Immersed in H20

It has been nearly a year since I have fully immersed myself in water. Sure a bucket bath takes the body odor off and a shower is ideal for washing hair but there is truly nothing like fully immersing your body.

Yesterday, a group of PCVs fled the Conakry house to the islands only an hour away via boat. Today I am asking myself how it is that I have never visited the islands before. Then reality hit. Why would I think the ocean in Guinea could be swimable. PCVs frequently visit the beach bar only a minutes walk from the house scenically located on the ocean and surrounded by sewage lines leading into the ocean and large piles of garbage smattered about.

However, just a boat ride away is paradise. Granted we had to pass through the ship graveyard on the way but the white sandy beaches of the islands complimented by the green palm tress and jagged rocks surrounding the beach easily erase that image from the brain. After a satisfyingly exhausting day of swimming, body surfing, attempted chicken fights, football and a small amount of hiking we were piloted back to Conakry.

Martha +Tim=Andrea and other domestics

When I left for the PC I had really short hair so it was easy to avoid the question asked by most girls and women in the villages. My hair was too short to braid. Since it has not been cut since last March the time had to come. I finally caved in a few weeks ago when my friend asked again. I want to assure you the photo I posted is not how I have been or will be walking around this great continent of Africa. Besides I could barely sleep for 2 days as the braids where pulled too tight into my scalp.

Last month at site a little bit of Martha Stewart influence hit. I decided it might be a little ghetto to keep using the previous volunteers folded over bed sheet as a living room curtain. You are probably wondering why I did not think of this in the last 8 months since I had put it up. Well, my new site-mate kindly pointed out my current decorating downfall. Wasting no time, I went to the unused material pile in my house containing all sorts of material I had purchased on a whim with no clear purpose in sight. After debating for almost a 1/2 hour if the dark blue material with gold butterflies was better than the royal blue material with white chickens, I determined the butterflies best accented the 2 racing stripes painted on my walls (they came with the house). I collected my travel sewing kit(not too extensive as I only know how to sew a button on), scissors and ruler and set off to work. A few long hours later I was done cutting and sewing but it was missing flare. The next day at the market the flare came to me in the form of big silver and gold buttons to be used to help tie back the curtains when they are not in use. So mom, I know I never exactly completed sewing that shorts and shirt outfit we had planned for the summer of 1990 but there is still hope that I may one day learn how to sew.

Continuing with the decorating theme, my dishes and cooking material were kept in a metal trunk of the floor. Again, 8 months was my breaking point. Since it's not possible to just go out and buy a shelf I talked to every carpenter in town about getting one made. Due to my intensive cheapness, I was unable to find a person who would meet my price. I also started to tell them I could make one for 100,000GF less than the quote they were giving me. Each time they told me women cannot make shelves and each time I was more infuriated to the point that I was determined to learn how. After much haggling over the price of wood, I set of with my pieces. Next challenge was shooing 1/2 the neighbor children off my porch so I could finally concentrate. I now have a shelf that only leans a little to the left but seems to work for now.

On a sporty note, my 2 girls soccer teams finally had their match at the big stadium in front of the village. Overall, it was quite a successful event. Most girls managed to round up a pair of shoes but both teams where given the same T-shirt so it was quite hard to determine with girl was on which team. Humorously enough, the teams were uneven 2 minutes before the match was to begin so I slipped of my skirt slid on some shorts and brought the skills I learned from my 5 year old soccer league to the field. Fortunately or unfortunately they were right on par for the competition. The match predictably ended with a score of 0-0.

Elephants and Chimps...Oh My!!

Another Christmas has come and gone without a live sighting of an Elephant! The difference is this year I felt the radiating heat from the elephant feces, I ducked under vines, fought off big army ants and trudged through parts of the forest destroyed by elephants. In order to make up for the missed opportunity to live among the elephants, at 9AM that morning the guides reimbursed us by giving us liters of sweet alcohol that flows freely from the palm trees in the forest. After being pushed to consume more than our share, the guides decided all hope was not lost as the elephants had been sited that morning by some villagers. So, we trudge off again but with heavier feet and heads a spinning. No luck but the payoff this time came in the form of rice and a sauce that I don't think even the elephants would eat, guppy head (apparently an edible form of fish in the forest), red oil and A LOT of hot pepper. With disappointment and mild heartburn sitting in our hearts and the start of a hangover we headed back to the city. My friend and fellow PCV Tor and I spent the holiday in the Forest Region of Guinea.

Although the elephants were not interested in getting a look at us, a very loud big momma chimp sure was. We met Yao at the chimp reserve out in the wild. As soon as she saw us she became amazingly hungry and grabbed every piece of fruit within a few body lengths and started throwing it to the forest floor where we stood admiring her. After putting on this show she descended the tree and came for a better look. The three humans (we had a guide) and Yao stared at each other for a few minutes before she took off and started screaming. At this point we had been watching and tracking her for probably 15 minutes; time was up.

Animal sightings and challenging forest hiking deserves to be rewarded with good food. There was no shortage once we reached Jen's house in Kissidougou. We were luck enough to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas day with a great group of PCVs. I have never eaten such gourmet food in Guinea. Just to get your test buds watering...eggplant parm, savory beef stew, garlic mashed potatoes, a plethora of Christmas cookies and mint fudge to top it off. Also included were a lot of Christmas caroling and even an opportunity to open a Christmas present!

Speaking of Christmas presents, the world food program flies between Conakry and the forest. Tor and I were lucky enough to take the free flight and avoid the 15-hour (if nothing goes wrong) taxi ride from one end of the country to the other. However, we did take a car with an NGO about 200k on the forest road, a source of a recent strike for this area. When people say a road is nearly demolished the vision of 12feet deep potholes in the middle of the road and big trucks gently sitting on their sides will come to mind. Again we were spared the taxi and instead rode in an air-conditioned SUV!! A little more Christmas magic.

I hope that all of you had a wonderful Christmas and I wish you all the best in 2007.

Work and Other Free Time Activities

This was written over a month ago but I was unable to upload due to computer problems in Labe.

I am writing this blog to try and convince you that I do work other than making up crazy stories about my host country nationals for my blog. My latest attempts at work in my village include starting a high school business club, starting a girls soccer team, planting and talking non-stop about a miracle tree called Moringa, a lot of talk about tourism development with minimal action, attempts to help soap makers get oil at bulk prices and the longest attempted with least progress is the a program called village banking. Please do not misunderstand this blog. I am not disappointed by my lack of progress but have come to understand, accept and enjoy the pace of life here.

To date my most rewarding project has been the soccer team that started last week. It has by far given me the most material for my blogs. The 1st practice 20 girls showed up the traditional skirt down to their ankles, tight fitting matching shirts and sandals with a small heel. You must know that my village is very conservative and women cannot wear pants during the day and showing your knees in a pair of shorts is practically grounds for getting kicked out of the village. The coach was not about to let the attire stop our practice from happening. We lined up by twos and did full out sprints. Most girls lost their sandals either before or during the sprint and had already hiked their skirts up to their knees. We then picked teams for a scrimmage old school style and the girls a decade younger than me kicked my butt.

I was hoping the second practice would bring more appropriate clothing and was impressed when most girls showed up in jeans that they rolled up to knees. Some more inventive girls even figured out how to make a sports bra by attaching a scarf around their chest on the outside of their shirt. It also brought drills, one of which I am very fond because I am the only person that can do it. Unfortunately, it is a basketball drill to dribble around all the members of the team. The 3rd practice in the 1st week (these people are motivated about soccer) brought one girl with soccer shoes (clear plastic jellies that were popular in the US in the 80’s) and the rest still playing in their bare feet which is dangerous for many obvious reasons but also because the cows and goats are responsible for maintaining the grass during the day. These teams will make their debut on December 7th playing a game in our stadium as part of the events for the day to fight AIDS. I have small concerns about uniforms and shoes but I am sure it will bring more good material for my blog.

In order to try and keep up with the girls I have built a home gym, Guinea style. Right now it lacks a lot but to start I have a pull-up bar which is actually an old car part (long rusty bar) to which the welder attached two meal hooks so I could nail it above my door. This little project is one reason that super nene was not so happy about the prospect of more nails going into my wall again (see locked in my house blog for more details). The second and last piece of home gym is a free weight. Yes, only 1 at this moment. I used the same style bar as the pull-up bar and filled two empty metal oatmeal containers with cement to make what might be about a 5lb free weight. With any luck I will have some time to go rummage through the garbage piles again and find more car parts to make a bench press and complete my 5lb set this month.

Relating to my integration status, in Guinea everyone wants to look at the palms of your hands to see if you do real work. I got so sick of showing them my perfectly smooth soft glowing white hands that I found a group of women willing to give me a piece of land in their garden. Immediately, they recommended someone to clear the land for me as there are no roto tillers here. When I adamantly declined they knew they had their hands full with me. This was not appropriate behavior for the white women to clear her own land. Therefore, the next market day I went and bought a machete but the vendor just could not grasp why a white women needed this tool. A few days later, I got up the courage to chop down the small trees and uproot everything standing in the way of my garden. Within 10 minutes of work this guy came over to tell me that I was not working on the right patch of land and that he had already cleared my land. He was adamant but I was more so and continued clearing my land. Another 5 minutes working with the machete and hoe I had achieved my goal. My hands were the color of a blazing red fire with white oozing blisters. Hours later I left the field having only cleared ½ my land but with 7 pussing blisters. Needless to say, it took me almost 2 more weeks to go back and clear the other half (due to a week of training in another village of course). My land now sits pretty and ready to receive seeds this week. While my hope of this blog was to convince you that I work in my village I am not so sure I was too success in this goal.

Locked in My House and Other Boring Stuff

This was written over a month ago but I was unable to upload due to computer problems in Labe.


Most people get locked out of their house but I do not accept the status quo. Last Saturday morning I woke with a jolt and hit the ground running to the outside latrine. However, the front door gave me quite a challenge as I turned my key to unlock it and it just kept turning. Part of the lock broke off and the door remained ½ locked and ½ unlocked. I quickly grabbed the biggest knife I had and stuck it in the door and jimmied it around. After a few unsuccessful tried I saw no quick resolution so I sprinted to the indoor toilet which was finally cemented down so water does not escape around the sides during the flushing process BUT requires a whole bucket of water to flush. Western toilets should be banned from this country but that is another topic for a different day.

Feeling a bit relieved but smacked upside the head by the toxic fumes wafting from my toilet, I searched the house for a flathead screwdriver to remove the lock. I scrounged through the “utility hall” tripping over a machete, hoe, broom, left over wood and nails from the last project and many other useless things. At last I gave a big sigh and thanked the Swiss for that so useful little knife they make. The Swiss quickly feel from my good graces when I realized they only have Philips type screws in that beautiful country. Trying not to panic I grabbed my other biggest knife (compliments of the volunteer before me) and started surgery. I know I was on my own as the one neighbor who speaks French is in Dakar and I sure don’t know how to say “I am locked in my house, get help” in Pular. My Pular dictionary was also rendered useless within minutes for this situation. After about 30 minutes of moaning, groaning and yelling at myself for not getting water the night before, the lock finally broke completely and I was released. Lesson learned, I sauntered off to the market to buy the most expensive lock I could find. It put me back about 4USD ( a lot of money here).

A little exhausted from performing the “surgery” and still lacking a flat head screwdriver, I decided to have someone put my new lock on for me. The woman I call “super nene” (mother in Pular) is the great-grandmother of my 8 year old friend in my compound. The super part does not relate to her friendly manner but rather her sheer ability to live for over 120 years in this developing nation of Guinea. As expected when the pounding of the lock started, ½ bent over she shuffled to my house screaming at me in Pular. I probably am not her favorite person in Lelouma and nowhere near the top of the list. She has become a bit senile in her old age and does not realize that I do not speak or understand Pular especially when it is being screamed at me. I realized her old fear emerged that I might be putting nails in walls. To calm her, I showed her the lock that was removed and that it was broken. Still unsatisfied, I resorted to presenting the guy who was putting in the lock. It was at this moment he was using a hammer to pound in a screw. I let a few doubts pass about his ability to properly install the lock and sent my focus back to the woman shooting me the death glare and responded “no nails” in my best Pular. She shuffled away, the man quickly finished pounding my lock in and I sprinted off to the market to enjoy another Saturday.