The Quiet American

Reader Survey

Today I was having a little fun, and checking up on the stats for my blog.  It's always interesting to see how people get to the site, and who may be reading.  Usually people just type in my address, or come in from other sites that link to me.  Sometimes, however, people wind up here through searches.  Here are the top searches that led to The Quiet American:

• book notes on the quiet american
• lait caillé
• @hotmail+see a village  in mexico
• schistomiasis photo
• does damian marley get harassed by women
• silver shoes from the movie dirty dancing
• the quiet american important quotes

My deepest apologies to all those who are working on a book report for The (real) Quiet American and keep on getting sent here.  At least you have a good taste in literature.

Now that I know where you are coming from, I'd like to know who you are, dear reader.  I just met our newest group of volunteers at the aereoport Dakar, and several of them said how glad they were to meet me after reading the blog, but I had no idea they had ever been reading. 

So, without further aideu, I present my first ever Reader Survey.  All you need to do to respond is click on the comment button, and answer away:

• Name:
• Age:
• Location:
• Profession:
• Is there any topic you would like to hear more about/questions unanswered?:
• What do you think about the Peace Corps/Africa?:
• Something unique about yourself:

Bob!

"Bob! Bob! Bob!"

Every time I've walked down the path past the Tamba house the past few months, I have seen the same little kid, yelling out, "Bob!".  I am often called the names of Westerners past; for example, a lot of people in neighboring villages who I don't see often will call me "Assaa", the Senegalese name of an ancien volunteer.  However, there are no volunteers named "Bob" around; that child is merely trying to say something much worse than another name.. he's trying to say the dreaded Taubob.

Taubob is the equivalent of "Hey, Whitey!", and Westerners are often followed by unknowing little kids yelling the word out (as well as adults who should know better).  Taubob is also usually followed up with the persistent phrase "donnei-moi cadeaux" - "give me gift".  Legend has it Taubob is a variation of the Wolof word for "to convert", and it is even more derogatory than we realize.  Mostly it is just an annoyance, and a tiresome reminder that as much as we hope to assimilate, we are still different. 

Every volunteer has a different way of dealing with the Taubob comments.  Sometimes I yell back, "Ballejo" (Pulaar for black person), but only if it is an adult yelling.  Sometimes I say back, "My name isn't Taubob, it's Aminata."  The rest of the time, I either ignore it, or make a joke.  Last year I was riding my bike, and heard someone yelling out Taubob from a bus as it passed by.  It turns out my village grandma, Nee Dioulde, was on the bus, and she corrected the person who was yelling by telling him about me and my Senegalese name. 

Whenever I hear the "Bob!" kid in Tamba, for some reason, the usual reaction of rage does not arise in me; instead, I look over at his mom, who continues to say, "No son, it's Taubob, not Bob, Taubob," and wonder if things will ever change.  I also think the kid is pretty darn cute, despite the coached words coming out of his mouth.

Whatthehellwhynot?

Four jobs I've had:

1. Accommodations crew member
2. English tutor
3. Almond harvester
4. Peace Corps Volunteer

Four movies I can watch over and over:

1. Amelie
2. The English Patient
3. Braveheart
4. Spirited Away

Four places I’ve lived:

1. Turlock, CA
2. Davis, CA
3. Newport Beach, CA
4. Gourel Abdoulaye Diaw, Senegal

Four TV shows I love:

1. Alias
2. Gummie Bears
3. Curb Your Enthusiasm
4. The Daily Show

Four highly regarded and recommended TV shows that I’ve never watched a single minute of (remember, I haven't lived in America for 1.5 years):

1. Desperate Housewives
2. Grey’s Anatomy
3. American Idol
4. Lost

Four places I’ve vacationed:

1. Quepos, Costa Rica
2. Peurto Vallerta, Mexico
3. Bishop, California
4. Grasse, France

Four of my favorite dishes:

1. Enchiladas with mole
2. Mashed Potatoes (with rosemary and lots of garlic)
3. Ice cream (is that a dish?)
4. Soyrizo anything (god I miss America)

Four sites I visit daily (ok, monthly):

1. Drudge Report
2. hotmail
3. npr
4. Homestarrunner

Four places I would rather be right now:

1. Guinea
2. Chile
3. France
4. San Francisco, California

Thanks to : Subjectverbobject

Family Ties

Sha la la la...

No, not those Family Ties.  After my last post, a friend of mine (sorry Lauren) sent me a provocative email, delving into said post, and evaluating family culture from the perspective of an Anthro grad student. 

   " ... in some places, children are not considered fully human until reaching certain ages or going through certain rites. Moreover, for some people, children belong to the patriline/matriline (depending on kinship system in place) rather than to their parents. I also know that adoption by kin or others is fairly common in many places. I don't mean to sound patronizing or anything like that. I'm just wondering if maybe you are perceiving the situation based upon your own cultural beliefs about families and who should be responsible for children (and child rearing in general)?"

Well Lauren is right.  Adoption by kin is very common.  Most often the child that has been left behind is adopted into the position of slave child, but is still cared for nominally.  I'm not sure about whether they are considered incomplete until adulthood, although my village often thinks I am a 25-year-old child due to my lack of husband and children.  I will not become a "woman" in their eyes until I get a husband and child, but I do not not if that makes me not fully human.

I may have been a bit rash to judge my family for the relinquishment of the triplets.  For example, they will receive much better education here in Dakar, and more of a future outside of the village.  However, the majority of the issue I have with the family is the way they conducted themselves, and kept the issue of relinquishment secret from me.  Again, there may be larger cultural factors at work here, but I feel lied to, especially with regards to the money I gave them.  Maybe it is the giant cultural bias I carry with me, the way I was raised to respect honesty and integrity, that interferes here more so than the differences in family structure.

Baby Update 4.0

So here it is, what may be the final chapter in the triplets story, albeit a bit belated.  I am reminded to write due to my lengthy stay here in Dakar, which is now the permanent home for them. 

Last December, both Nee Dioulde and Sada took me aside one night, and asked for money.  My general response to the money requests is to scratch the back of my ear, look down at the ground,  and say that I would look help out, but I have nothing to give (this is the culturally acceptable way of lying about things).  They both said that Sada needed money in order to go to Dakar, retrieve the triplets, and bring them back home.  In my mind, I thought this request for d'argent for outstripped the usual reasons, which range from Sada wanting to buy mint candies for his spoiled son Saamba, to Dioulde wanting to buy more tea for guests.  This was the one redeemable, justifiable case of being the white Taoubob with enough money to bail out the village family.  Or so I thought.

I eventually gave Sada 10,000 cfa (20 bucks), a substantial part of transport costs to and from Dakar.  This was around the time that my parents were coming to visit, and I was hemorrhaging money as it was to fix up my hut; what was another 10,000 cfa (a little under 10% of my monthly living allowance)?  Meanwhile, my village family was torn apart about some issue with the triplets; they were getting into almost-daily fights, disturbing the entire village, and scaring me enough with their yelling to hide out in my hut, not wanting to deal with an argument that was not mine.  I left for Dakar to pick up my parents, with promises from Sada and Dioulde running through my ears, the words "the triplets will be here when you get back," very clear.

When I walked into the village, and there were no triplets, you could imagine my surprise.  Here was Sada, returned from Dakar, but where were his children?  Did he not get sufficient funds?  Did something go terribly awry at the orphanage?  Were they ok?  Well, needless to say.. The children were fine, or at least as well as possible.  Nothing was wrong.  But Sada never planned to return with his triplets.  He had always planned to go to Dakar to sign his triplets away, to turn the responsibility of their care over to Abdullaye, a village cousin residing in Dakar.  He assured me that the triplets are well, that they are fed and taken care of.  He even provided us with a photograph, but in the photo, unfortunately, only the boy, Alsaan, is able to sit up.

The triplets now are probably in better care than they would in the village.  They have closer medical attention, and the guarantee of education in their future.  But they also have a family left behind that they will never know, and a father who does not have enough integrity to tell the truth.  Now in Dakar, I have the chance to go see them; in fact, every time I have talked to the village over the phone since my stay here, they have asked, "so, have you seen the triplets yet?"  My response to them is that I have not visited because I am not able to walk yet.  In reality, I have not visited because I do not have the heart to see them, to see what my village family has left behind.

Peace Corps Maladies

There has been an abnormally abundant trove of injuries and other medical issues, but luckily mine appears to be the most serious.  Funny enough, none of them actually came from work.

• One sprained wrist from playing basketball at site.
• Two broken toes from sliding into second base at softball (same person).
• One staph infection from a bike trip.
• Two bad cases of allergies from the recent bad air in Dakar.
• One pinched nerve.
• One torn shoulder from tripping on a stick bed.
• Two torn knees, both from playing softball (two people).
• One broken foot.  (Yes, I am the only one).
• Two bad cavities. (Not mine)
• One Baboon bite.  Yes, it's true, someone got bit by a baboon.  The person is fine.

It goes to show that when it rains, it pours.  And that our orthopedist must be getting tired of calls from Corps de la Paix.  To all those parents out there, don't worry, we are well taken care of, these are mostly just the problems of overactive young adults.  And those who get too friendly with baboons.

Learning to Walk

Yesterday, the moment of truth finally came: my orthopedists appointment came (and went), and the cast got sawed off.  Seeing a fast-moving so close to my skin (casts are cut through with a specially-designed saw that allegedly won't cut a person) was a little unnvering, but finally over with.  Then, I looked down at my foot, puffy, swollen, purple, lifeless, and skinny?  How was I supposed to walk on it?  Since my orthopedist never actually showed up to my appointment, and gave the command to cut the saw via cell phone, I was very nervous to begin walking again.   So, I demanded an actual physical appointment, and xrays to comfirm that the fracture had in fact healed.  In the meantime, I hit the town (on crutches) for the first time since my accident for Will's 25th birthday, watching the sunset over a smoggy Dakar.

Today I headed back to the Clinque, ready to face the music and see if the walking could begin.  The doctor took one look at my new x-rays, and said, "Oh, it is good.  What is she waiting for?"  He then proceeded to ask me if I was married, and how old I was, thus confirming one of the things French and Senegalese men have in common: the ability to try to pick on women at any given moment.  In a quick subsititue for physical therapy, he instructed me to massage my feet with talcum powder, and said, "you had better start walking, or you never will again!"   He also said the walking cast is essentially useless since the fracture has healed, and told the PCMO to take my crutches away.  Now the fun begins.

Love, the Village

Yesterday, I called the village for a second time since I fractured my foot, and spoke with my village aunt Ramata, as well as my friend Coumba Diaw.  Both Ramata and Coumba said over and over again, "Rokku Jam" (Give you Peace), to which I had to reply, "Amin, amin amin" (Amen).  I mostly called to check up on my cat (still just Kitty), who was resting under my shade structure, and my dog (Jerry the Wonder Mutt), who had just eaten some meat.  It's nice to know that at least my animals are being taken care of, if not my work and plants.

A few hours later, while my friend Steve and I were making popcorn and preparing to watch even more movies, I got a call back from the village.  Unfortunately, it was Omuar Camera.  Omuar has been trying to take me as his third wife for over a year, and he just does not get it.  He does not get that the fact that I find it repulsive to marry a friend's father, or the fact that I find polygamy repulsive.  Omuar said, "I heard Debbam (my wife) broke her foot, so I wanted to wish her well."  Well, at least he cares, although it is with ulterior motivations.

Google Picture Post

Google Picture Post Instructions: Use the picture you like best from the first (no clicking around for 44 pages) page of the search results on Google Image.

1. The city and state of the town you grew up, no quotation marks.

      

     2. The town where you currently reside.

3. Your name, first and last, but again, no quotes.

                                                   4. Your grandmother's name.

5. Your

favorite

food. 

6. Your favorite drink.

7. Your favorite smell.

Peace Corps Week

This week is Peace Corps Week, and a celebration of its 45th anniversary.  A few brief words from JFK at the University of Michigan was all it took to begin this giant bureaucracy, for better or for worse.  Read on for what started it all:

I want to express my thanks to you, as a graduate of the Michigan of the East, Harvard University.

I come here tonight delighted to have the opportunity to say one or two words about this campaign that is coming into the last three weeks.

I think in many ways it is the most important campaign since 1933, mostly because of the problems which press upon the United States, and the opportunities which will be presented to us in the 1960s. The opportunity must be seized, through the judgment of the President, and the vigor of the executive, and the cooperation of the Congress. Through these I think we can make the greatest possible difference.

How many of you who are going to be doctors, are willing to spend your days in Ghana? Technicians or engineers, how many of you are willing to work in the Foreign Service and spend your lives traveling around the world? On your willingness to do that, not merely to serve one year or two years in the service, but on your willingness to contribute part of your life to this country, I think will depend the answer whether a free society can compete. I think it can! And I think Americans are willing to contribute. But the effort must be far greater than we have ever made in the past.

Therefore, I am delighted to come to Michigan, to this University, because unless we have those resources in this school, unless you comprehend the nature of what is being asked of you this country can't possibly move through the next ten years in a period of relative strength.

So I come here tonight to go to bed! But I also come here tonight to ask you to join in the effort. . . .

This University. . . this is the longest short speech I've ever made. . . therefore , I'll finish it! Let me say in conclusion, this University is not maintained by its alumni, or by the state, merely to help its graduates have an economic advantage in the life struggle. There is certainly a greater purpose, and I'm sure you recognize it. Therefore, I do not apologize for asking for your support in this campaign. I come here tonight asking your support for this country over the next decade.

Thank you

Yesterday, I was asked, as was Drew, to call into a San Francisco radio show, and to share my input as "a PCV in the field" about the 45th anniversary.  I managed to read the email three hours after the show aired, and missed my chance at freaking out my friends who may have happened to hear the show.  Not only that, but the email addressed me as "Gwen", when my name is clearly stated under the About Page, not to mention my web address itself.  Since I have so sorely lost the opportunity to ruminate about the Peace Corps, check out what Paul Theroux had to say about it instead.