Bye (and hello) from afar

I've been back for 8 weeks now. It's crazy for me to think about the day I left Guinea; we were told again and again we'd be going back in the coming weeks. Obviously, the staff reassuring us had no way of predicting just how "out of control" the Ebola outbreak was to become. I was in the last group to leave, staying in Conakry for a few nights and watching a group of around 30 volunteers leave each evening. Too many goodbyes to too many people I love. Finally, our group said farewells to the staff and at last we were off.

My first few weeks back were difficult, to say the least. I did not allow myself to readjust to being back, stubbornly convincing myself that I'd be headed to Guinea soon enough. I hibernated in Vermont for a little. I cried a silly amount. It hurt me so much to think about Guinea that, I'm embarrassed to say, I couldn't bring myself to contact my best Guinean friends until last week. I tried to turn the Guinea part of my brain onto "off" mode. It didn't work. Guinea spilled into my life in so many ways. Silly little things, like greeting and chatting with any person I came into contact with, or saving even the littlest bit of butter and returning it to the fridge, or experiencing something beyond appreciation every time I turned on a light, plugged in my phone, or took a shower.

I can imagine if I'd had more time to say goodbye and to prepare myself mentally for my departure, I'd miss Guinea, but not like how I've been feeling. When I think of all the people I didn't get to say goodbye to there are a few that immediately come to mind. The first is Madame Tounakara, my neighbor, who helped me with my laundry and is one of the more generous people I've ever met. She doesn't speak a lot of French but as my Malinke improved our relationship moved beyond the basic salutations. However, she LOVED showing off the bit of French she knew. Every time we'd say hello, she'd insist on saying, "Ça va au marché?" or rather, "How was the market?" ... Even if I was coming from school, or a neighbor's house, or Kankan. She's certainly asked my host family where I am by now, but thinking about not being able to tie up loose ends with her gives me a pit in my stomach. I also can't help but think about my students. I had no time to tell them I was leaving, no time to say goodbye. The only way I can make myself feel better is to remember that I can always call. Technology is AMAZING.

In fact, I just got off the phone with my principal. I love talking to him. He makes my extreme emotions seem silly, constantly saying he KNOWS I'd be there if I could, but I can't, and he loves/appreciates Peace Corps and knows they will be back one day. I told him a little bit about how much Ebola has been in the media here and asked him how much people in Cissela are talking about it. His answer: NOT AT ALL. He's part of a small group of educated men who goes to the "video club" each night to watch the national news broadcast, so he has a good idea of what's going on. But really, and I struggle explaining this to people who ask me about the evacuation, life in Cissela has barely changed. I myself didn't understand the gravity of the situation. I remember at the end of June I was in the Conakry airport and helped a volunteer with Doctor's Without Borders translate from English to French. He asked me if I was with the CDC; I replied that no, I was a Peace Corps Volunteer. "Bad timing for you to be here, huh?" he said. It took me a beat to figure out that he was talking about Ebola. Although from this end it sort of seems like people are dying in the streets all across West Africa, Ebola is so many degrees of separation away from my village. The biggest concern in most people's heads right now is the peanut harvest which is currently underway.

That isn't to say that the outbreak isn't serious. It's been frustrating to follow, watching the painfully slow international reaction to what is now the largest Ebola outbreak in our globe's history. And, without a bolstered intervention, the CDC says that there could be 1.4 million cases by January. A sort of silver lining is that the situation in Guinea is said to have stabilized. Peace Corps Volunteers are doing what they can from afar, helping with opensource mapping in Ebola regions, holding talks in schools and community centers, and writing articles about the outbreak. The situation in Sierra Leone and Liberia continues to be dire; it will take years for these countries to fully recover economically. If you'd like to donate to the organizations doing the brunt of the work (treating the ill, running treatment centers, and "contact tracing" all individuals who have been exposed), you can read more about them here.

So, what now? Liberia and Sierra Leone have officially closed their Peace Corps offices. Guinea remains on "administrative hold" awaiting another update on October 15th. I applied for and was offered a 10 month long position with Peace Corps Mali, but I turned it down. I just can't start all over again; I'm only just now a little bit okay with being in the US. Don't get me wrong: saying no to that offer was a painstakingly difficult decision. I'm still not 100 percent sure I made the right choice, but at least the choice has been made and I no longer have to mull it over. I'm applying to graduate schools, seeing friends and family, and becoming reacquainted with Boston. You know what? It's really not that bad. The fact is, you can have two homes. Hell, you can have three. I was so nervous when I called my Guinean friends for the first time after evacuation, scared they'd be resentful or angry I hadn't contacted them earlier. You know what I heard in their voices? Pure joy. You know how I felt when I got off the phone? Giddy. Coming back here, I've realized that if you are close enough with a person you can always fall back into your established relationship. I was in Guinea long enough for that to be true with my Guinean friends and family. Leaving sucked, but these days it's all about the silver linings.

Whirlwind

It was just yesterday that I received the message. I’d been teaching a review math class for my students going into 10^th grade since I won’t be there to teach them next year and the presence or absence of a replacement teacher remains a giant question mark. When class was over, I immediately noticed several text messages and missed calls, the first one from PC CD (Peace Corps Country Director), which read something along the lines of: “Due to Ebola, PCG has decided to remove all V/Ts from Guinea as a precautionary measure. See email for details.” For those of you who don’t speak Peace Corps, PCG means Peace Corps Guinea and V/Ts means Volunteers and Trainees. The moment I read the message, it was like I’d been punched in the stomach.

Let me give a little background. If you follow the news, I’m sure you’ve heard of the Ebola outbreak that began in Guinea this past April. I distinctly remember cooking my dinner by candlelight, listening to the BBC headlines on my shortwave radio, and dropping my spoon when the words “Guinea” and “Ebola” were used in the same sentence.

The days following confirmation that the hemorrhagic fever popping up in Guinea’s forest region was in fact the dreaded Ebola, I was sure we’d be evacuated. I was terrified to eat with my host family or to get into a shared taxi as we learned of Ebola’s transmission out of the forest region and into the country’s capital, Conakry. However, the facts quickly quelled my fears. The truth: it’s actually not very easy to catch Ebola. One has to be in close contact with the bodily fluids of the ill or recently deceased in order for it to be transmitted from person to person. Ebola is not transmissible if the person is not yet displaying symptoms, and when the person actually gets sick, their symptoms cause them to be bedridden. Patient zero probably contracted it by eating undercooked bush meat, such as monkey or bat. So basically, to avoid Ebola, one should avoid the gravely ill, recently deceased, and not eat monkey. Sounds clear enough.

The people in my village were freaked out when they heard about Ebola, especially because of its lack of treatment and gruesome way of liquefying its victim’s organs. This actually wasn’t a bad thing. A lot more people started washing their hands with soap, and my principal found money for us to install “tippy-taps,” the closest thing you can get to a faucet without running water, at my school. Orange, the largest phone service provider in Guinea, sent out PSAs to all of its clients, dispelling myths about the illness (and trust me, there were a lot). Things seemed like they might actually clear up. And they started to, but not for long.

A combination of mismanagement and skepticism from locals has made it incredibly hard to control this outbreak of Ebola. Over the months, the death toll has continued rising and the disease has spread to three other countries: Sierra Leone, Liberia, and now Nigeria. Peace Corps continually gives us updates on where the outbreaks are concentrated in Guinea (mostly in the forest region, where there are no PCVs), reminds us of the things we should do to avoid it, and tells us we can leave site and go to our regional capital if we feel uncomfortable. We were assured that the odds of Ebola leading to an evacuation were slim to none.

Which is why this text message seemed so incredibly out of the blue. Earlier that day, I’d spoken to multiple PCVs about future projects we were planning, I’d given my students math homework for Saturday, and I’d planned to bike to a neighboring volunteer’s site the next day. There was no way on earth we’d be leaving, and so suddenly. But we are.

This past week, two PCVs in Liberia were exposed to Ebola, and while neither of them is displaying symptoms, Peace Corps needs to do something. I understand that. All PCVs in Liberia, Sierra Leone, and Guinea are being “temporarily evacuated.”

My hut is packed up, I’ve informed those dear to me in Cissela, and a Peace Corps car is coming to pick me up tomorrow morning. PC has purchased us roundtrip tickets departing in the coming days and returning to Guinea in the beginning of September in the hopes that the situation will be tame enough by then that we can return to our work. I have no idea what to expect, all I know is that being torn away from this place I’ve learned to call my home over the past two years with so many unknowns is one of the hardest things I’ve ever been through. After all of the unrest surrounding with elections, the month we were on lockdown at site and not allowed to go further than a 5-mile radius, it’s Ebola that’s sending us home.

So, let’s hope that both the Guinean government and foreign bodies helping out (namely Doctors Without Borders and the CDC) are able to control this outbreak in the coming weeks. Let’s hope, not only for the 102 PCV/Ts being sent home, but also for the 102 communities that will have a hole in their schools/health centers/youth centers, and the population of Guinea that is not only at risk of Ebola, but also lacks information, running water, and basic hygienic infrastructure.

Guinea, despite being hot, uncomfortable, and trying, has a way of sneaking its way into your heart. Regardless of what happens, I am so lucky that I got to spend 25 spectacular months here. As for the United States… see you in the next few days!

The end. (Not exactly)

Close of service (COS) is quickly approaching. My stage, or rather the 19 of us who remain, traveled to Kamsar, a city several hours north of Conakry for our COS Conference. We spent 3 days discussing readjustment to the U.S., logistics of how to schedule our flights, health insurance, etc. We also did a lot of reflecting on and digesting everything we've experienced over the past two years. In so many ways our experiences overlap, but we all have such unique stories and relationships that it's interesting to compare notes. I can imagine it would be very confusing for a non-Peace Corps Guinea person as a fly on the wall, as we've sort of developed our own PCV language.

Regardless, this conference was a little odd and inapplicable to me, because...................................
I've decided to extend for a third year!!!!!!!!!! I know I've mentioned that I was considering it to a number of friends back home but it's now official. In a few months I will be moving to my regional capital, Kankan, and working with an organization that promotes gender equity as the "Peace Corps Volunteer Leader for Gender Equity and Women's Empowerment" (yes, it's a mouthful). This means in addition to the work I'll be doing in Kankan with the women's association, I will also be working for Peace Corps Guinea, developing resources and trainings on issues of gender. I'm really excited; the situation for females in Guinea has truly been one of the most troubling aspects of my time here and I am looking forward to devoting an entire year to the cause. Peace Corps is flying me home for the month of September so I can take a little break and visit friends and family. It's a little crazy to me that today is my two year anniversary with Peace Corps!

The past few months have been very busy: first, the end of school (my students just took the Brevet, the high school entrance exam, this past week). The end was bittersweet; I had been so fed up with my 10th grade class for so long that I was more than happy to say goodbye to them. However, my 9th graders, who work hard and are fun to be around, were upset over the fact that I won't be with them next year. Once I get back to Cissela (I am currently in Conakry), I am planning on holding summer math classes for the incoming 10th graders, as it's unclear if there will be a math teacher next year. After saying goodbye to my students, I headed to Kamsar for our COS Conference. It was really important to me to be with my stage all together one last time, so I'm happy it happened. We ate great food, watched the first game of the World Cup in air conditioned luxury, and swam in a pretty dirty pool.

The day after COS Conference, two other volunteers and I had to hurry back to our villages to go pick up students selected to attend a science camp. The travel was filled with typical mishaps: a crappy car with an even crappier driver, an epic rainstorm with barely functional windshield wipers as we drove through the mountains, and 3 flat tires within one half-mile span (ok, that one is not typical and I have no idea how that happened). After spending 2 days traveling all the way back to site, I spent about 15 hours there only to turn back around and head to Mamou for science camp with two of the smartest 7th and 8th graders from Cissela. Science camp was awesome; it was organized by a couple of Physics teacher PCVs. We ran two experiments a day for five weeks, all completely hands on (building an electrolyser, the dissection of a chicken, learning how to use a microscope, among others), and also had tons of camp-like activities (movie nights, ice breaker games, sports, etc.) It was really special seeing these kids being just that: kids. For one week, they had no chores, no strict teachers breathing down their necks and yelling at them, and activities completely for them. The last night we played a slideshow of photos from the week and tears were shed, exactly like summer camps I went to back in the day. Magical!

I spent the past week in Spain with my brother, Ethan. It was good to get out of Guinea for a bit: eat good food, see some interesting places (a huge bullfighting ring, among others), attend a Rolling Stones concert in the Real Madrid stadium, and enjoy comfortable travel in a bullet train, where everything leaves on time and you get your own assigned seat....

I am now back in Guinea, right for the start of Ramadan (no food anywhere). I'm happy to be back: I'll be spending the next two weeks helping to train the new group of Education volunteers coming in on the 3rd. One person among them will be replacing me in Cissela! After these two weeks I'll finally go back to site -- it's been far too long. I'll embrace my last 6 weeks there before heading back to the states for home leave. Then it's back to Guinea for round three!

Dust off those mosquito nets

I was recently speaking with someone close to me about malaria in Guinea, explaining that I had gone door-to-door to hang mosquito nets that had been sitting under peoples' beds, unused. He asked, "Malaria isn't actually that widespread in Guinea, is it?" I'm beginning to realize how much I take for granted the fact that malaria is the number one killer in this country; to me, that's common knowledge. The disease accounts for 34 percent of all consultations, 31 percent of all hospitalizations, and 14 percent of deaths in Guinea. Essentially all Guineans have had malaria by the age of 2; considering how dangerous the disease is to children under 5, this is a staggering statistic. 

I've found that combating this disease isn't easy. The simplest and most effective way to prevent malaria is to sleep under a mosquito net. Luckily, last year the Global Fund and President's Malaria Initiative (thanks Obama!) funded a country-wide net distribution. Ideally, this means that every family in my village received brand spanking new insecticide-treated nets, enough to cover all individuals. (In practice, of course it didn’t end up perfectly – but they still did a damn good job.) So, after receiving a new net, obviously you hang it up, right? Not necessarily. On my house visits this year I’ve found a lot of nets collecting dust under peoples’ beds.

Sleep under your net, and you won't get malaria. You'll protect your children and pregnant women from death, you'll save a lot of money that you would have spent had you or one of your family members gotten malaria, and you'll be able to continue to go be productive in the fields or doing whatever work it is that you do. Simple enough? But that small act of hanging a mosquito net and tucking it in every night before you go to sleep is a behavior change that has to be learned. Simply telling people once to sleep under a net isn't going to do it. Malaria is such a fact of life here, it's accepted. Hence why I say, combating the disease isn't easy.

That being said, it's not impossible, either. This month is Malaria Month in Guinea, and volunteers all over the country are partaking in malaria-related activities and projects. The momentum we've gained this month is amazing, and seeing other volunteers working hard to stomp out malaria is inspiring; this is definitely the good kind of peer pressure.

I've been happy to dive into malaria work. The school year is winding down and the motivation levels of even my 10th graders is so low that it's a little painful for me to go to school everyday. In addition to helping my community, selfishly these projects have helped me out, too. So, what have I done to STOMP out Malaria? I've worked with a group of ten of my best and most enthusiastic 9th graders to make them experts on malaria. While it may be hard to get people to sleep under their nets, I've found simply giving the facts about the disease and dispelling myths can be incredibly effective. NO, malaria is not caused by mangos, or milk, or dirty water. After these 10 students became experts on the disease, we went to the health center on "vaccination day" to speak with pregnant and nursing women and explain to them the facts about malaria and the importance of sleeping under a net. They did a fantastic job, pairing off into groups of two and speaking one-on-one with 29 pregnant and nursing women throughout the morning. 

The most enthusiastic of the students, a boy named Bakary, then invited me to his village to go door to door and hang nets. Most of the nets were covered in dust, so we took this as an opportunity to teach how to effectively wash mosquito nets without destroying the insecticide. We told each household that we'd come back in one week to check and see if the nets were washed and hung; if they were, we'd take a picture of the net's owner and hang the photos up in the health center. We'll be going back this Tuesday to see if they've hung their nets -- although, Bakary has told me he's returned to their houses everyday to see if their nets are hung, so something tells me we'll have no problems by Tuesday! 

This past week, Tess and I organized a soccer match between our two villages, hosted in Cissela. During the game's half time, both of our schools performed malaria-themed skits. These were a HUGE hit. My students (those same 10 ninth graders) dressed a boy up in drag as a pregnant woman; the play essentially explained the importance of mosquito nets, especially for pregnant women. Tess' students' skit had a great message: if you don't sleep under your net and you get malaria, you'll have to spend your money on treatment; if you do sleep under your net, you can spend your money on something cool like a new phone or clothing (I think this hit home with the middle school crowd). I was so pleasantly surprised with the work the students had put into the skits, not to mention the audience's reception.

The cast of our skit -- with a pregnant woman and four mosquitoes

Malaria month is only halfway finished, and I've got lots more planned, including a bike tour with Tess to 5 villages; we'll teach lessons in primary schools in each village. Like every month here, Malaria Month is flying by! My time in Guinea is quickly disappearing, so I'm trying to make the most of it.

Still in Guinea.

So much has happened and I’ve had so little internet since December that I haven’t been able to post.

What to write about? My parents’ weeklong stint in this beautiful country? The Peace Corps organized regional spelling bee hosted at my school? The nutrition conference that three of my students attended on an organic farm? The ever-persisting battle between me and my 10^th grade students about their work ethic? The departure of two of my best friends from my village, and the ensuing cry fest I had?

The short of it: the second year is inexplicably different than my first. When I first arrived in Cissela, every day was a hurdle. When I got back to my hut in the evening, it was a relief. The highs were unbelievably high and the lows lower than low. This year, the days are hard but for reasons that are more normal. School days are challenging: of course there is the issue of discipline, compounded with differing opinions with other teachers on appropriate punishments. We have received so many new teachers this year that I, the foreigner, have seniority. My principal even went so far as to promote me to assistant principal (although I think he did this mostly because I do all the paperwork without complaining). My relationships with my students this year are intense. I spend so many hours in my 10^th grade each week that we certainly have what can be described as a love/hate relationship. They’ve started coming to me with problems beyond the classroom; typically social issues they are having with other students.

Outside of school, things have become somewhat strained with my host family. Hawa, my dear friend, moved to Conakry to join her husband. She was the link between me and the family; the day she left I was a tearful mess and the family didn’t quite know what to do with me. I still try to spend time with them, but it’s a lot of me sitting and reading while they move about me. On the flipside, I’ve been spending a huge amount of time with my principal’s wife. She and I are the same age, but we have had very different lives. When she was 16, having never gone to school, she was living in Conakry as an apprentice for a tailor. Her parents contacted her to say they had found her a husband, a man she had never met: my principal. Both my principal (who I respect greatly) and Nansira (his wife) have confided in me in the difficulties in their early marriage.  He was in love with another woman, but his parents arranged the marriage with Nansira and would not accept the other woman. As a Guinean man, he could have married Nansira and then taken the other woman as a second wife, but he knows that polygamy comes with problems. He and Nansira have learned to love each other in their own way, but it’s still tragic for me to hear their sides of the story. Regardless, Nansira is a goofball, and has filled the Hawa-filled hole in my life.

The highlight of the past few months was a 2-day conference that I led for young women students from 4 villages across Guinea. The event, called the Young Women’s Nutrition and Leadership Conference, took place in Kindia, a town that is known as the agricultural capital of Guinea. Four PCVs were involved; myself, along with three close friends from my training class. We each selected three of our best female students to bring along. Tess and I, living not too far apart, traveled to Kindia together.

I woke up at 5:30 – before even the first call to prayer – strapped on my headlamp, and biked to my principal’s. Fortunately, the three girls had spent the night at his house since they did not want to be sleep through our departure. Shortly after, Tess and her girls showed up in a 9-place taxi that they had hired from Tess’ village. We spend 10 long, sleepy hours in the car to arrive finally in a small village outside of Kindia. The girls were thrilled – they were constantly calling their friends and family on each step of the journey to give updates, feeling special for being selected among their peers. By 6PM we had finally arrived at the farm, a beautiful setting in tropical Basse Cote. The manager of the farm is a young man named Chico, a Guinean who spent many of his formative years in the states. His family has created an impressive farm; it is a semi-organic, experimental farm that grows a variety of species of plants and raises animals that are not typically found in Guinea but could be easily adapted to diversify Guinean farming and increase nutrition intake (for example, he experiments with different species of bananas and distributes seeds to his community; he also raises fish and rabbits to increase protein availability). The family has also constructed a training center, where they bring in Guinean agricultural groups for information sharing. It was at this center that we held our conference.

The training had two major themes. The first was to inform the 12 participants on basic facts of nutrition and how to improve nutrition using ingredients that are readily available in all Guinean communities. The second was to equip the young women with effective communication strategies and to inspire them to reflect upon their futures. We led sessions on fundamentals of nutrition, nutrition of children under 5 and pregnant women, and a cooking class. We discussed the difference between passivity, aggressiveness, and confidence in communication, and at the end of the conference we had each participant practice giving a mock sensitization, where they taught a food preparer with a specific family situation what they had learned about nutrition that would be relevant to that family. When each participant arrived in her respective village, she was then responsible for visiting three families and giving the cook in each family a nutrition sensitization.

Beyond this information sharing, the highlight of the conference was a panel of two successful Guinean women who came to share their stories. One, Chico’s mother, named Hadja, is an older woman who has had an incredibly rich past. When she was younger, she pushed the boundaries in Guinea and entered the world of politics in the capital. After several years, she chose to leave politics and return to her community, where she began her career of service, starting up the farm and eventually founding an organization called AGUIDEP (Association Guinéenne pour le Développement) in the nearby city of Kindia that continues to do important work today. Through her story, she highlighted the importance of pushing through despite obstacles and discouragements. She went against all norms as one of the only women in the realm of Guinean politics, and she explained to the girls that while it can be incredibly difficult to be the only female in a sea of men, but that perseverance allowed her success. The second panel member was a much younger woman named Mariame. She works for Hadja’s organization AGUIDEP. When she was a high school student, her parents told her they had found her a husband, but she explained to her parents that she wanted to finish her studies and be financially independent before marrying, and her parents respected that decision. Upon graduating university, she visited dozens of businesses, offering to intern for free of charge, until finally her persistence paid off. After several unpaid years at AGUIDEP, she was taken on as a salaried worker, and within a month she married (she explained that men were constantly knocking at her door, but she insisted on being financially independent before marriage); she now has one child. Mariame made a huge impression on the girls: she is young, attractive, married and with a child (which is certainly a dream for Guinean women), but working and financially independent. To see that both of those dreams are possible to attain at the same time was a novel idea for most of the young women. Coming from rural areas, this may have been the first time for many of them to see literate, salaried women. Despite all we as PCVs can tell our female students (“yes you can do it!” or, “stay in school!”), nothing has the effect of actually seeing that it is possible, as both a Guinean and female, to achieve one’s goals. The looks on the girls’ faces said it all.

The conference has made me think a lot about the lasting impressions Peace Corps Volunteers can have on their communities. Many volunteers come in with hopes of building a new health center or creating a new pump, creating a lasting imprint of their two years spent in village, but we as Education volunteers have it a little differently. One thing I can safely say is that those girls will not forget that trip we took together in January 2014. They kept journals, documenting every moment of everyday, and I’ve seen changes in the way they interact with other students and teachers at school. My expectations of what difference I can make in my students’ lives is by no means grandiose, but I’d like to say I’ve expanded their horizons and made them think in a different way. Who knows, considering that’s impossible to measure.

I’m now in Kankan for another Girls’ Conference, this one much larger, for our entire region. There are 27 participants; the conference does not have a theme but is instead aimed at educating the young women on social issues such as environment, sanitation, reproductive health, and nutrition, among other topics. There is something very meaningful in taking young women out of their homes, bringing them into a new place with a group of new faces, and allowing them to see that while they may be one of the few female students at their school, there are many other young, bright, and motivated females in Guinea.

Spring break is coming up; I will be traveling to the capital for a food security training, then taking a few days of rest on the tropical island off of the coast of Conakry. A quick note to those who are worried: I DO NOT have Ebola and am at essentially zero risk for acquiring it. Let’s hope that soon the outbreak will be over; Guinea has had enough trauma for this year. Thank you to all those who asked about my well being!

Til next time. Hopefully that will be sooner than 4 months from now.

Reflections of a Second Year Volunteer

Top five reasons school is easier the second time around:
5. Smoother transition. My relationship with my students overall is much, much better. I don't have to spend time learning their names, figuring out who has behavior issues, who I can rely on to be class leaders. Also, they're used to me: my rules, my accent, my zaniness. We're all a lot happier this year!
4. We got teachers! My school's personnel issue has improved vastly. Last year, on a good day we had 4 teachers, including myself and my principal. In reality, it was more like 1 or 2, with my flaky Directeur des Etudes (assistant principal) who hated my principal and pushed the students to wage a war against him, and my principal leading the national legislative elections for my region and therefore traveling at least once a week. That left just me and Monsieur Kamano, the school's chemistry and physics teacher. This year we have been so incredibly lucky. First, the village managed to pool together some resources and to hire two community members, unemployed college grads, to both teach part-time this year (more on that later). Then, the government sent two new teachers: a history/geography teacher, and a French teacher (which we so, so desperately needed). Therefore our numbers have jumped up to 7 teachers including the principal! He is so elated, he doesn't know what to do with himself, having a real faculty. The other day he invited all of the teachers over to his house, where he provided us with a chicken dinner (a huuuuge delicacy in Guinea).
3. ... And those teachers are motivated! Because of this jump in the number of teachers, I've been able to carry out some projects I'd been wanting to do since last year. A few weeks ago, we hosted a Journee de la Sante (Health Day) at my school. There were four themes that we covered: malaria, tobacco and its health risks, hygiene, and sexual health. Two of the other teachers at my school helped out, Tess (the volunteer 12 miles away) came and taught a lesson, and the rest of the faculty assisted in carrying out the day smoothly. Afterwards, they were thrilled with how it went, and suggested every other month we host a conference for the students on different themes. The best part of the day was the evening, when several students came over to my hut (unprompted) to thank me for providing them with the information they'd learned that day.
2. I've been promoted. Since I've been here for a year, I have a lot more pull with what goes on at our school. My principal now looks to me to give punishments to students for misbehavior or tardiness, which is good because I can steer him away from unjust punishments like whipping (yes, that does happen here). Hilariously enough, with the disappearance of my Directeur des Etudes, I have been promoted to Madame la Directrice. Yes, that means I am the assistant principal at my school. Nuts.
1. I have 22 children. In total, I spend 14 hours a week in 10th grade alone. It's the smallest class (22 kids), they are certainly the most motivated (they are facing the high school entrance exam at the end of this year), and if my matronly side has ever come out, it's with these kids. It's definitely tough love...I'm hard on them... but they know I care about them. Also, I've given them all American names that they have fully embraced. Many may or may not be named after some of my friends back at home...

But there are some things that really have been hard this go around:
During vacances not one, not two, but three of my female students (one in 7th grade and two in 8th grade) were married off. These are great girls: some of the more active students in my girls' club, attended school regularly, and actually studied. One story is especially upsetting. An older man from Kankan was promised to marry one of my 10th grade girls. When he came to Cissela to fetch her, she ran away. After expressing his anger and disappointment with the village for promising him a young wife, another man in my village offered up his daughter (Mariame, one of my best 8th graders) to take the place of Tidanke, the girl who fled. With no say in the matter, Mariame was immediately taken away to Kankan. I haven't seen or heard from her since last year. This all happened when I was away for the summer, but when I came back my principal angrily told me the story. Similarly, just this past week my 16-year-old 9th grader, Hawa, was promised to a 60-year-old man. She was horrified and confided in me in tears that she didn't want to marry him. My principal got the local authorities involved and tried to convince Hawa's parents to let her continue with her schooling, but they were enticed by the hefty bride price that was offered. She was essentially forced into marrying a man; she is his 3rd wife and his fourth child is the same age as Hawa. Things like this make me so angry and force me to fight back tears.
Additionally, I'm beginning to question how much the general population of Cissela sees the importance in education. My students' parents are incredibly hands off; they very rarely ask their children for their grades and 90% of them do not attend the award ceremony we hold at the end of each trimester. They also don't seem to care whether or not their children show up to school on time or at all, which makes tardiness and absence a huge issue. One of my 10th graders literally comes to school twice a week. However, when it comes to complaining about the functioning of our school, parents suddenly care a whole lot. Many complain incessantly about how our school lacks teachers and that their kids are not getting all of the subjects they need. I'm sure you can imagine how thrilled we were when we got word that the government was sending 2 new teachers. It's up to the community to provide their housing; my principal informed the village chief a month in advance and he promised that he'd find a hut for each of the new teachers. However, when they arrived a full month later, the chief acted like we'd never asked him to help us out.  My principal himself had to pull many strings to find housing for both of them, so fortunately they didn't flee. Similarly, the village signed a contract with the 2 community teachers to pay them each 200,000 Guinean francs/month (about $30), yet at the end of the month they couldn't (or wouldn't) come up with the money. Again, it fell to my principal to call a big meeting with the authorities, teachers, and parents of students (1 of whom showed up), to figure out a payment plan for those teachers. It's lose-lose: either we don't have teachers and everyone complains, or we get teachers but they are unwelcome.

I guess these difficulties are made a whole lot harder by the fact that it's my second year, so I feel really invested in the success of my school and my students. It's particularly frustrating to have so many things completely beyond my control.

Well, ca va. I can currently take a break from constantly obsessing over school, since it is December break! I'm in Conakry, here to pick up.... MOM AND DAD! They are visiting beautiful Guinea for one week. I can't wait to show them around, but it's a little terrifying to consider all of the things that could go wrong! Keep your fingers crossed for me. I'll be picking them up at the airport Christmas night.... talk about a holiday treat. :) Merry Christmas from Guinea!

Standing Fast

Each time I get online, it becomes harder and harder to write blog posts. Living in Cissela for over one year now, life really has become routine. That said, I'm going to try something new for this post.

September 12, 2013

Tess and I had an excellent day. We set up a booth in my market, amidst the market ladies selling oil, sugar, eggplant, and fried sweet potatoes. The point of the booth was not financial gain, however, it was to educate people about malaria, the number one killer in Guinea. We made a huge banner that said, in French, "I sleep under my mosquito net." My friend Lancine, a senior in high school back au village for vacation, helped us explain to everyone what we were doing in Malinke. We got over 100 people to sign a pledge stating they'd sleep under their mosquito net every night.


In the evening, we went to Moussa's boutique, the one shop in my village. It's also a café, where men sit around smoking cigarettes and drinking Nescafe, and probably engage in other taboo activities after the sun goes down (aka, drinking). We hung up the banner there since it's one of the busiest spots in my village and left Moussa with a marker so people can add signatures. Many grown men added on while we were there! Moussa was excited about having some decoration for his shop, so it was a win-win situation.


September 14, 2013

I’ve always joked around with Hawa about going to help her out in the fields, but this morning I decided to bite the bullet and do it. Once my host family heard I’d actually be accompanying Hawa au champ, they all shouted in protest, saying things in hysteria like “but the field is so far,” “you will bit by insects,” and “it’s too tiring!” I laughed their warnings off – if the Guineans here are able to do it, then I should, too.

At around 9AM Hawa and I walked through the village to another family’s house whose is field is next to ours. Mballou, the mother of this family, would be joining us. We ate a quick breakfast of corn porridge out of a communal bowl (my favorite meal here) and headed off. Walking through the village with Hawa and Mballou, people continuously shouted at me in Malinke, asking if I was really going to help in the fields. Yes, I responded! This always ended in them breaking out in laughter.

Before we could even begin the farming, we had to actually get to their plot, which was a feat in itself. It’s approximately three miles on a dirt path by foot.

We walked…

And walked…

And walked…

And finally arrived at their field, which was beautiful and green with a view of mountains in the distance.

Mballou went off to work in her family’s area, and I went with Hawa to her peanut plot. Today’s work was to weed around the peanut plants, which we did by hand with no gardening gloves, which resulted in my hands looking like this:

Hawa worked barefoot, which I will never understand. While we worked we talked and talked, me with my broken Malinke that really she only understands. I’m so grateful to have her in my life.

Finally, after about four hours of weeding, it was time to go home. I had walked my bike out there with Mballou and Hawa, so I was able to get home quickly, leaving them to slowly trudge back. Once my host family took one look at me they exploded in laughter – I did look like a dirty, sweaty mess, I will admit. But I did seem to gain some level of respect with them – yes, I went, and I actually did the work, thankyouverymuch. I cleaned up in time for Hawa to get home and join me for lunch.

September 28, 2013

Today was the day that Guineans have been awaiting for far too long…Election Day! National legislative elections were supposed to occur after the presidential election in 2010, but they’ve bene pushed back so many times for so many reasons. As Peace Corps volunteers we’ve all been wary of the elctions, because unfortunately in countries like Guinea, they tend to lead to trouble that could get us evacuated. I by no means am an expert on the Guinean political situation, but I will say that there is a lot of tension between parties and that these parties tend to be divided on ethnic lines.

Because Peace Corps is aware that elections can spark problems in country, we have to take many precautions and know our “emergency action plan” – basically, where to go and how to get there if things escalate. From September 14 to October 11, we are on “standfast,” meaning we can’t go further than 10 kilometers from site and we have to communicate our location to Peace Corps everyday.

Everything I saw today indicated that the elections went smoothly. I’ve heard that it was calm across the country, even in Conakry. In my village, there were three polling stations, including my host family’s house. In total, approximately 500 adults voted here. The results are to be announced in 72 hours. Let’s hope that everything remains calm!

September 29, 2013

To avoid sitting around, twiddling my thumbs, and awaiting the election results, today I biked to a neighboring village to visit one of my students and to meet his family. The student is Ibrahime Fofana, one of my best 10^th graders last year who passed the brevet and thus will be headed off to high school in the coming weeks. The bike ride to Somokoro is beautiful, through rice paddies and peanut fields. Once I arrived, I stopped at the cluster of boutiques and cafes in the center of town, where a group of people were sitting around eating breakfast and drinking Nescafe. Everyone stared very confusedly at me, until I greeted them in Malinke and sat down next to them. They relaxed and immediately began chatting me up.  Very quickly word must have spread that a toubabou was in Somokoro, because within minutes Ibrahime appeared in front of me to take me to his family’s compound. Their cluster of huts is incredibly scenic – surrounded by an orchard of mango, cashew, and orange trees. We sat under a mango tree and I met the whole family: Ibrahime’s 65-year-old father who has lived through __ regimes in Guinea’s history (including the French), his mother, aunt and uncle, and many of his siblings.  We ate cassava, drank tea, and chatted. After a few hours, I decided to head back home. The family gave me a giant bag of peanuts and a chicken – yes, a live chicken! I told them I couldn’t accept but they insisted; they said it was so rare for a teacher to travel to meet their student’s family. They wanted to tie the chicken to my bike, which I protested, then they suggested that Ibrahime would drive to Cissela on his motorcycle the coming week. So I guess I’ll have a new pet!

October 4, 2013

Hawa’s baby, Saran, is not well. I’m so worried.

The day before yesterday, she came down with a fever and was refusing to eat. Yesterday she was no better so Hawa, Diama and I took her to our health center. It was very crowded – full of pregnant women and babies coming to get vaccinated. Also, that morning Moussa Kalle, one of the respected elders in our village, was in a serious motorcycle accident; essentially the entire village kept stopping in to check on him. Eventually, the doctor saw Saran. Diagnostics aren’t really possible here – they didn’t even take the baby’s temperature – so he prescribed a whole slew of medicine, including malaria medication and vitamins.

The past 24 hours, Hawa has been trying to give Saran the medication, but she keeps vomiting it all up. Then, this evening, she took a turn for the worse. My entire host family rushed off on motorcycles to the health center, leaving me sitting on the porch alone and freaking out. Eventually they all came back; Saran was asleep but was clearly suffering. We put her tiny self in a giant bed and all uf us ladies sat around in the dark with a flashlight pointed on her, watching her fitful sleep. Tons of people from around the village, upon hearing about Saran’s malady, stopped by to recite blessings and well wishes.

I stayed with the women until 10PM, when Hawa was finally calm enough to step away for a few minutes and eat dinner.  Now I’m in my hut stressing out. I can’t imagine I’ll be sleeping a lot tonight.

October 7, 2013

Oh, I am frustrated! Over the past few days, the Guinean government has announced three different dates for the first day of school. Yes, three: October 3, October 7 (today), and October 21! Confusion ensues, of course. Naturally no one showed up to school today. The elections have added so much confusion this year. Not to mention, Tabaski, a huge holiday, is the 15^th, and many of my students won’t be back in Cissela until after then.

The results of the elections still haven’t been announced. There is a lot of tension/uncertainty right now. The only way for me to get news is through the few text messages Peace Corps sends each day. Currently the government and opposition are in negotiations, trying to come to terms they can both agree upon. Peace Corps suggests that regardless, once all of the results are announced, they will be contentious and there will be unrest, it’s just unclear to what degree. It’s all quite stressful, yet it’s interesting because life in Cissela seems like the elections never happened. No one is talking about them!

I’m really worried about my school this year. One of the teachers quit, so right now we only have three employees: me, my principal, and the chemistry/physics teacher. We’re hoping to get at least one more teacher through the community, but that is difficult because the village has to come up with the money to pay them. The ministry of education has promised to send us more teachers this year but I’m not holding my breath. I’m just hoping school actually starts soon; otherwise there is no way I’m going to get through the curriculum.

In other news, it seems Saran is doing better. A few days ago she still was not improving, so Hawa took her to Kankan to go to a real hospital. They are still not back but I’ve been talking to Hawa a lot and she says Saran is doing a lot better. Phew. At least there’s some good news these days.



It's now October 17, 2013. I'm sitting in Kankan, the first time I'm getting out of Cissela in 5 weeks. Standfast has been called off (there was a question for some time about whether it'd be extended since election results remain unannounced), so I'm taking a weekend break. School still hasn't started, but I'm hoping it will actually begin this coming week. Tabaski, the big holiday where each family sacrifices a sheep or a cow, was this past week. I had a great time -- got all dressed up in Guinean clothes, grilled meat with friends, drank tea, attended the evening village soccer game, and went out at night to the "soirée," where we danced til 2AM. I was blown away by the generosity saw on Tabaski. Many families in my village didn't have the means to buy a sheep to slaughter; my host family paired up with the neighbors to buy one. Within an hour of its butchering, my host father had handed out 95% of the meat to the rest of the village. This is a huge deal, especially because we almost never have meat since it's so expensive.

Me and Diama on Tabaski

Hawa is still here in Kankan; I saw her and Saran today and the baby is doing much better, Dieu merci. I'm going to spend the day with her and our family friend on Saturday and I'll hopefully convince her to come back to Cissela with me on Sunday; to be honest, the past few weeks without her have been incredibly lonely. I always knew that she was a huge part of my village life, but I didn't realize to what extent. First of all, however, I need some serious R&R. In fact, I'm now going to get into bed and watch a movie. And maybe eat some cookies. It's the little things!