Tourists

The middle-aged white woman sits comfortably on a padded chair. Her short "mom" haircut rests behind her ears which sport expensive looking silver hoops. Her delicate non-calloused hands hold a copy of Chenua Achebe's "Things Fall Apart". Just beyond the pages of her book the waves crash in on a white sand, palm tree lined beach. This is Africa-or is it? Here the comfort of the coast resembles Europe, except with more black people.

The woman, most likely, purchased the book at a comparatively pricey cost in some chain bookstore run by a multi-million dollar company. The book about Africa makes a perfect accompaniment on the trip to Africa. But will she ever see it, know it, feel it? Will she leave he comforts of a beach side tourist culture to go upcountry a few hours and see that people, Africans, are still living in the exact same manner as described in "Things Fall Apart"? Although the book was set in precolonial Africa the cultural details and living conditions are identical to life in The Gambia. Will she go and discover it, or continue sitting in her bikini drinking a beer in front of the ocean reading her book? Tourists come so close yet so far away from real Africa.

Aduna Ko Ni (the world is this)

The size of her brown eyes makes her beautiful.
Large and round.
Always intently focused on the person she is talking to.
I won't ever forget the way her eyes looked at me the morning she lost her baby.
They were still, frozen, hanging onto the words about to come from my mouth.
In those brown eyes I saw the panic and sorrow I was reflecting upon her.
Where is my baby?
Your baby is dead.
Water exploded out of the open-welled eyes.
We sobbed.
She chanted loudly, "o my mother, o my father help me now, my baby's gone, o Allah help me now."
An old woman in the corner of the hospital approaced us from the bed she sat on in observance.
"Be quiet my child, be quiet, the world is this, you are young you will have more, even I have lost many children. Be quiet now aduna ko ni."

All good things must come to an end, even Ramadan

Evening brought a starless dark. I walked to the "shop" in Banni to buy a candle for reading later. I was rushing because it was almost prayer call and time to break the days fast with tea and bread. I wished peace upon Kemo, the vendor, and headed back to the compound. What I saw as I rounded the corner stopped me as forcefully as an invisible wall. A tingle electricuted my entire body and left me smiling dumbfoundedly at the power in that moment
Everyone, all ages, was standing outside facing west. With their backs towards Mecca they pointed simultaneously at the sky. It resembled a scene from an alien invader movie or a UFO sighting. I ran up to Baba and asked, what is it?
It's the moon, was his reply.
There it was, the tiniest sliver of the moon for the first time in a month and the symbol of the end of Ramadan. Cheering broke out as children started playing bottles and bowls for drums. A light cloud of dust lingered around the excitement of shuffling feet and Alieu Jallow's voice beckoned "Allah akbaru" through the village from his place at the prayer house.
Families retreated to their compounds to break fast for the first time since before sunrise. There was a sense of relief in the air; tommorow we could eat lunch.

Farm Days

The yellow paint rusts off the hand plow as it scrapes the coffee toned earth, revealling long caterpillars and red furry spiders. The word "France" clings to the metal frame as it has, most likely, since the 1920s. Here in The Gambia nearly a century later the plow is led by the strong calloused hands of Gambian males with either cows or donkeys at the front. Saidu Jallow, a neighbor to Ney Ney plows through her farm with the payment of a pack of Busisness Royal cigarettes and attaya. Alieu, her 13-yr-old nephew cooks the tea dutifully like any good small boy, happy to take a break from farming.

The froth from the sweet tea bubbles to the surface of the teapot and splashes with the force of a wave against the rocky frontier of the burning wood. Mixing with the fire the sugary attaya lets out the aroma of cotton candy. At Alieu's back on a straw mat Ney Ney slyly pulls a large spider from her daughter's barefoot as to not scare her (me:).

The birds are actively following Saidu as he plows. The dark purple, teal and black feathers form a cloak as they flutter in the slight wind of the rainy season at his back.

During the rains,farming occupies the life of Banni's inhabitants. Men, women and children all have their roles and they carry them out from sunrise to sunset. The men plow, the women plant and the children pick weeds and chase away baboons if they come. All work is done by hand or with small hand tools. This leaves the hands of the villagers blistered and calloused and their backs sore. With incredible flexibility they bend at the waist, straight-legged, to work with the soil. This is repeated every day,weather permitting for three months, Ramadan included. They don't get paid for their labor, they dont take their crops to the market and profit from it. They can't afford to. Everything is used to feed themselves. They work everyday, all ages, to live hand to mouth.

Afternoon came and things slowed down at the Jallow's farm, the hottest part of the day rapidly approaching. The children skip home for the first time since sunrise. Their rice breakfast was taken at the farm but today they will have lunch at the compound before returning. Saidu finished his job and led the cows to graze and fertilize a nearby field. The long green grass next to the freshly plowed field swallowed their legs and noses all the way up to their rib-filled bellies. Ney Ney went home to finish cooking lunch while Alieu finished off the attaya and rest under a large tree to keep a sharp eye out for any animals that may hungirly wnater in from the bush.

Frequently Asked Questions

I thought a good way to give you all insight on life here in the Gambia would be to answer some questions that I seem to get a lot or that I thought you might have... Hope all is well in the states :)

Best thing
My host family, they are amazing and treat me like family...literally

Hardest thing
The heat and "hungry season" (whic is as awful as it sounds)

My closests friend
Egudou Jallow, a hard core Fula woman who lived in our compound for the dry season

Weirdest thing I ate
Goat brain scooped out of the skull with my hosts moms fingers..at 8 am

Best thing I ate
Bread sugar and sour milk mixed together and attaya

My favorite project
Girls soccer team

Biggest Challenge
attempting to meet EVERYONE in the villages needs..and everyone assuming I am rich and asking for things

Moments that make me Real Happy
When my host siblings call me Jaja (big sis) and run to me when I come home to the compound. Seeing wildlife, swimming in the ocean, everything really!

Scariest moment
When my host mother was sick

Funniest moment
when my host mother helped me bathe by literally scrubbing blue dye from my bare butt

Its about nine and a half months in and life here feels really normal, which is strange. I am really comfortable in my village with all my family and friends there and just do day to day tasks while speaking pulaar as if it were normal! I am really enjoying my service and have so many stories to tell, its hard to online! I will try again (having problems with my camera) to post pictures on my snapfish because I think it will make things more clear, pictures speak a thousand words! I think of you all constantly and love the little emails and messages you all send me! love and miss ya! peace!

Aunt Julie (aka Julde Jallow) visits The Gambia!

Last month I hosted my first visitor, Aunt Julie! I was so excited for someone from my world back home to actually experience my world here and, of course, it was amazing!

I met her at the airport in Banjul and we had a lovely dinner and time to relax, however we pretty quickly went to my village.

After a long travel day upcountry we arrived down by the river where you cross to get to my village. My host father stod at the river waiting to greet us. Julie was so excited and thought Baba was quite stunning in his long light blue robe :). As we crossed the river we marvelled at the birds and vegetation looking for monkeys and other wildlife. Although it is INSANELY hot, the rainy season is a gorgeous time to visit. Everything is so green and overflowing with life and vibrance. Juma (host bro) was waiting for us with Rose the family donkey and a cart.

We rode through the jungle and as we approached my village we heard the banging of drums (or empty plastic jugs) and people shouting and clapping. As we got closer we saw the whole village waiting for us in the road singing and dancing. A welcoming that still gives Julie the goosebumps and almost moved me to tears. Everyone was so happy to have a "stranger" come to the village. Julie, besides me, was the first white person to stay in the village.

We danced, at chicken, drank attaya, chatted with women, Julie sang and played endlessly with the children and danced around in the rain. We went on a long hike with Baba, went to the market where we found some gorgeous fabric, at some local foods, and spent time at each compound in the village. We also watched the Ghana v America world cup game outside during a storm, the village went NUTS when Ghana scored, although they looked at me nervously but I was clapping too :)

For two days we had a getaway at Baboon Island, a national park reserve about 4 k from my site. We biked in the afternoon heat (sorry julie poor planning) and arrived at the camp. The rooms there are gorgeous and they have a really nice waterhouse on the river with hammocks. Its the only "building" in the area so you are surrounded entirely by jungle. Monkeys, baboons, snakes, crocodiles, endleess birds, insects, flowers, trees just to name a few. Around the clock you can hear chimpanzees howling from the islands. They park protects and rehabilitates the few remaining chimps in the Gambia, there is even a chimp recovering from alcoholism and smoking! (he was rescued from some shady european circus) We took a boat tour around the islands and saw SO many chimps, HIPPOS, and baboons as well as smaller monkey speces. It was truly unforgettable.

For her last few days we headed to the coast and stayed in treehouses on the white sandy beaches of Kartong, right near the southern Sengeal border. Devin came and met us and we swam and read and ate and just relaxed-it was wonderful and much needed. Then Julie took Devin and I out for what will go down in history as "the best dinner we ever had in the peace corps" at a resturaunt called La Romantica. Julie took pity on our malnurished souls and you name it we ate it...i still day dream about that night julie!! :)

So needless to say her visit was wonderful and she is very missed by the whole village and then some!! The village near mine had a baby while she was here and they named it after her! ( i dint realize this and they scolded me for not visiting my aunts name sake..whoops!)

Medical Emergency in the African Bush

I knew something was wrong by the way Musa, my Rastafarian host uncle, called me over to the compound. All the adults stood huddled around my porch with expressions of panic and confusion. Neyney (pulaar for mother) had to be lifted from the porch, unable to stand or see straight. I asked what happened. "Her whole body just went dead," Mbuna said. Egudou, my host mother and I piled on a donkey cart and headed into the bush toward the nearst hospital across the river, leaving the sun to set behind us. My body cramped under her weight as I struggled to make her comfortable and fan her, fighting the heat and stablizing her panting. She was not responding to my questions and her eyes rolled around her sweaty and tear stained face almost lifelessly. I was terriffied but pushed away any fears or negative thoughts. Baba (father in pulaar) was waiting at the riverside wth the boat. Musa lifted Neyney's body and stradled a slippery gap to lower her into the boat. Her shoes and fan were lost in the transaction, something that normally would have been upsetting hardly seemed to matter. Two young men brought a wheelchair on the other side of the river and we loaded Neyney once we arrived. They struggled past dirt and rocks on the way to the hospital. At one point they tipped her and I scolded them in Pulaar, frustrated with their wrecklessness.

It was dark now and the heat worsened in Kuntaur, which is located on the river. The humidity and mosquitoes were a lingering pain adding suffereing too the already unpleasant situation. When we entered into the hospital I thought I could vomit from the smell. Aromas of urine , puke, feces, and death were so potent you could almost taste it, unfortunately. A few lights hung from fans whose only purpose now was to host dust, cobwebs and insects. The 12 beds were lined up on opposing walls with no dividers, it reminded me of a make shift hospital room during ww2 or in a refugee camp. At the far end an old naked man lay on his bed swating mosquitoes away with a rag. A young teenage boy who resembled a skeleton flailed around in panic moaning from pain and sweating profusely. Under his emaciated body was the bare matress tattered from use and with many questionable stains. Next to Neyney's bed was a pregnant woman in a light pink complet. She threw up every five minutes in a dish pan she kept at the foot of the bed, I unfortunately became quite familar with that pan as the night went on. It was not until later that I realized an old woman was laying next to her. I literally thought her clothes and body was just a sheet on the bed, she did not make it through the night.

The nurse hooked Neyney up to an IV and I fanned her for about an hour before she fell asleep. Egudou was sitting with her baby on an empty bed making friends with the patients and their families. Chattering away as if we were in our compound. Baba bustled back and forth from the Bitik, or local shop. The sustained presence of the mosquitoes got the best of us that night, everyone was constantly swatting them away and scratching at their bodies like they were going through withdrawls.
The stray cats did not seem bothered by the mosquitoes, they wandered around the room drinking out of the dish pans at the edge of the beds.

Although disturbed by my surroundings I was able to maintain my composure. Neyney was neglected,, except for the IV, by the nurses and I was more than happy to step in and play nurse. However, as the night went on I grew more and more upset at the lack of accomodation or attention from the professionals. Someone whom I had grown to love and care about, who treats me as a daughter was ill and little was being done. Neyney somehow drifted to sleep and I decided to ask the nurse some questions.

All I wanted to know was what was wrong with her. She had been complaining about stomach, head and body aches and had also thrown up quite a bit before passing out back in Banni. The nurse did not even look me in the eye when she said "look at the chart" in english. Reading the chart just frusturated me further, it was filled with innacuracies. Age: 26, she was really in her 40s and it read she had an abortion when really it was a miscarriage. As far as a diagnosis, nothing.

Baba returned from the Bitik with bread and a Fanta for Neyney. She had a little and her checks blew up. She motioned at her neighbors dish pan. Without thinking I grabbed the dish from the pink pregnat lady and held it to Neyney's mouth. The vomits converged and my stomach turned. I left the room for some fresh air under the stars.

By this time it was after midnight and Kuntaur quieted, surrendering to the sounds of crickets, frogs and a lonely track on a distant radio. The other visitors of the hospital were spreading wrapskirts on the cement floor outside the hospital. Egudou, Baba and I joined them in setting up camp. The night was reminescent of a sleepover. We stayed up late chatting under the stars and checking on our sick loved ones periodically. The mosquitoes refused to let us sleep, waiting attentively for us to doze off before they attacked. Thank God I took my malaria pills I thought as I drifted in and out of an uncomfortable sleep. We woke with the sun a little before six am. Baby Metta (Egudous child) was laying on her back wide-eyed. She made no noise except for the sound of her nails ripping at her skin as she consoled mosquitoe bites on her belly.

The crowd of visitors who slept outside flocked like zombies to the river to wash the sweat and stress off their faces from the preceding night. Back in the hospital room Neyney was awake and feeling a bit better. She was still throwing up any little food she swallowed but was more talkative and could walk, slowly, on her own. That morning the "doctor" (head nurse) was in. I introduced myself in Pulaar but he was a Wolof and chose to speak englsih. I polietly informed him that some of the information on my host mother's chart was incorrect, and that maybe I could get some answers as to what was wrong with her. When I said that she had a miscarraige and not an abortion two months ago his response was shockingly rude and condescending.

"Is it not the same thing," he said. I replied no. He then made me explain the differences to which he responded, "you are wrong, to a lay person one might think it would be different, but if you look in an English dictonary you will see its the same." This guy is going to be diffiult to work with I thought. After hours of asking the "Doc" to run tests on Neyney's blood and urine I had nothing, I was only denied in a rude tone time and time again. Frusturated with my helplessness in the situation I asked Musa for help. All he had to do was ask once and I was holding Neyney's hand as blood was being drawn and carrying her urine to the lab.

When the results came back I was shocked, but alone, in my reaction. She was pregnant. Baba and Musa were happy with the results. I explained that her illness was not just simply being pregnant, that bleeding to the extent one thinks they had a miscarriage is not a normal side affect of pregnancy. Wondering out loud who was going to inform Neyney, Musa nominated me. Entering the hosppital room I found Neyney resting. Her body, wrapped in a blue and orange skirt, lay atop a green plastic covered mattress. Flies jumped around her feet and Fanta botle. I took a seat and she rose up. In Pulaar I explained we have the results, you dont have malaria but you have a stomach (which is how you say pregnant in Pulaar). She sid "Ok" without changing the expression on her face. It was as if I had told her something as simple as the time or that a friend greeted her. Something did however switch inside of her. After refusing food and water for a day she instantly asked me to go to the Bitik and buy her something to eat. She knew that it was not just her she had to look after but a baby as well.

Neyney had to stay another night until they were done giving her medicine to kill any possible infection in her uterus. I wanted to stay again but needed to get somethings fom home. After Aliji and his small boat paddled me across the Gambia river I hopped on my bike, racing through the dusty dirt road that wound through the bush. I quickly greeted my village and explained Neyney is recovering with out revealing she was pregnant (its taboo to discuss). I got to my mud hut and lay on my bamboo bed, and attempted to relax. My mind was replaying little clips of the past two days like a trailer to a movie. The young boy's wails in the night, Neyney's heavy panting on the ride up, the cobwebs in the hospital room, the old lady who had died, the old naked man in the back who peed in his dishpan, Neyney's suffering and the heat. Then I remembered one more detail which summed up my feelings perfectly, An HIV campaign poster hung on the hospital door with the words "We can do better".