Oh, The Places You'll Go

I’m becoming more and more convinced that there’s been a mix-up with my placement…

Instead of Guinea, it would seem that I’ve been transplanted in Dr. Seuss’s re-write of West Africa.  We’ve got

smoked fish,

stewed fish,

beaned fish,

bouled fish,

Guinea mice,

            gniri rice,

vaches coronés,

wasps elongés,

Magic poly-wog ponds,

            Branch tooth-brushing wands,

Smoking-dog mountains,

            Pogo-pump fountains,

Foté-Porto-Toubabou mimes,

            And mushroom-topped Fouta pines.

Throw in some Star-Bellied Sneeches, and you’ve got yourself a new children’s book of elephantine proportions.

I’m writing this post during my site visit in the heart of the Fouta Jallon region of Guinea.  Folks, I’ve seen some beautiful landscapes in my 23 years.  Not a one of them has made my jaw drop like this place.  In all seriousness, it feels like I’ve been up and moved to a different planet.  The ride from Mamou (where we had our supervisor/trainee workshop) to Dalaba was a foggy and bumpy two-hours along an intermittently-paved mountain road.  Luckily, I made the journey with another volunteer, Shadassa.  He’s from Oregon, and we agreed that the scenery was eerily similar to that of the Pacific Northwest.  Except, you know, there are monkeys here.  When the fog grew really thick, you couldn’t see beyond the first row of trees (probably best, as I would have been looking directly into a deep ravine), and it felt as though we were driving along the very edge of the earth.

After Shadassa and I parted ways in Dalaba-Centre (he headed North to Fonfoya), my supervisor and I went off the beaten path, East towards Ditinn.  The road was the most vibrant rust red I’ve ever seen, and a good ¾ of the journey was made at a 45-degree angle.  That’s this, folks:

  

Here’s to killer thighs and calves of steel after 2-years of biking legit mountains!  In the distance, there are dense forests (both pines and some nifty dandelion-looking trees are the most common) and rolling green planes, as well as innumerable hills and valleys hiding small, neighboring villages from sight.  From the center of the village, I can see a waterfall that, even at 4.5 miles away, looks like a thick and bushy horse’s tail.  People call it “Le chute de Ditinn”.  After expressing interest in visiting, I was told I’d have to wait until November, once the rains had ceased.  Apparently, there is so much water flowing at this time of year that it can be dangerous to hike there.  My conclusion is this:  If the PNW Cascade Mountain range and Oahu’s road to Hana had a love-child, Ditinn would be it.  I must keep reminding myself that this is Africa.

Today I toured around and met many, many important men in Ditinn.  They showed me my future lodging, the lycée where I’ll be teaching, the market, the Gendarmerie and police station, and the mayor’s house.  I’ve gotten really good at Pulaar salutations.  Here’s how a typical exchange went with my new neighbors:

Neighbor:        On hiirii e jam.                                    Good evening.

Kelsey:            On hiirii e jam                                     Good evening.

Neighbor:        Tanaa alaa tun?                                  Is there peace there?

Kelsey:            Jam tun.                                              Peace there.

Neighbor:        Beynguure nden le?                            And your family?

Kelsey:            Jam tun.                                              Peace there.

Neighbor:        Paykoykoy le?                                     And your children?    

Kelsey:            …Jam tun.                                           …Peace there. (you just go with it)

Neighbor:        Golle dhen le?                                     And your work?

Kelsey:            Jam tun.                                              Peace there.

Neighbor:        On jombaama?                                   Are you married?

Kelsey:            Oo’o, mi jombaaka.                            No, I’m not married.

Neighbor:        EH?? Allah.  On jaaraama, nani!      EH??  Lordy.  Thanks, ya hear!

Kelsey:            On jaaraama.  En jooni!                     Thanks.  See you later!

It’s a different world, folks.  One man, as I was walking down the street to the market one day, pointed at me and said to my supervisor “Ma femme!”  Translation: “My woman!”  It seems that simply having red hair, pale skin and freckles is going to earn me a LOT of attention.  I’m going to start a pool for all y’all: “How Many Marriage Proposals will Kelsey Accumulate in Two Years.”  Place your bets.

Now, I’m sitting around, trying to rest while my supervisor’s family waits to break fast.  Tomorrow is Aed al-Fikr (feast of the slaughter), which marks the official end of the month of Ramadan.  I’m very excited for it, though somewhat triste to be missing out on celebrating with my host family in Dubréka.  Ah well, there have been promises of a trip to a night club with them once I return.  Overall, I have very little understanding of what I’ll be doing for the next 4 days, though I have a suspicion that it will involve much hand-shaking, walking around and awkward first-meeting silences.  

I’ll be sure to keep you posted.

C'est le mois de carem!

Twas the second day of Ramadan

And all through the day,

Not a (muslim) Guinean was eating,

Even Kelsey a jeuné !

So, to get a better grasp on the experience of Ramadan, yours truly decided to complete a day of fasting along with her host family.  I didn’t make it in the true sense of “fasting,” however.  I had a wee bout with dehydration last week (I won, don’t worry), and so I thought it best to drink water throughout the day.  Didn’t exactly fancy fainting in a pile of rice as I helped the other ladies prepare food for tonight.

I learned to make “sauce arachide” and “foti” like a true Guinean today.  All the neighbors who came over to pray and break fast tonight were astonished when my family told them I’d made their meal.  They all gave me thumbs up and my brother told me I was a “good kitchen!”

As I was mashing some “oji” seeds (Kelsey, what are oji seeds?  Pshht, they’re choco-paprika pepper lentils that come from an enormous bean pod.  Duuuh.), a young girl dressed in full Guinean garb came up to me to check out my gigantic mortar and pestle.  Our interaction went like this:

Girl: Whatcha doooin?

Me: I’m cooking foti!  Wow, you speak Englsh very well.  Where did you learn?

Girl: I’m from the Bronx.

You can imagine my reaction.

This sassy middle schooler spent the next hour telling me all about her family’s travels to visit relatives throughout West Africa.  It was one of the more surreal experiences I’ve had thus far.

Tomorrow, classes recommence.  I will be going into “Intermediate High” French, which is the minimum level I need to reach in order to swear in as a Volunteer!  Next to come is instruction in another language, which depends on my site location.  Speaking of which, we are supposed to be having interviews this week to determine our preferences and individual suitability for different site placements throughout Guinea.  I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I’ve heard many many many good things about the Fouta region.  My host family comes from that area, and most of the Volunteer-Trainers I’ve met so far work there as teachers.  They tell me Pulaar is the dominant language up there, but that Arabic is more widely spoken and written as well.  Sounds nifty to me!

Also this week, I will be beginning djembe lessons with a couple of other trainees.  A few weeks ago a Fulbright scholar named Janice came to the Peace Corps compound with a group of Guinean drummers.  They put on an awesome show for us, and Janice talked a bit about her project.  She was studying methods of recording traditional Guinean songs, which don’t exactly exist, per se.  Drummers rely on memory, traditional songs/beats, and writing down the sounds that their hands make on the drum.  For instance, the part that I’ll be playing in our little PCT drum line is the “pidi pidi baisse baisse” or the “troixieme” djembe.  Janice has since returned to the States, but we loved the musicians’ energy so much that we had to seek them out on our own.  I’m sure Drum-Master Moussa will take good care of us.

That’s all for now!  A tout-a-l’heure, mes amis!

Mefloquine

Things I am grateful for:

1. DEET
2. moustiquaires (mosquito nets)
3. Mefloquine

All volunteers here are required to take either a daily or weekly anti-malarial, depending on their medical history/existing conditions.  Mine is called Mefloquine.  The best part about Mefloquine (besides being guarded against developing malaria) is the dreams.  They are vivid, often lucid, and quite easy to confuse with real life, provided the subject matter does not involve excessively fantastical situations including, but not limited to:

-          Being swarmed by dozens of childhood Kelseys in a parking garage while en route to a rendezvous with Whoopi Goldberg and Neo and Morpheus from the Matrix.

-          Drag-racing in Point Defiance Park as Betty White, while simultaneously evading The Terminator who, for whatever reason, insists on speaking Czech when talking to you on the phone.

-          Scarves that magically transform you into a mountain lion.

What’s really fun is when you realize you’re having a Meflo-dream, and spend the rest of the time running around, yelling “MEFLOQUINEEE!” at random passers-by in your dreamscape.

I’ve concluded that my dream-self must come off as a bit unbalanced.

Kid or Kid?

Friends, I have learned to play the most entertaining of games, much akin to the “Hey Cow” my cousin, Renée, and I would play in the sprawling pastures of Eastern Washington.  Here are the rules:

1. You must be situated in an area with a restricted range of vision (classrooms with few windows or latrines work wonderfully)
2. You cannot plan to play the game; you must allow the game to come to you.
3. When you hear a brain-rattling bleat/snort/bray, you must immediately turn to the person nearest you and say whether the noise is of the child or goat variety (kid or kid… get it?)
4. When the noisy culprit comes into view, you are either assigned or deducted street cred points for correct/incorrect answers
5. The objective: to collect as many points as possible throughout the duration of your stay in country

So far, I’m at -1.

The goats are cray here.  First, the females grow about as wide as they are tall before finally giving birth.  Second, just like Honey Badger don’t give a sh**, Guinea Goats think French class is as good a place as any to seek refuge from the rain.  Third, I think they’re smarter than they let on.  We were bleating at a loud soon-to-be-mother goat yesterday and, I swear, she glared at us for mocking her.  Lady was fixing to charge, so I’m glad she was tethered down.  Also, the goats delight in hiding in tall grass and then shriek-bleating when you pass by.  Maybe they have a game of “How high can the human jump?” going on.

Allow me, for one moment, to go on a “Kelsey still secretly wants to be Jeff Corwin when she grows up” tangent…

I have yet to see any large animals, but if they’re any bit as entertaining as the small ones – I may have to rethink my career path (see previous Jeff Corwin reference).  All right, the lizards first.  There are a million and one varieties, and there appears to be a direct correlation between decreasing size and exponentially increasing cuteness.  You have the wall-paper lizards, which will literally stay in the same position in the same place on the same wall for days on end.  We thought they were decorations for a good week or so until one of them moved its head.  Then, you have the push-up lizards, who scurry along the high walls around our Peace Corps compound, stopping sporadically to do 5-10 pushups before scampering out of sight.  I have many theories as to why they do this:

1.  To gain a better vantage point, if only for a few milliseconds

2.  To generate more body heat

3.  Seeing as it’s constantly beach season in Dubreka, they be working on their fitness to attract a mate

Also, there are skinks here.  Am I the only one who thinks that’s the sweetest animal name?

            Let’s see, we’ve also got a variety of ducks and pigeons that roam around the streets, and vultures that constantly circle ominously overhead.  The cats and street dogs are pretty tame as far as interacting with humans goes.

            There are also a number of large flying creatures that we, the trainees, affectionately refer to as the Snitches.  The fact that they’re airborne defies logic, given their body-to-wing size ratio, and I’m under the impression that if you were to catch one, you’d be imbued with magical powers… or a heretofore undiscovered neurotoxin. 

You know, potayto – potahto.

Okay, I kid about the neurotoxin, but there really are Snitches.  I think they may be a wasp of some sort.  Oh, there are also monkeys.  But I’ve only seen pet monkeys, no wild ones yet.  I’ll be sure to give you a heads up if I’m about to go all “Gorillas in the Mist” in Guinea’s forest region.

            While we’re on the topic of regions… I have been given my placement!  We had a site announcement on Friday of last week, organized by our Program Manager.  We were gathered together in the gazebo after class.  A chalk map of Guinea was drawn on the ground, complete with the names of all placements and regional capitals.  Our Program Manager then read off a riddle corresponding to a certain trainee’s name, which we had to guess before he revealed their assignment.  It was a fun game, despite the butterflies in my stomach.  Actually, the skink helped to distract me from my anxiousness until I heard everyone yell “It’s Kelsey!!”  I am officially going to work in Ditinn, within the Fouta region of Guinea (also called Moyen Guinée)!! It is a mix of savannah and forest, with a cool climate (we’re talking 50-77 F / 10-25 C), and inhabited mainly by the Peuhls (Pulaar-speaking folk, just like my host family)!  I’m psyched.

I’m told that it’s near some beautiful rivers and waterfalls, and that the people are wonderfully hospitable.  The school I’ll be teaching at is a Franco-Arab school, which my host father tells me means that it is a bilingual education system.  This will indeed be an exciting adventure for yours truly.

That’s all for now.  See you next time – same(or very different) bat-time, same bat-place (the interwebs).

I’m getting letters from you guys!  THANK YOU!  I’ve sent off a couple myself, and I believe it should take anywhere from 2-4 weeks for them to get from point A to point B.  Not bad, I’d say!

Some of you have asked for ideas for care package items, so here are my requests:

- Hand sanitizer

- Duct tape

- Drink mixes (like propel thingies)

- “D” batteries… or a headlamp (I would like to stop strapping my flashlight to my noggin at night, people here already think I’m weird enough)

- Salty snacks

- Gum

- Lotion

- Wet wipes

- Books

Nancy Drew in Guinea?

* * * WARNING: MYSTERY IS AFOOT * * *

  

Something most suspicious is going on in Guinea.  I’ve come up with two theories thus far:

Theory 1: The very air in Dubreka is saturated with miniscule deposits of ore.  When condensed, these deposits tend to gather on skin or any other slightly moist area.

Theory 2:  Mosquitoes in Guinea are actually fairies that leave little gold and silver flakes in exchange for a midnight snack of Kelsey.

I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but I seem to have at least one piece of glitter stuck to my person at all times.  It’s impossible to shake and I haven’t a clue as to where the bejeezus it’s coming from.

* * *

In other, more productive news, I have written many blog posts and many letters and have taken many pictures.  Can you see any of them?  ...Not yet.  I forgot my camera today and Blogger takes a million years to load.  I will have better luck once I find an internet cafe, or so I'm told.  For now, you will have to content yourself with your imagination and


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