So of course everyone has asked me what I think/feel about coming home. I've started to have many thoughts about going home, dreams, etc, in two weeks. It is just beginning to sink in. I tell myself it won't really be a real goodbye, because I honestly feel I will come back to Senegal for work. There are a ton of opportunities, and since I always saw myself living and working in a developing country - which development work necessitates – I already am familiar a bit with Senegal and its culture, so it makes sense. Also, I hate goodbyes.

People always think I am insensitive, because I don't get bleary eyed or emotional when I leave. Honestly, it's because my mind blocks out any sense of truly comprehending the situation at hand, and I tend to joke around and act generally the opposite of what's appropriate. The truth is, I just hate saying goodbye, especially when there's the possibility that it will be a very long time before I see these people again – if ever.

I had a dream the other night that I was on the airplane on the way home, and all the people I have met and gotten close to were on the plane with me. There was Laye (short for Abdoullaye), who I've been sending multiple text messages a day too, and vise versa...he's one of my best friends here, and my confidant. He's a student of English at the University of Dakar, and we always text in English. He's going to help me translate a series of short stories that highlight certain aspects of Senegalese society that I've seen here, including the fact that the National Anthem and school is all in French even though colonialism is over – creating a sense of inferiority with Wolof and Senegalese culture...as well as immigration to the United States (which everyone wants to do, but I connect it to the reality and difficulties that I know personally that the Congolese are experiencing)...as well as the fact that all aspects of culture here are imported from China or the U.S. Which makes you wonder how authentic life here is. So Laye was next to me,

Antoine was next to me, to my right. I want so badly for him to come visit, because he's never left Dakar. The last time was when he was 5 years old. He doesn't even know the rest of his country; he's never seen the mountains; never seen the desert; never seen a real zoo; never been to an amusement park; never been able to go to a concert of his favorite rappers because Akon has only done 1 concert in his home country. He's missing out on so much of the world, and I wish I could show him.

My family from Fatick was there, including our new maid, Amie, who is really nice. The kids were belted in, swinging their legs under the seats, squealing with delight out the window, as Senegal disappeared below us. Mame Sanu was smiling with her squinty eyes, pointing out the window to Marie Gabrielle, who was clapping with excitement.

Abdoullaye was there, trying in vain to conceal a grin. He watched out the window silently, taking it all in, as stoically as he possibly could, as usual.

Yaay was there, with her proud half-smile and knowing eyes, looking at the people around us on the plane. She was asking me questions, and I was explaining to her what life was going to be like. They all knew this would be temporary, that they were just going to come with me to visit. I was explaining to them that they were going to be expected to eat around a table out of individual plates, with a knife and fork. And I was telling them we could go to the pool, I would show them the mall...and a bazillion other things I've grown up with, that they've never known.

What a nice thought. Nearly impossible, but a really nice thought.

I also wonder which things I've learned and grown accustomed to here, are going to stick with me. I know my Wolof is going to fade, what little I've managed to learn ... which actually surprises me, and is more than what I thought I would learn. My recollection of stories and cultural facts are going to fade, and my “tenus senegalese” are going to collect dust in my closet and remind me of a time where I actually wore these outfits to fit in with everyone else. My photos are going to become just pictures, and the spark of emotion that ensues when I look at them, will fade. The images of my family's faces will blur into my mind, and I will have trouble remembering individual things about them; like how Seydou does his little triumphant warrior dance during a lutte match when his favorite wrestler has won. Or how I always say “mouchoir!” when Ngone comes over with snot dripping out of her nose, smiling like a crazy person, and then go to wipe her nose with one of my tissues. Or when Moudou chases the goats out of the courtyard by saying “Aicha!” (Which I did the other day, myself....without thinking, and everyone laughed appreciatively). Or when Ndaiydaba (Roquaya) and Penda sing “Old McDonald” (in the versione francaise that I made for her) at the top of her lungs until I can't take it anymore. Or when Penda plays with my hair. Or how jealously Abdoulaye gards his stool...the tallest one, because he's the man of the house. Or when Seydou says “Danielle, begg naa jouer!” “Danielle, begg naa seetan Tom et Jerry!” (I had a clip of Tom and Jerry on my computer, that I let them watch...he obviously got carried away. I don't think I can ever watch it again). Or when Yaay says, “Danielle, TOGG-AL....!” with an upward voice intonation, while she shakes her finger at me and laughs....which happens when I get too excited about something, or she knows what's in my head and is like “Danielle, watch it.....” Or when Antoine says, “You are a stwange girl” (because when Senegalese people try to speak English, oftentimes they sound like Elmur Fud when he says Waskly Wabbits). Or Antoine's laugh (a high pitched, rapid squeal that descends into a hiss), or how his pants always fall down...because he tries to imitate American rappers. All these things are going to fade into the distant past....and I'm going to stop wondering what they're doing on a daily basis. I'll stop looking at my watch and imagining what they'd be doing at that exact moment, what they ate for lunch, etc... And when I finally ask for pictures of the kids, if they can even send them, I'm going to be shocked at how much older they look. I wonder what I will think of, when I think of my little pink house in Fatick. Abdoullaye is convinced I will forget, and that I will never come back. My saying, “tu verras, tu seras etone,” doesn't seem to matter (you'll see, you'll be surprised).

I was wondering how much of American culture I'm going to absorb again when I get back...or how much of this new mentality, this new-and-improved version of me, I'm going to retain. Am I going to be concerned with the same things I was before? I was thinking about this as I stood into my new Senegalese dress, complete with the head scarf (moussour) that I did myself, drinking bissap and buiy juice out of a plastic bag, looking out the window at the bowls of couscous in the sun. How much will the United States change me? How much of my Senegalese self, will stay? Will all I'll be able to think of is how I want to go back?

So I forgot to write this a a few weeks ago, but something went wrong here, and went from bad to worse. Although I'm the only one who seems to think it's really bad.

So during the whole cat incident, which I'm sure you all remember well, I had left my purse near the kitchen where I had been helping to prepare the yassa poulet. Distracted by how upset I was about the cat, I had left it there until about 5:00pm, when I asked Roquaya about it. She said the kids had been playing with it, and she had put it in the bedroom. She brought it to me, which I opened, and noticed that my watch was missing. I then opened my change purse and counted the 10,000 that were supposed to be in there....5 were there this morning. However, I only counted 4. On was missing.

I didn't jump to conclusions right away. I looked everywhere, Roquaya and me, for both things. I looked in my room, I looked around the house, in case in playing with the purse, the kids dropped the watch and the money somewhere. I strained my mind to think of what I had bought in the last three days (because three days earlier, I had gone to Kaolac to get the Money Gram that Dad had sent...meaning I had only had the money for three days). I could recount everything I had purchased, and I was 90% that it had went missing in the house. It were nowhere to be found.

I debated what to do...should I tell my host mom? What kind of consequences would this have? I know that when Henry brought up the fact that his laptop had been blocked at the sign in page because someone had tried to many incorrect passwords, to his family in Dakar – s*** hit the fan. They said they felt their dignity had been challenged by him, and that he was accusing them indirectly of trying to use his computer, and that he should have talked to his host mom, not Munir (his younger host brother), first. Henry had tried to explain that this wasn't a big deal, he didn't mind if they used his laptop, he would just prefer that they ask him first...so that it wouldn't get locked! But this didn't seem to matter. They were all highly offended, and it made the entire rest of their stay very awkward.

I decided though, that my watch and $20 was enough to speak to Yaay about...in private. So I told her what had happened with the cat, and then mentioned that when I got my purse back after this fact, the money and the watch was missing. Her face changed, covered her mouth, and her eyes widened...she let out a little, “Uh!!” I knew this was going to be no small deal.

She immediately went to speak to Ngone and Seydou, who had been playing with the purse. They said they hadn't been playing with any money, but they had opened the purse. She went in their room, and feverishly tore it apart, moving mattresses and drawers. Luckily, my watch and some coins were found under the bed. But the 10,000 was still nowhere to be found. Yaay insisted the children wouldn't have taken it out. I looked again in my room, everywhere, and it wasn't there.

Then Yaay asked me who had been in the kitchen with my purse...and I reluctantly said that Khady had been in the kitchen, the maid. I knew what this meant for her, but I had to be honest. (Also I wasn't sure that she hadn't taken it.) She talked to Khady – with me there, which was awkward – in Wolof. Khady went really quiet...which is strange for her, because she is usually really quiet and timid. It wasn't a “I'm guilty' look, necessarily, but it was more like...”oh you think I did it...”

When I asked Yaay what exactly she said, because I don't want Khady to feel accused, Yaay said she didn't say anything accusatory. She simply told her to look around where we were the other day, for th money. I'm not sure how this was said, it's possible there was still an underlying accusatory tone. It's just that from what I know about Khady, she wouldn't take the money. She's always been really sweet to me, helped me with my laundry, and always smiling. I felt really bad about her being put in a position that seems like she would be guilty.

The next two or three days were spent with Yaay not being able to sleep at nights, muttering about the money, being really quiet during the day, expect to talk about the money. I was getting really upset and tired of it, and felt like I shouldn't have said anything. It's not like I would see the money again anyway if it was stolen. I should have just mentioned the watch. Yaay even took me around the corner of the house at one point after she had heard me speaking in English to Henry on the phone, and asked me if I had told my friend what had happened with the money. I lied and said I hadn't told him. She seemed relieved, and asked me if I wanted her to call Waly and tell him what had happened. I saw in her eyes that she preferred that Waly didn't know, and she insisted that this sort of thing had never before happened in her own house. I said I believed her, and of course I wouldn't tell Waly, and this matter would stay between her and me. I said I preferred that we continue on as if nothing happened, because everyone would be better off. And from now on, I would make sure to keep my purse in my room, where it would be safe and avoid this matter all together. She seemed happy, and agreed this would be the best thing to do. But I could tell she was really really bothered by this, and her dignity had really been compromised.

I thought that would be the last I would hear about it, and Yaay was back to her old self after a few days (although even after I said I wanted to drop it, she continued to mention in for the next two days). But then I realized that about a week later, Khady had stopped coming to work. Last week, a new girl named Amie started coming to our house to do all the work. I asked Yaay who she was, and when she responded, “la bonne,” (the maid) I asked where Khady was. She told me that Khady had quit, and her mother had come by to say she could no longer work in a house where everyone thought she had stolen the money. I felt terrible...it was all my fault. Who knows how long Khady had worked for the family...and whether or not she had truly taken the money, she felt the need to quit. But Yaay and Abdoullaye didn't seem upset by this at all, and Yaay said, “Well in my opinion, it seems suspicious why she would wait until 3 days afterward to quit...I think it means she did it.”

I don't know if this is true. And I like Amie a lot better...and she speaks better French, and her and Roquaya and I spent about 2 hours the other night discussing rap, it's role in Senegalese society, its reflecting of Africa solidarity around the world, and the fact that Senegalese guys who like it don't understand the social implications and vulgarity associated with rap culture. She's really nice.....but I still feel terrible about what happened. In doing it over again, I probably wouldn't have mentioned the money.

So I've become pretty invested in the whole Four Solaire operation, the new solar ovens. The questions/negative aspects I had thought of a few weeks ago when I read the information packet and witnessed the patisserie making small cakes in town with the new oven, hadn't gone anywhere. Nothing had happened with it, until last week.

Judith, the French Toubab that works for a renewable energy project branch that's related to Sengolene Royale's thing, came to the mutuelle to talk to Yaay, who promptly interrupted her and said, “Danielle! Kaay, pose tes questions du four solaire!” (Come here and ask your questions about the four solaire!) Well at this particular moment, I didn't have my questions handy. So I basically just had to wing-it...ask the questions I had in my head. Judith was paying close attention when I was asking my questions, but she also seemed distracted. When I was finished, she said, “Yes, those are good points,” and then she got up and walked away to talk to someone else abou the Four Solaire demonstration for the following Wednesday at our mutuelle. When I asked Yaay what exactly Judith was in charge of in relation to the four solaires, Yaay said she was the “Promotrice,” or the woman who pushes the women to buy the fours....no wonder she didn't answer my concerns.....

This worried me. I made sure to attend the demonstration of the four on Wednesday, and Yaay and I made sure to mark the time it took to cook the demonstration food. (Judith had told the women to use a smaller pot, otherwise it would “take too long.”...keep this in mind.) All these women were there, dressed up, talking excitedly, the Presidents and Vice Presidents of women's groups all over Fatick, who were interested in potentially investing in the four – 60,000CFA. This doesn't seem like a lot, considering as well that the four is pretty cheaply made...they had to hold open the lid with a stick. It's basically a wooden box with aluminum paint inside, with two glass panes on top that are oriented toward the sun, directing sunlight down toward two other panes of glass which convert the light into heat. But for these women, with modest budgets, it didn't seem practical to pool together their limited resources to buy an oven who's downfalls out way its benefits.

The oven barely was cooking enough food for the average Senegalese family (with 6 children), and it still took from 9:30 am to 3:30pm to finish...6 hours. It takes MUCH quicker using the traditional oven, even though this requires the purchase or searching for wood and charcoal. It is way too slow. To demonstrate this, all the women had to take a break to go home and eat the lunch that had been made, in half the time. It just wont fit into the schedule of their normal lives. And it far from eliminates the need for the traditional, wood-burning stoves.

Yaay asked me to write the report, so I did. And I put my heart and soul into it. This was my contribution to the project on behalf of the women; to prevent them from making a mistake. Most of these women can't read the information packet, because their French isn't extensive enough. Since Yaay is too busy, I knew I had access to a lot of the holes in the idea. So I wrote 4 pages; of positive aspects, (only 4 bullet points), and of negative (15 bullet points). I wrote suggestions at the end, and a paragraph thanking them for their efforts...and saying that we look forward to continuing to work together, to improve the project – which all in all, IS a good idea. It's just premature, as Yaay said. I just think its necessary to address all the negative points before selling it to women.

Even though Sabine, the French intern at PDIF, read the report and said that it was “too negative,” Abdoullaye even read it, and said she was crazy, and....French, dismissively. “You have to tell the truth,” he said, “even if it's unpleasant.” Yaay passionately agreed and said, “How are they supposed to improve it, unless they know the negative aspects?” I know that Judith and the other Toubabs at the energy project office are not going to be happy with my report, since it puts a block in the success of the Four here in Fatick...and it's already sold in other regions. But I don't care...I couldn't stand by and see these women put a ton of their financial resources into buying something that doesn't make sense at this point, that wouldn't be worth it. Yaay read over my report and said with a smile, “You're our lawyer.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

So since Henry (and Kelsey, too), have worked more than any of us...with Josh as a close second....he has decided to spend part of his last week here, traveling. Technically we are all supposed to be working the same amount of hours every week, meaning 25....but as I've mentioned before, time doesn't really exist in Senegal (in Africa in general). That is a VERY rough estimation. They all finish work at 5 or 6 o'clock at night...when I work from 9am until 1:00 pm. I have the rest of the day free.

So in short, Henry decided to come visit me in Fatick from Saturday to Sunday, and then continue on to Sokone to visit Magretta and Vanessa. Bombay is about 2 hours from Fatick, and he took a 7 place to the Gare Routiere (garage) in Fatick just after I was finished with my English classes at the high school. (Will explain this soon) at around 11:00am. I had met two Toubab's at the high school who were in Fatick for various reasons, the older woman, Kim, was from La Grange – a town pretty close to Carol Stream! She works from a Christian missionary, and had spent 13 years working in/with West Africa. They had a truck, somehow, and they drove me to the Gare Routiere to get Henry, and they then drove us to my house.

It was then that we ran into a slight problem...I had told Yaay that Henry would be here after lunchtime, and that she shouldn't prepare more food for him. However, Henry arrived earlier than expected, and now we were confronted with the problem of what to do....ask if he could stay for lunch after I had already told her not to prepare enough for him, or tell her that we wanted to eat at a restaurant? This is a typical cultural dilemma...what would be polite in the States, is not necessarily translatable in Senegal. (Sort of like refusing gifts....saying no when someone offers to buy you a drink, for example....here saying no is insulting). Henry and I discussed what would be the best course of action, and decided that we would tell Yaay that were going to a restaurant, so we didn't have to bother her. Unfortunately choice B was incorrect. Yaay reacted to this by saying, “Why do you want to go to a restaurant? Don't you want to eat with the family? Is my cooking not good? Do you not like my cooking?” Of course this wasn't true, so we protested, and I explained that in the United States, this would be polite...because we had already told her that he wasn't going to be here for lunch, and we didn't want to trouble her. This seemed to fix the situation, and she seemed to understand our mentality. She said, even neighbors who drop by, who they didn't know were coming, are always invited to stay and eat...even if it wasn't in advance at all. It hardly ever is, in fact. Therefore, there is always enough food for guests. So we said we would stay.

The kids were beside themselves with excitement – a boy Toubab! Two Toubabs in the house at the same time! They were hanging all over him, especially when he started spinning around Seydou. We spent about an hour sitting around chatting...it felt good to converse in a language I could use more efficiently. It was almost too good....my brain was moving too quickly, and I almost tripped over my words. In addition, I was mixing words that I would normally use in French, in English...like “Most things are fabricated in places other than Senegal,” (fabrique, is the words in French for made in the sense of production).

After about an hour, we went to the neighbor's house for “un bateme”, which is something even Muslims do (baptism). It's basically a naming party, where all the neighbors come from all over to celebrate, and eat, and sit around together all today. I dressed up in my “tenu senegalese”, complete with the “mousoor” (head scarf), which was the first time Henry saw me dressed up ike that...he didn't say anything, but he smiled...I'm pretty sure he was just shocked.

I didn't mention this, but the baby had been born a week earlier, a little girl. I went next door 3 days after it was born, and I got to hold it...for a small fee. It's a Senegalese tradition to give either a gift or some money, to a new mother. I gave 2,000 CFA ($4), even though 1,000 would have been sufficient. The baby was so tiny, and I had to explain to the women there why I was so excited by it. In the United States, families are so small, that the last time I was accustomed to seeing small babies like that, was when my sister was small. I, myself, was Ngone's age...I was only 3 when Beka was a newborn. Like I mentioned when I described my experience in Tattaguine with the newborn, it's rare that I get to see babies that are just born. Here, this is a fact of life. The baby was so tiny, much tinier than the baby I saw in Tattaguine...she might have even been premature. She had tiny little rope earrings in her ears, which all girl babies get at the hospital when they're born. Her skin was lighter than mine, and everyone said that she could have been my baby. They told me they were going to call her Danielle....and I learned at the baptism, that even though they were giving her a Senegalese name, all the kids called her “Danielle.” Kind of flattering.

I saw Professor Lo there, the man who's English class I teach. He spoke to Henry and I in English for a few minutes, saying, “I want to speak in English with you, so that my friends here will be jealous. Look at the looks on their faces, see how impressed they are.” I found this really funny. They invited us back for lunch at 3, even though we already ate ciep bu jen at home with the family. We came back to be polite, but when we saw that they had prepared a huge plate for us, Henry and I politely declined. We couldn't fit any more into our stomachs. My favorite songs were playing, Titty, Akon, Bal Bi by Xuman, of course Youssou Ndour and Tomorrow by Daara J Family.

After this, Henry and I walked into town to get the ingredients for the meal I wanted to prepare for dinner that night. I paid for all the ingredients, and he helped me with the ideas. Roquaya came with, but I felt a little bad for her, because Henry and I kept falling back into English and she couldn't understand us. While I know how rude this is, and how she feels (because I feel like her everyday when everyone speaks Wolof), it was too refreshing to pass up, speaking in English. It was rare that I could speak and think quickly enough to express myself properly, and while I could probably get all my points across in English, it's much more fatiguing in French. When we could though, we spoke in French.

We ended up bringing home cashews, mangos (Henry wanted to make a sweet/salty dish with the chicken), two whole chickens, cucumbers, salad, tomatoes, green peppers, onions, two bags of pasta, potatoes, garlic, black pepper, and salt. We made pasta with a potato/onion/green pepper/garlic/pepper mixture to go on top (since tomato sauce/paste/concentrate is so hard to find, unlike Dakar), along with the mango stuff to go on instead of the potato stuff if they wanted...rotisserie chicken, and a salad with mustard vinegrette. Me cooking drew quite a bit of attention, as well as Antoine's text message that said “You family in Fatick is suicidal, having you cook.” It was really funny....everyone knows that I do not cook too often, especially compared to the women here in Senegal. They kept asking for the name of the dish, and Henry and I tried to explain that it doesn't always work that way in the United States. While we have certain dishes with distinct dishes, more often than not, we take random meats, vegetables and spices, etc, and put it all together with what we think would taste good. It's more experimental and random, based on what we have lying around. This concept is foreign to the Senegalese, who tend to have a fixed repertoire of dishes, which they rotate, but are always have the same components.

Aside from the fact that I was in the kitchen for once, which surprised Binta from the mutuelle when she came over to visit (her piercing voice was more excited and high pitched than usual) and she playfully demanded why I hadn't invited her over for dinner.....the fact that there was a male in the kitchen was more of a shock. After giving Henry a ton of pressure....especially Abdoullaye...for being in the kitchen, they (and Henry) realized I wasn't playing around. I wasn't going to do all the work myself, just because Henry is a boy. And I knew he wanted to cook, and I wanted to be able to hang out with him while I was cooking...not have him banished. So I stood there with my hands on my hips in front of the neighbor boys, and while they cracked up, I said, “Henry, kaay tog” (Henry, come cook). And they made a big deal out of it, and I said, “Am ngeen niarri loxo,” (You all have two hands). This caused them to laugh, and they could no longer argue their way out of it. “Du Senegalese la,” (He's not Senegalese). Henry laughed, got up, and came into the kitchen. Once this happened, I clapped and made a big sarcastic deal out of it...and the women really enjoyed it. But everyone was also a bit in awe, watching like...wow....men can actually do stuff in the kitchen.........amazing...

It went over well, and we finished around 9:00pm. Mame Sanu helped with the chicken and mustard vinaigrette (I only know how to make Italian vinegrette with olive oil...this was made with peanut oil). We brought it all out, along with the baguettes (a necessarily element, no matter if it's American or not), and the drinks....orange, ananas, and coke. They also served the buiy juice. Two neighbors came over to eat too, so all in all, we served 15 people. The problem was, even though we had said we were going to eat the American way too, meaning each person with their own individual plate, Yaay put all of our pasta together with the salad, chicken, potatoes, and mango mixed together in one gigantic pile in a bowl, Senegalese style, and served it on the ground for everyone to eat with their hands. Henry and I protested, so Henry, Roquaya, Yaay, me and Abdoullaye all ate with plates, knives and forkes. Henry and I had to arrange Yaay and Abdoullaye's plates, so they could see. It was so awkward and inefficient, watching Abdoullaye eat like this. It wasn't that he had trouble using a fork, like I said, a lot of Senegalese eat like Westerners in this way...I ate like this in Dakar. He knew how, he just wasn't accustomed to it. He likes eating in the traditional way of his culture, and he's proud of this. He enjoyed the food though, except that he noticed that we had forgotten to add the salt. He didn't get the idea of salty/sweet, and saved his mango/cashew mixture for “dessert” instead of eating it with the chicken and pasta. Oh well:)

After dinner, everyone said they really liked it. Henry, Abdoullaye and me stayed around the table and chatted. Henry and Abdoullaye almost got into an argument, and I had to mediate, because Abdoullaye was trying to say that proportionally, life is not expensive in the United States, and that there is no reason that families shouldn't have 6 children. “It's a matter of taste,” he said. When we tried to tell him that it isn't a matter of taste, but a matter of means, and that University is so expensive, that each child is seen as an investment. In order to secure their future, you must save from the time they're born to be able to send them to school...so that they can attain a higher-paying job, and advance in society. This is why we limit our family size to 2 children. Abdoullaye misunderstood and thought we were saying that in Senegal, parent's don't invest in their children's futures. He was trying to explain the extent he has to work and the effort he must put into raising his family, giving them clothes, food, and paying for their education. He insisted to Henry that “he has been working with Toubab's for 20 years, and he knows how they think. They just don't like children, because they're used to not having them.” Henry said this didn't make sense, and that it was “cynical to group all Toubab's together, because they aren't all the same.” Abdoullaye cut him off, and when Henry protested to let him finish, Abdoullaye said, “I know what you're going to say, you don't need to finish. I know Toubab's all too well.”

I could see the situation escalating, so I turned to Abdoullaye, lowered my voice to calm him down, and told him the price I pay in CFA per year to go to the University of Illinois (14,000,000 CFA). I told him I had to times that by 4, to get the price to graduate and earn a degree. I also told him that this was on the lower end...there were people that paid 25,000,000CFA to go to my same University, just because they were coming from a different state and weren't paying Illinois taxes. When I said this, Abdoullaye was silent. Yaay jumped in and said, basically, that this was an inordinate amount of money. When I said that no, the government doesn't pay student tuition at the university level like it does (or is supposed to do) in Senegal, and that students have to take out loans and graduate with huge amounts of debt....she insisted to Abdoullaye, who was still quiet, that it now made perfect sense why American families do not have tons of kids. It's just too expensive. And in a culture, in the United States, where we are taught to be financially and emotionally independent, the only way to assure your child's success...is to make sure they learn how to do these things, and that you, as a parent, put them in a place that allows them to have this. The only way to attain financial success, with enough to allow you do to other things, like travel, is to send your children to University...and find the money to do so.

We didn't even mention the fact that Henry is an atheist, and I am non-religious. Not a good idea with Abdoullaye. But I always manage to make him laugh, and ultimately the situation eased and tension was relieved. He ended up, like he does a lot, talking about the fact that I don't want to have children, at least not yet. He said, “by looking at me,” he knows I won't have any less than 8 children. He said “especially if I marry a Senegalese man.” I laughed and asked what that had to do with it. He said that my “Shape”, pointing to my chest, told him that I was “fertile.” Henry and I cracked up, and so did Yaay. It is totally normal, and flattering, to make compliments like that here. He tried to tell me that I would be in “better health” if I had as many children as I could...the more children, the more healthy a woman is. I told him he wouldn't know because he is a man, and men get “nothing but pleasure” from childbirth...and after, because it's the women that have to take care of the kids here after going through labor. Yaay high fived me at this, and we cracked up. Abdoullaye had nothing on that one.

He also talked again about how I don't want to gain weight, and how ridiculous that is. He said he will not let me go home skinnier than when I arrived, because my family in the United States will think he didn't take good care of me. He says it's always a good thing to gain weight on vacation, so everyone will know you had a good time and ate well. I told him it would make my family in the U.S. happier if I came back thinner. He couldn't understand this, and said he didn't agree. And that I was going to be more beautiful and fatter when I go home. I said I would do everything in my power to prevent this. He told me that he was my father, and that I'd better listen to him, and that it's impolite to argue. This is the relationship we have:) He also tells me I'm going to become Muslim.

Henry slept in the boys room, and the next day we walked all the way to the beach, waded for a while, and then went back to the market so he could find some light blue choup with which he could make a boubou (one not too flashy, because he would risk being labeled as homosexual in the United States). We bought mangoes and ate them in the market, chatted with a guy in Wolof/French for a while, and headed back on motos. There are no motorcycle taxis in Bombay, and he thoroughly enjoyed them. At noon, he took a motorcycle to the Gare Routiere, and continued on to Sokone.

Last night I slept on the terrace, the roof. My room was too hot, even with the fan, and there were too many mosquitos, so I brought my sheets up onto the roof where Yaay, Abdoullaye and Assan were sleeping. I found my corner and laid down. The air was cool and clear, and the stars were bright and numerous...I've never seen so many stars, as I do in Fatick. I fell asleep instantly, and it was the best sleep I've had here.

So since I barely work at all, I asked Waly and Yaay a few weeks ago, individually, to set me up with some way that I can teach English in the afternoon. It took this long to arrange something, but eventually I met this guy named Professor Lo at the boutique near our house. He lives right behind us, and his son is a friend of Seydou's. He told me he would love to have me come to his class, and do a question/answer session in English with the students.

So last week on Wednesday, I met him at the boutique at 4:00pm and hopped on his moto, and off we went to the high school. Amidst a huge crowd of teenagers walking along the road, we sped past to a bunch of confused stares. I met the head master and a bunch of the other teachers, who were shocked when I spoke to them in Wolof (the normal, simple phrases...the salutations, who I am, and why I'm here). I followed him into his classroom of 55 students, all seniors between the ages of 18 and 23, which erupted when I walked in. I said, “Hello!” And they all responded.

I stood up in front of everyone while Professor Lo gave a short introduction, and then gave me the floor. I had heard kissy noises from the back, so before I began, I said, “You can ask me any question, EXCEPT if I have a husband....Amuma jekker, Begguma jekker!” (I don't have a husband, I don't want a husband). The class cracked up, and laughed for a while after that one. Then someone asked me why. Then I had to explain why a girl of my age is not usually married with three children...because Americans (both genders) go to University, and when they graduate, they have other priorities. We have the means to travel, to move, to search for work. And also, since life is so expensive and children are an investment (I explained this too), we can't afford to start a family right away after school at my age. I said that most women are in their late 20's, early 30's, with an established career, before they start having children. This got quite the reaction among girls who were starting to look for husbands...or who were already married.

We discussed the things that are difficult, or that I don't like about Senegal. The only thing I could find that I don't like, is the way people treat animals. That made for an interesting discussion when I told them all how we sleep with cats and dogs on our beds. How we take them to parks to play with other dogs, because normally they stay in the house and only interact with people. I told them how we have doctors for dogs and cats, and how we consider them like our children. I also told them how we do not kill animals, and how that is all well-organized and hidden in factories. I told them the only animals we interact with are pets, with the exception of wild rabbits and squirrels.

I told them how in the United States, our way of dancing is all together on a dance floor. I wasn't used to, at first, being pushed into the middle of a circle and dancing for everyone to watch, being on display while I move my body. I told them I wasn't used to the way men approach me and ask right away for my number, and how quickly they seem to fall in love. I told them love takes time to discover in the states, and most of the time you have to be friends first. You also have to be more indirect and discreet about asking for a phone number, or telling a girl how you feel. You can't just be direct, in general, and tell a girl she is beautiful and you love her.

We also discussed equality between the sexes in the United States. I talked about how everyone has way more time to do other things in the U.S., because we have machines to do the work that women do. In short, women can work and pursue the interests that only men have the luxury to pursue here.

They asked me if Hollywood and rap videos accurately reflect life in the United States. I tried to conceal my laughter before answering. The short answer is no. But I did say that we are always busy. Even though we have “more time” theoretically because machines do most of the manual labor, we find other things to “make the most” out of our day, and to be the most productive we possibly can. This makes time go by extremely fast. I told them how Americans are second when it comes to amount of hours worked, in the world, to Japan. I told them that we have crime, and lots of it, in every type. I told them racism still exists. They were shocked to know there exists the same extent of poverty in the United States as in Senegal, in some cases worse. The fact that homeless people sleep on the street, and unlike the Talibe here, the community does not regularly feed and take care of them..is unbelievable. That it's “not our problem.” This concept is alien to the Senegalese.

The asked me what role illiterate women have in Chicago. They asked me where Chicago was. They asked me if Obama is the right man to fix the world's problems (to which I responded that the world's problems are the world's responsibility to work together to fix – not just the United States and Europe, for once, but all the countries of the world – and one man cannot do it alone).

They asked me who takes care of us when we get old, if we only have two children, and if these children are “sent out of the nests” like birds – the metaphor I used to describe our mentality. I told them of Nursing Homes, where the elderly are sent by their children when they can no longer take care of themselves. Their children don't have the time to care for them. This caused a sober silence in the class, and these kids were having an obviously difficult time understanding this concept.

Here, people have a lot of kids also because its a sort of health insurance. The more kids you have, the more helping hands and pocketbooks there are to help when you can no longer help yourself. You wont ever have to worry about being alone. Kids and wives are traditionally seen as a source of wealth as well, the more people that can lend a helping hand in agricultural production. The more people you can therefore afford to feed.

We talked about the cost of university. This obviously shocked them, as many of the students were considering trying to go abroad to study. I told them there were private sources of scholarship money they could try and attain, coming from a third world country. But I believe its the same tuition, if not higher, for exchange students.

We had a break, where the 'class prefect' made ataaya for myself and Mr. Lo....who is apparently quite the addict. Then everyone came over to chat with me...apparently when I wasn't up there and they didn't have to talk to me in front of the others, they were really interested to converse with me.

For the rest of the class, I taught the exercises that Mr. Lo had prepared. They included fill in the blanks in a paragraph that was meant to thank me for coming. It was interesting, to see English taught in a strict, formal way...my language, taught the same way I learned French. Grammar, choosing between “of, for, at” etc. Something that is second nature to me, is really hard to explain to the class. Something like “the adjective of 'help.'” (It's Helpful.)

Overall it was a really interesting class, and of course one of the guys after class gave me his phone number. He said it was so that we could be “just friends.” “You were listening to what I said,” I said, cracking up. He started to smile. “You heard that Americans are used to being friends first, before they date a guy.” It was completely obvious what his aims were. I found this hilarious.

Mr. Lo asked me to come back and teach another class. I said I would, and the next day we met up by my house and I agreed to teach his classes from 8-10, on Friday and Saturday. I decided to teach in a way that wasn't traditional at all...learning by playing games. Based on the fact that there were too many students in the class, the vast majority didn't participate. So in order to increase the level of participantion in the class, I came up with some games that I've played before or variations of games I've played before:

• Sherades: for vocabulary practice, the kids would come up and acted out a vocab word (noun/verb/adjectve), to make the class guess the word. Once the class guessed the word, the person could choose the next person to come up.

• Boys vs. Girls: for a little competetive spirit, the class would divide up between girls and boys (obviously), and each team would have a piece of chalk. I would stand by the chalkboard and say something like “the opposite of tall” or “the past tense of think”, and the team representative for that round would run up to the board and write the answer. The first person to write the correct answer would get a point for their team. Each round would change the person going up to the board.

• Hangman: Phrase or word practice.

• Skits: I put vocabulary words on the board, five words per category. For example, “politics”: support, candidate, to win, to vote, president, etc. Groups of 4 would then present a skit that uses all the vocab words somehow in the sentences. This would be good oral practice and correct usage of words.

Since Mr. Lo lives next to our house, he came by after dinner Thursday night (only if one of the kids made him ataaya), to look over my ideas, to make sure he knew what was going on before we started the class. Smiles crept across his face for each one, as he said, “Interesting...I like this one a lot...this is a good one...” Then he showed me pictures of him in England with the “Connecting Classroomes” project, between England, Senegal and Uganda. They were all wearing heavy winter jackets, gloves and hats, and the white women with them were wearing T-shirts.

I had sat in on a small meeting with him and the other Senegalese program coordinators, the other day. I was shocked by what I heard...after a while I put 2 and 2 together, and varified with Professor Lo. There was a woman there who was the “head coordinator” for that school year. Basically what she does is get money from the people in England, and then organize projects with the school kids in Fatick. They put on cultural shows, have traditional wrestling matches, etc...this is what they've done in the past. But to make a long story short, this woman (who she admitted by the end of it, was having marital problems) managed to royally screw everything up and lose 20,000,000CFA ($40,000). She was giving all these excuses for the entire time, which seemed legitimate, like the British people were refusing to upkeep their end of the bargain, something something....but I couldn't understand why Mr. Lo and the other woman weren't even looking the coordinator lady in the eyes, and basically were ignoring her. Afterward, I asked Mr. Lo what was going on, and Mr. Lo's response to this was, “No it was her fault. She didn't manage well. Oh well....at least she tried.” This blew me away. At least she tried??? They were just going to let this go?? And what about the people in England? What would they do once they realized that their money that they had given the Senegalese representatives for cultural activites for the students, was....gone??? Then Mr. Lo said under his breath, “This is what happens when you give women responsibility...they screw it up.” I said, “What?” But he just moved on. I let it go...this wasn't the first sexist remarks I'd heard in Senegal, especially related to the fact that our mutuelle “only works with women.” Tons of men have given me a hard time about it. I always return it with, “well if you men paid back your loans responsibly, as in, more than 30% of the time, like women...maybe we'd reconsider.” They usually have nothing after that one.

After we looked at the ideas I had come up with for his class, he then showed me pictures of his son, who comes by the house from time to time and is friends with Seydou, and pictures of his wife – who he said is ugly. She is studying in France right now, and comes home every few months to be with her husband and son. Mr. Lo lives with her parents here in Fatick. He said his son was ugly too, and “unfortunately didn't take after him, he took after his wife's looks instead.” This is typical Senegalese joking....I was too busy laughing to react in any witty way at this point. I argued with him and said his wife and son are both beautiful looking people – which I really, truly thought – to which he responded, “No, you don't have to be nice. I love her for her personality, because there isn't much to look at.”

So for the three classes, we did two of these games for each, plus some time for question and answers (for the two classes I hadn't had before). So I met Mr. Lo at the boutique at 7:50am down the way from my house, and we hopped on his moto and went to the highschool. When he gave me the floor, I said that I wanted to play games to learn, and I got a few confused and blank stares. But once I organized the games, and Mr. Lo demonstrated (which was hilarious, watching him act like an “American”) the kids got into it. It was great, they really took it and ran with it...and were having a good time. Hangman went over especially well, although during Boys vs. Girls, the girls were cheating like crazy. There were two girls in particular that were really irritating, they kept going up to the board even though I said multiple times that they weren't allowed to go up again...that they had to give the chalk to someone else. They also were using their French/English dictionaries and hiding them amongst themselves. But the boys won anyway, so it was fine:) Two boys groups got to present their skits, and they displayed perfectly the corrupted system of democratic election here.... “Hey, you my friend, right? I give you something when I'm elected, I give you some money, you my friend, I give you job....”

Afterward, we met with some other English teachers and two other Americans...who had been in Fatick for a while. They were missionaries. Kim, the woman who is from LaGrange, Illinois, is here with her husband and children, in a neighboring village. She was a very nice, chipper woman...sort of a soccer-mom, Girl-Scout, churchy type....seemed kind of out of place in Fatick. I met her husband and children a few days later, and they definitley seemed strange in my surroundings. They seemed to be the type that are here to change Fatick....even in their helping the people here. They aren't here for cultural integration. Oh well, their intentions are good.

This meeting included lengthy and wordy introductions, true to the Senegalese style, and no real business accomplished. They were also interested in teaching English, in the midst of other goals...like me. I think they missed English, like me. I was surprised, but not really, by the very basic grasp of English that these professors displayed. They were all Senegalese, and spoke English as a third or forth language. Their sentences were broken, hesitant, and awkward. I know they were having problems understanding me. They all said the same things...that their students were used to their accents and grammatical problems, and that the point of learning a language is being able to understand a native speaker. We all agreed that this was important, and agreed to come teach some of their classes.

I would like to make a list of things I would like to mention, things that have struck me lately.

• It's been several weeks since the fact that garbage is everywhere has even crossed my mind. We now live in perfect harmony.

• No matter how much time I spend in Senegal or Africa, to strangers I will always be a Toubab that just arrived, can't speak a word of Wolof – and doesn't know anything. No matter how much I think I'm improving, everyone I see on the street assumes I am at square one. Sometimes it's fun to see people constantly overreact when I say simple phrases like “Maangi nos,” which really doesn't prove that you know anything. But other times, when they try to explain to me who Abdoullaye Wade or Cheikh Amadou Bamba is, I'm like....I've spent nearly 4 months here....I think I've come across who these people are by now. Or when they're surprised I know what buiy is.

• Yesterday I was walking past the soccer sand field by my house, and I saw a herd of about 20 head of cattle, coming toward me. Cows here are very intimidating, with gigantic horns that curve up in each direction into a spike. I don't know why, but I got a little nervous. They were all coming toward me, and I imagined one of them impaling me. No, I am not afraid of the mangy stray dogs here, or cats who definitley hate people....but cows. I jumped off to the side of the road, and let them pass....they turned their gigantic heads toward me as they passed. I was cracking up to myself as the herders passed...who looked at my crock-eyed, like “are you seriously afraid of cows?” I said “nangeen def,” in the middle of my laughing, as in “yes, I am afraid...and I know it's pathetic.”

• It is becoming VERY hard for me to accept that tomorrow is my last day here in Fatick with my family. I never ever cry during goodbyes, which leads people to think I'm insensitive. I just disassociate myself. But I'm not sure I'll be able to do this here.

  • bul retaan: This means “Don't laugh...” I don't remember if Beka remembers, but when we were little, and she was mad about something, I would say, “Don't smile...don't laugh...whatever you do, don't laugh...” In fact, I'm pretty sure Dad came up with this trick. Well, Ngone was being a brat, as usual – (she's either really cute and crazy, or a demon....crying for half an hour, 45 minute stretches at once)...and was pretending to sleep, but every time Ndiaydaba would try to pick her up to put her into her bed, she would scream. So to get her to admit, or to know that we knew, that she wasn't asleep, I said...”Bul retaan....” and Ndiaydaba was confused, so I said, “watch.” I said it over and over again, and finally Ngone's mouth started to curve up at the corners. Then she started to giggle and allowed her sister to take her into her room.

  • conversations at night : We've had a bunch of really good conversations after couscous at night, when everyone is lounging around in the courtyard under the stars. The house is too warm at this point, and the night air is crisp and cool and mosquito free (except for the biting ants which crawl up my skirt). They've consisted of describing the suburbs to Abdoullaye, comparing Senegalese and American politics, how African political corruption hinders their development. The other day I had an interesting conversation with Assan about French...and how learning French in school makes everyone feel that Wolof is inferior. We talked about how screwed up Senegalese culture has become, full of imports and second hand clothing. He became quite serious...which is strange for Assan, who is always randomly breaking out into dance and singing – remind you of anyone, Beka?:) He wants to do music professionally, but he doesn't want to sing in French or English, and hates when Senegalese musicians do this. He wants Senegalese musicians to find their own unique sound. I agree with him. He said if he were president, the first thing he would do is translate and encourage people to sing the National Anthem in Wolof, or other Senegalese languages.

  • Girl Talk: The Wednesday before I left, Amie, me, Penda, Mame Sanu, Ndaiydaiba and I went into their bedroom and talked until 1 in the morning. This included lots of giggling, reading of English is strange voices, messing around with sunglasses, and serious talks about how women in the U.S. have surgeries to suck fat out and reduce their breasts.

  • Funny Pap Sow stories – when I say Pap Sow, I mean Abdoullaye. He angrily demanded the other day why I call Mame Seynabou “Yaay” and I don't call him Papa. He insisted on putting his phone number in my phone under “Papa,” and demanded that I refer to him as this.

    • So I woke up from my nap the other day and say a ton of neighbor kids running around. Ngone was playing little mother to some 1 and a half year olds who were with her, and even gave one a bath. How their mothers allowed them to be somewhere else for that long (especially since they don't stop breastfeeding until at least 2), I didn't question. There were at least 20 kids at our house, including my host brothers and sisters. Then Yaay woke up, without her wig, breasts half coming out of her shirt, furious and groggy. From what I got from her passionate Wolof, was “Why are all these kids here? I'm responsible for them while they're at my house, and I wasn't even awake to manage the situation!” I asked, “Who brought all the kids here?” “PAP SOW!” She cried, exasperated, and behind her, Abdoullaye/Pap Sow, came out with a little grin on his face. I looked at him incredulously, tisking. He saw me looking, and smiling grandly, said loudly, “I wanted 10 kids!! She wouldn't let me!” This is so typical Pap Sow. He loves talking about traditional things like marriage and children...it's his guilty pleasure.

    • He always teases me about how many mangoes I eat, or how much buiy I drink. Everyone else is afraid by his tone, but I've managed to convince him that I think it's funny. Now it's become a joke. He asks me how much I've had, and I tell him, and he tells me I'm greedy or that I won't be able to eat dinner. I tell him it's way less than his kids had. Tonight he teased me because I had two glasses of buiy juice after dinner from the plastic bottle, and not everyone had had some yet. I told him there was more in the fridge. “Well go get me some then,” he ordered. I got some, and tried to pour the juice into one of the cups. “Not that one,” he said. “He has his own special glass,” Yaay said from a few feet away. One of the kids ran to grab it. When they came back, I cracked up. “What?” Abdoullaye said. “Your glass is twice the size of mine, so you're not allowed to tease me anymore about how much I drink.” “I put a lot of ice in my cup!” he said in protest, but his mouth had already given it away that he was laughing on the inside. Everyone in the family cracked up at this, and I think part of this was my bravery at how I handle Abdoullaye.

    • He thinks he always knows best, no matter what. Even though my years of lifeguard training might be better counsel in the sitaution where Ngone was choking on fish bones the other day during lunch, and instead of clapping her on the back, he force fed more rice and food into her mouth, “Lekkal!” he shouted urgently. I think he thought that forcing more food down would push whatever was stuck, further down and dislodge it. I tried...and then shut myself up...to tell him that this was probably the worst thing he could have done in this situation. He was just panicked and had the best intentions for Ngone. Whatever was in there was dislodged...even though eating food passes down the throat, not the windpipe, where the food was preventing her from breathing. Whatever...:) it worked...

• So Wednesday was my second to last day at work. This also happened to be the end of the month, and the distribution of a new PDIF loan. Since we don't have any system of organization, (first-come-first-serve set up), the small office was filled with maybe 15 women, rotating in and out. Everyone was yelling, laughing, high-fiving and generally being Senegalese Serer women. The only problem with this, is that I couldn't understand a word of it, and it was so loud that I had a headache and couldn't work properly. When I tried to take a five minute break, Yaay called me back into the office and said we had too much word to do...I couldn't take a break. When I told her I had a headache on account of all the noise, Mame Sanu and Binta assured me that I wasn't the “only one.” After I went home for lunch, I went to sleep instead of coming back....they didn't come home until 5:30. I couldn't take any more. Yaay gave me a stern talking to when she got home, saying that these are the women we help, and we must learn to accept their behavior and get our work done, even when we don't feel good. I decided to prevent this from happening the next day, which Yaay said would be just as crowded. When we got to work, I found some pretty thick paper and wrote numbers 1-16 on each piece I cut out. I ran the idea by Mame Sanu and Binta, who laughed and agreed with the idea. So every time a woman tried to come into the office, after we greeted her for about 15 seconds, I handed her a number and told her politely that we would call her number when we were ready for her. She took the paper happily, and went outside, where I set up chairs in the shade. The women then sat together, outside, and chatted, while Binta, Mame Sanu and I could work in peace inside. In this way, we all were very productive, and avoided having headaches. Yaay came in and asked what was going on, and when Mame Sanu explained, Yaay smiled and gave her little appreciative, low chuckle that she does, high-fiving me. “Danielle, muus nga,” she said (you're smart).