Also here is a link to YouTube where you can watch the Goat Festivities from August.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Peculiar Patterns
The other day, I saw a young man wearing the oddest shirt I have come across. There were portraits of three prominent men that were repeated in a pattern with their names in between them. The three men were not three that I would group together, but for whatever reason, the smiles of Saddam Hussein, Yasser Arafat, and Nelson Mandela all stared me in the face.
I spoke briefly to the young man about his shirt and it digressed into a conversation about how America is bad because we killed Saddam. (I get that a lot, America is bad because of this or that reason.) That aside, I thought the shirt was funny and inwardly smiled to myself as I walked away.
I spoke briefly to the young man about his shirt and it digressed into a conversation about how America is bad because we killed Saddam. (I get that a lot, America is bad because of this or that reason.) That aside, I thought the shirt was funny and inwardly smiled to myself as I walked away.
Funny Things That Pulaar's Fear
1) Cats. I went out to greet a family I know, a common activity here seeing that salutations are so important. It was dusk, but not quite dark. The mother and I were sitting on a stick bed in the front yard when she asked her toddler to go give a cell phone to someone that was inside the house, on the other side of the yard. No big deal. EXCEPT, the kid, who was about two, started to whimper and say “ouloungu” the word for cat in Pulaar. Thankfully, it is totally appropriate to laugh at people in this culture because I started to giggle. He eventually did cross the yard, but did so with tears streaming down his face. I was amazed that kids grow up fearing what we consider house pets.
2) Lizards. One day at the communal faucet, where we get our water, I heard a commotion and saw kids throwing sticks and rocks. I thought they were stoning another child and thought to myself, “Oh, great.” Much to my surprise, it was a huge lizard about 4 feet long (this was the largest lizard I have seen here, most are around 6 inches.) The kids were going crazy, which led the women getting water to go into a frenzy of fear. One woman gripped my wrist so tightly it left marks. Now, I’m not saying I would like to wake up to a giant lizard, but they eat bugs and rodents! What isn’t to like? So, they started throwing water at it, which only made it more afraid and start making a low growling noise.
Another time, I was reading in my room when one of my sisters came up to me and asked for perfume. When I asked her for what purpose, she said to kill a lizard that had gotten into her room. Apparently, they spray aerosol cans or perfume to kill the ones that get into their stuff. Unfortunately, I didn’t have anything, but we eventually found some. The scene that ensued was hilarious. All of my sisters and a neighbor were screaming as the lizard tried in vain to survive the fatal spray. There was a lot of running out of the room, creeping back in, screaming, etc. I was outside laughing the entire time. After a neighbor had killed it, they went outside to the communal faucet and broadcast that I was the one who was afraid. I could only laugh at them and tell them it wasn’t true, how much they believed, I don’t know.
3) Wind. During the hottest months of the year it is almost like torture to sit in the back seat of a bus or car unable to convince the people surrounding you that they should open the windows. The people here just won’t do it. Granted, it’s dusty and the wind isn’t much cooler than the actual air temperature, but still! You get sweaty and dirty anyway just sitting in the stagnant air of the car. I haven’t noticed too many people sweating though. Here’s my theory: Because I drink so much water, I naturally sweat more than the average Senegalese person. That and they are more used to the heat. With sweat on my body, even a hot breeze cools me down. Maybe because the Senegalese do not sweat, they don’t get that cooling effect that I do…
2) Lizards. One day at the communal faucet, where we get our water, I heard a commotion and saw kids throwing sticks and rocks. I thought they were stoning another child and thought to myself, “Oh, great.” Much to my surprise, it was a huge lizard about 4 feet long (this was the largest lizard I have seen here, most are around 6 inches.) The kids were going crazy, which led the women getting water to go into a frenzy of fear. One woman gripped my wrist so tightly it left marks. Now, I’m not saying I would like to wake up to a giant lizard, but they eat bugs and rodents! What isn’t to like? So, they started throwing water at it, which only made it more afraid and start making a low growling noise.
Another time, I was reading in my room when one of my sisters came up to me and asked for perfume. When I asked her for what purpose, she said to kill a lizard that had gotten into her room. Apparently, they spray aerosol cans or perfume to kill the ones that get into their stuff. Unfortunately, I didn’t have anything, but we eventually found some. The scene that ensued was hilarious. All of my sisters and a neighbor were screaming as the lizard tried in vain to survive the fatal spray. There was a lot of running out of the room, creeping back in, screaming, etc. I was outside laughing the entire time. After a neighbor had killed it, they went outside to the communal faucet and broadcast that I was the one who was afraid. I could only laugh at them and tell them it wasn’t true, how much they believed, I don’t know.
3) Wind. During the hottest months of the year it is almost like torture to sit in the back seat of a bus or car unable to convince the people surrounding you that they should open the windows. The people here just won’t do it. Granted, it’s dusty and the wind isn’t much cooler than the actual air temperature, but still! You get sweaty and dirty anyway just sitting in the stagnant air of the car. I haven’t noticed too many people sweating though. Here’s my theory: Because I drink so much water, I naturally sweat more than the average Senegalese person. That and they are more used to the heat. With sweat on my body, even a hot breeze cools me down. Maybe because the Senegalese do not sweat, they don’t get that cooling effect that I do…
Monday, October 6, 2008
BEWARE: This entry is about Female Genital Cutting
Female Genital Cutting (FGC), Female Genital Mutilation (FGM), circumsition, etc. are different names for the same practice. The politically correct term is FGC, so I will use that. All over Africa FGC is practiced, not as a form of control by men, but as the beginning rite of passage into womanhood. It makes a girl eligible to be married and in a society so dependent on family, it becomes essential. Most often, I was told, this happens when the girl is about one to three years old in Senegal.
Here in Senegal, the predominant ethnicity that practices FGC just so happens to be the Pulaar people. Up North, things are extremely conservative, so the Pulaar women still cling to this practice, although it is now illegal. I was warned pre-arrival that I would probably never be able to have a conversation regarding FGC with Pulaar women due to the secrecy of the practice.
So, you can imagine my astonishment when I had a serious conversation about FGC with two young women in their early 20s, both unmarried without children, yet. One of the young women, Kadja, is studying nursing in Dakar and had different opinions on the safety and sanitation of FGC, especially now that it is illegal. The other, my sister Fati, had more traditional thoughts on the practice. Kadja mentioned that although FGC was illegal, she thought that almost 100% of the women up North had been circumsized as she put it. She then began listing the hazards of practicing FGC in secrecy. She said that girls can often bleed to death, get infections, or not heal properly, which has lead to a heightened awareness in the Pulaar community. Fati scoffed at this idea saying that it was just as safe as having the procedure done at a hospital.
When I asked if they were both circumcised, they replied, “Yes, of course.” They then asked if women in America practiced FGC. I told them that our culture didn’t practice it for girls, but most often boys are circumcised as infants. They accepted this information and moved on. No criticisms, no sly comments.
Personally, I do not support FGC as it is practiced now. I think women should have the choice, which is different from not supporting it entirely. It is difficult for us as Westerners to wrap our minds around something that is seemingly so bad. But, it’s not a black and white issue unfortunately. I say that women should have a choice because they should not be ostrasized either way, by any culture, for their decision. Some days I feel like we as the human race are a long ways off from being truly at liberty to make choices like that. But, after intelligent, real conversations like this one, I feel hope that we are making progress.
Here in Senegal, the predominant ethnicity that practices FGC just so happens to be the Pulaar people. Up North, things are extremely conservative, so the Pulaar women still cling to this practice, although it is now illegal. I was warned pre-arrival that I would probably never be able to have a conversation regarding FGC with Pulaar women due to the secrecy of the practice.
So, you can imagine my astonishment when I had a serious conversation about FGC with two young women in their early 20s, both unmarried without children, yet. One of the young women, Kadja, is studying nursing in Dakar and had different opinions on the safety and sanitation of FGC, especially now that it is illegal. The other, my sister Fati, had more traditional thoughts on the practice. Kadja mentioned that although FGC was illegal, she thought that almost 100% of the women up North had been circumsized as she put it. She then began listing the hazards of practicing FGC in secrecy. She said that girls can often bleed to death, get infections, or not heal properly, which has lead to a heightened awareness in the Pulaar community. Fati scoffed at this idea saying that it was just as safe as having the procedure done at a hospital.
When I asked if they were both circumcised, they replied, “Yes, of course.” They then asked if women in America practiced FGC. I told them that our culture didn’t practice it for girls, but most often boys are circumcised as infants. They accepted this information and moved on. No criticisms, no sly comments.
Personally, I do not support FGC as it is practiced now. I think women should have the choice, which is different from not supporting it entirely. It is difficult for us as Westerners to wrap our minds around something that is seemingly so bad. But, it’s not a black and white issue unfortunately. I say that women should have a choice because they should not be ostrasized either way, by any culture, for their decision. Some days I feel like we as the human race are a long ways off from being truly at liberty to make choices like that. But, after intelligent, real conversations like this one, I feel hope that we are making progress.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Ramadan Is Almost Over--THANK GOD!
I’m not sure if I mentioned this in my last post about the month of Ramadan, but especially here in Senegal, there is an enormous social pressure to fast. It’s almost as if the spiritual side of fasting has lost its appeal here and it has morphed into something to commiserate with others about for a month.
That being said, after telling me to fast they often times tell me to pray as well. So maybe, there still are spiritual ties that they just keep on a personal level. But, regardless, once Ramadan ends that means that school will start and I will hopefully feel more productive.
It also means that maybe my door will get fixed! For the last three weeks I have not had a lock or handle on my door. The old one broke and I have been trying to install a new one ever since. This becomes a source of frustration when I want to cook my lunchtime meal or take a shower because my door will swing open with the wind. That, and the kids do not respond to anything, but threats of being beaten, which is unfortunate. I think they have all gotten wise to the fact that I will not hit them, so they are taking full advantage of it.
This Fall I am missing the changing colors of leaves and cool evenings. But, Thanksgiving is right around the corner (at least in my frame of mind) and to celebrate, the volunteers up North put on a Thanksgiving Senegal-style. It should be a fun time, but if anyone is thinking of sending things my way anything Thanksgiving-ish themed would be much appreciated.
That being said, after telling me to fast they often times tell me to pray as well. So maybe, there still are spiritual ties that they just keep on a personal level. But, regardless, once Ramadan ends that means that school will start and I will hopefully feel more productive.
It also means that maybe my door will get fixed! For the last three weeks I have not had a lock or handle on my door. The old one broke and I have been trying to install a new one ever since. This becomes a source of frustration when I want to cook my lunchtime meal or take a shower because my door will swing open with the wind. That, and the kids do not respond to anything, but threats of being beaten, which is unfortunate. I think they have all gotten wise to the fact that I will not hit them, so they are taking full advantage of it.
This Fall I am missing the changing colors of leaves and cool evenings. But, Thanksgiving is right around the corner (at least in my frame of mind) and to celebrate, the volunteers up North put on a Thanksgiving Senegal-style. It should be a fun time, but if anyone is thinking of sending things my way anything Thanksgiving-ish themed would be much appreciated.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Porridge For Babies
Yesterday, I held a demonstration for some of the mothers in my village on how to make nutritious, vitamin-packed porrdge for thier kids. Because it's Ramadan, the kids are eating worse than ever because mothers don't cook the largest meal until the evening. So, that means kids are eating "gosi" or rice and sugar porridge. It's nasty, but kids like the insane amounts of sugar they put in it.
There were only about four mothers at first, which was actually a blessing in disguise. I could speak in faulty Pulaar and then we worked through it until they got what I was trying to say. In general, people here know what is good for their kids. They know which foods have the vitamins, they just don't always feed it to them. The variation of porridge I made had corn flour, peanut butter, sugar, oil, and banana. Although, I couldn't get to town to buy bananas they understood that you CAN put bananas in the porridge to make it even better. After I was done explaining how to make it, how much it cost (a HUGE obstacle for many poorer familes) then the kids got to eat it! By that time, a lot of mothers had trickled in and many just came with a cup and handed it to me. At least they came! Most of the kids loved the porridge. Some of the babies even made a fuss when I took the bowl away.
Whether or not the mothers will actually pass the word along and make the porridge is another story. I think repetition is key. I'm hoping to get something like this demonstration to happen every week in my village. If not a demonstration, then at least a disscusion about pertinent health concerns.
There were only about four mothers at first, which was actually a blessing in disguise. I could speak in faulty Pulaar and then we worked through it until they got what I was trying to say. In general, people here know what is good for their kids. They know which foods have the vitamins, they just don't always feed it to them. The variation of porridge I made had corn flour, peanut butter, sugar, oil, and banana. Although, I couldn't get to town to buy bananas they understood that you CAN put bananas in the porridge to make it even better. After I was done explaining how to make it, how much it cost (a HUGE obstacle for many poorer familes) then the kids got to eat it! By that time, a lot of mothers had trickled in and many just came with a cup and handed it to me. At least they came! Most of the kids loved the porridge. Some of the babies even made a fuss when I took the bowl away.
Whether or not the mothers will actually pass the word along and make the porridge is another story. I think repetition is key. I'm hoping to get something like this demonstration to happen every week in my village. If not a demonstration, then at least a disscusion about pertinent health concerns.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Ramadan
This month is Ramadan. For those of you that aren’t familiar, it is the Muslim holiday of fasting. For 30 days, from sunup until sundown you can’t eat anything or drink any water unless you are a child, sick, pregnant, or menstruating. I know what you’re thinking, it doesn’t apply to me because I’m not Muslim. But, you’re wrong. Fasting during the day means that they eat lunch at 9:30 PM so they don’t cook the meals that I am used to eating. Thankfully, I have wonderful friends and family that sent me a lot of food lately, so I have been managing to eat a semi-balanced diet.
Of course, everyone in my village asks if I am fasting—multiple times each day. I think they ask me repeatedly because they don’t really have anything else to talk to me about besides telling me that it is hot outside, that Ramadan is difficult and, am I well? One day last week, frustrated by people constantly making fun of me for not fasting, I told them that I was indeed fasting. Now, I understand that this was not the morally correct thing to do, but I just thought I would see their reaction. Unfortunately, it was not what I had hoped for. They seemed impressed at first, but then asked if I was going to pray with them. (Muslims are supposed to pray five times a day at various times.) When I told them that I couldn’t because I was a Christian, they asked, “Then why are you fasting? You should pray if you are going to fast.” I had been using my Catholic upbringing as an excuse for me not fasting in the first place—they didn’t buy into that tactic either. In the end, I found out that I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I’m ok with that because instead of being lethargic, grouchy and irritable all day, I get to eat granola bars, applesauce, and drink Propel water.
So, until Ramadan is over, my work will be limited. That just means I have an entire month to plan my next steps in Gudude Diopbe.
Of course, everyone in my village asks if I am fasting—multiple times each day. I think they ask me repeatedly because they don’t really have anything else to talk to me about besides telling me that it is hot outside, that Ramadan is difficult and, am I well? One day last week, frustrated by people constantly making fun of me for not fasting, I told them that I was indeed fasting. Now, I understand that this was not the morally correct thing to do, but I just thought I would see their reaction. Unfortunately, it was not what I had hoped for. They seemed impressed at first, but then asked if I was going to pray with them. (Muslims are supposed to pray five times a day at various times.) When I told them that I couldn’t because I was a Christian, they asked, “Then why are you fasting? You should pray if you are going to fast.” I had been using my Catholic upbringing as an excuse for me not fasting in the first place—they didn’t buy into that tactic either. In the end, I found out that I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I’m ok with that because instead of being lethargic, grouchy and irritable all day, I get to eat granola bars, applesauce, and drink Propel water.
So, until Ramadan is over, my work will be limited. That just means I have an entire month to plan my next steps in Gudude Diopbe.
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