tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22598658456945772932024-03-12T22:18:35.385-04:00Weathervane of PeaceAgriculture in AfricaSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-75498935259164158352014-10-06T19:23:00.000-04:002014-10-06T19:39:11.494-04:00Readjusting and some other things<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Leaving was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I have been constructing, writing, deleting, and rewriting
blog posts in my mind since left my village, through that process, I learned there are some things I wanted to share, other’s
I didn’t. I’ve found some time to sit down and get some thoughts collected. But
my brain wanders, so read it and take with you what you will. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve noticed that few ‘returned’ volunteers post blogs. I
wonder why, I wonder if it’s because it is all so fresh, raw and it, at least
for me, sometimes hurts to think or talk about those I’ve left behind. Or
because we really don’t understand anymore; we went to our countries with
questions, only to discover more questions and to have fewer answers. The
possibilities are limitless. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve now been back in America for almost 5 months. And while my life here had become somewhat permanent, I feel like another countdown has just started to the next time I take a flight to live in another country; although I don't know what the countdown says. Time
passes much faster here, for one ‘resettling’ takes a lot of time, energy and
emotion, and two, there is so much here to distract a person so that you
realize you’ve been looking at your smart phone for 20 minutes to 2 hours and
have done nothing. The speed of the day is so much faster, with a car and paved
roads, I can check off a ‘to do’ list in a few hours that would have taken
weeks or more in The Gambia. But it is not all that gleaming gold beam of light
on the hill, and I knew that because I had come ‘home’ for 2 weeks during my
service, but the mind place tricks on us when we’re laying on our thatched beds
in our mud huts day dreaming about mocha lattes. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve had so many people tell me, “wow, you must be so glad
you’re home! Africa is such a dangerous place. Your mother must have been so
worried.” Most days if I'm not feeling snarky, I take a deep breath, and explain that ‘yes, I am glad to
see my ‘american family’ again, and sure it’s nice to take a hot shower, but
Africa, my Africa, wasn’t a dangerous place, they were peaceful, friendly and
the most welcoming people, laughing and shrugging off the big and little
things. And most importantly I would give anything to be there for another day!’ (Most people would have stopped listening to me after the first part
of that sentence.) Of course, while I was in Gambia, shrugging off the big things
like having no food or money for several meals was a HUGE problem and it drove
me crazy that they made light of it. But looking back, I realize why they did
it. They saw the simple fact, that there was no food, and while they tried to
solve the problem, where there were few solutions, they didn’t create this monumental verbal issue out of it
because that would have made the problem and the stress all that much worse. And
as to whether my mom was worried, you’ll have to ask her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Africa dangerous…yeah the roads are can be pretty bad, and
accidents happen, as they do everywhere. But in my short 5 months back, I’ve
experience more victimization and ‘dangerous’ situations than I did in over two
years there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only theft I experience
there was when my wallet was sitting in the open cup holder of my backpack and
someone sitting next to me on a gelle took my wallet, took the money out of it,
and then RETURNED my wallet with my IDs (PC and Government) to my backpack. I
lost some money, but they were kind enough to realize that the IDs weren’t
worth anything to them and put them back. I recently moved to San Francisco and
on my 4<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> day at a new job, I rode my road bike to work. Locked the
bike on a bike rack outside (10 feet from the door) and by the time I left the
building 9 hours later, it was gone. Someone had come over, cut the lock, and
jumped over a cement barrier. If my bike had been stolen in my village, I would
have 1.asked who had it and gone and gotten it back 2. Gone to the
Alkahlo(village leader) and demanded that if my bike wasn’t back in a certain
amount of time that I was going to call PC and have them remove me from my
village and no PC volunteer would ever live in their village again, and their
village would be shamed, disgraced (and any other word I could think of). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And chances are that I would have gotten my
bike back. In San Francisco, that same tactic wouldn’t work, anyone I said that
too would probably think I was a drug induced homeless person mumbling about stolen
bikes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I got back and realized that the readjustment allowance wasn’t
going to go far and the number of mocha lattes were very limited. Plus, I was so
overwhelmed by the amount of choices that decisions were very hard for me.
There was a moment in a bagel shop about 2 weeks after being back, middle of
NYC, 14 different types of bagels, 28 different types of cream cheese, a line
of 35 people, and the AC was on so high that my 100 degree African legs were
turning blue. I wanted to cry, I turned the ‘blinders’ on and made it through
my order…barely. Even last weekend, I had to leave a shopping center because it
was just all so overwhelming. And frankly, I’m ok with that, I would rather
have it be a bit overwhelming and retain as much as Africa has given me, than
to feel completely comfortable with such a ‘developed’ world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I miss my ‘African’ family so much my heart physically aches.
I have their photos everywhere but sometimes it hurts to look at them. I’ve called them a few times, and to
hear Nymandi’s laughter, Isatou asking “Omar(Justin) le?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Baboo laughing and protecting me by saying the
rains are so great and then my older brother telling me that no the rains are
slow… for even a few minutes is so incredible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Earlier I had put home into quotations. Home has been redefined for me.
It’s not so much of a physical place as I feel like I have a home in the heart
of whoever loves me. And I’m so lucky to be loved and love so many people all
over the world. When my mind drifts off into another place, it always lands
with them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I believe that Peace Corps forever changes the volunteer. I
will never be the person I was before my service. I look back and some days, I don’t
recognize the person I was two years ago, I don’t really remember her. Through
the readjustment, I’ve learned that I need to be kind and patient to the person
I was, the people that knew her, allow them to teach me again who she was and
gently allow them to meet the new me. It’s a merging of identities and it’s not
easy. But it’s rewarding, and few people have the chance to have the self-study
that volunteers get, so it should be embraced challenges and all. And yet, I don't want to be that person I was, I'm much happier with the me I am now, how do I not let her slip away? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Life is hard in The Gambia; life is hard in America too, it’s
hard in different ways. Most often, however, in America there are more
available solutions to the difficulties, that’s why it seem ‘easier’. </span></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-21499851894868286652014-05-01T09:45:00.002-04:002014-05-01T09:45:32.603-04:00Whispering<div>
full of fear that our strength was lost </div>
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we started from rebirth </div>
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our feet dirty, skin brown, hearts uneven </div>
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we were challenged, broken down </div>
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stripped bare </div>
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left standing, the only ones, we thought </div>
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we heard silence </div>
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cried out, the drums answered </div>
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training our hearts to the rhythm </div>
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of Africa</div>
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we waited, searching, listening </div>
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facing the universe, our ears awoke </div>
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to witness the whispering of the world </div>
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calling our strength awake </div>
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reborn, our feet dirty, skin brown </div>
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hearts beating in union with the drums </div>
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our eyes tame, our cries of joy </div>
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our ears full of the universes truth, </div>
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whispering hope</div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-24129569735790089602014-05-01T09:44:00.001-04:002014-05-01T09:44:36.943-04:00Moments of pauseIt gives me strength, almost unbelievable strength, to know that you are there. I covert your eyes, your ears, the collapsible space between us. How blessed we are to have each other? I am alive, and you are alive so we must fill the air with our words...All the while I will know you are there. How can I pretend that you do not exist? It would be almost impossible as you pretending that I do not exist. <div>
- <u>What is the What?</u> David Eggars</div>
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The tears, when they come to come men, are worse than beatings. They're wounded worse by sobbing, men like that, than they are by boots and batons. Tears begin in the heart, but some of us deny the heart so often and for so long, that when it speaks we hear not one but a hundred sorrows in the heartbreak. We know that crying is a good and natural thing. We know that crying isn't a weakness, but a kind of strength. Still, the weeping rips us root by tangled root from the earth, and we crash like fallen trees when we cry.</div>
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- <u>Shantarum</u> Gregory David Roberts</div>
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To my mind, development is about giving hope to ordinary people that their children will live in a society that has caught up with the rest of the world. Take that hope away and the smart people will use their energies not to develop their society but to escape from it.</div>
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-<u>Bottom Billion</u> Paul Collier </div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-14280482128429959402014-05-01T09:26:00.000-04:002014-05-01T09:46:55.654-04:00Love in Black and White<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-72490306500332751292014-04-09T03:26:00.003-04:002014-04-09T03:26:18.584-04:00The last of the day's As of this morning, I have 17 more days till my COS car arrives. By that I mean, a Peace Corps car comes to my village in the very early morning, puts all of my dusty, dirty, well used and half disintegrated items into the car, I have a probably predicted very tearful goodbye with my moms, my siblings, my dad and a few well loved folks from village. I then am supposed to get into the car and drive away. I do not know if I will have the chance to return later in life, if it's at all possible, I don't know when it will happen, if the smaller kids will remember me, what their lives will look like then, what my life will look like at that point, what the village will be like (probably unchanged), if the garden will still be standing or used or if they will have continued any of the projects that I have worked alongside them to begin. But I do know that change here, at least, comes very very slowly. <div>
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I really don't have even 17 more days in village, I have 12. I have paperwork to complete before I can get on a plane. I am heading to Justin's village this weekend so say my goodbye's to the Cham clan. And then back to TF. </div>
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Everyone in village knows i'm leaving. I have had several requests to pack people into my luggage, which I thought was funny because we have that joke in the developed world too!! I bunch of people have straight up asked me to bring them to America, well lets be honest, that has happened every day for the last 764 days since my feet first touched the African soil. Nymandi has come into my room several times now, and laid beside me, asking me questions about what I'm going to do in America, where I am going to live, what or when I will have work, what programs (parties) will be happening upon my return, and where Omar will be. She always asks about Ndey, Aimee, my american parents, and Omar's big sister. Its like her last acts of comfort. She talks about hating me leaving, how lonely she will be, and well ....we have our moments of small talk and our moments of pure love. She is a mom after all. </div>
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It's an odd feeling, to know that you are leaving and to not have left yet. The only thing I can compare it to at the moment is attending my own funeral. I will never truly experience that, but this is about as close as I would say it feels. It's depressing and somewhat frustrating. I'm a celebrator and although I am far from celebrating my leaving, this daily funeral feeling is getting me down.</div>
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Whatever the leaving day looks like, or the next two weeks of funeral like environment, or the coming years. I am proud, we have done work, we are a family, and the village has raised me. </div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-85228480818388452662014-03-09T12:17:00.003-04:002014-03-09T12:17:56.011-04:00Garden EXPLOSION!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My adorable 'bati' site mate, Shawn!, showed up and took a bunch of photos of the Garden. It is EXPLODING! The women are hard on the work, its a beautiful sight to see all the green in a land that right now is so brown. They are working on spacing primarily, they like to plant things very close together thinking that more produce will grow, but that is not correct. They have planted lettuce, eggplant, carrot, onion, hot pepper, sweet pepper, tomatoes, okra, bitter tomatoes, and a bunch of random seeds that they get from local NGOs. The random seeds are surprises that appear in the garden, them calling me over to always ask what it is, so far I've seen things like Swiss chard and beets. They are confused by red lettuce, thinking that it was a weed, but were delighted that it tastes the same as green lettuce. We have planted 16 citrus trees ranging from pomegranate to orange. I am in the process of having them plant moringa intensive beds, which is a bed of trees planted 10 cm apart, and then cut off at a meter high so they produce leaves like bushes. Moringa is a miracle food here, being very high in all nutrients and easy to grow. </div>
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The garden is a little slice of heaven, but not without its problems. We have had problems with the well digger, but after hiring another one, I think we have solve that problem. The women are angry and jealous when some women grow food better than they can, but that's not a problem I am here to solve. We had a problem of people stealing each other's food, we now lock the garden in the middle of the day and overnight. Although this culture is very hospitable and always willing to give to guests, they are more stringent with one another and would rather give someone food than just have them take it. At this time of the year, things are becoming a bit more difficult with food availability and everyone's crop yields are running low. So the garden is an essential part to their food security and income generation. The women and children have been walking around to surrounding towns and selling some of their produce like tomatoes and okra. Making a few dalasi here and there to buy more rice, the staple food. There is also a new lumo (a weekly market) about 1k away, when the lumo is more established it will be a great place for the women to sell their produce, a larger market for a larger demand. Were so lucky!!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Explaining differences in lettuce</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Using groundnut shells as soil protection, it helps the soil retain moisture and prevents weeds. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All that green...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carrying water, keeping the vegetables alive, women hard at work.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shawn! also "Mariama Sowe" we've adopted her into Fatty Kunda. <br />She road her bike the entire length of the country!</td></tr>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-83434886810170974222014-03-04T17:48:00.001-05:002014-03-04T17:48:18.056-05:00Go to them...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peace Corps Service, explained</td></tr>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-40391784550001303772014-03-04T13:14:00.000-05:002014-03-04T13:14:15.632-05:00Hope As you have all read by now, Justin is the sweetest, kindest, and most gentle man. He is my greatest source of strength, breathing life and power into my heart, and thus into my work. He is honest, the garden is incredible, the women are all working so hard. The well has been mostly dry, only gaining ground and progress when we hired a second well digger (the first being simply a bad man). Carrying water all day on their heads is hard work. The women wake up at 5am, water till the well goes dry, wait for the taps to turn on with solar power, store water in pans in the shade, then water again from 4pm to 8pm. I help my family in the evening, and I am exhausted, my body is pushed to its limits, barely having enough energy to make dinner before crawling into my hay bed, literally 'hitting the hay.' Progress is slowly, slowly coming. I am happy to leave behind a place where the families have a little more food, opportunity for income generation, and also just the simple hope for the future being brighter than the present. <div>
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<b> "How can you face the silence of the universe with only hope?"</b> </div>
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- this is a favorite quote of mine from a RADIOLAB podcast, something else that gets me through the days. I engraved the quote into the cement on my floor. I can't yet answer where hope comes from, but we all have to find the strength to find, capture and hold that hope. </div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-74749969856850243452014-01-12T17:23:00.000-05:002014-01-12T17:23:19.125-05:00Guest Post: Justin W.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Before I get started I want to let
everyone know this blog is not written by Sarah today. I asked her permission to submit a blog on
her behalf. My name is Justin and I am
Sarah’s boyfriend. We met here in the Peace
Corps and I really wanted the opportunity to express to you all, her readers,
how impressed I am with her. Sarah is
not one to gloat but I feel the need as a proud boyfriend to do the job. I intimately know her challenges and her successes,
so I feel my words have some value when I say – Sarah is doing an amazing job
with her women’s garden. Before coming
here I had in my head an image of what a Peace Corps volunteer was, and while
that is a very idyllic image and many of us fall short , I believe Sarah is
that very volunteer. </div>
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I am so proud of her and her success
with the garden and although it is not perfect, she meets every challenge like
a seasoned pro. Sarah sees her work as
late coming and slow going. I see it as Sarah shock hands and made friends for a year and a half building the respect and trust of a community. During that time she molded the right leaders to have a sustainable garden through patience and skill development.
And she didnt stop when the fence was built but is out there every day watering and
nursing seeds to life. All good things take time and she took the time and that is why it is a good thing.</div>
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Cheers to Sarah and a job well done. If you get a chance, congratulate her. She
will not except it out right like any humble person. She knows the job is never done but the spark
of encouragement will help her to know it has not gone unnoticed, because that
all she really want as a person who tends to work in the back ground.</div>
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This is my recognizing you Sarah. Congratulation and a job well done!</div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-51296078904127839342014-01-02T05:13:00.000-05:002014-01-02T05:13:18.577-05:00Some photos off the slow internet <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-52093044114786264512013-12-14T06:29:00.000-05:002013-12-14T06:29:40.250-05:00American turned Gambian <div class="MsoNormal">
In September, I visited the homeland, the land of money and
feno-feng (everything). AMERICA. I had
arrived to Gambia with the intention of not returning home until 2014, I
thought it would be an unnecessary cultural and emotional challenge to become
adapted to the Gambian lifestyle only to return home for a short time, to then
come back and continue my service. Beside I am in another world, and there are
worlds closer to me that I have yet to explore, so I thought I’d spend the cash
on these closer lands. There have defiantly been moments in these almost 2
years now that if I had gone home, it is quite possible that I wouldn’t have
returned to finish my service. Not because of the comfort of home but because
of the challenges I run against here.
But I always rise to challenges, so perhaps I am underestimating myself
and of course I would have come back. But life changes and I found myself
welcoming an unexpected opportunity to return, see friends and family, and fill
my belly. </div>
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My boyfriend, Justin was the best man in a wedding and he
asked me to go with him. So as plus 1, we bought plane tickets and emailed
lists of wished foods to have ready in refrigerators to the parents. We day
dreamt of things we would see like sidewalks and sitting in cars that permit us
our own personal space. We worried a bit about cultural shock and meeting one
another’s friends and family. Then we packed the bags, bought lots of African
gifts and flew to our other home. After a marathon of flying we landed in LA.
For me, life was dizzy, whether you call it vertigo, or time change, life
change, I don’t care. I was dizzy, the floor felt uneasy, but maybe I was just
dehydrated and needed to drink an ORS. I
met family, ate fast food and passed out in the softest bed I can remember. The
rest of the trip was something of a dream. I saw Justin in a suit for the first
time; this man sure does look nice, very nice. I cried over how good cheddar
cheese tasted, a full body sob and I embraced the cry. I learned that margarita’s are even better
than I remembered, thanks Nicole. I relearned that you can do more than one
thing in a day, for example, I could go to the dentist office; go to men’s
warehouse, make lunch, go shopping, and make dinner all in one day. The speed
and ease of running errands, when you have a car, and everyone else acts
according to the same speed is amazing. I danced like crazy and discovered that
the humor I have here translated to the homeland. That bagels and lox are a magical food and if
I had them here my happiness level would be at least 60% higher, thanks
Charlene. The wedding was beautiful and loving, and I didn’t feel as much in
shock at the abundance of wealth as I thought. It was just a different world.
And when I had hard moments, Justin and his family were there for me to lean
on. </div>
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Ways I have changed:
Both Justin and I had lost the ability to find things; we thought
various things had been stolen in our luggage. Nope we just didn’t know how to
look for them. I attribute this to the lack of things I have here, it is either
in my 1 tiny locker in Kombo or in my house. And I have 3 large shelves. If it
isn’t there, it never was. The luggage was spread out upstairs and down, it
just got lost too much. Another surprise
was that my senses were both heightened and dulled at the same time. My hearing
is incredible. Justin and I are whisper champions; no one can hear anything we
are saying. There was wind blowing in the tree leaves outside and I thought it
was water boiling on the stove, because the sound of wind in tree leaves was
foreign to me. My eyes have dulled, things are *&@*ing dirty in Africa,
white walls are brown walls. When we were in stores, the extra bright lights
shone off all the surfaces so it was like a reflection box, the white floors
reflected to the super bright items on shelves which reflected back onto the ceiling,
it was a bit blinding and made the world a bit dizzier. </div>
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At home, I met my family at the airport, I hid from them because
I was a bit shy and overwhelmed. They were so excited to see me and kept saying
how normal it felt to have me home. But for me it felt different and new. They
have the same energy and family dynamics that they had before I left, and I had
forgotten just how intense the energy can be sometimes. And sure I might look
the same outside but inside has changed and those changes can’t be understood
in a weeks’ time. The changes aren’t something that I can explain in a blog
post, just that Africa changes you. So I took a deep breath and just jumped in
… Mom cooked us more food than I could ever imagine. We went out for ice cream
to a homemade ice cream stand, just laughed at everything. Going to target and
grocery stores we bought food weighing 100 pounds to bring back to Africa with
us. My sister is taller than I remembered, but just as silly. Dad didn’t enjoy
watching a scary movie with us but the ending brought him back around. And we
played board games. It felt good to be
home and with my family again but what I think has changed is the feeling that
where ever my heart is happy I can make a home for my self..We traveled to 5 cities in 15 days and traversed the country, it was exhausting.</div>
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In the end Justin and I boarded the plane, I was licking
soft serve vanilla ice cream out of a cup, (last chance to get food that isn’t
available here) and apparently this is a weird thing to do because everyone was
staring at me. Don’t judge, become in touch with your food. We were a bit
crazy, trying to shoot off last minute text messages or call people and tell
them that we love them. There simply wasn’t enough time. The wheels went up and
I realized how lucky I am, I get to return to my home for another 8 months, and
I am doing it all with my teammate, such a wonderful and kind man who I fall
more in love with at every turn. </div>
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It is now 4 months later, and I’m glad I had the chance to
return home. It was like a refuel. There are still challenges here and I still
conquer them somehow. But I have a new outlook, that America isn’t the land of
everything, there are different challenges and frustrations there and I have to
work at having kaira (peace) wherever I am.
But with calm and a peace of mind I can conquer them. I still have
moments where my heart is so heavy with sadness that my body feels like a
brick. I feel odd somehow, that nothing here is new, there are no more
surprises left, then something surprises me and I wish that there were no more
surprises. With 5 months left, I am full throttle forward with the garden,
which needs to have the well finished and then we start planting. I have murals
to paint and a new project involving high school students selling purses to
tourists. I have visitors coming and I can’t wait to share this world with
them. </div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-4475875034844697672013-10-25T18:06:00.000-04:002013-10-25T18:06:26.890-04:00Snapchat <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
More photos for your viewing pleasure. Some updates via photos. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnl72TUSijtXo2uAMZDDngfUfVKYKmSbFq15TIdE6884djayUjLm85Y6KWNCqJ51kMYD0bnXWIj-W3QZ5tay7SvY2vjF0eje30Q2uuEIX_mfWVQkKK0Yo5Klt4UdYeP-0FhxCdCr114QY/s1600/Peace+Corps+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnnl72TUSijtXo2uAMZDDngfUfVKYKmSbFq15TIdE6884djayUjLm85Y6KWNCqJ51kMYD0bnXWIj-W3QZ5tay7SvY2vjF0eje30Q2uuEIX_mfWVQkKK0Yo5Klt4UdYeP-0FhxCdCr114QY/s320/Peace+Corps+002.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sowe Sabally, the shinning women of the story of the compost pile. She is a wonder and also a pain in my butt, thats when you know you are fully integrated. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiet-83DqMDcr9czx14my4XSWAZRbcJqtbtSIVN75krJEuHmSEiM6QQJltDxmBBWei9GeY6H7rmW1EQ3ndHfrq_E7hMd7E-VrVs8gqOEGqK-ba64E5KkA6Lgq6N1UsQKMfDJAe2Tr_KWgjM/s1600/Peace+Corps+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiet-83DqMDcr9czx14my4XSWAZRbcJqtbtSIVN75krJEuHmSEiM6QQJltDxmBBWei9GeY6H7rmW1EQ3ndHfrq_E7hMd7E-VrVs8gqOEGqK-ba64E5KkA6Lgq6N1UsQKMfDJAe2Tr_KWgjM/s320/Peace+Corps+003.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Men at the Mosque the week of tobaski. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvQPZy8Xpt88VpLmHGvTcH3nH0RrvqgaToa25rGlFGg7gmBOfOGxfD5wJ75rKZX7tb1KrmUHOpmzzlEza2hxNbs3YfwWYzvnmTnwWh4W519wVIvoCtRhT6WZCZ-QqC0fwpM5PvnI-okb-W/s1600/Peace+Corps+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvQPZy8Xpt88VpLmHGvTcH3nH0RrvqgaToa25rGlFGg7gmBOfOGxfD5wJ75rKZX7tb1KrmUHOpmzzlEza2hxNbs3YfwWYzvnmTnwWh4W519wVIvoCtRhT6WZCZ-QqC0fwpM5PvnI-okb-W/s320/Peace+Corps+004.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Women at the mosque the week of tobaski</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhkykSnqoz3wnjpGFNc6AKMTAMqjrWT2urLM2Jz_TUvbIun7M1GdCQ270LONgJNp5kHNBmE9NrGqepzVx26592SgvP36etgn5yQ5c0Ze6hQCjscEjP0Eb_YwxYBi7nV4nwPF1Xa5Cud9I/s1600/Peace+Corps+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhkykSnqoz3wnjpGFNc6AKMTAMqjrWT2urLM2Jz_TUvbIun7M1GdCQ270LONgJNp5kHNBmE9NrGqepzVx26592SgvP36etgn5yQ5c0Ze6hQCjscEjP0Eb_YwxYBi7nV4nwPF1Xa5Cud9I/s320/Peace+Corps+005.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Tobaski week at its best. The woman to my right is my best friend in village, her name is Sala Njie and she has a lot of attitude...aka she tells men when to go shove it. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UxH8s567wY7G0YMthDHMHHOycH0MwFo0gq2YCUkP9xsHW1yE_Mf_IzOjTaSJbRZZL5si3bVMWKKqK4715k3DS1Is9ZGCMv31B_QbkdwGhsUGBleod66BTDkK4qknL0SmlQErl8W8wFRE/s1600/Peace+Corps+006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UxH8s567wY7G0YMthDHMHHOycH0MwFo0gq2YCUkP9xsHW1yE_Mf_IzOjTaSJbRZZL5si3bVMWKKqK4715k3DS1Is9ZGCMv31B_QbkdwGhsUGBleod66BTDkK4qknL0SmlQErl8W8wFRE/s320/Peace+Corps+006.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The amazing men of Omar Cham and Bakary Jite came to Tenengfara and held a wonderful malaria training where they taught 4 village leaders all the details of malaria, how to protect yourself , how to go to the clinic and get medication. The next day the 4 villages elders taught the rest of the village while we sat by and watched. Meeting under the tree. Pure peace corps. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZBG-uiIS7tSnLyl2E4e0kqmTdES25-wDDipL6pAquHqhUJ4d3ndWa6Cc9a4D1URHsronwnFVvFfktiHNGZJCQJrBsozsM9wzPne-zjgPW46qngGCy8EDzlpwtvqRv2-FmIOPL0uDAr4w/s1600/Peace+Corps+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZBG-uiIS7tSnLyl2E4e0kqmTdES25-wDDipL6pAquHqhUJ4d3ndWa6Cc9a4D1URHsronwnFVvFfktiHNGZJCQJrBsozsM9wzPne-zjgPW46qngGCy8EDzlpwtvqRv2-FmIOPL0uDAr4w/s320/Peace+Corps+007.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My counterpart, Bamusa Konteh, with his son...the CUBBIEST african baby I have ever seen. He and his wife are doing a great job. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil1MKgKu6UmoRkUt_NWdLw2yoa2621UGQYDwRav8ejCSsLu_xXvMFEvLq-qXDlpDFP5g58oakz_x3EHMWvjVZT8e6gCJNYePJ2iBXkXVKT7Mi3Eg_WSf1JtONisa9r2uN0BfXxVEoC7h1C/s1600/Peace+Corps+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil1MKgKu6UmoRkUt_NWdLw2yoa2621UGQYDwRav8ejCSsLu_xXvMFEvLq-qXDlpDFP5g58oakz_x3EHMWvjVZT8e6gCJNYePJ2iBXkXVKT7Mi3Eg_WSf1JtONisa9r2uN0BfXxVEoC7h1C/s320/Peace+Corps+008.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom- this is for you.<br /><br />This used to be my dress when I was a little tot. I brought it back with me from vacation. Now it is worn by my baby african sister. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEips1aicle3EfStIfCedVAypD7YZh6oWnuVizyWRln6c6IDNUJ3_04A86zDxuySTvbJ3NtphzVukgbekuZO4XwXZYLhQlVxN8sMLL7gD0kqFGHMdGZffS9AzSUdcOdZgu1eYqB1BYUDx3M-/s1600/Peace+Corps+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEips1aicle3EfStIfCedVAypD7YZh6oWnuVizyWRln6c6IDNUJ3_04A86zDxuySTvbJ3NtphzVukgbekuZO4XwXZYLhQlVxN8sMLL7gD0kqFGHMdGZffS9AzSUdcOdZgu1eYqB1BYUDx3M-/s320/Peace+Corps+009.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But she is also such a little shit. But I fall more in love with her every day. </td></tr>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-15830097937651632992013-09-29T07:46:00.001-04:002013-09-29T08:03:01.806-04:00The Compost Pile<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I just returned from a 2 week vacation in America, blog post pending, I will skip over that to bring you this weeks events. Events that made me feel not only that I belong here but that I am helping to bring the slightest change. Which is a rare feeling to have as a volunteer. </div>
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Sowe, the head of the women's club came to me Tuesday and asked me to hold a meeting on compost. I had brought her to a garden training back in July, and she had taken all we taught her and applied it, growing the first upland rice fields of Tenengfara. As well as, starting cashew and mango orchards, she did this all on her own, only coming to show me what she had done. Sowe had gone to a training in town that taught her how to make compost. I suggested to her that we hold the meeting in the garden, I do nothing Wednesday except read a bit about compost as a brush up, thinking like all other times that I'll be leading the meeting, I look up some mandinka words like compost and shade, and head to the garden with my shovel. In the meantime, She has taught 2 of the elder men in village how to make compost. I just handed them my shovel and watch as the crowd grows to over 60 women and 4 men, the most men I've ever seen at a training. They demonstrate how to make the compost pile, then translate in 4 languages how it was to be done. And you know what, I truly understood the mandinka, it was amazing that my brain had just absorded all this knowledge in a year and a half. The women although not outwardly excited, listened and Sowe was just beaming from ear to ear. The men even asked questions. And a compost pile was built, people learned from one another as I stood watching them just use my shovel.<br />
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That's what I'm here to do, to do or bring something by sharing and then standing back and doing nothing. I love that Sowe is now a women who believes in herself enough to teach others, to stand out as an individual in a society that only respects the community. It was beautiful and I truly can't believe that it happened in my time. I thought maybe another 2 years from now, but that I witnessed it, my heart is just full of thanks.<br />
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Leaving the meeting I bring my two girls, Mariama and Aramita, and little Tia to the tailor. I had bought them fabric for their first ever school uniforms and they were just shining light bulbs when the were measured by the tailor. They can chat about nothing else besides Sunday when they are supposed to see the finished products. I hope this will empower their learning even more. As I am trying, slowly, slowly, to show the family how education is the most powerful tool a person can have. Tia even got measured too because he and I will have matching asobe pants. I remember this time last year when he couldn't even walk the distance to the tailor, I have been here a long time.<br />
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On the way to the tailor's, the four of us, me and the three children were passed by a "Gambian tourist vehicle," coming from the tourist camp. There were two white young men sitting in the back, clearly tourists, who were staring at us as they drove by. I saw a glimpse of myself through their eyes, this young dirty white women standing in the middle of a cow path wearing local dress with 3 small black dirty children dressed in what they could consider rags. The question in their eyes was 'what is she doing here?' My answer, " I am living."<br />
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This is the most recent chapter to my life story. </div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-36446606645300364952013-08-05T12:37:00.001-04:002013-08-05T12:37:25.577-04:00Ramadan is the name of the GameIt's that time of year again- the season of fasting, Ramadan, cranky season, fighting season- in Quaranic reality its a time of forgiveness and being thankful for all that Allah gives you. In practice it because a different monster. Last year, I fasted a total of 26 days. This year, not one. I am eating. Eating only. How could I not, last year, I learned a lot about myself, the culture, the spirit of community, made many life changes and generally grew as a person. Not kidding and not overestimating. It was a very therapeutic experience, and a recommend it to anyone to try. This year, I had a full food trunk, saved as I've become a food hoarder because I am so afraid of those times where there is no food. This year, I am on the outside looking in. Everyone in the village is fasting from sunup to sundown and I am living a more nutrition month than I have in a long while. I took it in different stride, I ate protein and I exercised everyday. It gave a great pattern to everyday, come up with exciting nutritious meals to make and plan the evening routine. I told everyone I was not fasting, and I always got positive responses along with the general Gambian teasing ones.<br />
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"Why are you not fasting?" "Mune I mun sung?"<br />
"I am training instead." "M be training."<br />
"Oh this is very good." " A beteyata baake."<br />
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"I am not muslim." "M munke muslim le ti."<br />
*no response*<br />
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"I like food too much." "n leffita domoroo baake baake."<br />
"oh Isatou, you are not brave of hunger and thirst." "Isatou, I mun hanni konko nin mindo."<br />
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A lot of women especially looked on in some what of a jealous nature as I explained that I was not keeping fast. Out of a whole village maybe 3 or 4 people have told me that fasting is good and it brings them strength. The rest complain, sleep all afternoon, bitch some more, yell at children, each other, their wives. I don't blame them entirely but really, the Quaran says no fighting people!<br />
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Women continue the cooking, for the breakfast, lunch for the children, tea and a small meal for the breaking and dinner. Not including carrying the water, going to the fields every morning for 5 hours to hand weed (its back breaking, I barely make it 2 hours) and keeping the children out of trouble. Yes, the speed of even already slow life, slows down even more. The men go to the fields in the morning for the same time as the women, and to be honest, some go back for 3 hours in the evening ( respect), seriously, I have no idea where they find the strength- I could barely stand up in the evening. But most of the men lay around sleeping on the bantabas. The younger girls, 15 and younger, take on more responsibilities, they carry more water, and generally help their mom's out. Boys too, more work in the fields, perhaps even taking the donkey cart to fetch water. Starting at age, you can walk without falling down, you start to have jobs. If you aren't old enough to weed the fields you follow your older siblings around picking up the weeds and placing them into piles. You can't carry a full pan of water on your head, then you carry a small bucket or a kettle. Its adorable to see a 4 year old walking home with a tiny kettle of water on her head, but also heart-wrenching.<br />
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Back to Ramadan-<br />
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I am learning equally as much about myself on an empty stomach as I did last year on a full one. I am also learning and seeing things I missed last year because I was too hungry to pick up on them. There is this deep level of power0 in the hunger- the lessons of carrying on to the finish and the knowledge that they and we all have the strength even without the food to do it, and with that strength comes power. There is a resilience that takes its highest form during Ramadan and breaths extra life into the community. This goes without explaining how resilient and strong the people are on a daily basis, they just reach into themselves and depend on one another during this time of fasting.<br />
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Dukuti le ka dakuti wulu. - Mandinka ProverbSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-4363686352562443692013-07-17T08:23:00.001-04:002013-07-17T08:23:32.954-04:00Home Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
What else but some cute african kids- most of them are of my siblings or favorite baby in village. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mariama Jallow- they call her MJ, after Michael Jackson. Her co-mother is my best friend in village- even though they speak fula i'm at their compound very often</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aramita, my little sister, she's a wild one. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bamusa, brother, he's grown so much in the past year. Measuring my length of time based on how much everyone has grown up. He loves to dance and his dance offs with Justin are one of my favorite things. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Farfala, brother, he lives at the quaranic school in town so I don't see him often but when I do he has a very quite personality- hardly saying anything but just has this huge smile on his face. No smiles here though- it was 7pm and he was fasting- fasting breaks at 7:30. He is 15. </td></tr>
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Isatou, the baby, and Tia, the 3 year old are still with their mother in Kombo visiting relatives. I miss them and realize now how much they and their older silblings have impacted me and my service- on all day's, the good and the bad, they are my source of joy, they give me their smiles and ask me for magazines, and grant me some of their endless power to be happy in a place where their are so many reason to be sad.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiyo Fatty, the little shit, he thinks he is a model. The family adores him now and he answers to Bori's call. The whole village when greeting me will ask how tiyo is with a laugh. Because its so silly to name a cat. When people bother me about not giving them money or buying them road gifts after traveling, I respond with "well, you haven't bought tiyo any fish and he really likes fish." That gets them laughing and gives me a chance to turn the conversation away from the stereotype of me being white and automatically having money. He's growing on many of them- someday he will be more famous in the village then I am. (No worries mom- he's staying in Africa- Aramita told me she wants him as her cat.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ramadan Sunset in my backyard. I am the luckiest girl. </td></tr>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-19952025473127392642013-07-17T07:58:00.001-04:002013-07-17T07:58:52.984-04:00Fencing of The Gambia <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMSK0_fR6nqge5HfDvWID7IJyjNWWpUe_vEVGpBEnRS6k5_4ArTChuxIP8i7BY5JtnYSdkM7u9TcD1XXHpPI0lxxX_HilkDXXHR-6FWSAkBRslOUFf5CtOSlUDS7IEUKbcYhyphenhyphen_HmB4on5p/s1600/Wet+Season,+Garden+074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMSK0_fR6nqge5HfDvWID7IJyjNWWpUe_vEVGpBEnRS6k5_4ArTChuxIP8i7BY5JtnYSdkM7u9TcD1XXHpPI0lxxX_HilkDXXHR-6FWSAkBRslOUFf5CtOSlUDS7IEUKbcYhyphenhyphen_HmB4on5p/s320/Wet+Season,+Garden+074.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sesame Seed pod fencing</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corn stalk fencing </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LLD2FluuvEJ0JVou04AKifXjPNDCq7l9J2rE74GqOIoynw9gGSFGKYeTFlGwMVTFYAABR-5Bs4dJ4lIGPzWBoBIfJmj93a68gb0ZNsVihpbnUNMJ8MDowols3r9HAnqJWgHV7bzQaqCF/s1600/Wet+Season,+Garden+077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LLD2FluuvEJ0JVou04AKifXjPNDCq7l9J2rE74GqOIoynw9gGSFGKYeTFlGwMVTFYAABR-5Bs4dJ4lIGPzWBoBIfJmj93a68gb0ZNsVihpbnUNMJ8MDowols3r9HAnqJWgHV7bzQaqCF/s320/Wet+Season,+Garden+077.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then we have the thorn woven fencing </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The many wood cutting's fence- also serves as a clothes line. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDTUmTn53ocSFhxImQWmpbczuWKdDe9BPdFrLwRZ5dX3LDXlDyqWuvZEstWa5ZlQlMIhxLYqTnrv-zUEjOIEHh-25L4uAHuMm3_3k-HA4QD8Nf0OUOofn9HvG-AcmluaY9x9f3179o7GC/s1600/Wet+Season,+Garden+079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDTUmTn53ocSFhxImQWmpbczuWKdDe9BPdFrLwRZ5dX3LDXlDyqWuvZEstWa5ZlQlMIhxLYqTnrv-zUEjOIEHh-25L4uAHuMm3_3k-HA4QD8Nf0OUOofn9HvG-AcmluaY9x9f3179o7GC/s320/Wet+Season,+Garden+079.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Larger wood fencing (1 year old) so they added thorn branches and sesame seed pods.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqFaEMBVAK-xR40If5BUmbTB6fknPoNlLdq4DIIgyZulTxAQYQMvZeC1B-dn7vN5fHraQTOolCUNL7e6dCD2V_QjuAhN392dW7KoZ8YBK62hpAKPqJ2e5dVRlbrBKAyo1Q5UypgZQ0elsx/s1600/Wet+Season,+Garden+081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqFaEMBVAK-xR40If5BUmbTB6fknPoNlLdq4DIIgyZulTxAQYQMvZeC1B-dn7vN5fHraQTOolCUNL7e6dCD2V_QjuAhN392dW7KoZ8YBK62hpAKPqJ2e5dVRlbrBKAyo1Q5UypgZQ0elsx/s320/Wet+Season,+Garden+081.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The reed fencing with wire holdings </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The chain-link fencing<br /><br /><br />The Village now has a GARDEN!! Chain-link fencing with metal bars cemented into the ground. The well, a pulley system, is a work in progress as we have hit rainy season and Ramadan- no one wants to dig a well when they are fasting. I had left on vacation to Morocco (more on that later) and when I came back to village they had set up the metal posts- and were waiting on instruction on the chain-link. The garden is a little over a hectare large with 1 well, funded by a USAID West African food security grant. There is a 8 person garden committee and each gardener (so far 90 have registered) will pay money to register their beds- the money going towards a communal account to buy seeds, tools, and additional wells in the future. The hope is self-sustainability. There will also be small business practices, garden practices, and nutritional training sessions given to community members so they have the best tools in place to have the garden work for their nutritional and monetary needs. <br />The work is slow starting because the rains have come and everyone is busy with their fields. Although we have started planting trees- about 40 cashew trees on the perimeter. Later the village has plans for moringa trees as alley cropping and a banana tree quarter. With the grant money, tomato, sweet green pepper, hot pepper, butternut squash, eggplant, and cucumber seeds have been purchased- the women will learn how to save these seeds adding to the okra, onion, eggplant, pepper, and squash they already grow. Now we are just beginning but we have high hopes for the future! </td></tr>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-28585116110691965182013-07-15T04:45:00.001-04:002013-07-15T04:45:18.494-04:00We will have honey soon soon!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
BeeCause came back to village and we built large hives. The men did great, they worked as teams and whipped out these hives. </div>
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A little instruction by Beecause master BALLA! With some small boys helping out in the background. It was a multigenerational day!</div>
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With lots of smiles!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are brave brave men, they are beekeeping and we all got stung, at night, in the dark..A really fun time!! Seriously though, it was a great night. </td></tr>
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The third day we held a training for women and men on how to make value added products for bee products, we made soap and lotion. Lots of activity and lots of excited ladies!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jallow Boys planted cashew seeds. Their bad ass men. </td></tr>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-37316123208763567462013-07-15T04:23:00.002-04:002013-07-15T04:46:39.494-04:00Aimee surprises family with groundnut grinder!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"What is this weird (walmart) bag.... "</div>
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Bori looking apprehensive with onlookers of Aramita and Mariama</div>
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"Ahhahaha.....Isatou!! Aimee!! Oh, this is good so good, good, ohh I am so happy!! </div>
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Thank you, Thank you!! May Allah bring you goodluck and safety."</div>
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"Hey, Isatou, look at me....this bubbly wrap is so much fun... I can even wear it as a head wrap! Oh, Aimee is so silly...bubbly wrap."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewAsOBRzdgs7WsTfSy_1ZUgGQkRkSd4ChFShZIHIog4N8PCLGbqB-tsvpgxIYeexDctIylmmHekqV2fmRBTEWVeyVLiTGxBujvLx_N4MOpVUm1-xN_Rynv0OL-z9ZU2f-uKKsiM7xHjUz/s1600/DSC_0040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgewAsOBRzdgs7WsTfSy_1ZUgGQkRkSd4ChFShZIHIog4N8PCLGbqB-tsvpgxIYeexDctIylmmHekqV2fmRBTEWVeyVLiTGxBujvLx_N4MOpVUm1-xN_Rynv0OL-z9ZU2f-uKKsiM7xHjUz/s320/DSC_0040.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Baboo, otherwise known as DAD, built this fancy little stand THE NEXT DAY!! Which is unbelievable to me because i've been asking him to fix my roof for 2 months and only did he do it when the rains came into my house. They are really grateful for the grinder. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiggeEZ3Hs_CO5A07CaPZD5Tz9Ck1ZMEnHDrYaKznM7e87ndk2m2ak-hrsIPLqSaJy6kdPltNCr12rPHAnhpi4uRqf-PpxzBobkTHIC4cGynpeG2Ych_-xIK0I-A1ewm1S4tkBfi8iCyPv9/s1600/DSC_0042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiggeEZ3Hs_CO5A07CaPZD5Tz9Ck1ZMEnHDrYaKznM7e87ndk2m2ak-hrsIPLqSaJy6kdPltNCr12rPHAnhpi4uRqf-PpxzBobkTHIC4cGynpeG2Ych_-xIK0I-A1ewm1S4tkBfi8iCyPv9/s320/DSC_0042.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Isn't this the sweetest little table you've ever seen! </div>
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Gambian's main crop is groundnut, similar to peanuts. But to grind them up into peanut butter or crush them for cooking purposes requires either alot of manual labor with a mortar and pestle or this fancy little hand machine. Before this one we had only one in the village for 34 compounds. Quite the waiting line for lunch preparation. They charge each woman about 3 dalasi, about 2 cents, to grind the nuts. They take the profits and save some for machine repairs and use the rest to buy food, cloths, ect. They also use it to grind fish to make fish balls (Justin really like's fish balls.) </div>
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Thank you Aimee</div>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-32100889561317745332013-05-07T08:28:00.000-04:002013-05-07T08:28:10.112-04:00These are the days...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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An organization called BeeCause came to site and lead a 3 day training for 11 men on the basics of beekeeping. They built 11 catcher boxes and 7 hives and have them baited and waiting in the trees. Many have bees in them and are strong enough to transfer. BeeCause will be back in June for their second training session on advanced beekeeping. Here's to brave men and their want for honey and money!!</div>
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Isatou and Ba, chilling out...they will be gone with their mom visiting relatives until the rains start. Missing them and their giggles, cries, screams...</div>
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Tiyoo has found his new home very enjoyable. He knows how to sneak under my fence in the backyard. He also has fallen for the rice diet, love panketos (little balls of deep fried dough), and bitik bread. He's a carb kitty. </div>
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Lets play in the dirt. </div>
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A demonstration on how to fill polypots, then plant seeds in them, preparing trees for the rainy season. </div>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-25706784426360585502013-04-24T07:53:00.001-04:002013-04-24T07:53:08.055-04:00African Roulette "Hunger of the body is altogether different from the shallow, daily hunger of the belly. Those who have known this kind of hunger cannot entirely love, ever again, those who have not." -Barbara Kingsolver, <u>The Poisonwood Bible</u><br />
<br />
Life in Tenegfara is occasionally like Russian roulette, you never know what your going to get. By this I mean that when I walk down the paths and meet a person, as the social culture embedded in life we greet one another. But I never know what language I'm going to get, you see tenengfara speaks 4 different languages- mandinka(what I am trying to speak), pulaar/fula, wolof, and serehule. I've learned some greetings and basica phrases in all the languages so when I head to the wolof compounds I greet in wolof, this amuses the villagers so much. They laugh hysterically and look at one another saying, did you hear what she said..she said.....as if they all didn't understand me. Although they never say it, I know they greatly appreciate this small gesture I am making to their family, to their tribe, honoring their heritage.<br />
<br />
I get by because the main language is Mandinka, most can speak it to some extent, however, fluently or broken it may be. But there are some who don't speak a word- they will greet in their respective language as others greet back in Mandinka. Any language goes. I learn which compounds speak which languages and go in greeting in that language- when communication fails you grab the nearest small child because most of them speak all 4 fluently- guess that's just what happens when all your friends come from different tribes. I see a great deal of respect between villagers, if there are 2 men who speak all 4 languages but one is fula and the other is serehule they will speak in wolof or mandinka, so there is no preference shown to a particular individual/tribe. Or if they go to one anothers compounds they will greet in the houses tribal language. In a span of 4 minutes sitting on the bantaba (local wooden platform/hang out spot) all 4 languages will be going on with various translations happening for those who are not multi-lingual. Its amazingly calm and utterly calumnious at the same time.<br />
<br />
It also drives me crazy, work is hard enough to get accomplished with one language barrier, simply going to the water pump your going to have to get some one to translate to or for you. Meetings that I hold with the men and womens' groups have to be translated at least 3 times. We run on African- slowness but also the slow speed of 4 language translations. And simple things become more difficult- even though I know the words for all the things in the bitik, the bitik owner is fula and doesn't understand a great many things in mandinka, so I still end up pointing to certain items. Although this does give me a certain degree of comfort when I travel because you will run into many language barriers when you travel.<br />
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Its not just the language that causes barriers, its the culture of the tribes. For example, the wolofs have a certain way of doing things that the fula's don't do. So to get a job accomplished you have to find a meeting point not only in language understanding but in cultural understanding, the role of mentor and mediator constantly comes into play. Another aspect to the tribal difference is a great benefit to my experience here. All the naming ceremonies and marriages have different cultural elements, a wolof naming ceremony and a fula naming ceremony have many differences. Serehule weddings and wolof weddings don't even compare. Its a very cultural diverse atmosphere and I just try and stay open so that I can soak it all in, and hope that the memories bond themselves to my being so that when I leave this home for my next one, the things these people have taught me will be part of who I am.<br />
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Its like a tiny united nations making sure that all the tribes are happy and understand whats going on and agree to it, also knowing the strengths and weaknesses of a certain tribes thinking and action helps the work go easier- for example the wolofs out of all the people in tenengfara are the most open to change and have this attitude of 'lets try this and see what happens.' When I have seeds to plant that are foreign to them, they come to my door asking for them, or they tell me that they have fed moringa to their kids 4 times this week after I suggested it was one of the most nutritious items available for their diets. Of course, all this conversation has to come through translation and as they get accustomed to my western strange white ways of doing things and of thinking, I slowly slip into my Gambian self, and sometime pause in moments to think of what my friends and family would say if they could see me now.<br />
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"Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not-quite, and not-yet, and not at all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists....it is real...it is possible... it's yours." - Ayn Rand <u>Atlas Shrugged</u><br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-2896831679161137712013-03-23T14:47:00.001-04:002013-03-23T14:47:14.075-04:00Outing with the Tenengfara Ladies<br />
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The first week I arrived at site, last May, my first task to
accomplish was to open a bank account with my women’s group. We had gotten a
$5000 USD emergency relief grant for
food aid, and couldn’t access the money without an group bank account. So knowing almost no Mandinka, I, my
counterpart who speaks English and has become my babysitter, and 3 women headed
to the bank account about 25K away. Between all the bureaucratic non-sense,
getting passport photos of 3 women in the middle of the African bush, paying to
open the account, dealing with slight corruption, and directing this entire
outing while speaking no local language. Let’s just say it might have been the
hardest and most challenging work assignment I have yet encountered as a
volunteer. The only things that were getting me through that week, was that the
community would get the food it desperately needed and that I would never have
to set up another bank account in Gambia again. </div>
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That was true until a week ago. I have recently, completely
a USAID grant for a community garden complete with a chain-link fence and a
well. It is in the process of being approved by DC as PC Gambia has already
approved it. Everything was going smoothly, bank account numbers turned in and
then I get a call from the office that informs me that any government funds
won’t transfer to the bank account we have near village because that bank is
considered by the US to be unreliable. Now, yes, the previous money was also
from USAID and went to that account, but I was told that it wouldn’t work for
this grant, the only option we had was to go to a larger town, farther away
with a bank that was approved by the US to transfer funds too. I thought it
would be the same set up as the previous time, so I had meetings with the
alkahlo and village leaders to request, 650D which is about $14 USD for
transport for 2 women and myself. It was actually a huge argument, because to
my home-people that’s a lot of money. After about 30 minutes for fighting back
and forth between villagers, I had had enough and just said, fine, if you don’t
want the garden, then don’t give me the money, I’ll simply call peace corps and
tell them that we have changed our minds. Suddenly, everyone was agreeable and
the money was given to me. </div>
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Early Monday morning, we headed to Soma, about a 2 hour
journey once you are on a gelle. I wanted to leave at 7am because the gelles
fill up fast, and the earlier gelles tend to stop less often. But everything
here moves in Gambian time, which means slowly, and we got to the road around
8:30am, an hour and a half late, not bad. Travel went well, no incidences. We
get to soma around 11, and as we are all hungry I treat the women to breakfast
of egg sandwiches and tea. Then we head to the bank, the bankers immediately
tell me that I need a tax identification number, it’s a new requirement, to
open the account. These women can’t own land, officially own nothing that they
can pay taxes on, so they don’t have tax ID numbers. The women’s group was
registered with the state but they had forgotten the paperwork. And now it
wasn’t just 1 passport photo, but 2, and they needed to have ID’s which they
had but they had to be a new biometric identification card which the women
didn’t have because they hadn’t left tenengfara in a few years. The bank
manager absolutely refused to let us open the account, saying that we would
have to go home, figure everything out and then come back with the proper paperwork.
I was exhausted, I had been dreading this day and this was the last thing I
wanted to hear. I told him that while parts of Gambia were moving forward with
development and new regulations and rules, there were many areas of the Gambia
that were standing still, while the bank had AC and a flat screen TV
broadcasting CNN, the village has mud huts and pumps for water. It was a visual
divide of the two worlds and it felt so much more powerful when I had two of my
women from village with me. I couldn’t
go home empty handed only to have used the villages money for nothing. So I
shed a few tears and showed the bank manager my passport and somehow managed to
open the account by promising him that I would return with all the proper
paperwork, ID’s, and photographs. The account was 500D to open, about $12USD,
but much more than I had thought. After the bank was somewhat accomplished, we
headed across the road to immigration where we had to fill out paperwork for
the women to have their ID’s renewed. They had photos taken, and paperwork
stamped which cost 50D, which is so ridicules. The ID’s themselves were 400D. The
immigration office was more stressful than the bank; the officers are pumped up
with their authority and find it part their jobs to ask me every question about
myself, America…blanket harassment at times. But we got the ID’s renewed, we got the bank
account set up even without proper documentation, a few more 100D spent then we
thought but it’s all for the garden. And hopefully, my bank account opening
days are finished. But this time, I did it without my counterpart, the basics
were accomplished in one day, and in this life we just have to focus on the
positives. And in the end will be a garden which will increase food security
for my village. </div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-70042009694609184522013-03-22T21:19:00.000-04:002013-03-22T21:19:13.838-04:00This is Africa<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-73245775868377636192013-02-05T09:34:00.000-05:002013-02-05T09:34:34.839-05:00Carrying WaterThere are many differences between the 'bush' and the 'city.' Many of them are differentiated by labels such as 'development,' 'civilization,' 'location of food,' 'the beach,' 'rice only,' 'dirty,' bucket showers,' 'showers,' 'pit latrines ' 'taxi,' or 'horse/donkey carts.' In the peace corps world at large the most commonly used terms are 'posh corps,' and 'peace corps.' Now these are pretty easy distinctions. Posh describes a PCV who lives with amenities, such as, electricity, running water, television, easy access to resources, bottom line the basic comforts of development. Although, to be posh, you usually have to have several of the previously mentioned to count, there are many volunteers who might have only electricity at only certain times of the day while still living in the bush, while this is a luxury, they most likely would not be described as posh posts. While a 'bush' volunteer has none of the previously described. There are benefits and disadvantages to each, living in the bush, you know everyone and everyone knows you, there is a less likelihood of theft, much like a small town in America, there is an element of comfort and security that the rural provides...there are thoughts that if anything serious happened to me my village would run a trial like old times or just go off on whoever had caused me harm...what i'm trying to say is that the village protects their own. If you live in a more developed area, a volunteer would tend to get 'toubabed' more often, there are challenges such as tourist season, a warping, imitation and misunderstanding of western cultures which makes communication much more difficult, a exception of because you are white you are rich and thus must give me minti's or money like the tourists do, and a limited wide-spread knowledge of peace corps and its objectives. A bush volunteer would have to carry water for all of their needs, cooking, cleaning, laundry, showering, and ...you're screwed if you run out of water in the middle of a shower or heaven forbid in the middle of a bathroom break...believe me i've done it...but i'm terrible at keeping water in my house. You also have to power all of your movements, and by that I mean many times the only way to get somewhere is walking or biking, there are no opportunities for taxis, but hey if your really in trouble make sure you become friends with someone with a horse or donkey cart so they can get your butt to the road. To get food in the bush, I bike 14 k round trip to a weekly market where I can buy beans, spaghetti, soap, fish(?), seasonal vegetables, second hand clothes like piles of salvation army, which are really fun to look through, soda, milk, coffee, peanut butter, and pasta for the majority of what I buy. In village, I hope that the bitik is open, and I hope that they have bread! At the bitik you can buy tomato paste, onions, garlic, small bags of pasta, mayo, margarine, chocolate sauce, sugar, attaya, oil, candles, cans of condensed or evaporated milk...but just remember that they might not have these things. Larger bitiks have more than smaller bitiks, there is a large bitik 2 k away from me that sometimes has eggs!! So with these things you become really inventive, garlic bread from a frying pan, bean soup, spaghetti sauce from tomato paste, onions, and garlic. When I head into the city, I try to make sure my bag is as empty as possible so I can load up on foods and bring them back home with me.<br />
To get work done, I'm actually pretty lucky in that I have a NGO 14 k trip away which has a generator and get this...wifi, so I can plug in and do grant work...which is where I am right now. But its not as easy as that. For example, one NGO has solar which is FANTASTIC, but if I need to go online I have to use my internet stick which costs do add up fast. The second NGO has a generator but most of the time its broken. So this is how my trips to use power usually go, I bike from home to town, trying to remember to bring water..because the bitiks in town are weirdly always out of water bags and I don't really want to drink the tap water. In town, I check out the NGO situation. ok...so more detailed this is how my morning went. I did remember water, I show up to town really wanted to finish the garden grant I'm working on. One NGO has decided to take the day off because its Tuesday and why not stay home. The second NGO's generator is broken but they tell me that they are working on it...which in Gambia could mean it will be ready sometime today or maybe sometime next week. No one has come to work yet and its 10:30. So I sit...and I wait. And I get frustrated, so at around 11:30 knowing that I have a fully charged computer from the last time I was at an NGO, I head into the backyard and sit down on the cement, turning on my computer hoping to at least get some work done before the battery dies. I have already hand written essay questions and discussed the detailed budget with my counterpart, so I transfer information from my notebook to the computer. Everyone walking around laughs at the weird white girl who sits around doing work instead of just waiting for the generator. Then at 12:30 they have miraculously fixed the generator and I quickly plug into the power. Like I said before I am actually really lucky to have close by access to power, not many volunteers have that opportunity.<br />
I don't know exactly where I'm headed with this whole blog post except that yeah, things can be really difficult and the basics of living like water supply and access and availability to food are limited at times. (water taps being on of only certain times of the day) And if your lucky enough to have some larger populations nearby you might get an NGO that will let you sit and take advantage of their amenities. In the beginning basics of living were a novelty, like ohh look at me I'm living in Africa in a mud hut and image if my friends could see me carrying water on my head. Then feelings shifted to f-this, there are cockroaches that crawl into my hut and carrying water is a bitch. Emotions have changed recently to, whats the ruffling sound inside of my hut at 2am.. cockroach...grab the nearest shoe..bye cockroach, and hey mom is the water on at the tap yet?...ok water time because i'm thirsty. The novelty is gone, the period of fighting it is over, and now its just life. Yes, I live in Africa, yes its hot, the basics of living are somehow difficult, there are days that the daydreams of life in America are constant, but I fight to stay mentally here, because I want this, I asked for this, and I'm not going anywhere.<br />
As we approach the one year mark, I set goals for the next year, what I want to get done for my home-people, what I want to personally accomplish, and where I want to head next. But for now, its all about living and working in a rural African village where I see my siblings growing up so quickly and get teary at the thought of leaving all of this behind. After all, when else am I going to have to carry at least 24 L of water everyday.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-39444075628391357972013-02-04T06:53:00.001-05:002013-02-04T06:53:34.765-05:00Baby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2259865845694577293.post-34672714231246397262013-01-21T08:15:00.001-05:002013-01-21T08:39:03.282-05:00Bureaucratic what-not<br />
This is a spread sheet that PC gives to trainees so that we have an idea of what 'wacked' feelings we have are actually normal, and when they are not so we known when to get ourselves help...kidding....kind of. This list is in general pretty descriptive and does somewhat correspond to the times and emotions of a PCV, although in one day or one week you can go through all your 27 months in country of feelings. This also doesn't include the happiness or feelings of bliss, so for parents and PC applicants, new trainees just remember that no one ever lives by the list completely.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Months
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<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1-3</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Too
much structure,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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much routine,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Withdrawal,
anxiety, feeling incompetent, nervous, restlessness, irritability, weight and
or health changes</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Coping
Strategies: </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-explore independence -make plans
for first 3 months -visit new site-establish relationships/familiarity with
Gambia, PC staff -gather skills for immediate use</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext 1.0pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 49.5pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4-7</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 135.9pt;" valign="top" width="181">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Assignment,
separation/solitude, uncertainty of role, Language</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 179.95pt;" valign="top" width="240">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Fright,
frustration with self, loneliness, weight or health changes, homesickness,
uselessness</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Coping
Strategies: </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Develop in-country
correspondence- Visit peers/host family- Efforts to establish support links
with NGOs and government services- Technical research for future use-
Language study- Establish schedule, routine, sense of “home”- Establish
hobbies to do in public</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext 1.0pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 49.5pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">8-10</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 135.9pt;" valign="top" width="181">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Slow
work progress, Language Plateaus, cross-cultural frustrations, Lack of
support</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 179.95pt;" valign="top" width="240">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Comparison
with other PCVs, over-zealousness, home sickness, intolerance with host
culture, uncertainties about adaptation</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Coping
Strategies: </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-reunions
with group/site mates -cards, letters home to forgotten</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Relationships
-talk with friends about slow starts & failures -simple projects:
cooking, personal crafts, meetings, garden for self -consolidate friendships</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext 1.0pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 49.5pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">11-15</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 135.9pt;" valign="top" width="181">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mid
service crisis, doubt about program, role, self, government, reflections</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 179.95pt;" valign="top" width="240">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Impatience
with self, complaining, lethargy, feeling useless, haughtiness
with new trainees, confusion in resolving frustrations vs. victories</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Coping Strategies: </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-Plan
vacations -Review work plan; set new goals -Celebrate one year
anniversary -Find new recreation -Physical activity:
"Get in shape" -Write letters -Explore better in-country
relationships -Return to language study and practice -Visit new
volunteers </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext 1.0pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 49.5pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">16-20</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 135.9pt;" valign="top" width="181">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Increased
and more defined work pace, project work, awareness of time constraints,
realization of own limits, post PC considerations</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 179.95pt;" valign="top" width="240">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hyperactivity
or apathy, procrastination, self-recrimination, resignation, disappointment,
downgrade achievements.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Coping Strategies: </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-visit new volunteers-physical
activity; “get in shape” -focus on relationships in village -re-examine goals
and time frame -apply for GREs, write grad schools -explore work
possibilities in neighboring villages- look to collaborate on projects with
volunteers.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="height: 83.65pt; mso-yfti-irow: 6;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; height: 83.65pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext 1.0pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 49.5pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">21-23</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; height: 83.65pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 135.9pt;" valign="top" width="181">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Project
work, awareness of time constraints, realization of own limitations, post
pc-considerations,</span><span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">depression about
perceived lack of accomplishment, consideration of extension, checked out</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; height: 83.65pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 179.95pt;" valign="top" width="240">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Resignation,
downgrade achievements, monument building, withdrawal into work, panic,
procrastination, frustration with self, moodiness.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Coping Strategies: </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-
Focus on relationships at site -vacation/travel -review work
plans, assess feasibility -plan “closing out”, & follow-up -work with
counterparts on planning for departure, follow-up</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-collaboration
with 1st year PCVs -consider post-PC planning; first draft of resume; 4-Mo.
personal calendar</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="height: 39.7pt; mso-yfti-irow: 7; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;">
<td style="border-top: none; border: solid windowtext 1.0pt; height: 39.7pt; mso-border-top-alt: solid windowtext 1.0pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 49.5pt;" valign="top" width="66">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">23-27</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; height: 39.7pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 135.9pt;" valign="top" width="181">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Trauma
of Departure, Concern about social re-entry, Bridging new and former
identity, redefinition of career goals, redefinition of host country based on
relationships</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-left: none; border-right: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border-top: none; height: 39.7pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 179.95pt;" valign="top" width="240">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Fright,
confusion, alienation, anxiety, panic, giddiness, impatience, obsession with
planning and scheduling.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Coping Strategies: </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: ""serif"","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">-check
on trends, US popular culture amongst Trainees - Job search /Apply for GRE,
write grad schools - do self-analysis: i.e. factors of
self-growth; work accomplishment, to consolidate self-confidence -work on
self-image -shop for art, crafts, etc. -write friends, make social plans
-post-PC travel plans -transfer work skills, area-specific knowledge to
trainees - Contact friends at home, make social plans</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09723274763326211899noreply@blogger.com0