I realized earlier that I often write stories of the ridiculous tales involving cultural mystery, discomfort, or the woe of being a toubab in a strange land, but I don't think I have told you all what I spend my time doing...
So,don't expect to laugh a lot during this one... only cold hard facts.
First of all, "doing stuff" in the Peace Corps, at least for your first year, from what I hear, is hard to do. You don't know the language, you don't know how everything works, you don't know who the movers and shakers in your community are. So, A LOT of my time is spent reading, writing letters, playing with kids, or in general wasting time.
My job is to be a teacher trainer. So, that sort of encompasses everything at school. I observe teachers occasionally, trying to give them encouragement (which they rarely get from their superiors) and also give them tips on how to improve things like classroom management and student involvement. The Gambia is slowly moving away from a "chalk and talk" style of lecture teaching, but it's slow going.
I also build teaching aids for teachers out of locally available junk, and try to encourage the teachers to do it too.
I have gotten a ton of books from Books for Africa, and am working on continuing to build our collection of library books. I have taken the library to be sort of like my showroom. Every class has one library period a week, so I teach about 13 periods a week. When they come in, I take the opportunity to do a fun activity or art project with them, because that's something they'll never do in their normal class, and I try to model a good lesson for the teacher. It's been rough because, despite being taught in only English for their entire schooling career, almost no one can understand me. Sigh. It's hard to model a good lesson and get students involved when they can't understand the question being asked, and have been taught not to speak out in class even if they did understand the question.
Beyond that, I'm trying to make the library look as much like an American classroom as I can. I painted a huge map of the world on the wall, I've put up all sorts of colors, hung up lots of student work, and am working on saving enough of my own money to buy some more paint, colorful curtains, and table coverings to make it a place where students like to come.
It's already been slightly successful. A few students come in before they go to afternoon class, or after they finish in morning class. They come in and sit quietly with their friends and look through the books. Maybe they're not actually reading, but I will take the successes where I can get them. One student even brought me a page of unfinished math problems and asked me to hang them on the wall.
So, there's the day to day. Not exciting, but it's what I do.
So, if you have books, ideas, construction paper, art materials, scissors, or other cool educational items, send them my way. I'm convinced that with the more visual stimulation in the library, the more jazzed kids will be about school.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Teleto
Teleto means “on TV” in Mandinka. I didn’t know this until recently, when I heard from numerous people in my village, many Peace Corps staff members, and one particularly observant vendor in the car park, that I had been on the one and only Gambian TV channel, GRTS.
No one can remember what the news story was on. All they remember is seeing a toubab run near the screen.
The accounts of the scene are all different. One says I was carrying a backpack. Another says I was carrying many “busoos” or plastic bags. Some told me I had “high hair”. Some say I was running near the bank, others say I was running to catch a gele. But all accounts involved one element – what made me sure that it was me they saw and not some other husky, tall, female toubab. They all described perfectly my huge red shorts.
When first the Peace Corps employees told me I was on TV, it made sense. They know me, so they’d most likely notice my presence. When I was on ESPN at Illini games, I expected friends to call me during the game, or at least mention after the game, that they had seen me on TV.
But when randos from the car park recognize me as the toubab on TV… at first that didn’t make sense. It’s like watching an Illini basketball game, and saying, Oh, yeah, I saw you on TV, you were standing next to the guy with the orange shirt on…
Upon further thought, and analysis of the demographics of this country, I began to realize this recognition makes more sense… it actually makes a lot of sense. It’s not like seeing a normal person, it’s a toubab! It’s like watching an Illini game and seeing a man in a gorilla suit in the stands. You’re going to remember. And next time you come across a gorilla man, you’re probably going to tell him you saw him on TV.
I just wonder how many toubabs the lady in the car park claimed to see before she came across me, the one who was actually on TV.
No one can remember what the news story was on. All they remember is seeing a toubab run near the screen.
The accounts of the scene are all different. One says I was carrying a backpack. Another says I was carrying many “busoos” or plastic bags. Some told me I had “high hair”. Some say I was running near the bank, others say I was running to catch a gele. But all accounts involved one element – what made me sure that it was me they saw and not some other husky, tall, female toubab. They all described perfectly my huge red shorts.
When first the Peace Corps employees told me I was on TV, it made sense. They know me, so they’d most likely notice my presence. When I was on ESPN at Illini games, I expected friends to call me during the game, or at least mention after the game, that they had seen me on TV.
But when randos from the car park recognize me as the toubab on TV… at first that didn’t make sense. It’s like watching an Illini basketball game, and saying, Oh, yeah, I saw you on TV, you were standing next to the guy with the orange shirt on…
Upon further thought, and analysis of the demographics of this country, I began to realize this recognition makes more sense… it actually makes a lot of sense. It’s not like seeing a normal person, it’s a toubab! It’s like watching an Illini game and seeing a man in a gorilla suit in the stands. You’re going to remember. And next time you come across a gorilla man, you’re probably going to tell him you saw him on TV.
I just wonder how many toubabs the lady in the car park claimed to see before she came across me, the one who was actually on TV.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Games Weekend
This weekend was games weekend for Peace Corps The Gambia volunteers. Those who chose to participate met up in Juffareh, the site made famous by the novel Roots. Juffareh is where Kunta Kinteh was stolen from before being sold into slavery. It’s one of the most famous tourist sites in The Gambia, and each year lots of African Americans come to this little village to see where their ancestors may have come from.
Because it gets so much tourist activity, there is a little eco-lodge there called Kunta Kinteh camp. This is where we stayed. It’s right on the river/ocean/inlet/whatever that body of water is called. It had a pool. It had a bar. It had lots of tables where tons of nerds could play all sorts of lame games.
But before we could test our individual wit, strategic skills, and dungeons and dragons tolerance, we had to have the real contest. The contest that shows true will, true grit, true spirit, true desire. We had to have a mango eating contest.
The first round of the mango eating contest involved everyone who was interested in participating. Everyone was given a plate with slices of mango, adding up to about two to three entire mangoes. When the signal was given, everyone would eat the mangoes as quickly as they could… without using their hands. And if you’ve ever eaten a mango, you know that they are slippery. To get your teeth into one was way more difficult that getting it down your gullet.
If you know my desire to compete, my appetite, and my affinity for mangoes, hopefully by now you will have guessed that I was one of the people who ate their mangoes the quickest. I finished in second to a mango eating machine.
So, the first three to finish moved on to the real contest: a timed challenge in which each person tried to eat as many mangoes as they could in a two minute time period.
The large, burly, bearded mango eating machine was contestant number one. He has been mistaken for Bigfoot and is known for his eating abilities.
Contestant number two was a tall, thin, wiry guy. He looked beatable, but his resolve was strong.
And then there was me. The lone female, representing half of humankind, and about 70% of Peace Corps volunteers in the Gambia.
The contest began, and I shoveled those mangoes as fast as I could into my mouth. I had a counter on one side, and a coach on the other, guiding me on which pieces looked most mash-able, and which pieces were smallest, to maximize my eating potential.
The winner, Bigfoot, ate 26 pieces of mango, which according to my calculations, is about 5 mangoes. In two minutes.
Slim and I tied for second place, with 21 mango pieces, or about four mangoes. Two mangoes a minute. Not too bad, eh?
After that contest, the other games began. Think of a nerdy game, and we had it. French settlement building, German property trading, world conquest, railroad maximization, dungeons, dragons, munchkins… we had it all.
Late that first night, I played a game called Munchkin. Basically, it was a tryout to see who could hack it to move up to the big leagues of actual dungeons and dragons. And I failed MISERABLY. It was a ridiculous game, involving warriors, clerics, elves, and Halflings, where people obtained items like the “Boots of Running Really Fast” and “Huge Rock” and fought monsters like “the Floating Nose” and “the Plutonium Dragon”. It took forever, you had to wait your turn, and there were a lot of rules to learn.
Since I found out early I would never cut it for D&D, I decided to play a fun game and eavesdrop on the kinds of ridiculous quotes that are bound to come up during a game of intense Dungeons and Dragons. Here are some gems.
“Before we open the door, does anyone need to do anything to buff themselves up?”
“Well… maybe… I could call an extra creature to help us fight…”
Discussing a murder scene with dust, woman’s clothing, and is assumed to be the death of a vampire, “Is facial hair left behind?”
“Obviously, the vampire was a woman.”
“I’m not gonna mess around, I’m gonna go ahead and take out my sword and slice the carpet.”
“I think the mayor’s daughter might be queen of the vampires.”
“They’re a medium humanoid.”
Also involved in the weekend was tarot cards. I had a lot of skeptical fun, which in turn entertained my Buddhist, hippie, fellow volunteer.
I drew a lot of cards throughout the weekend to inquire and get insight about many different aspects of my life. My favorite was the “existence” card. This card basically says that the universe, all of existence, is not full with me. The universe would be missing something were I not in it.
Not only does the universe need me in it, but also the mango market would decline greatly in the Gambia were I not around, although Dungeons and Dragons would gain a lot more respect.
Because it gets so much tourist activity, there is a little eco-lodge there called Kunta Kinteh camp. This is where we stayed. It’s right on the river/ocean/inlet/whatever that body of water is called. It had a pool. It had a bar. It had lots of tables where tons of nerds could play all sorts of lame games.
But before we could test our individual wit, strategic skills, and dungeons and dragons tolerance, we had to have the real contest. The contest that shows true will, true grit, true spirit, true desire. We had to have a mango eating contest.
The first round of the mango eating contest involved everyone who was interested in participating. Everyone was given a plate with slices of mango, adding up to about two to three entire mangoes. When the signal was given, everyone would eat the mangoes as quickly as they could… without using their hands. And if you’ve ever eaten a mango, you know that they are slippery. To get your teeth into one was way more difficult that getting it down your gullet.
If you know my desire to compete, my appetite, and my affinity for mangoes, hopefully by now you will have guessed that I was one of the people who ate their mangoes the quickest. I finished in second to a mango eating machine.
So, the first three to finish moved on to the real contest: a timed challenge in which each person tried to eat as many mangoes as they could in a two minute time period.
The large, burly, bearded mango eating machine was contestant number one. He has been mistaken for Bigfoot and is known for his eating abilities.
Contestant number two was a tall, thin, wiry guy. He looked beatable, but his resolve was strong.
And then there was me. The lone female, representing half of humankind, and about 70% of Peace Corps volunteers in the Gambia.
The contest began, and I shoveled those mangoes as fast as I could into my mouth. I had a counter on one side, and a coach on the other, guiding me on which pieces looked most mash-able, and which pieces were smallest, to maximize my eating potential.
The winner, Bigfoot, ate 26 pieces of mango, which according to my calculations, is about 5 mangoes. In two minutes.
Slim and I tied for second place, with 21 mango pieces, or about four mangoes. Two mangoes a minute. Not too bad, eh?
After that contest, the other games began. Think of a nerdy game, and we had it. French settlement building, German property trading, world conquest, railroad maximization, dungeons, dragons, munchkins… we had it all.
Late that first night, I played a game called Munchkin. Basically, it was a tryout to see who could hack it to move up to the big leagues of actual dungeons and dragons. And I failed MISERABLY. It was a ridiculous game, involving warriors, clerics, elves, and Halflings, where people obtained items like the “Boots of Running Really Fast” and “Huge Rock” and fought monsters like “the Floating Nose” and “the Plutonium Dragon”. It took forever, you had to wait your turn, and there were a lot of rules to learn.
Since I found out early I would never cut it for D&D, I decided to play a fun game and eavesdrop on the kinds of ridiculous quotes that are bound to come up during a game of intense Dungeons and Dragons. Here are some gems.
“Before we open the door, does anyone need to do anything to buff themselves up?”
“Well… maybe… I could call an extra creature to help us fight…”
Discussing a murder scene with dust, woman’s clothing, and is assumed to be the death of a vampire, “Is facial hair left behind?”
“Obviously, the vampire was a woman.”
“I’m not gonna mess around, I’m gonna go ahead and take out my sword and slice the carpet.”
“I think the mayor’s daughter might be queen of the vampires.”
“They’re a medium humanoid.”
Also involved in the weekend was tarot cards. I had a lot of skeptical fun, which in turn entertained my Buddhist, hippie, fellow volunteer.
I drew a lot of cards throughout the weekend to inquire and get insight about many different aspects of my life. My favorite was the “existence” card. This card basically says that the universe, all of existence, is not full with me. The universe would be missing something were I not in it.
Not only does the universe need me in it, but also the mango market would decline greatly in the Gambia were I not around, although Dungeons and Dragons would gain a lot more respect.
Lizard Tree
I was visiting one of my Peace Corps friends in her village, walking towards her school, when we heard a shrill and haunting noise coming from above.
We simultaneously swiveled our heads up and saw five children, at varying heights in a tree, all gazing down at us with terror in their eyes. Their howls were anguished, their mouths were wide, and their eyes pleaded at us to, for the love of allah, help them.
Based on prior experience in the Gambia, I assumed that these children were afraid of us, the three toubabs walking down the street. As soon as we passed underneath the tree, they must have felt trapped, and immediately reacted with a similar horror as I would have if I were in a locked room with an angry wolverine.
Since we were in a Wolof village, I couldn’t understand what they were screaming as they were screaming, and based on tone alone, they were afraid of death. My wolof speaking Peace Corps friend listened closely, and finally was able to understand that they were yelling that there was a chameleon in the tree. What normally would cause children to exclaim, “Cool!” instead caused the chaos we saw above us.
Then, the toubabs came to the rescue. Like firefighters rescuing people from a burning building, we raised our arms, and caught the children as they rained down to us.
Gambians believe that chameleons are evil and deadly. Just how strong is this belief? These Gambian children, who undoubtedly have rarely had the opportunity to be in the presence of a toubab, leaped, no questions asked, into the waiting arms of a strange toubab.
We simultaneously swiveled our heads up and saw five children, at varying heights in a tree, all gazing down at us with terror in their eyes. Their howls were anguished, their mouths were wide, and their eyes pleaded at us to, for the love of allah, help them.
Based on prior experience in the Gambia, I assumed that these children were afraid of us, the three toubabs walking down the street. As soon as we passed underneath the tree, they must have felt trapped, and immediately reacted with a similar horror as I would have if I were in a locked room with an angry wolverine.
Since we were in a Wolof village, I couldn’t understand what they were screaming as they were screaming, and based on tone alone, they were afraid of death. My wolof speaking Peace Corps friend listened closely, and finally was able to understand that they were yelling that there was a chameleon in the tree. What normally would cause children to exclaim, “Cool!” instead caused the chaos we saw above us.
Then, the toubabs came to the rescue. Like firefighters rescuing people from a burning building, we raised our arms, and caught the children as they rained down to us.
Gambians believe that chameleons are evil and deadly. Just how strong is this belief? These Gambian children, who undoubtedly have rarely had the opportunity to be in the presence of a toubab, leaped, no questions asked, into the waiting arms of a strange toubab.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)