The answer to Guinea's development problem: they're saying you need a work ethic.

ok, i need to vent.

just a little. or more like, a lot.

it's about this month called Ramadan.

now before i get attacked, i am culturally sensitive. i like muslims. i like islam. obvi, or i wouldn't be living on the side of a mountain eating by candlelight with them, or not eating at all during this holy-month. this is in no way an attack on religion.

So Ramadan is a month in the Islam faith that is pure and holy- Muslims fast starting at the 5am prayer until the 7pm prayer. Unmarried boys and girls aren't supposed to be spending alone-time together. Music is forbidden, and all the clubs are closed for these thirty days of pure purity.

So the majority of Guineans here will wake up at 4am, stuff their faces with food, pray, and go back to sleep until work (for those who have jobs). But this is my problem: they come to work exhausted. not only were they up at 4am, but they haven't eaten anything all day (and nothing but carbo-loaded the night before with rice, corn powder, potato powder, etc). And because they are so far below an optimal productivity-level, and because the women get the shit-end of the stick and have to prepare dinner for everyone starting at 4pm (for that 7pm meal time) work days end EARLY. Like at 3pm. Even at a reputable American NGO like where I work.

What kind of job decides to close shop 2 1/2 hours early for a month so women can go home and make dinner?!

Keep in mind that I live in a country now where nothing gets done. Work ethic levels don't even register with those of the most lazy high school students. You, at your fancy schmancy international NGO, have to submit a budget proposal too your big boss in America? Maybe you'll get around to it later, but it's been so busy, what with saying hello to your brother's third wife's second cousin's baby. And then you had to take off 2 days of work last week for 2 weddings, and then someone died and you had to present your condolances, and then Monday morning you had to go attend that baptism for a few hours ... really, there's just no time for work with such a packed social schedule.

It's bullshit.

So really, my frustrations don't really involve Ramdan. Until you take that packed social schedule and cram it into your half-days of work where people are too tired to work hard anyways. It is just incredible that an entire country can operate on such a half-assed motivational level. And I consider myself surrounded by some of the most hard-working, dedicated, Africans. But when I'm bending over backwards to do three jobs at once and show up early to work only to find that no one is in the office because EVERYONE decided to go to the same wedding, I roll my eyes with exasperation. How can a country reach its goal of development if people act like this?

I would also like to say that I have a newfound appreciation for all my Muslim friends participating in Ramadan in America ... because not only are they fasting without the mutual understanding of a thousand other hungry bellies, but they don't leave work early or give up on life for a month. You guys are strong. Well done, and good luck with the next 20 days.

I might also be in such a sour disposition becuase when I showed up to work at 8am this morning I learned that yes, it was time to cram 11 people in a normal SUV for a baptism. In I went, off-roading for 30 minutes to the village. Arriving there, the proud father (who I love) greets us all with a big smile- and then sends all the women into the house, and takes the men to where the actual ceremony-part takes place. What the hell? I crammed in a car, came to your village, all to see you and your baby and be present for your big day- and you redirect me to claw my eyes out due to excessive bordem in your house while the MEN get to participate? You think I enjoy sitting around in a concrete room in fancy clothes with other old ladies for hours that I cannot communicate with? Ridiculous. After a time, I heard some men cheering (looks like the show's over) and we got back in the car and came back to the office. And there wasn't even the consolation of good food, because its Ramadan. Not worth it.

Seriously folks, this is not Guinea's month. Work doesn't get done. People sleep-walk through their days like a bunch of zombies. And my bean-lady is no longer on the side of the street.

This time next year, I will be better prepared to live Guinean-style: pencil in 30 days of vacation, stock up on cans of beans and tuna fish, and hibernate.

Break Dance Fighting Does Exist

More and more my "fake life" feeling in Guinea fades away, and realities of my current life style start to feel real. However, there are still times when the ridiculousness of what I'm surrounded by sets in, and I have a "omygosh I love that I'm in Guinea" moment. Take last night for example:

After several weeks of intense work, nonstop housevisits and 24/7 "just to say hi" phonecalls, I was exhausted. I mean, you know that tiredness that makes you break down and cry and get sick exhaustion? I had that. So I decided to escape for the weekend to Conakry. So last night as I was watching the sun set on the Atlantic and thinking "somewhere on the other side of this ocean are my family and friends" I decided to take in my surroundings. And this is what I saw:

1. A prostitute and her white client behind me
2. A man in whitey tighties running around like a lunatic on the beach. Lunges, pushups, squats, and literally running around in circles. Apparently he never stops. And for the 3 hours I was there, he didn't. This little dude was quite buff, yet quite insane.
3. To my right 3 lovely Lebanese young bucks. One of them thought it would be appropriate to sit directly facing me, spread out, and spend the evening staring into my eyes. It was intense. I avoided most of it. Although I will admit, he was gorgeous.
4. In front of me were a bunch of rastamen. One of them (the one with 2 feet of dreads hidden beneath a rasta "top hat") played with one of the world's most famous rastamen (aka reggae men) named Takana Zion. So these guys, with their guitars out and dreadlocks, were rockstars. Me and my girls were star-struck.
5. In front of me on the beach (to the right of the whitey-tighty energizer bunny) was, I kid you not, a ring of BREAK DANCE FIGHTING. These two guys drew a sumo-wrestling-sized-circle in the sand and began their faux-attacks, including backflips and many cartwheels. This went on for several hours. It was kind of like a scene from a bad action movie with two short black dudes, ripped muscles, and braided hair are smiling and doing those high-karate kicks you probably practice when you're by yourself at home in the kitchen when you want to see how flexible you really are. It stars with a circle-walk, hands in the middle, eye contact. Throw in a fake out kick, your opponent does a cartwheel. Stand back up. High kick, pretend fall to the ground where you b-boy rock, then do a back flip to standing position. Repeat. When Mr. Whitey Tighties wasn't doing pushups he would run laps around the perimeter of the circle clapping and singing African songs.

So although I've become better acclimated to Guinean life, moments when I'm surrounded by international superstars, hoes, men running around in underwear on the beach, and the occasional break dance fight do still catch me off guard and make me laugh. A lot.

I will also let you all in on another fun piece of information:
eventually the prostitute and her client left, it got too dark to break dance fight, Mr. Whitey Tighties tired out and put some clothes on, and the beautiful staring contest ended. So the excitement died down and it became like a "normal" bar on the beach. Except for the reggae stars. Being with 2 other white girls, there was a mutal understanding of what possibilities could lay ahead. A plan was conceived with that wonderful telepathy females possess, and within 10 minutes we got invited to sit at the reggae all-star table. Victory. Rounds of drinks on the rockstars, and reggae music was played on the guitar. It was incredible. I mean, I've been around a lot of guitars and guitarists, but never have I heard reggae played and have reggae men sing in my presence. It was awesome- 7 Bob Marleys, in the flesh.

Anyways that was last night. Work is driving me back to Mamou (about 4-6 hours away, depending how much the military wants to harass you) and I'm going to have an intense rest of the week ahead.

Also, during the writing of this, my World Education boss called to let me know his wife had a baby! Please, I eat rice and sauce at this man's house every day, I hang out with his wife, every day, and have done so for the past 7 months- and NO ONE tells me she's pregnant! (I figured it was either a baby or she was eating too many white carbs.) People are crazy here, but I love 'em.