Birthday Wish List/ Pictures Posted

So what do you get the birthday girl who seems to have everything? Well, considering the closest Walgreens is probably an entire continent away, you've got quite a few options. Just in time for the 25th birthday coming up mid-August, I'm putting together a little wish list. Nothing would make me happier than opening birthday cards and eating Cripsy M&Ms (in the light blue package) on that day (or give or take a few weeks).

*Buying one of the Allatentu Support Band CDs from my mom

*Birthday cards and letters and photos

*Crispy M&Ms

*Mike and Ikes

*Extra Chewing Gum (in the blue package)

*Cliff Bars

*Dried Fruit

*Jane and Marie Claire magazines

*A package of pens

*Dry M&M cookie mix/ box Spice Cake mix with Cream Cheese frosting

*A chin-up bar for a door frame

I'll probably think of more later, so I'll let you know.

Also, I just wanted to give a shout out to my friends Lisa, Aaron and little Mr. Man. Did you guys used to live in the Gambia? Because you sure do know how to put together a care package!

Yesterday, a few of us Brikama-surrounding site mates got together for an afternoon of chatting and cold drinks at a "restaurant" in Brikama. It was really nice to feel apart of my surrounding (not so much how I feel when I go to Kombo and eat at a restaurant there). A few of my hospital co-workers passed by and gave the casual wave, then on my way home, I carried a gourd bowl on my head (the left one in the picture) and hit up a neighbor's Kuliyo (naming ceremony) where, even before I dropped some money in the pot, I was served Wanjo and called to eat SooSoo (the traditional Kuliyo feast).

Finishing up the UNAIDS proposal this week and preparing for guests before the All-Vol next week...more to come!

Choose Your Own Adventure

Sometimes I feel like I'm living the life of a character in one of those "choose your own adventure" books. It's like this is what happens when a 15 year old is bored of "The Babysitter Club." I say all this not because I think I'm living a fictional life, but because I REALLY have no idea what will happen during the span of my days, and I can just picture some young reader thinking "hmm, let's have her go greet the new Education Trainees because she hasn't been in the company of fellow Americans for some time now-THAT should be interesting". But what if the young reader had decided that I'd stay in Brikama for the weekend, instead? Well, I'll fill you in on both (because you know no one ever just reads option A).

As of last Tuesday, my health group is no longer the "new group" in town. The eduction guys arrived and as is tradition, a celebration at the local "Come In" was in store. Basically, it's a chance for volunteers to meet the trainees, for trainees to ask volunteer questions and for volunteers to think quietly to themselves "man, am I glad I'm not in training anymore" (even though I haven't been out of training that long, I'm still glad it's over with). And that's exactly what we did. It was like a little piece of the States; having a drink with some friends and ending by satisfying the sweet tooth at the local crepe place (except that everyone was commenting that it was at least 4 hours past their bedtimes). We even watched a movie at the PC hostel and I made an egg, cheese and vegetable toasted sandwich that was the envy my company. The whole event left me feeling pretty refreshed when I made the Gele ride back to Brikama, but when I rounded the corner to my compound, I noticed that the place was unusually quiet. I greeted my host mom, Tida and went through the normal cycle of asking where everyone was and was momentarily breathless when the answer to "where is Kaddy?" was "she went to Basse". Now, I have to admit that I was not completely surprised since she was waiting for someone to take her by a private car, but something inside dropped to the pit of my stomach and I felt floaty as I made the short walk, but long entry (I couldn't get the door unlocked fast enough) into my little bungalow of a house. I hadn't planned on shedding tears, but my heart had other plans and as I went about unpacking my things from the Fajara trip and preparing for company that was bound to arrive any second, the flood gates opened. So many thoughts raced through my mind: you knew they were leaving anyway, she knew I wanted to go!, wasn't it normal for site mates you'd only hung out with 2 times to show up at PCV's houses only to find them uncontrollably sobbing?, where am I going to find my source of hugs now?- and it really wouldn't have been that big of a deal, except that it turns out Kaddy and her kids were not just going to Basse for work during the rainy season, but actually moving back home for good. That's right- all that "22 more months means a chance to teach Kaddy and her kids some English and read a little" business is going to have to be re-directed somewhere, somehow.



Anyway, I gathered some composure and waited for my site mate to show up. We were, after all, going to hang out, catch up and spill some travel tips about Ghana (where I'm planning to visit late August or so). The afternoon was exactly what I needed to get my mind off my sudden onset of separation anxiety. Her boyfriend had just gotten back from serving for the African Union (AU) with Gambia in Darfur. As we ate our lunch of jambo and manno (leaf sauce and rice) on the front porch, he shared intimate first hand details of what he had experienced and the current status in Darfur. Since the time Ruth Messenger came to OU in Nov 2005 to shed light and raise awareness about the situation, I have found myself interested. Now, to be sitting on the soil, across from an active member of the AU, listening to his account of the refugee camps, human violations, not to mention rapes and even personal stonings, is something that I really can't explain. I just sat there like a sponge, soaking up every detail, surprised at facts like the AU is comprised of only 5 African countries: Gambia (who sends 197 of the 7,000 members), South Africa, Senegal, Rawanda and Nigeria, while letting him know how proud I was to know him and thank you for your service. Why haven't I ever gotten that same feeling about my own country? Then, as abruptly as the rains seem to stop, we found ourselves chatting light-heartily about Mandinka proverbs; one in particular where you can say 2 words to one person in a whole group and you are suddenly excused from the mess you were about to be in.


Maybe she hasn't experienced enough in the past 24 hours", the young reader thought. "I think I'll 'flip to page 168' this time and see what it's like to spend a day at home in the compound."



Well, since I'd felt sort of mopey and in a funk since Kaddy left, I decided to lounge around the compound, with the intention of stopping by the center later in the afternoon. I'd made it as far as walking to the bitik (tiny neighborhood shop where even if you asked me what they sold, I couldn't tell you-except that is, chocolate sandwiches) to buy a chocolate sandwich, when en-route, I was passed by a mother of a patient in our HBC program. I'd visited her and her 2 year old daughter who was on TB treatment (and was prob HIV positive as well) a few times with one of the sisters and had been pleasantly surprised to see them both at the clinic one afternoon, the child looking not as malnourished as I'd last seen her. This time the mother was alone, on her way home and through the usual greetings, I found out that her daughter had died just the day before. Hadn't sister Christine told me?, the mother wanted to know. No, she hadn't (but I had only seen her in the morning and maybe she passed in the afternoon). Then, I was struggling to remember my Mandinka Muslim prayer to say when you find out someone had passed. Of course I couldn't remember because I'd never had to say it to someone before, so I just stood there for what seemed like minutes, then we closed and she asked when I would come to her compound again.

But despite all the depressing turn of events, work is looking pretty good. Last week, the country director of UNAIDS Gambia came to the ASK office and basically declared that they were doing a needs assessment of support groups around the country, there were funds to be allocated and that if we wrote a short proposal explaining ASK's activities, needs and challenges, that there was a good chance that some things would be funded (which is great since our rent is only paid through Oct and it's sneaking up on us). I was quite surprised that someone just waltzed in with the impression that they would be our funding source. Will it really be that easy? So we called a board meeting (had a GREAT turn out of 8 board members) to discuss what to put in the proposal that will be submitted by the end of the week. We also talked about our Jelibah fundraiser that will take place on July 20th for the Allatentu Support Band (and cassette selling strategies) and devised an action committee to start putting that, well, into "action". I left feeling that the meeting ran somewhat similarly to a meeting in the States, and that was an amazing feeling. We'll see now how much talk is followed through.

Next week PC is holding an All-Volunteer meeting, which means the end of our "3 month challenge". I'm looking forward to seeing everyone from our group again, but can only imagine how hectic it will be to have more than 100 toubabs in one concentrated place at one time. Some of my friends are coming in early this weekend to stay with me and I'm heavily considering going up country with them after the All-Vol to re-connect with my sister and her kids and see the rest of the country.

CDs For Sale: My mom now has 15 more CDs that she would LOVE for you to take off her hands. The asking donation price is $10, but it's up to you if you'd like to contribute beyond that.

I sure do miss you guys sometimes! Did I mention that letters are pretty much the highlight of my entire week? Mail run was supposed to come last Wednesday for me and when they didn't show in the midst of my emotionally unstable week, it just got worse. Turns out, the car accidentally turned over on its side (thanks to the pot-hole-filled south bank road). No one was hurt badly, but everyone was a little shaken up. Needless to say, mail still hasn't made its way here. I'm just glad to find out everyone was okay. But seriously, please take the 5 minutes and 91 cents to write and address me a letter. I promise I will write one back to you.

Culture Dictionary

So, I realized recently that there are quite a few things about the Gambian culutre that I want to share but may have neglected. This is a very concise "dictionary" of my opinion of things, to help explain some stuff I see on pretty much a daily basis. (Not in alphabetical order, though- some dictionary, huh?, and some of this I borrowed from fellow PCVs) Also, obviously I haven't gone to Basse, yet (see, TIME).

1. Pounding: What the women start doing with rice and millet and any other food we eat, in a large morter with a larger pestal, even before the roosters start crowing to prepare their food days in advance.

2. Gele-Gele: Bush taxi that could take hours to catch, which is ALWAYS full of people, and breaks down as often as Micheal Jackson does in his "Thriller" video.

3. Toubab: The word that I've learned to ignore, but use when describing my fellow PCV friends to others (if you call me this back in the States, I will ignore you, too.)

4. Small Boy: This is one of my favoirtes (to witness, not participate in). This is where you get someone younger than you to do your work for you. As one of the PCVs explained, this is used as a verb, such as "I wonder what Fatou is doing right now? Geez, it's hot out and I don't want to walk all the way to her compound, so I think I'll small boy her to see what she's doing."

5. Attaya: The name of the highly cafinated tea that is added their cup of sugar. You can see young boys brewing their sugar additive at all hours of the day, even in the 100 degree heat. Which brings me to the next word...

6. Hot: And I thought I knew what it was, growing up in Texas and all. This is a constant topic of conversation. I'm closer to the coast, so I really can't complain all that much, but let's just say that people don't go inside their houses to sleep until around 4am. Pass me the steaming, hot attaya, please!

7. Time: In training, we learned that is called "polychronic" here. In training village, we coined the phrase "they took too much polychronic this morning". This basically means when someone tells you to be at the car park at 8am, they won't be there until 10. It means when my sister thinks she's leaving with her kids to travel across the country, on someone else's schedule, she really has absolutely no idea when that could be. It means practicing patience and wondering if I'll bring the polychronic back with me to the States (I'm guessing not, since I probably won't pass customs with it in tow).

8. Trip Gift aka Sila Fando: Something given to the people you are going to visit, or in my case, live with for the next two years. It ususally consists of Kola nuts, attaya and sugar (caffine, caffine, and caffine affects).

9. Namesake aka Toma: The person of whom you are named after. I think I've only heard about 30 names. When I hear one I've never heard before, I'm a little surprised. When I introduce myself to another Mariama, it's like Christmas and if I introduce myself to another Mariama Camera, it's like Christmas and New Years, only if they were even more close on the calander. The other day I asked Sr. how many Tomas she thinks she has running around Gambia. People are so grateful to her, that I've seen at least 3 "Christine's" duing the short time I've been here.

10. Kulliyo: The naming ceremony where the baby is named after someone. People really don't celebrate their birthdays and if you ask when they were born, many will say things like "The year that the first Peace Corps came to stay with us". With that said, the Kulliyo is almost like all the person's birthday parties for their entire life rolled into one, huge, naming ceremony. Typically, some kind of live stock is killed, sheep being the most prized, and they can last up to a week with endless food, dancing and music. The ceremony usually won't happen for a while, as infant mortality is a concern. Also, can you imagine how much it would cost to have all your birthday celebrations at once?!

11. Tiya Futo: My new favorite sweet. Basically, it tastes like peanut butter cookie dough. It's made of ground peanuts, ground millet and sugar, pounded together and smashed into little balls. I like it because I can afford it on a daily basis in somewhat satiating quantities, it's sort of healthy (grain and protein) and the woman who sells it to me already knows me so well that one day I forgot my wallet and she gave me D5 worth on "credit". We have a little deal going on, too. I've noticed that if I bring my own zip lock bag, she puts a few extra balls in.

Also, polygomy is practiced. It is not practiced by everyone, but quite a few families consist of the one, male, head of household and multiple wives, and thus multiple children. If a man dies, his brothers may also chose to marry his wives and inherit his children.

Now, a few stories:

I am now the proud owner of a second hand, stained glass and wood, cat lamp, purchased by using Mandinka! I spotted it the first time when we were on our way to a home vist, passing by car, through the edge of the market. It sat on a stand with a bunch of appliances and I felt as if I were passing a garage sale back in the States every time. So, finally, one Friday afternoon around prayer time, I set out on foot to see if it was still there and even better, to see if it actually worked. There was also the "Toubab price" factor, so I had researched how much a typical lamp cost at one of the other appliance stands and found that they went for about D50. When I got there, I asked who was selling the cat lamp. A woman came around the corner and announced she was selling it. After a sucessful greeting session, she asked my name and we relized we were Tomas (her name was Janke Camera- a nickname of Mariama). Suddenly, it was like Christmas and New Years, and I knew at that instant, the cat lamp would be mine at a fair price! After chatting about where I was staying what I was doing here, I asked the price. When she told me D140, I told her that the price was too high, I'd seen lamps for much less and that, come on, now, we were Toma's afterall! After bargaining a little, we agreed on D60, then checked to make sure it actually worked. The moment I saw 4 cats, shining yellow, green, blue and red, I began to smile a smile that would stay with me all the way back to Camera Kunda.

Okay, now I want you to think of the last time you stepped fresh out of your steaming hot, running water, shower. Think of the lush, clean and newly washed-detergent smelling, thick towl that you wrapped your sopping wet body with and how it worked so well to soak up all that water. Yeah, so I brought one of those towls with me, thinking that at the very least, I would have that luxery of a fresh, thick towl to dry off with after taking my evening bucket bath. I even went so far as to ask my mom to buy me a new one before I left. I remember picking it out at Target, running my hands down the towl isle, feeling for the softest one and finally settling on one in a dark color (so the dirt wouldn't show as much). I later learned why those towls feel so good when drying off with them. Unfortunately I never got to use it the way it was inteneded. I had some people spend the night in training and the towl was used several times as a blanket and pillow. After those uses, I decided it was time to wash it. After I washed it (by hand, like everything else is washed), I immediately gave it to my host family. It was that moment of great stuggle while washing my plush, cotton, water soaking towl-the towl that I thought would be my friend for the next 2 years- that I realized I was going to lose. I've never felt the weight of so much water on one material article, as I did when I submurged my towl in the suds. I was simply not meant to wash, much less, own, a plush towl in Gambia. Thankfully, a few friends gave me the quick-dry towels before I left. They are truly amazing inventions and truly amazing friends. Now if I can only come to enjoy washing those double-bed sheets I bought...

Paint By Numbers

Preface to this next blog: I was home, sick and must have been in a pensive mood when I wrote it. After re-reading it, it seems a little heavy, but I thought I might as well post it because how else are you going to know what the heck is going on over here?!

I want to try to give some mental pictures of a few things that repeatedly stand out in my mind, especially in the areas of culture, race and religion. The end of this month will bring 5 months in country. To me, that signifies that one of my closest girlfriend's 2 week old baby is actually going to be 5 months old. It means I've seen the moon wax and wane (yes, dear Gambian child, the same one we have back in America)and the stars disappear and reappear under this bountiful, African sky, through a five-cylce period. It means 22 more months of service; which seems like quite a bit of time to dedicate to help improve the lively hood of the support group members, as well as exchanging cultural beliefs, but will probably fly by. It means 22 more months of not meeting friends back home at my favorite pub after an endorphin-filled-my eyelashes are going to hurt tomorrow-climbing session at the gym, playing fetch with the dog, or seeing that hyped-up summer flick. It means a pretty good chance at becoming near fluent in Mandinka, and if you are a believer in that saying "you are what you eat", look for the person in the airport 2 years from now that highly resembles a mango. It means a chance to teach my sis and her kids some English and how to read a little, as well as watch her youngest take his first steps.

Twenty-two more months will allow me to hear approximately 3,350 more prayer calls over the mosque loud speaker. I've come to find the entire process of Islamic prayer mesmerizing to watch, comforting to hear, and overall beautiful to live among. At first, I thought the idea of subjecting an entire country to the ways of Alla was disrupting so many church and state, not to mention noise violation laws, that a complaint box somewhere simply had to be overflowing by now. Wasn't there such a thing as separation between mosque and state?! Apparently not when more than 95% of the country's citizens claim the same religion, in this case Islam. Now, only 5 months later, I look past 22 months and wonder what it will be like not to live among one of the only constants that I can immediately put my finger on. Five times a day, corresponding with sunrises and sunsets (currently: 5:50am, 2pm, 5pm, 7:42pm, and 8:42pm), the Imam (prayer leader) flips the bull horn to the on position, mats are rolled out, shoes are removed and women's heads are covered with brightly designed scarves, and every practicing Muslim in Gambia faces east. From there, they start their eloquent series of Arabic versus while first bending from the hips, then knees, ankles and finally the neck. I am naive to the number of times and the significance to it all and I can't help but feel that my nervous glances towards and away the mesmerizing movements are somewhat legitimate; like the same feeling of uneasiness I would get from taking communion during mass where everyone knows I'm not Catholic. I'm encouraged more now than ever to seek out an English version of the Koran, as well as other religious texts, to add to my repertoire of the dozen of books I have a good chance of finishing by the end of our "3 month challenge".

Five months in country has also allowed me to whole-heartedly recognize that frightened look on a toddler's face as we nervously stroll towards each other, unsure of one an other's intentions so we stay away from sudden movements. Did I forget to take off my Halloween mask that I wear to bed every night? I'm guessing that's not the case. Am I the first person of unlike pigmentation they've come across or remember during their short life thus far on this giant earth? This, a more likely explanation, makes me wonder if the hurt, uncertainty and struggle I feel from this hysterical, retreating child is at all similar to the pain that those of unlike pigmentation felt (and possibly still feel) in the States. I'm not really willing to go there right now, but it defiantly makes me think, so I want you to think, too.

I also want to try to explain how there is a whole realm of how people live. First and foremost, most people seem pretty happy. Yes, it is true that they are without a lot (a lot, a lot), but they are happy. For some reason, happiness has always been high up on my important things in life, so I'm glad to witness happy people. Of course, I work within the health sector, so I also see not-so-happy people. I see people who are illiterate, walk up to 1/2 k to fetch clean drinking water (think about that the next time you flush your toilet), people who work SO hard Monday so their family will rice for supper on Wednesday-get the idea? But, please, don't think that because people are missing out on tons of luxuries we are accustomed to, that they are sad, poor, people. They are people who live in a developing world, where their culture and religion is of utmost importance, and brings a since of pride and happiness to their world. Yes, they could use money for schools and teachers, health care, transportation, infrastructure (my list could go on and on), but I am glad to witness that most people are fairly happy.

On a lighter note, I get mangos hand delivered to me by a naked 3 year old on almost a daily basis! My sister and the kids are going to Basse tomorrow (where I hear it fluctuates between 100-130 degrees on a daily basis) and I'm tagging along for the ride. I'm excited to see where she and her family stay, as well as see the rest of the country. Rest assured, I'll give a full report when I get back!

Work is good. I went to a workshop with some support group members this week. It was for Mutapola, a women's empowering movement for women support group members around the country living with HIV/AIDS. It took us 2 hours to get there on public transport, and 30 minutes to get home (we started walking to a car park and one of the members was recognized by a car passing by and gave us all a ride home!) The Home Based Care Volunteers also had their graduation ceremony last week. It was great to see them so eager and excited to get out there in the field and celebrate their hard work thus far. I also took a hot shower for the first time in 2 months and it was the best feeling in the world! One of my friends had to go home due to family reasons, so we helped her say goodbye by spending time with her at the PC hostel, which means hot showers and an oven that melts cheese on things.

Okay, there's a lot more I want to describe, but I'm hungry and I've been here for a long time.