The day had finally arrived, I was driving to the site where I would work for the next two years. Alex and Katie were dropped off before me with the look of shear fear in their eyes as the peace corps SUV drove off in a cloud of dust. Driving down to my site I was nervous but actually more excited than anything else, for some reason I had a feeling that I was meant to go to this particular village, though even know I haven’t found out why. We had trouble finding my compound so we first stopped at the health clinic where I was going to do some of my work, to ask for directions. This wasn’t any normal clinic though, as soon as we stepped into the gated hospital we could tell this was different. Walking though the buildings, the men’s ward, women’s ward, children’s ward, maternity ward, and even a dentistry unit being built I realized this was nicer than some inner city clinics! The entire place was pimped out with large solar panels, powering the entire facility with electricity, and what more, to my amazement, the glory of a flush toilet (with TP for that matter)! The first time I sat down with my counterpart and the Dutch women who headed the clinic they uncapped an ice cold bottle of coke for me. “American’s love their Coke”, she said, and I was in to much sheer happiness to tell her I was a Pepsi fan. This place was not like Kiang at all, and may very well be the only green area of the Gambia, with an abundance of fruit like something out of a movie. Mango trees everywhere, Baobabs, and to what I’d find out later would be an Orange tree in my back yard… yes… that’s right… fresh, squeezed orange juice. I was in heaven. If that wasn’t enough we then got to witness my house; my compound is rather large and from the outside it’s like any African housing, shops very close as well as easy access to a pump. Opening the door to my house though (though it’s still mud brick and a tin roof I’ve upgraded my residence from hut to house, though some would still consider it a hut I guess) it was a freaking mansion. Easily more than 3 times the size of my dorm room of which I lived comfortably in for 4 years. The house was brand new with green floors and even the nice rice bag ceiling to protect me from falling woody debris from the supports.
Did I mention my backyard had an orange tree??? And plenty of room for Maringa planting (there I said it, so all you Ag-fo’s can leave me alone), as well as my Wal-Mart watermelon and cantaloupe… is it racist to plant watermelon in the Gambia??? Just curious. Ironically it grows super well here, as well as other warm soil plants. The people here are all very nice especially my host family and counter part who have been more than amazing! Not to mention the hospital has been so kind to me in my first days here. They’ve lent me a bed to sleep on till I buy some things in Kombo. The people overall in the village go out of their way to be kind, but maybe it’s that I’m new and I have come from the Bronx. It’s also nice to know that several compounds in the village get Senegalese satellite television and watch all the live football games… oh yes. You should see it, it’s really odd to see African tin roof compounds with satellite dishes and color tvs. This place is so perfect that I’m severely nervous of the terrible secret this village must hold. Maybe they sacrifice people every month or have secret Nazi youth meetings, what ever it is I’ll get to the bottom of it. I played soccer with the kids for the first time too the other day. I was nervous if I played shitty the first day they’d never let me play with them again. They have some big tournaments in the rainy season playing other villages and I really hope to get on the team. The men here are much better than those in Kiang where I was the local Pele, now I’m just a toubab who can play, but I guess they assume I’d be good just cause white guys from England come all the time and are pretty good. The entire American soccer community’s positive perception rests souly on my shoulders.
On the last day before I had to head out to Kombo for swear in the most proud moment since I’ve been here occurred. We were negotiating payment of rent, food, and laundry and my counterparts brother went into a long speech where he explained that they went through the long peace corps volunteer application to bring me here and that they felt it was their responsibility to take care of me; that I was part of the family, part of this community, and I shouldn’t worry about those things. It made me feel such a sense of responsibility that I have to this community to leave it better than I found it, and to give all the time, experience, and passion I process. It’s kind of daunting now that I think about it. Either way I definitely plan on sneaking a few bags of rice, jimbo, and oil, whenever I can to help pay my way. My next post I hope to talk about swear in, which is going to be the sickest party this side of the Atlantic. Every peace corps volunteer in county’s coming to the capital for it. I love you all, keep reading, writing, and calling. Oh and on a side note, I just found out Amanda’s puppy is still alive… though it’s probably better off dead than to be an animal in west Africa.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment