Control

Last month, I visited my friend Kristin to share American Thanksgiving with her family. While many of the Peace Corps volunteers traveled to Kombo to spend the holiday together and eat fantastic food, Kristin decided to spend it in her village. She stays with my host family each week to visit her second school, so I thought it would be good to return the visits and get to know her family too.

I biked the 20 km to Kristin's village on Wednesday evening, and as she had been talking Thanksgiving up with her family for weeks, everyone was excited. Thanksgiving day, the kids went to school, the mother and father to work, and Kristin and I prepared for our Thanksgiving "program."

We went to the market and bought five cans worth of peanuts, a bag of sugar, and a packet of dried milk. In the afternoon we made our peanut cake - heat the kettle in the fire, add the sugar, milk, and peanuts, along with a bit water. Cook, stirring constantly until the peanuts are roasted and caramelized. It should turn almost white in color. Let it cool and eat-delicious.

When everyone returned home, it was time for the main event. Kristin and I reenacted the first Thanksgiving with a pilgrim(me) landing in America after a long journey and a Native American(Kristin) greeting the pilgrim and inviting her to eat. They eat peanuts and corn, thank God, and that's the story of Thanksgiving as told by Yamundow and Ndey Salli. A simple version, but done completely in Wolof so we're pretty proud of it, and her family, they loved it! A video can be found here. After the skit they made their own paper hats, being either a pilgrim or a Native American. We ate the peanut cake, and took an abundance of pictures. Everyone was joyful and so excited that we were spending our "happy celebration day" with them. Then, when it was time for supper, her family surprised us with beans and bread, food that they would eat on their holidays which we shared with her host father, Momodou.

Some very excited Thanksgiving participants

It was a great time spent together, but we didn't realize what would happen the next night. On Friday, Kristin's host sister had a drama competition in another town. Though they considered staying overnight, she returned late that evening instead. Kristin, Momodou, and I were chatting under the bantaba, and she told us about her drama competition. After a bit, she went inside and we talked with Momodou until 11:30 pm or so. Kristin and I said good night and went inside. Momodou, stayed outside almost asleep in his chair. A couple hours later, we suddenly hear Kristin's host mother yelling. Rushing outside, we find Momodou unconscious.
Running, screaming, shouting, panic.
We try to take control. Kristin looks for a pulse, I look for a phone number to call
-no pulse, no 9-1-1.
Kristin looks to see if CPR is possible. My hands shake as I look through my contacts for any one to help. A foam has filled his air-ways. No chance for CPR. Trying to take control, we find ourselves utterly helpless amidst the chaos around. Momodou passes away.

We spend the next two days with her family. The elders and his wife bury his body during the next day. Those throughout the village pay their respects. They bring gifts and money. Families bring the rice, oil, and vegetables needed and together a dozen or so women make the meals to feed all the family and visitors for the the next few days. Returning from the burial, the imam speaks to all present. Kristin and I spend the days with her host sisters, all high school aged. We chat, we cry, but mostly we just sit together. Momodou was well-known for his generosity. As their village has one of the few high schools in the country, many students have stayed in his compound as part of the family so as to be able to go to school. He has welcomed several Peace Corps or VSO volunteers into his home. Talking with him, you knew very quickly that this was a man who was kind, virtuous, and good. His friends and family gathered, near and far, to celebrate his life, as it's done in many cultures.

I stayed a few days to be as supportive and helpful as I could before going back to my village. Biking home, I reflected on my unexpected turns of my Thanksgiving weekend. There were a couple things that stood out to me. The first was the overwhelming helplessness that I felt as he lay dying. I'm the American. I'm educated. I can read. I understand basic science. I'm here to help. I'm here to make a difference. I wanted to take control, trying to call a doctor. I saw the frantic chaos, the running, the screaming in the night, the man who lay dying before me, and I wanted to save him. I was frustrated that I wasn't a health volunteer because then maybe, just maybe...

But the fact of the matter is, had Momodou collapsed as he did in the United States, the end would not be any different. It happened so suddenly and quickly that even in our developed world with 9-1-1, ambulances, and professionally trained medical doctors, we're not in control.

Instead of being unnerved in this revelation, I was relieved. I'm not in control. I can't fix everything. I don't know all the answers. I'm not a god, but that's ok. It's ok because we have a God who is in control. Our God reigns.

Looking more closely on the preceding days, I saw God's providence, even in the details. Momodou's daughter could have easily stayed the night at her drama competition and not returned in time. Kristin could easily have been in Kombo for Thanksgiving. I could easily have gone to Kombo myself. Being present that night meant that his daughter would not have to face the news alone but could instead have the support of the whole family to walk through it together. As a welcomed member of the family, it was important for Kristin to be there. My presence meant that Kristin would not have to encounter death in a foreign culture alone. It was not an accident that we had spent Thanksgiving enjoying one another's company, taking pictures, and discussing gratitude.

For what better reason should we be grateful? We don't have to be in control. God knows the very hairs on our heads. God gives; He takes away. Our lives are nothing but gift, and they can end at any minute. Christmas is upon us, and as much as I want to be home with my family, I've been put here for a reason. I don't see the plan, but God controls even the details. Praise God. I am grateful for the prayers, letters, and support that I receive from home. Say a prayer for Momodou's family as they grieve and seek what is next. May we all come to know the gift of one another, and live each day in peace, trusting in God's providence.

Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’. For the Gentiles seek all these things; and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well- Matthew 6:31-33

Babies and Tobaski

The beginning of October found me homesick as my brother’s first child was born stateside, but here too, babies were born. The same day my host father’s daughter gave birth to her first child, also a little girl and within the week another host sister had a baby. When a baby is born here, the child is not named until the 8th day. A naming ceremony is held that day, attended by family and friends. The baby’s head is shaven and the name is announced. Kola nuts (a large and very bitter nut) and soap make appropriate gifts.
Then in mid-October was the big celebration of the Muslim holiday, Tobaski. Tobaski celebrates when Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son at God’s command, but Muslim’s believe that the son he went to sacrifice was not Isaac as Christian’s believe, but instead Isaac’s older half-brother Ishmael. The story, as told to me by a friend here, goes that God told Abraham to sacrifice his son on the mountain as an offering to God. Ishmael knew what was happening and told Abraham to blindfold both of them so that Abraham would be able to do what God asked. Abraham blindfolded himself and his son, took the knife, and just as he was about to kill his son, the angel Gabriel switched Ishmael out with a ram. Abraham who could not see this switch, removed his blindfold and found that God rewarded his faithfulness and Abraham had not killed his son but instead a ram.
The holiday, as celebrated in the Gambia, requires an entire week off from school and work. Monday found my family cleaning every corner, dish and cloth insight. On Tuesday, family members who had moved away returned home, extensions were weaved, braided, and sewn into hair, and complets were ironed. Wednesday was the day for prayer. The men and children went to the mosque to pray in the morning. Then when they returned it was time to slaughter our own rams. My good friend, Kristin, stayed with me over the Tobaski, and she and I went with my host father, our ram, and two goats. The other families also brought their rams, but my host father, a prominent member of the village, was the one to butcher most of the rams as they faced Mecca.
Then we returned home and the cooking began. As meat is both expensive and scarce in The Gambia, we were all very excited. Kristin and I peeled and diced probably three dozen onions while some of the other women prepared the meat. As any good cooks would do, we snacked as worked- charcoal-grilled ram meat, organs, and what I’m pretty sure were the testicles. It was delicious and felt like a barbecue back home. After several hours cooking, lunch was quickly devoured around several food bowls. Someone had even gone to the town 20 kilometers away to buy ice. Hello cold juice! The afternoon was spent brewing attaya and meew. In the evening we got all done up to go to the drumming and dancing program.
Thursday was day two of celebration and this was the day that everyone broke out their brand new complets, shoes, and nicest of their nicest things. We continued to eat and eat and eat some more. Children went around the village asking for salibo, usually a dalasi or a candy handed out. More hot attaya, more cold juice, more drumming and dancing in the night. Friday was the big football (soccer) game- Village boys versus Kombo boys and all the women dressed to the nines to go out and cheer. They tied 1-1.
Celebrating Tobaski felt so much like celebrating Thanksgiving at home. How to people celebrate? Food, food, family, friends, some more food, and sports, the necessary elements for any festivity.
Now the upcoming month looks very busy. Next weekend I will be working with my headmaster and a teacher to put on a training on Learner Centered Teaching. We’ve also begun a reading club at my school, meeting with five students from each class, two times a week to catch up their reading skills. There will be another school training in a couple weeks, but one that I am not facilitating. After that, I’ll be interviewing community members and writing my baseline survey, the assessment of the needs of my village and what possible projects would be desired. Some of the adventure and newness is wearing off but I feel energized now by my work in the school, that an d it’s finally cooling off some. Hello “cold” season!

Gelly-Gellies and School Days

Just a brief update here. I'm back in Kombo for a day or two with an ear infection. I saw the Peace Corps doctor this morning, recieved some medicine, and will make my way back to site tomorrow. I took public transportation here. Gelly-gellies, as they are called, are slightly longer than typical vans. They are often in less than mint condition. During training, my first gelly-gelly's side door fell off. The trip from my site to Kombo is about 120 miles but takes a good 6 hours. Yesterday took me 8 hours. Our driver hit a motorcycle at low speeds. No one was hurt, the bike didn't even fall over but there was damage. I then waited with 23 adults, 3 children, 1 infant, and 1 squaking chicken on the side of the road in a Lundvan sized vehicle while the drivers yelled at each other for 30 minutes. A cop arrives. Now 3 people yell at each other for 20 minutes. Suddenly they stopped, the driver came back, and we drove on.... until we suddenly pulled over at the police station for another hour. My Wolof helped me enough to find out that they needed money and did not have money. "I see. So when will they finish? What will they do?" I asked. -"They need money," someone replies. And we waited until suddenly they were finsihed, the driver returned, and I survived my first solo gelly-gelly experience.

I've been at site for less than two weeks. My initial impression is that the village is very social and supportive, and my school and headmaster are the best in The Gambia. We've been fast at work this first week of school to create action plans for committees and organize school based trainings throughout the year. I will be working with my headmaster and another teacher to lead a training on learner centered teaching and math methods of teaching primary grades. I've been getting to know the teachers and students. My school is supported by the Dutch Ngayen Sanjal School Fund. I've included a link to their website on my blog now. The students do not have to pay tuition to attend school, but they do need uniforms, pencils, paper, and some money for lunch. Through this organziation, the students recieve the assistance they need to not only go to school, but stay in school. The leader of the school fund came to visit last Friday. Gifts of money, mattresses, and even a goat or two were given to children and families. The organization has help fund the school's library, office and staff room, and solar panel. They are working to provide the families with solar lanterns so the children can do they homework at night.

I also added a wish list to my blog for those who have asked what they should send me. Packages are wonderful, and letters are my favorite.

That's all for now. I'll brave the gelly-gellies again tomorrow to head to site. Love and prayers.

Go Time

I'm all sworn in and about to start doing actual work. It's hard to say exactly what I'm feeling. On one hand, the completion of training meant leaving my training village and the family I've grown to love for the last two months. My little brother especially has a huge piece of my heart. 5 year old Mustafa would see me coming home from class each day and and would run down the path to greet me. I've uploaded a video of his precious laugh for your enjoyment below.

 

The last morning in my training village, my family gave me my favorite breakfast "rui," which I believe is a cos porridge, though I'm really not sure. I finished my final packing while eating this first breakfast. I then joined my family to a second breakfast of rice and fish around the foodbowl. Mustafa and I played Dem Napa(Go Fish) until the Peace Corps truck arrived. I swooped Mustafa up to say goodbye and broke into tears when he began to sob in my arms. As my friend, Melissa, says "Peace Corps: Teaching you to say goodbye since 1961." The good news is, few goodbyes are forever, and I've got plans to visit my training village family this December. 

On Friday, I swore in as an official volunteer. The ceremony took place at the US ambassador's residence and was attended by embassy officials, Peace Corps staff, and representatives from the Gambian Ministry of Education. Both the Gambian and American national anthem were sung, a number of speeches were made, and we raised our hands to be sworn in. 

“I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”

And we can now say we're volunteers. Alleluia! We celebrated with the rest of the PCVs on a boat cruise down the Gambia River. Saturday morning we went shopping for necessary items. I bought a bed for sleeping, propane tank and burner for cooking, and bucket and rope for laundry. What more could I need? Today I went to my LCF's house for lunch with my two classmates (pictured above) and got to Facetime my sister at home this evening. It's been a great weekend.

Tomorrow morning I head out to my permanent site. The next phase is called the three month challenge in which we are to stay in our villages until December. The goal is to get to know my host family, school, and community. I will spend time chatting, building relationships, and learning about my village. I will also spend the three months writing a baseline assessment. I will assess what needs my village actually has. The goal is to build knowledge of what the village wants, would benefit from, and be able to sustain. When the relationships are built and baseline understood, I will the be able to create projects with community members to build their own capacity and meet their needs. 

I'm feeling excited and empowered, nervous and uncertain. There's a lot of ambiguity in terms of what happens next. The last 10 weeks have been scheduled out hour by hour, but that schedule ends the same hour we get picked up tomorrow for site. The schedule's now in my hands. There is freedom in the ambiguity. I can make these next two years what I want them to be, creating projects, forming friendships, and living the adventure that is The Gambia. There is pressure in the responsibility. Successful service entails building strong relationships, integrating into a new culture, learning Wolof, and hopefully initiating a little progress. There's a lot to take in. I guess it's as the Gambians say when you ask how the work is, "I'm on it, slowly, slowly." I know I've got the love, prayers, and support of those at home, and these faces welcoming me into their home tomorrow. -I know, they look thrilled!

So here it is. It's go time. Be beneen yoon! (Until next time) Wish me luck.

The End of Training

Training’s over. I’m just about official. I swear in as a volunteer on Friday, September 6^th which is only a few days away. I’m officially at an intermediate high proficiency in Wolof! I’m able communicate my needs and speak in sentences, though my grammatical accuracy and fluency are definitely on the poor side. A new challenge in learning Wolof is that the Wolof spoken up country at my site is not the same as what is spoken here in Kombo. It’s not drastically different, but different enough to annihilate my current language skills. Here we go again.

Last week we had our Marathon March. It was twelve miles through salt marsh, river, mangrove swamp, and bush. There were two points in the journey that we had to hold backpacks over our heads and walk through water up to our chests. Our hard work trudging through sand, mud, and swamp was well rewarded in the end with delicious pizza and cold beverages, a real treat when living without refrigeration.

Hiking through the bush

My language and culture facilitator, Ebrima, has been facilitating my culture learning by quickly turning me into a Barcelona football fan. Last Sunday he took me and my two classmates to watch the game at a house by the baobabs with electricity and a television. We bought cookies and soda from the bitik next door, and I felt like a little girl again, watching football with my dad. “Which team to we want? They’re red right? Yay, we scored! Oh, I mean boo! They scored.” Ebrima’s been a very patient teacher to three monolingual Americans. 

Ebrima and I during a Peace Corps Staff and Trainees versus Host Families Futball Game

Since coming to The Gambia, I’ve encountered various and unique forms of wildlife including monkeys, lizards, hippos, and an unbelievable number of ants. Ants have quickly become one of my least favorite creatures on this earth. I had, until a few days ago, been fortunate enough to avoid any encounters with snakes. My fear of snakes is quite extreme, bordering the line of a phobia. Three nights ago was at first another pleasant evening, reading a book by the light of a lantern, laying in my bed. Imagine my surprise when my eyes glimpsed movement on my floor. I look down and there is a living snake in the middle of my room. It was not very big, maybe a foot long and small enough to come into my house through the gap below my closed back door. Africa must have made me tougher because I didn’t scream, nor did I panic. I grabbed my flashlight and spotlighted the snake as it went underneath my watering can. I ran to my front door, spotlight still centered on the fowl being, and called to my family for help. I said “Mariama, Mariama, kai, kai!” (come, come)" My sisters and mothers came inside and I said “There’s a snake in my house! Ragalma ko! Ragalma ko!” (Small Wolof mistake as Ragalma ko actually means it fears me and not I fear it as I intended. Foreign languages are hard). My mom grabbed a 6 foot stick, knocked over the watering can, and beat the snake for the next several minutes. Meanwhile, my sisters and I stand back, horrified and holding the flashlight. When all was over, I made my sister stay with me while I looked underneath my bed, behind my shelf, and in every corner for any more of its friends. Ebrima came by shortly afterwards and helped me shove a broom under my door to keep any more out. My fear didn't not really hit me until it came in the form of tears after I said goodnight to everyone for the second time and headed to bed. When I first came to The Gambia, one of the other PCTs had a snake in her pit latrine. When she told us about it, I thought to myself, “No way. If that happens, I’m out of here. I’ll do rats. I’ll do massive spiders, and I’ll handle a plethora of lizards. I won’t do snakes. First sign, I’m calling quits and going home.” Well, it’s happened, but as it turns out, I’m too happy here to be ready to throw in the towel. I survived an encounter with a snake, a snake that came into my house through my closed door in Africa. I survived, and the snake definitely did not. Plus one to me.

The way things stand right now, I’m finished with training, and on the verge of swearing in. Back at home, my family and friends are headed back to school and enjoying the final days of summer. Here it seems that I’m stuck in a perpetual summer, a summer that’s about to get hotter and longer as I move to site and settle into the next two years, during the two hottest months. I’m grateful for God’s providence. I’ve been blessed with beautiful and supportive friends both here and stateside, good health, and high spirits as I move into this next stage. I look forward to transitioning from a Peace Corps Trainee into the life of a United States Peace Corps Volunteer. I hope to post again after I swear in to fill you in more on what this transition means.  

One Month In

Well, training is officially halfway over, and a fast month it has been. It’s been up and down, but I must say that I am learning a great deal, being stretched and challenged, yet supported and encouraged.

My home here is part of a row house. I have 2 rooms and a private backyard and pit latrine for bucket baths under the stars- my favorite. I have three little host sisters and one host brother, Mustafa, who is six years old and has the world’s most endearingly mischievous giggle.

My first day in village was my naming ceremony. My host mom lent me an African complet to wear with headwrap and earnings and took me to the village alkalo. The other trainees in village were there with their families. My name for the next two years is Yamundow and my toma, or namesake, is my little sister. After we received our names, the village alkalo gave a speech, welcoming us into th 
e community, and saying that we were all one. Then there was a great deal of dancing. In the afternoon, there was a cultural show with more drumming, dancing, and traditional performers who danced and breathed fire.

Every day I study Wolof with my Language and Cultural Facilitator (LCF) with two other Peace Corps Trainees. I enjoy this a great deal and find it’s easier than expected, though slow. Here they say, “Ndanka, Ndanka mooy jappa golo ci nay bi,” which translates to “slowly, slowly, catches a monkey in the bush.” In essence, be patient, work hard, and it will come.

Training has also been full of technical how to live in The Gambia things, including bicycle maintenance, gardening, the beliefs of Islam, and what it means to be in the education system here. We just completed a week of model school in which we had the opportunity to teach Gambian 5^th and 6^th grade students. It’s a fascinating challenge here with education. The official language of the country is English so school is in English. In one classroom, you can have students that speak Mandinka, Wolof, Pular, Serehule, and Jola and a teacher who speaks Manjogo. Learning to read, hard enough already, is further complicated by the fact that these languages are not written languages. There is little print in the environment, and very few adults speak the English the children are receiving instruction in. The children essentially have no exposure to literacy. My job is to work with early grade teachers and develop skills particularly in literacy and general support for other subjects. I will be observing teaching, giving feedback, working with teachers to develop more interactive teaching methods, and co-planning and co-teaching with my counterparts. It feels like a pretty tall order, and I need to learn more about teaching English as a foreign language. Come September I will move to my permanent site and will have a better idea of what my school will need.

So as mentioned, training has been a great deal of ups and downs. I love the people. I don’t love the food. I love the adventure of a new experience. I miss the comforts home. I have received a few letters and when I do, they absolutely make my week. I love hearing of what’s going on in the rest of the world, and I have shed quite a few tears missing the hearts at home. I am excited that training is halfway over, and I look forward to swearing in and moving in to my site.

One month down, 25 months to go!

A Smiling Post for a Smiling Coast

Salaamaleekum! The wait is over, I have met my fellow trainees, and we have all arrived to The Gambia. After one day of staging orientation in Philadelphia, and two very long plane rides, we have been welcomed with open arms to the smiling coast. First impression walking off the plane: crap, it’s hot. Second impression: they’re so nice! We went through customs with no incident and were gifted with hand fans for the heat. It’s really not even hot yet, humid 90s probably.

I do not as of yet know which language I am to learn. It will all depend on where my final site will be which is to be determined in the next week or so. The trainees will be taught wolof, mandinka, and pulaar, and we have already begun lessons in introductory greetings and vocabulary for all. Next week we will be placed in training villages. During that time we will study one of these three languages extensively while living with a host family and receiving lessons from a language and cross cultural facilitator. We will be given a Gambian name and become a member of a local family. This training time will continue until September 6, 2013 when we will be sworn in as volunteers.

I am quickly falling in love with this country. I’ve enjoyed the shade of a cashew tree and the fruit of a mango tree. I can genuinely say that I feel very welcomed and taken care of here. I certainly came in with a large number of fears, but now after meeting the people, that is not longer the case. I am excited for the opportunities and challenges that lie ahead, and I am comforted to know that I am in really good hands here.

I know this post is short and lacking in anything very juicy, but it’s what I can give in my limited time. It is unlikely that I will have access the internet again until September, but I just wanted to let you know that I am here, safe and smiling. While I won’t have internet access until September, I will be able to receive and write letters so pull out a stamp and drop me note!

Love and peace! 

PS Yesterday I saw monkeys and learned how to change bike tires. Today I will wash my clothing by hand. Boom.

To The Moon

Guess what!? I’m going to the moon! Not really, but to some it seems to be so. My 8 year old niece drew me this picture:

In truth, I depart home, sweet and beautiful South Dakota this weekend. I will spend 2 days in Philadelphia for final staging, and then off to The Gambia, the smiling coast of Africa, with the United States Peace Corps. There I will be a primary teacher trainer, training local teachers in new methodologies and curriculum, developing literacy programs, teaching, and creating projects to meet the needs of the locals. 

One long year after applying, and four fast months after being assigned to The Gambia, the countdown is now very short, single digits short. This week my goal is to soak in the beauty that surrounds me in my home, friends, and family and also somehow convince myself to pack. I’ve always hated packing, and packing for 27 months to move to the other side of the world with no electricity or running water is a little daunting. A few of the items on my packing list are a solar charger to power an African cell phone and my kindle, and a sunhat for days that can get up to 130 degrees. I’ve got a French press to make coffee sans electricity, a short stack of children’s books for school, and gardening gloves to green my thumb.

Upon arrival in The Gambia, I begin training. I will live with a host family while studying the language, culture, and technicalities of what I am to do there. I will train with a small number of other volunteers, and at the end of training we are individually sent to different villages to begin two years of service.  As mentioned, I will most likely not have electricity so updates to this blog will be infrequently made when I travel to larger villages or cities. The best method of communicating with me will be through snail mail.  

 

Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers during my time of service. I’m feeling very nervous, but I know that I go with God’s protection and guidance. Missing you already!

                                                              

“Whoever serves must do so with the strength God supplies that God may be glorified in all things through Jesus Christ” 1 Peter 4:11