Next Phase: Grad School

I am registered for research credits at UMD. Going back to where I did my undergrad, and I couldn't be happier. I traveled for nearly a month, and no place felt more like home than McKeldin Mall. This all came about in the most sudden way, but now that I'm an RPCV, it's not stressing me out as much that I don't know all the details. It'll come about.

I had some really great travels. I got to see lots and lots of my college friends and even some high school friends in DC/Baltimore. I ate out for restaurant week twice. I hemorrhaged my readjustment allowance on delicious food. Ask me if I regret this after I start paying rent and car payments. Currently, no regrets.

I explored Philly, from fine art to dive bars, from beer gardens to one of the top 5 beer bars in the states. There was beer. I also had a cocktail with Tang. Because, why not? I had a great time in Philly and stayed in the best 4-star hotel ever. Actually Chris and Michelle's apartment, it was sweet. I owe them a fantastic time. You guys rolled out the red carpet!

Then it was on to the hometown, and I thought I was done with my gastronomic adventures, but no! There was Skyline and Graeters and Marion's and Laura's cookies. It was fabulous to "come home" and see where I come from. And yet, I don't see myself living there. But who knows?

Then on to Erie for my niece's birthday. She had a blast at Chuck E. Cheese, and then we had a special night out. I picked her up from school and we went to the mall, where she got to pick out an outfit. We also got matching shiny gold belts, soo anyone with fashion advice on how to wear a children's gold belt, lemme know. Then she got to pick where we went for dessert, and she picked Red Lobster, because she loves to touch the lobsters, even though every time she gets shy. She is awesome and smart and sassy and good God, I love that kid to death. I'm hoping this can be a yearly tradition, even if I don't make it for her birthday every year. Here's Shae in part of her outfit: (not pictured: hoodie, leggings, socks, and sparkly purple belt)

Mary No Longer in Guinea

FIRST:

I just heard that at least 3 of my students passed their BAC, meaning they can go to college! I can't tell you how much of a success this feels like. One of my science girls passed--the one who came nearly every afternoon to study physics and English! Sooooooooo happy!

Now then:

I've been home now for nearly a month, and I just haven't been able to bring myself to update this.I'm already feeling much better--I came home with a nasty ear infection and stomach problems, probably from taking too much ibuprofen. My arm is improving, but not "better" yet.

It's been a relief being home. I'd say I'm definitely still in the honeymoon phase, no matter how much US politics/judicial decisions have gotten me down. I haven't been having nightmares, and I haven't run into any fous yet!

I'll try to update more often about my readjustment.

En route

At the boarding checkpoint for my last flight, the woman in front of me is being questioned in detail about her bags. I walk up to the second agent and he asks where I am coming from. 

Guinea, I reply. And how long was your stay?

Two years. He begins to ask if I am living and working in guinea. 

Not anymore, I say. I'm going home. 

He abruptly closes my passport, smiles, and says have a nice flight. 

I skip down the walkway. I'm going home! 

Coming Home

I've gotten a lot of feedback recently on my "On Homesickness" post from last week, mostly about my use of the word "failute". What I was trying to say is that I am not thriving, not that I'm failing as a volunteer or a teacher. But I do feel that I have failed to feel like myself, a self that I could maintain. I guess it's sort of like running a half-marathon and realizing you can't run the full. I have limits, and I have seen them. And in a lot of ways, that's really good.

The last few months have been fairly dark (and not just because rainy season clouds FINALLY moved in). But in the past week, I've really gained some insight into myself and the sort of person I am. I think I've been waiting for a long time for the incident that "breaks me". Something big that would happen that would make me say "I can't take it, it's over, it's time to go." But it turns out, I kept going through the fou attack, I made it back from the gastro-problems, I fought my way through the school year left-handed after I injured my right, I kept on going after a kid was killed in my site. I kept going. And last week, another volunteers said to me something along the lines of
"You've been through a lot. What makes you think something would break you? You're underestimating your strength."

I really thought about that. And I realized she was right. There wasn't anything forseeable that could happen that would straight-up break me. I didn't need to stay here to prove to myself that I was strong enough to meet the challenge I set for myself when I accepted my assignment in Guinea.

I also realized I was challenging myself for the sake of the challenge. I'm in pain from an arm injury/malady going on 6 months. And I've been dealing with anxiety on a level that's not normal for over a year. I've been hyper-aware of anyone approaching me, I've tensed up every time a truck has passed me. For over a year. And I still managed to be a hella awesome volunteer in the meantime.

But now it's time to take care of myself. Time to figure out why my right arm is in a world of pain. Time to remove myself from walking 2 feet from carelessly-driven, poorly maintained trucks hundreds of times a week. It's two months early, but I'm coming home. I expect to be back in the US by June 26, although, like anything in this life, it's not for sure.

I am sad to be leaving my Guinean friends and family and the PCV family I love so much, but I feel really good about this decision. I came to this decision from a place of strength, not because I was broken.

See you soon, USA!

Not What I Expected

When I started Peace Corps, I was told repeatedly to leave all expectations behind. And in small ways, I think I did a good job of that  for the things that I encountered during Pre-Service training. Bucket showers? Huge cockroaches and spiders? Terrible food? Sexism? I knew it was coming but I didn’t know how, and I adapted. But the unexpected parts of my Peace Corps service haven’t been small things. They’ve been pretty big.

I didn’t expect that I’d be tackled by a crazy man while inside a walled, razor-wired compound, or that I’d still be reeling from the effects of that trauma more than a year later. I didn’t expect to spend 6 weeks in America miserably sick to my stomach. I didn’t expect to have to become ambidextrous because of a repeated stress injury that took me out of site for nearly 3 weeks. And I really, truly, didn’t expect to see parts of a child strewn across the road I live on after a tragic truck-pedestrian accident in late May.

I made myself a promise when I joined Peace Corps that if I felt like something had happened to me that would give me permanent damage, I would come home. Otherwise, I told myself, I would persevere. Honestly, I think I’ve broken that promise to myself at this point, and I’m not sure it’s a bad thing. When I come home, I’ll have to see doctors about the wrist problems that have plagued me for two years without explanation, and I’ll have to deal with the anxiety and perhaps even PTSD of my attack. I’d like to think that both of these aren’t truly permanent, but aren’t those the sort of things that I had given my permission to come home for? Sometimes, especially recently, I ask myself: what is the straw that could break this camels back?

 Today, I thought it was the death of this child. I don’t even know him, but he was walking home from school, minding his own business on the shoulder of the road (our sidewalk) when a truck came along and I quote “totally destroyed his head.” This is my absolute greatest fear, and I have on occasion been laughed at for jumping across the drainage ditch as a truck barrels past. I live in a country with no regulation. Do their brakes work? Could their steering column snap? It all seems possible, especially to someone who as experienced the “impossible” twice in my life. Why yes, when I fall sick, I prefer it to be a rare disease with only 200 cases in the preceding century. Why yes, when I’m assaulted, it would be within a guarded, walled compound. It’s become very hard for me to identify what real risks are as opposed to fantastical imaginings that would never happen.

But I’m still here. And I think I’m going to make it to my COS date in August (barring completely unpredictable political issues). I think I’ve stayed because for every bit I’ve been “damaged” from this experience, I have also grown. For every moment that it feels like misery is out to get me, I remind myself that my friends and neighbors live in this crazy, uncertain place, for their whole lives. While they are upset and angry about the death of a child, they are not distraught in the same way I am. I have learned that sensitivity is a privilege. That I have so rarely experienced loss is an underestimated privilege, one which I have done nothing to deserve.

Never before in my life have I seen the stark difference between youth and adulthood as I do here. And frankly, I think I fall too often in the youth category. I have felt naïve and protected at times. I have wanted to joke around and befriend my peers—but then I would lose their respect as my students. I am starting to recognize that I must soon take on my burdens of duty and responsibility, although in Peace Corps, with no dependents, it is easy to feel free and young, at least sometimes. But other times, when I am dealing with the mayor or teaching adults older than myself how to be entrepreneurs, I am reminded that I am no longer a child. When I go back to America, it will be time to be a “real person”. And I hope that that “real person” will be stronger, and more determined, and more mature, because of the unexpected events that have unfurled during my Peace Corps service.

Slac (take 2)

I know I’ve posted before about my best guy friend at site, but it bears talking about him more. He has been an invaluable friend and asset at site. We met on my first day at site, because he lives in the same compound I do. Somehow, I just knew he was someone I could trust. His actual name would give him the initials SLC, but he took a little bit of freedom with the acronym when he created his own nickname. He is known around town as Slac or DJ Slac, because he works at one of the night clubs in our town. He is as well known as I am, which is pretty impressive considering that I stand out a lot more than he does. I am fairly certain he never sleeps.

He is also a university student, getting his undergrad and masters in a 5 year program in the Administration of Cultural Resources (or something like that). He just got his undergrad last week, and he got a remarkable mention! No surprise there, he’s incredibly intelligent and hardworking. Sadly, the students who didn’t receive “mention remarquable” are throwing a fit and saying everyone should get one. This is just one facet of a cultural epidemic that doesn’t appropriately reward hard-workers or effectively punish lazy hangers-on.

He also owns multiple fields, works on a group-owned plot of land, and recently completed construction of his own house. He told me that he has been saving and investing his money since high school. Which is pretty clear, considering that he’s maybe 6 years out of high school. He went to a Peace Corps sponsored food security conference and learned about permaculture and other gardening techniques, and he is super excited to implement the things he learned on his plots of land.

Slac has helped me in pretty much everything I’ve ever attempted in Tanene, from getting clothes made, to running and entrepreneurship program, to translating malaria materials into Susu. After a few unfortunate mishaps, I have learned that it is always better to ask Slac first, before attempting anything new. He just knows a ton—about Tanene, about Susu cultural values, about where to buy things and how much they should cost, and the world in general. It is fantastic to have a conversation partner about just about anything. He is just as curious about things as I am, and we have had great conversations, usually in our courtyard in the fading evening light before prayer about politics and equality and education and current events.

Slac is also a devout Muslim. He says his prayers five times a day, every day. I have never seen him miss prayer, even when he has to leave in the last ten minutes of the first half of a Barca game. He doesn’t drink, even though he works at a nightclub and they sell alcohol. He is always happy to answer my questions about Islam. It is clear to me that he doesn’t just repeat the Arabic sounds (as some people do here) and he has educated himself on what Islam means and how it applies to his life. When his mother died last year, I believe his religion was a comfort to him. When I think of a young Muslim man, I will forever picture Slac—in jeans and a tee, wearing a baseball hat and laughing about some inane observation I’ve made. I could not have found a more true friend.

The Top Ten Things I want to Eat in America

1. Lasagna
2. Sushi
3. A spinach salad with walnuts and cranberries and feta cheese
4. Sausage pizza from Marion's
5. Graeters' cookie dough chip
6. Mom's spaghetti and meatballs
7. Chipotle burrito
8. Pretzels and beer (This is one food, I am Andy Tellers' daughter)
9. Unsweetened iced tea (also counts as a food, also related to my parentage)
10. Cheese on everything

On Homesickness

I think I’m a bit of an expert on homesickness at this point. After all, Oakwood was home for 18 years, and since then, I’m not sure I’ve ever really been home since. Oh, there were visits and summers, but for the last six years, anywhere I’ve been has been temporary, whether it was Maryland, Texas, or Atlanta. When my parents moved to Atlanta while I was in study abroad, it made visits back to Ohio that much less like coming home.

I have to say, I started to feel like UMD was home. I was in my element in college, and I had a great group of friends to rely upon. So most of college, I wasn’t homesick. I was definitely homesick when I got there, though. Why would I pick up and go so far away when I could have just stayed somewhere in Ohio and had at least a few friends to start with? My choice to go to Maryland was just the first of many choices that demonstrate something that is always in my mind:

It would be so easy to live a boring life.

Going to UMD made me find friends I hadn’t known since preschool. Working in Texas made me find new friends, and it also forced me to spend a lot of time just with myself. Going to Toulouse, studying engineering in French, challenged me to become bilingual, to stretch my intellectual capabilities. But by far the biggest leap I’ve taken was joining Peace Corps.

At Maryland, in Texas, in Toulouse, I often felt homesick in the beginning. It was normal, it was growing pains. Then I adapted to my new world, found my stride, and never looked back.

Peace Corps hasn’t been that comfortable. I felt the normal homesickness in the beginning, the craving for mom’s food and conversations with friends. The feel of sleeping in my own bed and waking up to a predictable world. Then, things started to get more familiar and routine during training. And then, of course, it was time to move again. This time, this move, was further away from anything resembling home, that I expected my homesickness to stick around longer than normal.

In some ways it did, and in some ways it didn’t. I think I adapted pretty well to my site. I have my routines and my friends, my market ladies, my gas station treats. I think I was a fairly capable teacher, too, within the context of the Guinean education system. But I have never hit my stride. I have never reached my element. I confess, I am not thriving in Peace Corps.

Oh, I wouldn’t trade this for the world. And I have good times. I’m just saying that I am trying to be the best version of myself in this situation, and I am failing. I hate failing. Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t fail. I fail so rarely or so minimally that sometimes it feels like I must be able to do anything if I just try hard enough. I am trying. I am failing. When people in my town tell me that I should stay another year, I joke that I can’t because my mother would cry (you would, right, mom?). But really, I can’t stay, because I can’t do this for another year. I can do it for 3 more months, and I will, and in that way, I will have “succeeded” in Peace Corps. I find myself struck by terrible homesickness, for the entirety of my service, where I just wish I could be in a familiar, comfortable place. I wish I could be at home. I’m not even sure where home is. It’s the homesickness that tells me I haven’t truly succeeded here. I am walking a mile in what is only approximately a Guinean’s shoes, and I can’t do it.

Enormous amounts of the world’s population lives a life thousands of times less opulent than mine. Women all over the world are hit on by strangers every day of their life. (Don’t worry about me, it only happens weekly and I just learned how to say “Your dick is small” in Susu.) Many of my friends and neighbors live with illness and pain and disfigurement, with no treatment, and yet manage to lead full lives.

It’s pretty damn humbling to fail at something you are doing on purpose, when others with no choice carry their burdens so well.

You could say that my life is trying. Or difficult. Or challenging. Good things, too, like rewarding and surprising and enlightening. You could say I’m having trouble. You could say my life is tough, at the moment.

But you could never, ever, not in a million years, say that my life is boring.

WORLD MALARIA DAY

Today, all over the world, people are talking about Malaria. Want to sound like you're in the know? Be part of the cool crowd? Here's what you need to know:

Malaria is a life-threatening disease caused by parasites that are transmitted to people through the bites of infected mosquitoes.

In 2010, malaria caused an estimated 660 000 deaths (with an uncertainty range of 490 000 to 836 000), mostly among African children.

Malaria is preventable and curable.

Malaria mortality rates have fallen by more than 25% globally since 2000, and by 33% in the WHO African Region.

Malaria is transmitted exclusively through the bites of Anopheles mosquitoes

Fever, headache, chills and vomiting are often the first symptoms of malaria

The best available treatment is artemisinin-based combination therapy (ACT).

Insecticide-treated mosquito nets (ITNs) and Indoor spraying with residual insecticides are two forms of vector control to reduce transmission

There are currently no licensed vaccines against malaria or any other human parasite.

Source: WHO

Now that you've got the down-low...go and spread your knowledge! Be sure to tell me about any World Malaria Day activities you do! For my part, I'll be giving Malaria Lessons in both my classes, and we'll be doing bednet relays during recess!

What did you do today to vanquish Malaria?

Well, I (inshallah, as all plans are) have traveled to a friend's site, where Peace Corps Volunteers will be going head to head with village soccer players in a match of epic proportions. Although, the soccer field will be of very small proportions. We'll be playing on a miniature field at their Centre Culturel, all the better to bring out the people for the novelty of seeing lots and lots of fotes failing miserably at soccer. Or not. We're scrappy. We could win.

The soccer match is just the big draw. The real guts of the day are the sensibilisations that we've given in the school of 1800 students, the targeted talks given to market ladies, and the theater piece by a local group during half-time. For even greater coverage, we've told the local radio of our efforts. And that's not even the biggest event we have planned! Muahahaha we shall defeat malaria! (and the other regions in this contest)

I can't wait! It will be great to do sensibilisations as a team, and I'm sure our Susu sensibilisations in the market will be quite entertaining.

Stay tuned for some pictures! (Dependent on internet access)

Malaria Month!

This April, all over Guinea, nay, all over Africa, PCVs are working to Stomp Out Malaria. What does that mean? It means we're holding awareness raising bike rides, soccer games with malaria education half-time shows, malaria classroom lessons, home visits to teach bednet cleaning and use, and many many more activities. Our brilliant Malaria Coordinator, Sean, has made malaria month into a contest between regions in Guinea, which has really lit a fire under our bottoms to get out the word. It should have been in conjunction with a nation-wide bednet distribution campaign, but unfortunately for my region, the funds didn't come through in time, so we'll have to wait til June to get bednets in our communities. Nonetheless, Basse Cote really came together to plan some activities that we really hope can bring change to our communities.

Why does it matter? You might ask this question because you don't know how big of a problem malaria is. Or you might ask this question because you know just how widespread malaria is, and you can't believe a month-long campaign could make much of a dent.

For the first crowd: Malaria is a huuuuuge problem in Guinea, and in Africa as a whole. The statistics in Guinea are very poorly tracked and defined, but the picture that emerges is pretty clear. A large portion of our Guinean friends and colleagues have had malaria or le palu as it's called here, many many times. It's like the flu in America. Teachers in the US may find partially empty classrooms and the reason is "the flu". Teachers like me find half empty classrooms here, and the reason is le palu (even though it probably wasn't diagnosed, and it most likely isn't being treated as it should be). In Africa as a whole, the effect on high-risk populations (pregnant women, children, and people living with HIV/AIDS) is stunning. In pregnant women, "[m]alaria in pregnancy increases the risk of maternal anaemia, stillbirth, spontaneous abortion, low birth weight and neonatal death", according to WHO. Every 30 seconds, a child dies of malaria. Hold up, wait a second---malaria is a treatable, preventable disease and two children die PER MINUTE because of it.

That's a big problem in my world.

For the second crowd: Yes, 103 volunteers in a country the size of Oregon can't change culturally-embedded values and beliefs in the course of a month. But we must start somewhere, and how better to motivate a group of mostly young Americans--competition! So we've been trained up and sent back to our communities, full of ideas and activities that we hope will empower our friends and family here to modify their behavior in a way that stops the malaria transmission cycle and cuts down on the needless death, illness, and economic loss that comes with malaria. Do we think that every person we speak to will heed our call and immediately change their behavior, avoiding malaria for the rest of their lives? No. But change is slow, and that's OK. Our hope is with this intense period of activity in the "Fight Against Malaria" (direct translate from French), we can have a jumping off point for the impact of Peace Corps Volunteers in Guinea.

What can I do? Great question! Malaria is a global problem. All of you can help in the fight against malaria by donating to organizations working on the ground, by educating yourself and others about the realities of malaria, and by organizing World Malaria Day events on April 25.

Donations: It's very hard to get donations specifically to Guinea, but 2 great organizations for all of Africa are:
Against Malaria
Malaria No More

Education:
Follow my blog! (and tell others to!)
Follow @StompM_Guinea and @StompOutMalaria on Twitter (please let me know if you do!)
Like "Stomp Out Malaria" on Facebook (Again, let me know please!)
Read all the BAMM 2013 (Blog About Malaria Month) blogs here

Organize:
Search the web to find World Malaria Day events near you! Do you have a community group or classroom that might not know about World Malaria Day? Take 15-30 minutes to tell them more about this global issue and join in the fight! If you do, let me know, and I'll feature your activities here on my blog, and you'll get a shout-out by Stomp Out Malaria Guinea!

Malaria is a treatable, preventable disease that kills millions every year. Do your part to stop the needless loss that malaria causes.

Winding Down

As crazy as it sounds, by the time this is posted, I will have less than 5 months left at site. It means that it's go time! For my library project, which will be under construction (or is by now I hope). For my classes, which have always been a struggle to keep up to speed, but it's getting down to the wire. For the world map project I'm doing this month and the malaria projects I'm doing next month. It means it's starting to be "lasts": the last visit to the Boke house, the last lake trip, the last of all the things that are my routines. It means that I'm desperate to be done, but so unprepared to leave behind my family and friends here. It means that I will be pissed if the political instability spirals out of control and changes my Peace Corps timeline, which is a possibility with legislative elections in a mess. It means 3 more months of writing on the chalkboard with my left hand. It means it's time to look for jobs in mechanical engineering, a field that I haven't done anything technical in in two years (hint, hint, help me find a job!). It means figuring out what I take with me.

I know that I'll take with me a better understanding of the world, a clearer picture of poverty, a more realistic view of development projects. I'll never forget starry nights, or laughing with my host family, or spinning the kids in my compound around until my arms hurt. I'll keep the memories of the sweaty days (and nights) and the thumping music and the spicy food. I'll come home with a clearer picture of who I am and who I want to be. Maybe not in career terms, but in more important ways, I think.

I still have a lot of work to do before I feel like I've left anything that valuable here.

Girl's Day

On Friday, March 8, I made a special trip to my school to celebrate International Women's Day with the girls at the Lycee. I usually don't teach on Fridays, so first I made a stop at the gas station for cookies and then the roadside juice baggie sellers for jinjam and bissap. There are 20 girls in my school of approximately 150 students. My plan was to congratulate them on making it to high school, pass out snacks, pass out cadeaux, and then make a sign celebrating their identities as female Guinean high school students.

For the seniors, I used pens that my parents brought with them. They have pretty swirly designs on the outside, and the seven of them were really excited to get them. I still see them using them every day in school! And all the boys are sooo jealous. For the rest of the girls, I just gave them regular pens, which isn't that great of a present in my way of thinking, but they seemed happy and it was a school-related gift, after all. Plus, even though 500 francs is just monopoly money to me, it's not negligeable to them.

Once everyone had their presents and were happily eating the sugar-blasted snacks I brought, I told them we were going to make a sign that said "Nous travaillons pour nos futurs. Nous sommes:" (We are working for our futures. We are:) and then list the characteristics that they believe best describe them. This is where the whole thing could have flopped. I could just imagine them looking at me with confusion or boredom. But instead, when I gave them a few examples of what I was looking for, they took off! In no time at all, we had made a draft on the board of what we wanted to write.

It was especially fun to write the feminine plural form of all of the adjectives. In French, if there's so much as one male involved in a group, all of the conjugations in plural remain male. So for their entire lives at school, when students are being described, the male version is always used. It made me really happy to use those girly words! French is a sexist language, I swear.

I asked the girls who wanted to write on the big sheet of paper I brought, but they all told me I should write. I was OK with that because, well, my students can sometimes take forever trying to make everything just right. They picked the colors of sharpies I used though, and directed me in the placement of the words.

At this point the boys came back from break and made us change classrooms because of their whining. So we did, and I had the girls sign the paper. Then we took pictures!

Seeing the finish line

I currently have five and a half months left of my Peace Corps service. Crazy! Time flies, as my students would say. In some ways, having such little time left has made me incredibly grateful for the moments I've had, like the soccer game I got to play in the other day, the big-ups from the cute kids across the street, and hanging out with my family.

On the other hand, it makes me antsy to get home and start dreaming about new directions! It doesn't help that I'm in pain pretty consistently every day from my arm/wrist problems. I can't WAIT to finish teaching! But more so I can't wait to come home and see all the people I've been missing for two years, who are spread out across a huge country! I can't wait to start applying for real jobs that could lead to a career. To see my nieces for more than a few days. To catch up on TV and movies and technology. Sometimes it's hard not to daydream too much, especially when my kids are mouthing off or don't seem to care about their futures.


In other news, Conakry has been kind of a mess recently. There was a planned march last Wednesday, with a planned "ville mort" (closed up city) on Thursday. Both days spiralled into violence with rocks being thrown, shots being fired, teargas, etc. Even more unfortunately, the violence became ethnically motivated (to my understanding) and continued on Friday and Saturday. I can't figure out whether or not to be concerned. On one hand, protests and violence are not abnormal. On the other hand, it seems like we might be approaching a boiling point. We'll just have to wait and see and stay safe, which is why I'm leaving early today to go back to site. Whew. I was here receiving a malaria prevention training. Just wait til April! You'll be hearing from me about malaria ALL the time.

Senegal vs Guinea

As many of you may know by my overuse of facebook in the past two weeks, I was in Senegal getting my arm checked out. I've been having wrist pain on and off since training, but only in the last three months has it been my right wrist, and now my right elbow and shoulder. The orthopedist and neurologist I saw feel that they ruled out all the "bad" reasons for my wrist pain, and that I gave myself tennis elbow when I was bracing my wrist while writing on the chalkboard. So now I need to become ambidextrous, do some PT exercises, and wear a forearm band. Luckily, I am already partially ambidextrous due to a lifelong desire to become so, as well as 3 months of college spent practicing writing with my left hand. Some people doodle in class, I wrote the alphabet. Anyway, we'll see how things go when I get back to site. There is the option, should I push for it, of getting a steroid shot, but that's not a long-term solution, and Peace Corps isn't a huge fan of it. At this point, though, I only have 3 months of school left, so I would be OK with a short-term solution. It looks like I'll just have to deal with the wrist pain and wait to get it further evaluated when I come back to the US. I don't feel like this is bad enough where I should end my service over it, but I do have to consider the risk of giving myself a chronic condition. All in all, not an ideal outcome to two weeks, but not all bad either.

Dakar was ridiculous. It's clearly an African capital, because there are the bustling markets and the hustlers of tourist-priced goods and the incredibly cheap local food....but there is a definite Western feel as well. I ate ice cream and cheese daily, I went to the mall, I went to hospitals that looked like hospitals, I went to restaurants with menus that serve everything on the menu. In short, I was totally spoiled and lazy and ate everything I wanted to. It was so much overindulgence, actually, that I am looking forward to returning to my scrambled eggs and bean sandwiches and eggplant sauce. Also looking forwards to running. I only brought flip-flops with me! Landing in the Conakry airport last night, I found that I was really glad to be back in Guinea. As the PC car drove me to the bureau, the lights piercing the dusty air and the candle-lit boutiques and the cars going the wrong way on the trash-littered street, I couldn't help but grin. Hey, it's a shit-hole in Conakry. But it's my shit-hole.

Going from Dakar to Conakry feels like going from a Mondrian painting to a Jackson Pollack. I'm not sure what artist Tanene would be characterised by, but I can't wait to get back. Today I'm going to do some computer-based tasks and get myself used to the heat again, and tomorrow a.m. I'll head back for my last 6 months of service! Time flies when you're having fun! (or always out of site...)

When I'm ravenously hungry...

After class one day this week, I headed "downtown" to grab some food because I was very hungry, as it was nearly 3 pm and id eaten some peanuts at 10 am. (pardon the terrible typing, i got a new brace for my right wrist and am thus typing left-handed, which does not lend itself to correct capitalization or punctuation.)

When I say downtown, i mean the area of town called the "Carrefour". It means intersection, and it's a trianguar section formed by the fork of two paved roads. Nearly every volunteer has a carrefour, but mine is, I modestly think, the best. I have a gas station (aka walmart) with consistently cold drinks and a selection of overly preserved snacks and cookies. (think pringles and twinkies...but lower quality twinkies). There are also women selling ice, bananas, and fried cakes. There is also transportation to at least 3 major towns every single day. That's not to be taken for granted. Many of my friends have to wait for market day to get to even one town! And yet im still considered au village.

Anyway, there are also a multitude of women selling rice and a variety of sauces. The sauces are the best earlier in the day, so on this particular afternoon, I had to settle for cold sauce and slightly dried out rice. It was, however, my favorite sauce, so that made up for it. I bought the smallest plate for 3000 francs. It was a huge bowl of rice. I mean imagine a Chipotle bowl if its major axis was its diameter. (coughnerdcough) I also bought 2 sacs of filtered water, one of which i drank right away in the complete ecstacy known only to a chalk-coated teacher who just spent the last 6 hours talking and then walked ten minutes in the 90 degree arid sun, then found gloriously cold water. I ate maybe half of my rice bowl before I started to worry about popping the seams on my dress. So I left it to be finished by some passing child (oh thats not what you do with leftovers?) and started waddling home. But then I got distracted by freshly fried cakes and plaintains, so I bought one of each of those for dessert. And then I realized I was all out of cash.

My entire meal (too much rice and sauce for 3000 francs, 2  sachets of water for 1000, and 2 desserts for 1000 francs) had included a main dish (carbs, fats, proteins, and veggies), two drinks (albeit water), and 2 desserts (both delicious, btw). The American cost: 71 cents.

I wiped grease from the plaintain off my face and contentedly waddled home.

And they say life is hard here.

Parents in Guinea

What will I remember from my parent's visit to Guinea? The time we got ripped off on the islands for new years eve? The impossibility of finding a taxi out of Conakry? No.

Because when your real family (minus my sister) meets your adoptive family, all the stupid little stressful things go away. I'll remember making my favorite sauce with Bijou, and how she kept hugging and kissing my parents and telling them how happy she was. And how my parents played with her daughter, Hawa, as though she was a third grandchild. 

I'll remember my mom's surprise and happiness when she saw Ela, a child in my compound, dragging a box around by a plastic bag string and calling it his car.

I'll remember my students singing the national anthem to my parents, and singing the American anthem for them. Not to mention all the questions they were brave enough to ask my parents that they've never asked me. And the questions my parents had for my students.

I'll remember head-lamp reading with my parents in my enormous bed under the mosquito net, singing along to "Call me Maybe". And how disconcerted they were by not having light at night, something I'm completely used to.

I'll remember dinner out with all the volunteers and hearing my dad give the French line. The French line? If you've heard it, you'd know what I mean. Both hilarious and embarrassing, in that special way that only a parent can manage. 

I'll remember hugs and laughs and the happiness that comes with knowing that your loved ones can better understand what you're going through. 

Thanks, Mom and Dad. It was wonderful to have you here! I love you!