I posted some so pics from my friend Sara's Birthday party in Tamba.
http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/SaraSBday#
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Not Not Scared
Part of me is hesitant to write about the challenges I have been faced with this month in any specific sense. Part of me wants to keep what I write on here as positive and un-bitchy as possible, but another part of me is all it’s my blog, I can post whatever the hell I want, I can abstain from posting whatever the hell I want, I don’t owe anybody anything. Furthermore, it's a good story and ultimately a good example of the kind of adversity that I came here to experience- the kind that truly tests me. Here goes:
The village I live in is probably typical of many rural villages in Senegal and the rest of Africa. The people in my village are isolated from most outside influences, and this isolation manifests itself in completely unpredictable ways. In broad terms, the isolation of rural villages here provides avenues for world views that are both specialized and universal, and it has particularly validated world views that are patently unreasonable.
For example: In my village, without exception, parents buy special necklaces called gre-gries for their babies. These necklaces are purchased from the local witch doctor and are believed to protect the babies from harm. No problem there, right? Well, one day I was told matter-of-factly by someone in my village that gre-gries are much more than good luck charms: This person claimed that if someone shot a gun at a baby wearing a gre-grie, the bullet would "bounce off." What?! Luckily, gunshot wounds don't really pose a threat to babies here, but I would hate to see that theory tested. I said something to that effect, in an attempt to shake some logic into this person, but everyone else within earshot backed this person up and thus prompted a spirited debate about the "powers" of gre-gries. It was me against the village, and logic was no argument for them. They claimed that "people they knew" had actually seen the invincible shield qualities of the gre-gries against gunshot wounds. A mind-numbing percentage of Pulaars actually believe this, and our debate went on for several minutes, finally ending in a stalemate when I realized that I had absolutely no chance in changing their minds about what is ultimately a harmless, though completely illogical, belief. At the end of the day it really just bothered me that I had to prove something this elementary. And prove it to people to whom I could never hope to convince.
That's just a glance into the absurdity of Pulaar beliefs, but what about the folks who actually take this crackpot logic as irrefutable fact? I spend a lot of time with them, and I can honestly say that most of them are decent, well-intentioned people. The other day I found out that in some cases, they're just dangerously deluded.
This particular day started out like any other day during Ramadan. For me, this meant sitting under the tree in my compound all day attempting to appease the people in my village by socializing with them. What actually happens, though, is they talk over my head while I daydream and pretend to be intrigued with whatever they are saying, which I'm pretty sure isn't fooling anyone, since they all continue to discuss daily the all the progress I am failing to make in my Pulaar.
ANYWAY, I was just sitting there, not paying attention, when my host father came up to me and told me he wanted to show me something in my next door neighbor, Mama Igne's, backyard. He is always doing this sort of thing, coming up to me with this goofy look on his face and then proceeding to show me something insignificant that he thinks I will be amazed by. Sometimes it's an empty Fanta bottle he found, sometimes it's a dirty potato someone gave him; it's always something completely random but it's kind of endearing because I can tell that he thinks that seeing these things will make me happy because he thinks they will remind me of home.
So, with this in mind, I followed him into Mama Igne's backyard and obeyed when he told me to walk towards her douche area. Much to my horror, that tricky bastard had me walk right up to what appeared to be the brand new home of a bunch of big, scary snakes. For reasons I'm not really sure of, I didn't freak out that much. I sort of just abruptly turned around and got the hell out of there. Actually, now that I think about it, I wasn't that scared because I was positive that my dad was for-sure immediately going to get his machete and kill every last one of them.
If you're like me, when you see snakes, especially snakes in Africa, you want them dead. So, when I asked what I thought to be the perfectly logical question, "Well, aren't you going to kill them?" I was shocked when he said no. I then asked every other man that was in our compound at the time the same question, and when they all said no, I realized that things were about to take a turn for the worse.
What I could never fathom, and still can't, really, is the reason why nobody would kill the snakes: Pulaar people, at least the ones in my village, believe that if they kill a snake, their cows will die. To put this in context, it is worth noting that Pulaar people are herders. Owning a cow is the only real source of wealth any of the men in my village will ever have. Therefore, cattle are often the top priority. Maybe I'm overly sensitive, but I couldn't help but feel personally insulted when I found out that cattle even outrank me. That's a bitter pill to swallow.
I should have known it would be futile, but I attempted to reason with them. I mean, here's a fact of life: There are 9 different types of deadly snakes in Senegal. Yes, deadly. Especially for children and especially for people in remote villages -like the one I now call home- that are hours away from emergency medical care.
What's so disquieting to me is the fact that the only thing separating me from these snakes is a shoddy bamboo fence that is barely taller than I am and often falls down when it rains. Considering that, and the fact that getting over what I believe is a perfectly reasonable fear of deadly snakes is not on my "Personal Growth While In Senegal" to-do list, those were awfully depressing circumstances.
So, I thought, clearly there are problems here.
But it gets worse.
The thing I couldn't stop wondering about was how everyone universally decided to believe this farfetched madness. I don't wonder how they came up with this belief, because that query clearly has no answer. However, I still wonder why everyone decided to go along with it. How could everyone agree on something that could not be justified by anyone?
Finally, I can't take it anymore. I needed to process all of this, so I decided to go into my hut and write in my journal about everything and hopefully calm the F down. Instead, I walked into a full-on horror show when I set foot in my hut and saw something that was about 100 times scarier than the snakes I just saw- a prehistoric looking creature, about 3 feet long, probably 20 pounds, what I could only describe as either a freakishly huge lizard or a small crocodile. A few days later my friends in Tamba informed me that this monstrosity was actually called a monitor lizard, but that's actually beside the point. The point is, I walked into my room in an attempt to calm down, already mildly outraged about the current snake situation, only to find this huge, scary crocodile-looking thing come out from under my desk.
Now, I know that it might be called a monitor lizard, but this creature acted nothing like the lizard he is supposed to be. All of the lizards I have come in contact with in Senegal are great because they are horribly skittish and run as fast as they can away from any human they see. Not this guy, though. There I am, trying to ascertain the relative danger of the situation, and this freak is just staring me down. This is the only time my life that I have ever truly been paralyzed with fear. I mean, this is a problem few Americans will ever face: What do you do to avoid what you feel will be certain death? If you try to run, he will certainly be able to catch you, and then do god-knows what. For all I knew at the time, this thing probably was capable of any combination of breathing fire and engulfing me in flames, eating me, beating me to death with his tail, and probably many more unthinkable atrocities. There is no protocol for this kind of situation.
I faced the problem like a man and yelled for my older brother. I doubt if this kind of domestic exchange is common in places that are not rural Africa.
Anyway, my brother sees how freaked out I am, and given that he knows there are lots of snakes in the very near proximity of my hut, he is annoyingly hesitant to even come to my hut. Honestly, I really thought that Pulaar men were made of tougher stuff than this. He finally puts his shoes on and walks over to my hut. He asked me what was in my hut, but my speech had temporarily left me. Furthermore, even if it hadn't, I didn't know what this thing was called in English, let alone Pulaar. All I could muster in Pulaar was, "it's big, I'm scared." Finally he gets to my hut and sees it, and tells me that I shouldn't be scared.
At this point, I'm so pissed that I'm actually balling my fists in anger. I say, "I don't care if I shouldn't be scared, get it out!" My brother finally gets a stick and shoos it into my backyard and finally out of my douche area, through the same hole in my fence that the fer apparently entered through.
Now, I don't think of myself as overly prissy, but it bothered me to find this creature hanging out in my room. I was especially annoyed by the fact that my host father didn't seem to believe that the hole in my fence was big enough to bother fixing. I finally threw a temper tantrum as best as I could in Pulaar, and he compromised by shoving an old piece of wood in the hole, which of course was the most half-assed job ever.
That night, I was too scared to take a bucket bath, use the bathroom, or sleep outside. Since I don't have screen doors on my hut, I felt that the only safe decision for me was to sleep inside with both of my doors shut. It was ridiculously hot, I was paranoid, and didn't sleep at all. Furthermore, I was way too scared to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Somehow, though, I managed to not pee my pants and hold it until the morning. Well, at least I've been warned. From here on out, every casual trip to the bathroom has been turned into a scary game of snake/monitor lizard roulette.
The next day, I came to Tamba and have been here ever since. I have bought supplies to get screen doors made, and hopefully that will happen very soon after I go back tomorrow. The thing is, I'm still scared to go back. I just don't feel safe at all. I thought that spending some time here in Tamba would help me to relax and not be so stressed out about everything, but it really hasn't. The fact of the matter is that when I think about going back to my village, it makes me want to cry. I'm sure everything will be okay, but right now I just don't know.
So, that, in a nutshell, is The Story With The Snakes. Not that, you know, any of you were wondering but I felt the need to get it off my chest.
There. That’s better.
Maybe I'm just a big baby, but I honestly don't feel like I'm blowing this out of proportion. I am just going to keep telling myself that I'm tough. I can take it. Even the worst, crazy-filled, stressed-the-hell-out day. I'm lying to myself, of course, but I'm just going to abide by the fake-it-till-you-make-it philosophy.
The village I live in is probably typical of many rural villages in Senegal and the rest of Africa. The people in my village are isolated from most outside influences, and this isolation manifests itself in completely unpredictable ways. In broad terms, the isolation of rural villages here provides avenues for world views that are both specialized and universal, and it has particularly validated world views that are patently unreasonable.
For example: In my village, without exception, parents buy special necklaces called gre-gries for their babies. These necklaces are purchased from the local witch doctor and are believed to protect the babies from harm. No problem there, right? Well, one day I was told matter-of-factly by someone in my village that gre-gries are much more than good luck charms: This person claimed that if someone shot a gun at a baby wearing a gre-grie, the bullet would "bounce off." What?! Luckily, gunshot wounds don't really pose a threat to babies here, but I would hate to see that theory tested. I said something to that effect, in an attempt to shake some logic into this person, but everyone else within earshot backed this person up and thus prompted a spirited debate about the "powers" of gre-gries. It was me against the village, and logic was no argument for them. They claimed that "people they knew" had actually seen the invincible shield qualities of the gre-gries against gunshot wounds. A mind-numbing percentage of Pulaars actually believe this, and our debate went on for several minutes, finally ending in a stalemate when I realized that I had absolutely no chance in changing their minds about what is ultimately a harmless, though completely illogical, belief. At the end of the day it really just bothered me that I had to prove something this elementary. And prove it to people to whom I could never hope to convince.
That's just a glance into the absurdity of Pulaar beliefs, but what about the folks who actually take this crackpot logic as irrefutable fact? I spend a lot of time with them, and I can honestly say that most of them are decent, well-intentioned people. The other day I found out that in some cases, they're just dangerously deluded.
This particular day started out like any other day during Ramadan. For me, this meant sitting under the tree in my compound all day attempting to appease the people in my village by socializing with them. What actually happens, though, is they talk over my head while I daydream and pretend to be intrigued with whatever they are saying, which I'm pretty sure isn't fooling anyone, since they all continue to discuss daily the all the progress I am failing to make in my Pulaar.
ANYWAY, I was just sitting there, not paying attention, when my host father came up to me and told me he wanted to show me something in my next door neighbor, Mama Igne's, backyard. He is always doing this sort of thing, coming up to me with this goofy look on his face and then proceeding to show me something insignificant that he thinks I will be amazed by. Sometimes it's an empty Fanta bottle he found, sometimes it's a dirty potato someone gave him; it's always something completely random but it's kind of endearing because I can tell that he thinks that seeing these things will make me happy because he thinks they will remind me of home.
So, with this in mind, I followed him into Mama Igne's backyard and obeyed when he told me to walk towards her douche area. Much to my horror, that tricky bastard had me walk right up to what appeared to be the brand new home of a bunch of big, scary snakes. For reasons I'm not really sure of, I didn't freak out that much. I sort of just abruptly turned around and got the hell out of there. Actually, now that I think about it, I wasn't that scared because I was positive that my dad was for-sure immediately going to get his machete and kill every last one of them.
If you're like me, when you see snakes, especially snakes in Africa, you want them dead. So, when I asked what I thought to be the perfectly logical question, "Well, aren't you going to kill them?" I was shocked when he said no. I then asked every other man that was in our compound at the time the same question, and when they all said no, I realized that things were about to take a turn for the worse.
What I could never fathom, and still can't, really, is the reason why nobody would kill the snakes: Pulaar people, at least the ones in my village, believe that if they kill a snake, their cows will die. To put this in context, it is worth noting that Pulaar people are herders. Owning a cow is the only real source of wealth any of the men in my village will ever have. Therefore, cattle are often the top priority. Maybe I'm overly sensitive, but I couldn't help but feel personally insulted when I found out that cattle even outrank me. That's a bitter pill to swallow.
I should have known it would be futile, but I attempted to reason with them. I mean, here's a fact of life: There are 9 different types of deadly snakes in Senegal. Yes, deadly. Especially for children and especially for people in remote villages -like the one I now call home- that are hours away from emergency medical care.
What's so disquieting to me is the fact that the only thing separating me from these snakes is a shoddy bamboo fence that is barely taller than I am and often falls down when it rains. Considering that, and the fact that getting over what I believe is a perfectly reasonable fear of deadly snakes is not on my "Personal Growth While In Senegal" to-do list, those were awfully depressing circumstances.
So, I thought, clearly there are problems here.
But it gets worse.
The thing I couldn't stop wondering about was how everyone universally decided to believe this farfetched madness. I don't wonder how they came up with this belief, because that query clearly has no answer. However, I still wonder why everyone decided to go along with it. How could everyone agree on something that could not be justified by anyone?
Finally, I can't take it anymore. I needed to process all of this, so I decided to go into my hut and write in my journal about everything and hopefully calm the F down. Instead, I walked into a full-on horror show when I set foot in my hut and saw something that was about 100 times scarier than the snakes I just saw- a prehistoric looking creature, about 3 feet long, probably 20 pounds, what I could only describe as either a freakishly huge lizard or a small crocodile. A few days later my friends in Tamba informed me that this monstrosity was actually called a monitor lizard, but that's actually beside the point. The point is, I walked into my room in an attempt to calm down, already mildly outraged about the current snake situation, only to find this huge, scary crocodile-looking thing come out from under my desk.
Now, I know that it might be called a monitor lizard, but this creature acted nothing like the lizard he is supposed to be. All of the lizards I have come in contact with in Senegal are great because they are horribly skittish and run as fast as they can away from any human they see. Not this guy, though. There I am, trying to ascertain the relative danger of the situation, and this freak is just staring me down. This is the only time my life that I have ever truly been paralyzed with fear. I mean, this is a problem few Americans will ever face: What do you do to avoid what you feel will be certain death? If you try to run, he will certainly be able to catch you, and then do god-knows what. For all I knew at the time, this thing probably was capable of any combination of breathing fire and engulfing me in flames, eating me, beating me to death with his tail, and probably many more unthinkable atrocities. There is no protocol for this kind of situation.
I faced the problem like a man and yelled for my older brother. I doubt if this kind of domestic exchange is common in places that are not rural Africa.
Anyway, my brother sees how freaked out I am, and given that he knows there are lots of snakes in the very near proximity of my hut, he is annoyingly hesitant to even come to my hut. Honestly, I really thought that Pulaar men were made of tougher stuff than this. He finally puts his shoes on and walks over to my hut. He asked me what was in my hut, but my speech had temporarily left me. Furthermore, even if it hadn't, I didn't know what this thing was called in English, let alone Pulaar. All I could muster in Pulaar was, "it's big, I'm scared." Finally he gets to my hut and sees it, and tells me that I shouldn't be scared.
At this point, I'm so pissed that I'm actually balling my fists in anger. I say, "I don't care if I shouldn't be scared, get it out!" My brother finally gets a stick and shoos it into my backyard and finally out of my douche area, through the same hole in my fence that the fer apparently entered through.
Now, I don't think of myself as overly prissy, but it bothered me to find this creature hanging out in my room. I was especially annoyed by the fact that my host father didn't seem to believe that the hole in my fence was big enough to bother fixing. I finally threw a temper tantrum as best as I could in Pulaar, and he compromised by shoving an old piece of wood in the hole, which of course was the most half-assed job ever.
That night, I was too scared to take a bucket bath, use the bathroom, or sleep outside. Since I don't have screen doors on my hut, I felt that the only safe decision for me was to sleep inside with both of my doors shut. It was ridiculously hot, I was paranoid, and didn't sleep at all. Furthermore, I was way too scared to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Somehow, though, I managed to not pee my pants and hold it until the morning. Well, at least I've been warned. From here on out, every casual trip to the bathroom has been turned into a scary game of snake/monitor lizard roulette.
The next day, I came to Tamba and have been here ever since. I have bought supplies to get screen doors made, and hopefully that will happen very soon after I go back tomorrow. The thing is, I'm still scared to go back. I just don't feel safe at all. I thought that spending some time here in Tamba would help me to relax and not be so stressed out about everything, but it really hasn't. The fact of the matter is that when I think about going back to my village, it makes me want to cry. I'm sure everything will be okay, but right now I just don't know.
So, that, in a nutshell, is The Story With The Snakes. Not that, you know, any of you were wondering but I felt the need to get it off my chest.
There. That’s better.
Maybe I'm just a big baby, but I honestly don't feel like I'm blowing this out of proportion. I am just going to keep telling myself that I'm tough. I can take it. Even the worst, crazy-filled, stressed-the-hell-out day. I'm lying to myself, of course, but I'm just going to abide by the fake-it-till-you-make-it philosophy.
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