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!)

June in Review

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.  

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.

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!

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. 

Papa Gorré: Immediately post-bath, wearing his dork costume, wanting to come in the garden, and being cute.

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 4^th 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