Well more accurately the North Side. I've officially left Mbour after completing the first half of my placement at the pouponniere...if I tried to explain how I feel I would come up short but I know my sentiments include: excitement, pride, gratitude, sadness, peace, happiness, eagerness and joy...just to name a few. I'll now be living in Dakar, the capital: Welcome to the Big Lights! (when there's electricity that is). As I look back on this past chapter to prepare for the next its seems to have both flown by and lasted a lifetime.
My last day at the pouponniere a friend carried Yacine out to the bus to wave goodbye as I left. I felt how I imagine a mother feels when sending her child off to college, well maybe that's a bit extreme since I'm 17 years 6 months short on that kind of bond but I love her and will miss her all the same. What saddens my heart the most is in my time at the pouponniere I seen other volunteers come and go and watched as the babies they bonded with the most are returned to their cribs, and forgotten. No longer having a constant playmate, they become tempermental or worse - lifeless. Rather than focusing on this heartbreaking possibility, I am instead choosing to remember all of our fun moments. Learning to splash in the pool and patiently waiting to see her crawl for the first time (which I have on tape!) are among my favorites and of those that will always be in my heart.
With another 6 months ahead of me at a new pouponniere with a new home stay family I feel like I've been refreshed. I can't lie and say moving to the capital I was hopeful for an upgrade in living. I even for a split second considered there might be hot water....clearly I was living in a fantasy world. Instead, when I asked where the shower was I was escorted to an empty room. Confused, and looking all around I asked...where? To which she responded by pointing to a bucket in the corner...great. Not to worry though, I atleast have moved on from my Turkish toilet to a western one (although I have no toilet seat) and my bed is a real mattress as opposed to the foam mat I have been sleeping on. Put into perspective, I'm living pretty well! My new host mother is very nice, although she speaks 0 english...luckily my neighbor, a young excitable 10 year old boy had been doing pretty good at translating. And with the help of my handy dandny dictionary (thanks mom!) I'm sure we'll get along just fine. Its really a perfect combination of a few extra luxurious and a subtle reminder that I am still in Senegal. All in all I am happy and most importantly ready for the next step in my Journey.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Monday, December 20, 2010
Silence of The Lambs
I tried and tried to upload the video to my blog but it wasn't working..so all my facebook friends go to my page and watch my new video to hear the sounds of Senegal!
Saturday, December 11, 2010
My Heartbeat
Though my heart constantly beats,
sometimes it's silent
Sleeping
Always pumping the blood that gives me life through my veins but requesting no praise or recognition to keep doing its job
Without which - There'd be no me
Sometimes I forget
Forget that I have a heart at all
So focused on living that I think not of what gives me life.
The djembe's beat tugs with its magnetic pull
Entranced by the rhythmically in-tuned footsteps of a young girl, reminiscent of a younger me
As her pitter-pats match the drummer's soul echoing through his beats,
my heart follows her lead
Her body jerks my memory back to a place of unequivocal joy
and now thudding so loudly I'm sure all can feel
my heart has awoken
My lifeline, My spirit, My people:
Without which - There'd be no me
No matter how little I acknowledge, how much I forget
My heart is constantly beating.
It was Friday, so I should have been feeling good..quite the contrary. It started with my frustration with the notorious administration of Howard University. For once, they do something right..but at the wrong time. Realizing I'm no longer a student, they kicked me out of the library database meaning I no longer have free access to full articles in psychologic journals. Since I was looking for articles by the professor I hope to work with in graduate school, it posed a bit of a problem. Already not in the best mood, learning that the open wounds on Serigne Saliou's head, which I thought were from the insanely unhygenic and quite unecessary practice of haircuts with straigt blades, were instead caused by an accident where he was burned by food made matters worse. In the short five months that I've been here this poor child has suffered eye infections, cuts and bruises, all of which leave him cage (crib) bound for extended periods of time and thus unexplorative and ill tempered...and now this. It's just so disheartening to literally watch a beautiful, innocent, Godly child be hurt and broken down by his environment and unfortunate circumstances. Not to mention my background in psychology doesn't give me much hope for his future. Following this disheartening news, as I'm riding home on the bus, starving, women are determined to squeeze their far from tiny selves on the bench I'm sitting on, leaving me quite literally squashed against the window that doesn't open. Did I mention it's atleast 85 degrees...and this is supposed to be winter. What I thought was the final straw was a woman pushing her way through the already overcrowded bus...with two live chickens! Can you believe I was the only one with any reaction to this outrages scene. Finally, I make it home and take a deep breath of relief for lunch is always good and I was far beyond ready to eat. I had another thing coming. The staw that broke the camels back: I walk in to see my family, who always waits for me, already eating. I'm really about to lose it, until I see WHAT they're eating...I'm still unsure of what exactly it was. The closest visual resemblance I can give is refried beans..a large bowl of refried beans which my host mother said was made out of "meat." I was actually relieved they didn't expect me to join in until my host mother tells me there are "fishies" for me. Great...something new (please, don't miss the sarcasm). My plate consisted of three burnt fish, a meager serving of fries and onion sauce. Atleast they cut the heads off this time. I picked through the fish, which were nothing but bones and burnt skin and left the table still hungry after eating a handful of fries. Clearly, not my day.
But the Sun was still shining through the storm. As I was walking to the supermarket (to find something to make up for that excuse for a lunch) I was almost run over by a stampede of little children carrying plastic chairs on their heads. I had noticed the drumming in the distance but realized, as all the kids were scampering towards the music, something must be going on. My day couldn't really get much worse so why not spice things up with adventure time...I followed the crowd. Instantly, I was at peace. The drummers circle of nine Djembe players swept me into a nostalgia filled with memories of my childhood and reminders of why I came here to begin with. I couldn't fight the smile as I watched women jump in the circle for their dance debut. I always enjoy the give and take of a drummer/dancer relationship which to me is an audible and visual display of the beauty of black love. I was even more excited to see the same women who so often sadden me with their eurocentric standards of beauty fill me with joy because they have still held on to traditions of their culture..of my culture. The first girl to start dancing couldn't have been more than 10. It was almost an out of body experience as I watched her exuberant personality spread contagiously through the crowd. She reminded me of the outgoing little girl I once was, that's probably still there somewhere deep down inside. I left the session after watching a woman who looked to be close to 60 jump in like she wasn't a day over 25. I wish I had my camera so I could have captured her facial expressions. With no better way to describe it: she was getting it! At a seemingly appropiate time, as I had watched the spirit flow from the youth through to the elders, I left in a state of peace. Free from all the negative energy from my day, not a worry in the world.
"Blessed is this life oh and I'm gonna celebrate being alive"
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Don't Worry Guys...I'm Still Alive!
So I know its been a million and one years since I last wrote..I could come up with every excuse in the book but I’ll stick with….sorry?
Let’s just agree to not dwell on the past and I promise (for real this time) to start updating more often. So recap on what’s been going on in the past…6 weeks (has it really been that long??)
Tabaski
The much anticipated Muslim Holiday took place mid November. Excited by the coming feast, billboards changed, new hairweaves came out the woodworks and the overloads of Muttons in the fields were impossible to miss. In the days before, I saw Muttons being herded by the dozens, stuffed in car trunks, and strapped down like luggage to the top of public buses…if only they knew they what was coming. I can’t even say I’m the animal cruelty emotional type. Call me heartless but those damn Muttons wake me up every morning with their obnoxious baaaaaaaaaaiiiiinnggg, aren’t the best to walk behind as they have a habit of crapping mid-stride, and almost embarrassingly, scare me when we make eye contact. Let’s just say I wouldn’t be against a complete Mutton wipe out…Tabaski was the closest I’m going to get.
The big day I enjoyed with Kokayi and my host family. The comradery, drinks, and movies put me in the festive spirit. The Mutton slaughter in my backyard..did not. Luckily we missed the actually killing, but were up close an personal for the skinning, butchering and disposal process. I tiptoed through my backyard trying unsuccessfully not to see anything too gross. Instead got glances of guts, tails, chopped off hooves, and skinned heads. Not to mention tons and tons of meat. For me, my family of eight, plus the three guest…three Muttons were killed. Excessive to say the least. I leave you with this one final thought that you must keep in mind as I retell my recent happenings: As Kokayi so eloquently noted after watching the killing, skinning, chopping, grilling, boiling and eating of the meat “They didn’t wash not none of that sh*t”
Thanksgiving
The week following Tabaski was my beloved Thanksgiving. Short and sweet: I vow to NEVER spend another Thanksgiving away from my family and my mommy’s cooking. I’m so serious.
Is This Normal?
Post Thanksgiving disaster (details available upon personal requests), I start feeling a little rumbly in my tumbly. Now for those of you who don’t know me, I’m one to shrug off a lot of rather serious health concerns (no need to lecture, I get it on the regular from my Mom). So one week goes by with crazy cramps, nausea and one too many trips to the bathroom and I’m still thinking whatever’s going on in there will go away on it’s own. A second week…things get worse. So now I’m starting to get concerned as the people around me are close to panic. I’m trying suggestions from everywhere: no more meats, spiced tea, water overdose, even an over the counter ant parasite medicine…no reprieve. Finally I come to my senses, bite the bullet and go the doctor. Gastro-intestinal infection. Now remember: “They didn’t wash not none of that sh*t.” 3 prescriptions, and a promise of just 5 days to a healthy self later and I was excited to be on the road to recovery. I start my medicine and was ecstatic to see a difference in my symptoms almost immediately. I’d been avoiding the two + hour journey from Dakar back to my homestay in Mbour caused by a fear of not having easy access to a toilet for that long (pardon the details), but since I was feeling better, I headed home. The miserable journey should have been my warning sign of what was to come. Just imagine being cramped in the backseat next to two grown men sitting in hours of traffic with no reprieve from the slightest breeze since the ladies in the front row, for fearing of losing their wigs, had the windows completely rolled up. Then the itching starts. My first thought was I was being attacked by mosquitoes, and thus wanted out of that car even more. Four hours later I was relieved to have made it home…the feeling last long. Incessant itching. I’m sitting in the front of my house with my host mom enjoying the stars when I decide to shine a late on what I still thought were mosquito bites. The same me, who waves of most things…freaked. A rash covered my entire upper arm, and was spreading. I show my host mom who nonchalantly tells me not to worry. Clearly we were looking at two different things. I cover myself in enough hydrocortisone and goldbond anti itch cream to fall asleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night because I was scratching for dear life. Now not only had my arms gotten worse, hard welps on my elbows and the existing bumps on my upper arms now red, but my thighs were now covered as well. MOMMY!! Technology to the rescue, I text, she skype calls and then googles reactions to my stomach medicines…all three list rashes. Now the doctor wants me to stop taking all three medicines and take another prescription for the allergic breakout: No thank you sir, your expertise has caused enough damage. I stopped the medicine (praying the infection doesn’t come back) bought some aloe vera and am applying what is I’m sure wwaayy to much, getting only minor relief. As this is far the most uncomfortable feeling I’ve had to endure for an extended period of time, if just one more person tells me to stop scratching I’m going to politely suggest they go roll in a field of poison ivy after which I will offer the same recommendation.
Still Smiling
Ailments and all, life is still good. I feel like I blinked and its already been almost 5 months! As I reflect, even through the hard times, I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything. My host family has taken me in as one of their own, my 6 year old host sister is beyond amazing to be around, and my babies are the joy of my life here (my favorite little Yacine has learned to crawl!) I’m excited about the next half of my journey and as always thanking God for my blessings.
Let’s just agree to not dwell on the past and I promise (for real this time) to start updating more often. So recap on what’s been going on in the past…6 weeks (has it really been that long??)
Tabaski
The much anticipated Muslim Holiday took place mid November. Excited by the coming feast, billboards changed, new hairweaves came out the woodworks and the overloads of Muttons in the fields were impossible to miss. In the days before, I saw Muttons being herded by the dozens, stuffed in car trunks, and strapped down like luggage to the top of public buses…if only they knew they what was coming. I can’t even say I’m the animal cruelty emotional type. Call me heartless but those damn Muttons wake me up every morning with their obnoxious baaaaaaaaaaiiiiinnggg, aren’t the best to walk behind as they have a habit of crapping mid-stride, and almost embarrassingly, scare me when we make eye contact. Let’s just say I wouldn’t be against a complete Mutton wipe out…Tabaski was the closest I’m going to get.
The big day I enjoyed with Kokayi and my host family. The comradery, drinks, and movies put me in the festive spirit. The Mutton slaughter in my backyard..did not. Luckily we missed the actually killing, but were up close an personal for the skinning, butchering and disposal process. I tiptoed through my backyard trying unsuccessfully not to see anything too gross. Instead got glances of guts, tails, chopped off hooves, and skinned heads. Not to mention tons and tons of meat. For me, my family of eight, plus the three guest…three Muttons were killed. Excessive to say the least. I leave you with this one final thought that you must keep in mind as I retell my recent happenings: As Kokayi so eloquently noted after watching the killing, skinning, chopping, grilling, boiling and eating of the meat “They didn’t wash not none of that sh*t”
Thanksgiving
The week following Tabaski was my beloved Thanksgiving. Short and sweet: I vow to NEVER spend another Thanksgiving away from my family and my mommy’s cooking. I’m so serious.
Is This Normal?
Post Thanksgiving disaster (details available upon personal requests), I start feeling a little rumbly in my tumbly. Now for those of you who don’t know me, I’m one to shrug off a lot of rather serious health concerns (no need to lecture, I get it on the regular from my Mom). So one week goes by with crazy cramps, nausea and one too many trips to the bathroom and I’m still thinking whatever’s going on in there will go away on it’s own. A second week…things get worse. So now I’m starting to get concerned as the people around me are close to panic. I’m trying suggestions from everywhere: no more meats, spiced tea, water overdose, even an over the counter ant parasite medicine…no reprieve. Finally I come to my senses, bite the bullet and go the doctor. Gastro-intestinal infection. Now remember: “They didn’t wash not none of that sh*t.” 3 prescriptions, and a promise of just 5 days to a healthy self later and I was excited to be on the road to recovery. I start my medicine and was ecstatic to see a difference in my symptoms almost immediately. I’d been avoiding the two + hour journey from Dakar back to my homestay in Mbour caused by a fear of not having easy access to a toilet for that long (pardon the details), but since I was feeling better, I headed home. The miserable journey should have been my warning sign of what was to come. Just imagine being cramped in the backseat next to two grown men sitting in hours of traffic with no reprieve from the slightest breeze since the ladies in the front row, for fearing of losing their wigs, had the windows completely rolled up. Then the itching starts. My first thought was I was being attacked by mosquitoes, and thus wanted out of that car even more. Four hours later I was relieved to have made it home…the feeling last long. Incessant itching. I’m sitting in the front of my house with my host mom enjoying the stars when I decide to shine a late on what I still thought were mosquito bites. The same me, who waves of most things…freaked. A rash covered my entire upper arm, and was spreading. I show my host mom who nonchalantly tells me not to worry. Clearly we were looking at two different things. I cover myself in enough hydrocortisone and goldbond anti itch cream to fall asleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night because I was scratching for dear life. Now not only had my arms gotten worse, hard welps on my elbows and the existing bumps on my upper arms now red, but my thighs were now covered as well. MOMMY!! Technology to the rescue, I text, she skype calls and then googles reactions to my stomach medicines…all three list rashes. Now the doctor wants me to stop taking all three medicines and take another prescription for the allergic breakout: No thank you sir, your expertise has caused enough damage. I stopped the medicine (praying the infection doesn’t come back) bought some aloe vera and am applying what is I’m sure wwaayy to much, getting only minor relief. As this is far the most uncomfortable feeling I’ve had to endure for an extended period of time, if just one more person tells me to stop scratching I’m going to politely suggest they go roll in a field of poison ivy after which I will offer the same recommendation.
Still Smiling
Ailments and all, life is still good. I feel like I blinked and its already been almost 5 months! As I reflect, even through the hard times, I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything. My host family has taken me in as one of their own, my 6 year old host sister is beyond amazing to be around, and my babies are the joy of my life here (my favorite little Yacine has learned to crawl!) I’m excited about the next half of my journey and as always thanking God for my blessings.
Friday, October 22, 2010
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
Happy Birthday to my most beautiful, amazing, special, irreplaceable, mommy!!! Wish I could be there to celebrate with you :)
I LOVE YOU and I MISS YOU
Monday, October 11, 2010
Forget Where's Waldo, Where's Aleja...
Lost. Lost in the darkness of daily power outages searching for a remembrance of my mother's love..The faux illumination from the lamp she sent is hardly equivalent to that which the absent electricity would provide. Equally her voice and pixelated image through skype barely compare to the spiritual awakening evoked by her presence or the ringing in my ears left behind from her laughter. It will have to suffice. Lost in the the overwhelming cries bellowing from the mouths of my Senegalese babies. Begging for silence, I search for a peace not from the cries themselves, but from their cause. Lost in the incessant itch of mosquito bites. Invisible until my skin reacts. I wish there was a way to alter the smell of my blood..somehow make it less satisfying for those annoying, persistent, creatures. Lost in the too familiar taste of Fish and Rice. Realizing as the months dwindle away, I won't be home for Thanksgiving. Every single one of my 10,000 taste buds hates me for this. Lost in the stench of dirty diapers and vomit. Wondering who chose me to have the blessing of an uninstitutionalized life. For here, schedule,routine and order outshine need, love and care. Dirty for it is not time to bathe, hungry for it is not time to eat and passing life away with persistent rocking in the confinement of a crib for it is never time to be held. Lost in the cultural veil transparent to everyone but me. Mocked for my "rasta" locs, American tongue, and inquisitive nature all which pale in comparison to the shock in my ability to refuse the orders of a man...Lost.
As I spiral out of control I struggle for direction back home. Back to sanity, calm, peace, love and purpose. The more I fight the more I realize I'm looking for help in all the wrong places. My destination is not concrete. The path not marked out on a map. No external source will ever show me the way for Spirit is my North Star. Internally I will follow its guidance and despite the poverty, the tragedy and the hearbreaking circumstances I see daily...I will never be lost again.
As I spiral out of control I struggle for direction back home. Back to sanity, calm, peace, love and purpose. The more I fight the more I realize I'm looking for help in all the wrong places. My destination is not concrete. The path not marked out on a map. No external source will ever show me the way for Spirit is my North Star. Internally I will follow its guidance and despite the poverty, the tragedy and the hearbreaking circumstances I see daily...I will never be lost again.
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