tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38325261075455637512024-03-05T02:06:03.269-05:00YOLO in Guinea. And Botswana. And America & everywhere else in this life.I'm Caitlin. I've done a lot of crazy things, but I do it all under the following train of thought: YOLO. You Only Live Once. I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Guinea, got evacuated. Was a Peace Corps in Botswana, finished that. Now it's back to school.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-35431784123755516612010-09-28T23:31:00.002-04:002010-09-28T23:36:26.823-04:00Guinean Homecoming, Part Trois: Getting back to Senegal<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>My taxi ride back to Dakar was of course, an adventure. The first leg went fairly smoothly and I befriended a traditional doctor. We slept at the border where a creep-o went into my pocket while I was sleeping and stole my cell phone! But I was using my purse as a pillow (and completely passed out) and am happy that the phone was there to get stolen and not my purse, which had my camera/money/passport, etc. I consider myself lucky- and what is a guy going to do with a busted-ass cellphone with 1000 GNF (20 cents) on it? Knock yourself out. When we arrived to the town to transfer taxis, the traditional doctor offered me a ride in his SUV with his chauffer. HELL YES I accepted- but should’ve forseen the consequences. We went back to his hut to shower, then I had to meet the family, eat the fonio, package traditional medicines. And Senegal is HOT … like disgustingly so. But it was kind of cool to spend several hours in a Senegalese village and speak the Pular and eat the food and 'gain pharmaceutical experience.' I had this bizarre open wound on my arm that had been bothering me since the plane ride from Botswana but the doctor put on this blue paste and it healed within hours. I swear. We eventually left the village but the SUV was so old and ghetto we were crawling at like, 30 mph. And had to stop to sell medicine. And had to pick up a possessed woman. (I will never forget: "Kiki, I know you want to get back, but we have to get this woman. She is very, very sick. She needs to go to the capital city. She needs good doctors. You see ... she is possessed by the devil.") But the doc was so nice, bought all my foods, bought me some cold medicine, and didn’t let me chip in for gas. So he saved me a lot of money, which I then used to buy skinny jeans in Dakar (NO zippers this time, folks.) Dakar is a fun city- beautiful beaches and nice hotels and all the Peuls are really nice. While bargaining for a tshirt the Pular came out, and word spread though this giant city that an American girl was speaking Pular and this Guinean guy found me and brought me to this factory filled with Peuls who were making clothes/bags/wallets/all sorts of crafts! And he took me around to On Jaramaa EVERYONE and it was another ridiculous episode in the series. Hilarious … and I was happy to be getting all the Pular out of me for the next year or so. I just seriously love the Peuls. They are the greatest ethnic group on the face of the planet, in my opinion. Time and time again, outside of Mamou when I met a group of them, they took me in as family and cared for me and made sure no harm would come to me. I think I appreciated this on a new level after having been in Shoshong where, although people nice enough (like America) the hospitality and warmth of this ENTIRE subset of people is mind-boggling. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Alright folks, that is the official conclusion of the Guinean homecoming. The first Guinean homecoming, but certainly not the last. </p> <!--EndFragment-->Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-25104612739935603342010-09-28T23:22:00.002-04:002010-09-28T23:31:43.740-04:00Guinean Homecoming, Part Deux<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">here we go (from the same letter written to friends):</p><p class="MsoNormal">My two weeks in Mamou were a blur. The first thing we did after I showered and was acceptable to walk around town was get shown the World Map that ESM did. AND OH MY GOD- I have never been so<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>proud. It is BEAUTIFUL. Like the Guineans who painted my bathroom dripped paint on the door, floors, everywhere- so I was naturally nervous about seeing a detailed map go up on the side of a school. But this thing is perfect! And the colors are incredible! They even hired a calligrapher to stencil our name/logo/contact information up top. The association is SO proud of this first project- Jake and I had given a combined 100,000 GNF to do it, but costs were wayyy more than that, and they even raised money on their own! They had written and distributed fundraising letters, and I conveniently was there just in time for the map’s inaugural ceremony (I wonder if there have been other World Map Inauguration Ceremonies?). But government authorities had been invited, chairs rented, DJs hired and professional rappers solicited. The inaugural ceremony was on my last day and all the meetings and preparations for it were stressful- I forgot how much work I had put into this association. To do anything takes so much time and energy, and I don’t know how these kids haven’t gotten exhausted by it all. After two weeks I was SPENT. The ceremony got rushed along because of a storm blowing in, but authorities came, rappers rapped, and even an HIV/AIDS group did standup comedy that segued into a sensibilisation. So anyways, going back to Mamou and seeing the project I poured all my effort into not only surviving, but thriving, was just a really cool experience. Now that the first project is officially completed, part of their "plan d’action" is to enter the Youth Association scene where they compete for international projects with all the NGOs who come specifically to Mamou to look for groups to train/fund. I don’t know how it all works, and wish I was there to support them, but the leadership of this group is strong and they have built an established network who can help them get their game to the next level. Inch-ALLAH. (I could gush about ESM for hours, so I’ll stop here for now. But our one year anniversary is June 10<sup>th</sup>!!)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another thing I loved about going back was I no longer had to pretend I was a poor PCV and hide my<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>money. I mean, yes I’m still poor, but I totally delved into the “vie communutaire” philosophy and shared what I had. So I started spending silly and took everyone to the club one night. It’s one of those things where being students, all my boys are too poor to do ANYTHING, so whatever I want to pay for, I have to pay times seven so we can do it as a group. So clubbing was fabulous at L’OASIS (where Sach and I had lived it up and been celebrities in months past) but I didn’t get any DJ shout-outs this time around. That was a first, but I survived. I also really wanted to go hiking in Doucki (an area renowned for its mountainous hiking), but that of course meant I had to pay for everyone else. So me and my seven hired a taxi with my chauffer friend and set off. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Doucki was incredible. I had been told to “find Hassan” in Doucki, which is “after the town of Pita.” I called, but got no answer- no reception. Hmm … maybe that means he’s in the bush? Which is where we want to go? So we set off in our taxi after I made sure the boys understood that “I have no idea where we’re going and if the guy will be there. We might not have any food. I’m warning you, this could be a disaster.” The boys were down for the adventure though (the taxi driver was definitely not) and several HOURS after Pita aimlessly driving on dirt roads some children see me in the taxi and start screaming for us to pull into their compound. We obeyed, and found Hassan and insane amounts of mangoes. He took us for a hike that afternoon down into the crevices of the earth which turned out to be like rainforests (I didn’t know Guinea had rainforests!) and the boys had a blast swinging from vines and finding monster-sized bugs and snails. We had a great dinner, my boys brought anti-Muslim substances (re: booze) and we stayed up all night just talking and joking and enjoying being together. We really transcended a level of friendship this time around- something about not being there as a PCV but as a friend changed our dynamic and maybe it sounds silly, but we all really felt like genuine family. The next morning we hiked up rocks and down cliffs and played in waterfalls. We followed one waterfall underground into an underground swimming hole- and then the water flowed out to a DIFFERENT waterfall- so we’re swimming underground between two waterfalls. It was awesome! And these boys had the time of their life too- Souleymane is studying tourism in Conakry and he’d never before been a tourist! So while we all had fun, he had this eye-opening experience that meant a ton to him. After playing, hiking and swimming all day we made it back to our taxi, commissioned some petits to fill up the trunk with mangoes, and drove back to Mamou. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The rest of the time there was just spent eating a lot of rice, riding a lot of motos (SO fun) and doing a lot of work with the association. My market lady took me shopping for indigo and then brought me to the tailor and leather-worker to buy 1 complet, 1 dress and 2 pairs of sandals. The whole time she had me hold her 4-year old son’s hand who she had dressed up in an Obama collared shirt with patent leather shoes on. We went back to her house where she had a photographer come over to take family pictures and then we ate rice and she paid for my moto back home. Another day I made peanut sauce with my boss’s wife … after we got into a yelling match about why I wasn’t at her house more often. I was seriously SO angry- I had forgotten how EXHAUSTING my life in Mamou was and busted my ass to the top of the mountain to keep our sauce-making date after running around town to deliver ESM Inauguration Invitations, and this lady starts whining that I don’t spend more time with her. I lost it … but after we both vented and aired out our anger, we hugged it out and went back to being mom/daughter-like and I made some fabulous peanut sauce.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I visited my office a lot and joked around with old co-workers (the 52 states of America suddenly became a big topic of discussion) and also went to another mountain to visit my guard’s family. There had been only one noticible change to Mamou since my departure: a keke (favorite african dish: pounded millet-like grain with hot peppers, tomatoes, fish, avocado, you name it!) lady opened up RIGHT NEXT TO MY COMPOUND!! Which was awesome, considering PC had taken my stove. The only downside is if I wanted keke, you have to “invitation” everyone- once I was so hungry and didn’t want to share but did anyways, and I tried shoving a wad of keke down my throat so I could eat something before everyone devoured it all, and started choking. So I spent all my time gagging by the moonlight and everyone was too busy eating to notice and by the time I was able to swallow, almost everything was gone. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My last night in Mamou was one of my biggest worries: I was scared I would have another collapse when it was time to leave and I’d be in the same bad place I was in in October. But it started with an impromptu party in my house when I gave my boys (and my favorite guard!) these badass Lacoste polos I picked up in Shoshong and we started dancing and taking pictures and being all silly in my house. There was so much excitement with the presents (I also handed out mini American flags) and laughter that this thick atmosphere of “JOY” just landed on us. I know, it sounds cheesey, but everyone was so HAPPY and joyful and we were together and were like a family … it really felt like Christmas. That happy/excited/I love life kind of feeling. The party eventually stopped so I could pack (by candlelight- I had lent my headlamp to a friend a few nights prior). Malcolm came over, I quickly gave up packing, and we joined my boys outside my compound. So we were all just hanging out, listening to Takana Zion’s latest album when a rainstorm chased us onto our terrace. MX was sick so didn’t stay long, but me and my boys and my guard just talked all night- who would get married first? Who’d have the most kids? And so on. So then the joyful tone took a serious “what about the future” tone, and I shared my biggest fear: I was afraid to come back to Mamou one day to find that no one lived there anymore, or they were all married and wouldn’t be able to hang out. And then Ama Sara goes “Kiki, when you come back, we’ll all just meet up from wherever we are here in Mamou and bring our wives with us!” And as silly as that sounds- isn’t that what we do in America anyways? Reunions, bring the family- everyone anywhere in this life moves on, but you keep in touch and sometimes you have to travel a little bit but relationships don’t have to end just because, say, Abdourhamane moves to Conakry. So anyways, that I think had been one of the biggest fears gnawing at me- I didn’t want to leave Mamou and have everything disappear. But Ama Sara totally made me see how silly I was being!</p> <!--EndFragment-->Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-23698617414094949832010-09-28T22:58:00.004-04:002010-09-28T23:22:09.572-04:00One year agoSeptember 28, 2009: a day that started like any other, but ended up drastically changing the path I thought my life was on.<div><br /></div><div>Last night I woke up at 3:30 am and heard the rain falling outside for the first time in months. I immediately was transported back to my bedroom in Mamou, where I would lay in bed listening to the rain fall on the tin roof for hours. And what used to be a soothing, peaceful experience in Mamou has become a memory-lurching sleep-depriving one here in Charlottesville. I was back in Mamou until my alarm went off at 6:30 am. </div><div><br /></div><div>And the strangest part? </div><div><br /></div><div>Today is the anniversary of the killings/rapings that were in Conakry's (Guinea's capital) stadium at a peaceful protest concerning the upcoming elections. </div><div><br /></div><div>I know it's been months since I've written (I still haven't finished my Guinean homecoming recount) but given to this anniversary's significance, let me just give you the rest of that letter (subsequent post).</div><div><br /></div><div>On a reflective note, it pains me to acknowledge the fact that Guinea has been having "upcoming" elections for a full year now. I was wearing a t-shirt with a Guinean presidential candidate on it and a janitor asked me whose face was on it. "A candidate for Guinea's upcoming presidential elections" I answered. Great, with 2009 emblazoned across the front. </div><div><br /></div><div>The excitement and hope surrounding the elections in 2009 was outrageous. Democracy was going to work, we were sure of it. People were registering to vote, election committees from all over the world were helping out. And now- a year later, and to what avail? Sorry, the dictator got shot in the head. Sorry, trucks couldn't get ballots to this part of the country. Sorry, I need more time to get candidates to like me. Sorry, it's Ramadan and we're too hungry to vote. Excuses have run dry, and judging by the tones of my friends back there, it sounds like hope has too. Really, it is amazing that America got it right the first time. It defies so many human-instincts to set up a smoothly functioning democracy, and BAM! Washington held power, turned over power, and walked away.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love America.</div><div><br /></div><div>(Minus our whacked-out healthcare system. But that's for another time.)</div><div><br /></div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-92029579785932202642010-06-08T17:25:00.007-04:002010-06-08T18:10:52.083-04:00Guinean Homecoming, Part Un: Getting There. PLUS: VIDEO OF A BUSH TAXI RIDE!<div style="text-align: center;">I couldn't take the heat I was getting after having stopped writing.</div><div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Getting There: </span>plane to Senegal, 3 days in a taxi, and Day 1 in Guinea.</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">My 1<sup>st</sup> 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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">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.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">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</p><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg8JMo9YJKlfOfMEXaPA9ABUmrR00xPuYHsBpevsAPY6vI738gDTlmp3QG2T-AeLmN_x_02rbETyXSfKtG3JpkRX09SghoP9CSeinEyyrm_ylsBz1GZaPidw9fkXfclSAyF_FbPl2Vpq8/s400/CIMG2044.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480520606942429234" /><p class="MsoNormal">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</p><p class="MsoNormal">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</p><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjKtdvTI0qxOd1swvf9MytzpVM8dZ2u0SL53wWAhF4JxyZxWeRPyKFHW847w1V0IZX17XnY__0rL_hWBFrto1-uVR73djFNQEodfw9GYipcmgQHdTT-3dtZrCKx8lBsvFwFq830dQ3sg0/s400/CIMG2037.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480520620486492514" /><p class="MsoNormal">to get to Mamou to share food and conversation with my boys. The taxi ride through Guinea was</p><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzyA08tu7jh0-04-XEKM5Uvo9sFLwswKNeRCZwnyAZ1oQJ4T0hRismxi0f8NTufevf7rT849wL4tn5thZYLO3CdgldlRFI8kkcLkqF_UDlJRg4OQS2n3sgIP8yqrCBDmB7tmicw3zAjfw/s400/CIMG2047.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480520595950860882" /><p class="MsoNormal">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.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">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</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div></div><div><br /></div><div>(<b>Photo One</b>: 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.)</div><div>(<b>Photo Two</b>: Our bush taxi broken down.)</div><div>(<b>Photo Three</b>: Our bush taxi broken down (no surprise here) with about 9 mechanics, most under the age of 12, trying to fix it.)</div><div>(<b>Video: </b>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.)</div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw5h9rsmphRTC9dFMRGmwBR-6kBial2g_5xSjyKbUibAyR8JXYqf0og1k6NqvQfKca3bF9ektWsno7AM3NmEQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-85158294943122227402010-05-13T10:01:00.004-04:002010-05-13T10:11:44.613-04:00Playing Carmen Sandiego.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMwgS7svvHinyrIegr1gfL4UdgAjP9X5UZcg8IDm5BaV_tqWMwapX9NZCUs_rj593ULjXtAfAsiNeFZbMd2N2z23OXVym-Ku1L1IjVwBryXtK6isiQbReQG42lqGeCEO88EK-tbNMnCw/s1600/24858_1276464991471_1225350023_30715469_2300035_s.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 130px; height: 98px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRMwgS7svvHinyrIegr1gfL4UdgAjP9X5UZcg8IDm5BaV_tqWMwapX9NZCUs_rj593ULjXtAfAsiNeFZbMd2N2z23OXVym-Ku1L1IjVwBryXtK6isiQbReQG42lqGeCEO88EK-tbNMnCw/s400/24858_1276464991471_1225350023_30715469_2300035_s.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470756893405570402" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Alright it’s been a little while since I wrote and there is some clarifying to be done.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yes, I am finished with Peace Corps.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">(HELLZ) No, I am not in Botswana.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yes, I did sneak back to Guinea for one last party.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And YES … I AM IN AMERICA!!!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I finished my time in Botswana shortly after Easter (post-flamingo hunting) and made moves for the capital city, did some medical/dental exams for Peace Corps, and touched down in the US for a few undercover days (I had big plans to surprise my sister ... but when I went to put my luggage in the trunk of the car at the airport she jumped out screaming SURPRISE!) before hopping back on a plane to Senegal where I stayed with the family of an old boss for 48 luxurious hours. After getting back in the swing of eating with my hands and speaking le francais, I hustled my way into a bush taxi and appeared three days later in Mamou, Guinea, filled with absurdly high hopes for the best vacation of my life. My high hopes were exceeded in this city of dreams, and two weeks later I reluctantly made moves across borders and over rivers out of Guinea and back through Senegal in busted taxis and SUVs with traditional doctors and possessed patients. I spent 2 more days with the lovely Diop family in Dakar (and promised to stay longer in the future) and caught flight SA207 back to Washington DC. I’m back in Maryland at the Mulligan household for about three weeks and then I’m off again (but still in the continental US) to Charlottesville, Virginia where I’m starting a Post-bacc Premed Program for the next 12 months. (It’s a program for kids who picked the wrong major in college – like me – that will get me the science classes & skills to get into medical school.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Any questions? Likely. Even I have tons. Like how am I going to pay for school? And when can I get back to Guinea? And where can I get a free TB shot? And when is Obama going to fix our busted healthcare system that has me running from doctor to doctor without any treatment? But those answers will come (inch-ALLAH). In the mean time I’m sticking with basics like relearning how to use a washing machine and order food at a restaurant. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have a few outrageous and heartwarming tales from my time in (and my trek to/from) Guinea that I’ll post soon. But the official announcement needed to be made: I am back.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">(Old cell phone number is back up and running. As is my more badass number, 425.200.KIKI)</p> <!--EndFragment-->Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-63918096846497853692010-04-13T13:30:00.010-04:002010-04-13T14:13:18.296-04:00The Challenges of Hunting Flamingos.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqgcH1x5vRr0bF_oJHDjNRGgMnAa-Nv8u4332ZNX0zZHL-Y-ICvEJYTfZbV0zrH25iXG7bwvX3SkufLP9Z08zaiBTTVhbYQM1HlMFKkDvaEEnmQl9LTZVUulRFhkvGZW43Z-0BIyDIls/s1600/CIMG1873.JPG"></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTen3U_mweY3MABnoDht-uVSCTsY4ewFL7jTBiE5cNlVIQSlq8cHNUS5-VCOQVubbACmcGp2kSPbKzTleVPZwqrPArerUOcowt9oy7K_0l5dgQe77NK3C5X8b9-w6CZMSLwCDZUNIN9cg/s1600/CIMG1877.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTen3U_mweY3MABnoDht-uVSCTsY4ewFL7jTBiE5cNlVIQSlq8cHNUS5-VCOQVubbACmcGp2kSPbKzTleVPZwqrPArerUOcowt9oy7K_0l5dgQe77NK3C5X8b9-w6CZMSLwCDZUNIN9cg/s200/CIMG1877.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459685649993013506" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-gB1xj8ykQIP_clQRUaNi_7wwPxog8FgdRSQu64fCoFPele8efFu2_YkpVZyf3CZaEzFuhIU-_Hba7519LwdEtnUICYbl9oRwJ_YtDqsinKrTzuSlpORJeZyREKVBMaM4Qhb6C1L8rY/s1600/CIMG1849.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN-gB1xj8ykQIP_clQRUaNi_7wwPxog8FgdRSQu64fCoFPele8efFu2_YkpVZyf3CZaEzFuhIU-_Hba7519LwdEtnUICYbl9oRwJ_YtDqsinKrTzuSlpORJeZyREKVBMaM4Qhb6C1L8rY/s200/CIMG1849.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459685243755329954" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjWWaQBC4IZ95XuebZeI59sz5iNay6Ml1daI1xJxEDwbGmR4hL1_Ro4xAikwrJWvw9Gh-7PuedBgDbEtsSDVLzyvpXbgBfSWlhJdfMYv1yikhAz4cTGRI82E_UNlzz4R2Ip25tu8_bY4/s1600/CIMG1841.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span><img style="text-decoration: underline;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjWWaQBC4IZ95XuebZeI59sz5iNay6Ml1daI1xJxEDwbGmR4hL1_Ro4xAikwrJWvw9Gh-7PuedBgDbEtsSDVLzyvpXbgBfSWlhJdfMYv1yikhAz4cTGRI82E_UNlzz4R2Ip25tu8_bY4/s200/CIMG1841.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459682637584818882" /></a><br />Easter weekend. <div><br /></div><div>Sua Pans.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sua Pans are these flat barren wastelands, deriving their name from the local word for salt. Salt is found on these pans, and nothing else. However, guide books amp up the thousands of bare square kilometers of salt pans for their ethereal danger. Adventure junkies beware: Thou shall not venture into the pans with out two 4 wheel drive vehicles. Or a GPS. Or 3 days supply of food and water more than what you plan. Because lets face it, if both cars in your party get stuck and your GPS runs out of batteries, it doesn't matter how many days supply of water you have- you are never finding your way back.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>And did I mention- when there's been substantial rain, the pans fill up with a few inches of water. The water and salt then attract the world's largest concentration of- who would ever believe- FLAMINGOS!</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX8AasttvF1mzJTo2ytGk7hejZ32d5NEbGp_-_fjpuYnly9uZW9evQVBPry2yfRSCtHxYIKi0KdR3sXR9X93SlJ65JhnaztGYN4qlCRGkcjCJzxVObbzDo5GxmFzHaXKfrHoXdcN1GyaU/s200/CIMG1851.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459682645538770194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjWWaQBC4IZ95XuebZeI59sz5iNay6Ml1daI1xJxEDwbGmR4hL1_Ro4xAikwrJWvw9Gh-7PuedBgDbEtsSDVLzyvpXbgBfSWlhJdfMYv1yikhAz4cTGRI82E_UNlzz4R2Ip25tu8_bY4/s1600/CIMG1841.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjWWaQBC4IZ95XuebZeI59sz5iNay6Ml1daI1xJxEDwbGmR4hL1_Ro4xAikwrJWvw9Gh-7PuedBgDbEtsSDVLzyvpXbgBfSWlhJdfMYv1yikhAz4cTGRI82E_UNlzz4R2Ip25tu8_bY4/s1600/CIMG1841.JPG"></a></div></div><div>So the Peace Corps Volunteers decide this is definitely the party place for Easter weekend. Let's have a "Burning Man Festival" and go camping on the edge of the pans. PCVs set it up- they built a giant inflammable man and bought hundreds dollars worth of steak and sausage. All we had to do was show up with tents and booze.</div><div><br /></div><div>We met at the PCVs house in the town where the salt miners live, crammed into the back of a pickup, and drove out to the pan's edge. Driving in we saw some wildebeest and far, far into the </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBsV3kefGx-v8dsiTtDwiP-18Eo-yANF0FKLKxquqHQnaC30nPVCuBCht8R4RAOpd9BvbZk36FVyfa4SSm6392iwUfeS9Hcp9wPvl92CBQS7AaNn3gheOLiciaY1Uib3LHF005ybCQty0/s200/CIMG1833.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459682628270488290" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></span><div>horizon we noticed a white fuzzy line. What in the world? Yes, thousands upon thousands of flamingos!! Definitely a treat- rain was all but nonexistent this season and I was certainly not expecting this. While most people started setting up camp immediately, Sacha, Ashley and I wanted to explore a little bit. We're only here once- YOLO, right?</div><div><br /></div><div>The three of us start walking towards "the horizon." There really aren't any landmarks. The ground starts as dry, cracked mud. Which slowly gives way to soggy, gooey mud (ideal for </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqgcH1x5vRr0bF_oJHDjNRGgMnAa-Nv8u4332ZNX0zZHL-Y-ICvEJYTfZbV0zrH25iXG7bwvX3SkufLP9Z08zaiBTTVhbYQM1HlMFKkDvaEEnmQl9LTZVUulRFhkvGZW43Z-0BIyDIls/s200/CIMG1873.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459686077121421522" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span><div>moonwalking). Which eventually turned into shallow water as we approached the birds. Their tracks were everywhere- millions upon millions of flamingo footprints and hot pink feathers scattered the mud. We walked for over an hour into the pans, leaving behind deep footprints that we were confident would lead the way back to camp. After all, we'd read the books. Getting lost and becoming a Sua Pan Statistic didn't seem all that far-fetched. Compounding the excitement was the setting sun.</div><div><br /></div><div>So not only were we "walking" (sliding? cross-country skiing without skis?) as fast as we could through thick mud to the flamingos before we were left in total darkness, but the gorgeous sunset in the sky was being reflected in the shallow water at our feet.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvBG8hM2qPsVdBKWDnMe__7lukUmKp3nOFA85snvUTs1x2xRVEAes8nveCwNzxoQvxv_ks-uq39LoSruz5kf5sLXdwvLmVwJb88Ou7noOM17q-2A54RwsIjUkenEaJJjb55DUnZtGDRg/s200/CIMG1855.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459683621657604274" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></div><div>After what seemed like miles and two very sore calves into the trek, we finally saw them: THOUSANDS OF FEEDING FLAMINGOS! Nothing quite prepares you for that. The birds saw us coming (despite my brilliant idea for us to walk closely together so that we appear as one animal in lieu of three) and they stopped feeding, squared up to us, and extended their wings in an attempt to scare us off. </div><div><br /></div><div>Futile. Flamingos don't scare me.</div><div><br /></div><div>So we continued our approach, and eventually scared the flock. Which wasn't a terrible thing- </div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiEBHZRhpayu0qjbYdtFZxM1d_gj0lwGRoO3jmwN5hC3Zj-e7agpm2QryPGf6yCGOy1zCdDOpjlNDFE9MgHv4HU4ar9vlCFHQCXgBFR6Er7c92nivWW5VgAPcflyj6k7q5Rtq0CSmtiyU/s200/CIMG1871.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459684638613863474" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /><div>because it resulted in thousands of flamingos flying over our heads while the sun was setting. Words can't capture the beauty of the experience, and neither can photo nor video. I tried. I failed.</div><div><br /></div><div>After that experience, we had to hustle back to camp before the sun dipped below the horizon. When we got back into cell phone range Jake had called me worrying about whether we were still alive. PCVs (while braiing up some steaks) were wondering if we'd make it back while the Batswana were telling stories of lost hikers. Seriously? Did they not think we knew what we were doing? We had sight of the camp and 3 sets of footprints and a flashlight to get back, but it was kind of cool knowing people were wondering if we'd survive. Not to mention people were upset they missed out on the experience and photos.</div><div><br /></div><div>Who seriously chooses to set up a tent instead of going flamingo hunting?!</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiuVo_Spubohck_oT136qDwWMV2W_qDE1lCWZG3XcXiZwYsGFhVOQtSJfqOzbYCdAy2k_FLdVLn8wwzzuYMN3jNXiUy_NtHvmi8QWy00JlqmGXZGsQaojW10wfXAzw8mKHduyEb5GZJk8/s200/CIMG1899.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459684629056887922" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></span></div><div>Another bonus: by the time we got back there were steaks waiting for us on the grill and the bonfire was almost prepared. We set the Burning Man aflame and enjoyed being the 4 Guinean refugees amongst the Botswana PCVs in their badass country. The night ended with a violent sandstorm that broke up the party, but when the sand stopped blowing and we could open our eyes again the lighting striking down onto the pan was yet another example of how big and powerful Nature is and made me thankful for having seen the Sua Pans in the raw.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdMIfZY6s55_yX2yM8-eVfwP6TLEds05Lv9awOrGbaJDQJU5agXkI2Mu_9j2Zcw9_FMZZzZ4-dkt8Ko80QLgcgWJpK0VMOcAVsuTMhWbsy3iZx4f8vwgHYDpjKrQRLLgYtGqgA9hTJLA/s200/CIMG1880.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459684063025493890" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-4152967927429388022010-04-11T09:10:00.007-04:002010-04-13T14:14:02.687-04:00Getting Wild in Shoshong<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5F3sczjtKxRadjnuQXypyB5_EjM97VxACo9c_6x1ohis8xXaoRQRgaBUnRHqLXgsjQTFFNmcIfXC0A4fOakCKIvqBeJr5ircZKMFVZbecnsOC1u6RUG-inVAX3uVKptjwSsF6JYkexQ/s1600/CIMG1526.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD5F3sczjtKxRadjnuQXypyB5_EjM97VxACo9c_6x1ohis8xXaoRQRgaBUnRHqLXgsjQTFFNmcIfXC0A4fOakCKIvqBeJr5ircZKMFVZbecnsOC1u6RUG-inVAX3uVKptjwSsF6JYkexQ/s200/CIMG1526.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459672679173838722" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Shoshong, my village, is counted as one of the two "original" villages of Botswana. Ancient hills surrounding the village emmanate a sense of history and grandeur, and naturally I've wanted to explore. A while back Jake and I climbed a hill overlooking the village and it was great- but I wanted more. I wanted to play with a local. <div><br /></div><div>Perfect solution? Instead of sitting around doing nothing in my clinic with my "PMTCT team" I figured that time would be better spent spending the day exploring with them- and we could educate anyone we found in the bush on AIDS as we went. The team was down, and before I knew it me, my friend Smalls, and two girls set out into the bush.</div><div><br /></div><div>I love hiking in chinos and a cardigan.</div><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLt_K-uOOG0sjgzo9sX5d8zTLuTOAuAlZLbfO9V7XvGAJVMwaQOqx-Ext8bpM3p6Zbq9O-TJm01VtfhNtHkALyIOZwZN2oeoHI9QzxsvEKezVmQO0xjKo0j_r1yCgYfAnY0_D-bOhkvDU/s200/CIMG1510.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459671423402964722" /><div><br /></div><div>The hills give way to an old riverbed still strewn with rocks, and you find yourself in the gorge that must have been cut away millions of years ago by strong waters. We found a few waters sources, took a plethora of pictures, and stumbled into a herd of cattle. The guys tending the cattle were outraged when they saw me- "What are you doing here?!" They didn't believe me when I told them I lived in Shoshong, and they wanted nothing to do with a white person in this isolate and undiscovered spot. Rumors about developing a tourist site in Shoshong are rife, and they feared I was the first of the Sea Vomit to invade their privacy. The guy went on to say he lived in a cave four kilometers up the mountain and had never been to Shoshong, but that I was only allowed to come back to treat his illnesses (he thinks I'm a doctor). After a lot of unfriendly conversation in Setswana that I didn't need translated to understand, my friends and I turned around and started hiking back the way we came. Angry cattle farmer scared us off. </div><div><br /></div><div>Smalls and I decided we wanted to hike up one of the hills, which are actually just giant boulders stacked upon each other. We left the two girls at the bottom to wait and set off, hoping to be back in two hours time. Climbing up was a blast and the views were spectacular. Getting near the top, Smalls saw a small indentation on the rock filled with a tiny bit of water and goes "Kiki, I'm going to take a bath." I think he's joking, when he starts taking off his shirt. I think to myself "Dear God this boy is ridiculous, it's not like he hasn't showered before work this morning and I really don't want to see him in his underwear" but I laugh and say "okay I'll turn around." This guy (who has kids and a wifey) then proceeds to take off ALL his clothes on top of the mountain and tells me I can take pictures!!! Turned the opposite direction, I just yell at Smalls to enjoy his bath and that no, I am not taking naked photos of him on top of the mountain. (I got cajoled into taking PG ones)</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2l6dyURmIouDH7RV1Ns-C3fzY7oZUm6-NA5ylnGM7wFYIomVE4X7zapxEpLhgDcBdunCd2BYgCTg35I_rLCevomCp43U3uxWZyabYVAHs8NupwPMHFUXuqLk9l89il5oRscn4xaIbl3k/s200/CIMG1538.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459671972532319202" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually his luxury bath comes to an end (and I'm not going to lie- I was a little jealous of his experience, especially since my house has had no water for two months and I needed the bath more than him) and we start descending the hill. We collect some medicinal herbs from the mountain that only grow out of this rock, found a few caves, and Smalls taught me how his ancestors used to run up the hills during times of battle and heave boulders down to crush their enemies. Getting the bottom my legs were shaky and the two girls went through our pictures ... and decided that they were jealous that Smalls vindicated himself on the mountaintop. They too wanted their shot at freedom. And before I know it Diana and Nkamu are hopping from rock to rock in their underwear, demanding a photo shoot. </div><div><br /></div><div>Who am I friends with? And why do they all like to run around without their clothes? </div><div>These people are insane.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyways later on in the day I'm hanging around "town" and this mentally retarded guy that I love named John comes up. It was the first time I had my camera out and of course John was fascinated, so I decided to teach him to use it. John had a ball- and quickly mastered the point and shoot. He went all around the village taking pictures of EVERYTHING and EVERYONE. So I know have a few hundred pictures on my camera of close-ups of peoples faces (John never learned how to zoom, so he would stick the camera right into peoples faces. I love people with no inhibitions) and the reactions on peoples' faces are priceless. Some people pose, but most people in Shoshong look pissed off that this retarded boy is sticking a camera in their face. </div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIn5Y5l4i-Fygq7PBIJZIk6PJKzo5IKO0ejeQKzO3v_nA-SCi18FHY3JbJxyufnEv8IsEODFLcg_dPmyevLdJuAAetVhOINNTeLL4Z8mxu8-omwgrvnOzIXs4eYUziTmYqD0rVoB9eF7Y/s200/CIMG1579.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459673582539322610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></div><div>So between my friends running around without clothes in Shoshong Hills and angry people with watermelon on their heads, I have pictures that will forever leave me laughing about ridiculous times in Shoshong. It really is the best village in Botswana.</div><div><br /></div><div>And for added entertainment. I love this guy:</div><div><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzDYW-HUYKJ8MFGr2I9gk5FY5D9hSSxQSZ7twYnEJPIpj7YvNBY_nwAM_Nj1qUZsKGW62xfX1FNcLGT1jH_qw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-69861130089323458232010-03-11T06:34:00.000-05:002010-03-11T06:37:37.081-05:00Exorcisms and AfterthoughtsBotswana is a predominantly Christian nation. There are a multitude of churches (ranging from conservative white-clad ladies to a more extreme sect that drinks gallons of a coffee-oil-sugar mixture to puke out the devil) and my door is frequently being knocked upon by sweet ladies inquiring about the status of my soul. However, beneath the strong religious exterior lay vibrant and unyielding traditional beliefs. Call it Voodoo, call it witchcraft, call it a respect for the ancestors. But whether or not the Batswana partake in its activities, I have yet to meet a single person to discount the role of the spirits in everyday life. Which leads me to a few weekends ago, in which I had my single coolest moment in Shoshong.<br /><br />I attended a Voodoo exorcism.<br /><br />My brother here is a traditional doctor, and a guy was sick and came to him. My brother first sent the man to the hospital (I give him points for blending modern and traditional medicine) and he got better, but then fell sick again. Diagnosis of the guy? Americans would say he was suffering from a mental illness, but here it was determined he was possessed by the ancestors. The exorcism went like this: we were about 30 in number, and we lined up and got marked with white chalk/face paint on our faces, took our shoes off, and sat down in the sand. Then we all started clapping out a steady rhythm while people took turns summoning the guy's ancestors by name. After calling them out for a while, my brother's apprentice brought out a slaughtered and dissected goat, and began dropping it in a hole dug in the ground, piece by piece. First was the heart. My brother explained they dropped in the best parts … the eyes for the old men (ancestors), the tongue for the ladies, and also the kidneys for the ladies, because the ladies (ancestors) really like the kidneys. Finally the head was put it, positioned towards the west where the sun sets. The ancestors move with the sun, and since they were summoning the ancestors out of that guy's body, they wanted those spirits to rest where the sun rests. Then the family members took the intestines together, made a circle of it, and together placed it around these stacked body parts while chanting. People then started cheering Batswana style: open your mouth, make a high-pitched scream, and move you tongue from side to side. Kind of sounds like that Indian hand to mouth rhythm you do when you’re a kid and playing pilgrims and Indians. So it's hilarious when old ladies start making this noise. But then, they take the pure white skin of the goat and place it over the hole. Next, the traditional beer that had been fermenting all week in a trashcan next to my house was poured into an adjacent hole. Again, more "cheering." I was told the ancestors really like traditional beer. Then they took the goat meat that was cooked, scooped it out of the cauldron with a chunk of bone and onto some special leaves positioned in the sand. I was ready for a ritualistic bonfire, but then people started chowing down! So the ceremony ended with eating meat and drinking beer, like any good exorcism. (I later asked my brother how he knew if he'd successfully treated his patient. He told me that his wasn't a complicated case.)<br /><br />It was a great evening on a lot of different levels. Yes, seeing an exorcism is one of those "Peace Corps" experiences that I'll never forget. And also meeting the man we were healing was also insightful. I hadn't known he was at the ceremony until afterwards … and I can only hope my brother cured him. Because he looked like a crazy person. And there was a sense of accomplishment on being let in, on being trusted enough to partake in such a ritual. The ancient rituals are something that are strenuously kept on the down-low from white people, and understandably. We're quick to be judgmental, skeptical and discount such a ceremony's authenticity. I'd spent a lot of time with my brother and his friends showing them that I think there is more to healing than modern medicine. Traditional medicine, herbal medicine, acupuncture, hypnosis and Voodoo … they're all related. They all transcend a rigid scientific approach and push into another realm. Spirits, ancestors, herbs, positive thinking … each creating an atmosphere in which the body can heal itself without chemical tablets.<br /><br />Now I don't plan on going to med school and do my residency in a cave learning traditional medicine (the story of my brother: his dad passed away, he became severely depressed and went to see a traditional doctor in a cave in the mountains to get healed. He ended up spending four months in the caves and came down from the mountains a traditional doctor himself. His mom was quite upset when this meant he dropped out of law school.) But I do find it interesting that 75% of all Voodoo ceremonies are attempts to drive away illness. And you can't argue with the fact that these people wouldn't place such strong faith in traditional medicine if it didn't work … after all, they've had thousands of years to determine its efficiency. Do I think slaughtered goats and chanting expel demons? It's not my place to say. But I do think that my brother is on to something in blending ancient rituals, mobilizing the community and utilizing modern medicinal resources to drive away illnesses. I wonder what would happen if he made a guest appearance to a psychiatric hospital in the US …Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-3612630914949502752010-03-07T08:50:00.006-05:002010-03-07T09:06:52.336-05:00Dreadlocks and Kidnappings.So I've wanted dreads for two years.<br /><br />Working at a law firm? No way.<br />Peace Corps? Thought it was my shot, until I found myself in a conservative Muslim society in Guinea. No dreads.<br />Peace Corps round 2 in Botswana? Yes ... there's a thriving rasta subgroup here, I could totally pull them off "this side."<br /><br />So a few months ago, I made an appointment and show up. Three hours later, the guy who was going to do them didn't show up. He had "babalas" ... AKA a killer hangover. No shame in it though- if you tell people you're hungover, then it's a legit excuse. So, no dreads.<br /><br />Until today.<br /><br />I found a great lady, she used to own a salon, and she said she'd do my dreads- for free! All I had to do was show up at her place at 9am today. No problem, right? I show up bright eyed for the big day (I was a little nervous) and I see her. Catherine. Bright and shining with a tye-dye dress and a frog-resembling umbrella to shield her from the sun. I didn't remember her looking so crazy. And then she says "Kiki, I promised my pastor I would meet him quickly, will you come with me and then we'll do your hair?" Sure, no problem. She had told me numerous times I had to get to her town 'early' because my hair would take a while. Then last night she specified 9am. O, how convenient, your church starts at 9am? Geez, who would have thought?<br /><br />So I got kidnapped and taken to church. And no, you all know I'm not a church hater. But I WILL ADMIT to being a hater of 3-hour church services. And a pastor who screams in the mic and my ears start bleeding. And then he exorcises demons out of churchgoers and they pass out on the floor. Yes, they pass out on the floor. But it's okay, because there's a "clean-up" crew who catches the bodies, lays them on the floor, and covers them with cloth. It's like a mini-funeral, until they rise again, potentially healed, about five minutes later.<br /><br />Okay, so I got taken to church until noon. Big deal. I'm alive. Until we start walking and I find out we're still not going to her house to do my hair- no, we are going grocery shopping. SERIOUSLY lady? Fine. I'll buy some milk and bread while I'm at it.<br /><br />But then we get to her house, and somehow, instead of getting some sweet dreads, I'm chopping spinach and sauteeing onions. I am now cooking, while a small chicken is running between my feet. We finally eat.<br /><br />So now that we've prayed, shopped, chopped and feasted I'm hoping that FINALLY NOW we can begin the long process of dreading my hair. I untie my ponytail, let my hair down, and she starts playing. Thirty seconds later she produces the first dread. 30 seconds? Geez ... I had thought this would have taken a lot longer. I look at her first piece of work- and she had taken to strands of hair and twisted them together.<br /><br />WHAT?! You thought I wanted my hair twisted? I did not come to Botswana to look like Rainbow Brite. So I tell her no, DREADLOCKS! She argues a bit, tell me how hot the Rainbow Brite Twists will look, and then I say, forget it. Next time. So she wants to play with my hair anyways ... it's fine. Usually I like this lady. And before I know it here I am, not with dreads, but two beautifully childish pigtail braids.<br /><br />And that is the story of how I always look so hot in the Peace Corps.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-46776803941314753552010-02-04T02:22:00.000-05:002010-02-04T02:47:04.217-05:00If you drink traditional beer, you can't get AIDSI keep getting asked what a typical day is like in Shoshong, so I'm gonna give it a shot. I have good days and bad days. <br /><br />Bad day:<br />6:30am- wake up<br />7:15am- at my health clinic, listen to a meeting in Setswana and no one translates<br />7:30am- head to the PMTCT (Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission) office and sit there with our testing counselor and other workers ... conversations go like this:<br />Me: "Smalls, how was your weekend?"<br />Smalls: "Oh, it was GREAT!! xxixixisdajkl...Setswana speak...asidjcxi"<br />and then I listen to a roomful of people laughing and having fun, and no one will translate.I will get "Kiki, why don't you understand Setswana yet? We aren't going to speak English. And no, we aren't going to speak Setswana more slowly because you need to understand it like we speak it- fast." <br />8:00am- At this point I'm so mad, frustrated and angry (it takes all my strength not to remind them how I speak slowly with beginner words for THEM) that I walk home, muttering every curse word under my breath, until I calm down at home. Then I stay at home for the rest of the day or visit friends or meet other people in the community.<br /><br />Good Day:<br />6:30am- wake up<br />7:15am- at my health clinic, and me and my team of people go around the community to visit the police station, the water treatment plant, the chief's office, and even to peoples homes to talk to them about HIV. We ask them questions, teach them about our PMTCT program and show them how to use condoms. (And yes, since I don't yet speak fluent Setswana, I get to demonstrate how to use the condoms.) The PMTCT program is an attempt to start an "HIV Free Generation" and we need pregnant ladies to test for the virus, and if they're positive to go through the program so they can give birth to a negative child. It was noticed that mothers in this program had a lot of questions with no one to answer them, like how to prepare formula, for example. Enter Diana, our Peer Mother. Then it was found that even these mothers weren't complying with the steps of PMTCT, and it was because their partners weren't supporting them. Enter Smalls, our Peer Male. So Diana, Smalls and I go around Shoshong to let people know what the PMTCT program is, whey it's so important, and let them know that there is a team of people to visit them in their homes (where they are most comfortable) to support them in any capacity needed. Diana and I get to go to homes, and Smalls and I go into bars (where the boys are at!) I love talking with these people and hearing their ideas and experiences. My favorite: if you drink traditional beer, you won't get HIV. I told this guy that maybe if you drank traditional beer AND used protection you wouldn't get HIV. His response? "Have you RESEARCHED traditional beer? I don't think so. So until you perform the research on traditional beer you can't know." Touchee.<br /><br /><br />Other news- I got a puppy yesterday! I've been trying for a while now, and then Vince just fell into my lap quite easily. He's a little bit of a "fixer-upper" ... he's got a few bald spots, was covered in ticks and i can count his ribs. BUT- he's the sweetest and calmest guy alive! When i picked him up from a neighboring village i just put him in a shoulder bag and the guy didn't move or cry at all. I decided that with a guy that calm, i could hitch-hike home. Sure enough, some guys picked me up and Vinny didn't make a sound. Then towards the end of the ride they were asking me what I do after work so I told them "well I just got a puppy today so I'll be playing with him" and they turn around and I take Vince out of the bag- and these guys LOST it! they thought it was hilarious that this white chick smuggled a puppy into their car. They didn't even make me pay for gas :)<br /><br />Also, a HUGE thanks is in order. Kristi- thank you for Mountains Beyond Mountains!! This is the book that made me ditch finance and work in an AIDS clinic in Botswana if anyone wants to know. Michelle- thank you for the BAAA-TSSS-WAAANNAAA remix that I can't wait to share with my crew over here. We do crank it Lion King. Jackie- thanks for the beautiful "Reassurance Journal" that I picked up from the post office on my worst day in Shoshong. Perfect timing. Kate- a box full of TREATS?! Trader Joe everything?! I died ... you saved me. Mom-body butter when my skin was drying out. Dad- a french coffee press!! (I'm still in need of that coffee..)Jen- BOGGLE?! you know I loved that one, even if my friends won't bring it the way you did. and for a Runners World that got me out of the house for my best run... 14 uniform-clad school kids AND a guy jumped off his donkey cart to join me for part of it! it was incredible ... and hilarious. And for all the phone calls (Dad, Chuk and Ryan), hilarious emails (Carrie), letters (Rachel/Emma for the latest) ... THANK YOU! I love you guys and am so thankful for all of you!!Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-21144955357423120132010-01-18T04:27:00.001-05:002010-01-18T04:28:48.424-05:00The Longest Vacation I Ever Loved.Happy New Year everyone!<br /><br />Okay so I am currently “on holiday” as we say here … and it has been one hell of a holiday. By the time I arrive back in sweet Shoshong it will have been over three weeks of nonstop partying, hitch-hiking, and camping. Best. Vacation. Ever.<br /><br />So it all started back in December when some PCVs threw a pool party for us new Guinea volunteers, Jake came back to Shoshong with me for a few days and we climbed my beautiful hills. Jake was barefoot. Still no baboons, still no ancestors. We did, however, set my “kitchen” (a room consisting of both couches and a stove) on fire. We were experimenting with rice, I added water to hot oil and BAM a flame shoots up (next to my giant gas tank) and starts crawling across my celing. Jake and I stood and watched, and laughed hysterically when it calmed down. All I could think was “Peace Corps forgot to give us the fire extinguishers.”<br /><br />My water in my village ran out (and its not like Guinea- there are NO wells, so when there’s no water, there’s no water) so Jake and I packed up and headed out to his place to get ready for Christmas. Sacha came and we baked and cooked and danced and partied ‘til the 26th, and when we decided we had maxed out on “gluttony” and “sloth” we packed up and moved out to visit our 4th link, Ashely who lives at a UNESCO World Heritage site (aka the BUSH), to indulge on the other 5 deadly sins. We left Jake’s site at 5:00am after Christmas and after a hellacious day of travel, arrived an hour away from Ashley’s site at about 10:00pm. Utterly exhausted, we started looking for her counterpart who was going to drive us to Tsodilo Hills. All of a sudden this scrawny 6 foot black dude with dreads and thick glasses calls out in his cartoon character voice: “dude, you guys ready to party? We’re gonna drink at the bar, go to the military camp, then hit up a barbeque before we head home.” So we piled in his car with our backpacks, tents, sleeping bags, and groceries and wind up at various parties and bars (when all I wanted to do was collapse from exhaustion. But Batsawna party … so when in Rome…). We eventually made it to Ashely’s concrete hole in the wall at about 3am and surprised her by jumping in bed. She thought we’d been a lost cause, and no one could call her because she lives in the BUSH and has no cell phone.<br /><br />So, then we camped out in Tsodillo Hills for a few nights. I perfected my campfire making abilities, we climbed the highest point in Botswana, saw some of the world’s oldest Rock Paintings and then realized that we were stranded, and had no way of getting out of her site to head to our New Year’s Party. Stranded miles away from a main road, I decided that I was going to charm my way into some fancy tourists’ car if my life depended on it. I ran until I found some tourists from Sweeden, quickly made friends, and begged for a lift. They were about to say there was no room and I say “we’re Peace Corps. We can fit inside any car, no matter how much room or how much luggage. I’m going to get my friends, we’ll leave in 5 minutes.” The Sweedes ended up being a blast and gave us a GREAT lift for free, and dropped us at the border of Botswana and Namibia. The 4 of us now had to find a way to get someone to let us hitch hike across the river on the ferry and into even more bush. A few hours later we found a pickup truck and climbed in back. With 8 other people. So it was PACKED- we were piled high with all of our luggage, plus theirs and settled in for a long, bumpy, dirt-road ride. And did I mention, it was POURING?! So we were in the back of an open pickup truck for hours in the rain. We were cold, bruised and muddy by the time we arrived to a village where another pickup truck was waiting to take us to our New Years Party Hotspot. It is (literally) at the end of the world and after traveling through grass (not even a dirt road- people tie toilet paper to trees so they can find their way back) we arrived at this backpacker’s joint that’s being built. So New Years consisted of partying in the bush with hippos, under a full moon, with about 20 other people in the middle of nowhere. It was fantastic. However, we woke up on the first to realize that ALL THE OTHER volunteers had left. Seriously. We looked around and decided we were shipwrecked. Stranded. Ashely at this point goes “we’ll never make any friends” and honestly, the Guinea PCVs are definitely the outsiders. But to be stranded in the bush? Dissed. Luckily the girl who’s building the backpackers and her cousins were around another day, so they gave us a lift to a “nearby” village the following day and we hitched back up the far side of Okavango Delta, over the ferry, and back down to a tourist destination named Maun. (That sounds simple- it took 2 days.)<br /><br />So now Maun is where all you fancy white tourists go to spend big bucks, and us Peace Corps Volunteers just look hungry and helpless. But we did indulge and took a CRAZY flight over the Okavango Delta (world’s largest inland delta!) to see elephants, zebras, hippos, giraffes and such. Our pilot asked us if we wanted to have some fun (duh!) so we soon found ourselves zipping really low along the ground and doing some acrobatic stunts. SO FUN! We also took a hollowed out tree trunk (traditional mokoro) trip through the delta and we felt like Pocahontas floating through the reeds. It was incredible. We stayed at a great backpackers place and made friends with management who took us out on 1am boat trips to continue after-hours partying. Maun could probably be described as the “Sin City” of Botswana. Like Vegas. Beautiful, but could be troublesome if you don’t watch yourself. (No worries, I watch myself. Obviously.)<br /><br />So after a few nights in Maun we headed back to Jake’s again because there’s this Peace Corps meeting in a nearby town coming up. Still with Sacha and Jake. Jake and I are about to celebrate our 3 weeks of being joined at the hip anniversary, but these kids are GREAT to travel with. STILL not sick of each other, still not sick of camping: I’m super impressed.<br /><br />PS- I just ate my first worm. Delicacy? Sike. I screamed.<br /><br />So Christmas and New Years has been a blast over here. I miss all of you guys (and the apparent blizzard back home!) Love you and hope you all had great holidays over there!! 2010!!!Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-90136072755269976702009-12-14T08:08:00.004-05:002009-12-14T08:37:12.108-05:00Sea Vomit? Hakuna Matata.Alright alright, let's get a post going about Botswana. How the heck is this crazy place?<br /><br />Well, like I've said, it's a middle income country. So it's like a suburb. A suburb of where? Of nowhere. It's a suburb of the desert, but that's fine. If you like strip malls and KFC.<br /><br />My village is in the Kalahari Desert, and I get to walk through deep sand in heels to get to work. (Mamou had me mountain climbing in heels ... I will never have a problem in shoes after Africa.) Shoshong (my village) is surrounded by beautiful rocky hills, apparently inhabited by baboons and ancestoral spirits. I've yet to encounter either. My house is nice, with water, electricity and an oven stove AND fridge, although there's no kitchen so I wash my dishes in my bathtub. After making a nice dinner it's quite efficient to hop into the bathtub, wash my dishes, then my clothes, and then myself ... all without taking a single step. Efficiency at its finest!<br /><br />In my yard there's another house for my "mom" who's the nicest lady I've met in this country. I have a "brother" who's a lawschool-dropout turned witch-doctor. He's really smart, and he's starting to warm up to me. He doesn't usually work with white people, but I'm trying to get on his good side. I think putting "Witch Doctor Experience" on med-school applications would really give me an edge!<br /><br />So people here are ... nothing like Guineans. They don't really like white people. In fact, their Setswana word for us translates to "Vomit of the Sea." It's cute, I know. It really makes me love walking to work in the mornings. It's not malicious, especially because the kids screaming it don't have any idea what it implies, but it does give some insight as to how white people are viewed. Apartheid feelings have spilled over from South Africa. Batswana are proud and whites being around is insulting. They're terrified of me. Those are all some excuses I've heard, take your pick.<br /><br />That said, I have defied the odds and made a few friends! People were freaking us out, saying we'd never get a dinner invitation (a hilarious logistical nightmare in Guinea because there were so many invites- I had nights where I'd eat dinner at 3 different homes!) - but I've had dinner at 4 different places so far! Not bad for 3 weeks in the village :) However everyone keeps warning me not to hang out with other people or trust them- but they're all saying "Don't trust anyone except me!" Do they want me to hide inside my house all weekend? Because I've done that, and it got old, real fast.<br /><br />I'm working at a clinic, dealing with HIV+ mothers having babies. One out of three pregnant women here are HIV+ ... it's crazy. But, they can have babies with almost zero risk of transmitting the virus IF they follow a set procedure. However, that's my job in paper. In real life, my boss doesn't talk to me, so I've started working with some NGO workers, doing home visits and visiting bars to teach people how to use condoms.<br /><br />Bars, that's another thing. These people DRINK. Like, it puts whatever esteem the Irish had in my eyes to SHAME! I go to work at 7am and people are already stumbling around everywhere. The ground is littered with broken bottles, and people are in drunk driving accidents on a regular basis. And the sad thing is that it's everyone, not just young people. Old, children, men, women ... everyone. My village has no cafes, but bars are EVERYWHERE. It's just sad. And the unwanted attention a white girl gets in an African village is just multiplied by creepy drunk men.<br /><br />So, sea-vomit, drunks, and AIDS. That has been my experience so far, and although it is a huge adjustment, I'm doing okay. Like I've said, I'm making friends and building relationships that I'm praying will turn into good work opportunities.<br /><br />I still talk to Guinea almost every day. Those guys over there are some of my best friends, and it's been hard coping with that loss- I don't know if realistically I'll ever see them again. I've been spending a fortune on phone calls, and I've got to cut that out or I won't have ANY money left. Someone shot their president in the head Dec. 3rd and he fled to Morocco for medical treatment. He didn't die, but no one knows if he'll go into exile, come back, if there will be another coup d'etat ... it's a mystery. And a nightmare. I just want those people to have a chance to lead normal lives.<br /><br />On the bright side- that organization I started? My last night in Guinea I sat around a candle and explained to them how to launch their first project- painting a mural of a World Map. I had a book explaining how to do it, step-by-step ... only the books in English. So I translated some colors English to French, threw them some money, and left Guinea laughing at how ridiculous that how-to session went, and at how impossible it would be for them to paint this map. And then one of my best friends, Ama Sara, called me recently and said they've started the map!!!! They got permission, bought paint, and have started drawing. I couldn't believe it ... I actually still can't. They are awesome, and it's so hard knowing that I'll never have a group like that again.<br /><br />Anyways, that is the latest here in Botswana. Tomorrow I'm running in a 10k race to raise awareness about AIDS. This weekend some PCVs nearby organized a welcome pool party for Sacha Jake and I, then they'll come back to Shoshong with me to go hiking and picnicing- we want to find baboons!! (or spirits.) Christmas will be spent at Jake's village, and New Years we're headed to the Okavango Delta to go camping with hippos and crocodiles!!!! We'll also be renting a plane and flying over the interlinking waterways to scout out some elephants, zebras, lions ... you know. (The Delta is in the Lion King ... and "Hakuna Matata" is true- and the language I speak!)<br /><br />Alright well I love you all and hope everyone is doing well back home. The support you guys have lent me through this rocky time has been great and know that it's much appreciated!! Take care and have some happy holidays and a great new years!!!!!!!!!!!Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-47712800455890302692009-11-27T03:43:00.004-05:002009-11-27T03:55:08.075-05:00Address in Botwswana!Hey all!<br /><br /><br /><br />This is just a quick address update:<br /><br /><br /><br />Please send all forms of love to:<br /><br /><br /><br />Kiki Obama/Caitlin Mulligan the Peace Corps Volunteer<br /><br />Box 69<br /><br />Shoshong Clinic<br /><br />Shoshong<br /><br />Botswana<br /><br />(Southern Africa)<br /><br /><br /><br />There will be updates soon, I promise. Know that I'm alive and well in my village. And bonus: packages and letters should be arriving no problem! That means no more threatening religious messages in red ink are necessary. AND they come straight to me ... no more ridiculous postal system mazes.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-78482059211583135542009-10-28T07:01:00.003-04:002009-10-28T07:56:01.395-04:00Making MovesAlright ... a decision has been made.<br /><br />Let me preface this with: <strong>these past three weeks have been a living HELL</strong>. grief. stress. anger. It hasn't stopped or slowed down, but rather these three emotions have been spun into high-gear and penetrated every waking and sleeping thought. Even my dreams, on the rare occasion when I do sleep, leave me exhausted. Illnesses that are too whack (three exotic, one domestic) to ever mention on a blog have simultaneously invaded my system, and make a miserable situation worse. I am exhausted. Through and through. But there is a light, albeit faint, at the end of this tunnel.<br /><br /><strong>I am going to Botswana. </strong><br /><br />Botswana; most of you have heard of that, unlike Guinea. It's about the size of Texas, north of the South African border. Home to the world's largest waterfalls (Victoria Falls), safaris, and camel treks through the Kalahari Desert. World's largest inland delta (Okavango). DeBeers diamonds. Bushmen (The Gods Must Be Crazy takes place there). Clicking languages. The most stable and least corrupt government in Africa. And the 2nd highest HIV/AIDS rate in the world.<br /><br />Botswana is a middle-income country. I hear there are roads and running water. Electricity. Grocery stores. They have what Guinea doesn't have. Including a crisis that is currently undoing all the development progress they've made. 4,000 teachers a YEAR are dying from HIV/AIDS. 1 in 6 people are HIV positive. Peace Corps actually "graduated" from Botswana because they had their act together, but went back in in 2003 to help out with this disaster. So that's where I come in.<br /><br />No more village loans or drying mangos with market women. I am finally going to get to assume the role I wanted when I applied to Peace Corps two years ago, health work with HIV/AIDS. My actual job will be assigned after I arrive.<br /><br />But this is special- I got to use my economic background in Guinea to help people in one of the poorest and most corrupt countries on the planet, and now I get the chance to explore the health field in a country that actually HAS the resources and government to put an end to HIV/AIDS. What Peace Corps Volunteer actually gets to do BOTH of these things in two very different settings? I do feel lucky. The fact that 3 of my best friends in Peace Corps are coming with me make it better.<br /><br />So where is my head right now? I'm trying to accept all I've lost and left behind in Guinea and figure out when is the appropriate time to close that door. I'm trying to get excited for what seems to be a really cool country. I am thankful that I get the chance to do the HIV/AIDS work I originally wanted to do when I applied for Peace Corps. I am trying not to scream when I think about the 2 weeks of language training I will have in the capital before I can finally find a home again (this will make SIX weeks of having NO HOME and ZERO alone time). And I am ecstatic that I finally get to leave this hot, sandy, hellacious post in Mali.<br /><br />Travel plans are being figured out by Peace Corps today. I could end up having my Halloween party on the 28hr flight (with insane layovers) to Gaborone. That would be exactly how I want my new boss to meet the Guinea-Transfer crew...Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-7212100606100620942009-10-23T14:43:00.002-04:002009-10-23T15:07:25.447-04:003rd World DentistsGuinea is over. 100%. I still have no idea what's up next. But in the meantime, Peace Corps has been funneling 100 PCVs through this warp-speed medical process.<br /><br />Which includes a trip to the dentist.<br />In Mali.<br /><br />So I hop by myself into a PC car and drive away from the shacky/grimy areas of Bamako and all of a sudden we're in this beautiful luxurious high-class neighborhood of Bamako that looks as if it could be in Florida. My chauffer stops in front of a building and I get out, assuming that the dentist is somewhere around here. There's a door, and a stairwell and I start climbing stairs looking for a random dentist office. An African girl is waiting in the stairwell and motions for me to enter through a door. How did she know I'd be here at this exact time and where I wanted to go? I walk in.<br /><br />And it's a waiting room. With a giant mirror and two doors. No receptionist desk. No "Bienvenue chez le dentiste" signs. Nothing but chairs, this huge mirror, and a funky looking plant. So I sit down in the chair, and wait. And I'm alone in this room hoping its the dentists office, but kind of hoping it's not and the Peace Corps will never find out because I'm terrified of dentists. Especially 3rd-world country ones. And then I hear drilling from behind the closed door. And I realize, I found the place.<br /><br />Finally the door opens and my friend walks out with this horrified look on her face. She whispers "he's rough and doesn't use novocaine" and leaves me freaking out. An African woman scurries out behind her mopping the floor. And a Lebanese woman comes out and takes my name. I get ushered into "the room" and seated on the chair before I know what's going on. And this huge Lebanese man starts attacking my mouth. Turns out the Leb woman is his wife ... and they were shouting in Arabic at eachother the whole time. I'd get the occasional English command like "open" or "spit" but then when it was in French, it was a toss up as to whom it was directed. Me? The wife? He's yelling "A LOT! NOT A LITTLE!" and I'm debating whether to open wider to appease his anger or is his wife messing up the tools? No clue. And then when he starts saying "take it out" in English I start to panic- TAKE OUT WHAT?! My tooth? Turns out a filling fell out. But it didn't matter, because I had "a GOOD cavity." I don't get teeth-talk in English, let alone French or Arabic. I ended up getting (I think..) a cavity filled. No novocaine. He just started drilling, ignoring my kicking feet and flailing hands as he was chisiling out the nerve. I almost punched this angry yelling fool. But I couldn't punch him, because my hands were busy doing half the work because I was holding all the guaze in place. And then you know how dentists like to talk to you, and you can never answer.<br />"How are you? How's work?" Like what are you supposed to say? Does "agrrgmmmph" work?<br /><br />Well this quack was a step WORSE. He's saying "okay, we filled the cavity. DO YOU SEE?" so not only can I not respond to this ignoramous because his (and my) hands were in my mouth, but HOW DO YOU REALLY THINK I CAN SEE INSIDE MY OWN DAMN MOUTH?<br /><br />Ohh it was ridiculous. And painful. And I finally exited 30 minutes later in a state of shock with my heart racing faster than it has in months.<br /><br />Which makes me say, Dr. Linkoff, I appreciate you. For all the times I hated going to sit in that chair of yours, I am sorry. I will never again complain. I promise.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-77651123256416518222009-10-18T13:26:00.002-04:002009-10-18T13:35:58.809-04:00rock climbingso being in a 'peace corps refugee camp' with 100 other stressed-out PCVs is not the easiest situation in the world. last night was particularly rough. but today a small group of us went rockclimbing in what i would want to call the mountains, but the ground was all sand. i wasn't paying attention in 7th grade geography when we learned differnt environments- maybe its savannah with redrock?<br /><br />anyways just hanging outside in the shade, eating peanuts still attached to the roots and climbing seemed to just take away an enormous amount of stress. which made me realize that whatever "Plan B" i decide will have to have mountains.<br /><br />so that means that i am not moving to the desert in Niger.<br /><br />options are finally narrowing down, <em>thanks be to God</em>.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-63391299721198898812009-10-16T06:42:00.003-04:002009-10-16T06:57:45.352-04:00Chimpanzee at the Barso last night a group of friends and i decided we wanted to bike down to the local bar.<div><br /></div><div>so we take our bikes, do the ten minute ride, order cold beers and take our seats underneath the mango tree. all of a sudden i hear a car pull up behind me and a shrieking noise. i turn around, and next to the driver, hanging out of the passenger side of this white jalopy is a CHIMPANZEE. the chimp is laughing/shrieking, clearly excited to see these white kids, yet he is innocently baring his hideous fangs. i am paralyzed with a combination of shock and pure fear. this chimp, who's name is Roussou, is the size of a grown person. no less intimidating is the link chain and metal lock fastened around his neck. my paralysis leaves me unable to flee like my mind is telling me to (i'm imagining scenes where the chimp jumps out of the car and chomps his fangs into my neck giving me HIV) and before i can make a move the chimp has calmly gotten out of the car, and shut the door. Him and his owner walk up to our table, and the chimp proceeds to shake our hands. THE CHIMP SHOOK THE HAND OF EACH AND EVERY PERSON AT OUR TABLE. so of course when it's my turn, i don't dare reject Roussou's outstretched hand. but as soon as he moved i got up from the table and ran into the bushes with so much adrenaline/fear/shock running through my system i nearly threw up. the africans (and the americans) died laughing at my ridiculous (over)reaction. the chimp calmly walked to the bar owner, received a Coke, thanked the owner and climbed back into the car and drank his bottle of Coke as they drove away.</div><div><br /></div><div>So that is what I've been doing in Mali. Other activities have/will include:</div><div><br /></div><div>Tours of Bamako</div><div>Sudan v. Mali World Cup Qualifier Soccer Game</div><div>Markets </div><div>Restaurants (with the best food/atmosphere I've seen in 10 months)</div><div>Hiking</div><div>Biking (home from bars)</div><div>Rock Climbing</div><div>Swimming at the American Club</div><div>Volleyball</div><div>Concerts</div><div>Clubs</div><div><br /></div><div>Peace Corps is taking care of us and making the best of a bad situation. They've somehow managed to take a traumatic evacuation and turn it into Club Med Mali. I can't complain. But I can mock the duffel bag of board games PC/Washington flew out to keep up morale.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-62775495182797735442009-10-09T04:42:00.000-04:002009-10-09T04:43:31.758-04:00Mali.Hey guys.<br /><br />So a lot of you have heard that Peace Corps Guinea is, well, no longer in Guinea. It’s true. We “consolidated” (the euphemism for “evacuated”) and are now in Mali, which was about a 16 hour drive north from Mamou.<br /><br />I can’t even begin to describe the emotions of being ripped from a place you love- my friends, coworkers, neighbors, a great job, a beautiful house … I haven’t had to “move away” since the first grade. And it’s terrible. Absolutely awful. Tears haven’t stopped since last Saturday. I can’t think/focus/eat/talk about this without breaking down. I stayed next to friends for my final hours, and climbing into the back of the Peace Corps vehicle 7am Wednesday morning and watching as my home, my street, my city, my country, grow smaller and smaller out the back window, is an awful vivid memory that I can’t seem to erase from my mind.<br /><br />We’re “waiting” right now. We might go back in 14 days if the “situation” clears up. But unless an assassinating dictator steps down from power, a divided military makes up, and democratic elections are promised to take place, in 14 days, I think I’m going to be forced to find Plan B.<br /><br />No, I don’t know what Plan B is. Which also compounds the stress/emotions.<br /><br />I have nothing else to write as of now, but you don’t need to worry about my safety. Thanks for all the encouraging emails. I’m praying this will all be over soon enough.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-74889982570095330112009-09-30T06:24:00.002-04:002009-09-30T06:31:20.016-04:00Military Wack Attacks.Alright, I know that all of you are probably glued to CNN waiting to hear the latest on the political situation in Guinea. But for the far and few between of you who have better things to do than turn your shortwave radio to BBC, I would like to take this opportunity to fill you in on the political happenings of GUINEA:<br /><br /><strong>December 2008:</strong> The president goes MIA for a period of time. No one knows where he is. Then an announcement stating that he has died is made. A youngbuck military captain organizes a bloodless coup d’etat, seizes power, overthrows the constitution, and declares himself president. We welcome Dadis, for Dadis promises to return Guinea to democracy, will have elections ASAP.<br /><br /><strong>ASAP:</strong> comes and goes. Election dates get scheduled, cancelled, rescheduled, pushed back. Dadis cracks down on drug trafficking, but if you ask me, at least the drug dealers had jobs. So in a sense, he raised the 99% unemployment rate. He insults foreign diplomats. He pays off youth to cheer for him in front of TV cameras. He promises he won’t pose as a candidate for presidential elections, but the entire nation calls him a liar. His military men roam the country with their guns thinking they’re God in camouflauge. (They even stopped me and my friends the other week while running, and were threatening to throw Souleymane in prison because he was wearing a camo tanktop. He begged and pleaded and swore to Allah that never again will he wear this shirt, which is a crying shame, because I know its his favorite.)<br /><br /><strong>Last Friday:</strong> I drive through Mamou, and see HUNDREDS of police officers and soldiers. With big guns. They have innondated the city, and are posted all over the place.<br /><br /><strong>Last Saturday:</strong> Dadis leaves the capital Conakry for the FIRST time since he declared himself president. He decides that he’s going to make an appearance in Mamou (my hometown) and Labe (3 hrs north) to try and convince people to stop hating him. I woke up to the sound of a helicopter over my house and people yelling. Wait- Guinea has a helicopter? Anyway Dadis goes to these cities; rumor has it in Labe everyone purposefully stayed in their homes so as NOT to welcome him, and that soldiers took buses to surrounding villages paying people to come fill up the stadium and cheer for him, giving TV viewers the impression of popularity. He was here in Mamou, there were small groups of protestors (who may or may not have tried to open my car door) and things were calm and cool.<br /><br /><strong>Monday:</strong> Two weeks earlier, a political demonstration had been organized, with the underlying message: Dadis, do <strong>NOT</strong> run for president at the end of January. Dadis said that the demonstrations were prohibitied. People went anyways. The military went buck wild. Shot 157 dead. 1,200 others injured. Women were raped and perversely abused at the site of the protests. Military stole random things (like my friend’s cell phones) and were actually using knives and bayonets.<br /><br /><strong>Tuesday:</strong> Shortly after arriving at work, someone runs into our office saying that people have begun protesting in town here in Mamou. First we get put on “lockdown” at the office, but soon after we return home. Vehicles are hidden around town (so protestors can’t damage them) and I get a little freaked out. Protestors are fine, burning tires don’t mean a thing, but if the military starts running around with guns, <em>that’s when all hell breaks loose</em>. I stayed home for the rest of the day. The military never went out. Protestors went home. Mamou is cool, calm and collected. <em>Mom and Dad, I repeat, Mamou is cool, calm and collected.<br /></em><br /><strong>Wednesday (today):</strong> Today and tomorrow are declared holidays to honor the 160 lives lost. Things seem to have greatly calmed down. Peace Corps has been in contact with us, they’re doing their job. No one is in any danger as long as they’re not leading demonstrations with a bunch of pumped-up youth. And like I was telling a friend, at least we're not stationed in some boring country that has no excitement.<br /><br />For the CNN version, http://edition.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/africa/09/29/guinea.protest.deaths/index.html<br /><br />Political excitement aside, things here in Mamou are great. Work evacuations, days honoring the dead and another random holiday on Friday are making work non-existant, but I’m adapting to this no-work all-play schedule.<br /><br />Friday I head out to run a 10k race organized by another volunteer, so I’m really looking forward to that! Afterwards, if things cool down, I’m hoping to spend next week in Conakry with some friends, doing some work and vacation planning. Alright well that’s what I’ve got for the moment, I love you all and appreciate each and every letter/phonecall/package/facebook message that gets sent my way.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-24043526534137910412009-09-14T06:10:00.002-04:002009-09-14T06:12:49.692-04:00Espoir de S'Ouvrir au Monde - the kids who make me fall in love with Mamou (almost) everyday.My last blog entry was spewing with frustrations in regards to how Ramadan obliterates the sub-standard work ethic possessed by many of the Guineans I’m working with, but, as we all know- generalizations are dangerous.<br /><br />After storming at of work, exasperated as women at the office traded real work to doling out goodie bags of rice mush from that baptism we all skipped work to attend, I decided I needed to press ‘pause’ on World Education for the rest of the week and focus on working with an association that has become the most exciting part of work in Peace Corps.<br /><br />A group of three youth approached me when I first moved to Mamou asking to do a project together. “What kind of project?” Their response was anything, just something to do to help their community. Wary of groups of youth asking to work for free, I told them “let’s wait a few months before jumping into anything.” This group of kids persisted, continuously asking to work together, and at the same time demonstrating their commitment to do something. Finally I gave in- “okay, tell whoever is interested to meet at my house tomorrow night.”<br /><br />The next night I was arranging my family room to seat about eight people, lighting candles, when all of a sudden a horde of people walked through the door … far more then eight. THIRTY young people came into my house that night ready to make some moves in this mountainside city! After several lengthy discussions over the course of many meetings, the association Espoir de S’Ouvrir au Monde (roughly translated into ‘hope of opening up to the world’) was born. ESM elected officers, set up bi-weekly meetings, started collecting membership dues and drafted logos and vision statements.<br /><br />ESM is now an association that is fully managed by youth, working to ameliorate education for youth all over the world. We’re starting here in Mamou first. However … and this is the exciting part … our first project will be to host a conference teaching and promoting leadership. I left America as Obama was taking that nation by storm and came to Guinea in a time when a new dictator, Dadis took Guinea ... by storm. But his storm was more coup d’état style. So more than ever, the cry for leadership is loud and desperate, and it’s up to the youth to start learning now 1. what leadership is, and 2. how they can develop into positive leaders to change their communities.<br /><br />So for all of you who’ve been wondering what in the world I’ve been doing when not watching break-dance fighting or nearly dying in bush taxis, this association is the heart of my work here. I just wanted to wait until things were rolling before I mentioned these kids. Because they are awesome!<br /><br />Which brings me to why I admitted generalizations were dangerous- after stepping back from my ‘real job’ where workers were photo-stalking (not even on facebook … the computer’s previous owner had left photos on the hard drive, so these stalkers didn’t even know who they were stalking) I turned my attention to ESM. And these kids, despite the fact that they too are fasting all day and now staying up from midnight until 2am reciting the Koran, are meeting DAILY to get the project development committee up and rolling. So when a group of 13 boys and girls can stop eating, pray until 2am, sleep for 4 hours, pray, sleep for 1 ½ hours and then come work without pay for an association every day for a week … I can only speak about a work ethic and a determination that is unprecedented. And working with them and teaching them how to host a leadership conference is about far more than hosting the conference itself- these kids working on the project have been placed into positions of leadership with real responsibilities, and we’re working side-by-side learning things from how to manage money to how to set goals. They are learning how to enter and conduct themselves during meetings with Guinean authorities and I even had the privilege to take some of them into their city’s bank for the very first time to inquire about opening an account. These are experiences that they will keep with them for the rest of their lives!<br /><br />I am now back in deep with World Education and continuing work every day with ESM. Plus 4 English classes a week as well as computer trainings. The schedule is packed, but it’s fun. I’d also like to mention here that my culinary techniques are evolving quite nicely- in addition to jarring a killer pineapple salsa, last weekend a friend and I learned to make dumplings. I think going back to an American kitchen where things are pre-made and you just defrost or bake or microwave food is going to be selection-overload. I’ve become adept in making delicacies out of the basic ingredients (ex- flour and salt and eggs). And thanks to Dad’s endless supply of tuna fish I think I can make a can of Chicken of the Sea into a dish more elegant than anyone has imagined possible. So yes, personal accomplishments are surmounting.<br /><br />Thanks again to everyone for all the WONDERFUL packages and cards and letters!!! My walls are getting full with pictures and cards (and ridiculous 2ft American Flag cards that warm my heart and soul) and I look forward to the “mail run” day with unwavering and heightened anticipation. Also, congrats to Emilie who had a beautiful little girl and Lindsey who got engaged!!! I trust everyone reading this is doing their part to love and ENJOY America a little bit extra every day for me. Much love. OoOoOoo (that’s goodbye in Pular … just say the letter “O” and bring your voice up and down a few times).Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-50362042080507371682009-08-31T08:49:00.004-04:002009-08-31T09:23:09.421-04:00The answer to Guinea's development problem: they're saying you need a work ethic.ok, i need to vent.<br /><br />just a little. or more like, a lot.<br /><br />it's about this month called Ramadan.<br /><br />now before i get attacked, i <em>am</em> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />What kind of job decides to close shop 2 1/2 hours early for a month so women can go home and make dinner?!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />It's bullshit.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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. <strong>You guys are strong. </strong>Well done, and good luck with the next 20 days.<br /><br />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. <strong>What the hell?</strong> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-37497696688895352262009-08-24T13:56:00.003-04:002009-08-24T14:38:24.737-04:00Break Dance Fighting Does ExistMore 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:<br /><br />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:<br /><br />1. A prostitute and her white client behind me<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I will also let you all in on another fun piece of information:<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-53878522815816146332009-07-29T13:04:00.005-04:002009-07-29T13:34:31.861-04:00Cribs: MAMOU<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-family: georgia;font-size:85%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYsKMjPaonH4BMBpdHjaU2RVWGIoQOYp4Q1lBtbeUZ2X1IIkofP2YqzMfvAY4O9yBU75Zr_7CYe-d4zsT1JXvNElxECheVSaK1gHItsLnXESfwORWqhqlupuwTqP6zhEx6DKsjq9QYEoE/s1600-h/kitchen.JPG">You've been asking for a while now ... and welcome to Chez Kiki!!!</a></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7Ske_1OI41u_FEO_FKe6a7Z_bKROVwBUH6fwqi00qhkbaz72lnvnH9SzTfv0Gxrod5UjC1ww_jrnoLDtwqyhP8WeA6UnapKldZ4K49MSP1Oykto6tud8_gt5MGbQKSHmkC43vKuFfFY/s1600-h/Copie+de+front+door.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi7Ske_1OI41u_FEO_FKe6a7Z_bKROVwBUH6fwqi00qhkbaz72lnvnH9SzTfv0Gxrod5UjC1ww_jrnoLDtwqyhP8WeA6UnapKldZ4K49MSP1Oykto6tud8_gt5MGbQKSHmkC43vKuFfFY/s200/Copie+de+front+door.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363929699741526674" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOBS_YuJEw0jbMAnPytbWOHefrNa0Wr68xjZETI-pmaDtK77mBcG42lme1k7pKGAGg7h7gq4eDPzjR3cHuA3gsEW2YjXRJQ4YI1w9YrgwcV3SRk0aslYnc1zOZ23v0DuOU2r6mqOogC5E/s1600-h/fam+room.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOBS_YuJEw0jbMAnPytbWOHefrNa0Wr68xjZETI-pmaDtK77mBcG42lme1k7pKGAGg7h7gq4eDPzjR3cHuA3gsEW2YjXRJQ4YI1w9YrgwcV3SRk0aslYnc1zOZ23v0DuOU2r6mqOogC5E/s200/fam+room.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363929705556300994" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><a style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOBS_YuJEw0jbMAnPytbWOHefrNa0Wr68xjZETI-pmaDtK77mBcG42lme1k7pKGAGg7h7gq4eDPzjR3cHuA3gsEW2YjXRJQ4YI1w9YrgwcV3SRk0aslYnc1zOZ23v0DuOU2r6mqOogC5E/s1600-h/fam+room.JPG">The tour starts with the family room, you might en</a><a style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOBS_YuJEw0jbMAnPytbWOHefrNa0Wr68xjZETI-pmaDtK77mBcG42lme1k7pKGAGg7h7gq4eDPzjR3cHuA3gsEW2YjXRJQ4YI1w9YrgwcV3SRk0aslYnc1zOZ23v0DuOU2r6mqOogC5E/s1600-h/fam+room.JPG">joy knowing that the turquoise patterned table cloth matches the curtains and bulletin board you see hanging accented with pink ribbon, all made by yours truly.</a><a style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYsKMjPaonH4BMBpdHjaU2RVWGIoQOYp4Q1lBtbeUZ2X1IIkofP2YqzMfvAY4O9yBU75Zr_7CYe-d4zsT1JXvNElxECheVSaK1gHItsLnXESfwORWqhqlupuwTqP6zhEx6DKsjq9QYEoE/s1600-h/kitchen.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 175px; height: 131px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYsKMjPaonH4BMBpdHjaU2RVWGIoQOYp4Q1lBtbeUZ2X1IIkofP2YqzMfvAY4O9yBU75Zr_7CYe-d4zsT1JXvNElxECheVSaK1gHItsLnXESfwORWqhqlupuwTqP6zhEx6DKsjq9QYEoE/s200/kitchen.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363929700986740962" border="0" /></a>Here is what I call the kitchen. Minus of course, the fridge, dish washer, oven, and kitchen sink. The hanging "calabashes" I made myself, and prevents mice and such from eating my food. White bucket contraption? That's where us volunteers have been trained to filter and bleach water to avoid parasites and worms.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_H7dXThT7c3gsShfjAgTDgwO-llZVgszGcutC98I7qdoIT2SHhIwi3sEpOkiUZVEI5w6Z5AOPgaPGdIv-3lqBTUjL9mfJiP_OnXf_pmQyETY7TUwcy5Ub3UKpvE6-NVVwBYO3vgo1Kc/s1600-h/bathroom.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_H7dXThT7c3gsShfjAgTDgwO-llZVgszGcutC98I7qdoIT2SHhIwi3sEpOkiUZVEI5w6Z5AOPgaPGdIv-3lqBTUjL9mfJiP_OnXf_pmQyETY7TUwcy5Ub3UKpvE6-NVVwBYO3vgo1Kc/s200/bathroom.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363929695458719922" border="0" /></a>Here's the bathroom, furnished with a shower, toliet and sink. None of which function, seeing as I don't have running water. Optimistic construction workers? The buckets you see are a staple of any Guinean household ... that's where the showers/laundry/toilet flushing power comes from.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_EVfemQjJGMMLVgyiJ5RjGPBn07qKNPPs5pnfJ2e2PFTXCHFAj8u0KVP7Q0s_0Blr18yNoyMHn1W4mBbatmc5trAN62MYTLmUh_SNeO8LMCohSOG1i1IbS1o-Gcjc0j7vZ9JgCWKev0/s1600-h/bedroom.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu_EVfemQjJGMMLVgyiJ5RjGPBn07qKNPPs5pnfJ2e2PFTXCHFAj8u0KVP7Q0s_0Blr18yNoyMHn1W4mBbatmc5trAN62MYTLmUh_SNeO8LMCohSOG1i1IbS1o-Gcjc0j7vZ9JgCWKev0/s200/bedroom.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363929692859397410" border="0" /></a>And the bedroom ... furnished with a nice cubbyhole/basket system that I thought up, drew, and handed to my carpenter. Hanging mini-mirrors, thanks to the Chinese invasion of this country ... I had to peel off the sexy Chinese lady stickers that were attached originally. Also home made. You can the wonderful bed and the princess canopy, aka mosquito net. And if you've sent me a card look closely in the background ... you'll see it hanging up on the wall.<br /><br />Well that concludes my humble abode. 1 bath, 1 family room, 1 bedroom, and 1/2 kitchen. Front terrace, and a stellar view (posted earlier). Soon to come: strawberry fields accented with sunflowers when you walk out the door. in-sha-ALLAH.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-59765159238865066292009-07-29T12:38:00.003-04:002009-07-29T13:35:49.702-04:00Bike Trip & A Garden Helper **pictures accompany previous posts**<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXtt30FQmyWPv9qunT_uERdIdFF3CAjNEXC6boV_bGdW1sVXErIxYh33XbqV1OCzw2TsoiIVacMZsQhvhwsleKPNtgfr1VojXyhINHZgxBNHTp9iKoxRK6tajYmwuP6D-v0VCgUnTCzo/s1600-h/huts.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363924214676725602" style="width: 320px; height: 240px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXtt30FQmyWPv9qunT_uERdIdFF3CAjNEXC6boV_bGdW1sVXErIxYh33XbqV1OCzw2TsoiIVacMZsQhvhwsleKPNtgfr1VojXyhINHZgxBNHTp9iKoxRK6tajYmwuP6D-v0VCgUnTCzo/s320/huts.JPG" border="0" /></a> Favorite view in Mamou<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwApimIp_RFUSdH6TGWCR-WGKbhO_onRttSLzeB3or7USaJAFBDcrOcA2lSlT9Z5UhH2O7oY-jX_g2uVroMrGV2M7HYaCETMUS1dHg0EOn3eSW4vioweg4FJEok_rKHolxs4brRuqhHGI/s1600-h/leopard+boots.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363924228060816578" style="width: 240px; height: 320px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwApimIp_RFUSdH6TGWCR-WGKbhO_onRttSLzeB3or7USaJAFBDcrOcA2lSlT9Z5UhH2O7oY-jX_g2uVroMrGV2M7HYaCETMUS1dHg0EOn3eSW4vioweg4FJEok_rKHolxs4brRuqhHGI/s320/leopard+boots.JPG" border="0" /></a> Everyone wanted to help with my garden ... and mom, you can see how the leopard print boots are quite a hit.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibpJED9eteU_XEZKyHhouk3VaaE2DnSMcFnSR48R_8pOkmGuJxlfQ1OBWbslGkzUXIJ_5O1NtoYDduQ929V_32ogoTSvvrOsT6XAzohOsY4SWET7GYUU_XxpCUnWMGq30887C2Sm6mIYE/s1600-h/telecenter.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363924218049521970" style="width: 320px; height: 240px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibpJED9eteU_XEZKyHhouk3VaaE2DnSMcFnSR48R_8pOkmGuJxlfQ1OBWbslGkzUXIJ_5O1NtoYDduQ929V_32ogoTSvvrOsT6XAzohOsY4SWET7GYUU_XxpCUnWMGq30887C2Sm6mIYE/s320/telecenter.JPG" border="0" /></a> Jason and I had to make the 20 minute hike to his "cell phone reception spot" so he could call our PC doctor and get advice on the best treatment when you fall down a latrine, simultaneously accumulating open wounds.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-htKYoV_y8Esf37VWsrR-Ib9yv5D3mRhc6uYCiWapROWZUtZs_o5e5CACz_aPahwoxRBHuAEphs2dO6oWv-FWfh05q4yapMKUy0cDC7DYxkREZ9kI0ktX_AYjLP7lfd0TU6QY5QFwDo/s1600-h/water.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363924213994913970" style="width: 240px; height: 320px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-htKYoV_y8Esf37VWsrR-Ib9yv5D3mRhc6uYCiWapROWZUtZs_o5e5CACz_aPahwoxRBHuAEphs2dO6oWv-FWfh05q4yapMKUy0cDC7DYxkREZ9kI0ktX_AYjLP7lfd0TU6QY5QFwDo/s320/water.JPG" border="0" /></a> Refilling nalgenes<br /></div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3832526107545563751.post-76790999949046243172009-07-29T12:18:00.004-04:002009-07-29T13:03:05.831-04:00Bike Rides and Hannah Montana Bubble-pensA lot has happened. However due to lightning striking the only internet "thing" (I feel that venturing to say satellite dish would be pushing it) and Mamou not having enough money to repair it for over a month, despite being one of the country's principal cities, a lot of crazy life happenings have been forgotten or burried in a journal.<br /><br />Here's what I do remember:<br /><br />After coming home from that "business trip" in Conakry, I arrived at my doorstep with two volunteers only to find that I lost my keys for my massive iron front door that stands between my house and the world. After calls to my boss (no, he didn't have a spare key) we called a carpenter who literally just started pounding through the metal with hammers, crowbars, and anything else. After more or less busting through the cement that holds the doorframe in place, the door kind of fell off. But at least I was in my house. We slept well and I had plans to get the door fixed in the morning. However, being a metal door and needed a metal-working welder to reassemble the mess; my simple carpenter couldn't do it. But welders need welding tools. Welding tools need electricity. Mamou only has electricity between midnight and 6:00am. Welders work only during the day. Not to mention my friend and I had planned to bike to his village about 50 miles away.<br /><br />I decided to ditch the front door situation and bike to my friends. Leaving my house with no front door.<br /><br />The bike ride was my first time stepping out of city-living and into the absolutely breath-taking country side. It was all mountain biking and the wildlife was incredible, ranging from the typical goats and cows, getting more daring with a badass snake, and culminated when a giant white monkey flashed in front of my path! I almost fell off the bike I was so shocked! <br /><br />We’d gotten a late start (because of the front-door fiasco) so were biking in midday African sunshine (read: hot) and found ourselves out of water pretty quickly. But a highlight was stopping off in one of the villages we were passing, completely covered in mud and looking ridiculously foreign in helmets and yoga pants, and asking for a drink of water. In Pular. It was my first 100% Pular exchange with people, (they didn’t know French, we had no choice) and it was a proud moment. Not only did they show us where a pump was to fill our nalgenes but a nice little old lady even gave us water from her house!<br /><br />So after the villages, monkeys, hot sun, 3 rain storms, and a lot of mud, we finally arrived at my friend’s hut in his village right as it turned from dusk to dark. Perfect.<br /><br />We were warmly greeted with, you guessed it, rice and sauce and were exhausted after the several hour ride (this was only the 2nd time I used my bike in 7 months was for a 50 mile trip through some mountains … it was a little rough). We’re getting ready to crash for the night so I’m brushing my teeth outside the hut, and Jason goes to use the latrine. <br /><br />Jason: AGHHH!!!!!! %$#%&*!!!! %%$&#@!!!!!! AGGHHHH!!!!<br />Me: What’s going on?<br />Jason: (he comes doing a Frankenstein-walk towards me, dripping some sort of liquid, blinding me with his headlamp, bleeding everywhere, and covered in…. is that mud?)<br />Me: Ohhh my goshh! What in the world just went on?<br />Jason: I…FELL…DOWN…THE…LATRINE!!!!!!<br /><br />You see, our dear friend walked into the latrine (where I just finished showering) and was just finishing up some business when the cement floor, corroded from acidic fumes from delicious human waste for several years, completely gave in … causing Jason to fall about 8 feet down. The broken cement scraped him up pretty badly so he was bleeding, and then proceeded to fall into a pile of … not mud. <br /><br />I was stuck silent for a moment, and then tears started forming. I didn’t know if I was crying because of how disgusting he was or how utterly hilarious the situation was. I had to go knock on a neighbor’s door in the middle of the night, explain that their American friend was covered in latrine stuff, and may I please have several buckets of water to wash him off?<br /><br />The next few hours were spent washing, disinfecting, washing and disinfecting again, cleaning up blood and bandaging wounds on the feet, head, torso, legs and arms. Finally Jason and I are changed and clean, we walk into his hut, light a few candles and he goes “This night sucks … but at least there’s chocolate” as he goes into his trunk to pull out a giant bag of peanut M&Ms sent from home. And then there’s more screaming and cursing; ants had invaded.<br /><br />Other events in life:<br /><br />The following weekend I went on a 70 mile bike trip to another village with my 2 best Guinean friends to visit Souleymane’s father. I was a little hesitant- I live in the most mountainous region of the country, and going to Timbo involves several giant mountains that even bush taxis sometimes can’t climb. But fellow PCVs offered reassurances: “No worries Kiki, you’ve got your fancy multi-speed Peace Corps bike and they have typical Guinean wrecks.’ I decided they were right, and prepared for the trip. After making them peanut butter/honey/banana sandwiches (they were telling me they didn’t need to eat anything until after we completed the journey) we hit the road. And about 10k into the ride I get a “Hey Kiki, let’s trade bikes!” and there went my advantage. So I rode the rest of the way to Timbo, up several ridiculously steep mountains, on a bike that was so low when I pedalled my knees almost kept hitting me in my face. <br /><br />However, upon our arrival, the boys were so proud of the voyage, it had been worth it. I was proud of us, too. It had been awesome. We were greeted by Souleymane’s family with lots of hand shakings and hugs and children and even one grandpa who was so old he couldn’t get out of bed but he cried because he was so happy. No one could believe that white girl would bike all the way to their village to meet the family. However, Souleymane’s family also let me see poverty on one of the deepest levels I’ve ever experienced. They kept giving us food, continuously apologizing for their “lack of means.” I kept telling them to stop feeding us, knowing that even the avocado, sardine and mayonnaise salad they made was impacting their pockets. Turning in for the night, Souleymane and Ama Sara slept in the fathers’ bed. Father slept on a plastic mat on the cement floor. I had a sleepover with the grandma on the hardest mattress I ever felt. As I was blowing out the candle before bed I said to grandma in my best Pular “I’ll see you in the morning!” and her reply, “If Allah wills it.” How creepy.<br /><br />Getting up in the morning I pulled up the sheets to look at the mattress I had slept on. It was a rice sack filled with something like newspaper. What a life.<br /><br />Before leaving the village the next morning, neighbors and village authorities and extended family members showered us with gifts: 8 avocados, 2 sacks of peanuts, 3 sheets of expensive fabric, $2, 3 peanut bars, and … 3 CHICKENS!!!! It was like Christmas. Luckily we did not have to bike home with chickens on the handlebars (that would have been very Guinean of us) but instead sent them home on a bush taxi. The next day Ama Sara slaughtered the chickens for us and made one of the best dinners I’ve eaten in 8 months for us and all of our friends. <br /><br />Other big news:<br />- 4th of July was well spent with other volunteers. We had no fireworks, but we had a lot of combustible cans of bug spray and endless boxes of matches. One of the better firework shows I’ve seen.<br />- Mamou recently opened up its first real restaurant. I’ve only eaten the shwarma, but I’ve heard the “hambourgers” are good. “Pidzzza” is on the menu, but no price listed, and I’ve never actually seen a pizza, so I think it’s a hoax. However, it’s a step in the right direction!<br />- I started a garden! I was told I could only plant flowers because they wanted to keep the yard “pretty” and couldn’t take out any of the overgrown bushes that were driving me mad. I hacked out an entire section of yard for me, planted plenty of flowers, as well as spinach, strawberries, watermelon, and cantaloupe. And maybe I shouldn’t be shocked, but stuff is actually growing!<br />- While working on logistics for “Girls Conference” I ran into a group of respected men of Mamou at the café. I told them what I was doing and a doctor says “Oh no, you’re not going to turn them against us, are you? Telling them women are equal?” I threw back a few sassy comments, letting them know that there are many ignorant attitudes that are preventing Guinea from developing. Their proof that men and women aren’t equal? Because (and I quote):<br /><br /> “Women can’t climb a tree, cut down branches and build a fence.” <br /> Me: “I built a live fence 2 weeks ago with branches that I hacked up with a machete myself.”<br /> Men: Yeah, but you can’t climb a tree!<br /> Me: Do I not have two legs and two arms like you do? <br /><br />And then, because I really was too busy to have such an ignorant conversation, I walked away letting them know we’d continue this conversation later. <br /><br />Other things in life are great. A HUGE thank you to Jackie, Mandy and Ali for an awesome package with articles and my first set of real art supplies! My new CDs from Cara and the McW sisters are awesome (although I admit I think I overplayed them). And Emilie for the best food supplies ever, including pesto packets, crystal light and granola. And the Hannah Montana bubbles/pen/stamp combo was a huge hit. I taught the little kids how to blow bubbles … it was like magic. And the boys were sad when the hot pink "stamp" didn't show up on their black skin as it did on my white skin. And dad and Claire, as usual, amazing. Souleymane loved the pen that said “Frederick, MD” on it … especially when I told him Frederick was the name of my village. And the cast-iron kettle is beautiful and great for mint tea. Love you ALL and miss everyone back home. A lot. I think about you often.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12376265178689852256noreply@blogger.com4