Candlelight Dinners and Taxis from Hell

I told my friend at the office I'd speak a little english with him in exchange to use his internet, so here I am. All is well in Mamou. In fact, it's better than well. It's amazing.

I've been in my new house about a month now. For a while I was pretty exhausted, between extreme heat, running around meeting 50 people a day, non-stop visitors, trying to learn the Pular basics, trying to avoid rice and sauce everyday (I've hence given in, I've learned to love it), and trying to set up a new house. But, fortunately, I got pretty sick and it was a good excuse to hide inside the house for a few days and caught up on my rest. So since last week, each day has kept out-doing the day before, and I love things here.

Being sick here is ... unlike anything I've ever experienced. Peace Corps has done a fantastic job of preparing us for most of the cultural twists and turns, but no one told me the protocol for what happens when someone is sick. That was a surprise. It started in the middle of the night, just puking and whatnot, nothing terribly out of the ordinary considering I'm an American living in Guinea. But I called the office in the morning, told ONE person over the phone I was sick, and I went back to sleep. Or at least I tried ... within half an hour not only did I receive NINE phone calls (do the math ... thats like one every 3 minutes) but within the hour I had SEVEN visitors! It was crazyness. Here I am, looking smoking hot after puking my brains out since 3am, but now the director of the organization, the guards, my co-workers and neighbors are all passing by the house to "see my state." At first I didn't understand why people wouldn't leave me the hell alone and let me sleep ... but then I realized that these incredible people are not only hospitable, but they genuinely care that I'm not alone and dying. So while I might have worried that it would be awful to be sick and all alone in Guinea, I don't have to worry about the alone part. Ever. It's a nice feeling.

Last Tuesday night was a Muslim holiday, so Wednesday everyone had the day off. I've become friends with some expats from Lebanon who live like millionaires (so when I want a ballin meal, like chicken or beef or hummus or a nice salad, instead of rice, I go over there), so my friend Mohamed called me Wednesday and said he and his crew were heading to swim in the river. I gladly accepted and when I climbed into the SUV I turned around and a goat "bahhhed" at me. Lunch? It was. So I spent all of Wednesday at the side of the river with my Arab friends working on my tan, eating goat for the first time (even it's liver ... raw ... rice and sauce every day makes anything enticing), swimming, pumping Arab jams for all the country to hear, and smoking hookah. It was a day well spent ... completely relaxing and comfortable.

I think the best part of this past week is that I'm finally starting to move past the "getting to know you" phase of building relationships and I've started becoming actual friends with these kids. There's this awesome group of about 10 guys who always sit along the wall in front of my compound ... they're all students so they're smart and motivated, and it's guys like them who are going to turn around this country. Anyways I went with one to his college yesterday morning ... holy crap the kid literally walks 40 minutes up a mountain to get to school, and the college is... nothing. I have so much respect for the kids who last in school here ... it's not like they have text books or internet to learn material- they're 100% dependent upon a decent teacher. Ha, if that was the case at UMD ... I'd be screwed. Anyways on the way home with my friend Ama Sara I realized that everyone has been feeding me and taking care of me since I've been here, and I haven't really contributed anything. (Ama Sara made me dinner himself the night before ... table for two lit by a full moon ... he's quite the romantic. Guinean men NEVER cook, btw) So I asked him and our other friend if they'd like to try "spaghetti americain." So last night I made spaghetti with my own sauce and garlic bread and invited over the crew. There were 9 of us in my house, crammed on my chairs and couches, eating by candle light, and it was just so much fun. Everyone is so close with one another and I've become a part of the group so easily. I'm so thankful for friends like them.

So that's the latest and greatest over here. I've got a trip to visit some other volunteers planned 2 weeks from now. Oh, I never wrote about the bush taxi experience. Bush taxis here ... I'll start by saying that when we say "our car is dead" and dispose of it ... our cars get shipped somewhere, half way repaired, and then run into the ground. After they get run into the group, someone takes a sledgehammer and beats the life out of it. After that, they gut the inside. And then they send it to Guinea. And that becomes my mode of transportation around the country. So I went to go visit a friend 2 weeks ago, by a normal car, 3 hours away. I left my house at 8am. I waited for the taxi to fill up with people ... it was hella slow so by 2pm I'd convinced this wealthy Nigerian man I'd befriended to pay for the "extra seats" so we could get a move-on. We start driving, and 20 minutes into the ride the car breaks down. We get out, I see that it's overheated. No biggie, right? We cool it down, climb back in. 30 minutes later, break down. We had run out of gas ... no worries, there's more in the back. But wait, they're pouring gas in the front of the car? Oooh, right ... because the driver had taken a plastic bucket with a lid, stuck a hose in the top of it, and MADE HIS OWN GAS TANK. We climb back in. Break down again. And again. And again. This next time, my door doesn't shut anymore. And the driver continues to drive with me phyically sticking my hand out the hole that used to be a window to hold the door closed. By this time I am tired and outraged. I forgot to mention- there were 3 people up front, 4 crammed in the middle, and 4 in back. Plus 4 kids. And one boy riding on top of the station wagon. This car is meant for 7 people. We had 16. Anyways, as I'm holding onto my door I am so unbelievably pissed off at this lunatic of a driver I start screaming in English "YOU ARE AN EFFING LUNATIC!!!!" And then in French that he was going to kill somebody. Never in my life have I screamed at someone like that! The next time we stopped I climbed out of the hole/window and just walked away. I would have hitch-hiked had there been another soul driving on the road. I would have called Peace Corps had there been cell phone service. Heck, I would have called America's 911 or Obama and asked to go back to America at the time, so it's probably a good thing there was no cell phone service. But as you see, I'm not walking distance of anywhere. There's no passer bys. No cell phones. I have no choice but to climb back in the taxi to hell. So we're driving and the military sees me holding my door shut and the man on the other side holding his door shut, so we get stopped. Apparently there's enough laws here that make that illegal. Our driver gets his license taken away. Great ... so now we're stranded forever? Of course we continue, an hour or two later (after breaking down again) we see the military harassing someone else. Our driver pulls over (I forgot to mention, it effing blows to stop the car ... bc each time we stop we have to get out and push to restart) and runs to the military. There's a little bit of fighting, a little bit of bribing, he gets his license back and we continue. We break down again, now it's night with a full moon, and it's scary to be stranded on a deserted road in the dark ... I've heard scary stories of bandits with weapons and such. I'm exhausted and should have been at my friend's town 4 hours ago. We restart. Our driver a few hours ago had kicked some lady out of the taxi because she had too much weight in tomatoes and potatoes so now we could drive fast, so he's BLAZING. All of a sudden a cow runs in front of the car, our driver swerves to miss. We hit potholes (obviously...this is Guinea) and we nearly tip over. The man in the back hits his head on the roof where this giant screw is sticking out and starts bleeding EVERYWHERE. It was a fricking mess. I could go on and on about the time it took 13 hours to get to my friends house because it was the trip from hell. I escaped to my friend's town for a relaxing weekend to de-stress and I arrive and he'd been worried that I was 7 hours late getting there and hadn't called, I was ready to slaughter the driver, and my friend in the backseat had a hole in his head. But it was a great weekend with my friend. And the best part was when I showed up at the taxi stand to go home it was the same crazy driver and the same piece of junk car. But what choice did I have?

So yes, 2 weeks, meeting friends again. Regional house and waterfalls. Taking a taxi, again. Unless I can convince my Leb friend who has more time and money than he knows what do with drive me.

Hope those updates suffice for now! Take care. Miss you all so much!! And I'll be getting mail from Peace Corps this weekend... so if you've sent something I'll get it in a few days. Merci beaucoup :) Love you all.

O WAIT... MOST IMPORTANTLY ... i changed my phone number. 011 224 66 59 76 17. If you've tried calling and haven't gotten through, that's why. Sorry about that. Love.