All Things are Great...

This may be one of my last blog posts from here in Senegal, golly! Next thing you know, we'll be BEYOND Senegal Skies.

All sorts of interesting things have been going on during these final months of my service.  I’ll make note of some of it here and just cross my fingers that I don’t bore my crowd too dreadfully. 

Team Linguere and cohorts therein have  been busy.  For a week in February, we ran around the Djoloff region, hitting each of our villages in a whirlwind nutrition education tour to teach people about Moringa – i.e. the Miracle Tree!! Guys, they loved us! 14 toubabs blow into a village, dance, do skits, scream and shout about all things Moringa related – they go nuts.  Who wouldn’t? Plus, it seems it was fairly effective.  I’ve done lots of Moringa education in my village before this, but since the PC tour, folks have been extra hyped – asking me to help them get a Moringa plot going, repeating the details on the nutritional information, shouting out the theme song we’d belted throughout the tour. 

Skit:What's wrong with Kim?? She needs Moringa energy!!

Utilizing the new Health Clinic compound and
shade structure at the NGARAFF Health Hut! :-)

Dance interlude, of course.

"Justin, what strong teeth you have! Have you been eating Moringa leaves??"

In other news – the HIV/AIDS project that Kim, Ann Marie and I have been working on since last fall is ongoing.  We’d been divided into three "zones," each with four villages that would do four discussions a piece.  If you do the math, that’s a lot of AIDS chit-chat – 48 educational talks, attended by 20 to 50 people each.  Whew! Anyway, that all happened back in December and January, and we were actually able to move on to our final stage and piece de resistance – the big “mobilization sociales” / HIV testing days events in each zone.  Three huge parties later – each complete with free AIDS testing, blaring music, skits, videos, educational discussions, beignets, juice, etc. – 221 people from all over the Linguere region have gotten tested and everyone has had a lot of fun.  I actually would not have expected this project to turn out as successfully as it did, but at this point I can say that it has been one of the most fulfilling and important things I’ve done with my time here.    

Awesome turnout at the Barkedji-zone AIDS Event.

Related to that – I must, yet again, brag about the lovely ladies of Ngaraff. In my Project Zone, the final fete was held not in my village but about 10 km down the road, in a place called Thylla.  I still invited the people of Ngaraff, of course, as they were part of the project, thinking they wouldn’t come.  How could I underestimate them??  After lunch on the day of the party, while the people of Thylla, the guest speakers, the doctors, and everyone else had collapsed into a post-lunch lull, a car comes barreling up to the tent, filled to the brim with Ngaraffians – clapping, chanting, rallying together through cheers for “Bigué”, drumming on bowls that I found out later they had borrowed from a village along the road because they’d forgotten them.  They brought the party, and it was beautiful.  I can’t describe it, but these people are simply SO special, SO wonderful.  I’m fortunate a million times over to have lived in their midst for 2 years.

What else? In February, Ann Marie and I took a really fun trip to Thies to visit the Seeds Basketball Academy, one of our partners in the court-building project we’ve been working on.  Our goal was to secure hoops and potentially other supplies for the court being built in Barkedji, but we also were interested in seeing their operation and knowing what high school basketball training looks like in Senegal.  The academy was an alternative universe.   Arriving there, it was immediately clear what a divide there is between those kids and say, your average youth in Ngaraff.  But it did our hearts good to see these young minds and bodies active and engaged.   The boys were super polite and kind, and they are all studying English, so “Head Coach” (that’s what they call him, yes, in English, even in the middle of a sentence spoken in Wolof or French) asked Ann Marie and I to pose some questions to them.  They were lined up before us, hands behind their back, and I said, slowly and clearly: “Who is your favorite singer?” One extra tall guy raised his hand and, when I called on him, said in perfect English: “My favorite singer is Michael Jackson.”  I loved it! I don’t know why. 

Cream-of-the-crop Senegalese ballers scrimmage beneath posters of Kobe Bryant and other Nike icons.
(the Academy is largely financed by Nike.) 

All the Academy students, plus coaches.

Then the boy behind yelled out, in English, "Now, boys, fuuuhh-ney picture!"

Back in Ngaraff, we’ve been building – making improvements to the women’s community garden, including putting in a water basin (see below – it needed to be done) and a storage shed!

I’ve also started up with a new group of girls for a Girls Group.  They’re equally adorable and intriguing as my last group . . . I feel that, of all my interactions here in Senegal, the insight I’ve gained from trying to do basic art projects and creative thinking activities with these groups of adolescent girls has taught me more than anything.  They’re smart, they’re eager, and they’re SO sweet. But once again, I’m time and time again baffled by their confusion related to simple tasks, questions posed, stuff like that. It’s clearly a cultural divide, and that’s why it’s so instructive and fascinating to me.

Finally, there have been some exciting marriages to attend.  My Peace Corps friend Jessica – who I trained with way back when I first got to country – put on an all out Senegalese wedding for herself and her boyfriend, who visited from America.  The PCV contingency in attendance played along, of course, and we ended up with a really fun melding of Senegalese-American fun.

Anna, Mika, Ann Marie and I with our wedding gifts: two chickens, a duck, and a dozen eggs.

Senegalese photo: be serious.

Wedding day!

Check out Jessica's Senegalese overdone make up! And the bridesmaids, super serious once again.

Also newly betrothed is my host sister Ndeye Awa, who has cared for me and been my patient companion since I installed.  Like all Senegalese weddings, it was huge multi-day affair, starting in Ngaraff – her natal village–  and ending in her husband’s village, which, according to custom, would be her new home.  Interestingly, the husband lives in New York City, of all places, and didn’t make it to the wedding.  No matter – it was a gala for the ages nonetheless.   Now, if you think you’ve ever seen people dressed up, I’ll say this: you ain’t seen nothing yet. These girls, from the bride on down, were draped in velvet and satin and sequins from head to toe. They were decked out in enough bangles to sink Hawaii and had neon eye shadow painted on in a myriad of colors to match their rainbow ensembles. Whew! It was a beautiful affair.   I was WAY underdressed, in a basic cotton two-piece complet.  Unfortunately, my camera's been broken, so I have no photos of my own and therefore none from this event. :-(

Well, friends and family, just a couple weeks to go.  I don’t know how it can be, but it is.  My post-COS plans are shaping up at last, and I’m getting excited.  The legendary Joe Cline and lovely Adrianne Marsh will make their Africa debut, and together we’ll explore Mali.  From there, it’s unsure, but I’m thinking of a Cape Verde escapade.

And then: home! HOME! Of anything in the world that I can imagine right now, nothing sounds better. The main draw is the thought of family within reach, if not in my presence, then a FREE phone call away! Then there are all the other appealing perks that America has to offer – fresh food; comfortable beds; intellectual pursuits; the ability to blend in, not be a foreigner, and walk freely down the street without being heckled or harassed. 

Of course, it goes without saying that there are many, many things that I will miss once my time here comes to an end.  First and foremost are the people in my village – my family, and my counterpart and her family.  I love so many of them, with real love, and the others I feel genuine affection and respect for. Better yet, I feel that that is returned to me, more and more as my time here comes to a close. This mutual love and respect is way the greatest accomplishment that I feel, though it hardly feels right to use the word “accomplishment” in this context.  It’s a simple fact of life that this amount of time will bring people together, and it’s equally a fact of life that things must come to an end.  Anyway, my dad recently quoted Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. to me: “All things are great if greatly pursued.”  It struck a chord with me, and I realized that, while I don’t feel like I neglected more “official” aspects of my positition here, the greatness of my pursuits here is best reflected in this love.  (Pardon the cheesiness, if you will…).  

And since this is my blog, I guess I can use it as a forum to express how happy I am right now.  I’m perched on this narrow precipice as my Peace Corps service wanes, as I leave behind the doubt and dread and questions of worth that have stifled true happiness for most of my service, and focus on the positive.  I’ve always liked living in my village, and now that I can just DO that, and not feel less-than or anxious due to uncertainty about my effectiveness or value, I love it all that much more.  As I’ve noted, Ngaraff has become on big love fest of late, and a vocal one at that. Plus,  I’m merely excited for all that Home has to offer – salad bars and constant contact to my mom – and am not yet nervous about the hecticness that it will present.  So on this little strip of bliss, I find myself more content and at peace than I’ve been in a long time.  Perhaps, however, it will carry on – I believe that circumstances should not dictate ours states of mind and would  therefore like to think that the buoyancy, confidence, and cheer I feel at this juncture can and will extend into the future.  

Pulling Myself Together

Is it really 2012? February?? How did that happen? I was never really one of those volunteers who said that time was “just flying” – at the 18-month mark, for example, my thoughts were pretty much, “Yup, that was a pretty long 18-months…” Then my stage (i.e. training group) had our COS (completion-of-service) conference, and we reflected and reminisced and romanticized and sentimentalized and talked about our futures, and all of sudden, I find myself searching desperately for the last 23 months of my life, wondering wistfully where I can find that many more moments with the people of my village. Wondering how I can slow down and return to all the hilarious moments of horse cart debacles and troughs of rice and tubby naked babies underfoot. Where-oh-where did the time go, can anyone tell me that, please?

The idea that this life I’ve embraced – or that, more specifically, has embraced me – will just end is somehow very confusing. I look around my village in average moments and I sense the onset of a bizarre melancholy – preemptive nostalgia, no doubt – where everything seems beautiful and tragic. This is my home, I just can’t help but think. But it’s not. That’s the thing. All the loveliness I see through the rose-colored glasses that have glued themselves to my nose in the last few weeks can’t go on forever. Much as I like to think I could live here forever, I know I can’t. What would be my place? I can’t continue to occupy this exquisite-peculiar-nebulous-androgynous-beautiful-alien role that I’ve enjoyed for the last two years. I don’t belong with the teenagers, nor with the young mothers, nor the old women. Everyone knows their role, except for me. And that’s been more than fine, but it can’t continue indefinitely. When it comes down to it, I just don’t really have a real place here. This African village? Not really my home.

Still, there seems to be some sort of disconnect. How does one live in a place for two years, and then just see herself lifted out it, spontaneously and without really good cause? I’m fully appreciative, by the way, of how ego-maniacal this disposition is, how self-centered it is to coddle this disbelief that life in Ngaraff will roll on without me. But who cares? I enjoy basking in my confusion over the whole issue. I’ll take my wistful befuddlement, now, and spare you the rest of my pontifications. Thanks for listening.

Okay, so obviously I love my people in Ngaraff. How could you not? Check 'em out. Also, can you tell who my favorite babies are? :-)

I can't help but mention that, on top of the people of my little vill, I also love my stage, affectionately known here at PC/Senegal as the "super stage." Not we're all about to scatter to the wind and fulfill our respective dreams and it makes my little heart feel a little overwhelmed, with both pride and sadness.  Here are some shots of these fantastic kids: 

Super-stagers on the first night of PC/Senegal's All-Volunteer  Conference

The four Super-Stagers of Linguere: Ann Marie, myself, Kim, Justin.
I adore these kids; I owe them my life and my sanity for the past two year. 

Super-stagers Mika, Wilma, Jillian (plus 3rd year PCV Amanda on the far left) dance their way off the field
at this year's W.A.I.S.T. (West Africa Intramural Softball Tournament). Pure Class.

Them's my super stage ladies - Wilma, Jillian, Kourtney, all dressed up
with some place to go (WAIST Party, final night, that is. 

Fields of Glory

I would like to take a minute to brag about the women of my village. At great expense of time and energy, they are cultivating a gorgeous community garden in this desert. But really, it takes enormous amounts of effort. In teams of eight (generally, four “young women” and four “old women,” because that’s how they’ve divided up the space) they each water every fourth day. This entails lugging watering can after watering can over the expansive terrain. They spend at least an hour and a half to two hours both morning and afternoon . . . and that’s just watering! Then there’s everything else that goes into a creating and maintaining a feasible garden – planting, transplanting, weeding, etc. And since they’re gardening in sand – sand, for crying outloud! – every step requires the provision of massive amounts of some sort of manure, scooped up into their trusty plastic buckets and carried on their ever-level (literally! Hehe) heads out to the garden. 

When it’s my host mom’s turn to water, I usually go help in the afternoon (and even with me moving constantly, it still takes close to two hours), but I recently found out that that team is out there in the morning, too, before dawn, flashlight-deficient as they always are. I, meanwhile, am sleeping to some ungodly hour, say 8 o’clock, then going for a long leisurely run through the bush. (And then I indulge myself with such internal whiney thoughts such as “my life is so hard,” etc.) Anyway – back to the garden – is it sustainable, all this work and input? They need irrigation, or at least a water basin/reservoir of some sort, if they are going to continue to garden in crummy sand. I’ve tried, twice, to write small specialized grants to bring such a water reservoir into the garden, but due to silly politics and NGO interference that I won’t detail here, it’s obviously ended up not happening. I wonder, with distress, about how this garden will fare in future seasons.

Finally, a Basketball Update:

Awhile back, I posted here about a basketball court project two other PCVs and I were doing and asked for donations. First of all, to all of you that donated – THANK YOU. As things tend to go in the Peace Corps, and in life, things have not quite worked out as we had planned. When Kim, Ann Marie, and I wrote the grant back in June (June!) we had received the good word of folks at the NBA, who promised to fund at least half of the total budget of the our project. Then the execs we were talking to started faltering . . . then the NBA went on strike . . . and long story short, the NBA funding fell through. Yuck. Fo reeeaalll? They couldn’t give us one hundredth of one of their players’ salaries? Anyway, we had to make do with what we had, which was a little more than one third of the funding we had sought. Thus, plans have changed. Instead of building three courts, we can only build one, in Barkedji, the home of my friend Ann Marie. We decided to build it there because it’s the largest village of the three – comprising about 4,000 people – and the only one with a middle school instead of just a primary school. 

Had things worked out differently and the NBA had come through on their promises, I would have been really excited to place a court in Ngaraff. But things being as they are, I want no one to be disappointed about the allotment of the funds. The number of youth, and people in general, whose qualities of life will improve due to this one court is great. And that’s what it really comes down to. I hope that all donors out there will be understanding of the malfunction that occurred, and in a way, it’s kind of beautiful in its own right. Our big, corporate-ish funder fell through, so we had to change our goals. But all the little people out there – that’s you guys! – came though! And now all the kids in Barkedji, and all the surrounding villages (of which there are many) will have their first real place to PLAY. So I say again: THANK YOU. (I know who you are, too… we got our list, and good grief, I’m touched. Thank you. )

Family Matters

Oh! And have I mentioned? The Naftalin - Levitt Clan took Senegal by a storm.  Truly, having my family here - my mother, my father, my stepmother, my big brother - meant even more to me than I thought it would.  Those are MY people, you know?  And now my people know my other people.  We arrived in my village, the five of us, in an overloaded little Peugot, and as we squeaked through the sand up to the village square, I saw all my women and some men, dressed to the nines, chanting and clapping and dancing.  And when I climbed out of the car, they descended upon me, giving me huge hugs and kisses, all the time with the chants in the background: "BI-gue! BI -gue!" Then they all made speeches, about me, mostly, which I awkwardly translated to my family.  I got to say, in English and Wolof, "Mom, this is my mom," as I introduced my host mother to my mama originale.  It was wondrous, from start to finish.  In addition to village time, we saw lots of Dakar, a little of St. Louis (minus Papa and Stepmom, who got bad bouts of the ol' food poisoning), and paradisaical Palmarin.  

What can I say? If the world does in 2012, I'll feel lucky to have had this abundance of family - both those of American and of Senegalese descent. :)   

Until next time . . . 

Year Two Reflections, More Visitors, and Curing AIDS

They always say that the second year is when Peace Corps gets good – That the more frustrating and awkward your challenges are your first year of service, the more intense and joyful your experiences will be your second year.

Weellll . . . That sounds about right.

I’m not yet done with my second year, but I can say this: I shed a lot of tears my first several months in country. There were lots of good moments, but what was more pronounced, especially at the time, was the sense of constant highs and lows, with a lot of the lows being very low. (Again, I was happy a lot, and I’m not licking some wound here. I know that life was not that rough at all, but I’ll admit that all the standard aggravations and disappointments broke me down sometimes. Too many times.) Following the one-year mark, however, things started to feel less weighty, and I started to appreciate the small victories, the standard happenings, the nuanced beauty of just being here. Now, I kinda feel like I’m in a love affair with my village. I’m not saying I’ve started moving mountains or that I’ve turned lives around. I’ve just turned my own corner of sorts. For all those tears I shed, I’m being rewarded with real, robust laughter and a strange fullness in my chest as I enjoy the company of my people as much as I can. Ups and downs, what-have-yous, those are still there. But the lows aren’t so low and the highs are really high and the sun rises and sets and the moon moves tides and nothing is that important, so let’s all just laugh at ourselves and appreciate where we are.

I think that’s enough of a spiel, seeing as it was quickly spiraling down a rogue and non-sensical path.

In November, I was graced once again by a brave visitor from America. Kayla was here for over two weeks, and we had such a good time. We started out in Dakar, spent a night on Ngor Island off the coast of Dakar, and then enjoyed two gorgeous, carefree days at Lampoule Village, a little place in the desert dunes modeled after Mauritanian tent camps. We had Thanksgiving in Linguere with the (incredible and ever-generous) missionary family and about ten other Linguere PCVs.

Kayla then came home with me to Ngaraff and we spent about five truly magical days there. Kayla’s ability to integrate and build bonds with people totally blew me away – it was as if no language or culture barrier existed. Having acquired a Senegalese moniker - Binta Sarr - from some friends we made on Ngor Island, she was ready to go! She taught the kids songs and they adored her. “Benin woy! Benin woy!”- “Another song! Another song!” - they screamed as they clamored to get close to her on the outside bed. (They still come up to me and belt their severely distorted versions of “Itsy-Bitsy Spider” and “Squirrelly, Squirrelly, Squirrelly.”) She got dance lessons from some of my rambunctious young female friends (and her natural rhythm means she’s a natural, and already a way better dancer than I am!). She wowed them with her Wolof from Day 1, and my counterpart said to me, all giddy, “She’s got a good brain, like you – you can tell because you both learned Wolof so fast!” She rocked Senegalese clothing at two special occasions, and looked beautiful. Binta Sarr was a hit, and I wish she was my village sidekick impermanently!

Kayla, enjoying the dunes at sunset

Camel rides at Lampoule

Market shopping for Thanksgiving.  This is my favorite
market lady ever - I call her my mama and she calls me
her child.  I love how small I look next to her in this picture.

With my counterpart Marieme and her granddaughter Kinay

Dressed up for the women's group meeting.

Outplanting trees at the school.

Kayla gets a dance lesson - she's got it!

Dressed up again, and so are the babies!

Kayla snapped this shot of the some of the
crazy little boys at the entrace to my village.  Classic!

After Ngaraff, we headed to the coast.  We stayed at this magical little hobbit village, Toubab Dialaw, a beach community about 50 kilometers south of Dakar.  (hmmm, have I really said “magical" twice in describing this trip? I’m not taking it back, it's all true.) We did all sorts of fun things there – lazed in hammocks, petted the cats, drank coffee, created papaya/banana/lime salads, splashed around, bantered with questionable Rasta-men, ate chocolate crepes, and immensely enjoyed each other’s company and conversation.  When I put Kayla on a plane at the end of her trip, I felt blissful for the time I’d spent with a truly good friend, impressed and humbled by the goodness, honesty, and wisdom she, as always, had exhibited, and remiss at having to say goodbye.  In an uncertain world, I feel truly lucky to have a friend like Kayla.  

View from our favorite terasse,
where we drank coffee in the morning and beer in the afternoon.

Lounging with our kitties.

Dancing with our new favorite dancing mama.

The magical hobbit land.

Dancing with the kids on the Toubab Dialaw beach.

Playing on the beautiful sandstone with our new friend, Cheekay,
who's traveling through West Africa for 6 months with his girlfriend.

After Kayla left, I had to rush back to Linguere to dive into work (yes, we do work here, sometimes.) The region-wide HIV/AIDS education project that Kim, Ann Marie, and I have been working got its official kick off with a four-day training of the educators that had been chosen, two from each of the 12 participating villages. Putting the training together was a huge amount of work and stress, but it went well! The villages vary greatly from each other, in size and other indicators, and the 24 educators represented very disparate levels of knowledge about HIV/AIDS and a broad spectrum of experience in teaching and speaking in front of people. Several of them were quite shy and inexperienced, so much of the training was devoted to teaching how to teach and to loosening up the educators by forcing them to practice leading discussions and presenting on the topic of HIV/AIDS.

It was actually a lot of fun, and at the end of the fourth day, I felt a real current of motivation amongst these people.  They seemed pumped up to go into their communities and share what they had learned. The project is now in that phase – the educators have started holding the discussions in their villages. It’s rolling along (with the usual hiccups) and is scheduled to finish up around the middle of March.

Condom demonstrations

Making people come out of their shells.

Condom practice.

Of course, a dance off with one my the trainees. 

Trainees from my zone.

All that aside, tomorrow will bring the real piece de résistance of my entire Peace Corps Service: the Naftalin-Levitt clan will invade Senegal.  The only thing more remarkable than the thought that I will be able to hug my mother, father, stepmom, and big brother tomorrow is the fact that I haven’t been able to do so for over 21 months.  Bring it on!  Ten days in paradise with my people.  (unfortunately, that probably means I’m speaking to an empty room, here, since the people visiting me in Senegal represent my best blog readers J )

P.S. Is there a disease for someone who can't stop taking of pictures of babies?  I think I have it, because, seriously, it's uncontrollable.  And I love it!!

A random smathering of photos -- mostly of babies, duh:

My counterparts gorgeous grandkids
(whom I might have to bring home to the U.S. with me...
we'll see how mom and dad feel about that...)

Ibra Sisee has a good protective grip on his little brother, also named Ibra.

Kinay and Fatou.

Kinay! I love this kid! Seriously, can I keep her?

Team Linguere storms the PC Halloween gathering as N'Ice Cream Girls!!

Getting my hair braided for Tabaski.

Typical lunch: Red Chebujenn (rice + fish) with veggie.

Gather 'round, let's eat!

These sheep gave their lives on Tabaski...

Little sisters in their Tabski outfits.

I'm so in! I got invited to wear the Tabaski hostess outfit with
my dad's four wives and two sisters.  Can you even
find me in this picture??  I know, I blend in, don't I?

Awa Thiam and the twins on Tabaski.



The whole Lingeure crew, recently updated.  There are 14 of us now!!




While taking care of my baby sister Ndeye Fatou,
I plopped her on my bed for a bit, and this is what she did!
I'm so proud.



In a world of ugly, broken down, decrepit public
transportation, this car that Abby and I rode in
on the way back from Dakar takes the cake.