with “Hope.”  “Ndi” makes an “Nj” sound, and Ndiaye rhymes with “Lie.”  Biased rhyming selection?  Prove it!)  We are lucky enough that we are participants in what has to be the biggest joking relationship in Senegal, population-wise.  It seems that about every third person we meet is either a Diop or an Ndiaye.

This means that when meeting a new person, there’s a one-in-three chance that we’ll immediately have something upon which to relate to them, and about which we can mutually joke.  Early on in our time in Senegal, it was a mixed blessing... or rather not a blessing at all, but rather a challenge.  With limited language skills, getting told that I was fat, love rice, eat all day, and have a stupid last name was hard to understand, and when I did understand the actual words it was hard to understand why I was being insulted quite so aggressively.  As we’ve previously blogged, Wolof culture is pretty aggressive and relies heavily upon teasing, joking, and mutual insulting in interpersonal relations.  With profoundly inadequate language skills it was impossible to achieve the necessary mutuality for these interactions to be anything but really unpleasant, one-sided barrages of insults.  Now, with slightly more adequate language skills (though still lacking) the insult-driven interactions are less intimidating and have become a lot more fun.

"That ficus looks like an asparagus spear... Mmmmmmmmmm, asparagus."

Despite how people may perceive me, I find social interactions with new people to occasionally be uncomfortable and awkward.  This is how I feel about interactions in English.  Interactions with new people in Wolof, in which my whole mind is focused on understanding what is being said (and therefore my ability to diffuse awkwardness with humor is somewhat hobbled) are usually even more uncomfortable.  However, usually someone in any given group I meet is named Diop or Ndiaye.  This gives me something upon which to immediately relate with him/her, and therefore diffuse any awkwardness.  Either by doing a verbal high-five with a fellow Diop or by exchanging insults with an Ndiaye.  It’s also a very easy and fun way to impress people with your Wolof skills and cultural knowledge, and thereby gain credibility and respect, which are pre-requisites for any sort of collaboration. 

Gaining someone’s respect by insulting them and their whole family is hilariously different from American culture.  It’s fun to imagine what America would be like were it to have the concept of joking cousins.  Smiths calling Joneses fat and greedy.  Johnsons telling Millers that they are their slaves.  Wilsons telling Moores that they are all poor and can only afford plain rice.  I think it might be fun.  I wonder who the Fritsches and Gardners would have a joking relationship with… maybe those greedy Hammersleys, or those shiftless Maeders.

           

Here are some of my favorite insults in Wolof (and translated in English)

Ñaata yoon nga ndekki tey?

How many times did you eat breakfast today?

Doo suur.

You are never full.

Ku sant Ndiaye, du suur.

A person with the last name Ndiaye is never full.

Boo gisee ceeb, doo mën a tiyye sa bopp.

When you see rice, you can’t control yourself.

War nga dem bëreji.

You have to go wrestle.  (subtext: you’re gigantic/fat)

Dangay lekke ñaari loxo.

You eat with both hands.  (subtext: even your left, butt-wiping, hand)

Senegal is well known as one of the most peaceful nations in West Africa.  Except for the problems in the Casamance (which inshallah will soon finda peaceful resolution) Senegal has had relatively violence-free political transitions since France withdrew in 1960.  There are many theories as to why this is the case.  One is that since Senegal is so devoid of natural resources, there’s nothing worth overthrowing anyone for or seizing power over.  But that’s a more depressing argument than the one I prefer, and hear more frequently from Senegalese people than anything else.  People here believe it’s the joking culture that maintains the peace.  It’s not that people are working out their aggression and frustration in the form of harmless insults, but rather that the joking builds camaraderie and community-strengthening interpersonal ties.  Senegalese love to joke and tease.  Perhaps more-importantly for the maintenance of peace, Senegalese love to be teased.  Our father’s best friend is named Ablay Ndiaye, (the man featured in all the photos) which is illustrative of how having a joking relationship with someone is not a hindrance to friendship, but rather a boon.  Whatever the reason(s) for Senegal’s long-lasting peace, we’re doing our part to insult our community into increased inter-connectedness.  That is if the plague of Ndiayes here can restrain themselves from eating all the camaraderie.

Jamm rekk,

Peter

Actually Ablay Ndiaye is so close to our family that we call him Baay Ndiaye.  He's a wonderful, wonderful man and the closest thing we have to a grandfather here.

P.S.  Here are some fun facts you might enjoy…

Ablay Ndiaye is the standard name for a generic Senegalese.  Like “John Q. American” for a generic American… or whatever it really is, as I can’t really think of what the standard name is right now.  Ablay Ndiaye is also a euphemism for penis.  Like “John Thomas” or “Johnson” or “Percy” or… “Peter.”  Thanks Mom and Dad (and Grandma Schmitt, née Peter!)