Where do you begin when something so big is coming to an end? For the second time in my two year service, I’m once again asking myself this question. Ironically, the first one happen to be right after emerging from the bush upon the end of three months of intense language, culture, and technical training…
I won’t even begin to try to summarize my feelings about experiences during these past 27 months. Hopefully they’ve been somewhat appropriately expressed by the tone of individual archived blog posts. But I will say I am incredibly glad I joined the organization, incredibly happy I decided to stay the entire 27 months, despite multiple periods of doubts, and finally, incredibly relieved to be coming home. For some reason, memories of the first three months of training remain the most vivid, like biking that lonely 10k on a road so pot-holed that mountain biking became a bizarre phenomenon in a nation with absolutely no mountains, to the nearest town to attempt (NOTHING is certain in the country, I soon discovered) to phone home and get my sweet fix with a package of stale cookies. During those months, I frequently mentally projected myself further into the service, with uncertainty of how I would fair without being able to see loved ones for that much time. In the back of my mind, though, a friend’s voice resonated about taking it step by step and persevering through difficult times because brighter ones were bound to be just around the corner. So, keep on keepin’ on, I did, and that advice, along with a running regimen, achievements with the support group, afternoons with my host family and the cashew fruit, to name a few, helped me get to the very end of the service. It definitely doesn’t feel like it has been 15 months since the last time I’ve left the African continent and seen the faces of family and friends back home, but it does feel like a significant amount of time has passed. Although the time passed could have easily been 4 months, or 4 years. Months were irrelevant, possibly because of the 100% chance of sun 9 months out of the year, and when I received letters from home recounting events which included specific dates, I found it tremendously difficult to compare a personal frame of reference with regard to time and events here in Gambia.
Throughout the past month, I’ve been able to take advantage of work winding down and participate in a bit of the tourist scene (the difference being that breaking out my mad Mandinka skills instantly proved fecund, sometimes to the point where the line between traditional Gambian hospitality and profit-seeking entrepreneurs became blurred, in my favor). While the weeks began dwindling down and the mercury level once again rising, I found myself making lists. Among them, lists of souvenirs to purchase, lists of people to say goodbye to, and lists of places to visit. One weekend I killed two birds with one stone by riding out to visit my good friend and site mate near the beach, Mai, where I picked up a painting I had commissioned from a local artist a few weeks earlier. The next morning, after an enjoyable overnight visit, I rode on to Sanyang, the last beach village I had been meaning to bury my feet into. Even though I had forgotten my swim suit and book, it was one of the most enjoyable and laid back days I had experienced in while, thanks to the generous hospitality of the lodge staff and a couple of friendly folks on holiday. A few of weeks later, I ventured up country with Mai for the final time, with plans to visit an isolated park known as Baboon Islands, on the way to my final VSN meeting and event, and hopes to spot some Gambian wildlife that ISN’T chosen as sacrifice for Muslim ceremonies. And let me tell you, we were not disappointed! In an afternoon boat ride we became familiar with many of the park’s cared for chimpanzees, as well as multiple families of monkeys, a myriad species of birds, troupes of baboons and even two hosts of basking hippos.
Finally, the last couple of weeks have been spent visiting places and greeting faces around Brikama and Bafuloto one more time, as well as closing up shop with reports and appointments with Peace Corps. On March 19th, the first two friends from my own group, Amanda and Peter O, went back to the homepeople of “the land of the free.” It was a bit surreal seeing them off; more natural than I had anticipated, but an air of sullenness existed among the crowd from which I expected. Then, on March 20th, I spent the last night in Bafuloto, with two of my friends, Beth and Allison, during which we ambled around village, the two girls taking digital pictures with a camera, while I mentally burned additional images of my surroundings for the past year. Although the moon was just a sliver of a smile in the sky, the last bucket bath was refreshing and cool and as always, made me feel just like a new person. Then, just before bed, Ndey and Ardo (who stayed up past her bedtime helping to provide enough light with the torch lamp) preformed the process of staining my feet orange, with the traditional decorative art form of henna. Predictably unable to sleep, I rose with the crows the next morning and set out with my host mom to thank and receive prayers from the Alkalo and surrounding neighbors, which unleashed enough emotion that by the time the car came to pick me up, words and blessings were pretty much all that came out. This past week I’ve lived at the Peace Corps hostel in Fajara, in order to wrap up shop with meetings and appointments, but not with out the necessary beach time. I also went back to the GIG farm to say a proper goodbye, to which they responded with a small thank you ceremony that was completely unexpected. The very last night was spent with a handful of my very favorite people here in Gambia. Being a Saturday night, we went all out, starting at the traditional karaoke joint and ending by dancing our socks off (which is pretty easy here because everyone wears sandals and flip flops…)
What’s the next step? Allah only knows. For the time being though, I’ll be in Dallas trying to re-adjust to more choices from one grocery store that in the entire country of Gambia. I’ll be spending time visiting family and friends, which means catching up with you, so send me an email or Facebook message. I’ll have high speed Internet; something else to adjust to. cmgilman@gmail.com So, until then, fo watti doo, fo sila kotenke, fo natoo, until next trip...
Kaiyra dorong & kanoo
Peace only and love,
Mariama Camara
Courtney Gilman
I won’t even begin to try to summarize my feelings about experiences during these past 27 months. Hopefully they’ve been somewhat appropriately expressed by the tone of individual archived blog posts. But I will say I am incredibly glad I joined the organization, incredibly happy I decided to stay the entire 27 months, despite multiple periods of doubts, and finally, incredibly relieved to be coming home. For some reason, memories of the first three months of training remain the most vivid, like biking that lonely 10k on a road so pot-holed that mountain biking became a bizarre phenomenon in a nation with absolutely no mountains, to the nearest town to attempt (NOTHING is certain in the country, I soon discovered) to phone home and get my sweet fix with a package of stale cookies. During those months, I frequently mentally projected myself further into the service, with uncertainty of how I would fair without being able to see loved ones for that much time. In the back of my mind, though, a friend’s voice resonated about taking it step by step and persevering through difficult times because brighter ones were bound to be just around the corner. So, keep on keepin’ on, I did, and that advice, along with a running regimen, achievements with the support group, afternoons with my host family and the cashew fruit, to name a few, helped me get to the very end of the service. It definitely doesn’t feel like it has been 15 months since the last time I’ve left the African continent and seen the faces of family and friends back home, but it does feel like a significant amount of time has passed. Although the time passed could have easily been 4 months, or 4 years. Months were irrelevant, possibly because of the 100% chance of sun 9 months out of the year, and when I received letters from home recounting events which included specific dates, I found it tremendously difficult to compare a personal frame of reference with regard to time and events here in Gambia.
Throughout the past month, I’ve been able to take advantage of work winding down and participate in a bit of the tourist scene (the difference being that breaking out my mad Mandinka skills instantly proved fecund, sometimes to the point where the line between traditional Gambian hospitality and profit-seeking entrepreneurs became blurred, in my favor). While the weeks began dwindling down and the mercury level once again rising, I found myself making lists. Among them, lists of souvenirs to purchase, lists of people to say goodbye to, and lists of places to visit. One weekend I killed two birds with one stone by riding out to visit my good friend and site mate near the beach, Mai, where I picked up a painting I had commissioned from a local artist a few weeks earlier. The next morning, after an enjoyable overnight visit, I rode on to Sanyang, the last beach village I had been meaning to bury my feet into. Even though I had forgotten my swim suit and book, it was one of the most enjoyable and laid back days I had experienced in while, thanks to the generous hospitality of the lodge staff and a couple of friendly folks on holiday. A few of weeks later, I ventured up country with Mai for the final time, with plans to visit an isolated park known as Baboon Islands, on the way to my final VSN meeting and event, and hopes to spot some Gambian wildlife that ISN’T chosen as sacrifice for Muslim ceremonies. And let me tell you, we were not disappointed! In an afternoon boat ride we became familiar with many of the park’s cared for chimpanzees, as well as multiple families of monkeys, a myriad species of birds, troupes of baboons and even two hosts of basking hippos.
Finally, the last couple of weeks have been spent visiting places and greeting faces around Brikama and Bafuloto one more time, as well as closing up shop with reports and appointments with Peace Corps. On March 19th, the first two friends from my own group, Amanda and Peter O, went back to the homepeople of “the land of the free.” It was a bit surreal seeing them off; more natural than I had anticipated, but an air of sullenness existed among the crowd from which I expected. Then, on March 20th, I spent the last night in Bafuloto, with two of my friends, Beth and Allison, during which we ambled around village, the two girls taking digital pictures with a camera, while I mentally burned additional images of my surroundings for the past year. Although the moon was just a sliver of a smile in the sky, the last bucket bath was refreshing and cool and as always, made me feel just like a new person. Then, just before bed, Ndey and Ardo (who stayed up past her bedtime helping to provide enough light with the torch lamp) preformed the process of staining my feet orange, with the traditional decorative art form of henna. Predictably unable to sleep, I rose with the crows the next morning and set out with my host mom to thank and receive prayers from the Alkalo and surrounding neighbors, which unleashed enough emotion that by the time the car came to pick me up, words and blessings were pretty much all that came out. This past week I’ve lived at the Peace Corps hostel in Fajara, in order to wrap up shop with meetings and appointments, but not with out the necessary beach time. I also went back to the GIG farm to say a proper goodbye, to which they responded with a small thank you ceremony that was completely unexpected. The very last night was spent with a handful of my very favorite people here in Gambia. Being a Saturday night, we went all out, starting at the traditional karaoke joint and ending by dancing our socks off (which is pretty easy here because everyone wears sandals and flip flops…)
What’s the next step? Allah only knows. For the time being though, I’ll be in Dallas trying to re-adjust to more choices from one grocery store that in the entire country of Gambia. I’ll be spending time visiting family and friends, which means catching up with you, so send me an email or Facebook message. I’ll have high speed Internet; something else to adjust to. cmgilman@gmail.com So, until then, fo watti doo, fo sila kotenke, fo natoo, until next trip...
Kaiyra dorong & kanoo
Peace only and love,
Mariama Camara
Courtney Gilman
4 comments:
Yea!!!! You are almost here! We can't wait to see you and give you hugs and kisses. So glad to know that your last few days in Gambia were happy ones.
We love you,
Mom, Dad, Lydia, Roscoe and all your other family members too.
XOXO
i like this post.........
thanks
The author above tells the real story that what he felt in his life & love the moments because as we all know that we can not hold the time & same for the moments too.
Thanks for sharing with us.
I know how it feels, Courtney. The experiences, no matter how hard or how enjoyable they were, will always remain a big part of your life. I’m sure you’ve learned a lot of things from the Gambians and vice versa. Anyway, did you return to The Gambia after your visit?
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