This has been a month of ups and downs. And in Peace Corps,
when you’re up, you’re really up, and when you’re down, you’re really down.
School provides a lot of the highs and the lows of my life.
I’ve hit many roadblocks in my classes this month: difficulties in explaining
concepts in French, student absence and tardiness, and cheating. I just
completed my first round of exams for all of my classes, and I had to fail a
LOT of students for cheating, and most of those that didn’t cheat still failed
because they barely studied (if at all). It’s been discouraging, to say the
least, but at least there’s a lot of room for improvement! I think the students
were a little shocked about how strict I am about cheating and how I don’t give
points for attractive handwriting (many Guinean teachers do), so they are
adjusting to my style as well. As the year goes on, I’m hoping to incorporate
some study skills lessons into class time. I do know that many of these students are motivated and want
to succeed, so I’m not giving up. I have had a few students come over to my
house for help. I’ve reiterated to them that I have an open door policy –
literally – if the door to my hut is open, they’re welcome to come by with
questions. Alas. I knew that this wouldn’t be easy when I joined Peace Corps!
Fortunately, students are actually showing up pretty
regularly now. There were a few days there where I was worried that I’d have to
change sites since literally three students were showing up per class, but now
I’ve consistently had about 25 students in each of my classes (still tiny for a
Guinean class – I’m very lucky). Every morning, we arrive at 7:45 to raise the
Guinean flag, and the students that are on time (usually about half of the
school) sing the Guinean national anthem. They rush off to the classrooms,
while the latecomers have to clean up the courtyard. The first class runs from
8AM to 10AM. Teaching for two hours straight is rough on me and even rougher on
the students, so I try to break it up a little with some more interactive
activities during class time, but some days I have no choice but to lecture for
two hours. Then is a short recess from 10 to 10:15, and the next class runs
from 10:15 to 12:15. Since the school is so understaffed, school ends at 12:15,
although it still runs Monday to Saturday.
The students are, for the most part, great (despite their
lack of study skills). I manage to laugh a LOT everyday (sometimes I have to
hide it with my face towards the blackboard so that they don’t get too of hand)
and I absolutely love seeing them around the village.
A few weeks back, Tess (my closest volunteer) and I decided
to climb up to a waterfall that’s perched on a mountain between our villages.
She talked to the mayor of her village, and he arranged for the “chef de
chasseurs”, a.k.a. the head of the village hunters, to take us up one Saturday.
What a day! We were accompanied by two hunters, decked out in what looked like
Civil War-era giant shotguns, belts filled with bullets, rain boots, and silly
looking hats that we were told are traditional hunter’s hats here. They brought
along another guy to translate for us since the hunters didn’t speak French,
and of course five or so teenage boys decided to come along to see if the two
white girls really could make it up the mountain. I’d say we did pretty well
for ourselves. Granted, the hunters RAN up the mountain…literally. We were on a
tight schedule because we had to be back with enough time for me to make the
hour-long bike ride back to my village in the daylight. We hiked up the
mountain from Banko, Tess’ village, and walked along a ridge that rises and
falls until we reached the source of the waterfall. Pretty quickly we realized
why the mayor gave us two hunters – the brush is THICK at this time of year and
there was no path to be spoken of, so we were quite literally bushwhacking for
most of the hike, and the plants were taller than me. Being at the top of the
waterfall was awesome but brief; we had to rush back down the mountain to be
back in time. The hunters walked some 20 yards ahead of us, and we soon learned
why. On the way down, we heard their guns go off, and when we made it to them,
we saw two GIANT snakes writhing on our “path.” They were probably about four
feet long – terrifying. The guns didn’t kill them, so the teenage boys threw
rocks at their heads. While it was gruesome, I was happier to see those snakes
dead than alive. We got back to Banko as the sun was setting and we were
EXHAUSTED; it was over 6 hours of hiking with no breaks. Fortunately, we found the one person in
Tess’ village with a car, and he gave me a ride back for a small fee. It was
worth it.
The Tuesday of that following week, on Election Day in fact,
was an awful day. At some point during the night, Fatoumata, the 5-year-old that
lived in my compound, passed away. I remember hearing shouting throughout the
night, but not knowing what it was and falling back to sleep. That morning when
I was leaving for school, I walked out of my hut and immediately knew there was
a death: they had lined up benches in our compound and tons of people were
sitting on them, the women with their heads covered, many of them crying. The
village chief walked over to me to tell me what had happened: Fatoumata got
violently ill in the night; they sent her off in a car to drive to the nearest
hospital at 3AM (90 kilometers away) but she died 10 kilometers out of Cissela.
I was completely shocked. The night before, when I went to bed, she was playing
with the other kids in my compound and seemed completely fine.
The mourning continued for the rest of the week. Needless to
say, it was devastating. However, there was supposed to be a wedding in my
compound that Tuesday night, and it was only pushed back two days. I know that
life must go on after something like this happens, but it was uncomfortable to
have mourners around the compound by day and a giant dance party by night.
Children die here quite frequently, but it’s not like that makes it any easier
for Fatoumata’s mother and father.
The wedding was quite an event. I spent an entire day
helping the ladies in my compound make little fried dough balls, and another
day making ginger juice for the guests. The wedding was two days long: the
first day, we all walked to the imam’s house for the religious ceremony. It was
very laid back; we sat around his house on benches, and some people sat on the
ground. The imam and the six village elders were sitting up on the porch, and
each of them took turns to give Manti (the bride) and her new husband a
blessing.
This month was also filled with hut improvement. I’ve had
the inside painted blue, and the outside yellow with blue trim – it’s pretty
adorable if I say so myself. Some of my 9th grade students came over
and fixed up my yard, and I finally went to the carpenter and had some new
furniture made, meaning I now actually have a desk and no longer have to work
on the floor. SO MUCH BETTER. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, it really is the
little things in life that can make your day!
I still spend a ridiculous amount of time everyday drinking
tea with Guineans. Aminata, my closest friend in the village, sends a petit
(little kid) to get me every afternoon, and I know a group of guys in their
20-somethings will be sitting with Aminata, making tea. It is enjoyable but a LONG
process; it takes at least two hours. Guineans are really patient people…
I’ve been in Kankan this weekend for a big Thanksgiving
celebration. While we couldn’t get our hands on a turkey, a current volunteer
managed to find a pig, which we (not me – other volunteers) slaughtered and
roasted. Not very Thanksgiving, but you can’t find pork here since it is
predominately Muslim, so it was as American as we could get! My ride to Kankan
was ridiculous. We spent 6 hours on the side of the road essentially hitch
hiking for a taxi with no luck. Completely discouraged, we were about go give
up, when a man pulled over to ask for directions. Next thing we knew, we were
in his car headed to Kankan. He was a doctor working for the Ministry of
Health, traveling from village to village to evaluate health centers. We
stopped in two villages along the way so he could do his thing, which was
actually really cool. He would not accept a penny from us for the ride, saying
that we gave up so much to live in Guinea and this was him saying thank you.
When he told us we could join him, Tess and I literally started crying tears of
joy. Perhaps that is a testament to how fragile we are here, but he literally
made our day! I’ll head back to Cissela tomorrow, and I’m looking forward to
it. These breaks are nice but my village is really starting to feel like home.
Happy Thanksgiving to everyone at home! Missing everyone a LOT.
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