it takes a minute

I usually don't do this, so know that it's important.  Today, a fellow volunteer stumbled upon a White House petition asking the Obama administration to provide better financial assistance for RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers) with educational debt.  We know how the continually rising cost of higher education can be a burden on a lot of individuals.  Joining the Peace Corps is a huge commitment and an even larger one for those who graduate with debt.  We aren't called Peace Corps Volunteers for no reason and our living stipend, which allows us to live comfortably in our host countries, doesn't translate into savings that can be allocated towards paying off loans.

I am one of the lucky ones who graduated without debt thanks to the Gates Millennium Scholarship Program.  But for the sake of all my friends and fellow PCVs who do have loans to pay off, please sign the petition.  It is quick and painless and can lead to change.  We are at 1,300 signatures and we need to reach 25,000 by December 19!    So, click here and sign away!  It requires you to create a whitehouse.gov account, but all you have to do is tell them your email and name.  And then you have an account on whitehouse,gov- doesn't that sounds awesome?  It's like you're talking directly to President Obama! (Ok...not really, but it's still cool).

That's it!  Thanks!! Pass it on

Peace

P.S. Life update to come

On y Go!

Where do I begin with transportation.... Transportation is my arch nemesis in Senegal. I love to travel, but just thinking about traveling in Senegal makes me want to retreat to my apartment and never leave. Why you may ask? There are a variety of reasons, including, but not limited to: conditions of transport, poor roads, frustrating people who work in transport, distance and time. Every time I travel when it's not in a World Vision or Peace Corps car, I have to resign myself to the experience and prepare myself mentally for what's to come. Don't get me wrong, I have some spectacular travel experiences, but there are times where I really wish I could apparate.

Lets talk about the different forms of transportation available...

My legs: Walking is great, but it's not a practical means of transportation. There was a period where I didn't have my bike in Velingara and I had to walk everywhere. It was a great way to see the town, but walking around in the heat is not an enjoyable pass time.

My bike: My bike= my life. I would be lost without my bike and it would've been a long two years if I didn't have it. As a friend once described it, a bike is to a Peace Corps Volunteer as Samson's hair was to Samson. When I went home to America last year, I went through bike withdrawals and couldn't wait to be reunited with this amazing piece of machinery. It's great to have a bike here in Velingara, but I miss my bike rides in the bush. A bike ride to a neighboring village is the perfect cure for village restlessness. I can't count the number of times I put on a podcast, jumped on my bike, and went.

In my opinion, biking is one of the more reliable forms of transportation and safer. There were numerous times where I would arrive at my destination before any other form of transportation passed me on the road. It's a relaxing way to travel in the sense that you don't have to deal with annoying transport people. In addition, some of my favorite in country memories are associated with bike trips (including the time I was attacked by bamboo).     

 Charette: A charette is a cart drawn by a donkey or by a horse. I have never taken a donkey charette and I hope I never will. Here in Velingara, there are no conventional taxis, so I've taken a horse drawn cart. Imagine the horse drawn buggies in New York City and scale the fance level down...a lot. It's a slightly rocky form of transportation, but it gets you from point A to point B.

Moto: Riding on motorcycles is against Peace Corps Senegal policy. So why am I bothering to include it in this post?? I'm the one volunteer authorized to ride on motos! Why? I work with an NGO that works in villages throughout the region. The majority of site visits are on motorcycles, so I petitioned Peace Corps to allow me to ride on motos as a part of my job. I prefer the air conditioned cars and motos scare me (especially on bad roads), but it's all part of the job. I wouldn't be happy stuck in an office all the time, so I don my sweet motorcycle helmet, cross my fingers, and off we go.

Alham: This is what PCVs dub the mini buses due to ever present “Alhamdoulilah” painted on the vehicle. There is another name for it, but I have no idea how to spell it (that's why I'm omitting it). These are the vehicles who's routes are along highly trafficked roads and are one of the most terrifying forms of transportation. Packed to the brim and loaded with bikes, goats, sacks of rice, and even a monkey or two, these cars lean precariously to one side as they barrel through pot hole ridden roads. In addition to these conditions, there are the apprenti, young men who signal stops to the driver and who collect money. The apprenti are the most frustrating people I have to deal with. They always try to rip you off and often give us the “white person price”. I argue with them relentlessly in order to get the fair price and usually they give in. However, there was this one time my friend and I were kidnapped by an alham...  

  

It was a beautiful day in Kolda, days after Christmas and my friend and I had just spent a relaxing day in my village. We were returning to Kolda and were waiting patiently on the side of the road at my father's boutique. In the distance, we see an Alham approach and we flag it down, only to argue with the apprenti. A NGO car comes up behind and we flag them down, hoping to avoid further arguments with the stubborn apprentis. The NGO car is friendly and as we are talking to them, the apprenti interferes and starts to berate the driver, saying that we are his clients and they can't drive us. Understandably, the NGO car sends us an apologetic look and drives off (they had more important things to do than argue with people). My friend and I look on as our comfortable potential ride drives off and turn our attention back to the car idling on the side of the road. While all of this was happening, they had placed my bike on top of the alham. As PCVs who sometimes do things for the principle of the matter, we refused to pay the increased price and asked them to remove my bike. They refused and the car started to move. What were we to do? They had my bike... Fueled by adrenaline, anger, and righteousness, we jump on the car. The apprenti think they've won, but the smug smiles on their faces makes us livid and we start yelling at them in a myriad of languages: Wolof, Pulaar, French, and some English thrown in for ourselves. At this point, we have the attention of the entire car: eyes trained toward us, gazes unwavering, the anticipation of what will happen next tangible (ok... I may be exaggerating this part, but it sounds cool, doesn't it?). We demand that they let us off the car and that they kidnapped us (actually, we said that they stole us because we didn't know the word for kidnap in our local language). They ignore us, but we keep trying; we say things like, “we forgot something, we need to go back!” or “we're going to this village, this is our stop.” It doesn't work. Finally, 5 kilometers down the road, another passagener, with a bike disembarks. We snag this chance. “Take my bike off too. This is my stop.” Nope. It doesn't work. We go and appeal to the driver, maybe he's more reasonable than his apprenti and will take our side. Unfortunately, this isn't the case.

At the time, we thought the smartest way to get what we wanted was to stand in front of the alham. They wouldn't run us over, would they? And if we disrupt them enough, they'll give in to our wishes. Wrong again. The driver tries to physically remove us from in front of the car and we scream. The passengers look horrified. Then, he gets back into his seat and goes forward, just a bit, hoping to scare us. We were determined and not to be deterred. At this point, the passengers are outraged. “You can't do that!” “Just give them their bike and let's go!” “Are you crazy!?” In addition to the passengers, half the village next to the road has shown up. A kind passenger offers to pay for our ticket, but it's not about the money. It's the principle of the matter. After a few more minutes of arguing, the driver tells his guys to take my bike down. We won! The villagers (who knew me) sympathized with us and when they heard the entire story couldn't believe that the apprenti and driver sank to such lows.

In retrospect, this was dumb and it could have gone a lot differently. But, when you get PCVs and transportation issues together, we often do things for the principle of the matter.

Oh alhams. If I never have to take one again, I'll be a very happy girl.

Sept place: 7 places, in french, these cars are old station wagons modified to seat seven people in addition to the driver. Usually highly uncomfortable, this is the primary form of transportation when going further than 100 kilometers. The front seat is the most spacious and the most comfortable. The middle seats aren't bad, but there isn't a lot of leg room. The back, however, is cramped and is torture if you have to travel for more than three hours. But as with most travel vehicles, the quality of sept places vary. I've been in sept places where the back row is roomy and comfortable, and I've been in sept places where metal poles prevent you from getting into a comfortable position. It's luck of the draw and you never know what you'll get.    

Bus: There are buses that travel between Kolda and Dakar. It is a slow form of transportation, but it's cheap. These buses range from run down buses from the 80's, where they've installed additional seats in the aisle (definitely not a fire hazard...) to last generation greyhound quality buses. There are buses that travel overnight and arrive in Dakar around 6am, but Peace Corps highly discourages us from taking it. It is dangerous to travel at night due to the poor quality of the roads and the potential for a driver to fall asleep. However, it's nice not having to waste an additional day on travel.

NGO car: The crème de la crème. These nice quality, often air conditioned vehicles make travel almost enjoyable. There are still horrible roads to contend with, but it's a lot easier when you aren't overloaded with baggage and tilting to one side. There are CD players and MP3 attachments, where we can play fun music and just go. This is definitely my preferred way of travel, but it's rare and needs to be appreciated. I always feel like I win the lottery every time I get an NGO ride.   

That's the overview of travel here. It's the luck of the draw and always an adventure! And sometimes, you just have to ride a camel!

Peace

Rain Rain Go Away

It's the tail end of rainy season, but instead of tapering off, it still rains consistently. I'm so tired of the rains, especially when it hampers my commute to the office. I loved rainy season in village because the rains meant that I could hide in my hut with a book and a cup of tea- a glorious way to spend a few hours. I shouldn't complain too much about the rains because adequate rain fall is essential for the crops and due to lack of rain last growing season, the yield was less that sufficient. At the same time, I'm so over rainy days and trekking through streams and mud (thank goodness I brought my rain boots here: at least I won't get creeping eruption).

Now that I've moved north east, I can't predict the rains as accurately as I used to. In village, I was able to see a storm brewing and being swept in from the southeast. Here, we're at a weird point, where air currents aren't the same and storms seem to appear out of nowhere or telltale signs yield no rain. I get so confused and can't plan accordingly. Sigh.

As a result of the rain, streams and rivers appear all over Velingara. The rain erodes the roads to the point that I've been calf deep in water. I love being in Velingara, but rainy season makes it difficult to navigate and it makes me want to stay in the comfort of my apartment. However, on the plus side, rain packs down the sand, which makes biking a lot easier. There are fewer pockets of deep sand (remember my old enemy) to hinder my progress.

Rainy season is also the season of mildew, mosquitoes, and skin infections. The damp environment is ideal for things to grow (disgusting). When I came back to Velingara from home leave, I found a certain mildew-y smell permeating my entire apartment. It took me a week to wash all my clothes and to rid my apartment of the unpleasant scent. I also discovered that a mouse had made it's residence in my apartment as did a million mosquitoes. I'm not a super squeamish girl, but having to set up mouse traps and eventually getting rid of said traps was not a pleasant task. As for the mosquitoes, I arm myself with mosquito coils, bug spray, and my mosquito net. I think I'm fighting a losing battle, but I won't stop trying.

As much as I'm waiting for the rains to stop, I'm dreading the onset of the second hot season that squeezes itself in between the rainy season and the cold season. It's a short period, lasting three to five weeks, but it's miserably hot and humid. I can handle dry heat perfectly well, but the stickiness that accompanies humidity makes me highly uncomfortable. I can't wait for cold season to come, where I can lounge in my sweats and enjoy a cup of hot chocolate before bed. Only two months away....

Sorry for the rambling post and disjointed thoughts, but it's been a long week and my mind is elsewhere. I'll try to sound like a more coherent person in my next post!

Peace Out  

Home, Home in the city...where the heels click as you walk

I'm sitting at JFK, waiting for my flight back to Senegal. Despite having constant internet access, I've failed to update my blog since being at home. About two weeks in, I began a blog entry, but I was distracted and didn't get a chance to add on to my four sentences. Now that I have some time between flights, I've decided to update you on my whirlwind of a trip.

Let's start at the beginning, leaving Velingara... I luckily was able to catch a ride with a World Vision car that was going up to Dakar. It saved me time, money, and prevented me from having to lug my baggage all around Senegal. I then spent two days in Dakar completing some work at the office, and before I knew it, it was time to head to the airport and catch my plane for home leave. I had a quick flight to Paris and then was in for the long haul when I boarded a direct flight between Paris and San Francisco. Despite being a gruelingly long flight, it wasn't as painful as I expected (although, I had difficult seat mate who at one point wanted to steal my coveted window seat). Then I was home. There's a funny story involved with my pick up from SFO. The itinerary that I had was slightly confusing. It was an overnight flight, but it didn't state the date that I was to arrive. As a result, my family had gone to the airport a day earlier, thinking that I was arriving that day. I love my family; they're the best and will brave the airport two days in a row in order to pick me up =). Alas I was home.

It was a fun filled five days at home, where I ate grandma's home cooking and had my sister play hooky from work to watch a Giants game among other things. Then I was whisked off to LA on another airplane, just in time to attend an amazing friend's bachelorette party. We went to Santa Barbara for wine tasting, where we surprised her with a limo (such a change from Senegal, where I'm ecstatic with a Peace Corps or World Vision ride). We visited four wineries before it was off the a beach house for more bachelorette party games (including a pirate ship pinata). On Sunday, we had a leisurely trip back to LA except for the part where we were hit by a firetruck... We were stuck in traffic in the left most lane and a firetruck, passing on the left hand side, clipped the driver side mirror. OOPS! So we exited and filed a report with a police officer, but we had to wait for CSI to show up in order to take pictures, which brought the ordeal to two hours. Two hours where five girls dressed in tie dyed shirts sat on the side of the road with a firetruck and a police cruiser. We drew a lot of interesting stares and who knows what other people thought we were doing. Back in the States for less than a week and I'm already hanging out with firefighters and policemen. The adventures don't stop.

After that began the week in LA. And what a week it was. The thing is, when I was there for school, all my friends were also in school, so seeing people was much easier (that and I had a car). This time around, there was a little thing called work that got in the way of hanging out. Fortunately, I'm a pro at entertaining myself and I had no trouble keeping myself busy. Evenings were completely the opposite. My evenings were filled with drinks and dinners and seeing old friends whom I used to see on a weekly basis. It was so much fun to chat and catch up. Even though there's email and facebook, it's not the same talking to friends over a delicious cup of coffee or a nice glass of Cabernet.

Before I knew it, it was the day before the wedding. Luckily, my friends had an awesome tailor who was able to alter my dress in time. We had mani-pedis and went down to the site of the wedding for the rehearsal. It was hot! I know what you're all thinking, the girl lives in Senegal where it reaches over 120 degrees Fahrenheit and she's complaining about California heat? Well, in Senegal, I wouldn't be wearing makeup or care if I'm dripping sweat, because everyone else is. America is different... sweating profusely in a pretty dress is not attractive ( no matter how pretty the dress- well, unless you count a tennis dress and are a professional tennis player). The rehearsal went off without a hitch and I finally met the groom's parents and was able to put faces to the email addresses. The groomsmen were great and even though we had just met, we were getting along as if we've been friends forever. The rehearsal dinner was at an adorable Mexican restaurant, where the tables were decorated with noisemakers including mini tambourines, maracas, and bells (which may have been a bad idea, because even though we are all in our mid twenties, we have a childlike streak that loves toys). It was so much fun and I got to catch up with great friends.

Wedding day. Bridesmaids up early to get hair and makeup done. The trusting bride left it up to us how we wanted to do our hair, which was great because we were able to have our own style. It was great being done up, if only I had hair and makeup teams follow me around, it would make my life easier. We had snacks and a lunch of finger sandwiches (you can't have the bride and her girls fainting from hunger) and champagne! Then, game time. Dresses on, shoes worn, final spritzes of hairspray, last swipes of lip gloss and GO! The ceremony was beautiful and the bride was stunning in her strapless gown and veil. I had to try so hard not to cry ( I mean, I couldn't ruin my makeup) during the ceremony. The bridesmaids had tissues conveniently stowed away in various places, just in case. So, I can gush for pages on all the details of the reception and party and guests and so on and so forth, but I will probably bore those of you who've made it this far (that and my flight is boarding soon and if I don't finish this before that point, I never will). So, if you want to hear more, I will write you a really long email.

After the wedding, I went down to San Clemente for two nights to see my friend who's wedding I'm missing in October (sad face). Then it was up to Santa Ana to see my friend from Peace Corps. It was so fun and slightly surreal to see her in the states. In Peace Corps, we are in such a insulated environment it was so fun to see people outside of it. After a nice brunch, I was off to Irvine. My awesome friend made time in her busy med school life to hang out with me. She's coming to visit me in Senegal!! I'm so excited to have my first visitor!! And then home. Whew. I'm tired just recounting it.

I'm going to recount my last two weeks really really fast... Sorry, I'm tired. Lots of great food with the family, Sonoma wine tasting (I know, I already went wine tasting on this trip), Brunches, lunches, seeing old friends, fancy french dinner with the little sister, chinatown, dim sum, trip to Sacramento to see my cousin's baby and to see family, ice cream, shopping at target, movies, beach, playing hooky with the sister (again) to eat fresh oysters, in & out, and done. I know that a lot of those involve food and it's no where near comprehensive. But, it's a new post after a month and I gotta go. America was great, but I can't wait to go back to work. That's it for now!

Peace

Home

I went back to village this weekend for the first time since I left. I was so excited for this trip and on Friday, I was bouncing up and down in my office in anticipation. That morning started off different from all the others. It was raining. Rainy season started weeks ago, but it has only rained in the middle of the night and not right when I've had to go to work. I used to love rainy season because it meant that I could hide out in my hut, read a book and enjoy a cup of tea or hot chocolate. I still love it, but when I have to navigate around mud pits, seasonal ponds, and seasonal rivers to get to work, it loses it's charm (I'm exaggerating, but it is difficult). Velingara is disgusting when it rains. It has gotten to the point where I rinse off my feet immediately on arriving home in order to avoiding getting creeping eruption (Google it). So, as I was lying in bed, not motivated to trek through the rain, I remembered that I hadn't packed for village yet (oh, procrastination). I packed, made breakfast and resolved myself to the fact that I had to make my way to work. As I get to a main street, a World Vision car stops and picks me up- Awesome!

That morning was filled with data entry from my project that measures malnutrition using brachial arm measurements. I left work a little early to buy gifts for my family and to get a car. Luckily for me, timing was on my side and my car filled and left within 15 minutes of my arrival at the garage. I get a call from my replacement telling me that the bridge into my village is gone, flooded. Just my luck. I arrive at my dad's boutique and I get a chorus of greetings and everyone tells me that I've been gone for so long. My brother meets me at the boutique and we begin the trek home. We get to the rice fields where the bridge is and it's a river (this time I'm not exaggerating). There is a current and although the deepest point is just above my knees, it's terrifying to cross. I cling onto my brother's arm, unsure if I'm about to step in a hole or about to mount an unseen slippery incline. I tell my brother that if I had known that it was in this condition, I wouldn't have come home. We make it safely across and I'm home.

I miss village so much. I love my job, but it's lonely here. I do revel in the quiet and the ability to do whatever I want and not have to report to anyone, but I miss the community and just hanging out with the family. Thanks to my great timing, I returned to village the weekend that Ramadan started. This being my third Ramadan, I didn't find it too difficult to fast for a few days. At the same time, I will be on a flight home to America in 5 days, avoiding the majority of Ramadan. When I arrived at the office this morning (after trekking in the rain), my coworkers and supervisor noted that I was happier. It's a mix of having spent a great weekend away in village and my upcoming journey.

America, see you in less than a week!

--Peace Out!

Fashion Forward

Keeping up with the latest fashion trends is a lot more difficult when you're living in a village. I cared a lot less about what I wore which resulted in me wearing the same few outfits over and over again (probably for the best, since those items are absolutely ruined). I had village clothes, Kolda clothes, and Dakar clothes- my clothing becoming nicer and less destroyed with each tier. I like options (I know I just told you I wore the same thing over and over again...) and I had a ridiculous amount of clothing that I accumulated throughout the years. I didn't realize this until I was moving and there was so much to sort through. It was funny, the girls in Kolda loved that I extended, but their one comment was, “so, now we don't get your clothes”. I compromised and left a good amount of clothes, but kept my favorites for myself.

The great thing about living in Senegal are the bolts of beautiful fabrics...and the option of taking the fabric to a tailor. I have one of the best tailors in Senegal and he's made the most beautifully tailored to fit outfits for me. I think I spend a lot of my money on getting clothes made, but it's worth it, when else can I get tailor made items for less than $10 USD. I push my tailor's limits all the time and give them projects that they've never done before. For example, I've had them make rompers (trying to explain that was hilarious), a dress out of a scarf, and an evening gown (for prom). There are times when I've had to work with my tailor to fix glaring programs, but for the most part, they are amazing and most of my clothing only required minor adjustments. In addit ion, I was able to get custom made costumes for various themed parties. Costumes in America can be ridiculously expensive and you can't be as creative with them. I'm going to miss this a lot and I'll have to go back to shopping in stores.

In the states, I loved to go thrifting and to explore vintage shops. Here, there are Fukijayes, which are giant thrift piles filed with hidden treasures. I love it and everything is so cheap- once I got a French Connection dress for $3 USD. It definitely takes patience to go through the looming piles of clothing and to bargain with the vendors, but there are great finds. It's so much fun to see what you can find- these clothing items come by the bagful from the States and you'll see custom shirts from family reunion, birthdays, and organizations. As a result of this, you see men wearing shirts with sorority letters on them or shirts with a picture of grandma's face. I love this activity so much that one theme party we had was “Fukijaye”, where you were given a $3 USD limit and the goal was to find and acquire the most ridiculous outfit possible. It was fantastic!

Senegalese Fashion is slowly making a name for itself in the fashion world. This year marked the 10^th year of Dakar Fashion Week. It's no New York or Milan or Paris, but it's getting some notoriety. In addition, wax aka the beautiful printed fabric that I love is making it's way into well known collections, including Burberry. I wasn't able to attend DFW this year, but I hope that the timing works out that I can attend next year. Looking at photo's there were classic completes, completes with modern twists, and some truly innovative creations that boldly combined prints and colors.  

 I will not stop loving clothes and I'm so grateful that I've been able to design so many items and find so many treasures here!

Peace Out!  

Reading Rainbow Pt. 2

The nice thing about my new position is that I work, then I go home and have time to myself.  Unlike the village, I'm not "on" all the time and have a chance to relax.  One of my favorite activities is making a cup of coffee in the morning and curling up with a book.  Awesome.  I realized I haven't updated my list of books I've read in a while, so here it is.  The first post is here. 

35) Summer at Tiffany By Majorie Hart

36) The Bell Jar By Sylvia Plath

37) The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society By Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows

38) A Short History of Nearly Everything By Bill Bryson

39) The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo By. Stieg Larsson

40) The Girl Who played with Fire By Steig Larsson

41) The Girl who kicked the Hornet's Nest By Steig Larrson

42) The Little Women By Katherine Weber

43) The Four Seasons By Mary Alice Monroe

44) Someone Knows My Name By Lawrence Hill

45) Switch: How to Change things when change is hard By Chip Heath And Dan Heath

46) Paradise By Toni Morrison

47) The Alchemist By Paulo Coelho

48) Catch-22 By Joseph Heller

49) The Pillars of the Earth By Ken Follett

50) Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray

51) What Looks like Crazy on an ordinary day By Pearl Cleage

52) The Poisonwood Bible By Barbara Kingsolver

53) Stiff By Mary Roach

54) Life of Pi By Yann Martel

55) Fever Dream By Preston & Child

56) Cutting For Stone By Abraham Verghese

57) Pride And Prejudice By Jane Austen

58) Northanger Abbey By Jane Austen

59) Five Quarters of the Orange By Joanne Harris

60) A Tale of Two Cities By Charles Dickens

61) A Confederacy of Dunces By. John Kennedy toole

62) Mansfield Park By Jane Austen

63) My Guantanamo Diary By Mahvish Rukhsana Khan

64) American Taboo By Philip Weiss

65) Don't Get Too Comfortable By David Rakoff

66) The Friday Night Knitting Club By Kate Jacobs

67) I've Been In Sorrow's Kitchen and Licked Out All the Pots By Susan Straight

68) In Stitches By Anthony Youn, M.D.

69) Jitterbug Perfume By Tom Robbins

70) Chasing Harry Winston By Lauren Weisberger

71) Persuasion By Jane Austen

72) Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates By Tom Robbins

73) Kingdom of Fear By Hunter S. Thompson

74) The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test By Tom Wolfe

75) Fast Food Nation By Eric Schlosser

76) Blink By Malcolm Gladwell

77) Chocolate By Joanne Harris

78) Super Sad True Love Story By Gary Shteyngart

79) The Kitchen House By Kathleen Grissom

80) The Feast of Roses By Indu Sundaresan

I can't wait to read more amazing books.  Maybe I'll purchase a Kindle when I'm in America so I don't have to lug so many books around....

Peace Out!

Chinois- How Being Chinese Made Living in Senegal Easier

A lot of people that I encounter here don't believe I'm American. They comment on how i resemble someone of Chinese or Japanese descent and when I inform them that my parents are Chinese, they think I come from a mixed background. I've encountered several individuals here who call America, “the melting pot”, but they don't grasp the true meaning of what they're saying. To many people, Americans need to fit a certain look and if a person doesn't fit that bill, they cannot be American.

I look like wonder woman....how am i not American?

At the same time, coming from a Chinese family has made certain aspects of living in Senegal easier. In this post, I will outline a few things that made my transition easier. I'm not trying to claim that these items are exclusive to my ethnicity (because they aren't), but they're things I've observed and felt.

First of all, eating rice daily is not out of the ordinary for me. When we first arrived in country, other volunteers would complain about the amount of rice they were eating, but I loved it. Growing up, I ate rice almost every single day of my life, so this was not a far jump. The rice wasn't accompanied by several dishes and we all ate out of a communal bowl, but it was familiar. I remember saying to someone that rice was a comfort and that person giving me a bewildered look. One dish, Gosi, a rice porridge, is a polarizing food among volunteers (either they love it or hate it...most people despise it). To many, it has a weird texture and they can't wrap their taste buds around it, but to me, it's Senegalese congee. Congee, a rice porridge that reminds me of sick days or lazy sundays, was something I would make in college that reminded me of home. One time when I was sick in village, my mom made me gosi and I nearly cried. Rice, it does a body good.

My host mom and my grandmother have similar phone styles. They both talk loudly into the phone instead of speaking in a normal tone. It's adorable and my brother thinks it's hilarious that our mom and my grandmother do the same thing (he comments on it every time she's on the phone). In my opinion (and the opinion of many other volunteers), Pulaar is a much gentler sounding language than Woloof. Much like how Madarin sounds more melodic than Cantonese. When you're in a Catonese dominated dim sum restaurant at the peak of lunch hour, the din often sounds slightly angry, but that's the nature of the language- it sounds harsh and because people talk so loudly, it's easy to misconstrue it as anger. Same with Woloof, what could be a normal conversation on a bus in Dakar sounds like a heated argument between two people. I didn't take me long to make that connection and once I did, I just assumed that was how people talked and wasn't worried about fights breaking out in buses.

I eat weird food, but that doesn't make me weird, it makes me Chinese! Just look at our dim sum carts (if you couldn't tell, i'm missing dim sum)... we have chicken feet (yum!), pigs blood cooked with chives (not as weird as it sounds- it's like tofu, with a slight metallic taste), a beef mixture with mysterious parts (may or may not include tongue and stomach), and you can order a clay pot with rice and frog (seriously, it tastes like chicken). I've grown up with these foods and I guess it has made me an adventurous eater. Nothing really fazes me and I'm willing to try anything once. That has definitely been an asset to me here, especially during holidays. On holidays, the families go all out and cook meat (especially Tabaski aka festival of the sheep). They don't waste anything and that scares a lot of volunteers. I don't love the way that they cook the food, but I don't need to run away from it (that is until day three, when there's still leftover meat and no refrigeration). There is also the case of the salted dried fish. I don't mind it and I think it adds flavor to a meal that is mainly flavored by MSG. Most volunteers in country hate it with a passion and I don't blame them; it's weird if you're not used to it. At home, my grandmother used to rehydrate salted dried fish (yes, it was of a better quality) with a dash of oil and a lot of ginger by steaming it in the rice cooker (so delicious). In restaurants, you could order salted fish and chicken fried rice or have it in your congee- definitely something from my childhood. Lastly, we have the world of volunteers. We go out in Dakar, where I can order sea urchin (it's so fresh here) and the black spikes scare some, but it's such a treat. Or we go out in Thies and I can order frog legs and escargot. Some may find it strange, but I love it!

There are other things like the high level of gossip within families, the large extended families, huge family gatherings for events such as weddings, and highly ritualized ceremonies. I can sit here and draw parallels between a lot more events and practices, but I don't want to bore you. Off to cook some congee!

Peace   

Mali!

I forgot that I promised you an entry on my vacation to Mali. 5 months and a military coup later, here is my post with plenty of photos!

My adventure to Mali with Cara and Geoff began after a whirlwind 2 weeks of all volunteer conference, WAIST, and COS conference. We left for Tamba immediately after COS conference and caught a ride with Pap, the best PC staff person ever, to the Senegalese border town. We walked across the border into Mali and got the last three seats in a car to Bamako. We underestimated the size of Mali-it's really big, and we didn't arrive in Bamako until late in the night. Thank goodness we had a name of a place to stay! We spent the next day exploring Bamako. Having spent countless hours in cars, we decided to walk around and stretch our legs. We wandered and stumbled upon a free concert that was happening that night, blocks away from our hostel- awesome! Coming from Senegal, we couldn't help compare Bamako to Dakar. In our experience, people in Dakar are a lot more pushy and aggressive. It may be that we weren't in high tourist areas or we still had our vacation goggles on, but we liked Bamako a lot more.   

The morning after the concert, we hopped aboard a bus bound for Sevare, where we were to meet our tour guide, Hassime. It took somewhere between 12-14 hours to get there (thank goodness we had our iPods, travel Scrabble, and plenty of snacks). We stayed at our guide's house and prepared ourselves for our three day hike.

Early the next morning, we hopped into Hassime's car and off we went! It was January, so it was still relatively cool (aka not burning hot) for our hike. I was immediately entranced by Dogon Country. There were hills, people had terraced gardens, and irrigation pipes crisscrossed fields! Day one we saw and hiked to houses imbedded in the cliff-side. The three of us took so many pictures throughout our hike, we probably have a combined total of 700 photos. Once we reached certain areas, Hassime would tell us about the history and the meaning behind symbols, shapes, and buildings. He also answered all our questions, regardless of their relevance or silliness. The morning of day two was shopping! Dogon is known for producing mud cloth and indigo, so of course we had to buy some. I bought a beautiful mud cloth tapestry and a tightly woven cotton cloth brilliantly dyed. Geoff, who would make fun of Cara and I for our fabric obsession, ended up buying the most out of the three of us. Later that day, we hiked up a cliff. We held guns, saw a pet monkey, and watched the sun set from a perch at the edge of the cliff. Day three was amazing and terrifying at the same time. We saw traditional dancers in full headdress come down from the mountains, which was a surprise. After touring two towns, we made our way down the cliff. It was a terrifying, but exhilarating trek with ladders and chasms, but thankfully we all made it. I wanted one more day in Dogon, but alas our trip was over. There's so much history and beauty that I didn't want to leave yet. I definitely didn't do Dogon justice in this paragraph, but hopefully these pictures will give you a better idea. Oh and look... it's number three on top ten treks in the world!

After another night at Hassime's in Sevare, we decided to change our itinerary and spend two days in Segou. Segou is a beautiful town on the Niger river and home to an annual music festival. It was so relaxing and we recuperated by playing scrabble, napping, and meandering around town. We also took a sunset boat ride on the Niger, which was beautiful. I wish I could return to Segou for the music festival. It was time to wrap up our journey and return to Senegal.

The trek home was a nightmare. It involved spending two nights at garages (where it was freezing- I wore my skinny jeans OVER my leggings!), yelling at people in Pulaar about how they weren't good, and yearning to be back in Senegal. We were so frustrated at the end of our trip and our rose colored vacation glasses weren't so rosy anymore, that I ended up with tears of frustration at a garage (they definitely didn't know how to handles that one). We finally made it home to Kolda and that was that. Despite the ending, we had a fantastic time and it was an amazing trip!

We went at the right time. Not long after our trip, there was a military coup. Peace Corps evacuated it's volunteers from Mali and we are no longer allowed to travel there. Hopefully the conflict is resolved soon and people can once again visit.

Peace  

Educate Yourself

When I get home from work, I unwind with a shower, and then watch a movie or read a book. It's me time and I get to decompress from the day, so I usually watch a romantic comedy or an action movie- something that I don't have to concentrate on. Last week, I strayed from the norm on the recommendation of a friend and watched “Waiting for Superman”, a documentary on the public school system in the United States. I was captivated by the stories and found myself crossing my fingers and hoping for the best outcomes. At the same time, I couldn't help but think about the education system here in Senegal and my own schooling.

            

I have been blessed in my schooling with amazing teachers and awesome opportunities. I lucked out. I've always had a passion for learning and was that weird kid who loved going to school (although I didn't finish pre-school...). I had a tough start to school due to the fact that I missed the first week of kindergarten with chicken pox and didn't speak much English. Thanks to the dedication of a patient teacher and additional help at home from my mom and sisters, I quickly caught up and was chattering away in English before long. My education past is a jumble of public and private schools and I wouldn't have it any other way. Here's the breakdown: K-2 private Lutheran school, 3-5 public elementary school, 6-8 public middle school, 9-12 private Jesuit high school. Besides kindergarten, I attended school within a 6 block radius from my house my entire life (and we never moved), but I had incredible experiences that made sure I went beyond my neighborhood bubble.

To this day, I remember so many great ideas my teachers had to encourage learning. They had great strategies including rewarding us with stickers or redeemable tickets (for computer time, free pass on homework, etc), creating games (such as current event Fridays), cooking demonstrations (making Indian fry bread when we were studying Native Americans), and creative projects that made homework fun! In addition to creating a productive learning environment, my teachers taught me a lot about life and how I am in control of my own fate. In eighth grade, my social studies teacher was talking to us about high school and what our options were. My choices were the high performing public school, the local public school, a charter school, and private schools. Due to the tuition costs of the private schools, I had resigned myself to the public school, until my teacher told me about a scholarship program (for high school!). I applied to both the scholarship program and the school and were accepted to both. Thanks to the scholarship and help from my sister, I was able to attend the school that I wanted to. Side note... San Francisco public schools are fantastic, but I didn't want to get lost in the system. Class sizes were on the rise at that point, and I figured that I would benefit from a smaller class size and more focused attention.

The documentary opened my eyes to the problems in American school systems. The statistics that they presented were shocking and I didn't realize the extent of the problem. I'm in the middle ground of keeping myself in the loop of the education system. I care deeply about the state of schools, but being out of school and not looking for schools for my future kids (far off in the future), I've definitely slacked in keeping up to date. In addition, I work peripherally with school systems here and see all the problems that plague the system. Here is a system where teachers and/or students are on strike several times a year and where children have forged birth certificates in order to keep attending school. I wish I had a solution to all these problems, but I don't. One thing that I am involved in is the MSS program (see blog: Girls Rule! For more information). If you would like to help send nine girls to school next year, you can donate to the Senegal Country Fund and mark your donations for “MSS- PCV Wilma Mui”. It's a small effort, but it can go a long way.

                            

Living in Africa, I often hear “you're doing such an amazing thing and you're doing so much good work.” I am thankful for all the support that I receive, but I think that we need to show the same amount of awe and support for teachers, Teach for America volunteers, Americorps volunteers, and anyone else working on the ground level in America. In many ways, their job is a million times more difficult than mine. I'm proud of my friends who chose to work in schools and help shape the nation's future. Last, but not least, I would like to thank ALL my teachers for everything you've taught me and what you've done to shape me into the person I am.

Peace & Learning!

Rice & Peanuts= Peanut Rice?

Now that I have daily access to internet and some down time, I will write those blog posts that I kept putting off my first two years of service. I was bogged down by updating you on my life that I didn't write about fun topics, such as food, transportation, and fashion. That all changes now....

I will NEVER look at a peanut the same way again. Or a grain of rice. Why? Because I've been a part of the entire peanut and rice growing process, from seeding to weeding to harvesting. Thank goodness I love peanuts and rice (and that I don't have a peanut allergy...that would be extrememly difficult). There is something magical about eating a product that you've put so much work into. I didn't garden much in the states, living in San Francisco and LA, but now I want to continue growing my own produce, even if it's only herbs (there's definitely no room for peanuts).                

I love rice and the rice that we harvest from the rice paddies is the best rice that I've ever had. It has a lighter consistancy and has a more buttery taste. However, rice paddies are such hard work. My host mom and my namesake would ask me to go out to the paddies with them all the time and I would go once in a while to see what the process was about. I would come home EXHAUSTED and I would've spent only a quarter of the time working. I don't know how the women do it; they're amazing. They cook and clean, and then spend hours preparing the soil, seeding, and weeding. I remembering telling my grandmother about it and she could relate to my stories. When i whined about how difficult it was, she said, that's how it is, now you know. Then she told me that when we take a trip to China, she's going to make my little sister plant rice so she can also know how difficult it is (sorry Heather).

Peanuts were my main source of protein in village and cracking peanuts (with one hand) is a village pastime. One of my first memories of being in village is going to someone's hut, drinking tea and cracking a large mound of peanuts while sitting on a mat. At that time, it took two hands to crack open the peanuts, but before long, I was able to tap the peanut against the floor with a resounding crack and open it up with one hand....skill. I love peanuts in every form: raw, boiled, roasted, cooked in sauce, peanut butter, you name it and I probably like it. The peanuts here have such a pure flavor. I remember going back to the states and feeling like the peanuts were so processed.

Being here makes me appreciated where my food comes from. Yes, there are a lot more machines involved in the process in the States, but it still takes an extraordinary amount of work to produce a simple meal. A post about food in Senegal to come...

Peace & Appreciation