C B Dubs

(All right, Care Bare. You complained that I wasn't writing like I talk, so here ya go. A little bit of the Real Me among the censored shennanigans.)

Loyal blog readers, I want to inform you all of a sweet website in which you can make your own business cards.

It's free.

Carrie recently received her 250 free (besides paying for the shipping) business cards. Job title: Kayak Guide. Care, I was really impressed with your choice of background colors and overall style.

Carrie is the only person working for her company that has business cards.

Her boss, she says, is starting to act a bit envious.

40 Days of Fun: En Afrique

For those of you in the dark as to the wonders of 40 Days of Fun (40FUN), let me fill you in. For many days, yes, 40, my friends and I made a conscious effort to put a little extra fun into our lives. The two times of 40FUN occurred the final legs of my freshman and senior years at Denison. Being the founder, director, etc. of 40FUN, I have decided to have my own solo go at the invented, extended holiday.

I have 40 days left in Mauritania, until I come home for the wedding. (After which, there is a staggering number of months, let alone days, until the end of my service, but we'll cross that bridge later).

Perhaps not entirely realistic, here are my current guidelines: (Feel free to try these at home)

1. Go on a rice-free diet
2. Pet as many goats, sheep and donkeys as I want. Social stigma, schmocial schtigma.
3. Eat cookies every day (Okay, so there aren't cookies in Garly, but I really would like to do this- it would be fun, and would remind me of vacations in Michigan when Dad would say we could eat as many cookies as we wanted...for breakfast)
4. Refrain from threatening kids with sticks. It's not nice OR fun to make small children run away screaming. (Although, it is kinda funny...but I'll stop)

and lastly,
5. Master the art of carrying water on my head without hands, increase the number of bubbles at the top of the tea cass when I'm pouring, and learn some better Pulaar insults.

I'm such a good Peace Corps volunteer- see how culture-integrated-focused my last "rule" is? All right, I'm off to have fun.

Ode to Pola

Pola, the first dog I have ever really considered my pet, (thanks to the parentals being so anti-canine) got hit by a car. His back legs (or maybe whole back?) got broken. Along with those breaks, went his feisty spirit. He used to chase donkeys and wag his tail off when he saw me...he no longer does. I spend time baby-sitting him, force-feeding him water and rice. In an effort to battle hard times with humor, I wrote a limerick. (Perhaps the beats and timing aren't correct, it's been awhile since I took eighth grade English, in which I learned such things.)

Ode to Pola

Pola got hit by a car
Now he can't go very far
I'm starting to fret
He sure needs a vet
Cuz my doggie first aid is sub par

Where there's a well...

...there's a way... to screw up.

In the past six months I have learned many things the hard way. Including but not limited to, when to accept or politely refuse a meal invitation (awkward if you choose the wrong reaction); I have no sense of direction (three aimless hours in the sahara desert is definitely the hard way); while eating meat, it is essential to chew slowly, in case there are bits of bones strewn about (in a word, OW, when a molar finds one of those buggers).

At the well I have been the cause of several disturbances. Ranking from least terrible to most:

3. Although many people shoo away the thirsty donkeys that wander around for puddles, one day I decided to pour a bunch of water into a cement container, for the nearest one. (They always remind me of the donkey in shrek and I just can't resist pretending it's my pet for a few minutes.) After luring in many donkeys, and exhausting my arms from hauling up water, some other people showed up at the well. They laughed at me, and got a bunch of spiky sticks and beat the donkeys away. Poor, spiky stick beaten animals. And as usual, I was the weird one out, wanting a donkey for a pet.

2. I dropped my water bag into the well. This is embarassing more than anything else, because other people need to use their bags, that are curiously made out of tire rubber, and immensely long ropes, to fish the fallen bag out. This incident only lasted about 10 minutes but my face burned red the whole time as I stared at my escaped bag. Called "baggle" in Pulaar- cute, right?

1. The worst mistake I made at the well, was, in a nutshell, borrowing a defunct bag whose rope broke when I was hauling water. It resulted in a two hour escapade of trying to get the baggle out, that had sunk allll the way to the bottom of the well. The sun was setting on the clamoring group of women that had commenced to fight about the etiquette of borrowing bags, and taking care of ropes. I stood useless to the side while the woman whose bag I had broken glared at me with her one good eye.

Desensitized or just a hardened person?

Why I think I am not just "integrated" but something a little worse:

Today I walked around a young girl, squatted and sobbing in the middle of the dusty road. Not batting an eye, I didn't realize until later that I was so heartless to essentially not notice this tiny suffering person

After watching a goat slaughtering, and witnessing the skin being carefully peeled away, each organ slowly removed, the entire body dismantled...I uttered only the word, "cool."

I have adopted the short, commanding way of speech, characteristic of the Pulaar culture. Often I will demand of others to: give it to me, sit down, lend me that, that's not true, you don't know, you can't, etc. (In my defense, I would throw in nicer words if they existed)

Hopefully, I will be back in touch with the caring self that left America, when I return for Julie's grand ball in March. Sixty something short days, according to a reliable source.

Something's Fishy

The way fish is done around here reminds me of Bubba in Forrest Gump.

Fish and rice
Fish and cous cous
Fish on a stick (ok, maybe this doesn't exist. sounds good though)
Deep fried fish
Ocean fish
River fish
Sun-dried fish (pictured)

Funny thing is, I didn't even like fish in America.

Senegal- where the grass is greener (really)

St. Louis Senegal. They have bars with live music, window shutters, public transportation, a tourism industry, paved roads...the list goes on and on.

There is also a beach with white sand and cold water.


I could literally feel the increase in the amount of infrastructure and money in Senegal as compared to Mauritania. There was also less racial clashing between the Arab population and the black African population that one sees in Mauritania.

You'd think that all of this would make Senegal appealing. The weird thing is that a patch of trash and sheep guts on the beach made me miss the mess that is my home.

The pics are of my pals: Kristen's walking back to our "camping hotel" on the beach. We all stayed under a giant tent. Ritesh is hanging in the first park I've seen in six months.