So I have been living at my site in
Saare Samba Diaba near Kolda for over a month now. There is so much that I could tell, but at the same time
there is so much that I don’t know if I could really distill down and convey to
fully realize my experience. I
guess the important things to get out of the way first are that I am enjoying
my time there and am excited to see where the next two years take me. Samba Diaba is about 12 kilometers
northwest of the main city of Kolda.
To get there I bike on a dirt/sand path that is used by everyone going
to and from the villages in that direction. The landscape is essentially flat and characterized by tall
grasses that cover most of the area where trees most likely used to stand. The trees are sparse in the grassy areas
to make room for the peanut and cornfields for the surrounding villages. In the distance multiple types of trees
punctuate the horizon: palms with tall trunks, wide deciduous trees with
feather-like leaves, and Baobab trees that look like they were first imagined
by Dr. Seuss. A note about the
Baobabs: they have very wide rotund trunks that are hollow with short stubby
branches and fruit that hang like Christmas ornaments. Apparently, it is common belief that
genies reside within the hollow portions of the trees.
The sunsets in Senegal never fail
to be remarkable. The combination
of sparse but present cloud cover at day’s end make for a painter’s dream of
colors and hues. Deep reds fold
into pale yellows over a sun that while still visible, is in a haze of light. I speak of the sunsets so vividly,
because that is the time that I typically will be biking back from town to my
village. The people along my path
usually know me now, since I am the only American, or “White” person rather,
that lives in that area. They will
call out my name and greet me as I pedal past, and I will shout my greetings
into the wind behind me.
“Farin,” they will yell.
Since Farin Balde is my Senegalese
name.
And I will answer,
“Nallu-don?”
Which is the after-lunch greeting
that essentially means, ‘Is there no evil this afternoon?’
As I round the bend to the
outskirts of my village, I have a moment of reluctance to continue into
it. When I am in village, the
weight of my responsibility and the highest expectations of the people I am to serve
are ever-present in my mind. Returning
to village acutely reminds me of the reality of my undertaking. When I was preparing for Peace Corps,
and thinking about my career, I knew that I needed to choose a path that led me
to helping people that sought help.
Now that I have a village of 460 people looking to me for new knowledge,
American philosophy, and enrichment, the role of a Volunteer is more real than
I could have imagined before coming to Senegal.
The moment of pause passes as soon
as someone sees me and shouts, “Farin arti!” Which means, Farin has returned! I am always met with smiles and extensive greetings no
matter how long I have been away. My
service is going to be so much more than just what projects I can bring to the
people of my village. My true
legacy instead will be the relationships and experiences that I will have.
That being said, I am still going
to get things done.
When I arrive at my hut I feel an
immediate comfort, since I like my hut.
That may seem simplistic, but it actually carries huge importance to
me. Being able to be comfortable
where I was living was a huge question before arriving in village and
“nesting”. My hut is both small
and large at the same time. It is
small in comparison to the amount of activities that I conduct there and
especially in comparison to American standards of living. However, it is large in comparison to
standards in Senegal, where a hut of my size could easily be used by an entire family
of five, without a thought of discomfort by the individuals. But, I have to say my favorite thing
about where I live is my backyard.
The entirety of my backyard, which is on the larger side of the spectrum
of volunteers that live in villages, is bordered with trees. There is even long green grass that is
aesthetically pleasing. My duus,
or bathroom area is shaded by a large Moringa tree, which I will have to
explain about later. All in all, being surrounded with plants is one thing that
makes me the most content. That
probably comes from growing up in Western Washington State, known for
evergreens.
Village life moves at a strolling
pace. Time is not valued
monetarily as it sometimes is in Western society. I wake up a little while after sunrise, since the energy and
activity is up before I am. The
braying donkeys, crowing of roosters, and the pounding of the day’s grain by
the women are my alarm clocks. I
will typically stay in my hut for an hour or so after waking to make myself a
cup of coffee and listen to a bit of music, before starting the day in
earnest. Alone time is a luxury
not often had during the middle of the day.
I bend down and walk outside my
door to all of my family already up.
The women are pounding and cooking rice for breakfast, the men are
sitting and usually drinking tea, and the children are doing the same thing all
children do when not direct by their parents: living impulse to impulse. I take time, and greet all members of
my family, extending formalized questions about their sleep and waking. Then I sit with my brothers, and listen
to their conversations, and try to understand when they ask me things.
Breakfast arrives, which is always rice
porridge, sweetened with sugar and sometimes enriched with fresh milk or
yogurt. The men get their bowls,
and the women settle down to their own with the children. After finishing, I begin the activities
of my day that could range from working in the fields with my family or
counterpart, or just walking around the village and talking to people. My village is small enough where
everyone knows me, and I am going to know all of them. Lunch is an important meal to families,
and is served around 2:00 in the afternoon. You are always expected to come home for lunch, unless you
tell someone that you are eating somewhere else.
Lunch is almost always rice, with a
savory peanut sauce on top. The
sauce is flavored with dried fish, tomato paste, and whatever else could be
afforded that day. Eating meat is
rare, and usually I can’t compel myself to eat it due to the various parts of
the cow that are included. The
afternoon is spent in the same way that the mornings are: with dependence upon
the program for the day.
Come nighttime, the heat of the day
is over, and everyone comes out to languish in the coolness of the air. Groups form around different huts and
people exchange news of the day, jokes, and in general just enjoy each others’
company. I head to my hut around
9:00 to read and relax before sleeping.
