Yes, my 27 month commitment to the Peace Corps and to the Gambia is finished. But my commitment to having awesome life stories will never finish.
So, instead of returning to the comforts of America right away, I’m going to trek the rest of Africa. Including in my itinerary thus far is:
- Cage diving with great white sharks in South Africa
- Visiting Victoria Falls in Zambia
- Snorkeling in Lake Malawi
- Whale watching in South Africa, Madagascar, Mozambique, Tanzania, and anywhere else possible.
- Swimming with penguins in South Africa.
- Climbing huge red, black, pink, and white sand dunes in the deserts of Namibia.
- Find and name a new species of lemur in Madagascar
- Safari in the Okavango Delta in Botswana
- Visiting the Limpopo River
- Swim in the Indian Ocean off the island of Zanzibar
- Take a million pictures of Mount Kilimanjaro (I would climb it, but it’s like $2000… Maybe when I’m old and rich)
- Learn some Swahili and French
- Visit Lesotho and Swaziland, because I can.
It’s going to be great, and include so much more than this brief list. The plan right now is to travel for about three and a half months and come home a week or two before Thanksgiving.
I hope to see EVERYBODY when I get home. Start planning our reunion meal and activities.
You can continue to keep in touch with me at my email address, although I’ll probably check it sparingly. Thanks for all of your support throughout this Peace Corps service, and see you in a few months!
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Saying Goodbye: A Mang Easy
Abby Sillah has left the village.
Moving away from rural Africa is different than moving away from your friends and family in America. When you leave for a new place, you know that although your relationship may change, you’ll still communicate with each other. You’ll still be informed about big life events and if the mood strikes you, you can go visit them after a couple hour car ride, or a couple hundred dollar plane ride.
But when I left my friends and family in Nyakoi, I left with no idea of when I would next see or talk to them, if ever. To get to the Gambia is not cheap or easy, and even if I could get back, everything would be different. The kids who I play with would be adults who wouldn’t remember me or want to play with me. My Mandinka will be even more pitiful than it is now, so communication will be difficult. So, visiting them again may not happen.
The internet is growing in popularity, but I fear that the grandmas I live with will not jump on the internet wave and start surfing.
The Gambia doesn’t even have a mail system. If they did, still nobody in my family can read.
So, when I said goodbye, it was goodbye for real. Here’s how it went.
Gambians are weird about goodbyes. For about a week before I went, the people most important to me started to distance themselves. I guess to continue to hang around with me would have been too painful, but it was hard to not hang out with the people I will miss most for the last week.
One of my best friends, Mawdou the tailor, came to say goodbye to me the day the car was coming to pick me up, but he left hours before the car came because he didn’t want to see it. My other best friend, Maimuna, Grade 11 student, stayed until the car came, but instead of hugging me and saying goodbye, she ran into the house and stayed there.
My host mom and a bunch of older women in the village came with me out to the car after it was fully loaded, all shaking my left hand. Normally, left hands are NEVER used for anything except self cleaning. Right hands are the clean hands, so they are the only appropriate hand to shake hands with, eat with, or pass money with. When you’re saying goodbye, you shake left hands, because it’s inappropriate. Gambians think that since the last thing you did was incorrect, you’ll have to come back sometime and make it right. That’s their way of telling me I have to come back.
One thing that I really like about saying goodbye in the Gambia is that everybody asks for forgiveness. In the last assembly of the year at my school, a grade teacher got up and asked every student in the school to forgive him if he had wronged them throughout that year. I thought it was a nice, if a little weird, gesture. But as I made my round through Nyakoi to say goodbye to everyone, everyone asked for my forgiveness. In the opposite spirit of the left handed hand shake, when someone is leaving, they want to make sure everything is right. Thus, everyone asks for forgiveness so that there are no bad spirits left behind when a person leaves.
Maimuna sent me this text message a few weeks before I left: “Hi Yabba. I want you for you forgive me. You Know why? If you are staying with some body for a long time, you should always look Forgiveness to that person Everytime. So That why Iam looking for that from you. You know why I do these everytime? You are coming to live with us here. May be we not see each other for a long time, and when you go it is right. Forgive me?”
So, in a flurry of forgiveness, left handed hand shakes, and minimal tears, I left Nyakoi, for perhaps the last time. It’s been an unforgettable, uncomfortable, unbelievable at times, and undeniably unique experience. On to the next adventure.
Moving away from rural Africa is different than moving away from your friends and family in America. When you leave for a new place, you know that although your relationship may change, you’ll still communicate with each other. You’ll still be informed about big life events and if the mood strikes you, you can go visit them after a couple hour car ride, or a couple hundred dollar plane ride.
But when I left my friends and family in Nyakoi, I left with no idea of when I would next see or talk to them, if ever. To get to the Gambia is not cheap or easy, and even if I could get back, everything would be different. The kids who I play with would be adults who wouldn’t remember me or want to play with me. My Mandinka will be even more pitiful than it is now, so communication will be difficult. So, visiting them again may not happen.
The internet is growing in popularity, but I fear that the grandmas I live with will not jump on the internet wave and start surfing.
The Gambia doesn’t even have a mail system. If they did, still nobody in my family can read.
So, when I said goodbye, it was goodbye for real. Here’s how it went.
Gambians are weird about goodbyes. For about a week before I went, the people most important to me started to distance themselves. I guess to continue to hang around with me would have been too painful, but it was hard to not hang out with the people I will miss most for the last week.
One of my best friends, Mawdou the tailor, came to say goodbye to me the day the car was coming to pick me up, but he left hours before the car came because he didn’t want to see it. My other best friend, Maimuna, Grade 11 student, stayed until the car came, but instead of hugging me and saying goodbye, she ran into the house and stayed there.
My host mom and a bunch of older women in the village came with me out to the car after it was fully loaded, all shaking my left hand. Normally, left hands are NEVER used for anything except self cleaning. Right hands are the clean hands, so they are the only appropriate hand to shake hands with, eat with, or pass money with. When you’re saying goodbye, you shake left hands, because it’s inappropriate. Gambians think that since the last thing you did was incorrect, you’ll have to come back sometime and make it right. That’s their way of telling me I have to come back.
One thing that I really like about saying goodbye in the Gambia is that everybody asks for forgiveness. In the last assembly of the year at my school, a grade teacher got up and asked every student in the school to forgive him if he had wronged them throughout that year. I thought it was a nice, if a little weird, gesture. But as I made my round through Nyakoi to say goodbye to everyone, everyone asked for my forgiveness. In the opposite spirit of the left handed hand shake, when someone is leaving, they want to make sure everything is right. Thus, everyone asks for forgiveness so that there are no bad spirits left behind when a person leaves.
Maimuna sent me this text message a few weeks before I left: “Hi Yabba. I want you for you forgive me. You Know why? If you are staying with some body for a long time, you should always look Forgiveness to that person Everytime. So That why Iam looking for that from you. You know why I do these everytime? You are coming to live with us here. May be we not see each other for a long time, and when you go it is right. Forgive me?”
So, in a flurry of forgiveness, left handed hand shakes, and minimal tears, I left Nyakoi, for perhaps the last time. It’s been an unforgettable, uncomfortable, unbelievable at times, and undeniably unique experience. On to the next adventure.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
How The Name of This Blog Came To Be
This blog was created nearly a fifth of a decade ago, and I'm not sure I ever explained why it's called what it is.
Most members of my Peace Corps training class had never heard of the Gambia when they received their invitation to serve here, much less knew where it lay geographically.
I however, was well versed.
I took a class in college called the geography of conflict, and although we talked mainly about the middle eastern conflicts throughout history, my professor was from Kenya, and he thought it was important we know exactly where all the countries in Africa were. We would have pop quizzes occasionally, asking us to identify ten or so countries on the continent.
In our studying, the way I chose to remember The Gambia was this: The outline of Senegal looks like a pudgy whale, and the little wiggly insignificant bit encapsulated within it is in the perfect position to be its mouth. So, to remember the Gambia, we would always say, "It's in the whale's mouth."
So, not only did I know exactly where The Gambia was nestled geographically, but I also had a flashy catch phrase to go with it when I first got my assignment.
Thus, Abby's Adventures in the Whale's Mouth.
Most members of my Peace Corps training class had never heard of the Gambia when they received their invitation to serve here, much less knew where it lay geographically.
I however, was well versed.
I took a class in college called the geography of conflict, and although we talked mainly about the middle eastern conflicts throughout history, my professor was from Kenya, and he thought it was important we know exactly where all the countries in Africa were. We would have pop quizzes occasionally, asking us to identify ten or so countries on the continent.
In our studying, the way I chose to remember The Gambia was this: The outline of Senegal looks like a pudgy whale, and the little wiggly insignificant bit encapsulated within it is in the perfect position to be its mouth. So, to remember the Gambia, we would always say, "It's in the whale's mouth."
So, not only did I know exactly where The Gambia was nestled geographically, but I also had a flashy catch phrase to go with it when I first got my assignment.
Thus, Abby's Adventures in the Whale's Mouth.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Some Weird Things I’ll Do When I Get Home That You’ll Just Have To Deal With
A few weeks ago, we had our Close of Service conference, where the people who came to this country with me all met to discuss leaving this country. One night, we all got dressed up and went to a fancy restaurant in Kombo to celebrate all of our accomplishments. I filled my plate with delicious goops and full grain rice, and lots of Tandoori chicken. As I started to eat the chicken, holding it in my hand and gnawing at it like a Gambian is wont to do, I thought to myself: Is this what I did in America? Is this what Americans do in a fancy restaurant? Is it inappropriate to do such a thing? And honestly, I can’t remember. The fact that it came off of my own plate instead of a communal food bowl was enough formality for me. I started asking people around the table. I started with those lucky girls who had gone to cotillion, or been trained in the art of manners. They both said they thought no. I asked the American, here subbing for only a few months. He said it depended on the situation.
So, this is my warning to you. I will most likely need to be retaught the most basic of manners and etiquette principals, or at least be de-taught the Gambian way.
Here are probable problematic areas.
- As discussed, I will have horrendous manners. In this country, it’s accepted and expected that people will eat with their hands, gnaw off a hunk of meat and throw the rest back into the middle, and to spit bones on the floor (which also happens to be the ground) around them. Tables are never eaten upon, spoons are rarely seen, and forks and knives are unfamiliar tools.
- I will speak in strange language. I think it’ll be pretty easy to switch back to English full time, but I know some stuff will stick. For example:
o Iyoo (pronounced ee-yo): used instead of ok or booyah.
o A banta: means it is finished. This phrase can be used for everything from the food on a plate to the time remaining in a movie.
o Inshallah: this phrase is proof of my living in a muslim country. It means, “If Allah wills it” or “hopefully”.
o There are a bunch of simple phrases that we use with other Gambian Peace Corps volunteers that no one else would understand. Asobe means things that look the same. Bumsters are the delightful beach dwellers who just want some attention. Gatorade is so much more than it actually is.
- Here, I sweat almost every hour of the day – and I STILL wear clothes at least two days in a row, just like my Gambian counterparts. I recognize the stigma Americans have of wearing the same thing two days in a row, and therefore, the region known as “wardrobe purgatory” – where the clothes are not totally clean, but they definitely do not need to be washed yet – will grow even larger.
- Clicks. Although Mandinka isn’t a language with clicks, Gambians use clicks to say all sorts of things: “I disapprove”, “Yes”, “No”, and “That’s way too expensive”. In a year of teaching fourth graders with attitude I didn’t pick it up, but after two years living with a Gambian family, and now I commonly make the sucking click-y nose that indicates disgrace or disapproval.
Also, I can’t explain it, but I have subconsciously picked up two distinctive clicks: one which means yes and one which means no. I can’t explain the difference now, but you’ll see when I get home.
- Shamelessness. Here in the Gambia, we tell it like it is. If you have diarrhea, you literally say your “stomach is running”. If you have to relieve yourselves, you say in Mandinka, “Pee is mine” or “Poop is mine”. It is important to mention exactly what is yours, because each of these bodily functions requires a different facility. People will tell you exactly what’s up. In addition to the influence of Gambians, Peace Corps volunteers are also free about telling their poop stories. I probably will proudly announce or tell the tales of my gastronomic woes – stop me if you don’t want to hear them. The same goes for stories of strange rashes or skin infections.
- There are a variety of useful hand motions I will probably retain when I return to America. If you’re too far away from someone to properly greet them with a handshake, you can clasp your hands high above your head and then shake the whole thing at them. A hand signal my dad can vouch that I have down is the finger wag. It means, You’re bad, or, I don’t agree, or, I don’t want that, or, No thank you. My favorite hand signal is done by simply putting your hands to your sides with your palms facing down, and then flipping them over, with as much of a flourish as you want. This literally means ANYTHING. In whatever situation you’re in, it asks the obvious question. If it’s a car approaching and you do it, it means, Where are you going? If a phone is ringing and you can’t find it, just flip over your hands and people will understand you mean, Where’s the phone? It works great for those of us with mediocre to poor language skills.
Stay tuned for the second installment of “Weird things I’ll Do When I Get Home”.
So, this is my warning to you. I will most likely need to be retaught the most basic of manners and etiquette principals, or at least be de-taught the Gambian way.
Here are probable problematic areas.
- As discussed, I will have horrendous manners. In this country, it’s accepted and expected that people will eat with their hands, gnaw off a hunk of meat and throw the rest back into the middle, and to spit bones on the floor (which also happens to be the ground) around them. Tables are never eaten upon, spoons are rarely seen, and forks and knives are unfamiliar tools.
- I will speak in strange language. I think it’ll be pretty easy to switch back to English full time, but I know some stuff will stick. For example:
o Iyoo (pronounced ee-yo): used instead of ok or booyah.
o A banta: means it is finished. This phrase can be used for everything from the food on a plate to the time remaining in a movie.
o Inshallah: this phrase is proof of my living in a muslim country. It means, “If Allah wills it” or “hopefully”.
o There are a bunch of simple phrases that we use with other Gambian Peace Corps volunteers that no one else would understand. Asobe means things that look the same. Bumsters are the delightful beach dwellers who just want some attention. Gatorade is so much more than it actually is.
- Here, I sweat almost every hour of the day – and I STILL wear clothes at least two days in a row, just like my Gambian counterparts. I recognize the stigma Americans have of wearing the same thing two days in a row, and therefore, the region known as “wardrobe purgatory” – where the clothes are not totally clean, but they definitely do not need to be washed yet – will grow even larger.
- Clicks. Although Mandinka isn’t a language with clicks, Gambians use clicks to say all sorts of things: “I disapprove”, “Yes”, “No”, and “That’s way too expensive”. In a year of teaching fourth graders with attitude I didn’t pick it up, but after two years living with a Gambian family, and now I commonly make the sucking click-y nose that indicates disgrace or disapproval.
Also, I can’t explain it, but I have subconsciously picked up two distinctive clicks: one which means yes and one which means no. I can’t explain the difference now, but you’ll see when I get home.
- Shamelessness. Here in the Gambia, we tell it like it is. If you have diarrhea, you literally say your “stomach is running”. If you have to relieve yourselves, you say in Mandinka, “Pee is mine” or “Poop is mine”. It is important to mention exactly what is yours, because each of these bodily functions requires a different facility. People will tell you exactly what’s up. In addition to the influence of Gambians, Peace Corps volunteers are also free about telling their poop stories. I probably will proudly announce or tell the tales of my gastronomic woes – stop me if you don’t want to hear them. The same goes for stories of strange rashes or skin infections.
- There are a variety of useful hand motions I will probably retain when I return to America. If you’re too far away from someone to properly greet them with a handshake, you can clasp your hands high above your head and then shake the whole thing at them. A hand signal my dad can vouch that I have down is the finger wag. It means, You’re bad, or, I don’t agree, or, I don’t want that, or, No thank you. My favorite hand signal is done by simply putting your hands to your sides with your palms facing down, and then flipping them over, with as much of a flourish as you want. This literally means ANYTHING. In whatever situation you’re in, it asks the obvious question. If it’s a car approaching and you do it, it means, Where are you going? If a phone is ringing and you can’t find it, just flip over your hands and people will understand you mean, Where’s the phone? It works great for those of us with mediocre to poor language skills.
Stay tuned for the second installment of “Weird things I’ll Do When I Get Home”.
Why It’s Hard To Teach Gambians Using An American Textbook
For the past two years, I have tutored one man in my small community in reading. His English was already pretty good, but he couldn’t read or write at all really. He has improved remarkably, but there were certainly difficult portions; usually caused by the cultural differences between what he was reading – a fourth grade American reading textbook – and his life, culture, and everything he knows.
There are the obvious things: he knows the concept of snow, but has never experienced it, so the idea of earmuffs was lost to him.
He knows that tall buildings exist, but has no idea of the scale of our skyscrapers. For a dude who has probably never gone up stairs – at all – the concept of an elevator to take you hundreds of feet in the air was baffling and terrifying.
Some examples:
- Red Riding Hood: One story took a twist on a bunch of different fairy tales. To a fourth grader, it would have been a clever and funny story. But to a Gambian without any introduction to or experience with the original version, it makes no sense. When Little Red Riding Hood erases a part of the script and instead of coming to her house dressed as a grandmother, the wolf turns into a ballerina and starts pirouetting around the stage, it wasn’t cute or clever or funny: It was baffling. Plus, try to get an early reader to decode “pirouette”.
- There was one story about inventions, and man, did that make Americans look lazy and superficial. One girl invented a combination washer and dryer so the tired American worker doesn’t have to lift wet clothes into a new machine. He responded with a laugh, and I quote, “A machine to wash cloth? How is that?” After I explained, he clucked his tongue as Gambians do, and said, “No, no, I don’t think so.” He didn’t say anything, but when I described a clothes dryer, I could see the disdain on his face and I know he was thinking, “Stupid Americans! Building a machine to do what the sun does for free…”
- Another boy invented a special, super effective sprinkler. You may think a sprinkler is a simple thing to explain but to get to the sprinkler itself, I first had to discuss what a yard is, what our grass is like and why we like it, the prevalence of running water, and the fact that, in general, we don’t have anything like their rainy season. For a man who pulls 20 liters of water a day for EACH of his banana TREES, it all sounded heavenly – and far out of reach.
- There are a lot of stories about baseball in American textbooks – and a lot of associated baseball jargon. I know any baseball story will take twice as long due to all the unfamiliar phrases – home run, short stop, pitcher, fly ball, line up, bull pen, etc.
- There are some times when he knows EVERYTHING though. There was one story about a kid who went to visit his mother’s provincial family in Thailand. They described a life where all cooking is done in a special house on an open fire, they eat with their hands, where people gathered water from a well, and where they had no electricity. But when they made these statements, they ended everyone with an exclamation mark. The textbook looked like this:
“His grandfather hauled water from a well for bathing and everything! His grandmother cooked on an open fire inside a special house specifically for cooking! When the food was prepared they ate with their hands! At night, they chatted by candlelight only!”
If Mawdou wrote the story, it’d probably sound more like this:
“His grandmother hauled water from a well for cooking, washing, bathing… Duh. The women cooked on an open fire inside their cooking house… of course. They ate with their hands… like EVERYONE. At night, they chatted by candlelight… obviously.”
There are the obvious things: he knows the concept of snow, but has never experienced it, so the idea of earmuffs was lost to him.
He knows that tall buildings exist, but has no idea of the scale of our skyscrapers. For a dude who has probably never gone up stairs – at all – the concept of an elevator to take you hundreds of feet in the air was baffling and terrifying.
Some examples:
- Red Riding Hood: One story took a twist on a bunch of different fairy tales. To a fourth grader, it would have been a clever and funny story. But to a Gambian without any introduction to or experience with the original version, it makes no sense. When Little Red Riding Hood erases a part of the script and instead of coming to her house dressed as a grandmother, the wolf turns into a ballerina and starts pirouetting around the stage, it wasn’t cute or clever or funny: It was baffling. Plus, try to get an early reader to decode “pirouette”.
- There was one story about inventions, and man, did that make Americans look lazy and superficial. One girl invented a combination washer and dryer so the tired American worker doesn’t have to lift wet clothes into a new machine. He responded with a laugh, and I quote, “A machine to wash cloth? How is that?” After I explained, he clucked his tongue as Gambians do, and said, “No, no, I don’t think so.” He didn’t say anything, but when I described a clothes dryer, I could see the disdain on his face and I know he was thinking, “Stupid Americans! Building a machine to do what the sun does for free…”
- Another boy invented a special, super effective sprinkler. You may think a sprinkler is a simple thing to explain but to get to the sprinkler itself, I first had to discuss what a yard is, what our grass is like and why we like it, the prevalence of running water, and the fact that, in general, we don’t have anything like their rainy season. For a man who pulls 20 liters of water a day for EACH of his banana TREES, it all sounded heavenly – and far out of reach.
- There are a lot of stories about baseball in American textbooks – and a lot of associated baseball jargon. I know any baseball story will take twice as long due to all the unfamiliar phrases – home run, short stop, pitcher, fly ball, line up, bull pen, etc.
- There are some times when he knows EVERYTHING though. There was one story about a kid who went to visit his mother’s provincial family in Thailand. They described a life where all cooking is done in a special house on an open fire, they eat with their hands, where people gathered water from a well, and where they had no electricity. But when they made these statements, they ended everyone with an exclamation mark. The textbook looked like this:
“His grandfather hauled water from a well for bathing and everything! His grandmother cooked on an open fire inside a special house specifically for cooking! When the food was prepared they ate with their hands! At night, they chatted by candlelight only!”
If Mawdou wrote the story, it’d probably sound more like this:
“His grandmother hauled water from a well for cooking, washing, bathing… Duh. The women cooked on an open fire inside their cooking house… of course. They ate with their hands… like EVERYONE. At night, they chatted by candlelight… obviously.”
Saturday, May 5, 2012
What I'm Doing Now Now
It’s been a while since I last posted what I’m working on, and now that I’m winding down to the end of my service, I’d give you another update on what I’m working on in my superheated tiny corner of the Gambia.
The thing I’ve been most proud of this year is my reading contest. Students are given prizes when they reach certain benchmarks – at five books they get a pencil, at ten books they get a certificate, their picture taken, and some other small prizes, like a minty or a pen or an eraser.
I know you’re all thinking, “That’s bribery!” And it is. But that got them in the door, and now I have kids filling the library at all hours of the day, because they’ve realized how fun it is. They come in with their friends, they share books, they sound out words, and even grade one students point out numbers and letters that are familiar to them. It’s sweet.
I’m planning an epic Reading Day for at the end of the school year. It going to be GREAT. I’m going to raffle off everything in my house that I don’t want anymore – every book you’ve read throughout the year gets you one raffle ticket. I’m going to give awesome prizes to the top readers in the class and school, and we’re going to have a read aloud and fun literacy games. The class who’s read the most books will get some sort of treat, and hopefully crowns to wear on their heads proclaiming that they’re the reading champs.
Another thing I’m pretty proud of is the library itself. Last year, when I began, it was a lizard infested pit of dust.
It was dirty, and nobody had been in there for probably a year. It’s still really dusty, but there are some corners of the room where you can look and think that you’re in an American classroom. It’s colorful, it’s educational, and it’s a good example to teachers of things they can put up in their rooms. Which is why, I’m sure, when I go, teachers will all clamor to steal the things I’ve made that aren’t nailed down in the library. Which is why I’ve spent so many hundreds of dalasis on nails.
I’m also just starting a library club. Basically, I wanted a group of kids to help me put books back on shelves, clean up, etc. But also, we are trying to do things that enhance creativity. I’ve picked 3-4 students from some of the upper grades, and we meet once a week, put books away, and then we make something, or we paint, or we collage, or do something that they would never get a chance to do in class. It just started, but I’m excited about it.
Finally, I’m teaching a computer class for grades 10-12at the Senior Secondary School. No, I’m not qualified at all. Kids had to tell me what CPU stood for. But, I’m walking them through basic typing by giving them printed and laminated keyboards to practice on when they can’t get on a computer. We practice typing, simple word processing, and paint. And that about the extent of my computer knowledge, so it works out great.
In my last few months, this are the things I’ll continue doing. Hopefully, I can spend some more time training teachers to take over the things that I’ve been doing, so that it doesn’t stop with me. But if it does, at least a few kids like reading a little more, and at least there’s a lot of cool stuff nailed on the walls of the library.
The thing I’ve been most proud of this year is my reading contest. Students are given prizes when they reach certain benchmarks – at five books they get a pencil, at ten books they get a certificate, their picture taken, and some other small prizes, like a minty or a pen or an eraser.
I know you’re all thinking, “That’s bribery!” And it is. But that got them in the door, and now I have kids filling the library at all hours of the day, because they’ve realized how fun it is. They come in with their friends, they share books, they sound out words, and even grade one students point out numbers and letters that are familiar to them. It’s sweet.
I’m planning an epic Reading Day for at the end of the school year. It going to be GREAT. I’m going to raffle off everything in my house that I don’t want anymore – every book you’ve read throughout the year gets you one raffle ticket. I’m going to give awesome prizes to the top readers in the class and school, and we’re going to have a read aloud and fun literacy games. The class who’s read the most books will get some sort of treat, and hopefully crowns to wear on their heads proclaiming that they’re the reading champs.
Another thing I’m pretty proud of is the library itself. Last year, when I began, it was a lizard infested pit of dust.
It was dirty, and nobody had been in there for probably a year. It’s still really dusty, but there are some corners of the room where you can look and think that you’re in an American classroom. It’s colorful, it’s educational, and it’s a good example to teachers of things they can put up in their rooms. Which is why, I’m sure, when I go, teachers will all clamor to steal the things I’ve made that aren’t nailed down in the library. Which is why I’ve spent so many hundreds of dalasis on nails.
I’m also just starting a library club. Basically, I wanted a group of kids to help me put books back on shelves, clean up, etc. But also, we are trying to do things that enhance creativity. I’ve picked 3-4 students from some of the upper grades, and we meet once a week, put books away, and then we make something, or we paint, or we collage, or do something that they would never get a chance to do in class. It just started, but I’m excited about it.
Finally, I’m teaching a computer class for grades 10-12at the Senior Secondary School. No, I’m not qualified at all. Kids had to tell me what CPU stood for. But, I’m walking them through basic typing by giving them printed and laminated keyboards to practice on when they can’t get on a computer. We practice typing, simple word processing, and paint. And that about the extent of my computer knowledge, so it works out great.
In my last few months, this are the things I’ll continue doing. Hopefully, I can spend some more time training teachers to take over the things that I’ve been doing, so that it doesn’t stop with me. But if it does, at least a few kids like reading a little more, and at least there’s a lot of cool stuff nailed on the walls of the library.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
March Madness in Africa
*This is a letter I tried to send to some choice analysts who head up ESPN's high quality programming. Apparently none of them accept email from common folk. Lame. If you happen to be on speaking terms with Rick Reilly, Tony Kornheiser, Michael Wilbon, Joe Lunardi, or the rest of the gang, pass it on.
It’s the month of March. At home, spring is springing, and the chosen teams – the best of this season – are preparing themselves for the tournament. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.
Here, in my second home, its hot season. In the afternoon, the temperature routinely reaches 120 degrees. The harmattan winds have blown in the dust for the past few months, and now they’re spewing Saharan heat. I sweat through every minute of the day. It’s unquestionably the least wonderful time of the year.
I’m a Peace Corps volunteer, serving in The Gambia, a tiny West African country. I’ve been here for nearly two years – through two Christmases sans snow, two Thanksgivings without turkey, two birthdays but no gifts. But the hardest month to be here is March.
Knowing the basketball fervor that is sweeping the nation – MY nation – makes it harder to be here. There’s no electricity, no running water, much less internet or TV to keep me updated on basketball – I probably own one of only four basketballs in my whole region.
During March, I go to bed under the stars, dreaming of upsets and buzzer beaters. I roll out of my hammock in the morning, already sweating, and turn on my phone, desperate for sympathetic souls in America, or lucky volunteers in the capital, who may have texted to quench my thirst for news of multiple overtimes, freshman phenoms, and the underdog prevailing. These texts of a few hundred characters hardly capture the glorious celebrations and heart breaking defeats that epitomize every weekend in March.
When these beatific texts come, I rush inside my hut, grab some chalk from its rightful place tucked within the thatch in my roof, and fill in my homemade 7 foot x 4 foot bracket, gleaming proudly from the wall of my mud hut.
I have seen exactly zero NCAA basketball games this season. I have read exactly one basketball related magazine – a preseason edition that I perused in early February.
When you have literally no intel, no insight into who’s hot and who’s not, you have to consider other things to make your picks. For example… I killed a gigantic hairy spider right on top of Syracuse’s spot in the bracket. Do I take this as a sign of lackluster defense, or crushing offensive firepower? There’s a pitifully wilting candle nailed into the wall in the elite eight (where last year Florida floundered against those mighty Bulldogs). Do I take this as a sign of that quadrant’s drooping chances at making the final four? Or maybe I should ignore it – everything melts during hot season.
I’ve heard the statistics on a perfect bracket. I have no way to look them up right now, but I know perfect brackets are rare – perhaps even only a legend that has never actually happened. I’m sure the chances of getting a perfect bracket are like one in 212 trillion. (Right before sending this email, I looked it up – one in 9.2 quintillion… Oof)
So - bracketologists, former college players, scouts, and experts in general - I have a proposition to make. If I – Abby Adams: rural literacy volunteer, teacher trainer, and die hard college basketball supporter – compose a perfect bracket, I want you to put ME on ESPN. Not as an expert, or an analyst, but as the voice of one girl who listens to her gut. For one year, I ask to be treated like a SportsCenter anchor – go to games, give my thoughts, predictions, and proclaim my biases and prejudices as truths. Because if, with no experience or knowledge, I create a perfect bracket: maybe it’s meant to be.
After all, what are the odds?
Thank you very dangerously (as they say in the Gambia),
Abby Adams
It’s the month of March. At home, spring is springing, and the chosen teams – the best of this season – are preparing themselves for the tournament. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.
Here, in my second home, its hot season. In the afternoon, the temperature routinely reaches 120 degrees. The harmattan winds have blown in the dust for the past few months, and now they’re spewing Saharan heat. I sweat through every minute of the day. It’s unquestionably the least wonderful time of the year.
I’m a Peace Corps volunteer, serving in The Gambia, a tiny West African country. I’ve been here for nearly two years – through two Christmases sans snow, two Thanksgivings without turkey, two birthdays but no gifts. But the hardest month to be here is March.
Knowing the basketball fervor that is sweeping the nation – MY nation – makes it harder to be here. There’s no electricity, no running water, much less internet or TV to keep me updated on basketball – I probably own one of only four basketballs in my whole region.
During March, I go to bed under the stars, dreaming of upsets and buzzer beaters. I roll out of my hammock in the morning, already sweating, and turn on my phone, desperate for sympathetic souls in America, or lucky volunteers in the capital, who may have texted to quench my thirst for news of multiple overtimes, freshman phenoms, and the underdog prevailing. These texts of a few hundred characters hardly capture the glorious celebrations and heart breaking defeats that epitomize every weekend in March.
When these beatific texts come, I rush inside my hut, grab some chalk from its rightful place tucked within the thatch in my roof, and fill in my homemade 7 foot x 4 foot bracket, gleaming proudly from the wall of my mud hut.
I have seen exactly zero NCAA basketball games this season. I have read exactly one basketball related magazine – a preseason edition that I perused in early February.
When you have literally no intel, no insight into who’s hot and who’s not, you have to consider other things to make your picks. For example… I killed a gigantic hairy spider right on top of Syracuse’s spot in the bracket. Do I take this as a sign of lackluster defense, or crushing offensive firepower? There’s a pitifully wilting candle nailed into the wall in the elite eight (where last year Florida floundered against those mighty Bulldogs). Do I take this as a sign of that quadrant’s drooping chances at making the final four? Or maybe I should ignore it – everything melts during hot season.
I’ve heard the statistics on a perfect bracket. I have no way to look them up right now, but I know perfect brackets are rare – perhaps even only a legend that has never actually happened. I’m sure the chances of getting a perfect bracket are like one in 212 trillion. (Right before sending this email, I looked it up – one in 9.2 quintillion… Oof)
So - bracketologists, former college players, scouts, and experts in general - I have a proposition to make. If I – Abby Adams: rural literacy volunteer, teacher trainer, and die hard college basketball supporter – compose a perfect bracket, I want you to put ME on ESPN. Not as an expert, or an analyst, but as the voice of one girl who listens to her gut. For one year, I ask to be treated like a SportsCenter anchor – go to games, give my thoughts, predictions, and proclaim my biases and prejudices as truths. Because if, with no experience or knowledge, I create a perfect bracket: maybe it’s meant to be.
After all, what are the odds?
Thank you very dangerously (as they say in the Gambia),
Abby Adams
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)