Re-adjustment is like a Microsoft Word upgrade

This is probably my last post to this Peace Corps blog.  It is August 25, 2014.  I've been out of The Gambia now for over three months and only "home" over one month.

Transitioning has been rough.  They tell us so but it's still been surprising to me how tough its been.  I used up the Peace Corps 127-C counseling instantly.  It was nice but I think I used it too early.  I felt like I wanted to burn through those 127-C forms as quickly as possible to put Peace Corps behind me allowing me to pave the way forward. 

I didn't figure I could afford more counseling and looked up PTSD online and found that talk therapy and or drugs are the only way through it, if that's even what this was.  I've been working late at our local bar and have a ten mile plus drive home.  I tried "talk therapy" to myself on those drives home since I was still feeling anxiety about driving that quiet road in those quiet hours.

And, surprisingly, after just a couple sessions of talking it out to the omnipresent ether, I noticed a huge difference.  The big breakthrough was when I was able to find an appropriate analogy to explain why this was so difficult.

I found that you could make the argument that we are all writers of our lives.  To write you need software or a program.  Microsoft Word is one such program that allows you to write documents.  Back in the day, it had a much different look than it does now.  Until Vista made it's appearance and forever transformed how we use Word, prior users had become quite good and comfortable, even professionally so, navigating through the program performing fancy edits and formatting styles suitable to the document they were fashioning.  Then Vista changed everything.  It was supposed to be a cleaner, more visually appealing, user friendly format.  And perhaps it is.  But it took some adjustment and figuring out.  There was definitely a learning curve.  And while we re-oriented ourselves, whatever documents we were trying to write in the mean time took a little longer than maybe they would have back in the Word '97 days.

And such is life.  We figure ourselves out in a certain context until we become masters of our own existence in that time and place until... BAM.  Some transition.  Something comes up and throws us off our path a little bit.  Much like an upgrade, taking time to download first of all, and then, depending on the magnitude of the upgrade, forcing us to feel like we're back to square one.  Starting over in a program we've formerly mastered.  Such transitions can be anything from moving to a new town, going to or coming from Peace Corps or other long term overseas stent, marriage, divorce, children, a new job, loosing a job, etc.

What has helped me is knowing that I'm not starting over from scratch.  The software is there and I can still write.  I just need to re-learn where all the tricks are for the fancy edits and formats.  The ctrl+f and ctrl+z and ctrl+n.  I don't know why but for some reason just realizing that I'm not broken or damaged, just upgraded, helped make me feel tons better.  And two years of cultural experience from West Africa denotes a little longer upload time.  That makes sense.  This is something I can work with.  I'm just re-orienting myself in a system upgrade.  I've done it before.  And I can do it again.

Whether you are going into or coming out of, or even currently in the Peace Corps, be patient with yourself every step of the way.  Beginning, serving, and ending Peace Corps is like a microcosm of life.  While this side of it is a little disconcerting, I wouldn't have changed anything for the world.  Go forth and  wage peace and friendship wherever you go.  For it is only when we know each other and better understand each other that ignorance and hatred have no place to live.

Best of luck to you, wherever you are on your life journey!  ~Peace~

Peace Corps The Gambia- Night and Day, by Ryan B.

An amazing video by Ryan.  If you want to know what serving for two years in Peace Corps The Gambia feels like, this is the perfect representation.  Minus the down times.  But you only remember the up times anyway : )

To know or read more about the creator, check out Ryan's blog

Transitions; Re-adjustment in the Western World

 This post will be broken up into sub-segments organizing thoughts reactions and revelations from post service as well as travel tips recommendations and insights.

"Renewed" in the "New World"

Well, I thought all the tears had fallen.  I had a very interesting reaction once we had finally checked into our hostel in Barcelona (Urbany Hostel).  We had scraped a few hours of sleep here and there on our Gambia Bird flight (which was great!  They served us dinner and breakfast as well as freequent beverages.  A welcome change from the discount airlines we normally fly like Vueling).  We came back to Urbany because we were impressed with the location accomodation and staff.  Marta remembered us and it was nice to feel like we were seeing old friends at a place we only visited shortly over a year ago.

Daniel went down to use the restroom before we ventured out to seek out breakfast.  Both our tummies seemed a bit unsettled.  As I sat on the soft cushy furniture in the cool (in every sense of the word) atmosphere, I started to feel that all too familiar compulsion, the tightness in the chest, warm stinging feeling in the eyes, the catching of my breath as tears wanted to come.

It's funny, for most of my service I spent hours day dreaming to be anywhere but where I was, imagining it would be better.  I guess the grass truly is greener, even in West Africa (but literally greener and plentier in England).  It must have all hit me, and continued to do so in waves that it was really over and that we were back.  I think part of the tears was fear and unsureness of being back.  There were so many odd freedoms living in West Africa allotted that the West doesn't seem to.  Mostly the freedom of being an anomolie. No matter how hard you try, you are likely to stand out in any place as vastly different from your home as Gambia can be to the U.S.  After embracing the fact that you will always stand out and be a bit weird, no matter how integrated you become, there's a certain relief that you don't have to try so hard to fit in.  You are who you are and while you can't express every part of that in certain countries (dress, public displays of affection, etc) you have the peace of mind of knowing that and the comfort to share and hold back as you please.

We walked a block or two away from the hostel and had some breakfast.  I was a wreck.  The tears had come and continued to fall.  I felt like a fish out of water.  I didn't necessarily want to go back to Gambia but didn't know what to make of where I was or how to be.

But a balance of bridging that Peace Corps self and former self and post Peace Corps self comes together over time. 

London, Cardiff, and Edinburgh (stay out of the dungeons!)

We had there in London four days or so.  Cardiff two.  And Edinburgh three.  Seeing the green country and rolling hills by train as we came into town from Stanstead brought to mind only one word, idylic.  It really is.  Cute cottages, cottage fences, beautiful trees (even bamboo!), quaint farms and lovely flat boats on the canals or rivers that wind through the country like termite trails on walls.

We were supposed to meet my brother that day but circumstances and fate must have been against us.  Without phones, we were unsure of time (even though we were at a train station) and unclear where to go and had no smart phone to guide us through it.  But we caught up with him later in London which was fantastic.  He took us out to dinner at a pub near the Hard Rock Cafe which we originally wanted but it was too packed.

London was overwhelming to say the least.  We were met with grey overcast clouds and rain.  We bought an overpriced umbrella we never used and lost it on our bus to Cardiff.

We ambled through parks and busy famous looking streets.  Suppressed the urge to say "Salaam Aliekum" every where we went.  And treated ourselves to a night out in the theater.  We watched The Body Guard from cheapish seats.  A fantastic performance with outstanding vocals.

He hit up Soho, of course, and tired ourselves out well and good before reaching Edinburgh.

Edinburgh is lovely as well.  Kickass hostel was fantastic with an overly friendly and helpful staff.  A fun city to walk though more spread and more hilly.  But smaller and more manageable.  We checked out the castle from the admission free side, went on a free walking tour and checked out the Cafe famous for housing some of J.K. Rowlings first draftings of Harry Potter.

We ended with a Double Dead tour which I don't recommend.  It was interesting history but mostly the tour seems to exist to frighten you.  So if you want to be, you can maybe be.  It was a bit spooky but I'm pretty sure the ghost noises were sound effects...

Highlights:  The Holyrood 9A- A fantastic spot for a delicious burger and micro brewed beer.  Cozy pub-like atmosphere near Holyrood Castle

The Bongo Club was super fun.  Different styles of music in different rooms.  A small cover charge, especially when visiting with a pub crawl from your hostel.

Then for a nice whiskey tasting, try The Albanach.  Cozy, nice building on a cobbled stoned street.  They have food, apparently.  None that we tasted though.  We got there late on a cold rain spitting night but left warm from the service and whiskey.

Some tips for eating out-  I still don't quite understand the proper eating out etiquette in Europe.  In most places it seems that you go up to order for yourself, pay at once, and then bring whatever it is back to a table.  That's more for drinks.  With food there seems to be waiters and waitresses.  At the Albanach though we felt foolish siting at a table looking hopefully up to the kind people behind the bar.  Eventually we just went up to the bar and sat down where they were more than happy to serve us.  For the bill or check, you always have to ask.  Otherwise it never seems to come nor be offered.  Whereas my first dining experience in the states, we got our bill right after we got our food.... I think I like the European way better.  You feel less rushed and more welcome.

Cardiff was wedged between London and Edinburgh.  We just went to visit a friend of mine I met from a CELTA class out of Prague four years prior.  Carol and Steve were tremendous hosts to us.  It was nice to get into the neighborhoods and stay in a proper home after the hostel. 

Greeting is good!

People in the Western world seem to be taken aback a bit when you genuinely greet them and ask them how they are.  We have been getting the most positive reactions from doing this.  Approaching people with a smile and "hi, how are you?" and meaning it seems to melt any social tension that existed prior to the interaction.  Some people brush it off of course but some seem absolutely lifted by the minor social subtle interest.  Maybe people are always only asked questions where all forms of "hello" have gotten lost in the rush of finding out what you need to know.  I'm not sure.  But greeting is good.  Just one seems to suffice.  It's sad to think how disconnected we all have become to each other in the West.  And seems to have some negative outcomes.  I'm not sure if the school shootings and what seems to be obsessive drug use is a result of lack of community but I can't help but think that's where much of the depression and social angst comes from.  Poorer people seem 50 times happier socially than what I see here in the West.

The Netherlands

Or Lowlands I believe.  Water is everywhere!  They are the true masters of damming and canal-ing in Holland.  It is so neat to see how they have been able to build a city on land that is mostly just above or just below sea level.

Amsterdam is a fun place.  We didn't smoke once which was kind of funny but had a fantastic time all the same.  We did touristy things like the Rijksmusem and canal boat tour, Hard Rock Cafe, and The Hague (tour of Parliament!). 

People in Holland seemed so happy, friendly, and nice.  It was quite refreshing.  Not that people in the U.K. weren't nice.  They were.  But they didn't seem as excited to answer questions and be helpful as they did in The Netherlands.  Although we met a couple of lovely and overly helpful gals in Edinburgh...

Liepzig, Berlin, and Frankfut

Liepzig is a little hidden gem of North East Germany.  We had such a blast being hosted by our friend Erin who is studying at MPI there.  Things are much more affordable this end of Europe (ice cream cone for one euro!), people are friendly, and it's beautiful.

Berlin is full of history, obviously.  The train system took some time to comprehend but after a couple of rounds we were getting to be pretty good at it.  You have the U lines, S lines, buses, trains, etc.. 

One of the best things we did in Berlin, I think, was the Third Reich Tour.  Sadie did a fantastic job passionately retelling the history of Hitler and Nazi occupied Germany, how it came to be, how it was, and how it could be again.  The tour took us to monuments erected for the people that lost the most in that time, historical buildings and sites, and ended appropriately in a neighborhood where three golden squares etched into the pavement mention the names of Jews that were taken from their former residence to be held and killed in concentration camps.  I highly recommend this tour for anyone.  It reminds us that hatred and intolerance still exists today and that if we aren't careful a scary megalomaniac could perhaps take hold again.  That it's sometimes too easy to keep quiet and protect yourself as is ones instinct and nature, while others are oppressed and wronged.  This happens everyday in fact in various places all over the world, including here in the U.S. as people turn away from people that are different from themselves.

Our last train to Frankfurt was rather sad.  Daniel , my travel mate and new-found best friend who I  had been serving and traveling together with on and off the last two years, were coming to an end of our adventures together, for now.  We treated ourselves and stayed in a hotel in Frankfurt our last night.  He left in the early morning and I followed later in the afternoon.

The flight was smooth.  After nearly 24 hours of being awake, I found myself in my Mom's arms after nearly 27 months apart.  It was a happy tear laden reunion.

Immediate reflections on being home

I was a bit jet lagged but seem to be OK after a day.  Any meal out seems to fill me up for 12 hours at the least... much more than what rice could do which seemed to last at most thirty minutes!

I find that I feel I need odd things that are hard to find to feel comfortable including instant nescafe packs and milk powder...

Greeting and a general interest in people still seems to go a long way here.

Driving everywhere versus walking is disappointing but the city of Phoenix really isn't built for walking.  But I miss it.  We walked everywhere in Europe.  Sometimes we took trains and trams but for the most part cities were quite walkable.  I think I'll miss that a lot as Fairbanks also isn't very walkable.

Portions in the States are HUGE.  Even a cup of tea can be a little kettle and 2-cup size mug!

Wiping with toilet paper alone isn't clean enough... I realized that in Europe too.  I'm going to have to keep up the habit of wiping with water.  It sounds gross, maybe, but I think it's much more hygienic.  Washing with soap and water thoroughly ought to undue any grossness there.

Why it's awkward...

Leaving Peace Corps is just awkward somehow.  The best guess I have for it is this-
joining Peace Corps is a bit awkward itself.  It takes time to learn the culture, Peace Corps culture even, and new way of life.  After some time you get into it and you aren't alone.  You go through this with all other volunteers you serve with.  Whether you like each other or not you have this community of support.  When you leave Peace Corps, you leave somehow changed.  You aren't who you were when you joined.  You are that plus the little things you adopted from your country of service.  And, you are without that strong network of support, so it feels.  You are diluted back into mainstream this or that without a strong sense of community which you had in your country of service.  Your community is there but maybe they are too busy for you because they are working or doing what they are doing.  Socializing is no longer a priority...

It's awkward also because coming back feels all too familiar.  It doesn't feel super weird which seems a bit weird.  You can easily fall back into it if you like but part of you feels like it betrays the PCV you became to just fall back into things.  But I don't think it is.  You are always that RPCV.  Your service is always in the background of your being in what you do and think without it being the forefront of conversation or the flashy clothes of your attire.

At any rate it can be difficult to find your place again after Peace Corps.  One can almost feel that the only community they really belong is the RPCV community.  But just as it took time to establish a sense of home abroad I imagine it takes some time to get back into that sense once actually home.

For whatever it means, I'm home for now.  May the adventures continue!  And may we continue to be friendly peaceful and tolerant of our fellow human beings no matter their traits, backgrounds, or heritage.

Peace.


Some other potentially useful travel tips and websites:

For cheap flights try, Momondo
For trains in Germany go to, Deutsche Bahn
For trains in UK try, Virgin trains
For buses in UK and Europe you have, Megabus
and National Express
Buses in Germany, Meinfern bus
Other travel options though we didn't try it, just heard of it: carpooling
Hostels and hotels: Hostel world
Also couches, Air bnb, and of course you can always try to see what's on Craigslist.

Do your travel research and enjoy your trip!

Ci abyong bi, On the airplane

Finally taking off from The Gambia was.... I''m not quite sure.  Somehow matter-of-fact-like.  The tears had been shed the week prior and tear ducts were spent, or as we like to say, tired.

I can't say that I never pictured the flight home from site a time or two, or three or four.... Especially within those last four months in the heat of the afternoon.  Imagining the clean crisp coolness of the plane.  The beverage cart.  And saying bye to Gambia underneath a golden sun set.  Happy and at peace.

As it was, we watched the sun disappear into the sky at the beach hours beforehand.  Surrounded by good friends as the waves rolled in and breeze blew cold.  Night fell upon us there.  Indian food was delivered.  We enjoyed music in the glow of a lit up water bag as we waited for the power to come on.  Shortly after the current finally flowed into the dull bulbs above, the speakers responsible for extracting the information encrypted in the iPod and emanating it as sound waves and lyrics and beats, died from low battery since I had neglected to charge them for a long time.

So we finished the meal without the accompaniment of Regina Spektor or whomever was serenading us.

As I sat in the plane taking it all in, that this was really it, I found myself reminiscing over many scenes of West Africa that colored my last two years in the fullest and brightest of ways.  Markets, transport, restaurants, village, attaya, gardens, farms, etc.

Shortly before the flight we were exhausting our Dalasi on overpriced tea and Pringles.  I took in my reflection and noticed my cheeks to be a bit more gaunt and sunken than they were when I came to the continent.

My service was definitely challenging.  But as challenging as it was I found my tired heart burst open for the people and the land and the culture of what I now consider and feel to be my far way second home.

"I'm going to really miss West Africa," I said to Daniel.  He answered with a sympathetic smile.  "Yea, it will be a long time before we see it again."  He said.

The tall dry grasses were a lit by the lights of the plane under the dark 1:00 am night sky.

"It will." I answered.  Feeling better about leaving with the sense or hope of a return if even far off in the future.

Exhaustion took us both over then.  My eyes stung briefly.  Then the tires lifted.  It was real.  We were leaving.  We were gone.  Two years... over and done.  Just. Like. That.

I thought of my family in Jimbala.  What were they up to?  When would I get to hear from them?  Would the search the sky for an airplane?

And then, as memories and thoughts flitted through like a soundless movie screen, I slept.  Somewhat.

Bye Gambia.  Or, shall I see, see you later.  Inshallah.

Pick up

Yesterday on May 3, in late morning, the white land cruiser started to make it's way towards my house.  I lost feeling in my legs and made an effort to breathe and not pass out.  The tears I'd been trying hard to ward off started to stream.  I sat down on my concrete bed one last time.  My host mother seemed to lose feeling in her legs too as she was sitting on my stoop sobbing.  My host grandmother came out.  She only ever leaves her bed to relieve herself.  We looked as if in a football huddle grasping each others heads forehead to forehead, both sobbing and praying for each other in wolof.  She mentioned something about the sky or sun or trees...  I just couldn't tell.  I told her to think of me when she sees the trees we've planted together. 

Fortunately there were some other volunteers in the car.  Peace Corps likes to pair us for pick up.  My pair, Peter, and two other volunteers Sarah and Kara, were there to ease the tension and console me that if I wasn't crying and upset I probably did something wrong.  And also asking me how I lived in the house I did as far off the road as it was...

My host mom and I had our tears stop before I got in the car.  Before I knew it I was seated inside with all my things packed nicely and neatly in the car.  A crescent of some of the most amazing people were standing there with tears and waves.  I had to say goodbye to a family that unfortunately is so so far away from my permanent residence in Alaska.  All I could do was hold on to the hope of seeing them again but residing in the fact that I just don't know if that will happen.

I was glad I didn't pass out.  I hadn't eaten well the week prior due to stomach sensitivity.  I think in that case it was nerves to blame, not a protozoan or spoiled food.  Either way Peace Corps has a sample to send to their medical technicians...

It's a difficult process to describe anyway.  As tragic as it was there was also great relief.  The anticipation and waiting for the day just gets you and everyone down.  I can't believe those last two years of that chapter are told and finished.  It was an intense chapter.  I'm trying to sort through the remaining emotional fragments, continue to be present, and look forward to future chapter. 

Thank you Jimbala, and the people of Jimbala.  Thank you for teaching and giving me far more than I feel I gave you.  I wish you and your community lots of trees and honey, and fat crops from the soil you can try to repair from the compost thing we talked about.  May our farewell be a be bennen yoon, a see you another time, rather than see you rekk, only.

I did it.  I survived.  It was wild.  I'd do it all again.  Really.

On the other end of service

Twenty four months plus have passed as of this writing. Reflecting on it is wild.  All that has transpired.  All that has changed in my self, attitude, opinions, beliefs, and demeanor.  With less than two months to go, I feel like I'm standing in a busy train station staring down the other end at a giant clock.  All I hear is the loud and reverberating tick, tick, tick, as the sound waves bounce off the surfaces all around.  Trains and people and all sorts of other manners of life are going on around me but in fast forward or slow forward and on mute.  Soon my train will come and the clock will fall from it's stand and shatter in slow motion.  Then time will move normally again and the sound will start to blaze in full volume.  I'll get in that train (plane) that has come to take me away from my Peace Corps chapter of life.  And that'll be it.  Done.  Finished.  Sure I can call my host family from the states.  I can visit after I have some years and moneys under my belt (after recovering from the two years of not making any earnings).  But my days as a PCV in The Gambia will expire and I will place the R at the forefront of PCV and forever look back on it all as a series I've read on a shelf full of other finished books, their stories wearing with time.

It's weird.  There aren't many words that I can think of that can effectively communicate how this feels.  I don't think I'll know what any of it means until later.  And I'm nervous about going home and facing friends and family that I've craved and missed so dearly, and have them not really get it, any of it, either.  A lot of it, there just isn't a universal framework for.  Unless you've seen or experienced or done it first hand, my words about some of my experiences will be just those, words.  Maybe flimsy figments of images and scenes will be generated from the small information about West Africa that exists as common knowledge,but they'll be weak images at best without the first hand experience to support them.

It's bittersweet.  On the one hand I am ecstatic and jumping for joy inside.  I made it!  I did it!  Wooooweeeeee!  There were countless times I didn't think I was going to or could.  From internal to external complications doubts or interruptions.  Political strife.  Illness.  Structural complications at my residence.  Fear of Ebola pandemic.  Etc.  But I did make it, at least up until this point, and it feels amazing.  I really do feel ready.  I've spent some good time.  I've made it as much as I could with what I had.  But I am absolutely devastated to say goodbye to the friends and family I've found here.

I'm nervous that the world I'll return to will be full of people glued to their smart phones or ipads, tv's etc.  While I've learned to sit still and socialize or sit still and just be, for hours on end.  I'm nervous that the go go go pace of the states will be jarring and inharmonious with my own personal beat and rhythm.  And I fear hearing insensitive ignorant comments about peoples perception of West Africa.

I'm excited too though.  About good and plenty foods.  About movies and movie theaters.  About cold cheap and tasty beer.  About clean and well maintained cities and neighborhoods.  About clean feet and hot showers.  Bed sheets without dirt or sand or dust.  Sleeping without a mosquito net and without the buzz of the mosquito in your ear and the itchy bites that follow.  And ending the malaria prophylaxis and nasty vitamin routine.  I'm excited about being in temperature controlled environments but also in a way I've enjoyed living in "god's" controlled outdoors, hot as it can get (sometimes into the 130's Fahrenheit).

I'm excited to catch up with friends and family.  I'm prepared to filter and limit the number of times I'm allowed to mention Peace Corps and West Africa.   I worry I'll be lost in conversations about popular culture.  I don't know any new shows or music or movies.  Not really.  What I do know that seems recent to me is probably fairly dated.  I can talk about lots of books though!  String theory anyone?  Austen?

Current stresses in country aren't really about work anymore.  Whatever we can do from here on out would be great but if we don't get anything done that's ok too.  I'm more stressed about the souvenirs and gifts and pieces of Gambia to take home with me lest I forget something and regret not having it once I'm stateside and can't get it anymore.  Some items I'm thinking of bringing home include and is not limited to:

-local tea pot and tea glasses (attaya set, barada and cass yi)
-local oil container (bidong)
-local tailored African Dress (complet)
-paintings
-tie dye and batik fabric
-locally made hats (beanies)
-locally sold hats (beanies) that are probably made in China
-A prayer mat
-Juju's (Koranic prayers for protection, health, or good luck)
-jewelry (Fula anklets, bracelets, earrings)
-medium sized mortar and pestle
-wooden bowl
-fabric
-other tailored clothes
-fun gifts supporting current PCV community members (will be surprises!)
-bush tea
-local spicy coffee (cafe touba)
-stickers used on the local transport vehicles (gelle imam stickers etc)
-local honey (from BeeCause)
-scarves
-leather key chains
-etc

But for now I can only take it day by day.  I try to turn the focus from the giant clock to what's going on around me but it's hard to divert my attention when the clock is so loud.

Re-entry and readjustment doesn't sound fun or easy.  I'll be mourning my Peace Corps self and experience.  My Gambian and Peace Corps friends and family.  But I'll enter into the RPCV world on the other side.  I'll find my way back into the life I left just like I found and established a life here.  I'll try to adhere to the advise of the RPCV's at my COS conference and be patient and gentle with myself.  Taking it easy and not pushing too hard, allowing myself to make mistakes.

The clock's about to fall. I must get ready now.  As I stand here, on the other end of service, my entire being is at ease.  I am fully comfortable.  My heart is full of love for this country and the people that live here.  It is fulfilled by the meaningful work we try here and the meaningful relationships we make. 

It has adjusted to the beat and pace and rhythm of The Gambia.  To the hot hot loud loud slow slow these things.  The sunsets and stars and simple foods.  The sounds of birds goats chickens donkeys and cows.  Children playing.  People discussing.  Laundry swish swish swishing.  It's these fond and beautiful memories which bubble to the surface.  The other ones fade away or get lost as they can't fit in such a full and happy heart.

Thank you Gambia.  It's been my greatest pleasure.  You have been the cause of so much heartbreak and joy.  Here's to the final chapter in one of the greatest stories I've ever lived.

A blurb about my beekeeping work in The Gambeezy

SNRE Science & News student's beekeeping project stimulates interest in forestry in The Gambia, West Africa

Winter in Senegambia

16 Jan 2014

Driving in the cool of evening under the glare of the moonlight, I can't help but appreciate and enjoy what our sub-Saharan version of winter is.  Nor can I ignore the temptation to project onto the scenes around me, more familiar winter-esque visions to feel more at home.  Moonlight gleaming off a metal corrugate roof becomes a thin layer of snow as does the moonlit sandy path glowing a dim blueish white.  Small spirals of smoke curl up gently and effervescently from small burning piles made for warmth or for deleting garbage and brush.  The air is crisp.  As are the colored leaves which can snap off their branches in a chilly wind.  But the gusts bring warmer and warmer air from somewhere far off, reminding us that 'winter' here is short lived.  And that the moonlight reflecting off of metal roofs and sand is in fact just that, moonlight. 

It's late now.  I am chilly under my thin blanket.  In my winter hat and pj's I make a ball to stay warm.  In the distance I hear her.  The whoop whoop of the hyena's cry.  And then the dogs.  Hurriedly confirming the sound they all heard. 

I shiver, but not for the cold.  Attention brings my small neck hairs to attention.  How far is she?  Did she make a kill?  Could she be hungry enough to come here?  Then I see her in my minds eye.  She's standing in my hut.  Time seems to stand still around her, I myself become frozen.  But she's alive and warm.  Her eyes sparkle with hunger and curiosity.  Why did I come here she asks?  What did I hope to find?  Have I found it?  I stare back in my frozen ball.  I'm not terrified but on edge.  I don't know I say.  I came to see what I would see.  I know less than I did before coming.  Maybe that's what I've found.  She tilts her head.  Her enormous size and body dissipate in the figment of my imagination.  The temporary paralysis leaves me, liberating life and movement back into my body.  The room and myself come back to life.  I roll onto my back with renewed freedom.  My eyes are open.  I'm here, still now, in West Africa, living in our version of winter.              

Termites like tomato soap?

 September, 2013

 

It's been just about an entire month in village.  This might sound un-incredible.  In theory I'm suppose to just be here for two years right?  I think that's what we all think before we join.  That we're just thrown in the middle of some village and left there for better or worse (like the movie "Volunteers" with Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson).  Maybe it was like that before and is more like that in larger countries with more difficult transport (not that it's not difficult here!).  But here in PCTG, there seems to be always something somewhere yanking you out of post.  Some training, illness, re-stocking of food staples, etc etc.  So when you can manage to stay and really just be there, it feels like a great accomplishment.  This stay didn't even involve a stroll to the market.  It was colored with some anemia complications, a second degree oil burn on my ring finger (very small), a visit with the local marabout or healer, harvesting beans and millet, and making headway on repairing a school garden pump.  Out of all that, I want to share my visit with the marabout most:

A fellow PCV had recently gone to see one themselves and I was also reading "God's Middle Finger, into the lawless heart of the Sierra Madre," by Richard Grant, and reading about how Grant got to spend a peyote session with a shaman or planned on it anyway.  At the same time, I've been struggling with health at site, mostly diet related, and just wanted the experience.  On top of it all, once you come into the single digit month countdown, especially at seven (now five as of this posting!), an alarm bell seems to go off ringing "you're here you're here, but time is ruining!  Enjoy, learn everything, take in at as much as you can, this is an amazing once-in-a-lifetime experience!"  So, I was inspired.  

 

One night, while sitting on the stick bed with my host mother and shelling beans in the glow of the twilight, I tried to ask where the nearest healer was and if I would be able to go and if that would be OK.  "You can go with me" was her reply.  "I'll take  you, tomorrow."  Tomorrow??  I don't know if I'm ready!  Our conversation was quiet.  I wanted to be gentle and reverent with my voice.  But it went up a bit at the idea of tomorrow.  I told her I was scared, never being able to remember how to say nervous.  She laughed at that and told me it would be good.  That he would look into my work and health here and tell me if it's OK. 

 

Tomorrow became the day after.  After an afternoon nap, sweating through my cotton shirt (I ended up taking it off and using it as a pillow as my pillow got spoiled during the rains), I dressed in a wrap skirt, donned on the sweaty shirt as it matched the blue wrap skirt nicely, and tied on a head wrap.  For my usual attire here, I was dressed up.  I was excited to wear something that had a matching color scheme.  It felt refreshing.  I fetched a quick bidong (25L oil container) of water in case our session ran late, and we set off down the road to the neighboring Fula village. 

We stopped off at my friend Isatahs to visit.  She ended up coming to the marabouts house with me.  I was surprised how at ease I actually was.  Ebrima had a good compassionate vibe about him.  My host mom explained my visit.  He was happy with it all and said it was good.  He held his shiny and beautiful prayer beads and began praying.  His prayer beads reminded me of Tiger's eye polished stones.  I tried to calm and open my own energy to be receptive to the experience.  He blew on the beads held in his fingers.  Then he handed them to me.  For me to hold them for a beat before he continued praying.  Eventually he began giving me my 'prescription.'  I heard something about a small white sheep and eating or food and that it would be good.  My host mom and Isatah repeated in simpler Wolof to me until I could reiterate back satisfactorily.  Before the comprehension, after he had spoken about how he heard, peace only, peace only, and the sheep, my mom told me to give her the money to give to him.  Just a little over a dollar was what I brought which she said was more than enough (fifty Dalasi). 

He had gone out and brought back cooking pot resin and began writing prayers on a worn shiny wooden plank in Arabic script.  There was a bowl of water sitting near the healer.  I had heard about babies drinking this prayer water when they are born.  So I was nervously mentally preparing myself for the same fate.  But for me, he said I was to add it to my bathing water and wash with it.  Phew!  He gave me two juju's also.  These are more Arabic prayers written on paper, folded and wrapped in cloth or leather, and worn on the body.  He gave me two.  One for doing well on exams, and one for ideas and dreams.  They actually seemed really relevant.  I dream a lot and often tell my host mother or family about them when I can.  My host mother told Ebrima as much which made for a nice bonding moment. 

I thanked him and Isatah.  Eventually we (my host mom and I) made our way back to our village.  It was cloudy, threatening on rain.  I was preparing to bathe after returning home.  Ebrima had poured the prayer water into a small bottle which I had brought back with me.  As I went to grab my soaps, I saw a new termite mound coming up from the ground under my sardine tin holding my Burt's Bees tomato complexion soap.  The termites where building on top of the soap!  Somehow, it just seemed to beautifully sum up my last month.  Especially right after the visit with the marabout.  And I couldn't help but ask out loud, laughing to myself at the same time, "termites like tomato soap..??"

Development... 'A work in(g) progress'

From 19 Aug 13

Some thoughts on the matter of development.  A subject worthy of many thoughts and scores of books already published and awaiting the digestion of the populous.  A matter in which interestingly enough, those that are or see themselves as 'develeped' seem too eager it a duty to carry it out for others (much like myself, in a broad sense, you could say).

What's interesting about 'us' trying to help 'them' a concept that really doesn't sit well with me by the way, this notion of people divided, is that we know hardly a thing about it.

I feel as if we're always just barely scratching the surface and applying bandaids to wounds failing to have the time or means at identifying the root.

Much like an erosion issue we face here.  It was my instinct to guide the village in amassing rock cages to slow the rate of water flow at the base of the hill where it seems damage is the worst.  But in fact, one should venture further up the hill to attempt slowing the rate of water before it even has the chance to reach the deep gullies at the base.

But what one should maybe do more, is stop trying to 'fix' everything while hardly knowing anything.

Organizing leaders and elders of the village to have even a conversation is a good first step.  After all, they are the ones that know the land, what and how it's used, and how it can best be manipulated if need be.  Why hasn't anyone addressed the issue before or how have they tried?  Other good guiding questions to ask before throwing out knowledgeable prescriptions as the 'doctor of all knowledge' you are seen as whether or not you wish to be viewed as such.

These are all lessons I'm learning the 'hard' way if you will, or am realizing after the fact.  But so much pressure can be placed on us to do something.  To spend grant money, to mitor and evaluate projects.  But what if you just don't know the answer and are tired of blindly aiming at something you're not even quite sure of anymore?

Authors have written on this, at least somehow, I'm sure, and NGO's have pretended to apply the new way of thinking, capacity building vs. handouts.  But it seems still now that no one is able to penetrate deep enough to offer a truly utilizable worthwhile project.

Sometimes I feel the best thing we can do is stop 'waisting their time,' which I don't think we're actually doing, by giving our ideas and encourage them to discuss issues and act on their ideas.  That's the goal anyway and what they tell us to do.  But then no one does or says anything, you get bored and tired of waiting and start planting your own seeds.  A compromise I suppose but still frustrating.

To back up; What inspired me to write today was my bra.  A cheap Chinese made number from the local market.  It looked nice.  It looked like it was trying to look like something from Victoria's Secret with little purple dogs on it.  It did the job anyway.  But in less than one weak of wear the under-wire started to poke thru into my sternum.  And the left strap, always popped off so that as I would try to done on the garment, I would have to spend an extra minute or two trying to hook the strap back into the bra causing both annoyance and frustration.  And it isn't just the bras or the underwears or garments that last for a what seems like a breath of a day before they are addled with snags and tears and imperfections from the lifestyle of living in a poor village in the middle of the bush in some small country in Sub-Saharan West Africa.  It's the shoes.  It's the cheap batteries that appear to be filled with black compressed ash as they decompose after maybe a months use. 

Big breath.  Big sigh.  I was glad I bought the bra.  To remember that even though I live in the village with everyone, I'm not necessarily walking in their shoes.  I don't have all the same struggles they have.  I have a nice bra from The Gap that has never given me any problems.  I have Chako's that don't fall apart and if they do the nice people at Chako's will replace them most likely.  I can drink tea in less than ten mins if I so feel the desire from a propane tank and stove top.  Instead of having to collect firewood and starting an open fire, etc etc.

To  truly master a place can take a lifetime.  Many of us on the front lines of international work and development often hardly have more than maybe five years to give at a maximum.  Where posts are often in a city or town and not village (with Peace Corps as the only exception that I know where the post is likely not a city or town but some remote village somewhere).  

I've been in and out of my village for a little over one year now and still feel like I'm just scratching the surface.  It doesn't mean that some projects we try to push aren't worth while.  But I think the point I'm slowly understanding is that the most valuable resources in these poor, often resource depleted countries, are the people and that one oughtn't feel afraid to encourage them to utilize one another.  I don't think even now, I would be given or even understand the full story of here if I were told it.  I'm realizing it's not necessarily for me to master here.  It's for them.  And perhaps the best we can do is pester them to start these conversations.  But even that's a challenge because when you ask them, they have rehearsed answers for you that eat at your very should because you just can't achieve everything on their simple wish list and even if you could, their requests are for yet more bandaids because thinking much beyond their isn't much done.  Nor is it in the Western world to be fair.  Our waste management system, still now, is but a series of expensive and perhaps inefficient bandaids.  At least in most places.

So why rant on something that's likely been said often enough?  Because, at least from what I've experienced and observed, those that are eager to help, for the most part, like me, don't know this until you've lived it.  Maybe you can't..?  But I must for the simple purpose of stating so only, that the ideas and solutions of the most weight, live in and lie within the people.  If it's a problem for 'us' but not 'them' then obviously there is no known solution yet.  But then let's ascertain why the dichotomy of perceptions.

To new and eager vol's, and anyone in the business of these affairs, it is in my opinion, truly, much more helpful to support the people in their solutions towards change and adaptation shall it be so wished by them.  If you see for instance erosion, maybe instead of assuming they know not a thing about it or its devastating effects, assume all knowledgeable until proven otherwise.  And don't let them fool you for in order to appease you and make you happy- they will try to make you seem and feel like the more knowledgeable higher being.  They will purposefully reduce themselves for you without maybe even knowing it.  This is why getting them to step into those roles of expertise is difficult in front of and around your.  But don't let them fool you.  They are well aware of much more than we give credit for.  And we are much more out of our league that we might initially realize. 

But I won't say its for naught.  It is a beautiful most enlightening experience.  But to make it really worth their while, get them to talk, if even just to each other.  And give them the permission to be and do great things.  Understand that standing out is culturally inappropriate and that work done is shared by the community.  But not the whole community works.  But they will all take the credit.  They don't always trust each other.  There's little reason to trust in the earnest efforts of foreigners anymore, and they don't always trust themselves.

Earning that trust takes time but requires nothing more than attempting to know them and live life with them.  Side by side, as much as possible.

From a strictly grass rotts perspective, that's what I've got to say on the matter.  Top down approach is an entirely different matter althought incredibly complimentary and important.  But one I'll leave for a later time.

It's incredibly simple yet entirely challenging tasks.  Don't discredit your effort and don't give up.  Answer the call but just don't answer chalked full of solutions.  Answer with a blank slate an open mind, heart, and sense of humilit and ability to laugh at yourself in the most trying of times.  Have courage to cry when you feel you wish to.  But do answer.  They will love and forever know you, less for your efforts, and more how you made them feel. 

One thought on the matter anyway.

A rainy, lazy day

From 14 Aug 13

I try to keep track, if even inconsistent and vague, of what happens each day on the callendar.  Today, in the middle of the day, after finishing the second NY Times Magazine, eating lunch with my host family, and having not made it more than thirty feet from my doorstep, I surrendered to the 'nothing' day and proceeded to write 'dara' in Wednesdays square.  Thursday's box was full with plans of going to the weekly market and speaking with counterparts in the town there about upcoming projects.  I tried to use the full box of Thursday to justify the empty one of Wednesday. 

It's difficult though.  We're constantly torn in this unique set up where your everday life is somehow your job and so when you aren't 'working' for some, it's hard not to feel like a waste of a volunteer.  That somebody could do better.  That US dollars shouldn't be wasted with me reading magazines in my house taking a day to relax.

As the day went on, I was in and out of my backyard, weeding and uprooting trees.  The small space, approx 10"x13" has at least now eleven trees.  All well and healthy.  Five of the former thirteen were Leuceana trees.  A fast growing nitrogen fixing potentially invasive green buddy.  Last year we tried to plant five in my host fathers farm and it felt like such a victory!  Until the cows ate them...

This year I diecided to care less.  I didn't do a tree nursery for myself but did one with the village.  But the aftermathe of the one I did last year called my attention today, in my 'nothing day.'
I pulled one tree out and thought, after the fact, that maybe it could be transplanted.  They are hardy trees anyway.  I came outside and asked my host family if they didn't want it.  A seemingly more common method of asking using the negative form vs positive, i.e., you won't eat? You won't put on something nice to wear to go out? etc.
 So, my host mother directed me and one of my host brothers to go place it in one of their bathroom areas.  The leaves were already starting to wilt.. well, maybe it will come back?  Some hours later I came out with another tree.  I had tried to be more careful about up rooting it.  This time it was my educated brother, (a teacher) and his wife sitting outside.  I again asked if they didn't want it.  

Lan mooy njerring? What's its use?
Dafa dimbale suuf si rekk.  It helps the soil only.
Xop yi nag? And what of the leaves?
Dimbale na suuf si itam.  They also help the soil.
Baax na nu tegal ci tooli Baay.  Ok let's put it on fathers farm.

As we went out I tried to explain how we tried to plant them there last year but that the animals ate them.  After we transplanted I suggested we try to protect them and suggested more planting throughout his field in the future to provide green fertilizer and stability.

When I cam back I crossed out 'dara,' the Wolof word for nothing, and wrote 'transplanted 2 trees.'  
Sometimes you just need a day to catch up with yourself, your work, and your life here.  Sometimes you just need a day.  But I bet, even when you aren't transplanting, that they aren't just nothing days.  They are something.  Conveniently, the word for something and nothing are the same word, dara.  Those wise Wolof people.
 

Electronical detachment...

Greetings all!  It has been some three months since my last entry.  I have written quite a bit but haven't had the time or effort to put thought to computer screen.  I must be at that point in service where just 'being' sounds much more appealing than dealing with the technical woes of attempting posting anything on a computer with shaky internet and unreliable electricity.  Where 'being' means reading a book or catching up with fellow volunteers or Gambian friends etc.  I'm finding that the more time away from the internet I have, the more I want to be away from it. 

That being said, I will try to catch up by Dec at the very least.  Because I do appreciate that it allows me to communicate my experience and reach out to friends and family and perhaps random but welcome viewers back home or wherever.

But all is well.  It is a few days before Thanksgiving and Hanukkah.  Volunteers have done a lovely job organizing events for those of us in country wanting to celebrate such events so far from home.  It's always a bit harder to be away from home on the holidays but I'm really looking forward to enjoying my last ones with my new-found "Gambian volunteer" family. 

Facing my last quarter of service seems unreal, exciting, terrifying, happy, and sad, and everything else all at once.  I still have several things running that I hope I can focus on til the end as, granted people continue to show interest in them... as:

+Erosion control
+tree nursery establishment and outplanting
+village tree outplanting celebration
+Village health Care Group
+HIV/AIDS sensitization lessons and dramas
and last but not least,
+continuing to build on and strengthen existing relationships, exchanging culture, ideas, and friendship

All to come in following blogs that will for sure be backdated and untimely. 

In the meantime, I wish everyone the merryist and happiest of the holiday season.  I ask anyone to think twice or more times about if they really need "this thing" or "that thing" on Black Friday, a day that supports consumerism, a behavior that destabilizes ecosystem services and thus threatens our quality of life by threatening to destroy the basic elements that keep us alive, namely, water, which it all comes back down to.

Anyway, happy thoughts from The Gambia.  Where we are all just trying.

(This posting took about an hour of unsuccessful attempts before properly uploading)

BeeCause it's important!

 My counterparts, Baay Malick and Malick Seidou.

 Three amigos.

 Her well is fifty some meters in depth!  

A scaly chameleon friend.

BeeCause training part two.  Featuring the man responsible for it all, Balla!  In the training we constructed KTB (Kenyan Top Bar) hives and learned how to make soap and body butter with honey and bees wax.  We learned about measuring and obtaining quality honey with less than twenty percent or so water content.  The training took place in another volunteers village for three days.  Our counterparts got to go transfer bees from the catcher boxes we made at the last training to transfer into the freshly made hives.  Us girls got to try to cool down and relax as there were not enough bee suites.  But don't worry, we've all gotten our suites on and those bees angry before!  Such a rush!

Around the compound

 Learning how to use binoculars.  I wish I brought a pair of these!  With Hoja and her mom, Awa, and Robert.  My short time VSO sitemate.

 Jugal and Fafa.  My sister and brother.  Standing in the corn field.

 Yura.  The youngest.  Very spunky!

 Grr!

 Fanta.  Her mom is in Senegal.  She's been with us for a while now.  Just kicken it.  So cute.

 Awa.  My aunts daughter who has also been staying with us lately to help out.  Compounds are constantly changing.

 

 Baay.  My host father.  Coming back from praying.

 Host mom, Dado, and some of the kids.  Certainly not the best photo faces but it was the brightest.

 Ndey and Maddie.  Mother and son.

 Jama and Isatou.  Mother and daughter.

 Ndey, holding some 25L of water. 

 Baay.  With permission to take his picture this time.

 Maam.  My host grandmother, Fatim.  An amazing and strong woman.

 Our kitchen.

 My backyard, featuring a flamboyant tree planted last year.

 My Leuceana tree from last year.  So tall!

 Gayende, checking out the camera.

 And my bed.  It's looking nice these days.  I have to make it every night and strip it every morning because black stinging ants fall between the wall and mosquito net, somehow crawl under the net or through the holes, and sting me in my sleep!  But this new system has been better, is more open and spacious.  Kind of like a flat in Manhattan now...

People and village picture break!

Gayende liked to play in my jibadah, a mud jar that keeps your water cool.  The jar was pretty moldy so now it's a perch outside.

This is the Alpha I always talk about.  He's one of my best friends here.  He runs this Bitik (shop) in the town nearest me.

My host mom and I showing off our tippy tap.  An old oil bidong (container) fashioned to work as a running water tap for hand washing.  The post has since been knocked over by a horse.  We talk about repairing it.  Someday.  There's a newer easier technology we might try for the next one that uses physics wisely.  To come.  Maybe!

Nalgene, I thought you were unbreakable!  This happened around month three.  It fell off my bike handlebars full of cold water on the super hot pavement going about 10-12 mph.  Another volunteer brought me a new one from the states.  Thanks Mikaela! : )

Just hanging out.  You know, no big.

One of my other best friends, Hoja (left), host sister/cousin, in her compound, wearing my hat.

Baby Isatou.  Maybe about one month old here?  Or so.  She was very very small when I saw her after a week old.  I was very scared.  She's alive and well today and continues to get bigger.  An incredibly strong young one if I may say.

Another kitty in the jar shot.  I think she liked it in there so much because it was cool.

Host mom showing PC herself how to fill the tippy tap.

My friend Maram (madam).  I don't see her in village too much but we hung out on this day when I had a camera.  She is very sweet.

Hoja again.  Looking gorgeous.  She is engaged to be married soon!  I hope I'll still be here to see her wedding.

Another friend, Kayway.  Sorry it's so dark.  I don't visit her often enough but really enjoy her company at site.  I went over there one morning for the first time for breakfast.  I don't know why I was so nervous.  I think the language barrier mostly.  I brought a jar of tea with milk and honey.  And she sent out for bean sandwiches and green tea with sugar (attaya) to make for me.  The hospitality was above and beyond.  Her and her husbands hut is really nice with mosaic like broken tiled floor.  Her husband is really experimental with agriculture.  One of my favorite couples in village.

Another Gayende shot.  Just chillin.  She actually hates the heat.  Sorry kitty.

And me.  With my lovely village look. 

And then the wind blew

(8 July 2013)

Ndey? (Ndey?)
Hm? (Hm?)
It's dark. (Dafa lindim.)
Where? (Fan?)
There. (Fale.)
Yes. (Waaw.)
Do you think the rain is coming? (Fog nga taw mungi dikka?)
Huh? (Huh?)
I said, the rain, do you think it will come? (Manee, taw bi, fog nga dina ñow?)
Rain? (Taw?)
Yes. (Waaw.)
Eh, I don't know. (Eh, xam uma di.)
But, it's so dark. (Waay, dafa lindim torup!)
Yes, it's dark. (Waaw, dafa lindim kaay.)
But only g-d can know it? (Waay yalla mo ko xam rekk?)
Yes, only g-d knows it. (Waaw, yalla mo ko xam rekk.)

Then I was silent.  I just sat happily with Ndey, my cousin, or something like that.  Watching this dark wall slowly impress upon our village from the East.  It's bad luck, or so it seems, to try and predict weather.  But it's something that is such a natural and easy point of conversation.  I wanted to say that I was sure something was coming but I bit my lip and just watched, feigning ignorance.  Every few minutes I would point out how the horizon was getting darker, a bit as a joke.  Then, everyone began to scatter.  They told me the wind was coming as if it was a surprise.  I smirked a bit as I swiftly went into my house to prepare it for the unknown, hoping somewhat desperately that rain was in tow.

I had asked them about rain dances earlier, or trying to, explaining, somewhat exaggeratedly for simplicities sake, that we have rain dances where I'm from because it is also dry there (Arizona) and that rains are important.  I don't think they believed me.  Or maybe it's just so difficult to conceive of anywhere outside of here.  Especially when you've hardly ever even left the village. 

I wished I could have filmed it.  Althought a wind storm or storm in general isn't that unlike other storms.  The dust here makes it a different world though.

It felt like dusty air conditioning blowing through.  The air just before was quite hot and humid and still.  The mixing of such opposing temperatures created quite a stir, literally!  The neem tree whipped around like one of those blow up dancing men outside of car washes or a new music store, dancing hard to impress you enough to enter.  This tree is a solid mass of fixed carbon dioxide, strongly rooted and heavily branched.  Bobbing about like a teen at a rave. 

I was so excited.  I absolutely love storms!  Desert storms are some of the best.  West African ones may be even better but I haven't seen anything top the lightning storms of AZ.  But, these ones can come close.

I was running back and froth from my back yard to inside my house.  Constantly rubbing the dirt out of my eyes.  The coolness was irresistable.  And the sights, like being under water with a brown hazy ocean ceiling.

I started to see and hear my family run back and forth out front.  At first it was just the children playing in the crazy weather.  Enjoying like me.  Then I saw my older sisters.  Something was up.

I looked out one of my windows that just looks out to the narrow path between my house and my grandmothers.  Straw was everywhere.

Shit.  I went outside and latched my outer corrugate leaving Gayende (my kitty) locked inside.  Two huts had lost most of their grass roofs.  Everyone was running back and forth with their belongings in case the rain picked up.  I started to help while trying not to be too much in the way.  It was drizzling on us as we moved things, but only a little bit.  I was astonished. Their houses are really just as full as mine if not more!  Ok, maybe it's the same.  But all of their stuff was just hidden!  Hidden under the straw mattress or behind the cloth curtains.  All I ever knew of these homes was to have the beds, the pans (large 25L basins) and trunks of clothes, some shoes or flashlights, etc.  But these houses, they were lived in.  Like the clutter you find in your mom's or grandma's house from generations of use and love.  It was reassuring in a way.  As well as frustrating, so much to move! 

Fortunately there was a new house with a new corrugate roof to evacuate to.  And also fortunately, the storm was not as tremendous as I had originally hoped.  That hope popped like a soggy sad balloon at the site of the mostly roofless houses that keep so many of my loved ones and their belonginings sheltered.

After we moved as much as possible, and of value, and our grandmother, I returned to my house.  Like any crises, when the crisis isn't mine, I did what any good Jewish girl would do.  I turned to food.  I popped my family some pick me up fresh popcorn.  Then made some for myself before collapsing on my floor.  Surrendering to the almond m&m's and children's stories my mom sent for Words on Wheels (...I have to make sure the stories are good!).

I felt exhausted.  And not because the things we were moving were extraordinarily heavy, or because I had worked particularly hard that day, but because of the weight of the poverty that is life here.

Every volunteer, just about, complains about chronic fatigue.  Sure, we don't have the best beds or mattresses (actually, no mattresses, just foam or straw or both), nor do we live in the best climate or have the most supportive of diets.  All excellent reasons to be tired.  But I think it's a much more subtle storm that moves through all of us, at varying degrees throughout our service.  An emotional heaviness that we bear, probably a lot of it subconsciously, anytime we see the kids too skinny, children and adults wearing rags, deformities, sick people without proper medicine or access to it, houses in ruins, food in scarce and or bland quantities, dirty households, crying babies, children beating each other or moms beating (disciplining) their children, people fighting, and just the visible despair that shows on their faces sometimes.  It's like you can see inside their heads when their counting something or looking at food stores or clothes, just not having the money in the copious amounts they wished.  Their whole spirit slumps, their face falls, but it's much more subtle than that.  You can see it only if you look.  Like looking gently with your peripheral vision.  I think we try to not see this, or at least I did, for a long time.  But I think whether you choose to see it or not, you do and it definitely has an affect that weighs on your soul.  And it weighs more heavier and harder as they become your family, your community, and your people.

I'm almost certain that was the exhaustion I felt after living that minor disaster with them.  It's somehow even harder when their faces are bright, their energy is high and they're never without humor.  And how could it be any different?  If they let it weigh them down, they'd never be able to do anything!  Which, actually happens too.  I hardly feel like I can do anything amidst it all sometimes, and I have an out!

All of us, at some point, and in some way, feel this weight.  It's arguably why so many of us feel for Africa and her people.  Because they are our fellow peoples and their lives and our western lives, are somehow not the same level of living.

But still now, after all this time, interest, action, and aid, none of us have the magic cure.  But I think the solution is simple.  Not easily achievable but simple.  I don't think it's something that the most intelligent engineers, architects, or scientists can discover.  It's that potential, buried in each and every one of us, that just needs to be seen or sparked by someone, to ignite it, and have that person finally feel free and allowed to express it, whatever it is.  It's a trait even many westerners struggle with.  That sense of confidence, ownership, responsibility and integrity of self.  That allowance in your self to be yourself even and especially if that looks different.  These are not always easy traits nor are they always natural.  Society can shape us in a way that makes these even harder to access.  But I think it's that simple faith in self that is going to move mountains.  Nothing more or less.

I drafted this as you can see on the eighth of July.  It's now the twenty seventh as I finally type it.  It's raining, as I type here in the capital city.  Sheets of it.  It's not so windy here.  Not as much as it is up country.  But it's a comforting rain.  A rain of promise.  A rain of hope.  A rain of, Inshallah, prosperity, peace, and change.