Andrea Experiences Africa

Do it yourself safari....Don't do it!

2007-10-23T09:07:00.000-05:00

At the time it all seemed rational. I was told that I (in Magori) was less than 2 hours away from the Masai Mara national park, the costs I was given were about the same as the arranged safaris and most of all, I was just too sick of African travel to go back to Nairobi, drive to Masia then back to Nairobi then to Tanzania.

The morning of the safari I should have known that self safaris are not the way to go when I was ready to go at 6:30AM our promised departure time and was told we had to go get the car fixed. Apparently, the back windows were stuck down. My host mentioned the need to just get them fixed so they would stay up and we would be fine. Some stroke of genius came to me and I pointed out that if I was going to see animals then I needed to roll down the tinted windows. With a little luck, the only of the day, the problem somehow worked its way out as we toured town before our departure. During the tour there was a lot of confusion as to who was going. My host's plan was to ditch the driver to save costs since he did not know that I had invited another friend (who does not know how to drive). The only reason I invited the other friend was because my host never committed to going and I did not want to be alone with the driver who did not speak English. So finally, we have the driver, my hosts and my friend all in the car and we are off BUT my host insists on driving the first part!

After about 2 hours, we arrive at what we are told is the closest town to the park. We sit down and have a cup of tea and a small pastry. We decide that in order to save on entrance fees we will leave the driver in the town and he will search town for our lodging. Just as we leave town, we run into a police barrage which my host manages well considering he does not have a drivers license. We call the driver after passing the barrage and the driver comes and gives my host his license. After another hour of swerving in and out to avoid rocks and various other obstacles, we reach signs of the park. I read in the guidebook that if you are going to a rather remote gate, which we are, you should try and bribe the park official to save on the $40USD entrance fee for foreigners. Not sure if this is a good idea or not, I decided to give my host the entrance fee for all three of us as if we were all residents, only about 7USD per person. The worker demands that we pay the full amount for me and that he will return some of it on our way out. Almost 100% positive this is an empty promise, we drive into the park. I am just glad that I did not get arrested or reprimanded for my tactics, very poor form but hey, it's Africa.

My host is exhausted from all the driving so me being the only other person that knows how to drive in the car, I take the wheel. This is a huge park and we are clueless as to where to go in our small GrandAm-esque car. Luckily we spot a safari vehicle so we follow this massive 4x4 land cruiser up and down the plaines in search of animals. I have now resorted to freeloading a safari. With a little luck and a bunch of different tour operators, we manage to spot, zebras, wildebeests, antelopes, wild boar, hypos, crocodiles and even some giraffes. After driving around for about 3 hours, my host realizes that we don't have much fuel left. The park is the only place to buy fuel before we get home. As we finish fueling up, my host says to me did you pay? I say that I gave him the money for the car yesterday and that covers it, right? His response is no and that I owe him for the fuel that he bought that morning. This was not a part of the deal that I understood yesterday when it was explained to me. Who knows, maybe the problem is that he pronounces fuel as foil and I use the word gas so neither of us understands each other. Quickly realizing I missed other things about this safari, I decided to ask more questions. My impression was that we were staying only minutes from the park and could do an early evening safari and early morning safari when all the animals were present. The light bulb went on and I knew this was not what I bargained for or did not bargain well enough for.

Realizing the costs were getting way out of my budget, I asked if we could go back to his town that night. We determined the best course of action was to start our voyage back to pick up the driver. As we exited the park, my host stopped to pick up the money they promised to return. As expected, he walks out with a ticket saying I paid 40USD which is true at this point. So irritated by Africa, I step into his office and emerge within minutes with a large portion of my money! My host takes over the wheel and the green flag drops. What took us nearly 1hour20 minutes to get to turned into a 30 minute race. Highlights included skidding off the road and barely missing a huge rock. At one point, he asks me if I am scared. I had resorted to curling up in a ball in the back, closing my eyes and saying Hail Marys (1st time since Catholic Grade school). Somehow, we managed to arrive in one piece to pick up the driver who has already booked and paid for the rooms. In true African fashion, we wait for them to get the lady for 40 minutes that can give back our money.

It's now 4.30 PM and time to go. The driver takes the wheel and we head off hoping to make it before dark. Our hopes were dashed as about 3 minutes out of town, I hear a huge crash and look up in time to see the cloud of rock dust that has entered our car and the person in the passengers seat (which is actually our driver's side in the US) bouncing up and down. The car slowly skips to a stop and the engine dies. This is no surprise as we have been opening the hood and pushing the battery wires together all day in order to get the car to start. BUT this time there is a streak of oil running gushing down the road and a big metal piece that has been bent beyond recognition back near the rock that me managed to unearth and even break a few large pieces off of.

We send the driver to go back to town to get a mechanic. He arrives about 20 minutes later in a car that barely runs and with a wrench as his only weapon. Within minutes the whole town is out to see what happened. To make it even more exciting, now they have a reason to stare at the white women on the side of the road. AND she cannot escape. Hours later, they determine that they will weld the piece back and maybe we can drive the thing. I sit with the children in the grass, playing soccer, trying to juggle, anything to pass some time. We watch the sunset and still no sign of the driver and the welder. At around 7PM they come back in the same car that does not even go in reverse and this man told us was a gear shift problem...boy are we out of luck if he does not even fix the gears on his car. At this time I am so sure we are staying in town, the road is scary, its dark and how will we know if the car is really fixed with the red super glue they were using. There is only one other town about 1/2 way home.

By the grace of God or some prophet the man gets out from under the car about 4 hours into the operation and he cranks it and it starts. My host yells at me to get in the car and we are off. He will not let the driver touch the car. I hold my breath the whole way home. Each time we gently or no so gently scrape a rock, I know its over. Finally, at 10.30PM and still trying to operate off our morning meal of a pastry, we roll into a Kenyan dinner in my host’s hometown! I have never praised the lord so much in my life!

Unobservations from Kenya

2007-10-17T04:06:00.000-05:00

Here are a few highlights from the last 15 days in Kenya. I have spent 2 days in Nairobi and the rest in a smaller town called Magori in Southwestern Kenya with family friends.

*Bikes are the major source of transportation in the town of Magori. They also serve as a furniture delivery service for oversized couches.

*Kenyan churches are so charged with energy and volume that I mistook the service for an exercise class complete with uppercuts, right hooks and even a kickboxing component that nearly sent the lone plant on the alter flying across the room.

*The live music scene is so hopping that you can hear the music from blocks away. The people that come to enjoy these scene are so confident that even younger men looking to hook up wear T-shirts that read "I'm the daddy".

*The staple food of the region where I am staying looks like a big white blob. It's called Ugali which is made of corn flour and water. It has 2 redeeming qualities; you are expected to eat it with your right hand and to know if its finished cooking you should throw it against the wall. If you have a new wall decoration, it's done.

*Nairobi is not even little America, it's a big America complete with American prices or higher. However, it also helped me to add the cultural part of Africa that I have been missing...a museum!

*My gracious hosts in Magori have put me up in their house. With this comes the experience of living with a baby less than 5 months old. I had my first few experiences of being peed on by a boy. What is the appeal of golden showers?

*I have come to know the preacher inside of me when I was asked to introduce myself briefly at church and somehow ended up praising the lord and giving glory to god with almost as energy as the preacher.

*During a visit to the small village near lake Victoria it was assumed by a village man that I did not know how to ride a bike, swim, run for shelter during a rain storm or carry a bench. He was surprised to learn that this women could do all of those things.

*I was told by a Kenyan friend that I could survive anything after this. Unsure what he was referring to as "this" I asked for some clarification. As it turns out, it is my ability to eat any kind of food they put in front of me. As the female PCVs say in Madagascar, fat girls gotta eat.

*The gracious mother of my host was so elated to have a white woman over for dinner in her compound that she was determined not to let me leave without giving me a souvenir. Not being particularly well-off she wanted to give me something that she had available. A BIG WHITE HEN! It took 1/2 hour to explain that I could not take the hen on the airplane to the United States. We settled on the solution that I would take a picture of the hen and she would give it to me the next time I came to visit.

Kenya is so politically charged with the presidential election coming in December that the last 3 Sundays have been dedicated to the watching each candidate launch their campaign on TV. The people of the region that I am staying in are staunch supporters of an opposition candidate that come from the area. Every meeting, church event or gathering ends with some spiel about voting for the Orange Democratic Movement candidate not to be confused with the Orange Democratic Movement-Kenya candidate.

*My favorite comment on the Kenya political system was while in a small village meeting after the obligatory political speech a women of about 50years stood up and proclaimed that she would vote this year even if she did not get paid by any of the candidates!

*Not sure how Americans did it but we have managed to take over Kenya TV programming with classics like different strokes, the Jefferson’s and even a bit of WWE professional wrestling. One of my favorite topics is explaining that the wrestling is NOT real. No wonder these Kenyans have crazy views of America.

*After living in Africa for almost 2 years I am so surprised to report that I have never been as highly pursued as by one gentleman as in Magori. The best part of the experience is that his tactics include gospel songs, humor, beer and sexists comments. Quite a combination!

*The largest lake in Africa, Lake Victoria, that flows through Kenya, Tanzania and Uganda lost some of its glamour the other day. As I arrived on foot, I was greeted by a herd of cattle drinking from the lake and a herd of people armed with soap getting ready to bathe.

*Kenya corruption hit most recently in the form of electricity or lack there of. Two bribes in two weeks and still they cut it off again in search of their weekly allowance. The worst part is that my host is not in the wrong and has been paying the bills as registered on the meter but is still forced to bribe. Even more humorous is that the standing president is running is campaign under the platform that there is no corruption in this country!

Stay turned for more observations of East Africa

Another Chapter Complete/Hold the Packages

2007-09-26T09:17:00.000-05:00

It is with both sadness and joy that I write this blog. I guess you could say that I saw it coming but it does not make it any easier. After 27 days of homelessness and idle wandering it was determined that the best course of action was to complete my service early. The country director, my program director and I have considered and/or tried EVERYTHING to make it work but unfortunately, it as not meant to be.

When I came to Peace Corps in January 2006, I thought this experience would allow me to define what I wanted to do with my life. When I got evacuated in February 2007, I knew my Peace Corps experience was not complete. In addition, I still had not come to my life altering realization and the defined next steps. Sadly, as I COS after 22 months of service, the answer is that I still don’t know what is next.

What I do know, is that I will be traveling around Africa until I no longer find it enjoyable. My current plan is to leave Madagascar on Wednesday, October 3rd for Kenya. If the rainy season is not too unkind to me, I will be working my way down to my friends in Zambia through Uganda and Tanzania. Then if energy, enthusiasm and money are still part of my repertoire, I will continue up to West Africa to visit many of my fellow Guinea evacuees and possibly Guinea itself. If you have any contacts in any of these areas that might be willing to chat and give a bit of advice to a lone traveler, I would greatly accept their contact information. Also, please continue to check my blog as I will now be writing about the adventures post US government employment.

Customer Service Madagascar Style

2007-09-23T09:05:00.000-05:00

The homeless travels have now landed me in Diego; my regional capital. Carelessly walking to my usual internet café, I meandered inside a few places advertising excursions. Out of curiosity, I went in to find out how much it costs to get to Zambia. One place tells me that you cannot get there from Madagascar. The next place recommends going through Bangkok. Seriously, they are sending me to another continent just to get across the Mozambique Channel. Unbothered, I continue into the internet café to email the PC travel agent. Immediately, I see a fellow PCV and make fun of her for being on display and the token white girl doing visual advertising for the place. It seems she has picked the only computer in the middle of the room facing the door. If only I had been so smart!

I check out a few computers but they were not on so I ended up settling on one in the back. I sit down for a few minutes but the lady working does not see me or attempt to start my internet connection. Therefore, I go up to the front and she finally acknowledges me and gives me the nod. I wander back to my seat tripping over a big wood stopper and plunge my way into my seat while plugging in the jump drive. Suddenly, I smell something horrible, worse than burning trash, maybe during electronics! My eyes are wandering the room to identify the source when to much dismay they land on my jump drive which is now on fire and smoking. I immediately grab the hot metal and pull it out but not before a big hole has been burned in my plastic casing and of course demolishing all the important electronic pieces.

I grab the lady working and show her the jump drive lying nearly demolished on the floor. Even though it is still hot, she examines it and attempts to put it back together. Even if her futile attempts would put all the pieces together, the device would never work again. This is then followed by hundreds of questions about why my jump drive destroyed their computer. I explain to her that I have used the thing in various computers and nothing even close to this has happened before. It is the computer that malfunctioned rather than my jump drive that caused this. Next, she pulls a new jump drive out and slides it into the guilty port. Of course it does not work either. She concludes her investigation by saying she is really sorry. I demand a new jump drive and declare a stakeout until I can at least speak with the owner. After an hour of staring into her face waiting, the phone rings and the owner starts yelling at me for destroying his computer. Twenty minutes later, all that has been accomplished through this “dispute” is that he will not give me a new jump drive but through his generosity will give me a great deal on one with ¼ of the capacity my old one had.

Tourist Extravaganza and Pig Heaven

2007-09-23T08:42:00.000-05:00

A question I am asking myself is what the heck have I done with the last 27 days of homelessness in

Madagascar

. To start with, I dabbled into the expat life in

Madagascar

. The 9 PCVs in the north put on a 4 day camp for high school students in Nosy Be, the mecca island for tourism. While the camp, “Good Choices”, was quite a hit, my choices following the camp were not. I spent my days drinking at the expat pub pretending I understood the rules to Rugby and really cared who won the World Championship, riding around in the back of a pickup trucks to different beautiful beaches and most dangerously eating my daily dose of meat on a stick cooked on the side of the road (because that was all I could afford). After these 11 fabulous days, my body and wallet told me it was time to go.

Next stop, off to the village to visit a friend. Life changed drastically in just a few 100 kilometers of road. We jump into a taxi/pickup truck in the regional capital and started on our short 22 kilometer journey. The first stop a monastery. Erin and I were both under the impression that we were going to pick up maybe a priest or nun that we would probably need to give up our spots in the front cab. I guess you can say luck was on our side as we drove around back to the barn area. Everyone jumped out and went to watch the spectacle. The taxi assistant went over to a stall and all we heard was screeches, screams and squalls. Fifteen minutes later, two men emerged carrying a 250lb skyward pig with ropes attached to each leg. The pig was placed next to the truck as he waited for his friend. These unlucky pigs were tossed into the back of the pickup truck while the people filed in right behind them to become their new “stall mates”. For the next 45mintues of our ride, we listened to the sweet melody of the pig squeals.

White Worms

2007-09-08T08:35:00.000-05:00

Where did they come from? But most importantly, why did they choose to attack one of my most personal items? No matter how close you are with your family and friends you would never share a toothbrush with your brother, sister, mother, father or even best friend. Yet, these maggots decided that their new home would be my toothbrush.

Groggily, stumbling around trying to get ready for the day, I pulled my toothbrush out of its protective case. Luckily, I looked down before I started smearing white toothpaste all over the white squirmy object on my toothbrush. Upon further investigation, this “protective case” has become a home and breading ground for dozens of maggots.

Before you begin to question my sanitary habits, let me tell you that I have been working at a camp in Nosy Be. While this beautiful island has an Italian equivalent of Club Med, cold beer and good pizza, is home to 10 lakes and obviously surrounded on all sides by water, there has been a water shortage. However, sanitation must go on. I did not give up the habit of brushing my teeth but I did not always completely wash it off when I finished. To make matters worse, my approach has been to forcefully suck the toothbrush free of the toothpaste. Questions are racing my head. Have I been sucking maggot eggs into my mouth after every meal? How long does it take for maggots to hatch? When will they hatch inside of me? What will the results of these actions be? I will keep you posted.

Where in Madagascar Is Andrea Going to Live?

2007-09-08T08:31:00.000-05:00

The morning after the 9 hour joyride, I biked out to my new site accompanied by another MCA field agent. The 30 minute ride was full of mountains in the distance, a flowing river and cleaner air. I was so happy to move out of the city into a small village.

When we arrived, we were greeted by the president of the village who showed me my new house. Lucy, my PC boss, had sent me a picture of the house via email. It is true that all the houses are made out of small sticks stacked up in a row and have banana leaf roofs. Going out a limb, I figured out that the picture of the house was not the same one that I was currently being show. For one, this house already had someone living there. I was told that I could live in the “kitchen” and she would live in her bedroom.

These generous people were working to accommodate me so I decided that it would fine to share this house for a bit. The detail that I was overlooking was that my double bed would not fit in my new room. Possibly sensing my pushed enthusiasm, the villager informed me that they would be building me a new house and they would start in 2 days. Much to my surprise they determined that it could be completed in 5 days. Reinvigorated but not quite sure where they were planning on putting the new house since there seemed to be no extra space, I agreed to return in 2 days to help build the house.

On Saturday, I returned to the village to see that they in fact put up the shell of the house, 4 poles and 4 more logs for the frame of the roof. The missing piece however, was that there were no other working materials. In addition, the whole of my house could be covered in 2 ½ large strides by 3 ½ large strides. Unphased by the state of things, we spoke to the president of the area who then asked for 120,000 Ariary ($60USD) to complete the house. (Pretty cheap for a house but under PC standards the community shows its commitment to the volunteer by providing the house.) Now, a bit confused and frustrated, I asked why I was not living in the house my boss had seen during her visit but there seemed to be no understandable response; oh, language barriers! I told them I was going to do a camp all next week, needed to talk to my boss and would get back to them.

Nonetheless, I really wanted to meet some of the other community members in my new village. Neither the president nor MCA agent budged upon my request, so I went up and greeted the various people who had been staring at me for the last 20 minutes. During the last visit, I had noticed that my “temporary” shared house had 3 beers and palm wine on the porch. This time, I got to meet the people drinking it on my porch as they stumbled drunkenly through a greeting at 8:30 in the morning.

Heading off to camp in Nosy Be for the week, I decided to get in touch with my PC boss. Her plan was to come visit me and work out the situation. As a result of her visit my status has shifted from no house, no work, and no community to a possible work position that should be defined in the next week or so and definitely requires another move. Thus, the housing drama continues. Nonetheless, one mystery was solved during her visit. I was never shown the original house or visited the community that Lucy arranged because specific members of that community determined that as an outsider, I would try to colonize them and steal their land as the French had done. The challenges of being an American Peace Corps volunteer!

What did you bring me?

2007-09-08T08:30:00.000-05:00

This entry begins with a big sigh and Malagasy culture note. When someone returns from a vacation the natural question is “what did you bring me?” This request is definitely not based on need; it will come from the director and the guardian. Some of the more cleaver answers are my health, or what did you save for me. Unfortunately, I was not feeling very cleaver after my 9 hour joyride and being bombarded by requests from all staff members. Even the ones I only see once a month and surely forgot to buy something for where so happy to see me.

I pride myself on honesty with the Malagasy community. Many women tell their community they are married because they don’t want to deal with marriage proposal within the first 5 minutes of meeting any young (or old) man. I prefer to let them know its okay to be 29 and single and not need their company. Anyway, nobody’s perfect. When I left I told them I was going on a destinationless vacation. However, when my PC boss came to Ambanja during my vacation to find a new site for me, she let it slip that I was in the states. This of course raised the stakes of the gifts.

“My bags are lost”; “My bags are still in Tana” both of these statements are true but not simultaneously. However, they seem to hold off the crowd. Yes, my bags did get lost in Paris but I got them back before I left Tana. However due to weight limits on national flights, I was not able to pack everything back to my site. One lady from the office even had the nerve to say, “Your bags are not here now, but when they get here, you have to give me a gift.” Thank you development workers who have been giving things away for years. Still dreading Christmas day when my bags arrive.

120 Miles, Great Road….9 HOURS!

2007-09-08T08:27:00.000-05:00

The travel woes continue. Dozens of times I have traveled the paved road from Diego to Ambanja in about 4-5 hours. The route is the commencement of the longest infrastructural development project in Madagascar running the entire length of the 4th largest island in the world. Back in my beloved Northern niche of the island, soaking up the heat, understanding the grunts and idiosyncrasies of my dialect, I jumped into a taxi brousse with renewed energy ready to face the challenge of visiting my new site and moving in the following day with any luck. Expertly hailing a taxi to take me to the Ambanja taxi station, I was beaming with excitement. I made it back and things were going to be new and exciting yet again! Upon arrival at the Ambanja station ten boys/men came sprinting towards my taxi, opening the truck and attempting to grab my bags and screaming at me in various languages that they thought I might speak. I calmly picked up my bags and parted the sea. No taxis to speak of just drivers waiting for their lackeys to pick up people around town to fill up the car. I got in the first taxi that arrived. VITAL MISTAKE!

Driving down the same stretch of the road for literally 1 ½ hours, screaming out the window to transit looking people with bags or other paraphernalia “Ambanja, Lets go”! The route was the same, back to the station to see if any new victims arrived and down the stretch again. Almost becoming an accomplice to a murder towering high in the front seat, our driver decided he would dominate the boys/men running to the arriving taxi by simply slamming his foot on the gas landing his minibus alarmingly close to the arriving women. Clearly the lady would have no other choice but to get into his taxi. Wrong again…she simply got out of her car, shot him a dirty look and walked to another nearby taxi joining different gang of desperate travelers.

The minibus was finally overfilled with its minimum 14 passengers and on its way. Early on I became wise to the ways of the driver; multi-tasking was not a particular strength of his. While speaking to me the car would slow to a painful 40km/hr and while using his cell phone a snails pace of 30km/hr but while driving we were puttering along at a respectable 80km/hr.

His lack of multi-tasking skills was very disappointing as one of my favorite parts of the trip is watching my usual driver perform his morning routine. First, the razor is slid shyly out of the glove box followed by 15-20 minutes of running a dry bic over his face with frequent glances in the mirror. Next, 30 minutes of toothpick chewing, pushing and sucking. Only to be followed by a quick arm pit check. Shirt pulled up, hands under pits directly to nose. Total estimated time of activities…1 hour.

Yearning for the usual experience after 5 hours in the car and only 100km complete, we finally arrive at the ½ way point of the voyage. Praying the driver lied to me this time (as they usually do trying to pick passengers up) and was not really going all the way to Ambanja, I got up the nerve to ask him. Luck and time were not on my side. As usual most of the passengers got out and the search for more continues. The driver leaves the mini-bus in the care of his lackeys from this town. Our search beings with the van rolling backwards all the way down the hill we were parked on. There is a reason these guys are not yet drivers. After 2 hours of driving around town, picking up people and then their luggage we are off again. The point of tears came when 4 of us jumped in the front seat; the woman next to the driver appeared to be his next love interest. Naturally, he positioned her in the seat next to him straddling the gear shift. Not jealous of the position but yet another huge distraction for Mr. ADD, I let out a huge sigh. After 9 hours, various stops and puttering along we finally arrived in Ambanja. When I asked him his name and where he lives he asked me why. I told him it took him 9 hours to get here. His new found love responded, “Well, it’s far”. I just walked away and reminded myself this is not America.

New Again

2007-08-28T11:38:00.000-05:00

It feels so strange to be starting all over again. Would one person with a bit of sanity request a transfer to a site that they have never seen to finish out the last 6 months of their already chaotic Peace Corps Service? The answer is a resounding, echoing, reverberating NO but yours truly is about to embark on this adventure. I assure you this is not a ploy to make my mark in PC history for most sites lived in during a 2 year PC service. Before my vacation to the states, the transition seemed almost sensible, a way to get back to my ideal peace corps experience by living in a smaller village, living a simpler life less complicated by the inventions of modern man (or not so modern anymore) such as electricity and running water.

As of tomorrow, I may feel the curse of my unsettled spirit that has again uprooted me from my perfectly stable life and mansion in the city. What will it take to quell this? Maybe trying to squeeze my double bed (a single did not seem like it would do at the time of purchase) into my new 3.5x4.0meter house in the cocoa fields. Maybe trying to coordinate the movement of all my worldly items from the office to my house myself (while I was in the states and it was determined that I would move, my house was packed up and all items were relocated to my office) because PC does not have resources to help me at this point. Maybe carrying around a small notebook for months at a time to write down people’s names and tearing your mind apart to remember who they are, where they live and exactly who they are related to when asked point blank, don’t you remember me? Maybe working diligently to quelling the suspicions among the villagers that a PCV is NOT in fact a US spy, not there to steal their business (for those business development volunteers) and most importantly not an ATM machine.

Maybe I am a transition freak! The unknown, the challenges, the possibilities, maybe this is my “runner’s high”. Stay posted for the adventures of my new village.

As an important side note, all mail should still be sent to my Ambanja address. Also, reports are that I will have limited cell service in my new village. Looking forward to hearing from you.

The Jinx

2007-08-27T01:47:00.000-05:00

Yes, you are traveling internationally. No, it probably will not be smooth. You might sit next to the guy who views an international flight as an all you can drink bar, the newborn baby that has an earache or the person who probably should have bought 2 seats but didn’t. These adventures you complain about at the time but later make great stories. However, it is possible that one person can be jinxed to only one destination and in only one direction?

After an incredibly fabulous 3 ½ weeks in the US, I begrudgingly headed to the airport in TN. I purchased a flight from Knoxville, TN to Midway in Chicago on Southwest airlines. I was very concerned about this portion of my trip. Could Southwest airlines get it’s “cattle” (me being one of them) to Chicago in time for me to get a bus to O’Hare and check in for my long return voyage. Well, mothers know best and again mine was right. I arrived 2 minuets ahead of schedule, quickly found my luggage and even caught the first bus to O’Hare that leaves on the hour. AND this is where my luck ended!

Upon arrival at O’Hare I learned that my already short 1 ½ hours allotted to navigate myself around Charles’s airport in France was cut back to a slim 50 minutes. Still un-phased I spent the next 1 ½ hours people watching from the check-in line. I then proceeded through security for what I would later learn was the first of four times in the O’Hare airport. Granted, the second might have been my fault as I did not have the foresight to determine that there was no actual food inside the gates so this girl on the large American diet could wait no longer and came sprinting out of the gate. I carefully chose what I thought would be my last meal and enjoyed every bite of it. When I returned to my gate, the screen now read that our flight was going to depart at 7PM. Okay, no big deal, a free night in Paris paid for by the airline!

With little warning, the reason for the delay came charging through Chicago in the form of a powerful and prolonged storm. According to reports, trees toppled cars, wire where down, parts of the city were flooded! And here I was still chatting with the same interesting person I met hours ago, a bit tired but ready to tackle any problem. They changed our gate and minutes later a guy squeaks out that our flight was cancelled, we might be able to pick up our luggage (he is not sure where), we can get hotel vouchers (only to be told later that the WHOLE city of Chicago was sold out of hotel rooms) and we should probably return tomorrow (not sure what time, maybe we will leave at about the same time). This is when the lack of sleep and gloominess of leaving all my friends and family behind once again hit me like a freight train. Where did these people want me to go until I might be able to fly out at the same time tomorrow?

Tomorrow did come! No surprise there. However, was this misadventure just another sign that it was not in the cards for me to go back to Madagascar? When I transferred to Madagascar from Guinea it took 4 days of travel through hurricanes and other imposed problems just to traverse the continent. Is this a sign, a jinx? With my mature decision making skills, I decided the coin never lies. Heads I go back, tails I stay, enjoy the weekend in Chicago with Thomas who is planning to arrive in Chicago in a matter of hours to do the triathlon and possibly move back to Cincy. Five flips and two coins later, the universe gave me clear direction, heads only. Even an hour later, the coins fell out of my pocket and both landed on heads! FINE!

With my newfound friend and his strong influence, I was able to get on the 5PM flight on Friday versus the 1AM flight on Saturday morning that everyone else from the day before was being forced to take. As you would probably guess, my flight was delayed 2 hours, with a bonus 1 ½ on the runway. Another promise of a night in Paris! Closely monitoring the screen that displays the map, estimated time to departure and connecting flights, lady luck again struck, my flight from Paris was delayed until 11:10AM and our estimated time of arrival was 10:15! I think this was the estimate before the map showed us doing airplane stunt loops over and around Paris.

After landing at 10:30 and touring the airport via the runway, the plane came to a halt. I shot out of my seat so fast that nobody could stop me, except for the fact that the guy in Paris positioning the stairs was new and was using us as for practice rounds one, two and three. After sprinting through the terminal and accidentally avoiding passport/customs check, I finally found my way out to the bus to change terminals. Time check 10:57! One vital mistake, a big groggy from 2 days travel, I forgot that I filled up my water bottle in Chicago and tried to make it through security, there was no fooling them. So, valuable minutes ticked away as they searched my bag and properly disposed of my dirty smelling Chicago water fountain H2O. No longer a sprinter but a marathon traveler at this point, I arrived at the gate at 11:03 more than breathless only to be told the obvious…you are late! Watching as a happy family entered the plane just ahead of me, the flight attendant continued to reprimand me. Finally, so confused and shocked by my poor French she let me in after consulting with a more kind and generous employee. I was to be the last one on! Ironically, we sat at the gate for another hour.

Between meals, nodding off and a culture and history lesson provided by my seatmate from Lebanon, the 10 hour journey flew by (ha ha). Yet the inevitable finally came in the Tana airport, my baggage of course did not have the ability to run from terminal to terminal with me. After watching everyone load up their stuff, I returned to the PC Meva with only my small carry on backpack. Exhausted and not so sure about Madagascar after my usual yelling match with the taxi drivers that I was not a tourist and I was not paying the inflated price I went home and slept until noon! That evening, I was lucky enough to get a PC ride to and from the airport since the new administration officer was flying in and my baggage even came! I’M BACK! Let the adventures begin.

Visits and Visitors

2007-06-06T09:26:00.001-05:00

My last 3 weeks have been filled with visitors and travel for work. Living on the way to a lot of things but not really next to or at anything, I have received a lot of visitors ranging from my PC supervisor from Tana, the Capital, almost all 10 other volunteers in the region and even an RPCV from Namibia still vacationing after finishing his service in December. Luckily, my house would allow me to host all PCVs in the region at the same time without much hassle.

As for the work voyages, I have been back and forth to the regional capital, Diego, 3 times and to Nosy Be, tourist island extravaganza 2 times. The first two times I made the journey to Diego in the Toyota pick-up truck owned by MCA, the organization I work with. However, the most recent journey proved to be much more colorful since it was for PC. My PC site partner, Alex, had a phone number for a driver and friend. After confirming a pick up time of 5:30 AM the next morning, I chuckled to myself knowing in Malagasy time that was really 6:30AM at best.

After hearing the extended version of the Muslim prayer call because it was Friday, I grumbled, thrashed around to find my watch and rolled over. It was only 4:50AM; I had plenty of much needed sleep left. Just minutes later, I hear a car roll up outside of my house, a few seconds later, someone knocking on my bedroom window. I had just met the anomaly of Malagasy culture. This crazy driver was 30 minutes early.

I jumped into the big VW bus grabbing the front seat to avoid car sickness. At first this seemed to a very poor choice when I realized I was driving in the Lamborghini of taxis. The driver installed a very small VCD player and everyone behind me was watching Malagasy singers dance. As the road wore on and we stopped every 10k to pick people up, everyone in the back was squished at 5 to a row. However, nobody would sit up front with me since there were no videos to watch. As others were fighting to move their legs and arms that were falling asleep, I was sprawled out in front with the driver dosing off until I was awakened with a tap on my shoulder. In Malagasy, they told me to get the plastic bag shoved in the front side pocket. Time and understanding of the local language was not on my side. A small girl sitting next to Alex was vomiting on her mother’s clothes and the floor. The driver uninterested by this, began his morning routine. First he pulled out a razor and started shaving his dry face while dodging cars on the road. This went on for approximately 15 minutes. I guess he had some stubborn nose hairs. Next, the toothpick, a modified toothbrush. Stick, wiggle, suck, slurp…..20 minutes. Finally, as we rolled into Diego around 10AM, he began to smooth his shirt and examine the cleanliness. This man has been driving this road everyday from Ambanja to Diego and back for one year, only taking sick days off. It was evident that his routine was quite well established.

Karma won! The return trip was a 6 hour voyage smashed in a row carefully crafted for 3 people with a whole family: dad, mom, little sister, 10 year old brother, another PCV and I. That was the first part of the voyage. The driver got to a bigger town, lost most of his passengers and determined that he was going no further. At 8PM we were lucky to be crammed into this big white bus with people facing sideways, forwards and even 5 people standing for the final 2 hours. While easy to blame karma, the reality is that I was goofing around Diego and we missed Alex’s friend’s bus. The truly unfortunate part is that I get to do this trip again next week for MCA but there is no car available so taxi here I come.

Pictures from Homestay

2007-05-15T08:09:00.000-05:00

Eric, host brother, cutting wood for the cooking
fire.

Little brother, Bien Venue, looking a lot more
innocent than he really is.

Host dad cutting wood to make a latrine

Host mom cooking and yes her smile is always that big!!

Host sister, Francie, my favorite sister of the 3.

View from balcany of my host family's house, overlooking rice fields
and yes now I know how to harvest rice!

Posh Corps

2007-05-15T07:24:00.000-05:00

After living in the office for 17 days, the payoff came in the form of a huge gorgeous house. Days and days of disappointing house searches resulted in an attitude change. Originally, I wanted a small simple but clean house that I did not have to share with bats or rats. While this sounds easy to find the search proved to be much harder than one might imagine. By the 3^rd week, I determined that I would move into the next “reasonable” house I saw. Well, it might be a little unreasonable for me to live in a house with 3 bedrooms, a kitchen, an empty living room and bathroom with running water and electricity when the city decides my neighbourhood can have it BUT the options were exhausted. Since it’s already clear that I am not living like a normal PC volunteer working in an office with computers, generators, etc why not? I imagine that I will be the last volunteer MCA will allow to choose their own house.

After those demanding days in the office, I open my bright blue gate and stroll past my rose bushes and daisies to the entrance of my new house. I have included a picture of the house for those of you who want to see my “palace” as the other PC volunteers in the area have coined it.

NEW ADDRESS

2007-05-14T10:55:00.000-05:00

For all of you following my new address count this makes three in 16 months. This address at my site in Ambanja is:

Andrea Goepfrich, Corps de la Paix
c/o ABC Diana, Lot C 00310 Ambanja-Centre
203 Ambanja, MADAGASCAR

Feel free to send me letters and packages. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Homelessness, Goats, Sheep and Other Animals

2007-05-14T10:52:00.000-05:00

I arrived at my “small tree lined town” (Lonley Plant about Ambanja) over 2 weeks ago. This small town is triple the size of my site in Guinea. Luckily they were not lying about the trees. But the karma gods are getting me back. During training it was so cold that I only took a bucket bath once a week. These days I need at least 2 showers a day to cool off and get some of the sweat off. Living an hour from the coast sounded marvelous from the training site smack in the middle of this huge island. The reality is that it’s HOT and HUMID!

I understood that coming to work for an organization meant that I probably would be spending some time in an office. I never fathomed that I would be living in the office….literally. After 2 weeks of house hunting I am still homeless. My demands are too great. I don’t want a huge house but I want an indoor toilet. Only the vazaha (foreigners) have toilets inside and there is an unwritten rule that the house must also have 7 rooms.

Last week our office got a visit from the big boss in the capital. Just as he is leaving he casually mentions that the office will be moving to a location five hours north in anywhere from 2 to 10 months. So after painfully looking at houses for the last 2 weeks asking for one year contracts I was a bit surprised when everyone in the office seemed to already know including those helping me look for houses but never mentioned it to me. In addition, my service ends in 10 short months therefore; I will have the joy of attempting to integrate into 2 communities and house hunt 2 times for a 10 month service!!

Before coming to site I heard rumors of working with essential oils, cocoa, cloves, vanilla and ecotourism. All very exotic and exciting. You can only imagine my reaction when my first assignment is to figure out how to install professionalism into the goat and sheep exporting business. However, not to complain too much as my work took me to a very touristy area to look at greens and lettuce last week. I was able to swim in the ocean and even take a speed boat crammed with people splashing through the sea. I am living the glamorous life of working with an organization but not without paying the price of sitting through weekly staff meetings, helping create budgets, occasionally staring at the computer and submitting receipts (improperly stamped) for reimbursement. One could say this might help me transition back into an office life. I think it might deter me from ever taking an office job again. Once advantage here is that our meetings are all in Malagasy so I have an excuse for not knowing what is going on.

When the office guard asked me if I knew how to play basketball, I said yes because after 7 days at site I was sick of telling people I was not good at things like speaking Malagasy. Unbeknownst to me at the time, this innocent response would have repercussions coming in the form of practices and games. After my first Sunday game, Club Moment, asked me to play with them in a tournament in the regional capital. Hesitantly, I affirmed that I could play in the evenings because I was supposed to be there for work. As an afterthought, someone asked me my age. For some reason, I actually replied honestly. My invitation was immediately rescinded. The team is for women 35+ but they still allow me to practice with them and play in the weekly games against the young girl’s team (ages 17 to 20). After speaking proudly with various people about how I was playing with Club Moment someone immediately asked me if I had a kid. Since we were speaking English I knew it was not a language problem, so I was a bit taken back by what I thought was a random question. Apparently, I play with Club MAMA!!

Sunday after the game exhausted and sprawled out on my mattress on the floor under the window I heard a thud. I turned my head as quickly as my tired muscles would let me and a small black furry animal was staring at me from the other side of my mosquito net. When I finally got up the nerve and ran out of the room. The guard returned with me and swiftly plucked it up by its wing and casually strolled out the door. Once outside he tossed the bat just as it unhappily chirped and tried to fly away.

Easter Auctions and Christmas Arrivals

2007-05-14T10:39:00.000-05:00

This year Easter was a step-up from last year. To start with, I was in a country that acknowledged that the holiday existed. To make it even better they celebrated it two days in a row (Sunday and Monday). The kick-off to the event was a trip to the Catholic Church with my sister. She told me that mass started at 9AM so we left the house at 8:45. We were the sixth and seventh people to arrive. After sitting outside for about 45 minutes we went inside. While I know it’s not so cool for an 18-year-old girl to hangout with a foreigner who is rendered mute by lack of language skills, it’s Easter after all. I was so hurt when my sister made me unsquish myself from the row with her and her friends and move in with another host family whose volunteer was not with them. Not only feeling hurt now, I was completely confused. The man that appeared to be a priest turned into an auctioneer. When he started asking how much money for a bunch of bananas I thought was using this as a lead in to the Easter mass. Was I ever confused when people started bidding and then the man came over to collect the money! As the novelty began to wear off (30 minutes later), out comes a live chicken from the plastic bag and the mad bidding starts. The lucky winner and his whole row benefited as they got to keep the chicken at their feet for the remaining 2 ½ hours of mass. Once the mass actually began, my sister and her friends went to sit on the alter as readers and singers AND my host mom came rolling in at 10:45 to sit next to me! A happy Easter morning after all.

Three weeks ago Molly received an email from the Guinea admin saying our bags from Guinea have been shipped. Anxious, ready and willing to have this final connection to Guinea we ask the Madagascar admin every few days if they have heard anything about our bags. Finally, while in the capital for some event we ask the office staff who has email and contact with the outside world. By the next business day, we have confirmation that they are at the airport sitting in the freight area. The following business day, a PC employee attempts to pick them up. The next day Molly and I are driven from the training site to the airport in the capital to pick them up. It was determined that we had to be there in person. However, before we could make it to the airport we stopped in the office and are told there are some fees associated with the bags. Even better, we might have to pay them but we will be told for sure in 15 minutes. Neither Molly nor I wanted to ask how much it was since we had no intention of paying. Awhile later, we are told that the combined total of fees to pick them up is $1,100USD (NOT shipping just to pick them up). We are PCVs! Next step is to have the US embassy waive the fees but it will take another 24 hours to fill out the form.

The next morning we wake up at 4AM to go on a field trip so what we can be back in time to pick up the bags before lunch. We are 25 minutes late and now have to wait until after lunch. Once we get to the airport we visit 4 different locations filling out forms or getting them stamped before the PC staff member is allowed to go into the warehouse to look for our bags. After standing in the warehouse dodging forklifts and hand operated carts for 2 ½ hours we lost all sense of sanity. What we though was originally good news turned out to backfire pretty quickly. Only my items were getting hand searched and only one of the five items was mine. For the next 2 hours we watched the PC staff member run around buying forms to fill out, waiting for them to find our now lost baggage, getting more stamps on the forms and finally determining that what the shipping form said was in the box was not.

Once we finally got the bags, I was informed that an empty bag was sent to me. I was not only surprised but also quite disappointed by this unpleasant “Christmas” gift. The customs problem was that the list said there were clothes in the box but it really contained a few larger unnamed (on the form) items and an empty bag. Needless to say when I finally opened the box later that evening, I found a bag full of books, clothes and all the items I had packed. Christmas was not so disappointing after all!

Training Take 2

2007-04-04T12:16:00.000-05:00

Being a veteran trainee does not mean that you are immune to your little brother picking his nose and immediately touching you or being subject to the weekly family commitments on your day and a half off from “school”. My family is huge and I keep finding out about more of them. To date the count is 7 siblings (4 girls and 3 boys). The youngest (the nose picker) is one of my favorites. His name, Bienviene, means welcome in French. He was the accident that caused my host parents to get married. At age four he is so resilient which I learned as I tossed him over my head, held him playfully over the balcony or just tried out my Malagasy on him always resulting in the same response, a big belly chuckle.

Through the family obligations, I am quickly learning the culture. Last week, I went to a 2 Sundays before Easter celebration but it was really just a bunch of kids screaming songs into a microphone with interestingly choreographed dances. This weeks culture lessons were much more challenging. My host mom’s uncle passed away on Saturday evening. I visited him only hours before he passed on. I now completely know what people mean when they speak of the death rattle. The following day I went with the family to present my condolences and a small amount of money. Luckily, we just had a culture lesson about ceremonies so I was not completely shocked to see the deceased man lying in his bed completely clothed with a mosquito net around his head. Later that evening, we walked into his room again to the joyous singing of over 100 people sitting “indian style” or anyway they could fit into the room. It was one of the more moving experiences I have had in Madagascar. I went with my entire family including a sister that I did not know that I had that came in from the capital earlier that day. They stayed the entire night singing and giving speeches praising and reminiscing about his life. I politely bowed out after a few hours of trying to sing songs from the hymnal in Malagasy.

On a lighter note, I entered the big scary Walmart-esque store in the capital. As the PC car rolled into the parking lot my mouth dropped open. I was faced with a huge children’s merry-go-round complete with bright colors, spinning motions and music. Quickly diverting my eyes and closing my gapping mouth, I confidently strutted into the store. A quick shriek left my mouth as I passed through the entrance and was faced with more items that I have seen in one store much less one town in over a year. Books in English, televisions, rows and rows of food. I stopped counting after realizing there were over 13 different types of bottled water. I was also paralyzed by indecision after perusing the aisles attempting to find yogurt and finding a whole aisle dedicated to yogurt. Somehow, I managed to gather myself enough to buy some food for dinner and breakfast and get the heck out of there.

Training is quickly winding down for me. I will be going to my hot humid site on the northwest coast in a matter of weeks. I will be living in “temporary housing” for a bit…a room in the office. The office might be moving to Diego so I might be moving with it after 3 months. I think fate has sent me to live in the office since I have been an unproductive Peace Corps volunteer for the last 4 months.

Changes in Latitude

2007-03-17T08:14:00.000-05:00

After spending almost 3 weeks in a very small town 2 hours outside of the capital, Tana, I have determined that Madagascar is not part of Africa. Going through the beloved intensive PC training one more time has been quite a different experience.

1. My host family only has 5 kids instead of 10
2. I dread taking a bucket bath because it's so cold rather than looking forward to by afternoon
drenching
3. I'm forced to give technical agricultural presentations every saturday in local language and
am not allowed to use French
4. I will be working for MCC at an Ag Business Center up north on the west coast of the island
rather in the mountains trying to scrounge up projects
5. I'm surrounded by 30 tree hugging ag volunteers rather than development economists
6. I won't be the only white person in my town and could easily be mistaken for a tourist due to
the developed infrastructure in my area
7. Many Maligasy people are of Indonesian descent and don't identify as Africian
8. I have not seen one soccer match or heard one Muslim call to prayer roaring over the loud
speakers

Adjusting to these changes has been difficult and amazing at the same time. Molly, a Guinea G9 small enterprise development (SED) volunteer and I are the first SED volunteers in the history of Madagascar PC. We will be charged with helping to develop this SED new program. But first we must finish training and work in the field to gain experience in Madagascar.

As they say in Guinea, if God wills it, I will be at my site in 4 to 7 weeks. Rumors are that my site will have electricity, cell phone service, internet and possbily running water. If, a big IF, this is true, I will probably get a cell phone and hopefully catch-up with so many of you that have been almost strangers for the last year. I will keep you updated as the adventure continues.

New Address in Madagascar

2007-02-23T14:59:00.000-05:00

I got notice this morning that my flight will leave tomorrow at 4:25AM. I am headed to Madagascar! I will be living with a host family for 4-5 weeks while I am learning the langaugue and fun things about agroforestry.

The documentation about Madagascar assures me that the mail system is much more reliable than Guinea. Maybe it has something to do with the length of the address or the number of letters in every word. So, I would love to hear from you.

My new address for the first 4-5 weeks will be (don't let the limited time frame deter you, I am sure I will still get it after 5 weeks but I might just have a second address for my site):

Andrea Goepfrich, PCV Peace Corps
Corps de la Paix
BP 12091
Poste Zoom Ankorondrano
101 Antanarivo
MADAGASCAR

Looking forward to hearing from you soon!

Transfering to Madagascar-depending upon the cyclone

2007-02-22T02:10:00.000-05:00

It is with great sadness and joy that I pass along the news that I will be continuing my Peace Corps service as a Madagascar volunteer, I think. As I was writing this I received the news that cyclone Favio has just hit Madagascar. I will keep you posted on the plans.

I have neglected to write in my blog during the strikes, evacuation and continuing unrest in the country I love so much. The program in Guinea has been suspended with the hopes of reopening it once the country is viewed as safe and stable.

All 106 Peace Corps volunteers have spent the last 4 weeks in Mali waiting for things to calm down in Guinea. I am so proud of the Guinean people for not stepping down. During my one-year service in Guinea, I have experienced 3 strikes. Over 100 people have lost their lives since the commencement of the last strike on January 10th. While I was leaving my village, people were saying that they were willing to die to a better future. Unfortunately, this has become a reality for many in the capital and in larger regional capitals. No doubt this last strike will alter the history books for Guinea. Selfishly, I wish this were just another news story that I read and could not envision faces, friends and host family members along with the horrific black type in the New York Times.

When I left my site on January 25th, I knew I was not finished with Peace Corps. I have accepted a new and exciting position in Madagascar. Currently, they do not have the business development program in which I spent my last year working towards in Guinea. I will be working as a "guinea pig" volunteer along with another SED Guinea volunteer in Madagascar. Based on our work experiences, we will attempt to develop an ag-business program for Madagascar.

The transition will all happen very fast after over a month of waiting for something to happen. I interviewed with the country director yesterday and was given an offer which I accepted. It is probable that I will be on a plane on Saturday and living with a new host family and meeting the new training group that just got into country by Monday. Luckily, my training will be only 4-5 weeks with focused efforts on learning the local language that I will be functioning in and agricultural skills.

I will be posting my new address as soon as possible and be looking forward to receiving letters and packages.

Immersed in H20

2006-12-29T03:46:00.000-05:00

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

2006-12-29T02:33:00.000-05:00

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!!

2006-12-28T01:56:00.000-05:00

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

2006-12-17T03:13:00.000-05:00

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

2006-12-17T03:10:00.000-05:00

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.

Write me a letter...please!

2006-11-05T15:15:00.000-05:00

As most of you know the holiday season is approaching and many of my Peace Corps friends are going back to the States. However, I will be spending the holidays in Guinea. If you have a chance and would like to send me a letter my friend Kathryn Graves is willing to carry letters back for people BUT only letters. Please send me a quick email if you would like the address. I don't want to post her address for the whole world (not that I think that many people read my blog).

Andrea is Muslim??!!!!!

2006-11-04T08:15:00.000-05:00

People have anticipated evening 29 of Ramadan for endless days, hours and minutes. On the 29th night if the moon is visible the next day is the celebration of Ramadan. Luck was not on the side of Leloumians as the huge storm rollled in mid-afternoon day 29 and sat on the mountains and destroyed any chance of seeing the moon.

When the celebration finally came (day 31) moon or no moon the grand fast was broken. My friends invited me to the special place where everyone prays during the fetes (celebrations). The whole village put on their new clothes they had specially made or at least their cleanest clothes and with prayer mat in hand walked to the sacred place of prayer facing the surrounding mountains. True to the culture everything happened quite slowly. The women’s place slowly filled up as did the mens. We waited for almost an hour until the government official came with his family. Twenty minutes later he returned again but in a SUV with a running siren which they use as the town ambulance. This time he brought only men with him (the stragglers or maybe other goverment officials). Instead of the blaring microphone (that regularly echoes through my house) alerting people that it was time to pray, a drum was played. Within minutes people were standing and the prayer started.

Since I was there I figured I would pray as my friends were doing. I stood bent slightly at the waist chanted “Allah Wak Bah” and fell to my knees on the prayer mat touching my forehead to the ground. Technically, everyone was praying and would not know if I was praying “Christian-style or Muslim-style”. However, since the whole village was there someone must have spotted me. Almost 2 weeks later, people are still asking me if I am Muslim. It is with great pleasure that I tell them that I BELIEVE there is only one God and I was praying to her. I use the word God because my French is not strong enough to explain my belief in the the higher power. After the 5 minutes it takes to pray, I went to greet all the old women and any friends I saw in the crowd of nearly 3,000 people. Finally, back to the house to change out of my traditional Africian outfit (in which I look very silly complete with headwrap) and to the kitchen. I prepared bananna bread in a a dutch oven on my gas stovetop for my contribution to the meal. It was the 1st time any of my friends had ever tasted bananna bread. It received rave reviews. Sucessful cultural exchange...prayers for food!

The Reunion (Meeting in French) That Never Ended

2006-11-04T08:09:00.000-05:00

I was invited to a meeting in a village about 15k away. Feeling very unproductive I greatefully accepted something to pass another day of Ramadan. Mistake #1. I left my house at 8:30AM for a 10AM meeting. I thought the bike ride was about 1 ½ hours. I later remembered that I had only done the ride the other way which is up the huge mountain about 15k. About ½ way there I realized I was early even if the meeting would start on American time (very doubtful). I decided to take a detour to vist this beautiful side of the mountain. However, it got too step to ride anymore so I locked my bike to a tree and hiked down the side of the moutnain. After telling myself over 5 times that I really needed to turn around, I finally did. I retrieved my bike and continued on the main road riding my breaks down the mountain until my hands were sore and breaks practically rubbed away. I was not sure of the exact location but as I was stopping to ask someone in my stellar Pular where the meeting was the man that invited me to the meeting sped by on a moto. I quickly hoppped back on my bike but was quickly dusted by the moto. I rode until I saw a group of men outside the school perched in the trees chopping them down in order to finish their fence.

I arrived at 11AM with no hopes of the commencement of the meeting in sight. The guy that sped by on the moto had now disappeared and would come back in an hour to start the meeting. After hanging out a bit he finally reappeared and his first words to me where...Did you fall off your bike?” Apparently he did see me as he wizzed by. I look a bit dirty even though I had slid my pants off and wrapped myself up in an ankle length skirt appropriate for the meeting BUT had no new scrapes, bruises or black-eyes to speak of.

When the meeting finally started the school room was packed with about 100 women, men and children. The Director of the Primary School was assigned to translate from Pular to French for me. He worked so dilligently for about 4 hours when he realized I had grown tired of the long speeches with little new content. The group spent over 1 hour talking about increasing the union membership dues but still had not decided what to do with the last years dues. Now you understand why I found much more entertainment in watching the people spit on the floor of the classroom since it was Ramadan they were not allowed to eat or drink anything which includes swallowing their spit. I also spent some time examining my translator’s outfit. As a well respected memeber of the community he was wearing appropriate clothing however funny we find it. As is the fashion he had on a men’s style American green pair of pajamas accentuated by pink trimming on the sleves and breast pocket. This outfit was accessorized with a black and red 2 tone “50 cent” hat supporting the american rapper. The most disturbing scene however was the sick baby chocking on her own mucus while the mother blew on her face to make her stop crying. When this failed she stuck her breast in its mouth to feed her. As you can imagine the baby promptly threw-up the milk and the women was asked to leave for causing such a disturbance. An hour later I could not tell if I was having nightmares about this chocking or I was still hearing it. When we finally broke the meeting for 2PM prayer, I realized that woman was standing outside the room the whole time.

The prayer time came as a huge relief. I snuck around the corner to drink the last of my litter of water. Unfortunately, I had not planned very well and did not bring food or a sufficient amount of water to what I thought might be a 4 hour trip turned into an 11 hour voyage. I watched as the men lined up for prayer and about 70 women fell in behind them wearing headwraps ranging from traditional fabric to tye dye material to a plaid wool blanket. Shortly after prayer, a verbal fight broke out about the NGO taking out the wire fencing (which is really expensive here) that they put in a year ago to a very unproductive group of farmers. At this moment, I decided to slip out as quickly as posssible. To my dismay, I heard my name along with a string of Pular phrases. I was being applauded for not participating in a the argument and remaining in my seat. About 15 minuts later it had calmed down and I was able to slide out with a few others. It helped that my translator (new friend) got so frustrated he left. As I was leaving, the guy in charged (who invited me) takes me to the side tells me in a whisper that he is leaving the country unbeknownst to anyone else and can I please help this group!

I will not bore you with the horrible details of my painful ride up the moutnain while accidently nearly participating in Ramadan without food or water Neeedless to say, I did a lot of pushing the bike and laying flat on my back on the side of the road talking small breaks. I rode into Lelouma stopping at the first small shop that sells cookie type crackers a few kilometers out. I was riding slowly and stuffing packets of cookies into my face just as the sun was setting. Another good day!

Riding on Taxis

2006-10-03T05:42:00.000-05:00

No, that is not a grammatical error. I had my first experience riding on top of a taxi. Before you determine that I am crazy and that it is not safe...read on. A US car that seats 8 has the great advantage of being an 11 place car plus children/babies and any random live animal that someone bought at the market. Often times it is safer to ride on top of the car as the risk of the door flying open and you falling out of the car to your death is greatly reduced. In addition, much more picturesque, airy and safer than you think as the car cannot go over 15mph due to the condition of the road. AND who has not tried car surfing before which is clearly more dangerous.

It has been awhile since I had ridden my bike from Lelouma to Labe. I guess it's true that the first thing to go is memory. I forgot how hard it was to bike up and down the mountains on the washed out road with big rocks and rain troughs. After 15 HARD k of biking, sweating, cursing and a quick calculation of 47k left, an angel appeared behind me in the form of a Guinean bush taxi puttering up the mountain. A few minutes earlier I pulled off my bike helmet, dismounted my bike and began the 20-30 minute push up the biggest mountain on the route. My site's beauty comes at a price.

The taxi pulls over, a few words are exchanged, I hoist my bike on top with the 2 other guys and I climb up the back of the car. The car takes off as I am finding a place to settle. I strike the pose of a cowboy trying to ride a bull. I grab the metal bar mounted on the top which happened to be in between my legs. As I am getting settled, I realize it is not a bull that I am sitting on but rather a live goat. The goat seems to agree with the situation so I settle in and enjoy the beautiful valley views for miles until I am forced out of my admiration to deal with the present.

The goat changed it's mind and is now making a fuss, trashing, screaming and generally unhappy. My 2 fellow toppers calm the goat but I wonder if it is trying to tell me that maybe it needs to stop to use the bathroom. So I decided to ask the question I really don't want to learn the answer to. My compatriots decide they don't understand the bleeps that the goat is making so they just press on it's stomach to determine if there is anything in the waiting tank. Not sure if goats work the same as humans but I learned from my very knowledgeable friends that if you are in fact constipated that running your stomach in a circlular manner will help to relieve the problem. I held my breath, endured the bumps and watched as my new friends stabilized my bike as it dangled over the edge of the car and the mountain. Knowing somebody was on my side that day, the car rolled to a stop at the next village and I jumped off without crap on my face or anywhere else. Biked the next 40k to Labe calmly and contenly.

Fortunately or unfortunately for the interest of this story my ride with PC from Labe to Conakry yesterday was much less eventful. Hope to have the same luck tomorrow when I head back up-country.

Now What Does that Mean

2006-09-30T06:07:00.000-05:00

The summer vacation from school has brought visiting relatives, friends and high government officials back to their old stomping grounds. New life has been breathed into Lelouma and with that comes more 1st time sightings of the white woman in the village. 99.9% of all coversations follow the following script (M=Me and T=Them)

T-What is your name?
M-My name is Mariama Diallo. (to the Uof Kentucky Mary’s, how could I not take a form of our name)
T-Are you French (said with disgust and thoughts of colonization) or American?
M-American
T-(Sigh of relief!) What are you doing in Lelouma?
M-I am a PC Volunteer working with small and medium businesses
T-(muffled laughter) Small and medium businesses in Lelouma (untone with all of 12,000 people in Lelouma) What does that exactly mean?

Well, in the last few weeks it has meant:
-Planting “the miracle tree” Moringa for the leaves to be eaten in a sauce and the chilren, women and families to be norished with more viatmens than their bodies are used to in one week.
-Carrying 8 HEAVY trees in large plastic “bags” filled with soil in a bowl on my head for about a mile to reforest the land
-Shelling over 750 peanuts with the family across the street that I often eat with to make into peanut butter using their handheld grinder
-Playing soccer with the kids while waiting to carry the trees
-Having a meeting a day about projects actually related to my work only to learn that I might be able to commence them after Ramadan.

My Months Medical Mania

2006-09-30T06:05:00.000-05:00

There are 2 types of healthy, Guinea helthy and everyday all is functioning well healthy. Before last month I prided myself on the fact I was truely healthy. After experiencing a few days of sharp pain commencing at one tooth and radiating throughout my mouth I took advantage of the fact that I was in Conakry and went to see the Chinese dentist. The Guinean dentist would have just pulled the tooth because that is what you do here when you have pain in your mouth. Well, my Chinese is almost all but forgotten and she definitely did not speak English. So we resorted to French, the official language of Guinea. One does not learn the word for cavity, root canal, slight dull pain when you tape that metal instrument on that tooth in French PC language class. Only slightly better than the Guinean dentist, after 5 minutes I walked out with a perscription for some drug and a promise to pull the tooth in 10 days if the anitbotic did not cure the “infection” in my mouth. I spent over 20 some days popping 3 pills a day. So you are thinking they must have taken all of my teeth out, not so. I am a girl of variety.

Also while in Conakry I knew I was pretty sick when I could not finish conversations with loved ones without having to hand the phone to a friend for a few minutes while I did the 200 yard dash to the bathroom. The medical units soultion to this is for us, PCVs, to poop in a cup and if we are lucky it is lab day and we hand them the fresh stuff to look at under the microscope. Luck was not on my side so I got to transfer a small portion into a vial filled with something to preserve it just until they had a chance to examine it.

Sitting in my house 2 ½ weeks later PC comes for the month mailrun. A sprecial treat was in store for me which was easily identified by the brown paper bag that is unique to only the PC medical unit in Guinea. I quickly ripped it open and learned from the letter in big bold letters that I was the proud owner of “Entamoeba Histolytica Cysts (“Amoebas”) and Blastocystics Homlais (“a closely related parasite”). To complete the care package was 10 more days of drugs, rehydration salts in case of “modified stools and /or persistant diarrhea” and the chance to poop in a cup after finishing the treatment to ensure all of my friends had left me.

Not sure what made me think my medical luck would change when my trip back to Lelouma started with a scene out of the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Appartently, the all healing Windex of Guinea is perfume. After the SUV/taxi stuffed with 20 people and kids broke down for 3rd time between Labe and Lelouma (37 miles) I decided to take advantage and snuck off intothe woods to relieve myself. Trying to be discreet, I went to great efforts to camoflague myself and be modest, too great it turns out. I came back with a few deep scrapes on my arm. Of course I was not the 1st to notice. My neighbor muttered something to me as he must have noticed the pool of blood that had accumulated on his bag resting on his lap. He kindly offered me some perfume. Now, I did not shower that AM but I was a bit offended that he thought I was the one stinkinig up the sardine-mobile. Seeing the hurt in my eyes, he pointed out the cuts. At this point, I knew I must not have understood his French and what he was really offering me and why. Now it was his turn to shoot a hurt glare at me with the perfume bottle in hand. Thinking I rejected his certain brand, others began digging in their bags for a “fresher scent”. Cultural confusion strikes again! Apparently, perfume made it to Guinea before the NGO first aid kits.

Racing Towards Ramadan

2006-09-30T06:01:00.000-05:00

By the time you read this, Ramadan will probably have started (Sept. 24th) but as I write it is still 10 days away. Villagers are beginning to speak of the month of Ramadan when 99.9% of my village will not be eating or drinking anything from sunrise to sunset. In addition, women will contine to work in the fields, clean the house and prepare the evening meal to be eaten at sunset, midnight and 3AM.

The questions have already started as to whether I will be fasting because the volunteer before me did. The best answer I have heard to this is question came from a missionary through another volunteer, “that is between me and God.” It has become painfully obvious that I will not be able to do trainings, teach classes or in fact work with people that are hungry (if they are anything like me when I am hungry). I am in the process of putting together a plan to occupy myself during this month. Orginally, I through I could work with the students but found that children from ages 10-15 fast on a rotating schedule that they determine themselves. Also while learning the rules of Ramadan I discovered that pregnant and nursing women who choose not to fast must do “make-up time”. In addition, I was become so curious as to why I was receiving so many wedding invitations. Appartently, it’s bad luck to start the year (Ramadan) without a wife. Therefore, girls as yourn g as 15 are getting married in my village.

Decided to take a few people up on the invitations. The traditional wedding that I will describe below is quite different from weddings in the US. For starters, the groom was not there at all the weddings I attended. People rolled in througout the day and were fed as they arrived, heartily I might add. I ate 3 times and was offered over 6 different rice and sauce combos in lesss than 3 hours at one wedding. In the late afternoon, the women formed 2 circles and began to dance the traditional dance of the region. Some women danced, other sang while a few used big aluminum rice bowls (turned upside down) as drums. As the women danced the surrounding women tucked money in the dancer’s headwraps which I belive is gifted to the new couple. It is inevitable that the one white person at the wedding (the only one without rhythm will get pulled into the middle). There was also another small hut whre the young people 8-25 years old danced and sat listening to music. A scene very similar to a middle school dance.

After a few house the bride was carried to her new husbands’s grandparent’s hut. Her arrival was announced by a gun shot and she was then wrapped in white sheets and carried to her new inlaws hut. Friends of the bride followed with rice and various other gifts. Upon arrival, another gunshot into the fields. The final gunshot sounded to “consumate” the marriage as her new family accepted the gifts.

Egg-cellent

2006-09-30T05:55:00.000-05:00

Conakry, the mecca of all food that is good in Guinea. Good is a standard that requires definition. Admittedly, my tastes have been altered since leaving the US. Loosely defined, good food for me is something that has not been hit for hours with a wooden stick until it has the consistency of Elmers glue. With all that siad, I find myself wondering why I am standing in front of a market landy in Conakry asking for eggs. Eggs, something widely available in my village which often goes unappreciated by me. Why did I not choose to get ice cream, Chinese food, pizza, fresh fish from the ocean and the list could go on and on. All of these choices unique to Conakry and a must for every capital visit.

I rationalize that I am asking for hard boiled eggs and surely the women in Conakry have a secret receipe for making the best hard boiled egg in Country. I further comfort myself with the fact that this maket lady is Pul and I have not practiced my Pular in days. If I don’t ask for hard boiled eggs in Pular surely FI will forget how to say it when I get back to my village wich would be complely and utterly embarrasking. Moreover, I don’t need a bag so I am saving the environment. I quickly congratulate myself on al of these acomplishments as I stuff the hard boiled eggs in my pockey and use my steller Pular to buy fried sweet potatos.

Sitting on the porch at the Conakry house I am relishing my sweet potatos and praising myself for my good deeds and commitment to learning the local language of my region when I feel something a little damp slide down my leg. Thinking to myself, I don’t remember feeling sick and we have all surely learned our lesson about letting those little one squeek out. I roll up my pant leg for further investigation. It appears I have been slimed like the Ghost Busters. I realize that my good deeds are coming back to haunt me. Yes, maybe my Pular skills are not as superb as I originally estimated and the secret receipe for hard boiled eggs does not in fact require the women to put them in boiling water at all.

Of Mice and Women

2006-09-25T12:45:00.000-05:00

After settling in on a cool Fouta night, within hours I was rudely awaken by a sharp pain that commenced at the big right toe and radiated the lenght of the foot. I sprang from my bed, detangling myself from the mosquito netm to see what was the matter. Only to color my cement floor blood red as I searched in vain for a flashlight. Before the light radiated off my tye dye sheets, I discovered a small animal psychotically running the length of my bed.

In my best Nancy Drew saunter, I approaced the bed but the animal seemed to notice and was approching me quickly. Would it like to sample another body part? I lost my confidence (that nevered happened to Nancy in the novels) and retreated to the living room to spend the rest of the night on the other side of 2 closed doors.

After many sleepless hours, a glimpse of morning light and the need to use the bathroom brought new confidence to re-enter and re-claim my space. Slowly, I entered the 1st door and closed it behind me with a small squeek, then the 2nd door only to sight a huge rodent like creature with a long tail training for the 100 meter dash along the backboard of my bed. When it heard and saw me, it looked straight at me and in decoded rodent language it dared me to chase it as it disappeared under my bed. When he chose this location I knew he had won the battle BUT I would win the war. Honestly, where do you hide all your excess items in a quick attempt to clean up your room? He had been studying the ways of the human.

Again, I retreated back to the living room to eat breakfast and nourish my body for the long chase that would follow. Full of oatmeal and confidence, but not too full as to loose my quick step, I began to tear through my house in search the guest that just was not happy with food scraps and prefers body parts. After 30 minutes of destruction my rooom looked as though a hurricane had hit and yet no rodent siting yet. I refoucused my efforts fro the hallway/storage room connecting my living room to my bedroom. I carefully picked up an empty bakpack and something lounged towards me. Reluctantly, I admit that I scread like a 7 year-old child who has just experienced her 1st haunted house and ran for the door. Well, the rodent is on my heels or perhaps the other way around. He takes refuge inside my small portable stove. I grab a stanick from the year to protect me and contine the scavenger hunt. After much coxing, this animal in a hopping/running combo exists my main door. Running after it, I watch as it climbs into the side of the roof of my house seeking shelter from the crazy lady with the stick. As I breathe a sigh of relief I think to myself, does it have an undiscovered entrance?

Some say lightening does not strike the same place twice. Technically, I would agree. The last time I was bit by a rodent it was on the second finger of the right hand in Virginia while hiking the Appalachian Trail. I guess some people have all the luck!

Do you have what it takes?

2006-08-24T19:38:00.000-05:00

The ice has been broken and my first visitor from the US has come and gone (in one piece)! Serenity arrived at the end of July and dared to spend almost five weeks in Guinea. As Murphy's law would have it a few things that have not happened to me in Guinea yet went down during Serenity's first week here. Below are a few highlights:

Transportation
Feeling very lucky that we just scored a Peace Corps ride in an SUV from Conakry to Labe (10 hours) I smugly settled in for one of the easiest rides up country, or so I thought. The reason we were able to get the ride was because the AGFO Director was going to Labe for work/vacation and taking his kids. Some volunteers, Serenity and I and 5 kids settle in the back for the ride. We make it less than 40k out of Conakry and we have our first kid throwing up. Some of you know that I have a complex about seeing, hearing or knowing that someone is throwing up. To make a long story short, 4 out of the 5 kids threw up at least once with one throwing up three times and the oldest throwing up in a not very strong plastic bag in the back of the SUV. About 1/2 way through our journey I lost it and started pushing the Dramine on all the kids. This strategy worked!!!

After getting to Labe we spent a few days there and decided to go up country. We left Labe on a Saturday morning in a bush taxi. Serenity seemed unphased by the fact that three very strong men has to push the car out of the taxi station in order to get it started (this is not unusual). However, less than 15 minutes later we all hopped out of the car and the driver replaced our bad tire with a new tire. We maybe made it another kilometer down the road and we had to fix the tire again. This time another taxi cab driver stopped and we changed tires with him. All 10 of us pile in the car again and we are off. Now we make it 1,000 feet and we are stopped again. I have lost confidence in the driver as he wants us to get back in and drive to the next town on the bad tire. Serenity and I grab our bags and start the 7k hike back to Labe. Within 20 minutes a car complete with a full set of salon furniture on top stops and tells us he is going to Lelouma so we jump in. He however forgot to mention that he was taking the furniture to a small village off the main road where the path was more like a hiking path than a driving path. After a few close calls driving through the mud and dodging trees we watch as 3 very strong men hoist a couch and a few recliner type chairs off the top of the roof. Needless to say, we did eventually make it to Lelouma before nightfall but after a full dayÂs adventure. Before this trip, my record longest time was 3.5 hours to get to Lelouma.

Lelouma
We spent about 2 weeks in my village and in less than 2 days Serenity was more popular, well liked and more fluent in Pular (the local language) than I could ever hope to be. All the men wanted to know if she was married, she became a princess for a day as one lady who sells vegetables at the market took her all around the Lelouma market looking for new leather sandals for her and then put henna on her nails and hands for the evening cap, she was invited to a Christian baptism, asked to see all the newborn babies in the village and was courted by the 11 year old boy next door who came to visit 5 times a day. When I could tear her away from her social life in Lelouma, we did mundane things like going to the swimming hole, hiking to waterfalls and washing clothes/swimming in the river.

Adventures in Guinea
After a few weeks in my village it was time to see some of the other wonders of Guinea. We biked around the Fouta to visit other volunteerÂs sites and take in some of the natural beauty, fresh air and stunning green landscape that the rainy season has brought. After our 3 day biking tour we headed to Doucki, the most developed eco-tourism location in Guinea. We were treated to great hospitality, English speaking guides, good vegetarian Guinean food and amazing hikes. All of our hikes were amazing but the one that made my heart leap and body shake with adrenaline was when we crossed a rushing river holding hands only to hike down the side of a waterfall. If that was not enough, we were able to swim near the top of the rushing waterfall being very careful not to let the current push us over the edge to the 100 foot drop-off. As not to be biased towards Fouta, we stopped in the Basse Cote for a few days and tried to discover mining town and lakes near another volunteers site. However, rainy season was in full swing and Serenity has treated to wet and mold clothes to cap off her adventure and days of endless rain in Conakry.

New Site Mate
Sadly, my closest neighbor at 56k away is no longer serving as a Peace Corps volunteer. However, as of the end of September, there will be 2 white people in my village. A new volunteer, Brian, a Chemistry teacher is moving to Lelouma.

IST & Conakry

2006-07-23T04:24:00.000-05:00

In the huge city of Conakry for a few days after spending 7 days in Mamou for training. Had an amazing time hanging out with everyone especially those that I have not seen since leaving Conakry for my site last April. I will be hanging out in Conakry for a few days and picking up my friend from the airport on Tuesday. In the meantime, I will wait impatiently and eat Chinese food, pizza and ice cream. This is the really tough part of the service :) Sending out some pictures later today for all of those interested.

Stripes but no stars

2006-07-15T13:40:00.000-05:00

Prisioner in my own home and victim in my bathroom. Now that I have your attention please settle in for a less dramatic story than you might be expecting. Got back from chutes de sala after visiting the gigantic waterfall (much bigger now during the rainy season that in April) only to find my mango tree was greatly diminished and the already too big brick wall around the compound was being elevated into the heavens. I am not one to fight change but living in a developing nation you get used to things staying the same. I was completely exhaused when I arrived home after a 4 hour bike ride that started after my waterfall adventure and finished with me splashing thorugh puddles (somehow I managed to miss the storm) and pushing my bike up mountains for the last 15k. My only option to get home that day was to ride my bike home the route that even taxis won’t take because it is too mountaineous and the road is washed out due to many rainy seasons with no repair. So you can only imagine my reaction when I arrived home mudstreaked and tired on the busy marketday of Lelouma to this scene.

Now for the attack in the bathroom. Let me just start by saying that they should never allow Guineans to put real western toilettes in a house. Many of you might be saying what is this spoiled girl arguing about. When I arrived to my site in Februrary, the first thing the lady next door told me was not too poop in the toilette. Of course, they did not teach us the word for poop in language training so I had no clue what she was talking about. She went on to explain poop in as many simple words in Frech as she could. Finally, I understood and heeded her advice. Well, after the attacks in the family’s bathroom (outdoor latrine) I had to use my toilette. So about these attacks, the air is so thick with mosquitos the minute I open the door I cringe at the idea of dropping the drawers (sorry if this is too detailed) but usually I wait until the last minute and it is an emergency so either get bitten by the mosquitos or poop my pants. I USUALLY choose the bite. This week I decided to do something about the mosquitos in the toilette. I tried to tell my family that the mosquitos breed in the water at the bottom of the hole in the toilette and that we should cover the hole as recommended by PC. Furthermore, some mosquitos give you malaria when they bite you. Well, I was surprised to learn that corn brings the mosquitos and that you get malaria from eating mangos and avacados (since they are both in season now). To make a long painful story short, my newly purchased toilette cover is sitting in my house and I have to pull up about 4 buckets of water a day to flush things down my toilet which usually results in the water leeking out the side.

On the bright side. I have finished 3 months at site and have training next week with all 37 people from my stage. I have not seen those from outside my regions since April..yeah for reunions. After that, Serenity is coming to visit me for a month!!! Yeah for the end of July and August.

Furniture=Customer Service with a Smile

2006-07-07T14:24:00.000-05:00

As some of you might know I have been living like a bachelor, namely like the volunteer before me, without furniture except the one table and four chairs that the community is required to give you and of course the bed. As a side note, I really only have two chairs and two small stools which is usually ideal but not so much when you try and eat dinner with more than two people around the table. The third or fourth person is forced to kneel on a stool or sit on a big water jug as you can also probably imagine is not very comfortable.

I decided to rememdy my furniture situation about a month ago when I was in Labe. I ordered a couch and a shelf. I went with my friend Tor and Melanie, a G9er who had ordered furniture from these people with great success. Tor and I painfully looked through all the pictures and picked out the bamboo couches and shelves we wanted. They quoted us an unreasonably high price so we started to make requests to modify and simplify the furniture to drive the price down. After about an hour and a half of explanations and price negotiations we put down some money and described for the 5th time how we would like to modify our piece based on the picture. We stated that we would be back in a month to pick it up and they assured us it would be done.

A month later Tor went back to check on it and amazingly it was almost done. She went in the morning and they promised that it would be done by the evening as they only needed to put the varnish on it and make the sofa cushions. Tor got busy and was not able to go back that day which was almost 2 weeks ago. This is a long background to the story of the furniture that never gets finished. But yesterday could have been the furniture follie day of the year.

Tor and I got up and went directly to the furniture place (old abandonded building) at about 9. They should have been there so we waiting for a bit until we saw someone who told us they were coming “toute suite” (French translation is immediately, Guinean translation is maybe next week). So we decided to wait after about an hour but as we started to leave and the guy came rolling in. We looked at our furniture and it was in the same state that Tor found it in 2 weeks ago. By the way, the modifications Tor requested ended up on my furniture. After a long and dramatic comedic interchange including the fact that we had to pay more of our downpayment for the couch coushins they determined that they could definitely have it done by 6PM.

Tor and I started to leave the house about 5:45 to get there by 6 so we could find our furniture. Luckily, Mom called and I got to chat for a bit. When I got off the phone I practically ran to the place as not to leave Tor alone with 2 couches and 2 shelves...etc. I had these images of her carrying the 2 couches stacked on her head and a shelf in each hand. NO LUCK!!! When I arrived they were just starting to varnish the shelves!! They told us they needed to do this last and it would take 3 hours to dry. We asked if they planned on transporting them before they were dry and they looked at us like we were stupid and didn’t we want these things now, after all we were the ones pushing them to finish!!!

There was great hope as 7PM approached and all the items were varnished and one sofa even had coushins. However, dark rolled in and the tailor determined that she could not finish the cushions for the second couch this evening. They told us this and we told them in our American pushy way that it was not an option. At this point Tor, 3 workers and I are sitting on her couch with the cushions surrounded by the shelves on the outside of the abondanded building. It was almost comedic as if we set-up our living space outside the building and were just hanging out talking about why the Guinean men wanted to marry 15 year old women. Finally, at about 8:30 we determined that we did not want to wait for the last cushion and that they would carrry a few things now and then come back later in the evening with the last couch. So, we now have a train of 4 people, 1 person with a couch on his head and the other three (Tor and I included) taking all the short-cuts through people’s yards in the dark. After about 20 minutes we arrived at the PC house with 1 couch. They left with the understanding that they would return with the rest of the stuff that evening. I have to admit I was doubtful but Tor had confindence. I can honestly say it does not pay to be “Debbie the Doubter” as they rolled in an hour later with the rest of the furniture in tow on their heads. Now, the next step is to get it to my site.

So if you come to Lelouma please plan to spend a few minutes admirining this furniture. For those of you not able to come I hope to post some pictures for your viewing pleasure.

Birthday Bashes and Jellies

2006-07-07T14:19:00.000-05:00

Spent a wonderful few days celebrating Catherine’s birthday and America’s birthday. Left Labe on a Sunday on a PC ride which equates to a safe ride with people that I don’t mind being squished like a sardine with in a land cruiser. Left with Tor, Amy, Melanie, Joel, Ashley, Reid and others who were going to Conakry. Our crew got out early to meet up with Catherine and the South of Labe crew. Three days eating excellent food, hiking, playing football and soccer in the rain and of course lining people up wearing red, white and blue T-shirts gently swaying in the wind to simulate the flag and singing the national anthem. Probably just like everyone in the states passed their holiday.

Since the Guinean children had really never seen American football we drew quite a crowd even in the driving rain. There was quite a relieved look on all of their faces when we switched to their national pastime, soccer. However, the questioning look came back when they realized that we were not going to put on any soccer shoes, namely jellies. Yes, I am speaking of the pink, purple, yellow, etc. jellies that litle girls wore in the states during the summers of the 1980’s. However, these are now the real men’s soccer shoe and they only come in one color in Guinea, clear. Now some of you might think that I am joking or that these jellies are only for the casual player. Don’t be fooled, I attended many district and regional soccer tournaments in the huge stadium in Leloum (probably the nicest in the Fouta) and all of the players were wearing jellies (except maybe one or two who had family in Europe that sent them real cleats). This begs the next question, what kind of grip can you get in the grass with those things. Well, since there is no grass on the field due to dry season and all the sheep and goats that wonder into the stadium this really is not a huge concern, they seem to do quite well in the dirt and mud. So now I know all you fashion trendsetters are wondering if you need to wear socks with them. I am not one to give advice on fashion but will let you know that colored socks or random patterned socks seems to be prefered to add some color to the ensamble due to the clear shoe. This does not mean that you and your team must have the same color socks. This is one way to show your personality and differentiate yourself from those around you.

For all of those that read this far you must really be a good friend or have some interest, I have a friend coming to visit me on July 25th and if anyone would like to send a note or a small treat I am sure she would be up for brining it. Just send her a quick email for her address and to confirm she has room in the lugage. Her email address is treefrog41@hotmail.com.

Going to my 6 month training (3 months at site) in 2 weeks and will be able to see all those people in other Regions that I have not seen for the last 3 months. So excited to see everyone. Also, after that off to Conakry to pick up my friend. Communication will be more frequent in the next few weeks “if God wills it” (as they say in Guniea translated from Pular).

Also, a quick note that Guinean postage stamps now cost almost the equivalent of one day’s salary so letters might be coming less frequently from Guinea but with an American stamp from those in Guinea willing to carry them back to the states.

Mad Dash to Lelouma

2006-07-01T14:06:00.000-05:00

As I sat in the back of a pick-up truck from Labe back to site, the truck so kindly extended with benches added and covered to protect all 13 passengers in the rear from the rain, I thought how am I going to make it through another month without seeing an American. My nearest nighbor, 56k away and millions of big mountains in between us, was in actuality 3,000 miles away. I grumpily hundered down, sqeezed into the truck and prepared to the long bumpy jouney and the game of adding passengers (on the roof if necessary) and deposing them over the 65K track. I could not have been more wrong if I tried.

I arrived in Lelouma on Saturday, the great market day, to see almost five other white people in my village. I know I was gone for a week but that was a quick “porto” (white person) invasion. Come to find out there was a big concert that night with rappers singing about fighting AIDS and the white people (NGO workers) were the ones that organized it....huge sigh of relief...they are not permanent residents. Lesson learned be careful what you wish for.

Only 2 hours later, Simon and his friend, Prof., roll-up on a moto from Labe. This begins the mad dash to Lelouma. Exhaused from the trip and having gotten a matter of hours of maybe minutes of sleep the night before in Labe, I was lucky enough to spend 5 hours as a VIP in a chair slightly listening to various “artists” scream words in Pular into a mic. The crowd behind me was roped off and a few guards were attempting to control their activities, quite unsuccessfully. I woke up long enough to watch this pressing drama and wipe the my drool off my nearest neighbor’s shoulder, the Minister of Health.

The next day Simon, Prof and I went hiking a bit. They left on Sunday and by Tuesday at noon I had another visitor, Joel, who came to help out with a few agro/forestry projects. By Thursday we had food poisioned ourselves and walked over 40Kand now he was stuck in Lelouma because the strike began. We coined his visit “Culinary School Strike 2006”. After the alleged food poisioning incident, a few ruined pans, a heavily seasoned cajun spag. sauce (heavily as in almost the whole bottle) and a few other unmentionable culinary disasters we decided to refocus our efforts on exploring Lelouma and quickly made a pact to spend the next strike at Amy or Tor’s site as they both are culinary guinesses. Our montaineering school was much more sucessful as we discovered waterfalls, huge rock formations, breath-taking valley overlooks and heard and saw chimps and monkeys. In total, Joel ended up staying 12 days. On the 11th day the strike ended and a French guy that is the director of an NGO that threw the concert came back for a visit to Lelouma. So what do Joel and I do, naturally, we invite him for dinner BUT 1st take him on a hike to make him good and hungry so anything would taste good to him. I would like to report that dinner did not result in any major culinary disasters. However, as far as Joel and I understanding his true French that was not quite as successful. However, Joel was lucky enough to score a ride back to Labe with him the next day.

Two days later on Tuesday, I hear non-Guinean English being spoken (ie no screaming...I speak English small small) as a car rolls to a stop outside of my house. It was Amy P and Tor. They were on their own Guinean version of planes, trains and automobiles. They left Amy’s site at 5AM on bike to reach Labe in time to get the morning taxi to Lelouma. They were only 14 days late...Joel and I needed them during the strike. Not only did they bring yummi treats they also brought the news that the country director was coming on Monday. Amy, Tor and I did some hiking and cooking (well they did a lot of really good cooking). Their visit was short and they left of Thursday with the promise to meet up in 1 ½ weeks.

While the country director’s visit was also short it was people packed. As we walked into the head govt. official’s office in the Lelouma prefecture we found that he was presiding over a meeting of about 14 people which all felt the need to stand up and shake hands with each of us as we entered. The head official proceded to give a very moving speech about PC which concluded with him saying that he summoned people from as far as 65k away for this meeting with the PC country directory. He is a very wonderful guy and seems to appreciate PC. I am lucky to be in this community. After a few more visits to the higher-ups, a quick eval of my house and a lunch of rice and sauce (of course) the PC director was on the road and off. So now I am sure I will not see anyone until I go to Labe on Friday. By chance I was on the radio on Tuesday and got the news that the Education Program Director was some on Friday. So I went back to all the officials offices and let them know another visitor was on his way.

When I heard on Thursday that some white people were waiting at my house I was a bit surprised. I was even more surprised when I saw them and did not know who they were. More shockingly, I left my house key with them as I jetted off to Labe on Friday. It turns out they are friends of my friend Christy from Labe. Christy and her boyfriend were supposed to meet them at my house as they were riding bikes and the others took a moto. The friends slept in my bed on Thursday night and Christy and Matt did not make it until Friday AM. They ended up sleeping at someone’s house down the street, nobody would help them find my house when they arrived at 8:30PM in the rain after much drama. Since the only form of communication I have is PC radio and possibly a taxi cab driver from Labe bringing written notes, unexpected visits are the norm.

This ends the tale of the mad dash to Lelouma and why I have not slept in my bed for more than 3 consecuative nights this month. One last comment for those of you thinking I came here to work. Amazingly, this was probably my most productive work month which is shocking and a bit sad at the same time.

Life Marches On

2006-05-30T06:54:00.000-05:00

So hard to remember the highlights of the last month or so. I have sent about 22 days without American contact which does not count the less than 24 hour visit from my boss. Also, he is my boss.

This PORTO (foreigner) finally decided to roll-up her sleves and get to work. I planted a few trees and helped a group of women to plant a bunch of corn. I think they were amazed that a white woman could work that hard. I guess hard work is all relative as I was the youngest there by a good 15 years. But in all actually we got the old fashioned hoes out and prepared the land, dug the holes, carried water in buckets from nearby streams to fill the holes with water and the corn seeds. Not easy work! Luckily for the women, the corn is growning well as it is a major source of their income, as for my trees...weeeeellll, I will have to wait and see.

Rainy season has begun with a boom. Until yesterday it had rained every day for 12 days. What did this mean for me. At it’s worst it meant that I was running through the village in rushing water over my ankles. The disgusting part of this is that the goats, sheep and cows gladly roam the village and make their deposits at will. All of this “debris” was mixed in with the rushing water overtaking my sandals and lower legs. There was no avoiding it! Rainy season also means that I got to be reaquainted with my sleeping bag. As I just finished washing all my laundry in the river sheets and pillow cases included (I finally found the woman’s side) a huge storm hit and there I was carrying my wet laundry (10 shirts, 4 skirts, 4 bandanas and countless other items) home in a heavy bucket on my head.

I have a lot of work to do to perfect the carrying of heavy objects on my head. The most amusing head carrying trick is the smaller trees that the women carry after they chopped them down in the forest and use them for firewood for their “outdoor stove”. Often times you cannot deciper the tree from the person. The most outrageous siteing goes back to my first week in country when I saw a huge truck tire rolling along on a guy’s head. What a skill! I have much time to perfect this but currently am the butt of the communities jokes when it come to this topic. As I roll up to the water pump with my big bidon to be filled and attached to the back of my bike which usually requies the help of another to lift the “bungy cord” and stabilize the bike. “She has been here for 2 months and still uses that bike...!!”

After 22 days at site, I woke up at 6AM and knew it was time to go (I miss talking to my momma). I got a few pairs of “undergarmets” together and threw them in a sack with a bit of water and a small snack and ventured off on my 62k (37mile) bike ride to Labe. This adveture caused me to remember why Lelouma is so beautiful...it’s in a valley surrounded by mountains...most of which I had to push my bike up. Five long, tiring, blazing, windy yet rainless hours I arrived at the PC regional house....it was empty. The friendship that I had so badly needed was not here. Yikes, of course it is a random Monday but these minor details slipped my mind when I started off on my adventure. I scavanged the house for the phone number of the Americans who live here and work for NGOs. Thank God they were both in town and we had a lovely dinner of pizza and fries. Much deserved!

Realities

2006-05-06T05:53:00.000-05:00

It has come to my attention that I maybe I have not been giving accurate descriptions of my life in Guinea as I have tended to focus on the funny parts of my adventure and gloss over the tough ones.

My first month at site was challenging to say the least. My language skills are not strong enough to really be effective in French yet and I know very little Pular. Guinea does not have the sense of privacy that the US does and people are always coming to my house asking if I will teach them English. Kids are screaming Porto “white person” but now they call me “Andrena” which I guess that is good enough. My closest volunteer is 56k away over and through a bunch of mountains.

My normal day consists of waking up at 7AM sweeping the cement house…all of it cause it is dirty, going to the well to get water for bathing and dishes (hoping to beat the other family there because it will be dry if I don’t), going to the pump to get “drinking water” that has to be filtered and bleached, making breakfast on my two burner gas tank stove, taking a bucket bath and now I am ready to start my day.

I go visit friends or they come by to see me or if I just need company I go sit in the café which results in interesting conversation at the least, however, always with men because the women are at home working and most of them don’t speak French either. I may go visit a groupment, study French, go for a bike ride, teach a little English or read a book during the day. I am still trying to get to know people so I have been advised not to start any big projects. However, I have constructed a solar dryer to dry all the mangos that are falls off the 4 trees in my concession. It became very obvious that I could not eat all of them before they spoil the time I ate 7in one day and really did not feel well.

Next week I will be planting a special tree called Marangia that is very nutritious which is so needed for the children in the village. Mom will have to grind the leaves into a power and then sprinkle it on the food to provide vitamins. Also, hunger season is coming up so I hope this thing grows fast. The evening consists of cooking dinner or eating with one of a few families. By the time I finish it is usually dark, 7:30PM, I hang out at my house for a bit and then go to bed fairly early as there is no electricity.

Hopefully this more accurately portrays my life here.

Okay now just one quick funny story. I was walking around the one church in town trying to figure out what time mass was on Sunday when I ran into a guy that told me the time and asked if I was Christian. His very next question was "do you drink because I sell beer at my house". 90 percent of my village is Muslim so of course there are no bars and of course I said no I don't drink and no I don't want to have a beer with you at your house at 12 on a random Tuesday.

There is no place like home.....

2006-05-04T08:58:00.000-05:00

My new home that is!!! It is so amazingly beautful tucked away in a valley surrounded by mountains, rock formations, a river and a few small waterfalls which will become huge by the end of august (wet season).

A few reflections on the past month at site. You know you’re in Guinea when

=you don’t have a phone that works, the radio was broken and you had no way to finalzie your plans wiht your friends buy you take off on a 40k bikeride over and down 3 huge mountains knowing it will all work out. You are not sure where to find these grand falls called shutes de sala but you nearly ride off the side of the mountain into the falls hundreds of feet below saved only by the one guard rail that exists in guinea.

=you hike 5k in the heat of the day to look at a groupments garden (group of women working together towards a common goal) talk to them about their groupment for an hour or so and walk away with a live chicken as a “small gift”. The president works in 4 different groupments to help support the family and she gives mea figt that is workth ¼ of her monthly income. I have no intention of accepting but whe I tell this to my counterpart he says it is rude not to accept it. Now we jef off in a taxi that has stopped for us with a live squawking chicken in toe.

=You set off on a n 18 mile hike to “les eschelles” (2 gigantic ladders made of bamboo) at 10:30 wearing kakhi’s because you are with a govenerment official Neither of you know where you are going but you get to a nearby village and hire a 9 year-old as a guide. When you finally arrive hot and tired at this amazing spot the official is scared to decend the ladders and forbids you to do the same. You act like you don’t understand his French and go down anyway only to be rewarded with a spectacular view of the valley and the sight of a family of monkys playing in the trees. You make it a business trip by visiting a groupment on the way back.

=Your friend (the government official) comes by on a random Tuesday monring to let you know that you are needed at the police office...now. Not understanding why you quickly march there together. After waiting for the chief to finish his other business you are bombarded by questions ranging from your work to your age. Next you answer all the same questons for the other volunteer who lives in your prefecture but is not there. He is just getting this information to keep us safe. Only 2 days later we are awarded another trip to the police but this time with PC staff. Moral of the story, is go visit early and don’t wait til you hear the call.

=Les eschelles take 2 only this time with the PC landcruiser trashing through the forest until we could not possibly drive any further. We land about 20 minutes fro the gigantic bamboo ladders, race there (in a skirt this time), a few of us descend and then must go back. I have now seen les eschelles 2x more than most Guinean’s in my village. I should take that back, some of them saw les eschelles on tv back when there was electricity in Lelouma.

=It’s Sunday, all your clothes are dirty and could not possibly be worn again. Its dry season so your well is almost dry...what to do? Go to the river and pound your clothes against a rock of course. Although you accidently end up at the mens spot you are rewarded with reggaie music and dancing because your friend (the taxi cab driver) has driven his car into the river for a quick wash. Just a quick note that your clothes do somehow actually get clean in the river but you just hope that the cow poop has already been washed downstream.

Hope you enjoyed these few details of my life in Guinea. Stayed tuned next month for more.

And she is off

2006-04-07T08:28:00.001-05:00

I am now a full fledged PCV and headed off to my village tomorrow. Not sure if Lelouma is ready for me but I know that I am so ready for it. I am now a real adult as I will be living on my own for the 1st time ever. Who knew it would take moving to Africa to finally live alone. Over the past week and a half I have had as many as 7 roommates and as little as 2. The PC experience is all about extremes. Tomorrow night I will be all alone in a big (by Guinean standards) house and will not speak English again for another month when I come back to Labe for my monthly visit. This can only help my French…I hope!!

It was so sad to say goodbye to my friends from other regions that I will not see for another 3 months. Also over the past few days in Labe the people from my region have been slowly disappearing and leaving for their sites. So glad that PC is driving us to our sites as I probably own more than any one Guinean family does which is mildly embarrassing. Not to mislead those of you planning to visit, I still don’t have any furniture and only 1 pot and 1 pan.

Today is Friday the big day where the Muslims go to the Mosque and pray. Today I also happen to be buying things for my house. Since I don’t have any furniture I decided to buy a few prayer mats for people to sit on. My friend Ali was with me which was a huge blessing since her French is perfect. Anyway, both of us brought prayer mats. Hers happens to be one that could probably cover nearly a whole room and mine is a bit smaller. Anyway, we have been trudging them all over the city. We have gotten such strange looks. I think the Guineans believe we are going to the Mosque and probably wonder how many other people will be sharing our mats to pray with us. Just a random thought that was mildly amusing to me today.

Peace out til next month.

And she is off

2006-04-07T08:28:00.000-05:00

Tales of the 2 Boyfriends---ie my host brothers

2006-03-31T04:21:00.000-05:00

Yesterday 36 people descended upon the bank in Conakry. We were given our simple living allowance, modest settling in allowance and transportation money to get to our site. While this is a very small amount in actual dollars most of us walked out of the bank with a bag full of money. Yes, the largest currency in Guinea is 5,000GF which is equivalent to $1USD. Without actually robbing a bank, I received the high that I image so many bank robbers dream about...Emerging from a dark bank into the daylight with your hands full of actual usable cash money.

I will try not to dwell too much on my Forecariah visit but many of you might find my final evening with my family quite hilarious. The day before my 18 year old brother Bouba kept asking me to go get a picture taken with him from the village photographer. I insisted that I had a camera and would send him some photos once I begged someone to print them from the states..that is where many of you came into my plan. You will be happy to know that this will not be necessary but came at a cost to me. So I thought I had successfully avoided the situation with my response. BUT the next day, Bouba said to me we were taking a picture tonight. Just so you know, I have a million pictures of the family which include him so I am thinking this is totally unnecessary. I tell him my camera does not work well in the dark. They don't own cameras so they don't know this may not be the absolute truth.

Well, he got the last laugh. Just as I finished eating my 1st bite of oily greasy rice and sauce with fish heads..might I add with my right hand which allowed me to smear it all over my face and look like Bozo the clown...the photographer showed up to take "family photos". In my efforts to avoid this situation, I declared that I just started eating. Well, since time is not an issue the photographer sat down and waited for me to finish eating, wash my face and hands and brush my teeth. After about 30 minutes I realized he was not leaving so I gave in.

The photo shoot was ready to begin. My first photo was taken with Bouba. Just as the photographer took the shoot he threw his left arm around me and grabbed me like I was his girlfriend. WHHEEEE...at least that was over. I proceeded to take pictures with the women in the family, just the "kids", some of the "kids", the men in the family, a complete family photo with me sitting next to my mom, a complete family photo with me sitting next to my dad. Finally, I am sure this is done.....nope, my other brother, Ibraham, age 21, decided that Bouba cannot get the only boyfriend photo so he wants to take a picture where we are staring into each others eyes. NICE! Now, I am sure we are finished BUT NO Bouba cannot let Ibreham have the last photo with me so Bouba and I have 2 more "engagement type" pictures taken. Finally, I declare I am done...FINISHED!!!

Yes, I love my brothers and sure I will take pictures with them BUT my friend Sara who is staying with my host dad's brother had the same experience a few days earlier. Hers resulted in her dad declaring that she would marry her host brother and take him back to the states. I think my dad does not know which one he wants to marry me off to so I was able to avoid this situation. When asked by him who I wanted to dance with at my going away party I mentioned my mom and sister which would be the safest choices. This resulted in a comment that "girls dance with boys".

Gotta get going to swear in as a public servant and take the president's oath...well the same oath that the presidents take. Don't worry I won't let all this new power go to my head :)

Almost a real PCV

2006-03-30T16:48:00.000-05:00

A few amazing events have unfolded in the last week. The largest one being that I passed my language interview and am now "proficient enough" to function in my village. Yes, tomorrow as of 11: Guinea time I will officially be a Peace Corps Volunteer. There is a huge ceremony in Conakry not only for our affectation but also to celebrate the 45th anniversary of PC and the 20th anniversary of PC continuously in Guinea. The ambassador and many high ranking officials will be in attendance.

As excited as I was to leave Forecariah and make my way towards my site, it was also very sad to leave my family. Over the last 4-6 weeks I have become very close to my mom as I have learned how to joke with a crazy mom in Guinea. I have always liked my brothers and sisters so this was extremely hard. As a final send off 6 of our families threw a joint party on the same night. It was quite an event. They served us a really good rice dish that we all ate with our hands in normal Guinea fashion. Once we were all full another big plate rolled out of spaghetti, salad, fried bananas and bread with guac. What a treat. We all tore this up eating with our right hand off the same huge plate of course. We looked like 2 year olds just eating solid food for the 1st time. All this was of course followed by dancing. It is not an event in guinea until there is dancing. My family loves it when I dance for them because I actually do different dances than the slow Guinea shuffle. Oh Guinea!

So next week this time I will be at my site. I am so very excited but also quite nervous at the same time. Many volunteers say that it is a huge challenge just to leave their houses the first few days at site. It is another big readjustment. I have been a kid in the family for 3 months in Guinea and now I am finally an adult!! Looking forward to the beauty of the Fouta region but so sad to leave my friends that I have become so close to over the past 3 months.

Peace OUT from a PCV ALMOST!!

Je en blagueant

2006-03-11T08:01:00.000-05:00

I am joking. Yes sometimes I wonder if this anot just one big joke !! This is ana amzing exprience but just imagine being expected to show up on American time to class in a country that thinks within 2 days is on time, adding a French accent to all the English words you know hoping its close enought to the actual French word that people would understand, being told that you did not wash your clothes well enough and that your 10 year old brother must rewash them on the washing board only to lay them down in the dirt to dry. So these are just a few things that have made me laugh in the past few days.

I received my PC issued mountain bike a month or so ago. I hope to take her miles and miles with me. BUT for now I would like to just pass along a few images of me with her for those you who will not be lucky enough to see this in person. Three weekends ago I got up really early on a Sunday morning to meet up with another PCV, Tor, and ride through the banana plantations as the sun was rising. The views were amazing and we were treated to so much more than I expected. Grogily, we rode along the walking paths for about 20 minutes before we enountered our first challenge. A bridge over a very steep gorge filled with water made of only twigs. Well, what else should one do but pick the bike up and gingerly walk across the bridge praying it will not break and you don’t step on the loose stick. This process happened 3 times and I would love to report that we were both successful on all 3 bridges. The amazing morning was topped off my a brunch of fresh mango, pineapple, oranges, bread and avacodo before we headed back to our families to do Sunday chores which involves washing clothes (see above).

My second African biking adventure with Tor occured the follow weekend. We set off on a path towards the diamond mines. It looked promising for beauty but was well travelled as everyone was heading off to work at about 8 on Sunday AM. We managed to maneurver around the people until we were literally taken to a dead stop in the middle of a small river (thank god its dry season). The river was not so deep so we thought the best approach would be to just bike through it. Appearently not!!! Tors bike got stuck in the mud, then so did her flip-flop, then so did her leg, all told it took about 5 minutes to get her and the bike out of the middle of the muddy river. This was not Tors day as about 10 minutes later when we stopped to rinse off at a larger river she was attached by some biking ants. After the little kids of the nearby village showed us the cool places to go and we were able to wash off and relax. We biked a bit longer but eventually had to turn around and was faced with the challenge of going back through the muddy river. This time we found 2 Guineans heading off to work who just grapped our bikes and literally ran them across the river. I sucessful jumped on a few rocks and managed to stay mostly dry. When I got to the other side I looked up and saw Tor on a random Guinean’s back!!! That was a surprising site!! This concludes our biking adventures with the promise of more as we have another planned for tomorrow.

On the topic of sending and receiving mail. All of Guinea (government offices) were on strike 2 weeks ago. This included the taxis, teachers, post-office, etc. So as you can imagine the PeaceCorps Trainees were the only people doing anything in the city of Forecariah and probably the only ones doing anything in the country. The strike was fueled by the fact that the gas prices went up again and inflation is drastically increasing and the worker’s wages have not increased at all. The demand was that salaries be increased 4times. Due to my poor French, I do not know the result of the strike but have heard that the government promised to double their salary in next months paychecks. Strikes like this have occured before but none have actually lasted this long. Currently, a bag or rice costs 105,000 GF while the teacher’s salary is only 140,000/month. Without much higher math you can see the problem. As not to get political, I will move on and let you know that I have sent letters but they were probably slowed by the strike as has been all incoming mail.

So in 2.5 weeks as of 3/31, if all goes well, I will be a Peace Corps Volunteer and shead my old status as a Trainee. We have a swear in ceremony of the 31st and will be hanging out in Conakry for a few days prior. After swear in I will be in Labe, my regional capital, for a bit. Both of these cities have email and phone. So this is my long way of saying buy your phone cards or send your emails, I will be around to talk and send responses. Also, to let you know I do not have email at my site in Lelouma but will be going into Labe at least once a month to check email and do administrative things. In addition, any mail should still be sent to the Conakry address and will be delivered to my house once a month by PC during the mail run. Finally, I will post some pictures next time I get online.

Thanks so all who have sent letters, packages or just kept me in their thoughts. My thoughts are with all of you.

The Village Surrounded by Mountains.....

2006-02-24T05:51:00.000-05:00

Lelouma…when I rolled into the village in a bush taxi filled with 16 people (a car that would seat 8 in the states) it was breath taking. I guess that would be if I wasn’t already holding my breath so I could fit in the car! The village is surrounded by mountains in all directions. I found my heaven in which I will call home for the next 2 years. I had my concerns after meeting my counterpart also fondly known as the fairy godmother because of her shiny pink outfit complete with head wrap BUT all that faded away as we rolled over the mountains on our way in.

So my 1st day there was quite eventful. Actually, I didn’t get there on Sunday as planned because there were not enough people to fill the taxi when I arrived in Labe at 1PM. I guess all 14 were holding out for the next day. Anyway, my counterpart and the people I kept meeting didn’t seen to know where my house was. A slight problem but just a matter of time before I met the right person. Little did I know time was of utmost importance for this situation BUT I will get to that. We got out of the taxi and my counterpart insisted we start meeting the officials. Well one of the officials correctly pointed out that I was dirty and needed to go home and change before I met anyone else. So my counterpart trudged me to her house where I took a bath and (bucket that is) and put on some clean clothes. I knew we were going to some community event at 4PM. We left the house at 4:15 and stopped to greet a ton of people and arrived @ 4:55. This was no tone bit of a problem since all of the chairs in the fromt6 were empty and only the children and women were there. Still not sure what the event was for or if I had to speak I stood around and waited. At about 5:30 150 people packed the lawn and the front porch “stage” was almost full.

Apparently not enough as they invited me to sit on stage with the officials as their key white person not to mention only 1 in the community. The head official arrives and the event begins. One person speaks in French which is then translated to Pular. I understood very little and after 1 hour I was still unsure what the occasion was but by this time sure it was not me. Suddenly I was jerked out of my daydream when I heard “Madam Andrea avec le Corps de la Paix”. After several seconds which felt like 20 minutes of freaking out, I stood up and gave the token Guinean 2 handed wave and sat right back down. Now that I know the reason for the event I am pretty sure that was the correct action but at the time I was not so sure. A few more speeches drag on and event is over. Afterwards still clueless I ask my counterpart and she tells me it was for the installation of the mayor. The may is probably the most important people in the community (also important information for later in this story).

The whole community parades to the Mayors house for greetings. At this point, I finally find someone who knows where my house is (btw this is not a big town, it should not have been that hard since the PCV I am replacing lived there). Before I can see my house we eat the staple food of my region with the Mayor and his family. Next we visit my house which is awesome. There is another family that lives within the same walled area as I. They determine I cannot stay there because it has not been cleaned. I ask my counterpart and push the issue to at least stay at the maison de passage BUT she will have none of that. Normally that would not have been a huge issue but her toilet is 5 houses down. This later becomes an issue. I will spare the details but just say I have not been that sick in country yet as I was that night. She is freaking out and decided we have to get medicals help. In her panic she also decided that the food at the mayor’s house made me sick and then the next day tells all the officials. I am pretty sick still the next day and need to get to my house where there is a toilet nearby. In my desperation I ended up walking 20 with all my baggage. The other alternative was for her to find my family so they could send a car which would have taken hours.

I had not yet met some top officials and was not up to the walking so she decided it was a good idea to bring them to me. I was laying in my bed feeling really rough when slowly they started arriving. They are all very concerned about what I will eat and my health. I spit out a few phrases about how beautiful Lelouma is and crash back in bed.

The next day I am healthy and able to really appreciate Lelouma. I sat with my family (all women) in the AM for a bit. Sat being the correct phrase as only 1 of 6 speaks French. After that I went for a walk and t6ook some pictures of the village. I will probably post these in March. No mater which way I walked I ran into trees, steep rocky cliffs and soaring birds. Life is perfect! I took a quick walk through the market and met a guy that had to come to my house the day before. He took it upon himself to entertain me for the day and evening. I met everyone and anyone in the community. I ate lunch with thee director of women’s promotions visit 3 different women’s groups just to name a few highlights. I came home and ate right and sauce with my family….yeah they don’t eat a ton of fish in the Fouta. I also spent a lot of time that day explaining it was not the food that made me sick…it was the water.

Right now I am hanging out in Labe and enjoying the luxury or a real shower, flush toilet sometimes, internet, pizza, beer and the ability to receive phone calls. It is back to the training site tomorrow. I finish training on March 30th and will be sworn in an official PCV!!! After that back to Lelouma for me!!!!

Faire du Sport

2006-02-17T14:38:00.000-05:00

If there is one think that has made my host famaily dad proud of me in the last month it was that I was going to faire du sport… « play sports » or in my case go running. I am not sure if it was because I finally got out of bed before the other women in the house finished sweeping the dirt in the front and back yard or because the neighbors saw his fote “white person” running around the neighborhood at a really riduculous time in the morning. In any case, I know the reasons are definitely not that I run around in shorts that don’t cover my knees (thights are considered highly sexy here) and that I might burn calories and maybe loose a pound or 2. In fact, my family drew the conclusion that I was getting fatter after starting my expercise program.

It was a weekend, a time to relax and shake off the business of the week and kick back. After coming in from a French study session (I am sure that is what I told them) I greeted my fater as usual in appropriate Guinean fashion. We have this routine down by now BUT today he hit with a new one. He said (in French) Ma Youla you are so fat. So after 3 weeks of living with my family I am suddenly fat. Me taking my laid back weekend approach said okay, thanks in my best French. I often use this new “fact” to my advantage when I cannot eat anymore rice and fish (head) sauce. “Wow, I am fat, I just cannot eat another bite”. This is usually accompanied by me puffing out my stomach as far as it will go and pounding wildly on my pouched stomach. Fortunately or not, being called fat is a compliment in Guinea. The fact this compliment came 3 weeks after they started feeding me can be translated into, we made you fat, you are healthy and well fed. As a side note, for those of you wondering, I am the same size I was when I arrived.

Now down to the imporant” details of my life. The next two years will be spent in a village/town called Lelouma. It is supposex to be a major tourist destination. Although, I cannot honestly say that prior to arriving in Guinea I could not think of any town in a counry that I could not find on a map as a major tourist destination. Yes, my geography skills are bad in all fairness to Guinea. So what draws the masses? The words of the educated say that the town is surrounded by mountains and very close to the famous waterfalls. The long and short of it all is that my bakcyard is an untouched haven of natural beauty. Some suggestions for my work where to promote ecotourism (share the beauty with others), take youth on a hike (are they joking or did I just find the most perfect job ever) and as I read on much to my delight it said work with women’s cooperatives and assist the local credit union.

This news lead to a wek long high which puts me right here in Mamou on Thursday night. The next week will possibly be the most terrifying week yet starting with a workshop with my counterpart (the person I will be working with for the next 2 years). This event within itself is not terrifying BUT the fact that I can only express myself as a 5 year old in French is. In addition, all classes for the next 2 days are in French. After this lovely experience, I will jet off with him/her to my site for a few nights. Sure, I don’t know the details regarding my visit to Lelouma which may elimiate some of the need for worry right now. I will be replacing another volunteer but unfortuately for me he is leaving at the end of the month and has already started hiking around the country for his last hurah! After my site visit I will go to the regional capital, Labe, spend a few days (I hope) and head back to Forecariah with other PCTs in a bush taxi...my first experience.

Jetting back to past...last weekend. I went on a cultural outting with the other volunteers who did not think driving a total of 6 hours for a 4 hour beach expedition was riduculous. Guinea is on the coast but the key is find a spot where they are not pumping raw sewage in the water and it is safe enough to swim. This better explains why we drove almost to Sierra Leon to get to the beach. The drive was amazingly beautiful and terrifying at the same time. We zipped down the unpaved “bike paths” and over “natural” speed bumps and through green plantations until we were not physically able to drive the route any more. All of us piled out of the bus only to cross a “bridge” made of twigs thatched together. Imagine this, a single file line of 30 Americans marching through a small viallage with Guinea national music blaring in the background. Yes, we paraded thorugh the town only to have ½ of the town follow us to the “beach” or ocean. Much to our surprise when we arrived at the ocaen we were greeted by a ship the size of the titanic that has washed up on shore and rusted out. Upon further investigation, we noticed that the water was going out and the sand/mud was black. However, we were at the beach and not going to let a few small details get us down.

The women slowly and unsurely took off thier skirts to expose their thighs, not quite sure what response this might elicit from the town folk. Hoaving been unable to fully submerge our bodies in water since arriving in Forecariah (I cannot fit in a bucket of water) we darted off to the ocean. Quickly people began to sink into the mud/sand. First it was the toes which made for hard walking, then the feet, then up to the ankle. The towns people were quick to point out the swimming was much better near the beached titanic. So we took the advince and trudged to the other end of the beach, but not before an intense mud fight was launched and all of us had been significantly cleansed in mud. After almost 15 minutes of walking/wading out to the deepest spot water was up to my knees. Me being a gigantic 5.2 this was hilarious. We played in the water for over an hour engaging in psydo swimming, belly flops and frisbee. However, hunger overcame us all adn we went in for lunch. After lunch, various activities such as walks on the beach, frisbee with the locals and of course soccer occured. Prior to us engaging in these physical activities we were their source of entertainment. An invisible line was drawn in the sand in which neither of us crossed. The difference was that we were thier television. Apparently, a simple activity such as eat lunch, reading a book or lying on a towel where of utmost entertainment.....spawning FOTE TV.

Already 30 mintues late for dinner must go and see if I can get some food.

What do you get when....

2006-01-28T09:25:00.000-05:00

What do you get when you mix a fote/white foreigner/ with a 17 person Guinean family that has 1 dad, 2 moms and 15 “children”. MY LIFE.

Although my family is huge, I have my own 14x22 foot room. My room opens up to the outside and cannot be accessed from the main house that has 3 rooms for 17 people. I also have my own toillett room aka a room with a hole in the groud and my own shower room...oh I mean bucket bath room which is around the back of the house. I even have some friends that live in my toilett room such as a rat, spider and toad. I know how to make friends quickly what can I say.

My family is amazing. The 2nd wife is responsible for me. Her name is Nana Toure. My father has 2 wifes and a ton of kids, nieces and nephews living in Forchariah with him. He is a professeur of biology and geology so he also has like 10 other family members living in Conakry at his house there. My Africian name is Ma Youla after my favorite sister who is 22 and teaches elementary school. I have trouble communicating with my family because my French is so bad!!! My brothers/counsins, they don’t really differentiate here, help me a ton with my French. Unfortunately, my sisters are always doing work. I have found my best means of communication to be wild gesticulation. I even found myself climbing a tree the other night to get the point across. BUT when I am not in school which is from 8-5 or at tutoring or eating with my family, I am studying. You get the point, there is not much free time for me right now.

Speaking of food, rice is the staple...no joke, breakfast, lunch and dinner. My family feeds me different food than what they eat so I have a bit more diversity such as spaghetti and french fries. However, when I do eat with them I eat out of the same bowl and with my right hand. It is quite an experience. As you can imagine, the family has to eat in groups since you cannot fit 18 people around one bowl.

My mom is very protective. It is the first time they have housed a volunteer and the first time they have seen an American. Last weekend I was at the bar when my mom showed up to make sure I knew the way home because it was getting dark. In Forichariah there are 2 paved roads and the rest are dirt roads. Of course there are no road signs or street lights...well there really is only electricity for a few hours in the evening every other night. Running water is also something that does not exist. Anyway, so my family is very protective because they don’t want anything to happen to me and it would shame the family name.

I should have email access again in 3 weeks when I go to Mamou again to meet my counterpart that I will be working with for the next 2 years. This is very exciting because I will also get to visit my site or home for the next 2 years. The announcement will be made in 2 weeks but I am pretty sure they are putting most of the SED...that’s me...volunteers in Haute Guinea, the desert area, or Fouta, the mountainous area. I am very excited to know!!!

The weather right now is really hot. They say it only gets warmer for the next few months. Wow a dramatic change from South Bend, IN to Guinea. Also, mango season and avacado season are coming soon. We have trees with each growing in our front and back yard. YEAH!!!

Last weekend I was supposed to help my mom cook lunch. First we went to the market which was super crowded and she is a bargain shopper so it took a really long time. Of course, this is an outside market filled with tons of vendors. Next, I got to meet her mom which was nice but since I really don’t know Susu, the local language, the communication was non-existant. Then, I got to wash my clothes in 2 buckets and with my hands. My family does not use a washboard. The whole family laughed since I did not use/know their washing technique. My 13 year old brother insisted upon rewashing everything that I thought was clean.

Now time to cook. Well apparently one must be wearing the appropriate garb to cook a meal. My mom, who is not a small lady, dresssed me up in her traditional complex, skirt, top and headwrap. We took pictures and I thought it as over. Later when I tried to return the outfit she told me it was a gift. The cooking part did not go well at all. As a matter of fact, I have to try it again tomorrow. On the menu, rice and sauce....no surprise. Oh yeah, a detail is that the kitchen is outside and we cook over a fire.

I cannot believe I have only been here for 2 weeks. It feel like a lifetime has passed. Right now I am in Conakry on a fieldtrip to use the computer. We just went into an airconditioned grocery store full of so many choices. It seemed so bizarre.

Everyone is super friendly here. I have to account for time to greet everyone in the local language or in French on my way to school. This is really a big deal. One man got upset last night when I did not see him and did not greet him. Can you imagine if this was the case in the states?

For those of you interesting in sending care packages, basically anyone that read this far might be a good candidate, make sure you wrap the box or padded envelope with clear tape so that the mice don’t get it. Things that I would love are mostly junk food items, twizzlers, chocolate, gummy anything, good working pens that you find for free at banks, stores, etc., babywipes and hand sanitizer. Word is that some volunteers get all packages and letters that were sent, some get only boxes and the envelopes get lost or others the opposite. No rhyme or reason. If all of that seems too complicated....letters are awesome.

So I learned yet another lesson in Guinea today. I need to compose my blog in Word. I lost everything so know the original version was much funnier than this one but I am sure you all will understand.

Much love to you all!

top ten reasons

2006-01-18T13:25:00.000-05:00

people tend to be more comfortable with things they can relate to or have expereienced in the past. i have heard many comparisons in the last 5 days but here is my unique take.

top ten reasons why the guinea is like the appalachian trail

10. running water and electricity is rarely available
9. it is common to see the ground/bushes covered with clean laundry
8. people carry large loads....but in guinea they carry them on their head
7. chacoas are the trendy footwear among volunteers
6. food is cooked over a fire outside
5. transportation is friendly as the taxis are the size of a honda and have 6
paid for seats plus the drive
4. every is friendly and greetings are alway done
3. water has to be bleached and filtered
2. cards are the number one food of choice
1. bathroom technique is the same except the hole is already dug for you

just finished 5 days of training in mamou and headed to forecariah to live with my african family. today, i finally got really excited about the peace corps as we were sitting in sessions directly related to our jobs. that is not to say that i was not excited before but we have been in language training and culture training for the last 4 days. 11 weeks of training and then off to my site. i will get my site assignment within the next 3 weeks. yeah

Bonjour Guinea!!

2006-01-15T06:30:00.000-05:00

As I sleepily got out of my tent this morning, I heard the bell signaling the people to the mosque. It was then that I realized I am not on the Appalachian Trail but rather in this strange land very far from home! As I rubbed my eyes, I realized the red blob that was clouding my vision was in fact the sun jumping into the sky. Yes I have broke the habit of sleeping in my tent but since all the beds were taken I was able to put my tent up on the roof of the building and enjoy some authentic Guinea music. The music was pumping as the Guineas next door were celebrating.

Having been in Conakry (the capital of Guinea) for less than 24 hours, I have very few smart observations but one very obvious things is that it is DAMN HOT! We are headed to the mountains today for 5 days of survival training. Once we have survival skills, I will be gaining a whole new family. Our adoption ceremony is on Thursday at which time I will be gaining "a brother from another mother" (Poet that's for you).

Just a few thoughts from the last week. The anxiety building up over the last 4 months since I accepted my PC assignment finally came to a breaking moment at around 2:32PM on Wednesday, January 11th. As I quickly assessed my outfit, absent-mindedly ran my hand over my hair and stepped out of the elevator to join the long line of excited faces all waiting to become Peace Corps trainees. My fellow volunteers all looked like fairly normal (about as much as I am)friendly people which is really fortunate for me since these people will be my support network for the next 27 months.

Questions are still running through my head as I sit on the plane only 48 hours after meeting my fellow volunteers. Am I competent enough to really make my projects successful and sustainable? More importantly, will I gain enough language skills to even communicate with the host country nationals? Does this anti-malaria medicine really work? Why did I have to get 3 shots only 4 hours before I left for the airport? Do I really have to tell someone from the village when I am just going for a walk? Isn't 28 too young to be considered the grandma of the group? I am sure these questions will all be answered over the next 27 months if they are worth answering.

So about those 37 people I will be spending the next 3 months with. There are about 8 males and the rest are females. Most of them are kids right out of school. All of us are either Agriculture/Forestry, Health or Small Enterprise Development volunteers. Probably more to come later on that front.

I have definitely exceeded my time and must get off. More to come later.

Mummer's Parade Does Exist....So Does Friday the 13th

2006-01-10T22:47:00.000-05:00

Just a quick message to educate the masses on a very underrated parade called Mummer's Day. Serenity spent hours, days and months touting the Mummer's Day parade that is held in Philly on January 1st of every year. This picture confirms that this event did actually occur and is really one of the best parades in the country!!!

After that very short rant, back to the future. I start training for the Peace Corps tomorrow and begin my travel to Guinea on Friday the 13th. Good thing I finally got over being superstitious. Although, it did cross my mind that maybe I should decline my invitation to Guinea once I received my plane ticket. Anyway, a big thanks to all of you who have helped me prepare for my adventures abroad.

Pre-departure Information

2005-12-24T15:13:00.000-05:00

So I am really doing this. It is Christmas eve and I am creating my blog for my 27 month adventure in Guinea. Not sure the enormity of the adventure has really set in. I have been running around trying to get all the items on my packing list. For those of you that hiked the Appalachian Trail with me you are probably wondering why I am stressed out by this. Put in simple terms I now have the ability to expand my pack weight from 40lbs to 80lbs as determined by the airlines. The hikers are probably still asking why I am even bothering to take advantage of the weight increase. Put simply, "town visits" will not be as often or plentiful. In addition, they actually expect me to change my clothes and wear skirts and dresses. My hiking friends (well for that matter, anyone that knows me well) probably cannot see me in skirts and dresses. Not to worry, you will have the opportunity. I bought a digital camera and hopefully will be able to post some pictures every few months.

Speaking of months, I received my mailing address for at least the 1st 3 months while I am in training. I have posted it below and would like to give everyone the opportunity to start sending their letters. It is my understanding that Guinea gives a new meaning to the phrase "snail mail". So I encourage everyone to send cards, letters and packages early and often. Happy Holidays!

NEW ADDRESS:
Andrea Goepfrich
Corps de la Paix
B.P. 1927
Conakry, Guinea
West Africa