La gardienne

About a month ago, I got a new office.   I have a wonderful workspace at IAGU, complete with a real desk, an overhead fan, windows, and wi-fi.  Several days a week, I leave this luxurious space for my less-functional, but preferred, office. 

One afternoon, I was in a meeting with Ousseynou and Bamba, the two head honchos at the pépinière.  We were sitting under a tree and I had my computer precariously balanced on my lap.  We were talking about improvements that could be made to the pépinière and Bamba declared that he was going to build me a table so that I could have an office at the pép.  He went straight to work and built me a sturdy, Eileen-height surface out of recycled wood from shipping crates.  My office is mobile, but is most often set-up under a shade tent made of grass mats, surrounded by tropical plants and stray cats.  The nursery staff regularly bring me tea as I type away on my computer.  Life’s tough.

This office has drastically increased the amount of time that I spend working on-site.  As a result, I have even more face time with the staff and women that participate in the microgardening project.  I have also increased my productivity.  Often, when I loosely arrange a meeting with someone at the pépinière, I can spend a few hours waiting for them to show up.  Instead of twiddling my thumbs or leaving in frustration, I can now work away on my computer while I’m waiting.  And, I am able to better work with Ousseynou and Bamba throughout the day and I can get immediate answers to my questions.  (And, I’m also able to give them constant reminders when they owe me feedback or piece of work.  They have joked that building the table was, in fact, not a good idea at all!) 

But, one of the unpredicted benefits of this field office is that it brings about one of my favourite reoccurring moments in my job: the 15 minutes each Friday that I am left in charge of the pépinière.  Friday is the most important Muslim prayer day, and all my coworkers briefly trade their dirt-stained t-shirts for glistening traditional robes.  One-by-one my eight boys – my brothers, fathers, buddies, and co-workers – tell me that they’re going to go pray at the mosque, but that they’ll be right back.  I respond with the affirmation that I’ll look after the pépinière.  

And for 15 minutes each week, I get to be la gardienne.  This job is pretty easy – even though my boys have complete confidence in me, they don’t necessarily trust the rest of the world, and they lock the gate behind them.  That’s fine with me.  I do enjoy the false sense of responsibility that comes along with the transient title of “la gardienne” but, more importantly, I profit from 15 minutes of solitude in a rare green oasis in the middle of the chaotic and dusty city.

Growing food in close quarters

Check out my post about microgardening on the Sustainable Cities blog.

On Short-Term Missions

I recently reread The Cost of Short-Term Missions by JoAnn Van Engen*.  It spurred me to re-visit  some questions that I’ve already asked myself many, many times:  What am I actually doing in Senegal?  What is the real purpose of my mission?

Coming from Canada, I cringed the first time I heard people talk of overseas missions.  To me, the term either oozes pomp and arrogance or evokes images of war and famine.  When I first arrived in Gambia in August 2010, the border guard asked of my mission in her country.  Surprised by her choice of terminology, I said that I didn't have a mission per se, I was just here to work, to contribute to her country.  Knowing what I now know about Gambian police, I am lucky that this fluttery, half-hearted response even got me into the country.  "Mission" seems to be well-ingrained in the vocabulary of both French- and English-speaking professionals that travel  for work in Gambia and Senegal, even those that are traveling within their own country: "I'm sorry I didn't call you back last week.  I was on a mission in Podor."  And so, I have come to adopt this terminology.

I digress – Why am I here?  What purpose does my mission carry?  I am gaining so much from this experience – am I benefiting others as much as I am benefitting from this experience?  Could my job be done equally as effectively (or even better) by a local?  And, the stinker, could the money used to fly me here and pay my salary be better spent? 

In other words, are we getting maximum “development benefit” – as it that is something that can even be measured! – by sending young Canadians overseas on six-month internships?

Probably not.

These questions have been constantly rolling around in my head for the better part of the last year, and rereading Van Engen’s article was the impetus I’ve needed to get some of my thoughts on paper.

I’ve been back in West Africa since the beginning of August, and working here for a second time confirmed my previously-formed beliefs that there are two ways to make all of this – working overseas at great cost to Canadian taxpayers, and often to the project – worthwhile:

(1) Short-term, focused missions.  Let's say that I possess a specific skill that is lacking in a host country, for example GIS.  And let’s pretend that I am an expert in my field and also adept at working cross-culturally and with limited resources.  If then, some local organization needs a short-term consultant to fill a  gap in their GIS programming, they could bring me in for 3-6 weeks to fill a very specific need.  In my eyes, this is money well spent and a good use of foreign knowledge and experience – an international development success story!

(2) Long-term on-the-ground staff:  Spending two years or more “in the field” allows an international development worker to really get to know the partners and the project and the local problems, and eventually work in an effective manner.  In particular, if the projects are related to agriculture or based in a village, an outsider needs at least a year to begin to understand the annual rhythm and how strongly daily life can be tied to the seasons.

There is also a third successful approach to working in development that I’ve seen, but it involves the Canadian development worker doing most of their work from Canada.  Such people have built very strong relationships with exceptionally competent overseas organizations and staff.  They may still travel frequently to their project countries, but really the projects are left in the hands of the partners and the Canadian organization doesn’t try to micromanage the project from afar.

After I returned from my first internship in Senegal, I already believed the above points to be true.  And yet, here I am again in Senegal, working for six months – once again, taking much more from this experience than I am able to give my host organization and the people that I work with.  And, two months in, I find myself firmly believing what I already thought to be true: if I want to continue to work overseas, the most effective way to do so is to either come for a short time as a consultant or to put down roots in my host country, integrate, and build strong on-the-ground partnerships and relationships.

And so, that brings me back to my previous question.  Are we getting maximum "development benefit" from my overseas presence?  (Ugh, there's that unmeasurable, undefinable term again, forgive me.) 

No.

I am proud of the work that I do and believe that I am already much more effective the second time around.  After a mere six weeks I already felt as professionally competent as I did at the end of my last posting.  I started this position with greater professional, cultural, and linguistic knowledge than I did the first time, and that will take me a long way. 

I am here to take a second pass at development work in a country and a culture that I already know and love.  I don't come from a development or an international background, so I really need this second opportunity to work overseas before deciding if I want to further push my career along this trajectory.  This is also an opportunity to see the extent to which six months of experience can increase my professional effectiveness.  How I can transfer the knowledge that I gained in my first six months in West Africa into this new professional and urban context? 

There are lots of opportunities for me to learn about how I fit in the international development world and to what extent I can transfer knowledge from one project to the next, but both of these objectives are ultimately selfish.  They’re focused on me, and what I can learn about myself and my career.   I do, of course, want to benefit the people that I am working with, but I misplaced my rose-coloured glasses a while ago and am aware that (a) my motivations for working internationally are not entirely selfless, (b) my assignment is too short to have a significant impact, and (c) I'm still not 100% convinced that, cumulatively, all these development efforts from the West actually do more good than harm.

So, given all this, what is the role of six-month international internships?  What, really, is their benefit and how does this align with Canadian values and public spending?  

BENEFIT 1: Cross-cultural learning and deepened self awareness.  These are fantastic benefits…for the intern.

AN ASIDE: I spent six-months in Canada between postings, and spent a lot of time telling people that I thought *everyone* should go live in a different country for six months.  I certainly didn't mean any arrogance by it, and I am aware of how privileged I am to have the financial means, freedom, and political ability (i.e. visa) to do so, but I really think that the world would be a much better place if everyone had the opportunity (or was forced) to experience a reality very different from their own.  It would bring about such cross-cultural appreciation and understanding.  And much more global compassion too, I think.  So, we can argue that Benefit 1 extends beyond the intern, but the long term impacts of an individual’s cross-cultural learning are not, in my opinion, sufficient to justify the internships.

BENEFIT 2: Cross-cultural sharing of knowledge and experiences.  My dear friend Leanne once said "We can learn so much from each other, if only we are open enough to receive this knowledge."  I agree wholeheartedly. 

BENEFIT 3: The beginnings of deeper and persistent international relationships.  Interns that continue to work internationally and in the same country can benefit a lot from the professional relationships they build early on.  I am experiencing that already, and I’m simply drawing on networks that I built in my first six-month internship to facilitate the work in my second six-month stint.  Even if interns don’t continue their on-the-ground international career, they can still make connections between overseas contacts and suitable organizations back home.

BENEFIT 4: Bringing international, cross-cultural, and foreign knowledge back to Canada -- opening others' eyes, broadening horizons, and challenging what people think about the world. 

Living in Senegal for six months has challenged so much about the way I see the world and my role as a global citizen and I can only dream that everyone takes the time to contemplate foreign realities.  The reality that we live in the West -- material comfort, secular society, gender equality, and fiscal values, to make a few generalizations -- is something experienced by a minority of the world's population.   One of the objectives of the CIDA IYIP program is to create employable skills in young Canadians and for them to bring their overseas experiences back to Canada to promote international learning.  Public engagement is one tool to achieve this but, from my experiences and from talking to many interns from other organizations, the post-internship public engagement feels like a bit of an afterthought.

This is understandable.  I remember what it felt like to come home the first time, excited to be back, bewildered by Canadian life, reeling from reverse culture shock, eager to tie up loose ends, lost in the love of friends and family, and half-heartedly trying to find a job and figure out my career.   On top of all that, I realized that I had changed and didn’t know how to reconcile my Canadian reality with the new me.  With all of this, public engagement for a past project in a country on the other side of the world seems like the last thing that a returning intern might want to do.  At that point, I think it often feels like just an obligation to CIDA, not something that interns are actually motivated to do.

But, that really is a shame, since I think that Benefit 4 is one of the most tangible and easily accessible ways that we interns can have a real impact.  I expect post-internship reentry to be easier this time, so perhaps my increased effectiveness can extend beyond my overseas experience and include my after-I-come-home public engagement.  Blogs and online articles are a common way to fill the public engagement requirement but, to me, they feel like a bit of a cop-out.  It's so easy to post something mediocre on a blog that no one is going to read (case in point).

So what can I do?  Here, right now, I commit to real public engagement -- not because of requirements for CIDA (which I'll likely fulfill by writing one or two articles for the Sustainable Cities blog), not because anyone's paying me to do it (because they won't), but because I actually do believe that sharing my experiences with Canadians that don't have the opportunity to live and work overseas, is one of the greatest justifications of my current professional existence.

* I just did an online search for the article and was surprised to learn that the paper copy I have is an abridged version of the actual article.  The version I read was completely secular, while the original is not.  The original focuses on religious missions, but I think the message still applies to all short-term overseas workers.

Three Points

(1) Six weeks down, 23 to go.  Time moves way too quickly here.

(2) I now feel as competent in my job (professionally, socially, culturally, linguistically) as I did at the end of my last internship.  Go me!

(3) Downtown Dakar feels shiny and modern again.

Two Weeks

 afternoon, 18 August 2011

Finally -- rain, thunder, and cool winds.

I've been here nearly two weeks (left Vancouver two weeks ago yesterday, arrived here two weeks ago tomorrow) and this is the fist real rain that I've seen since my 'rainy season' arrival.  The sky has been periodically dark and menacing since I arrived, and I'm surprised it has taken this long to break.  People are saying that this summer, this rainy season, is particularly hot and dry.  I'd be interested to see some long term data on summer temperatures and precipitation in Dakar, and to know how this year compares.

The heat, of course, is especially harsh for those that are fasting.  Over 90% of the population is Muslim, which means that almost everyone is sweltering -- and napping -- through the heat of the day and the insatiable thirst that accompanies it.  (I wish I could tell you the actual reported percentage of Muslims, but I need internet access for that, and I am writing this in the middle of our daily power cut.)

Like last year, I've decided to fast for a few days in solidarity. Day 1 will be tomorrow, and we'll see how well I last.  I promise not to be too hard on myself if I cheat and sneak a few sips of water.  This year, fasting will be more than just an act of cultural empathy, and I will set an intention for the day -- something to meditate on -- and also dedicate my act to someone back home.  I haven't yet decided what or who that will be, but I'll spend the afternoon ruminating on it.

Two weeks in my new/old home, and I'm getting more settled every day.  I am comfortable in my Yoff apartment, which I share with Becca, my partner in crime.  (Though in our case, being settled doesn't yet mean being completely unpacked!)  We live just a few blocks away from the beach and are lucky to be able to go play in the waves after a hot day in the city.  Relative to my apartment in Kaolack, we live in a palace!  We have screens on (some of) the windows, furniture (including a dining room table, actual beds, and a living room set), a real stove, and a fridge!  We're on the third floor, which means that we're above most of the dust, and the ocean winds blow through the apartment and keep things relatively cool.

It turns out that Dakar isn't quite the modern city that I remember.  The first time I visited Dakar was Christmas 2010.  At that time, I hadn't been to a real city since leaving Montréal in August.  I was blown away by downtown Dakar, with its "tall" glass buildings, grand embassies, occasional public garbage cans, and patch of green public space.  This time, I went straight from Vancouver to Dakar, and all my illusions of modernity and cleanliness were shattered.  It is still a wonderful city, but my perceptions of it are much different this time around. It is indeed a grand and modern city by West African standards, but it is still a West African city.

It is wonderful to be back, to be in my African home country.  This time, I am privileged to live a relatively comfortable, Western lifestyle -- and thus open my eyes to a whole new reality of what it means to live in Sénégal.  Dakar is a beast, and the Dakarois sure 'aint Kaolackois or villagers.

Take Two

4 :00 PM CMT, 05 August 2011

And so my Sénégalese adventure begins, again.

I’ve returned to West Africa, to the land of teranga (hospitality), the smiling coast, and my favourite Wolof-speaking countries.  By now, I think most of my friends and family knew that I was planning another trip.  If you didn’t already know  – surprise!  I’m back!

After three flights, a long layover in New York, not enough sleep, and over 30 hours of travel, I arrived at the Leopold Senghor airport around 6:00 this morning.  I received my tenth Sénégalese entrance stamp, was met by the caretaker of my apartment, and arrived home.

Fast forward ten hours and pretty much all I’ve done is slept!  Perhaps not the best plan to get me adjusted to Sénégalese time, but I’ll get used to both the time change and the heat, ndanka ndanka.

And now, I’m off to have a shower, buy phone credit, and connect with the world.  I’ll spend the rest of the day unpacking and puttering, I think, and shall begin my adventures tomorrow!

Love, Eileen

Nothing substantial to say...

I'm back from vacation with my papa and have reconnected to the digital world. I've posted more photos! Check for more updates in the coming weeks!

http://www.flickr.com/photos/littleeileen/

African Images

Finally!

I am currently in the process of sharing Africa with my lovelies back home, and I'm thrilled to finally be uploading a taste of my African images. Posting photos will be a multi-day process, but they're coming!

See them here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/littleeileen/sets/72157625380529171/with/5223574262/

Food

Today, I finally found Kaolack's toubab shops -- two of them, tiny, and across from each other, but tiny little culinary heavens (by my new standards). In a fit of excitement and desperation, I spent nearly four days' food budget on a bottle of extra virgin olive oil from Spain. Heaven.

And, I also bought pomegranate glaze! Shocking. It was on the shelf and relatively cheap. You can buy beets here, oranges are in season, and mint is a Senegalase staple. All I need is fennel seeds and I am set to recreate my absolute favourite salad ever...

Coupures, French Keyboards, and the Ambivalence of African Daily Life

Apologies for the prolonged silence. It has been a long time since I have properly posted here and an equally long time since I've been in touch with most of my lovelies. There are many reasons for this, but most of them are entirely too dull or far too juicy to repeat here. In short, my priority is always to fully live and love Africa and writing publicly about it is way down on the list. There will be plenty of time for stories, debriefs, and beer-fuelled waxtan yi when I return home. (Thirteen weeks down, a short twelve to go.* Eep.) I also finally am truly feeling settled in Kaolack and much of what I experience is merely African "daily life." Compared, of course, to daily life in Canada, each day is full of intense, unexpected, and completely new experiences, but they still carry a certain amount of ambivalence: "Oh Africa. C'est comme ca."

There are, too, some practical reasons for my silence. Ironically, in the city with comparatively fast internet and strong wifi, my internet time has been drastically reduced. In order to write here and to post long-winded e-mails, I need four things:

(1) Power;
(2) A computer or computer access;
(3) Functional internet;
(4) The time and desire to write.

And I need them simultaneously.

Unfortunately, it's rare to have all four at the same time. I no longer have a laptop to call my own, daytime power cuts are frequent and lengthy, internet can be spotty, and there are lots of things to do besides writing tales for public consumption. And, when I do get on an APROFES desktop, I have to battle with a French keyboard.

This post is a great illustration of the challenges. I began to write it on a desktop on Nov. 12 – but, there was a power cut when I was partway through writing, and I lost everything. So then I wrote much of it by hand, and waited almost two weeks for all four conditions to arise and get it on my blog. They haven’t yet, so I’m currently (Nov. 25) typing in a word document and don’t know when I’ll be able to post this. There’s no power, the borrowed laptop I’m using is almost out of battery, and I’m about to leave for Gambia to attend the naming ceremony of a very special newborn.

Also – good news – I’m going to Gambia to pick up Leanne’s laptop. She and Margaret finish their internships tomorrow (!!!!!!!) and are going travelling for four weeks. Leanne is generously lending me her laptop during that time. This means that I’ll have more reliable computer access, but I have no idea if that will translate into improved e-mail communication, more regular blog posts, and photo sharing. On va voir.

In other very brief news, I have a stranger (Gambian word for visitor) coming to visit! In eleven short days I will head to the Banjul airport to meet my father! He’s coming for a whirlwind trip of Gambia and Senegal, to see his daughter, and to experience a very personal side of Africa. We’ll engage in a bit of tourism, but the plan is mostly to head to Njawara, Kaolack, and villages in between to experience African daily life and meet the people that have brought me into their homes and hearts.

And, now, finally, I am about to post this. For real. It's 11:00 AM on Nov. 26. I'm in Njawara, in an unusually quiet office, using solar power and slow, but functional, wifi. So that's it for now. I'm going to take advantage of the computer access, power, and tranquility to pump out an agroforestry document.

Love to you all!


*This was true at the time of writing, but is not longer accurate. Now, it's 15 down, 10 to go!!!

Name Games #2

There are many ways to differentiate me and Leanne:

Haddy Kaolack (me), Haddy Njawara (Leanne);
Haddy Junior (me), Haddy Senior (Leanne);
Haddy Junior (me), Haddy Original (Leanne).

And, my favourite:

Haddy Toma (Leanne), Haddy...vegetarian?!?! (me)

This last pairing of names was given to us by Leanne's toma when, just before the Tabaski ram sacrifice, I revealed that I'm a vegetarian.

Postal Love

I've recently learned that mail *can* successfully reach Africa. If you want to send me a little postal love, here's where it goes:

Eileen Jones
c/o APROFES
Plle °225 Quartier Kashnack
BP: 12
Kaolack, Senegal

Likewise, if you have money to burn, my most regular phone number is 221-77-474-2572. From Canada, I believe you dial 011 before the number.

It seems a bit late to be posting this for the first time, but I finally feel truly settled in Kaolack and can proclaim it as my home.

Thanksgiving

I am thankful for electricity, a stable internet connection, skype, and the ability to share Thanksgiving dinner with my family halfway across the world. Too bad I couldn't actually taste the pumpkin pie!

I am also incredibly thankful for web of science, virtual private networks that function across continents, and my UBC log-in. You can take the girl out of academia, but you can't take academia out of the girl!

Name Games

Written today! 09 October 2010

I'm sitting in the APROFES auberge, my temporary home and sanctuary in Kaolack, drinking sugary tea, writing blog posts and journal entries, reading an illuminating-yet-depressing book about international development, mentally preparing myself for an uber-religious Senegalese baptism, and plotting my return to Gambia...

Someone pointed out that I haven't explained what "toubab" means. This word is so ingrained in my daily experiences that I absent-mindedly assume that everyone knows what it means. Of course not. Many of the small details about Africa are so pervasive that I neglect to share them in my stories and descriptions. That's too bad, since many of the most striking things about Africa are the small ones.

So, toubab. Here's what Wikipedia has to say about it:

"Toubab" is a Central and West African name for a person of European descent ("whites"). Used most frequently in the Gambia, Senegal, and Mali, the term does not have derogatory connotations by itself, though it is also frequently associated with "wealthy traveller" (if one can afford to travel, then he/she must be rich). The word can also be applied to any perceived traveller - even those of black African descent with an identifiably different phenotype such as (whiter) Cape Verdeans and (blacker) Nigerians, up to foreign-raised locals (thus with a different accent) or a visiting expatriate...The most likely earliest derivation is from the Wolof word for Europe (Tougal). As Wolof means the people of Jollof, Toubab means the people of Tougal.

As wikipedia states, the term itself is not derogatory. "C'est n'est pas mechant," explained one of my Senegalese co-workers, though it can definitely be annoying. Children constantly yell "Toubab! Toubab!" wherever I go. Seriously, everywhere -- in bustley city streets, along quiet village paths, and even from the side of the road as I pass by in a vehicle. I'm totally fine with the label when it comes from children, but have little patience when it comes from adults. But, I packed my sense of humour and ability to light-heartedly laugh at myself (as recommended by Lonely Planet) so I'm usually able to hide my frustration. I do, however, humoursly lay down the law with anyone that actually wants to talk to me or be my friend.

"Toubab? Tuduma toubab. Haddy laa tudda." (Toubab? My name isn't toubab. My name is Haddy.)

Yup, my name is now Haddy. Haddy Kah. (Or, Haddy Ceesay if I'm in Tchisse Masse). In Gambian and Senegalese culture, namesakes (tomas) are very important. Names are never(?) chosen willy-nilly and newborns are always named after someone that may end up playing a large role in their life. It's not uncommon, I believe, for a child to be sent to live with their toma for a significant length of time.

Here, most toubabs get Wolof names both because of the importance of tomas (and everyone wants to have a toubab names after them!) and, more practically, because no one can pronounce or remember our Western names! Some toubabs resist their Wolof name, but I think that being Haddy is a small but symbolic way to better integrate into the culture and express mutual respect. People are thrilled when they ask my name and, expecting something Western, I respond with "Haddy." Having a Wolof name also identifies me as not-a-tourist, which is pretty important for my sanity and helps me to build relationships.

My toma is a woman named Haddy Kah (obviously). She is from El Hadje Mayebe and is the president of the farmer group that we work with there. During my village stay, I stayed with her family.

Unfortunately, Leanne's toma is also named Haddy. She got the name first, so my Wolof name is a bit sub-optimal, but it took me a long time to get a toma and I've embraced my name. I'm Haddy Kah and she's Haddy Fal Nying, so hopefully there won't be too much confusion when we're in the same village.

Learning and remembering names has been pretty challenging. I carry a little book for Wolof grammar and phrases and have taken to writing names in there, if I know that I'm going to see someone again. But this only works when I meet one or two people at a time, and I can actually remember their name (and face) after the conversation. Names are especially challenging when we arrive in a new place (like a new village) and meet 70 people in the span of 20 minutes. It's even harder when we meet many of them in the dark!

People are pretty forgiving though, and I think (hope) that they understand how difficult it can be for us when they are always mixing up the names of the three toubabs that have visited the village. (In Tchisse Masse, I stayed with the same family as Margaret, and was constantly being called Alimatu. I'm pretty sure that there are some children there that never did understand that Margaret and I are not the same person.) Exclaiming "suma xarit!" ("my friend!") seems to be a pretty good alternative to actually remembering someone's name.

Jamma rek,
Haddy Kah Toubab

On Husbands

Since there were no public bites (disappointing!), here's the answer to September 24th's translation assignment.

Amuma jekar, buguma jekar!
I don't have a husband, I don't want a husband!

I've just returned from spending a week in Tchisse Masse, one of the project villages. During my stay, my conversations typically went like this:

Am nga jekar? (Do you have a husband?)
Amuma jekar. (I don't have a husband.)

This was usually followed by hopeful looks, either in jest or in earnest, indicating that the asker either wanted to marry me or to set me up with their son/brother/nephew/own husband.

Lutax? (Why?)

Amuma jekar, amuma problem yi! (I don't want a husband, I don't want problems!)
Jekar bi, problem bu berri! (A husband, lots of problems.)

Aram, am na jekar. Am na problem yi? (Catherine has a husband. Does she have problems?)
Jekar bu Canada, problem tutti. Jekar bu Senegal, problem bu berri! (Canadian husbands, small problems. Senegalese husbands, lots of problems!)

And, if I'm feeling particularly defiant, I throw in this line:
Soxlauma jekar! (I don't need a husband!)

I've passed week-long cultural immersions in both Senegalese project villages and I've jokingly taken a husband in both. In El Hadje Mayebe, I intend to marry Ebu, a teenager that is likely likely the son or nephew of one of my host mothers. (Family structure is large and complicated here, and it's always difficult to figure out how exactly people are related.) I only called Ebu my jekar a few times, but he blushed profusely each time I did. In Tchisse Masse, I promised to marry an older man that I called "suma jekar bu mag" (my husband that is old) and this was met with riotous laughter.

Buguma jekar legy, buguma jekar legity, waay buga naa jekar si kanam, si Canada.

Taxi Man

10 September 2010
Bakau, The Gambia

For the record, my trip hasn't only been about Gambian men. I've also spent lots of time with Senegalese men. Kidding! Well, actually I'm not, but that's not what I mean. I have been learning Wolof, spending lots of time along, hanging out with some women (though mostly ex-pat women, as all the Gambian women are at home, married, and working hard to feed their husbands and children), and working. But, Gambian men make the most entertaining stories and, as a solo toubab woman, constant male attention is the one thing that I can be certain each day will bring.

Yesterday, I took advantage of a free morning to head to Latrikunda to visit a friend. When was time to head back to Bakau for language lessons, Kebba took me to the Brikhama Highway to catch a cab. It had taken me almost an hour to get to Latrikunda due to heavy traffic and full cabs. I was slow leaving Kebba's house, of course, and was eager to get to Bakau and not be too late for Baboucarr, so I was hoping for a fast trip. I get into a cab, in the back seat, with four other me. The cab driver starts chatting to me in English (no surprise) and I respond in English. Mistake #1.

The cab driver asks me the standard suite of questions: What's your name? Where are you from? How's your vacation? How is The Gambia? I am panka (Wolof: sassy) and confident and shoot back my answers. He eventually gets around to asking the most important question: Do you have a husband? "Yes, I am married. I have four Gambian husbands." The man beside me had been enjoying my sassiness but, until then, had stifled his laughter and remained fairly calm and reserved. My declaration of four Gambian husbands, however, was enough for him to let loose his laughter.

I establish that I have four Gambian husbands and the cab driver, of course, wants to be my fifth. I insist that Islam says that I can only have four husbands, so he cannot be my fifth. At this point, I've been in Africa for three weeks and been solo in the city for nearly two of those. I have enough Wolof under my belt and am sassy enough that I think I know how to handle harmless but persistent men. And I'm still confident that I do, as long as they back off eventually.

The driver asks me where I am going. He's only going to Westfield Junction and I have to transfer there to get a five-five (a shared cab) to Bakau. I tell him I'm going to Bakau and he insists that I'll have a hard time getting a car from Wesfield. "There are no cars going to Bakau." I'm pretty sure this isn't true. "Coming, yes, but going, no. It's almost prayer day. Everything's full. I will drive you to Bakau, 60 Dalasi." I am pretty skeptical about the Westfield-Bakau car situation, but Africa is full of ridiculous logistical surprises and I am in a rush. So, I haggle, in English (Mistake #1.5) down to 40 Dalasi (less than $2 CAD).

Once it's established that the driver will take me all the way home, he continues his inquiry:

"Are you fasting?" No, I'm not fasting today. I have fasted some days, but not today.

"Are you Muslim?" No I'm not Muslim.

"Oh, I that that the man you were with was your husband." No he's not my husband. Mistake #2.

We get to Westfield. Everyone else gets out of the cab and the driver invites me to sit in the front seat. Still comfortable with the situation, and aware that it is common for passengers to sit in the front seat, I oblige. Mistake #3. We head to Bakau along major streets (i.e. paved) but don't take the usual routes -- we drive along streets that I don't know. I start to feel a little nervous, though, granted, we did miss all the traffic along Kariaba Ave and made great time to Bakau. Nonetheless, we're following routes that I don't know, I'm in the front seat, and the driver has seriously cranked up his persistence.

He wants to be my friend. He wants my phone number. He wants to call me. He wants to see me. How can he see me? He wants my number. He wants me to call him. He's tired. He wants to come to my house and lie in my bed. And he wants to -- and does -- touch my arm. Repeatedly, despite my insistence that it's not okay.

He also starts to make a dopey-eyed kissy face and flick his tongue in my firection. I haven't seen this facial expression before, but I know exactly what it means. I start to get seriously uncomfortable, but at this point we're close to Bakau and back on routes that I know.

We reach the Romana and I get him to drop me off. Mistake #4. He now knows where I live, though I'm not sure that I could have done much to avoid this at this point. I try to pay and he refuses my money, preferring to come lie down in my bed. "No, we had a deal." He gets out my change and I had him 100 Dalasi.

"You're just going to leave me? You're going to leave me like this?" Kissy face, kissy face, kissy face.

"Yes, I'm going to leave you just like that!" And I slam the door.

I was livid. I paced back and forth along the empty path of the Romana until I calmed down. I felt totally frustrated and violated. How can some people think that it's okay to treat others like that?!?! Just because I'm a solo white woman doesn't mean that I should be a target for persistent sexual advances. But I am, and they're mostly totally harmless. Mostly.

Lessons learned? See Mistakes 1, 1.5, 2, 3, and 4. Also, call Baboucarr, my anytime stand-in Gambian husband and have a chat. And I can always use the "I forgot that I have to run some errands, please drop me off at the supermarket on Kariaba" line. And, I can also write down his license plate number and threaten a police report. Gambia's pretty serious about non-harassment of tourists.

So, don't worry Dad. I am safe, cautious, streetwise, and I have a good group of trustworthy Gambian men that have my back. The same thing could happen in Vancouver except, at home, I don't need a cab driver to help me ride my bike!

African Letters #3

Written 26 September 2010
Leybato, The Gambia

Dear Africa,

You do have hammocks! You were just hiding them from me. You needn't be so secretive about your hammocks. Let them go forth and multiply!

Love,
A content, beach-side, hammock-slung Eileen

The Wonders of the 'Net

I just applied for a job in Victoria, from a bar in Senegal!

Too busy...

..living and loving Africa to tell you about it.

Updates will come soon - I promise - but not until I have good reason to sit in one place (with electricity and internet) for more than a day. I spent the week in El Hadji Mbaye, one of the project villages, and am off in the morning for a 48 hour sejour to Gambia to tour some agricultural facilities with a small delegation of Canadian farmers. Back to Kaolack early in the week, photos and updates sometime after that?!?!

But first, here's an assignment. Translate from Wolof to English:

Everyone I met in the village, every man I meet on the street: Am nga jekar?
Me: Amuma jekar, buguma jekar!

In Gambia and Senegal, greetings are very, very important and, so, I greet people as often and as many times as possible, lest I be a rude toubab. There's a pretty standard list of greetings -- "How are you?", "How is your family?", "How did you sleep?", "How is your work?", "How is your morning?", etc. -- and the above line is now part of my standard repertoire! It is always met with lots and lots of laughter and exclamations of "Deega nga Wolof!"

African Letters #2

Written 11 September 2010, in Bakau, Gambia

Dear Body,

I am so sorry about my African diet. I apologize for the daily loaves of starchy, refined, yeasty bread, the endless packages of sugary imported cookies, the soft drinks, the fish overdose, the buckets of palm oil, the rice-based meals, and the 95% reduction in produce consumption. I do not, however, apologize for my chocolate consumption -- organic, dark, and filling. I am also so sorry about the exercise thing. It's either too hot or too wet to go for a run -- and always too non-Gambian. I promise to make it up to you when we return to Canada. Springtime in Vancouver will bring long bike rides, whole grains, and heaps and heaps of salad greens.

Love, Eileen