Second week at site

Pictures (from top): anthill I found in the forest; token shot of children in the compound; my place; random baobab tree; French being interviewed at the local lycee


Congratulations to me!

I've successfully survived my first two weeks at site. While no major congratulations are in order, I am taking the occasion to post some pictures online. The settling-in process is continuing smoothing, which means that little by little, I have less and less to do. The weekend was spent with a group of other volunteers on the coast in Mbour, which is the tourist capital of the country. There you can find the same style tropical resort as you would in half the countries in the tropics, as well as your random assortment of more upscale restaurants (i.e. not simply shacks with plastic chairs), male prostitutes, and old, topless French women discolored to some degree or other. I spent much of the weekend playing Yahtzee and contemplating the nonexistent snow.

The peculiar thing about travel here is that it involves an unusual degree of discomfort and frustration. When taking any sort of public transport one should expect the trip to take anywhere from 30 minutes to 12 hours longer than expected. Whereas most travellers in America and other countries wait until they're fed up to start yelling and being rude, these are acutally assets in country, and when one gears up to take a form of public transport, it's best to enter into a certain confrontational mode from the getgo. It's ok to push, to scream, to stare, to make a scene, as long as it gets you what you want. At the gare one has to face throngs of merchants, pushy drivers who want you to take their cars, "guides", older beggars, and bifals -the Muslim equivalent of Rastafarians- who are too holy to work and walk around singing and begging for money. Being white raises the prices of everything 400-4000 percent, unless, of course, you're a peace corps volunteer, in which case you have to crack some heads to get the real price. All in all a fun time.

I've also started keeping an official tally of times I've been asked directly for money. After seven days of counting, I've almost hit the magic 40 mark. Mind you, it's not just little kids who ask, but adults as well, and sometimes in the most innaproriate of places. I was visitng the local credit mutuelle the other day for a meeting with the executives and an older man just flat out asked me, to which I replied that I wasn't a bank.

Also of note is the fact that there are now French high school students in town building a salle informatique for the local lycee. The TV folks and the educational minister came for a visit the other day, and it was amusing to see men in suits, mortar and spread in hand, posing for a photo op. For the life of me, I cant figure out why you need to spend a few thousand dollars sending inexperienced labor here to essentially provide something that the government should have done in the first place. Its not like you cant find Senegalese who can lay down mortar and brick. We also shouldnt forget the time and money spent to send the education minister and a film crew to site. Or the fact that there isnt yet high speed internet in Pout, but these are just details.

Incidentally, there are also Brazillians in town, agricultural contractors who ride through town occasionally in pickups and always wear pretty grim expressions on their faces. If I were them I suppose I would be the same way, although I cant quite figure out their reason for being here.


Senegal is a funny place if you cant master or accept the cultural differences. One thing that Ive learned that I never really throught about is the importance of culture and the role it plays in our lives. As long as Im here there are many things that I will never accept but also many that I take for granted? For exampke it is socially acceptable to pull down a babies pants and show me his balls and to ask me if ive had sex with my girlfriend but its not appropriate to wear shorts. Incidentally, my host mother has started going topless around the house, and the baby feeding never stops in the compound.