Happy Ramadan...?

The month-long celebration of Ramadan began last Thursday. I am not totally sure about the religious significance of the holiday but in practical terms it means that everyone fasts from sunrise to sunset, and fasting means no eating or drinking. I decided to participate as well, since I am healthy and since I do want to be part of this community. I have told them I am still drinking water though, since I think it is unhealthy not to, and I have also secretly sneaked some snacks in my room. (Please don’t tell Allah!) We all wake up between 4-5 AM to have breakfast, which is monoo (our regular porridge made from corn meal and sugar). Once the evening prayer is said at sunset we break the fast by eating bread and café, which is actually a sort of tea made from kinkiliba leaves, powdered milk and sugar. Unfortunately it is really good, although not too healthy. (I should note that there are several mud ovens in my village but they are only used now, during Ramadan and for other special occasions like weddings or baptisms.) A few hours after sunset, after the final prayer that occurs around 9 PM, we have a bit dinner to try to get us through the next day. After not eating all day and then gorging in the evening, I fall asleep quicker than ever. It is amazing too how much hunger can affect everything – your mood, your energy level, your patience with small children, and your ability (or inability) to work in the fields or go on an evening run. I have learned that nothing important can ever happen after about 2 PM because everyone, including myself, is a bit tired. It seems, too, that with the added sugar in the evening the kids are especially hyper, but maybe it is just in comparison with the rest of us!

One unexpected side effect of Ramadan is that, for the most part, it is keeping my mind off of the big questions like: Why am I here? What good am I doing? Am I doing what is right and useful? Instead, I have spent literally hours daydreaming about food or the lack thereof. Specifically, I am embarrassed to say that I cannot get my mind off of burritos or enchiladas. (Living in the Mission in San Francisco spoiled me!) At first I thought it was somewhat absurd that a developing country like Senegal would spend a month being hungry. Obviously they are doing it for a reason, and there is nothing like serving higher purposes to get one motivated, but it surprised me. However, on a personal note, it has made me appreciate all that my village and the country does have here in Senegal. This period of fasting is not due to a lack of food, like many other places in the world.

This leads me to something I have been thinking about for awhile. Perhaps it is just because I am now so well integrated, but it doesn’t seem to me that my village is “poor.” We do not have electricity or running water, but people are relatively healthy, there is plenty of food, there is a primary school, and people do leave to find work other than local farming. I have begun to wonder, what is poverty, or what do we think of as poverty? Anyone reading this blog (besides other volunteers who may or may not agree with me) may think I am crazy; of course my village is poor – it is in rural Africa, and like I said, we have no electricity or running water! In the places I have traveled and the many places I have not but have seen pictures or read articles, I think of the “poor” as either in urban settings, trying to get by in a crowded system where there are no jobs and no security net or desolate in the desert, without any resources at all. I don’t know where I’m going with this topic, but I think especially with so much recent discussion about “development” in the “third world” we should think about what that means, and at the basic level, what we mean by “poverty.” Comparing themselves to me and all Americans, my village thinks they are poor. Perhaps they are right. But where they are in the world, they have access to plenty of wood to build their fires and cook their food. The rains are sufficient enough to grow their crops without additional irrigation. Their crops can sustain their families each year and provide some income. Each family has access to a well with clean water. The kids can go to primary school and travel to Missirah to go to the middle school if they pass the necessary test. There are two mosques in my village for people to pray. Most people even have cell phones. And it seems like almost everyone knows someone who lives and works in Dakar, Spain or France and sends back their earnings. In what ways are we rich as Americans? In what ways are we poor? As citizens of one of the most powerful nations, I think our definitions of these terms has a lot to do with the way we interact with the rest of the world, whether it be through sending individual donations to development or relief organizations, or through our government’s policies.

On a more personal note, I had a quick, minor breakdown one day last week. My one plan for the day – to go visit my closest Peace Corps neighbor – fell through because he was sick. I didn’t want to go back to my village since I had planned to be away for the day, but at that point, I didn’t know what to do with myself. All of a sudden all of my fears and insecurities came flooding back to me. What am I doing here? Am I really going to be able to make a difference and also become a better person because of my time here? Does my village even care that I am here? Have I learned Bambara enough to even communicate successfully with people? Can I live the village lifestyle for another year-and-a-half or will I slowly but surely actually die from boredom and intellectual and emotional un-fulfillment? *Sigh.*

I had a sleepless night and a few conversations with some friends. The next couple of days I realized (or re-realized) something important for perhaps all Peace Corps volunteers to realize: I do not work for a regular non-profit – I am a volunteer with the Peace Corps. That sounds silly to type out, and maybe it is. On one hand, it has been hard for me to cope without having a set agenda, set responsibilities, things that I would find by working for a non-profit. On the other hand, there is a freedom that comes from being, essentially, on my own in a village. I may not have access to large amounts of funding or even resources, but then that is not what the Peace Corps is all about, and indeed, perhaps that is only one type of “development” work. Instead, the Peace Corps is about sharing, about experiencing, both from my perspective and from my community’s perspective. There is something powerful to be said that this institution was set up on the belief that an individual, just through the act of being an individual, can affect change on other individuals in a positive and worthwhile way. For better or for worse, the U.S. government has not granted me with hoards of cash or polio vaccinations to give away. They trust and somewhere, believe that by being the American me that I am, I can and will give something positive to my community. Anyway, I am glad that I have come (or am coming) to this realization; I may not dramatically improve the way of life here in Madina Guinguineo or may not really improve it at all. But by helping my sisters in their cotton field, by playing with the kids, by telling my younger brothers that not all Americans have money and that life is hard wherever you go, maybe those are things worth my time and energy. Maybe they are fruitful. And maybe I too, will gain something from trying.

Well, that looks like enough rambling and grammatical mistakes for one entry! I hear there is a popular song called “Delilah” back in the States. What other very important things am I missing? I guess I might never know!