One of my New Year’s resolutions was to live on a dollar a day for at least a month. It took me over three months to actually start it, but on March 18, I started.
Here’s the finances:
The conversion rate on the day I started was 30 dalasis to one dollar, which was a lucky break for me. Normally, it’s like 28. So, for the month, I got a total of 900 dalasis.
Each month, I pay my family 600 dalasis for housing and feeding me. This is the equivalent of about twenty dollars… not a bad deal.
This leaves me with 300 dalasis for the thirty day experiment or ten dalasis per day.
Just so we’re clear before I claim to actual know what living on a dollar a day is like, I want to make it clear that I cheated.
I stocked up on pounds of oatmeal, lots of phone credit, and peanut butter galore.
I have packages coming from America filled with things I need. I have a pretty reliable bicycle to get around.
My family cooks all meals for me. The Peace Corps med unit provides supplies that Gambians either don’t have access to, or have to buy if they need.
Still… it’s a challenge.
Friday, March 18: Day One
I was confident I could go at least the first day without spending any money. But, while I was away in Kombo, our food situation at school changed, and now teachers buy their own bread for lunch.
Item: Half bread Cost: 2D Remaining: 298D
Disaster. I went to a Nyakoi Sport Committee meeting, and was asked for my membership fee, and also back pay for last month.
Item: Membership in an organization where I can’t understand most of what goes on.
Cost: 50D Remaining: 248D
Saturday, March 19: Day 2
I crossed the river to go to Basse to coach a basketball team that rarely shows up.
Item: Boat crossing Cost: 10D Remaining: 238D
Returned across the river after no one showed up for basketball… again.
Item: Boat crossing Cost: 10D Remaining: 228D
March 20 – March 26:
Spent no money… and it feels so good.
Sunday, March 27: Day 9
Sent a letter to a reader of my blog to thank her for a killer gift. I included a 5D bill.
Item: 5 dalasis Cost: 5D Remaining: 223D
Monday, March 28: Day 10
The power of the sun can’t keep up with my phone battery usage, so I had to pay someone to charge it for me.
Item: Charge Cost: 5D Remaining: 218D
School ran out of food, so I had to contribute for lunch. I could go home and get free lunch, but I have to teach a lesson, and lunch at home will be over.
Item: Lunch contribution Cost: 10D Remaining: 208D
Friday, April 1: Day 15
Party! Today is the party inviting the new URR volunteers to the region. But of course, have to cross the river to get to where everyone is.
Item: River crossing Cost: 10D Remaining: 198D
I was worried about this party, and knew it’d be a big money day, so I thought ahead and planned what I thought was a cheap side dish. Mangos are free for the taking, onions and peppers and limes are everywhere… mango salsa it is. There are no tortilla chips on this side of the country though, so I had to buy loaves of bread to dip. Disaster.
Item: Mango salsa and bread Cost: 44D Remaining: 154D
I had resigned myself to only drink water for the entire month. No 5 dalasi packets of juice, no cokes (normally I drink like two every day when I’m in Basse), and no beer (no big thing – I’m not a big drinker). However, tonight was the night for epic flip cup to happen and I could not NOT play… I love games!
Item: An epic night of flip cup (2 beers) Cost: 50D Remaining: 104D
Halftime Reflections: I’m halfway through and have spent two thirds of my available funds… It’s been ok so far, but crossing the river is really getting to me. I think that I can make it, but if anything crazy comes up (any expenditures over 25D), I’m gonna be cutting it close.
Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion of a dollar a day.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Lunch Bowl Conversations
Two days in a row, at the lunch food bowl, teachers have had the following argument completely in Mandinka. If this conversation was to hold place in a courtroom, here’s how it’d go.
Prosecution: We accuse aforementioned fat teacher of being pregnant.
Defendant: We stand by the defendant’s word that she is not pregnant.
Prosecution: We wish to enter the following two pieces of information into consideration
1. The defendant is fat.
2. She doesn’t feel good today.
I’m no doctor, but to me, that means pregnancy.
Defendant: I can explain all of that. Please enter these two nuggets of info as exhibits A and B.
A. My client is not pregnant
B. She’s just fat
And, ladies and gentleman of the jury, to further prove it, my client will lift her shirt, showing her high waisted skirt and full view of her undergarments, and wiggle her fat around to prove there is no baby there. Fat teacher, if you would.
Prosecution: Objection, your honor! If we are not allowed to poke and prod at that fat, how can we know it’s real.
Judge: Sustained. You may poke and prod.
Prosecution: (after many minutes of jiggling, squeezing, shaking, and poking) No further questions your honor.
Prosecution: We accuse aforementioned fat teacher of being pregnant.
Defendant: We stand by the defendant’s word that she is not pregnant.
Prosecution: We wish to enter the following two pieces of information into consideration
1. The defendant is fat.
2. She doesn’t feel good today.
I’m no doctor, but to me, that means pregnancy.
Defendant: I can explain all of that. Please enter these two nuggets of info as exhibits A and B.
A. My client is not pregnant
B. She’s just fat
And, ladies and gentleman of the jury, to further prove it, my client will lift her shirt, showing her high waisted skirt and full view of her undergarments, and wiggle her fat around to prove there is no baby there. Fat teacher, if you would.
Prosecution: Objection, your honor! If we are not allowed to poke and prod at that fat, how can we know it’s real.
Judge: Sustained. You may poke and prod.
Prosecution: (after many minutes of jiggling, squeezing, shaking, and poking) No further questions your honor.
Carnage
*I wanted to write this article with a surprise ending, but in this age of African uproar and widespread violence in the news, I’m going to give away the ending before you get too caught up in my vivid imagery… it’s a monkey.*
After today, I will never be the same… I saw one of my ancestors being savagely slaughtered and butchered for his meat.
I watched as the murderer cut off each foot. Each hand.
On one detached hand, the fingers lay splayed to the sides, still rigid in fear and shock at actually having been captured. The other lonely hand seems to have accepted it… its large knuckles curve slightly into a moon shape, seeming to finger the fine grained red dust as a last acknowledgement of beauty in the world the victim would never see again.
I watched the butcher carelessly crack bones apart at the joints.
I stared at the victim’s vacant eyes, and, perhaps out of subconscious sympathy, my mouth took on the same slack jawed look of disbelief.
After fully dismembering the body, the butcher reached into the chest cavity, and like savage sacrificial offerings of the past, pulled all of the innards out… something was still fastened, so in a sick chain of events, the innards pulled on the muscles, the muscles pulled the spine, and the head sickening descended into the neck, if only momentarily.
After apparent eons of agony, they finally hacked off the head. THWACK, THWACK, THWACK, and it rolled away. Grinning like the maniacs they are, the butchers chased it down, and held it dangling equidistant from their mad smiles and my face, then offered it to me as a gift. I took cautious steps backwards, not wanting to anger them with my revulsion, but not wanting to appear too eager either.
The cloud of flies was immense; the crowd of people was too. I cautiously picked my way backwards, never losing eye contact with the disembodied head and its sad, dead eyes.
I found myself shocked that so many would want to witness this carnage, but unable to pull myself away.
And later that day, just to say I did… I ate a piece of the victim.
Yes… I ate monkey.
After today, I will never be the same… I saw one of my ancestors being savagely slaughtered and butchered for his meat.
I watched as the murderer cut off each foot. Each hand.
On one detached hand, the fingers lay splayed to the sides, still rigid in fear and shock at actually having been captured. The other lonely hand seems to have accepted it… its large knuckles curve slightly into a moon shape, seeming to finger the fine grained red dust as a last acknowledgement of beauty in the world the victim would never see again.
I watched the butcher carelessly crack bones apart at the joints.
I stared at the victim’s vacant eyes, and, perhaps out of subconscious sympathy, my mouth took on the same slack jawed look of disbelief.
After fully dismembering the body, the butcher reached into the chest cavity, and like savage sacrificial offerings of the past, pulled all of the innards out… something was still fastened, so in a sick chain of events, the innards pulled on the muscles, the muscles pulled the spine, and the head sickening descended into the neck, if only momentarily.
After apparent eons of agony, they finally hacked off the head. THWACK, THWACK, THWACK, and it rolled away. Grinning like the maniacs they are, the butchers chased it down, and held it dangling equidistant from their mad smiles and my face, then offered it to me as a gift. I took cautious steps backwards, not wanting to anger them with my revulsion, but not wanting to appear too eager either.
The cloud of flies was immense; the crowd of people was too. I cautiously picked my way backwards, never losing eye contact with the disembodied head and its sad, dead eyes.
I found myself shocked that so many would want to witness this carnage, but unable to pull myself away.
And later that day, just to say I did… I ate a piece of the victim.
Yes… I ate monkey.
Pity Me
Following is a list of dates and temperatures. All temperatures were taken at various times between 1:45 and 6 pm. I’ll let them speak for themselves.
March 18 114
March 19 108
March 20 109
March 21 106
March 22 112
March 23 113
March 24 106
March 25 116
March 18 114
March 19 108
March 20 109
March 21 106
March 22 112
March 23 113
March 24 106
March 25 116
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Poetry Corner
I was motivated to write this poem about my experience at WAIST (see previous blog if you are unfamiliar) when I remembered a poem that my talented brother, Nate Adams, wrote in probably third grade. He wrote a hilarious ballad called, "My legs are fake" and also a poem about the contents of a refrigerator. I think it ended with something like this, "The wilted head of lettuce / As old as a geezer / Made me afraid / to open the freezer"
My prose doesn't nearly do justice to the original inspiration, but please enjoy.
Also, you won't really understand the poem unless you see a picture of the trophy we won at WAIST. Please see it below.
We'd sweated and we'd toiled.
We'd worked and schemed and trained.
Our arms and backs were aching
Our muscles we had strained
In our final glorious triumph
We raised our trophy high
Our little hunch backed goblin
Was lifted way up towards the sky
I love that little guy
Despite his Benjamin Button look
The three upon his back
Indicated the place that we had took
So I tied him to my back
As only Gambian mothers can
Through the urban streets of Dakar
I transported my wee man
And so I returned
To a champion's fanfare
I passed around our little beast
This victory I would share
Everyone admired the prize
A pleasant smile masking their shock
Even if it's an ugly baby
You grin and tell the mother it's not
My WAIST team I trusted
To take care of the prize
And so as I left for the party
I know it was under watchful eyes
Later, after too little sleep
And far too many beers
We boarded our bus to discover
Our trophy was not here!
Mother's instinct set in
And I scrambled off the bus
Horrible scenes filled my mind
Was he kidnapped? Broken? Crushed?
I searched the entire hostel
From ceiling to the floor
And called for reinforcements
To help me search a little more
The search was unsuccessful
So we tearfully drove away
After questioning each individual
Of where they'd seen him that day
Seven hours and two countries,
One boat and a border later
A clueless young man finally spoke up
And said, "Didya check the refrigerator?"
My schock was immense
My horror was real
Imagining our gremlin
Locked in a box of freon and steel
You may ponder and ask yourself
Why didn't he speak up before?
Was he deaf? Was he sleeping?
Was this Frenchman feeling poor?
So in the not so distant future
When your cherished child is lost
Just check your household fridge
And set your kid out to defrost.
My prose doesn't nearly do justice to the original inspiration, but please enjoy.
Also, you won't really understand the poem unless you see a picture of the trophy we won at WAIST. Please see it below.
We'd sweated and we'd toiled.
We'd worked and schemed and trained.
Our arms and backs were aching
Our muscles we had strained
In our final glorious triumph
We raised our trophy high
Our little hunch backed goblin
Was lifted way up towards the sky
I love that little guy
Despite his Benjamin Button look
The three upon his back
Indicated the place that we had took
So I tied him to my back
As only Gambian mothers can
Through the urban streets of Dakar
I transported my wee man
And so I returned
To a champion's fanfare
I passed around our little beast
This victory I would share
Everyone admired the prize
A pleasant smile masking their shock
Even if it's an ugly baby
You grin and tell the mother it's not
My WAIST team I trusted
To take care of the prize
And so as I left for the party
I know it was under watchful eyes
Later, after too little sleep
And far too many beers
We boarded our bus to discover
Our trophy was not here!
Mother's instinct set in
And I scrambled off the bus
Horrible scenes filled my mind
Was he kidnapped? Broken? Crushed?
I searched the entire hostel
From ceiling to the floor
And called for reinforcements
To help me search a little more
The search was unsuccessful
So we tearfully drove away
After questioning each individual
Of where they'd seen him that day
Seven hours and two countries,
One boat and a border later
A clueless young man finally spoke up
And said, "Didya check the refrigerator?"
My schock was immense
My horror was real
Imagining our gremlin
Locked in a box of freon and steel
You may ponder and ask yourself
Why didn't he speak up before?
Was he deaf? Was he sleeping?
Was this Frenchman feeling poor?
So in the not so distant future
When your cherished child is lost
Just check your household fridge
And set your kid out to defrost.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
The Madness Comes to The Gambia
It is March, and therefore, it is absolutely the worst time to be living in a hut in the middle of Nowhere, West Africa.
The tournament is beginning, and excitement is spreading throughout America, but here, the term "Selection Sunday" causes no grins, no shivers of excitement, not even a glimmer of recognition of the greatness the term embodies.
I've done all I can to bring the madness to The Gambia. I distributed a bracket to my Peace Corps people, and most said, "I don't know any of the teams". Of course I told them that NO ONE DOES. THIS IS AFRICA! Many refused to do it, and others succumbed, picking winners such as 13 seed Oakland... it could happen.
To at least make it a little more like home to me, I chalked a GIANT March Madness bracket on the inside of my hut wall (see below). I made a bracket for what might be for dinner when I get home (white rice with sauce is sure to be the champion), and have been filling out bracket after bracket, trying to follow where my heart leads me, because this year, that's all I have to go on.
In the past, I watched games, read articles, and analyzed upsets that are bound to be. This year, I know nothing. I know Michigan State and Illinois were disappointing, UNC sucked and then was good, and Northwestern almost made it for the first time. From the last week I've spent in Kombo, I've learned that Colorado got screwed, and VCU got lucky. I've learned nobody cares about the First Four.
I wanted to do something really creative for my bracket. I wanted to pick teams with most native Africans to move on in the tournament, or pick the team with the most Gambian sounding names. However, my love of the sport preventing me from doing this, and instead, I went with the little I knew, and my heart.
So, here are the picks. Sorry if it's hard to follow.
THE EAST
FIRST ROUND
OSU vs. PLAY IN WINNER OSU by 34 points. Duh.
GEORGE MASON vs. VILLANOVA George Mason, the team of destiny in perhaps one of my favorite tournaments of my young life, will prevail again, by 12 points.
WVU vs. CLEMSON Upset! I pick Clemson to ride a big win from last night and keep rolling. The Tigers win by 6, although I would love to see a rematch of the Appalachian elite 8 game of last year.
KENTUCKY vs. PRINCETON Wildcats by 17
XAVIER vs. MARQUETTE If it were a fashion show, Marquette would win hands down. Despite their fly uniforms, they lose to Xavier by 9.
SYRACUSE vs. INDIANA STATE Larry Bird is left with a single tear running down his cheek as his alma mater is stomped by Syracuse, by 14 points.
WASHINGTON vs. GEORGIA I like Washington. Their city is sweet, their campus is beautiful, and the climate is the opposite of what I'm experiencing right now. Their tendency to have short yet incredible ballers (Isaiah Thomas, Nate Robinson) makes them irresistable to me. Huskies by 11.
UNC vs. LIU I don't know what LIU stands for, but I wish them the best. Despite my intense waves of hatred shooting across the Atlantic Ocean into the hearts and souls of the Tar Heels, they win by 18 against poor Lower Idaho University.
Second Round (I'm not putting point values in, because I feel like I should know the actual match ups before I decide the point differential.)
OSU over George Mason
KENTUCKY over Clemson
SYRACUSE over Xavier
WASHINGTON over unc (those bastards)
Elite 8
OSU over Kentucky
SYRACUSE over Washington
Final 4
OSU over Syracuse
THE WEST
First Round
DUKE vs. HAMPTON Duke by 21
MICHIGAN vs. TENNESSEE Although I seem to remember that Tennessee can't win a big game unless I am in the stadium to see them do it live, they still beat the Wolverines by 3.
ARIZONA vs. MEMPHIS Zona by 7
TEXAS vs. OAKLAND Texas win big, by 19 points.
CINCINNATI vs. MIZZOU Mizzou beat us in the Border Battle this year, which means they've got to be good. I remember they are well conditioned, and that leads them past Cincinnati. Tigers win by 13.
UCONN vs. BUCKNELL We once played Bucknell in the first round, and we beat them. Thusly, UConn will too. By 25 points.
PENN STATE vs. TEMPLE I heard that Temple's team is full of thugs and gangsters. It still can't get them past the preppy Penn Staters. Penn State by 2
SDSU vs. N. COLORADO San Diego State University by 8
Second Round
DUKE over Tennessee
TEXAS over Zona
UCONN over Mizzou (although this one is close)
SDSU over Penn State
Elite 8
TEXAS over Duke
UCONN over sdsu
Final Four
TEXAS over Uconn
THE SOUTHWEST
First Round
KANSAS vs. BOSTON U Kansas wins by 14
ILLINOIS vs. UNLV Illinois wins, obviously, but does not play to its potential. They will use this as fuel to ignite their impending duel with Kansas. Illini by 7
VANDERBILT vs RICHMOND I have an irrational hatred for Vandy and an unnatural love for the Spiders of Richmond. So, the underseeded underdogs beat the Commodores by 9.
LOUISVILLE vs MOREHEAD STATE I read somewhere that Morehead State is one of the most likely upsets, but I still pick the C A R D I N A L S to win by 6.
GEORGETOWN vs PLAY IN WINNER Georgetown beats their exhausted opponent by 19
PURDUE vs SAINT PETERS Purdue by unlucky 13
TEXAS A&M vs. FLORIDA STATE I know some new Peace Corps volunteers from A&M, so the Aggies win by 5.
NOTRE DAME vs. AKRON It's hard for me to imagine Notre Dame as a two seed, and even harder for me to pick them to win any games, but I think they win this one by 17.
Second Round
KANSAS over Illinois (but Illinois plays great! Kansas wins on a lucky buzzer beater for sure.)
RICHMOND over Lousiville
PURDUE over Georgetown
NOTRE DAME over Texas A&M
Elite 8
KANSAS over Richmond
NOTRE DAME over Purdue
Final Four
KANSAS over Notre Dame
THE SOUTHEAST
First Round
PITT vs UNCA Pitt by 23
BUTLER vs OLD DOMINION Butler, although not the Cinderella team of last year, beats ODU by 12
KANSAS STATE vs UTAH STATE I heard Utah State got wicked underseeded... so they win by 4
WISCONSIN vs. BELMONT Badgers by 11
ST JOHNS vs GONZAGA St. Johns zigs the zags by 8
BYU vs WOFFORD I believe in the power of Jimmer. BYU by 28
UCLA vs MICHIGAN STATE Coach Izzo's teams don't struggle during the playoffs - they'll be ready for the Bruins. State by 10.
FLORIDA vs UCSB Florida by 14
Second Round
PITT over Butler
UTAH STATE over Wisconsin
BYU over St. Johns
MSU over Florida
Elite 8
UTAH STATE over Pitt
BYU over MSU
Final Four
BYU over Utah State
SOOOO... my final four teams are
BYU
KANSAS
TEXAS
OHIO STATE
Kansas and Ohio State move on to the championship game, and Kansas brings it home again. But only because Bill Self learned all he knows from coaching at the University of Illinois.
There they are. If you win, be proud, but if you lose, be very very very ashamed.
The tournament is beginning, and excitement is spreading throughout America, but here, the term "Selection Sunday" causes no grins, no shivers of excitement, not even a glimmer of recognition of the greatness the term embodies.
I've done all I can to bring the madness to The Gambia. I distributed a bracket to my Peace Corps people, and most said, "I don't know any of the teams". Of course I told them that NO ONE DOES. THIS IS AFRICA! Many refused to do it, and others succumbed, picking winners such as 13 seed Oakland... it could happen.
To at least make it a little more like home to me, I chalked a GIANT March Madness bracket on the inside of my hut wall (see below). I made a bracket for what might be for dinner when I get home (white rice with sauce is sure to be the champion), and have been filling out bracket after bracket, trying to follow where my heart leads me, because this year, that's all I have to go on.
In the past, I watched games, read articles, and analyzed upsets that are bound to be. This year, I know nothing. I know Michigan State and Illinois were disappointing, UNC sucked and then was good, and Northwestern almost made it for the first time. From the last week I've spent in Kombo, I've learned that Colorado got screwed, and VCU got lucky. I've learned nobody cares about the First Four.
I wanted to do something really creative for my bracket. I wanted to pick teams with most native Africans to move on in the tournament, or pick the team with the most Gambian sounding names. However, my love of the sport preventing me from doing this, and instead, I went with the little I knew, and my heart.
So, here are the picks. Sorry if it's hard to follow.
THE EAST
FIRST ROUND
OSU vs. PLAY IN WINNER OSU by 34 points. Duh.
GEORGE MASON vs. VILLANOVA George Mason, the team of destiny in perhaps one of my favorite tournaments of my young life, will prevail again, by 12 points.
WVU vs. CLEMSON Upset! I pick Clemson to ride a big win from last night and keep rolling. The Tigers win by 6, although I would love to see a rematch of the Appalachian elite 8 game of last year.
KENTUCKY vs. PRINCETON Wildcats by 17
XAVIER vs. MARQUETTE If it were a fashion show, Marquette would win hands down. Despite their fly uniforms, they lose to Xavier by 9.
SYRACUSE vs. INDIANA STATE Larry Bird is left with a single tear running down his cheek as his alma mater is stomped by Syracuse, by 14 points.
WASHINGTON vs. GEORGIA I like Washington. Their city is sweet, their campus is beautiful, and the climate is the opposite of what I'm experiencing right now. Their tendency to have short yet incredible ballers (Isaiah Thomas, Nate Robinson) makes them irresistable to me. Huskies by 11.
UNC vs. LIU I don't know what LIU stands for, but I wish them the best. Despite my intense waves of hatred shooting across the Atlantic Ocean into the hearts and souls of the Tar Heels, they win by 18 against poor Lower Idaho University.
Second Round (I'm not putting point values in, because I feel like I should know the actual match ups before I decide the point differential.)
OSU over George Mason
KENTUCKY over Clemson
SYRACUSE over Xavier
WASHINGTON over unc (those bastards)
Elite 8
OSU over Kentucky
SYRACUSE over Washington
Final 4
OSU over Syracuse
THE WEST
First Round
DUKE vs. HAMPTON Duke by 21
MICHIGAN vs. TENNESSEE Although I seem to remember that Tennessee can't win a big game unless I am in the stadium to see them do it live, they still beat the Wolverines by 3.
ARIZONA vs. MEMPHIS Zona by 7
TEXAS vs. OAKLAND Texas win big, by 19 points.
CINCINNATI vs. MIZZOU Mizzou beat us in the Border Battle this year, which means they've got to be good. I remember they are well conditioned, and that leads them past Cincinnati. Tigers win by 13.
UCONN vs. BUCKNELL We once played Bucknell in the first round, and we beat them. Thusly, UConn will too. By 25 points.
PENN STATE vs. TEMPLE I heard that Temple's team is full of thugs and gangsters. It still can't get them past the preppy Penn Staters. Penn State by 2
SDSU vs. N. COLORADO San Diego State University by 8
Second Round
DUKE over Tennessee
TEXAS over Zona
UCONN over Mizzou (although this one is close)
SDSU over Penn State
Elite 8
TEXAS over Duke
UCONN over sdsu
Final Four
TEXAS over Uconn
THE SOUTHWEST
First Round
KANSAS vs. BOSTON U Kansas wins by 14
ILLINOIS vs. UNLV Illinois wins, obviously, but does not play to its potential. They will use this as fuel to ignite their impending duel with Kansas. Illini by 7
VANDERBILT vs RICHMOND I have an irrational hatred for Vandy and an unnatural love for the Spiders of Richmond. So, the underseeded underdogs beat the Commodores by 9.
LOUISVILLE vs MOREHEAD STATE I read somewhere that Morehead State is one of the most likely upsets, but I still pick the C A R D I N A L S to win by 6.
GEORGETOWN vs PLAY IN WINNER Georgetown beats their exhausted opponent by 19
PURDUE vs SAINT PETERS Purdue by unlucky 13
TEXAS A&M vs. FLORIDA STATE I know some new Peace Corps volunteers from A&M, so the Aggies win by 5.
NOTRE DAME vs. AKRON It's hard for me to imagine Notre Dame as a two seed, and even harder for me to pick them to win any games, but I think they win this one by 17.
Second Round
KANSAS over Illinois (but Illinois plays great! Kansas wins on a lucky buzzer beater for sure.)
RICHMOND over Lousiville
PURDUE over Georgetown
NOTRE DAME over Texas A&M
Elite 8
KANSAS over Richmond
NOTRE DAME over Purdue
Final Four
KANSAS over Notre Dame
THE SOUTHEAST
First Round
PITT vs UNCA Pitt by 23
BUTLER vs OLD DOMINION Butler, although not the Cinderella team of last year, beats ODU by 12
KANSAS STATE vs UTAH STATE I heard Utah State got wicked underseeded... so they win by 4
WISCONSIN vs. BELMONT Badgers by 11
ST JOHNS vs GONZAGA St. Johns zigs the zags by 8
BYU vs WOFFORD I believe in the power of Jimmer. BYU by 28
UCLA vs MICHIGAN STATE Coach Izzo's teams don't struggle during the playoffs - they'll be ready for the Bruins. State by 10.
FLORIDA vs UCSB Florida by 14
Second Round
PITT over Butler
UTAH STATE over Wisconsin
BYU over St. Johns
MSU over Florida
Elite 8
UTAH STATE over Pitt
BYU over MSU
Final Four
BYU over Utah State
SOOOO... my final four teams are
BYU
KANSAS
TEXAS
OHIO STATE
Kansas and Ohio State move on to the championship game, and Kansas brings it home again. But only because Bill Self learned all he knows from coaching at the University of Illinois.
There they are. If you win, be proud, but if you lose, be very very very ashamed.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
WAIST
WAIST stands for
West
African
International
Softball
Tournament
and it is perhaps one of the best ideas anyone has ever had. Bring together hundreds of Peace Corps volunteers and local Senegalese teams, raise a bunch of money for cool projects, give volunteers an excuse to travel to a legitimate city from their scattered home villages, play competitive softball in crazy costumes, and drink heavily.
WAIST takes place every year on President’s Day weekend, in Dakar, the capital of Senegal, and (I think) the biggest city in West Africa. This is awesome for us, because they have real food, they have iced beverages, they have reliable electricity, the water most likely won’t give you parasites, and white folks are hardly noticed since the city is so attractive to ex-pats.
The Gambia is represented well here at WAIST. We have two teams from our tiny country. Other teams include the local embassy workers (who are jerks to play against), numerous Senegal Peace Corps volunteer teams (who are hilarious to play against), and even a team of Cape Verde volunteers + refugees. This includes those volunteers who were recently evacuated from Niger and reassigned placements.
We arrived on Thursday afternoon, and games began on Saturday. So Friday, people went crazy in Dakar. Some people, for a touch of normalcy, went to the giant and expensive mall overlooking the ocean. Others, with a sense of adventure, paid 500 CFA (about $1) to jump on a trampoline for fifteen minutes, also overlooking the ocean. Others, such as myself, went to numerous markets to find sweet African wares (because there’s nothing better than receiving the question ‘Where’d you get that’ and being able to respond ‘Dakar’ or some other exotic place they’ve most likely never been), ate delicious food (a salad, the likes of which is impossible to get anywhere in the nation of the Gambia) at a moderately priced restaurant, ate heaps of gourmet ice cream, and walked around, taking it all in.
On Saturday, the games began. We walked to the field from our hostel, and were bombarded with color, shine, and alcohol once we entered the fields. Different Peace Corps teams were dressed in different CRAZY costumes. One team had taken African fabric and made it into liederhosen, and had found appropriate hats to match the liederhosen. One team all had various befuddled Senegalese tailors make them tutus out of shiny tulle. Even the dudes rocked the tutus. One team was dressed as the characters from jersey shore (I didn’t get the reference, but apparently it’s a big deal). Another team was cops and robbers, and they had all kinds of antics on the field.
The first team we played on Friday was dressed entirely in tutus. They were also severely intoxicated. We crushed them 17-0. I pitched, and my team played great behind me.
Our second game we played the jersey shore team. They were also reprehensibly intoxicated, and after seeing the first game that we played, just wanted to forfeit. However, we convinced them to play, and handily beat them, 21-0.
After the first two games, we had some concerned people approach us carefully, and ask us why we were so serious. We didn’t carry our beers onto the field, so apparently that was way too serious for the volunteers who came to drink competitively, as opposed to competitively play softball. We told them we wanted to win, and they looked at us bewilderedly, shook their heads, shrugged their shoulders, and sauntered towards the bar.
After one of our games, at our team huddle, our second basemen drew out attention to the plentiful amounts of glass in the field. We were concerned for the welfare of the knees and shins of the people playing on the field, so we tried to pick up all the glass we could. The next field we played on had the same problem – the second basemen noticed it and we tried to pick it up. Our coach type character told the commissioner (yes, this informal tournament had a commissioner), and he said that they were aware of the problem. When they re-dirted the fields before the season, they accidentally got construction debris dirt instead of clean dirt, so glass was everywhere on all three fields. Things like this reminded all of us that we were still in Africa.
Throughout our three days and six games, we played two teams that were actually competitive. One of them was a team of embassy workers, and as a pitcher working against their batters, I hated everything about this team. I am under the impression that slow pitch softball is a smash and dash kind of game, where if a pitch comes in, you want to crush it as far as you can. But the old people on this team were of a different mindset; they wanted to get walked around the bases. In our first four games, we allowed 5 runs, and I walked in all of them during the game against the embassy. However, we ended up slaughtering that team regardless, and I felt the sweet, sweet taste of victory against an underhanded, un-noble foe. The righteous always prevail.
We ended up winning third place in our division. We only lost to one team, and that was a Senegalese team who practices year round. We beat every Peace Corps team, so I could leave Dakar knowing that even if we weren’t better than everyone, we crushed the rest of Peace Corps West Africa.
Everyone from my team went to the championship game, because the awards ceremony was scheduled for immediately after. While the championship team was celebrating their win, we gathered together and discussed how we would celebrate when they called our names to collect our trophies. Our coach had bought a bottle of hard cider, and we had epic plans similar to a locker room after a World Series victory. We finalized our celebration routine, walked to where the trophies were sitting, and found most people had dispersed, and our lonesome trophy was sitting there, waiting for us. No one called our names, no one acknowledged our great achievement. So, we snatched our trophy, took it to the pitchers mound, and leapt around, sprayed hard cider like it was champagne, and took turns kissing our prize.
The trophy itself was an ugly thing. It was carved by a local artisan, so I guess the cultural aspect made up for its hideous appearance. It was a small ogre-ish black man, wearing an enormous baseball cap, and hunched over like Quasimodo. It was about the size of a gallon of milk, and it was ours.
I volunteered to take the trophy home, and brought it back to our hostel. We hung out there for a little while, reliving the moments and the triumph. I brought the trophy out to show our fans, and left it on the table as we laughed and planned the events of that night.
Before we left for that evening’s party, I checked to make sure it wasn’t still sitting on the table in the common area. Since it wasn’t, I assumed someone had taken it and put it in a safe place.
The next morning, we left at 5:30 am. After the shenanigans of the previous evening, nobody felt that great. We all got on the bus, and I paused in my mental checklist to ask, “Who has the trophy?” No one had seen it. I felt responsible, so I went back into the hostel to double check everywhere. It wasn’t there. I sent another volunteer in, to look and also alert the French-speaking hostel staff that we were looking for an ugly little wooden beast. She still couldn’t find it, so we left, assuming it’d been stolen or someone had packed it without realizing it.
We traveled in a bus for about 7 hours, crossed the border into the Gambia, and were on the ferry going to Banjul, when we were hypothesizing what could have happened to this trophy that we had worked so hard for. One of our most with it volunteers *SARCASTIC! NOT TRUE!* said, “Oh, yeah, I put that in the refrigerator last night.”
I cannot adequately describe my incredulity and fury at this moment. A million questions went through my head. Why didn’t you say anything when we were frantically looking for it? The fridge? Why didn’t you grab it? THE FRIDGE?
We called the hostel, they confirmed that our prize remained in the fridge, and now we have to figure out how to bring it to its rightful home, The Gambia.
But when it comes, we will welcome it with a ceremony and parade, and know that WAIST 2011 was a glorious victory for Peace Corps The Gambia.
West
African
International
Softball
Tournament
and it is perhaps one of the best ideas anyone has ever had. Bring together hundreds of Peace Corps volunteers and local Senegalese teams, raise a bunch of money for cool projects, give volunteers an excuse to travel to a legitimate city from their scattered home villages, play competitive softball in crazy costumes, and drink heavily.
WAIST takes place every year on President’s Day weekend, in Dakar, the capital of Senegal, and (I think) the biggest city in West Africa. This is awesome for us, because they have real food, they have iced beverages, they have reliable electricity, the water most likely won’t give you parasites, and white folks are hardly noticed since the city is so attractive to ex-pats.
The Gambia is represented well here at WAIST. We have two teams from our tiny country. Other teams include the local embassy workers (who are jerks to play against), numerous Senegal Peace Corps volunteer teams (who are hilarious to play against), and even a team of Cape Verde volunteers + refugees. This includes those volunteers who were recently evacuated from Niger and reassigned placements.
We arrived on Thursday afternoon, and games began on Saturday. So Friday, people went crazy in Dakar. Some people, for a touch of normalcy, went to the giant and expensive mall overlooking the ocean. Others, with a sense of adventure, paid 500 CFA (about $1) to jump on a trampoline for fifteen minutes, also overlooking the ocean. Others, such as myself, went to numerous markets to find sweet African wares (because there’s nothing better than receiving the question ‘Where’d you get that’ and being able to respond ‘Dakar’ or some other exotic place they’ve most likely never been), ate delicious food (a salad, the likes of which is impossible to get anywhere in the nation of the Gambia) at a moderately priced restaurant, ate heaps of gourmet ice cream, and walked around, taking it all in.
On Saturday, the games began. We walked to the field from our hostel, and were bombarded with color, shine, and alcohol once we entered the fields. Different Peace Corps teams were dressed in different CRAZY costumes. One team had taken African fabric and made it into liederhosen, and had found appropriate hats to match the liederhosen. One team all had various befuddled Senegalese tailors make them tutus out of shiny tulle. Even the dudes rocked the tutus. One team was dressed as the characters from jersey shore (I didn’t get the reference, but apparently it’s a big deal). Another team was cops and robbers, and they had all kinds of antics on the field.
The first team we played on Friday was dressed entirely in tutus. They were also severely intoxicated. We crushed them 17-0. I pitched, and my team played great behind me.
Our second game we played the jersey shore team. They were also reprehensibly intoxicated, and after seeing the first game that we played, just wanted to forfeit. However, we convinced them to play, and handily beat them, 21-0.
After the first two games, we had some concerned people approach us carefully, and ask us why we were so serious. We didn’t carry our beers onto the field, so apparently that was way too serious for the volunteers who came to drink competitively, as opposed to competitively play softball. We told them we wanted to win, and they looked at us bewilderedly, shook their heads, shrugged their shoulders, and sauntered towards the bar.
After one of our games, at our team huddle, our second basemen drew out attention to the plentiful amounts of glass in the field. We were concerned for the welfare of the knees and shins of the people playing on the field, so we tried to pick up all the glass we could. The next field we played on had the same problem – the second basemen noticed it and we tried to pick it up. Our coach type character told the commissioner (yes, this informal tournament had a commissioner), and he said that they were aware of the problem. When they re-dirted the fields before the season, they accidentally got construction debris dirt instead of clean dirt, so glass was everywhere on all three fields. Things like this reminded all of us that we were still in Africa.
Throughout our three days and six games, we played two teams that were actually competitive. One of them was a team of embassy workers, and as a pitcher working against their batters, I hated everything about this team. I am under the impression that slow pitch softball is a smash and dash kind of game, where if a pitch comes in, you want to crush it as far as you can. But the old people on this team were of a different mindset; they wanted to get walked around the bases. In our first four games, we allowed 5 runs, and I walked in all of them during the game against the embassy. However, we ended up slaughtering that team regardless, and I felt the sweet, sweet taste of victory against an underhanded, un-noble foe. The righteous always prevail.
We ended up winning third place in our division. We only lost to one team, and that was a Senegalese team who practices year round. We beat every Peace Corps team, so I could leave Dakar knowing that even if we weren’t better than everyone, we crushed the rest of Peace Corps West Africa.
Everyone from my team went to the championship game, because the awards ceremony was scheduled for immediately after. While the championship team was celebrating their win, we gathered together and discussed how we would celebrate when they called our names to collect our trophies. Our coach had bought a bottle of hard cider, and we had epic plans similar to a locker room after a World Series victory. We finalized our celebration routine, walked to where the trophies were sitting, and found most people had dispersed, and our lonesome trophy was sitting there, waiting for us. No one called our names, no one acknowledged our great achievement. So, we snatched our trophy, took it to the pitchers mound, and leapt around, sprayed hard cider like it was champagne, and took turns kissing our prize.
The trophy itself was an ugly thing. It was carved by a local artisan, so I guess the cultural aspect made up for its hideous appearance. It was a small ogre-ish black man, wearing an enormous baseball cap, and hunched over like Quasimodo. It was about the size of a gallon of milk, and it was ours.
I volunteered to take the trophy home, and brought it back to our hostel. We hung out there for a little while, reliving the moments and the triumph. I brought the trophy out to show our fans, and left it on the table as we laughed and planned the events of that night.
Before we left for that evening’s party, I checked to make sure it wasn’t still sitting on the table in the common area. Since it wasn’t, I assumed someone had taken it and put it in a safe place.
The next morning, we left at 5:30 am. After the shenanigans of the previous evening, nobody felt that great. We all got on the bus, and I paused in my mental checklist to ask, “Who has the trophy?” No one had seen it. I felt responsible, so I went back into the hostel to double check everywhere. It wasn’t there. I sent another volunteer in, to look and also alert the French-speaking hostel staff that we were looking for an ugly little wooden beast. She still couldn’t find it, so we left, assuming it’d been stolen or someone had packed it without realizing it.
We traveled in a bus for about 7 hours, crossed the border into the Gambia, and were on the ferry going to Banjul, when we were hypothesizing what could have happened to this trophy that we had worked so hard for. One of our most with it volunteers *SARCASTIC! NOT TRUE!* said, “Oh, yeah, I put that in the refrigerator last night.”
I cannot adequately describe my incredulity and fury at this moment. A million questions went through my head. Why didn’t you say anything when we were frantically looking for it? The fridge? Why didn’t you grab it? THE FRIDGE?
We called the hostel, they confirmed that our prize remained in the fridge, and now we have to figure out how to bring it to its rightful home, The Gambia.
But when it comes, we will welcome it with a ceremony and parade, and know that WAIST 2011 was a glorious victory for Peace Corps The Gambia.
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