i'm back in serrekunda to work on some nursery projects that involve computer work (contracts, schedules, guidelines, etc) and to pick up a bit more cash from the bank, though i've just remembered today is a holiday here, so i may not have any luck exchanging money. in any case, a few moments for the weekend update, mostly written in my journal, but transcribed here for your reading pleasure!
yesterday i was back on site for the nursery work and the familiar faces were there, shoveling, sitting, sweating, shouting - slowly slowly transforming the house into a nursery and the six foot pit into a toilet. i am thankful for the tetanus shot i had before i left for all the rusted iron corrugate and old nails laying around. i've not broken a sweat on this project - i sit with my pad of paper and use the time to think and plan - nodding and congratulating on their work accomplished. and every so often, they shout at me 'fatou sarr' (my gambian namesake) - to make sure i am ok on my own, they don't want me to be lonely. they know i've only five sundays left and i've told kebba, the man who (mostly) seems to be directing things on site (though he's not really broken a sweat yet either) that i'd like the work done in the next two sundays - so that i can commission the artist to work the week of april 7. if that happens, i'll be on track to finish this project. time will tell.
it's interesting to watch their interactions on this project. they look to me for the big decisions because i hold the purse strings - but otherwise, all decisions are made by committee. democratic, yes. efficient? not entirely. a project manager's nightmare. for example, they spent the morning digging around the toilets so that cement blocks could surround the pits for reinforcement - but half way through, after having mixed the cement with water which would soon harden, they realized that they needed to let the earth dry before they could proceed. so for 20 minutes, we sat under the tree, drinking attaya and shouting/talking at each other. it takes a village committee, i suppose. but things are happening. the windows are built and in place, and i think by next sunday we should be able to whitewash the inside and outside to prep for the real paint the following week. and i've got the carpenter working on the benches and tables. i'm very excited.
i spent the first weekend on the site attempting to manage things and hurry the process along. 'should we go get the cement so it's here when they need it?,' 'is the carpenter working on the doors right now?,' 'is there anything those men [standing around] could be doing right now?' ... but i've since relaxed because there are some times when the gambian way is really the only way. when my intentions, however well-meant, are just not the way to get things done. so meagan's hat comes off and fatou wraps her headscarf and sits patiently in the shade.
ebrima said to me last night that he wanted to name the nursery 'meagan's nursery' ... i am honored if slightly embarrassed at the thought, but told him that it really isn't mine, and emphasizing that the donations have really come from all of my friends and family around the world. so another THANK YOU ... but this time ... with another request. any creative souls out there who can think of a name for the nursery? let's hear them! i'll have to get mondo's name up there somewhere, but i think we might have room for a catchy name or a tag line. (though could certainly be happy with 'friends of makumbaya' nursery project) anyway, let me know!
in other weekend news ...
ebrima called me on saturday morning as i was heading to the beach to tell me that another mondo volunteer had worms and could i go with them to the doctor. he was coming my way in a truck, so it worked well for me to get a lift back, and i think emily was grateful for the fellowship. unfortunately, the african way of getting rid of worms is simply to wait till you see them and then pinch them out, and there was nothing the nurse could give her. i think i've seen too many alien movies to be comfortable with that answer, but emily didn't seem to mind too much. ebrima says the worms can come from not washing sheets regularly where they land and gather and lay eggs. so i went home and quickly washed my bed linens!
then on saturday evening, the grandmother asked me if i had any medicines for jainaba's stomach which has been paining her for nearly a month now. i went in to see jainaba and found her in tears, doubled over, clutching her stomach. this was really quite scary as i'd not seen her so vulnerable before - so i ran to get ebrima to see if he could get her to a doctor. in the meantime, i also consulted the manual that came with my hiker's first aid kit - but it REALLY isn't geared towards african life, and made no mention of things like appendicitis, kidney stones or an ectopic pregnancy - my three best (though with absolutely nil medical knowledge) guesses.
ebrima was in a meeting of the village elders and i pulled him out of this so he could get her to a doctor - and he asked if i would come too, so i grabbed my bag, some money and my phone and thankfully, a gellah gellah happened to be passing at that moment. who knows how long we would have had to wait if it hadn't. no ambulances out this way. so the three of us hopped in, and bounced along the sandy roads with jainaba's head on my lap and me trying desperately to control the jolts for her. i called her husband on the way and he met us in lamin. from there, we got a taxi to a small clinic in a neighboring village. (not far off the kind you see on ER when doctor carter goes to africa, only with electricity). and from this point in the story - my frustration begins.
the nurse saw jainaba for about 3 minutes and deduced malaria and a urinary tract infection - though she has signs of neither and scribbles a prescription on a piece of blank paper and hands us a pack of anti-malarial drugs. ebrima is quiet because he is really just the transporter here, not really involved in the intimacies of the issue. and jainaba's husband has not yet arrived in a taxi that was following ours. so i question the nurse about the anti-malarials. firstly to understand when she is meant to take them, but also to understand WHY she has been given these. i tried to play it off as my not entirely understanding because of the language barrier, but in actual fact, her english was perfect. then the nurse tells me the other prescriptions they do not have but we have to get at a pharmacy (yes, on a saturday night at 9pm in africa. right.) and that one of them is paracetamol. fine - but if this is appendicitis, i don't think 500mg of paracetamol is going to do the trick. anyway, i question her again to be sure i understand that she understands. when her husband arrives, he also questions the nurse because these are the same anti-malarial drugs jainaba was given when she came in earlier that week. the nurse finally raises her voice asking me how many times she has to repeat herself and then rushes off to prayer at the mosque next door, she is late. i assume, feeling somewhat guilty about her brusque treatment, she returns from prayer and asks us what more we need her to tell us, we are still sitting there. she doesn't look at me (i've upset her) - but instead speaks to ousmann. ebrima says the questions probably made her feel bad. but at this point, i'm not so bothered about that as long as we get the attention and answers for my friend who is doubled in pain and now vomitting. no one else seems willing to speak up and she and ousmann carry on an entirely unrelated conversation that goes something like this:
she: what more can i tell you.
he: oh, no problem. no problem.
she: no, you are not satisfied.
he: no, no, you are right.
he: do you know dr yahyah?
she: yes, yes he works here
he: yes, he is my best friend.
she: ah, right.
he: we are like sister and brother then?
she: no problem. no problem.
he: no problem.
she: you are welcome anytime, anytime.
clearly an african form of apology allowing her to safe face from our interrogation. and i'd like to feel apologetic - and perhaps from a cultural standpoint, i do - but it is incredibly difficult to sit back and watch this game of medicine unfold. especially when, as it turns out, had we given jainaba the anti-malarials she was given last time, we may have risked overdosing her. still, it is not the nurses fault - there are no records of previous visits, no database of patients, no charts. we should have brought the scratch paper the previous nurse had scribbled on so that she could have seen the previous diagnosis.
but that whole experience had me frustrated beyond belief and feeling quite possibly as helpless as i ever have done. how to even BEGIN to tackle healthcare systems in africa? i feel happy about what i am doing here with the nursery but it was all put into perspective on saturday night. there are FAR bigger issues here than i can ever hope to tackle - but who will? who is? i have no idea.
it certainly made me grateful for the healthcare systems of the west. however flawed and however much we complain with or without reason, they are nothing like this. i pray that is the last time i have to see the inside of an african medical clinic. and i hope my friend jainaba is OK, though i am suspicious of the nurses diagnosis. the meds seem to work for a day or so, and then she's groaning again. anyhow, she woke feeling fine on sunday, i guess we shall see.
and now i must work ... i believe a post from jason is coming shortly!
enjoy the pictures!
Monday, March 24, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
alive and well and TOTALLY relaxed
back to the old haunt in fajara having dropped jason off at the airport after a wonderfully relaxing week together. it's strange to know he's still sitting in the banjul airport as i type this, so close, yet so far.
first of all - AGAIN, thank you for your generosity - money continues to pour into my account making this nursery a reality and i am fired up to get back to the village and let them know it's 'game ON' !! seriously, we are well on the way to everything we want and need and hopefully even more in the pot for potential projects (like, oh, funding a pump so that the school can water their own garden project and have food for lunch!) so THANK YOU to everyone who has made a donation - it will go a LONG way here! and to those who would still like to give, please do, follow the blog post below for how you can help!
and - (no pressure jason) - but jason said he'd get some pictures up here on sunday when he returns - so watch this space for pictures of my compound, the village, the nursery project, the school, and other snaps of african life. he may also write a guest column on his experience this last week - so look out for that too.
it was a lovely week. now that he's gone, it feels like it flew by - but actually, we both commented on how the time was going by relatively slowly. though everything goes by relatively slowly in the gambia. i picked him up from the airport and we drove to the hotel bungalows i'd booked for two nights on the beach in fajara. on sunday we got a taxi into the village where everyone was excited to see him and meet him, shouting 'joysun joysun' at him most of the day in their high pitched voices. it was (i thought) a perfect day, because not much was going on - so it was a chance for him to see a typical day in the life. in fact, it was sunday and we were meant to work on the nursery - but a grandmother in the village had died that morning and they were burying her at 5pm (muslims don't wait, they get them in the ground straightaway), and there was another funeral ceremony for someone who had died 40 days earlier (i think the mourning lasts for 40 days - but not sure of the background on that one) - so in fact, ebrima told me, it was a sad day in the village so no one could work on the nursery. but this afforded us much more time under the mango tree. jainaba went all out with an amazing chicken lunch for jason and me (they ate fish, as usual) and we had attaya and another sweet milk drink (lei), he got to meet all the kids and (i think) also fell in love with little fatou sarr. no adoption plans underway (yet) - though we talked about sponsorship a lot.
monday i took him to school for a quick lesson (spelling test and a few songs)so he could see my class before we had to catch the gellah gellah to brikama. he could hardly fit into the seat of the gellah gellah with his long legs so thereafter, we decided taxis were worth the extra cost for legroom! but at least he got the experience. we then went to the tailor to pick up a few dresses and skirts i'd had made, and talked ourselves into getting him an african outfit made as well. (though have both since decided he should probably not wear it on the streets of milwaukee, nice pj's though!)
and from brikama, went to sandale eco-resort where we instantly decided that we'd stay four nights instead of the three we'd booked. i'll let jason describe that in more detail, but suffice it to say, it was absolutely amazing - probably one of the coolest places i've ever stayed - and we were the ONLY guests. literally. so we had at least 5 full time staff looking after us, breakfast, lunch and dinner. our own private chef every night. the beach was steps away down a seashell lined pathway and we had our own private dipping pool. it's not officially open yet ... so they are viewing this season as a training - but we were happy to let them practice on us!
lots of food for thought for us this week. and it was fun to watch jason's mind whirring about everything one could do to solve issues and alleviate extremities (a combination of a good heart, a generous spirit and a top-notch MBA, methinks) - and then to see him understand, through talking to the africans we met on the journey, some of the small complexities i've been facing here and how things aren't always so simple. or more to the point, logical. we had some great conversations about the state of the world, and what we could do and should do, as americans, as humans and now as friends.
i read a lovely quote in a book my mother sent (thank mom!) about a migrant worker's experience in california that really stuck with me about my time here in africa. it said something (paraphrasing badly as i sent the book home with jason when i finished it) along the lines of 'do not confuse simplicity with poverty, nor convenience with wealth.' of course money is desperately needed here, and we cannot igore the plight of the developing world simply because we do not share the same doorstep, but there are some ways in which these africans are far richer than we in the west. we saw that in the beauty of the untamed beaches, the smiles of the villagers, the eagerness at which they truly want to know us, our beautiful names and where we come from.
we also had some nice red wine, a few julbrews and some amazing candlelit dinners. all in all - i think it was as much of africa as was possible to taste in seven short days.
and now i return to my african reality. one final night here in town catching up with my friend sandra and her 79-year old british sugar daddy (not really, but she does have a older friend and we do let him buy us a drink now and again). and tomorrow will be back to makumbaya in a gellah gellah (no more taxis) where i will resume work in full force on the nursery project.
again, thanks to those following me on this journey and supporting me in your thoughts, well wishes and contributions!
first of all - AGAIN, thank you for your generosity - money continues to pour into my account making this nursery a reality and i am fired up to get back to the village and let them know it's 'game ON' !! seriously, we are well on the way to everything we want and need and hopefully even more in the pot for potential projects (like, oh, funding a pump so that the school can water their own garden project and have food for lunch!) so THANK YOU to everyone who has made a donation - it will go a LONG way here! and to those who would still like to give, please do, follow the blog post below for how you can help!
and - (no pressure jason) - but jason said he'd get some pictures up here on sunday when he returns - so watch this space for pictures of my compound, the village, the nursery project, the school, and other snaps of african life. he may also write a guest column on his experience this last week - so look out for that too.
it was a lovely week. now that he's gone, it feels like it flew by - but actually, we both commented on how the time was going by relatively slowly. though everything goes by relatively slowly in the gambia. i picked him up from the airport and we drove to the hotel bungalows i'd booked for two nights on the beach in fajara. on sunday we got a taxi into the village where everyone was excited to see him and meet him, shouting 'joysun joysun' at him most of the day in their high pitched voices. it was (i thought) a perfect day, because not much was going on - so it was a chance for him to see a typical day in the life. in fact, it was sunday and we were meant to work on the nursery - but a grandmother in the village had died that morning and they were burying her at 5pm (muslims don't wait, they get them in the ground straightaway), and there was another funeral ceremony for someone who had died 40 days earlier (i think the mourning lasts for 40 days - but not sure of the background on that one) - so in fact, ebrima told me, it was a sad day in the village so no one could work on the nursery. but this afforded us much more time under the mango tree. jainaba went all out with an amazing chicken lunch for jason and me (they ate fish, as usual) and we had attaya and another sweet milk drink (lei), he got to meet all the kids and (i think) also fell in love with little fatou sarr. no adoption plans underway (yet) - though we talked about sponsorship a lot.
monday i took him to school for a quick lesson (spelling test and a few songs)so he could see my class before we had to catch the gellah gellah to brikama. he could hardly fit into the seat of the gellah gellah with his long legs so thereafter, we decided taxis were worth the extra cost for legroom! but at least he got the experience. we then went to the tailor to pick up a few dresses and skirts i'd had made, and talked ourselves into getting him an african outfit made as well. (though have both since decided he should probably not wear it on the streets of milwaukee, nice pj's though!)
and from brikama, went to sandale eco-resort where we instantly decided that we'd stay four nights instead of the three we'd booked. i'll let jason describe that in more detail, but suffice it to say, it was absolutely amazing - probably one of the coolest places i've ever stayed - and we were the ONLY guests. literally. so we had at least 5 full time staff looking after us, breakfast, lunch and dinner. our own private chef every night. the beach was steps away down a seashell lined pathway and we had our own private dipping pool. it's not officially open yet ... so they are viewing this season as a training - but we were happy to let them practice on us!
lots of food for thought for us this week. and it was fun to watch jason's mind whirring about everything one could do to solve issues and alleviate extremities (a combination of a good heart, a generous spirit and a top-notch MBA, methinks) - and then to see him understand, through talking to the africans we met on the journey, some of the small complexities i've been facing here and how things aren't always so simple. or more to the point, logical. we had some great conversations about the state of the world, and what we could do and should do, as americans, as humans and now as friends.
i read a lovely quote in a book my mother sent (thank mom!) about a migrant worker's experience in california that really stuck with me about my time here in africa. it said something (paraphrasing badly as i sent the book home with jason when i finished it) along the lines of 'do not confuse simplicity with poverty, nor convenience with wealth.' of course money is desperately needed here, and we cannot igore the plight of the developing world simply because we do not share the same doorstep, but there are some ways in which these africans are far richer than we in the west. we saw that in the beauty of the untamed beaches, the smiles of the villagers, the eagerness at which they truly want to know us, our beautiful names and where we come from.
we also had some nice red wine, a few julbrews and some amazing candlelit dinners. all in all - i think it was as much of africa as was possible to taste in seven short days.
and now i return to my african reality. one final night here in town catching up with my friend sandra and her 79-year old british sugar daddy (not really, but she does have a older friend and we do let him buy us a drink now and again). and tomorrow will be back to makumbaya in a gellah gellah (no more taxis) where i will resume work in full force on the nursery project.
again, thanks to those following me on this journey and supporting me in your thoughts, well wishes and contributions!
Saturday, March 15, 2008
WOW - a thousand thanks!
i am blown away by the generosity and outpouring of support i've received from my call to dig deep! thank you thank you thank you to all who have donated to the cause (and all who have told me they are going to, or they are trying to!) i am well on my way to my goal and with your continued generosity, i'll be able to take care of everything i NEED and everything i WANT - likely with some sponsorship money too! thank you to those of you who have forwarded my blog/request to others who may not even know me but who are giving! (i don't recognize all the names of the donors, how exciting is that?)
all is well this week in the gambia. i've not posted much about this, but jason arrived yesterday (safe and sound, if a bit jetlagged, those charting his whereabouts). i could have written a paragraph or two in each post up until today about how excited i am ... but i thought i'd better not for fear of sounding like a broken record (i can't wait. i can't wait. i can't wait. i can't wait. i can't wait. i can't wait .... you get the point).
so we're both in the internet cafe, but i don't want to take up too much of the little time we have starting into the window of this ancient block of a computer). i booked us into the hotel/bungalow on the beach and we had a lovely stroll along the atlantic last night watching the beautiful muted pink sunset, and dinner on the terrace of the 'paradise beach bar'. tomorrow i'll take him to the village where he'll get to see the nursery and meet the elders, as well as the family i live with and experience a night with the roosters, donkeys, crickets and me. then monday morning, we'll head into the school so he can see where i'm teaching and meet the toothless deputy head, then onto brikama (in a gellah gellah!) for a wander through the market, an omelet and nescafe and my local 'cafe' and a taste of 'big city' living. and then we are splurging at another bungalow-type place in the south of the gambia, near the border of senegal (in kartong) where we'll have three days and nights on an empty, idyllic beach!
so ... as you might expect, i'll likely be rather quiet until next weekend after i've seen him off and my last six weeks here begins. apologies to those of you who have emailed me who i've not responded to - i promise a long session in an internet cafe next weekend. it's hard to believe i've reached my half way point here. at first it seemed like this would never get here, and now it seems that the end is just around the corner - and i've SO much more to do. especially now that i know it's all going to be possible, thanks to your generosity!
for fear of losing the momentum, i'll just repeat how you can donate here, so it remains on the 'top' blog - but more details are below in the 'dig deep' post.
i have set up a paypal account called 'help meagan build a nursery' and it's VERY easy and safe to donate. simply click HERE or go to http://www.paypal.com, click 'send money' and type in the following details in the box on the right.
to: helpmeaganbuildanursery@gmail.com
(that's 'help meagan build a nursery' (all one word) @gmail.com
from: your email
amount: as much as you can!
for: tick service/other
it will take you to the next page where you can either sign in (if you have a paypal account already) or fill in your credit card details for donation.
this money will be deposited into my paypal account where i've instructed paypal to send the money to my account so that i can use it immediately.
A MILLION THANKS FROM THE GAMBIA!
all is well this week in the gambia. i've not posted much about this, but jason arrived yesterday (safe and sound, if a bit jetlagged, those charting his whereabouts). i could have written a paragraph or two in each post up until today about how excited i am ... but i thought i'd better not for fear of sounding like a broken record (i can't wait. i can't wait. i can't wait. i can't wait. i can't wait. i can't wait .... you get the point).
so we're both in the internet cafe, but i don't want to take up too much of the little time we have starting into the window of this ancient block of a computer). i booked us into the hotel/bungalow on the beach and we had a lovely stroll along the atlantic last night watching the beautiful muted pink sunset, and dinner on the terrace of the 'paradise beach bar'. tomorrow i'll take him to the village where he'll get to see the nursery and meet the elders, as well as the family i live with and experience a night with the roosters, donkeys, crickets and me. then monday morning, we'll head into the school so he can see where i'm teaching and meet the toothless deputy head, then onto brikama (in a gellah gellah!) for a wander through the market, an omelet and nescafe and my local 'cafe' and a taste of 'big city' living. and then we are splurging at another bungalow-type place in the south of the gambia, near the border of senegal (in kartong) where we'll have three days and nights on an empty, idyllic beach!
so ... as you might expect, i'll likely be rather quiet until next weekend after i've seen him off and my last six weeks here begins. apologies to those of you who have emailed me who i've not responded to - i promise a long session in an internet cafe next weekend. it's hard to believe i've reached my half way point here. at first it seemed like this would never get here, and now it seems that the end is just around the corner - and i've SO much more to do. especially now that i know it's all going to be possible, thanks to your generosity!
for fear of losing the momentum, i'll just repeat how you can donate here, so it remains on the 'top' blog - but more details are below in the 'dig deep' post.
i have set up a paypal account called 'help meagan build a nursery' and it's VERY easy and safe to donate. simply click HERE or go to http://www.paypal.com, click 'send money' and type in the following details in the box on the right.
to: helpmeaganbuildanursery@gmail.com
(that's 'help meagan build a nursery' (all one word) @gmail.com
from: your email
amount: as much as you can!
for: tick service/other
it will take you to the next page where you can either sign in (if you have a paypal account already) or fill in your credit card details for donation.
this money will be deposited into my paypal account where i've instructed paypal to send the money to my account so that i can use it immediately.
A MILLION THANKS FROM THE GAMBIA!
Monday, March 10, 2008
dig deep - a call for help!
here is the blog where i ask you, dear readers, to dig deep and help me build this nursery! i'm going to be very very ambitious here - because i'd like to really kit this nursery out so they are ready to start and have what they need to run a fully functioning nursery. there's a difference, however, in what i would LIKE to do, and what we absolutely NEED to do. and what we need to do is a lot more than i thought it was going to be.
to give you an idea, we still NEED:
12 wooden windows and 4 wooden doors at approximately $22 each (approx $350)
more cement for the walls and floors at approximately $140
bits of the roof replaced so it won't fall in at approximately $150
toilet covered and cemented at approxmiately $50
to give you an idea of what i would LIKE:
an artist to paint the alphabet and numbers, a mural and a school sign - approx $200
60 child-sized stools for sitting at approx. $3/stool
4 child-sized tables for each classroom (2 classrooms) at approx. $15/table
enough material for 60 uniforms at $1.50 per uniform
funds to cover a 3-day teacher training (which is food/transport for hopefully 20 teachers) - approx $150-200
like i said, i'm going to be ambitious here and hope i can raise this money. a little gesture goes a long way here in africa. and for around $1500 - i think i can leave them in excellent shape to begin. i would be most grateful if you might help me make this happen.
i have set up a paypal account called 'help meagan build a nursery' and it's VERY easy and safe to donate. simply click HERE or go to http://www.paypal.com, click 'send money' and type in the following details in the box on the right.
to: helpmeaganbuildanursery@gmail.com
(that's 'help meagan build a nursery' (all one word) @gmail.com
from: your email
amount: as much as you can!
for: tick service/other
it will take you to the next page where you can either sign in (if you have a paypal account already) or fill in your credit card details for donation.
this money will be deposited into my paypal account where i've instructed paypal to send the money to my account so that i can use it immediately.
(i say 'i' but actually - jason set this up for me, so a big thank you to jason for helping me with this!)
i wish i could add a few pictures here to show you how far we've come in just three weeks of really working on this project, but also how far we still have to go! when i tell them what i am intending to do and how much i am trying to raise, the villagers are just amazed at the fact that there are people around the world who want to help make this nursery a reality for them. they just can't believe it.
i would be grateful if you'd pass this around to anyone you think might donate a dollar or two. i will keep everything transparent on this blog and let you know how i am coming along. any extra money (though there are always things to spend this on at the nursery, that was really only the beginning of my wish list above) will go to the organization that helps sponsor these kids to make sure families can afford to send their kids to school once it's built. i won't keep a cent of it!
and finally, those of you who know me well know i don't have any problems asking for things like this (i am my mother's daughter) so if i could insert a final clause into this plea that says 'if you're going to donate, it would be great if you could do it NOW' ... so that i am able to see how much money i have to work with as soon as possible. i am only here for 6 more weeks and i can only work as fast as i can provide the supplies!
thank you in advance for ANYTHING you can do - large or small - every bit helps!
to give you an idea, we still NEED:
12 wooden windows and 4 wooden doors at approximately $22 each (approx $350)
more cement for the walls and floors at approximately $140
bits of the roof replaced so it won't fall in at approximately $150
toilet covered and cemented at approxmiately $50
to give you an idea of what i would LIKE:
an artist to paint the alphabet and numbers, a mural and a school sign - approx $200
60 child-sized stools for sitting at approx. $3/stool
4 child-sized tables for each classroom (2 classrooms) at approx. $15/table
enough material for 60 uniforms at $1.50 per uniform
funds to cover a 3-day teacher training (which is food/transport for hopefully 20 teachers) - approx $150-200
like i said, i'm going to be ambitious here and hope i can raise this money. a little gesture goes a long way here in africa. and for around $1500 - i think i can leave them in excellent shape to begin. i would be most grateful if you might help me make this happen.
i have set up a paypal account called 'help meagan build a nursery' and it's VERY easy and safe to donate. simply click HERE or go to http://www.paypal.com, click 'send money' and type in the following details in the box on the right.
to: helpmeaganbuildanursery@gmail.com
(that's 'help meagan build a nursery' (all one word) @gmail.com
from: your email
amount: as much as you can!
for: tick service/other
it will take you to the next page where you can either sign in (if you have a paypal account already) or fill in your credit card details for donation.
this money will be deposited into my paypal account where i've instructed paypal to send the money to my account so that i can use it immediately.
(i say 'i' but actually - jason set this up for me, so a big thank you to jason for helping me with this!)
i wish i could add a few pictures here to show you how far we've come in just three weeks of really working on this project, but also how far we still have to go! when i tell them what i am intending to do and how much i am trying to raise, the villagers are just amazed at the fact that there are people around the world who want to help make this nursery a reality for them. they just can't believe it.
i would be grateful if you'd pass this around to anyone you think might donate a dollar or two. i will keep everything transparent on this blog and let you know how i am coming along. any extra money (though there are always things to spend this on at the nursery, that was really only the beginning of my wish list above) will go to the organization that helps sponsor these kids to make sure families can afford to send their kids to school once it's built. i won't keep a cent of it!
and finally, those of you who know me well know i don't have any problems asking for things like this (i am my mother's daughter) so if i could insert a final clause into this plea that says 'if you're going to donate, it would be great if you could do it NOW' ... so that i am able to see how much money i have to work with as soon as possible. i am only here for 6 more weeks and i can only work as fast as i can provide the supplies!
thank you in advance for ANYTHING you can do - large or small - every bit helps!
hugs, hands and sweet tea
back again a week later for a night in fajara - sans running shoes this week. didn't end up running the hash as it was taking place in a nearby town, and not, as i thought, in fajara itself. i think the club probably caters to expats who have cars and can get around the neighboring beach towns quite easily. unlike sandra and myself, who rely on taxis and legs. instead, we ended up at the only indian restaurant here, treating ourselves to a delicious, if expensive, meal. expensive, relatively speaking, of course. which is to say, about the same price i'd pay in the UK for an indian meal. i had sag paneer to die for.
i want to describe a bit more about some of the personal and communal habits to give more of a flavor of village life, but i am slightly worried it may read as a diatribe of moral superiority on my part which is exactly what i do not intend to write. i am growing to love these people immensely, especially fatou sarr (my gambian namesake) and the last thing i would ever do is critize my african family. still, i think it may not be a true account of life on a compound without describing some of the daily routines we share. so please reserve judgement when reading this if anything strikes you as less than what you've come to call 'proper.' for as i am reminded each day here, everything (and everyone!) is relative!
* i don't have favorites among the six children here, but i've found myself considering a proposal for adoption of fatou sarr. (haven't yet mentioned this to jason, note to self.) the smile she greets me with each morning lights up my day and has me returning an ear to ear grin. her giggle is infectious and if i could fit her in my suitcase, i'd take her back to replace any alarm clock that might otherwise jolt me out of bed. just this week, she and assan were play wrestling and she took a nosedive into the dirt floor of the compound, scraping a bit of skin off on her forehead on the way down. after the predictable delay of realization at what she'd done, she let out a shriek and came steaming towards me, leaping into my arms and hugging me tightly, sobbing loudly. even after she calmed down and her breath returned to normal, she clung to me with her face nuzzled in my chest. i don't know if she ran to me because i was the nearest adult who would give her sympathy, but it was lovely all the same.
fatou is the little one i've been training to wipe her near-constantly running nose. she's learning because she rarely comes to me without a clean nose now. but i've since realized that she simply lifts her dress to wipe her face, or blows it out like a farmer, or wipes it with her fingers and then on her dress. so when she runs screaming towards me - in pain or in play - i have to make a choice. do i let her jump into my arms or do i gently push her away? she's such a good little hugger, it's an easy choice! you'll see how irresistable she is when i get some pictures up here.
* about 5 or 6 times a day, they brew attaya, the sweet green tea. ebrima says he would drink it all day long if he could. i tell him he would never sleep for the cups of sugar that go into each pot. he just shakes his head and grins (never an outright smile because he is missing his two front teeth, not surprisingly with his attaya habit!) each family has their two attaya glasses: small, clear, octagonal shotglasses. and these two glasses are used all day, every day. they are rinsed at the start of the brew and then passed from person to person (men first, then women, then children) at least 7-8 times in one sitting - or as many pots of the green tea as can be had while there is still flavor escaping the leaves. it's more than a mouthful of sugary tea, it's a mouthful of community and ritual and history. it's what you do, it's custom. and it's delicious! i hardly ever refuse, unless it's after 3 o'clock when i know i won't sleep. i don't think about who had the glass before me, or whether they've had the sniffles that week. i have to let that one go, at least 3 times a day!
* a chicken shat on my birkenstocks yesterday. what can i do - as i said earlier, i live on a farm. it's not uncommon to see dogs squatting in the middle of the compound, donkeys and cows sauntering through relieving themselves as they wander, or goats dropping little pellets that pile high. these either get swept up or mashed into the find sandy silt that is the compound floor. the kids run barefoot, wrestle each other and roll around under the hot sun as they play. kumba loves to play with my hair at the end of the day when i've showered; the only time my hair is down. i'm a sucker for fingers in my hair and find it hard to resist, despite knowing where her hands have been. i close my eyes and imagine myself in a salon, her greasy hands the conditioning agent my hair so desperately needs.
This week has been an interesting one for food. i've just come from a local restaurant in town where i was starved for some real food (yesterday's breakfast was stale bread, lunch was salty rice, and dinner was sweet rice pudding - NOT the best food day). my conversation went like this:
me: can i have the chicken sandwich please
her: no. they are just steaming the chicken now, it's not ready
me: ok. how about a chwarma.
her: let me check.
her: (after about 15 minutes) no, no chwarma either. take the fish and chips.
me: hmmm, what else do you have?
her: nothing. you take the fish and chips.
me: ok. i'll have the fish and chips then.
so i'm full of fish and chips, which were soggy and very salty - but at least i'm full. so i'm not complaining.
on saturday i was in brikama so treated myself to some meat from an afra at a market stall. it's a delicious aluminum foil package of steak, cooked well done (sadly) with mustard and some other seasonings that are very tasty. i was sitting and eating it when a man came up to me, started making the usual conversation (what is your beautiful name, where are you from? etc) and then he reached into my packet and helped himself to some meat. 'but i'm poor, and i'm hungry.' i must admit i was taken aback, but i brushed it off and finished it.
then when i was in the gellah gellah on the way back, waiting in the taxi garage the hot sun for the van to fill, the boy in front of me bought a piece of coconut, split it in two and gave me half. i didn't ask him for this, he just offered. and it reminded me again of the gambia's notion of 'today is for you, tomorrow is for me' and made me reconsider the slight annoyance i had with the man who'd reached into my meat. and have since decided that the white foodstuffs of sunday was my punishment.
it's been a relatively uneventful week ... the sixth grade teachers are out studying for their exams, so i spent the week teaching two classes, running back and forth between the two. they are so far behind and do so poorly at in class exercises, it's really hard to know where to begin or who to focus on. there are clearly 5-6 bright kids in the class who 'get it' - but the others are years behind. i am not joking when i say that i gave a spelling quiz with words like president, orange, speak, airport and got answers back like rkns, pvkj, ogim, irdpu. where do you start?
i spent one day with each class talking about what they wanted to be when they grow up. they had fun doing that and i had all sorts of answers, from doctors, nurses, teachers, to runners, footballers, pilots and even the president. i followed that 'fun' up with questions like 'do you think you need to know how to read if you want to be a doctor?' and 'do you think the president went to upper basic school and passed?' to try to get them to draw a correlation between schooling and their futures. i'm not sure they really understood, but hopefully at least a few of them grasped what i was trying to do.
and today is commonwealth day - so instead of school - the kids get to dress in their traditional african dress and bring food to school for the festivities. isatou spent most of yesterday sewing hard candies (in colorful gold and green wrappers)and shells into the girls' braids, and all the girls in the school did this. in the morning, they split into groups and walked around the different catchment areas, singing songs, and stopping at each compound to ask for money. a bit like trick'o'treating, only asking for money instead of treats, since the treats are in their hair. i took the little kids since they were walking through the closest village and we collected 59 dalasi(that's about 3 dollars) for an hour's walk. hard to imagine that is all the villagers could cough up - but it was. not entirely sure what the funds will go towards, something towards a lunch on friday, i think the headmaster said.
and now i must begin what i set out to do today, which is to begin the fundraising efforts! so thank you, in advance, for anything you might be able to help with! (more under separate cover!)
i want to describe a bit more about some of the personal and communal habits to give more of a flavor of village life, but i am slightly worried it may read as a diatribe of moral superiority on my part which is exactly what i do not intend to write. i am growing to love these people immensely, especially fatou sarr (my gambian namesake) and the last thing i would ever do is critize my african family. still, i think it may not be a true account of life on a compound without describing some of the daily routines we share. so please reserve judgement when reading this if anything strikes you as less than what you've come to call 'proper.' for as i am reminded each day here, everything (and everyone!) is relative!
* i don't have favorites among the six children here, but i've found myself considering a proposal for adoption of fatou sarr. (haven't yet mentioned this to jason, note to self.) the smile she greets me with each morning lights up my day and has me returning an ear to ear grin. her giggle is infectious and if i could fit her in my suitcase, i'd take her back to replace any alarm clock that might otherwise jolt me out of bed. just this week, she and assan were play wrestling and she took a nosedive into the dirt floor of the compound, scraping a bit of skin off on her forehead on the way down. after the predictable delay of realization at what she'd done, she let out a shriek and came steaming towards me, leaping into my arms and hugging me tightly, sobbing loudly. even after she calmed down and her breath returned to normal, she clung to me with her face nuzzled in my chest. i don't know if she ran to me because i was the nearest adult who would give her sympathy, but it was lovely all the same.
fatou is the little one i've been training to wipe her near-constantly running nose. she's learning because she rarely comes to me without a clean nose now. but i've since realized that she simply lifts her dress to wipe her face, or blows it out like a farmer, or wipes it with her fingers and then on her dress. so when she runs screaming towards me - in pain or in play - i have to make a choice. do i let her jump into my arms or do i gently push her away? she's such a good little hugger, it's an easy choice! you'll see how irresistable she is when i get some pictures up here.
* about 5 or 6 times a day, they brew attaya, the sweet green tea. ebrima says he would drink it all day long if he could. i tell him he would never sleep for the cups of sugar that go into each pot. he just shakes his head and grins (never an outright smile because he is missing his two front teeth, not surprisingly with his attaya habit!) each family has their two attaya glasses: small, clear, octagonal shotglasses. and these two glasses are used all day, every day. they are rinsed at the start of the brew and then passed from person to person (men first, then women, then children) at least 7-8 times in one sitting - or as many pots of the green tea as can be had while there is still flavor escaping the leaves. it's more than a mouthful of sugary tea, it's a mouthful of community and ritual and history. it's what you do, it's custom. and it's delicious! i hardly ever refuse, unless it's after 3 o'clock when i know i won't sleep. i don't think about who had the glass before me, or whether they've had the sniffles that week. i have to let that one go, at least 3 times a day!
* a chicken shat on my birkenstocks yesterday. what can i do - as i said earlier, i live on a farm. it's not uncommon to see dogs squatting in the middle of the compound, donkeys and cows sauntering through relieving themselves as they wander, or goats dropping little pellets that pile high. these either get swept up or mashed into the find sandy silt that is the compound floor. the kids run barefoot, wrestle each other and roll around under the hot sun as they play. kumba loves to play with my hair at the end of the day when i've showered; the only time my hair is down. i'm a sucker for fingers in my hair and find it hard to resist, despite knowing where her hands have been. i close my eyes and imagine myself in a salon, her greasy hands the conditioning agent my hair so desperately needs.
This week has been an interesting one for food. i've just come from a local restaurant in town where i was starved for some real food (yesterday's breakfast was stale bread, lunch was salty rice, and dinner was sweet rice pudding - NOT the best food day). my conversation went like this:
me: can i have the chicken sandwich please
her: no. they are just steaming the chicken now, it's not ready
me: ok. how about a chwarma.
her: let me check.
her: (after about 15 minutes) no, no chwarma either. take the fish and chips.
me: hmmm, what else do you have?
her: nothing. you take the fish and chips.
me: ok. i'll have the fish and chips then.
so i'm full of fish and chips, which were soggy and very salty - but at least i'm full. so i'm not complaining.
on saturday i was in brikama so treated myself to some meat from an afra at a market stall. it's a delicious aluminum foil package of steak, cooked well done (sadly) with mustard and some other seasonings that are very tasty. i was sitting and eating it when a man came up to me, started making the usual conversation (what is your beautiful name, where are you from? etc) and then he reached into my packet and helped himself to some meat. 'but i'm poor, and i'm hungry.' i must admit i was taken aback, but i brushed it off and finished it.
then when i was in the gellah gellah on the way back, waiting in the taxi garage the hot sun for the van to fill, the boy in front of me bought a piece of coconut, split it in two and gave me half. i didn't ask him for this, he just offered. and it reminded me again of the gambia's notion of 'today is for you, tomorrow is for me' and made me reconsider the slight annoyance i had with the man who'd reached into my meat. and have since decided that the white foodstuffs of sunday was my punishment.
it's been a relatively uneventful week ... the sixth grade teachers are out studying for their exams, so i spent the week teaching two classes, running back and forth between the two. they are so far behind and do so poorly at in class exercises, it's really hard to know where to begin or who to focus on. there are clearly 5-6 bright kids in the class who 'get it' - but the others are years behind. i am not joking when i say that i gave a spelling quiz with words like president, orange, speak, airport and got answers back like rkns, pvkj, ogim, irdpu. where do you start?
i spent one day with each class talking about what they wanted to be when they grow up. they had fun doing that and i had all sorts of answers, from doctors, nurses, teachers, to runners, footballers, pilots and even the president. i followed that 'fun' up with questions like 'do you think you need to know how to read if you want to be a doctor?' and 'do you think the president went to upper basic school and passed?' to try to get them to draw a correlation between schooling and their futures. i'm not sure they really understood, but hopefully at least a few of them grasped what i was trying to do.
and today is commonwealth day - so instead of school - the kids get to dress in their traditional african dress and bring food to school for the festivities. isatou spent most of yesterday sewing hard candies (in colorful gold and green wrappers)and shells into the girls' braids, and all the girls in the school did this. in the morning, they split into groups and walked around the different catchment areas, singing songs, and stopping at each compound to ask for money. a bit like trick'o'treating, only asking for money instead of treats, since the treats are in their hair. i took the little kids since they were walking through the closest village and we collected 59 dalasi(that's about 3 dollars) for an hour's walk. hard to imagine that is all the villagers could cough up - but it was. not entirely sure what the funds will go towards, something towards a lunch on friday, i think the headmaster said.
and now i must begin what i set out to do today, which is to begin the fundraising efforts! so thank you, in advance, for anything you might be able to help with! (more under separate cover!)
Monday, March 3, 2008
working on gambian time
sitting in an internet cafe on monday ... enjoying the air conditioning and window back to the 21st century that i've been staring into for the last three hours. i am sometimes embarrassed at my dependence on technology to keep me sane, but i can't help it. i'm a glutton for the world wide web.
on a project update: the nursery is coming along nicely, though the funds i've secured won't even cover the half of it, if it is to be done properly. and there's nothing i hate more than a half-assed job. so very shortly, my friends, i will ask you to dig deep into your pockets to donate money to a very worthy cause! i'm just calculating what i'm going to need to finish this project, both inside and out, and will post up here how you can help me. i'm currently setting up a paypal account for donations. i feel a bit like sally struthers, but just think, you get this blog instead of shoulder pads, a bad perm and a 20 minute infomercial, and isn't that nicer!? i'm thinking big here because i trust that you will too when the time comes! no holds barred for these kids!
we broke ground yesterday and 40-50 villagers turned out and in true gambian style, began the work! and when i say 'we' - i really mean them. and when i say 'them' - i mean about four of them at any one time (there were only four shovels) with the other 35-40 standing around for support and waiting patiently in the hot sun for their turn to dig. we dug the toilets out, 2 6-foot holes in the ground to be covered with cement next week (don't ask what happens when they're full, i have no idea, but will try to find out), and also prepped the floor of the classrooms which entailed soaking the crumbled dirt and then whacking the crap out of it to make it flat. i've got pictures to show eventually. next week the cementing will begin and the following week we'll do the painting. i hope that by the end of march, the external building work will be finished.
throughout the day, young boys were continuously making and delivering attaya (the very very sweet tea they ceremoniously drink) and i bought a bunch of packets of jolly juice (like cool-aid) and made buckets of sweet orange drink for them. i was amazed that so many people turned out, but in fact, at a meeting we had with the village elders after the work was finished for the day, they expressed disappointment that MORE people hadn't turned up to show their support and lend a hand. (true meaning of the 'it takes a village' proverb!)
it was really interesting to be invited to sit in on the meeting. it began with what i can only think was a prayer, perhaps asking allah to be present in the meeting, i've no idea, it was just a mumble in arabic. and then the villagers spoke out in turn, in mandika, so i only got the quietly translated version every so often. they spent - honestly - the first 45 minutes of the meeting repeating each other saying how grateful they were to me, and to mondo challenge for supporting them, how honored they were to have me there to help them with this, how important it was to listen to what i had to say and to let me guide their efforts, how important this was for the future of their children, how the entire community needed to get involved and show their seriousness, and as mentioned, how disappointed they were at the low (!!) turnout, and how next week would be better. i nodded my head graciously, but after about a half an hour of this, i wanted to interupt and move things on to talk of ACTION because clearly they were preaching to the choir and time is (somewhat) of the essence here. but of course, that's not how things work in the gambia. so each man had his turn to express how serious they all should be taking this, and FINALLY i was able to say a few words and get a game plan together for the next few weeks.
when they realized that i was only here for 2 more months, they voted to bring in some professional masoners outside of sundays so that more of the prep work could get done ahead of time so that there was more they could do when the sunday's did come around. this costs money, but very likely money well spent, lest this project drag on and risk incompletion. so hopefully by next sunday, the cementing may actually be finished so we can give everyone a paintbrush. (oh wait, we didn't budget brushes, hopefully there's a few in the village!)
so i'm feeling very positive about the nursery. i've told them i'm devoting april to the teacher training. so if anyone has any idea what the heck nursery school is about, what a typical day looks like, what the point of it is, how i should structure this training .... i'd be most grateful! i seem to continue to land myself managing projects i know very little about. emailing me would be best!
on another note ... being the animal lover that i am NOT, i feel the need to have a small rant about the fact that i am essentially living on an effing FARM, excuse the french intention. can i just say that i am SO over the whole roosters-as-my-alarm clock thing and i really really hate, no loathe, crickets. death to them all, i say, forget about the karma. about the only thing i do like are the lizards because i think they are eating the crickets that creak from my rafters. were it not for them, and the nest of what i believe to be owls for all their who-who'ing, i would spray my room so thick with insect repellent i'd probably inadvertently kill myself too. and the donkeys - oh the donkeys - seem to go wild in the night with their procreational frolicking - though it sounds neither pleasurable nor fun and i pity the poor female who seems to be screaming in pain. (i imagine her 'hee-haw' to be saying - 'get off me you big jerk') and the prepubescient goats have been out far past their bedtime of late, encouraging their friends the roosters to discipline them with their crows. africa at night is just far too noisy for me, hence my trip to the 'big city' of fajara. it doesn't help that i'd been sick, so sleeping much of the day and thus not being tired when the sun goes down. i took a benadryl and convinced the antihistimine to knock me out before i knocked the donkeys out. (though didn't fancy being kicked in the ass by an ass in the middle of the night.)
ok. rant over.
in even other news ... i did my own washing on saturday by hand. normally, i pay 100 dalasi per month, plus 7 dalasi each wash for the soap, and jainaba does my wash. but she's been really sick this week with some sort of stomach pain, and i ran out of clothes to wear so did my own. (i know, i'm sure you're feeling sorry for me at this point.) it's a fairly drawn out process because i had to get my own water from the pump - though fortunately, the other jainaba (ebrima's wife) came with me because there is no way i can carry the water i need on my head, so she kindly offered to carry it for me.
but when we got to the pump, we were clearly the first people of the day to get water because there were 18 (i counted) baby calves waiting for someone to turn on the spiggit so they could drink. every time we tried to fill a bucket, we'd have 18 calves competing with bobbing heads for a slurp. so finally we gave up trying to fill it for me and just continued to fill the bucket for them. this took about 10 minutes and continuous water flow to the bucket before they had each had enough and sauntered away lazily. so then we took my saliva-covered buckets of water back to the compound so i could wash my clothes (!!). i've given up trying to be clean and/or hygenic here, but that's an entirely separate blog, coming soon.
so i set about washing my clothes. unfortunately, i made the mistake of combining my orange peasant skirt with everything so now have quite a few pink tops - but i'm trying to look at that as an opportunity to wear a NEW outfit, instead of simply a discolored old one. 'look at this lovely pink shirt, where EVER did you get that?, i haven't seen that before!'
about half way through the wash my phone fell into the water. i shrieked and fished it out, dried it off and assumed it was fine because the front display stayed the same and i have a plastic cover that didn't appear to soak up any of the water. but when i tried to use it a few minutes later, i realized it had gotten water inside and was not working. i panicked. my ONLY window to the outside world and it was ruined. i quickly opened it up, set it in the sun to dry and left it for 5 minutes to scorch in the heat of the day. i should have left it longer because it still wasn't working. this time i FREAKED out and nearly burst into tears. (can i just say, this is the morning AFTER the night with the donkeys, so i was NOT in the best of moods). i set it out to dry again and tried to calm myself down and be rational about this. and fortunately, after twenty more minutes in the sun, the phone was dry and it WORKED! hallelujah!
i felt a bit ridiculous for my reaction and how upset i'd nearly gotten. but honestly, without knowing that i can communicate if i need to, or if anything is wrong, or if there is an emergency, i'd feel very suffocated and land-locked. but there was a minute or two, between the freak-outs, where i calmed myself down and tried to be in the moment with the experience. i couldn't control this one. let it go. let it go. let it go, i kept repeating. difficult, but i tried. but this was definitely an instance where i thanked god for the heat in africa that was drying out the phone.
ok ... and i'm off. for another day of reading on the beach. i'm taking a bit of time today and tomorrow to work on the nursery project, but why sit in the heat of the village if i can do the work on the beach? i may get back to the internet tomorrow, but after that, i'll be village-bound for awhile.
love to you all, thanks for reading!
on a project update: the nursery is coming along nicely, though the funds i've secured won't even cover the half of it, if it is to be done properly. and there's nothing i hate more than a half-assed job. so very shortly, my friends, i will ask you to dig deep into your pockets to donate money to a very worthy cause! i'm just calculating what i'm going to need to finish this project, both inside and out, and will post up here how you can help me. i'm currently setting up a paypal account for donations. i feel a bit like sally struthers, but just think, you get this blog instead of shoulder pads, a bad perm and a 20 minute infomercial, and isn't that nicer!? i'm thinking big here because i trust that you will too when the time comes! no holds barred for these kids!
we broke ground yesterday and 40-50 villagers turned out and in true gambian style, began the work! and when i say 'we' - i really mean them. and when i say 'them' - i mean about four of them at any one time (there were only four shovels) with the other 35-40 standing around for support and waiting patiently in the hot sun for their turn to dig. we dug the toilets out, 2 6-foot holes in the ground to be covered with cement next week (don't ask what happens when they're full, i have no idea, but will try to find out), and also prepped the floor of the classrooms which entailed soaking the crumbled dirt and then whacking the crap out of it to make it flat. i've got pictures to show eventually. next week the cementing will begin and the following week we'll do the painting. i hope that by the end of march, the external building work will be finished.
throughout the day, young boys were continuously making and delivering attaya (the very very sweet tea they ceremoniously drink) and i bought a bunch of packets of jolly juice (like cool-aid) and made buckets of sweet orange drink for them. i was amazed that so many people turned out, but in fact, at a meeting we had with the village elders after the work was finished for the day, they expressed disappointment that MORE people hadn't turned up to show their support and lend a hand. (true meaning of the 'it takes a village' proverb!)
it was really interesting to be invited to sit in on the meeting. it began with what i can only think was a prayer, perhaps asking allah to be present in the meeting, i've no idea, it was just a mumble in arabic. and then the villagers spoke out in turn, in mandika, so i only got the quietly translated version every so often. they spent - honestly - the first 45 minutes of the meeting repeating each other saying how grateful they were to me, and to mondo challenge for supporting them, how honored they were to have me there to help them with this, how important it was to listen to what i had to say and to let me guide their efforts, how important this was for the future of their children, how the entire community needed to get involved and show their seriousness, and as mentioned, how disappointed they were at the low (!!) turnout, and how next week would be better. i nodded my head graciously, but after about a half an hour of this, i wanted to interupt and move things on to talk of ACTION because clearly they were preaching to the choir and time is (somewhat) of the essence here. but of course, that's not how things work in the gambia. so each man had his turn to express how serious they all should be taking this, and FINALLY i was able to say a few words and get a game plan together for the next few weeks.
when they realized that i was only here for 2 more months, they voted to bring in some professional masoners outside of sundays so that more of the prep work could get done ahead of time so that there was more they could do when the sunday's did come around. this costs money, but very likely money well spent, lest this project drag on and risk incompletion. so hopefully by next sunday, the cementing may actually be finished so we can give everyone a paintbrush. (oh wait, we didn't budget brushes, hopefully there's a few in the village!)
so i'm feeling very positive about the nursery. i've told them i'm devoting april to the teacher training. so if anyone has any idea what the heck nursery school is about, what a typical day looks like, what the point of it is, how i should structure this training .... i'd be most grateful! i seem to continue to land myself managing projects i know very little about. emailing me would be best!
on another note ... being the animal lover that i am NOT, i feel the need to have a small rant about the fact that i am essentially living on an effing FARM, excuse the french intention. can i just say that i am SO over the whole roosters-as-my-alarm clock thing and i really really hate, no loathe, crickets. death to them all, i say, forget about the karma. about the only thing i do like are the lizards because i think they are eating the crickets that creak from my rafters. were it not for them, and the nest of what i believe to be owls for all their who-who'ing, i would spray my room so thick with insect repellent i'd probably inadvertently kill myself too. and the donkeys - oh the donkeys - seem to go wild in the night with their procreational frolicking - though it sounds neither pleasurable nor fun and i pity the poor female who seems to be screaming in pain. (i imagine her 'hee-haw' to be saying - 'get off me you big jerk') and the prepubescient goats have been out far past their bedtime of late, encouraging their friends the roosters to discipline them with their crows. africa at night is just far too noisy for me, hence my trip to the 'big city' of fajara. it doesn't help that i'd been sick, so sleeping much of the day and thus not being tired when the sun goes down. i took a benadryl and convinced the antihistimine to knock me out before i knocked the donkeys out. (though didn't fancy being kicked in the ass by an ass in the middle of the night.)
ok. rant over.
in even other news ... i did my own washing on saturday by hand. normally, i pay 100 dalasi per month, plus 7 dalasi each wash for the soap, and jainaba does my wash. but she's been really sick this week with some sort of stomach pain, and i ran out of clothes to wear so did my own. (i know, i'm sure you're feeling sorry for me at this point.) it's a fairly drawn out process because i had to get my own water from the pump - though fortunately, the other jainaba (ebrima's wife) came with me because there is no way i can carry the water i need on my head, so she kindly offered to carry it for me.
but when we got to the pump, we were clearly the first people of the day to get water because there were 18 (i counted) baby calves waiting for someone to turn on the spiggit so they could drink. every time we tried to fill a bucket, we'd have 18 calves competing with bobbing heads for a slurp. so finally we gave up trying to fill it for me and just continued to fill the bucket for them. this took about 10 minutes and continuous water flow to the bucket before they had each had enough and sauntered away lazily. so then we took my saliva-covered buckets of water back to the compound so i could wash my clothes (!!). i've given up trying to be clean and/or hygenic here, but that's an entirely separate blog, coming soon.
so i set about washing my clothes. unfortunately, i made the mistake of combining my orange peasant skirt with everything so now have quite a few pink tops - but i'm trying to look at that as an opportunity to wear a NEW outfit, instead of simply a discolored old one. 'look at this lovely pink shirt, where EVER did you get that?, i haven't seen that before!'
about half way through the wash my phone fell into the water. i shrieked and fished it out, dried it off and assumed it was fine because the front display stayed the same and i have a plastic cover that didn't appear to soak up any of the water. but when i tried to use it a few minutes later, i realized it had gotten water inside and was not working. i panicked. my ONLY window to the outside world and it was ruined. i quickly opened it up, set it in the sun to dry and left it for 5 minutes to scorch in the heat of the day. i should have left it longer because it still wasn't working. this time i FREAKED out and nearly burst into tears. (can i just say, this is the morning AFTER the night with the donkeys, so i was NOT in the best of moods). i set it out to dry again and tried to calm myself down and be rational about this. and fortunately, after twenty more minutes in the sun, the phone was dry and it WORKED! hallelujah!
i felt a bit ridiculous for my reaction and how upset i'd nearly gotten. but honestly, without knowing that i can communicate if i need to, or if anything is wrong, or if there is an emergency, i'd feel very suffocated and land-locked. but there was a minute or two, between the freak-outs, where i calmed myself down and tried to be in the moment with the experience. i couldn't control this one. let it go. let it go. let it go, i kept repeating. difficult, but i tried. but this was definitely an instance where i thanked god for the heat in africa that was drying out the phone.
ok ... and i'm off. for another day of reading on the beach. i'm taking a bit of time today and tomorrow to work on the nursery project, but why sit in the heat of the village if i can do the work on the beach? i may get back to the internet tomorrow, but after that, i'll be village-bound for awhile.
love to you all, thanks for reading!
Sunday, March 2, 2008
a day in the life, a story
she wakes even before the roosters begin to crow, her body knows the day should begin. she doesn't drag herself out of bed reluctantly (like they do in the west) because this day is no different than yesterday and tomorrow will be the same again. reluctance admits an unwillingness to embrace the unknown. but she knows exactly what today will bring. she rises, steady on her henna-ed feet, her husband turns and sighs deeply, adjusting his hips to the slope of the bed without her. he slept with her last night, his other wife will have her turn, in time. she's young still, his 'baby' he calls her, not yet ready to bear him a child. she knows her way in the dark in their room, her room. she winds the batik printed wrap around her waste, throws a camouflage mesh tank top over her shoulders and ties the red headscarf around her braided head. it doesn't matter that nothing matches, nothing special is happening today. from the bucket in the corner, she splashes her face with water and lets herself out quietly.
she's already made the porridge, adding water to the cornmeal spoonful at a time and swirling the mixture into tiny balls with her wrists in rhythmic flicks. she burps softly from last nights dinner as she makes her way outside to gather kindling for the fire in the kitchen out back. as she stirs the porridge above the crackling fire, she relishes the last peaceful moment she has to herself as she hears the first rooster crow in the compound across the field. her own roosters will return the cry soon and with their song will wake the family, sleeping soundly on their mattresses of hay. but in this moment, she is quiet. there is nothing she wants for. the droning call to prayer begins in the distance and she thanks allah, praise be his name, for her health and the health of her children, even though the youngest has had a terrible cough all week. more or less, things are fine, and she is grateful.
the boy is the first to wake and wander into the open-air kitchen at the back of the compound. he throws his arms around her neck and closes his eyes as if to fall back asleep. she shoos him away gently and he stumbles back inside to wake the others with his impatience.
her sister is up next with the newborn and walks into the kitchen with the little girl sucking on her bare breast. she's had enough and her sister expertly swings the child around her back with one hand, wrapping a cloth around her with her other hand to tie the girl to her back. the baby whimpers softly and then is quiet. she resumes stirring while her sister washes her face and then moves to the dishes from last night's meal. the palm oil makes it easy to wash the rice away, though the chickens have eaten most of it already.
the sun has nearly cleared the mango trees across that frame the village, its fierceness muted by the early morning chill. by now, her husband has dressed and eaten the breakfast set aside for him. he takes rice, nuts, sugar and butter ground together to make a sweet watery paste. there's enough money in the family to afford him this before he drives away and does whatever it is that he does with his days. she doesn't exactly know, though she has an idea, she never asks.
the rest of the children are up now, the girls are dressing themselves for school in their tattered blue gingham uniforms that a dutch couple paid for when they came through the village on a packaged holiday tour. she meant to sew the pockets, ripped clumsily in a playground tousle, but she doesn't have a sewing machine and won't be going to the next village for the tailor anytime soon. the girls don't seem to mind. they too parade through the kitchen one by one to greet her and the quiet is spoiled. 'atcha atcha' she yells at them, 'get out, go away.' the day has begun.
behind her, the hens cackle their morning greetings, joining their partners in welcoming the day, a donkey breys sorrowfully and the goats begin their bleating. her other sister puts a tape into the cassette player run from a car battery. their favorite singer from niger, rabiatu haruna, and she hums quietly while she dishes the porridge into the large silver bowls they use for every meal. it's the same tape they play every morning, they know it by heart and they love it more with each listen, though the woman warbles more now than she did when the tape was new. they warble with her allowing her the imperfections that come with age.
she puts lids on her bowls and stacks them, three high, taking the men their bowl first, then the grandmother and the little ones, and finally, the bowl for her sisters, daughters and herself. they sit quietly, dipping their spoons into their section of the breakfast, rubbing last night's sleep away between bites.
the girls head to school and the little ones finish their morning routines with the grandmother while she clears the bowls, the same way she brought them, three high. the morning is still cool, the sun hasn't yet delivered its fiery promise but she knows he'll deliver soon.
the sand of the compound floor has collected too much of yesterday and so she sets about sweeping with her broom. she bends at the waist and fiercely whisks at the combination of rubbish, mango leaves and animal droppings that have gathered below her feet. her momentary zen garden, until the chickens come racing through leaving their mark, today's footprints.
the women have started the wash in the shade under the mango tree, perched on benches and foot stools. the clothes soak in the opaque grey-blue water, waiting their turn at the hands of the wringer. she joins them, taking a seat on the mat, and so begins the chatter among sisters that won't let up till the last has gone to bed. they screetch with laughter, hurl innocent, playground-like jabs and share family gossip with only intermittent bouts of silence. but silence is hard to come by in africa. the little ones are already running themselves ragged, chasing each other, creating their own fun, scolded only occasionally with shrill screams from the women under the trees. though the scolding seems less about a child wronged than a chance for another jibe that sends the sisters into fits of giggles, practically children themselves.
when the last drops of the grey-blue water have been squeezed, the women take it in turns to hang it on the line that runs from the tree where they sit to the fence that guards the compound. she hung the wash yesterday, so she sits while her sisters hang today, which is just as well because the sun has indeed delivered its fiery promise and she is content to be still. and for the heat, she is allowed this small respite. but only for a few moments, for she must, again, gather kindling for the fire that will boil a pot of rice and heat the domoda for the next meal. the older children aren't back from school by the time this meal is prepared, so it's a quieter affair, though still the largest meal of the day.
but it's the hours after this that she relishes most. for while she too complains of the afternoon's heat, she is secretly thankful for the hours that trickle like the sweat between her breasts. in the afternoon's heat, hours are broken into minutes and minutes into seconds, and each second passes slower than the last, punctuated only by the beeps on the hour from the cheap plastic watch her brother bought in the market.
they still laugh and playfully tease each other with shrill, mocking tones, but it comes in waves and this afternoon, the sea of voices is calm. they shift positions under the tree when the heat of their legs touching or the sweat in the creases of their knees or elbows becomes too warm. but they are not restless. because that might imply a sense of anticipation, and they are not waiting. they are simply sitting, or lying, or resting. all verbs, her daughter might tell her after a grammar lesson at school, but hardly action words.
the sun is still high in the sky, but the afternoon is waning and there is a breeze rustling the leaves above and cooling the four sisters. they must collect the family's water before the sun sets and the pump is turned off. instinctively, the woman begin to collect the buckets and industrial-sized cannisters once used for vegetable oil and margarine that now hold water for washing, cooking and drinking. she leads the pack with two empty buckets on her head and two cannisters under each arm, her sisters follow. they fill their buckets at the pump underneath another mango tree, sitting on the makeshift stools of concrete blocks meant for the new mosque that now sits unfinished, waiting for village funds. she greets the neightbor in mandika, wife of the shop owner.
'how ah you?'
'how de day?'
'how de chilrun?'
'how de hosban?'
'how de work?'
it's a repetitious greeting that begs a response but not an answer, and the neighbor complies, joining the queue for water. when her first bucket is full, with the help of her sister, she hoists it atop her head, carefully placed on the cloth she's rolled up and looped around to protect her head and balance the load. with her back straight and her neck tall, she walks slowly back. slowly, not because she's afraid she'll spill. she won't. but slowly because there is no need to rush. and when her sisters have returned and all the water a family of sixteen can use in a day has been collected, the evening begins.
she oversees the children bathe, drilling orders of which bits not to forget. then she herself, a single cloth wrapped under her arms around her body, takes her plastic kettle of water behind the family outhouse to rinse herself and cool down, another vestige of quiet, but just for a moment. a clean body deserves a clean outfit and so she changes into a fresh skirt and top with a new tie for her head. this time, she matches. her husband will be home soon.
she sits on the bench outside, preparing tomorrow's porridge with the same rhythmic motion, mixing water and cornmeal, while her sisters prepare dinner. they'll have the same thing they had for lunch, only slightly less. they'll listen to the same cassette, only slightly louder. and they'll laugh at the same silly jokes. 'jai funda' she'll call out to her sister, 'big bottom' and they'll giggle, only with more flirtation in their voices. the boys are back from tending the cattle. everyone is involved now, and boys add a new element to the sister's banter. it becomes a playful us against them - and they are back on the same team.
when the sun sets and the moon rises, the clattering and stacking of the bowls is heard from the kitchen and she appears, her head tilted towards her right shoulder, holding a flashlight in the crevice of her neck, three bowl in her hands. she sets the bowls down in the same order - men, grandmother, women - and they eat by the light of the moon and florescent LED torch. the unfinished rice gets thrown to the dogs and scattered for the chickens. and slowly slowly, dishes get cleared and the bedtime rituals begin.
but tonight, she's tired, so she doesn't stay up for more conversation with the others. she turns herself in and lays to rest, in the same spot as the night before and the night before. the warbling woman from niger and the crickets sing her softly to sleep.
*********************************
i told you i had a lot of time this week! if you thought this was long, imagine what the days are like here! so much more to write about, we broke ground on the nursery today, donkey madness, laundry with the cows ..... but it's going to have to wait until tomorrow, because my fingers are tired and i'd like to have a beer.
she's already made the porridge, adding water to the cornmeal spoonful at a time and swirling the mixture into tiny balls with her wrists in rhythmic flicks. she burps softly from last nights dinner as she makes her way outside to gather kindling for the fire in the kitchen out back. as she stirs the porridge above the crackling fire, she relishes the last peaceful moment she has to herself as she hears the first rooster crow in the compound across the field. her own roosters will return the cry soon and with their song will wake the family, sleeping soundly on their mattresses of hay. but in this moment, she is quiet. there is nothing she wants for. the droning call to prayer begins in the distance and she thanks allah, praise be his name, for her health and the health of her children, even though the youngest has had a terrible cough all week. more or less, things are fine, and she is grateful.
the boy is the first to wake and wander into the open-air kitchen at the back of the compound. he throws his arms around her neck and closes his eyes as if to fall back asleep. she shoos him away gently and he stumbles back inside to wake the others with his impatience.
her sister is up next with the newborn and walks into the kitchen with the little girl sucking on her bare breast. she's had enough and her sister expertly swings the child around her back with one hand, wrapping a cloth around her with her other hand to tie the girl to her back. the baby whimpers softly and then is quiet. she resumes stirring while her sister washes her face and then moves to the dishes from last night's meal. the palm oil makes it easy to wash the rice away, though the chickens have eaten most of it already.
the sun has nearly cleared the mango trees across that frame the village, its fierceness muted by the early morning chill. by now, her husband has dressed and eaten the breakfast set aside for him. he takes rice, nuts, sugar and butter ground together to make a sweet watery paste. there's enough money in the family to afford him this before he drives away and does whatever it is that he does with his days. she doesn't exactly know, though she has an idea, she never asks.
the rest of the children are up now, the girls are dressing themselves for school in their tattered blue gingham uniforms that a dutch couple paid for when they came through the village on a packaged holiday tour. she meant to sew the pockets, ripped clumsily in a playground tousle, but she doesn't have a sewing machine and won't be going to the next village for the tailor anytime soon. the girls don't seem to mind. they too parade through the kitchen one by one to greet her and the quiet is spoiled. 'atcha atcha' she yells at them, 'get out, go away.' the day has begun.
behind her, the hens cackle their morning greetings, joining their partners in welcoming the day, a donkey breys sorrowfully and the goats begin their bleating. her other sister puts a tape into the cassette player run from a car battery. their favorite singer from niger, rabiatu haruna, and she hums quietly while she dishes the porridge into the large silver bowls they use for every meal. it's the same tape they play every morning, they know it by heart and they love it more with each listen, though the woman warbles more now than she did when the tape was new. they warble with her allowing her the imperfections that come with age.
she puts lids on her bowls and stacks them, three high, taking the men their bowl first, then the grandmother and the little ones, and finally, the bowl for her sisters, daughters and herself. they sit quietly, dipping their spoons into their section of the breakfast, rubbing last night's sleep away between bites.
the girls head to school and the little ones finish their morning routines with the grandmother while she clears the bowls, the same way she brought them, three high. the morning is still cool, the sun hasn't yet delivered its fiery promise but she knows he'll deliver soon.
the sand of the compound floor has collected too much of yesterday and so she sets about sweeping with her broom. she bends at the waist and fiercely whisks at the combination of rubbish, mango leaves and animal droppings that have gathered below her feet. her momentary zen garden, until the chickens come racing through leaving their mark, today's footprints.
the women have started the wash in the shade under the mango tree, perched on benches and foot stools. the clothes soak in the opaque grey-blue water, waiting their turn at the hands of the wringer. she joins them, taking a seat on the mat, and so begins the chatter among sisters that won't let up till the last has gone to bed. they screetch with laughter, hurl innocent, playground-like jabs and share family gossip with only intermittent bouts of silence. but silence is hard to come by in africa. the little ones are already running themselves ragged, chasing each other, creating their own fun, scolded only occasionally with shrill screams from the women under the trees. though the scolding seems less about a child wronged than a chance for another jibe that sends the sisters into fits of giggles, practically children themselves.
when the last drops of the grey-blue water have been squeezed, the women take it in turns to hang it on the line that runs from the tree where they sit to the fence that guards the compound. she hung the wash yesterday, so she sits while her sisters hang today, which is just as well because the sun has indeed delivered its fiery promise and she is content to be still. and for the heat, she is allowed this small respite. but only for a few moments, for she must, again, gather kindling for the fire that will boil a pot of rice and heat the domoda for the next meal. the older children aren't back from school by the time this meal is prepared, so it's a quieter affair, though still the largest meal of the day.
but it's the hours after this that she relishes most. for while she too complains of the afternoon's heat, she is secretly thankful for the hours that trickle like the sweat between her breasts. in the afternoon's heat, hours are broken into minutes and minutes into seconds, and each second passes slower than the last, punctuated only by the beeps on the hour from the cheap plastic watch her brother bought in the market.
they still laugh and playfully tease each other with shrill, mocking tones, but it comes in waves and this afternoon, the sea of voices is calm. they shift positions under the tree when the heat of their legs touching or the sweat in the creases of their knees or elbows becomes too warm. but they are not restless. because that might imply a sense of anticipation, and they are not waiting. they are simply sitting, or lying, or resting. all verbs, her daughter might tell her after a grammar lesson at school, but hardly action words.
the sun is still high in the sky, but the afternoon is waning and there is a breeze rustling the leaves above and cooling the four sisters. they must collect the family's water before the sun sets and the pump is turned off. instinctively, the woman begin to collect the buckets and industrial-sized cannisters once used for vegetable oil and margarine that now hold water for washing, cooking and drinking. she leads the pack with two empty buckets on her head and two cannisters under each arm, her sisters follow. they fill their buckets at the pump underneath another mango tree, sitting on the makeshift stools of concrete blocks meant for the new mosque that now sits unfinished, waiting for village funds. she greets the neightbor in mandika, wife of the shop owner.
'how ah you?'
'how de day?'
'how de chilrun?'
'how de hosban?'
'how de work?'
it's a repetitious greeting that begs a response but not an answer, and the neighbor complies, joining the queue for water. when her first bucket is full, with the help of her sister, she hoists it atop her head, carefully placed on the cloth she's rolled up and looped around to protect her head and balance the load. with her back straight and her neck tall, she walks slowly back. slowly, not because she's afraid she'll spill. she won't. but slowly because there is no need to rush. and when her sisters have returned and all the water a family of sixteen can use in a day has been collected, the evening begins.
she oversees the children bathe, drilling orders of which bits not to forget. then she herself, a single cloth wrapped under her arms around her body, takes her plastic kettle of water behind the family outhouse to rinse herself and cool down, another vestige of quiet, but just for a moment. a clean body deserves a clean outfit and so she changes into a fresh skirt and top with a new tie for her head. this time, she matches. her husband will be home soon.
she sits on the bench outside, preparing tomorrow's porridge with the same rhythmic motion, mixing water and cornmeal, while her sisters prepare dinner. they'll have the same thing they had for lunch, only slightly less. they'll listen to the same cassette, only slightly louder. and they'll laugh at the same silly jokes. 'jai funda' she'll call out to her sister, 'big bottom' and they'll giggle, only with more flirtation in their voices. the boys are back from tending the cattle. everyone is involved now, and boys add a new element to the sister's banter. it becomes a playful us against them - and they are back on the same team.
when the sun sets and the moon rises, the clattering and stacking of the bowls is heard from the kitchen and she appears, her head tilted towards her right shoulder, holding a flashlight in the crevice of her neck, three bowl in her hands. she sets the bowls down in the same order - men, grandmother, women - and they eat by the light of the moon and florescent LED torch. the unfinished rice gets thrown to the dogs and scattered for the chickens. and slowly slowly, dishes get cleared and the bedtime rituals begin.
but tonight, she's tired, so she doesn't stay up for more conversation with the others. she turns herself in and lays to rest, in the same spot as the night before and the night before. the warbling woman from niger and the crickets sing her softly to sleep.
*********************************
i told you i had a lot of time this week! if you thought this was long, imagine what the days are like here! so much more to write about, we broke ground on the nursery today, donkey madness, laundry with the cows ..... but it's going to have to wait until tomorrow, because my fingers are tired and i'd like to have a beer.
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