The Quiet American

Missent to the Bahamas

Last week, a package showed up at the Tamba post office, almost one year late. The volunteer had long COS`d (Close Of Service). It was full to the brim with last year's Christmas cookies, chocolate, and pasta mixes. What was the excuse for such lateness of something that would have been good before it got stale? "Missent to the Bahamas", one of the first postal mistakes that lies with US Post and not Senegal. Ususally our packages show up covered in Senegal Post tape, which means our postal officials burrowed through the box, looking for what they wanted, and a tad late, but not missent to the Bahamas. My friends and I took this as the ultimate "sucks to be you" moment for the old volunteer... until, that is, a package of mine turned up, sent last February, and arrived now, with no late excuse stamped on top. We see the post as a sort of Russian roulette; sometimes we luck out and have no problems, and other times, the worst case scenario arrives.

Going to the post here is one of those lovely reminders of what life is like in third world countries. I am always puzzled, for instance, by the lack of stamps at the post office. Correct me if wrong, but post offices generally are used to send mail, right? Here, or at least at my post in Kidira, it is used as a place to collect kaalis (money). Whenever I go to the post, I am not only the only white person, as I am the only volunteer with my own post box, but I am the only person there to receive mail and not money. Every day of the week, every week of the month, there is a long line of angry Pulaars and Bambaras, anxiously awaiting their moneygram or union express, and one frenzied man who spends all day handing it out. The money comes from France, Italy, Spain, and America, and is made by "working" - at what jobs, it is ambiguous.

So after sneaking past the lines of people waiting for their money, I finally get to the front, only to usually find that there are no stamps, and that I have no packages. When a package arrives, it is a huge relief, a moment of elation, and a nice piece of America sitting in my lap. My mom is my usual supplier, keeping me stocked full of Mac N Cheese, Clif bars, and zip lock bags. It is difficult to explain what is so special about getting such ordinary things, or the way I am frantic when there is no little piece of America to carry back on my bike.

Last week for the first time I felt guilty for returning with a package and not wanting to share one iota of it with my village. It may have been the way my grandma Ne Dioulde had begged for bananas and I had returned only with things for me, or it may have just been the way I sat in my hut delighting over everything for a while, and the way it separated me from the village, if only for a few moments. However, I also felt glad to feel loved, to hold something from home in my hands, and to dissapear in Americana. Maybe it was just the fact that I did not have to wait a whole year for the package, it was not covered in post tape, and I did not get slapped with a huge customs fee - I had to pay 42 dollars when my dad sent me a new camera.

As a final note to all those people with loved ones overseas, Peace Corps or not, me or otherwise: Remember to write to them, to help them feel connected, and when you can or feel close enough, to send them things from time to time. Of course, the letters are most important; my mom has never sent a letter in the packages, and it seems like such a wast of postal space. My absolute favorite gift? The few pictures from home that have made their way to me. While books and DVD's are certainly appreciated, less expensive things make everyone happy as well. Some of our Tamba anciens, Dan and Mary have sent several packages with a plethora of fun food like Ring Pops and Cheeze-Its, and they are the volunteers we look fondly on and miss all the time (although we would miss them without all the packages, of course).

One Year Anniversary

One year ago, we all raised our hands, and pledged our service to the Peace Corps.  I had to keep myself from laughing during our oath because of its wordiness.  Regardless of the humor, it was still a momentous time, and reaching this half-service benchmark has caused many of us to reflect upon our service, what we have done, and what we have left to be done.  Many of us feel we have just gotten started, and have spent most of this year learning from our mistakes, and learning the language.  I keep on telling my villages "ha hitaande" - next year, things will be good.  I would be fine with what I have done at this point if I were doing a cultural exchange, but while it is a huge aspect of the Peace Corps, there is still the pressing draw of work as well.

Right now, I know many of you back home are asking, so what have I done?  For the most part, I have tried.  Since just trying is not good enough, again, next year, things will be good.  The main goal of my program, agro-forestry, is to plant trees.  Since the bulk of my peppinaire, or tree nursery, got wiped out in a flood, I have been counting the small success.  After the peppinaire flooded, I managed to get my hands on a lot of cashew seeds, and a lot of the villagers were open to working with it, so we direct seeded in a lot of compounds.  Unfortunately, only a few of those villagers heeded my directive to build goat-proof fences around the cashew trees, so the survival rate is quite low.  Again, there is always next year. 

So what I am I doing now to make next year better for my main project?  First off, I am planning on starting tree work much earlier.  Of course, the work cannot be done unless my villagers are invested in it, so we will see what happens.  Seedlings need sacks filled with fertilizer and sand to support them, and if the sacks are prepared earlier, the trees can be seeded earlier as well.  Last year, my villagers did not want to fill sacks until the heat started to dissipate, which was in mid-June, and as a result, the sacks got seeded very late.  Since so few people got trees this year, my villagers claim they have learned their lesson and want to begin earlier.  I also plan to work beyond my village, and to seek out more motivated farmers in the area.  This relates to my main lesson learned by the peppinaire flood: don't put all your eggs in the same basket.  So, in addition to having more people involved, the project will have diversified locales, so that if one peppinaire fails, there are still plenty of resources.

Tree propagation has not come easy at my site, and Peace Corps has begun to recognize this.  Having my site as an ag-fo site is actually a fluke - a married couple was sent there both as ag workers, and Peace Corps does not like having two people doing the same work at the same site.  So they had to come up with something else for one person.  Why not Ag-Fo?  Since Ag-Fo has been such a difficulty here, after I leave, it will no longer be so.  The site will either return to pure Ag work, or will be converted to an EE (Environmental Education) site. 

What does this mean for me, and even more importantly, for the village?  It means that there will be more flexibility in project work.  It means part of the work will be preparing the site for the change in sector, and setting things up for the next volunteer.  Secondly, since Peace Corps understands the problems here now, I have permission, and even encouragement, to conduct inter-sector work. 

• This past year, I participated in some Ag work, distributing improved rice and corn seeds, totaling 10 kilograms, to key farmers, then monitoring their fields, and encouraging them in weeding and produit application.  With this permission, I hope to include more farmers in the seed program, and participate in it officially. 
• I currently run a garden seed boutique out of my hut, and hope to continue this project, as it helps to increase cultivation by making the seeds more accessible.  This is at least partly- sustainable because I make people pay for the seeds (at reduced cost) rather than handing them out for free. 
• During a village-wide meeting last year, the men decided that their top issue was fixing our dam, while the women decided that their top goal was getting more training for the midwife, so I am currently trying to find ways to help to achieve these goals.  Unfortunately, our one source of funding, USAID SPA grants, has just eliminated, and project materials have been cut from our Peace Corps allowances, so any funding will come from my own pocket and the villagers fund-raising.
• I run an informal Girl's Club, in order to encourage them in life and studies, and hope to continue and expand our sessions.

There are a variety of small, everyday things I am involved in as well; so many of us count these "small" successes as breakthroughs.  Watching a mom clean her child's wound out for the first time, seeing a man help his wife, or seeing a girl look at a book for enjoyment for the first time; these things I count as even higher successes than watching trees thrive.  Hopefully as the year progresses, not only will the trees thrive, but these small successes will continue , and I will be able to see tangible results, and appreciate why we are here.

PT

Few words can  produce the same dread in a PC volunteer as PT, or Public Transport.  Every volunteer has many, many horror stories, involving long waits, breakdowns (of both cars and people), thefts, and gastrointestinal distress.  We have our own ways of dealing with transport; from staying up all night so we can sleep through it, to zoning out on the ipod.  The best release comes the moment we finally get out, get a shower, and come back saying, "You will not believe what happened during my trip here."  Last week I had one of those trips, and while it does not rank in the hall of fame of worst ever, it was certinaly trying.

Two friends and I were sufficiently smart to travel to Tamba the day before Korite, the end of Ramadam.  We were in a rush to return to our village in time for the festivities, and knew there would be hell to pay if we did not.  We knew travel would be difficult, but had no idea it would be almost impossible.  We got to the gare at 8, a little late, only to find all the 7 places, or bush taxis, had already left.  This was unheard of, going from a major city to Tamba with NO 7 places available.  Our only option was alham, or bush taxi, and it was only an option because of the urgency of our return. 

We were first to buy tickets, and had to spend 5 hours waiting in the gare for it to leave.  One friend managed to polish off an entire Hunter S. Thompson book during our limbo.  Gares are very obnoxious places to be stuck in even for 10 minutes, let alone 5 hours.  Everyone has something to sell or beg for, especially the day before Korite.  Whether it is bannanas, watches, sunglasses, malaria medicine, hello kitty bags, it will be pushed into your face.  The five hours were spent waiting for the car to fill up, and for all the onion bags, characol bags, rice sacks, and goats to be loaded on top. 

When we finally took off, we knew we had a painful 260 km ahead of us, but had no clue how long it would be, how incompotent the drivers would be, and how close we would come to missing Korite.  Alahms stop often, but our driver took it to a whole new level.

To be continued....................

Baby Update 3.0

Currently I am sitting in Thies, a two hour ride away from Dakar and thus the triplets.  I could go there, see them, and be proactive and try to speak with my family in Dakar and discuss what I wanted to with a burning desire the last time I was there.  Instead, I want to have nothing to do with, and feel relegated to return defeated, or to even not try anything at all.  How did I get to this point?  Why should I do nothing and seek no answers about the triplets condition when the glimmer of hope for help may still exist?

When I returned from seeing the triplets last, the first words to leave my villagers mouths were, "No fenebe, ebe e jam?" (the babies, they are in peace?)  In general, when I return to the villagers first ask me about the travel, about how tired I was, and, in a bit of wishful thinking, where their gifts were.  This time, they all knew about my mission and appeared to care.  However that, and regardless of how much enthusiasm the other villagers may have for the triplets, my dad Sada and rest of the family claimed to care, but did not really want to hear the truth.  There was all talk and no listen; promises of calls to be made but never were; and empty words of empty care.

Towards the beginning of Ramadam, my brilliant (and I am being sarcastic here) father managed to take on a new wife, Oumu, who has a baby and other child of her own.  As amazing a mother as Oumu is, Sada is now responsible for his two young sons, the triplets, and this woman's two other children, when he barely has enough money to feed himself. 

The arrival of Oumu marked the true end of the mourning for Neene (mother) and Sada has focused all his cares to Oumu's children.  He can spend endless hours playing with her baby, but I had not heard him so much as mention the triplets until last week, when their picture arrived in the mail.  The picture was a point of great discussion for 20 minutes, then dropped again to go back to this new addition to the family.  In the picture, all three of the triplets can sit down, so everyone takes this as a sure fire sign that they are well, even though it is still clear that the boy Alsaan is much larger, and the girls have these big heads.