Conakry: once you can get past the military tanks & sewage, it's kind of a nice place.

I walk into the Peace Corps house in Conakry and sit down on the couch, next to a bunch of volunteers I’d never met before. We do the introductions. Name. Where we live. What we do. Why we’re in Conakry. My name is Caitlin but they call me Kiki. I live in Mamou. I work for World Education. And I’m here on a business trip, we’re discussing potential micro finance projects to implement in the Mamou prefecture and my role in them.

Oh cool, so did you used to be a Peace Corps Volunteer?
No. I’m a volunteer here now. I just got here.

Once again, God has taken life, picked out all the best parts of it, and threw them at Kiki Barry. So while everyone else is Conakry for broken teeth and picking up friends from the airport, I’m here on official business. Yes, I’m staying in a luxurious apartment. In this apartment I’ve seen my first Guinean elevator, I have not only running water but running water that can get hot (I completely forgot that we can have hot showers in normal-life). I have electricity, with AC. I have a TV, and I can watch more than just the Guinean news on it. There is a kitchen. There is a refrigerator. And when I thought it couldn’t be any sweeter, I get a laptop with internet. Damn. These next 7 days may be spent in a city that terrifies the life out of me, but they will be spent in luxury.

I’ve been here twice before, both times safely barricaded in the Peace Corps compound. But other than the two times I’ve been babysat by the Peace Corps (when I landed in this country and again when I swore in), the only times I’ve heard about Conakry would be in tidbits of the following conversations:

“oh, the Coup d’Etat just happened. Not any serious danger, but military are running around Conakry shooting bullets in the air” or
“…there’s a tank parked outside of the US Embassy in Conakry, facing its guns towards the front door. But no serious danger,” or
“today the national football game is being held in Conakry, the air is really intense. And if we win, steer clear, rioters will be everywhere,” or
“we had a beautiful palace in Conakry, but during some turmoil rioters tore it down and burned parts of it.”

So basically, Conakry: guns, militia, tanks, riots, burning buildings. Go alone? Business trip? No problem.

But I’m here. I’ve survived two nights. And it’s not so scary anymore. I mean, they have 3 grocery stores. I will withstand anything to set foot into a grocery store. So in addition to going to grocery stores and working at World Education’s main office, I’ve gotten to acclimate to Conakry, watch episodes of The Office on a friend’s laptop, and watch the sunset over the ocean sitting at the Beach Bar. (Not to mention it’s nice being a little bit more anonymous in this big city, there aren’t 50 people I have to stop and greet and ask about the wife/kids/evil/peace/house/and health.)

So Conakry: not scary anymore, a glimpse of the modern world, and I sometimes I even see white people.