Parc National Niokolo-Koba

At 4am on Thursday I met three guys from England driving the return leg of Sierra Leone to London after working at a hospital there for two months...We decided to go to the National Park for the night...

Here are some pictures from the trip (blog post upcoming)

And then he went to the trunk to get a tire iron...

I was in Dakar about a week ago to complete my mid-service medical appointments where they run a number of tests to make sure Senegal isn't killing me yet. Dakar always offers a number of big city headaches you would never run into in regional capitals, much less a village. One of them is the obstacle of negotiating a taxi fare wherever you're going. As a white foreigner I have a sign on my back that says I have a whole lot of money, and anyone and everyone should try to get as much of it out of me as possible. Fare negotiations always start with something ridiculous like 4000 or 5000 CFA. I often throw out the Wolof karma proverb, "Luway def bopem," and the entire dynamic of the conversation changes: I am no longer a tourist, I speak some of the most prominent local language, and there is no way you're getting 3-4x the fair price like you're accustomed to with other foreigners. We joke around a bit more in the small amount of Wolof I speak, usually calling each other "sai sais" (thugs), and in the end we settle on around 1000-1500 CFA for the fare.

Around 4pm on Sunday afternoon myself, Jesse, another Peace Corps Senegal volunteer, and Virginia, a former Peace Corps Togo volunteer picked up a taxi in front of the "Liberte VII" Peace Corps transit house in Dakar negotiating the standard 1500 CFA price to the "Brioche Doree" bakery round point in Ngor Village (northwest Dakar) as the waypoint to go another ~200yds to the Peace Corps Senegal office. Nearly every taxi driver in Dakar knows this waypoint and has no trouble getting to it.

We negotiate the price, load our bags in the trunk, and depart for Ngor. Along the way I ask the driver if he speaks any Pulaar so maybe we can have an actual conversation, but he doesn't. The beach comes into view and we arrive at the first round point in Ngor with the driver pointing out a different bakery as the destination. I remark to him, in Wolof, "no, no it's the next round point. The round point with the Brioche Doree. It's not far." The driver starts to grumble to himself a bit in Wolof that I don't understand, but we continue nonetheless. About 20 yds before the target round point I tell him to hang a right to continue on to our destination, and he loses it. He's yelling in Wolof about how expensive gas is, and if I wanted the fare for 1500 it would have been the round point ~150 yds back. Trying to stay calm I tell him it's just a litte further. We take the right turn at the round point, and I tell him, "it's the next left." Well that was that...

The driver stops the taxi and starts yelling in Wolof how I need to pay him 2000 CFA now, and he's not taking me any further (at least that's all I understood). Again I tried to stay calm, "it's just a little further on the left." He gets out and goes to the trunk, and I think, 'well he's going to throw our bags out on the street and try to get rid of us.' He lifts up the bags and pulls out a tire iron from the trunk. The thought actually crossed my mind for a split second, 'well the car was rumbling a bit, maybe he needs to mess with the tire...' I quickly remembered, "no, I've heard this story before..."

He came around to the front passenger seat, tire iron in hand, and yanked my door open. "Give me my money! You need to pay me 2000 CFA!" At this point I decided to switch to language I actually speak and said, "calme-toi..." His response was a quick, "dugama (I don't understand)." French would now be useless. This was going to be interesting as I was the only one in the group of 3 who spoke any Wolof, and it was about exhausted at this point. I turned to look for the input of my friends and we decided the office wasn't that much further. We could just walk. We got out of the taxi, and went around back to grab our bags. The driver was still wielding his tire iron and staring us down. "He didn't take us all the way to our destination, so I'm only giving him 1000 CFA," Virginia remarked. 'Good luck with that,' I thought...

Virginia handed him the 1000 CFA bill, and the driver started yelling, but his Wolof exclamations were about as effective as hers in French. He grabbed onto her bag to thwart her escape, and she grabbed onto the tire iron to keep him from getting any ideas about using it. Suddenly the car started rolling down the street on its own, and the driver had to abandon his grip for a moment to stop it. It wasn't enough time to get away as we started to walk, so the stand off continued. Finally at this point the local foot traffic saw this loud tug-of-war taking place, and around 10 people (some French, some Senegalese) showed up to see what the problem was.

They quickly tried to tell the driver to calm down and get between us and him. "What did you negotiate for a price?" I was immediately asked. They knew the problems tourists had getting a fair price. I explained how we had negotiated for 1500 to this round point and he got angry out of nowhere for having to go past the round point with the first bakery (he clearly didn't know where he was going). A Senegalese man quickly snatched the tire iron from his grasp, and that was out of the equation. "Just pay him the remaining 500 CFA and it will be over," they said. I didn't want to set a precedent for being able to scare extra money out of tourists (which is clearly what he was trying to do), but I could reconcile he had taken us to the negotiated waypoint even if it wasn't our destination. I gave him the remaining money, they removed his grasp from Virginia's bag, and we quickly walked away while the yelling continued. I kept an eye out behind us, but we made it to the office without any further issues...

"But neither did I...I haven't once..."

It’s funny the little routines we get into to deal with what are very clearly challenging circumstances. We accommodate others that we know might be having a tough time just so that they have a shed of sanity to hold onto when times are especially trying.

The last month here in Senegal has been underscored by the Islamic holy time of Ramadan. From Sun up until Sun down Muslims around the world are not supposed to eat or drink. Muslims are also not supposed to swallow their saliva, so spitting out the window can get to comical proportions in a cramped 7-place traveling across country. Exceptions are made for the children, sick, pregnant, and breast-feeding. This has been a bit of stressful time for the people here in Senegal, as tempers can grow short around 6:30pm when you haven’t eaten all day.

In my household Ramadan has meant that at around 5am my family gets up and has an extra early breakfast before sunrise. The electricity even comes on especially for that hour from 5am to 6am. Not fasting myself, I’ve continued on my regular wake cycle of around 7/7:30 and eating breakfast around 9:30/10. Lunch tends to be a little later around 2:30/3 with the children making up the majority of the company and my sister of 25 years, Julde, cooking. Around 7:15pm or so the sun drops from the sky and it is time to break the fast that has weighed so heavy through the afternoon. For fast breaking we have one of my favorite dishes, mony, consisting of pounded millet, kosam (a spoiled milk yogurt sort of treat), sugar, and, if we’re lucky, some citrus juice. Normally if someone has not fasted during the day he won’t partake in the family drinking of mony. The fast breaking then pushes dinner back to a later hour of between 10 or 11pm, and we make the switch from a rice base to a lecciri base (pound corn or millet like couscous).

The other day I was working in my back yard doing some weeding around my tomato plants when I noticed the time was approaching for fast breaking. I put a shirt on and walked through my hut and toward the batiment (cement main house in the compound) to meet my 6-year old sister Yebbe coming out to get me. She took one look at me and turned back to open door, “Nee, o ara (Mom, he’s coming).” At the door my mom Jenaba met me with the usual bowl of mony but only one spoon. “Handi, be horanii. O woni fii aan tan (Today, they didn’t fast. This is for you only.)”

Michelle Sylvester Scholarship for Girls

Opportunity for women has been shown to be the most effective means of reducing birthrates. It's simple: when a woman can use her time to work and contribute to a household outside its walls, it most often outweighs time otherwise devoted to bearing children. In Senegal, especially in villages, boys have been shown to go further in school by a wide margin. A number of factors contribute to this reality, but simply put there isn't as much support for girls to finish high school much less continue on to university.

Peace Corps Senegal runs a scholarship program to support the best female high school (equivalent) with financial need. The process to select candidates starts with recommendations from the girls' teachers based on classroom participation and academic achievement. The teachers recommend 9 students, with three from each of the levels 3rd, 4th, 5th.

With this pool of 9 I proctored an essay inquiring what each girl was planning for her future endeavors and how she felt she could support girls' education in her town. Next was the interview portion where I posed a number of questions ranging from the number of children and students in each girl's family to where and for how long she studies at home. Paired with the interview was a "home visit" where observations were taken about the state and signs of wealth for each girl's home. Based upon all data collected, the top 6 of 9 candidates also showing the greatest financial need will get the next year's tuition paid for, and of those 6 candidates 3 will also get money for school supplies.

As an American young man of 23, adolescent Senegalese girls probably relate to me the least of anyone. This program was definitely my chance to really get to know some of them more personally, each one now making a point to stop me and say hi when we see each other in the street. The scholarship is not an exorbitant amount of money, but with the number of volunteers spread all over Senegal completing this program, a lot of girls can be supported to continue their studies and consider their futures more seriously.

More Donkey Ride Pics

Trees Go in the Ground??

For the past 7 months I've been caring for a steadily growing pepineer that consists mostly of guava trees and now also includes cashew trees and a thorny live fencing species. Since the rains are finally starting to become more and more steady, I've started to outplant!

Recently I was approached by the abbott, Timothee, from the Catholic Mission in Pakour after we had discussed the potential of working together some months earlier. Timothee said that he wanted to work with me, but continually asked what I wanted to do on the grounds of the Mission. I had explain the fact that it wasn't up to me to decide what to work on; potential work partners come to me with ideas and then I help them start the projects. After a visit to my pepineer and a short discussion down at the Mission grounds we decided there was enough space in a fenced in area of the grounds to plant 5 guava trees and 3 cashew trees. For the trees that I have cared for and grown I have decided that selling them is a much better strategy than giving them away. If I give them away there's a chance they won't be cared for like their worth the time and effort that was put into them, and well I'm not selling them for very much at 100 CFA/tree (enough to buy a loaf of village bread in Senegal or about 20 cents USD).

I arrived on the arranged evening with the 5 guava trees and went to work demonstrating the techniques for outplanting a pepineered fruit tree. After completing the first outplanting, I stepped back and let the two resident abbotts, Timothee and Martin, along with my buddy, Moussa Diallo, and

Babacar, the grounds management worker at the Mission, do the rest. By the end of the evening we each had a tree named after its planter.

With a new seven-foot tall woven fence inside a wider area, shorter wire I was not the least bit concerned for the trees...as long as the doors were closed properly.

I had decided to put off completing their plantation for another week since my cashew trees were only just about 6 weeks old and the guidelines call for at least 6 but no more than 10 weeks in the pepineer before outplanting. Upon returning to the Mission only 6 days later I was greeted by bare twigs where leafy 2.5 foot guava trees once stood - GOATS!! I was upset to say the least. I made my irritation known in a roundabout fashion, as displaying frustration would not be culturally acceptable. Six and half months of care and work down the drain. Two ground-driven vertical logs braced the piece of fencing designed to slide open prohibited the fencing from sitting flush and had offered the perfect weakness. We finished outplanting the cashews and rearranged the fencing to sit more streamline.

I have since visited the Mission and I am happy to say the guava trees are all pushing out new leaves. Since the trees were old enough to have some hard wood, the goats were not interested in consuming them all the way to the ground. For now it looks like the trees will survive, but we all agreed that another attack like that would surely finish them off.

I hated goats before they attacked my guavas - constantly chasing them out of my compound with rocks following them close behind. Within a few nights of the attack, I was lying in bed and spied a goat that had gotten into the fenced-in area behind my hut consuming every last one of my trees. I arose with a start, banged my toe on the side of my bed, and, gasping for a breath, gazed out my back door. It was 2am, pitch black, and there wasn't a goat to be found...goat nightmares...Does Peace Corps health insurance cover PTSD?

English Club & Such at the CEM de Pakour

Throughout the dry season I spent most of my time on secondary projects not related to trees or reforestation, and one of my regular jobs became an English teacher at the CEM where the latrine project is underway.

Six teachers from town rent rooms in my compound teaching Arabic, Natural Science, elementary education, and of course English. Mr. Gaye, the English teacher, and I quickly got to know each other simply because of the ease that came with speaking my native tongue. He continuously wanted to improve his English and I wanted someone to have a conversation with as a break from French or Pulaar. One day Mr. Gaye proposed the idea of me giving a presentation in one of his classes to give his students a chance to listen to a native speaker, and so my teaching career began.

It started with just one of Mr. Gaye's classes and continued on until, to date, I've given around 7 presentations in not only Mr. Gaye's classes but also a second English teacher, Mr. Diop.

Almost all of the presentations have consisted of me starting off by explaining a little about myself, where I'm from in the U.S., and what I studied in college before segwaying into Peace Corps

information. I then give a background on what the Peace Corps is, its goals, its programs, and what my current and future efforts and aspirations are for Pakour. I finally move on to cultural differences between Senegal and the United States (blog post upcoming...I can't believe I haven't outlined this yet...maybe it just took me this long to be able to hash it out). During the presentation I try so hard to speak sloooowly and cleeeaaarly because "American English is so quick." After working with the English teachers for so long, I've even picked up on their pronunciation of certain words and try to use those to improve the students' understanding. Throughout the presentation Mr. Diop or Gaye will take notes, and we always conclude with a short quiz on what I said. Sometimes if they miss something I might repeat the answer amongst other information/names to make them sift through and find the correct response. Some of the classes have only been learning English for a couple years, so hearing a native speaker for the first time is extremely difficult, but when they do find the correct response, and there usually is at least a couple of students that were actually paying attention, it makes it all the more worth it. The other day I taught an English class on the problems of deforestation and the importance of the forest surrounding Pakour. Any of you that know me can probably guess what happened - I got a little carried away talking about the environment and before I knew it I had diagrams about Global Warming on the board, and the students eyes were glazed over...I'm sure they picked up some of it...

I'm now considered one of the teachers, and I even have some students calling me "Mr. Barry" (It takes some getting used to being called "Mr." anything, especially with your foreign last name) I attend all the teacher gatherings and spend most of my free time with them conversing in a mixture of French, Pulaar, Wolof, and English (in that order).

Additionally I have been a judge at the English Club's Master Game (Master Game Finals Pictured). The Master Game is a jeopardy-like trivia game with mostly simple

questions in categories including spelling, general knowledge, grammar, and vocabulary, but everything is in English. This is a great

opportunity for the students to practice their English by speaking and hearing only English. Unfortunately some of the other teachers are a little less than confident in their own English

and use a lot of French (the general academic language in Senegal) or

even some of the native native languages (Wolof/Pulaar) in their

lessons. So often many of the students, and even some of the English teachers, fear speaking English with me as they might make a mistake with the native speaker. With the way conversations almost always start, it seems that the first thing they must teach in English class is how to say "I don't speak English," so I spend the first couple minutes diffusing this and pushing them to try harder. Through my experiences with the Master Game I have gotten to know some of the best students in Pakour, and for all the stories I hear about female students getting married at 15 and dropping out or the prevalence of students not fulfilling the 50% average to successfully complete a grade and having to be held back, it is refreshing to meet the best of the best who will even seek me out at home on their own time just to practice their English. Pictured is Amadou, the president of the English Club, at the Master Game Finals singing a song about Africa's pain and struggle...in English. He's pretty good...

The CEM in Pakour, is struggling by with minimal funding and decrepit facilities, but with the

efforts of teachers like Mr. Gaye (Pictured Left) and Mr. Diop (Right) along with the freshman headmaster, Mr. Sabaly (Center),

things are moving in the right direction.

I was recently awarded a certificate of recognition by the teachers, students, and headmaster of the CEM for my continued work with them in English classes, the latrine project, and the Michelle Sylvester Scholarship Program (Blog Post Upcoming). Mr. Sabaly thanked me greatly for my help and stated that next year our work together will start earlier in the school year, and my opinion will be solicited and considered for every decision made at the school...wow, never thought I would find myself with this much input into the school...