Many of you have asked, and many of you haven't, but I know you've been dying to know what kind of things you can send me in the Gambia.
This will probably change as I know more about my actual job and what my school needs. So most of these are personal, selfish requests.
CD mixes of new hits
DVDs of important sporting events/new movies I would love
Sports illustrated or news publications
Gum that won't melt
Spices (cinnamon, red pepper flakes, salt, pepper)
School supplies (markers, pens, colored pencils, pencils, colored paper)
Clif Bars, other filling granola bars
Raw almonds or other nuts (not peanuts or cashews, they're everywhere)
Batteries (AA)
Dried sauce packets
Gatorade powder
Candy of any kind (that won't melt)
Funny or sports teams t shirts
Seeds (for food or flowers)
Photos and letters
books I'd read
anything else i love
Thanks in advance!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
PHOTOGAPHS
If you want to see some professional-like photographs of the Gambian Peace Corps experience, check out Dylan’s flickr page. http://flickr.com/photos/daltoris
Enjoy!
Enjoy!
SITE VISIT
Two weeks before we swear in as volunteers, we go and visit the village where we’ll be living for the next two years. The goal is to meet our family, make a list of necessities to buy in civilization, and meet up with important people in the community.
When I got to my site, in beautiful Nyakoi, THE Gambia, I found that my house was unfinished. The house itself was up, and it’s ridiculous. Imagine what you think most Africans live in, and that’s what it is. A tiny, TINY, one room circular mud hut, with a thatched roof. I think I could recreate that famous da Vinci painting by just laying in the center of the house and touching the walls with my hands and feet simultaneously. When I arrived, there was no pit latrine area, no fence, it wasn’t painted, the floor was still mud, and there were no doors. So needless to say, I couldn’t move in yet. In a horrifically awkward twist of fate, I had to stay in a room in the house with my family. Now, it sounds like it would be ok, but there were a variety of factors that made it fairly terrible.
1. This house isn’t like a normal house. There is no ceiling, so the walls divide rooms in terms of vision, but sound is free to move and travel as it wishes. Therefore, when I went to bed to escape the awkwardness outside at 10pm, the party outside was not shut out. And when fasting people rose at 5am to eat food before the sun showed its face, I could hear it all. Beyond that, it allowed sound to move freely, but the house provided exactly zero light to my room. So I had to rummage through all my stuff, no matter how bright the sun shone outside, by only the light of flashlights.
2. The bed. I can’t yet get past the thought of what African beds could contain. So, I spent my first two nights creating imaginary itches and feeling imaginary bugs crawling around. My first morning, I saw a mouse scurrying around the tops of the walls and roof supports, and so I actually imagined a mouse crawling up my mosquito net one night. At least I hope I imagined it… Also, it was constructed of basically two horizontal supports, one of which was much higher than the other, and both of which disrupted the natural flow of my vertebrae.
3. Since I didn’t have my own pit latrine, I had to use my families. This is very different than using a bathroom in someone’s house. I could smell and see their coming and goings (so to speak) and they mine. Also, there’s no door, much less a lock to prevent people from entering while you’re at your most fragile. So, I came down with a terrible cough every time I had to shower or use the facilities, just so that they would realize they were occupied.
4. The social aspect. Oh my god. Ramadan is in full swing, and so people don’t do ANYTHING. Sometimes they go to the bush (farm) for a few hours during the day, but most of the time they’re just sitting, sedentary, chatting. I, as a newcomer to the Mandinka language, am unable to chat effectively with them. It’s like being a party where you know no one, and all that you can effectively communicate is “how are you”, “How’s work”, “Where are the children”, and “Yes, I’m sitting”. Keep in mind, however, that unless people respond to these questions or comments in the simplest of ways, you can’t understand the responses. Further, in American situations, you can just go play with some toddlers who can’t speak anyway, but in the Gambian situation, all of those children are terrified of you because you are white.
Despite the awkwardness, Nyakoi is unbelievably beautiful. Some relatives of my host family live right next door in the Gambian version of a palace. They have a generator (which they haven’t used yet) and a staircase! It’s the first staircase I’ve seen outside of the capital of The Gambia. It leads to the roof, and so the other day, I climbed up there to check out the view. It was unbelievable. I thought it was too early to break out my camera, since for the price of it they could probably feed their family for many months. I will try to explain it as well as possible.
There were two storms approaching, one from the left, one from the right. I could see the big, dark clouds, and the rain falling miles away on both sides of me. Occasionally, I could see lightning flashing between the clouds on both sides. Closer to me, there were huge puffy clouds covering the sun, and so you got that cool heaven-like effect, where the sun rays are like tangible things, busting through the gaps in clouds.
The landscape is ridiculously flat, and since it’s the rainy season, everything is green. Capital G-R-E-E-N. So, it’s just leafy and green everywhere you look, except when a bright red dirt road snakes between the green. The sky in between the two storms was bright, bright blue, and dotted throughout the scenery was the dusty brown of mud huts. My host grandma or aunt (I’m not sure who’s who yet) was out in the fields gathering two goats, and so there’s the stereotypical dark black old woman, in the vibrant green and yellow complete, bringing in two goats from the field. Nearby, I could hear and see little children yelling and playing.
A rainbow also showed its face for a few minutes through it, and I just sat watching it all. It was like a postcard, no matter where I looked. Unbelievable. Next time all of those conditions come together again, I’ll get a picture. I promise.
So, now we’re headed back to Kombo (the capital area) for about ten days, to have some sessions, take our final language test (yikes), stock up on food, supplies and household needs, and then Swear In! I’ll be a volunteer in a little more than a week. Huzzah!
Also, since I’ve changed families, I have to take their name. Readers, please meet my new identity, Abby Sillah.
When I got to my site, in beautiful Nyakoi, THE Gambia, I found that my house was unfinished. The house itself was up, and it’s ridiculous. Imagine what you think most Africans live in, and that’s what it is. A tiny, TINY, one room circular mud hut, with a thatched roof. I think I could recreate that famous da Vinci painting by just laying in the center of the house and touching the walls with my hands and feet simultaneously. When I arrived, there was no pit latrine area, no fence, it wasn’t painted, the floor was still mud, and there were no doors. So needless to say, I couldn’t move in yet. In a horrifically awkward twist of fate, I had to stay in a room in the house with my family. Now, it sounds like it would be ok, but there were a variety of factors that made it fairly terrible.
1. This house isn’t like a normal house. There is no ceiling, so the walls divide rooms in terms of vision, but sound is free to move and travel as it wishes. Therefore, when I went to bed to escape the awkwardness outside at 10pm, the party outside was not shut out. And when fasting people rose at 5am to eat food before the sun showed its face, I could hear it all. Beyond that, it allowed sound to move freely, but the house provided exactly zero light to my room. So I had to rummage through all my stuff, no matter how bright the sun shone outside, by only the light of flashlights.
2. The bed. I can’t yet get past the thought of what African beds could contain. So, I spent my first two nights creating imaginary itches and feeling imaginary bugs crawling around. My first morning, I saw a mouse scurrying around the tops of the walls and roof supports, and so I actually imagined a mouse crawling up my mosquito net one night. At least I hope I imagined it… Also, it was constructed of basically two horizontal supports, one of which was much higher than the other, and both of which disrupted the natural flow of my vertebrae.
3. Since I didn’t have my own pit latrine, I had to use my families. This is very different than using a bathroom in someone’s house. I could smell and see their coming and goings (so to speak) and they mine. Also, there’s no door, much less a lock to prevent people from entering while you’re at your most fragile. So, I came down with a terrible cough every time I had to shower or use the facilities, just so that they would realize they were occupied.
4. The social aspect. Oh my god. Ramadan is in full swing, and so people don’t do ANYTHING. Sometimes they go to the bush (farm) for a few hours during the day, but most of the time they’re just sitting, sedentary, chatting. I, as a newcomer to the Mandinka language, am unable to chat effectively with them. It’s like being a party where you know no one, and all that you can effectively communicate is “how are you”, “How’s work”, “Where are the children”, and “Yes, I’m sitting”. Keep in mind, however, that unless people respond to these questions or comments in the simplest of ways, you can’t understand the responses. Further, in American situations, you can just go play with some toddlers who can’t speak anyway, but in the Gambian situation, all of those children are terrified of you because you are white.
Despite the awkwardness, Nyakoi is unbelievably beautiful. Some relatives of my host family live right next door in the Gambian version of a palace. They have a generator (which they haven’t used yet) and a staircase! It’s the first staircase I’ve seen outside of the capital of The Gambia. It leads to the roof, and so the other day, I climbed up there to check out the view. It was unbelievable. I thought it was too early to break out my camera, since for the price of it they could probably feed their family for many months. I will try to explain it as well as possible.
There were two storms approaching, one from the left, one from the right. I could see the big, dark clouds, and the rain falling miles away on both sides of me. Occasionally, I could see lightning flashing between the clouds on both sides. Closer to me, there were huge puffy clouds covering the sun, and so you got that cool heaven-like effect, where the sun rays are like tangible things, busting through the gaps in clouds.
The landscape is ridiculously flat, and since it’s the rainy season, everything is green. Capital G-R-E-E-N. So, it’s just leafy and green everywhere you look, except when a bright red dirt road snakes between the green. The sky in between the two storms was bright, bright blue, and dotted throughout the scenery was the dusty brown of mud huts. My host grandma or aunt (I’m not sure who’s who yet) was out in the fields gathering two goats, and so there’s the stereotypical dark black old woman, in the vibrant green and yellow complete, bringing in two goats from the field. Nearby, I could hear and see little children yelling and playing.
A rainbow also showed its face for a few minutes through it, and I just sat watching it all. It was like a postcard, no matter where I looked. Unbelievable. Next time all of those conditions come together again, I’ll get a picture. I promise.
So, now we’re headed back to Kombo (the capital area) for about ten days, to have some sessions, take our final language test (yikes), stock up on food, supplies and household needs, and then Swear In! I’ll be a volunteer in a little more than a week. Huzzah!
Also, since I’ve changed families, I have to take their name. Readers, please meet my new identity, Abby Sillah.
MODEL SCHOOL
So, a few weeks ago, we had a “sink or swim” week at a Basic Cycle School in a nearby village, in the Gambian Peace corps version of student teaching, an event called Model School. Since it’s summer here, they gathered 25 students from each grade (fifth through eighth), and Peace Corps PAID them to come and do fun lessons with Peace Corps volunteers.
It was good to be in a classroom again. Since corporal punishment is a very real part of the education experience of all of these children, students are very well behaved, and I didn’t have to deal with the attitudes and misbehavior that run rampant in American schools. Most of the time, students did what I asked them to do, and when I got my teacher voice going, they straightened up. This was perhaps not the most realistic depiction of Gambian schools, since they picked the best students to attend Model School, and normal classrooms have about 60 students.
In one of our cultural lessons, we learned that Gambian meeting times are very fluid. They said that if you plan to have a meeting at 3, you can expect it to start at 5 or 5:30. I was horrified, and refused to believe it. But, our model school graduation was supposed to start at 3, and didn’t get going until about 4:30.
During Model School, I taught fifth grade math and seventh and eighth grade gym. One of these (elementary math) was my major and minor, and one of these (gym) I never did before. But, man, I was a killer gym teacher. I think I missed my calling. I taught one class to play capture the flag, and one of them I taught to play ultimate Frisbee. On the evaluation at the end of Model School, numerous eighth graders wrote that their favorite part was “freez-bee”. Soon enough, it will be the national sport of the Gambia. Mission one: on the way to accomplishment.
One of my gym lessons happened to land on the first day of Ramadan. Halfway through the hour long lesson, I took some mercy on the students and took them to the well to get some water. Some of the students gave me weird looks, but I thought that was just because I was being exceedingly generous, giving them water at the middle of a period. I was surprised when all of the Anna’s, Pa Louis’, Philip, and Frances’ (the Christians) could get water, but the Alhagie’s, Oumie, Hawa, and Muhammed’s (the Muslims) had to abstain. (My African eighth grade class had whiter names than my class in NC!)
Capture the flag went amazingly well. I was pretty nervous about the language barrier before I started the lesson, so when students were doing what I wanted, I was ecstatic. I tried to give some of the ones who were trying really hard and following directions a simple, innocent high five. In doing so, I culturally insensitively forgot that the American “Way to go! Hit my hand in celebration!” is the same symbol as the Gambian “I’m about to beat you”. Oops.
It was good to be in a classroom again. Since corporal punishment is a very real part of the education experience of all of these children, students are very well behaved, and I didn’t have to deal with the attitudes and misbehavior that run rampant in American schools. Most of the time, students did what I asked them to do, and when I got my teacher voice going, they straightened up. This was perhaps not the most realistic depiction of Gambian schools, since they picked the best students to attend Model School, and normal classrooms have about 60 students.
In one of our cultural lessons, we learned that Gambian meeting times are very fluid. They said that if you plan to have a meeting at 3, you can expect it to start at 5 or 5:30. I was horrified, and refused to believe it. But, our model school graduation was supposed to start at 3, and didn’t get going until about 4:30.
During Model School, I taught fifth grade math and seventh and eighth grade gym. One of these (elementary math) was my major and minor, and one of these (gym) I never did before. But, man, I was a killer gym teacher. I think I missed my calling. I taught one class to play capture the flag, and one of them I taught to play ultimate Frisbee. On the evaluation at the end of Model School, numerous eighth graders wrote that their favorite part was “freez-bee”. Soon enough, it will be the national sport of the Gambia. Mission one: on the way to accomplishment.
One of my gym lessons happened to land on the first day of Ramadan. Halfway through the hour long lesson, I took some mercy on the students and took them to the well to get some water. Some of the students gave me weird looks, but I thought that was just because I was being exceedingly generous, giving them water at the middle of a period. I was surprised when all of the Anna’s, Pa Louis’, Philip, and Frances’ (the Christians) could get water, but the Alhagie’s, Oumie, Hawa, and Muhammed’s (the Muslims) had to abstain. (My African eighth grade class had whiter names than my class in NC!)
Capture the flag went amazingly well. I was pretty nervous about the language barrier before I started the lesson, so when students were doing what I wanted, I was ecstatic. I tried to give some of the ones who were trying really hard and following directions a simple, innocent high five. In doing so, I culturally insensitively forgot that the American “Way to go! Hit my hand in celebration!” is the same symbol as the Gambian “I’m about to beat you”. Oops.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Janjangburreh
To see more of the country, we took a field trip to a town called janjangburreh. It’s a fairly big town/island in the middle of the Gambian River, close to the center of the country. The goal while there was to see some more of the country, to relax on a boat trip, and to attend an hour of a summer teacher training seminar for local Gambian teachers.
We stayed in a “resort”. This resort made Yuna Resort (the first one we stayed in) actually seem like a resort. Although the rooms looked more unique, the water didn’t work, there was no electricity, only a tank could navigate the road to get to the resort, and it was infested with monkeys and bats.
When I say infested, I mean it. The first day when we ate breakfast at the resort, a girl went and got her food, put it down on the table, bent her head to the side slightly so that she could find her chair and sit in it, and while her head was turned ten degrees for about a tenth of a second, 4 monkeys made their move. Apparently they just sit in the shrubbery near the eating area, waiting for people who let their eyes wander. Four monkeys leapt over chairs, onto the table, grabbed as many panquetos as their four fingers and opposable thumbs could carry, and then fled back into the trees. It was UNBELIEVABLE. Every meal, some dude had to carry a large stick, and continuously throw it like a spear into the bamboo where they all sat, planning their next attack; deciding which monkey would be on the front line and which would take the flank. I can just imagine the staff meeting of the resort staff. Every night I bet they play rock, paper, scissors, and the loser has to be on monkey patrol.
To eat without getting your food snatched, you literally had to sit in tight little squares, four people hunched in near their food. In your left hand you held a knife or stick of some kind, to ward off brave monkeys, in your right hand you shoveled your food into your mouth, and your eyes are always darting from side to side, sweeping the area for suspicious and ambitious looking monkeys. Occasionally, you would yell to your friends, “WATCH YOUR BACK!” or “HE’S COMING IN FROM THE LEFT!” or “AERIAL ATTACK!”
Besides the thieving monkeys, we saw some cool animals on our boat trip. There were a bunch of pockets of baboons chilling all along the banks of the gambia river. I also saw a staple of African animal sightings – a hippo! I was SOOO excited. Once I figure out how to zoom in on the picture, I will post it here.
We stayed in a “resort”. This resort made Yuna Resort (the first one we stayed in) actually seem like a resort. Although the rooms looked more unique, the water didn’t work, there was no electricity, only a tank could navigate the road to get to the resort, and it was infested with monkeys and bats.
When I say infested, I mean it. The first day when we ate breakfast at the resort, a girl went and got her food, put it down on the table, bent her head to the side slightly so that she could find her chair and sit in it, and while her head was turned ten degrees for about a tenth of a second, 4 monkeys made their move. Apparently they just sit in the shrubbery near the eating area, waiting for people who let their eyes wander. Four monkeys leapt over chairs, onto the table, grabbed as many panquetos as their four fingers and opposable thumbs could carry, and then fled back into the trees. It was UNBELIEVABLE. Every meal, some dude had to carry a large stick, and continuously throw it like a spear into the bamboo where they all sat, planning their next attack; deciding which monkey would be on the front line and which would take the flank. I can just imagine the staff meeting of the resort staff. Every night I bet they play rock, paper, scissors, and the loser has to be on monkey patrol.
To eat without getting your food snatched, you literally had to sit in tight little squares, four people hunched in near their food. In your left hand you held a knife or stick of some kind, to ward off brave monkeys, in your right hand you shoveled your food into your mouth, and your eyes are always darting from side to side, sweeping the area for suspicious and ambitious looking monkeys. Occasionally, you would yell to your friends, “WATCH YOUR BACK!” or “HE’S COMING IN FROM THE LEFT!” or “AERIAL ATTACK!”
Besides the thieving monkeys, we saw some cool animals on our boat trip. There were a bunch of pockets of baboons chilling all along the banks of the gambia river. I also saw a staple of African animal sightings – a hippo! I was SOOO excited. Once I figure out how to zoom in on the picture, I will post it here.
My First Language Success
I didn’t know before I got here and was thrown into a language filled with strange symbols, double letters, and weird intonations, but I suck at learning languages. I’m bad at building sentences, and for my entire first language test, I don’t think I used any verbs - ever. I said “I store” instead of “I went to the store”, “Dad farmer” instead of “My dad is a farmer”, and answered with one words responses as much as possible.
So, I take each little success. Anytime I can leave my host family without them looking shocked, scared, or mad at me, I consider myself at having communicated well. When I get to the store, and leave with what I wanted and at least some of my change, I consider it a success. Here, I want to chronicle my most impressive language achievement yet.
I was walking home from language lessons last week, and I saw a baby goat. As you probably know from my other blog posts, seeing a goat is no longer an exciting thing for me. However, this goat was an infant. I would guess he had emerged from the womb less than 48 hours before I cast my eyes upon him. He even still had a gross little dried out umbilical cord still attached.
I knew as soon as I saw this goat, that I needed to have a picture taking whilst holding said baby goat. I knew I could not rest until I had photo documentation of how ridiculously cute and young this kid was. However, catching a baby goat is harder than it seems. After a short race with it (I even ran in a backpack to attempt to catch it) I realized that I am not nimble nor spry enough to catch my prize. I had to rely on my language skills, and many Gambian children.
In English, I would have said;
“Children! Come here and listen to me! I need to request your services for a short period of time. I would very much like for you to engage in a short foot race with that baby goat. I would like for you to overtake him and, kindly and humanely, catch him and deliver him to me. Following the capture, I would like to hold the baby goat in my hands, and have some pictures taken with my camera. One specific picture I would like is one of me holding the baby goat as if I’m about to take a large bite from his side. I would also like my friend Caroline to be in the picture, pretending to dine upon the infant goat as well. As you can see, this picture is one of my highest priorities, so would you please do your best and run your fastest to gather him for me?”
In Mandinka, I said;
“N lafita baaringo!” which means simply;
“I want baby goat!”
As soon as I chanted that a few times and made a few feeble attempts at snagging the goat, those kids caught on, and it was better than a small town parade. Mother goat was leading the pack, followed closely by baby goat, followed closely by about 30 children, all running after each other, yelling, “N lafita baaringo!” They ran past the alkalo (village chief’s) house, around the block, and eventually, and triumphantly, delivered to me what I wanted.
The picture is hilarious. All thanks to my extensive knowledge of the Mandinkan language.
So, I take each little success. Anytime I can leave my host family without them looking shocked, scared, or mad at me, I consider myself at having communicated well. When I get to the store, and leave with what I wanted and at least some of my change, I consider it a success. Here, I want to chronicle my most impressive language achievement yet.
I was walking home from language lessons last week, and I saw a baby goat. As you probably know from my other blog posts, seeing a goat is no longer an exciting thing for me. However, this goat was an infant. I would guess he had emerged from the womb less than 48 hours before I cast my eyes upon him. He even still had a gross little dried out umbilical cord still attached.
I knew as soon as I saw this goat, that I needed to have a picture taking whilst holding said baby goat. I knew I could not rest until I had photo documentation of how ridiculously cute and young this kid was. However, catching a baby goat is harder than it seems. After a short race with it (I even ran in a backpack to attempt to catch it) I realized that I am not nimble nor spry enough to catch my prize. I had to rely on my language skills, and many Gambian children.
In English, I would have said;
“Children! Come here and listen to me! I need to request your services for a short period of time. I would very much like for you to engage in a short foot race with that baby goat. I would like for you to overtake him and, kindly and humanely, catch him and deliver him to me. Following the capture, I would like to hold the baby goat in my hands, and have some pictures taken with my camera. One specific picture I would like is one of me holding the baby goat as if I’m about to take a large bite from his side. I would also like my friend Caroline to be in the picture, pretending to dine upon the infant goat as well. As you can see, this picture is one of my highest priorities, so would you please do your best and run your fastest to gather him for me?”
In Mandinka, I said;
“N lafita baaringo!” which means simply;
“I want baby goat!”
As soon as I chanted that a few times and made a few feeble attempts at snagging the goat, those kids caught on, and it was better than a small town parade. Mother goat was leading the pack, followed closely by baby goat, followed closely by about 30 children, all running after each other, yelling, “N lafita baaringo!” They ran past the alkalo (village chief’s) house, around the block, and eventually, and triumphantly, delivered to me what I wanted.
The picture is hilarious. All thanks to my extensive knowledge of the Mandinkan language.
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