A few weeks ago, my host mother finally gave birth. She had a healthy baby boy, so here are some pictures of the baby and from the naming ceremony itself. Here is a picture of the baby at about 36 hours old.

The naming ceremony itself was a great day. Early in the morning, neighbors started coming over to our compound. Then, an old man shaved the baby's head, while an a neighbor lady held him. After his head was shaved, he was passed from old person to old person, as they all prayed over him. Then, someone held the baby up and announced his name to everyone "Yankuba!" (Its a Mandinka version of Yacob, which is the Muslim version of Jacob). The rest of the day was spent cooking huge vats of bennechin, and eating. My host mother looked beautiful, and changed into new beautiful outfits every few hours all day long. Later in the evening, we had a dance circle. Here are some pics from the day.

Hey folks at home!

Sorry for the long silence! Its been a busy emotion-filled, anxiety ridden, pretty fun couple of months. I guess the reason I’ve been so quiet is that it becomes difficult to write when I run out of novel experiences. Life seems pretty normal here. But since you’ve been so patient, here are some pictures of the kittens that were born in my bed!

And now on to the topic at hand. My service is almost over. I’ve got about three weeks left. So now is the time to be pulling back on work-related stuff, more just being available to offer advice rather than organizing or leading anything. Its time to start making plans back home. Its time to start saying goodbye.

Some things feel good. I enjoy watching my students plan their own activities, and make decisions as a group. I only hope they continue to carry this great momentum forward. I just celebrated Tobaski with my host family, which was a really nice day, and I felt valued and as if I belonged. My host mother is pregnant and due to give birth any minute, and its been fun to anticipate the baby along with her, and plan the naming ceremony. A big community party with all my friends would be a nice way to end things. But I’m also excited to be making plans back home. I’m ready to see my family! I’m ready to eat some burritos! I’m currently in the process of applying for M. Ed. programs around the country, and its exciting to be thinking about the next step.

This is also pretty scary. In as much as I am looking forward to being home, I don’t think its going to be an easy transition. What about jobs? Is it going to be difficult to relate to people? Will they have a difficult time relating to me? Will my friendships pick back up where they were two years ago? What if I don’t get into any Master’s programs? I think 70 degrees is COLD, what about Michigan winters!?

Also, I’m feeling sad. I have genuine friends here, and that is going to be difficult to leave. I’ve watched a number of children grow and learn over the course of two years, and it’s a bummer to think of not being here to see them continue.

I wish you all a wonderful holiday season, I’ll be seeing you before you know it. Eeek.

My apologies for how long its been since I've posted. Honestly, at this point its been a little hard to find things to post about. Nothing seems very novel, so why write?

Rainy season has come and gone, as has Ramadan. My service is coming to a close, so while I am still active and available in my community, I'm not trying to start anything new. School has started again, and the Peer Health Club has lots of new members and big plans for the year. My friend and I are still working on installing internet at the school, though Ramadan did delay the process.

Here is something I've wanted to post since being here. The following picture is of Omar and his Peace Corps Cafe! Omar is a talented cook who has been friends with PC for years. His little rocket ship-shaped hut is just down the street from our offices, so its a great lunch spot, plus he's open to learning new foods for volunteers, such as quasadillas or philly cheese steak sandwiches. He caters a lot of PC training events and makes a mean ginger chicken.

Thanks Omar!

Hey everybody! As my service here comes to an end, I thought I would review what I was glad I brought with me, and what I wish I had brought instead. PC issues a suggested packing list, but we all agree that its kind of dumb. But since changing it would involve going through Washington DC (seriously, we checked), I thought I would just post one of my own(to be considered IN ADDITION to the one offered by PC) for anyone considering PC in Sub Saharan Africa.

Things I’m glad I brought

My laptop--really good for storing pics, being able to work at home, and watching movies. Wifi is increasingly available in The Gambia, you’re going to want a laptop. Also came in handy for radio project I did with my students.

An extra battery for my laptop--it was nice to be able to have an extra couple of hours of power between charging. Everyone I knew who had one of those big, expensive solar batteries that can power a laptop said that they didn’t work. Its better to rig something up here with a car battery, or make your own solar set-up once you get here. Or as I did, just have an extra battery you can charge when you ARE near power.

Ipod and speakers

Headlamps

Digital camera

Solio--little solar panel charger. It takes about 8 hours in the sun to get a full charge, and from it I can charge my cell phone and ipod without needing to go searching for an outlet. Some people said that their Solio broke in the rain. Mine has been rained on plenty of times and is still going strong.

My own pillow--pillows in this country are terrible.

A fleece blanket--believe it or not, January and February nights are chilly

Sturdy sandals--I prefer Keen, but lots of people seem to like Chacos. Both of these companies provide discounts to PCVs, so take advantage of that.

Toiletries--deodorant, tampons, and razors are all available here, but they are expensive. Its better to load up on that stuff at home when it goes on sale. Ten sticks of deodorant for a $1 each is going to feel WAY better than buying one every month or so for the equivalent of $4 on your PC living allowance.

Things I wish I had brought

A French press--Nescafe is yucky.

More solid colored plain t-shirts

Knife sharpener

One pair of nice heals. Oh wait, I did bring that. And when my bag was too big, they were one of the first things to be ditched. I still think about them all lonely next to the airport trash can.

More food from home--seriously, this is what you should fill your bags with. Food for training, and other stuff you can’t get here. Chai tea, drink/soup/sauce mixes, real coffee, real chocolate, dried fruit. Etc.

Things that I didn’t need

Don’t bring so many clothes, you can just have things made here, or go shopping in the “dead white man’s clothes” (clothes donated to Goodwill, then sold to developing countries).

DON’T bring so many professional clothes, no matter what the stupid packing list says. I still have some nice slacks and button-down shirts that I haven’t worn yet. Its just too hot. Most of us just don’t work in offices, so why feel uncomfortable all the time? For women, conservative sun dresses are better, or I’m sure you’ll have things tailored. For men, a few pairs of khakis and a couple of button-downs will be fine.

Hiking boots/sturdy shoes--I can only think of 2 times that I wore sturdy shoes. The rest of the time I wore flip-flops. It’s just too hot for closed-toed shoes. And if you’re going in and out of people’s houses, you’re going to be lacing them up and off all the time.

Cell phone--yes, you can bring an unlocked phone from the states to use here, but I don’t think that it was worth it. The internet capabilities on my phone weren’t compatible with the internet offerings here, and it wasn’t as sturdy. The nokia phones here are cheap($35-$40), durable, and come with a handy-dandy flashlight function that you will use every single day.

Hey everybody.

So this past week the president of our country, His Excellency the Honorable Gen. Dr. Prof. Sheik Alagie A. J. J. Jammeh traveled around the country giving money to schools to host end-of-year parties. Awesome. He gave the high school where I work D40, 000 (roughly $1,600), with the stipulation that it be used in one day to give a party for students and staff. So we bought 2 cows for slaughter, probably 150 kilos of rice, 60 litres of oil, onions, potatoes, plus all the spices to make yassa and bennechin. Plus boxes and boxes of green tea for attaya, and cans of sweetened condensed milk, which they re-hydrate a little, and serve hot. And we hired a DJ.

Here is my problem. This is a school that can’t get its ducks in a row to keep itself in good working order. We may be in better shape than some because we are German-sponsored, but we still don’t have any science equipment, our art supplies are few and are bad quality, and the library is full of outdated books which no one cares for or organizes (I’ve been trying to guess whether the West just donated a bunch of junk, or whether they sent good learning materials, and all the nice stuff has been stolen by now). In each grade, about one third of the students performed well enough to be promoted to the next grade. In short, when the money is clearly available, is a party really what we need most?

I struggled with how to have this discussion with people. I didn’t want to lecture or impose my American practicalities on people, especially since its not my school’s fault. They didn’t ask for a party, someone just handed them some money and told them to buy some cows. Of course they agreed. The best I could do was ask questions to try and facilitate discussion (“Wow! D40,000? To use all in one day? Think what that money could buy that we could enjoy all year long!”)I could have boycotted, but that really wouldn’t have made much of a dent either. I went, cooked with my friends, ate beef and was glad for the protein.

I’ve mentioned this anecdote as an introduction to a discussion on Dead Aid a book I’ve read on the history of aid sent to the developing world, and whether or not the habit has outlived its purpose. In short, the book makes the argument that by continuing to send money, the developed world is only enabling the developing world in keeping bad habits, or that the trend of giving has outlived the need for it. More and more, the citizens of these developing countries (and their governments) HAVE the money to meet many of their own needs, but know very well what the donors will pay for, so they use their own money on (forgive me) dumb stuff. The developed world will pay for ARVs for HIV/AIDS patients, so local governments can spend their own money on big sports stadiums. The developed world LOVES to support schools buy building them, furnishing them, buying supplies, and paying fees, so local governments feel free to buy parties, parents feel free to buy fancy clothes. Our aid has many other negative effects as well, often by being open to our “aid” a country must also be open to trade with us, and by having our imports their own economy can’t sustain its own production. To close itself off from trade with us might be the best thing for the local economy, but they would lose donations and no one wants that. Its been noted that many countries are poorer now than they were 20 years ago. Where has our money been going?

So what to we do now? Quitting aid cold turkey is bound to lead to problems, and probably violence. But continuing, I honestly believe, is throwing money down a hole. My friend, who was a PCV in The Gambia in 1979, and now is a college professor, argues that the best thing would be to create laws which would make it easier for people to legally immigrate to the US and Europe for work. These people then send remittance checks home to their families, thereby stimulating development. I’m not so sure. Yes, the good thing would be that (in this case) this would be Africans working to support Africans, not some faceless donor sending money to faceless recipients. It would be a personal interaction. And I’m all for culture exchange on both sides, we could all stand to learn a little more about each other. But with the current economic situation in the States, I’m not sure it’s the job of my government to ensure jobs to foreigners. I want to know that there will be a job for me and my family when I get home. Also, from my own observations, I’m not convinced that remittance checks automatically equally school fees. More often I see them spent on fancy fabric and cell phones. Most communities have people abroad sending money home, but in my opinion its not very well spent, and I have a hard time believing that more of the same would improve things.

So that’s that. Only questions, no answers.

Hey everybody,

Summer is here, and the rains are in full force. Recently, it really feels like my close of service has been fast approaching. Seven months isn’t a long time at all. Some days this can seem exciting, other times scary. I’m in no hurry to leave, but some days I do get tired of being a woman in a Muslim country, and I do get tired of being a white person in an African country. Some anonymity and privacy will be a welcome break. I also look forward to having more control over what I eat and when (Mexican food and cheesecake are high on the list).

But I also get sad about the thought of leaving. As much as I ache for privacy, nothing beats the feeling of coming home from time away and my family and neighbors all welcoming me back. My host family are wonderful people. My mother has helped me through every awkward social interaction where I blurted out the absolute wrong thing, and she did it all with grace and understanding. When work hasn’t gone so well, I’ve gotten a great amount of amusement and comfort from playing with and watching the kids in the compound. Their antics never disappoint. Its been a really neat experience to watch my youngest host brother grow. He learned to walk and talk since I’ve been here and its been neat to watch him turn into a real human being. Also, my host mother is pregnant. She should deliver before I leave, so that’s an exciting thing to anticipate, but sad that I won’t be here for more of it.

When I DO get back to the states, what am I supposed to do? Where am I going back to? I know I want to go into teaching, but is it better to just be certified and start working, or better to go for the Master’s now? Where? To teach which age group? Mainstream or special needs?

Eek. So that’s whats on my mind these days.

Hey all!

So here's a new adventure!

Near the beginning of my service I posted an article about women, and the many things they do for beauty. One of those things is decorative scarring at the outside corners of the eyes, or just below the eyes on the apples of the cheeks. The fula tribe does this most, but women from other tribes do it too. PCVs in The Gambia have taken to getting the scars as well, as a memento of their service here, body adornment, and general proof of being a baddass.

Well, the time has come for me to get my scars. Luckily, my friend Lisa came along to cheer me on, and to take pictures. Enjoy!

So here's how the day went. We traveled from Lisa's site in Soma, to Wassu, to the home of a woman named Fatou Ceesay. She has been the lady to go to for PCVs getting scars. After greeting for awhile, we went into her house, and got down to business. We washed our feet (where we were both to be scarred), and then she very gently sliced with a (brand new, straight from the package, i bought it myself) razor. The wound barely bled, and only stung a little. She then rubbed it with charred peanut powder. We then bandaged it, and were instructed not to remove the bandage or get it wet for three days.

I was worried about what my neighbors would think. Would they be flattered that I found one of their traditions so beautiful that I chose to permanently alter my body with it? Would they find it to be a bit of a farce because I didn't put it on my face? It turns out they seemed flattered, and when I explained that it would be difficult to get a job with black scars on my face, they understood. The universal response has been to ask why I didn't get them on my breasts. Some have even whipped them out to show me. No good answer for that, ladies. Maybe next time.

Hey all,

Still here only.

The PSA project with my students has ended pretty well. I'm really proud of them. I might have bitten off a little more than I could chew, but overall, i think it will work. We recorded four scripts (one each on HIV, the importance of breastfeeding, malnutrition, and malaria). Then, the goal was to record each script in English, and the three major local languages. Eeek, that turned out to be 16 recordings! That, plus all the editing, etc, that goes into it turned out to be a bit much for the kids' schedules (and i'm going cross-eyed from looking at sound squiggles on my computer), but we got them all recorded in English, all in Mandinka, and a few in each Pulaar and Wolof. We've added music and sound effects, and the next step is for me to duplicate the recordings, and distribute them to my PC pals around the country, and they will bring it to their local radio stations. Go Peer Health!

Hey all,

i came in with the intention of updating on my radio PSA project with my students. its going well, but there is something else on my mind.

Ok. So. I am a member of our Volunteer Advisory Committee (VAC). The committee's job is to communicate with admin on behalf of volunteers, and vice versa. We give feedback on policy, hold admin responsible to follow through with things they say they will do, keep tabs on our transit house and other things that affect PCVs.

The recent frustration is the new administration. We received a new country director last November, and I know part of the reason he was sent was to get our program back in line with PC Washington regulations (little did i know, we were way out there in terms of policy, and enforcing policy). Our last CD, while he was happy to drop whatever he was doing in order to sit and talk with a PCV about anything, he didn't follow policies very closely, and didn't punish people who broke them. So, it has been a difficult set of changes. They have written numerous policies, and consequences for breaking them. Difficult as it is, I know this is all well and good. The problem is, our new CD isn't as interested in having personal relationships with PCVs as the old one was. He doesn't seem to think its his job. Come with a concern, and he will direct you elsewhere. Moreover, he doesn't seek/value PCV input when it is appropriate to seek it. I know that in terms of some policies, its all Washington's doing, and we have little room for input. But others, such as the direction of our program in development, its appropriate and necessary to seek PCV input on these decisions. We are the ones actually working on the ground. Most of us have been here longer than him, and better know the culture and history of development in the country.

Recently our CD decided that his new focus for our program is to push grant-writing. He has organized a series of new trainings and committees, etc. Hmm. Well, if someone is going to write a grant, I would want them to do it well, and so trainings seem like a good step. My concern is that PUSHING grant-writing might make people think that getting money for things ought to be our focus. It's not. It's absolutely %100 ok to be a PCV and never bring any money to a project. Money is not a solution to the problem, and TOO MUCH development money has harmed Gambia in many ways by shaping bad habits. Not enough money is not the problem. There is plenty of money in this country, just backward priorities. People can find money to spend over $40 for a single outfit, or over $500 for a party, but can't seem to find the money to send their kids to school. Here, as in other places in the developing world, people have really capitalized on what foreigners will pay for and what they will not. Foreigners like to pay for hospitals, ARVs, schools and school fees, roads, and food relief. Foreigners will not pay for big parties, fancy clothes, or mobile phones. So people spend their own money on the fun stuff, then knock on our door for the rest. It only exacerbates the problem if we're just another group of people throwing money around. If our CD spent some time living outside the capital he would know that. If we tell him our opinions, he simply replies "duly noted" and continues what he was doing.

The money thing is a big frustration. I know that some amount of money is necessary for development efforts. I just liked that we were different from other organizations in that we focused on skill-building. Money gets in the way of that because people still get stuff, and don't have to change any of their habits or learn new skills. When that money runs out, more will come. it always does. Why learn new skills when you can get paid to just stay the same? And the fact that my opinion (and those of my peers) is not valued by someone whose job it is to support me is a real pisser.

thats my rant for the day. duly noted.

*Yes, this article contains profanity. You can handle it.

Here’s something I’ve been meaning to write about. The F word. You know, the four letter one. It fits into almost any part of speech and is pretty universally offensive. Well, thanks to movies and rap music coming in from the West, the F word is fairly prevalent in conversation here. However, something has been lost in translation, and the word doesn’t carry as much weight. I did a double take the first time I heard a grown man tell his toddler son to “F*ck off” when he really just meant “go away and stop trying to climb my legs.” One can even hear old ladies reprimand others by yelling “F*cking ass!” out of bus windows. A PC employee replied, when I had asked what he was still doing at the office at 7 pm on a Friday, “Oh, I’m nearly done here and then soon I will f*ck off.”

Well. Fine. I’m not so much a prude, and can accept that people don’t quite mean what I hear when they use that word. But its one of the strongest words in my arsenal, and what can I do when I really really need to tell someone where to go? When I need the word to mean what I mean by it and all its force to be unleashed on someone who has thoroughly pushed my buttons? When my dander is up, what can I say when I really really need to make myself clear? One of the most offensive words in my vocabulary has been rendered pretty meaningless…and this can be frustrating.

PC did teach us insults as part of our language training. This happened to varying degrees depending on which trainer a person had. Some trainers went all out. Ours sheepishly taught us phrases such as “you are very lazy” and “you are so foolish.” Those don’t quite cut it. To learn the real deal, I had to go to the streets. Nonetheless, I just cannot bring myself to yell, in Mandinka, “I will cut your father’s penis to pieces!” or “Your mother’s clitoris is red!” even if it would get the job done. Even just yelling “your penis!” or “your asshole!”, while it sounds very silly coming out of my mouth, is enough to bring people to blows here. I just can’t do it.

Hey all,

Its been a little while. Work is still work. Its still hot. Recently, I started working with the Peer Health kids at the high school project, so I thought I’d talk a little about how that was going.

A couple of weeks ago, I introduced the idea of making health-related public service announcements. I wanted the group to break up into smaller groups, which would then choose a health topic, research it, write a service announcement, record it in the three major languages, and distribute these recordings around the country. (actually my PCV friend Tavi came up with this great idea, but unfortunately she has been too busy to work on it). The kids seemed excited about an outreach project, so we got started.

I began by bringing in examples of 30 second health announcements(which in itself was a difficult thing to find on the internet, things that are relevant to Gambians. We don‘t talk about depression here, or childhood obesity, so finding radio messages about other topics was a challenge), and we discussed the messages in each, and the idea of a target audience. They chose their topics, and I brought in all the info I could find for them to research from. (internet downloads, health textbooks from the 80’s, my PC health manual) Then we started researching. And it was on this third session working on this project that they finally “got” what it was we were doing.

30 SECONDS!?! That’s not possible!!! How can we say all this in 30 seconds?! Why can’t we do a one-hour radio show? (how honestly to reply? Because you guys don’t know enough about any particular topic to do a one hour show on it, that’s why. Too honest, whitney). What, you guys just got this? We listened to examples, I’ve repeated the premise of what we are doing over and over. Yes, 30 SECONDS. I tried to re-explain in terms of cooking--when you cook sauce you put many things into the pot, and lots of water, then you boil it all down for many hours until you have a sauce. It might be smaller than what you started with, but the flavor is stronger. I want you to boil this information down to its most important points and use that for your radio announcement. Or, advertising. I talked about radio commercials for a mobile phone company, Africell. They have short messages telling you why you should buy their product. We are advertising good health choices, and we need to catch people’s attention with short bits of important info.

They’re still fighting me. I know I’m asking them to do something outside of their experience. When Gambians get together to discuss topics, many people make speeches. One person will get up and be like “such and such is so important because blahblahblah…” for 20 minutes, often more. And then someone else will stand up and say “just to re-emphasize what my colleague has just said blahblahblah….” and he will repeat EXACTLY what was already said. It takes hours and everyone wants to hear his own voice, even if its just repeating what has already been said many times (I try not to get bitter when I attend these things. This cultural habit serves a function. Since so few people read, things are learned by repetition. Everyone repeats the message, so maybe it can be remembered. Its just that I watch people zoning out or playing with their phones, they are just as bored as I am and not listening). Also, kids at school are given information in books and lectures, and then just asked to memorize and regurgitate it at test time, whether or not they understand the words or not. So, to ask them to read info (which I do think this group is able to do), and decide for themselves what is most important , is a really really tall order in critical thinking for these kids.

And so, small small. Learning experiences all around.

As a post script to this article, but in no way as an afterthought, I wish to thank every teacher, parent, or mentor who ever encouraged me to think out of the box, come up with something new, and ask questions beginning with “How?” “Why?” or “What if?” rather than beating me for the impertinence of my question. I was allowed and encouraged to imagine the world that I wanted to create, knowing that imagining was the first step in making it possible. I am so much the better for it.

The US is not superior because we have flush toilets and fabric softener. It is certainly not true that no one works hard and we just sit all day counting our money. But as innovation in thought has been a core value of our philosophy from the beginning of our country’s history, this has contributed a great much to our success. Knowing that anyone’s next great idea could be just around the corner gives me hope for the world. Critical thinking skills are extremely important. These kids are not stupid, but they are a product of a really really outdated teaching method and their country’s development is suffering because of it.

Hey everybody! It's a loofah sponge in it's natural habitat!

All this time I thought loofahs came from the ocean, mostly because regular sponges do.

but as it turns out, loofahs come from The Gambia. ;-) and i'm sure other places too.

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Laksjdlskdjfkjdf

Alskfhdklsdfjkjsfdkj.

This past week or so has been kind of a pisser. Want to hear?

Alright, so I wrote a few weeks ago about having discussed condom use with the students at the school. Before I did those lessons, I mentioned to the teacher coordinator that we were going to discuss sexual and reproductive health, including condoms. Then, I did the sessions separately with boys and girls. A month passed and we moved on to other things.

Then, a week and a half ago, this teacher coordinator called me into his office to say that what I had done was wrong, and anti-Islam, etc etc. While I was surprised and a little annoyed that he had taken to long to tell me, he was very respectful in his tone, and seemed to try to make it a dialogue between two people with differing points of view, rather than a wrist-slapping. That’s fine. I’m open to discussion and I know that religion is a big part of people’s lives and decision-making processes. What I was NOT ok with was the fact that he spoke about me to students when I was not present. I’m pissed that he may have tarnished my credibility with them, and I told him so. His opinion is that we should preach chastity and virtue only, and that to discuss condoms as a safety measure gives students license to sleep around willy-nilly(does the argument sound familiar?). OF COURSE I encourage abstinence. It’s the safest option and the only sure-fire way to keep your body healthy. It’s just not practical to only give people that option.

My problem is that up until this point, I really respected this man. I still do, though I really disagree with him on this point. He and I both care about the students, I just care more about the here-and-now, he is more concerned with the hereafter. I wanted to be respectful of him and of the faith and culture while still pushing for a more practical education for the students. So when this teacher invited me to his house to discuss the issue, I went. I wanted to show that the lines of communication are open. At his house, I met one of his very devout friends and was subjected to two hours of complete bullshit. His friend began with questions and speeches meant to convert me(have you ever wondered why you were created? (Let me blather on about the wonder of the universe and it‘s creator), and when I pointed out that this was off-topic from what I came to discuss, he moved on to how the West is corrupting the youth, and that if I teach condoms etc, MORE unwanted pregnancies and HIV transmissions would result. He also gave me grief about child’s right’s advocates coming over and saying that people shouldn’t beat their children (actually lots of people have been giving me hell about this lately. There seems to be a mass misunderstanding about Child’s Rights--teachers, parents, and kids alike). And he guessed that I was probably going to try to encourage homosexuality because that is acceptable in my country (not touching that one, it’s illegal here and I’m not trying to be labeled a witch and hauled off by the government). Moreover, he seemed to like having the threat of pregnancy and HIV as a weapon and stigmatizer, so that if someone became pregnant or infected they could be labeled a “fornicator” because only through premarital sex could any of these things happen. God wouldn’t allow them to happen any other way.

This discussion was exhausting for a number of reasons. I really struggled with how far I wanted to push this issue. I attended this phenomenal waste of my Sunday morning because I am aware of how America is viewed, and I didn’t want to seem like I was unwilling to listen, know everything, hating on Islam, etc. but I also think that this is important info for kids to have in the fight against HIV.

Luckily, I have been able to talk to the headmaster about the issue. Sex education, including condom use, is part of the school curriculum for senior secondary schools. I brought in text books to demonstrate, and also the official literature from the organization who supports the Peer Health Clubs on the national level. This curriculum is government sanctioned, and if someone has a problem with it, they have no right to attack me personally about it. Gambia is not an Islamic state. This high school is not an Islamic school. While religion can be part of the discussion, it cannot be the ONLY discussion. The principal backed me up, which I was grateful for, I just worry about the effect this disagreement may have had on the students and our relationship.

As a side note, what is it with religious fanatics and their obsession with sex? Why are those rules the ones they like to enforce so strictly? When there are lots of rules in a religion, why do people think that there is wiggle room in some(like in this case, I know that there are other rules of Islam that this teacher breaks and he says that there is room for interpretation but be damned if someone wants to protect themselves from HIV) , but the ones governing sexual practice are to be held hard and fast (ha. No pun there, promise.)

Why does everyone care who is doinking who?

and here's just some other pics i felt like throwing up on the blog.

some kids playing in the yard.

my best friend

and me rocking some corn rows

MAN its hot outside. Our cold season this year was, like, a week long. Now its back to hot and dry with strong harmattan winds blowing from the northeast. The wind isn’t cool and refreshing though, its hot like standing underneath a hair dryer all day. Yikes. But hey, the cashews will be here again soon, and then the rains will come (and then the mold will come ;-/) and then the mangos will come!

With my Mandinka skills being as so-so as they are, I thought I would devote some space to Gambian non-verbal communication. Without even noticing, I use quite a few in theh day-to-day. Here are my favorites.

This is the general question hand. It means “where are you going?” or “how much does this cost?” Start with the palm facing downward, then dramatically turning the hand over. A driver might make this gesture as he approaches to ask if you are going his way, and whether you want a ride. This same interaction happens in reverse when hitch-hiking.

Eh?

This is a more emphatic version of the same gesture, and I usually translate it as “What the hell?” The hands clap together, then both sharply turn palms up.

WTF?

This is a threat. It serves as a warning to a child that if he does not stop what he is doing, he will be beaten. It is done by holding the middle finger steady with the thumb, then shaking the hand forcefully so that the index finger slaps against the middle finger. The louder the sound the better. Sometimes the threat continues as follows.

I am going to beat you.

Until you die.

Then I’m going to eat you.

This one is my favorite. It begins with arms bent at 90 degree angles to the body. They then they are brought sharply down to the sides (think of the chicken dance. Its like one chicken flap). Sometimes it is accompanied by the declaration “Mbang!” but just the gesture is understood fine. It means “I refuse!”

Hey all. So here’s something that I’ve found difficult. It seems to be coming up often lately, so I figured its worth writing about. The issues of women’s equality and empowerment is one that many people play lip-service to, partly because lots of NGOs get money to do “sensitizations” on the topic, but from what I can tell, not much is sinking in. Yes, you may say that “whatsoever a man can do, a woman can also do” but do you believe it?

It’s a sticky topic to discuss, partly because of the resistance that I meet from both women and men, but also because if I get worked up then I can’t be effective any more. The last thing I need to do is mouth off about how women here are oppressed, it puts people on the defensive and isn’t helpful. In other words, I really need to control my temper. I can’t get mad just because someone isn’t living my dream.

Oddly, I meet a lot of resistance on this topic from women. Women here do ALL the housework*--cooking, sweeping, laundry, bathing the children, fetching water, plus often some small income-generating activity like selling vegetables from the garden--and quite frankly they’re PROUD of it. They keep their family fed and healthy and it’s a big point of pride for them. I’m not trying to take that away from anyone. Usually when I mention that American men cook, clean, do laundry, and take an active role in parenting, they respond by asking what I do? (usually this conversation happens when some woman is asking why I won’t marry her son/nephew/any Gambian man) Replying that I would go to the workplace and ALSO share in some of the housework, it doesn’t seem to be enough. Women are going to the workplace in increasing numbers here, and they are still responsible for the housework, and most get offended when I wonder aloud if that will change. My friend who is a teacher says that she used to teach all morning, then come home to cook lunch for her husband, then go back to work (this has changed since a second wife joined the family). The best I can say is “Yaama, that sure sounds like a lot of work.” She said that if she saw a man cooking, that she would complain that his wife was not good. Another female professional demanded that her husband hire a maid to cook and clean for them, but in no way demanded that he pitch in.

I’ve been similarly frustrated when talking to women professionals about working conditions, being a minority in the workplace, etc. I want to conduct a discussion on it in an up-coming Women’s and Girl’s Empowerment Camp, and was looking to see if people experience the same frustrations I do when working with Gambian men and balancing work and home life, and giving them a place to discuss coping strategies. I was baffled when no one mentioned any of the same frustrations. Do they not get pissed when a man talks over them? Does it not chap their ass when they are asked to do some menial task that the man is fully capable of doing himself? I don’t want to fish for these answers particularly, but I was surprised when they didn’t come up.

So how to discuss equalizing work loads without taking away someone’s pride in the job they do? Slowly slowly, Gambia. You’ll get there.

*Its important to mention that men do work too, of course. They build houses and fences. They dig wells. Men dig furrows for the rainy season crops. They slaughter animals. Its just that these jobs are seasonal, and so the Daily Working to Sitting-on-Their-Butts Ratio is a whole lot heavier on the sitting side than it is for women.

hey everybody,

Lately I've been noticing just how jaded I am on what normal development looks like in children. There are kids here who are big, for The Gambia, their hair is the right color, and so I assume that they are developing normally. But lately, Gambian relatives who are living in Europe have been visiting with their children. These kids are huge! For example, my host brother is two years old and is always eating, has lots of hair, is getting taller and runs around like a healthy kid. So I assumed that he was on the healthy track for development. But to see these Gambian toddlers being raised in the West eating vitamin fortified food, and man I'm shocked. One little girl is a year younger and a full head and shoulders taller than my younger brother. yikes.

One thing the Gambian kids have going for them is their sense of sharing. Foreign kids are BRATS. Gambian kids share everything with each other. Everybody takes bites of each other's cookies, everyone takes a lick of everyone's lollipop(yes, I recognize the germy consequences, but I'm focusing on the social advantages here), and no one cries about it. Foreign kids throw tantrums. Go Gambia. Now lets all eat vegetables together.

Hey all! Its been awhile! I just finished with two sessions on condom use with my peer health club at the high school. Two sessions, because I split them up into boys and girls so as to, hopefully, make them more comfortable to participate and learn. Both sessions were really different, but both turned out great.

The girls were few, but those who showed fully participated, and asked questions. I did an ice-breaker activity involving condom balloons. They rolled with it. They watched me demonstrate correct use on a bottle of sunscreen, then practiced for themselves. It was a somewhat easy forum for this, even though they are shy. The premise of their club is to educate themselves on health topics, then teach their peers, so I could really focus on how everyone should have good information to share with their friends, that way no one had to admit to having a boyfriend (though I’m sure they all know who has and who doesn’t). What really impressed me was the dialogue though, both what they created with me and with each other. They asked questions about common beliefs (“my friend says when you use a condom and throw it away at the end, you’re throwing away a baby. Is that true?”) and discussed common ideas about family planning, and asked enough questions about the available methods that I now know I have to do a whole session on it. One girl was really gung-ho, while the others hung back. I thought it was great that she did all the talking about the need to plan you’re pregnancies, and that maybe three is enough children that I didn’t have to be the toubab preaching these ideas. They are already here.

The boys were different, much more raunchy and macho (but very respectful of me personally), but just as open to asking questions. People seem to have this idea that the lubricant that comes on condoms is bad. I’m working hard to dispel that belief. There are also a variety of herbal remedies for all sorts of male problems or insecurities, and they had a lot of questions about that. I like having sessions that go so well, everyone seems relaxed and all the information gets out. It gives a great Peace Corps high.

That said, it really is the middle of my service. I was sworn in as volunteer just over a year ago. Time flew. It’s a bit of a strange time right now just because I’m pretty integrated, I know a lot of people and I feel like I’m a valued part of the community. I feel like I’ve got a pretty good handle on what is feasible from the ground, and who to talk to to get things done. It feels really good. Its what I came for, the experience of being integrated and familiar with a culture so different from my own. I think that’s why I don’t update as much anymore, because things seem so normal. I don’t blog about my daily life at home, and it almost seems as silly to do so now.

But on the other hand, even though I’m so much better able to work effectively than when I first got here, and things flow pretty smoothly in the day to day, now is also the time to start planning for when I get home. That’s pretty scary. Eek.

This entry includes our day-trip to River Number 2, and River number 2 Beach. River Number 2 has a lovely waterfall that we hiked to, and the beach is positively pristine. The local community runs a tourist resort there--food, lodging, etc--and all the proceeds go to running the community school. Its great, but part of the attraction was that it was so secluded and quiet. I’ve got to say that irresponsible tourism would totally ruin it. Maybe Gambian beaches were once so quiet and perfect as well.

This is us walking along the road, trying to find River Number 2. I just enjoy the redness of the soil.

This is the river and the falls (more like a gently trickling creek, pooling into a lagoon, but it was still great).

Here are some beach pics. It was lovely. The little boy just came out of nowhere and sat with us on the beach. He was super cute, and quiet. We figured either his mother sent him to beg from us, or he is just so used to white people coming to the beach, and probably doing fun things and eating good food that he is totally comfortable with them. Either way, he just sat and chilled.

fishing boats

and that was a day at the beach.

Hey all! It’s been awhile! The month of December flew by, I was busy…..doing awesome stuff….and not much in the mood to mass-communicate. So there. What did I do?

I went to Sierra Leone! If you have the chance to visit West Africa, I would highly recommend Sierra Leone. My friend Olga and I did our traveling together, because we decided to go rather spontaneously, the trip was not very clearly planned out. This only added to the adventure. ;-)

All the forthcoming updates are about that trip, you should try to read them in order. Most are pretty touristy-sounding (“and then we did THIS! And saw THIS! It was great!”) but allow me a minute to talk about the trip from a development point of view. Sierra Leone is doing so much better than Gambia. They had a huge bloody WAR and they seem to be doing better in a lot of ways. Education rates are higher, more people speak English. Their infrastructure is more present--buses THAT RUN ON SCHEDULE, paved roads WITH LITTLE LINES PAINTED ON THEM. My question is, given all that Sierra Leone has been through, why? Of course there is still poverty there, but why do they have their ducks in a row so much more than The Gam? Gambia is pretty peaceful. Gambia receives a metric shit-ton of European aid. Is it that religion plays a different role in people’s life in Sierra Leone than it does in Gambia (from what I could tell)? It must matter somewhat that back in the colonial days, the colonial seat of West Africa was in Sierra Leone, and not the Gam, hence the favoritism with better schools and roads and such, but why have they not caught up since then? It really was a frustrating thing to ponder while I was there. No answers, only questions. Anyway, on with the adventure!

We arrived outside of Freetown in the evening of Dec 6, and stayed with a friend of a friend. What struck me most was the terrain. Sierra Leone has mountains! Our plan from there was to find the Peace Corps office, and try to stay with volunteers. Some PC The Gambia staff had made it seem as if PC was currently active in Sierra Leone, and I would certainly put up a fellow volunteer for a few nights, so I thought we were set. As it turns out, PC is only in the process of becoming active in the country. Currently they have only their country director there, no other staff, no office, no volunteers. Ooops. Luckily, the new country director took pity on us , and allowed us to stay in some vacant apartments in the same building.

The following pictures are from around Freetown. There is the historic Cotton Tree. In itself, not all that exciting, they used to sell slaves underneath it. But THERE ARE BATS LIVING IN IT. Right out in the daylight in downtown Freetown. Heck Yeah.

This pic is of the historic Krio houses, built by slaves freed and returned from Britain. Note that they are built in an English style, rather than the indigenous style.

This is a view of the city from Signal Hill

Hey all,

Lately I’ve been feeling a little unfocused. There could be a variety of reasons for this. It could be that our Health and Community Development project plan for The Gambia is really vague. It could be that the training I received focused much more on the needs of the rural villages, and didn’t take into account the needs and work opportunities in a more urban setting. People around me don’t need to be encouraged to bring their children to the health clinic, they already go. They don’t want to make mud stoves, they want gas stoves like their more affluent peers have and like they see on TV. They keep business records. They know how to garden. Girls, by and large, attend school. I also wasn’t attached directly to a person or organization, I was more or less plunked down and told to find something to do(This is a mixed blessing though. Some of my friends who were attached to someone, found it was a bad connection for one reason or another, and had to awkwardly back out.).

I’m not mad about it. I love my family. I love my neighbors. I’ve found work that is meaningful to me, though no one work item has been constant throughout. My priority and focus changes according to what is going on at the time, and who is most interested in working at the time. I enjoy my work with the highschoolers most. Lately a primary school whom I had been working with but stopped because they weren’t serious, recently became reinspired and wanted me to come back and tackle some new issues with them.

This chicken project so far has come to naught. We were approved for the grant, but then some investigation happened, and no further funds have been dispensed. There is reason to believe that we still may receive funding, but the longer it delays, the more I want to just give it back if it did come. The group’s president is honest and hardworking, as are a small faction of the club’s general population. But a larger portion of the club is actively against putting any work into the club, and just want immediate benefits for themselves. In my American way of thinking, I think they can just leave the club if they don’t want to do what is expected of them to be a member, but that’s not how everyone else sees it. Also, I have a fear that some might actually sabotage any improvements, out of jealousy(I’ve seen it happen in other clubs. My friend’s club had some rabbits. Someone was jealous of the rabbits, but rather than stealing them, or getting their own, they just poisoned the rabbits. Awesome). I’ve been trying to urge the chicken group along, but most of the members feel that they have done enough now, and that they would rather sit back and wait for profits to come. Well, I’m not bringing in $15, 000 to that atmosphere. I’m worried that if I tell them that though, they will put on a happy face to please me, then still not properly maintain the project, and it will still be wasted in the end.

Ugh. Donor money is a sticky situation. There is still so much need….but so much has been spent irresponsibly.

Unrelatedly, a friend of mine at the school wants to write a grant to have internet installed at the school. He is the computer teacher there, and runs an IT club for students. The principal suggested the same when I first arrived, though he wanted it to be an internet café as an income-earner for the school, open to the general public. While earning income for the school is good, of course, my opinion (that I did not express at the time), was that the young men in the neighborhood do not need another method of doing nothing available to them. Many of them do nothing perfectly well already, and if they want to go to town, internet is there. That opinion still stands. However, this new suggestion is to install internet at the school computer lab, for use in teaching, and to give students access to the web. This makes sense, internet is in the school syllabus, yet they don’t have access. You can’t teach search engines, etc, hypothetically, you need hands-on learning. Also, the IT club is half girls (!), and they more than boys need to get comfortable with computers and internet access to stay competitive in the job market. I’d even like to set aside a few hours every week in the lab for girls only, like in the US at the gym when sometimes they have women’s hours only so that women get proper access to the machines and don’t feel shy to ask for help.

My friend the computer teacher has worked with a number of PCVs in the past, and understands sustainability, etc. His plan is to write a grant to buy the equipment and pay for the first month of web access, then charge students 5 dalasi($.25, pocket change) per hour to browse outside of class hours. With over 1500 students at the school, it should easily earn enough to pay the monthly internet bill. What still needs to be worked out, is if/how the school should benefit(it’s a slippery slope, you need the principal’s support to make anything work, but I don’t want him to expect any kickback). If all goes well, we may write a grant through Peace Corps that is funded by friends and family back at home. More on that later.

Wow, so speaking of unfocused, that was one long stream of conscious. I guess when I write it out, it sounds like I have a lot going on. But it doesn’t feel that way in the day to day.

Happy holidays.

Well here’s something I’d heard of, but never saw until this morning.

Sometimes, when a woman has had a child die in the past, when she has a new child, it is tradition to try to trick God into thinking that she doesn’t want it, and hopefully God won‘t take it. This can be done by naming it “Manlafi” which translates to “Don’t Want” or “Don’t Like.” Or, the family can bring the baby to the bush or the trash heap and leave it there. They then return to deliberate whether or not they want it, then sometimes leave it again, then in the end they take it home.

This morning I was at the neighbor’s house, attending a naming ceremony. They had shaved the baby girl’s head, named her Fatumata, and then we had all eaten porridge. Then, a bunch of older women put the baby in a bucket. She was swaddled and padded with lots of shawls, but she was still in a bucket. Women gathered around and sang and danced to the baby, then an old woman put the bucket on her head and announced that she was going to the market to sell the baby(for how much?, I asked. 100 dalasi. Roughly 4 USD). A crowd of women all went with her. Along the road they would occasionally put the baby bucket down, deliberate whether they wanted to sell it, then they would decide they did, and would continue down the road. I did notice, though this woman had doubtlessly been carrying things on her head her whole life, and could carry whole jugs of water, pans overflowing with cassava, and piles of firewood all with no hands, she kept a hand on the baby bucket on her head at all times. All the while, the people at the party kept assuring me that the baby would be back, they wouldn’t sell it, it was just tradition, etc. In the end, yes indeed, the baby did return.

I also thought this was funny, because when children piss me off, I threaten to sell them all the time. But I usually start with the low price of ten dalasi. You don’t ask too much for a stubborn child.

pronounced "Mah-NOH"

Rice harvest time. Lots of work! Per usual, I was hanging out with the neighbors, but not allowed to help, because ultimately I would mess up the rhythm of the pounding (true enough, I'm terrible at pounding), but the ladies said "Faatu! go get your camera! Tell the American people about rice farming!"

Well, people of America, here it is. Rice was planted at the beginning of the rainy season, and now is ready for harvest. The ladies go and chop the tops of the stalks off, then pound them to get the kernels off. Then, all the kernels are pounded with a mortar and pestle to remove the hull. it's lots of work, and it amazed me how little rice resulted. rice is a staple food in the gambia, but really, most of it is imported. the family across the street eats three 50 Kilo bags of rice a month, and there is no way they planted and harvested enough to last them. despite some really creative land uses, people plant in tiny little unusable areas AND big rice fields, there is not enough land, and not enough people willing to cultivate in order to be fully sustainable for the amount of people in the country. its a scary problem.

This coming November 6 marks my one-year anniversary in The Gambia. How about that? In some ways I feel like I just got here, and others it feels like I’ve been here much longer. What I guess is strange is that instead of counting up, now things may feel like a count down. Scary! But otherwise this anniversary is cause for celebration. Out of the 25 volunteers in our training group, 22 remain. Quite an accomplishment, I think.

What else have I accomplished? This is always a difficult thing to assess, and can either be depressing or comforting, depending on my mood. My motivation for joining Peace Corps was mainly for personal development, and to be helpful and friendly in any way I could to the community into which I was placed. With such vague goals, how could one help but to be successful? Honestly, I’m proud of what I’ve done. I’ve lived in a culture very different from my own, and adapted myself to it. I’ve become functional in a foreign language, though sadly I think I will always be able to hear and understand far more than I can express in response. I’ve made many friends and valuable relationships. I think I’ve been helpful in working through the grant-writing process with a community group, and I think they could do it on their own in the future. I hope I’ve been helpful in encouraging young people to make healthy choices, and to think critically. I hope I’ve been a good example of a friendly American, who knows how to do hard work. I hope I’ve been able to provide alternate perspective in conversations. Hell, I hope I’ve been able to share with people as much as they have shared with me.

Some personal qualities that I’ve found here, and value, is that I find my capacity for joy is much greater, or perhaps my threshold for it is just lower, but either way I can find happiness and reasons to laugh in the smallest of situations. Small things, like cold watermelon, can make me immensely incurably deliriously happy(The reverse can also be true, unfortunately. Huge variations in mood, even throughout the course of a day isn’t instability. Its just Peace Corps, and from my research, we all go through it). That said, I find I have more patience here, even when things are rough, and have been better able to focus on the things that I have control over, and accept the things in life over which I have no control, thereby letting them go. This has lead to a lot less stress. I hope these are skills I can retain when I return home.

What do I miss most? Anonymity, hands down. I miss being able to leave my house and blend into the crowd. I miss sitting on a street and people-watching without being stared at or approached. But I suppose there is plenty of time for that later.

I don’t feel like making this some big heart-searching moment, and if I did I don’t really want to post it on the internet. But hey, 12 months down, 15 more to go.

Oh man though, I’ve never had a pedicure in my life, but I think I could go for one when I get home. Because seriously, someone has got to turn these hooves back into feet. ;-)

Work has been busy busy lately, which has been nice. Other than discussing the inculcation of ideas to my chicken group members (see previous entry), my work with the Peer Health Club at the local high school has really taken off.

After sitting in on their meetings last year, trying to get a handle on their premise (“Learn and educate others”), watching them bicker amongst themselves, and seeing them not show up to events or do any outreach, I decided to arrange a Health and Lifeskills curriculum for them, deciding that writing skits is really not my strong suit, especially for people who don’t want to perform them. But if I gave them the correct information, they could do with it what they wanted. They could organize their own skits and spread the word formally, or they could chat with their friends and know that they had the right info. Well, the group that loves to point fingers and evade responsibility has been surprisingly willing to come to my activity sessions. They are even getting used to me wanting things to be interactive. Every other Friday, I ask them to meet for an hour after school, we do a health-related activity, have some juice, and go home. They’ve liked it. They even went so far as to use the info to write a skit and perform it for the school. Good on you, guys!

Last week we were invited to compete in a Drama and Quiz competition on the topic of HIV/AIDS. It was pretty typical notice….two days notice before the event was to occur, the invitation did not include the venue or starting hour, nor any information on how many were to participate, or how long the drama could be. Nonetheless, my group stepped up. I was proud of them. They wrote their own drama, and rehearsed it. We went over HIV/AIDS facts, discussed modes of transmission, prevention, etc.

On the day of the event, they all showed up “on time” (9 AM sharp=11:30ish), and did very well. We answered all our quiz questions correctly. * They performed with gusto. The drama itself didn’t make sense…and I offered that feedback. They performed it well, and I was thrilled that they included song, but the premise didn’t make sense(who is ever going to make the conscious choice to get HIV? No one, the choice is never that cut and dried), and honestly it spread a strong message of fear, which is counter-productive. Nonetheless, they did it all themselves, and after I said my peace about how it spread the wrong message, I felt it was best to just support them and be the best geeked-out, soccer mom supporter ever.

*this is something that I’m wondering. They can memorize facts and repeat them incredibly well, its just something they’re used to as a part of their schooling, but I’m not convinced that they actually believe them. For example, ask them if you can be infected by sharing a food bowl with someone who is infected, and they all will answer no, and explain why using all the right terms. But when push comes to shove, I’m not sure they would eat with someone who is positive. The requisite behavior change is not there, even though they “know” all the right facts. Is it that they have memorized the right words, but don’t know their meaning? Is it just that they don’t believe the books (and me)? Not sure, but while I am proud of their sudden burst of activity, my work in this area is not done.

All in all, we qualified to proceed to the finals, which will be held next Friday. We have to present a new play, so hopefully this one will focus on treatment and sensitivity to those infected. Wish us luck.

Tiyoo!

Pronounced “tee-YOH” Peanuts!!

Its peanut harvest time, and like the corn harvest, there is much to be done. Men and boys pull up the peanut plants, and dangling from the roots are all the peanuts. They then haul them home in big bundles and in wheelbarrows. The women’s job is to pull the peanuts off the roots, a job that takes several days to get through the harvest. It’s dirty work in both departments, but I’ve enjoyed sitting with the women. It’s a good time for chatting, and the old women are downright hilarious. Many a pleasant afternoon has been spent this way.

Later, the nuts will be shelled. Some will be pounded raw for use in rice porridge, some will be ground into peanut butter, and then made into “durango” a peanut sauce, and served over rice. Still others will be roasted and sold by the roadside as snack food. EVERYONE is harvesting, which means there are also a lot of peanuts around. Everyone I help has given me some to bring home, people I pass on the street give me handfuls. The thing is, peanuts don’t emerge from the ground honey-roasted and lightly salted. Raw peanuts? Not for me….they sort of have the same texture and flavor as raw potatoes. I usually give these gifts to the first child I see after I have left whomever gave them to me.

This picture with the kids was sort of funny to try and capture. These children live across the street from me, and there is usually about 17 of them aping in front of the camera wanting their picture taken. Its pretty overwhelming. But today, it was just Tulai and Babucar around, and they were shy. It went like this “Ok, Tulai, hold the peanuts…now look at me. Ok, now Babucar look at me…ok, smile!! Ok, no, look at me. And Tulai look at me. Hey, Babucar, look at me. Ok, smile!” None of them turned out, it was just too much to orchestrate, the looking and the smiling and the peanut-holding. But they are some of my favorite neighborhood kids.

So that’s that. Lots of peanut work. But you know its time for a break when you start to pop all the rotten, hollow peanuts and think “wow, this is fun like bubble wrap!”

Hey all,

“We seek to inculcate within members a feeling of brotherhood and popular participation in poultry projects…”

“Inculcate?” Really? Actually, I’ve encountered this word twice in the past week…and that’s pretty much two more times than in the whole of the rest of my life, and I thought it was worth a mention. I’ve thought a lot about language since being here, and the ideas that language is meant to relate, and the status symbol of using one language over another.

The chicken group that I’ve been working with has been on hold for a little while. Yes, or grant was approved by the grant committee, but before we could get the money, the man whose job it is to give final approval and write us a check was released from his job. We’re waiting for the UNDP to hire someone else. We’ve been waiting for some time…but we’re patient. This is development. Anyhoo, we’re using our time wisely, to review and revise our group’s constitution. Its written in very flowery, wordy, English and I’m not at all convinced that the general members of the group understand it. We’ve had trouble with people not following the rules laid out in the constitution, so I suggested that maybe revising the wording to make it more straightforward might be a step in the right direction. We seek to inculcate a lot of ideas into the membership. I wonder if we might try to encourage these ideas, or foster them. The other word that was repeated unnecessarily much was “quorum.” Quorum, quorum, quorum. Its not that I don’t know what it means, its not that it was used incorrectly. It’s just that its such an odd word to hear from non-native English speakers. Heck, I’m a native speaker, and I’ve never had need to use it. In fact, I think it lends itself rather well to made-up meanings. (Harry and Ron were having quite a difficult time in Herbology class this term. They had yet to harvest enough quorum to complete their potions. All of a sudden, the seed pods with which they were working burst all over them. “Ugh! I’m covered in quorum and it‘s burning my skin!” yelled Ron. See?) So the goal of the meetings with my group has been to simplify, simplify, simplify, an idea that wasn’t as readily accepted as I thought it might be. I’ve over and over been asking, “yes, but what does that mean? What do you mean by that?” but we’re working through it, slowly slowly.

Oddly, later in the week, I again encountered more people wishing to inculcate ideas or qualities in other people. I stopped by just to greet a headmaster at the local primary school. He was working on revising the school’s mission statement, and wanted me to look it over and give suggestions. According to the statement, the school wishes to inculcate in students all the necessary tools to be successful in life. When I asked just what tools these might be, he listed academic skills, which is great. When I asked if there were any personal qualities which he thought were important to inculcate in the students as well. It was interesting what we came up with. We agreed on such qualities as honesty and a good work ethic. But when I suggested inculcating such qualities as independence and self-sufficiency, these were met with reticence. Even when he was trying to get a word out of me, and defined it as “being able to provide for yourself and your family without resorting to banditry” So self-sufficiency? No, he really didn’t like that idea, it was too focused on the self. Interesting. Yet another time when I am forced to remember how damn American I am, how American my values are, and indeed how well inculcated I was with them throughout my childhood.

Anyway, with both of these documents that my counterparts are trying to write, it was very important to them that they were in English, and even more so, in complicated English. It’s a status thing. But I’ve wondered for awhile just how much is lost in translation. From English to Mandinka, I can get the words right, and surface ideas across, but I think that important connotation, much of which cannot be really explained is lost. Its more obvious to me when it is someone speaking English for whom it is not their native tongue. Even if their words are correct, sometimes I am still pretty sure that what they have said is not what they meant. Or what it means to me, is not what they meant to say exactly. I’m sure it goes the other way. What are we not communicating to each other?

Oh man, I set the goal of saying inculcate 10 times in this entry.

Inculcate!

Hey, just thought I’d post some more pics of my fam being great. The past few weeks we’ve been harvesting the corn. Its maize, really, so it’s a lot tougher than sweet corn at home. I thought maybe that if I boiled the hell out of it, it would taste like sweet corn. It doesn’t. We dry it in the sun, then pop all the kernels off with our thumbs (as shown in these pictures), then those are dried fully, then pounded and cooked. I’ve actually not seen what the final food product looks or tastes like. The popping-the-kernels-off-the-cob time is a good time for chatting, but man your thumbs get tired.

Hey all, I was just going through some pictures from the summer, and I realized that I forgot to post this one. Fatumata was born sometime in August, to one of my host mother’s sisters. It was pretty amazing, I got to hold her when she was only about six hours old. In this picture, she must be about one week old, I’m pretty sure this was taken on the day of her naming ceremony (notice the shaven head).

Also, I want to draw attention to her awesome Burt and Ernie eyebrows. Women here shave their eyebrows and draw them on in bright colors (gold! Metallic purple!)when they dress up, but I think its pretty atrocious when they do it to babies. Atrocious or awesome. My favorite is when the baby moves while they draw them on, so all day the brows are uneven and looks like the baby is smirking. Anyway, it’s a fashion choice from which no baby is safe.

lately it seems like these guys are everywhere! gross, hey? their legspan gets up to five inches! luckily, i've never seen them hanging out on walls, or lurking under beds being creepy. they mostly stay up in webs up in the trees or power lines. i'm pretty spider intolerant, so if i found one in the house, he would probably get a book dropped on him.

Well, that was quite a month. Kind of glad it’s over, to be honest. I’m ready for everybody to get back to work. Glad, I experienced it though. While I was fasting, I started my days early, around 5:30, with a big scrambled egg sandwich, coffee, and glass of water, then I would head back to bed and sleep for as long as I could. After that, the day continued as usual, though I tried to sleep during the 2pm to 4 pm hours. That’s Gambian lunch time, and was so very difficult. The key was to stay busy. Then, around 7:20 in the evenings, we would all break fast with bread (that’s one thing The Gam gets right, their bread is great), really sugary tea, and a dish made with (usually) noodles, potatoes, and some sort of protein-- chicken, eggs, or beans--cooked in onions and other spices. These dishes are great. Once we had beef. Seriously, BEEF. Mmmm. Then, my fam usually served a sugared down kool-aid type drink(I‘m pretty sure we all ate our weight in sugar this month), then dinner was served an hour later.

Overall, I fasted for 7 days, though while I was traveling, I sort of fasted by default merely because I didn’t want to eat in front of anyone who wasn’t eating, and if I didn’t have a chance to run behind a tree for a drink of water or something, then I had to wait until break fast time,. So maybe I fasted for longer, like 12 days. Either way, I lost more weight than I consider healthy and decided it wasn’t worth it.

The final day of Ramadan, called Koriteh, is a major feast day, everyone gets dressed up, we eat lots of good food and have a good time. In the evenings, people (usually women and children) walk around asking for “saliboo” or prayer gifts. They want money, usually I give candy, but its also totally appropriate to give prayers. “May Allah give you long life!” is not quite as satisfying as some dalasis. Sorry.

It was funny to me what rules people chose to follow during Ramadan, or what they were willing to compromise on. For one, people were spitting everywhere. God doesn’t want you to eat or drink anything, including your own spit, so you’re hawking everywhere? Gross. Also, people aren’t supposed to listen to any music throughout the month, but I know I heard it. People aren’t supposed to smoke, tobacco or marijuana, ever, but I know I saw and smelled that too. People aren’t supposed to have romantic relations with their girlfriends or boyfriends (spouses are fine, I think), and my PCV friends who have Gambian partners told me that this rule was adhered to without fail. I’m not judging people for breaking the rules, I’m just saying that if it was me, and all sins being equal, and I was looking to break some rules but not others, I’d prioritize differently. ;-) Food and affection from the opposite sex would be WAY higher on the list than music and cigarettes. People who are sick, old, or traveling, women who are pregnant, breastfeeding, or menstruating, are all NOT SUPPOSED TO FAST. The Koran says so. But women did. In fact, all the women who I know who are pregnant or breastfeeding fasted. It pissed me off.* They just don’t want to make it up later in the year, when everyone else is eating. People in general liked to tell me how many more days than me they fasted, and it felt a little competitive. When I explained that I tried for sake of experience, and that its not my religion, nor a requirement for me, they backed down, but it did seem a little like they took some satisfaction from being stronger than me. This isn’t that surprising. I know religious groups in the US who enjoy being ‘holier than though’ too.

*Actually, I would say that behavior change communication, or BCC, is probably the most difficult and frustrating part of this job. There are plenty of situations where I think “If they just did THIS, their lives would be so much easier, safer, more efficient, BETTER. Soap for hand-washing, sending girls to school, smoking cigarettes even though your family can’t afford vegetables. It’s not that people don’t know the health or life benefits of these choices, they’ll tell you that what they are doing is not good, but they do it anyway. Talking to these women about their fasting choices was just a pisser. They KNOW they are harming their babies. They agree with me that its not good to fast. But they do it anyway. I talk to their husbands, and their husbands talk to them, and they still refuse. Children don’t fast, but they are forcing their developing fetuses to fast. If I’d have known this was going to be a problem, I would have tried to tackle it earlier before the month started, maybe organize for them all to eat now, then all fast TOGETHER in a few months.

To put this in perspective, how many things have we all been encouraged to do, and know we should, but don’t? I don’t floss. Every dentist visit of my whole life, I’ve been told to floss but I don’t ( I also have no cavities). I don’t have a regular exercise routine, I’m just blessed with a good metabolism, but I’m sure that will kick me in the ass later in life. I don’t always wear a seatbelt sometimes. See, I get it, just knowing the possible consequences of your actions is not enough, there is more to behavior change, and it can’t be forced on people.

So, in all, Ramadan was an experience worth having, but I’m sure glad its over.

**Whoa, re-reading this post it seems a little disjointed. I wrote it while fasting, so maybe that’s the reason. Anyway, when I started being able to eat again, my mood and focus improved immeasurably.

Hey all, I’ve not been in the mood to communicate much lately, but I might as well write about my trip up-country. It was exactly what I needed, I was able to see friends, see parts of the country that I hadn’t yet seen, and do some thinking on development.

I began by visiting a friend in a Fula village on the north bank of the country, sort of in the middle. Her village is fairly small, and is about 12 K from the main road. Transport only comes through her village twice a week. That means if you’ve got places to be any other time, its either bike it, walk it, or make really good friends with someone with a horse cart(as it happens, not a foolproof method. On the night before I needed to leave, it rained heavily such that the horse cart could not make it through the mud. We walked it). What struck me first was how much more green things were there than where I live. There is less concrete--houses, roads, or fences--, less trash (plastic shopping bags, plastic candy wrappers, plastic water bags, little tiny plastic bags used to contain popsicles, batteries), and just more open space for farming. It was gorgeous. When I noted this to my friend, she just looked at me and replied, “duh, they can’t afford that.” Also, people just seemed more genuine. They were all friendly, but no one asked me for anything. They all just asked where I was staying in the country, and how long I would stay here. It was really refreshing in that respect. Also, no bumsters or wanna-be thugs.

After leaving there, I headed to the very far eastern end of the country, and stayed with two different friends there. I found the same to be true in both of their villages, everything was greener, people were nicer. Yes, things are more remote(we had to walk 15 K to get to the nearest weekly market), but the atmosphere was also just more pleasant. Also, there is so much more biodiversity in their forestry up there. Around me, its all mango, cashew, and oil palm. But up there is a huge variety of plant life, some edible, some not, but it just seems more healthy. My friends reported that the attitude towards development was different as well. Since no tourists go up that way, and very very few development dollars get that far up-country, people know that if they want something done, they will have to do it themselves. There weren’t nearly so many young men just sitting around under trees trying to tell me their name is 50 Cent, they’re too busy fixing fences to protect the crops. On the other hand, the people there are very busy in terms of everyday survival, so sometimes there just isn’t anything in terms of “development” going on, they don’t have time to have a meeting to discuss the health of the community or sending girls to school, and I think sometimes my friends feel bored and isolated.

So that was my brief comparison on development in The Gambia. In my opinion, Western Region of The Gam has had too much of it, and this has killed the incentive of many of it’s citizens. They’ve got more stuff, and expectations for stuff, than they have the education and understanding of what to do with it. But on the other hand, there is always something to do if I need it. I can get fruit and vegetables whenever I want them(even if I have to buy them from a wanna-be gangster named 50 Cent), I can get a car whenever I want it. And my people are here. It felt nice to be home.

Hey folks at home. August has been a challenging month for a variety of reasons, but I’m living through it, and its almost done. Work has been slow, my cat died, and while I’m reasonably sure that the group who raises chickens, with whom I have been working, will be awarded the grant that we requested from the United Nations Development Project, it’s a little scary. This is, of course, very exciting; we worked very hard on it and did lots of revisions. However, now the REAL WORK will begin, and I feel a lot of pressure and responsibility for this $15, 000. We’re digging a well, we’re fencing their land, we’re buying, vaccinating, and raising 450 layer hens. However, the very day after I had learned that we would likely get the money (and the very day my cat died), I heard some drama from the history of the group, which makes me question their integrity. Seriously, guys, we’ve been working together for a number of months. This information would have been helpful, oh, any day but today. With careful management, this project could be profitable for the community, and with only a few people slacking, it could go to hell. So we’ll see.

Other work has been slow. I’m looking forward to school starting up again, I liked working with the kids at the secondary school.

When I’ve been feeling down, or frustrated, or just plain bored, it’s never anything outwardly very meaningful that makes me feel better, and I have to keep reminding myself that. It’s usually something really small, like teaching the kids across the street Itsy Bitsy Spider (and man, we can sing it like mo-fos, let me tell you), or seeing how many clothes pins we can to clip each other’s faces (you’d be surprised how many, actually). The other day, I went over to a co-workers house, he wasn’t there, but I chatted to his wife for a long time. She seemed genuinely happy to have me there, and not just because I’m white and therefore might sponsor her children to school, and not just putting up with me because she knows my host mother. We chatted for a long time and she made lunch. It was just nice, being appreciated for me.

So that’s that. I’m out of here.

So one more thing that has made August difficult, and I figured it deserves an update all to itself. I felt that this month more than others, I heard the phrase “you can’t do this” more often than in previous months. This could because now is the time for lots of farming and manual labor, but when I try to join, I am confronted by “you cannot do this” or “you are not able” more often than before.

This pisses me off. It turns my day bad. It took a few minutes of clear-thinking to realize just how American my reaction is. Really, maybe it’s a very American experience to spring forth from the womb triumphant with the inherent knowledge that with enough hard work, one can do anything. I‘m told this is not a universal experience, so maybe people don’t realize how insulting it is to me to be told I’m not capable of something. Also maybe I need to chill out. You’re right, when I do my laundry, I can’t make the squilch-squilch noise that the women here make with it. And for God’s sake, I don’t know WHY I can’t, I use enough soap and rub the fabric together with my wrists and knuckles, but it just doesn’t make the noise. Because my laundering is silent, my host mother, sisters, and neighbors all assume that I am not getting it clean, so they come over and take the clothes out of my hands, bend down and do it for me. So now I do the laundry behind my house. I’m not running around with stains on my clothes, they smell fine. And I did it myself. So there.

But what about the things that I CAN do? For example, I was at the preparations for a baby-naming ceremony, and women were gathered around an enormous cooking pot frying panketos (Balls of fried sweet dough not unlike a donut. Fresh, they are delicious. Day-old and they squeak when you bite into them, and probably bounce like tennis balls). They asked me if I could do this. I replied, hesitantly, that I could. My reasoning is that while my first few might not be perfectly round, with a few minutes of practice, I think I could drop dough into the hot oil, roll it around with the three-foot-long spoon, and retrieve them. The women all argued that this is very hard work, the fire is very hot, and that I could not do it. But they also wouldn’t let me try.

Am I just being super immature here? When I know I’m not capable of doing something, I’m pretty open about it. Can’t make the squilch-squilch noise, though I think my clothes are clean enough without it. Can’t fix anyone’s computer problems. Ever. Can’t be an astronaut when I grow up….

So I was left feeling unsure about what the proper response should be. I mean no disrespect when I say that I am capable of something, and in no way mean to imply that the work is not difficult. Yes, I can dig holes with a shovel for many hours, but I’m glad that it’s not my job. It is hard work. I can distinguish weeds from crops, and can pull them by hand or with a hoe, but I’m glad that it’s not what I do day in and day out. It’s hard work. But to say aloud that I am not capable of something just jars me, and goes against my very up-bringing.

So that’s that. I’m going to explore up-country for a little while. Then we’re getting new volunteers, and I get new site mates! And then school starts again, thank God, and maybe we can get these GD chickens up and running.

Oh, and I decided that I will fast this Ramadan (It started Saturday the 22), at least while I‘m in my own community. My reasoning is that in the evenings, people eat lots of really really good food. While my host family would never exclude me from these dishes, if I were not fasting, I would feel that I didn’t quite deserve it. And would be nice to have that feeling of solidarity with those around me. And I can do it. So don’t tell me that I can’t. It pisses me off.

*Addendum: After my first day of fasting, my conclusions are that the thirst is WAY worse than the hunger, though at no time did I stop sweating or feel cold, so I think I was ok. The hours from 2-4 pm are worst, probably because that is Gambian lunch time, and when I am accustomed to eating. And the breaking the fast food is AMAZING. Totally worth it.

Hey ya’ll. It’s been awhile. The last couple of weeks have been sort of up and down. Work has been work, etc. My cat died a really nasty poisoned-thrashing-around-on-the-floor death. In a sort of mixed blessing, I’m reasonably sure that the group who raises chickens, with whom I have been working, will be awarded the grant that we requested from the United Nations Development Project.

Actually. To be honest I don’t feel like updating right now, but I thought I should because it had been a few weeks. I’m alive though, so until next time.

Hey so the other day, all the kids in my compound were playing a game. I’d never seen it before. It went a little like this:

One kid would yell “Toubab! Any Minty!”

And the other kid would throw a charred cashew at him. Sometimes the response would be more complex like “Sure! The minties are here in my bag!” and then he would throw the cashew.

The “Toubab! Any minty!” is a pretty common refrain for kids in The Gambia, I was just surprised to hear it from THESE kids. I’m the fourth PCV to live in Jammeh Kunda, and these kids have never toubabed me. In fact they defend me from kids who come from other neighborhoods(and it really is something to have a 4-year-old hold your hand and yell at her peers, in her little squeaky voice “Her name isn’t Toubab! It’s Faatu!”), so naturally I assumed that their close interaction with PCVs (some are young enough that they have always known PCVs to be here in their compound) had somehow made them enlightened on racial matters, able to see and appreciate people as individuals, and able to see through the silliness of stereotyped expectations. Nope. Maybe just under threat of a severe beating for bothering the toubabs who live at Jammeh Kunda. Or maybe it just hasn’t worked in the past with PCVs, so they stopped trying.

“Any Minty!” is irritating, but I can’t say that I always blame the kids for yelling it. It totally works sometimes. I’ve been in touristy places, and overheard people who were going to visit a school later, saying they wanted to stop and buy candy for the kids (for Christ’s sake, if you’re going to visit a school, and can’t help but give something, why not, oh I don't know, PENCILS?!). But it does make me wonder what the kids think of ME. I never give candy. I’ve made banana bread and shared with the neighborhood. I play. I chat. But I never give candy or money. So DO they see and appreciate me as an individual? Or am I, and all the PCVs before me, just the worst toubabs ever, stingy and lame. Don’t we know we’re supposed to throw candy from cars?

Anyhoo, it was really interesting to watch. Later the game turned to “Yaya Jammeh! Biscuits!” because the president throws cookies from his motorcade.

Kids.

Except for today, because they’re both in my blog entry. So which one to tackle first?

Ramadan is coming up soon, and if you don’t know, it’s a whole month of fasting and prayer. Done correctly, one doesn’t eat or drink any water from sun up to sun down, all month long. My question is, do I participate? It’s cultural. My PCV friends say that it gives you a certain amount of street cred if you say you are fasting. My hangup is that I;m not Muslim. Everyone knows this and its not been a problem. I don’t want it to seem that I am somehow mocking someone’s religion by participating ( I also feel stupid every time I have to introduce myself as Fatumata, the name of the Prophet’s daughter. It sounds dumb when I am obviously not a Muslim. Should have changed it, too late now). For example, if I said I were fasting, the next question would be, are you praying? I don’t feel like having a long discussion on what prayer constitutes prayer, so the answer would be no because I am not praying the way they pray. And so what’s the point? My other reservation around fasting is less philosophical, more physical. I’m hungry all the time anyway, I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t eat. Nothing would be accomplished all month long. And not drinking water is not an option. I don’t like to do things half-assed, so it makes me think I shouldn’t try it at all. But it’s cultural, and it might be a good experience. And I should at least put on a show of support and solidarity (even if I were eating, I would certainly have the respect to do it in my house) for my family and community. Suggestions? Am I mocking people by participating in their religious practices when I am not a believer? Should I just fake it? Should I go all in and just do it?

And now to the sex discussion. Some youth in the community asked me for condoms this past week. That’s awesome. In a culture where age of sexual debut is quite young, and many people have multiple partners, I was glad to hear that this person wanted to be safe. I advised they go to the nearest health center, about 2 K away, where I was told that condoms are distributed for free. The young man who had come to me said that he had already gone to the health center, but that he had been turned away empty-handed. The health center had told him that they did not want him to take condoms that he had gotten for free, then turn around and sell them to make a profit. Hmm. Well. I would think an organization promoting sexual health would distribute condoms for free, regardless of the risk that someone may profit. Or, even so, my solution would be to flood the market with free ones, then no one would even think of buying them from anyone. We could hang them from trees! Give them out as prayer gifts--instead of money or candy! If the president would throw condoms into the crowd instead of huge boxes of cookies, then maybe fewer children would be run over by his motorcade…and also people might make safer choices in their sex lives.

Anyhoo, so in the meantime, before I could figure out what exactly was up with the health center, I got some condoms from Peace Corps to distribute. This is not a sustainable solution, but if someone wants to be safe, I want to make that choice available. We had a short how-to session, slapped a few of those rubbers on my sunscreen bottle for practice, and he was ready to go!

When I finally did go to the health center to investigate how easy it was to procure condoms, I discovered that indeed it was not. Each time I introduced myself as a PCV, saying that I had some inquiries from people on where to get condoms, and wanted to know exactly where to direct them to make it easiest. After inquiring in a few different departments, I was shuffled from office to office, and it got a little old. Finally, I found the place I needed to be, way across the health center compound, I was directed to a small office, way at the end of a side hallway. And the man who would distribute them to me wasn’t there, he was in a meeting. Seriously? I never would have found it, nor would I have stuck around to wait for the man. Now, add to the situation that I’m some awkward teenager who doesn’t want to be there in the first place, Jesus, no wonder condom use isn’t all that widespread.

So I’m not sure what to do. I’ll still direct people there, but I’d rather have someone in my community willing to distribute them (but will men seek them if a woman is distributing? Will women seek them from a man? What if the person is old?). It’s not sustainable for me to keep doing it(and super awkward. If I give someone 8 condoms, then they come back to me 5 days later for more, I don’t want to think about that! I don‘t want to monitor anyone‘s sex life!), but I will until something better can be arranged.

And that’s all the news that’s fit to print. And I’ve got heat rash. good story, whitney

Hey so many of you may know that I used to work with kids with severe behavioral problems before coming here. Some were violent, and some had odd habits in such ways that it would be difficult to fit in. For example, I knew a young man who would spank his bottom, squinch up his face, and say he was an old granny every time he was in a social situation that made him nervous. We tried to discourage that. I had some severe déjà vu of exactly these situations, just the other day.

I was at the house of one of my mother’s friends. Everyone was chatting in Mandinka. I can understand most things if I pay attention and put forth a little effort, but by this time I was daydreaming and not listening at all. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, one of the kids says, in Mandinka, “I have a pen in my asshole. Hold it.” I turned around, and yes indeed, he had put a pen between his cheeks and was wiggling his behind in the direction of his brother. Now, conversations are still a struggle for me, I understand only the general meaning of things, none of the complexities, and I had not been paying attention at all.

But I heard THAT sentence, plain as day.

It made me question what we take for abnormal child behavior in the States, and how diagnoses fly willy-nilly. Maybe all kids are just weirdos, and they grow out of it. But I also pondered the various diagnoses that a child could receive, and that none of the services are available here, if there really were problems with their development. Probably the problem/solution lies somewhere between the diagnosis-happy-ness of America, and the kids-are-kids attitudes I see here.

Pull the pen out your butt, kid. Go wash your hands.

Hey all

So sometimes I think that Peace Corps is a great job for me because I don’t mind being alone, and being in a hut by myself with people who, while friendly, will never quite understand me is not a problem. On the other hand, Peace Corps is a terrible job for me because I don’t mind being alone, in fact I can get lost inside my hut inside my head doing some mundane task or other(lately its been weeding the garden, that task is never done), contemplating the world, and before I know it half the day is gone and I haven’t left the house yet. I could just Zen out and live like this forever.

So lately I’ve been back at site, but since so much of what I had been doing was based at schools, and now schools are on exams, then will be on summer holiday until September, I’m not quite sure what to do with my time. (getting teachers and school staff to meet outside of school hours is really tough, even during the school year. All of their in-service stuff happens during the school day, so the kids just run wild. Plus in the coming months everyone will be busy with their rainy-season planting.) So lately I’ve been sort of back to basics, just wandering around and chatting with people. It’s been nice, hanging with the women, playing with their kids.

Something that I’ve noticed that I struggle with, and think that things would go smoother if I could just master, is the art of indirectly talking about something, or talking around an issue. I’m usually pretty blunt in my discussion, and when I have a question or observation, I just put it on the table, and it can be so maddening when someone will start talking about something else entirely. They’re not being evasive, they intend to get around to whatever topic was at hand, just not by the most direct route. It think sometimes I come off as outright rude when I go straight to the core of an issue. For example, women sometimes don’t talk about their pregnancy for fear that devils may curse them and they will lose the child, so it is a better tactic, if you want to discuss it, ask her if she knows anyone who is pregnant, then talk about it in the abstract. I need to work on that skill in other areas.

Men have been more jerky than usual lately. Honestly, they’re egos are amazing, is it really so shocking that I DON’T want to chat with you? Really, I know that you’re just such a stand-up guy, and have so much to offer in the ways of intellectual conversation as you tell me how perfect and easy it is in America (Not crapping on all Gambian men, just the ones who follow me down the street until I seek shelter with an old woman. They don’t want to be shamed, so they’ll usually back off when I do this, though not always.).

This is another time when I have to be careful not to be TOO blunt(even when they ask for it), men seem caught off guard when I directly defend myself, and I don’t want to appear too rude to the women with whom I seek shelter. I just have to remember that just because I KNOW some good insults doesn’t mean I should use them.

Anyhoo. It’s hot. I’ve been here 8 months, how awesome is that?

Hey all, its been a great week. Mostly, it included having an All-Volunteer meeting of every PCV in the country, and lucky for some careful use of the rules, we got to have it at a 5 star resort. The highlights of this week were:

Sitting on grass.

Eating bacon.

Letting my knees and calves see the light of day.

Unrelatedly, we got internet installed at our Peace Corps transit house, this is fabulous.

But I thought i would throw up a few more pics of my fabulous family. These were taken on the day of my two older host brothers'(dressed in green) Koranic reading (I feel like it was sort of like a final exam for the year for them). They had to recite verses of the Koran from memory, and while I wish they were learning other things at school, it was pretty cute to watch. The oldest will be going to regular school next year, so thats good.

Enjoy!

Hey look, its my and my fam. This is my host sister Nyima (or Maa, for short) and my brothers Bubacar (Buba) and Monlamin (Amie), all dressed up.

I was all like, hey Darbo, is this clothes line in the way? Should we move?

No! Nothing is in the way!

Ok, well we still look good. ;-)

Anybody? Toto? No? Ok.

Well rainy season is finally here, which means that mango season(oh hell yes) is also here and hungry season is not far behind (the time when the dry season harvest is running short, and the rainy season crops have not matured). The rains have truly been a blessing because during the day not only has it been hot, but its been incredibly humid. Mostly the rains have come at night, sometimes they last for hours, accompanied by lots of thunder and lightning. The downside is that even though the rains are pleasant when they come, as soon as they’re over it goes right back to being humid, and I go right back to laying in a puddle of my sweat. Nothing is dry. My skin is never dry, my clothes are never dry even when left in the sun, everything smells moldy, food goes bad more quickly. And there is more insects. Right now all the streets are a big muddy mess such that is impossible to get anywhere without wading through sticky mud. That said, it is nice to have everything green around me, rather than dust colored. Despite it’s discomforts, I like this season.

Mangos are out in full force. They are so plentiful that many rot beneath the trees. I had big plans for a mango-drying initiative in order to preserve them throughout the year. But as I stated above, getting anything dry is a problem. The mosquito-net tent that worked well for drying bananas has not been so successful with mangos just because its so humid out. Even when left in the sun, the fruit just ferments out there. So I’m not sure what I’m going to have to do about that. Probably just eat some more mangos. Think it over.

Hey, check out this bug. He’s about the size of my thumbnail and only comes out after the rains. Pretty, isn’t he?

Addendum: Hey, know what’s fun? Having it pour torrential rain, sideways, plus having the shits due to probably eating too many mangos, therefore having to go out to the pit latrine every 15 minutes or so.

Lesson learned.

Hey so I was going to be done posting about Spain, but then our return trip was so entirely noteworthy that I decided it was worthy of another entry.

On our way to the airport in Madrid, we ran into another PCV from The Gambia, Jax, on her way back from a trip to Morocco, and as it turns out, we were to fly back to Dakar on the same flight. Awesome, not only was it great to see her and exchange stories, but she also speaks Wolof and so would prove helpful. Blahblahblah, flight was fine. Then, we arrived in Dakar at 9 pm their time, though it was 11 pm by our Spain-adjusted bodies. And immediately there was no doubt that we were back in West Africa.

Our original plan had been to sleep in the airport terminal until morning, then try to arrange transport home, but being so tired of traveling (and worried that we might get kicked out), we decided to try to arrange for a night bus to the border, hoping to make it to the north bank in time for the first ferry. Jax negotiated very hard on our behalf to get a car to take us, finally they settled on a price that was only slightly more expensive than what we had paid to get there, we agreed considering the driver would be going all night. Also, this transport company seemed somewhat legit, considering they had an office at the airport, we didn’t want to get stuck in some shady carpark in the middle of the night.

At this point, we realized that we did not have enough CFA (pronounced “say-fah”, the official currency in Senegal) to pay for the trip, but many of us had some Euro left over. But where to change it at 10 pm? On the street, of course. So, without much difficulty at all, we found a man on the street right outside the airport willing to change our Euro. We weren’t sure how much the exchange SHOULD be, but all the people we talked to seemed to agree. We exchanged bills, but then wanted to exchange coins, only to be told that coins were exchanged at a much worse rate than the bills were. Why? Money is money. We told him that that was BS, and when he asked for more coins to make up for the balance, we told him “mbang!” (while sharply flapping our arms down at our sides once, much like a chicken dance, it means “I refuse!”) and he burst out laughing and responded “You refuse? Ok then, we’re friends.” Sounds like shady practice to me, but what do you want from changing money on the street.

Once we got that sorted out, we returned to load onto our van and get going. Before we could take off, the driver and the man with whom we had been negotiating asked Jax, our Wolof speaker to come into the office so that they could take her passport number and giver her a receipt. When she got into the office, they locked the door and proceeded to berate her in Wolof. They then tried to add 30,000 CFA to our already agreed price. Jax was only able to get out of the office when she said that she needed to go back to the car to get money. Instead she returned with the only male traveling in our group, the men changed their tune, and we got on the road. It was around 11 pm.

As if there hadn’t been quite enough hints that this was not a safe choice, the ride was a nightmare. Our driver, while very nice, drove like a maniac. He was going at absolutely ridiculous speeds, careening around potholes, and swerving around other drivers. We would ask him to slow down, but bit by bit he would speed up again. There were many times that I seriously questioned whether I would rather die in my sleep, or rather stay awake to see my death barreling towards me at breakneck speeds. On the upside, I can now say “slowly slowly” in four languages.

By the grace of God, we arrived at the border at around 4:30 am, did the passport thing, and arranged for another car. The new driver indeed took advantage of the fact that it was early, we are foreigners carrying backpacks, and it was raining. But we negotiated a price and started for the riverbank, 20 K away. Along the way, Jax wanted to get out and walk to her village. It was only 2 k off the road, and she was anxious to get home. The driver wouldn’t let her out. He said that it was dark and raining, therefore not safe, but if we doubled the price, he would take her all the way. What? Double the price to add another 4 K to our 20 K trip? No way dude, we’re already paying you too much. But he continued to be rude, he wouldn’t let her out, and it really was insulting. Seriously dude, we’re here giving up two years of our lives to help develop your country, and all you can do is be a greedy asshole? We could be home earning money, having a normal support network of friends, having a normal romantic life, but we’re here instead trying to bring some good into the world. F you and F that noise. We raised such a ruckus that he finally let her leave, but he was really pissed at us for not giving him more money. Ugh, its not that I want special favors, I’ll pay a fair price for fair work, I just don’t want to be taken advantage of. Asshole.

We finally got to the ferry, waited in the rain to be let on. I fell asleep on board, in the rain, because I was just that tired.

When we reached the other side, the steady rain had turned into a downpour, and again we needed to arrange for a car to bring us to the PC hostel. We arranged a price with one car, and began loading in. The price was again elevated due to the rain and the fact that we were all carrying luggage. But then, another driver offered a price that was half of what we agreed to. We gave our driver a chance to reduce, he refused, so we unloaded our luggage and started to get into the new car. Our driver got mad and started yelling at us and at our new driver. Some of us loaded into the new car, but then the other driver physically blocked the rest of us from getting in. So we’re stuck standing in the downpour, holding our bags, while the two drivers yell and shove each other in the street over who gets to drive us, and at what price. This went on for about ten minutes, a crowd gathered, it was great. We finally were able to get the people OUT of the car who had gotten in, and we got another car. And paid a small fortune to be dropped right at our doorstep.

So at the late hour of 9 am, we all passed out, muddy and exhausted.

Dear West Africa,

Thanks for all your help.

Whitney

Hey all,

So I’ve been intentionally vague about work in my previous entries. I think I was waiting for something to be successful before I talked about it to my followers at home, but where is the learning experience in that?

So here is my recent activity. I’ve spent quite a bit of time in the past few months working with an organization who raises chickens for meat, and wants to expand into egg production. The group, especially their president, is pretty great. They understand the problem in The Gambia’s economy, in that they import EVERYTHING, and export very little. So wanting to produce food locally is their attempt at fighting the problem, at least on the small scale to begin with. They are very hard-working and committed. So I’ve spent a lot of time writing a grant proposal with the group’s president. Overall, I’m lucky. Given a little extra time, he reads and writes English, has some computer experience, and is a very very hard worker. I know that even when it makes me want to pull my hair out(oh jesus, it would be so much FASTER if I could just do it myself), writing the grant together is a good learning experience for him, and hopefully I’m transferring skills that will be left behind when I leave.

But also, it’s a good learning experience for me. I don’t know anything about chicken farming. What is a de-beaking machine? (it cuts the beaks off all the chickens)Do you really need one? (yes, because sometimes they peck each other to death) What are the risks and benefits of imported versus locally-produced feed? (imported is of much higher quality, but it is expensive and will sometimes be inexplicably unavailable. Locally produced feed will always be available, but is difficult to mix correctly, may cause inferior eggs, or cause the chickens to stop laying).

But the real problem I’m encountering, is now that we have written and re-written drafts and drafts of this document, is that I don’t think that the project can be sustainable. After crunching the numbers on the cost-benefit analysis, from how many eggs they can be expected to collect, to how much they will sell for, the group stands to make only a minimal profit if everything goes according to plan and nothing nothing goes wrong (and of course something will go wrong. That is life and this is The Gambia). These chickens just can’t compete with the imported gacked-out-on-steroids chickens.

So what to do? If I could just will it into being, I would love this project to be successful. I trust that my counterpart will do everything in his power to make it so, but I just don’t think it will be enough. And its irresponsible to put money into something that is bound to fail, no matter how much you like the person you’re working with. So do I tell them, and try to convince them to change tactics? What if they don’t want to? Do I continue to write this proposal with them, and when it gets rejected, blame it in the grant committee? Will my counterpart lose all of his idealism and quit?

Suggestions?

Hey all,

Heading back to The Gambia tomorrow, and for the most part I'm looking forward to getting back to my house, getting back to my fam, and getting back to work.

But Madrid was a blast. The things I was most pleased about was seeing pieces of art that I had studied in college, but only seen in books, never in real life. While here, I saw "Guernica" by Picasso, "The Garden of Earthly Delights" and "The Haywain" both by Bosch. They were all huge!! I was really impressed merely by the size of the works, but then to be able to analyze the detail was really fascinating. I also saw a variety of others, but those three were most poignant in my mind.

Oh boy, now who is ready for a flight, followed by a night at the airport, then a looooong ride in a car, then a horsecart ride, then etc.....?

here we go!

just a quick note to say that Madrid is a fabulous city. I'm pretty sure I've got about as many picture from Spain in four days as I've got from The Gambia in seven months. I figure I spend half my time trying to convince people I'm NOT a tourist when in The Gambia, but here I can just embrace the fact that I am one, and its ok to take pictures of every single building.

Thus far I've

Gone to the modern art museum (twice!)

Seen the cathedral

Seen "Carmen" done by the Flamenco Ballet of Madrid

Taken pictures of probably 50 buildings

Drank sangria ;-)

Here's some pictures from around. Enjoy!

HeyguesswhatI'minMadrid!!

yes, its that exciting, and i'm pretty sure i've slept all of two hours in the last 32 or so. our travels began with a 10-hour journey, including 4 cars, a ferry, and a horse cart to get us from Fajara to the Dakar airport. Hey good story, no one in Senegal speaks Mandinka, and none of us spoke French or Wolof.

This morning we landed at 4 am in Madrid, and here we are. My plans include eating all things not rice, being clean, checking out the architecture, drinking red wine, being clean, dancing, downloading illegal movies and music from the fast internet, and being clean. Honestly, this is going to be fabulous.

This is my cat. His name is Zues. Thus far he hasn’t lived up to such a majestic name. He mostly just runs around the place knocking things over. But he’s good company when the going gets rough. ;-)

Joking here is a really big part of the culture. This was a little difficult to get used to, especially after being warned in training to not sass anyone older than me, don’t sass men, and never ever sass any man older than you, only then to see some young child say rude things to an elder. It was also hard to be just learning the language and barely understanding what was going on anyway, then someone would give me a hard time, and I wouldn’t know how to respond, I would get all flustered etc.

Come to find, there are traditional “joking relationships” between some family names, some geographic regions, and some ethnic groups. Its been explained to me that this is why The Gambia is so peaceful, the joking is a traditional outlet for any ethnic tension that may exist between people. For example, my last name here is Jammeh (awesome, I share that with His Excellency The President), and we have a joking relationship with the Darbos. Usually the joking centers around eating too much (their stomachs are big, they are never full), or saying “their mind is not sweet” (they are stupid). Same joke pretty much every time, and every time its funny.

Other jokes that are always fair game center around husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends. The women at my mother’s club like to tell me that when my husband comes, he will prefer them to me. When someone asks to use my phone, I always ask if they want to call their boyfriend, or to tell him that I love him. The police officers on the corner (who are just as bad as bumsters in many ways) always ask where my boyfriend is (“He’s at home cooking dinner!”)

There is one joke that I never fully understand, is when I approach, men will ask “where’s breakfast?” or lunch, etc. Ha ha, guys. Its funny because I’m a woman and I’m supposed to cook. Very creative. I’m not yet sure what the appropriate joking response is supposed to be.I always feign shock, and ask why they didn't cook, saying that I didn't because I thought it was their turn. They just look at me like I'm stupid, and explain that they never cook, their wives do it. Well. What am I supposed to say? That’s the dumbest joke ever, and it never fails to chap my ass. I guess I just don’t have a very good sense of humor. ;-)