#standard

Fellow volunteer Kelly and I are always complaining about things here, and after most of what we say, we inset the word “standard”. In that same spirit, I've noted some of the things I consider standard that definitely aren't, and I'm asking you, the reader, to determine the top 5. In two weeks, I'll reveal the results, and explain in detail, each of those ridiculous occurrences.

• The critters that have taken over my house
• having a package take 3+ months to reach me
• daily marriage proposals
• the amount of time traveling short distances goes
• having paparazzi
• me screaming at people (daily)
• the beating of women and children
• “food” = rice, fish, spicy peppers, and harmful microbes
• cramming 8+ people into a 5 person car
• having at least 75% students fail exams
• explaining the US is in North America
• having to give my food to complete strangers
• how d'body, how d'business
• no electricity, no running water

While some of those things are pretty serious, this is supposed to be entertaining. Let me know your top 5 and feel free to submit anything ridiculous that I forgot to mention!

My Best Day in Guinea

They say the first three months at your village are the worst months of your Peace Corps service. I'm only a month past that mark, but things have taken a turn for the better. Overall, school is going well, I've repeatedly seen evidence of the Guinean hospitality I'd heard of, and overall, I've become much more resilient.

The day started out normally. I woke up and went to school, ready to teach my two classes. As usual, many students were late, and tried to enter my classroom anyway. At one point, the Director of Education walked in, students in tow, and asked me to let them into class. He explained that they come from far away, and so I reluctantly let them in, giving the typical speech that late comers are distractions to the class. After school, I headed home, glad it was finally the weekend. Not five minutes later, a huge fight broke out next door between a husband and a wife. While this is a pretty normal occurrence, I knew I couldn't unwind with the sounds of screaming and beatings in the background. So, in the midst of the chaos, I was able to slip out, with my bike, unnoticed. Not an easy feat as the only white person within miles. I had no goal, and no time to be back. I think that's how the best days always start.

I headed down one of the many dirt roads around here, choosing one that I rarely take. In about half an hour, I had passed into unknown territory. I passed over a pretty sad excuse for a bridge that looming over a dried up riverbed, and the occasional hut with wide-eyed, toothless, old ladies who would beam when I greeted them in Susu. At one point, I saw a sign in Arabic with “3k” painted underneath it and figured, why not? I was soon walking my bike up a pretty mean hill and a very bad road. The “road” kept going up and up and soon I had a great view of the surrounding area. Where was my camera when I needed it? Before too long, I had returned to the “main road” where I continued my journey. After a little while, I heard the sound of a group of people on bikes. It turned out to be three of my ninth graders, the same ninth graders who had showed up late for school earlier. Now I understood why. They had to make this trip everyday and considering the fact that it's dark until 7, I am amazed they are able to make it in by 8:15. Even though I was about to turn around and head back, I decided to continue with my students and visit their village. While they claimed it was far away, we arrived in about 15 minutes. Now I'm not exactly sure how this next part happened, but I agreed to rest before heading back. One of my students sat me in a plastic chair and that's when what seemed like every person in the village came to stare at me. As usual, the kids were first to the scene, eyes bulging, and a little scared. Next came the old men who greeted me a little too enthusiastically, and then sat with me. Finally, all the women came over to greet me. Surprisingly, most of them attempted to greet me in French, not Susu. “Ca ba?” They would say. “Ca ba bien?”

A while later, the student who had sat me down suddenly reappeared with his mother who was holding a little plate with vibrantly colored pink kola nuts and a 5000 franc bill. I nu seni, welcome, she declared, and after the gift was approved by the elders, she placed it on my lap. Kola nuts. I had heard lots about them. They are the traditional gift for marriages, funerals, and any other important occasion. I had eaten them before, so I knew how nasty the taste was, but I had never been given them in a setting like this. I awkwardly asked my students if I was supposed to eat them here, under the watchful eye of every villager. They said “yes”, so I took a big ole crunch out the bitter, dirty, “nut”. As I'm trying to get down an entire one, I was presented with 4 little white eggs which they placed upon the plate. Not 5 minutes had gone by when they brought yet another gift. A sack of about 20 oranges. I was so taken aback. I was speechless and overwhelmed by the gesture. I won't lie, I even teared up a little. I also wanted to know how I would bike back with this burden. I couldn't worry about that for too long, because another gift was on the way. Papaya! Only one papaya, but it looked amazing and turned out to be the best I'd ever had. After this, the flow of gifts finally stopped. As I continued to sit there, the elders talked among themselves and the women returned to their chores. Before too long, I got a marriage proposal by a man who later asked me to think of him as a father. So father or husband? Maybe he was just trying to fill what he perceived as needs on my part. I didn't want to be rude, but after an hour of just sitting there, I stood up and announced my need to leave. I said farewell to everyone and headed towards my bike. Before I could make it there, they sat me down in the chair again asking me to wait until my “escort” was ready. Since my bike doesn't have a rack, they sent along a student, whose bike did have a bike rack. As they were attaching all of my gifts, they brought out a final one. They dumped what was about 1.5 kilos of peanuts into the sack with the oranges and the papaya. What could I say but thank you? It wasn't enough, but it was all I had at the moment. The kids escorted me out of the village where I was finally given my bike and allowed to head home. I was blissfully content on the ride home. The view was gorgeous, the ride refreshing, and the promise of a great two years hung in the air.

Now, a week later, the gifts are gone (minus the peanuts). The original oranges eaten, have been replaced with new oranges given to me by my students. In fact, just the other day, a student stopped by the house to give me not one, not two, but TEN oranges. Again, I had nothing to say but managed to gasp thank you. These gestures, and they mean so much here, show a more generous and giving culture than I'd encountered in my first six months here. It's the Guinea I'd heard about since arriving here last July.  

Catching Fire

Disclaimer: This post isn't a review of the newly released Hunger Games movie, nor is it a clever metaphor for my service here in Guinea.



You haven't really taught school until you've had to administer an exam in the middle of a raging fire. I wish that was some elegant metaphor, but it's not and here's the story.

When dry season rolls around, the people here take to burning all of the fields both for the duel purpose of nitrogen fixation, and to prevent wildfires from starting later on in the season.
So, I was on break between classes and started to hear a very loud noise. All of the students ran to the other side of the school and of course I followed them to see what was going on. The field behind the school was on fire! The kids returned to the classroom shortly, but then the smoke started to roll in. All my students pointed to it and explained "c'est comme ça en Afrique" and asked if we could wait a few minutes before starting. Well, the classroom was filled with smoke, so I had NO problem with that and they all ran back out of the classroom coughing and rubbing their eyes. Five minutes later, the smoke had dissipated somewhat and I asked the class if they wanted to start the test or wait a little bit longer. They all said "Madame, let's get this over with" [rough translation]. So, we started, and finished, the test in the middle of this raging fire. The students were coughing, tearing up, and waving their scarves over their heads the entire time. At one point, the fire was burning the plants directly underneath the classroom windows. The cackling was immensely loud and it was pretty terrifying. My students aren't permitted to talk, but they would occasionally look up and tell me that life here is hard and how could I punish them for that? Amazingly, the grades from this exam were the best so far…all it took was lighting a fire underneath them.

There and Back Again, a Fote's Tale

As you may or may not know, I traveled to Guinea's “forest region” for Christmas. Since I'd arrived in Guinea, I'd considered the forest region a forbidden, faraway land that was both strange and magical. It wasn't without reason that I had these notions. Due to ethnic violence and it's proximity to both Sierra Leone and Liberia, Peace Corps has not placed volunteers in this region since the early 2000s, and due to the outbreaks of violence, travel there is frequently prohibited. As for being far away? Living where I do, you can't be too much further from the forest. I had heard stories of the wild elephants and chimpanzees that live in the forest. Finally, the forest was where all the Christians were, and where all the animists were with their beads, monkey skulls, and pagan rituals. While I didn't see any elephants, chimps, or monkey skills, I still maintain that La Guinée forestière is a bizarre and fascinating place.

TRANSPORTATION

As I'm sure you know, transportation can be quite an ordeal in this country...and this trip was no exception. I easily spent over 60 hours in a taxi. To get to N'zerekore, I traveled directly from the capital city, Conakry, which took exactly 24 hours. 21 hours of driving and 3 hours of breaks, break-downs, and military harassment. But actually, the fact that it took 24 hours and not more is pretty impressive!

One of the most amusing things to happen on the trip was when our driver stopped to buy a bush-rat. Averaging about 20 pounds, bush-rats definitely fit into the ROUS category (rodents of unusual size). They look like a cross between a groundhog and a rat. It was news to me, but apparently, bush-rat is a delicacy and our driver shelled out a lot of dough for that bad boy, attaching it to the luggage rack before continuing on the way. The rat proved rather troublesome later on when we were at a roadblock and the gens d'armes wanted our driver to give them the bush-rat as a bribe. It involved lots of arguing, but we were able to continue on, bush-rat still attached. I sure hope he had a good meal of it!

So all of that was getting there, and there was still the problem of returning. Part of the trip involved celebrating New Years in haute Guinea's Kankan. The ride from the forest to Kankan took 14 hours and took place on the worst road I've seen so far. I actually spent that ride in the trunk of our taxi because it was much more comfortable than squishing with everyone in the back seat. Don't worry though, this was a station-wagon trunk so I had light, air, and could climb back into the seat at anytime.

That brings me to the last big segment of the trip. Kankan to Coliah, my village. The ride from Kankan to Conakry was supposed to take another 13-14 hours. However, 14 hours later, we were still hours and hours from the capital. Why do you ask? Well for one thing, early-on we had gone off the road and damaged the car's bumper. Then, we got held up at all the roadblocks and the construction that was going on . Quite often we had to wait for herds of cows to clear the road and our driver complained about his damaged car to anyone that would listen. In addition, once darkness fell, we got a flat tire and our diver didn't have a jack. While he went searching for one, I had my lowest moment in Guinea. Due to the flat, we'd all had to pile out of the car, but I was feverish and on the verge of passing at. There was no great place to lie down, so delirious, I spent the next half-hour sprawled across the road sweating, head pounding, ears ringing, and being poked by all the other worried passengers. At some point medicine finally kicked in, the flat was fixed, and before I knew it we were stopping at a volunteers hut to spend the night. We continued our journey the next morning and by that evening, I finally rolled into my village.

MOUNTAINS

One of the great appeals of the forest region is the change to climb Mt. Nimba, Guinea's highest point. Climbing the mountain costs a lot because it's on a reserve and you had to purchase a permit and pay for guides to take you up. However, we were able to get everything worked out and at 7 am we began our trek, eager to summit the mountain. The first part of the trek led through the forest up and down rolling hills and across a river. Aside from some really cool trees, the forest didn't seem too different from one you would find in the US. This first, forest part, was a challenge, but at least it was in the shade. All too soon we had cleared the forest and came to a series of four or five very steep slopes that we had to climb. However, almost as a reward for making it up that first slope, we heard the call of the chimps ringing in the forest.

The series of hills was a painstakingly slow and grueling march and we all collapsed when we got to the base of the summit. We enjoyed a nice lunch that we had packed and hauled up that we then had to share with our guides. No one told us in advance that the guides take neither food nor water up the mountain and instead just take it from the trekkers. At one point they took one of my waterbottles and I never got it back! In my humble opinion, t's not very prudent to climb a mountain without supplies, but the guides explained “that's how things are.” While chowing down, we were treated to cool water from a water source, and we basked in the shade surrounding the water. Then came the final ascent. While I was exhausted, it wasn't too bad and before I knew it, I had joined the “victors” circle at the top.

At this point it should be noted that Mt. Nimba's summit is located in both Guinea and in the Ivory Coast. The two countries share the summit, allowing one to be in 2 countries at the same time! Since arriving in Guinea, we'd all be secretly wanting to do an on-foot border crossing...and that's exactly what we did. The view, as you'll see shortly, was spectacular despite the clouds. The mountain range forming the border stretched on for miles, boarded on both sides by forests.

Well, the hike up had taken 6 hours, so all too soon it was time to head back down. The hike back was much worse. All the very steep things we'd come up became the very steep things we had to climb down and we all fell more times than we could count. The trek back through the forest was equally exhausting, but we were in for a surprise when we stumbled into a clearing and saw a very surprised white woman. Stephanie was her name and she is an American doing research on the chimpanzees for Cambridge University. The way she is living seems crazy even to me. She is incredibly isolated in that forest, and never even gets to go into the city. She was obviously thrilled to see other Americans and we enjoyed a nice chat before resuming our trip.

6 hours after summiting, we were back where we had started that morning. Tired, sweaty, and hungry, but happy and proud of what we'd accomplished. I could say more, but I'll let the pictures speak for themselves. 

G-24 at the summit

After a long hike, G24 goes topless

Our guides

Driving through Haute Guinea

As close to McDonald's as I'll get here

Made it to the top!

Victory Cuban

N'Zerekore

View from the summit

Heading back down the mountain

Nearing the summit

Mt. Nimba

View from the summit

SLEEPS 'N EATS

The never ending Peace Corps Volunteer dilemma. Do we use our hard earned money for a nice hotel room where we can just relax and bathe in luxury, or do we become stingy and stay in a dirt-cheap, critter-infested hotel that may also function as a brothel? My solution so far has been to try and find something in-between, and for the majority of the trip, that's exactly what I did. We were able to find a cute and reasonably priced restaurant/hotel combo with a generous and welcoming senegalese woman running it. She was very familiar with Peace Corps and was more than happy to have us stay there. The first night, she gave us each a FREE dinner and the next morning she brought me breakfast in bed. Tea and toast with butter and jelly? I had tears of joy running down my face. During our stay we didn't always get free food, but every meal we paid for there was more than worth it. It was hands down the best food I've had in the past 6^th months. Because I was sick for most of the trip, I spent most nights at the hotel. One night Kelly and I asked for loco (fried plantains) and peanut brittle. An hour later, she brought us back a plate of each, free of charge! Her hospitality knew no limits and she even invited us to stay with her if we are ever in the capital at the same time.

Sadly this couldn't last forever and all too soon we said goodbye before heading to our next destination. The hotel there was a measly 30 000/night. A nice hotel will run you 500 000/night, and a decent one 150 000/night, so you can imagine just how crappy this hotel was. It was definitely one of those places where people take prostitutes. It was very relieved when we left 2 nights later.

FOREST CULTURE

And this brings us to the last section, forest culture. If you've read my blog before this, you are familiar with the word FOTE, how I feel about it, and that it is screamed at me on a daily basis. Get this. Not only was I not called FOTE in the forest, I wasn't even called the equivalent in their language. The forest has an insane amount of “tribal”, or local, languages, and there was never any one word continuously screamed at us like there is chez moi. When we passed kids, they didn't take to screaming! Sure they stared, but then they would go back to what they doing. With few exceptions, the adults who greeted me used Madame and didn't jeeringly use “la blanche” or their equivalent of white person. It was incredibly refreshing to walk somewhere being treated like a normal person. I had forgotten what it felt like.

Since I didn't really have any long conversations with people native to the forest, I can't say much more about the culture. To me, I observed a friendly, welcoming, laid back, and vibrant culture. Whatever they are doing down there, they are doing it right!

And so concludes this FOTES tale. It was a long trip there and an even longer trip back, but when I finally returned to my village I was greeted with the beaming faces of people who had missed me and were glad I had returned. So even though I had my lowest moment in Guinea on the trip, it was balanced by the fact that my first afternoon back home was probably one of my best days in Guinea. For the moment, I've done all the traveling I can handle and will be staying “au village” until further notice!