The Oath and Drunken Debauchery (Swear in and the Party)

The day has finally come as my training group cleans to go to our swearing in ceremony at the U.S. ambassadors place. Nerves are high and we all cram into the peace corps van decked out in African attire. A weird vibe was in the air and the streets were crowded with school children. It turns out the president of Guinea-Bassau was in town to meet with Yaya Jammeh (the Gambian President), so all the roads were closed and we were forced to take a sandy back street. This is the first time an entire training class has wore only African outfits and the stares from the people on the streets were looks of pure confusion. Toubab? Arab? Albino Gambians? You get mad street cred here though if you wear African clothing. Getting to the coast the Ambassador’s residence should be on MTV Cribs, it is so so beautiful. Over looking the beach and Atlantic Ocean the view is breathtaking, and for the first time in a long time I was able to enjoy ACTUAL GRASS under my feet. I went out of my way to go to the bathroom there; after shitting in a pit latrine for the past 2 months a beautiful porcelain thrown is like heaven. Though we have toilets here in the captial, this was a super nice one. With real soap and a TV in the waiting room! We took tons of pictures (though I won’t be able to post them until next time I’m in the capital because I forgot my cord). The program began as any Gambian events do, with prayer. Babucarr my LCF (language and cultural facilitator) said an Islamic prayer, Ruco went up and said a Christian prayer, and I went up… on national tv… and said the shahechianu and oseh shalom. Then the big moment came that I was so nervous for at the start, my singing of the national anthem. I go up to the podium, start singing, and pretty much butcher every high note like something out of a comedy movie. Parts I didn’t even sing because I had started to high. I felt like I was going to die, cameras in my face, all of the Gambia watching, The ambassador, 100 staring peace corps volunteers, the peace corps director from DC... needless to say it was a disaster. The most embarrassing moment of my life, in retrospect I’d like to think some great wisdom came from an experience like that, at the very least it put my feet back on the ground, lord knows I need that. But the show went on, and I tried to smile. The head of the Peace Corps in DC said a nice speech, taking stories from his experience in the first year the peace corps was started, he had gone to India. Our skit went like a charm and everyone got a huge kick out of our singing and my Gambian drum beat played on an old water canister. I was going to go sit down by the beach for a little bit and let everything just float past me when I ran into a few of the other volunteers. I told them how I was pretty distraught over the entire national anthem debacle. It turns out though, by some miracle, there had been a problem in the microphone right at the beginning and with everyone else singing the national anthem along with me they could barely hear me; and if they could they couldn’t distinguish me from the others…sigh… thank god! After talking to some people and realizing absolutely no one could even hear me through the speakers I felt a million times better. Even though I’m going to take a lot of flak for the end of our skit where I was suppose to say thank you in all the Gambian PC languages, “Ali abaraka (mandinka), Jerejeff, ning uhhhhhhhh, uhhhhhhhhh, uhhhhhh, oh yea! Jarama! (pulaar)” The blunder got a laugh though so it was worth it. The food I was told wasn’t as good as previous years but to us it was still an orgasm in our mouths and we scarfed down like we had been starving for the past two months… well we sort of had. Earlier in the ceremony we had said an oath, the same used by those going into the armed forces, to defend and protect the united states of America from enemies both foreign and domestic. Later they gave us a piece of paper with that same oath on it and our social security numbers and we were asked to sign it. Dan signed his name as “tits-magee”. I found it funny. Tits-magee and the rest of the bunch then took a PC car back to GPI to get ready for the Julbrew party. If you didn’t read my last post let me explain what a Julbrew party is again. To make it brief there’s only one brewery in the Gambia, and considering their main consumer of their product is peace corps volunteers (we pretty much keep their brewery in buisness) so they throw us about 4 parties a year all the booze you can drink. Mix that with recently graduated 20 something year olds living in a foreign country and the mental rigors of being at site (loneliness, isolation, and horniness) makes for a complete mess of drunken debauchery. Partial nudity, drunkenness, bad pickup-lines and tasteless toasts, screaming in 5 different languages, ass slapping, boys kissing girls, hot girls kissing girls, pissing in the bushes, people then passing out in those same bushes, the interrogations of the new trainees and grind dancing to old 90s songs. It was great. I need to get this shit on film, I could make enough money to buy a motorbike. I love this country. Thankfully we got our own private deck to have our party inside the brewery and far away from the scornful looks of devout Gambians. The best part of the evening was the volunteers who were outing themselves as Jews to me all evening, “I’m so glad you had the courage to say those prayers, I’m also Jewish” even non Jews were glad I did it. Supposedly I’m suppose to hang out with a few of them tonight for Passover but I don’t know if that’s going to happen. The pinnacle of the party was a large group picture of all the guys with our shirts off (supposedly a Julbrew party tradition, but I think it was just a strange excuse to be homo-erotic and/or have a large amount of black-mail material for eventual peace corps drama). After that the party was pretty much beaten till it was dead, I decided it would probably be smart to start thinking of how in the world I was going to finagle myself a taxi drunk in the middle of west Africa then get back to GPI. Most of the party was trying to move outside the brewery to a Gambian club but that had bad idea written all over it. So tits-magee aka Rambo (since no one knows you here sometimes people like to be funny and just tell all the villagers their name is “Rambo” or “Mr. T” or “The Rock”), Olivia, Katie, and a few others decided to all get a cab back together. We got back without any trouble, though a few of our group members decided they love to live on the wild side and stayed out till the morning. That morning we awoke to realize that we were now peace corps volunteers, in all our glory, and thus, had to find our own damn breakfast… sigh. I’m not sure when the next time I’ll be able to post a blog entry but definitely in 2 weeks or so when I’m able to come back to the capital to get paid. Tomorrow starts 3 month challenge, a requirement to remain in your village for 3 months and get to know people. I think it’s more of a “recommendation” than a “rule” but we’ll see how it goes. My mental sanity will always come first but more importantly being able to stay in contact with all of you, my family in friends. With everything that’s happened I really want to keep in contact with you all. A new adventure begins tomorrow, I hear it’s scary as hell to watch that peace corps vehicle drive away into the dust; but I am ready for anything. I have a few minor goals I hope to accomplish in the next few months up to the rainy season. Prepare my garden in the back yard to farm a few good fruits: watermelon, cantaloupe etc. Secondly I’ve bought some blue paint and have decided to paint my house Mediterranean style (blue windows and doors on a white mud brick house). On top of that I hope to start putting the data from the hospital into a computer, maybe teach a little English and IT, play lots of soccer, and read a few good books. To all my more frequent readers I hope you are enjoying my posts, and feel free to send me e-mails or letters with your comments, I know my grammar is f-ed though so don’t bother commenting on that. Stay tuned in two weeks to the next exciting installment :-P. Next post will be a good one too with my first weeks of three month challenge, grant it I survive it to tell the tale.

The Badass Factor, w/ just a hint of narcissism

Through the brilliant collage of emotion that was training it seems we have come full circle but have grown. We’ve found ourselves again in GPI waiting to swear in as volunteers. GPI is the same and this small strip of sandy Kairaba Avenue hasn’t changed but something is different. A feeling maybe, a soft sense of confidence; of what before was an unsettling anxiety has now turned into a silent optimism and familiarity. I’m still the same person that I came to the Gambia as: the strong willed, passionate, smartass I always was but now there is something more that I can’t quite touch on. It’s like I had so much space inside me, so much potential and I’ve finally started to fill all that room in. Tomorrow we swear in, take an oath to our country and ourselves… then party are asses off.

Yesterday we found out that everyone of the 15 health and community development volunteers has passed and will swear in, I personally was worried, but we made it. Every volunteer from Basse to Serrakunda has come to the Stodge for swear in. Have I explained the stodge yet? Well the stodge is something only found in Peace Corps the Gambia and not found in other Peace Corps countries. It’s literally a PCV frat house where people can stay for 60 some Dalasis a night while they are in the capital doing work. It is the site of many nights of drunken debauchery and making bad decisions. There’s TV where we watch all the DVD’s of tv shows sent from home and movies, a library of books that are passed through the PC grapevine, and two floors of rooms full of bunk beds and mosquito nets. Toilet paper is worth it’s weight in gold there and the bathrooms for some reason have an extra toilet for washing who knows what called a bidet. Damn French. After a few nights in the stodge due to the influx in PCVs in the capital we’ve been moved back to GPI till we go back to site. It’s very nostalgic as I described earlier and it sucks to think we had 2 more people in our group then. But life goes on slowly slowly, thus is the Gambian way.

Being here now with a knowledge of local languages it’s effect on the way people treat you is more than noticeable. Even though I still know my knowledge of Mandinka is far from fluent, when people hear me tell them in their native language I’ve only been here 2 months they think I’m a genius. It’s a big moral booster. And the respect that you gain by merely being able to do a full Gambian greeting is immeasurable. Language is so so important and I pray that on my own I can still advance my Mandinka. Plus it’s a huge help in haggling. They’ll give you their daughters hand in marriage for less than a butut. Our haggling skills had to come in handy today as we were giving our swearing in allowance to buy things for our huts. Beds, mattresses, gas burners for cooking, and paint to do a little decorating, I’m going to do my walls Pollack style.

It’s important to make your house your home here. Some days here the world may seem to collapse upon you and your home has to be your refuge and your escape. So yes for those of you who know me you know exactly how my house will end up looking (pictures to come), maps everywhere with soccer and animal posters on the walls. In the peace corps during your first few months in service we have what they call the “3 Month Challenge”. Technically I’m not allowed to leave my site for 3 months, but due to certain circumstances I really find it necessary to keep in touch with my family via e-mail, if not for my family for my own sanity. Honestly though I am super excited for 3 month challenge, painting my house, and getting to know my village. Wish me luck.

At swear in we’re going to be required to put on a skit for the director. That skit we’ve decided to contain a spoken word dancing and drum melody. It’s going to be interesting. An amazing part of it though is a beautiful poem/spoken word that another guy in our group wrote in training village that will start off the presentation. It paints a picture of life here in the Gambia is incredibly powerful and needs no introduction:

When the sun goes down in Africa
The Song of Gambia begins to sing.
And I ask myself, “With Bald Eagle’s Wings,
What harmonies can I bring?
What melodies can I sing?
If anything…”
“Domanding Domanding,” I’m told.
But here, our drums beat fast.
And will those same syncopations
Create relations like they did in our past?
And will they last?
We’ve learned that every chord progression
Consists of chord changes.
So we should never diminish, not even half-diminish
Any major or minor exchanges.
Though in all our arrangements we try to add the sustainable fourth,
We can’t forget the source, that sweet Gambian melody that came before.
With each note that we play and each word that we say,
We want our showmanship to display.
But hey…today…today…
I know in my soul, with the rhythm of our flow,
There’ll be no lyrical stuttering
No mandinka muttering
Just the smooth groove of the Peace Corps band,
Lending a helping hand,
Sweet as Tendaba bread and buttering
Uttering words unfathomable to some, but commonplace to us
Because playing the songs of the world is not a should, but a must.
-Alex Choy