7AM Sept place (AKA bush taxi) arrives at Kedougou regional house. Thank god you are traveling with 4 other volunteers so you don’t have to sit around the garage for hours waiting for the car to fill and depart.

7:42AM Spot a herd of monkeys sunning themselves on the warm road. They disperse into the trees as you drive by. Pinch yourself. You’re in Africa.

10AM Arrive at Tambacounda garage.

10:05AM Buy a bean sandwich at the Tamba garage. Greet bean sandwich lady in French. Surprisingly she responds in Pular (Tamba is the end of Pular territory and the beginning of Wolof-land). Amazed at your luck, chat happily in Pular.

10:15AM Depart Tamba garage in a new sept-place with a new driver.

10:43AM Sept place gets a flat tire.

10:55AM Tire get changes and the passengers pile back in.

11:34AM While listening to a “This American Life” podcast and flipping through Vogue think to yourself, “Hey, this ride isn’t that bad.”

1:19PM Sun beats through the window onto your face and your left butt cheek falls asleep. The temperature in the car hovers around the mid-90s. Take back previous comment. This ride is awful.

3:20PM Arrive at Kaolack garage.

3:22PM Walk into boutique. Hear owner talk to son in Pular. Amazed at your luck finding a Pular speaker in Kaolack (definitely the heart of Wolof-land) chat happily in Pular.

3:25PM Drink an ice cold Diet Coke. Your first in three months. It tastes like America.

3:26PM Pile into new sept place with new driver.

5:16PM Arrive at Mbour garage. State at all the sunburnt French tourists. French tourists stare at you when you yell at the talibè beggars in Pular.

5:17PM Random guy at garage tries to snatch Vogue out of your arms. Tigten grip on magazine and yell at the foiled-thief in Pular. Foiled-thief is confused. Previously mentioned French tourists think you are crazy and start backing away.

5:19PM pile back into sept place.

6:14PM Sept place comes to a standstill in Dakar traffic.

6:42PM Arrive Dakar.

6:45PM Pile into a taxi.

6:58PM Arrive at Peace Corps regional house in Dakar.

7:17PM Take first hot shower since America.

8:30PM Eat pizza at a nice restaurant in downtown Dakar. It has napkins, silverware, and individual plates. Heaven.

9:15PM Savor a dish of Strawberry Tiramisu ice cream. Contemplate never leaving Dakar…

I somehow managed to survive my first Christmas away from home. And with the exception of the ten minutes I spent crying on the phone with my sister—I actually enjoyed myself. Unburdened by the pressure of American-style gift-giving and family “bonding” Christmas was actually relaxing and—gasp—fun.

All the volunteers in the Kedougou region came in for the holiday, and we kicked the celebration off with a “fry night” (sweet potatoes, eggplant, potatoes, onions, cookies, etc.) and we baked sugar cookies with carols blasting in the kitchen. Christmas day we feasted on pork chili and pumpkin pie. We did a small “White Elephant” gift exchange and opened stockings that our Peace Corps Volunteer Leader had made for us out of Senegalese fabric. Back in America my stocking was usually stuffed with Lifesaver books, candy canes, and giftcards. My Senegalese stocking however, has Biskrem (Algerian cookies), Jumbo (MSG/meat flavor cubes), berry flavored Foster Clarks, and condoms—Oh Peace Corps.

I want to say thank you to everyone who sent Christmas packages, with the exception of Barbara’s I am still patiently waiting for them to arrive. Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas!

Cutting shapes in cookie dough

Peeking in my Senegalese Christmas stocking

Four months down, 23 more to go!

Number of times I’ve worn jeans – 4
Times I’ve worn makeup – 2
Hot showers – 0
Warthog sandwiches eaten – 7
Text messages my sister has sent me – 18
Times I have watched the season premiere of “Glee” (the only video on my ipod) – 14
Babies I’ve seen learn how to walk – 3 

One of the strangest adjustments I have had to make being a Peace Corps volunteer in Africa, is getting used to the idea of being a minority. I have never in my life been a minority. And here in Senegal, I have two identities, and I am a minority in both of them.

I am a white person in a black country. I am a woman in a patriarchal society. I am a Christian in a predominantly Muslim country. I stick out like a sore thumb. But I was expecting this, in fact this is one of the reasons I wanted to join the Peace Corps. For the opportunity to live, work and hopefully understand people that are very, very different from myself.

What I didn’t expect is that my second identity, my Senegalese identity, would put me in the minority as well. As Rokhaya (my Senegalese name) I am a Pular. I speak a minority language in a country that is dominated by Wolof-speakers. The fact that I speak Pular is a strange novelty. Even in my Pular hometown of Kedougou, people don’t understand why I wouldn’t learn Wolof. The Wolofs are the largest ethnic and language group in Senegal. And after the French left, their language has become the lingua-franca of the country. The fact that I would choose to speak Pular instead of Wolof or French is seen as bizarre. I am constantly on the offensive. At least once a day a meet someone who is Wolof (usually a young man who has come to Kedougou to work in the mines or sell goods at the market), and I am berated—in French, because of course he doesn’t speak Pular—that I should stop learning Pular and I should learn Wolof instead.

Whenever I leave Kedougou I am constantly seeking out Pular speakers. I look for shops with the names “Sow”, “Diallo”, and “Ba” in the names. I yell at kids in Pular thinking it might make me seem less foreign than English would. I still greet people in Pular in the hopes that they will respond back with “Jam tun” instead of “jam rek”. In a country dominated by the Wolof, I am fiercely proud to be a Pular. To be in the minority.

The Gambia River flowing through Kedougou

ALERT: Mice have been chewing through my care packages (specifically the padded envelopes)!  I have already lost half a Cadbury bar and a bag of m&ms to the greedy bastards!  Please double/triple/quadruple seal food in plastic bags to keep the rodents away.

I have updated my wishlist, and I have a new address!  See previous post if you need more detailed instructions on how to get stuff to me!  http://pennilesstraveler5.blogspot.com/2009/05/main-car-packages.html

My thanks and my love!

My Kedougou address:
PCV Melanie Chamberlain
B.P. 37
Kedougou, Senegal
West Africa

Here is a wishlist, but feel free to get creative: 
- Magazines (Trashy: Elle, Cosmo, US Magazine, People.  Classy: The Economist, National Geographic)
- Newspapers (The A-section of the Washington Post and New York Times)
- Dried Fruit (raisins, craisins, apricots, pineapple, mangos, etc.)
-  Instant Oatmeal (Especially the Cinnamon Roll and Maple Brown Sugar flavors)
-  Splenda Packets
- M&Ms and other chocolate
-  Watermelon Sour Patch Kids (hard to find-but I would love you forever!)
- Drink Mixes (Crystal light, Coco, Cider, etc.)
-  Instant sauce & soup mixes 
-  Nail polish and nail polish remover (nothing like a pedicure to make me feel almost beautiful)
- BBQ Sauce (goes awesome with our warthog sandwiches)
- Ground coffee beans (we have a coffee press!)

Early Termination is a strange taboo that seems to haunt every volunteer’s psyche. We all know that with simply one phone call, we could call it quits and be on a plane back to America and back to everything we left behind... The reality of how little is keeping us here really hit home today.

I am disappointed and heartbroken that one of my fellow volunteers and one of my closest friends here in Senegal decided to ET. No explanation given. But, they didn’t need a reason to go, in fact just wanting to go is reason enough… but I will miss them.

It all become so real when in a matter of hours they were in a car on their way to Dakar where they would board a plane within a few days bound for America. It is quick. All the time we spent in the application process, in training, in the first two months in our villages, it can simply be written off. A small detour on our eventual life path.

I am sad they are gone. But this reaffirms my commitment to stay. Sure every day I have moments when I think to myself “why the hell am I doing this?” But every day I have even more moments when I think that this is the most amazing thing I have ever done in my life. The opportunity to work as a Peace Corps Volunteer is the greatest blessing. This is exactly where I am supposed to be and what I am supposed to be doing…

In my previous life, I would have been repulsed by the thought of eating roadkill. And in all fairness, I still probably wouldn’t touch a deer or any other kind of wild game that had been hit by a car… but warthog is different.

Everyone knows that I love pork. Bacon, sausages, chops, ribs—I love it all. In fact my number one concern before moving to Senegal was how I was going to last 2 years without a regular supply of pork (Senegal is a Muslim country—and pork is a big no-no for Muslims). Luckily here is the southern part of Senegal, warthog (the pig’s gamier relative) is in abundant supply.

So when the Peace Corps car hit and killed a warthog out in the bush my reaction wasn’t, “eeww gross.” but instead, “do you think the blood has colagulated and where is a warthog’s jugular?”

As Peace Corps volunteers we are always looking for any excuse to have a party. And an entire warthog was just about as good a reason as any. So we gathered some people, drained the blood, and a couple of the guys set to work cutting up the hog and cleaning the intestines to make sausages. Yes, sausages.

So it may not be the classiest thing… but it was pretty damn good.