Guinea

‘West Africa is not a flat, hot place!’

I forgot that after living in this small bubble of  country.  I really needed some reminding and another West African country, also starting with a G, helped me remember. And Guinea was its name.  I was going on my third and final trip but it wasn’t going to be a vacation.   Guinea is one of the lowest ranked countries on the Human development scale – meaning, poor road, poor people and poor education system.  Ranking almost ten spots below The Gambia, this was going to be an adventure.  But of course that is my favorite kind.  We started the trip  days after thanksgiving, which involved over landing it through three country – Gambia, Senegal and Guinea.  On a good day it would take 18 hours to make the trip but there hasn’t been a good day in a very long time.  The dread of the car ride got much worse when it came time to get in the car.  If you read the car manual it would say we were driving in a 7 passenger vehicle.  We had 5 PCVs, 3 Gambians, 3 Guineans, 4 children, a driver and his assistant but who reads the manual anyways.  Ohhh ya you read that correctly, that is 17 people in car the size of a Subaru family wagon, oh and about another meter high of luggage. That’s an adventure with a capital A.  And it wouldn’t be Africa if the car didn’t start on the first try.

                We were going pretty smoothly until we were leaving Senegal and about to enter into guinea.  While we were getting our papers checked my immigration we got some pretty freighting news.  Two day earlier a car just lie ours in the middle of the night were stopped by bandits.  They killed the driver and his assistant and took all of the passenger’s money.  Our driver was pretty concern, he said this used to happen often but not in some time.  This man drives this road 2 to 3 times a week and when he is pretty concerned that means something.  But he had a plan.  There was a road side village were most people stop to get dinner. He said we would only drive until we reach that place before sundown.  We would wait until there were enough cars ready to leave and we would all go together as a caravan.  He encouraged that we would be safe in big numbers. The other volunteers and I weren’t ready to go back. We trusted the driver, so despite our nerves, we would go on.

                We made it to the out post just before darkness fell.  All 17 people were happy to get out of the car and take a break from the bad roads and squeezed bodies.  West African hospitality never fails, we were given mats to sleep on shop keepers floor. At 4am the driver woke us up as the caravan started to gear up and go.  At sunrise we reached a hand pulled ferry. An industrial chain stretched across a 100 meters of river (that same water turns into the Gambia river) a hand cranked wheel and  barge takes the cars from one side to the other.

                After the 30 hour journey we finally reach of destination of Labe.  But not use we still had yet another 2 hour bumpy ride to our final, final destination Duki. In Duki a man about 5,’ 60 years old and a ball of energy greeted us at his compound.  He was the man we came for and the one everyone raved about.  Many groups of PCV from the Gambia had come to his lodge before.  He had a hug guest book of Gambia volunteers new and old to prove it.  It takes the PC type to make that journey to see Hassan Bah.  You can ask any of them and they will all tell you that the hellish car ride is worth the experience of Hassan Bah’s home.

We can to hike some mountains and hiking is what we did.  For 5 days straight we hiked nearly 10 miles a day.  This is a bold statement but I would venture to say it was some of the best hiking I have ever done in my life.  We hiked through waterfalls, caves, canyons, climbed rock faces and cliff dove in to fresh water springs.  Every hike had a name, like Indian Jones, where we felt like we were on the set of Raids of the Lost Ark. Or there was this other one called chutes and ladders were we climbed down a cascading water fall and climbed back on another one with local ladders made only of branches and bark rope.  There was sore feet all around but nothing less then smile in sight. 

                

Health Murals

My grandmother was an artist but I really had no gag of my own ability because honestly, the last time I painted a picture was kindergarten.  Despite my lack of all things color and in light of my heritage, I figured what the hell.

 Sooooo…. I painted 6, 2 by 2 meter murals in my village.  Each outlining a topic we cover in the health school, with a little help of course from the beautiful and talented Sarah S.  My intentions were that these murals would be a daily reminder of living a healthier life.

  In two weeks time, my counterpart and I will walk 90 women around the village and discuss the morals.  I hope to refresh their memories and help them better understand the murals.  The use of pictures and symbols is not a common practice, so it is best to make sure they understand the messages that are being displayed.  You have to remember that nearly all of the women have never gone to school and learning through imagery is a learned skill.

I was satisfied with my art work as a first time muralist and I hope the very least that the color will add some beauty to the community. 

When I’m long gone the memory of my legacy will still be painted on the walls of a small village in Africa. A little color is a nice mark to leave.

Work Environment

ORS

Exclusive Breastfeeding

10 Steps to Hand Washing

Dirty and Clean Compound

Bed Net

Nutrition 

Four Dentist

I always hated dentist and that is not about to change for a long time especially after the run around I have just gone through.  I have just finish what a dentist phobic person might call, hell – 4 dentist, 3 countries, 2 crowns and 1 root canal.

It all started with a Gambian dentist who want to put a mercury filling in my mouth.  My first thought was, shit, didn’t we stop using those 50 years ago in the states.  Then came the thought, hold on, I used to have one of those but I had to get it removed because g-d blessed me with corrosive, cavity carving and over active salivary glands.  Not to be confused with a friend of mine who drools a lot but the kind that sends me to the dentist on a constant bases despite proper care.  So I told the dentist I need to consult the PC doctor but in my mind I was thinking ‘oh NO!’

I talked the PC doc to letting me get it fixed in the States on my upcoming visit.  He agreed and off I went to the good old United stated of America.  I showed up at the dentist ready to get a quick fix with a great American doctor of dental care. She was like ‘oh NO, sonny you need a crown and maybe a root canal. No actually you don’t need a root canal. Well I don’t know maybe…NO, you are good.’ But I was like ‘it was an American dentist, they know everything.’  That also meant I needed a different form from PC and getting this form was almost like the government had shut down to decide to let me have the crown, oh wait, it really did (luckily my form came first, so they got a little practice)!

Bam! Got the crown done easy because it’s America, right? Then I went on my merry way and had a great trip visiting friends and family.

I landed back in Gambia a little fatter, more in love with my girlfriend and ready to finish off my PC service with a renewed sense of excitement.  My tooth still hurt but I quickly brushed that off with the thought of long flights and cabin pressure. It continued to persist over the next two weeks, especially when I was on a bumpy dirt road or riding my bike. There is no shortage of bad roads and my bike is my main source of transportation.  I had no choice but to see another dentist.  The third dentist said that it was apparent that I needed a root canal and ‘the first dentist should have diagnosed the problem.’  I was pretty pissed at this point; it took not but one dentist, but three dentists to figure out the problem. One those dentists was even an American dentist.  I guess Americans don’t always get it right either.  To top it all off, PC protocol requires that we go to Senegal for all root canals.

Here I sit in Senegal after the 4, 3, 2 and 1 count because it takes one week to make that second crown I needed because the dentist had to cut the first one off.  This has all taken way too long but I am happy to be just about done with everything.  PC and Africa really teaches you what patients means.  

A Ride on the Blue Moon Express

There are two ways I can travel in the Gambia: on a local gele-gele (think of a Frankenstein car/van with Flintstone size holes in the floor board that you would never in a million years ever imagine could move in a forward motion or for that matter hold 30 people when it should only hold 20) or a Land Cruisers newsiest mobile aka Peace Corps Vehicle (which may happen once every 5 months).  You can ask me another time the hundreds of ridiculous, scary, crazy and hilarious stories I experience on a gele. This time I want to tell you about my ‘once in a blue moon’ rides on a Peace Corps car.

I recently went to Morocco (which was amazing and beautiful), and although it is a developing country it is leaps and bounds past this place.  Not having left The Gambia in over a year it was truly an eye opening and at times, a mind blowing experience.  It helped my girlfriend, Sarah and I remember how different the world is outside of the smallest country in Africa.  Let me see, how can I help you best understand this?  In the 1930s the Empire State building was completed and in 2013 the tallest building is isn’t over 8 stories high.  The Gambia is at the bottom of the world’s list of infrastructure.   Needless to say, being on a train in morocco, going a hundred miles an hour was a little bizarre (and at times nauseating, when we have not gone over 40 miles an hour in a long time). 

I forgot how much I loved trains, shit, I forgot how much I loved a lot of things.  It was almost like Sarah and I were two kids again experiencing things for the first time.   We had that feeling of both apprehension and thrill of what felt like a new experiences. Just imagine you are sitting on a train and you get a feeling beginning to bubble up and you can literally feel the electricity of your nerves firing inside of your body as the beautiful Moroccan landscape wising by at million miles an hour.  It is like you are a kid again and every train ride is a landscape filled cinematic adventure.   It was hard to constantly re-live old, but which now felt like new experiences.  But ultimately, despite the train full of emotions, the trip was fantastic adventure and exactly what we needed. 

After a few weeks in morocco and a couple of days in Spain, Sarah and I got a heard reality our lives in The Gambia are not easy.  From transportation to proper nutrition, everything takes 10 times more effort and energy.  This realization was an enormous relief.  We have been extremely hard on ourselves trying to adapt and thrive in this new environment.  We hardly gave ourselves a break when things did not go as planned. We beat ourselves up when we did not have the energy to get a glass of water, forgetting how easy it used to be and only knowing how hard it is at the present.  All we really need was some prospective and it really changed the color of the situation.  Gambia is a third world country but in our minds up until recently, it was the country that we live and work in.  The whole country is fighting that struggle, we were not the only ones struggling and we neglected to remember. ‘It’s not easy dey’ (a common English pseudo African phrases).

So all of these thoughts really came to fruition on that ride I have been trying to tell you about.  I was sitting in the back of the Peace Corps car going 50 miles an hour.  Which mean we are flying past all the other donkey carts, motor cycles and car on the road.  I am sitting there in an a/c with my own seat and I am watching the world fly by (just like the train).  I was amazed at how different everything looked, I am used to see things  at Gambian pace in a POS but for the first time I was moving faster than the pace of life – and my eyes were widened.   I felt like I was peering in on this small little African country from a window standing on the outside while having and intimate understanding of what I saw.  That’s when all of these realizations hit me like a ton of bricks.

This is a beautiful place. The place is hard as hell.  I have been doing a good job. I can continue doing a good job. I have deep respect for anyone who even attempted PC. That’s a beautiful smile.  I live in a mud hut.  I only eat rice.  Damn its hot outside. Slowly, Slowly things will get done. Relax. Take a breath. Everything is going to be alright (to the tune of Bob Marley).

Perspective perspective perspective.  I just try to keep telling myself that.  It really is one power thought and I just got to keep working on it. 

I will leave you with this one last thing. I have never in my life felt so free to think my own thoughts.  It is truly an empowering feeling.

Jama Rek 

Project Trails and Tribulations

I finished my project. Does that mean my work is done in the PC? When I have finished my 2 years of good deeds, do I need to do any more in my life time? Of course not! Who is to say when the work is done? I guess that is for me to decide. So far I have come to the conclusion the answer is never, the work is never done. You just have to be content that you did satisfactory work and time is the true indicator of success.

I said  I finished my first PC project. It’s a real badge of merit in the PC community but not as satisfying as I expected it to feel. It is hard to pat yourself on the back when poverty and malnutrition are the same issues as before. Some volunteers say murals are some of the most satisfying projects because it paint on the wall and you see the final results, where as my health school may take years for impact to occur. The lessons learned and the knowledge handed down to children and family members in order for it to make a lasting impact. America is such a results driven culture. I am still an American even though now I may be 1/32 African, and I would like to see results. But that is one of the many daily lessons I learn here- patience and faith. So I move to my next endeavor- with those lessons in mind. Myself and 2 other volunteers are putting on an HIV/AIDS football tournament. Will we cure AIDS? No but we sure as hell are going to educate some football players and start a conversation about prevention.

Wait…I still haven’t told you how my project went….

From my point of view, I would rate it as semi-successful (success being signs of sanitation and nutritional improvement). My counterparts and I taught 7 topics over a 4 month period. We encouraged involvement through a competition, which they gain points and get prizes. My counterpart and I recently visited every woman to evaluate their learning and application of knowledge.

The first house we visited my counterpart ingeniously asked the children how and when to wash their hands. Upon asking a 7 year old girl demonstrated the technique perfectly as we did in class. Washing the front of her hand, then the backs and under her nails in the rhythmic sing-songy way we practiced dozens of times in class. My heart dropped, I had to look away to maintain face. Do you know what that means; the mom actually went home and taught her children about hand washing. All talk before about success and results, this child was a real glimpse into the reality of it working. We aren’t totally there until there is a wide spread practice but there is a dam good start. After we check the 80 some households, we found several more children just like the 7 year old girl. It wasn’t enough so im going to put some paint on the walls (aka murals) to remind them to wash their hands and so much more.

We celebrated their accomplishments of the competition with a big party. Decked out with a sound system and a tent, this also included chicken dinner. All the women received prizes of some form. Those with the highest points got prizes starting at 200D ($7) down to the lowest points. Getting 50D ($1.50) prizes. We celebrated and ate a nutritious meal of veggies, meat, and grains.

I put this project in the win column. I keep my chin up as best as I can and I move forward. 

Photo Tour

Schools IN

D-D-Dance!

This is how Africans dance

My Students

(what's next) AIDS Football Tournament

Mini Peace Corps Adventure

After a 6 hour bumpy uncomfortable journey, Sarah and I arrived in Dakar, Senegal. That evening I was picking up my mom in from Los Angeles. Not only would it be my mom’s first time in Africa but it also was her first time meeting my girlfriend, Sarah. Let’s just say I was nervous. But everything went swimmingly. No bags were lost or stolen and I knew just enough French to get us back to the hotel. And yes yes, Sarah and my mom got along great, except for ganging up on me a little bit.

Dakar is one of West Africa’s most metropolitan cities. So Sarah and I eased her into African life. But it was kind of the opposite for Sarah and I. Not having been in a city with buildings over 3 stories since leaving America. Riding an elevator was a new experience again. Don’t even get me started on grocery stores with 20 different types of cereals. We are used to only having one option- corn flakes. We were only in Dakar for 2 days because she wasn’t here to see Dakar, she came to see The Gambia.

So we took what Sarah and I called uncomfortable and my mom called amazing, 6 hour ride to Gambia. We crossed the border and decided to take a taxi instead of local transport back to my village. We would stay only one night this first time being that it was late and its easier to cross the river in the morning time. As we pulled up to the village the taxi started spitting black smoke and spraying fluids, I said, “Welcome to the Gambia!”

It was December 29^th and it was my mom’s birthday. It was my first time in 5 years spending her birthday with her. I think it meant a lot to her but you will have to ask her. The three of us spent the day on the beach just relaxing after many days of traveling.

The coastline of Gambia is not what you expect of a 3^rd world country. Beautiful white sandy beaches with dark blue clean waters. Resorts have capitalized on the natural beauty and started a semi successful tourist track on the coast. The brits call it the budget vacation. It’s like a $100 flight from England and very inexpensive once you have arrived. I told you all that to tell you we stayed at the Sheraton Resort at the cost of the Holiday Inn in New York. HAH. Sarah also partook in our luxury tour of The Gambia. Neither of us had been there before and we were both blown away that this kind of stuff existed in Gambia. At the same time, the staff were blown away that we could speak local language. One staff member almost fell over laughing so hard that Sarah could speak Mandinka. Needless to say we talked more with the staff at the Sheraton than the other guests. In reality, at this point in our lives we had a lot more in common with the staff then the rest of the quests. When it came time to leave we had 3 guards, 2 gardeners, and a driver walk us to the gate of the Sheraton. Gambians are naturally very hospitable people, so what these men were doing was walking us out of their compound as friends that had came to visit. From the Sheraton we went to Sarah’s village, which is one of the poorest regions in Gambia.

There we did what you do in village, relax and greeted(chat/visit)people in village. Sarah’s family taught my mom how to eat with her hands as we all ate from the same food bowl. At nights we played with the kids and sat by the fire (in cold seasons, nights get into the 60s).

Being a mini PC experience it was important for my mom to give something back to the community. She brought graphing calculators to donate to another PCV for her calculus students. This volunteer works at the oldest school in Gambia and one of the only boarding schools in the country. The volunteer is involved in a project to build a math room at the school for tutoring and other math resources. Before my mom donated the calculators there was only one graphing calculator for 10 students. It is so important to contribute to higher levels of education because these are the students that will help shape Gambia. With more highly educated students, Gambia has a great chance for further development.

The last 8 days of my mom’s 3 ½ week visit was in my village. It is customary for a visitor to meet the village elders. So on the second day she was here she walked around to see the alkalo (village leader/chief), the Imam (head of the Muslim mosque) and several village elders whom we would be offending if we didn’t greet them. The head of the women’s group Mam Gaye, was by far the most animated. She started out with a squeal of excitement, 2 kisses and a hug (all being quite abnormal for a Gambian woman.) Then she proceeded to speak really fast, a little too fast for me to translate everything, say how happy she was to have her in her village and what a great job I was doing. Then she started running around the house trying to find something, it you can’t tell, she has a lot of energy for a 60 year old woman. She finally came back with a necklace that she wanted to give to my mom. After that we did some more laying around for the next couple of days. Energy gets zapped really easy here in Africa with the heat and the low calorie intake of food.

While my mom was here we also had to prepare for the opening ceremony of my health school. So that meant going to the weekly market called a lumo, to buy supplies for food. The lumo is a bustling African market full of raw foods and fabric sales for clothes. A place where you see the butcher hacking away at meat on a table on the main market road. Live animal sales are going on at the far end of the market, including sheep, cattle, horse and many more. It’s the kind of place where you can buy colorful African fabrics and have them tailored into anything you like. It’s an ADHD person’s nightmare and an all-in-one shoppers dream. If you can’t get it here you can’t get it anywhere. I actually love going to the lumo because there is such a great energy and social atmosphere. Every time I go I usually make 2 or 3 new friends and it’s not hard to forget me [Queue white joke]. I have a breakfast lady, a fabric guy, and a phone man. The markets in the capital are full of tourist traps and looters. The lumo is full of friendly Gambians looking more for your friendship then your business. So if you are going to buy, you buy it from a friend.

The opening ceremony went great with a little help from me. (One of the PC goals is to be a facilitator, not a worker, several villagers took charge of the program and it went very smoothly).  Gambian Programs are always filled with lengthy speeches and lots of repetition- this one was no different. We had about 2 hours of lengthy speeches and long drawn out thanks. Including my speech in Wolof but mine was very short. Then we ate lunch and most importantly, we danced! No African celebration is complete without clanging pots and pans. With a shortage of real drums they bang on pots and pans but with their amazing abilities you wouldn’t know the difference. Aimee even got up there moving to the beat of the drum with Mom Gaye’s help. She went out with a bang.

Literally, 3 days later she had to get on a plane and fly back to the States. A departure filled with laughter and tears and an imprint of yellow, red, and green in her mind. Don’t be surprised if her English sounds a little weird. That’s just Gambian English. Don’t ask ‘why’ if she asks: How are you? How is the morning? How is your family? How is the work? Peace Only. She is only greeting you. So take it easy on her for a while because she saw those African children that everyone talks about when you don’t finish a meal. But the truth is she knows what their smiles look like.

African Creations

This will challenge me in every day,

It will take my heart and unstitch it.

The fibers of my being will be stretched to their limits,

And there will be nothing left but the bits of my soul.

This will challenge me in every way,

But the drum will replace the rhythm of my heart,

The thatch will bind what has fallen apart.

And my soul will have nothing but a new start.

This has challenged me in every way,

But what challenges me, creates me! 

Willingness

It has been 12 months with about 14 months to go, just about at the half way point. I have adapted to my environment where honestly couldn’t tell sometimes what would be considered normal American behaviors. I think certain kaf-tans (local celebration attire, a mid-thigh shirt with intricate embroidery)  would be quite nice back in America but from what I am told it would not fly.

Adaptation is my body’s natural response to survival and further more thriving in this environment, what 12 months ago was forgotten. Although, I don’t think that I am that different from the general society. I think most of you could do this. Playing to the same cord, just like I think any physically able bodied person can complete a marathon. The most important ingredient being- willingness.

Willingness is to train 3 times a week for 6 months

Willingness is to leave everything you know and move to a new continent.

Willingness is to cut certain foods out of your diet so you have the energy to run 20 miles a week.

Willingness to wear someone else shoes for a change or in the case of Africa, take your shoes off completely.

To be completely honest I am no different than any of you because all humans can adapt. I just might be a tiny bit more willing at times. This is where you might compare yourself to those of us in the Peace Corps, but I challenge you to think differently. Because willingness isn’t moving to Africa, it is accepting a challenge of something that by most standards is considered difficult. Willingness isn’t succeeding but the effort put forth in the attempts to succeed. “To laugh often and love much; to win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children; to earn the approbation of honest citizens and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to give of one’s self; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exultation; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived—this is to have succeeded (Ralph Waldo Emerson).” So go work with children or plant a garden. But if that child doesn’t  smile or the plants die. “Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow.”(Mary Anne Radmacher) This is how I get through my days. What great is that it doesn’t only work in Africa, it works everywhere.

You know you have adapted to Africa when:

• 
  
  ·         80s feel like 60s
  
  
  ·         Your poop is solid
  
  
  ·         You ask for more rice
  
  
  ·         You agree with the driver a full 20 seater van can definitely fit 5 more people
  
  
  ·         You think something is wrong when you’re not sweating
  
  
  ·         You know all of the radio commercials by heart
  
  
  ·         Carrying things on your head is easier then out in front of you
  
  
  ·         Eating some foods with your hands is much easier than with forks
  
  
  ·         You can tell the difference between the attaya brands (local tea)
  
  
  ·         You have a favorite rooster
  
  
  ·         You prefer a pit latrine over a western toilet
  
  
  ·         You eat sooooo much of the seasonal fruit during season, that you can wait till the next season to eat it again
  
  
  ·         You have named the rodents that moved into your house
  
  
  ·         Stripes goes with plaid (sorry Nicole)
  
  
  ·         Greet callers from American in Gambian English
  
  
  ·         Can’t wait for the full moon because you get to save the batteries on your flashlight
  
  
  ·         Village shorts: worn everyday and they are starting to look like the shorts the village kids wear
  
  
  ·         You can put your feet on anything just as long as you take your shoes off. 

Pilgrims and Indians

Even though Thanksgiving was 3 weeks ago, I still want to speak my thanks.

                But first, I want to tell you about my first ever real Thanksgiving the way the Native Americans intended it:

                Ten friends and I slaughtered a turkey. Someone cut the turkey’s throat while two others held it down (it was one big bird). Another volunteer gutted it and the rest helped clean and cook it. We also made several sides from scratch, including my favorite garlic, cheese mashed potatoes. You could not get any closer to the real deal then that, beyond dressing up like actual Pilgrims and Indians (although we did consider that option).

                The whole ordeal brought a lot of appreciation to my consciousness. We all learned lasting lessons in food preparation- from field to table. The ability to go to the store and buy ready made food in a grocery store has taken on a whole new meaning. Having this experience with 10 friends in a foreign land will forever change the meaning of being thankful on Thanksgiving.

                On Thanksgiving, I like many of us do, we had the round table pre-dinner ‘what we are thankful for’ conversation. Although every year I earnestly thankful, it was not until this year was I able to match that gratitude with experience.

                Not until this year did I really know what good health was until I saw how malaria affects a           village during rainy season.               

                Not until this year did I totally value my own education until I saw kids go to school every day     and sit in a classroom all day with no teacher.           

                Not until this year did I understand the books I read.  I majored in African Studies in college. I     read books about culture, societies, history, and the effects of colonialism but not until I got here did I totally understand what it all meant.

                Life experiences.  Education.  Health. I have been thankful for these things before but now I know what it feels like. I knew the weight of it in my hand. I know what it looks like and I cannot change the channel.

                And of course, I cannot forget all of you at home and all my new family and friends here in Africa. I am thankful every day, while a bit corny, for the love that I have all around the world.

                Speaking of family, my mom is coming to visit in 2 weeks for the holiday season. I am both excited and nervously awaiting her arrival. This is not an easy place and I hope all goes well. She told me when I was selected for the PC that she had once had dreams of joining the PC when she was young. (shhh….. don’t tell her but I am going to try and give her a mini- PC experience). So send her good luck and happy travels her way just like you did for me.

                Until the next time, stay happy and healthy. Go experience the day. 

Photo Blog

I want to post this blogs with as little writing as possible and let the images do the talking. They will tell a story. So enjoy reading and I hope all is well:

I saw a lot of great sunset while I was in the capital for a month

I worked with WFP on a rice distribution project

Back at site I did a lot of reading and playing cards

...and hanging out at my compound

... and sitting in the dark.

Then I got hit in the face by my own shovel...Och!

Thank you so much Wendy_I received your package

PC Where Breads go to Grow

Change of Pace

Hello all, I hope this finds everyone in good health and spirits! I would normally apologize for not blogging in quite a while but I cannot do that this time.  I have recently realized that this is life now and it seems strange to report on my daily life (despite the realization I will continue to blog in spite of it feeling unnatural). Just as you walk to the refrigerator to get water, I go to tap at the center of the village and fill a 20 liter jug. I use that jug to fill a water filter to ensure safe drinking water. I wait an over an hour for the water to filter. Then I add bleach, which is another 30 min of waiting, which kills the viruses and bacteria.  What takes you no more than 5 minutes to do, takes me about 2 hours.  But that is my new normal and seems strange to have to explain everyday task like that within my blog.  I was looking out the window of a taxi while riding two other Peace Corps friends when I came to grips with the reality of my change. I was looking out on a third world African country with half built buildings and dirt roads in its most propionate city.  And I…I was at home.

‘Change,’ will be the topic of this blog today:

How have I changed?

I came into this experience feeling confident in who I am and a solid understanding of my character.   I felt as though I had done a lot of self exploration in the past with my pervious traveling.  I was confident of my core values and I had high expectations of only improving over my next 2 years of service. But to my surprise, I have changed and I will continue to change.  It is kind of hard to pin point the change but I can defiantly feel it. The way I see things, feel things and I even do things is different.  I have noticed small things like really appreciating breakfast. The walk to the market every morning to get my supplies allows me to wake up and see the village already hard at work.  After I finish eating and feel somewhat satisfied, I remember that not everyone in my small village gets that feeling (let alone in the rest of the world). I imagine I will not really know the extent of it for a long time to come.  I have also realized bigger things like my perspective on life and death have changed.  Now that I am here, it’s hard to image how I couldn’t change.  Everything is just so raw here – I feel so much closer to actually living as compared to cruising right on through. 

I know, I know… I have just kind of thrown around the word ‘change’ a lot and have not really given strong evidence to support it but it’s really hard to explain when I do not understand it myself.  You will have to trust me until you get the chance to look me in the eye and see for yourself.

As I finally begin to feel at home here in The Gambia, the real work begins.  Over the next 6 months I will take part in a bike trek across The Gambia teaching about HIV/AIDS, start a health school for mother about basic health knowledge and begin implementing a national campaign about weaning foods for children. I am going from nothing to a lot of somethings.

The bike trek is an all Peace Corps activity and has been running effectively for the last 2 years now.  The trek is 5 day biking journey cover about 150 km and visiting 4 different schools.  There will be 2 groups covering 75 km each and 2 schools.  The students will take part in lectures, games and interactive conversations all pertaining to HIV/AIDS.  I am excited to bond with other PCVs and educate young students about what is slowly become a problem in The Gambia – HIV/AIDS.

I am most excited about the health school because if done well, it can be a very sustainable project.  Two previous volunteers have conducted this school in other areas of The Gambia and they had been very successful projects.  The basic idea of the school is to educate mother on better health practices.  The topics that will be covered are reproduction, hygiene, nutrition, environmental sanitation, and disease prevention and management.  The project will be competition with a point awarding system based on showing up to class, participation and practical skill use.  My counterpart and I plan in have an opening and closing ceremony to get the women excited out participating in the school.  My counterpart (aka local host country national health worker) participated in one of the pervious volunteer’s health school and has all the knowledge to do it for the second time around. I am more of a liaison between my counterpart and the village and the grant write.   I am very satisfied play those roles because coming into the Peace Corps I did not want to be a do-er. I wanted to be a facilitator.  If I do all the work it is not sustainable because in 2 years I will leave and take the knowledge with me.  If I’m more of a consultant then someone else does most of the work and I just make suggestions to enhance the process.

It has been 6 months – I have a family, friends and work to be done. I am in a very good place right now, both mentally and physically!

A Card Catalog of Memories

There are two things that I really value: a good story and a memorable moment.  My good friend Ricky and I always say ‘life is an accumulation of stories.’  And along with that we are both always in search of the next best one.  As you read that you might wonder ‘so is that what he is really doing in Africa?’  I would be lying to you if I said No because I am always searching for the next great adventure.  I also know if you ask Ricky the question ‘why did you join the Navy?’ he would answer it the same way – for the next best adventure.  We are both in search of life experiences, maybe by different means but both in the attempt of a better life for others.

The memorable moments are of a more personal nature and can only truly be valued by me (but I will try to help you understand my value in them).  They are snap shots in a bigger story that I can look back on.  The moment is so clear in my mind I can remember the smells, the scenery and what I felt.  If I was a good enough artist, I could paint a picture.  I have a card catalog of moments and when I need them, I can pull them up in my mind.  One of my favorites is at the Sea of Galley in Israel.   Another is on a cloudy night in Puerto Rico on the beach.  A third and fourth are in the swimming pool.   All most every competitive swimmer has that one race that they can remember where they almost felt like they were outside their body swimming their personal best. I am lucky enough to have two and I used to draw from them to swim my best in every race.  There are plenty more but I don’t want to give away all my secrets.

This next story is both a memorable moment and an adventure tied into one.

It is rainy season here in The Gambia and thus far it is proving to be a wet one – raining almost every day.  About a week ago the rain was the hardest I had seen it yet.  It created a stream down the middle of my village.  I see my 9 year old brother burst out of the door in his underwear and run out to the center of the village.  He and a couple of his friends are playing and dancing in the rain.  My first thought is ‘I know how bad the sanitation is in my village’ and ‘that water must be really gross.’  But the storyteller in me was like ‘you can’t miss this!’  I rip off my shirt and throw on my board shorts and  I stormed out into the rain from under the dry cover of my house.  I yell to one of the kids “am nga football?” (Do you have a soccer ball).  As soon the football was kicked out into the rain 10 more kids run out from there compounds.  We played shirts and skins for a good 15 minutes but in an African thunder storm that means boys wearing underwear and boys who are naked. At one point the ball is stolen away from me; I just stand there in the pouring rain, put my head back, feel the rain on my body and revel in the moment (think of Shawsank Redemption when the main character escapes from prison)

And that is how great story and memorable moment is made.   I hope this story helps you remember one of your own.

Happy thought travels

And 

Jamaa Rek

Daily Schedule

I thought you all would be interested to know my daily schedule.  By American standards you will probably think I am lazy but by West Africa standards I am living a normal life.  Some days are different like when I have meetings or work at the health clinic but most days look somewhat like this:

730-8 Wake up

8-9 Workout

9-10 Making and eat breakfast

10-11 Relaxing in my house. Cleaning up around the house and washing up

11-2pm Waiting for lunch.  11-5 is the hottest part of the day.  I usually lay under a tree, reading or working on PC work.

2-3pm Lunch

3-4pm Nap/rest inside my house

4-7pm Hangout would some friends, drink atay  and practice language

7- 730pm Shower

730 -830pm Hangout with the family

830 -9pm Dinner

9-930pm Layout look at the stars with the family in the dark

930-1030pm Go into hut write or read and have some alone time.

The Start of a Up Slope

The north bank region of volunteers is pretty much a boys club (8 guys and 2 girls).  When the other volunteers heard that they got 3 new boys, a celebration was in order. It was also a much needed time to interact with other volunteers.  I have come to learn, speaking English and being sarcastic is a crucial part of my sanity.  We ate vegetables and meat, a rare thing in village. We drank sprits and acted silly.  As I sat out on the river staring at our bond fire, I realized this was just what I needed.  A time to decompress and discover I am not the only one thinking these crazy thoughts and understand I am exactly where I should be in this experience. And that is how you turn a down slope into an up slope. [Lesson learned: step back, take a breath and spend some time with some close friends]

By the 3^rd week at site the things I was seeing, smelling and experiencing were not so foreign to me anymore.  If you remember from the first blog post I talked about really living in a place and talking to the old man when I go to the market?  Well I am living that and it is not just one old man it is everyone I pass on my way to anywhere.  In this small village, in the bush, in this country of Gambia I am more popular the Brad Pitt.  Everyone always knows my where abouts, what I ate for lunch, if I liked it or not, if I danced and even when I am talking a showering and sleeping.

Mud Hut to First Home

Taking the time to turn my house into a home paid off.  I felt safe and happy in this 10 x 12 mud hut.  After 2 months of living out of a bag, I could take my stuff out of a bag and put it on the floor Haha. Not for long because my father built me a shelf, bed and a table.  Now that everything had their own place around the room I could start decorating the walls.  I put up some of my photography from my past travels and pictures of family and friends (It’s a big wall and it has plenty of room for more pictures…hint, hint). After rainy season I plan to put some color on the walls and paint some morals. Going through the process of making a house a home, I now see a as valuable part of the learning curve.

Left in a Cloud of Dust

American Waw (I have to specify because ‘waw’ means ‘yes’ in Wolof and it can get confusing when I am talking to the other volunteers if I don’t), it has been almost 1 and ½ months since I had internet access and written a blog. I told you internet would be limited.  It is probably hard to imagine since in the states we constantly have internet access, if not on our computers then on our phones.  The closet town with electricity is 25 Km and internet about 60 Km. It has been surprisingly easy to adopt to and at times enjoyable to live without electricity.  Ask me that 2 months ago and you might have gotten a very different answer.  There is a noticeable learning curve in the whole process of moving to my permanent site.  The first 2 weeks started with a bit of a down slope; the fallowing weeks have exponentially continued to up slope.

Allow me to go in chronological order, from bad to good.  It all started May 14^th:

I was literally dropped off in front of my house with my luggage. The Land Cruiser was unloaded in 10 min and they were leaving in a cloud of dust. I stood there waving as the PC driver looked at me through the rearview mirror.  The first thoughts that came to my head were: ‘…and now I am alone’ and ‘now what do I do?’ I went into my room and just sat there and sweat, both from the heat and the unknown.  It was a bit of a punch in the stomach, coming from a big high of partying to feeling completely alone.  The other volunteers call it post Banjul depression (hanging out with all your friends then going back to slow village life takes a couple of days of readjustment).  It was that feeling plus being alone for the first time in a couple months.   Actually, I was the first time being alone like this ever.  I traveled to Asia, had apartments to myself, and meditated for hours but I never felt like this.   I was here to live with people I did not know, speak a language I could not really speak and do a job I did not know how to do.  You would probably feel the walls closing in on you too.     I said I would be honest and I am not ashamed to say – I cried.  Two days in, a wave of emotions hit me; I sat down on the floor and cried until the tears stopped.   While it is not commonly known fact about me, it is something I do on occasion and a good cry cleanses my soul. The blog header set not false pretenses, this was the first time but it will not be the last.

“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are the rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried then before – more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.” Charles Dickens, Great Expectations