I can't compare Mali and Guinea, because I haven't been to Malian PC sites, and I'm willing to bet the experience is much the same: no running water or electricity, poor education system, many cultural challenges. But I can compare Conakry to Bamako, because they are both capitals. Equivalent, right?
Nope.
I tried to get money from my credit union out of four different VISA ATMs here, all on the main street by our hostel. There is one ATM in all of Conakry, apparently, and I have never seen it.
An apple here costs 50 cents. An apple in Conakry costs 50 cents too. However, there are RED apples here!
Bamako has sooo many more tourists. Conakry's foreigners are almost always working in Guinea.
We've eaten wood-fired pizza, cheeseburgers, indian food, texmex, and salads, and haven't gotten sick (true for all but one of our group). Oh and about 40 dollars worth of cheese between all of us. Conakry has pizza, cheeseburgers, and always the risk of getting sick.
I can drink tap water here!!!!! Conakry---no.
Bamako has traffic regulation. During rush hour, one bridge into the city is uni-directional. The traffic in Conakry is terrible. Always.
Bamako has Bambara. Conakry has Susu. Thus, I can speak more easily to regular people in Conakry.
Bamako has been quite the vacation, but it is EXPENSIVE to eat all these goodies. Guinean food is nearly always less expensive.
That's all for today!
Friday, December 30, 2011
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
"If you disdain black people, why are you here?"
This is the question we got asked in the hostel last night. I came into the conversation about five minutes before this outburst, so it's entirely possible that I missed something truly racist that my fellow volunteers said, but I would be shocked if that were true. None of us is racist. However, I can see that at times, our complaints about Guinean culture, or the drawbacks of our students, or the challenges we live with, could seem to say that we think we're superior to the people that we're here to help. And if you look at our educational backgrounds, our ability to function in a global world, our understanding of politics, economics, and religious diversity, we have experiences that have led to these characteristics that set us apart from our communities. Being white also sets me apart, but not in any meaningful way. It's just annoying to be so noticeable and often so pampered (they will give us good seats, or help us get through the bank line early, and honestly, I accept it because I need all the help I can get trying to stay safe in cars or deal with this foreign system). But are we better than Guineans? No. Americans aren't nearly as hospitable as Guineans, they don't value their family connections in the same way, and they find things to laugh or smile about in the midst of situations that are incredibly tough for me. I am not Guinean, no matter how often I wear a pagne, how perfect my Susu is, or if I master the art of cooking rice and sauce. I will always be different, but at least I'm trying to get to know the culture, I'm trying to change the parts of their culture holding them back (educational system!), and I'm adopting them as family. Anyone who thinks that our group of volunteers is racist just doesn't understand what we live with, and how venting with other volunteers/westerners is a form of coping with the new and foreign environment we deal with.
Anyway, I'm off to enjoy the museums, parks, and restaurants of this awesome-seeming city. We'll see!
Anyway, I'm off to enjoy the museums, parks, and restaurants of this awesome-seeming city. We'll see!
Monday, December 26, 2011
Not in Guinea
It's Christmas break for the Guinean kids, and that means....vacation! Christmas in Kankan and New Years in Bamako. Updates to come!
Thursday, December 15, 2011
A Day in the Life of Mme. Mariama Fofana
Who is Mariama Fofana? Well, she's married and of an unknown age, probably 25-28, but otherwise, she's me. I have told my community that I'm married because it just makes social interactions easier and makes me more "normal" in their eyes.
On days when I teach at 8:00 am, I wake up at 6:20, and try to convince myself to go for a run. At that point there's enough sun and enough people about that it's safe. Usually, I go back to sleep for twenty minutes before I get up, bucket shower, cook oatmeal and coffee, take my malaria prophylaxis, strap on my chacos, and head to class.
My school days have varied between one class of English or Physics to three classes of english to 2 physics one english to...who knows. Anyway, we raise the Guinean flag and sing the anthem, which I know about half of, and then head to class for two hours. At 10, there's a 15 minute break that lasts 30 minutes during which everyone eats breakfast-akeke or bean sandwiches and bissap and bananas, etc. Then we go from 10:30 to 12, then 12 to 2.
Once I get home, I fix lunch and chill out. I finally motivate myself to do lesson plans for the next day, sweep or wash my floor, get water from the well, and wait for 5 oclock, when I give English lessons in my courtyard. It's fun, a small class of older guys who REALLY want to learn English. When it's too dark to see the board, they head home and I start cooking dinner to the light of my headlamp. Once I wash the dishes in my bucket, I crawl under my mosquito net, turn on the BBC or my ipod, and chill out. I usually call Liz or another volunteer just to see how things are going. By 8 or 9, I'm usually asleep.
Tada, the day of a volunteer.
On days when I teach at 8:00 am, I wake up at 6:20, and try to convince myself to go for a run. At that point there's enough sun and enough people about that it's safe. Usually, I go back to sleep for twenty minutes before I get up, bucket shower, cook oatmeal and coffee, take my malaria prophylaxis, strap on my chacos, and head to class.
My school days have varied between one class of English or Physics to three classes of english to 2 physics one english to...who knows. Anyway, we raise the Guinean flag and sing the anthem, which I know about half of, and then head to class for two hours. At 10, there's a 15 minute break that lasts 30 minutes during which everyone eats breakfast-akeke or bean sandwiches and bissap and bananas, etc. Then we go from 10:30 to 12, then 12 to 2.
Once I get home, I fix lunch and chill out. I finally motivate myself to do lesson plans for the next day, sweep or wash my floor, get water from the well, and wait for 5 oclock, when I give English lessons in my courtyard. It's fun, a small class of older guys who REALLY want to learn English. When it's too dark to see the board, they head home and I start cooking dinner to the light of my headlamp. Once I wash the dishes in my bucket, I crawl under my mosquito net, turn on the BBC or my ipod, and chill out. I usually call Liz or another volunteer just to see how things are going. By 8 or 9, I'm usually asleep.
 |
| Courtyard English! |
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Stories: The Week from Hell (and then redemption)
On the 3rd of November, my students came to school threatening to go on strike. Why? Too hard of tests? Poor performance by teachers? Low quality cafeteria food? Not a good enough football team? Ha. No. They wanted to go on strike because their teachers hadn't shown up since the beginning of school, one month before. During the month of October, approximately 5 teachers showed up consistently, including me. Out of 19. (It seems to have gotten better in the last week or so, but teacher's are incredibly inconsistent.) I'd want to stop coming to school if I had to get here at 7:45 every day and then wait 2 hours to see if my first teacher would come at all, too.
On the 4th, I had stomach cramps and a headache. Actually, I think I may have had those every day in this week I'm talking about.
On the 5th, nothing terrible happened. Woo. Well, I bought a phone. And as we'll see, that was a mistake.
On the 6th, I broke my Kindle. In the middle of Battlefield Earth, I left it on a chair arm with the case open, stood up, and it hit the ground, cracking the screen inside. It's irredeemable. Luckily my parents are incredible and sent me a new one, so I won't go crazy without books. Nonetheless, the loss of my Kindle was rough. Reading is my one escape here, my one feeling of familiarity, and it's been my favorite activity since age...4?5?
On the 7th, my phone and its "new" Nokia battery turned out to be a total ripoff, so I had to take host brothers to sort it out. Independence=not possible. While at the phone place, I got stung on the elbow and palm by bees. Ouch. When I came back, I got a killer headache, so I popped out to get some bread and bananas while my ibuprofen/large amounts of water kicked in. Coming back, I tried to step over the cement water runoff ditch and couldn't get a wide enough stride with the wrap skirt I had on. I went down hard, crushing my bananas, dirtying my bread, and bruising myself. More than pain, I felt anger. Why did I have to wear this restrictive skirt? Why was my head hurting so badly? Why couldn't I just buy a phone and trust that it would work and the people selling it didn't cheat me out of a real battery? Why did this country hate me so much? I straight up bawled. Loudly. Usually I cry quietly, but the damn (sic) walls broke and I just let it all out. Which led to my host mother and sister asking me to stop, telling me nothing was wrong, and threatening to cry too if I didn't stop. I'm aware falling in a ditch is funny, I know the incidents were all small, but I was past the point of no return on crying, and I just wanted someone to pat my back and say "Let it all out, it's hard here, we know you're not used to this." But it was nice that they tried to help anyway. It was just a bad day.
On the 9th, my luck changed. Stacey brought me Battlefield Earth from Conakry, and we got permission to go to Conakry for Thanksgiving. It was what I needed to cheer myself up and turn around my attitude.
On the 10th, I was homesick for regular things. Restaurants with everything on the menu in the kitchen. Neighborhoods with addresses. Parks. Public transportation. Water fountains, or running water at all. Nbd, just a small backstep.
On the 11th, I had an 11/11/11 in Fria, had a nice day, and then lost my new, expensive cell phone. Due to the date, it didn't get me down as much as the Kindle, but geez, what a week.
On the 4th, I had stomach cramps and a headache. Actually, I think I may have had those every day in this week I'm talking about.
On the 5th, nothing terrible happened. Woo. Well, I bought a phone. And as we'll see, that was a mistake.
On the 6th, I broke my Kindle. In the middle of Battlefield Earth, I left it on a chair arm with the case open, stood up, and it hit the ground, cracking the screen inside. It's irredeemable. Luckily my parents are incredible and sent me a new one, so I won't go crazy without books. Nonetheless, the loss of my Kindle was rough. Reading is my one escape here, my one feeling of familiarity, and it's been my favorite activity since age...4?5?
On the 7th, my phone and its "new" Nokia battery turned out to be a total ripoff, so I had to take host brothers to sort it out. Independence=not possible. While at the phone place, I got stung on the elbow and palm by bees. Ouch. When I came back, I got a killer headache, so I popped out to get some bread and bananas while my ibuprofen/large amounts of water kicked in. Coming back, I tried to step over the cement water runoff ditch and couldn't get a wide enough stride with the wrap skirt I had on. I went down hard, crushing my bananas, dirtying my bread, and bruising myself. More than pain, I felt anger. Why did I have to wear this restrictive skirt? Why was my head hurting so badly? Why couldn't I just buy a phone and trust that it would work and the people selling it didn't cheat me out of a real battery? Why did this country hate me so much? I straight up bawled. Loudly. Usually I cry quietly, but the damn (sic) walls broke and I just let it all out. Which led to my host mother and sister asking me to stop, telling me nothing was wrong, and threatening to cry too if I didn't stop. I'm aware falling in a ditch is funny, I know the incidents were all small, but I was past the point of no return on crying, and I just wanted someone to pat my back and say "Let it all out, it's hard here, we know you're not used to this." But it was nice that they tried to help anyway. It was just a bad day.
On the 9th, my luck changed. Stacey brought me Battlefield Earth from Conakry, and we got permission to go to Conakry for Thanksgiving. It was what I needed to cheer myself up and turn around my attitude.
On the 10th, I was homesick for regular things. Restaurants with everything on the menu in the kitchen. Neighborhoods with addresses. Parks. Public transportation. Water fountains, or running water at all. Nbd, just a small backstep.
On the 11th, I had an 11/11/11 in Fria, had a nice day, and then lost my new, expensive cell phone. Due to the date, it didn't get me down as much as the Kindle, but geez, what a week.
 |
| the broken kindle. my broken heart |
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| a beautiful sky on 11/11/11 |
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Characters: The Neighbor Teacher Lady
Madame, as she's generally called, is incredible. I have no idea what her age is, but she's feisty and intelligent and a superwoman. She teaches at a Franco-Arabe private school, where her husband also works. They have an 18 month old girl who's my favorite kid on the compound. Of course, the little girl used to be so afraid of me she'd cry every time she saw me. Now she knows that I'm a Tanti and thus not totally terrifying. Madame also has a nine year old from a previous marriage. Her parents were a doctor and a nurse, and she really wanted to go to college, but she just didn't pass the concours, so she went to a teaching school instead, where she met her current husband. Her ex-husband, she tells me, was a jealous, controlling man, who most importantly, didn't love her. This is a pretty incredible idea considering that love in marriage is definitely not the main consideration for most people here. She left him because he didn't treat her right, and now she's married to a man that she didn't love at first, but who clearly respects and loves her, and who she now loves back. It's really refreshing to watch them sitting on their porch in the evenings, passing the baby back and forth and talking about their days.
When I first arrived at the compound, she handed me a nice local broom and said "On est ensemble ici" which translates to "We're in this together". She's made me meals, she's given me advice, she's braided my hair, she's sat and laughed at my stories, and when I cried so hard that my family couldn't help but hear, she came in my house, hugged me, and told me to stop crying or she'd cry too. She's essentially my sister here, and I respect her so much. She's not a part of the family in the compound, so she's a stranger too, and sometimes they aren't so welcoming. Because I moved in, her family had to move into a larger apartment, and due to the cost, they have to board with other women as well, who are noisy and crass, she tells me. So she made sacrifices for me before she even knew me. She told me it was because she heard I was a teacher and she knew that I would be a good neighbor. She's one of the most beautiful Guineans I've ever met in the way that she treats people, in the way she laughs, and in the way she has welcomed me to my new home.
When I first arrived at the compound, she handed me a nice local broom and said "On est ensemble ici" which translates to "We're in this together". She's made me meals, she's given me advice, she's braided my hair, she's sat and laughed at my stories, and when I cried so hard that my family couldn't help but hear, she came in my house, hugged me, and told me to stop crying or she'd cry too. She's essentially my sister here, and I respect her so much. She's not a part of the family in the compound, so she's a stranger too, and sometimes they aren't so welcoming. Because I moved in, her family had to move into a larger apartment, and due to the cost, they have to board with other women as well, who are noisy and crass, she tells me. So she made sacrifices for me before she even knew me. She told me it was because she heard I was a teacher and she knew that I would be a good neighbor. She's one of the most beautiful Guineans I've ever met in the way that she treats people, in the way she laughs, and in the way she has welcomed me to my new home.
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