watch out village, here comes amy (part 3)

Our senegalese friends returned to eat with us, and then we were herded onto the bus (again). But this bus trip had a little bit of a twist. Our group had been sufficiently doubled by this point, but that was no deterrent for travelling arrangements. Next thing we knew we were crammed onto the bus with 15 toubabs and 20 some senegalese. *note* I counted the seats, and there should have only been 25 people on that bus...At least this time we had some idea where we were going and what we would be doing, thanks to a pre-departure schedule. This day was Mangrove Day! Now, for those of you who are not mangrove-saavy, let me enlighten: Mangroves are the only kind of tree in the whole entire world that survives on salt water. Their roots stand half in water, half out, and weave in and out of each other like a bunch of very tangled up octopi (octopuses?). If you look at a mangrove forest from a distance, you can see two distinct bands of color; the lighter grayish brown of the roots and a vibrant green of the leaves. Their forests must be traversed by boat because they live in water, and these mangrove forests along the coast are a popular tourist destination. It's also pretty amazing because the roots are home to entire ecosystems--tons of marine animals make their homes in the shelter of the mangrove roots. In other words, some important ecosystems would be pretty screwed if mangroves didn't exist.





Now, this was the first time in my life that I had ever ever ever seen a mangrove in real life. Oh man. It was a fantastic first meeting. They are so cool! Ok, enough with me rambling about mangroves, goodness knows everyone here is sick of hearing me go on and on. Our task today was to help a mangrove reforestation project. This is my kind of field trip. After arriving at this dock in this other village, we were given less than adequate life jackets (even though mine had a broken zipper and was too big, the safety whistle gave me some semblance of comfort), and prodded onto two boats. And then we were off, cruising around the mangrove forest. It took no time at all for there to be an explosion of dance and song. Apparently it's the way the Senegalese roll: to spend an afternoon speeding around the mangroves, with a bunch of toubabs, singing at the top of one's lungs and dance in the precariously balanced boats. It was amazingly fun, and much to our own disappointment, the Americans had less success in thinking up songs to sing. But most of us were happy to join in and try to pick up the words and melodies. Empty bottles were turned into drums and competition started to see which boat could sing the loudest and dance the most.



As entertaining as this was, we were on a mission, and we arrived safely (no one fell overboard thank goodness, although with the heat that day, it might not have been to bad to fall in...) on a mangrove island thing. Our first task was to collect propagules, translation: baby mangrove pods. The propagules grow off the end of the branches of the adults and then fall, grow roots, and plant themselves to grow up to be a big mangrove some day. We were collecting them to take to another area of the forest to replant. This part of the process took less than an hour or so, and was pretty easy after learning what makes a good quality propagule (no roots, green leaf, no black, got it). Then we returned with our rice bag full of propagules (yes, singing and dancing all the way), and took a bit of a break to talk to a guy who works for the local fisheries and wildlife department (ok, it's not really the fisheries and wildlife department, but that's the easiest and most efficient way to describe it). Then it was lunch and hearing from a National Park Ranger. And what do you know, time to get on the bus again. This time off to plant the propagules! The bus dropped us off in the middle of a field somewhere outside of town, and we were to walk a ways to our final destination. About five minutes into the walk, Josephine got a call from the bus driver, informing us that the bus had gotten stuck on the way less than adequate road. It had been trying to return the cook back to base camp, and had failed miserably. So they sent most of the boys (and the few girls who wanted to) to go push the bus out. The rest of us continued on our trek, and after waiting and waiting and waiting for the others to come back to us, decided to just go ahead and start planting. Once the bus was free, the others could come and join in. Yeah, well they never showed up.



The planting process to follow, I will never ever forget. We climbed through tall grass and some trees, down a little hill, across a stream, and found ourselves in an open area of sand. The fields from whence we came behind us, and rows and rows of mangroves ahead. It did look very much like your average beach, but the sand was basically saturated. My feet were crying to be freed from the constraint of my shoes, so shoes in hand, I walked across the sand barefoot. It was necessary to keep an eye out for where you stepped, because this beach is home to thousands of crabs who spend their days scuttling about and burrowing in little holes. They ranged in size from those that could suffice as a good dinner to ones smaller than a dime. *side note* by this point in the day, we were running dangerously low on bottled water, and were starting to get really really thirsty *end side note*. Dodging crabs would be the least of our problems though. This guy who runs the reforestation program gave us a little tutorial of what our task would be: he would put out a rope with marks every meter for us to know where to stick the propagules into the mud. And that's it. Easy enough, right? Hahahaha right...We were going to be venturing into the area where the water was actually water and not just wet sand, but this is also where the wet sand changes to mud. Slippery mud. Squishy mud. Mud like I had never seen the likes of before. Even with the first few baby steps, we were sliding around. Here we were, mostly girls, in bare feet, about to walk out into a mangrove forest, propagules in hand. The next few moments were pierced with squeals and screams, as one by one we sank into the mud. Each step was a step into the unknown. Would my foot be supported? Or would I be in the mud knee deep? This type of terrain is not condusive to keeping good balance. Oh my goodness, the next hour or so was spent sticking baby mangroves in the mud and trying for the life of me to not fall completely in. At one point, I did find myself thigh deep in mud. That put me about eye level with my friend Dorothy, who I promptly told that I now knew how it felt to be short like her. (She didn't appreciate the comment very much, but hey, I'm the tallest girl in the group, I can't help it...) This activity was SO fun, we all had a blast. By the end we were all covered in mud, and utterly exhausted because it was definitely a workout (of the extreme elliptical kind).



We still hadn't heard much from the others, except that they had yet to succeed in rescuing the bus. But by the time we got back to them, they had just freed it. All it took was our group of fifteen+ tall and strong boys, half the local village, and some guys from the local gas station. Yep.



The bus drove down the "road", while we walked to meet it on the pavement on the other side of the village. There we were met by Maman Honorine, Professor Sene, and a cooler full of COLD bottles of water. I don't know that I have ever been thirstier in my life or more excited to see water. Between me and Paulina, we downed a 1.5 liter bottle in less than five minutes. Exhausted, muddy, and minorly sunburned, we piled back on the bus to be returned back to the auberge. Now it was our turn to sing. However it started, I have no idea, but soon a whole lot of toubabs were singing disney songs at the top of their lungs. I'm pretty sure the Senegalese had no idea what to do with us.



Back at the auberge, we showered and changed and rested up as well as we could before the events of the night. After dinner, we were taken away to enjoy some more local entertainment. No dancing tonight, no, instead we were given the honor of attending a traditional bout of African wrestling. Apparently we were the guests of honor because when we arrived at the makeshift wrestling ring in a village a couple of miles away, we were pointed to chairs that lined the front row. Oh man. We sat down and waited for it to start. Even though I had liberally applied my precious DEET to protect me from menacing mosquitos, I still spent the entire time fighting off the dreaded black beetles and earwigs. I have never had so many bugs down my shirt or up my pants. How they managed to get up my jeans, I will never know, but it was definitely NOT comfortable. After a while the festivities began, and we had the unique opportunity of seeing men, wearing the Senegalese version of booty shorts, trying to grab each other and pin their opponent to the ground. Having nothing better to do, me and Dorothy would make our picks and root for which ever color we had preference for. While this was all happening, the crowds were growing around us, and I soon found myself with a bunch of kids sitting around my feet screaming for the fighter they wanted to win. Much like the dancing spectacular, african wrestling is hard to imagine if you have never seen it yourself. And all I could think to myself at that point was "what a bizzarre day..."



Just at the point that I thought I couldn't take anymore bugs or half naked men, we were told it was time to go back for the night. That night, I hardly slept at all.



Stay tuned for the next episode, when you find out how crazy Amy really is when she doesn't sleep.