A sad reality

A few months ago, I posted a photo of one of my host sisters Sorkna with a caption stating that she had scored first on her exam and would be going to middle school in Tamba. Unfortunately this is not true and was never true. I did not deceive you on purpose nor was I deceived myself. I am here to try and understand the qualities that now go into my kind, smart witted, and caring sister staying in Botou and ending her formal education.


We have a primary school in Botou. Kids can begin to go to school around age 4/5 but many wait until much later either because their parents don't care or because they need them to help around the house or in the fields. The teachers that come to the school in Botou generally do not choose to teach here. They are sent here by the government via the department of education (affecté). Many of the teachers are quite young, some haven't even been to university but rather received teaching qualifications through a certificate program.  Some are quality teachers, passionate about teaching and interested in helping their students succeed. But many take a laissez faire attitude toward teaching. The style of teaching mimics that of the French, memorizing lessons word for word and regurgitating them in class. Many students also miss days here and there often because they are helping with harvests, child care, laundry, what have you. This combination can make a perfect storm or a perfect rainbow. In the case of my sister, the former. Her teacher was a new director to the school. Very rarely did I actually see him teaching. Even rarer did I see Sorkna pull out her notebook after school and read or learn her lessons. And never did I see her parents helping her or encouraging her to study. This year was her second attempt at going to middle school. One day in June she went to Tamba and took the entrance exam. A few weeks later she told me that she had gotten first and I took this to mean placed first in the exam and would be attending school in Tamba. So I posted the photo. It has become apparent to me now that whatever she recorded "first" in was not related to her ability to go to middle school (I am still not sure what she was referring to). It looks like she won't be going to school, likely ever again. There are three possibilities that can come out of the exam for middle school. 1) you pass and go to the next year with zero restrictions 2) you pass and proceed to the next year but you are on probation and must take the same exam after the first year of middle school 3) you do not pass and you end your schooling

This is public school. This is Senegal. This is what happened to Sorkna.


School starts on Monday.  We have a new school director, someone from Botou which I believe that will be very beneficial to Botou and the students in the near future.  He held a meeting for both the mamas and the papas of the students and was very concerned with low number of students that have been passing the exam to go to school in Tamba.  He has brought the attention to the parents, telling them that they need to be concerned and active parents with their students if they want to succeed.  The parents seemed to hear this, but we will have to see what happens in the months to come.

Dancing in the name of

My one year anniversary was the 21st of September. One year since I arrived in Senegal, had a thermometer shoved in my ear to check and make sure I didn't have Ebola and landed my feet in the hot, and tropical climate that is Senegal. Most people might get sentimental at this point, reminiscing about all the things they've learned about themselves, about their work partners, family members, etc. and about what they are looking forward to in the 14 months to come. I too, might have written such a post if Tacko had decided not to have a dance party in my honor. It was a few days before the big Senegalese holiday when I went over to her house for something and she told me that in a few days "we are going to dance and play." I asked her what for and she answered, "for Halima". Not knowing exactly what that meant (maybe another slip up of my Bambara language skills) I sort of put that into the back filing cabinet of my brain. Later I asked Raki what she meant and why they were going to dance. "To make you happy," she said, and happy I was made.

It was organized for Sunday afternoon but when Tacko came over only a few other women showed up because they were still busy greeting people for the holiday. It was suggested that they do it after dinner (a time when many of you know I hit the sack and read). I decided I could probably stay up for an hour or so and watch the women dance. So during dinner women from my village came filing in, dressed to the nines, and with hollowed out gourd bowl and baignoire of water at the ready the dancing begun. They sang my name, and danced their hearts out. One woman, Sambura, about 80 years old, sang her heart out, orating my name and my redeemable qualities as a human (toubab) and as a worker. Singing in then name of Halima Fofana the women danced together, danced apart, and shook their booties until sweat was dripping off their foreheads and onto the ground. It was fantastic. I joined them in my hideous attempts at dancing Senegalese style, and I laughed, smiled and occasionally hooted my praise at their amazing moves and incredible energy. The greatest part about this celebration was just that, their energy and their celebration. The focus, at least for me, was on the women and the way their bodies move to the beat of the gourd and the pleasure they get out of dancing.

Rainy Season

I wrote this on June 11 and sent it to my email.  It was then buried very deep.

This first time it rains in Senegal it's scary brilliant. Not scary in a "I lost my mom in the mall" kind of way, but instead in the "oh my god, it can storm here just like in Vermont" kind of way.  I'm writing this from inside my hut at one o'clock in the morning, because today was the day it happened. The day it rained. But not only did it rain, it thundered and poured and lighting struck and lit up the sky like I have never before seen in Senegal. I didn't know thunder storms existed here. I love them at home but here when there is nothing to protect you except your hut, grass roof and mosquito net it comes in with a vengeance. It is as if the rain gods are punishing the earth for not giving the Sahel enough rain. When it first rained for the first time I was sleeping. But let me be clear. I was sleeping outside, naked, with my iPhone and my kindle. This is Peace Corps 10.0 people. At first it was just a terrible dust storm. The kind where you pull the sheet over the head and cover the pillows to avoid dust. The wind blows so hard the dust is forced up and into every possible surface and crevice and you just wait and hope that it ends soon. But this time, the drops came. The sky would light up and the dust and wind continued. And then the rain really came down. I tried to cover my head with the sheet but it wasn't going to suffice. I quickly gathered up my three pillows, my blanket, my sheet, my kindle and iPhone and headed for my hut. I would like to say that I skillfully managed to get out of mosquito net but that was hardly the case. I became entangled in my net (the last thing you want when it's raining dust). Finally I untangled myself and rushed myself and my stuff instead only to realize that my sleeping bag (which I use as a pad) and my net were getting wet. I rushed back out to get them as well leaving the already soaked mat to get nice and clean from the Senegal rains. I'll deal with that tomorrow. I came inside and immediately took the things off my desk that would suffer if wet- my electronics, my planner, and my journal. Tucked safely away in my metal trunk I did the same with myself. Back in my bed with my mosquito net I'm watching the baobabs light up in the fields out my window. The cracks of thunder are the most intense I've ever experienced and here I am, drafting an email to myself on my iPhone. Welcome to rainy season.

Finding your self worth

Development isn't easy. Defining it is an issue all unto itself but I'm not getting into that because a definition isn't what is needed right now, and anyways my Marxism would just get in the way.  You can't throw money at it. You can't just "do development" for people. You can see it. You can sense it. And you can watch it happen over many years. Technically as Peace Corps Volunteers we are development workers. We are all here for different reasons. We all have job descriptions. We live by the code of three goals.  These goals are not tangible. We cannot always see the fruits of our labor. What we can see is love lost, folks back home not quite understanding what we are doing here, ourselves unsure of our competences and our value. Why are we here? Why am I, someone who got a degree from a liberal arts college in political science, helping people with their agricultural development ? Why is it my right to walk into someone's field and tell them how they might better grow their corn? As many of you know my knowledge of field crops and farming in general is limited to say the least. I spent my "formative" years studying human rights in Africa, francophone literature and understanding why ethnic conflicts in the Democratic Republic of the Congo occur. But now I'm here, living in a village that is the epitome of subsistence farming. We grow what we can eat and if the rains come in full throttle (400mm during rainy season) we can maybe make $100. Everyone in my family eats off about a dollar a day. I am here because I chose to come here. I wasn't forced to sign up for these 27 months. My tour of duty, as I like to refer to it, is my choice alone. I received a very comprehensive training (in my opinion and others may beg to differ) from the Peace Corps Senegal team. I feel comfortable in village. I have integrated very well into my family and my village. I have a few work partners whom I cherish and some friends who think the world of me, as I do them. But my job isn't always easy.

Right now in the midst of rainy season I am extending improved variety field crop seed to farmers as a joint effort in cooperation with ISRA a Dakar seed research agency. I have about 16 farmers who I have given seed and a training to about the program and their responsibility to the seed and to me. They will notify me when they sow the seed, add any herbicides, weed or thin, etc. I visit these farmers at least once a week. As of now only about a third of my farmers have sown their seeds. They are all very busy planting all their other seeds, the seeds that to them matter so much more than my seed. Their seed is their livelihood and my seed is just a side project. Something that may produce a good yield but not enough to make a profit in their pocket. Often when I go to visit a farmer's field or to see them at their houses they are not there. They are out in their other fields. I find myself feeling frustrated with myself for not being more productive. Once field visits are done with the farmers that have seeded and I have answered all their questions and asked them mine I go back home. It's early, before anyone else has returned from the fields. People ask me why I don't have my own field of peanuts or bitter tomato or okra. I tell them what I have in my garden and explain that I visit other people's fields and I'm free to help anyone with gardening or tree planting, etc. but it isn't easy coming back around noon and feeling useless as everyone else rolls in on the charette at 2pm exhausted. But let me be clear, my job while it may be agriculture work is not to do the work for my farmers. I'm not about to go and be free manual labor for someone. That isn't development. And frankly, as a woman, people tell me I'm exhausted after I've used a small hand hoe for ten minutes. But that doesn't seem to bother me. If all these things were to bother me I would be miserable. And if I were miserable I would go home.

 Instead I chose to look at my service through a different lens. I believe I am helping people, not all may be agriculture related but it all "counts".  I've been planting trees out in fields where there normally aren't trees. I've taught farmers about thinning their crops and adding amendments to their soil. And above all, I've seen my baby sister speak before anyone else her age in the village. The small successes should be celebrated. We should be proud of ourselves and I know our families back home are proud of us. Our Peace Corps service is much different than it was for those volunteers twenty or thirty years ago. Yes I can type this blog post on my iPhone in village and post it this weekend. Yes I have easy contact with my supportive parents. But that doesn't mean that my service is easier than it was for those volunteers many years before. I can't, and no one should, compare my service with that of my doctor who 20 years ago served in the DRC. My service isn't lesser because I can contact my friends and family. My service isn't lesser because I am not able to be as effective in changing the behavior of planting seed in my village. Every volunteer will say that their service is their service, unique and independent. But everyone suffers from comparing their service to someone else's and struggling with the judgement of their work from their host families, counterparts, other volunteers, our Peace Corps bosses, people back home, and none of it makes this any easier.


 Peace Corps is not supposed to be a permanent reality. It also shouldn't be something that makes us question our self worth. I tell my fellow volunteers that I think of my service and my time in Botou as a hiatus from my real life. I understand that this is my present. But I also know it won't last forever and that my other life is waiting for me back home. I am looking forward to finishing my two years and come back to my life a changed person: changed by my service, my language, my name, my village, my incompetences, my successes, and my self worth.

What's in a life?

As Peace Corps Volunteers we work under three goals.  The first is the most quantifiable but the second and third are more about the exchange of culture, ideas, and language that we have with host country nationals.  So much of my time is spent talking with people in my village and around Senegal about everything and anything.  The following is by no means a complete list of things I have discussed.  These conversations happen in Bambara and so often the exact translations and sense of words do not come across, but I do my best.

Living off the grid (in Vermont).  Acne and other skin issues including but not limited to, sunburns, heat rash, and bug bites.  The moon and the stars, yes we have them in America too.  Trees, our trees are not the same as here in Botou but we have lots of trees.  Why my mother is "so old".  Cows, donkeys, horses, goats, sheep, and chicken can all be found in America.  The difference in development between America and Senegal as it relates to our respective independence dates.  Farming, and how we do it in America and how we used to do it in America.  Industrialization.  Skyping and the fact that I can see my parents and friends as well as talk to them.  Looking something up on the internet i.e. googling, particularly Senegalese holidays.  Meteorology and what weather prediction people do.  The fact that our milk generally comes in liquid form, not powder.  Why I'm still not married and why I will not get married in Senegal.  Why people in America have fewer kids than the Senegalese (I tell them that it is expensive to have lots of kids in America).  Obama and how Obama essentially paid for me to come and work here (it is the simplest explanation I can give for how I came to Senegal without paying any money directly myself (for the ticket and visa).  The war in Yemen.  British/Gambian English versus American English (Where does American English come from they ask?) My father's profession (I describe it as a doctor for people who are sick in their heads).  The fact that we get wood on horse drawn carts too (West Braintree).  Villages in America and their similarities and differences between villages in Senegal.  Starting a Bambara language school in the U.S.  Reading for pleasure.  Married couples in the Peace Corps.  People early terminating their service.  The fact that I play the saxophone.  Swimming.  Mountains and hiking up mountains.

This is obviously not a complete list but this should give you an idea of what people ask me about.  If you have any things you think might be interesting to discuss, feel free to let me know.

Tastes: a continuation of the five senses

So I'm finishing up the five sense posts. I figured I've been here for almost nine months and while I may not have seen, smelled, touched, tasted, or heard everything there is in this country I'm ready to report in on my final two senses and give my two senses (cents).

Tastes are a miraculous thing in Senegal because they can be absolutely wonderful and make your day or they can ruin it. Many of the following are very subjective.

The taste of oil. Oil (vegetable mainly) is used in many of the rice dishes in Senegal. It's almost a food staple, much like ketchup is for me in the States. The national dish in Senegal is called Chebb u Jenn (in Wolof) and is rice cooked in oil (yes you read that right) with fish, and very cooked vegetables. The rice is also cooked in these spice cubes that are very similar to the bouillon we use in soup stock. It is a dish that I can barely stomach, but not just because of the oil. It's a lunch dish here in Botou usually 2-3 times per week. Oil also shows up in beignets, doughnuts, and fatayas. All of these are fried goodies that you can find anywhere. Women sell them on the street and people make them in villages to sell as well. Beignets are fried in oil to the point that, like the oily rice, you can squeeze the product and watch the oil come off. Doughnuts (we call them "bon bon") here, are less greasy but more doughy and still fried in oil. I like these better and I think they taste like apple cider doughnuts from Vermont. That is if you hop on one foot and tilt your head to the side. Fatayas are dough filled triangles or half moon shaped with fish and vegetables. Sometimes a fish bone or twelve and fried.

After oil there are peanuts. Peanut butter is not eaten the way we eat peanut butter in America. In fact when I describe what we do with peanut butter to people here they raise their eyebrows and wrinkle their nose. Peanut butter is made into a peanut sauce (and not like the peanut sauce you might dip your chicken satay into). This peanut sauce has more bouillon, sometimes tomato paste and tomato powder, sometimes baobab leaves, and sometimes fish or meat. It's served over white rice and in Bambara we call it naa jii, or tiga dege which just means peanut butter, with name variations if there are different things in it. In Wolof it's called maffe. This dish I quite enjoy. As long as my spoonful has some hot pepper and not bones. Another taste is our "couscous" which is made out of corn. We pound the kernels and then soak them in water. The corn is then brought to a machine where it is ground very finely. Then it is sifted into two different grain sizes. One is made into basi, a couscous like texture that some volunteers describe as sand. It is then served also with naa jii but a lighter version. Sometimes this will have moringa leaves, beans leaves, or cabbage in it. Sometimes it will contain fish or beans!.  But most of the time it is plain  "peanut water" as we volunteers love to refer to it as (and is the direct translation).

The other diet staple is breakfast. We call it mooni and it is basically sweet mini matzo balls in a porridge. The finest grain from the corn is sifted to basically a flour and then mixed with water to make little balls that are then boiled in water (sugar added) and we drink it with large spoons like ladles. Another frequent taste is that of sugar. Because most of Senegal is Muslim and because many/most Muslims do not drink alcohol they drink sugar instead. In Senegal it comes in the form of attaya (thé) which is a strong green tea boiled (unlike how your heart healthy father knows you should steep green tea) with sugar and mint or basil or the leaves of a lemon tree. When the Senegalese don't drink this bitterly sweet tea they get headaches. And complain. I've noticed the withdrawal myself. The tea is not good (at least in my opinion) but it's not bad and I usual don't refuse. These are all food tastes. Food is not very varied here in Senegal. Oil comes in breakfast sandwiches where eggs are cooked to form a whole new beast. While raised culturally Jewish I was accustomed to eating a food's weight in oil in the form of latkes. But when I realized that this once a year treat was actually making my stomach hurt I quickly asked my dad to make sure we had lox and brisket instead for Hanukkah. This stomach pain resulting from oil came back with revenge in the form of oily rice. And while I am polite I eat a bit of the national dish when served but the oil always brings me back to my dad's delicious latkes.

The other taste that I can't help but ignore is that of dust from tracks driving by as I'm biking. Exhaust and dust are my delicious. Although if given the option between exhaust and dust and oil I might have to c

onsider. The smell and taste that unfortunately comes into your mouth of burning trash is also seriously disgusting. Most of the trash burned has plastic in it. And as we put it here in Peace Corps. Burning plastic leads to us breathing and tasting cancer, something most of us try and avoid.

"Spring" in Botou

I like to think of myself as a site guru instead of a site rat. Let me explain. Some people spend weeks on weeks at site, without venturing because there is nowhere to go and nothing else to do. Some like it (I think) and some think it is what you do if you want to be productive at your site. I however, am not in that position. For one thing when I leave site I only have to travel ten kilometers to get to relatively reliable electricity, WiFi, a freezer with cold water, and the peace corps Tambacounda regional house.  And for another I do not leave my site frequently enough to be deemed someone who is escaping site or work and does not really like to be here. Instead I leave site to gather my own sanity and prepare to head back. I've realized that (among many other things) being happy at site is paramount for me. If I'm not happy something is wrong. I'm generally a very happy person and that has translated to the me in Senegal as well. But in order to keep this order within myself and in my village I travel the ten kilometers (about once a week), usually on my nege-so (lit. iron house) to the house where I breathe in some serious dust, experience a warmer city, and bask in a few hours of cold water and conversation with my two other halves (three cheers out there for my mama and papa) and anyone else who might be around. I pick up any letters that you may have sent me and I recharge (literally, I reload books on my kindle, podcasts on my iPod, and charge my Nokia phone).

 At site, recently I've been keeping busy. I've been working with the director of Botou's primary school to bring water (via a spigot) to the school as well as fencing and tools for a school garden. The produce from the garden will supplement the rice, beans and oil given to the school by the World Food Programme. We had to measure the space, calculate what the community already had (tools, land) and what the community could give (labor, sand) in terms of a community contribution (active participation). I had numerous meetings with the men in the village, including one where eight men between the ages of 20-50 and I walked around measuring things out. Then I spent a few trips to Tamba trying (at first unsuccessfully) to get numbers and pricing for piping for the water, and eventually pricing for the door. We figured out the piping back in Botou at the water tower (al hamduilliah). With all the numbers worked out I also met with the inspector of schools for the region of Tamba who wanted to know who I was, what I was doing, and to thank me. The grant has been submitted and we are waiting for the go ahead and the funds which hopefully will come in during the summer so we can get everything set up for when the school year starts in October.

It has been exhausting getting all these minor details worked out before the actual work happens. Something I've realized about working with the Senegalese is that they are very patient and eager for things to work or, but the organization of business and commerce is such that nothing happens when or where you want it to. It can be frustrating but patience has come in the form of Halima Fofana and has become second nature to me here. Frustration often abounds but usually not much else can be done. I have been persistent. Meeting with people multiple times a week or a day to make sure that I get the information I need. Hopefully it will all pay off and there will be fruits of our labor (and vegetables). Only time will tell. And time is all I've got.