Where the streets have no name

5 weeks into training village (I found an internet cafe in Soma, look on a map if you want to know where it is):

My site mates and I have come to the realization after visiting some of the other training villages: Serra samba (a Woloff village), Fulakunda (a Fula village where they’re learning Pular), and the other Mandinka Villages, Bombako, Bumary, and Worokong, we’ve learned that Kaiaf is literally the Bronx of the Gambia. One of those places no one really wants to live in but the kids that live there, including us in a way, are damn proud of. PETA would have a field day here, and Rumpke for that matter. The children are misbehaved and there are some areas that look like something strait out of a save the children commercial. The school though is very nice and some of the people. Well other than the children who call us Toubab even though they know our name, and the adults who ridicule us on a regular basis just to get to be funny… honestly it’s pathetic.

For the first time in my life I am actually an expert on Ebonics and the irony is killing me. We taught the kids to say phrases such as, “fo shizle my nizzle” and, “Don’t hate the player, hate the game” I seriously need to video tape this, it’s freggin hilarious. It’s doubly hilarious when we’re rocking out to Jay-Z on the boombox and we get yelled at to put back on Bob Marley. My favorite part of the whole iPod introduction though had to be the 12 Muslim kids rocking out to “Adon Olam” and Matishyahu with me, little do they know lol. They about freaked when I started showing the kids some of the videos on my iPod. First off let me say that the Gambia is 95% Muslim and porn is illegal. Thus not thinking I showed them a Rihanna music video “Umbrella” which in America is on basic cable or on MTV but in the Gambia, to these 10-13 year old boys was pretty much the closest thing to hard core porn they’d ever seen and I quickly after realizing this turned it off.

As I type this portion of the post I’m in Tendeba Camp again. It’s nice to come here and see everyone after two weeks in the Bronx. I gained the weight back that I lost in the first two weeks so I’m really happy about that. I’ve added like a million things to my wish list especially now that we all know our sites now… well that’s a story.

So we all grab our gear bright and early Monday morning to catch the peace corps vehicle to Tendeba and my host father hands me a bag of baobab cookies to munch on. As soon as we get to Tendeba I splurge and buy a 25 dalasi Fanta (if you’ve done the conversion don’t laugh they pay us Gambian pay), then walk to our first technical class on Community Needs Assessments. We have our second language tests later in the day and everyone was nervously studying there Mandinka, Pulaar, and Wolof. I decided though to jump in the pool. Going back to my room I realize that my doorknob has turned into a nest for wasps to the point that there is no way I can open the door with out getting stung. Knowing this I still go to open the door, luckly I’m able to get in and get my bathing suit, but as I’m locking the door behind me to go to the pool I get stung right on the pinky. Ow. About 20 minutes after that I come late to my language review due to the incident and go over some Mandinka before the test. I’m doing really well, and was very confident and ready for the test, but with the adrenaline still pumping from the wasp sting I get nervous. I could understand everything my tester was saying to me but was really to clouded in my head to remember how to respond. I’m praying I do well in it. After testing and after dinner we were pulled away one by one to be given our big site assignments which were all surprising but good. Surprising in the fact that we all thought our group would be sent up country to the Upper River Division but in actuality got sent all over the country, and only a third of our group ended up being sent to URR (but I’ll go into that later). So here’s the juicy part, leaving the meeting nervous/excited about my site and eager to tell everyone I walk to the bar where a soccer games playing (you know me and soccer), it’s Lille vs. Paris Saint Germain. Then not paying attention I make a sharp movement to my right where some friends are sitting, only to find a hard wooden pole jumping out at me, yea it jumped out at me. The only thing I really remember after that is stumbling away from the Bar sober as a horse (can you be sober as a horse? Oh never mind.) but delirious all the same with a head ache, and putting my hand to my right eyebrow, full of blood. After I figure out what’s going on I walk away from the salty mangrove coast of the River Gambia and to the bar packed full of PCTs celebrating their sites and St. Patty’s day. I guess it looked worse than it felt because they dragged me to the nurse. I didn’t really sleep that night, thinking about the site and the throbbing pain of my forehead. In the morning I had a huge lump on my eyebrow and a nice black and blue mark.

Alright so my site, I finally have been placed with a site just for me, but sadly due to some security issues with the area I am not permitted to discuss the location of mine or my peers sites. Though if you know the Gambia, had a map, and read carefully I’m sure you could figure it out. If you would really like to know it would be ok for me to tell you in a personal letter or e-mail so ask. I’m excited for it, it’s a great site and I think I’ll be able to keep up with the blogs. Our training class got broke up into what we’ve classified as 3 separate zones of the Gambia, we have 15 people left in our group with Tim and Nikki ETing. Five were sent up country (where we thought we were all going) up to URR, 5 were put in northern region and then 5 in the southern/lower river. It turns out more than a third of our group is getting electricity (I think it’s like 6 of us)… I though am not and will be content with my dark hut and pit latrine. We have thus labeled them all “Pansy Peace Corps” and are lumped in with though lame Caribbean PCVs who live in island resorts with internet, AC, and running water. Things I can tell you about my site, that I’ve learned from my site description (my next post will be after site visit prior to swearing in), are that I will have a hut very similar to that from training village, a tin roof, two bedroom mud brick house. I have a pump supposedly 20 meters from my house where I can get water but I’m not sure if they mean 20 from my hut or my village. My site is pretty out there and at the same time the nearest volunteer is only 10 kilometers (Katie actually who I’ve mentioned as one of the two girls who lived in Kaiaf training village with me). My site has a medical center where I think the PC wants me to do the majority of my work, it’s going to be tough to see on a daily basis but I’m sure I’ll find a niche. Also there is a school which will have plenty of opportunities for me to do some type of health education and maybe even athletic coaching. As a secondary project they’ve even placed me “close” to 3 different ecotourism centers which I really hope to do some work in. There are some other really cool facts about my site but I can’t disclose them on the blog so send me a letter I don’t have any of your addresses.

So I received my results from my language exam. I got a Novice High level in Mandinka… we need Intermediate mid to swear in as peace corps volunteers. Though I’m positive they would never send us home, but we would definitely miss swearing in and have to spend two weeks in Kombo doing language, it would amazingly suck. On another note though at Tendaba we took part in a long lasting Peace Corps The Gambia tradition of the “Marathon/Death March”. It’s a 25k walk through Kiang West National Park, full of mangroves, valleys, monkeys, and bush pigs. Though to me it was more of a leisurely walk than a “Death March” it was extremely beautiful. I can’t help but think what the Gambia was like before desertification and human expansion spoiled the wildlife. The highlight of the death march had to be the part where we had to swim through a rice patty. Literally so deep we could not touch the bottom (at times) holding our packs over our heads. The water was actually scaringly warm and though I know the river this far up is still salty and thus doesn’t carry any diseases, the rice patties on the other hand may be fresh water… in which case Schistosomiasis may be present but I doubt any of us would get it.

Well I guess I’ll end this post here, I just found out there’s internet in Soma so I hope to post these entries on the 25^th of March when I’m there to teach a life skills class to boy scouts. On an interesting note I’ve been asked to sing the national at swearing in… which is being broadcast live on Gambia TV (wow)! As well as say a Hebrew prayer, as there will be an Islamic prayer, and some peace corps people are doing a Christian prayer so they volunteered me to do something Jewish lol. Not that I have a problem with that at all, other than the fact that I think I will have just put a giant target on my back for the two years I stay in the Gambia that I’m a Jew. Please e-mail me if you have any prayer suggestions, I’m thinking about just doing the Sahekianu. Once again please continue to write, as I’ve only received one letter so far (not that I have time to respond) but still it’s fregging depressing… thanks bree, your letter’s in the mail. Oh by the way weird question: does anyone know the legalities of taking a monkey skull out of the country? I found a wicked sweet one.

Demba Barrow what is your name?

3 weeks into training village:

It is extremely difficult for me now to cram the past few weeks into a single journal entry considering I feel like I’ve experienced a life time of events, but I will try. I went through times when I was so close to coming home, times when I felt sick to my stomach, times when I felt so strong and confident, and times when I was reminded how small and how beautiful the world truly is… and yet I still have many months to go. I’ll start though with the two weeks into my posting at the training village of Kiaf in the lower river division of the Gambia; where are main protagonist (me obviously) is minding his own business in the village: “Toubabo! Toubabo!” *white man! white man!* “N to mu MANKE toubabo le! N to mu Demba le ti.” *my name is Demba, NOT white man* “Give me your ball!” “I’m not giving you my ball kid, get a job.” “Demba, Demba, what is your name?” “I just told you my freggin’ name. Do you not greet? Salaam Alekium.” “Alekium salaam”… “That’s better, Summolu lay? *How are the home people*” “I be je *they are there*”

I’ve been in my training village of Kiaf for two weeks now, though it seems like I’ve been here for at least a year. I walk down the rugged sand streets like something out of a “Save the Children” commercial. Children, most of home I don’t remember let alone ever meeting, scream my name; either my American name followed by the last name “Gerrard” because the only Steven any of them know play’s for Liverpool, a English football club, and it doesn’t help that I play with the older guys on a daily basis. Or I am called by my Gambian name, Demba, which is suppose to mean warrior but also the first disciple of the prophet Muhammad… who was rich and did a lot of good things or something. My surname was then taken from my host family, Barrow. My host father Kay ba and my host mother Penda… both very nice, I carry on full conversations with my host father even though he doesn’t speak a lick of English, he just nods and smiles… he’s a great listener and I can talk about anything lol. “Yea so I had explosive diarrhea this morning it sucked, you know what I’m talking about, it’s some mean shit” *he nods, even though he has no idea what I’m talking about… I find it quite humorous*. Really my host sister, Mariamma, whose like 12 speaks the best English, but my namesake, an extremely cute 10 year old boy named Demba Toure speaks a little bit. The “Official” language of the Gambia is English but really I think only 10-15% of people speak it fluently. I wake up everyday at 6 something to the call to prayer (the speaker is RIGHT next to my house), and the malaria medication must be getting to me because this morning I swear I heard the man say after random Arabic prayers, “… brought to you by Nabisco.” Or maybe that’s just the hunger talking. I feel like I’ve lost a lot of weight already, foods really been the biggest issue though I do feel good as we’ve all been put on *very manly* pre-natal vitamins. I love the breakfasts which consist of a porridge mixed with a really amazing peanut butter sauce and enough sugar to make anyone diabetic; but that’s about it. Lunch is rice with an extremely spicy sauce then dinner is the same with some fish heads mixed in with it, it’s sort of like those surprise toys you get in cereal boxes except not giving you the same smiling effect. A few days ago I was actually given three whole fish in my bowl with their eyes poked out. This actually is a big honor to be given this much meat considering most of their meals really don’t involve that much protein… but I just couldn’t bring my self to eat it. I know this all sounds really depressing but to be quite honest I’m feeling really positive and having a great time, some days are incredibly hard but other days I feel like I was born to be here for at least this short two year tour. I should start from the beginning though…

We drove for two hours to reach my assigned training village, not because the Gambia is so expansive but merely because the “roads” had more pot marks than my face in high school. It literally is just as fast to ride a mountain bike across the country than it is to take a car with out 4WD. I was in the middle of an absolute nervous break down. Here I was, in the middle of bum-shit Africa, about to start a 30 month journey into the unknown. I was utterly petrified and to be frank, I think that thus proved my sanity. I hadn’t eaten for days and the diarrhea was still taking it’s toll on me though getting better. We stopped at the other villages to drop the rest of the people off, they smiled and little children helped grab there things. Finally Kiaf was in view, and to our luck, we were informed that we shouldn’t be concerned if people aren’t to happy to see us as a funeral had just taken place. Amanda, Katie, our LCH (language instructor) Babucarr and I nervously stepped out of the rusty old Land Rover. We were SWARMED by more children then I’ve ever seen in my life, and told to sit down in front of a steaming kettle of Attaya, a local tea which takes hours to brew and is meant to be savored with good company. It’s about 5 parts sugar, 4 parts caffeine and 1 part tea, with a little mint occasional… extremely addicting. As the car drove away it was all too overwhelming. In the days to come I would pretty much accept that I was going to just ET (early termination), at one point I was even given a chance to call home and talk to my mom, but I couldn’t get through… thank god because I’m pretty sure I would have convinced myself to come home. Three days later though it was like something clicked in my head, and to this day I can’t even remember the thinking paradigm that brought me to this point… but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that at some point I just got it, everything clicked, I let go of the fears, of the lack of communication with my host family, of my location, and just accepted it. Now I think we’re all doing really well and positive towards the future and I couldn’t even imagine ETing. Though we still go through hard days we get through them, and we keep going, and most of the time it is good. The foods a problem, but I just supplement it with crazy amounts of peanut butter and bread and I pray that I don’t lose any more weight.

I’m sure a lot of you are wondering what my place looks like in training village, I’m going to post pictures so I’ll be brief. I live in a cozy “two room” house with a tin roof and concrete floor. The first room is empty but Amanda, Katie, and I like to chill there to get away from village life. My backyard is the same length as the two rooms of my house but is pretty much a concrete walkway over sand to a bamboo walled pit latrine and bathing area. Honestly… it’s not as bad as it sounds/looks. I take a warm bucket bath everyday under a beautiful starlit African sky with the sounds of the Islamic call to prayer in the background and the occasional donkey copulation; then I fall asleep under a mosquito net to the glow of candle light, it’s actually very romantic. My baths are warm because I get water from the well everyday at noon and by the end of the day it’s bubbling hot. The family compound I live in is actually very small which makes it quiet and quite nice.

After about two weeks of initial shock in village life we were all transported to Tendaba Camp for some technical training over a few days. Tendaba camp is a tourist “Safari” camp on the south bank of the river Gambia. I am hesitant to call anything “safari” here as there is hardly any safari animal life to see other than a large migrating bird population and copious amounts of insects. Though I think few people fly to Africa to witness the wonderful plethora of invertebrate creepy crawlers. It was great to see everyone, and even grab a grossly overpriced cold beer and a fanta which will cost you about 50 dalasi. That’s about 2 and some American dollars, but realize that when you’re only making 28 bucks a month that’s a lot, and when you can get it for 10 dalasi in Soma and other up country villages. During technical training we received our first language exam of which I scored a Novice Mid level in Mandinka; that I believe was really a sympathy grade as I’m honestly doing pretty much the crappiest Mandinka speaker in our group. On a more technical basis we had more health training in both bed net dipping, breast feeding, and making insect repellent from nyme tree leaves. The worst of all the training had to be our personal health lecture. During that hour we were required to show we were competent enough to make a microscope slide with our very own blood to be tested for malaria. We had no idea walking into this lecture we’d soon be stabbing ourselves with small needles then milking our fingers to get enough blood to fill a slide. Supposedly we were suppose to quickly prick our fingers, I though didn’t stab my self hard enough the first time and was forced to slowly press a sharp needle into my finger to draw more blood. Only in peace corps. If that wasn’t torture enough our physical pain would be manifest mentally as we would be exposed to a slide show presentation of the nastiest west African microbes, worms, and diseases… speechless. For about an hour everyone in the room was questioning whether our mosquito bites were indeed just mosquito bites or a blood sucking, capillary tunneling, bug.

All in all Tendeba was a nice refreshing breeze on our village life, the view of the river is beautiful and the expansive mangrove shoreline is stunning. I got to see my first mudskipper, a fish native only to west Africa that spends most of it’s life above water and looks like a modified tadpole with two bulbous fish eyes on the top of it’s head. Also for the first time we’ve all really been separated from the tourists that come hear for bird watching and an escape from the just trials of suburban English life. We notice the behavioral in sensitivities that they do on a regular basis with out realizing it, it’s pretty funny and you’d be AMAZED how much better of a reception you’ll get talking to a Gambian if you greet them in their native tongue or even at the very least a pleasant Salaam Alekium. I guess I call it a post for now as this is getting pretty wordy. I wish I could have added some more funny stories of village life but most of them aren’t as funny if you don’t have the context or have lived in west Africa. Also I really wanted to attempt to convey the emotional roller coaster that was our first weeks living in village. I do promise many more stories to come and once again please do not worry or take offence to not hearing from me sooner *even though the next time I’ll be able to post this is probably going to be mid april*. Fo naa too (till later).