Do you all remember the stupid game show on UPN at like 4, 4:30, 5, and 5:30 every weekday, and for about 3 hours every weekend? I think it was called Blind Date, but it involved one girl and three dudes, or one dude and three girls. The set for the show was incredibly simple. It was four chairs, and a wall separating one from the rest.
The premise of the show is to have a potential suitor REALLY get to know the people that they want to date. They’re allowed to ask about six questions: as long as it fits in the 22 and a half minutes allotted for the show, given breaks for commercials. And since they can’t see their interviewees, they must be choosing who to date based on the quality of their character, and not the shallow exterior… Right? At the end of the show, they choose the one they like the best, and then the show pays for them to go on a date and see if they’ve really made a love connection… maybe the show was called Love Connection…
Anyway… Let’s play.
Following are two letters received by my 18 year old, 9th grader friend who lives next door. Notice the intricacies of the vocabulary, the hidden inflection, and the sincerity inherent within each letter, and at the end, please decide who you would choose to date.
*Disclaimer* These letters appear exactly as written. Punctuation, grammar, spelling, everything is true to the original letter. Although it hardly matters in a country where 2/3 of the people are named Lamin or Fatou and whole villages have the same last name, I have changed the names to protect the innocent.
Letter #1
Hi Girl. is me Michael Smith *not his actual name* I am Hear by writing you this letter to you and the rest of your friends in favor.
SO Haw are you are you find as I am. and you are about to inform you inform you about very importance thing or manas is all about Love you know if you love some one you should tell hem that I love you weather you love me or not but me I love you too much in my life today SO if I don’t see you I will not sleeping at night every day. SO if you see this letter you answer me befor Friday 2011 to Tuesday 2011.
Thank you
is your lover
I love you girl 100% of love and like you please uerrold
Letter #2 (when viewing the format of this letter, please know that teachers DRILL how to format a letter into students head. They may not know how to format a sentence within that letter, but they know exactly where the date, salutation, and location go)
Kerewan Village Wuli West
District Upper River Region
13th January, 2011
Hi My love
is a longtime I, miss you. How are you and rest of your family. I hope they are find. Is me your lovly boy Howard Figgenbottom *not his real name* I love you enver order girls in world only you place love me. enver day I, don’t see you that day I, on miseserable all the day you I, love you too much in my life today. So if I, did see you enver day in the nigh I, can’t sleep so please love howard. Why don’t you love me why. Before maday 2011 you Answer me ore going to see frighting
I love you
love me <3 Howard and Kim Jones *not her real name*
Good girls
Good by
It should be
Wow, right?
Please comment right now with your choice, Howard or Michael.
I will personally analyze them now.
Oh, Michael. You write a convincing letter, but the fact that you don’t mention the girl’s name to which you are writing makes her feel like she’s not special. Also, you tell her that you’re writing to the rest of her friends as well, like she’s just another fish in the pond. Your lack of punctuation was probably unintentional, but she could read into it as a stream of consciousness, like you can’t hold back your feelings for her any longer, you just had to get them all out at once, and wouldn’t pause for anything – not a breath, not the end of sentence – you never stop loving her. I like that you give her some time to think about her feelings, but you need to be more specific. There are about 52 Fridays and 52 Tuesdays in 2011… to which ones are you referring? Lastly, as a minor note, you have an awful lot of cross out. Next time, write a draft and make the final copy as neat and sure as your feelings for your love.
Now, Howard. You are very formal in your letter, which can be seen as good or bad. It shows that you respect this girl, but also that you may be hiding some feelings. You start off with greeting her family, which is very culturally appropriate… well played. Her father will probably like you. As a complete opposite to the letter that Michael wrote, you place a comma after every “I”. If this were read as a spoken word, with some inflection, perhaps it could be construed as poetry. However, the halting after every few words makes it seem like you’re not sure about your feelings, and are hesitating every few moments. Make up your mind. Your misspellings make the reader overly aware that you use the word “enver” - which I believe is supposed to be “every” - far too often. Your poem at the end, while it shows effort, does not make a lot of sense, and comes off as pretty desperate. Rethink how you’re being perceived when you write this. You also finish the letter with a threat – a girl should not be afraid of what will happen if she doesn’t love you. Real love doesn’t respond to threats.
The key to Howard’s essay, and what makes him my ultimate choice despite his misspelling of third grade sight words and his horrendous misinterpretation of the use of a comma, is the final sentence that he wrote. I can almost imagine him lowering his eyes, working up the courage, then raising his head confidently, and whispering while holding eye contact…
“it should be”.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Why All Kids Should Grow Up In Africa – For Mom
Mom, you tried to teach me a lot of things when I was young. One thing that you tried to teach and drill into our brains was the tendency to clean up after ourselves. You tried numerous tactics – five minutes of clean up, pick up ten things before you move on, bribing us, yelling at us to get us to do chores – but even after 18 years of that, my dorm rooms and apartments were always untidy.
That’s all changed now. When I use a dish, I wash it immediately, sometimes before I even eat the food I’ve prepared. Food is always hidden, closed in a container, and then put in a trunk. After I wear clothes, I put them in the dirty laundry immediately, or if they can be worn again, I hang them up on my line. After I use a pen, I put it back in its holder. I make sure all of my doors and drawers and lids are closed and that there’s nothing on my desk when I go out of my house. Everything has its place, and everything is always in its place. Papers are never scattered or left out. I sweep once or twice daily. I still don’t make my bed (sorry, it’s hard with a mosquito net) but I do make sure that my net is neatly tucked in on all sides whether I’m inside or outside of it. I weed my backyard, and hang my towel up to dry instead of leaving it in a heap. Nothing is ever left on the floor.
What has led to this unexpected change of character? What has suddenly made messy, childish Abby, into the responsible and clean person she is today? The answer is one word:
Infestation.
I do all of these things, because if I do not, mice or bugs will eat, crap in, or try to inhabit things that I would prefer to be eaten by me, not crapped in by anyone, and uninhabited.
If every time a child left crumbs on the kitchen table, it meant that a new horde of mice would move in and eat their food (this food being special food that they could only buy in a certain corner of the country, hours and hours away from the certain corner of the country in which they live), they would probably wipe up the crumbs.
If every time a child left his bed unmade, mosquitoes would get in and buzz in his ears all night, or mice would get in and eat his earplugs, he would probably make his bed.
If their favorite clothes or important papers were eaten once after a child left them out, that child would probably make sure to put them away the next time.
There may be holes in my theory. Gambian children grow up in Africa, and they are always dirty and breaking things. Maybe maturity and caring for objects is vital for this method of child rearing to be effective, but it has undoubtedly worked for my 25-year-old self. I don’t know what would have happened if I was sent to live in a hut with no water or electricity when I was 8 years old, but I may have saved my mom a lot of grief.
That’s all changed now. When I use a dish, I wash it immediately, sometimes before I even eat the food I’ve prepared. Food is always hidden, closed in a container, and then put in a trunk. After I wear clothes, I put them in the dirty laundry immediately, or if they can be worn again, I hang them up on my line. After I use a pen, I put it back in its holder. I make sure all of my doors and drawers and lids are closed and that there’s nothing on my desk when I go out of my house. Everything has its place, and everything is always in its place. Papers are never scattered or left out. I sweep once or twice daily. I still don’t make my bed (sorry, it’s hard with a mosquito net) but I do make sure that my net is neatly tucked in on all sides whether I’m inside or outside of it. I weed my backyard, and hang my towel up to dry instead of leaving it in a heap. Nothing is ever left on the floor.
What has led to this unexpected change of character? What has suddenly made messy, childish Abby, into the responsible and clean person she is today? The answer is one word:
Infestation.
I do all of these things, because if I do not, mice or bugs will eat, crap in, or try to inhabit things that I would prefer to be eaten by me, not crapped in by anyone, and uninhabited.
If every time a child left crumbs on the kitchen table, it meant that a new horde of mice would move in and eat their food (this food being special food that they could only buy in a certain corner of the country, hours and hours away from the certain corner of the country in which they live), they would probably wipe up the crumbs.
If every time a child left his bed unmade, mosquitoes would get in and buzz in his ears all night, or mice would get in and eat his earplugs, he would probably make his bed.
If their favorite clothes or important papers were eaten once after a child left them out, that child would probably make sure to put them away the next time.
There may be holes in my theory. Gambian children grow up in Africa, and they are always dirty and breaking things. Maybe maturity and caring for objects is vital for this method of child rearing to be effective, but it has undoubtedly worked for my 25-year-old self. I don’t know what would have happened if I was sent to live in a hut with no water or electricity when I was 8 years old, but I may have saved my mom a lot of grief.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Africa Service Project: I've Been Set Up
*This blog post is very geared toward ASP people. So, people who are not familiar with the wonder of ASP, I apologize. However, if you don’t know what it is, you should visit the website (asphome.org), and VOLUNTEER!
It’s January, and you know what that means… it’s SAW season! For the last six years, in January and February, I have been either excitedly awaiting or anxiously and exhaustedly facilitating a Staff Applicant Weekend for those brave souls who want to be ASP staffers.
One of the tasks of these hopeful-future-staffers is to plan a day of runs, given certain restrictions – construction materials have to be there at a certain time, everything can’t be carried at once, meetings are scheduled, etc. Although never actually confirmed (why didn’t we ever do this?), it is highly theorized that the scenario that we give these eager youths is actually impossible to complete while meeting all of the requirements of safely loading vehicles, being on time, and having materials to people when they need them.
The ASP scenario seems daunting and unimaginable… but you ain’t seen nothing yet. Check it.
SCENARIO:
It’s Beautification Day at the Basse House! You decide that the shelves need to be shored up in the kitchen or else they will topple to the floor within a few days! You decide it can be done with a few 2x2’s and some nails. How will you complete the task?
Seems easy right? But wait!!! Everyone who’s been to a SAW or who’s been on ASP staff knows that there’s always something unseen and unpleasant that springs up, and our scenarios are no different. So…
SURPRISE SITUATION!
Oh, guess what. You’re in Africa. You have no car. You’re in a town that barely qualifies as such. You have no materials, and don’t know where to go to get them. You don’t know what’s available or how much to pay for it. The shelves you have to shore up are nailed to a concrete wall, which the nails do not stay in. Deal with that, sucker.
Here’s how this sucker dealt with this situation.
Since the shelves could not be nailed into the wall effectively, we decided to build a support in the front of the shelves, and then put a similar support on the first shelf to support the second, immediately above.
Without a tape measure or measuring equipment of any kind, we took craft cord and measured from the shelf to the floor. Was the shelf level? No. Was the floor level? Most decidedly no. Was the craft cord hanging plumb? Please. Was the craft cord pulled to the extent of its tautness? Doubtful. Was anything about this accurate in any way? Take a guess.
So, then, I take our six lengths of purple craft cord, and start riding towards Basse. I ride until I see a man with motorcycle equipment and bike tires our front, and say, maybe this man will know where they sell wood… As you are undoubtedly questioning my logic at this point, let me tell you, thinking back on it now, I feel the same quizzical look crossing my face.
But, eventually this man found me a carpenter. This man didn’t actually sell any wood, nor speak English, but he was a carpenter. I was getting somewhere.
Eventually, this carpenter brought me to a man that does sell wood. I know what most of you are thinking. Even bad Appalachian hardware stores have wood in uniform sizes, that’s been planed and maybe treated in some way to make it look the same. And they have some sort of selection in terms of length.
This man had ten pieces of wood. That’s it. If I didn’t want one of them, I had to find somewhere else to go. These ten splintery pieces of wood, which he called “1x6” varied in width from three to seven inches. They were all about fourteen feet long. He wanted 190 dalasis for the piece of wood that I thought could make this shelf stand. Then, I talked to the carpenter who had come along. I asked him how much it would be for him to rip it in half, and then cut it into six pieces. So altogether, seven cuts, although one would be very long.
He said 3000 dalasis.
I cannot put enough punctuation in that sentence to adequately convey how aghast I was at that price. That’s the equivalent of about $120.
I laughed in his face, shook my finger at him, and told him he was a bad man in two languages he didn’t understand, and then he said, “Ok. 300 dalasis.”
I wanted to properly punish him for his trying to rip me off so extravagantly, so I left, thinking I could find wood elsewhere.
I went to two different shops that had plywood out front, but neither had planks of wood. I tried to explain to one shop owner what I wanted by pointing at the planks of wood covering the two-foot-deep gutter full of garbage that act as a bridge for potential patrons. He immediately tried to sell me those pieces of wood.
Feeling downtrodden and slightly ashamed, I returned to the original shop, and said agreed on the price, which I still think was too high.
The carpenter took the piece of wood, and set to work. Interesting note – carpenters here don’t have chalk lines. They take a bunch of scraps of fabric, and tie them together to make a long rope. Then they dip it in oil. Then they wrap it around a stick. When it’s time to make a long cut, they unroll it, stretch it and snap it, and boom! Straight line. Less environmentally friendly, less temporary, and more flammable than its American counterpart, but it worked.
Now, I still wish I didn’t have to pay him 300 dalasis, but the way that that man ripped a 14 foot board in half using a hacksaw was pure magic. With this man’s skills with non power tools, I think he could do construction good, fast, AND cheap.
I pulled out my daintily pieces of purple craft cord, stretched them what I thought was the appropriate amount, and allowed him to cut the pieces.
Finally, I had six pieces of correctly cut wood, and two longer pieces. And one bike. And a two kilometer walk back to the construction site.
I strapped the small ones on the back, still making me about 4 feet wide. I balanced the longer two precariously on the seat and handlebars, and struggled through the sandy roads back to the Basse House.
Now, all we had to do was slide the boards into place, hammer in a few nails, and our shelves were good to go!
However, something about the craft cord plan didn’t go exactly right. All the boards were about an inch or an inch and a half too long. That meant, we had to use the tools that we had, which included.
- 1 hammer
- 1 hacksaw that was the equivalent of a butter knife.
- A handful of nails
- A surprisingly nice level
The first tool to be deemed completely unnecessary was the level. I think the level was a cruel joke that someone wanted to play on anyone trying to do construction in the Gambia. If you think Appalachia is not level… I promptly banished that level to a shed, never to be used again for anything related to construction.
Next, I tore into those boards with that hacksaw, but I’m no Gambian carpenter. My cuts were wiggly and of poor quality, and took a long time and most of my energy. Eventually, we ended up with some shelves that bend slightly less when you put dishes on them than they did yesterday.
Although the construction related differences between the Gambia and America are staggering, there is one construction tactic that works in both settings.
Shimming is global.
It’s January, and you know what that means… it’s SAW season! For the last six years, in January and February, I have been either excitedly awaiting or anxiously and exhaustedly facilitating a Staff Applicant Weekend for those brave souls who want to be ASP staffers.
One of the tasks of these hopeful-future-staffers is to plan a day of runs, given certain restrictions – construction materials have to be there at a certain time, everything can’t be carried at once, meetings are scheduled, etc. Although never actually confirmed (why didn’t we ever do this?), it is highly theorized that the scenario that we give these eager youths is actually impossible to complete while meeting all of the requirements of safely loading vehicles, being on time, and having materials to people when they need them.
The ASP scenario seems daunting and unimaginable… but you ain’t seen nothing yet. Check it.
SCENARIO:
It’s Beautification Day at the Basse House! You decide that the shelves need to be shored up in the kitchen or else they will topple to the floor within a few days! You decide it can be done with a few 2x2’s and some nails. How will you complete the task?
Seems easy right? But wait!!! Everyone who’s been to a SAW or who’s been on ASP staff knows that there’s always something unseen and unpleasant that springs up, and our scenarios are no different. So…
SURPRISE SITUATION!
Oh, guess what. You’re in Africa. You have no car. You’re in a town that barely qualifies as such. You have no materials, and don’t know where to go to get them. You don’t know what’s available or how much to pay for it. The shelves you have to shore up are nailed to a concrete wall, which the nails do not stay in. Deal with that, sucker.
Here’s how this sucker dealt with this situation.
Since the shelves could not be nailed into the wall effectively, we decided to build a support in the front of the shelves, and then put a similar support on the first shelf to support the second, immediately above.
Without a tape measure or measuring equipment of any kind, we took craft cord and measured from the shelf to the floor. Was the shelf level? No. Was the floor level? Most decidedly no. Was the craft cord hanging plumb? Please. Was the craft cord pulled to the extent of its tautness? Doubtful. Was anything about this accurate in any way? Take a guess.
So, then, I take our six lengths of purple craft cord, and start riding towards Basse. I ride until I see a man with motorcycle equipment and bike tires our front, and say, maybe this man will know where they sell wood… As you are undoubtedly questioning my logic at this point, let me tell you, thinking back on it now, I feel the same quizzical look crossing my face.
But, eventually this man found me a carpenter. This man didn’t actually sell any wood, nor speak English, but he was a carpenter. I was getting somewhere.
Eventually, this carpenter brought me to a man that does sell wood. I know what most of you are thinking. Even bad Appalachian hardware stores have wood in uniform sizes, that’s been planed and maybe treated in some way to make it look the same. And they have some sort of selection in terms of length.
This man had ten pieces of wood. That’s it. If I didn’t want one of them, I had to find somewhere else to go. These ten splintery pieces of wood, which he called “1x6” varied in width from three to seven inches. They were all about fourteen feet long. He wanted 190 dalasis for the piece of wood that I thought could make this shelf stand. Then, I talked to the carpenter who had come along. I asked him how much it would be for him to rip it in half, and then cut it into six pieces. So altogether, seven cuts, although one would be very long.
He said 3000 dalasis.
I cannot put enough punctuation in that sentence to adequately convey how aghast I was at that price. That’s the equivalent of about $120.
I laughed in his face, shook my finger at him, and told him he was a bad man in two languages he didn’t understand, and then he said, “Ok. 300 dalasis.”
I wanted to properly punish him for his trying to rip me off so extravagantly, so I left, thinking I could find wood elsewhere.
I went to two different shops that had plywood out front, but neither had planks of wood. I tried to explain to one shop owner what I wanted by pointing at the planks of wood covering the two-foot-deep gutter full of garbage that act as a bridge for potential patrons. He immediately tried to sell me those pieces of wood.
Feeling downtrodden and slightly ashamed, I returned to the original shop, and said agreed on the price, which I still think was too high.
The carpenter took the piece of wood, and set to work. Interesting note – carpenters here don’t have chalk lines. They take a bunch of scraps of fabric, and tie them together to make a long rope. Then they dip it in oil. Then they wrap it around a stick. When it’s time to make a long cut, they unroll it, stretch it and snap it, and boom! Straight line. Less environmentally friendly, less temporary, and more flammable than its American counterpart, but it worked.
Now, I still wish I didn’t have to pay him 300 dalasis, but the way that that man ripped a 14 foot board in half using a hacksaw was pure magic. With this man’s skills with non power tools, I think he could do construction good, fast, AND cheap.
I pulled out my daintily pieces of purple craft cord, stretched them what I thought was the appropriate amount, and allowed him to cut the pieces.
Finally, I had six pieces of correctly cut wood, and two longer pieces. And one bike. And a two kilometer walk back to the construction site.
I strapped the small ones on the back, still making me about 4 feet wide. I balanced the longer two precariously on the seat and handlebars, and struggled through the sandy roads back to the Basse House.
Now, all we had to do was slide the boards into place, hammer in a few nails, and our shelves were good to go!
However, something about the craft cord plan didn’t go exactly right. All the boards were about an inch or an inch and a half too long. That meant, we had to use the tools that we had, which included.
- 1 hammer
- 1 hacksaw that was the equivalent of a butter knife.
- A handful of nails
- A surprisingly nice level
The first tool to be deemed completely unnecessary was the level. I think the level was a cruel joke that someone wanted to play on anyone trying to do construction in the Gambia. If you think Appalachia is not level… I promptly banished that level to a shed, never to be used again for anything related to construction.
Next, I tore into those boards with that hacksaw, but I’m no Gambian carpenter. My cuts were wiggly and of poor quality, and took a long time and most of my energy. Eventually, we ended up with some shelves that bend slightly less when you put dishes on them than they did yesterday.
Although the construction related differences between the Gambia and America are staggering, there is one construction tactic that works in both settings.
Shimming is global.
Field Day
Field Day. Those of us who were lucky enough to, one glorious day a year, experience the joy and wholehearted competitive spirit of Field Day probably remember stations, with a few minutes spent at each of your favorite activities: bozo buckets, relay races, playing with the parachute, Frisbee tosses, etc.
At Nyakoi Lower Basic School, it’s quite a bit different.
Let me preface all of the action by saying that there is no such thing as a “waiver” or a “permission slip” in Gambian schools. Teachers do what they want, students do what they want, and if a student goes missing or gets hurt, it’s the kids fault. I could decide one day, to take my class, leave school, walk to the river through a field of ravenous hyenas, take a swim amongst crocodiles and hippos, and if a kid or two happened to not make it back, I am not accountable. Knowing all that, let me describe the events of the day.
SPRINTS
By far the most popular event, every student wants to be the fastest. Children line up on the dusty football field, filled with large, dead, scratchly weeds, and race until the teachers tell them to stop. Of course, since the footwear of choice in the Gambia is flip flops year round, students race barefoot. Being conscientious teachers, most races are run on the relatively weed-free dusty parts of the field, but for the longer races, there just isn’t enough space. “Oh, you must have a spare pair of shoes for students to wear – even jellies would do!” you might say. While we don’t have shoes, we do, for some reason, have like 18 pairs of men’s navy blue dress socks. So, to protect these young children’s tender feet, they must don these ridiculous socks. Seeing Gambian children with tattered school uniforms running in argyle socks is one of my favorite moments thus far.
Another of my favorite moments is seeing the full-caftan-wearing Koranic teacher, a usually somber and solemn man, high stepping in circles and screaming in glee as his student (members of the Yellow Kunda) finished the race in first place. He led the rest of his kunda in lifting each winning yellow racer and chanting “YELLOW, YELLOW” until the next race was about to start.
We also had a teacher race. I don’t want to go into it, but let’s just say that Gambians are fast. Very fast. And I overestimated myself. And I now have to get water for one of the teachers whenever he wants it for the next week.
BUCKET RACE
From a young age, girls are expected to carry large amounts of water, groundnuts, firewood, and dinner on their heads. The competition has a race specifically designed to play to those young ladies’ strengths. Students must carry a bucket on their head for sixty meters, as fast as they can, without using their hands. In a foot race, with me running, and them balancing buckets, I would win – but it’d be close.
LONG JUMP
For the long jump, we all went to the sacred ground where daily, the whole school gathers to pray at two and five o’clock. We immediately dug up that holy ground, and shoveled together enough sand for students to land safely in. During this and the high jump competition (see HIGH JUMP) one teacher was in charge of re-raking all of the sand back together after each jump. Occasionally, students who were observing would start to encroach too close to where the jumpers were jumping. And that’s just not safe! So the teacher in charge, upon noticing this, would immediately start spinning around, darting from one side of the course to the other, wielding his sharp and exceedingly dangerous rake, and alternating between shrilly blowing his whistle, and bellowing, “N ko! N ko!” which is the equivalent of “I say! I say!” If it were a British man doing it, it’d be the most hilarious act of slap stick ever, but in this situation it was slightly more menacing.
Another dangerous highlight of the long jump happened as I was looking at my records, writing a students distance. I heard a collective gasp/scream go up from the crowd of students, and heard a gradual stampeding away from the jumping grounds. I looked up and three full grown horses were rampaging towards all of our students! Right in the middle of field day! A few teachers got them under control, and escorted them out of school grounds. In all the excitement however, one horse forgot his manners, and crapped right in the middle of the landing pad. Oh, Africa.
HIGH JUMP
The high jump is the most dangerous event thus far. The rake is still present, along with the spinning “N ko”-ing teacher, but now we have two wobbly wooden poles with numerous nails sticking out of them. Supported by those nails is a huge bamboo pole that goes flying into the crowd of spectating students anytime an athlete doesn’t clear a height.
But good god. These kids can jump. Just like I wrote about in my blog about Gambians playing basketball, these kids have never seen these sports that they’re attempting to do. They’ve never been properly trained in the technique and finesse involved in events like the high jump. All they’ve been told, and all they know is in the name.
Jump. High.
At the beginning, the students could jump high enough so that all they have to do is get a running start, leap over, and land on their feet. As the bar moved higher and higher, the acrobatics and their in-air form got more and more Superman like. Kids were getting running starts of twenty yards, and then vaulting themselves, completely horizontal, hoping to clear the bar, or die with honor in the process. There were some spectacular misses, and some ridiculously close calls involving rakes, careening bamboo, and toppling towers of nails.
Overall, it was a success. I laughed A LOT, I saw students enjoying themselves at school, and I had undoubtedly, my favorite day in the Gambia thus far.
At Nyakoi Lower Basic School, it’s quite a bit different.
Let me preface all of the action by saying that there is no such thing as a “waiver” or a “permission slip” in Gambian schools. Teachers do what they want, students do what they want, and if a student goes missing or gets hurt, it’s the kids fault. I could decide one day, to take my class, leave school, walk to the river through a field of ravenous hyenas, take a swim amongst crocodiles and hippos, and if a kid or two happened to not make it back, I am not accountable. Knowing all that, let me describe the events of the day.
SPRINTS
By far the most popular event, every student wants to be the fastest. Children line up on the dusty football field, filled with large, dead, scratchly weeds, and race until the teachers tell them to stop. Of course, since the footwear of choice in the Gambia is flip flops year round, students race barefoot. Being conscientious teachers, most races are run on the relatively weed-free dusty parts of the field, but for the longer races, there just isn’t enough space. “Oh, you must have a spare pair of shoes for students to wear – even jellies would do!” you might say. While we don’t have shoes, we do, for some reason, have like 18 pairs of men’s navy blue dress socks. So, to protect these young children’s tender feet, they must don these ridiculous socks. Seeing Gambian children with tattered school uniforms running in argyle socks is one of my favorite moments thus far.
Another of my favorite moments is seeing the full-caftan-wearing Koranic teacher, a usually somber and solemn man, high stepping in circles and screaming in glee as his student (members of the Yellow Kunda) finished the race in first place. He led the rest of his kunda in lifting each winning yellow racer and chanting “YELLOW, YELLOW” until the next race was about to start.
We also had a teacher race. I don’t want to go into it, but let’s just say that Gambians are fast. Very fast. And I overestimated myself. And I now have to get water for one of the teachers whenever he wants it for the next week.
BUCKET RACE
From a young age, girls are expected to carry large amounts of water, groundnuts, firewood, and dinner on their heads. The competition has a race specifically designed to play to those young ladies’ strengths. Students must carry a bucket on their head for sixty meters, as fast as they can, without using their hands. In a foot race, with me running, and them balancing buckets, I would win – but it’d be close.
LONG JUMP
For the long jump, we all went to the sacred ground where daily, the whole school gathers to pray at two and five o’clock. We immediately dug up that holy ground, and shoveled together enough sand for students to land safely in. During this and the high jump competition (see HIGH JUMP) one teacher was in charge of re-raking all of the sand back together after each jump. Occasionally, students who were observing would start to encroach too close to where the jumpers were jumping. And that’s just not safe! So the teacher in charge, upon noticing this, would immediately start spinning around, darting from one side of the course to the other, wielding his sharp and exceedingly dangerous rake, and alternating between shrilly blowing his whistle, and bellowing, “N ko! N ko!” which is the equivalent of “I say! I say!” If it were a British man doing it, it’d be the most hilarious act of slap stick ever, but in this situation it was slightly more menacing.
Another dangerous highlight of the long jump happened as I was looking at my records, writing a students distance. I heard a collective gasp/scream go up from the crowd of students, and heard a gradual stampeding away from the jumping grounds. I looked up and three full grown horses were rampaging towards all of our students! Right in the middle of field day! A few teachers got them under control, and escorted them out of school grounds. In all the excitement however, one horse forgot his manners, and crapped right in the middle of the landing pad. Oh, Africa.
HIGH JUMP
The high jump is the most dangerous event thus far. The rake is still present, along with the spinning “N ko”-ing teacher, but now we have two wobbly wooden poles with numerous nails sticking out of them. Supported by those nails is a huge bamboo pole that goes flying into the crowd of spectating students anytime an athlete doesn’t clear a height.
But good god. These kids can jump. Just like I wrote about in my blog about Gambians playing basketball, these kids have never seen these sports that they’re attempting to do. They’ve never been properly trained in the technique and finesse involved in events like the high jump. All they’ve been told, and all they know is in the name.
Jump. High.
At the beginning, the students could jump high enough so that all they have to do is get a running start, leap over, and land on their feet. As the bar moved higher and higher, the acrobatics and their in-air form got more and more Superman like. Kids were getting running starts of twenty yards, and then vaulting themselves, completely horizontal, hoping to clear the bar, or die with honor in the process. There were some spectacular misses, and some ridiculously close calls involving rakes, careening bamboo, and toppling towers of nails.
Overall, it was a success. I laughed A LOT, I saw students enjoying themselves at school, and I had undoubtedly, my favorite day in the Gambia thus far.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
An African Christmas Story
Most Christmases involve gifts, family, snow, Santa, and lots of food. This Christmas, here in the Gambia, differed slightly from the norm.
Same: We started with a giant breakfast.
Different: In order to cook this giant breakfast, we had to open dozens of eggs, and dispose of the ones that were fertilized. It was one of the most disgusting experiences I've ever had, and I, therefore, did not partake in any of the egg dishes. I did have plentiful pancakes, fruit, and juices of numerous tropical fruits.
Same: There were gifts involved.
Different: It was a White Elephant gift exchange, and the gifts were very different from normal Christmas gifts of books, CDs, movies, and other useful things. This involved mainly alcohol, some cheap African cookies, and underwear that says Obama on the waistband. There were also some fire crackers, which we promptly blew up bottles, cans, and various other items with. And most likely terrified the entire neighborhood.
Same: In the afternoon, you play outside in the elements.
Different: In America, the elements involve bundling in various layers of clothing, and sliding down snow covered hills, squealing with glee. This Christmas, we went to the beach, and played in the hot, hot sun, and swam in the ocean. We concluded the day by watching the African sunset with some strong Africans doing push ups. Weird.
Same: There were some Christmas characters strolling about.
Different: In America, Santa and his elves are shown everywhere. Here, I didn't see Santa throughout the entire Christmas season. However, when walking back from the beach, we saw two different Konkerands, which are people that are supposedly possessed by spirits, and walk around with a troupe of drumming children, trying to scare money out of people.
Same: Christmas movies are viewed, including Home Alone and A Christmas Story.
Different: This year, I watched these movies in an old, infested frat-like house, instead of snug on my couch. Instead of watching with the Adams family, I watched with the Peace Corps the Gambia family.
Same: We eat a big Christmas meal.
Different: Just like in the end of the Christmas story, this meal was Chinese food at the only Chinese restaurant in town.
Was it the best Christmas ever? No. I miss snow and family and breakfast pizza.
Was it the most unique Christmas ever? At least until next year.
Merry Christmas everybody!
Same: We started with a giant breakfast.
Different: In order to cook this giant breakfast, we had to open dozens of eggs, and dispose of the ones that were fertilized. It was one of the most disgusting experiences I've ever had, and I, therefore, did not partake in any of the egg dishes. I did have plentiful pancakes, fruit, and juices of numerous tropical fruits.
Same: There were gifts involved.
Different: It was a White Elephant gift exchange, and the gifts were very different from normal Christmas gifts of books, CDs, movies, and other useful things. This involved mainly alcohol, some cheap African cookies, and underwear that says Obama on the waistband. There were also some fire crackers, which we promptly blew up bottles, cans, and various other items with. And most likely terrified the entire neighborhood.
Same: In the afternoon, you play outside in the elements.
Different: In America, the elements involve bundling in various layers of clothing, and sliding down snow covered hills, squealing with glee. This Christmas, we went to the beach, and played in the hot, hot sun, and swam in the ocean. We concluded the day by watching the African sunset with some strong Africans doing push ups. Weird.
Same: There were some Christmas characters strolling about.
Different: In America, Santa and his elves are shown everywhere. Here, I didn't see Santa throughout the entire Christmas season. However, when walking back from the beach, we saw two different Konkerands, which are people that are supposedly possessed by spirits, and walk around with a troupe of drumming children, trying to scare money out of people.
Same: Christmas movies are viewed, including Home Alone and A Christmas Story.
Different: This year, I watched these movies in an old, infested frat-like house, instead of snug on my couch. Instead of watching with the Adams family, I watched with the Peace Corps the Gambia family.
Same: We eat a big Christmas meal.
Different: Just like in the end of the Christmas story, this meal was Chinese food at the only Chinese restaurant in town.
Was it the best Christmas ever? No. I miss snow and family and breakfast pizza.
Was it the most unique Christmas ever? At least until next year.
Merry Christmas everybody!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Teeth
I was taking a little walk with my host sister the other day, greeting the people, as village celebrities ought to do. We were strolling in a place about an 8 minute walk from my home. Somehow, in this region of the village, they had not heard of my presence in town. Everyone came up to my sister and said, "WHO's THAT TOUBAB?" I kindly introduced myself, all the while thinking, "You don't know me?" I felt like a big sports star must feel when they walk into a Star Wars convention, or some other place where they don't typically know sports figures. Or like a international man of genius in the world of chemistry, in the locker room of an NBA team... you get the idea.
So, there was one particularly excited elderly, elderly, ELDERLY woman who struggled to walk to me. She held out her hand and asked my sister who I was. I surprised her by speaking Mandinka, and she was so pleased, she revealed a giant smile.
This was a horrifying smile. Do you remember the scene in Aladdin when Jafar dressed up as a beggar in prison so he can convince Aladdin to get the lamp from the cave of wonders? That's exactly what her teeth looked like. Here's a sneak peek.
So, my kind smile turned into a horrified kind of sneer, but she still didn't get the hint. Apparently she noticed how different our teeth were as well, and so she made a comment. The following conversation took place in Mandinka.
She: Your teeth are white!
Me: *Laughing nervously* Haha, yeah... A siata. pointing to my mouth which means, there are many. A man siya. pointing at her mouth which means, They are not plentiful.
She: *Laughing, truly letting me see every rotten tooth and orifice where a tooth should be* *Stops laughing, gets serious, and looks into my soul* Give me your teeth.
So, there was one particularly excited elderly, elderly, ELDERLY woman who struggled to walk to me. She held out her hand and asked my sister who I was. I surprised her by speaking Mandinka, and she was so pleased, she revealed a giant smile.
This was a horrifying smile. Do you remember the scene in Aladdin when Jafar dressed up as a beggar in prison so he can convince Aladdin to get the lamp from the cave of wonders? That's exactly what her teeth looked like. Here's a sneak peek.
So, my kind smile turned into a horrified kind of sneer, but she still didn't get the hint. Apparently she noticed how different our teeth were as well, and so she made a comment. The following conversation took place in Mandinka.
She: Your teeth are white!
Me: *Laughing nervously* Haha, yeah... A siata. pointing to my mouth which means, there are many. A man siya. pointing at her mouth which means, They are not plentiful.
She: *Laughing, truly letting me see every rotten tooth and orifice where a tooth should be* *Stops laughing, gets serious, and looks into my soul* Give me your teeth.
Shout Outs
I wanted to take an opportunity to thank those who have made the first (almost) six months of service the best it could be.
- Mom and Dad, for endless packages of necessary items, devoid of the usual junk that dad throws in.
- Uncle Tom and Aunt Barb, who provided me with raw almonds and school supplies that have both been LIFE SAVERS. Oh, and Aunt Barb sent lifesavers.
- Mr. Utterbach, the loyal Illini. Your daughter's awesome.
- Laura DeMaster, Nancy Gerhart, and Angela Bend for their hilarious and motivational letters.
- Marta Jewson for her "surviving Africa" kit.
- Haven't opened it yet, but I just saw in the mail room that I received a package from Jerry and Susie. Thanks in advance!
- The good people at Chacos, for sending me free shoes.
- Mom and Dad, for endless packages of necessary items, devoid of the usual junk that dad throws in.
- Uncle Tom and Aunt Barb, who provided me with raw almonds and school supplies that have both been LIFE SAVERS. Oh, and Aunt Barb sent lifesavers.
- Mr. Utterbach, the loyal Illini. Your daughter's awesome.
- Laura DeMaster, Nancy Gerhart, and Angela Bend for their hilarious and motivational letters.
- Marta Jewson for her "surviving Africa" kit.
- Haven't opened it yet, but I just saw in the mail room that I received a package from Jerry and Susie. Thanks in advance!
- The good people at Chacos, for sending me free shoes.
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