I'm here in Mamou! And it is as wonderful as I'd remembered. I love my new house, the organization with which I work, and most importantly, the people. Everything is going well, the biggest problem is the fact that I can't communicate with most of the people here, seeing that they speak a language called Pular. It's a pretty popular language in West Africa, but it's also one of the more difficult to learn. But, every morning I wake up around 8am, make some (not so delicious) instant coffee, and study this shoddy Pular book, drink my coffee, and look out my mountains. It's not half bad. Except there is a well right outside my front door and all the neighbor ladies like to peer into my house and ask me for me bread. Get your own bread, fools! They think I'm like all the other white people (by all the other white people, I mean, maybe the other 2 who I've seen around this "large city") and white people in this country are known to be earning Western salaries ... meaning dollars or euros ... living in the safe confines of their guarded home and driving around in armored cars. So when they see me living on a regular neighborhood street with petty change and talking their language, they get pretty confused. Just today I said hi (in Pular) to this girl and she said hi back ... and then when she realized what had just happened she litteraly stopped, squealed an "EHH!?!" and said "you, a white person, speaks Pular?" I just had to laugh, I told her I am learning, and continued on my way.
So the best night I've had so far in Mamou was two nights ago. You see, 3 days ago I was in the market, which causes a scene in and of itself. A white person has come to buy one tomato? Why doesn't she have her cook get it for her? Wait ... she's asking how much does a tomato cost in Pular? Wait ... she's wearing African clothes and jewelry? WHAT IS GOING ON?! So I'm buying my tomato, eggplant and rice and this woman I'm buying from, in a combo of Pular and broken French asks me why I'm buying this food. Obviously, I'm cooking. "For who?" "Myself." "You eat alone?" "Yes, I eat and live alone. I have no husband, I have no children." (those would be her next questions, so I spared her the effort.) So she tells me to come back the next day at 5pm.
I am new in town. I have no plans ... the next day at 5pm I head over, secretly hoping she'll feed me. So I get there and she's ecstatic to see me. She and all the other market ladies start squealing and laughing and having fun. My new friend starts to pack up for the day and I tell her that I want to help her pack up for the night. Wow ... I can say for a fact that they never, in their wildest dreams, EVER thought they'd see a white person working at the market. I had about 10 ladies coming over screaming in delight that a white person was working. The lady I was helping, my new friend, was beaming with this sort of pride that I was "hers" and I was equally happy, trying to break down this stereotype that I'm some rich kid who doesn't want anything to do with her and her people. I'm pretty sure it worked. The next day I went back just to say hi to her, and EVERYONE knew me, Kiki Barry. O man, it took me 30 minutes to walk from one end of this small place to the other, because everyone wanted to talk to me. Ask me how I was doing. How was my family? And my kids? O, no kids? Well then, how is your husband? O!!! NO HUSBAND?! We will find you a husband!! And just like that ... I've become a small scale celebrity in the market of Mamou. It's pretty fun actually, and more-so fun that I've become a celebrity not because I'm the rich white person (which probably would've happened by next week anyways) but instead because I'm Fatumatah's friend, and helped her close up the market one day. And yes, I did end up getting a nice dinner out of it. A very nice one, consisting of tomatoes and onions, coffee, and a Coke. That's pretty snazzy by Guinean standards. And then after Fatumatah and I ate, I met her kids, then we walked up the hill to meet her husbands family, and then went to meet her extended family. So I met at least 70 people in her family, because there were about 50 kids. So that's another 70 people I know in Mamou. Not too bad for week one, eh?
So yes, that's the latest update. My house is coming along nicely, but it's hard keeping my tile floors clean ... I'm not quite sure yet how to keep it all from getting muddy. I made some cute curtains and a matching bulletin board, all this teal paisley pattern accented with pink ribbons. One of these days I'll get pictures posted. Miss and love you all.
Bisous,
Kiki Barry
(note: Barry is a popular last name here, and people fall over laughing when I tell them my last name. Especially the old men. A white girl? Named Barry? EEE Allah!! I have quite the ability to crack people up over here ... they laugh at everything. I love it, these are my kind of people.)
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
So What's Really Going On ... followed by the wackest thing I have ever heard.
Alright, so some of my favorite stories have been updated, the details of what I'll be doing are now online ... but now to answer the question I keep getting: "How are you really?"
Usually? Awesome. Some parts of Guinea suck, but for the most part, I love. Amazing people, these Guineanas. So welcoming, they love Americans. It would be impossible to do PC here in this place if these people weren't lovers of all-things American. That includes Obama, and fortunately, me too.
However, this last week of training was the worst week by far. A lot of things in Guinea are terrible. For example, there complete and total lack of a culinary tradition. How can you be a population of people for 100s of years and have 3 meals to show for it? (Those 3 meals are, by the way, rice with green sauce, rice with red sauce, and rice with brown sauce. And there are always rocks and fish bones in your food.) So that's just a maddening thought. Like Mexico's a poor country, but their food is bomb. Guinea? Not so much.
Another thing that was awful this week was that my demon of a host sister padlocked me inside the compound, and when I called her to tell her to let me out, she did nothing. Needless to say, by the time I escaped, was in tears and ran to the Peace Corps office hyperventilating "I hate my host family, I hate my host sister!" But, because I have completely lost control of all my emotions, and know I'm being ridiculous, I am also hysterically laughing through these tears. I don't think the two lovely teachers who calmed me down have ever seen a scene like me. I'm still laughing about it.
Another thing that sucked about this week was that my neighbor, a beautiful 3 year old girl, died. Why? We'll never know. They blame everything on malaria. But one day she was there chasing me through her yard, and the next day, gone. It's so sad. And the worst part is that when I went to offer my condolances to her family (which, not knowing a language, is harder to convey than I thought) the look in the family's eyes was just one of "yes, we are in Guinea. anywhere else in this world, my daughter would be alive, but not here, and it sucks." I mean, they don't even do funerals for kids because this type of thing is so common.
And yet another thing that I hate about Guinea is this Femal Genital Mutilation. I meantioned that 99% of women currently have it done (that's the stat we learned) and basically these girls that are 7 or 8 years old get carved up with a dull blade. I feel like I can't go into too much detail, but the WORST part is that I was having a conversation with my host-sister about it (she's circumcised) and she believes these lies like "Girls who are not circumcised are promiscuous" and worse yet, "Girls who are not circumcised will never be able to enjoy sex." It breaks my heart hearing her in all her ignorance, and knowing she fully believes these things. And how do I tell her that the information she is given is completely wrong? And that you are now missing certain organs that serve no other purpose BUT TO give you certain sensations. I think I am going to have to develop a way to tell people the truth that won't leave them feeling hopeless. That's hard. And it's also hard to tell people what they've been told their whole life is a lie. Not to mention, these covnersations aren't even in my language. Ohhhh that's a task I'm thankful I have two years to master.
On a funnier side, my same ignorant host sister was telling me all about devils here in Guinea. There are good ones and bad ones. And sometimes they change forms ... like into boys who puruse women with gifts and jewlery. Hmm... have I met a few of those? Just kidding. If you call out someones name at night the devil will find them and kill you. If you go to the well at night the devils will push you in and kill you. But the greatest part was this: according to Oumou, you can meet and fall in love with a good devil. But no one can see him, and no one can know about him. You can even have sex with him and have babies. Yes, devil babies. But no one will know you are pregnant, because you won't gain weight or anything. Ohhh Oumou. She is telling me this, never for a second even considering I think this is by far the wackest thing I have ever heard.
Okay, that is a lot of updates for today. Shout out to Claire and Dad for the packages. I actually live package-to-package ... it's my morale to get through bad days. "At least there's a package in the mail." Not to mention the granola that increases my protein intake about 500%. In case you weren't aware, rice and green sauce does not contain protein. Shout out to Corinna's mom for sending me a special something. And thanks to Darchuk/Kristi/Christine for the phone calls. And Amy/Uncle Robby & Aunt Indiana/Michelle/Cara/Leah/Katy for the letters, newspaper clippings, crossword puzzles and pictures. Thank you all so much. So so so so much. Really, it means the world.
I'll be writing soon, and more often. I forgot to mention this, but in Mamou I have my own office. With internet. And two computers. 100 computers in this country, and two are for me. And I have chauffers, too. Peace Corps sure does have it's advantages...
Usually? Awesome. Some parts of Guinea suck, but for the most part, I love. Amazing people, these Guineanas. So welcoming, they love Americans. It would be impossible to do PC here in this place if these people weren't lovers of all-things American. That includes Obama, and fortunately, me too.
However, this last week of training was the worst week by far. A lot of things in Guinea are terrible. For example, there complete and total lack of a culinary tradition. How can you be a population of people for 100s of years and have 3 meals to show for it? (Those 3 meals are, by the way, rice with green sauce, rice with red sauce, and rice with brown sauce. And there are always rocks and fish bones in your food.) So that's just a maddening thought. Like Mexico's a poor country, but their food is bomb. Guinea? Not so much.
Another thing that was awful this week was that my demon of a host sister padlocked me inside the compound, and when I called her to tell her to let me out, she did nothing. Needless to say, by the time I escaped, was in tears and ran to the Peace Corps office hyperventilating "I hate my host family, I hate my host sister!" But, because I have completely lost control of all my emotions, and know I'm being ridiculous, I am also hysterically laughing through these tears. I don't think the two lovely teachers who calmed me down have ever seen a scene like me. I'm still laughing about it.
Another thing that sucked about this week was that my neighbor, a beautiful 3 year old girl, died. Why? We'll never know. They blame everything on malaria. But one day she was there chasing me through her yard, and the next day, gone. It's so sad. And the worst part is that when I went to offer my condolances to her family (which, not knowing a language, is harder to convey than I thought) the look in the family's eyes was just one of "yes, we are in Guinea. anywhere else in this world, my daughter would be alive, but not here, and it sucks." I mean, they don't even do funerals for kids because this type of thing is so common.
And yet another thing that I hate about Guinea is this Femal Genital Mutilation. I meantioned that 99% of women currently have it done (that's the stat we learned) and basically these girls that are 7 or 8 years old get carved up with a dull blade. I feel like I can't go into too much detail, but the WORST part is that I was having a conversation with my host-sister about it (she's circumcised) and she believes these lies like "Girls who are not circumcised are promiscuous" and worse yet, "Girls who are not circumcised will never be able to enjoy sex." It breaks my heart hearing her in all her ignorance, and knowing she fully believes these things. And how do I tell her that the information she is given is completely wrong? And that you are now missing certain organs that serve no other purpose BUT TO give you certain sensations. I think I am going to have to develop a way to tell people the truth that won't leave them feeling hopeless. That's hard. And it's also hard to tell people what they've been told their whole life is a lie. Not to mention, these covnersations aren't even in my language. Ohhhh that's a task I'm thankful I have two years to master.
On a funnier side, my same ignorant host sister was telling me all about devils here in Guinea. There are good ones and bad ones. And sometimes they change forms ... like into boys who puruse women with gifts and jewlery. Hmm... have I met a few of those? Just kidding. If you call out someones name at night the devil will find them and kill you. If you go to the well at night the devils will push you in and kill you. But the greatest part was this: according to Oumou, you can meet and fall in love with a good devil. But no one can see him, and no one can know about him. You can even have sex with him and have babies. Yes, devil babies. But no one will know you are pregnant, because you won't gain weight or anything. Ohhh Oumou. She is telling me this, never for a second even considering I think this is by far the wackest thing I have ever heard.
Okay, that is a lot of updates for today. Shout out to Claire and Dad for the packages. I actually live package-to-package ... it's my morale to get through bad days. "At least there's a package in the mail." Not to mention the granola that increases my protein intake about 500%. In case you weren't aware, rice and green sauce does not contain protein. Shout out to Corinna's mom for sending me a special something. And thanks to Darchuk/Kristi/Christine for the phone calls. And Amy/Uncle Robby & Aunt Indiana/Michelle/Cara/Leah/Katy for the letters, newspaper clippings, crossword puzzles and pictures. Thank you all so much. So so so so much. Really, it means the world.
I'll be writing soon, and more often. I forgot to mention this, but in Mamou I have my own office. With internet. And two computers. 100 computers in this country, and two are for me. And I have chauffers, too. Peace Corps sure does have it's advantages...
Ballin' in Pineapple Fields & I Don't Think You're Ready for this Jelly
Again, taking this from another journal entry ... January 26, 2009 :
So for training us 12 "small enterprise development" trainees we were each given a good deal of Guinean money, assigned teams, and told to find a way to generate income. My partner Ben and I had the brillant idea of making pineapple jelly. No, we'd never actually made jelly before, but we watched someone else do it the day before. And no, our town does not have access to pineapples.
So on Saturday Ben and I hopped into a taxi to drive to a town not too far away where we heard a pineapple plantation existed. Being my usual self, I had no other plan than to "show up, find pineapples, buy them, and figure out how to get home." I have a very strong faith in a lot of things, including the mantra that "things will always work out." So we're driving towards this town in a bush taxi, Ben and I sharing the front seat (that's just how its done here, 3 in front, 5 in back) and when I begin seeing pineapple plants on the side of the road I turn to the driver and tell him that he can just let us out here. Ben and I walk up to what we think is the plantation entrance and find this guy ... explain we want pineapples. He points us to this sad sole woman accross the street who's selling like, 5. We wanted 25 kilos of fruit. This would not do. As I begin explaining that we're Peace Corps Volunteers who want to buy some serious fruit, our friends/competitors Paul and Mike who decided they'd bike an hour to the same village, arrive. They are planning on buying 60 kilos of pineapples (that's like 60 pineapples) and BIKING BACK HOME WITH THEM, and selling them just as pineapples. They, unlike Ben and I, had done some prep work and had a phone number of someone. Meanwhile, just beacuse we're Americans, a commotion has stirred and, as if by magic, a guy who claims to be the owner of the plantation pulls up in a car and tells Ben and I to hop in. Do we know him? No. Do I want pineapples? Hells yes. Do we get in? Of course!
So Ben and I get in the car (Mike & Paul thought they wanted to go somewhere else, but eventually end up rejoining us later because the dude we found was the right one) and we drive 10 minutes into this huge plantation. We learn that this owner actually worked with the Peace Corps Volunteers last year and knew many of them well, he had studied business and had recently begun exporting his pineapples to Morocco and Paris. In sum, the random plantation I had decided to get out at was legit to the extreme. A rare find in Guinea, mind you. So as we being walking the fields, this ballin' Guinean starts ordering field workers to cut fruit for us, so we're eating the most delicious and fresh pineapples ever, learning about the different varieties, and basically having a hella good time. I mean, I arrive, say I'm a Peace Corps Volunteer, and instantly get treated like royalty. I'll hand it to the Guineans- they are unbelievably hospitable. I will be a better human being after learning from these folks. So after we get a really long tour of this guy's plantation, I'm thinking that I'll just be like "85 kilos of pineapples s'il vous plait" and be on my merry way. Nope, not at all. Instead he says he wants to show the 4 of us his friend's plantation. So back into the car we go, and he drives us a few minutes down the road to this HUGE plantation ... like 80,000 hectares huge. Apparently Libya send this dude over and it's his first crop. So we drive to this guy's house first and it's BEAUTIFUL. Oil money spent well. We're sitting on nice couches outside under this pavillion with a great view, drinking cold bottled water in glasses. (Note: nice couches, cold beverages, and glasses were all luxuries I had thought were inexistant in Guinea up until this point). We sit for a while, shoot the breeze, and then this mega-baller's servant-girl tells us that the mega-baller himself is ready for us. Ready for us? We approach this million dollar mansion, remove our shoes, and enter inside. So now sitting down on more nice couches, in air conditioning, are the Guinean plantation owner, me, Ben, Mike, Paul, this Libyan mega-baller and his translator. There are these super sexed Iraqi music videos playing on the flat screen TV in front of us, and we are served a huge array of nice coffee and cookies. I am taken back ... this was all done, for us? Again, we shoot the breeze some more, but things got a little serious. I mean, we're 4 Americans new to Guinea, all relying on my French skills, and conversation is getting translated into Susu and then Arabic. English, Susu, Arabic, French. Pretty baller. We're talking about economics, and the conversation is smoothly guided into the real reason we're here: We want some pineapples. The atmosphere becomes a little more rigid. It's business time. The price per kilo begins at 2.000 FG, but we quickly and easily negotiate it to 1.500 FG. Business is done, and we go back to talking about world markets and other interesting topics of conversation. There is this whole sense of surrealism as the backdrop to this whole day, because I feel like I get to play a very unique role in all of this. Being the only girl in a country that hardly recognizes women would normally place me in a non-important position. Furthermore, Paul has already started and managed his own business, Mike's lived all over the world working for really cool organizations, and here I am, this kid who just graduated with a Finance degree and has never had a real job. So the situation would normally dictate me to a position of "watch and learn" but because I speak the best French out of any of us, I become the integral piece to all of this. The translator, the negotiator, and person who cracks the jokes at the right time to ease any tension. It's awesome.
Anyways, after some stealth negotiating, we get a tour of this mega-baller's plantation and learn SO MUCH about agriculture in Guinea and pineapples in general. All facinating. So now at the close of the tour, I'm thinking "awesome ... get pineapples and leave." Wrong again! Now we get back into the car of the Guinean plantation owner who drives us to his family's house so we can eat lunch with his family! This is crazy! After another meal of rice and sauce with him and his family, we make our way back to the original plantation, and he then directs his workers to harvest 85 kilos of pineapples. After the transaction of pineapples for francs we load the pinapples to his car and he kindly drives Ben and I back into town to the taxi station and has a friend try to get us spots on the next taxi home. But by now it's gotten late, like nearly 5pm. Ben and I are tired, have probably 90 pineapples with us including the free gifts we were given, and decide that "today was such a ballin' day, let's just go all out and rent out the whole taxi" so we do just that. We're a part of this super competition where controlling costs and turning profit is the name of the game, but we decide to live it up regardless.
(and we didn't let our friends bike home with 60 kilos of pineapples ... I offered to take them from them and transport them. and then they paid us. sweet.)
So Sunday was jam making day. Ben and I had grand plans to make lots of jelly, but here's a problem we didn't forsee: you can't buy things like JARS in countries like Guinea. So that kind of back fired, after 2 days of scouring the market we were only able to come up with four old mayonaise jars that were being sold. But, pas de probleme. We made four jars of jelly, which turned out AWESOME. Absolutely delicious. Good news for all of you back home: my time here is going to make me a professional jelly maker, and you will be the beneficiaries. So we sold our 4 jars of jelly, sold off the rest of the pineapples, and made a ridiculous amount of money. We killed the competition so hard no other group came close, renting out taxis and all. It was fun balling out in Guinea and still dominating ... it was a throwback to some of the good old days in Colli Park.
So for training us 12 "small enterprise development" trainees we were each given a good deal of Guinean money, assigned teams, and told to find a way to generate income. My partner Ben and I had the brillant idea of making pineapple jelly. No, we'd never actually made jelly before, but we watched someone else do it the day before. And no, our town does not have access to pineapples.
So on Saturday Ben and I hopped into a taxi to drive to a town not too far away where we heard a pineapple plantation existed. Being my usual self, I had no other plan than to "show up, find pineapples, buy them, and figure out how to get home." I have a very strong faith in a lot of things, including the mantra that "things will always work out." So we're driving towards this town in a bush taxi, Ben and I sharing the front seat (that's just how its done here, 3 in front, 5 in back) and when I begin seeing pineapple plants on the side of the road I turn to the driver and tell him that he can just let us out here. Ben and I walk up to what we think is the plantation entrance and find this guy ... explain we want pineapples. He points us to this sad sole woman accross the street who's selling like, 5. We wanted 25 kilos of fruit. This would not do. As I begin explaining that we're Peace Corps Volunteers who want to buy some serious fruit, our friends/competitors Paul and Mike who decided they'd bike an hour to the same village, arrive. They are planning on buying 60 kilos of pineapples (that's like 60 pineapples) and BIKING BACK HOME WITH THEM, and selling them just as pineapples. They, unlike Ben and I, had done some prep work and had a phone number of someone. Meanwhile, just beacuse we're Americans, a commotion has stirred and, as if by magic, a guy who claims to be the owner of the plantation pulls up in a car and tells Ben and I to hop in. Do we know him? No. Do I want pineapples? Hells yes. Do we get in? Of course!
So Ben and I get in the car (Mike & Paul thought they wanted to go somewhere else, but eventually end up rejoining us later because the dude we found was the right one) and we drive 10 minutes into this huge plantation. We learn that this owner actually worked with the Peace Corps Volunteers last year and knew many of them well, he had studied business and had recently begun exporting his pineapples to Morocco and Paris. In sum, the random plantation I had decided to get out at was legit to the extreme. A rare find in Guinea, mind you. So as we being walking the fields, this ballin' Guinean starts ordering field workers to cut fruit for us, so we're eating the most delicious and fresh pineapples ever, learning about the different varieties, and basically having a hella good time. I mean, I arrive, say I'm a Peace Corps Volunteer, and instantly get treated like royalty. I'll hand it to the Guineans- they are unbelievably hospitable. I will be a better human being after learning from these folks. So after we get a really long tour of this guy's plantation, I'm thinking that I'll just be like "85 kilos of pineapples s'il vous plait" and be on my merry way. Nope, not at all. Instead he says he wants to show the 4 of us his friend's plantation. So back into the car we go, and he drives us a few minutes down the road to this HUGE plantation ... like 80,000 hectares huge. Apparently Libya send this dude over and it's his first crop. So we drive to this guy's house first and it's BEAUTIFUL. Oil money spent well. We're sitting on nice couches outside under this pavillion with a great view, drinking cold bottled water in glasses. (Note: nice couches, cold beverages, and glasses were all luxuries I had thought were inexistant in Guinea up until this point). We sit for a while, shoot the breeze, and then this mega-baller's servant-girl tells us that the mega-baller himself is ready for us. Ready for us? We approach this million dollar mansion, remove our shoes, and enter inside. So now sitting down on more nice couches, in air conditioning, are the Guinean plantation owner, me, Ben, Mike, Paul, this Libyan mega-baller and his translator. There are these super sexed Iraqi music videos playing on the flat screen TV in front of us, and we are served a huge array of nice coffee and cookies. I am taken back ... this was all done, for us? Again, we shoot the breeze some more, but things got a little serious. I mean, we're 4 Americans new to Guinea, all relying on my French skills, and conversation is getting translated into Susu and then Arabic. English, Susu, Arabic, French. Pretty baller. We're talking about economics, and the conversation is smoothly guided into the real reason we're here: We want some pineapples. The atmosphere becomes a little more rigid. It's business time. The price per kilo begins at 2.000 FG, but we quickly and easily negotiate it to 1.500 FG. Business is done, and we go back to talking about world markets and other interesting topics of conversation. There is this whole sense of surrealism as the backdrop to this whole day, because I feel like I get to play a very unique role in all of this. Being the only girl in a country that hardly recognizes women would normally place me in a non-important position. Furthermore, Paul has already started and managed his own business, Mike's lived all over the world working for really cool organizations, and here I am, this kid who just graduated with a Finance degree and has never had a real job. So the situation would normally dictate me to a position of "watch and learn" but because I speak the best French out of any of us, I become the integral piece to all of this. The translator, the negotiator, and person who cracks the jokes at the right time to ease any tension. It's awesome.
Anyways, after some stealth negotiating, we get a tour of this mega-baller's plantation and learn SO MUCH about agriculture in Guinea and pineapples in general. All facinating. So now at the close of the tour, I'm thinking "awesome ... get pineapples and leave." Wrong again! Now we get back into the car of the Guinean plantation owner who drives us to his family's house so we can eat lunch with his family! This is crazy! After another meal of rice and sauce with him and his family, we make our way back to the original plantation, and he then directs his workers to harvest 85 kilos of pineapples. After the transaction of pineapples for francs we load the pinapples to his car and he kindly drives Ben and I back into town to the taxi station and has a friend try to get us spots on the next taxi home. But by now it's gotten late, like nearly 5pm. Ben and I are tired, have probably 90 pineapples with us including the free gifts we were given, and decide that "today was such a ballin' day, let's just go all out and rent out the whole taxi" so we do just that. We're a part of this super competition where controlling costs and turning profit is the name of the game, but we decide to live it up regardless.
(and we didn't let our friends bike home with 60 kilos of pineapples ... I offered to take them from them and transport them. and then they paid us. sweet.)
So Sunday was jam making day. Ben and I had grand plans to make lots of jelly, but here's a problem we didn't forsee: you can't buy things like JARS in countries like Guinea. So that kind of back fired, after 2 days of scouring the market we were only able to come up with four old mayonaise jars that were being sold. But, pas de probleme. We made four jars of jelly, which turned out AWESOME. Absolutely delicious. Good news for all of you back home: my time here is going to make me a professional jelly maker, and you will be the beneficiaries. So we sold our 4 jars of jelly, sold off the rest of the pineapples, and made a ridiculous amount of money. We killed the competition so hard no other group came close, renting out taxis and all. It was fun balling out in Guinea and still dominating ... it was a throwback to some of the good old days in Colli Park.
Television Appearance by Yours Truly. And Other Details You Might Want to Know.
Alright, so since some crazy things happen and I have no way to call you all or write you all a letter that you'd get by next year to tell you all about it, I write in a journal. So the following is more or less from a journal entry from January 11th ... we all left our training site to visit our new towns/homes/jobs. I am in a beautiful town called Mamou. This was on day one:
So this morning Soylemane (who is the Guinean guy who I will be working closely with these next 2 years and I LOVE this man) and I are driving around and he's explaining to me that the new governor in charge of the city (who was installed by the military following the coup d'etat) has declared this morning a time to clean up. All the citizens of Mamou have to clean the entire place, no business can be open, trash is burning everywhere. Then as we pass by the gas station we see 50 people, mostly women, around all these military men, singing, dancing, cheering and waving brooms. We get out of the car (note: when there are crowds of people surrounded by scary military men, leaving the safety of a vehicle goes against primal instincts) and before I know what's going on Souleymane begins introducing me to people, including one of the infamously scary red berets (special type of military guy ... red beret = don't mess). These military men turn to the mob and the governor begins to introduce me, Kiki, to the town and explain I'm going to move here for two years. Everyone then gets very excited and begin cheering wildly, and then start shaking, then grabbing my hand. They're arguing to shake it. One lady even reaches out to touch my face- I felt like Mother Theresa. I was a serious celebrity. Then the governor shouts out "someone! give her a broom!" and all the women in the mob throw up their brooms (which, I should add, are like a bundle of straw tied together with string at one end). The governor gives me a broom and tells me that I can help clean the city. Then the crowd really begins to go nuts. Not going to lie ... I wasn't excited at the idea of cleaning up trash on this particular morning. Especiallywith all these people staring at me. But then I realized it was just a symbolic gesture ... and I had just officially been declared and welcomed as a Citizen of Mamou. After I was given the broom (and visibly overwhelmed by this dancing cheering mob of broom-laden women) these scary military guys pull me over towards them and decide they want to do a photo shoot with me! Please, will you, imagine these tough badass dudes with guns and dark sunglasses posing with me, and being like "oh, Kiki, try holding the broom like this." LOVE IT. The whole time this one guy with a camcorder circa 1992 is taping, and as I'm walking away from one of my favorite moments of my life Souleymane turns to me and goes "Kiki, you will be on TV tonight!"
Declared an offical citizen on day 1 AND make it on national television? Needless to say, I fell in love with Mamou.
My house is beautiful. It's big, clean, lots of natural lighting (ha ... what other kind would there be? ) and is a soft yellow on the inside. It's got a great front porch with big steps to sit on, and when you do sit on them you have a great view of the mountains. It is such a cheerful place. --i forgot to mention (as it's so normal now) that there is no running water. And electricity is for a few hours every other day. but another big bonus is a well right outside my front door. Ballin'!!! O, and I have guards 24 hours a day too. Yes, just for me.
So you now know I love my city, I really love my house, but what I can't even begin to describe is how much I love my new job. I have been seriously hooked up with what I am willing to call my dream job. Granted, I had to come to Guinea for it, but if it turns out how I think it could, Guinea is worth it. So, I'm working for an American NGO based in Boston called World Education. www.WorldEducation.org . Check them out. Their overriding mission is to help people in the 3rd world receive an education so that they can rise up and change their country, from the inside out. They're in a few spots in Guinea, doing different projects, whether it's helping illiterate people learn to read, stopping child traffiking & putting kids in school, or other sorts of badass things. I get to help out on two fronts. The first is working with young people and educating them on all sorts of things ... it could be about how to get started in businesses here, or it could be HIV/AIDS awareness. I'd love to even do something about educating the youth on the dangers and consequences of Femal Genital Mutilation (fact: 99% of females here have been circumcised. it's pretty awful & terribly sad). The second sphere in which I'll be working is with these groups of women who are all mothers. The goal is that these mothers can somehow earn enough money to supplement their husband's income so that their children can go to school- otherwise they're stuck in the market/tailor shop working crazy long hours. So World Education does micro finance, and I'm going to get to be involved in lending these women money, and getting it repaid at a super low interest rate. Micro credit. It's genious. And it almost always works. But, it's not easy working with groups of women and money when accounting doesn't exist, especially when it can't because they're illiterate and can't count. So creativity has to come in ... and maybe I'll be teaching them how to repay back loans with pictures or colorful rocks instead of numbers. So I'm lending micro credit. BUT ON TOP OF THAT, I get to be on the receiving end of those funds, with the women, and teaching them how to best utilize the money. What should they sell in the market? How much should they charge? How should they do marketing? Where should they be purchasing their supplies? All sorts of really cool things. Income generation/cost benefit analysis/interest rates/credit/inventory ... all the stuff I tried to run away from by joining the Peace Corps? It's back! Only it's so much more "my style" over here doing business eating rice and sauce with my hands than in a fancy business suit in an office. I'm happy with this.
So that, in a nutshell, was my site visit to Mamou. I can also add that my 5 friends who came to sleep over the last night learned I'm a screamer when Jason walked into my bathroom and saw A GIANT RAT. I was curious so I ran to see, and then stood frozen, screaming. But wouldn't move. And actually got in the way as they tried to catch it. They knocked a chunk of concrete out of my bathroom wall in trying to catch Splinter (shout out to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!) with a giant bucket. They were successful, although I'm still getting made fun of for the screams. But seriously, who WOULDN'T scream if a giant rat was running around your bath/bedroom?
So this morning Soylemane (who is the Guinean guy who I will be working closely with these next 2 years and I LOVE this man) and I are driving around and he's explaining to me that the new governor in charge of the city (who was installed by the military following the coup d'etat) has declared this morning a time to clean up. All the citizens of Mamou have to clean the entire place, no business can be open, trash is burning everywhere. Then as we pass by the gas station we see 50 people, mostly women, around all these military men, singing, dancing, cheering and waving brooms. We get out of the car (note: when there are crowds of people surrounded by scary military men, leaving the safety of a vehicle goes against primal instincts) and before I know what's going on Souleymane begins introducing me to people, including one of the infamously scary red berets (special type of military guy ... red beret = don't mess). These military men turn to the mob and the governor begins to introduce me, Kiki, to the town and explain I'm going to move here for two years. Everyone then gets very excited and begin cheering wildly, and then start shaking, then grabbing my hand. They're arguing to shake it. One lady even reaches out to touch my face- I felt like Mother Theresa. I was a serious celebrity. Then the governor shouts out "someone! give her a broom!" and all the women in the mob throw up their brooms (which, I should add, are like a bundle of straw tied together with string at one end). The governor gives me a broom and tells me that I can help clean the city. Then the crowd really begins to go nuts. Not going to lie ... I wasn't excited at the idea of cleaning up trash on this particular morning. Especiallywith all these people staring at me. But then I realized it was just a symbolic gesture ... and I had just officially been declared and welcomed as a Citizen of Mamou. After I was given the broom (and visibly overwhelmed by this dancing cheering mob of broom-laden women) these scary military guys pull me over towards them and decide they want to do a photo shoot with me! Please, will you, imagine these tough badass dudes with guns and dark sunglasses posing with me, and being like "oh, Kiki, try holding the broom like this." LOVE IT. The whole time this one guy with a camcorder circa 1992 is taping, and as I'm walking away from one of my favorite moments of my life Souleymane turns to me and goes "Kiki, you will be on TV tonight!"
Declared an offical citizen on day 1 AND make it on national television? Needless to say, I fell in love with Mamou.
My house is beautiful. It's big, clean, lots of natural lighting (ha ... what other kind would there be? ) and is a soft yellow on the inside. It's got a great front porch with big steps to sit on, and when you do sit on them you have a great view of the mountains. It is such a cheerful place. --i forgot to mention (as it's so normal now) that there is no running water. And electricity is for a few hours every other day. but another big bonus is a well right outside my front door. Ballin'!!! O, and I have guards 24 hours a day too. Yes, just for me.
So you now know I love my city, I really love my house, but what I can't even begin to describe is how much I love my new job. I have been seriously hooked up with what I am willing to call my dream job. Granted, I had to come to Guinea for it, but if it turns out how I think it could, Guinea is worth it. So, I'm working for an American NGO based in Boston called World Education. www.WorldEducation.org . Check them out. Their overriding mission is to help people in the 3rd world receive an education so that they can rise up and change their country, from the inside out. They're in a few spots in Guinea, doing different projects, whether it's helping illiterate people learn to read, stopping child traffiking & putting kids in school, or other sorts of badass things. I get to help out on two fronts. The first is working with young people and educating them on all sorts of things ... it could be about how to get started in businesses here, or it could be HIV/AIDS awareness. I'd love to even do something about educating the youth on the dangers and consequences of Femal Genital Mutilation (fact: 99% of females here have been circumcised. it's pretty awful & terribly sad). The second sphere in which I'll be working is with these groups of women who are all mothers. The goal is that these mothers can somehow earn enough money to supplement their husband's income so that their children can go to school- otherwise they're stuck in the market/tailor shop working crazy long hours. So World Education does micro finance, and I'm going to get to be involved in lending these women money, and getting it repaid at a super low interest rate. Micro credit. It's genious. And it almost always works. But, it's not easy working with groups of women and money when accounting doesn't exist, especially when it can't because they're illiterate and can't count. So creativity has to come in ... and maybe I'll be teaching them how to repay back loans with pictures or colorful rocks instead of numbers. So I'm lending micro credit. BUT ON TOP OF THAT, I get to be on the receiving end of those funds, with the women, and teaching them how to best utilize the money. What should they sell in the market? How much should they charge? How should they do marketing? Where should they be purchasing their supplies? All sorts of really cool things. Income generation/cost benefit analysis/interest rates/credit/inventory ... all the stuff I tried to run away from by joining the Peace Corps? It's back! Only it's so much more "my style" over here doing business eating rice and sauce with my hands than in a fancy business suit in an office. I'm happy with this.
So that, in a nutshell, was my site visit to Mamou. I can also add that my 5 friends who came to sleep over the last night learned I'm a screamer when Jason walked into my bathroom and saw A GIANT RAT. I was curious so I ran to see, and then stood frozen, screaming. But wouldn't move. And actually got in the way as they tried to catch it. They knocked a chunk of concrete out of my bathroom wall in trying to catch Splinter (shout out to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!) with a giant bucket. They were successful, although I'm still getting made fun of for the screams. But seriously, who WOULDN'T scream if a giant rat was running around your bath/bedroom?
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