Happy Three Years, Peace Corps

World Cup fever has descended upon Dakar.

Symptoms include:

• Overindulgence in beverages as they don't require you to look down to consume them.
• Under indulgence in eating as you may often forget to eat dinner as the matches leave you only approximately 45 minutes between them. And that "half time" in soccer is really just a time-out so God help you if you want to try and find something to stuff in your face in those 4 minutes between the first and second half.
• Your throat will become hoarse either from yelling at the referee for being card happy or blind depending on the night/team. Your scratchy esophagus will be exacerbated by screaming at the person across the table asking if they can see how much time is left or asking if that really was a yellow card and/or does anyone have to go to referee school?!

All in all, World Cup fever leads to long hours, light wallets and the need to do a detox soon. Also, it leads to forgetfulness. Which is why, Peace Corps Senegal, I wanted to apologize.

With all this soccer mayhem I completely forgot our anniversary. I am so sorry I didn't make mention of it last week. I promise these three years have been truly wonderful and if Brazil hadn't promised an interesting opener and that USA-Ghana game hadn't kept me up so late, I am sure I would have let you know how much I appreciate you with a lovely Facebook post or a #tbt on instagram with photos from our stage one year parties, I certainly would have waxed nostalgic on this blog about how much you have taught me these past three years and helped me become a better woman.

However,  the Italy-Costa Rica game starts in just over an hour and I can't make dinner plans with you because France plays at 7 pm, but maybe next week? After group play is over?

We should catch up over lunch.

Home Sweet Home in Kolda

Yaaye & I at the family compound

People don't say no in Senegal. A no comes in the form of "let me check into that" or "God willing" or "soon, soon" but never flat refusal. This can be extremely frustrating most of the time when trying to get a project off the ground or complete a planning for a training, but occasionally I use the vague acquiescence too.

Since moving to Dakar I have deployed a wave of "soon, soon" as people often ask when I was planning my next visit to Kolda. I finally got to follow through on my promise to see people this May. The project I am working was running a training of trainers in Kolda and I was invited to present on record keeping tools. The only thing left to do was figure out how to get on down there.

Kolda has always been hard to get to from Dakar as it is South of the Gambia, which would mean two border stops. Then there is the closeness to the region of Ziguinchor where there is a history of civil unrest and therefore road blocks are up starting at 7pm. Then there is the fact that there are no bridges on the major roads in Gambia and so the only way across is by boat, and if the ferry breaks down or there are a long line of cars waiting... Well, let's just say you need to find some shade and a cool drink cause you'll be a while. In order to try and make the trip in one day as painless as possible I opted to go through the Gambia and break the trip up into steps so I could make it in one day.

Sunday morning, I was up and out the door before the sun had even peaked over the horizon. Balancing a hot plastic cup of local spiced coffee in one hand and my bag in the other, I negotiated with a taxi to the garage (car 1). Once at the garage I tried to explain that I didn't want to get in a direct car to Kolda that yes, I was planning on taking separate cars so finally, I was led to a car going to Kaolack (car 2) then changed from the transport hub for the north (garage Dakar) to the other hub serving the south (garage Nioro) by taxi (car 3). Then negotiated a ride to the Gambian border (car 4). The car took me almost to the border to a small transport hub filled with Gambian taxis. I hopped in one of these bright green and yellow autos (car 5), got my passport stamped at the border and arrived at the ferry at high noon. Once by the river I had grabbed an iced juice snack to keep me cool on the boat ride over, which is short but lacking in shade. Once on the other side I had to pay the pass for each seat in a taxi going to the Southern border (car 6) on the Kolda side as I seemed to be the only one heading that way. After going through another set of immigration stamps, I jumped in a car from that border to the junction in Sedhiou (car 7) and finally, after another iced juice snack, got into a car from the junction in Sedhiou to Kolda (car 8).  12 hours and 8 different cars later, I arrived dusty and hot in the 107 degree evening heat, home to Kolda.

Home sweet home was never more true for me then the week I spent in Kolda. Every evening was full of food and family and friends, sitting out under the stars, thankful for cool breezes while we chatted about local gossip, my work in Dakar, what were the plans for Ramadan. The dust was well worth the opportunity to sit with my grandma and watch the neighborhood move past the compound gate, calling out greetings to neighbors and discussing anything from womanly behavior to who was to blame for all the pigs in Kolda.

Hoping to go back. Soon.