April 14, 2006
Today after lunch we were brought to the basketball court on which is painted a map of Senegal. Regina, one of the Serer teachers was sitting in a hammock. In Senegal there are many ethnic groups. Some are considered relatives, and some are considered rivals. The Serer and the Pulaar like to make fun of each other. Regina often calls me her slave, and whenever she sees me doing manual work like building a garden table, she comments on it being appropriate work for me. She also occasionally meows at me, as if to insult me by calling me a cat. Little does she know. So, seeing her comfy and relaxed, I sat on top of her. Shortly thereafter we were told to close our eyes, and from the hammock Regina and I could hear volunteers making ooh and ahh sounds as teachers spun them around and guided them onto the map, and soon we joined in with mmms and oyyys of our own, which eventually became ar-ar-arooos, howls to an unseen moon. Eventually Awa, the manager of the homestays, came and got me. She is going through menopause, and her husband is older than she, but we joke that I am after her husband and that she wants to beat me for enticing him towards infidelity. When she took me onto the map she told me she was sending me far far away from her husband, and she deposited me, as I expected, on top of Kolda, where Nick was already standing.
No other volunteers from our stage are near us, I’m sorry to say. I have some friends who I’ll be able to reach for weekend visits if I’m willing to spend a while on a bus, but all the people in biking distance I will have to meet after I get to Kolda. Well, I have a phone and will at least be able to talk to my friends. So far it seems Jessica is going to the smallest town. It has less than 200 people, and most of them will be related to her.
Massali, the manager of the urban ag program, told me a bit about my place in Kolda. It sounds dreamy. I will live in a family compound, but I will have my own hut. It is a huge round hut with straw on the roof. It has a bedroom, living-room, and bathroom. And electricity! My living-room is bigger than many volunteers’ only room. It has a backyard area where I can garden, and where I hope I can string a hammock. Will, a volunteer who is now on his third year, said it’s among the best volunteer houses he has ever seen. It’s in a beautiful neighborhood, lush and dense with trees, many of which are mango and banana trees. My family is wealthy and educated. I’ll have a bunch of sisters who are in high school and college. I will not have running water, but the well is in the family compound, and I frankly (easy from a distance, of course) like the idea of drawing water from a well every morning. In the midst of my electricity, cell-phone, and cyber cafes, it’ll be nice to have that reminder of where I am. I do not know how an indoor toilet works where there is no running water, but I guess I shall learn.
This week we received our bikes! They are brand new trek mountain bikes. Such a pleasure. Most of my riding thus far has been in a single file line with at least three other toubobs, all who were also on new bikes and wearing sparkly helmuts. It feels like a parade, or like the spectacle of a mama duck crossing the street followed by ducklings. When I fell behind after slipping in sand, pedestrians began called, “Faster, faster!” as I tried to catch up.
Toubob: this is a word that basically means “different,” but can be taken as “honky” or as something more offensive. Kids call out “toubob!” every time they see me. Sometimes I reply in French or Pular that I’m not white. I say I’m black and ask where the white person is. Today I responded by saying “Asalam allekum,” which is the basic greeting. They toubobbed me again, so I repeated myself in a tone of voice that said, “Come now, I know your manners are better than that.” I like that some tones of voices seem universal. They laughed and returned the greeting in a tone that sounded a tad apologetic. If the kids are close to my home I usually introduce myself. I have also tried singing toubobtoubobtoubobtoubob back to the kids and doing a jig. Today a volunteer in her second year told us that regardless of how affective our work is, for the next two years we will be like a cartoon show on TV for our villagers.