My emotions and perceptions have oscillated so very much over the last seven days that giving a comprehensive, definitive report of week #1 is simply impossible.

As of Friday, simply calling my mind to attention requires penetrating a haze whose density and bounds I have yet to determine. Though it is the inevitable haze of three days of fever and fatigue, navigating the untold days it holds is made increasingly difficult by both a foreign place and culture.

So Senegalese bacteria had a go with my sterile and supposedly healthy body. Last Thursday night. And into Friday morning. Amazing how within a single (interminable) night, one can become reacquainted (intimately) with all that one consumed over the course of the day. The graphic details are not necessary with this one umm cultural experience and I do not particularly wish to revisit the night. I should add vomit to the list of things I hate on my blogger’s profile thing. And Pepto-Bismol. Pepto-Bismol is more hassle than help; even after much scrubbing, I have been unable to completely rid my sleeping bag of a slight pink tint and chalky smell. Ughh enough.

The nausea alone would have probably landed me a day in bed, but the nausea plus a fever and chills….that won me a trip to one Dr. Djoneti (sp?). From Ndye (home stay mom) to Marian (the program’s director), people were kind and concerned, visiting me throughout the day and doing what they could to ease my mind, and stomach.

Alexa, an intern at the NGO CRESP with which the Living Routes program shares facilities and staff, accompanied me on my visit to the doctor and my first extended Senegalese cab ride (envision your typical NYC cab….in the 80s, then take away seat belts, the fare counter thing, windows even, maybe add a large crack to the windshield, a few pictures of Muslim leaders to the interior…). Prices are not always set in Senegal and there tends to be a large discrepancy between the toubab price and the average, reasonable price for anything from fruit to taxi rides. Alexa has actually been a wonderful resource and help for matters that extend beyond taxis; not only did she just graduate from Brown (where I am headed next fall), but she lived with my host family for four months prior to my arrival. Even in Senegal, the world still manages to be small.

The doctor was a kind man. He ultimately prescribed Tylenol for the fever and advised that if this thing persisted, I should take the antibiotic I had brought with me in the event of such a disagreement between my system and some pesky bacteria.

I took it easy over the weekend, finishing Tracy Kidder’s Mountains Beyond Mountains, a book about the saintly Paul Farmer. An incredible, eye-opening though, at times, devastating book. I would recommend it to all. Admittedly, it may not have been the best choice for me at the time given that Paul Farmer’s life is centered around TB, AIDS, destitution, hospitals, injections, sputum samples, fluid-filled lungs….all of my favorite things. But really, an intriguing book that does not simply hold Farmer up as The Most Selfless Man, Ever, but instead looks at the myriad layers of his life that make him The Most Selfless Man, Ever. I then started in on Barbara Kingsolver’s Prodigal Summer.

And this morning, I was blissful to be back in the classroom.

The initial euphoria endures. Finally rousing myself from bed and walking the sandy streets, the sun never looked so bright or felt so warm.

Phew, writing about the haze of the past few days has actually helped to thin it.

I am really looking forward to fully immersing myself in my coursework. Work does not seem an apt word for what I am doing here.

My French class consists of the teacher, Ousmane, and three students (myself included). We sit on a sunny balcony that overlooks most of Yoff and swap stories about our individual cultures (Ousmane is from Senegal, Shannon from Costa Rica , Gilda from Brooklyn, and I, Boston). Ousmane will write an unknown word on a few sheets of paper taped to the wall and occasionally take the time to go over some unknown or forgotten grammar, but for the most part it’s the three of us feeling our way through the French language and Ousmane guiding us with an encouraging smile. Smallest class I’ve ever had.

My Ecotourism and Sustainable Development classes have opened up a whole new world of possibility, allowing me to envision a world where capitalism does not ravage the world and its resources. And Africa, poor stigmatized Africa, as a potential paradigm for it all! (Though, the major offenders, the reckless expenders are not the struggling third world countries, but the prodigal powerhouses, the US and Europe.)

Then comes Service Learning, which I’m still a little unclear about. This involves going out into the community and practicing what skills we gain from our coursework while taking note of what we observe, also known as Participatory Action Research. I think. I’m focusing on agriculture. And that’s all I know for the moment.

So much to look forward to. Including the return of my appetite.

On Sunday, while I was dozing in Marian’s apartment above CRESP, the rest of the group took their first trip into Dakar. So that has become my next item on the grand To Do in Senegal List. But honestly, I need not go far to find new, exciting, and often daunting challenges. On most days, simply stepping outside is enough.