Today, we found out our site placement, so the place were we’ll be spending the two years after training. Site placement was just like county placement. I forgot how stressful it is to be on the unknowing side of deciding people's fate, as opposed to the Admin, all-powerful side.
My village is called Nyokoi (which means White Eye in Mandinka) or something like that, a village about 10 km from a larger town called basse. It’s pretty close to the beautiful gambia river, and apparently has some hiking with some cliff views of the river. The unfortunate thing is that I’m SO far from banjul, the capital, where most of the civilization and peace corps stuff is. It’ll take a full day of travel to get back to Kombo (the Banjul suburban area) when I have to.
I’ll be working mostly in a lower basic school, doing literacy work with the teachers and students. I’ll also be working a little bit in an upper basic school, doing some math work, hopefully. Also, and most exciting, is that apparently one of my schools has a basketball court at it! The basketball court is apparently just a slab of concrete, but it’s something to work with. I’ll find the first gambian star yet.
I haven’t been there, but have seen pictures of my house. It’s tiny, a round mud hut, with a thatched roof. I still can’t believe it. It’s really Africa.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The Sched
Here’s the daily schedule of my life in the Gambia thus far. This is basically how it seems to go during training, and things will change a lot once we get out to our permanent sites.
6:38 – Awaken to my alarm, although exuberant roosters and braying donkeys have had me in and out of sleep for the past hour and a half. Hit snooze at least three times.
7-ish – Untuck my mosquito net, get out of bed, hit the pit. Sweep out my house, to avoid having sand dunes form in the corners of the rooms. Read through my notes one time, so when I go and face my host family, I don’t sound like a complete idiot.
7:40 – greet my family. This alone, with all of the member of the family, takes about 15 minutes.
8am – classes start. We usually start by walking to a bitik (store) to get some bread and chocolate (which provides me much of my sustenance for the day). Then we are thrown into the world of Mandinka, which follows exactly zero of the rules of the English language. We usually have an audience of about six adults and 14 kids, who just watch as we try to learn, and laugh as we try to speak.
11 or noon – Morning classes end, and we are set free. Usually we hang at our teachers house and drink attaya (a tea that is brewed all day long here, filled with enough sugar to build a cotton candy castle), eat mangoes, and sleep, read or study under the mango tree.
1pm – Lunch. Everyday, we eat from a giant food bowl, using only our hands. The food is always rice, some sort of meet, cabbage, cucumbers, beans, and occasionally some sweet potato fries… mmmm. It apparently is the best food that we’ll get in this country, so I’m trying to live it up. I eat a lot every day, because dinner is harder to swallow. After lunch we usuallly continue hanging out under the mango tree, either reading or studying. No one tells us to do this, but we like to stay as a group and hang out and study, since it’s a lot harder to do so in your compound.
4:30 – class again. More language lessons. Everything that I’ve learned from the morning is most likely gone.
6:30 pm – Bucket bath. Still trying to figure out the correct amount of water, the correct rinsing tactic, and how to keep the soap from slipping and getting crazy dirty.
7:30pm – Hang out with the fam. Sometimes I help my sister cook dinner, sometimes I play frisbee or a red light green light type game with the tons of kids, and occasionally try to awkwardly have a conversation with my family. Usually, this consists of them saying, “You came”, “You’re here” or the ever popular “you’re sitting”, each of which I respond to with a resounding “haa” or yes. Stimulating conversation.
9pm – Dinner. I am served a full fish, complete with eyes, along with a suspect sauce and a giant bowl of white rice. Usually I take a few bites of white rice and give the rest back.
10pm – it’s too dark to do anything, unless you have fox like night-vision, so I go beneath my mosquito net and read. Then go to sleep.
6:38 – Awaken to my alarm, although exuberant roosters and braying donkeys have had me in and out of sleep for the past hour and a half. Hit snooze at least three times.
7-ish – Untuck my mosquito net, get out of bed, hit the pit. Sweep out my house, to avoid having sand dunes form in the corners of the rooms. Read through my notes one time, so when I go and face my host family, I don’t sound like a complete idiot.
7:40 – greet my family. This alone, with all of the member of the family, takes about 15 minutes.
8am – classes start. We usually start by walking to a bitik (store) to get some bread and chocolate (which provides me much of my sustenance for the day). Then we are thrown into the world of Mandinka, which follows exactly zero of the rules of the English language. We usually have an audience of about six adults and 14 kids, who just watch as we try to learn, and laugh as we try to speak.
11 or noon – Morning classes end, and we are set free. Usually we hang at our teachers house and drink attaya (a tea that is brewed all day long here, filled with enough sugar to build a cotton candy castle), eat mangoes, and sleep, read or study under the mango tree.
1pm – Lunch. Everyday, we eat from a giant food bowl, using only our hands. The food is always rice, some sort of meet, cabbage, cucumbers, beans, and occasionally some sweet potato fries… mmmm. It apparently is the best food that we’ll get in this country, so I’m trying to live it up. I eat a lot every day, because dinner is harder to swallow. After lunch we usuallly continue hanging out under the mango tree, either reading or studying. No one tells us to do this, but we like to stay as a group and hang out and study, since it’s a lot harder to do so in your compound.
4:30 – class again. More language lessons. Everything that I’ve learned from the morning is most likely gone.
6:30 pm – Bucket bath. Still trying to figure out the correct amount of water, the correct rinsing tactic, and how to keep the soap from slipping and getting crazy dirty.
7:30pm – Hang out with the fam. Sometimes I help my sister cook dinner, sometimes I play frisbee or a red light green light type game with the tons of kids, and occasionally try to awkwardly have a conversation with my family. Usually, this consists of them saying, “You came”, “You’re here” or the ever popular “you’re sitting”, each of which I respond to with a resounding “haa” or yes. Stimulating conversation.
9pm – Dinner. I am served a full fish, complete with eyes, along with a suspect sauce and a giant bowl of white rice. Usually I take a few bites of white rice and give the rest back.
10pm – it’s too dark to do anything, unless you have fox like night-vision, so I go beneath my mosquito net and read. Then go to sleep.
World Cup Video Club
About a week ago, we went to the video club across the street from my compound, we paid ten dalasis, and we sat in a hot room, filled to double capacity, trying to watch the epic european battle; the finals of the world cup.
It was quite an experience. The seating was boards placed on bedongs (big plastic jugs). The technology area had crazy wires – connected to car batteries, to generators, to DVD players, to cable boxes, I think there might have been a wire connected to a goat running on a wheel outside, just trying to eek out enough electricity to get the entire game.
The room was hot, it was sweaty, and it smelled TERRIBLE. This is what African soccer fans are all about. About 20 minutes into the game, it started to monsoon. There was thunder, lightning, and rain coming in through the windows. Because of this, the already weak Senegalese cable station that we were watching it on, flickered in and out. We missed about thirty minutes of the game because of the crazy rain.
When the one goal was finally scored, the crowd went CRAZY! The owner of the video club was running around telling people to calm down, because they almost jumped through his ceiling! We had no idea what anyone was saying, but a lot of people were yelling “GOOOOOOOOOOOAL” I think. Apparently, everyone wanted Spain to win because more black people live in spain than in the Netherlands.
It was quite an experience. The seating was boards placed on bedongs (big plastic jugs). The technology area had crazy wires – connected to car batteries, to generators, to DVD players, to cable boxes, I think there might have been a wire connected to a goat running on a wheel outside, just trying to eek out enough electricity to get the entire game.
The room was hot, it was sweaty, and it smelled TERRIBLE. This is what African soccer fans are all about. About 20 minutes into the game, it started to monsoon. There was thunder, lightning, and rain coming in through the windows. Because of this, the already weak Senegalese cable station that we were watching it on, flickered in and out. We missed about thirty minutes of the game because of the crazy rain.
When the one goal was finally scored, the crowd went CRAZY! The owner of the video club was running around telling people to calm down, because they almost jumped through his ceiling! We had no idea what anyone was saying, but a lot of people were yelling “GOOOOOOOOOOOAL” I think. Apparently, everyone wanted Spain to win because more black people live in spain than in the Netherlands.
My Two Moms
So, it’s many days later. I am writing this post from my rustic hut, a sandstone brick structure with two rooms, four windows, and two doors. It has its own pit latrine, it’s own 3x8 backyard area, and a small front porch area. It’s actually not too bad. I live in a compound with the rest of the Ceesay family, which includes my father: a farmer who yells a lot and laughs at almost everything I do. I have a feeling he’s really really awesome, but I can understand almost nothing that he says; My first mom, who is like a gypsy. She has two gold teeth, always wears bright wrap skirts, and thrusts in my general direction while dancing; My second mom, who is like the head honcho of the village. People do what she says, and she is super inviting. Neither of these host parents speak any English at all, except “nice”. Since I have two moms, you have probably realized that my dad has two wives. I tried to conjure up a family tree with my limited vocabulary, but it became very convoluted, very quickly. There are about 11 kids who live here, ranging in age from 4 months to 23 years. Every one of these kids has twelve friends which they bring over daily, just to watch the toubab (white person) study or to be entertained by her. I never thought I’d say it, but I wish for one day, no kids would try to play with me. They follow me in the streets, yelling “Abby Ceesay!” and trying to hold my hand. I was literally holding the hands of 8 different people today, and upon closer examination, I think about 6 had pink eye. Huzzah.
I know I had conversations with many of you about the culture of this primarily Muslim country, and the fact that it is considered mildly inappropriate to show my knees. I’ve been very concious of this rule, and have been wearing my basketball shorts really low so they cover my knees, and wearing capris that I would never don in the states. However, I am often walking around in my cultural appropriate gear, and see topless women EVERYWHERE: breast feeding, doing farm work, carrying huge buckets of water or bundles of crops on their head, or just chilling. I have to imagine I am more shocked to see their “sunjolu” than they are to see my knees, so I’ve loosened up a little bit. I went to hang out with one of my moms before dinner the other day, and when I lifted my lantern to find a place to sit, I realized she was flying free up top. I sat next to her regardless, but felt very, very uncomfortable.
Since my last post, I’ve pooped in the hole many times, and have found it to be not the worst thing I’ve ever done. So that’s good.
Sometimes, to entertain myself, I think about a screenplay, translated into English, involving me and everyone else that I interact with on a daily basis. Here’s what it would go like.
Gambian: God go with you.
Aby Ceesay: And God go with you.
Gambian: hope you slept well.
Aby Ceesay: yes, I slept very well.
G: where are the home people?
AC: they are there.
G: Is there peace?
AC: Peace only.
G: Hope there is no trouble.
AC: No trouble.
G: Where are you going.
AC: I’m going *Point away*
G: Something I can’t understand.
AC: slowly. Slowly. *Smile, pause, shrug shoulder in the international sign of “I can’t understand you”*
G *Confused look, as Aby hasn’t answered her questions.*
*the pair walk along for a few silent minutes*
AC: Goat. *Points to creature on the side of the road.*
G: Yes… goat… *looks to the side as if to say “Oh, brother”
This is what most of my days are like. We have language for about 6 hours every day, but it is going slowly, slowly. I try to hang with the fam for as much time as possible, but sometimes the awkwardness drives me away.
I have many things to say about the food, the children, my teacher, monsoons, my classmates, the World Cup, and the pump, but I have no electricity to continue typing, and am just jonesin’ to practice my Mandinka. I’ve given up on trying to memorize everything we learn in class, and instead am memorizing key phrases. “Say it again, please”, “I’m sorry”, “what is this?”, “Please help me”, and “My name is not Toubab”.
What an adventure.
Fo waati do (until next time)
Abby Adams/Ceesay
I know I had conversations with many of you about the culture of this primarily Muslim country, and the fact that it is considered mildly inappropriate to show my knees. I’ve been very concious of this rule, and have been wearing my basketball shorts really low so they cover my knees, and wearing capris that I would never don in the states. However, I am often walking around in my cultural appropriate gear, and see topless women EVERYWHERE: breast feeding, doing farm work, carrying huge buckets of water or bundles of crops on their head, or just chilling. I have to imagine I am more shocked to see their “sunjolu” than they are to see my knees, so I’ve loosened up a little bit. I went to hang out with one of my moms before dinner the other day, and when I lifted my lantern to find a place to sit, I realized she was flying free up top. I sat next to her regardless, but felt very, very uncomfortable.
Since my last post, I’ve pooped in the hole many times, and have found it to be not the worst thing I’ve ever done. So that’s good.
Sometimes, to entertain myself, I think about a screenplay, translated into English, involving me and everyone else that I interact with on a daily basis. Here’s what it would go like.
Gambian: God go with you.
Aby Ceesay: And God go with you.
Gambian: hope you slept well.
Aby Ceesay: yes, I slept very well.
G: where are the home people?
AC: they are there.
G: Is there peace?
AC: Peace only.
G: Hope there is no trouble.
AC: No trouble.
G: Where are you going.
AC: I’m going *Point away*
G: Something I can’t understand.
AC: slowly. Slowly. *Smile, pause, shrug shoulder in the international sign of “I can’t understand you”*
G *Confused look, as Aby hasn’t answered her questions.*
*the pair walk along for a few silent minutes*
AC: Goat. *Points to creature on the side of the road.*
G: Yes… goat… *looks to the side as if to say “Oh, brother”
This is what most of my days are like. We have language for about 6 hours every day, but it is going slowly, slowly. I try to hang with the fam for as much time as possible, but sometimes the awkwardness drives me away.
I have many things to say about the food, the children, my teacher, monsoons, my classmates, the World Cup, and the pump, but I have no electricity to continue typing, and am just jonesin’ to practice my Mandinka. I’ve given up on trying to memorize everything we learn in class, and instead am memorizing key phrases. “Say it again, please”, “I’m sorry”, “what is this?”, “Please help me”, and “My name is not Toubab”.
What an adventure.
Fo waati do (until next time)
Abby Adams/Ceesay
Never Have I Ever
It’s my first blog post. Hopefully it is up to par. In the true ASP fashion, please provide feedback on the content, and quality of writing in the following post.
So, I left the metropolitan region of chicago a mere six days ago, but it feels like forever. I know a lot of people say that, but for real. Here are the things that I’ve done since six days ago that I have never done before.
1. Arrived at Philly’s airport with all of my bags and a smile on my face.
2. Eaten a Philly cheese steak in Philadelphia (it was kind of gross, but I heard that we went to the wrong place)
3. Eaten a last American ice cream cone.
4. Eaten a second, last American ice cream cone.
5. Been to continental Europe. (The brief stay in Brussels was enough to get a stamp on my passport and check this off of the to-do list)
6. Been to Africa.
7. Slept under mosquito netting.
8. Taken malaria medication.
9. Eaten an egg (this I’ve done before, but not since I reached the age of reason, so I think it counts)
10. Greeted people in Mandinka
11. Greetted people in wolof.
12. Greeted people in Pulaar.
13. Learned how to tie a wrap skirt, to tie a head scarf, to take a bucket bath, and to use a pit latrine.
14. Held a native-to-Africa snake
15. Held a naked African.
16. Got pulled over at an African police checkpoint.
17. Eaten from a communal food bowl, with my hands.
18. Strongly considered eating a fish with eyes that were still gazing at me. Decided against it.
19. Stayed at a resort where I wasn’t allowed to drink the water or use it to brush my teeth.
20. Played euchre and Red Jar Blue Jar in Africa.
21. Danced in a cultural celebration with a man dressed as a bride, a man on stilts, and two hissing men dressed as lions.
That’s all I can think of now, but I’m sure there are more.
Overall, things are going exceedingly well. Having said that, I have yet to poop in a hole, pump and filter my water, or prepare my own food. Tomorrow we go to the village, and there I will find my new home for the next 8 weeks. I’ll meet my host family, and on Wednesday, I will receive my first gambian name. My last name will be Ceesay, which is the last name of my host dad, and they get to pick what my first name will be. There are only about 12 names to choose from (this number may be a little low) but a LOT of people have the same first and last name here. I hope I don’t get fatou for my name. A husky girl named Fatou? Think of how they’ll make fun of me.
So, I left the metropolitan region of chicago a mere six days ago, but it feels like forever. I know a lot of people say that, but for real. Here are the things that I’ve done since six days ago that I have never done before.
1. Arrived at Philly’s airport with all of my bags and a smile on my face.
2. Eaten a Philly cheese steak in Philadelphia (it was kind of gross, but I heard that we went to the wrong place)
3. Eaten a last American ice cream cone.
4. Eaten a second, last American ice cream cone.
5. Been to continental Europe. (The brief stay in Brussels was enough to get a stamp on my passport and check this off of the to-do list)
6. Been to Africa.
7. Slept under mosquito netting.
8. Taken malaria medication.
9. Eaten an egg (this I’ve done before, but not since I reached the age of reason, so I think it counts)
10. Greeted people in Mandinka
11. Greetted people in wolof.
12. Greeted people in Pulaar.
13. Learned how to tie a wrap skirt, to tie a head scarf, to take a bucket bath, and to use a pit latrine.
14. Held a native-to-Africa snake
15. Held a naked African.
16. Got pulled over at an African police checkpoint.
17. Eaten from a communal food bowl, with my hands.
18. Strongly considered eating a fish with eyes that were still gazing at me. Decided against it.
19. Stayed at a resort where I wasn’t allowed to drink the water or use it to brush my teeth.
20. Played euchre and Red Jar Blue Jar in Africa.
21. Danced in a cultural celebration with a man dressed as a bride, a man on stilts, and two hissing men dressed as lions.
That’s all I can think of now, but I’m sure there are more.
Overall, things are going exceedingly well. Having said that, I have yet to poop in a hole, pump and filter my water, or prepare my own food. Tomorrow we go to the village, and there I will find my new home for the next 8 weeks. I’ll meet my host family, and on Wednesday, I will receive my first gambian name. My last name will be Ceesay, which is the last name of my host dad, and they get to pick what my first name will be. There are only about 12 names to choose from (this number may be a little low) but a LOT of people have the same first and last name here. I hope I don’t get fatou for my name. A husky girl named Fatou? Think of how they’ll make fun of me.
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