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.