How many African phone numbers can I accumulate in a year?
Here's my Botswana number. Any prior ones you can throw out.
011.267.753.831.54
Also, turns out you don't need headphones to call me. Skype has "Skype on the Go" and after setting up a free skype account you can call at skype rates from your cell. http://www.skype.com/allfeatures/togo/
Details:
It's only 22cents a minute to call me. That's a fraction of the bills you accumulated in Guinea.
I'm 7 hours ahead. So call me when you have no one to talk with on your lunch break. Or while you're brushing your teeth in the morning.
I love you all. Peace.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Lost Items Down Wells
Just a quick funny story I want to share:
The other night I get home and need to draw water from the well outside my house. It's dark, there's not electricity, I'm tired... so I'm not totally paying attention. I lower the bucket into the well and start feeding the rope through my hands, waiting for the *splash* down below. But all of a sudden the rope picks up speed and the end slides through my hands- and I loose the bucket! Usually it's tied on, but the guard had just bought a brand new bucket and I LOST it down the well! Oh my gosh, I was so embarassed. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or hide inside my house. I was way too embarassed to tell my guard (I mean, only an American would actually LOOSE the bucket down the well, right? Not so African right now, are we?) so I called my friend Ama Sara ... "hey, are you at your house? yes? you need to come here, we have a problem!" Poor Ama Sara thinks something is seriously wrong and he runs to the house to see me inside crying-laughing hysterically trying to throw out enough french words to explain the situation. I'm so embarassed but the guy's a total sweetheart and reassured me that this happens all the time to people. They even have these things you attach to the rope to catch lost buckets ... he brought his over to my house for me. Seriously though, what a relief. It was a minor crisis. But quickly resolved.
It made me wonder though, what's the mortality rate for kids and animals falling down wells? Or things like shoes, or cell phones? It's something to think about...
The other night I get home and need to draw water from the well outside my house. It's dark, there's not electricity, I'm tired... so I'm not totally paying attention. I lower the bucket into the well and start feeding the rope through my hands, waiting for the *splash* down below. But all of a sudden the rope picks up speed and the end slides through my hands- and I loose the bucket! Usually it's tied on, but the guard had just bought a brand new bucket and I LOST it down the well! Oh my gosh, I was so embarassed. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or hide inside my house. I was way too embarassed to tell my guard (I mean, only an American would actually LOOSE the bucket down the well, right? Not so African right now, are we?) so I called my friend Ama Sara ... "hey, are you at your house? yes? you need to come here, we have a problem!" Poor Ama Sara thinks something is seriously wrong and he runs to the house to see me inside crying-laughing hysterically trying to throw out enough french words to explain the situation. I'm so embarassed but the guy's a total sweetheart and reassured me that this happens all the time to people. They even have these things you attach to the rope to catch lost buckets ... he brought his over to my house for me. Seriously though, what a relief. It was a minor crisis. But quickly resolved.
It made me wonder though, what's the mortality rate for kids and animals falling down wells? Or things like shoes, or cell phones? It's something to think about...
Thursday, April 23, 2009
From Home to Frat House
Hey fools!
Okay, a massive thank you to everyone who sent birthday emails/fb msgs/calls/packages/letters etc. Thanks to the Guinean "mail system" I'm sure I'll be celebrating with bday mail for the next 3 months, so if I didn't get your thing, no worries.
My birthday weekend was, by far, the most fun weekend I've had in Africa so far. It started when my best girlfriend volunteer, Sacha, called me on Wednesday to tell me she was going to make the two day voyage to come to my party! I freaked out, I hadn't seen her since February. So on Friday I woke up and went to my friend Aisatou's house (same one I snuck out of) and we took a nice nap in her bed, and then went to the market together to buy stuff for the bday dinner. The plan was to make spaghetti, pesto pasta, garlic bread, bruchetta, a salad and a birthday cake. At 20:00 all my friends were to show up, I was expecting around 15-20 people. At 17:00 Aistaou and my crew of guys starting cooking. There were 8 of us, some were chopping avacados, two were learning how to crack eggs and separate the whites from the yolks, others were cleaning the house ... it was a flipping show. Finally Sacha called and after her taxi kept breaking down/driver kept stopping to say hi to relatives along the way/passengers kept requesting to stop to pray she finally made it! So after running around like a mad-woman trying to finish dinner/clean the house/shower, preparations were finally ready. Ama Sara brought over a giant boombox and hooked it up to his DVD player and the tunes started bumping. People started showing up. It was awesome ... people even brought birthday gifts! I got 3 leather wallets (no lie, they really do think all white people are ballin), my tailor made me a beautiful dress, some jewelry, and this hilarious fake rose with a note that said "I love you" from a new friend. Some new friends came by, some teammates from volleyball came, and even 2 members from the infamous Murder Inc. made their appearance. I gave my camera to my friend Souleymane to be photographer, and let me say. Guineans are HILARIOUS in front of the camera. To begin with, they don't smile. Which didn't matter at first since Souleymane had to be taught how to NOT chop heads out of photos. But once we started photographing the right parts of the body, Sacha and I started a hilarious photo shoot in which we imitated Guineans. Read: looking badass and/or forlorn with no emotion on the face. Slowly they started warming up, and before I knew what was happening both Sacha's and my camera got used to the max in the most ridiculous photo shoot EVER. Action shots, gangster shots, volleyball shots ... there are 100s of photos from this night. I mean, some of you know that I'm ridiculous with photo shoots, but my Guinean friends wayyyy out-did me. I was proud of them. So all in all, the party was a huge success, everyone ate well, and I'd say about 30 people passed through my house!! Peace Corps goal of being well-integrated into the community? I'd say that one is under wraps.
(PS- the cake was a disaster. We tried baking it over a fire. So even if the boys hadn't dropped eggshells into the batter, or over stirred it so much it tasted like rubber, the fire burned it and it was inedible. And if that wasn't enough, we actually burned a hole through the pot. Oops, my B.)
Saturday morning Sacha and I slept in, and woke up to a trashed house. Like, the place was a disaster. We ate a delicious breakfast of mangos and chocolate icing that we'd made for the cake, and were just relaxing when Abdourahamane shows up saying he wants to make a cake for his birthday party tonight ... for which he'd rented out a club. So Sacha and I help him make this cake, but this time Abdourahmane knows of an oven in town where apparently you can pay to bake stuff. Random, I know, but this is Guinea. Afterwards the 2 of us have a delightful picnic in an abandoned factory while jamming to the ipod. This in no way resembles the picnics in the beautiful Champs de Mars beneath the Eiffel Tower, but it's as close as you can get in Mamou. But by the end of the afternoon, we were absolutely exhausted, but being it was a best friend's birthday, we were obligated to go to the club. First of all, how did I join Peace Corps and then all of a sudden become a socialite? I don't get it. But anyways, we got dressed and by the time we stepped out of my bedroom there were 10 boys all hanging out in my family room getting ready to go out. Um, apparently my home has turned into an open frat house? It's okay, I secretly love that they feel comfortable to just show up and start the party.
So as we're walking to the club (the hardcore volleyball players that always scream at me walked an hour to come "pick up" Sacha and I) we're listening to a beautiful Michael Jackson/Akon mash up coming through the cell phone. Once inside, we're dancing and I see the owner of the club who is also on my volleyball team. Sweet, connections. Except I swear he is the one guy who is always like "KIKI!!!!!" in a really mean voice when I screw up at practice. Like, he scares me. But now that we're off the courts, he is all smiles. He is hooking Sacha and I up with free drinks and before I know it we are shamelessly dancing with all the volleyball players who scare the living daylights out of me. Not to mention the constant DJ shout-outs to Kiki and Sacha. It's actually awesome ... after tonight I KNOW they can't help but love me and encourage me when I don't make a good pass at practice. It's the perfect "in" to the team.
So eventually all the "introductions" have to be made by the DJ, and before I can translate what's being said I hear me and Sacha's name and I'm getting pushed from the dark corners of the club (praise the Lord no spotlights this time around) into the center stage area. And then a knife gets placed in my hand. And Abdourahmane's "American Cake" that we made is before me. The whole club is looking at me, the DJs chattering on, and before I know it there's a countdown. A countdown for what?! Everyone's staring, waiting, for something. But what? And then I do some quick mental thinking ... countdown, cake, knife ... I'm cutting the cake. I'M CUTTING THE CAKE?! Ahhh! I don't know how to do this! How the heck are cakes cut in Guinea?!? Slow? Fast? All the way? Just a piece? Do I pick up a piece and shove it in Abdourhmane's face like he was my husband? I freaked out with the 100s of eyes on me, but hopefully it was only my insides that were so spastic and I at least played it off cool. I hope. Anyways, I figured it out. I did not warrant a freak out, it's a flipping cake cutting.
Sunday my house was again trashed and it took some serious scrubbing and cleaning after the weekend's festivities. But it was my favorite weekend so far in Guinea, just being with all my friends and having my house open for everyone. It's always a little scary celebrating a holiday/birthday alone in a new place without friends or family, but so far, everything's been perfect.
Okay, a massive thank you to everyone who sent birthday emails/fb msgs/calls/packages/letters etc. Thanks to the Guinean "mail system" I'm sure I'll be celebrating with bday mail for the next 3 months, so if I didn't get your thing, no worries.
My birthday weekend was, by far, the most fun weekend I've had in Africa so far. It started when my best girlfriend volunteer, Sacha, called me on Wednesday to tell me she was going to make the two day voyage to come to my party! I freaked out, I hadn't seen her since February. So on Friday I woke up and went to my friend Aisatou's house (same one I snuck out of) and we took a nice nap in her bed, and then went to the market together to buy stuff for the bday dinner. The plan was to make spaghetti, pesto pasta, garlic bread, bruchetta, a salad and a birthday cake. At 20:00 all my friends were to show up, I was expecting around 15-20 people. At 17:00 Aistaou and my crew of guys starting cooking. There were 8 of us, some were chopping avacados, two were learning how to crack eggs and separate the whites from the yolks, others were cleaning the house ... it was a flipping show. Finally Sacha called and after her taxi kept breaking down/driver kept stopping to say hi to relatives along the way/passengers kept requesting to stop to pray she finally made it! So after running around like a mad-woman trying to finish dinner/clean the house/shower, preparations were finally ready. Ama Sara brought over a giant boombox and hooked it up to his DVD player and the tunes started bumping. People started showing up. It was awesome ... people even brought birthday gifts! I got 3 leather wallets (no lie, they really do think all white people are ballin), my tailor made me a beautiful dress, some jewelry, and this hilarious fake rose with a note that said "I love you" from a new friend. Some new friends came by, some teammates from volleyball came, and even 2 members from the infamous Murder Inc. made their appearance. I gave my camera to my friend Souleymane to be photographer, and let me say. Guineans are HILARIOUS in front of the camera. To begin with, they don't smile. Which didn't matter at first since Souleymane had to be taught how to NOT chop heads out of photos. But once we started photographing the right parts of the body, Sacha and I started a hilarious photo shoot in which we imitated Guineans. Read: looking badass and/or forlorn with no emotion on the face. Slowly they started warming up, and before I knew what was happening both Sacha's and my camera got used to the max in the most ridiculous photo shoot EVER. Action shots, gangster shots, volleyball shots ... there are 100s of photos from this night. I mean, some of you know that I'm ridiculous with photo shoots, but my Guinean friends wayyyy out-did me. I was proud of them. So all in all, the party was a huge success, everyone ate well, and I'd say about 30 people passed through my house!! Peace Corps goal of being well-integrated into the community? I'd say that one is under wraps.
(PS- the cake was a disaster. We tried baking it over a fire. So even if the boys hadn't dropped eggshells into the batter, or over stirred it so much it tasted like rubber, the fire burned it and it was inedible. And if that wasn't enough, we actually burned a hole through the pot. Oops, my B.)
Saturday morning Sacha and I slept in, and woke up to a trashed house. Like, the place was a disaster. We ate a delicious breakfast of mangos and chocolate icing that we'd made for the cake, and were just relaxing when Abdourahamane shows up saying he wants to make a cake for his birthday party tonight ... for which he'd rented out a club. So Sacha and I help him make this cake, but this time Abdourahmane knows of an oven in town where apparently you can pay to bake stuff. Random, I know, but this is Guinea. Afterwards the 2 of us have a delightful picnic in an abandoned factory while jamming to the ipod. This in no way resembles the picnics in the beautiful Champs de Mars beneath the Eiffel Tower, but it's as close as you can get in Mamou. But by the end of the afternoon, we were absolutely exhausted, but being it was a best friend's birthday, we were obligated to go to the club. First of all, how did I join Peace Corps and then all of a sudden become a socialite? I don't get it. But anyways, we got dressed and by the time we stepped out of my bedroom there were 10 boys all hanging out in my family room getting ready to go out. Um, apparently my home has turned into an open frat house? It's okay, I secretly love that they feel comfortable to just show up and start the party.
So as we're walking to the club (the hardcore volleyball players that always scream at me walked an hour to come "pick up" Sacha and I) we're listening to a beautiful Michael Jackson/Akon mash up coming through the cell phone. Once inside, we're dancing and I see the owner of the club who is also on my volleyball team. Sweet, connections. Except I swear he is the one guy who is always like "KIKI!!!!!" in a really mean voice when I screw up at practice. Like, he scares me. But now that we're off the courts, he is all smiles. He is hooking Sacha and I up with free drinks and before I know it we are shamelessly dancing with all the volleyball players who scare the living daylights out of me. Not to mention the constant DJ shout-outs to Kiki and Sacha. It's actually awesome ... after tonight I KNOW they can't help but love me and encourage me when I don't make a good pass at practice. It's the perfect "in" to the team.
So eventually all the "introductions" have to be made by the DJ, and before I can translate what's being said I hear me and Sacha's name and I'm getting pushed from the dark corners of the club (praise the Lord no spotlights this time around) into the center stage area. And then a knife gets placed in my hand. And Abdourahmane's "American Cake" that we made is before me. The whole club is looking at me, the DJs chattering on, and before I know it there's a countdown. A countdown for what?! Everyone's staring, waiting, for something. But what? And then I do some quick mental thinking ... countdown, cake, knife ... I'm cutting the cake. I'M CUTTING THE CAKE?! Ahhh! I don't know how to do this! How the heck are cakes cut in Guinea?!? Slow? Fast? All the way? Just a piece? Do I pick up a piece and shove it in Abdourhmane's face like he was my husband? I freaked out with the 100s of eyes on me, but hopefully it was only my insides that were so spastic and I at least played it off cool. I hope. Anyways, I figured it out. I did not warrant a freak out, it's a flipping cake cutting.
Sunday my house was again trashed and it took some serious scrubbing and cleaning after the weekend's festivities. But it was my favorite weekend so far in Guinea, just being with all my friends and having my house open for everyone. It's always a little scary celebrating a holiday/birthday alone in a new place without friends or family, but so far, everything's been perfect.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Sneaking Out and Dance Parties
So last Saturday night I had my first experience at "the club."
It was the birthday party of Murder Inc., a group of 4 guys who think they are so cool that they can just pick a name, form a group and pick a day they decide to be their birthday. Which apparently isn't all that uncommon. Anyways, these 4 guys are apparently pretty hot stuff around town ... they've got star basketball players on their team, they've beautifully spray painted their name on various buildings ... they're the ish. And 2 of my best girl friends here are each dating one of the guys of Murder Inc. So for the birthday bash, Murder Inc. paid a ridiculous sum of money to rent out the club, made up invitations, and awaited the big day.
Around 9pm I headed over to Aisatou's (my best gf here) here to get ready. I brought all the usuals: clothes, make up, music and chocolate. We and some other girls spent a few hours getting ready for the big night (things really aren't that different over here) and all of Aisatou's family, including her dad, know we're locked in one of the bedrooms getting dressed. 11pm rolls around and I'm set to go. I've gotten dressed, hair and make up are done, it's time to head out! But then Aisatou looks out the bedroom door, looks back at me, and says "Kiki, you need to put your other clothes back on." Meaning my gym shorts and tank top. I looked at her completely dumbfounded, and then her little sister explained that her dad can't know we're going out to the club. What?! So we're going to sneak out?? This is hilarious ... here I am, living alone in this remote country, finished college, and all of a sudden I now have to sneak out of someone's house so her dad won't see us?! So I oblige, change back into my casual clothes with the other girls and we plan to make the great escape. Which involved casually walking though the family room past her father with unconspicuous plastic bags full of halter tops and high heels under our arms, then as soon as setting foot into the night SPRINTING behind the closest (skinny) palm tree, the full moon brightly giving away our positions. I'm trying my best to be quiet, but 5 girls just sprinted across a well-lit yard, pulling off the most UNsmooth sneaking out ever. Tears are running down my face I'm laughing so hard.
Eventually we sneak into another friend's house to get changed, and begin the long walk to club, L'Oasis. After making a pit stop at ANOTHER friend's house to make the necessary change from flip flops to heels, we finally make it to L'Oasis around midnight. I walk into the club, and realize that groups of friends are all wearing the same color. So that is why my girls Mama and Aisatou are also wearing the same color I am ... and suddenly I feel like I fit in. Very cool. Until I see the dancing going on in there- I am instantly surrounded by dancers who ONLY dance like a combination of Timberlake Usher and Chris Brown ... amplified to the power of ten. I mean, these people can DANCE. For those that know me, I have no shame when it comes to busting a move, but this was on a whole new level. And all the walls are surrounded by mirrors, so there's no hiding. So now me and my fellow green-shirted girl friends are getting our groove on in the appropriately-dark club, I'm beginning to feel comfortable again, when all of a sudden BAM!! there is a spot light on me!! As if I wasn't already self-conscious enough being the only white person in a club where everyone was watching me anyways, I am now the victim of a spot light and his faithful following videographer!!!! Really, all I wanted was to wish Murder Inc. a happy birthday, dance a few Lil' Wayne songs and dip out. But now I've become a felon to Aisatou's father, I've become acutely aware that I do not dance like Shakira, and now in a dark club no one see anything except the white girl illuminated by the spot light. So I did what any normal Peace Corps Volunteer white-girl in Guinea would do, and hammed it up for the camera. I made the most of my dance moves, the club gathered around this newfound commotion I'd created, and people started cheering for Kiki. Then, noticing that I was center stage, I pulled my girl friends into the middle of the circle and made my escape. Which wasn't an escape, because the spotlight just followed me. Oh well, Murder Inc.'s got some good footage.
So after hours of dodging the spotlight, it's after 3am and I am exhausted. I want to go home. But no, we have to wait for the "Birthday Introductions" where someone on a microphone gets up and introduces the infamous Murder Inc. (umm, hello. we all know who they are, that's why we came to their bday party) and then that was to be followed by the cutting of the birthday cake. So Murder Inc. is being introduced, I want to gorge out my eyeballs I'm so tired, and then finally I hear it's time for the bday cake. Score! I'm starving. But wait ... the emcee announces that they FORGOT the knife, so he starts ASKING FOR A COLLECTION of donations to go buy a knife. Excuse me sir, but at 3:30am in Mamou where the heck are you planning on buying a knife? I barely know how to find a knife in the middle of the day in this crazy city. But the emcee continues his pleas for donations ... to no avail. Literally, 30 minutes of begging for money for a knife. I am on the verge of self destruction, I just want to go home, go to sleep, and am praying that I will wake up from this never-ending nightmare.
And then Allah heard my cries. The club went completely dark.
Whether the generator ran out of gas, the electricity just went out, or the club owner got so sick of this lunatic begging for knife-money that he cut the power, I suddenly found myself in a club with 100 other people and no lights save for the people pulling out their cell phones. Well, darn, I really would have loved to stick around and hear more introductions and give money for a knife, but looks like it's time to head out. The masses exit. But then congregate outside in the streets for another 30 minutes. Mama (one of my friends/honorary gfs of Murder Inc.) has the cake and decides to start ripping it apart with her hands and offering to the crowd. The cake is beautiful, 3 tiers, and costs a FORTUNE, considering things like butter, vanilla, and ovens don't exist in Mamou. I'm starving so I'm excited and honored when Mama hands me the first piece. I take a bite ... and it's the worst piece of cardboard I have ever tasted. Talk about disappointment.
Finally after wasting far too much time and posing for more pictures with the photographers/videographers a car appears and me and my girls get a ride home. It's now nearly 5am and the plan was to sleep at Aisatou's. But now, we have to sneak BACK INTO the house. Which is much harder since her little sister can't hear our faint tapping on the window with a stick. I got so frustrated and was so exhausted that as soon as her mother appeared to help us sneak back in (her mom is a champion, I love the lady. I call her 'mom.') I grabbed my bags and returned home.
Aisatou's dad was shocked to learn that I'd spent the night at his house and woke up at 6am, even before he did, to go back home to do chores around my house. Oh, the naiive.
It was the birthday party of Murder Inc., a group of 4 guys who think they are so cool that they can just pick a name, form a group and pick a day they decide to be their birthday. Which apparently isn't all that uncommon. Anyways, these 4 guys are apparently pretty hot stuff around town ... they've got star basketball players on their team, they've beautifully spray painted their name on various buildings ... they're the ish. And 2 of my best girl friends here are each dating one of the guys of Murder Inc. So for the birthday bash, Murder Inc. paid a ridiculous sum of money to rent out the club, made up invitations, and awaited the big day.
Around 9pm I headed over to Aisatou's (my best gf here) here to get ready. I brought all the usuals: clothes, make up, music and chocolate. We and some other girls spent a few hours getting ready for the big night (things really aren't that different over here) and all of Aisatou's family, including her dad, know we're locked in one of the bedrooms getting dressed. 11pm rolls around and I'm set to go. I've gotten dressed, hair and make up are done, it's time to head out! But then Aisatou looks out the bedroom door, looks back at me, and says "Kiki, you need to put your other clothes back on." Meaning my gym shorts and tank top. I looked at her completely dumbfounded, and then her little sister explained that her dad can't know we're going out to the club. What?! So we're going to sneak out?? This is hilarious ... here I am, living alone in this remote country, finished college, and all of a sudden I now have to sneak out of someone's house so her dad won't see us?! So I oblige, change back into my casual clothes with the other girls and we plan to make the great escape. Which involved casually walking though the family room past her father with unconspicuous plastic bags full of halter tops and high heels under our arms, then as soon as setting foot into the night SPRINTING behind the closest (skinny) palm tree, the full moon brightly giving away our positions. I'm trying my best to be quiet, but 5 girls just sprinted across a well-lit yard, pulling off the most UNsmooth sneaking out ever. Tears are running down my face I'm laughing so hard.
Eventually we sneak into another friend's house to get changed, and begin the long walk to club, L'Oasis. After making a pit stop at ANOTHER friend's house to make the necessary change from flip flops to heels, we finally make it to L'Oasis around midnight. I walk into the club, and realize that groups of friends are all wearing the same color. So that is why my girls Mama and Aisatou are also wearing the same color I am ... and suddenly I feel like I fit in. Very cool. Until I see the dancing going on in there- I am instantly surrounded by dancers who ONLY dance like a combination of Timberlake Usher and Chris Brown ... amplified to the power of ten. I mean, these people can DANCE. For those that know me, I have no shame when it comes to busting a move, but this was on a whole new level. And all the walls are surrounded by mirrors, so there's no hiding. So now me and my fellow green-shirted girl friends are getting our groove on in the appropriately-dark club, I'm beginning to feel comfortable again, when all of a sudden BAM!! there is a spot light on me!! As if I wasn't already self-conscious enough being the only white person in a club where everyone was watching me anyways, I am now the victim of a spot light and his faithful following videographer!!!! Really, all I wanted was to wish Murder Inc. a happy birthday, dance a few Lil' Wayne songs and dip out. But now I've become a felon to Aisatou's father, I've become acutely aware that I do not dance like Shakira, and now in a dark club no one see anything except the white girl illuminated by the spot light. So I did what any normal Peace Corps Volunteer white-girl in Guinea would do, and hammed it up for the camera. I made the most of my dance moves, the club gathered around this newfound commotion I'd created, and people started cheering for Kiki. Then, noticing that I was center stage, I pulled my girl friends into the middle of the circle and made my escape. Which wasn't an escape, because the spotlight just followed me. Oh well, Murder Inc.'s got some good footage.
So after hours of dodging the spotlight, it's after 3am and I am exhausted. I want to go home. But no, we have to wait for the "Birthday Introductions" where someone on a microphone gets up and introduces the infamous Murder Inc. (umm, hello. we all know who they are, that's why we came to their bday party) and then that was to be followed by the cutting of the birthday cake. So Murder Inc. is being introduced, I want to gorge out my eyeballs I'm so tired, and then finally I hear it's time for the bday cake. Score! I'm starving. But wait ... the emcee announces that they FORGOT the knife, so he starts ASKING FOR A COLLECTION of donations to go buy a knife. Excuse me sir, but at 3:30am in Mamou where the heck are you planning on buying a knife? I barely know how to find a knife in the middle of the day in this crazy city. But the emcee continues his pleas for donations ... to no avail. Literally, 30 minutes of begging for money for a knife. I am on the verge of self destruction, I just want to go home, go to sleep, and am praying that I will wake up from this never-ending nightmare.
And then Allah heard my cries. The club went completely dark.
Whether the generator ran out of gas, the electricity just went out, or the club owner got so sick of this lunatic begging for knife-money that he cut the power, I suddenly found myself in a club with 100 other people and no lights save for the people pulling out their cell phones. Well, darn, I really would have loved to stick around and hear more introductions and give money for a knife, but looks like it's time to head out. The masses exit. But then congregate outside in the streets for another 30 minutes. Mama (one of my friends/honorary gfs of Murder Inc.) has the cake and decides to start ripping it apart with her hands and offering to the crowd. The cake is beautiful, 3 tiers, and costs a FORTUNE, considering things like butter, vanilla, and ovens don't exist in Mamou. I'm starving so I'm excited and honored when Mama hands me the first piece. I take a bite ... and it's the worst piece of cardboard I have ever tasted. Talk about disappointment.
Finally after wasting far too much time and posing for more pictures with the photographers/videographers a car appears and me and my girls get a ride home. It's now nearly 5am and the plan was to sleep at Aisatou's. But now, we have to sneak BACK INTO the house. Which is much harder since her little sister can't hear our faint tapping on the window with a stick. I got so frustrated and was so exhausted that as soon as her mother appeared to help us sneak back in (her mom is a champion, I love the lady. I call her 'mom.') I grabbed my bags and returned home.
Aisatou's dad was shocked to learn that I'd spent the night at his house and woke up at 6am, even before he did, to go back home to do chores around my house. Oh, the naiive.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Eating Breakfast with the 7.5-Fingered Enemy.
So things aren't always what they seem.
Back when I was still "in training" I came here to visit Mamou, and my last night of a week-long stay I was with a group of friends. We had just finished finding dinner somewhere and were search of a cold beer. That being nearly impossible on two fronts. The COLD part, considering we're in Africa with electricity so infrequent refridgerators are a scarcity, and the BEER part, considering I live in a superficially strict Muslim culture (I've since found out that shanningans are shanningans, no matter how conservative you try to front). Anyways, on the way to my house we saw this shack ... it's about the size of a garage and the walls are round sticks of wood assembled so that you can peer through them. There was a dim light on inside. Looked sketchy. Had we just found the bar? Feeling confident in our numbers ... we were 6 ... we braved the awkwardness of rolling into a new joint, completely and utterly foreign. We go in, murmmer a few salutations, and unsure of what to do next, sit down. A guy comes up to us and asks us what we want. Afraid to straight up order a beer, in case its not a bar, we ask what they have to drink. The reply is "orange soda, coca cola, and water." Disappointed, we order sodas. Laughing and defeated that we failed for another time in trying to figure this darned place out. As we're drinking our sodas, which might I add are cold, we hear a bleeting from the dark corner of the shack. And then we realize the stench of manure. Oh yes, this was a combo restaurant/barn. The owner keeps his sheep in his 'restaurant' at night. Health inspection USA would have a field day. We're in shock at the absurdity of the whole situation ... a sketchy bar, no alcohol, orange sodas and livestock. We're reduced to admitting how confusing this whole thing is.
But fast foward now two months, to a few weeks ago.
I was walking by the shack which I hadn't braved since that one absurd night. The guy shouts out "Kiki Barry!" I say hello back. And then I realize that he's sawing some wood. Is this maniac also a carpenter? I need a carpenter. I should add here that finding a good carpenter is near impossible. (You commission carpenters to come over and make you want you want, to order. There are no IKEAs or furniture stores here to buy ready-made goods). I had one carpenter come over to install a simple screen door, but after demolishing my cement walls, flooding my family room with wood shavings as he tried to "resize" the door on my coffee table, coming back after stealing money with paint the wrong color inside an empty coke can and using a PLASTIC BAG INSTEAD OF A PAINTBRUSH to repaint the walls the guy knocked out, I'd had enough. I'd rather keep my clothes in their suitcases than deal with another nightmare. But seeing my sketchy non-bartender man sawing that wood out there, I was filled with a strange sense of hope and optimism. So I go over, we talk, shake hands (I realize that on his right hand he's got a thumb and 4 half-fingers. Maybe he's not as skilled as I'd hoped?) and I learn that in addtion to making spaghetti, selling unpasturized yogurt, offering phone cards, hosting football-viewing parties and of course, boarding livestock, this bro also is a carpenter. Score. I tell him I've got some work for him and I'd like him to come over to the house to show him my drawings/dimensions for a bar-height table and a dresser. He says he'll be over in 20 minutes.
Three days later this bro shows up. I was serving breakfast to a friend and PC staff person, so what's a 4th person? I invited the enemy for breakfast. I felt sneaky. Befriend the carpenter- the one man who is sure to make your life a living hell and overcharge you way to much money just because you're white. I sat him down, poured him a cup of coffee and a gave him some baguette and we talked about the family. Eventually the PC person/friend left and me and carpenter got down to business. We share the same last name, Barry, automatically making us family. Whether or not we settled on a good price, I have no idea. But what I do know is that this guy is a genuinely nice guy. I like him a lot. I stop by the sketchy bar now from time to time just to say hi and shoot the breeze. And he works a TON, as evidenced by his broad array of offerings.
Last night after a rough week and an especially rough volleyball practice I was hungry and thought I'd stop by the sketchy bar shack to see if there was food tonight. I'm still intimidated going somewhere new, becuase you really never know what to expect. But I saw my friend and he told me for dinner I had my choice of peas (yes, just peas), spaghetti, or an egg sandwich. Egg sandwich?! I effing thought it was Christmas. I sat down, watched the football game on TV, took in the scent of sheep feces reminding me of home, and ate the best egg sandwich in Mamou made by a guy missing half his fingers. He even appeared a few moments later and gave me a free baggie of water (Guinea being the only place I know of to sell peanuts in plastic bottles and water in plastic bags). And then I realized that this guy was still working outside, at 9pm at night with no lighting except the full moon, on my furniture. And now I'm even more sure I like this guy. He works harder than anyone I've met so far in a diverse array of activities, and is giving. I felt bad that with the free water, he ended up loosing money on me. But then I looked at the furniture he was making for me, realized I probably am paying way too much, and ate my meal without worrying about a thing.
Back when I was still "in training" I came here to visit Mamou, and my last night of a week-long stay I was with a group of friends. We had just finished finding dinner somewhere and were search of a cold beer. That being nearly impossible on two fronts. The COLD part, considering we're in Africa with electricity so infrequent refridgerators are a scarcity, and the BEER part, considering I live in a superficially strict Muslim culture (I've since found out that shanningans are shanningans, no matter how conservative you try to front). Anyways, on the way to my house we saw this shack ... it's about the size of a garage and the walls are round sticks of wood assembled so that you can peer through them. There was a dim light on inside. Looked sketchy. Had we just found the bar? Feeling confident in our numbers ... we were 6 ... we braved the awkwardness of rolling into a new joint, completely and utterly foreign. We go in, murmmer a few salutations, and unsure of what to do next, sit down. A guy comes up to us and asks us what we want. Afraid to straight up order a beer, in case its not a bar, we ask what they have to drink. The reply is "orange soda, coca cola, and water." Disappointed, we order sodas. Laughing and defeated that we failed for another time in trying to figure this darned place out. As we're drinking our sodas, which might I add are cold, we hear a bleeting from the dark corner of the shack. And then we realize the stench of manure. Oh yes, this was a combo restaurant/barn. The owner keeps his sheep in his 'restaurant' at night. Health inspection USA would have a field day. We're in shock at the absurdity of the whole situation ... a sketchy bar, no alcohol, orange sodas and livestock. We're reduced to admitting how confusing this whole thing is.
But fast foward now two months, to a few weeks ago.
I was walking by the shack which I hadn't braved since that one absurd night. The guy shouts out "Kiki Barry!" I say hello back. And then I realize that he's sawing some wood. Is this maniac also a carpenter? I need a carpenter. I should add here that finding a good carpenter is near impossible. (You commission carpenters to come over and make you want you want, to order. There are no IKEAs or furniture stores here to buy ready-made goods). I had one carpenter come over to install a simple screen door, but after demolishing my cement walls, flooding my family room with wood shavings as he tried to "resize" the door on my coffee table, coming back after stealing money with paint the wrong color inside an empty coke can and using a PLASTIC BAG INSTEAD OF A PAINTBRUSH to repaint the walls the guy knocked out, I'd had enough. I'd rather keep my clothes in their suitcases than deal with another nightmare. But seeing my sketchy non-bartender man sawing that wood out there, I was filled with a strange sense of hope and optimism. So I go over, we talk, shake hands (I realize that on his right hand he's got a thumb and 4 half-fingers. Maybe he's not as skilled as I'd hoped?) and I learn that in addtion to making spaghetti, selling unpasturized yogurt, offering phone cards, hosting football-viewing parties and of course, boarding livestock, this bro also is a carpenter. Score. I tell him I've got some work for him and I'd like him to come over to the house to show him my drawings/dimensions for a bar-height table and a dresser. He says he'll be over in 20 minutes.
Three days later this bro shows up. I was serving breakfast to a friend and PC staff person, so what's a 4th person? I invited the enemy for breakfast. I felt sneaky. Befriend the carpenter- the one man who is sure to make your life a living hell and overcharge you way to much money just because you're white. I sat him down, poured him a cup of coffee and a gave him some baguette and we talked about the family. Eventually the PC person/friend left and me and carpenter got down to business. We share the same last name, Barry, automatically making us family. Whether or not we settled on a good price, I have no idea. But what I do know is that this guy is a genuinely nice guy. I like him a lot. I stop by the sketchy bar now from time to time just to say hi and shoot the breeze. And he works a TON, as evidenced by his broad array of offerings.
Last night after a rough week and an especially rough volleyball practice I was hungry and thought I'd stop by the sketchy bar shack to see if there was food tonight. I'm still intimidated going somewhere new, becuase you really never know what to expect. But I saw my friend and he told me for dinner I had my choice of peas (yes, just peas), spaghetti, or an egg sandwich. Egg sandwich?! I effing thought it was Christmas. I sat down, watched the football game on TV, took in the scent of sheep feces reminding me of home, and ate the best egg sandwich in Mamou made by a guy missing half his fingers. He even appeared a few moments later and gave me a free baggie of water (Guinea being the only place I know of to sell peanuts in plastic bottles and water in plastic bags). And then I realized that this guy was still working outside, at 9pm at night with no lighting except the full moon, on my furniture. And now I'm even more sure I like this guy. He works harder than anyone I've met so far in a diverse array of activities, and is giving. I felt bad that with the free water, he ended up loosing money on me. But then I looked at the furniture he was making for me, realized I probably am paying way too much, and ate my meal without worrying about a thing.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Villages and Brothels (only kind of)
So yesterday I actually did a little bit of "work" here. (Although to be clear, everything is work here ... amplified to the power of ten. You want a cup of tea? Okay, go to the well, pull up some water, filter it, bleach it, light your gas stove and boil it and make the drink. Now that you've drank it, go back to the well, pull some more water and do your dishes before mice and ants attack.)
But yesterday morning I went into the office and got told I was being sent "au village" to help collect some loans that had been given out a few months ago. I love going out to the villages, because it reminds me that I am lucky to live in Mamou, and hella luckier to call America home. So I climb in the Land Rover with 2 other ladies from work and our chauffer, and we start the 40 minute drive towards some town of which I can neither say nor spell the name. Not even our chauffer knows how to find this far-out place, but no worries. We just pull over and ask people and ... this is the good part ... they say "it's over there" and throw out a pointed finger in any which direction. But what's funny is, our chauffer doesn't ask any further questions. He simply thanks the man, continues driver in the direction of "over there" until he feels like asking the next man. It's like that everywhere. Even when creepers in town ask me where I live, I can just easily say "I live over there" and they accept that as a full and compete response. Anyways, after asking a few guys on the road where the village is, we turn off the main road and drive a ways on the dirt road and figured we found the village when we saw the cluster of huts. Right on. So we get out of the car and find a building where we will be meeting the women ... it's a one room cement school, literally in the middle of nowhere. We waited about an hour until the first lady came ... and to summon the other ladies she grabs this pot and starts banging on it with a spoon. I think she's whack. But sure enough, within another hour, ladies with babies tied on their backs and bowls of rice on their heads start showing up. Finally our meeting commences, and these ladies were awesome- all of them paid back what was due (half of the principal of the loan). There was even one lady who didn't realize she only had to pay half back, and she paid back 90% of her loan. Of course, that caused some problems because she was "showing off" I guess ... a cat fight among toothless women armed with drooling babies broke out, but it got resolved quickly. But these women who live in these villages ... it's really something else. The school there only educates the young ones, so if you want to continue your studies, and if your family can afford it, you have to move elsewhere, like Mamou, to go to school. So it's awful, because everyone who IS in the village is virtually uneducated. I have NO clue what the men are doing, besides drinking tea all day... and the women just work. Getting these people into school seems to be the answer for ANY hope of a normal life over here. It's sad... because it's not easy. Especially when these young girls are popping out babies left and right. They say this is a conservative Muslim culture ... but it's no different than back home. It's just "undercover." My friends will be like "no, Kiki, I don't drink" but then when they find out that I'm cool with it, will bring out two bottles of wine that they hid in my bushes in my front yard, in hopes that I would drink with them. Hilarious.
Anyways after a few hours we had collected the money but now have to count it. In Guinea they have the equivalent of a $1, $5 and $10 bill. No higher than $10. So imagine counting out a couple Gs in $10 bills. It's a joke, really, with piles of money in front of you so high they keep falling over or spilling out of your purse ... but is hardly worth a hundred bucks. So we count the money and thank the ladies and tell them we'll be back to collect the remaining principal in a month. The whole ordeal took entirely too long by American standards, and everyone is really good at wasting everyone's time ... but it's just like that here. You have a job that should take 1 hour, well great ... but plan for 3. Even when I want to walk to the market that's 5 minutes from my house, it will take 20 minutes to get there. You have to stop and say hi to everyone ... and touch adorable little kids who run down the mountain screaming at the top of their lungs "Kiki! Kiki!" and in turn, summoning all the kids from the bottom of the mountain, so that I get attacked by 50 at the same time. Sometimes it's cute. Othertimes I want to drop kick them down the nearest well ... especially the ones with snot alllllll over the face.
But my day "au village" was good yesterday. Afterwards I attended a "dinner party" hosted by a French couple here. They constructed a brick oven in their backyard and we had pizza. A bunch of my Lebanese friends came with their hookahs, we were celebrating an Italian's last night here, a Guinean girl came as well as this Tunisian guy. It's funny, my life here. My friend and I are always joking that "I don't know what I'm doing in Guinea, but it's not Peace Corps" the way I always seem to be running around with various people and am never isolated and alone ... which are the 2 things most PCVs fear. So, I guess I'm lucky ... although I get overwhelmed by too many people quite often. Volunteers are at my door a few times a week as they're passing through the country since Mamou is the "intersection of Guinea" and then I've made a lot of Guinean friends who like to just "show up" at my house. I got pretty annoyed the other night when my 2 girlfriends were at my house the other night. I had bought something small for dinner and was starving after practice when Aisatou and Aisatou showed up. Of course ... I can't eat in front of them without offering them food, and like the true Guineans that they are, they both accepted. So we're eating my dinner that gets devoured before I can even taste it ... and I'm exhausted and still haven't showered. They tell me go ahead, go shower. Fine, I can't entertain guests 24/7 so I leave them in my family room and go take care of my candle-lit, incense-lit bucket bath. All of a sudden, I hear a guys voice in my house. I get out of my shower (again, shower is a term used verrry loosely. should I say bucket?) to find Bekaye, the bf of Aisatou at my house. It's like 9pm, too late for him to be at her house in this "conservative" culture. So what was that?! Did she come over to my house, just to invite him here to hang out? I was pretty ticked ... for the first time I felt used. Fortunately my friend Mohamed was on his way to pick me up to bring me back to his house, so they didn't last long. But still ... like I said, there is always someone at my house.
I don't have any crazy exciting news to tell as of now ... but life is fun and good. I've got good friends around me all the time, even when it's too much of the time. Work is fun. It's starting to move into the rainy season, which makes this place absolutely beautiful. This weekend I've got 3 really good friends coming over, so I'm really excited! It will be a time to hibernate a little inside the house (read: vacation from being a celebrity, it's no exaggeration) and we'll make some good food and hang out. Last time Nick and I made burritos ... including our own beans, own salsa, own tortillas and even our own cheese. Corinna and I made our own Reeses peanut butter cup the other night. We're pretty skilled over here ... rice 3x a day drives your determination and perserverence to new levels.
Love you all. Thanks for all the letters/packages/emails/fb messages and such ... and for not forgetting about me over here. Talk to you soon !
But yesterday morning I went into the office and got told I was being sent "au village" to help collect some loans that had been given out a few months ago. I love going out to the villages, because it reminds me that I am lucky to live in Mamou, and hella luckier to call America home. So I climb in the Land Rover with 2 other ladies from work and our chauffer, and we start the 40 minute drive towards some town of which I can neither say nor spell the name. Not even our chauffer knows how to find this far-out place, but no worries. We just pull over and ask people and ... this is the good part ... they say "it's over there" and throw out a pointed finger in any which direction. But what's funny is, our chauffer doesn't ask any further questions. He simply thanks the man, continues driver in the direction of "over there" until he feels like asking the next man. It's like that everywhere. Even when creepers in town ask me where I live, I can just easily say "I live over there" and they accept that as a full and compete response. Anyways, after asking a few guys on the road where the village is, we turn off the main road and drive a ways on the dirt road and figured we found the village when we saw the cluster of huts. Right on. So we get out of the car and find a building where we will be meeting the women ... it's a one room cement school, literally in the middle of nowhere. We waited about an hour until the first lady came ... and to summon the other ladies she grabs this pot and starts banging on it with a spoon. I think she's whack. But sure enough, within another hour, ladies with babies tied on their backs and bowls of rice on their heads start showing up. Finally our meeting commences, and these ladies were awesome- all of them paid back what was due (half of the principal of the loan). There was even one lady who didn't realize she only had to pay half back, and she paid back 90% of her loan. Of course, that caused some problems because she was "showing off" I guess ... a cat fight among toothless women armed with drooling babies broke out, but it got resolved quickly. But these women who live in these villages ... it's really something else. The school there only educates the young ones, so if you want to continue your studies, and if your family can afford it, you have to move elsewhere, like Mamou, to go to school. So it's awful, because everyone who IS in the village is virtually uneducated. I have NO clue what the men are doing, besides drinking tea all day... and the women just work. Getting these people into school seems to be the answer for ANY hope of a normal life over here. It's sad... because it's not easy. Especially when these young girls are popping out babies left and right. They say this is a conservative Muslim culture ... but it's no different than back home. It's just "undercover." My friends will be like "no, Kiki, I don't drink" but then when they find out that I'm cool with it, will bring out two bottles of wine that they hid in my bushes in my front yard, in hopes that I would drink with them. Hilarious.
Anyways after a few hours we had collected the money but now have to count it. In Guinea they have the equivalent of a $1, $5 and $10 bill. No higher than $10. So imagine counting out a couple Gs in $10 bills. It's a joke, really, with piles of money in front of you so high they keep falling over or spilling out of your purse ... but is hardly worth a hundred bucks. So we count the money and thank the ladies and tell them we'll be back to collect the remaining principal in a month. The whole ordeal took entirely too long by American standards, and everyone is really good at wasting everyone's time ... but it's just like that here. You have a job that should take 1 hour, well great ... but plan for 3. Even when I want to walk to the market that's 5 minutes from my house, it will take 20 minutes to get there. You have to stop and say hi to everyone ... and touch adorable little kids who run down the mountain screaming at the top of their lungs "Kiki! Kiki!" and in turn, summoning all the kids from the bottom of the mountain, so that I get attacked by 50 at the same time. Sometimes it's cute. Othertimes I want to drop kick them down the nearest well ... especially the ones with snot alllllll over the face.
But my day "au village" was good yesterday. Afterwards I attended a "dinner party" hosted by a French couple here. They constructed a brick oven in their backyard and we had pizza. A bunch of my Lebanese friends came with their hookahs, we were celebrating an Italian's last night here, a Guinean girl came as well as this Tunisian guy. It's funny, my life here. My friend and I are always joking that "I don't know what I'm doing in Guinea, but it's not Peace Corps" the way I always seem to be running around with various people and am never isolated and alone ... which are the 2 things most PCVs fear. So, I guess I'm lucky ... although I get overwhelmed by too many people quite often. Volunteers are at my door a few times a week as they're passing through the country since Mamou is the "intersection of Guinea" and then I've made a lot of Guinean friends who like to just "show up" at my house. I got pretty annoyed the other night when my 2 girlfriends were at my house the other night. I had bought something small for dinner and was starving after practice when Aisatou and Aisatou showed up. Of course ... I can't eat in front of them without offering them food, and like the true Guineans that they are, they both accepted. So we're eating my dinner that gets devoured before I can even taste it ... and I'm exhausted and still haven't showered. They tell me go ahead, go shower. Fine, I can't entertain guests 24/7 so I leave them in my family room and go take care of my candle-lit, incense-lit bucket bath. All of a sudden, I hear a guys voice in my house. I get out of my shower (again, shower is a term used verrry loosely. should I say bucket?) to find Bekaye, the bf of Aisatou at my house. It's like 9pm, too late for him to be at her house in this "conservative" culture. So what was that?! Did she come over to my house, just to invite him here to hang out? I was pretty ticked ... for the first time I felt used. Fortunately my friend Mohamed was on his way to pick me up to bring me back to his house, so they didn't last long. But still ... like I said, there is always someone at my house.
I don't have any crazy exciting news to tell as of now ... but life is fun and good. I've got good friends around me all the time, even when it's too much of the time. Work is fun. It's starting to move into the rainy season, which makes this place absolutely beautiful. This weekend I've got 3 really good friends coming over, so I'm really excited! It will be a time to hibernate a little inside the house (read: vacation from being a celebrity, it's no exaggeration) and we'll make some good food and hang out. Last time Nick and I made burritos ... including our own beans, own salsa, own tortillas and even our own cheese. Corinna and I made our own Reeses peanut butter cup the other night. We're pretty skilled over here ... rice 3x a day drives your determination and perserverence to new levels.
Love you all. Thanks for all the letters/packages/emails/fb messages and such ... and for not forgetting about me over here. Talk to you soon !
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
