Readjusting and some other things

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.  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^th 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).  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.

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.

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?”  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.  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.

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?

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’. 

Whispering

full of fear that our strength was lost 

we started from rebirth 

our feet dirty, skin brown, hearts uneven 

we were challenged, broken down 

stripped bare 

left standing, the only ones, we thought 

we heard silence 

cried out, the drums answered 

training our hearts to the rhythm 

of Africa

we waited, searching, listening 

facing the universe, our ears awoke 

to witness the whispering of the world 

calling our strength awake 

reborn, our feet dirty, skin brown 

hearts beating in union with the drums 

our eyes tame, our cries of joy 

our ears full of the universes truth, 

whispering hope

Moments of pause

It 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. 

- What is the What?  David Eggars

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.

- Shantarum Gregory David Roberts

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.

-Bottom Billion Paul Collier 

Love in Black and White

The 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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

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. 

Garden EXPLOSION!

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. 

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!!

Explaining differences in lettuce

Using groundnut shells as soil protection, it helps the soil retain moisture and prevents weeds. 

All that green...

Carrying water, keeping the vegetables alive, women hard at work.

Shawn! also "Mariama Sowe" we've adopted her into Fatty Kunda.
She road her bike the entire length of the country!

Go to them...

Peace Corps Service, explained

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

Home Love

What else but some cute african kids- most of them are of my siblings or favorite baby in village. 

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

Aramita, my little sister, she's a wild one. 

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. 

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. 

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.

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.)

Ramadan Sunset in my backyard. I am the luckiest girl. 

Fencing of The Gambia

Sesame Seed pod fencing

Corn stalk fencing 

Then we have the thorn woven fencing 

The many wood cutting's fence- also serves as a clothes line. 

The Larger wood fencing (1 year old) so they added thorn branches and sesame seed pods.

The reed fencing with wire holdings 

The chain-link fencing


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.
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! 

We will have honey soon soon!!

BeeCause came back to village and we built large hives. The men did great, they worked as teams and whipped out these hives. 

A little instruction by Beecause master BALLA! With some small boys helping out in the background. It was a multigenerational day!

With lots of smiles!

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. 

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!

The Jallow Boys planted cashew seeds. Their bad ass men.