In no particular order:

bagels & cream cheese, English muffins, sharp cheddar, lox, miso soup, sushi, tofu, sliced bread, veggie sandwich with sliced bread, brie, blue cheese, cheddar cheese, apples, orange oranges, cherries, strawberries, wine, blueberries, cranberries, turkey, hamburger, beer, grilled veggies, trout, fennel, lettuces, angel food cake, salads, leeks, pot roast, baked potato's, McDonald's fries, Mexican- burritos, tacos, nachos, salsa, chips, guacamole, green chili, milkshake, blizzard, Mexican pizza, red chili, pancakes, BLT on sliced bread, chicken soup, biscuits & gravy, grilled cheese & tomato soup, french toast, cream of mushroom soup, banana split, ice cream with chocolate syrup, poppers, cold milk, turkey sandwich, PBJ, ants on a log, Iced tea, quiche, pie, mashed potatoes, potato skins, sandwiches with pita, criossantwich, sweet potatoes, potato salad, Brussels sprouts, casseroles, corn dog, hot dog, turkey leg, steak, pork chops, fresh pasta, s'mores, chocolate cake, cookies, cobbler, fruit breads, cheesecake, grits, Denver omelet, breakfast burrito.

This is the list I created while observing daydreaming in the Nursery school class at Kanubeh. If anyone wants to cook these things for me, or take me to a restaurant that serves these things, please feel free and consider it your patriotic duty to re-integrate me into American culture.

You should have read the previous post to get the most out of this one, and maybe I'll be able to add pictures when the internet isn't circa 1997.

Our story pics back up yesterday, Sunday, September 26th.

The whole forestry committee was supposed to show up to plant and fence some 50-ish trees, one person, one tree, one fence. Communication being the challenge that it is, there was also a school-garden-fence-building project planned for the same day, and wouldn't you know it, many of the committee members had to do that instead.

But we bravely forged on, planting and fencing 6 cashew seedlings in just less than 2 hours.

Each person was free to choose their method of fencing, and so we have six different fences around the trees. (Pictures would be included here.)

In the end, it wasn't the volume of tree planting I'd hoped for, but it was community driven, and so that's what will hopefully make it stick.

I told another man (shamelessly) that I'd give him 10 seedlings if he got 10 people to plant seedlings. I also need to get rid of these trees.

To me, they're not worth planting if they will just be neglected and die- Mom and I worked hard to fill the bags with soil and plant the trees. The sun shone and the rains fell, not to mention I bought the nuts, and the little cashews started to grow. I kept them from goats and small boys until now, and with just a little bit of effort, in 3-4 years they will be bearing fruit. That's the reason for making the committee fence the trees as a condition for getting them. They've invested time and effort into planting the trees, not just the 5 min it takes to dig a hole and throw the seedling in. (And honestly, 2 hours is not that much time- really. Especially in the life of a tree.)

So that's what's going on in ole HK these days. I'll try and fill in some stories from the last few months here and there. Keep checking the blog, and thanks for all the support!

Not really, but the futility of posting pictures today has stymied the blogs inside me begging to be posted.

I have so many pictures to share! Internet, why must you be so slow?

Sure, this is a third world country, but you're striving to be better, to pick yourselves up, to build roads, to have electricity on a regular daily basis. And to load pictures of humble cashew plants onto the internet for the masses few people in America that my mom makes read my blog see.

So unfortunatly (wow Gambian english, going to need to stop that in 4 months) I spent the whole afternoon trying to load 2 pictures, and not typing.

The abbreviated version of my life lately:

Last Sunday, the 20th, the Forestry Committee planted over 600 Gmelina (pronounced melina) stumps (which should grow into trees) in the Hella Kunda Community Forest.

Yeah! This is great- I didn't have a thing to do with the planning or execution, I just supported. I see that as the gauge of effectiveness as a Volunteer- Is the community able to get things done without you? Will they be able to do so when you leave? In this situation, YES. I really just wanted to be positive reinforcement and gentle guidence, the community was the driving force behind the planting.

The committe decided to plant the cashew seedlings Mom and I started in June. At first I was going to sell them, with the proceeds going back to the committee or the community somehow, but I decided to give them away provided that they were individually fenced for protection from goats and other pests.

The Forestry Committee decided to use the cashew seedlings as a border for one side of the village, with each member required to plant and fence one tree. They decided to meet the next Sunday, the 27th, to do the work.

Clervi's Pageant Footage

Check this out. I still can't believe that I was a part of it and now I'm heading back to my mud hut. The Gambia is transitioning into the modern world in interesting ways. Thoughts?

(Sorry no pics this time...)

Wednesday March 31: Rise at 5am, travel to Barra with Amadou in his gelly-van. Highlight: Farrafenni Chicken Sandwich!

2nd Highlight: Getting into Kombo with the whole afternoon.

Thursday April 1: Lesson plans, beach, Frisbee. Prepping Bokashi compost juices- yum!

Highlight: Dancing at the Kora. Pool (Billiards), Chillin with friends, meeting various new friends. Roll into bed somewhat late/early in the am…

Friday April 2: Visit Gambia is Good farmyard with Adrian. Spend a great day at the garden getting ready for IST.

Bummer: Got in a car crash on the way back/our gelly rear-ended the one in front of us. No damage, the drivers quickly checked, yelled and then drove on. Early bedtime!

Saturday April 3: Happy Birthday Jonathan! Lesson plans all day. NCAA Basketball Tournament at night! Woot! Start time: 11:00 pm. End time: 4:00 am? Early.

Lowlight: Lost the tournament pool very badly, and lost a bet to Scott… goodbye 300 dalasis.

Highlight: Basketball! In the Gambia! And beer.

Sunday April 4: Church at Bakau Methodist Church. The church is on the ocean at a beautiful site. It was full and there was an incredible drama presenting the easter story. 11 PCVs attended church. Lowlight: the longest sermon ever- church was 3 hours long. I think I’m about churched out for a few months… Highlight: He is Risen!

Also: lesson plans, Julbrew Party at Fransiscos. Won a sweet Vimto soccerball for the Hella Kunda boys team! Shenanigans ensued… Yet another early morning…

Monday April 5: More lesson planning and preparation for IST. Friends coming in for IST. VSN meeting with Co-Coordinator Leah. Serrakunda Market for sweet jeans and fukajai (aka dead white people clothes) with Adrian.

Tuesday April 6: First Day of IST! Rise and shine with the Ashley Wake-up call!- Sweet morning tunes and a kind good morning notification. Breakfast at Fransisco’s, Sifoe for beekeeping. Highlight: Co-Officer of Fun with Adrian. Crunchy rice for lunch special. Cashew fruits (Stripes and Bjorn). Early to bed.

Wednesday April 7: Another awesome wake up call by Ashley. Bee- Themed day at Sifoe. Using my mad creative skillz I constructed a smoker suit with an emergency blanket. It was quite a hit. Taught a session, made friends with the Sifoe crowd.

Highlight: Great run down Bakau Road! So needed in my life at that point. Early to bed again.

Thursday April 8: Ashley Wake up call. Sweet tunes. IST at Wellingara. Great sessions, some VSN work, seed exchange, Adam Njie. Dinner at Bamboo Garden- Chinese food, yum! Casey claims to be my musical soulmate. Sweet.

Friday April 9: Ashley Wake-up call. Awesome tune-age. IST at Wellingara. PLASA tree planting. General Rocking at life. Dinner at the always tasty Bakau Guest House. I had a delicious ladyfish filet.

Saturday April 10: Ashley Wake-up call. Music for the soul. GiG garden day! My big day with gardening/composting sessions in the am and Integrated Pest Management in the afternoon. I think they went well. Then off to Safari Garden for some Pool Time! Then some Dinner Time! And the night was just getting started! On to Churchills for the ancient art of karaoke! We sang ALL the songs. All of them. There were none left to sing. Made friends with the DJ. On to Kora for some dancing and general rollicking good times. And other stories. I may have gotten home late.

Sunday April 11: The Ashley Wake-up call was somewhat late, and the tunes were usurped by another Ipod. Oh dear. But we carried on and made it to IST at the empty stodge house. Paperwork, catching up, coffee and dark sunglasses all morning. Also, co-officers of fun gave the best trivia game ever for Fabulous Prizes! Seriously- a KTB hive and a solar cooker! What’s not to love? Then the afternoon: Sandplover beach! Woot! Lazy on the beautiful beach. After dinner an elite group of fun havers journeyed to Mamba for delicious cocktails and beers. And then to WOW for dancing. Early am…

Monday April 12: Day off, but there is still work to be done! Banjul and the Forestry Dept with my tooma. Julia (aka we are both Adama!) That was fun. Then what… probably nothing, just catching up on work. Making certificates for the IST venues as thank-you’s. Early to bed/fell asleep on a chair.

Tuesday April 13: Getting ready for all vol, I must have done something on Tuesday… A Ha! Serrakunda Market! That’s right. With Kasey. Found some sweet purple stilettos and bought them. Looked for asobe, but alas, none to be found. Got a great Gambia t-shirt instead. At night, Kora for pool with Kasey and Leah, Ricky and the boys. Other activities followed. Home rather late…

Wednesday April 14: Ashley Wake up call! This time to everyone, and at 6:30 am! Oh PC, we do love you so much sometimes… Off to the Sheraton for the All-Volunteer Meeting. In a conference room with no A/C for the am… lame. But, we had infinity pool in the afternoon. And lunch buffet. JulBrew Party at Francisco’s in the evening. Yours truly announced the contests and was generally hilarious. Note to all: You MAY NOT wear a horizontally striped shirt, and vertically striped pants and expect me to take you seriously. I don’t care how much money you make. Or who your friends are. Not gonna happen. Unless you’re blind, then we can talk.

Highlight: I am an awesome beer drinking contest MC.

Thursday April 15: Ashley Wake-up. All vol day 2. Early back from the Sheraton for Open Mic Night! Awesome performances by everyone! YaYa did an amazing poem, URR represented and fun was had. Adrian can sing, Brendan played the Kora and translated ‘Lean on Me’ into Mandinka! Rock On! Then we went to WOW! And danced all the dances.

Friday April 16: Last Ashley Wake-Up. Excellent Jamz as per usual. At All Vol Ambassador Barry Wells gave an excellent speech. We had some meetings and talkings, and then lounged by the beach during peer counseling sessions. A great end to all vol. Worked on my tan. Went to bed at a reasonable hour.

Saturday April 17: Sleep in! Worked on the newsletter with Adrian. Sat Night: Dress up as if for prom. Marnie’s friend Williams produced a beauty pageant, and in a gross oversight/boon asked Marnie and three of her friends to be judges. Me, Kasey, Marnie and Zach were 4 of the 6 judges at this high profile, cooperate-sponsored event.

We pre-gamed a little at Kora, and then walked over to the Jerma Beach Hotel where the pageant was held. Let me tell you people, this was the real deal. Folks were dressed up. Fancy. Like real fancy. We strolled in (pretty much the only white people!) and tried to convince the doormen that we were in fact the judges. They were not convinced, but we found Williams who confirmed that yes, he did get four scrubby PCV’s to judge. The pageant was a contest between 11 women representing the companies they worked for. Rounds included: Traditional African Dress, Casual wear, company presentation, talent (aka lip synching to a pop song) evening wear, question and answer. In between each round there was a ‘rap’ performance, or a ‘hip-hop’ group, and even a strange, very strange comedy routine.

The event was supposed to start at 8pm. It started at 12am. Then it went until 5:30. We got home at morning prayer call and finally fell into bed at 6 am.

Oh, and I was the Head Judge, since I volunteered. So when it came time, I added up all the scores with Marnie, and went up on stage to announce the winners. I’m just like Ryan Seacrest! The Queen of Africell won. Woot.

Clervi shot some video on his phone- check it out and you will see what I have no hope of explaining. http://apeironian.com/gallery/main.php?g2_itemId=84469

Sunday April 18: Slept for a few hours and worked on the newsletter. Early to bed.

Monday April 19: Finish newsletter. Get surprise news that there will be a VSN meeting with OSS aka Peace Corps Washington. Spend the afternoon trying to make the meeting organized and focused. The meeting went well, and we should have a VSN training sometime this summer. Dinner with Clervi and Chris Chapman at the Thai restaurant in Senegambia. Enjoyed a few beers and met up w/ Ricky and Co for a few minutes. Bed.

Tuesday April 20: Today! My friends left today and I miss them. But I’m heading to site tomorrow. Wrote this fine piece of Literature for your reading pleasure. And as usual have about 12 other things still to do. They will wait for the next trip to Kombo. I’m going back to Hella Kunda.

The next day Chinese returned (we notified him that he had a new baby) and a parade of well-wishers came in to greet the newest addition to the Keita family. Mom and baby were fine, resting in the house.

It is Islamic custom to wait 7 days to name the baby. Until then it is called ‘baby girl’ (or baby boy if it’s a boy…). The mother should also do no work for those seven days. She should take the time to rest and be with the baby.

Because I am a stranger (guest) in the compound, Chinese ‘gave’ the baby to be, and the honor of giving her a name. (This an area of culturally treading lightly- walking the line between my culture and theirs, trying to honor their traditions fully without making promises I can’t keep or taking on responsibility I’m not capable of taking on.)

With help from Peace Corps Language and Culture Facilitator Adam (my tooma or namesake) I suggested to Chinese the name Asi. It’s like my name (Ashley) but it’s a Gambian name and Gambians can say it correctly (unlike my name…).

What does Chinese say? ‘Oh, Asi is good. You know, Asi and Sira are the same, and Sira is the name of my sister and of Fatou’s uncles wife. Sira is a good name.’ So the baby’s name is Sira. And I think all sides of the family are fine with it. But people still say the baby is my tooma (namesake).

The week after she was born, Sira was named in a ceremony called naambo. The elders came early in the morning and prayed over the baby, blessing her. Then the griot proclaimed her name and more prayers were said. It was the first time since the hospital that she left the house. The women put her on Fatou’s back for the first time.

The whole experience was crazy and overwhelming. It was certainly unexpected, but that’s par for the course here. So far, mom and baby are doing well. Fatou is back to work, but her sister came to stay with us for a while and help out around the compound with cooking and the labor.

After spending all day in Kanubeh in the Longest School Committee Meeting Ever where we created a teacher attendance policy among other lengthy processes, I caught a gelly back to HK feeling tired, but happy with the days accomplishments. It was early evening by the time I got home, and I accepted an invitation to attend an engagement party for my friend later that night.

Little did I know, I would never make it to the party (foreshadowing…).

In Keita Kunda it was business as usual, Chinese was away attending a funeral for a few days, and the kids were being rowdy.

Fatou cornered me and asked me if we could call her mom, so we trekked to up the hill. We didn’t reach her mom, and as we returned Fatou said her stomach had been hurting since 11:00 am that day, and she was worried.

I didn’t think too much of it- I figured we could head to the hospital in the morning if it didn’t get any better. I had estimated Fatous due date around late april or early may, so I was a little concerned about false labor, but since Fatou was up and about I didn’t get really worried.

After dinner I put on my nice complet to go to the party, but again Fatou asked me to make a call. This time I called Chinese because something was definitely not right. I told him we were going to the hospital in the morning if she wasn’t better.

By the time I got back from making the call, a neighbor woman had come by. Fatou had to go to the hospital in Basse. Now.

This was turning into a serious deal. We went out to find a car to take her, and picked up the Traditional Birthing Attendant (TBA) on the way.

Around 9:00 we put Fatou in the back of the car (a blue 4 door of unknown make/model) flanked by me and the TBA, the driver and some guy (along for the ride/as a friend for the driver?)

We started off, Basse was 20 k away (12 miles). Fatou was not doing well, and clearly in a lot of pain. She grabbed my shoulder and was moaning and groaning. I was of little use, just taking up space in the car, really. About 3 k down the road we stopped and put a piece of plastic on the back seat to sit on. Apparently this could get messy.

It did quickly. As we continued, the situation escalated quickly. There was pain, and groaning, and then a whoosh, with fluid, and more fluid, and then,

WAH!

OhMiGoshThere’sABabyInTheCar!

So we pulled over.

And Fatou gave birth on the side of the road, 6 k out of HK, at around 9:30 pm.

We got her and the baby situated and continued to Basse, stopping on the way to the hospital to get gas. (We weren’t in much of a haste now.)

The hospital was a terrible, terrible place. To say I was disappointed and appalled would be an understatement. We were hassled at the gate by the watchmen who didn’t want to allow us to drive in. (Hello, we have a woman in the process of giving birth here!)

We pull up to the clinic door and help Fatou walk in.

The nurses at the nursing station give us balnk looks. ‘Saalaam a leekum’

They return a lackluster ‘Maaleekum saalaam’ and that’s it.

I walked up to the window, ‘Hi, my host just gave birth.’ (As if they couldn’t see that.)

Finally they responded with some life and asked if she had birthed the placenta.

(Answer: no.)

The TBA (who was great through this whole process and very capable and kind) brought Fatou to the back to a birthing table (?) covered in dust of course…

One of the nurses (Nurse 1) threw what looked to me like a tarp over the table and essentially told Fatou to hop up. No offer of assistance whatsoever. (Fatou being the amazing woman that she is was able to get up.)

Then, this is probably my favorite part of the Terrible Hospital Experience, the nurses told me to go buy soap and a razor blade from the shop around the corner. We had to buy our own razor blade to cut the umbilical cord. And our own soap for Fatou to wash. From the shop around the corner that also sells bread and cigarettes.

I was furious, but apparently this is standard procedure.

We got all the ‘medical supplies’ and the nurse cut the cord and weighed the baby: 3.1 kg or 6.2 lbs, girl, apgar score 9/10.

And then we left.

We stopped by a street vendor stall and bought a bunch of meat for Fatou (iron replacement and protein) and were back in Hella Kunda by 10:30.

For a VSN (Volunteer Support Network) Event I hosted BLT’s in Basse on Feb 13th. How did I get bacon in a very muslim country you ask!? Tex and Chief came through for me with 2 packages of precooked delicious bacon.

Tomatoes and salad are locally available. There was even avocado! WOW! What a day.

We met up and ate BLT’s and were happy as clams.

Sunny invited Tara and me down to her site to look at hippos on the river. We hung out by the river side all morning, and finally! One hippo came cruising down the river. We saw it surface and then go back under. We scrambled for our cameras and waited for it to come up again. I didn’t get any sweet pics of the hippo because I only saw its ears and nose as it came up for air. The second time it came up it was way past us. It was going at a pretty fast clip! So I have now seen a wild hippo. Hippo Watch 2010 was a great success. Thanks Sunny!

We also saw our couterpart, Lamin, on his fishing boat. And we saw Commerce On The River Gambia. A tugboat came by towing (count ‘em) 12 barges of groundnuts! 12! From Basse to Banjul!It was an amazing sight. When the tugboat went by we all made the international ‘toot your horn’ sign and even got some old women passing by to join in. We were all thrilled when they obliged.

Clervi, Tavi and I caught a set plus to Kombo. We were the last 3 passengers, so we got the very back seat. (We had already stayed up very late the night before, having a lot of fun, and it was very early.)

Immediately, one of the other passengers made friends with Clervi, and gave him a new name. Clervi was now Pateh, the same as his new friend (interesting coincidence?).

We could tell this would be a good trip. After waiting 2 hours for the Janjanbureh ferry (the one we have to pull ourselves across on) we continued down the North Bank Highway and Pateh (the Gambian) wanted to get to know us.

‘Where are you from Pateh (Clervi)?

‘I’m from Texas.’

‘Oh, Texas, that’s a nice place. What about you?’

‘I’m from Colorado.’

‘North Carolina?’

‘No, Co-lo-ra-do.’

‘Oh, Carolina. Very good.’

(sigh) ‘Yes, Carolina.’

‘And you?’

‘New York.’ (Tavi is really from Vermont, but she wisely decided that NY was close enough.)

‘Ah, the capital city!’

‘Uh, yeah, the capital city.’

‘And where are you from in the Gambia?’

‘I love in Kombo.’

Now Pateh was really excited- ‘Oh, a Capital Woman! You are from both capitals!’

Yes, Tavi is from both capitals. The capital of America and the Gambia.

Pateh was a good pal to have, better than someone being rude. And really, I bet a lot of Americans think New York is the capital of the US. And Colorado and Carolina sound really similar. There is a substantial population of Gambians in NC. So it really makes sense.

Sadly our relationship ended when we saw a Peace Corps car on the road in front of us. We called to find out who it was and Peter stopped to pick us up from the set plus. Free ride to the ferry! Woot. (Only 10 more miles…)

And that was my latest journey to Kombo.

Tara and I got traditional henna done on our feet and hands. Tara wanted it for her trip home to America. The henna is applied like cake frosting- squeezed from a bag. Fatou, the woman who did it made up the designs as she went. You wait about 20 min for the henna to dry and then wash off the excess, leaving the cool designs. It can last for a week to 10 days. Women also do solid black henna on their feet, or make negative space designs with tape.

The process leading up to the henna was a bit comical. Tara and I showed up in a compound her host family told us about. We greeted and looked around for the henna lady. She said she would do the henna, but needed to feed the kids’ breakfast and get the materials. While we waited for her we sat in their house. They have a satellite and French news was on. So we sat while women ate breakfast and watched French news. Then Tara drank Nescafe made with tea. The coffee tea mixture was interesting. Finally Fatou was ready and we did the henna and left.

Here’s the story- villages hold tournaments for 3-5 consecutive nights. On the first night all the wrestlers arrive and there’s lots of drumming and wrestling, starting around midnight and it lasts until 3 or 4. It’s neat when you would rather sleep that watch, but whatever.

The second night (the night I attended) started around 6 pm, when it was starting to get dark (hence the low light pics…). We (Chinese and I) walked to Sare Sonkule with the hundreds of other people headed to the festivities. There were many, many teenage girls there to check out the strapping young wrestlers. Carloads, bike loads and donkey cart loads of people streamed passed us, eager to see the entire match.

The wrestling pit/arena/field is a giant dirt field. The wrestlers and drummers stand in the middle, with the various hangers on bustling about. The men do various kicks and jogs and stretches to warm up before a match. The uniform seems to be a variation of spandex (leotard, womens swimming suit, etc.) in the gaudiest pattern possible, (with or without shirt), spandex shorts and a strange skirt/apron thing made from local fabric that is adorned with tassels and puff balls. It ties in the front but is open, so it’s not really a skirt. Most of the men wrestled barefooted.

I didn’t really understand how the rules work, but 2 guys pair up, and wrestle until one wins. I’m not really sure how winning happens. I thought it was when one guy was pinned, but that didn’t really seem to be the case. Anyway, when a guy wins he takes a lap around the arena followed by a group of drummers. (There is constant drumming) He struts and dances and the people cheer as he goes by, and sometimes give him money or chewing gum.

This is repeated until somehow, someone is the ultimate champion for the night.

When it gets too dark to see, two bonfires are lit at either end of the field. It’s sweet to see the wrestlers silhouetted against the fire. (Pictures don’t turn out too well though) The wrestlers travel the country and Senegal going to different events for the two months of the season. As much fun as I had the first night, I decided not to go the second night.

Also: I posted a video on YouTube of the wrestling.

I keep doing Work. It’s amazing! The Monday we got back from trek, the URR Forestry Dept. had a QUARTERLY PLANNING MEETING!! (I hate all caps, but this was amazing and I’m so excited about it that I had to emphasize it.)The Regional Forestry Head (RFH) is new in Basse, and wants to work on Community Forests and the other forestry directives. The URR also got about 8 brand new forest scouts out of the forestry school. These guys are young and excited about being foresters. Monday morning the RFH just decided to have a planning meeting. The quarter was already half over, but better late from never. With the two area heads (Kemo and Sisawo) we reviewed the Community Forest procedures. Each of the scouts made a plan for their area and presented it to the group. It was great! I think this is a great opportunity to guide the URR Forestry department through the implementation of the national forestry plan. The plan is large and can be complex. It’s very difficult to take sweeping directives and turn them into day-to-day actions. We’ll be taking the big picture ideas in the quarterly plans, and breaking it down by months and weeks into specific tasks to complete. I’m really excited because there is so much potential for the URR Forestry Department to be the best department in The Gambia.

The whole time I’ve been here there’s been a rumor of a forestry worker in the town 3k from me. I finally met that man when Chinese and I sold Fatou’s groundnuts in December. Kemo Kinteh is the community forester in Bakadaji. He’s been working in the area for the last three years, but we’ve never crossed paths. When my schedule cleared up in February I got the opportunity to go on trek with a team from Forestry doing the national forestry assessment. The inventory is a legitimate study, with quantifiable results and gathers useful information about the natural resources and the human interactions of the country. The inventory team is made up of experienced foresters and natural resource specialists, and a driver; 5 men in all, including Kemo. (and a few other foresters we picked up on the way)It was a great experience. I got to visit the extreme east end of the country- Fatoto and Wuli district, east of Basse. I had never been there before and we crisscrossed the Gambia (admittedly only 20 k or so wide…) staying in villages every night with different families. Every village we went to was amazingly kind and generous. They loved that I can speak Mandinka. If I had had this experience a year ago it would have been overwhelming and not very fun, but now that I can speak with people and understand the culture somewhat, it was fun and only a little overwhelming. I spent two nights in Ceesay Kunda with a 16 year old in a bed, and the mom and 4 kids on the floor. Nene, the 16 year old, braided my hair after we got back from the field. The forestry guys loved my new style. We stayed in a Fula village with electricity that had never had a white person visit. (Too bad I don’t speak Fula) During the mornings we headed out to the bush were our pre-determined points. The National Forest Inventory set out survey plots every 9 km across the entire country. Using a GPS receiver we locate the points and conduct a series of surveys, including tree species along a tract and land use and land cover changes. (Hooray! Science! Quantifiable data! Meaningful results!) We also conducted household surveys within a 1km radius of the plot center.We spent an entire afternoon trying to figure out if one of the plots was in Senegal or The Gambia. Turns out it was almost entirely in Senegal. We picked up my friend Julia in Fatoto and she came on trek with us for a few days. The team completed 5 plots over about 7 days and returned to Basse to complete paperwork and tie up lose ends. Which leads into the next story…

For months Pabby has been asking to go visit PCV Marnie (Mahana) at her site in Bantanto. Every time I come back from being gone or using my mobile, Pabby askes where Mahana is, and if she’s ok and when he’ll see her next. They are clearly besties. Pabby is only three, but he’s my little buddy and Marnie and I thought it would be a great adventure to bring Pabby to her site for one night. Chinese and Fatou were agreeable, so we set a date.We packed up and waited by the road for a car.A man who works for a major road construction company picked us up. We had a great time talking. He was from the UK and has spent several decades working around the world on construction projects (Hooray multicultural interaction!). Pabby fell asleep in the car for the hour ride.Bill (the Brit) dropped us in Bantanto and Marnie was there to ecstatically greet us. We got some juice and headed for the compound.Soon after arrival things started to go downhill.Pabby was not overjoyed to see Marnie. Instead, he wanted to go home. Oh brother. We tried to put him down for a nap, but as soon as we left the hut, he made a beeline for the road. A small girl came in and was like ‘That boy just left.’‘What! Where?’‘Down the road.’Shoot. ‘Pabby! Come back! Where are you going!?’Then he started to cry.Marnie’s host brother tried to play with him and amuse him, but nothing worked. Pabby wanted to go home. He finally took a nap, but after he woke up and ate some lunch he started crying again. Marnie and I decided that this was not fun, so I took him home. The second I said ‘ok, we’re going home’ Pabby was fine.I dropped him off at home and went back to Marnies.We decided that’s the last time we trust a 3 year old.

PCV Travis lives in Sare Sofi, a Fula village about 40 k from me in the CRR. His village people expressed interest in beekeeping, so he asked me to come teach some men how to weave grass hives. I biked over in the morning and met with his main counterpart. PCV Amber came over to help and provide some moral support. We had 5 men come for the training and all of them managed to weave a sizable portion of hive by the end of the day. It was fun to do Work, and my language skills are high enough that I could explain what to do, with only a few clarifications in English with the help of a man translating. The men were all very motivated to make hives and keep bees. They promised to finish the hives and asked if I would come back to help them hang the hives in the bush.

I actually live in a termite mound that is shaped like a hut.

I finally got the insecticide from the damage done to my house discovered around October (see October blogs) and we are going to plaster the hut with cement. (Something that should have been done in the first place and would have prevented this whole mess.)

Before putting on the cement plaster I had to remove the mud plaster.

That’s when I discovered the termite holes.

The first one I jokingly referred to as a new window. They got subsequently less funny after that. It was very demoralizing to see what poor conditions I live in, and to realize how powerless I am against nature.

As I removed mud plaster, Jamboye started on the cement plaster. He did a good sized section that day, and I think it will make a big difference to the house. I know I’ll feel a lot better when the work is done.

Unfortunately I had to travel into the city while they’re doing most of the work, so inevitably something will go wrong. Maybe the cement will get stolen, maybe they’ll decide not to finish the work, or plaster over the mud plaster instead of remove it first, or my house will get broken into and all my things will disappear. BUT, I hope none of those things will happen and instead I will return to a correctly plastered house and we can continue the work on the inside, kill the termites and fix my roof before the rains so I don’t start living in a swamp instead of a termite mound.

First of all, let me clear up a confusing issue. I know any ornithologist reading my blog have cringed every time I wrote the word ‘duck.’

It seems that my feathered friends are not ducks. They are geese. (Do geese see God? One may ask.)

According to the Gambia bird book, and other knowledgeable sources, the ducks are really geese. Nevertheless, they are tasty and like water.

Ever since I brought my three duck/geese (Henceforth referred to as ducks, or burro in Mandinka, even though yes, they are geese.) back to Hella Kunda they have been sadly with out a place to ‘take bath.’ I finally bought 2 bags of cement to make a duck pond with, and Chinese and I constructed a very fine pond for the ducks.

From tracing the pattern to actually digging out the pool and laying the concrete, I think it expanded about 3 or 4 inches on all sides from the original shape. It ended up about 1.2 m² and 1 foot deep.

Let me just tell you, that is a big pond when you are filling it bucket by bucket from a pump 3 compounds over.

I contracted an army of small boys, aka the Peace Corps Football team to fill the pond for a 100 dalasi contribution to their fund. (Peace Corps is the name chosen by the boys because I am helping sponsor the team. The boys all contribute 5 dalasis a week, and I match the funds once a month. They’ve been through 1 football so far, and bought another one with the funds they raised. Next they want to buy football jerseys with numbers. I’m trying to help them fundraise for that.) They boys hauled approx. 600 liters of water to fill the pond. It’s actually almost a swimming pool.

And the ducks really like it. Chinese and I also built a fence around it to keep various donkeys and goats from drinking from it. We also wanted to contain the ducks, but they don’t stay w/in the fence.

Right now there are 9 ducks, but I want to eat some soon…

Chinese and I went to Bakadaji to sell Fatou’s groundnuts (peanuts). We brought 1/3 of her harvest to sell: 60 kilograms. Bakadaji is a groundnut consolidation point. There are consolidation points around the country to gather the groundnut harvest from farmers for resale. The idea is to give all the farmers a fair price for groundnuts, and get the harvest to a centralized point for storage, shipment, resale etc. The groundnuts are repackaged into standardized bags and weighed. The farmer is then immediately paid for his harvest and the groundnuts are loaded onto trucks. In the past the process has had some problems with getting the farmers paid, but this year everything seemed to run smoothly. For the 60 kilos we were paid 500 dalasis. That’s about 8 dalasis a kilo. For the amount of work put into each kilo it’s a ridiculously low price. It translates into fractions of pennies on the hour for labor per person. But it’s the going rate for groundnuts nationwide.

The Against Malaria Bednet Campaign has been a huge success! Some of the nets have been distributed, and the rest are awaiting transport from Senegal. I plan on attending some of the distributions and educational programs, so I’ll keep you updated on what happens! Once again, thank you so much for all the support!

I have to say thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has sent me letters and packages over the last few months! You are amazing and make my life so much better! It’s fun to share the things with my family and friends! Especially Oreo Thursday! And I’m going to have a BLT Day in Basse for Peace Corps Volunteers with the bacon that was sent! You enrich my life with your generosity and love! Thank you!

The grass is starting to cure and dry out in the bush, so I decided to make a grass beehive. It took about 40 hours over a week and a half or so. I’m pretty please with the result. I’m teaching Chinese and Salif to weave hives, so hopefully we’ll put several out in the bush to be colonized.

Now I have to bait it with perfume and place it in the bush.

This year for Christmas I was at a tourist camp called Tendaba that Peace Corps uses every year for training. I came in to do training for our new class of volunteers. I had a really sweet tree ID scavenger hunt. My friend Jes and I ran sessions on AgFo project stuff the 23rd and we got to know the trainees. There were 35 of them, 18 in the AgFo sector; the others are Health and community development sector. Then, on Christmas eve we spent the day on what’s called Marathon March. This was a little dramatic. It’s 26 k through a national park and the bush, along the river, and back through a rice field (aka mud up to your waist!). Jes and I were the volunteer leaders, and this guy Lamin was the guide who has been doing this for several years. The march started off great at 6am. At about noon we reached this sweet escarpment overlooking the river. Things went downhill from there. Lamin, in his infinite wisdom, started bushwhacking parallel to the river, instead of bushwhacking a right angle to the river. We walked about 3 k through grass that was 3-4 meters tall (aka up to 12 feet!) (Lamin also forgot to bring a machete- so we had none.) we stopped to rest and I checked in w/ lamin after taping a girls ankle. He claimed we were only 15 min from the river. We headed out in the same direction. I have this problem with trusting people I know are wrong just because they are in positions of power and experience. Silly me not trusting my gut… 3 k later another stop- it’s getting later (you can’t make good time bushwhacking through the giant grass) at this point lamin is stopping every so often to climb trees to look for the river above the grass. And we kept going in the same direction, parallel to the river that we should have reached by now. Finally, about 10 k from the escarpment (or maybe more- I’m not sure) Jes and I said enough. Our poor trainees were getting out of water, and everyone knew we weren’t where we were supposed to be. Lamin got pissed that we were calling him out and started getting agitated, but Jes and I calmed him down and tried to get focused on the best next step. At about 3:00 we decided to go back the way we came (yes if you are lost you should not try to retrace your steps, but we were essentially heading straight east, so we weren’t actually lost lost. We knew where we were (if this makes sense) but we didn’t know exactly where we were. The river was to the north and the road was to the south less than 10k. at this point it was a matter of getting the trainees back in one piece) So we turned around. I got on the cell phone with our training manager to tell him we’d be late, and please send a car for the ones who were worst off and out of water. We trudged into the entrance of Kiang National Park just as the car came with 20 l of water. It pulled away with 12 trainees and the rest of us retraced our steps (now not lost) back to Tendaba, where we arrived at 6 pm. A 12 hour hike. No biggie… Jes and I were just happy to get everyone back in one piece.

Cars in America are wired to require the key in the ignition to run. Not so in the Gambia! I was in a gelly when I looked up and noticed there was no key in the ignition, but we were driving down the road… I’ve seen seplast drivers (I believe this is the correct term) hotwire their cars to start them on numerous occasions. Most recently, I was in a car heading to Kombo. At a police checkpoint the driver had to show his documents (registration etc.). He used his key to unlock the glove compartment and retrieved the documents. After he returned them to the glove box and locked it we started to drive away. As we pulled out, he returned the key to the ignition. The car never turned off, and was wholly unaffected by the removal of the key.

On my way to Marnies site the gelly suddenly made a loud noise as something fell onto the road behind us. We stopped and backed up on the road to the parts laying in the middle of the road. The apparante (apprentice/helper) jumped out to pick up the pieces. They looked suspiciously like pieces of a disc break or other moving, necessary part. But we kept driving- at a snails pace! We had to stop again to pick more pieces up off the road, and the gelly limped up the road, finally arriving at Marnies village almost an hour later.

The best route to Kasey’s village is a bush road from Kossemar to Diabugu. (Ha- that must be a bunch of gibberish!) I was headed with Pondo to have lunch with Kasey and Stripes the day before thanksgiving. Duck benechin! Yum! I crossed the river and headed up the bank. On the side of the path was a man field dressing the biggest snake I’ve ever seen. I stopped to chat with the men about the snake and ended up buying about 2 kilos of snake meat. They claimed people eat it, so I was psyched to bring some meat home to the family. They showed me the skin tacked to the wall of a house. The snake was huge- at least 25 feet long! At Kasey’s I tried to get her family to cook some of the meat. It turns out no self respecting Mandinka will eat snake meat. My family said the same thing. We tried to fry some at Kasey’s but it was not sweet. Rubbery and chewy and gross, actually. The next day (thanksgiving) I tried to smoke the meat. I built a corncob smoky fire and the snake was smoking nicely. Too bad I went up the hill to call home and didn’t stay by the smoker. While I was gone the snake caught fire, and burned to a charred crisp. Bummer. I scraped the char off and ate the meat underneath- it was really good- the smoking made it tender and tasty, or it would have been tasty if it hadn’t been all charred.

Our (Tara and my) work in Kanyubeh is backed and prompted by a British couple who are funding the construction of a Nursery School. We’ve been working with them since Feb. to get the school open. D & J are funding it with a charity they created, the Gambia Upcountry Charity, and in early November one of their primary fundraisers came to Kanyubeh to work for 2 weeks. Over the two weeks they were there, E. and S. met everyone in the village, registered children for class, held school committee meetings and worked on the construction of the school. The village fell in love with them (ha- I did a little to if you can’t tell…). They motivated the village with model classes and even held a football tournament for the kids! It’s been great working with the Brits (as I refer to them as). They are all committed to supporting the village and helping to make the nursery school sustainable. When we as Peace Corps Volunteers meet other white people in the Gambia we are usually pretty skeptical of their intentions. Too often we see people just come in and dump money on a project and leave, without any preplanning or follow up. This experience has truly been collaboration between the charity, Peace Corps and especially the Gambians and the village.

Facial scarring is a cultural tradition among several of the ethnic groups in the Gambia. Women (and men) cut small scars on their faces and blacken them with peanut ash for beauty. Several of the Volunteers have the traditional scars, but in places other than our faces! Kasey and I decided we wanted to get scars to commemorate 12 months in the Gambia. We had been discussing it for months, since July or August, and our one year mark was fast approaching! Volunteers have a woman in Wassu they always go to to get scars, but I’m lazy and didn’t want to travel all the way down there. Plus, I live in an area with several Fula villages (the ethnic group most associated with scars) so there had to be someone nearby who would do it. The week before we wanted them I discussed it with Chinese. We hopped on bikes and rode to Sare Sankule 3 k into the bush. Chinese explained our mission to several people and we were directed to the compound of the women who is best at scarring. She laughed at my idea to get scars, but not on my face (the women we met on the road all agreed that scars on my face would be very beautiful… no way says I!). We made an appointment for her to come up to HK the next week with her partner and do our scars. Success! Now where to put them… November 7th, 2009- The women arrive at our compound and it’s supremely awkward b/c I don’t speak Fula, and they don’t speak Mandinka… Do-de-do… And we’re waiting for Kasey to arrive. While we wait I burn the peanuts that will be put in my skin to blacken it. And prep the razor blades that will cut me open. Yikes! This is another moment where I say to myself ‘I hope this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.’ Kasey arrives on a donkey, and we scrub up and draw our scars on with a pen. B. taped the whole thing and I’ll try to find the video- it may be on Kasey’s blog. Kasey got hers on her foot, and I got mine on my upper right arm. It bled a lot. Mixed with the blood was the peanut charcoal/oil mix. For it to stay, she really had to rub it in hard. And then it was over. Don’t get it wet for 3 days, and rub more ash in tomorrow. Done and done. Later that day I called home to tell my parents the silly thing I’d done. The scars healed really nicely and I’m very happy with them. Besides the memories of the Gambia, I’ll have my scars for the rest of my life- this isn’t a metaphor for my time here right!?

This year I had the opportunity to harvest coos (millet), rice, sorghum, peanuts and beans. Ha, I say opportunity- but really it’s like saying I had the opportunity to clean the bathroom, or do the dishes… But it was actually really great. I feel like I’ve contributed to my family food bowl in a meaningful way. First came the bean harvest. I think I mentioned that I urged Chinese to plant a bean field in the field behind the compound. Before I went to America I bought the beans for him to plant, and in October they were ready to harvest. I spent mornings and afternoons filling buckets with beans. The freshly picked pods dried in the sun until they could be shelled. With the family we probably picked 5 or 6 rice bags of beans. Of course, after you shell them they take up a lot less space, but I think we are still eating beans we grew. It adds protein to the diet that we didn’t have a year ago, and I’m going to encourage Chinese to plant them again next year. Corn was harvested at the same time beans were, but I didn’t help pick corn. I’ve done that before, and I just couldn’t get into the corn here. I miss sweet corn too much, and am a bit of a corn snob it turns out. But the family did grow a small field of corn, or tobaňo. We spent one day harvesting sorghum. This was a new grain to me, but it’s very tasty. (I didn’t take a picture of it, sorry.) Like coos, it grows several meters tall and the seed heads are cut off. Chinese, Amadou the Fula, Samba and I harvested sorghum and brought back 4 large bundles (maybe half pecks?) and put them on the roof to dry. About two weeks later the coos was ready. To harvest coos we break the stalks at the base. After a row of stalks is broken we work back up the row cutting the heads off and piling them. We move up and down the field in rows cutting coos. To transport the coos we make a large bundle and tie it with locally made rope. Two bundles are joined together and tied for transport. Then you carry it back to village on your head if you don’t have a donkey cart. One bundle will feed our compound for about 5 days if we only eat coos. After it dries Fatou pounds it off the stalk and winnows it. It is then pounded again to remove the hulls. (Same with sorghum.) For every nine bundles harvested, one must be given to charity. I think Chinese harvested about 20 or 22 bundles from both his coos fields. And rice! Funeh and I went to Chinese’s sister’s village 3 k away to help harvest rice. I had really no idea what to expect. All I brought was my knife and a hat. We went with Maladou (the sister) down to her rice field- a marsh tucked along a small depression shaded by tall palm trees. ‘Are you going to take off your shoes? I think you are afraid (not brave) of the mud!’ Maladou asks as she leaves her shoes on the dry bank and steps into the rice. Now I have gone barefoot before in this country- I did all the groundnut weeding with no shoes- but this is something else. Who knows what lurks in that water- leeches, snakes, grody algae and slimy things!? On the other hand, I can’t really step in with my shoes on- they’ll get stuck and ruined, and I’m not very useful harvesting rice from the bank… So leaving my shoes, I gingerly step into the water and immediately squish in. I am brave of the mud. I can do this. It’s time to harvest rice. After a while you get used to it, and ignore the fact that there could be yucky things in the water. I think I got pretty good at harvesting, picking the ripe seed heads from the unripe and cutting them quickly. Maladou grew a few different varieties of rice including NeRICA, the rice that Peace Corps and other aid agencies are pushing. We carried the rice back in the afternoon, and I’m pretty sure Maladou gave me half of what we harvested to take back to the family. There’s my rice harvest, a whole days work for about 6 cups of rice and a day spent working with my ‘extended’ family.

Every time I bring out my camera I have to take pictures of the kids. (And Pondo) So here’s the update on their lives: Omar is growing up an outgoing 3 year old, who plays hard and loves to read. All the kids love reading, actually, and I look forward to reading with them almost every day. Omar has been my good buddy this last year. We play all the time and he helps me learn Mandinka. His few English phrases are pretty funny- taught by Samba- ‘Are you hungry?’ ‘No’ ‘Are you crazy?’ ‘Yes!’ Amadou is still growing slowly. He’s small for his age and a little behind developmentally, but I think he’ll be fine. He finally started walking. I’ve been talking to him about it for a while. He’s still the cutest kid. I have one picture of him reclining in the chair at night; classic Amadou. He’s a little more trouble now that his mobility is increased, and we haven’t really started reading yet. But I imagine that will start soon. Isatou came to live with us from Senegal. She came to go to school and live in our compound. Her mom is Chineses sister I think. She doesn’t speak Mankinka, only Fula, but her Mandinka is getting better and better. Isatou and Funeh are both in grade two at school. She’s a sweet and somewhat shy girl, who was really unsure of me at first. I may be the first white person she’s seen. (And when I say from Senegal I mean from less than 10 miles away…) She has become a part of our little family here and I hope she’ll stay through her schooling. Funeh is one sassy girl. Now that Isatou is here she has a younger sister to boss around. She also acts as her translator and guide to the village. And the girl is ripped- her arms and back are so strong! She’s getting better at reading and seemed to do well in school last term by Gambian standards. Funeh is fearless! I have a picture of her and Samba 25 feet up in the tamarind tree, out on slim branches knocking the pods down. Finally Samba. He’s growing up to be a man of the house. Chinese has him going to the bush every day to bring back firewood or coos stalks for fencing. He goes to school in the afternoon and then plays football with the team the boys have formed. Samba is in 4th grade and is by far the best reader of the family. He is actually able to read, not just recite based on memorization. Eventually, I think he’ll be reading simple chapter books! Pondo is practically a child of Keita Kunda. I take enough pictures of him anyway… He’s finally growing up to be a real dog! (He healed fine from his operation in September!) I’d say he’s about 30 lbs and medium dog sized. He sits and comes pretty well on command, and is learning to lie down. Gambians get a kick out of him following commands, but he really only listens to me. Fatou will show off Pondo to visitors saying ‘He sits when you tell him- look’ and then I’ll make him sit and the visitor will say the equivalent of ‘Well, I never!’ And Fatou laughs. Pondo has been on several excursions with me- to Kanyubeh (10 k), Basse (20 k), and Diabugu (18 k). He’s a trooper! He has to run while I bike! But he has endeared himself to Kanyubeh, and when I bike without him people always ask where he is.

Kasey and I visited a Volunteer (B) in Ker Katim, a Wolof village on the north bank of the Gambia. The volunteer we visited was going back to America soon, and this was a great chance to see what a site can look like at the end of two years of service. I went to Ker Katim knowing about five words of Wolof. Basically, I could greet and that’s it. Luckily, B.’s host, the village alkalo spoke fluent Mankinda as well as Wolof. It was an amazing cultural experience and exchange to have a conversation in three languages simultaneously. Kasey and I spoke Mandinka to the alkalo, who spoke Wolof with B., who spoke English with us! I think one of the richest and most unique cultural aspects of Gambia is the multiliguility of its people. I have rarely met a person, even a child, who only spoke one language. I went out to B.’s field that he’s been working on with his host. The success of his project and his relationship with his hosts reinvigorated me and inspired me to go back to HK and do the same in my village. After a difficult two months it was just what I needed to get back on track. We also stopped by the Senegal border on our walk. A stone marker is the only indication that something has changed. B. reckons that some of his work sites were actually in Senegal.

There are always insect bites and scratches covering my body. Mosquito’s and other bugs enjoy an Ashley snack all the time. I didn’t think much of the small bites on my thumb. I actually thought it was heat rash coming back.

As the week went on the bite became a line.

And the line moved along my thumb to the back of my hand.

Almost like there was a worm in my hand.

ACK!!! That’s gross!

It looked like a Mountain Pine Beetle under my skin. Which is bad.

By the end of the week the worm wiggled to and fro blazing a 4-inch line. Where There Is No Doctor had nothing to say about lines under the skin that itched and progressed.

Brendan’s travel book said I might have a dog or cat hookworm, but no worries, the worm can’t live in people, and would die eventually and fall out of my hand.

You may think I’d be freaking out, that I would be losing it. But when you get to the point where you have a worm in your hand and you’ve just cut your dog’s testicle out with a razorblade and the termites are taking over your house along with the mold, this is just another thing to deal with.

On Tuesday I went to the Med Unit and got formally diagnosed with a hookworm. I have a hookworm killing paste to apply twice a day until the track on my hand is gone.

In the meantime I get to show people my worm. (If you feel sorry for me, send me some lovin' through the mail!)

*Warning- This blog post is graphic and contains sensitive information! (But no pictures.) Read at your own risk!

Pondo got fixed last week in Basse.

“But I though there was no vet in Basse.”

Oh, there isn’t.

But there is a man who castrates dogs. He’s done several other PCVs dogs as well. Rachel and I brought our dogs in on a Thursday. We bought our own razor blades (for 50 bututs or about $0.02). Rachel and I were pretty nervous about the whole operation, and gave the dogs Benadryl to sedate them, and Ibuprofen for the pain and bleeding.

Around 5:00 pm Lamin came over with a small boy and a forked stick.

We decided that Pondo would go first. I was really nervous, but because Rachel was freaking out I tried to act calm and volunteered Pondo so Rachel would be sure Zion would be ok.

Out next to the house we turned Pondo onto his back. Lamin used the forked stick to hold Pondo’s neck to the ground. The small boy held his back legs, Alieu had the stick and I held his front legs and body.

Lamin stretched the skin of his testicles taut and made a 1.5 inch incision on the bottom. He quickly pulled out the testicle, cut all connective tissues and tubes, and threw it into the bushes over the fence. Pondo has only one testicle, and we felt around to make sure there wasn’t another one hidden inside him.

As this was going on Pondo wiggled once and tried to escape, but we held him tightly. He cried and whined but didn’t struggle during the actual cutting.

As soon as we let him go he sat up, dazed. He didn’t move immediately, but looked around and inspected his wound. Finally, he got up and started walking around, dripping blood, but otherwise ok.

Zion did not fare so well, and I had to hold him still by almost sitting on him. He yelped and cried and struggled through the whole operation. Pondo was barking furiously at us for hurting another dog. We released Zion and he immediately ran away from us, to Rachel who had been in the house, not watching.

We thanked Lamin and the small boy and he left us with our two sad dogs.

They dripped blood for the next several hours. As soon as a clot formed, Pondo licked it out and started bleeding again. We had to keep them outside so they wouldn’t make a mess. That night Rachel stayed outside and I tried to sleep and check on Pondo every few hours.

Around 11 pm it looked like the bleeding was getting worse, and I decided to apply pressure to the wound.

As I sat there, holding blood soaked bandages on my dog’s wound I laughed at how ridiculous the situation was. This is not something I ever thought I’d be doing in the Peace Corps. The thought never crossed my mind. Yet here I was, filthy, covered in dog blood and dirt, swatting at mosquitos and hopeing my dog wouldn't bleed to death.

This didn’t last too long because Pondo wouldn’t sit still. So I improvised a diaper/bandage with gauze and lots of packing tape. It kept pressure on the wound and Pondo wasn’t bleeding anywhere or licking. He did have some trouble walking! I said to Rachel, “I hope this isn’t the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

We made it through the night with both dogs. I took off the diaper the next day but Pondo continued to bleed for several days.

Over the next 4 days we stayed at the house waiting for the dogs to heal enough to travel back to village. It was nice to be able to keep them out of the dirt and contained in a compound. Pondo spent most of his time sleeping, but took breaks to fight with Zion.

Finally we were able to travel back to Hella Kunda, and Pondo settled back into life with no problems.

He is healing nicely and we expect a full recovery from both dogs.

After I got home from Kombo my house was moldy from being closed up all week and raining. While preparing to bleach the heck out of my roof and walls I tapped the wall with my knuckle and put a hole in the wall.

Uh oh. This is not good.

Inside the small hole is a termite nest. The termites came pouring out, and I ran out to find reinforcements.

Jamboye came in and looked at my wall. “I will go get mud to make mortar and we will fill the hole.” Ok. Thanks, but we have to get them out first.

Jamboye came back with a small mound of dirt and crushed shells to make the mud cement. Then he started to excavate the wall to remove the termites.

He just kept removing and I watched in horror as more and more of my wall became dirt on my floor, filled with thousands of termites and their nest!

We filled three buckets with wall and termite.

Jamboye decided the nest was cleared out enough (we didn’t find the queen though) and moved on to the other spot on my wall that I had removed a termite brain from in the morning.

He cleared out another 3 foot section of wall, termites and nest.

The mud from earlier was clearly not enough to fix these holes, and until it got too dark to see Jamboye worked to fill in my wall with bricks and mud cement.

He finished the next morning, and left my house a muddy mess!

We haven’t done anything about the termites since then. I’m pretty sure they are in most parts of my back wall and the roof, but until rainy season is over we can’t do much work on the house.

Also, after every rain the mold grows so thick in some places it looks like snow- until it turns black.

My fences in the backyard blew over while I was gone, and have been destroyed by termites.

The roof leaks when it rains really hard. Good thing rainy season is pretty much over.

It’s been a month… that’s for sure!

The holy month of Ramadan started on Friday, August 21st at sundown. Until the next new moon Muslims will be fasting during the day. We get up every morning at 5 am and eat a quiet breakfast of beans, bread, leftover rice and tea. Breakfast stops when the morning prayer starts. Then everyone goes back to bed for three or four more hours.

The rest of the day passes pretty slowly. People are supposed to continue work as usual, but by 2:00 everyone is pretty tired. Not eating or drinking puts a strain on people. So the afternoon is usually spent napping, chatting and generally not moving. I’ve been reading a lot of books in my hut.

Every day or two the rains come, and I sit with Pondo and watch the rain fall. (My poor beans grew but got beat down by the heavy rain we had!)

Around 5:00pm the cooking starts. Delicious smells waft through the air, and I notice how hungry and thirsty I am.

Finally, at 7:20 it is time to break the fast! After the sundown prayer we break fast with tea, beans, rice, churro, and water.

Everyone will have another meal around 9:00, but I’m full for the rest of the day.

After dinner people stay up late and snack until 1 or 2 am! They’ll be up at 5:00 the next morning to start the again.

I’d been having a really hard time being back in The Gambia after going to America in July. To make matters worse, all my friends seemed to be having a rough time too, and tensions were high.

All I wished for were the simple days of Gunnison or the fire crew, and Oreo Thursday. From my early days as a mascot through my time at the Sheriffs Dept. I’ve always wanted to make those around me happy. At Nederland and CSU it was the fans, and then my crews at work, not to mention all my friends, classmates and mentors!

That’s a lot harder to do here! Most of my contact with my friends is through text message, not face to face, or even on the phone.

My difficulties coupled with those of my friends and colleagues got me to thinking about what I can do here and now about it, with the resources I have.

I used to bring in Oreos every Thursday, to boost morale and share a delicious snack with my crew at the end of a hard week of work (Forester Friday!). My crew loved it so much that Oreo Thursday turned into Swiss Cake Roll Thursday, Ice Cream Thursday, and once, Guinness Thursday! Everyone chipped in and it made Thursdays a day to look forward to.

I continued the tradition with my new crew in Boulder the next summer. They loved it too, and joined in with muffins and other delicious snax! And it helped make our crew into a family, that shared and cared (awwww) about each other. They would brag to other crews about Oreo Thursday.

Which brings me to The Gambia… I can’t do Oreo Thursday. Everyone is spread out across the country, and Oreos are expensive! But I want to work to create that positive attitude and weekly uplift. So I came up with Oreo Thursday, Gambia Style. Every week I send out an inspirational, funny or uplifting quote to Peace Corps Volunteers as a reminder that they are appreciated and to keep up the good work.

So far the response has been favorable, and I’m excited to have found an outlet that I can support my new crew through! I think trying to find something to encourage Volunteers helps me as much as it could help them.

If you come across any hilarious, inspirational or just good quotes please e-mail them to me! You never know what will make a person’s day or week!

All good things must come to an end, and on Aug 1st I began my journey back to Africa.

But I missed my original flight, so I got rerouted to Salt Lake City, and Paris, and finally Dakar.

You would think there’d be a good story in there, but there’s not. I was tired. I spent most of the time sleeping or trying to sleep. I didn’t make friends with anyone. I just tried to get back. All this travel experience will be great when Tyler and I are on Amazing Race in a few years though!

(Pics are of the very modern CDG Airport in Paris, where I slept during my layover. Neat construction though!)

My friend Chris offered to show me around Dakar for a day, to show me what the Paris of Africa is like. We went to Gorre Island, a small island off the coast of Dakar that was used as a hub during the slave trade. The island is covered with old French architecture, brightly colored buildings that the people of Gorre and Dakar are working to preserve as historical sites. There are several museums and monuments to the slave trade and the slaves.

We visited one museum housed in the former prison, and another in the former auction house. The rooms were preserved as they had been during the slave trade, with rooms for men, women, and children. It was amazing and heartbreaking to tour the buildings. Chris suggested we employ a local guide, and he explained the history and function of the slave house.

The island also has several art galleries, craft markets and wandering drummers and entertainers catering to the tourist that come from Senegal, West Africa, Europe and America.

Flying into America was amazing. Flying into JFK you cross over neighborhoods with swimming pools, roads and parks! I couldn’t believe I was finally home! It always seemed like July was so far away, and now, here it is! The airport was a marvel! I was feeling reverse culture shock. Everything was so bright and shiny and clean! There were so many white people, and people of other colors! People were speaking English! And I understood it!

Atlanta was the same way.

Finally, the Rocky Mountains came into sight! Colorado! How I missed you! Beautiful mountains! Home of my soul! Hooray, I’m finally home home!

My fabulous loving awesome great family met me at the top of the escalator with a huge sign ‘Ashley From Africa!’ and hugs and tears.

Here’s what else happened in America, otherwise known as my Africa Bucket List:

Texas Roadhouse with Amy, Alison, Christina and Elena (Steak and Beer!!!!), Sweatpants, reading on the deck with iced tea, grandparents, aunts and uncles, Girl Scout party, Church presentation, church, no cavities at the dentist!, new contacts, nachos with Shivaun and Karl, haircut with beer on tap and facebook by Travis, Oreo Thursday with BCSO Fire Crew, Riding with Christina (2x!), Bars with Tyler, Brent, Alison, Christina, Shivaun and Karl, Wii and ice cream with Amy, pesto, glory burgers, giant chocolate chip cookies, rhubarb bread, banana bread, home time w/ family, Harry Potter in the theatre with Heather, house hunting and lover time with Heather, Rockies Game (Rox won!), bachelorette party in Denver, beer w/ Brady, wedding prep, hike w/ Alison, toast w/ jam, scones, cinnamon rolls, omelets, breakfast burrito, breakfast with Cowboy (and a marriage of convenience), the main event: Amy and Jeremy’s wedding, Ft. Collins w/ Lisa, Sushi, CB & Potts Bingo nights and Road 34, Millsite with Pam and Margie, climb Mt. Audubon (13er!) with mom, lunch w/ Kailen, Whistler’s Café w/ Mallorie and Christina, shopping w/ Mom, packing, internetting, chilling, eating, drinking beer,

…and a whole lotta loving from all my friends and family!

I caught the first ferry out of Banjul, at 7am, with my giant blue suitcase and my green bag. On the ferry I was save from having my cell phone stolen by a nice women who spotted the would-be thief and alerted me to his intentions!

Firmly in possession of my, er, possessions, I exited the ferry and made my way toward the bus to Senegal and Dakar. As I walked up it was clear to me that there was no way I would get on. It was over full and people were yelling and pushing to get on. But, a young man approached me and asked if I wanted to take the bus. ‘Sure’ and then I was being shoved on the bus with my giant suitcase. People yelled and the boy was getting angry at people. I was plunked in a seat and told to stay there, no matter what. So I did. The bus eventually started for the border.

At the border I was cleared by immigration (shockingly, I was the only white person on the bus!). Then 50 ft later I was cleared by Senegal immigration.

As we neared Dakar my seatmate asked where I was going in Dakar. This was an interesting exchange, since she didn’t speak any of the languages I speak. With the help of some other passengers they figured out where I was going. Another kind woman took me under her wing and rode in the taxi with me to the Peace Corps Transit house.

Although the experience was hectic and a little scary, kind and gracious people helped me all along the way! Both Gambians and Senegalese were great! Thank you to everyone who got me where I was supposed to go!

After All Vol and a BBQ at Rodney’s house I raced back to Hella Kunda (an all day trip) and adventured through the bush to Kurau and Kasey’s to take Pondo to Puppy Camp. The interesting part was that I took one road to get there, not the one I wanted, and then on the way back I took another road, again not the one I wanted… But I made it, and Pondo only got in a few fights with other dogs.

The next day, I planted some trees at the skill center, so if they don’t die I will be a successful volunteer.

Then back to Fajara, and then, Dakar!

Our All-Volunteer Conference was held at the Sheraton, and was very sweet. The Sheraton has: an infinity pool, a private beach, fluffy white comforters (my favorite part!), tubs and glass showers, balconies, beer, rich food, electricity, air conditioning, cable TV, and mini-fridges. It’s Toubabodu. And amazing.

We did manage to have several successful meetings and break-out sessions. The Open Mic Night was well attended and the performances were fantastic.

July was a whirlwind month, to say the least! I spent only two days in Hella Kunda the whole month! Yikes!

At the end of June my group of Ag-Fo’s had our reconnect conference. For three days we talked about projects, the challenges and successes we’ve had, and our plans for going forward. At this point in our service we are done with Three Month Challenge and In Service Training. It’s the end of the hot season and the rains are fast approaching; upcountry they have already started!

Personally, I was at a low point on the roller coaster of service. My projects weren’t really projects, and I didn’t really feel like I was using anything I went to school for. Here I am, a forestry volunteer, not doing anything with a forest. What’s going on? I’ve promised myself that over the next year I’m going to find my sense of humor and joy again. I’m going to be an optimist and stop being so cynical. I’m surprised that my goals for the next year have so little to do with ‘work’ and my village, but living here has (at this point) made a negative impact on me, and who I want to be. So, if I can use work to regain these aspects of myself, all the better. It turns out I will not be saving the world as originally planned, but I think that’s ok.

Also at reconnect I took a language test. My current level is Advanced-Low. That means I can muddle through conversations and people can kind of understand what I’m saying, but I have a ways to go. It also means I’m improving (which I already knew) from my last test before swear in. I’m able to talk with my host family and joke with my host wife.

After reconnect I participated in the first Peace Corps/The Gambia Beer Pong Tournament. And lost in the first round.

For the last few months the baby, Amadou hasn’t been gaining weight. He is starting to eat solid food and breast milk just isn’t enough. This really concerns me; is it so important to maintain a healthy weight and proper nutrition for the first five years of a child’s life. Child mortality is a huge problem in the developing world. Children are more susceptible to malaria and other potentially dangerous diseases. So what can I, an Ag-Fo Volunteer do? Should I feed this child myself? Lecture my family on proper nutrition when I know that it’s a challenge to put rice in the bowl some month? Both those options didn’t really feel like options. In some cross-sectoral project work, I brought in my friend and local Health and Community Development Volunteer Marnie to assist me with a demonstration.

We coordinated with the village women’s group to pick an afternoon to gather at my family compound. Marnie and I demonstrated a version of Pap, which is baby gruel/porridge. The demonstration became a great social event, and over 20 women came with their children. Everyone loved Marnie, and joked with her in mandinka. Her presence made the demo more legitimate, since she works with the hospital. I’m sure the women were impressed that I brought in an expert.

As per usual, the women know how do make the pap, and what age to start feeding at. So why don’t they do it? I think the overarching reason is that it’s difficult to use a new method. At first it requires extra work to make pap, and the baby is the only person to eat the food, so it’s not very versatile. We discussed teaming up with another woman to trade off making pap everyday, to lighten the load. Also, the cost and availability of ingredients can be prohibitive. All the ingredients are usually available, and inexpensive, but it becomes another cost that a family may not have the budget for. At this point I am trying to really push my family to make and use pap, both to serve as an example for the village and, more importantly get Amadou healthy!

Fatou has a peanut (groundnut) field. Only right now it’s just bush. This series of events shows just how much I have left to learn and understand about living in The Gambia and working in the culture.

1. At the beginning of June I go with Fatou and others to look at the field she’s been given to plant groundnuts on. It’s big, and right on the side of the road, just outside the village. It’s already cleared and I’m excited for the possibilities. Maybe we can intercrop and plant cashews along the borders…

2. The next week that field is out. Apparently, it has a problem with erosion… and the soil is not good. So… what exactly am I here for? This seems right up my alley… No? Ok. I’ll just go along for this ride as long as it takes me.

3. The new field is in the bush. It is, in fact, bush. As in covered in tree-things and bushes and brush. Someone burned it earlier in the year, so all the trees are covered in soot. And it’s our job to clear it. By hand, obvi. Ok. Break out the machete and gloves and get to work. Just ignore the fact that you’re clearing more land for agriculture, creating a place that in two to four years will be as barren as the original field is now. Just push that thought right out of your mind.

4. The family works together to clear the land. I actually enjoy the work. I’m sweating because I’m using muscles, not just being hot. But I still, I can’t stop thinking… what am I here for? What do they think I’m here for?

5. On our way back from the field I ask Chinese ‘What do you think I’m here for?’ let’s just get this out in the open… I’m not very tactful anyway, why start now?

6. He says (paraphrasing) ‘I think you’re here to do mango grafting. And you said you know about bush fire. And maybe gardening.” Ok. Sweet. I think there have been some, uh, communication challenges. I have clearly failed to let him know what I can help with. I guess he’s not a mind reader.

7. With this new revelation in mind I tried to explain what I can help with; that it’s not limited to mango grafting (which I know almost nothing about, but that’s neither here nor there) and gardening. And that I haven’t said anything before, because I didn’t want to stroll in and start bossing everyone around and insulting their way of life without understanding it. In short, I’ve been waiting for people to ask me for assistance. BUT, Chinese hasn’t asked for help because he didn’t exactly know what I know, because agriculture is such a broad subject, and because in his culture people don’t really ask for help (Based on my observations this is only partially true, people are not shy about asking for ‘financial help.’) So he’s not culturally supposed to ask for help, and I’m not supposed to be culturally insensitive by assuming that I know a better way to do everything.

8. Based on our conversation, I’m going to try to be more aware of areas that I can help, and informing people (maybe even tactfully) that I may be able to assist. And Chinese says he’ll ask for help more often in the future. This could be a great compromise, and I think I understand a little more about where Gambians are coming from.

We finished clearing the field, and have talked about intercropping in the small field behind the compound. I suggested beans, corn and squash. Chinese was also open to the idea of planting cashews in a border around the same field. I think we’re making progress, slowly slowly.

It's wedding season! Almost every weekend there is a wedding celebration or manyota. But weddings in The Gambia have a different protocol than US weddings. For one thing, the groom doesn't even have to be present! This weekend there was a wedding in the alkalo's compound. Early in the morning the women gather to begin cooking. Giant pots of water and oil are boiled. Rice is stirred using the biggest spoon you've ever seen. Women prepare vegetables and chickens. The menu today is benechin (a fried rice dish) and domoda (peanut sauce), two of my favorites! All morning, women bustle in and out, bringing food and utensils, cooking and chatting. The younger girls are primping and braiding hair in between chasing the goats and children away.

The guests begin to arrive. The men are gathering in a nearby compound to chat and drink attaya. Women in fine tie-dye robes greet each other and catch up on gossip. Everyone seems to find their way over to greet me. I try in vain to remember names and connections, but it's lost in a sea of faces.

Fatou makes room for me on a bench, and we sit and chat with everyone until the sun is high. I even got to stir the chicken a little!

The domoda looks amazing and smells even better. My mouth is watering! It's finally time to serve the rice, and giant bowls are filled. A parade of women leaves with bowls on their head to deliver it to the groups of guests.

Luckily, there are two bowls left for the cooks! We eagerly crowd around, scalding our fingers on the hot rice. It's worth it after the long wait. Yum!

Early in the evening the guests and wedding party assemble in the compound. The bride is dressed in a beautiful purple complet. Her husband is abroad, and so will not be at the wedding. It turns out that's not important in Gambian culture. His family is responsible for giving gifts to the bride and her family, a dowry of sorts. The couple has been 'married' for sometime, but the wedding celebration happens after the family can accumulate the gifts and afford the celebration.

Everyone is gathered around a huge pile of things, and one man, a griot or town crier picks up each item, raises it high so everyone can see, calls out what it is and counts it. In the pile are hundreds of meters of fabric, a boombox, suitcases, housewares, clothes, underwear (everyone laughed when he raised that in the air!) cash, bowls, and shoes. The count was around 100 individual items, and took almost and hour to go through!

Instead of wedding cake, we were served cups of chacari, coos with sour milk and sugar, eaten with a spoon.

After the displaying of the gifts, wedding guests offered their own blessings and gifts to the bride and the families. Eventually music started to play and the party lasted long into the night. Women dance in drum circles and troupes of singers wander through the guests performing.

Weddings will continue almost every weekend until Ramadan on August 21st.

The ‘library’ at the Hella Kunda Lower Basic School is an unused classroom. There are two bookcases. Only two shelves have books suitable for children. The other books are textbooks from the 70”s and 80’s, an incomplete set of encyclopedias, and assorted outdated curriculum from the Gambian school system. There is not much to work with. The teachers don’t really utilize the library as a library, and the students have no idea how.

(I think it’s a crime not to use a library, books have been my friends for years.)

As a ‘mini-project’ I talked to the school head mistress about working with the students and teachers to use the library. The teachers and school staff worked to clean the room and make it usable. There are several tables and chairs for student use. And it was my job to teach the kids how to use the library.

I interrupted the 5th and 6th graders lesson and instructed the students to line up. (Anyone who has been in an elementary school lately knows that lining up is not easy, in America and Africa.) In the library we discussed how to use a library, how to treat books (Don’t let your baby brother tear the pages, etc.) and formulated a list of Library Rules. The kids were very receptive and had a good idea of what to do; they just hadn’t had a chance to practice! Each student chose a book to check out and return the next week. I read some books out loud to finish the ‘lesson.’ Again, the students were very receptive, and enjoyed the simple picture books. Most don’t get exposed to books outside of school, and even in school they rarely use books other than the Gambian textbooks.

For the 3rd and 4th graders we discussed the library and the rules, but didn’t check out books. Most of the books were too complex for solo reading at the student’s current level of comprehension. I read aloud, and the favorite book was Dr. Seuss’ Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?.

The 1st and 2nd graders also learned the rules and I read to them. Their English comprehension is pretty low, and I’m not sure how much they actually understood. To me, that means reading aloud is even more important. Exposing them to English words and books will help them in a school system where they are expected to know English without ever being formally taught. Since the first lesson I returned once to read more books and help the 5th and 6th graders return their books. School went on summer vacation in mid June, so the library lessons stopped, but will resume once school starts back up in September. Eventually, I would like to see the teachers reading to the students, and integrating the library as part of the curriculum. Maybe we can even get the village to invest in buying some more books!

I know you have lots of extra money just waiting to be spent. Here's how you can spend some of it- like $5. (or $100...) PC/TG is working with Against Malaria to raise money for treated bednets, and more importantly, develop and implement an education and awareness campaign to see that the nets are properly distributed and USED! (Crazy, I know) PC/TG has a goal of $40,000, all of which will go to purchase treated nets! (That's about 10,000 nets!)

So click on the link, give some money, and make sure you click the RED Sponsor Now! buttton, instead of the 'Donate' button!

Ashley vs. Malaria

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I had a bit of a think:

Neem is a locally available tree that grows like a weed.

Neem is a local insect repellent.

The season is hot and dry.

Compost should be hot and moist with few insects (like no termites!).

Why not use neem as mulch for my compost to hold in moisture and repel insects!

*Lightbulb!*

Using my razor sharp machete I annihilated small saplings from the bush and ruthlessly chopped them into fine mulch.

I lavishly spread the new Super Mulch over my compost and soil piles.

And I’m not sure if it kept the insects away, but the water retention has been great.

Result: Success!

When we last left our hero (me) I was going back to my village after training and going back to the fiery furnace known as the Upper River Region. The story continues…

My gelly (bush taxi) ride took 10 hrs; it never goes well when the gelly repeatedly breaks down and has to stop so the vehicle can rest. But I eventually made it back to my village and was warmly greeted and had not been quickly forgotten as I feared.

My momentum was temporarily halted by a quick trip to Basse the next day, but on the plus side I got a sweet Barak Obama t-shirt and some fake hair. (That sounds absurd. Sometimes I wish I was making these things up!)

During the next few days I was inspired, pumped up, ready to go, bringing the advantages of training and the sharing vast catalogue of Peace Corps knowledge with everyone I met. The main point is, Fatou and I planted trees!

Using my composted soil that has been slowly transforming since January, I filled 54 re-claimed bags to use as polypots. Polypots are the ‘pots’ used to start the seedlings before they are ‘out planted’ into the wide world after several months growth.

24 hrs later Fatou and I planted almost 70 seeds and watered them. Now just wait for the magic to happen. The next day nothing had sprouted and a quelled my disappointment with the knowledge that the AgFo Manual says they won’t sprout for 10-15 days. Apparently my seeds are not unusual in that aspect.

I’ll have to be patient and let nature take its course.