Earth Day (in the States)

It's interesting to think about Earth Day, especially as an American currently living in America. It has been nice to be home and take advantage of the "comforts" that we all take for granted -- and the comforts of my parent's house!

The contrasts between living in Senegal and living in the United States are stunning, especially in terms of environmental impact. This is not a conclusive list, but may give you an idea of how much resources we each use to maintain our "lifestyles."

An Average Day (for me) in America:
- 10-minute shower with several gallons of HOT water
- Lights on in the house for 6(?) hours
- 2 hours on the computer
- 1 gallon of gas for my car
- Clean clothes and linens washed and dried in MACHINES
- 1 bag of trash, mostly from food packaging or newspapers
- And of course, much more waste that was produced to make things that I consume, from my clothes to hair/face products, to food imported or manufactured from different parts of the country and the world, to the cleaning products used to clean our house and cars, etc.

(I'm sure I'm missing tons of other things, but then again, all of these things are things we know and accept.)

But, for some perspective...
An Average Day (for me) in Senegal:
- No electricity
- No hot water, running water
- 10-liters of water each day for bathing/drinking
- 15 extra liters of water each week for washing clothes
- Virtually no trash, except from packaging from things that were sent to me from the States
- When I would take a "car" into town, I would be one of 25 passengers crammed into a small bus, maybe using 2 gallons a trip, every two weeks

Obviously we don't want to give up many of our "pleasures" and "comforts," especially when we can still afford them, but it is something to think about. If our natural resources are here for everyone on this planet, why are we using so much more?

The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave

Over 24 hours of airplanes and airports and I am back in Yuba City, California. My week in Dakar was a good transition on my way back to the States and of course I already felt like I was in America once I stepped onto the plane. (Airplane food is pretty amazing, by the way!)

While in Senegal, one common conversation started like this: "Iboka Amerik? A kha di! Waree be jee!" Translation: "You're from America? America is nice! Money is there!" Sometimes I would just agree, but most of the time I would explain that there are good and bad things about America, just like any other country. Yes there is money to be made, but there are prices to be paid as well. For better or for worse, in America, families usually only consist of nuclear families with grandparents or aunts and uncles being hours or days away. In many two-parent families, both parents work, leaving the kids with some sort of caretaker. While some people are very wealthy, others live alone on the streets. We all usually spend quite a few hours each day alone or not interacting with other people, whether we are commuting to and from work, watching TV or sitting behind a computer. These are all things that are foreign to Senegal.

Then again, there are other things that are "primitive" about Senegal that are actually very important. Subsistence farming can make for a fragile lifestyle -- one bad rainy season or a sick family member can dramatically change a family's life. However, my villagers have a certain amount of control. While they buy oil and rice, they didn't have to worry too much about the price of the rest of their food since they grew it. They also knew the land, something that I think we as Americans are really missing out on. They feel the weather and know when the wind will blow. They know where their food comes from and even though they have enough, they don't take it for granted.

Just like this year was both wonderful and painful, so is being back. Springtime in Northern California is basically perfect; I am glad to be here for this season. Everything is in bloom, it is neither too hot nor too cold, both sunsets and sunrises require pause for reflection. And I have every comfort I could ever imagine. Our house is clean, with soft carpet. There is air conditioning or heat or fans or windows. I have a bed. Our house is quiet. There is clean running water, both hot and cold. There is a refrigerator and a pantry, and even more amazingly, dozens of stores with any type of food I could imagine, most of which only requires opening a package or heating some water to prepare.

But, then again, I miss spending time outside. I miss knowing the constellations and the phases of the moon. I miss the kids in my family, all 10 or 15 of them. I miss eating every meal with other people, sitting around the same bowl. I miss thinking about America from afar. I miss my Peace Corps friends.

Well, I have done quite a bit of rambling. I guess the point of this entry is that while I had conflicted feelings about being in Senegal, I still have conflicted feelings about being home. Transitions are never totally smooth though. I guess I still have to remind myself that I left in order to take advantage of the opportunities I have as an American to go back to school and become more educated -- so that I can better serve others again.

And then it happened...

I left the village. There were so many days this past year when it seemed like that would never happen, like I was stuck in this "village limbo" forever. Although things changed during the rainy season, for the most part, one day in the village was pretty similar to the next. Over time it seemed like I would never leave, but then it happened.

The last few weeks in the village were great. With some art supplies sent from Winship School we had a successful art day at the primary school. The students made drawings of Senegal and the village, which included things like mortal and pestles, donkeys, monkeys, "machines" for planting, and even a tree with a face carved in it, which comes from animism. It was a cool project. We also got the school garden up and running with beans, okra, bissap, carrots, lettuce, hot peppers and watermelon. The students are in teams and take turns watering. They are all really excited about it.

I also kept busy helping start a tree nursery in our area. Wula Nafaa (which means "use of the forest" in Bambara) is a USAID-funded project helping villages in my area build tree nurseries. The goal is to not only sell trees to individuals but to also help reforest the area. We have had quite a few workdays filling plastic sacks with a sand/dirt mixture. We ended with close to 10,000 sacks waiting to be seeded. It has been awhile since I have done any agriculture work (since our harvest ended in January) so it was nice to get my hands dirty again. The team was all men, too, which normally makes for a slightly uncomfortable situation but they were great and it was nice to be one of the guys and not harassed.

As for the health hut, a major cement shortage pushed back our start date to just last week. There has been a ton of construction in Dakar the last couple of months, mostly in preparation for the Islamic Conference in mid-March; my theory is that this was the cause of our cement shortage in Tambacounda. Nevertheless, it has started and the project committee is on top of things, always one step ahead of me. I have complete confidence in their abilities and would not have left early had I had any doubt. I formally transferred the project to Josh, my nearest Peace Corps neighbor, to help them out if they run into any problems. Again, everyone in the village is really excited and so thankful to all who have helped make the health hut happen.

Besides work, one very awesome and memorable event was our village's "sugo tuloo" or ANIMAL PARTY. It's a very traditional Bambara "thing," that different villages in the area host each year. There was lots of anticipation leading up to the big night. Well over 1,000 people came in from other villages and towns and took our little village over. It was a bit overwhelming! A few of my Peace Corps friends, Josh, Ben, and Donna, also came. After sunset we all headed to the edge of the village, looking out into the forest. The drummers started drumming and slowly two gazelles started dancing out from the trees into the village. We formed a huge circle and two of our older women, my grandma and our neighbor, led everyone to call the animals out, along with the drummers. The two gazelles danced, along with a huge bird and finally, the lion. The animals danced one-by-one until well after midnight. Lights nor cameras were acceptable but I recorded the drumming and singing on a cassette. The next day I asked who was in each "costume," but they gave me a smile and said, "Moxol si!" Or, "Nobody! They were animals!" Awesome Bambara tradition! My village rocks.

I left my village on the 27th of March. The first day I arrived in my village was really difficult, but this was clearly worse. I am leaving for many reasons, but mostly because I want to pursue medical school to obtain skills that will allow me to do greater good. My biggest regret was that I couldn't do much to really help my village, that they didn't need me in the first place, and that I did not have many skills to offer anyway. I am leaving to try to rectify that. However, while being so "work focused," I definitely underestimated the "culture" side. My host family has been amazing. They have been my friends, and really, my family here. I have seen their kids grow up. And one of the hardest parts is, I may never see them again. The morning I left, we shook hands with our left hands, a promise that we will see each other again. The women also asked me to forgive them if they had done me any harm, and I did the same. Crying is not very acceptable in this culture, but tears were shed.

I have finally made it to Dakar and am slowly getting used to the idea that I am actually going home -- and not just for vacation. My flight is on April 9th. The ride from Tamba to Dakar was the usual 12 hours; it was therapeutic to watch the scenery change (and see the temperature drop below 100 for once). Now in Dakar, it is starting to feel more like home. I have gone to the French bakery down the road several times. I went to the pool and the beach and have spoken more French than Bambara. I haven't worn my "village clothes" in a week. I have slept in a room with air conditioning for the first time in Senegal. I have almost spent all my money. I have said goodbye to other volunteers, who have been my second family here in Senegal.

To end this entry, I'm going to take a quote from a quick read that I really enjoyed, Eat, Pray, Love: "In the end, though, maybe we must all give up trying to pay back the people in this world who sustain our lives. In the end, maybe it's wiser to surrender before the miraculous scope of human generosity and to just keep saying thank you forever and sincerely, for as long as we have voices."

To those back home who have written and called and supported me, thank you. To my fellow volunteers and friends, thank you. To my village and Dansoxo kunda, Mao, Vieux and Bayo, Nynjarro and Nantie, Ndiaye, Khadi, Mama, Mydiarra and Fatou, all my little brothers and sisters, thank you.

My kids' hands on the wall of my hut.