Guest blog from Mom

It was wonderful to be with Christine after a year and a half. I was smacked in the face by her ability to thrive in the harsh and isolated desert of Senegal. I will never worry about her again. I also appreciate her fellow volunteers, many of whom we met. They support each other immensely. Finally, I am happy that we could express our gratitude in person to Christine's most generous host families in Sintiou Garba and Thies.

It is hard to make sense of Senegal if you haven't traveled to a poor country. Cooking fires and sheep line the streets. In the city, sidewalks are narrow and uneven; walking is a balancing act between people selling things and cars coming up over the broken curbs. Concrete and mortar get hard wear, but construction continues and Western-style hotels provide A/C and croissants for breakfast. I was on red alert due to constant hustlers, but managed on our final day in Dakar to navigate the few blocks to the post office and back alone. Colleen and Christine impressed us with their French skills and Christine's "Pulaar street cred." My French got worse.

Weather was warm. A steady breeze kicked up enough dust and sand to obscure the sun on occasion, and we got in a couple of refreshing swims. The call to prayer was broadcast day and night. Mosques are the biggest and newest buildings in even the smallest of hamlets. We became accustomed to hearing little kids shout "toubab!" ("white person") as we walked by, announcing us to all their friends and giving the bravest a chance to reach out a hand in greeting.

We traveled to nature centers, museums and beachy resorts. Mike got in almost enough birding in several hot spots. We ferried to the island of Goree', where thousands of West Africans were once packed onto ships and sent into slavery. Sobering. Today, artists and their families live there.

At St. Louis, still holding historic French influences, we spent a festive Christmas Eve with several Peace Corps families, went to a drum-and-music-filled French Mass, and peered across the river to Mauritania.

Peugots, Renaults and Mercedes carried us from place to place. Both our longest trips featured fierce haggling and car breakdowns, but another car or spare part always turned up eventually. Cars are able to roll with barely enough bolts to hold them together. The Senegalese can calculate the exact number of threads in a frayed piece of rope it takes to keep a bleating sheep tied to the top of the bus. There appears to be no term in Pulaar for "overcrowded bus."

The purpose of our trip, of course, was to visit Christine's home in the Fouta, the northeast. Her family lives in a series of attached concrete rooms around an earth courtyard that contains the cooking fire, chicken coop, pens for sheep and horses, and a shady neem tree. Christine has a room next to the sheep pen, along with a small patio and open air bathroom. C's father, farmer and village chief, is a man with many responsibilities. He has three wives (one is the widow of his brother), many children, and countless other relatives to house, feed and clothe. We learned about the importance of greetings and picked up several useful Pulaar phrases for this ritual. We visited the dispensaire, schools, and a couple of impressive garden projects as well as the local market and the homes of several of C's family and friends.

We stayed mostly healthy with just a couple of tummyache delays, fortunately in places with good plumbing. Food varied from French crepes to Vietnamese stir-fry to rice and fish in the homes of the families we visited. Our hosts inevitably brought us Fanta orange soda. We are adopting this tradition. You can even have your own glass, but it is traditional to share the glassware.

Christine's city family in Thiess was a contrast with the country "cousins." She spent two months there learning Pulaar before going to her site. The girls watch music videos and go to university. I loved the mother instantly when she threw her arms around me in welcome. The father is a retired French teacher. I heard Christine's praises many times on the trip, but he said the thing that pleased me most: that Christine is the best of several PC volunteers that the family has hosted. How could I disagree? Despite their fancy living room, Western clothing, and makeup, we ate lunch on the floor picnic style out of one huge bowl, spoon optional. Even in town, you can have three sheep in the garage instead of two cars.

On Tabaski, a thanksgiving-type celebration involving the slaughter of sheep, we were staying at an eco-resort and shared a luncheon of mutton and lentils with the staff followed by drumming, singing and dancing-Mike and the girls did well on the dance floor.

This voyage was not your typical rush to see sights and wonders, novel activities, or R n R with a long, cool drink, although we enjoyed elements of all those things. Instead, it was a family visit, and now we have two new families, with the privilege of getting just a taste of the inside of real Senegalese life.