New Photographs Posted

I have finally gotten around to posting some recent photographs. Please click the link to the right to view.

Happy Thanksgiving (November 23, 2006)

I hope that this weekend of celebration finds everyone enjoying time with the special ones in your life. After teaching this morning, I left for the big city and now I’m in Conakry. Many volunteers throughout Guinée have gathered in Conakry or one of the three regional houses for the weekend. When living in a state of semi-isolation, volunteers quickly become family for each of us.

The past month has felt a little long and it seems as if quite a bit has happened. I continue to learn the “ins-and-outs” of my village while trying to develop some sort of rhythm at school. My classes are off to a bumpy start. The numbers of students continue to fluctuate. If a student of the 8^th grade level shows up (and there have been quite a few late starters), they get crammed into one of my classes. My current counts of students for the three classes are 98, 85 and 101. Some days I think other kids just wander in and sit through the class. With that many kids packed into a small space I can’t tell if the students in class are the ones that are supposed to be there or students from other classes. I can associate some names with faces but it is a minority.

Names. There is not much variation. I remember last year having an Abby and an Abbie in my class. At times, there was confusion as to who was being called upon, but at least their last names were different. Now, in my three classes of almost three hundred students, I have a pool of less than 20 first names and 15 last names to choose from. In some situations, the first and last names are the same so Roman numerals are assigned. For example: Ousmane I Bangoura, Ousmane II Bangoura, and Ousmane III Bangoura are in one of my classes. In other situations, the village that the student comes from or the last name of their mother is inserted as a middle name. 30% of the last names in my class are “Bangoura” with another 25% being “Camara”.

Seasonally, my mind wants to be with everyone enjoying crisp, cool days and thoughts of snowboarding season fill my daydreams. Am I even missing the beginning of the Portland rainy season? In Guinée, the rains have almost all finished and the days are mostly full of sunshine. I remember commenting to a friend during training that there was not much color – everything was green. Now that the rains have stopped, I’m amazed each day by new displays of colors. Flowers are blooming everywhere. At a time that I usually associate with dormancy and contemplation, things are springing to life. At the same time, leaves are falling from trees since the days have become shorter. I guess it’s easier to explain that trees lose their leaves with less light when the overall climate does not change.

I guess this does it for the month. I have written up a few of the happenings over the month below. Again, please excuse the hastily written accounts as I don’t have much time to read over things due to the infrequency of electricity. Take care and my thoughts are with you all during this holiday season.

Singing of the National Anthem (November 21, 2006)

Like beams radiating from the sun, the students line up around a circular dais each morning. Each line represents a class group – there is the 7^th grade – Class 1 line, the 7^th grade – Class 2 line, …, to the 10^th grade line. In the center of the dais, a flag pole and a student stands holding a Guinean flag attached to string, ready to be hoisted.

A student standing to the side yells, “Attention for the rising of the colors.”

The student begins raising the flag and all of the other students begin singing the national anthem. The job of pulling the string so that the flag climbs the pole is more complicated than you would think because it has to be timed so that when the last word of the national anthem is sung, the flag is at the top of the pole. Some days a slow moving flag speeds up rapidly at the end to make it in time and on other days the flag races up the pole to finish its climb at an agonizingly slow pace. Once, the string lifting the flag caught on itself and there was danger that the anthem would finish before the flag was lifted.

As the students were singing, the principal was saying, “Pull harder, pull harder.” The student was still unable to dislodge the flag so other professors chimed in, “Pull harder, pull harder.” Finally, the flag was free and raced up the pole just in time for the end of the anthem.

I actually have no idea what the words to the anthem are as the singing borders on the dreadful (it’s not like a rousing rendition of Country Roads sung at SES). Today, the singing was at such low volume that none of the words could be heard. Whether in a bad mood or struck by national pride, the principal took offense and decided to make an example of seven 10^th grade boys who he observed not singing.

One by one he made each student sing the national anthem solo, in front of all the other students. The first boy began singing and after one or two lines the principal shook his head, laughed a little and said, “No, you don’t know it. Next.” By this time the other students were starting to enjoy this early morning entertainment and had started laughing.

The second boy started once the laughter was stopped and he also was dismissed rather quickly. The third actually passed muster as the principal began using the student body as judge. “What do you think? Does he know it?”

“Oui, monsieur,” the students cried back.

Out of the seven boys, two passed the “Singing of the National Anthem” test and the other five were sent to do work somewhere.

The First Test (November 21, 2006)

The room is packed – 88 students in class today. Two by two on a bench they sit. The seats had been assigned and in front of each student was a piece of paper holding their name and an “A” or “B”, a pen or two and a ruler. The A’s alternated with the B’s across the row of benches.

“But Monsieur Franck, why do we have to have different tests?” a student asks as he looks up to the board to see two different tests written in various colors of chalk. Cheating is rampant in Guinean classrooms, which may be caused by the number of students crammed into the classroom, the understanding that test scores and results can often be bought (Guinea was recently listed as one of the Top 5 most corrupt nations in the world), or other reasons. I have never given a test to this many people at once and it is difficult to keep chaos under control – a Guinean classroom of 80+ students is one of nature’s attempts to let entropy loose to its own ends.

It is 10:45 by the time students calm down enough to get going on the test and the heat of the day is beginning to set in. I watch as sweat begins to bead across the heads of the students: anxiety or heat? Walking through the rows of benches is almost impossible since they are packed so close together and these are not small children. The most common age is 16 though there are a few 20 year olds in the class.

The Guinean testing system is based on the French model of 20 points for a test. Students need to have an average of 10 or more to continue to the next grade level. I warn the students that any shifty eyes, talking, etc will result in a -5 and some test me right away. After a few -5 are doled out, the class settles into the test and an hour or so later students finish and leave the class. I am left with 88 papers to grade for this class and then the 176 for the other two classes.

Education, Friends, Cool Weather and a Thieving Monkey (November 15, 2006)

The last four days I was at an education seminar hosted by the Peace Corps outside of Mamou, which is a city in the Fouta region of Guinée. I left my site with a Guinean teacher from my school and we were met by 20 other education volunteers. Each volunteer came with a Guinean counterpart. The seminar was organized by two education volunteers (Sarah and Irabella) who are on their second year of service. The goal was to discuss math and science education and introduce alternative techniques. As a first conference, I left thinking it was a great success. My Guinean counterpart was extremely excited and there was good discussion between participants.

The conference also allowed me to spend time with other volunteers that I have not seen since moving to site at the end of September. It was great to visit with these friends. Patrick and Rose came from the northern Fouta, Jeanne and Kate from way out in Haute Guinée (getting close to Mali), Ian from Fria and many others were there.

I was immediately struck by the climate difference. Patrick, Rose and I went on a walk at 2:00 in the afternoon the first day before other travelers arrived and it was so comfortable to move around. At Wonkifong, the heat keeps me from doing almost anything in the afternoon. We followed a beautiful trail that wound through a forested area and met someone who gave the directions of continue until you find something that looks like it was once a railroad track and swerve away from it on another trail towards the left. Patrick and Rose were the ones who shared the great bike adventure in Forecariah and at one point we found ourselves wondering if our little walk was turning into another experience but this time the road really was “just around the next bend”. That night, I was required to sleep in my sleeping bag liner and use a wool blanket. At site, it is too hot to even use a sheet. Patrick tells me that at his site he has to wear socks and a sweater to bed. I can’t even imagine cold weather at the moment.

I’m left with the thieving monkey. In past trips to Mamou, a monkey or two had been seen in the trees surrounding the buildings but this time the monkey was bold. It would enter the dining hall and escape with as many bananas as possible. This activity would anger the Guineans who worked there while the Americans thought it was great – probably the reason that the monkey continues to take things. Ian later gave the monkey a closed, plastic bottle with peanuts in it to see if the monkey could open the bottle. Unfortunately, it failed even after a few demonstrations.

Yard Cleaning (November 17, 2006)

I do not teach on Fridays and as I was coming back home around 9:00 in the morning after getting coffee (horrible stuff but I go to integrate in the community) at a small stand near the market, I saw a group of students in the distance holding many different varieties of bladed objects. They had congregated in front of the entrance to the elementary school, which had closed gates. The principal of the school was standing off to a distance and I immediately wondered if there had been some sort of student revolt or protest at the school. Not wanting to cause trouble, I veered left towards my house just as a student in one of my classes comes up behind me on a bike.

He says, “We’re here.”

Confused, I ask him who the we refers to and why are they here. The we was all of the kids with scythes and other blades and the why was to clear away the jungle surrounding my house. I don’t call it my yard because I am not sure if I have been given yard space, but the area surrounding the house enjoyed a healthy grow during the rainy season and the following weeks. The grass in front of the house had reached heights well above my head.

Students continued to pour in. Some were on bikes, other on foot. Some had bladed objects, some hoes and many were empty handed. Seydouba, a boy in one of my 8^th grade classes, arrived and quickly organized the others. He divided them into groups for each side of the house and the kids began. Some would work for 5 minutes and then give the tool to another who would work for a bit before passing the tool on. At one point, I counted 80 people running around. Most were lounging in groups talking and seemed to be enjoying hanging out but all seemed to rotate in the activity. I was amazed. In a little over an hour, the jungle was gone.

Friday morning is also my scheduled drum lesson. When the guy teaching me showed up, I told him to dedicate today’s lesson to playing for all of the students working. He grabbed my two drums and started. The kids loved it. Some stopped working and danced and everyone had a smile. I brought out my camera and the kids went nuts to have me take their photo.

Towards the end, I gave a student money to get water for everyone. Hoses that magically transport water are not an option here and the concept of a water bottle has not caught on. Everyday, I see people (usually girls) at the pump filling 50 or so plastic bags with water. This water is then sold as drinking water. So, the student left with a large bucket to fill with plastic bags of water. When he returned, chaos broke out. I did not anticipate the lack or order in distributing the water. People jumped at the person carrying the bucket to grab one as fast as possible. Remember that many of them are equipped with some sort of bladed tool. For a moment, I though that someone would get cut but few bags of water were the only casualties.

Music, photos, lots of laughing people and a stripping of my yard was the definite surprise for me this Friday. My neighbor was perhaps the happiest as she can now spot all of the snakes that were hidden in the tall grass.

Later that evening, I watched small groups of little kids come through to collect the spoils. There is no trash collection system here and people just toss things on the ground. The area around my house had probably not been cleaned since the end of the rainy season last year so there was a year’s worth of stuff to be found. The kids looked like they were on a great treasure hunt as they left with pieces of wood, empty cans and many other objects.

Eggplants (November 7, 2006)

The price was great. 100 Guinean francs for three eggplants. But the eggplants themselves were pitiful enough. Yes, they each gave off a deep, purplish shine but they didn’t look as if they were picked that day. As I sat on a bench waiting for the 10 minutes or so that it takes for my container to get filled with peanut butter (hand sifting and grinding takes some time) I wondered to myself why I bought the eggplants. Maybe it was the lady. Old and tired looking, she was almost as wrinkly as one of the eggplants. Was it because I felt that today she needed some sort of sale? The market in Wonkifong is a small, daily affair that takes place under a covered area in the center of the village. At one side, prepared food such as bean sandwiches and a wide assortment of things deep fried in oil can be bought. The rest of the space is occupied by a lot of people selling a combination of essentially the same things. There are staples such as rice, Magi cubes (a type of bullion), and a seemingly endless supply of fish. The fruit and vegetable selection fluctuates a bit depending on what is brought in from the fields. I am definitely embracing the concept of seasonal food consumption. Today the following were in the market: hot spicy peppers (I recently made the mistake of putting too many of these in a dish), tomatoes, onions, peanuts, manioc and manioc leaves and my eggplants.

Throughout the market space, each lady has a small table with groups of produce displayed in front of her. For example, she may have a grouping of six peppers for a fixed price. At one point, there may be fifteen to twenty ladies selling the same groupings so who to choose from? The selection should be based on the produce that looks the best but sometimes one of these ladies looks like she is going to keel over so I feel obligated to buy from her. Just before my peanut butter finished the lady appeared before me and in her hand was a beautiful, fresh, shiny eggplant. In turn, she must have pitied me for buy her eggplants and rewarded me with another.

Teachers on Strike (November 4, 2006)

The contract teachers at both the middle school and the primary school have gone on strike this week. Who knows how long it will last. Today, none of the teachers showed up to the school so the students were told to go home. Out of the 17 person staff at my middle school, only the principal, his assistant and one teacher are considered full-time. The rest are contractual, even though some have been teaching at the school for several years.

The need for a salary increase is at the root of this strike. I was told that contract teachers make about 140,000 Guinean francs a month. At the current exchange rate, this is just a little above $20. It’s difficult to make a direct comparison between Guinean and US money because the entire economic scale has shifted so the indicator most often used is the price of a 50kg bag of rice. Rice is the primary staple in Guinea. Most Guineans do not consider a meal without rice. A 50 kg bag of rice may last a family of five a month if they have other things to eat with the rice. However, in Guinea families are large and teachers are often sole providers of a family.

A bag of rice is currently selling for 130,000 Guinean francs.

Nightmares Forever (October 29, 2006)

No, I am not going to celebrate Halloween by being Frank-the-Tank, the streaking white ghost of Wonkifong but I was recently the source of what could haunt a few small children for a long time. For this adventure, I was out on a bike ride. The Peace Corps issued bike is quite impressive compared to the Guinean two-wheelers. Big knobby tires and a front suspension system can make the bike look intimidating. On top of this bike is me, a big white guy wearing a helmet (almost nonexistent in Guinea) and sunglasses.

This day, I was coming down a hill that bottomed out at a small creek. Some women and their children were washing laundry in the creek. As I approach, a couple of ladies grab the smallest kids and thrust them towards me. The kids were absolutely terrified and were crying and screaming. The ladies were laughing but continued to hold the kids up towards me. Suppressing the desire to let out an evil cackle, I biked through as quickly as possible to put an end to the poor kids’ misery.

The Coconut Ride (October 28, 2007)

My bike had been loaded onto a small, dugout canoe (or pirogue) and was slowly being transported across the river to the opposite bank. I was watching the progress as a villager hands me a freshly opened up coconut to drink from. Coconut has not been one of my favorites in the past and though I was starting to enjoy eating the fruit I had avoided drinking the liquid. But here I was in the village of Koké, about a two hour bike ride from Wonkifong, and the man who guided me from the center of the village to the river so that I could continue my journey was offering me a drink. I could not refuse.

The outer layer of the coconut had been peeled back and then a spoon was used to open a hole on one end. I could not drink it fast enough. It was absolutely delicious! I tried to offer a portion to the villager but he just smiled and shook his head.

The pirogue had exchanged my bike for a passenger and was just returning on the bank. I’ve climbed into many boats in the past and getting into this one felt the most unstable ever. The construction of the boat was the crude hollowing out of tree. The boat was narrow with steep sides. I was instructed to kneel and the boat began to cross the river. On the opposite bank, the boatman got out with me. It seems to be an African (or at least Guinean) tradition to always start someone on their journey. On this river bank, I there was one available path but the man descended from the boat to guide my departure. We began walking on a dike through what I think was mangroves. After 10 minutes or so he pointed that I was to continue and at the fork to take a left.

Thirty minutes later, I rode into the village of Fokou-Fokou. My goal was to reach the Atlantic Ocean but when I stopped at an open-aired hut containing several villagers, I was told that the road stops here and that I could not reach the ocean. Instead, I was taken to the primary school. At Sunnyside, impromptu visits by visitors occasionally change the structure of the day but now the tables had turned. I was the one being taken into a school for a visit. The schoolhouse was small and the students (around 50) were all crammed into one room. I was told that the school had only started the year before. Up to that point, there was no education for the students here. I was introduced and asked to give a speech. Caught unprepared I went for the “I am so happy to be in Guinea and everyone is wonderful” talk. In celebration of my arrival, the students were then let out for a recess and I returned with the men to the hut. We sat and talked a little though there were few men who could speak French.

The school teacher eventually disappeared on a bike only to return minutes later with all the students. A chair was set up under a tree and I was placed in it with all of the kids around me for a few photographs. The village men also gathered around for a couple of shots. Now, they will always have proof of the day that the white guy suddenly appeared on a bike.

Once the photos were finished, it was time for me to leave but not before being loaded down with grapefruit and coconuts. My bag was filled to the brim with fruit. I gave my thanks and goodbyes and rode off.

Less than five minutes down the road, a motorcycle came up behind me. It was a man from the village. He hands me a photograph of him and some lady (his wife?) and then turns around and returns to the village. Since the coconuts are all gone, I too have a souvenir of the village of Fokou-Fokou.

End of Ramadan (October 26, 2006)

The majority of the Muslim world ended the month of Ramadan on Monday, but in Guinea things are always a little different so it was ended on Tuesday. I returned to Wonkifong from my weekend in Conakry on Monday so I was ready to see what the villagers would do to celebrate.

At 3:00 in the morning I am suddenly awakened by loud, intense drumming. The griots (a Guinean equivalent of a bard) begin the celebrations by going to the houses of all the important people in town. The sous-prèfet lives beside me and his house is the first. The sound is impressive. For the next three hours, I hear drums at different volumes depending on the distance from my house.

Around 9:00, a large procession of villagers passes my house en route to a large field for prayer. After prayer, everyone returns to their home for a large meal. This is the first meal that they have eaten during the day in a month. Kids then go door to door wishing people good cheer in the hopeful return of some Guinean francs.

Things are relatively quiet for the rest of the day with people relaxing and paying visits to one another. Then, around 8:00 that night, loud music begins behind my house. I live near the youth center and the festivities there will include lots and lots of loud music. Guinean sound controllers seem to always turn up the volume past the point that the speakers can handle. The music finally died around 3:00 in the morning.

The next day was officially a school day but only one other staff member and four students showed up so we went home. By Thursday, class counts were almost at 50%.