Welcome to your country. We’ve cranked the a/c up. No trouble –we thought you’d enjoy it. Help yourself to the sushi, the blueberries, the hot pretzels, the Cinnabon, the sandwiches – watch out for the aoli – and we’ll get started.

First, a few general notes:

It’s hot outside right now – easy for you to acclimate, we hope. Some time in the next couple of months, though, you’ll notice you’re sweating less behind your knees, and the mosquitoes are going away. Eventually, leaves will change color and days will get shorter and there will be a magic crispness to the air and you will realize: it’s fall. Finally. Appreciate it, okay? Because something tells us winter will be rough for you this year.

Some things in your country may seem smaller than you remember. Others (buildings over 2 storeys tall, for example) will probably make you a little giddy. Just walk around a little and soak it in. You’ll most likely start feeling to scale after a couple of weeks.

Your country has been here all along. Remember this when you feel the urge to marvel at how clean the floors are, or how patiently people are waiting in line, or how very sales-oriented everything seems to be. Remember that we’ve been living our lives as you’ve been (we assume) living yours. Congratulate us on getting real jobs and finding nice apartments and having babies – we appreciate it! Then, tone it down and try to find something normal to talk about. For more specific ideas, see below.

Culture

You may be overwhelmed by the volume of movies, music, books and “new media” to catch up on. Don’t worry. It’s still August, and we’re going to read beach books and watch reruns and blame it all on the heat. You should probably figure out about Hulu and Netflix before September, though.

You can’t go too far wrong with movies: you’ll find that pretty much anything looks amazing in a real movie theater, especially now that we have 3D. Sometimes things may start to feel too big, too slick, or too bright; but within these things, pieces will resonate. Trust us. Watch the airport scene near the end of “Inception,” with all the strangers who know each other; watch Leonardo DiCaprio get waved through customs and welcomed home. You can make this part the emotional center, if you want. We groaned at the end, too. It’s all right if you feel like you really need for the top to stop spinning.

Pop music will also offer you its own little toeholds. Try turning up the radio whenever “Riding Solo” comes on, for example. You can do a little fist pump, too. Remember, you have your own car now.

Shopping

You can buy many, many things in your country. Quick tip: don't multiply the cost of everything by 25 or 30. This will only depress you. Focus instead on what you can buy with these hundreds of dalasis. For example:

The shoe selection is pretty exciting in your country. You’ll be interested to know that – in addition to name-brand sneakers, ballerina flats, and high heels you can wear on the street, because the street isn’t made of sand – we stock a lot of ankle boots. Many have jewels or tassels on them, and some are even available in a summery sandal style! Perhaps this will help ease your transition to actual shoes.

If you're wondering how to cover the rest of your body, we are still rocking the skinny jeans and learning to mix plaids and floral prints. We’re also into things that might be little dresses, or might be long shirts, and are kind of see-through. What do you mean, these don’t even look like clothes? We look cute. The secret is to layer.

Speaking of things that might be shirts or might be dresses, it’s okay to show your knees in your country. You’ll probably want to shave your legs first, though. Sorry, we don’t sell the blades that fit your old razor anymore. There’s a 3-blade minimum now.

Despite rumors to the contrary, people in your country do not yet have flying cars. We have smart phones, which are better.

Getting Around

Public transportation is pretty good in your country. You’ll be flummoxed by the fare cards in cities other than New York, but you’ll get your own seat, and usually a/c too.

The DeCamp bus still leaves from gates 412 and 413 at Port Authority. The fastest way up is still the stairs by the Duane Reade, then the escalator behind Drago Shoe Repair. The 33 (Grove) is still the sweetest option, unless you’re leaving after hours. Remember when you were 16 and your dad walked you through so you’d know where to go? It’s all still here, and it all still smells pretty much the same. We do try to keep some things unchanged.

Don’t look at everyone you see on the bus, train, or subway, thinking maybe you know them. You probably don’t. Some of them will turn out to be people that you went to high school with, or who used to date a friend of yours. In this case, you probably won’t remember their names. It’s okay – there are a lot of us. We got taller, or fatter, or hipper, or sadder. A lot of us got married. All of us got older. And we forgot about you a little, too. You were in Africa, right?

I realized recently that I probably smell like an old maid. There are several likely reasons for this. In the morning, I take two showers: one with water and a mild boring soap (nothing too overwhelming before 7:00, I always say), and a second one with Gold Bond Medicated Powder. This is intended to keep me fresh throughout the day, or until it hits 90 degrees. The latter usually beats the former by a long ways, but at least when I start to sweat in earnest, I tingle a little. I also give off, I imagine, little puffs of Palmolive and menthol.

I smell like an old maid in the evenings because that’s when I take my second first shower, and that’s when I break out the really exciting substances: lavender or sometimes (on special occasions) Summer Hill shower gel, for instance. I use these because they came in sweet little boxes in the mail from my mother, and they smell pretty and are said to be calming, and besides, they were free. Then it’s time for the second second shower, this one with lily-of-the-valley powder that came with its own puff, from my godmother.

I scrub and rinse and dust myself with these things because they make me feel like a lady for a few minutes, albeit a little old one. And because in between showers, I suspect, I mostly just smell.

...and I'm not sure how I feel about that:

1. To celebrate Literature Week, we made posters of The Books We Love (and why). I just finished making a sign for our display. It says, "What's at the heart of the books we love?" and yes, it is on a piece of red construction paper. In the shape of a heart.

2. Half of our school was running around the playground today playing a new version of tag. It's called "Take a Break," and it involves catching someone, screaming "TAKE A BREAK!!!" and dragging them over to the picnic tables, where they have to sit down and not play for a while. I asked; it was invented by two of my children, who "got the idea from me." My informant then tagged me and said, "Ms. Cochran, now you have to go and think about what you've done!"

Re: 1: When parents come in for Read with Your Kid day tomorrow, they're going to think I'm lazy and have left this stuff up from Valentine's Day. Whereas I ignored V-Day entirely, but was on my kids all week about getting a final draft ready for Our Display. Maybe the folding and cutting out of a red paper heart is just something I'm programmed to do around this time of year, and I can't be easy until I've done it. Maybe I emphasized product over process this time around. At any rate, I'm learning that sometimes, you just have to have something up on your bulletin boards.

Re: 2: We all know intellectually that children mimic what they hear; and all parents have, I'm sure, experienced the acute embarrassment that comes from hearing your words and tone coming out of a 3-foot-tall body. I know in my brain that I'm modeling liberal bourgeois speech patterns for my children; I do it on purpose. And yet, and yet - it's always a little disconcerting when children learn what you teach.

They love Yoshimi. They admire her capacity for kicking ass (look at the purple hair; the determined expression; the detached robot arms)...

...and her sass. Butt-length pigtails and complicated robot wiring? No problem.

Here we see the narrator looking out of a high-rise in the threatened city, singing to Yoshimi...as she takes on an evil-natured robot. In terms of voice, action, and point of view, this is probably the most thoughtful piece I've gotten from this kid all year.

It's been a few months since I taught them the song, and I'm still pleased when I put the album on. Their little heads all start bobbing along to the opening hook, and then they start singing along in the middle of writing time. I'm ridiculously pleased that they all, boys and girls, think she's a hero. Civic responsibility, taking one's vitamins, defending the human race (including boys) - one could find worse role models in the pop canon.

Yes, Veruca, there is a way to make your own.

You will need:

-8 meters of poplin (2 for the cover, 6 for the interior pages)*

-Chalk or a pencil

-A permanent marker or two

-4 snaps

-Needle, thread, and basic sewing skills; or, a helpful tailorTo make full pedagogical use of the Book Suit, you will need:

An audience

A medium-sized child (2 is better)

1. Make the cover. Using the medium-sized child as a guide, mark off the 2 meters of cover fabric into front cover, back cover and spine. I made my spine a bit too narrow – it should probably take up between a quarter and a third of the cover to map well onto a human body. Divide the rest of the cover up evenly between front and back covers.

2. Depending on the wingspan of your child, you’ll probably end up using more like a meter and a half. Leave a bit around the edges for hemming; cut off the rest and use it to test your marker on.

3. Go nuts with your pencil, chalk, and (once you’re happy with the results) permanent markers. Put an illustration on the front; make up a blurb to go on the back. I ran out of blurb ideas after about two sentences**, so I stuck a bar code and an ISBN number on there, too.

4. Measure and cut up your interior pages into 3 equal lengths. (Use the medium-sized child and your cover as a guide.) Divide each length in half to create a right page and a left page.

5. The first length will be sewn directly onto the cover, sandwich style: so, the left half of the length will be your inside cover***, and the right half will be the last page.

6. The other 2 lengths will be sewn together back to back to make the middle pages. On one of the lengths, the right half will be the first page, and the left half will be the next-to-last page. The other length will have the 2 middle pages.

7. Write on the pages separately, to avoid bleed-through. I wrote nice and big, to make the text readable and so I wouldn’t have to make too much up.**** I also included illustrations, for similar pedagogical/labor-saving reasons. Luckily, hippos take up a lot of room on the page.

8. Assemble! This is where you’ll need sewing skills, or a tailor to whom you can explain what you want, which is:

-All edges hemmed to avoid fraying

-The inside cover and last page sewn onto the cover, caftan/grand bubu style – i.e., attached at the top and sides with room for the head and the arms

-The middle two pages sewn back to back along all four sides

-The middle two pages attached to the inside cover/last page by a vertical seam down the middle. (Be careful not to attach them to the front cover, or there’ll be no room for your medium-sized child.)

-Snaps at the top corners of the pages so you can attach them to each other, then detach and turn them.

9. Try it on for the benefit of your compound. Feeling stylish, comfortable and informative? You are ready to go!

10. Find a school library that has people who are willing to run it and willing to teach kids how to use it.*****

11. Facilitate a training! Include a spiel on the parts of the book, the way it’s supposed to “stand,” how to turn the pages, and how to try to figure out what it’s about. Take lots of volunteers from the audience, and give the kids a chance to practice on real books. If the school has an active library committee or a potential librarian, get them to co-facilitate. It increases the likelihood that they’ll remember and teach others.

12. Sit back for a minute and congratulate yourself on helping under-resourced schoolchildren build concepts of print, while laughing at you. Go ahead – you are a good volunteer...and you do have a caftan handy, after all.

*Poplin is the cheapest and most readily available fabric upcountry; plus, it’s sold in nice wide bolts, which means you can just use it horizontally; however, it’s very thin. I used part of an old bed sheet for the cover, which I think bleeds less and holds up better.

**“This book is about the magnificent hippopotamus. If you are interested in hippos, you should read it.”

***You might as well include a bit with publication information and/or a dedication, right?

****It turns out I have no idea how much hippos eat in a day, for example. Solution: make up a number, and then make up a joke about how that’s even more than people named Fatty (there are many here) eat. Despite the jokes and the obvious handmade/made-up quality of the product, though, I still found that people took the number as real. Such is the power of the written word – and the Book Suit.

*****Er, this is the hard part.

About a year and a half ago, I noticed some things: A lot of the schools I visited had at least a few books aside from their government-issue textbooks. Some even had set up libraries.Hardly anyone used them.When they were used, it usually wasn't pretty. Books got torn; books got shelved backwards and upside down; books got lost.I had a lot of time on my hands.I also had a lot of art supplies.Thus was born the Book Suit: a teaching tool *and* a fashion statement.

Made of stylish, easy-care poplin, the suit is nice because it's big and pink, and you can put a kid inside it - all good attention-getters when you're doing a training session.* It also helps to anthropomorphize the book - kids seem to remember better which parts are which, and which way is up. After all, you wouldn't want Lamin or Annie to end up on their heads, now would you?

So, it has most of the standard parts of a book:

a front cover a back cover and a spine. (Get it?)

The second edition of the Book Suit also has pages you can turn, which is good for modeling gentle reading.

Thanks to Mr. Samba Marong and his excellent mechanical snap-bedazzling machine, the pages stay put when the book is standing straight and tall...as it always should be when you close it and shelve it.

I liked to have kids model with a real book too... and practice themselves.

Then, it was time to sit back, reflect on how we'd helped build concepts of print, and fold up the suit for next time. (This is the main reason that poplin is better than paper or rice bags - it travels better. Plus, it comes in handy if you find yourself in need of a caftan.) Next up: instructions on how to make your own!

*Some of these pictures are from a Peace Corps workshop, and feature volunteers; some of them are from a school training, and feature kids. Thanks to Ellie Adelman and the staff and students of Kerr Sait LBS, and to Annie Larson and Amanda Drapcho, models.

I'm out of the Peace Corps, but back in the Gambia. Life is easier than it was the last time I posted - I live 5 minutes from the beach, for one thing, and not the River Gambia tar beach. It's a little quieter, too - not nearly as many neighbors, and not so many minor adventures.

However, it's the end of 2009, and I'd like to put up some pictures. A little year in review, if you will. The end of my street during the rainy season. Thanksgiving in my living room. Peace Corps people and a couple of American visitors, who were no doubt a little less excited by the turkey and cranberry sauce than we were. The hand-turkey wreath at right has stayed up and warms my heart daily. The house plant at left is still alive, a testament to the knowledge of Ebrima the plant guy - he rightly steered me away from buying anything "not strong." Note also the 2 couches and numerous chairs -that's 2 more couches and a lot more chairs than I had a year ago.

Above-mentioned house plant, being loaded for shipment. Now that I look at it, I can see that Ebrima took better care of it than I'm doing. At least it's surviving, though.

My friend and neighbor Ellie made turkey rolls! (Those are rolls in the shape of a turkey, not rolls with turkey inside. Look closely - she even gave them little skinny legs.)

My classroom (the middle door), all done up for the holidays. Colleen (the door on the right) and I went all elementary-school multicultural - from left, we have papel cortado, prayer flags, and Chinese-style lanterns. On the far left is our assistant, Mr. Allen, who actually hung all that up. And in front are some mango and eucalyptus trees, which help contribute year-round to the back block's Secret Garden/100 Years of Solitude feel.

The inside of half my classroom, set up for our first-ever publishing party. The kids looked at different currencies and wrote books about them, which they then read aloud in thoroughly adorable fashion. (I won't post pictures of them publicly, but email me if you want proof.) As part of the usual classroom set up, we have (from left) class rules, pictures of baseball (we started playing Baseball Multiplication - thanks, Everyday Math! - and I realized that some of my kids have never seen a baseball game...plus I was a little shaky on the concepts of innings and at-bats, too), the world map, the word wall, and the single most fascinating machine the kids have ever seen: the overhead projector. Old school. On top of the chalkboard is our nascent Nifty Thrifty Fifty list - holla, fans of Patricia Cunningham! I know you're out there.I just got back from a trip to Sierra Leone, which generated a lot more beautiful and dramatic pictures than your average week in the G, but also made me realize that this place too is unique and pretty darn neat. So, watch this space for more beauty and also for more ordinary cool things. Also coming soon: instructions on how to make your very own Book Suit. Stay tuned.

Just in time for the holidays...well, Dr. Farmer has actually been advising me for several months now, but Cassandra graciously bothered to write up instructions, and the editors of "What's Paining You?" agreed to put them in print. So many people to be thankful for.

In case you were wondering: sometimes I set the Wheel of Paul Farmer to a real, moving, direct-from-"Mountains Beyond Mountains" tubthumper; more often, though, he recommends something like "Let's consult the JPS," or "Don't let the [expletive deleted]s get you down." Not a direct quote, but within the realm of possibility.

And now, to the instructions!

Good Hutkeeping

With Little Mari Hutmaker

Sometimes you just need a little advice. But out there in the wilderness network isn’t always available. For days like that you need ‘The Wheel of Paul Farmer’. This month’s project was submitted by your very own Blair Cochran (Thanks Blair!!) Read farther to find out how to make your very own ‘Spinning Advice Wheel.’

What you’ll need:

Tape

Colors/colored pencils/markers

Pen

Picture of someone you find inspirational (an Inspirational Person Picture)

Scissors

Thumbtack or paperclip

Scrap paper

Bowl/plate for tracing a circle

Heavy cardboard (such as from a box)

Medium strength cardboard (like from a notebook cover)

Good quotes

Glue

What to do:

Step 1: Crop your inspirational person picture (IPP) to the size you would like.

Step 2: Cut the heavy cardboard to the same size as your IPP. Then glue the picture to the cardboard.

Step 3: Now, get your bowl or plate. Trace a circle on the plain paper; you’ll need three all together. The largest should be on the blank piece of paper. The bigger the circle, the more quotes you’ll have later. The other two circles should be consecutively smaller—but just a bit! Use the medium strength cardboard for the second circle and the heavy cardboard for the third.

Step 4: Now, color the biggest circle (unless you’re lucky enough to cut it out of construction paper like Blair).

Step 5: Arrange the circle next to the head of your IPP and trace where you would like the speech bubble to be. Then carefully cut it out with your scissors. Tip: If you have cut any quotes out from magazines, your speech bubble should be just large enough to fit the largest quote. Otherwise, make it just large enough for you to write a decent-sized legible quote.

Step 6: Center the three circles one on top of the other. Then find the center of the top circle and poke the thumbtack through to mark the second circle. Next, remove the thumbtack and enlarge the hole in the second circle so that when you spin your wheel it can spin freely. Then replace the tack (or paperclip) centering the circles on top of one another. Tip: The tack should be firmly in place, but not so much that the wheel won’t spin.

Step 7: Using the glue and/ or tape, affix the spin wheel to your picture. Tip: I attached mine by taping thoroughly one heavy cardboard to the other. But make sure nothing is obstructing your second wheel!

Step 8: Write in the quotes. Using your pen, write one quote after another turning the wheel slightly after each. You should move the second wheel just enough that the previous quote leaves the bubble in order to have the maximum number or quotes possible.

Step 9: Once your wheel is full you’ll secure the top circle so it doesn’t spin with the middle one. I did this by loosely attaching clear tape from the front of circle one to the back of circle three at both the top and bottom, leaving room on the side to spin the second circle.

Step 10: Test your wheel! Almost finished now. Give your wheel a spin to make sure nothing is keeping it from spinning freely. If so, do some investigation and clear the block.

Step 11: Nail it on your wall and voila! No more ‘No-network-no-advice’ days!

If you have your own fabulous Hutmaker idea for a coming issue, please feel free to send it along. I can be reached at: Galleh Manda, Day 4. Thanks again for reading. And Happy Spinning!

Yours truly,

Mari

Blogger informs me that my last post was at the end of April, and that it’s now…September. Hm.

So, what’s been happening in the intervening months? Well, I’ve been helping the new education group with training and otherwise enjoying my new “job” (quotes because there’s glory and perks, but money is not one of them…although my transport does get refunded for official travel, which is pretty sweet) as Peace Corps Volunteer Leader for the ed sector. I taught English for 5 weeks at the face-to-face teacher certification extension program that I’ve worked at before, and had a super time. My hair’s grown out from Hillary Clinton-meets-Heather Locklear-meets-Village of the Damned to...slightly less so. I’ve celebrated one year in country (!), one year until it’s time to go (!), and the new group’s swearing in as real official volunteers (I cried). I painted my back yard (pix to come). And I’ve even written a couple of entries.

I’m having a good time, but I miss you, home people. Keep in touch, and I’ll try to do better too.

September 1, 2008

One of the highlights of having Liza on the island for Face to Face is that we make dinner together almost every night. Liza is a pretty ideal dinner collaborator: catholic in her appreciation of all vegetables except bitter tomatoes, which we both know are gross; willing to indulge my own aversion to cooked cabbage; enthusiastic about onions, garlic, salt and Jumbo; happy to chop and wash up; and not too picky about a little dirt that might have gotten on the food from its time in the fields (or on my floor). After almost 5 weeks, we’ve gotten our nightly meals more or less down to a science. Want to know the X easy steps to cooking a Blair & Liza special? Of course you do.

1. Send whoever’s not teaching to the market. Buy some combination of tomatoes, garlic, tomato paste, onions, eggplant, squash, and sweet potatoes. Make sure the tomatoes end up on the bottom of the bag.

2. Wait til evening.

3. Unpack the grocery bag. Be surprised yet again that the tomatoes have started preparing themselves.

4. Chop an onion.

5. Fry the onion.

6. Chop the garlic.

7. Decide you should really put in 2-3 more cloves. Chop those too.

8. Add the garlic to the onion.

9. Add whatever the other person has been chopping while you’ve been taking care of the onion and garlic. Fry some more. Add salt.

10. Add water.

11. Squeeze something (tomato paste, moutard, peanut butter, exciting stir-fry sauce from home or Kombo) from a bag into the pot.

12. Add lentils, beans, or soy bits.

13. Wander out into the backyard. Toss vegetable ends and washing water over the fence. Pick some moringa.

14. Add moringa to the pot. Figure that the stems are probably good for you. Add salt.

15. If you are cooking beans, wonder when they will be done.

16. Wait for the beans. Talk about work, what we should cook tomorrow, and what tv-on-dvd we should watch tonight.

17. Taste a bit. Wonder when the beans will be done. Add salt.

18. Repeat steps 16-17 until you’re too hungry to worry about the degree of tenderness of your legumes. Decide it’s done.

19. Put the pot on the floor. Fan and stir until you’re too hungry to care if it burns your tongue a little.

20. Eat. Wonder how you will finish the pot between just 2 people. Add salt. Fan.

21. Get down to the last 5-8 bites. Bully each other into finishing, or dig around for your Tupperware. Stow Tupperware in the jibida, where you will bump against it as you scoop water out the next day, causing you to wonder what thing you don’t want to deal with has entered your jibida.

22. Do the dishes.

23. TV time!

August 24, 2008

When volunteers get together, conversation tends to revolve around a few topics. These include: food, esp. food you have recently been unable to avoid eating, and random American items you have received in the mail/discovered at the Lebanese grocery store/inherited from another volunteer; work, esp. random delays and hard-to-read situations at work; and the home environment, esp. attacks thereon.

So, the minutes from a typical PCV meeting might read something like this:

1. Recent encounters with unknown parts of an animal

a. Description of the food bowl arrangement and the parts

b. Speculation on which parts of which animal these might be

c. Acknowledgement that, all said and done, it’s protein; that our family sacrificed to give it to us; and that we are ungrateful burger-eaters

d. Resumed dwelling on parts’ grittiness/sliminess/chewiness

e. Fearful looking forward to Tobaski

2. Which is grosser, palm oil or gristle?

a. Palm oil’s smell

b. The way palm oil makes other things smell

c. Discomfort experienced in getting both options down

d. Anecdote about other volunteer who is reported to enjoy one, the other, or both

3. Where to find taco seasoning

4. This Thing with This Guy at Work

a. The project You wanted to do

b. This guy at work (choose from options below:)

1. Amazing, hardworking, kind to animals

2. Sweet guy

3. Nice enough, but a little vague

4. Gives you the creeps for reasons you can’t pinpoint

5. Raving jerkface

c. The confusing conversation you had with (b) about (a)

d. Sighing over cultural communication styles, gender roles, perceptions of time, and the number of damn proverbs you’re expected to know in the course of (c)

d. A technological problem (can involve any of a-d, as well as at least 2 of the following: a part that is missing and only replaceable in Banjul, with the blessing of the appropriate permanent secretary; a part that has been violently misused, possibly by yourself; a part that it is no longer possible to pretend is not utterly busted; instructions in German, Swedish, or Spanish; erratic power; power that gooses you every time you touch something connected to an outlet; people with technical know-how and authorization who are not there.)

e. The project that maybe you are working on doing, you think

5. The hole in my back fence/front door/roof/floor

6. Ants

a. The way they can put holes on your floor

b. The ones that bite vs. the ones that just go after your sugar

c. How scary it is that the ones who just go after your sugar can chew through 2 ziploc bags to get there

d. The private area that recently got bitten by one of the ones that bite

e. Plans for extermination

These conversations also tend to have similar structures, eg:

1. anecdote

2. response anecdote

3. generalization about the host culture

4. observation on how odd we’ve become in x months of service.

Another popular trope is rating things from 1-10. I myself have rated travel days, roadside sandwiches, complètes, skin conditions, thunderstorms, experiences on malaria medication, markets, tacky purses available in said markets, and bowel movements on this scale.

We were talking about an overall mood rating the other day, with some people saying a 5 was just fine and others saying you should be at least at a 6 or 7 most days. The 5s responded that that was all well and good, but sometimes you just missed things from home and that wasn’t going to go away, though a good bean sandwich could help lessen the ache, and that moreover, it was ok to have that ache in the background. Anyway.

Conversation then turned to what a “10” day here would be like. I had trouble coming up with something I could fit into a day (can I work on a book with Lala and take a long walk around the rice fields and make pancakes and canned-meat bacon for breakfast, salad for lunch, and curry for dinner with a volunteer buddy, possibly with a beer afterwards and have a thunderstorm and enjoy the presence of little kids without feeling hassled and go to the beach and read a whole New Yorker…and arrange for it to be 75°F?) especially given my usual distance from the beach and the usual temperature upcountry.

Also, the activities (and the food) are important in a great day, but sometimes I find that they’re not entirely connected with how I feel. A 10 day, I think, is one where I’d just feel good all day. Not to say that hanging out with people and making curry wouldn’t be big contributing factors to feeling good. But there’s always other stuff going on in my head and body and immediate neighborhood that makes me feel buoyant one second, exhausted and cranky the next. I’ve had 10 half-hours, 10 mornings, 10 evenings…but a whole 24 hours? (I’m happy to report the same experience with the other end of the scale; with the possible exception of last year’s Day of Dysentery, I’ve never had 24 hours of straight 0 or 1 here.)

In any case, I got up to an 8 or a 9 last Saturday, thanks to some confluence of people, activities, adequate sleep and overall good health. So what did I do? Taught classes, marked some papers, opened the library—and had customers!—for a couple of hours, made mosquito repellant cream with one of the other tutors, made chili and watched Ugly Betty with Liza. And, it rained. So what made it so good? I guess plenty of stuff to do, work that I felt good about and felt appreciated for doing, good people to do it with, food, weather, and some time to relax and watch commercial-free tv.

Well, duh.

Check out part of the long march past the regional governor. I wonder who the Gambian military band is homesick for.

I’m in Kombo now, as I usually am when typing these things: down for a workshop, a school visit, and the new health group’s swearing-in…and in the meantime, enjoying the variety of dairy products (cheese, yogurt and ice cream, all in one day!) and the weather. Here, there is a breeze for most of the day, and it even gets cold at night. The island is a different story. “Mind-fryingly hot” is one way to put it. Another barometer: I think the flamingo is melting. (Happy belated St. Patty's, by the way.)

I can’t really tell you what I do between the hours of 2 and 6 every day, because the linguistic and cognitive parts of my brain are pretty much shut down then, maybe so the lizard part can make sure I’m sweating enough. There’s not much you can really do when it’s a hundred-and-I-don’t-even-want-to-know degrees out (and in), but I’ve come up with a few small ways of dealing with the upcountry oven:

1. Shade. After some searching, I’ve found a tree that regularly has girls sitting underneath it – a minor triumph in the land of women in the kitchen (or at the pump, the market or the rice fields), dudes in the shade. The hair-braiding teenagers aren’t my favorite company, and they don’t have the tiny radios and enormous draughts boards usually found under the men’s trees, but at least there’s a breeze. Sometimes. And visiting other volunteers at their sites has reminded me that it’s good to be out in the neighborhood.

That said, sometimes you just have to be inside and away from other people. In which case, it’s good to try the following:

2. Upon entering, immediately strip down to no more than a wrap skirt and bra.

3. Take a bucket bath.

4. Powder.

5. Take another one.

6. Powder some more.

7. Lie on the floor and moan.

8. If all else fails, wrap whatever it is you want to keep cool in a wet cloth. This works pretty well on my water bottle, water filter, and head covering. So when I woke up in the middle of the night, sweaty, miserable, and unable to move outside (guest on the new bamboo bed), what did I do? Well, dunk my top sheet in a bucket and get underneath it, obviously. I expected to have dreams about the Titanic or something, but no. Slept like an amphibious baby. If I can find or construct a towel big enough to cover my house, and then hire a team of small boys to throw buckets of water on it at regular intervals throughout the day, I think I’ll be good to go.

Look at that, I'm leading a workshop!

And blonde. And looking kind of funny. What did I tell you?

Lydia's blog, http://lydia-travels.blogspot.com/, has some more pix of the coiffures (mine and, of course, hers). You can also see what color it was at WAIST, before the chlorine in the American Club's pool got to it, at right...

Oh, and Patrick, bless him, has put up a bunch more pictures on flickr. I've updated the link at right so it should actually take you there to see them. More Manneh Kunda! More Face-to-Face! More pictures of buildings and monkeys! Who can resist?

Anyway, I've done a couple of these workshops now, making big books with lower elementary teachers, and they've gone pretty well. Here's the showing-off picture from the second one, at Sololo Basic Cycle School...

I want to start working more steadily at Sololo, and with the handful of other schools in my area that are reachable by bike, focusing on K-2 teachers with math and literacy. That's what the bullet point in my Action Plan says, anyway. Time to get out of the office more, right? This past week, though, I've been down in Brikama to plan for spring Face-to-Face (mass teacher training in Janjanbureh over Easter break). I jumped ship to the maths department, and, well, we'll see how it goes. I was the only toubab and the only lady (my teammates' word, in case you think I'm putting on airs :) of the 8 of us, so there were some...differences in what we expect from the planning and from the classes. But I'm excited to teach time and statistics and all kinds of mildly humiliating counting songs (it's the accompanying dances that make them mildly humiliating!). And it looks like all kinds of good people will be coming to the island then - Rachel and Colleen to teach, Kristy for an afternoon of low-resource science experiment trial runs (woo hoo, chalk and soda cans!), Ade from Wings of the Dawn to see how his shipment of soccer balls and teachers' guides are being used, Philipa and her dad...oh, it looks like I really Will have to kill a cow, so many honored guests I'll have.

It will be called shallowinthepeacecorps.org, and will be filled with the things I really spend 80% of my waking time and brain power thinking about: food, clothes, hair, fixing up my house, and pedicure tips. In reverse order: it's good to save your laundry water in the big wash basin and use a scrub brush, pumice stone and the obviously-yet-mysteriously named Ghana Soap (it comes from Ghana, said the lady in the market, as if that explained everything) to try and tame those nasty puppies. I think the leftover Omo and grease probably helps too. And since I've already borrowed a stool from my family, and I'm sitting in the shade, and sometimes Reines d'Afrique (RFI's answer to The View) is still coming in over the radio...it's pretty much spa day in my ghetto backyard. (Complete with pink flamingo and out-of-season Xmas lights--thanks, Mom!)

Clothes: well, protracted back-and-forth with my tailor (!) about some pants that are at the same time far too large and far too small. 2 pairs, each too large and too small in different ways. It took about 2 weeks to sort it all out, and I ended up with one pair in a fabric different than the one I bought, with 4 perfect holes in the shin area. I figured that was ahead enough to warrant me quitting. No wonder I'm scared to get a complet made. But it's coming. Maybe with a mermaid skirt and some rosettes. I'm in Basse now (hence the interwebbing), and I'm gonna look for a nice wax print. Maybe with footballs on it.

Hair: Speaking of spa day...here's my ghetto backyard/institut de beautay, with Miss Lydia overseeing my transformation into...a blonde! Pictures to come the next time online, but in the meantime be reassured that I'm already having more fun. And that I look kind of funny. On the agenda for today: Phase 2: Purple.

Fixing up my house--eh, I'm running out of time, but it includes a patio. I know, geez.

As for food: usually I'm obsessed with questions like, Is it okay to like mayonnaise, Jumbo msg cubes, and hardboiled eggs on bread This Much? Have I gone too far when, instead of playing Freeze to Death/Burn to Death (a no-brainer in any case, now that the hot season has rolled back in) or Marry/Option 2/Chuck with people, I try to decide which sandwich ingredient I would give up...and I can't? Because they are each integral to the sandwich! And yet at least 2 of them, taken individually, are quite disgusting! This is the stuff that usually keeps me occupied while I'm waiting for a gele or whatever.

But sometimes I get a little boozhier and go to the market to check out all the Fresh Local Vegetables, and how lovely they all look, and how wonderful they'll look in my still-in-process Educational Alphabet book, so...shoutout to Karina and kitchenplay.blogspot.com, and here's what was on offer this week. (Don't eat the bitter tomatoes. They're yucky.)

Coming up, when I'm back online and have remembered my flash drive: Proof that I do work, too!

In the meantime, keep it shallow.

I'm near a computer again in an office that's set up like an office (the kind that I'm, you know, used to. With staplers, even!). Back in Kombo for PC Thanksgiving/all-vol meetings/general hoo-ha, and I've posted all of 5 more pictures on Flickr (see right).

Lots of things going on in my island fastness--or island slowness, depending on the time of day, my energy level and that of others. Lots of other things just being. I'll write more when I'm not impinging on someone else's computer time - bottom line, I'm still figuring out my job at the Regional Education Directorate, meeting people, getting geared up to do my first training next week and then work at the face-to-face training program for teacher trainees over the winter holidays. That means, in practice, for the past few weeks, this is what I do: I go to the office from 9:00-12:00, when the power shuts off until the evening; I hang out, see if anyone is there, maybe read something with a title like "Rural Community Resource Centers," "The Gambia Handbook on Early Grade Reading Abilities (EGRA)" or "Where There Is No Artist" (thanks, mom!) and wait for something on the printer or one of the computers to break. Then I go to the other room, swear at the computer or the printer or both, try to coach the secretaries who are posted there for a few weeks through fixing it, and go back to my book. Or maybe send some text messages about getting more books. Or going on school visits. Or what bitiks on the island have cheese (currently, two!)

In the afternoons, I hang out with my family and complain about the heat--it's cool at night, but plenty sweaty in the afternoons still--have lunch, then retreat to my front room to read and make teaching aids - including an alphabet book that I'll post when I get a clean copy on my usb key, and some other things that I'll try to take pictures of at all-vol. (We're trying for a teaching aid show-and-tell, oh dorky joy!) Also, projects like...my Halloween costume. Which I've already posted pictures of. Priorities, much? Again, thanks mom, this time for the Sharpies, and I promise that I've also used them for things that will benefit Gambian children more directly. Although the costume seems to have brightened some local Gambians' lives considerably, judging from the laughter when I went out the door in it.

Last week I was out and about a lot, visiting schools for the All-Gambia Tree Nursery Competition, looking for seedlings that hadn't been eaten by goats and were reasonably well-protected against further attacks. Didn't get to see too many classrooms, but I did get the luxury of a ride in a Forestry Department 4x4, which at least let me see the outside, and the administrators, of some of the remoter places in Region 5. I'm starting slow. But I think I'm feeling my way. And I'm definitely enjoying myself. Maybe a little too much when it comes to the Sharpies.

I'm heading out to my permanent site on the Island of Janjanbureh (!) tomorrow, and I've put lots of pictures on flickr (link at right). Some text too. Enjoy!

I've got to be short here, but I think I'll have some internet access up country, so keep tuning in.

PS-I'm now an official volunteer. Nice!

...where a lot happened, but I was not eaten by goats. Or by anything else, except the odd mosquito and (for pretend) my favorite small child, with whom I had the following daily conversation:

Me: Mmm, I am hungry!

Fanta: I am Very hungry!

Me: Where is Fanta??

Fanta: Where is Mamjara?? [that's me, here, now]

Me: Here she is! [Pretend eating.] Mmm, Fanta and rice.

Fanta: [Pretend eating.] Mamjara meat is verrry tasty.

Both: mnam mnam mnam

Um, yes. You have to take what language practice you can get, and all I have to say is, the people of Bumari are remarkably patient with their bumbling Americans.

Anyway, pictures!

At the local football field

My friend Becca on our group's marathon walk

More marathon walk

My house in village (the end with the tie-dye, not the Pokemon.)

I'm back in the capital for the last week of training, so watch this space for updates on the last couple of months.

...and the crocodile pool, and the Saint Theresa Upper and Lower Basic School, and the Come Inn (favored PCV hangout) for a genuine Gambian lager - JulBrew, to call it by its brand name. Our group is out of control with the self-chronicling, so you may have read it all already elsewhere, but yes. I was there too.

Yesterday was a busy day, with Saint Theresa's, more lessons in gastrointestinal upset (both in and out of the classroom!)*, a water-filtration how-to, and a tour of the local hot spots of peril with our Safety and Security coordinator. If all goes according to plan, I will never go out on my own, ever, and will never leave my compound after dark, period. So mom and dad, put your minds at ease. I will be well cloistered.

We're leaving tomorrow for our training villages, and I don't think I'll have much (or any) email access for the next 10 weeks, so if you want to hear of my adventures by the village well, learn my Gambian name, and find out the current bush-rat death toll, please do send a regular letter (address at right).

I was going to try for a grand summing up of my First Week in Africa, Ever, but...what can I say? It's strange. Things look very dreamlike here sometimes. Half a block of tourist-strip restaurants gives way suddenly and completely to pockmarked concrete, sand, and little kids playing soccer. The light is different, especially with a storm coming on. All the dogs look kind of the same. Things like that. Plus, every single interaction here is slightly different from how it would be back home - whether you're talking to a shopkeeper or a random adorable little kid or another American. We're learning the rules, but it's all just different.

Anyway. I'll get back to you once I learn some of the rules. Hope you, my home people, are all there. And all well, too.

*don't worry - I don't have "bad diarrhea," according to the medical officer. But if you have some extra Emergen-C...

Welcome to Club Peace Corps, eh? These are some of my fellow Education trainees trying to remember where we're supposed to go next/how to say "How are the home people?" in Mandinka/shooting the breeze.

My roommate in our room at Gambia Pastoral institute - check out all the indoor plumbing! Personally, I like how they put us in the kiddie pool for a week before sending us out to village-based training. It's surprisingly reassuring to be able to brush your teeth from the tap.

Our feet, on the other hand, get washed in the bucket (bottom left). No rains yet, and there's lots of dust. Mmm, gritty toes.

Us on the bus from the airport -with bags of water (tasty!)

From the airplane yesterday...the outskirts of Banjul, with The Gambia's eponymous and large river.

That's what they call it - 2 days (more or less) in Washington, D.C. to meet our group, get our shots, and learn juust enough about the PC and our role therein to get on the plane. So far, I count 3 pillars of success, a triangle of support related to our VSSS (which has 5 components), and a wedge (within a Venn diagram) where we will do our most productive work. I'm sure I'm leaving something out, but right now I'm focused on repacking--it's probably not such a hot idea to put all my toiletries in my carry-on--and gearing up for departure. Tomorrow! Yowza!That's not til the evening, though. In the morning we have vaccinations. Which are exciting too, in their way.

Anyway, there are 20 of us, about evenly split between secondary math and science teachers, IT trainers, and primary teacher trainers like me. To give you an idea: 14 women, 6 men; 1 married couple; some kids fresh out of college, a couple of middle-aged types, and the rest of us somewhere in between. My roommate Kristy brought her mandolin, which came in handy for our final presentation - a song about The Importance of Integrating into One's Host Community. Sounds cumbersome, but know that another group was assigned an interpretive dance that expresses the Peace Corps Approach to Development. No kidding. Herewith, the lyrics:

To the tune of "Rocky Top," best sung high and lonesome

Integrate into your communityDo as the Gambians doEat their food and belch politelyIf that's what they say you should do

Gambia, you may not beHome sweet home to meBut we will integrate Into your community[note the clever/thrifty line recycling! I think we're going to take this on the road.]

You may find the customs surprisingThe heat really hard to bearJust remember to dress professionalBring something cool to wear

Gambia, some day you'll beHome sweet home to meGood ole GambiaBe our communityGood ole Gambia...Be our community.Words to live by.

"Dress modestly," they tell you in the welcome book. What does that even mean? Can I show my arms? Ankles? Do I need to invest in a burquini? Thankfully, returned PC volunteer and classmate Ingrid gave me more specifics:Collarbone okay; cleavage, no.Sleeveless okay; spaghetti straps, no.Anything above mid-calf = whorish.Please note how well the dress at left adheres to those guidelines! It is, in fact, my favorite thrift-store teacher-lady purchase. I'm a little worried about the length--will they be able to see the"Western Slut" tattoo on my upper calf?--but too pleased with its other qualities to leave it at home. Besides concealing at least 4 cumulative inches of neck-to-shoulder skin, it is also:

BreathablePatterned (good for hiding stains!)Generally shapeless (good for hiding other things, including my bike shorts)Those of you with eagle eyes have no doubt already spotted the coordinating Sensible Sandals. Hey, I just want to be in with the in crowd.

Some things I am concerned about:

Packing too muchPacking too much and still leaving out some crucial thingPacking too much and then losing itLosing itBush ratsGastrointestinal illnessHollow and aching lonelinessGeneral incompetence

Not being able to handle the aboveOn the other hand, I am far less concerned about:

Parking ticketsWhether it's okay to eat cheese friesWhether it's okay to use the last remaining cheese fry to try to scoop up all the remaining cheez in the container, and if this does not work, to use a fork and/or fingersShavingAll in all, I think it's a wash. Stay tuned for the thrilling resumes of: Things I Ate on the East Coast, and: Personal-Care Items Recently Acquired (Or, How Many Kinds of Soap Can I Bring to the Developing World?)

In case you were wondering, I bought plenty of underwear. Also Ziploc bags.

The winter clothes are in one duffel, the Gambia clothes are in another; enough other stuff is in bags and boxes to fill the mighty Taupe Subaru Wagon pretty much to the brim; Cat B is lying at my feet, unaware of the indignities to which she is about to be subjected; and I am just about ready to head down to NJ*. Stopping off in New Haven to have lunch with my uncle and see where I can stick a (mewling) cat carrier for an hour or so...oh, Cat B. We're going to have so much fun together!

Watch out, eastern seaboard - I can't see out my rear window.

*then DC, then Baltimore, then (I hope) down the shore and Philly. Holla if you're around any of those places.

All the kids (even the ones in the Peace Corps) seem to be on the Interweb these days, so I figured it was time to jump on the bandwagon. Especially since I'm all finished up with my jobs - no more office, library, or standardized-testing duties to get in the way of goofing off - that is, preparing for departure. I'm only about 15 minutes into it, but so far the 21st century is beating microfilm hands down. Next up: errands.

Staging Event (ie, shots and How Not to Get Assaulted on the Plane): June 11.

Leaving the Country: June 13

Arriving in Country: June 14

Holy crap - I'd better buy some more underwear.