My Year in Africa

Dear Reader,

Over a month ago, I set out to write my final blog post. A perfect ending to talk about my experiences in Africa, and to explain to everyone why, despite my amazing adventure, I decided to return home after only a year. That blog post ended up getting pushed behind all sorts of things. Leaving a third world country, one I called my home, wasn't easy. I had a lot of goodbyes and packing to do, not to mention the absurd amount of paperwork and medical things to be done. Once I arrived in the United States, a blog post was the furthest thing from my mind. I wanted to enjoy the ever-present electricity, the running water, the delicious food, and telling friends and family my crazy stories. Now I've been home for just about three weeks and I know that it is time to write that last post, the last step of my Peace Corps Service.

When I first decided to join the Peace Corps, I did it because I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, and I decided I could be out there helping people while I tried to figure things out. Of course things like living abroad and the adventures I could have were appealing, but I truly wanted to improve the lives of the people I was working with. Despite all of my best intentions, I decided to call it quits and return to my life in the United States. I had been wrestling with the decision for months, but ultimately made up my mind to leave after the high-school entrance exams. Since coming to Guinea I had been sick a lot, but in those last few months, I was sick more than I was healthy. I found myself in my house all of the time, which prevented me from what I had come here to do. I won't go into all of the details, but I felt as if I could no longer do my job, and that I was endangering my health by staying. It was with a heavy heart that I left my students, my friends, and my neighbors, but ultimately, I believe it was the right decision.

Between my arrival in Guinea on July 4th 2013, and my departure on July 1st, 2014, I had not left the country. This meant that I faced shock after shock when I made it the airport in Brussels. It felt weird to be surrounded not only by people who looked like me, but strangers who were more similar to me than those I had lived with for a year. I noticed the obscene abundance of wealth I had spent the last year dreaming about. I quickly found out that English was no longer my own secret language, and that I could use it to actually communicate with someone. In Brussels, I felt for the first time in a year what it meant to be anonymous. I could walk from Point A to Point B harassment free, a face that was lost in a crowd. Not a single person screamed at me, or even tried to get my attention. It was ridiculously liberating and I wanted to walk around all day drinking it in! While clearing customs in Newark, the first thing I noticed was the obvious space bubble each individual had about themselves. There was no cramming like sardines into a mass surrounding the booth! I was so completely overwhelmed by the experience that coming down that last ramp and seeing my family felt surreal to me. They were smiling and crying, and all I could do was blankly stare. I was overwhelmed, but in a weird way being back felt completely normal, almost as if I had never left.

So how do you wrap up what you learned in a year? Just by trying to write this post, I learned that you can't. But just because I can't put it into words, doesn't mean that it won't stick with me and affect me for the rest of my life. Every single day was an adventure, and I feel like I learned enough to fill a lifetime. I learned how to do basic things like wash laundry by hand, cook dinner over a fire, how to travel on a dime, and how to recycle ANYTHING. Basically, I should be okay if there is ever a zombie apocalypse. I became really good at relating and communicating to complete strangers and how to give an impromptu speech, in a foreign language, to hundreds of those strangers. I became much more patient, and flexible. By necessity, I learned to adapt to new situations and environments. My neighbors taught me what generosity, friendship, and living as a community really looks like. 

Many people have asked me "if you could go back, knowing what you know, would you make the same decision?" Absolutely. I am very grateful for the chance I had and that I was able to use a year of my life to help someone else. Sure it was really difficult, but the best things in life come with hard work and dedication.

With that, I bid you ADIEU. I can't thank you enough for all of your support and prayers while I was serving in Guinea.

Sincerely (and for the last time)

Kadiatou Camara

On Being Sick

There are some questions that only have one possible answer. These include “does it taste good” or if you've been sick, “are you feeling better.” Any answer other than the acceptable one results in an explanation of the question and the repetition of said question until you breakdown and just tell them “yes it tastes good” or “yes I'm feeling better.”

The question about food doesn't bother me too much. Although I remember one night during training when it bothered me a lot. I was served pastel-colored rehydrated prawn chips which had the consistency of styrofoam. When they asked me if they tasted good, I said as politely as I could that I didn’t really like them. (Don't ask a question you are prepared to hear the answer to, right?) Well, their solution was to mix the styrofoam chips with mashed up hot peppers. After a few bites, they asked me if it tasted good and kept asking me until I finally through the tears, I choked out a yes.

Now when it comes to my health, I hate that I always have to lie and say that things are just peachy. Just last week, I had a fever coupled with the worst headache of my life and I was sprawled out on the floor because if I moved, shooting pains ravaged my head and would bring me to tears. My neighbor knocked on the door and I grunted out a hello and an I'm sick. “Oh. You are sick? But you are getting better, right?” No I'm not getting better I thought. Only you can't say there, you have to say yes, I'm getting better, thanks. This encounter happened hourly throughout the entire day. It must have been obvious to them I wasn't doing better, but they continued to ask, and I had to continue to lie. The last time I dared to respond in the negative, the following conversation took place.

Neighbor: Kadiatou, are you feeling better?

Me: No

Neighbor: Kadiatou, are you feeling better?

Me: No

Neighbor: EHHHHH...Kadiatou. You don't understand the question?

Me: No I understood, but...

Neighbor: No. You don't understand. I'm asking if you feel better. You respond yes to that question. You can't say no. Kadiatou, are you feeling better?

Me: Yes

Neighbor : Thanks be to God

So, like most conversations I have here, I have to lie to prevent a long-winded conversation that makes me look stupid.

This time instead of answering a query, I'm asking the question: why do they do this? Why can't you say that you aren't feeling better? It's gotta be great for doctors when their patients tell them everything is fine even when it's worse than before! If anyone has any light to shed on this issue, please let me know.  

Citizen Spotlight

Every Tuesday afternoon, I take my computer to the taxi station where I sit and charge it at one of the shacks there. This particular shack is run by one of the most interesting people I've met in Guinea. Don't get me wrong, he can be as annoying as the next guy, and sometimes even refuses to speak in French with me, but I've learned to overlook that and I would consider him to be one of my friends.

Camara Morlaye is his name and he has many games! He helps run the taxi station, he sells cellphone credit and SIM cards, he runs several plantations, and he plays a major role in the community. The other day we had a pretty serious discussion about something I cannot yet disclose, and I ended up crying in front of him. He handled my tears better than most grown men would and he soon had me laughing instead of crying. Once that was over, he voluntarily shared his life story with me. This man has visited every single prefecture in Guinea, of which there are over 30. This in incredible because I've talked to so many people here who have barely left their own prefecture, much less traveled around the country. After university, he got a job with Credit Rurale (Rural Credit), which is what it sounds like. He then spent at least two years in every region of the country working with Credit Rurale and became fluent in 5 different languages, four of them local to Guinea. He can therefore communicate with most Guineans, and really knows what is going on throughout the country.

Last week while at the aforementioned shack, a random stranger asked me to marry him so that he can get a visa to the United States. I replied that everyone wants to go to the United States and that at least one person a day asks me for a visa. Camara butted in to say that it isn't true that everyone wants to go to America, because he wants to stay in Guinea. This is not out of ignorance he explained, but because he wants to stay in his country and do what he can to help it develop. He knows he could have a better life elsewhere, but contrary to hundreds of Guineans who leave every year, he stays and works.

Camara also owns 2 plantations, one of which I visited just last week. He grows palm and cashew trees on his plantation, which is probably 5 times the size of the one I visited last month. In several years, the palm trees will be mature enough to start harvesting and he hopes to be able to run a fairly large operation. On his other plantation, he annually planted palm, orange and lemon trees only to have them destroyed by neighbors who burn their fields every year. He tried this three years in a row, but every year they got burned out. Less discouraged than I would be, he plans on only planting cashew trees this time around, because they are supposedly more fire resistant.

So that's my friend Camara Morlaye. I first noticed something different about him when Ebola struck Guinea. Before and after eating, he washed his hands with soap and bleach and made me do the same. Guineans almost never use soap to wash their hands, so I was blown away! I've also seen him reading a newspaper (not sure where he got that). This is a man who extremely is devoted to his country and who could very well become a key player in Guinea's history.  

Reflections on Teaching (Year One)

Reflections on my first year of teaching

Well, it's June and that means that rainy season is now well underway! Very soon the rain will once again wash away the road and push my village into an isolation rarely seen in today's modern world. June also brings the long anticipated end of the school year, meaning I survived an entire year of teaching en brousse and in French. While I have done many an hour of tutoring both in-and-outside of classrooms in the United States, this was something completely different and much more difficult than anything I'd ever experienced. Every day offered a new challenge, and I tried my best to encourage my students to learn in new ways and to teach them how to think critically. Notably, I used Battleship to help them learn coordinate planes, used word problems to integrate malaria awareness and prevention into lessons, helped organize a school spelling bee, and had an open invitation to my house for impromptu math or english lessons. I like to think that I made a difference, but I guess you have to ask my students. Even though I didn't change the world like I had imagined I would, I guess it's all the small things people do that end up changing the world.

I vividly remember those first few days of school. Even with several months of training under my belt, I had no clue what to expect. I was nervous about teaching the gaggle of Guineans who would be seated at those desks. I was worried about teaching geometrical properties I'd never learned myself. I was worried about my French. In short, I was worried about a lot of things. Only much later did I find out that my students were just as worried as me. Foreign teachers have a reputation of being very strict, very mean, and very difficult and that is what they had all been expecting of me. The first couple weeks were actually the smoothest while the students were just as nervous as I was. They were trying to figure out how I operated and if I could control the classroom. Once they realized I wasn't as mean as I appeared and once they got used to being taught by a white person, classroom discipline quickly went out the window. Every single day I found students talking, sleeping, passing notes, texting, you name it. To control these hooligans, I had to be mean, strict, and I did a lot of yelling. I threw notebooks out the window and from time to time just had to walk out on them. While I accepted that this behavior, which we call “bavarding”, was deeply ingrained into them and that it would take years to change it, it could make teaching really discouraging.

Some of the biggest challenges I faced as a teacher this year were imparting my knowledge to my students, working within the established French-Guinean system and dealing with cheating. Upon arriving in this country, I spoke a passable amount of French, but I was nervous about using what I knew to teach kids at school. I soon found out that even by 10^th grade, the students at my school do not have a good grasp on French. To put this in perspective, kids start learning French once they enter elementary school. All teaching is done in French, and local languages are not supposed to be spoken on school grounds. However, at home and with their friends, students use local languages almost exclusively and therefore don't get the French practice they need. By the end of the year, I noticed that even a flawless explanation on my part still left students lost and confused. As to working in the French-Guinean system, students have become used to a single manner of teaching, one that focuses on rote memorization and one which leaves the “slower” kids behind. In my attempt to make sure students were understanding, I would ask several times during every class if they had any questions and more often than not I was greeted by a blank stare or a “no Madame.” One of the most frustrating things was the constant demand for examples. While examples can be great, and I give them frequently, I often gave them problems without any examples because I wanted them to think through it. Every time I did this the students would loudly complain and most wouldn't even try to solve the problem. Finally, when it came to cheating, I was constantly amazed at what students came up with and how they continued to justify their cheating. On the first day of class I discussed what I considered cheating, as well as the consequences for cheating. In addition, before every test, I would go over those rules until everyone told me they understood. However, I never had a single test in which I didn't give out at least one zero for cheating, and once I had to give out at least twenty zeros. One time I even gave a series of NON-GRADED questions to assess what they had learned, and they cheated on that. It's all part of this idea from their culture that you can't succeed if your brother is failing. Again, I knew this was behavior they had learned as a child and throughout the year, I was only able to prevent a small amount of it. After only a year of teaching, I have gained so much respect for those who make a career out of teaching. It might be one of the least appreciated, yet hardest and most important jobs out there.

Originally I was invited to come and teach Math in Guinea. But by the second week of school, I had volunteered to teach English as well. So, I ended up with 16 hours a week, 12 for Math and 4 for English, again teaching only 9^th and 10^th grade. While the math curriculum is well established, I had to wing all of my English classes. During training I was given a short outline of things they should learn by the end of the year, and a simple grammar guide, and with these two, I set out trying to teach my students yet another language to add to their repertoire. For me, English classes were a time to have fun and we often played games to keep things interesting and to test their skills. These included their favorite, Simon Says, along with Jeopardy, Bingo and Charades. We occasionally talked about famous singers like Rihanna, Chris Brown, 50 Cent and Justin Bieber. On a more serious note, we had many a discussion about America, including George Washington, the number of States in America (50 not 52), and how the current Guinean government is actually modeled on the American system. Once I tried explaining to them that America was also colonized by the Europeans, but they didn't want to believe me. One time after a math session involving malaria information, I taught them words like “mosquito”, “malaria”, “sleep under your net”, etc. Basically my English classes became a math, history, biology, civics, and language class all rolled into one. So even if my kids only came out of English classes with greetings and numbers down pat, they still learned a lot about about Guinea and the world around them.

I couldn't end a post about teaching without talking about the Brevet, or what I've referred to many times as the high school entrance exam. This takes place after 10^th grade and determines whether or not the student can enter high school. It lasts 4 days and consists of History, Geography, Biology, Chemistry, Physics, Math, Civics and Ethics, and French which is split into dictation and writing. The topics for each subject can be anything they have covered in middle school and often involve obscure questions that students don't know the answer to. For the practice exam that took place at the end of April, the questions were surprisingly open-ended and simple, yet not a single student managed to average a passing grade. Overall, approximately 50% of those who take the Brevet end up passing it. If they don't pass, the students have the option to drop out of school or to repeat 10^th grade and try the exam again the next year. In reality, the chance at a successful future is seriously diminished for those who don't make it to high school. Women often become stay-at-home moms, and men become mechanics, chauffeurs, street merchants, or work on plantations. Obviously there are exceptions to every rule, but for the most part, passing the Brevet is one of the first steps to securing a better future.

This past year was marked with tears and with smiles, sometimes even in the same class. Dealing with the large classes, the noise, the cheating, the lack of French, the lack of materials, and the lack of basic math skills only served to make a hard job even harder. It made me really appreciate the veteran teachers at my school, including my principal, who have stuck with it year after year. It has become really obvious to me that they have a passion for students and want to help them succeed, something which isn't seen very often. Sadly a lot of men end up in teaching because they can't find the job they want and so they are bitter and don't care about the students. The Director of Studies thanks me everyday for the work I've done and then proceeds to ask me to stay in Guinea for the rest of my life. The dedication of my fellow teachers and the fact that I have a few students eager to learn, who come to my house every day and work through problems, or are learning English have made my first year of teaching an incredible experience, and one I'll never forget. 

The Spoon and the Cellphone

I would like to dedicate this post to my N'toroma Kelly Barb, aka Kadiatou Camara.

As a volunteer, I have a lot of free time on my hands. Time to read, to think, to nap, and even time to write ridiculous blog posts dedicated to questions people have asked me. One day, a fellow volunteer posed the doozy: Why did Guineans so quickly adopt the cellphone yet still consider spoons to be taboo? It was a good question. Guinea hasn't adopted many modern technologies, but in less than 10 years, cell phones have become ubiquitous. Yet spoons, which have been around hundreds, maybe even thousands of years, are something that have not been universally adopted! The question was there and while I had some theories, I quickly forgot about it. Several weeks later, I came across a similar question in Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs and Steel. The book studies the question “why was it that Europeans who conquered the world and not any other group of people?” Nestled inside its 400+ pages was a discussion about why or why not a society might accept new technology.

When something new is invented, no matter what and no matter where, society has to be persuaded to use it. Will the invention drastically change their lives? Will it save them time? Will it make them money? Obviously some societies are more open to change than others, but no matter the society, Diamond gives 4 criteria for the successful integration of new technology

1. relative economic advantage compared with existing technology
2. social value and prestige
3. compatibility with vested interests
4. ease with which their advantage can be observed

Now I realize this is getting a little deep, but stick with me.

I'll start with cellphones. This clever little gadget suddenly connected a country that never had widespread phone lines, or even paved roads. Suddenly, people were connected with those who were a 24 hour drive away! It allowed someone to talk to anyone, anywhere, anytime. It made life easier and (this is key) was immediately recognized and therefore became more likely to be adopted by society. The cellphone hits 4/4 of Diamond's prerequisites (#2 – The wealthier you are, the cooler your phone is) and most people would agree adopting the cellphone was the obvious answer. So why not the spoon?

What are the benefits of a spoon? It keeps your hands clean, and it helps prevent the spread of germs. Here we find our first problem. You can't see germs, and even to this day people will laugh at you if you tell them germs make you sick. Secondly, spoons don't offer an economic advantage over your hands, which are already free and available 24/7. Introducing the spoon introduced another cost to those who probably couldn't afford it. 1 or 2 spoons wasn't enough. What about the myriad of children, relatives and friends? Finally, spoons mean more dishes to wash and who needs that? Water is scarce enough as it is, even with modern pumps and wells. In my opinion, those who first tried spoons couldn't tell that it made any positive, immediate, or noticeable impacts, or if it did, it wasn't worth the price. Therefore, I argue that Guineans weren't receptive to spoons because it was an unwelcome technology whose advantage to this day has yet to be realized. In contrast, cellphones solved a huge problem and were adopted with relative ease.

So that is my answer. Whether or not you find it acceptable or insane is for you to decide. Hopefully, I didn't make it worse! And don't worry. Even though I can understand their side, I am 100% PRO SPOON.

Palm Plantation

Lately my good days have been few and far between and I spend most of my time in my house reading. So I was relieved by an afternoon bike ride to a palm plantation where I harvested palm nuts with my own hands!

There were two kinds of palm trees on the plantation. One type was the typical, tall one shown in this picture, and the other type had the same leaves, but no trunk.

This is me with my student's dad and some random old lady. They were thrilled to have a white person and we had a blast speaking in Susu!

This is me with my student's mom

These are palm nuts growing at the base of the tree (second type)  

Harvesting the palm nuts 

"Finished" product. You can eat palm nuts straight from the tree. They are oily and very fibrous.

There I was, in the middle of nowhere, just living life. Aside from my student, his dad, his mom, and the old lady, not a single person in the world knew where I was! It's always weird to have those moments when I realize that's my life.

I would have loved to have spent more time on the plantation, but after checking out the palm trees and the rice fields, I returned home with memories, pictures, and about 30 mangoes to add to the 15 already rotting on my kitchen table.  

FOTE

It's finally here! Your unofficial guide to the word foté. The word foté is the Susu word for white. It can be used to reference anything white; a t-shirt, a bird, etc. However, this seemingly innocent little word has been adapted for another, rather more sinister purpose. The most popular use is to scream it at strangers. This includes, Americans, Europeans, Asians, basically anyone who is not from Africa. Although, this can get a little tricky, because even African Americans are referred to as foté by the people here. Aside from the time I've spent in other regions of Guinea, I haven't gone a single day here without hearing that word. It can also be used to note disdain for someone's beliefs, cultures, or practices. For example, I was using flashcards (generously provided by Kelly Barb) to help young children learn addition. An adult walked past, looking suspiciously at the cards and told me that I was teaching them the foté way to do math, and that I needed to stop. So I did, and we did the foré version of math, using a stick to draw lines in the sand.

I would say about 50 percent of the time people here don't use foté to insult people. Kids are thrilled to see a white person, and I there is a slug-bug like game. Whoever spots the white person first wins. They even turn the word into a chant, and will holler it until you are out of sight. The other fifty percent of the time, adults use it to mock the foreigner for their language, their way of living, or to laugh at them when they make a mistake. EH FOTÉ – if I had a penny for every time I heard that....

Common phrases using the word foté include

fote xui – Foté xui, as far as I can tell, is any language that didn't originate in Africa. French, the official language of the country, is considered a “foté language” and I've heard parents rebuke their kids for using it. Obviously English is a “foté language” as are many, many others. I can't tell you how many times I've been asked me to stop speaking a foté language because “it isn't good.” Strangely enough, I've never heard Arabic referred to as a “foté language” even though it definitely didn't originate in Guinea, or in Africa. I know this is because they are Muslim, and Arabic holds tremendous importance for them, but as far as this writer is concerned, Arabic meets the “foté language” requirements.

foté kike – Kike means month. So foté kike, is the foreigners month, or, the Gregorian calendar as opposed to the foré kike, or lunar calendar. Now, the Gregorian calendar, which was introduced here hundreds of years ago, is used for everything except religious holidays. These are tracked using the Lunar Calendar. No one ever knows exactly when a holiday will be, because they wait for the text message from the head Imam in the capital saying he's seen the full moon. I doubt there are more than five people in my village who could tell you what lunar day it is. Nevertheless, they continue to refer to it as the foreigners calendar.

foté taa – The land of the white people! As far as I've been able to tell, this includes America, Europe, Asia, bacially anywhere outside of Africa. Whenever they see a photograph, they ask if it is foté taa. I had a National Geographic with a feature on India, and was asked if that was foté taa. Once again, I have to wonder why Mecca isn't considered foté taa, but I haven't been able to get a straight answer out of anyone.

There you have it. Everything you ever wanted to know about the word foté and more! If you have any questions, this foté will do her best to help answer them!

'Til Death Do Us Part

Somewhere on the unofficial “are you a good volunteer” checklist, is the question, do you attend cultural events in your community? Here in Guinea, that mostly means weddings and funerals, and I was lucky enough to go to both within a week of each other. I realize this is not the first time I'm writing about both a sad and a happy event as if they were the same thing. I've noticed that I leave each of these events feeling pretty much the same: emotionally exhausted, frustrated, mortified, etc. I could continue, but you get the idea.

Last month, I spent a week worrying that one of my students had died. After attending a funeral next door, I ran into one of my female students, who in tears, said a word I never caught, then one of my student's name, and then “is dead.” I thought back to what people had been talking about during the funeral and realized they had used the word xarandi (student) quite frequently. So, I was left feeling horrible about myself because I had been at one of my students funeral and didn't even know it. But that unknown word kept haunting me...it could've been anything, including brother or sister. A few days later, I was outside in the dark, and someone greeted me. I could've sworn it was the student in question, but it was dark, so I wasn't sure, which made it even worse. Finally, about a week later, he walked by my house and I sighed in relief. He was very much alive, and I still had all my students. A similar event occurred this past week. My principal had gathered all the students and was lecturing them about how they need to stop riding on the tops of semi-trucks, because of how dangerous it is. He then proceeded to mention that several students had died in an accident the night before. Horrified, I scanned the ranks to see who was missing. It was only later that he told me it wasn't anyone from our school and I was able to once again sigh in relief. I'm terrified of the day when that won't be an option, and when I do end up losing a student.

This brings me to the wedding. I was coming home from a run, and found a crowd of people at my neighbors and DJ's setting up speakers. I went over and asked what was going on. A marriage, they told me, pointing to the bride who was getting her hair done. She didn't look very happy. She looked young and terrified, and I couldn't blame her. Girls here are normally married between the ages of 15 and 18 to men who are much older and who may already have 1, 2, or 3 wives. Several hours later, the music started up, and people old and young flocked to it. Even though it was around 10 PM, I ventured out of my house and picked a nice spot in the shadows, away from the speakers and the light. I wasn't permitted to stay there long, but instead was moved next-to the speakers, which were loud enough to cause a pounding headache and the illusion that my ears were bleeding. I refused to stay there, and so they moved me about 5ft from the speaker, right in front of the DJ. It took him all of about a second to notice me and then it was what I had dreaded. “Look here everyone! Look at the FOTÉ. FOTÉ come dance with me.” To which I shook my head and vehemently refused to move. This little exchange went on for about 5 minutes before one of my neighbors grabbed my arm telling me I had to do it , and that I was being an embarrassment to the community. So I got up, and “danced” in front of hundreds of people who were all cheering and whistling at me. As mortifying as this was, it wasn't however the worst part of the night. People then came up around me and started putting money into my hands which I then had to place on a platter in front of the soon-to-be couple. Only after this was I allowed to sit down. Once I was back in my seat, the DJ began calling up all the other rich people who were present. Little did I know, they do this at every wedding. They call up the “patrons” and then it becomes a contest of who gives the most money to the bride and groom. Honestly, the scene brought to mind the part of the Ten Commandments movie when they are worshipping the golden calf. They were doing the same thing to the money given by the rich people. And here I was, the obviously rich because of my skin color, a stingy grinch who didn't give my money away to complete strangers.

Here in Guinea, I'm asked, every day, why I'm here but don't give people my money. I've stopped explaining that I'm here as a volunteer, because most of them could care less that I'm here to help their children. Instead they demand that I buy them dinner and get offended and angry when I tell them that I can't. I guess a lifetime of receiving handouts from aid grants and other sources has conditioned them to expect white people to throw money at them. This fact has made me more than a few enemies in my village, and the wedding only made it worse. At this point, I had to either leave or cry in front of my entire village, and so I left by faking a phone call, and proceeded to lock myself in my house. I then decided that I never want to attend a wedding again. This decision was reenforced by the blaring music that kept me up until 4 am and the mocking that ensued the following day. I never thought I'd say that I would rather go to a funeral than a wedding, but then again, this country has made me say and do a lot of things I never thought I would.  

Malaria

Malaria. That's that mosquito disease right? Did you know that malaria used to kill people in the United States? Did you know that a child dies every 60 seconds from malaria? Did you know that malaria is the number one killer in Guinea? Did you know that it's 100% preventable?

Malaria is a disease transmitted by the female mosquito Anopheles. What happens is that a mosquito will bite a sick person and then transmits the disease to the next person bitten. Malaria is caused by the parasite plasmodium, or which there are 4 types. The most deadly of these four is plasmodium falciparum, which is the strain predominantly found in Guinea. While anyone can get malaria, those most at risk are pregnant women, children under 5, those who are HIV positive, and foreigners. Once stricken, malaria presents itself with a high and cyclical fever accompanied by chills, body aches and severe headaches. Severe cases can result in seizures, coma, and even death. Malaria is no joke. In fact, after several weeks in Guinea, I experienced a mild case of it and it was the worst headache of my life. I laid in bed, sweating and then shivering, head pounding, with the worst fever I've had here. Thankfully, my case was minor and it went away quickly. For the cases that don't go away, there is treatment available. In Guinea, Artemensinin-Based Combination Therapy is used to treat someone with malaria. You'll have to ask someone else exactly what the previous sentence means. Another option is oral quinine, quinine being something found in tonic water (although in a much smaller dose). Both of these options are available here, and are reasonably priced.

As I mentioned before, malaria is the number one killer in Guinea. Malaria accounts for about 25% of the deaths of children under 5, and 30% of all hospitalizations. The good news? It can be stopped! There are many ways to prevent the transmission of malaria. The most effective of these measures is sleeping under an insecticide-treated bed net every night. This not only reduces the likelihood of being bitten, but the insecticide kills any mosquito landing on the net. Other measure of protection including spraying houses with insecticide, eliminated mosquito breeding grounds, aka, stagnant water, wearing long sleeves and pants, drowning oneself in bug spray, or taking some for of malaria prophylaxis. This last method is popular with foreigners, who take one of three different types of medicine. All PC Volunteers in Guinea, and throughout most of SSA are required to take these medications all year round. Finally, pregnant women are encouraged to take malaria prevention medicine, in order to protect themselves and the baby, and this medicine is supposed to be continuously available at health centers.

So that is the deal. Malaria is spread by mosquitos and cannot be spread by people, or as the people believe here, mangoes. In addition, malaria is PREVENTABLE and for the most part has been eliminated in countries such as the US, Morocco, Senegal, Mozambique, Namibia, and Botswana. It takes a lot of work, but it is possible. Around the globe, PC Volunteers are involved in Malaria Month, one month dedicated to the prevention and eventual elimination of the disease. Volunteers, including myself are planning activities in their village to educate their communities. Here in Coliah, I'll be educating my students by incorporating malaria into my math lessons, I'll be going around my neighborhood making sure people are using their bed nets (or helping to hand them if they aren't) and I'm also helping to plan a soccer game, during which we will talk to people about malaria and how to stop it. So, Happy Malaria Month! Thanks for reading, and please share what you learned with others.  

Click here to read a poem/PSA by Doctor Seuss about malaria - http://www.history.navy.mil/library/online/thisisann.htm

The Time I Accidentally Prayed to Allah

As far as stressful weeks go, this one takes the cake. This week was the “Brevet Blanc”, the practice version of the high school entrance exam that takes place in June. Over the span of 4 days, my students had exams in Chemistry, History, French, Physics, Geography, Civics, Math and Biology. To my surprise, some of the subjects had decent topics. For example,  for French they had to write an essay about how important school is for the future, and for History they had to analyze colonialism. I had hoped the open-ended questions would help the students, but I quickly realized that they don't understand open-ended questions. Instead, they tried to answer the essay questions with definitions that have been drilled into their heads over the years. In the end, all of the subjects passed in the same manner. “It was so hard.” “We never learned that.” “We learned that last year.” or as a student so eloquently put it, “it nearly killed us Madam.” And he's right! Out of 67 students that took the exams, less than 10 of them managed to average a passing grade.

When it came to the math sections, I was just as nervous as all of my students (because contrary to their beliefs, I hadn't yet seen the topic). I let out a huge sigh of relief when I saw the questions. There wasn't anything I hadn't gotten to yet, and it was something they should've been able to do. It was mostly things I had taught them this year, plus a few things from previous grades. As much as my kids complained about it, it was much easier than what is usually on the exam. Despite that fact, none of my students passed. Not a single one. Talk about a blow to everything I've tried to do here!

In many ways, the Brevet is unfair. There is no standard of difficulty, and no standard grading procedure. In addition, the wording of the questions is purposely made more difficult in order to trip up the students. All of those things are in the hands of the government, and nothing can be done about them. One things however is guaranteed. Cheating. I ended up playing exam proctor for the last two days of the exams to reduce/eliminate the cheating that had gone on the first two days. For the most part, this cheating was due to a lack of vigilance among the other proctors. Some of them had fallen asleep during the exams! Kids had cheat sheets with them, they were passing notes, they were blatantly looking at others work, and a large number were caught using cell phones, where mass texts had been sent out with the answers to the questions. None of that really shocked me though because I've seen that kind of cheating in progress all year. What did shock me was that my students fully expect me to help them cheat for the real exams, and every time I refuse, they tell me I'm not really here to help them. They want me to “research” the test questions and help them memorize the answers. I had a pretty serious talk with them about that. I told them they needed to work hard, and that they could pass without cheating. They were astonished by the positive reinforcement. All week they'd been told, by my fellow teachers, things like “you don't know anything,” “why don't you just give up and go home,” “you refuse to learn.” So I got a hearty “MERCI MADAM” when I told them I had faith in them and that they were capable. Speaking of faith...

Every phone that I took during the exams sat on my kitchen table until the week was over. So, the second they finished the last exam, students came over, en masse, to take back their phones. When they arrived, I had music playing in the house, and it turned into a dance party. Finally, as they were heading out, they noticed a book in Arabic my neighbors has left on my porch. They asked me if it was my book, and then came the inevitable “do you speak Arabic?” Well, when I said no, they shoved the book in my face and told me to read the phonetic part, which I did. They were both shocked and amused to hear me speaking Arabic, and they made me read more and more. Finally they said “Madam you speak Arabic”. I explained that even though words had come out of my mouth, I didn't understand what I'd said. They laughed and explained, “Madame that's one of our prayers!”  

Strangers in a Strange Land Part 2

Words of wisdom my xunya! This was supposed to be in last weeks post, but didn't quite make it.


So, Christine asked me to write a few words about my experience in Guinea as a visitor. There's so much that it's hard to pinpoint what to write about; every day held a completely new experience. Traveling in the taxis, talking to Africans, meeting my sister's fellow volunteers. Eating food, sitting in on Guinean school classes; even hanging outside my sister's house under the yentenye fruit tree to escape the heat and playing with the neighbor kids. This is possibly why it's been hard for me to get something together for Christine to post in her blog. People ask me what my favorite part was, what was the most surprising or different, and I honestly can't pinpoint a particular theme. I liked it in Guinea, though, must to Christine's (and her fellow volunteers') surprise. It's one of the poorest and least developed countries in the world, yet the people there are still very real people; eking out a life for themselves and their family the best way they know how. They work hard, but they also know how to relax and enjoy life, taking it one minute at a time. They're very ignorant of the rest of the world, yet still friendly in their own way. Nobody does very well under the French education system, yet they're still intelligent and resourceful. They suffer from many health problems because of lack of sanitation and nutrition, but they are strong and resilient anyways. Being there helped me to understand what my sister, and most overseas volunteers, have to sacrifice and go through each day. Guinea is not for the faint of heart! Seriously. It is extremely difficult to live in, even as a third-world country. I admired the way that my sister stood up to merchants and taxi drivers trying to rip us off because we're white. She endures their ridicule and amusement when she speaks their native language. She's changed a lot and become much tougher. She's not phased by some things that she'd dislike at home! Peace Corps volunteers leave their money, their home, and their lifestyle to work in an often completely thankless job, trying to help the people of the world. I'm not sure that I could do it, so next time you talk to a Peace Corps volunteer (such as my sister), give them some props!

Strangers in a Strange Land

Last week, my family, or more specifically, my dad and sister Kathryn, came to visit me in Guinea. After anxiously awaiting their arrival, they finally came down the ramp and I burst into tears of joy. I couldn't believe they were actually in Guinea (and neither could they). It's been almost 10 months since I left the United States. Ten months since I've seen my family and my friends. Their coming to visit was an amazing treat. They brought over 50lbs of America with them in food, clothes and shoes! But more importantly, they saw extreme poverty for the first time and what life is really like in Africa.

When you make plans, Guinea gets in the way. This was one of the first things my family learned upon arrival. They also learned the useful arts of sitting, squishing, drinking water out of a plastic bag, bucket bathing, hand washing laundry, and last but not least, they dipped their toes into the pool that is the Susu language. But I'll let them tell you all about it. . .

[The following are excerpts from what my dad had to say about Guinea. Sadly, my sister didn't send me anything in time for me to put it in this week's blog.]

We visited Christine in Guinea. What a wonderful experience! I say wonderful wishing for a better word, but it was full of wonder. It is wonderful how very differently life transpires in Guinea in comparison to America. One of the many things that struck me in Guinea was the difference between Conakry and the less populated areas. The big town was generally filthy and dangerous, with little greenery in sight. The country and villages seemed to have much more spacious homes; they were far slower paced, with much more interpersonal communication. Am I biased toward rural areas? Absolutely. But this is true nonetheless. [In addition] children learn from birth the importance of family and community. They place a huge emphasis on being close to loved ones, asking about their well being, and supporting the extended family. Guineans pride themselves on their hospitality. They lavishly share the meals they have with those around. And they assume others will do the same for them.

[When it comes to resources] Guinea has the largest deposits of bauxite in the world. Bauxite is the raw material from which we produce aluminum. In the locations I visited, bauxite is everywhere. It paves the roads, comprises the stones for fences, walls, and road beds. During the dry season, the orange and red dust from bauxite permeates everything. Although bauxite lies on the surface of the earth through Lower Guinea, I never saw a bauxite mine. Further south, in the heart of the jungle, Guinea boast the world’s 2nd largest deposits of iron ore. Christine gave me a specimen of ore she collected. It looks to be a type of specular hematite, but is weakly magnetic. So it probably has traces of magnetite as well. These iron oxides are higher grades of ore than the more common deposits of pyrite (“fools gold”), which are high in sulphur. The iron deposits lie directly beneath the heart of the rainforest region, native home to primates and elephants. There are also diamonds and gold in Guinea. But the most obvious wealth I saw was their exotic woods. It was everywhere. Guineans use the spectacularly colored, fine grained, wood for the most unworthy of purposes such as construction lumber and (gasp) charcoal. For example, the ladder leading to the crawl space below Christine’s roof is in her bathroom. She will never use it. House guests will never see it. But it is probably 20 board feet of solid red rosewood (or something of similar color and consistency). They use the most highly prized woods, always solid, for chairs, doors, tables, bowls, everything. And they never realize any of these items, sold new in America, would fetch months, or even years of their local salary. Exotic wood from the tropics is as common and base in Guinea as pasteboard here.

My family being here was like looking at myself in a mirror for the first time since being here, and I didn't like everything I saw. It was difficult realizing that I've become an even more selfish person, which I attribute to my increased independence. I've become an angry person, and I'm always complaining about something. In the States, I never would have screamed at or openly mocked someone to get my way, but here I do it with alarming frequency. I guess what the mirror revealed wasn't all bad. My family pointed out how out-going I've become and how many friends I've made in my village. All of the children here love me, even when I don't give them candy (which says something). They saw me teach,and even though they found it extremely boring, they believe I'm making a difference and truly helping my students. They saw how strong I've become and how stubborn. I bet my mom didn't think I could be more stubborn!

Saying “goodbye” and not getting on the plane with them has proved to be one of the hardest things I've done so far. I really want to go home! I really miss all the wonderful people back at home, not to mention, the ease of which one can live there. Say what you will, I will really appreciate how convenient things are. They fact that i'll hopefully be home in August for a few weeks keeps me going. When it comes to Dad and Kathryn, I know it was really hard for them to leave me in Guinea, after seeing my life and what I put up with on a daily basis. I know they are proud, and they are already trying to plan another visit to Guinea! They had a great time, and learned a lot, which they are already sharing with friends back at home. Life changing? Probably, but you'll have to ask them.  

Sometimes I have days where I want to pack up  my bags and return to the land of wealth and luxury. Every PC volunteer has those days. However, whenever the going gets tough, there are always moments that remind me why I'm here, and why I can't leave.

I was walking home from school when one of my best and brightest students started complaining about the absence of their teachers, and the fact that the teachers aren't helping them get ready for the high school entrance exam. Last year, the teachers held tutoring sessions months before the exam, but so far, I'm the only one who has offered tutoring sessions. My student told me, "Madame, you are the only one fighting for us, and we really thank you for that." Talk about a reason to stay! All it took was that one sentence and I was reminded of my reason for coming here and why I can't leave yet!

Sorry for the late post and the fact that it's so short! I'm in the capital, Conakry, and just dropped my family off at the airport! Hopefully I'll be able to blog about their visit next week

Clean Drinking Water for Guinea?

In Guinea, as in most of Africa, there are two seasons; the rainy season and the dry season, each lasting around six months. During the rainy season, as you would expect, it rains a lot. At least once a day. During the month of August, it does nothing but rain. Laundry is out of the question, as is doing much of anything. During the dry season, it's dry. When I say dry, I mean no rain, no moisture, nothing. The wells and the streams dry up, and layers upon layers of dust build up on everything. Right now we are almost at the end of the dry season, and I'm really looking forward to the rains! It has rained twice since the end of rainy season in October. The first was a 30 minute shower back in December, the second was a five minute sprinkle that occurred two months ago. I was sound asleep when suddenly I heard rain falling on the roof. I jumped out of bed, ran outside, and stood in the rain. It was 2 am. Sadly, it was over all too soon so I climbed back into bed. Since then, it hasn't rained a DROP, although rainy season will officially start in about six weeks.

The six month gap of no rain has a huge impact on water security here. When the wells dry up, which they do around March or April, people are forced to used water sources that might not be as clean resulting in more sicknesses. The well that is next to my house is just about finished and it will remain dried up until the month of May. Fortunately, in the bigger villages like mine, we have pumps that bring up clean water from further down. In the smaller villages, they are often forced to drink contaminated water, which then then attempt to filter using a contraption using sand and the leg of a pair of jeans. 

So, what can be done about this problem? Well, I recently went to a training held in a suburb of Conakry, where I learned how to make a Biosand Water Filter (designed by CAWST). These filters, in the field, last forever, and remove around 80 percent of the bacteria, viruses, and other nasty things you find in the water here. They are fairly easy to make. You pour concrete into the mold, and then you fill it with layers of gravel and sand. The only substantial cost is getting the mold made. I am hoping to work with fellow volunteers Kelly and Sarah to start making and distributing the filters to people in need. The group that we worked with have been doing this project for about a year, and have given approximately 60 water filters to neighbors in the surrounding area. After the training, we walked around to look at the filters, and amazingly, almost ever single one was being used! The people with filters had nothing but good things to say about them. Since they started using the filters, they've gotten sick less often. I was really encouraged after going to this training! The water filters are useful, durable, easy to use, and immediately begin improving the lives of those who are using them!

Step One : The mold is oiled, and put together. Plastic tubing where water comes out is placed in the mold

Step Two: Concrete is mixed - cement, sand, gravel, water, and lots of work!

Step Three: Concrete is poured into the mold. The mold is beaten with a hammer to get all the air bubbles out. In the US, this process is done by a machine which vibrates and gets all the air bubbles out . 

Step Four : Concrete is set to dry for 18 hours, and now the filter looks like this. 

Step Five : Fill the filter with gravel and sand, and give to someone in need!

MISC

Ebola

Just wanted to let you all know that I'm alive and well! As you may or may not know, there has  been an ebola virus outbreak here in Guinea. It started in the forest region, but has recently spread to the capital city. As scary as Ebola sounds, as long as you aren't hanging around with infected people, or touching the corpses of those who have died, the risk is very small. I'll keep you updated of course, but it doesn't look like it will be bad enough to get us evacuated.

People Magazine 

If my village had their own version of People Magazine, I would be on the cover every month. People follow me around every day, they scream my name when they see me, and they are always taking photos and videos of me. I was in the middle of teaching last week when I looked up and noticed a student videotaping me! I'm sure my students alone could fill pages of those unattractive “real life” star pictures they like to include in magazines. As far as the gossip columns, I can only imagine what would circulate, because the people in my village spend a ridiculous time talking about me. Where I'm going, what I'm doing, what I'm eating. Everything. “Kadiatou was late for school today.” “Kadiatou went for a run today and she didn't greet me. She is so rude.” “Kadiatou bought rice at the market. Will she make rice and sauce for dinner?” “Did you see Kadiatou walking with so-and-so? I bet they are dating!”. They seem to find the most mundane things that I do worthy of conversation. They even discuss my fashion. “Did you see what Kadiatou was wearing today? It was so pretty!” I've recently noticed some of my girl students wearing copies of my dresses. I've even had someone ask to borrow my clothes so that they could have a tailor replicate it for them! You know what they say. Imitation is the sincerest form of praise. Being such a celebrity can be really overwhelming. Everyone here knows my name, and wants to talk to me. They carefully watch and judge everything in a manner some might call crazy. I often find myself wondering if this is how celebrities feel? I never thought I would find myself walking in their shoes!

Upcoming Events

Tomorrow marks month NINE in Guinea. Boy does time fly.

My family will be arriving Guinea this Sunday for Spring Break! I cannot wait to see them and to show them Guinea and my day-to-day life.

World Book Day is coming up, meaning that I will have 300 mini-books to distribute to my students. These books are a mixture of fables, plays, and fairytales that come in both French and English. This is part of a Peace Corps literacy initiative throughout the country. I haven't yet planned my World Book Day activity, so if you have any suggestions, feel free to email me 

The Day My Stove Tried to Kill Me

In life, there are good days, there are bad days, and there are days where you almost die. Here in Guinea, as a dirt-poor volunteer, I own a very shoddily made stove that runs on propane. It is easy to use, and while very dangerous, it gets my cooking done in a jiffy. So one day, I had planned a lovely dinner. I had bought eggplant and tomatoes at the market and was going to couple that with tortellini that my family sent. All was going well. I had 2 burners going, when a 12 inch flame shot up where the hose connects to the gas tank to the stove. I don't know how I moved so quickly, but I immediately shut off the gas, and the fire stopped. It was the gas from the tank that was fire, so with no more gas flow, no more fire. I stood in my kitchen shaking, and crying with the realization that my life could've ended. A gas tank exploding? Not a pretty way to go.

Once I had calmed down a little bit, I tried to call the volunteer who had organized the stove buying. No luck. Then, I tried calling the principal, so that I could try to get my hands on the kind of stoves they use here. After all, I still wanted to eat, and dinner was only half cooked. Well, his phone was dead, so I was left with a final option, go outside and talk to my neighbors who don't speak French. I started ranting to them, while they grunted and nodded at the appropriate times. Finally, they stopped me, and were said, yeah, we don't understand what you are saying, but have some tea! Eventually, they found someone who spoke enough French to understand, and before I knew it, I was sitting in front of my house preparing the rest of my dinner.

For several days after this occurrence, I was too scared to use my stove, and continued to cook outside with charcoal. I swear, I didn't choose to contribute to deforestation! As could be expected, me cooking outside for all the world to see is quite an ordeal. My neighbors all congregate around the house to watch the white person cooking her weird food. While this kind of stove has no temperature control, and takes forever, I found myself enjoying it and even now that my stove is “fixed” I still like to use it from time to time. I sit outside with music playing, and watch the kids dance while stirring whatever it is I'm cooking. It's nice to cook dinner and not have to worry about your life ending.  

Cooking Guinean style!

This is it. The stove that tried to kill me. 

My Makeshift kitchen

Once Upon A Spelling Bee

Earlier this month, I had the opportunity of participating in a volunteer-organized and country-wide spelling bee. Across Guinea, hundreds of middle school students competed against each other to qualify for spelling bees at both regional and national levels. While my students came nowhere close to winning their regional bee, it was a really good experience for them to get out of their isolated village and see a little bit of the country. I had a lot of fun not only hosting the bee at my school, but helping my kids prepare to compete regionally. It's something that I hope will become a Peace Corps Guinea tradition!

In the French language, as far as I know, there isn't exactly a word for Spelling Bee. The word that was given to me, “concours d'orthographe” was misunderstood, and understandably so, by the administration to mean “writing competition.” So the day of the bee arrived. Out of the 285 students at my school, 30 decided to participate. Out of those thirty, about seventy-five percent were students from the grades that I teach. For each of the grades, the French teacher had composed a subject and wrote that on the board. 7^th grade had to complete sentences with a or à, 8^th grade had to determine the prefix and the root of each given word, and 9^th and 10^th grade had to correctly conjugate the past participle for the given sentences. The results of the first round were quickly announced. Anyone that received a passing grade got to go on to the second round, which I explained was to be a spelling bee. The administration told me that they understood, but when the day of the bee arrived, they had actually prepared a dictation! This time I was able to stop them before the dictation took place and we finally had a real spelling bee.

Once the real spelling bee started, I was appalled by how it went down. The name of the student was read, and the student would stand up. The word was read, and they were given the chance to spell it. Not only were there many problems with students spelling synonyms, but plural words were frequently given without context. In English it is different because we actually pronounce the “s” as the end of words. In French, that “s” is silent, making it really hard on the kids. If that wasn't bad enough, they had to spell with all the accents and call them by the correct name. When a student would spell the word incorrectly, the director of studies would say “You were wrong. You are eliminated. Thanks. Go home.” Just like that! No, good job, good effort, or anything that I've heard after losing something. I guess it was short and to the point, but the kids had a lot riding on this and were so disappointed when they messed up. Throughout the bee, I was so nervous for all of the kids I knew. It didn't take long until we were down to three kids, one of my 9^th graders and two of my 10^th graders. They battled it out for awhile until one kid, Amadou finally secured first place. Labilé and Yaya battled for a while until Yaya triumphed. My heart broke when I saw Labilé's face. He was so disappointed and was on the verge of tears. When Guineans are actually trying to do something, they put great importance on winning. They don't want to face the shame later on if they lose.

So that was that. I now had two weeks to get these kids ready for regionals, where they'd be in unknown territory, competing with kids from urban areas and much better schools. We spent every other night of the next two weeks studying at my house...and they seemed to be ready for the big day.

I didn't notice how quiet and nervous the kids were until we'd arrived. It was very adorable and fellow volunteer, Liz, did everything she could to help them relax. We all ate rice together and then spent the afternoon playing spoons, which they picked up very quickly, and had a blast playing. Before too long, my kids left with the kids who were hosting them. While talking with Liz, she pointed out that they seemed to feel most comfortable when I was around. “You are the only taste of home they have” she explained, which is ironic, because I'm the only strange thing “au village”.

All throughout the next morning, volunteers from the region started arriving. All the students sat around NOT talking, instead using their time to study for the bee. Finally, around 3pm, we headed for the bee! They had set up chairs, tables, and a sound system in the town's cultural center. There was a bigger crown anyone expected, and it was clear that all the kids were really nervous, and some appeared to be on the verge of tears. After all the judges were introduced, and the rules were announced, and it got underway. There were 2 phases. In phase 1, they would go around three times, and if they got two out of three words correct, they could continue to phase 2, which was more like a traditional bee. Here I was, like a parent nervous for my kids. Sadly, they did really poorly. They tried, but got zero out of the three words right. It's hard to say why. A lot of it was nerves, and some of it was not understanding the words and spelling synonyms instead. It was pretty tragic, because every other kid there got the two words right, sauf mes élèves. The rest of the bee didn't take long, because the students were eliminated quickly. The winners were two kids from a private school, which is kind of unfair if you ask me. All the other kids were from public school.

All of the losers were really depressed and almost in tears. My kids asked if they could go straight back to the village instead of going to the volleyball game and trip to the night club we had planned for them. It was already six, and way to late to head back to my village, so thankfully I was able to talk them into staying. The volleyball game was awesome. Our team was really bad, but it was still a blast. I'm looking forward to trying to teach my kids volleyball back at school.

So that was Guinea's first spelling bee! While my students didn't win, I still think it was a good experience for them. They really got a reality check. Not only did they get to see a little more of the country, they learned that even though they are numbers 1 and 2 in our school, they are going to have to work hard because they won't always be on top. It was also a reality check for me! It's going to be really hard getting my kids ready for the real world. I'm really nervous about the end-of-the-year test my 10 graders will take. I'll be a nervous wreck that whole week and until the results come out. I care about these kids more than I thought would be possible!

Pictures (Monkey Addition)

So I've been traveling for Peace Corps trainings during these past few weeks, and haven't had time to write a decent post. While I get my thoughts together for next week, please enjoy the pictures of monkeys I took at my neighbors house.

This guy likes to chase me to school sometimes. True story.

This is one of my students, and he was determined to get the her to look at the camera

And, because it might be the cutest picture I've ever taken, 

A Day in the Life

I've spent just about seven months here and I still don't have a many “standard” days. Nevertheless, as requested by one of my readers, I thought I'd describe some my day-to-day life for you.

SUNDAY

Sunday is day three of my weekend, so I'm usually pretty rested and ready to face market day. However, since I don't have to be up before dawn, I'll stay in bed until 8 or 9 before braving the world. The minute I open my door, it's a whirlwind of Susu greetings. “I xi. Tana mu xi? Heri xi?...” Once my door is opened, my neighbors bring over a crockpot of ye frais. Ye frais is a sickenly sweet, liquid breakfast food made with balls of flour, water, sugar, and tea, and no matter what I do, they continue to bring it to me on a daily basis. I appreciate the gesture, but I hate that I end up wasting it. After disposing of the ye frais, I'll go into the kitchen with a post-it and write out my shopping list. It usually looks a little something like this.

-onions

-garlic

-tomato paste

-potatoes

-laundry soap

-mustard

-…

You get the idea. Finally, I head to the market, dreading the chaos. On market day, the population of my village seems to triple and the space seems to shrink. Vans, trucks, and taxis come from all over and converge on little Coliah resulting in packed streets, cars everywhere, and the overwhelming sound of hundreds of people shouting the name and the price of what they are selling. I wade through the throng of people, running into students and friends, and weaving around the piles of onions, fabric, housewares, etc. Eventually, I end up at my favorite market lady's boutique where I can knock out about 50% of my list. As I continue to look for the rest, people scream fote at me, and ask where I need a taxi to...not believing me when I say I live here.

Due to the shear amount of people and traffic. I've adopted the the Getgo motto “Get in. Get out. Get going” and I'm usually back to my house before 10 am. So what do I do for the next 6-8 hours? I read, I write, I lesson plan for the week, and I usually take an hour to make a “decent” meal. After chowing down, I'll head to the well and fill up my buckets, and if I'm lucky they'll actually let me haul up the water. This always provides entertainment for the neighbors. While I do it just as well as they do, the fact that I'm white makes it hysterical.

Sundays really are my laziest day. As I mentioned, I'll read, lesson plan, and I'll often hammock in front of my house. This isn't as relaxing as you'd think. My neighbors will either sit around me and talk to me, or just wander over, greet me, and stare at my for five minutes before going back to what they were doing before. If I fall asleep, I'm always awoken by people yelling in Susu, KADIATOU HOW ARE YOU? YOU ARE SLEEPING? HAHAHA! They then turn to anyone around and say “look, the white person is sleeping in a hammock” in their mocking and sarcastic tone. When the sun starts to set, I'll head in, take my bucket bath, and eat dinner before barricading myself in for the night. And finally, before hitting the sack, I'll call the fam and talk for a solid one to two hours.

MONDAY

Mondays are a special day. By special, I mean really busy. I wake up at 6:30, get ready for school, and get the bugs, who had free run of my house all night, under control. I open up my door, the greetings start, and I wait for the crock pot to arrive. Once that has arrived, I head to school. On the way, I walk past the old ladies sweeping the road, and the sleepy market looking like a house the morning after a party. I greet the people who are up and about, and people scream fote at me. I continue walking to school where I'll see the sun rising over the mountains. I'm usually one of the first people at school, so I sit and wait for everyone else to arrive. At 7:45 the raise the flag. The students gather around the flag pole and sing as it's going up. At 8 I head to the classroom. Most of the students aren’t' there yet, and the chalkboard hasn't been erased. By 8:10 I can usually start class, where I spend the next hour and fifty minutes trying to do a lesson while continuously telling the kids to stop talking. Once my first class is over, I spend the 15 minute break eating a bean sandwich and taking my malaria meds. By 10:25 I'm able to start my next class which goes about as well as the first and before I know it, it's over. I then head to my final class of the day. English. At this point, the kids are antsy and won't shut up, so we get a small amount covered, and then I let them go. By now, it's 2 pm and I head home, stopping to buy hardboiled eggs, or bananas on the way. I quickly eat, and then collapse on the floor for a quick nap. At 3:30, I'm up and head back to school for “revisions.” Revision sessions are basically after-school tutoring. About half of my class will show up, and we spend the next two hours going over problems. At 6, the session is over, and I walk back with my students answering all of their English questions. Along the way, I am greeted by the villagers and my students cackle each time I use the local language. They proceed to ask “Madame. You speak a little Susu?” Upon arriving at the house, I take my buckets to the well and return the crock pot. After that, it's time to throw dinner together. By the time I'm done with dinner, night has fallen, so I shut my door and call it a day.

TUESDAY

Tuesdays are a little different in that I don't have school until noon! I can sleep in, do my laundry, and clean the house. I will also sometimes do “spa” days, be it painting my nails, shaving, or doing a face mask. After killing time all morning, I head to school for 10^th grade English. They laugh at lot at their pronunciation and sit there and talk the whole time while I tell them to SHUT UP. After class, I head home, grab my laptop, and immediately leave again. I walk to the taxi gare, where I sit in a plastic chair for the next two hours waiting for my computer to charge. During those two hours, I do an English lesson with the owner of a boutique, who is quite a character. He has a very fiery personality, and is quick to anger. I've had lessons abruptly end because he gets into fist fights or screaming matches with people. I'm also forced to eat rice and sauce which I force down and then gag on because it's so spicy. They then give me a bag of water and sit there howling because the fote can't handle her peppers. After English, I usually get held up by students who ask me to go over problems with them. Imagine teaching on a rickety chalkboard, in an alley, under the shade of a mango tree and having every passerby stare at the math as if it's sorcery. After two hours of this, I head home for the standard evening routine; water, dinner, reading, and writing.