Second Year Volunteer

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

Must press forward under the African sun.

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

Stay tuned!

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

Sunshine in America?

Up on the mountain, the mornings and nights are brisks like Western autumns. It's a wonderful change coming from Guinea where there is no cold season. I wake up in the morning, sit outside on my daybed, sip coffee and gaze at the small mountain range of Guinea.

The temperature change is not the only thing that is different up on the mountain. Each day, I realize how wonderful I had it in Guinea. First of all, my host family here is much poorer than my family in Guinea. Family Nakhisso can't afford rice, so we eat smaller grains like couscous and something related to grain paste that takes like tar milked with leaf and peanut sauce. Needless to say, after three bites, "Mm-bala-lou-bah" (I'm full). Family Nakhisso all live together in this compound made up of seven or eight huts. The older brother and his two wives and children live in one; the grandmothers each have their own and my family has four. My father "Baba" is married to two women who each have their huts with their children. Baba has his own room as well. I know this because I had to sleep in it while they were finishing repairing my hut. He mostly sleeps outside with the baby cow, sheep and chickens.

I consider my honeymoon stage with Africa to be over. Seeing death firsthand and holding malnourished babies doesn't upset me anymore. However, the shock of how much poorer my family is here blows my mind. Each night, I sit around the fire with my father and his two wives, Adama and Humba, and sip tea. Since I live on top of a mountain and they live on the bottom it is a little far to go to my house and use the bathroom so I asked to use their lattrine. They handed me the water kettle (sorry, no toilet paper exists here) and pointed me towards the peanut fields behind the huts. There must be a list 15 people in that compound who "take care of business" in this one field. My family, along with most of my village does not have a means of a bathroom; only a big field and a water kettle.

My two host moms, or "ingas" are really wonderful. Humba, the second wife, is making her children teach her French so she tries really hard to talk to me in the French she knows, which makes me love her even more. Adama, the first wife is pregnant. I asked her how many months she was and she told me she didn't know. She pulled up her shirt and asked me if I knew. I'd say she is about 7or 8 months and I know for sure that child will be born on the dirt floor of their hut.

Around this fire, we've had some interesting conversations. I am the first white person they have ever met. I tell them about all the wonders of America and we compare and contrast the different ways of life. Trust me, it's not hard to marvel them. They asked me if their was sunshine in America and were quite surprised when I said yes, plenty of it. I'm interested to see how this realationship will follow. They will either love me as a volunteer or see me as a means of outside income.

My second day in my village I started a project at the school. Two days before I came in I finished drawing the world map on the wall. I will start painting this week and hopefully finish before vacation. The principal is really excited. He told the geography it was a resource. Plus, it was a nice way to work and talk to people. Did I mention on occasion I have monkeys who come by to observe the work. They are all over the place, especially in the peanut fields (aka the bathroom),

Although I am only 4km from the border to Guinea, some things are different. I can't communicate well with the other people of my village yet because they speak Pulaar. That obstacle, I'll cross, Inshallah, in time. Somedays, even though I haven't been here long, I do miss Guinea and wonder what my favorite people are up to. I just look to those hills and it makes me feel better.

Thanksgiving was a huge success. We killled a turkey, a duck and a chicken. Tomorrow is the Muslim fete, Tabaski, so I will head to my site to get dressed up and partake in the excitement. Details later.

Until next time,

Stay sunny!

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Jam Tun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Our Guardian



The Sleeping Hut



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

Cosmopolitans We Are

Bonne Arrivee!

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the adventure continues.......

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Ask and you shall receive

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stay tuned.......