Life as a Peace Corps Volunteer can be sticky, for lack of a better word. I’m usually forced to take a step back and examine this reality when explaining my life here to someone from home. 

What I say:

“No, they don’t know my real name, they call me Kani. No, we shower with a cup and a bucket. Mmm, no, there isn’t really any English so we just communicate in Pulaar.” 

How they interpret that:

Ok, so this girl no longer responds to the name she’s used for 24 years, speaks a language she didn’t even know existed 11 months ago and…stopped showering?!”

The reality:

Somewhere in between. Last week, I started writing this in my hut after a trip to the well for my daily water, but today I’m writing from a room with a fan next to a bathroom with showerheads. 

As Peace Corps Volunteers, we can relate to the struggle that comes with trying to paint a detailed picture of Peace Corps service to our family and friends back home. I frequently find myself getting lost in the weeds early on in a conversation. You know when you call your mom to tell her about your most recent work project but then you get stuck on the concept of a breakfast sandwich and suddenly 45 minutes have gone by? 

An especially difficult part of painting this picture is that our friends and family have never met our counterparts, our friends or that one guy that sells peanut butter at his boutique. To our people back home, our stories don’t mean anything unless they know their main characters. 

My story starts with an attempt at friendship with the staff at my health post. 

A few weeks after I moved to my village, my health post team and I set out for a round of VADIs, or home visits. I was accompanied by a Relais, Badien Gox and a Matrone, Ami. These three have been integral members of the health post team for over 10 years, so I knew we needed a good bonding experience if I would ever fit in. 

I assumed a few home visits in a small village would be a quick in-and-out maneuver. I had lunch plans with my site mate around 2 PM. It seemed like the perfect, most non-controversial plan ever thought up. 

The VADI took about an hour. The greetings, another hour. I was running a bit late for lunch, but no big deal. The work was finished and we were just sitting around; it seemed like a perfect time to leave. Then, the lunch bowls came out. Knowing Teranga was about to take its full form, I announced that I was full. In America, politeness means saving room for the lunch your friend’s family is cooking for you. In Senegal, it’s vehemently extending hospitality to a stranger until, in this case, said stranger explodes. I found myself in an etiquette tug-of war. I held strong on my side until I was forced to let go. I retreated, and was taking 10 deep breaths behind a fence when I heard Ami laughing about my sudden departure. 

In this moment, the laughter was frustrating. Couldn’t she see I was trying to save room for lunch? Couldn’t she take my side just this once? I was mad at Ami. 

I eventually got to my friend’s village. Ami came with me. His family ended up cooking his least favorite meal and he refused to eat. Ami could not control her laughter. 

Flash to 5 months later: Ami is my best friend at site. Her favorite story to tell is the time I almost cried about lunch. And, I eventually learned that when Ami is laughing, it’s not AT you, it’s AT you WITH you. Important distinction. 

I have quite a few Ami stories in my back pocket. But, there’s more to know about her than her tendency to laugh at my expense. 

I recently did a series of interviews with Ami and others in my community. We talked about everything from growing up in Thiewal Lao to gender disparities in Senegal. 

Ami grew up in a village near Thiewal Lao. In my catchment area, it is very common for girls to drop out of school and get married around the age of 15. This was Ami’s story as well. According to her, she didn’t want to stop school so early. Her dad wanted her to get married, so she did. 

In fact, this goes for many of the women I interviewed in Thiewal Lao. They were pulled out of school by their fathers or mothers and were married very young. Ending school early was not their plan and many of these women intend to keep their daughters in school for much longer. 

In Pulaar culture, you will see many older men and women with two scars next to one or both of their eyes. Peace Corps Volunteers refer to them as ‘Pulaar scars.’

Ami has these scars. They’re typically done by parents when their child is very young, specifically too young to remember. I asked Ami if any of her 4 children have these scars. She passionately said no, expressing the resentment of her own and her disagreement with the practice altogether. 

She showed a similar gusto when I asked if her children, specifically her daughters, will stay in school. Her answer was a matter-of-fact ‘Yes’ followed by an ‘Inchallah.’ All the while my ICP was joking with her that she was lying. Ami held her ground, but at the heart of that joke is the reality that keeping girls in school is much easier said than done. 

Ami is forward thinking, but does not look back on her past with discontent. 

She married her husband at 15 and had her first child shortly thereafter. Ami was then able to achieve something born from opportunity that very few women possess in our area. She became Thiewal Lao’s matrone. 

She has been a matrone for 13 years. Ami was nominated by her village for this position. When I asked why she thinks they chose her, she said it is because they knew her husband would let her. I then rephrased the question to ask, ‘So, your peers think you are intelligent?’ She averted her eyes, laughed and said ‘Yes.’ 

Before Ami, there was no matrone. For the past 13 years, Ami has been the only matrone in Thiewal Lao. Our health post does not have a Sage Femme, so she also happens to be the only female staff member. We have an ICP and an assistant ICP who are trained to deliver babies, but women prefer female birth attendants. This especially goes for those young 15-16-year-old mothers. Not only does Ami have 4 children of her own, but she, like many others, became a mother very young. Ami’s level of skill and relatability makes her priceless to our community. 

Through pregnant women’s groups I have worked with in my community, I have heard a number of accounts of first-time pregnant women who refuse to attend their pre-natal visits because of their discomfort over discussing this sensitive topic with a man. If it weren’t for Ami, I assume far fewer pregnant women would utilize health post services; potentially leading to more negative health outcomes in our catchment area.

This puts a lot of work on her shoulders. She told me she likes the work and wants to continue it for as long as she can. She also admits to the challenges. She is always on-call. According to Ami, this is very hard for her. If she is sleeping, she gets up in the middle of the night for an 8-hour delivery. If I see Ami at the health post in the morning, I know it is because she stayed up all night caring for one, two or sometimes three women. 

She says she doesn’t get to speak much. Pregnant women can be difficult to work with, understandably. Ami wakes up in the middle of the night to deliver babies from anxious mothers, but maintains her composure and does her job well. 

On top of Ami’s health post responsibilities, she cares for her children, cooks, cleans and is currently 7 months pregnant. Ami’s position as a matrone is unpaid. It goes without saying, but, not only is she priceless, she has the strength of an army. 

She wanted to become a matrone because she knew it would help people. She knows giving birth is hard and if there was no one to help in Thiewal Lao, women would have to travel much farther, making the process that much more difficult. Most likely, in many of those cases, women would not seek care at all, putting themselves in dangerous situations. 

Ami is happy with her life. She is grateful for her husband, family and work. Throughout these interviews, I asked Ami a lot of tough questions. She was patient with me and thoughtfully responded to every last one. 

I closed many of my interviews by asking if my interviewees thought gender disparities will ever change in Senegal. For men and women alike, they were not optimistic about a future where gender roles become less stringent. 

Ami, although, had a different answer. 

In response to this question, she pointed to the family planning mural some friends and I painted on the front wall of the health post. This mural depicts a woman with a new born baby waiting through two seasons of corn harvest (meant to signify two years) to get pregnant again. She told me that this practice has changed. When she was younger, if women wanted to wait to have a child with their husband, they had to leave their husbands for long periods of time to ensure there would be no accidents. Now, Ami says, women come to the health post and get contraception ranging from IUDs to 3-month shots. 

Just as Ami said with ‘Pulaar scars’ and education, she wants a different life for her children when it comes to marriage. She said she and her husband will allow their children to get married when they decide, on their own, that they’re ready.  

She wants the best for everyone around her. 

I will provide one last anecdote to confirm this if you’re not already convinced. 

I recently was sick at site. Senegalese people handle illness like champs. So, when I complain of sickness, I sometimes get laughed at. The laughter is necessarily humbling, but it doesn’t help the fact that I’m craving juice, fruit or ice cream and can’t get it. One day during my self-prescribed bed rest, I mustered up the strength to greet Ami. As laughter-at-my-expense-from-a-place-of-love is very on-brand for Ami, I expected this immediately after she heard my stuffy nosed voice. Instead, she greeted me and told me she had been looking for me. She left and came back with a big juicy papaya in hand. She had been wanting to give it to me that morning. As she went on about how it won’t be ripe until tomorrow and instructions for cutting it, I was fighting the urge to overreact with tears. 

Ami is a main character of my Peace Corps story. She is a main character of many other peoples’ stories as well. As a matrone working for a catchment area of over 5,000 people, she has been trusted by many women to deliver a whole lot of babies. This means she also has a whole lot of Tokoras, so she literally has the strength of an army. 

So, as this concludes an ode to Ami, I want to thank all matrones out there keeping the babies and mommies of Senegal happy and healthy. To all the friends who get us through the days. And cheers to the army of mini Amis out there who have a damn good role model to look up to. 

The only non-town house in Kingsbury Square, Saint Louis sits unmistakably on the corner in the middle of the neighborhood. It has a big window in the front allowing you to get a glimpse into the lives lived by the occupants inside. In fact, those occupants are my mom, dad, and two sisters. Driving by, people may wonder what is going on behind the big glass window. I’m sure 1 or 2 people wonder per year. You might see my mom and dad chatting in the kitchen, or my sister watching Netflix eating pepperchinies in the living room. What my mom and dad were probably talking about is how my dad spent too much at the grocery store. Probably because he bought my sister an unnecessary amount of pepperchinies. But, as you can see, she’s content, so my dad will tell you it was worth it. 

Grocery shopping is a big deal for that family that lives on the corner in the only non-townhouse in Kingsbury Square. One of our favorite comedic anecdotes is the one where Mary and I had to bring our family’s grocery shopping receipt to our personal finance class. My dad went shopping that week. Ms. Mueller was appalled. My mom probably was too. My mom has spent countless hours coaching my dad through the grocery shopping process. At this point, I think it is safe to say he will never adopt my mom’s behaviors. It’s my dad’s me time. He takes pride in knowing everyone’s favorite junk food. Specifically, he takes pride in knowing better than my mom. One of my favorite things about coming home after being gone for a long time is the excitement my dad gets about buying my favorite foods and cooking my favorite meals.  

After living in Senegal for about eight months, I’ve realized that grocery shopping, rather-shopping, is different here. 

When something isn’t in season in The States, the prices are jacked up. When something isn’t in season here, it doesn’t exist in my village. For most of the year, the climate is dry and arid; not a great environment for crops to grow. Except, and I could not express my gratitude more, mangoes. Because of this fact, I am more confident that a God does exist. Fun fact courtesy of Virginia Carefoote and the Peace Corps Cross Cultural Journal: 80% of Senegal’s mangoes are grown in Kolda! 

By the end of dry season, most of the harvest from the pervious year’s rainy season has been eaten. Then, the rain comes again, and people start farming, thus beginning the waiting game for this year’s crops to be harvested. In Peace Corps slang this time of year is called ‘growing season.’ In the hut on the corner in Thiewal Lao, it’s called ‘you-better-love-white-rice-and-leaf-sauce-because-we’re-gonna-eat-a-fuck-ton-of-it-for-the-next-3-months.’ Pulaar simplifies it to ‘marro tan.’

As I drowned my white rice and leaf sauce with hot pepperchinies that make me uncontrollably hiccup during meals, I thought about my sister watching Netflix in the only non-town-house in Kingsbury Square. I dreamt of roasted veggies with chicken and realized I could have this life for myself here, kind of. I just needed to figure out how to grocery shop. 

So, I started small. My road town, Dabo, has a lovely veggie market. It’s a two hour round trip bike ride, or, exactly one run through of Greta Van Fleet’s ‘Anthem of a Peaceful Army’ + one episode of NPR’s ‘Hidden Brain.’ #ad. 

I buy a lot of carrots, Dabo’s most consistent vegetable. We are sometimes blessed with peppers, egg plant and bitter tomato (tastes as bad as it sounds but it has vitamins or something). Bananas and tomatoes are pretty consistently available and if I ever stop falling off of my bike, they will survive the trip home. I bought peas once and burnt the shit out of them so, fuck you, peas.  

Aside from the peas, things were going well in the grocery shopping department. I then decided to disgrace my mom and honor my dad by wasting precious Peace Corps mandat money on more food to sustain me for a week or two. In the house on the corner in Kingsbury Square, this is called the ‘big shop.’ It happens on Mondays at Schuncks in Maplewood. In Senegal, it happens over the course of 5 days across 500 kilometers.

I was taking a trip to a region ‘up north’ called Kaolack, also known as the ‘City of Dreams’ and definitely not known as the north unless you live in the Casamance. I packed my backpacking back with a little extra room to collect groceries along the way. 

Our journey required a passport and the stamina to sit uncomfortably close to strangers for 6 hours in a car with no AC.

We cross back over the border of Senegal, into the City of Dreams, and get settled into our hotel. There’s something to know about Peace Corps Volunteers; if there is a ‘toubab store’ within a 20 K radius, they will go. In fact, they will make it a priority. A toubab store can be directly translated to a store for foreigners. They might sell cereal, ice cream and Pringles. There is a sliding scale for toubab stores. On one end, you have ‘Auchon.’ On the other end, you have the only toubab boutique in Kolda that sells coconut water and oranges. Auchons are the Whole Foods of Senegal, but to an American would look more like the Schnucks in Maplewood. They are only accessible in Dakar and Thies. The City of Dreams sits right in the middle of this scale. You can choose from 6 different candied nuts but you won’t be able to find a deli counter with a supple Brie. 

For me, this is the perfect middle ground. I begin my hunt for non-perishable items that are small enough to fit into my bag. This usually ends up being canned vegetables and peanut brittle. 

Now, I carry my canned chickpeas and peanut brittle around for 5 days and the true scavenger hunt commences. 

For most Senegalese people, they get by without ever stepping foot into a toubab store. There are daily markets, bigger weekly markets, their own crop yields, and my favorite delivery service… (to be continued)

My time in the City of Dreams had ended, like most people’s does, and I started making my way back through The Gambia into Kolda. If you have ever travelled through a developing country, you might be familiar with the roaming vendors you encounter while in transit. In Senegal, when your car stops for gas or paying tolls, there are suddenly bags of peanuts, bananas, oranges, corn, and cookies hanging in your face connected to a phantom arm. Most of the idle time is spent going back and forth with the vendor asking you to buy their peanuts and you saying you won’t buy their peanuts. Sometimes, someone is hungry and forks over 100 CFA for one of those bags of peanuts and we continue on our way. That person will also probably buy more than one bag because it would be rude not to share your food with the entire car. 

Going through The Gambia, I noticed something different. After crossing the infamous Gambian Bridge over The Gambian River, the driver has to pay a toll. The vendors here diversify their product. While we wait for the toll to be paid, there are suddenly cartons of oil, fabric, 5 kilo bags of sugar and toiletries hanging in your face. This is where I noticed the professional shopping techniques of many Senegalese people. People in the car start buying the oil, sugar and fabric. The vendors start running along side the car to complete the transaction. The driver of the car is aware this is happening but will not stop the car to aid the process. Vendors will start tossing things inside the car while the buyers frantically search their bags for money. This can lead to some confusion, but if you end up not having time to pay for an item that’s sitting in your lap, you simply toss it out of the window for the vendor to eventually retrieve. 

I got back to Kolda and hit up the toubab boutique with oranges and coconut water. I usually buy a kilo of apples and pears. 

The next morning, I started my trek back to my village. I had stored my bike in my friend’s village (shout out Theresa) about 30K from Kolda. We loaded up on a mini car, another overfilled vehicle that has holes in the floor and has somehow lived to be 105. It was a Saturday. In Senegal, Saturday’s are Lumo days. Lumos are large traveling markets. They are usually held in large towns or city centers. Fafacourou is a biggish village in the middle of nowhere, but a reasonable moto ride (for Senegalese people only!) from Kolda. I picked up some carrots and bell peppers. Fafacourou is 20K from Thiewal Lao, but by Peace Corps standards, that’s a neighbor, and Theresa is a god dammed site mate. I wanted to make it home that same day, so I hopped on my bike and went home. 

Thiewal Lao is not on a main road, so you have to pass through a neighboring village to get there. For some reason, it would be physically impossible for Thiewal Lao to sell eggs. But, Bassoum, less than 1K away, usually has eggs. So I stopped by my breakfast lady’s stand and bought 6 eggs. 

This would be the end of my big shop. 

Someone bring this receipt to Ms. Mueller. 

SeneTarranga-Kaolack:

• 2 cans of chickpeas 800 CFA ea. 1600CFA
• 1 bag of 6 lentil instant soup 1000 CFA
• Garlic powder 500 CFA
• Moringa powder* 500 CFA
• Nougat 750 CFA

Kolda Toubab Boutik**:

• 1 kilo of apples and pears 1,500 CFA
• One can of pineapple for Silafonda*** 800 CFA
• One package of dates for Silafonda 850 CFA

Fukidiaye:****

• 1 crop top 500 CFA
• 1 baseball cap 800 CFA (toubab-ed*****)

That One Boutik that also Sells Mattresses by the Boutik that Sells Buckets and Spoons

• New pillow 1,500 CFA

Peanut Lady on the Corner

• 10 bags of peanuts 250 CFA

Fafacourou Lumo:

• 3 carrots 400 CFA
• 2 bell peppers 500 CFA

Ami, Breakfast Lady Extraordinaire, Bassoum

• 6 eggs 750 CFA 

Sarre Dicory Boutik******:

• 1 Kilo of peanut butter (tigga deggi)******* 500 CFA

*A staple activity of Peace Corps is drying and making your own moringa powder. But, yeah, I bought it at a toubab store. Only God can judge me. 

**That’s just how it’s spelled, ok?

***In Senegalese culture, you bring your family/ close friends gifts after being away 

****Senegalese thrifting. I have seen some things that really make me question humanity. That’s another blog post

*****Being overcharged because you’re a foreigner

******Only on Thursday’s

*******Only if it’s thick but not too thick 

Bonus! 

Senegalese ‘It’s not Delivery it’s Just a Hustle’ does not exclusively apply to food. 

Unfortunately, videos don’t post here (as far as I know) but I recently bought a pair of sunglasses while in a moving taxi. My taxi driver bargained the price for me and even paid the seller with his own money (that I later returned).

I recently talked to my family on the phone. They asked me what common topics of conversation are here in Senegal. Some vary from discussions in the states. For example, conversations are frequently started by asking me if I know how to cook, if I have a husband and then why I don’t want one. One conversation does remain constant. The small talk that traverses constraints of distance. And that conversation, you guessed it, is about the weather. 

So here I am, a Midwestern girl, writing a blog post from Senegal about the change of seasons. You can take the girl out but…you get it. 

This comes from a journal entry from July 1st*

**********************

Today marks my first season change in Senegal, Ceedo (hot season) to Ndungu (rainy season). I’m not sure if hot season to rainy season is the most drastic or if season changes are always this abrupt. I can’t imagine any other season change to be as jarring. 

The first real rain of the season came when I was in a neighboring region, Tambacounda. The next two were the 2 nights after I got back. Coming back from Tamba, the roads were puddled and the green grass fuzz had sprouted. It looked a little bit like balding astro-turf. 

This is my friend Faruba on said astro-turf. 

On my bush path coming into Thiewal Lao, I saw flowers I had never seen before. Pink fuzz straight out of Horton Hears a Who.

The first night I came back there was lightning as per usual. Then, I think in the early morning, I was awoken to pouring rain. Rain! Ever heard of it?!!! But seriously, this shit just hits different here. 

I sleep with my back door open. My roof is thatch with bamboo and straw. I woke up to the breeze and sound of the rain. It was peaceful. My back door was open, but I was dry and I could feeeeel things cooling down. Alhumduliliah. I felt cozy. This wore off the next morning when I remembered humidity. 

The next day people started going to the fields. It was the talk of the town. A scheduled meeting started 4 hours late because people needed to start planting. 

I also went on a run that morning. I saw red velvet cake bugs, centipedes, millipedes, bright green beetles, a swamp with chirping toads, and an actual pot of gold. 

No one asked, but here are a few examples of the insects of Ndungu. I’m also aware this is so nerdy but I had the choice to lean in or not and I am leaning.

Now things start to take a turn. And no, the bugs were not a negative turn for me. Disclaimer: this post was written over a month ago and I am alive and well and fully adjusted to Ndungu, so don’t panic. (@Dad)

Night 3 of Ndungu. My family is laying under the chali and I hear the slightest of slight commotions. My dad is whacking at something with a straw broom. I ask and they tell me it’s a ‘lengy lengyre.’ (Pulaar doubles up words when talking about bugs. I think this makes them sound extra scary. For example; camel spiders are ‘nylo nylongals’.)

I walk over to get a closer look and I discover that a lengy lengyre is a big a$$ scorpion. Not the ‘yahde’ size of scorpion, but a big ass black scorpion that screams ‘not to be truffled with.’ It was so shocking to see it walking around. I realize this may be naive of me, but also a scorpion right outside of your hut in the middle of the night is quite a sight to see. 

Lengy portrayed itself in two different lights. One, in charge of the night with its’ stinger poised for attack. In contrast to its menacing and strong demeanor, you could read its panic in the presence of my dad armed with his straw broom. Now, from experience, I’ve learned that straw brooms are actually much more dangerous than scorpions. 

As many of you know, I’m sussi in the face of most creatures, but that night I went to bed with lingering thoughts of the lengy. At around 2 am (this is not going where you think it is), I wake up to pouring rain again. This time, I was getting rained on. Except I thought it was snow because the termites (moye) living in my roof were working the night shift. Not ideal, but I was so exhausted/ pleased with the cool temps that I just fell back asleep. Alhummmmduliliah. 

Day 4 of Ndungu. I was awoken to the sweet sound of birds chirping. I opened my eyes to realize that the chirping was coming from inside. Insiiiiiide the hut…insiiiide the computer. They are actually really beautiful and getting woken up by birds chirping is lovely. I told my host mom, Alieu, about the birds and she animatedly started telling me it means I will make a lot of money soon. (so far no luck). They then started helping with my chores and a beautiful man has been very adamant about me tasting his apple. 

**************

As rain comes, mangoes go. But, as they say, when one door closes another door opens. In this case, lammude has taken the stage. It is a terribly unappetizing looking fruit with a dirty, wrinkly, brownish yellow skin. There’s no equivalent for it in English but ‘ugly fruit’ gets the point across. The inside holds 20 seeds more sour than a lemon. I think they’re delicious without sugar, but there’s also no equivalent for the phrase ‘no sugar’ in any local language of Senegal. Add a little sugar or hot sauce and you’ve got yourself a SNACK. 

Jumping ahead to week 2 of Ndungu, I returned to Kolda from training in the north to find that my home had gone through a bit of a transformation process. 

Different perspectives but the same road

Riding into the bush was gorgeous. And when I got back to my hut, my backyard was a forest. 

Going to the rice and peanut fields now take up everyone’s time. 

Rainy season also means more mosquitoes and more malaria. My health post has been busy. 

All in all the beauty of Ndungu has been enamoring.

A post monsoon/malaria education celebration

I am shocked to report that it has been three months since I moved to Senegal. Three months in Senegal means three months of blog content. So yes, this is a long one. 

To start off, I have been struggling to decide how I want to portray the people, places and experiences that have made Senegal feel like home to me. I know that many people reading this have never been to Senegal or may not be familiar with Peace Corps. Everyone’s experiences within Peace Corps and even Senegal are very different. My hope is just to show the gratitude I have for being welcomed into such a rich culture with the warmest people. 

It is almost the end of Ramadan. Before I reflect on my first month at site during Senegal’s “You’re Not You when You’re Hungry” phase, I will share with you all my life the past 3 months. In chronological order, day by day. ;)))))))))))) 

I spent my first two months at site living in Thies (pronounced chess) and Mbour. Our time in Thies was mostly classroom style training. When I’m feeling dramatic, I will say we spent 95% of our fist two months in class and 5% living with our temporary host families. After I’ve had my Snickers bar and I’m feeling like myself, I’ll tell you it was about 60/40. And then I’ll tell you life in Thies wasn’t CRAZY different from life in America. I was still able to walk to the ‘Small Auchon’ (grocery store) and buy frozen Twix bars. (A real tragedy that the left Twix vs. right Twix slogan didn’t work better for this post). I also had exclusive beach access as my temporary host family lives in Mbour, which happens to be a major tourist city in Senegal. I.e. all the beach snap chats you may have seen. 

We started learning more about Senegalese culture as we moved in with our temporaryhost families. And we had to learn fast if we wanted to communicate. Senegal was colonized by the French, so many of us didn’t have English to fall back on. We had JUST been assigned our languages when we met our families for the first time. I only knew how to say ‘thank you’ and ‘good.’ For Fulakunda, that is ‘jaraama’ and ‘moyyi.’ Oh, and I should add that when I say many of us lived with families that spoke no English, I do mean that. But I was not included in that many ;), my sister is top of her class in English! Shout out Mariama! 

Our stays with our temporary host families ended up being a way to immerse ourselves fully into language and cultural learning. With the time we had, I was able to make real friendships with my host brothers and sisters and it didn’t take long for them to treat me like family. They reminded me a bit of my own family back home. I am the oldest sister so I used to (still do?) love messing with my younger siblings. Mary (my 21 year old sister for those of you that don’t know) (and if you don’t know you better get hip quick) will never forget the trauma I put her through by telling her she was going to turn into a dog by the time she turned 5-100% chance. Then I move to Senegal and get an older brother who effortlessly convinces me that my family has a large grave of their ancestors in their front yard. It took me about a week to realize it was actually a septic tank. And then another week to realize that was karma. 

Both my temporary and permanent host families come from the Fulakunda ethnic group. Fulbe speak under the umbrella of Pulaar, which is the language I (am trying to) speak here. Pulaar is the largest nomadic language in the world. In Guinea-Bisseau, Guinea, Mali, Sierra Leone, and Mauritania, Pulaar is commonly spoken. While Pulaar is spoken across Africa, it is neither the national nor official language in any country, including Senegal. Here, the official language is French, so all official business is conducted in French. The national language is Wolof, which is what most PCVs are assigned to speak. If you speak Wolof or French, you almost certainly will be able to communicate with anyone here. Fulbes in Senegal mostly live in the southern regions. For my fellow Pulaar PCVs, this can be a bit challenging. Now that we are ‘intermediate’-‘advanced’ speakers (started from the bottom jooni min ga), it is safe to say that all of us are a bit apprehensive to go back to Thies for training where we are ‘beginner low’ in Wolof. That is, unless you came to Senegal meeting Peace Corps’ French language requirement. As my coworkers at my health post remind me everyday, that’s not me. 

Pulaar is a spoken language, meaning it has not been formally written down. So, yes, this means Google Translate is useless. A millennial’s nightmare. As said from a Gen-Xer speaking like a Baby Boomer. 

I hope you’re now dying to read some Pulaar. I wrote down the long ass list of greetings that will get you through a day in my village. Greetings are SO IMPORTANT HERE. For my canvasser friends, Peace Corps is the place for you! After you’ve won whatever campaign you’re currently working on. 

Here goes, 

Asala Malekum 

Malekum Salam

This is the Arabic greeting used by every language group. It is typically used when entering a room or a group setting, or with people you do not know very well. 

Greetings are different depending on the time of day. 

In the morning, I wake up, fetch water from the well and greet people along the way. 

A fini/Jawaly —> Did you wake up?

Jam tan —> Peace only

Tanna finnane?—> No evil this morning?

Jam tan—> Peace only

A daniima/ A daniima ko moyyi?—> Did you sleep well?

Haa, mi daniima buy/ ko moyyi—> Yes, I slept a lot/well

Hono bimmbi o/Hono subaka o? —> How is the morning?

Jam tan/Ala non—> Peace only/ Not much 

The one specific greeting between 10 am-12 PM

Bed-daa?—> how are you this between 10am-12pm time?

You guessed it, Jam tan

Afternoon:

Tanna nallanni? —> No evil this afternoon?

Jam tan 

Tanna alla —> No evil? (this works for anytime of day)

Jam tan

Bad daa—> How are you?

Jam tan

Hono nange/ Hono ngulenden di?—> how is the sun/how is the heat?

Ala non—> Not much 

This is my favorite part of the greetings. We’re all like oh yeah, the sun, no biggie. Even though we are all just absolutely melting. But then again, a fashion must-have in Senegal is a winter hat (the ones with the little fuzz balls on top) and a fall jacket. And then again, again, mi wowanii nange do e Senegal. —> I’m not used to the sun here. 

Hono heine—> What’s up?

Ala non—> Not much 

I imagine Hono Heine, An A? Would be the Senegalese version of Sup? Nm U if they had AIM in 2008. 

Hono ligge de? —> How’s the work?

Ala non —> Not much 

Hono gole de? —> How’s the work (but phrased differently) (gotta keep it fresh) 

Ala non

Now that Ramadan is over! …Alhumduliliah… (Thank God)

A wotiima?—> Did you eat lunch?

Haa, mi harri tepp—> Yes, I’m very full

Hono baba ma?—> How is your dad?

Jam tan mbo wonii—> He is in peace only

Hono nene ma?—> How is your mom?

Jam tan mbo wonii—> She is in peace only

Hono beyngu ngu?—> How is your family?

Jam tan be ngonii—> They are in peace only

Hono heine—> What’s up?

Ala non

Hono sukabe be? How are the children?

Jam tan be ngonii—> They are in peace only 

Hono naloma o?—> How is the afternoon?

Jam tan/ala non

Hono heine—> What’s up

Ala non

Evening/night:

Tanna Hirrani?—> No evil tonight?

Jam tan—> Peace only 

A hirsiima?—> Did you eat dinner?

Haa, mi hirsiima—> Yes, I ate dinner 

Hono heine? What’s up?

Ala non

Not a mistake that this is included 3 times. LIFE HACK: If you’re deep in a string of greetings and there’s a quick pause, throw in a hono heine to get the rhythm flowing again

If you’re in a rush/just passing by:

Jaraama—> Thank you

But not the same way English uses it. Jaraama is hello, goodbye, thank you, and even just like I yooo I C UUUU. 

Bad-don—> How are you all?

Jam tan

Other important words

Inshallah/Si Allah jabbi—> God Willing/ If God agrees

Used for things like “Next year I’ll be fluent in Pulaar Inshallah” and “I’m going to eat maffet gerse for lunch si Allah jabbi” This phrase is both a beautiful reminder that every minute is a gift and that we could all die at any moment. I guess it depends on the amount of water in your glass. Or, to use the Pulaar expression for being crazy, the amount of water in your head. 

Seeda Seeeeeeeda—> Little by little

Tiggi tiggi—> really really 

Gassi—> Done

This is not an exhaustive list, and people will use them all or pick a few. But I hope this gives you a little idea of what Pulaar sounds like. There are also ‘funny’ letters that my keyboard doesn’t have, so take this with a grain of salt. 

I make jokes, but everyone greets everyone here. No matter the setting. I think that’s pretty cool. 

Kolda

I moved into my village in Kolda on May 3rd. Kolda is in South Central Senegal, just below The Gambia. Pulaar is the dominant language spoken here. Southern Senegal gets more rain, meaning it is the greenest part of the country. Coming from my unbiased take on things, Kolda residents are the nicest people in the world. Unfortunately, due to lack of infrastructure and access to resources, Kolda deals with food and financial insecurity more than other regions in Senegal. Because there is a lot of rain, there is also high incidence of malaria. Although, motivation to develop infrastructure in Kolda and across Senegal is high, so these disparities are decreasing. 

My village is ‘in the bush.’ This means it is not on a major road. Towns on major roads are called… ‘road towns.’ I’m not sure if this is a literal translation, but it sure does get the point across. My road town is 15 kilometers from my village. To access my road town, I ride my bike, and that takes me about an hour. In two years I’ll cut that down to about 30 minutes si Allah jabbi. As typical of bush villages, my site does not have electricity, running water or cell phone service (not as typical). There are also no English speakers so there is a plethora of language barriers. As of 2018, 482 people live in my village. As of 2019, your girl Kany Sabaly moved in so we’re at an odd 483 now. Tiggi tiggi, I believe this includes teenagers going to school outside of my village and adults who have moved to Dakar for work. Now, there are about 350-400 people currently in my village. 

When it comes to social infrastructure for a bush village, my site has just about got it all. 

There is a master farm run by an officially trained farmer. He grows grapefruit, bananas, pepper, and a bunch of different things that I haven’t figured out the English word for yet. This is my favorite spot in my village. The focal point of the farm is made up of a little forest of mango and cashew trees. It is what I’ve always pictured as one of those tranquil places with birds chirping, leaves blowing and donkeys neighing. There are also monkeys! Near the master farm is another farm with onions, follette, pepper, and okra. And across from that are the rice fields. These are out of commission for dry season, but today was actually the first rain of the year! 

There is a middle school and an elementary school. For high school, kids have to leave to go to a road town. There is also a Poste de Sante. As a health volunteer, this is where I work. The Poste de Sante, or ‘hopital,’ as it’s referred to at site, is small but provides a lot of very important care. On a busy day, they will see around 30 patients. 31 villages make up Thiewal Lao’s ‘catchemant area,’ so the patients come from these 31 villages. There is a baby born at my poste almost every day and I actually got to witness a birth my second week here. I was geeking. In the health sector, Peace Corp’s Senegal’s #1 goal is to end preventable child and maternal death. Malaria is also a big problem specific to my poste. 

The Sabalys

I live in a compound with 4 large families. My immediate family is like, give or take 20 people.  

My dad is the village chief. He is a sweet, level-headed, pensive older man. He also works as a tailor and sews a niiiice complet. As the village chief, he presides over meetings and acts as a mediator for conflict in our village. 

I have 2 mothers. Senegal is 95% Muslim. From what I understand, based on interpretation from the Qur’an, Muslim men can have up to 4 wives if they have the means to treat them all equally. This equality is primarily measured by money and time to spend. 

My nene (mom) Mamadie is like your grandma when you come back home after being away at college, but everyday. She’s always laughing about something and she has one of those truly contagious laughs. My nene Alieu is quick witted and just, honestly…a homie. And she makes sure my room is always organized just the way she likes it. They are both so patient and generous. After long days of speaking Pulaar, I’m always relieved to see them. It’s a comfort to know they’ll always be there to kill the camel spiders. However, if we’re talking frogs, they will leave me for the dogs. Well, I guess frogs, in this case. And I’m ok with that. 

My tokora (name sake)(OG Kany) is my dad’s mother. I sit with her in the afternoons and we talk about the sun. The other day it was essentially just 20 minutes of us going back and forth saying the sun is hot. No exaggeration. There would be a few moments of silence and I would be like “whew, nange di wuly hande’ for the 6th time and she would respond again like we hadn’t just been talking about it 3 minutes ago. She gets it. 

My older brother and his family live right next to me. He has one wife and 4 children. Bokar is the oldest of my dad’s sons, so he is next in line to take over as village chief. He makes sure to check in on me frequently and acts as a cultural teacher of mine. 

Bokar’s wife’s name is Djongfollo. She is an absolute queen. She is more reserved, but when she shows her affection it makes it that much more special. She is a bomb chef and a great mother. 

Gender roles in Senegal are deeply engrained. The women cook, clean and care for the children. I will say this dynamic is challenging to witness day in and day out. 

She and Bokar have 4 children. Mariama is the oldest girl, probably about 13 or 14, then Salieu, he’s about 6, Iddi is 3, and baby Miram is 6 months old. Mariama is smart and loves playing that hand game that goes like “boys are made of greasy grimy gopher guts.” I haven’t finished translating it in Pulaar yet. Salieu Sabaly is so so sweet. He is always smiling, rarely gets upset and makes anything into the most fun game he’s ever played. Iddi is my PIC. He gets spooked by almost anything, including me for the first two weeks we knew each other. Peace Corps is about overcoming obstacles, though, and Iddi and I have done just that. Last but not least, baby Miram! Most babies here cry when they are held by a Toubako (foreign person) and this for sure includes Miram. But she is a squishy beautiful baby and I’m so excited to watch her grow over the next two years. 

I also have siblings that are around my age that come and go from the compound for school. Jibbi is around most often. He is 19 and loves American music. 

Ramadan

Today, I’m writing on the last day of Ramadan. This means I have been at site for one month. This also means lunch and afternoon attaya are back babyyyyy. 

The strength and willpower I have witnessed in this last month has been incredible. Not eating or drinking water all day…the best way I can think to put it…it’s a bitch. It’s sizzling hot, you still go to the fields, you still go to work at the health post, you still have to cook for your children or wash clothes for your family. And you still have to welcome a strange American girl who disappointingly and surprisingly (!) doesn’t speak any French into your home and make her feel as though she has always been here. And let me tell you, they made it all look so easy. 

My job here so far, throughout Ramadan, has been integration. I have been learning Pulaar, greeting my neighbors and breaking fast with my family. I have worked with my ICP (Infermier Chef du Poste-head of my health post) to deliver mosquito nets to the 31 villages surrounding mine. I have eaten 3,000 mangoes and learned 10 different ways to eat them. I’ve gone on long bike rides through the bush. I have learned that life in a small village is similar to life at Rosati Kain High School, everyone knows your business. In this case, everyone knows that I’m always trying to find some eggs to buy. I have been attempting to learn everyone’s name, and I’ve offended people because my attempts are futile. Some days I am excited to start my projects, and others I feel like I’m in way over my head. I fasted. I also took days off. Some days I ate mangoes and pretzels secretly in my room. Some days I didn’t check to make sure I brushed the crumbs or wiped all the mango off of my face. People asked if I was fasting. I was happy to tell them I was, seeda. Cha girl needs some water! I would say in Pulaar. I could always get a laugh out of ‘Ano horri buy, e mino horri seeda’ —> you fast a lot and I fast a little (which doesn’t exist, apparentlyyyy). I’ve been to a Senegalese wedding and I’ve danced to the Tam Tams. Some days all my jokes land and my Pulaar is ‘clear as day.’ Other days I say I understand something that I don’t and I end up eating something I regret. I’ve even drunk the water from the well that makes you fluent in Pulaar. But I think my water filter is taking that part with it. 

I also celebrated my first holiday in Senegal. Today today, I am writing a few days after Korite, or Eid-al-Fitr. Apparently, Korite is no Tabaski (the next major Muslim holiday), but I had fun and I think it’s worth the story. And then this post is gasssiiiii. 

I wake up to the sound of my nene Alieu cooking. An unfamiliar sound for the month of May. I sit with my nene Mamadie and we have a hot string of jokes about how it’s still Ramadan and she shouldn’t be drinking water yet. Djongfollo comes over and starts painting my foot with henna. The foot henna is common for celebrations in Senegal and little did she know, that was all I ever wanted as of 3 weeks ago. The next thing I know, I’m popping a mushroom into my mouth thinking ‘this is the first mushroom I’ve had here, cool.’ Next next thing I know my brother is like ‘Kany, a famii dum?’ (Kany, do you understand this?) pointing to the mushroom. I say I do, he tells me it is cow, I realize it was cow intestine, and I admit that I did not understand. I go to my room, put on my nice dress and go to the ‘Iddi’ with my nene Mamadie. The ‘Iddi’ turned out to be a spot underneath two large trees in a field behind our village. I was so honored to be able to partake in the Korite ceremony and it was really beautiful. Afterwards, we went from compound to compound greeting and drinking water, which was weirdly startling. I came home and helped, AKA watched, Djongollo cook lunch. It was the first meal sans rice since being in my village. We had a meat stew. I overate and then told Bokar I could make attaya better than he could. I tried, it was fine, but he didn’t miss the opportunity to out-foam me. Jibbi had a soccer game against the neighboring village, Bassoum, so me and the girls, who couldn’t possibly play sports, went to watch. Turns out Jibbi + company hired a DJ and a speaker system for the game. Music=dancing=children=me surrounded by children being asked to dance. I didn’t get to watch Jibbi play soccer. We came home, hung out and then Jibbi reappeared with cologne telling me he was going to the ‘Soiree.’ I fell asleep in my room after a food and attaya coma and was woken up around 10 to the sound of Tam Tams. I found Djongfollo and she, Iddi and I followed the music. Another dance circle formed and this time it was a fight to get in the middle. Djongfollo has MOVes, Iddi and I were elated. Eventually I found myself in the middle, attempting to dance like a Senegalese woman. There is a video of this that all of Thiewal Lao has seen but I still refuse to watch. Then I told Djongfollo I wanted to go to the Soiree. She looked at me and laughed. I was escorted by two 6 year olds and was shocked to see one of the school buildings fenced off with music blaring from the inside and two teenage boys guarding the front door. Keep in mind, my village is tiny, you can walk from one end to the other in 6 minutes. I peered through the fence and found Jibbi who let me in for free (I’m IT here). I walked in, realized it was essentially a high school mixer and walked right back out. The speakers were so loud and could be heard all throughout Thiewal Lao. The Soiree lasted until 4 am. I fell asleep to the vibrations of the bass, knowing that the Soiree was well deserved. 

All in all, my first month has told me that Thiewal Lao is the spot. AAAnd I am here for it all. Can’t wait to share more stories later on. 

If you made it through this entire thing, thank you. In other words, hi mom and dad, miss you guys. The next one will be shorter ❤ 

The End

**Disclaimer: 

The contents of this website are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the United States government, the Senegalese government, or the Peace Corps

Hey ya’ll! I’m gonna keep this one short. And start naming all my blog posts in Friends episode format? 

Anyway, as most of you reading this know, I am joining the Peace Corps as of February 24th! I have 10 days until my plane takes off for Philadelphia (which is not where I will be doing Peace Corps.) From Philadelphia I will be flying to Morocco (also not where I will be doing Peace Corps.) And then you’ll all just have to wait to find out where I willbe doing Peace Corps. Just kidding. Are inside jokes appropriate for blog posts? Because that was one. You know who you are. 

Anyway anyway, on February 26th I will be arriving in Dakar, Senegal (which IS where I will be doing Peace Corps.) I am ecstatic, scared, scared and more scared. I’m finally realizing a dream that has been a long time coming. I’m hoping it’s normal to be 3Xscared.

As an update, I finished working in LA and I have spent the last three months or so living back home in Saint Louis. I have been sleeping, eating (So, so much eating. Can you tell? My dad loves to make me pasta), and visiting friends and family. I drove from California to Wisconsin with my sister, I have seen almost every Oscar category’s nominated movies with my mom, including documentary short films (they were terribly depressing btw), I celebrated NYE in Chicago, I got bangs, I got to dress as Cindi Lauper with 7 of my best friends in New Orleans, I ate pasta while watching a drag show in NYC, I wore matching onesie pajamas with my best friend from high school in Breckenridge CO, also ate a lot of shit skiing with my friend Meadow the next day, I’m currently on a train to Chicago for the weekend, and Monday, my 16 year old sister and I are going to see Travis Scott even though she is mortified to show up with a 23 year old.

What have I not been doing? Packing. Obviously.

On a serious note, I am so sad to be leaving this behind for the next two years. On the other hand, I’m so lucky to have people and memories that make goodbyes so hard. TY for that sentiment, Winnie the Pooh.

So, for the next 27 months, feel free to follow along with my experience here. I will most likely be using WhatsApp to communicate and I’ll share my address with any potential pen pals. HMU!

Thanks for reading and excusing my headache inducing punctuation!! It’ll get better, I promise. TTYL

Oh, and happy Valentine’s Day!!  Crater