The grand finale of one of the most delicious yet disgusting moments of my life A.K.A. The time I gained a kg in a day A.K.A. My first time hyperventilating during a meal View high resolution

The grand finale of one of the most delicious yet disgusting moments of my life A.K.A. The time I gained a kg in a day A.K.A. My first time hyperventilating during a meal

I’m moving back to America and using all my West African currency to do rich people things.  View high resolution

I’m moving back to America and using all my West African currency to do rich people things. 

Why I celebrate International Women’s Day (better late than never) It’s a tradition for members of our organization to spend International Women’s Day at one of the prisons in which we work.  On this day, women prisoners can sit with guards and guests and take part in a planned program of music, speeches, dancing, and theatrical sketches that celebrate them and us, together as women.  I enjoy this day because no matter how different our background or other positions of power and privilege, at least, in one sense we are able to celebrate our equality. In a way, being a woman is the crime that made many of these women prisoners -  a vast majority locked up for attempting abortion or infanticide from unwanted pregnancies, many caused by non-consensual sex with men who hold positions of power over them.  These women are being punished for desperate acts  that are a result of deeply rooted gender inequality, social norms, and their biological make up that gives them the ability to become pregnant.   I also celebrate International Women’s Day because it’s a reminder to at least take one moment of our busy lives and bring attention to some of the ignored issues of gender inequality.  The existance of this day makes awareness raising around women’s rights with whoever we can, our human responsibility - if not for just one day out of 365.  This year, my friend’s blog, four minutes of feminism, took this day to address the practices of force feeding in  Mauritania and Breast Ironing in Cameroon.  The organization I work for was featured on television highlighting the practice (and abandonment) of female genital cutting, an entrenched tradition in many rural communities throughout Africa.   Where I live, as an outsider in another culture, it’s easy for me to judge all the ways in which women are unequal here and to become frustrated on a daily basis for being female. I often wonder what would happen if all of a sudden, men were the ones having the babies?  Most of all, I find myself angry at the international community (myself included) for simply being able to ignore social injustices that occur to our most vulnerable members – “out of sight out of mind”, right?   So, here comes my contribution to International Women’s Day (albeit a couple of days late – sorry) and my attempt to raise awareness about an issue that affects some of the most “out of sight, out of mind” women in this world (and also a rare moment that I write a serious and wordy blog post, so give me this one).  Many of you have not heard of an obstetric fistula.  This is because you probably have never met a woman with an obstetric fistula or heard of a women with this condition even though an estimated 3.5 million women have it. An obstetric fistula occurs from an obstructed labor, when a baby gets stuck in the birth canal and cannot come out on its own.  The woman can spend up to 5 days in labor, as the baby pushes against her vaginal wall and cuts off oxygen in the tissue between her vagina and bladder or rectum.  Her baby is stillborn and the woman is left with a hole between her vagina and bladder or rectum that leaves her constantly leaking urine and/or feces.    From a medical standpoint, obstetric fistulas are easily preventable with access to emergency obstetric care (cesarean section and proper extraction tools) and existing fistulas can successfully be repaired. Because of this, obstetric fistulas never exist in developed countries and only affect the world’s poorest women (all in sub-Saharan Africa and Asia). Due to the nature of this condition, these women often choose to self isolate themselves out of shame and embarrassment, making it difficult for one to find them, even if there is repair available to her.  Believed to be impure and infertile, these women are often abandoned by their husbands (who are also subjected to societal and family pressure) and left with no financial support.  To further exacerbate this problem, women with fistulas are thought to be punished by god for adultery they have committed.  The context that makes emergency obstetric services and maternal health care inaccessible along with the shame and resulting isolation brought about from the symptoms, makes obstetric fistulas one of the most  ignored social injustices and  violations to a woman’s human right to health and quality of life.  Described as the “wretched of the earth,” women with obstetric fistulas are the most marginalized in the world. Despite its high incidence rate (think of the existence of a fistula for every maternal death), obstetric fistulas are even placed on the global health backburner.   An intricate knot, tangled with the lack of education, gender inequality, poverty, and cultural beliefs and practices leads to the continuing  presence of this condition and the lack of international interest.   Please look at www.fistulafoundation.org and the www.endfistula.org for more information.  So, now you are one more person that knows about that and that’s why I celebrate International Women’s Day (and also, when else am I gonna be forced to pelvic thrust in front of an entire Senegalese prison? yup. that happened) View high resolution

Why I celebrate International Women’s Day (better late than never)

It’s a tradition for members of our organization to spend International Women’s Day at one of the prisons in which we work.  On this day, women prisoners can sit with guards and guests and take part in a planned program of music, speeches, dancing, and theatrical sketches that celebrate them and us, together as women.  I enjoy this day because no matter how different our background or other positions of power and privilege, at least, in one sense we are able to celebrate our equality.

In a way, being a woman is the crime that made many of these women prisoners -  a vast majority locked up for attempting abortion or infanticide from unwanted pregnancies, many caused by non-consensual sex with men who hold positions of power over them.  These women are being punished for desperate acts  that are a result of deeply rooted gender inequality, social norms, and their biological make up that gives them the ability to become pregnant.  

I also celebrate International Women’s Day because it’s a reminder to at least take one moment of our busy lives and bring attention to some of the ignored issues of gender inequality.  The existance of this day makes awareness raising around women’s rights with whoever we can, our human responsibility - if not for just one day out of 365.  This year, my friend’s blog, four minutes of feminism, took this day to address the practices of force feeding in  Mauritania and Breast Ironing in Cameroon.  The organization I work for was featured on television highlighting the practice (and abandonment) of female genital cutting, an entrenched tradition in many rural communities throughout Africa.  

Where I live, as an outsider in another culture, it’s easy for me to judge all the ways in which women are unequal here and to become frustrated on a daily basis for being female. I often wonder what would happen if all of a sudden, men were the ones having the babies?  Most of all, I find myself angry at the international community (myself included) for simply being able to ignore social injustices that occur to our most vulnerable members – “out of sight out of mind”, right?  

So, here comes my contribution to International Women’s Day (albeit a couple of days late – sorry) and my attempt to raise awareness about an issue that affects some of the most “out of sight, out of mind” women in this world (and also a rare moment that I write a serious and wordy blog post, so give me this one). 

Many of you have not heard of an obstetric fistula.  This is because you probably have never met a woman with an obstetric fistula or heard of a women with this condition even though an estimated 3.5 million women have it. An obstetric fistula occurs from an obstructed labor, when a baby gets stuck in the birth canal and cannot come out on its own.  The woman can spend up to 5 days in labor, as the baby pushes against her vaginal wall and cuts off oxygen in the tissue between her vagina and bladder or rectum.  Her baby is stillborn and the woman is left with a hole between her vagina and bladder or rectum that leaves her constantly leaking urine and/or feces.   

From a medical standpoint, obstetric fistulas are easily preventable with access to emergency obstetric care (cesarean section and proper extraction tools) and existing fistulas can successfully be repaired. Because of this, obstetric fistulas never exist in developed countries and only affect the world’s poorest women (all in sub-Saharan Africa and Asia). Due to the nature of this condition, these women often choose to self isolate themselves out of shame and embarrassment, making it difficult for one to find them, even if there is repair available to her.  Believed to be impure and infertile, these women are often abandoned by their husbands (who are also subjected to societal and family pressure) and left with no financial support.  To further exacerbate this problem, women with fistulas are thought to be punished by god for adultery they have committed. 

The context that makes emergency obstetric services and maternal health care inaccessible along with the shame and resulting isolation brought about from the symptoms, makes obstetric fistulas one of the most  ignored social injustices and  violations to a woman’s human right to health and quality of life.  Described as the “wretched of the earth,” women with obstetric fistulas are the most marginalized in the world. Despite its high incidence rate (think of the existence of a fistula for every maternal death), obstetric fistulas are even placed on the global health backburner.   An intricate knot, tangled with the lack of education, gender inequality, poverty, and cultural beliefs and practices leads to the continuing  presence of this condition and the lack of international interest.  

Please look at www.fistulafoundation.org and the www.endfistula.org for more information. 

So, now you are one more person that knows about that and that’s why I celebrate International Women’s Day (and also, when else am I gonna be forced to pelvic thrust in front of an entire Senegalese prison? yup. that happened)

I wanted to go to Guinée Conakry but instead spent 2 weeks on a Senegalese military base in a very hot place close to Guinée Conakry


So, yeah. That’s where I’ve been.  



Lac Rose, Tania eats a record amount of “Thieb u dienne,” and my first time fainting on a bus

Saturday, I went to Lac Rose, which is this place tourists go to outside of Dakar. As its name suggests, it is a pink lake  (due to its ridiculous salt quantity or something related to it) and it’s supposed to be the pinkest this time of year, so we didn’t want to miss that!

Anyway we got there and looked at this pink lake for like a second and remarked about how weird the foam was and how the lake did look pink! Then my friend, Tania was really hungry so we decided to watch Tania put away a ridiculous amount of rice, palm oil, and fish (enough to make it into the title of this post) before we explored the lake.  But then, we skipped the lake part and left before we realized we had gone all that way basically just to eat a couple of plates of Senegalese food.  But I was feeling really sick and I didn’t really care and was secretly glad that no one was into staying anyway.

I think due to the dust it wasn’t as magnificently pink as we wanted it to be.  It just looked dirty (and foamy). 

I guess more eventful, I also had my first experience fainting on a crowded Senegalese bus. That was fun. NOT.   I’m still in bed, really sick but really bored and for some reason, really craving chocolate and beer.  

Why I think you should have a Fake Butt (because they’re awesome!) and check out Katie’s new blog, www.havingstuff.tumblr.com  (because it’s awesome too and Katie lives in America! now and is an expert on materialistic items). 

havingstuff: 

Fake Butts

Do you want to see what you look like with a gigantic ass? Yes, please! Who doesn’t? Lucky for me, I live immersed in a culture that LOVES big butts and  I can easily (too easily?) buy me some fake buttocks on the street for $5. Also lucky for me, my model-slim roommate made an offhand remark a few months ago about how she wanted some junk in the trunk. It was her birthday today so I could finally justify buying a butt (basically like spanks on opposite day) for her present  and then  immediately grab it and try it on after she unwrapped it.

Apparently hair isn’t the only fake body part that women wear here and judging by the availability and selection of  booty enhancers, the next time I see a  Senegalese woman with a super skinny body yet an incredibly voluptuous rump, I  will definitely wonder out loud  about the validity of her derrière.   If you are reading this, you too should get a faux fesse (and why not pick one up for a friend while you’re at it?) because then you can fulfill your dream of seeing what you’d look like with a disproportionately large backside and even if you already have one, you can see how it looks even bigger!

For those of you, like my roommate, who are looking for a little bit of supplementary cushioning for everyday life: seriously, if you want to just wear those puppies like a padded Wonderbra for the bum, no one will even know.  It feels unbelievably real to the smack  and comes complete with a panty-line and everything. Plus, as an added bonus, you can have some built-in comfort for your next 12-hour ride on African public transportation. 

-Jana  (I live in Senegal)  

P.S. A big butt is called a Diaye Fondé here.  It even has its own name!!!

Consider this a cultural lesson.

(Reblogged from havingstuff)
Second by second play of my first time being mugged at machete point (with accurate illustration) Seconds 1-3: A machete’s in my face.   I think, Where did this guy holding a rusty sword come from and why does it seem like he’s about to stab me in the face with it? Dude. Stop yanking my bag! Second 4:My friend yells  “JUST GIVE HIM YOUR BAG!!”  Seconds 5-7:  I let go of my bag and then he grabs my friend’s bag and gets on the scooter where his friend is waiting. Second 8: My friend screams an awesome movie-getting-murdered scream as loud as she can to attract attention (no one cares). Second 9:They start to drive away on the get-away scooter.  I think of what I can possibly yell after them in my limited Wolof to convey my anger but all I can think of is, “you’re mean!” Second 10: I yell,  “F*CK YOU, YOU F*CKING F*CKERS!”  Second 11: I think, Damn. I wish I could have said that in Wolof (as if it would have mattered) La Fin. Aftermath:  For some reason, my friend and I were both just like, “well, that sucked!” and continued walking.  and this is what those f*cking f*ckers got: 700 cfa ($1.50) Cell phone from the stone age a sweaty gym towel * a nalgene bottle An asthma inhaler that doesn’t work (they actually did me a favor because I always gave myself the wrong dosage) Contact lenses Chapstick Tampons * We were walking back from the gym we recently joined (where they talk you into taking weight lifting classes).  P.S. my roommate just asked if this illustration was the art work of a recovering child soldier.   View high resolution

Second by second play of my first time being mugged at machete point (with accurate illustration)

Seconds 1-3: A machete’s in my face.   I think, Where did this guy holding a rusty sword come from and why does it seem like he’s about to stab me in the face with it? Dude. Stop yanking my bag!

Second 4:My friend yells  “JUST GIVE HIM YOUR BAG!!” 

Seconds 5-7:  I let go of my bag and then he grabs my friend’s bag and gets on the scooter where his friend is waiting.

Second 8: My friend screams an awesome movie-getting-murdered scream as loud as she can to attract attention (no one cares).

Second 9:They start to drive away on the get-away scooter.  I think of what I can possibly yell after them in my limited Wolof to convey my anger but all I can think of is, “you’re mean!”

Second 10: I yell,  “F*CK YOU, YOU F*CKING F*CKERS!” 

Second 11: I think, Damn. I wish I could have said that in Wolof (as if it would have mattered)

La Fin.

Aftermath:  For some reason, my friend and I were both just like, “well, that sucked!” and continued walking. 

and this is what those f*cking f*ckers got:

700 cfa ($1.50)

Cell phone from the stone age

a sweaty gym towel *

a nalgene bottle

An asthma inhaler that doesn’t work (they actually did me a favor because I always gave myself the wrong dosage)

Contact lenses

Chapstick

Tampons

* We were walking back from the gym we recently joined (where they talk you into taking weight lifting classes). 

P.S. my roommate just asked if this illustration was the art work of a recovering child soldier.  

Another annoying thing about baby infant cockroaches

Yesterday, I went to make my awesome pizza crust and have a Pizza night! with said crust and was super duper excited for this. Everyone else in my house would have been excited for this too.  But when I went to knead the dough, I realized there was a baby cockroach infestation in my flour that I used.  I’m not a baby when it comes to baby cockroaches in my food (not all those black spots were mustard seeds in those lentils last week and I knew it before I even cooked it) so I started picking out the roaches one by one from my sticky dough. My roommate even came to help. About 15 roaches in, we finally decided that even for us, we could not peacefully eat this pizza knowing we were eating mouthfuls of cockroaches, even though they were going to be cooked. So sadly, I threw away my (double the recipe!) pizza dough.

Then, because I was just so angry I could spit, I went to write something about it on face book so all of my 398 friends could know about it and I could feel solidarity. But then I saw this status by a friend in The Gambia: After picking the 10th bug out of my bread, it was the 11th that broke the camel’s back and I decided not to eat the bread. 

What are the odds?  

So then I thought, it would be weird if I wrote a similar yet true story so I didn’t. But I still wanted to bitch about it.

UGH!

If only the roaches were a little bigger, I would have been able to sift them out before they got stuck in the dough and we could have avoided this in the first place. 

I totally saw a kid hacking a severed sheep’s head on Monday

Continuing the apparent theme this week of Sheep heads (and other sheeply body parts).  Monday was Aid-El-Kebir, the holiest Muslim holiday (or at least the most celebrated  here). In Senegal, this is known as Tabaski, or, as I called it one time and my roommates thought it was way more funnier than it was,  Tabaaaski (get it? get it?).Tabaski  commemorates the time God told Ibrahim to sacrifice his son but instead, at the last second, he was like, sacrifice this sheep instead! So now, on this day, every year, between 9 and 11 a.m., no less than one million sheep (we did the math) are killed in Senegal alone.  Celebration wise, I kind of think of it as our equivalent of Thanksgiving, Halloween, and the Prom all rolled into one.   Here’s how it goes down: 

THE RAM

For about 3 weeks before Tabaski, sheep are being sold EVERYWHERE.  Like EVERYWHERE.  Lining the streets, at all the round-abouts, outside our office, on the street dividers, etc etc.  you see them all piled on public transport (sad) and peeing on the passengers below through the window (slightly funny when it’s not you) and people start acquiring them on their roofs to hold for the big day so that your expat friends living on shared roofs start wishing they could be the ones to cut off the head of that sheep pooping under their laundry and bleeting in their window every morning. Then like a week before, you see even MORE sheep than you thought even existed in the entire world as all the herders bring in their lot to sell.  Picking out a ram is not unlike picking out a Christmas tree.  Also, your ram you buy can show off your wealth.* 

THE GLAM

Dakaroise women go ALL out for Tabaski and get special Tabaski glam outfits made. The sparklier and brighter the better - clothes wise and make-up wise.  I’d say (rough estimate), in Dakar 1 gazillion miles of fake hair is bought for Tabaski along with 2.5 million pounds of bright fuscia eye shadow.  It is impossible to book an appointment at the beauty parlor for the days leading up to Tabaski.  I know this because we tried (for an unrelated event).

THE WHAM

Slaughtering your sheep in our neighborhood means going to the street, digging a hole (remember, our streets are made of sand), holding the sheep’s head over the hole then sawing it off and then gutting it, skinning it, and hacking it and then burying the parts they don’t want.  People will also do this on the beach (side note:  do not go to the beach the day after Tabaski.  That’s when I saw the sheep’s hide float by last year).  People will also do this on their roof. My roommate witnessed a slaughtering last year on a rooftop and promptly fainted. Totally ruined the party.  She’s like that. 

AND BING BANG BAM!

This is the second year I’ve been invited to Oumar’s house for Tabaski.  Oumar is our amazingly talented tailor (we get lots of stuff made so we spend lots of time with him).  

A typical Tabaski guest does the following:

See sheep parts, take pictures of people with sheep parts as props, be led to the living room,  sit in front of a T.V. (that if you’re lucky, will have on Desperate Housewives dubbed in French), take a nap, try to offer assistance, not help very well,  sit in front of the T.V., take a nap,  Eat lots and lots of sheep, eat lots more, take a nap.  This takes anywhere between 5-8 hours. Having cute children in the vicinity helps.  Having another “invite” to go to after helps too.

Then the kids get dressed up in their Tabaski finest and go door to door in groups and ask for coins (see? like trick or treating!). 

This year, we were sent home with a generous slab of thigh from which my roommate made the bomb stew.

And that’s Tabaski.

The end. 

*Someone told me that the guy who owns the Radisson Blu (my favorite place to spend lots of money on one glass of wine) bought a ram for $8000 once just to show everyone how loaded he was.  I’m not a sheep expert, but there is no ram big enough or best enough or different tasting enough to be worth 10x the normal cost of a nice big ram.  If I was rich, I’d probably buy 10 baby lambs to eat instead.  Just saying. 

If you want to enjoy the beaches of Dakar, you need to lower the bar a bit.  

What’s that in the forefront of the picture of Atlanta innocently enjoying her day off?*

Look a little closer. It’s not a rock. 

Other things that can float by you in the ocean here: raw sewage, lots and lots of plastic bags that get stuck to your legs, a refrigerator door, organs (not the instrument), a sheep’s hide (which was coincidentally almost exactly a year ago!). 

*Thanks French colonialism for giving us All Saints day off!