Put me in a village in Africa and what will I do...

...Teach my family the chicken dance. That's right folks after letting my family laugh at me for rather jerky-white-girl-can't-dance movements I decided to give them something real to laugh at. complete with motions and obnoxious singing.

So I have been in village for about 3 weeks now but it doesn't feel like it. I feel like I have been there forever. Installation was kind of crazy. I ended going to another volunteer's installation before mine and that was interesting experience which only made me more excited and nervous for my own. It was kind of humorous in that when we both got out of the car they didn't know who was their volunteer even though we look nothing like each other. That is another thing I've noticed is that many of the villagers think all white people look the same even when we are radically different looking. But then again it is taking me a while to differentiate faces which I guess is a weird and interesting conundrum faced by people who don't live in physically heterogeneous societies. Not that America doesn't have diversity but I've never been completely surrounded by black people and my village has really only seen volunteers which they are not a lot of down here and learning to make the appropriate visual adjustments to recognizing people is fascinating to me. I hope I expressed myself right in this paragraph and if I offended anyone I apologize.
The Peace Corps car (with all the African possessions to my name) turned off the paved road and onto this dirt path, my stomach started to get jumpy. The thought did occur to me that I could technically turn around and not even torture myself with the possibilities presented by seeing my village and in as little as two weeks I could be back in America drinking real coffee and reading the Sunday newspaper comics enjoying what was left of fall and the beginning of winter.
However that was far too easy and plus I really wanted to see my hut (cuz everyone knows that could be part of the story I tell for the next two years "I lived in a hut in Africa.)
We pulled up to this small pink concrete building and there were about 50 people standing, sitting, dancing and making music on metal bowls who cheered when they saw us.
Tha was what got me out of the car. I smiled and the trainer and driver (these people have names but I'm not sure if they wish to be associated with my blog so unless I am told otherwise I try to name people) got out with me and we went and started to shake hands, greet people. Lots of "Jaramming" (thanking) going on and then I got I pulled toward the circle of women playing the bowls and dancing. Another volunteer had said the one of the best ways to earn brownie points was to dance and so when the opportunity presented itself I said to myself "it's not like they won't spend the next two years laughing at me anyways" and jumped in.
They laughed and someone through a grand bou bou over me and after sometime we sat and the trainer talked in front of the village telling them why I was here what I was expected to do and then we went to see my hut.
It is is in the back of the village and it is bigger than I expected. I have some space. Unfortunately it was completely bare, lacking most importantly a bed. The doors needed to be recemented and it didn't lock at first and when I stepped in to the backyard (which is huge and when I got there it was buried under weeds) I was greeted by two massive cows and some chickens. I stepped back into my douche which was partly exposed by a leaning fence and faced not so much a hole as a crater. The housing report I got from two years ago mentioned that somethings needed to be recemented and it was obvious they hadn't been done. But whatever even the fence in my backyard was broken giving me a front row view to the douche for the hut next to me.
The well had a bucket and rope so all in all life was looking pretty good.
I was given explicitly instructions that these would be fixed and at the someone else's expense within in the week. They were fixed after two weeks when I said I was heading the regional capital to talk with the Peace Corps staff ( I wasn't going for any reason except the desire for a hamburger and to turn in a site locator form).
I'm most proud of the back yard which still has weeds but I cleared the heck out of it. I mus have put at least three hours of work in for the first week I was there. I had these huge piles of weeds which I was saving as green material for a compost pile but then someone in the village found a two and half meter snake in their room and I decided having giant piles of potentially good looking space for reptiles was not in my best interest. So I threw them over my fence and kept only the most dry straw to act as mulch. I successfully (so far) planted cucumber, beans, carrots, and I have a pepinere for tomatoes, hot peppers, onions and more carrots. I think that may have earned me some cred because when i say that I have a garden I get the are-you-serious look more often than not. So I show them and then they say they can show me their gardens, which considering it is not going to rain until next September are impressive in size. Met the World Vision rep for the village and he has banana trees in his backyard which I intend to figure out how he grows them because in COS report I got the volunteer had a lot of trouble with banana trees. I just want a banana tree. Really bad.
I should also mentions I alternate wearing two pairs of pants, two tank tops and a wrap skirt. I stopped wearing deodorant and I am very dirty most of the time but I think for the most part my smell isn't bad yet. Or maybe it is and I just haven't noticed.
The village is amazing. I should say that the village decided to name me Adama which means have about dozen namesakes (tokra in pulaar) ranging from the original one, a pretty kick ass woman I think and a small two year old boy who loves to giggle and hold my hand.
I get called toubaub (foreigner-white person) still but its getting back. In the village I stop and tell them I'm not a toubaub I am Adama and I live here (the village has about 150 people so this isn't a problem as much anymore) and when I am riding my bike and hear someone call out "toubaub" I just shout back "balajo" which means black person. I love how in Africa it is isn't really offensive to point out someone's color or difference in appearence. It is a little harder to get used to the jokes especially between different language groups and families with last names. Diallos and Baldes are convinced they are better than each other. Sereis and Pulaars call each other their slaves. Its all in good fun and I have yet to see an insult used in a mean spirit.
Oh the bugs here are on steroids and I have a spider in my hut about the size of my hand who looks like a crab. His name his Sebastion and one day I will kill him. :)
Also I hate goats and chickens. Goats because they get into my backyard and eat my plants. But chickens most of all because there is this one chicken that comes into my hut, looks at me and poops like "what you gonna do sucker?" I told my host dad I'm going to eat that chicken after tabaski. He offered to sell her to me for 6 mille (about about 13-15 American dollars) but if the chicken ends up dead before then I won't mind. Maybe the snake will get it (ha who's laughing now Nuggets!)
Today is always Thanksgiving, the best holiday of all time, created in remembrance of harmony and gratitude to one and another (at least before the pilgrims and Indian's developed poor relations and tried to annihilate each other) and to celebrate food and football. We are attempting to make thanksgiving here (I'm attempting sweet potato casserole) but I just want to say to everyone Eat, Drink and be Merry!! Celebrate time with your families, to my family and friends just know that you are in my thoughts and I wish I could be there with you. There had better be no leftover green bean casserole left this year. I don't care who does it someone needs to step up and be me.
As always, love always
Meg