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!

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.

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.

“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!

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.

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!

Roscoe's favorite season

Naa ye meng je a laata wo le la: Seeing is believing.

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.

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.

Here are a few other events that have pre-occupied my Gambian world during the past month:

* 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.

*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.

*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.


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!

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.

The following sent would absolutely ensure more than malaria for your gift from The Gambia:

*Letters and pictures
*DVDs of The Office from season 3-on (come on people, PLEASE help me out here)
*DVDs of Greys Anatomy from season 3-on
*MP3 CDs of music and books on tape
*Candy like Starbursts, Tootsie Rolls, Laffy Taffy, Skittles, really just about anything
*Dried fruit, nuts (not peanuts)
*Magazines like Jane and Marie Claire
*AAA, AA & 9V batteries (re-chargeable with charger if you feel generous)
*Cooking herb seeds, flower seeds and veggie seeds
*Herbal teas like that Celestial Seasonings variety pack with the chamomile with lemon

Okay, stop procrastinating and go do your taxes!

I love you!! Courtney

Link for Info for Visiting Added

It's the "golden ticket" one, just in case you couldn't tell. That should get you started, anyway. Write me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,
Courtney

updated smells

I forgot two:

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.

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.

Christmas in what felt like July; Tobaski again in February?

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!

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:

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).

10:15am: Drop from gele and take taxi to ferry terminal.

11:15am: Board ferry after getting pushed and shoved from "no lines in Gambia", where EVERYONE would benefit from a ticket and boarding line.

12:15pm: Arrive in Barra, across the river and find a gele going past her village, in order to drop accordingly.

1:30pm: Actually start the engine after waiting for the car to fill.

1:40pm: Stop for gas.

2:10pm: Stop for prayers; work on squeaky wheel.

3:00pm: Stop for this.

3:20pm: Stop for that.

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.

6:45pm: Arrive in village!!! Greeted with a name sign by friends.

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.

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.

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.

Good Smells:
1. Women frying fish heads in oil on neighborhood corners in the evenings.
2. This incense they burn in the little clay pots.
3. Just the burning firewood for daily cooking.
4. Babies lathered in shae butter.
5. Cashew fruit orchards.
6. General WA body odor "musk"

Not So Good Smells:
1. Grass/ donkey poop burning
2. Fishing ports

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.

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!

Love, Courtney

Where the Pavement Ends

Wowy 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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

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.

A newly updated wish list (though not much has really changed):

*Letters
*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)
*DVDs with movies and episodes of Office starting with season 3 and Greys season 4
*Veggie and flower seeds
*Skittles, Starbursts, Laffy Taffy (finally after a whole year, I’m less interested in the M&Is)
*Tootsie rolls (original and fruity flavored)
*Twix, Kit Kat and 100 Grand
*Dried fruit mixes
*Turkey Jerky
*Triscuits, Wheat Thins and other salty snack foods