A Story

Before I head back to site tomorrow, I wanted to tell a story about something that happened to me today  and something I've been thinking about a lot living here.

Today, Tess (a volunteer living in a village near mine who came with me to Kankan this weekend) and I went on an epic errand spree to get an assortment of items for our huts. There are lots of these you can find here that you can't get in village (teaching supplies, cooking items, foods), so we had a long list and a lot of walking to do. It's hot, sunny, and dusty in Kankan, so walking around for hours on end is exhausting. After a few hours, we stopped at a store to buy paint on our way back home. I've found a painter in Cissela who will paint my hut a pretty blue, but he told me I'd need to buy the supplies in the city. The first paint store we went to didn't have all of the things we were looking for, but the man send us to another paint shop that he knew would have them. Unfortunately because it's a holiday weekend (Tabaski, the Muslim holiday), that shop was closed, so we wandered around a little bit until we went back to the first shop to ask the man if he knew of another place in Kankan where we could find the items on our list. While there, another man told us he knew of a place, but when he explained to us how to get there we didn't quite understand. So... he told us he'd take us. He walked us all the way to the other paint store, talked to the guys there, and helped me figure out the pricing of everything. Once I saw how much stuff I needed to get and how heavy it was, I figured I wouldn't be able to get it back to the Peace Corps house and nearly gave up. BUT this generous man strapped the stuff to his moto, drove it to the Peace Corps house, and dropped it off. When I offered to pay him he refused, we shook hands, and he rode off on his merry way, about an hour and a half after we'd met him in that first shop.

I could spin this in a negative light and assume that the only reason he helped us was because we were white, or I could assume that he had nothing better to do with his afternoon than to help two damsels in distress. However, this generosity and eagerness to help is not unique to this man; it is something I see all the time here. I can think of a number of similar stories. Once, I was nearly stranded in a village 25k from mine because I couldn't get a taxi back and the one taxi headed in my direction wanted an exorbitant amount of money. A man I'd never met argued with the taxi driver, explaining that I was a volunteer and a teacher giving up the comforts of my life for two years to teach in Guinea, and when the taxi driver wouldn't budge the man insisted on pitching in for my fare. Tess' dog was sick this weekend, and a 13-year-old boy took the dog into his own hands to care for, taking him to the vet, feeding him, and checking on him periodically. When another volunteer's bike broke down on a remote dirt road, a man put the bike on his moto and drove it to the nearest village for repair.

Whenever I am annoyed with my situation in Guinea, whether it be when people are incessantly yelling "white person!" at me or when I'm vastly overcharged, I think of these instances of pure generosity. Guineans, generally speaking, of course, are generous people. Whenever a Guinean eats anything around someone else (I mean ANYTHING and ANYWHERE), they immediately invite them to join; this isn't just a courtesy, but a serious invitation, even when they may not have enough food or money to feed themselves. The principal at my school goes leaps and bounds to help me with anything, anytime, anywhere.

Sometimes Guineans ask me loaded questions about America, especially about the generosity of Americans towards one another. They want me to say that Americans are greedy and that they refuse to share anything with anyone, even members of their family. I try to explain that of course, most Americans share their wealth with their families, and many Americans are very generous, but that no, it's not like Guinea. They smile, and say "Oui, c'est comme ça en Afrique." This is an aspect of their culture that Guineans can and should feel proud of, so I shut up.

Madame Adrienne

A widely accepted fact here in the Peace Corps community is that the first month at site is potentially the most challenging time for a volunteer. Well… guess what? I survived! And I even had a little fun. I have so many stories and rants for this post, so I’ll try to break it up a little.

Installation

One month ago, I sat in a white Peace Corps Land Rover driving across Guinea, uncomfortably squashed sharing the row with three good friends, sleep deprived and mentally unstable. We were headed for Kankan, the regional capital of Haute Guinea, where we’d stop for two nights to meet all of the regional authorities before being placed at site. My feelings at the time were mixed: I was ready to move on and actually start my work as a volunteer, but the thought of being dropped off in my hut and officially being alone made the pit in my stomach grow larger and larger. It didn’t help that the car ride was sixteen hours long.

The next day, the nine of us destined to live in Haute went off to be “presented” to the authorities. Protocol is something that Guineans cherish – we had an entire two hour session during training on how important it is – so this formality of being introduced to the head honchos of Haute was not to be taken lightly. The first office we visited was that of the Gendarmes. Outside, men in military suits with guns strapped to their belts were lazily sitting under a tree drinking tea. We were taken inside and seated on oversized couches, facing a terrifyingly giant man who did not look like he’d ever smiled before in his life. The “presentations” went a little something like this: Serima, the Regional Coordinator for Haute, gave a little speech about the Peace Corps and its cooperation with Guinean authorities, handed over an official letter signed by the country director, and asked each of us to say our names. Then the man behind the desk would give his own little speech about how he and his office was ready to work with us and support us in an capacity.  Finally we’d shake hands and leave the office, then walk or drive to the next presentation. The first one was definitely the most terrifying – the non-smiling man glared at us, gave us an unnecessarily long speech about Guinea’s geography and history, and passive aggressively scolded Serima for not warning him that we were coming. The rest of the introductions went more smoothly, although there were so many packed into one morning I couldn’t even begin to list the names or titles of the people we met. Alas.

That night, we cooked a delicious Mexican dinner as a “last supper” before installation. The next morning, we packed the cars with ALL of our stuff (they looked crazy – bicycles, buckets, and stoves on the roof), said our farewells to those who were being installed separately, and headed off. Four of us were in the same car; first, we dropped off Morgan, unloading all of her luggage and saying goodbye. Next was my turn. The road between Morgan’s site and mine is around two hours on the worst stretch of road in Guinea, which did not help my nerves in the least. On one hand I wanted so badly to just arrive, but on the other I dreaded it. Finally, we pulled up in front of my hut, and a giant crowd of children gathered to watch the spectacle of the white girl moving into her hut. We quickly moved all of my stuff in, and I was rushed to say goodbye since we were running behind schedule. I stood outside of my hut with the crowd of kids waving at Tess and Kayla who drove off into the distance… and there I was! Alone at last!

The wise current volunteers told us one piece of cherished advice: after installation, stay busy. That night, and the next day, I unpacked, rearranged, and cleaned. I’d say I did a good job of averting a breakdown.

School

Around five days after I got installed, the school year officially started. “Officially” is a very loose term in these parts. I was warned that I probably wouldn’t really have to teach until the second week of school, but I was still utterly shocked when I showed up for the first day and was the ONLY PERSON THERE. Literally. The principal wasn’t even there (well, to be fair, he showed up 20 minutes later). Why does this happen, you may ask?

Well…I think it’s a combination of things. First of all, the Guinean government is not the best at planning and schedules the first day of school RIGHT in the middle of the harvest. My village is essentially 100 percent farmers (peanut, corn, and rice) and we’re currently at the height of peanut harvesting. The students at my school help their families out everyday in the fields. In addition to this, I think there’s just a herd mentality about showing up to school. I mean, the teachers aren’t even showing up, so why should the students come? (And vice versa.) In fact, that first day when my principal finally came, he told me that the other two teachers hadn’t yet returned from their respective vacations. Sadly, he said it was because they were waiting on their paychecks from the government that were several months behind.

The second week of school, students finally started showing up, but the school was a MESS from four months of being neglected so they spent the first two days cleaning. Finally, Wednesday of the second week of school, I started teaching. It still was a bit of a challenge because definitely not all of the students were showing up, so I had to start slowly and couldn’t jump into the curriculum. I spent a lot of time talking about my own background and about Peace Corps, and also going over the rules in my class. Mostly, the students are pretty adorable. They have to wear these hideous tan uniforms to school and they’re usually too big or too small on them. Slowly but surely I’m learning their names (though it’s going to take some time… Guinean names are just not the same) and now when I bike around my village I always hear shouts of, “Bonjour, Madame!” Whenever I go to the well or the pump I’m always intercepted by a student that insists on helping me. I’m not complaining about that…

The classes themselves are going…okay. I’m teaching English to all of the grades (7^th to 10^th) and Biology to 8^th, 9^th, and 10^th. English has been fun because the kids are really excited about learning it, although sometimes I question why I’m there when a lot of them can hardly speak French. I’ve really enjoyed teaching Biology, too, since it’s a change of pace, but it’s been a bit of a guessing game for me. The national program and the textbook (I have the only copy, the students don’t have one) don’t line up at all so I’ve kind of been pulling my lessons out of thin air. The French is also a bit of a challenge because there is so much new vocabulary for me. The Guinean classroom is just a limited format since you can’t pass out an exercise or tell students to open their books to page 104 – you have to write everything essential on the blackboard. I’m hoping with time I can figure out how to diversify my lessons.

Some days at school have been really discouraging. One morning this past week I showed up at 8AM (when classes start) and only two students were there. (I have no idea what it was with that day.) Other days I let my classes out at noon to find that all of the teachers have given up, let their students out early, and I’m literally the only person at the school and everyone else has gone home. We’re already so understaffed that school is from 8AM to noon (and oftentimes there’s a classroom without a teacher), but I think sometimes teachers just decide they’re not in the mood. Hopefully as the year goes on things will pick up.

I’m in a Clique

On approximately the third day at site, I was adopted by a gaggle of Guinean girls. They are in their 20’s, unmarried, and speak French – SO rare here! Everyday after school I go over to Aminata’s house; she’s a tailor and her family compound is right by my hut. (Families here live in concessions… basically a compound of huts and different family members live in each hut.) We drink atayah, which is tea prepared over coals. It’s extremely concentrated and loaded with sugar and we drink it out of a communal shot glass. It takes hours and hours to make one teapot of it. “Taking tea” has been a really good way for me to get to know tons of people in Cissela, and they’re mostly people around my age, because everyday we’re joined by different people. I just really need to work on my Malinke so I can really be a part of their conversations, because even if they speak French they definitely don’t use it to communicate with other Guineans. I’ve been trying to study Malinke a good deal but I’ve been so busy…not at all what I was expecting, since I was told that I’d have way too much free time once I arrived at site.

Weekend Activities

One of the best parts of service thus far has been the incredible bike rides I’ve been able to take. My closest volunteer is only 18 kilometers away so I’ve biked to her village nearly every weekend, especially since she has a HUGE weekly market where I can stock up on cooking and house supplies. Whenever we meet up we cook delicious, lavish meals. The road between our villages is beautiful; it’s a dirt road surrounded by rice, peanut, and cornfields. It’s fairly hilly but a really awesome ride with views of mountains and a waterfall. Unfortunately I don’t have a camera (though that should change soon), so I can’t post any pictures quite yet…

I’m currently on my first monthly regional capital visit. From now on, once a month I get to come into Kankan to stay at the volunteer house, enjoy all that the city has to offer (and trust me it seems amazing after a month in village), use the internet, and see other volunteers. I really can’t believe it’s already been a month in Cissela. Time is moving so much faster at site than it did during training. I can safely say that despite some discouraging aspects of site (especially at school), I’m doing really well and enjoying my time here. I know that most of the difficult things (language barrier, feeling lonely) will only get easier with time, although the celebrity status that comes with being a toubab (white person) won’t go away and is exhausting. Some days I wish I could just leave my hut to go find breakfast and not talk to ANYONE! But alas.

Getting online has been overwhelming but it’s been great to be receiving such kind words from everyone. While I’m at site I do have cell phone service and I will say again that you can text me for free from gmail! It is always such a pleasant surprise to hear from people when I’m sitting in my HUT! Here are the instructions again and my number is 68 71 57 14: http://www.google.com/mobile/sms/mail/

A la prochaine fois!