I again feel like I have nothing to say... because everything I do is starting to feel so normal, yet they're really interesting stories. :D So, buckle up. You're in for a long one.

For those who don't want to read the whole thing: The Spark Notes Version.
-Great host family
-Interesting conversation about education system with two professors, a lot about corporal punishment as a form of education
-My time as "Dr. Tofte" (that's what they called me) at work
-Interesting conversation about the plight of women in Senegal with Anna

Yesterday, I was going to go to Ngallele to spend the day with my host family, and when I was leaving, everyone said, "Why do you always go to Ngallele? It's like you don't want to spend time with us!" (I hate hearing that... because it's completely not true.) I had lunch with Adjou, and we were chatting until about 4h30, and then I returned to my host family. They always make me happy. Full of joy and laughter. We had a relaxed dinner and watched a couple movies and then called it a night. Before going to bed, Mami asked me, "Why do you always spend so much time in Ngallele. It's like they're more important to you than we are." I get the same thing from both sides! I always feel like they're making me choose... when what I really want is to do ... basically what I'm doing. I love my host family, but if I want to be independent and just hang out, there is nothing to do in Ngallele. Not a thing.

Last night, though, I did go to visit Jess's host family, the Diakhabys. They're always interesting. :D They are so much in love and you can feel it. They have the type of relationship that I hope to find someday. They asked about my project and how things were going, and we ended up talking about it for quite some time. Here are actually the notes I typed up after that I'm going to formalize and use for my project:

Talking with the Diakhabys tonight was really interesting and very relevant. I was saying that I worked with the talibés, and Mariama asked if I had found a solution yet. Monsieur said that the solution was to get rid of the daaras in general, but Mariama said that you can't do that because there are so many parents that think their kids are educated through suffering. With this education, they're able to get themselves out of any situation because they've lived with nothing to eat, they beg for money and meals, and they have nothing. If they can survive this education, they can survive anything because they've already been through it. It is the children of the French education system that will not have received any real education. Whatever they encounter, they won't be able to really do anything about it because they haven't already had the experience. Many talibés are able to learn practical skills earlier to be able to be more successful in the real world while the others don't really have any knowledge of what real life even means. "C'est un problème de savoir-faire. Ceux qui ont fait les daaras l'ont et les autres ne l'ont pas."

Mariama thinks that the best situation would be for the daaras to be supported by the state and for the talibés to never have to go to beg. They would then be able to learn all day and maybe for a few hours at the end, they could learn French for a few hours. This would be the ideal situation.

We were also talking about corporal punishment. Children are educated through severe "lectures" (I'm going to hurt you, and if I hit you, you're going to die) and through beatings. This is the only form of education that parents know because it is the only form ever used. Previously, corporal punishment was allowed in French schools, but all of a sudden it was outlawed. "That's not what progressive systems do", looking at the Western model of education. In theory, this was good progress. The problem, however, was that there was never any instruction as to how to educate or discipline children without beating them. Because teachers and parents alike don't know how to discipline the children they teach or raise, they end up having no discipline, no education. One math professor that I was talking to recognized that this was a very retroactive form of punishment. Because of the lack of structure and support from the very beginning, it is often too late to use more "Western" forms of discipline; parents are left with beating as the only option, having to educate after-the-fact.

This morning, I woke up and came into town to see that Anna and I were the only two in the center. All the directors and a few subordinates are in Thies at a conference for the umbrella organization to plan for the next year, a few others are sick, and some others had to go to a funeral or something. So, because now I've been formally trained in, I was put in charge of the health center. Completely this time. I called Anna in a few times to help me figure out what to do, but then she left to go do her other work. I am really not cut out to be a doctor. When I see other people suffering, it hurts.

The boys always have to shower before they come to the health center just to get all the dust and dirt away. One older brother took the younger brother into the shower to clean up, and then all of a sudden I heard these blood-curdling scream. I was chatting with Arouna, another older talibé, and we ran over to see what the matter was. When Arouna came out, he said that the soap the brother was using to wash up was really stinging. I'm actually cringing just thinking about it. The boy was absolutely sobbing, and when he came out to get to some help, he was trembling and exhausted from all the pain. I just wanted to hold him until he stopped trembling, but the stoic boy he was always taught to be prevented him from even looking me in the eye.

He was only wearing shorts, and he walked over and showed me his hand. It covered in these bloody, pus-filled scabs/scars/open wounds. He couldn't even hold it still. I cleaned it with a disinfectant (which obviously stung as well) and asked him if it was anywhere else. He pulled down his shorts. His entire groin area was also covered. He was embarrassed and obviously in pain. So I cleaned that up as well, followed by another medication that is supposed to "la gâle", which I actually just googled, and it's scabies. I'm trying to find a picture, but nothing really captures what his looked like. Imagine this but worse, all over the body, and bloody. In any case, good Lord. And to think there are absolute outbreaks of that all over the daaras. It's a contagious disease. [cringe]

Another few boys had what looks like the beginning of elephantitis (to the completely-untrained eye... just to give you an idea). One boys hand is at least two times the size of the other. It's some sort of infection that causes pus production and intense swelling. Eventually it has to come out somewhere, so I was dealing with a few boys whose had already burst. Now they just have big open wounds and a bit less intense swelling. Most of the others were just infected open wounds. Just. Right. They try to pretend it doesn't hurt when I put alcohol on it, but it obviously does. You can see their bodies contract and hear them draw their breath when it touches. Ugh. And they told me that I'm going to be doing the same thing tomorrow. Joy.

In any case, I learned a lot today, and I spoke a lot of Wolof. As I was the only one there, I definitely held my own. I was able to get things done and be supportive and relatively caring (I have a good bed-side manner... haha) throughout the whole thing... in a language I don't really speak. Experiences like this are always very humbling. They make me realize that I can't do things like this without the help of others. There were a few older talibés that I've known for awhile that were helping me out a lot, simplifying the language if I didn't understand, just being supportive in general, and that really meant a lot to me. So many things have meant a lot to me here.

After an emotionally- and intellectually-taxing day at work (four hours... haha), I went to Anna's for lunch. She has really become another family to me here. Any time I go over just to say hello and I didn't eat lunch with them, they always ask where I ate... and seem almost miffed that I wasn't with them. Anyway, after a delicious meal of ceebujen bu weex, I stayed and chatted with her for a few hours. I'm actually tired of writing and need to move on to other things, so I'm just going to give three things I found interesting.
- Kiné, her sister, was called to Dakar to go be with her husband. Even though she didn't want to leave, she had to leave because he asked her to. While this may seem like a normal sort of thing, to respond to your spouse's needs (which that is), it's not something that we see in America as much... especially when she has no money to speak of and has to get there without his help. Also, she doesn't really have the right to ask him to come to be with her. It's a one-way street.
- Women don't get to choose the name of their children. They don't really have much say in the matter. The father usually has already promised to name the baby after someone.
- Anna had no trouble admitting that 100% (according to her) of Senegalese women cheat on their boyfriends/husbands. Everyone, she said. It's the men that make them do it, though. If the men cheat, the women aren't going to stay faithful. But in the end, the husband is able to make the wife stay home if he doesn't want her out of the house. And, as previously established, she has to obey... or else either it will cause problems with the husband or it will create drama in the community and cause problems that way.

Whew. That was a long one. All in 24 hours. Crazy. Hope New Years finds you healthy and happy. Make some good resolutions and keep them!