I'm Back! January/February Highlights 2015

As Christmas and New Years came to a close, January found me mostly at site, where as you already know, I have little access to electricity and even less access to the wonderful world wide web. So, regretfully, I wasn't able to post any blog updates. I will, however, try to give a brief update now and then I fully intend to get back on my monthly schedule.

First, sincere thanks to everyone who gave me birthday shout outs; although I didn't see them until fairly recently, it didn't make them any less appreciated.  Secondly, here is my best go at a quick yet thorough run down of the last two months.

5) Fatoumata Arti! 

After more than three weeks away from site, I finally returned on Saturday, January 3rd.  I enjoyed a quiet New Years with a few friends in Basse, but was ready to return to my hut and sleep through the night with no lights, snoring peoples, or any other lovely things that come with sleeping in an African frat house.   It's amazing how three weeks with worldly comforts so quickly became an overload to the senses.  I was craving the simplicity of my four crumbly walls and my bucket of water to bathe with under the moon.  Now, this is not to say I didn't appreciate the city life.  I did.  I wore jeans, I drank decent Cabernet, ate delicious meals, went dancing, drank much less decent Cabernet, and even treated myself to a one hour massage.  But, all that aside, I was ready for village.  I wanted to wear the exact same thing every day, and not brush my hair for an entire week without anyone plotting an intervention.

The journey home was long and tiresome, and the closer I got to my stop ,the more I found myself nervous about returning to village life.   Would I have to adjust to "going without" all over again? Would my family be happy to see me?  What if I forgot how to speak Pulaar?  Well, shit.  Maybe I'm not ready...?  However, ready or not, the bus stopped and I gathered my things and stepped down. After picking up my bike from Tim's house, I began my 15 minute ride into the bush of Sare Ngai.  I rode slowly, soaking up the last moments of alone time, going over phrases in Pulaar.

Toulie loving the camera

Soon, I arrived at the gate of my family's compound and shyly said, "Salaam-ma-lakuum". Immediately, my mom came bounding towards me, clapping her hands and stomping her feet.  She screamed, "Fatoumata arti! Fatoumata arti!" (Fatoumata's back!)  My little sister, Toulie, the toddler who had once been scared to death at the very sight of my face, came running up, smiling. She squealed, "Fatoumata!", which was the first time (to my knowledge) she actually spoke my name.  My heart melted.  I hugged Hawa, picked up Toulie, and all of the sudden, I was back.  The fears and hesitations I held onto about returning floated away when I realized that these people really had missed me.  I had become a part of something--a family, a village, a country--and it was slowly sinking in that this was all real.  I know I am not really named Fatoumata, and I'm conscious of the fact that these wonderful people are not my actual blood relatives, but here, where my sense of self, of "Meghan" is so distorted, I have, in a way, become Fatoumata.  She is real to all of the people I work with and befriend and spend time with.  She is real to the tiny little girl who falls asleep on my shoulder every night.  I just didn't realize until that moment when I pulled up on my bike that she is actually real to me, too.

4) Lettuce Eat

After eight months in-country, I've seen a few seasons of crops come and go.  There was the corn season, where the whole village smelled like smoke and charred popcorn. That was closely followed by watermelon season, where seeds and rinds littered the sand and my mouth was in a constant state of watering, and then groundnut season, where peanuts of every conceivable variety lined the streets of the markets.  But, January brought a new jewel to the market: romaine lettuce.  Please allow me to pause and soak in the pure joy that it brings me to even type these words.  Lettuce!  Something not only familiar...but something reasonably healthy...something crunchy...something fresh-tasting, green...something I can put balsamic vinegar on!

As you can see, I can't explain the excitement.  So, while I can't get my hands on these leafy beauties in my village, I can ride my bike 40 minutes to the big market on Saturdays.  At the end of the month, Tim and I had a movie-night pajama party, and in the morning, did just that.  I came home with the greatest jackpot I'd ever scored in the lumo.  We're talking a big cucumber, two carrots, a green pepper, onions, a few ripe tomatoes, and approximately 25 smallish bunches of lettuce.  (I may have gotten a bit overzealous...) After staying at Tim's for another three and a half hours getting my hair pulled into very intricate braids, I sped home to make a proper salad for my family to try (and to show off my new 'do, which, although it was startling at first, I now consider to be my prison-fab look).

I hurriedly chopped, peeled, and tore up the veggies. I whisked up my favorite dressing of dijon mustard, balsamic, and oregano.  So proud, I brought it out to my family and told them to enjoy this real "Italian salad". They put the bowl on the ground, squatted around it, and ate it with their hands.  I retreated into my hut, eager to whip up salmon-cakes using care-package ingredients to eat with my salad-- I was totally not sharing those. (Sorry folks...but thanks mom and dad!)  Once I had finished, I came back outside was thanked profusely my host father, who said he was so full, he didn't even care how fat he gets, let's eat it every day.  I explained that salad doesn't make you fat, that it fills you because of the fiber, and it's better for your body than medicine.  Everyone was shocked.  While we know these things instinctively, most Gambians don't have a clue about nutrition; they eat what's there and don't think about the value of it.  Rice and sugary tea keep you feeling full, so usually, that's all they have, completely unaware that the food they're ingesting has the nutritional value of a cotton ball.
 
The next morning, I sat reading with my coffee, and my mom called the family over for breakfast.  I cook for myself, so don't usually eat with them, but this time Hawa yelled in Pulaar, "Fatoumata, come.  We are eating the Italian medicines you like."  Sure enough, she had diced up a real salad at the demand of my father.  While she still fried onions and fish in oil and MSG, it was, nonetheless, a salad, and even the kids were eating it.  Now I don't know how long salad season will last, but that memory of seeing Hawa present her Italian-Gambia fusion will last a lifetime.

3) Houston, We Have Adjusted. 

The third week of January brought yet another splendid anniversary of my 26th birthday.  Being at site, I didn't do much, but I did manage to take a nice bike ride, have a few beers, and eat lunch by the river.  A week after that, my friend Jess, a fellow PCV, and Nora, her visitor from the U.S., came to stay with me for a day.  My family was thrilled to have not just one, but two strangers staying with us, and made sure to welcome them.  My mom gave me branches of dried leaves which I pounded and mixed with water to make henna, and we spent the first afternoon applying the paste to our feet in intricate patterns while neighbors watched and told us how beautiful our feet looked.  As the night rolled in, we sat and chatted around a fire and Nora seemed to enjoy the almost eerie quiet that comes with village life.

Freshly hennaed feet

Learning to carry things on my head!

The next morning, we took a gelle-gelle to Janjanburreh and stayed in a lodge for the night after lunching in a restaurant and watching a drum show at a local dive.  Having a visitor from America was incredibly refreshing, as it was the first time I'd experienced Gambia as a tourist. Things can get a little monotonous, so it was nice to re-see the little gems around me that I've started to take for granted.  The beauty of the sky, the graceful balance of the women carrying their plates and buckets atop their heads--it all reset in my mind how special this time is.

Getting used to fetching water everyday

Scout and I embracing local hair styles

Other things, however, were not so romantic. Jess and I were both confronted with the reality that our hygiene practices have been...reduced.  We no longer reach for the anti-bacterial every few minutes as we used to, we were okay with our level of smell if a quick underarm sniff only caused a slight up-turn of the nose, and wearing the same outfits three days in succession didn't seem socially unacceptable. We were also informed, with absolute authority, that our bodies have now adapted to the heat, and that bundling up in hoodies and blankets at night was in actuality, completely unnecessary.  These realizations, for better or for worse, showed me the changes both my mind and body have been going through these last eight months.  It's nice to see that I am adaptable, but I hope that I don't continue to "adjust" quite so steadily for the next eight, as I don't think I will be allowed on the plane back home if things keep up the way they've been going.



2) Weekend Warrior Two

I wrote back in October about attending a yoga retreat at a lodge up country.  At the end of January, I had the opportunity to attend another one, only this time there was a change of venue.  About 22 of us hauled ourselves, mats in tow, to an EcoLodge in the Western coastal region of Kartong.  The resort, named Sandele, for "now, be still" in the local language of Mandinka, was the perfect place to escape village life and have a weekend of relaxation.  These retreats are meant to serve as a time to escape back into our American skins-no children, no translation, no constant attention for being different. We ate vegetables-amazing!, used composting toilets-not so amazing, but definitely cool, and took showers with running water heated from solar panels and pumped by wind turbines.  I taught a kickboxing class, rose early for sunrise yoga, and of course, sat by the ocean. At night, we had a story slam on the beach complete with a bonfire, where we got to know some of the newer people who have recently arrived in-country.  It was awesome, and for about 48 hours, I barely remembered that I was in the Peace Corps at all.

1) Scripture Staycation!

Well, clearly I have saved the best news for last! However, in lieu of a full spoiler, I will be saving some of the goodies for a later date, as I have no pictures yet for all the stories, and my mother will die if I post details to the internet without her hearing about them first-hand.  The last week of February brought a very exciting visitor to The Gambia...my dad!

After working almost the whole month going back and forth to workshops on malaria prevention, gender equality, and literacy, I excitedly made my way to Kombo to pick up my father from the airport in Banjul on February 21st.  I was so pumped and had a whole week of things planned out for us.  We spent two days in Kombo, talking, sight-seeing, marketing, eating, and boating.  He was able to see my village, sleep in my little hut, and get to know my family away from family, which was so special.  The last few days were spent touring around some parts of the country that my meager PC earnings don't allow for without a little father funding, and then yesterday, I reluctantly rode with him to the airport so he could begin his 24 hour journey back to Cleveland.   I can't wait to get some pictures up and share some of the highlights, but it will have to wait until I have all the camera charging, USB-ing, and uploading tools. Until then, I hope everyone is surviving the cold back at home.  Thoughts and hugs to all of you, and I promise to write and post pictures soon!