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.
Monday, September 13, 2010
11 Months of The Year I Eat and Eat...1 I Fast
Regardless of how my Senegalese mother's description of Ramadan made me feel slightly less than accomplished, I must say I'm proud of myself for succesfully completely the month of Ramadan. Even though technically by the writings of the Qu'ran, women are excused from participating during her menstrual cylce, as my choice to fast was not due to any religious obligation, I fasted for the complete month. That's right, Aleja Parsons, lover of food, restrained from eating from 5 am - 7:30 pm for 30 consecutive days.
The first day's were horrible. I look back at my August 13th entry in my journal for a point of reference: "Damn, Ramadan is kicking my ass. My sleep pattern is off- my eating pattern is off- my energy is low (though I think this might be mental) and the beesap girl is back! Just in time for me to not be able to drink it- great." Beesap is this absolutely amazing drink here made from Senegalese Hibiscus flowers. Its boiled and you add sugar or mint to taste. Its one of those drinks that taste different depending on who makes me and how cold it is. Well the best version I've had is from this little girl who sits in front of the orphanage with a blue cooler. In the 100 + degree weather she manages to keep these little bags of beesap frozen to perfection and they are the most refreshing drink I've had thus far. Unfortunately, in the days leading up to Ramadan, she was nowhere to be found...I couldn't even get my last fix. Now with the start of the month of fasting ahead of me, she was back. I clearly wasn't the only one who missed her as many of the other volunteers bought two or three bags of the goodness. I watched as people bit holes in the corner to enjoy paradise. Angry at the those who accidentally squirted some on the ground when the bag was first pierced, I found myself thinking "dont you know how good that stuff youre carelessly wasting is!" You'd be surprised how much you notice people who have when you have not. The worst part of this realization is that just a day before I was on the other side of this relationsip. Throwing away leftovers I didn't want, forgetting about half drunken bottles of juice once my thirst was quenched...
As I continued to learn from the lessons disguised in the month of Ramadan, I focused more on my fortune rather than my temporary misfortune, if you could even call it that. Even days when I was starving and absolutely dying of thirst, somehow miraculously, at 7:30 when it was time to break fast..I was still alive. Toward's the end of the day when I only had a few hours left, I always started my countdown. "Just two hours left, you've lasted all day, you can make it two more hours" I would think. Now looking back, I think of those who have no time to countdown to. Those who are indefinetly hungry, never knowing when the time to break fast will come, if it ever will. Part of the reason I chose to participate in the fasting was to learn what it feels like to be hungry. I've always been a compassionate person, and give when I can, but I'm a strong believer that until you live it you don't really know it. Now I know, atleast the beginnings, to be so hungry you can't imagine doing anything but eating, to be so thirsty you swish the spit around in your mouth hoping that it will help..it never does.
Its bizarre really how the creator shows you things. How deprived of food and drink, I can still be thankful for all I do have:
By far the most valuable lesson of all.
So after a month of struggling, ups and downs, waking up at 5 am to eat bread and drink warm milk, hoping it would carry me through the day, I MADE IT! And now it's time to celebrate with the day that marks the end of Ramadan, Korite
It almost reminded me of a combination of Thanksgiving (minus the negative historical context) and Homecoming at Howard. I say homecoming because even if you didn't know what was coming up, you knew it was something. Everyday you saw a new transformation: new wigs, waxed eyebrows, extensions, freshly braided hair (Side note, micros here are $14!, I'm thinking I've been ripped off after years of paying $120+!) But I digress, the days leading up to the celebration, the market was packed and the tailor was backed up with orders for new outfits. The excitment kept building. The night before the festivities Ndeirebe (the daughter of the family I live with) started preparing the food. She was beyond excited about everything we were having the next day, though as she named off the list of dishes I'd never heard of I was more just excited for the new experience.
The morning started with Lakh. I actually overslept and missed out on this dish but from what I saw, it looked like some kind of ground fish mixture. Its the traditional breakfast for Korite and my family devoured it so apparently it's good. Then the day of cooking began. It reminded me of Thanksgiving for two reasons. For one, the woman were in the kitchen (or backyard) all day long. Ndeirebe woke up at 6 am to start preparing everything and I couldn't help but remember all the years I heard my mother wake up at the wee hours to put the turkey in the oven and the rest of the day she spent cooking all my favorite foods. The second reason it reminded me of Thanksgiving was my unsuccesful attempt at helping to cook. I have been promising my mom for years that I would help cook Thanksgiving dinner. I always start out with the best intentions, but never quite make it through. Here again I offered to help, really with the best intentions at heart. I however quickly changed my mind after I watched my mom here drop potatoes on the ground and put them back into the dish. Now this isn't the kitchen floor, its the ground, outside in the backyard. The same backyard thats is home for the the family's chickens and goats who are either pets or the next meal..I haven't quite figured that out. Regardless the animals live, are washed, and relieve themselves on that same ground and knowing this I decided I might enjoy the meal more if I didn't see how it was made. My decision was confirmed when Ndeirebe suggested I come watch the goat be killed..I instead retreated into my room, closed the door and put in my ear plugs!
After that catastrophe, I started to get back in the groove of things again (mostly because I stayed indoors and played with Mareme- the 5 year old youngest daughter) She showed me the new purchases in the house which turned out to be brand new mattresses for the father and eldest son. I'm not sure if it was just a coincidence but I found it comical and ironic as part of the fast includes refraining from any sexual activity.
Finally, the "feast" was ready..which really was just mounds and mounds of meat (mutton) fried potatoes and onions. I broke my vegetarianism to partake and actually quite enjoyed myself. Not so much eating meat again (though that might be psychological) but more so just the energy of excitment, joy, and pride that the end of Ramadan brings. Next the little kids get their chance for fun. Everyone dresses to the nines and they all go out together, trick or treat style, only instead of candy they get money. As the little one's go out to make a killing, Ndeirebe and I started to get dressed for our evening. I didn't know what to expect but I was thrilled to be dressing up after a month of feeling dirty and wearing t-shirts and loose pants. We showered, did make-up, hair, got ready..and we were off. To be honest, the night turned into a walk down memory lane..back to high school that is. We house hopped from one social gathering to the next, of people sitting around, separeted by gender lines, barely talking. I supposed I should have expected it knowing that at 20 years old, Ndeirebe isn't allowed to do much socially and will be leaving home for the first time for her freshman year at the University in November. We made it home by our midnight curfew (man it's been a while since I've had one of those!) and called it a night.
All in all, the month, and celebration to commemorate its end were great. I'm here to learn, grow, and experience a new culture and throughout this time I did nothing but!
The first day's were horrible. I look back at my August 13th entry in my journal for a point of reference: "Damn, Ramadan is kicking my ass. My sleep pattern is off- my eating pattern is off- my energy is low (though I think this might be mental) and the beesap girl is back! Just in time for me to not be able to drink it- great." Beesap is this absolutely amazing drink here made from Senegalese Hibiscus flowers. Its boiled and you add sugar or mint to taste. Its one of those drinks that taste different depending on who makes me and how cold it is. Well the best version I've had is from this little girl who sits in front of the orphanage with a blue cooler. In the 100 + degree weather she manages to keep these little bags of beesap frozen to perfection and they are the most refreshing drink I've had thus far. Unfortunately, in the days leading up to Ramadan, she was nowhere to be found...I couldn't even get my last fix. Now with the start of the month of fasting ahead of me, she was back. I clearly wasn't the only one who missed her as many of the other volunteers bought two or three bags of the goodness. I watched as people bit holes in the corner to enjoy paradise. Angry at the those who accidentally squirted some on the ground when the bag was first pierced, I found myself thinking "dont you know how good that stuff youre carelessly wasting is!" You'd be surprised how much you notice people who have when you have not. The worst part of this realization is that just a day before I was on the other side of this relationsip. Throwing away leftovers I didn't want, forgetting about half drunken bottles of juice once my thirst was quenched...
As I continued to learn from the lessons disguised in the month of Ramadan, I focused more on my fortune rather than my temporary misfortune, if you could even call it that. Even days when I was starving and absolutely dying of thirst, somehow miraculously, at 7:30 when it was time to break fast..I was still alive. Toward's the end of the day when I only had a few hours left, I always started my countdown. "Just two hours left, you've lasted all day, you can make it two more hours" I would think. Now looking back, I think of those who have no time to countdown to. Those who are indefinetly hungry, never knowing when the time to break fast will come, if it ever will. Part of the reason I chose to participate in the fasting was to learn what it feels like to be hungry. I've always been a compassionate person, and give when I can, but I'm a strong believer that until you live it you don't really know it. Now I know, atleast the beginnings, to be so hungry you can't imagine doing anything but eating, to be so thirsty you swish the spit around in your mouth hoping that it will help..it never does.
Its bizarre really how the creator shows you things. How deprived of food and drink, I can still be thankful for all I do have:
"Today has been such a struggle for me - I am so so very thirsty. I want to break down and drink but I think instead I will pray. I know that I wont die by waiting until 7:30 and there are many in the world who don't know when their next drink will come. This will remind me of my fortunes. Always remember the blessings bestowed upon me and my life. Even here, with power that cuts off daily- sleeping on a foam mattress with no hot water, I am still blessed. There are still many who would kill to be in my position - so yes, I will hold out. Though I am very thirsty - I will wait and continue to fast."
By far the most valuable lesson of all.
So after a month of struggling, ups and downs, waking up at 5 am to eat bread and drink warm milk, hoping it would carry me through the day, I MADE IT! And now it's time to celebrate with the day that marks the end of Ramadan, Korite
It almost reminded me of a combination of Thanksgiving (minus the negative historical context) and Homecoming at Howard. I say homecoming because even if you didn't know what was coming up, you knew it was something. Everyday you saw a new transformation: new wigs, waxed eyebrows, extensions, freshly braided hair (Side note, micros here are $14!, I'm thinking I've been ripped off after years of paying $120+!) But I digress, the days leading up to the celebration, the market was packed and the tailor was backed up with orders for new outfits. The excitment kept building. The night before the festivities Ndeirebe (the daughter of the family I live with) started preparing the food. She was beyond excited about everything we were having the next day, though as she named off the list of dishes I'd never heard of I was more just excited for the new experience.
The morning started with Lakh. I actually overslept and missed out on this dish but from what I saw, it looked like some kind of ground fish mixture. Its the traditional breakfast for Korite and my family devoured it so apparently it's good. Then the day of cooking began. It reminded me of Thanksgiving for two reasons. For one, the woman were in the kitchen (or backyard) all day long. Ndeirebe woke up at 6 am to start preparing everything and I couldn't help but remember all the years I heard my mother wake up at the wee hours to put the turkey in the oven and the rest of the day she spent cooking all my favorite foods. The second reason it reminded me of Thanksgiving was my unsuccesful attempt at helping to cook. I have been promising my mom for years that I would help cook Thanksgiving dinner. I always start out with the best intentions, but never quite make it through. Here again I offered to help, really with the best intentions at heart. I however quickly changed my mind after I watched my mom here drop potatoes on the ground and put them back into the dish. Now this isn't the kitchen floor, its the ground, outside in the backyard. The same backyard thats is home for the the family's chickens and goats who are either pets or the next meal..I haven't quite figured that out. Regardless the animals live, are washed, and relieve themselves on that same ground and knowing this I decided I might enjoy the meal more if I didn't see how it was made. My decision was confirmed when Ndeirebe suggested I come watch the goat be killed..I instead retreated into my room, closed the door and put in my ear plugs!
After that catastrophe, I started to get back in the groove of things again (mostly because I stayed indoors and played with Mareme- the 5 year old youngest daughter) She showed me the new purchases in the house which turned out to be brand new mattresses for the father and eldest son. I'm not sure if it was just a coincidence but I found it comical and ironic as part of the fast includes refraining from any sexual activity.
Finally, the "feast" was ready..which really was just mounds and mounds of meat (mutton) fried potatoes and onions. I broke my vegetarianism to partake and actually quite enjoyed myself. Not so much eating meat again (though that might be psychological) but more so just the energy of excitment, joy, and pride that the end of Ramadan brings. Next the little kids get their chance for fun. Everyone dresses to the nines and they all go out together, trick or treat style, only instead of candy they get money. As the little one's go out to make a killing, Ndeirebe and I started to get dressed for our evening. I didn't know what to expect but I was thrilled to be dressing up after a month of feeling dirty and wearing t-shirts and loose pants. We showered, did make-up, hair, got ready..and we were off. To be honest, the night turned into a walk down memory lane..back to high school that is. We house hopped from one social gathering to the next, of people sitting around, separeted by gender lines, barely talking. I supposed I should have expected it knowing that at 20 years old, Ndeirebe isn't allowed to do much socially and will be leaving home for the first time for her freshman year at the University in November. We made it home by our midnight curfew (man it's been a while since I've had one of those!) and called it a night.
All in all, the month, and celebration to commemorate its end were great. I'm here to learn, grow, and experience a new culture and throughout this time I did nothing but!
Monday, August 30, 2010
If I Ruled The World...Imagine That
I have refrained from posting lately as I've been debating on the next topic to be discussed. As this blog has become the eyes for which many of my friends and family see my world, I try to illustrate my experiences honestly and thoughtfully. Daily, I draw from my life here and try to gather as many of the infinite lessons this year will provide as possible. Carefully, I put together the pieces of my puzzle and am happy to share the picture. I have just been shown another snippet of the larger image and hope you can share in its beauty.
I have recently become closer with my Senegalese family and we have begun to share the intricate details that make up each of our cultures. Differing customs, rituals, and ways of life have surprised us both. For example, I learned just the other day, that you do not ask a Senegalese woman how many children she has. As an explanation for why you must stay away from this taboo topic, when I asked my Senegalese mother this question, she responded, in her best english "I have fifteen children, 5 have dead." In reality, she has seven children, all of whom are living, howewer her response so clearly shows why this question goes unasked. Not only is there a discreet veil, not to be lifted by an outsider, that covers the known and undoubtedly unknown children of a family of four wives; the poverty, insufficient health care, and high disease rates can cause for tradegy any mother wants not to be reminded of.
Quite possibly the most emotionally charged difference (only so because as I have been so often reminded, I am quite hardheaded) is the roles of women and men. In this patriarchial society, "the man makes law." The woman in general, but especially the wife, does as the man or her husband says without question. The man also runs the household; his permission must always be granted before an activity is attended. This change in power structure has taken quite a toll on me. As a strong, heavily opinionated individual who, though I do ask for others suggestion, always knows what she wants, its hard to get used to the idea of being governed by some man's rule simply because he is a man.
The other day, I spent most of the day reading my new found english book (a treasure in a world of french and wolof text and tv). It was midday, so the sun was up, but my room was far to dark for reading without a light. Even still, the father of my house came to my room, mumbled something in his unsuccesful attempt at enlish and turned off the light. Left beffulded, I asked the daughter why her father turned of the light. They spoke in wolof and she was left to translate that he didn't want the lights on during the day because electricity was so expensive. Frustrated, I complied and continue to read by the flashlight on my cellphone only to have the mother of my family come in 10 minutes later and turn the light back on. She told me, in her slightly more comprehensible english that when he is home I should keep the light off but when he is gone I may turn the light on. She went on to say "he is very old man, he don't remember much." She smiled and closed the door to my now illuminated room and we exchanged a glance that was understood despite our language barrier. I couldn't help but laugh as I realized that regardless of how thing may appear, women are in more control than anyone would think. Its almost like the relationship between the mischievious child and the oblivious parents who may think they are in charge but are constantly outwitted and ultimately controlled by the child who somehow always finds a way to do what he/she wants. Or maybe a better example, for those who have seen Inception: the man may act out the idea, but who's idea was it to begin with?
Maybe things aren't as bad off as I had thought. Perhaps it won't be so difficult to settle into the ways of life here and play along as if the man makes law. Only if, as is so clearly the case in my home, I am still the mastermind behind it all.
I have recently become closer with my Senegalese family and we have begun to share the intricate details that make up each of our cultures. Differing customs, rituals, and ways of life have surprised us both. For example, I learned just the other day, that you do not ask a Senegalese woman how many children she has. As an explanation for why you must stay away from this taboo topic, when I asked my Senegalese mother this question, she responded, in her best english "I have fifteen children, 5 have dead." In reality, she has seven children, all of whom are living, howewer her response so clearly shows why this question goes unasked. Not only is there a discreet veil, not to be lifted by an outsider, that covers the known and undoubtedly unknown children of a family of four wives; the poverty, insufficient health care, and high disease rates can cause for tradegy any mother wants not to be reminded of.
Quite possibly the most emotionally charged difference (only so because as I have been so often reminded, I am quite hardheaded) is the roles of women and men. In this patriarchial society, "the man makes law." The woman in general, but especially the wife, does as the man or her husband says without question. The man also runs the household; his permission must always be granted before an activity is attended. This change in power structure has taken quite a toll on me. As a strong, heavily opinionated individual who, though I do ask for others suggestion, always knows what she wants, its hard to get used to the idea of being governed by some man's rule simply because he is a man.
The other day, I spent most of the day reading my new found english book (a treasure in a world of french and wolof text and tv). It was midday, so the sun was up, but my room was far to dark for reading without a light. Even still, the father of my house came to my room, mumbled something in his unsuccesful attempt at enlish and turned off the light. Left beffulded, I asked the daughter why her father turned of the light. They spoke in wolof and she was left to translate that he didn't want the lights on during the day because electricity was so expensive. Frustrated, I complied and continue to read by the flashlight on my cellphone only to have the mother of my family come in 10 minutes later and turn the light back on. She told me, in her slightly more comprehensible english that when he is home I should keep the light off but when he is gone I may turn the light on. She went on to say "he is very old man, he don't remember much." She smiled and closed the door to my now illuminated room and we exchanged a glance that was understood despite our language barrier. I couldn't help but laugh as I realized that regardless of how thing may appear, women are in more control than anyone would think. Its almost like the relationship between the mischievious child and the oblivious parents who may think they are in charge but are constantly outwitted and ultimately controlled by the child who somehow always finds a way to do what he/she wants. Or maybe a better example, for those who have seen Inception: the man may act out the idea, but who's idea was it to begin with?
Maybe things aren't as bad off as I had thought. Perhaps it won't be so difficult to settle into the ways of life here and play along as if the man makes law. Only if, as is so clearly the case in my home, I am still the mastermind behind it all.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Senegalese "Time"
So I'm fairly sure the phrase "on the dot" doesn't exist here. The whole "when youre early your on time, when youre on time your late, and youre late don't bother..." slogan, yea...no translation. When I first got here I bought a watch because I was lost for the time without my cell phone. I probably would have been better off without one. The only good it's done is that the babies like to pull on it, and its a lot less painful then those that latch on to one of my locs and pull for dear life. My first week of work my host mom told me the car would be to pick me up at 8, so I gathered all my strength and pulled myself out of bed at the wee hours of the morning to be showered and ready on time...all for the driver to come sauntering in around 9:30 as if he was on time! Trying not to let my frustration that he had single handedly deprived me of an hour and a half of sleep show, I smiled, said good morning and was off. The next day I was sure to be smarter and set my alarm for 8, only to have my host mom wake me up at 7:30 anyway! No, the car wasn't there on time, again, and yes I was irritated..again. So I've learned the way of things, I must always be ready, everyone else can take their sweet dandy time and then we must all smile and be happy.
This concept of time has transferred beyond my sleep schedule onto my beloved eating schedule as I was informed that lunch is served between 12-3 pm. A 3 hour span...so, I just wait?? Yup that's right just wait until you hear the bell ring, and then you know its ready..sounds so simple. Luckily I haven't been too bothered by lunch lately since I'm still fasting for Ramadan and when its time to break fast, everyone's always ready right away :) Lately the biggest struggle has been leaving work to come back home. I'm supposed to be driven home at 2pm, usually the time I really start to get hungry so it works out perfectly. Besides, we feed the babies at 1 so most of them are full and sleepy and I just end up sitting around for an hour until the silence is broken by the first cry, followed as if on cue by all 50 babies crying for attention after their satisfying afternoon nap. Anyway, it started off not too far off schedule, leaving at the latest by 2:30. More recently I've found myself waiting and waiting till almost 4 or even 5 pm! I get frustrated, get up and sit back down, pace, and ask over and over where my ride is only to be told "Wait" or "After". Ugh, I roll my eyes, grumble under my breath and plop back down at my waiting post wondering "dont these people know I have things to do!" or sometimes "This is ridiculous, I dont have time for this!" Only to realize..actually I dont have anything to do, and realistically, I have all the time in the world. After work I dont have any obligations and usually spend time at home with my Senegalese family, watch tv or maybe go to the market or internet cafe. So then why, you ask, am I in such a big rush? This is the question I'm now faced with. I've discovered its not so much what else I have to do back home, but the time itself. For the past 21 years, I've been taught how precious time is "time is money", right? Here in a not so money driven society, where community involvement and interpersonal interaction is much more important, time doesn't seem to be an issue. So im stuck in my Western ways missing out on the opportunity in the morning to get to know my Senegalese family a little better while I wait on the driver, or interact with the other volunteers as lunch is prepared. Though this is quite possibly the toughest of my lessons so far, I must rid myself of the value I associate with time and realize what's really important.
This concept of time has transferred beyond my sleep schedule onto my beloved eating schedule as I was informed that lunch is served between 12-3 pm. A 3 hour span...so, I just wait?? Yup that's right just wait until you hear the bell ring, and then you know its ready..sounds so simple. Luckily I haven't been too bothered by lunch lately since I'm still fasting for Ramadan and when its time to break fast, everyone's always ready right away :) Lately the biggest struggle has been leaving work to come back home. I'm supposed to be driven home at 2pm, usually the time I really start to get hungry so it works out perfectly. Besides, we feed the babies at 1 so most of them are full and sleepy and I just end up sitting around for an hour until the silence is broken by the first cry, followed as if on cue by all 50 babies crying for attention after their satisfying afternoon nap. Anyway, it started off not too far off schedule, leaving at the latest by 2:30. More recently I've found myself waiting and waiting till almost 4 or even 5 pm! I get frustrated, get up and sit back down, pace, and ask over and over where my ride is only to be told "Wait" or "After". Ugh, I roll my eyes, grumble under my breath and plop back down at my waiting post wondering "dont these people know I have things to do!" or sometimes "This is ridiculous, I dont have time for this!" Only to realize..actually I dont have anything to do, and realistically, I have all the time in the world. After work I dont have any obligations and usually spend time at home with my Senegalese family, watch tv or maybe go to the market or internet cafe. So then why, you ask, am I in such a big rush? This is the question I'm now faced with. I've discovered its not so much what else I have to do back home, but the time itself. For the past 21 years, I've been taught how precious time is "time is money", right? Here in a not so money driven society, where community involvement and interpersonal interaction is much more important, time doesn't seem to be an issue. So im stuck in my Western ways missing out on the opportunity in the morning to get to know my Senegalese family a little better while I wait on the driver, or interact with the other volunteers as lunch is prepared. Though this is quite possibly the toughest of my lessons so far, I must rid myself of the value I associate with time and realize what's really important.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
How Many Wives Do You Have?
I would like to make clear that this post is in no way an attack on the Muslim religion. Though I have not done research as extensive as I intend to do, from what I do know the faith is built on peace and one that I respect wholeheartedly. The post is merely a critique of a small aspect of the religion and culture here that I find...amusing. I mean no offense or disrespect.
"You be my American wife." For the number of people here claiming to not speak English, you'd be surprise how many people have learned this phrase. That and "I love you." Who? Me? I look around at who else they could possibly be talking to but I'm left to presume I've caught another one at first sight. I must be good because..you don't even know my name. All jokes aside though, I have gotten quite a few marriage proposals, phone numbers, and offers to "teach me french" in the past two weeks. As some of you may know, my future career goal lies in the field of marriage and relationship therapy so this whole concept of love, relationships and marriage is really quite fascinating. For one, lets start with the idea of me becoming someone's American wife (Don't worry Dad, this is all VERY hypothetical). Now if that were to happen, that leaves me wondering, how many other wives do you have?? Senegalese? Italian? Puerto Rican? Interested in the idea I started asking questions. I do have some background knowledge in the polygmous nature of the culture, mostly rationalized by religion, but just to get an unbiased explanation, I played dumb. In his best english possible, a man in the family I live with exposed the truth
"Man and wife are not same because it is the wife who make baby and the wife that cooks and if wife gets pregnant we can only have sex for up to the six months. So..in those 3 months, I need another wife."
I died laughing. So what your saying is, the wife, who must not only cook and clean but carry YOUR child for a 9 month term and then birth YOUR child by pushing (quite painfully) YOUR child through her vagina must endure 3 sexless months while you satisfy your sexual desires by...getting another wife..WHAT?! Not only that but as the Qur'an allows for 4 wives, it then becomes this ongoing merry-go around of circulating wives depending on who is and who is not pregrant. Peaking my curiousity I ask more questions about just how these living arrangments work, only to find out that once I've been shafted for another woman during my last trimester of pregnancy, I must then live with her in the same home! Thats right ladies and gentleman, the one husband with all four of his wives lives together in one home. Sound like a cat fight waiting to happen if you ask me. Now I petition for a reversal of roles. I personally think it would be quite fair if instead we had one woman in charge who had the choice of which of her four men she wanted to play husband with for the day. The others would be left behind to clean, cook and try to do whatever possible to up their chances of being the lucky pick next. Even in my fantasy world this sound crazy.
What is love? What is the point of marriage? What is the strength in a family if it is not one unified unit??
Now I know I said there is a lesson in everything but I'm still searching for the meaning behind this one....
"You be my American wife." For the number of people here claiming to not speak English, you'd be surprise how many people have learned this phrase. That and "I love you." Who? Me? I look around at who else they could possibly be talking to but I'm left to presume I've caught another one at first sight. I must be good because..you don't even know my name. All jokes aside though, I have gotten quite a few marriage proposals, phone numbers, and offers to "teach me french" in the past two weeks. As some of you may know, my future career goal lies in the field of marriage and relationship therapy so this whole concept of love, relationships and marriage is really quite fascinating. For one, lets start with the idea of me becoming someone's American wife (Don't worry Dad, this is all VERY hypothetical). Now if that were to happen, that leaves me wondering, how many other wives do you have?? Senegalese? Italian? Puerto Rican? Interested in the idea I started asking questions. I do have some background knowledge in the polygmous nature of the culture, mostly rationalized by religion, but just to get an unbiased explanation, I played dumb. In his best english possible, a man in the family I live with exposed the truth
"Man and wife are not same because it is the wife who make baby and the wife that cooks and if wife gets pregnant we can only have sex for up to the six months. So..in those 3 months, I need another wife."
I died laughing. So what your saying is, the wife, who must not only cook and clean but carry YOUR child for a 9 month term and then birth YOUR child by pushing (quite painfully) YOUR child through her vagina must endure 3 sexless months while you satisfy your sexual desires by...getting another wife..WHAT?! Not only that but as the Qur'an allows for 4 wives, it then becomes this ongoing merry-go around of circulating wives depending on who is and who is not pregrant. Peaking my curiousity I ask more questions about just how these living arrangments work, only to find out that once I've been shafted for another woman during my last trimester of pregnancy, I must then live with her in the same home! Thats right ladies and gentleman, the one husband with all four of his wives lives together in one home. Sound like a cat fight waiting to happen if you ask me. Now I petition for a reversal of roles. I personally think it would be quite fair if instead we had one woman in charge who had the choice of which of her four men she wanted to play husband with for the day. The others would be left behind to clean, cook and try to do whatever possible to up their chances of being the lucky pick next. Even in my fantasy world this sound crazy.
What is love? What is the point of marriage? What is the strength in a family if it is not one unified unit??
Now I know I said there is a lesson in everything but I'm still searching for the meaning behind this one....
Saturday, August 14, 2010
You put your right hand in you put your right hand out...you put your left hand in...NEVER
Wouldn't life be so much easier at restaurants if you didn't have to wait those initial 10-15 minutes for everyone to decide what they want to eat? Problem solved here in Senegal as everyone not only eats the same thing, but from the same plate. I don't know the technical term, or if one even exists, but Communal Meals seems to work as as pretty accurate description. Men of the household and special guests may get their own plate but for the most part meals are served in one large bowl with the rice spread evenly around for all and one big mound of the main ta-dah (surprise surprise...fish) in the middle. Occasionally there might be an additional carrot, spare cabbage leaves or a potato scattered about for the taking, but usually that description above would do for all the meals I've eaten here. Variety comes in the type of rice...spicy, brown, white, or my favorite choice, this quite strange almost asian tasting version. Additional sauces are available on the side to add to your portion of the dish, which brings me to the unspoken words of etiquette when it comes to communal meals. First, imagine the big plate as a pizza, cut into slices. Your slice lies directly in front of you. I've arranged my slice just how I like it so don't come over here messing it up! Though you don't reach outside of your area for the taking you can give to others. As is the norm in this communal based culture (a breathe of fresh air from the individualistic nature of the states), people often make sure those they are eating with are satisfied by offering some of the best pieces of the meal that so luckily landed in his/her slice of the pie. For example, the mother of my family, noticing I had no idea how to debone a fish (possibly made evident by me choking and spitting up bones during my first meal) debones the fish for me and throws the fresh meat in my area. Its actually quite nice. I wouldn't be surprised if this type of eating back home turned into a fight every time as everyone, out for themselves, made a mad dash for what they wanted to eat, never considering those around them. But here..everyone eats, everyone gets full. The attitude of making sure everyone else is satisfied somehow always comes full circle until we are all happy. But I digress. Unspoken rule number two: you eat with your right hand only. Occasionally spoons may be available, but I've actually started to think things taste better when you eat it with your hands. I've gotten the technique down pretty good..scoop scoop, squeeze together to compact, and enjoy the rice ball you've created starting with your mouth starting at your palm rolling upwards to lick the stray grains of rice off your fingertips. You supposedly only use your right hand for sanitation purposes. The left hand is used for...well I'll leave that to your imagination. Strangely (well to me anyway) washing of the hands is only done after the meal. Yes after you've already spread all the germs from your day into the food I must now put in my mouth. I always sneak to the side and wash my hands when water is available, or at the very least hand sanitize. Though it makes me feel better, my antics are pointless since no one else sharing my plate does the same. My germophobic ways aside, I quite enjoy this way of eating. It forces the family to come together and exhibit characteristics that makes for a strong family. It really is a beautiful thing to sit back and watch. This for sure will be a practice I will take home to my family, maybe not everyday but at least once a week. Perhaps the days I don't feel like doing dishes since after feeding a family of 6 with one additional American (yours truly!), my mom here is only left with one dish to wash!
This isn't my family here because I think they might think I was crazy if I took the picture, but you get the idea.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Blackout
What happens when you lose electricity? You curse, search high and low for that candle you know is somewhere in the house and wonder what in the world could be the problem. How dare this inconvenience interrupt you and your precious life? Whatever you were doing, I'm sure, was of the utmost importance and now you feel unproductive, disturbed, annoyed. But what if that was the norm. A lost of power to be expected...daily. That is what I have become accustomed to during my two weeks here. Its never a question of if the power will go out but when. I try to outsmart the limited supply of energy that leaves the city dark for an undetermined span of time (usually 2 hrs at least) by keeping batteries of all appliances at least half full. Every now and then I am faced with the choice to keep my computer, phone or camera charged (having only one outlet at my disposal). I've somewhat gotten used to the pattern of electricity though I must say I am still distraught when the tv goes black right before Jack Bauer uncovers the true murderer of President Hassan (yes, I am now addicted to 24 as my family watches bootleg copies with french subtitles). I am even more perturbed when I'm awaken in a sweat because the fan has stopped working in the middle of the night. But what I have learned here is that there is a lesson in everything.
Yesterday, I made my way to the internet cafe to skype a friend back home. He had some time before work and I was excited to talk after a long day here. 20 minutes in and after paying 300 cefas for the full hour of connection...blackness. Yes, I cursed! and thought "how dare this inconvenience interrupt me and my precious life?!?" Not to mention, can I get a refund? Angry and frustrated I went back home to try my connection there. Limited and spotty, which is why I went to the cafe to begin with. I tried at least 5 times, balancing my computer, the internet phone and a headset around the rooftop searching for the best connection; Im sure looking like a lunatic to my family who sat calmly on their mats enjoying the nights breeze. Finally, I gave up, sat down and joined my family here. As I calmed down I realized, he will be there tomorrow, we will talk again. Right then in that moment, a strange sense of peace came over me. I welcomed the breeze that I almost forgot existed in the usually suffocating heat. I looked out over this city that will be my home for the next year and saw the beauty in the multicolored sky. I laughed with my family, not at what they were saying because I still can't understand anything, but still somehow on on cue because yes, laughter is contagious. I have found that without the distractions of computers, tvs and internet that electricity allow you are forced to turn inward for thoughts, entertainment and enlightenment. You grow by looking back, by taking time to think and not be so robotically programmed to function as we so often do in the States. I challenge you all, even with constant electricity to learn from my lesson as well. Spend time with those you love without everything there to distract your interaction. Hell, spend time alone. Take the time to look inside yourselves. See what you learn. See what's in your darkness.
Yesterday, I made my way to the internet cafe to skype a friend back home. He had some time before work and I was excited to talk after a long day here. 20 minutes in and after paying 300 cefas for the full hour of connection...blackness. Yes, I cursed! and thought "how dare this inconvenience interrupt me and my precious life?!?" Not to mention, can I get a refund? Angry and frustrated I went back home to try my connection there. Limited and spotty, which is why I went to the cafe to begin with. I tried at least 5 times, balancing my computer, the internet phone and a headset around the rooftop searching for the best connection; Im sure looking like a lunatic to my family who sat calmly on their mats enjoying the nights breeze. Finally, I gave up, sat down and joined my family here. As I calmed down I realized, he will be there tomorrow, we will talk again. Right then in that moment, a strange sense of peace came over me. I welcomed the breeze that I almost forgot existed in the usually suffocating heat. I looked out over this city that will be my home for the next year and saw the beauty in the multicolored sky. I laughed with my family, not at what they were saying because I still can't understand anything, but still somehow on on cue because yes, laughter is contagious. I have found that without the distractions of computers, tvs and internet that electricity allow you are forced to turn inward for thoughts, entertainment and enlightenment. You grow by looking back, by taking time to think and not be so robotically programmed to function as we so often do in the States. I challenge you all, even with constant electricity to learn from my lesson as well. Spend time with those you love without everything there to distract your interaction. Hell, spend time alone. Take the time to look inside yourselves. See what you learn. See what's in your darkness.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
"Yes, Yes" "Good, So you understand?"...."No"
Ahh well once again my family's limited English and my more limited French has caused for another inevitable miscommunication. Though I am not Muslim, I have expressed my desire to participate in the much anticipated Ramadan. I was actually sure that I would be able to handle it last week, when for some reason in the adjustment period, I lost my appetite. I was never hungry and when I forced myself to eat, a couple of bites was all I needed to feel stuffed to capacity. With that pattern of eating becoming the norm I was sure I could handle the fasting period until..BOOM! Appetite back in full force. I now eat, quite literally, a loaf of bed for breakfast and am still hungry by 12...this could be bad. I usually am starving by lunch, if it comes towards the end of the hours allotted to lunch time (12-3, to be addressed in my future post "Senegalese Time"). So basically, my American stomach is always ready to be fed and this desire to take on Ramadan will pose to be a much bigger challenge than I originally anticipate. Regardless, as I read about the purpose of the month, I think it is important for me to try my best. At the very least, it will be a rewarding spiritual journey and an effective weight loss program :)
So on to the miscommunication...My Senegalese family was excited to hear about my willingness to fast. I hope they are happy because of my desire to authentically become a part of their culture though I'm sure it will help in their fasting process to not have to prepare and watch me eat 3 meals a day as normal. So I wouldn't oversleep, I asked several times if Ramadan would start today (Wednesday) meaning I would have to wake up at 6 am to eat instead of my usual 7:30. "Yes, Yes" all I kept hearing was yes. Even before I went to bed I said one more time "Okay so tomorrow we eat at 6?"...."yes." Now anyone who knows me at all knows I am NOT a morning person. Me getting up at 7:30 everyday is a miracle in itself. But I was determined, and set my alarm for the dreaded 6 am. It startled me out of my sleep, far too early and I looked around for atleast a minute as I sometimes forget I am here and wake up wondering what this mysterious net is surrounding my bed...oh right I'm in Senegal and I must get up to eat before the sun rises. But curiously I don't hear any other commotion. Complete silence...I walk to where we normally eat..no one. I go to the kitchen..no one. Hmm, confused as usual. In my stooper it doesn't take me long to decide to just go back to sleep. An hour and a half later, I start to hear the family rise as normal. Bread and hot chocolate greet me as I stumble to the table, irritated by my interrupted sleep. I butter my bread and ask "Ramadan?" to which he responds..."Tomorrow"
Uggh! Somebody PLEASE send me a French dictionary!
So on to the miscommunication...My Senegalese family was excited to hear about my willingness to fast. I hope they are happy because of my desire to authentically become a part of their culture though I'm sure it will help in their fasting process to not have to prepare and watch me eat 3 meals a day as normal. So I wouldn't oversleep, I asked several times if Ramadan would start today (Wednesday) meaning I would have to wake up at 6 am to eat instead of my usual 7:30. "Yes, Yes" all I kept hearing was yes. Even before I went to bed I said one more time "Okay so tomorrow we eat at 6?"...."yes." Now anyone who knows me at all knows I am NOT a morning person. Me getting up at 7:30 everyday is a miracle in itself. But I was determined, and set my alarm for the dreaded 6 am. It startled me out of my sleep, far too early and I looked around for atleast a minute as I sometimes forget I am here and wake up wondering what this mysterious net is surrounding my bed...oh right I'm in Senegal and I must get up to eat before the sun rises. But curiously I don't hear any other commotion. Complete silence...I walk to where we normally eat..no one. I go to the kitchen..no one. Hmm, confused as usual. In my stooper it doesn't take me long to decide to just go back to sleep. An hour and a half later, I start to hear the family rise as normal. Bread and hot chocolate greet me as I stumble to the table, irritated by my interrupted sleep. I butter my bread and ask "Ramadan?" to which he responds..."Tomorrow"
Uggh! Somebody PLEASE send me a French dictionary!
Atleast the food I won't be eating over the next month isn't my moms!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Unbeweavable
You would think being an ocean apart from the States, I would finally be among black women who are not subjugated to the unfair, unrealistic, and quite honestly false standards of white beauty that so often are embedded in the minds of women of color back home. Unfortunately, I have found quite the opposite. In my efforts to pack lightly I even left out shampoo, conditioner and hair oils because I was certain it would be easy to find in a place where natural ingredients are at a surplus. Again to my dismay, I was mistaken. Maybe a leftover sentiment from the European invasion of the continent, or perhaps a longing to mock the images that make there way through media and pop culture to the Senegalese youth has caused this abandonment of our natural beauty. Though I have not personally seen them yet, I hear lightening creams are stocked high in cosmetic stores and what I have witnessed, the plethora of overfried bad perms, God-awful tracks, horribly matted sew-ins, braids galore (though rarely with our own hair) and even full coverage wigs sadden my heart. I was shocked...It's Unbeweavable.
Where are the beautiful fro's, authentic locs, where is the pride in the color of our skin. We are all around, we are amongst our people, we are at home. If we cannot be comfortable here, if we cannot embrace our beauty here, what are the hopes of doing so elsewhere? I encourage us all to thank God for our hips, praise the Creator for our sun kissed skin, embrace our kinks and most importantly love ourselves. My black is beautiful, your black is beautiful...Black is Beautiful!
Where are the beautiful fro's, authentic locs, where is the pride in the color of our skin. We are all around, we are amongst our people, we are at home. If we cannot be comfortable here, if we cannot embrace our beauty here, what are the hopes of doing so elsewhere? I encourage us all to thank God for our hips, praise the Creator for our sun kissed skin, embrace our kinks and most importantly love ourselves. My black is beautiful, your black is beautiful...Black is Beautiful!
Monday, August 9, 2010
My First Week
Ok guys so I intended to start this blog earlier so you could get the up close and personal of my entire my journey but getting caught up in everything and with my limited internet access I am a week behind! Instead of going back and trying to remember what my daily blogs would have been, I'm just going to take some quotes from my journal and add a couple pictures to get everyone up to speed. Then don't worry after today even if I dont have the internet to upload my post, I'll be writing from home so you can all be right here with me. Most importantly let me say I love you all and miss you dearly! Thank you for the love and support that has allowed me to take this journey. I am learning and growing daily and will come home a stronger woman.
Ok so here's a taste so far:
Aug 2: "My first seconds here! I can't believe I made it. I can't believe I'm doing this. Overwhelmed with anticipation."
"This has absolutely been the best decision of my life! When i first got to Thailand I was scared, worried I made a mistake. But I haven't had a second though. The people are beautiful in every way. I feel so comfortable. Life is wonderful."
Aug 4: "Well I am about to be off to my first day at the orphanage...I picked the section with infants and I swear the first hour I was holding back tears. I think its just the sentiment of so many innocent babies who will grow up in poverty. And to know when I was a little baby I go so much more. Thats what saddens me the most, its just the luck of the draw."
Aug 6: " Yesterday I worried that I wasn't helpign, that me being here wasn't making a difference, I felt useless. Today a little baby, Amadou cried and cried until I picked him up and sag to him. He stopped crying and held onto me. Now granted, I'm sure anyone could have made him stop crying but there are almost 50 babies and maybe 7 women who work here. Everytiem I make a baby smile, every time I hold a baby I am helping."
Future Blog Topics To Come:
Unbeweavable!
Who Wants to Get Chose?!
Communal Dinners
How Many Wives Do You Have??
Senegalese Time...Hurry up!..and wait
Stay Tuned
Ok so here's a taste so far:
Aug 2: "My first seconds here! I can't believe I made it. I can't believe I'm doing this. Overwhelmed with anticipation."
"This has absolutely been the best decision of my life! When i first got to Thailand I was scared, worried I made a mistake. But I haven't had a second though. The people are beautiful in every way. I feel so comfortable. Life is wonderful."
Aug 4: "Well I am about to be off to my first day at the orphanage...I picked the section with infants and I swear the first hour I was holding back tears. I think its just the sentiment of so many innocent babies who will grow up in poverty. And to know when I was a little baby I go so much more. Thats what saddens me the most, its just the luck of the draw."
Aug 6: " Yesterday I worried that I wasn't helpign, that me being here wasn't making a difference, I felt useless. Today a little baby, Amadou cried and cried until I picked him up and sag to him. He stopped crying and held onto me. Now granted, I'm sure anyone could have made him stop crying but there are almost 50 babies and maybe 7 women who work here. Everytiem I make a baby smile, every time I hold a baby I am helping."
Future Blog Topics To Come:
Unbeweavable!
Who Wants to Get Chose?!
Communal Dinners
How Many Wives Do You Have??
Senegalese Time...Hurry up!..and wait
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