Lightning Strikes

More or less what Kedougou looks like during the rainy season

The rainy season can be difficult because roads in Kedougou get flooded, huts fall down due to intense rainfalls, and the humidity is so thick you can cut it with a knife. However, one occurrence that I took for granted was lightning strikes. The people in my village blame that on modern technology, such as solar panels sitting outside huts and the “reseau “ (cell service) coming from smartphones. But it was a mid- September, the time of the year when lightning decorates the sky everyday, a dangerous strike actually happened in Fode binea.

Aftermath

I was sitting in my hut at 8 am and rolling thunder was roaring outside when it hit. Everything turned white and the thunderclap that followed it was so loud the ground shook. I felt the hairs on my body standing from the electricity in the air. Five seconds later I heard screams coming from the women in my compound and all the men rushing out. I stepped outside into the pouring rain to see that a hut was stuck by lightning about 30 yards away from mine.

The fire was so huge that nothing could calm it down. The heat radiating from it was so intense I could feel it while standing next to my hut. The men were there trying to see if anyone was inside while the women started yelling Malinke prayers to consol themselves and others. I knew who lived there, so I was crying with them. The crying was so real and in unison that the fear and shock was evenly spread amongst all those present.

I'm happy to say that no one was inside when it happened. Noone was hurt, and once that was realized,  everyone came together in front of the hut to comfort the family, say prayers, and sacrifice a goat as a message to God to not strike the village again.

And from then on, lightning hasn’t struck Fode Binea. But I’ll never forget watching that hut burn to the ground and crying with the women. Even though this was a horrible thing that happened in a village I call my home, it actually made me feel more apart of my community. When that hut got struck, everyone felt that shock together, not just the person that owned it. In Fode Binea when something bad happens to one person, it happens to everyone.

Malaria Bike Tourney 2019

Kedougou (where my site is) has one of the highest
 incidences of Malaria in Senegal 

Happy rainy season from Kedougou! Good news: Kedougou is hands-down the prettiest region in Senegal with a sea of green covering every inch of the place, Bad news: Malaria. Rainy season is when mosquitos breed and come out just to sting people and transmit Malaria…especially in Kedougou where the humidity brings in all those thirsty critters. Actually, Kedougou has one of the highest incidences of Malaria in the whole country (more than 25% of the population gets it!). So, Peace Corps has a nifty program called STOMP Malaria Senegal where volunteers are encouraged to train their communities on Malaria prevention. But because Peace Corps volunteers like to be competitive, they made a two-week long competition called Malaria Fort-nights where volunteers can rack up points for every Malaria-related activity they do in their communities. In light of potentially winning TONS of money (like 50 bucks…) currently every volunteer in every region in Senegal are trying to do as many Malaria-related activities as possible. My work-zone happened to do a week-long Malaria Bike Tourney where all five of us biked to each one of our sites to do one activity. Throughout this week I biked 108 km just to spread the work about Malaria.

Site #1: Saroudia (40 km bike ride)

I mean...look at this view! 

Mind you, I’ve NEVER biked 40 km in my life and it was about 95 degrees and humid that day. But the scenes during the ride made up for all the extreme exhaustion. We arrived to that site with sun burns, numb legs, and dripping sweat but happy because no one comes here because it’s so out of the way (sorry Andrew). Saroudia is a hidden gem with its diverse vegetation and scenic hills.

Here we did a talk to a group of mothers of the importance of their children sleeping under mosquito nets. We also taught them on how to fix their mosquito nets to fit around their beds better.

Site #2: Daikha Madina (13 km bike ride)

One of us talking about the importance of
sleeping under a mosquito net

For this we were planning on taking a car at 8 am to the Road Town, Saraya, and then bike to Daikha Madina (13km), but we woke up to rain that morning so we didn’t leave until 11am. We made it into Saraya though, bought Pringles, and headed straight to site #2.

After eating our lunch and then the Pringles we did Mosquito Bed Net checks. We visited about five house holds to check if their mosquito were there. Almost every household did have their nets hung up, so that’s awesome.

Site # 3: Fode Binea (21 km bike ride)  

There's me in the middle making soil! 

This is my site!!! It’s actually 5 km away from site #2, but we wanted to bike 13 km to the road town to pick up breakfast sandwiches and then bike 8 km to my site, totaling a whopping 21 km.

For my site, I decided to do a training on how to eliminate standing water that sit outside people’s huts. Standing water is a breeding ground for mosquitos and is especially harmful if it happens to be right next to their bedrooms. I also did a training on how to transform any open container into a mini garden that can produce basil and mint. The participants found it useful and were especially happy to receive basil seeds!

Site #4: Bembou (21 km bike ride)

Daiken showing off her new clothes!

Before doing site #4, we took about a three-day break to celebrate Tabaski (Eid Al-Adha) with our host families. This is a celebration about Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son to God, but instead of his son a lamb was sacrificed. For this holiday, we dressed up in new clothes and enjoyed eating sheep all day long. 

After that, the work zone got back together and biked all the way to Bembou (21 km) to talk about the cost of having Malaria. The talk explained that the cost of having severe malaria can hinder costs for food and clothes needed for the family. We also discussed how preventing getting severe Malaria is possible and should be practiced.

Site #5: Saraya (13 km bike ride) 

We biked from Bembou to Saraya and chilled with the family hosting us. Our lunch was hands-down the best Cheb (rice) I’ve had in Kedougou. We had boiled carrots, sweet potato, cabbage, sheep, onions, and bitter tomato on top of perfectly seasoned oily rice. I wish I took a picture, but I was too busy stuffing my face.

After our Cheb nap, we went around the neighborhood and did a trash clean up. Believe it or not, trash on the street breeds mosquitos and is a major source of malaria. We had some kids help us and they seemed like it!

Following the trash clean up, we did a radio show to talk about malaria and give tips on how to prevent it. Radio is always fun because we get to play American music and greet our host families. But tonight was special because “Dancing in the Moonlight” by King Harvest came on right before we left and for some reason we all broke out into a dance party... even a random Senegalese guy came to join in on the fun! 

So it was 108 km of spreading the word about Malaria, all done in Malinke (the local language). It was exhausting mentally and physically but I had fun exploring the Saraya region and meeting more locals. Totally worth the sore legs! 

Jinoo

On a cool rainy season day in Kedougou (90 degrees!), I was at my friend Karamba’s house in village catching up and drinking tea. We were talking about  how someone in my compound was sick, and I asked him how she got it. He looked at me and half joking he said a “Jinoo” gave it to her while she was in the bush. This sounded weird, and with my language not being where it’s supposed to be, I tried to have him explain to me what a “Jinoo” was. Over the course of an hour, him and some other people in my village tried to explain it to me in a way I could understand... but I kept on hitting a brick wall. I felt like I was playing 20 questions trying to figure what a damn “Jinoo” was. 

Karamba said it’s something that lurks in the bush and it can see you but you can’t see it. He went on to say that it can do good things for you if you want it to, but if you’re scared of it, it will give you diseases. In fact it’ll come to your house and physically hand you a disease. On the other hand, if you’re not scared of it, it will give you a special medicine that helps you become rich with gold, cows, and sheep. This description made no sense to me and I couldn’t tell if he was talking about

My dog Booga sniffing out those bush spirits 

something mythical or real at this point. But then he said it’s as tall as a tree and dogs can see it but humans can’t. Ok, so it’s mythical... but I still didn’t figure it out. I could feel everyone getting annoyed at me for not understanding. Someone else chimed in and said that it’s white and only sits in trees.

Is it an animal? No. 

Does it bite people? No! 

Someone else exclaimed that it only grabs children when they’re out in the bush at night. Another pointed at me and said that it saw me while I was biking to the nearest Road Town the other day ago. I asked if this was in America too, and they all nodded yes. This thing is everywhere at all times. 

Finally someone took their phone out and showed me a video of a “Jinoo” and then everything fell into place. The video showed a white mist coming out of the ground that proceeded to chase down a random person just wondering around in the forest. After all their hard work, and after getting frustrated at myself for not picking up a lot of what they were saying, I FINALLY discovered that they were talking about a ghost. “Jinoo” in Malinke means genie! 

It occurred to me that describing a ghost in English would also be difficult to someone that doesn’t speak the language well. But how the people in my village understand ghosts and spirits like these is completely different than how Americans understand them. Growing up, ghosts would be something lurking under my bed or in the basement, but here it only exists in the forest. The people in my village believe that ghosts can either help or hurt you, while at home they just symbolize dead souls coming back to haunt people. It’s incredible how different cultures perceive things, but now I’ll have to watch out when I’m in the bush wondering around...because there’s a Jinoo watching every step I make! 

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Senegalese Chicken Soup

Senegalese diets are very monotonous. In village, everyday for lunch we usually have rice or crushed up corn with loose peanut sauce (watered down peanut butter with veggies or left over meat boiled in) and for dinner it’s more or less the same thing but with millet porridge instead. This could be because my host family doesn’t have much else other than rice, millet, corn and peanuts, but it can also be because they simply prefer to have meals they’re used to. 

Chicken coop is right there..

So in a desperate attempt to diversify our food, I tried to make a chicken dish for everyone in my family...a risky move especially since they can be critical about any dish other than their own. However, since a cold was spreading, I thought chicken soup would be appropriate. So I bought the loudest rooster from the chicken coop literally outside my front door (note the picture below), because that thing cock-a-doodle-doos all night long and doesn’t stop. Next I asked for some onions from my host moms garden and then bought macaroni and oil from the nearest road town, about 5 miles away. 

My host brother killed the chicken right there in front of my hut and then handed it to his kids so they can remove the feathers and chop it up. The children are always tasked with these things, and they just love to scare their token Peace Corps volunteer with the chickens intestines! 

The women in my village cook just using a fire on the ground with three big rocks surrounding it where the pot sits. Since I’m not familiar with cooking like that, I had my host sister help me. I chopped the onions up and she washed and seasoned the chicken before throwing it in a pot with water and oil. She told me to add the pasta and onions when the chicken is “ready” before she left to go hang out with her sisters. I don’t usually cook meat at home, so I added the onions and pasta the minute the water started to boil thinking that the chicken was cooked enough. She came back 15 minute later and saw that they were added way too early and exclaimed that the meat has to cook for at least an hour. She shrugged and said that we’ll just have to see what happens after an hour goes by. I’ve never had pasta boiled for an HOUR, so this was a new experience for everyone involved. 

The end product!

An hour later, we came back and the pasta was SO boiled it turned into mush. It looked like straight up vomit with huge chunks of chicken in it. My host sister looked at it and shook her head. But then we tasted it, and it actually tasted awesome. The pasta mush had a hardy texture and the chicken and onions were cooked just enough to make it all taste like a chicken Alfredo sauce. We passed the dish around with bread  to everyone, and it was a hit! “A diyatta” and “I nin che” was called out to me, which translates to “Its delicious! Thank you.”

Even though I messed up, this is probably one of my proudest moments in village. And that night, I got to sleep in silence since that rooster became everyone’s dinner. 

Medically Cleared!

Attempted to make microwave popcorn by putting popcorn kernels in a brown bag. The bag ended up catching fire in the microwave, and it just so happened that my name was on it! 

So I’ve made a record...two whole months in Sick Bay. The burn took its time, but it’s (almost) done healing and I just arrived back in Kedougou. I could feel the instant change in temperature the minute the night bus going there left Dakar. It’s hot season, but Dakar is untouched by it because the area has its own special weather due to its proximity to the ocean. Goodbye 75 and breezy, hello 110 and greasy. 

Looking back, being in Sick Bay for such a long time had its ups and downs. Up side: I got to know a lot of volunteers that came in for medical reasons, including another Kedougou volunteer that stayed for a while because of a broken heal. Also...I’m not gonna lie, but the food in Dakar was bougie. I put all the pics of Dakar food in nice collage below ;) 

Down side: literally sitting and waiting for my burn to heal so I can go back to site. I was so obsessed about it’s progress, I even searched scientific articles about how burns heal and why it takes so long. So now I know EVERYTHING about granulation tissue, rate of epithiliazation, exudate, slough, debridement, inflammation, necrosis, and scar formation. I didn't like missing out on trainings and projects in Kedougou, and even though it's not my fault, I felt guilty for being in Dakar when I was supposed to be at site.

Say hi to Ami the cat!

So far I’ve spent half my service in Dakar, but it wasn’t time wasted. I became an unofficial intern at the headquarters and worked on small grants and monitoring and evaluation stuff. I also got to know the Peace Corps volunteers working there, and had the opportunity to pet sit their (very large) cat for a night with the other Kedougou volunteer! 

Overall, it’s been a trip. I’m back in Kedougou though, and ready continue! 

Cheb Shack Series in Dakar

So, I’ve been in Dakar for more than a month now healing from this massive burn, and while it takes its sweet time, there are major waves of FOMO (fear of missing out) washing over me because I’m not at my site. I wanted to be there especially for the month of MarchGADness (GAD standing for Gender and Development), which is like March Madness, but volunteers can rack up points by doing certain youth and gender activities in their community. So, about a couple weeks ago, a fellow volunteer also from Kedougou joined me in Sick Bay and we decided together that we don’t have to feel the dreaded FOMO because gender activities can be done right here in Dakar! And that’s just what we did. 

We made up a gender activity that involved having a discussion with random people at “cheb shacks” (Senegalese hubs for street food) about important gender and youth issues. Cheb, short for Chebbu Jen, is a traditional Senegalese dish made with rice lathered in oil, grilled or fried fish, boiled vegetables and sautéed onions. As for the discussions, all of them had very interesting things to say about this topic, which really helped us gain perspective on the Senegalese culture and its people. That’s why we’re in Peace Corps...right? 

Cheb Shack #1: Who makes the Cheb in your household? (gender roles in Senegalese households) 

The scene outside Cheb shack #1

Despite the slight language barrier between two Kedougou volunteers (we speak minority languages) and the people of Dakar, we were able to communicate with the peeps of Cheb Shack#1 in French. We asked a series of questions about who cooks at home, and we spoke to three regulars: a teenage boy, a man in his 30’s, and a 23 year-old. The two older men exclaimed that they can’t make Cheb and that’s a job for the women and children. On the other hand, the teenager makes Cheb for his whole family back in Guinea. All of them are unmarried, however, the 23-year old said he would want only one wife and wouldn’t mind if she wanted to work outside the house.

Cheb Shack #2: What are your thoughts on the Talibe?

The woman we interviewed and her two daughters 

Talibe are young boys that study the Quran at a school called a Daara, and you find them living in the streets of Senegal begging for food in order to learn valuable lessons about modesty. In Cheb Shack #2, we mostly talked to the woman who owned the shack about her thoughts on the Talibe. She respects this type of education and often gives her leftovers to them when they beg outside her shack. According to her, these boys have a hard life, but they tend to grow up to be tough adults. When we asked her if she would have her children in the Talibe, she stated that her son goes to Quranic school but lives at home. 

Cheb Shack #3: What are your thoughts on polygamy?

Barb talking to the peeps of Cheb Shack# 3

Me...just enjoying the food.

This discussion was interesting, which ended with one of the men asking if we wanted to be his second and third wife (joking, of course). In Senegal, the Muslim religion allows husbands to have more than one wife, so in Cheb shack #3, we asked two married men, a divorced man, and a married woman their opinions. The two men only have one wife but want more, and the women (who happened to be the Cheb shack owner!) was a second wife herself. All of them agreed that polygamy can be hard due to jealousy, financial burden, and competition amongst wives in the household. Even though the men didn’t notice that wives can be competitive with each other, Mrs. Cheb Shack Owner tried to convince them otherwise. On the other hand, she likes being a second wife because she and the first wife share household duties.  

Cheb Shack #4: What’s it like being a kid in Dakar?

The owners of Cheb Shack #4! 

For this one, we had the intention of asking questions about early marriage but realized that only children were running the shack! So, we changed course and asked a 17-year old girl and her older half-brother what their lives are like in Dakar. The 17-year old runs the shack with her sisters, and the older brother works at the local “garage” (hub for public transportation). The girl went to school, but dropped out due to a lack of interest and her brother attended high school and went straight to working. The girl aspires to go to trade school when she gets older, but all she’s ever known was work in her family’s Cheb shack. So, what about their parents? Well, their mom makes the Cheb at home and stops by every now and again to see how the business is going, and the father stays at home.

Every Cheb bowl we had was unique just like the people we interviewed, so it goes without saying that these interviews do not reflect everyone in Dakar or Senegal. But it was a lot of fun getting to know these fellow-cheb-shack-goers in Dakar and we hope to continue these interviews down in Kedougou. Watch out for Cheb shack series #2! 

Sick Bay

Day 0: run, shake, get burned (exactly what NOT to do)

It was a frigid Monday morning in Kedougou, and I woke up freezing. As I frustratingly untangled myself from my mosquito net around my bed and stepped onto the cold concrete floor of my hut, my first thought was to make a nice cup of hot coffee. I turned on the gas stove to boil the water and proceeded to put on a wrap skirt and a matching shirt. There happened to be a lot on my mind that morning, I had a visitor staying in my backyard, and later that week I needed to travel across the country to Thies for two weeks of service training. As these thoughts were burning through my mind, I was unknowingly standing right next to my gas stove. A warm sensation was felt near my right leg, and I looked down to realize that my wrap skirt caught fire.

I tried shaking it off, but it didn’t budge, so I turned off the gas stove and ran outside. The fire grew in a span of two fleeting seconds and crawled up my right thigh. I could feel my flesh getting roasted, and the skirt wasn’t coming off! Thankfully the visitor staying in his tent in my backyard heard me screaming and ripped it off right before the fire reached my torso. As he frantically stomped on the ball of fire that was skirt, I ran inside my hut hot with adrenaline and disbelief. My thigh was stinging.

I looked down to see that the skin was charred and falling off. Had no clue about the severity of it though.

The women in my village who heard me screaming came to my hut to say some Mandinke prayers to comfort me later that morning. However, the rest of that day was anxiety-ridden and difficult. I didn’t know how I was going to make it to service training, and the burn on my leg was leaking a lot of fluids.  I called the Peace Corps medical unit and they decided to transport me across the country to see how bad it was; a tough two-day journey from the deep bush of Kedougou to Dakar! I thought they might have been over-reacting…

I arrived in Dakar at 9 o’clock at night the next day, and a Peace Corps doctor was waiting for me anxiously in her office. The burn was throbbing and a little infected at that point. She looked at it and turned to me and asked me if I was Christian. I said yes, so she turned on some Bible music to calm me (and herself).

She made it clear that cleaning it was going to be excruciatingly painful and offered me the most powerful pain killer they had in stock. The burn was diagnosed as a deep second-degree burn that engulfed the entirety of my right thigh, about five percent of my body. I asked her if I can make it to my training in Theis, she laughed and firmly said “no.”

The next day, all four Peace Corps doctors wanted to see the burn. One said it was worst burn he’s ever seen on a Peace Corps volunteer, and another one said that I’m in for a long road to recovery. I still thought they were over-reacting.

Week 1: long road to recovery

Coming from the bush in one of the poorest regions in Senegal to the capital was exciting. I had access to “toubab” (white people) food, there were beaches in every direction, and every day I could get my cappuccino-with-croissant breakfast fix. I believed that I would be only treated for this burn for two weeks MAX and then go to service training to be with the rest of my peers. But dressing changes were painful because the gauze would stick to the raw wound, and it would sting anytime something touched it. All the nerves were intact and loved to scream.

Nevertheless, I spent the week masking the pain with pain killers and believing that it will heal quickly.

After week 1, the burn wasn’t healing quickly at all and the doctors said that I’ll be in “sick bay” for an indefinite amount of time. My grief set in, as I started to realize the severity of the burn. This meant that I’ll be missing service training, putting me behind the rest of my peers.

Week 2 and 3: dondin-dondin    

I was getting too comfortable in Dakar, and I was overcome with guilt and anxiety for missing training and being out of my site. Usually I would deal with this kind of stress by going for a run, but I substituted that with walking around Dakar a lot (too much, actually). The burn was healing too slowly, the dressing changes were still painful, and the wound still leaked plenty of fluids. This burn was a literal definition of “dondin-dondin” (little by little) that was scorched onto my skin.

This week, some of my peers from service training started funneling into “sick bay” for rolled ankles, allergic reactions, and appendicitis. Two medi-vacs occurred, which included a friend of mine (picture on the left). As she was getting ready to head home, I showed her some of Dakar. Walked a whopping six miles that day!

A day after she left though, the doctor noticed that the burn got infected again and stated that it may be because I’m walking around town too much. So, she decided to take me to the hospital and refer me to a burn specialist…apparently the best in Senegal. He looked at it, shrugged it off, and said that he can heal the thing in a week.

Three Senegalese men proceeded to aggressively clean the wound. It felt like they were scraping the infection off. I was screaming and crying, and the only thing they would say to calm me was “it’s finished,” but then proceed to clean it. When they actually finished, I embarrassingly crawled off of the bed and noticed the cleaning lady outside staring at me with concern.

Right now: day 20

It’s been three days since I started seeing the burn specialist, and they just did another dressing today. It was still painful, but bearable. They looked hopeful that it’ll heal by next week.

Writing this down is helping me realize how much of a bitch a burn wound can be, but it is helping me be thankful for what I have and what has happened.

If it wasn’t for that visitor staying with me, the burn would’ve been ten-times worse.

If it wasn’t for that Peace Corps doctor sending me to Dakar, it would’ve gotten infected in Kedougou.

If it wasn’t for those aggressive Senegalese doctors cleaning my wound, it wouldn’t have been on the right track to healing.

This wound seared on me is also teaching me a valuable lesson about patience and acceptance. I have no control over what happens next with this thing, but all I know is that it’ll take its sweet time…just like the experience of being a Peace Corps volunteer! Dondin-dondin.

Christmas Email

Merry Christmas everyone from Senegal! It’s been a crazy three months between now and training, but I made it through and as of three weeks ago, I’m officially a Peace Corps Volunteer! I haven’t been too good about sharing photos and updating everyone on my experiences, so I thought I would compile some of it in a nice Christmas email.

As I’m writing this, it’s hot in Senegal. The kind of heat that can dry a pair of soaking wet jeans in 30 minutes. This is the “cold season” here in Kedougou, a southern region in Senegal that will be my home for the next two years, Inshallah (God willing). My new home has chickens and goats roaming around freely, corn drying on the roof tops, and huts with squash vines growing on the walls. The sound of women pounding millet and rice all day long is always heard in the distance. I know what you’re thinking…and yes, this is a typical Peace Corps site with no running water or electricity.

Since moving here, days go by slowly. The men go to the fields to harvest peanuts, the women stay at home and cook, and the children are all at school. Lately, I’ve been spending my days hanging out with the women during the day and learning Jaxanke (the local language) with the men and children at night by the fire. Since moving here, I can’t help but think how raw this whole experience; life can be so rich when you’re not distracting yourself by the news or sitting behind a screen all day.

That's right folks, I got a hut dog.

But it goes without saying that these past three months have been overwhelming. It’s been a rollercoaster ride of emotions, where there would be days that I’m absolutely in love with the place and others when I just daydream of escaping to Europe. The biggest challenge is that it’s hard feeling like myself when it’s expected of me to speak a completely different language and conform to a strange culture. And of course, Senegal can take a tole on your physical health as well! Let’s just say…Western toilets are a God send. For these reasons, I have seen my peers around me leave to go back home. But despite these lows, I learn something new about the Senegalese and myself every day.

The Senegalese are very giving, honest, patient, and happy people that love to eat, laugh, and take on life one hour at a time. Being here, the culture has taught me that the only way to live a happy life is to live in the moment and let things happen “Dondin Dondin” (little by little). It’s this valuable lesson that gets me up in the morning and keeps me inspired to stay for the long haul.

With that being said, even though I miss home now more than ever during the holiday season, I try to remind myself to be in the present. I’m thankful to have an experience that is so rare and beautiful.

Partay!