I wake multiple times a night to many different sounds. The most prevalent I will list: the sound of donkey’s eore-ing, which really just sounds like they’re getting plowed, dogs howling, the rooster that sits literally outside my window crowing at 3 am, my little brother and sister coughing or crying because they have a URI, the Rasta, one of my brother’s, that lives across from me fixing his bike or trying to get back into his room after he’s locked himself out, or, my personal favorite, people having fun with the loudspeaker after the call to prayer has ended and someone forgot to turn it off.
Consequently, I am very tired all the time. Earplugs are a great commodity, here, however, have you ever had a rooster crow three feet from your pillow? Even noise canceling Bose headsets are no match.
When I do get some shuteye I wake up to either my alarm at 7:30 or the sound of Ibrahim, my 2 year-old brother, crying. Sweeping our front lawn, which is actually a sandlot, is also a common wake-up call. I get out of bed, tie up my mosquito net, make my bed– yes, this is not a typo–and tell my mom I want to take a bucket bath, actually she insists upon my cleanliness so much so that she wont let me leave the house in the morning unless I’ve bathed.
My bucket bath is refreshingly cool. The shower area is separated from the douche (toilet) by a thin wall that does not meet the ceiling. I usually hear grunting followed by a large kerplunk while I’m bathing. The smell of roses instantly emanates from the deep as the pipe for my shower and the toilet are one in the same. No one can ever call me high maintenance again.
After my bucket bath I eat breakfast in my room. My mother makes me coffee and can not comprehend how I can drink it with only 1 sugar cube – trust me Americans, one is MORE than enough! She watches me eat thin, cold, cut up pasta with onions and beef bullion cube seasoning. Apparently this is not a typical meal for breakfast in Senegal as no one else in my group has ever eaten this. I finally had a little chat with her and said I only wanted bread to which she put an entire stick of butter on ¼ of a baguette. It’s a work in progress.
I then head to Jeeba’s house, one of our LCF’s teaching us Pullo Fuuta to meet up with Charles and Meera, the two other volunteers in my language group, to water our garden. A little girl names Mamcoumba comes with us every day and always holds my pinky as we walk to the school where our garden rests.
After we water we head to language class for 3 or 4 hours. Sometimes it’s productive, other times…well, you read about how many donkeys wake us up at night.
Lunch is usually at 2 or 2:15. I eat with the women and children separately from the men. Everyone chows down to white rice and the tiniest fish you can imagine. There are between 8 and 10 people crowding around the lunch bowl.
I take a quick nap after lunch, mostly for a moment’s quiet, but usually get woken up by Sulemon, my dad Ibrahim’s son, sitting in a tree hitting a plastic bowl with a stick.
After that I either have free time to study for the rest of the day or we have group activities like building a mud stove, more gardening and tree planting, community mapping, or mural painting.
That usually goes on until around 6:30pm and I try to go for a run either with the other PCT’s in Sangalkam or with one of my brothers. Recently, I have been running with my 11 year-old brother Sharif who can only make it about 10-15 mins but I make him go for longer. He’s very sweet and supportive and we talk in Pullo Fuuta. He corrects me when I make a mistake and he is very patient with my learning.
When I get back from my run, the rest of the 9 children in my compound run out shouting, “Mariama!!!!! Fait du sportif, sportif, sportif!!!” What they mean is they want to do jumping jacks, push-ups, lunges, squat jumps, or whatever else I do after my run to attempt to stay in shape. Sit-up’s are everybody’s favorite and we count in Pullo Fuuta while we do them.
Then I take another bucket bath and eat dinner. After dinner, my dad, Ibrahim, will sit with me for over an hour and practice speaking the language with me. He is very patient and if I don’t understand something he will say it slower, explain it in French, or if I really don’t get it, he’ll try his best to say it in the English he knows. We usually talk over ataaya, or Senegalese tea, that is minty-sweet deliciousness.
By 10:00pm I’m usually pretty tired and try to head to bed. But the cacophony that is Sangalkam keeps me in a perpetual half-slumber.
Below are some pictures of my room, our mud stove and some more pictures of my family.
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