“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

~Mark Twain

Friday, April 27, 2012

A Quick Cultural Exchange


My host brother & sister
Today, I painted my host sister’s fingernails bright Barbie doll pink, while explaining to her what a firefighter is. They don’t have them here. If a house catches fire, it is a community bucket brigade from all the surrounding wells. When she saw a picture of a police officer- she was flipping through one of my magazines while I was painting her nails- she said in a mixture of French and Susu, “Oh police, they stop your car and demand money.” Here, they really don’t have the local heroes rep that they get in the states. She has come a long way from a few months ago, asking me if a picture of balloons was of papayas, but she still won’t believe that everyone in my magazines is not a family member or friend. Why else would I have their pictures? 

Is the Art of the Letter Dead?


Today I took a sick day. Yesterday, I was up all night with a high fever and alarmingly numb arms and although I am much better today, I decided that it would be better to rest at home instead of taking the long trek into work. I lounged around reading Forbes magazine (yes, I do believe I am the only PCV who reads it) and came to an article that I thought would interest a friend. I ripped it out, stuffed it in an envelope and wrote a quick note. I’m not saying to whom it is going, so they will be surprised . It is someone who reads this blog (hint!) religiously. Letter writing is something I never did at home. When I asked my brother why he never responded to my letters, his response was, “Meghan, before you were in the Peace Corps did you every write anyone a letter?” After a short debate we decided that Thank-You notes don’t count. And so, the answer is no. Nobody of my generation writes letters. I have to admit that although I remember learning how to address a letter in Kindergarten, I still put the stamps on the wrong corner when I sent out a bunch of Thank-You notes in high school. I wonder if they even teach how to address a letter anymore. It is also dying out in my parents’ generation and they have lived more than half their lives without ubiquitous e-mail. In fact, the age of my most consistent pen pal is 90. My mom printed and mailed this blog to her and when she refers to it in her letters it is always “Blog (?)”. Even though I have regular e-mail access in Kindia, I have decided to write letters. I think they are more personal than an e-mail and writing them is something to do to pass the time in my electricity-less hut. For people I won’t see for 2 years, it is nice to have some sort of physical connection. I guarantee that every letter I have sent is imbued with at least a few droplets of my sweat. And when I get a letter, I think, “Wow! 6-26 weeks ago this paper was in America!”. While I have been here, America has developed an Oz/Disney World/Hogwarts/The Tombs aura. Or maybe I am just clinging to some romantic notion that 80 years down the road my grandkids will stumble upon a shoebox at the back of my closet and inside, tied with a ribbon, will be a stack of letters that I received as a young Peace Corps Volunteer. I sure hope they don’t say, “I’m not sure what these are, but I think we learned about them in history class.” Ok, so call me a romantic, but hanging out in your imagination is one of the top 5 pastimes for volunteers. And I know that I am not the only person that feels that way. A few months ago, as part of their “One Good Thing a Day” listserve, Good.is sent out an article about a letter service that for $5 a month will send you notes in the mail from celebrated authors. Of course, they will be digital reproductions of the original handwritten note, but for $5 a month, what can you expect? I think it misses the mark, but shows that there are people who want to find more than catalogues, coupons, and bills in their daily mail haul. So the point of this blog is to encourage you to write a letter to someone. It does not have to be to me, but to anyone who you think would enjoy it. I assure you that it will brighten their day. Now, how to deal with the fact that no one in my generation is in the phone book (landlines are another thing that's dying), well, just e-mail them for their contact info, but don’t tell them why. 

Monday, April 16, 2012

Mountain Climbing: A metaphor

This weekend I climbed Mount Gangan with Ravi (my postmate), Rosa (a volunteer from Benin), Ousmane (Ravi’s host brother) and two of Ousmanes friends. We planned to leave from my house around 9:30am. At 4 pm we left. Nothing in Guinea starts on time, but that does not mean you cannot still go for it. We headed off towards the mountain. When we got a little bit past the base, we realized that we did not exactly know the route and there was no single clear route. We went the way of least resistance. Further along, it turned out that taking the path of lest resistance in the beginning meant taking the path of most resistance later. It was gorgeous. Open plateaus, palm trees, cows and the African sun high in the sky. 




About 30 minutes up, we got to what looked like a wall of rock. You had to climb up about 6 feet, then shuffle along a ledge, then use a tree to pull yourself up another 5 feet from out of a crevice. I thought, there is absolutely no way I can do this, but I’m here so why not try. If you put your all into something, you will surprise yourself. Also, after pulling water from the depths of the earth and then carrying to your house for 5 months you will discover upper body strength you never knew you had. The last bit was the hardest and the way I got up was not graceful. Solutions here rarely are, but they can work. I ended up flat on my stomach on top of the ledge and gave myself 30 seconds to just laugh at myself. It truly is the best medicine. After conquering this first challenge, I was awarded with breath taking views of Kindia. 

Hard to tell, but this is a ledge, not flat ground, that we climbed up spiderman style





We walked through a manioc field with white cranes nesting. We rounded a corner and came upon a herd of beautiful tan cows. It was still up hill from here, but more manageable. At the top of this mountain is a village. The soil up top is great for bananas, so people live and farm up there and then walk down the mountain and into town to sell their produce. It’s hard to imagine that people are living like this at the same time that people are living in NYC. We met a lot of these villagers on the path. They were shocked to find a bunch of white people who greeted them in Susu. We were shocked that they were easily coming down this steep mountain, barefoot, heads piled high with produce, babies on their back, wearing skirts. About 1:30 up, we got to a rock wall about 15-20 feet high. The strongest Guinean boy in our group had trouble getting up. I thought, I probably cannot climb up, I’m scared of coming back down, and the view from here is enough for me. You have to respect your limits and I respected mine. The rest of the group decided to hike up 15 minutes more. We needed to leave soon if we were going to make it down before dark. I sat on a rock and enjoyed the view and time for reflection. After about 5 minutes, some more villagers came down the mountain. They did not attack it straight on like we had. They took a winding path, which was very manageable and not at all scary. You should never forgot that oftentimes the locals know how to do things better than you. Learning goes two ways. I realized that I could do it. The group came back and we made it to the base just as night was falling. We have time here and with our experience we are going to attack the mountain again in a few weeks. We now know that if we want to make it to the village at the top, we are going to have to leave earlier and to asses our surroundings before trying to go straight up. This morning my knee is swollen and my thighs are sore, but I am so happy for the wonderful afternoon we had yesterday. With the Peace Corps, it really is no pain, no gain. 

Friday, April 13, 2012

BABIES!!!


Babies! There are so many babies, toddlers, and children in Guinea. In addition to having one of the highest birth rates in the world, people only spend the time they sleep in the house so everywhere you look, you see cute kids. Word has got around that I love babies, so I always am getting ‘fabé’-d to come hold people’s babies. Fabé means “come here” and is married with the gesture of opening and closing your palm. Sometimes when I wave at people, I accidently make the fabé hand signal and then have people running over to me. This morning, I got offered a baby for 500 GNF- I only think the women was half kidding and if it wasn’t against Peace Corps rules to buy babies…Last night, I went over to play with my neighbor’s baby, Kadijatou. Somehow people feel the need to bundle up their babies since it is so cold here. They had this baby stuffed in 5 layers of clothes and a knit hat like the little brother in “A Christmas Story”. She couldn’t put her arms down. It was adorable.

My favorite baby is my brother Mohmed. He is very considerate. He doesn’t only try to eat my hair, he tries to feed it to me too. Today, he spent 15 minutes collecting rocks for me and one by one delivering them into my hand. He is an absolute muhzle. He also said his first words today- Oooh-O! It means “good bye” in Susu. He said it while waving. Like I said, muhz.

All kids want to pet my skin here, or at the very least give me a high five. Today, one stoked my hair, petted my arm, and then looked down my shirt to see if I was white there too. I think she was shocked to see I was even whiter. Kids here also play with trash and their hands are constantly covered in dirt, snot, trash, ash, or (during this season) mango. I have trained them to fist bump me instead. It’s much more sanitary. I give an average of 30 “Big Ups!” per day. Usually 6 or 7 kids line up for their big up and I go down the line. There is one toddler who really wants to give me a big up, but is also terrified that if she touches me the world will end so she gets about an inch away from bumping my fist and then pulls back and toddles away crying. Kids also  love to scream foté at me. I have been slowly working to get them to yell Salématou instead. Here is a conversation that happened today:

Kid 1: Foté! Foté
Kid 2: A mu xili ne foté, xili ne Salématou! (Her name’s not foté, it’s Salématou!)
Kid 1: Salématou! Salématou!

If Peace Corps has taught me anything, it is to celebrate the little victories, so I’m going to celebrate this one. 

Monday, April 9, 2012

Iyo, Won Nomma!


Happy Easter! Bon Paque! I know it’sMonday, but everyone here is a bit confused and thinks that because they have off work today, Easter is today. Why this Muslim country has a day off of work and 10 days off of school for Easter is beyond me. My only guess is that it is a vestige of French Colonialism. If you want to know how hard it is to remove work holidays ask any Georgetown student about their reaction to the University cancelling President’s Day during Snowpacolypse.

I’m happy to say that I have not posted in a while because I have been really busy. It feels great to be busy again. In Kindia, I have 2 post-mates. One of them is partnered with the Youth Association and organized a big workshop on how to conduct a professional job hunt. After two days of workshop, the third day was a job fair with representatives from nearly 20 enterprises and NGOs. Day one involved presenting research conducted on the job market in Kindia and how to create a personal action plan. Day two was a full day. One of the facilitators pumped eveyone up by making them say "Yes We Can" in English, French and all the local languages. They love Obama. In Sousou it's "Iyo, Won Nomma".  How to assemble your dossier with sessions on CVs and cover letters followed by a session on how to do a job interview and mock interviews with each participant. During this session I got to play “Salematou Sylla” a too cool for school youth who shows up late for her job interview, thinks she is better than all the other idiots she has worked with, takes a phone call during the interview, and tells the interviewer she frankly doesn’t want to work, but wants a salary. I wore one of my many shirts that mice have chewed holes in as a sort of “what not to wear”. Besides being terrified to be improving French in front of 100 people, it was actually quite fun. The Guinean sense of humor is very different than the American one (see my post “What’s in a Name”) but I somehow made everyone laugh. Maybe it was my French…The third day was the job fair. Guineans are not known for their punctuality, but the majority of participants showed up hours in advance. It was an amazing and exhausting three days. I am so happy that I got to be a part of such a massive undertaking so early in my service and happy with how much we were able to accomplish. The participants actually improved a lot and impressed the organizations by the third day. Someone in the US should do a similar training for youth who do not have the benefit of University Career Services.

Aside for the general madness of 100 youth in a hot room for three days, we had a lot of fun. Volunteers from 3 other regions came in and so after every day we sat around, ate dinner together, spoke English, and played cards. It was so nice to see volunteers who I have not seen since training. We cut my hair. It had been taking way too much water to wash. Now it’s short and a bit uneven, but I am so happy and can make a bucket of water last for three bucket baths! We also went to Kilissi, a local waterfall and swam in wonderfully cool water.