I’m assuming everyone has read Scott’s blog by now, which was delightful cryptic so as to create as much suspense and interest as possible.  If there is one thing that boy loves it is updating his blog and then the consequent interest.  Anyhoo, as he said we are both going to be back in the states for an indefinite amount of time while we deal with this and hopefully we will be back in Senegal before we know it.  At the moment I am sitting in the med offices waiting for the appropriate people to get in so I can begin my paper work and get out of here as soon as possible.  The projected day of departure is Thursday. 

Right now Scott is in Wichita waiting for Peace Corps to call him with his appointments and then we will move forward from there.  At the moment we have an initial diagnosis, but would like to have that confirmed by another Dr who will hopefully give us more information about what is going and what our next step will be.  After that we will probably update more information.  It’s not terminal, but it is serious.

Despite the fact that I know things will work out, it’s still rather scary and just sad.  Though I know that we will be back (So allah jabii), it is sad to leave the wonderful people I have met.  They have been so wonderfully supportive of me during this time and I don’t know what I would have done without them.

Thank you Rita for coming all the way across the country with me in the course of two days.  That was the single most awful bus ride I have ever been on in my life and somehow we survived it and maybe had a little bit of fun.  You kept me from breaking down on many occasions and have no idea how great that was.

Thank you Erin for being yourself.  Despite the fact that this is moderately serious, ball jokes will always be hilarious and I hope that we never miss an opportunity to make them.  Scott will get better and then we’ll be back to our comfortable, hateful relationship as normal.  You won’t have to be sentimental anymore.

Thank you Andy for making dinner.  I know it seems like such a small thing, but I hadn’t eaten all day and would have gone without if you hadn’t taken control.  It meant a lot. 

And thank you Marie.  You helped me out before any of this went down and I desperately appreciate it.  You are a wonderful person and I am very glad to have met you.

To the rest of you, thank you for your love and support.  It means a lot to know that you guys are thinking of us and we look forward to getting back here and hanging out with everyone again. 

I will keep everyone posted as we get news.   Thank you for all your love and support.

Happy Thanksgiving!  I hope everyone reading this is able to stop and think about the things that they are thankful for, namely that they aren’t in Senegal …

Just kidding.  So, Scott and I completed roughly two weeks at our site and man was it hard.  The language level we’ve reached is laughably inadequate, especially when you are surrounded by twenty people and they are all shouting various things at you and you are scared shitless.  Peace Corps doesn’t prepare you for the shell shock you suffer when you and your stuff are unceremoniously dumped in the middle of nowhere with people you barely know, speaking a language you barely speak.  You know that this is going to happen all along, but some how you never imagine what it really is going to be like.  Your visions of install involve laughing women and children, singing, maybe some lambs or goats frolicking.  You might tell a joke in Pulaar and then everyone would laugh, the curtain falls and you tell yourself it’s going to be okay. 

Installing is not like that.  Like I said, you watch rather pathetically as the PCV (Peace Corps Vehicle) pulls away from your village in a blaze of glory and dust.  The first night was honestly not so bad.  We put our stuff away and hid in our hut all evening (organizing and putting things away) and then our family gave us our dinner of millet and bean sauce (disgusting, btw) and we went to bed.  It’s the next morning and the morning after that’s hard.  You sit in your hut contemplating the pros and cons of leaving your hut and what you intend to do with yourself if you actually work up the courage to do so.  We managed to keep ourselves busy the first several days, first going to the Master Farmer’s (disastor) and then the local market and hanging out with our site mate Brian. 

Last week is when the ennui set in. My counterpart is (quite lazily I might add, way to go Peace Corps) my mother, who is always busy and rarely around, leaving me behind when she goes out.  Which is the opposite of what she is suppose to do as my counterpart, but hey … whatever.  Scott’s counterpart possibly has diabetes, so he comes over in the morning bouncing with energy, promising to come back after lunch and then crashes after lunch never making it over to our compound. 

And then there are the children.  I am the first female volunteer in our village and in the region and this makes me something of a rock-star, everywhere in our village children shout my name.  In my compound there is a gaggle of girls that have tried to adopt me into their group and I am resisting.    In general, I’m not in love with kids and these girls in particular are not that great.  The ring leader needs a kick in the pants, she’s a typical 13 year mean girl and I dislike her immensely.  Not the least because she is obsessed with talking about sex and has been hinting heavily that she would like to become Scott’s second wife.  Don’t get me wrong, I love to talk about sex, but there’s something a little off with her approach.  We’ve reached a point where I feel like I’m being sexually harassed as every time I look at her she’s making some sort of vulgar gesture or trying to get me to kiss her, slash making kissing gestures at me.  I’ve tried nicely to let her know I have no interest in talking to her about my sex life, but alas.  Perhaps when my language skills are better I can have a safe sex talk with her, but at the moment …

Then there are the younger children many of whom run screaming from me when they see me.  Some are not that bad, but there is one little girl who makes such a big deal out of seeing me even though she lived with a white guy for an entire year and I’ve been there for two weeks.  I don’t eat children, but for her I might make an exception.  Then there is Ibrahim, who has a fat little belly and feels that pants should be always be optional and he is constantly exercising that option.  I’ve only seen him in pants a couple of times and it is never for very long.  He prances around the compound with his shirt stretched to capacity and his bare ass shaking as he marches about like he owns the place.

Of course, let us not forget about how they view us, as toubobs.  They treat Scott fairly well, but I feel like the view me as some sort of doll.  They love to make me dance with them and they refuse to let me do things saying that I can’t (even though I can and usually have).  Which is incredibly frustrating, I hate when I am in the middle of doing something and someone comes and takes whatever it is away from me and finishes it, even though I was doing it just fine.  I just need to start being more forceful I suppose …

And I believe that’s it.

It’s been a really long time since I have posted and a whole host of events have transpired.  Finding the motivation to update my blog is difficult when I know that Scott’s blog presents a more succinct and detailed description of events.  However, here I go …

So, by some miracle I reached the necessary language level to be released upon Senegal.  How this was accomplished, I will never know.  I feel completely unprepared to move into village and I’m a little nervous about install.  I speak this weird combination of French/Pulaar/English and it is a wonder anyone can understand me as I can barely understand myself.  My Senegalese mother asked me where Scott was the other day and I responded “he ara” which is “he’s coming” but it should have be “O ara” and I corrected myself with “il ara” …

I’m surprised to have advanced because of how frustrated I’ve been with the Peace Corps approach to teaching languages.  We very rarely discussed grammar or structure, which is how I learn languages and often times I found my LCF was unable to answer or understand my questions regarding the same.  Plus, I’ve learned that learning a language and speaking a language are two very different things and while I excel at learning languages, I suck at speaking them.  And yet here we go.

Which leads me to my next point: how sad it was leaving our family.  I must confess that I was a little suspicious of our family initially, only because I am naturally inclined to be suspicious of people in general.  Then suddenly in the last several weeks I realized our mother doesn’t hate us at all, in fact she is just moody (same as anyone else), and our family really did like us.  Especially the little girls: Fatu and Ami.  Luckily we were given the opportunity to spend Tabaski with them and that was truly wonderful.  Tabaski, btw, is the celebration of the ram that Allah gave to Ibrahim in lieu of his son, which in this case was Ishmael.  Our family loved seeing us dressed up in our traditional Senegalese clothing and spent the morning running us around to take our pictures with various objects and engaged in various activities: the sacrifice, cooking, etc.  They even took Scott to the Mosque with them where he proceeded to make a mockery of their religion by pretending to pray.   I think my favorite and most disturbing photos were the ones where they posed Scott with the sacrifice (the Ram/Ram’s corpse) to brandish a knife and a smile.  It reminded me of Abu Ghraib but for rams.  That aside, the sacrifice itself was very respectful and peaceful (although I am sure the rams would disagree).  They laid the ram on the ground and prayed over the knife before cutting the ram’s throat.  It was very quick and reminded me how much more humane this is compared to buying meat pre-packaged from the grocery store.  You appreciate the life expended for the sake of your nutritional well being.

And of course the ribs were fucking amazing.

Regarding swearing in: it was very long and official and a lot of important people rambled on about important things and then we were sworn in.  The food was amazing and the thing I am most likely to remember. 

Right now we are two days from installing in our permanent village and I find myself a flood with various emotions.  It’s sad to be so far from our friends, but also exciting to finally get down to business.  Although with our limited language skills, I imagine there won’t be much business to get down to for a while.  However, we will probably spend the next three months nesting and if there is something I love it’s designing comfortable and aesthetically pleasing living spaces.

I look forward to developing a more comprehensive blog posting system.  At the moment there is too much to talk about to limit it to one topic per post, which is a more manageable structure.  Next time I’ll talk about the food.  Until then …

I have been absent these past few weeks for several reasons: internet is not always available and I find myself wondering what I could possibly do that would interest anyone.  I am not more interesting by virtue of being in a foreign country.  I was hardly interesting before and with only the local changing …

Anyhoo, you see the predicament.  We have done plenty, but if I tried to relate everything that we have done I would be here all evening and you would surely loose interest.  Then again, I could ramble on like this and you would loose interest anyway.

Where to begin.  So, five days-ish after arriving in Senegal they packed us off and shipped us to our CBT.  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but our trainers wound us up, telling us our first evening would be the most awkward of our life, but that we would make it and it would get easier.  I was surprised then, when our first night was not that uncomfortable.  I sat in the dark with Scott and our host mother communicating in unseen hand gestures and franglais wondering why I was so at ease.  And then I remembered my mother and her uncanny ability to place her children in awkward situations, whether on purpose or unconsciously (all of her children would swear these situations were purposefully orchestrated, if not for her general oblivion to life and situations), and how she could organize an Olympic sport of said events. 

This being the case, the subsequent two week stay was infinitely more awkward and uncomfortable due to a head cold and then stomach flu.  There is no recovering from a stomach flu in which you projectile vomit around your host family’s compound in full view of your host family.  I tried to console myself with an appropriate LOTR quote but even Frodo did not have to suffer such indignities.

Cultural integration has been difficult. The members in our host family seem to be very busy with school and work and so we are left to our own devices quite often.  Pulaar culture is also fairly rigid and it is very important to observe all the various rules and greetings to avoid giving offense, which according to our LCF is easily taken and unavoidable.  So no pressure.  It is important and necessary to greet EVERYONE you see on the street, or they will ignore you when you are sick or generally in need of help.

Our LCF’s (Language and Culture Facilitator) name is Fatimata.  We have nicknamed her Sassimata on account of her extreme attitude. She has taken cultural integration very seriously and lost no time aquainting us with what are called locally “joking cousins”.  This is where people of various last names and cross ethnic groups have specific jokes about each other.  People of the last name Dia tease people with the last name Lee about liking to eat beans.  Or people of the Pulaar ethnic group tell people of the Serreer ethnic group that they (Serreers) are their (Pulaar’s) slaves.  Yesterday in class, when we were interrupted by a Serreer, Sassimata yelled at him “we are more than you and if we see you again we will kill you”.  And you know, I believe her.

Then we found out where we are going to be for the next two years.  In the middle of ass nowhere.  Which was sad because we are separated from our language group, which I’ve grown quite attached to.  But exciting because … we will be more hardcore?  I’m still apprehensive about the site.  The volunteer before us is ET-ing and most of the volunteers in this area have ET-ed for one reason or another.  However, we cannot know what it will be like until we get there.  So I’m trying to reserve judgment.

And that’s all I got.  You should send us movies or tv shows on flash drives as we will be out in the middle of nowhere.  And letters.  Lots and lots of letters.  I will respond.

Until next time!

So, we’ve been here about a week and tomorrow we move to our CBT site.  I’ll be learning to speak Pulaar Du Nord, which is spoken in the north of Senegal.  It should lead to some awkward moments as we live with a family and attempt to communicate with them in our barely basic Pulaar.

Which I feel I must mention is quite complicated.  As a culture, the Senegalese take greetings very seriously, but they do not intend that you should answer any of their greetings honestly.  No joke, you could talk to someone for an hour and not have finished greeting them.  After several hours of language training today we have barely scratched the surface of the greetings.  Of course, for all the languages spoken here, Asalaam Maalikum is the standard hello.  But after that it gets involved and they start asking you about your mother and your husband and kids.  And I promise I am not exaggerating.

We did the first of the gardening yesterday and it was a lot of fun. However, the breakfast provided does not have enough protein, being composed of merely bread and various sugary toppings such as chocolate and jam.  This being the case I found myself with fairly low blood sugar before the mid morning break.  So, if you’re reading this, and you love me, send me food! But seriously, sending me protein rich snack foods would make me very happy and would prove that you love me. Despite that it was fairly success full.  We learned to build a compost pile, a penpeneire and we learned to double dig a plot.  Consequently, I’m beginning to feel pretty awesome with my newly acquired skills.

Speaking of sending me things, I had an entire list of ideas for care packages.  You know, because I now view my American friends as stuff I don’t have.  But I’ve mostly forgotten.  I have not forgotten, however, about the pictures you guys were suppose to send me and I’m still waiting!

Anyhoo, they finally let us off of the compound last night.  There is a bar owned by a Catholic family down the street and all 60 of us converged on it’s unlit courtyard under the cover of dark to drink and mingle.  I must say that I was not really into it, so after an hour or so, we came home.  But that did not keep the party from following us later on and I was kept from sleep by the pounding of drums and crazy PCT’s dancing and singing.  It was certainly a funny sight to see and I wish very much that I had taken video of the events.  Because we all know there is nothing funnier than drunk white people trying to dance.

Anyhoo, if you want details you should check out Scott’s blog.  He also posted pictures.

If you’ve been keeping up with Scott’s blog, then you know that we made it to Senegal safe and sound.  You probably also know every little inane thing we’ve done since Monday.  It’s kind of cute to read his blog, because of how dedicated he is to it, and how much attention he pays to the details of the content.  He has informed me quite condescendingly that his blog was full of facts about what we are doing and mine was filled with “feelings”.  As if saying “feelings” with anything less than disdain might indicate he has any.

So I suppose I should get started on that hippie-dippie stuff I’m apparently so good at.

Monday through Wednesday was kind of a blur as I had only about 15ish hours of sleep by Wednesday evening.  D.C. was fun, but at this point it feels like it was such a long time ago and I’ve almost forgotten we were there.  However, it was nice to finally meet people who really understood how you felt.  Finally, I knew 53 other people who knew nervous reservations were normal and not an indication of cowardice or a desire to back out. And also, it was nice to meet people who finally understood why you were there.  People who didn’t question your motives or your reasons for doing this, but accept your presence as normal.  It was also nice to know I wasn’t the only hot mess.  And somehow that made me so much more relaxed.

Wednesday we arrived in Dakar at around six in the morning and it began to rain as we got on the road to Thies (pronounced chess).  I took this as a good sign as I love the rain.  Luckily Wednesday was a holiday (other than my birthday) so we basically had the day to sleep and adjust once we got to the training center.  Usually they do language exams on the first day, French obviously, testing us on Wolof or Pulaar the first day would have been unnecessarily cruel.

After two nights of good sleep I feel quite calm.  I’m not the only person with very little Ag experience and no one speaks the local languages.  It’s a little weird though to think that this is going to be our home and existence for the next two years.  Usually when Scott and I travel we always have a return flight to look forward to, but to know that this is it, is odd.  In a good way. The constant heat has been a little bit of an adjustment, but apparently it’s going to dry up (not be so humid) and cool off towards the end of October.  Which is something I think I will be able to live with.

And now, here we are on day three. I have 53 new friends to experience such things as weird food, heat, diarrhea, squat toilets and did I mention heat?  (Actually, today is nice because of the storm we had last night).   We move in with our CBT (Culture Based Training) host family on Tuesday, which is a little bit terrifying.  I mean, the idea is that we will live there while we are learning whatever language they see fit to teach us.  But it’s probably (definitely) going to be awkward. 

Thank god I have Scott.  I can always blame him when something goes wrong.

For the past several months I have been racking my brain trying to find the most appropriate Lord of the Rings quote with which to start my final post from the USA.  I find that most (read: ALL) things in life correspond with, or at least bear some relevance to, Lord of the Rings.  Unfortunately this title was the best I could come up with.

And then of course, I have been racking my brain for the past several days on ways to dazzle any readers with witticisms and observations on taking leave and starting anew.  But here I am and I have no idea where to start.

Every story has so many beginnings.  I could say that this journey started four years ago in England when I got off the plane at Heathrow and met Scott, but then I would be completely neglecting the spur of the moment decision seven months earlier, inspired by a friend and an idea, to travel abroad in the first place.  And even that tale would leave out my even more hair brained decision to forsake the shinning shores of California for the less warm waters of Lake Champlain one year before that.  At this point I don’t know what I’m trying to say.  Perhaps that there is no such thing as beginnings?  All epic tales begin somewhere in the middle and so the same can be said of existence.  There is always some catalyst in the past that has sparked our existence and even our actions after the fact.  I could say this journey start four years ago in England or two years ago when I got married.  The truth however, is that everything in my life has been building towards this moment for a very long time and for that I am thankful.  There is no where I would rather be than right here on the eve of this fantastic adventure.

But that is not even the point!  The point is that now, excited as I am for the future, I must take leave of those I care most about.  People have asked me if I am scared and the answer has always been “terrified”, that does not bother me.  I personally believe if you are comfortable in what you are doing then you are probably doing something wrong.  It is so easy to be comfortable and so difficult to take risks.  But I hope I never shy away from one for the wrong reasons.

The hardest part of this whole adventure will not be life without running water, or air conditioning, or electricity, but the extended absence of my friends and family.  It will be missing the conversations via text message that I’ve been having with Allison for the past two years.  No longer having the option of spur of the moment, cheap drinks with Amber; spur of the moment visits/ trips to see Annika; seeing Tim’s ugly face pop up every now and then on skype; or going dancing at seedy clubs with Kim and having a blast.  I will also miss frantic calls from my mother, leaving messages that say “Where are you?! I haven’t heard from you in days!”, only to be ignored when I call back. 

I will miss visiting my family, where the smallest incident can spark an entire week of drama, but somehow we still have fun anyway. Despite the great distance that will be between us, I know that they will and have always supported my decisions and will be there for me when we get back.

If there is anything that I’ve learned, it’s that life is hard, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun.  Though, I know that there will be times over the course of the next two years that will be difficult, I know that I will be able to handle them, because I always have in the past and I know that I will have fun.

In the words of Bilbo Baggins “It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step into the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no telling where you might be swept off to”.

PS I’m sorry it’s so cheesy!

But probably won’t.  Lists have never been my thing as I feel their sole purpose is to flaunt in my face the amount of shit I have yet to complete.  Some people feel relieved when they are able to cross things of their lists and I feel dread as my eyes wander past the completed on to those tasks which must be fulfilled.  Each item without a tick seems to scream my failure, laughing at my inability to remember the list I’ve created, let alone complete.

So, I don’t make lists.  Let alone packing lists.  This is not, however, how my obsessive husband does things.  It’s funny the things you will learn about your spouse as you are preparing to move to a different country for two years.  I knew to a certain extent my husband was fastidious.  And I should probably clarify: when it comes to menial household tasks such as repair work or dishes, he is more quick than fastidious; but when we are speaking of something that he is very excited about doing (surprisingly laundry), such as the Peace Corps, he leaves no stone unturned.  This is an entirely new approach for me.  I prefer to be surprised by new experiences, I hate doing research, and in general I feel that excessive previous knowledge can lead to unrealistic expectations and disappointment.  Whereas being surprised by new situations is always fun.  As a result, this new novel approach to packing and taking a permanent leave has created new anxiety!  There is so much to forget and fuck up when you have too much to prepare and bring.  I am a “ready or not” kind of body and I don’t like this “preparedness” trip I seem to be on.

Something tells me I might thank him later on.  But then, that would be out of character and so I highly doubt it.

Anyhoo, the long goodbye has begun and it is quite sad.  I am very excited to embark on this adventure, but saying farewell to those you love is never easy.  Our trip to California was wonderful (if not riddled with drama, but it would hardly be a vacation without drama, so what can I say?).  It was lovely to see old friends and family, and after such proximity to the beach, I hereby swear to never live so far away from the ocean again.  Ever. 

Back on point.  I’m glad that we had the opportunity to spend so much time at home with my Mother, my sisters and BIL.  Who knew having family could be so much fun?  It’s too bad it wasn’t miserable because it would have made leaving a whole lot easier!

And now here we are a week away from departure, sitting at different computers, trying to out blog one another.

To be honest I love to compartmentalizing things.  And what started out as a blog for me to update intermittently (read: never) about things that frustrate me, is being re-appropriated (did I make that term up?) into a Peace Corps blog.  This frustrates me.  I feel that one should never mix blogs.  Works of fiction should be placed in your fiction themed blogs, the same as blogs that heavily favor angry rants should not mix with other, more light-hearted fair.  However, my only other option would be to create another blog and while I love compartmentalizing, I hate the cluttered mess of too many compartments.  Plus I’m kind of attached to the URL and blog name of this blog (sometimes I just love how clever I can be).  So there you go.

As most of you know I and my lovely husband Scott are moving to Senegal, Africa at the end of August.  Until such time that we leave I will endeavor to relate how we feel and what we are doing to prepare.

So aside from buying a bunch of crap (Chocos, Keen hiking boots and one very expensive solar panel), I’m trying to become more active.  Engaging in such activities as miles long walks and bike rides (running just isn’t my cup of tea these days, chalk it up to age if you must).  Of course my bike tire went out last month and we (meaning Scott) has yet to fix it.  So that’s been kind of a bust.  I’ve been stock-piling tank tops as well.  Though I do wonder how much is too much and what’s too little?  I’m a little concerned that I will get to Senegal and have forgotten some small thing that will have made my life so much easier.

 Of course, let us not forget the anxiety of fitting your entire life into a suitcase and moving to a foreign country for 27 months, which is similar to any move, but without all the excess junk.  I’m trying to tell myself that this will be just like when I moved to Plymouth, except with out running water and this time I will have Scott to act as my social crutch.  But that’s not really working, so for the time being I’m just trying not to think about it in depth.

And finally there are the goodbyes.  The friends that you love and depend on who will be reduced to faces in pictures, an email address and hand written cards if you’re lucky.

Here’s to the the beginning.  I hope you tag along for the journey.

Beauty is something I have never really understood.  Or perhaps it is ugly that eludes me.  Either way, there are things that i recognize as beautiful, but I have never really been able to consider someone completely ugly, if at all.  Except for this time in kindergarten, there was this girl that I thought was ugly, but thinking back it had nothing to do with her appearance, which was neither ugly, nor homely, but rather normal.  What little I remember of her (other than her blond hair) was her personality, which left me with unpleasant feelings.  There was also another girl who I thought was the most beautiful I’d ever seen.  Looking at pictures she was also rather normal looking (and blond, so no prejudice there), but I remember she had a genuinely kind nature about her.

In today’s society we seem to have a very set standards of beauty and predictably they are predominately directed towards women.  High cheek bones are all the rage and high foreheads are not.  Tall and thin will get you anywhere and well, you get the idea.  I seem to be obsessed with appearance, but I’m going to blame it on society.  We cannot stop talking about what someone was wearing or how they’ve aged or how much weight they’ve gained.  We create shows in which women are paraded around and rated on their beauty, taught to hide their “flaws” and so much attention is paid to the visible that we forget what’s on the inside.  And that’s not even my point, because everyone talks about the importance of “inner beauty”.  My concern is that we are so anxious about our beauty, that we have lost sight of how diverse beauty can be.  When you open a magazine (at least in the states) you are bombarded with images of men and women of a certain type.  They have similar shapes (though they’d like to tell you the barely perceptible differences count towards diversity), heights, weight, ethnicity, hair color, etc.

Not only do we completely ghettoize inner worth as the ugly man’s beauty, we are completely narrow-minded as to what ugly even is, or for that matter beauty.  Beauty has nothing to do with appearance as much as it does with being different, but not too different as to make anyone uncomfortable and without conforming to certain standards.  Like shaped eyebrows, and thin arms and long legs and big boobs (but not too big) and small waists and I’ve said it before THINNESS!  Brown hair is great, that is if you are mildly ethnic, but sandy blond is more neutral.  OOOHH is that a high forehead?  You should cut a fringe to hide it, it’s unattractive.  And rolls?  Please sister, go to the gym already!

Beauty is diverse, it’s culture, it’s individuality and it shouldn’t be so narrowly defined.  For a society that prides itself on being so free and diverse, it’s ironic that we should all be shoved into such little colorless boxes.