A Third Culture Kid in Guinea

Epiblog

2008-09-17T07:14:00.010Z

On my first night back in America, I awoke with a start. My room was pitch black, so dark in fact that the darkness stayed the same regardless if my eyes were closed or open. This is a darkness I can only associate with Guinea. No flashing lights, no passing cars, I mean total black darkness. I thought I was in Guinea.

But, where’s my mosquito net? And why isn’t my headlamp in the right upper corner on my bed?

It took me a full minute to remember everything I had fought and cried over the past three days.

I wasn’t the only one exiled. Melissa, another volunteer, was medically separated along with me, and she and I clutched hands on the way to the airport in Conakry. I remember seeing the massive plane, shining a bright white as I walked up to it. There it was, the vessel that so much represented the first world, luxury, something I used to be so familiar with. I had only seen two planes in the sky since I’d lived in a hut without water or electricity, and there I was, standing on the tarmac next to a giant, modern airbus. And then I broke down crying. I didn’t think I could be so moved by an airplane, but there you have it. On the boarding ramp, Mel and I turned around and waved goodbye to Guinea. Then, just like that, my service had ended and readjustment began.

I definitely sobbed and whispered a private goodbye to Guinea as the plane’s wheels left the ground and soared northward. The flight attendants noticed Mel and I holding hands, and asked if everything was alright. I explained our story, and assumed that the attendant thought I was joking (I mean, who on earth would voluntarily live in a hut without electricity or running water?) But given the status of our overall filthy appearances, I think she believed my story. Several rounds of whiskey were served to us, free of charge, as well as a few beers, and as we saw the last lights of Conakry disappear, we toasted to the volunteers we knew were drinking down below at the beach bar.

Every volunteer thinks about what that plane ride home is going to be like—when they will be on it, who they will be on it, and what they will be leaving behind. In my hut, I imagined feeling triumphant over having successfully completed two years, or sad that I just wasn’t up to the task. I felt neither of these emotions because there was no choice involved in my case. And it wasn’t a plane ride home. I honestly felt like I was leaving home all over again, and going somewhere else that was familiar, but certainly not home.

It’s pretty amazing that the plane doors closed on Conakry and re-opened in Paris. The extremes are pretty amazing to witness. I imagine it would also be pretty amazing to witness people accustomed to the extremes of Guinea, interact with the extremes of France. Unfortunately, I don’t have any video footage of myself interacting with these extremes, but I’ll do my best to explain.

I was absolutely intimidated by the automatic sliding doors in the airport. Mel and I stood awkwardly in front of the glass plates, taking slow steps forward, carefully observing the plates move right and then left, worried that the door might close on us. And this was us trying our hardest to look normal. We both literally jumped when the intercom in the airport announced something generic about airport security. I marveled at the automatic flushing toilets and free toilet seat covers, and Mel thought that I’d been singing with an eerie accent when the introductory notes of the intercom came on. We both took giant steps onto the escalator, nervous that our pants/skirts might get caught. I have never felt more like Mr. Bean. Back at home, I tried to light my mom’s Viking stove with matches, I put metal in the microwave and jumped when the toaster had finished its toasting. And I won’t even begin to describe the disaster with the Jacuzzi.

I was generally cold and discouraged with the pace at which people in the “western world” live their lives. Everything is so fast. They even talk faster here! Mel and I both wondered why on earth everyone was walking with such speed once we alighted from the plane in Paris. After all, our plane had arrived on time.

In Guinea, Americans are guaranteed privacy with all their conversations in English (because virtually no one speaks English), such that they are able to speak freely about any topic they wish, even when they’re surrounded by people. As a result, my voice got a LOT louder in Guinea, and it took a good ten minutes waiting in (a real line!) customs, yakking with Mel, to realize that my conversations were no longer private. In fact, everyone waiting in line had been murmuring, probably about us loud Americans. There is definitely line-waiting etiquette I forgot in Guinea. Perhaps it’s because there are no lines in Guinea-- Whoever has the sharpest elbows and the meanest glare usually gets to the front the fastest.

Humans in the western world also tend to ignore everyone around them, which is the complete opposite in Guinea—it’s considered impolite to not say hello to people as you pass them. I took an underground train to my terminal that was jam packed with 15 other westerners, and everyone was trying their best not to make eye contact or confirm one another’s existence. What is the purpose of this? Honestly, a lot of social behavior has a reason behind it and I can’t grasp this. I suppose that it allows you to go from point A to point B faster, or perhaps this common decency disappeared when small communities started disappearing. There just isn’t enough time in a westerner’s day to acknowledge so many people. Pathetic?

Five bladed razors, ten different shaving cream scents, an entire aisle for cereals. I had vertigo the first time I ventured into an American grocery store. In Guinea, I imagined absolute glee over this event. Instead, it was just too much.

For the first two weeks back, I spoke to strangers in French. Well, I started speaking French in my head and then had to translate it back to English. And the number of mirrors in this country is insane. You’re so frequently bombarded with images of yourself that it forces you to be self-absorbed, introspective and superficial. I hate it.

The main adjustment for me was that there was no longer meaning to my life, and I felt that by moving on, I was betraying my experiences and the life I had in Guinea. That took time to come to terms with. Sometimes I wonder if Guinea ever really happened. Nothing in my life here resembles the life I had in Guinea—everything is so far away. This too, shall pass.

No one seems too interested in hearing about my experiences in Guinea. Some people have actually said "Oh, that's nice, what else have you been up to?" when I said I'd been in the Peace Corps. Others don't ask follow up questions, and others act as if I had been away on vacation or at school, not through the freakin' mental warfare Guinea can ignite.

And now, what most of you are reading this for—the medical stuff. I escaped the medical care in Guinea that can at best be described as “distracted”, saw a fantastic doctor in America and got a physical illness diagnosed. It turns out that the adjustment disorder I'd been diagnosed with was only a suggestion for a diagnosis-- it had never been concrete. It blows my mind that they send volunteers home with false diagnoses without admitting that the diagnoses are not, in fact, concrete. My doctor in America sent my new, actual diagnosis to Peace Corps D.C, and because Peace Corps is part of the biggest bureaucracy in the world, I am now registered as having not only the physical illness, but also the mental disorder that they sent me home for. GAH!!!!

I hated that nothing in Guinea ran efficiently, and yes, with bureaucracy comes efficiency. But with bureaucracy there are also quite a few missed steps, mistakes in the process. You’re going to overlook something when you move so swiftly. This is the one time I wish America’s government would be more like Guinea. If only I could joke with a Peace Corps employee and call him a cattle thief and slip him a 10,000 FG bill.

It doesn’t really matter—my condition calls for drugs that the Peace Corps doesn’t allow. So, it’s over. I’ll be healthy eventually, but I had to make a decision and mentally unpack. I got so much out of my eight months in Guinea, and who’s to say that I couldn’t have gotten more out of it.

It’s been fun to reflect on who I was in November of 2007, and think back to how I saw Guinea and Africa. I was so excited and intensely curious about this marvelous foreign adventure I had in my head. I was so excited to feel caught up in an almost Alice in Wonderland-like world, eyes wide with wonder, marveling and excited over so many things. Ha. Guinea was stressful, dirty, frustrating and I was only in the marveled state I’d daydreamed about a handful of times. But I found something else, and that something is what you’ve been reading about for the past ten months. I joined Peace Corps to examine and expand my limits, and I got exactly what I wanted.

I can’t rationalize continuing being such a virtual narcissist in America, so this is the last blog entry. But thanks so much to Liz who wrote that beautiful note on my last entry. My Dad's health is now fantastic and I’m going forward with my plans to become a Nurse Practitioner.

And so, my dear readers, I bid you fondly adieu. Guinea is still all over me in mosquito bite scars and the dirt that my toenails absorbed, but what’s most important is the stuff that happened beneath the surface. I am focusing on what I’ve gained, because it was/is so wonderful.

I'll leave you with three quotes that helped me through some of the more challenging times in Guinea---

“Nothing is hopeless; we must hope for everything.” --Euripides

“Life is a series of evolutions.” -- unknown

“I am not myself; I am the potential of myself.” – Anna D. Smith

Love,

Katie

Medical Separation

2008-07-23T22:10:00.000Z

Well, it’s been a few days now and I haven’t wanted to write about the last week because that would require acknowledging that all this has actually happened. It’s a bit bizarre to be writing this blog to both my friends and family in the US and my friends and family in Guinea. I’m going over the details of my case for you PCV’s in Guinea, because I know that no one is allowed to disclose my own medical information but me, and I want you guys to understand everything that has happened. Ugh, so here goes. This is going to be a monster blog.

On July 17th, I was medically separated from the Peace Corps. Medical separation means that I have been sent home permanently due to medical reasons. I can contest this decision, and I will, but my hopes aren’t exactly sky high considering the quality of decision making that must have been involved in my medical separation.

I started experiencing physical symptoms (details which I will spare you from) a few days before New Years Eve and called the PC doctor for advice. Over the next seven months, my symptoms decreased greatly, by at least 92%, but it was still a problem I didn’t want to have to deal with. I credit myself entirely for this improvement—the only medical attention I was awarded over 7 months was a course of antibiotics and a course of general drugs that fight tropical afflictions, and none of these drugs made any marked improvements. I did, however, prescribe myself a healthy diet, an hour of cardio every day, at least 7 Nalgenes full of water to drink, and journal writing to let loose my frustrations about the medical care I’d been receiving in country. While my symptoms began improving in late February, I started developing secondary symptoms as a result of having this health problem go on for so damn long.

Because of the limited technology Guinea has, the doctor couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. I was told that the American doctor would be coming to Guinea to meet with us PCV’s sometime between May and July, and that I would be able to have an appointment with him to discuss my options, when he did come.

Due to Guinea’s instability, this American doctor’s visit kept being postponed, until July, when I was told that there was no longer a month set for his visit. This is when I broke down crying in front of the PC doctor in Guinea—which is what I wrote about in my last blog entry.

I was offered a therapy session on July 11th with an American therapist over the phone, which I explained that I didn’t need—my only emotional issues were with the medical care I’d gotten in the country. I eventually accepted the session because nothing else was being offered to me at that point. The woman I spoke with was great, very understanding, and she awarded me a positive review, calling me “highly functional, well-adapted, enjoys her site.” Five days later, I was called into the PC doctor’s office and was informed that I was being medically separated for, and I quote, “Adjustment disorder with anxiety”.

This diagnosis is incredible (or just incredibly ridiculous) considering the fact that it was based on a SINGLE conversation over the PHONE that reviewed me as someone quite the opposite of someone suffering from an Adjustment disorder. It truly is a slap in the face, considering how well I’ve adapted to my life in Guinea, and after all the months good medical attention was denied to me. I went through so much being sick for so long, on top of being a productive and adaptive volunteer, and for Peace Corps to send me home with a label of having a mental disorder is beyond infuriating. And what gets me even more is that NO ONE could explain to me how they came to this diagnosis!

My symptoms don’t even match the criterion for the disorder in the DSM IV TR. It is also important to note that I never once mentioned the word “anxiety” or anything that could be reasonably interpreted as such to the therapist.

I am not a doctor, I am not a therapist, but, I am an intelligent woman that can tell when two and two don’t add up.

I am also a woman that will be contesting this decision. I sent the Office of Medical Services a letter stating my case this past Friday, and I’m calling them tomorrow to follow up. At the very least, perhaps I will be provided an explanation as to how they came to this conclusion about me.

After giving so much of myself to Guinea and Peace Corps, it isn’t acceptable to me to be so unceremoniously dumped. I did not want to leave.

I’m nervous that a mental diagnosis was fabricated because they couldn’t figure out what physical illness I had. I don’t know why Peace Corps didn’t send me to Senegal or another country with better medical resources to discover what really was the problem, fix it, and then return me to Guinea.

That’s one thing that Peace Corps went on and on about—that they would take care of their PCV’s. If I really do have an adjustment disorder, then, yes Peace Corps absolutely made the right decision. Someone with such a disorder should not be in the Peace Corps—they could be a liability.

Perhaps I’m wrong, but I’ve lived in several countries-- I am not maladaptive. Living in Guinea is hard and stressful, but I enjoyed it, and I’m angry that the life I built for myself in Guinea has been taken away from me.

I am so thankful for the eight months I had in Guinea. They were incredible and I’m trying to focus on what I’ve gained and not what I’ve lost. I wouldn’t be this upset had I not enjoyed them so much and I’m angry because my time was cut short for reasons that were not adequately (more like remotely) explained.

Under normal circumstances, a volunteer is given 48 hours to leave the country after being med-sep’d. Peace Corps Guinea allotted me an extra 48 hours on top of this, and for that I am extremely thankful. Not only did they give me four days, they also allowed me to return to my site to say goodbye to my host family and friends and pack up my hut, using a Peace Corps car and driver. Usually the regional coordinator would pack up my hut, and my belongings would be shipped to me. So, thank you Peace Corps Guinea for allowing me to say goodbye.

I am still very much a fan of the Peace Corps program, I want that to be clear. I’m just upset over my individual case. Perhaps I won’t be upset after everything is explained.

This isn’t over, and if you would like to comment on this blog entry, I ask that you send your comments directly to my e-mail (Katieinguinea@gmail.com).

Forgive me if I take awhile to respond to them; it turns out that a mass 9 cm in diameter had been found in my Dad’s right lung, and my family is waiting to hear the results of the biopsy. The timing of my being sent home has been uncanny in correlation with my dad’s health. Everything happens for a reason, I suppose.

I think about Guinea at least once every five minutes, and about what my fellow PCV’s are doing at any given moment in time. I miss you guys almost every moment of every day.

This isn’t my last blog entry—I’ll write about my last days in Guinea and what it was like arriving in America (my first two conscious thoughts were “it’s cold,” and “why is everyone walking so fast?!”) , when things at home have calmed down.

All for now, stay tuned.

Sojourn to Saladou

2008-07-07T22:33:00.004Z

The Fourth of July was awesome—much fun was had and many, many beers were consumed. We had a potluck, which included a pig that had been artfully slaughtered and prepared by fellow PCVs. It’s always such a pleasure to eat meat that isn’t mainly bone.

As I write this, I am sipping cooled water from a plastic baggie labeled “pure and legendary mineral water,” listening to music on Pandora online radio. I was supposed to be on the mailrun ride up to Kankan today, but I had a little breakdown in front of the Peace Corps doctor. It was eventually my friends that decided that I was not fit to head back to Mandiana, and I’m grateful to them that they recognized this and were so decisive for me. I’ve been sick in this country for almost seven months now with no cure in sight, and I’ve hit a wall. Hopefully I demonstrated this effectively by crying for like three straight hours. So I’m still here in Conakry, and we’ll see what happens.

There are a few things I neglected to write about due to time constraints and the number of volunteers jostling for the four computers here, but I have this room all to myself now, so I figured I’d fill you in.

On June 24th, I went on my first outreach trip. As volunteers, we’re supposed to work in our communities and also in areas surrounding them. The head of the DPS had to make a visit to Saladou, an outlying pre-fecture (which is roughly the equivalent of a county) in Mandiana state to settle a dispute in one of its health centers. There was space in the car, so I leapt at the chance to do a little outreach work. Saladou is on the border with Cote D’Ivoire and it was quite the adventure to get there.

For example, one hour into the journey, we had to cross the Sankarane river. Now, because this is Guinea, there was no ferry to shuttle our large SUV-truck to the other side. All I could see was a pirogue (canoe), but the DPS staff didn’t seem bothered at all. When I asked Mr. Le DPS what we could possibly do with a canoe, he said “Pas de probleme!” My thought: What on earth could transport this huge car across a river so large and apparently deep?

Well, my internal musing was soon ended when a middle-aged man came floating down the river in another pirogue, guiding it along using a long pole.

This man moved his pirogue next to the existing pirogue and hopped onto our shore, grabbed two large planks of wood and sat them atop the two parallel pirogues. He then secured them with pieces of fishing net he found lying on the riverbank, and motioned us onto this flimsy watercraft.

You guessed it, all the Guineans hopped back into the car while I just stood there shocked.

One other guy with a long pole showed up, and we and our several tonned vehicle were guided safely across the river, with a man pushing our craft across the river with a pole on each side of the watercraft.

Djameelah (my translator) smiled at me and said “Il y a les crocodiles ici!” (There are crocodiles here!). She often says stuff like this to get a reaction out of me. I usually respond with comments that just make fun of hers, such as, “Well, in America, we ride crocodiles across rivers. We don’t have fancy boats like this one.” She just laughs.

Once on the other side of the river, we drove for another six hours through the beautiful bush. About two hours into this scenic ride, we ran over a squirrel. In America, one might say “sorry, squirrel!” and keep driving. In Guinea, apparently, one stops the car and runs to the squirrel to inspect if it’s in good enough condition to eat. This squirrel was in A-OK condition, and the man who hopped out asked if anyone had a knife on them so that he could cut out the dead squirrel’s innards. Of all people, Djameelah rifled through her purse to pull out a knife with a seven inch blade! She actually carries this knife with her at all times, for occasions such as these. Oh, Guinea.

When we finally arrived in Saladou, the health center wasn’t ready to receive us, which meant the village elders hadn’t yet congregated to have this meeting with us. So, we traveled further east to the last village before the Cote D’Ivoirian border. Like most Guinean villages, there wasn’t much to see, so we all clambered out of the car and searched for a good place for me to give my malaria sensibilization. We settled on a tea house (read: wooden shack with a fire to heat water for the tea) and then corralled villagers over to it. It turns out that the group of fifty or so men was mainly refugees from the still unstable northern regions of Cote D’Ivoire. So I thought that was cool.

Usually, when I give my malaria sensibilization, at least someone in the crowd knows something about malaria. Nope. No one even knew any myths about it (many Guineans believe that you get malaria from eating mangoes). So, I enlightened them and they were so appreciative of it! Most aid groups don’t reach such outlying villages, and I felt proud that I was able to do something for this village. I doubt they’ll actually start sleeping in long sleeves and pants (no one can afford a mosquito net), but at least the information is now out there.

After the sensibilization, we returned to Saladou and located the meeting. Twenty-three of the village elders sat in wooden chairs in a circle under the shade of a huge Acajou tree. Four seats nearest to the trunk were left open, and we sat in them. All of these elders were men, and they were each dressed in their long, billowy religious clothes. It’s for moments and images like these that I love Guinea so much.

The council was mainly conducted in Malinke, but from the limited French spoken, I was able to gather the gist of what was going on. I had originally understood that the reason the DPS team had come to Saladou was to reprimand the health center chief for not doing his job. It turns out that he had been doing a little too much—the health center chief had been giving the town’s women abortions. This greatly upset the village elders because abortion is against both Guinean and Islam law. I believe strongly in a woman’s right to choose, but I kept my mouth firmly shut for the entirety of the council—it wasn’t my place to say anything. I really wanted to congratulate the poor guy that was being berated for delivering this service to women that are denied access to effective forms of birth control, education, and pretty much everything else. But I would have been overstepping my boundaries as a female volunteer. Trust me, it was hard.

We got back to the banks of the river at around ten PM and took the truly African watercraft back across to the other side. Once on dry land, the driver had the wacky idea of taking a “shortcut” through the African bush. Everyone (but me) thought this was a great idea, so we drove through grass that was eight feet tall—no trail, no stars to follow—the driver just drove. I was imagining myself sleeping in the car with these guys in this grass, lost, after driving for hours on end. But, as things in Guinea eventually do, it all worked out and I arrived safely back at my hut at midnight. Starving, I fixed up a camping meal, inhaled it, and collapsed into bed.

Other highlights:

--I’ve started praying every night with my Guinean family. It’s a really moving experience for me because it’s the first time I’ve truly felt like a part of their family. The Dad recites passages from the Koran on a sheep skin in front of myself, Fanta, and the four kids. Together, we bow on all fours and touch our foreheads to the ground just like you see in the movies. They know I’m not Muslim-- I tell them I’m Christian because Guineans really don’t respect you if you say that you don’t believe in any God. Maybe one day I'll share my true beliefs with them.

--In Kankan last week, four bats flew into our regional house, causing complete pandemonium. The women screamed, “AHHH!!! EBOLA!!!” or “AHHH! RABIES!!!” as they ran outside to evade the bats that were dive-bombing above their heads, and the men chased after these bats with…baseball bats. Alex actually hit a bat with the bat and killed it. David eventually caught the other three with a pagne (bolt of fabric) and let them free outside.

The Wanton Fowl Guide: Mandiana

2008-07-05T16:01:00.003Z

Felipe (my sitemate) is at the end of his Peace Corps service and just wrote this gem about our town, Mandiana. I absolutely HAD to post this for you to enjoy. He's a hilarious writer and as shocking and crude as the following accounts may sound, it's all true.

The Wanton Fowl Guide: Mandiana

by Felipe Munoz
I could not leave my post without attempting to write a new tour guide for Mandiana, which was suspiciously left out of The Rough Guide and Lonely Planet. Of course, in and around Mandiana might be a more appropriate designation, or often Guinea in general. I have decided to name this guide after our beloved Guinea fowl, whose sweet intonations remind of us of wasted talent and unintelligent design.

Aromatic Promenades

Just as the patriarch longs for those who squatted to defecate near the "Hindu market" in Gabo's insomniac autumn, the avenue of public defecations in Mandiana even has its explosions of joy - or poop street trumpets, in another turn of phrase. These professional poopers are mostly children - as children are useless, therefore, the practice does not really exist. This creative toiletry seems less absurd every time I drink bissap, the most delicious drink that will make diarrhea a lifestyle.

The Public is Well- Informed

I once asked for the local news on territorial disputes in Niani, on the Malian border. I received stories about sorcerers with mirrors, slaughtering entire regiments. On another occasion the tale of Lansana Conte's wife was related to me. Legend has it that she opened a cannibalistic suitcase, with sundry fetishes inside, and went "folle...de" (basically she became a cuckoo-bat, looking for gold in the most secret of suitcases). I have been asked whether cows and ducks exist in America, and if we are able to see the stars in the sky; although my initial answer would be "no", I am still open to the possibility of cows, ducks and stars existing in my own country.

Nightly Film Festivals Offer the Finest

Silvester Stalone fans will be reassured that the propaganda has replaced reality. Many Guineans crowd into huts to watch DVDs banned for bad taste from the West: Now Rambo is the proto-type of Western culture. When you are a Westerner you have the privilege of immunity to bullets, and creating explosions on the most impossible occasions.

Exotic Transportation Options

The display of at least one Osama Bin Laden or Madonna sticker (or both facing each other) on the back of a bush taxi is more crucial than tires or floorboards. Doors have never been necessary, but know that your driver and apprentices care about safety - on one occasion my door was hammered, quite literally (with a hammer, no joke), into place, after attempts to tie it with, you guessed it, rubber. I have never been trained in auto-repair, but I am willing to guess that hammering on the engine is an unconventional method of restarting a stalled vehicle. In other countries, sometimes food is served on air-conditioned buses, in Zambia, for example. We are a little more extreme and eco-friendly in our en route alimentary and climatic luxuries. You can be vomited upon by children in the back or grandmothers sitting next to you, and you will be surprised at how quickly rocks and dirt can be mistaken for bursts of ac.

Free Zoos and Public Parks

No civilization today could be authenticated without a zoo. Zoos in Mandiana are limited to a few interactive options: goats and sheep eating trash, and overactive monkeys tied to mango trees. Again, continued from the first section, a park is not exactly where you sit down and enjoy a picnic. We would need to redefine it, but in terms of sitting, you do squat to leave organic traces of your past, or what has passed through you. If there is a Defense d'uriner sign anywhere near the park, it actually means the contrary - urinate here as you will. The goats and sheep from the zoo will show up later to keep the parks as clean as they can by recycling the public's charity. Communal life has never been more Utopian.

Public Welfare and Tolls

Corruption is really quite progressive, if I might try to persuade some of you. Wearing a military uniform or several different types of uniforms with all combinations of mixed ranks (my favourite option includes discordant epaulets, which might stripe the soldier a general on the left shoulder, and an aerobics instructor on the right) means that you can operate a toll both anywhere, even when anywhere is in the middle of nowhere. If your identification is in English, the soldiers will pretend to read it and then possibly fine you for improper luggage storage, if you are lucky, as sacks of rice into the air and two goat heads peering out from below is a safety hazard worth paying for.

Mobilized Yorgurt

According to reports from some of our most savvy journalists, a man from the forest rides around on a bicycle with a cooler strapped to the back full of yogurt. He is from the forest, which is apparently a qualification to understand the principles of on-the-go refrigeration. I have yet to benefit from this convenient door-to-door yogurt.

MY HUT

2008-07-01T17:19:00.007Z

Before I give you the tour of my hut, I'd like to preface it with a photo of what it looked like when I first arrived in Mandiana. Behold a prison cell/murder scene/crack den. This is what the same wall looks like now. There are weird splotches on the wall because I made my own wall patch (thanks, you can call me Martha) out of dirt and paint to cover the holes in the wall. This is what you see as soon as you walk through the door. The metal trunks are very Guinean-- I keep my electronics locked in the larger one, and I keep my special American food in the one on the right. The pink and purple "rug" is a plastic prayer mat, which Guineans generally use as sofas, and, obviously, something to pray on.
Further to the right, I have my "deux-place" bed and book/clothing shelf. The plastic tarp above the bed is to prevent debris falling from the thatch roof during high winds. I hanged the red and yellow fabric over the plastic tarp so that I could have something prettier to look at as I fall asleep.

My bed, with a twin mattress (for visitors) leaning on the wall by my bed. The three yellow containers on the right are "bidons"and they hold all of the water I drink. Underneath the bed you can find my many cans of bug spray, Peace Corps papers and toilet paper.

This is my front door. It isn't actually hot pink-- the camera flash makes it look much more fluorescent than it actually is. To the right of the door is my kitchen shelving which is covered by a pagne (piece of fabric) I bought at the market. PCV's encouraged us to cover our belongings with fabric so that Guineans don't see all the stuff we have. The big plastic white thing is my water filter, and the hanging basket is for food I don't want mice or ants to eat. My walls are crumbling in, mais c'est la vie en Guinee.

And then further to the right is my kitchen table complete with my gas powered stove. In the photo is Annelise, my old boss, preparing food with my new boss, Yvonne, in the blue in white. This photo connects to the first photo I uploaded.

This is my hut! This is where I go to sleep and wake up and cook every single day. I went for reallllly bright colors because life can get pretty lonely way out in the boonies of Africa. Hope you enjoyed the tour : )

The Wedding

2008-07-01T14:49:00.011Z

So, last I left off, I was prepping to leave for Tokono for a Peace Corps employee's wedding.

The teacher's strike didn't turn out to be a big deal, however, the military AND the police started protesting. Eventually, they ended up fighting ONE ANOTHER in the streets of Conakry. No one is getting paid, and they are angry about it! I don't know why the police and military were street-fighting...but hey, this is Guinea. Never a dull moment here.

But because Peace Corps Guinea staff is so awesome, we were permitted to leave for the wedding. They even gave us a satellite phone to use so that we could check in with them every day we were in Tokono.

Condé, the groom, was thrilled that we could come. He kept saying "Il sera l'ambiance non-stop!" (It's going to be a non-stop party!) On the morning of the 17th, Amy, Alison, Felipe and I boarded a deplaced mini bus (deplaced means that Conde rented the bus) to Tokono, which is four hours south of KanKan. We volunteers were very impressed with the fact that we each had a seat to ourselves! This is very un-Guinean; almost all vehicles are crammed full of people.

Well, this impression did not last long. Just as we left KanKan, the minibus stopped and we picked up a four piece band AND their instruments, which included a large (western) drum set and several guitars. Oh, Guinea.

We arrived in Tokono four hours later to a massive welcoming. At least 300 children were waiting for us at the center of town and stormed the bus screaming words of welcome. We felt like movie stars! They all wanted to shake my/our hands, which I did begrudgingly because children are SO DIRTY. In my defense, this isn't just a "me thing"-- almost all other volunteers hate shaking children's hands.

No one in town seemed to know where we were supposed to sleep, so we were ushered to a series of houses, all of which turned out to be other guests lodgings, and not ours. Eventually our small group of Americans was intercepted by a member of Condé's family, who showed us the way to the family compound for dinner.

In the center of the compound sat a little table with four chairs. We were each told to take a seat and then handed a big bowl of (surprise surprise!) rice and sauce. All of Condé's extended family (about 40 people) stood around us, watching us eat, which was awkward. Eventually, the onlookers were handed plates of food to share with one another, but they weren't given spoons, a table or chairs. Their plates were placed on the floor and they sat on little stools on the ground. Every meal we ate in Tokono was like this.

After dinner, we were showed our lodgings, which were clean. Except, there was no toilet, so we all had to go to the bathroom outside in the woods.

The following morning, the "ambiance non-stop" commenced! We were given another plate of rice and sauce for breakfast, and a Griot visited the compound after we finished eating.

A Griot (pronounced guh-ree-oh) is a must-have for any major occasion in Guinea. It is essentially a man or woman that owns a megaphone, and they sing loud songs about people's last names into the megaphone at parties. They ask you for your last name and then sing the song about your family name's history and you have to get up and dance in front of everybody. Being Americans, we were the focus of most Griots. To throw the Griot a curve ball, Felipe told the Griot that his last name was "foroto," which means chili pepper in Malinké. So, the Griot had to make up a song about the chili pepper family.

In this photo we have Felipe (my sitemate) in the orange bandanna, me in the white polo and Amy in the blue dress, dancing to the Griot's music in front of a crowd.

After the dancing, we attended the makeup ceremony, which is just when you go watch the bride have her hair, nails and face done up for the wedding. FIVE Griots showed up for this ceremony, so we each had to dance for them as well.

Then, we all changed into our wedding complets. Here I am, the definition of Haute Couture. In Guinea, women usually have complets made out of the same fabric as their friends for special occasions, so we all bought the same white/blue fabric.Felipe and I in a prom pose. (Check out Felipe's socks underneath his flip-flops! He wears socks ALL THE TIME. And no, we are not dating.) All the volunteers that attended the wedding. From the left we have Alison, Amy, Felipe, Zach, Jess, and me. Zach and Jess met up with our group that morning.
The ceremony was conducted in two places-- a mosque for religious purposes and then a pseudo mayor's house/courthouse. We women had to use the back entrance and sit at the very back of the mosque. Men and women aren't allowed to sit together in a mosque-- not even a bride and groom at their own wedding!

Everything was conducted in Malinké, so we didn't understand what was being said. But it was a cool experience. After the religious ceremony, the bride was whisked away in what I can only describe as a covered wagon- type thing with a hammock attached underneath it. Four men carried her all over town and the crowd followed her everywhere they went.

The groom was transported in a black Mercedes Benz from the 1980's.

In the photo is the contraption and procession I've just described. You can see the bride's white dress peeking out in between the two men in the front.

This hammock procession eventually ended up in front of the courthouse/mayor's house. The civil ceremony took place here, which is needed to make a marriage legal in Guinea.

Afterwards, the ambiance non-stop commenced! The Griots showed up in their bright clothes and made us dance to live music in front of at least 1,000 on-lookers. To give the Guineans more of a show, we performed an electric slide/macarena combo which had them yelling with delight. In this photo: Zach and Amy dancing with a Griot (in hot pink).This is Condé on the left, sitting next to his new (and second) wife, taking in the ambiance non-stop.
It was a really fun day. We all headed home the following day. The minibus broke down about four times, but aside from that everything went smoothly.

In Three Words/Phrases

2008-06-14T11:37:00.004Z

Well, I finished my third month at site, which can best be described with the following words: military mutiny, child trafficking and sensibilizations.
Just another month in the life of your friend/relative Katie.

Guinea has been a bit crazy recently. I don’t know if you read about this in the news, but the Prime Minister of Guinea was fired, which set off a series of protests all around Guinea. Guineans were furious because he was one of the few government officials people actually liked. Most major cities in Guinea saw large protests, however none of them were violent. A ton of car tires were set on fire, but that’s about it. Even Mandiana had a protest on May 29, and I somehow managed to be right in the middle of it when it happened. Oops.

I had just walked into the tailors to pick up a skirt when I saw locals running down the street as if they were fleeing from Godzilla or King Kong. Market ladies and vendors were throwing their merchandise inside their stores and ran inside, slamming the doors shut behind them. Then I heard a bunch of shouting and screaming. My first thought was “Oh crap.” I turned to the tailor and asked what on earth was happening and he said “It’s a protest. Stay inside.”

I’d never been in a situation like this before, and there I was, waiting out the protest with the tailor in the middle of town, which is exactly where I shouldn’t have been. Protests in Guinea can get pretty violent—that’s why all volunteers were evacuated last year, so I was definitely nervous.

The protest occurred on the street right by the tailor and lasted only five minutes, but I stayed inside the tailor’s little shack for another ten minutes, just in case the military decided to retalliate.

I called my parents an hour later to explain what had happened and that I was okay. Due to a bad phone connection, all I could get across to them was me yelling “I’M SAFE!!! DON’T WORRY!!!” before the phone lines in Mandiana died altogether. I’m sure this probably made them worry even more. Sorry guys.

It turns out that this protest had just been a joke put on by local students, and other prank protests had occurred in other cities. ????? Prank protests? To be honest, I believe that these protests were real, but the students backed out at the end, saying that they hadn’t been serious, in fear of reprimand from the military.

Then, a week later, the military mutinied against the government. This was because no one in the military had been paid for over a year-- I’m surprised they didn’t throw a fit sooner! To retaliate, the military took over the airport in Conakry, the only airport in Guinea equipped to accommodate a plane larger than a mini-van, and shut it down for two days. They also fired their guns in the streets and attacked gas stations for some bizarre reason. Because of this, most gas stations closed down and it was impossible to buy fuel, which meant no transportation. And now, the teachers in Guinea have banded together to strike because, they too have yet to be paid. This has all happened in the last two weeks. None of these strikes have been related to the other, but it’s just been action packed.

I was really anxious about the military mutiny because Mandiana has a huge military presence with two military offices and one training camp. There was definitely an increase in the number of the military officials who wear black, which are the officials you just don’t mess with and they patrolled my neighborhood, their USSR-era guns in arm (Actually, I think they were guns from the USSR).

On a non-protest related note, apparently Mandiana is having a bit of trouble with child trafficking. The American embassy is sending out a few employees to Mandiana this coming Monday to investigate the problem. Mandiana has two roads into Mali and one road to Cote D’Ivoire, so children are smuggled into and out of Guinea using these roads. What kind of town am I living in!?

I gave my first sensibilizations in Mandiana and they went pretty well. They were all on le Paludisme, or, Malaria, because it’s the rainy season right now and mosquitoes are everywhere.
On June 3, I donned my indigo fabric complet and marched over to the hospital with my charts in hand, pumped and ready to give my first sensibilization. Unfortunately, everyone seemed to have forgotten that I was going to be there and that I needed a translator to translate my French into Malinke. The Agent PEV (the resident vaccinator whom I despise) ended up translating for me, which was pretty bad because he can’t understand my French American accent. My accent is actually really good—I don’t roll my “Rs” like the French do, I roll them like you do in Spanish, which is how they speak here. It’s just that precious few Guineas are accustomed to hearing a foreign accent and don’t know how to decipher it.

So, I had to repeat myself a lot and delivered the sensibilization all the while the Agent PEV was giving me looks that conveyed his opinion of my apparent stupidity for being unable to speak a French he could understand. Then, in the middle of the presentation, he just walked off and left me standing in front of thirty or so women. I gave a sheepish grin and tried to keep going in my limited Malinke. Example: “Soso, a mine yi!” (Mosquitoes, they are bad!) Oh, it was ridiculous, and hilarious. Needless to say, I will not be using the Agent PEV’s “skills” as a translator ever again.

After this sensibilization, I walked to the DPS keen on finding a better translator who could do another sensibilization with me that day, because I didn’t want to end the day on that note. So, my counterpart introduced me to a woman named Djamilla (pronounced Jah-meela). She appeared to have no trouble with my accent and seemed excited at the prospect of translating for me. I told her I wanted to give a sensibililzation at the market to the market ladies. Apparently, she misunderstood my desire to give one sensibilization at the market, because I ended up giving four others—one at the back entrance to the market, one at a hairdressers, one at a tea house frequented by young men and another café patronized by middle aged and old men. So, I hit a variety of target age groups which was good, but it was exhausting shouting over the din of the market ladies and dealing with the younger men teasing me for my French American accent, and, of course, the marriage proposals.
I now respond to marriage proposals with jokes, saying things such as “Oh, gosh, I’ll have to ask my other three husbands and see if they approve” or “I’ll marry you when you’re the president of Guinea.” The men usually laugh and I get an easy out.

The owner of the café gave me a shot glass full of sweet, strong mint tea as a thank you for giving the sensibilization. I felt pretty triumphant walking back home, having just finished the fifth sensibilization in one day. I felt triumphant, that is, until I arrived home, when I promptly threw up. I’m sure it was a mixture of the strong tea, hunger, exhaustion and being completely overwhelmed after five sensibilizations. So, I heated up some Ramen and collapsed into bed with my iPOD and watched an episode of Desperate Housewives. All was right with the world again in no time. I love having these episodes on my iPOD—they allow me to teeter a little into my old life for forty minutes at a time.

The rainy season has officially begun, which means cooler but much louder nights. The wind blasts above my hut, so loud that I can’t hear anything else over it, except thunder. Some rolls of thunder have been so loud that the water in my Nalgene bottle vibrates with it (Whenever this happens, I’m reminded of the scene in Jurassic Park when a character looks into a glass of water and sees ripples, knowing that a T-Rex can’t be too far behind). My hut is illuminated with bright flashes of lightning. Sometimes these veins of lightning are so strong that you can actually feel them connect with the earth.
And then there’s the rain. It goes from the first drip drops to a full and smashing downpour in ten seconds. The only warning of the oncoming rain is the wind and the very distant thunder. It reminds me of Singapore’s storms, but these storms seem more intense to me because my hut’s roof isn’t attached to the walls—it just sits atop it, so I feel each blast of wind and I can see every bolt of lightning in the space between my walls and roof. These storms are really intense, and, definitely a little scary.

Other highlights:
-This past month, both Jessica and Amy came to visit me from Gbangbadou and KanKan, respectively and it was wonderful to play host for a few days. Amy, Alison and I each bought gris-gris in the market, which are strings of small beads you tie around your hips. Most women and children in Guinea wear them because they protect you from evil at night.

-I took a pirogue down the river that runs right by Mandiana with Felipe, which was fun, and funny because the driver of the little water-craft kept ramming the thing into rocks and trees.

-I’m teaching English three times a week to a twelve year old boy named Mory Bah. Well, I’m not really teaching him anything because he’s already fluent, but it’s been awesome to speak English with a Guinean. This kid has even seen the Sound of Music, Shrek and Finding Nemo! Just two days ago, we sang “Favorite Things” together. (I know, I'm a nerd)

-Speaking of English, on one of my walks back from Faralako when I was in a grumpy mood because it was especially hot, one man on his motor bike greeted me, saying “Good evening, sir!” It made me laugh and I felt a lot better.

-I attended a baptism, which turned out to be a Muslim Naming Ceremony, watched two goats get sacrificed and almost everyone there made fun of me for my crazy orange complet.

I'm in Kankan until Tuesday for my monthly visit. Then on Tuesday, I'm traveling down to Tokono to attend the Haute Guinee chauffer's wedding. This will be his third wife. Four other volunteers are going and we've all bought matching fabric to make dressy complets. I'm excited to see the other volunteers and I'm also excited to observe my first Guinean wedding. I may not be able to go though because the teachers strikes are set for this coming Tuesday. Wait and see. I miss you and love you all!

More Randos.../the last of IST

2008-05-13T17:49:00.007Z

I know I've mentioned words such as "Fouta" "Basse Cote" and "Haute Guinee," before so here's a map of Guinea color coded for each region. The red is Basse Cote, the yellow is the Fouta (pronounced Foo-tuh), and the green is Haute, which is where I live (see where it says Kankan? Mandiana is just northeast of it!).
Random photo of Teale with the gorgeous lookout point in Dalaba behind her.
David demonstrating his excellent control of balance during our fieldtrip to Dalaba
In this photo we have Raven on the left, Liz in the middle and Teale on the right. Liz turned 28 and we celebrated it by drinking and going dancing. We PCVs were the only ones in the "club" and had a fantastic time.

It's my last night here in Mamou, and I'm pretty anxious about going back to site. I've been away for almost five weeks now (I'm not counting the twenty hours I had there in transition), so I'm nervous that it will be similar to the first month all over again. I've been feeling pretty nostalgic over the past few days because I graduated from college about a year ago. Scripps' class of 2008 is now marching down Elm Tree Lawn in sea-foam green robes, and I can't help but miss the beautiful campus, the memories and the amazing friends I made there.
Le sigh. Time moves on. Now I'm in a hut in Africa.
A few days ago, each volunteer's counterpart came to IST and we had a rather amusing session together. The counterparts and volunteers were separated into two groups to prepare a presentation on what we've learned about the other's culture. The Guineans presentation was hilarious. Some points brought up by the Guinean counterparts:

--Americans love to work really hard
--Americans really like to write
--Americans really like to be on time

It's pretty amusing because Guineans don't write for fun, mainly because their educational system hasn't reached the point of teaching kids to be able to want to write on their own. And working really hard is hilarious to me because few volunteers have done that much, yet the Guineans perceive it as a lot.

Tonight should be fun. We're all celebrating together for our last night together. Officially, this is our last group meeting before we have our Close Of Service meeting in November of 2009. I think we're all going dancing-- even Jim, who is 64 and in our stage, has expressed interest in joining us tonight.

Here we go again!

Miss you and love you all.

My experience in Guinea thus far in numbers

2008-05-12T18:31:00.004Z

hours I’ve spent hovering over a toilet/pit-latrine/random patch of land on side the side of the road: 18

marriage proposals I’ve received: at least 34

people that fit into a five-seat taxi (not counting chickens, goats, cows or donkeys): 12, sometimes more

people that ride on the roof of a five-seat taxi: 2-7

average number of times a bush taxi breaks down between Kankan and Mandiana: 3

potholes/lakes on the road between Mandiana and Kankan: infinity

guinean children in my usual entourage: 12

lizards that have leaped onto my face: 1

volunteers in country when our stage arrived: 10

volunteers in my stage in early December: 37

volunteers in my stage as of May: 32

nalgenes-full of water I drink in a given day: 7

nalgenes-full of water I probably sweat out each day: 5

temperature in Mandiana during the day: 115

temperature in Mandiana at night: 88

highest fever I’ve had in country: 104

scorpions I’ve killed: 1

spiders I’ve killed: approximately 67

hours I sleep a night: 10

guinean meals I’ve actually enjoyed: 1 (this was the meal on Tabaski)

SPF I wear daily: 40

surgeries I’ve had in-country: 1

books I’ve read: 11

diaries I’ve filled with writing: 1

packages I’ve received in-country: 11 (thank you to those who have sent them, I now worship you)

hours it takes to get from Conakry to Mandiana via bush taxi: 19-23

Guinean Francs per American dollar: 5,080

our monthly allowance: 800,000 Guinean Francs

weight when I arrived in Guinea: 145

lowest weight in-country: 120

weight as of today: 130

Number of times…

I’ve dropped my cell phone in a pile of human fecal matter: 1

I salue (greet) people between the hours of eight and nine A.M.: 612

I’ve seriously considered going home: 2 (those were my first two nights in Forecariah)

I’ve seen Bin Laden’s face on random objects (ex: trucks, wallets…): 50 (Guineans appear to think that he’s like J Lo or Madonna)

I’ve been butted by a goat: 1

we’re allowed to leave our site a month: not enough

I’ve seen people EATING blocks of Styrofoam like candy bars: 2

Guineans have asked me “Etes-vous Madame ou bien Madamoiselle?” (are you married or single?): 2,000

Guineans have asked me to buy them a ticket to America: 107

I run back and forth across my hut for exercise on a given day: 700 (people would flip out if they saw me running in spandex for no apparent reason, so I exercise inside)

a day I don’t even bother translating what people say to me: at least 10 times

I shave my legs each month: 1 (right before I go into Kankan for my monthly visit)

I see a mirror on an average day: 0

I’ve been urinated on: 2

my host mom has grabbed my breasts to tell me I need to start having babies: at least 17

I’ve smiled because there is no way I could ever make this stuff up: every day

My schedule in Mandiana

2008-05-11T22:11:00.001Z

I thought a pretty image would be more interesting to look at. You can click on it to blow it up. This is what I do almost EVERY DAY IN MANDIANA!

Field trip to Dalaba/photos from IST

2008-05-11T20:31:00.012Z

This photo isn't actually from IST. This is at JFK, waiting for the plane to board. Teale and I are eating our last meal in America (we chose Mexican), popping the first Mefloquine (anti-Malaria) pill of many more to come.This leads me to this next photo- a group of us at lunch today. This soup was supposedly corn soup, but there was definitely no corn in it. I love this photograph because none of us seem to be prepared for it. Starting at the bottom left we have Josh, the SED APCD, Andre, Katy, Sam, me, Mary, Amy, Zach and some Peace Corps Africa training supervisor.
We're staying at an agro-forestry school here in Mamou. Each volunteer shares a room with two others-- I was lucky enough to be assigned to a room with Amy and Jess. Our room looks like a bomb went off. With all this stuff on the floor, everyone's having problems with mice. Someone found three dead mice squashed under their mattress just an hour ago. This is now hilarious to me. Sense of humor = key to success in Guinea.
Each sector gave a presentation on life at site, and I included a map of Mandiana as part of mine. Voila, my map of Mandiana. You can click it to blow it up.
Peace Corps Guinea the musical. From the left we have Zach, Caleb, Amy, me, Liz, Alex, Melissa and Adam. This was taken during a field trip to Dalaba, which is about an hour and a half north of Mamou. It's amazing how each region in Guinea looks so different!

A very ornate mantelpiece at the Cas de Palais in Dalaba, which was built in 1936. Of course, on the mantel we have Lansana Conte, the president.
More cool carvings.
Posing with the cool carvings...

The Road to I.S.T.

2008-05-08T17:58:00.000Z

(In photo: myself and Adams, my best friend in Mandiana, waiting at the taxi station. She is approximately 20, has an eight month old son and laughs easily. She is wonderful!)

Hello from Mamou! I'm here for the next week and a half with the rest of my stage, for IST (In-Service Training). We take nine hours of language classes and technical skills related to our sectors each day, and it's been pretty exhausting.

I only ended up having 20 hours in Mandiana because it took three days to get there. These are a few pictures of the trip back to Kankan from Mandiana. (In photo: the beginning of the Guinean Bush Taxi calendar G15 has begun to put together)
The bush taxi broke down beside a swamp and we sat on the side of the road for over an hour swatting at the millions of gnats trying to fly into our ears/eyes.

It has been AMAZING to see all the other Americans here in Mamou. I've missed them all so much! All the guys grew out some serious mustaches during their first three months at site, and it was great seeing them all with so much funny facial hair.

Exhibit A: Alex Yalch, or, Mario, with his awesome 'stache that could actually twirl at the ends.

Exhibit B: David sporting not only a rad mustache, but chest hair in the shape of Guinea.
Exhibit C: Most of the men sporting their 'staches.

Unfortunately, three people left permanently in the first month, but we haven't lost anyone else since then. We've all been drinking and joking and having a fantastic time. I've tried posting the video of my hut, but it is taking way too long (over an hour). I'll try again in Conakry. Miss you all.

P.S. THANK YOU TO DAVID'S MOM FOR SENDING ME MILKY WAY MIDNIGHTS!!!!!!

Because I'm STILL in Conakry

2008-04-28T16:03:00.008Z

Last few moments on American soil. We all held hands as the plane took off. That's Emily on the left (we miss you!) and me on the right, with Schwegs in the middle.
Not an uncommon sight-- monkey on a leash at a basketball game.
Me on the road to Faralako chasing away some annoying kids. You should have seen their faces. I don't think they'd been run after by a white woman before. Alison, cook extraordinaire, sitting at her table in Faralako. She made bean burgers with gravy and candied vegetables. It may not sound incredible to you, but in Guinea, that meal is quite a feat. Once a month, we take the Peace Corps mail run into Kankan. The mail run is the Peace Corps mail delivery system, because Guinea doesn't have a functional postal service (it doesn't exist outside of Conakry). In the photo, we have myself and Alison hanging onto the roll bars for dear life-- the road is so potholed that you can't sit in the car without banging your head against the window, not unless you hold onto something.

At Le Daumier, the nicest restaurant in Conakry. Amy and I forgot we were in Guinea for almost an hour. We also gained about four million lbs.

I've been in Conakry for two weeks now because the doctors wanted to make sure my infection went away before they shipped me back to site. Then, I got really sick and everyone thought I had malaria for about four days. No worries-- I'm healthy now. I'm back off to Kankan tomorrow, then onto Mandiana on the 30th. I'll be back in Mandiana for four whole days before I have to leave for In-Service Training (IST) in Mamou.

Pictures

2008-04-16T15:30:00.000Z

First day of PC orientation in Philly. These are some friends that came out to see me off. Miss you guys!

Flight plan from Brussels to Dakar.

A bunch of us at a bar in Forecariah. Starting with Schwegs in the tie-dye going clockwise, we have Caitlin's head (we miss you!), Nick, Melissa, Erich, Me, Lauren, Andrew, Adam, Amy, Jess and Zach.

The waterfalls our stage visited in Dubreka.

When I write that my feet are hobbit-ish, I'm not exagerrating. It is so hard to keep your feet clean in this country! You have to scrub them with a brush meant for car tires. My foot is on the far right.Our entire stage crammed into the Peace Corps bus.Sharing iPODs on one of the bus rides between Maf-town (where AgFo was in training) and Forecariah.

I don't know what this mountain is called, but there are a lot like them in Basse Cote (the far western region of Guinea).This is at a drum circle in Faralako. Women danced in a circle around a big bonfire and this man was banging his drum with a branch that was on fire. It was definitely one of those "woah, I'm in Africa" moments.Men sit on the tops of trucks, cars, whatever they can catch a ride on. This was taken on the way down to Conakry.
Taken yesterday. Amy put on a gown and hat, amish-style, just so she could come into the OR to hang out with me and take a few pictures.

So, I had a little surgery in a Guinean hospital...

2008-04-15T20:44:00.002Z

Yep, pretty much the material of a nightmare. I'm in a lot of pain right now so I'm not going to edit this. I've had an ingrown toenail for the past month and it got incredibly infected...eventually got a fever because the infection spread to the rest of my body. 'Twas not a good time. So, the Medical Officer had me sent down to Conakry to get a little chirurgie. Amy, the Kankan volunteer, also needed some surgical attention, so we were taken down together in the Haute SUV. This is a video of part of the journey (yes I'm aware I look like crap and sorry it's so bumpy...that's how all roads in Guinea are. Actually, we were on one of the nicest roads in Guinea at the time).

We spent the night in Mamou, which is midway through Guinea and left Mamou at 5 AM to get to Conakry in time for our 12 P.M. surgical appointments. It was nice to have the big car to ourselves-- we stretched out in the back and were able to sleep for most of the fifteen hour trip.

OK, so I arrived at the "hospital" pretty damn nervous about what was about to happen. I'd seen Guinean hospitals before, and they are by no means sterile. So, I arrived and met with a Romanian doctor, who is apparently bff with our Romanian medical officer. They spoke in Romanian about my toe and then decided to operate. So, the doctor sent a nurse off to go grab something to soak my toe in, and he came back with an empty paint bucket filled with bleach water. There was still paint in the bucket. Oh Guinea... (that's Amy's Tigger on the little gurney)

After soaking le foot, the doc told me he needed to give me a shot of antibiotics. I said, "alright, where?" The nurse's response: "Just drop your pants, please." Then they ushered me back to a changing room and had me put on scrubs and a little hat, which was hilarious because the operating room was equipped with rusty instruments and had leaks in the ceiling.

I watched the nurse thoroughly clean all the instruments, don't worry. They didn't use anything rusty or dirty on me-- I made sure of that.

The Peace Corps medical officer held my hand the entire time and distracted me by talking about the cheeseburger and milkshake he was going to take me out to after the surgery. It was the perfect distraction.
Amy took this picture right before I had my toe cut open. They gave me two shots of local anesthesia and then sliced my toe open, cut off about half an inch of nail and then sewed it back up. I admit, this whole experience was terrifying. But, Peace Corps took care of me and I am now walking around with a giant blue booty on my right foot. Stylish? No. But at least I don't have an impacted toenail anymore.

P.S. A BIG hello to all the new volunteers coming here this summer! I can't wait to meet you all!!!! As much as I like to complain, Guinea is really awesome.

P.P.S. HI BING!!!!!

Karo Fila (Two Moons/Two Months)

2008-04-15T19:16:00.001Z

(In photo: Amy and I made some tres cool visors over Easter weekend)

INSTALLATION
After the fifteen hour drive from Conakry, the Upper Haute gang (which was a group of ten, now nine) spent a few days in Kankan together. Then, day by day, people were slowly taken to their sites. Alison and I were taken to our sites together because they’re only four kilometers apart. On the morning of our send off, all the remaining Haute volunteers helped load our stuff into the car. Ciara left the same day we did, and as her car pulled away from the regional house, she rolled down the window and yelled, half joking, “What the hell am I doing?!” We all smiled because the very same thoughts were going through our heads.

Alison and I hugged the remaining volunteers goodbye and they waved us off. And then it was just the two of us in the back of the car, dressed in our Guinean finest. We were silent for most of the three hour drive, exchanging nervous looks and reassuring smiles (we’d only been acquaintances in stage…she’s now one of my best friends). The car took the pot-holed road at such a speed that we were pretty close to vomiting, although I’m sure our nerves had something to do with it. Indeed, Alison kept her massive watering can close by just in case one of us really did puke. (This picture is of all our stuff in the car on the way to Mandiana/Faralako...note the blue watering can on the right)

Once in Mandiana, we greeted the local authorities under the direction of Daffy, the Guinean regional coordinator for Haute Guinee. Afterwards, we set off for my hut. However, no one could find my counterpart, nor could we find the keys to the hut. So, we drove further north to Faralako to drop off Alison. Once back in Mandiana, we decided to just hire a locksmith and have him change the locks to my hut, rather than hang out and wait for someone to show up with my keys.

Daffy helped me set up my little table top stove and gave me last pieces of advice, such as “Only let people you trust into your hut,” and, “Be sure to cover up the holes in your door.” It was so surreal to me finally being in my hut, on the verge of being physically separated, for the first time, from P.C. staff, who are fantastic support. Even before I submitted my application to P.C., I’d read PCV’s accounts of watching the PC SUV leaving them at site, with a strong urge to run after it, yelling, “No! Come back! I’m not ready for this yet!” As the car left my hut, I definitely had tears in my eyes, but there was only a flicker of the desire to sprint after it. I’d been prepping myself for that moment for over a year, and there I finally was, standing in my doorway, broom in hand, waving goodbye to Daffy as the car rolled off into the distance.

So, I turned back to my hut and started scrubbing to make it look like something that didn’t resemble a prison cell.

MANDIANA
Mandiana ville is the capital of the state of Mandiana. Everyone insists it’s the poorest state in Guinea, but I’ve learned not to take everything Guineans say seriously. My ville consists of three parallel dirt roads with a few cross streets. Off of the middle road is the outdoor, open-air market, the entrance to it hidden between several shops that sell Columbian lollipops and bread. Also on the middle road is the town’s mosque, which began construction over 20 years ago but is still not finished, thanks to the corrupt men in charge that stole all the money meant to complete it. I’ve asked why the community hasn’t raised the money so that they can have a proper mosque, but all I ever get in response is a shrug.

The department of public health tells me there are 24,000 people in Mandiana. If this is so, then I have no idea where most of them are. No one lives in the center of town- it’s commerce only. There are lots of little stores that sell pretty much the same things, motorcycle repair shops and woodshops. As far as I can tell, you are a carpenter in Mandiana if you own a hammer. Some of the more useful destinations in town are the Telecenters and stores with cold bottles of water. The Telecenters are essentially brightly painted hot dog stands hooked up to generators. For 25 cents you can have your cell phone charged there.

Most of the neighborhoods aren’t even neighborhoods, actually. They just seem to be huts and single story cement houses scattered randomly amongst winding dirt paths. The path that runs by my hut seems to go on and on. I’ve attempted to walk to the end, but I’m usually too hot or too annoyed at the entourage of dirty children following me to reach it. This entourage grows larger each time I pass by a new house, and each child wants to greet me and expects an individual greeting in return. A simple, all-encompassing “Bonjour a tous” doesn’t suffice. They keep saying, “Ca ba?” until I say “Ca va,” back to them. And then they each say “Ca ba bien?”

DAILY LIFE
I begin each day in Mandiana at around 5 A.M., when the morning symphony of the neighborhood’s roosters, chickens, sheep, dogs, donkeys and cows begins. The birds join in their song and the women rise to start pounding grain, and the crescendo is reached at around 5:30 with the Mosques prayer call. This is when I stick in my ear plugs and try to sleep a little longer, which is difficult to do, thanks to the side effects of the malaria prophylaxis we have to take.

I usually fall asleep to the sounds of radios playing crappy West African techno and sometimes the sounds of drums can be heard in the distance. I’m awakened throughout the night by donkey’s brays and cattle’s lows echoing through the air. These animals like to sidle up to the sides of huts and scrape their flanks against the walls, so when a donkey is braying just a feet away from me at two A.M., it can be downright alarming.

On my fourth night here, someone stood a few feet from my door at three A.M. just coughing and wheezing for over an hour. I was terrified! I asked one of my local friends about it the following day, and, she insisted it was the local sorcerer. Apparently, she goes out at night to search for diamonds and gold, and must have been curious about the new white person in town. Hopefully she didn’t put any curses on me! It’s amusing to think that in America, neighbors would bring food as a welcome. Here, the local sorcerer hexes me! Only in Africa… (In photo: My friend, Mannie the Maneater, who hangs out on a tree by my hut's backdoor all day long.)

My hut is part of a compound consisting of three huts, one cement rectangular house and two smaller huts for chickens and sheep. The family I live with is wonderful. The mother, Fanta (which is short for Fatoumata- she was NOT named after the soft drink) is like Mrs. Claus compared to the cold mother I lived with in Forecariah. She stops by my hut every morning before she leaves to sell fabric and jewelry at the market and always stops by to say goodnight. Not much communication goes on between us just yet, seeing that she only knows “ca va” in French and I only really know the equivalent in Malinke.

Fanta has four children- Mamadi (male), age 12, Laye (male), age eight, Mama (female, shot for “Hawa”) age four and Mohammed, one year. They’re good kids, when they’re not trying to spy on me when I’m taking a bucket bath, or poking holes in my thatch fence to get a better view of me washing dishes in the yard. One day, I was tired of hearing them giggle at me from the other side of the fence, so I looked up how to say ‘go away’ in Malinke. I walked up to my fence, took a deep breath and bellowed “ka I o wah!” as menacingly as I could. Instead of scattering, they all broke into applause, yelling in glee. They were so excited/amused to hear me speak Malinke aside from the obvious scripted salutations. It was not the response I’d expected. (In photo: the kids in my new Guinean family, with a random boy [the checkered one] who I believe now lives with the family as well)

I sit out with the family most evenings. The kids point at objects and give me their names in Malinke, and then ask what they’re called in French and English. The father seems very kind, but keeps his distance from me. He works in the market at the video cassette store and spends his evenings working on a new hut for the family’s chickens, conveniently located a few paces from my front door. Something tells me that the ‘morning symphony’ is going to become something of a morning nuisance.

Two men live in the hut just a few paces from mine. Fanta tells me they’re cousins, but that’s a very Guinean thing to say. In Guinea, it seems that everyone’s family. Another man occupies the midget hut in which I was originally supposed to live, but he’s only there a few times a month (I didn’t need the midget hut because my hut has plenty of room). My hut is feeling more like home each day and no scorpions or snakes have entered it, to my knowledge. Ants, however, have a fabulously easy time crawling through the many little holes in my cement walls. I’ve taken to placing duct tape over these holes, but there are hundreds of holes, so it will be some time before my cas (French for hut) is fully fortified. Speaking of creepy crawlies, my huts ecosystem now includes an unknown animal/giant insect. I hear it scuffling around above the plastic tarp that acts as a canopy above my bed. It has yet to wander down, so I won’t fret about it until it does.

My cement floor is really uneven, so I’m constantly mis-stepping, tripping or falling over completely. I’ve had to place wedges under my shelves just so that they stand up straight.

In case I haven’t mentioned it before, Mandiana doesn’t have electricity or running water. I’ve caught myself thinking, “Wow! Electricity and running water are so unnecessary!” And it’s absolutely true. It was a big adjustment in Forecariah, that’s for sure, but you get used to it really quickly. At night, I use three candles, one kerosene lamp and a flashlight to see which species of ant is marching to its death. Or read. Or write.

For water, I use three large, yellow, plastic tanks called bidons. Each is about 50 pounds when filled. I send out petits (little kids) every other day to fill them up at the pump, which is a three minute walk away from my compound. Peace Corps gives each volunteer a big white filter with a spigot, so all I have to do is fill the filter with water, and, voila, running water! While filling the filter with a 50 pound bidon requires quite a bit of muscle grunt, it’s a good workout.

WEEKLY LIFE
Every Thursday at four P.M. I walk to Faralako, which is Alison’s site. It’s about four KM north of Mandiana and a very pretty walk. The crimson orange road is a beautiful contrast against a sky so blue that it resembles the blue of a flame. Unfortunately, it just so happens to be uphill both ways, but I take it at a brisk pace for exercise. Men on bicycles and motorcycles often pass me on my way and they raise their hands and shout “I ni wura!” which means good evening. Most Guineans are shocked that I elect to make the journey on foot, rather than by bike. They always say, “Mais, c’est tres fatigant!” But I think taking a bike up those hills in this heat would be considerably more tiring.

(In photo: me, every thursday and friday from 4:15 to 5:00 PM. Seriously...I even wear the same outfit each time. Guineans LOVE to laugh at my spandex underarmour.)

I look forward to my weekly visit to Faralako. Alison is wonderful company and she too is an educated feminist, so I can talk freely with her and not worry about being judged as militant. She also has a lot to do with my newfound cooking abilities. Alison often has an American dinner ready to eat when I arrive—we have a deal going that whenever one of us comes to visit, it’s the others responsibility to do all the food preparation and clean up. It’s a nice break for both of us because we each prepare all of our own meals, everyday. We usually just talk after dinner, read or listen to BBC Africa on the radio. That is, until Alison’s host mom comes over for her nightly visit.

Hawa is a woman probably somewhere in her fifties and is absolutely wonderful. A few weeks ago, Alison had been searching high and low for a kitten to combat her huts insanely brazen mouse population. For the past two weeks, Alison had been waging a war on these mice that chewed through not only her American food (heresy!!!), but through her bottles of bug spray, tubes of toothpaste and even through her candles. Just as Alison and I had broken into singing “I Hate Guinea” to the tune of “I Love Paris,” Hawa came through the door with the most emaciated kitten I’d ever seen. Alison was over the moon, and while her mice are still living in her thatch roof, they no longer venture down below.

Back to Hawa. Not only is she wonderful, but she is also a riot. She speaks only two words in French- “bebe” and “bon,” and ever since she gave Alison the cat, she’s always pretending to kill it. But Hawa is very realistic about it. For example, she’ll stick Moose-Moose (that’s the cat’s name) in her shawl and swing the shawl around her head, rotating it like a helicopter, and then makes to sling the cat onto the floor, but she always stops right before Moose-Moose would hit the ground. It’s sick, but hilarious. Hawa also enjoys telling Alison that cats are bad, but babies are good, and that Alison should go to Kankan to sleep with her son and have his baby. This is all communicated through broken Malinke and a lot of hilarious hand motions. This is exactly what happens every night I spent in Faralako, and it never gets old.

Then, on Friday morning, I work at the health center in Faralako, which mainly consists of hanging out with the Agent PEV, because Faralako is tiny and few people come in to get treatment. I’m working with the center to try to begin weighing babies so that they can tell the mother if they need to feed the baby more. Malnutrition is a HUGE problem in Guinea. At least half of the kids have the bloated bellies to prove it.

WEATHER
February marked the beginning of hot season here in Guinea. Mandiana is classified as “savannah” and has thus far reached a maximum of 110° in the middle of the day. It’s not unbearable, but everyone plans their days here so that they’re not outside doing strenuous labor between the hours of 11 and three P.M. Come noon, the air outside my hut quivers in the heat over puddles of reflected light. The sun beats down on the dusty earth, as round and hot as only an African sun can be. Mandiana’s air can get so suffocating that it feels like my whole body as been zipped up into a sleeping bag, head included. All I want to do is rip the sleeping bag off, but all I can do is disrobe, soak my clothes with water and then put them back on. Even throughout the night I find myself tearing open the mosquito net and running to my water filter to douse my shirt and a bandana. It’s not comfortable falling asleep in sopping wet clothes, but at least it’s ‘cool’. The best word to describe the air in Mandiana right now is ‘airless’.

The town had its first rain in months in late March. As soon as I heard the first drip drops onto the leaves above my hut, I dashed outside. Most of the kids in the neighborhood did the same, running around with arms spread, faces up towards the sky, yelling “san ji!” (rain) in absolute happiness. The rain hit the ground with such force that clouds of dust were sent up with each drop, giving the earth the appearance of being draped in a fine mist.

The rain means one thing to most of the kids- mango season!!! According to my host mom, the mangoes need three rains to be ready to eat. Already, they are weighing heavily on the trees like oversized Christmas ornaments. A common sight now is kids whacking ripe mangoes with sticks ranging from 20 to 60 feet in height. It’s crazy! And then there are always two kids holding out a towel, running towards the huge falling mango to avoid it smooshing on the ground. In fact, the mangoes have gotten so large that their weight snapped a large branch hanging over my pit latrine. I was eating lunch on my front step with the kids in my family and I heard a really loud splintered CRACK and then a crash. The branch was so massive that it filled the entire fenced-in area in my pit latrine. It was far too heavy to move, even with petits help, so I had to use a latrine across the street for the rest of the day. I’m really happy I wasn’t actually using the pit when the branch fell—I could’ve been seriously hurt. (This picture is of Laye, Mamadi and Mama with the massive branch peeking out of my pit latrine area.)

WORK
The first month of work was difficult. I ended up leaving the second, third and fourth days of work so frustrated with the Agent PEV and Guinea in general. This is because of a little clash with the Agent PEV. I tried to organize the babies vaccination files because they were in no order- one needed to search through the entire stack of files to locate the correct file. It was totally inefficient and I explained to the Agent PEV that it would be better to alphabetize them. He insisted that we should organize them by neighborhood, which makes no sense because there are only five in Mandiana, whereas there are 26 letters in the alphabet, and with more groupings it would be easier to retrieve a baby’s file. I ended up ignoring his wishes (yes, I know…bad call) and organized the babies files by alphabet and left.

The next work day was market day, so there were a lot of people there waiting to be seen (there’s no order for who gets to be seen first- it only depends on how pushy you are). I was looking up the babies files a million times faster with this new organization and one of the nurses congratulated me, saying that that was how Kankan’s hospital organized their files. The Agent PEV was obviously disgruntled by my victory and so ordered the nurse to reorganize the files according to month the baby needed to come in for its next vaccination. I wanted to smack him over the head with something heavy! In theory, this might work if mothers actually had calendars or could read in the first place, but, they don’t! Mothers bring in their babies whenever they feel like it, so organizing by month is sheer idiocy (107 babies missed their appointments in February). I tried explaining this to the Agent PEV, but he wouldn’t listen.

I just expected everyone to be open to change, because, that’s why Mandiana requested a volunteer. But, no, you have to convince them they need to change first, which is going to take awhile because, in general, Guineans are a very complacent people.

I only worked a total of three weeks with the Agent PEV and then moved on to work more directly with the DPS. They seem to think that I’m a computer specialist, because all they’ve been asking me to do is fix their computer problems. I’m no Luddite, but I am certainly not a specialist. Sure, I know you need a special program to read PDF files, but I can’t fix a computer that won’t turn on!

Alright, this entry has reached six pages on my word document so I’m going to paraphrase the rest, for my sake and yours.

Easter—Alison, Amy (the Kankan volunteer) and I organized an Easter egg hunt for the kids in Faralako. They looked a bit confused as to why we were hiding eggs and lollipops in trees, but they were absolutely thrilled to be getting free food. We turned it into a mini sensibilization about the health benefits of eggs. (In photo: it's the easiest game of Where's Waldo you'll ever play. These are just a quarter of the kids that showed up for the hunt)

Soccer—as a welcome to the neighborhood, Mandiana put together a little soccer game in my honor. There is a women’s team in Mandiana and they played against another women’s team from a nearby town. It was fun to watch and they had me shake all the players hands before the game. A lot of people showed up and there were chairs set around the field as well as a loud speaker playing Guinean music. And then, after the game, the two teams ended up brawling. It was funny.

Men—The men in Mandiana are incredibly persistent. I wear a little ring on my ring finger and tell everyone I’m married to a big, burly American, but they think nothing of it. One guy who keeps coming by my house brought me five large potatoes and a Fanta. Is this Guinea’s version of flowers? Thanks, dude… Men I’ve never seen before come up to me and say “Kadiatou, je t’aime!” Kadiatou is my new Guinean name. No Star Wars name for me.

There is so much more to my last two months, but, those were the highlights. I hope everyone is healthy and happy.

I live in a hut

2008-03-18T10:39:00.000Z

(Riverdance Guinea: Sarah, me, Sidiki [I'm using his Guinean name just in case he ever wants to run for president], Ciara, Amy and Alison)

Howdy dooooo

Ok, this will be the third blog I've written for today, because this damn internet cafe keeps having its electricity cut off, and my lap top is refusing to turn on. So forgive my writing--my patience with blog writing is rather low right now.

I'm happy at my site. The first weeks were hard, but after I started working at the hospital, things got a lot better. Three days a week, I help the Agent PEV (resident vaccinator) organize vaccination cards, weigh babies and I even get to give the polio vaccine (in drop form). It's been really interesting, but the Agent PEV is perhaps the biggest jerk I've ever met. He just smiles whenever I give him an idea about how to improve organization with the baby's vaccination cards (such as organizing them to begin with...when I got there, the hundreds of cards were just in a big pile and it took a long time to look for each card).

I'm working on fashioning a large calendar to put up on the wall of the hospital with images the shape the moon will be in for each week. The women don't read or have calendars in Mandiana, so a lot of women just forget to bring their babies in. I'm hoping that I'll be able to point to the shape of the moon on the calendar and just say "bring your baby in for its next vaccination when the moon looks like this." I'll let you know how this works.

That leads me to language. Malinke is coming slowwwwwly but surely. It's a fairly bizarre language. For example, the "how are you," literally translates to, "is there any evil with you?" There is also no verb "to be". So I haven't figured out to say simple things such as "I'm happy". As they keep telling me, "Doni Doni" which means "little by little".

I spend zero time with my site mate Felipe and instead go to Faralako to visit Alison, 4 K away. She has been my lifeline and I am SO happy she is only a 40 minute walk away.

We had a naughty leprochaun party last night for St. Patrick's Day and it was so much fun. All the guys shaved their beards into mustaches, wore cut off jean shorts, short overalls or green camo underwear. It was absolutely hilarious. I even taught everyone how to do a few basic Irish step dances.

Alright, I love you all and miss you dearly. Hopefully I can upload the blog I wrote for this month next month and include a few pictures. I might be able to catch the World Food Program flight out of Kissidougou and go to Conakry instead of Kankan next month, and if that's the case, I'll be able to upload a video of my hut so you can get the grand tour.

Ta na si te (I'm fine/there is no evil) and I'll write you in a month.

Kankan

2008-02-26T13:24:00.000Z

Hey guys!

Just wanted to let you know I'm alive and in KanKan for the next few days. All volunteers in Upper Haute were invited to come into the city to meet with the American ambassador, who is in town to meet with US aid organizations and make speeches at the local universities. It has been AMAZING to hang out with other Americans. To just speak English and have electricity is so wonderful.

The first 10 days at site were pretty rough, because my counterpart and the entire DPS were gone for some health conference, so I didn't have anything to do but sit in my hut and read. To keep myself from going insane with boredom, I've painted my front door magenta and am teaching myself to cook (I can make spring rolls now!). I've also waged a full out war on my hut's ant population. I'm winning. We're not really allowed to do anything for our first few months at site aside from interview people, so I suppose that's what I'll be doing when I return.

It's getting reallllly hot here. I'm talking so hot that you can't even sleep on a mattress. I just move my top sheet onto the tile floors to sleep. Not at all comfortable, but at least it's not 100 degrees.

I'm sorry this blog isn't eloquent nor too informative. I'm paying for this internet and the connection is soooo slow. Rest assured, I'll supply you with more stories the next time I come into town which will be on the 16th of March. All the volunteers from Upper and Lower Haute are getting together and we're having an evil leprechaun party for St. Patrick's Day. Should be a lot of fun!

Sweatily yours,

Katie

P.S. My address has stayed the same. Just write PCV instead of PCT after my name. Send me letters, magazines, food (!!!!!), or, better yet, yourself.
P.S.S. If you are really wanting to get something to me in a package, hide the item in a tampon box. No one will mess with it.

Incipit Vita Nova

2008-02-09T20:16:00.000Z

(In photo: me and Lauren, a PCV that returned to Guinea to train us. She's been like a big sister to me. I'm going to miss her when she heads back to the US in a few weeks!)

Well, it’s official. I am now a Peace Corps Volunteer! So, when you send me packages (please…) you can write PCV instead of PCT after my name.

The ceremony was held out in the back of the Peace Corps office under a few tents and we all wore our African best. It was surprisingly moving, as Steve, our Country Director for PC Guinea, began to tear up. We’re the last stage he’ll be around to see swear in. He’s lived in Guinea working as the Country Director for the past five years, and he’s heading home to the US in five months. (This picture is of all the G-15 Health volunteers with Steve, a few returned health volunteers that came back to train us, and our two Guinean teachers, Madieu and Kake)

Tom Gallagher, a returned PCV from the first Peace Corps group EVER, came to our ceremony and gave an amazing speech. He told us that instead of having his orientation at a Holiday Inn function room, he had his orientation over tea with John F. Kennedy! His stage still has reunions, almost 50 years after they all served.

(In picture: me and Teale, hamming it up.)

The Guinean Minister of Health spoke and so did the American ambassador (who kept mispronouncing ‘Guinean’) and then we took a pledge to do our jobs as best as we could.

AND THEN WE ATE!!! Devilled eggs, tuna fish sandwiches without the crusts, cheese sandwiches. It was so good. I just stood by the trays of food, shoveling it all into my mouth. Not very good etiquette, but I couldn’t help it-- a girl’s gotta eat.

After swear in, a group of us headed to the beach bar and had a few drinks. (These two pictures were taken at the bar. That's Liz and me, looking off into the future of our service in Guinea. )

That night, we had a, “hooray we’re sworn in!”/my birthday party. I had a lot of fun-- everyone sang happy birthday when the clock struck midnight. At the end of the night, three PCV’s gave out superlatives and I was awarded “Most likely to marry a doctor without a border.” Other awards given out were “Most likely to mistake rat for fine dining,” (that went to Jess) and “Most likely to fall into a well” (Allison Buttercup). I don't quite understand why I was awarded my superlative.

I haven’t done anything that exciting for my birthday today. I went to the massive market in the middle of Conakry to pick up a few essentials for my hut, which was totally overwhelming. All the vendors were constantly trying to physically pull us into their stores (which are just rickety shacks with stuff on shelves) and we had to always be on the lookout for cars coming down the road. Even though the market streets were packed with people, the cars were just driving like there weren’t any pedestrians at all. The pedestrian does NOT have the right of way here. In fact, if you get hit by a car, it’s your fault. All PCV’s have already almost been hit by a car or motorcycle. You really have to be careful.

A few PCV’s went out and bought a pig for us to cook for dinner tonight. I haven’t had ham in such a long time, so I’m really excited. It's now 8:30 PM and we're still waiting on the pig, because, we are in Guinea, which means that we had to kill it, skin it and cook it. Haha, oh how I do miss pre-cut bacon.

Some friends have also made a cheesecake for me to eat for my birthday.

Tonight is our last night together. Tomorrow, we’re all leaving for our respective regional capitals. It’s going to be several months before I get to see other PCV’s in the two other regions of Guinea (Fouta and Basse Cote). Fortunately, our group of ten Haute volunteers is making the journey east in two taxis instead of one, so the 15 hour ride up there should be relatively comfortable. I think there will only be one animal, a puppy, in the car with us. No goats!

I’m excited to start my new life in Mandiana. According to Felipe, the town has an obsession with Star Wars and expects each volunteer to take a name from the original trilogy. I want to adopt “Chewy” but they may want me to take “Leah”, seeing that I’m the first female volunteer in the town. We’ll see.

Wish me luck!!!

Done With Training!

2008-02-07T15:58:00.000Z

Hello! I’m back in Conakry for the next few days, basking in the absolute glory of having electricity, internet, air-conditioning and running water. It feels so darn good!

I got another package yesterday from Japan! The return address was in Japanese, so I couldn’t decipher who it was from, but thank you so much, whoever you are!

Last week, I gave my second sensibilization with Liz and Amber and it went MUCH better than my first one. We presented on VIH/SIDA (HIV/AIDS) and other STD’s to a class of about 55 tenth graders. They all stood when we entered the room and didn’t sit down until we got to the front. It’s odd to be treated with so much respect.

The kids in the class already knew a lot on the subject AND they understood French, so they were great participants. Part of the sensibilization was about how quickly an STD can spread in a population. To demonstrate that, we used glitter. We asked one member of the class to come up to the front of the room and we smeared moisturizing lotion on her hands and sprinkled a bit of glitter on top of it. We then told her to shake hands with three people, and then those three people had to shake hands with three other people, and so forth, until most of the class had at least a few specks of glitter on their hands.

This also demonstrated the importance of monogamy and condoms (or gloves, in this instance). I really hope the kids didn’t leave our sensibilization thinking that you could get AIDS from touching people’s hands, because people living with HIV/AIDS are stigmatized enough as it is.
(I drew that image of the two eggheads kissing. I'm in the striped shirt on the left, in the middle of declaring that you can't get AIDS from kissing or touching someone.)

We also played a musical chairs-type game with the students, sans the chairs. The kids passed around blown up condoms, each with a question regarding HIV/AIDS/STD’s folded up inside of it. This was done to music, and when the music stopped playing, the kid holding the condom had to pop it (which was hard to do, so it was funny to watch) and read the question aloud and then answer it. If the student got the answer right, he/she was awarded a lollipop.

I wanted to make a nice meal for my family to say thank you for having me. I was worried they wouldn’t want to eat what I made for them, so I decided to go with gnocchi, because Guineans LOVE potatoes. Fortunately, another volunteer lives with my aunt’s family, so we made it together. Thank God for that, because the dinner took five and a half hours to prepare! I can only imagine how long it would have taken me had I done it by myself. We boiled, smashed and peeled 8 kg of potatoes, which took forever without the proper appliances. But it was all worth it, because it gave the women in my complex some free time to hang out and braid their hair.

Women have no time to do anything nice for themselves in this country. They do ALL the work! They slave away in the fields, work at the market and take care of the kids AND the house, while the men “work” on their social relationships, search for other wives, or pray. It is so infuriating.

The family ended up inviting half of the neighborhood to the dinner without informing us, so there wasn’t enough food. But they loved the gnocchi and Katalina and I were really happy about it.

I figured out what broke the barrier between me and my family! One night about a month ago, I was sitting in the dark eating dinner by myself, and I began belting Akon’s "Don't Matter" (it's HUGELY popular in Guinea) and my brother and sisters came running into the room to watch their little fote sing Akon. They loved it! From then on, they kept asking me to sing that song or other American songs for them.

There is something so basic, so primal about music that connects humans to one another.

Who'd have thought that the missing piece to the puzzle was a song?

So, my life for the past few weeks has basically been one big musical. Michael Jackson, Enya, Annie (The Musical), you name it, I was probably singing it for my family. My siblings would hum along with me or dance around, and then they would sing Guinean songs for me. Guinea is my little Broadway.

The night before I left for Conakry, my family gave me a beautiful complet made from a fabric of beautiful hues of indigo. I was so happy! The fam also gave me a rather bulky necklace and told me I was to wear it with the complet to the Farewell Ceremony.

(That's us at the Farewell Ceremony. I could not get them to smile!)

I ended up giving each of the kids in my family a flashlight because they had been so impressed with mine. They were all THRILLED to receive them. I wrote each of their names on the flashlights because I was worried the Dad might take them and keep them for his own use.

(This is Dalanda Un, giving me a thumbs up in my sunglasses. She is obviously not three years old. People in Guinea don't know their ages, or their children's ages for that matter.)

My family braided my hair, and once I got into the complet, my Dad told me I looked like a Guinean woman. I seriously doubt the comment was genuine, but I thought it was sweet.

The Farewell Ceremony was fun. A few volunteers made speeches in the three local languages (Malinke, Pulaar and Susu), then we ate rice and sauce and said goodbye to our families. I didn’t think it would be so hard to say goodbye to my sisters, but they were all crying, so I started to cry. I'm going to miss them.

Then I boarded the car to Conakry, which was packed with 11 humans, two cats and one dog, duck and chicken. Oh Guinea. I'm told that I should be happy that there weren't any goats in the car with us. GOATS?!

I awoke at 5 AM this morning to a ridiculously loud prayer call. Some man with a screetchy voice was screaming "ALLLLLLLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! AHHHHHH!!!! AHHHHHLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" for about forty minutes. I wanted to scream "SHUT THE HELL UP!!!!" out the window. Prayer call isn't usually that loud or annoying-- perhaps the Muezzin is new?

This is one of the many beautiful murals on the walls of the transit house in Conakry.

We swear in tomorrow-- I'm excited, mainly for the food they're going to give us. Everyone is going to wear their African clothes and the US ambassador is coming to give a speech. Should be fun. Then I'm off to Mandiana. I hear I'm going to get both the midget hut and the larger hut! Sheesh. I'm thinking of naming one "The Ritz" and the other "The Four Seasons". Anyone have any other ideas for names?

The Road to Mandiana

2008-01-30T09:57:00.000Z

(In photograph: man hanging onto moving car on rollerskates. This is a fairly common sight in Conakry.)

Soooo…I RECEIVED MY FIRST PACKAGES!!! Seriously, thank you so much for sending me food and soap. The Guinean mail system isn’t exactly dependable, nor does it function outside of Conakry, so everything takes a really long time to get to me in Forecariah. I haven’t lost faith in the other packages that were sent a month ago!

I’m in Conakry right now with Jess and Julie, which has been a great break from the eight to five, six day a week training. We had to be put on ‘medical hold’ because we’ve been sick for the past month or so with similar illnesses. It’s been really nice to have the transitional house to ourselves—I even got to have a shower with warm water!

Last I wrote, I was leaving for KanKan for site visit. We crammed ten people into a bush taxi that would have comfortable seated seven, and we arrived safe and sound in KanKan (isn’t that fun to say?) after the eight hour drive. I spent the night at the transitional house in KanKan with a few other volunteers because we couldn’t have made it to our respective sites before sundown. Peace Corps has a policy that makes it illegal for us to be in cars at night because that’s when most accidents occur. Car accidents are the number one killer in Guinea. I took this picture on the road up to KanKan.

That night, one of my friends accidentally erased all 2,800 of my songs on my iPOD. Grrrrrrr. I feel so naked without my music!

The next day, I met up with Felipe, my sitemate, and Allison, another PCT, and we picked out a bush taxi to take us to Mandiana (my site). Mandiana isn’t that far from KanKan, but because the road is so incredibly pot holed, the drive took four hours. It was kind of like being on the Indiana Jones ride at Disneyland, but much more boring.

The taxi was stopped twice by the gendarmes (army jerks) for bribes, which the driver had to pay, but aside from that nothing noteworthy happened. We were, however, absolutely COVERED in orange dust when we emerged from the taxi. It looked like we’d all had really bad spray tans. Despite the fact I wore sunglasses, my eyelashes were still tinted day-glow orange. Allison looked like an Oompa Loompa more than anything else.

We washed off at Felipe’s hut and made our way to greet the important officials in Mandiana. Then Alison left for her site, which is only a 45 minute walk from Mandiana.

I met Bio (or Bayou?), my real counterpart, who is totally awesome and nothing like the dull guy he sent to the Counterpart Workshop in his place. Bio has worked with other volunteers before and was so excited to meet me! I think we’ll make a great team.

Bio showed me my hut, which is in a nice, peaceful neighborhood of other huts. My hut is part of a compound owned by another family, so I’ll still be living with a family, except I’ll have my own space. The compound consists of a normal (trailer-like) house with two huts on the side. All the buildings are shaded by the many mango trees in the yard, which should provide some respite from the blazes of hot season.
(In picture: first hut)
But my hut was TINY. I’m talking midget sized-- my HEAD hit the CEILING. I’m not that tall, so maybe only children lived in the hut before me? Either way, I told Bio that I couldn’t live the next two years with my head tilted to the side. He was very understanding and found another, larger hut for me to live in, which just so happened to be ten feet away from the midget hut. It’s going to be painted and re-thatched, so I’m really excited. It also has a private pit latrine and a big, fenced-in backyard.

(In picture: second hut)

I’m a bit confused about the fact that my pit latrine doesn’t have a roof. What am I supposed to do during the rainy season? Squat under an umbrella? Wish me luck with that one…

On the whole, Mandiana is very dry and dusty with a rather unimpressive market (foods one can buy there: milk, eggs, flour, onions, tomato paste, garlic, tomatoes, pasta, and of course, rice and fish). There are TONS of cows and donkeys that just wander about all day long. I try to give the cows a wide berth because I’d rather not be impaled by their massive horns.

Felipe is a very interesting fellow. A bit socially awkward, but aside from that, I like him. He is an education PCV and will be in Mandiana until August. We’ve had some good conversations so far, covering beautiful etymologies to which God or demigod we’d want to be. Felipe said Manjusri, the Hindu/Buddhist God of professors, whereas I said I’d consider being a siren of the sea. Don’t hold me to that though. In true Scripps form, I was tempted to say Athena, but being a siren seems like it would have been more fun.

The day after, I visited Mandiana’s hospital, and man is it dismal. Much more dismal than the one in Forecariah. Working there will definitely be a challenge, but I’m looking forward to it.

After the hospital visit, the chief of the neighborhood came by Felipe’s hut and gave a prayer, a benediction, to me and what I was about to do for their community. I’m going to need all the help I can get! But seriously, it was a beautiful benediction. I mean, it sounded pretty (I don’t understand Malinke yet).

The ride back to KanKan was uneventful. The car broke down before we even left Mandiana, and the driver “fixed” the problem by pulling OUT the carborator and hitting it repeatedly with a stick. Mechanics in Guinea…HA!

Back in KanKan we had a Pirates vs. Ninja party with all the Haute Trainees and Volunteers. Apparently, Haute has the best parties. We scoured the markets of KanKan for costumes and came up with these. Not bad! Everyone had a great time.

At 5 A.M. the next morning, the trainees left KanKan for the fifteen hour drive to Forecariah. This is a picture of us crammed in the back, taken by the two trainees crammed in the front passenger seat. The picture on the left is one of the pretty views during the ride down.

I washed my 60 pairs of underwear this past weekend and put them out to dry in the front yard. Binta just stood and stared at them for about five solid minutes. I don't think she'd seen so many in her life! I tried to explain that most Americans don't even have 60 pairs of underwear and I only brought that many because I'm lazy and didn't want to do laundry very often. But, that explanation was lost, because she doesn't speak French. Alas.

This other picture is of me, Amy and Kim, goofing around while waiting for more language interviews. Women in Guinea wrap their babies to their backs and we were trying to duplicate it. I am much larger than a baby, so, we failed.

Stage is coming to a close. Next week, all trainees are moving back to Conakry for the swearing in ceremony, which marks our official passage from peace corps trainees to peace corps volunteers! I'm going to miss all the friends I've made in stage.

Love to you all.

Oz/Wonderland

2008-01-18T20:51:00.000Z

(This is a picture of how they cut grass in Guinea. Why waste time with a lawn mower when you can just set fire to it?!)

Bonsoir from Mamou! Mamou is in the Fouta region of Guinea and it’s a nice change of scenery. We were actually supposed to come here last week, but there were demonstrations going on in Conakry that got a little violent, and Peace Corps didn’t want us traveling during unstable times.

Two weeks ago, the president sacked the minister of information, which violated the agreement the government and Guinean citizens came to back in February. The Guineans were furious! They gave the president two days to come up with a solution, or else. I’m not sure what resolution they found, but apparently they came to some agreement because everything has quieted down in Conakry.

Peace Corps is really serious about our safety. On the morning the president met with his cabinet to discuss an agreement, all the PCT’s weren’t allowed to leave their houses. There we were, all the way out in Forecariah, and we were still placed under house arrest!

We’re all here in Mamou for the counterpart workshop, which is when we meet our assigned host country national who will be guides in the field we work in. So, my counterpart is someone who works in the DPS (Department of Public Health) in my city.

Unfortunately, my counterpart couldn’t make it out to meet me because he had to “oversee the completion of (my) pit latrine.” I don’t know what he’d need to oversee, because I’m pretty certain that my toilet is just a hole in the ground. C’est la Guinee.

Instead, some guy with the title of “health technician” came in his place. He’s nice but he speaks French wayyyyy too fast. He talks, and I smile and nod.

I really am Alice in Wonderland over here. Everything appears to be flung far from reason, but I’m sure it will make more sense as I drift deeper into the culture.

Guineans believe that sorcerers exist and that they can turn people into panthers.

This is a serious fear! Personally, I think it would be kind of cool to be turned into a panther.

We learned about Guinean contraceptive practices a few weeks ago and my mind is still reeling from it.

For example, Guineans believe that if you drink a really cold Coke a few hours before sex (emphasis on it being REALLY cold), you won’t get pregnant. The same goes for taking antibiotics before and after sex. Makes perfect (non)sense.

Where do these ideas come from?! And how can these beliefs still be in circulation when they obviously don’t work? I suppose they could blame a woman’s extreme fertility for the pregnancy, which would actually be a huge complement to the woman because fertility is a huge deal in Guinea. If a woman is infertile, she’s considered unmarriageable, poor thing. Often, women try to get pregnant before marriage to show that they can indeed bear children.

Perhaps these forms of “contraception” were fabricated by women in the country to make them look good? And I do wonder what the local Guineans think of us Americans who are always searching for a really cold Coke.

It’s gotten a lot cooler over the past few days. By “cooler” I mean it gets as low as the mid 70’s at night. This weather, surprisingly, calls for the fleece blanket I brought to Guinea in the lame hope I’d be placed in the Fouta.

I’m trying to think about how I’ve adapted to life in Guinea. I know I’ve got a long way to go, but there are definitely some changes that have taken place.

For example, I don’t think twice (or even once) about throwing rocks at chickens and roosters. I thought it was really cruel at first, but now it’s more fun than anything else. Chickens are super curious and get into everything here. Guineans cook over little fires on the ground outside and chickens are constantly trying to get at the food. This happens so often that it takes too much energy to get up and physically shoo them away.

In Guinea, yards are filled with reddish brown pebbles instead of grass, so it’s really easy to bend down, grab a pebble, and chuck it straight at the offending chicken. I’ve only actually hit a few, but my arm is improving with each day.

I also don’t bother killing spiders smaller than four inches in diameter and think that skirts that end at the knees look WAY too short.

Last week, I saw a spider that was definitely a direct descendent of Aragog. The spider was so big, I heard it before I saw it. It was larger than my hand, and in its massive pincers laid a dead baby MOUSE.

(Here's some evidence, as requested. This is the spider with the mouse in its clutches. I swear to god it's bigger than my hand and it's still living outside my door.)

The vultures in this country are so big that their wing spans are over five feet. No joke. They’re so big that they steal fully grown chickens out of peoples yards. I saw it happen during French class.

My friend Teale has an animal with extremely strong teeth in her room. Some animal chewed a hole in her cement floor and, every night, it comes out of the hole and drags Teale’s underwear across the room.

At this point in my life, I find this stuff absolutely hilarious. Ah, Guinealand, my wonderland.

For New Years, the SED and Public Health trainees ventured into Maferinya to visit the Agro-forestry trainees and eat a good BBQ’d lunch together. Unfortunately, being Americans, we didn’t factor in the time it would take to buy a live goat, kill it, skin it and then cook it. I think everyone figured we’d be able to buy goat, ready to cook at the market. Oops. It was around four in the afternoon when we finally ate.

This picture is of me, Liz and Candee at a bar in Forecariah on New Year's Eve.

After our semi-American BBQ, we headed to the local soccer field to play what we thought was going to be an informal game of soccer against a local team. Big mistake.

The locals had set up large tent (donated by UNICEF) with loads of chairs and a couch on the side of the field. We learned that the couch was for the sous-prefect (the mayor)—we had no inkling that this game was such a big deal! Over 1,000 people showed up and the G-15’ers (that’s the name of our stage) won the first match against the local women’s team but we lost the second against the men’s team. Oh, there was even an announcer with a speaker system. It felt like I was watching Heavyweights. There we were, the Peace Corps team, totally unprepared in mismatched clothes, looking like total idiots compared to the Guinean team in their uniforms doing their warm ups perfectly in sync. I was going to play, but decided not to at the last minute because I’d had way too much goat for lunch. More importantly, I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of 1,000 raucous spectators.

Last weekend, my Guinean grandparents reached the highest level one can reach in the Muslim faith without going to Mecca. During the days leading up to their Thierno Ceremony, women were pounding some kind of grain in big wooden basins with massive wooden poles. They were striking the grain so hard that it sounded like they were all beating a big drum. As soon as I came home, they told me to change into nicer clothes and to come “help” (“helping” usually means watching them do it). I put on a collared shirt and khaki pants, but to pound the mystery grain, one has to wear a skirt and cover one’s head. So, I ran back inside for a scarf and some random woman wrapped a pania around my waist.

All the women laughed (there were about 50 of them) as I tried to smash the grain with the big pole. It’s hard work! I handed a neighbor my camera to capture the moment, and this photo is the best one the came out. Most of the photos she took were of the sky. I don’t think she’d ever taken photos before.

The women pounded the grain well into the night and it was fun falling asleep to the drumming sounds—it reminded me of being back home, listening to my brother play his drums.

The Thierno Ceremony is a big deal, and I wore my nicest dress for it. Several people had told me before I left for the ceremony that the dress was acceptable. But, on my way down there, people kept eyeing my bare shins and telling me that what I was wearing was “pas bon!” So, I walked back and borrowed a long skirt from my neighbor and draped a big blue shawl over my head, Muslim-style. People were much more receptive to my more conservative, religious ceremony-appropriate outfit.

But man oh man it was a fish bowl! Everyone kept looking at me while I was there, and they were obviously talking about me. I normally don’t mind it that much, but at the ceremony, over 100 women were doing it at the same time.

It was a bit overwhelming, but it was also cool to see my grandparents in their finest attire.

For the ceremony, they wore hats and necklaces covered in folded Guinean bills. Money necklaces and hats are customary for special occasions in Guinea.

I got pretty tired so I went back to the house to take a short nap, which my mom approved. She followed me back and motioned for me to wait in the living room/dining room. I waited for awhile and started to leave for my room, assuming that I had just misunderstood her (which happens all the time), but as I stood up, she emerged with a beautiful dressy complet in her arms. I was to wear this for the ceremony. It was the nicest thing my Mom’s done yet, so I was really happy.

Anyway, I went to nap, because my Aunt told me that the ceremony was going to start in 20 minutes (which is more like two hours Guinea time). So, I assumed I had plenty of time. Unfortunately, the ceremony actually started when it was supposed to, and I ended up sleeping through the ceremony. My grandparents were pretty insulted. I tried to explain that I’d thought I’d had enough time for a little nap, because in Guinea, things usually start way later than they’re supposed to. But, seeing that they don’t speak French, my explanation was not understood.

I gave my first sensibilization yesterday! The public health sector was bussed over to a health post near Maferinya to teach about a topic we’d previously chosen. Andrew, my sensibilization partner, and I chose to teach about STD’s. Each group got to pick the demographic they wanted to present their sensibilization to. Because Andrew and I didn’t speak up, we were stuck with the most awkward demographic—les pecheurs, otherwise known as the fishermen, all of whom were in their 50’s.

Oy.

So, because it’s Guinea, no one showed up to the health post at 8 in the morning, and we ended up starting the sensibilization at 9:30. It turned out that none of les pecheurs could speak French, so we had to get one of our teachers to translate for us.

I felt SO awkward talking about the importance of a condom and the various symptoms of STI’s in front of old men.

My favorite part of the sensibilization was when an old man raised his hand and told us that the men would rather learn about high blood pressure or hemorrhoids.

Not only were we interrupted by comments such as those, but we were also interrupted by prayer time. At 10:15 all the men prayed in their chairs while Andrew and I stood there on the platform, unsure of what exactly we were supposed to do (leave the platform? Should I cover my head? Etc etc.)

Ah man, the joys of presenting in Guinea.

After the sensibilization, we were stormed by younger men and women who, evidently, thought we were doctors. One guy asked me what he should do about his epilepsy, because his parents think that each time he has a fit, he’s being possessed by the devil. Then a lady came by with a newborn that had been born with a club arm. I had no idea what to say!

A lot of the groups that presented in the health posts had similar issues.

In all, I really enjoyed myself because I found it hilarious that most of the men would have rather learned about hemorrhoids. Makes sense to me.

Later that night, as my friends were leaving my house, they almost stepped on a puppy, apparently lost and lying in the cinders of an extinguished fire to keep warm. She was so cute but really emaciated. We gave her some food and Nick agreed to keep her for now, until we figure out what to do with her. I’m thinking Cinderella might be a good name for her.

I finally broke through a barrier with my family. I’m not so sure what happened, but they’re being a whole lot nicer to me and it’s totally changed my experience here. I’m now building relationships with them, and it makes me feel much more comfortable and welcome. My sister Binta even gave me a photo of herself.

It’s hanging on my wall next to the Salkin family holiday card (thanks for that!). I asked Binta what she was doing in the picture and she said “I was waiting in line to get circumcised.”

Uhhhh. Now I’m not so sure if I want to keep that picture on my wall, because there she is in that picture, all healthy, on the verge of having something done to her that could very well kill her or cause her pain for the rest of her life.

I don’t feel close enough to her to ask her about her experience with circumcision, but I’m really curious.

We went to waterfalls a few weeks ago (sorry, I couldn't figure out a good transition from female circumcision...)! It was a lot of fun to just be with other Americans and frolic in the water for an afternoon. That's Ciara on my left and Teale on my right.

I got my first letters this week! It was wonderful reading people’s handwriting. I’ve read each letter at least four times. Keep them coming! Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten any packages yet (thank you so much to those of you who have sent them!!!!), but I’m hopeful they’ll be waiting for me when I return to Forecariah.

We leave from here on Sunday, January 20 for our site visits! I’m really excited to visit my city and see what my life might be like for the next two years. If my pit latrine isn’t finished, I’m going to have to stay with my site mate, Philippe. I’ll be up in Haute Guinee for four days and return to Forecariah on Thursday. Wish me luck with sitting in a bush taxi for 17 hours! I’m so far east that I’m actually closer to Bamako, Mali, than I am to Conakry. So if you’re thinking of coming to visit me and you’re also interested in seeing Mali, fly into Bamako and I’ll meet you there.

I like the word “potential”. It’s packed with possibility.

I started learning Malinke last week and it’s pretty hard to remember any of it. I’m sure it’ll start sticking with me once I get to site.

This picture was taken today while we were shopping in Mamou for fabric to make more complets. That's Teale on the left and me on the right sporting our fabulous first complets. This was our attempt to "integrate". We couldn't pass for Guineans, even wearing complets and waving Guinean flags.

Needless to say, I'm doing a lot better. I miss you all so much and keep sending me e-mails/posting comments! It's great to read what you write!

Two weeks into Forecariah

2007-12-25T11:49:00.000Z

Merry Christmas!!!

The last two weeks have been some of the hardest of my life. Lots of changes have taken place and I’ve already found myself needing to dig deeper within myself for more strength and patience. I’ll try to give you as detailed an account as possible, but there’s just so much that has happened that I’m going to have to leave a lot out.

For starters, I am now known as Dalanda Diallo (pronounced Dah-lawn-dah Dee-ah-low) and I was adopted by a Pulaar speaking Guinean family (thank you Peace Corps for the crash course in Susu).

At the adoption ceremony, my name was called and my new Dad met me onstage, took my hand and walked me back to his wife in the audience, who did not smile when I greeted her, and promptly pulled out her entire breast to feed her baby. She doesn’t speak any French. She doesn’t smile much either. Then again, had I had my first child at age 13, I wouldn’t be very happy.

As soon as we got into the Peace Corps car, my new Pops told me that “Katie” wouldn’t work and that “Dalanda” was a much prettier name. Peace Corps drove us to my future home which was quite the adventure because there is only one paved road in Forecariah, and my house certainly isn’t on it. The road to my house isn’t even a road. I’d call it a trail.

OK, so before I left for Guinea/Mars, my parents were joking around, saying “Oh, with your luck you’ll be placed with the richest family in town!” Ha freakin’ ha. Thanks for jinxing my luck, guys! I’m definitely with the poorest family out of everyone in my stage (training group).

My family owns one candle and one flashlight, but the flashlight is strictly for the Dad’s use. After the sun goes down the Mom lights the candle and keeps it in the center of the house. If anyone needs anything else from other rooms in the house, they have to make their way in the dark. I make my way around the house with an LED headlamp, which the kids ooohed and aaahed over at first, but now I just feel awkward. They can move in the dark, so why the hell can’t I?

Well, I’ll tell you why. The spiders here are HUGE--they are the size of my HAND. I mean, they’re so big that you can see their damn pincers from across the room. And my how their eyes glitter as I pass them with my lamplight. So, my dear broJoe, I don’t know if you’ll be paying me any visits while I’m here in Guinea.

There are also massive flying cockroaches. So, that is why I don’t want to move around in the dark.

Apparently, I have it really easy. In their rooms, friends have had centipedes so large that they look like snakes, blister beetles, and rats that resemble the Taco Bell dog.

I now have four Guinean siblings. Binta (female), age ten, Saidou (male), age 13, Dalanda (female…yes…they gave me the same name as their actual daughter which gets really confusing when they’re yelling at her) age three and Mamadou (male), three months. Binta takes care of me the most. She calls me to dinner, prepares my food, and fetches me water from the well whenever I need it. Either she doesn’t speak much French or doesn’t like me. I haven’t figured this out yet, but I’ll get back to you when I do.

Saidou is 13 and looks like he’s eight, poor guy. He’s very nice but he’s rarely home. Saidou can’t read, so that’s one thing I’ve been trying to help him with when he is at home. All the kids go to the local school in town, but the quality of education there is dismal. Poor Saidou tries to memorize the paragraphs he’s supposed to read for class instead of actually reading them. I don’t know how he can memorize them without reading them, but that appears to be what he’s done for the past few years.

Then there’s Dalanda Un. She is three and totally cute when she wants to be and TOTALLY annoying most other times. She’ll just stand outside my door and call “Dalanda?” until I answer. It doesn’t matter if I’m sleeping or need time to just cry and be alone. She keeps going and going and she never has anything to say! All she says is “Ca va?” And then she waddles away.

My Dad is really the only one who wants to talk to me in French, or in any language for that matter. My Mom rarely smiles and that’s been kind of difficult for me because it doesn’t make me feel very welcome. I’ve learned some basic Pulaar phrases, such as “Thanks for the meal,” etc, but she’s not very impressed. I mean, it isn’t exactly a complement to her cooking that I puke up almost every meal she gives me (speaking of food, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SEND ME FOOD!!!!!!!!!) but I always say thank you.

Unfortunately, the food often tastes better coming up than it did when it went down.

The house I live in resembles a cement trailer, both in size and general appearance. I have my own room with a bed, desk and plastic lawn chair (all their chairs are plastic lawn chairs). There are squat toilets and a shower area outside the house, which are fine during the day, but I don’t like going out there late at night because of all the people that walk through the neighborhood at all hours. So, I’ve mastered the art of peeing into a bottle. (The picture to the right is the corner of my room, sans bottles)

I’ve displaced the family a bit so that now all six of them sleep in the same room. But apparently it’s a huge honor to house an American, which makes me feel a bit better about how much I’m inconveniencing them. Oh man, this family has so little but they’re so generous with what they do have. The Diallos are so poor that they eat my leftovers for their meals. I think it also has to do with respect, offering me the first and best food. I don’t ever take very much.

Everyone in a square mile of the house knows my name. When I walk to the Peace Corps building each morning, neighbors always call out “Dalanda! Ca va?!” from their windows and yards as I pass by. When I was sick with food poisoning a few days ago, the entire neighborhood knew, and everyone asked me if I was feeling better the next day. People are so friendly here. Literally everyone wants to shake my hand and ask me how I am. At first it was fun, but now it’s just annoying. It takes forever to get anywhere! Also, people wipe their butts with their hands here and they certainly do NOT wash with soap afterwards. Guineans always use their left hand to do this, and shake other people’s hands/eat with their right, but I still don’t like touching so many people’s hands that probably haven’t seen soap in a long time.

When I’m out of my neighborhood, people are just as friendly, but because they don’t know my name, they yell out “Fote!” Fote (pronounced Foe-tay) means white person/foreigner. Little kids chant “Fote” in groups. They’ll start off quiet “fote…fote…fote…” and then they all end up screaming “FOTE!!!! FOTE!!! FOTE!!!” At first I thought it was cute, but now I don’t even respond to it.

I haven’t bonded yet with my mother or the rest of the family. The language barrier is really difficult, seeing that I don’t speak Pulaar. I have bonded with my Aunt who lives in the house right next door, so that’s been really nice for me. She speaks French AND she smiles.

Unfortunately, two volunteers have left. One of them was one of my best friends here, so that was pretty hard.

Last week, we had site announcement! Because Peace Corps Guinea will probably jump down my throat if I publish the name of the city I’ll be in (yes you read that right…I’ll be living in a CITY!), I can’t write it here. But my site is in Haute Guinea which is the farthest east you can get, a bit outside of the city Kankan, which you can definitely find easily on any map of Guinea. I’m sharing the city with another volunteer, who’s been living there for the past six months, so it will be great to have someone else to talk to. I’ll be working with the Department of Public Health to come up with better organizational administrative strategies for the hospitals and health posts in the areas. I also hope to implement health checks and standards for these hospitals. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, I will be living in a mud hut come February.

The public health volunteers visited the local Forecariah hospital last week and let me just say that I really hope I never need medical attention in Guinea. Hospitals in this country are so under equipped that they actually reuse surgical gloves! They wash them out and them leave them in the sun to dry. We were given a grand tour of the hospital by one of the local doctors, who was wearing a doctor’s coat that had “Keith Jackson, M.D.” embroidered on it. I actually laughed out loud when I read this because the coat had obviously been a hand me down from an American doctor. I think the jacket represents Guinea’s hospital status pretty well. The doctor even walked us through the O.R. which was not open air (unlike the rest of the hospital) but was still FAR from sterile.

We had a rape and sexual harassment info session a few days ago where we were taught that in Guinea, rape isn’t considered a horrible thing and that “no” just means that you have to work harder for the girl. It was also added that it’s always the woman’s fault for turning the guy on—the man holds no responsibility. This news evoked so much rage in me that I almost cried. One of my secondary projects in Haute Guinea will have to be educating about rape.

This has all been so good for me. I’ve gained so much perspective on life in America and life in general. Never have I been so acutely aware of how fucking lucky Americans are. Guineans have so little and life is so difficult. In America, for example, there are health standards and if you buy a bad piece of meat at Safeway, Safeway is held accountable. Here, there’s nothing you can do—you are held accountable for the meat you buy. In America, there are also wonderful things such as expiration dates. I really had no clue as to how lucky we Americans are. I mean, you can just go to the grocery store and buy all sorts of fresh fruits and vegetables. Here, only a few are available.

I compare myself to who I was and how I felt when I visited a friend in SF this summer. I felt bad for him for having to take a bus to work and to the grocery store and that he had to use a public Laundromat to do his laundry.

What the hell was I thinking?! At least there’s a safe bus to take in the first place! At least there are grocery stores! At least washing machines exist in the US! Man has my perspective on luxury changed.

The 20th of December was Tabaski, a huge holiday in Guinea and West Africa. Apparently, family with the means by a sheep and sacrifice it as a gesture to Mohammed who sacrificed his son for Allah. My family wore their best clothes and the girls all had their hair done especially pretty for that day. The fam didn't have any money for a sheep, but some richer neighbors gave them a few pieces to eat for lunch.

All these men I’d never seen before came in for the weekend. Apparently, the women I had thought were single are married! And, apparently, these men have other wives in other cities.

I was amazed to see all the kids in such clean clothes and shoes. I went out dancing with Saidou and Binta on the night of Tabaski and I felt so awkward. Binta is ten years old and she was dancing like a drunk slutty college girl. All the girls, no matter their age, were dancing like that. Binta kept trying to grind against my leg, but I kept moving away from her because I felt like a child molester! I hope she didn’t feel offended. Binta is in this picture on the left, all clean and in her best clothes for Tabaski.

Boobs are all over the place in this town. Even when the women aren’t feeding their babies, they walk around their yards with it all hanging out.

I lent out a pack of playing cards to the kids in my family and they are filthy now (but I’ve taught the neighborhood kids how to play a mean game of Allez Poisson [Go Fish]). There’s just so much dirt around here. I always have dirt under my fingernails and at least a few centimeters of dirt on my feet. My feet look slightly hobbit-ish, minus the hair.

We Guinea volunteers have a saying “T. I. G.” which stands for This is Guinea. People started saying “T.I.A.” (This is Africa) but we’ve all realized how different Guinea is from other Peace Corps programs. PC Guinea takes pride in the fact that it is one of the last true Peace Corps experiences left in the world. While we do have bragging rights, it would be great to have electricity and/or running water.

The moon is a great reminder that I am indeed on earth and not on an entirely different planet.

Okay guys, it’s really time to step up. I NEED FOOD. Some great ideas:

Canned/packaged meats or soups
Instant foods/soups
CHEESE (fake cheese...the real stuff will melt)
Dove soap (the soap here is so strong and takes a really long time to scrub off)
Fruit roll up
Tortellini
Easy Mac Cheese packets
McDonalds/Taco Bell sauces

I’ve dropped like 15 pounds here because the food is disgusting. No diffusion of responsibility, people! I NEED FOOD! No joke, I think about American food as much as pubescent boys think about sex. Send to:

Katie Ryan, PCT
Corps de la Paix
BP 1927
Conakry, Republic of Guinea
West Africa

I will love you forever. Be sure to write “Dieu regardez-vous” in red on it. And try typing my address out instead of hand writing it. This will make it more likely that I get the package.

I probably won’t have access to the internet for another 3 weeks. At least. I miss you all and I’m going to buy a cell phone today. I didn’t bring anybody’s numbers, so if you want my number, you can find it on Facebook, or you can e-mail a member of my family. I’d love to hear from you. Guinea is 8 hours ahead of PST.

My friend Liz has uploaded more pix than I have. You can find at least 5 pictures with me in them on her blog: http://lizzieinguinea.blogspot.com/

I miss you all so much. I wouldn’t say that I’m happy, but I’m definitely Alice in Wonderland.

Update coming soon...

2007-12-24T19:43:00.000Z

OK I know this is incredibly lame, but I'm writing now to let you know that I will be updating my blog TOMORROW. I'm not really in a good state of mind to write anything right now (it being Christmas Eve and all and being so far away from my family) so I will write tomorrow. Much love and happy Christmas Eve!!!

La Fourchette Magique

2007-12-08T00:16:00.000Z

That's right, we went to La Fourchette Magique tonight, which translates to "The Magic Fork". It was a fun jazz club that was filled with a mixture of Europeans and Guineans. I felt a bit awkward because there must have been 100 people just standing outside the gates, listening to the music and watching the people in the club. But it makes sense to not pay for something you can hear perfectly well from afar.

Whenever the jazz band began playing an American song, all the PCV's stormed the stage and danced. It was a lot of fun. There was one annoying man that kept coming up to the guys in our group and propositioning them to trade a white girl from our group for a Guinean girl. The PCV's tried to explain American culture and that Americans don't really do that, but I don't think he caught on.

Sorry, I'm still a little drunk, but I just wanted to post an update, because starting tomorrow, I won't have internet.

Tomorrow morning, we leave for Forecariah. Well, most of us do. For some reason the Agroforestry Trainees are going to a different town to train. But we Health and Small Enterprise Development PCV's are heading to Forecariah and we'll have an adoption ceremony where we'll be assigned to live with a Guinean family for the next three months. I'm kind of nervous because they probably won't have running water or electricity, and living with people I don't know is going to be awkward at first. But I'm sure it'll all be ok. We've been told that at least one person in the family will speak French, so that should help. My Susu is non-existent, so I'm really hoping that most of the members of the family parlent Francais.

Oh yeah, on my way over here, I saw a rat the size of a small dog. Guinea is awesome. I hope I don't have to eat them. And, the dinner I wrote about earlier was a lot of fun. Unfortunately, the food made about 25% of the group really sick. Hopefully they'll all feel better by the time we have to get on the bus tomorrow. I should also mention that no one has left or been sent home. Apparently, Guinea has the highest retention rate (97%) of all African Peace Corps programs.

Ok it's 12:30 AM and I need to get up in six hours. Love to you.

Forty eight hours in...

2007-12-06T22:43:00.000Z

Hello!

Today was spent mostly inside waiting around for our language and medical interviews. I placed into intermediate low, so I’ll be taking a bit of French before I go into the new language. Those who placed into the intermediate levels took a crash course in Susu which is the local language in Forecariah and the area surrounding it. It’s pretty difficult because it’s not a romantic language, but more importantly, we’re learning it all in French! So far we’ve been taught simple phrases such as “I Kena” (pronounced ee ken ah) which means good morning.

We’re also getting vaccinations every day. It’s not fun, but it’s necessary.

The transitional house here is a walled compound with several buildings within its walls. One is the PCV’s (Peace Corps Volunteer) house, one is an administrative building, and the other is the country director’s house. There are about twelve guards positioned throughout the compound and there are always two sitting outside the PCV house. I’m guessing crime is a huge problem here…

The compound is right on the ocean and there’s a balcony on the top of the PCV house overlooking it. That’s what I’m looking at right now, actually. It’s really beautiful, but we’ve been warned that all the city sewage drains into the ocean, so we can’t go swimming in it.

If I were to assign a smell to Conakry it would be a mixture of burning rubber, sweat and dirt.

I’m really looking forward to finding out which language I’m going to study because that will give me an idea of where in the country I’m going to be for my two years of service. PCV’s aren’t positioned in the south of Guinea because about five years ago, Liberian and Ivorian rebels invaded it and caused a heck of a lot of problems (ex: murdering a bunch of people). So, that narrows down my placement to the north.

We haven’t been allowed to leave the compound unless we’re going to the beach. Fortunately, the beach has a bar, so most of us went out and had a few drinks last night. It’s 5,000 Guinean Francs for a beer, so that should give you an idea of the exchange rate here. I feel like some kind of rapper throwing around these large numbered bills. All I need now is an entourage of scantily clad women and a blatant disregard for women's rights! But, $1 = 4,200 GF. Alas.

I had rice and sauce (Guinea's staple food) for lunch yesterday today and it’s not bad...yet. I’m going to be eating a ton of it over the next few years.

My mind is fine with this transition so far, but apparently my body is not. In the medical interviews today, a nurse took my blood pressure and it’s gone up from 100/70 to 147/80. I’ve also lost seven pounds in the last four days. Don’t worry, I’m trying to eat a lot, and I’m sure this is just temporary.

Tomorrow is our last day with internet...DUN DUN DUN! So, for the next three months send letters instead of e-mails! I don't have most people's addresses, so if you could initiate the snail mail love, I'd appreciate it. I WILL be coming back up here for Christmas, so I can respond to e-mails and update my blog then.

Even though we've only been here for two days, it made my day to see Antibacterial Softsoap in the country director's bathroom. It's little things like that that remind me of home (anyone want to send me instant miso soup?)

OK, I need to go down to dinner. We’re all going out for the first time and I’m excited to see more of Conakry!

P.S. If you leave comments, could you please leave it under a name I can recognize? I got “M. Unit” just fine, but “Green Lantern” was a bit too vague…

Love to you all!

Also, I haven't gotten around to taking many pictures, let alone edit them and then upload them on this computer, so here is a friend's blog. I haven't read it, but she's posted a few pictures of Guinea worth looking at http://sarahinguinea.blogspot.com/

WOW

2007-12-05T20:00:00.000Z

Wow.

I don’t even know where to start. I’ve never been to Africa before, so this might seem redundant or naïve to those that have made the journey already. I’m just going to paraphrase what I wrote in my journal last night.

Descending into Guinea was really exciting. All the volunteers on the plane craned their necks to get their first view of the country we were/are to live in for the next two years and three months. Everyone’s first view was a mass of green trees and rivers, which surprised us all because it was so different compared to the part of Senegal we flew into/through, which was dusty and brown.

We arrived in Guinea yesterday evening and it really is a different world over here. We waited as a group on the tarmac by the light of the sunset for a bus to drive us to the airport (which we could have easily walked, but we were all delirious after 25 hours of being on the road, so it was much appreciated).

The airport was open air and baggage claim was absolute chaos! There must have been 200 people jostling around one small baggage ring and I was nervous that someone was going to take my bags. One interesting thing that people do in Guinea is wrap their luggage completely in several layers of cellophane, probably to deter the baggage handlers from hacking into them while in transit.

All 74 of our bags made it to Guinea, which was a surprise to all of us. And then, we went into the outside world!!!

There were people everywhere, just socializing outside of the airport. They weren’t selling anything apparent and were just hanging out. I’ll have to ask someone if the airport is like Guinea’s In-N-Out.

We loaded all our baggage into the back of a truck and ourselves into various SUV’s and busses and left the confines of the airport’s parking lot and moved into the insane streets of Conakry.

When I say “insane”, I’m not exaggerating. THERE ARE NO TRAFFIC LANES ON THE STREETS! So, cars just weave around each other, with about an inch of space separating each car. There are also no street lights. Well, there are a few on one road, but they were just added two months ago, and were a gift from Canada. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more overwhelmed in my life. All I was doing was sitting in the car, yet my heart was pounding like I’d just gotten off of a treadmill. People were everywhere—on the side of the road, in the road, hanging off the backs of cars. We were all silent on our way to the regional house in Conakry, just taking in the chaos that is Conakry.

The transit house is one that I am going to consider extremely luxurious in a few weeks’ time. It has air conditioning and sit down toilets and showers with hot water. The electricity shuts off almost every half hour (the city’s electricity is very sketchy) but man oh man is that air conditioning appreciated.

And, no, it’s not hot. It was in the mid-80’s today, which was totally manageable. Then again, this is considered the cool season, so I will probably be eating my words a few months from now.

I haven’t slept in three days—my nerves and jetlag are really messing with me, so I’m probably going to induce some sleep tonight with the aid of a few (legal) drugs.

The teachers are really friendly and tomorrow we’re going to have our language interviews which will determine what language we will start learning, whether it be continuing with French until the desired proficiency is reached, or beginning a local language such as Malinke.

I’m trying to write as much as I can in these few days because I’m not going to get the chance to write on this very much while in Forecariah. So, check back in tomorrow, you will probably have another update.

Au revoir, les etats unis!

2007-12-02T22:30:00.001Z

Well it's my last night in America for hopefully a long time. I say "hopefully" because so many things can go wrong. All volunteers were evacuated from Guinea this past February, and, while the political situation has stabilized, there's really no way of knowing it's going to stay that way.

I got to Philly safe and sound after a teary goodbye at SeaTac. Emily, Pammy and Rocky made their way over from D.C. and NYC just to hang out for a few hours and it was so good to see them again!

I've just finished orientation here in Philadelphia, which consisted mainly of going over Peace Corps' goals and various ice breakers. There was a fashion show going on in a function room next door to ours so it was funny to learn about the side effects of the Malaria prophylaxis (Larium) we'll be taking with the Electric Slide booming in the background. Everyone seems pretty cool, and I should say that only a few people embody the hippie stereotype that most people associate with Peace Corps volunteers. It's overwhelming not knowing anyone well, but that's sure to change soon enough.

I share my hotel room with another PC volunteer, Teale (pronounced like the color) who is awesome. We're spending our last night holed up in our room ordering room service and watching Harry Potter.

At this point I'm most nervous about the fact that in Guinea, intelligence is associated with men and older people in general. Being a young woman, people aren't going to expect me to be smart and may not react well to the projects I hope to start. This will be a HUGE change from Scripps College, where women's intelligence reigns supreme. I'm sure I'd be a lot more nervous about the move if I knew more of what to expect.

At orientation today, we were told that we won't have internet access in Forecariah, which is where I'll be training for the first three months. But we WILL have access in Conakry, so I'll be sure to write more in a few days. We probably won't have any phone access either, so letters will be the best way to contact me for my first three months in Guinea.

I'm still terrified. But that's why I'm doing the Peace Corps-- how could I not do something that scares me so much?

And I'm Off

2007-11-30T09:15:00.000Z

I can't believe this day is finally here! I've been waiting since January and it all seems so surreal. I spent a great quiet last day with my family and didn't have to say any goodbyes, which is exactly what I wanted.

I'll be in Philadelphia from Nov. 30-Dec. 3 and then I'll be flying from JFK to Belgium to Senegal and then to Guinea. So the time it will take to finally get to Conakry will be similar to the time it takes to get to Singapore. Kind of annoying, because the Atlantic Ocean is rather small in comparison to the Pacific, but whatevah.

I'll be in Conakry, the capital, from Dec. 4-9 and then I'm off to Forecariah, which is where I'll be training from then until March.

For those of you who want to send me letters, you can send them to:

Katie Ryan, PCT
Corps de la Paix
BP 1927, Conakry
Guinee (West Africa)

I've been told that the package receiving rate is about 50% so don't send me anything valuable! If you send me a book (which would be awesome) then tear the cover off or something like that to make it look undesirable. And write something about God ("Dieu" in French) on the front of the package...seriously...it will probably get to me intact AND faster (they are very superstitious in Guinea).

Sorry this posting isn't exactly eloquent. I'm exhausted and wanted to get some information up before I leave in five hours.

Love to you all.

Why I'm doing Peace Corps

2007-11-17T00:21:00.000Z

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

Mark Twain said it better than I ever could.

A bit before panic begins

2007-11-13T21:22:00.000Z

Actually, panic has already set in. I've reached the point where it takes me two to three hours to fall asleep and I'm sure it's just going to get worse.

I received my staging packet (info on orientation) last week, but it wasn't for my Guinea program. All the information in the packet was for Samoa, with a leave date for last month. I wasn't sure what to think because I've run into a lot of problems with P.C. regarding my leave date-- I was initially supposed to leave in July, then it was pushed back to November then December.

Had they switched countries on me without telling me or was this just a mistake? And if they had switched countries on me, then my new group was already training in Samoa, without me!

After I got these inconsistencies cleared up, I received my tickets today for staging (for Guinea!) in Philadelphia and I'll be leaving Seattle earrrrrly in the morning on November 30th. Hopefully I'll be too tired to be emotional at the airport.

I joined the Guinea network on Facebook last week and am already experiencing some of the advances I've been warned about. I keep getting messages from Guinean males that read "A+++++++++++!!!!!" and "come here! here is my number!" I didn't think that I would be experiencing this before I got into the country, but there you are. Guinea is going to be quite a change from America.

P.S. I cut off 12 inches of my hair in the attempt to get more Guinea-ready. Who knows how many times a week I'll be able to wash my hair...

Being a Third Culture Kid

2007-11-04T21:23:00.000Z

Well, hello there. I'm really not the blogger kind of person, but the prospect of having to send out mass e-mails for two years made me cringe. So, I'm going to indulge you with some good old fashioned voyeuristic narcissism. This will be here if you ever want to see what I'm doing.

For those of you who don't know me that well, I grew up abroad. The first fourteen years of my life were spent moving south along the Pacific Rim (from Tokyo to Hong Kong to Singapore), by accident of my dad's profession. This is what makes me a third culture kid.

I suppose I should explain what it means to be a third culture kid (TCK). The official definition is
"a person who has spent a significant part of his or her developmental years outside their parents' culture. The third culture kid builds relationships to all the cultures, while not having full ownership in any. Although elements from each culture are assimilated into the third culture kid's life experience, the sense of belonging is in relationship to others of the same background, other TCKs." (Pollock & Van Reken)

That's me. While my passport says I'm American, I don't identify with the nationality at all. I don't identify with any nationality. The closest thing I have to one is my identity as a TCK. This is why it irks me so much when someone my age says they've lived abroad, but in actuality they only spent a summer or studied abroad in country X for six months. To me, that's like claiming you're Argentinian when you're really Taiwanese. It may seem ridiculous to you, but it's a belief commonly held by other TCK's.

I'm finally leaving the U.S., onto country number five. Eight years ago, I would have given at least three fingers (from my left hand, of course) to leave the U.S. Well, I'm finally off again! I'm joining the Peace Corps, leaving for Guinea, West Africa (not to be confused with Guinea-Bissau or Equatorial Guinea) on December 1st. This should be my most interesting move, partially because I'm guaranteed no electricity or running water, but those aren't my main concerns. This is the first time I'll be moving without my family. It's going to be hard, but I need to start living on my own anyway. Might as well be in Guinea.