I closed the door to my hut for the final time, after what felt like a lifetime (more or less a week) of saying my final goodbyes to my village, the surrounding villages, my friends and my family. The week prior I began feeling this pressure from the village of a need to throw a party for my final farewell, sounds like barrels of fun, I know, but the reality is, it is more of a headache than anything else and although it would be a party for the one and only me, I would be tending to the needs of all the village. However, I was saved by the recent birth of two babies in my family. Therefore, we threw a grand baptism. Exhausting, as all these festivities are, it was nice to have an occasion to properly bid farewell to all.

Descending the mountain for the last time, I was reminiscing about all the good times and nearly choked on my papaya when I realized the duration of my time spent here-2 full years. Is the Katie Moore, I asked myself, who skiddishly boarded the South African Airways plane back in 2008 still the same one? Naturally, people change throughout the course of time and I must have changed drastically considering the circumstances. Well, physically, my hair is a bit longer, my skin darker and dirtier and my feet, well let's just say they suffered the most. Beyond physicalities, I guess I don't really know the answer to that question and the only sure test will be for you to see when I return home.

All I know is what I've learned, what I've seen and what I've experienced. I asked for an adventure, and boy I got one (be careful what you wish for.)

I felt heartbreak when I unexpectedly was evacuated and realized very quickly when I arrived in Senegal that not only had I left my heart in Guinea, but most of my motivation as well. At first, I was not happy about my move to Senegal. I hated that the only way to get to my site was to RIDE MY BIKE up a mountain and once I got there was hit with the reality that my family was not only poorer but bigger and my work partner was no longer a strong, confident woman, but a tall, very confident, typical Senegalese man. All of these realities nearly pushed me over the edge of that mountain until I saw a sign hanging on the door of our regional house in Kedougou. It was a quote by Confuscious that goes "Wherever you go, go with all of your heart." I knew when I boarded that plane to Guinea, I went with all of my heart. But did I when I transferred to Senegal? No. A

Around that time, four months into my service in Senegal, things began to change. I accepted that fact that I could not go back to Guinea and no things would never be the same. I realized that I needed to embrace this experience and live in every moment because one day (like today) it will all feel like a dream.

I spent all the hours of the day (and into the night) learning and speaking Jalunke and Pulaar with family and made lifelong friends in the village (like that tall very confident Senegalese man) who helped me start projects and showed me the beauties of living on a mountain like waterfalls and views from tops of mountains. Sure, I had some bad days (well project collapse, being bit by a scorpion, having a fever of 103) but learned that the best method to coping with change is to smile and always laugh (they don't think white people smile enough) and know that the greatest lesson of all is knowing you know absolutely nothing.

Let's just say that I cried in agony all the way up that mountain and cried in bittersweet sentiment all the down and didn't stop until about two days ago.

I've closed the door to my hut, closed my bank account, officially CLOSED MY SERVICE, and today will close this blog. However, my experience in West Africa will always remain open for sharing to those who are interested to hear. Thank you for your neverending support, your letters and your kind words.

My address has changed. I live in Dakar, Senegal now. You may contact me through my email.

Ciao!

Katie Moore

Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV)

Guinea/Senegal 2009-2011

Stop SIDA!

December 4th, I celebrated two years in West Africa.

It 2008, I came with no expectations. I did, however have this subconscious idea that everyone in Africa lived AIDS. I’m sure I shared this notion with lots of other Americans (and anyone in fact who does not live in Africa), but I do believe that is my job now as an experienced worker. Just like I came to West Africa to share a different culture and mentality and possibly change behavior, I will return to the US with the same goal in mind. An exhange, quoi, if you will, and there is no other time like the present to begin.

The HIV/AIDS rate is Senegal 0.7 percent. Percent wise, there are more people living with HIV and/or AIDS in Washington, D.C. than there are in the entire country of Senegal. However, due to the rapid growth of gold mining and the region of Kedougou slowly becoming a transient city when the international route it sits on will one day be the gateway to Bamako, Mali (if they ever finish that bridge), the increase of prostitution continues to soar as we literally watch how rapid Kedougou grows each week, and given that prostitution rates and the number of HIV/AIDS cases go hand in hand, we sadly watch how more cases pop up and the region of Kedougou is now calculated to have 1 in 10 inhabitants infected with HIV.

Although there is a great difference in numbers between a city and a village, it is important, however, to educate those on the disease and teach prevention methods to avoid it becoming a plague. This is what we did on December 2 in my village in honor of World AIDS Awareness Day. On the calender, WAAD is marked on the 1st of December which fell on a Wednesday this year. However, in my village, the weekly market day falls on a Thursday, so we went for market day in hopes of a better turnout.

After talking with the infirmiere of the heath post and 13 community health volunteers in the region who were all on board we looked toward the helping hands of local non-governmental organization for financial support. Thanks to partners like World Vision and ANCS, Alliance National Contre Le SIDA (a USAID subcontracted organization) we received funding for our Stop SIDA activities along with 4000 condoms and 50 t-shirts.

We started the morning off by showing a film on STDs and SIDA to the college students, however, most of the village came and participated.  We gave out over 500 red ribbons and educated them on it significance.  After the film the community health volunteers and matrons (as well as myself) put on a skit about testing and acceptance followed by a radio crochet we posed questions to the community and rewarded great responses with gifts (soap, milk powder, oil, etc, t-shirts).  Throughout the entire day, we had team come from Kedougou to do free, voluntary HIV testing.  The hospital district of Kedougou donated female condoms and we educated women on their usage.  We also asked the OBGYN from Kedougou to come up and do consultations (we tested all pregnant women who came in for consultations).  All in all, we had over 100 tested and gave out 4000 condoms.  We also gave out t-shirts to the top college students of each class and participants of the activity.  

Although we had some issues with microphones (hence the megaphone in the photos), the activity was a success.  We held a meeting with all the officials of the village prior to the activity.  At this meeting, the village formed a VIH/SIDA committee supervised under the infirmiere.  This committee decided they will continue to do this activity every year, so hopefully each year will improve.  The communitee health volunteers, infirmiere and myself are now putting together a report for the committee to follow next year.  It is basically an outline of what worked and what didn't.  I am very pleased about the outcome (over 500 people from not only my village but surrounding villages as well) and the participation from village officials and members of the health community.  People are still wearing their ribbons around town

Welcome to the jungle, we've got fun and games.....

I live in a land where nature reigns without a throne, but a throne she does not need. She is the rain that turns bare land into a thinck jungle of vines and grass as tall as hills overnight. She's the swarm of flies that feed on the wounds of puppies and leave them to die or, even better, a troop of ants so nombre that to the uncautious eye is nothing but a shadow, until of course you step on that shadow and within seconds find yourself stripping in your family's yard screaming in defeat. How bizarre they are. So bizarre at how they can barracade you from entering your house, or even better, rapidly taking over your hut that all you can do is run. Could you imagine if she did have a throne?

However, there is something perhaps more powerful and cunning than nature-the hand of the man. My host father beat one of his two wives so hard that you could hear her from the tops of the mountain, according to other members of my family. Why, you ask? She was tired. Meanwhile, he spends all the day perched on his throne of bamboo. He is also giving his 14 year old daughter away in marriage to a man who lives in Kedougou. I'm sorry, but do we consider a girl at that age to be a woman,or WAIT, isn't that illegal? Yes, to all of the above. One of the brothers in my family has three different families scattered around Senegal. He hasn't returned to see his family in my village in a year, a year where he left them no money to put his son in school or pay for the delivery of his child, that the wife suffered from complications while trying to deliver her child on the floor of their hut. Not that she would go to the health post anyway, too stuck in her traditional ways. "Yes, the floor looks like a good place to have my child." Or even better, a woman who came to the health post, clearly having suffered from a beating because she refused to sleep with her husband.

In fact there are many things that strick me as completely insane and wilder than mother nature. Our water pump broke and needs of repair, but of course there is a problem with money. The mayor held a meeting and asked for each family and functionner to donate 2 mille CFA to help repair the project. There was so much huffing and puffing about the expense,you would think that a price of something related to a hundred thousand dollars was asked. But wait; do they huff and buff when they spend that on tea and cigarettes? Absolutely not. Still in the traditional mind state and yet at the same time aren't afraid to hold out a wanting hand to the white lady.

I've also discovered that when the lights go out at night, idle hands become busy. La vie c'est la nuite ("the night is the life," according to a neighbor) Everyone, man and woman has a lover on the side. They share everything-food, clothing, beds, SPOUSES! My neighbor's best friends came to me the other day and said, "Hey Fatou, Adramine is going away to Kedougou, guess who's going to be taking his place in the bed tonight next to Assatou?" Great. Thanks for the info.

I've realized that my little village, is in fact, is just like the rest of the world. There's more to that toothless, sing-songy, hello...mischief and a hidden story, or maybe not so hidden. My words of wisdom-walk cautiously, carry a big stick and don't be SO naiive-it's a jungle out there.

The well project is complete, finished...failed.

What else can I say? Allah jabataa ( Allah did not accept). Despite our many efforts working gloriously as a team, myself as well as the villagers of Timbery were unable to complete our well project. Up on the mountain beneath the mango trees and amongst the scattered boulders sticking out of the ground, there lies a well, a magnificantly beautiful well...that serves no purpose.

Back in July, our well digger hit rock that he was unable to dig through by hand. So, I asked a Senegalese friend of mine who works for a Belgian organization down in Kedougou for help. He happily agreed to help and said he would send up a machine and a digger. I gave him the cash and 4 MONTHS LATER, he arrived, took one look at my well and said, nope not possible.

WHAT!?

YES, that is what he said, and here's why. The well is a traditional well, dug by the hands of a local, not a professionally trained individual who will cost you almost 100 american dollars to dig just one meter. Therefore, it is a bit smaller than a professionally built well and the digger said that is was impossible to fit himself and the machine down in the well to continue digging. The best solution-dig a brand new well, which by the looks of my timeline, is not possible. Hopefully, the wonderful person who will replace me when I leave in two months will have a go and see success. SI ALLAH JABI (IF ALLAH ACCEPTS)

Starting projects here, there is no gurantee of success. It is up to God, if he accepts, it will happen. My American side repeats that silly cliche over and over in my head "Almost doesn't count," but to my surprise it does here. I hung my head low in defeat at our final meeting with the village of Timbery. I apologized over and over, and I was overcome with gratefulness when all I heard was nothing other than absolute appreciation for all the efforts.

I would like to send a heartfelt apology to all of the supporters of this project and many thanks for helping us make an attempt. I will say that it certainly didn't work because we didn't try, for that is all we did. We literally kept running into rock after rock. Allah did not accept, so I suppose I can't either and take defeat.

Their eyes are somber and tired, from watching the rains fall; their hands are rough, calloused painted the color of the soil that they spend hours bent over seeding row after row of peanuts, corn and fornio. To understand and merely appreciate their dedication and work of the field, one must join them.

You know, I haven't stepped foot on American soil in over a year and half, but as I meet new volunteers and strangers who pass by, they tell me that life in America is great and wonderful, and comparitively easy to life here...almost too easy.

So, I'm taking off my white gloves, bending over, sowing my own yard and planting row after row of corn and peanuts and new trees. So far, I've blanketed my entire backyard in corn and planted nearly 300 trees around the community. At the end of the day, my hands (and feet) are blistered from my hoe and the tough ground I have up on the mountain-but I have a newfound appreciation and definition of hardwork and can't wait to see and taste the outcoming product. One day (or in a few months) the children and teachers will shade under my trees and eat wonderful, nutritous sauces from their leaves...and out of all of my projects, nothing is more sustainable than a tree!! What isn't sustainable....running water in Africa. Our forage is broken in our village, so while we are WAITING for someone to come to repair it (maybe the same man who has a machine for my well, INshallah), people are resulting back to there old ways of using creek water to drink .....the cases of severe diarrhea and stomach parasite cases have increased at the health post in just these two short weeks. So, myself as well as the doctor and the health community volunteer are going from house to house to educate villagers on the importance of using bleach in their water...sustainble, probably not, but it's education...and every little bit counts toward something.

As for other projects and "work-related" activities, the project of constructing a well in a small mountain community has been put to a hault. We've hit rock that we can't dig through with our hands...so what do we do? We do what all Africans do best...we wait...wait until the rains leave, the water table lowers and we find a nice man who has a machine (or dynamite, even better!!) to come and help us. That is the way it works here....things just take time and life is measured by the time of season.

Thinking of sustainability, i reflected on my service thus far. Where will my precense sit in West Africa after I'm gone? Good question....in a tree? on the walls, in murals, yes, sadly small things, but you know...I've accepted the fact that I'm a grassroots kind of gal...and like to do things seda, seda (small, small).

Looking back, my service was and still remains to speed by in whirlwind formation. I arrived, learned (ing) foreign languages, been evacuated from a country, nearly trampled by an elephant, and continue a different way of life. Although quite frusterating the majority of the time, and sometimes disappointing (my well project) it's quite a fantastic time and I'm learning just to live in the moment and be happy living here.

Nostalgic for America, yes, of course, but one day I will be nostalgic for this place...haha...that is funny to think about. Tomorrow, I am practicing what I preach and going to visit a waterfall that apparently changes lives...I'll keep you informed.

The sun is setting!

The hut where I've laid all day under the brilliance of its overhead fan is a fortress from the smothering heat the hot season sends, it was time.

Two weeks ago, a few of us biked the 3k out of Kedougou along the banks of the Gambia River to a spot known as the playground for the hippos who inhabit those waters. Unfortuanetly, we arrived too late. They had floated along. With all of my determination, I not only want to be a great volunteer, but I also don't want to leave Africa without seeing at least one exotic animal in her natural habitat, not behind bars at the local zoo.

One of my Senegalese counterparts who I work with in my village lives in Kedougou. For weeks now, we've discussed hunting hippos, or "gabbies" (in Pulaar) together down in Kedougou. I called him to announce the time had come, and we made the trek on our bikes once again. Along the dirt road we soared ducking around mangoes and billowing trees. We arrived at the familiar spot. He stood at the top of the hill, while I trotted down to the banks. Not even two seconds later, he whistled. I ran up the hill and, there in the distance...water was shooting up along with the perky ears of nothing other than: a hippo.

I insisted on a better look, so we ran up down the bank, searching for the best view. We finally stood on hill that overlooked them straight on. Not too close to danger, but a view visible enough to see the gargantuan creatures coming up and down for air, ears perked and making a sound related to a bellowing yawn. We stood on the banks and watched for an hour, skipping rocks and arguing over which was more life threatening; a croc or a hippo.

"Fatou, I think you should just swim over there and give them a nice pat on the head," my friend says with a smirk, "I sit and watch from here, and then we will know for sure which is more dangerous."

"Sure," I reply, "but please be sure to jump in and collect my bones after they're finished and send them back to America for me."

What a picturesque afternoon in Senegal. It's what we all dream about when we think of Africa. Adventures, sunsets and wild animals. Of course, no experience is never enough if not shared with a friend-my African friend at that!

When it comes to work, its rare to have projects that land in your lap. I could spend weeks even months without a project in my view and suddenly BAM!, someone turns to you, poor little volunteer, and simply says, "I need your help." This happened to be the case two weeks ago when American eye doctors with the organization Right to Sight and Health came down to Kedougou with the goals of giving free eye consultations and cataract operations to the natives of our region.

An annual project which started a fews years ago, has proven, unlike other aid projects, has proven quite successful. Globally and locally here in Kedougou, this group of doctors have given the gift of sight to the blind and education and a way to "healthier sight."

Being a newcomer to Senegal, this was my first year working with this brilliant group. Being trained in local languages and living amongst the villagers makes us as Peace Corps qualified in the cultural respect aiding the doctors in what cultural barriere they may have to cross in working with the community.

As a health volunteer, I immediately jumped on this project. Knowing that the little Pulaar I've retained wouldn't exactly help the cause, I pressed for other angles they may need assistance with. "Well, we do need two volunteers to serve as physician's assistants in the operating room." Umm...yes please!

People who pursue the career as a physician's assistant in the western world attend school and undergo an extensive program and rotations for the ability to recieve the diploma of professional achievement. Lucky for me, Africa doesn't have malpractice laws, so I was handed this golden degree in a matter of two hours.

For two weeks, 9 hours a day,wrapped in a gown, latex gloves and a pretty flowered cap, I sterilized operating instruments, dressed the surgeons, prepared the sterile station and whatever else the surgeons needed. As the hours and days passed and I watched as cataract after cataract was ejected from eye after eye, I became completely infatuated with the work and managed by the end of the two weeks to have the whole operation memorized like the back of my hand. Of course, being in a Senegalese hospital...we did run into problems.

For example, the first day I felt like a complete idiot when I managed to drop a whole bucket of water in the operation room. Trudging around trying to clean up my accident in the operating room now a swamp, I thought they might fire me. However, they praised me for actually cleaning it up.

Also, the operating room we used was shared with the gynocologists. Needless to say, several surgeries were interrupted due to emergency C-sections that needed to be done. So, we would clear out and the operating room would turn into the labor and delivery ward. AFter a mere two hour delay, we would rotate yet again, resterilize the room and it would turn into an opthamalogist operating room. Needless, to say, not only did I get to witness eye surgery, but I watched three C-sections.

Working with surgeons is not an easy task. My hats off to those that do. I can't how many times I got yelled at for nearly contaminating the sterile station, forgetting to press the start button on the sterilizer and dropping the lens on the floor. I promise, I got better. You know those first few days of learning are the toughest. I laughed at myself...visualizing what I must look like....surgical mask, gloves, flip-flops, dirty feet and a threadbare skirt. Not your everyday nurse showing up for a day at work.

But I guess that is what my life is like....it's not your normal day at work...everyday is different.

All in all, over the course of two weeks, we completed over a hundred cataract operations. One case especially, a sixteen year old girl, who cried the whole time "NO Mussi" (in Pulaar means, "It hurts") was completely blind in both eyes. Today, she can see the streets she walks down in Kedougou. NO Mussi no more, my dear.

Not only is my new site different than my old in Guinea, the program entirely in Senegal is different as well. I have to say that the volunteers of the region of Kedougou work hard. There are a variety of projects we have planned for the future that will be tackled together as a team. Therefore, as a whole, work actually gets done in Kedougou. In Guinea, the goals were the same, but there was less team-based projects and more individual work-focused at sites.

This past weekend was our regional retreat. For a change of scenery we traveled south to a village, Salemata, nestled in the mountains of palm trees near the border of Guinea. Basically we discussed the upcoming eye care clinic to be held in Kedougou. American doctors with the organization Right to Site and Health are coming to give free consultations and eye surgeries to communities of Kedougou and surrounding villages. I'm very excited about being a part of this, especially since I am at a frusterating point with my individual work in my village. That is what I think is so great about team-based projects. I can work outside of my village as well, and succes is basically guaranteed (of course I will blog about this later). We also discussed some of our upcoming projects with mosquito net distributions and a leadership camp. The retreat also helped me tackle some issues with my work in my village. By having suggestions from other volunteers and even innovative projects ideas boosted my personal confidence in my work.

I definitely think I am going to look more into work in the small Sussu village I mentioned before. Tomorrow, I have a rendez-vous set up with a Belgium non-governmental organization based here in Kedougou to see if they can possibly help with the water problem. Also, World Vision (another NGO) is quite active in my village, so I am going to see if they could use my help. Afterwards, I have to go to the market and pick up a soccer ball that my dear brothers have requested on many occasions. They will be so excited.

All work and no play is NO fun.

So..........

On a more humurous note, the village Salamata has charm....or eccentricity, I'll let you decide. There is a castle in Salamata...yes, a real castle. A Frenchman moved to Salamata eight years ago and constructed this castle because, well, I don't really know why. It is terribly out of place and is missing a roof. Can you imagine what the villagers think of this establishment. We are all familiar with what castles look like, but the Senegalese?? NEVER. They probably think it houses the witches, sorcerors and spirits they believe to roam the land. Oh, silly Africans.

Any who, this bizarro Frenchman has been in jail in Senegal because of petafilia. He claims he used to be with the French Army and is close friends with Ronald Reagan (he speaks NO English). Interesting or what? Now we all know what the French do with their money, build random castles in small villages in Africa! Ha!

Well, we decided to spend the night in the castle and have a dance party. We strapped our mattresses to our backs and climbed the spiral staircase of this roofless chateau to party in style. I really wanted to play dress up, but everyone as usual thought I was nuts. What ridiculous fun!

Headed to site in the evening tomorrow. Will return in a couple of days for the two week eye clinic.

Wish me luck and pray for success....at least that is what I'm doing.

Until next time......

Party at the Castle!

On our way out to Salamata

I hardly survived that trip up the mountain. What was supposed to be a three-hour bike ride, turned out to be a 5 hour miserable, near-death nightmare!! Coming back from France, I was not in a very good state of mind. Having been through the evacuation, gone through change after change, I really felt letdown that I was robbed a solid second year of service and instead was given another first, rebuilding year. Needless to say, I almost called it quits.

With this sort of mind state, I left Kedougou at 3pm, the heat of the day, in order to get to my site before dark. Didn't happen. About a quarter into the ride, I got sick...really sick. The diarhea and vomiting on the side of the road was more than I could bear. I was lying on the side of the road in hysterics when he appeared; the saint of all things holy. This wonderful man, pulled up next to me and asked me what was wrong. He immediately saw the state I was in, unstrapped my baggage from my bike and re-strapped on his already overloaded bike. Without knowing who I was, he escorted me down the road. We hit the bottom of my mountain at dark, so I slept on the floor of this family's hut without a mosquito net and mice frolicking around. The next morning at 6am and began the venture up. After two mental breakdowns, I suffered from lack of water and what I believe would be heat stroke, however, I made it...barely.

I've come to a realization about that trek. I hate it....it stresses me out, causing unneccesary anxiety. I enjoy mountain biking as much as the other guy, but this; no, this is not "biking." A strainful variety of manual labor, hording me and my bike over boulder after boulder. To hell with it. Like my friend Mamba has told me on numerous occasions, "Tu as la chance." I have the luck. Because my site is considered the prefecture (like Darlington County, Charleston County, etc.) there are cars from Kedougou who come on a regular basis. Alors, this is my choice of transportation from now on.

All is well at site. Actually, I' m quite enjoying myself. I went out into the bush with my brother and cut down bambo and made a chair for my hut. It was so much fun, and the chair sits quite comfortably. My "inga" (mother) is my biggest fan. She cheers everytime I arrive in the family compound for dinner. The doctor at my health post is my new best friend. He speaks a little English and we work, eat and have tea together everyday. I seem to be collecting my share of men in the village, as they are the educated ones, in which I can actually have conversations about things other than the cost of a goat or the amount of peanut butter to put into the sauce for dinner. Tea time is a glorious time where I sit with the doctor and the teachers at the school to "chew the fat." My village is wonderful in the fact that I experience village life, but at the same time can watch movies on the school laptops with my newfound friends in the evening. It's the best of both worlds.

Everything hasn't always been blissful. A few weeks ago, my neighbor and I had a tiff when she decided on our occasion of studying Pulaar to teach me insults instead of what I thought to be general salutations. Also, she made me highly uncomfortable one evening when I was trying to pull water from the well and she began this riskee display of public affection with her boyfriend, whom my younger sister told me is covered with all sorts of maladies below the belt. Over the fence, I told her I was highly insulted and to never talk to me again. After a few days, I decided to forgive her. She's known for being somewhat of a bully, but I don't like having enemies, especially those that live two steps from my hut. Since then, she hasn't pulled any tricks, so for the moment, ca va.

Also, I tried to launch a project in the community. The well located near my family's house is in horrible condition. There is stagnant water surrounded the uncovered makeshift well used as a place of trash and even bowel disposal. I spoke to the woman with whom the well belonged to about working together to finance a beautification project for the well. Being the president of the women's group in the community, I expected her to be highly regarded and easy to trust. I was wrong to assume. My father, who serves as a watchdog, told me not to give that woman a dime or she will "eat all of the money." Therefore, the project collapsed before it began. The community didn't really seem eager to work together, so I cashed in. Like that mountain climb, to hell with it. If you don't want to help yourself, then I won't work to give you something you won't.

So, I've focused all of my time on just living, hanging out, drinking tea. I know, I'm a bum, but what else am I supposed to do. Working is difficutl. I don't want to just give them something. I want to work together to build something together, be it a well or a change in behavior. We'll pause for now, and see where I am in two months.

I ventured out into a small village outside of my village a few days ago. They have dangerous water problems. The wells have dried up and the only source of drinking water is the dirty water coming from the river. I really like this village. The principal at the school told me he would greatly appreciate someone to come to the primary school and teach lessons on hygiene and family planning (some of the 13 year old girls are already married). So, I'm organizing some material and planning on painting some murals. I'm happy to go where I'm wanted. The children all speak Sussu and are so sweet. Most have some malnourish issues and are quite dirty due to the fact that there is little water, so I'm hoping this my be a great thing. I hope I'm not setting myself up for yet another failure.

Two weeks ago, we had the West African Invitational Softball Tournament in Dakar. Ex patriots from all over West Africa (including some of my friends from Guinea) came. It was absolutely fantastic. I felt like I was in college again....ha! Too much fun was had by all.

So that' s all for now, I suppose. Still kickin' it even in this heat. The hot season has arrived and it's so difficult to do anything, including sleep. Luckily, there is a nice dry breeze on the mountain.

I suppose, it's all about embracing our mountains, those challenges that life gives us; be it a boulder to haul over, a corrupt work partner or just your typical annoying neighbor. One can allow to be defeated, or simply embrace it and figure out what works.

Gosh, it sounds a lot easier said than done for sure.

Until next time,

CIAO!!

Words cannot express how much I enjoyed being back in civilization. The food, the wine, the wonderful people watching and most importantly, the good company. Seeing my family after a year was the ultimate Christmas present. I think I speak for them as well when I say that we enjoyed our time together-even on Christmas Eve when Daddy and I spent a few hours in the emergency room on Christmas Eve due to a case of staff infection on my right toe.

Going back to civilization was a lot easier than coming back. I bounced right back into the normal swing of things and enjoyed the little things like bundling up against the harsh winter weather, taking a warm bath every night and using a nice running toilet. Those were two weeks of magnificent bliss.

Coming back, I'm not going to lie has not been all that pleasurable. For starters, I left Dakar on Tuesday morning on a bus to Kedougou. I got on the bus at 9am and it didn't pull out of the garage until 4pm. It was a terrifying voyage. Two Senegalese men in the back of the bus starting fist fighting, so the driver had to stop a few times. Luckily, there was a nice French couple behind me who kept me distracted from most of my misery. We arrived in a city called Tambacounda around 3am in the morning (couldn't make it to Kedougou) and I waited on the side of the road for almost an hour ( with a Senegalese man) searching for a taxi to the Tamba Peace Corps house. His main concern was finding a meat sandwich while I was choking back tears for having to wait YET AGAIN for transportation. Luckily, a car came, and I reached the house at 4:30am. At 9am, Ian and I woke up and waited at the garage for an hour for a car to Kedougou. On our ride back,we almost hit a horse-sized gazelle and were hissed at by a herd of baboons (big poppa showed his teeth) We arrived yesterday in the afternoon. I've fallen sick with a small fever and a slight case of diarrhea, which leaves me no motivation to climb up that mountain. I expect to leave in the morning if all is well through the night. I have the vacation blues in the worst way, but know that once I get back, things will fall back into place (Inshallah).

I just have to get up there!

Until next time,

One year ago today, I was a scared young girl moving in with a Guinean family, unable to do anything but smile and cry. It seems as though I've grown. Now, I'm able to communicate not only in French but in Sussu and, coming soon, Pulaar. The longs days turned into weeks which rolled into months and have transformed into a year. I'm happy to say that I survived my first year of Peace Corps service. Yes,there was (and continues to be) a giant learning curve; there was frusteration, and yes, there was surprising heartbreak, but look where I've come.

Must press forward under the African sun.

Year #2 has arrived-wonder what it may entail?

Stay tuned!

And you know what the candle is on the cake-the president of Guinea, Dadiss Camara was shot on December 4th (my actual anniversary). Are we surprised, not in the least. The day we got into country, the former president died. I guess you could say that is just our style!

href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_tyhjyiZkDLY/SxBJtjJPnKI/AAAAAAAAAB8/L4oI2_Li8Eg/s1600/PB190006.JPG">

Kitchen hut

After an 18 hour ride over land I arrived in Kedougou (see map) which is my regional capital. For those of you not familiar with this, a regional capital serves as a central meeting place for volunteers in the region. Our house is made up of huts, awnings and hammocks and our number one guardian, Goojo, the house dog. He is equiped with a scent especially fond of snakes (spitting cobras, to be exact) that live around the compound. I especially enjoy the sleeping porch in which I nestle under the stars and sounds of frogs each night. Outdoor sleeping may be some of the best sleep I have had since arriving in West Africa.

What sold me on coming to Senegal was the fact that my village, being less than 10 km from the border of Guinea spoke SUSSU, the language of my past. Well, when I went to my new village for a visit to check out my surroundings, I found this not to be true. The Peace Corps coordinator looked down at me after this discovery and whispered that my Pulaar language classes would start the following day. However, like bipolar Guinea, my tears of utter frusteration vanished when my new family introduced themselves in SUSSSU. Allah nu wali. (Thank God)

The route to my village is quite the challenge. First one has to cross the Gambia river rumored to house hippos by a small ferry. Then, a 30km road that is nearly impassable by car (I shall be biking lots). I am located on top of a mountain with a gorgeous view of Guinea.

My village is very friendly. My host father told me that he was going to build me the most beautiful outdoor lattrine (I can shower by the moonlight) as well as an outdoor porch/lean-to where I can spend the days swinging in my hammock. It is with all of my heart that I build this for you, he said, we have been waiting for you for a long time and we know you will be happy here. With that touching speech, he also begged that I not leave. I told him that I was evacuated from Guinea and if I were to leave Africa it would have been then. I am not going anywhere, I assured him; I am here to stay.

So now I spend my mornings learning yet another language, Pulaar. It is so difficult. They have a word for everything.

I find that I am becoming content with what I have seen in Senegal. However I do worry if I will fulfill the expectations of being a good volunteer given the circumstances of having to begin again. In Pulaar, they say JAM TUN which means Peace Only. Maybe, just maybe there will be peace after this storm of challenges. Maybe I am right where I am supposed to be. If not, I can always jump the border and pay a visit to my friends in Guinea. Perhaps, inshallah (God willing) that wont be neccessary.

Now, I cross a river and up a mountain to begin again.

Our Guardian

The Sleeping Hut

The ferry crossing the Gambia that takes me to my new home

Bonne Arrivee!

I arrived in Dakar, Senegal in the bon condition! Coming from Guinea, it was quite the transition-meeting the new staff, volunteers and just adapting to the ever cosmopolitan Dakar. It truly is the “Paris” of West Africa. Everywhere you turn there is a fellow expatriot. The place is swarmed with white people and the development that comes with them. Not like dirty ol’ Conakry to say the least. There is a grocery store/mini mall that accepts credit cards and I believe is nicer than any grocery store I’ve seen in the United States! This may be an exaggeration, but definetly kicks our petite “leb” stores butts in Guinea.

I discovered how difficult it is to make comparisons between here and Guinea. I feel as if I’ve traveled through time seeing how Dakar is more advanced than any city in Guinea. Us volunteers felt like movie stars when walking the streets of our native country because the occasional expat was so few and far between. Here, I don’t have the star quality. I found this truth at the grand market downtown a few days ago when bargaining with a vendor for linen fabric. Vendors are accustommed to people like myself paying the high price and don’t understand that I literally am a volunteer and have NO money. What I found to work was telling them that I was a refugee from Guinea and have no money. One vendor admitted that he has beaucoup of money thanks to these friendly espatriots and felt sorry for me because I came from such a poor country. Ian, a fellow volunteer from Guinea jokingly tried to hand the teller at the bank a Guinean franc and the man nearly jumped out of his seat. This goes to show how little the franc amounts to.

What Ian and I really miss is the comaraderie we shared with Guineans. We don’t get the same friendliness in Dakar that we did in Conakry. Maybe au village will be different.

Furthermore, we’ve spent most of our time wasting away on the beaches of Dakar, which are absolutely beautiful.

Tomorrow we head to our regional capital to begin our extensive training in Pulaar, which is the language of this southeastern side of Dakar. My village, I’ve been told has many Sussu, French and Pulaar speakers. If this proves to be true, I will be one content gal. The trek takes 18 hours in a speedy Peace Corps vehicle. We hear that the volunteers down there are a tribe of their own, which will be most exciting.

I’m tired of living in this grand city and am eager to get back to village life. Tonight, we are going to treat ourselves to Ethiopian cuisine downtown and bid a farewell (for now) to Dakar.

And the adventure continues.......

href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_tyhjyiZkDLY/Su8OB4kw6AI/AAAAAAAAAA8/TKHFyMgxp_8/s1600-h/PA290029.JPG">

When I applied for Peace Corps, the only thing I requested was an adventure.  The gods of the sky must have heard my plea.  I got more than I bargained for.  

Back in December, I moved to Guinea, West Africa into a small village in the 'basse cote' of Guinea.  Perched in the midst of palm trees and mountains, the village of Koliagbe  became my home.  I can't even explain the challenges I faced but after 10 months, I was fully integrated in my community and projects began to launch.  

Then, the thunder began to rumble.  On September 28, 2009, pre-election, thousands of peaceful protestors gathered in a stadium in the capital of Conakry to voice their opposing opinions against the president, Dadiss Camara.  The military bolted the doors and began shooting.  157 men and women, raped and tortured, were killed that day.  A massacre with the blood of their own stained on the hands of the military.  Yet, it didn't stop there.  

Meanwhile, I was in the fields with my family collecting the peanut crops and basking under the African sun.  

Three days later, I was evacuated to Mali along with 70 other volunteers.  I was allowed to pack one bag and was caravanned over the border and dumped into the deserts of Mali.  Well, not dumped, more like dropped off at summer camp.  I've swam in a swimming pool, watched movies in a home theatre and played tennis on ' vrai' tennis courts.  It's practically Camp America.....for 70 volunteers.....every...single.....day.

Emotionally, it's been a rollercoaster.  There are moments of happiness (buying my crocodile skin handbag, getting henna on my feet, rock climbing).   Then, there are moments of utter dispair, where all I've done is cry and scream over the uncertainity of not knowing what's going to happen next and wanting to go back to Guinea.  I never wish this life of limbo on any of you. 

A week ago, the State Department informed us that our program in Guinea was suspended. Meanwhile, twelve more people from the opposition party in Guinea were murdered in their homes.  

Fully overwhelmed and utterly emotionally exhausted, I somehow organized the rest of my life in just under a week. I knew I didn't want to go back to America.  I had mentally devoted two years of my life to Africa. I mean, I'm practically African; what would I possibly do in America?  I decided that if it was possible I would seek a direct transfer to continue my service in another country.   I perked up my resume and wrote a lengthy discription of my service in Guinea.  As luck and a whole lotta praying would have it, the chance appeared.  

Within the next two days, I will be jet-setting to Senegal, bordering north of Guinea.  I'm reassigned to a small village 10 kilometres to the border of Guinea.  

This is all I know thus far. I am just absolutely thrilled that a plane is taking me out of the desert sun of Mali.  

I asked for an adventure, and boy did I receive one.

Stay tuned.......