Guinean Homecoming, Part Un: Getting There. PLUS: VIDEO OF A BUSH TAXI RIDE!

I couldn't take the heat I was getting after having stopped writing.

But I'll be honest, sharing my adventures here in America are hard: because the people I'd be writing about would be reading this (and understand English.) I feel like I'd have to censor some parts, be politically correct in others, and I'd loose my flava.

That said, I wrote a letter to friends back in Botswana detailing my return to Guinea and I'd love to share excerpts. In installments, as to preserve your patience. I write a lot.

Getting There: plane to Senegal, 3 days in a taxi, and Day 1 in Guinea.

My 1^st week back in America was blissful, I felt like I’d escaped a hell and I was giddy with anticipation of my Mamou trip. I surprised a few of my best friends at their homes/work and went out one night with my sister in College Park. (At the bar I was dancing with a black guy, and Claire informed his posse of friends that I was more African than they were. Love her.) Claire dropped me off at the airport and when I went to check in the guy at the desk told me that I did not have a reservation for the flight to Dakar. WHAT? I showed him my confirmation, and he told me anyone could get a confirmation, but that my credit card had been denied (probably because I hadn’t used it the whole year prior). So I was at the airport with bags for Guinea and no plane ticket. I told him I needed to get on that flight, and he said there were a few seats left (the airport was chaos because of a volcano that erupted and flights all over Europe/Asia were cancelled due to ash)but that the price was something like $1800. I told him that he was crazy and that I wanted the ticket at what I had paid originally. He told me it was impossible, called his superiors, and said that he was sorry, there was nothing he could do. Either I cough up $1800 or go home. Well … I have experience bargaining for tomatoes harder than this, so I gave it my Guinean best. And by the time I pulled out my last move, he made ‘the final call’ to his boss and got me my ticket at my original price.

I almost cried tears of joy when I landed in Dakar (SO close!) and actually did tear up when I touched down into Labe (Guinean soil). And of course tears and cries and shouts and applause and laughter and a million other emotions pulsed through my body when I got out of the taxi at the taxi gare in Mamou and the whole gare (taxi depot) and petit marche (market) erupted into cheers and tears and WOW- it was a welcoming that I will never forget. Ama Sara was the only one who was in on the surprise visit and he’d been so excited he waited over an hour at the gare to pick me up (despite it being a 4 minute walk from home). After hugging every market lady and picking up every baby as I made my way through the market, I composed my tears long enough to walk towards my house when I saw Kanja (my carpenter/café man with missing fingers) who ran out of his café, threw his hands in the air and screamed “am I dreaming?” The hugs and crying recommenced. Eventually I made it onto my street and my worst fear never occurred- all the kids ran up and knee-hugged me screaming “Kiki Barry” and neighbors and On Jaaramas were all over the place! Ama Sara and the other guy carrying my bag dropped everything off at Ama Sara’s before I walked to my compound, where the guard and all the other neighbors had the shock of their lives! They knew I was coming but didn’t know when, and it was SO fun surprising them! I had hidden a key and the moment I unlocked my front door (of my old house) a team of 15 neighbors and petits rushed in and started cleaning EVERYTHING. I didn’t realize what a mess I’d left in the aftermath of the evacuation. But all my furniture was taken out, boxes sorted, even my mosquito net was taken down and washed. I kept trying to pick up a broom or a mop but eventually gave in to everyone yelling at me to go shower. And damn, did I need a shower.

In a former life I must have done something terrible to piss off the taxi gods, because I never get a good ride. Our taxi broke down more times

than I can count, I was caked with a THICK layer of dirt and exhausted. The first night I was told to get out of the taxi and spend the night at a town before the final destination I paid for- a guy (who worked

for PC Senegal) helped me find a taxi for Guinea that would leave the next day at 7am and helped me transfer my bags. I had no idea where I was, if this was a good idea, where I would sleep- I was totally at the mercy of the Peuls. Which, if you have to be at the mercy of a subset of strangers, I guess this is where my luck comes in. The man then told me to take my money, leave ALL my bags in the taxi, and we walked about two blocks away to the gendarmerie where he asked if I could spend the night, thinking it would be safer/more comfortable than on the ground next to the taxi. Again, leap of faith leaving the bags- but what can you do? The gendarme let me use his hole in the ground to shower, and my limited Pular got me a towel and water from a nice lady. The next morning I showed up at the taxi to find the greatest group of boys ever- all young Guinean merchants working in Dakar (Senegal). One started off by buying a giant bowl of bouille (pounded rice in sugar) for everyone in our car to share. We started joking around in Pular, sharing a meal- I teared up because this was my first interaction with Guineans and made me so anxious

to get to Mamou to share food and conversation with my boys. The taxi ride through Guinea was

incredible. Yes, it was long and hard. I’ve never been so dirty and eaten more dirt in my life. But it was BEAUTIFUL. Through forests and parks and sand and jungle … the road is actually like a hiking trail with rocks and roots and everything that makes you think “Appalachian Trail” and not “national road.”

After the longest shower ever at Ama Sara’s (washing insane quantities of dirt out of your hair with a cup and bucket of water is NOT efficient) I walked over to his room to find he had made an avacado salad for us, bought bread and even bottled water for me. We shared a meal together and it was honestly one of the h

appiest moments of my life. I had actually arrived and made it to Mamou. And no one could take that away from me at this point.

(Photo One: Mid-taxi ride, broken down in this village for about 5 hours. Note the dirt caked on my shirt. And if you do notice the dirt caked on my face, please realize this is after having washed it once an hour for 32 hours.)

(Photo Two: Our bush taxi broken down.)

(Photo Three: Our bush taxi broken down (no surprise here) with about 9 mechanics, most under the age of 12, trying to fix it.)

(Video: Want to check out what a bush taxi ride is really like? There are 11 people in the car, 2 on top and we did this for 2 nights/3 days.)