Almost half way there but not really

Since we last spoke: The worst thing, is that the mosquitoes are invisible. They’re like ghosts. You don’t hear them, see ‘em or feel the bite. Just the after effect you feel once the genuine prese…

Source: Almost half way there but not really

Almost half way there but not really

Since we last spoke:
The worst thing, is that the mosquitoes are invisible. They’re like ghosts. You don’t hear them, see ‘em or feel the bite. Just the after effect you feel once the genuine presence is gone. In this case, inching all over. So they tend to build up.
I’ve been at loss for what to say for months now. I don’t have a way of really “catching” everyone up on what’s been going on.  Not thoroughly at any rate.  I’ve been frustrated, angry and board. I’ve had a few minor adventures and all the while life has sort of just normalized. That is the hardest obstacle to get over when communicating with folk outside of the Peace Corps; back home. Here, my life is not strange, interesting or adventurous. It is not unique, daring or particularly selfless. I go about my everyday with routine. I look for breaks and escape from my work, just like anyone else. And I attempt to better myself and my efforts. Sometimes fruitfully, sometimes not.
So when it comes to catching the world up on my life the question always comes down to, where to begin? What details mater? How do I say just enough and with the right amount of accompanying explanation to the nuances that surround each significant event – without writing a book.

April – May:
The last several months have been spent in a perpetual state of hot uncertainty (120 degrees Fahrenheit with a dry hot wind that burn the eyes and skin). I question every move 10 times before I maybe make it. I’ve been met with a near unanimous disinterest in what I may have to offer my community. When I attempted to remedy this with a Peace Corps sponsored two-day event/meeting, I was essentially left standing at the altar.
PACA is short of Participatory Analysis of Community Action. It is meant to help a community identify its true needs and help them help themselves lay out a path towards addressing their needs with my (the PCV’S) help. Plus, it’s a pretty good platform to thoroughly explain what I can and cannot do as a volunteer.
It was largely a failure. The 150 people who showed up left shortly after making sure their names where written down. The 6 people who actually attended where just not nearly enough to be considered as a representative portion of the community. It did however shine light on what organization was potentially willing to work with me. All 6 of them belong to the Young Men’s group. (they actually call themselves the Organization Sukabe, which means the kids organization…. most of them are in their mid-20’s to early 30’).
That was May 31th. Two some odd months later, we might actually start some work in the form of tree nurseries for fruit trees, shade trees, wind breaks and live fencing. Though the Young Men’s group has yet to give me an actual “we’re ready,” I have done a small “sample” training of sorts with the president of the group and in an entirely unrelated effort located a fellow who seems to just want to learn. His name is Jibby.
Jibby is a 40-year-old herder who taught himself how to read and write and understand the grammatical rules of his native tongue; Pulaar. He has been a very good friend and teacher in the last couple of months since I met him and now I’m hoping his enthusiasm to “…. learn everything,” as he has said, does not wane. He is an opportunity to leave a source of knowledge behind me once I leave.  Jibby understands the value of passing on knowledge.  He seems genuinely interested in making the effort with me….1 down, 3,999 to go.

June and July:
Ramadan, or Korka as it’s called in Pulaar, is the month in which Muslims practice self-control in the face of temptation, more or less. For the day light hours of every day (during the hottest part of the year) they do not eat, drink anything at all, smoke, make love or anything else that might pass the miserably long, hot days of the north. While feasting at night may commence, the days are a little more than rough. I went on vacation after feigning to fast for 5 days…. I am just simply not up to that task and bissmila (means welcome in the most formal since of the word) to those PCV’s who did. I went on a tour of Senegal. Saw a lot. The beaches of St. Louis and the food. The beaches of Mbor, and the food. Kedigou, the subtropical rain-forest with a PCV 4th of July party…and the food, especially the fresh avocados.

Fishing boats

Food with PCV’s in St. Louis, Senegal

Beach Cows

4th of July Guy

Essentially I was a tourist and not a PCV for three weeks. I needed a break. I had left site angry and frustrated. The waters had been thoroughly muddied by both sides and leaving was the best thing I could do. I came back with a clearer head, a steadier hand so to speak and a renewed willingness to keep doing exactly what I’d been doing before, just with more patience and cultural tolerance.
Shortly after I got back, Ramadan ended, we ate and greeted for three days and the rains came. And change came to the Fuuta (the name given to the Northern region of Senegal, the dry, deserty region of Senegal).
I lack the ability to describe the changes. Paths and directions I refused to bike due to the rocky, hot, dry boredom are now luscious green savannas I can’t wait to explore. Occasionally, to get to my road town if it has just rained, I have to wade through a shallow, nearly mile wide lake/flash flood between my town and my road town (where cars are). But Generally, if it’s raining I do like the rest of Yacine, and find a relatively dry place to wait.
With the rains has come work. I spend most mornings biking out to fields trying to convince farmers that I know a little bit too and mostly help them weed. If nothing else, it’s a great way to get to know people and Yacine a little better. Working side by side say’s a lot more than any resume ever could.

Biking around the outskirts of Bakel

Finding ways to fall off bikes around the outskirts of Bakel

The green desert

Senegal River before rainy season

After

Back to the present:
Now, it’s the beginning of September. Field visits continue, minor training’s as well and hopefully in a few days I’ll have some larger tree projects and training’s to begin.
Many of the frustrations that drove me crazy at site earlier on are still there.  I don’t really enjoy being around my host family and I dread the ongoing slow torture that is attempting to be a productive Peace Corps Volunteer in a largely uninterested community.  But I deal with them as best as I can.  I found out lets in  gardening, biking and a few solid, dependable people.  Guys like my Master Farmer Djinde, my new friend Jibby and a few others that deserve later introduction help my days by offering me a sympathetic ear, showing true interest in learning new things or genuinely helping with my Pulaar – and not just criticizing it.  Slowly I am becoming a part of this community.  Because of my few friends and because of the incalculable moments that just happen in the day.  Like helping to build a house one day or unload goods into a friends shop.  Even comfortably and publicly shaming people for being rude counts towards my own acceptance and even endearment with my community.  A place that is genuinely starting to feel like a home…and yes, public shaming is culturally accepted and even expected here.

I was “helping”

Martial arts at the elementary school’s culture day

building a roof by throwing cement one shovel full at a time up and up and up.

 

These moments though, the good and the bad ones, they build up.  One by one, they are inconsequential. Momentarily they are just minor events of everyday life, nearly incalculable to the eye. But one on top of the other, silent as they come, they build up, becoming an irresistible itch. The mechanism may be invisible but the outcomes are more than that.  They determine how I structure future events and hopeful success. Like the mosquito, does that itch spur me to scratch until I bleed? Succumbing to the present irritation, thoughtlessly writhing away? Or do I think ahead next time, learn from my mistakes and wear a little bug spray? Behavior change and long term planning is the name of the game for both my community and me.
I am still adjusting here. Probably always will be. But I’m learning to be led to the right decisions. To listen for the opportunities and leave behind the dead end avenues (that also tend to accumulate stagnant water and mosquitoes). I may not walk away with stories of a beautiful and magnificent service. But I will leave changed and hopefully leave behind some, if even minor, change in the lives of the few people in Yacine.
But who knows. Maybe grate changes are in-store for Yacine Lakke. Maybe only minor advances in strategy and forward thinking. Whatever the outcome, good or bad, it doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice other than to go on and see this through, hope for the best and keep a whether eye out for those opportunities of change.

sun set and moon rise over Yacine Lakke

Stories

One I forgot to tell A month and a half ago I was in Thies for IST, I forgot to mention, while there, I went to visit the host family I stayed with during training. The Mbenge family was warm and w…

Source: Stories

Stories

One I forgot to tell
A month and a half ago I was in Thies for IST, I forgot to mention, while there, I went to visit the host family I stayed with during training. The Mbenge family was warm and welcoming and made me feel at ease, quickly, despite being surrounded by a new country and all of its as to yet un-recognizable sounds. This visit was by no means any obligation I felt, I just genuinely miss them.

My host father for training, Abliaye, and me standing in the still producing garden

After the small celebration of my visit – before I could even step through the door – came the nice surprise to see the garden still growing and producing. Granted, they used to be a farming family before they left the Futa (The hot, northern part of Senegal). That bullet point on the resume does not always ensure that folks will follow through with new techniques and gardening/farming styles introduced to them. In fact, so far, back in the present day, I’ve had a fairly rough time of getting people to walk the walk when it comes to the perceived ardent nature of their questions. But we’re working on it, change is hard.
But I digress (frequently and effortlessly).
The garden was still alive, still producing and so was the tree pepiniere. This one contained roughly 60 young trees meant for live fencing. So we did, we started in on transplanting the trees along the perimeter of the garden. The kids and I planted about half and then I left them to the rest. All of the kids liked to help now and again, but one in particular, Samba, not only likes to help, but he gets it. It’s pretty amazing to see him watch the first five minutes of a new project in the garden, see the connections snap into place and then let him go along knowing where the next step should be. I genuinely pray for his shot at a bright future.

the little guys, nearest the fence will eventually replace the fence as they grow, tangle and present their thorns as a formidable barrier to the mouths of herbivores

I look forward to visiting again to see how those trees are doing now. And to catch up with a family who despite the many setbacks of life here in Senegal, seem intent on helping. To that end, it seems more often than not I run into people, friend or stranger, who are more than willing to welcome a stranger into their homes and offer whatever they have.
It’s easy to get frustrated here; with the slow pace of things. Maybe it’s just energy conservation. Who knows? Whatever the reason, whatever the frustration, that small win with the Mbenge family has been good fuel for the fire.

Host Grandma

 

Tongue Twister
I’m nearing the close of my fifth month in site. Language is coming along, slowly, but there is at least a noticeable difference since install.
Language is a strange thing. Thousands of different ways we’ve made up to say, “sit down,” “don’t eat that!”, “shit it’s hot!” And why, how, all because a couple of people thought gnashing my teeth this way and slapping my tongue that way fairly accurately relates the intense feeling I’m having about the sun today? And then another couple people, on some other rock, under the same sun, felt the same burning agony to complain about its over baring nature, but with a lip smacking and curling of the tongue this time.
Currently, I feel like the most appropriate sound description should be full body kerplunking into a cold mounting stream. (it reached 115 degrees Fahrenheit today)
Some days it feels like I’m less than a millimeter away from having the whole langue flood into my brain. I stand there, almost understanding, willing the dam to break. But it doesn’t, it only trickles through the tinny spill way. It seems to me, with all our imaginative ways to complain about the sun, entering other languages shouldn’t be so dang hard. They’re all made up for God’s sake! Language is a game the brain plays to make up what it thinks a chair or a puddle of mud would call itself. Maybe it’s because it’s not my imagination making up the rules and names anymore but me plunging in halfway through somebody else’s game. All I have to help me learn the rules is a typo ridden book and the occasional team mate who doesn’t want to lose because the new guy can’t pronounce the word for “it’s good” properly. (Seriously, the sound doesn’t exist in the English language).

Good = moYYii, mo – YY- ii
“mo”, pronounced how you might think
“YY,” not pronounced how you might think. Start with your tongue touching the inside of your top two front teeth, then as you pronounce that part of the word, let your tongue drop and slightly swallow it/ move the emphasis to the back of your tongue in your throat. But not to forcefully, softly.
“ii,” pronounced like the letter ‘e’

Got it? Great. That’s just one word.
The upside is, I’m starting to find people with the patients to understand what I’m saying, and more importantly, help me understand what I’m trying to say. These people are becoming friends and as I become more comfortable in my new skin as Mamadou Bannor, my tongue is beginning to feel more comfortable in its new exercise routine. What seemed like infinite distances to cover in both understanding a new community and langue don’t seem so infinite after all.

Yaccine is getting a little smaller.

Senegal River, near Yaccine, has nothing to do with the story, I just like the picture

 

Blurbs
The bike ride to or from Bakel usually takes a touch over two hours, one way. Last week, after some late night food, 4 hours of restless sleep, no breakfast, a head on wind and increasing heat, the bike ride took three hours and something akin to a hangover for the rest of the day. The Heat is real folks. And having something with me to eat would have been an O.K. idea too.

 

I need to convince my family here to let me use the saddle for the horse. Bare back riding sounds romantic and all, but it is not. It hurts and I do not do it enough to have the proper callouses.

A couple more photos

Large, four day religious gathering at my site

Djinde and Youssipha teaching at the Master Farm open field day in Yaccine

More of Djinde teaching

Pick up game of “baseball” -stick rock – back during IST, it only got better when the local kids, who’ve never seen the game before, got involved.

 
Up next
The building of a shade structure for mid-day lounging and outdoor sleeping…my room is concrete walls with a metal roof. An egg cooked in its shell in my room!
The starting of tree pepinieres and hopeful classes about them for live fencing the master farm and starting in on the women’s garden fence as well.
SusAg Summit in Tamba. Three days of work based information/classes with new and old friends, free food and there’s a hotel with a pool nearby!
And PACA. I’ll leave that mystery for next time.

That’s all for now folks, I’ve finished building my garden space, now I want to go grow something in it! (Pictures of that next time)
Cheers!

Five Months In

Some days are definitely harder than others. The anxiety is real. The expectations that we hold for ourselves and those held of us by others (real or imagined) are just part of the equation. The co…

Source: Five Months In

Five Months In

Some days are definitely harder than others. The anxiety is real. The expectations that we hold for ourselves and those held of us by others (real or imagined) are just part of the equation. The continuing language barrier and the very limited time line to feel like it was all worth it play against my cool.
We’re told, from the beginning, it’s ok to make mistakes, because you will. Bounce back and don’t make the same mistake next time. Except that every mistake does count against you here in your community. They are watching everything. Ture, as long as you don’t make a colossal dumb ass out of yourself, minor things will be forgiven; so long as you pull off something better. But the interim is filled with doubt. And folks here are not silent about it. Honesty comes in many flavors. Harsh is a favorite here.
“You don’t speak pulaar.” Not well yet, true, but we are having this conversation…you go learn English in FIVE MONTHS!
There are a lot of things like that. I’ve been trying to get folks to mulch their gardens. “I only water once a day, sometimes once every other day. You water twice a day. The water is heavy and you have to bring it a long way, huh? Yup, well, here, I covered my bed with some of this think grass. I even cut extra, here, have some.” Nope.
It’s hard to fight against the norm. That standard of; this is how we do things, it works, why change it. Plus, as much of a struggle as the current standard is, we know it produces something. If we try this new thing, and it doesn’t work, no matter how well it looks here in the demo plot, we very well might starve. To that end, I might starve, I rely on them for the majority of my food. So, one empathizes. And it’s hard to tell folks to just take a leap of faith when every other sentence ends with “God Willing.”
Now, I’ve been out of site for a month. I’ve just finished two weeks of questionable training in Thies (pronounced like “chess”) following a week in Dakar. Dakar took all my money in three ways; good food, good booze and taxi fare. I lost a filling a few weeks prior so I had to head to Dakar to Dr. Soft Hands (his hands are like being caressed by clouds!) and then indulged in an all American get together for the weekend called WASTE. An apt acronym. It’s soft ball, soccer, volleyball, I have a girlfriend, talent show, real beer, more beer and a chance to interact with non-Peace Corps, American types for a few days. Then it was on to Thies for the afore mentioned two weeks of training.
Peace Corps training can be rather hit and miss. There are moments when what is presented kicks all the lightbulbs on and the idea machine into overdrive. Then there are many other moments (hours) where the idea machine is bashed into bits against too many hours indoors (I’m trying very hard to be nice about this). It’s also quite possible that I just don’t sit still well.
A couple of positives that came from this may well shape much of my service, God Willing. Turns out my Master Farmer, Djinde has a pretty special and unique thing going on. I’ve already identified him as one of the brightest lights in my community. He has three hectares fenced in that he has left to naturally regenerate. More specifically, Farmer Managed Natural Regeneration. It’s the process of leaving the desiccated land alone for many years and then, integrating permaculture like practices with the existing forest. “Interactive ecology,” as a friend once said. I encourage the Googleing of FMNR.
Djinde doesn’t know it yet, but we are going to teach the hell out of this and hopefully get a few more farmers to start the same thing. It’s quite simple. Put fence up. Wait. Most of the species here are so hardy that after years and years of being wacked and eating down to the ground, they will still come back from their roots. Talking Trees here folks. Soil stabilization, rain makin’, ecology buildin’, life sustainin’ trees! Then, after 10-15 years, you start getting a little selective about what you cut, and what you plant among the trees. See the beginning of this post to reference the cultural difficulties here. The one point of potential break through lies in the fact that Djinde is a well-respected community member. More to come, God Willing.
Tomorrow, I will be back in site. It’s time to get back on the horse (figuratively and literally, bare back horse riding is pretty dang fun…a little painful though) and dust off my Pulaar brain. Getting to know folks, their personal and communal wants and needs is still my primary work at the moment. But it is quickly sliding into physical work. I have tree nurseries to start, live fences to plan and eventually plant a few months later and much work to do in terms of preparing for field crop demos, seed extension (the introduction of improved crop seed varieties) and seed saving. Plus I am beginning to imagine a huge pile of manure compost.
There are many wonderful potentials ahead but they are matched tit for tat with unique difficulties. The outcome, the reality and after math of the idea machine is still very much in the air.
My friend Pastor Larry Clark is well known for saying, “Start where you are, use what you’ve got and Do what you can.” This is a daily mantra.
Interestingly enough, there is a quote painted on one of the walls at the training center in Thies that is quite similar.
“Go to the people. Live with them. Learn from them. Love them. Start with what they now. Build with what they have. But with the best leaders, when the work is done, the task accomplished, the people will say ‘We have done this ourselves.’” – Lao Tzu

Culture and Change

Source: Culture and Change

Culture and Change

It has been one month and 9 days since moving into my new home in Senegal. I can’t tell if the time is crawling along or flying by. Often both; long hours, fast days. The sun moves with astonishing speed in rising and setting, and yet it lingers for so long when it is directly above. The beautiful moments, the learning opportunities and moments of small success are brief, quick and easily missed if one isn’t paying attention. The rest of the day is hot work. Full of all the duality that such a life brings. Pleasure and pain inseparably intertwined.

Canoe out at sunset on the ocean

It is all very new. Every day is a battle between laziness and taking it slow, between showing action, involvement and not overwhelming my fellow community members with too much new white man weirdness. As thousands of people before me can testify, it is hard to quantify what I’m doing right now. How do I paint an appropriate picture of my new life in a place I don’t fully see in its own light yet?
There are a lot of minor ups and downs right now. It’s life. I don’t feel like I’m doing anything. I’ve lost since of whether or not my language is actually progressing, it sure doesn’t feel like it is. The few small projects I’ve started are slow and make no since to those who see them. The one class I tried to hold was canceled behind my back. But these are the altitude (or, perhaps attitude) adjusters.  It’ll be a while yet before I stabilize; all just part of orienting myself to my new space. I hope.
We all know that it takes time for folks to see the usefulness of a new idea. We need to see it in action, see it succeed before we’re willing to try it ourselves. Change on faith alone is a hard sell. I only have two years, so a little proof based education has to be my main tool, which means I have to draw on some depths of patients I’m not sure I have until my initial projects start to show success and usefulness. Because even then, Change is hard. The action and wiliness to change, even for the better, the easier, can be negated by the mere fear of change, the unwillingness to try. Good bye Lazy Days, see you in two years. I have my work cut out for me.

On the way to the Master Farm

Things are changing though, progress, even if at a snail’s pace, is underway. Admittedly, the change I am seeing right now is the change in my own actions. My involvement with the community, the type of work I want to do is being guided by many hands. I am finding that I have to follow right now. As badly as I want to knock out some award winning, showy work, it’s not my turn to be the line leader yet. I say it all the time, now I’m being forced to practice listening first and observing before acting. Damn that’s hard. My ego wants to show off. It can’t, I can’t. I hate to admit this but my site is humbling me. One thorn loaded bike tire at a time.

We don’t grow thorns here, we grow nails

So I’m learning to listen. Follow where the conversations take me, where doors open to me and where opportunity reveals itself. It is not happening where I was looking for it. I may not get to do some of the agricultural things I wanted to do. At least not right off, but I often forget, I’m not here for me alone. Nor am I here for them alone. This is community. I’m here to help this community make itself sustainable. I think it means that much of my work is going to take shape in the form of working with the young men in the community.
I’m running into a bit of a wall with the women’s group. I jumped into work with them right away because they were just starting work in there 300 something garden beds. Grate! Easy win. Jumping in has felt something like landing tailbone first on that rock you didn’t see six inches under the water. There are many details but the point is, they don’t know and don’t trust me yet. I am a guy in a space that is their’s. Everything Women do here has to be approved by men first. I don’t know if they actually think this but at some level I wonder if they see me as an intrusion on a space that has been built for them. With time, I have no fears that we’ll do successful work together. However, I need to re-route and work around towards them. Build some credibility and swagger back in later.

Women observing their garden space the day before plots where assigned 

Peace Corps, in fact, does a lot of work in gender equality. It is a bit of a constant undertone here and rightfully so. But, as I’ve already come to learn some, as a guy in Senegal, working with gender equality will take working with the other gender first. At least more predominantly. Not only in hopefully finding ways to begin to empower women in the eyes of the Senegalese men in my village, but also to empower this younger generation in themselves, in their ability and in their future.
I’ve met many young men who have no or very little work. Who are bored and who find influence half from their community and half from the West. Somehow, I need to get involved with these men in a capacity that helps them find or create work for themselves. Work that benefits their family and community and let’s not forget about the soil and much degraded ecosystems here. So many want to be rap stars and move to America so they can be rich like the rest of us. I can’t work with just a few men in their fields and hope for sustainable change if all the young men move to Dakar in hopes that the city will bring their dreams to fruition. Somehow, in some small way I need to make plants cool again. Inshallah.

Djinde’s (right) teaching his employees (left) how to double dig at the Master Farm

There are some options I am about to explore but the actual shape and color of things to come is still very much unknown. I live in a whorl wind of possibilities. So long as I don’t get blown away.

View from the health hut on the outskirts of my village

 

 

Stories!:
I’ve been out biking some. Discovering the back ways to places. I’ve ridden along the river, Mauritania only a half a mile stone’s throw away. I’ve gotten a touch lost in the bush on the return to site. Let me tell ya, nothing quite as scary as watching the sun set (and it does so quite rapidly here) while bookin’ it through bush paths, hoping you’re about to see a familiar tree and that now is not the time your bike decides to acquire thorns. That is the moment when I realized, no map exists of this place. I have no GPS. I didn’t bring my compass (lesson learned). No one knows exactly where I am and I don’t really speak the language yet even if I could convince a host family member to come look for me.

Biking

.
Seeing that water tower through the trees just before dark was the most beautiful cement structure I’ve ever seen.
…
I was recently “coxed” to Bakel under the context of cultural exchange. (There may or may not be a bar in Bakel as well, need to know the dangerous places to stay away from ya know). Bakel is a neat town. It is tucked among rocky hills, boarding the Senegal River and fairly dang far from everything. It is a little world unto itself. Met some pretty neat people there and am looking forward to working there some.

View of Mauritania from an old French fort in Bakel

The cultural exchange I mentioned was a late night rap show. A chance to see what young Senegalese do at night, hear their take on hip hop and unexpectedly experience some pretty unique cultural adaptations.
The music was pretty good, they like to lip sing to their own music when on stage, but it was good. The highlight though was the ceremonially slaughtered chicken on stage, during a song. The executioner then drained that chicken dry, from its neck, down his mouth. The cowed not only loved it, they seemed to appreciate it. Don’t think Ossie Osborn, think cultural heritage. That night also helped pop on the light bulb. Look at all these young folk, mingling cultures. Not only can I not forget to work with them some. I absolutely need to work with them a lot. After all, they are genuinely the future of Senegal.

(photo pending, I promise!)
…
That’s it for now folks. Stay tuned for the next episode. It may feature more biking adventures, horse riding, roof repair and much more…

Road along the river to Bakel

Jango, mi yahat

Source: Jango, mi yahat

Jango, mi yahat

Tomorrow, I go. Who knows what the day will bring but I think it will be great; unpredictably challenging, but great. I am certain that it will be awkward and the next many days may be long but it is all just a matter of course. We are going to teach each other a multitude of new things. Sometimes those things will come with ease and sometimes one may have to drag the other kicking and screaming through shisto and termites to find the subject’s truth – like as not I’ll be the dragged – but truth and change we will find.
Here’s a little about what I know of my new village and life and some hopeful conjecture along with it:
Wuro am, Yacine Lakke, sits 4 kilometers from the Senegal River – and Mauritania – and 35 kilometers from Bakel to the south east. 2 kilometer’s to the south is my road town and the thing they call the road. The chunks of asphalt left on this road would be better off ripped out as now they serve only as serve deterrents to speed, timeliness, automobile care and general safety, sanity and my stomach. Whatever, Diddy’s gonna build a road and I hope he is successful. It would only serve to benefit thousands. Currently it takes me something in the neighborhood of 5 hours give or take a couple hours to get out of my village to my regional house, 135K away. Because of the distance, the need to change cars and PC’s ban on us traveling at night, it will take me two days at a minimum to get to Dakar. Senegal is the size of South Dakota. No matter, I’m good with isolation, I like the distance between me and so many things. In some small since, I’m out here in the Wild West. My decisions are my own. Yah! (This is the command word for “Go!” – to the second person singular – in Pulaar. Works well right?!)
My new host family consists of several brothers and sisters, most of them closer to my own age than not. My father is the chief of the village and his four wives are me new mum’s. I do not know much more about them at this point, only what my former has told me. I’ll save details and observations for when I have them. Hold your breath.
Hopeful conjecture based off of some existing infrastructure:
From some vaguely harrowing stories I have come to understand that my new host family – the Banner’s – have a horse that will be at my disposal to some degree, after a touch of training. My former named him Dragon, and she is no novice equestrian. He will be of great use, I am told, during the rainy season when I can no longer bike anywhere because of the mud. Plus, mud makes for a soft enough landing should he tire of me now and again.
I have a couple of standing projects at site that I look forward to adopting. One is the women’s garden. I do not know the exact size off hand (I’ll let you know later) but it is large, acre ish plus. A few hundred women have staked a claim in it and before anything can be grown there it needs some serious soil amendment and erosion control. Not to mention live fencing/shade. I have some ideas…I just need to figure out how to turn those ideas into Pulaar. I fear they may want to get in there now, and we may need to wait half a year or so. To see the rains, to know where the water goes exactly, what changes to make and to be able to discuss it all in a common tongue. For now, one of my first steps will be trying to get folks to collect animal poo for composting so we can turn that into the soil. The serious work to the space will come a touch later.
I also have a Master Farm and farmer who is, as far as I can tell, fairly sedulous. This is a place where I can demonstrate new techniques (Permaculture!) without needing to get several community members on board first. This is a place for evidence based education, “here, it works!” I am more than a little excited to put theory into practice here, with the experience and openness of the master farmer, I think we are capable of pulling off something pretty neat. Again, more details to follow, as vague planning turns into reality.
However, with every up turn comes the down. My master farm sits across a seasonal river which is in flood promptly when one would most like to invite the community out for some demonstrations; which is essentially the point of the master farm, showing it off. Watch out fundraiser friends, I think I may need to build a bridge.
There are a few more things I have hanging out in the nexus of my brain but I’ll save those for later. For now, like I’ve said a hundred times so far, it’s all about buffing up my lingo and starting small; compost, chicken coop and some container gardens I think ought to hold me over for a few weeks. Throw in re-learning how to use my camera (gotta dust her off) and learning 3000 people’s names (pop. of Yacine Lakke) and I should be good and occupied.
Much to do, more to learn, years to go and I’m almost home. See Y’all tomorrow, yimbe e wuro am!