My shoulders are a little lighter - it's no longer necessary to cringe when I reply "American"

I can't imagine that ever before has a person been watched by more people at once than Barack Obama yesterday. Yes, mostly that's due to technological advances and the ever-increasing political connectedness around the globe; but people weren't just watching him as a man who will shape arguably the most powerful country's decisions. That country's decisions affect many persons' daily lives, and so they're watching him, looking to him, as a man that will have an influence, however big or small, in their futures, hoping that that influence will be positive. Everyone wants an Obama magic touch in their neighborhood.  But we must be careful not to sit idly by, wishing and waiting.  I hope our new president provides a figure to emulate, of all things, so that people might strive to embody the change they seek in others.

All smiles today:

Oh, and did I mention I'm proud of my country for choosing him? Yes, after seven years of globe-trotting, I must say that for the first time I don't cringe when people discover I'm American. I don't hesitate to answer when they ask "Where are you from?" 

Whether you/I/we like it or not, when one is abroad one is inevitably a representative of his or her country, and he or she is associated with the message which that country emits to the world. Thankfully, however, I've found recently (in the past year or two) that most people do indeed have the ability to think for themselves, and are compassionate, and have separated American people from George W. Bush, and always let me know upon finding out that I'm American that they understand that not all a government's people support its administration. 

It wasn't always like that though. It used to be emotionally draining to be discovered as an American. I remember March 2003 when the war in Iraq started. I was in Australia, and my study abroad program director advised us all to buy Canadian pins and stickers, to put them on our bags, wear them on our shirts. I'm not sure if that was to protect us from physical violence, angry verbal scoldings, or the embarrassment and guilt that one felt as an American there. But I know that since March 2003 I've been weary of responding "American" when people ask my nationality. 

But alas, that disquiet has dissolved, for the most part anyway.  Last week when traveling through The Gambia to get to southern Senegal for a work trip, a border patrol police saw on my passport that I was from Illinois, and he notified everyone at the post that I was from the same state as Barack Obama. If he had said 'the same state as Bush', I would have felt an urgent need to defend and explain myself, as was previously the case when someone confirmed my American nationality and then asked difficult & unanswerable questions accompanied by looks of disdain. (As I stated above, however, that was increasingly followed by 'But I understand that not all people think like their governments,' and a warm welcome.)  This time, however, there was no need to apologize, no cringing necessary.  This time there were only big smiles and cheers, on their part as well as mine; and that's the exact moment I realized the change - when I felt a huge, unstoppable smile on my face accompanying the confirmation of my American identity. I was suddenly aware that I felt safe, happy, and perhaps even proud and a little respected as an American. All this for the first time in my adult life living abroad. 

And not just because of a man and his aspirations, but because we voted for him.

Now let the clean-up begin.

(Political views aside, these have been my lived experiences in 15 countries in the past 7 years - rich countries, poor countries, white, brown, black countries, and Catholic, Christian, and Muslim countries.)

Tabaski / Eid al-Adha

Tabaski was December 9th (I've had troubles with slow internet and couldn't upload pictures here until now.) Tabaski is the local name for Eid al-Adha, or "Festival of Sacrifice" one of the most important Muslim holidays.  It celebrates Abraham/Ibrahim's willingness to sacrifice his own son, and God's decision to give him a sheep to kill instead. So..... every adult male has to buy a sheep (for which they save money for months.)

It's also a time of asking forgiveness and starting fresh. So everyone says "Ba alma ak", which means "please forgive me," and wears new clothes and gives each other gifts.

All of our co-workers were pretty enthusiastic about inviting all the American and European volunteers to their houses; we went to Sadou's. We left our house at 8:30 am, feeling very self-conscious in our new boo-boos; but by the time we got to Sadou's we were feeling like royalty, as everyone in the streets was beaming with joy and pride seeing us in new Senegalese garb, and our taxi driver even told us we looked like a king and queen. 

When we got there, we went straight to work - me cutting 25 onions, grinding 40 cloves of garlic, and peeling cucumbers, peppers, and potatoes, for which they let me borrow one of their old outfits (which I liked much better than my boo-boo).

Sadou told me that I didn't have to do anything, that I didn't have to 'go with the women', that he understood that in our culture women don't always cook. (We hear these things at gender-trainings at work.) The women (his mother, sisters, and sister-in-law) obviously thought the same (that 'western' women don't cook), as they truly were astonished that I knew how to cut onions and peel potatoes! They kept intervening to show me how to do it, and when I'd say "I know how, I cook" they'd ask incredulously "You cook?" and when I'd say "Yes, of course" they'd ask again, even more incredulously, "You cook, at your house???" 

I gathered that most toubabs (the word they use here for all Americans and Europeans) here have maids who do the cooking. The disbelief went on all morning as I finished one set of vegetables and started on another.  

(This attitude isn't all that uncommon here or in some other countries I've been to. In many places Americans and Europeans are seen as helpless when it comes to everyday tasks and skills, since so many of them have 'help', or if they're tourists they often pay guides to take them around the country. It makes for pretty annoying, child-like treatment sometimes.)

Anyway, on to the main even of the day - the sheep killing, with which Jonathan had to help. Frankly, if you eat animals, you shouldn't really be all that grossed out. As vegetarians, many of our family and friends were horrified for us, but it really wasn't that bad - I tell them that blood, gore, and suffering is what I imagine every time I see a piece of chicken or a hamburger. It's not as if all the blood and bones and dying animals came as a surprise. But since the animals one eats in the U.S. are often slaughtered and butchered a long way from our eyes and minds, here's a breakdown of how it goes:

Afterwards we sat around and talked until Jonathan had to get back home to work.

(Below) Sadou and Jonathan talking about monogamy and polygamy. His father only married his mother, but his two sisters' husbands each took another wife, and his sisters didn't want to live in the same house with the other wives, so they moved back to their parents' house. One of the husbands sent a goat over.

For more pics (mostly of adorable kids)

Click Here

Velingara Declaration Photos

These are NOT MINE, but forwarded to me by another volunteer who attended the 'declaration', which is when several villages (who are completing or have completed our Community Empowerment Program) decide to come together and publicly declare there opposition to and abandonment of child/forced marriages and female genital cutting.

Velingara Declaration Photos

Ile N'Gor

Friday we went to Ile N'Gor, a tiny little island off the north shore of Dakar. It costs 500 CFA (one dollar) to get there and back on a long boat (below). They do offer you a ride on another boat for 5000 CFA, which they say is more "sure", I guess meaning "more safe".

Once there, there isn't much to do besides relax on the beach, swim, and breath in fresh air to clean out your Dakar-blackened lungs.

For more Ile N'Gor photos CLICK HERE.

Thanksgiving at the Volunteer House

There were no mashed potatoes, or green beens, and there was certainly no turkey. But there was sharing of food, and a day off :)

Jonathan and I joined a potluck at the volunteer house (where 6 volunteers live, but which we declined because Jonathan needs a work space, and the internet, which they do not have.) It was a great time, with fabulous live music a lá Cody. It kind turned into a sing-along party.

The strange but yummy mix of grub: vegan pizza, vegan cookies (my contribution), lasagna, homemade bread, salad, popcorn, and.... pringles (???)

One fall-ish/festive food we did have: spiced wine. (We all only wished it had been a little cool outside. Drinking hot, spiced wine when you're wearing tank tops and sweating... it's just not as romantic as in sweaters in the snow.)

Jonathan with Guilleum and Myriam (both from France, but enjoying a reason to have the day off.)
Claire and her lasagna:

Cody and his guitar. (Cody's not actually a volunteer, but rather one of the very few 'western' staff, and is certainly the go-to guy - he knows everything about everything in the organization.) 

Our uninvited guest...

Guilleume and Claire... doing I don't know what

Martha and her "Southern France" salad

Around our neighborhood...

our first night we treated ourselves to pizza and Coke products:

the alcohol shop:

right next to the mosque:

For a few more photos, CLICK HERE.

Getting Around

There are many many ways to get around the city, (not to mention getting out of the city.)  There are taxis of course, which are cheap by American standards but like anything else would be too expensive to take everyday, ($2 to most places.) For 20-30 cents, however, you can take one of four different types of buses. 

First there's the car rapide - the uber-colorful thing you see below that barely runs:
Then there's the Ndiaga Ndiaye (pronounced "jaggin jay"), pictured below. Both seem essentially the same, aside from the colors. (Actually, now that I think about it, I think I heard that the cars rapides got their name (fast cars) because they don't have breaks.) Anyway, there's an aprenti on back, and as the bus approaches, you listen to what he yells, and if it's where you want to go, you hop on (through the back) and hopefully find a seat. 

When you're ready to get off, you tap on the ceiling, or really anywhere on the tin-like sides of the car, or say "Maima fii".  The aprenti lets the driver know to stop or go by hitting/slapping the back door. (I haven't yet been able to discern if the series of hits/taps/slaps is different for stop and for go.)
There are also the TACA white buses, slightly larger than the car rapides and ndiaga ndiayes, and also large western-style blue buses, called Dim Dekks, which I guess you take if going into the city center. (When we got here, the big blue Dim Dekks were on strike, so we learned how to utilize the previously-very-intimidating car rapides, so now we just continue to use them.)

From our place it's a five minute walk to where we cross the VDN, the large road/highway that runs from downtown Dakar, past our neighborhood (and many others) north towards the office and finally to the airport. It's usually necessary to walk the few extra minutes to the crosswalk (below) in order to get across (although a critical mass of pedestrians is needed before cars will actually stop).

Inside the car rapide (the ndiaga ndiaye looks the same):

When I get to work I say "maima fii", pay my 20-25 cents, and get off. But the journey's not over. Then I must cross the VDN - this time no crosswalk in site. After successfully crossing one direction of traffic, then pausing on the median before crossing the other direction, you reach the guardrail which is just tall enough to make it awkward getting across. 

For more transportation pics, (which aren't great because they were mostly taken with my zoom lens from the office roof,) including a few how-to photos on attempting to cross over the guardrail while keeping your pride intact, CLICK HERE.