A Home for my Mom
Ya Funjai and I standing in front of her hut
There's something about me you might not know...I have two moms. No, not in the way you're probably thinking... I come from a traditional family, a mom and a dad who gave birth to me and raised me and have supported me through all of my adventures (I love you!). But I also have another mother. A Senegalese mother, Ya Funjay, who stood in for my real mom from for two years when I lived in a small village named Sambande located in the heart of Senegal, West Africa as a Peace Corps Volunteer.
When I arrived in Senegal I had to re-learn pretty much everything I knew about how to live, and my "yaboy" (mommy) was the one that taught me the most. When I first came to Sambande I didn't understand much Seereer, but when I couldn't make myself understood by someone my mom always knew what I meant and could help me communicate. With endless patience she taught me all the basics; how to speak, how to behave in public, how to eat, how to cook, how to pull water for bathing, how to dress myself in new clothes, how to find my way in a completely new world. I came to her as a 22 year old baby and she "raised" me as if I was one of her own children. When I was sick she took care of me, rubbing my back and cooking my favorite porridge. When I was sad listened to my problems and comforted me. When someone tried to hurt me she defended me fiercely. When I made mistakes she was there to correct me. If I didn't sweep my hut or do my laundry she scolded me. She was my mother in every sense of the word.
Sambande is a small farming village of about 500 people over 2km off of the road, and does not boast modern conveniences like electricity, running water or flushing toilets. The majority of the homes in the village are one room huts made of mud bricks with thatched grass roofs. These huts are arranged in groups and surrounded by grass fencing, called a compound, which is home to an entire extended family. The grown men in a family typically have their own hut, and each of their wives have their own hut as well that they share with all of their children. During my first rainy season in Sambande, our compound suffered a minor tragedy when heavy rains caused one of our huts to collapse, and several others (including my own) to sustain significant structural damage. As a Peace Corps volunteer the $20 repairs to my hut were eventually paid for by your tax dollars, but my family could not afford to repair the damages to the other buildings, and two more were lost that rainy season. That left 13 people to be squeezed into other huts until the end of the rainy season when the laborious process of digging clay and making bricks for a new hut could begin. In the shuffling of people that occurred after the collapse, my mom was left sharing a hut and a single bed with my host father and their 5 children ranging from 5-16. One hut. One bed. 7 people.
In wealthier villages in Senegal many homes are made out of cement bricks with tin roofs, in order to prevent such tragedies and provide better protection from rain, sun and creepy-crawlies. For everything she has done for me, I would like to build my mom one of these houses. I want her to have a home she can be proud of. One that is comfortable and safe, and has enough space for her and all of her children. I would like to provide her with a two-room cement-brick hut with a tin roof and a metal door. I estimate that this would cost approximately $800, for not only the materials to build the home, but the mason to make each brick by hand, the metal worker to weld the door, the transportation costs to send someone to the city to purchase and bring back the materials, and a little extra spending money so she can buy a proper mattress (rather than one made of rice sacks and stuffed with straw) and any other comforts she would like to have. Of this $800 I have nearly $400 saved. If you would like to help me put a roof over my mom's head sooner rather than later I would be eternally grateful, and so would she.
When I arrived in Senegal I had to re-learn pretty much everything I knew about how to live, and my "yaboy" (mommy) was the one that taught me the most. When I first came to Sambande I didn't understand much Seereer, but when I couldn't make myself understood by someone my mom always knew what I meant and could help me communicate. With endless patience she taught me all the basics; how to speak, how to behave in public, how to eat, how to cook, how to pull water for bathing, how to dress myself in new clothes, how to find my way in a completely new world. I came to her as a 22 year old baby and she "raised" me as if I was one of her own children. When I was sick she took care of me, rubbing my back and cooking my favorite porridge. When I was sad listened to my problems and comforted me. When someone tried to hurt me she defended me fiercely. When I made mistakes she was there to correct me. If I didn't sweep my hut or do my laundry she scolded me. She was my mother in every sense of the word.
Sambande is a small farming village of about 500 people over 2km off of the road, and does not boast modern conveniences like electricity, running water or flushing toilets. The majority of the homes in the village are one room huts made of mud bricks with thatched grass roofs. These huts are arranged in groups and surrounded by grass fencing, called a compound, which is home to an entire extended family. The grown men in a family typically have their own hut, and each of their wives have their own hut as well that they share with all of their children. During my first rainy season in Sambande, our compound suffered a minor tragedy when heavy rains caused one of our huts to collapse, and several others (including my own) to sustain significant structural damage. As a Peace Corps volunteer the $20 repairs to my hut were eventually paid for by your tax dollars, but my family could not afford to repair the damages to the other buildings, and two more were lost that rainy season. That left 13 people to be squeezed into other huts until the end of the rainy season when the laborious process of digging clay and making bricks for a new hut could begin. In the shuffling of people that occurred after the collapse, my mom was left sharing a hut and a single bed with my host father and their 5 children ranging from 5-16. One hut. One bed. 7 people.
In wealthier villages in Senegal many homes are made out of cement bricks with tin roofs, in order to prevent such tragedies and provide better protection from rain, sun and creepy-crawlies. For everything she has done for me, I would like to build my mom one of these houses. I want her to have a home she can be proud of. One that is comfortable and safe, and has enough space for her and all of her children. I would like to provide her with a two-room cement-brick hut with a tin roof and a metal door. I estimate that this would cost approximately $800, for not only the materials to build the home, but the mason to make each brick by hand, the metal worker to weld the door, the transportation costs to send someone to the city to purchase and bring back the materials, and a little extra spending money so she can buy a proper mattress (rather than one made of rice sacks and stuffed with straw) and any other comforts she would like to have. Of this $800 I have nearly $400 saved. If you would like to help me put a roof over my mom's head sooner rather than later I would be eternally grateful, and so would she.
Cement Blocks
$30.00
$30.00
Help Pay the Mason
$10.00
$10.00
Metal Sheeting for the Roof
$15.00
$15.00
Rebar Reinforcement
$20.00
$20.00