tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70880666750079179122024-03-07T22:04:37.524-06:00Courting The GambiaStories and opinions written here are of those from this chick only, not the Peace Corps.************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.comBlogger70125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-71932836469780741322009-03-29T08:26:00.004-05:002009-03-29T09:08:07.823-05:00It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye...Maybe Because Mandinka Has No Literal Translation?<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMfRxWGju8-EiIvDDA6W2VTBsI598NeYsKHEMgP5Pp7OHPn3-BT-RnL8l_deaGpfSenlY9NaBWwuk3130YwsWYPUUO4WT15xPJKcPDl3JgIj9xMkqQYlvh7mGy-d2kImZydMgrVoxQca0/s1600-h/DSCN1276.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318608918511316866" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMfRxWGju8-EiIvDDA6W2VTBsI598NeYsKHEMgP5Pp7OHPn3-BT-RnL8l_deaGpfSenlY9NaBWwuk3130YwsWYPUUO4WT15xPJKcPDl3JgIj9xMkqQYlvh7mGy-d2kImZydMgrVoxQca0/s400/DSCN1276.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div>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…<br /><br />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. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcMIBnJXfKkBhLvI9ukPQmzmwHqJBFhn0oC9zzB2MmB3OD0YdV_ND7yRg7joV8ZRLIad_JnIBWS-iN2UYKi_UbzrFzTYPL4TWSanxufnKYshAlKIeVrkEe8t4y5R27Kf4vxj4N_oUCoY/s1600-h/DSCN1350.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318608923230993106" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEcMIBnJXfKkBhLvI9ukPQmzmwHqJBFhn0oC9zzB2MmB3OD0YdV_ND7yRg7joV8ZRLIad_JnIBWS-iN2UYKi_UbzrFzTYPL4TWSanxufnKYshAlKIeVrkEe8t4y5R27Kf4vxj4N_oUCoY/s400/DSCN1350.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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…) <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP9DNl-NtavsHkQFxIcMMxjb5l7gNNVi7IzTk_u98qyYDgzRAXk1UivWf9RLaI7Zza_9HKiIDq7aRbd-cPz0d1v8aRwGVn40f_QL37hROzlNfwZaoyDofcjpOR6NFe_c0Ecyg1ERLvBao/s1600-h/DSCN1396.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318608927642555746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP9DNl-NtavsHkQFxIcMMxjb5l7gNNVi7IzTk_u98qyYDgzRAXk1UivWf9RLaI7Zza_9HKiIDq7aRbd-cPz0d1v8aRwGVn40f_QL37hROzlNfwZaoyDofcjpOR6NFe_c0Ecyg1ERLvBao/s400/DSCN1396.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />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. <a href="mailto:cmgilman@gmail.com">cmgilman@gmail.com</a> So, until then, fo watti doo, fo sila kotenke, fo natoo, until next trip...<br /><br />Kaiyra dorong & kanoo<br />Peace only and love,<br /><br />Mariama Camara<br />Courtney Gilman</div></div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-46753011993400176772009-02-24T07:21:00.002-06:002009-02-24T07:29:43.144-06:00Duel IdentityTwo years spent residing in a remote African village is just the right amount of time to cause someone to have an identity crisis. This I believe. Spend six months, and you’ve convinced yourself you have learned everything there is to know about the causes and even the solutions to the afflictions of the people with whom you are working. Make it a year, and you’re convinced everyone would be better off if you just went home. How much more homesickness can one person endure, anyway? Stay on for a whole other year, and something else entirely happens. I believe, at this point, just the right amount of time has elapsed in order to have an advance grasp of the local language and culture, but only enough to realize you can never become a native national. It is also just the right amount of time to recognize all the entertainment and technological advances that have taken place back home while you’ve been gone, and to begin not to mind about catching up on them. Confliction sets in.<br /><br />Upon joining the United States Peace Corps two years ago, my group was advised to pack light; leave valuables at home, among those, our expectations. Perhaps the culture shock or lifestyle transition would be cushioned if we did. I wanted to follow that advice and tried to. Yet all I could think about upon introduction to my temporary three month training residence, a two room mud hut with pit latrine, and host parents who didn’t speak a lick of English was: how on Earth could anybody do this for two whole years?! Then, just as shock value began to wear off, we were ceremonially given our Muslim names, to which we were supposed to answer for the rest of our service. Looking back now, I am still not sure how I got through some of those really low periods, almost psychically predicted by our medical officer.<br /><br />But I believe spending two years outside a comfort zone allows another one to be created. And when I think about saying the final goodbyes to my Gambian family, heartstrings I never even knew existed begin tugging and aching. Some of the most valuable friendships were acquired during this time, which in turn, led to the re-evaluation of some other relationships back home.<br /><br />Despite the misconception that time hasn’t been suspended while I’ve been away, it’s hard to mentally ascertain the degree to which this revolving world and its people, have evolved. Internally, I can feel that I’ve grown as an individual, and even though a reflection is the closest someone will ever get to view their own self, mirrors can still be deceiving. With that said, I believe, in order to ultimately understand the degree to which I’ve personally progressed, it looks like I’ll simply have put my faith in others, and let them be the truest judge of my new identity.************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-3932825489981012342009-02-13T15:41:00.002-06:002009-02-13T16:26:55.923-06:0022+2=Re-turn 2 HomeThe other day I was re-reading through some older posts with the idea that I would read one of them at our COS dinner. This one, in particular, stood out to me. The dinner setting wasn't conducive to a 5 minute reading, but I figured it might be interesting to re-visit a projection of the last 22 months, with less than two until official completion!<br /><br />The following is a re-post:<br /><br />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".<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />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.************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-43900688635517732902009-02-03T19:56:00.000-06:002009-02-03T13:56:20.569-06:00T'was the Season...Pick a season, any season, don’t tell me what it is. Do you have one in mind? Good, does it involve highs of a mere 90 degrees F and lows at night of bone-chilling 70 degrees F, thus causing all to don their second-hand African church clothes drive-Kathy Lee collection knit sweater? (I snagged one with toggles for five Dalasis, about the equivalent of twenty cents.) Is it one where the full moon hangs like a picture on the horizon, as large as a saucer and as yellow as a traffic light, as if to say “you’d better slow down and take this moment in; it’s not often one observes me under such cow-jumping caliber?” Does it happen to involve a façade of a certain Christian holiday, where the consumer reminders such as tinsel and carols are so subtle, it feels akin to being reminded of your birthday 30+ times on a seemingly ordinary day? Surprise! You’ve chosen season 1.5 of the Gambia’s two season year, also known as the cold season. If you’d happened to be a PCV during this time (more specifically one with the alias, Mariama Camara), these are a few other activities in which you may have participated…<br /><br />About 24 full moons earlier, bright eyed, green and bushytailed, a plethora of handouts and sign ups were given to us. Among them was the monthly mail run participation sheet. Inscribing my name along side a partner’s, a place became held for a month that seemed so far away, Neil Armstrong would have felt it out of reach. I guess you could say the next 24 months were spent shooting for the moon, understanding that even if it was missed; landing among the stars was just as rewarding. And, just like that, my friend Sarah’s and my month to try our hand at the postal service for a week arrived. The next six days were spent in incredibly close proximity to each other and John The Driver (JTD) (literally three strong in the front of a Land-Cruiser-esq vehicle) with the entire back packed, organized strategically and neat, with some 80 volunteer’s packages and mail. Well, that is until JTD moved the gear out of park and drove the vehicle the 3k from the office to the hostel to pick us up at 5am. A less determined (or stubborn) person might have taken the 5am rolling push start, just like the public geles, as a sign, but Sarah and I had come this far, even generously granted the approval of an appeal to move mail run up a few days so as not to conflict with a visit from her mom and Christmas Eve. Stopping at each volunteers site, regardless if they were home (unless otherwise pre-arranged), we assumed the roles of Santa’s Little Helpers, complete with a rice bag full of grab-bag gifts and that finger fortune teller game you make out of paper and play as a kid. Each day we eventually made it to our slumber destination, but not without at least one solid inch-worth of caked on red dust and even more likely, a handful of entertaining events to relay to our gracious hosts… Like the day we got two flat tires slightly outside a village so far off the road that JTD’s first instinct was to start walk-rolling the tire 10k to the road, from which he’d need to catch a car to the nearest main town another 10k away in hopes of finding a mechanic. THEN make his way back to change the tire. Luckily, out of nowhere, and I do mean nowhere, a cement-hauling truck appeared and agreed to take him to the main road, thus only setting us back 3 1/2 hours… Or maybe the day we started having fuel pump problems on a dirt road to a village 35k from Basse. Thankfully, though, the real pump failure ensued on the main road on a Friday at 2pm (the holiest prayer day & time), when everything was closed, testing our patience while we waited two full hours to buy a two ounce tube of super glue, to be used as the car’s panacea. All and all though, the two year build up of this six day event will be recorded as one of the most memorable activities in Peach Corps, from which now I can say I’ve visited 85% of volunteer’s sites in Gambia, listened to the same Jola tribe tape approximately 13 times all the way through, climbed in and out of the car 30 times a day, ate 8 peanut butter sandwiches, became better (not worse) friends with Sarah and can thank my lucky stars I don’t have late onset car sickness.<br /><br />Next came the “birthday” holiday, which was the first time I’d spent Christmas away from a close family. Like I mentioned before, though, if other people hadn’t reminded me, it would have come and gone just as silently as Santa’s sleigh on that holy night. The crowd at the Kombo hostel was small this year, as many had traveled elsewhere to celebrate. We compiled our local resources as well as those special occasion items sent from loved ones to create an intimate, but delicious Christmas Eve dinner, which even included wassail and mulled wine. The festivities continued, as they typically do when one year comes to an end and a new one begins. Even though Muslims aren’t known to celebrate the end of the month of December the way Christians usually recognize (they celebrate their new year a few weeks after), fireworks still exploded all throughout the Kombos, which I was able to observe, along with some of my favorite people in the Peace Corps, from a volunteer’s atypical dwelling of a roof-top apartment. A pre-firework pot luck, followed by dancing till nearly dawn was combination which resulted in one of the most exuberant and unforgettable New Years Eve in my life thus far.<br /><br />And perhaps it’s because I force-fed everyone black-eyed-peas on January 1st (which apparently, unbeknown to me is NOT a nationwide American tradition; in fact I’m beginning to think it was just a genius, but cruel trick my parents and their friends played on us kids to eat something healthy), but 2009 has turned out to be pretty dandy so far. I began working at a farm called Gambia is Good (GIG), which is one of the projects under the NGO, <a href="http://www.concernuniversal.org/index.php?/working_in_partnership/gambia_is_good">Concern Universal</a>. Their website can fill you in on the gaps, but basically GIG works with local farmers, introducing improved techniques learned from their “show” farm (where I go), then purchases their highest quality produce to distribute to the tourist and ex-patriot communities. I’m currently working with a couple of women on experimenting with processing some of the produce that cannot be distributed to those communities, including the local market. We made a local solar dryer out of suspended, doubled up mosquito net and placed one variety of tomatoes to dry for a couple of weeks. We then put another variety of tomatoes in a dryer made by the <a href="http://solarcooking.wikia.com/wiki/Solar_Project_Gambia">Solar Project The Gambia</a> to do a basic comparison, with the end goal of jarring the tomatoes in an olive oil and spice recipe, to promote to those visiting the farm. We’ve also been trying out new recipes in the solar ovens made by the Solar Project. For some reason, I felt the desire to make a corn bread to bring to a VSN-sponsored pot luck I had coordinated for the volunteers in and around Brikama. I ended up having to buy whole kernel corn and take it to the milling section of the market because I couldn’t find corn flour, but I bought the rest of the ingredients, including sour milk, purchased from a Fula woman and biked to the farm; the entertaining voice of Ira Glass from This American Life leading me through my bi-weekly commute. At the farm, I mixed up the batter and added some sun dried tomatoes for an extra kick and let the sun once again do its amazing job of making things hot and after about two hours gave us a hearty loaf of sun-dried tomato corn bread.<br /><br />Man, I can only imagine how high the Obama fever has risen in the States. I mean, if on an entirely different continent, market stationary shops are changing their names to “Obama Stationary” and the neighborhood village boys whistle and sing a new catchy reggae hit which consecutively repeats the name at least 5 times and the number one request from a host country national to Americans has shifted from cell phones to Obama paraphernalia, what the heck is it like over there?! The sentiment has indeed changed for the positive and it’s amazing to observe from this position, in this environment. A group of volunteers and Gambians got together at the local restaurant in Brikama with satellite news to watch the inauguration. I got chills listening to the speeches and left the restaurant holding my head a little higher and my skin a little more harassment repelling. Entering the Peace Corps, one of the last things on my mind was the election. But lately, the buzz among this country could pollinate a field full of flowers and I’m realizing in what a rare arrangement we volunteers abroad have found ourselves.<br /><br />Last but not least, this past weekend 15 of us from the April 2007 Health and Community Development group went through our Close of Service (COS) conference. It was a three day conference at a more traditional lodge, but the rooms had hot showers and the food was incredibly delicious (and I don’t think it’s just because of the other diet I’ve been on for two years…) The whole weekend was a bit overwhelming, but in a good way! It was the last time we were all getting together as just our group and although I knew some of the friendships and memories I’d made were incomparable, I hadn’t realized to what degree. While making the decision to move to Bafuloto and stay in the Gambia for another year was one of the most difficult I’ve ever made, discovering I’ll be completing my 27-month Peace Corps service has proved to be one of the most rewarding. COS is designed to give you the tools and resources you need to help complete a successful service as well as transition into a life afterward, whether it is back in the States or internationally. We participated in session after session, discussing everything from resume writing and completing a professional description of service paper, to signing up for adult things like health insurance, to how not to be that volunteer who loses it because there’s so many options at the grocery store (I’m buying mint scented shampoo and conditioner-hopefully knowing that much at least will save me there…), to how to say goodbyes to host families as well as PCVs and the importance of staying in touch. So, now we’re all officially COSers. Two years is a long time. You all said it to me before I left, I’ve been reminded by many while I’ve been in the Gambia and most of my friends here completely agree when we say it to each other. But these last two months will go at it’s own pace, and just like a free donkey cart pick up to the main road, I’ll gladly go along for the ride…<br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVKp8E8GFxL4l0OQgaw_Tp22413c13dBMzvFBJ_0SyEj7Dx3GTpd9tVAobl-QzPF17g8TpZ5lgRJVuXK3eP-b6YNXglvaGjLeohcjXJxlrFw09KGp2F52PEEVN0ngof7TbbxALWw5fGw/s1600-h/IMG_3791.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298656192466816658" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVKp8E8GFxL4l0OQgaw_Tp22413c13dBMzvFBJ_0SyEj7Dx3GTpd9tVAobl-QzPF17g8TpZ5lgRJVuXK3eP-b6YNXglvaGjLeohcjXJxlrFw09KGp2F52PEEVN0ngof7TbbxALWw5fGw/s400/IMG_3791.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />See you guys soon (later)!<br /><br />Love,<br />Courtney<br /><div><br /><br /></div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-82753001226288592572009-01-23T11:49:00.004-06:002009-01-25T04:26:26.764-06:00Tracey & Sarah's project: Check it 2 time!!Hey guys!! Long time, I know...<br /><br />The following is from a couple of my friends' blog, detailing one of their current projects. So take a minute to read it and see if this is something you think you might like to help out with.<br /><br />"HELP AFRICA<br /><br />As many of you know, I work at Bansang Hospital, a rural,underfunded hospital about 10 hours by bush taxi from the capital inGambia, West Africa. Blood supply is a chronic problem--causing the deaths of many new mothers and their babies. The hospital is runningon a B.Y.O.D. (Bring Your Own Donor) system which, as you can imagine,is not effective. We have begun a program of trekking to nearbyvillages and registering people as donors. We have also begun a blooddonation club at the local high school. Once we saw that we couldactually get blood for storage we decided we needed to do somethingabout the blood bank and storage facilities. With the help of two other volunteers and with the staff of the hospital we have decided to build a basicblood bank facility, complete with a 24 hour fridge. We are seekingdonations to cover about 75% of the cost and the hospital will providethe other 25%. Donations of any size are highly welcome. If you wouldlike to donate or find out more please visit the Peace Corps websiteand click on "donors" - "donate to volunteer projects" or click on<br /><br />this link:<a href="https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=635-056">https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=635-056</a><br /><br />Thanks for taking the time to read about our project. Please sendthis email on to anyone you think may be interested in helping andremember, by donating you are saving babies :-)"<br /><br />I hope everyone is well. I'm working on a post, so will be updating soon. In the mean time, I hope everyone enjoyed the inauguration and the holidays.<br /><br />Love and miss you,<br />Courtney************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-3845637950078857192008-12-04T04:11:00.003-06:002008-12-04T04:55:20.418-06:00Take In Directly<div><br /><br /><div>Despite the tumultuous travel we endured, the trip to Mali was indeed magnificent. Hiking through the cliffs of Dogon country alone made the hours on the road worth it. Well, almost… It reminded me of the Mesa Verde dwellings, creating a sense of the southwest, all the way over in West Africa that sent me longing to share the beauty of these lines with my climbing comrades. No doubt they would have shared the same clammy hands and jittery feeling I seem to get just thinking about climbing.<br /><br />It’s that time of year again when it’s hard for me to relate to those back home in terms of weather and holidays. I distinctly remember writing the Thanksgiving blog post last year; stating something like the 90 degree won’t let me wrap my mind around the fact that this Thursday is Thanksgiving. This year, though, it’s easier to grasp that soon we’ll be entering a new year. Most probably, though, because with the new year, comes the commencement of the analogical new chapter of my life. The end of April is only 5 months away, but the beginning of a life I’m not sure I remember, or perhaps more correctly, a life I’ve never known, is still 5 whole months away.<br /><br />Regardless, the past couple of months have rolled on and I’m sure the next 5 will travel in the same fashion, collecting enough speed on the way and barely allowing for the documentation of memories. But I have a moment now, so I’ll use it to back track on the months you all call fall and that I have come to know as hot, just a little less than before. Most devastatingly, my grandmother, the matriarch and 80 year old human power tool of the compound, had a stroke right before I left for Mali, in September. When I left, she was bed ridden, as the stroke affected the left side of her body, including, it appeared, her speech. I left, uttering goodbyes as if they were as permanent as the affects of the stroke, just in case… She didn’t look good. I called as soon as I got back to Basse, preparing myself for the worst, but received news she was getting better. Still, in Mandinka and other indigenous tribes, the phrase “getting better” could mean anything from a full recovery to hanging on the last breath. However, I was pleasantly surprised to see in person, that she actually appeared to be getting better. Before I went away, I had arranged with someone from Hands on Care, the NGO I worked with my first year, to make a home visit to try to begin physical therapy. By the time I returned home, it looked like she had started gaining strength to display the mobility left in her left leg, she was feeding herself and swallowing with less trouble than before, sitting up on her own and her voice was becoming more audible. Little by little, we are practicing standing. She’ll probably never be tending the fields again like she once was, but every now and again, the kindhearted disciplinarian of the under five peanut gallery will flash me a toothless smile that goes straight to my heart.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhx-9pqPC7QWTAvAtyumhPiLby-7XDN9HICZvB6gkmwoiG3amIH1DwONfh4L8glT2l6zifWPc0GrdliIKcuZ-ZxWpt9Cfyot6BtnkKlrwZCqenTfdySxIMyMsSP70dQAEFha6yfVusukE/s1600-h/DSCN0989.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275880673789030882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhx-9pqPC7QWTAvAtyumhPiLby-7XDN9HICZvB6gkmwoiG3amIH1DwONfh4L8glT2l6zifWPc0GrdliIKcuZ-ZxWpt9Cfyot6BtnkKlrwZCqenTfdySxIMyMsSP70dQAEFha6yfVusukE/s400/DSCN0989.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Well, shoot dang folks, we’ve got a new president elect! Who’s excited about that bit of news? I’ll go ahead and declare that I’m right there with most of my American friends, and Gambian friends and even strangers in this “forgotten corner of the world” that can’t wait to see what the other side of this new leaf looks like under the administration of Mr. Obama. It was a unique experience to be abroad during this entire process. I can’t even imagine what kind of election stimulus overload all of you guys experienced this past year. My nightly tune-ins on the shortwave with BBC and month old Newsweeks were about the extent of the media buzz I received. On election day, however, we PCVs were invited to share a little slice of Americana in the form of a generous Embassy employee’s home, which included pizza & tortilla chips, hot water, cold drinks, comfortable couches to curl up on and satellite TV. We donned the few pieces of Obama paraphernalia that had either been sent or brought over or hand made (mainly in the form of bumper stickers) and prepared ourselves for the first purposeful all-nighter since Professor Hard-Ass’ final exam, starting with the most important viewing, “The Daily Show” and “Colbert Report”.<br /><br />Hmm, what else… The newest, and last training group to come into country while my group is still around got here right after the elections. It’s a combination training of Environment as well as Health and Community Development (my sector) because of all these budget cuts we’ve been hearing about but are not sure where they are stemming from and who’s cutting one of the most successful and well regarded government instituted programs. I could go on and on about the changes that have been suggested and ones that have been implemented, but I’ll just say this: I’m currently reading The Village Of Waiting by George Packer, which eerily comparably describes his experience as a PCV in Togo in the early 80s, except for his $200 a month stipend and motorbike. Please, Mr. Obama, please pay attention to us PCVs again who are working in the fields, crossing cultural barriers on our bicycles, not motorbikes, and who get excited about tortilla chips and hot water, all for $175 a month in 2008. Anyway, the group started their training bright-eyed and motivated and I got to help present a session about emotional health during training as the VSN coordinator because most of us have experienced a bushy tail gone wiry at least once, while over here. They swear in January 14th, with my Health and Community Development ’09 sector’s close of service (COS) conference just a couple weeks behind. Speaking of VSN, Western Region held our first sponsored event, which consisted of a tour of a magnificent eco-lodge only about 2k from Bafuloto. I knew of its presence since my predecessor pointed out signs during 3 month challenge, but never had I fully explored to see what existed beyond the wooden gates. Fortunately, my friend Rachel had not only crossed the threshold of the gates, but she had befriended the owners whom have casually worked on and off with Peace Corps Volunteers since the culture forest was built, 17 years ago. A tour of the manicured overgrown bush and traditional wooden paddle boat ride left those of us who attended the event relaxed and yearning to make a habit of venturing into the calming quarters.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEQmz6I9VZvmbDhABBN2-ACwFIugN9kgCzkWDBfaqBL6o10dKYIMCZ_UWRX4xzbQED2NmRRL8uSYCPPFi5k6EgE-ekM0yiDFsLGSaonvzyG0upWBTl7lM6l05ykEVKsS4ak3iCGh26pw/s1600-h/DSCN0977.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275880680294676258" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEQmz6I9VZvmbDhABBN2-ACwFIugN9kgCzkWDBfaqBL6o10dKYIMCZ_UWRX4xzbQED2NmRRL8uSYCPPFi5k6EgE-ekM0yiDFsLGSaonvzyG0upWBTl7lM6l05ykEVKsS4ak3iCGh26pw/s400/DSCN0977.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I hope everyone’s Thanksgiving was filled with full bellies and cornucopias of grace. Ours felt more like a really extravagant Fourth of July backyard BBQ cookout, but I’m confident that those wearing wrap skirts even had to re-tie and loosen them. There was soooo much food! The Thanksgiving weekend also allowed for the scheduling of the bi-annual all volunteer meeting, including individual sector meetings, as well as an evening of opportunity to present one’s nose whistling, song writing or picture taking talent at the 2nd official Open Mic-Night at one of the favorite and frequented bars in the more touristy area. I personally searched long and hard to get tap shoes made, but alas settled on reading the Mali transport terror story.<br /><br />Well I think that about does it for the time being. It’s getting close to the end, but I’m sure there will be enough time to write home again about new work developments and frustrating market moments. Oh! Guess what’s all the rage among school aged and young women: ballerina style jelly sandals! I’ve got my pair and if you want to be hip like me when I come home, let me know and I’ll get you a pair as well.<br /></div><div>Pictures have been posted to the Picasa site, so check 'em out :)<br />Love you all and miss you dearly.<br />Courtney</div></div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-19449054764500469942008-11-29T09:11:00.004-06:002008-11-29T09:49:54.938-06:00HEY! HEYYYYY!!!! _____ YOU! Mind your own _____ing business!<div>Hi there! Long time, eh? The following is a little story about one of our days in Mali. It's a bit humanly uncharacteristic, as you'll read, but unfortunately not situationally. There will be more to come about what's been going on the past couple of months in the near future, but for now, enjoy a bit from This West African Life...</div><div> </div><div>Oh, and hello to Charlie and Jackie all the way over in K-town. I enjoyed meeting the O-bros and I know they were taken care of very well while over here. :) </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Love,</div><br /><div>Courtney</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>HEY! HEYYYYY!!!! _____ YOU! Mind your own _____ing business!</strong></div><br /><div>I really want to punch him in the face right now!!!! My friend, Ellie, yelled emphatically, after spouting off a serious of censorious words to our 6ft 5 Malian gele apparantee. I’ll do it!, was my apparent response, after feelings of anger and lack of control of the situation came over me. In reality, I pictured my fist making contact with this man’s face. In reality, I attempted to make contact with his face, but he dodged. In reality, I made contact with his chest, then felt the need to kick him in the butt. What brings two passive, yoga practicing, save-the-world, peace & love Peace Corps volunteers to act as if they’re proving their rank in prison? One word: travel. West African public transport travel to be more specific. Thus, I’ll take you on a little journey that would have inspired a completely opposite type of train to ride if Cat Stevens were with us.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4DAY5537EFUzjH45cQFgyrTg1tqPvi-1QQSbm3o19ybXciHQ51MyGDDlXOxBx8-7Cyt6Fomvc9mGuR431_7iOJVmyYgq4yCErwSlBXemWRUFs-wfVD5s-XIJInf7rHPSk-iNVIiY4y_M/s1600-h/DSCN0811[1]"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274105075280907682" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4DAY5537EFUzjH45cQFgyrTg1tqPvi-1QQSbm3o19ybXciHQ51MyGDDlXOxBx8-7Cyt6Fomvc9mGuR431_7iOJVmyYgq4yCErwSlBXemWRUFs-wfVD5s-XIJInf7rHPSk-iNVIiY4y_M/s400/DSCN0811%5B1%5D" border="0" /></a><br />Once upon a time, three kind hearted and patient female PCVs just wanted to get back to Gambia without too much trouble after an adventurous and culture-filled visit to magnanimous Mali. P squared (aka the word transporter in French), Lil’ Pimp (our ticket to great bargains and cheep rides) and McGellan (who needs a compass when you’re in a Muslim country?), as they became known to each other, awoke diligently at 5am from their food comas- or rather they were awoken by their gurgling bellies, thanks to a bizarre, yet generously exquisite dinner consisting of food their stomachs hadn’t digested in over a year and a half, with 2 Austrian diplomats, followed by a night of Bamako’s finest live music and dancing (which is a whole other story more fit to be shared over additional fine dining). Despite frequent trips to the toilet, they managed to pack all their belongings and souvenirs and make it to the bus station with more than enough time to spare (especially with the new departure time of “1 hour later”), to catch the buss that would carry them in comfort, more than 2/3 of the way back to the home people. Between continual payments of 50, the 3 took turns watching bags and searching for green tea strangely packaged in animal print instead of the familiar “gun powder”, to quench the thirst of the obligatory family trip gift. Then, during a routine toilet trip, McGellan noticed the tail end of a bus snake around the corner and out of site. Frantically whipping her head around to locate the bus once situated soundly in its sleeping spot, confirmed her worst possible fear at that exact possible moment: the comfy bus set to carry them 2/3 of the way home had just left the building, without 3 of its biggest fans. Well, they only practically had to kick and scream their way onto the next overbooked bus that wasn’t nearly going as far, although they were assigned isle seats. No, not that one. The isle, bidong optional. 7 hours later, the 3 tuckered travelers reached their destination, where several extremely accommodating host country PCVs delivered the Worlds Greatest Combination: running water showers, clean sheets and a bed net. Taking a moment to exhale the days travel turbulence, they settle into a slumber dreaming about quickly filled geles and road side icees, but not before indulging in a rare tasty treat in the form of Nutella. Now, you’d think one would learn their lesson about ingesting foods outside the “white” food group, especially while traveling. But a honey bee rarely passes a bated hive and for the 2nd morning in a row, it wasn’t the 5am mosque call that summoned McGellan to the porcelain hive.<br /><br />A little authors observation: I think you really have to be an optimist if you want to remain somewhat sane while traveling in Sub-Saharan, and by optimist, I mean one who is ignorant of foreshadowing, because if I had believed diarrhea at 5am was a prelude of what was to come; if I’d realized the least frustrating part of the day had already been flushed down the toilet, you’d be hearing about a Gambian PCV who went AWOL in Mali instead of this short story.<br /><br />Anyway, P squared, Lil’ Pimp and McGellan finally set off late morning only to turn directly around in the taxi upon realization of forgetting probably the most important travel item: a frozen Nalgene bottle. Okay! Now we’re off to the car park! Wait, why are we slowing down to a stop, their furrowed brows non verbally communicated to one another. Once the driver filled the taxi back up with gas, they made it those 10k to the care park no problem. Once at the car park, they assiduously paid the ticket dude and promptly began their wait for the gele to fill. Then, after about 45 min, they realized they were waiting directly on the main road, so decided to test their luck in flagging down a moving car. Success in flagging down a big rig, ultimately led to the dialogue at the beginning of the story, at which the gele apparante told our big rig ride to leave us there on the road because we were already on HIS gele, even though we had already paid and willing to forfeit our tickets for the ride with the big rig, who we'd also need to pay. It was none of his ____ing business... Accepting defeat, they took to grieving in their own ways until the cursed gele was ready to roll. There was barely enough time to get wind blown hair when the back left tire, itself, blew, resulting in about a 45 min tire changing session. Back on the road again, it only took a few k for the 2nd and 3rd tires they had fixed on the same axle to become rubber road kill. It was time once again to wait.. Well, they don’t call her Lil’ Pimp for nothin’ and soon her golden finger was hailing and stopping out next ride: a car from the railroad company, whose gas and driver were both paid for, thus the agreed payment to take us as far as the gele was planning, was going straight in the pocket. Finally, 4 cars (including an ever so persistent border taxi dude) and approximately 4 hours later, they had crossed into Wolof Wonderland. Surprisingly swift, they boarded the equivalent of a Senegalese Ragin Party Gele that told them they’d be taken to the point at which they were to be dropped by the comfy bus. However, looks can be deceiving and nothing is ever the way it appears, especially when you’re being driven by the Mad Hatter. About 2 hours before dusk, the RPG rolled into a dusty, desolate car park. It was soon apparent this was not the anticipated final destination of the gele’s passengers, but it definitely was for the gele. Blood was beyond the boiling point, but it does not good to lose your cool, as the 3 had experienced earlier in the day. Nonetheless, nerves were wound and as the sun was setting over the savanna that seemed a little too unfamiliar, even to McGellan. At the prospect of spending the night somewhere an unknown number of kilometers away from their goal sleeping spot, they pulled each other up, like buckets of water from the darkest well and continued to take matters into their own hands. After flagging down yet another big rig, P squared turned on the translation charm and convinced the saintly driver that there was indeed room for 3 grown women and their 3 small children-sized backpacks, in the crammed space of 3 wool blankets. On the road once again, just as the sun passed behind the clouds, the 18 wheeler rolled passed a mile marker denoting that the RPG had stranded its passengers 115k from their destination. Finally, a total of 24 butt-seat prints and 10 excruciatingly long and frustrating hours later, P squared, Lil’ Pimp and McGellan arrived at their last temporary place of slumber, a mere 300k from where they began their day.</div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-41608236548150644932008-10-27T11:37:00.002-05:002008-10-27T11:42:01.652-05:00Well, we made it as far as Dogon Country...I'm back from Mali and heading back to village today. We had an amazing time and came back with lots of good stories, which I'll have to share with you next time I come to town. In the mean time, I've uploaded some pictures to the Picasso site so look at those when you get a chance :)<br /><br />Don't forget to vote! Miss and love you guys.<br /><br />Love, Court************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-81457610011356999442008-09-22T09:13:00.003-05:002008-09-22T09:33:42.396-05:00Ever thought you'd actually go to Timbukto?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTSjsv8BGHDOBQTLtgMq4mLMsHqw7z5Mn90UFllHDTTlnQ1DP08LEV7ALlshKT8vBrtBBZ849NtQNRS1-MB5dzz1Axnto-iEJfeGppKsT7l2cuwM5QK-Lw7Rg3rJXChJF_xOZuJesN38U/s1600-h/EllieCourtEdSwearIn.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248853728130332850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTSjsv8BGHDOBQTLtgMq4mLMsHqw7z5Mn90UFllHDTTlnQ1DP08LEV7ALlshKT8vBrtBBZ849NtQNRS1-MB5dzz1Axnto-iEJfeGppKsT7l2cuwM5QK-Lw7Rg3rJXChJF_xOZuJesN38U/s400/EllieCourtEdSwearIn.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Hey out there. Just a quick update to let you guys know I got approval to go to Mali for a couple of weeks. My friends Ellie, Blair and I are planning to leave at the end of September and come back mid October. Mali was one of the places that I'd envisioned seeing before I left west Africa, so I'm super stoked it looks like it's going to work out. We plan on hitting up Bamako, the captial for a couple of nights to try to catch some music, then on to Dogon coutnry, where the Dogons reside in cliff dwellings, after fleeing from their lands along the Niger around the 15th century, not wanting to convert to Islam. From there we may go to Hombori where there is supposed to be a grand rock formation and I'm hoping to get info from PCVs in the area to do some climbing. Fingers crossed, but not holding my breath. We're going to try to either get in a camel ride, a boat ride up the Niger or observe some elephant tracking, or all of the above, depending on time. I'm sure I'll have tons of stories, many of which will probably revolve around the actual transport and traveling... Pictures to come hopefully as well. For now I'll leave you with this one of me and Ellie (one of the friends I'll be traveling with) at the Education swear in a couple of weeks ago.</div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-66429072679482958842008-09-06T13:37:00.003-05:002008-09-06T14:03:15.352-05:00More From Living in the Land of Babies on Backs and Balencing Acts<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlLcKSqJwBa6HvJ7F9-JAbxYE_hIT-4RXQ90Uu8zDFm_bROAMDnOLke-0HIMr1_1MQKBAazm9j8gcD1pMteP-v4zZ2Eq_4SS8_btEX4fTCOhYeZ-Ic0ZLmvlRANSpPLWVR4weqrpofNbk/s1600-h/DSCN0742.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242982006515835586" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlLcKSqJwBa6HvJ7F9-JAbxYE_hIT-4RXQ90Uu8zDFm_bROAMDnOLke-0HIMr1_1MQKBAazm9j8gcD1pMteP-v4zZ2Eq_4SS8_btEX4fTCOhYeZ-Ic0ZLmvlRANSpPLWVR4weqrpofNbk/s400/DSCN0742.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Well hello to you all again! It’s been a long time since I’ve updated this thing so I’m not really sure how to begin this entry and it might be all over the place. But my fellow PCVs continually joke maybe that’s just what happens to someone who has lived among West African indigenous tribes for what’s going on 19 months; we’re all over the place with not really any place to go, but a little crazy.<br />.<br />First of all, I just want to thank everyone for all the birthday wishes and love through cards, emails, messages, hugs, food, drink, good company, etc. For some reason, I was happily accepting of 26 and at the same time eager to discard 25. Looking back, last year, I feel like I tried to mask that quarter of a century milestone in the form of streamers and traditional American party fare. This year turned out to be an embracing of moments taking place at present. A handful of friends from the new environment group, as well as a few from my own group came into town for a volunteer resiliency training the week before my birthday (more of which I’ll write about later), so I organized a quaint potluck picnic to watch the sun set at the mud cliffs that over look the ocean. On the actual day, my friend Ellie and I began our 150k bike ride on the unpaved south bank road from Brikama to Tendaba Bird Camp, the ol’ training stomping grounds to help out with some Health Promotion session with the new education trainees. We decided to make the ride over two days, stopping after about 5 hours of riding and spending the night with a volunteer from our group in the village of Bwiam. He was hosting a couple of his other site mates and we cooked an amazing meal of garlic and butter shrimp scampi pasta with veggies and a stir-fried cookie for dessert. The next day we rode for about 3 hours, both days resting during the rain storms that conveniently commenced at the same time as our fatigue. It was really cool to arrive to the training camp once again, on bike with Ellie, but from the completely opposite end of the country, over a year later, as I vividly remember the time that I rode to her training village, and then on to Tendaba from the east side of the country.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMylRHzqM-dLaK88Qw7FmOePaTxPq_PkmBCPF-f47rvJdUgeFtKdt0yDixRE-C4XoQc5cSHUQJ_NuzHx3jO38hBslOmyvokro5meE8Tvf4Uu4vofibEkoA5KaPNvkcPXi-BARhZADJdY/s1600-h/DSCN0658.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242981992966091666" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMylRHzqM-dLaK88Qw7FmOePaTxPq_PkmBCPF-f47rvJdUgeFtKdt0yDixRE-C4XoQc5cSHUQJ_NuzHx3jO38hBslOmyvokro5meE8Tvf4Uu4vofibEkoA5KaPNvkcPXi-BARhZADJdY/s400/DSCN0658.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />See, I’m already getting a little ahead of myself. Since you’ve last peered through the virtual scope into the days of this stranger in a strange land, several of my fellow strangers who gradually became anything but, have closed the Gambia door of their lives. Better analogized, the door more closely resembles the revolving type, but what I’m getting at is all of a sudden I was at the point in service for the first time where people I considered sounding boards and good friends would soon be leaving. Regardless of whether they are anticipated close of service volunteers, friends attached to aide organizations, or the third member of your training village group, you get used to checking in on each other with a text and catching up over a tepid Julbrew. I couldn’t have predicted how their departures would affect me, but I think one of Gambia’s most beloved music artists, Celine Dion, says it all best in her hit song “It’s Hard to Say Goodbye”. After their imminent return to the States resonated with me for a bit, I started to see a silver lining: never before had I a pen pal who 100% understood what it is like to wait 3 hours for a gele gele to fill, making a 150K journey last 6 hours. I’d never had that complete empathy from someone for trying to hack up that fish bone stuck in your throat from lunch 2 days ago, or that utter understanding of the exact location of the best bean sandwich lady in the market and how sitting outside with your host family at the end of evening, counting stars, seems to make everything on the planet alright again and just a little simpler. Of course there’s been a few times where I wanted to pick up my mobile and text them about something, and I miss to see their faces around town, but I’m also pretty sure they’re glad to have someone with compassion on this end as well when immediately diving into a chicken and rice dinner with their right hand causes questionable stares from those at the table.<br /><br />After a year of hangin’ on Gambia’s lower west side, I decided it was time once again to make the journey to the other end of the country. The plan was to travel with my friend who lives past Basse, the largest town to the east, stopping at a different friend’s site every night or two along the way. On the second day at the first stop I came down with a fever, body aches, chest pain, and loose stools, of which many of those viral symptoms remained for the duration of the trip. At any rate, we were able to see the new Basse transit house and ran into a few other volunteers there, then I made my way back, stopping in Bansang, where a couple of friends work and stay at the teaching hospital, confirming my diagnosis of dengue fever. Just kidding. I got better in a few days.<br /><br />The rest of August was disguised as a magician because it performed a disappearing act right before my very eyes. Over the past few months, I’ve helped in the coordination of bringing the once defunct, PC program, the Volunteer Support Network (VSN) back to life. As more organization became involved, I found myself in the coordinator’s position. The VSN is a group of volunteers serving as regional members around the country, organized to help volunteers keep a healthy perspective on service. The idea is that volunteers can feel comfortable going to their regional member, or any member, to discuss anything involving PC service, from counterpart frustration to homesickness tactics to helping organize a hut painting party; all in confidence, in a non-judgmental, non-discriminatory manor. A resiliency training was held at the beginning of August by a social worker in the Office of Special Services from PC Washington and I encountered a nostalgic feeling of being back in grad school for two days. It’s also been nice to feel like I’m putting that knowledge gained from school to use once again for the American community in addition to the past year and a half of serving the Gambian one.<br /><br />I guess that brings us to the bike ride to Tendaba from Brikama. The purpose for the trek was to serve as VSN representation for the current training group. We helped lead health promotion sessions including topics on emotional and mental health, sexual health and alcohol. This is the first training group to completely go through the newly revised training program, with certain core competencies being recognized and later tested. Fellow volunteer involvement in helping lead training sessions has always applied but seems even more integral with the revised plan.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUrBGUc6lOxnMTo0_lXTQy8_0WDUUShdh4A-m6w5S5lOc7Ecq6kse6F2_KjoRknZwwv4hE-G_9AfE9c1DA3wL8sP8XrefC-TpnIorlnoc4g741MHFuy72vnSrrBtBd0UZ8wbtaqP9P5Q/s1600-h/DSCN0760.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242981997259084850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUrBGUc6lOxnMTo0_lXTQy8_0WDUUShdh4A-m6w5S5lOc7Ecq6kse6F2_KjoRknZwwv4hE-G_9AfE9c1DA3wL8sP8XrefC-TpnIorlnoc4g741MHFuy72vnSrrBtBd0UZ8wbtaqP9P5Q/s400/DSCN0760.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />In Bafuloto, I’ve been occupied with continued nutritional talks, with the promotion of Moringa Olifera and most recently the introduction of the mosquito cream repellent made from the local Neem tree leaf, although I’ve run into a customary problem of continually rescheduling the actual demonstration with my host family. But I’m hopeful and pretty sure it’s not for a lack of interest. On the contrary, we’re in the smack dap middle of an incredibly fecund rainy season, lending to daily work in the rice and crop fields, which will undoubtedly give yield to help offset the end of the government rice subsidies and hopefully reduce a notch in the belt of food crisis, if only small small. I even harvested my first okra! Coincidently, some of the rains have been near torrential, reminding me of those incredible Oklahoma winds and summer storms. The most recent of which completely destroyed my millet-stalked backyard fence, destroying a few of my most prized young Moringa saplings and providing for a purely exposed pee-peep show if I had dare tried to use the pit latrine before arranging for it to be fixed.<br /><br />The Muslim holy month of Ramadan, characterized by fasting from after the first prayer call in the morning to after the first evening prayer call, also began last Tuesday (September 2nd). I am not entirely familiar with the significance behind the holy month, thus decided against participating, but I know that unless you are pregnant, elderly, extremely ill, a child, a menstruating woman or your work involves extremely arduous labor, no food or water is supposed to pass your lips during the hours when the sun is out, as well as abstaining from smoking and sex. Some even consider swallowing one’s own spit a violation of the fast and once an ill person is better or a woman’s menstruation ends, they are required to make up the days after the said month. Even though tempers become shortened and bodies faster fatigued, most people carry on with their daily duties and there becomes an overwhelming communal since when the family all sits down together to break fast by feeding their famished faces with the traditional bread and tea.<br /><br /><strong>Some upcoming activities:<br /></strong>* New education group swears in September 12th<br />* Possible trip to Mali with a couple of friends at the end of the month for a few weeks<br />*End of Ramadan sacrifices<br />* Combination of new environment group as well as our health and community development successors arrive at the beginning of November!!!!<br /><br /><strong>Books I’ve enjoyed recently:</strong><br />*The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini<br />*The Good Earth, Pearl Buck<br />*Continually reading Roots, Alex Haley<br />*Siddhartha, Herman Hess<br />*Under the Banner of Heaven, Jon Krakauer<br /><br /><strong>Would like to read:<br /></strong>*The Unaccustomed Earth, Jhumpa Lahiri<br />*What Is The What?, David Eggers<br />*Spanish language self teaching work books<br /><br />New music artists (well, to me) I’m totally into at the moment: Handsome Furs, Wolf Parade, Calexico, Panda Bear, American Analogue Set, Jose Gonzales, BonIvr<br /><br /><strong>Wish List: This pretty much hasn’t changed since arriving in Gambia…<br /></strong>*Dried fruit and trail mixes<br />*Starburst, gummy candy, Tootsie Rolls, fruity candy<br />*Tuna packets<br />*Good coffee grounds (I have access to a reusable filter)<br />*Jane/ Marie Claire/ climbing magazines<br />*Books that have touched you that you’d like to pass on<br />*Movies new out of DVD<br />*Music on DVDs in Mp3 format<br /><br />I’m also starting to think of things I’d like to do, places I’d like to go and eventually where I’d like to live directly after COSing, at the end of April. If you have suggestions, or know people who might, let me know! Tentatively I’m planning on visiting Morocco for a couple of weeks then participating in an organic farming exchange program in Spain for a few, then travel there a bit more before flying back to the States. I’d love a travel buddy for some of the time, so if this sounds like something you’d like to do, too, let’s make it happen!! </div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-2954618775076997172008-06-29T12:24:00.003-05:002008-12-08T18:00:57.643-06:00A Rough Guide to Peace Corps The Gambia on a Lonely Shoestring<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSTbjrW54yuRRmDkryRBzj4n8P9KkDRBuhY82CHle7cft8oQUQmQ7g2znMB7JQwpJJR_Vg6ZikANJ5Y2FIVE0DNvXgRNcKcZeHgxoc3ywVipry1qoGKLpTkKyNbHxz1kxKJNs8Muwl_Qs/s1600-h/DSCN0623.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217358726169417426" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSTbjrW54yuRRmDkryRBzj4n8P9KkDRBuhY82CHle7cft8oQUQmQ7g2znMB7JQwpJJR_Vg6ZikANJ5Y2FIVE0DNvXgRNcKcZeHgxoc3ywVipry1qoGKLpTkKyNbHxz1kxKJNs8Muwl_Qs/s400/DSCN0623.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHhpsyvkptee0yR7ckZexiu7maj4_S7VrKATgrB3_rkXU5g5V3n61MyvScIc8DsT1VLOLaHDCyIjau_ByrFtFtqiuJKLec4rGUWKQ6zadKktj_ksrDU7xoLyxyjrZC7CfcJOSJIbeEfU/s1600-h/DSCN0627.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217358729010553362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHhpsyvkptee0yR7ckZexiu7maj4_S7VrKATgrB3_rkXU5g5V3n61MyvScIc8DsT1VLOLaHDCyIjau_ByrFtFtqiuJKLec4rGUWKQ6zadKktj_ksrDU7xoLyxyjrZC7CfcJOSJIbeEfU/s400/DSCN0627.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br />This next entry is a small compilation of lists meant to help all those preparing to dedicate their hearts, souls, healthy looking skin and lamp-light bedside reading to making a positive difference in the lives of those who may have never even been taught to make sense of the character combinations, much less doing it by the light of an incandescent/fluorescent/light emitting diode bulb.<br /><br />“How the heck do you fit the next two years of a life that’s unforeseen into two checked bags weighing less than 50lbs each and a carry-on tote?” you may be asking yourself… Well the great thing is that you don’t; you just have to get yourself started and hopefully these little personally suggested lists will help you do just that. They’re not comprehensive by any means and not particularly in any order; just what came to mind at the time.<br /><br /><strong>Don’t Leave Home Without it!<br /></strong>1. MP3 player with gazillions of space for music and movies and a couple of pairs of ear buds (there a couple of ways to exchange music with other volunteers, too)<br />2. Portable speakers (if you find any that don’t take batteries, get those)<br />3. Shortwave radio (best way to get that hot scoop, from Burma to beauty store grand openings)<br />4. A handful of books you’ve always wanted to read (there’s a magnificent book exchange among PCVs to help you out after you plow through those. I’ve found myself reading authors here that were painful to even think about decoding their writing back in the States, so bring ‘em on! Also, I didn’t so much as turn a page during training, but now it’s a tie for #1 pastime only because you can’t run for 3 hours in the afternoon when you lose enough salt to fill a diner shaker by just sitting)<br />5. Camera (duh), bendy tri-pod<br />6. Pictures of friends and family<br />7. Re-chargeable batteries & re-charger (can be charged when you make friends with the dudes who have current near village or always in the Kombos)<br />8. Your comfort pillow or blanket<br />9. Handful of good pens and stationary<br />10. Solio brand mini portable solar charger (good for mobile phones and mp3 players just in case)<br />11. Ear plugs and a face mask (unless waking up to pray is in your cultural exchange plan)<br />12. Running shoes<br />13. Portable hobby you’ve always had or always wanted to take up (yoga mat, ukulele, knitting needles, acrylic paints, etc.)<br />14. Sandals (whichever design you’d like to impressively display once they are removed to enter a neighbors home)<br />15. Quickly drying, loose fitting clothes: calf-ankle length skirts, tanks (even spaghetti strap is okay but I prefer to shield my shoulders from the sun with light weight t-shirts) and pants are appropriate in village for women. In the Kombos shorts are more acceptable if you feel comfortable. And make all of us oldies jealous by bringing a couple of cute sun dresses and a swim suit (there’s sure to be an occasion for EVERY form of attire you chose to stuff in the suitcase)<br />16. The kind of hat you never get sick of wearing, whatever that might be<br />17. Inexpensive sunglasses (they’re sure to break at some point, but you can get classy Dior knockoffs to replace them, don’t worry)<br />18. That safe plastic kind of water bottle; personal size thermos (keep your colds colder or your hots hotter, longer)<br />19. Assortment of camping-like supplies: headlamp, Leatherman-type thingy, sturdy pocket knife, Duct tape (I really wish I’d brought a small tent. Although at times it feels like I’m permanently camping, joining friends at a campout on the beach can’t be beat.)<br />20. A hefty supply of your favorite non-perishable comfort foods to get you started till the care packages start rollin’ in.<br />21. A good supply of your must have brand toiletries<br />22. Battery operated fan<br />23. Flash drive<br />24. Day planner<br />25. Glasses and/or contacts<br />26. Feminine hygiene products<br />27. Cell phone to be unlocked once in country<br />28. WA and UK outlet converters<br />29. Small umbrella<br /><br /><br /><strong>Leave it at Home!</strong><br />1. Hiking boots<br />2. 20 of any one toiletry item<br />3. Tons of over the counter meds and sunscreen (you’ll get a med-kit you’ll never completely get through, as well as replenished items that you do after you swear in)<br />4. Random give away things for kids and really anyone else (this just sort of becomes a big mess for everyone involved, so we bleeding heart-type need to plan these things carefully)<br />5. West Africa/ Gambia guide books (a plethora of copies of these are floating around or can be borrowed from other PCVs)<br /><br /><strong>Frivolous Buying in Country Just Might Break the Bank (But sometimes you just need a gallon of ice cream)<br /></strong>1. Batteries<br />2. Western grocery store items<br />3. Booze<br />4. Solar setups<br />5. Most electronic devices (i.e. cell phone, camera, TV, shortwave radio, microwave…)<br /><br /><br /><strong>Affordable for Your Pocketbook and Conscience and Available in Country<br /></strong>1. Replenishing toiletries (soap, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, razors…sparingly)<br />2. Cooking supplies and utensils for village<br />3. Linens<br />4. Hut furnishings (i.e. bed, mattress, wardrobe, kitchen counter, side tables, chairs; you’ll either accumulate some from previous PCVs or be able to slowly buy them in order to create a home out of your house)<br />5. Random replenishables (flip flops, sunglasses, second hand clothes, super glue)<br /><br /><strong>You’ll Find Comfort if You Find Space</strong><br />1. A snazzy pair of shoes<br />2. Cute earrings/jewelry<br />3. Pretty shirts/dresses<br />4. More hobby equipment (Frisbee, etc.)<br />5. More food<br />6. Binoculars<br />7. Map/blow up globe<br />8. Wall decorations<br />9. Address book<br />10. French press/ reusable coffee filter and delicious coffee/ tea strainer and tasty tea<br /><br />Some volunteers brought their laptops, but I’ve gotten along just fine without one, so it’s up to you on that one. There are obviously many variables that go into this one, too.<br /><br />Okie dokie, well I miss you guys and would love to hear from you soon soon!<br /><br />Love,<br />Court</div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-70015078863344325492008-06-20T17:00:00.000-05:002008-12-08T18:00:57.933-06:00Winter’s A Go-Go under an Eternal Summer’s SunCool. Calm. Collective. Okay, so two out of three aint so bad. It’s blazin hot and every time I happen to glance over at my little battery operated all-in-one digital clock/calendar/thermometer I find an exponential increase of numbers in all respective categories. I still shouldn’t complain too much about the heat A) because I’m not all the way up country where a flame is not the only thing that makes a candle drip wax and B) I found myself cast in the “poor college student” role in those Oklahoma August days and limited the AC as much as was tolerable, so I should be somewhat more acclimated than my fellow PCVs who spent most of their days in more temperate climates, right? Well, all of that logical thinking gets thrown out the Gele window like the empty 1 Dalasi bags of what once contained 45 flavorful seconds of enjoyment in the form of frozen Baobab juice, known locally as “icees”. All of that gets left behind like the school child trying to learn math in a language that is rarely spoken back at the compound. All of that gets trumped when you get ill. I was working on a record of 5 months clean of parasites, fever, dysentery, skin irritants, etc., but the winds are blowing and it’s hot and sand and dirt and bacteria and viruses find themselves into every part of your world, including your cells. It’s strange, too, because you can feel it coming on, but you can’t quite exactly tell how under the said weather you are. You start second guessing yourself: maybe it’s just the heat; I can still manage that bucket of water on my head so it can’t be that bad. I’d be sweating this much anyway, right? So you continue overexerting yourself until someone rational suggests recuperating in more familiar comfort (but still not THAT comfortable) like that of the PC hostel and then you realize you’d be silly to compromise the overexertion back home and take those small, but important steps to convalescence… And then it’s still hot.<br /><br />Gambia seems to exude this “way” (some might call it playful if wishing to anthropomorphise the country- I’ll just call it special) of deciding things for you. Let’s take, for example, the time of day conducive to blog-writing mood: 1:30am. Of course, I went to bed for the first time hours ago, but thanks to Africell, the nocturnally noisy compound dog who takes it upon himself to protect us from even the crickets in Bafuloto, I soon became wide awake. I should note, though, that I was laying on my outside bed, writing under a sky that might cause Van Gough to emerge from the grave with canvas and paint brush in hand to create what would make his original one obsolete. I’ll refer you to the previous paragraph of temperature for the explanation of this semi-permanent camping decision. Ironically, this too, turns out to be one of those romantic inconveniences as soon as the sky opens its taps, automatically creating the only occasion in which all of Gambia has running water, as the rainy season is once again upon us.<br /><br />A typical conversation opener among fellow H&CD PCV friends:<br />“Is that ringworm on your lower leg?” my endearing friend, Chris asks. Naw, I explain, I just got a tattoo in the form of a Rorschach ink-blot gratis from a jellyfish a few weeks ago (a few days after this conversation, someone really did ask if I’d gotten a tattoo gone badly). “Did it hurt?” Yeah, it stung for like 2 ½ hours. “Did you pee on it?” Considered it, but decided to go with a soap and water approach instead (which made it clean, but did nothing for the pain). You think I should get this fungus on my toes checked out; or is it maybe just a blood blister under the skin…? <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Z17Nep2oHWxuxofGzAzb91rrfIZcCm38rcOsvD9OQstUTmnuy7wnwysR-LSLuMowxexX51Swmn7HWeQnOoRiAgliiQY6Cb5_FaZ1sCLyQT6_zuJsKEOKlgQx5z9el6lJ32b8t0giz18/s1600-h/DSCN0481.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214100582401690722" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Z17Nep2oHWxuxofGzAzb91rrfIZcCm38rcOsvD9OQstUTmnuy7wnwysR-LSLuMowxexX51Swmn7HWeQnOoRiAgliiQY6Cb5_FaZ1sCLyQT6_zuJsKEOKlgQx5z9el6lJ32b8t0giz18/s400/DSCN0481.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Lately I’ve been spending more of my time on the cultural aspect of service. The Roots homecoming festival took place a couple of weeks ago and I managed to catch the part towards the end of the week where it was held at the President’s home village of Kanalia. I arrived by Gele, meeting another volunteer who came on bike, just as one of the first major rains ensued. The festival began and continued full speed ahead with Guinean dancing and marches with masks, then the man himself arrived and the focus shifted until past our bedtime, so we adventurously made our way to our sleeping arrangements at another volunteer’s home a few villages away. I’m sure we were deep in Larium induced dreams by the time the supposed fire dancing and knife ingesting activities commenced.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-giup4EEugFlC7n7esWBUjnBlHBOoieS5kqLoLYqUcaq_gZrJfm2er_3XhZ_Vz9HT2tW4y4WIdEen1sRLsIIOLuGxWLS91O26JqrcUI7VVYsG3TnPOghC07h47wvaaoyfAGhOilWf-w/s1600-h/DSCN0498.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214100580625403234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-giup4EEugFlC7n7esWBUjnBlHBOoieS5kqLoLYqUcaq_gZrJfm2er_3XhZ_Vz9HT2tW4y4WIdEen1sRLsIIOLuGxWLS91O26JqrcUI7VVYsG3TnPOghC07h47wvaaoyfAGhOilWf-w/s400/DSCN0498.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />In Bafuloto, my focus has been on appreciating the ability to try to make things grow. Thus far I’ve been pretty successful with my leg hair. Haha, just kidding (sort of). My host brother helped me fence in a small area behind my backyard bathroom, as well as dig a compost pit, so the last month has been dedicated to getting bacteria to grow and break down the cow poop, grass and food particles I went around collecting on my head, in order to trick that arid sand into thinking it was living in northern California. I went ahead and sowed a few cashew, pigeon pea and Indian jujube trees (that dried fruit seed I fell in love with called Tomburongo), as well as some herbs, in polypots when I started the compost, so those are just about ready for out planting. Then, last week, I finally made my beds, with clean, fitted sheets of compost hopefully enticing enough for those romantic little veggie seeds to sprout. And no matter how long it’s been since I’ve seen it, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over the beauty of the growing, little eyes on the man on the moon; its gradual illuminating presence exudes a sense of peace and purpose over my dynamic and often vulnerable world.<br /><br />Speaking of growing, ever since I began Peace Corps, I drew this strange comparison of likening the 27 months of service to someone potentially carrying to three full terms. Don’t even ask me where I came up with that thought, but now I can’t help but think that so far, somewhere, my service has coincided with two full terms which presumably resulted in new lives, leaving but one more term to be carried through to the end. Two thirds of one, 9 months of another; no matter how you slice it, there’s never enough to go around. How do you begin to explain the concept of buying enough of the government’s subsidized rice (until September, that is) to save and store when A) the compound is on a bag to bag budget and mindset, B) rice is considered a status food that even the most vulnerable aren’t willing to compromise, C) bio-fuel supply side economics is about as foreign as is equally detrimental as that donation of 25 REALLY ancient computers to a school with a generator with fuel only half the time and no IT instructor hired along with the donation in order to show the students how to use these archaic machines.<br /><br />Alrighty, enough straining your peepers on this computer screen! Go outside and enjoy some fresh June air with a four legged friend who is itching run after something. Then come back and write me a letter and mail it. I miss seeing you guys; it’s already been too long.<br /><br />Love, Court<br /><br />BTW, I just finished reading <a title="The Sex Lives of Cannibals" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Sex_Lives_of_Cannibals">The Sex Lives of Cannibals</a> by J. Maarten Troost and found it a little too easy to relate to his travelogue. I’m recommending it because it’s another perspective of some things similar to my way of life, it’s pretty entertaining, and if you read it you’ll find yourself sending me random questions (anything to keep the communication going across continents!)<br /><br /><br />And I've uploaded more pictures.************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-74677979397335451382008-04-26T12:50:00.003-05:002008-12-08T18:00:58.488-06:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7QTfmu8-238PeBL9cqkYzywkIAiUnC2ilzczrIcBaguN5GGN9f9hfRf1FAEJ6Fq7NslpODL1esBB-b0X1ewd5t1LrpywCxtyVtVHsBFZPxrV0VyLtAYcFuMik0z-nGI1TyhBDA3HOBbw/s1600-h/DSCN0143.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193620495128930834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7QTfmu8-238PeBL9cqkYzywkIAiUnC2ilzczrIcBaguN5GGN9f9hfRf1FAEJ6Fq7NslpODL1esBB-b0X1ewd5t1LrpywCxtyVtVHsBFZPxrV0VyLtAYcFuMik0z-nGI1TyhBDA3HOBbw/s400/DSCN0143.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDzWw3EnaIWnHWPlm4wGp5Q8JIBl4FmFtnrNGLMWYnhbBp_13unIV3Djnkcz0Ju4R_Mkhun2K_R0A4OIfkqNw1qdmTNOvXVfnd1kYZ639NL-Ai9COzGlEUNXYeJ1-DjxeIhN-azljwPFY/s1600-h/DSCN0099.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193618390594955746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDzWw3EnaIWnHWPlm4wGp5Q8JIBl4FmFtnrNGLMWYnhbBp_13unIV3Djnkcz0Ju4R_Mkhun2K_R0A4OIfkqNw1qdmTNOvXVfnd1kYZ639NL-Ai9COzGlEUNXYeJ1-DjxeIhN-azljwPFY/s400/DSCN0099.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>So it’s officially official (as obviously most of the blog postings represent, otherwise it probably wouldn’t be worth writing about): we’re 2nd year H&CD PCVs! I’d like to comfort myself and everyone else with the “It’s all down hill from here” mantra, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that it’s better to be pleasantly surprised with lower expectations than to get disappointed about challenges out of my control, so I know my “decent” will probably still be somewhat of a bumpy ride, like peregrinating down the pot-holed south bank road, packed like sardines in the gele with a few goats sprinkled on top. And although I haven’t been climbing since the States, I’m not naïve to the fact that the path to the summit is only half way there and that most accidents occur on the way down and personally, that part of climbing scares those sticky rubber shoes right off my feet. Speaking of climbing, one of the staff subscribes to Urban Climbing (it only took me a year to discover this) and lo and behold, it was laden with Norman’s own! What an amazing unexpected connection to make and show to my friends; the articles written by and pictures taken of friends from my climbing community back home. Props especially to all the people involved with Rocktown. The hard work appears to be making a positive impact and word is certainly getting around in more media ways than one!<br /><br />Anyway, a lot has been going on like I mentioned in the previous post, so I’ll take a little time to catch you all up. First of all, I’m no longer “Brikamankoolu” (people from Brikama), but now a resident of the smaller and more rural, yet familiar village of Bafuloto. It’s about 5k north of Brikama and actually fairly close to some mangroves on the river. My friend Rachel and one of the generous PC drivers helped me complete the move and another one of my new sitemates helped me get started with settling into the 2 room mud house in Juff Kunda, where bucket baths under the starts and dinner by candle light offer that strange combination of romance and slight inconvenience/discomfort. The compound consists of a stylish and vivacious matriarch who can’t be too far from the century mark. My host mother sells veggies at the “market” which consists of 2 vendors (herself and another old woman) on the main street of what I picture could be an old, dusty western ghost town except that the presence of one of the world’s largest and oldest trees, the Baobab, puts things back in perspective. Two of her sons stay in the compound across the way: one with his wife and 3 girls (twins about the age of 3 and my 6 month old namesake) and the other with his 2 young boys. There’s another young woman with a girl about 3 and a boy a little over a year that fits into the combination somehow, as well. They’re all super sweet and welcoming thus far, even offering assistance on starting my garden the way I’d like, when I’m ready. The dog in the compound is called Africell, one of the mobile operators, so I suggested naming the two nameless cats after the other two operators, Gamcell and Comium, which they really got a kick out of.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX_MDlnrsLi7-jnwCzVqAK1UJelKp06utVUsIpdRYEfqsd6J9HWkRI42xzqsqLZryLjohFFOXKnC5ib7hrmwk4v05y1yvv87tKmm7MbH2vs-Vvc6i7NzHXqyUD5_4JSNV7O45P_bcEtQs/s1600-h/DSCN0187.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193618399184890354" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX_MDlnrsLi7-jnwCzVqAK1UJelKp06utVUsIpdRYEfqsd6J9HWkRI42xzqsqLZryLjohFFOXKnC5ib7hrmwk4v05y1yvv87tKmm7MbH2vs-Vvc6i7NzHXqyUD5_4JSNV7O45P_bcEtQs/s400/DSCN0187.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The World Wide Peace Corps Director ended a three country tour of West Africa with Gambia at the end of the H&CD swearing in. The day after swearing in was dedicated to 2nd & COSing H&CD PCVs (by the way, PC is hiring acronymists if you know any). ASK was honorably asked to be on the schedule, so the whole entourage came to see the Center and all its renovations. After a brief explanation of projects and clinical questions, we caravaned to the village of Busura with PC The Gambia staff, PC Washington, and ASK beekeeping professionals. They all got an up close observation of a traditional village, as well as some hives, which presumably stoked the fire for his attendance for the succeeding first day of the Agro-Forestry sector’s In-Service Training (IST), which began with an intensive three-day beekeeping session. After the beekeeping sessions, I decided to join in on some continuing education with a few of my fellow 2nd year H&CD volunteers who like to pretend we’re Ag-Fo’s who just happen to be knowledgeable in health stuff, too. We participated in a lot of hands on sessions that included tree-identification, tree grafting (I feel like a tree surgeon now) tree nursery and garden bed know-how as well as improved compost techniques and organizations existing in Gambia trying to improve small scale farming businesses and introducing alternative water withdrawal methods. It was all very useful, even if what was learned was that some of the organizations sustainability approaches were better and more respectful than others.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwvtgnFEk0x-5JNPLmQFRYILQGf69IVcYkDeNx6FAEOO1Zga_z_NHBO7wSKxZpBsCAuys3jXJ5L4rZkD05Tdz-R0x6AEdRLP_irsQHy8mAt4jP5u4beqdI3gpSuYNgGc2wS4AV65Wv2fY/s1600-h/DSCN0237.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193618403479857666" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwvtgnFEk0x-5JNPLmQFRYILQGf69IVcYkDeNx6FAEOO1Zga_z_NHBO7wSKxZpBsCAuys3jXJ5L4rZkD05Tdz-R0x6AEdRLP_irsQHy8mAt4jP5u4beqdI3gpSuYNgGc2wS4AV65Wv2fY/s400/DSCN0237.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />“Why are there armed soldiers driving through the farm right behind us?” Everyone got pretty distracted, not to mention nervous when we saw the security car during one of our training sessions at the commercial farm. Turned out, the president of the Gambia, himself, decided to drop by for a surprise tour of the farm. CRAZY!!! His attendances at even the most prestigious events seem to be sporadic, so we all had our doubts we’d actually see him in person, but sure enough, a small parade of his staff and aids as well as media figures began strolling down one of the lanes right behind where we were talking about poop for composting. Wait, wait, it gets better. One of the media guys came over and told us he thought we should meet him, and ended up waving us over after he saw another garden bed. We introduced ourselves as Peace Corps and he began shaking our hands while we greeted him in local languages!!!! Needless to say, I’ve made it on the nightly news in the presence of not one, but two of probably the most important individuals that represent my Peace Corps experience in less than one week. Like I said, CRAZY!<br /><br />These next few weeks will be spent continuing introducing myself to Bafuloto, as well as helping the PCV who took my place at Allatentu with her transition. I’ve got a wealth of information and inspiration for getting my garden started as well as a small tree nursery before the rains come in a few months.<br /><br />I just wanted to say thank you for the continued support in the form of letters, emails, prayers, thoughts, packages, phone calls, etc. I do have one constructive critique, though, if sending a package. Since it’s pretty difficult to properly dispose of large amounts of waste, it helps to be mindful of packaging of products. If possible, look for goods that have minimal packaging, especially plastic. If not, try to remove as much prior to boxing it up. Toss it in your recycling bin and save on the grams of weight that mysteriously add up to extra money. That way you're saving the green stuff in the environment, as well as in your pocket book! Ha!</div></div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-76506137669493761082008-04-01T09:14:00.008-05:002008-12-08T18:00:58.912-06:00Roscoe's favorite season<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNUFebujtNA0f_lLDYMLVHBMLCAtZca2Nm5XJpRSJwDUqL7_kxYHyp3muBmQJgwT9CXlRLR6I3BBKGdVO3Uyl2JtMY_t67kob1SH6CaaXNw0ZBxOClbXZfY6H3xYJkzjzwxburf9tVdY/s1600-h/P3160035.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184284949707789746" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNUFebujtNA0f_lLDYMLVHBMLCAtZca2Nm5XJpRSJwDUqL7_kxYHyp3muBmQJgwT9CXlRLR6I3BBKGdVO3Uyl2JtMY_t67kob1SH6CaaXNw0ZBxOClbXZfY6H3xYJkzjzwxburf9tVdY/s400/P3160035.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Naa ye meng je a laata wo le la: Seeing is believing.<br /><br />This seemed like an appropriate Mandinka proverb to begin this entry with, with regard to some of the events scheduled to take place in the near future, as well as some that already have.<br /><br />March 16th was a day what will go down in history in my book. It was the day I had all but given up hope on, only to be humbled by its arrival and elated by its ending. When Jalibah Kuhateh decides to come to play in Brikama, he really comes to play. After a year of planning and re-scheduling, the ASK Benefit Concert featuring the Kora player himself, became the 3rd concert he performed that week in Brikama. I wasn’t even convinced it would actually happen, even though chairs were set up and equipment was on stage, until the man showed up and started singing. I’m not exactly sure how much was raised, but watching the support members, each dressed as if they were accepting their own Oscar, dance, laugh and throw themselves whole-heartedly into the gala, was one of those MasterCard moments. After singing along and dancing to Jalibah for a while, the Support Band CD was played in memory of Fatou Ceesay, a beloved member of the group and singer in the band whose passing last summer was unfortunate and untimely.<br /><br />Here are a few other events that have pre-occupied my Gambian world during the past month:<br /><br />* Visiting Tendaba Bird Camp, the ol’ training stomping ground, for the first time again in a year. We (a co-worker from HOC, a member of ASK and I) went there to attend a counterpart workshop for the new health trainees who will be swearing in, in about 3 weeks. My site-change request was very well received by Admin, even to the extent that HOC and ASK will benefit from yet another passionate and qualified PCV, which is why we went to the workshop at Tendaba in the first place.<br /><br />*Preparing to move to Bafuloto, a small village about 5k away from Brikama, towards the river. Bafuloto is like that pesky neighborhood boy you grow up with, only to find yourself crushing on him hard core after you both come back from college, which eventually ends in a blissful marriage. I’ve been passing the village on my evening runs for about 6 months now, and encountered the normal kiddo toubab harassment, but still managed to greet the villagers in a friendly way from time to time. Without even realizing it, the superficial relationships I’ve built under ephemeral circumstances have proven so far to be a comforting cushion after months of rocky indecisiveness. In a few weeks, I’ll begin the slow transition of easing out of my traditional routine of a semi-structured program officer role with ASK and HOC, while introducing the new PCV to the scene. At the same time, building new and valuable relationships with my host family and other residents of Bafuloto, as well as integrating into the community much like what took place in that original “3 month challenge”, will once again commence. I finally feel confident with this decision and am pretty excited to get a chance to assume some traditional PCV projects that extend oneself as simply another member of the community. Besides creating a sanctuary-like safe space out of my new two-room, electricity and plumbing-free house, some plans for the next few months include the following: increase proficiency in my language skills, set up a veggie and flower garden and compost pit before the rains come in June, spend time cooking with my sweet-natured host sister, Nday, so as to learn how to cook Gambian dishes while introducing additional local nutrients, visiting the women’s gardens, creating a list of ideas about simple health projects through general observation and introduction to the community. The list of possibilities of interests and opportunities goes on and on in my mind and I get pretty stoked when thinking about implementing them over the next year.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnwaI3gxXScoNrw3TcpFllCcNGBRKZ0OHQ-Okg3Mmz0oda_Zg8Kk9fMCwJCjt3Yt_ho1Btpp3twNhCbIf_hmKXtB4_eD31iynFJcrF8irbUw9J1aIzZh1_jsK67wjJgPbHSY2ReXaykmY/s1600-h/Snake+charmer+II.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184284958297724354" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnwaI3gxXScoNrw3TcpFllCcNGBRKZ0OHQ-Okg3Mmz0oda_Zg8Kk9fMCwJCjt3Yt_ho1Btpp3twNhCbIf_hmKXtB4_eD31iynFJcrF8irbUw9J1aIzZh1_jsK67wjJgPbHSY2ReXaykmY/s400/Snake+charmer+II.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />*Attending an annual culture festival in the village of Kartong over the Easter weekend, as well as visiting friends who live amongst one of the few Christian communities in Gambia. Some fellow PCVs and I found ourselves in a hidden, rustic jewel of a “tourist” lodge a few weekends ago, where beach time consumed the day and snake charmers and fire breathers dazzled us during the night. The next day, when I approached the ferry in Banjul to get to my Easter destination, I found the terminal to be eerily unoccupied. Instead of the giant ferry that usually carried individuals and vehicles across the river, there were a series of mid-sized fishing boats crowded with people. I didn’t think twice about boarding to get across, until about mid way through the sloshing waters, I wondered why my friend had failed to mention this alternative way of crossing. I’d assumed this was the standard way since I’d heard the ferry had been intermittent lately. Then, as we approached our destination and the method of disembarkation became clear (mounting on the shoulders of a boat boy wading in water up to his waist, while another took your baggage), I realized I was one of those few, lucky PCVs who had “come over on the boat”. Makes for a good story, anyway… Over the course of the weekend, I attended an Easter service given in Mandinka and Balanta (the Christian tribe in that area) and ate more protein in the form of meat than I probably had in the past 3 months.<br /><br /><br />The next few weeks will continue to be filled with activity, with the new trainee’s site visit to her new site (my current house) in Brikama and my move to Bafuloto. Before we know it, it will be time for their swearing in, at which time the director of the US Peace Corps program and African Regional director will tour The Gambia for the first time since PC The Gambia. I feel honored to report that one of ASK’s programs of beekeeping and the cashew orchard, will be on the program of their tour. Then after that, I’m hoping to attend the Agro-forestry In-Service Training to enhance my skills at fruit tree grafting, composting and garden maintenance as well as solar fruit drying! Woo-hoo!<br /><br />I still miss you guys, though and need your support through letters and emails. You should really still think about visiting, but care packages may have a similar affect on my well being for the time.<br /><br />The following sent would absolutely ensure more than malaria for your gift from The Gambia:<br /><br />*Letters and pictures<br />*DVDs of The Office from season 3-on (come on people, PLEASE help me out here)<br />*DVDs of Greys Anatomy from season 3-on<br />*MP3 CDs of music and books on tape<br />*Candy like Starbursts, Tootsie Rolls, Laffy Taffy, Skittles, really just about anything<br />*Dried fruit, nuts (not peanuts)<br />*Magazines like Jane and Marie Claire<br />*AAA, AA & 9V batteries (re-chargeable with charger if you feel generous)<br />*Cooking herb seeds, flower seeds and veggie seeds<br />*Herbal teas like that Celestial Seasonings variety pack with the chamomile with lemon </div><div> </div><div>Okay, stop procrastinating and go do your taxes!<br /></div><div>I love you!! Courtney</div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-14249869712356200862008-03-11T07:57:00.003-05:002008-03-11T08:02:02.518-05:00Link for Info for Visiting AddedIt's the "golden ticket" one, just in case you couldn't tell. That should get you started, anyway. Write me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-72038214437682832702008-03-05T07:03:00.004-06:002008-03-05T07:52:34.830-06:00Can 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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).<br /><br />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!!!!!!!)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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).<br /><br />Love,<br />Courtney************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-18256879966904627092008-02-12T09:10:00.000-06:002008-02-12T09:16:01.503-06:00updated smellsI forgot two:<br /><br />Good- Brewing attaya (the green tea). I think it's just the combination of the tea leaves and sugar burning together. I always think I'm smelling roasted marshmellows.<br /><br />Bad- Gele exaust. Emission standards? Yeah right. These cars are the European rejects. That's why I waited 2 hours on the side of the road for a squeaky wheel.************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-19181935123970266652008-02-09T03:33:00.000-06:002008-12-08T18:00:59.089-06:00Christmas in what felt like July; Tobaski again in February?<div>One morning a couple of weeks ago, I was aroused from a dream I was having by the sound of a baaing sheep. Now, a herd of baaing goats passing by, outside the compound is completely normal. But the sound of one, slightly distressed sheep, inside the compound is extremely rare. I remember thinking groggily something like, "why wont someone just shoo the sheep outside the compound?" Then I even questioned if it really was a sheep or was I just hearing the sound of my own slumber?! Soon, I drifted back asleep, the noise actually being what helped lull me (or maybe I just counted to the number one over and over again, ha!) Well, I was having this dream that I had lost my little camera and I was SO mad at myself for losing it because I guess I thought I hadn't uploaded any of the photos I'd been taking this past year. They were all as good as completely gone as far as I was concerned and that made me extremely angry at myself So when I found myself waking up for the send time, my first though was relief at realizing my camera was in my bag right next to the bed. I stumbled sleepily from out under my bed net and walked to the front door, instead of the bathroom for some reason, and saw immediately the reason I had been able to drift back to sleep and stay that way for a few more hours: two of my neighbors were in the process of skinning the reason, which took the form of a slaughtered sheep. Next thing I did? Run back inside to locate (with reminded relief) my camera to take pictures!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX7QNe32OuekHMtFZawBjORVihq9CfbMoediv_cfzom8wnKdilBs-wIQgapE6FE8JR1BctSLqRFFjnAo7rYByfOiwUhRsxW6rWYQvUMNYUK8pTUw-W19dFtAoRtTpRNOXgWHNKdHE0Z58/s1600-h/DSCN2084.JPG"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FzYU4unl-q4SlHnUVymp5YNaRNqjGM0GhpbbcMahCkeYLjXXUBUt1SzbKiAy6F_rUdcTNhAWUT_xCTfMyCe9f5KcnSriwnAWrsa6fYWpYkXlkR9nDFukTgUYj2yjSvljgOEHr1RjU5M/s1600-h/DSCN2084.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165007249269637810" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FzYU4unl-q4SlHnUVymp5YNaRNqjGM0GhpbbcMahCkeYLjXXUBUt1SzbKiAy6F_rUdcTNhAWUT_xCTfMyCe9f5KcnSriwnAWrsa6fYWpYkXlkR9nDFukTgUYj2yjSvljgOEHr1RjU5M/s400/DSCN2084.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Last weekend I felt the urge to get out of town, so I called my friend who lives in a village about midway through the country on the north side of the river. I was excited about seeing her new site and spending the weekend with some friends who live more of the lifestyle to which we were first introduced. I've heard transport horror stories, so I tried to mentally prepare for what may be in store for the day, keeping in mind that patience needed to be the virtue most practiced. The trip to her village, near the town of Kaur, is probably no more than 200k (including the ferry crossing) from Brikama. I packed some food, my book and fully charged MP3 player geared with "This American Life", just in case. The following is an actual timeline of my journey:<br /><br />9am: Leave from Brikama car park in a gele for Banjul in a Coastal Road car (they take a longer route, but stop less frequently).<br /><br />10:15am: Drop from gele and take taxi to ferry terminal.<br /><br />11:15am: Board ferry after getting pushed and shoved from "no lines in Gambia", where EVERYONE would benefit from a ticket and boarding line.<br /><br />12:15pm: Arrive in Barra, across the river and find a gele going past her village, in order to drop accordingly.<br /><br />1:30pm: Actually start the engine after waiting for the car to fill.<br /><br />1:40pm: Stop for gas.<br /><br />2:10pm: Stop for prayers; work on squeaky wheel.<br /><br />3:00pm: Stop for this.<br /><br />3:20pm: Stop for that.<br /><br />4:14pm: Stop in a town about an hour away from my drop for food and an hour and a half of squeaky wheel work/ 5pm prayers.<br /><br />6:45pm: Arrive in village!!! Greeted with a name sign by friends.<br /><br />Man, that was a long day! Glad I geared up with plenty of patience and patriotism. Hanging in the village was refreshing and therapeutic for all 4 or us, as we reflected on the past year while projecting on the next. And the trip home was much quicker, as the luck of gele transport in Gambia presents itself.<br /><br />It's crazy how our senses have the ability to evoke the most buried memories, creating a whirlwind of emotions, either leaving us feeling complete and nostalgic, or just completely wrecked. Touching a piece of satin reminds me instantly of my childhood blankie that I probably carried around way too long. Tasting a spoonful of Haagen-Dazs Coffee ice cream reminds me of afternoons at my Meme's house (even though she was a Rum Raisin fan). Listening to ANY Don William's song, no matter where in the world I am, will always remind me of the four of us driving to Beavers Bend State Park (gotta love the dysfunctional car rides :)). Even the subtlest glance toward a rock face or mountain, picture form or real, makes my hands get just a little clammier than they already were. But it's the sense of smell that has the most profound effect; does the most damage. You know what I'm talking about... You're standing at a crosswalk, furrowing your brow as your eyes follow that chic walking in the highest heals you've ever seen, when suddenly, you catch a whiff of what you place to be Play Dough. Now, you're back in elementary school re-living the time your diorama, entitled "Creatures Under the Sea", took 3rd in the annual 5th grade diorama contest. Or maybe you find yourself in the Chicago 'O Hare airport, next to a trashcan emitting sweet coffee fumes... Oh yeah, life BEFORE Nescafe.<br /><br />Anyway, I guess the smell thing is so potent, it sometimes reminds us of things and places even when we're already there. Or perhaps it's the smelling them for the first time after not smelling them because the smells are just that unique to a place that brings some sort of comfort. What I'm getting at is that there are certain smells I didn't realized I had related to Gambia until I left, went to The States, thus not smelling them for a while, then coming back. So I want to take this opportunity to share some of the smells of this tiny country, I have come to recognize on a daily basis. Got your sinuses cleared? No matter, after this, they will be.<br /><br />Good Smells:<br />1. Women frying fish heads in oil on neighborhood corners in the evenings.<br />2. This incense they burn in the little clay pots.<br />3. Just the burning firewood for daily cooking.<br />4. Babies lathered in shae butter.<br />5. Cashew fruit orchards.<br />6. General WA body odor "musk"<br /><br />Not So Good Smells:<br />1. Grass/ donkey poop burning<br />2. Fishing ports<br /><br />Hope you enjoyed a little updated tour of the Gambia, as seen through they eyes of an "old" PCV now. The new trainees came on Thursday and tonight is the get together at the "Come INN" where everyone gets to meet each other.<br /><br />Miss you guys tons, just like usual. I uploaded a few pics. Thanks for the emails, letters and packages. They sure do help make and keep me happy!<br /><br />Love, Courtney</div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-37316432704247093862008-01-30T10:20:00.000-06:002008-01-30T10:22:24.072-06:00Where the Pavement EndsWowy Zowy, one whole year in The Gambia as a PCV (on the first of Feb, that is)!!!! If I were trying to go to a university, I’d be able to get in-state tuition or something. Where has the time run off to? My whole concept of time has changed since joining the Peace Corps in Gambia. For one, school semesters seem really short. Can you really cram all that knowledge in a 3 month period? Guess so; it sure did feel like enough at the time. Two weeks vacation for a whole year? What the heck can you do and where can you go with that? I can blink my eyes here and two weeks will have passed. I’m ruined from ever working within a traditional American working time scheme. When we first learned about the differences in the concept of time here, I thought there’d be no way I’d be able to adjust, given my personality and type-A habits. But slowly slowly, I’ve become adjusted to this polychronic pace of life, and frankly, I sort of enjoy it. Things still manage to be accomplished and people in general seem to be in pretty high spirits. I’d be interested in reading a comparative study on burnout or depression between the two types of work environments.<br /><br />I’m back in the swing of things and have adjusted to my schedule in Gambia better than I expected. But I suppose spending 10 months in one place will help you in that area. Over the course of a few days, I distributed my sila fando to the families in my compound, my 10 Sisters Kafoo and a few folks at Allatentu. I had printed a bunch of photos and those, by far, were the favorites. It appears that with the gift of a thousand words, the language of the picture translates universally. I wish I had printed even more.<br /><br />Allatentu is keeping me busy, as usual. We’re rounding up the Accelerated Funds Grant so we’re working on compiling a final report and budget to send to them detailing the programs carried out and the ways it help improve the Center and its members. We’re discussing areas from which to re-program funds, such as extending monthly support meetings and doing another round of tie and dye, to make sure the funds are successfully and appropriately spent. The Jalibah fundraising concert, the big, pink elephant in the room, has once again been re-scheduled for March 16th. Hives have been placed and are starting to be colonized on the farm land, as according to the beekeeping calendar, so they can expect a first harvest in March, if all goes well. We’ll be compiling info for another grant as soon as the report is submitted. One thing at a time seems to be the philosophy that works best around here.<br /><br />The new trainees arrive Feb 7th, to replace those COSing in April, that that will be fun to meet the new crowd and possibly help with their training a bit.<br /><br />Mid Feb is the annual softball tournament between West African PC country volunteers, known as WAIST. So a bunch of us signed up to be on competitive or non-competitive teams and will bottleneck our way north, like a bunch of Plink-O chips clinking their way to the $10,000 slot, to the bustling metropolitan known as Dakar, Senegal. I’m excited to compare it to little, ol Banjul and see what kind of development has taken place in a larger developing West African country. I hear there are pastry bakeries and even an Ethiopian restaurant.<br /><br />I hosted a little dinner party with some site mates last weekend. It was nice to play that role again and use that time to pick each other’s minds about future plans and ever changing ideas on how to live ones life; especially with the influence of experiencing certain things since joining an organization like Peace Corps. I made a 3 bean sort of stew from beans and spices from care packages and salsa from veggies in the market. Others brought wine and juice and my belated b-day present from a good friend, full of homemade chocolate chip cookies couldn’t have arrived at a more opportune time. Everyone gobbled them up. Thanks, girl!<br /><br />I’ve been running quite a bit lately and breaking that up with some bike rides. The other day I biked all the way to “where the sidewalk ends”. Well, to where the pavement ends and the dusty pot-holed part of the South bank road begins. I passed some magnificent mahogany trees sheltering villager’s garden plots and the whole site was breathtaking; humbling me to realize how small we humans are in this land, yet what a proportionally large role we play in contributing positively and negatively to it all<br /><br />I finally managed to weed my little flower bed last weekend. It always seems to be a spectacle for the neighborhood kids and I was quickly surrounded by a bunch confused why I was uprooting the corn?! Corn? I hadn’t planted any before I left for the States. Wild flowers, yes. Corn, no. I was uprooting the flower that hadn’t flowered yet, I said. Now, I was pulling up the corn that you can eat, they said. I had to admit, it did look like corn, not wild flowers at all. So I stopped and that appeased everyone. Turns out some kids threw some corn kernels and seeds over the fence of what now appears to be a little neighborhood garden (given the whole tomato stint and all). I’m fine with that. I even pulled up a “weed” that turned out to be a carrot, so I tried to pretend like I hadn’t disturbed it by sticking it right back in the earth. My moringa, on the other hand, has yet to take in the pots (since my host mom thinks they’ll turn into big trees, which after 20 years, they will. Man, they’re some ugly knobbly-looking trees, too. She won’t let me plant them close to the house). I need to ask for more seeds from the Ag-fo APCD, and perhaps even poly pot a few flowers I’ve got my eyes on from around the neighborhood.<br /><br />A newly updated wish list (though not much has really changed):<br /><br />*Letters<br />*MP3 music and books CDs (I’ve finally figured out how to upload the stuff on my own using one of the volunteer comps here)<br />*DVDs with movies and episodes of Office starting with season 3 and Greys season 4<br />*Veggie and flower seeds<br />*Skittles, Starbursts, Laffy Taffy (finally after a whole year, I’m less interested in the M&Is)<br />*Tootsie rolls (original and fruity flavored)<br />*Twix, Kit Kat and 100 Grand<br />*Dried fruit mixes<br />*Turkey Jerky<br />*Triscuits, Wheat Thins and other salty snack foods************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-33470283079688597082008-01-16T09:33:00.000-06:002008-12-08T18:00:59.211-06:00It's a small world afterall<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAf_L4Sn9mI7yF3TRBFD8MHuDSaJmVjq3BnS61HxGhy-uShylWA6t_FhYTItAhyphenhyphenJwTKWPEfFLZn2m0QyKfeehE6uJNM-9Ipb9d-Im2kDXMSEBpVd6D8DpT98g-1HD9V1tE76xXKPQRJaQ/s1600-h/DSCN2047.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156101804262118370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAf_L4Sn9mI7yF3TRBFD8MHuDSaJmVjq3BnS61HxGhy-uShylWA6t_FhYTItAhyphenhyphenJwTKWPEfFLZn2m0QyKfeehE6uJNM-9Ipb9d-Im2kDXMSEBpVd6D8DpT98g-1HD9V1tE76xXKPQRJaQ/s400/DSCN2047.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>What do you get when you cross a jet-lagged lady with a word processing machine without the Internet? The first blog entry in over 2 months…<br /><br />So, I’m back in The Gambia after about 24 hours of traveling. It’s been worse. I was actually dreading the sight of Terminal B at Brussels International Airport like PCVs dread the Bumsters at the height of the tourist season (which is in the present). But the entire place was so crowded with lines like I’d never seen and my layover wasn’t that long, that I barely had enough time to contemplate spending 2 Euros on a coffee before I found myself head bobbing for some zzzs on the last leg of my flight. Something was shining down on me that evening because what normally would have been a huge hassle and unnecessarily expensive taxi ride back to the Peace Corps hostel turned into a Kodak moment of a reunion between a fellow PCV and her generous parents, with whom I shared the public transport. I can’t thank you all enough!! It’s been a pretty good first couple of days (granted I haven’t really left the hostel) but other fellow PCVs from my group are staying here for various reasons and it feels comforting to be welcomed with such enthusiasm (and share my suitcase full of American food) with people who were complete strangers about a year ago.<br /><br />First of all, though, I want to take a few sentences to thank the folks who made it all possible, in more than one way if you really want to get into it. (It all may sound a little cliché or like I’m writing an acceptance speech or something, but bear with me because it’s polite and I mean it). I just wanted to thank you again, Mom, Dad and Lydia for providing me with unconditional love and support throughout this past year and really for my entire life. I’m not sure if I’d be able to carry out this “adventure” without it. I can only hope that I am providing the same to you all, as well.<br /><br />It feels a little strange to try to re-cap the experience in the States (after all, you guys are pretty familiar with that culture), but I guess it might be a little entertaining to describe a few instances that stand out in my mind, from the point of view of someone who hasn’t gotten behind the wheel or worn socks in about a year.<br /><br /><strong>Event #1- Chicago O’Hare International Airport:<br /></strong><br />I guess I’m not sure if it was the shock of seeing an actual trash can that came all the way up to my hip (with trash inside), or the surprisingly sweet aroma of coffee (that I later realized was actually wafting from within the trash can), but I found myself standing next to it for the duration of the time I waited to board the last leg of my flight to DFW. All of a sudden a “thump” from the can awoke me from my stimuli-overload reverie. When I casually glanced inside, I realized that the girl sitting closest to it, who was waiting to board the plane at the next gate, had thrown away about $6 of glossy-bound paper, known to you as maybe entertainment trash (probably in more than one way), but to me as my next in-flight reading material. Yep, as soon as she got up to board her flight, I did the ol’ shifty-eyed quick glance around and pulled out the brand new, completely un-affected by spilled coffee, women’s magazine that gave me new color-schemed decorating ideas, winter fashion faux pas and up-to-date tips on scoring a seat at the hippest club, not to mention the guy at the bar! Man! What would I have done with out all that advice?!<br /><br /><strong>Event #2- Surprise visit to my sister’s graduation; Universal Studios, Disney World:<br /></strong><br />I think this one pretty much explains itself. My advice? Try to avoid 200 feet renditions of King Kong after living in West Africa.<br /><br />But truly, she was completely surprised to see me (she thought I’d be in Dallas when she and the parents came back from her graduation a few days later) and I was really proud to see her in her element and all she’d accomplished over the past few years. She’s been so supportive of my endeavors, it was one of the few things I could have done; to watch her cross that stage to take her next step to the wide open options with which this world presents.<br /><br /><strong>Event #3- Meeting my best girl-friend’s son as a toddler:<br /></strong><br />I got to see momma at her work, but the little guy was already in bed when I eventually made it to their place to settle in for the night. The sight of toys scattered neatly in a corner and colorful foam letters plastered to the side of the bath tub threw me off as I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed alone in a house previously associated with evenings of movie entertainment and tasty mixed drinks (which after staying there most of the duration of my time in Norman, I can say those associations will remain, with the addition of a little live entertainment as well J). The next morning, I woke to sounds of father and son sharing precious morning time learning how to stack blocks, but probably learning more about each other in the process. When I saw Mr. Man for the first time again, I had to compose myself quickly so as not to frighten the two them. The last thing I wanted was for this kid to meet this crazy crying lady. All of a sudden I was imagining two of us wailing instead of just one, most likely confusing all parties invloved, poor dad. Composed semi-successfully, the three of us returned big plastic letters to the farm house through corresponding plastic letter cut-outs and pulled apart big Legos known to me from my childhood as Duplos until it was time for him to go play with kids his own age.<br /><br /><strong>Event #4- Hanging with the Moose:<br /></strong><br />The dog was pretty much attached at my hip the whole time. I was afraid he wouldn’t remember me, but after that first run, we were back on track, taking commands from each other and fighting for space in the bed. We went to Arkansas on a climbing trip for a long weekend and played Frisbee almost every day.<br /><br />I was browsing in the local record store in Norman towards the end of my visit and could have sworn the artist throw out the name “Roscoe”. I didn’t think anything of it then and I wasn’t even convinced that I heard correctly. Then, on my car ride to Dallas; just the two of us, I was playing an MP3 CD my friend randomly threw together and that song came on, except I couldn’t place where I’d heard it previously. But the rental car I was driving was so fancy; it even displayed the title of the songs being played, which confirmed what I thought I had heard the first time in the record store. It was absurdly appropriate. THEN, I was flipping through my MP3 player, which my other friend had uploaded new artist on, and guess which album appeared? Roscoe was destined to travel with me back to Gambia, if only through lyrics of a song and many cute photos. He was one of the hardest to say goodbye to (literally and figuratively), as he kept avoiding my hugs at the airport.<br /><br /><br />I’m really happy that I got to see so many of your faces and spend time at the local spots I’ve reminisced about since leaving. It was neat to observe that, although time has passed and things and people have changed, those changes still allow for old friends to re-connect, while sort of challenging the time elapsed. It also allows for widening your circle and letting new people and ideas in, which I am truly grateful for. As long as both people are up for the challenge, good people will probably remain in your life for a long time. </div><div> </div><div>P.S. I've been uploading pics over the last month, so there may be some new ones...<br /></div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-620497420290204802007-11-21T13:30:00.000-06:002007-11-21T07:37:09.542-06:00"Eat My Dust", and Other Gambian Hungry Season Nutritional SupplementsSo, all this time, I've been pining away for a piece of Norman's fall foliage and autumn awesomeness when it turns out a bit of the Sooner State had been under my nose (well more like under my feet and actually up my nose, and distastefully in my mouth) all along! Turns out Native America is not the only place on this green earth that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">minerals</span> red dirt. But more on this later...<br /><br /><br /><br />Dry season is once again official upon us. The last time we saw the rains was about a month ago, at the end of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ramadan</span>. Although I don't anticipate my little corner of this little country AKA, Western Region, especially <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Brikama</span>, to bear the brunt of what has been termed by aid workers and the like as the "hungry season", I do believe we'll be observing changes in food bowls and probably even behaviors after the holiday of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Tobaski</span>, (where the bank is all but broke on <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">sacrificing</span> the holiest affordable 4 legged animal, from ram, sheep, male goat, female goat, camel or up to 7 people can go in on purchasing a steer or cow) which takes place on Dec 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">th</span> or 21st this year. From about the end of may through just about a month a go <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">mangoes</span> hung like <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">monkeys</span> from the trees and you couldn't walk around a corner without passing a kiddo with mango juice dripping from her mango stuffed mouth, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">filling</span> the belly in between meals and secretly satisfying her daily requirements of vitamins A & C. It's exciting to witness the seasonal crops and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">anticipate</span> what will come next, while holding back tears when your mango turned avocado market lady is now your corn lady only one ephemeral month later!! Excitingly and surprisingly convenient, watermelon season is still going strong which allowed some create, Halloween obsessed <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">PCVs</span> to fulfill their carving craving and goal 2 of Peace Corps in one go. Oranges are making their debut again as well as some fancy looking tomatoes and potatoes. Bananas heed a pretty steady supply year round, but you can really tell the hard times are about to be unveiled <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">when</span> Gambia’s staple crop, the groundnut, is ready for harvest. One of my first memories present of this 2 seasoned country is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">of</span> the women sitting around punching the shells with their thumbs on their floor mats, so systematically, yet with a carelessness that illustrated a commencement of this daily dry season task probably just as they were weaned to feed themselves.<br /><br />I can’t believe this Thursday is Thanksgiving. The 90 degree heat won’t allow my brain to lend to that fact. PC Gambia has a pretty good sense of the potential upheaval the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">loneliness</span> of celebrating holidays in village and has conveniently scheduled a mandatory all volunteer meeting as well as the 40<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">th</span> anniversary of PC existing in Gambia with an optional Thanksgiving celebration. My health group upped the notch in this weekend excitement by declaring a regional “<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">asobee</span>” competition, where volunteers from the 5 regions pick out a fabric they feel represents their region, with which a tailor will make an outfit out of this, so <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">everyone</span> from that region will be dressed in the same fabric for the 40<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">th</span> anniversary meal. After a little contemplating and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">purusing</span> of the market, we found this blue fabric with spoons and forks all over.<br /><br />Since <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">WR</span> is by far the coolest (figuratively and literally) region in the country- represented with the blue background and definitely cooks the best food bowls- represented by the spoons and forks, we <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">couldn't</span>’t pass it up. Well, that and the fabric guy gave us a pretty good deal and there was a lot of the pattern to go around. So the slogan is something like this: “Staying cool and well fed in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">WR</span>”. Pictures and results to come.<br /><br />But back to what I was stating before. Even though a lot of families in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">WR</span> eat better than those in the provinces, hunger and malnutrition, especially among pregnant women and children under 5, is still present and I <span style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #ffff00">wouldn't</span> be surprised if that saying “always 2 weeks away from a famine” could be applicable to this West African country during the dry season, as well. I don’t know; I’m just speculating, but it might be possible. I know of some volunteers who feel so guilty about buying food to supplement their diets that they hide the “grocery bags” in their backpacks before they head back to their families. Every sliver of food parcel present in a group is precisely split to distribute to anyone present. I definitely rethink even buying a ½ loaf of bread at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">bitik</span> and walking in to my host family’s evening TV watching hour if I don’t plan to tear off enough for those sitting around.<br /><br />What I’m getting at is this: Thanksgiving is a wonderful day to look forward to. It represents many traditions, including the gathering of friends and family to partake in the horn of plenty. I hope this Thanksgiving is filled with lots of love, changing colored leaves, little ones acting like yard apes, big ones showing them up in the same department, and Mom’s broccoli rice casserole. But keep in mind that not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">everyone</span> gets a piece of that plenty. Maybe even that guy you seem to pass almost weekly walking his dog down the street. Take care and prepare your dishes with love, but only as much as you and your guests can consume (with the appropriate left over days <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">accounted</span> for of course!). If you've made too much, look up your local shelter’s # in the phone book and drop off a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">doggie</span> bag on the way to Aunt Carol’s place. If you’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">ve</span> got a few hours to kill, then stay and lend a hand. You might just be thankful you did it.<br /><br />Alright, alright, red dirt, green earth; Gambia, Oklahoma. No rain = lots of dust and I went running yesterday down my new favorite path, part of which consists of the exact color of red clay found in OK, which mad me a little teary-eyed. Wait, no, that was the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">gele</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">gele</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">stirring</span> it up as it puttered past, after which redness hovers in the air long enough for me to run through about 100 meters, getting it in my eyes, giving my skin the appearance of a salon-fresh self-tanning mist, and yep, you guessed it, I ate that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">gele</span>’s dust. Oh well, guess it’s all just a little more food for thought…<br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving!************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-88902217725057401292007-10-29T06:51:00.000-05:002008-12-08T18:00:59.519-06:00Did it rain sand last night? You could have fooled me Mr. November.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6QlA3U9ro9Oo-yedlpcyxqemYj4JzpTz5mFoZ0-g1FoGMM483cxtgPGLRqbBLy41Lg30gpFh6TIyUp5nnqfvS_Gfi4rQHl_OutKm_JbDXS-0w1NY6FSr_i7Re0-onLeLwtVtXbe31a0/s1600-h/Mariama+Camera,+PCV+094.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129725771306785026" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6QlA3U9ro9Oo-yedlpcyxqemYj4JzpTz5mFoZ0-g1FoGMM483cxtgPGLRqbBLy41Lg30gpFh6TIyUp5nnqfvS_Gfi4rQHl_OutKm_JbDXS-0w1NY6FSr_i7Re0-onLeLwtVtXbe31a0/s400/Mariama+Camera,+PCV+094.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Have I told you about Awa Touray? Meet my favorite Wolof woman in Brikama. She sells me sweet groundnut treats and homemade coconut balls. She disappeared for a few months about 4 months ago, but now she's back. I greet her in Wolof, then order in Mandinka. We have that same system as my other tiyo-futo woman where, when I bring my own bag, she loads me up on extra goodies. Her stand is far away from the market, almost to the junction that splits the South Bank road with the market road (also known as "Jalibah Junction" for the Mandinka Kora player who lives around there). It's a win-win-win(win) situation all around, because no matter what kind of day I'm having, it always gets a little better if I pass her stand. It also give me an excuse to take a different path home, and sometimes life just calls for taking that different path. I get my sweet fix for the day, she gets her business and saves on a bag, and most of my site mates are now satisfied-Awa Touray-customers as well. My last stop, after saying goodbyes to host family and neighbors before catching my plane to Greece was Mrs. Touray's Savory and Sweet stand. I think I bought about D30 (each piece is D1) worth to take for people in Greece to try the stuff. I told her I was taking them for my friends in Europe and she insisted on stuffing a few more in the bag. Lucky for Erica, my layover wasn't any longer, but still she was the only other person to enjoy them since pretty much only the crumbs were left upon arriving and settling into camping on the river. Entrepreneur, innovator, mother and friend; Awa Touray is one inspirational Gambian woman you'll want to befriend in an instant and will have no problem remembering for a life time.<br /><br />Well dang! It's amazing what a difference a little funding does for the development for a small little support group. Glad I paid attention in that grant writing class! So what we've got here is funding from UNAIDS to carry out designated programs for a 5 month period which started September 07 and will go through January 08. As the "program officer" of Allatentu, it's looking like I've got my work cut out for me these days. It took a little adjusting at first from the more leisure life I was leading pre-Greece, but I realized I'm an American creature of productivity, so bring it on! What exactly am I doing these days? Well, being computer literate pretty much automatically brings a whole slew of responsibilities. It means, as the PO, I'm responsible for creating any computer generated documents such as meeting agendas, meeting minutes, executive members salary contracts, monthly reports to UNAIDS, the "5 month grant Action Plan", etc. I serve as the liaison between ASK and the country rep of UNAIDS, as well as Hands on Care, which helps govern the progress and the flow of the dough. I'm present at both executive and board meetings for ASK, as well as bi-weekly staff meetings with HOC to report the group's progress. I'm involved in cash $$$$ FLOW! requests but make sure to involve the groups designated accounts clerk and secretary to distribute responsibility.<br /><br /><br />Besides the consuming activity of working towards helping Allatentu run effectively as its own business-like entity, complete with a daily opened and staffed center where members should feel welcome and ideally tea and coffee should never run dry, ASK members continually intrigue me with their desire to involve themselves with innovative projects. When I first visited ASK about 7 months ago, they were being trained in soap making. But why stop there? In a two-part four day training, members will learn the exotic art of tie & dye, a unique Gambian trade for income generating. Last week they produced these vibrant colored bed sheets and curtains. This weekend they are learning "Batik" which is another form used more for clothes, in which the ties and dyes are more concentrated. At the next general monthly meeting, they will showcase and sell their work at the Center for people such as HOC staff, family and friends.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCfmwiq1LakLXuFaw1o3A0JmErUT3brXBddqr9k_KdbfQ4Ml6PT8A9GPmKehu4_H8VCgArm-hiwETgxQmXycwFNnypHD7IMV4T0TPLvgfhe9p4Sc6elmgU4IYhYTpfg5jJX-8jr6Y0K48/s1600-h/Mariama+Camera,+PCV+117.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5129725779896719634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCfmwiq1LakLXuFaw1o3A0JmErUT3brXBddqr9k_KdbfQ4Ml6PT8A9GPmKehu4_H8VCgArm-hiwETgxQmXycwFNnypHD7IMV4T0TPLvgfhe9p4Sc6elmgU4IYhYTpfg5jJX-8jr6Y0K48/s400/Mariama+Camera,+PCV+117.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Remember that land designated for the cashew orchard? (They are germinating nicely, but have yet to be transplanted). Apparently fruit trees and bee keeping goes hand and hand, thus ASK is now a member of the National Bee Keepers Association- Gambia and in the preliminary stages of figuring out its training logistics involving our members as well as Busura (the name of the village where the land is) community members.<br /><br /><br />But as the locals say, it's not easy here in Gambia, so when our Jalibah concert Action Committee learned of his traveling, thus once again delaying our RIDICULOUSLY drawn out plan for a memorial/ fundraising concert, this time just days prior to sending out invitations, I was put back in my place. I remembered exactly where I was, in a primarily Muslim country where another popular phrase is "in Sh Allah- God's will" and it just seems as if that dang concert in not in that will! At any rate, since several deposits have been paid, it would be a shame for a concert not to take place, so the idea will not disseminate, just once again, be postponed...<br /><br /><br />The weeks continue to accumulate at haste. A few weekends ago, I found myself prepared to run a 10K in Banjul, organized by the African Union Commission for Human Rights, only to realize that such organization still operates on the more leisure time schedule. Not up for waking up at the crack of dawn for a race? Then the AU 10K is for you because after standing around for 2 hours, at 10am and only about 15 runners strong, there was little sign of it beginning any time soon. After all, the parade said to be heading off the race hadn't even begun!! That said, the sun wasn't getting any cooler and the runners with whom I came decided to have our own "I'm an impatient toubab with other things to do on this Sunday" 10K. I still don't even know what came of that race.<br /><br />I can't remember if I mentioned this in a previous blog, so forgive me if this is old news, but it's pretty cute so worth writing about again anyway. One evening, before I left for Greece, I was sitting around chatting with the peeps in the compound. Keep in mind, chatting for me, still means a lot of observing, or conversing with the young school aged girls that frequent Camara Kunda. They were trying to tell me something that I didn't quite get until my host sister was able to repeat it enough that I finally realized they were telling me they wanted me to be their kafoo mother. Kafoo, just like in Allatentu Support Kafoo (ASK), is the Mandinka word for group. It's often referred to as a group within the same age range or common interest, such as a women's group involved in soap making or, my example, these young neighborhood girls. So anyway, after that little announcement on their behalf, I was on cloud nine for the rest of the day. I hadn't realized that my presence and minimal participation in the evening bouts of rope games had made that much of an impact on them. I told them they needed to come up with a group name, so the next day they informed me that I was now the mother of "Ten Sisters". Fast forward to getting back from Greece and trying to settle back in to Allatentu's routine. They'd asked a few times what days I didn't have to go to work because they wanted come over and chat. We agreed on last Sunday at 4pm just inside the compound. They said they'd bring the lai (the condensed milk and sugar version of brewing attaya-the green tea that the guys brew) and we'd sing and dance. I'd had in my mind for several weeks that they'd be the perfect group to show how to make this mosquito cream repellent out of local ingredients, so I mentioned that we'd do that too. It was surprisingly successful, from the gathering of Neem tree leaves, to the grating of the soap, to the dividing up the cream and explaining how and when to use it. As the sun went down and the girls went home to pray, it was understood that this would become a fairly routine event.<br /><br />Other ways I seem to be spending my all-of-a-sudden-coveted free time:<br /><br />*Grasping on to the familiar past time of karaoke. One of the few things I will thank the tourist industry for.<br /><br />*Cleaning my house. It tends to be a lengthy process, but the end product makes the sun shine brighter.<br /><br />*Doing laundry. I dread it at the beginning of the process, start enjoying the mindless work mid way through and am completely elated to be hanging them up on the line by the time I'm finished.<br /><br />*Catching up on my world news via month old "Newsweeks".<br /><br />*Perusing the market for stylish accessories such as bangles, earrings, hip hair bands and Christmas presents.<br /><br />*Thinking about weeding the flowerbed that is overgrown with fruitless tomato plants.<br /><br />*Getting in that evening exercise.<br /><br />*Hosting dinner parties. As much work as they are, the company's great and it just plain sucks cooking for one.<br /><br />*Reading. What happened to my summer book club book supply?<br /><br />*Day dreaming about what it will be like to visit with you guys in a few months!<br /><br />Can't wait to hear about your Halloween stories (mine was non-existent :(, rock gym grand openings, birthday parties and other good times.<br /><br />Check out the Flickr site when you get a chance, too... </div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-49411152056049767252007-10-08T08:25:00.000-05:002008-12-08T18:01:00.473-06:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggGskITsWY9pjhDvOpAKGO0A69yi_FIKifnwq4UZA2xNMnJ4vWdbN4yL8zEp1hyphenhyphen59E4pBQ00lquPSRKdmM_GtOF6ls4t5SiDvyTqgtbrVzdqmdkcFLzsbxOSnxCW9F1C0MU456ZOSwC20/s1600-h/DSCN1424.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118984281597165890" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggGskITsWY9pjhDvOpAKGO0A69yi_FIKifnwq4UZA2xNMnJ4vWdbN4yL8zEp1hyphenhyphen59E4pBQ00lquPSRKdmM_GtOF6ls4t5SiDvyTqgtbrVzdqmdkcFLzsbxOSnxCW9F1C0MU456ZOSwC20/s400/DSCN1424.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilqeoTfL795u-xSiUwtdFCV8FIEe-rXV1Cw2pLmpMXlRFFIpGin_0b_DHkeesqDYe4q8UwpyHC3NIL9qu3OGL0qYdcGpZ-kPP8jWlfuYQs23dWcKxGrMqQcAIIUmZ75qZPFR0HZR_5wPU/s1600-h/DSCN1320.JPG"></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Hey, hey, hey, back in The Republic of The Gambia. Did you guys miss me? Have you ever been to Greece or Crete, specifically? Add it to the list you've made of things to do or places to visit before you leave this world. Scratch that, put it the top of the list. Maybe it had something to do with the immediate anonymity as soon as I stepped off the plane, but probably it was the amazing food and the most beautiful landscape I've ever laid eyes on that makes Greece one of my favorite places on this earth. It was very refreshing for my emotional well being to spend time with a friend from back home and practicing Ashtanga some, too during my stay sure didn't hurt. Erica and I spend a few days in Athens doing the whole Acropolis thing, which was more magnificent than I'd imagined. Then we took a 9 hour overnight ferry ride to Crete and after several bus rides, made it to the town of Plakias, a small touristy town along the coast where we stayed at a rad youth hostel before heading down to camp along the river about 12K away from Plakias. it was a relaxing few weeks of practicing Ashtanga, talking and cooking with locals, river hikes, a visit to the bluest oceans waters I'v<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118979896435556626" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-o4mkJvf17aMsCCdxua9q1AD5h42rWtrILJrYdscCxqXVhBuvWQM1SD5SHXbDIaFOBAtMaFOhUOvAPYh71R8w6zFj2h8wjmdd95tvVFmfuqQSTB0fXyboXl7K1hlaDAHPHh-NOE_dVvo/s400/DSCN1378.JPG" border="0" />e ever seen and even a little music playing. I was also even able to continue my role as PCV by sharing the Moringa seed with residents along the river. I gave the appropriate literature about the highly nutritional plant and planted a few on my own but gave the rest to plant at their leisure. The tiny gift evoked such a beg response and as if I didn't already have reasons to return, the prospect of seeing the progress of the Moringa growth would be the feta cheese on the toast! it was one of those trips where I didn't feel like I needed a vacation from my vacation upon returning to Gambia. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuiKAKP9RpCUAD4gulrYlRqjM0Fad89BEbEg08kmUQL6pxVowbTiBcpJ1WvOEDEsisqRLXkc5PXrcRT1uZ0hkGSc0B0yIIqi1R9-lVYWfjCExf5xR1YPEDVcBX6xKyPXkTNNrmGtMYaGE/s1600-h/DSCN1351.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118979883550654706" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuiKAKP9RpCUAD4gulrYlRqjM0Fad89BEbEg08kmUQL6pxVowbTiBcpJ1WvOEDEsisqRLXkc5PXrcRT1uZ0hkGSc0B0yIIqi1R9-lVYWfjCExf5xR1YPEDVcBX6xKyPXkTNNrmGtMYaGE/s400/DSCN1351.JPG" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_mS4e8PvAf23MRGXTA7K2juI8tkSdVs97bfo-Tuz6Sem-QwlpYk5LgVbNyEn162rCjOJt3cHBuaiVH0rscOgrIr79Ee70YTC5qkgfbQkkAkGtv0AEYhLYzQ95vcS-4LTq7R1HHB8ZXSw/s1600-h/DSCN1320.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118984268712263970" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_mS4e8PvAf23MRGXTA7K2juI8tkSdVs97bfo-Tuz6Sem-QwlpYk5LgVbNyEn162rCjOJt3cHBuaiVH0rscOgrIr79Ee70YTC5qkgfbQkkAkGtv0AEYhLYzQ95vcS-4LTq7R1HHB8ZXSw/s400/DSCN1320.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">But of course it couldn't be ALL paradise. It sort of came crashing down about the time where, on the metro back to the airport, the ticket lady checked my ticket that kept being accepted by the electronic meter and told me I was being fined 80 Euro for using the same ticket ore than once. I must had been holding all my nervous energy about coming back to Gambia (my foreign country of a home), and not back to friends and family, which I've never done before, plus my excited feelings about the spectacular time I'd had in Greece because as soon as the told about the fine, I began crying pretty much uncontrollably. After she escorted me to the ATM machine and hovered over me as I drained the money in my account, she and her colleague finished their conversation that politely ended apparently in a funny joke and abandoned me to orient myself with my new terminal surroundings. So I sobbed some more on a mesh bench, eventually recognizing the surrounding as the same train terminal where Erica and I began our journey just 3 weeks prior. Finally I composed myself enough to get in the check-in line only to get to the front to be told I had to purchase my new ticket and pay the difference at that other counter, then get back in line that now consisted of everyone on SN Brussels flight 3250 to Brussels. That's okay, I still had like 5 hours to kill at the airport. The flight arrived in Brussels just in time for me to may my 12 hour layover that became 15 when I woke up from my refreshing night's sleep on concourse A's floor and checked in for my flight. But it began to look up a little from there. Since there are only 2 flights a week coming into Gambia from Brussels, there was a good chance I'd know someone on the flight. Walking back and forth down the terminal corridor looking for a place to answer my page I had heard over the intercom, I ran into a fellow health group volunteer returning from a vacation to the States. And at that, one of my favorite to run into and sit next to (coincidentally for the 2nd time flying from Brussels to Banjul) on the flight. I think we helped prepare each other for one transition that we knew was about to take place up on returning to our developing world we call home from the only type of home we've ever known. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">That said, we also returning to 15 other bright and shiny familiar health group faces for our required 6 month In-Service Training. This past week as flown by with a series of daily sessions that evaluate how we thing work is going, how it should be going, new ideas of where it could be going and going going going until we couldn't go anymore! I'm going back to Brikama tomorrow, where I think there will be plenty to pick back up with. So much so, that I feel like if I blink, Christmas time will be here and I'll be on another flight to Dallas! That's right pretty people, we will once again meet face to face over a 3 week period from Dec 21st through Jan 11th. Can't wait. I'm already feeling the vibes of love, thanks.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioeEMR8tT8FtHMOMQtk1G0nNbrqVrlqaoPYzFOKl24TBWS-cqUeAxQ0qcJF6wXhryu36Qshc3GP6H4ZdTuC5u08Uq3CBE8AsLREQZGOWSA-HcOdZYwijiw55P6XZ4gMyucV9rDjUdgnbU/s1600-h/DSCN1607.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5118984273007231282" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioeEMR8tT8FtHMOMQtk1G0nNbrqVrlqaoPYzFOKl24TBWS-cqUeAxQ0qcJF6wXhryu36Qshc3GP6H4ZdTuC5u08Uq3CBE8AsLREQZGOWSA-HcOdZYwijiw55P6XZ4gMyucV9rDjUdgnbU/s400/DSCN1607.JPG" border="0" /></a></span></div></div>************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-54019881211626531672007-09-05T06:44:00.000-05:002007-09-05T07:44:07.626-05:00toubabgimmetoothbrushSo it's official- One of my favorite places here in Gambia is the town of Kartong. I visited the coastal town for the first time when I first moved to Brikama with one of my site mates. It takes me about an hour and a half on bike and we spend the morning on a "bumster"-free beach. This past weekend I biked my way there again with plans to camp on the beach with the agro-forestry PCV placed in Kartong. She tells me to call her when I get to a particular resort sign because she'll be at a friend's near there. Turns out her friend's place is this awesome little vacation home tucked neatly away in the bush just on the outskirts of the Kartong village. Somebody liked me that day because shortly after settling into conversation on the veranda, we found ourselves in the company of one of the mesmerizing down pours that frequent the rainy season. The rain let up just enough for us to go into the village to spend some time greeting her family, buy some dinner and identify the looming clouds that confirmed we would not be camping that evening. We decided we'd rather stay dry and get a good night's sleep rather than get swept out to the ocean in a flash flood. I never really understood the concept of a vacation home, but after only one night of what felt like an entirely different environment that left me feeling calm and refreshed, I would argue that it's almost necessary to have a sanctuary such as a vacation home to escape to for the sake of your own personal well being. <br /><br />On my way home the next day, I stopped by another site mates's compound to give what turned out to be another successful "mouth washing" demo. Only problem was my little song drew a crowd from outside the compound that resulted in too much demand with too little supply. but in other brush business, I was washing dishes early the other morning and was joined my my sister and her new tooth brush at the tap. The more I think about it, the more I feel like the toothbrush (with its demonstration in the local language) is probably single handedly the best gift for people in developing countries. I mean, I struggle with the idea of giving things away, especially here where the line children shout "toubabgimmemintee" sounds more like a really long word rather than a sentence. But when I think about the brush, it fills the role of a health objective, is actually somewhat sustainable due to the learned skill that can be passed on as well the multiple uses out of the tool, and has the hipness factor of a tangible object the kids like to be seen in public with. Guess I can't really get mad when I hear the "Mariamagimmetoothbrush" line these days.<br /><br />Among some of the things missed back home like company of good friends and family, access to fruity candy, the movie theater experience and pets is practicing my hobbies. A few of them like climbing, taking dance classes and searching fro new music will simply have to be put on hold for a while. However, I'm discovering that I'm still able to fulfill several of the hobbies I practiced in the States such as running, yoga, reading, photography and even cooking and occasionally painting. As of last week, I discovered that I may have the option of adding one more to the mix. One of my site mates accompanied me in following the signs on the road by his house of "Saine Pottery" to see where it lead. Turns out Mr. Saine is a potter by trade who has a whole set up, including a foot wheel and 2 kilns in his compound and has been throwing for about 30 years, training in Europe and traveling Africa. His main market these days is the hotel strip flooded with European tourists where his wife displays his products. What made the experience seem like it was even more meant to be was the fact that the compound dog just had a litter of 8 pups (I think I've found my 4-legged foster family), Mr. Saine actually knew his birthday was that day and we left with our very own pots and business cards in our hands. Needless to say, this other "hobby" I may able to fulfill happens be able to take the form of a community development project. After I return from the vacation that happens to take the form of Greece...<br /><br />I'll report back in about a month. Peace out yokles!<br /><br />Check out the new photos on Flickr.************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7088066675007917912.post-74493465173975014852007-08-23T07:39:00.000-05:002008-12-08T18:01:00.916-06:00Birthdays and BrushesCan you tell I'm a big fan of alliteration?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyuQus_BFFuS21roYBRCf6Sg1VOwA0al4DZMUO2pOWbjuSZ0fQJarSeAX4dTEHXYLOvMC2dAXmItfcmZs9dPJs3wjuyBk8RBXsxJbpWf2Zy6Kg_lzCbnz3kTqnIMc0hlGiePx-DWRISY/s1600-h/Mariama+Camera,+PCV+041.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101878630163604834" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyuQus_BFFuS21roYBRCf6Sg1VOwA0al4DZMUO2pOWbjuSZ0fQJarSeAX4dTEHXYLOvMC2dAXmItfcmZs9dPJs3wjuyBk8RBXsxJbpWf2Zy6Kg_lzCbnz3kTqnIMc0hlGiePx-DWRISY/s400/Mariama+Camera,+PCV+041.jpg" border="0" /></a> Well, the big ol' b-day came and went. Still not exactly sure about the whole "quarter of a century" thing, but the celebration around it was at least entertaining. As I had envisioned in my head, I baked myself a spice cake with cream cheese frosting (don't worry, I wanted to bake it myself- I miss baking). Also on the menu for the party was a homemade snack mix full of oaty cereal stuff and caramelized pretzels (thanks Erica!), oatmeal cookies, pasta with veggies and homemade sangria with fruit (well, made with box red wine, box fruit juice, and ginger ale "lime drink"). It was a good spread. Kind of difficult to transport back on a gele-gele, but with my really awesome and helpful friend's help, we made it happen. They even decorated my house and it really felt like an American b-day party. A lot of my site mates came to help celebrate, as well as some up country friends from my health group. My host family came over for a few minutes to taste the goods. I've noticed a lot of the time when we share "American" food with our host families, they Gambianize it by adding mayonnaise, Jimbo aka MSG, or put the contents on bread, but this time they gobbled up the snacks. Guess it's hard to flavor up oatmeal cookies. Thanks again for all the birthday cards and care packages. It really meant a lot to be able to open them on the day.<br /><br /><br />Speaking of care packages, my aunt from Dallas really followed through with the toothbrush and toothpaste request from last time. I opened her package to find, amongst the Mike and Ikes and Burts Bees (of which I can officially say I have enough of now to last the next two years), about 200 individually wrapped and pre-dipped in toothpaste, toothbrushes. After running into one of my site mates and discussing with her my new toothbrush distribution dilemma, we decided a demo was in store. So that night, during the regular gathering of neighborhood kids at my host family's TV, I brought one of the toothbrushes, asked what it was called in Mandinka and told the crowd my aunt sent me a lot and that I wanted to show them how to brush their teeth. Some of the guys said they already knew how, but I shot back with the "but if you come, I will give you one" line and the next morning kids I hadn't even seen were telling me they were coming to my class. To prepare for the demo, I wrote a little song to the tune of "This is the way you..." and took it to work to get help translating a few words I didn't know. By 5:30, there was a swarm of kids outside my compound where, fairly quickly tooth brushing became the coolest thing on the street. I did my little demo, then handed the swarm their own toothbrushes and told them that I was going to sing my little song while they brushed their own teeth. It went a little something like this:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIOxk-GCrlHxZHRrMKH25fz4ODFXv7aQbUuyPbzaxLqOGBKPgd0NFk4WVBghHtjAHT76-AVdJ3gZZ6bZDeVnmrqQq7ihMvBmO4lAoEnXswBMbFf1MECDz5tTioPXymNVUkuBhZL1NBkU/s1600-h/Mariama+Camera,+PCV+056.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5101878621573670226" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIOxk-GCrlHxZHRrMKH25fz4ODFXv7aQbUuyPbzaxLqOGBKPgd0NFk4WVBghHtjAHT76-AVdJ3gZZ6bZDeVnmrqQq7ihMvBmO4lAoEnXswBMbFf1MECDz5tTioPXymNVUkuBhZL1NBkU/s400/Mariama+Camera,+PCV+056.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I ka da josi, tenne tenne<br /><br />I da ku, I da ku<br /><br />I ka da josi, tenne tenne<br /><br />Ni kunun ta<br /><br /><br />I made sure to emphasize the importance of returning the toothbrush to the package it came in, because I could just see 100 plastic bags blowing about around the compounds. Since no trash system is installed, littering becomes first habit. It was all over in about 30 minutes, but the next day I asked a girl how many times she'd brushed her teeth and even though I'd said it should be done at least twice a day, she answered 4! Marilina, you would be so proud! I have enough left to do another demo and plan on breaking out in the song every now and then to keep the spirit of teeth brushing alive.<br /><br /><br />The next evening, I went to go hang out with the kids again and found only my mother, Tida lying on the couch, fanning herself from mosquitoes. I asked where everyone was and she said they were at the wedding that was happening a few compounds away. I was all ready for a quiet evening of writing letters, but decided to throw on a skirt and wander to the "knot tying". I immediately recognized a bunch of my neighbors, who were all dressed in the same fabric for the event (this is called an asobe) and was taken in and welcomed. It had been going on for a while already, but the bride was still washing and getting ready so there was a bunch of sitting around to be had. Then all of a sudden, a taxi pulled up outside the compound wall and a huge crowd migrated from the house to the taxi and I later realized that the bride was in the middle of the crowd. Then the taxi started off and people started shouting "manno bito! manno bito!" which translates to the knot tying and began following the taxi, where the destination turned out to be her husband's compound. It was already pretty late, and I didn't know where we were heading, but my neighbor, Awa, was with me, so I decided to see what all the fuss was about. When we got there, the girls started shouting "Mariama came!!!" and pulled me into the dance circle where I busted out a few moves and took this picture of my friend, Kaddy and her son, Alhagie-Modou. Still not sure who or where the bride was (the grooms rarely come to these events), I asked and they pointed out this figure completely covered with a white cloth laying on a mat, surrounded by sitting family members. Next to her was a calabash, gourd bowl where dancing attendants can throw money. I tossed some money in, took note of the covered bride, said my goodbyes and was accompanied back home by Awa.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghns0hdR7Jw0BJcLrwrviU5gUwakx5f4Uexl6t45IAplU1upvNaj2iBGr1Xl7Ap7fvMU7N_eb6yD7UAjD9yqPxfynOYucesAvomI2iw8Z1H0iFyERM7VqcLPcdrcOipHejgHNrMafKljE/s1600-h/Mariama+Camera,+PCV+060.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103391266105648530" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghns0hdR7Jw0BJcLrwrviU5gUwakx5f4Uexl6t45IAplU1upvNaj2iBGr1Xl7Ap7fvMU7N_eb6yD7UAjD9yqPxfynOYucesAvomI2iw8Z1H0iFyERM7VqcLPcdrcOipHejgHNrMafKljE/s400/Mariama+Camera,+PCV+060.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Work with the support group is fairly slow at the moment. We rescheduled a board meeting, only to have no one but myself show up for the rescheduled one. A few of us are still working on getting the cashew orchard started and plan to re-plant the polypots of germinated cashews next week sometime. I also had this idea of promoting the "Teryiaa" CD on one of my favorite radio stations to listen to online, KEXP. One DJ has a show called Best Ambiance on Monday evenings where he play music from Africa. I finally got the literature together they suggested one sends when trying to get airplay, and sent him the info through email and a CD through the mail. He responded the next day by saying he was really looking forward to receiving the package and that he'd visited Gambia twice and studied with a kora player here. I can only hope that this will lead to good things! (like you guys tuning into Best Ambiance on Monday evenings from 6-9 and hearing a song from Allatentu Support Band and saying "Hey! that's the group my really awesome (insert relationship to me), Courtney, works with! Wow, that music is kick'n. I must buy that CD!") By the way, a link to KEXP is on the link list to the left of the page as "Good Music".<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I'm taking my first vacation in a few weeks. I'm headed to Greece with a good friend from the States and we are going to spend a few weeks in Crete, practicing Ashtanga with a great man my Norman yoga teacher studied with. Yeah, I'm pretty stoked. Over the next two weeks, I'll be working on getting stuff together to bring, as well as helping out on clinic days, singing about brushing teeth, transplanting cashew trees, helping my new education volunteer site mates feel welcome (congrats to swearing in guys!) as well as giving tips to new urban volunteers (Yes it's normal to want to punch that boy who just cursed you out in the face. No you don't have to greet everyone you pass like they ingrained into our heads in training- you'd never make it to work!)<br /><br /><br /><br />I still miss you guys a tons and look forward to mail day and keeping in contact with all as much as when I first left, so keep em coming!************************************************************Through The Eyes Of Hazle Leehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07306412080016365393noreply@blogger.com3