Bassari Festival!

About a week and a half ago I went down to Kedougou with some other volunteers to witness a Bassari initiation festival. The event was located in a village about 80 Kilometers from Kedougou, so we had to take a 2 hour car ride, followed by a 2 hour hike to get to the village. My first impression of the area was how different the landscape is. Instead of dry, desert like plains with nothing but sand in sight for miles, we were greeted by beautiful rolling hills with pretty little villages sprinkled across the area. Arriving at night, there was a pre-initiation party that was a blast to attend, since there probably enough palm wine going around to supply the U.S Army.
The next morning, the true festivities began. Young boys, averaging 12-14 years old, watched as the seasoned warriors paraded around the village, dressed head to toe in their war tunics. It was quite an impressive sight. After a few hours of slow but entertaining parades, a small level of chaos broke out. With no warning whatsoever, everyone started running down the hill. Trying hard not to fall, I sped down the hill in my Chacos, not really understanding what was going on. Once at the bottom, we found that there was a large plain, and immediately we knew why everyone had hurried down. The ritualistic fights were set to begin. Each young boy would be given wooden weapons to test his mettle against one of the warriors. During the combat stage, no women were allowed within 200 yards or so (the girls in our group were promptly forced to leave and back up the hill). Also, photography was strictly prohibited (this rule was fanatically upheld, with perpetrators having their cameras snatched away from them). Thus, one by one, the young men took their turns fighting the older, much stronger men. Usually, after about one or two swings, the combatants dropped their weapons and wrestled until one was taken to the ground. Of about 40 or so fights we saw, only once did the youth come out victorious. It was incredibly fun to watch, since shouting and jeering seemed to be encouraged.

On the road to Kedougou, waiting so that our driver could bribe the police...

Some Bassari warriors

After the fighting was over, we packed up our gear and headed back to Kedougou. Coming into Kedougou had taken us 13 hours, since we had rented out a 7place to leave from Thies at 5am. However, my trip home was not destined to be so quick. Combined, it took me approximately 22 hours to get back to Ngaye. Either way, it was a great trip and I'm happy to have seen some of my friends down there. As for work, our basket order is in full swing, and I will be going to different villages this week to hand out the first round of salaries and do some quality control. Aside from that, I may start working with some women's groups in town that try to sell and advocate solar ovens. Finally, I'm finishing up a fancy little brochure for my leather workers so that they can have something to hand out when they go to the artisanal expo in Dakar early next month. Anyways, I hope everyone is doing well back home. Ba ci kanaam!

P.S I got my supervisor to sign my vacation form today. Serbia here I come!

The Trek

As the crow flies, I live 18 miles from the ocean. Since this distance seems rather minimal in the grand scale of things, I've always wanted to walk to the ocean from Ngaye. I brought this idea up to a few people, each time garnering some questionable looks. But apparently I've become quite convincing, and managed to sucker 3 friends of mine into this adventure. Thus, Thursday night, 4 of us (Thomas, Daniel, Justin and I) met at a fantastic chicken restaurant in Thies to have a feast (1st picture) before the start of the trek. We then took a cab back to my town, where we made some last minute preparations and got a decent nights sleep.

At precisely 5:30AM the next morning, we charged out of my house with our headlamps and headed west. Our goal was to make it to Mboro (a town 2-3 miles from the ocean) where we would regroup with a volunteer there and then continue onto the ocean. As the sun slowly rose in our backs (2nd picture), we walked briskly, intent of making as much progress as possible while it was still fairly cool out. Soon enough, we were trudging through sandy field after sandy field, still going directly west. While trudging through these fields, we spotted some dunes far in the distance, and wondered what we would find behind them. About 5 hours later, we finally hit the dunes (3rd picture - Myself and Justin), climbing them in a nervous energy to see the view from the top (4th picture). For such a barren territory, we were all shocked at the austere beauty of the view from the top. We also made an interesting discovery from the top of these dunes: between us and the ocean lay a massive posphorous factory stretching several miles of land. To get to Mboro, we would simply have to walk right through the middle of the factorys grounds. Approaching the gargatuan man-made mountains of rock, we silently wondered if this was a good idea. After all, if 4 random hikers walked through the heart of a U.S factory snooping around, they would quickly be dispatched and told never to come back.

Upon arriving at the heart of the factory, we were relieved to see that everyone was incredibly friendly to us. Not only were the employees fine with us being there, they were elated to see toubabs walking around and speaking Wolof to them. So, after a healthy detour at the factory (5th picture), we made our way through the end of it, to find some dry stretches of land. For me, this would be the most tenuous part of the trip. Having thus far avoided any blisters on my feet, I was feeling great and at the front of the pack. Suddenly, the dry earth (6th picture)started getting softer, and then much softer. Before I could make a comment, my right leg sank straight into soft (and seemingly neverending) mud. Blurting out my share of expletives, I was helped out of the trap by Daniel. So yes, I've essentially been a victim of quicksand, as my shoe and leg were caked with enough mud to make any sign of skin invisible. For about another 2 hours, we trudged along, our pace slowing quite a bit due to blisters and the increasingly intense heat of the day. Passing through the fertile (and beatiful) fields near Mboro, we could sense the finish line. Finally, at around 4pm, we were met by Devon (the Mboro volunteer) on the national route going into Mboro. Handing each one of us a cold beer, he commented that the ocean was still probably 2 hours away by foot. Downing our beers, we decided that we were spent and that our trek would end here in Mboro (7th picture...notice the caked mud on my leg).


After spending a few hours at Devon's and in the local bar, we limped into cars and headed to our respective homes. Around 9:30pm, I staggered back into my home. Needless to say, my host family was flaberghasted that I would do such a thing and quickly let me know that I was absolutely insane, yet brave. Strangely enough, I wasn't all that sore today considering we ended up walking around 25 miles (due to our navigational errors). I am elated that we were able to pull this off, because it showed us all that this region of the country does have some really cool areas that need to be explored some more. I don't think the walk will be repeated for quite some time, but the next time it is, I feel confident that I'll be there.

Are you serious?!?

WARNING: There are gruesome pictures at the bottom of this post. Do not scroll down if you are squeamish!




Just a little while ago, I had attached a basket to my bike and was leaving town on the way to a village. On the busiest street in town, I was happily weaving my way through the human traffic. Suddenly, out of my peripheral vision I saw a small black object coming at me, much like a miniaturised boulder from a catapult. Surely enough, it landed squarely on my left hand. I immediately stopped my bike and got off, seeing two children with terrified looks in their faces. "KAN MOOY SANNI KO?!?!?!" I shouted (Who threw it?), and then each child pointed at the other. As I looked down, my hand started bleeding profusely. Infuriated, I took just one step towards the children before they ran like the wind. Within seconds, a small crowd of people had formed around me. They were incredibly helpful for me, bringing water to wash off the wound and wrapping it in a cloth. After strict instructions to go straight to the hospital,I slowly biked back home, where I cleaned everything off and took some gory pictures (Do not scroll too far down if you are averse to blood). It's perfectly fine now, but I'm just very angry that someone would actually throw a rock the size of an orange at me. Thankfully it only hit my hand, but what if it hit me in the face? As frustrating as something like this is, it was encouraging to see so many people concerned and worried for me. Part of me feels bad because I'm sure those kids will be found and beaten the crap out of, which is pretty unecessary. Other than that, things are going well, our basket order is progressing, and I will be in Dakar for work and some "noosing" (having fun) this weekend. A Plus tard!




















The bowl I used to clean my hand out...

The Mangroves of Senegal

Not having that much going on this past weekend, I jumped at the opportunity to see some of my friends from the Kaolack region. Historically, every region hosts some party or holiday during the course of the year. Some examples the Thanksgiving party in Ndioum, Halloween in Tambacounda, and 4th of July in Kedougou. This past weekend was the Kaolack region party. Instead of hosting the event in Kaolack, a small dockside residence was rented out for us near Sokone, a region of Senegal fairly close to the Gambia and next to some beautiful mangroves. Arriving in the mid afternoon, we immediately started swimming in the salty (yet still pretty clear) water. Soon enough, we were climbing the actual mangroves (despite them bring covered in oysters, crabs, and mud) in order to do canonballs from the top of some branches, with each jump garnering even more cuts and scrapes than the previous one. As the Senegalese sun started setting (see 3rd picture), we enjoyed beer and bean sandwiches as we took turns telling stories of crazy times in Africa (4th picture). The nightime led to the usual rowdiness I have come to expect from fraternizing with this crowd, and as always, it was a blast.

The next morning we lumbered ourselves into a pirogue for a tour of the mangroves. After a relaxing 45 minute ride, we arrived at a so-called "shell island" (Ile de Coquillage). As the name implies, the beachside of this small island was covered in pretty little shells. After a quick hike around the island, we came across a sacred Baobab tree where religious figures used to be buried (2nd picture). All in all, it was an truly beautiful place (1st picture is from the top of the island, a great view), and it reminded us all how lucky we are to be here, since many people would pay great money to see these places. The pictures attached here will not really do justice to the area, but they are good to have nonetheless. Upon returning, we finished off our supply of beans and made our way back to Kaolack. I slowly made my way back to Ngaye yesterday, stopping in Thies to have lunch with some friends. It was a great trip and one of those times you can really appreciate being out here. I'm not sure if I will ever return to the mangroves, but if the opportunity presents itself, sign me up!

An odd day indeed...

Well, things have really started moving along out here. Without giving out specific details, a couple of days ago a U.S company placed an order for a few thousand baskets. Yes, a "few" thousand. We've already started planning how to distribute the workload amongst the different villages, and the next few months promise to be very busy and entertaining. However, this also means that my teaching will most likely come to an end for the time being. For the past few weeks, I have been giving classes in "informatique" to girls who have dropped out of school and middle aged women. The only problem with these classes is that about 5% of my students know how to read or write, and even fewer speak anything but Wolof. At this point, I can work around the language barrier pretty effectively. However, teaching computer classes to a group that cannot read or write has been an exercise in futility. What am I supposed to do when my students can't even type their names into Microsoft Word? Thus, it may be a good thing that I won't be teaching much in the near future, since these students need to learn how to read before they can operate a computer...
Today my closest neighbor and I went to the main village to hammer out some details with our counterpart regarding the order. I brought in 2 baskets that my leatherworkers had altered and we spent the entire morning and part of the afternoon discussing these baskets. Upon returning to Ngaye, I ran into a situation that finally made me lose my cool in this country. Whenever I ride my bike anywhere, I'm constantly assaulted by the typical "TOUBAB!" cry. Other variants include "PSSSSST.....PSSSST......PSSSSSSSSSSSST (repetitive hissing), or "HEY! HEY! HEY! HEY!" or the more wordly "TOUBAB DONNE MOI LE CADEAUX!!!". I've learned to accept these calls, and they really don't bother me. There is one expression, however, that really gets to me. It's "Honk Nop", which translates to "Red Ears" and is usually the most racist term for a white person in this country. I've heard a few times here and there, and it's pretty infuriating when you overheard a banana seller say t her friend "Hurry! Some Red Ears just arrived, let's sell them stuff!". Thus, as I biked through Ngaye this afternoon, a charette driver shouted "HONK NOP" at me while we crossed paths. Livid, I turned around and shouted back "#$&* YOU!", which he seemed to understand. I knew he was simply dropping someone off at the end of the road and would be coming back in a minute, so I stopped my bike and waited. After dropping off his passengers, he turned his charette around and came back in my direction. As he slowly passed me, I shouted at him in both Wolof and English which caught him off guard. When he realized that I considered "Honk Nop" to be incredibly rude, he sheepishly replied "It's not rude...honk nop". At that point I decided to leave and cool off since nothing good would come of this encounter. I don't regret shouting at this person because any sensible Senegalese person I've met knows damn well that it's a racist term, and would never use it in front of me. That said, I probably should have just biked off.
Other than that, things are going well. I've been staying up far too late the past few nights watching live baseball (merci grandma!) on my computer, which has been an incredible treat. Saddly, last night a young picthed named Nick Adenhart faced off against my Oakland A's. A few hours after the game he was killed in a hit-and-run car accident. It's a bit eery since I saw him pitch live just a few hours before his death, and also that he was the exact same age as I am...
Anyways, hope everyone back home is doing well. I'll post some updated on the basket order as we get rolling! A plus tard!

P.S For some reason Blogger wouldn't load my pictures tonight...will have to wait until next post.

Les Faux Lions (The Fake Lions)

All week long there is an event that I can best compare to a western circus going on. Each night, there is a gathering of people at a different school, where a performance entitled "Les Faux Lions" takes place. Entrance to the event was steep. At 200 CFA (50 cents) a person, not everyone can afford to go (last night I paid for several host siblings to go). During the event, 4 costumed characters make their appearance and put on a show of dancing for the crowd. Often time the characters picked out children from the crowd and had them dance for everyone as well. The list of characters was quite interesting, it included a "Lion bu ndaw" (small lion), a "Lion bu mag" (big lion), some ungodly 12 foot tall jester on stilts that i didn't get the name of, and of course the crowd pleaser, the "goor-jigeen" (man-woman, which means homosexual in Wolof). The "goor-jigeen" was a man with tons of makeup, fake breasts, and was sporting a simple dress... From a western point of view, it struck as quite odd that an event made for kids would parade around a character who was simply called man-woman, but a lot of things strike me as odd out here, so life goes on.
At the start of the event, the manager of the event spotted me taking pictures. He quickly ran up to me and said that I would need to pay money for the right to take pictures, since I was obviously going to sell the pictures and video in Europe for tons of money (I don't know where they get these ideas...). Before I could explain myself, my host sister jumped in, calling the man and idiot and telling him he had no right to ask me for money. The man, obviously quite taken aback that a local was defending a toubab from getting ripped off, sulked off and pouted at a table nearby, eyeing me during the whole event. As he walked away, my host sister proclaimed "Moom, dafa begg xaalis rekk!" (All he wants is money!), to which I replied "Waaw..." (Yes).
So thanks to my host sister I am able to bring you pictures and even a short video of the event. I hope you enjoy them. A plus tard!

The "Lion bu ndaw"

The "Lion bu mag" and the strange jester make their way to the show

The "Lion bu mag" and "goor-jigeen" dancing away

Quick Updates

Not too much going on, but just wanted to update people on stuff out here. Work is really picking up now, as I've accepted a teaching gig. Less than a month ago, a massive building was finished on the outskirts of town. I had seen this structure before, but never knew its purpose. It turns out the government built it to educate young girls who have dropped out of school. The manager of this new school invited me to her home and asked me if I would be willing to teach computer classes at the center. I agreed, and I think it will be a great opportunity. I'll post some pictures of the facility next week, but it is easily the nicest building in the entire town. My classroom is equipped with 11 brand new HP computers, and the rest of the building is just as nicely furnished. I wanted to make sure that I didn't take too many hours since I do have my commitments to the artisans in this area.
As for my leather workers, we have been steadily filling out application after application in order to try to get funding so they can build a new workshop and thus increase their production capacity. We're turning another application in on Monday, so we'll see how it goes. In addition, we're having a artisan seminar next weekend at the Thies training center for all the artisans that volunteers work with. It should be a good experience and I'll definitely have some pictures of the event.
Tomorrow is the day of local elections, so we'll be having a new mayor in a few hours. Over the past few weeks, there have been almost nightly "meetings", where candidates talk about their platform in front of supportive crowds. There is usually a lot of dancing and it's far more social than Western political gatherings. There are also many security measures in place right now. I'm actually not allowed to be on the streets right now, as there was a 10pm curfew in the town. Also, all traffic coming in or leaving Dakar has been stopped from midnight to 6am. The government is very concerned about violence during this period and has therefore taken quite a few precautions...
Anyways, I'm off to bed, but I'll have some more substantial updates next week. Pictured is my little brother (and namesake) Fallou Gallas, who has become quite attached to me. He wanted to see how my camera's timer worked, hence the odd picture. A plus tard!