This is just a little post to remind friends and family that I am not crazy.

My dad(he's a gynecologist)recently told me that I "seem emotionally unstable, but in a good way." He then continued to compare my blog to the Harry Potter series saying, "each post just gets darker and darker."

So maybe you received a letter or two from me and thought to yourself "yikes". Maybe I've talked to you on the phone (cough,cough Kristin) and said things like "Thinking of moving to Africa? OH MY GOD DON'T!" Maybe I've sent you an overemotional/erratic/unstable/all over the place email or two or twelve. Or perhaps you're my mother, and receive ridiculous emails and phone calls all the time including topics from "recent skin rashes" to "I don't know what I want to do with my life" to "I think the malaria medication's getting to me," and you worry to the point where you are forced to redecorate the house.

If you are one of these people, please accept my apologies. The last couple of months have just been rather interesting. But please know that I'll be fine. This is just all part of the experience. As the melodious Celine Dion says, "My heart will go on and on and on and on and on."

And if you're really worried, you could always send me things like stickers or food that doesn't involve rice.

Also, did I mention that my African name is Sally? Because it is. Did you know the name Sally is African? Because it's not. But it is my African name. This is why I run around the Gambia all day confused.

And I'm in love with all of you.

Looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove,

Sally

Sometimes, the life of a Peace Corps volunteer can be a little difficult.

Sometimes, people tell me that I have issues expressing my anger.

This is no longer a challenge of mine because I have adopted positive hobbies to help me express my feelings and overcome my overwhelming desire to kick my own self in the face.

For example, I am now writing haikus during times of emotional distress. I have decided to include some of my blog appropriate poetry here. Sometimes I follow the simple 5 syllable, 7 syllable, 5 syllable pattern characteristic of the traditional haiku, but sometimes I don't.

If I Kick Myself in the Face Now, Then I'll Just Be Even More Upset Because My Face Will Hurt: A Series of Haikus

By Allison Hoff

Oh, the Gambia.

I did not know where you were.

Hooray for Google.

Butt loads of children,

Asking me for some candy.

Put on some pants first

OR

I carry a stick (I couldn't decide :))

Please kids, wash your hands.

Fine, just don't eat the goat shit.

Okay, don't touch me.

I can't speak Wolof.

What the hell are you saying?

I'll just smile at you.

------------------------

You're still talking.

I hope this isn't important.

My answer is yes.

------------------------

Now I am engaged.

Sorry. I can't marry him.

MAYBE BECAUSE HE'S 55 YEARS OLD AND ALREADY HAS 3 WIVES AND 18 CHILDREN! I'm just not that into him, but thanks for the offer and I hope you spend the afternoon in peace.

This meat is chewy.

Maybe it's just bad chicken.

Nope, sheep intestines.

He is a nice goat,

Tied outside my front door.

I named him Moses.

-------------------------

Went outside today.

Where is my animal friend?

He is gone. Dinner.

(I really must stop naming all of the animals that I see. I just become too attached and it's bad for my emotional health.)

I need something sweet.

There are cough drops in my med kit.

This can't be healthy.

They are called freckles.

They are not mosquito bites.

And that is bacne (referring to acne of the back, just in case all my twenty-something-year-old friends may no longer remember what it's like to have zits all over your face and body. I, however, am fortunate enough to relive this experience once more.)

--------------------------

And that is heat rash.

and... I have no idea.

Some sort of fungus?

Not the relaxer!

Don't put that crap in my hair.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

I would bite myself,

If I were a mosquito.

Because all the other cool mosquitoes are biting me, and I would be a mosquito with low self-esteem that just wants to fit in with all the other mosquitoes and is easily influenced by peer pressure.

Where'd I put my keys?

That's right! I almost forgot.

They're in my leg hair.

Experiences at work:

Yay, Gambian time.

We're only 4 hours late.

TO OUR OWN MEETING.

Let's write this report!

Wait, no one can speak English.

Wait, no one else types.

-----------------------

That's cool, I'll write it.

Sure, I know what I'm doing.

Shoot me now. Hurry.

Read today's paper.

I laughed...cried...slapped my forehead.

Where the hell am I?

(Please see supplemental reading material)

SUPPLEMENTAL READING MATERIAL

http://www.observer.gm/enews/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=8030&Itemid=1

http://www.observer.gm/enews/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=7983&Itemid=33

http://www.observer.gm/enews/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=7695&Itemid=1

http://www.observer.gm/enews/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=8082&Itemid=1

http://observer.gm/enews/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=7017&Itemid=33

http://observer.gm/enews/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=7197&Itemid=33

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yahya_Jammeh

Which one is your favorite?

SUPPLEMENTAL READING MATERIAL THAT DOESN'T CAUSE ME TO CRY MYSELF TO SLEEP EVERY NIGHT

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/6323449.stm

http://edition.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/africa/03/15/koinange.africa/index.html

Blog is monitored.

I am apolitical.

That's me. Neutral. Yay!

Dealing with daily harassment or as Peace Corps says "unwanted attention" walking the city streets on the way to work everyday:

No, no. Go away.

I will not marry you, but...

I'll throw this at you.

Don't you follow me.

I am in the FBI.

I will report you.

(I pretty sure this is against Peace Corps policy to say things like this, but it's been about 80% effective thus far)

Don't be rude to me.

You're a really bad Muslim.

Just kidding. Don't cry.

My Peace Corps friends often say that my poetry speaks to them.

Also, Catherine Hoff was kind enough to send me an Origami for Beginners book. I used to think origami was for really lame dorks with no friends and too much time on their hands. I still agree with this statement.

But, seriously, I LOVE ORIGAMI! It is the best thing that ever happened to me.

I can now make origami hamsters with ease and precision in under 2 minutes. Wowee Mom. Thanks.

Don't Stop Believin'

Hold on to that Feeeeeeeeeeeeeelin',

Allison

Look at this. All of those market scenes are actually the Serre Kunda market which is the market that I walk through everyday. Just to give you an idea of the environment that I live in...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqFW124WYGc

So. Many have asked why I have not updated my blog for 2 months.

The reason is because I don't really know where to start.

But I am here spending the night in the computer lab at the Peace Corps office and have decided that this would be a probably be a good time. Chris and Peter, two of my friends, and I are sleeping here because the Peace Corps transit house is currently full and we are too cheap to pay the $3 to stay in another hotel for the evening. All of the volunteers in the Gambia are here now in Kombo for a group meeting called "All Vol," but really everyone came for the Fourth of July party held at the the Julbrew brewery (Julbrew is the Gambia's best/only beer). And it was all free. And it was all unlimited. And now I can't look at about 3 volunteers in the face ever again. In fact, I am expecting that one will venture to the Peace Corps office sometime this morning, in which case I will go and hide in the bathroom until said volunteer leaves.

Um. My life is pretty different now. Currently, I'm almost finished with what Peace Corps calls "3-month challenge", and what I call "3-month I'm going to kick Peace Corps in the face." Basically, we are supposed to stay at site for 3 months and NOT leave at all. Most people cheat though. Why? Because if you don't cheat at least a little, you will be slowly and effectively driven to emotional, physical and mental exhaustion, and end up adopting eccentric hobbies like origami and writing haikus (a post to follow soon!). Peace Corps's motto: The toughest job you'll ever love. This slogan is so adorable that I would like to tattoo it somewhere on myself, but I currently have some sort of unidentifiable skin rash all over my body to which the nurse replied, "You know, Allison, I don't know what the hell that is." So, no tattoo.

I guess if I can do this I can do pretty much anything.

But my site is actually really awesome. I've had quite an interesting experience and learned a lot thus far. I just miss my friends and family so very very much, which makes it kind of hard. And then I look like this:

But, I've been placed in Gambia Suburbia (I guess that's what it is? It kind of reminds me of some sort of Gambian Redwood City), and my family has electricity and a car and a refrigerator, and they all have cell phones, and my sisters listen to Celine Dion and 50 Cent, and we spend evenings watching the Action channel that plays really amazing Jean Claude Van Damme and Steven Segal movies, and then they ask me if I'm a spy and if everyone in America has a gun, and then I tell them "yes", and then I go on to explain to the that Arnold Schwarzenneger is not only the Terminator, but the governor of California.

Basically this is my life right now...

So no more romantic hut life for me, and I pretty much went through a second culture shock.

Also, some of friends may have noticed that I have regular internet access and am back to obsessively checking everyone's Facebook/MySpace profiles, and obviously my daily horoscope. This is because I have been placed with an NGO, ActionAid International the Gambia (http://www.actionaid.org/), in the HIV/AIDS department and the office I work in has internet access.

Right now, ActionAid in the Gambia basically works to support a majority of Gambia's CSOs, and I have been assigned to an organization called Mutapola, which is a network of women living with HIV/AIDS in the Gambia. The group works to capacitize women with HIV/AIDS to be self-sufficient and economically independent, to reduce stigma and discrimination against people living with HIV/AIDS, and to ensure the rights of women with HIV/AIDS to food, livelihood, comprehensive treatment and care, and representation in the legislative environment. This means that I write a assload of reports and proposals with a lot of development language like "empowerment", "capacitize", "collaboration", "stakeholders", "counterparts", "promote", "enable", "activism", "advocacy", "campaign", "consortium", "framework", and "rights-based approach". However, none of the women I actually work with are actually able to read these papers, nor do these terms mean anything to them. This is where I become slightly disillusioned and wonder if I'm just part of the problem, if what I'm doing is at all sustainable, and if "capacitizing" these women by teaching them "income-generating activities" like soap making and tie and dye, both of which have absolutely no market in the Gambia, is really only giving me something to write so that we can continue to receive funding.

I have also been really involved with the Gambian Consortium to End Violence Against Women, which is in collaboration with Women Won't Wait http://www.womenwontwait.org/, an international coalition of women's group working to end violence against women to prevent HIV/AIDS. By involved, I mean I am actually THE representative for Mutapola in the consortium. This of course makes absolutely no sense for a variety of reasons. Yet, I go to all these really long meetings and whenever I speak, everyone's completely silent in order to hear the liberated, independent Westerner tell them what needs to be done to end violence against women in the Gambia. This also makes absolutely no sense for a variety of reasons including:

1) I am not a Gambian.

2) Upon receiving my Peace Corps acceptance letter, I immediately had to google the Gambia because I had no idea where it was and thought that it must have been a typo and that Peace Corps meant to say that I was going to Zambia or Ghana and got confused. Nope, the Gambia is actually a real country. It's about twice the size of Delaware with a population of about 1.3 million people.

3) I have been working with Mutapola for only 3 months now.

4) I am 23 years old.

5) I have been living in Spokane, Washington for the past 4 years.

6) A majority of what I have learned in my women's studies classes has absolutely no relevance in the Gambian culture.

7) A majority of my experience working with women and women's groups in the United States has absolutely no relevance in the Gambian culture.

Hence, I do not know how to end violence against women in the Gambia because I have no idea what I'm doing. But I do know that teaching every women in the Gambia how to make soap and do tie and dye IS NOT THE ANSWER!!!

So, I'll just post some pictures now.

Here are some photos from the Candelight March that ActionAid held during the Global Week of Action for HIV/AIDS in remembrance of those in the Gambia that have died as a result of HIV/AIDS.

Let us first acknowledge the free t-shirt...

Some Mutapola members getting ready for the event.

Marching...

Marching...

Sitting...

Saffie, a Mutapola secretariat member, making a speech at the event.

Not gonna lie. She's kind of my favorite, and probably a large reason why I continue to stay here.

I brought my sister Binta along. Yes, my hair was braided. No, this was not my choice. This was another instance of me unknowingly agreeing to something that resulted in me being attacked by a group of Gambian women.

I'm gonna go buy some cornflakes and eat them,

Allison

Let me tell you a little bit about fudan. I had no idea what fudan was. I also do not know how to speak Wolof very well. I unknowingly agreed to partake in the process, probably assuming they were asking me if I wanted food, and was immediately attacked by mounds of Gambian women.

So fudan is basically henna tatooing of the feet and hands. Here they do it for women on special occassions, usually weddings. Or if you're just really grand. Had I known what fudan was, I would have probably tried to wash my feet beforehand. Perhaps given them a little soak. But I caught off guard with really gross-looking feet. But no one said anything about it, at least nothing I could understand. And I can't really understand a lot.

Phase 1 of the fudan process began at about 11:00 at night, and ended after 3:00 in the morning. Here they taped my feet in crazy designs, then they covered my feet and hand with the first round of goo. At 7:00 AM the next morning, I got up for round 2 of goo application. I had to go to class, which was completely across the village. So Sali lovingly pushed me in a wheelbarrow all the way to Haddy Sowe's house. I was only 45 minutes late.

After class, Tiny, my fellow Sare Samba trainee, gave me a piggy back ride back to my compound because he is glorious (and recently got a new puppy named Nancy, which is about as Afican sounding as Sally. Congratulations Tiny!)...

Tiny, obviously excited to help a friend in a time of need.

Wowee. Look at him go!

Then came round 3. They put a final goo on my feet and hands to turn the tatoo black, but this goo was different than all the other goos. It smelled like highly concentrated ammonia and made my skin tingle.... and then burn.... and then itch. I don't know exactly how healthy and safe this practice is. But I guess I'm fine??? and my feet were super cool looking.

My host mom, Yaa Je, helping with the process. I think it's important to mention that I adore this woman. She amazing, and also the first narcoleptic I've ever met. One night we were chatting and I swear mid-sentence, I looked over and she had fallen completely asleep. The first time it happened, it made me really sad because I thought she was just really bored. But when I asked my language instructor the next day about it, she told me that Yaa Je does that all the time. Narcolepsy is actually a pretty funny medical condition.

This is Ami who helped a lot with my fudan. She was the tape extraordinaire. She is also the leader of the village youth group. She is also fantastic and asked me to come and eat with her whenever I walked by her compound.

The final product.

It lasted for about 3 weeks, but now it's completely faded. Except for my fingernails and toenails, which are permanently tatooed until they grow out. Now it just looks like I have really bad greenish, barfy-looking foot fungus.

A random funny story. Last night I had to pee on the side of the road. I asked my friend Holly to look out for walking Gambians. She is a horrible friend, and a man walked right in front of me, completely mid-pee, and I couldn't stop peeing because you can't stop in the middle. And it was and interesting situation. And then I tried to apologize and explain myself, but he only spoke French.

So for our final assessment before we would officially swear in as Peace Corps volunteers, we had to give a health presentation completely in Wolof to our village. Tiny did his presentation on wound care, Cassandra on pink eye (Every member of her family [all 32 of them!] had pink eye at some point during the 10 weeks we were there. They would pour sugar and egg into each other's eyes, but would they wash their hands with soap and water? nooooooooooooo). Adam built a handwashing station, and I did my presentation on environmental sanitation.

This glorious 10 minute presentation included information such as:

Do not let animals into your kitchen areas.

Do not let animals into your houses.

Clean up animal feces in compound area on a daily basis.

Keep pit latrines away from kitchen areas.

Throw old batteries in your pit latrines so children don't play with them and suck on them (I saw this).

Be sure to throw batteries in a pit latrine far away from the well.

And finally, sweep your house everyday.

I then went on to explain that if you do not sweep your house everyday (the Gambia is pretty dusty), you will get a cold, your house will be invaded by insects, and your friends will never visit you and will talk about you behind your back.

A topic such as sweeping deserves its own song and dance. So I made up a song, and my host mom, Mam Fatou, Sali and I performed it after my presentation. Please note that the song rhymes in Wolof. I feel that this is pretty remarkable given that I can only say random things like "that chicken wants to bite me" and "why don't you want to be my friend?".

Everyone grab a broom...

This is a repeat-after-me song.

nungee bale. *repeat* (we are sweeping)

fi ak fale. *repeat* (here and there)

balel bes bu neeka. *repeat* (sweep everyday)

wisel ndox njeka. *repeat* (sprinkle water first)

Chorus:

(shake your money-makaaaaa starting now)

ci borri. bale bale, bale bale (to the side. sweep sweep, sweep sweep)

ci ganaaw. bale bale, bale bale (to the back. sweep sweep, sweep sweep)

ci boori. bale bale, bale bale (to the side. sweep sweep, sweep sweep)

ci kanam. bale bale, bale bale (to the front. sweep sweep, sweep sweep)

nungee bale. *repeat* (we are sweeping)

fi ak fale. *repeat* (here and there)

bo balewutee. *repeat* (if you don't sweep)

dinga sexat be buga dee. *repeat* (you will cough until you want to die)

[Insert chorus]

nungee bale. *repeat* (we are sweeping)

fi ak fale. *repeat* (here and there)

ponda bi dafa meti. *repeat* (the dust is paining)

ken du la seeti. *repeat* (no one will come visit you)

[Insert chorus]

nungee bale. *repeat* (we are sweeping)

fi ak fale. *repeat* (here and there)

sa neeg fes na ak jit. *repeat* (your house is full of scorpions)

duma sa xarit. *repeat* (i am not your friend)

[Insert chorus]

Catchy? I think yes.

And this is a picture of Adam's handwashing station. I thought it was creative and I think Adam is nice.

You are also nice.

Sick of spending hours everyday collecting firewood? Here, my friends is how you make a mudstove.

Materials:

4 buckets termite mound dirt

1 bucket cow shit (dried)

1 bucket grass

1 cup ash

water

a machete

3 large stones

small, naive children

Methods:

1)Send small, naive children to fetch said materials for you. Give them candy.

2)Pour all of the materials together in one big pile, minus the stones and the small, naive children, and chop it all up with a machete.

3)Add water.

4)Take off shoes. Mix together dirt, grass, ash, shit and water together with feet until desired consisitency is reached. This requires dancing and refusing to think about what it is exactly that you are stepping in.

5)When thoroughly mixed, cover and let sit for a week until it starts to smell a little funky.

6)Arrange the 3 stones in kitchen area. Place large pot on top of stones. Form rounded mud oven around the stones until it reaches the bottom of the pot.

7)Cut out hole in front for firewood.

8)Carve "Made with love by Sali Senghore" on back of mudstove, but look like you're working.

9)Let dry for one week before cooking.

10)Cook with mudstove, using 50% less firewood, and be happy about it.

Now everyone go and make one in your backyard.

So. Explaining the past three months is going to be quite a challenge, but I will try to blog my experience. I have just returned from a day at the beach. I am eating a large bag of M&Ms (Thanks Mom. You're really nice.) But don't let this fool you, I'm actually quite emotionally unstable.

I have just finished 10 weeks in the most amazing training village ever... Sare Samba! This was my modestly pimp hut (the small white one on the right) complete with pit latrine and bucket shower area.

The first night I got there, my host mom Yaa Je handed me a delightful dinner of rice and a fish head. While I don't mind a fish head every now and then these days, the sight of it on my first night in village almost brought me to tears, so I decided to search by candlelight through my trunk so lovingly provided by Peace Corps and found a jar of peanut butter and a box of cornflakes. But the food's really not that bad. Just a lot of rice, and fish, and peanut sauce. And this millet like substance called coos (not cooscoos!), which tastes kind of like sand, but delicious sand.

My hut was really awesome, except for the small mouse problem. But I actually decided to become friends with the mice and gave them all names. But then my family put a cat in my hut without my knowledge one day to take care of the mice, and the cat killed and ate all of my new friends. Please keep Rupaul, Booger, and Stupid Jerk in your thoughts and prayers.

Speaking of mice, this is the birthday package I recevied from the parentals. Apparently while the package was sitting in the Peace Corps mail room for about a month, a mouse ate all my birthday chocolate and then proceeded to eat a whole bag of raisins. This is the reason why I named my last mouse friend Stupid Jerk.

Every volunteer was given a Gambian name. My name is..... Sali Senghore, the most unAfrican sounding name possible. I was named after my host brother's wife, Sali Seen. Yes, I came all the way to West Africa to be named "Sally," but it's a lot better that a Gambian pronunciation of Allison, which sounds a lot like "Assin". The name has grown on me and I'm a fan of alliteration, so Sali Senghore it is. The last name Senghore is a Serrer last name. Serrers are an ethnic group of the Gambia and Southern Senegal that are known for being extremely good looking wrestlers and fishermen. So when I introduce myself, I usually say "My name is Sali Senghore. I'm a Serrer. Do you want to wrestle or catch fish?" (translation: Sali Senghore laa tudda. Serrer laa. Buga nga mboor wala napa jin?) This usually goes over well.

This is a picture of my host father, Baay Wali, at our naming ceremony pretending to shave my head like they do at actual naming ceremonies. But don't worry, I still have a ridiculous amount of hair. I like to refer to this new hair growth as my own little African bush.

Then of course the ceremony was followed by about two hours of dancing. The glorious woman on the left is Haddy Sowe, my language and culture instructor. She taught me how to speak Wolof everyday for 3 months. And she's amazing. And she's a nice dancer.

This is my host sister Mam Fatou, my namesake Sali, and the little baby sitting on the ground probably eating dirt, picking her nose, and then eating the dirt/snot combination, is little Haddy, Sali's daughter.

The cutest picture of Haddy ever! She's adorable when she's not eating goat feces off the ground.

This is my host brother, Modou, but everyone calls him Baay Mort. I call him BM.

My host brother/Sali's husband/Haddy's father, Ousman. He's a horsecart driver and he gave us rides to the market in Soma, which is about an hour away on horsecart. I really liked his sunglasses and wore them around the compund when he wasn't looking. I also really liked his jogging suits, but I didn't wear them.

This is me and my host mom Yaa Je. My mom owns a bitic, or little shop. She sells Jumkun, which is powder that you add to your water to makes it taste like a strawberry creamsicle. Flavored water, my new favorite simple pleasure.

Mam Fatou in the bitic. She was my best friend here. It's interesting that I found myself relating most to a 14-year old. One would think that I would relate more to Sali who's 19. But Sali is married with a baby. Mam Fatou likes math and hates boys. Thus, I hung out with Mam Fatou basically all day everyday.

My family in Sare Samba are peanut farmers, so I spent countless hours laying on the floor with them cracking peanuts, roasting peanuts, and eating peanuts. This is the big machine that they bring over once a year to make peanut butter. It was an exciting day in the Senghore compound. It worked out nicely that I like peanuts. If you do not like peanuts, do not come to the Gambia. If you are allergic to peanuts, you will die immediatly upon landing in the Gambia.

Sali, sweeping the compound with Haddy attached to her back with a towel.

Me, trying to carry Haddy on my back, and Fatou laughing at me. Yaa Je told me that I should be able to carry her because my butt was so big. Thanks mom.

Two boys on a donkey cart.

Kids at the water pump.

I had to pump all of my water for bathing, drinking, etc. out of this covered well, which took a lot of physical labor, and then carry carry it back to my hut on my head, which provided much entertainment for the rest of the village. My pecks are amazing.

Cassandra, a fellow trainee, at the pump lookin' fly.

In case you didn't know, Africa is really hot. In Sare Samba, we couldn't do anything from noon to 4:00pm. I felt like I sweat all of the sexiness out of my body everyday. So we would hang out in Haddy's backyard everyday under a really big mango tree and eat mangoes, and these lovely ladies would come and help us practice Wolof and braid each others' hair.

In recent news, I ate sea slug today. Not my favorite. Here are links to some of my friends' blogs, who actually update regularly, in case you are interested...

Beth's blog

Courtney's blog

Yay,

Allison aka Sali aka Toubab (rich white person)

Eric Hoff-

When I think of you, I think of good Chinese food, and Mountain Dew and Jet Li.

I miss you because when I do stupid things, you don't care that much and then you help me clean up after myself.

Stay fly 'till you die,

Allie

So by two weeks I meant two months. Sorry about that. I thought that I would have internet or phone access at some point, but this ended up not being the case. I did not think it would be such a big deal until the Peace Corps nurse came to visit me saying that my parents had contacted the head of security at the US Embassy in Gambia asking where I was and why I hadn't called. Geez Dad, way to embarrass me in front of all my cool Peace Corps friends.

I promise to have my blog updated very shortly with pictures. I'll have regular internet access from now on, so contacting me should not be as big of an issue.

You are all really really great.

Allison

This is a picture of the Gambian coast from the plane (courtesy of Beth Hoffman, who I now consider my better half). It is quite marvelous here. I have developed what I like to call my dewy glow, a shiny substance on my face consisting of a mixture of sweat, sunscreen, dirt, and Africa.

So we have spent 9 days in Kombo, taking mainly language classes. I am one of the three volunteers out of 21 learning Wolof. If someone asks you how work is going, you should answer, "Bam ci kawaam, ndanka ndanka," meaning I'm on top of it, slowly, slowly. I was really happy the other day when some guy at the market asked me where my husband was (every guy will ask every European-looking girl where their husband is), and I replied "Deedeet, amuma jekar. Buguma jekar leegi. Ci ka nam," meaning no, I do not have a husband. I do not want a husband now. Maybe later.

This is a picture of me and Aadam at Kackikally Crocodile Pool (RIP Steve Erwin). Yes this is a real croc named Charlie. I do believe he was drugged, or at least overfed.

Apparently, 100% of Gambian Peace Corps volunteers suffer from diarrhea during their stay. I have just finished a 2 hour class on diarrhea. We also has specific lessons on using pit latrines and taking bucket showers (none of the volunteers will have running water or electricity at their sites). Back to diarrhea. There are many types. This makes the idea of getting diarrhea a little more exciting because now I have the ability to conduct self-diagnosis and decide which type I have based on various diarrhea characteristics. I would like to now say that I think everyone should come and visit me. The food is amazing!

This is the rest of my group. They make me smile.

We are off to training tomorrow! Us Wolofs are headed to Sare Samba, a small Wolof community on the border of Southern Senegal. I will be staying with a host family for the next two weeks, and then on and off for the next 8 weeks. At this point I will probably ask them how their day is going, and then their names, and then how's the weather, and then I'll just stare at them. YAY!

In two weeks then my friends,

Allison

What exactly is going on? I am still not really sure. But it doesn't seem to matter if I know what is going on at this point. You just go. There are 21 health and community development volunteers, and we all head out tomorrow morning for MMR and Yellow Fever vaccinations. Then we are off to The Gambia with a layover in Brussels. The other volunteers are truly amazing! AMAZING. This is fabulous because we will be traveling together for 24 hours, and I'll probably start to smell pretty bad after about 8 hours.

These are my roommates. Beth (center) is from Denver and Trish (right) is from El Centro, CA. They are lovely.

It is currently snowing in D.C. Tomorrow, I will be in the Gambia where the "cool dry season has commenced, and temperatures range from 60-105 degrees Fahrenheit" (from a handout I just got today).

Gambia gonna make you sweat,

Allison

The Gambia:

*please note both pictures have been reproduced completely without permission.

Allison Nicole Hoff:

This is a winning combination!

It is around 3:00 AM or something. My flight is leaving at 9:00 AM for Washington DC, which means I still have four hours. There's nothing like pulling an all-nighter in an attempt to pack two years of essentials into two bags with a total weight of no more than 80 pounds. This is about the weight of your average 11-year-old. Given the luggage limits, however, I managed to pack an extraoridinary amount of dental floss and sunscreen, including 2 bottles of SPF 60 (yes 60) courtesy of my aunt Peggy. I also brought my Hulk sheets with the hope that I will no longer have a twin-sized bed when I return. But I might just bring them back with me.

So I am off to DC for my staging/orientation event where I will meet the other 30 or so volunteers going to the Gambia. We will bond as we receive mass immunizations together. It will be lovely to meet new people who will most likely be really cool and really great, and we'll talk about our matching Tevas. Then on Feb 1st (Happy Birthday Natalya!) we're all headed for the Gambia for 10 weeks of training in Banjul. Basically that's all I know right now. The Peace Corps likes to be really vague.

I hope you are all doing wonderfully! I am sorry I was unable to talk to a lot of people before I left. Things got a little crazy in the end. But I would love ot hear about what people are up to, and receive updates about Jim and Pam from The Office. So please email me or write to me or swim to me!

Allison Hoff, PCV

U.S. Peace Corps

PO Box 582

Banjul, The Gambia

West Africa

(be sure to write "Airmail" and "Par Avion" for a speedy two week delivery.)

Nothin' but love,

Allison/Hoff/Allie Hoff