Almost a month at Site (October 20, 2006)

Almost four weeks ago, I was dropped off at my house in Wonkifong by the Peace Corps truck. Fortunately for everyone in my stage, the PC administration decided that it makes a good appearance for volunteers to “officially” arrive in their villages with PC transportation. In the past, volunteers have had to move to site using taxis as transportation. In addition to losing the feeling of an official arrival, it was hard for them to pack all of their belongings into a taxi. As I arrived, a delegation of important people in the village came to welcome me and say hello to the four other volunteers in the truck. My belongings and bike were quickly unpacked from the truck and my friends all climbed back in to take off for their sites.

This was the point that I had been thinking of since accepting my position to join Peace Corps Guinea. My link to people that I know was just about to drive off and leave me in a village where I knew no one. Would people be able to speak French to me or would I flounder with my minimal local language (Susu) abilities?

Just as the truck is getting ready to pull out, Geoffrey (another volunteer) sticks his head out of the window and with his amazing laugh and grin says, “It’s OK. You can freak out now.”

For whatever reason, I managed to avoid freaking out and got myself installed in my house. Since then, things have been going well. School started only one week behind schedule and I have been teaching for two weeks. I am slowly getting to know people in the community. Unfortunately, all of the other teachers at my school live in Coyah which is a small city about 7 km from my village. As a result, I don’t have colleagues to help me integrate into my community but the people of Wonkifong have been extremely nice.

Today, I am at the Peace Corps house in Conakry. Once a month, volunteers are allowed to travel to their regional capitol and mine happens to be here. Thanks to everyone who has trusted in world mail delivery systems. I arrived to find a large pile of letters that I immediately began reading. Thanks again! I have posted some new entries. Please let me know if you have any questions about life over here. It is interesting how quickly things become “normal”. I sit almost daily with a neighbor and it is fun to have her ask “do you have this in America” for things ranging from types of food to articles of clothing. I hope everyone is doing well!

La Cuisine (October 9, 2006)

At 2:30 every afternoon, my neighbor walks down the stairs from her house, traverses the 15 or so feet to a small, round hut, stoops and enters into her kitchen. Dinner time is around 7:00 pm, but she needs the time to prepare the meal. Her hut, which is typical of kitchens in Guinea, is circular in shape, open air, with a thatched roof composed of palm branches. Nine posts are attached to the conical roof and support the structure. I have to stoop to enter but can stand tall in the middle with plenty of room above my head. The floor to the kitchen is composed of packed earth. As she sits in her kitchen, my neighbor has a good view of what is happening in her neighborhood and people consistently come up to say hello.

The hut has been organized so that she can sit in the middle and reach out to almost everything needed without getting up. She sits on one of several sawed off rounds of tree trunk or a somewhat larger, scooped out type of stool. The seating options in the hut bring a person about six inches above the ground.

The area behind her is often reserved for preparation bowls, utensils and buckets of water that have been filled at the pump. The current pump is about 500 meters away but there is a rumor that the motor of a second pump system will soon be fixed to make the pump in her yard work. I’m hoping for her. Small baskets around her are filled with lots of peppers (the spicy kind), eggplant (there are two main types here), onions, bouillon cubes, tomato paste containers, the occasional potato, dried or smoked fish and manioc. A callabasse (large bowl) filled with rice is always present. For Guineans in the Basse-Cote, a meal without rice is not really a meal at all. Since I have been sharing a meal with this family, I have eaten rice 20 out of the past 21 dinners, though there are quite a few different and tasty preparations that are made in this kitchen. The base is rice though different sauces including “leaf” sauces made from the leaves of either manioc or a type of potato plant, palm sauces and a peanut sauce are put on top of the rice.

One of her first priorities is to get one of the two fires going. One fire source is a small grill that you might find in the States during the summer though it would likely not be up to George Foreman’s standard. This grill burns charcoal briquettes that people prepare in the country by slowly smoldering lots of wood in a low oxygen environment. From the kitchen’s point of view, the resulting fire burns much cleaner and people in the hut are not hampered by fumes in their eyes. In kitchens with less space, charcoal is almost exclusively used. The second fire is a wood fire. Three large rocks have been placed in a triangular fashion to support cooking pots and provide the boundary for the fire. This fire uses branches of trees, though all of the pieces that I have seen so far have been fairly small in diameter.

On a side note, it is amazing how much energy goes into collecting wood and, in turn, how much wood is used by a community to cook. On a daily basis, I see lots of small children and women spending the entire day collecting bundles of wood. The wood is transported back to the village on their heads and it often looks like the load carried is quite heavy. I have seen some reports that say it is estimated that between 80 and 90% of wood collection in the developing world is done by women and children. Other than the hard labor and time allotted for collection, this fuel source can rapidly deforest an area. As trees in local areas are used up, the women and children then have to walk even farther to collect wood. At the same time, forested areas surrounding villages diminish. The environmental toll around my village is fairly evident as large de-treed areas exist.

Back in the kitchen, once the fire is going a pot is put on and cooking begins. The peppers are tossed into a large wooden pestle and mashed up with a mortar. Other ingredients are added, mashed if necessary, and then dumped into the pot. Though time consuming and a lot of work, cooking is also a social event. I have gotten in the habit of spending a few hours under the roof of this hut every afternoon. We sit and talk about the day, local customs, comparisons between Guinea and the States and she also teaches me Susu. Off and on, different people of all ages from children on their way back to elementary school after the lunch break to adults on errands stop by to say hello and talk for a little. I am even getting to know some of my students because they come by to hang out during the afternoon.

Towards the end of the preparation, a large pot of water is put on the fire to prepare the sauce. For Guineans, the favorite variety of rice is the one harvested locally. It has a heavier consistency than typical white rice. Today, about 2 kilograms of rice was prepared which is fairly normal for my neighbor. Lots of people seem to drop by at night for a bowl of rice and she always has enough. Though a different environment, the Guinean kitchen is a welcoming and enjoyable place to spend an afternoon.

Throwing Rocks (October 11, 2006)

Suddenly, a large gathering of boys and formed and they were all throwing rocks as hard as they could up into the tree. I backed off knowing that there would be nothing that I could say that would get them to stop. Eventually, their lack of aim led to inaction and an eventual loss of interest so that they could go to class.

About 10 minutes earlier, I was standing under a group of trees along the edge of the school yard as a staff member was setting up the principal’s desk and chairs outside under the trees. The principal’s office is not functional so he goes outside when the weather allows or sets up in the covered hallway in front of his office.

“Snake,” said a student who has been coming up to me to practice his limited English. When I did not respond immediately he switched to French. “Viper,” and began pointing up in the tree.

I, along with several others, looked up to see a fairly large snake wrapped around branches about 20 feet above the ground. Since it was curled up around tree branches, I could not tell how big it was but I guessed five feet or so. The Guineans all got a scared look on their face and the decision was clear – something had to be done about the snake. I tried to say that leaving the snake alone would likely cause no harm as it was high up and did not appear to be going anywhere but there was no point arguing. The rocks and sticks and anything else student could find started flying up into the tree. I secretly wished for their bad aim and eventually they stopped without the snake falling to the ground to be hacked up.

The First Day of School (October 9, 2006)

Finally, the first day of school arrived. Today was the official opening! What would it bring? How different will school be in Wonkifong compared to Portland? Many questions were racing through my mind as I began walking to school at 7:30 this morning. School starts at 8:00 and even though I will not be teaching on Mondays (I teach Tuesday – Thursday) I wanted to be present for the first day.

I am only teaching three days a week for a variety of reasons. First of all, the Peace Corps limits teachers to 12 hours a week so that volunteers have time to work on community development projects, integrate into the community and promote cultural exchange. On a more local level, my school complex only has two buildings of three classrooms each. This means that there are only six physical spaces whereas there are nine groups of students (2 – 7^th, 3 – 8^th, 2 – 9^th, 2 – 10^th). As a result, class times have been cut back. Students are supposed to get six hours of math a week but now only get four, even though the school is open Monday – Saturday. The school day is from 8 – 2:00 pm.

By 7:45 this morning, I am heading down the hill towards the school when I meet a teacher, he teaches biology, coming up the hill. He turns back towards the school with me though he said that no one was there yet. A little before 8:00 a lone student appears followed by the principal and his assistant. Well, I guess we will not be getting off to a flying start. By 8:15 about 15 students had arrived and a few teachers. Parents were coming in to register their students entering 7^th grade (moving up from primary school). New students have to pay 5,000 Guinean Francs and either bring a 2 person desk with them or pay an additional 25,000 GF to have one made. Two families can go into a desk together. As a student leaves after 10^th grade, they take the desk with them if it is still in decent condition.

At 9:00 about 60 or so students had shown up. The principal or any of the teachers are not fazed. “It’s the first week. By next week, most students should show up. Some are here today just to find out if classes are really starting or not. Tomorrow you will probably only have one class.”

I guess they are expecting only a small number of my approximately 270 students to show up. For the mathematicians out there, you are right. I have three classes with nearly 90 students in each class. The classrooms are smaller than what I had at Sunnyside and filled to the brim with these 2-seater desks. There are 50 desks in each class.

Well, let the games begin. Hopefully, my year's start will be better than the end of today. I got home to find that my container of freshly, hand-made peanut butter had come open in my bag. It was a gooey mess.

C’est Moi (October 1, 2006)

By 7:30 pm, it is dark in the town of Wonkifong. Street lights are not present to illuminate the corners and cast nighttime shadows. If there is electricity, light bulbs from houses light up areas of darkness, almost beckoning one to the doorstep.

Without much nightlife to talk about, I’m usually ready for bed an hour and a half or so after dark. What else is there to do? Also, the temperature in my house typically hovers around 85 oF, so lying down and not moving until I fall asleep is a personal coping mechanism against the heat.

Last night, I was almost asleep when I heard footsteps coming up to my house. Knock. Knock. I try to ignore the sound – I don’t feel like getting up. Knock. Knock. It seems like this person is persistent.

“J’arrive,” I yell as I grab some clothes. “C’est qui?” (who is it?) I ask.

“C’est moi,” replies an unfamiliar voice.

Personally, I only reply “It’s me” to someone I know well or will at lest recognize my voice. I get to the door to find the face of a total stranger looking in at me. He holds up a bundle of bananas and tells me that they are a gift from the community president. I thank him and he leaves.

To Fast or Not (September 27, 2006)

“I hope you are eating enough. I will have lunch sent over at noon,” the sous-prefet said to me. He has been incredibly nice since I got to town. In an attempt to regain some independence I have even indicated that I can make lunch and dinner for myself but he continues to have it prepared and sent over to me.

“No, I am going to eat at night like everyone else. I will skip eating during the day,” I replied having decided that I would join the daily fasting. For those of you like me who do not know much about Ramadan, it is a religious event for Muslims that is currently taking place. It started with the new moon and will last during this lunar cycle. I do not know all that happens, but the most apparent occurrence is that Muslims fast from sun-up to sun-down. Fasting forbids people from allowing anything to pass their lips (food or water). Knowing that I would get to my village about the same time as the beginning of Ramadan, I have had an ongoing internal debate whether to fast. Do I show solidarity with my community or do I eat and drink as normal within the confines of my house. It probably would not be too polite to prance down the main street around 2:00 with a large sandwich and an icy cold beverage. I decided to fast.

Some chuckling followed my statement that I would fast and then my principal chimed in, “Be careful with what you say. Not everyone is fasting. Those that are traveling, are sick or are children do not fast. Also, it is a question of faith. We are Muslim, so we celebrate Ramadan. Not everyone here is Muslim. When we fast, the Christians carry-on as usual and when they fast, we continue. It’s all about faith. There is no need for you to take penance with us unless you believe as we do.”

Here I am already making blanket statements. It was even more ridiculous to say that I am going to act like everyone else because I know that one of my neighbors is Christian. In Guinea, the overwhelming majority of people are Muslim though there is a small Christian minority. The Forest region of the country (southeast Guinea) is where the majority of Christians live – colonialistic maneuvering.

“Ok,” I reply.

“There will be plenty of new things for you to adjust and adapt to while in Guinea, but your beliefs are your own,” continued my principal.

I manage another brilliant “Ok” as I reflect how nice it is for people to simply accept religious differences and not attempt to force their beliefs on someone. So much for showing solidarity…

“I’ll have your lunch sent over once we return from visiting the Prefet in Coyah,” smiles the sous-prefet.