Rural Visits: Why I Will Never Join the Peace Corps

This one's really long...

Two weeks ago we took our landmark (landmark because upon our return we would have exactly one month left in Senegal) rural visit trips. I got my first choice of site- a village near the populous city of Kaolack, with a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) who made it clear that she was expecting her student-visitor to ease the workload. This was perfect because our program director had thoroughly prepped up to be bored, sitting or napping in the middle of the day with nothing to do. I was determined that this would not be my experience, and indeed, it was not.

Monday we got up obscenely early at 4:45 to get to the gare (train station, except that there are only run-down cars and no trains at all- nonetheless this is what they call it) before the weekend rush. We certainly did beat it, arriving almost three hours early at 9:30 and waking up most of our hosts when we called them to come pick us up. We spent the morning scouring town for eggs and onions (the lady at the boulangerie was out of bean sandwiches) and then whipping up the most delicious egg sandwiches, a Senegalese favorite. After that we passed an agreeable few hours reading smutty American magazines like People and Star and drinking beer in the bastion of Americanness that is the Peace Corps house. As soon as all of our PCVs could lift their hearts enough to head back to their sites we left for the market in the burning heat of midday. Imagine walking even just a block in the scorching inland weather- it was over 100 F every day. We made our purchases quickly- a soccer ball for the girl’s group, and kola nuts and oranges for gifts- and headed to the Frenchiest restaurant in town for pizza before a week of plain rice and millet.

After an interesting lunch- did I mention that one of the PCVs bought two chickens as gifts for her host family and consequently laid them on the floor under her table, where they pooped?- we headed to the gare once more to face the noisy, stressful, and ultimately frustrating process of negotiating a car to our villages some two hours distance away. My PCV Kate and I got out at a random crossroads where we made polite small talk with the other women waiting there (in Wolof of course) until a vehicle with four wheels came by. I describe it that way because out in the villages there are no schedules or buses, just random (public) automobiles that drive around haphazardly depending on where their passengers need to go.

A short ride later we arrived at Kate’s compound, put down our stuff, and immediately went to go fetch water at the well. Yes, that is correct: my refined city-slicker behind pulled water and carried it on my head from the well to the hut, which was no small distance mind you! We We had to get there quickly before it got dark because there is, of course, no electricity, no street lights, and candles only if you’re lucky. We took moonlight showers and headed down the street to Kate’s family’s compound for dinner, which I can count as my first run-in with the infamous cheri. This is a smooth, salty puree of millet, usually topped with sauce or mixed with milk (the even more infamous cheri ak meew [milk]) that is a staple in the villages. I found it quite tasty. Soon thereafter it was off to bed for us because we had a long day ahead, whose first scheduled activity was fetching water again…

Tuesday was an absolutely exhausting day and I must admit that we didn’t actually even do that much! The day started out with a trip to the well, which I must describe in detail this time. Kate and I got there in our rattiest clothes- this is dirty work- with our pannes (large, brightly-colored plastic tubs) ready to face the strenuous physical labor that awaited us. What we were not ready to face was the ridicule of every woman at the well. You see, Kate has a faucet in her compound which she usually uses for all her water needs- drinking, washing, and watering the garden- but it was broken so she was pulling water for the first time. She, therefore, was just as new and awkward at it as I. The women tried every kind of mischief from pointing and laughing to skipping us in line to straight-up ignoring us. I don’t know what their goal was, but they certainly succeeded in making me feel wholly unwelcome, a feeling I could not shake for the rest of the week.

After that, we were off to the luma (the specific name for a once-weekly market) to poke around and buy bean sandwiches for breakfast. Despite how they sound, I swear they are actually amazingly good. After that, we wandered through the village with only a vague sense of direction greeting all the important people who would need to know that a visitor (me) had arrived. On they way, we ran into a number of people who either wanted to shout “Toubab!” at me, or talk to Kate about some project they wanted to undertake with her magical Peace Corps resources and skills. We spent the whole morning thus house hopping, sitting for a few moments at a time, exchanging the exact same words each time, and then parting for the next place. When we arrived at the school to say hello to Kate’s Wolof tutor (he is also a teacher) we saw the World Food Program truck delivering food for the children; it was nice to see such a program in action, actually doing what it claims to do in theory! We firmed up plans for the afternoon- we were to give a presentation on the importance of trees and plant a mini tree nursery with the students- and sped home for a quick lunch of cebbu jen. Yum!

The afternoon is really just a blur of screaming children. They listened semi-attentively while Kate talked but after she gave them tasks any semblance of order melted into complete chaos! The older boys sifted manure while the younger kids dug a hole, spread ash (to prevent against mold) and pulled leaves off a nearby tree (to prevent termites). Afterwards it was a fight for tree sacks; every student wanted one and they ripped them- literally- out of my hands. Happily, it was all over relatively quickly and Kate and I were able to retreat to her hut (having, again, pulled water), shower, and make it over for dinner before dark. As dinner is the last major event of the day- it is after all, eaten around 10, when there is no natural light- we generally went right to bed. After indulging in some good old-fashioned girl talk that is…

Wednesday was another full day that began with us- what else?- fetching water to bathe and water the huge garden in Kate’s compound. After that we wandered around for approximately 2-3 hours in the searing sun, viewing gardens in the nearby villages, commiserating with the farmers (all of their tomato plants are dying of the same disease), buying lettuce, getting lost, and finally, reaching the river. One high point during the day was when we stopped in a village to stand for a moment in the shade and someone- I still have no idea who- shouted my name. Apparently word spreads fast when there is a new Toubab in town, because they knew who I was. Just like a celebrity!

Anyway, Kate and I spent the hottest part of the day sitting in the shallow and muddy river giving ourselves mud masks. The bottom of the river is covered in thick, clay-based mud which is disgusting to step on, but good to pull up in chunks and clean out your pores. Haha. After a hellish walk back to Kate’s hut, we were surprised by a health conference going on in a nearby building. It was a good surprise though because they offered us their leftover yassa poulet (delicious dish made of chicken in a lemon/onion sauce over white rice- SOOO good) which we promptly inhaled. Dinner was like déjà-vu because I bought (by which I mean I donated the money to buy, about $4) two chickens to make chicken salad, Senegalese-style. It was quite a treat after a week of the same old rice and millet, and a good last meal with the family.

I feel as though Thursday was probably the most typically “Senegalese” of my five days outside of Dakar. We woke up at the crack of dawn to rot (that is the verb in wolof) water and catch a charette (a horse drawn cart) to take us to the luma (weekly market) in Pakane Toucouleur (another village with a PCV). After a bumpy ride during which I definitely almost fell off once, and some humorous moments like when the children ran after us shouting “Bonjour! Bonjour!” or when the woman next to me tried to talk to me in Pulaar despite the fact that I don’t speak a word of it. At all. But we arrived no worse for the wear, dropped our things in Kyla’s (the PCV) hut, greeted her family, and walked to the market. There we bought bananas as seritchia (thank-you gifts) for Kyla’s family and mangos at a ridiculous price- a kilo (that’s 2.2 pounds) for 150 FCFA (that’s 35 cents, rounded up). I also bought bin-bin (the beads women wear around their waist to attract husbands), a purchase that was greeted by hoots, playful shoves, and calls of si-si (flirt).

The rest of the afternoon was spent in pleasant relaxation in Kyla’s hut which boasted a tropical garden in the back. Seriously, it had a palm tree, a mango tree, a huge hammock, and a bike in a space the size of your bathroom! We ate cebbu jen for lunch, followed by the deliciously strong and sweet tea called ataya, and talked in English! Eventually we wandered out to sit in the shade of a giant tree by the main road and chatted with some kind villagers. It was, however, a Pulaar village which meant they spoke Pulaar and not Wolof, and our attempts at communication were virtually unintelligible. Only Kyla could talk with them, and she put forth a valiant effort to translate everything everyone was saying. I also got to hold a chubby and cheerful baby while his mother fetched water, which I took a turn at as soon as she came back. Dinner was a bowl of plain white rice with no accompaniment, but the fantastic view of the stars more than made up for the slight tug of my stomach later that night. I have never seen stars so bright; you could see every constellation as if it were painted on the ceiling. I feel asleep outside, but was woken up around 11 and crawled into the hut to pass the night in peace (fananal ak jamm).

The next day was swallowed up by travel again, and rather uneventful except for the mean apranti on the car back to Kaolack who tried to cheat us by charging us an artificially high price. He even had everyone else in the bus nodding along with him, insisting the price he named was right, but we stood our ground and eventually they left us alone. Incredible how men in their best bubus, holding their prayer beads, and heading to the mosque for Friday prayer can be so deceitful towards a couple of innocent American students…