Giving Blood: A Cross Cultural Experience or Speed Dating

Grace and I have been entertaining the idea of donating blood for a few weeks now but haven’t found the right time. Due to the blood supply shortages here and around the world for that matter, and the fact that after living in Africa it’s approximately two years before I can donate in the States again, we thought it was important to do while we had the chance. Today we finally decided to just do it. Mom I know you’re probably freaking out at this point but just take a deep breath and know chose a legitimate donation center and were very cautious throughout the process.

When we asked at the reception desk where we could donate we were directed to another building where we found ourselves in a room full of unmarked doors and no reception desk. Once we found the registration room I headed in first because Grace had forgotten to bring an ID. It later turned out ID was not necessary, apparently just an easier way of getting information. I answered a few simple questions, generally pertaining to information on my drivers license though a few related to my marital/dating status. Next I was sent to ‘the room across from here,’ of which there were three, all unmarked, for a consultation. As Grace so eloquently put it, it felt more like speed dating than a consultation. Yes he took our blood pressure and asked if we were on any medication/had we ever been hospitalized but these didn’t seem to be nearly as interesting to him as the questions again concerning marital/relationship status. The meeting was quick however and I was then on my way to the donation room which looked quite similar to any place I’ve donated in the states. I was directed to a chair while the doctor opened a NEW packet of supplies including the blood bags, tubes, and needle. He followed the same general procedure of tying off my arm, finding a vein, cleaning it, and inserting the needle. I was never concerned for my safety or health but I must say, had I never before donated I would have had no idea what was going on. There were no explanations of what to do or what would come next. No this is how you might feel or if you feel like this let me know. There were also no after care instructions other than being pointed to a final room were you received your recuperations. What in the States is generally a cookie tray and juice was a water sac, can of juice, warm milky drink that may have contained a tid bit of Nescafe, and a sandwich. Yup, the blood donation center is open from 9-12 and after you donate you are given a meat and fries sandwich, though apparently only if you actually donate. Grace tried to give but was more or less passed out after less than a minute. She only received juice and water. I never felt scared about the medical aspects of the experience, however I was a little confused when they tried to revive grace with a cotton swab doused in alcohol.

I wont be able to give again while I’m here, for which I know mom is very grateful, but it was a good experience to have. Even if my one time donation doesn’t make a big difference in the grand scheme of things, the process was effective in helping me to better understand the health care system within which the Senegalese must operate. 

Merry Christmas Mom

I received the best Christmas present ever this year, Logan and Pat arrived at 6:30 in the morning with only minor complications and an insight into Senegalese security, so I’m now attempting to give my mother the Christmas present she really wants and ok probably deserves. She has been asking for a blog update for about a month now and I’ve been too overwhelmed by all that has passed to know where to begin. I think at this point the only thing to do is jump right in so bear with me through any rambling or repetition.

             We made it to Logan and Pat’s apartment and let them settle in for about 20 minutes before they were thrown right into Senegalese life. Grace and I managed to convince a taxi man to take us to the monastery in Keur Moussa, leave us for the service, and bring us back to Dakar. Thankfully he took pity on our pleas of Christmas spirit, family and Senegalese Taranga (hospitality) and let us all squeeze into one car. After a few sketchy pit stops, in Rufisque and on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, we finally arrived in Keur Moussa only to find out that our driver didn’t actually know the monastery and had to ask for directions multiple times. Mass was long and by the end I thought Logan and Pat were going to kill me but I think the goat cheese and bissap wine we found after Mass made the trip worthwhile. (You’ll have to ask them for conformation, I’m sure they never would have told me otherwise.)

Christmas night we attempted to hear some Senegalese music at Balajo, a restaurant/club near my neighborhood however it turned out their big Christmas concert was not so big after all. The music was loud and at times good but the boys enjoyed the food and the music and dancing that came later in the night. All in all it was a good day even if it wasn’t my traditional idea of Christmas.

Monday morning we ventured into the fabric market called HLM. Logan made his first attempt at waxalla-ing for a towel and they tried their first juice bag. Incase I haven’t mentioned this before the good fresh local juice is sold in little plastic bags for 10-20 cents. You can generally find them at any of the large markets or garages but never in stores or at restaurants. If I want some when I’m in Mermoz or at school I go to a house around the corner that I know sells juice and cream only because Lauren’s little sister took us there one time, but I digress. After the market we went to my friends’ house in Mermoz to watch some soccer. Yes, they came all the way to Senegal and spent their second afternoon inside watching soccer. Things got adventurous again when they tried Senegalese fast food for a late lunch and discovered we have the best sandwiches ever! They generally consist of chicken or the all-encompassing category of ‘meat,’ lettuce, tomatoes, onion sauce, fries, and mayo all smashed into delicious toasted bread, and for less than 2 dollars.

Later that night we headed into downtown for dinner and ended up eating at a French restaurant near Grace’s mom’s hotel. Logan made his first real purchase in the street right outside the restaurant. Tuesday was Sandaga-the largest market in Dakar where you can find just about anything you want, and an unintended tour of the city when I got us slightly lost on a car rapide. All the same, they were able to experience public transportation and gain a better sense of the culture and how people interact. We had dinner at a bar around the corner from our school and hung out on the boys’ terrace, which had a great view of the city.

Wednesday we visited Ile de Madeline, which I believe I have already described in a previous post. Only thing to add would be that the boys experienced their first of many sketch pirogue rides. The crew consisted of our ‘captain’ and his son who was brought along to bail out the continuous flow of water entering numerous holes in the bottom of the boat. That night we had dinner and drinks downtown near La Place de L’independence.

Thursday we delivered a few boxes of cleats and balls to SOS Village des Enfants. It is an orphanage just down the street from my school and the boy’s apartment. It was a little disappointing that the donations were left in the equipment room and Logan and Pat had little to no interaction with the kids until on our way out someone offered to organize a soccer match for the following day. So, Friday morning Logan and Pat, still sore from a mini-match they played with some guys from my neighborhood, headed to SOS to play some soccer.  Grace, her mom and I attended as spectators and to take some pictures, or at least that was our intention. I ended up getting a full tour of the campus, literally every child’s room and all of the playgrounds. Grace got a new hairdo, it was beautiful I must say, and even through the language barrier her mom made quite a few new friends.

It was a fun morning and much less hectic than the afternoon we spent handing things out in Mermoz. Senegalese parties tend to end without sign and it’s the quickest dispersal of a large group of people I’ve ever seen, however the speed with which this small group of boys transformed into the entire neighborhood still boggles my mind. If they had it there way all 25 boxes would have been distributed right then and there. Kids obviously just wanted to have something to call their own, a new jersey to wear or ball to play with, parents came to get things for their absent children, older kids to get things for younger siblings, there were even businessmen and vendors who stopped by. As exhausting and at times frustrating as the afternoon was, when everything was done and over with I was left feeling quite satisfied. All the quarrels got worked out and we left behind some very happy little kids.

We also toured Ile de Goree, Ngor, ate ceebu gen and yassa poulet with my family, had papa try to speak Wolof to Logan and Pat (who he thought was my boyfriend and still continues to tease me about) and celebrated a wonderful New Years Eve. For the boys and I this consisted of a traditional Senegalese meal followed by card games in their apartment and champaign on the terrace with Grace and her mom while fireworks were lit from every rooftop around the city. I think Logan was the one who described it as being in the middle of a very colorful war zone. I was happily surprised when one of Grace’s host brothers, who happens to be a journalist, informed us that there were no firework related deaths or injuries reported that night. (Seriously shocking as many of the people lighting the fireworks were under the age of 10!) After fireworks, and a bit more champaign, we picked up Grace’s host sister Yaye and headed to club. Again you would have to confirm with the boys, but I would say it was a great way to end their stay.

I know I’ve left out lots of things but rather than ramble on and lose you’re interest I’m going to stop here and save some stories for next time. It’s just Grace and I now working on our ICRP’s so their probably won’t be too many exciting stories to come for a while and I’ll be able to catch you up on the latest Dakar news and our trip to Gambia!

Hope everyone enjoyed the Holidays and until next time.

A little taste of Sokone

Our professor told us he wanted our trip to Sokone to be a surprise and that it was. We left Dakar at 9 AM CFA (meaning it was closer to 9:30). The drive was a scenic 5 hours on some of the nicest roads in Senegal. Sokone is located on the main route from Dakar to Gambia and President Wade, in his attempt to get on the publics good side before elections, has financed the paving of the majority of the route. Our hotel, or auberge, was a little piece of green paradise. Grace, Lauren, and I had our own thatched roof hut; each meal was eaten outside under a canopy surrounded by flowers and birds and butterflies, and from somewhere in the distance the sound of the tam-tam.

After lunch, and dessert, and juice….we visited a center for the handicapped where people come to learn life skills as well as a few trades by which they can make a living. Right down the road was a women’s organization that produces cereal products such as millet, corn, and dried byssap juice. When we returned to the auberge around 5 o’clock we found a group of men organizing all sorts of drumming equipment and coolers and a peace corps volunteer named Casey. We all piled back into the van-all 17 of us plus drums-and started driving. After about 15 minutes we turned off any sort of road and were on a small path, usually reserved for horse drawn carts, making our way through the bush, more affectionately known as ‘ca all ba.’ It was here that our guide, Baba, hopped out and headed toward a small opening in the tall corn and I decided to ask where we were going. I turned to the man next to me, one of the drummers, and attempted to pose the question in Wolof. It didn’t take long convey my question and Tam kindly corrected my grammar, then proceeded to copy me each time I said it possibly thinking I was working on my pronunciation. It wasn’t until Lauren was laughing hysterically and I finally switched to French to ask ‘seriously, where are we going?’ that he responded. And where were we going? ‘Fii rekk,’ or ‘just there…’ gesturing toward and empty field and some overgrown brush.

Our destination, a small opening in the forest where we found a man named Armando. We had asked during the ride down to Sokone whether or not we would be far enough south to find palm wine, something we had been wanting to try but which is impossible to find in Dakar. Our professor called Baba, owner of the auberge and sort of tour guide, to give him time to search the town. Apparently Baba decided that if we were going to try palm wine we needed to see exactly how it was prepared. Thus we arrived in the middle of this forest of palm trees, with a band of tam-tam players and a cooler full of palm wine, to watch Armando get ‘inspired’ and climb a tree and tap it for juice. We learned how to make a funnel from palm leaves and attempted to climb the tree with a hoola hoop looking tool made out of rope. After a bit more dancing and drinking we headed back to the auberge for the night.

The next day was possibly the busiest day I’ve experienced in Senegal. After breakfast we headed out to explore the mangroves, which are trees that grow in the delta and along the rivers. There are a number of initiatives to protect/replant mangroves because so many have been illegally cut to harvest the clams that grow on their roots. Another women’s organization keeps bees around the edge of a large mangrove forest with two purposes. One, the bees keep people from entering and cutting the roots. Two, the women harvest, treat, and sell the honey they collect from the bees.

After visiting the treatment facilities, we headed out to Tabakouta, a somewhat touristy town just south of Sokone. Here we hopped in a pirogue for about a 40-minute boat ride out to Diorom Boumag islands. Here we swam in the delta, kayaked through the mangroves, explored l’Ile aux coquillage, and saw a magnificent sunset as headed through the land of birds. Overall it was a wonderful day. Pap Diop and Baba were great guides, we met some French vacationers who ate lunch with us and shared in interesting drink that was a mix between wine and liquor.  By the time we made it back to the auberge around 8:30, I would have been happy with dinner, some tea, and bed, but no…we had a fête to attend! All through dinner the drumming outside kept getting louder and louder and we could here people arriving.  After we were done dinner, Baba came out and said as soon as we were ready Awa, the women who organized the big celebration would come with a few friends to accompany us out.  About five minutes later we were sitting in the middle of a large circle of at lease 150 people, facing the tam tam players. The ‘fête’ lasted about an hour and a half, during which we were repeatedly dragged to the center of the circle to dance for what seemed to be about half the town. As if three toubabs dancing by themselves in the middle of a large circle isn’t enough, every Senegalese woman knows how to dance, and well. So our attempts at the ‘youza,’ a modern Senegalese dance, were quite entertaining. As was my quick display of Irish Dance, which Grace made me perform, and which amazed many of the people watching. After we had sufficiently embarrassed ourselves, at some sign invisible to us, the gathering was over and in less than two minutes everyone was gone. It was the quickest I have ever scene a party clear out.   We spent the rest of the night drinking Attaaya with a few of the men who help out at the auberge and being mesmerized by the stars, which were ridiculously bright.

Saturday morning we made a quick visit to the high school to learn about a program called Sisters to School. It’s a program started by retired Peace Corps volunteers who wanted to help at risk women and young girls receive an education. After our visit we headed back to Dakar making a quick stop in Kaolak to drop off Ishmaela, one of the auberge workers, and Jamie, another Peace Corps volunteer.

While our drive to Sokone took just about five hours, the trip home took more like seven. On the upside we stopped at a roadside stand and all bought delicious watermelons as a small gift for our families! The only critique I had of the trip was that it was too short. And possibly the fact that it came at a time when I had three large papers to write…which is what I’m off to do now. Until next time, happy turkey day to all!!!

The River Valley

I took the last post to explain my living situation in Richard Toll but failed to mention anything about my reason for being there. One of our classes is titled the St. Louis River Valley and our trip was meant to give us a better idea of the agricultural conditions of the region. We spent most of our time in Richard Toll, touring different organizations and farms. We saw TONS of rice, a sugar cane plantation, fishery, tomato farm, a pump station, and the Diama Dam which we were able to cross and enter Mauritatia for a few minutes. What I understood of the tours was interesting, however because they were in French and my farming vocab is somewhat limited, I felt as though some of the tours were less effective learning tools than they could have been. I think it would have been more meaningful if our guides talked more about the larger more global issues they faced rather than the technical details of how to make fish food for example. That's not to say I didn't enjoy our visits and the travel alone was interesting enough. Even though Richard Toll has a convenient central location, the majority of our tours were 30 minutes to an hour away. This being the first time we really ventured out of Dakar I was glad to have the chance to see a little of rural Senegal and feel for the first time that I'm in Africa.

We spent two nights, three days of our trip in St. Louis, which felt more like a vacation than anything. We stayed at a ritzy French hotel with air conditioning, a mini-fridge, and our own bathroom (fully stocked with toilet paper, soap, and a real shower!) Attached to the hotel was a French restaurant were we ate two delicious dinners, my favorite dishes being a carrot bisque and a dessert of vanilla ice cream and strawberry sorbet, really just happy to have some fruits and veggies. The staff was also very accommodating. One night we were being served steak and when asked how we would like it cooked Lauren, Grace, and I all responded medium. Apparently medium in Senegal is slightly seared but still bloody and lukewarm on the inside. The cook kindly threw it back on the grill for us. Breakfast was equally impressive. Each person received their own assortment of breads and pastries, a crepe, and bowl of fruit, not to mention the REAL coffee that came with REAL steamed milk!

During out time in St. Louis we visited a park called Le Langue de Barbari which is a strip of land between the river and the ocean which is known for its birds. We were a little early in the season and only saw a few different types but the scenery boat ride were great none the less. We also visited a wildlife preserve were we saw hundred year old tortoises, a few gazelle-like animals (I'm not exactly sure what the name translates to in english) and tons of red monkeys!

Khadit and Fatou, who are from St. Louis, were wonderful guides. Not only did they show us around the city and help us bargain some great prices, they decided we needed to see what a night out was like in St. Louis. Sooo we went to a club with them, some friends, and their brothers. Yes, they go to the club with their brothers.  We had a blast and ended up getting back to our hotel around 6 am. Whoops. Everyone was a little tired the next day but after Khadit and Fatou led a walking tour of the city we hopped back in the van and returned to Richard Toll.

That pretty much takes care of all the highlights and I'm clearly falling behind on posts so I'm going to stop here and start working on my post about TABASKI!

I hope everyone's enjoying the snow and fall weather. It's still a warm and sunny 85° here. 

The Fall Family

The first couple of days in Richard Toll I felt a little like I was living in a zoo. My family consisted of my dad, mom, two sisters, 16 and 14, and one brother, 9.  They were extremely nice and welcoming but watched my every move. My first day there I had zero time alone. If for some reason I was alone in my room, also the living room, it only took my younger sister Adja about 30 seconds to realize it, pop her head in, and ask, ‘Tu fais quoi?’ or ‘what are you doing?’ Every time I wasn’t involved in family activities, whether I was getting ready in the morning, working on homework, writing in my journal, etc., always ‘tu fais quoi?’

Then there was the fact that the family slept on the roof. Generally speaking I was very happy about this. Not only was there a wonderful breeze, I had an amazing view of the stars. The only problem was that there was an elementary school across the street from my house and each morning my family set up a little stand where they would sell breakfast to many of the students. School started at 8:15 meaning everyone had to be up, bread bought, and the spread made before kids starting arriving. In other words I got up before 7 every day, and didn’t have to be ready till 9. My last day there it was still dark out when I woke up. Then there were the students themselves. I’ve gotten used to people looking at me when I’m in public and kids having a funny reaction. Generally huge smiles and wanting to shake our hands, every once in a while it looks a little more like fear. These students however just stared. I would often drink my coffee in the doorway and watch the commotion with my sister and kids would just stand there looking at me, which my sister thought was hilarious by the way.  So my first couple of days felt something like living in a zoo, I went to bed and woke up when the rest of the family did, I ate when they put food in front of me, and I was watched by little kids like some exotic animal.

After a few days however I became more integrated in the family. I helped with dinner a few times, started washing my dishes in the morning and would run errands with my sister. One night they decided to take me to the tailor to help pick out a design for my Adja’s Tabaski outfit. I decided not to go on any more random trips with them after the tailor vehemently refused to believe I didn’t want to marry his friend and my sisters were of no help.  For days afterward they would randomly ask me what was new with the tailor and then burst into laughter. The same was true every time my crazy aunt would come over. Like my host mom she only spoke Wolof so after going through all the greetings and here telling me I was like a daughter to her, the next subject was always my relationship status. No matter how many times she visited, the conversation would always be the same (using my broken Wolof I might add) “Where is your husband?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Why not?! You need a husband. You don’t have a husband?”

“No, not yet. I’m not ready to have a husband. I’m a student. I have to finish school first.”

“No. You must marry and then you can finish school.”

A statement to which I had no answer in Wolof and at which point my sisters were just hysterical, my aunt completely serious. Then there was the fateful morning she came over with her son and told me that she would give him up for me because I was like her daughter and I really needed a husband. I then spent the next hour eating breakfast with him and waiting for my ride.

After my first two days in Richard Toll I came home from a day of visiting sugar cane fields and riceries to learn that my host dad had left for St. Louis because his nephew had passed away. It is bizarre to me the way some people here treat death. I don't know how close anyone else in the family was to the boy who passed away, but besides informing me that my dad was in St. Louis, it was never mentioned again. Even when he returned, a week later, he said nothing about why he had been gone.

While life in Richard Toll lacked a few of the creature comforts I've been accustomed to in Dakar, personal privacy and freedom, somewhat regular internet access, and a working toilet, I am going to miss the Fall family. Having kids around, helping out with meals and family chores, and in general being able to experience a different version of Senegalese lifestyle. 

I've got much more to tell but I thought I'd put some picture up now since they're all ready and the blog posts are coming a little slowly.

Au Revoir Dakar

Tuesday morning Grace and I decided to get one last run in before we left Dakar. Our departure date had been pushed back so that our professor, my uncle, could be in Dakar for the memorial service of his nephew, my host mom’s son, who passed away last year. I knew he was coming over for lunch and that there would be a small service. Because my mama said nothing of it, I assumed it was jut a small family event. That was not the case.  

I returned from my run to find a large stack of chairs in the courtyard and a few family members and friends milling about. I hopped in the shower real quick wanting to be out and dressed before more people arrived. In the next half hour or so the whole neighborhood was congregated in our house. The living room was filled with men and the courtyard with women. The men were praying, led by the chants of another uncle, the women simply praying in silence facing Mecca. It went on this way for about an hour, listening to the chants of the men and occasional comforting of my mama when she would break down in tears.  I can hear the chanting of prayers from my house each evening but it is usually just background noise to my life. Surrounded by silence and with nothing to distract me I really listened to the chanting and it has an extremely calming effect. Even though I was glad to be able to offer my prayers and condolences, to be there for my maman, I couldn’t help feeling I was intruding on what should have been a very private time. She has told a few stories about her son and shared some photos with me, but that doesn't change the fact that I never knew him and have only been with her for a month.

After the service was finished people slowly began to disperse and only a few family members stayed for lunch. Everyone who attended the service or stopped by at any point during the day was given a small gift bag, me included. It contained an assortment of cookies and chocolates, a bag of water, and carton of milk-they don’t refrigerate those here. 

Around 3:30 Grace, Lauren and I hopped in a van with our professor said ‘au revoir’ to our families and to Dakar. We’d only been in Senegal for about a month and all of that time adjusting to the culture of the city and our families. I felt a small sense of sadness to be leaving a city that was just starting to become home, but at the same time anxious to see more of Senegal.

Keur Massar, the monastery with no monks

This Sunday we were planning on taking a trip to Keur Moussa, the monastery were they are known for great goat cheese and gregorian chants. All the guidebooks say to take bus 17 from Dakar to Rufisque, where you have to switch busses. Once on the second bus tell the driver where you're going and he will drop you off at a signpost about 1.5 kilometers away from the monastery. Then to get back, you have to ask around and find a 'taxi clandestine' that will take you to Rufisque were you can catch a bus back to Dakar. When Grace was asking her host brother where one would find 'Bus 17' we were relieved to hear there's a different bus that can take you straight to the monastery. It only cost about a dollar a piece round trip and takes about an hour.  When I told my mom about our plans I was curious as to why she was so surprised that we would be back in time for our tour of the suburbs in the afternoon...

So Sunday morning a little after 8 we headed to the bus stop and make our way to what we thought was Keur Moussa. I know the population is about 95% Mulsim but I still found in odd that nobody we asked seemed to know what we were talking about when we asked about the monastery. Though somebody was kind enough to point out the local Church. After attending Mass-almost 2 hours long with no gregorian chant-it was pretty obvious we weren't in the right place. Happy to have experienced a Senegalese Mass but a little disappointed we didn't find the monastery we boarded our bus and headed back to Dakar.

When I got home my family was curious about our trip and what we were able to do in such a short period of time. One of my uncles, who also happens to be the professor who was taking us on a tour of the suburbs later that day, seemed incredulous that we made it there but couldn't find the monastery.  I told him nobody seemed to know anything about a monastery and the Church we found had no monks. Then he asked how we got there, a taxi? I proudly said nope, we took a bus! He gave me a funny looked, asked my mom something in wolof, then burst out in laughter. After about a minute he explained, 'There's no bus that goes to Keur Moussa, I'm pretty sure you guys were in Keur Massar." So our exciting first trip outside Dakar was actually just a long bus ride to one of Dakar's suburbs, which happened to be included in our tour that afternoon.

What might seem like a wasted morning however, was quite enlightening. I've probably already written more than you want to read at one time and I haven't even mentioned our afternoon tour so I'm just going to give you a short list of the more shocking experiences of our bus ride.

• Detours in Senegal=drive into oncoming traffic
• Busses have no set capacity
• Seeing a LIVE sheep be stuffed in the trunk of a taxi

After our morning of navigating the public transit system it was a relief to have a taxi with air conditioning for our tour of the suburbs. I won't go into too much detail about the different areas we visited, but two in particular are worth noting.  The first is a large green space located east of the city, in which people are banned from building. From a distance it looks like a beautiful park with a small lake, what my prof calls 'The Central Park of Senegal.' Upon closer look, there are piles of trash along the bumpy dirt road that runs through the space and small shacks for the people who farm in the area. Apparently it is only closed to formal construction.

The second thing I wanted to mention is the city's landfill where all of Dakar's trash is dumped. Located just outside one of the suburbs, you can see pillars of smoke from the burning trash for blocks. Lauren and I were trying to take photos from the car so our professor asked to driver to stop. Then he said, well why don't we just go in. Yes, why not drive through all of Dakar's trash.

As we drove through the landfill we started to see little shacks constructed literally in the trash. My professor explained that the people living in the trash work in the landfill. These people sort through the trash pulling out plastic bottles, aluminum cans, fabric, and other scrap metals that they can resell. I guess this is Senegal's form of recycling. Needless to say it was disturbing to see people living among trash not to mention the pollution created by burning their trash.

All in all it was an informative but exhausting day and I was happy to spend the night hanging with my family.

Sorry for the long post, but tomorrow we leave for Saint Louis for two weeks so I probably wont have any updates for a while.