Garden of Botou

It's been awhile since I last posted and for that I apologize. For anyone worried that I was lost in Europe, working too hard, or coming home, you are sadly wrong on all accounts. I am grateful to have gone on vacation (it was much overdue) but I couldn't wait to come home. I am not working too hard but rather just enough as you shall see. And I am not coming home. About ten more months are left in this tour of service and I couldn't be more rejuvenated.

Vacation was great! I didn't speak a word of any language except English and the basic Spanish I had to pick up like "dos cervezas por favor." I wandered around the Portuguese coastline taking in warm winds and cool waters. I ate good pork and drank delicious beer and wanted most of the time to be back in Botou.

Before I left, I had given vegetable seeds to my school director who has been taking charge of the garden. I told them to seed them in lines in a nursery and that I would be back in January around the time that we should transplant. None of the making of the beds had been done and I wasn't convinced they would be nor would the seeds be in the ground when I got back.

I was wary to visit the garden when I got back. In fact I waited a day and a half. But low and behold there was greenery inside! The nursery was beautiful; full of lettuce, tomatoes, cabbage, onions, and eggplant, and the beds to transplant had been traced out. Apparently the director had told Bouna to have all the dads of the school kids come out that Saturday to dig the beds. And so they did. Saturday I spent the morning watching men whack some of the most difficult ground I've seen. I had done my share of pick-axing this space earlier so it was their turn. We have 10 rows and 20 beds and slowly slowly they were dug, amended and dug again by some of the teachers. One in particular has been a garden superstar and his level, symmetrical beds make for quite a nice space to look at. Slowly slowly the kids and teachers began transplanting the vegetables and things were looking terrific. Then I had a visit from one of my bosses, he visited the garden and gave the teachers a pep talk about the uses of the garden, the benefits of Moringa, etc. they were jazzed and in fact, that afternoon the women of Botou decided to come to the garden and see for themselves what all the hubbub was about. Turns out they had some (correct) opinions on the spacing of tomatoes and eggplant. They also had ways to improve the garden beds which I welcomed and watched from the periphery thinking "this is what sustainable development is supposed to look like." Then these women, who I have worked with on a few other things decided that all the women would come out Sunday afternoon to help transplant. And so they did. It has been amazing to see the community effort in this space. It isn't perfect. But I have heard so many stories of other PCVs with school gardens where the PCV does most of the work and once they leave, it no longer is a working garden because no one takes the initiative to keep the work up. I decided to approach the Botou school garden differently. I trained the director and the teachers a bit adding on to what they already knew on spacing, amendments, etc. and then I backed off. So far off that I left the continent. I figured if they were determined to actually have a garden they would seed and water. If they weren't, I would have just installed an expensive fence for no particular reason. Luckily the former occurred, and full speed ahead the garden is thriving all thanks to the hard work of Botou and not as a result of all the work I did. This is what sustainable development is. This is what it can be. Yes I bought the fencing, but the teachers are keen on planting thorny species to build a live fence to live on after the chain link disintegrates. The community is motivated and helping to pay the robinet water bill. And soon the vegetables will be in the kids lunches helping to increase nutrition in their diets. It's great to be a volunteer in Botou these days.

In this world

For those of you interested, I have not posted anything previously regarding the attacks in Beirut, Paris, Kenya, or Mali. I don't usually use social media to try and work out what's going on in the wider world. That's just too hard. But with the Mali attacks, I have had a few people write to me and others post statuses angry that more people aren't posting more about it. This one hit close to home, literally. I live about 890 kilometers from Bamako. We were a bit worried, mainly for our Malian PCV friends but also for the future of Mali. I was worried because of the proximity to Senegal but was reminded by myself, my friends and Raki and Bouna that it is extremely unlikely that kind of attack would happen here. Nonetheless I am still worried and I'm still sadden by the death of the American who had once been a Peace Corps Senegal volunteer and I'm worried about the state of our world. That being said, I have always felt safe, at home, loved and supported living with my Bambara Muslim family. What I heard  of the attacks in Bamako was that the terrorists ran into the Radisson screaming Allah Akbar, which means God is great in Arabic, a phrase that I hear probably 40 times throughout the day for prayer calls. And while I personally don't believe in God, here in Botou I do believe that God is great. I believe that prayer brings peace to many people and that religion can be used to help unite and welcome people into this world just as much as it can destroy and take people out of this world. The world is messy. It seems to be getting messier; in America with oil pipelines, xenophobia, racial violence, sexual violence, and ignorance; in Europe with xenophobia; Asia with natural disasters; and Africa with war, militant extremists, poverty, and environmental degradation. It isn't a world I am proud to live in at this moment, but I am proud to live in Botou.  I cannot live in fear but I am fearful. I have no hate in my heart for those that committed crimes because that won't do anyone any good but I'm confused at how religion is affecting my life so positively in Senegal and so negatively around the world. I believe the world is scared, unsure of what to do, and vulnerable. There seem to be so many tipping points, so many bridges broken and lives lost that I am not sure how we will recover. But all of this, what's going on in the world, is not new to humanity, despicable, but not uncommon. For such a supposedly intelligent species, we are not doing very well for ourselves and things need to change. I want to be proud to live in this world, much like I am proud to live in Botou but for now, being here is all I can manage.

Letting myself fall in love

Falling in love is one of the greatest and most intimate gifts we are given.  Humans claim to fall in love and I would argue that other creatures do as well.  To do so is to give a piece of yourself, a big piece, to someone else.  Doing so puts you at risk, makes you vulnerable, and to a certain extent makes the intimate and private rather public, or at least shared.  For many people, particularly those in my generation falling in love is a difficult decision, we keep ourselves guarded waiting for that someone special to come along, or we give in, fall in love, and then wait and see if that love holds or not.  While I don't usually share my most intimate thoughts and feeling this post seems to need them.

In my few years on this earth I have only fallen in love a few times.  I actually have yet to experience falling out of love, I believe that love stays with you and shifts its form as you grow, meet new people and experience new things.  Most of us grow up loving our families (biological or not) but after that, we choose who we love. I have been reluctant, at best, to put myself in situations where my heart is at stake.  Finding the "worth" of love has been difficult for me and so I have kept myself quite reserved. Those times that I did take the leap, stay with me as the best moments of my life and the deepest attachments I have with other people.  The most recent has been a young girl, age 2 1/2 and she has taken my heart in more ways than one.  Tene is my youngest host sister in Botou.  She is learning to speak and her vocabulary is expanding by leaps and bounds every day.  She is my favorite Senegalese dancer and she runs like the wind.  She and I spend lots of quality time together. Unlike other people in our family I do not reprimand her physically.  She is young and in my mind still needs the comfort and security of people that love her and lots of verbal attention. She is a fast learner and eager to become a Senegalese woman, but also still a toddler.  She comes to me for safety, sleep, and siips (cheese puffs).  Recently a few of my volunteer friends made the trip to Botou for a visit.  One of them commented on how well Tene and I get along and said that she was happy to see that I've let myself get attached.  Often volunteers choose to keep a certain distance from the people they are close to because they know that they are not permanent and that as transient beings, leaving is the hardest part.  I disagree, I understand the sentiment, but for me there has been something powerful for me to become attached.  The power of letting myself love and my ability to watch as Tene reciprocates has been one of the biggest blessings of my service so far.  It took me awhile to come to this state. I was reluctant at first when she only referred to me as -Tar, referring to the volunteer before me.  Then I was on the fence because, yes she is adorable, but was that all she was to me?  When she began to communicate and I saw a light in her eyes when she spoke, when she used her hands to talk to our deaf aunt, and her reaction to me upon my return from other cities or the bush I realized that I had to let myself fall.  And so here we are.  She is quite the talker and recently I was trying to ask her if she had any other young friends that she could play with, while I or her siblings were at work or at school.  She thought about it for a moment and then looked up at me and said, but you are my friend.  I tried to explain that I would be leaving in a year and that she would need to find some other people to play with.  She wouldn't have any of that talk so I left it alone.

It will be one of the hardest things I have ever done to leave Tene and Botou next year.  But falling in love with Tene is one of my most treasured accomplishments.  She has been added to my list of few that have made their way into my heart.

The Fifth Sense: Touch, Feels, etc.

For those of you that have been following my blog you know that I agreed to do posts on the five senses.  I have not forgotten that I still have one left.  The most difficult to accumulate details worthy of the written word but I figure a year in and I've touched a lot. Time to give you a sense.

The feel of new born babies (literally a few days old).  The feel of a recently shaved head (baby or otherwise).  Shucking peanuts on a hard service, enough to give you blisters.  Shucking corn, also gives you blisters.  Mixing cucumbers together for salad, with your bare hands.  Wiping your tush.  Pouring water over your head as a shower.  Baby peeing/pooping on your lap.  Holding up a bleating baby goat upside down.  Rubbing dirt encrusted on your face in sweat off your face.  Shucking beans (if that is the correct verbiage for that). Working in the gardens/fields with hand tools all day and also receiving blisters.

This is a short post. I'm sure can get the picture but I cannot think of much more now.

Some recent updates

For those of you that read my last two blog posts, I have updates for both.

Apparently there is a fourth option for my sister Sorkna.  She can do the last year of primary school again in Botou and try again for the middle school in Tamba next year.  One of our teachers came to our compound yesterday and talked to Raki about it. Let's hope she makes it!

The second point, as I was delivering photos to Tacko yesterday she mentioned that I should have told her I don't like to take photos at night (because of the shitty flash I have) because they would have moved the dance party to the afternoon when there is daylight.  Next time, I told her, next time.

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.