Monday, June 3, 2013

Blessings

This week another day at the Kolda house means another blog post, and since the last one was all about me on a personal level, this one is all about work.

I am pleased to report that my second (and last) construction project in SPB was finished on schedule and our middle school now has a well! Once again, I want to thank everyone who donated. In Muslim cultures building a well gets you major points in the heavenly rewards department; it's the ultimate good deed to give someone access to the sacred element of life. I guess this makes sense in a religion that initially spread over some very hot and dry parts of our earth. So, aside from the regular good karma of helping out my neighbors, I feel like I've incurred an extra big blessing by helping to make this happen (and so have you by extension). I didn't really intend to do any big projects of this kind when I first installed, but it was hard to say no when there was really so little I had to do. The teachers and principal organized everything and provided the motivation as well as some of the funds themselves. All I had to do was write a proposal, take some pictures, ask for a little help from back home and then sit back and watch everyone else carry out the work. This is the ideal grant project as far as a Peace Corps volunteer is concerned and I feel very fortunate that it all went so smoothly. You can check out the final report with pictures by clicking here.

The other blessing that came out of this project was a much closer relationship between me and the SPB middle school. I had gotten to know a couple of the teachers before, but since this spring I've had the pleasure of spending time with all of them and am glad to have that many more people who I consider friends. On the whole they are generous and funny and hard-working, and the more time I spend with them the more I want to join in their efforts to make that school the best darn CEM (that's a middle school) in the region! It was this sentiment that encouraged me to join the ranks of PCVs who are participating in the Michelle Sylvester Scholarship Program this year. The program aims to address the issue of girls' education in Senegal. While enrollment at the elementary school level is fairly equal between boys and girls, by middle school girls' enrollment drops incrementally with each year. Early marriage accounts for some of this, but many families simply pull their daughters out of school to help with the housekeeping. When a family's resources are limited they tend to favor boys' education, assuming that inscription fees are wasted on a daughter who will only grow up to be someone's wife. Consequently, many girls have trouble imagining futures for themselves outside of the traditional roles of wives and mothers, and the cycle continues. The Michelle Sylvester Scholarship is awarded to nine girls, three from each of the three middle school grade levels. They are chosen by the faculty based on their academic standing as well as their need. The funds are used to pay for their tuition fees and school supplies for the coming school year. As a woman who was raised to believe she could be anything she wanted (instead of or in addition to becoming a wife and mother), as a Barnard woman, as someone who has been blessed in so many ways, I feel compelled to do what I can to encourage educational equality in this country. I am able to be in the Peace Corps without stressing about student loans waiting for me when I get back home thanks to the generosity of someone who saw value in women's education for its own sake, for its potential to improve our world. I am here, doing for others, proud to be making good on his investment, and an opportunity to pay it forward presents itself. But I am but a poor Peace Corps volunteer, so (get ready, here it comes) I am asking one last time for support from home. Unlike other charities, organizations, initiatives you could give your money to, you know exactly where this is going and who it benefits. I'll even show you a picture of their happy smiling faces if you want! But in order to do that we need to give these girls something to smile about and that's where you come in. If you feel inclined to help out with the MSS program click here. When you donate please write in the comments section “This donation is to support MSS scholarships in Cibyl Delaire’s village of Sare Pathe Bouya.” To give you an idea of how far the dollar goes in the Senegalese school system, a $20 donation would pay for a year's tuition and all the school supplies a girl needs. Let's show these girls that they are worth it!

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Home of the Brave


One of the comments I got most from people when I decided to join the Peace Corps was, “You’re so brave!” I think most volunteers get this from people back home at some point and I think most volunteers think, as I do, that it’s a funny choice of adjective. None of us feel particularly brave… a thick-skinned variety of crazy perhaps, but really that’s all it takes to deal with the big bugs, the lack of amenities, the weird food and the challenges of learning a new language and culture. Many of these, once you get used to them, also offer their fair share of joys… even the bugs. So “brave” doesn’t feel quite right. No one considers himself brave unless he’s trying to be a hero, which I think very few people are. But, humility aside, I’ve come to realize that “brave” isn’t so far off the mark; it’s just that the bravery that Peace Corps service requires is so much more mundane than most people realize. It’s nothing more that the courage to endure a bad day and find the love.
I’ve had plenty of bad days over the last two years and most of the time they come and go so quickly that I hardly ever make note of them. But sometimes I have several in a row and then I end up feeling so wretched and angry and desperate that I start to wonder what I’m even doing here. I think it’s pretty common for volunteers to do this, to turn our knocks into nostalgia for America. Homesickness is a predatory emotion and it preys primarily on sadness and frustration. We forget that bad days happen in America too; it’s just that there we have a wealth of coping mechanisms, while here we have so few. In the states you can always go home and relax with a cold beer or a nice glass of wine or a good strong margarita, depending on the kind of bad day you just had. Indeed you can, within reason, drink, eat, watch or do whatever you want, go wherever you want, see whoever you want. And these are just the tangible differences one can put a finger on. I bet you don’t even realize how nice it is that your bad day at least unfolds in your own language. I don’t mean to imply that I am without my comforts (a nice long walk in the woods is just as curative here as back home), its’ just that they are few and they are small and so I don’t depend on them for much relief. My method now is of the “buck up and deal” variety, and this is where you could say the bravery comes into play. There’s no real escape from a bad day in Saré Pathé – I live and work, eat, sleep and relax all in one tiny village and the population expects a certain level of cheerfulness and gregariousness on my part. Sometimes it’s this expectation in and of itself that is the cause of my bad mood, but how could I possibly explain this? Two years ago Nafi was a baby, barely able to express herself. She developed into an out-going, curious and loveable child. Unfortunately she is lately going through an angst-y teenaged phase. She is grumpy and wants to be left alone sometimes, not asked if she is sick or if she misses her mom in America or if she is mad that we are having leaf sauce for dinner again. It can be hard to buck up when you don’t know what you are bucking against.
After some reflection I’ve come to think that this moodiness I’ve been feeling in village is the poorest of the poor man’s coping mechanisms. It is starting to sink in that in a few months I’m going to have to say goodbye to these people who I love so dearly and that there is a good chance I may never see them again. This is heartbreaking, to say the least, and I’m not able to think about it without welling up. So a happy Nafi, watching Wiyé make himself dizzy and fall down giggling quickly turns into a misty-eyed, broken-hearted Nafi. If I am a pill, if I withdraw from my host family into reveries of burritos and close-toed shoes, I don’t feel the heartbreak. But I also don’t feel the joy and love that makes this experience worthwhile. I didn’t come here to be a hero or get badass points for braving the big bugs and the hole in the ground that is my toilet. I came here for the love. So I am resolved to go back to village with the courage to face those bittersweet feelings that are going to dominate the next four months of my life. It will be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I just hope it’s enough to push teenaged Nafi into adulthood before we have to leave SPB for good. Besides, who can help but be in love when this is the kind of thing that happens right outside your hut?
Peanuts stretching in the sand - Baby Cibyl and Tiyo






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