Senegal, The Basics

February 7, 2011

As soon as I arrived in Dakar, I immediately felt washed with relief. I’d traveled thousands of miles, was still several countries away from my Nigerien home, but somehow felt I was back on familiar ground. We deplaned directly onto the tarmac, but were forced to ride little, air-conditioned buses 50 yards to the airport entrance—same as Niamey and something I’d always found amusing. Same overwhelming heat. Same style of sign on top of the terminal announcing the airport’s name. At the door and though customs, I was blatantly cut and had to push to keep my spot in line. Yes. I am back in West Africa.

Getting to the Casablanca airport from Rabat is—in itself—another hilarious story. Somehow, in spite of the fact Peace Corps usually gets its volunteers to the airport tragically early, our car had departed nearly 40 minutes late from the hotel and we were under serious pressure to make our flight.

Team Senegal Leaving Morocco

The eight of us transferring to Senegal half-joked Sylvia would send us home for missing our flight. No one believed it, but after a week of her constantly reminding us we should consider our transfers purely speculative until she said so[1], I worried missing the flight might make things more annoyingly complicated.

We grew more and more tense as the drive continued. Sweaty hands gripped the velour seats as we peered into the darkness for helpful road signs. I asked for the time at increasingly shorter intervals. We strategized how to most efficiently maneuver through the airport. You know, the usual useless impatience…

The Moroccan chauffer, apparently, did not share our stress. After hitting then subsequently infuriating a Moroccan motorcyclist at the beginning of the drive (it was more of a tap really), he had continued at a vigilant, borderline inert pace. At a certain point in the drive, he took a turn so slowly my friend Hailey thought we had broken down. Since none of us spoke French, we debated at length how to ask the driver to go faster. Yeah…actually he spoke English too…

Our minivan pulled up to the airport curb approximately 15 minutes before check-in for our flight ended. In an attempt at stratigery, I was sent ahead to figure out where we were supposed to check-in while the rest of the team unloaded our inordinate amount of luggage. In the three minutes I spent running around the airport antechamber, I learned nothing. But, I did make it back to the doorway in time to see a flustered Minnie try and push her entire luggage cart (with baggage) through the mental detector. I apparently missed Shelby capsizing her cart when making a particularly sharp turn.

I’m not going to give you a play-by-play of the rest of our journey through the airport, but some of the highlights include:

- Eight Americans stampeding toward the check-in counter with their overburdened luggage carts.

- Eight Americans having to unpack and repack overweight bags, thereby fully monopolizing the area in front of our (and at least three other) check-in counters.

- A quick side trip to a completely different part of the airport to pay for our overweight baggage.

- Going through customs in French, in spite of the fact none of us actually speak French.

- A very stressful last push to make it to the gate in time.

- Sitting on-board the plane for an hour, waiting to take off.

So now I’m here. In Senegal. Learning French. Living with my fifth Peace Corps host family.

Here’s the plan: The other seven Niger transferees and I are going to go through four weeks of language training while staying in a homestay family. We are spread across three different villages, based on the language we are learning. Hailey, a third-year volunteer, and I are staying in Thies (pronounced Chez). After two weeks of French, we’re going to switch to learning Wolof—the principal local language in Senegal. We have class everyday in the morning and study time in the afternoon.

Our language trainer, Sakhir, is a rockstar, though slightly goofy and uncoordinated such that he always looks like he is walking in sand. He has worked for the Peace Corps for the past ten years and so is a total pro at accommodating Western learning styles (which makes things easier for everyone.) I asked him the other day how to tell someone nicely you think they are lying. His reply was, “You say they are telling the truth.” (In Niger there were one or two culturally appropriate ways to softly call someone out. Apparently, it is not the same in Senegal.) He also almost fell of his chair laughing when I told him the story of how I fell in my latrine.

Anyway, after arriving, I talked with the country director, a retired CEO from the Pacific Northwest, about my new post in Senegal and what work I will do. He laid out about seven options—all partnerships with NGOs—for Hailey and me to pick from. We told him what we were most interested in and he disappeared back to Dakar to get more detailed job descriptions. Right now I’m waiting for those before deciding where I want to go. All I can say for now is I am likely to be in either Dakar or St. Louis, both of which are major cities and have beaches. I will have an apartment and an amazing (AMAZING) job. I’m not even exaggerating my excitement as a way to cope with leaving Niger. I am genuinely overwhelmed with excitement for my new position.

We are going to finish with training February 26^th and start work at our new sites in early March. Inshallah. Really, inshallah. Until then, I’m in Thies.

And Thies is good. It’s actually a pretty hopping town. In a bit of synchronicity…or irony…the hippest nightclub in Thies is called “The Dosso,” which I’m sure has more going on in it the entire city in Niger. I haven’t been yet. Full report later.

So, I know it’s deeply unfair and unwise to compare Senegal to Niger, but such thoughts come unprompted. Let’s see if I can do it in one sentence: Senegal is more developed, more westernized, more ethnically diverse, more filled with tourists, more shaped liked a pac-man; less conservative, less Muslim, less friendly, less landlocked; smaller, richer, wetter, mosquito-ier, prettier, yet equally overrun with trash. Also, there are pigs here. DAMN! Two sentences.

So, minus the pigs, which are huge and scare me, life here is pretty plush compared to Niger. In fact, I estimate that Senegal is ten times more developed than Niger. Here’s how I know: The other day a kid on the street asked me for a thousand francs. In Niger, they never asked for more than a hundred. Yeah! Take that Social Science. I live by Bruce Science, though the United Nations Index of Development may beg to differ.

There's A Beach!

But seriously, it is plain to the Niger-adjusted eye that Senegal is doing well for itself. Even in small village shops have storefronts and houses are made of concrete. Diarrhea isn’t the number one killer of children here, as in Niger, but rather Malaria, which suggests villages have better access to clean water. There are grocery stores outside the capital. Wireless is everywhere. People have health insurance! Hailey’s homestay family has a computer. …and I haven’t even seen Dakar, which is the most developed part of the country. Also, I spent last Sunday laying on the beach under a palm tree and swimming in the Atlantic. Niger was all sand and no beach, if you know what I’m saying.

Obviously it’s not fair to compare Senegal to Niger based on the one city I’ve spent time in, Thies. I’m fairly certain the analogy “Thies is to Dosso, as the Senegalese bush is to the Nigerien bush” doesn’t hold, which is to say small villages in Senegal probably struggle just as much as those in Niger. But, the urban centers of Senegal are leagues ahead of what Niger has to offer.

I’ll give you more toilet anecdotes and homestay insights later. I'm trying to make more frequent, shorter blog posts, which is possible now that I have regular access to Internet...

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[1] (and she never said so)

Dad asked for more pictures...

This one is older...from Gotheye
(Tom took it, not me)

My Family's Concession

Cow Cart!

Inside my house in Golle.

The kids of my family digging a trench so my concession would drain...

This is Benin, actually.

Some PCV Friends

One night of bed bugs...
(not my back)

Katies with Giraffes

My Family's House in Golle

Henna Disaster

Souleymane at Obama's Truckstop

VATs with Tondi

My Dosso Family

The Thing About the Worse-Thing-Ever (Peace Corps Transition) Conference

February 3, 2011

WARNING: This blog entry is a critique of various politics and processes within the Peace Corps and is therefore boring. It is also full of my opinions, which I find largely hazardous. Further, let me preface this entry by saying, I’m not trying to give Peace Corps bad press. I wrote this largely as catharsis. After everything I still think the Peace Corps is a good, valuable program. I love being a volunteer and would enthusiastically encourage others to apply. I also want to point out I was a bit (completely) emotional during this conference and so recognize I am less than objective when talking about it. Finally, I want to say, in spite of my frustration with the conference, every member of the transition conference staff was nothing but sympathetic, respectful, and honest (though artfully evasive) during our time together. No one behaved badly. But that doesn’t change the fact the conference was bad.

Here’s why: Things move slowly out in the Peace Corps world. So, when trying to find new posts for evacuated volunteers, it takes time (like more than a few hours) for a country director to verify a post is ready or investigate potential sites. The transition conference I attended, however, gave country directors one weekday, eight work hours (plus a weekend, but nothing happens on the weekend in Peace Corps) to find posts for transfers.

Volunteers were given four days to simultaneously close their service, see a Peace Corps shrink to process the evacuation, decide whether or not to proceed with Peace Corps, find out if they could proceed with Peace Corps, and come up with a number of contingency plans in case something or everything didn’t work out. (Please note: closing service is a long process involving medical exams, lots of paper work, career and readjustment sessions. The sessions alone normally last a week. The volunteer then has three months to make next-steps plans and prepare to readjust to America, which is widely acknowledged to be the hardest part of Peace Corps.)

You may ask, why the rush? According to the Peace Corps, they didn’t have enough money to host a longer transition conference.

But, here’s the thing: I understand the Peace Corps doesn’t have an unlimited budget and things are especially tricky right now under continuing resolution; but how can the Peace Corps expect its volunteers to remain committed to the institution and thus, to their work and thus, the very idea of Peace Corps, when the Peace Corps is seemingly apathetic towards its volunteers?

Bottom line: The Peace Corps should have given ALL interested, medically-cleared volunteers at least some option to transfer to another country and finish his or her service. Even if it took time. Even if it cost money.

What actually happened: The conference was rushed, making the process exponentially more stressful for volunteers and preventing country directors from being able to find direct transfer posts. Whenever and wherever possible volunteers were discouraged and disqualified from direct transferring. The process of granting direct transfers itself was painfully bureaucratic and not at all transparent. In spite of the enduring commitment displayed by the 98 Niger evacuees, the transition staff made it abundantly clear to us they would rather we just go home and start the 27 months over if we wanted to continue with Peace Corps. Finally, the Peace Corps wasted an absurd about of money lodging 98 volunteers, plus staff in a super fancy hotel while telling us they didn’t have enough money to host a longer conference. A longer conference would have made more transfers possible. Balls.

So, now let’s back up and I will tell you how why I think all the things I think. But first…

…What was the Transition Conference? The Transition Conference I attended in Morocco was lead by a team of Peace Corps savants from all over the world. They wrote out goals for the conference. I remember there were three of them…

Several administrative whosits and whatsits officers came from D.C.; medical professionals from Morocco and already-evacuated Mauritania were there to take our blood and look at our poop. The proverbial feather in the team’s cap came all the way from southern Africa—we’ll call her Sylvia. Sylvia is a Peace Corps evacuee herself, and now the country director of some African country. She was very no-nonsense and likable, minus her overuse of dramatic pauses in presentations. She seems to have earned a name for herself as Peace Corps’ go-to, lead-a-transition-conference woman. Now I see she really earned a name for herself as the go-to, lead-a-transition-conference-for-cheaper-than-anyone-else-can woman. And of course, several staff members from Niger were there, including the country director, Valerie, and our beloved Tondi, the training manager. (Note: except the country director’s thumbs up or thumbs down, the Niger staff was completely excluded from the transfer process.)

My experience: I was “lucky” and left Niger on the first group flight, arriving in Morocco Friday. My group spent Saturday and Sunday taking care of medical exams and taking our first deep breaths since receiving the call. I got to see the ocean. I don’t know what I would have done without those two days to reorient myself outside the vacuum of the evacuation.

(Me showing how sad I was.)

The other group got to the hotel late Monday. It was then we were told in few words the Peace Corps didn’t have enough money to give all those who wanted them direct transfers and most of us were going home. It was then I understood Sylvia’s talent as a transition conference leader. Not only did she come across as (dramatic pause) empathetic, she managed our expectations in the same way you could say that iceberg managed the Titanic. Nonchalant, but decisive. Despondent as I was then, I now see how strategic it was to sink all our transfer hopes. After convincing us we were already on our way out the door, she made transferring and staying a PCV seem like something we should be lips-on-the-ground grateful for.

I think this manipulation of perception made most of us forget the obvious: we already were PCVs.

Yeah, that was Monday evening. Tuesday we closed our services. Wednesday afternoon we heard what our options for continuing service were. Thursday we had to tell the transition team our preferences. That afternoon, we heard whether or not we could stay or if we didn’t make the cut, and had to go home. Saturday by eleven AM, we had to be out of the hotel. Please rearrange your life in four days, while at the same time processing a major life trauma and saying good-bye to your principal support network…no big deal.

What was this like? It was like being caught in a blinding, hotel-shaped vortex, in which my power to plan beyond the next day, sometimes the hour, was zapped away. It was one of the worst experiences of my life…up there with falling off the chairlift in ski school. I imagine everyone, like me, felt a thousand things at once: panicked, traumatized, horrified, alone, overwhelmed by the crowd, aching with hope for a transfer, inconsolable, needing to be consoled, heartbroken, cranky, anxious to seize our last hours together, and unbelievably exhausted. And, underneath it all, there was this vague “hum” of competition over who would get what post. Especially, we wondered which training class would get preference for new posts. Do they want the new kids who still have two years of service ahead of them or the old kids who have more experience?

The different training classes had all been in-country for different amounts of time: 18 months, six months, and three months, plus a handful of third-year volunteers. Those in country three months were only in their villages for eight days before being evacuated. Naturally we all had very different reactions to the evacuation, but the one common thread amongst all the training classes was the resounding desire to continue with our service. Upon arriving in Morocco, I am aware of only four or five volunteers who were certain they wanted to close their service. We loved it. We wanted to stay.

What bothers me: Rather than the staff being heartened by this display of commitment to the Peace Corps program and goals, whenever and wherever possible volunteers were discouraged and disqualified from direct transferring. Worse, somehow they made it seem like an honor and a privilege to remain what we already were, Peace Corps Volunteers.

No matter the reason, there were some low blows: One of my friends wasn’t medically cleared because of a skin rash that would heal within a couple weeks. Another friend was disqualified because her lab tests would take too long for a direct transfer…as in they wouldn’t be done in four days. Yet another friend was in America when we got evacuated and wasn’t even given the chance to talk about direct transferring. It was clear during the “counseling sessions” we were being mentally screened. We had to get a positive recommendation from our old country director, who I love, but who’d only been in country six months. (I don’t think that’s enough time to make a life-changing recommendation for all 98 Niger volunteers.) Finally, in spite of the fact we’d all successfully passed the yearlong application process, we had to interview with a placement officer, which felt a great deal like interviewing for a job we’d already gotten.

Not to mention the process of declaring our transfer preferences for transfer posts was a hilariously nonsensical display of bureaucratic rigidity. Let me ‘splain: When a volunteer joins Peace Corps she is assigned a number, which indicates her assignment area. For example, she might be assigned as a NGO developer and given the code 145. In spite of her strong public health background and the fact her work in Niger had nothing to do with NGO development, this volunteer can only work at posts with the same code. Keep in mind the codes assigned to posts are often as arbitrary as codes assigned to volunteers. So, basically, Peace Corps assigns a volunteer a code that has little to do with her qualifications and then, based on that code, assigns a volunteer to a post with the same code, which has little to do with the actual work the post will require. We had to limit our transfer preferences to posts that matched our codes. Sylvia told us (in so many words) the fires of hell would rain down upon us if we dared request a post that didn’t match our code. For many volunteers, no matching posts were offered.

An example of how little sense this made: At my new post in Dosso, the Peace Corps had all but approved me to partner with an orphanage as my primary assignment. I, however, was not eligible for a post in Rwanda working with an orphanage because the codes didn’t match. I understand the Peace Corps needs ways to organize its volunteers and the work they do, but this kind of inflexibility boarders on stupidity. (Another fun quirk: administratively, the Peace Corps doesn’t recognize Morocco part of Africa.)

(Me & My Friend Nick in Fes)

After all that, the procedure for selecting who would be offered direct transfers was not at all transparent. No exaggeration: we gave them a list of our preferences and the transition staff locked themselves in a room and emerged four hours later with a list of transfers. To frustrate us further, if a volunteer who’d been offered a post decided he didn’t want to transfer after all, his post wasn’t offered to another interested, eligible volunteer.

The really painful thing is, as volunteers, the Peace Corps constantly reminds of the commitment we’ve made. Our country director even handed out actual wallet-sized cards with a list of Peace Corps’ expectations for volunteers. Things like: you’re expected to serve for the full two years, you’re on duty 24/7, you’re obliged to present the Peace Corps positively, you must stay in your village as much as possible (this isn’t a vacation).

They also ask us to be flexible: flexible when applying, flexible about when you go, flexible about where you go, flexible about the work you will do, flexible when adapting to the new culture, flexible when getting posts, flexible when moving posts, flexible when moving posts again because you have a crazy landlord, flexible when falling in latrines, flexible when being evacuated. And the truth is, we don’t mind. In spite of everything, I still think Peace Corps is one of the most amazing things I’ve ever done.

But…after being so flexible and committed for 18 months…then arriving in Morocco and hearing the Peace Corps was likely to cut my service 9 months short (for others 21 months short) with seemingly little consideration, I had to ask, isn’t the Peace Corps willing to be flexible and committed to its volunteers? Rather than going the it’s-easier-and-cheaper-to-send-everyone-home-route, shouldn’t they have worked to find posts for these obviously committed volunteers?

Every volunteer knows readjusting is cited as the hardest part of a Peace Corps service; but being sent home early is more than just emotionally disruptive. Imagine having to rebuild a life for yourself, including finding a job, apartment, a city to live in, etc. while facing no-longer-deferred student loans, and with a smaller readjustment allowance than you’d expected. (Please note: the Peace Corps does give returned volunteers one month of free heath insurance.) My point is cutting our service short is a big deal—both emotionally and financially disruptive. This is no small thing.

Regarding volunteer care: to be clear, I do think in general the Peace Corps does enough for its volunteers. And I don’t mean “enough” as in they go above and beyond, can’t do more. Rather, I mean to say they do enough to keep going—they keep us healthy and safe and offer some career help afterward. (Sorry ABC news, but I felt safer in Niger than I do in Seattle.) But, looking at how much the Peace Corps asks of its volunteers, I think they should add to its list of minimum commitments finding a way (in times like these) for volunteers to complete their tenure. Basically, I think the Peace Corps is obligated to uphold their end of the deal: two years.

Again, let me concede accommodating every volunteer may not always be possible, but the Peace Corps staff should make their best effort. And, in our case, I don’t think that happened. The mismanagement of the transition conference grew more evident as time passed. Most volunteers recognize pretty quickly how ridiculous it was for the Peace Corps to cite the budget as a reason we couldn’t transfer while lodging and feeding 98 volunteers plus staff in a 200-USD-per-night hotel. We got catered snacks in between sessions; including fresh squeezed orange juice and artsy cookies. There was a gym and a spa. I enjoyed the hot baths, but would have been just has happy take cold showers at another country’s training site if it meant more people getting posts.

Sylvia talked a lot, but one thing she didn’t tell us is: it is actually possible to find everyone posts if you are willing to wait more than four days. Yes, there is a direct relationship between time waited and available posts. If we’d been able to stay somewhere cheaper, longer, directors in other countries could had more than a day to find more posts for transferring volunteers. After arriving in Senegal, I heard many Peace Corps countries were scrambling to find posts for us, but just needed another 48 hours or so. Even more upsetting, I learned one country director who was already taking some direct transfers said, if only she’d known there were more volunteers wanting spots she could have taken more.

One of my good volunteer friends was evacuated from a Peace Corps country before, and was given a direct transfer to Niger to finish his service. He ended up extending, only to be evacuated again from Niger. BUT, at his original transition conference everyone who wanted to (and was medically cleared to) finish his or her service was given the opportunity to direct transfer. It took four weeks, but I think the time was worth it. I know plenty of now Returned PCVs who would have been willing to wait.

Hearing how obtainable posts really were just makes me feel as though the Peace Corps sees its volunteers as completely disposable. “Don’t worry about these volunteers, we can get new ones.” During the conference, I kept brainstorming jokes about the Peace Corps giving us paper cuts or kicking us in the shins, just in case they were looking to add injury to insult. I still haven’t come up with a good one.

In the Peace Corps defense: Volunteers are eligible to start over, and for the newer kids that’s not such a pain. Also, they did invent a whole new process from transferring evacuated volunteers just for us. I won’t go into the specifics (boring), but let me say this creativity and flexibility did give more volunteers the chance to transfer. Also, a member of the transition staff told me I had the right to be angry. (Thank you, I am.) Also, the admin lady was very flexible about giving us cash in lieu of a plane ticket. Also, one of the shrinks recognized we were moving too quickly. Thanks.

Nevertheless, I still found the conference to be manipulative, damaging, and rife with nonsense. It was like the transition staff filled a room with Peace Corps volunteers, stood in front of us, then told us they weren’t sure who would be selected to become Peace Corps volunteers. (I thought about putting last clause in active voice, but the transition staff really made it seem like getting a transfer would be an act of God. Sylvia talked a great deal about stars aligning as a reason for us getting a transfer, so I left it in passive.) Even when considering assignment codes, medical screening, general likeability and astrology, it’s still completely unclear to me why a lucky 30-some volunteers were offered transfers and the other 60-some were sent home. They are all great volunteers. I know some dedicated, highly qualified PCVs who were sent home.

I just hope the process of deciding was more sophisticated than pulling names out of hat, though I’m fairly certain it was less just. We’ll never know; we weren’t in that room. What is clear is the Peace Corps just jaded a large number of volunteers who at one point were willing to set their lives aside to serve.

Full disclosure: At the end of the conference, Sylvia handed out evaluations as a way for us to give feedback. I definitely forgot to fill mine out.