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
Friday, January 23, 2009
Thursday, December 4, 2008
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.
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
Love you all and miss you dearly.
Courtney
Saturday, November 29, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, October 27, 2008
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
Don't forget to vote! Miss and love you guys.
Love, Court
Monday, September 22, 2008
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.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
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.
.
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!!
.
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!!
Sunday, June 29, 2008
A Rough Guide to Peace Corps The Gambia on a Lonely Shoestring
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.
“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.
Don’t Leave Home Without it!
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)
2. Portable speakers (if you find any that don’t take batteries, get those)
3. Shortwave radio (best way to get that hot scoop, from Burma to beauty store grand openings)
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)
5. Camera (duh), bendy tri-pod
6. Pictures of friends and family
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)
8. Your comfort pillow or blanket
9. Handful of good pens and stationary
10. Solio brand mini portable solar charger (good for mobile phones and mp3 players just in case)
11. Ear plugs and a face mask (unless waking up to pray is in your cultural exchange plan)
12. Running shoes
13. Portable hobby you’ve always had or always wanted to take up (yoga mat, ukulele, knitting needles, acrylic paints, etc.)
14. Sandals (whichever design you’d like to impressively display once they are removed to enter a neighbors home)
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)
16. The kind of hat you never get sick of wearing, whatever that might be
17. Inexpensive sunglasses (they’re sure to break at some point, but you can get classy Dior knockoffs to replace them, don’t worry)
18. That safe plastic kind of water bottle; personal size thermos (keep your colds colder or your hots hotter, longer)
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.)
20. A hefty supply of your favorite non-perishable comfort foods to get you started till the care packages start rollin’ in.
21. A good supply of your must have brand toiletries
22. Battery operated fan
23. Flash drive
24. Day planner
25. Glasses and/or contacts
26. Feminine hygiene products
27. Cell phone to be unlocked once in country
28. WA and UK outlet converters
29. Small umbrella
Leave it at Home!
1. Hiking boots
2. 20 of any one toiletry item
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)
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)
5. West Africa/ Gambia guide books (a plethora of copies of these are floating around or can be borrowed from other PCVs)
Frivolous Buying in Country Just Might Break the Bank (But sometimes you just need a gallon of ice cream)
1. Batteries
2. Western grocery store items
3. Booze
4. Solar setups
5. Most electronic devices (i.e. cell phone, camera, TV, shortwave radio, microwave…)
Affordable for Your Pocketbook and Conscience and Available in Country
1. Replenishing toiletries (soap, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste, razors…sparingly)
2. Cooking supplies and utensils for village
3. Linens
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)
5. Random replenishables (flip flops, sunglasses, second hand clothes, super glue)
You’ll Find Comfort if You Find Space
1. A snazzy pair of shoes
2. Cute earrings/jewelry
3. Pretty shirts/dresses
4. More hobby equipment (Frisbee, etc.)
5. More food
6. Binoculars
7. Map/blow up globe
8. Wall decorations
9. Address book
10. French press/ reusable coffee filter and delicious coffee/ tea strainer and tasty tea
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.
Okie dokie, well I miss you guys and would love to hear from you soon soon!
Love,
Court
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