T'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…

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.

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.

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, Concern Universal. 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 Solar Project The Gambia 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.

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.

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…

See you guys soon (later)!

Love,
Courtney

Tracey & Sarah's project: Check it 2 time!!

Hey guys!! Long time, I know...

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.

"HELP AFRICA

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

this link:https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=635-056

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 :-)"

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.

Love and miss you,
Courtney

Take In Directly

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.

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.

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.

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”.

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.

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.

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.

Pictures have been posted to the Picasa site, so check 'em out :)
Love you all and miss you dearly.
Courtney

HEY! HEYYYYY!!!! _____ YOU! Mind your own _____ing business!

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...

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. :)

Love,

Courtney

HEY! HEYYYYY!!!! _____ YOU! Mind your own _____ing business!

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.


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.

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.

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.

Well, 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 :)

Don't forget to vote! Miss and love you guys.

Love, Court

Ever thought you'd actually go to Timbukto?

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.

More From Living in the Land of Babies on Backs and Balencing Acts

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.
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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Some upcoming activities:
* New education group swears in September 12th
* Possible trip to Mali with a couple of friends at the end of the month for a few weeks
*End of Ramadan sacrifices
* Combination of new environment group as well as our health and community development successors arrive at the beginning of November!!!!

Books I’ve enjoyed recently:
*The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini
*The Good Earth, Pearl Buck
*Continually reading Roots, Alex Haley
*Siddhartha, Herman Hess
*Under the Banner of Heaven, Jon Krakauer

Would like to read:
*The Unaccustomed Earth, Jhumpa Lahiri
*What Is The What?, David Eggers
*Spanish language self teaching work books

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

Wish List: This pretty much hasn’t changed since arriving in Gambia…
*Dried fruit and trail mixes
*Starburst, gummy candy, Tootsie Rolls, fruity candy
*Tuna packets
*Good coffee grounds (I have access to a reusable filter)
*Jane/ Marie Claire/ climbing magazines
*Books that have touched you that you’d like to pass on
*Movies new out of DVD
*Music on DVDs in Mp3 format

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!!