Can a telepathist telepathically telepath their own future? Answer me that one, yo!

Wow, I logged on to this thing the other day to realize it’s already almost been a full month since the last substantial entry. Further proof to myself that the time here must have a larger wing span (or more feathers) than it does in the States. It’s been about 2 weeks since the Dakar adventure. It was the general consensus upon returning to greet my Gambian friends and co-workers that, along with many tall buildings, lots of people and a variety of types of bread, Dakar also attracts a large number of thieves. At least, that’s what they conveyed by sharing their equally upsetting incidence of a beloved possession taken directly from their bodies, when I brought up the detail that my camera was stolen in the busy, tree-lined sidewalk city. I’d also just like to take a second to point out the irony of the lost camera dream here and that if you refer to the picture and description on Flickr about the "marathon march", one may find it interesting that it was not the first time a dream projected a slightly altered reality. All and all, though, the trip was fun. Transport is always a harried experience and I know for sure the thief is not nearly enjoying the picture of the set plaus (station wagon) we rode 7 hours in from the border to our final destination as much as you guys would, but such is the case. Both our softball teams (competitive and social) got more praise for the “Bumster” meshed-shirt uniforms than our playing skills, and at one point during the tournament I felt as if I’d been teleported back to a little league game when I exchanged a paper ticket for a bag of Tropical Skittles a the concession stand.

Catching a glimpse of a more urbanized developing African country’s capital, still obviously in need of multiple urban planner’s 21st century opinions, but one that definitely has a head start on Banjul, made me extremely curious to see how cities like, say, Nairobi, Kampala or even Addis Ababa and ultimately Cape Town were constructed and how they’re currently laid out and what some of the factors are that led to their current state of development. Even at the outskirts of Dakar, the obviously utilized train tracks conveyed that we were about to enter a whole new world. Any second, I was expecting a genie to escape from the gas tank or for our car to take flight aboard a plastic prayer mat or something. (That station wagon was such a piece of work, that nothing would have surprised me; I’m so bummed you can’t see it now!) But instead, we motored on, over overpasses, along side establishments strategically constructed into the sides of the cliffs along the Atlantic, like the layers of a multi-tiered wedding cake. One of my favorite parts of the whole business? Riding one of the city bus lines that picked us up practically right outside our home stay’s door and dropped us off at the softball fields for about 1/5 of the taxi price.

On my way back, I made a detour to a fellow health volunteer’s site in Albreda/ Juffure to catch up a little and observe some of the historical remnants of the 17th century. I got my hands on a copy of Roots a while ago from a neighbor in my compound, but was only able to get through about 1/3 of it before he requested it back. I can’t remember if I wrote about some of the comparisons in the blog and I can’t decide if it’s a positive or negative acknowledgement that the opening paragraph described the sounds and smells I wake up to, such as the women pounding millet in big, wooden mortars, still on a daily basis.

Well, I think I’ve clued a few of you in on a current struggle I’ve been having about my place and plans for the next year and there after, and since right now I feel like I need all the support I can get, I might as well fill the rest of you in on it, too. After several whole weeks of balancing on the proverbial fence (even when I was so sure of the decision during my visit over Christmas), I realized I’m just not ready to move on from this experience. I know I can always leave, but when I do, that’s it for this one. It’s over. And I’m just not ready for it to be over quite yet. That said, there are changes I’d like to make in order to have a more “traditional” next year and am working closely with admin to help make that happen. The new Health and Community Development trainees swear in late April, so that is the projected time frame for my alterations for service (which I’ll describe later once they become more concrete).

I also know that right about now, all of you are secretly doing a jig at your desks after reading this because you’ve always wanted to travel to West Africa and now you have the perfect excuse: to see and support a good friends, niece, daughter, sister, co-worker, fellow climber (whatever our relation) and maybe experience some of what you’ve been reading this past year. Don’t let the thought of airfare weigh you down; since once you get here you could have a free place to stay, and depending on your degree of needs, your total daily expenditure here could be comparable to achieving your single, daily caffeine habit back home. I’ll only make you eat with your hands once, then after that, you can lounge on a hammock on a beach and look at pretty birds if you want. Really, though, what I’m reaching out for from my Stateside cheerleaders, is support through communication because even though I’m generally happy and integrated here, I know there is a possibility of rockier times ahead. Letters are still the most amazing pick-u-up, but I’ll never turn down a bag of Starburst. (Or now that it’s Easter season, Cadbury Mini-Eggs, the mini candy coated chocolate eggs in the purple bag, and Jelly Beans, please!!!!!!!)

So, I’ve officially seen this place come full circle. Still, the most notable marker, besides the weather and increasingly unbearably hot afternoons, is the contents of the market (which, I guess logically thinking, go hand in hand). I was teased a few weeks ago when my neighbor, Awa, gave me my first mango of the season. Her tree must be taking its vitamins or something because all the other trees in the area still have fruits hanging like tiny Christmas tree ornaments, a blatant sign that no one else will be getting their own does of vitamin C for at least another month and a half. I was pleasantly surprised to see tomburango (Chinese Dates) back in abundance upon returning from Dakar, which literally brings back sweet memories, but figuratively leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, thinking about the vulnerable and difficult period I had entered after swearing in. On the nuttier side of things, the cashew fruit, my favorite whole food in country, is about to make a booming come back. It amazes me to look back and realize that I’d never really questioned where most of my nourishment came from before I came here; but I was pleasantly satisfied to discover that the tasty cashew nut’s fruit of its labor is actually a freakin delicious fruit. My goal is to consume so many of them by the end of their season that if I even catch a whiff of their pungent smell, I’ll be physically repulsed. After all, I have no idea when I’ll be back in a place with a climate conducive to its growing conditions.

Well, I guess I’ll end this one now. I hope everyone is doing well and in good health and that ya’ll are enjoying the cool, spring season transitional weather and arboreal scene. I miss all you as much as I always do and am looking forward to hearing plans about seeing you before all this is over. (I’m serious though, if I don’t hear from some of you more often, I’m only bringing back a little malaria for ya and nothing else).

Love,
Courtney