Julli - Pray

In the past week, I’ve stood ten feet from a rhinoceros as it stared at me through the brush, eaten an Ethiopian feast with my hands while seated on the floor cushions underneath the night sky and shaved my head, getting what could be called the ‘Africa Cut’. To say the least, I very much feel like I’m in Africa. Or at least how I thought it was supposed to feel before actually coming.

This upcoming week, I stand to get up to my neck in it. Tomorrow morning at 5 AM I leave for my rural visit in Salamata, a small village outside of Kolda, the second largest city in the Casamance region in southern Senegal and the former capital of the Fula kingdom. In my guidebook, Kolda is only mentioned briefly on the very last page, almost as a footnote, saying “Kolda’s glory lies all in its past”. I can’t seem to find Salamata on any maps, though I’m not exactly surprised. Evidently, it’s somewhere just north of the Guinea Bissau-Senegal border. While there I will be helping with the November harvest as well as building a fence and well. I’ve been told to bring food because there isn’t always much available.

I plan on packing light. Maybe an extra pair of shorts and a few t-shirts. Enough underwear for a week. Tevas. Malaria medicine. And lots of bug spray. Oh, and the bag of gummy bears I still have left from when my parents were here. I say this because the journey there sounds like it will be one of my greater adventures. With only the money, instruction and contact information given to me by my program, I, along with a few other students, are expected to go to the Gare Routiere, Dakar’s taxi depot, negotiate for a sept-place (a seven-passenger station wagon taxi, usually of questionable durability and containing upwards of seven passengers) to take us to Gambia. Then once in Gambia to take a ferry across the country, at which point we need to find another sept-place to take us to Kolda where we will spend the night. The next morning, we will rent bicycles to bike to our respective villages. And I’m sure these bikes won’t be Treks. Total, I’m estimating upwards of 24 hours of travel. Without air-conditioning. Overcrowded to the point of extreme claustrophobia. Not knowing where I’m going. And I couldn’t be more excited for the journey.

Frustratingly though, I’ll be in Salamata during the elections where I won’t have electricity. Luckily, Danny, the Peace Corps volunteer I’ll be staying with has a short wave radio. As I sit around the radio, listening to the BBC commentary, the future of America will be decided without me. If there is an Obama win, I hereby vow to do a celebration dance outside of my hut in Salamata.

With that in mind, on November 4th, vote Obama.

And for pictures of my past couple weekends, follow these links:

Île Ngor Fanaan + Réserve de Bandia
Popenguine