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)