Why to Not Buy that Mahogany Desk As many of you may know I am working for an environmental NGO here in Gambia called the Stay Green Foundation. As the name suggests we are doing our best with our staff of 6 and miniscule funding to prevent a dirt poor, overpopulated country from rapidly and irreversibly turning itself into desert. It's not easy. Gambia has been free from colonial rule for about 40 years now but the real, and sometimes uncomfortable, truth is that most of the developing world is under another (maybe more destructive) form of economic colonialism. The gaping maw of America/Europe/Japan/China/India is simply consuming the world--its forests, its fish, even its people thru people trafficking. Add to this the fact that extreme overpopulation and a dangerous mishmash of powerful new technology (pesticides, chainsaws, and yes, even vaccinations, food aid, and roads) are seriously taxing beneficial cultural traditions and the resource base...and basically the developing world is teetering on the brink. It's very hard to realize this sitting at home, living a "normal" life, "just buying stuff". Think about it for a minute. Possibly not a single person that will receive this email can regularly and definitely identify where the resources they consume daily come from. That is insane! We are all willing yet blind participants in the devastation of much of the world. How is it that America, with its population of 300 million and the highest resource consumption the world has ever known can have national parks the size of entire states, hmm? It's because we (the developed world) siphon up the world's resources with our endless materialistic hunger, while people here experience real hunger. Where does the wood that your house/desk is made from come from? Could it be Vietnam which lost 51% of its forest from 2000-2005, Indonesia (2nd largest rainforests on earth), which is estimated to have no virgin forest left by 2020, or maybe even in Gambia...1 km from my house. African Mahogany, Kahya Senegalensis, Kahe in my native tongue here, is truly a King of Trees. A massive gorgeous behemoth more than 150 feet tall, maybe 9 feet in diameter, and with a crown as wide as it is tall. They are simply confirmation that the universe is an incredible place to live. So, you can imagine my shock when two days ago I saw 2 of these legally protected trees crumpled and broken on the ground less than a mile from where I live. Then next day the director of Stay Green told me he had a run in with the loggers. He had asked to see their permit, which happened to be for 1 mahogany only. Furthermore, it is illegal to fell protected trees here if there is not at least 3 of the same species within 200 meters. These two trees were standing in the middle of a vast barren field of sand...not quite a forest. He brought the police, documented everything with photos, and alerted the divisional forestery officer, and even the National Minister for the Environment. The next day when we returned to the police station to see what had happened, the police chief, the logger's boss, and the forestry officers had "negotiated to reach an understand"--he paid a bribe and got off. Curiously, the National Minister for the Environment wouldn't answer my boss' calls as well. The logger's boss had offered the village that owned the land a small amount of mahogany to help them build doors on their mosque in exchange for their permission--yet one tree could be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars once brought to the US, China, Russia, etc. Please think about this next time you buy wood of any sort and only buy it if it is Forest Stewardship Council Certified. Or better yet, don't buy it at all. Our seemingly annonymous actions threaten life in many countries. The other shock I had recently was to realize the scorching speed of deforestation in my area thru a conversation with a friend. My village currently has 18 family compounds and sits in a vast area of parched fields with about 1 tree per acre. Ten years ago we had 3 compounds and you could hunt gazzelle on the edge of the village. I barely see a squirrel these days. Our "forest" is a line about 200 feet wide and is used by several villages of which mine is smallest. We eat fruits from the forest, we cook all of our food with its wood, and all of our animals (which represent nearly all of our wealth most of our minimal protein) rely on leaves in the bush to survive thru the 8 month dry season. When all the trees are gone, people will have to move...but where? This country cannot survive if its trees are sold off for the world's rich to adorn their houses with, because it cannot even survive its own internal pressures. Think about it--a village increasing 6 fold in 10 years! But that is what happens when every woman has 8 children. It's easy to say its their fault for overpopulating, but intil we decided to vaccinate their children to every disease known to man, they had to have 8 so that 4 would survive. The other source of all the new people is environmental refugees. I have only met a small handful of people in my area who originally come from Gambia. Everyone else is from Mauritania, Senegal, Mali and Burkina Faso--areas that once looked like the Gambia does today, until all the trees were cut, the rains stopped coming, and the thin topsoil blew away into the ocean. Where I live is naturally a near rainforest of soaring Mahogany, Teak, Rosewood, Ebony, Baobab and about 20 other varieties of trees. In a generation it has been transformed into a near desert. Trees are cleared for fields. Immense downpours come in the rainy season and their force is not broken by tree canopies but instead washes away the soil. The dry season comes and great fires come and burn all the fields killing baby trees and leaving something very similar to the sand of a volleyball quart behind. I don't know where the family I live with here will go in 15 years when there is no rain, topsoil or trees. Probably they head south, and probably the story of modern Africa will repeat itself and there will be deforestation, drought, and now that there is nowhere left to migrate, ethnic conflict and war. They have enough problems on their hands right now. Do you really need that desk?...

Greetings Friends and Family, It has been a long long time since I have updated on my life here in The Gambia--that's right, Africa's only country with a President who can alledgedely magically cure AIDS-- so I figured I would do just as much. It's now January--the cold season--which means my homestay family cuddles up to the campfire every night wearing near-arctic gear and shivering, trying in vain to escape the harsh 65 degree cold. The rainy season ended a couple months ago and the world is slowly submerging itself into the dry stillness that will rule this country until it is shattered by the first thunderstorm of the monsoon next June. The harvest is in, and although it is not very good (it never is, what with climate change induced drought and over-farmed soils), for now food is relatively abundant and people are selling their peanuts to buy provisions for the year. The biggest news in my life is that I have transferred sites, about a month ago, to work with a really cool local Gambian environmental NGO called the Stay Green Foundation. I am now getting to work on almost exactly the projects that I want to work on here, and that I think are very important. For the next 11 months I will essentially function as an extension worker representing the NGO in somewhere between 5 and 8 villages. I will be educating people on the dire problem of deforestation and then (hopefully) mobilizing them to take action to save their livelihoods by planting woodlots and agroforestry trees to provide for the fuel and building needs, as well as to improve their soil fertility in their fields. About 80% of the Gambias energy comes from fuelwood, driving what is really a crisis of deforestation. About 50 years ago 80% of this country was covered in a closed canopy forest of massive trees. That number has dropped to between 8 and 18% presently (reliable stats are hard to come by). It's so miniscule that I have never once seen an example of what the Gambia naturally looked like. With the population expected to double in the next 25 years, while rainfall decreases, its hard not to predict disaster as people further outpace the natural regeneration rate of the 2 things they rely on to live here--forests and soil. Hence my job. I am psyched about it. It is really difficult to get people to understand the threat of deforestation (the trees have always always been there, why would they be gone later?), but around my new site, people are acutely feeling the shortage already. Talk and action are not the same thing, but the way people talk they are ready to do something about it. Aside from training villages to establish woodlots I will be working to help set up a large agriculture and forestry training center that the NGO will use as their training base from now on. It's a very large project, and I will really only get to help lay the foundations this year. But, I have a lot of freedom to set up demonstration projects (on proper tree species and spacing for woodlots, new fruit tree varieties, etc.). All in all its exciting. In my new site I actually live with a family that speaks the language I speak (not the case in last village) which makes things more comfortable. But, the dialect is so different that for the first week or two I had no idea what they were saying. My new site is also close to the ocean (only about 4 miles in a straight line) so the weather is a lot better with a constant cool sea breeze. The food situation is a lot better too. Out of a sense of white guy guilt, I didn't supplement my diet in village last year. I didn't realize how much this was affecting me until I went to Morocco for vacation and got healthy again. Malnourishment is a horrible and insidious problem. Not that I was nearly as bad off as my family. Every couple weeks I would leave village and eat a hamburger. But, it was actually a mind opening experience. When you are living on only simple carbohydrates and no vitamins, you dont want to improve your life. It's often baffling to us development workers, why locals dont work harder to improve their lives. But, the truth is when you are hungry or have malaria you just want to sleep. I am working on another reforestation project as well. The idea is to pay people a small amount for each healthily outplanted seedling that they raise and plant around their farms. This year it is just a pilot project. But, hopefully if it is sucessful, next year we will sell the idea to local tourism operators so that tourists can offset the carbon from their flights through tree planting in Gambia. It's an awesome project and I really really encourage any of you out there to donate if you can. Even if it is a very small amount. To do so, go to www.peacecorps.gov . Click on "donate now". Then "help fund volunteer projects". Then "Africa". Then scroll down to Gambia and click on Stephanie Rayburn's "reforestation" project. Like I said, any amount helps. Thanks! Alright folks I have to go. Hope this finds you all well. West Africa says hello. Cam ps-in about 11 months I will have 7grand to blow on checking off things on my lifetime "to do" list...so if anybody has any ideas.... pps-

Hello friends and family. Below is a email from my special lady over here talking about her reforestation pilot project that she will be working on for the duration of her time here in the Gambia. I am just now switching sites, moving 300 km across the country to work with a really cool environmental NGO called the Stay Green Foundation and will be working on the pilot project with Steph. Any donations you guys can give to fund the project will definitely be put to good use. As for the concept of paying people to plant trees, if "Why should we pay people to help themselves?" pops in your head, please consider the fact that we all the time pay people to do things that are in the public interest in US. It's called government services, but over here with a non functioning goverment they don't have that luxury. The project model is based off of Kenya's Greenbelt movement, the founder of which won the Nobel Peace Prize a few years ago. I hope this finds you all well and happy. Cam

---------- Forwarded message ----------

From: Stephanie Rayburn <stephrayburn@gmail.com>

Date: Nov 10, 2007 11:38 AM

Subject: Steph's Trees for Fuel project

Hellooo friends and family! Salam malekum, peace to you

I'm excited to announce my "Trees for Fuel" reforestation pilot project, to be carried out in several villages in my district! I have signed it up as a Peace Corps Partnerships project, which means everyone can go to the link and glance at the proposal and if you want, contribute ANY amount right then and there. It got accepted as a project right before I left on vacation a few weeks ago and I'm so happy to see now that I got back, that random people already contributed $200.00- people are amazingly generous when it comes down to it!

Most of you are my friends, "poor" college kids and the like, with a few professors and family members in the mix and I KNOW you don't have much money to spare. No worries. But please, if you know others with charitable tendencies or interests in rescuing this planet's forests, please pass this link on. https://www.peacecorps.gov/resources/donors/contribute/projdetail.cfm?projdesc=635-042&region=africa This is why I'm so excited about this project: Driving a few hundred kilometers through northern Senegal to the airport a few weeks ago I saw the shocking picture of desertification in full for the first time. The parkland of The Gambia, sparse but still treed, unfolded mile by mile into a devastated washed-out waste land. It's not fair to call it a desert, conjuring up pictures of lizards and cactus, red sand dunes and canyons, wolves howling at the moon from atop mesas. This was a man-made expanse, stripped of its layers of life down to a nutrient-void greyness, dotted only occasionally with an angry little shrub inevidably snagging some shred of plastic trash. Yikes. Senegal has electricity; power lined cut through the desert scene in all directions. Yes they are "developing," but at what cost? The Gambia in in trouble, but it's not a desert yet. And the institutions are in place to inform people that desertification is a real scenario, that planting trees will keep their wells wet and the rainy season long. The time is right to make it "cool" to plant you own trees for firewood- the concept of planting mangoes and cashews caught on beautifully and it's just a small hop to making fuel wood tree propagation a practice. So- thanks guys for listening! Pass on the link to all who might be interested and help us if you can. Feel free to email me with any questions. Take care- peace only to you and your home people! (: -Stephanie

So...no emails for a few months there. Sorry bout that. Everytime I have had the opportunity to sit down in front of a computer to send an update out there into your cyber realm, the words have just not come. The simple truth is that words are too small to contain any experience, much less one as conflicting as being a Peace Corps volunteer in the Gambia. The rainy season has come and is slowly tapering off, leaving us here to dry out for a few months before slow-roasting this strip of land under the African sun for many months. The rains came with a bang. Specifically a bang of lightning as I sat in a bar late night with a few friends during the first big rains. As our bellies filled with 3rd world quality alcohol, the streets flooded and washed a 9 month dry season worth of trash, donkey crap, and dust into the bar, filling it up above ankle level. The music never stopped. As we walked back to the peace corps house to sleep, the streets were torrents of the sweet chocolate milk of the developing world. Lightning exploded everywhere and rain drops the size of marbles lobbed into our eyesballs. We shouted and whooped our drunken thanks to the clouds It was lovely beyond description. I cannot describe the thrill of the first rain in 9 months. That was 2 months ago. Since then, the desolate sun-burnt landscape has truly transformed itself into a sparkling green wonderworld of chirping birds and grasses that grow 2 inches a day with clouds swooping playfully above us all as we come out of hibernation. Humans aren't the only ones out of hibernation either. I hear hyenas more frequently. My very hard core deaf uncle beat to death a 9 foot python with a sitck, and I had to chop the head off a deadly pit viper because my (also very hard core) surrogate grandmother was chasing it around the women's garden with a log trying to whomp it into submission. It's work work work time. Rural Gambians have difficult lives in many ways, but they do have the increasingly rare pleasure of being some of the very few people left in the world that just work 3 months of the year and spend the rest of the time relaxing with family and friends. There are more than enough calories to go around for almost the entire year, even in the poorest communities. The problem is the near total absence of protein and vitamins, especially this time of year--the Hungry Season. As unpleasant as it is to live almost solely on white rice (malnourishment is exhausting and crushing to your inspiration), it is a really liberating experience actually to see how unhealthy of a diet you can live on. I could of course do more to supplement my diet here, but I struggle with so many ethical dilemmas in my work here that I have yet to broach the issue of how I could lock myself in my hut and eat something while my family would be sitting outside hungry. But, it's not all exciting snakes and lovely green grass here. I have had a lot of challenges for the last several months. I have emailed a few of you about this. But, basically, the long history of well-meaning (but completely completely misinformed) white people coming to the Gambia as tourists or NGO workers (which are not much different from tourists) makes this an extremely difficult place to be a white person. I should add that the situation in my particular region, as one of the very poorest and least developed of the country, is a lot worse in this respect than anywhere else I have been in country. 50 years of radio, tourists, and NGO workers telling people they are poor has really affected the way they percieve themselves and this country. It is very difficult to explain or understand even for myself. But, the end result is that in a large proportion of my interactions I am transformed in their eyes into an object to either get US visas, money, my bike, whatever I happen to be holding that instant, from, or as an object for people to take out some of their frustration about their lives on. The longer I am here, the more I understand why things are this way, but, honestly, the more hurt I am by this also. On the other hand, the more developed the area is, the less I experience this. It all comes down to people's lack of cultural self-esteem. Sadly, in my village they do not view themselves as the last proud hold outs of a world where we all had rich cultural traditions, where we worked the soil with our hands and earned our keep. They view themselves as the only people in the world locked out of the party that the rest of the world is having (it is commonly assumed that anywhere outside Africa is fantastically rich and people never work). The more developed villages have a much better sense of self-appreciation, feel less helpless, and finally, I think, come to value (but not practice) their cultural traditions more. So, hurray for small scale development. The sense of hopelessness in my village is a much greater problem than all others and is best addressed by this. And, thank god for Peace Corps as well. I have changed from a serious skeptic to a devout believer since I have been here. The idea that any change can be effected in these villages by people who know neither the language nor culture, and do not even live there (NGO workers) is absurd. All in all, it is an enormous challenge to be here, but one very worthwhile. My projects have gone quite well this year. We transformed a bare stretch of ground into a well-fenced hectare garden with 2 wells, a live fence of spiky plants (cause termites will eat the posts on the barbed wire fence) around it, and rows of food-producing, soil-enriching trees to provide shade in the hot season. I worked with about 15 different people to plant cashew trees, ranging from as few as 10, to as many as 350. These should supplement the meagre income they earn from environmentally destructive peanut farming, for some people (hopefully, but nothing is for certain in this world) eventually quintupling their income. And I work as a facilitator in a NGO sponsored Skills Center, providing ideas, tech support (ie. being able to write), motivation, and whatever else I can come up with. I have a lot of other small projects as well. My favorite is trying to increase the deliciousness index in my family compound by planting 12 different kinds of fruit trees with my host this year. As I said, the work is difficult, frustrating and often misunderstood. Most people do not understand that helping them to learn a skill or grow a new food source is better than me just handing out money or visas (as white folks are percieved to do). But a few people really get it. They work hard and sacrifice to make their's and other's lives better. They inspire me immensely, and every so often when the difficulty of the job is turning me into someone I do not want to be, they will do or say something that floods me with relief and patience, and I am led by example, right back on track. I hope this email finds you all well. Peace, Cam

hello folks, Still here in The Gambia living life. I want to try and write a longer email soon to let you all know what I have been doing, but...I am lazy and sometimes things are great here and sometimes quite frustrating. It's difficult to write an email that could sum it all up. But, in the meantime you can take a look at my girlfriend's blog which has a link to some photos we took in my village to get a better idea of what things look like over here. Hope you are all doing well. Cam http://in-the-direction-of-my-day-dreams.blogspot.com/

I thread my way through the cracks and potholes of the driveway to the International Trypansomiasis Center to the ("run down" by US standards, but highly developed by local standards) building at the back where 20 people from my village and surrounding villages are gathered for a 28 day "development" (still don't know what that means) crash course. I walk in and loudly interrupt the proceedings to exchange several greetings that serve to totally disrupt the flow of their work but more importantly cement interpersonal relationships. It's the polite way to do things. The women giggle into their veils and murmur "Bakary, welcome" while the men clasp their hands in the air and my friend Musa shouts "Bakary we are study!" We are all surprised by the situation. These people who I am used to lounging with under the shade of mango trees or working in the fields with are sitting at desks grasping pens awkwardly with notebooks strewn about. Seeing as how 80% of them are illiterate I am a little baffled by the notebooks.

I have come to greet my people--some of whom I know very well and some of whom I can't remember the name of. Two days ago they began this course, funded by a swedish NGO to teach them the very very basics of development work and concepts. They want to teach them basic numeracy, people management, and needs assessment skills. The idea is to take some of the actual development responsibilities away from NGO's and institutions like Peace Corps and give it to the locals who will benefit. Help people help themselves basically--an idea I heartily applaud. I sit and watch as the facilitators go over the rules of the class that day: no smoking inside, only one person talks at a time, do not insult others ideas, no spitting on the floor, etc. They are all rules that would be familiar, even obvious to a US High School student, but that are not the way meetings take place here. Village meetings, in the shade of an old tree, are more focused on everyone getting their say in (sometimes simultaneously, sometimes without everyone listening) and everyone feeling satisfied at the end, more than resolving any particular situation. I feel a quick pang of guilt seeing them fitting themselves into a more western model, wondering if this is just another step in a long sucession of cultural colonialism. Then again...their traditional way of life is no longer remotely sustainable, economically or environmentally, so maybe the way forward is dangle their feet into that stream of (western dominated) globalization--a stream that often moves too fast for traditional peoples and leaves them awkwardly floundering between their origins and wherever it is they thought it would take them.

I push these thoughts to the back of my mind and ask the facilitator if I can have a word with my friend Musa.

We step outside and exchange some more of the never-ending greetings. I can see concern on his face so I quickly allay his fears with a handshake, a grin, and the words "You will have a donkey this year."

Musa supports two wives, 5 children, and an old mother. He is a poor man and has no livestock with which to plow or plant. As a result he could only plant last year when donkeys were available to borrow. As a result he only had enough food to last for about 4 months of the year. Since then he has been selling his few meager possessions to keep his family alive on an all rice diet--the perfect recipe for malnutrition. Even months after his food has run out he spends nearly all of his free time working, unpaid, on community projects. I have never bothered to ask him why, as I realize he is one of those rare people with an impeccable, ingrained sense of the value of sacrifice. About 1 month ago we wrote an application to the Horse and Donkey Project NGO, which provides donkeys, and sometimes plows to poor farmers who cannot afford their own. Somehow the application was lost in the mail. I went to their headquarter and talked Musa up enough that they agreed to give him a donkey and a plow on the spot.

The whole experience has left me pondering global inequities---their drawbacks, their immense power to good, but generally the lack of greater justice inherent therein.

Here is how Musa got his donkey: A man in the UK saw a poster at a horse show offering the opportunity to sponsor a donkey in the Gambia. His small act of generosity--a gift to a man he had never met in a country he would never visit in his wife's name that cost him the equivalent of maybe 5 hours of work (he stipulated that the donkey must be named "Poppy")-- was sent thousands of miles south. The UK volunteer who runs Horse and Donkey put in some of her time to do the necessary paperwork, in exchange for a feeling of time well spent and intercultural experience. And I showed up, fluent in the language and the customs of the powerful, using a small part of my time and influence on Musa's behalf to lobby, successfully, for him to have a donkey and a plow. Three rather small acts of generosity from a class of people in the top 5% of the worlds powerful and wealthy that will mean a world of difference and possibly the first step out of abject poverty for a good friend and a great person. It would take Musa at least 2 months labor to earn enough money to get a donkey, in the unlikely event that he could find work.

So...do not be afraid to donate. It can end up making a drastic impact on someone's life who you will never meet, and mildly assuage inequitable world we live in. On the other hand, handouts given by uninformed people, and even NGO's and the UN (how many millions of people does the World Food Program keep dependent on food aid each year without addressing the underlying problems?) create a destructive and pathetic cycle of dependency, crushing locals self-esteem, and ensuring people will not work to help themselves. Approach aid and donations with caution.

So...what else have I been doing?

Mostly working toward starting cashew orchards. I am working with 20+ individuals on a scale ranging from each person in my woman's association owning 2 cashew trees to a man that is starting an orchard of 1500 trees. It's a new idea and a new technology in this region of the country (just now taking off in the capital) and in my area, far from the road, markets, jobs, NGO assistance, etc., one of the only alternatives to farming peanuts for almost no money on ever more degraded soils. There is the added benefit that cashew are at least better for the environment than peanuts. They obviously provide no habitat, but their benefits in soil conservation far surpass farming. And in a country that is only 7% covered in forests (compared to 50% thirty years ago), any vegetation to stave off desertification is better than none.

I have worked as an intermediary between the villages and that NGO doing the basic development worker training I referenced earlier. I started a tree nursery at my local school yesterday. I've worked some with mango propagation. And finally, I am working with my woman's association to hopefully get this garden off the ground before the rainy season starts in just a couple weeks. It is very difficult to mobilize any group of 45 people to do communal work. Especially in an unfamiliar language and culture, and when the work is a new idea to begin with (gardening).

But, things are coming along, slowly slowly. The rains are coming and I am excited about that. Saw some lightning and rain drops a few nights ago.

Hope all is well.

Cam

Our shadows slide forty or fifty feet stretching out to the foot of the giant mahogany tree we have been sitting under all day, chatting, arguing, clapping, laughing, and drinking cup after cup after cup of thick sweet attaya (green tea). A government representative has come to my village and seems to actually be planning on doing something positive to help out this area, which may be the poorest in the country. Representatives from about 9 villages have come to have come to this meeting to figure out where to put the new health clinic and the two new solar powered wells in the region. All of this "development" may prove illusory--every election cycle reps come and promise things that will never ever happen. I'll believe it when I drink from that well and walk into that clinic. The meeting lasts about 6 hours. Six hours of old grizzled men with eyes clouded by cataracts standing and shouting for their village to have all the new developments. Six hours of dignified women wrapped in crimson head scarves making the comprimises (in 3 different languages) that allow everyone to leave happily at the end of the day. One must stand up for one's tribe and one's village, but one must also compromise.

My patience has grown. In the past I could never have sat under a tree for 6 hours understanding only 40% of what was said. But, I want to be there. I want to stay because it increases my presence in the whole area and gives me the credibility I need to get stuff done. As a payoff when the meeting ends, the government rep and I exchange numbers, project ideas and make vague plans to work together later. In a more tangible development a villager from 10 miles away, and I make plans to start a cashew and mango orchard. Once again, when I am eating a juicy mango by the river, I'll believe it. I try to hedge all my bets here by agreeing to work with pretty much anyone that has an idea, or any one that will listen to and accept this strange white man's rants about the desert dropping south, the invisible particles in the soil that make your food grow washing away, or the fact that the next generation's farms will be half the size they are now because of overpopulation. If 5% of projects get going it will have been a huge success.

When the 104 degree heat dissipates slightly, I hop on my bike and head over to the closest village. My shadow has stretched out to 80 feet as the sun hangs petulantly over the edge of the land. A dust cloud of topsoil swirls above like a brown daytime Northern lights headed off toward the ocean. I had delivered some seeds to the women in the village a week ago and was anxious to see if they had been planted. Success! I arrive to a scene that is every development workers dream. 10 women and children are hand tilling the soil with the same trustworthy hoes they have been using for 2000 years. Dust kicks up from their work, refracts the burnt red of the evening sun and encircles the women in a spiral. We talk and laugh. We make tenuous plans to plant massive amounts of fruit trees in a village that for the 50 years of its existence has only planted one. My friend in the village explains how villages of only 5 households are best because the people are all "One". They all had the same grandparents. I contemplate trying to explain basic genetics and that it is good to toss some new genes into the pool. But, a little girl grins, crumbles a clod of wet earth between her hands and explains that to me that she likes to garden. I grin back, shake hands and ride back to my village watching our 100 foot shadows glide across the earth.

It's kind of funny being a peace corps volunteer in the Gambia. Because you work for the Dept of State, and sadly, simply because you are white, you end up with way more credibility than you deserve. My favorite, and least important example of this is when I am riding on a gele gele (bush taxi) and we are stopped at a military checkpoint. Everyone must present ID. I flash my peace corps ID with "United States of America" emblazoned in big letters on the top. The baffled soldier often, widens his eyes a bit, nods, and moves on to the others. I do my best to give meaningful nods to the hardest meanest looking people in the gele--they all think I'm CIA. In two days, I will be overseeing the installation of 2 wells for a womens garden in my village. This should improve food security, and add a lot of income for the women during the crucial 9 month dry season. I've been left with a $2500 grant from the previous PCV at my site to put these wells in. I know nothing about well-digging, have yet to get tons of gardening experience, and am still figuring out language and culture. On the local economy, a $2500 project is about the equivalent of a $250,000 project back in the US. But, as it always seems to turn out, whenever you have no idea what you are doing, just pretend you do and it will work out. I also went to a NGO training manual development workshop this last week. Stay Green, The Gambia's only environmental NGO was trying to develop training manuals for alternative farming and woodlot practices to address deforestation and desertification in the country. They wanted a few peace corps agroforestry volunteers to sign up, so me and a friend came basically to hang out together and eat good free food. Much to my surprise, the other members on the panel were all top members of various government ministries...and then there was us--brand new Peace Corps volunteers yet to even really start any projects. Fortunately, they didn't know how unqualified we were (they also thought I was 40-men here can't grown beards until they are about 25) until the last day. But, we ended up being pretty crucial to the development of good manuals. The head of Stay Green is the Gambian representative to several UN conventions that they have signed onto (Desertification, Climate Change, etc.), and was impressed with us and wants to collaborate on future work. Its all good developments. I was feeling pretty disillusioned with my prospects here. The basic fact that there is a 9 month dry season really rules out any agroforestry work for all but 3 months out of the year, but I think there is a fair chance that I'll find some other good work to do as well. Hope all is well. Cam

Howdy Folks, Change your life, change your wife, change your self into a nine year old Hindu boy. For those of you who have kept in toach and followed my recent travels some of this may sound familure. Never the less, if it pleases you, read it on a major on-line publication. Today's Slate.com headlines read, "Three knuckleheaded guys cycle the silk road." This will run as a five day series, collect them all. Check out the slide show for some good looks at what life on the road in Central Asia is like. http://www.slate.com/id/2159564/entry/2159565/ Put alittle fun between your legs...ride a bike. Mikey

Everyone is raving about the all-new Yahoo! Mail beta.

1 minute for an email. I ate a rat. It tasted exactly like turkey. It was huge--bigger than a racoon. While I ate it there was a 4 foot headless lizard next to me for dinner. Life is funny. Where are you phil ?

Hello friends and family, Things are going well over here in the Gambia and I figured I would update you on a few things: First and foremost...last week I ate about 1/4 of a sheep in one day. I consider it one of my life's greatest accomplishments. Tobasky, the biggest holiday of the muslim year happened to fall on New Years Eve. So, rather than ring in 2007 with copious quantities of champagne, I dined on ram stomach, lungs, intestines and an entire leg. I also introduced my family to the rather novel, Thai coconut goat leg curry. Tobasky celebrates the bibilical story of when God decided that rather than sacrificing his son, Abraham's ram would be sufficient. This works out well for me because I have been protein starved for most of the time I've been here. In fact I had a dream last night about a 6 inch long cashew covered in peanut butter. There has been incredible traditional music in my village everynight for the last 3 days. Some traveling musicians with a violin-like instrument called a nanero and a few drummers have been visiting different parts of the village every night and partying until about midnight--which is impressive when you wake up with the sun. The music is for the women--they pay for it and they dance to it. The men usually stand in the background and grin foolishly at the most massive booty-shaking spectacle I've ever seen in my life. As honorary weird white guy in the village I get to stand in the circle with the booty shaking women. This is definitely some pre-Islamic culture coming through. Women from 12 to 80 get in the middle of a circle and break it down while chanting "Tonight I will sleep in someone else's bed!". The first time I saw it we were in the middle of a vast field, the sun had just set, and the throbbing circle of dancers was pulsating in and out, screaming, dancing, jumping, and sending a dust cloud skywards. As I was walking back to my house from the local primary school yesterday evening a man dressed as a lion with his face painted like a lizard and a 6 inch snakes tongue hanging out of his mouth ran up to me and shoved a 5 inch nail up his nostril...that was fairly unusual. Animist traditions poke their "uncivilized" heads up through the fabric of muslims society pretty frequently. The lion-man proceeded to freak out the entire town (to their delight) as he chewed up razor blades (and a coin that I gave him), blew fire, ate fire, went into a trance, and danced faster than anyone I've ever seen. I have also been asked to be the manager of the village soccer team. They take this very seriously, and have already designated a coach, assistant coach, captains, and made jerseys. Apparently my white guy skills will be best used in the capacity of manager. Now we just need a soccer ball. This morning I saw no less than 100-130 baboons (some like linebackers with fangs) crossing the "road" in front of me on their way back from the river. Things are pretty good here. I hope they are the same with you. Also...it looks fairly likely that I will be in Morocco meeting my family next November for about 2 weeks. I'm gonna stay an extra 2 after they leave so if anyone wants to meet up and hang out....... Cam baboons

I am officially an employee of the US State Department. Funny, huh? What's even stranger is that yesterday I gave a speech on national TV in the Gambia in a language that I had never even heard of a few monhts ago. I was asked to give the speech in a local language for the new group of Peace Corps trainees. Yesterday I swore in as a Peace Corps volunteer. I am no longer the mere trainee that I have been for the last few months. Tomorrow morning I will leave the capital (Banjul) and head up country to the tiny village of about 200 people, a school, a bunch of mudhuts and millet fields and more donkeys that you can shake a stick at (fortunately my village is in a relatively undeforested area of the Gambia, so there are actually sticks to shake). It will be pretty much the same lifestyle that I have had for the last 2 and 1/2 months. A lifestyle and routine marked by the rising and setting of the sun over Baobab studded savanna and the rhythms of the call to prayer rising into the air from the mosque. Training has been good. I deep fried 2 turkeys for thanksgiving and started a massive grease fire. One time me and some friends were trailed by a troop of about 35 huge (up to 200 pound) baboons who were certainly unhappy about our presence, and made it known through shaking trees, beating there chests, and barking. One of the coolest wildlife interactions I've had. But mostly I just studied language, relaxed under trees and played with little Gambian kids. The Gambia is a good place. It doesn't inspire awe with huge mountains or teeming cities. But, it is peaceful and the rural areas hearken back to a subsistence lifestyle that is in all of our pasts. I'm very happy that I am in Peace Corps here. It has the highest density of volunteers of and PC country, there are tons and tons of NGOs to work with and lastly, there is lots and lots of work to do. The Gambia lies in the Sahelian region, one of the worlds largest agricultural zones, stretching across Africa in a belt under the Sahara. The land and livelihoods of millions are threatened here and agricultural, if not ecological collapse seems just over the horizon. Our profligate resource consumption in America, Europe and East Asia is directly and profoundly threatening survival over here as the are dries out from global warming. 50 years ago the Gambia got about 20% more rain and had a 5 and 1/2 month rainy season. I've talked to friends who remember the rains starting the first week of June even in the late 80's, now they come in mid-July. This small fragile country is also experiencing a population explosion (surprise surprise) with about 50% of the people under the age of 15. Most familes have about 8-10 kids (but it should be noted that it is a polygamous society, so often there are 2 or 3 wives in a family). 80% of the country was forest 60 years ago, now it is about 8-18%. And on top of all that peanuts which have accounted for probably 95% of rural families cashincome historically, and now worth nothing or close to it because the country kicked out the company that processed and exported them. Good times. Oh... and I forgot to mention that most of the agricultural land is severely degraded. Then there is malnutrition. In some areas, all people eat is white bread, white rice, and white sugar. Starvation isn't much of an issue over here. Diabetes (from all the sugar) and malnutrition from the 9 months of the dry season with almost no fruit are serious serious health concerns. What to do? I have a lot of project ideas and will spend a few months in my village learning more language and building relationships before I try to do anything huge. But the major projects I will work on are all going to focus on improving farming methods by intercropping nitrogen fixing trees, introducing new crops, and also just a lot of awareness raising. People have little idea that they can grow their food in a different way, or grow new foods, or grow certain crops together, and hugely increase their yields and their income. There is a tree called Moringa Olifera that I'm gonna try to promote a lot as well. It grows ridiculously fast (like 20 feet a year), is drought tolerant, nitrogen fixing, and the leaves are basically the equivalent of a vitamin supplement with tons of protein thrown in. You can plant it close together to make a live fence, you can feed it to your goats, its seeds act as a water purifying agent, it can grow from cuttings, you can make a super effective plant growth gormone out of its leaves. It is almost absurd how useful it is. My village already grows it but they dont know about making powder from the leaves (which is a much more effective means of getting vitamins). There is a hospital about 6 miles away and I want to look into producing the powder to sell to the hospital. Lots of other ideas as well. Women's gardens, school gardens, permaculture, ad infinitum. They gave me a site where the previous volunteer had done tons of work (in fact I just got $2500 from a grant he had submitted to put in a well for the womens garden) which is great because the people are psyched about Peace Corps. As we all know, I am by no means a farming or forestry expert...at all. But, I have truly learned the value of a good education, organization skills, and literacty here. I can get on the internet and order seeds from south America for some new crop which could drastically improve their nutrition, then I can record info on different trials to see which worked best. As a PCV in a rural illiterate village, by far the most applicable skill is networking and literacy. And simply coming from a culture rooted in innovation. Even the concept of a new idea is a new idea in the timelessness of rural Africa. I'm tired of writing and you all are probably tired of reading. Much thanks to everybody for the letters and the support before I left. This was a tough decision, but it was definitely the right decision. I look forward to 2 years of hard work, personal growth, and above all trying to do something positive in the world. peace Cam

and to celebrate, an alernate rendition of the "Twelve Days of Christmas"...on YouTube of course.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WrXduG6hUms

Hello everybody, I thought I had already mailed out my address a while ago, but maybe I didn't so here it is. I hope everything is good back home. Here is my address over in The Gambia in case you wanna write Campbell Moore US Peace Corps PO Box 582 Banjul, The Gambia West Africa Jam Tan Cam

Hey everybody, I'm alive, and I'm also in Africa. Both of which are very cool things. I only have a minute, but...so far things are very very good. The Gambia if full of awesome laid back interesting people. Despite being tiny and having no mountains, it is lovely, and has incredible cultural diversity (about 9 languages in a place the size of New Jersey). I'm learning a language called Pulaar which is spoken by people all over west Africa and even as far away as places like Ethiopia. It should be very useful to learn. My ethnic group (the Fulas) are stereotypically stinky, thieving herders that dont know how to cook, so I should fit right in. The training is intense. It last about 10 hours a day, and then I go sit in a hot humid stuffy room and try to sleep. Then I wake up and get pumped full of all sorts of vaccinations and spend all day learning languages again. In a few day's I'll be going out to live in a rural village for the next 2 months or so for training. Then, after that I actually get my assignment. Things happen sllllooooooowwwwwwwllllllllyyyyyy over here. It should be a good adjustment for me. I'm gonna have a pet goat.... yeah, it is hard to know what to say.

Well....this will probably be the last email for quite a while. I'll send letters, but only if you send them to me first so I can get addresses. I hope all is well. It was great hanging out with everyone right before I left. Come visit. It will be fun. Jam Tan (peace only), Cam

I was thinking about it and I realized that it would probably be easier to write letters to people if I knew anybody's address. So...what are your addresses? Cam

Hello friends, As most of you probably already know, I'm leaving in a few days for 27 months of living in The Gambia (Africa) with the Peace Corps. I'm there ostensibly to be doing environmental work, focusing on forestry/reforestation stuff, but in reality, God knows what I'll be doing. Either way, I get to live in Africa for a couple of years, learn a new language or two, and hopefully contribute something positive to the world. Strange as it seems, I think it will provide an opportunity for me to just relax and reflect for a while. The past two years of my life have been incredible--biking across continents with my best friends, living in a yurt on top of a mountain in W Virginia, and freezing my ass off in Massachusetts doing Wilderness Therapy trying to convince juvenile delinquents to stop stabbing people and selling crack. But, I'm also exhausted. Being around people only long enough to remember why you love them, spending 24 hours everyday with one or 2 people for a year at a time and then not seeing them for months, and falling in and out of love with girls based on proximity gets a bit old. Not that its not worth it. It is the shit actually. It is the best thing that could have ever happened to me. But, now it is time for something else. So, this email has 2 purposes. One, to give you all my address over there. I'll probably only have email access after the first few months. But, I would really really love to get letters, and I can promise you that I will write back to you. Campbell Moore, PCV US Peace Corps PO Box 582 Banjul, The Gambia West Africa And second, to say goodbye and that I love you all (even the people whoose email addresses I dont recognize on this list). Some of you I have know from the second of my birth, and others I've only become friends with in the last year or so. All of you are awesome wonderful people that have enriched my life beyond measure. All the road trips (Big Baby Jesus), St. Mary's bonfires, miles pedalled across the best continent on earth, mountains climbed, protests attended, wastedness on tropical islands, drunken motorbike riding, Rubble Heaps, 40's parties, Kegs 4 Kids, Outdoors club trips, busting through the ice in the St. Mary's river to jump in, and every other awesome moment wih you people has left an indelible imprint on who I am. The best parts of myself have come from all of you. And the best moments of my life have been with you. Thank you all for being teachers and friends. Now that I've got the sentimental stuff out of the way... I'd love to hang out with you all this weekend. I assume everybody already knows about the massive throwdown in DC Friday night, and then the drunken sailing Saturday at St. Mary's and the consequent partying Saturday night. If not, call me--443 404 6066. If anybody ever wants to come hang out in Africa. I'm down. As far as Africa goes, The Gambia isn't super expensive to fly to. You can actually get really cheap charter flights to Senegal or The Gambia from Britain or Germany. And Morroco isn't all that far (in a relative sense), I could meet there. Lastly...Tanzania anyone? I get 24 days off a year that I would like to spend wrestling lions in the Serengeti...or climbing Kilimanjaro--I could use some backup. And finally, who knows what will have happened by then, but for now, I'm planning on spending all my "Readjusment allowance" on India, Pakistan, and Tibet in 2009, so if anybody is interested... and remember...if you are ever feeling down, somebody in Africa loves you. You people are fanstastic. I can't wait to see all the great things you will do with your lives. Now for some shout-outs: Jesse Moore- You are my best friend. You are also a tough motherfucker and I believe in you and know you can get through this. Phillipe- You are my other best friend. I will now admit that I love Holland. Go study Arabic so we can be mujahideen. Danny Miller- You are so wise. You're like a miniature Buddha all covered in fur (or back hair). I'll see you in enlightenmentville 10,000 years after you are there. Alec Muller- Let me know when you find out which idyllic tropical island you are from. I'll come live with you there. Yen- PHYSICS! You are the shit Yen. Go to Indonesia. Kenny Fletcher- You have been my friend for 10 years, and my appreciation of how great a person you are only grows every year. Tell NPR I said hi. Ken Bogel- Maybe we should have our ecovillage on Ko Chang. Kenna Hernly- You are great and you will do great at whatever you do in life. Matoska- I can't even count the years of our friendship. Hopefully there will be many more. J-bob- Where in God's name is your crazy ass? Come to Africa. Tweek- You are one of my favorite people on Earth, and not just because of your beautiful blond locks. Greg Grim- You are a great person, and I am often an idiot. I'm sorry. You are also one of the only people on Earth I would get wasted with at a tribal village in Laos 40 miles up a river from the nearest road at, and then insult the nice and well-meaning villagers, steal a sinking bamboo raft from them, and then float down a river at night in the jungle filled with tigers while getting our raft smashed apart on rapids, and then pass out on a sandbar, and feel totally cool and comfortable with the situation. Mikey Church- You are the other person I would feel alright with doing that with. Hell, I'd feel downright psyched about it. Thanks for the years of friendship, the thousands of miles, the hundreds of stupid and dangerous future expeditions dreamed up, and for teaching me a lot about myself and what friendship is.

Howdy,I'd like to make a couple of corrections/addendums to

Mikey's note here:

1. That's horse milk, not horde milk.

2. Mikey killed his pet trilobites within 24 hours. I

wouldn't trust him with the small hellions he's now in

charge of 20 hours a week.

3. the Navajo/Yabba Pima Indian is our wonderful

roommate, Tahlia, the literature teacher at the

school.

4. In addition to vodka class, there were also beer

and wine classes. I think I've got my work cut out

for me here. Actually, I just got an email from a

Frenchman who's working with an NGO on the alcohol and

TB problem in the ger districts of the city; we'll

meet in the next couple of weeks. Hope I can start

out doing some volunteering for them. More later,

Katie--- Michael Church <mikeylikesbikes@yahoo.com> wrote:> Howdy Folks,

> It's kinda cool when you can write your sibling an

> email saying something like, "I'm getting on a train

> to Ulan Bataar in 12hrs, I don't know how long the

> train trip is or when it arrives. Hope to see you

> at the train station and if not I'll find you in the

> city some how." And then a day and a half later you

> arrive in the backwater capital of a Central Asian

> country and your sister steps out of a crowd and

> gives you a hug.

> Since I last wrote, I have joined my sister as a

> schoolteacher in UB, the capital of Mongolia.

> UB is a sprawling city of contrasts. The streets

> are crowed youngsters in designer jeans and head

> phones mixing with old weather beaten herders

> wearing traditional del robes and richly decorated

> leather riding boots. Set up next to Soviet

> high-rise apartment buildings are gers, traditional

> Mongolian yurts or felt tents, which sell ayrik,

> fermented horde milk, to urbanites and country

> bumpkins alike.

> Kate and I are sharing a 7th story apartment,

> about two blocks from the national wrestling palace

> and two blocks from the school, with a Navaho

> Indian. I sleep in the hallway and have three pet

> trilobites that live on the porch.

> There is a convenient store attached to the side

> of our building and an old man sells fresh yogurt

> and milk outside every morning. We are one block

> from a pretty sweet, and by sweet I mean trashy,

> Mongolian nightclub and Karaoke bar.

> I got off the train on Friday and was teaching 2nd

> and 3rd graders conversational English on Monday.

> It is fun when my schedual changes and no one tells

> me.

> The kids here are wild children of the steppe. The

> classes I'm teaching have a wide mixture of English

> levels. Some children are fluent, native

> speakers--one of their parents is western or they

> have lived in England or the US--and other students

> have no English language--their parents drop them

> off the horse in the morning. I have been giving

> kids English names if they don't already have them;

> there is a Chip and Dale, and a Daisy. One kid who

> already had an English name calls himself Robokop,

> pronounced Robo Cop-- he's pretty cool. Other good

> names are Rex, Rocky and Ke Ke.

> As an introduction to the class I allowed the

> children to ask me any questions they wanted. I

> answered how old I am, where I’m from, what’s my

> girlfriends name, etc… And then one kid asked me,

> “All dinosaurs have tails,” to which I didn’t know

> how to respond.

> The children are generally horrible and I’m I'm

> not the greatest disciplinarian. I've got too much

> sympathy with the wild ones, since I used to be one.

> But as I grow into this role things are generally

> getting better.

> This weekend all the teachers of the school,

> Mongolian and foreign, went to the county side for a

> teacher development day. Still in the parking lot

> the gym teacher was already measuring out shots of

> Chinggis Khan vodka for everybody on board.

> Hurtling through the rolling autumnal steppe, three

> bottles, and a lot of singing latter we arrived at

> the retreat, a beautiful ger camp, set amid huge

> glaciated granite formations.

> After a special mutton lunch which involved lots

> of toasting we were allowed free time to hike in the

> mountains but were told to be back by four for a

> teacher meeting. At the appointed hour we all piled

> into a ger for what the Mongolian teachers referred

> to as “vodka class.”

> All and all it was a very drunken and pleasant

> professional development day. That’s the news from

> this end, give me a holla to tell me what your up

> to.

> MikeyConfucius says, "Butcher who back into meatgrinder get a little behind in business."__________________________________________________

Do You Yahoo!?

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Howdy Folks, It's kinda cool when you can write your sibling an email saying something like, "I'm getting on a train to Ulan Bataar in 12hrs, I don't know how long the train trip is or when it arrives. Hope to see you at the train station and if not I'll find you in the city some how." And then a day and a half later you arrive in the backwater capital of a Central Asian country and your sister steps out of a crowd and gives you a hug. Since I last wrote, I have joined my sister as a schoolteacher in UB, the capital of Mongolia. UB is a sprawling city of contrasts. The streets are crowed youngsters in designer jeans and head phones mixing with old weather beaten herders wearing traditional del robes and richly decorated leather riding boots. Set up next to Soviet high-rise apartment buildings are gers, traditional Mongolian yurts or felt tents, which sell ayrik, fermented horde milk, to urbanites and country bumpkins alike. Kate and I are sharing a 7th story apartment, about two blocks from the national wrestling palace and two blocks from the school, with a Navaho Indian. I sleep in the hallway and have three pet trilobites that live on the porch. There is a convenient store attached to the side of our building and an old man sells fresh yogurt and milk outside every morning. We are one block from a pretty sweet, and by sweet I mean trashy, Mongolian nightclub and Karaoke bar. I got off the train on Friday and was teaching 2nd and 3rd graders conversational English on Monday. The kids here are wild children of the steppe. The classes I'm teaching have a wide mixture of English levels. Some children are fluent, native speakers--one of their parents is western or they have lived in England or the US--and other students have no English language--their parents drop them off the horse in the morning. I have been giving kids English names if they don't already have them; there is a Chip and Dale, and a Daisy. One kid who already had an English name calls himself Robokop, pronounced Robo Cop-- he's pretty cool. Other good names are Rex, Rocky and Ke Ke. As an introduction to the class I allowed the children to ask me any questions they wanted. I answered how old I am, where I’m from, what’s my girlfriends name, etc… And then one kid asked me, “All dinosaurs have tails,” to which I didn’t know how to respond. And then I was asked to name all the planets in out solar system. I considered it a trick question for a moment, since Pluto has recently been demoted to a planetoid and a new planet-ish body has been discovered on the outer reaches of our system, but it turns out I was over estimating the second grader. The children are generally horrible and I’m I'm not the greatest disciplinarian. I've got too much sympathy with the wild ones, since I used to be one. But as I grow into this role things are generally getting better. This weekend all the teachers of the school, Mongolian and foreign, went to the county side for a teacher development day. Still in the parking lot the gym teacher was already measuring out shots of Chinggis Khan vodka for everybody on board. Hurtling through the rolling autumnal steppe, three bottles, and a lot of singing latter we arrived at the retreat, a beautiful ger camp, set amid huge glaciated granite formations. After a special mutton lunch which involved lots of toasting we were allowed free time to hike in the mountains but were told to be back by four for a teacher meeting. At the appointed hour we all piled into a ger for what the Mongolian teachers referred to as “vodka class.” All and all it was a very drunken and pleasant professional development day. That’s the news from this end, give me a holla to tell me what your up to.Mikey All-new Yahoo! Mail - Fire up a more powerful email and get things done faster.

Howdy Folks, It's kinda cool when you can write your sibling an email saying something like, "I'm getting on a train to Ulan Bataar in 12hrs, I don't know how long the train trip is or when it arrives. Hope to see you at the train station and if not I'll find you in the city some how." And then a day and a half later you arrive in the backwater capital of a Central Asian country and your sister steps out of a crowd and gives you a hug. Since I last wrote, I have joined my sister as a schoolteacher in UB, the capital of Mongolia. UB is a sprawling city of contrasts. The streets are crowed youngsters in designer jeans and head phones mixing with old weather beaten herders wearing traditional del robes and richly decorated leather riding boots. Set up next to Soviet high-rise apartment buildings are gers, traditional Mongolian yurts or felt tents, which sell ayrik, fermented horde milk, to urbanites and country bumpkins alike. Kate and I are sharing a 7th story apartment, about two blocks from the national wrestling palace and two blocks from the school, with a Navaho Indian. I sleep in the hallway and have three pet trilobites that live on the porch. There is a convenient store attached to the side of our building and an old man sells fresh yogurt and milk outside every morning. We are one block from a pretty sweet, and by sweet I mean trashy, Mongolian nightclub and Karaoke bar. I got off the train on Friday and was teaching 2nd and 3rd graders conversational English on Monday. It is fun when my schedual changes and no one tells me. The kids here are wild children of the steppe. The classes I'm teaching have a wide mixture of English levels. Some children are fluent, native speakers--one of their parents is western or they have lived in England or the US--and other students have no English language--their parents drop them off the horse in the morning. I have been giving kids English names if they don't already have them; there is a Chip and Dale, and a Daisy. One kid who already had an English name calls himself Robokop, pronounced Robo Cop-- he's pretty cool. Other good names are Rex, Rocky and Ke Ke. As an introduction to the class I allowed the children to ask me any questions they wanted. I answered how old I am, where I’m from, what’s my girlfriends name, etc… And then one kid asked me, “All dinosaurs have tails,” to which I didn’t know how to respond. The children are generally horrible and I’m I'm not the greatest disciplinarian. I've got too much sympathy with the wild ones, since I used to be one. But as I grow into this role things are generally getting better. This weekend all the teachers of the school, Mongolian and foreign, went to the county side for a teacher development day. Still in the parking lot the gym teacher was already measuring out shots of Chinggis Khan vodka for everybody on board. Hurtling through the rolling autumnal steppe, three bottles, and a lot of singing latter we arrived at the retreat, a beautiful ger camp, set amid huge glaciated granite formations. After a special mutton lunch which involved lots of toasting we were allowed free time to hike in the mountains but were told to be back by four for a teacher meeting. At the appointed hour we all piled into a ger for what the Mongolian teachers referred to as “vodka class.” All and all it was a very drunken and pleasant professional development day. That’s the news from this end, give me a holla to tell me what your up to.Mikey Want to be your own boss? Learn how on Yahoo! Small Business.

Howdy Folks, I'm currently in Chang Mai, Thailand, taking a vacation from riding my bike. Big daily activities include reaching for my fruit shake from my hammock, reading Walden agein, and getting massaged. Just finished a quick junt through Cambodia with my best closest friend, Ali Sharp. The tourist activities around Poneng Phen are quite morbid. Learned alot about land mines and genocide at ther Killing Fields and SR 1 the Khmer Rouge's most notorious prioson. There are more amputies there then any other place I have traveled. Eye opening. There are other activities for those less into history. Over the years I have heard stories abotu how it is possible to shoot cows with RPGs when in Cambodia. One day a tuk tuk, three wheeled motorcyle cab, driver asked Ali if she wanted to shoot an AK 47. Ali responded no she didn't, she has already fired automatic weapons in America, but what about a cow? The tuk tuk driver looked suprised for a second and said, "Oh, you want to shoot cow, very expensive. Used to be every tourist come to Cambodia shoot cow for fun. Now cow very expensive. Spent four days climbing about the largest temple complex in the world, Ankor Wat, the capital of the Khmer empire. It is perhaps the greatest arcitecual relic in the world. The only place I know of which rivials it for granduer complimented by natural scenery is the Nepitian capital at Petra in Jordan. The funniest thing I herd in Cambodia was when a motorcycle taxi driver asked me if I had ever met George Bush. When I answered 'No', he sighed and looking at the ground commented "I never met my king either. That's my life in a nut shell. I'll be home sooner then later, let me know where you at. Mikey Talk is cheap. Use Yahoo! Messenger to make PC-to-Phone calls. Great rates starting at 1¢/min.

Howdy Folks, I'm currently in Chang Mai, Thailand, taking a vacation from riding my bike. Big daily activities include reaching for my fruit shake from my hammock, reading Walden agein, and getting massaged. Just finished a quick junt through Cambodia with my best closest friend, Ali Sharp. The tourist activities around Poneng Phen are quite morbid. Learned alot about land mines and genocide at ther Killing Fields and SR 1 the Khmer Rouge's most notorious prioson. There are more amputies there then any other place I have traveled. Eye opening. There are other activities for those less into history. Over the years I have heard stories abotu how it is possible to shoot cows with RPGs when in Cambodia. One day a tuk tuk, three wheeled motorcyle cab, driver asked Ali if she wanted to shoot an AK 47. Ali responded no she didn't, she has already fired automatic weapons in America, but what about a cow? The tuk tuk driver looked suprised for a second and said, "Oh, you want to shoot cow, very expensive. Used to be every tourist come to Cambodia shoot cow for fun. Now cow very expensive. Spent four days climbing about the largest temple complex in the world, Ankor Wat, the capital of the Khmer empire. It is perhaps the greatest arcitecual relic in the world. The only place I know of which rivials it for granduer complimented by natural scenery is the Nepitian capital at Petra in Jordan. The funniest thing I herd in Cambodia was when a motorcycle taxi driver asked me if I had ever met George Bush. When I answered 'No' he sighed that he had never met his king either. That's my life in a nut shell. I'll be home sooner then later, let me know where you at. Mikey
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Hey everybody, For those that don't already know, I'm back in these here United States from Asia. All is well, the trip finished well, and Asia is still there and doing quite well in case you were wondering. I'll be in the Maryland area until Sept 20, when I leave to go to The Gambia with the Peace Corps, to spend a couple years planting trees. In the meantime, hit me up. Cam 410 535 2030

Howdy Folks, Just arrived in Kashgar, China, after a marathon push across Tajikistan's desert Pamir Plateau. Since I have last written we have been on the move non-stop, peddling, pushing, and portaging our bikes for two weeks straight. From Khorog, Cam and I set off down the Wakhan corridor, continuing to follow the Oxus river a further 300km along the Afghan boarder. The river shrinks to a racing mountain brook which one can hop across on exposed rocks. Looking to the south as we rode we could often view the staggering 7000m white monsters of the Hindu Kush which make up the boarder between Afghanistan and Pakistan. The name Hindu Kush literally translates into "Killer of Hindus." The name comes from a legend which tells of a Muslim and a Hindu going into the mountains together in the winter. As the weather became more extreme the Muslim asked to buy the Hindu's coat. The Hindu quotes an outrageous price which the Muslim paid. The Hindu gloated that he had made such a profit. In the end, the Hindu freezes to death and the Muslim gets the money and the coat. The people of the Wakhan follow a form of Islam, Islami, which boarders on shamanism. Along the way we frequently passed shrines and mausoleums to Sufi mystic teachers and other revered men, decorated profusely with the antlers of Ibex and Marco Polo Sheep. We were often invited into beautiful Pamiri houses for tea, and if we were lucky an impromptu concert of old folk songs accompanied by the Du tar, an erei sounding two stringed instrument. Crossing the pass which separates the Wahkan from the rest of the Pamir, the road degenerates into a sandy track. Not a single vehicle passed us that day. Pausing to catch my breath I looked around me and realized that other then the wind swept track, there was no evidence of humans. Slowly I came to the realization that we were really alone crept over me making the hairs on the back of my head raise up. The emotion which accompanies such a realization is difficult to impart, except to say that it is terrifying and totally exhilarating at the same moment. Back on the Pamir Highway we took a two day side trip following a faint jeep track down a river valley. Along the way we were forced to ford rivers belly button deep and carry our bikes over big rock slides. We were rewarded by a most spectacular camp sites on the bank of a huge alpine lake whose damn had been created by a earthquake. The white caps rose vertical out of the quicksilver lake as dark storm clouds raced overhead. From the only town in the Pamirs, Murgab, we tried for a newly opened boarder crossing with China at the 4300m Kulma pass. Biking 100km out of the way through waterless alpine plateau we were denied entrance by prudent Chinese authorities. I only know one Chinese curse word so I yelled it, "Tamada Bong!" Our detour was not entirely in vain, we where rewarded with a spectacular view of China's 7500m Mustagata. Our forced retreat compelled us to travel 300km over three days, including a 4600m pass in order to get out to Tajik before our visas ran up. Along the way we took many meals with yurt dwelling herders eaking out a living in this inhospitable environment. Entering Kyrgyzstan, the the landscape became lush rolling hills and one could feel that it is a bountiful land compared to it's poor southern neighbor. I sat up all night with a couple of drunk herders to catch the World Cup on a scratchy black and white TV. The herders were more into getting drunk then watching the game, although they supported opposing sides in order to entertain me. Tired of two weeks consecutive riding we decided to make one final all-out push to the Uyghur bazaar town of Kashgar. Riding into the night, the road was eerily dark as low heavy cloud cover and intermittent rain obscured the otherwise bright moon. 13hrs and 272km later we limped into a still asleep Kashgar. All and all the ride was fairly uneventful as we raced through sleepy little mud brick, Uyghur towns. The closest call came when I nearly ran into a camel lumbering across the road in the pitch dark. We are now relaxing in Kashgar, enjoying the bounty of food. We cleared a super market out of their entire stock of Oreo's. Got to run, late for a dinner engagement, Alive, Mikey __________________________________________________
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Howdy Folks, Just arrived in Kashgar, China, after a marathon push across Tajikistan's desert Pamir Platue. Since I have last written we have been on the move non-stop, peddling, pushing, and portaging our bikes for two weeks straight. From Khorog, Cam and I set off down the Wakhan corridor, continuing to follow the Oxus river a further 300km along the Afgan boarder. The river shrinks to a racing mountian brook which one could hop across on the exposed rocks. Looking to the right as we rode along we could often view the staggering 7000m white monsters of the Hindu Kush which make up the boarder between Afganistan and Pakistan. The name Hindu Kush litteraly translates into "Killer of Hindus." It comes from a legend which tells of a Muslim and a Hindu going into the mountians together in the winter. As the weather became more extreme the Muslim asked to buy the Hindu's coat. The Hindu asked an outragous price which the Muslim paid. The Hindu gloated that he had made such a profit. In the end, the Hindu freezes to death and the Muslim gets the money and the coat. The people of the Wakhan follow a form of Islam, Islami, which boardes on shaminism. Along the way we frequently passed shrines and mosuleums to Sufi mystic teachers and other reveared men, decorated profusly with the antlers of Ibyx and Marco Polo Sheep. We were often invited into beutiful Pamiri houses for tea, and if we were lucky an impromptue consert of old folk songs accopinied by the Dutar, an eire sounding two stringed insterment. Crossing the pass which seperates the Wahkan from the rest of the Pamir, the road degenerates into a sandy track. Pausing for a moment to catch my breath I looked arund me and realised, as we had not seen another human for nearly a day and a half, that other then the wind swept track, there was no other evidence of humans within sight. Slowly I came to the realzation that we were really alone crept over me making the hairs on the bakc of my head raise up. It is a feeling difficult feeling to describe, except to say that it is terrrifying and totally exilerating at the same moment. Back on the Pamir Highway we took a two day sidetrip following a faint jeep track down a river valley. Along the way we were forced to ford rivers belly botton deep and carry our bikes over big rock slides. We were rewarded be one of the most spectacular camp sites on the banks of a huge alpine lake whose damn had been created by a earthquake. The white caps rose vertical out of the quicksilver lake as dark storm clouds raced overhead. From the only town in the Pamirs, Murgab, we tried for a newly opened boarder crossing with China at the 4300m Kulma pass. Biking 100km out of the way through waterless alpine platue we were denied entrance by prudent Chinese athorities. I only know one Chinese cuse word so I yelled it, "Tamada Bong!" Our deture was not entirely in vain, we where rewarded with a spectacular view of China's 7500m Mustagata. Our forced retreat compelled us to travel 300km over three days, including a 4600m pass in order to get out ot Tajik before our visas ran up. Along the way we took many meals with yurt dwelling herders eaking out a living in this inhospitable enviroment. Entering Kyrgystan, the the landscape became lush roliing hills and one could feel that this is a bountiful land compaired to it's poor southern neibor. Tierd of riding we decided to make one final push to the Uyghur bazaar town of Kashgar, riding untill we got there. 13hrs and 272km later we limped into a still asleep Kashgar. The night eerily dark due to the heavy cloud cover and intermitant rain. The closest call came when I nearly ran into a camel lumbering across the road in the pitch dark. We are now relaxing in Kashgar, enjoying the bountiy of food. We cleared a super market out of their entire stock of Oreo's. Got to run, late for a dinner engagment, Alive, Mikey

Michael Church <mikeylikesbikes@yahoo.com> wrote: Howdy Folks, In two days I've been invited to as many weddings. Seems the Tajik summer of love is upon us. We have spent the past week cycling over mountians and along the river Oxsus of antiquity. I can literaly hit Afganistan with rocks. One would think it would be ackward to be pulled off the street and ushered into a traditional wedding celebration among complete strangers, but in reality nothing is more natural, particularly after a couple of shots of vodka with the gooms older brother. Hitting the dance floor with Afgan men and flirtatious central asian women, I was told repeatedly that I was an excelent dancer. I was asked to say a toast to the newly weds which was translated by a charming eleven year old girl who spoke english very well. I'm not exactly sure what she said, but everybody laughed at the end. We head in to the Wakhan Corridor tomarrow, another 300km along the Afgan boarder with 7000meter peaks on either side. Ought to be a hoot..if our bikes hold up. The rough roads here have been very tough on out steeds. My drive side chain stay, one of the main points which connects the rear wheel to the bike, broke clean through last week. I walked it to the next town where the local greese monkey welded it back together. We've just finished building Greg wheels with Chinese rims and his old hubs, since his rims cracked under the strain of horrible road conditions. Will be out of communication for acouple of weeks, headed into the wilds... Mikey
Want to be your own boss? Learn how on Yahoo! Small Business. Want to be your own boss? Learn how on Yahoo! Small Business.
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