sene-gal

I just returned to site after quite the whirlwind of activities in Dakar and Thies.  First, we had All Volunteer Conference, where all 250 Senegal volunteers plus more from other West African countries came together to share best practices and projects.  After this, was the West African Invitational Softball Tournament, or appropriately, WAIST, where I wore a sweet outfit that looked like League of Their own and ‘played’ softball and went to prom themed parties because sometimes Peace Corps is just high school 2.0.

Finally, we had our Close of Service Conference in Thies.  My entire ‘stage’ or training group, all 39 of us (started at 42), got together for the very last time to begin the process of leaving Senegal and returning to the everyday life in America.  This conference was a mix of learning how to fill out paperwork (yes, because Peace Corps is part of the U.S. government there is a lot of paperwork), how to say goodbye to what we called home for two years,  and how to stop picking our nose and talking about our bowel movements in public.  Unfortunately, this conference did not include lessons on how to use iphones or kindles.

These three days, while lovely to be with our group again (there was a lot of crying and cuddling happening, obviously), was incredibly anxiety inducing for me.  While sometimes I say only three months to go, sometimes I need to say I still have three whole months left.  I still have two big projects to finish, reports to write, and babies and friends to spend time with. On top of that, we had anecdotes from former PCVs who said it took up a year to feel ‘normal’ again in the United States.  Thinking about being ‘that kid’ who will not stop talking about living in Africa to all of her friends makes me feel nauseated, and the thought of catching up on two years of movies, drama with friends and of cell phone technology is giving me an ulcer.

Of course, we idealize America as well.  The land of milk and honey as we call it in Peace Corps Senegal. I am going to be able to drive to the store to buy anything.  The other day I was telling my friend LaRocha that I am sad that I will not have my Nokia Cell phone with the flashlight in America, and she said Leah, you will always have lights in America, there is electricity, you flip a switch. That made me real excited. Plus of course being back with the people that I love and miss very much.  But am I idealizing it too much? Who knows, I think the expression the grass is greener will apply fully here.

What I do know is, and again why COS conference is so important is that the people with whom I trained will be right there with me. We will be able to call each other while hiding in closets to talk about our bodily functions and get pedicures together. These last few months I will spend not only attempting to live in the moment, but how to keep my stories from the past two years alive in my heart, even while eating salads and ice cream on the couch in an air conditioned room.

After ringing in 2011 in front of Akon standing in a bubble on a tree in St. Louis, I decided that nothing could beat it besides having a village new years, clearly. Especially because of all the family and friends visiting plus All Volunteer Conference and WAIST coming up, I am spending a lot of time outside of village and miss it sometimes (also an excellent money saver).

Anyways, everyone all day was talking about the 31, but as I’ve spent so much time here now, I’ve found that people are often a lot of talk when they talk about the crazy things they are going to do for holidays. I.e. Tabaski when they say they are going to party all night, everyone passes out at like 9pm, which I have no problem with, but something I had to learn.  My sister said that we would have a fabulous party at home too, which meant eating lettuce and meat! Which, doesn’t sound that awesome, but trust me, it is. I dream of eating salads, and this is the closest thing to it.  My host brother bought an absurd amount of lettuce from Yasmin’s master farmer site (i.e. basically the garden of eden) and we made meat and onions and all sorts of delicious.  Then to make it a real party, I bought soda. Then everyone got tired and I went to play with my friends at the hospital and had dinner #2- chicken, fries and salad. Now talk about fancy. Then we drank fancy juice mixes. Everyone kept asking me where the champagne was. I mean, all that champagne that is all over Saraya and that nobody here drinks? Yeah that kind.

Then Frank, my new site mate came to meet me and we hung out at the hospital until everyone seemed too tired and went to my hut to watch Arrested Development and drink tea until midnight so we could go to sleep (I know, we’re cool). Then I get a call from my friends telling us we MUST come to the soiree! And actually came to my hut to make us go. He was all dressed up in a suit, I put on jeans (what?) for the occasion.  We got there and there were about 10 teen-aged boys there and 2 girls and loud music in a classroom at the school. Apparently 11:45 was still too early for a new year’s party…So Frank danced while I watched and made fun of the boys. We high-fived at midnight and at around 12:30, to the dismay of our friends, it was bedtime for the toubabs. Apparently the party kept going until 4am. I think my days of middle-school style dances are long over and don’t think I could have ever stayed awake for it. But either way, I would say success on New Year’s being spent with good friends, good food and entertaining as always, even if it is not Akon.

It has been quite the busy holiday season in Senegal, believe it or not. Or at least for volunteers and I, and will continue to be pretty much until I leave here (which I can now start talking about because looking at my 2012 calendar- I will spend more of it in the U.S. than in Senegal, weird!)

Last month, Aunt Liz, Deb and Bill (my aunt and my parents) decided to make sure their daughter (yours truly) is alive and well and Senegal and not actually living on a set of the Truman show.  I was in need of a vacation, and a lot of my volunteer friends went home for the holidays so I was real excited to see them at 6am when they came out of the airport carrying 2 duffel bags of things for me and my village.

After spending a couple of days in Dakar, doing the regular touristy stuff- Goree Island, the renaissance statue, artisanal markets, I was about ready to get out of tourist land, and so was my dad because after the first day 3 men asked him for my hand in marriage (one even offered him all of Goree Island- and he said no!)  We hired a driver, because I was not about the subject them to the mess that is public transportation in this country, Pape, who was lovely and even though he and my dad didn’t share any common languages, they became fast friends.  They could not believe that I regularly did this 14 hour drive to Kedougou. But this drive, in a rented car with an awesome driver- luxury compared to the back of a converted station wagon.

We went to both villages, Nafadji and Saraya to give them a taste of both of my lives here.  Deb and Liz met baby Deb and Liz, which was pretty much the best thing ever. And now they are going to be the best dressed babies ever. The kids all loved my dad (who knew he was so great with kids? I mean I guess I should have known, I liked him a lot when I was one…). And it was fun to see my host family react to the fact that not only did I have a living breathing family, but that families in Africa and families in America..same deal! At night, the women threw a dance drum party just for us (My toxoma loves any chance to call that drummer over) and that night, I shared my host mom’s huge bed with my mom and my aunt, while my friend Ian and my dad shared the bed in Marielles hut (what good sports!) As my toxoma said, boys in one room, girls in the other! For more Nafadji details, read below post.

Then we went to Saraya, where they got to see the more laid back ‘city’ life, the smaller family, fewer babies, all that.  They were taken aback by the fact that school is only sometimes in session due to various strikes or sometimes no reason at all. So we played with coloring books they brought- kids colored in pictures of snorkels and bathing suits (they did a great job for not knowing what the hell they were drawing).  My dad kept thinking of business opportunities like African-themed coloring books and trash clean-up activities. My family all kept thinking of ideas on how to develop this place. It is interesting seeing newcomers be so surprised upon seeing the trash, the lack of business development, lack of schooling that they just keep thinking of ideas that just might work…This also made me realize that being here has made me quite jaded but that is neither here nor there.

They also kept noting the fact that some of the things here- the base is there but things aren’t quite happening. For example:

Is there an airstrip in Kedougou? Yes, but no planes.

How about that new hospital just built? Yes, it’s built, but there is no water, electricity, or place for doctors to live yet.

Oh, but there is a surgeon in Kedougou? Yes, but often not an anesthesiologist…

And there is a very nice new high school! Yes, but again, no water, and often no teachers.

The list keeps going on and on, which can be pretty funny but also just so absurd to really think about how everything is set up to be awesome, but for now, no cigar…

When we got back to Kedougou, the fam was emotionally exhausted and very excited for a hot shower. I too, was exhausted from consistently translating and from being really happy about all of the nice things people were saying about me to the parents and how excited everyone was that they came (Even though people at the hospital told me that I can go and leave my aunt because she is an English teacher and I lack patience to teach everyone English every day, humph).

Back up to Dakar after an even longer journey (but some fun stops on the way in Wassadou and then t our driver’s house for lunch, talk about Senegalese hospitality). Then we picked up Laura Feldman (woot!) and went to Palmerin for some real vacation relaxation time. Besides the fact that Laura and cut ourselves on mangroves while kayaking (and this is after kayaking in gale-force winds in South Africa and being good at it…who knows we need life-threatening status to be good at things), it was a beautiful place and I did not have to translate so much anymore.

Our last day in Dakar, we kept getting text messages about potential riots in Dakar and that we should not go anywhere in the next couple of days because of potential violence. This was the day before my parents left, and I am not sure they felt too good about me being there. I asked my dad if he felt better about my safety after seeing me here. I think it made him feel worse but that was in Dakar and I had to remind him of all the amazing people he met in village and how they are truly my family. Then I think he felt better (Right, dad?)

I would not call it a typical vacation, but I am so happy that my parents came to see my life here. And now being back in village, they are just the talk of the town and everyone was so happy they got to meet my family.  And who knows, I got pretty good at playing tour guide- maybe Senegal will just hire me as one full time and I’ll stay here forever! (I kid, duh)

We stepped out of the pick-up truck in Nafadji, and Debbie and Liz were placed in our arms—the arms of Debbie and Liz. What an incredible welcome! The babies were wrapped in these beautiful, brightly colored fabrics, and just adorable. (If you missed the story on Leah’s blog—-these are the twin daughters of her Host sister who were born just about 6 weeks before our arrival. Leah played a critical role at their birth and was honored with naming rights for the babies. She chose her Mom’s name, Debbie, and mine, her Aunt, and so these names are on the official birth certificates and now, on this continent of Africa, my sister and I have namesakes!)

So, we were greeted by Leah’s Host family and friends and taken to the central gathering area where her Host Mom sits outside her hut on a mat keeping an eye on things and helping with everything from babycare to dinner prep and everything else that comes up. At this time she is handing the uncooked rice kernels looking for stones to discard and holding the babies. Her daughters are close by getting dinner prepared on the outdoor fire and nursing the babies as needed. The other kids are also hanging around, mostly around Bill, Leah’s Dad as he takes photos of the kids and they shriek with delight as he shows them the immediate digital result. Plastic chairs appear for us to sit and Leah introduces us all. Eyes go to my sister Debbie and her husband Bill as the family looks to identify similar features. Smiles are everywhere and although I cannot understand any words spoken, there is a genuine warmth I feel right away.

We see Leah’s hut and outdoor latrine and I try to imagine her life here without electricity, running water etc. I also try to imagine myself using these facilities as we plan to sleep here!
We see how Leah has integrated herself into this family and how much they care for her. She easily speaks Malinke, the language spoken in Nafadji, and is fluent in French as we later see.

The family members are all eager to talk with her and the children want to be picked up by her. We are taken to the garden by the Host Mom with all the kids joyfully walking with us, holding our hands. We pass the Brick man who is placing soil in a mold and drying bricks on the side of the road. We meet other villagers who come by to greet Leah and be introduced to us. Leah tells us that this is a huge part of the culture. You greet everyone you see and exchange pleasantries of which we never learn. We smile with delight and kvell over Leah’s ability to interact and understand. Goodbye’s are important too and Leah will give us some words to say so we appear polite! As we walk on the road to the garden and meet the people in the village, my sister, her husband and I are struck by the friendliness of the people, the beautiful fabrics the woman wear, and the organization of the hut communities. I wonder how the women balance bowls on their head filled with rice and peanuts and babies wrapped in fabric on their backs—their walk is so tall and proud—-so this is where multi-tasking began! The garden is lovely although rather quiet at this time of year—the dry season. The Host mother waters the plants from a nearby stream. They are under the malaria nets—-Leah not so happy about this use of the nets!

When we get back we see that they have killed chicken for our meal and so on top of a big bowl of rice, which is part of every lunch and dinner, there are chicken pieces in a peanut sauce. We are given a big bowl for us, and some spoons, although most of her family will eat with their hands. Leah tells us that the food that is right in front of you, as you sit on the mat, is your portion. Bon appetite!

I could go on and on about our adventure, but will end with the evening dance party. As night falls, and a fire is started in an opening near the beautiful baobab trees, the village drummer starts his rhythmic music. All the villagers come out, especially the women and babies. We, the guests at this extravagant event, are seated in the chairs with babies in our arms as we watch the women come to the center of the circle and take their solo turns at dancing. When the other women are impressed with the solos they toss in their colorful shawls as a bravo. What an incredible day!

Thank you my dear niece Leah for the opportunity to peek into your world.

At home, closed doors are acceptable, alone time is a real thing and people do not assume that you are sleeping or sick if you are in your room alone for an afternoon.  In Senegal, most people have a lack of regard for privacy, that or Americans have way too much regard for privacy.  This privacy includes time alone, sharing and trash.

Today, I took the day to give my hut a major cleaning in preparation for the Frankel-Moriartys do Senegal 2011 (Debby and Liz & Bill get to meet Debby and Liz babies!).  I took everything out of my room and went through every corner and made three big trash bags of things to throw away that included old plastic bottles, expired demonstration condoms, old thermometers and what have you.

I took the bags and threw them in the garbage area meant to go to the Saraya dump which is really just a huge trash pile.  As I was walking over there the children in my compound follow me over, so excited to go through it all.  30 minutes later, I see these thermometers bottles and such all around my compound.  Now this is embarrassing because my family probably thinks I am a wasteful crazy person for purging these things out of my room and throwing them away like that. Secondly, who knows what those kids do with those expired condoms!

Additionally, I have a habit at home of closing my door while doing such things, putting on music (often show tunes or diva tunes) and sing along (sometimes quite loudly) while I clean.  Today, I decided, after a year and a half I decided to put on some tunes and sing along, why should the idea of people hearing me belt out Dream Girls make me suppress my joy of singing?  Two hours later, my host sister Ndandine, said she heard my singing and laughed for a good two minutes. Awesome.  I’ll tell you, love the sharing, love the family and in most ways think that it is better than cold alone America as I am quite the social butterfly, but sometimes I just dream of closing that door.

So a little bit after the fact, but I wanted to write a blog about HIV/AIDS in light of World Aids Day on December 1^st.  Saraya had quite the day, full of trivia, rap contests, theater and a dance contest.  There are four dance teams, three rap groups and at least two theater troupes (only one made it after some drama hehehe).  And of course there were t-shirts and prizes for the winners.  Sometimes, these events get a little off focus with hundreds of children trying to win candy and cookies while the DJ is trying to do HIV/AIDS trivia, but overall the day showed that the youth in Saraya is educated on HIV/AIDS and is motivated to stop it.  Oh yes, and my brother obviously won the rap contest with his rap, SIDA Man Nin, AIDS is bad.

A lot of my work here has focused on HIV prevention.  The overall rate in Saraya is lower than some cities in the U.S., below 1%, but because of the location of the area by the border of Mali which has a higher rate, and because there is a ton of people here to search for gold, and gold and sex just go hand in hand, so there is an elevated rate here, hence my focus on HIV prevention.

Working on HIV here is a lot different than my experiences in South Africa or perhaps other countries with higher rates.  Because the rates are so low, and because this country is more religiously conservative, the stigma is much higher and it is more difficult for people living with HIV to be open about it and find other people living with HIV with whom to share their experiences.  There are a few programs that works on support groups and small income generating activities like gardening in the region.

The main project that I work on is a community condom distribution network, which I work on with the district social worker, Mon. Sy.  Almost every village in the district has an assigned condom distributer, often a community health worker or well respected young person to distribute condoms, teach people about HIV and STI prevention and be trustworthy not to gossip around the village about who is getting laid and protecting themselves while doing it.  The condoms are all free (from USAID, thank you for your tax dollars!), and as I enter all of the data, I will see not only how many condoms are being distributed but I will be able to see it by month and by age.  My less than high maturity level makes me excited to see what time of year everyone is using the most condoms in Saraya…

Additionally, there are other organizations that focus on preventing HIV in the area, including Family Health International, SWAA Senegal, and the mining companies themselves.  I help out with mass testing days, which I have described in this blog before.  Some are more successful than others, the other day only 15 people came and the next day over 60 came in the village next door.  Once tested positive, individuals can receive free medications and treatment has be decentralized, which means the nurses at the health post level have been trained to care for people living with HIV.  Overall, the health district of Saraya is progressive and on top of the fight against HIV/AIDS and I am proud to be a part of it.

In the U.S., people talk about baby names practically on the third date, in Senegal, babies do not get names until a week after they are born.  Today, the twins (read below post) had their kunliiyo, which means literally head shave, which is a naming ceremony or baptism.

A kunliiyo is sort of like a baby shower, where people bring gifts for the baby like soap, baby powder and of course baby clothes.  There is a little clothing boutique in Saraya and since coming to Senegal I realized that I totally have the stereotypical woman gene in that I have baby fever and melt at the size of those tiny tiny clothes, so naturally I had to resist buying everything in sight.  I also wished that there was a babygap in Saraya instead of just this little boutique.

I bought these two adorable outfits, coordinating of course, one in purple and the other in yellow.  I go and sit by my friend Gouda (who introduced himself to me as ‘my name is Gouda, like the cheese’) and I show him the outfits I bought for the twins and he says Oh bup bup bup (equivalent of OMG in Malinke), Mbamoussa! You need to buy them in the same color, you can’t differentiate twins like that!  Oh god, what have I done… He went on to explain to me that twins are sorcerers and that if you try to differentiate them by doing something like buying them coordinating instead of matching outfits, they will put a spell on you at night while you sleep.  Sorcerer twins are not something I would like to mess with, so I run back to the boutique and thankfully, there are two yellow outfits there, no freaky Friday twin spells over here.

I head over to Nafadji with my matching yellow outfits, soap and excitement about seeing the little munchkins again.  This morning, before the shindig started, the women ask me what I am going to name the babies.  Ummm, I get to name these babies?

Yes, Mbamoussa! You are the toxoma, you get to name them!

What do I name them?

I don’t know, like your mom’s name and someone else.

So I named the babies Debbie and Liz, after my mom and her sister! I could not do Debra and Elizabeth because that would be far too difficult to pronounce (the American Rs do not fare so well here).  Then we go over to have the ceremony! Marielle and I got to hold the babies as the women shaved their head.  They keep the hair at home and use it to make traditional medicines if the babies get sick.  Liz peed on me during the ceremony.  Rude. (Note to self, no diapers over here…good for the environment, bad for my outfits)  Then the women strapped the little things to our backs and did a little circle dance around us and voila! All of the women also prayed that Allah will give Marielle and me twins as well, I hope to reverse this prayer when that time comes… We got to have the party treat, Deko, which is mashed up rice and sugar and has the consistency of play-dough.  The women sit around and pray and give out presents, it really is like a baby shower minus tiny sandwiches plus razors to the head.  I was just thrilled the rest of the day, I spent most of it reminding everyone of their names and working on pronunciation and name memory (their dad could not remember the names for the life of him).  Good thing Debbie and Liz get to meet their toxomas next month when my family comes to visit- mom remember to match those outfits!

Apparently, it is baby season in Senegal.  Once one of the sage femmes told me that all of the babies are born around this time because the men do not work in hot season which was about 9 months ago and have a lot of energy at night…

Anyways, the point is, that my toxoma, or my namesake was absolutely humongous and the two other pregnant women in her house (who were much smaller) had given birth, so we started to become slightly concerned about the situation going on up in her womb. Tabaski, which is basically like Muslim Christmas in Senegal in that nothing is open and everyone goes home and spends it with their families, was today, so very few midwives, nurses or doctors were around.  Marielle, my friend who lives in Nafadji right now decided it would probably be a good idea if Mbamoussa went to Saraya to wait it out because if she went into labor with no healthcare workers present, things could take a quick turn for the worse.

The minute she arrives in Saraya the midwife on duty takes one look at her and says, that lady is probably having twins, probably will need a C section and we should send her to Kedougou, OH and she has malaria on top of that one. Talk about high risk pregnancies.  So I gather my things and we head to Kedougou in the ambulance.

Seeing a rural hospital in the developing world can be tough, seeing a rural hospital in the developing world during the holiday season is pretty horrifying.   They could not be sure if she was really past her due date or if she for sure was carrying twins without a sonogram, but the sonogram reader would not be in until after the holiday.  The surgeon was the only doctor on duty, but the anesthesiologist was gone for the holiday so even if they decided she needed a c section they would still have to send her four hours away to Tamba. So for the time being the goal was to focus on treating her for the malaria with an IV and hope that nothing dangerous would happen until after Tuesday.  Once she was set up she went into the maternity room which was hot, smelly and two to a bed.  And two to a bed was two huge and often sick pregnant women to a hospital bed while hooked up on IVs.

Another way that hospitals differ from western hospital besides the lack of a sterile environment is that they have a BYO everything policy.  This includes food, sheets, soap, meds (from the private pharmacy which was not in the hospital), and people.  I, along with one of the best old women in Nafadji were there to help.  One of Mbamoussa’s older brothers also lives in Kedougou who was kind enough to bring all of her meals, which is good because I probably would have brought her mayonnaise sandwiches three times a day…

The next day was more of a waiting game.  The midwife on duty the morning before mentioned that she would be put on another IV at 1pm, when I returned at 5pm there was still no IV, they forgot.  I wondered what happened to other women who did not have an obnoxious westerner with them to bother the midwife on duty.  That night, more women were discharged so she had her own bed, what luck!  That night there were some fun women there to chat and share snacks with.  Meera and I made peanut butter cookies to share with everyone which were a big hit.

Today, the holiday, there were even fewer people at the hospital.  They picked the one Christian midwife to be on duty for those 24 hours so she was overworked to say the least.   I brought over the movie the Triplettes of Belleville to watch on my laptop because the day before had been absolutely boring.  Everyone thought the movie was very strange but entertaining at least (had to pick one without words as no Malinke dubbed movies exist to my knowledge).   Then Mbamoussa sent me to go eat the holiday meal with her brother at their house in Kedougou.  I was at the house for about 20 min when midwife called me and told me to go buy meds because Mbamoussa had a stomach ache.  I was slightly annoyed that I had to leave the house for what did not seem like such a big deal, but when I arrived she seemed like she was in great pain, more for just needing a little pain medication.

I called over the apathetic midwife, and in five minutes Mbamoussa was in the next room and the skilled birth attendant was pushing on her stomach to make her water break.  I was standing behind the curtain and I heard a splash, there we go.

I sat by her head and literally five minutes later there was a head.  This after all the stories I hear in the states about labors that last 36 hours, and this one, oh maybe five minutes, no drugs. Badass.  The midwife took the baby away and put her on the table and went right back to work.  I sat with this darling healthy baby girl while they had to maneuver the second one to avoid a breach delivery.  Then the second one was out.  This one was a lot smaller and I did not hear any crying right away, then the midwife was in the room with that one for a while and I got nervous but then she brought the second one out, which was a bit tiny but then there were two healthy baby girls!  All of the sudden, we think we are going to have to bring her to Tamba and nervous because malaria and pregnancy is so dangerous, and we have two little munchkins that I may need to steal and bring home with me.  Aissata, the older woman with me and I did a little dance- dingmusso fula! two baby girls!

There was still a lot of bleeding after and mommy needs rest but for now things look pretty good considering the situation.  These two are her 7^th and 8^th children (she is 30 years old) and her second set of twins.  And she was talkin like it aint no thing.  All of the women were telling me I am next, I tell them that pregnancy things looks painful, they tell me you just push.  And because African babies are so light when they first come out, all the women told me that they could be mine too.  I tell them I would just love to but I still act like a child myself and they would much better be in the hands of a real mother.

Photos to come! They refuse to give the babies a real bath until they can put kola nuts in the water (a Malinke tradition) so I will spare you the pre-bath photos for now!

I have never been a big sister before.  My brother and I had a blast growing up (except for maybe the ‘lost’ years when we were mostly trying to make each other miserable), but I had always wondered what it would be like to have a younger sibling.  So much that I asked my mom once for a younger sister but she respectfully declined my offer to dress her really well.

So who thought I would get this chance unless some sort of Father of the Bride Part Two situation happened? Well here in my family in Senegal I have an abundance of older siblings and younger siblings, many who have children of their own.  My favorite is having a little brother, Sambaly.

I often get put in the teenager category because I am not married and do not have four children already, so people do not really know what to do with me and sometimes just deal with it by pretending I am 15 years old.  Sometimes Sambaly acts this way too, but maybe he acts more like I am 18 and he is 15.  He sometimes makes me crazy, like when he comes into my room when I am trying to work or nap and he is trying to talk about girls or to borrow my cellphone or ipod.  Sometimes I welcome these interactions and find it hilarious when he tells me what some of his friends say about sex and relationships.

Anyways, Sambaly is also a rapper and part of a group called Group Jamm, which means Peace in Wolof/Pulaar.  They have been performing in a series of concerts for the school vacation which include dance contests and rapping contests.  I helped Sambaly and his friend Balla, rap names Biggy Yo and Big Dre, write a rap about malaria for the final.

Now, I have never felt the true big sister vibe until last night.  The show started after eleven pm, hours after I am usually in bed when in village. I arrived and got total VIP treatment, did not have to pay and got a chair at the judges table, no big deal.  But I could not judge because I was so partial.  After sitting through some 10 year olds dancing better than I will ever dream, group Jamm performed.  Not only was I so proud that they did a song about malaria (with accurate information), and wore the NetWorks shirts I gave them (Great malaria prevention PR opp), but I was just so proud of them for working so hard and putting themselves out there.  I took videos and photos like a stage mom at a children’s beauty contest and had that little proud feeling in my heart.

After the show, they were not happy because their song got cut off short by the DJ, but I just gushed about how great and creative they are and how they can come on our radio show anytime (maybe regretting that offer later).  This evening I had five 15 year old boys in my room to check out the videos and photos.  Then, best of all, my brother gave me a rap name, baby girl.  I am in the group officially.  I could not be more excited to be a big sister.