To live is to change, to acquire the words of a story.
--Barbara Kingsolover, The Poisonwood Bible

Saturday, January 26, 2013

From Christmas to Gamou: Transition Back to Senegal

It was harder than I had expected to come back to Senegal after our vacation in France.  I was actually kind of disappointed in myself for how un-excited I felt on the plane to Dakar.  There wasn’t the excitement of the unknown from the first time we flew into that airport, and it’s amazing how quickly someone who was raised in the developed world can get re-accustomed to modern amenities.   I have to admit that I spent the first few days back at site feeling pretty sorry for myself.   I got back to find that there had been no water in town for three weeks (people had been going to small villages in the area to bring back water) and that hundreds of Senegalese troops were in town in an effort to secure the border with Mali.  My personal pity party continued as I was unpacking.  While putting some items in a suitcase a use for storage, I found a desiccated toad carcass with no head.  (I unpacked the whole suitcase and never did find the toad head).  The water did come on at the public tap the next day, and as I was filling my bucket, the women had a lively conversation about how I couldn’t carry water on my head when I first got there, but now I had become a Malinke woman.  As luck would have it, I slipped on my way home, and the bucket fell off my head split open, spilling the water everywhere.  Since people are observant of our every move, it’s safe to say that a lot of people saw, and then they saw when I started crying (which I was then informed that Malinke women do not do). 

Fortunately, those days passed, and the craziness of carrying out a project that has been in the works since July forced me to snap out of it.  Pat came back from Dakar with a new bucket and 600 surveys about mercury exposure to be distributed the next day.   I had been worried that when he got back that I would have to live his transition vicariously and thus do it twice, but he had spent enough time doing prep work for the project in Dakar that he was glad to be home. 

As the intersection of the Gregorian and Muslim calendars would have it, the timing of our transition led us from the celebration of the birth of Jesus in France to the celebration of Mohammed’s birthday (the Gamou) in Senegal.   Our dear friend Ian is serving in a Jaxanke village to the south of us that happens to be one of the big sites for the Senegalese to celebrate the Gamou.  His village is much more religious than ours and is primarily inhabited by people with the last name of Tanjan.  According to the Senegalese caste system, Tanjans are marabouts, the religious leaders of West African Sufi Islam.  It is partly because of this large concentration of marabouts that people from all over come to this small village that is deep in the bush of Kedougou.  (I’m pretty sure that it is the Peace Corps-inhabited village that is the furthest from Dakar.)   A little while ago, the mayor of Dakar came to the village with bags upon bags of fancy rice and new solar panels for the mosque.  The radio for the past few weeks has been playing announcements of personal invitations to the chiefs and imams of all of the villages in this part of Senegal (and the villages in Guinea and Mali that pick up our radio station).  The volunteers were personally invited by one of the chief’s sons, Cheikh, who is Ian’s counterpart and one of my favorite Senegalese people.

And so, Wednesday morning, six of us left Saraya on our bikes to make our own Gamou pilgrimage—48 kilometers of dusty road and swarms of tsetse flies.  As we were leaving, people asked us to pray for them, as there is apparently the belief that prayers are more powerful coming from Misira Dantila on Gamou.   
When we got there, the village was bustling with preparatory activities.  We stayed out of their way and headed to the river. 
Preparing the mosque
Piles of kola nuts, which are given as a sign of respect.  Old people loooove them.  They taste terrible and have a crazy amount of caffeine,

Ian and Pat are adventuring buddies so of course had to test out this raft they found on the river bank.  They also recently had a boat built by a welder in Kedougou...the maiden voyage is coming up this spring.
The morning of Gamou, Cheikh explained that things would begin with some readings and speeches from honored guests.   We weren’t sure if this was a men only thing, so the guys ventured there first.  A while later, I got the following text from Pat: “You guys can come.  Bring a hat.”  After some deliberation, we determined that this was because the event was taking place at the mosque, where women typically cover their hair.  Not having thought of this when packing for the trip, this is what we came up with:
Marielle's airplane blanket headwrap was by far the best.
My headwrap was the wrap skirt I was planning on wearing later that day.

When we got there, Pat said, “That’s a funny hat.”  It turns out he was just worried about my nose getting sunburned.   In the rigmarole of finding suitable headwear, we missed most of the speeches and introductions of the VIPs that had come.  We got there right in time, however, for the killing of six cows.  That is a lot of meat in these parts, let me tell you, and it shows what a big deal this was.  In our site, which is probably 5 times bigger than Misira Dantila, they only killed two cows.





Every family gets some meat.  Here's Cheikh taking his home.  They actually used a village census Ian did for a malaria project to distribute food.


Pat got some meat from a joking cousin.  The Tanjans and the Cissokhos are joking cousins, so he got a lot of  "You are not good", but at least he got a pile of meat as well!

After eating an amazing beefy lunch (and feeling a little guilty after having seen several surviving cows standing over the places where their comrades had been butchered and moo-wailing), we headed back to the mosque.  Pat was summoned to a group of men who went to the house of the founder of the village and escorted him to a small room behind the mosque while chanting.  Everyone went to pray the standard five times a day prayers in the mosque and then came out for the big event.  A flag that was a homage to the prophet was raised up in a mango tree.  At that point, special people were invited to go into the room with the village founder and pray.  The flag will stay in the tree for one week, and when it comes down, there will be a mad scramble to touch it for the power it is said to hold.  Yesterday, I was shocked to feel a raindrop on my face.  It was astonishing to feel that in the middle of the dry season, but we are told that it happens every year while the flag is up.










It was funny to see fancily dressed grown men climb trees to raise up the flag.


We had one of the best meals we’ve had in Senegal that night: slow cooked beef over a bed of salad.  No rice!  People went back to the mosque around 1 am and read the Koran and chanted until about 7.  I didn’t personally attend, but thanks to the new speakers from the Mayor of Dakar, we were able to hear it all night long.

As we were having breakfast before biking out the next morning, Cheikh cleared his throat and expressed his deep thankfulness that we had accepted his invitation and come to his village to celebrate this special day with them.  He went on to talk about how thankful he is for Peace Corps and general, and it actually made me tear up—I’m terribly sad that Ian will be leaving for America this Spring, and was really moved by Cheikh’s words.  I sometimes get really caught up in the development work side of Peace Corps and get stressed out with work and don’t put as much energy as I’d like into the relational aspect of Peace Corps.  This was a great reminder as we transition into a new year in Senegal.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Joyeux Noel!


Back in March when we first got to Senegal, we received the following message from our dear friend Aurelien:  
Also, I have a proposition for you. I don't know what your plans are and I know it's a bit far ahead, but if you're not coming home for Christmas and if you have a few days off, you're cordially invited to come practice your French with my family in the South of France  
How do you say no to that?  Answer: you don't.  So December 23rd we boarded a plane to France, feeling giddy at the thought of experiencing a cold, delicious Christmas with all of the comforts of the Western world, and nervous to discover what the Western world would feel like after almost 10 months in West Africa.

The shock at how nice everything was hit the moment we stepped onto our plane to Brussels.  This continued through the airports in Brussels and Lyon, and into Aurelien's childhood home.  We were exclaiming about the ease and comfort of everything.  You don't think to take for granted having a toilet you can sit on and that flushes, but let me tell you, it is niiiiiiiice.  I was really surprised, however, at how fast things like that felt normal for me again.  I did have one afternoon when we were walking through the most expensive shopping district of Paris that I felt really overwhelmed and saddened by the immense disparities that exist in this world, and hopeless at how to reconcile them in my own life.  Mostly, though, I was able to enjoy this reprieve from the stress and anxiety I had been feeling about work projects, from the heat, and from the constant observations of my neighbors at site.  It was a very needed vacation, and we were so grateful to have wonderful friends to experience it with. 

Pat first met Aurelien at The University of Montana when he was assigned as Aurelien's Peer Assistant.  They got along great, and I first met him when he, Pat, and Matt took a road trip to visit me in Tacoma.  The next year when I studied in Western France, I stayed with Aurelien a lot when passing through Paris, and then he came to visit us when we were living in Berlin.  He was a groomsman in our wedding, which is when we first met Florence, his lovely girlfriend who also hosted us on this dream vacation.  Both of their families made us feel quite at home during their amazing holiday meals and took care of us in ways that Peace Corps volunteers just need to be taken care of on vacation.  (Quote from Simone, Aurelien's mom: "They had so much African dust embedded in their clothes, I was so happy to do their laundry!"

All in all, this vacation was a wonderful combination of amazing foods (at least six six-course meals), beautiful natural and historic sites, reunions with old friends, and good old rest (it's amazing how well you sleep in a cool dark room with a comfortable bed).  The following photos are an attempt to capture how great it was.

Lyon's town hall...fancy right?
View into little streets in Lyon's medieval section
Giant Roman amphitheater in Viennes, a historic Roman city near Lyon.

Aurelien looking quite classy at our first wine-tasting stop.
Listening to the wine ferment.
Ponies at a Christmas market in Annecy, a beautiful little town at the foot of the French Alps.
Florence and I on a bridge over one of Annecy's canals.


The Alps!  So wonderful to breathe mountain air!
Our first stop on our trip South was Avignon, the home of the popes in the 1300s.
We headed to the Mediterranean port town of Cassis to hike along the famous Calonque peninsular cliffs.  Gorgeous!





Gordes, a beautiful Provencal village built into a mountain.  Maybe my favorite new place visited on the trip.
Pat started reading Game of Thrones on this trip, which I think is why he wanted us to do a picture imitating invaders of an ancient village?

View of Provence with its lavender fields, vineyards and olive trees.
Aurlien's sister and brother and law threw a great New Years Eve party.  We picked up a few traditions that we want to bring back to America...watch out.
Notre Dame.  The last time Pat and I were in Paris together was right after we graduated high school.

Right after we took this picture, we got to speak Wolof with a Senegalese immigrant who was selling Eiffel Tower key chains.

Rennes, the city where I studied for a semester in 2007.  So fun to go back among the half-timbered houses and , even if it was for just a day.

My lovely French host family!  So wonderful to see them again and for Pat to meet them!
Le Mont St. Michel


American Cemetery at the Normandy Beaches.
Omaha Beach, the site of the American D-Day Invasion in Normandy
Cafe de la Paix back in Paris...Peace Corps is called Corps de la Paix in French, so a photo seemed appropriate on our last day as we prepared to head back to Senegal.
 So those were the sights.  We basically traversed France from North to South.  But here are the tastes, which are a big deal for people whose principal diet consists of rice and leaf sauce:

Brussels is not a bad airport to have a layover in.  We actually had two layovers since our flight from Brussels to Lyon had to turn around and go back due to engine problems.  Our first taste of non-Senegalese beer was Belgian...not bad.

When we arrived in France, it was Christmas Eve, so we dove right into the fancy cuisine.  The next photos will take you through courses from several of our amazing meals.

You have to start with something pretty and fancy like fish eggs on toast.  And every course is carefully paired with a different wine.
Oysters at Florence's cousins house as a starter course.
Foie Gras...no first course of a holiday meal is complete without it.
My pictures of the main courses didn't turn out great, but know that they were excellent and that we really needed this digestif.  Somehow, ice cream in brandy really does make you feel less full.
Of course, no French meal is complete without a cheese course.  In Senegal, no refrigeration=no good cheese.  My family actually doesn't know what cheese is.

And, of course, dessert.  The classic Bouche de Noel.
 Our delicious eating did not end after Christmas.
Quennelle, a traditional dish from Lyon, eaten at a cutesy Bouchon Lyonnais

My last name in Senegal is Tigana, so I freaked out about this wine.  It was really good, too!

On my "List of Things to Do Before I Die" that was written on an airplane vomit bag on the way back from our trip to France when I was 18, one of the entries is "Eat Bouillabaisse", which is a specialty of Marseilles.  At most places, Bouillabaisse was ridiculously expensive, and at one place had to be ordered 48 hours in advance.  One restaurant had a fish stew that was prepared exactly the same as Bouillabaisse, there are just different fish.  It was thus less touristy and more affordable--and still delicious.  I'm counting it.


I'm not even embarassed to say that on our last night in Paris, we ate Tex-Mex.  It was delicious.  While the French cuisine we ate was amazing, no vacation is complete without a little taste from home.