Thursday, May 31, 2012
Parodies of Human Beings
Dakar, 1979. Mour Ndiaye, Director of Department of Public Health and Hygiene has done his country a great service. He has rid the capital city of talibe, beggars, and boroom battu (calabash bearers - those who collect alms in a calabash). Said Ndiaye, "They are a running sore which should be kept hidden." He went on to lambast the shameful nature in which they beg for food, as opposed to wearing their poverty gracefully and silently. "Just because we're beggars, people think we're dogs! We're beginning to get fed up with the way we're treated!" commented an anonymous beggar. He's not alone in this sentiment. The boroom battu have gone into hiding after a crackdown by the Senegalese government (one beggar purportedly died from injuries after a police beat him, following new government regulations). The result? "We are as necessary to them as the air they breathe," responded another anonymous beggar. Havoc and maelstrom prevail in the capital when the rest of the population is not able to give alms to the needy and thus receive blessings from Allah. One grand marabout of the capital asks "You waged war against the beggars? Who won?" To find out, read Aminata Sow Fall's The Beggar's Strike.
Images from Senegal
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| Dance party upon my arrival |
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| My host father building my backyard |
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| Welcome to my village! |
Pensees
The following is a collection of thoughts and experiences I had in my first few days at my new site:
- I can't do this.
- A boy in my compound just peed on my work partner's leg.
- Once upon a time, presenting kola nuts to the village chief was only the stuff of Achebe's books.
- I think I can do this.
- My host father just talked to me for thirty minutes and all I understood is "Your hut is fat."
- I had a dance off with a blind woman. She won.
- Oh my god, can I do this?
- My mefloquine dream last night involved Godzilla and a cheetah smoking cigarettes.
- The old woman's back for another dance off. This time without a shirt. There's no way I can compete.
- I can do this. I can totally do this.
- I can't do this.
- A boy in my compound just peed on my work partner's leg.
- Once upon a time, presenting kola nuts to the village chief was only the stuff of Achebe's books.
- I think I can do this.
- My host father just talked to me for thirty minutes and all I understood is "Your hut is fat."
- I had a dance off with a blind woman. She won.
- Oh my god, can I do this?
- My mefloquine dream last night involved Godzilla and a cheetah smoking cigarettes.
- The old woman's back for another dance off. This time without a shirt. There's no way I can compete.
- I can do this. I can totally do this.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Not to Brag, But...
Kedougou is beautiful. It's the only place in Senegal that has any sort of elevation (I say "sort" - the word for "hill" in Jaxanke is the same word as "mountain," just to give you an idea). There's also trees, gardens, a river, and waterfalls. We've been told that we're not allowed to brag to volunteers in other regions. I have spent a few days at the Peace Corps regional house in the region's capital (also called Kedougou) before being installed in my village.
After unloading from a 12 hour car ride from Thies, I hopped on my bike with a few current volunteers to go swimming in the Gambia River. Words can't describe how beautiful this feels in 117 degree weather (and we're just at the beginning of hot season!). As night began to fall, some kids started yelling for us to get out. It was the hour when hippos usually appear. Hippos! The most dangerous animal known to man, followed closely by donkeys - apparently their kicks are deadly, though I feel that their braying could also inspire a heart attack.
The next days were spent in the market buying my hut-hold items - a bamboo bed, a butt kettle (the Senegalese form of toilet paper), but the thing I'm most excited about is my extra sleeping mat (hint, hint).
My host family in Mbour is among the founding family of Kedougou, so yesterday was dedicated to greeting the whole family, including the family of my namesake (Nyakhalin) who was my mom's best friend, now deceased. Because she is my namesake, I assume the same relationships with her family members. For example, when I was introduced to her son, he was introduced as "my son." Odd meeting "my" 17 year old son.
Tomorrow is my install day. I will move to Diakhaba where I am supposed to stay put for five weeks. A glorious five weeks! where I can unpack and try to feel at home, as much as possible.
Fo naato, inshallah!
(Talk to you later, God willing.)
After unloading from a 12 hour car ride from Thies, I hopped on my bike with a few current volunteers to go swimming in the Gambia River. Words can't describe how beautiful this feels in 117 degree weather (and we're just at the beginning of hot season!). As night began to fall, some kids started yelling for us to get out. It was the hour when hippos usually appear. Hippos! The most dangerous animal known to man, followed closely by donkeys - apparently their kicks are deadly, though I feel that their braying could also inspire a heart attack.
The next days were spent in the market buying my hut-hold items - a bamboo bed, a butt kettle (the Senegalese form of toilet paper), but the thing I'm most excited about is my extra sleeping mat (hint, hint).
My host family in Mbour is among the founding family of Kedougou, so yesterday was dedicated to greeting the whole family, including the family of my namesake (Nyakhalin) who was my mom's best friend, now deceased. Because she is my namesake, I assume the same relationships with her family members. For example, when I was introduced to her son, he was introduced as "my son." Odd meeting "my" 17 year old son.
Tomorrow is my install day. I will move to Diakhaba where I am supposed to stay put for five weeks. A glorious five weeks! where I can unpack and try to feel at home, as much as possible.
Fo naato, inshallah!
(Talk to you later, God willing.)
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Now the Adventure Begins...
On Friday, May 11, at approximately 10am, I will swear in as a United States Peace Corps Volunteer. I will swear to defend the U.S. Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. This is something I've waited seven years to achieve. (Or is this all just a mefloquine dream?)
I somehow passed my last Jaxanke language exam. It sounded something like this:
Teacher: Why did you join the Peace Corps?
Me: (sweating because it was 104 degrees, not to mention my Jaxanke level is only so-so, as you'll soon see) I liked to come to Peace Corps because a heart I have!
T: I see. How is your life different here than in America?
M: Life is different! (This seemed important to say.) In America, my name is Chrissie Faupel. In Senegal, my name is Nyakhalin Mar. In America, a bike I have. In Senegal, a bike I don't have yet. (I sit back, pleased with this answer.)
T: Ah yes, those differences are astounding. Now, what did you do last week?
M: Last week... (I think for a minute. In the whirlwind that is training, it's hard to remember what I ate for lunch, let alone what I did last week, which is an impressive feat considering I eat the same thing every day.) Okay. Last week, I went to Dakar for to see my man. We were married since six years.
T: Oh, wow. Congratulations. May Allah bless you with much happiness.
M: Amen.
And this continued on for another uncomfortable 20 minutes. A skit was also involved in which I had to pretend to be returning a gift that I had bought for my mom because my sister bought the same gift. The "shopkeeper" was relentless and I ended the skit with a grandiose speech: "My mother is not happy. Never will you see me again here for to buy things!"
Yet somehow I achieved Intermediate High, which is one level higher than is needed to pass training. Which means that by the 17th of May I will be installed in Diakhaba and begin the difficult, beautiful process that is Peace Corps.
My dear friends and family, I love you and miss you terribly. Thank you for all your encouragement, I rely on you!
I somehow passed my last Jaxanke language exam. It sounded something like this:
Teacher: Why did you join the Peace Corps?
Me: (sweating because it was 104 degrees, not to mention my Jaxanke level is only so-so, as you'll soon see) I liked to come to Peace Corps because a heart I have!
T: I see. How is your life different here than in America?
M: Life is different! (This seemed important to say.) In America, my name is Chrissie Faupel. In Senegal, my name is Nyakhalin Mar. In America, a bike I have. In Senegal, a bike I don't have yet. (I sit back, pleased with this answer.)
T: Ah yes, those differences are astounding. Now, what did you do last week?
M: Last week... (I think for a minute. In the whirlwind that is training, it's hard to remember what I ate for lunch, let alone what I did last week, which is an impressive feat considering I eat the same thing every day.) Okay. Last week, I went to Dakar for to see my man. We were married since six years.
T: Oh, wow. Congratulations. May Allah bless you with much happiness.
M: Amen.
And this continued on for another uncomfortable 20 minutes. A skit was also involved in which I had to pretend to be returning a gift that I had bought for my mom because my sister bought the same gift. The "shopkeeper" was relentless and I ended the skit with a grandiose speech: "My mother is not happy. Never will you see me again here for to buy things!"
Yet somehow I achieved Intermediate High, which is one level higher than is needed to pass training. Which means that by the 17th of May I will be installed in Diakhaba and begin the difficult, beautiful process that is Peace Corps.
My dear friends and family, I love you and miss you terribly. Thank you for all your encouragement, I rely on you!
DivaCup Causery
One of the last nights of stage, I gave an impromptu causery to a group of fellow female trainees on how to use a DivaCup (in Jaxanke). This causery touched on many important points of Peace Corps' mission - women's health, environmental education, and Senegal Gender and Development (there was one unfortunate male trainee sitting in the room).
Have I finally arrived?
Have I finally arrived?
Mariama Ba, Mariama Ba, Mariama Ba *
This post-colonial author - a Senegalese and a feminist - writes of the complexities of polygamous marriage, as well as the complexities of criticizing a practice so steeped in culture and religion (Islam says a man can take up to 4 wives, as long as he can provide for every wife). Ba's thoughts on the subject are clear. In So Long a Letter, she writes of a man who takes his daughter's best friend as a second wife, remaining married to his first wife, though in essence abandoning her. This epistolary novel follows the protagonist's thoughts in a letter she writes to her best friend, Aissatou, also a divorcee.
Ba offers a feminist response to Cheikh Hamidou Kane (Ambiguous Adventure). For her, Western colonial education may signal the death of tradition, but it heralds equal educational opportunities for women, where none had previously existed. And the response by their male counterparts?
"Being the first pioneers of the promotion of African women, there were very few of us. Men would call us scatter-brained. Others labelled us devils."
The interesting thing about this book is that it is considered a classic of African literature. It is required reading in middle school, where young Senegalese students hold debates on polygamy. Women, as well as men, have been quick to extol the merits of this book when they see me reading it.
While my thoughts were on the subject of gender, I decided to sit down with a few Senegalese friends and hear their ideas. For the man's perspective, we'll be hearing from Falaye Danfakha, a math and science teacher from southern Senegal, torn between tradition and the flash of modern science (and also my language teacher). For the women, we'll hear the thoughts of Adji Thiaw, also a Peace Corps staff member and a wonderful human being, a strong, beautiful, intelligent Senegalese woman.
* * *
Chrissie Faupel: What characteristics should a good Senegalese woman possess?
Falaye Danfakha: She should be religious, humble, and positive. Also, because men are the head of the household with a lot of responsibilities, women should be understanding and supportive of their husbands. But most of all, religious.
Adji Thiaw: Others would say she should stay at home, not complain, raise her kids. I think a good woman should know what and how far she can do something - know her own limits. She should not stick to traditional ways. She should be sharing and cooperative with her family at large. Women here are judged by how happy their husbands are. For example, many consider me to be a bad wife because I work far from home most of the time.
CF: What characteristics should a good Senegalese man possess?
FD: Most of all, he should be responsible, since he's the head of the family. He should be religious, polite, and also have many of the same characteristics as women. But most of all, responsible, since he is a leader.
AT: He should know how to give respect and be understanding. Most of all, he should know how to give recognition to his wife. See, here, women only get the recognition they deserve at their funeral ceremonies. But by then it's too late. Men should also learn how to help out around the house.
CF: What are your thoughts on Mariama Ba's Une Si Longue Lettre?
FD: On the one hand, Mariama Ba had a really tough life. She uses her bad experience with men to explain how men are. I can't blame her for that since that was her experience. But on the other hand, she only shows the bad side of men. Men also can be wronged by women. The solution is for both men and women to assume their responsibilities.
AT: This book describes the fate of any woman in Senegal. I found my own experience in what she was writing about. This is true for a great majority of women; they have no support from their husbands. But you can't complain, it's women's fate.
CF: Mariama Ba is very critical of polygamy. What are your thoughts on this practice?
FD: Here, for us, religion is really strong, so it's hard to comment on that. It's a man's choice to take up to four wives. Most women don't want to live that way, but that comes from a misunderstanding in the way they were raised. Parents need to sensitize their daughters to this practice. This is why parents worry about sending their children to French schools, because they will develop bad ideas about polygamy. If they go to a religious school, they will be more free and comfortable with the idea.
AT: I would be that critical of polygamy, too. I grew up in this kind of family; my mom was my dad's first wife. He had four wives. There was not enough room for all of us, not enough money to buy school supplies, and sometimes not enough food for everyone. But sometimes I think my husband would be happier if he took another wife since I'm always away from Dakar for work. Though it's really unfair. There are health issues to think about. If my husband marries someone with a sexually transmitted infection, I could get sick, too. It's unjust.
CF: Often Western women talk of the problems that African women face - female genital mutilation and polygamy, for example. In your opinion, what are the most pressing issues that Senegalese women face?
FD: Female genital mutilation is an issue, but the government is trying to fight that. If you are caught doing this practice, you will go to jail. I think the biggest issue is that women work a lot. They have a lot of housework to do, especially in the villages, and they are given less consideration than men. My mom had a lot of work and I credit her for where I am now - she was the one who looked out for my education, my nutrition.
AT: There is no room for women in the decision-making process. The government has attempted, but it's really not happening. However educated women are, they are still seen as only wives and mothers. Often I am the only woman in my workplace and this is unjust. Access to continuing education is also a big problem women face, especially because of early marriage and pregnancy. A man might be afraid to take an educated wife because she is less submissive.
* * *
Mariama Ba, however, leaves us with an eye toward the future. "The word 'happiness' does indeed have meaning, doesn't it? I shall go out in search of it."
*to call on somebody three times is an invocation that indicates the seriousness of a situation
Ba offers a feminist response to Cheikh Hamidou Kane (Ambiguous Adventure). For her, Western colonial education may signal the death of tradition, but it heralds equal educational opportunities for women, where none had previously existed. And the response by their male counterparts?
"Being the first pioneers of the promotion of African women, there were very few of us. Men would call us scatter-brained. Others labelled us devils."
The interesting thing about this book is that it is considered a classic of African literature. It is required reading in middle school, where young Senegalese students hold debates on polygamy. Women, as well as men, have been quick to extol the merits of this book when they see me reading it.
While my thoughts were on the subject of gender, I decided to sit down with a few Senegalese friends and hear their ideas. For the man's perspective, we'll be hearing from Falaye Danfakha, a math and science teacher from southern Senegal, torn between tradition and the flash of modern science (and also my language teacher). For the women, we'll hear the thoughts of Adji Thiaw, also a Peace Corps staff member and a wonderful human being, a strong, beautiful, intelligent Senegalese woman.
* * *
Chrissie Faupel: What characteristics should a good Senegalese woman possess?
Falaye Danfakha: She should be religious, humble, and positive. Also, because men are the head of the household with a lot of responsibilities, women should be understanding and supportive of their husbands. But most of all, religious.
Adji Thiaw: Others would say she should stay at home, not complain, raise her kids. I think a good woman should know what and how far she can do something - know her own limits. She should not stick to traditional ways. She should be sharing and cooperative with her family at large. Women here are judged by how happy their husbands are. For example, many consider me to be a bad wife because I work far from home most of the time.
CF: What characteristics should a good Senegalese man possess?
FD: Most of all, he should be responsible, since he's the head of the family. He should be religious, polite, and also have many of the same characteristics as women. But most of all, responsible, since he is a leader.
AT: He should know how to give respect and be understanding. Most of all, he should know how to give recognition to his wife. See, here, women only get the recognition they deserve at their funeral ceremonies. But by then it's too late. Men should also learn how to help out around the house.
CF: What are your thoughts on Mariama Ba's Une Si Longue Lettre?
FD: On the one hand, Mariama Ba had a really tough life. She uses her bad experience with men to explain how men are. I can't blame her for that since that was her experience. But on the other hand, she only shows the bad side of men. Men also can be wronged by women. The solution is for both men and women to assume their responsibilities.
AT: This book describes the fate of any woman in Senegal. I found my own experience in what she was writing about. This is true for a great majority of women; they have no support from their husbands. But you can't complain, it's women's fate.
CF: Mariama Ba is very critical of polygamy. What are your thoughts on this practice?
FD: Here, for us, religion is really strong, so it's hard to comment on that. It's a man's choice to take up to four wives. Most women don't want to live that way, but that comes from a misunderstanding in the way they were raised. Parents need to sensitize their daughters to this practice. This is why parents worry about sending their children to French schools, because they will develop bad ideas about polygamy. If they go to a religious school, they will be more free and comfortable with the idea.
AT: I would be that critical of polygamy, too. I grew up in this kind of family; my mom was my dad's first wife. He had four wives. There was not enough room for all of us, not enough money to buy school supplies, and sometimes not enough food for everyone. But sometimes I think my husband would be happier if he took another wife since I'm always away from Dakar for work. Though it's really unfair. There are health issues to think about. If my husband marries someone with a sexually transmitted infection, I could get sick, too. It's unjust.
CF: Often Western women talk of the problems that African women face - female genital mutilation and polygamy, for example. In your opinion, what are the most pressing issues that Senegalese women face?
FD: Female genital mutilation is an issue, but the government is trying to fight that. If you are caught doing this practice, you will go to jail. I think the biggest issue is that women work a lot. They have a lot of housework to do, especially in the villages, and they are given less consideration than men. My mom had a lot of work and I credit her for where I am now - she was the one who looked out for my education, my nutrition.
AT: There is no room for women in the decision-making process. The government has attempted, but it's really not happening. However educated women are, they are still seen as only wives and mothers. Often I am the only woman in my workplace and this is unjust. Access to continuing education is also a big problem women face, especially because of early marriage and pregnancy. A man might be afraid to take an educated wife because she is less submissive.
* * *
Mariama Ba, however, leaves us with an eye toward the future. "The word 'happiness' does indeed have meaning, doesn't it? I shall go out in search of it."
*to call on somebody three times is an invocation that indicates the seriousness of a situation
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Bissimilah
"Naa. Domo," my host mom calls me. "Come. Eat." I take my place on the floor around the common bowl. "Bissimilah," we all mumble, welcoming each other to the food, before digging in with our hands.
Lunch today is no different than any other day. "Lun woo lun, yego nin malo," the volunteers joke. "Everyday, fish and rice." The Wolof word for rice is "ceeb" (pron. cheb) and these meals are called ceeb bowls - a bed of rice onto which is piled cabbage, potato, carrot, bitter tomato, and fish. (Our homestay is on the beach, so we eat a lot of fish. I will not be eating fish at my permanent site, as Kedougou is far from the ocean.)
Meals are a fairly quiet affair. This is one aspect of West African life that the French did not colonize. There's no long meals unfolding over several courses, no discussions that are as endless as the bottles of wine. And yet, it's during these quick, silent meals that I often feel the most cared for.
When my mom is eating with us, she carefully picks over the fish, pulling out the tiny bones and depositing edible portions in front of me. When my mom's not there, another family member assumes responsibility. They know I love carrots, so bits of carrot always end up in front of me in the bowl. I'm not the only kid looked out for. My uncle makes sure the younger two get plenty of vegetables. And he always scoops out some extra burnt rice for them that little kids (and Peace Corps Volunteers) here love to eat so much. This basic show of affection always seems to me poignant.
Once I've eaten my fill, I set my spoon down. My family protests. "Nyakhalin, you didn't eat anything."
"Mfaata. A diyata kende. Al barka." (I'm full. It was really good. Thank you.)
"Al barkala," they reply. (Thanks be to God.)
And then I walk away. When you're done eating, you don't sit around the bowl and chat. You don't wait for dessert and coffee. You're supposed to get up and leave, even if others are still eating. But you go away feeling as though this most basic and necessary part of life is a shared thing. And that someone is looking out for you.
Al barkala.
Lunch today is no different than any other day. "Lun woo lun, yego nin malo," the volunteers joke. "Everyday, fish and rice." The Wolof word for rice is "ceeb" (pron. cheb) and these meals are called ceeb bowls - a bed of rice onto which is piled cabbage, potato, carrot, bitter tomato, and fish. (Our homestay is on the beach, so we eat a lot of fish. I will not be eating fish at my permanent site, as Kedougou is far from the ocean.)
Meals are a fairly quiet affair. This is one aspect of West African life that the French did not colonize. There's no long meals unfolding over several courses, no discussions that are as endless as the bottles of wine. And yet, it's during these quick, silent meals that I often feel the most cared for.
When my mom is eating with us, she carefully picks over the fish, pulling out the tiny bones and depositing edible portions in front of me. When my mom's not there, another family member assumes responsibility. They know I love carrots, so bits of carrot always end up in front of me in the bowl. I'm not the only kid looked out for. My uncle makes sure the younger two get plenty of vegetables. And he always scoops out some extra burnt rice for them that little kids (and Peace Corps Volunteers) here love to eat so much. This basic show of affection always seems to me poignant.
Once I've eaten my fill, I set my spoon down. My family protests. "Nyakhalin, you didn't eat anything."
"Mfaata. A diyata kende. Al barka." (I'm full. It was really good. Thank you.)
"Al barkala," they reply. (Thanks be to God.)
And then I walk away. When you're done eating, you don't sit around the bowl and chat. You don't wait for dessert and coffee. You're supposed to get up and leave, even if others are still eating. But you go away feeling as though this most basic and necessary part of life is a shared thing. And that someone is looking out for you.
Al barkala.
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