20 Jun 12
Gregory David Roberts describes it best in Shantaram (a phenomenal
read) when he writes “A man can make his way in the city with his heart and
soul crushed within a clenched fist; but to live in a village, he has to unfurl
his heart and his soul in his eyes.”
Gregory, or Lin as he was in the story, was an escaped felon who fled to
India and spent six months in a friends village and having the opportunity to
stay in the village he knew that he couldn’t because the truth in his eyes and
heart was that he was a criminal. And
that lie of trying to pretend he wasn’t or the truth that he was, was bound to
be exposed in those bright orbs situated just above the nose and below the
brows that people in villages can read better than they can read words in a
book.
I think to experience a village, if even for a day and if even just by
glimpse, is bound to change someone’s life forever. Let alone staying a night, or living there
for two years. None of us are same
people that left those months ago to begin our Peace Corps journey. And how could we be? Some of us are in villages where the people
haven’t been eating (mine has been eating).
This means for some that the volunteers don’t eat either. Depending on if they cook for themselves or
not. I only had to watch my four year
old brother starve one night when the goats ate the dinner, and it is not easy
to observe, not to be a part of. And it
is a harsh reality of a majority of the world.
Guilt I think is the bane of most of our existence as PCVs. The secret is that we place it on ourselves
more than anything or anyone else. “I’m
not interacting with my community enough, I should be trying to speak their
language more, I should be meeting more people, I shouldn’t eat this awesome
and tasty food when they aren’t eating anything, I should I should I shouldn’t
I should…”
But the other truth is that in order to be an effective and successful
volunteer, we have to take care of ourselves first. It’s a hard truth to realize while living in
such a tight community where people think in terms of the village and community
rather than thinking of themselves only, as whatever fate befalls them, befalls
some aspect of the community as well, and visa versa.
The first two weeks were difficult.
It’s always a little bit awkward adjusting to any new place for the
first time, especially when you don’t speak the language, well. And while each
day has it’s several highs and lows, for the most part, as I become more and
more integrated, village life is getting better and better. I leave about once a week for some of the day
to make the 20 some km round trip to the luumo or large market in the closest
town. Until quite recently I had an awesome
site mate that I could go to the luumo with who had electricity and access to
the internet. But for personal reasons
she is having to end her service early leaving me to face the crowded chaotic
market day solo. But the having to do it
solo has been good. I’ve made some
friends with vegetable and mango sellers that they always throw in an extra
pepper or mango simply because I can greet them and speak some of their
language.
I’m finding it to be true that people that have absolutely nothing are
more likely to give absolutely everything verses someone who has
everything. That latter person tends to
hold on to their things tight unwilling to give up anything or if they do they
do it rather reluctantly. I fall into
that latter description. It’s a horrible
force of habit for me to not give up my things willing and freely. The people here, with their incredible
generosity make me feel like the queen of materialism.
But there’s another head to that coin.
A lot of the time I think people just want something from a Westerner
for the simple fact that it’s from a Westerner.
This includes medicines. I don’t
want them to get used to relying on me or my things so I hold back for those
reasons. But that still doesn’t change
that even in my own element back in the States, I was much less willing to give
as the people here are and I can say that I probably had much more I could have
given than they do.
Moving on: my village is about 2-300 strong in number. There is a school that educates children
grades 1-9 that serves at least the two villages that sandwich the school. The grade has more to do with the level than
the age of the child. A grade 3
classroom for instance can have children aged 8-18. An older student is more likely to be a boy
than a girl. Young women, depending on
their tribe and village, can be married or having children by as early as
13. My village seems to be a bit more
progressive which is common amongst my people, the Wolof’s. Boys are starting to more commonly be
circumcised in a health clinic opposed to the bush where women may not be circumcised
at all, at least amongst the Wolof’s, and women are waiting until maybe 19 or
20 to marry. One of my host sisters told
me the other day that she doesn’t want to marry now (she’s 20) and that when
she does, she only wants 2-4 children.
That’s huge where it’s more common to have at least ten children.
Back to the school: the headmaster is almost just as interested in
trees as I am and has more polypots (small temporary nursing sacks for trees) of
mangos than I do. He’s also growing
cassava, cashew, and other vegetables.
He’s my prospective counterpart for the moment where our prospective
projects will include a polypot demo which will involve the community and
school to start a large school or village nursery of several locally important
Native species, important alley cropping species and live fencing species that
can also act as a good windbreak. Alley
cropping is the introduction of typically nitrogen fixing trees that can be interplanted
amongst crops in farms or gardens that contribute to soil stability reducing
erosion, offer some shade, nutrients, and depending on the tree, can provide
crops themselves as the Pigeon Pea tree that produces edible beans. Lueceana is another good alley cropping
species here and is also good for live fencing and could also act as a wind
break which is important for helping to prevent seed dispersal, etc. More good live fencing species include, for
those interested, Winter thorn, Egyptian thorn, Sisal which is not a tree but
resembles an Agave plant, etc . These
might go into some orchards or wood lots.
Another potential project, if the people get the local fence(s) built,
will be to start/help people with Cashew orchards. One cashew tree can earn a family more money
than sixty mango trees. For instance,
one lg bag, about one lg handful, goes for 50 Dalasi where one Mango goes for 1
Dalasi.
Anyway another reason why the school headmaster makes a good temporary
if not permanent counterpart is that he speaks very good English as students
here are taught in English as it’s the country’s official language. That makes communication much much easier!
The village has an SMC, school meeting committee, which reminds me of a
PTA. Members of the community meet on
Sundays to discuss issues with the school and children and education. There is also a PPM, a participatory
parenting monitoring group. This meets
less often where the idea is to have parents as partners to help improve their
child’s education. I think I’ve said
this in an earlier post, but one of the reasons why they put a volunteer in
this village is because they wanted to improve the literacy of their
children. The adults were or are
embarrassed with how illiterate they are and want a different outcome for the
next generations. My village is on it!
Nungi ci kawan!
As on it as they are, and even with the faded murals of how important
trees are for our community, it doesn’t stop the sound of chainsaws buzzing
hauntingly above all the other more harmonious and peaceful village
sounds.
I’ve wanted hanging shelves from day one and started to ask more and
more for how to get them. I don’t really
think there’s a word for shelf as they aren’t used in the mud huts. After drawing pictures and flapping myself
silly with hand gestures, I was instructed to follow the sound of the
chainsaws.
It kind of felt like a gang of us as my younger brother and sister, two
older sisters, and community rep/cousin which is also called a sister, and
friend, all decided to come with me into the bush to ask the chainsaw men about
my shelves.
Just about everyone knows the toubab that lives in my village, all over
the country really I get people that call me by name rather than toubab. You get famous here pretty quickly. Even though I have never met the sewer’s
before, they all knew me and everything anyone has said about me which is bound
to spread through the village and neighboring ones faster than a brush
fire. They were excited to see me and
humorously curious about what I could possibly want with my rally of friends
and family behind me. It kind of felt
like a scene from Ferngully but in the African bush, without ferns, “Bushgully,”
and they were the bad guys I was here to stop.
But I am here to observe only now.
And the trees were felled anyway.
So I asked in my broken Wolof and English for four cuttings to use as
shelves. Somehow, after several hours of
waiting and translations, I got four of some of the freshest and finest African
mahogany shelves $7 US can buy. They
were quite heavy and so were kindly loaded onto a donkey cart to be delivered
to my door that very night. You can’t
get better service than that! So yes, I
too benefited from the deforestation.
Hopefully we’ll add more trees and then some to make up for the
difference.
The people cut the wood into rough uneven sections and slates to use as
a bed surface. I see random pieces of
the fine wood used as stumps to sit upon, or just carelessly discarded in the
village without a known use or function.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Before the rain comes, while there’s always much work for the women,
there’s not a ton of work being done.
Mostly people find a comfortable shady spot to wait out the heat and
talk or nap. Attaya, I must have
mentioned, is green tea (from China) that is brewed with more sugar than tea
and shared with all within reach and is a common social pass time. I resign from drinking much of it as it’s
really ridiculously sweet, but a sip once in a while is nice.
Kids run around, play marbles, push wheels with wires or sticks, make
propellers out of some thick dry grass type thing, wrestle, play hand slapping
games like patty cake but not patty cake, etc.
The women have their infants wrapped around their backs allowing them
to still work. Baby’s will be in that
position as women haul huge laundry basins of water on their head, pound rice
or coos, or millet, doing laundry, etc.
The women here are quite strong, both physically and emotionally. Early on I tried to tell them that they were
strong and in the heart also but people don’t speak like that here, so I pretty
much just got a lot of laughter. I don’t
know that they will ever realize or understand how impressed and in awed I am
by them and the lives they leave. There
would be no Gambia without them. Another
thing I’m sure I’ve said before but seems worth mentioning again.
The clothes they wash by hand are probably cleaner than even the best
washing machine washed clothes could ever be.
The food they prepare using the most simple and basic of ingredients,
much of which from the land or ground from their hard labor, is better tasting
than most restaurants have to offer in the states. Also better for you. Given that, that doesn’t mean I don’t miss
and crave American food. But ironically,
I find that American like food is starting to make me more sick now than
Gambian food. How the tables do turn.
Overall my village is wonderful.
I couldn’t be more lucky or excited about my placement. I feel that the people barely need me but am
excited to help motivate those that maybe just need a little push to get the
balls rolling for them. I’m happy and
hopeful, and as earlier stated, forever changed.
