Long Overdue

I swore in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer on October 16.
After some massive shopping in the market of Kaolack, I moved to Dioly on October 21st.
Dioly is a small village of about 250 people. There is no running water. There is no electricity. But there is a robine (communal faucet) on the way!

I called my niece to wish her a happy birthday. And she asked me some questions which made me realize that my emails haven't necessarily been thorough (oh, and I haven't been updating my blog? surely you jest!).

What are the people like?
This is a hard question. Just try to generalize all Americans. Oh. Really? You can stereotype Americans that easy? Okay. I guess I can try, then.
Senegalese are a very friendly, welcoming people. They boast about their "teranga" or hospitality. And it is true. When you meet someone new (Which you do about 20 times a day--because you say hello to EVERYONE), they ask you how you are, how your family is, how the heat is treating you, how your work is going...and follow every one of your responses with "alhamduliliah....tabarika la...jamm rekk..." (Thanks be to God, Peace Only). Then, they'll ask your last name and start their unique cultural joking... "Cisse! Your last name is Cisse! Oh, you like to eat rice! You eat so much! Ndiao is a much better last name. You should be a Ndaio." To which I refute everything (No! It is Ndiao that like to eat rice! Cisse is better!---Oh, okay, for you, I'll be a Ndiao.) Or, even better... ,"Cisse! Oh, I am a Cisse too! You are my family! What is your first name? Ouly! Ouly is my mother! Oh, my mother! It has been so long since I've seen you, I have missed you so much!" It takes some getting used to. But Senegalese, be they Wolof, Pulaar, Sereer, etc all love to joke and laugh. It is good that I, too, like to laugh. Alot. :)
When I walk past at breakfast, lunch, or dinner times, I get bombarded with "Kii, Lekk; Newal an; Doo ndekke?" (Here, eat; Come, have lunch; You aren't eating breakfast?) No matter how much one has eaten, it is really expected that one should stuff their face as much as possible. Repetitively. They cajole you into eating. Just to find out that lunch today is rice with slimy okra covered with a thick layer of red palm oil. But. It is a risk worth taking. Because lunch could be yassa (spicy onion sauce over rice) or maybe there are tasty vegetables in their rice and fish or maybe they are eating maafe (peanut sauce over rice). However, it seems to be Murphy's Law that if you cave and sit down to the bowl...you're eating okra.
I travel the 6 k to my nearest neighbor's village fairly frequently. The road takes me through 2 other small villages (Chicken and Rohan...I'm sure that is NOT how they are spelled, but it is how they sound). Everytime I go, I turn down numerous offers to eat or just to sit and talk... "Yes, I know it is hot out, the sun is very hot. You say the shade is cooler. I know. I know. But I must go home. Oh. You're building me a hut? Where I can stay and talk with you forever? Oh....with running water and electricity? Oh, I'll be right back!"
No, really, in 4 miles of mostly deserted sand path I will tell 20+ people where I am going, where I came from, acknowledge the heat, graciously tell them I'm full, acknowledge how pretty my bike is, apologize for the fact that I cannot give my bike away.

What time is it there? Is it hot?
I am 7 hours ahead of Mountain Time. So, as I write this, it is 11 a.m. here, and 4 a.m. at home.
It is still hot here. Though it has cooled down to 65 at night recently. Which results in my wearing socks and drinking Nescafe in the mornings. But it still gets up near 100 quite often.

What am I doing?
Learning. A different language and a different culture is hard. Especially when it is so far remove from your own. I sit in my hut and study or read. I hem up my skirts or mend things (and, a woman in my compound brought me a scrap of frabric the other day and asked me to sew her month old daughter an outfit...I did it. No machine. No iron. No pattern. It took me a day and a half. Pictures on facebook.) I go sit in the shade and get bombarded by small children. I tend my garden. Doing laundry takes all day. I eat my meals (except for breakfast) with everyone else. 5-15 people around a huge metal bowl of rice or millet topped with a variety of different sauces. My favorite is rice with yassa. Or millet with nebbe baasi (a brown bean sauce). There is usually fish--to some degree--in all meals. Even if I don't taste fish, I tend to find a fish bone...interesting...
But. They give me a spoon. And usuallly one or two of the men eat with a spoon, too. Everyone else uses their hand.
I was thinking the other night: What woman in her right mind would want to use plates and silverware? Eating Senegalese style is like having pizza night at home. No dishes! Especially since they use only one or two pots to cook in, one knife to cut everything, and they cut things while holding them--thus, no cutting board either! Cleanup in Senegal is pretty sweet!
I shell peanuts until I feel a blister starting. I help pull the leaves of moringa off the branch (for use in cooking). I silently cheer inside when I can understand things in casual conversation. I don't know how anyone can ever hear in a foreign language without actively listening.
Kids here are just like kids everywhere else. They are dirty. Covered in dirt. But they are bathed EVERY day. Not like dirty American kids who bathe every other day or every third day. But imagine if your livingroom floor were a sand box. Dirt happens. Kids here hate baths and washing, too. It is universal.
And kids here play the same games. Gemma and Mariama were tying a flashlight to their backs the other day, pretending it was a baby. Samba (yes, a boy) then took the flashlight, pulled up his shirt, and breast fed it. :) Samba and Omar-Fanne were playing around on the horse cart the other day and Fanne (Omar's mom. since there are multiple Omar's, her son is referred to as Omar-Fanne) asked him what he was doing. "Going to Nganda" (nearby town)
"Oh, what are you going to buy there?"
"Beignets!" (yes, doughnuts)
"Only beignets? That's a long way to go for otnly beignets. What else are you going to buy?"
"Bread...and bananas!"At which point, the boys started yelling "bananas" and runnning around like, well, they'd gone bananas.
I guess for all the difficult parts of language and culture, some things are exactly the same.