Hope

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. 

                             "How can you face the silence of the universe with only hope?" 

- 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. 

Guest Post: Justin W.

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. 

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.

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.

This is my recognizing you Sarah. Congratulation and a job well done!

Some photos off the slow internet

American turned Gambian

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.  

Snapchat

More photos for your viewing pleasure. Some updates via photos. 

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. 

Men at the Mosque the week of tobaski. 

Women at the mosque the week of tobaski

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. 

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. 

My counterpart, Bamusa Konteh, with his son...the CUBBIEST african baby I have ever seen. He and his wife are doing a great job. 

Mom- this is for you.

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. 

But she is also such a little shit. But I fall more in love with her every day. 

The Compost Pile

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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."

This is the most recent chapter to my life story. 

Ramadan is the name of the Game

It'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.

"Why are you not fasting?" "Mune I mun sung?"
"I am training instead." "M be training."
"Oh this is very good." " A beteyata baake."

"I am not muslim." "M munke muslim le ti."
*no response*

"I like food too much." "n leffita domoroo baake baake."
"oh Isatou, you are not brave of hunger and thirst." "Isatou, I mun hanni konko nin mindo."


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!

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.

Back to Ramadan-

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.

Dukuti le ka dakuti wulu. - Mandinka Proverb