Guinea!

Home in Portland

2007-07-21T09:38:00.001-07:00

After a year of being in Africa, I have finally returned home to Portland. At the moment, I am bouncing from friend's house to friend's house as I wait to hear about employment and then find a place to live. I am hoping for news on the job front within the next week or so.

Some people have asked where they can find all of the pictures from my trip as the Flickr site only allows 200 photos at a time. Good news! The photos have been moved to a new site where a "highlight" reel of the trip can be viewed. Enjoy.

Link (or click on the right): http://picasaweb.google.com/frankmcgowa/WestAfricaTrip2007

New Photos from Morocco

2007-06-10T04:44:00.000-07:00

Chefchaouen, Fes, Jebel Toubkal and Marrakesh

(click the link at right)

Nearing the End

2007-06-10T04:25:00.000-07:00

It's hard for me to believe that the crazy year I began last July is almost coming to an end. Through learning how to live in a new culture, trying to learn a different language, teaching math in French to classes of over 85 Guinean students, being evacuated from my site in Wonkifong, and traveling through Mali, Burkina Faso, Ghana, Togo, Benin, Niger, Cameroon, Mauritania, and Morocco, I am almost at the end of this adventure. Ahead, I have a few weeks visiting my parents in France before returning home to Portland. Once in Portland I am not sure what the next step will be.

Overall this year has been a fantastic one of experiences and adventures and I thank all of you who have supported me with your love, enthusiasm and ideas over what became a roller coaster of a ride.

Jebel Toubkal, Morocco

2007-06-04T05:24:00.000-07:00

After a few days of enjoying the coastal beauty of Essaouira, Patrick and I headed to the hustle and bustle of Marrakesh. Not being the city and shopping type we quickly toured the markets and other sites before heading out to Imlil which is located in the Atlas mountains. Our goal here was Jebel Toubkal, which at almost 4200m is the tallest peak in North Africa. The hike was absolutely beautiful and the summit amazing with sunny conditions and some snow to play in on the way down.

New stories and photos: Mauritania and into Morocco

2007-05-29T05:17:00.002-07:00

for photos click the link at right

First Impression that I'm no longer in W. Africa

2007-05-29T05:17:00.001-07:00

Kids are being kids, playing and hanging out.

Journey into Morocco

2007-05-29T04:58:00.000-07:00

Signs warning of the danger of hidden mines periodically appeared along the side of the ribbon of asphalt that the car was traveling down. After an hour of inspection at the Mauritanian-Moroccan border where the car was unloaded, all bags searched and then sniffed by a dog, we were finally moving through the disputed land known as the Western Sahara.

This overland journey had been on my mind for a few days. Not counting the idea of driving through an area scattered with mines, my mind was occupied with the thought of endless hours crammed into a car to journey through Western Sahara, southern Morocco and arrive in Agadir, Morocco.

The first hurdle was met with a wonderful surprise. Those of you familiar with West African transport will realize that I scored big when my car appeared packed and ready to go with only three people in the 9-place. Could I be so fortunate? A 9-place is a station-wagon like car that typically contains place for two in the front (not counting the driver), four in the middle row and three in the back. Patrick and I were placed in the back and wondered who the third person would be. The car left and no one appeared. Surely we would pick someone up. With hopeful glances around we realized that there was no one else and the ride would be in comfort!

The other passengers were gems. They were all women with the two sitting in the middle row obviously friends. They laughed and gave each other high fives while chatting on expensive cell phones. They joked with men at the border stop and, to top it off, smoked in public. What's odd about this behaviour you may wonder. Remember that I'm not in the States but in Mauritania, a Muslim country where women are typically not at liberty to act like this. It was great. The women joked and laughed and smoked through the trip that instead of being miserable was OK except for the finale. With only 50 km to go to Dakhla, Morocco the car broke down. It was near 9:00 pm and Patrick and I had an 11:00 pm overnight bus to catch. Fortunately, we were able to hitch a ride and get to the bus station in time to board the bus that would take us to Agadir, Morocco. It left at 11:00 pm and by 4:00 pm the next afternoon, we finally arrived in Agadir. The next morning we boarded yet another bus for the amazing coastal town of Essaouira which will be a non-transport destination for a few days.

On the Coal Train

2007-05-29T04:39:00.000-07:00

"It's coming don't worry. Maybe 6:00. Maype 6:30. It will be here. Just wait," was the advice given to me when I asked about the train.

I was in the small desert outpost of Choume, Mauritania waiting for the ride known as the coal train to arrive and take me to the coastal town of Nouadhibou. Choume is desolate. The heat soars and a midday glance down the main street may provide you with a view of a goat strolling about but nothing else. Daily, a train arrives from the east laden with iron ore. Stopping for 10-15 minutes, people are able to board for the 12-hour overnight ride to the coast. There are two boarding options:
(1) buy a ticket and fight for a space in the passenger car
(2) climb up and into an open air cargo car containing iron ore

Guess which one I did... A little after 6:30, Patrick and I were throwing our trash bag wrapped backpacks into the top of a car and climbing into the iron ore. We were in luck. Our car contained a mixture of powder and small cobble to pebble sized chunks of rock. The rock was small enough to sleep on and there was not so much powder to give us the appearance of coal miners after a long, hard day in a dirty mine.

The train soon began moving and I was provided with a preview of the upcoming night climate: cold and windy. The iron ore had been dumped into the center of the car creating a pile that peaked in the middle and tapered on the edges. The ore level in the front of the car was quite low and I was able to sit snug against the wall and be somewhat sheltered from the wind. But first, there was a beautiful sunset to watch. As the train chugged west, the sun slowly dipped under the horizon. A combination of the wide open desert only sparcely occupied by large rock outcrops and the western travel extended the sunset for what seemed an eternity. Then, without any artificial light blurring the view, stars began to pop out and glow with a brilliant twinkle.

Without the warmth of the sun the air quickly chilled and I positioned myself in the ore at the front of the car. I was wearing pants, a shirt, jacket and long robe and was then wrapped in a blanket to stay warm. My head was completely covered in a turban (sunglasses still on) to keep me warm and to minimize the amount of dust entering my eyes, ears, nose and anywhere else. Surprisingly, I managed to get some sleep on the rocky ore waking occasionally to glance up at the stars. The Milky Way was truly a glittering path in the sky that eventually gave way as the warm glow announcing the arrival of the sun began to color the day.

Sixteen hours later, the train arrived in Nouadhibou where a couple of Peace Corps volunteers allowed my ore covered body into their home and hot shower.

Terjit

2007-05-29T04:33:00.000-07:00

To the south of Atar, Mauritania is a little piece of paradise known as Terjit. This place is an oasis supporting hundreds of date palms nestled at the head of a canyon. The canyon necks down as towering cliffs meet. Water bubbles out of the rocks and at one point flows down where it is diverted into cool pools tat are refreshing during the heat of the day. Date palms, laden with clusters of fruit that will soon ripen, provide shade. Life here consists of lounging under tents drinking tea until the temperature is cool enough to scale the cliffs and explore the high plateaus.

The Sahara

2007-05-29T04:11:00.000-07:00

My body lunged forwards, backwards, forward again and backwards. Suddenly I was sitting uncomfortably approximately 6 feet off of the ground. I was again on top of a camel though instead of looking towards the Aiir Mountains of Niger I gazed out into the endless sand dunes of the Sahara.

The early morning began with prayer call a little after 4 am. Mauritania is much farther north so the sun rises earlier, leading to the sleep-shattering calls in the morning. The camels outside of the compound were equipped with the same single-hump of fat storage as those in Niger and were quite vocal. We walked the camels through the town of Chinguetti and into the dunes before getting on for the trek into the Sahara.

The dunes are amazing. Standing at different heights, they continue into the east as far as the eye travels. Sweeping slopes, fine razor-sharp ridges, and sublime humps provide the shapes for these shifting mountains of sand. The effect of the endless dunes is one of disorientation as the eye loses depth perception. Golden sand follows golden sand follows golden sand blends in with the blue sky.

I was curious to see how much life would be visible among the dunes. As I rode on top of the camel, I was provided with a good view that contained a surprising amount of green specks. Scattered in low spots among the dunes and in plains are small bushes and shrubs and I was eventually in for a surprise as my camel exited a series of steep dunes to find the jewel of the desert. An oasis. The instant flood of green among the golden-yellow is spectacular. The camels slowly made their way to the oasis, knowing that the day's work was over. The wash of green color was due to date palms. Unfortunately, it is not quite date season and the palms taunted me with clusters of bright green, unripe dates. The shade of the palms provided a cool refuge as the temperature in the sun began to soar and I enjoyed the peacefulness until the heat broke and I could venture out to explore the dunes.

"I can't believe it. It's not possible," were the exclamations around 11:oo that night. Rain. I had successfully dodged early rainy season downpours near the equator and was now getting rained on in the Sahara. It's a desert here! Locals think it's rainy season if they get 2 to 3 days of rain in a month. But here I was, sleeping out under the desert sky and having rain fall on my head. Fortunately, the rain soon stopped and I gained a few hours of sleep before being awakened by the camels for the return trek.

In Mauritania

2007-05-17T04:25:00.000-07:00

After a long day of travel on the "bush taxi" plane, Patrick and I reversed climates from the increasingly humid and wet Cameroon to the dry, sunny and hot Mauritania. Our travels included leaving Douala, Cameroon early in the morning to return to Cotonou, Benin. There, the "nice" border official did not even pause to notice that our Benin visas were expired and let us into the country. We had 12 hours to burn and sitting in the airport would not have been fun.

The next leg of the travel including getting back on the plane and making short, hour-long jaunts to Bamako, Mali followed by Dakarm Senegal before finally arriving in Nouakchott, Mauritania. We are currently stuck here trying to get a visas. Next stop is hopefully a trip into the dunes of the Sahara.

Sangelima Market (Cameroon)

2007-05-11T08:55:00.000-07:00

Click at the right to see photos that I took exploring the market in Meghan's city. Tomatoes, peppers, bananas, fabric, and much more...

Mt Cameroon

2007-05-11T08:39:00.000-07:00

Over the last week, I have been in Cameroon visiting a friend of Patrick's when he was in PC Gambia. Meghan has been great, showing us around and got the trip started with a trek up Mt Cameroon. We took three days to summit the mountain (4,095 meters) and hike the back side. On the first day, it was all about going up. Switchbacks? Nope, this concept has not caught on in Africa. Just head straight up the mountain. The first night was spent in a mountain hut where we had to get creative to keep the mice out of our food. The views from the hut were spectacular. Fortunately, the night was clear and we could see the ocean and many cities below.

Day 2 started where the first stopped: moving straight uphill. The climb was quite chilly and the wind was howling as we continued up into the clouds, sometimes only able to see 15-20 feet in front of us. The stop at the summit was less than 5 minutes as the wind was blowing frigid gusts all around us. After the summit, a run down the scree on the backside quickly got us out of the wind and into warmer weather where we could enjoy the varying terrain of green hillsides, former volcanic flows and cones formed during volcanic activity in 2000. That night, we slept in grass huts and were joined by a French couple exploring the back of the mountain.

Day 3 took us out of the moutain area and the hike began through beautiful, green hills sliced up with old volcanic runs. The fresh air quickly turned heavy as we entered the forest. The dense understory kept us busy navigating muddy trails as we descended the remainder of the way.

After the mountain, we took a quick ride to Limbe which is the location of beautiful beaches for a few days of relaxation in the ocean to soothe the sore muscles. Then, off to Meghan's site to get away from the tourist traffic.

Updated photos, stories and map

2007-04-30T04:48:00.000-07:00

The sun sets over Ganvie, Benin a stilt village north of Cotonou.

Check out the new photographs (click link at right) and updates below.

Also, the map (click link above) is starting to look good!

Stilt Village of Ganvie, Benin (April 29, 2007)

2007-04-30T04:32:00.000-07:00

In the 17th century, the land that currently makes up the southern portion of Benin was under the rule of the Dahomey kings. The seat of power for the Dahomey Kingdom was Abomey, which is a few hours north of present Cotonou. In general, the Dahomey kings were a violent bunch, with each king pledging to leave their children a larger kingdom. This pledge required constant war in order to expand their territory.

Today, a museum in Abomey pays tribute to the Dahomey and provides a taste of their ruthlessness. One tapestry shows a king using the dismembered leg of some poor guy to pound in the head of an enemy. In another room, my attention was drawn to a king's throne. At first glance it appeared to be a normal wooden throne but it was held up by four human skulls.

To the southeast of Abomey, there lies the stilt village of Ganvie. The village is located in the waters of Lake Nokoue. As the Dahomey kings were expanding their kingdom and simultaneously pressing conquered people into slavery, they came upon the Tofinu. To escape, the Tofinu fled onto the lake where they began constructing homes and living suspended above the water level of the lake. Fortunately for the Tofinu, the slave hunters pursuing them were forbidden to give chase onto the lake due to a religious custom not allowing people onto water.

The Tofinu have lived there since and today approximately 30,000 villagers live on the lake. The people live almost entirely off of fish which they catch in the lake by building artificial reef-like areas out of palm fronds. The fronds are stuck into the lake and as they decompose attract fish. After a period of time, the villagers construct nets around the area to haul in the catch.

As an overnight trip from Cotonou, Patrick and I visited Ganvie. We took a boat ride out and then stayed overnight in a hotel positioned near the market. The best part of the trip was taking a small canoe to explore the village. Everyone travels by boat. The houses are not connected so boating is a must. In the canals, there are ladies paddling around selling items, boat taxis kids on errands and anything else you could imagine in a village. Fresh water is dispensed by pump and boats full of containers queue up to get their fill. at night, the village shut down quickly but early in the morning boats were already beginning to start the day's business.

Voodoo Python Temple (Ouidah, Benin - April 27, 2007)

2007-04-30T03:00:00.000-07:00

A single doorway led into the small, circular hut inside the walled compound of the python temple in Ouidah, Benin.

"Are you ready to enter?" the temple guide asked as he pulled a 3-foot long python off of my neck. In turn, the necks of Patrick, Joyce (another roaming PC Guinea volunteer who we happened across while walking the "Path of Slaves" in the morning) and I had been draped by a python from the temple. The guide had finished explaining how the python is an important aspect of voodoo in Ouidah.

Originally known as vodun, the voodoo religion is practiced by at least 50% of people in Benin. The historic center of voodoo is Ouidah, but voodoo was not formally recognized as a religion by the government of Benin until 1996.

The walls of the hut are made of concrete and the center contains a recessed area resembling the shape of a keyhole. Several steps lead down from the floor level to the base of this key-shaped area, which is used by the voodoo priest. A sequence of paintings depicting the arrival of voodoo and the python relationship cover the walls of the hut. However, it was the floor that grabbed my attention and provided a somewhat creepy feeling.

Snakes. Lots of snakes. Pythons were all over this temple. Some were by themselves but the majority laid together piled in a mass of long, muscular bodies with snake heads popping out everywhere. One appeared to have recently finished a meal and was bulging in its midsection as it digested.

"How many pythons are there?" the guide was asked.

"Thousands. Thousands," came the reply that I have top believe is inflated. "However, they are not all here. At night we leave the door to the temple open and the pythons are free to leave and go hunt where ever they wish. If a person finds a python in the city, they will return it to the temple."

New Photos

2007-04-20T04:38:00.000-07:00

This photo was taken during a camel trek in the Aiir Mountains near Agadez, Niger. The last few weeks have been quite eventfull. I've visited good friends, found some members of the last giraffe herd in West Africa, went on a camel trek and more.

Read the posts and check out the photos (click to the right) and then let me know how you are doing!

Horse Races – Tahoua, Niger (April 14, 2007)

2007-04-20T04:23:00.000-07:00

The local showing Patrick and I around began running as shouts erupted from the crowd. The first of three horse races of the day had started. I followed him to see a pack of horses in the distance. The track was in the desert on the outskirts of Tahoua, Niger. Its oval-like shape must shift constantly as the winds blow sand, creating rises along some stretches and depressions in others. The sand is not hard-packed, but deep, soft and shifty.

The horses rounded the final bend to finish in front of the grand stand erected for the event. Their muscles working hard through the sand, the horses finished to a wild roar from the spectators. It seems as if some family livelihoods depends on the races. The 10-day international horseracing event had begun. This event happens each year in either Niger or Nigeria. By chance, the race was in Niger this year, in Tahoua, and on the Saturday we arrived.

Using Patrick and I as his “ticket,” our guide walked out onto the course after the first race had finished. We followed him to the finish line where we sat us down on the sand in the front row. I felt awkward being placed in such a good seat but the people sitting there welcomed us onto the sand with them. Here, we were treated to finish line seating for the next two races.

Looking for Giraffes (April 12, 2007)

2007-04-20T04:20:00.001-07:00

About 60 km east of Niamey, the last remaining giraffe herd of West Africa lives in the area around Kouré, Niger. Given the fun time watching elephants in Ghana, Patrick and I decided to spend the day looking for giraffes.

Unfortunately, transport issues landed us and our mandatory guide on the side of a desolate stretch of road a little past Kouré around 11:00 am. We would now have to begin walking 5 or more kilometers out into the hot, sandy area with no shade and an intense sun in the hopes of finding giraffes.

The hike and gallons of sweat were worth it when a pair of giraffes was spotted under an acacia tree in the distance. Mouths elevated by their long, graceful necks munched on the leaves of the acacia tree that they could reach through the pointy thorns with their long and apparently blue tongue.

The giraffes are known to be curious and watched us as we approached. Elephants are massive but the giraffes seemed elegant roaming through the acacias. Given the midday sun, the giraffes were not moving much but I was fascinated to watch a pair glide past the tops of the trees. Soon, the guide pointed to a second pair that allowed us to get quite close. We ended the tour by watching a pair of adolescent giraffes hanging out under a tree.

Just as we were finishing viewing these beautiful animals, a truck with several Swiss over-landers pulled up to our small shade tree. They agreed to give us a ride back out of the bush so I spent the return sitting on the roof of their truck, enjoying the views of a landscape different that ones I have visited so far.

Trip to Niamey, Niger (April 9, 2007)

2007-04-20T04:15:00.000-07:00

Leaving Jeanne in Togo, Patrick and I had a long couple of days of voyage to our next stop: the home of Geoffrey and Christine in Niamey, Niger. Geoffrey and Christine were also in Guinea and could be among our last PC Guinea sightings for this trip.

The voyage began at 9:00 am when we filled a 10-liter bidon (container) with millet beer in Jeanne’s village and loaded onto a minibus. Millet beer, known as juke in Togo, dolo in Burkina Faso and Mali, and pito in Ghana, is a local mixture brewed by woman and oddly tasting like apple cider. It was to be a gift for our friends in Niamey.

The first leg of transport was from Jeanne’s (near Atakpamé, Togo) to Lomé, Togo. The minibus was jam-packed. The malaria drug that I am on is mefloquin, or larium, and known to have some miserable side effects. Fortunately for me, my reactions have been few and have decreased considerably until this trip. My limbs now have a tendency to go completely numb and within a half hour of the ride my left leg lost feeling. I was able to manage until Lomé, where we quickly found a minibus that was also very crowded but my leg revived itself. This minibus was heading for Cotonu, Benin.

The ride to Cotonu should have been short but included many stops and took a long time. Minibuses do not have set stopping points. If someone wants to get out, they yell. Then, to ensure that the vehicle is always at over capacity the driver will stop to pick up someone else on the side of the road needing a ride. This process continues over and over.

From Cotonu, we boarded a bus leaving at 10:30 pm for Niamey, Niger. So, 13 hours into the trip we began an overnight bus ride that was scheduled to arrive in Niamey around 1:00 pm the next day. Following another border crossing, we arrived in Niamey and were able to deliver the dolo to an excited Geoffrey and Christine.

Happy Easter (April 8, 2007)

2007-04-20T04:14:00.001-07:00

I spent this Easter in the Togolese town of Atakpamé. So far, one of the highlights of this West African tour has been visiting Peace Corps Guinea people who are now in other countries. The town of Atakpamé is very near to the new village of my good friend, Jeanne, and being able to spend Easter seeing her new site and celebrating with other PC Togo volunteers was a lot of fun.

An extra bonus was the arrival of the first true rain of the season. It rained almost the entire day before Easter, which was beautiful. I have not seen rain since the beginning of November (pretty abnormal for someone who has spent the last several years in Portland, OR). The rains also cooled the temperatures down into the upper 70’s, now quite cold for me.
I hope you all were able to spend this weekend with good friends and family

Border Crossing: Ghana to Togo (April 4, 2007)

2007-04-20T04:11:00.000-07:00

“Where are you going?” the border guard yelled at us as we walked past his small office.

Not realizing that we were getting off to a bad start with the person in control of our immediate future, one of us replied, “To the canteen to buy some water,” as we continued walking along. Minutes later, after drinking ice-cold water as refreshment after hiking out to the bat home of Wli Falls, we returned to the guardhouse.

“Where did you go?” the guard grunted.

“We were thirsty and needed water,” I began to explain.

“Passports,” the guard interrupted.

We handed over our passports. For me, this period is always a bit trying. Will the guard want some sort of bribe? Are there any problems with the documentation? In this case, will the passport juggle performed weeks ago in Ouagadougou become a problem? I became more nervous as the guard kept flipping back and forth through my stamped pages.

“Do you have a Togolese visa?” he asked.

I pointed to the page containing the Visa Entente, a five-country, two-month visa good for Burkina Faso, Cote d’Ivoire, Togo, Benin and Niger. This visa had been hard to get with some embassies saying that it no longer exists. Fortunately, passport officials in Ouagadougou issued one but this was the first test using it.

Satisfied with the Visa Entente, the guard continued leafing through my passport. “Just stamp it and let me through,” I wanted to say knowing that the longer he took the higher the probability for trouble.

“I don’t see your Ghana visa and entry stamp,” he finally says and I readied myself for trouble. This man was not friendly and regularly rudely belittled Ghanaians and Togolese who had stopped in.

In my case, his simple statement opened up a wide array of confusion. I had hoped he would lose interest hunting through my visas and stamps and not look hard for the Ghana stamps. After all, I was leaving the country.

“Well, that’s because the visa and stamps are not in that passport,” I unhappily replied. “They are in this one,” I continued holding up a second US passport. The look on his face indicated that he was none to happy with the sudden appearance of a second passport for one Francis James McGowan.

The procurement of a visa takes time and embassies can hold a passport for several days so while in Ouagadougou, Patrick and I needed to obtain both the Visa Entente and a visa for Ghana. Hoping to save time, my Peace Corps passport was given to the Burkinabe office and my personal passport to the Ghanaian Embassy. This resulted in the problem that I was now facing.

The Ghanaian official obviously did not like the explanation. “This is a problem. A big problem,” he stated shaking his head.

“Well, your counterparts at the Burkinabe-Ghanaian border let us in, so you should now let us leave,” Patrick pointed out.

The man looked blankly at us. This problem was one he did not know how to handle, but it was slowly starting to look like he would relent. Stamping our passport and letting us pass through would get us out of his way and allow him to return to his Parcheesi game.

“We’re very sorry. It has been a problem for us as well,” I nudged.

“Fine, I will stamp it but you only have a single entry visa. This means that if you are not allowed in Togo, I will not let you return to Ghana,” the guard said.

“Great. Thank you,” we replied only wanting to get the precious stamp and pass the gate.

A few minutes later, our passports were stamped and we were walking in the no-man’s land between Ghana and Togo. So far each border crossing has been similar. Here, a 5 – 10 minute walk separated the two outposts. The walk was a nice one through a lush, green-forested area and up a small hill. What would we do if we were turned away from Togo?

When we reached the Togolese side, a man came out of a building with a big smile on his friendly face. “Bonjour et bien venue en Togo, ” he exclaimed. It was so nice to again be in a francophone country. I have had a much easier time conversing in francophone countries than in Anglophone ones. This man was incredibly nice. He stamped my passport and when the lack of a Ghanaian visa/stamp was brought up he said, “No problem, and we were soon off into Togo.

Hiking Ghana’s Highest Mountain (April 3, 2007)

2007-04-20T04:05:00.000-07:00

Mt. Afadjato is located east of Volta Lake near the Togolese border. To get here, Patrick and I boarded a tro-tro (minibus) in Hohoe, Ghana that would supposedly take us to the base of the mountain. The drive out included beautiful scenery in Ghana’s lush Volta region on a mixture of paved and dirt roads. Soon, we came to a junction that had a sign pointing to the area where the mountain is located, 7 km away. The tro-tro stopped and the driver tells us that he will be continuing in the other direction. Our hike would be a little longer today…

Arriving at the base of Mt. Afadjato, we registered and were given the obligatory guide for the hike up. The trail was steep and in minutes I was sweating in the heavy, humid air. Nearing the top, the guide turns around for the “well, here we are” announcement and I expected to end on a towering peak with gusts of cool, refreshing air.

The sun was baking on the top and the air was barely moving. Some nice views were available but haze prevented me from seeing Volta Lake.

“I though this was the highest peak,” Patrick said to the guide. “What’s that peak there?” he continued, pointing to a nearby and much taller point.

“That is Advadu Peak,” the guide replied, “and it is the tallest point in Ghana but not considered a mountain. The peak is part of a ridge so it does not count.”

“What about over there?” Patrick asked again, pointing to a set of taller peaks.

“Those are in Togo.”

New Photographs

2007-04-01T06:11:00.000-07:00

Click the link at the right for new photos.

Ghana Coast

Slave Castles - Ghana Coast

2007-04-01T06:00:00.000-07:00

During the 17th Century, the European powers began concentrating on the West African coast, specifically the Gulf of Guinea which contains the current Ghanian shoreline. The coast was known as the Gold Coast due to the access to gold, ivory, spices and later, unfortuantely, slaves. At the Europeans jostled for coastal dominance, they constructed forts and castles along the coast. These structures were not to defend against Africans, but to protect against other European nations. The good thing about the Ghanian coastline compared to much of the remainder of West Africa is that it is rocky instead of swampy. This allows the building of large fortifications. By the end of the 18th Century, 37 forts occupied a 500 km stretch of coastline. Today, two of these castles are classified as Unesco World Heritage Sites. They are located in Elmina and Cape Coast, Ghana and I was fortunate to visit both sites.

The tours at the castles showed where slaves would be held until leaving Africa for the Americas. The dungeons were damp and stuffy and people could be held there for up to six weeks. Finally, the men and women would pass through the "Door of No Return" where they would pass to begin the Middle Passage. The door leads to a beach where small boats waited to transport people out to the bigger ships.

The following inscription was written on both castles:

In Everlasting Memory
Of the anguish of our ancestors
may those who died rest in peace
may those who return find their roots
may humanity never again perpetrate
such injustice against humanity
we, the living, vow to uphold this

Kakum National Park, Ghana (March 30, 2007)

2007-04-01T05:42:00.000-07:00

Walking along a cable canopy walkway, I was suspended about 30 meters above the forest floor of Kakum National Park. This park is located north of Cape Coast, Ghana and protects 357 sq km of land that is a mixture of true rain forest and semidecidious forest. 40 species of large mammals, 300 or so species of birds and 600 different varieties of butterfly call this place home. Endangered species such as forest elephants seek refuge here and are rarely seen (I saw none).

To get to the walkway, I took a 30 minute hike through the dense forest. I am always amazed at the sense of calmness that develops when I am dwarfed by huge trees and am only a visitor in a place teeming with life.

The canopy walkway itself is 350 meters long and broken into seven viewing platforms where you can look out and down into the forest. The walkway itself is fairly stable though moves from side to side a bit which unnerved some people on the walk.

Green Turtle Lodge (March 26 - 28)

2007-04-01T05:31:00.000-07:00

The Green Turtle Lodge is located on a somewhat isolated stretch of beach on the Ghanian coast. Positioned west of the large town of Takoradi and the destination town of Busua, GTL is a good place to step away from constant travel. At GTL, I slept on the beach under the stars a couple of nights and in a tent the others, listening to the sound of the ocean throughout the night.

I again met a couple (Mark and Corinna) who are travelling and I originally met in Bobo, Burkina Faso. These two drove away from Edinburgh, Scotland several months ago in a highly modified Range Rover and plan to drive the entire west African coastline before reaching South Africa and returning up the eastern side. I always enjoy hearing the stories of other people as they travel along the same or different paths as myself.

At GTL, I spent the majority of time either bodyboarding or bodysurfing in the warm surf. It was great to relive the childhood of a beachbum. Unfortunately, March is at the end of the turtle nesting season so I did not have the opportunity to see sea turtles.

New Photographs

2007-03-23T07:48:00.001-07:00

Elephants at Mole NP and the Volta Lake Ferry. Click the link on the left.

Crossing to Yeji (Ghana)

2007-03-23T07:36:00.000-07:00

Our large motorized, dugout canoe was drifting aimlessly through a forest of dead trees reaching limbs out the water in an attempt to snag the boat when the person in charge of directing the craft and poling in the event of engine failure decided to stop working. He sat down on the prow of the boat, crossed his arms and began pouting.

The problems started with the loading process of this shuttle across Volta Lake to the town where Patrick and I would catch the Yapei Queen, a ferry boat that runs the length of the lake. I have seen people rush buses with wild abandon in order to secure seats, but I thought that given the general fear of water people would calmly board the boat. I was wrong. The boat touched the concrete dock and a mad rush followed of people clambering on to get a seat. I tossed my bag on a bench, put one foot on the gunwale and the boat started to move away from the dock.

"Eh, Brunei," (the name for white people) was shouted at me until I swung my other leg onto the boat. Within minutes, the boat was jam packed with people sitting 3 - 4- 5 or more to a bench. Soon, some passengers began complaining loudly that the boat was overloaded.

A man on the dock shouted, "The boat can have 78 passengers, there are only 76." My quick count easily put the number of passengers over 100. More shouting ensued but the boat soon left, adding one more person instead of losing 30 or more.

Looking around me, I had a brief moment of panic. I was sitting on a boat with my small backpack on my knees, surrounded by a bunch of people who likely do not know how to swim. In this small backpack are all of my belongings in the world, unless Peace Corps manages to recover some of my things from Wonkifong, Guinea). Hoping that the boat would stay upright, I looked forward to the maze of tree branches sticking up ahead. Volta Lake was manmade and the land not cleared before being flooded so there are many trees remaining.

Just at this moment, the engine died. It is soon restarted but dies again. This process continues over and over. Tensions, fueled by overcrowded conditions and fear of water, begin to rise. The people around me begin yelling at the person steering, which leads to his eventual sitting down and refusal to work. As chaos develops, the boat fortunately restarts and makes it to the port of Yeji.

Yams, Yams, Yams (Yapei Queen, Ghana)

2007-03-23T06:52:00.000-07:00

The first full day of the journey across Volta Lake in eastern Ghana was been marked by frequent stops at small towns along the lake. Some of the stops involved quick passenger exchanges but others were yam stops. These stops took a long, long time.

Due to water levels, the ferry would stop just offshore and then women would begin transporting yams from the shore to the boat in wide, metal basins. The basins were balanced on their heads as they waded through knee to waist deep water then climbed the loading platform onto the boat. Once on the boat, the yams would be tossed into crates (the same type that I slept in the night before).

Around 9:00 pm on the second night, we arrived at the last loading port. I was glad to be here as the ferry often moved "blind". The sun set a little after 6:00 pm and the boat does not run with bow/stern lights or other lights. Volta Lake is a manmade lake and trees are still sticking up. A path is charted through the lake with buoys but the ship rarely uses the large spotlight during the journey. At this last port, the wind was howling and white caps raced across the surface of the lake. Securing the ferry to the shore was a challenge as the winds and water fought the movement of this wide boat. On shore, crates were already full of yams waiting to be transported onto the boat. In addition to these crates, huge sacks of charcoal and other items and a truck filled with yams were waiting to board. I finally passed out, tired from doing nothing all day, and awoke the next morning to find that all the crates and the truck had been loaded.

The final day on Volta Lake was another long one though without stops. The boat finally made it to port around 10:30, over 48 hours after we began the journey.

1st Night on the Yapei Queen (Lake Volta, Ghana)

2007-03-23T06:40:00.000-07:00

"Check out the bunk beds," I joked to Patrick as we looked at the crates stacked two high along the sides of the Yapei Queen, the ferry boat that runs the length of Lake Volta on the eastern side of Ghana. It was almost 9:00 pm and the ferry had pulled into the harbor, an unlit spit of land in Yeji, Ghana.

Passengers were waiting for the off-loading process to end so that they could board. Finally, the signal was given and a mad dash up the plank onto the boat to secure a place began. The boat would eventually leave at 4:00 am and take 48 hours, so people wanted to get "comfortable" seats.

Deciding that we wanted to avoid interior spaces due to the heat, Patrick and I found ourselves on the bottom deck staring at the crates I had joked about earlier. Measuring just a little over 5 feet in length, the crates were beginning to become the "homes" of passengers. We found a corner one, grabbed straw from the deck to provide some cushioning and threw a mat down.

We suspended our backpacks to the slats in the crate. My bag hovered inches over my head which provided extra darkness but caused disorientation when the ship's horn blew at 3 in the morning and I jumped, banging my head.

The loading process of the boat took time and I tried to get some sleep. An added benefit of lying down was that I dropped below the level of the bugs swirling in the air. Millions of bugs, attracted by the high-powered light shining on the deck, were flying around or clamped onto objects.

Finally, the horn blew and the ferry began to travel towards Akosonbo, which is on the southern point of Volta Lake and home of the dam which flooded the valley. The next morning we were told to move because yams would soon be taking our place. We upgraded to a third-deck floor.

Mole National Park

2007-03-17T05:56:00.000-07:00

After a day of walking safaris where elephants, crocodiles, bush buck, antelope, guinea fowl, wart hogs and other animals were seen, Patrick and I were sharing dinner with several other travellers at Mole National Park in Ghana. It was the eve of Patrick's birthday and as 11:00 pm approached the idea of hiking out into the park reserve and onto an oberservation platform for the night was hatched.

Rule of the Park: Avoid going in the Park without an armed guide.

With Sam and Katie (two travellers from the UK), we returned to collect the items for the overnight in the park. Sneaking behind buildings to not be spotted, we soon gained the trail into the park. The lodge where visitors to Mole stay is located on top of a hill that provides stunning views of the landscape below and two watering holes that the animals of the park frequent during the current dry season. Keeping our voices down we used minimal light to descend down from the hilltop into the park. 100 meters later is the first, and larger, of the two water holes. At this time, my biggest concern was crocodiles. I was fairly confident that elephants would not be around because they seemed to arrive at the water hole in the early morning (maybe the way out the next day would be tricky), but where do crocs sleep at night? We gave a wide berth to the pond to avoid any potential run-ins. I think that we were each a bit on edge as we left the security of the hill and ranged further into the open grasslands.

Once in the open and past the first hole, we had to now skirt the second and find the observation platform that is located just behind the second pond. This would mean getting closer to the water of another croc-filled pond. The night was dark, with cloud cover blocking starlight and no moon visible but we managed to spot the water of the second pond. Walking quickly over the uneven landscape (elephant footprints make huge indentations in the ground) we began rounding the pond. With crocodiles still in our minds, we also began thinking about the enormous python spotted earlier in the day wrapped around a bush near the shelter. Seeing the shelter, our pace increased until we reached the stairs and rushed up. Hearts pounding, each of us gave a sigh of relief that we had reached the shelter without incident.

Falling asleep was difficult as I kept thinking about the python at the base of the shelter but I managed to rest a bit and slowly the night sky began giving way to dawn. We needed to leave early in the morning to get back up the hill before the morning safaris began and to avoid the return of elephants. We raced across the open areas looking for the early morning crocodile and then up the hill to join the group leaving for safari in the morning.

When not entering Mole during unauthorized times, I went on several walking safaris with an armed guide. It was great to see elephants in their natural habitat. Typically, the elephants would travel in pairs or two adults and several small ones. The watering holes were amazing to sit beside. Staying at a respectful yet close distance, I watched the elephants play and relax in the water. Photos coming eventually!

Hippos and other new photos

2007-03-12T15:39:00.000-07:00

Photos from my trip into southwest Burkina Faso:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/guineaswerve/

Funeral Celebration (Bala, Burkina Faso)

2007-03-12T15:35:00.001-07:00

Hands pounding on the djembés (drums) never slowed as women, packed tightly together, danced in a huge circle, slowly traveling in a counterclockwise direction. Just inside the circle, two men with drums under their arms walked clockwise as they beat their drums with a mallet-like stick. Rhythms began slowly with the dancers swaying and sometimes chanting and then the drummers increased intensity carrying the dancers into a full-bodied frenzy.
I had an amazing seat for this funeral celebration. Sitting under a mango tree heavily laden with ripening fruit, I was on a bench alongside the djembé players. Night had fallen and the dancing intensity was increasing. The villagers had gathered to celebrate the passing of a respected member of the community. This celebration took place approximately 100 days after his death and he was represented tonight by his brother who was dressed in the deceased clothes. Festivities, which appeared to include many liters of dolo (the local home-brewed millet beer), were rumored to continue for the following week.

Hippo Lake (Bala, Burkina Faso)

2007-03-12T15:34:00.002-07:00

A line of bubbles surfacing on the lake was making a path directly towards our metal skiff. The four men poling in the back of the boat tried to quickly put us into reverse as the students in the boat regretted never learning how to swim. Suddenly, a large grey mass raced to the surface as the mother hippo emerged in an open-mouthed rage.
Well, that’s not exactly how my trip to the hippo lake in the southwestern Burkinabe town of Bala took place, but hippos are one of Africa’s biggest killers. Our visit found a group of calm and peaceful hippos enjoying their natural environment. Patrick and I, along with a few other volunteers, had arrived at the lake area earlier in the day. The morning was spent hiking in the nearby forest in an unsuccessful attempt to find monkeys. However, close to the lake’s edge we heard hippo sounds – great gasps and grunts – but did not see any until we rode out onto the lake.
The boatmen poled the aluminum skiff along the shoreline to where a group of hippos were spotted. We stopped behind a clump of tall grass growing out of the water approximately 40 feet from several hippos. Upon counting, we saw at least 20 in our vicinity. It was midday and their energy level was low and activity primarily included rising to the surface for a few gulps of air and then sinking back towards the bottom until the next breath was needed. Occasionally, one would swim out into the lake but a walking hippo was not spotted.

Sacred Catfish (Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso)

2007-03-12T15:34:00.001-07:00

Feathers covered the rocks we walked across in our bare feet. Whites, grays and blacks were the primary colors of the chicken feathers from the chickens that had been sacrificed here for the sacred catfish.
The story is that once upon a time there was a drought with no end. Out of this small pool somewhat hidden in a narrow canyon came several catfish that walked around on the rocks for a bit before hopping back into the water. The rains followed…
Now, the scene is a bit of a shrine for locals and a trap for foreigners. Not wanting to sacrifice a chicken just to see big catfish, Patrick and I brought what we thought the acceptable offering. Bread.
After a bike ride and hike to the feather covered rocks, we began negotiating with a man about why we did not have a chicken. The two other men nearby grilling several chickens for their mid-morning snack did not look so pleased. I guess they wanted a larger feast.
Negotiations finished, we continued barefoot over rocks and descended to the pool. The guide then made an act of calling the fish that appeared instantly as bread touched the water. They apparently did not mind having bread to eat. The following scene resembled a frantic feeding frenzy by 3-4 foot long catfish as they fought each other to gain the bread. A piece of bread would be placed on a sloping rock and catfish grappled over top of each other to suck the piece with their wide, gaping mouths.

Transport

2007-03-12T15:33:00.000-07:00

When traveling between cities in Guinea, I typically found myself crammed into a minivan or bush taxi. These experiences allow one to think of centimeters of personal space as a luxury and appreciated the bonding time of almost sitting on a stranger’s lap or holding onto someone else’s small child as curves are quickly taken. Recently, my long distance travels have been on large Greyhound-like buses. These travel mostly paved roads (a rarity in Guinea) at high speeds carrying a number of passengers appropriate for the number of seats. Moving in style!
Small distance travel has recently been done in bachets, or small trucks with a covered, open-air bed. Human passengers seem to be an afterthought as sacks of corn or rice, animals or whatever else are piled into and on top of the vehicle. One of my latest rides included 12 people, one large cow, a goat, 20+ chickens, two motobikes, three bicycles, sacks of something and lots of bags. One regret is that I did not see how they managed to get the cow into the bed of the truck, but check out this vehicle in my photos.

2007-03-04T06:09:00.000-08:00

I managed to get photos of Dogon country and Djenne posted (there's a lot):

http://www.flickr.com/photos/guineaswerve/

In Ouagadougou

2007-03-03T11:11:00.000-08:00

On March 1, we left Mali for Burkina Faso. The ride from the Malian border town of Koro to the Burkinabe town of Ouagiyah was long and dusty. The area is flat with little growth and as the wind howls, dust fills the air. Arriving in Ouagiyah, I was almost the dirtiest that I have ever been (mud-sliding at SES not included). From here, we used Burkina's great bus system to get to the capitol, Ouagadougou. At the moment, the big Burkinabe film festival that happens every two years is taking place. Last night, I saw Blood Diamonds which is quite intense as it discusses diamond tracking and events that took place in Sierra Leone. There are some clips dedicated to Forecariah, Guinea where I did my training for Peace Corps. Unfortunately, the filming was not done in Guinea.

From here, we plan to continue to the southwest corner of Burkina Faso for a few days.

Dogon Country, Mali (Feb 24 - March 1)

2007-03-03T11:09:00.000-08:00

Before 7:00 in the morning, Patrick and I had packed our bags and left the campement for the market area of Douentza. It was here that we were told transport could be found for Bamba, the northern entry point into Dogon country. The ride from Bamako, Mali to Douentza had been classy compared to Guinea standards and part of me was excited to be piling into the back of a small cab pick-up with eleven other people. Wooden benches to sit on were bolted along the sides of the bed but the bed space was filled with many 25 kg bags of salt. We all squished in and folded our legs on top of the salt bags.
A passenger of note in the back with us was an old, smiley warrior. It was obvious that he was a warrior because of the sword present at his side and the piercing look he gave when staring at me. Fifteen minutes into the slippery sand and bumpy road we hit a bump that sent many of us flying. Patrick banged his head against the top of the roof which set the warrior laughing for a solid five minutes. Then, about halfway through the ride the truck stopped in the middle of absolutely nowhere and the warrior descended to walk alone through the barren, sandy environment.
As we continued to Bamba, the scenery changed to include massive, golden sand dunes forming the sides of what appeared to be an ancient river bed. Soon we reached Bamba, the entry point for Dogon Country.
It was market day in Bamba so there was lots of activity. Vendors, in small wooden stalls or out in the open, sold items ranging from produce to Goodwill clothing to traditional cloth and other items. We were pleasantly surprised to find plenty of mangoes for sale. In general, it is still a bit early for the massive harvests so it was a special treat to get a few.
After enjoying the market, we began our hike. Dogon Country is a strip of land along a massive escarpment running through southern Mali. Dogon villages are located on the sloping, rocky areas underneath the vertical walls of cliffs and sometimes extend into the plains at the base. At some points, Dogon villages are also located above the escarpment on the plateau. More interesting for me was the Tellem villages located high in the cliff walls. (I do have some good photos but unfortunately sent my camera cord back to the States so I can’t retrieve the photos at the moment.)
Back to the first night – we hiked until the sun had passed behind the cliffs. A young boy who had been tagging along for some time asked if we had a place to stay for the night. We did not, and he offered his father’s campement. We negotiated a price and slept on an open-aired rooftop. That night, the temperature must have dropped a bit below 70F and I froze, even though I was wearing pants, a sweater, a jacket, a toboggan, and was wrapped in a sheet and towel. My body has acclimated to the heat and anything under 85 feels cool!
The next morning, we toured the small Dogon village before continuing on. In most villages, there is a meeting hut that is centrally located and built low to the ground. Its lowness is by design so that if in the course of a disagreement one person angrily gets up, he will bump his head on the ceiling, reminding him to stay calm. Another part of the village includes a small open area used for ceremonial dancing. Throughout the remainder are low built houses and granaries with tops that greatly resemble witch’s hats.
This day’s hike was enjoyable as we decided to venture off trail and set across a vast, open expanse of sand sparsely covered with low shrubs towards a massive rock grouping in the plains. Our map indicated that three villages – the Yougas – should be located there. At the far side of the plain, there was no sign of a village but when asked a man guided us around a bend to where the Dogon village nestled against the cliffs could be seen. A Tellem village was located in the cliffs above the Dogon. The connection between the Tellem and Dogon is not completely known, but the Tellem arrived before the Dogon and eventually continued south towards Burkina Faso. When asked how people would reach their homes located in the middle of a massive cliff face, I received many answers beginning with the magical ability of people to make their hands stick to rock to climb up.
As was the case every day we trekked, a man met us on the way up and guided us to his campement for lunch and a rest during the heat of the day. That afternoon, we hiked one of the best trails I have ever been on. We began by climbing up to the plateau-like area on top of the cliffs. From here, incredible views of the endless stretching plain were provided before we dropped down through a crack in the rocks where a stairway had been constructed using stones. We continued through the cracks, passing water retention ponds to hold water during the rainy season. The exit from this “hidden” passageway was in the middle of a Tellem village. By now, the sun was low in the sky and was bathing the red rocks in a golden glow.
The next four days were somewhat similar and interesting. We woke early to hike before the heat was unbearable and rested during midday. At night, we slept on the roof tops of houses and were able to enjoy the stars without any light pollution. My biggest surprise was the variation in scenery from one day to another. From open plains to wooded areas to sand dunes, we crossed a variety of terrain. Each day, the hike would lead up to the top of the cliffs through a hidden and amazing path, cross the barren and windy plateau and then descend through another rock stairway.
Several nights, we were fortunate to arrive in village with a market, since many villages have markets only once every five days. These nights, the villages were animated as people conversed, sold wares and ate food. It was as if people waited on a five day cycle to have a big party.
At the end of the trek, we turned exited via the towns of Bankass and Koro before leaving for Burkina Faso. The trip to Koro was an adventure that included a motorcycle ride with one wipe out (the bike slipped out under me and my driver due to his lack of control on the soft sand), two flat tires and a long ride in the back of a dumptruck.

Moving Onwards (February 21, 2007)

2007-03-01T17:40:00.000-08:00

As of today, I am officially no longer a Peace Corps volunteer. I am now embarking on a West African tour with my fellow volunteer, Patrick. We plan to start with visiting some of the sights in Mali before heading to Burkina Faso, Ghana, and other countries to be later determined.

I do not know what my computer access will be over the next few months but I will try to post stories of adventures and happenings as much as possible. For those who enjoy plotting locations on maps, I will also try to post (at the top of the page) an ongoing list of locations that we visit.

First major stop: Dogon Country, Mali

Program Suspension

2007-02-13T21:58:00.000-08:00

It is with much regret that I have to write about the suspension of the Peace Corps Guinea program. Due to the political unrest and violence that has begun in Guinea, the program has been suspended for a minimum of three months. Currently, Conakry is under martial law with a curfew allowing people into the city for only four hours a day. (The BBC/Africa website is following the events in Guinea)

The last month and a half has been a confusing time of speculation, worry and hope. Through this period, I have not posted much as my thoughts have primarily been focused on hope that the people of my village and throughout Guinea exit this struggle safely and with optimism for the future.

The majority of PC Guinea volunteers are still near Bamako, Guinea. Over the next week or so we will process out of PC Guinea. I plan to begin a Western Africa tour so I will soon begin posting travel stories and photos. Please check in every once in a while as I do not know how often I will have internet access during my travels. Thanks again for all of your support during my short but amazing Peace Corps experience.

In Mali

2007-02-01T15:26:00.000-08:00

For the past several days, I have been with almost all of the Peace Corps Guinea volunteers in Mali. Due to political unrest in Guinea, we left for a PC training facility near Bamako, Mali. On one hand, I am excited for Guinea because the people are actually bringing about political change in a mostly nonviolent manner. On the other hand, I am not in Guinea where I have made my home. At the moment, I do not have much information as to when we will go back but I should know more within the next few weeks. So, for the moment I am enjoying Bamako which is a very different city than Conakry.

Happy Holidays!

2006-12-29T03:19:00.000-08:00

I can hardly believe that I have been in Guinée for almost six months. I hope that everyone out there is enjoying the holidays with the special people in your lives. I am using the break from school to explore the country. The plan was to meet Geoffrey and Christine (a married volunteer couple living several hours south of me) at the taxi station of Coyah at 8:00 on Friday, December 22. I woke up early to walk the 7km to Coyah because I know that I have a day of sitting in cars ahead. The walk is beautiful as I begin before the sun has risen and am able to watch the sky lighten and listen to the birds sing in the trees. I take a different route than usual and am treated to a descent through banana plantations and over a river before entering Coyah. Geoffrey and Christine are not there so I begin waiting.

8:30 passes. 9:00…9:30…10:00. Who knows what can happen to transport in this country? 10:30…11:00…Maybe they took the back road to Kindia, which is the city where we would change taxis. At 12:00, I finally decide to go on. Thirty minutes into the cramped taxi ride, we come to a grinding halt in a long line of traffic. Once we get moving again, I am treated to the view of a large 18-wheeler that had rolled on a switchback. It had tipped to block one of the two small lanes of the road. The truck had been carrying lots of electronics that were now piled alongside the road. Fifteen minutes or so later, we stop again because of a flat tire. Fortunately the driver is carrying a full spare, but the three 50 kg bags of rice and the other luggage need to be unloaded to access it. With the wheel changed we are on our way again. A short while later finds us at 2:00 pm – prayer time. We stop at the next mosque so several passengers can pray. Finally after almost three hours, the typical one hour trip to Kindia is finished. I walk into the taxi station confident that Geoffrey and Christine would be there. No luck.
Fortunately, they do arrive with Geoffrey’s brother, Forrest, within the next 20 minutes. We take four of the six taxi seats and are on our way to Pita, where we will spend the night. The next morning, we return to the taxi station to get a ride to Doucki, our hiking destination. Doucki is a small town that does not even show up on the Guinéen map that I have. In the town, a man named Hassan has an ecotourism-type business that he set up with the help of a Peace Corps volunteer many years ago. Hassan is an amazing person. He speaks French, English, Spanish and many local languages while being an energetic person who loves to hike. He has explored the region and created many trails to show off the spectacular scenery of his back yard.

We begin that afternoon with the Indiana Jones hike that gives the feel of slot canyons. The next day is Wet ‘n Wild, with lots of water. I am convinced to jump into a small pool and then float down and follow the stream of water through an underwater hole in the rock. I usually try to avoid being pushed under rocks in the water but I exited with only a few scrapes. The next day was Chutes and Ladders, which was a long hike down into the valley from the ridge top where the village lies. For most of the day we hiked along the base of a cliff looking up and knowing that we would eventually have to climb back up. We eventually begin the ascent through a small crack in the cliff. The trail is over 100 years old and ladders, consisting of sticks lashed together with vine, have been constructed to climb vertical sections. This portion of the hike is fun as we quickly climb up along a cascading creek. Once on the top, we began the hike back.

On the way back, we are treated to a large group of baboons climbing rocks on the opposite side of a valley. The troupe consisted of 150 or more baboons that swarmed the rocks. I guess the baboon sighting was my Christmas present as it was the 25th.

The next day we decide to leave, but I have different plans than the others. We hike out to the road in the hope of catching transport. Geoffrey, Christine and Forrest are heading back to Pita and quickly get a taxi. I want to return by an alternate route but unfortunately there are no cars heading that direction. I return to Hassan’s to ride out with three guys who had arrived the day before and will leave in the morning. The next day, I leave with them at 8:30 in the morning for the beautiful return trip that gets me to Wonkifong twelve hours later. I am now in Conakry for a few days with a hopeful trip to the islands off of the coast to celebrate New Years.

Thanks again to everyone who has emailed, written, sent packages, etc over the first six months. Your support is invaluable and I love you all that much more for it. Enjoy the holidays and eat some good food for me.

AIDS Project – December 2006

2006-12-29T03:15:00.000-08:00

December 1 is World AIDS day and the month of December in Guinée is devoted to education and other activities to promote awareness of this disease that is killing millions of people worldwide, but especially in Africa. It has been projected that between 2000 and 2006, 55 million Africans will die from AIDS.

At the end of October, I teamed up with an elementary school teacher to work on a project that would be presented to the community during December. We began with 12 students (8 from the middle school and 4 from the elementary school) evenly split between boys and girls. The plan was to meet every afternoon Monday – Friday until December 16, the Saturday we had chosen for our big day. To start, I taught the students about the disease, their bodies and prevention. The students had heard of AIDS, but I was somewhat surprised as to how little real information that they knew. After the “learning” portion was over we began planning a theatrical presentation for a community sensibilization (the buzz word for an educational event). I was amazed at the students’ ability to switch between French and Sousou. We began discussing the skit in French so that I could provide input and then the students switched to Sousou. It was important to do the presentation in the local language so more people would understand.

On December 1, the group went to school wearing red ribbons and carrying others to distribute to their friends. The next 15 days were busy as we readied for the 16th. The skit was rehearsed and we anticipated it lasting almost an hour. Posters to advertise the event were made as well as banners for the entrances to the village. The community now knew that something was going to happen! The program included an afternoon soccer game, the theatrical sensibilization and a dance.

Finally, December 16th arrived. A public announcement system was rented with an announcer who began publicizing the activities of the day. To branch across communities, the soccer game was held in an adjacent community 2 km away. A large meal was prepared by my neighbor and at 3:00, we began walking to the game. The game was started a little late but treated the spectators to a short, exciting match. After the game, we walked back to Wonkifong, showered and got ready for the evening event. Chairs were brought into the cultural center, a single light bulb screwed into a source on one wall and a microphone was provided. Low tech at best…

In true Guineén fashion, the event got started an hour or so late but the skit was great. I was a little concerned because this was the first time for the students to perform in front of an audience, but the students put on a rousing performance. Each one became animated and enjoyed their role. The audience laughed and I hope left with a heightened knowledge of HIV/AIDS. The event was well-attended with a few Peace Corps friends who had come for support estimating 700 in the crowd. After the skit, a dance evening began for the students.

Bundles of Wood

2006-12-29T03:14:00.002-08:00

At times, the stacks measure eight feet wide and 3-4 feet high. Bundles of wood containing 8-10 or more three feet sections of branch or tree are laid in front of the Principle’s are. The bigger the stack, the more trouble that I know a group of students is in.

“Two fagots by tomorrow” has been a recent statement to students not acting as the school administration would like. This means that the student has to either purchase the wood or grabs a machete and head out into the bush to cut down a tree. The wood is then carried on their head to school. Students usually have a few days to bring in the wood but if they refuse they are not allowed in school.

“Carrying a bundle of wood for 7 km will tire them out so that they will behave today,” smiles a teacher.

And the wood, what do you think happens with it?

Fire Season

2006-12-29T03:14:00.001-08:00

“Between the month of November and the beginning of January, any Guinean can set a fire to anything they want,” my friend tells me after pointing to a freshly burned field.
“Anywhere?” I ask in a bit of disbelief, “Anyone?”
“Oui”

What was tall, green grass covering many surfaces has turned brown under the constant sun and in numerous locations is being set afire on a daily basis. Reasons for the burns range from preventing serious fires in the middle of the dry season to flushing out snakes. Whatever the justification, the air is often filled with ash and a smoky smell.

Rice

2006-12-29T03:12:00.000-08:00

Mid-bite, my teeth strike a hard object sending an instant message of pain racing towards my brain. Instead of rice, my teeth chomped down on a rock. I must have missed that one as I sorted through the rice grains before preparing dinner. Even the act of eating meals needs to be pursued at a cautious rate.

It is currently the end of the rice harvest. The rains stopped during October and the fields are now beginning to dry up as the sun beats down without added precipitation. The harvests have taken some of my students away from school throughout November and December. Flat surfaces in my village are now covered with rice grains drying in the sun. Oover the past several weeks I have seen rice drying around flag poles, on the ground, on patios, even on the sides of roads – essentially anywhere that receives a lot of direct sunlight. Rocks are everywhere so while it feels like a complete surprise to strike a rock when eating, the probability of a rock or two adding itself to a sack of dried rice is high.

Ant Armies (3-décembre 2006)

2006-12-07T12:55:00.000-08:00

The view out of my kitchen window reflects the battle of the previous night. The sides of my neighbor’s (Tanti) house are blackened and the earth surrounding the house out to 15 feet is scorched black. Fortunately, there is no sign of the vanquished, the thousands and thousands of ants who laid siege to the house.

By chance, I was at the edge of my porch last night when I saw Tanti come out on her porch, notice something and with a shriek disappear quickly back into her house. What could it be? Instants later she returned on the veranda with the two girls who also live there. They all look and point towards the ground and then run down the stairs. As they reach the bottom of the stairs, each person jumps and runs quickly away from the house.

I yell, “What is happening?”

“They can kill a person. It’s not good,” Tanti replies.

Confused, I leave my porch and go over to where she stands. At the same time, the two girls run past me towards the opposite side of my house. They return in several moments with dried straw. The neighbor on my other side has recently moved out and there are piles of old, dried straw from what used to be their outside cooking hut.

“Look, look,” Tanti urges me as she flashes her flashlight beam on the ground. It takes my eyes a couple of seconds to focus on the moving earth. Nothing is fixed. Suddenly, a sharp pain on my foot helps me realize what is on the ground. Ants. Lots and lots of ants. There are so many ants that the dirt and rocks are almost covered. Apparently, at the end of the rainy season, hordes of ants leave their tunnels underneath the ground to forage around the neighborhood. They can swoop through a house and clean it out.

One of the girls is holding a bundle of the straw and Tanti lights it. She then attempts to light any debris on the ground. I join in and grab a bundle, light it and set the ground, ants, anything that burns on fire. We are soon joined by Bachir, a friend of the family who was just happening by.

Several minutes later finds us all standing on the porch, about 10 feet above the ground.

“They’re coming up! Don’t let them in the house,” shrieks Tanti.

The image of defenders of a medieval castle comes to my mind. As I look on the ground and the base of the walls to the house, the ground is blackened by the teeming ants starting to climb up the walls. The ants have laid siege to us. Running down the stairs to grab a bundle of straw, I am brushed by the heat of Bachir’s burning bundle as he races up the stairs. He reaches over the wall and uses the flame to repel ants coming up. One of the girls drops salt over the edge into the masses of ants while the other pours kerosene onto the ground to be followed by a flaming mass of straw. We are able to stop the upward progression of ants into the house and return to the ground to get the ants away from the building. Running around with bundles of flaming straw, each person is busy setting small fires while also trying to keep their feet moving constantly. These ants are not friendly. I pause for a second and my feet are instantly covered with biting ants. I drop my flaming bundle, retreat to safe ground and beat the ants off of my feet and legs. Some have crawled up my legs and are biting my back. I get the ants off and look at the scene around me.

The full moon has illuminated the area and the light is amplified by multiple fires burning red around the house. After almost an hour of battle, the ants finally disappear back into the earth. Who knows when they will reappear?

Post script: A few days later, I was told that the ants did reappear at another house and killed 5 chickens and were working on a few sheep that were saved. Mean little things...

New Photographs Posted

2006-11-23T22:32:00.000-08:00

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

Happy Thanksgiving (November 23, 2006)

2006-11-23T21:32:00.000-08:00

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)

2006-11-23T21:31:00.000-08:00

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)

2006-11-23T21:30:00.000-08:00

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)

2006-11-23T21:29:00.000-08:00

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)

2006-11-23T21:28:00.000-08:00

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)

2006-11-23T21:25:00.000-08:00

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)

2006-11-23T21:24:00.000-08:00

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)

2006-11-23T21:23:00.001-08:00

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)

2006-11-23T21:23:00.000-08:00

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)

2006-11-23T21:21:00.000-08:00

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%.

Almost a month at Site (October 20, 2006)

2006-10-19T22:47:00.000-07:00

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)

2006-10-19T22:38:00.000-07:00

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)

2006-10-19T22:36:00.000-07:00

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)

2006-10-19T22:34:00.000-07:00

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)

2006-10-19T22:33:00.000-07:00

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)

2006-10-19T22:32:00.000-07:00

“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.

Affectation (Sept 22, 2006)

2006-09-25T23:45:00.000-07:00

Affectation is the shiny word to mean that traning is over, go to a ceremony at the US Embassy and then head out to site. The ceremony took place on Friday. Ushered into the back door, we all made our way into the highly guarded compound. There were speeches made (I even made the French one), we all swore to protect the US and are now volunteers.

I leave for my site Tuesday to start village life. If all goes well, school will start next week but one never knows.

Chicken Suit (Sept 19, 2006)

2006-09-25T23:40:00.000-07:00

The Farewell Ceremony is only days away. Do I go to the tailor and have him make local clothes for me to wear at the event or do I just hope that my family gets clothes for me? I opted for the “it’s better to be safe than sorry” scenario and got clothes made.

By Monday afternoon this was looking like a good thing. The ceremony was the next day. I was essentially living in a bachelor’s pad. My mother had been away for a week now because my sick brother was in Conakry and the other females of the house have seemed to disappear. It was amazing that I was even eating every day – how could a bunch of guys remember that tradition calls for the making of clothes for the stagiere?

7:15 Monday night. “I’m going over to Patrick’s house for an end-of-stage celebration that his family is having,” I say to Modaf, who is standing on the edge of the porch.

He has a somewhat worried look on his face and has been glancing towards the entrance to the concession for some time. “Umm, do you think you could hang out for a little longer? Seydouba left a few minutes ago to get some fabric for your outfit. You know the ceremony is tomorrow, right?”

A few minutes later, Seydouba comes running around the corner with three pagnes in his hands. A pagne is a measure of fabric that is 2 meters by 1 meter. It takes three pagnes to make a “complet,” which is a top and bottom outfit. The traditional Guinean clothing has the same pattern for both sets. I can find almost any pattern imaginable in the market from amazing colors, to swirls, leaves, tea pots, lamps, Africa, abstracts…What would my pattern look like?

Chickens. Mom and her little chicks. Rooster heads. Even eggs. Oh yeah, I am going to be styling tomorrow.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Modaf tells me. “Seydouba, where is the closest tailor? Go get him and bring him back to measure Youssouf” (my Susu name).

I’m almost cracking up inside. By now, it is a little after 7:30 at night and Seydouba is taking off in search of a tailor with chicken pagnes under his arm. Would he even be able to find a tailor at this time?

Minutes later a tape measure was flying around my arms, waist, chest and legs as the tailor hurriedly took my measurements. After a quick haggling over cost he left with a promise that I would have the outfit by tomorrow morning.

The next morning I woke to find chicken pants, shirt and as an added bonus a hat. I was ready for the Farewell Ceremony.

Remember Morlaye

2006-09-25T14:25:00.001-07:00

Remember Morlaye, the one who welcomed me into his family as a brother,

Tall, lanky, too skinny from illness,

Eyes, engaging, playful, yellowish and cloudy from illness,

Wool hat, even on hot, humid days,

Hair under the hat, dark with a white spot in the front.

Remember Morlaye, the 38-year old nicknamed Bebe,

He was the youngest son,

Though not the youngest of six.

Radio on, the news was his constant companion,

Morlaye would talk with me about any and all: taboos, politics, religion, culture,

His French was well-spoken, voice clear

Thank-you for helping me learn the Guinean twist on French,

Thanks again for laughing and encouraging my feeble attempts at Susu

Remember Morlaye, the one who would walk with me to uncover the paths of Forecariah,

The bridge on a clear night, reflections of the Milky Way and its partners in the river,

The family rice fields on a plantation 5k from town,

Night walks as I gained night vision on cloudy, electric-free evenings dodging to avoid puddles,

Off to the club, an introduction to Guinean nightlife.

Remember Morlaye, the one who laughed at me the morning I was ready to leave with my shirt inside out,

Only to laugh more when we realized

His shirt was also inside out.

Remember Morlaye, father of two,

Marian, his wonderful 16-year old daughter, the pride of his life,

She passed the national exam only days before.

Remember Morlaye,

My first Guinean friend,

My teacher,

My brother.

One of the things that I am going to have to steel myself to is the fact that death is so much more present in Africa. At the end of my host family stay, my brother Morlaye passed away. It was a definite shock for me as he was truly the one who helped me begin my integration into the Guinean lifestyle. I will miss you and I wish you could give me the surprise visit to Wonkifong that you wanted to take once your health recovered.

Thank you Letter Writers! (September 13, 2006)

2006-09-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

Over the past few months, I have received several letters from those of you on the other side of the pond. I thank you as much as you can imagine. I read your letters multiple times. It is great to hear about life back in the States and what people are doing. Thanks!

Thank you Chacos! (September 12, 2006)

2006-09-13T14:05:00.000-07:00

Imagine my despair when I looked down at my Chacos to find that the sole was delaminating. My daily footwear was falling apart. After several failed attempts to glue the sole back on with bike tube repair glue, I took the sandal down to a shoe repair person in the market. He stitched the entire shoe back together by poking holes around the edge and weaving the sole back onto the foot bed. I emailed Chaco the story and received an apology and word that they would send me a new pair. I received them (in Guinea) today. You have to love a company that stands by their product (they told me that the factory had been experimenting with new glue for worker safety reasons and that a few substandard sandals had been released).

September 9, 2006

2006-09-13T14:04:00.000-07:00

And the answer to the question of the day: I am even one more year older today. The past few years seem to fly by with increasing speed and provide me with amazing friendships and adventures. I can only hope that this next year in Africa will be as wonderful as I think it will be. If today’s celebration is any indication, it will be a great year.
7:00 – get the day going with an early morning run. The run included three waist-to-chest deep river crossings, hill climbs, scenic villages and rocky descents.
9:00 – end of practice school ceremony. The kids seemed to love it. Speeches were given, the high school students sang songs to show off their English skills and awards recognized the top students.
Lunch and purchases for the evening’s celebration (Ecole Pratique is over after all) took a bit of time but by 3:00, a group of us were heading to the river. Patrick and I had convinced six others that walking up to the place where we tried to float our bikes the previous day and swimming back to town would be a great idea. The walk out to the jumping in point took an hour. A 10th grade student of mine followed us through the river crossings and the rice fields but when we jumped into the river he looked at us as if we were completely crazy.
The float was beautiful. Lush, green vegetation densely packed the river’s edge. The current was quite strong and we were transported downstream at a quick pace, occasionally kicking to stay afloat. After 30 minutes, the initial enthusiasm of the adventure had faded and people started to question how much farther we had to go.
“The guided portion of this trip ended when we jumped into the river,” was all Patrick and I could say. We really had no idea how long we would be in the river. The river always seemed to bend in the wrong direction. Finally, after an hour and a half of floating the diagonal leaning palm tree that marks our normal swimming spot was spotted. A bit waterlogged, we slosh onto the bank and walk home.
That night, the current volunteers cooked everyone a Mexican fiesta and we celebrated (we even had electricity!).

Ecole Pratique (September 8, 2006)

2006-09-13T14:03:00.000-07:00

Today was the last day of Practice School. Over the three weeks, I taught two different sessions. The first was a one week period where each volunteer had two classes a day for one hour. The second period covered the remaining two weeks and classes each were two hours long. During this period, only one class was taught a day so I alternated the class I taught every day. A few observations:
· Teaching in French is a good challenge (especially when some of the kids don’t speak French). I have learned a lot of math specific vocabulary but still find myself talking in huge circles to explain things.
· Lesson planning in French takes much more time.
· Lesson planning by hand is even more time consuming.
· Classrooms without electricity. If it is dark outside due to a storm almost no one can see their paper.
· Kids are kids. Some want to be there and learn, others find school a relaxing alternative to working in the fields.
· Students have been trained to all rise when the teacher walks into the room. This annoys me to no end. Respect or a power stamp? I ended up getting to class before the students to avoid this.
· Open windows along the side of the class are good places for spectators to hang out (or for other students to check on their friends).
· Students are not used to giving their opinion or critically thinking about why they are learning a topic. The teacher is seen as the sage on the stage.
· A photocopier would be nice on test days.

My class sizes hovered around 30, with several absences a day. Life could be a little different at site if that number doubles or triples. I am looking forward to the start of the school year. Tomorrow, there is a ceremony where the top students from every class will be recognized.

Crossing the Karokoro (September 4, 2006)

2006-09-13T14:02:00.000-07:00

Thunder clouds had been building in the distance throughout the afternoon and rumbles of thunder periodically rolled in. Would the storm taunt and tease like yesterday or open up on our heads?
“Should we still go for a ride?”
“Yeah, it’s been awhile since we’ve had a good adventure.”
Patrick and I met Rose for a bike ride and our number swelled by two more before we made it out of town. By this time it looked as if we received a temperature drop without massive amounts of rainfall.
We followed the paved road until it ended at the high school and then descended down a steep hill towards the Karokoro. It was a little after 5:00 pm and rush hour traffic was heading up the hill towards town. This traffic consisted primarily of men walking home from a days work at the local diamond mines.
“Do you want to buy some diamonds?” was a popular question as we bombed down the hill trying to avoid running into people. At the base of the hill is the Karokoro, which is a small creek that widens and deepens at the intersection with this road. People come to bathe and wash clothes. We cross and head up the opposite hill and through a small village. At the first fork in the road, we branch left and then left again at a small path heading up a hill. The crest of the hill offers one of the best views in the area. Towering cliffs loom towards the east and south. The cliffs rise in perpendicular walls, bleached a white/tan by the sun and in stark contrast with the lush green everywhere else. Palm and coconut trees dot the surrounding area.
“Rumor has it that we can make a loop by continuing down this path.”
“Should we try?”
Off we go down the incline and the trail immediately became narrower and more rugged. Rain fall had carved out deep gashes in the surface and encroaching brush attempted to grab our feet. The base of descents ended in puddles containing mud that grasped hold of our tires as water reached up to our knees.
Finally, we came to a fork where some Guineans were crossing over a large stream by walking across downed trees. Do we lug our bikes across or try the other fork? We opted to stay dry. The trail quickly plateaued out and opened up to a plain-like area sprinkled with the occasional palm or coconut and covered in tall grass. We soon passed several small, thatch-roofed huts surrounded by a woven fence and then descended a hill that abruptly ended at the foot of a large rice field, which was completely submerged in water.
Rose, Patrick and I attempted to ride our bikes across and as the water reached the level of our seats we tumbled one by one into the water and began wading. Patrick and I are almost the same height and water quickly reached our chests. Rose, however, is a wee bit smaller and soon found the water creeping up towards her neck. Fortunately, we had reached the deepest part and began climbing out of the field to find the large river of the area flowed by the opposite side. If I had a boat, I’d head out in the river…
Patrick and I hopped in and swam out into the river for a downstream (towards Forecariah) look. Dense shrubs lined the banks.
“Our swimming hole can’t be more than a couple of river bends downstream. Do you think we could swim our bikes?”
Why is it than when on adventures crazy ideas quickly gain momentum? Patrick scrambled back up the bank and tossed me his bike. We eventually realized what Rose (likely the brightest of this bunch) knew immediately – there was no way we were swimming the river with the bikes and we would have to backtrack through the rice field.
We retraced our path until we reached the fork where the Guineans had been crossing and waded our bikes across. On the opposite side was a path that eventually led us back to town. With smiles on our faces and mud everywhere else, we were united in the decision to ride instead of lesson plan.

Le Bac (September 3, 2006)

2006-09-13T14:01:00.000-07:00

Shrieks and howls abruptly drew my attention away from whether or not my laundry was dry. Coming around the corner was one of my host brothers supporting my host mom. She was bent over and crying. My eyes quickly scanned for blood or other signs of injury. Nothing. My brother sat her down on the patio and she was repeating his name over and over, mingled with Susu that I could not understand. What has happened? Finally he simply states, “The results are in and I passed the Bac.” A faint smile appears on his lips.
I beam, “Congratulations!”
The Guinean educational system has continued the French tradition of high stakes testing. Tests are taken at the end of 10th grade, 12th grade and Terminale (after 12th, but before university). If you don’t pass you are done though can try to take the test again the following year. It’s interesting to place the No Child Left Behind testing craze beside the system. It quickly becomes apparent that high stakes testing leaves kids behind. Lots of kids.
In Guinea, students are not given the same identity protection as in the States. Traditionally, the names of passing students throughout the country are read over the national radio. This started last night around 10:00 pm and lasted 3+ hours. If you missed your name, lists posted in regional areas provide the names of passing people. Cell phone technology is rapidly entering Guinea and results were also provided via text messages from the testing center. My brother entered his test number into a text message and within several messages received the reply that he had passed. Now, he has to wait for the announcement letting students know if they are accepted to university as there is an extremely limited amount of space.

Question of the Day

2006-09-02T07:32:00.000-07:00

What's special about September 9?

(aka shameless fishing...)

Rain, Umbrellas and Bucket Baths (8/30/06)

2006-09-02T04:22:00.000-07:00

During the past seven years, I did my best to become a good Oregonian by walking happily in drizzling weather. Rain that continuously fell at a sow and constant pace hardly warranted a jacket and an umbrella was out of the question. How could someone try to be a “native” while owning an umbrella? With that mentality, I scoffed at the mention of an umbrella on the Peace Corps Guinea packing list.
The rain is a bit different here. Days of slow, cool drizzle are welcomed but are few and far between. Instead pounding, driving rain announces itself through dark, towering rain clouds and an arrival that sounds as if a freight train was barreling through town. This is bone-soaking rain.
After being caught once in a driving rain storm and arriving home to the laughter of my host family, I invested in an umbrella. The next few rain storms were met with secure confidence. I would be dry. Others of the non-umbrella owning persuasion were converted one by one. Unfortunately, the quality of umbrellas available in Guinea are not quite up to par and today I faced a walk home in heavy rain without the confidence that I had only a week ago. Of the ten spokes forming the frame of the umbrella, three from one side were broken. Yesterday, I spent time with my Leatherman bending and breaking the fragmented spokes so they would not poke additional holes in the fabric. On the walk home, I held the handle of the umbrella with one hand while pushing out on the remnants of a spoke with the other.
The hard falling, driving rain knows its course once it hits land. Walkways turn to gushing torrents, small paths to turbulent tributaries and surrounding areas to slippery mud. With “stream crossings” reaching mid-calf, I continued balancing the umbrella around me as a protective shield though knowing that one ill-fated slip would drench me from head-to-toe.
Soon after, I was enjoying the wound of the rain falling as I ate my dinner on the covered porch. At the same time, I was “drawing” up my bath. In Guinea, this involves setting a bucket under the overhang of a roof and waiting for it to fill with rain water. My definition of running water has changed to become a more active one. I shower with a large bucket full of water on the floor and a small “gobelet” in my hand. By candlelight, I fill the gobelet and then pour the water over myself. Remember that the water has been collected from rain. This means that it is cold water. Cold, cold water. Some days this is refreshing but at six in the morning I often carry on an extended monologue to convince myself that pouring the first gobelet over my head is a good idea. And the second.
Pounding, pounding rain. Even as I write this, I am treated to the sound of rain striking and then falling off of the room. I have been thoroughly introduced to the rainy season in Guinea.

The Graceful Snake (August 26, 2006)

2006-09-02T04:21:00.000-07:00

Today, a group of us went to the river for a little free time. It was the first “free” day that we have had in a month so it was nice to relax a bit by the river and swim around. After swimming, we were standing on the bank talking when a bright green snake was spotted swimming through the river. The sky was overcast, causing the water to appear dark which heightened the contrast of the snake. Its color was almost fluorescent. The snake was not large, 12-15 inches and it swam with an S-shaped neck to that its head would be out of the water. Transfixed, we watched as it swam directly towards a dugout canoe. What would it do when it reached the canoe? Without pausing or changing speed it climbed the side of the canoe, traversed the interior of the boat, and then climbed the opposite side to continue down the river. It was truly a moment of grace and beauty that I will never be able to adequately describe and only hope that my memory will be able to hold onto the image of this small, bright green snake flowing through the river.

Stitches Out (August 24, 2006)

2006-09-02T04:17:00.000-07:00

Since I’m not really a person with a deep interest in medicine, I have rarely given thought to medical practices several decades/a century ago. However, as I clenched my hands today as one, two and finally three stitches were pulled out of my lip/mouth I felt empathy towards those pioneers who unwillingly sacrificed body and mind in the name of medicine.
Maybe it was fitting that the class session prior to the removal of the stitches was First Aid. Since this is the Peace Corps, trips, slips and falls were skipped over for more interesting topics such as emergency tracheametries. All I wanted was for the strings to come out.
After the session, the doctor was ready to take out the stitches. Where? How about in the high school classroom we were sitting in? With what? Well, scissors to cut the stitches were apparently forgotten so a razor blade was brought out. A small group gathered to watch the show and provide moral support while the doctor pulled on the obligatory pair of latex gloves (it is the year 2006 after all).
With tweezers, the end of the string was pulled out a bit and then sawed off with the razor blade. My lip was slowly lifted off my teeth, stretched and then relaxed as the string was cut. The first stitch, located high above my lip, came out without much trouble. The next caused a bit of pain and the third was a bundle of joy. Blood, healed lip skin, etc. had congealed around the stitch. Tug, saw, tug, saw, tug… Bit by bit the stitch was worked free.
“Well, scarring should be minimal. Just clean it all of the time and put antibiotic ointment on it since infection is everywhere,” were the parting words as I left the classroom.
During my walk home, deep seated nausea producing waves of pain emanated from my lip. The look on the faces of passerby’s would have been amusing but I was feeling the anguished look.
Several weeks later: I managed to stay infection free and it looks like there will be little if no scarring!

I put a couple of photographs of the lip on the photo page. Check them out by clicking the link to the right.

Ultimate Frisbee and a Trip to the Conakry Emergency Room (aka Mom, I’m OK)

2006-08-19T00:12:00.000-07:00

A line is drawn across the field approximately 10 feet behind the goal line for ultimate Frisbee matches. The purpose of the line is to keep the Guinean kids at a safe distance from the playing field. It’s a funny sight. They line up shoulder to shoulder along this line and watch us play. Even after an hour of playing they are still there, watching.

Today’s match was no different. The spectator line was drawn and the crowd gathered to watch the funny Americans run in circles and throw a purple disk at one another. Little did they know that their tickets actually gave them front row seats to action, physical contact and lots of blood. The teams were evenly matched and my team was on the defense. The man I was marking began a diagonal run for the end zone. I gave chase and the Frisbee was thrown. All I had to do was make sure that he did not catch it. We jumped and while my hand managed to deflect the Frisbee, his elbow made solid contact with my lip.

When hit in the lip, my first impulse is to put my hand there for a blood check. Today, I was rewarded with dripping, bright red blood in large quantities. My lip felt like a massive chunk had been torn out. Where was the rest of my lip? Was it on his elbow? The spectator line contains faces of disbelief and a little disgust – there was a lot of blood. Using my shirt, I attempted to slow the bleeding as a PC volunteer and another trainee walked with me towards the PC building in Forecariah.

Fortunately, we see a PC truck and flag it down. Using the rear view mirrors, I was finally able to see the “damage” done. The left side of my lip had been split wide open with a gash going from the lip up several centimeters. Closer inspection revealed that a chunk had not been torn out but that the gash was deep. The decision was made. I needed to go to Conakry as soon as possible to get stitches.

I was driven home to quickly shower and pack an overnight bag. My buddy Patrick was given permission to travel with me to Conakry. We were picked up by a PC driver and began the trip as I still tried to stop the blood flow from my lip.

Two hours later, we picked up the PC Medical Officer and headed for a hospital emergency room. Walking into the emergency room, I immediately noticed how quiet it was. This is a capital city on a Friday night and the emergency room was completely empty. The benefit is that I was seen immediately.

Minutes later, I was on the ER table wondering how much I would feel the needle about to prick my lip. Once, twice, three times and a fourth. Fingers were then poked at my lip. Can you feel it? I could not, so the sewing began. Three stitches were put into my lip/face. Here’s to good healing!

The Ride Home (August 12, 2006)

2006-08-18T23:44:00.000-07:00

In the best of situations, travel in Guinea is an adventure. Public transport involves haggling with a taxi driver then cramming oneself into a cab for a ride that could result in personal injury at any time. Taxis themselves vary from “decent” condition to “I can’t believe that thing actually moves!”
Today’s adventure started with four other stagieres as we began the return home to Forecariah from Conakry after the week of site visits. Leaving the Peace Corps compound is like stepping back into another world where the five of us were completely out of place with our full backpacks attached to our backs. (We haven’t figured out how to carry everything on our head yet.) Our travel itinerary seemed simple enough: catch a cab to Bambeto (a taxi station in Conakry) then another cab to Forecariah. Perfect! We would be out of Conakry in a half-hour. The first let was straight-forward. We quickly “displaced,” meaning we bought all the seats in the six person cab though we were only five, and were on our way to Bambeto. The taxi driver let us out and pointed us in the direction of the gare, or taxi station.
Interesting side note: an effect of an oral society is that most things are not printed or published in a written way. This means that almost all prices are both negotiable and likely to increase rapidly at the site of five Americans walking towards a merchant. This means that I am never sure if I am getting a good deal on an item or if I am being completely ripped off (even after I have talked the person down several hundred Guinean Francs). This being said, it’s advantageous to have an idea of a price before beginning “the game.”
The taxi. The goal of a Guinean taxi driver is to get as much money per rides as he can. This is achieved by either cramming more people into a car than the manufacturers though would be humanly possible or by having people pay for the “empty” slots. The driver will not leave until all slots are paid for. For comparison, a small Honda Civic type car will typically hold at least six people plus the driver. Coming into Bambeto, we had an idea of the price. Theoretically, each person should pay 11,000 Guinean Francs.
Immediately upon walking into the gare, we were accosted by people: “Where are you going?” “Will you displace the taxi?” “There are five of you. Pay for the 6th seat and we can leave now.” We were the center of attention and the going rate was 25,000 Guinean Francs per person. After discussions with several people, it appeared that this price was not going to change (known as wonderful coordination by the people trying to rip off Americans). In desperation, I asked someone what a single person would do to find a ride to Forecariah since not everyone can displace a taxi. The man replied that we had to go to the taxi gare in Medina, which was the market we visited the previous day. In disgust, we walked out to find another taxi to take us there. Two minutes later, several men raced towards us yelling “Forecariah! Forecariah!” One trick in the bargaining game is to leave the merchant. Since a lower price is better than no sale at all this tactic will sometimes result in a lower price. They dropped to price to 20,000 GF/person which was still too high for us. It was important that we get to Medina.
We hailed a cab and began haggling on the price it would cost to get us to the Medina gare.
“20,000”
“15,000”
“20,000”
“15,000”
“15,000” d’accord (ok) – we pile in

A drive back across town, including a detour to avoid a police check point finally got us to Medina.
“Watch each other. This place was not too friendly to us yesterday,” we remind each other as the cab pulls to a stop in the middle of a busy street to let us out. We grab our bags and one of us pays the man. Suddenly, trouble came rushing towards us as if just released from one of our bags.
“I said the price was 20,000 GF.”
I began arguing with the driver – it’s amazing how quickly French can fly with a little adrenaline. As we argue, a crowd slowly begins to crowd around us. I can feel the pressure of the people, heat and humidity bearing town on the five of us. The nearest street vendor takes our side as he questions whether the price was agreed on before we got into the cab.
“Yes,” I say. “The driver said 20,000. We said 15,000 and his associate agreed so we got in.”
“He doesn’t count,” retorted the driver. “I’m the boss.”
This interchange continues to go in circles. With the crowd steadily growing, we decide that the easiest and quickest option is to pay the extra 5,000 and get out of there. After two taxi mishaps, we enter the Medina gare frustrated and apprehensive. What will be the next taxi experience? At least we were in the right place. Fares given to us were 11,000 GF. Just as expected! Happy that our switch to Medina dropped the price, we agree to ride in the taxi. Backpacks came off and we began to pile them into the miniscule hatchback trunk.
“It will be 3,000 GF per bag,” a helper informs us.
“C’est impossible,” groans a stagiere.
“No,” I continue, “we came to Conakry with the same bags and did not have to pay. We are not paying this time.”
“2,500,” he replies.
“No way. It was free last time and it’s going to be free this time.”
“But, we will get in trouble at the police barricade,” he attempts to reason even though he knows that the police could care less about whether we paid for the bags to be in the car or not. The police only try to extort money from people in their own manner.
“We came through the barricade last time with no problem. We will not pay extra.”
He finally relents and our bags are packed. The tickets are bought, which are necessary to guarantee transport to our final destination. If the car were to break down, a distinct possibility, it becomes the driver’s responsibility to find the passengers a way to their destinations. We cram ourselves into the taxi and prepare for the ride.
It may be hard to picture what our taxi looks like. To start with, imagine an old-school Subaru station wagon. Not the Outback, but a few models prior. The hatchback “trunk space” has been shrunk by placing a second row of seats behind the typical back seat. Now, the car is ready to contain nine people plus a driver: the driver in his front bucket seat, two passengers in the other bucket seat, four in the “middle” row, and three in the bonus section. I find myself in the back row for the upcoming 2.5 hour ride. It’s funny that only a little over a month ago I though economy seats on an airline were cramped. Perspective can change so fast…
Fortunately, the ride has little adventure with the exception of a prolonged stop at the police barricade while the police scrutinized the ID cards of the five Americans. (There was no mention of the bags.) My legs and butt were extremely excited when the bridge to Forecariah came into sight. The ride was finally over. Maybe next time some chickens will be in the car as well!

Medina

2006-08-12T00:03:00.000-07:00

People everywhere. Strolling. Yelling. Laughing. Haggling. Taxis honking. Police directing? Walkways. Mud. Water Streaming. Small, winding alleyways. Broken pavement. Escalator! Buildings. Open air. Closed and confined. Fabric. Yellow. Blue. Red. Purple. Swirls. Patterns. Prints with circles, snails, cubes, lamps, palm trees, huts, diagonals, fish, stripes, faces… Vendors. Lamb kebobs. Water in bottles or sacks. Toothpaste. Pharmaceuticals. Cauldrons. Pots. Chairs. Beds. Sandals. Cell phones. Belts. Watches. Dead fote clothes. Electronics. Cookies. 30,000 guinean francs. A friend. A “crazy” man. An accomplice. Distraction. Money stolen. Taxi Home. Traffic confusion. Price is too high. Keep walking. Bridge. Two men. A friend. A grab. He yells. I turn. I yell. Men leave. Taxi negotiation. A ride. We slowly pull out of Medina. Medina is the big market in Conakry. By some estimates it is the largest in West Africa. My first visit to Medina was one of chaos with some order, sights and adventure.

New photos (Forecariah - training)

2006-08-10T00:18:00.000-07:00

I posted a few photographs from Guinea. They are ones from around Forecariah.
The link is:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/guineaswerve/

Site Visit

2006-08-09T08:34:00.000-07:00

Currently, I am in Conakry which is the capital of Guinea. I apologize to many of you for not keeping in touch but Forecariah does not have access to internet so I have been out of touch for the last month. It looks like once training is over at the end of September I will have access about once a month. I have been doing some writing and posted several other times below. Site visit…

I was a little apprehensive about going to Wonkifong but the trip was amazing. Wonkifong is off the main road and is in a quiet, peaceful setting. The village has been there for a long time and looks to be well taken care of. When Devon (the PC volunteer that took me to site) and I got to Wonkifong, we kind of looked at each other and said “No what?” There was no welcoming committee waiting for us and the rain was starting to come on down. The taxi driver pointed us in the direction of the sous-prefet (person who runs the show) and a small child led the way. We got there to find the sous-prefet on his porch with his family. He welcomed us in and called the president and other important members of the village. Then he pointed to a nice house behind his and said that it would be mine.

Devon and I were then given a tour guide and a walk through the village to meet others such as the imam (religious leader) and some village elders. The walk to the school that I will be teaching in is about 15 minutes and ends by crossing a river above a small rapid. The school is lined with mango trees and consists of two small buildings. Overall, the village is beautiful.

I then went with Devon to visit her village before coming to Conakry. Though apprehensive about Wonkifong, I am now excited about the location (beautiful mountains in the distance and potential access along a river to the ocean) and look forward to the end of stage. I have 3 weeks of “practice school” coming up where I will teach math to 60 or so Guinean students. Sounds like fun…

Take care and I hope to get some photographs up soon. Once again, any mail, etc is greatly appreciated. My address is to the right of the screen.

Love,
Frank

Daily Life of a Peace Corps Stagiere

2006-08-09T08:31:00.001-07:00

Well, here I am in Forecariah, Guinea. It is a small city located in south of the Basse Cote region of Guinea. The first in-country hurdle of a Peace Corps wanna-be is "stage". Stage refers to the 11-week period of training, host family-living and adjustment that the 29 of us must go through before being sworn in as Peace Corps Volunteers. I am in the G-12 group, meaning the twelfth group to have training in Guinea. Around six or seven years ago, the training for Guinea volunteers took place in Senegal but now it is in-country. I am in only the second stage at Forecariah. I live with a host-family and go to training sessions. It feels a bit like high school at times and the volunteers helping with training continually assure us that life gets much better once I get to site. Here is a general schedule of my life:

5:45 Wake-up and get dressed for running. I am trying to do this 3-5 times a week.

6:00 Meet Will for a run. It is still dark at this point so the extra challenge is to avoid twisting an ankle on the uneven roads. As the rainy season sets in more and more, the dirt roads quickly turn to lakes that empty into raging rivers. As you can imagine, water cuts through the road’s surface to create a wide array of hazards. We run for 40-60 minutes.

7:00 Return home for my bucket bath. Running water? Yes but it involves a large bucket of water, a small cup and my pouring water over my head/body. This method is quite effective and it’s amazing how much less water is used to bathe. After my shower, I dress, eat breakfast and head to school.

8 – 10. Class. This may include language (French or local languages. I am currently studying Susu, which is the national language in the region where I will be living.), technical language (teaching math in French), a medical information session, cross-culture classes or a safety/security session.

10 – 10:30 Break!

10:30 – 12:30 More class

12:30 – 2:00. Lunch. On MWF, I go to the market to find lunch and haggle with sellers. On Tuesday and Thursday, we all go to the Peace Corps office for an amazing lunch made by local people. I really look forward to lunch on these days.

2:00 – 5:00 More class

After class on Tuesday and Thursday, I am learning how to drum African style (Aaron I hope to play with you when I get back!) About five of us are taking lessons and at the same time five others are learning traditional dancing. It’s an hour I look forward to and I hope to buy a drum to take to site with me in the hope of continuing lessons.

On other days, I often go for a bike ride, swim in a river or just hang out and chat with my host family. I then eat dinner, do homework (I haven’t had this much in ages!) or head down the street to Chez Vikki’s, which is a type of bar.

9:30/10:00 Get some sleep!

Saturdays may involve some class or an outing into the local region. Sunday is family day where I hang out with my family and also do laundry.

Wonkifong? (July 28, 2006)

2006-08-09T08:31:00.000-07:00

Cool name? For sure. Cool place? To be determined. Today was the big day for everyone. After lunch, we all (stagieres, volunteers and trainers) gathered in the gazebo at my family’s compound. On the tiles, a map of Guinea was sketched in chalk. The map contained major cities and the future sites for each of us. Oh, what would the future hold? This announcement was critical for our lives over the next two years. For each site, a description was given and the person assigned to the site announced.

Though I tried not to get mentally attached to an area, I was hoping that I would be assigned to the “mountain” region. Unfortunately, I am not there. Wonkifong. Where is it? Well, I will be the closest volunteer to Conakry, at just under 60 km away. I have been told that Wonkifong is a small village, though it is 7 km from Coya, which is a major stop on the road from most of Guinea to Conakry. Hopefully, this location will bring me visitors.

I have been told that my site has many creature comforts such as electricity and a good water supply. Maybe brining my laptop was a good idea after all. Communication should be easier since I am close to Conakry. I will try to get there at least once a month if not more – it’s still too early to say.

On August 6, I will go on site visit. This is when everyone heads to their site to have a look around. I will visit site and then go to my regional capital, which is Conakry. Whenever I ask a Guinean about Wonkifong, I get a positive response so I hope that it is a good place.

La Boite (July 22, 2006)

2006-08-09T08:30:00.000-07:00

Where do cultures cross? Is it the meeting of diplomats on the world stage? The education of youth around the world or is it a white American walking into an African dance club the size of a living room on a dark and rainy night without electricity? A room where no seat is hidden. A gathering of people whose skin makes the American’s skin appear to glow in comparison. Or do cultures cross when the American takes a deep breath, stands and steps onto the dance floor under the watchful gaze of every other person in the room? And at that moment, the response is an outpouring of smiles on previously impassive faces. People laugh and shake their heads. No, he can’t dance. But yes, he is having fun with us, in our way, and in our place.

An Early Morning Run (July 8, 2006)

2006-08-09T08:29:00.000-07:00

Conakry. A West African city bordering the Atlantic Ocean that is the capital of Guinea. At 5:30 am, my wrist watch alarm began sounding off and I react instantly with the words of one of my five bunk mates echoing in my mind, “if that alarm wakes me I’ll kill you.” An understandable saying coming from a group of Peace Corps trainees that had arrived early the previous evening after a long day of travel including a bus ride from Philly to New York, a transatlantic flight to Brussels and finally a flight to Conakry via Dakar, Senegal.

To shake out the travel jet lag, two others and I decided to wake early for a jog in Conakry. This suggestion raised the eyebrows of several current volunteers that know Conakry. But hey, we were just excited to be in country and wanted to get out and about.

Downstairs, I found another trainee and two volunteers. The first bout of sickness had struck the group less than 12 hours after arrival. She was pale and tired as the 1-year volunteers attempted to comfort her. Minutes later my two companions appeared and we checked out through the security house to begin our run.

The morning was cool. The humidity, which grasped me in a warm embrace when I stepped off the plane the previous day, had lessened and it felt comfortable. We began our job. At first, the run resembled many other early morning jaunts I have had in the States. The streets were quiet as only our conversation filled the air. As we continued we came across others walking in the street. On one empty section, a Guinean appeared from a side alley. Seeing us he exclaimed, “Vous faites du sport!” with a big smile. He was dressed nicely in a button down shirt, slacks and dress shoes. Without pausing he tore off down the road. “Allez! Allez!” The three of us began chase and he zig-zagged to block the street so that we could not pass. With a laugh, he eventually stopped and we continued down the street.

Suddenly, as we rounded a bend we came across many people. At 6:00, the sky was only beginning to provide the first hints of dawn. The streets were quickly getting crowded though the people did not seem to be heading anywhere in particular. Instead the feeling was of a general milling around. Stares were plenty as three white guys ran down a street. We received some salutations though most quietly watched us go by. At an intersection we hugged the right corner and found ourselves on a larger road running in the same direction as traffic. Suddenly, our peaceful jog had gotten quite busy. We fell into single file and increased our pace to get out of the area quicker. I was at the back and heard a car rapidly approaching. In Guinea, main roads are not wide and joggers are not common. This increases the possibility of an accident. I moved right to put some space between myself and the car. As I edged right, my foot landed on a bit of crumbling pavement. Smooth traffic shoulders do not exist in Guinea and the road was perched up on an embankment. When my foot landed, it slid out and I instantly took a tumble down the hill scraping the outside of my left leg from my knee to my ankle. The scrape ended below my ankle with a large, open wound. I guess my welcoming gift to Guinea was an offering of blood on African soil.
Of course the next day’s health session focused on the ease of infection and the long healing process in Africa. Scrub the wound until it hurts, scrub some more, apply antibiotic ointment, cover the wound so the flies don’t have a party and repeat regularly. The one month update: I managed to avoid infection but the wound is still not completely healed. I was nervous with a few river swims but my ankle does appear to be healing, though slowly.

Shots, tickets and a long plane ride

2006-07-07T07:58:00.000-07:00

Here it is! the last day in the US. Over the last 2 days I have met some amazing people from across the country. There are 28 of us going to Guinea to teach either math, science or English. As it turns out, I am the oldest of the group which is a statistic that I am suprised about. I've always been one of the younger members of different adventures. However, I am a middle school teacher so my heart is on the young side.

As I embark on this journey I want to thank everyone for their support and assistance over the last several years. I would not be doing what I am without all of your help.

Love,
Frank

Farewell Portland

2006-07-02T07:20:00.000-07:00

I could not have asked for a better last week in Portland as I readied myself for this upcoming adventure. Saturday topped it all off. The day began with an early morning put-in on the Clackamas River. With three others, I paddled all day. It was one of the best river days that I have had in Portland. The water was warm (by Oregon standards), there were few other people, and the day was absolutely beautiful. After kayaking, I had some last errands to run - I have condensed everything I own to one large backpack, a day pack and a small bookbag, and then met up with others on the Portland Waterfront Park for the Blues Festival. Sitting on the lawn overlooking the Willamette River and listening to good live music as the sun set and dusk creeped in was beautiful. Portland is truly an amazing city.

I am now off to Philadelphia for a few days visiting family and then staging (orientation) begins. I finally get to meet the other people who will be sharing this experience with me and learn a little more about what to expect. On the 7th, I have a visit to the medical clinic for a special treat of shots, etc before being bussed to NYC to fly out. I will arrive in Guinea on July 8.

Letter from the PC - to Family & Friends

2006-06-19T15:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Families,

Greetings from the Guinea Desk in Washington, D.C. It is with great pleasure that we welcome your family member to the Peace Corps Guinea Program. During the past few years we have received many questions from Volunteers and family members alike regarding travel plans, sending money, relaying messages and mail, etc. As we are unable to involve ourselves in the personal arrangements of Volunteers, we would like to offer you advice and assistance in advance by providing specific examples of situations and how we suggest you handle them.

1. Irregular Communication. (Please see #3 for the mailing address to Peace Corps' office in Conakry the capital of Guinea) The mail service in Guinea is not as efficient as the U.S. Postal Service. Thus, it is important to be patient. It can take three to four weeks for mail coming from Conakry to arrive in the United States via the Guinea postal system. From a Volunteer's post, mail might take 1-2 months to reach the United States. Sometimes mail is hand carried to the States by a traveler and mailed through the U.S. postal system. This leg of the trip can take another several weeks as it is also dependent on the frequency of travelers to the U.S.

We suggest that in your first letters, you ask your Volunteer family member to give an estimate of how long it takes for him/her to receive your letters and then try to establish a predictable pattern of how often you will write to each other. Also, try numbering your letters so that the Volunteer knows if he/she has missed one. Postcards should be sent in envelopes--otherwise they may be found on the wall of the local post office!

Volunteers often enjoy telling their "war" stories when they write home. Letters (or e-mails) might describe recent illnesses, lack of good food, isolation, etc. While the subject matter is good reading material, it is often misinterpreted on the home front. There are two medical officers at the Peace Corps office in Conakry to meet the medical needs of the volunteers. Through a “telephone tree”, the Peace Corps office in Conakry maintains at minimum, regular weekly contact with the Regional Coordinators, one per region where Peace Corps works. Peace Corps Guinea has also established a monthly mail run which delivers mail, medical supplies, and sometimes volunteers or staff to each volunteer site.

In the event of an emergency, Volunteers have been instructed to contact their designated Regional Coordinator, who in turn contacts the staff in Conakry, and appropriate steps are taken to assist that Volunteer. In the event of a serious illness, the Volunteer is sent to Conakry and is cared for by our medical staff. If the Volunteer requires medical care that is not available in Conakry he/she will be medically evacuated to either South Africa or the United States. Fortunately, these are rare circumstances.

If for some reason your communication pattern is broken and you do not hear from your family member for at least three months, you may want to contact the Office of Special Services (OSS) at Peace Corps Washington at 1-800-424-8580, extension 1470. The OSS will then cable or fax the Peace Corps Director in Conakry and ask him to check up on the Volunteer. Also, in the case of an emergency at home (death in the family, sudden illness, etc.), you should call OSS immediately, so that the Volunteer can be informed by a member of Peace Corps/Guinea staff.

2. Telephone Calls. The telephone system in Guinea is decent at best. Service in and out of Conakry to the United States can be unreliable. If communicating via email or by phone, please understand that the telephone lines and their connections can be, and are often down. Outside of Conakry, where most of the Volunteers are located, there are even fewer phones. Sometimes Volunteers plan to be in Conakry on a certain date to receive calls from home. This can sometimes work, but there are also innumerable factors that can make the best-laid plans fall apart. Please be aware that the Peace Corps staff in Conakry and Washington do not have the time to assist in arranging these calls. Your family member will be able to inform you of the actual telephone numbers once they arrive in country.

The Guinea Desk usually calls the Peace Corps office in Conakry once every two weeks. However, these calls are reserved for business only and we cannot relay personal messages over the phone. All communication between family members and the Volunteer can be done via telephone, email or international mail. You may be able to send a Western Union telegram to the Volunteer at the Peace Corps office in Conakry. If you have an urgent message, however, and have exhausted your other means, you can call the Desk, and the message will be relayed.

3. Sending packages. Parents and Volunteers like to send and receive care packages through the mail. Unfortunately, sending packages can be a frustrating experience for all involved due to the high incidence of theft and heavy customs taxes. You may want to try to send inexpensive items through the mail, but there is no guarantee that these items will arrive. We do not recommend, however, that costly items be sent through the mail. Even though many Volunteers sometimes choose to get local post office boxes, you may always use the following address to send letters and/or packages to your family member:

Frank McGowan, PCV
Corps de la Paix
B.P. 1927
Conakry, Guinea
West Africa

It is recommended that packages be sent in padded envelopes if possible, as boxes tend to be taxed more frequently. Custom fees can sometimes be up to $100. For lightweight but important items (e.g. airline tickets), DHL (an express mail service) does operate in Conakry. If you choose to send items through DHL, you must address the package to the Country Director, c/o Corps de la Paix, Quartier Taouyah, BP 1927, Conakry, Guinea (the phone number for the Peace Corps office in Guinea is (224) 30-22-78-09 , as DHL will need this information). If you send the item to the Country Director, no liability can be assumed. For more information about DHL, please call their toll free number, 1-800-CALL-DHL, or visit their web site at www.dhl.com.

Sending airplane tickets via international mail is not recommended. Certain airlines will allow you to buy a pre-paid ticket in the States; they will telex their Guinea office to have the ticket ready. Unfortunately, this system is not always reliable.

Trying to send cash or checks is very risky and is discouraged. If your Volunteer family member requests money from you, it is his/her responsibility to arrange receipt of it. Western Union seems to work well in countries where they are present. Some banks will also do electronic funds transfers.

4. Guinea Parent Support (GPS). In collaboration with the non-profit group, Friends of Guinea ( http://www.friendsofguinea ), parents, family, and friends of Guinea PCVs can correspond with other PC family and friends, in groups by departure date, to share tips and support during this exciting yet stressful time. Each new group will have a parent mentor from a previous group to help guide them through the entire two years of service. You may send your email address(es) on the form provided in your Volunteer’s packet to become part of the group of family and friends whose PCVs will train in Guinea together. Or you may email your desire to become part of the secure listserv by sending your email address(es) and your PCV’s name and departure date via email to: gps@friendsofguinea.org

We hope this information is helpful to you during the time your family member is serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Guinea. We understand how frustrating it is to communicate with your family member overseas and we appreciate your using this information as a guideline. Please feel free to contact us at the Guinea Desk in Washington, D.C. if you have any further questions. Our phone number is 1-800-424-8580, ext. 2327/2326, or locally, 202-692-2327/2326.

Sincerely,

Paul Johnson, Country Desk Officer
Jennifer Brown, Country Desk Assistant

On Vacation?

2006-06-19T15:28:00.001-07:00

Today I walked out of my classroom and turned in my keys for the last time. At the same time someone coming to teach summer school was urging me out so I got the "it's time to go" feeling. Technically, I am on vacation now but my departure date looms closer and closer. Many people coming over to visit these days leave with some item from my apartment as I try to get rid of everything.

Please let me know if you have any great items to pack. I am especially interested in gift ideas for host families and community members.

Travel Plans

2006-06-15T17:04:00.000-07:00

Leave Portland on Sunday, July 2 at 8:06 am
Arrive in Philadelphia at 7:31 pm

Visit Uncle Tom and family Wednesday

July 5: Staging begins at 2:00

July 7 Depart Philadelphia via bus to JFK airport in New York
July 7 Depart via Delta flight #140 at 7:30 pm
July 8 Arrive Brussels at 9:10 am
July 8 Depart Brussels via Brussels Airlines flight #205 at 11:10 am
July 8 Arrive Conakry, Guinea (via Dakar, Senegal) at 5:50 pm

Changing Continents (after diapers)

2006-06-12T20:23:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned before how wonderful the school community that I am in is? The hardest part of deciding to enter the Peace Corps was the knowledge that I would have to leave the amazing staff, students and others at Sunnyside. In a complete surprise, today’s morning meeting was a good-bye for me. Sarah, John and Jan had kind words for me, students read a “Remember Me” poem that they had written about me and several students gave anecdotes from the last three years. It’s fascinating to hear stories from the other side of the class room.

Sandwiched among many nice statements was my “rite of passage.” Several months ago the staff was shocked to hear that I had never changed a baby's diaper. Honestly, it has never been one of the items on my must-do list, though ranked on the try-to-avoid list. When Midwifery Day came and past without me seeing a baby’s bottom, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I had avoided it! Today as Jan began talking she mentioned the words rite of passage and I immediately looked into the back of the auditorium to see a coworker’s newborn. The 240 students in the room probably didn’t yet know that I would soon be a source of entertainment for them but I was already sweating it. Finally, with an auditorium full of people, I managed to change little Noah’s diaper. I guess that I’m now prepared for anything!

And the Jetta drove away…

2006-06-12T20:22:00.000-07:00

Nine years ago, I was finishing my undergraduate degree at North Carolina State. Equipped with a good job in the engineering field (what was I thinking anyway?) I headed out to make my first car purchase. A black 1995 VW Jetta. Soon after, I set across the United States for the first of three cross-country drives. Since then the Jetta has carried me everywhere: Los Angeles, West Virginia, Raleigh, Salem, OR and finally Portland. Today, the Jetta drove away and I was not in the driver’s seat.

Tri Bike Sold!

2006-05-30T21:32:00.000-07:00

My apartment is becoming more and more of a transition zone. A year ago at this time, I was in the final stages of Ironman training and now I have sold the bike that I spent so much time on. Though liberating, the act of getting rid of all possessions is definitely rushing my path towards July.

Midwifery Day 2006

2006-05-30T21:22:00.000-07:00

Today was a completely fascinating day at my school. As we tend to do from time to time, the schedule was tossed out of the window to give the students an experience that they are unlikely to get elsewhere. Today the topic was the birthing of children. The full gamut was run. From the history of birthing to nursing to anatomy to actual birthing, the students were exposed to multiple facets related to the beginning of human life.

Personally, I have had little experience on either end of the spectrum of life. Fortunately, I have not experienced much death and am yet to be present during the giving of life. As I look forward to my next adventure, I feel this will change. From conversations with returned volunteers, death holds much more of a presence in Africa than in the United States and life is a reason for celebration. 5 weeks and counting…

69 7th graders and a trip to the beach!

2006-05-27T12:36:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know what you are thinking. You think that someone has to be crazy to drive to the beach with loads of 7th graders. What if I sweeten the pot and tell you that this little adventure lasted three nights and four days. In the rain. You've probably got a decent image in your mind but I assure you that it is likely incorrect. One of the great things my school does it get outside with students in ways that will teach them about their local ecosystems and allow them to bond with each others, teachers and other adults. It was a fabulous trip!

In both the fall and spring, we take overnight trips with our class, the entire school or a grade level. The focus of the spring trip is marine biology. 6th graders explore the Oregon coast near Newport, 7th graders near Tillamook and 8th graders head south to LA for a week excursion to Catalina Island (this is where I went the last two years).

This year, I went with the 7th graders and we had a wonderful time. This trip has a bit of a slant in that there is a heavy emphasis on art within the marine environment. The trip involves a tour of galleries in Cannon Beach and then 8 hours of intensive art exploration taught by wonderfully talented parents and volunteers. This time is broken up by science and writing classes taught by SES staff. Evenings include campfire featuring a “Burning Man” created by the sculpture class, songs (this year we had an expert song writer/accordion player with us and a wonderful drumming leader), skits, stories and a lot of laughter.

As my last trip with SES, I was very happy to spend it with this wonderful group of 7th graders.
This link will take you to a few photographs from the trip. Unfortunately, the majority of my photographs are of students having a great time and I can't put them up. Imagine smiling, laughing and energetic students immersing themselves into art and science on the Oregon Coast. http://www.flickr.com/photos/guineaswerve/

Switched to Math

2006-05-15T06:00:00.000-07:00

I received an email late lat week indicating that my teaching role will now primarily consist of mathematics. In general, this seems to be less daunting than science since the equipment needs are less. Who knows, maybe I will teach both (or a bit of everything as I am doing now).

Brooks in Oregon

2006-05-15T05:56:00.000-07:00

It is great how people always rally when down to the last minute. For me, this has recently been played out by having more visitors within the past five months than in the seven years I have lived in Oregon. The most recent visitor was Brooks, who managed to fly out from NYC for three days of adventure. The 3-day weekend included a day of hiking in the Columbia River Gorge, snowboarding on Mt. Hood, a jump in the Pacific Ocean at Short Sands, a Pier Park round of disc golf and of course several Portland microbrews. As I think forward a couple of months, I realize how important it is to appreciate the great friendships formed over the past years. It is those connections with people that make life's struggles and challenges worth it. Thanks Brooks!

Click this link for a few photos :
(http://www.flickr.com/photos/guineaswerve/)