Week 3

“Those who loose by a revolution are rarely inclined to call it by its real name...The privileged classes of every age, as also their lackeys, have always tried to declare the revolution which overthrew them in contrast to past revolutions, a mutiny, a riot a revolt of the rabble. Classes which have outlived themselves are not distinguished by originality”

I am still reading Trotsky I am afraid, so you will have to put up with these kinda quotes for a little longer!

As mentioned last week, the challenge so far this week has been to find enough to do. The work load of the previous group of volunteers was decidedly low, and being the stubborn person that I am, I will not settle for this again! So as a group we have been identifying possible partners to work with. I met with PLAN today, and will have a meeting with the local Peace Corps office this week, to see if there is anything we can help with. Our current scheduled tasks – Teaching English and working at the clinic, only take up two mornings a week, and while there are other YMCA tasks (apparently), they are not regular. With the Y-Care/YMCA mandate aimed squarely at youth, and with the number of kids here, it shouldn't prove difficult to find meaningful and important work.

I spent four hours cleaning and bandaging wounds at the clinic on Monday, for which I have absolutely no training or prior experience. So many of the patients - who only have to pay for the material costs - presented with burn injuries, including a worrying number of children who had managed to pour scalding water over themselves. Against the especially dark skin of most Senegalese, the scars will show for the rest of their lives, and at least two young girls today will now have visible marks on their faces. With no pain relief other than ether to dab on the wound, the silence and lack of crying from most of the patients was amazing. I will be working here once a week from now on, so hope to get some pictures – full scrubs and blood everywhere.

Tuesday's much heralded 'Eid Feast' with family was rather an anti-climax, being as it was rather closer to just a normal lunch. It was still nice to visit a different village and explore more of the area, including the discovery of a clearly European funded Baobab factory. The locally grown fruit is made into a drink that is actually rather nice, although the half tonne of sugar added rather negates the health benefits of the fruit- very high in calcium and vitamin C apparently. I managed to see a farm collective as well, with enough cabbage and chilli peppers being grown to be sold in the local market. It is indeed possible to make the desert green, although the piles of plastic rubbish were not confidence inspiring. 

 (Village life)

This evening I was home early enough to go for an exploratory walk around my neighborhood. From the highway to my compound is a five minute walk, passing a mosque, school, nursery school and the rest rather build up with houses. However, beyond mine, the houses peter out into the desert, with lots of partially built shells of houses – it is unclear if they are abandoned or just waiting for further funds – but little sign of habitation, apart from all of the rubbish of course. Passing the small Muslim cemetery, next to the slightly grander Christian one, and was asked the pretty standard question of what religion I am. I usually get a bemused but non-questioning shrug when I answer Buddhist (I am not one, but feels more natural and closer to my outlook on life than Christian), but this time was surprised by “why are you not a Muslim?” I didn't really have an answer, and my rather meak “Because I am from England”, was hardly an explanation, especially given my equally non-traditionally British religion of Buddhism.

It is the summer holiday here, and with nothing in the way of parks or amusements, and most families in my neighbourhood being too poor to have a Playstation, the sandy streets and alleyways are full of children. I have witnessed two group games that are rather baffling, and don't have an equivalent in England. The first one involves a group of kids taking off their sandles, put them on their hands, and then race to a set point, all the while hitting each other with the said sandles. The other follows the basic idea of dodgeball, with a large group of children having to avoid being hit with a tennis ball. But there are no teams, once hit you are not out, but rather continue throwing the ball at someone else. Both struck me as a possible metaphor for Senegal, namely that everyone runs around a lot, and gets hit along the way, yet there is no aim to the tasks, and therefore no clear winners. It needs some polishing, but the basics are there. 

(Sunset near my house)

So many people in the family, but one is a cute three year old girl called Khady. She is incredibly energetic and inquisitive, both attributes that are exhausting for the adults, but not at all negative in my opinion. She has explored my room, knocked most things over and had great fun doing so (and I now lock my room when im not in, as I don't want her breaking anything), and I have no problem with this. However it really pains me how much she is smacked due to her actions. I am far more used to hearing her crying than laughing, and it is all so unnecessary. Granted, I don't have my own children, but have four years of teaching experience, which must count for something and it strikes me that smacking is just the sign of lazy parenting. Its only legacy being that children grow up believing that violence is a suitable and adult response to situations that don't like, which is clearly untrue. Taking the time to explain and demonstrate correct behaviour, while of course more effort, is far more beneficial in the long run, and even with the language barrier, I do my best to encourage positive changes rather than berate her behaviour. 

 (Cows, boats and the sea)

We managed to get away for the first time last weekend, with a overnight trip to Saint Louis. This is the former capital of all of French West Africa, and has retained its clear French roots. The buildings, much like for the British in Calcutta, are crumblings relics and reminders of the colonial past, yet they have a charm and elegance that is lacking in the modern concrete cubes that the developing world has chosen to adopt (for far more practical reasons that architectural merit I admit). The main French area sits on a island in the mouth of the Senegal River, which forms the border between decidedly African Senegal, and far more Arab Mauritania to the north. Indeed, as it was only a few km away, there was a strong Mauritanian presence, especially in shop ownership, and they are easy to spot, not just by the dark olive skin tones, but the distinctive clothing (it looks rather like a giant pillowcase with arm and head holes cut out. As with Sierra Leone, it is a foreign merchant class that is in charge of commercial business, although im not sure here if this is organic or a colonial legacy as in Sierra Leone. 

 (Saint Louis, where coastal Africa meets colonial France)

The four hour drive from Thies to Saint Louis was, frankly exhausting, in the way only a journey in the developing world can be. We arrived at 7am, as agreed with the bus driver, and indeed, our reserved eight seats at the front were there and waiting. Yet we didn't leave until 9am, as it took us this long to fill the remaining seven seats. There being no clear timetable, or departure times, it is just pot luck as to when you might leave (it took us a comparable time to find transport home again as well). About twenty minutes out of town, at one of the innumerable police checkpoints we had to stop at, it transpired that our driver was missing a document of some kind, for which he was forced to jump on a passing motorbike and head back to pick. Thirty minutes later, and rather later than our expected 7am departure, we were off again, and made it to our lovely guest-house for about 2pm, exhausted and dirty. The whole experience was enough to dampen desires to travel far within the country, and it provided a good example of the importance that reliable and frequent transport to the health of a country. Most of the volunteers here have not travelled so far north before, as the cost and stress are not deemed worth it.

 (The last dock crane)