Guinea Ginge: October 2012

If I had a penny for every peanut offered to me on the roadside this past month, well, I’d have about 10,000.00 GF. This is one small aspect of the beauty of the Guinean French language; their verbiage is unparalleled in descriptiveness. No, no, no, you don’t eat peanuts, you crack peanuts. And, it is decidedly a bad reflection on your character if you do not crack. Take it from me.

Peanut butter, boiled peanuts, and cube-o-ground-peanut sustained me along an 8-hour journey from Ditinn to Labe this weekend. That, and an awesome book I found in French, which is an Alfred Hitchcock story :))))

So, I'm on the roooad agaaainnnn...

Two weeks have passed since I was officially installed at my site.

I had to say goodbye to my host family in Dubreka, which was a very sad affair. Here's a picture of my host mom, me, my host sister, a random lady who I just met the day of the "farewell ceremony," and my sis's best friend.

You might be thinking, why, Kelsey, you appear to be rather uncomfortable in this picture...

You would be right.

You see, I'd forgotten that many Guineans just plain old, don't.smile.ever. for pictures. So when I realized that my grin was a tad... out of place... yeah, I got self-conscious.

...but I still don't know why that other lady looks surprised.

Many tears were shed by Neene (mom), but then I found myself on a bus with all the other volunteers, heading down to Conakry for the swearing-in ceremony. It was 4-ish days of awesome time spent with friends before we all went our separate ways.

So now, Ditinn is the name, English teaching is the game.

Here is a picture of what my house looked like when I first visited it in August...

And here's a picture of the house NOW, after a lot of remodeling...

They're also working on putting up a fence right now. This, I hope, will keep curious goat families from stampeding into my living room.

Each week, I teach 14 hours of English to the Douzieme (12^th) and Terminal grades. Thus far, we have reviewed verb tenses and have touched on some “emotional expressions.” And, thus far, I have been invited to visit many of my students’ villages, to cook lunch for my fellow teachers and to meet one of my neighbor’s parents after touring his home. (I’m fairly certain that last guy was asking me out, but I’ve gotten really good at playing the part of “oblivious porto,” so he eventually gave up.)

A few facts about my life right now:

1. I go by “Miss Aicha” in class. My students and all of my neighbors find this infinitely amusing, and make a point to argue over which family I belong to (the Diallos, Bahs, Sows, or Baldés). As my host family was “Barry,” I’m sticking with that. At least, until someone makes me a dowry offer that I can’t refuse… but it would take a whole lot of kola nuts and cattle to change my mind.

2. Every night, hoards of cows pass by my house. Some elect to plop right down in my front yard for the night. Sometimes, they decide to rub up against my metal windows, thus creating a frightful racket that sounds to me like a drunken bear is trying to claw its way into my living room.

Hey.

And, every so often, it would seem that the cows choose to reenact the shower scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho.” I do not know what they’re doing, be it copulation, some crazy cow ritual, or simply letting off some steam at the end of the day, but the noises they make are ungodly.

But on a less off-putting note, here's a pic of my living room. There's now a huge calendar that I painted on the wall, and I hope to continue with the impromptu art projects.

3. I can now make peanut sauce like a Guinean. My host mom taught me well. I can also live off peanut sauce and rice for a total of 5 meals before it becomes clear to me that I never want to smell, taste or see peanut sauce ever again. (I’m certain this will pass. Peanut sauce really is delicious. But, please consider coming to Guinea to share some with me. A girl can only take so many days of leftovers, you know.)

4. In case you were wondering, the Hell’s Angels have relocated indefinitely to Guinea. Everyone, and I mean everyone has a motorcycle here. Yesterday, I saw an eight-year-old conducting a moto down the hill into town, with his 6-year-old brother and perhaps 5-year-old sister on the seat behind him. So, actually, I’ve been lead to conclude that American biker gangs would last all of two seconds here. Traveling these roads is like engaging in a monumentally fast-paced game of “I Spy (the pot-hole/ravine)” and “dodgeball”, only, the balls are now longhorn bulls. It takes years of practice to master.

5. Ditinn might just be one of the prettiest places I have ever seen, and my neighbors have been extremely welcoming.

To send you off with some of my own warm fuzzies, here are some pictures from my trip to the Chute de Ditinn with friendly guides...