Pre-Service Training

Pre-Service Training (24 Feb. - 3 May 2019)

Staging:

After months of questions, paperwork, doctors appointments, packing, and definitely stressing, about seventy of us conglomerated at a hotel outside of Philly for what Peace Corps calls staging. In a nutshell, returned volunteers now working for Peace Corps gave us a full days worth of information on what to expect, what to know, and a healthy reminder that this is the best opportunity to turn back if you have any doubts. One did. Conversations were very heavy at times. Other times, it was very exciting to meet 67 or so like-minded people. We all came from different backgrounds, some with the years of experience in health or business, some willing to travel anywhere and unperturbed by foreign challenges, some with exceptional language skill – you name it – but all with the common goal of helping others. To this day, I think the ability to bring in so many diverse and talented people is one of the greatest qualities of Peace Corps. As we ate Philly cheese steaks and drank our last American beers, I had no idea that this wild group of strangers would become some of my best friends in a matter of weeks.

The next morning we'd wake up, load into a bus for JFK international airport, connect through Morocco, fly to Dakar, and finally, caravan to Thies. Slightly freaked out, definitely exhausted, but all the while exhilarated, we rolled into the training center greeted by our soon to be teachers (also known as Language and Culture Facilitators or LCFs) dancing, drumming and singing.

The staging group (group 2 of 2)

Pre-Service Training (PST):

The next ten weeks would be non-stop class from 8AM to 7PM or so. it would be: language class, followed by health sessions, mixed in with administrative talks, and the occasional vaccination day form the med team. We rarely had a day off but all of this was done in good company with the before mentioned like-minded-people. Stuck in essentially a summer camp style dorm facility with communal meal, we all became pretty close, pretty quick.

I sprained my left ankle pretty severely on day two, and anyone that knows me knows that this means I can't run and I'm not happy. But with this new group of friends it was all very bearable. Instead of running and other sports, we’d bond over guitar, board games, etc. I would be able to run again two months later.

If we were lucky enough to get out, we'd break bread at the nearby bar which former Peace Corps volunteers have comically and maybe blasphemous named 'Church'; both of which being somewhat difficult to find in a predominantly Muslim country. Church is where we'd laugh over music, old stories, or just the joy of having a cold drink in a hot hot place.

Learning to eat around the bowl

Late night at the disco hut

Community Based Training (CBT):

This is the meat and potatoes of training. As a part of PST, we would go in small groups to nearby towns to do extensive language learning and live with host families for the rest of the time. The language groups by default would end up spending a lot of time together and consist of some of my closest friends in Senegal now. It was here where I learned the bulk of my Wolof and almost all my cultural knowledge.

For example:

The family gave me my 'Senegalese name': Cheikh Balla Samb
My host brother Khadem would teach me how to properly hand wash my clothes despite some of the women in the compound watching and giggling.
My other brother Mohamed, would teach me how to properly make attaya: Senegal's favorite drink green tea with a wonderfully insane amount of sugar.
My host dad and name sake (technically a host brother, but the man of the house) would speak to me in French which was a great medium for learning wolof
Moreover, he taught me how to properly eat at the bowl. With as many as 10+ people around the large communal bowl, spoons are dealt out to the men and guests while the rest eat with their hands. Even with a spoon, some technique is required to navigate through the lack of elbow room as the matriarch at the bowl distributes the meat and veggies from the center of the bowl to everyone's respective edge-of-bowl.
Fatoum Mbaye, his wife, taught me about the many Senegalese dishes and what goes into them. Lots of rice, Lots of fish. On big days, they'd make my favorite, roti nambi, a meat yam mix that tasted like chilly.
And my yaay (host mom), the matriarch of the family, taught me about Senegalese clothing. She is responsible for buying me fabric which the tailor made into the wonderful boubous you may have seen photographed.
To boot, my yaay is a guewel: a senegalese master of ceremonies who remembers heritage and stories of senegalese families and is invited to all weddings, baptisms, etc to lead the celebration in song and dance, often improvised and tailored to the family and the event. She, alongside Mohamed and Khadem, taught me Senegalese dance.
Moreover, those named and those unnamed taught me about terrenga senegalese hospitality
Also, not taught by family but a noteworthy cultural difference that had to be learned... we use turkish toilets. Wiping is done with water, your left hand, and an increased faith in soap. Honestly, not as bad as it sounds.

Other honorable mentions in the family consist of: Ableye, older brother; Fatim, his wife; Mohamed Samb, Cheikh Balla's son; Futy, cousin; and Ida, cousin.

Host Mom, Ndeye Mbaye, and my Torandoo, Cheikh Balla

Fatoum Mbaye and baby Papa

It was also here at CBT that I had my scariest and most introspective night in Senegal. My first night at site I remember looking at nothing but an old bed and cement walls with just a couple photos of some religious figures hanging on them. I was officially alone with a family that spoke a language I had only studied for a couple hours the day before. I could not help but think “what am I doing?!” and that is a horrifying thought that can snowball and make you wonder a lot more than you bargained for. Luckily, after thinking that for long enough, 'Over' by drake started playing in my head... “What am I doing? Oh yeah, that's right, I'm doing me!” It's corny and makes me laugh to this day, but it brought me back into perspective long enough to muster up some strength and leave the room to find a curious but loving group of people I would soon call family.

I had spent only two months with these people but they opened their doors to a complete stranger and made me feel at home. Leaving them for permanent site was difficult. There was a lot of tears, a lot of “Namm naa la's” (I miss you's), and lot of pictures. Inshallah, I will see these people soon enough.

Swear-In:

With everything said and done, exams completed, language interviews passed, we bused off to Dakar in our finest Senegalese garb. We looked good. Its hard to explain how much we had done in just ten short weeks, but it was a very momentous feeling watching ALL of us (not one early terminated, ET'd, during PST. Something rather uncommon) walk up to receive our certificate and be sworn in officially as volunteers.