The Guinea Pig

Final Update

2007-04-03T15:49:00.000-04:00

So I'm back. Where do I start you off? I've actually been back for about a month now. I'm doing a little trip around the states. I'm currently in St. Louis visiting my sister. Next is Montana, then California. I'm trying to see all those people who have moved away since I've been gone. Plus, I have no job or any other commitment to keep me in Bryn Athyn. Its very strange to be back. I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. My thoughts often drift back to Guinea. I look at my pictures a lot. I wonder how they're all doing. I need to get back there and see them. I need to get my life going.

For this blog I have mostly been telling you about my personal experiences and adding bits about Guinea relevant to me. I've sort of steered clear of the political situation up until my latest blog on corruption. The government of Guinea had only indirect effects on my service and thus it did not merit much attention in my blogs. However, about two and half months ago, the people of Guinea started their own little revolution to overthrow the president, Lansana Conte (pronounced 'contay'), and his corrupt government. As you might have guessed, this didn't go smoothly and Peace Corps Guinea was evacuated as a result. Just by coincidence this happened right at the end of my service. What a way to end it.

Before continuing, if you haven't yet read the first blog about Conte and the revolution, I suggest you read it. My friend Chris K managed to summarize it much better than I ever could. I'll just tell you a little bit about what happened with me in that context.

It was certainly an amazing thing to have been in Guinea for the two years leading up to this momentous period in their history. I saw a country abundantly rich in natural resources somehow spiral deeper and deeper into poverty while those working for Conte got richer and richer. I saw the price of just about everything quadruple while salaries remained more or less the same. I saw the citizens go from having a certain degree of reverence for their president to openly declaring their desire to see him removed from office. I saw a group of some of the most peaceful, easygoing people pushed to their limits. Violence is the last thing Guineans want and the fact that they were forced to these extremes blows my mind.

During my service, Peace Corps Guinea went on 'Standfast' four times. The first standfast took place in late December, 2005. Standfast, for Peace Corps, is a safety precaution and simply means that all volunteers must stay where they are and not travel anywhere. Those people who are at their sites have to check in everyday on their radio. Most of the standfasts were a direct result of the strikes and the possibility of violence. Up until this last strike everything thing was relatively peaceful. Volunteers often discussed the possibility of evacuation and by the time this last strike came, we were all thinking that something had to change soon or the people just wouldn't take it anymore. Conte never listened to them before, why would he listen to them this time?

Anyway, I was in Dabiss (my site, for those of you who don't know by know) for this last strike. I got there a few days before the strike began and stayed there for three weeks while I waited to see what would happen. The strike had been postponed over and over so I had no idea if it was going to happen or not. But it did. I'd done this before. No big deal. Something seemed slightly different about this one though. At the end of each day, all the men whipped out their radios and listened to the news from Conakry. As the strike went on, the situation got worse and worse. People started talking about Conte and how they wanted him out, something I'd never heard before. Before, it was just something you didn't do. You don't say bad things in public about your president, even if what you're saying is true. It's just something you don't do. No disrespect for authority figures, no matter how badly they treat you.

I would go around talking to the villagers, asking them what they thought about the situation and what they thought would happen. Every one of them would reply in the same way. "Oh, the strike is getting very serious. But nobody wants a war. We don't want to see any fighting. We don't think it will happen." Almost everyone assured me that it wouldn't get to the point where people started killing each other. I wasn't so sure. I kept telling them that if this strike went on much longer, I might get evacuated which means I would leave and never come back. They assured me it would be safe for me to stick around.

Of course, during this three week period I was preparing myself to leave Dabiss forever, just in case. I only had about a month left there anyway and even if we got temporarily 'consolidated' for a little while in another country, I was pretty sure I wouldn't be coming back. And as the strike continued, this possibility looked more and more likely. So I started saying my goodbyes. I secretly hoped that it wouldn't happen and I really had no idea if it would so I didn't tell people that I might be leaving. They were more like silent goodbyes. I preparing myself to leave. Spending more and more time with all the people. Making the most of my time left. Then one morning, I called to check in and they told me to pack my bags, that someone would pick me up the next day and within three days we'd all be driven across the country to Mali and wait out the rest of the strike. It was surreal. I walked back to my hut and started making piles of stuff to take home, stuff to leave with Peace Corps and stuff to give away. My service is over!! All of this, I'll never be in my town again. I didn't tell anybody. The next morning. I called to make sure it was actually happening that day. When I got the confirmation, I went down and told everyone. I took pictures and said my goodbyes. It all happened so quickly. Within a few hours I was gone.

In retrospect, this was actually a decent way for me to leave (excluding the country's situation of course). I had been agonizing over how to say goodbye to all these people I'd gotten so close to over the last two years. I wasn't going to leave for another month and the goodbyes were already beginning. They were going to be long, drawn-out and painful. This way, it was quick and very simple. I only regret not being able to say goodbye to those who weren't around that day and all my friends who lived in Boke. I also felt bad about leaving them in this worsening situation. But there was nothing I could do. Once again, like during my training, saying goodbye to my host mother was by far the hardest. I had a deeper relationship and understanding with her than I had with any other person and it was tough to think that I might never see her again. She'll always be with me and I really hope I have the chance to go back and see her.

I spent the next three weeks in the Peace Corps training site outside of Bamako, Mali with all 100 or so Guinea volunteers. Mali is a beautiful, amazing country, with a rich culture. Bamako is extremely developed compared to Conakry. The whole country seems to have its act together. All the roads are in good shape. There is reliable phone service. Though it is certainly a third-world country, it amazing to see the difference it makes when you have a government that is actually serving the interests of the people. It gives you hope for places like Guinea.

Anyways, we spent this time in Bamako closely monitoring the situation in Guinea debating whether or not we'd go back, trying to call friends and family who weren't so lucky as to be evacuated from all the danger. I was concerned about everyone I knew in Guinea but I was also happy in a way. I was happy to see that the people are finally doing what it takes to turn their country around. After being there for two years and watching things only get worse, it was so inspiring to see the people stand up for themselves. It brings tears to my eyes to think of all those Guineans I know who were willing to stand up to their oppressors and die for their country. I know how easy it is to complain about our own government, and though I know we're not perfect or anything, I'll never take it for granted.

On a lighter note, our 'consolidation' had some upsides. Since we had virtually no responsibilities during this time and since they gave us a per diem, we had plenty of time to explore the amazing city of Bamako and hang out with each other. It was like college, but with no classes. And as fun as it sounds, you can probably believe it also got pretty tiring after awhile. When we heard that the Embassy issued an 'ordered departure' for all US citizens, we knew that we weren't going back and people started the process of going home or transferring to other countries.

I recently bought a new laptop. Almost everyday I browse through all the pictures I took. It helps when I get lost in a daze on the internet. The supermarkets here are incredibly overwhelming. Too many options. Its strange that I have to get in a car and drive everyday when I need to get somewhere. I miss the community feeling you get when you're Africa. I miss greeting strangers on the streets. Its so good to see all my family and friends. I love all the fancy gadgets and good food we get here. I saw that movie "An Inconvenient Truth" and I think about how its a luxury to even be able to worry about global warming. It sure is scary, but its so strange to come from a place where this is a non-issue. Its a problem that will surely affect Africa in someway someday, but it originated elsewhere and there's nothing they can do to fix it. Life seems so much simpler over there. I miss it badly. I'm already thinking about how and when I'm going to go back and visit or work in Africa. I want to know that my family over there is OK. I can't imagine what it must have been like for them. I just want to be there right now. I feel out of place here and I have no idea what I'm going to do with myself. I can't really describe to you what it was like to live in Dabiss for two years and how accustomed I was to life there. It changed me deeply. It was unforgettable. If any of you or anyone you know is thinking of doing Peace Corps, feel free to contact me. I have a lot to say about it. Thanks to all of you for reading my thoughts and stories. Take care,

Anders

Things are going a little more smoothly now in Guinea. Lansana Conte appointed a prime minister who was chosen by the labor unions and accepted by the people. The new prime minister, Mr. Kouyaté assembled an entirely new government that Conté has approved. In his broadcast to the people Mr. Kouyaté is quoted as saying: "I have formed a government team which the president has seen fit to accept, and which will immediately tackle the problems we face" (Full arictle- http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/6505263.stm)

Read first - Chris K's letter

2007-04-03T15:29:00.000-04:00

This is a letter from an older Guinea volunteer who was closely monitoring the situation in Guinea. He put together a great little paper on what happened. Here it is...

Dear friend,

As you know, I served two years as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Guinea , West Africa teaching English in a small town called Tougué. Everyday living was difficult for most Guineans and has only gotten worse in recent months. An example: A 50kg bag of rice, which cost 50,000fg back in July 2004, is today sold at 500,000fg. Meanwhile, a civil servant's salary has stag nate d at around 600.000fg/month (much less for teachers and other low-ranking employees), meaning that a month's supply of food often exceeds a civil servant's entire monthly salary. In addition, government salaries are often withheld and delayed for no reason. Many teachers weren't paid for more than 8 months last year.

I left Guinea in June 2006 to the sounds of gunfire in the streets of the capital. The country was then in the midst of a general strike demanding for wage increases. Guineans were telling us at that time that the situation couldn't hold out much longer. At the last minute, however, the government was able to hold off political protests by promising an 10% wage hike to all state employees. Eight months later, it has never delivered on even this meager promise and last month, the issue came to a head when jilted union leaders galvanized to launch an unlimited general strike to absolutely paralyze all activity in the country.

The goal of this new strike was to see that the original promises of wage increases be met, along with with new price controls on basic commodities (rice, kerosene for lamps, and gas for transportation) so that Guineans could continue to work and feed their families. The strike relaunched peacefully on January 10th, but the government made it clear early on that it was unwilling to make concessions. And the strike leaders decided to make the strike political for the first time in recent years, demanding sweeping government reforms, including the creation of a new post to handle executive duties.

Why the government has shown itself unable to meet the strike leaders demands is not hard to understand if you've followed the Guinean economy: The government is bankrupt, the result of decadent and systematic corruption over recent years that earned Guinea a ranking as the second most corrupt country in the world (source: Transparency International study, 2006). Most news agencies have taken to describing the government as "kleptocracy:" Those who own posts of power steal money destined to fund projects and development to buy themselves mansions and Mercedes. In short, the country languishes in poverty and fails to provide basic services, such as electricity and running water, in its capital and major cities (the vast majority of the country has never been electrified and is without running water).

As the government has shown itself unwilling and unable to carry out its basic functions, strike leaders changed their demands in late January, demanding that President Lansana Conté and his entire Congress step down from power. On January 22nd, tens of thousands of ordinary Guineans spontaneously took to the streets, carrying banners such as "We are ready to die for change." President Conté obliged them, ordering the army to open fire on protesters on the crowds. More than 60 people were killed in confrontations across the country on that day.

Conté, for those unfamiliar with him, is a former Guinean military colonel, "a chain-smoking diabetic" (source: Reuters) who has never completed high school and crowned himself General upon assuming power in a bloodless coup after the death of the country's previous president-turned-dictator, Ahmed Sékou Touré. He added the title "President" after a rigged election several years later to appease donor nations. After the bloodbath of the 22nd, Conté offered no apology for his actions, crowing instead that he has "never lost a war." Such a comment shows that he views a popular movements by his own citizens as an act of war and has no compunction about razing his country and killing his own people in order to "win" another.

A few days after the bloodshed of the 22nd, union leaders and the president reached a tentative compromise, through which the president would cede almost all executive power to a Prime Minister chosen from a list of candidates provided by union leaders. Two tense weeks passed with only sporadic violence. Then, last weekend, the president named his new PM, choosing someone not only not on the list of candidates, but whose previous job experience comes from rigging Conté's most recent landslide election victory in 2002. As one of my fellow volunteers still in country wrote, "it's as if Conté himself spit in the face of each and every Guinean."

Upon hearing news of the nomination this weekend, many Guineans, well aware of the risks they were taking, took to the streets again, this time with a view towards destroying the palatial estates of many of those close to Conté who've benefited from his corrupt reign. The army, however, was prepared, and responded to the new wave of protests with tanks and urban assault vehicles. At least 20 people are estimated to have died on Monday, and many more the next day. Conté refused to retract his nomination and instead declared a state of siege in the country for the next two weeks, banning all traffic, pedestrian and vehicular, but for four hours during the day. He has given the army explicit orders to shoot on sight any violators.

All this means, of course, the end of Peace Corps in Guinea (all current volunteers have long since been safely evacuated and are sitting in limbo in Bamako , Mali awaiting word if they can transfer to other countries in West Africa or if they must go home). All other humanitarian agencies are evacuating the country, but as all commercial flights in or out of the country have been suspended, many are still stuck in the capital. The U.S. Embassy yesterday evacuated all its non-essential personnel.

Can one dictator suppress the will of the people? Conté has shown himself determined to see his reign through to the bitter end, while preening his son, "Captain" (a fictitious title) Ousmane Conté, to succeed him upon his death. Conté has also shown his dictatorial reach in withdrawing a million dollars in personal funds to hire 400 mercenaries (former rebels Conté supported in Liberia's recent civil war) to protect him and his possessions and to send his wives and children to France. He even has allowed foreign soldiers from neighboring Guinea-Bissau into the capital last month to help put down the violent protests, when he feared his own soldiers would hesitate shooting at their fellow countrymen.

In recent days, Conté has further tightened his grip on the country. He refuses to receive delegates from neighboring West African states who seek to facilitate peace talks between the government and strike leaders. In the last week, he has shut down all private radio stations after one called for his removal from power. He regularly disrupts service of the state-run telephone company in order to prevent citizens from organizing against him. Two days ago, he handed out promotions to everyone currently enrolled in the army (turning all privates into corporals, all captains into majors, and so on), regardless of merit, as a means of increasing pay and ensuring loyalty within the ranks.

This new found level in carnage and bloodshed in a country I just recently knew as easy-going and peaceful is hard to fathom. When I was a volunteer, Guineans constantly amazed me for their tolerance for living conditions most would find impossible. My friends got by somehow, always peaceful and almost always friendly--with a healthy amount of what-can-you-do complaining, of course. This has changed in less than a year and now I'm hearing from these same people that the deaths of their countrymen in recent days will not be forgotten and that they, too, will fight to bring an end to Conté's reign. I want to emphasize what a remarkable transformation it is to hear this new resolve in the voices and actions of ordinary people. Perhaps it is the natural, though long-overdue reaction, of a people who've been pushed to the brink.

Who will break first? I would optimistically assume the government, but given Conté's delusions (he's quoted as saying Guineans must to accept his rule as "the will of God"), I'm loathe to imagine how far he is willing to go to ensure the succession of his rule passes from father to son, and how many Guineans he's willing to take with him, in order to realize that nightmarish vision, as the country spirals into anarchy. We can only wait and watch.

I'm asking that you please keep Guinea and Guineans in your thoughts over the next few weeks. Even if you know nothing else of country, know this: 10 million people who've suffered under the yoke of oppression for 50 years under French colonization, and then for 50 more under barely disguised dictators, are standing up for what they believe in and doing whatever they can to bring an end to a kleptocracy, risking their lives and those of their families in doing so.

Here are a few English websites for staying up-to-date on what's happening: http://www.irinnews.org/frontpage.asp?SelectRegion=West_Africa ( http://www.irinnews.org/report.asp?ReportID=57604&SelectRegion=West_Africa&SelectCountry=Guinea )

www.bbcafrica.com ( http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/6355873.stm )

www.reuters.com ( http://today.reuters.com/news/CrisesArticle.aspx?storyId=L12889231)

Feel free to pass this email on to others so that we don't allow another tragedy in our world to unfold without our even being aware.

Take care,

Chris Kirchgasler
Peace Corps Volunteer , Guinea (2004-06)

Corruption

2007-03-30T18:05:00.000-04:00

This will be a short one, but I think interesting. I mentioned last email that corruption is the biggest obstacle to development over here. Well it turns out guinea is a world leader. Check it out.

Last night, walking back from a bar at night, two volunteers were accosted by about seven military officers who pulled up in a van and tried to take them away. After plenty of resistance they were finally let go, though they discovered that there was over 100.000 Guinean francs missing from their bags.

Meanwhile I have to go back to site soon and oversee a nutrition training at my health center. My funds for this project are being slimmed down by the local chef who won't allow it unless a little money finds its way into his pocket. Of course, you can't put that in the budget.

Many Guineans here eat imported rice even though this country produces far more of its own rice than it could ever consume. Why? Because the president owns a sizable portion of the rice plantations here and exports all of his rice. Where does that money go? His pocket naturally.

Tieken Jah Fakoly, a huge reggae music star in Africa was slated to come play in Conakry about 1 month ago. His music is very political and he speaks out strongly against corruption in Africa. At the last minute, the Guinean government told him that he couldn't play his concert essentially because they didn't want his message spread over here. They didn't want to look bad. I'm sorry, but Tieken isn't telling them anything they don't already know. And what looks worse? Ask any Guinean why the gov't refused and they'll say its because Tieken 'speaks the truth'. They are against people speaking the truth. It just sounds bad.

If I don't have you convinced yet, check out this article.
http://www.cnn.com/2006/BUSINESS/11/06/corruption.survey.reut/index.html
We're the most corrupt in Africa. We're tied with Iraq. Thats gotta tell you something.

Anyways, I'm still having a blast. The kids are cute and innocent. Bennett is here visiting and its great to hang out with him. I hope you all are well.

Anders

Return from Paradise!

2007-03-30T17:58:00.000-04:00

Well well well. In case you were all worried, I haven't yet been swallowed up by the jungle. I'm still in Guinea and everything is going swimmingly. By that I mean that I've mostly been swimming for the past couple months. Seriously, the rainy season has suddenly turned the dry river bed next to our village into a gurgling brook. As it turns out, this newly formed river is perfect for swimming. So, I bought some goggles when I was in the states on vacation and brought them here. I found a perfect place in the river that allows me some privacy and the current is just right so that I can swim against the current and basically stay in the same spot. Its a cure for boredom, it helps me stay in shape, and it has allowed for some very interesting exchanges between me and the stray villagers who often come down to wash their clothes, bathe, or draw water. The goggles and bright white skin are strange enough, but when I get in the water and try to swim against the current, it's really quite fascinating. Most of the time I pop my head up, I see they have stopped whatever they are doing in order to focus all of their energy on staring at me. But people are starting to get used to it. And I love it. I've always loved swimming, but this is a whole other experience. Despite a modest (and not totally irrational) fear of alligators, I enjoy watching the fish that swim by, the underwater plant life, and the little kids who make small talk and try to mimic me while I rest. It also provides a refreshing break from the heat. And to top it off, when I'm done my workout, I can chase away the kids and then bathe right there in the river. There is really nothing like it. I'm afraid that when I get back to Dabiss after my short stint in Conakry here that the river will be suffering from the approaching dry season and thus be too low to swim in. Either way, I glad that I took advantage of that while I could.

Coming back from the states was an interesting experience. I had gained about 15 pounds while at home and when I got back into Guinea, people could tell that I had beefed up. And Guineans love to point out that kind of stuff. Telling someone that he 'grew' or 'got fatter' since you last saw him, is considered a compliment. I'm used to that. Sometimes they'll say that to me after I've been in Boke for a week just because they want to be nice. But this time I came back, they felt the need to really impress on me the extent to which I had gotten fatter. So they didn't say the normal, 'you've grown' or 'you got fatter'. They would look me earnestly in the eyes and just say, 'Boubacar, you are fat.' It was a big deal. Fortunately, I was fairly sure that that 15 pounds would go quick, which it already has. Anyway, the more somber aspect of this story is that when I got back, Guinea was about three quarters of the way through their 'hungry' season and while I was fatter, everyone else was noticeably skinnier. Too skinny. It was sad and I felt kind of guilty. People would see that I had been home eating good food and gaining weight, while they were here getting by on an increasingly meager diet, waiting for the harvest to come. Last year, the hungry season wasn't quite as noticeable to me. This year I was all too aware. What's worse is that right when the harvest does come and people finally have food and money, Ramadan, the month of fasting, begins. You all know about that already.

In other news, things are going...I am writing, its in my journal mostly, but its writing. What's interesting to me is that in my journal these days, my reflections are less about new discoveries and experiences and reflections on Guinean life and more about how I fit in here, my emotional state and what I want to do in the future. In Dabiss especially, I feel like I've already done everything there is to do. I know the language, the culture, etc. Nothing is new. Not to sound depressing, because I'm not depressed, but its interesting how I reflect on life here now that I'm used to everything. For example, I understand enough about this culture to know that Americans are different from Guineans in some very fundamental ways. More specifically, I am different. I realize that 2 years is a good amount of time to spend in the Peace Corps. I realize that I really wouldn't be able to live in a place like this. I wouldn't be able to be the best that I can be or find the kind of fulfillment that I'm looking for while living at the village level.

There isn't enough intellectual stimulation I think. For example, they still don't really believe or understand how someone could spend so much of their time reading everyday. Most people are illiterate and those who aren't don't seem to really understand the function of a written language, which I think is to communicate ideas. As a result, people still assume that if I am in my hut than I am lying down, either sleeping or resting. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I tell them the contrary.

Another realization I've recently stumbled upon is that this is a virtually lawless country and I'm to used to living in a world where people are held more or less accountable for their actions. Not only is there no law enforcement, but the people who are meant to enforce the laws are the biggest criminals. If you ask any volunteers what the biggest obstacle to development here is, they will say corruption - i.e. people using public office as a route to personal wealth. I won't go in to this really, because the point is that I am focusing more on how I fit in. I couldn't live in this country because I would constantly be aware of how much my rights are being violated. I feel like I wouldn't have the right to 'pursue happiness'. Again, for the purposes of time, I will not elaborate. And these are things that could change, but its something that the people here will eventually need to recognize and change themselves. I feel slightly disillusioned with development work. That I will go into some other time. I'm optimistic that it will happen.

OK, see you later - Anders

p.s. I recently tried showing some kids that trick where you pretend to pull off the tip of your thumb. Man do they bite hard on that one! I often have kids run away in fright when I do it. Other kids ask questions like, 'Does it hurt?' 'Why aren't you bleeding?' 'Are you gonna put it back?'. Basically, it was a huge hit. Now its not uncommon for a kid to mimic me in passing by trying to pull off his own thumb.

Pounding Fish Poison Wood

2006-05-03T12:57:00.000-04:00

So, let's see. I haven't been writing as frequently as I'd like to but I figured that as my service progressed, my emailing would decline, which it has. But it's cool, cause I figure that by this point I've been gone long enough that you all are used to my absence and not needing updates on my life. Plus, I've reached a level of comfort here that makes my everyday adventures seem much more normal and perhaps less interesting. Though I often find it interesting how at home I feel in a place which is still strange and completely different from where I was raised. Anyway, I'd like to continue writing even if its infrequent and I'll try my best to hold your interest. I don't know what to focus on exactly so I think I'll do several paragraphs on various topics.

The bread project is officially underway. I now have fresh bread to eat straight from the oven most mornings. The women's groupement I am working with, while good at managing their money, has no experience running a business, which has created some issues. I may do a little training with them soon on how to fix certain problems they've encountered and to figure out ways they can maximize their profit. Nevertheless, the women are profiting from it, the bread is actually quite good, and there is always a demand for more.

My other bigger project at the moment is mosquito nets. I mentioned this last time and had some questions about it. We (my health center counterparts and me) started working with PSI who subsidize impregnated mosquito nets to be sold in health centers for pregnant women and women with children under five years old for a very cheap price. They're sold at the health center at 5.000 GNF (about $1 US) which is an amazingly good deal and most people want to buy them. The hard part is getting them out to more remote areas. So I've been riding all over the place with my friend Abdulai and we sell mosquito nets and inform people on the danger of malaria for children and pregnant women. Besides being an incredible cultural experience for me, it is also rewarding and Abdulai makes a little bit of money for himself while he's at it. We are warmly welcomed and often fed wherever we go. We go into people's houses and show them how to put it up and everybody is thankful. My only complaint would be that I'm often stuck riding my bike in the middle of the day, under the brutal sun, during the hottest part of the day. PSI also sells nets to local merchants to be sold closer to 10.000 GNF in the markets for people that aren't pregnant women or women with children. They also train them on how to market them and create a general awareness of malaria and its dangers. (side note - I've heard that malaria may actually start to die out naturally, apparently some kinds of malaria are now starting to kill the mosquitoes themselves. nice, right?)

Not to be a downer, but I feel like there has been an unusual number of deaths in my village since I've been there. Its been really eye-opening for me to see how these people deal with and talk about death. It's also been an interesting journey for me to be exposed to death on a more regular basis or at least in a more intimate way. I feel like at home, death is less unexpected and it often happens in old age. It is also a subject people tend to avoid. Here, it seems like it can happen any time and people deal with it head-on when it comes. A few examples. First off, a woman named Maimouna Sampou died about 2 months ago. This was a woman I knew well. She was my neighbor, the mother of three close friends (Moussa, the fishing guy, Ousman, 12 years old, and Hawa), and a member of the women's groupement I was working with. I'd guess she was probably around 35-40 years old. I ran into to Moussa one day as he was biking to Boke and I was biking to Dabiss. He said Maimouna had just been sent to the Boke hospital for a bad toothache. Later that night, word reached Dabiss that she had died shortly after the tooth was pulled and the entire village began weeping together at her house, right outside of mine. I'm guessing it was a cavity that got extremely infected. It was unexpected and a lot of people were quite upset, including myself. She was a prominent and well-loved woman in Dabiss. The mourning process, which I've described before, lasted over 24 hours and was draining. All because Maimouna had no access to dental care. That was a hard one.

About three weeks ago, a kid about 11 years old was high up in a mango tree trying to knock down ripe mangoes and fell. He broke his femur badly enough that the bone was sticking out of the skin. I got there right after Mr. Diallo bandaged and splinted him. This kids pain was palpable. His family refused to send him to Boke and had a "traditional" doctor care for him in Dabiss. Most likely, they simply couldn't afford to pay hospital bills and transport in Boke. The kid died three days later, just after they decided to send him to Boke. The doctors there said that he had also broken his hip and knee during the fall. This may seem like a freak accident, but the mango tree incidents are fairly frequent in this country.

This final story, though it involves a death, is more uplifting but will be difficult to describe. It involves my two health center counterparts, Mr. Diallo and Mr. Tolno. Mr. Diallo used to be the health center chef but was suspended for the last 10 months because his moto was stolen. He was just recently allowed to return to work. He is a doctor though Tolno is now the chef. Mr. Tolno was the vaccinator back when Diallo was in charge. He's a "community agent", which means he never studied medicine in school but has done some training and taken a few health courses. He became health center chef when Diallo was suspended and has become used to the position. Tolno is a really really nice guy and has good intentions but is a pretty ineffective health worker. Diallo, on the other hand, is my new hero. Here's what happened. Tolno and I were at the health center the other day and we had just received a big load of mosquito nets. Tolno was very excited. As soon as PSI left, a father came up to Tolno and pointed to his wife and baby child. The child was maybe 4 months old and had a serious case of malaria. You could tell by looking at it that it was on the verge of death. Emergency right? Well, from the Tolno was acting, you would never have guessed. He walked right in the health center and over to the nets and started looking over them with contented smile on his face. He immediately disregarded the child and distracted himself. Now, please don't think I'm trying to paint Tolno as a bad person, his lack of urgency wasn't actually surprising at all. This is how many health care workers operate here. I don't know why. Most likely he probably just figured that the child could wait a few more minutes and was sincerely more interested in inspecting the new nets. It was especially disturbing to me in this case. I told him that I'd put away the nets so he can attend to the baby, wishing that Diallo could show up from his vaccination trip. I left the health center and came back about 30 minutes later, when Diallo had come back. I walked into a scene that will stay in my memory forever. Diallo was there and he was visibly moved at the sight of this sick baby. He infused that sense of urgency into the room that needed to be there. He was moving around, taking temperatures, wrapping the baby in cool wet cloths to cool his 102-103 fever. He was talking to the mother, asking her why she had never once come to the health center for a consultation, not even after giving birth. Why she had no mosquito net for her child. He was working with such extreme passion and care. Its really quite rare that I see someone who is as passionate about his work in this country as he is. After he had done all he could, we were all just sitting together in the same room with the baby. The sun was setting outside the window and he started talking about how babies should never die. He said that if people take the basic precautions to protect the health of their children, they should never die. He said that the people who grow up are the ones who must die, not the young ones. He talked about how people say, when a baby dies here, 'Oh, it was God's will. God killed this baby'. But it is people's ignorance that usually kills a baby. He was really upset. Now, I think Guineans' strong faith in God is a good thing and I know that conditions make it very hard to keep a baby healthy here, but Diallo was doing something amazing. He was talking about how health care should and could work in this country. He was talking about the need to develop and I could see so clearly that he knew how to do it. But the most moving thing was his passion. He deeply cared about this stuff and his intentions seemed so pure. I had chills running through me. What was interesting was that it was such a dramatic and unusual occurrence, that it made Tolno visibly uncomfortable. I was in a trance. No one is used to seeing a Guinean health agent behave that way. I had never seen someone act that way. So anyway, Diallo became my new hero from that moment on. He's also really cool guy and I love hanging out with him. The next day, I asked Diallo how the baby was doing and he said it died during the night. So it goes.

Let's see... On a different note, my neighbor Moussa returned late from working in the field one day with a friend. We were all sitting at the boutique talking casually when he rolled up in a taxi and pulled up strangely close to where we were sitting. He got out of the car without a word and went to the trunk. All at once he popped it open and lifted a 20 foot long snake out of the trunk and flung it at our feet with dramatic flair. Those who didn't pee their pants and take off running soon noticed that the head of the snake had been chopped off. And though the snake was dead, its muscles caused it to unwind and straighten out after being in the trunk, which made it seem very much alive. In the next 30 minutes, I watched them pull the entire skin off in one piece (which took some real work), remove the long stringy heart, cook it, eat it, and the divide the rest of the meat up between friends and family. The next night I had snake meat in my rice and sauce and I must say it was quite delicious. You should really try it sometime.

I got up the other morning and Moussa asked me if I wanted to go catch some fish the other morning. I said yes I'd meet him there at the river in a little bit. I got some petites to take me to the location. Petites, by the way, have an incredible knowledge of the woods and an excellent sense of direction. As I we headed there, I was wondering how we would be able to catch any fish since we are now at the end of the dry season and the river was nothing more than a series of connected stagnant pools. I'm not a fisherman, but it didn't seem like prime fishing conditions to me. Turns out they weren't fishing. I got to the river to see a group of about 5 or 6 boys and 4 guys closer to my age. They were all spaced apart across a section of the river pounding wood on either rocks or logs or the river bank. It was a very casual, relaxed atmosphere. It was also bizarre. We were thankfully shaded by the overhanging trees from the forest and the guys, in between the pounding, prepared tea, smoked, and bantered. Each person had a club, made of some stronger wood, and with it, they were pounding other branches into pulp, continuously dousing in the river. I didn't see any fish yet and I wasn't sure how pounding wood could accomplish the task. But I decided to help out anyway and started pounding (my hands are still blistered today). What I saw after that was pretty amazing. The wood, when pounded, released a milky liquid onto the surface of the water. They told me the fish would come and drink it and then either die or get "drunk" and therefore be quite easy to catch. I was still doubtful when we finished the pounding and took a rest to wait for the poison to set in. Sure enough, after about 30 minutes, tiny little dead fish began floating to the surface, some bigger than others, but mostly sardines. Then the big guys came. They didn't die, and I had trouble spotting them, but the petites were catching them like crazy. I'm talking about fish up to two feet long, that are so drunk on the wood stuff, that a young kid can dive underwater without being able to see and catch it with his hands. Other large fish would come break the surface of the water and rest there long enough for one of the guys to come by and swiftly slice its head off with a machete before it submerged again. It was pretty amazing. On my way back into the village people asked me where I had been and I told them I'd been fishing, I didn't know exactly how to describe it in Landuma. They then told me what to say. You're supposed to say, "I was out pounding fish poison wood".

So that's all I got for the moment. It's a lot, I know. A lot has happened. Like I said, I'm pretty used to my life here, but things are still absolutely crazy sometimes. Everyday I think about how much time I have left here as if I were dying to get out. Yet I'm amazed how often I find myself in a situation where I'm nothing but thankful to be where I am and in awe of the infinite diversity in this world. Some of it is not always easy to deal with it but all of it is worth it. I have no regrets about my experience so far. I hope you are well back home. I still think of you often. Love,

Anders

p.s. - This is my new email address. I'll still check my old one but I hope to eventually move everything here. Write back if you get the chance. Let me know if you have questions about whats going on over here in Guinea.

One year in

2006-01-23T16:44:00.000-05:00

Let's see, I'm one year in, what do I have to report? Guinea is still really hot. My hut is still pretty small. I'm now experiencing things I've experienced once before in this country, such as dry season, the islamic holiday of Tabaski, and the Harmattan winds which make this place a huge dustcloud at times. Somehow I haven't gotten sick yet, and I was really getting baffled as to why. It's not like I'm taking many precautions these days in terms of drinking water and food choice. Someone told me I could have amoebas, worms, and other parasites living inside of me without having any symptoms. So I got myself tested today. Prognosis negative! How can this be? I must have rocks in my stomach. And I think my asthma has dissappeared as well. So I'm still thankful for my health. Yet another new stage has arrived in country. G11. Yet another reminder of how long I've been i!n thisplace, as if I needed one. I just spent their first week in country with them and I'm really excited to have them here. I was answering questions like crazy, it reminded me of when we first arrived here. It also brought to light the fact that I do know some things about this country. I also realized that there were several things I didn't know, & in most cases I tried not to pretend like I did. When you spend most of your time in a small village and are only able to speak on a basic language level, you don't learn much about the politics and agriculture of the country. Of course, I could have learned about those things, but honestly, its not what interests me. I left those questions to other volunteers. Anyways, G11. It's a large group packed with many interesting characters. New blood! This means a few things. G7 is about to leave this country (a group which includes Athena! Childs,some of you may know her, congratulations Athena) making us juniors. It also means I will getting some new neighbors soon, hopefully the really interesting and fun ones. Finally, it signals the start of my second year, which is supposed to pass much faster than the first. So what do I have planned for the next year?

Well, my bread oven is now built and when I arrive back in Dabiss in a couple days with the last ingredient, a metal door, I will be living in luxury, eating freshly baked bread every day. Thats enough to get me to the finish line. My work in general is going very well. I'm at a level of comfort with my village that I feel like I can pursue the route that most inspires me. Right now I think it is selling mosquito nets. Though I may start working in our primary school as well. Kids are cute. My language is acceptable, though I'd love to get some more Landuma down. Thi!s meansan actual effort to spend some more time at site. I hope I can do this. The language thing is fun. My french is also passable, at least in Guinean standards. However, I think a frenchman would laugh at me, if he could me understand me. I hear 'real' french on TV and can't understand a thing. Oh well. I think my english is suffering as a result of all this language learning as well. I don't get to practice it as much. It just gets worser and worser. I have some cultural goals as well. For example, I plan on getting out and working in the fields every once in awhile. Considering the fact that about 80 percent of the people in this country are farmers, it would be good to have an idea of what the typical workday is like. I hear its not easy. Plus, you get a whole lot of respect for a day or two of work in the field, because you understand the "suffrance". That and having a beard.&nbs!p;(already covered) I plan on exploring the outlying villages a little more as well. I'm sure there's plenty of health education to be done out there, but it would also help with language and be a fun adventure in general. More sitting around with random families and seeing how long I can carry on a conversation, or how long I can sit comfortably in silence. I may start trying other people's rice and sauce as well. Cooking in my hut is getting less and less appealing and for reasons that totally escape me, rice is not.

Yesterday I was in the PCV house in Conakry and I had just stepped out of the shower when I heard a tremendous roar from outside. I stepped out on the balcony and listened to the celebrations of Guinea's impending victory over South Africa in the Africa cup. We scored to go up 1-0 with 2 minutes left and then won 2-0 apparently. A huge upset. We weren't allowed outside o!f thecompound yesterday because there were riots throughout Conakry in anticipation of the upcoming match. Burning tires, fights, rampages, all that stuff. They love soccer here. So for my own safety, pray that Guinea wins this cup. And that the ameobes don't find their way into my digestive system, they're plotting an attack, I just know it. Anyway, thats all that I'm going to write for now. Let me know if you have questions or topics you'd like me to cover. I've gotten good practice from G11. And if its something I don't know about, I'll tell you why I don't know. I love you all, I hope things are going well...

Anders

Ramadan 2005 ends

2005-11-25T20:11:00.000-05:00

Hey,

It’s been awhile since I’ve written. Time is passing so quickly now. I often forget to think about what’s going on back home. That’s not to say I don’t think of my friends and family all the time. It also doesn’t mean I’ve stopped counting the number of months I’ve been here and how many I have left (10 down, 17 to go). It simply means my life feels normal enough and I’m keeping myself occupied. I guess I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m here for awhile and so I don’t always wonder what I’m missing at home. My life is here now. For example, when I wake up in the morning, I expect to hear Landuma being spoken outside of my hut, not English. I expect the sound of women pounding rice and prayer calls from the mosque. My dreams are now a strange mix of my life in Africa and people and places from America. I hear Landuma in my dreams and still don’t understand. Being hot and sweating all the time is normal. Hot weather has become mild and really hot is now just hot. I’ve eaten more rice in 10 months than I thought I would ever have eaten in my life. And I like it. If I haven’t had rice today, I haven’t eaten. Or at least it feels that way. I forgot that life still goes on around me. I forgot that back home, school has started again, Charter Day has come and gone and winter is beginning. I forgot that the temperature actually changes in some parts of the world. But it’s OK, ‘cause I’m remembering now.

Right now, I’m sitting under my bed which is now a loft. I had it raised in order to free up a little space in my tiny hut. I also have a new, extremely comfortable chair. The frame was welded together from iron bars by a guy I found in Boké who calls himself MetraSuma (?). I stitched together some empty rice sacks to make the seat and back. You really have to see it and sit in it to know how comfy it is. I’ve already logged many hours in this chair and the rice sacks are starting to form to my body. It’s nice.

Yesterday was a big holiday in Dabiss and all throughout Guinea. It marked the end of the month of Ramadan and this holiday is probably the equivalent of Christmas for us. For those of you not well-acquainted with Islam, Ramadan is the holy month in which God began revealing the Koran to Prophet Muhammad. Muslims commemorate this month with fasting and extra devotional prayers. Now if you didn’t know that, don’t feel bad, the only reason I do is ‘cause someone just lent me The Koran for Dummies (no joke). However, I wouldn’t have needed The Koran for Dummies to know about the fasting because they make it very clear that they are. And they never fail to remind you if you forget. And they also never fail to give you a hard time if you’re not fasting, Muslim or not. However, I fasted about 12 out of the 30 days, so they laid off me most of the time.

Fasting during Ramadan, in Guinea at least, means that from dawn to sunset, you must not eat or drink. This means that each morning, my neighbors all get up before sunrise (4:30 – 5:00 A.M) and have their morning meal. After that, nothing enters the body until sundown. The food part isn’t terrible, it’s the water part that kills you. And most people are still working 5 or 6 hours each day in the field under the hot African sun. Many of them don’t even swallow their saliva. This means lots and lots of spitting. It got repulsive after a while and seemed like too much to me. I never did the spitting thing.

Now bear with me as I write a little about the religious meaning behind all this. I find it interesting and maybe you do, too. If not, feel free to skip. As far as I know, there are two reasons for fasting. One is that fasting makes you more conscious of God. I think the idea is that by depriving the body of food, sex, and water for the sake of God, we become more conscious of God’s presence inside ourselves with each feeling of hunger and thirst. According to the Koran (actually The Koran for Dummies), if we can deprive ourselves of life’s basic necessities for the sake of God, we can surely learn not to indulge in our more destructive behaviors. The other purpose of fasting is that it makes us more thankful toward God. It is also supposed to make apparent the hardship and suffering that others go through every day of the year due to poverty, war, disease, drought, and so on. I find this second reason especially interesting given my context. I don’t think I need to explain how poor Guinea is again. If you were to come here and observe daily life, you might wonder how these people could be thankful for anything considering what they have. You might also wonder how and why they fast for 30 days when finding food is already a huge challenge. It’s pretty amazing. And what’s really amazing to me is how spiritually fulfilled these people are despite living under such primitive and difficult conditions. Seriously, it’s one of the first things I noticed here. Everyone is happy, nice, and generous. They may be materially poor, but they are spiritually rich, or at least it seems that way to me.

Now I’m not a Muslim, but I believe in God and support the idea behind fasting. It’s a good exercise in self control. That’s why I did it. Plus, it is also a great way to build community. Everyone comes together each day to pray and everyone breaks fast together as well. For me, it was nice because I felt a lot of acceptance from everyone for doing some of the fast. For some reason, people thought I wouldn’t be able to do it. I was like, “Hello? You haven’t noticed yet that I just sit in my hut and read all day while everyone else labors in the field? How do you do it?”

OK, time to wrap things up. Everything is going well for me over here. Dabiss is treating me very well. I really do like this place and I’m not finding it terribly hard to do some “Public Health” related work every now and then. People are relatively warm and accepting of my efforts. My health seems to be unnaturally good and I am keeping my fingers crossed. I guess my only complaint would be that ½ of the grass fence enclosing my yard has rotted during the rainy season and fallen apart. I hope that gets fixed soon. It’s made me realize how much I value my privacy. The part that fell was the only barrier between my place and a next door family who spends all day outside of their house, and whose children are still fascinated by the sight of me. Each time I walk out of my back door I hear a chorus of kids shouting my name and soon after, I have several little visitors at my front door. It gets less cute after the millionth time it happens. OK, take care.

Love,
Anders

P.S. According to the Koran (for Dummies of course), during Ramadan, the doors of hellfire close, Satan is chained up and the gates of heaven open side. So you can tell it’s a pretty good month!

Month 9

2005-10-07T14:35:00.000-04:00

Oh my goodness,life in Guinea has just been flying. I almost forgot that I was here for awhile! So much has probably happened but I honestly don't remember where I left off. If I had to guess though, I was probably still talking about food and complaining about the heat, or talking about
how I spend my loads of free time. all that exciting news you're just dying to hear. and even now, 9 months in, my first instincts are to tell you about those things again. But I will spare you the pain. I'll try and tell you about something new and interesting.

One thing that has changed is that I have actually started working. I'm working now. I've done a bunch of sensitizations in my village on diarrhea and malnutrition. I've started teaching some of the jr. high school guys english, which has been really fun. I've also started playing soccer with
them at the end of the day and its embarrassing how much a bunch of adolescent kids can beat up on me. they're good! my main goal at the moment however, is getting a bread oven made in my town. I've been doing all sorts of preliminary work for this project and I think its really gonna happen. It would be very exciting. And believe me, this project is more of a personal motive than anything else. I'm blown away by the fact that Dabiss doesn't have a regular supply of bread and everyone seems to agree that its an important goal, but really, I just want some bread to eat. Mmmm...Bread.

So that's whats going on with my "work". I have tons of other project ideas and plans for the next couple months, but I'd rather wait and talk about projects after they've been successfully completed. I have to say, after being at site for 4 months or so, mostly just focusing on the language, it feels really good to actually start being useful. I feel so comfortable in my village and I think the people there are beginning to understand why I'm there.

Now, as with most people, my "work" work is only a part of my life over here. It's not like I'm coming to Guinea everyday and working from 9-5 and heading back home to the states where I resume my normal life. I'm more or less here all the time. I say "more or less" because when I'm in Conakry, like I have been for the past five days, it feels somewhat like I'm back home. I'm surrounded by Americans, I have many comforts and luxuries that I never had back home. I can watch movies and have cold drinks. But at site, it never ends. Its like I'm constantly making some sort of effort. I probably only "work" 10 hours or less a week, but living here is a job on its own. Or something. Oh what am I talking about? Its not really that bad. I feel comfortable even at site. I have friends there and I can pretty much communicate. I'm doing something that anyone could do, as long as they wanted to. wha!t'sinteresting to notice however, is the small ways that
I have changed since being here. There are certain things that simply must change in order for you to live happily in this place. Let me give you some examples...

In Guinean taxis, in order to make more money, you must squeeze four people in the back seat and two (sometimes 3) people in the front seat, no matter how long of a ride it is. That usually means 7 or 8 people in a 5 person car and 9 to 12 people in a car with 7 seats. And anyone under 12 or so doesn't fill a "spot", cause they're too small, they just sit on laps. I've done many trips over 13 hours or so in a bush taxi sharing the front seat with someone else, or crammed in the back with three large Guineans. Now, I can't say I'm actually more comfortable in cramped positions
than I used to be, but I can say that being cramped and uncomfortable in cars no longer bothers me. For some reason, I can simply endure it now, for as long as I need to. Who cares if half your body is alseep? At least you haven't crashed or broken down yet.

Here's another one. Any pickiness I had as an eater before coming here, has completely vanished. I will eat just about anything that could be called food, and I'll enjoy it. It's really quite nice. You might say that my standards in food taste have dramatically decreased, but I'd just say that my appreciation for food, whenever availiable, has greatly increased. For example, my new rule on eating meat is this, if its chewable, it goes down the hatch, no questions asked. All sauces taste good. Powdered milk is delicious. Mayonnaise goes well with just about everything. Flour with maggots growing inside can still be used without falling ill. Probably extra protein! Onions, peppers, & tomatoes, things that used to be gross, are now delicacies. The more the better. I just like to think about how much I'll love the food when I get back.

OK, what else? I think I have definitely adjusted to the pace of life over here. Everything is slowed down. Deadlines are flexible. Excuses of all kinds are accepted. There's no hurry to get anything done. One thing I've noticed, which I think is interesting, is that awkwardness does not seem to exist in this country. It's not uncommon for people to sit together and say nothing for long periods of time. And not only is it not uncommon, but its not uncomfortable either. You just don't need to say anything. Sometimes I go to my boutique, and sit down with some friends and we just observe village life for what feels like hours. Nobody needs to say anything and it doesn't
matter. It's the same with one-on-one interactions as well. Sometimes I get stuck with a person I've never talked to before, but it's just no problem. If there's nothing to talk about, we just observe the silence, there's no need to say anything. What's really nice though, is that the silence holds no awkwardness. I don't know why. People just don't do that over here, and I love it. I've even noticed with my volunteer friends here that long silences are not really that bad anymore. Awkwardness has just become a non-factor here. I'd like to think it will stay that way, but it seems like awkwardness is just a part of life sometimes. who knows.

Anyway, I've pretty much run out of things to say for the moment and I have to go anyway. I think I'll just send this without any revisions. I hope things are going well back home. I love you all...take care,

Anders

Letter #6 - new stage in country

2005-07-28T13:25:00.000-04:00

July 7, 2005

Hi everyone,

OK, so here’s some more news from Guinea. A new stage just arrived in country, G10. There now are 16 more volunteers in this country. They are education volunteers. I think they teach math, physics, and English. They’re in training in good old Dubreka (remember?). This will nicely balance things out since G6 just left. Their service is over. I tell you this because my stage and I are no longer freshman. Our hazing is over. G9 are officially seasoned sophomores. Yes!

However, we are two fewer people than we were at the start. One of our volunteers (G9) ET’d (early terminated) in April. After training, I think he had just had enough and had seen what he wanted to. The other loss was a MedSep. This girl cut her leg at affectation (end of training) and then swam with the rest of us in the dirty Atlantic Ocean on the beach in Conakry. As a consequence, she got a serious staph infection, which required a medical separation to Dakaar, Senegal. After that, she was sent to the states for skin grafting and rehab and what-not. Pretty sad, she was a great girl and doing really well over here. Never made it to site.

Me, I’m still at site. Actually, I’m taking a break in Boké right now, but most of the time I’m in Dabiss. It’s going well there. I probably spend an average of 2 hours a day studying Landuma. And I’m always practicing it. Rainy season is officially underway. It’s not as rainy as I thought it would be, though it rains a lot. I always enjoy and look forward to the rain - mostly the fresh air it brings. My heat rash lives on, though you’ll be glad to know that the severity has greatly diminished. I expect to be done with it by October or November. But seriously, I can live with it now.

I recently painted a large map of Guinea on the wall of the school in Dabiss and everybody seems to be very pleased with it. My food situation has improved (as well as my mental health) thanks to some American missionaries who live nearby. When I get tired of village life I can go visit my new friends who always take me in and always send me back with a bag full of amazingly good food. They recently sent me a 4th of July picnic which had hot dogs, pork n’ beans, chili, stuff for s’mores, brownies, cold drinks, granola, yogurt, and more. Do you have any idea how invaluable this is to a volunteer? It’s amazing and I’m grateful. I think I’ve finally stopped losing weight, though I’ve stabilized around 160 which I probably haven’t weighed since I was in 8th grade. Our PCMO (Peace Corps Med Officer) says it’s fine and I shouldn’t worry. I’m in good health. I’m thankful that I’ve had very few health problems so far, most volunteers can’t say that.

It’s still strange to me that I’m in Guinea. I really like it here and I love the people (for the most part). I’m getting good ideas for projects and I plan to start some very soon. But I’m working. The whole cultural exchange/integration thing is amazing and fun. It happens every day and I’m getting better and better at it. I’ve gotten lots of letters and pictures and other good stuff from back home. Thanks for keeping in touch y’all. It means so much to me. OK, gotta go! Take care.

Love,
Anders

Letter #5 - my trip to Kafai

2005-07-06T10:44:00.000-04:00

So, I’ve been a volunteer, officially, for two months. Come June 13th, I will have been in Guinea for 5 months. The longest I’ve ever been away from home before that was 4 months, when I was in Scotland. I think about these things a lot. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else in G-9 were thinking the same things as me. I feel like time is flying by, despite how much I think about it. It’s addicting. The older volunteers say you get to a point where it dies off, but never goes away. Time. I’ve been here for a long time. Imagine if you had to spend two years in jail. You’d constantly be thinking about how long you’d been there and how long you had to go. Or I relate this feeling to Bennett when he was hiking the Appalachian Trail and got addicted to counting miles, always keeping in mind how far he’d gone and how far he had to go. I’m constantly thinking about time like that and although I’m sure it will decrease at some point, it doesn’t bother me. I’m not restless if I sound that way. And I’m also not bored out of my mind if you’re getting that impression. It’s just that this way of thinking is inevitable for me. I actually find it comforting. It’s comforting how consistent time is. The time I have left here is small in the long run. But right now it seems far away. I have plenty of time here to enjoy myself and I’ll be back before I know it. Despite how relative that all seems, the past 5 months have felt just as long as any other 5 month span. Days pass by just as quickly here as they do in America, only that I count them now. Anyway, these are things I think a lot about over here, and it’s fine with me.

Dabiss life has been feeling more normal and comfortable lately, which is a good thing. I’m feeling more settled in. Although my occasional trips to Boké always bring a much needed relief, I’m enjoying my village life and I’m starting to feel more like a part of the town and less like a strange white foreigner. In fact, most of the kids here address me by my name now, instead of calling me “Tabu”, the Landuma word for white person. (Actually, it’s a blanket word for anything that is white – real personal, huh?) I’m trying to learn names in addition to Landuma, and I have a surprisingly good number of people down. Last names are important in greeting people here. It seems like saying a person’s last name before you actually greet them is an imperative. And it’s not just to get their attention. So when I hear someone say “Kokumbassa”, I turn to whoever is greeting me, give them their last name, if I know it, and we exchange our pleasantries. You’d be amazed how long greeting can carry on for. It’s good for me because I’m now familiar with all the greetings and I can carry on for quite a while, making it look like I know the language. Anyway, I’m getting to know a lot of people and I’m really enjoying myself.

Jared Alden has now sent me a slack line and the new Jack Johnson CD and I’m forever grateful for that. He sent them at separate times and each thing came with a message. Both times he said something like “I bet you’re constantly looking around and saying to yourself, ‘Man, what if the boys could see me now.’” Both times he was right on. I have that thought a lot and it’s tough because for the most part, I can’t fully describe what is going on here. Of course, a large part of my time is spent reading or sitting at the boutique or doing your average everyday things. Sometimes I literally just sit and stare. Recently, I discovered I can happily pass time trying to throw some stones across my yard into an old rusty coffee can. And at these times I certainly don’t think, “Wow, if they could only see me now.” But there are those times when I wish you all could see what I’m experiencing and I think that thought to myself. And while I can’t describe it in a way that makes you feel like you were there, I can at least make you understand where I’m coming from. I think the best way to do this would be to tell you about a trip I recently took where at almost every moment I was thinking to myself, “Man, if only they could see me back home.”

This trip I took was actually over three weeks ago. It’s important to keep that in mind because since then, I have become significantly more comfortable with the culture and language. I wasn’t the man I am today. Anyway, my health center was just beginning a new round of polio vaccinations and they were trying to get as many villages vaccinated in the surrounding area as they could. Since this was related to my official “job” (Public Health), I offered my help. They were happy to accept and asked if I wanted to go out to Kafai the next day with Dgibril (sounds like Gee Bee when you say it fast) and vaccinate the kids there. They told me it was not far away and we could go on our bikes. So I said sure. The next morning I got up early and grabbed a bottle of water and my bike. I thought this would be a quick trip and we’d be back within the day. I left to find Dgibril. When I found him, he told me we would be staying the night, so I’d better pack a bag. And this was the first of what would be many unexpected surprises on my trip to Kafai. As it turned out, there was a marriage in Kafai that night which we were attending. And it wasn’t just a random village, it was the home of Dgibril’s second wife and son who he hadn’t seen for several weeks. He also informed me that I should bring enough water to last me the whole trip because the water wasn’t clean in Kafai, they only had wells, no pumps. Although this all came as a surprise to me, it nevertheless made me more excited for what was going to be a fun adventure. Oh yeah, by “not far away” he meant about 40 kilometers through thick brush on a small unpaved path. Well, parts of the path were fine and not too overgrown, but I’m just trying to be dramatic.

So we took off for Kafai. Our first stop along the way, of which there would be many, was at a village called Tonglagba, only about 5k from Dabiss. As it turns out, we were there for a funeral. We stopped off for a funeral. I won’t go into the details of it, but we were there for the entire process, and it was quite a process, lasting about 4 hours. At the end of it, all the men gathered very close together, shoulder to shoulder, myself included and faced the corpse while certain people said prayers. The women and children stood far back and watched. And then some of the men picked up the body and we walked off down the road and into the woods for the cremation. After that, we left. Just a quick stop-off for a funeral and we were on our way again. This was going to be an interesting trip.

The ride there was great. It was great for mountain biking and the scenery was amazing. Dgibril seems to have a friend or relative or girlfriend in every village along the way. And at each little village we somehow picked up another travel companion who would accompany us for awhile and then disappear. The frequent stops allowed us to rest and also provided the local kids with a white person to stare at for 5 or 10 minutes. For many of them, I was probably the first white person they’d ever seen. At one point, our path was blocked by a wide shallow river where we had to take off our shoes and hold our bikes over our heads while we waded across. It was really fun for me, but I didn’t express my enjoyment, partly because I didn’t have the language and partly because it was just an average, ordinary trip – what is there to get excited about? I felt like we were on a safari or something.

Anyway, we got to Kafai just before sunset. I met the village, Dgibril’s wife and son, and I saw a guy named Mohmed, who I had met before. We had some tea and awaited the wedding. This is where things got really confusing to me. Mohmed led me to believe he was the one getting married, which turned out to be untrue. The ceremony began that night and did not stop until about noon the next day. The actual marriage occurred the next day and it was then I realized Mohmed was not getting married. I was totally clueless throughout it all. I was also clueless as to what my sleeping arrangements would be and as to what actually takes place at a marriage in Guinea. All these factors taken together made for a very strange and interesting night/following morning. At many points, I found myself thinking, “If they could only see me now.”

I think a large part of the strangeness came from the fact that Mohmed was accompanying me everywhere I went, and I thought it was his marriage. He didn’t really take part in all the singing and dancing and ceremonial stuff that carried on all night. He was always at my side. And I was tired. I wasn’t exactly prepared for an all-nighter, especially after the long trip. Neither was Dgibril. So I sat around a lot and watched. And Mohmed sat with me. I wanted to ask him why he wasn’t more involved in the festivities, when does the actual marriage occur? Where is you fiancée? Why do you seem so detached? Mostly I wanted to know why he was following me everywhere, but my Landuma wasn’t good enough and neither was his French. At around 1:00 AM, I was unbelievably tired and starting to feel very uncomfortable with Mohmed attached at my hip during his own wedding. Although the music and dancing was just beginning, I had to rest. So I went into the house I believed I was staying in and lay down on a very hard mattress. I thought this also might relieve Mohmed of his duties so he could enjoy his wedding. I woke up about ten minutes later to find him sitting in a chair next to my bed. I was baffled. The music outside was blaring and didn’t stop until about 7:00 am. I asked Mohmed when the marriage happened. He said in the morning. I was so tired and confused. I decided to just fall back asleep and see what happens in the morning. Mohmed eventually went back outside. I was awakened later by Dgibril lying down in the same bed as me, which was slightly bigger than a twin size. But it was fine. I could sleep through anything, even though I had no pillow or blanket. Even later, I was awakened by Mohmed squeezing into the bed along with Dgibril. To say the least, this stuck me as odd. Here I was in a house whose owner I did not know, sleeping in a bed with two Guineans, one of whom I thought was getting married that night. I hadn’t really been able to speak to anyone all night about my confusion, and it grew as I lay there pondering with tw0 Guineans at my side. But again, tiredness overtook me and somehow we seemed to fit OK in that small bed.

At 7:00, the deafening music finally stopped and the silence awoke us like an alarm. We all sat up and filed out of our single bed. I was in my same clothes from the night before. We all washed up and went outside. We ate. We ate well. That’s one thing they do right at weddings here. Plenty of food. And often. Yes, it was rice and sauce. But it was good. That morning, things started to come together. My confusion left me when I realized it was actually some other man getting married. I was quite relieved to tell you the truth. The marriage was nice and there was an interesting money giving process which followed. It was awkward for me at first, but I eventually caught on and gave money in the proper way. Fun times.

Dgibril and I vaccinated kids after that. Polio vaccinations are given orally, so there’s no pain involved. Yet this did not stop many of them from crying. Later that day, we made our journey back home. The trip back was just as enjoyable as the trip there and with less uncertainty. One of the fields we had to cross had just been burned that day and many parts were still burning as we went through. At one point, I had to look down and cover my face as we sped through a hot spot. I thought my leg hairs were going to burn off. People I had met on the way to Kafai learned my name and I heard a few “Kumabsa!”’s as we passed the villages. And as is usually the case, the scenery was beautiful.

Perhaps in another letter I will try to describe the landscape here, but this one has gone on long enough. I’ll just say that the rains have started recently, the rainy season is beginning, and suddenly everything here has become incredibly more green and beautiful. As I said before and will say again, it’s hard to describe my life here. I was hoping this story could at least demonstrate my desire to explain what is happening to me. But of course, if any of you were trying to describe your own everyday experiences in a tangible way, I bet you would find it just as difficult as I do. I find it interesting that I’m writing these mass emails every few weeks or so, trying to communicate the experiences of my life. It’s something I’ve never done before and something hardly anyone else does. When I think of it that way, it seems strange that I’m doing this at all, keeping in touch. But I enjoy it and it’s important to me, keeping in touch with friends and family. It’s hard knowing that everyone is getting the exact same story and I have no real one-on-one interaction, but it’s all I can do. I feel lucky to have people reading this, for those of you who read this far. And even if no one reads this or people become disinterested in my life here, I can at least have a journal of my time here. At the very least, it’s something I’ll be interested in reading sometime later on.

Anyway, sorry for the long tangent and even longer letter, if you’ve gotten bored. I’ll stop soon. I hope everyone is doing well back home. I’ll be here in Guinea if you ever want to say hello. Take care.

Love,
Anders

At Site

2005-05-21T17:47:00.000-04:00

Hello. I decided it’s about time I write another letter. Today is April 29th. I just woke up and made myself pancakes for the first time since I’ve been at site. They were delicious! I bought a gas stove before coming out to Dabiss, but I haven’t been able to use it until recently because there is an ongoing gas crisis/shortage in Guinea. My gas tank finally arrived a few days ago with the Peace Corps country director and his wife when they came to visit me at my site. It was good to finally have some people to speak English with, but I think I was even happier to see the gas tank on the roof of their car. I had bought lots of food before coming here, but most of it required a functioning stove. So the first two weeks were tough. I have a family here who agreed to make me dinners for 7,000 Guinean francs a week, but I’m on my own for breakfast and lunch. And in Dabiss, you’re lucky if you manage to find bread more than once a week. So I was hungry often. At one point, I resorted to drinking warm powdered milk and peanut butter straight from the jar. The powdered milk is for cooking and the PB is for bread, but I couldn’t find bread or cook anything, so that was my sustenance. I hung my head low that day. But don’t worry, the food situation is better. I just made myself pancakes with very little trouble and they tasted better than I remember them tasting back home. Plus, I’m better at finding nourishment around town now as well. And food is cheap here. For example, I pay 7,000 GNF for dinner per week. While this is a good deal for the family who prepared it, 7,000 GNF is equal to about $2 American. I might up it to 10,000 a week just because I can. Then they’d really be rolling the dough.

Anyway, I’ve been here at site for 3 weeks now, with a short trip to Boké for a few days somewhere in between. Being at site is such a completely different experience than stage. It’s hard to explain. Coming here after training was like leaving for the Peace Corps all over again. It was just as nerve-racking, if not more, and I was met with a whole new wave of culture shock, homesickness, and other challenges and experiences I wasn’t prepared for. Stage was just long enough for us to all feel comfortable and acquainted with Guinean life, but nothing prepares you for being completely alone in a small village in Guinea. It’s just crazy. So crazy. That’s the best was I can describe it.

The first 3 or 4 days were the hardest for me. I expected them to be hard, but there was a death in the village on the second day and being there for that just made everything a little too real. I’ll try to give a quick recap. Like I said, it was my second day at site and I was in the process of settling into my hut. A bunch of little kids (petites as we refer to them) came by and wanted to wash my bike because it was dirty. So I gave them some soap and they went to work. When they finished, I went out and thanked them and gave some candy to the biggest kid who did most of the cleaning. You should have seen his eyes light up. It was a small piece (I didn’t have much), but he managed to share it with most of the other kids. I let them all come into my shade hut (a hut without walls, not my ‘hut’ hut) and sit down. The one big kid asked if I would bring out my guitar and play for them. I was still feeling grateful for them cleaning my bike, so I went and got my guitar. As I started playing, I could see this was an even bigger treat than the candy. Half of them got up and started dancing. But I hadn’t even played for two minutes when they heard some screams coming from across the village. Before I knew what was happening, all the kids were gone and the one kid that was left told me, “Someone just died. Sorry, we have to go” and he ran off. The screams all around me got louder and louder as people began to realize what had happened. I ran and put my guitar away and then followed the screams and the running villagers. I showed up at the scene not knowing what to expect. I’d obviously never seen a Guinean mourning process before. It was crazy – I can’t really describe it. Women were running all over the place screaming and crying and falling over and passing out incessantly. I stood a little ways back with the rest of the village and watched it all happen. This was my second day at site and here I was in the middle of a tragedy. A 17 year old girl (a normal age for having a baby here) had just died while giving birth to her first baby. Her body was simply too small to have it, so they had to operate. The baby lived, but the girl had lost too much blood in the process. As all the women were running around crying and screaming (a few men were doing that too), most of the men started gathering under a mango tree and talked amongst themselves. I went over and sat with them for a while. They chatted with me as if nothing had happened. A man was collecting money for the family, so I gave some. Eventually everything calmed down and I went back home. I felt very overwhelmed and didn’t quite know how to process the whole thing. It was hard, but I was glad to have witnessed it. It was an unreal experience, and it probably won’t be the last.

Now, I won’t tell the next story, though it is interesting, because the last one took too long and I’m tired of writing. But I’ll just say that the next day a young boy in a nearby village died of malaria and the whole mourning process occurred again within earshot of my hut. This time I stayed home. It was too much. I just felt depressed about it. That was my third day at site. All that piled on the stress of moving to site was hard on me, to say the least. But in general, things improved from then on.

Actually, once you get settled in, life here isn’t too bad; it can even get boring. Unlike training, I have unlimited freedom in terms of how I spend my time. And in terms of working, or “my job”, I have complete freedom as well (or close to complete). In fact, during the first three months, I’m not even supposed to start any projects. My only direction is “get to know your village”, which for me means “hang out with people”. I can handle that. All I have is free time.

Here is an average day. I usually wake up around 9, take my time eating and making breakfast, and then read for a good hour or so. I think reading is my American equivalent of watching TV now (nerd alert!). I also spend a few hours each day playing guitar and studying Landuma (and sometimes French). On my busier days, I can be seen walking around or riding my bike somewhere. And when I’ve decided to finally buckle down and do some “work”, you can usually find me sitting with some Guineans drinking tea. The tea here is great. They drink it all the time and put tons of sugar in it. I’m usually back at my hut by 5:00 for a bucket bath and dinner (ALWAYS rice and sauce – I still like it though). The sun goes down around 7:30 every day and that’s when I usually return to reading or playing guitar. Occasionally, I treat myself to some music, but the battery life on my MP3 player is a precious resource. I don’t usually go out at night – at least not yet. To be honest, it’s a bit intimidating. Dabiss comes alive at night. With my hut in the center of everything, all I ever hear is the millions of kids running around and screaming. Seriously, people are so dark-skinned here, I’d be afraid of running over a kid or something. And with no electricity, I’d never know where I was going or who I was talking to without using a flashlight and making a spectacle of myself. Really, it’s hard enough leaving my place in broad daylight and making rounds in the village. Nighttime is harder for some reason. Dabiss is a different town at night. I’m sure I’ll be out there before long, but for now, I’m content to just stay in my hut. I get visitors here anyway. So I usually end up going to bed around 11:00. That’s a good 10 hours a night. I’m lovin’ it. So that’s a typical day for me. I’ve done other things and other things have happened, but that’s the general formula.

For those of you who know me well, I’m sure you can see that I’m in heaven with all this free time. I’ve always been a fan of sleeping a lot, playing guitar, sitting around, and hanging out. I’m constantly told by other volunteers that this is the normal Peace Corps life and that I shouldn’t worry about how much I’m “accomplishing”, especially in my first three months. I’m also reminded that a big part of my job here is the cultural exchange – in other words, the “hanging out” part of my job. I think that part comes naturally for me. Everyone here is really nice. Usually I can just walk up to a group of people and greet them and I will immediately be offered a seat. I can just sit there and listen to them speak in Landuma and try to see if I can pick up bits and pieces of the conversation, but usually they will try to engage me in their discussion. Mostly they speak Landuma and teach me phrases. I don’t think many of them speak French, and those who do aren’t very good and don’t seem to enjoy speaking it. That makes me all the more motivated to learn Landuma. Yes, this will be my third language I’ve begun to learn here. French is coming along well but my progress in Susu has stopped because I’m now focusing on Landuma and two languages are enough. Now, none of these languages have any significant similarities, but everyone basically knows Susu, they can all understand it and speak it well enough. So for those who speak no French at all, I can at least use my Susu until my Landuma is up to par. Landuma is by far the hardest language, but this is a Landuma village and that’s all they seem to speak. So Landuma it is.

Besides the language barriers, I think the hardest thing for me mentally, is being OK with where I am in terms of integrating into my community and figuring out how I can best serve them. It’s easy to see the problems that face people here. Likewise, it’s easy to criticize myself for not constantly putting all my effort into trying to help these people. There are always voices in my head telling me I’m apathetic and deriding me for not saving everyone’s life. My living allowance, while meager by American standards, is a fortune to Guineans. How can I stand by and be content with what I have, while I could probably be working harder at improving “Public Health” in Dabiss? Maybe in another letter I’ll go into how we are actually supposed to help as Peace Corps volunteers, but the point is, I have lots of free time that I often invest in selfish activities such as reading, sleeping, and playing guitar, and it’s hard not to criticize myself for it. But the truth is it’s hard to get out of bed some mornings. I consider making pancakes a success right now. It’s not easy to walk out of my hut and try to “integrate”. There’s a reason we’re here for two years. They say it takes a year before volunteers are able to do anything that’s actually effective. So I try not to let those voices get to me and just go about my business.

Also, I don’t try to hide the fact that I’m here for selfish reasons. I joined the Peace Corps because I was interested in discovering a different/new culture. I thought it would be a good chance to learn something about myself. It would be a good challenge for me. I think that all the volunteers have some selfish motives for being here. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. It’s good to believe that what you are doing is important and useful, but if we weren’t getting something out of it as well, I don’t think any of us would be here. So I allow myself to enjoy all this free time and use it to do things that I love. I gotta stay in good spirits.

Recently, I’ve been going through some physical trials that have made it difficult to be in good spirits. I had dysentery once, but what I have now I consider to be far worse than dysentery was. It’s called the Prickly Heat Rash. According to my health handbook, “’Prickly Heat’ is a common term given to a mild skin irritation that usually occurs as a burning or itchy red rash on the neck and back and in the skin folds… The actual irritation is probably due to the acidity of copious sweat acting on heat-stressed skin. The condition is generally self-limiting and will go away with a minimum of treatment.” I’m quite sure this is what I have, although my own experience does not agree with the above statement. This rash started over two months ago and it’s worse now than it has ever been. Self-limiting? Yeah, right. It’s actually barely noticeable to look at, but it has spread to virtually all parts of my body (minus hands, feet, and the ‘parts that matter’, if you know what I mean, and I’m quite thankful). And while it started out as prickly, now it feels more like I’m being stabbed by needles, not prickled. Seriously, when it gets aggravated, it’s the most uncomfortable feeling you could ever imagine coming from a rash. I have some talcum powder, which offers some relief, but I’m told there’s nothing that really cures it. I just have to wait till the rainy season when it cools down around here. Apparently, it starts in mid June or early July. It’s so hot here. I think right now we’re entering the hottest part of the year. We avoid the sun at all costs.

OK, time to wrap this up. Thanks for those of you who read this far. As always, I’d love to hear from you, which can be done via email or snail mail or blog comments. Sorry I don’t manage to write you all individually. It’s just that I’m now separated from everyone I know back home and that’s a lot of people. But I do think about all of you a lot. I love and miss you all. I hope thing are going well.

Take care,
Anders

P.S. If you do send me snail mail, send some pictures. I’ve found that pictures are quite comforting to me. Pictures of people I know preferably.
P.P.S. I am developing a passion for the infamous rivalry of Guinea vs. Guinea Bissau in a way that none of you will ever understand.

Leaving Conakry

2005-04-04T12:37:00.000-04:00

Hello everyone,

Ok, so now I am an official volunteer. It feels pretty good. We had our swearing-in ceremony at the house of the ambassador of the U.S. His place was AMAZING. I felt like I was in a tropical resort. His house was like a mansion back home. The ceremony was in his backyard, where he had a pool, a small basketball court, an amazing view of the ocean, and a huge table catered with food and drinks. It didn't feel like we were even in Guinea, which wasn't necessarily the goal, but it never hurts to get a break. The ceremony was actually very nice. I think it was good for us to have a formal transition into being volunteers...Training was hard and long.

It's Monday now and I'm still in Conakry. Pretty much everyone from my stage has left for their regional capitals. I had to stay here for an extra day because of medical problems. I won't go into too much detail, but I might have giardia and I have to be tested to see if I have it before leaving. It ended up being convenient. The extra time here was well needed. Also, I could say goodbye to everyone without having to think too much about leaving myself. It was actually quite sad. I've made some really good friends with people in my stage over the last 3 months and it was tough to see them leave. Those who aren't in my region of the country, I won't be seeing much again over the next two years. It's not like I can't see them at all, but it just won't happen a lot. Oh well, this is the next step in life as a volunteer. Now we go to site and are by ourselves, not alone though.

So, I should find out about my health situation by noon today and then I'm going to take off. I'm heading out with Annie and Steve to Boké. I'm sure I've mentioned it before but I'll explain it one more time. Boké is the regional capital for the volunteers who live in the Basse Cote region of Guinea. Basse Cote is the coastal region. The other two regions are the Fouta (the forest/highland region) and Haute Guinea (the savannah/desert region). In Boké we have a Peace Corps house, where volunteers can come and stay while their in the capital. I will be living about 53 kilometers north of Boké and the road there is unpaved so I will probably be making the trip on my bike. Annie and Steve are a married couple from my stage and their site is Boké. They will be living just down the street from the Peace Corps house. They're a great couple and I'm glad to have them as my closest neighbors.

Yes. So here I go. I'll be in Dabiss before I know it. I'm feeling both nervous and excited. Excited because I'm finally starting my service, I'm finally going to be doing what I came here to do, whatever that turns out to be. It's been so long anticipating this. I'm looking forward to the challenge of settling in to my new place and trying to integrate into the community. It should be quite an adventure. Nervous because I will be alone in a lot of ways. I won't have a single person nearby who speaks English, let alone someone who even knows me. I'm going to have to figure out how to feed myself and wash my clothes. I'll be the strange and interesting white person in the village whose every action will be noticed and scrutinized by all. I have to figure out what I should do as a public health volunteer. There is a lot ahead of me. Yes, I am nervous. But I'm not terrified. I think I'm excited more than anything. I'm quite sure that this is what I want to be doing right now. I'm in a good place to leave.

I spoke to my parents over the phone yesterday for a good 30 minutes or so. It was so great to hear their voices. I've also gotten really nice emails from the rest of my family and they boosted my spirits. I've heard from friends as well. It's so nice to communicate with you all. I miss everyone so much and though I'm so far away from you, I feel close. I feel like I'm bringing you all with me. I'll make sure to keep you all updated on my adventures, please keep me updated on yours. Good luck with everything...Hope it's going well...

Love,
Anders

Conakry at last...

2005-03-30T23:06:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I'm not officially a volunteer yet. Tomorrow is the swearing in ceremony. Today was the farewell ceremony. We left Dubreka for good and came here to the Peace Corps House in Conakry. We go to our sites on Sunday.

The hardest part for me was saying goodbye to my host mom. Over the past 3 months (slightly less), I have come to love that woman. By leaps and bounds, she has done more for me here than anyone else so far in stage. That's saying a lot. I really can't begin to describe it. So I won't. The most amazing part is the relationship we developed. She only speaks Susu and I only speak English and a decent amount of French. My Susu is virtually non-existent. But somehow we know each other well. It's amazing how much can be communicated through facial expressions, hand movements, basic salutations (which can mean a lot more here than back home), and the small bit of Susu I do know. Over the last few days she's been coming into my hut and standing in the entrance to my room, with her huge smile and a hint of sadness on her face. She says things like, "Boubacar sigama Boke" or "I siga Dabiss" or "Fo I N Fama",or usually something else that I don't understand. Basically she's saying, "you're leaving! I'm going to miss you." And she mostly just does it by standing there for awhile not saying anything at all. Anyway, I invited her to our farewell ceremony, and made it very clear to my host dad that I wanted her to come. But this morning, after giving out all my presents, I noticed she wasn't dressed to go. I asked my dad why, and he said she's not going. They told me she had to stay home to make the rice. I can't really explain why this was so sad or upsetting. It was though and I didn't know how to deal with it. I'd like to think she felt more comfortable staying home and saying goodbye to me at home. Either way, it made me somewhat resentful of the cultural norms here and somewhat resentful toward my family for allowing it, but I really don't think i understand it fully. So I decided to let it be, mostly I was just sad to say goodbye and I wanted her to come to the fun ceremony (which wasn't that fun anyway). She was crying when I left.

Anyway, it's great to be done with stage. I feel like I'm in some sort of twilight zone. It hasn't hit me that stage is over and it hasn't hit me that my service is really about to begin. I'm just trying to relax and enjoy my time here in Conakry with my fellow trainees most of whom I won't be able to see again for a long while. We have all sorts of great amenities at the PC house here, such as free internet access, a nice beach bar one minute away (we are right on the Atlantic coast), air conditioning, and good food which is not rice and sauce. So I'm enjoying it. I just finished reading some really good emails from my family and a friend and I have lots and lots on my mind. I wish I could write more but people are waiting for the computers so I have to go. I'll write more soon I'm sure. I have till Sunday. Hope things are going well, I love getting emails from people, from anyone. It's nice to hear how y'all are doing. Take care,

Anders

Snail Mail Letter #3 - almost done training stage

2005-03-21T00:08:00.000-05:00

2/27/05 Sunday 15:26 Everything is on army time here LETTER #3

Hey everyone, I just experienced my first rainstorm in Guinea. Apparently, it only rains once or twice during the dry season here. I was outside earlier doing some reading in the shade because it was far too hot and humid in my hut. I was sitting under a couple of huge mango trees and the sky got suddenly dark as if it were about to storm. I didn’t think it would actually happen though, since I’ve been here 7 weeks or so and haven’t seen as much as a drizzle. But sure enough, it came. At first, I thought the lightning was just another explosion from the granite mine nearby. But once the rain picked up, the thunder was unmistakable. I hopped on my bike and went home before getting too wet. I was so happy it was raining. Mostly because it was a nice change and a very cool breeze came with it. I sat in my hut with the door open and enjoyed the storm. But before long, I felt a dripping on my head. I got up and walked into the room part of my hut and noticed lots and lots of little leaks. My enjoyment of the storm quickly faded as I noticed the biggest leak was directly over my bed. I started sweating again as I frantically rearranged everything in my room to places where they wouldn’t get wet. My pillow was soaked, along with my mosquito net and parts of my sheets. The sweat is enough dampness for when I sleep. I don’t need rain to top it off. However, I never completely lost the good mood I had been in, and before long, it overshadowed the mess my hut had become and pushed out the bad mood that was creeping in. I sat down in middle of my hut where no rain was hitting and played a little guitar. The rain subsided and the cool breeze stayed. There’s a distinct smell outside after a rainstorm and when I smelled it, it made me think of home, probably because it’s a very familiar smell and this is the first time I’ve smelled it since I’ve been here. So I decided I’d write a letter back home. The storm has stopped. My host mom came in and swept out all the water in my hut. I’ve hung my sheets to dry and everything is back in order. I’m actually quite glad it rained because the last few days have been the hottest and most humid yet to come and now it’s much cooler. I think it was also a good lesson for me on how to prepare for very leaky huts. I’m sure it will prove useful when I’m in my hut in Dabiss and rainy season comes. 170 inches of rain a year! I better be prepared. Oh well. I hope my sheets dry before I go to bed tonight.

So I think I’ve lost about 20 lbs since I’ve been here. How crazy is that? I weighed myself in Conakry on the first day we got here. Then I weighed myself on the same scale just last weekend. It told me I was 22 lbs lighter. Now I suspect this scale could be unreliable but the fact that I used it both times makes me think I did lose weight. I also have other reasons to believe I’ve lost weight. I know I put on extra pounds on the holidays just before leaving, so that probably disappeared quickly. I’m also down to the last hole on my belt, having started on the 2nd biggest. But I feel like I’ve lost around 10. I bet it’s more like that. But don’t worry. I’m eating lots.

Ok, here’s a critter update. Along with the endless ants, cockroaches, and spiders that are constantly invading my hut, I’ve also had wasp nests and wasps, toads, termites, and most recently a bat! It was quite the scary ordeal trying to cope with the bat flying around in my hut. It flew out one night at about 3 AM, after I opened my door with the intention/hope of it doing just that. Last night I was drinking out of my Nalgene bottle when I noticed a huge, dead cockroach floating in it! Some of the spiders in my hut are the size of my hand. It’s so fun living in Guinea.

Mom, I hope you are appreciating all the different colors here. I’m using the pens you sent me. One question though. Why purple and not green? I’m much too manly to use such a girly color. I can’t let it go to waste though. Hey, my host mom is quite the good cook. But I am really missing your cooking over here. I miss good food so much……

I’ll preface this by saying that Guinea is a very beautiful country, but there is trash everywhere over here. There’s no trash system - no trash cans, no trash collectors. So everyone just throws their trash on the ground. There are places where trash is consolidated and burned, but most places (especially market villages) have trash everywhere. So it’s kind of funny having all these Peace Corps volunteers come over here and learn how to litter and be comfortable with it. When I have trash in my hut, I toss it into the alcove and my host mom sweeps it outside every morning. What’s cool, though, is that people here manage to produce very little trash on a daily basis. They really don’t waste anything. I wonder if trash is more of a problem in America….

There’s a man who delivers bread on his bike to everyone in Gbereire each morning. Last week, he was riding his bike along the main road which passes Gbereire, was hit by a large Mack Truck, and died on impact. It was pretty sad because lots of people in our town knew him well, including my host dad. He came and talked about it with me for awhile in my hut. Very sad. I think it was sad for him because it was so unfortunate. People here have to deal with death quite often and I think they usually take it well. But the deaths are usually from sickness, which they are so used to. It’s so much harder when it’s an unfortunate accident. You can tell that they take it differently.

We had our first ET last weekend. (Early Termination of services) A guy named Kevin went home. There were a lot of reasons contributing to his decision. Kevin was actually here one year ago with the G-7 stage (we’re G-9). He had to ET because he tore his ACL playing Frisbee. So his knee is still bad. He also got a good job offer in the states. He actually got here late, so we don’t even feel like he’s part of our stage. Sad to see him go, but it felt like he was never even here. We’re still waiting for the first ‘real’ ET. I wonder if/when it will come. We all seem to be doing well.

So guys hold hands a lot here. It’s really true. They do it all the time. On the 3K drive from here Dubrekaville, you’re bound to see at least 5 pairs of guys walking around holding hands. It’s totally normal. It’s a sign of good friendship. I’ve become good friends with my host brothers but I just can’t make that cultural leap and hold their hands yet. It’s still too weird for me right now. What’s funny, though, is that men show so much affection for other men here and it’s accepted and normal. But it’s completely taboo for men to be affectionate toward women or vice versa. I haven’t seen so much as a handhold. Very interesting. One current volunteer told me she almost got arrested for making out with some Irish guy in a dark alley one night.

I’m so excited about my site visit. It will be a well needed break from stage. After the first site visit got cancelled, I was somewhat ridiculed for thinking it would be rescheduled. Everyone else was down and quite certain that we wouldn’t be going. Guess I showed them. Anyway, it should be fun to see Dabiss, Boke (my regional capital, my hut, the people I will be living around for the next two years). I’ll be sure to write again about my site visit experience.

Athena Childs was a visiting PCV. It’s so weird to have Athena here. She’s been helping out this past week too. I wanted to surprise her when I got here, but she had already figured it out. It’s invaluable having the current PCBs come help out with stage. They’re all G-7 volunteers and they came to Guinea in January 2004. They provide so much practical advice. The experience they have, their stories, everything, is so interesting, relevant, and useful. They occasionally cook us meals as well, which aren’t rice and sauce! So good……

So, I hope you found this letter interesting. I had a good time writing it. Mom, I think sending those pens and this paper helped my letter writing more than anything! Who knew? Well, just to tell you how I’m really doing…. Hmm… Let’s see. I’m extremely happy. I’m constantly glad that I came here. I’ve been getting closer and closer with my host family and I can already tell I will be quite sad to leave them. They are an incredible group of people. I’ve started learning Susu and they absolutely LOVE it when I try to say something. Tough language. I feel very adjusted now. I think I got over that initial wave of culture shock. What a wave it was. Apparently there’s a second wave of culture shock when you go to site. I can imagine.

Family, I think of you a lot. Love and miss you. I hope you are all doing well. Keep the updates coming on your lives. I’ll do the same. I still have to pack for site visit… and it’s late. I’m procrastinating. Feel like I’m in college again. Take care.

Love, Anders

email #3 - a brief update

2005-03-10T00:06:00.006-05:00

I'm in a town called Kamsar right now. It’s an expat town on the coast, about 40 or 50 K from Boke. It has lots of American amenities (sp?) and we're going to swim in a pool after this. We came here from the Peace Corps Boke house today to get a little taste of the "vacation spot" us Basse Coters have. I have been having a blast. There is a girl named Hannah who is a PCV that lives very close to Dabiss. She has been showing me around. Sunday morning, we got up and took the 53 K trip to Boke on an unpaved road in a taxi with a completely smashed windshield and about 6 or 7 other Guineans squeezed in. The ride however, was surprisingly smooth, only taking about 75 minutes, which I can't say for the ride back, which took over 4 hours. It’s hit or miss with the taxis here and there's no way of telling which ones are better. Anyway, I was very happy with what I saw in Dabiss. Its a small village and like most places in Guinea, everyone was warm and welcoming. Most of them spoke Landouma, which I think is a Portuguese dialect; this means I'll probably have to stop Susu and learn this. I was fortunate to have Hannah with me who speaks Landouma impressively. My Health Center Chef, who was also my counterpart in Mamou, showed us around town and fed us for lunch, dinner and breakfast the next morning. He is a really great guy. I like him and it’s nice to already know someone in the village I can trust. It took us about 30 minutes to walk around Dabiss and saluate (a frenchish term for salutations...salutations are huge over here) everybody. And that was at a nice, slow, leisurely, Guinean walking pace. I stayed in the hut they built for me. It’s a relatively small hut, probably smaller than my one in Gbereire, and it is centered smack in the middle of the town. I have a Mosque on one side of me and Koran school on the other, and then about six other huts surrounding me as well. Fortunately, I also have a large yard around my hut enclosed by an 8 foot high grass fence. So I still have my privacy which is quite nice. In my yard I also have an outdoor cooking hut, which will be a nice shady spot for me to relax in during the day when my hut is too hot. I also have my own private latrine and bathing area. That’s about all. Hannah and I stayed the night there and then returned yesterday. We had a great time. It was nice to go and see the place but we honestly didn't have a lot to do there, so it was good we only spent one night.

So that’s the update. I hope things are going well. I'm doing great.

Love,
Anders

Site Visit...Cancelled!! - email

2005-02-19T17:01:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone,

This will be a short one. I just read the first snail mail I sent and I want to clarify a few things. First, please excuse me for using the word 'explosive' in conjunction with diarrhea. I now realize that may have been a little too graphic. It’s actually not accurate either. Everyone struggles with diarrhea here, and I think I would describe it as 'severe'. Explosiveness is probably more case by case and little more personal. Either way, I was just kind of embarrassed that I even used that phrase. I guess it doesn't help that I just began this whole letter with a paragraph about diarrhea, does it? Oh well. We're all quite used to talking about that here. I think it will please you to know that I still haven't gotten very sick. My fingers are still crossed. And they should be, since two people in our stage have already gotten malaria and almost everyone has been sick at some point. And EVERYONE has gotten diarrhea. But it’s all good. We’re having a blast.

Second point on my first snail mail. My host father does not have three wives. He only has one. Which is good, I think I respect him a little more now. Turns out there is just a lot of extended family that lives around the compound and it’s hard to know who is who. Family is such a broad term here. I’m still having trouble knowing who's actually part of the family. I'm about to stop caring.

Third point. I'm not actually expecting people to send me packages. I just wanted to clarify from my first email that I do accept food. That was mostly for my mom though. However, it would be really cool to get snail mail letter from y'all. That’s always a good thing.

Ok, here's the update. I'm sure you're all wondering about site visit. What it is and why it is cancelled. I'll try to be concise. The plan was for us all to come to Mamou (which we did), meet our counterparts (the people we are going to work with at our sites), and then on Sunday, all travel to our respective sites (Dabiss for me) for a week long site visit. We were all very excited about it. I know I was. However, as you may or may not know, there was an assassination attempt on the President of Guinea about a month ago and it has caused a chain reaction of little problems that eventually caused a country wide taxi driver strike. This is why we can't have our site visits. Just so you all don't worry, there isn't any kind of real threat or political instability. The taxi drivers are on strike because there has been a huge increase in barrages on the roads. These are for security reasons and they make taxi drivers pay to get through. So now they are on strike. It’s a stupid situation and we were all upset when we found out site visit was cancelled last night. Oh well. It will hopefully happen later in training. So tomorrow we go back to Dubreka.

On the bright side, I met my counterpart and I really like him and lot. He is very easy going, nice, and seems to be quite knowledgeable. He runs the health center in Dabiss and has lots of experience working in the health sector. He is very excited for my arrival in Dabiss, come April. So is the rest of the village. At the end of our workshop today, I actually played hackysack with him and the guy who runs the hospital in Boke for about an hour and a half. We had a blast. It was amazingly fun. Oh, I wish I could write more, but I have to go. I'll write more in a snail mail. I hope everyone is doing well. Take care,

Love,
Anders

Snail Mail Letter #2 - site assignment and map

2005-02-18T01:38:00.000-05:00

02/06/05 [map of Guinea]

Thanks for the letter! It was so nice for me to read it. It’s also good that you asked me some questions. Knowing your questions really helps me write the letters. I got your letter yesterday in Conakry. We were on our way to an island off the coast called Kassa for a day at the beach. A well-deserved break in my opinion. They have kept us busy lately.

Oh Yeah! Exciting news! While in Conakry, before Kassa, we were all informed about our sites. I now know where I’ll be spending my two years, come April. My village is called Dabiss and it is about 40 or 50 k north of Boké, the regional capital of the Basse Cote region (lower Guinea). It’s quite close to the coast as well. This area also gets about 170 inches of rain each year, mainly during the rainy season. In a lot of ways, it is similar to Dubreka, where I’m living now. The climate is similar and I will be learning to speak Susu, the local language. I don’t know a whole lot about Dabiss right now, but I thought you’d be interested to know. I’ll know more by next weekend when we get our site info packets.

Sorry if I haven’t been writing enough lately. I haven’t written much for myself either. I’m not sure why exactly. Part of me thinks it’s because I could never forget what is happening to me right now. It’s also because it’s tough to describe what I’m going through. And, I have very little time, which is surprising. I was under the impression that I’d have plenty of free time when I came out here. But apparently that is only true once you get to site, not during stage (training). We always have something to do. Even today, which is supposed to be the day off, I went with my host mom and brother (Inga & Dereim) to the market. This was so I could see how one buys food and bargains for prices. It was fun though. I enjoy spending time with my host family. And going to the market is an experience in itself.

Anyway, to answer some of your questions, I’ll start with my host family. I’m not sure if I already said something about this, but at first I thought my dad had at least three wives because there were so many women about, each with their own set of kids. But after speaking with my brother, I learned that he only has one wife, my host mother. My dad is very nice and easy going. He is short and smokes lots of cigarettes. He is always eager to help me learn either French or Susu. He also has been great at accommodating whenever I need something. I spend a good 30 minute each day chatting with him about anything, just to help with my French. He has a huge extended family and is constantly introducing me to one of his nieces or nephews or cousins or sisters or brothers or aunts or uncles. Each time he does, I just get more confused about how family structure works here. Last night I was introduced to one of his daughters even though I was quite sure I only had one sister. The one sister I thought I had lives with my uncle for some reason. And the PCT [Peace Corps Trainee] who is living there told me last night that she was her sister, not mine. And today, in the market, I met my host brother’s father! How could that be? If he’s my host brother, why do we have different fathers and mothers (I’ve met his mother too)? Oh well, sorry to get off on a tangent.

My host mother is wonderful. I’m blown away by how hard she works. It seems like women do all the work here. Actually, they do. She makes me breakfast and dinner every day. She sweeps my room everyday and does my laundry. She also cooks and cleans for everybody else. I try to help her sometimes but she won’t have it. She doesn’t speak a word of French, which is tough. But I’ve been learning relevant Susu phrases so we can have some degree of communication. I can say things like, “I’m going to school”, “I want to take a shower”, “Thank you, the food was good”, etc. My list is building. She absolutely loves each time I use Susu. She’ll usually just start laughing and smiling and then either repeats what I just said or responds with something else. But we can’t really converse at all. This is hard because she always seems so eager to talk to me. Anyway, that’s Tata (or Inga, there are many names I can use for her). She’s great.

I have two brothers. One is 25 and I am named after him, Aboubacar. He lives here and is very calm and reserved. He likes to come in and try to play my guitar. He doesn’t really seem to have a knack for it though. He speaks French but we often don’t have lots to talk about. That’s mostly because my French is still evolving. We get along well and I like him.

My other brother, Dereim, is 20 and he lives somewhere else in Gbereyire. But he comes over a lot. He is very outgoing. He knows some English and I have been helping him learn more in exchange for French and Susu help. I’d say Dereim is probably my best friend here, non-American. He says hello.

Then there is the rest of the family. Lots of little kids. Now, even though I officially have 2 brothers and 1 sister (just like at home!), I have about 7 younger brothers and sisters. They are referred to as “the petites.” They are wonderful, and very easy to please. I usually either kick around a ball with them or play guitar for them and they love it. They get a kick out of anything I do. Whenever I’m returning home from school or a friend’s place, they come running out to give me five as soon as they see me. Also, when Tata gives me more than I can eat (which is not uncommon), they’re always willing to help me finish something off. I love the petites. However, it’s sad for me to see so many of them living under such difficult conditions. Fortunately, the petites in my family are relatively well-off.

Let’s see, what other questions can I answer? In reference to things you can send me, I’ll do that through email since it’s bound to get to you quicker than this letter will. I will be back in Mamou on the 17th for a little while, where I will have internet access. So yes, it is hot here. Humid and hot! Basically, it’s like summertime back home, hot and humid during the day, slightly cooler at night. But, without AC, it’s hot sleeping weather. However, the “hot” season doesn’t come for another month or two. Hopefully, my body will have adjusted to the temperature somewhat by then.

And yes, it is beautiful here. The region I’m in now has lots of coconut trees and we’re surrounded by mountains, one of which we hiked last weekend. The only problem is that it’s the dusty season, which makes everything hazy. But there’s lots of vegetation everywhere. This area isn’t desert-like at all. And during the rainy season, the dust goes away and the vegetation gets greener and lusher. So, it’s supposed to be extra beautiful then.

French is coming along. I can tell that I’m improving. I’m surrounded by it constantly so it’s almost hard not to pick it up. Plus, this week (week 4) we begin total immersion, which means all of our classes (tech classes, cross culture training, and medical sessions) will be in French, with some translation for the essential info. So that should help my learning curve. And once I hit a high enough level of proficiency in French, I can start learning Susu. Fortunately for me, and the others living in the Basse Cote, Susu is the language spoken by all of our host families. So we can get a head start on all those going to the Fouta (Middle Guinea) and Haute (Upper Guinea) where they speak Pulcar and Malinke. As I said before, I’ve already begun to learn some Susu with my family. But the focus is really on French. I’m being immersed in so much French that I’m starting to think in French. However, I think that’s making me dumber since my French is so bad. Does that even make sense? Hmm… Yup. I’m definitely dumber now.

Anyway, yes mom, there is lots and lots of beautiful fabric here. You would have a field day at the market. All the women wear beautiful dresses, probably much like the pictures you saw from Niger.

And the weight thing, I don’t know if I’m, losing weight, there aren’t scales around. I think I’m eating more now than I ever did in the states. I get fed all the time. But you never know. All the male volunteers I’ve seen here looked quite skinny. According to everyone here, the guys lose weight and the girls gain weight. But don’t worry, girls don’t get it all that bad. Calling someone ‘fat’ in Guinea is a huge compliment. It means you are healthy. Now that’s a huge consolation.

OK, it’s time to wrap this up. Final thoughts. Thanks to those who read this far. Keep the questions coming. My thoughts and prayers go out to the Eagles tonight for the Superbowl. You guys better cheer them to victory. Let me know what’s happening back home and in the world (I don’t get any sort of news here) – World news only if it’s interesting. Inside, I’m doing fine. I’m happy and I have friends here. Life is hard, but I’m plugging along, just like all of you back home and everyone here. This is how I don’t psyche myself out. And it works… I think… Holy crap! I’m in Guinea!! What am I doing here?!! AHH!!!! That happens sometimes too, but I’m learning to deal with it. One day at a time. Anyway, time to go. I love and miss you all. Go Eags. I love you guys… See ya.

Love, Anders

First snail mail - training in Dubreka

2005-02-15T16:48:00.000-05:00

1/23/05 22:30 (5:30 PM EST)

Hello everyone! It’s about time I write a letter. Right now I’m sitting in my little hut in my host family’s concession, wondering if the Eagles won, thinking about my family. Tomorrow, I have to bring a picture of my family to French class, so I’m sitting here looking at all of you. I miss you all! I want you to know that. But also know that I don’t feel too homesick, or sick at all for that matter. It seems like most of the people in my stage (group of trainees I came here with) have felt sick at some point. So far, I haven’t. However, no one has become seriously ill, meaning no one has malaria or amoebas or typhoid or severe diarrhea yet. Supposedly all PCVs [Peace Corps Volunteers] in Guinea go through that stuff at some point. Anyway, the point is, I’ve been here for 11 days now and physically, I’m doing fine, which I guess isn’t too surprising. So maybe I should move on to something more interesting. It’s just so hard to know what to write about. I’m encountering this same problem when I try to journal. I want to write something that will accurately capture or reflect what I am going through right now. I want you to read this and understand where I am right now. But that is impossible. There is simply too much to write about. It doesn’t take long to figure that out. I don’t have the time to give every detail. But I really truly want to. These past two weeks have been incredible. So let me just start somewhere.

Last Thursday (1/20) was Tabaski. This is an Islamic holiday and I live in an Islamic country. Tabaski is a relatively important holiday for Guineans. So on this day, we had no school (PC school that is) and were meant to spend the holiday with our family. I was a little nervous because this was only our third day with our host family and my French is still not fully functional. Anyway, I woke up and took a shower, which we call bucket baths because that’s what they are (instead of a shower, I pour water on myself out of a bucket). After the bucket bath, I went with my host father, Alseny, and my older host brother, Aboubacar to pray for Tabaski. That was a very cool experience. We didn’t go to the mosque because so many people pray on Tabaski and there isn’t enough room. So a large group of people gathered together under some trees, spread out their mats, took off their shoes and prayed. The women sat behind all the men and were covered from head to toe in their best clothes. That was a bit weird for me, mostly because I was wondering if any of the female PCVs were back there and what they thought about having to sit in the back. Before the prayers began, the men were having some discussion, with a goblet that served as a talking stick. It was in Susu (the local language) so I didn’t understand any of it, but I wondered if they were discussing the assassination attempt on the president from the previous night (don’t worry, everything is fine here – we’re safe). Anyway, it went on for about an hour and fifteen minutes, and then we finally prayed. No more thoughts on that.

Afterwards, I walked around my village Gbereyire (pronounced Barry Airy) with my younger brother, also named Alseny, who has become a good friend of mine. It is customary for a family with enough money to kill a goat as a sacrifice for the holiday. My grandfather had the money to buy a goat, so we went to his place and I watched them slaughter and butcher the live animal. I found it fascinating. Anyway, not much happened the rest of the day, festivity wise. I went to Dubreka with my older brother to see my younger brother play in a big soccer game. His team lost 4 – 0 and he got some sort of concussion at the end.

I’m having trouble writing this letter. What do you all want to know? I feel like I’m doing a poor job of giving a window into my life here. So I hope when people get this, they can write me back with some questions. Ask me anything. Also, tell me how you are doing. I’d love to know.

OK, before I stop, I’ll try to give you a general overview of what’s happening. I’m in Dubreka for Peace Corps training. We are learning technical skills for our respective jobs (mine is public health) and language skills (French and a local language depending on where we are placed). We have classes six days a week. We are just now beginning our second week of training. In the fourth week, we are totally immersed in French. That means all our classes are spoken in French and we can’t even speak to each other in English. That should be interesting. When we aren’t in class, we are usually with our host family. My own host family experience has been mostly good. I have my own hut which is nice, even though it’s infested with huge spiders, roaches, and ants. I’m getting used to it though. My room has one light bulb and an outlet. I have a table and a bed, too. But that’s about it. My family brings me my food in my room, which doesn’t help the bug problem. Privacy isn’t highly valued over here and it’s quite obvious. People knock on my door all day long and always want to know exactly what I’m doing, especially my father. But I like him. At night, I often go outside and sit with my family and try to speak with them. They teach me French and Susu (their local language). Susu is nothing like French, so it’s not coming along quickly for me. My mother only speaks Susu, so I’ve learned how to say a few survival phrases such as “Thank you, it was good” (for the meals she brings me). I eat lots of rice and sauce. That’s pretty much all there is. I miss American food a lot. My dad has three wives and they all have lots of cute kids. The women also seem to do all the work. They work hard all day and the men enjoy lots of hanging out time. Oh yeah! I forgot to mention my new African name. I am called Aboubacar Camera. It is pronounced just like it reads. This is also my older brother’s name. They tell me it’s a good name.

Anyway, that’s all I have left in me. There will surely be more later. I hope you are all doing well. I definitely am. Life goes on here just like it does anywhere else and I am getting by. Allah tantu (thanks be to God in Susu). Take care.

Love,
Anders

P.S. You can send me food. Just make sure it’s non-perishable (like candy!)
P.P.S. I just found out the Eagles made it to the Superbowl. The first time it’s happened since I’ve been alive and I’m in a third world country where I can’t watch it. Oh well. GO EAGS!!! (Frank, you’d better be working on my Superbowl package).
P.P.P.S. If you send a package, just use regular mail and use red ink (Guineans think red ink means bad luck or death, so they won’t search through the package). On the customs slip, you should use red ink also and declare the value as either 0 or $1. This is for safety reasons. Someone else said religious symbols help, too. Anyway, you have my address. Thanks!

Second email

2005-01-16T20:31:00.000-05:00

hello everyone!!

I'm not sure which of you got my first email or if any of you did yet, but I am sending this one out directly. I want to say first that you all should feel free to respond to these emails because I will have access to them over here. I simply won't be able to get to them often.

I'm sorry but this letter will have to be short. These past few days have been very busy. And I have to eat dinner in 15 minutes. But I am in Guinea!! It's crazy. The power just went out in the building I am in but fortunately the computers run on solar power.

Anyway, things have been going well. I am currently staying in a village called mamou. It is in the Fouta region of Guinea which is very mountainous and beautiful. The weather is always warm, but never too hot, unlike other parts of the country. In fact, I hope to be placed in the Fouta region once I am finished training. The food is a bit scary for me right now. Most meals consists of rice and sauce and the sauce is usually some strange concoction of potatoes, peppers, spices, and meat. The meat is especially disturbing. I am told it is goat meat and it looks like they use every part of the goat except for only the skin and hooves. But still, I am adapting.

The people here are incredibly warm and they are all fascinated by seeing white people. We are like celebrities over here. I think they are more interested in us than we are in them. I still can't speak any local language and my french is progressing slowly. But, its been less than a week...so I'm not getting discouraged.

Tomorrow, we leave for Dubreka where we will have our three month training session. This is also where we begin our host family experience. Tomorrow night I will be adopted by a Guinean family which speaks no english and I will be living with them until the end of training. I'm slightly anxious about that, but it will be a wild ride and I'm excited about it.

The next message you get from me will most likely be typed by one of my parents, because I probably won't have much email access. Plus, I need to start doing the 'real letter' thing. As I said before, emailing me is perfectly fine if you want to. But if you'd like to actually send me letters or other things. This is my address.

Anders Hyatt
Corps de la Paix Americain
B.P. 1927
Conakry, Guinea
West Africa

Please don't send food. Mice will eat it.

Ok, its time for me to go! Wish me luck over the next few days as I learn to live with my new family. Of course I haven't forgotten all of you. You are my family too and I love you all. Take care,

Love,
Anders

p.s. - if you got this email, you are on my list. If someone you know is not on this list, tell them sorry. but they can read my updates on my blog site which can be found at www.aghyatt.blogspot.com

First email from Anders

2005-01-16T00:52:00.000-05:00

just to tell you, this wont be a long message because my internet time is limited and the keys on the keyboards here are all rearranged. there is a man outside the window right now singing some kind of islamic prayer. they do that five times a day here. he came in earlier to tell me something i didn,t understand at all.. but i figured it out.. he wanted me to leave for dinner. the language barrier has been challenging but im already getting some french down. i have been in guinea for three days now and it feels more like three months. the country is soooo poor. second poorest in the world. and it was apparant as soon as i left the airport. however, our accomodations have been excellent so far.. the weather is warm and im making lots of good friends. this is all so exciting. i want you all to know that i am happy and safe over here and that i think of you often. youll hear more from me later... take care.

love,
anders