The three month challenge is almost over and I have broken it at least twice. The last email with my "sick-as-a-dog" all day traveling extravaganza was the first, the second was WAIST, the West African Invitational Softball Tournament. It featured Peace Corps volunteers from Guinea, The Gambia, Senegal, Mali, Mauritania, and Benin. Plus the local Dakar ex-pats, local teams, and even the local boarding school kids got in on the fun with their varsity and junior varsity teams competing. I had never been to Dakar, outside of the half-hour we laid-over at the airport when first arriving to Africa. It was strange to see a real town, a real sophisticated city amongst the dirt and trash and poverty of everyday West Africa. I said it over and over but it was like being in Barcelona, I can't describe why exactly, the streets and buildings were similarly laid out and the people sort of sitting around waiting for tourists, and the taxis and the sprawling suburbs and compounds. It was a little piece of Europe I guess, only everyone spoke French. And compared to the Gambia where produce and pastry shops are rare at best, being able to walk around the corner and buy a grapefruit or avocado or chocolate filled donut was a real treat. The tournament was three days at the Club Atlantique which was like an American ex-pat country club next to the ocean with a pool and beach volleyball court and tennis and basketball and hamburgers and hot dogs and beer and of course softball. Everyone let loose, especially us from more rural areas, we burned the candle at both ends. In village, I'm asleep by 9 or 10pm after reading a book by flashlight, at Waist, I don't think there was a night I was in bed before midnight, or three or four or five. So sleep I lacked, and it was hard to take a nap at the club when you would walk around with a beer and if you were hot, jump in the pool, if you were board, go play touch football or volleyball. I did so much eating and drinking, but sports as well, by the end of it my body was so soar and bruised. But I had forgot about that "lifestyle" of sitting by the pool and goofing around. In village I get into such a routine of waking, fetching water, watering garden, eating, working, reading, working, eating, working, fetching water, watering garden, bathing, eating, reading, sleeping that I crave and lust for small things, like grapefruit, avocados, and just submerging my body into a pool of clean water. It gets so hot and dry right now up country that some afternoons I hover over my bucket and dunk my head just so I can remember what it feels like to be in a bath. So needless to say, I'll be doing Waist again next year. I'd actually like to get a little more serious about it, I think our team was really decent but we were in the competitive league with all the ex-pats who have been playing as a team for the last 30 years, or the boarding school varsity team full of kids of missionaries who have nothing better to do than play softball all the time and when playing us, they enacted the "mercy rule" calling the game after the 5th inning because they were so far ahead. 20 or so points to 1 I think. Our best game was our first, 10 to 0. we only played 4 games and we gave up 83 runs while only scoring 4. We had a -79 run differential, a new record. BUT, we got so much better as a team, the more we played, and we liked playing, we should have been in the social league playing other peace corps teams instead of these ex-pat and local teams who practice once a week on the fields we were using. Their wives and mothers had coolers and lawn chairs for christsakes and knew every rule and took everything very seriously. We had beers and dirty chants and just wanted to have fun. But we were good and I hope next year we can practice more and compete in the social league and take the trophy away from the damn Senegalese. I was able to Ump one game, never did that before, I had to read the seven pages of rules and then pretend that I knew everything as I had these veterans in my face. But I held my own and even that was a goodtime. Sipping on gin and juice the whole time didn't hurt either. I even got beamed in the foot, right in that front ankle part, some kid on that varsity team just whacked the hell out of the ball, I was pitching, I got to pitch all four games, and this kids just wailed on the ball, one minute I heard the crack of the bat, the next, the crack of my bone. But I stayed in the game and played it out. Every time we went to bat I iced up the swollen bruise, but our batting wasn't anything to write home about and so one, two, three, we were out and took the field again, I got little time to recoup, but dammit I played it out. And then THEY called the mercy rule, little brats. I went over to talk to there captain and persuaded him to finish out the game, we didn't care how many points they scored, we just wanted to play. When people found out that we had never practiced before and just came together the day before, they were surprised, I think they thought we were terrible, but hopefully they also though we had potential. In any case, the captain of the Varsity team changed his mind and we got to play only to the 6th inning. Apparently they were tired and their moms wanted to go home and (quote) if I injure any of my players after we already won the game, I just couldn't live with myself (endquote). Pussies. I was injured and you didn't see me complaining about anything except for not playing more. I don't know, maybe that's a sign of maturity. Or alcoholism.
Speaking of which, I did let loose, how could I not. There were great organized events, Indian buffet, Ethiopian buffet, all you can drink parties, or at least beers for one or two dollars. With transport and not holding back on spending (btw Senegal CFA's are like in the 1000's so it's even more like monopoly money than the Gambian Dalasi. One donut 500 CFA, a taxi ride for 1500, a beer for 2000, why not?) I ended up spending about 100,000 CFA or about 240 bucks. For five days and the cost of traveling, that's nothing. That's most Saturday nights in LA hanging out with Dave and Alex. We got home-stays, ex-pats that put out a bunch of mattresses and had about 12-20 peace corps volunteers from all around stay with them. They were all spread out so I just kept my backpack loaded with essentials, swim suit, softball mitt, toothbrush, gin packets. (They have the equivalent of those little airplane bottles of booze here in Kombo only instead of bottles, it's small plastic bags and you have to rip them open with your teeth. They're about 5 dalasi per, or 25cents. We got a deal on 'em before we went up there, 2.50 dalasi per, or 17 cents. Can't beat that deal.) In any case, I nomaded a while and slept in about three different home-stays and it was great. I've never had that Cabo spring-break thing, so I imagine this was a lot like it. Foreign town, everything is cheap and exciting, beautiful women in bikinis, good food, new friends, team sports. Spent the last night at the banquet and after-party wearing some girl's dress and getting a lot, a lot of positive attention. Hint to the boys out there, chicks dig guys in dresses.
What a change from village life, I wonder if I can go back to the bowls of rice and peanut sauce three times a day. Btw, my stomach is still off and on, some weeks are great others not so much. But Dakar was no problem, after dropping thirty pounds since I've been here, (I was 164 when I weighed myself before Dakar,) I just weighed myself again and I'm up 8lbs. 8lbs in five days, it must have been the buffets. But village life should be great to get back to. I feel revitalized and want to begin more projects. I met some Mali volunteers who were working on diluting human urine for plant fertilizers and getting great results, and another who found a way to transplant fruit trees in the dry season without much watering. So those should be fun to work on.
As always I appreciate all the packages and letters and emails. I've gotten used to all the "hardships" of village life, now I just have to get the people motivated, that as it turns out is the hardest part about this peace corps life. You go out there to help, but you cant just "give" them money, you have to get them to sustain themselves and their own income, but work is hard and it's hard to work and a lot of people just aren't motivated, they say they WANT things, but they don't, they just want to be given things. That may sound harsh, and I have gotten very cynical and disappointed about things in the last two months, but I'm hoping it will just take time, find the right counterpart and slowly, slowly, things will change. But right now, I am still the white guy in the village. In the province really. But it's getting better. Being around all the other volunteers lately I hear their stories, Mai had her house catch fire, other PCV's are dealing with the no-roof problem like me. Woman constantly getting harassed by the local men. Some of them have to eat dried fish every day. I'm glad at least I nicked that one in the bud. No fish for me!
Okay, hope you enjoyed another long email. I have sleep to get to, my foot finally began to swell after the baseball injury, it took a few days of walking on it and I think I busted a toe up pretty bad on that foot too playing touch football, my right foot is now bruised and swollen, one inch fatter than my left. My bones and muscles still ache and I still haven't caught up on sleep, not by a long shot. So I'm off to bed.
Much love to y'all, Gambian style,
