More Fatick news

27/03/2009

Ok so I'm going to organize my experiences by topics...because this is how I will want to remember things. Also, I think it's easier to read.

It's Freaking Hot
Hot isn't even the word to describe it here. When we were watching the weather on the television, it didn't sink in when my host dad Abdoulaye said, “38 degres!” I still don’t TRULY understand Celsius...just that it's hot. Then I talked to Henry (the French/American), who converted this in his head for me.....101 degrees F. Yes...Fatick is hot. This is exactly what everyone in Dakar kept telling me, and I sort of kept shrugging it off like it was no big deal. It's so hot that I can't really go out during the day, even if I wanted to...and the power has gone off twice this week already at work, stopping the fans...good things all the buildings are made out of cement, so it's not AS hot as it could be. I miss going outside and wandering around, meeting people...no one is outside until like 6:00pm or later.

Teranga=sometimes annoying
Not sure if I mentioned what “teranga” means yet or not, but it means “hospitality” for lack of a better English translation. We just don't have this concept in Western cultures. I will explain to what extent I meant hospitality.
Senegal is known, by its own designation, as the “pays of teranga” (country of hospitality). However, up until this point, I have not truly experienced this in Dakar to the extent some of the other MSID students already have. My family in Dakar was much more laid back, didn't ask questions, didn't mind when I wanted time alone in my room during the day. If I was going out later than they would be asleep, they would just make sure I had my key. I already mentioned, however, how people would come and go in the house seemingly at will...and when I verified, they truly had not called before hand. People would come in unannounced and sit down to dinner with us. This was completely normal. Leontine would just get a bit upset it we didn't tell her ahead of time if we were planning on missing a meal. The amount of French visitors we had was amazing...six French people came in the middle of the night last Friday and left the next day with Papa for Casamance...and we moved people around in the house to make room for them all. Then two more the day before Melanie and I left. Strange...
I have definitely been exposed to this concept more so than ever before with my new family in Fatick. Like I've already mentioned, they snuck one of the oranges that I had bought for THEM, into my room. Another thing, which is actually really nice of my host mom, I woke up and opened the door my first morning here, and found a pair of sandals that weren't mine, in front of my door next to my own. I wasn't sure who's they were, but they were clearly laid out for me. When I asked about them later, my host mom replied that they were her sandals, and that they were so I could wear them to the shower. It's really nice...but now I don't know if I'm supposed to buy my own and give them back to her...and I'm not sure how she assumed I didn't have any of my own to begin with.
Another source of “hospitality”, which has been driving me nuts, is the maid. The first time I came home from work, I found my room strangely...empty. Now we had a maid in Dakar, who came in maybe once every week or two to sweep and clean the bathroom. But she always used to put everything back exactly where she found it. This maid seems to think she has to “arrange” my room, put everything in a new spot than where I originally put it. This is again, very “nice” of her...but I was irritated when I couldn't find anything I had put somewhere. All my dirty and clean clothes had been folded and piled together, and I couldn't find my towel or pajamas. I found them out on the line...they had been washed. Also, as I am trying to conserve trash bags for myself for obvious reasons, she had taken the trash bag that was still nearly empty that I had just started (with some tissues inside), and had taken it upon herself to throw it out for me. My sheet that my host mom had given me as a blanket was also gone. It was again, all very nice...but I was irritated none the less. I told my host mom that it was no problem at all for me to do my own laundry and I could clean my room myself, and she seemed relieved and said she would “give the order to the maid,” and that if I ever needed something cleaned, to let her know...otherwise the maid wouldn't go in my room.
The next day, the same thing happened. No sheets, towel, or pajamas, and more searching frantically to find things I had put in a certain place. RRR.
Also, up until yesterday, I hadn't said anything about the fact that my bedroom door doesn't close. This made me nervous at night, to have nothing but a curtain separating me from the outside world. Also, knowing Seydou – who is a cousin, not a “real” doom (biological child), and therefore is a huge troublemaker and 'asks to be hit,' as one of the other kids said when I asked why they had to hit Seydou – who constantly goes into my room and tries to 'take my money' and my 'camera' and all things fragile, I asked his parents if there was a way I could close my door. I said I was afraid the children would go into my room and take my things. This seemed to be the least insulting way I could put it. I didn't expect this, but THAT NIGHT, I come home to find a neighbor, who was also a handyman, taking a look at my bedroom door and fixing a new door handle/lock/key on it. It was pretty nice.
I was also given my own cup at breakfast, which was definitely what they considered to be appropriate for Westerners...it was the same ridiculously small type of teacup I had seen in France. It was basically big enough for an espresso-sized shot of tea. I felt like saying, “I'm American...don't you know we like everything big?? I'm not French!” So I just took it upon myself to nonchalantly take a different mug, which was bigger. They had also bought cheese especially for me, even when no one else in the family eats it. I said I prefer butter or chocolate – two of the items already on the table.
They also crack up during lunch and dinner when I cut up the items in the middle and distribute it to everyone's section of the bowl....as is polite, what you're supposed to do. I did this in Dakar, and the first couple times were met with chuckles and grins. But after that, they didn't say anything. Today, I was told by the 12 year old girl that “Danielle - c'est nous qui doivent le faire,” (It's us who have to do it), in an almost patronizing way, “C'est toi l'etrangere.” (You're the stranger/visitor from abroad). I said in French, “It's something the family does, right? I'm part of the family, right?” I also happened to be wearing my Senegalese outfit (because it's Friday), and I said, “Did you not notice that I'm not an “etrangere,” I'm Senegalese!” Everyone laughed, and Mama Sow gave me a high five. Everyone seemed to enjoy that, and the matter was dropped.
Also, EVERY time I finish eating, which is always more than the other women have eaten, and I put my spoon down and try to get up – everyone said, “Danielle, tu ne manges plus?” (You're not eating anymore?) “Danielle, il n'etait pas bon?” (It wasn't good?) “Tu n'as pas bien mange” (You didn't eat well/enough). Of course I have to say, “Non, neex na torop, surr na, lekk naa torop, jeureujeuf” (No, it was too delicious, I'm full, I had too much, thank you). It's like please, obviously, I've had enough and I enjoyed it...just once, let me get up in peace and be on my way. They don't say this to anyone else in the family. Just one of these days, I want to be like, “No? You're right, I DIDN'T eat enough.” And then sit back down, and eat everyone else's food. Maybe then they wouldn't be so quick to encourage me to eat more.

Food=delicious...it's inevitable that I will gain back all the weight I lost here
Speaking of food...it's delicious. I don't want to play favorites, but this food is definitely better than the food I had with my family in Dakar. It's flavorful, the quality of the items used is good, and it's just really good. Aside from the fact that the women don't eat anything and I feel like a huge pig compared to them, and the fact that the other day there were TWELVE people eating around the same bowl (the laundress and her baby, the six kids, the maid, me, and the parents), it is ridiculously good. We had both kids of ciep bu jen already, and some other dishes I've never had before. One had this curry-tasting green sauce with white potatoes, onions, and beef, which you pick up with bread. I didn't know this at first, and used up all of my bread in the first five minutes...and of course everyone around me reached for more bread the second I put the last piece in my mouth.
Of course we had couscous, which is a typically non-Dakar thing to eat. This is not the typical North African/Middle Eastern couscous we all know and love that comes in a box in the States...this is millet couscous. It's not fluffy, its thick and heavy and paste-like...and when you thought you haven't eaten that much, ten minutes later it “gonffle” in your stomach (expands), and you feel like you've eaten a cow. We have that with this peanuty-onion sauce that you spread over it and mix.
They also made this one dish with millet that is a Catholic dish, that is only made on Good Friday. It has:
Peanut powder/oil
Millet
Buiy juice (juice from baobab fruits)
Water
Sugar
Bananas
Oranges
It's delicious...you eat it in a cup with a spoon.

I think I need to somehow find a way to cut back on the amount I eat though, regardless of their pleading. With this lack of exercise because of the heat, added to how much I've been eating, I don't want to come home looking like a blimp...well...like most of the women here.

What I find funny is what my host dad said this morning at breakfast. I heard toubab, and “grossir” in the midst of their conversation, and asked him what he was talking about. He said “Normally, the white skins (white people) who come here don't eat nearly enough...they don't eat what's necessarily to gain wait.” He said this with a completely straight face. I said, “Well...of course not...Americans don't like to get fat.” I immediately regretted saying this, because my host mom has obviously seen no reason not to become obese. I said, “Well...there are different standards of beauty in the United States.” And that's where it stopped, because a neighbor came in. Saved by the bell....oh wait, there isn't one.

Kids are Cute...but they're also Good Birth Control
Ngone has been sick ever since I arrived here. Unlike young children in the United States, who when seen sneezing or coughing, are told to cover their mouths, in Senegal one person's sickness is everyone's potential sickness. They don't even try. Occasionally they'll wipe her nose clean of snot, but this is as far as it goes. They share cups of water, and I've seen her boogers float into the water, and then she passes it to the next person. Thank God I have my own private filtered water in my room. Every time we sit down to eat, she insists on sitting in front of me. She steals food with her germy spoon from my section, coughs and sneezes directly into the food that everyone shares. This makes me cringe and feel sick to my stomach, but no one says anything. When I had my computer out today, she touched the screen with boogery hands, and then sneezed all over the screen. This is the last time I'm bringing it out into the common area. Seydou then thinks it’s a game, and starts to touch the monitor when I'm not looking. Assan licked off my spoon the other day when it fell into the bowl of food, and gave it back to me. Today Ngone got up and puked on the chair next to the food during lunch. I almost hurled, myself.
Everyone goes to bed early. Also, Muslims don't drink alcohol, and don't think highly of girls drinking or going out in general...so no going to bars I assume. This is so different from Dakar.
I wish I had someone my own age. I'm just going to say that off the bat. I'm used to not having children around...and while this is a great experience, and I'm actually learning a lot of Wolof with them, I miss having someone I can relate to and hang out with. When I mentioned this in passing last night around 10:15 to my host parents, after most of the kids except Ngone were in bed, they mumbled something in Wolof, and said, “Nungi dem, kaay.” (We're going, come on). I said, “What? Where are we going?” “To meet our family in Fatick,” they replied, “They don't live far. And they have some people your age.” “Um...ok, but it's late! We can go tomorrow, this isn't urgent!” “No no, we'll go now.”
So off we went, Ngone, Yaay and Papa Sow, and me, in the old family car. We drove off through the sand, avoiding cows and donkeys, through the main road of Fatick, and then off on a side street...until we arrived at a house. Of course it was one story and cement, and as we descended from the car, a woman with no nose came out of the house to greet us. It was Abdoullaye's mother. I'm not sure how I can describe a person with no nose, but it just looked like something was missing...and clearly it was. Just teeth and eyes, in a black face...it was dark out too, and she had on a beautiful white boubou. I shook her hand, and she seemed clearly happy to see me, although it was hard to tell. We followed her into the house where a man was seated doing his prayer beads (like rosary, but for Muslims), and stopped to say hello to me. Of course they all got a kick out of me speaking basic salutatory phrases in Wolof. There was Abdoullaye's sister, brother and his wife, and his other brother and his wife, along with some other random people. We went into a random bedroom where some people were watching tv...there were a bunch of men in the room listening to a woman speak. Although I can't tell you the exact words in Wolof, I understood the gist – this woman was a major feminist, and said “Can you imagine a Senegal where woman have a hand in politics?” She was saying that it's time women are taken seriously, and that they need to be “alphabetized” so they can contribute to society. She said it isn't a real democracy until “jigeens” have a clear voice in government. She said a whole lot more, but that's what I got out of it.
Ngone was tired by this point and sat on my lap, after coming back into the room with sorbet in plastic baggies, that someone in the house had given her. They were good, but hard to open. Water comes in these little baggies too, and you have to bit open the corner to eat it. A girl in a towel poked her head in, and my host parents announced that this was “the girl who was my age,” who had been designated to hang out with me one of these days. The man and woman who were married, sitting next to me, were also supposedly my age. But they didn't suggest I hang out with a married couple...wonder why...We then said goodbye, “ba baneen yoon,” and left.
In addition, I have not been able to go out on my own. I'm not sure whether it's because I'm American (and my two months in Dakar are essentially meaningless here, they assume I've started from square one) and don't know anything, or because I'm a girl, or because they're the parents of extremely small children or what – or a combination of all three – but when I suggested I go out for a walk the other night (after asking if it was “safe” to do so, and they said yes)...they made me take some of their money, and three of the kids, to go to a boutique and get Coca Cola. I think they just didn't understand the idea of walking without a purpose, and were bothered by the idea of me doing it alone, at any rate. I also suggested, after the third time at the Cyber Cafe, that I go alone. Mama Sow wouldn't hear of it...she freaked out, laughed, and said I would go with the boys at 4:00 when they went back to school. (From 1:00pm – 4:00pm kids have a break for lunch here...then they go until 6:00pm). I said, “But I know the way, it's not necessary.” But she definitely put her foot down and wouldn't hear otherwise. It's about a 10 minute walk. She finally compromised and said “maybe” after this week, she'll consider me going places alone. We'll see. It's a bit frustrating.

Boobs, boobs and more...boobs
So it started out with the “cassiere” at work, Binda Deme. I noticed it with her too, but today I realized that most women that come in are like this. They either don't wear a bra under their extremely transparent African clothes, or their bra falls down to expose breast and they don't care to fix it. Nipple and everything...old women too. This one woman adjusted her shirt at the window today (not really a window...but the bars), and her two breasts were obviously exposed to the world for about two minutes.
Later that first day, Yaay decided her breasts needed some air. We were sitting around, the tv playing music, all 6 kids and myself. She took off her top, and laid there with her breasts out. Just right there...for all the world to see. Even her 18 year old son....I tried not to look or make a face.
This same day, a neighbor woman came in to say hello to Yaay. She was excited and loud and energetic. She rushed over when she saw me and barraged me with the usual salutations in Wolof, and then grabbed my face...she kissed one cheek, then the other, then my mouth. I thought the worst was over. But as if I didn't feel violated enough, after asking how “I was going,” she took her finger and stabbed at my crotch with it...luckily she missed important parts, asking “And how is THIS doing?!!” She screamed, laughing at the top of her lungs, as if she had made the funniest joke known to man. I was so shell shocked, that I just laughed and said, “bu baax/baax na” (It's good). Needless to say, I felt really confused....my host dad had been standing right there, and didn't even notice or care. Apparently this is a totally normal way to tease another woman. I haven't even addressed this issue, and probably won't. It's just something to be aware of in the future, I suppose.

Everything I do is a spectacle
I have lost pretty much all my privacy. I've tried to read/listen to music/write in my blog out in the common area, just to be around the family, but this doesn't work. I immediately become the center of attention, which is really annoying when these are the activities I used to do to de-stress and be alone. What I'm writing/reading/listening to become the most important thing for everyone in the room. “Oh look, Danielle's drawing!” “Oh look, Danielle's reading a book in English!” “What is this, an I pod?” Touchy touchy touchy, gimme gimme gimme...and me saying “Fragile la,” or “Xaraal” or “Deedet,” it works for about 10 seconds...but just like when I used to babysit in the States, kids forget after a while and go right back to doing the same thing. It's so tiring...and it's only been a week.
Every time I'm doing anything, the kids and parents come around to watch. This makes it especially hard when I'm writing in my blog, because I don't want to do this in my room...this would make me seem unsociable. Luckily they don't understand English, which is good...especially the part I just wrote about Ngone being sick, or the boob touching.
And it's not just the family that gives me special attention 24/7. I might get a prolonged glance here and there in Dakar, but in Fatick – I might be the only toubab in the entire city, and have been the only one in months. Apparently some Canadians came to the kids' school the other day, but that was it. Therefore, a person with “peau blanche” is a HUGE deal. It's like a parade when I walk on the main street with my host siblings, people turn around on bikes, kids scream “TOUBAB!! TOUBAB!” like little birds, and chase us down the sidewalk. Men stare from across the road, and dare to say, “Bonsoir, mademoiselle.” Aiyaya......what is so interesting??? I mean I get it, but I don't. I don't like it, is what I mean to say. I know I don't deserve all this attention, and I hardly know how to handle it...except smile and wave like Miss America. That's pretty much what I am here.

Fear of the Hole in the Ground
door doesn't close...gross...3 year old isn't all the way potty trained yet...unpleasant. That's all I need to say. I try to use the toilet at work for other business, because it actually flushes. But like most of the real toilets here, the seat doesn't attach...and I almost fell in once because the seat slid out from under me when I sat down. Haha:)

Internship = harder than I thought...language barrier
I need to speak with Yaay one of these days...I'm having a rough time at work. I understand most of what is said to me, but unfortunately this isn't enough to understand complex financial procedures. It's basically like a mini bank...transactions are recorded, stored, and analyzed at a quick pace, with women waiting in line. I still don't understand the procedures; I simply do what Binta tells me without understanding WHY I'm doing it. I've asked her questions before, like “How do you know that it's a depot (deposit) and when it's a rembursement (reimbursement), with interet (interet), etc?” Binta did not react the way I expected, and the other women that were standing at the window started laughing. She did too, and feigned insult, “Why, I know!” She exclaimed, as if I had been challenging her competence. I tried to explain that it was important for me to understand how she knew, so I didn't have to keep bothering her. The situation was already over, though. Now I'm afraid to ask questions. Sometimes I have to write the full amount of what the particular woman is giving the mutuelle as a reimbursement, or sometimes Binta has me write part of it as that and part of it as a depot, etc. I try to figure out the pattern, but I really have no idea at all. And it doesn't help that I've already had to look up 30 vocabulary words in French that have to do with finance and banking, at the cyber cafe. That helped a bit, but each French word has a Wolof counterpart that is used more often – the only time anyone speaks French is when they're talking to me, when I'm talking to them, or when they're saying numbers. Numbers are almost always in French.
That's another thing that's been hard...numbers. She'll hand me the booklet where I fill out the woman's group number, how much she's depositing, the date, etc, and make carbon copies...and Binta will count the “billetage” (bills), and tell me in supersonic speed what the number is. This sounds easy, and of course numbers were the first thing I learned in French. But it's not that simple. “Huit cent quatre-vingt douze mille deux cent soixante dix.” Reading it spelled out is one thing...but when a woman yells it to you super fast from the other side of the room, it takes me a minute to figure out what she just said. Also, when I read numbers that Binta already wrote, it screws me up all the time as well. The way the French “2” is written, is not at all how we write it. We write it like you see here, on the computer...go figure; Americans configured most computer typing systems. French “2”'s look more like a backward “P”, only more loopy. It looks so bizarre, especially when she's writing fast. It genuinely looks like a 9. So I kept copying numbers down as 900, etc, when it was really 200. What was even more frustrating is that we went through the whole explanation, and laughed about it...and I STILL kept screwing it up a few times. It's better now, but she wasn't very understanding about it. I wouldn't expect her to be, these numbers are kind of important. But she was acting as if she was taking it personally, as if I was criticizing her handwriting or something.
I've spent my time the past two days in the back room on the one computer, typing up an Annual Mutuelle Report for 2008. It was all handwritten....which was a joy, because Madame Sow's handwriting isn't much better. It took a lot of logic and context clues to figure out what she could have meant in French...which was actually good language practice for me. It also helped me learn a bit of official French jargon...and a lot of new vocab. But it was frustrating as hell.

I've learned that I really don't like French people
It's not just the French. Americans have their unbearable qualities too that I won't bother going into at the moment. It's just worth mentioning that the Americans are not BY FAR off the hook, just because I've – surprise – decided to rag on the French for once in my life.
Maybe it's the particular French people who have felt inclined to make the journey here to Senegal. But overall, they're either tourists who think that Senegal still belongs to France – and is basically an amusement park (I always hear, “Je suis en vacances!”...meaning they think they can do whatever they want) - or they're like the students I met yesterday.
I was told that we had a meeting at work with PDF (Promotion pour le Developpement des Femmes), but I wasn't told that we'd be meeting with students from France who are younger than me. They apparently are here for 10 days on an “internship.”...although I'm not sure how effective an internship is if it's only for 10 days, but anyway. There are supposedly quite a large number of them here, but during 10 days, they split up and interview women's organizations in the area that benefit from PDF subsidization (it's a Belgian NGO). I suppose part of the reason I got a negative vibe from these students right off the bat is because I have started to adopt somewhat of a Senegalese mentality...I expect chatting, warmth, genuine interest, and lots of sincere smiling before I get “down to business.” I expect people to be sincere. I guess I just didn't get that from these French girls at all...and now that I think about it, if they had been American, I would have gotten the same vibe. In fact, if I had been in these girl's position two months ago, I probably would have conducted the interview and behaved in the same, detached, plastic-smile, fake, polite manner that they were.
I happened to be wearing my Senegalese outfit that day, because it was Friday yesterday – and that's like a tradition here, kind of like casual Fridays in the States. They looked me up and down and it was obvious they were judging me because of this because they assumed I always dress like this...I don't know, I got a negative vibe.
They had a piece of paper that they used to ask questions, and didn't bother first asking Madame Sow or Binta how they were, etc – or thanking them for giving them the interview. They said this afterward, but it made the beginning of the meeting awkward. Every time they asked a question and Madame Sow answered, they said in an overwhelmingly patronizing tone of voice, “Oh, ok!!” As if they were talking to a 4 year old. Also, as I've learned to accept and even expect from the Senegalese, when you ask a question, they will take an INORDINATELY long time answering. This is partly because they are giving themselves more time to organize their thoughts clearly...but also, they enjoy being long winded. Being direct, short, and to the point is seen as lack of caring and disinterest. When Madame Sow proceeded to answer their questions in this manner, I saw them (right in front of her), look at each other and make a face like...oh my god....
I know she saw this look, and I found it extremely rude...even though in the back of my mind I understood their frustration. Also, when I attempted to explain something quickly to them because Madame Sow hadn't understood the question, they seemed to get defensive even with me. “Oui, carrement, on le comprend,” (Yes, obviously, we understand that). It is definitely a Western mentality; to take it personally if someone assumes you need more of an explanation than you think you do. It means you aren't competent, or are too dumb to figure it out on your own, or that it insults your independence. In Senegal, I've come to understand that “insulting your intelligence,” simply means that the person cares enough to drive the point home...to over-explain, to make sure you understand. It's “helping”, not insulting.
To make matters worse, I went to ask a question in French. The girls asked what happens when a woman in the group doesn't pay back her credit. After Madame Sow answered the question, I added, “Mais ca se passe pas tres frequemment, oui?” (That doesn't happen very often, right?) And once those words came out of my mouth....in my newly acquired Senegalese, half-remaining Parisen, sort of American accent...and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the girls look at each other and start giggling. I shot them a glance, feeling hot under the collar, and they avoided my stare. I looked at Binta, who had seen everything, and she laughed with me sympathetically. Her eyes seemed to say the same thing mine were...Those damn French...but don't worry about it. I said in French, making it loud enough for the girls to hear, “People laugh when I speak Wolof, people laugh when I speak French, I'm used to it by now.” Binta laughed with me, and slapped me high five, as if to say, I know how you feel and I admire you for making a joke out of it.
Madame Sow went to explain the structure of the mutuelle, and the girls were having a hard time understanding it. So she asked me to draw a flow chart, since she knows I can draw. I took out a piece of paper and started to draw what she was explaining, while I heard the French girls snickering over there in a 'I can't believe this' tone of voice...then one of them made a big show about getting up, snatching up the paper from me, and quickly completing the flowchart, then slapping it down on the desk in front of Madame Sow with a triumphant smile as if to say, 'See? We get it. Let's not waste time, stop insulting our intelligence.' It was very rude...and after the interview, Madame Sow and Binta started talking about this as well with laughter.
Later that day, around 6:00pm at home, Madame Sow said that more students from PDF were coming to talk to her women's group. She is the president of the mutuelle where I work, as well as the President of the women's group in our neighborhood (Daroum Salaam), as well as the coordinator for an alphabetization class. I have much admiration for this women...especially coming out and seeing the 8 officials from the mutuelle, which she started, who looked at her with admiration whenever she said anything. Then two more French girls came in and a French boy, who looked very uncomfortable. We went around the room and introduced ourselves, and they went on and on and on. They looked really confused when one of the women got off her chair and lay on the floor, stretching out lazily, putting her head in the lap of the woman next to her. This made me laugh inside my head, because this sort of thing is no longer strange to me, especially when one woman began nonchalantly scratching her breast. It was amusing because I am now habituated by this, but I remember being the same way as them...astounded by how different our ideals of 'professionalism' are, when it's appropriate to do certain things. People are much less impressed by the same 'higher than human' attitude people have during 'important, professional meetings.' They prefer to sit on the floor with their shoes off, and laugh, and converse, and go off topic once in a while and enjoy each other's company. The French people, and Americans too, prefer to sit straight-backed in the chair, smile too much, and act generally cold. A perfect example of this cross-cultural clashing, was when, in the middle of one of the French girl's well-thought out, carefully-articulated questions, one of the Senegalese woman interrupted her by saying, “I'm thirsty!! Does anyone want a drink?” The girl snapped her mouth closed in surprise, eyes wide, and forced a smile. Madame Sow said, “Do you want a drink? Our group has money.” They weren't sure how to answer this question, as they knew very well that the group didn't have a ton of money to spare, since that was the topic of discussion. They just changed the subject. When they asked Madame Sow if she had any questions after they were finished with the interview, she said with a cackle, “Do you have any money?” I started cracking up, as I knew this was a joke...but the French students laughed uncomfortably and were clearly 'mal a l'aise.'
l “Did you write your rules and regulations YOURSELVES?” They were surprised that the answer was yes.
l “Is the alphabetization class (which simply means teaching women how to read and write), for children too?” Of course the answer is just for the women who are part of the micro credit group. This question implied that the French girl did not know what kind of education standards there are in Senegal...she was implying also, that children here might not go to school/know how to read and write either. The reality of the situation, however, is that these women who are part of the group don't know how to read or write because the generation of women from which they come, which grew up during the 60's and 70's, education was much different. Women didn't have access to education, so the generation of women that are in these groups generally can't read or write. By contrast, the children of my generation from the 80's, and children presently are educated equally between the two sexes.
l “Do you know this woman well? Is she a friend of yours?” With a patronizing smile, when asking about a certain woman who did something in particular with PDF, in the middle of her story.
l I heard off to the side, between the French students, if they should call the van to come pick them up...as it had left. Someone said I don't think my telephone works...maybe we can use one in town. The girl said with a laugh, “Telephones? In Fatick?” As if this was an impossible idea. I was going to tell her that my host dad has a $200 (U.S.) international cell phone that is probably the nicest I've ever seen. I also wanted to tell her that my host brothers have a computer in their room where they play basketball video games.

Aside from the French people, there is really not much else to say. I suppose its worth mentioning that two weeks ago, a 45 year old Marabou (Islamic spiritual leader) raped our 19 year old neighbor. The apparently also often do this sort of abuse to their Talibes, the young boys who study the Koran under their care. Unfortunately, it isn’t only the Catholic priests that do this sort of thing. Sad.

Also worth mentioning that I talked to my host sisters today and they told me that the girls in their school won regionally for math; spelling; and science. They said the boys are never in the top ten for these subjects. She said they always do well in art…and that the girls think doing art is a waste of time. I told her it was strange…This is opposite in the U.S. Funny how much perceived gender roles affect how well we do in school.