Well folks, I'm not a Peace Corps Volunteer anymore as of tomorrow. Moving out of village was really difficult, even if I'm ready to move on with my life. The whole week was full of people just talking about how I was leaving... It made conversation a bit difficult. I went around to everyone's compound to say goodbye, and a few old ladies just burst into tears when I told them. It was nice in a way, to feel loved, but goodbyes are really not fun and a whole week that is only goodbye is rough.

The night before I left all the groups I'd been working with came to my house and gave speeches about me and gave me presents. I've never had so many African clothes in my life! I felt like they all really appreciated having me around these past two years. It was a nice way to wrap things up and see everyone I wanted to see one last time. Mom and Dad, you weren't forgotten in the gift giving frenzy. I've got plenty of goodies for you too.

And then, in the morning, a few of my friends came over to wait for the car (which Peace Corps forgot to send, ahem...). When it arrived, it was sudden and tons of people came out of nowhere into my compound, whisked all my things into the truck in about 2 minutes, and then I was ready to go. And I cried. And other people cried.

In Gambia, you always shake hands with your right hand. The left hand is for things of a more personal nature... But for a final goodbye, you shake with the left. I guess it's to guarantee that you'll see each other again when you come back to fix the mistake. This goodbye was rough, knowing that there's a chance that I'll be back here, but no guarantee.

Here are some things I'm going to miss about The Gambia:

- How friendly everyone is. Okay, sometimes it's to the point of obnoxiousness, but usually it's great to feel so genuinely welcomed.

- Special priveleges. Reverse racism is a nice thing when you can cut the line and always get a chair.

- Being told I'm beautiful one zillion times a day. I'm also NOT going to miss this since it usually comes from guys I really don't want to talk to, but I've never felt more confident than I do here. No body issues in this country.

- Bright colors. Clothing, sky, rice fields

- Really appreciating a cold drink. REALLY.

- Friends, coworkers & my second family and Jatta Kunda. The people here have been truly amazing and I hope they can continue to work toward the greater good.

Okay, there's lots of stuff I'm goign to miss honestly. I can't possibly name it all. Freedom to work or not work, swimming pools, the beach any time... Come on! I'm looking forward to the luxuries of the first world and the challenges of school and work, but I'm leaving a lot behind here.

Fo Silo Kotenke

(Until Another Journey)

I'm winding down my time here, and one of our assignments is to write a description of service. Just to give you an idea of how I've been spending my time (at least in terms of work), I'm going to post it here.

On January 14, 2009, Ms. Downs was sworn in as a United States Peace Corps Volunteer in the Environment and Natural Resource Management sector. She was placed in the rural village of Kafuta, a Mandinka community with 5,000 residents located in Kombo East, Western Region. There she worked with local residents to plan and develop sustainable projects and meet the need for educated extension workers, as well as managing larger projects regionally and nationally. Ms. Downs served as National Coordinator for the Gambia All Schools Tree Nursery Competition (GASTNC), worked with the Kombo-Foni Forestry Association (KOMFFORA) on regional forestry projects and organizational management skills, and facilitated the formation and management of a local cashew growers cooperative. She also worked with numerous individuals on grassroots development efforts, with projects ranging from malaria prevention methods to water and sanitation projects to computer literacy.

Ms. Downs’ primary achievements as an Environment and Natural Resource Management (ENRM) volunteer were as follows:

Collaborated with government officials on the National Coordinating committee for GASTNC, a joint effort with the Department of Education and the Department of Forestry that oversaw the planting of 10,000 trees by 260 schools each year.

Facilitated the transfer of responsibility for GASTNC funding from Peace Corps to the Department of Education, making the project sustainable without the necessity of donor funds.

Updated and revised manual for schools participating in GASTNC, including guidelines on nursery management, environmental education techniques, out-planting methods, and tree-specific information, disseminated to schools nation-wide.

Managed multi-agency GASTNC judging treks for Western Region and Kombo Municipal District. Kept records of nursery and out-planting results for participating schools, advised garden masters on environmental education techniques and nursery management methods, and awarded prizes.

Developed publicity campaign for GASTNC, including spots on local TV station, panel discussions, fliers for schools, and prize ceremonies in two regions covered by television, radio, and newspapers.

Launched One Man, One Tree, a regional tree planting campaign with KOMFFORA that facilitated the planting of 45,000 trees per year in community forests of Western Region communities.

Developed a five year action plan and budget for KOMFFORA. Reinforced grant-writing techniques and advised in project design and management. Provided capacity building training for KOMFFORA executive committee members.

Conducted regional mangrove rehabilitation project, a joint effort of KOMFFORA and World Wildlife Fund (WWF), resulting in the planting of 38,000 mangroves over 15 hectares in five villages.

Ms. Downs' secondary projects as an ENRM volunteer were as follows:

Guided 60 local cashew farmers in the formation of the Jarisu Cashew Farmers Association, through which 10 tons of raw cashew were sold cooperatively. Advised farmers on constitution writing, marketing techniques, and record-keeping.

Conducted local-language trainings for cashew farmers using Farmer Field School technique promoted by International Relief and Development (IRD). Trainings focused on best practices for orchard management, business and entrepreneurial skills, and post-harvest best practices.

Nursed and out-planted 200 mahogany seedlings in community forest.

Instructed 40 forestry students in environmental education techniques. Facilitated 3 environmental education lessons led by forestry students for 100 Lower Basic School students.

Introduced 40 forestry students to basic seed preparation and nursery management techniques.

Trained Lower Basic School staff members in grant writing and project management techniques. Received funds through the United States Embassy Self Help Fund to improve school structures, and Friends of Gambian Schools funding to re-construct a garden wall. Worked with school officials and students to set up a school garden.

Supervised a Water and Sanitation project to improve water facilities at the Upper Basic School, made possible by a Small Project Assistance grant. Project included installation of solar-powered pump and three taps.

Conducted informal pest management and soil improvement talks with 60 women in 4 community gardens, leading to the adoption of simple local practices that increased garden yields.

Ms. Downs also extended her volunteer service to work within the education and health and community development sectors:

· Instructed 50 villagers in malaria prevention methods, including preparation of natural mosquito repellant. Advised three individuals in successful small enterprise development projects based on mosquito repellant production and sale.

· Conducted after school tutoring sessions in general science, math, and test taking strategies for 50 Upper Basic School students.

· Developed curriculum for and instructed one year computer literacy class for 100 high school students. Adapted curriculum, taught, and trained instructor for computer literacy courses at local skills center. Resulted in 50 students certificated in basic computer skills.

Leadership and training roles within Peace Corps:

Planned and implemented eight hours of environmental education training for 15 Peace Corps volunteers. Sessions included appropriate teaching topics for youth and adults, teaching strategies, and adapting lessons to local audiences.

Trained 30 Peace Corps volunteers in basic tree nursery management and local gardening techniques.

Selected as member of Volunteer Support Network, serving as a confidential resource for volunteers in need of mental health support. Trained in conflict resolution and listening skills.

As a Peace Corps Volunteer, Ms. Downs' personal achievements include the following:

· Attained conversational proficiency in Mandinka and scored Advanced-Mid on the Language Proficiency Interview Exam.

· Integrated fully into a rural, non-English speaking community, building close relationships with people of varying levels of formal education.

· Lived in modest conditions with no electricity or running water for two years, becoming a productive member of the community and adapting to life and work in an African village.

First off, sorry for the long, long delay in posting. It's just been hectic, and posting a blog takes some dedicated time, even short ones like mine.

Lately, I've been working with the community forestry association on a mangrove reforestation project in Western Region. It's been fun, exhausting... the usual in The Gambia. But mostly it's been exciting for me to see the association finally able to take on a project with full funding support, so they can really make some effective progress and not have to worry about the usual hassles of no money to buy lunch, no money to buy phone credit, no money to pay transport. Suddenly, here we are with plenty of funding thanks to the WWF and boy are we working it. In two weeks, we planted more than 37,000 mangroves over 15 hectares in 5 villages. Here's how it works:

Our first job is to go collect little mangrove seedlings. If you've never seen a mangrove seedling before, it's pretty cool and unusual. Most trees make seeds that fall to the ground and a little tree germinates and grows. Mangroves have flowers that send out shoots that get longer and longer until they eventually touch the ground and become a root. And a new tree is born. So our job is to go to an area with lots of mangroves that are producing seedlings, and snap off the seedlings to take somewhere else.

A group of about 13 of us went to the mighty River Gambia and took a boat out to collect as many seedlings as we could. We had several strategies. The first was to get out of the boat at low tide and wade around in the mud to collect the seedlings from the trees. Major drawback to this strategy: really sharp oyster shells embedded in the mud! And the inability to keep your shoes on since the mud is so soft. After about an hour of wading gingerly around, I had had enough and decided I would keep my feet in the boat.

Some of the men decided to climb up in the mangroves to collect all the seedlings growing at the top. This worked really well, although none of us ladies were brave enough to make the climb. Instead, we decided on division of labor. One set of motivated dudes stayed up in the trees while another set held the rice bags to collect all the seedlings. Then the seedlings were brought back to the boat where the ladies popped the tops off and stored them carefully for transport. Not a bad system, and my feet didn't hurt.

At high tide we were able to all stay in the boat, since we could get it closer to the mangroves. This was nice, although moving the boat around was funny. We just grabbed some mangrove branches and pulled in order to shimmy the boat left of right.

After a day of collecting, we had about 9 rice bags of mangroves. We collected for two full days in order to have enough seedlings to plant in 5 villages. These days were long and hot, but since we were on teh river I took the opportunity to go for a swim. Some of the girls joined me. Luckily the great River Gambia is not too deep, because most of the people on the boat couldn't swim.

Mangrove plantings were fairly quick, although sometimes the days were long because the river is tidal and we didn't always predict accurately when the tide would be in. So there were a few villages where we sat around for most of the day waiting for the tide to go back out so we could plant our trees. Then it was all about organizing the crowd so we could make straight lines and have accurate spacing. More complicated than it sounds... Techniques we used included using a tape measure, having boys hold hands and walk in "straight" lines, having a set of people in charge of dragging their feet to draw squares while other people followed along planting behind them.

Predictably, there was chaos. But all in all it was a really positive project and generated some great publicity about mangrove planting. I was interviewed for the radio 4 times (once in Mandinka, eek!), and on the last day of planting lots of important government officials showed up to get some face time. Lesson learned: with a little bit of support (okay, let me not be vague: MONEY!), doing large scale projects can be simple and effective. In two weeks, we planted 37,000 mangroves! What's not to like?

We've had some major rain storms here in The Gambia during the past week. After hearing about all the floods all over the world, it makes me pretty nervous. My road has always had some pretty poor drainage, made worse by the improvement of the South Bank road that runs through my village. In an "effort" to stem these drainage problems, the commercial farm in my village sent out a bulldozer to do this to my road:

Hmmm... an impassable awkward pile of dirt. Yes, this will surely stem the flooding/standing water issues on this road. The theory was put to the test this week when we had some of the biggest storms I've experienced since I've lived here. Houses fell down, compounds were flooded, and my road turned into a river... When that river reached the dam of mud, we got a lake!

This is my backyard. All that brown is water. I have a step down from my house about 6 or 8 inches high. The water was creeping over it just when the rain let up. Thank you, rain god, for stopping just in the nick of time. The other houses in my compound weren't so lucky. We had flooding, but luckily my host fathers built sturdy houses so nothing crashed.

This is the inside of my compound. That's a lot of water... This didn't happen last year. True, the rains were heavier, but I'm going to blame this issue on questionable water management techniques. The boys in my compound spent the whole night bailing out their houses, and all of the next day the neighborhood was working on the road. All this while fasting for Ramadan! Life... it's not easy.

Well, I'm back from an almost-month-long trip to the good ol' USA. Here's a little recap of my whirlwind cross-country adventures:

Firstly: Four short days in California filled with eating, drinking, eating, drinking, and hanging out. Saw some faces I missed, went to my lovely, funny, soccer-mom filled gym, and got used to being back in the States.

Mexican food and IPA. Welcome back, Me!

These girls make California the great state it is.

Then, over to DC to check out my boyfriend on his home turf. We ate extremely large pizza slices, rode around in a convertible, and explored our nation's capitol. I remembered more things that are great about America: sushi, air conditioning, free museums (wait, actually, just MUSEUMS!), large open public spaces.

A short but sweet weekend, then back to California. My carbon-footprint has skyrocketed... Back at home, I made sure to soak up the best California has to offer. Went to a Giants game with the family. Sadly, I guess I am not their lucky charm.

Went to Davis to see my sister and all the scholarly things she has been up to. Being gone two years you really get to be out of touch. Now I'm caught up on tomato genetics and the food choices of Davis, California.

Look how grown up and pretty she is!Then I said my goodbyes to San Francisco. More fun nights and days with friends. Saw my grandma and my mom's knee surgery scars, some days were cold, some were warm... sort of. The whole vacation was great, but the real reason I came home was to go to my college roomate Annie Chang's (well, Brewer now) wedding in Montana. So here I go again, off to another state. This time, the Mountains!Another fun week followed, full of hiking, swimming, trampoline-ing, flower arranging, hula-hooping, and campfires. Montana was beautiful and full of fun, outdoors-y things to do. And I got to see my girls again!I can't believe it's been two years since we've been together. We can still have a dance party like nobody's business. And seeing my friend Annie C. get married, well, I wouldn't have missed that for anything, so thanks to everyone who helped get me home. Now, one last push in The Gambia before I wrap up my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer!

Here's just a funny example of travelling in The Gambia. Even when you think you're travelling in style, anything can happen.

This past week I went to a workshop in Albreda to talk about one of my favorite subjects: Cashews! Albreda is a really nice village on the North Bank, with lots of history (it's where Alex Haley traced his Roots). But, like any nice village on the North Bank, you have a heck of a lot of travelling to do to get there since there are no bridges in this country (okay okay, there are two, if I must be accurate). I wasn't too phased by the thought of travelling though, since Jeff was also going with an IRD vehicle and they said I could just go with them.

Around 2pm, I met a very annoyed Jeff with the IRD car. In theory, the car should have gone to the ferry in the morning, since they can fit many people on one ferry, but not so many cars. Usually a car has to wait for at least 2 ferries to come before it can get on, whereas people on their own can just cross right away. So we were supposed to meet the car on the other side, but now we were all going together.

When we got to the ferry, Jeff and I decided to do a little shopping in Banjul and get some snacks. We bought umbrellas and smoothies and headed back to the car. A ferry came, a ferry went... Around 5:30, we decided to stop waiting for the car and cross to the other side. That way we could watch the World Cup game at a video club, relax, and when the car got across we'd all move together.

Well, we crossed. And just as we got to the other side the thunder, lightening, and wind started. It's going to rain. No problem, we'll just head for the video club to watch the game. So we did. It begins to pour while we're in the little dark room, and when the game is over it's still pouring, the car is still not across, and oh, did I mention we left our brand new umbrellas in the car?

By 9pm, there is still no car. Jeff is grumpy from not eating and has managed to lose his sunglasses. I really have to pee. We find a spot where he can get a chicken sandwich, but there are no bathrooms around and I don't really want to leave the protection of the small corrugate iron hangover to go traipsing about in the dark and rain. So I hang in there... Until I can't anymore and find a "hidden" spot to pee. I pray that there will be no lightening. And I also manage to pee all over one leg of my jeans. Great. At least that man who walked by didn't turn his head in my direction.

The car finally arrives around 9:45. We are all very grumpy. Olu, one of Jeff's co-workers, who is running the workshop, grumbles in the car. 9:48.... 9:51.... Ugh. We manage to get lost several times on little dirt roads before we finally make it to Albreda, where everyone has gone to bed early and the lodge has put off their electricity. Better late than never.

As you might have guessed, it has been world cup fever over here in The Gambia, and in all of Africa. I've been trying to keep up with as many games as I can, and it's raised some interesting issues, especially: Electricity! How do you watch the most popular sporting event in the world in a place with no electricity? The Answer: Video Clubs.

When I'm in Fajara, I've watched some games in cushy restaurants, where we can eat chicken or hamburgers and watch on nice TVs while sitting in comfy chairs. The first US game, for example, we all high-tailed it over to the British High Commission, where they have a bar and a swimming pool (no fair!) and did our country proud. Even the US Ambassador came.

In village, it's another story. Since the world cup started, a whole host of video clubs have popped up. With no electricity, this means that someone has to invest in a TV, a satellite, and a generator to power the whole set up. Then they charge the crowd 5 or 10 dalasis each to come watch the game. This means sitting in a hot, crowded room with little air circulation and small hard benches for 2 and a half hours. But it's worth it, and you can't beat the team spirit (unless you're the only person rooting for America, like I was during the Ghana game).

Even when you watch a game in a nice restaurant, you can't be guaranteed the electricity will be on your side. We've had several power outages that have left us on edge for 20 minutes at a time. Or when it rains, the satellite is done for. In those situations you rely on GRTS, the fuzzy local network, and that's also got it's up-sides. Mainly, a scroll bar that you can text in to, in theory, say which team you support. There have been some pretty good times with that, sending each other messages and in general pushing the boundaries of what should probably get aired on TV...

Even though I'm not in South Africa, I have to say watching the World Cup on African soil this year has been pretty special, with lots of African pride.

I'm having a bit of trouble coming up with a blog post, and I know I'm overdue for one, so what I present to you are bits and pieces. Funny things. Random facts.

My counterpart Seeku had an awards ceremony recently to honor all the people who have worked with his community forest association/get his name out there to the bigger NGOs. There was a lot of food. Before these guys came and sat down with me, I had these three bowls all to myself...

Here are some funny pictures I took at my friend Hawa's house. My toma picking her nose (this is considered civilized) and Mustapha wearing a head scarf (not civilized, if you're a boy).

Really the big news is that the rainy season has come again. This means there's a big gross puddle of standing water in front of my house that big trucks get stuck in on a daily basis, people are starting to head to the fields to farm, and there are TONS of bugs. I don't think you would believe these bright red bugs until you see them. They look like little bits of chanille stems. Kind of out-of-this word. They're about the size of my fingernail, and I don't really think this picture does them justice, but it'll give you an idea. They look even more neon in real life.

Like I said, I was having a hard time coming up with a blog theme... So that's all I've got for you. Mostly I'm just thinking VACATION! One more month to go, then I'm heading to Morocco and the good ol' USA.

I might have mentioned before that one of the big projects I'm working on in my village is helping all the old cashew growers establish an association, work on establishing best practices so they can gain a good reputation for their cashew nuts, and help them make more money in the long haul. This project so far is going really well. First of all, working with a bunch of old guys is cool. Makes me feel very integrated. But more importantly for the community as a whole, the association is really working. Cashew is a cash crop in The Gambia, and if you have a large cashew orchard you can make yourself as much money in one growing season as a teacher makes in the entire year in this country. Which is not very much, but if its comparable to a years salary, it's survivable. And it only takes about 3-4 months of work every year.

What I set out to do with the association was make them think about cashew from the business point of view, not just the farming side. Usually middle men come around and buy the unprocessed cashew nuts off of the farmers. This year, the association interviewed the four major cashew exporters in the country and decided to make a deal with one of them instead of selling to middle men. So now, they collectively get to pocket all the money that the middle men were taking for themselves. A pretty good bargain if you ask me.

It also means that as a group they are able to save money. The association takes 50 bhututs (that's maybe 2 cents or something equivalently small) from every kilo they sell and puts it in the group's savings account. By the end of the season, they'll probably have about 5,000 - 10,000 dalasis that they can use on their own development, like giving farmers loans to buy fences, etc.

This is Dembo and a boy from around town carrying his cashew into storage. One bag of cashew weighs about 50 kilos. A normal selling price is maybe 15 dalasis/kilo, so a farmer makes about 30 dollars from one of these bags. This year is lucky for the Gambia, because all the neighjboring countries had hot weather and their first harvest shriveled. One person's disaster is another's blessing, and due to the low supply Gambian farmers are raking it up. Right now they're selling for around 19 dalasis/kilo, which is the highest price I have ever heard of in this country.

Having an association also means more responsibility for guys like Dembo, our cashier. He handles huge stacks of money that are forwarded to us from the exporter, buying cashews from all the other men in the village and setting a bit aside for the association. He's keeping records, weighing cashews, keeping very busy. But it's working. Even when I'm not around to remind them, the group makes sure they're up to date on how much money has been spent, how much is left, and is keeping in touch with the buyer to learn about price changes. I feel like a proud mama.

Here are just a few random picture tidbits to keep your mind occupied. The lazy man's blog update.

These are some of the girls from my tekla. We had asobe made. I'm sure I've told you before matching outfits are all the rage. We've been wearing it like crazy around town, but sadly no one has the photography skills to include me in a decent picture. Use your imagination.

This is a big ol' pot of benachin at the Konteh Kunda naming ceremony, where both my toma and my mom's toma, plus two more kids who have no special toma-relationship with me, got to celebrate themselves.

Matching outfits again! These are Western Region PCVs at the All Volunteer conference. If you're not matching, you're not in the in crowd.

I don't know if I wrote a post about this last year, but interhouse is one of my very favorite Gambian events, and I can't let it pass unnoticed (okay, well it already passed, but better late than never, right?).

What is interhouse? Only the finest modern childrens sporting event in West Africa. At interhouse, the Upper Basic School divides itself into four houses, sort of like Harry Potter. This year the high school in the next village also competed, so we had a total of five teams. Then, they all run races and do other track and field-type events. (Side note: they also do this at the lower basic school, but instead of foot races, they do relays like the "carry a bucket of water on your head" race. Hilarious.)

What makes interhouse so amazing is the drama. This isn't any old American-style tournament. In this competition, if you're losing the race you might as well dramatically pass out in the middle of the track, showing the audience how difficult running 100 meters truly is. There are no losers, only drama queens.

When a competitor passes out, it's the job of the Red Cross Club to run to them with the stretcher. As you might imagine, the Red Cross Club was very busy. In each race, they had at least one person they needed to put on the stretcher. The "exhausted" racer would lie in the stretcher for a minute, and then be cured.

I worked at the judges table for interhouse, recording which teams won the races. Runners would come with cards showing how many points they got for each race, then as soon as they gave the cards to the judges they would collapse and roll in the dirt, practically having seizures to show you how exhausted they are, until they get up and straighten their wigs out. That's right, the girls run in their fancy wigs. You have to look smart for interhouse. All the girls who just come to watch wear their western-style made-in-China best. This means tight tight tight plaid jeans, synthetic tops, and other clothing items that might have them mistaken for street walkers in America. But in Gambia, they're looking smart. And the runners also take the opportunity to show off, running in miniskirts and other "work out" gear. A little bit of running, a lot of high quality performance art.

A few months ago a few of my friends in village told me they were organizing a Tekila, and I decided to join for the many perks it includes. A Tekila is sort of like an old-fashioned lottery/savings account mixed with a dance party. My group is made up of 35 girls about my age (which means that I'm basically one of the few not toting around a baby) who get together on the first of the month and on the 15th for an hour of drinking attaya and juice, singing and dancing. For me, it's a great way to get more integrated with a part of my village I don't really work with, and therefore don't know as well. For about two hours every two weeks, we shake our butts and bang on plastic bidongs in celebration.

The point of the Tekila isn't just to dance. When the group was formed, we all wrote our names on slips of paper. At every meeting, one name is drawn. This person is the lucky recipient of the prize money. Each girl contributes 25 dalasis each meeting, which means that when your name is drawn you get a lump sum of 875 dalasis. If you do the math, over the course of all the meetings you contribute exactly as much as you win, so you're not really coming out on top. But in this society saving is really hard, so while it's easy for each woman to find 25 dalasis to pay every two weeks, it would be rare to find someone who saved that 25 dalasis on their own initiative until they had 875 dalasis. So this is like tricking the women into saving. Keep contributing 25 dalasis, and at some point you'll find a large sum of money in your pocket. The women can do whatever they want with the money. Their only commitment is to host the next meeting at their house and supply the snacks and beverages.

The funny thing about my Tekila is that every single time, without fail, at least one hour of the meeting is spent arguing over how late fees should be charged, how many meetings you're allowed to miss, blah dee blah blah. Always the exact same subjects each time. Nothing is ever done, and frankly nothing really needs to be done because everyone pays up eventually. But it's tradition. We have a Tekila mother who is supposed to iron these things out and remind us that we came to party.

And party is in fact what we do. Everyone sits in a circle and people bang on various cooking utensils converted into instruments. Every girl is supposed to dance a few times in the middle of the circle during the meeting (which at first was kind of embarassing for me... I can dance in a club, but dancing African-style while someone bangs on some pastic with a stick is a little beyond me. I got over it though. I had to.). Some of the ladies are pretty bad dancers, but there are a few who can really shake it. African dancing is all about jumping up and down and sticking your butt out. One girl named Kaddy is the best. We had some excitement at the last meeting when she was dancing in the circle and her bin-bin broke. Binbin are basically a sexual accessory that every single Gambian woman wears. It's a string of beads your wear around your waist and the bigger they are, and the more they clack together, the sexier it is. But no one is ever supposed to see your bin-bin, and it's pretty scandalous if someone's are showing. Kaddy's bin-bin broke as she was dancing and beads just rained down out of her skirt. It was like a pinata, with all the (few) single ladies rushing to pick up the beads. Turns out collecting fallen bin-bin beads is a good luck charm, like catching the bouquet at a wedding. My friend Hawa collected a bunch because she wants to get married now now. A lot of the girls gave their beads to me... Not sure how I feel about that really.

Cross your fingers that I win the money the next time. I'm getting anxious for some profit!

I've been ruminating the deep internal flaws of the development system in this country for the past year or so, and in a horribly dramatic turn of events yesterday I faced an excellent illustration of the problem. I've been working with the farmers in my village to organize themselves when they sell their cashews so that they can have more bargaining power and hopefully oust the middle men buyers completely, selling as a block to the major exporters. We've had a lot of really excellent support from one NGO in particular, who has helped us write a constitution for our association, gotten the farmers to understand the possibilities of the cashew business, and provided some really great resources for us as a village. One of the activities this NGO has decided to carry out in the long term is a sort of ripple-effect education system, where villages choose several people to represent them at workshops, and those people are then responsible for bringing the information back to the village and teaching the farmers in an organized way the things they learned. It's a great idea, and I see a lot of potential in it. My village selected two really capable, smart men to represent us, and off we went to our first workshop to see what we would learn (I went too, just to see what they were learning so I could help where I could).

In the Gambia, there is rule, precedent, law - I'm not really sure which it is, depends who you ask - that people at workshops should be compensated for their time. So while in America you might pay to go to a workshop to learn interesting and valuable skills, here you get paid to attend. In theory, this should balance the scales, allowing people who can't afford to close shop for a day to have the same opportunities as everyone else. In reality, it has morphed into a culture where people go to as many workshops as they can, not to learn the information, but instead to eat meat, drink soda, and pad their pockets with cash. Not only that, they have come to see their per diem not as a welcome bonus, but as an inalienable right and if it is not high enough, then they will not bother.

Do all people feel this way? Certainly no. At this particular workshop there were several groups of people from different parts of SeneGambia, and it was clear that certain groups were intent upon exploiting the system, while others were content to be there and learn what they came to learn. Anyway, there were lots of interesting items on the agenda, but the first thing was determining per diem. The NGO's offer: 100 dalasis a day (this is including all meals, lodging, and transport costs and in my opinion is totally reasonable based on the average Gambian salary. Heck, it's even generous based on my own salary). The counter offer (from the vocal crowd): 700 dalasis per day. This is incredibly exorbitant. If per diem is to compensate you for the time you are not able to work, then people are saying that every day they were not at the workshop they would be making 700 dalasis. If this were true, each person would be making about 11,000 dollars a year. Just to put this in perspective, I make 2,000 dollars a year, and my salary is fairly high compared to most people in this country. I can live well, go on trips, and buy cheese when I want it.

The organizers of the workshop, in an incredible show of patience, said that they would take the offers back to the big boss and see what she had to say. Obviously, she said no way, and they came back with an offer of 250 dalasis. My issues with this: By making per diem negotiable, they are essentially exacerbating the problem. People see that they have the power to hold up workshops and demand money from people who are there to try to help them, and they continue to exploit this. The people still weren't happy, and day 2 of the workshop erupted into argument. Lots of people were sitting quietly, wishing the argument would end so we could get on with it. Already hours and hours of our time had been wasted by this particular group of people. Finally, I thought to myself, I should really say something. So here is what I said:

This NGO has given us a good offer. For everyone in this room, the money that they are offering is a good amount. We came here to learn. We came here for knowledge. We came here to represent our villages and do what has been asked of us. We can't waste more time arguing. We need to save the arguments for an appropriate time and get on with learning.

An important note: Since this workshop was attended by various groups of people from both Senegal and Gambia, it was held in Wolof, a language which I don't speak but which most of the other people in the room do. So a certain man who works for a certain association in a certain large village and has a certain corrupt and arrogant aspect to his personality translated into Wolof for me. I'm not sure what he said, but it definitely wasn't what I said. The response from the crowd: Shouting that they were not poor, that they have taught at my universities, that I was no one to tell them such things. Hmmm... something was obviously lost... or added... in translation.

At this point, I left the workshop. Not only was time wasted, but I felt really disheartened by people in general. It's sad to think that people can't see that they are being helped. That actually work against development because they want money in their individual pockets now. For a lot of people at that workshop, the information the NGO is bringing will help them make more money for themselves in the long term. And lots of people did see that and didn't complain. But enough people completely missed the point that it made me lose a little faith in humanity. A lot of faith. The flaw is obviously deep within the development system, but to me it seems like there is also a flaw within certain people in that room. Everything is quick money and nothing is about long term understanding and knowledge. And in this case the goal of the organization is so clear: to help people make money in the cashew business! This is the kind of stuff people pay for, the secrets to getting rich, and so many people not only failed to see that but tried to ruin it. They threatened to tarnish the name of the NGO if they weren't paid enough. They said they would not participate in any more work unless they were paid more. They said the NGO was wicked and pocketing money they themselves deserved...

A good kick in the pants. That's what I wish for those people. And I would like to be the one to administer it.

Sorry for the long, long break in posting. As they say here in The Gambia, It's Not Easy. But now I present you with a brief story of Mom & Prudence's adventure in West Africa.

First things first, Dakar. For me, Dakar is all about eating. For mom & Prudence, maybe not so much. No matter, we did a few culturally interesting things - checking out artists villages, looking at the one dusty museum they have in the city, listening to some very nice Senegalese music, shopping around for Tuareg jewellery (the best stuff you can buy in West Africa, in my opinion)... And then I encouraged the good eats. We had lobster at the Western-most point in Africa. Look at this. Makes you drool, huh?

Oh, I also began to teach mom the basics of bargaining, despite my extremely lacking knowledge of the French language. After a few days enjoying the relaxing (for me) and decrepit (for mom and Prudence) atmosphere of Dakar, we travelled overland to The Gambia. The first taste of Africa as I see it. We passed small bush villages, drove over salt flats, and in general ignored the places where the road said you should drive. Also, we shared the ferry over with some naughty cattle.

In Gambia, we relaxed on the beach in Sanyang and took it easy. Jeff came with us on a mini boat trip on The Gambian river where we saw such things as the Greater Spotted White Chested Plastic Bag (courtesy of the keen eyes of Captain Crocodile Dundee)and also some nice birds. Gambia was mostly about relaxation and seeing the real Gambian way of life.

After A few days getting used to the dust in Fajara, I took mom & Prudence up to Kafuta, where they were re-christened Mariama & Fatou and made up an interesting life story for themselves as Catholic sisters. My one-toothed host greeted them in his usual way: Elcome! Elcome! Elcome! Elcome! Then he insisted on a picture.

I organized the ladies to make baobab juice (with filtered water for the strangers). We had a nice little party where mom & Prudence doled out earrings, the ladies sat talking and holding babies, and the men questioned mom & Prudence on all topics taboo in polite conversation. Oh, there were dancing ladies in there at some point too.

The little kids managed to be less naughty then usual. Prudence, however, was her typical self.

After a sleepless night filled with the sounds of the konkuran, lizards in the ceiling, and Prudence's dreams of polar bears, they decided the thing to do was head back to Fajara. We squeezed in tours of all the schools, the hospital, and the forestry station, and had a giant breakfast served to us by one of my counterparts, and then we were off loaded with boabab, oranges, and other gifts. The end of the visit was mostly just fiddling around in Gambia: drinking cashew liquor (some good, some less than that), looking for music, being overwhelmed by the market. All in all, a good trip.

Speedy, I know, but it's lunch time!

I went up to Tendaba a few weeks ago to do some Environmental Education training with the new group of Environment volunteers that arrived in the country. I was sitting around with them at dinner one night and one of them asked me, So, how has Gambia changed you? At first, I thought the question was silly, but upon closer examination I think Gambia has changed me, although maybe (in some cases, hopefully) not permanent ways, and sometimes just in silly ways. Here's what I came up with:

Assertiveness - My name is not toubab, I will not give you my phone number, tell me the right price! (This one is real, and widespread. I would say every volunteer I talk to says this is the number one thing that has changed in them, sometimes bordering on bitchiness. It's hard to get hassled so much and not develop some major attitude)

Skills - Okay, there are the technical skills I've picked up, but also some pretty useless ones. I can make you some all natural mosquito repellant, spit long distances, and speak a language that less than one million people in the world speak. Other skills include biking through sand, peeling an orange in one long strip, using the bathroom without toilet paper, and carrying a wide variety of things on my head.

Larger biceps - Enough said.

Less shame - Picking your nose in public is perfectly acceptable in The Gambia.

Ability to deal with boredom - I can sit for hours and hours and hours with nothing on the schedule. And that's okay. What have I learned? Always bring a book to a meeting, because after lunch really means 5:30pm, but I'm still expected to show up around 3:30. No book? There's always people watching. And rearranging grains of rice. And making funny faces at babies.

Flexibility - Friday never means Friday, Yes doesn't always mean yes, and there always needs to be a contingency plan. Or two. Or three. (Likewise, I can use this as an excuse to not do things when I say I'll do them. Everyone has to be flexible, after all. Not just me.)

Confidence - In Gambia, a 24 year old girl from America can go up to the minister of forestry and seem like an authority. I have embraced this completely.

Taste Buds - I crave eggs here like I've never craved them before. And mayonnaise, oh sweet mayonnaise. And okra! And peanut butter and fish sauce! And meat pies! Who knew?

Accent - I have finally come to an understanding of why my mother mimics the accents of the people she talks to. While I will still find it embarrassing when she does this to a waiter in a Mexican restaurant, in Gambia I have begun to do this with about 99 percent of the English-speaking Gambians I talk to. With a few exceptions, they're not going to understand you if you speak like an American. So you can't be shy about your Gambian accent.

So I guess you can tell that not all of these changes will be beneficial for coming back to America. But still, it's interesting to see what one year in a dusty, disorganized West African country will do to you. And we're only halfway through, kids.

A parting shot:This is what three hours in a gele on the South Bank road will do to you. Ah, dust.

Once again the holiday of Tobaski has hit the Gambia, which means lots of fancy clothes, attaya drinking, and meat eating. This year had a definite leg up on last year since I knew my way around village and had plenty of people to go chat with. I also dressed to impress, although I didn't take it as far as most of the Gambian ladies (skipped the heavy makeup, matching shiny bag and high heels, etc.). Mostly Tobaski is just going around to all your friends houses to spend time with each other and compliment each other on your good looking new clothes. Kids and women also go from house to house saliboo-ing, which is like trick or treating except really it's prayer-or-treating. Their hoping for money or candy, but if they don't get that at least they get a prayer.

Here is our Tobaski ram before, enjoying its last days of good eating and... life.

And here it is after. We ate meat for three days afterwards. Please consider the fact that there are no refridgerators in my village. By day three I was saying no thank you. But one of my favorite parts of the first day was going to my neighbor's house in the evening where they had friend up a big plate of meat and onions that we ate with bread while sitting under their mango tree.

Here is me and my host sister. She's not in her full going-out gear yet, but still. The point of Tobaski is to look as glamorous as possible, so everyone buys the most expensive fabric they can afford and has as much glitter and embroidery and sequins and hoo-has added to it as possible. And then they do their hair as fancily as possible and traipse around in high heels through the sand.

This is Mba's son Molamin and a friend's daughter. Molamin had a new suit for Tobaski but his pants were too big. You can't see it in this picture, but he decided to forgo the pants entirely.

One of my host fathers, Bajere, looking like a stud in his sunglasses before going to morning prayers.

And here's a picture of the full effect: ladies in their finest. Sorry for the long delay since my last post. It's not always easy to get up the motivation to actually get words and pictures up on this space, but I'll try to do better. Up next I'm headed to Tendaba to do some training for the new group (that's right, I'm old hat here, folks). Lots of holidays coming up including Christmas, my birthday, Hannukah, New Years... I'm going to try to get up country for at least one of those occasions. Just a plug, but if you're thinking "What should I possibly give a Peace Corps volunteer for this upcoming holiday season?" the answer is: Vacation Money! (Sending love in the form of letters is also great).

Well, almost one year ago I packed my bags and headed for the smallest country in West Africa (all of Africa?). Now I'm getting ready to be in the "old" group as a new, and much larger, crowd of Environment volunteers prepares for The Gambia. Since they have no idea, and I have an experts opinion, and I know I spent hours and hours surfing the web searching for "Peace Corps Gambia What to Pack," let me take this chance to offer some words of wisdom on what a suitcase coming to this country should contain.

Things I Brought That I could not live without:

Capri Pants and long shorts

Running shoes

A hat

Lots and lots of deoderant, because I'm never going to buy any here at inflated prices

Solar Charger (although a word of wisdom, it works better if you don't actually leave it out in the rain)

Rechargeable batteries (but beware battery thiefs)

Flashdrive (really, don't leave America without one)

Lots of pens (and subsequently more mailed to me... you can't have enough pens)

Sweatshirt (seriously, it gets cold here)

Queen size sheets

My favorite books

Daily planner

Jeans

Sleeping Pad

Diva Cup (Ladies, just do it. You will not regret it. Saves you money and precious room in your suitcase. I would advise bringing two as there is the distrinct possibility of accidentally dropping it down your pit latrine).

Comfy pants for lounging around in the evenings

A good knife/multi-tool

Spices (I had these mailed to me right away, and it's been a good thing. Even if you don't cook at site you'll cook when you come to Kombo.)

Things I brought that are completely useless here (i.e. Don't Bother)

A zillion flashcards (what was I thinking?)

Business Casual outfits (These are basically just molding away in my suitcase... Agfos don't need fancy clothes. Don't be fooled. Plus in a bind an African outfit will always do)

Also, I attempted to find an unlockable phone to bring with me, which was a big waste of time. Good phones can be bought here easily and affordably. Don't bother stressing about this in the US.

Things I wish I brought, but did not:

Cute clothes! Even in The Gambia there are occasions to get dressed up and go out, and even on days when you're not doing much it's nice to have the option to look nice. If I were to do it again, I would just bring the clothes I already had in my closet and make them work.

French press for making coffee (I luckily inherited one, but had I not I would definitely be regretting it)

Contacts (I know they say only glasses, but having been a contact person my whole life, I am really missing them).

Sleeping bag and tent

Laptop (even agfos can find plenty of use for these)

Okay, that's just off the top of my head. Certainly not complete in any way, but maybe what I can think of first means it's most important. Good luck all you incoming trainees, see in a couple of weeks!

After two weeks in Ghana, it's a bit bitter sweet to be home. It's great to be able to speak the local language again, to know how much a taxi really costs, and to see all my friends. But man, Ghana was really great. A good example of development that's working in The Gambia. Here's what we did:

We need to tighten it up: Arrived in Dakar with high spirits. After some happy hour drinks at a nice bar, and a really delicious meal of Korean food, we headed to the airport where we learned we were... not convenient.

So we stayed in Dakar for two more days than we planned, organizing our visa to Ghana, visiting the museum, attempting to speak French and Wollof, and eating really delicious food (Ethiopian! Lebanese!). The second attempt at bording the plane was, thankfully, successful. Off we went to Ghana.

Akwaaba: We spent the first two days in Accra, a city that's incredibly clean (by our standards, I guess) and has side walks and restaurants and dark beer. Ghana is good. We spent our time just exploring the markets, eating street food (I can't say enough good things about the street food in Ghana), and lounging. Not bad. Then we were off to Hohoe, in the east. Public transport in Ghana is also nice. As a rule, if it looks like the seat was designed to fit three, they actually put three (you hear that, Gambia?). In Hohoe we stayed in a hotel where Maggie broke the bed, hung out with some really nice Peace Corps Ghana volunteers, and did a lot of great hiking. We hiked to the top of the highest peak in Ghana, which was not so high but a good wake up call for how out of shape we are. We also did a nice walk to the highest waterfall in West Africa. Really impressive, with lots of bats hanging from the rock walls around it. We also ate some fresh cacao fruit, which tastes absolutely nothing like chocolate. Our cab driver on this portion of the trip was named Baby Rasta. You can't get away from them in West Africa, I guess...

Beads, Stools and Fertility Dolls, Oh My!: From Hohoe it was off to Kumasi, where we stayed in a really nice Peace Corps Transit house. Kumasi itself was really congested, and we had an interesting day where we accidentally wandered into a real shanty town while looking for a market that was supposed to resemble a shanty town. Woops. But once we found the market the crafts were great. I came back with more batik fabric than a girl really needs. We also went to a cultural center with a nice museum, walked past some people serving grilled bats (I'm brave, but not quite that brave), ate a ton of pineapple and frozen chocolate milk, and walked and walked and walked. We celebrated Alex's birthday with guacamole and homemade pina coladas, and took a day trip to a holy lake where people believe their spirits go to visit after death. People traditionally paddle on this lake with planks instead of boats, and instead of paddles they use calabashes cupped in their hands. We drank palm wine (ick) and went swimming.

The Egg ate the Papaya... I think: After Kumasi, we slowed it down by staying at a really nice place on a really deserted beach for a few days. Just over a hill and down the beach was a restaurant that served BURRITOS! We went there twice. Two days of swimming, walking, and eating.. What could be better? We also went to a nearby fort. I was more impressed by the village that housed the fort, where they had loudspeakers blaring a soundtrack for the entire village. Interesting. After the beaches at Butre, we headed to Cape Coast, a tourist hub that's famous for its old slave fort. You know you're on a Peace Corps budget when you skip the main attraction because you don't want to pay 4 dollars... Maggie hooked us up with a free place to stay in Cape Coast, which worked out great. Uncle Sam and his wife Victoria live in a big house on a hill overlooking Cape Coast. They took us out for a drink and fed us a nice breakfast and generally were really excellent hosts. Cape Coast was great for finishing up souvenier shopping, seeing the fort (if only from the outside), and eating lobster (this is where that extra 4 dollars came in handy). We also went to Kakum national park, which is a really excellent example of ecotourism working well in Ghana. They have really high suspended bridges that take you up into the rainforest canopy. A touristy but totally cool experience. We also saw Korateh going on in town. Even though Ghana is a generally Christian country, we still saw plenty of Muslims out celebrating the end of Ramadan. In general people in Ghana seem more open to dancing and making merry than Gambians, so the parade was much more festive than I imagine the celebration was in The Gambia.

Welcome back, suckers: And from there, it's all a blur. We took a midnight flight out of Accra, ended up on a bus back from Dakar that had no breaks, finally forced them to give us back half our money and let us off the bus, rented a sept place, raced to the ferry but didn't make it in time, took a big fishing boat across the river, haggled for a taxi for too long, and finally ended up back at the Peace Corps house in Gambia. It's not easy.

Pictures coming soon, but the internet connection is slow... So you'll have to wait. Be back in town in a couple of weeks so hopefully then.

Here are some pictures I was able to get of some recent work events. And you even get to see my face in one of them!

Here is me making neem cream, a natural mosquito repellant, with the health group in my village. After making it the first week, they decided they would continue to make it every week and sell it by the spoonful to villagers. Success!

Close up on neem cream: soap, tea made from neem leaves, and oil. My next experiment is trying to make it smell nice by infusing the oil with basil or eucalyptus.

Gmelina stumps that we planted for One Man, One Tree village tree planting day. I think maybe 200 people came out to plant trees, and probably about 4,000 trees were planted that day.

Preparing the gmelina stumps.

Planting the trees.

Here's a run-down of the people who I see every day in my compound. Just in case you were wondering.

1. Nfansu - My host dad, the one who you give the "gifts from the road" to when you come home, which means he's the one in charge. He's featured in some of the pictures down below (sorry, no new pictures for a while while I sort out some camera issues). He grows cashews, has one tooth, and likes teaching me Mandinka proverbs.

2. Satou Dabo - Nfansu's wife. I think 4th down the line. She's quiet, nice, and has a baby that was born on the very first day I moved in to Jatta Kunda, which is supposed to be good luck. She does my laundry, and is probably the best cook in the compound now that Tida, my brother's wife, moved to Banjul.

3. Bubakary - Satou's baby. now about 7 months old and learning to stand. Mysteriously never bothered to learn to crawl.

4. Jere - Nfansu's younger brother. He used to sell used toubab clothes all over the country, but now just hangs out with his donkey and farms. Sometimes he tries to speak to me in Serahuleh, but all I can say is Peace Only, and that doesn't get me so far. He still has all his teeth.

5. Satou Toureh - Jere's wife. Definitely the dominant character in the compound as far as I'm concerned. In the mornings you can hear her berating all the kids for not getting up on time. She also is the buffest, and works in the rice fields from morning to night. That is not pleasant work. Has on occasion overcooked the rice until it is one giant glob... She also thinks that the time I said I liked coos sometimes but not all the time was hilarious and tells people about it all the time.

6. Mama - Nfansu and Jere's "mom." Mother is a loose term in Gambia, so she might just be their mom's sister, which is my guess because she's definitely old, but she doesn't seem old enough to be their real mom. She's pretty blind and just sits around all day outside her house.

7. Suleiman - My host brother, I think he's about 25. He lives in the house next door to me, and once asked me to be his girlfriend but has luckily since dropped that aspiration. He works all day either in the bush or at the big corporate farm in the village. Can always be counted on to bring me a mango or a potato.

8. Yusufa - Another host brother. He's 14 and just finished 9th grade. Now he works all day on the men's farm. Just a nice guy, speaks decent English, brews some good attaya.

There is also a rotating cast of characters, like my host sister and her two cute kids who moved into the compound next door recently, some host brothers who come home on weekends and during school breaks, and other people who's relationships I can never quite figure out. But those are the stable people who are there basically every day. That's a pretty small compound as far as Gambian compounds go, and quiet. I feel pretty lucky.

Just a quick update because lately the internet has been really frustrating to deal with. Would like to put some pictures on here but I think today is not the day.

Here's how I've been spending my time lately:

1. Tree Nursery Competition Trek: I've been going around checking out the schools with tree nurseries in the Western Region. This has been really cool, since some of the schools are doing really amazing jobs. It has also made me want to pull my hair out. You try getting a vehicle from the Gambian Forestry Department some time.

2. My own tree nursery. So far my village forester and I have planted 200 mahoganies and 50 ebonies. We're still waiting to see if the ebony trees will germinate. Fingers crossed since this is a really rare tree.

3. Project proposals. Everyone in my village wants something done so I've been teaching people how to write their own project proposals. Maybe someday my village will have a nursery school bantaba, a new water system at the middle school, and a large scale tree nursery. Inshallah.

In other news I'm planning a trip to Ghana with my friends Maggie and Alex. My first vacation since coming to the Gambia. We're set to go in September. Hurray!

Yes, rain has finally come to The Gambia. Everyone says that if the rains don't come by June 15, they're late. On June 14, suddenly the clouds opened up and let it out. It was really nice. It's been stiflingly hot lately and instantly everything cooloed down. My compound has a covered porch area that runs all the way around so everyone sat on the porch outside their houses and watched the rain. One of my host moms took advantage of the downpour to wash her baby in the roof runoff.

The next day was a travel day, and I kind of began to see the disadvantages of the rainy season in The Gambia. Huge puddles had formed everywhere (can you say malaria?). In the Brikama car park, people had to wade up to their shins to walk into the market. It was pretty gross trying to pass around these huge brown puddles and attempting to stay dry.

Now it's been a few days since the last rain. It's hot and sticky all over again, but the skies have been grey for a while now so I'm hoping for some more rain to cool things down, even if it means puddles.

Here are some boys from my village making cement bricks for the new Lower Basic School garden wall. The last wall was washed away by the rains since it was built pretty poorly, so here is the second go around.

Here is one of my host dads in his cashew orchard. He's seperating the fruits from the nuts. After spending a few days in the cashew orchard, I can see why cashews are so expensive. I have also discovered that I am pretty allergic to raw cashews.

Mom, I thought you'd like this one. This is the road I live on. I have yet to encounter a landmine, but I'll keep you posted.

I'm back in Kombo to do in-service training, and I have to say that so far this has been some of the coolest technical training Peace Corps has given me.

Yesterday we learned to process honey and wax (this is awesome because it's fun and you get to keep your end results), and also how to weave grass hives (I'm a natural, if you were wondering).

Once it got dark, we put on our bee costumes and tramped into the apiary. We were at an organization called Siffoe Beekeeping Association that kept their bees in a cashew grove in what kind of looked like bee prison, with about 30 hives locked up in a long row building with a barred front. I worked on hive 26. It was hot and sweaty, and I managed to accumulate a pretty impressive helmet of bees (I am chalking this up to the fact that whoever wore this bee suit before me was definitely wearing cologne). Being out there with african killer bees is pretty exhilerating though. We probably worked on our hive for about two hours, cutting through cross combing, taking out old hive and capped honey, and just investigating the world of the bees. I was also impressed because in the Gambia most of the bee keepers I've met so far have been men, but one of the people from Siffoe in my group was a woman. It's nice to see gener empowerment in the Gambia.

After closing back up the hive, we took our big buckets of honey comb and just kind of wandered in the forest in the dark for a while trying to get all the bees off our suits. This takes a long time. I learned my lesson last time I went beekeeping and got stung twice while taking off my suit. Patience. Patience. This time I am proud to say I was sting-free. I just loved the bees.

Toubab women in the Gambia get a lot of cat calls. A lot. Here are just some of the many that have come my way recently:

Hi! Hi! Hi! Hello! Hi! Hi! Hello! Hi! Hi! Hello! (Continue until out of earshot)

I love you!

Hey, beautiful girl.

Hello Toubab! What is your name?

Yo, come talk to me.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, I just want to talk to you. So can you come talk to me?

Toubab! How are you?

Hey, boss lady!

Hey, Chinese-o!

Hey, Chinese boss lady!

Hey, Chinois (I think at least 60 percent of all Gambians think I am Chinese)

These are just the ones I got on my walk from the car park to the internet cafe today. I wish I could remember more because some are pretty classic and hilarious, but unfortunately when you try to hard to ignore them they just go in one ear and out the other.

Since being here, Ive started suffering from some major sharing issues. Gambians have a really giving culture, but they also ask for things much more than Americans are taught is polite.

I like your pants... Give them to me.

You have two pairs of socks? You should give me one.

And of course... Toubab! Give me money!

All this asking for stuff has started to make me hoard things. If I buy some cookies, they stay hidden in the house and I try to be quiet when I open the package... Okay, okay, its not that serious, but Im definitely trying to figure out how to balance the scales.

My newest strategy is just to ask Gambians for things I like too. I like your skirt, give it to me. Hasnt worked yet, but Im sure one day it will pay off.

Honestly, that sort of giving-taking culture has its benefits. When you go to visit someone just to chat, you can walk away with a bag full of oranges, like I did today. So I just try to remember that yes, they are asking for more than usual just because Im a toubab, but if I just ask for things back its not only my burden to bear.

This is my dad and my brother who was born on the very first day I moved in. My brother always has that kind of pained expression on his face.

They draw on new born baby's eyebrows... Flattering? Ummm....

Laundry. I don't do this as well as Gambians so I've stopped trying.

So you might all think that I spend all day every day drinking attaya and fetching water, but I promise that I've actually managed to find work for myself. I haven't been at site too long, so most of these projects are in the very beginnings, but here are some of the things I have been doing:

1. Teaching forestry lessons - This is actually a pretty easy set up for me, and I think a more useful one for the village than if I really did just go teach forestry. Instead, I have been working with the students training to be foresters at the forestry station to make lesson plans, which they then go teach at the middle school and the primary school. I think this is more effective for lots of reasons: the foresters get some practice doing the things foresters in the Gambia are supposed to do, the students are taught by people they can look to as role models, and the forestry students are better in local language than I am. We just did our first lesson about bush fire prevention, and the next one we're planning will be about how to start a tree nursery. Which leads me to...

2. Gambia All-Schools Tree Nursery Competition - This is a country-wide competition that's run jointly by government offices and the Peace Corps. I'm studying up to take over the Regional Coordinator position once the older batch of volunteers goes home. Basically, it's just schools competing to see who can plant the most trees in the most organized, creative, useful ways. Then they can sell what they produce, and win prizes. To get started, I went to the awards ceremony at the first place school in the Western Division. It was quite an event, complete with a Howard Stern-themed tent (oh, the things that somehow make it from America), singing women hijacking the microphone, and some verrrrrry interesting speeches.

3. Tutoring math and science - This is just what it sounds like. I'm working with a young man in my village to do a few hours of classes every weekend to help 9th graders pass their end-of-the-year qualifying exam. This is a bit more challenging than I thought because it's really a struggle to teach fairly complicated science when foundations like reading aren't really there. I could say a lot more about this, but I won't because well, let's keep it neutral.

4. Rehabilitating the womens garden - This is a slow, slow, slow process because it involves money and frankly, projects that involve money usually flop so while I think this is a great idea and should happen, I'm a little wary. There is a large space in my village that has basically been left to fallow for upwards of 10 years because the original (donated) borehole and generator broke. So there's no water there. And no fence really. Those are two major issues in this country. But there have been some offers for help in terms of funding and seeds made, and the village seems behind the project, so I'm proceeding slowly, slowly.

5. Computer help - Okay, I don't really even know computers that well but when people see toubabs they think computer genius. So all the places in my village that have computers (skills center, middle school, nursery school) have called me in to help with things like switching their computers out of swedish, teaching typing, helping them do fancy borders... Luckily these are for the most part things that I can do.

I have lots of other project ideas but for now I'm kind of letting the Gambians steer my direction because I haven't been around long enough to know for sure if my ideas are good, useful, realistic, sustainable...

Okay, I've gotten some flack for not defining terms, so what follows is a recipe for the national drink of Gambia, attaya:

Ingredients: Water, loose Gunpowder green tea leaves, sugar (lots), maybe some extras like mint, nescafe, etc. if you've got them around

Put charcoal or coals from the fire in a metal stand with a handle and swing it around until it gets really hot. Then, pour three shot glasses of water into a very very small kettle. Add a bunch of tea leaves and let it sit until it boils. Once it boils, add 1-2 shot glasses full of sugar. Sit back and wait until it boils again.

Now is where practice makes perfect. Pour the tea from the kettle into a shot glass from as high up as possible to start creating a foam. Alternate filling one shot glass and then pouring it (also from very high up) into the other shot glass, filling both and pouring them into the kettle, and any variation on the theme. Now is also when you add any extra goodies to the recipe. All this pouring from a great distance goes on for at least 10 minutes, until a good foam head forms in the glasses. Then, it's back into the kettle and back onto the coals to heat up again.

Take a moment here to rinse off the outside of your glasses and your serving plate. Once the attaya is hot again you can fill both cups. Make sure to serve in order of seniority. When it's your turn, make sure to slurp and drink as quickly as possible so that the next person can get some too.

Hey all,

Just wanted to tell you I'm heading back to site the day after tomorrow, so expect another long gap in communication.

I'm now officially a Peace Corps Volunteer! Don't forget to write PCV instead of PCT on anythign you send to me starting... well, probably three weeks ago but oh well. We were sworn in at the US Ambassador's house. He used to work for Peace Corps, as did his wife. Now he lives in an amazing beach front house with a swimming pool...

And I went bee keeping last night! We put on big suits and went out in the dark. African bees are a little harder to work with than American/European bees since they haven't been bred to be docile. We smoked them to get them kind of dopey, and then opened up the hives and looked at the honey. My group didn't end up finding any good honey to harvest in the two hives we looked at, but the other group did. It was probably the best thing I have ever eaten in my life.

Looking at the hives was really interesting. We were able to see where fresh and capped honey was, where the brood cells were, and the difference between drones and worker bees. We also saw some comb moths that were infecting one of the hives and the cells where new queen bees were laid. The whole time you could hear the bees buzzing around your ears and bumping into your head piece. When they landed on my gloves I could feel them vibrating. We watched one sting Andy's glove, which was interesting to see.

The main problem with African bees, and why they are deemed "killer," is that when one stings, it releases a pharamone that attracts other bees to sting also. So when you're beekeeping and you get stung, you have to either get the heck out or cover yourself in enough smoke to mask the pharamone. I didn't get stung in the bee suit, but once we took it off and were eating honey I got stung twice. I'm still standing.

My break in the big city (relatively speaking) has been nice, but I'm excited to go back and try to get used to my real life. Please keep up the snail mail, since it's been really nice to get your letters and packages. Lots of people have asked what might be good to send in a package, so here are just a few suggestions:

Dried fruit, magazines, anything just-add-water (soup mix, boiling bags, pasta, powdered sauce mix), any kind of bar (Lara, Cliff, Luna, Chewy, etc.), nuts, granola, juice powder, books, any kind of yummy snack you can think of that won't rot in the mail... Just nice notes from home are also really, really, really nice.

Fo wati do (Until next time).

Typical breakfast: Rice Porridge

Food bowls

Marathon March

My henna-ed hand

My namesake's mom and siblings

Me and my namesake

The beach in Fajara

There is a circumcision camp going on in Wurokang right now. As a girl, I don’t get to see much of anything, but there are certainly some noticeable changes in the village. The first day of the camp all the women in the village wore pants and danced. Scott went to the bush to see the boys and he said they were sitting under a mango tree nursing their wounds. He thought some were girls before they were wearing headscarves. He gave them cookies and they said a prayer. At night you can hear drums and see a bonfire going in the bush.

But the really noticeable change in the village is the entrance of the konkuran. Today, as I was walking back from Kwinella with Scott we saw a parade of drumming, clapping boys coming toward us. One of them was dressed all in straw and wielding machetes. Scott turns to me and says “Seriously, you might want to run.” And I do, along with all the other women outside their compounds. This is a serious run, not a little jog. People want to get home. When I got back to my compound the women were standing at the gate peeking out, but soon Kombe hustled us all into the women’s house and locked the door. When Fatou went outside into the backyard, she got yelled at. This is serious business. If the konkuran catches a woman, people say he will beat you unless you give him money. But in practice you never really know what to expect, and it’s not worth messing with.

The konkuran came through the village several other times, and even if it was dark or the middle of dinner, all activity stopped to go inside and lock the door.

Do you know 50 cent? What about Tupac?

Is America bigger than the world?

You walk like a soldier.

Are there stars and the moon in America too?

My new Gambian name is Sarata. It was given to me by Kombe, passed through a man in sunglasses who prayed over me while massaging my hairline and blowing in my ears. All Gambian names are passed on, and my namesake is Kombe’s shy 3-year old neice. For the ceremony, I wore one of Kombe’s fancy prayer outfits, bright blue with a multicolored shawl. The men of the village sat around me on mats, eating kola nuts. The women and children sat behind. Once all five of the trainees had been given their names (the others were Bunang, Nfamara, Fanta, and Nyima), the men grabbed their fried pastries and mango-flavored juice and cleared out. The women stayed in the alkaloo’s compound to drum on plastic jugs and dance.

Since I’ve moved to Kafuta, I’ve taken on the last name of the family I stay with: Jatta. Most people call me Sarata Jatta-Njai, since Njai is traditionally associated with “friend of the toubabs.”

The toubabs at the naming ceremony (Fanta, Nyima, Sarata, Bunang, Nfamara)

Scott getting his name

For Tobaski, the celebration of the end of the Hajj, Wurokang just about doubled in size – all the bumsters came back to play. The city folk definitely stand out, with clean white sneakers and blue jeans. Also lots of 50 Cent clothing and one brand new Cannabis t-shirt. The night before Tobaski the village was humming with women pounding rice for the following day and the little girls getting mesh braided into their hair.

We woke up in the morning and I put on my nice dress and sat on the road with my family. After breakfast, my host mom handed me a pink salibayoo outfit. I guess my American dress didn’t quite cut it. I put it on with a headwrap and headscarf and followed most of the villagers to the mosque. Everyone sat in front of the mosque, outside, on mats with the men in front and the women and children behind. There was a group prayer and then the elder men of the village stood and draped themselves in a sheet and prayed for about 15 minutes. All of a sudden it was over and everyone shook hands and dispersed.

The rest of the day I wandered around kind of aimlessly, not sure what exactly this holiday meant. The men slaughtered a goat by slitting its throat and then dissected it for our lunch time feast. The women cooked fried rice with potatoes, onions, and eggplant. It was tasty. I avoided the goat.

Toward evening time, all the little boys and girls and the women got dressed up in fancy new clothes and walked from compound to compound asking for prayers and minties. One little girl had shoes that were way to big and had to waddle to keep them on. A speaker system was set up at the water pump by the mosque and people stayed up late into the night, dancing and drinking attaya and lait.

And I thought that was the end but it wasn’t. The next say was kind of like a giant hangover until the evening, when people did the whole thing all over again. And the next night. A little more of a holiday than I expected.

Me in my salibayoo

Killing the goat

Little girls all dolled up for Tobaski

My training family was fairly small as far as Gambian family units go. My host mother, Kombe, is the head of the compound. Her husband lives in SerraKunda, along with many of her 9 children. Her husband’s brother, Ousman, lives in the compound in Wurokang along with two of Kombe’s children – Ibraima (14) and Nyominding (10). When I first arrived, this was it for the members of Kamara Kunda, but after Tobaski the compound filled up a bit. Two of Kombe’s son’s wives came to stay in the compound with their children – Ayiso brought her two daughters (Fatu and Nyima) and her toddler son (Mohammed), and Kaddie Toureh came with her baby, Fatu.

The compound itself is really clean, in part because Kombe doesn’t keep any livestock. There is a round central area with a cement bantaba, and several houses along the edge. I lived in a mud house with a corrugate roof, attached to the house where the women and children lived. My section of the house had two rooms, a front room with a desk and a chair, and a back room with my bed and a trunk. My own backyard is fenced off and includes a cement walkway to a latrine and shower area.

At night, we would lie outside on the bantaba chatting (mostly listening for me, since my Mandinka is still small small) or playing cards. Visitors usually come by after dinner, and since Kombe is the chairperson of the Village Development Committee, there is usually some official business to attend to like clearing balances with the flour mill. The sky is clear and starry and the nights are cool.

Me with some selections of my training family (my neice Nyima, siter Nyominding, brother Ibraima, wife Kaddie Toureh, neice Fatou, and mom Kombe)

I spent the past two months living in a very tiny village called Wurokang in Kiang Central. The whole village consisted of one row of compounds on either side of the main south bank road. I could probably walk from one end to the other in about 5 minutes. Wurokang has two pumps where the women go to get water, one mosque, and probably about 300 inhabitants. It has two small bitiks, where you can buy common necessities like soap and oil, and one tailor. On either side of the village fields extend back. This is the land where the people make their living growing groundnuts, rice, and coos. We lived in Wurokang toward the end of the groundnut harvest time, which meant that I had a pretty serious blister on my thumb from cracking peanuts on the concrete for long stretches of time. If you walk through the fields, the peanut plants have all been pulled out of the ground and piled in big bushels that the men guard from mischievous cows. They use thin wooden hockey-stick shaped tools to separate the nuts from the ground nut hay.

Meanwhile, the bulk of the work in the village falls to the women. They cook, fetch water, garden, keep the compounds clean, pound the rice and coos to extract it from its shell…

The kids put on their blue and white uniforms and walk to Kwinella for school, a larger village about 2k away. On Fridays and weekend nights they go to Arabic school, where they build a huge bonfire and sing late into the night. Everyone in Wurokang is Muslim, but bits of African animist culture still remain. The babies, and many of the grownups, wear jujus around their necks, waists, and arms to protect them from harm or evil. To pray, women wrap themselves tight in scarves but otherwise modesty applies only to the bottom half. It’s too hot and there are too many babies to feed for the women to worry about covering up on top.

As for the Peace Corps Trainees, the five of us meet every morning at our teacher’s house to learn language, and again for lunch, which is, like all meals in The Gambia, served in a communal food bowl. Usually it’s rice with some kind of sauce – peanut, leaf, or oil and tomato. We spend the rest of the day filling our time with chores – laundry, fetching water, studying, doing assignments, gardening – or hanging out with our families and each other.

The Wurokang Health/Agroforestry Training Class of 2008.

Okay, after two months with no access to the internet, I am back in the land of computers, cold beverages, and food that does not include rice! So, what follows is a whirlwind adventure of my past two months. Read on.

6:45 Wake up

7-8 Breakfast (Nescafe, bread, jam, cheese, oatmeal, SPAM!)

8-9 Language lessons

9-10 Environment specific class (Tree ID, for example)

10-10:15 Coffee Break

10:15–11 Safety lecture (Incident reporting, , personal safety, etc.)

11-12 Health lecture (how not to get malaria, how not to get diarrhea, etc.)

12-1 Culture lecture (Gambian norms and values, basic village survival skills)

1-2:30 Lunch

2:30-5:30 Field trip to the market to practice Mandinka, or to the Gambian National Museum, or more language classes

5:30-7:30 Free Time

7:30-8:30 Dinner (meat, rice/pasta, salad, onions)

8:30 - ??? Practice Mandinka, hang out, eventually head to bed.

We're going to village on Friday, so more news soon!

It started out as this:

And ended up like this:

What is two years worth of luggage? 73 pounds in two bags.

I'm writing from a sauna-like hotel business center in Philadelphia right now, where we've just completed our staging. Now I can give you the details on who is going with me.

Our group is 23 people, smaller than I expected honestly. Of those, 17 are women and 6 are men. Most of us seem to be either just out of college or a few years older than that. There is one married couple and two women who are probably in their 40s. Most people here seem to be doing Health/Community Development Projects or Agriculture/Forestry projects. I only heard one other girl call her project Environmental Education and Awareness, which I thought was interesting. I'm not entirely sure how the project titles relate to specific duties, so that will be interesting to find out.

Staging was really just a series of ice breakers and a run down of Peace Corps policies. What I took from it was really just getting a glimpse of the people who I'll be serving with for the next few years.

Tomorrow we get our yellow fever vaccines (which I've already had, so they just need to verify that) and then take off for the airport. We don't have any escort to take us there, so they're setting us loose. We'll arrive in Banjul and be met by a Peace Corps representative. Until then, thanks for the love and I will update you as soon as I can.

Welcome to my blog! I'll try to keep you all posted throughout my Peace Corps adventure.

Today is one week before I fly to Philadelphia for staging. What happens one week before you move away from your life for two years?

Lots of seeing friends

Lots of packing

Lots of shopping (LOTS of shopping!)

That's right, in an effort to clear out my life I feel like I've been consuming more than I have in a long time. There are all sorts of little things I'm trying to gather together to keep me comfortable and happy in a country with limited electricity, limited supplies of certain (what I consider) essential toiletries, limited everything that I'm used to. I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed, but I'm also trying to make sure to relax and enjoy spending time with everyone I love here at home. And as nervous as I am, I can't wait to get to Philadelphia where I feel like my journey will finally begin!