Ramadan Returns

Guess what? Ramadan starts this month.

I don't have to like it, I don't have to enjoy it, but I do need to prepare for it, and that involves me typing this pathetic blog post in a desperate attempt to gain your pity, which ideally will manifest as Ramadan survival care packages being sent my way. I have no shame.

For a variety of reasons, I have decided not to partake in the melodrama lose-lose transaction that is otherwise known as Ramadan. I (somewhat) fasted last year (for about 2 weeks) and can say firsthand that my experience during Ramadan last year was sub-optimal at absolute best, and that's even a stretch.

Last year, partly because I wanted to score bonus points with my family and partly because of the unique opportunity I have here to learn about Islam (nearly upwards of 95% of people here are Muslim), I decided to attempt to participate in Ramadan and all of the madness that goes along with it. In order to legitimately fast according to the rules in the Quran while also avoiding what I feared to be significant health damage to my already malnourished and angry body, I simply learned to be duplicitous in my fasting. Although the rules about fasting during Ramadan are few and simple- no consumption of food, water, or even spit (yes, spit) from sunrise to sunset- I decided to be a maverick and interpret the rules in my own pampered, pagan way, since after all, that's what I am.

I decided right from the get-go that waking up before sunrise to eat breakfast with my family was just not something I was even remotely interested in. I mean, I'm not even Muslim, for crying out loud. And it's pretty much common knowledge to anyone that knows me that I get very angry when my sleep gets arbitrarily interrupted. I classify religious dogmatic practices as "arbitrary," and as such, I choose to continue my normal morning routine: wake up, make coffee, make breakfast, prepare to exit my hut and face the world.

This, of course, is cheating; but that was the best effort I was prepared to make. I cannot fathom any reason that could ever possibly motivate me to follow all of the fasting rules for Ramadan with any degree of seriousness, but found it was best to pretend otherwise.

During Ramadan, I cheated in the mornings and legitimately fasted for the rest of the day: I would wake up at a decent hour (after sunrise, of course), eat oatmeal and drink coffee within the confines of my hut, and then exit my hut and fast for real with everyone else in my village until sunset. Well, I guess I never really took the "can't even swallow your own spit" rule to heart, mostly because in addition to being the most ridiculous rule within the entire idiocy that govern a Muslim persons life (with a few exceptions) during Ramadan, it also just seemed tedious.

I fasted in this manner for about a week. It wasn't so bad, really. It sucked pretty badly not being able to drink water, given the fact that this is AFRICA and, in general, GOD AWFUL HOT ALL THE TIME, but I wanted to push myself, so I held out.

For the most part, the fasting I did was bearable. Much to my surprise, it didn't lead to my immediate death, which was a nice victory. I felt like crap from head to toe much more frequently as the days wore on, however. My self-imposed deprivation also put me permanently on edge. Moody, angry, depressed, nauseated- you name it. I was a pleasure to be around, I'm sure. Yet all of that melodrama was not even the worst part of this lose-lose cultural exchange; it was just the most depressing part.

The element of this fiasco that proved to be the most demoralizing happened at the end of the first week. Upon exiting my hut one morning, the first person I saw skipped all morning greetings (that never happens) and immediately asked me, "what's wrong with your face?" Nobody wants to hear that first thing in the morning. Or ever, actually. I never look in the mirror when I'm in the village, so the fact that there was something gross on my face was news to me. When I finally located my mirror, the sight I saw was -at that time- gross enough to be the worst of all the other "ugly face explosion" atrocities that I had encountered in this country. My entire face was covered in a disgusting heat rash. Apparently my body decided to get back at me for depriving it of the all-too-important source of life that we call water. Looking at my disgusting face and knowing that I did it to myself was definitely a low point. Right then and there, I decided that I would lift my ban on drinking water during the day, but I would only drink water in secret. I don't think I was fooling anyone, but for the rest of the time that I claimed to be legitimately fasting, I would periodically "go to the bathroom" throughout the day- "going to the bathroom" being code for "pathetically chugging water in the privacy of my douche." I am happy to report that my face healed, in time, with no permanent damage, unless of course you count the damage done to my ever-shrinking dignity.

All in all, my diabolical fasting experiment proved successful for about two weeks (if "success" can be measured by survival). Forced starvation and dehydration made me a crankier, scarier person than I already was. It's not uncommon. Turns out, it happens to lots of people. By the end of the month, the people in my village were just grumpy, mean, annoying, and impatient, significantly more so than usual.

Ramadan is the harvester of sorrow. There. I said it. It's true. My opinion has not decreased in intensity over the past year whatsoever.

So that's get's us to the present. Ramadan will most likely start August 21st, depending on what the moon decides to do. I am not looking forward to Ramadan in any way, shape, or form. Shocker, I know. I do not plan on attempting to fast, nor do I plan on lying to anyone about it. People will give me shit, but I just don't care.

I am already mentally preparing myself for Ramadan: I know I won't be able to get much work done, I know that I am going to be annoyed with Senegalese people and Senegal in general, and I also know that I am probably going to go hungry, since lunch is going to be a difficult meal to come by for the entirety of Ramadan. Like it or not, this means that in all likelihood, I will often be forced to fast, anyway.**

Unless, of course, my loving friends and family in America (that's you all) take pity on me and send me Ramadan survival care packages. I know it's pathetic to so shamelessly petition like this, but I'm not above begging.

There is a handy dandy wish list on the right column of this screen with plenty of ideas for potential care packages. It's not terribly expensive to mail large envelopes, and there are also two different sizes of international flat-rate boxes at the post office. Anything helps. Thank you, in advance. Thanks for caring about my mental and physical well being, and thank you for reading this post of shameless begging and (hopefully) not judging me too much for it. Finally, thank you for putting up with me. Every little thing- letter, package, phone call, ect- means so much to me and brightens my life in a very significant way. So, thanks for everything you all have done for me in the past, and thanks in advance for anything in the future.

Hope everyone is happy and healthy and enjoying the last few weeks of summer!

(Sidenote: Luckily for me, I can afford to loose a few pounds. I'm not in the red zone, so it's not like I'm going to starve to death, as much as I might be making it out to seem that way.)

Taking It To A Whole New Level: Adventures in Fording Rivers

Here's how you get to my village: 2 hour car ride, bike 20K on a paved road, then bike 5K on a really quality bush path. The entire bike ride is gloriously flat, the road never floods, and there are approximately 2 patches of sand/mud on the entire journey that could be considered less than pristine.

Here's how my friend Daniel get's to his village:

Yes, that's me in the picture. Yes, I'm fording a river. No joke. That's how you get to his village: fording a river and biking 30K up a mountain. Geez.

When Daniel and I were getting ready to leave Kedougou for his village, he said, "make sure you wear clothes you don't care about, because you'll be filthy by the time you get to my village." I said, "Ok" out loud, but what I really wanted to say was, No fing shit, Daniel. I didn't forget that this is Senegal, you know. Normally, filthy just means "covered in sweat and dirt/mud." For Daniel, however, "filthy" means "chin deep in ambiguous river water."

Anyway, after biking a few kilometers, we reach the river. I looked for a bridge of some sort, but was suprised when I didn't see any. "What do we do?" I ask. Daniel, the most positive person I've ever met, just smiles at me and says, "we cross it." Oh, right, right, we cross it. Sounds like a good idea. I stare blankly as Daniel sets down his bike, holds his backpack over his head, and begins to walk to the other side. I'm alarmed when I see that the water is all the way up to his chest. He's several inches taller than me, and it seemed very likely that the water would be over my head.

Figuring that there was only one way to find out, I put my ipod/phone/camera in the top of my backpack, put my backpack on my head, and carefully made my way to the other side. I was so very happy to find out that the water didn't go over my head, which insured that my iPod- and the rest of my lesser important things- made it safely to the other side. Thank God.

Daniel was already back on the other side at that point, and I watched dumbfounded as he lifted his bike over his head and began to make the trek back. Shit. We have heavy mountain bikes, by the way. I realized that there was no other way to cross and that I had to be strong enough to do this myself. So, I get to the other side, attempt to lift my bike over my head, but can't do it myself. This is going to suck, I correctly predict. Luckily, there was a kid on the bank that helped me get the bike over my head.

I then began to ford the river, wholly aware of the absurdity of the entire situation. My arms shook a lot but managed to hold out, much to my surprise. I had been certain that I didn't have the strength or endurance to carry my bike like that all the way to the other side. Certain. I usually have a fairly realistic gague as far as realizing what I am and am not capable of, so it was a pleasant surprise to be wrong. I simply had to make it, and I did.

I joined the Peace Corps largely because I wanted to become more capable and self-reliant in life, in general. It's really important to me to be able to know that I can take care of myself. I was in no way prepared for the obstacles it would take here for me to learn these lessons, but I've been here for almost a year and a half, and I've survived. Thrived, even. It took fording a river for me to realize how far I've come, but it was a happy realization.

Anyway, the fording of the river is really all I wanted to write about. The pictures from the rest of the trip- which include an amazing waterfall and views from the top of a mountain- are here:

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/Dindafello

I Predict A Riot. Or Also: Amber Helps Out With Mosquito Net Distributions

Malaria season has arrived, and so pretty much all of my work right now is devoted to malaria-related activities. The 20,000 nets that Peace Corps Senegal collectively raised money for have finally arrived in Dakar and are being brought out to our sites every day. Our country director recently sent an e-mail saying that he and my boss, the Health Education program director, presented to the USAID and CDC US-based President’s Malaria Initiative team this week, and they said that Peace Corps Senegal volunteers are doing more than any other group of PCVs in the world to fight malaria deaths and illness. That's pretty cool, right? Our country director has done a great job of collaborating with other NGO's. We are working with USAID, NetLife, Against Malaria, Malaria No More, and World Vision to hopefully be able to achieve universal coverage in health districts all over Senegal. He even said that there's a good chance that through this coalition it might be possible to have enough resources for a universal coverage campaign this year for the entire health district of Velingara, which just so happens to be my health district. I'm so excited for the next couple months. Malaria-related work is the area I am most passionate about here, and it is also the most fulfilling work I do. I just got a call saying that the nets for my village are being delivered tomorrow, and I couldn't be more excited! Well, actually I could maybe be a little more excited, and here's why:

A few days ago I went to my friend Jessica's site, Malem Niani, to help out with her mosquito net distribution. She had 1,000 to distribute, and so 2 other volunteers and I went there to help her out. She organized everything really well, and so it seemed like it wouldn't be that tough of a job. Man was I wrong. Her town has 2 neighborhoods, one has mostly Pulaar people in it, the other with mostly Mandinka. Jessica and the two other girls that came all speak Mandinka, so I was put in charge of doing the Pulaar half. There was one other girl that came with me to help, but she was just a friend visiting Jessica who obviously didn't speak Pulaar and so couldn't really do that much. Jessica's host father and another health worker from that town were also supposed to help me out with crowd control and whatnot, but they did not do anything that I would even remotely think of considering "helpful."

Here's how the distribution was supposed to go: I had a list of every head of household in the Pulaar neighborhood with the corresponding number of mosquito nets requested for each family. There was a little math involved, but nothing a first grader couldn't do. There was a column on the right with the total number of nets each family needed, a column on the far left with the number of nets each family received during a recent national distribution which gave mosquito nets to pregnant women and kids 5 and younger, and then a blank column in the middle. A + X = C. Not exactly rocket science. Sounds easy enough, right?

Logistically, we had a table to sit at in a fenced in area that would have been perfect for limiting the number of people in my face at any given time, but Jessica's dad and the health worker didn't agree. While we were still setting up our demonstration net and getting everything ready, people started wandering into the gated area where we were. I told them that we weren't ready yet and kindly asked them to wait outside, but in a trend that was doomed to happen over and over again, nobody listened to me. You know who they would have listened to? The two Senegalese men who were there for just that reason. So, I asked Jessica's father to ask the people to wait outside, and he responded by saying, "oh, it's ok, we haven't even started yet." It was the first battle in the people of Malem Niani's war against me.

We got everything set up, and I tell them that we should start. Well, not without Jessica's dad taking the paper from me and telling me how to do my job. I tried to stop him, but he ignored me. He seemed to be of the opinion that because I'm a woman and he's a man, he is automatically the authority and I automatically am incompetent and inferior. It's a nice feeling, really, to work with people who think you're an idiot. Happens all the time. Anyway, after he tells me how to do my job we decide to back outside and get started because, hey, the Senegalese people are already there.

As I walk back out to our table, I see at least 50 Senegalese people hanging out in the closed off area that I had planned to use as a barricade so that this exact situation would never happen. There's no way I could have got that many people out of there without the help and authority of Jessica's dad and the health worker, but they are both socializing with people and I can't even get them to look at me. As I take stock of the situation, the one singular phrase that went through my head was "Holy fing shit." However, those were not the words I spoke. I just sat down, looked around, and attempted to take control of the mob. I don't know why I thought it would work, but I attempted to get the mob of people surrounding me on all sides to form a line. That was a bad choice. Now that I'm thinking about it, I've been here for almost a year and a half, and I have never seen Senegalese people form a line. The closest thing I've ever seen to a line here is at the bank. There's a guard with a gun in there at all times, and he even has to hand out numbered tickets to get people to not swarm the poor tellers there. The guy with the gun can't even get them to line up by his own authority, yet I still tried. I guess it's just the American in me. The reason I wanted to barricade them in the first place is because I didn't even consider the remote possibility of allowing everyone in at the same time and thinking that they might be orderly in any way.

I immediately realized that I had no control over these people, so I just decided that I might as well get started. It can't be that bad, I thought. I looked up and asked the first person I saw for the name of their head of household, which proved to be more difficult than it seems. First of all, it was often the women or kids that came to pick up their family's nets. No matter how many times I said, "head of household's name only," people still would tell me names that weren't on the list. So, I'd ask if they were absolutely sure that the name they gave me is the name of the head of their household and then check the list numerous times, just to be sure. At this point, I realize that the person in question is just giving me the wrong name, but Jessica's dad is sitting on my right, and the health worker is standing behind me, and they both repeatedly insist that I just look harder. Say the name I'm looking for is Amadou Diallo. The list was in alphabetical order by first names, so all I had to do was look on the first page. The Senegalese men I was surrounded with did not seem to grasp the concept of alphabetical order, and therefore repeatedly yelled at me to look at the other pages, for chrissake. I finally got on as much of a roll as was possible, but iit was still way more difficult than it should have been.

An executive decision was then made by Jessica's dad, who, of course, knows what's best, and I am ordered to just start calling out each name on the list. I mean, by that point basically every person on that list was jammed all around me, so it seemed that it couldn't possibly be any worse of a method than the one we were currently using.

What ensued can only be described as unadulterated chaos. [Jessica came over to check on us at one point and was horrified at what she saw. She took the above pictures but was too overwhelmed by the mob to really capture the insanity of the situation.] I started yelling out each name, and would say it twice just to make sure that everyone heard me, or at least had the opportunity to hear me if they weren't engaged in their own conversations. For reasons I'm not quite sure, Jessica's dad was in a very big hurry. Senegalese people, especially those who live in rural areas, are never in a hurry. Literally never. This guy, however, was. I tried telling him to calm down, but by that point had learned that his ears were inaudible to my voice. In what I can only believe had to be an attempt to see just how much I could take, he then begins to alternate screaming at me to go on with yelling at me to slow down. I couldn't do anything right. It was without a doubt the most needlessly stressful experience I have ever had in this country. I found myself just wanting to take a nap right then and there. But I (of course) didn't do that. I could always sleep later, after I finished crying.

I could go on and on describing the ensuing maelstrom of events that continued to kick my ass that day, but I think I've said enough. Suffice it to say that it was a full-on horror show that made me want to thow things. Things like daggars at all of the people who didn't respect me because I'm a woman, or because I'm young, or whatever other myraid of reasons they might have had. By the end of it all, I barely had a voice, had absolutely no love in my heart for Senegalese people, was seriously questioning why I ever came to this country in the first place, and, for the first time in my life, was so stressed out that I wanted a cigarette.

The good news, though, is that I know that soon I will be able to laugh about it all. Sometimes, when it seems like things couldn't possibly suck any more, I just tell myself that eventually I will be able to laugh about whatever the situation is. And it's true. For example, at one point during all of the madness, I just couldn't take being yelled at anymore and decided to stop everything and count to ten. Out loud. In Pulaar. God, those people must have thought I was crazy, but at least the yelling stopped and I got to take some deep breaths. It certainly was not fun to have to remind myself to breathe. And think rational thoughts. But now, it's already pretty funny to me.

The one thing that I still am frustrated about, though, is how nobody said thank you at all that day. They didn't realize or appreciate how many people went in to making this happen for them, and it really bothered me. It made me realize that I am somewhat skeptical of the effectiveness of a program that hands out free nets to people, whether they want them or not. Yes, insecticide-treated bed nets can protect people from being bitten by malarial mosquitoes while they sleep, thus significantly lowering malaria infections and deaths. No one is disputing that. Of course the over 20,000 nets that we Peace Corps Senegal volunteers are bringing into our communities will make progress on malaria, but I can't help but wonder if giving out mosquito nets like Santa Claus is just too easy. Last year, mosquito nets didn't arrive at all to the entire region of Tambacounda, so people had an excuse for why they didn't have one. This year, mosquito nets are coming, inschallah (God willing). I just want these nets to get to those who both value them and need them.

Maybe my doubts are unfounded. Yes, I am personally delivering enough mosquito nets for every single sleeping space in my village. Yes, they may not in fact value their mosquito nets as much as ones they would have purchased with their hard-earned money. But guess what? I'll make them value their pretty new nets! I will make sure that every single net that you all helped raise money for is properly hung and utilized. I will harass them until they realize it's less annoying to sleep under a mosquito net than be bothered by my incessant nagging every night. I guess that's where this Against Malaria strategy wins and other aid agency's fail; whereas the majority of aid administrators and celebrities blindly give hundreds of thousands of nets away every year to god-knows where, Against Malaria nets go to specific communities where their effectiveness or lack thereof can be evaluated.

Now that I've had a few days to think about the distribution in Malem Niani and my upcoming distribution in my village, I've calmed down a lot about things. My mosquito nets will be here tomorrow, and I'm so excited! The driver is going to take them to my village tomorrow, and I will probably start distributing the nets on Thursday, that way I can have time to help out other volunteers in the region who have much larger distributions to do. I've decided that I'm going to go door-to-door to distribute the nets, rather than doing it all at once. I figure my village is small enough for that to be a feasible option, and by doing it door-to-door I will be able to make sure people hang their nets correctly and do mini health talks with each person. This way I will also be able to make sure that they don't have any standing water (mosquitoes breed in water) and that their compounds are swept clean (mosquitoes also like to hang out in dirty compounds).

After I get done handing out the nets, I am planning on doing a big health talk with the whole village about all things malaria. I'm going to show them how to make homemade mosquito repellent lotion and give lots away as party favors.

Thank you to all of you who helped raise money for these nets. My village is going to be so very happy, too. Check back here in a week or two and hopefully I will have pictures and video posted of my distribution. And thanks, again for making all of this possible.

4th of July Festivities in Kedougou

Happy (belated) 4th of July! I went down to Kedougou- a city a couple hours south of Tamba, if that means anything to you- for their annual 4th of July party, and it was a really fun time. Alan, one of the Kedougou region volunteers, organized a 5K for the morning of the 4th. There was a pretty solid turnout by volunteers and Senegalese people alike. Just to clarify, when I say Senegalese people, I mean Senegalese men. I think that the day a Senegalese woman participates in a race alongside Senegalese men and a bunch of toubabs (whitey's) is a ways away.

Anyway, as we all predicted, the Senegalese people dominated. The guy that won finished in like 8 and a half minutes. That. Is. So. Fast. I was a long ways away from the finish line at that time, but I'm told that it was several minutes before the second person finished. 14 Senegalese people finished before an American finally crossed the line. That is just domination. Oh, and, that guy, Alan, just happened to be the guy who organized the run because he is a crazy runner and has done several triathlons and I think even marathons, too. Whereas my goal was to finish without dying first from my hangover or heatstroke, Alan was in it to win. But (of course) it's not like the finishing times for the majority of the rest of us volunteers really mattered, since we didn't really view our shot of winning and/or beating Senegalese people with any degree of seriousness, we were not clutch. I guess I just am not giving the Senegalese people enough credit, but I was pretty surprised that they did so well.

So, after the rest of us finally finished, Thomas, another Kedougou volunteer who helped organize everything, got on the microphone and talked about when Independence Day was, how many states there are in America- not 52, which a surprising number of Senegalese people will argue- and other bits of random American history. Then we had an awards ceremony. The prize for first place was 3 (live) chickens, and I think the Senegalese guy was pretty stoked about that. The other winners all got Obama paraphneillia; flip flops, t-shirts, hologram belts. Yes, I said Obama hologram belts. Isn't that awesome? There is so much Obama stuff here it's borderline ridiculous.

Anyway, after the awards ceremony Thomas spoke a little about what the Peace Corps is and the different kinds of work we do in that area. Then, we gave away little American flags, which I promptly saw someone begin to use as a tooth stick, the things that they use to brush their teeth here. We also gave out neem cream, which is a homeade mosquito repellent. All in all, I think the run was a great idea. The Senegalese people had a good time, got some free stuff, and learned a little about America and the Peace Corps. Not bad.

The rest of the day/night was devoted to partying back at the Kedougou regional house and celebrating America. The link to the pictures is here:

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/4thOfJuly#

To America And Back, My Triumphant Return To Senegal

Hi everyone! I hope this post finds everyone in good health and spirits. It's been a while since I've posted anything on here and I figured I should post something just as proof that I haven't fallen of the face of the earth.

As you all know, I was in America from the end of April to the beginning of June. I wish my visit could have been under happier circumstances, but I was still happy to get to do some fun things and see much missed family and friends.

It was pretty surreal being home. I mean, I had been totally immersed in Senegalese culture and was thus in various stages of shock at being suddenly thrust back into America. I stayed with my mom and marveled at how easy life seemed with round-the-clock electricity and all the water and television I could want. Even though Oklahoma in May gets decently hot and humid, no one seemed to smell. I took sightseeing tours of supermarkets, oohing and aahing my way up and down the aisles after more than a year of deprivation. It seemed both normal and unreal to transition back to life in America and all its urban-sprawling, soul-killing efficiency. It was great to sleep in my amazingly comfortable bed, but I oddly missed going to bed when the stars were clear above my stick bed and waking up to a rooster crowing, often while staring right at me about 2 inches from my mosquito net. At the end of the day, regardless of the unexpected news that sent me back to Tulsa so abruptly, I was so very happy to be able to attend Ashley and Amanda's wedding.

After more than 2 months of being out of my village, it was great to get back. I think they were shocked that I actually came back, but I guess I can't really blame them for that. As soon as one person from the village saw me approaching on my bike, everyone ran out to the bush path to greet me with, "Bintaje arii!!" (Binta came!) over and over again. Binta is my name and Bintaje is a term of endearment that they always use whenever I return to the village, even if I just left for the day. Given that I had been gone for a considerably longer time, everyone came out to greet me, some women danced, and everyone greeted me in the most heartwarming way. Every person that greeted me made sure to say, "Yo Allah yaafi Allah yurmi," which means, "may God forgive him and comfort him." They all knew that my dad had passed away, and I really appreciated their sincere blessings. At the risk of sounding too Koombaya, I truly felt that I had finally come home. I just am so lucky to have been placed in Kountanto (my village). I honestly feel at home when I'm in the village, because it's not just this place that I happen to live and work in; it's my home. I really love the people there and I'm fairly certain the feeling is mutual, which is certainly far from the situation with certain "family" members of mine in America. My family in Kountanto knows more about family- love, compassion, respect, generosity, ect- than several people who, as the result of what can best be called a technicality, I happen to share DNA and a last name with.

I showed everyone pictures I had brought back from Ashley and Amanda's wedding and they were very impressed. Senegalese people LOVE pictures. There's a whole routine that goes along with how they view pictures: First, they touch the people's faces in the picture. They then point to each person and start by asking if the person in question is me. It's so funny because more often than not, they are pointing to a man when they ask. It was borderline acceptable when they would do that to pictures of Michael and I because all of the pictures I have of us are of me with long hair and Michael with, well, Michael hair. You just do not see men with shaggy hair here, so I guess it threw them off to see such pretty hair on a man. Anyway, after they figure out which one is me, they ask who everyone else is, in terms of familial relationship. Pulaar's have ridiculously huge families, and I am constantly getting introduced to "my sister's dad's second wife's niece" or something equally mind boggling. As I've said, I have a tiny family in America, so when we get into "second cousin once removed" terrority, especially in another language, my eyes start to glaze over. Very early on I realized that it would save me time and confusion to just tune out when anyone explains their relationship to anyone, least of all me. I just have a quick daydream, wait for them to finish, then say, "Ohhh, I get it now" and then aknowledge that this person is family. Anyway, so when they asked me who, say, John, my dad's sister's husband, was, I mumbled some indiscipherable Pulaar and then just said, "you know, family." They had some pretty funny comments about the pictures that I certainly found amusing and think that the involved parties might get a laugh out of:

-picture of Ashley, Amanda, Brenda, Bill, mom, and I : after I had just explained who everyone was and how we are related, one of my host sister's points to Amanda, who she clearly identified as the bride, and then to John and asks me, "is that your brother?" Geez.

-solo picture of Ashley and Amanda: "He doesn't have any hair! Just like [controversial Senegalese President who changed election laws so that he could, in theory, stay President until he dies] Abdoulaye Wade" to which I respond, "yes, exactly the same as Abdoulaye Wade." They then looked at his clothes and said, "wow, your brother is patron (rich)." I got a good laugh out of that.

-picture of Flowers and I: I found myself having the exact same conversation with one of my host brothers as I had with so many people, most notably Amanda's mom, at the wedding:

"Who is that?"

"My friend Matthew"

"Just a friend?"

"That's what I said"

"But maybe in a few years....you know...he could be your husband"

-One of my friends told me that my dress was very pretty and then asked if I brought it back to the village. I told her that no, I didn't bring it to the village because it is just a little to risque, showing my scandalous knees and all. I asked her what she thought people would do if I ever wore that dress in the village, and she matter-of-factly answered, "they would probably cry." She said it completely straight faced and without any sarcasm. She really meant it, and that makes me laugh a lot.

-I'm fairly certain that at one point someone pointed out my mom and identified her as my brother's wife. Now that's just weird.

Anyway, that covers the high points. The link to my pictures from the wedding is here:

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/AshleySWedding#

Enjoy!

For the price of a coke or a smoke you could...help people stop dying from a ridiculously preventable disease

I've been in Senegal for over a year now and I haven't asked for any money from you all, my generous family and friends, the entire time.  Well, that was fun while it lasted but all good things must come to and end.  

AgainstMalaria.com has agreed to sponsor Peace Corps Senegal for 6,500 bednets.  On Monday I got the exciting news that my village gets to be a part of this distribution!  So, with the help of AgainstMalaria.com's generous price-matching program, we are getting mosquito nets at the bargain price of $2 each.  My village needs 138 mosquito nets, which means that I am responsible for raising $276.  And that's where you all come in.

Did you know that nearly 3,000 children die every day in Africa from malaria? Three thousand kids! That's a 9/11 every day!  How much money would it take to stop a preventable 9/11 from happening every day in Africa?  I think I can safely say that it's way more money than you or I or anyone we know has.  But if all of you can get behind this cause and give what you can to it, the aggregate amount and its effect will be significant.  Nets are a simple, life saving solution, but we need your help to provide them to those in need.  $2 to buy, distribute, and educate...so little to save a life, and you can help.  

You can donate directly at www.AgainstMalaria.com/AmberPatterson

If you all can help me raise the $276 for my village, there are other volunteers who could use your help, too.  We are all grouped together and you can make a general donation at www.AgainstMalaria.com/PCVs6500.

Thank you in advance for your help! 

The Past And The Pending...aka updates from my life

By now it's no secret; I'm not so great at this whole blogging thing. I keep saying that I will start writing posts more frequently and apparently that is just one big lie. I'm working on it, I promise. I will write more often. Inschallah.

 

Anyway, here's what interesting/productive things I've been up to since my last post:

-> In early February, I assisted Laura, my site-mate -aka the volunteer who is my closest neighbor- in 3 day sexual education training, unofficially known as "Project Combating Unwanted Teenage Pregnancy in Middle Schools using Peer Educators." Basically the teachers at the middle school selected the best and the brightest students from each class to attend the training and then act as peer educators and thus pass on their knowledge to their fellow students. I wish I could say that this was my idea, but it was all Laura.  Sustainability is a big concern for all of us as Peace Corps Volunteers. The great thing about this project is that instead of Peace Corps Volunteers individually doing trainings, the peer educators will, thus hopefully creating a sustainable situation in which students can train students every year, even after Laura and I are gone.  

Anyway, the training covered the following sex ed topics: adolescence and puberty, the menstrual cycle, family planning, STDs and AIDS, techniques for leading a health talk, and parental responsibility.  We implicated the health post nurse in the project by inviting her to teach certain sessions and bring condoms; the other sessions were led by teachers and Laura.  For the rest of the school year, Laura and I will meet with the peer educators to plan sensibilisations (trainings) for their own classmates.  We assigned one sensibilisation topic and a date each month.   

All in all, it was a really successful training. Honestly, Laura deserves most, if not all, of the credit for this entire project.  My role during all of this was not as much to relay information but to make sure that the sessions were participative and inciting discussion. Also, I really just wanted to be there so that I can plan another training like this one by myself next year.

 

->Mosquito net distribution project.

To make a long story short, for some reason, incompetence is my guess, when mosquito nets were distributed to health centers in Senegal last year, the entire region of Tambacounda just got left out. What that translated into was that during the rainy season, one of my main jobs was to encourage people to buy and use mosquito nets. Well, even if I did manage to convince people to use mosquito nets, it didn't matter because they couldn't by them anywhere. Not the best situation. 

So, Trever, who is an urban health volunteer here in Tamba, took matters into his own hands and somehow got connected with an NGO in America that is going to send us mosquito nets for next year (for free!). In order to get numbers, though, we all had to do community surveys to get exact numbers of beds/sleeping spaces for each household in our villages. I got the numbers for my village in, and if all goes according to plan, my entire village will have brand new mosquito nets in time for the rainy (malaria) season. I'm pretty excited about that.

->WAIST (West African Invitational Softball Tournament) 

Lots of great pictures here: http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/WAIST2009#

February 13-16 was WAIST in Dakar.  It was pretty much spring break for Peace Corps Volunteers from all over West Africa. It was really fun because the volunteers from each region in Senegal had their own team, complete with ridiculous themes.  Our theme was “Peace Corporate” and just about everyone, myself included, looked preposterous. Volunteers from other West African countries had their own teams and themes too, also mostly ridiculous and/or inappropriate. In case you’re wondering, team TambaGou (our team) didn’t win a single game.  Our priorities were more along the lines of having a good time...It was a lot of fun, as you can probably tell from the pictures, but it was kind of a culture shock to be around so many Americans for so long. I can't express it, but by the end of the tournament, I was just ready to go back to the solace of my village.

Judging from the pictures, one might get the impression that it was just a week of out of control partying and a break from any "real" development work. Though that's a fair presumption, we did manage to combine having parties and raising money for SeneGAD, the gender and development organization of Peace Corps Senegal Volunteers.  One night the US Marines in Senegal hosted a date auction/party at their house; we auctioned off several of our more brave Senegal volunteers, and the bidding wars that ensued raised hundreds of dollars for SeneGAD.  The next night, the Dakar region volunteers rented out a great club in Dakar for all of the West African volunteers to attend.  They charged an entrance fee and worked the bar, with all profits going to SeneGAD.  It was such a fun party. So many people were there, and everyone was drinking heavily, and though it sounds weird to say, the money raised from our excessive drinking at that party raised more than $2000 for SeneGAD.  All of this money will go to help funding things like girls scholarships and leadership camps. At least now don't feel as guilty about leaving my village for a week long drinking binge. =)

->HIV/AIDS Life Skills Workshop

This workshop was really amazing. I have pictures posted http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/LifeSkillsAIDSWorkshop# and I just don't have it in me to write any more right now....I will write more later, inschallah.

That’s about all I can muster right now, but I hope that everyone is healthy, happy, and safe. I love and miss you all!

PS Jilliann is coming to visit me in approximately 2 weeks and I couldn't possibly be more excited about it!! 

The things I will do for ice cream...

So it is still technically the "cold" season here and guess what the temperature is? 100 degrees. Awesome. Not very cold, right? That's what I said.

With that in mind, some friends and I are biking to The Gambia today for soft serve ice cream. It's about a 40 kilometer bike ride from my village to The Gambia, but if all goes well, it will be worth it. However, nothing is really going as planned. I was supposed to meet 3 other volunteers in Velingara, a town 20 kilometers from my village, this morning at 11. From there we were planning on biking the remaining 20 kilometers to Basse, The Gambia. However each of the 4 of us have had some difficulties getting here.

As for me, as I was biking out of my village to the school this morning to meet my French tutor, I got a flat tire. Great. So, I walked my bike about 3 kilometers to the school and was very late for my French lesson. After the lesson I was planning on bikng here (Velingara) to meet my friends, but instead I had wait on the side of the road for a car to take me and my broken bike here. When I finally arrived, I paid someone to put air into my tire and happily went to meet my friends. About 15 minutes later, though, I realized that in my absentminded rush to meet my friends, I left my backpack at the bike place. So, I turn around, walk all the way back to the pike place, get my backpack, and go back to meet my friends. Unfortunately, however, as I was walking away, my tire immediately went flat again. I was very annoyed and very hot at this point. I met one of my friends, who told me that she had forgotten her passport in her village and was contemplating biking back to get it. The two other people we were waiting on were having transport difficulties and said they wouldn't be here until this afternoon. So, to make a long story short, we had time to kill. At the present moment my bike is being repaired and will hopefully be fixed by the time we all are ready to leave here.

As for the ice cream, aside from transportation issues, we also have to hope that the electricity came on today in Basse for the guy to prepare it. Apparently the electricity only comes on from 6am-10am and 6pm-10pm there. So, yesterday we had to call the guy and tell him that we were coming and make sure that he knows to prepare the ice cream. Additionally, we called him this morning to remind him again, because apparently he has to prepare the ice cream in the morning when the electircity is on and then wait for the electiricty to come back on in the evening to serve it. The elctiricty often doesn't come on at all here for no good reason, so we are placing a pretty big bet on the fact that the electircity comes on both times today and stays on long enough for this guy to make and serve the glorious ice cream.

Since we have to wait until the evening to have the ice cream, we are going to have to spend the night there. Luckily there is a Peace Corps house there that we can stay at for free. Tomorrow, after biking back here, Im going to go to my friend Holly's village to help her with a mosquito net project we are doing here. Unfortunately my internet time is running out, but I will write more about the mosquito net distribution project we are doing next time I come to the internet.

Hope everyone is having a great week!

Pictures instead of 1,000 words

Hello all!

I've been really busy lately and haven't had much of a chance to write any new blog entries.  In lieu of a blog, here are some links to pictures I have recently posted:

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/December2008

http://picasaweb.google.com/AmberGPatterson/Christmas2008NewYears2009

Enjoy!  PS if you are reading my blog and would like me to continue writing it, please let me know. Thanks and hope everyone is having a very happy new year!