7/19/14
Ever since I was a little girl, I have taken a great pleasure in the catching and killing of bugs...specifically, flies. It's an anomaly...While my hand-eye coordination is generally sub-par, I can catch flies in mid- flight like a f*king ninja. It's a skill my father helped me to acquire in the 2nd grade. I think it made me feel safe or less afraid...if I could smash it, how scary could it really be?
Fast forward 20 years to July in The Gambia. Now that the rains have finally come, they brought with them all.the.bugs. Many many bugs. Perhaps a visual is necessary. Anyone remember the ROUS' from Princess Bride? Well these are the BOUS'. I'm talking Jurassic Park caliber shit here. For the last few days, I've been alternating between being totally fascinated at their enormity and terrified that one is trying successfully to burrow into my skin. Thankfully, my level of bravery is increasing daily, as one can only have small children laugh in your face as you "eeek" and "ewww" so many times before you feel like a total asshole and need to re-evaluate your life. Sure, I will take language lessons from a four year old little girl, but I will NOT allow her to protect me from a beetle....even if it is on steroids.
Soo, yesterday, I made the executive decision to cease all fear and revive my ninja skills. After dabbling in a few minor kills, my confidence was rising. Then, ready-or-not, I was prematurely called for my black belt exam. Last night, after brushing my teeth outside with T. Swift, (my fav goat pal) I was ready for bed. But, upon coming back inside, I realized that my room was absolutely crawling with insects. On the floor, on my walls, flying through the air. It looked like the page of a bug encyclopedia had come to life. Heart racing, I geared myself up---I can do this.
So...there I stood in the middle of my house, wearing nothing but a pair of giant underwear, my retainers, flip flops, and a headlamp on full blast. I went into full attack mode. Noises were made. Grunting was involved. A few respectable (ish) screeches of disgust slash terror were uttered and one or two verses of "yea, bitch...this is my house"later were yelled, and my work was done. As you can imagine, the aftermath was not pretty. Carcasses covered every inch of my dirt floor, and I'm pretty sure a few were stuck in my hair. Either way, one sweep of the battle grounds, and I was ready for bed.
Now, if I could just muster up the same courage for all things furry, I'd feel unstoppable....but I think in that case, I'd really rather the 4-year olds handle it.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Screaming Goat Featuring Taylor Swift
To save the 90% of you the hassle of googling "do goats really scream like humans" I have attached this nice video for you. Please enjoy; and think of me waking up in a pool of sweat somewhere, missing you all. :)
7/10/2014
The Heat is On...
So, it's been an interesting couple of weeks....
I've hit many milestones since I last checked in. Most significantly, I've learned to urinate while effectively aiming at cockroaches, to fetch water from a pump-well and carry it the half-mile back to my house without spilling, and to eat a mango the size of a cantaloupe in approximately two minutes. Life, in short....has changed a bit.
We all left the capital area of Banjul at the end of June and were transported to our "training villages" where we will stay until the end of August when we are officially sworn in as volunteers. In these villages, we live in our own house or room, have our own outdoor bathroom area, complete with pit latrine (AKA 10 foot deep cement hole) and have a family who "adopts" us and helps us adjust to the new culture. For these couple of months, we are near three other volunteers, so every morning we meet up at our teacher's house, who is a native of the Fula tribe, and he helps us learn the local language called Pular. It's a long and stressful day, as learning so much so quickly while the hot sun beats down on us is noooo joke. My body and mind are still adjusting to this heat. My hand to God I will never again take a cool breeze for granted. I've have never considered myself to be particularly religious, but every time the wind blows, I say a prayer for it to happen again, so we'll see....I may end up a full-on Deacon by the time I'm out of here!
Aside from formal lessons, we have blocks set aside in the day to just walk around the village and practice speaking to people. This is helpful at times, but also endlessly frustrating and exhausting. They want so badly to communicate with us and assume that because we are taking lessons, fluency is just around the corner. As you can imagine, this is not the case. It's a slow-going process. Although, two days ago I overhead an old woman on the other side of my bathroom fence say, "Look! That foreigner is taking another bath!", as she could see my headlamp on and hear me splashing around. I didn't know whether to be angry at the prospect of being referred to as "that foreigner" or totally ecstatic that I could understand it....
Speaking of old ladies...One of my absolute favorite things that occurs so far has been the dancing-and it's still Ramadan where music and dance are mostly forbidden, so I ain't seen nothin' yet. The life and energy of dance here is almost enough to make up for being served white rice grits for breakfast, which I lovingly refer to as "hate soup" and clearly can't get enough of. So the first time we danced with the people in the village, a huge crowd gathered to amuse themselves and watch the strange white people do strange white people things. Two kids were showing us how to get down and were getting super frisky. We loved it, but were also not about to join in at a bump and grind in broad daylight--at least not on the first day... But then, I looked over and saw the sweetest, smallest, wrinkliest granny of the bunch give a loud clap and drop it to the floor. It was then that I knew things were going to be alright. I mean...if grannies are going full- twerk at noon, then this is definitely the place for me.
This isn't to say that this time has been without hardships...The food has proved a daily struggle for me. Not eating many carbohydrates in a culture that believes "noodle dip" is a thing has been...very trying. Boiled eggs, bits of chicken or fish and the occasional giant mango have been my saviors so far, but I can't wait to move to my permanent site where I can buy all the beans and lentils and cook for myself. I plan to cover everything in oregano and pound it all directly to the face.
Other difficult moments are more lacking in comic relief...It was an absolute shock upon arrival to realize where I'd be living. Dirt floor, stifling hot rooms with no fan or hint of breeze, and the children...Hundreds of children--half naked, fully covered in filth, and totally without the things they need to thrive. Many are very sick, others are underfed, and all of them need more love and affection than their families are able to provide. There are simply too many of them. I've seen babies no older than 10 months walking pant-less down a dirt path alone while sucking on a battery. I've walked in on my two-year-old "nephew" playing with a huge kitchen knife in the back yard, and on a daily basis I see toddlers carrying infants on their backs while doing hard laborious chores. This is not meant as a judgement-it's just an unfortunate and unavoidable circumstance of the conditions here. It will be interesting to see how my views on all of this change throughout my time here....or if any of this will ever cease to freeze me in my tracks.
Instead of continuing on for ages, I've decided to compile a Top 5 list. I love Top 5 lists and assuming things continue to amuse me here, I will try and make one every month. Here goes.
Top 5 Gambian Moments of the Month: JULY
5) Having to absolutely M.U.R.D.E.R. all spiders and bugs. They are such resilient freaks of nature that a simple stomp will just not suffice. They must be stabbed-violently.. repeatedly.. in order to die.
4) Having a five-year-old girl come to my rescue and help teach me to make Attaya, the local tea. I thought I had a high tolerance for touching hot things, but apparently, these hot things do not include burning coals or metal teapots containing boiling water. #Epicfail #Whatfingertips?
3) Realizing that as a random white person, I am pretty much the strangest, most intriguing thing some of these people have ever seen. There are people peeking through my windows and watching me AT ALL TIMES. They watch me while I sleep, they watch me bleach and filter my water, one kid even watched me exercise for 40 minutes without so much as acknowledging me...just hands up against the window, mouth agape, like I was on fire. At first, I tried to get them to stop and explained how I generally prefer a bit more privacy, but mostly they just nodded and laughed because they have no idea what I'm saying. So now, the way I see it, if you see me sweeping my house naked, that's your problem.
2) Coming to terms with the fact that corn rows are not for me. I've only given it one fair shake, but a second shot is not likely. It lasted a day, no-I have no photographic evidence of said rows, and yes- I looked very much like an extra from Orange is the New Black. Full disclosure, I think it also affected my personality insofar as I felt a little tough and much less inclined to smile at children, and I think I even licked my teeth a few times.
The Absolute #1 realization about Gambian life thusfar is.................
1) That goats really actually do sound like screaming humans. Now, for some of you, this may not be a shocker, but for me, it was nothing short of mind blowing. A goat noise never even occurred to me until last year when that Taylor Swift video went viral. And even then I just figured it was digitally enhanced. Turns out...that just actually how they sound. I wake at all hours of the night in a panic thinking a small child has fallen down a well, when the reality is, the goat in my bathroom just wanted to say goodnight.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NFgx5MY72Dk
The Heat is On...
So, it's been an interesting couple of weeks....
I've hit many milestones since I last checked in. Most significantly, I've learned to urinate while effectively aiming at cockroaches, to fetch water from a pump-well and carry it the half-mile back to my house without spilling, and to eat a mango the size of a cantaloupe in approximately two minutes. Life, in short....has changed a bit.
We all left the capital area of Banjul at the end of June and were transported to our "training villages" where we will stay until the end of August when we are officially sworn in as volunteers. In these villages, we live in our own house or room, have our own outdoor bathroom area, complete with pit latrine (AKA 10 foot deep cement hole) and have a family who "adopts" us and helps us adjust to the new culture. For these couple of months, we are near three other volunteers, so every morning we meet up at our teacher's house, who is a native of the Fula tribe, and he helps us learn the local language called Pular. It's a long and stressful day, as learning so much so quickly while the hot sun beats down on us is noooo joke. My body and mind are still adjusting to this heat. My hand to God I will never again take a cool breeze for granted. I've have never considered myself to be particularly religious, but every time the wind blows, I say a prayer for it to happen again, so we'll see....I may end up a full-on Deacon by the time I'm out of here!
Aside from formal lessons, we have blocks set aside in the day to just walk around the village and practice speaking to people. This is helpful at times, but also endlessly frustrating and exhausting. They want so badly to communicate with us and assume that because we are taking lessons, fluency is just around the corner. As you can imagine, this is not the case. It's a slow-going process. Although, two days ago I overhead an old woman on the other side of my bathroom fence say, "Look! That foreigner is taking another bath!", as she could see my headlamp on and hear me splashing around. I didn't know whether to be angry at the prospect of being referred to as "that foreigner" or totally ecstatic that I could understand it....
Speaking of old ladies...One of my absolute favorite things that occurs so far has been the dancing-and it's still Ramadan where music and dance are mostly forbidden, so I ain't seen nothin' yet. The life and energy of dance here is almost enough to make up for being served white rice grits for breakfast, which I lovingly refer to as "hate soup" and clearly can't get enough of. So the first time we danced with the people in the village, a huge crowd gathered to amuse themselves and watch the strange white people do strange white people things. Two kids were showing us how to get down and were getting super frisky. We loved it, but were also not about to join in at a bump and grind in broad daylight--at least not on the first day... But then, I looked over and saw the sweetest, smallest, wrinkliest granny of the bunch give a loud clap and drop it to the floor. It was then that I knew things were going to be alright. I mean...if grannies are going full- twerk at noon, then this is definitely the place for me.
This isn't to say that this time has been without hardships...The food has proved a daily struggle for me. Not eating many carbohydrates in a culture that believes "noodle dip" is a thing has been...very trying. Boiled eggs, bits of chicken or fish and the occasional giant mango have been my saviors so far, but I can't wait to move to my permanent site where I can buy all the beans and lentils and cook for myself. I plan to cover everything in oregano and pound it all directly to the face.
Other difficult moments are more lacking in comic relief...It was an absolute shock upon arrival to realize where I'd be living. Dirt floor, stifling hot rooms with no fan or hint of breeze, and the children...Hundreds of children--half naked, fully covered in filth, and totally without the things they need to thrive. Many are very sick, others are underfed, and all of them need more love and affection than their families are able to provide. There are simply too many of them. I've seen babies no older than 10 months walking pant-less down a dirt path alone while sucking on a battery. I've walked in on my two-year-old "nephew" playing with a huge kitchen knife in the back yard, and on a daily basis I see toddlers carrying infants on their backs while doing hard laborious chores. This is not meant as a judgement-it's just an unfortunate and unavoidable circumstance of the conditions here. It will be interesting to see how my views on all of this change throughout my time here....or if any of this will ever cease to freeze me in my tracks.
Instead of continuing on for ages, I've decided to compile a Top 5 list. I love Top 5 lists and assuming things continue to amuse me here, I will try and make one every month. Here goes.
Top 5 Gambian Moments of the Month: JULY
5) Having to absolutely M.U.R.D.E.R. all spiders and bugs. They are such resilient freaks of nature that a simple stomp will just not suffice. They must be stabbed-violently.. repeatedly.. in order to die.
4) Having a five-year-old girl come to my rescue and help teach me to make Attaya, the local tea. I thought I had a high tolerance for touching hot things, but apparently, these hot things do not include burning coals or metal teapots containing boiling water. #Epicfail #Whatfingertips?
3) Realizing that as a random white person, I am pretty much the strangest, most intriguing thing some of these people have ever seen. There are people peeking through my windows and watching me AT ALL TIMES. They watch me while I sleep, they watch me bleach and filter my water, one kid even watched me exercise for 40 minutes without so much as acknowledging me...just hands up against the window, mouth agape, like I was on fire. At first, I tried to get them to stop and explained how I generally prefer a bit more privacy, but mostly they just nodded and laughed because they have no idea what I'm saying. So now, the way I see it, if you see me sweeping my house naked, that's your problem.
2) Coming to terms with the fact that corn rows are not for me. I've only given it one fair shake, but a second shot is not likely. It lasted a day, no-I have no photographic evidence of said rows, and yes- I looked very much like an extra from Orange is the New Black. Full disclosure, I think it also affected my personality insofar as I felt a little tough and much less inclined to smile at children, and I think I even licked my teeth a few times.
The Absolute #1 realization about Gambian life thusfar is.................
1) That goats really actually do sound like screaming humans. Now, for some of you, this may not be a shocker, but for me, it was nothing short of mind blowing. A goat noise never even occurred to me until last year when that Taylor Swift video went viral. And even then I just figured it was digitally enhanced. Turns out...that just actually how they sound. I wake at all hours of the night in a panic thinking a small child has fallen down a well, when the reality is, the goat in my bathroom just wanted to say goodnight.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NFgx5MY72Dk
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
The Cold Has Always Bothered Me Anyway..
7/1/14
I have spent the last few nights at a Peace Corps transit house near the capital of The Gambia. This place is decked-out with everything from running water, electricity, filtered water on tap, to freaking wifi and air-conditioning. Each of the nineteen people in the house has been awakened by being so bone-chillingly cold that they woke up in order to pile random things on top of themselves for warmth. This is not real life...starting tomorrow. Tomorrow, we are being bussed up country to our training villages, where we will reside for the next 2 months while going through intensive language classes, learning to survive without any modern conveniences, and sweating profusely through and onto any and all things within a 10 foot proximity of our bodies.
We have been getting slowly eased into this new country; Its culture, food, languages, and landscape are all becoming more familiar, and as of today, I have finally stopped waking up with that panicked "where in the F am I?" pounding in my chest. HOWEVER, I can't say that I feel prepared for what lies ahead in the coming weeks. While I feel prepared to sleep alone and have my own space, I am nervous. I am nervous for being alone, for trying to bond with people through a language I can't speak, for actually knowing what 120 degrees feel like, and above all else, I'm nervous for running into something furry in the dark. I relive this moment over and over again in my head, hoping that the fear will somehow dissipate and that my new sense of strength or independence or whatever will overpower my fears, but mostly my visions end with me screaming, peeing my pants, and crying in front of my new host family.
The last week has been filled with all sorts of classes. From eight to five, we sit in a classroom at Peace Corps headquarters in Banjul. We listen to various people tell us about the culture, we eat the lunches with failed attempts to use only our right hands, and we get shot up with just about every vaccination known to man. I even sat through a presentation on how to successfully defecate into a hole. Three days ago, after getting shot up with Hepatitis A and Meningitis, we received our Malaria prophylaxis along with explicit instructions on how to use them. Feeling confident in my ability to follow simple instructions, I went home with my bag of pills. For the next three days, I felt accomplished; I woke up at six, exercised, showered, ate breakfast and took my prescribed medications. In addition to my daily cocktail of vitamins and pain relievers, I added in the mix a Mefloquin and one Doxycycline to prevent Malaria. As the days went on, I felt an increased level of bizarre. An intense dizziness peppered with nausea, a slower-than-normal heart rate, and a general feeling that I had recently chugged 300 beers was overtaking me, and I was not sure what to do. After seeing the doctor, resting, and drinking my body weight in water, I came back to the PC house to pack up my things. It was then that I realized I had been taking the Mefloquin- a WEEKLY medication-EVERY DAY for the last three days. Thankfully, I am still alive and also apparently quite resistant to Malaria. I decided to ride out my strange feeling by going to watch the World Cup and imbibing in a couple of the local beers...I mean...if I feel drunk, I had better damn well be enjoying myself.
Aside from my medicinal mishap, most things are going well. I couldn't have hoped for a better group of people and I've been able to swim in the ocean and relax into my new environment. I don't know when the next time is that I will have access to internet or electricity. Until that time comes, I hope for nothing more than a cool breeze, a nice family to live with, and for all the rodents in the whole of Gambia to spontaneously keel over and die.
Here's hoping.
I have spent the last few nights at a Peace Corps transit house near the capital of The Gambia. This place is decked-out with everything from running water, electricity, filtered water on tap, to freaking wifi and air-conditioning. Each of the nineteen people in the house has been awakened by being so bone-chillingly cold that they woke up in order to pile random things on top of themselves for warmth. This is not real life...starting tomorrow. Tomorrow, we are being bussed up country to our training villages, where we will reside for the next 2 months while going through intensive language classes, learning to survive without any modern conveniences, and sweating profusely through and onto any and all things within a 10 foot proximity of our bodies.
We have been getting slowly eased into this new country; Its culture, food, languages, and landscape are all becoming more familiar, and as of today, I have finally stopped waking up with that panicked "where in the F am I?" pounding in my chest. HOWEVER, I can't say that I feel prepared for what lies ahead in the coming weeks. While I feel prepared to sleep alone and have my own space, I am nervous. I am nervous for being alone, for trying to bond with people through a language I can't speak, for actually knowing what 120 degrees feel like, and above all else, I'm nervous for running into something furry in the dark. I relive this moment over and over again in my head, hoping that the fear will somehow dissipate and that my new sense of strength or independence or whatever will overpower my fears, but mostly my visions end with me screaming, peeing my pants, and crying in front of my new host family.
The last week has been filled with all sorts of classes. From eight to five, we sit in a classroom at Peace Corps headquarters in Banjul. We listen to various people tell us about the culture, we eat the lunches with failed attempts to use only our right hands, and we get shot up with just about every vaccination known to man. I even sat through a presentation on how to successfully defecate into a hole. Three days ago, after getting shot up with Hepatitis A and Meningitis, we received our Malaria prophylaxis along with explicit instructions on how to use them. Feeling confident in my ability to follow simple instructions, I went home with my bag of pills. For the next three days, I felt accomplished; I woke up at six, exercised, showered, ate breakfast and took my prescribed medications. In addition to my daily cocktail of vitamins and pain relievers, I added in the mix a Mefloquin and one Doxycycline to prevent Malaria. As the days went on, I felt an increased level of bizarre. An intense dizziness peppered with nausea, a slower-than-normal heart rate, and a general feeling that I had recently chugged 300 beers was overtaking me, and I was not sure what to do. After seeing the doctor, resting, and drinking my body weight in water, I came back to the PC house to pack up my things. It was then that I realized I had been taking the Mefloquin- a WEEKLY medication-EVERY DAY for the last three days. Thankfully, I am still alive and also apparently quite resistant to Malaria. I decided to ride out my strange feeling by going to watch the World Cup and imbibing in a couple of the local beers...I mean...if I feel drunk, I had better damn well be enjoying myself.
Aside from my medicinal mishap, most things are going well. I couldn't have hoped for a better group of people and I've been able to swim in the ocean and relax into my new environment. I don't know when the next time is that I will have access to internet or electricity. Until that time comes, I hope for nothing more than a cool breeze, a nice family to live with, and for all the rodents in the whole of Gambia to spontaneously keel over and die.
Here's hoping.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)