On Adustment

Every now and then I stop and look around me and have to remind myself aloud that I live in a village in West Africa. 

After seven months, no matter how many times I say it to myself, it never really feels real. The Africa I live in is a bit different than the stereotypical picture- no giraffes or elephants unfortunately- but its not that different. I live in a remote village surrounded by desert brush and scraggly desert thorn trees, my mothers wear brightly colored clothing and carry babies on their backs and water on their heads. At night children dance around drums and in the morning we cook breakfast over an open fire. Its a village in Africa and its actually pretty exotic. 

So why doesn't it feel different to me? Why do I have to stop to look around and realize that its foreign?

My travel experience before Peace Corps was relatively limited. I've never lived in a different country before, never studied abroad, never spent more than three weeks out of the US and I had probably never gone more than a months without seeing my family. So I've never done readjustment before. It should be shocking to me, all the changes and differences. But I guess what I have learned most so far is the resiliency of a human to change and how similar we all really are. Your first week somewhere new, you notice differences- "hey, we don't say that" or "this doesn't look the same as it does in America." But by the second week, all you see is similarities. A market is a place to buy things, public transportation sucks, you have a taste for certain foods and not others, little boys never want to take showers, and if you're tired enough a bed is a bed anywhere. Sooner than you think, all you see is similarity. Before you know it, all you see is normal. Maybe you've changed somehow, accepting a new sense of normalcy, adapting to you surroundings. Or maybe nothing you find in the world is really all that different.

How to Lose 10 Pounds in 10 Days: The Peace Corps Senegal Diet

Four months into my service and I am officially a Peace Corps Volunteer. 

Even more than my formal Swearing-In ceremony two months ago, the events of the past two weeks solidify, to me, my membership in the Peace Corps Community. Volunteers past and present share more than a willingness to serve their country and abandon everything familiar in hopes of a more peaceful world. What really marks a member of the PCV community is an almost gleeful willingness to share poop stories, true first-hand knowledge that integration is often a painful experience, and an appreciation of good food that approaches fanaticism.

My transition starts, of course, with a rather intense stomach illness, the likes of which almost all volunteers are familiar with. After almost four months without any problems despite drinking unfiltered water from my town's well, I foolishly thought that I was above getting sick, that I had somehow acquired a stronger stomach than everyone else. Not so, it turns out. After returning from a wonderful weekend in Kedougou for the 4th of July, my stomach decided to turn on me. I'll keep the description of this brief, so suffice it to say that I learned how to contain simultaneous diarrhea and vomiting into one toilet basin and that pooping blood is just as painful as it sounds. Luckily, a round of ciprofloxacin cured me quickly enough that I was back to my village in just a few days…

…Where I started to fast for Ramadan. In retrospect, fasting after just being ill wasn't the smartest decision. I blame my choices on the fact that I am an eager Peace Corps Volunteer passionately trying to be accepted by my village and also a competitive person. When villagers shook their heads and told me I couldn't do it- alaa, a wawa hoorde Aissata- and when they were pleased that I was indeed fasting, it drove me to keep going. For two days I fasted without food or water, breaking fast with a meal of dates, juice and bread at sundown, followed by a meal of rice and fish between 9:30 and 11:00 pm. Many families observing Ramadan also have a morning meal before the 5 am prayer, but my family chose not to eat in the morning, whether because of preference or lack of finances I don't know. After two days of doing the true fast, I started to drink water, greatly easing the pain of Ramadan and allowing me to be a functional, though still hungry, person. 

Before Ramadan began, I had severely underestimated it. I knew that it would be painful to not eat all day, and I was right, but the pain was not unfamiliar or too overwhelming. After a couple days you almost get used to the feeling. What I underestimated was the joy that a meal can bring. On my first night of breaking fast, I had never tasted anything so wonderful as that date or anything as refreshing as the bucket of water I chugged. It goes beyond how the food tasted though. The weakness you feel in your body from fasting, especially after several days of it, is something that penetrates your muscles and your bones. It makes you lose your balance and puts you to sleep. It confuses you and magnifies your problems. To feel the weakness be replaced by a rush of sugar is like a heady drug circulating your system, and if I ever find a drug that makes you feel that way I will highly recommend it. The pure elation I felt as I ate and looked out at the brilliant pink and orange sunset lighting up the desert sky with a cool breeze on my face was more intense than my writing can express. The aftershocks of it felt like freshness was filling me to the fingertips and at the same time easing me into a comfortable, sleepy happiness. During the day, I hate Ramadan and I have never had hours pass so painfully slowly. In the evening though, it is magical. If you ever find yourself in a Muslim African village during Ramadan I really recommend you try it. 

After my sickness and 11 days of eating less than 1,000 calories, I could tell that I was losing weight. The title to my post may or may not be an exaggeration as I didn't have a way to weigh myself before or now, but I can see my ribs and breastbone much clearer now than before. The feeling of weakness and the vivid persistence of my food dreams were starting to wear on me, so I came into the city today to break my fast and indulge in Spencer's surprise birthday celebration. I don't recommend living in a bush village as a form of weight loss, but I certainly recommend it for the experience.

(To my parents and all my parents friends who are worriers, I'm really okay, I swear. I'm only getting just what I signed up for.) 

Dust Storms

I witnessed my first dust storm today. It was quite windy and therefore dusty all day today, but after lunch we saw the wall of dust coming in from the East and everyone started running to their houses to shut everything inside. We all huddled inside as the storm rolled through and the kids got loopy and excited like we used to when a big thunderstorm or snowstorm came in America. You could see through the cracks in the doors and windows the most intense orange light, it was otherworldly. After about 20 minutes the storm stopped and everyone emerged to sweep out their homes, scrubbed their faces of dirt and enjoyed the slightly cooler temperatures the storm had brought.