Well, since KB is no longer in The Gambia, this site is no longer useful. It's been fun, though, and a great way to (at least feel like I could) keep in touch with everyone. To hear and be heard.

Gambia was an incredible journey. I will never feel worthy of the love of my family and friends there, and I can only hope that I will be an equal blessing to them in the future.

God be with them, keep them safe from corrupt leadership, inadequate medical service and from anyone who may try to hold them back from becoming the free, independent, compassionate, powerful individuals each one of them is meant to be.

cheers, and good night.

It's a frightening thing, really... the WHO has yet to denounce Pres. Jammeh, who claims he can cure AIDS (and asthma... but only on Thursdays), but several high government officials (UNDP and the director of the Gambia's National Aids Secretariat) have either been fired or have resigned in protest.

The movie clip below will tell the full story:

http://news.sky.com/skynews/video/videoplayer/0,,30200-hurd_p2623,00.html

so, i left my backpack on a geli. an idiot move, yes, what with the $20, all my clothes, and (worst of all) my camera and journal inside. oh, the pain of it all. (sorry i asked you to loan me your backpack, by the way, J :o)

just rolled into Kombo, and following my trip to the store for deoderant and a toothbrush (also in the bag), i'll be hanging out here for a few days, trying to figure out the future, and get some PCorps paperwork and doctor's stuff in order.

but, most definitely, a new update is in order. :o)

where we stand:

i have 2 puppies and maybe they are coming back to America with me.

depending on the puppies, and trace &/or pete's availability, there will be travels of some sort to help brace my dirty self for the craziness that awaits me back in the US.

then, i will go to j's graduation in June, and move somewhere (Denver for grad school or DC for kicks or Seattle bcz everyone seems to be gravitating towards the northwest?). then, a few months after that, when i KNOW the travel bug'll kick back in, I'll head south to Argentina, because there's this chica there that i definitely need to catch up with in person!

xo

don't forget your bags on buses! :o)

kb

Medical clearance at the end of Feb.

I leave Chamen/Sare Alpha on March 27th.

Our COS date is Apr 15 but we can leave the 6th.

After that, I'm heading with 3 girlfriends to Tunisia (tentative, but reserved at travel agent, plans) for 3 weeks. There is a possibility of a 2 week bonus trip to Morocco or Italy with another friend, but it's all in the mix for now.

Bottomline, I'll be back in the States by mid-May (and pre-my 26th birthday, which is enough to whig any girl out, let alone one about to deal with some seriously hilarious culture shock).

love, love, love.

kristin

Jilli was just here for 3 weeks, and it was this amazing, flaw-free time. No broken down gelis or funky digestive issues or stolen cash. Flawless, save the fact that she probably had to spend way too much time with my friends (who are awesome, btw).

We slept in a treehouse, adopted two amazing puppies (Thatcher and Rice), walked empty beaches looking at shells, hung out with my family in village, went on trek with the health clinic to a remote village, tailored clothes, bought tons of colorful fabric, lounged at a shwanky hotel (on the government's dime), etc. etc.

lovely girl, that sister of mine.

miss 'er already.

New Years this year included a balloon noise maker, a green Homeland Security flare (practically a firework, right?), and a ram testicle. I know, I know, it's hardly champaigne & the ball dropping (haha... er, or it is).

So, the deal is that this year, Tobaski (aka Eid ul-Adha, a Muslim holiday celebrating Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Ishmael) fell on New Year's Eve (and day, since the festivities really last for 2 days).

*Can we talk about the interesting point that the Muslims believe that it was Ishmael (Ibrahim's first son, born of Hagar, a slave), and not Isaac, who was to be sacrificed. Apparently, Muslims recognize the firstborn-ness of Ishmael, whereas Christians do not. I don't know much about it, though.

More background on Tobaski: people dress in their finest clothes, go to mosque (or the big tree by the well, in our case) for corporate prayers, slaughter a goat or ram, distribute some of the meat, and visit family and friends.

Enter, the testicle. When my host father, Yahya, brought me a small dish of meat from the ram he slaughtered, there was this big, squishy, oblong piece of animal. My six year old sister, Ami, was in my house with me & tried to tell me it was a baby, which had me confused and slightly disturbed. She kept telling me it was really sweet to eat & grabbed one my knives, which was dull and failed to saw it in half as she'd hoped. I called one of my host moms over and asked her what it was. But I still didn't understand. With my limited Fula, I asked her if it was close to the 'soldeh' (penus), and her eyes lit up like I was a baby who'd just said her first word. I couldn't bring myself to cook it, let alone cut it in half (but, gosh, I was curious!), so I passed it along to Kadija & asked her not to tell Yahya that I'd given it away.

A few hours later, all of the women from our compound and the one across the way, brought their bowls of cooked meat, oil and onions to the center of the compound, and dumped them all together into one giant bowl, then passed out pieces of bread to each person there, and the mayhem began. Yellow streaks of oil across each woman's face, everyone chatting and bustling about. Delicious, and beautiful, and I couldn't help but laugh at myself as I thought about how my re-gifted gift to Kadija had probably made its way back to me through the shared smorgasbord. Or maybe even the pair.

Later that night, alone in my house, I cracked the neon green flare, blew into my little horn, and called softly into the night... Happy New Year. But it was nice.

The best to each of you. All my love, and I hope to see you this year! xo.

I hope everyone had a nice Christmas. I spent mine with a lovely, old British couple, who've lived in The Gambia for years now. They're like knome-size & so cute & spunky. (She was listening to the Backstreet Boys & talking about how much she loved the show Friends when we first got there.) They fed us a fabulous meal, complete with English poppers (I wore a paper crown!) and mince pies.

I also went to church on Christmas Eve and Christmas mornings, which helped me so much to feel like it was actually Christmas. It was such a reminder of how important it is to have family and friends around you, and how absolutely secondary things like presents and decorations are. (well, actually, I had an awesome time decorating the Stodge & Christmas music really does help you feel like everyone outside is wearing scarves and making snowmen.) Maybe next year... :o) Hopefully.

West Africans are obsessed with the West. America and Europe. Everyone (correction: the guys) wants to go there. BBC recently reported on the drowning of 100 Senegalese who were in a boat headed to the Canary Islands. Here, they call it "taking the back door" into Europe (because then they head to Spain).

At least half of the almost 30,000 illegal arrivals in Spain's Canary Islands in 2006 have been Senegalese. According to one woman, whose son was one of the few rescued from the boat, "If he took all these risks, it's because he saw the situation his family was in." That's one way of looking at it. Another is that the boys are running away from responsibilities. They have visions of golden streets and million dollar gangstas.

So you're not just getting my opinion, I asked a young guy who works for Peace Corps, so this is what Lamin says:

Q. Why do they try & go to Europe?

A. Most say they are going for greener pastures.

Q. Is it mostly young guys trying to go?

A. Yes, it's young boys who are not working here & think that life will be easy in Europe.

Q. Do you think people are trying to just run away?

A. No, because most of those people are petty traders and they are not having work here. 30% of those in the canoes are not educated or are drop-outs. But the Gambian government tries to stop them when they hear of it.

This is Omar. He has a great little restaurant just outside the Peace Corps office, where we can get a tasty rice dish or fried egg sandwich for less than $1. He's always smiling. :o)

Happy Holidays.

God bless you,

xo Kristin

Jen met me at the office at 2 to work on training outlines, but at her suggestion of hitting up the (only) deli place (in the country), we headed outside for a taxi. At the traffic light (yes, that's THE traffic light... there is only one in The Gambia), we were delayed for 15 minutes or so as we waited for the President's motorcade to pass by.

He stood upright in his shiny, oversized Hummer, tossing buttons with his face on them at the small crowds that lined the roads (because their cars couldn't go anywhere). The buttons say "Allesammade," a Mandinkan greeting that was coined by the opposition as part of their campaigning. Jammeh liked it & took it for himself. He's Jola, so you'd think he could've been a little semi-sneaky about his thievery, like saying "Kasumaide," instead.

haha... these opinions are not the publically expressed views of Peace Corps or the US government (though they might be, personally). I'm sorry, I should be fair, and remind the general public that President Jammeh was indeed elected by the Gambian masses (including my 12 & 13 year old sisters). Democracy for all!

:o)

all right, the girls and I are off to make ice cream sundaes. anyone interested, can show up at the Stodge, off the Fajara War Cemetary road, in about an hour. Movie viewing to commence, simultaneously.

(happy friday, everyone. welcome to your weekend!)

(that's the office.)

Thanksgiving in The Gambia was delicious! We (a ton of PCVs & myself) had the classic turkey dinner at a restaurant that catered for us. Including broccoli, sangria and an apple-pumpkin cobbler. (mmmmm.)

I hope your thanksgivings were equally nice.

Now that Lizzie & I are done with mail run... a quick but interesting jaunt around the interior... we've been assigned another task- outlining some of the training sessions for the new health group that will arrive in February. It's nice to have tangible, typeable tasks, again, though it's hard to get back into it after such hands on, village-level projects these past two years. Anyway, looks like it's my job to make sure that the new trainees have everything they need to know about Malaria, Diarrhea, HIV/AIDS, and working with women's groups. :o) So, that'll keep me busy in December. (I'll be down in Kombo more because of it- for meetings & to use the computers.)

And in January, Jillian's coming out here, so that will be fabulous! Touring my tiny West African country with my tiny, not-so-African-yet sister will be a blast, I know. We'll throw an official naming ceremony for her at my compound, slaughter some chickens (no, I don't do it personally... I'm a wuss), and name her something cool, like Halimatou or Ramatoulie. (They're always Muslim names, so she won't be called something totally tribal like Rafiki, unfortunately ;o)

***

We've been told that PCVs with blogs need to have disclaimers, so...

"The opinions expressed on this page do not reflect those of the US Government, or its subsidiary bodies."

The Agfos are leaving tomorrow. They're the crazy, but so much fun, group of Agriculture PCVs that came into the country right before my own group of less crazy, but still fun Health PCVs. They came into the country with 20+ people, and they're leaving with 10. One girl got kicked out for being certifiably crazy, another two for going AWOL, one got medically separated, one left to go to Bible school, another left because he got a job with the State Dept in somewhere like Turkmenistan. I love the ones who are left. Fifteen of us girls got all dolled up the other night and went out to the only Mexican restaurant in country, where the only thing we can afford is the cheapest drink on the menu. After that we piled into taxis (or random Army trucks that offered us rides), and headed to our local karaoke spot, Churchill's. (Crowded with old, British tourists, but fun nonetheless.) All the Agfo girls were up front belting it out to Madonna when I realized I was a little teary-eyed. I chalked it up to hormones, though I'm sure it's just me being me. I hadn't realized until then just how much we mean to each other over here.

The next day, we went to the All Vol. meeting, and they weren't there. When Admin talked about the outgoing/COSing volunteers, they looked at us instead.

I'm scared about going back to the States. I mean, it's not like I'm uber-integrated here. I'll be able to function back in American society for sure... it's not like I'll feel the need to walk around topless, carry my groceries on my head, or have to speak only in Pulaar. But, hmm, how do I say this? I think it's one thing to go from a normal job, a comfy apartment, etc. in America and pick up and head somewhere you think sounds like this unusual, exciting adventure. But, it's a completely different thing to try and squeeze yourself back into that previous life after spending two years doing something so different. I'm afraid I won't be satisfied or content or happy. I hate it when good things end, because it's like when you graduate from college & have no choice but to move on... you take those memories of your roommates & crazy times in the apartment or streaking across campus, and it's hard not to miss it. I know it will be like that when I leave here, and I simply wish to avoid the unavoidable.

There was a writing question that we had for on our mock GRE that was about the pros & cons of technology and whether or not it leaves us feeling lonely. It was an interesting topic to write about. A lot of PCVs over here use myspace.com, which I'd never really gotten into, but today I was browsing- seeing what happeneded to kids from high school- and something about it really brought me down.

I mean, it's amazing that we have such easy access to one another's lives. I saw that 4 people had gotten married, 2 were lesbians, and a few were living on the east coast now. But sometimes (especially over here) when I'm sitting in front of the computer, I start to feel really stircrazy (for lack of a better word). I feel like it feeds me this false sense of connectedness. I'm connected to my family and friends because I can send an IM, an email, leave a note on a webpage for someone to pick up and read, right? I'm connected to the largest available source of information and resources, so I should have very few unanswered questions and unlimited ideas, right? I'm connected to a machine that gives me the opportunity to perform nearly any task on my to do list, so I should be an incredibly organized, efficient, and successful human being. Right?

It makes me nervous and uncomfortable and incredibly unsatisfied. When I think about going back to the States, I think about this growing reliance on false communication, and I wonder if it will always be this tempting to substitute 'this' for real, in person communication and relating.

Granted, sometimes someone's out in Africa or somewhere fairly inaccessible. Then, you take what you can get. But, is there anyone else (especially there) who feels like it's harder and harder these days to live life... that we always feel like we have to be looking for something else?

Someone asked me recently if I was feeling lonely over here, and I told him no, I'm not. But maybe I am, and maybe I'm not alone in that.

Okay, that was CRAZY! Or something.

I was sitting in my candlelit house, reviewing some GRE wrong answers & eating some steamed koos & sugar stuff, when I hear this roucous outside. Everyone comes running, towards the kitchen part of my compound. There's something in the chicken house, going after the chickens. I hear them say 'dombru.' I think that means hyena, so I stand up on the wooden bantaba- away from the chicken house- to watch. My sisters, Fatou and Habsa come over & use the situation as a chance to snuggle close. I don't mind.

By now, the men and older boys are gathered around the pen. They start pulling it apart- palm fronds tossed haphazardly on the ground, and the whole group getting tighter around it. A giant pounding stick (from the mortar) is raised in the air, and brought down with great force. One, two, three times. The hen house has been destroyed.

The men carry the carcas into the center of the compound. One of my fathers, Alisan, has a knife to cut off the head. I peer at it and, though my eyes aren't so good, I can tell it's not a hyena. At first I think it's a crocodile. But so far from the river?! I don't understand. It's the tail that tricks me. It's a python. A big one. I saw it only after it looked like it had tied its own body in a knot, so I couldn't tell how long it was, but it was well over 8 feet, and big enough to do some damage to the smaller, domesticated animals, not to mention thoroughly freak out me and Habsa.

As I'm watching Alisan slice off the head, and carry it off into the bush, Abdou comes by to greet me- good evening- and he mentions that they'd killed another one this morning, out in another father's field.

There was a beautiful sunset, and I just walked a while, until this little point I stand at sometimes, that juts out into the rice fields, so I feel like I'm standing in the middle of my own little (puddle-sized) lake. And I just stood and it'd been a while since I'd done that- always running from someone, so as not to get bothered, or walking just for the sake of exercise.

But, I stood, and talked to God some. Mostly apologized for stuff, and thanked Him for his faithfulness. I told Him I'd try to do better & that I was grateful for his grace & how I knew that we both knew I'd keep messing up & that it didn't really matter, because he'd still love me. Then, I looked around to make sure there weren't any donkey carts heading towards me, up the road, and belted out "Better is One Day in Your Courts," and just looked at how pretty it was.

The sky was a dull grey, but on either side of that this beautiful palette of bright oranges and pinks spilled out. When I looked at the grey, I couldn't undertand how such beauty could be within or behind something so deceivingly bleak, dark & empty.

But, that's a little like how I feel here. Like Where is God? How do I not see Him here?! But I know He's always there. And whether it's my thing (something I'm doing or not doing) or it's just this season of life... He's around.

It just feels so weird... to go from 2 years of such stagnation (or maybe it's just solitude) to trying to fit back into a community of believers back in the States, and be good, little Kristin, a Christian. It's still what I am here, except that they call me Haddy, and I'm just not a Muslim, which no one minds. But here I swear, I've gotten drunk, and I sometimes envision bashing empoverished children's faces in because they call me toubab and ask for money... relentlessly.

But, no one's perfect.

thankfully,

kristin

Least favorite things:

pregnant spiders (oh... oh, cringe.)

the post-binging low

screaming cries of children

the sound of beating something (like a donkey)

being called 'toubab' or asked for money

not being able to make someone stop (doing something)

that 'having to throw up' feeling

itchy rashes

(and a few other not-so-appropriate things)

Most favorite things

chocolate cake/cupcakes

being in a peaceful, natural place

a cold glass of water on a hot, Ramadan day

beautiful dresses

a comfy, bug-free bed

feeling safe

post-work out high/burn

my girls

doing something nice for someone

(so many things... this list can be way longer!)

:o)

Trek today. Studied for the GRE. Walked almost to Gui in the afternoon- didn't see Hadley. I was asked for money, more than usual, on my walk today. It was really frustrating, and led to some daydream sequence in which I calmly & rationally explained to some random Gambian (in English) about how I only have $25 in America... not $25 million like they think... and how if said hypothetical Gambian went to his village chief, the man with the biggest compound, or his local cow herder- any of those people (men) would have far more wealth than I currently do.

I thought about how Gambians need to teach their children (& themselves) that the color of your skin doesn't determine how rich you are, and that if they're going to think that every white person they pass (in the middle of the bush!) is simply an ATM, then can they really expect more from some Americans who'd meet an African in the subway (in New York City) and ask "Do you live in a hut?" or "How many of your siblings have died of AIDS?"

The problem is that naive people in Africa interact with educated, aware foreigners (your average Swedish tour group aside, no offense), and that intelligent, affluent Africans often interact with provincial, stereotype-believing Americans. Gosh, if only we could combine the 2 less-aware groups... it'd be so funny to see them interact! Though, I have a feeling that it'd be the more intelligent groups that would end up fighting- each wanting to be superior over the other.

Mosquito bites on my leg just from sitting in the computer room: >16

Sessions given on AIDS & promoting abstinence: 2

"New" movies watched since coming to Kombo on Thurs: 5 1/2

Days until my counterpart, Gibril, leaves Chamen to go to university: 10

Times the average Gambian man (who I barely know) will call within 5 minutes: 7-9

Average number of messages left by said population group: 0

Days spent fasting during Ramadan: 6

Pounds I'll likely gain due to Ramadan's program of evening binging: 5

the gist of September (since i've gotta run)... the Gambian President came to my village on a campaign tour- handed out the equivalent of a few thousand US dollars & (surprise, surprise) was re-elected later that month. My 13 & 14 year old sisters went & voted for him, despite the supposed 18 year minimum.

The election went off without a hitch, though PCorps had us on standby just in case. At one point they called a drill of our emergency plan, during the middle of a crazy rain storm & expected us to get to our consolidation point. I put on my rain jacket, ready to enjoy a 9k walk through the diluge, when I saw the clinic ambulance & caught a ride. (It's the little things I tell you.)

Been doing a lot of reading- read some great books. I'd recommend: The Red Tent, Their Eyes Were Watching God, and (most of all) The Kite Runner.

Our mail fell off the truck or something this past month, so hopefully there weren't any letters from you dear folks included in the lot. My GRE registration & a cell phone I was supposed to deliver to a Gambian up-country were both in there, so it's a bit of a sticky situation, though I'm sure it will all work out.

I haven't been sick. I've been taking tons of vitamins, so the vit's not getting any worse. My family here is fabulous, though struggling a ton financially since my host father left. I try & help out as much as I can, but I know me buying a bag of rice today isn't going to help them 6 months from now.

I feel like it's almost over, honestly. It's kind of strange. Some people in my group are applying to grad schools & others are finishing up projects they've been working on. I'll take the GRE (provided I get another copy of that form) at the end of this month, and then try not to think about what comes next (post-PCorps) until our COS conference in January.

Ramadan's been a blast. It's odd how hostile I felt some of us were (are) towards it back in the States, because it's a Muslim holiday & such, but it's just kind of a sweet tradition, really, if you don't concern yourself with the religious aspect (which most Gambians don't). I get up with my family around 5:30am, stumble out into the center of the compound, eat some rice, then go back to bed. They fast from food & water(&, theoretically, sex & smoking, as well). Then, a few minutes before 7pm, my mothers & their children & I all gather around a bowl of very sugary tea & wait until we hear the call to prayer. Then everyone eats some bread (if they can afford it) & drinks a cup of warm tea to break fast. It's all a very bonding experience. Gabe & Hadley & I have continued it in Kombo & it's a ton of fun for the 3 of us to bustle around, fixing our break fast meal (with yogurt & fruit, & avocado & onion sandwiches), and then sit and wait for the last four minutes until the clock strikes 7. Then we all playfully say 'allah akubar' and dig in.

Gabe jokes the the 3 of us- one Christian, and 2 people who don't believe in God- are the most devout Muslims in Kombo. Perhaps.

Well, all the best to each of you. I know it's been a busy time- what with new houses & engagements (...kate!) & the like- and I hope it finds you happy & well.

big hug. always, kristin

p.s. i tried to post some new photos online, but i think only a few showed up: www.kbinthegambia.myphotoalbum.com

okay, so I'm not in Gaza... obviously. But I am about to head out to Banjul to catch the ferry across the river, so it's relevant. I had a great time this time around in Kombo. Though it may sound strange, it was my first time (down here) spending more time with Africans than with Peace Corps. So, I went around visiting all of my new friends...

Syl & Andrew & Ambrose at Youth for Christ (YFC), which is just around the corner from the Stodge (our PC house in Kombo), who have amazing hearts. Syl's the director & he's also a lecturer at the nursing school. Andrew scrunches his face at the really violent scenes in movies & has to look away. And Ambrose looks like a basketball player & is always going out for a run.

Kelson's from Sierra Leone. His family came to The Gambia in 1999 because of all the fighting going on over there. His english is fabulous & he's a total gentleman.

Abigail & Harriet are 20 & 25, and so much fun. They're both schooled me when we played pingpong, which doesn't take much. Abi's from Nigeria & her dad started a church here in TG.

Sarah is one of the smartest people her age in The Gambia. Because of that the president paid for her to go to some leadership institute in the states a few summers back. Her mom's a Methodist minister here, and Sarah could be, too; she has so much wisdom.

Yvonne & her husband, Dr. Abraham, are Nigerians who felt called to The Gambia, to minister, though he's a dentist here. Fabulous people, with 5 children, and a lovely home. She has a ton of spirit, and is so honest and open with people. They had me over after church on Sunday & gave me a 3-course Nigerian meal... it was so nice of them!

I don't imagine anyone could keep track of that, but I just feel like it's so important to stress that there are people just like American Christians (or maybe even better than us) over here... maybe you already know that, but even we PCVs need reminders sometimes.

Am going back to Chamen for Sept. Hope to come down here at the end of the month. In the meantime, my phone is back up & very operational. cheers. KB

The rebels in Cassamance are fighting again. Peace Corps has pulled 7 of our volunteers from that border region, for now, just to be safe. I went with a friend, yesterday, who's about 3km from the frontline, but her villagers said they hadn't heard the bombs for a day or two, so it seems like things are settling down.

The only difference we noticed was some Red Cross vehicles with french writing (so Senegalese), which she figured had come to support some of the refugees who have crossed into our border.

Just wanted to give you the update. I have nothing to worry about up at site, since a river runs between us, but it's affecting some friends.

Also, Presidential elections are coming up at the end of September, just a few days before the start of Ramadan. The opposition's divided, so no one really expects an upset or any kind of organized coup attempt. Should go rather smoothly.

For months (years, really), the clinic team in Chamen has been weighing children & "screening" them for malnutrition, and maybe writing up a ration card (for a bag of rice & a tin of oil) for those kids who are seriously underweight.

The WEC mission in Chamen used to do some monitoring of those kids, but there should be a program in place that is run by the clinic (and by all clinics in the country, since the 'baby weighing' is a program the Gambian gov't has put into place). So, my counterpart, Gibril, and I have been talking about some of the best ways to start doing that.

Right now, we're keeping a record of the easily identifiable cases we've seen, and I've had a few, casual counseling sessions with some of the mothers, distributing some multi-vitamins, talking about worms, and getting a general feel for each case.

The frustrating ones are those kids who have been sick their whole lives. I used to be so quick to think "if they're malnurished, give them some more food," but sometimes the mothers are doing all they can, the child is eating a lot, they've been to different clinics for medical treatment, and nothing is working.

The doctor currently posted at the WEC mission in Chamen was talking with me, the other day, about their intention to start a Nutritional Center there in Chamen. We'll see what happens with that, as well.

A few months back Megan introduced me to a guy named Syl, who's the head of Youth for Christ in The Gambia. He's an amazing man, with a leadership style that looks more like a servant's heart. He works full-time at YFC for free, because the budget's tight, and then also teaches at Meg's site, in Bansang, for a small income. I can't stress to you the beauty (for lack of a better word) of someone who has so little doing so much for nothing. (It's not for nothing, he would say, it's for the ministry, it's for the kingdom.) It's humbling, admirable, and I respect him and the other guys who work at YFC immensely.

A month ago I went to a youth conference they held, because the theme was 'Guard your heart,' and knowing I feel very strongly about girls- their self-esteem and their purity, Syl had asked me if I could speak on a few things.

I got there & immediately wanted to leave. I was intimidated by the 60+ well-educated, fairly well-off West African teens that were there. (And incredibly grateful I hadn't brought the usual rags I wear in my village.) And being the only white person (though that's a pretty normal thing for me) really threw me off. I was convinced to stay, and praise God that I did, because I learned so much and was so blessed by the students I met & the things that we talked about.

I had a wonderful connection with the wife of the Nigerian man who was our speaker (he's a dentist by trade, but uses it as a ministry; he and his wife hope to one day be missionaries in Asia). We co-led two of the sessions on Virginity & Secondary Virginity, and it was such an open & vulnerable time for us and for the girls.

For some reason, also, I was incredibly impacted by different thoughts I was having about race. I remember wishing so much not that we could all be the same color but that we (on both sides) could be colorblind. It can create such a pointless barrier between people. I know I could't adequately express my thoughts, so I won't even attempt it.

All of that to say that I have a new group of great friends. They're Christians (I could talk for an hour on the vast differences between Gambian men, in general, here, and the Gambian Christian men that I've met... the fruits of the Spirit are so life-altering!). The other night I went to church with a few of them, and there's a get together tonight, as well... so, I'm feeling blessed. Though, if you could pray that as we interact we really could be colorblind, that would be wonderful.

Thanks.

A team of amazing Americans (and one Haitian & future Italian) came to The Gambia earlier this month, and I got to join them as they travelled around to different villages, sharing the Jesus Film and talking with people who may be the only Christian in their village.

It was incredibly refreshing to feel so loved & welcomed by the group- some of whom were already friends of mine from back home. We had a great time together, and I totally felt challenged trying to translate some of the film or people's testimonies into Pulaar, on days we were without a Fula-speaking Gambian.

The pastors that we're working with up there are amazing, inspiring men (as are their wives), and in case anyone's church is interested in pairing up with a church in The Gambia, let me know & I'll get you guys in touch.

*If you guys want to see some pictures from the trip, check out Marti's postings:

http://picasaweb.google.com/marti.sanders/TheGambiaAfrica2006