A Death in the Village

As I start to write more about my life living in Indonesia, I'm often reminded of my experiences living abroad, especially in Senegal. Last month, I found myself unexpectedly in the ER of a small hospital on the remote island of Lombok, Indonesia looking after a friend who was in a moped accident. Then the sounds of crying and wailing filled the air like thunder and I was instantly transported back to that small Senegalese village I once lived in where loud cries and wailing women marked a death in the village. As tears rolled down my cheek, I watched an entire extended family crowded tightly into the small ER say goodbye to a loving husband, father, brother, uncle, and friend. In Senegal, the mourning is fast and furious but I can't say its the same for me. The sadness still lingers. Below is a letter I wrote 5 years ago that describes how I felt when someone in the village died.

A Letter to Friends and Family written in 2004:

I have witnessed the death of over ten people in the village since I have been there. As an American I have never had to experience things like  infant mortality as medical technology have saved us from this harsh  reality people here are burdened with. Most of the time I just think of how easy it would be to save some of these people only if they had the medicine to treat Malaria. Of course it makes me question my purpose in the village but the people here accept the good and the bad in life as decisions made by God. If it happens, then it was went to be. As a result, people mourn the loss of loved ones but are able to push forward and live a normal life.

And so when it first happened I had no idea what was going on. I had read about Senegal many times before I got here but nothing could have prepared me for the sound I heard. A howling wail slowly gained force and it spread through the village giving me a chill in my spine. I immediately became scared of what was happening. The howling wail sounded like women were being tortured in the distance. Then someone yelled out, "Cher Tijane faata!". Cher Tijane, a young man of 26 years old had died in a freak car accident as a minibus hit him on his bike. The women near me all burst out into a fit of howling and crying and rushed to the compound of the deceased. There they stood in front of the compound pouring out all of their sorrow. A scene I will never forget.

I have heard that chilling howl by the women many times and each time I hold my breath hoping that I don't know that person or that I am mistaken by what my ears are hearing. But this time news spread that little Azziz the village chief's son had died. A little baby boy that used to cry at the sight of me but who slowly warmed up to presence after the many hours I spent attending village meetings in his father's compound. In a village with tons of little kids, I knew Azziz by name and he was the one who brought me cashew nuts to eat during the long tedious village meetings.

As a village, everything stops for a funeral. Everyone takes part in the mourning. The women cry for the mother or the wife of the deceased and show that they truly understand the pain of losing a loved one. The men of the village gather and wrap the body in shrouds and take it to the village mosque where in amazing unison they pray for the deceased. The prayers are lead by the Imam with hundreds of people behind him praying, first bowing  their heads, kneeling, and then pressing their heads to the ground, praying,  "Alla ma a be ta la alla yaa!" that he may go to the kingdom of God. Each taking a turn carrying the burden of the coffin, the men proceed to the burial site and say their last prayers while the shrouded body is lowered into the ground. I looked at the burial site and saw recently dug graves that still had a mounded covering as the dirt had not yet had time to settle making it level with the ground. Seeing the small graves of children next to those of full grown adults made it all seem too real. A very sad reality. The mourning is fast and furious but sadness doesn't linger over the village like a dark cloud. Instead the people move on and take each day as it comes.

Saya Mouride

The word Mouride in Indonesia means student. When I heard the word the first time in this country, it was not new to me. It comes from the Arabic word murīd (literally "one who desires"), a term used generally in Sufism to designate a disciple of a spiritual guide. I first heard the word Mouride in Senegal where it is the name of the largest Muslim Brotherhood in the country.

The brotherhood was founded in 1883 by Cheick Amadou Bamba, a “poem writing mystic” whose disciples believed him to be a "renewer" (mujaddid in Arabic) of Islam. In Senegal, you see pictures of Amadou Bamba painted everywhere, like that of Che Guevara in Latin America. His image is based on the sole remaining picture of him taken in 1913, wearing white robes with a piece of cloth draped in front of face exposing only his eyes.

My friend Mokthar, who is a Mouride, told me the legendary story of Amadou Bamba on his forced voyage into exile to Gabon by the French for fear of sparking a rebellion against their occupation. In an act of defiance against his French jailers who prohibited him from praying, he broke out of his chains and jumped into the ocean from the ship. He unfurled a prayer rug on the water and began to pray. When he lifted his head from the prayer rug floating on the water, he had dirt on his forehead.

The image of Mouridism is also linked to the colorfully dressed Baye Falls with long dreadlocks chanting and begging for money in the streets and villages throughout Senegal. The Baye Falls are a subsect of the Mourides who are followers of Ibra Fall, one of the first disciples of Amadou Bamba. A believer in hard work as a way of praising God, Baye Falls are given a dispensation on the Muslim requirements of daily prayer and fasting during Ramadan by the Mouride Caliph, who prays for the Baye Falls. In return give him all that they earn and the Caliph takes responsibility for their well being.

However a recent article discusses how a group of Mourides attacked the Senegalese newspaper Walf Fadjri for running an article that claimed that the Mouride leader was supporting the Senegalese President in return for donations. The group carried iron bars and wooden clubs and destroyed the office. The current Caliph of the Mourides, Cheick Mouhamoudou Lamine Bara Mbacké has renounced the attacks and called on his followers to remember the non-violent and peace ways of Amadou Bamba.

Youssou Ndour’s Song entitled, Ibra Fall, Founder of the Baye Falls

Reference Links:

Industrious Senegal Muslims Run a 'Vatican' By NORIMITSU ONISHI, New York Times Published: May 2, 2002.

"In Harlem's Fabric, Bright Threads of Senegal". New York Times.  SUSAN SACHS, 28 July 2003.

15 Seconds of Fame in Indonesia

This is a clip from my TV debut in Indonesia. It's not Letterman but it is one of the most popular shows in Indonesia. The show is called The Master and it's best described as an American Idol type show for magicians. Through a friend who is the manager for one of the magicians, I ended up sitting in the front row. I've waited for months to put this clip up on the internet because of course I think I look ridiculous. Let me rephrase. I know I look ridiculous. Let's just hope these few seconds don't count against my 15 minutes of fame.

If you don't want to watch the whole thing, my best shots are at:
2:25
4:36
4:57
6:16
6:31-6:41 (Most ridiculous)
8:11-8:20 (Ben Blom makes an appearance)

Peace Corps comes to Indonesia and Pinworms Revisited

When I arrived in Indonesia in January, I met a consultant working for the USAID contractor, DAI. After talking  for a few minutes we realized that we both served as Peace Corps volunteers in Senegal and that his wife was a volunteer in Mauritania. Even though we had served many years apart, he quickly invited me to a Peace Corps party at his house which was attended by the current US Ambassador to Indonesia, Cameron Hume, who was a Peace Corps volunteer in Libya in 1968. At the party, the Ambassador spoke to the group and said that Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, who had just visited Indonesia, had really pressed the President of Indonesia to bring the Peace Corps back to Indonesia. The plan was to have Peace Corps set up by the time President Obama visits the country in November.


At the party I met a few former volunteers and we became friends and subsequently went to a few dinner parties together. No matter how hard we tried not to, the topic of Peace Corps always came up at the dinner table at least for a little while. For those of us that were volunteers in Africa, we joked about all the embarrassing sicknesses we got. Below is a letter I wrote to my friends when I returned to Senegal after a vacation back to the US in the summer of 2004.

09/09/04 "A Rough Month Back"

After a month of vacation in the US , I was greeted by the Peace Corps doctor saying "You might want to consider putting adhesive tape on your rectum. Pin worms like to migrate to this area during your sleep to lay
eggs."

What had happened to my life? How do you get pin worms? The doctor quickly explained that you get them from ingesting fecal matter. Why me? An already emaciated American living in Africa being robbed of vital
calories and vitamins I need to survive by overzealous parasites who have migrated through my intestines to spawn offspring in my rectum. The pin worms, which had gone unnoticed for months, "flared up" while I was
in the US because for the first time in a year and a half, I was eating a well balanced diet that consisted of something a bit more than plain white rice and boiled fish.

"Don't worry, it's nothing medication can't cure." said the doctor. I still kept my fingers crossed as the guy working at the pharmacy gave me a box of pills called Vermox.


I have been back in Senegal for only a month and not only have I been diagnosed with parasites, I got so sick the doctors were worried I had Malaria. Having a 103 degree fever when it is 100 degrees in the shade and you are shivering from cold has to be one of the worst experiences life can offer. The US, good food, nice houses, baseball games, and electricity all seemed like a distant memory as I laid on my death bed. Fortunately I didn't have Malaria and I am once again back in good health.

For all those thinking about joining the Peace Corps, it's not all fun and games.

It was great catching up with all of you guys while I was in the US. You made my trip really incredible. I'd love to hear how the rest of the summer turned out.

Peace Jeff

I also have reception on my cell phone so you can call me in my village at (221) 515-2601. No running water or electricity but I do have a cell phone. Strange world we live in.

BP 39 Toubacouta par Kaolack
Senegal, West Africa
Par Avion

An Article About a Life Changing Decision

While a student living on campus at George Washington University in Washington, D.C., I read the student run newspaper named The Hatchet. When I got back from the Peace Corps, they called and were interested in doing a story about my decision to join the Peace Corps. The title of the article was "Ditching the office to promote peace abroad".

At the time I left for the Peace Corps, I was working for BearingPoint, in the company's emerging markets division. The consulting company had won contracts in many post conflict locations in the world and was chosen by USAID to develop a strategy for the economic reconstruction of Iraq as war plans by the Bush Administration seemed likely. In February, I thanked my boss for the great experience and politely turned down his offer to go to Iraq, a decision I would cherish as I read later that year, a BearingPoint consultant was killed on her way to Baghdad. I would always remember that I started my Peace Corps service on the same day the war started.

On March 18th, I flew to Dakar via Paris. We landed in the capitol of Senegal late at night and were quickly put on small dilapidated buses headed towards the city of Thies (pronounced Chess). We arrived at the Peace Corps training facility which was a renovated French colonial military base. I fell down on my bed and passed out despite the nervous anxiety I had running through my body.

March 20, 2003

The next day, I wrote "I am laying on a bed covered by a mosquito net listening to the BBC report news on the war in Iraq. It's my second night in Senegal and my life seems, well its hard to describe how I feel. I am staying in a walled compound with armed guards at the gates and 52 other Peace Corps trainees and about 40 staff. It has the feel of Sandy Island but with a tropical flare. Today was also the first time I went into the "Centre Ville" of Thies where I saw beautiful women wearing colorful and striking fabrics. I saw little boys playing soccer with bare feet on a dusty dirt field. Some children were working in the market while others begged for money and food. Their malnourished bodies stuck out sharply from the backdrop of the abundantly stocked food stalls in the market. On the walk back to the the training center, as we strolled down a sandy road, I looked up and saw the most beautiful full sun, slowly setting over the flat Senegalese landscape . The sun appeared larger than life, as if it was something you see on TV. And so it was, my first of many African sunsets..."