Journey Across Africa

Link to expanded Journal

2006-01-24T20:24:00.000Z

Thank you for visiting! Please enjoy the journal entries and pictures below that describe my Peace Corps experience in The Gambia. To see the expanded journal you can click here. This includes about 20% more stories and double the number of pictures!

End of overland

2005-09-27T12:20:00.000Z

Well, this is the end of my over-land trip. While I didn't make it to my goal of Cairo, I can claim, correctly, that I travelled across all of West Africa. Since crossing into Chad I'm now technically in Central Africa. How does one make that distinction? It helps if your currency says 'West Africa' or 'Central Africa' on it. The same currency is used in most countries in their respective regions.

While in N'Djamena, Chad I've been told it wasn't safe. You see the American Embassay staff members being chauffered to and from work from the Embassy in durable Landrovers This point was further illustrated when, while walking down the main street I've walked down a half-dozen times before in the few days I've been here, a European man honked his horn at me to come to him. He said this to me in English.

"You don't want to be walking on that side of the street. The guards over there, by the military camp, they will beat you or shoot you."

I was surprised to hear that! Not so much because of the threat but because I did cross that military camp just the other day. The guards neither beat me nor shot at me, but firmly (but politely) told me to cross the street. I thanked the European for his advice and continued walking.

For Peace Corps this is their third time in this country, being evacuated three times before. They served from

1966-1979;
1987-1990;
1990-1998;
2003-present

And currently only have 31 volunteers with their first group, since coming back, now just finishing their two-year term. Peace Corps wouldn't be here if it wasn't safe at the grass-roots level. When volunteers, in their village, are unsafe as a whole they evacuate the volunteers out of the country.

There are a few levels of safety advice (This is my personal view, but applicable to most countries)

==

Washington, DC
"Nowhere is safe for an American, except for America and our Allies"

Embassy in the country you are in
"Just stay outside the capital."

Peace Corps Volunteers
"The whole country's safe, except for this neighborhood, or this town, or this region."

Locals
"the whole country's safe, except for this neighborhood, or this town, or this region, at this time of day or week"

==

After a while you begin not to be as afraid of the unknown as Travel Advisory warnings suggest on the government webpage. That isn't to say places aren't safe, but they tend to overexaggerate a bit.

Here everyone carries knives. Why? I even asked that question to a Chadian.

"Why does everyone carry a knife?"
"To protect ourselves from people who carry knives."

I looked up at an akward angle trying to see the contradiction and circularity in that argument. Believe it or not, there is none. The parents WANT their children to carry a knife to school, because if they didn't they would get stabbed if a fight broke out and they DIDN'T have a knife.

Countries even do that principle on a grander scale.

"Why do we have nuclear weapons?"
"To protect ourselves from the countries who have nuclear weapons"

I've walked all over town at all hours of the day, meeting and chatting with the Chadians and looking at their shops and main street. I observed the volunteers rule of not being on that street not at midnight, but in early afternoons of Friday and Saturday. They even get a taxi around town around those times. Friday especially since the street is dead from everyone at the Mosque, and therefore more a potential to get robbed by stragglers (and go unnoticed).

I've been going out to eat with the volunteers, seeing the town, and seeing it's not as dangerous as that one European man said - if you take percautions. (i.e. taxi at night)

What could be a better way of ending your trip in Africa? By almost being arrested! A nice building that I saw, and took a picture of, ended up being the Vice President's second wife's home. People came out of no where and grabbed my camera and bag, yelling for the police. One even ran off to find one to expediate the process. While I tried to talk my way out of it, they held on to my bag until the police would arrived. After five-to-ten minutes of waiting the man who held my camera and bag threw them back at me and with a wave of the hand told me I better run away before the police came. Not wanting anything to make me miss my flight out of here the next day, I took his advise and went back to the Peace Corps Office - and didn't leave until dinner time!

All in all, it was a good trip. I learned a lot, experienced a lot, and am satisfied with what I did accomplished. After spending a few weeks in Athens relaxing I'll be heading home for the first time since leaving for service.

-MIke

Handshakes

2005-09-27T11:52:00.000Z

There are different handshakes around the world: You have the high-five young people give in US and elsewhere; the polite handshake when meeting a guest; the Clinton-esque handshake if your running for office; and then there's the handshake I saw in Nguigmi, Niger.

First off a short introduction to African greetings. You greet everyone everyday. There is even a set response, similar to "Fine" you give in the US.

Examples of both cultures meeting on the street:

U.S.
[Bill and Bob cross paths, they shake hands]
"Hey Bill"
"Hey Bob"
"How's everything?"
"Fine. Yourself?"
"Good. Nice to hear it."
"Say 'hi' to the family for me."
"Will do."
[exit stage left]

AFRICA
[Lamin and Musa cross paths, if they are in a hurry they say this as their passing]
"Peace be with you"
"Peace be with you"
"How is work?"
"In peace"
"How is the family?"
"In peace"
"How is the wife?"
"In peace"
"How is your brother?"
"In peace"
[etc.]

What's unique about these greeting is that they take them seriously for doing them but not seriously for saying them. Each question and response is under the breath, each person hoping the ritual will be over soon. Granted, there are excited greetings; but this is just the basic stranger-meets-stranger greeting.

Once in The Gambia I was told to answer every question with "Jam Tan" which is Pulaar for "In Peace." I held a full five-minute conservation, with correct responses, during an introduction by just repeating two words over and over again! [I fumbled though when he finally asked what my name was. I responded "In peace"...]

It's also funny to see two people do the greetings as they pass on another. They still mumble under their breath the full ritual despite now being out of earshot of the other person, as if some harm would come to them if they end early without the other person twenty feet behind him being left alone saying "In peace" for the next few seconds.

OK, back to Nguigmi.

I needed to transfer money from West African CFA to Centra African CFA. My host drove me to the 'banker' across town on his mo-ped. We arrive at the guys house and the greetings commenced!

As two people greeted they faced each other and shook hands. Now your free [left] hand grabs the right arm, just below the wrist, of the person whom you are shaking. Both of you do this. Those left hands do not move and keep the light grip you have on them. You ask a question, he responds, you shake with your right hand. Your right hands now undo themselves and 'retreat' a half-inch back. Remember, the wrist of your right hand is being held by your partners left-hand. They ask another question, respond, and shake again. They retreat again. The left hands still holding on to the other persons right. Continue.

The first time I saw it I was confused to the arrangements of the hands and arms, so I paid attention to them as oppose to the greetings. However, then I realized they were greeting for a while, repeating this mini-handshakes over and over again.

The first greeting ended, and the second started. I started counting how many questions they ask one another and how many mini-handshakes they gave

"1, 2, 3,..., 15, 16, 17, ..., 26, 27, 28."

Twenty-eight times! I can't think of that many questions to ask a stranger just for the greetings! [You're not suppose to ask what you really want to ask them until the greetings are done.]

"How's the wife?"
"How's the kids?"
"How's the job?"
"How's your second-cousin?"
"How's your third-cousin twice removed?"
"How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"

Luckily when they came to me it was just a one up-down motion handshake with an arabic greeting I knew the response too.

This is the song that never ends...

2005-09-27T11:37:00.000Z

During the drive from Niger to Chad we drove mostly eight hours a day. This was split between two hours in the morning, ending around 10am, and then waiting in the shade until 4pm before setting out again for six more hours before calling it good for the day. If you drove during those six hours your engine would surely overheat, as the desert heat can be quite harsh.

The car I was in was lucky, it had a tape player. I was unlucky enough that of the multitude of tapes they could choose from, from about six or so, they chose one and played it continuously. The first time around it was nice and pleasant, the second time it sounded familiar, and by the third time I was thinking "Haven't we heard this before?". By the fifth hour I'm wondering if they're deaf, as surely hearing the same half-dozen sounds again and again for so long would drive any hearing-able man crazy. Nope, they chatted along.

Eight hours, same six songs.

Next day: I see them put in a tape. "Please let it be a different tape" I'm begging in my head. The same tape, again. As I'm passing in and out of napping I could almost tell exactly how long we've been on the road, by which song we were at and how many times previously I had heard it that day. For the next eight hours I tried to block it out.

Third day: This is the final leg of the trip before reaching N'Djamena. Four people, myself including, are scrunched in the back; while two more are up front. Someone suggests a tape to play. They put it in. I could tell it's not the same tape! I'm getting excited! "Finally!" I was thinking. Nope, the tape doesn't work - out comes the default.

By seven o'clock in the evening we're in N'Djamena at the driver's house. We're relaxing on mats out in front, drinking tea, and just watching nightlife pass us by. They brought out a portable tape player from inside and pushed play.

I went to bed as there's no way I was listening to those same songs again!

FINALLY, the next morning Ali's driving me into town and to the Peace Corps Office. He puts in a tape and push play while I got ready to drown it out.

No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry;
No, woman, no cry.

BOB MARLEY! I was so excited I started signing to the music! Bob Marley never sounded so good in my life. I have a feeling I would have sung to Madonna had he put it in - listening to over 20 hours straight of the same six songs really drives you crazy!

Beirut, Lebanon

2005-09-20T14:11:00.000Z

Went out to eat today at a Lebanese restaurant for lunch. When I entered the manager, realizing I was American, spoke perfect English to me and wanted to show me something. We walked to the other side of the restaurant where a picture of Beirut, Lebanon was shown.

“Ah! Beirut. Capital of Lebanon. This picture was taken in 1958. You see the green? The big park stretching the length of the city? Wonderful park! It’s no more. No park today. Over there it’s the American Hospital, over there is the American University, over there is the American School. American, American, American! ALL AMERICAN!”

I didn’t say a word.

He let out a disgruntled sigh, relaxed a bit and then did a complete 180 on emotions. “Please! Sit here! Would you like something to drink? Water, beer, soda?”

Other than the initial shock, it was quite a pleasant lunch!

Deportation means Desert Detour

2005-09-20T14:02:00.000Z

Days 60 – 64
Sept. 15 – Sept. 19
Trying to get Chad

I’m going to write this the long way, since it’s just one long story. It will be temporarily be broken up by day-to-day statistics.

Thursday morning, (Sept. 15), I went to the garage park in Diffa for a car going through Nigeria to Chad. Using the map they told me I had to buy a ticket to Maiduguri, Nigeria and then another to Ngala, Nigeria to cross through Cameroon and into N’Djamena. I bought the ticket to Maiduguri and got into the car. However, before I did I asked if I could get a visa at the border (it was possible to get into Niger that way). The man in charge knew enough English to understand what I was asking and said: “No problem. Visa. Border. Yes. You get visa, you cross border, you go to Chad. No problem. You be in Chad tonight”

We crossed the exit point for Niger. No problem. Passport was stamped and all information was collected. Got back into the car to cross into Nigeria. Problem.

Luckily Nigeria is an English-speaking country; which helped this scenario out a lot!

The guard looked through my passport: “Where is your Nigeria visa?”
“I was told I could get one at the border.”
“Who told you that?”
“The people at the garage park.”
“Where?”
“In Diffa.”
“No. You can not get a visa here. For them, no problem. For you, problem.”
[Citizens of West Africa can travel in different countries as easily as Americans can travel to different states. They don’t need a visa to enter a bordering country, except if it’s not part of the West African region]

He’s trying to figure out what to do. He calls another guard over; he asks the same questions. They rummage through a stake of papers and find a letter they had written previously granting permission for passage. However, it was quite a few years old. They were debating whether a letter written for me would work. They called in their supervisor. He wasn’t quite as nice.

“No! If you don’t have a visa you can not enter Nigeria! Did you think you could get into Nigeria without a visa?”
“I was told I could get one at the border.”
“I understand that. Did you think you could get into Nigeria without a visa?”
[That’s a hard question to answer. Technically, I could answer ‘yes’ since I WAS in Nigeria without a visa; but I would sound arrogant and who knows what he would do. If I answered ‘no’ I sealed my own case. Back to the standard answer.]
“I was told…”
He interrupted “Yes! I understand! However, DID YOU THINK YOU COULD GET INTO NIGERIA WITHOUT A VISA!”
[No hope] “No.”
“Ok. You go back to Niamey, get Nigeria visa and come back.”
“But I don’t want to go back to Niamey.”
“You want to enter Chad?”
“Yes.”
“To enter Chad through Nigeria you need Nigerian visa. To get Nigerian visa you must go back to Niamey. Once you have visa you can come back here and travel through to Chad.”
“What about Nguigmi?” [Nguigmi is a town in eastern Niger, further east and north of Diffa which shows on the map it’s a border post to enter Chad – through the desert]
“Yes. You can enter Chad through Niger through Nguigmi.”
“Ok. That’s what I’ll do.”

This whole process lasted about a half-hour with the rest of the car waiting for me. The border patrol took me back to the car, ordered the driver to give me the bulk of my money back, and took my stuff out of the car. The car continued on to Nigeria without me.

The guard would escort me out of Nigeria, on his motorcycle, if I paid for his fuel. I gave him the $3 and hopped on with my bag on my back. I was being deported from Nigeria. He drove me all the way back to the car park and helped me find the correct region for Nguigmi. [Different towns have different regions within the car park for the cars to wait to fill up] I thanked him for the ride and he went back to his own country.

By noon a car was ready to go to Nguigmi. It had been in the hot sun for over two hours, waiting for the cargo of rice bags to finish being loaded. I had to ride on top of the rice bags, feet dangling over the front cabin. However, to get on top I needed to grab the metal railings to push myself up. Metal in hot sun doesn’t help. My hands were bright red by the time I got up, and was wincing in the pain. Kids realizing I couldn’t handle the heat just grabbed on and were doing monkey aerobics on the railings. I don’t know how they did it, but they had to be use to hot metal since it was HOT!

In the Olympics you have synchronize swimming – in Niger you have synchronize ducking. The road was one of the worst I’ve been on, decaying on both ends so only the middle section remains with potholes splattered among that section. Most of the time we rode along the road, on the dirt trails, next to the trees. Trees have branches. We’re 10 feet up sitting over the front cabin. Tree on your right, everyone swings to the left. Tree on your left, everyone swings to the right. In some cases there wasn’t room at all to swing. The branch was so big that within a two second window we all had to either jump down to the back cabin, on top of the driver’s cabin, or lie down on top. You kept your eyes open!

The ride was suppose to take only three hours. It took us thirteen. The three hour rule was said by the Doctors using 4WD in a private car. That might be true. I was on top of a pickup truck with a dozen other people in the back. Then, two things happened:

Flat tire. We waited on the side of the road for three hours as the driver took the spare, found a motorcycle to borrow, rode back into town, got a new tire and rode back.

Two hours later, another flat tire. Luckily there was a village nearby. The driver walked the 45-minute one-way trip to the village, and walked back. He needed something that he forgot, or didn’t know he needed. An hour-and-half later he’s back again with a new tire.

Those two flat tires cost us a six hour delay. There’s a rule for traveling in third-world countries using public transportation: Assume the road is in perfect condition and you have a private vehicle. Estimate how long it will take to get to your destination. Multiple that by pi. Then multiple again by your favorite number. Take that number, write it down and then crumple the piece of paper up and throw it away. That’s your best guess.

We arrived in Nguigmi at a quarter to one in the morning. Another passenger said I could sleep at his house, and showed me an empty room with a mat on the floor. The room was hot, but because of the ride on top at night it had the feel of a cozy bed after working outside in the winter for a few hours. I fell asleep instantly.

Day 61
Sept. 16

At the car park to N’Djamena the “big boss man” was trying to find a car for me. He tried, unsuccessfully, to get me to pay $100 for a ride. “No problem!” he would say – a big clue you were getting ripped off. I looked at the map, judged the distance, and estimated that $50 was a reasonable price. [Found out later that was a good guess as it was very reasonable price] His actual response to my $50 suggestion:

“Ok. Yes. No problem. 25,000 Franc government price. No lower. No higher. Fixed. You go to N’Djamena for 25,000.”

He found a car to take me for $50 and I got in the front. A minute later the driver turned to me:

“There’s a problem.”
“What?”
“He wants more money. Maybe give him 10,000 Francs. [$20]. No problem, we go.”
“He told me ‘no higher’!”
“Yes. But you pay 10,000 and we go. No problem.”
“No!”

I got out of the car. The ‘Big boss man’ found another car. Again I got in the back and minute later another ‘problem’ was raised.

“Problem. You no give money.”
“I gave him money! I gave him 25,000 francs.”
“Yes. That money for ride.”
“Yes, so we go.”
“Problem. You gave money for ride, but no money for him.”
[Aaahh!] “I gave him money.”
“No. Money for ride. We no go unless money for him.”
[Aaahhhh! Aaahhh!] “How much?”
“For breakfast.”
“Yes. How much?”
“You give 2,000 we go no problem.”

I paid the guy the $4 so we could leave. Throughout the ordeal I had four currencies in my wallet. Niger uses West African Francs while Chad uses Central African Francs (1-1 exchange, though); add to that the few dollars I kept from the exchange in Nigeria, and emergency American money.

I was in the back, with Ali the driver and Yahyah as front passenger. Yahyah spoke decent English with Ali less so. If you look on a map, to get to Chad from Nguigmi you have to go through the desert and that’s exactly what we did – as a caravan of cars. I stopped counting the number of times we stopped to push someone out of the sand. It wasn’t sandy as a dune, but more of dry dirt on the edge of a desert. The acrobats the cars did wasn’t made for the cars. The ride was meant for a dune buggy and we were in a regular car doing donuts and jumping hills (once we were on two wheels!). Even the back bumper came off and we had to tie it on the roof. The drivers would take turns trying to pass one another, swerving off the beaten path (you WOULD get lost if you went by yourself!) and speeding through the brush to get ahead of the curve in the road.

I forgot to mention that after we started, at nine in the morning, and crossing into the border, we stopped until four in the afternoon. Those six hours were just spent lying around, the muslims praying, and us having lunch. It would have been hot to travel in the middle of the day.

We stopped that night in a random village near Rig-Rig. I would sleep in the car, in the passenger’s seat, while they slept outside. Ali and Yahyah left while I had my dinner (bread and pineapple) and even shared some bread with the children. The closest kid grabbed the half-loaf and run like a bat out of hell! I pointed to the others that it was for all of them and they soon ran after him.

As I laid down in the car the kids came back. They tapped on the windows, which I ignored, and even made animal sounds that drove me crazy but I ignored. But then a few started spitting on me. I have never had a kid spit on me in Africa before! Any misbehavior on a kids part usually results in a severe beating from the father. No other grown-ups were around so they were just being kids, with no restrictions. I yelled at them, and even opened the car door to get out but they ran off. Before they came back again Yahyah and Ali showed up. I told them what happened and Yahyah went to tell a villager. He came back:

“No problem. We wrote down the list of names of the children. Monday the headmaster at the school will take care of it.”

I wasn’t sure if we was telling the truth or not. So, I bluffed a little bit.

“Tomorrow, no Chad. Chad problem! Tomorrow we go back to Niger. Niger no problem.”

His faced turned to shock: “No! No. Chad no problem. Village here, no white man before. Only village problem. Chad no problem. No problem. Headmaster Monday, no problem.”

“Fine. Tomorrow N’Djamena.”

“Ok. No problem.”

We went to sleep.

Day 62
Sept. 17

An hour after leaving from the village we arrived in Bol, at ten in the morning. I should have guessed how long we would stay here, but didn’t think of it. The customs needed to write down my information, but there was a problem was it was Saturday and they were closed for the weekend.

A teenager was sent to collect me and get my information. We walked to the police station, which was open, but the cabinet for the papers were not. He didn’t know what to ask me, but was ordered to get all my information. We sat on a bench outside while he wrote on a blank piece of paper my information. I’ve been through enough immigration offices to know what information they need. He forgot the visa number, any military experience, number of wives, numbers of children, etc. I had to help him out.

There’s a volunteer stationed in Bol, but since I didn’t know when we would leave I took a nap instead by the car. One nap turned into two. Two was able to turn into three before we were called to go. It was four o’clock.

We drove for an hour, stopped for an hour. Dinner.
We drove for an hour, stopped for an hour. Prayer.

At dinner time they gave me a coke. This was the first Coca-cola I’ve had in a year-and-half. We’re out in the desert, they bought it for me (well, using my money); and it was a kind gesture so I took it. I think having a coke for the first time in a long while is like having your first beer – everything tastes funny! I could taste the sugar, the water, the syrup and even the temperature change of liquids in the middle of the bottle compared to the sides. It just didn’t taste right.

There’s one good thing about paying that $50 for the 3-day ride: you have the option of stopping the entire car when you have to go to the bathroom. I had go, bad. Multiple times. That was worth every penny. We were in the middle of nowhere and no pit latrines available. It was in the bush I went. I even used up all my toilet paper I had and had to resort back to Peace Corps training.

Finally, the town of Massaguet was reached. We were staying at a friends house and they laid out a foam mattresss for me and a mosquito net outside. I went to bed almost immediately.

Day 63
Sept. 18

Why arent’ we going yet? It’s early morning! On the map, we’re only a centimeter away from N’Djamena. We could be there in just a few hours. No. We relax. We wash the car. They killed a ram. This was going to be a long day.

I sat inside the hut for most of the day just reading and trying to stay cool. The day before the plastic containers inside my backpack were starting to melt. Toothpaste already exploded, the water in my Nalgene bottle was close to boiling (or sure felt like it when drinking), and it wasn’t even mid-day yet!

They sliced cucumbers, onions, and grilled the meat of the ram. I don’t know what the occasion was, but twelve of us ate soup, beans, soda, plates of meat, and pineapples for lunch.

The guidebook said this about this part of the trip “as little food is available so prepare to get thin.” I thought about that statement as I’m holding hands full of meat and veggies. Whoever wrote that must not have gotten a good deal on the trip.

At four o’clock we finally left Massaguet for N’Djemana.

Same procedure
We drove for an hour, stopped for an hour. Dinner.
We drove for an hour, stopped for an hour. Prayer.

It took us four hours to go a short distance. We reached N’Djamena at eight at night and the driver let me sleep at his house for the night.

Day 64
Sept. 19

Ali took a detour tour of the city while trying to find the Peace Corps office for me. I saw the ordered chaos of the city, no traffic laws that I could see; motorcycles and mopeds going in and out of traffic, swerving around the round-about. Even saw someone walk his pet-monkey, leash and all!

I had e-mailed the country director earlier asking for the address. His reply:
WE DO NOT HAVE A PHYSICAL STREET ADDRESS THAT IS OF ANY USE.

Now I could see why. It was next to a garbage dump, with litter and mud splattered randomly around the dirt road and huge detours you would have to take if you chose to go down that road any further.

I went out to eat with the Associate Director for lunch. He was shocked I had visited Chad: “Why are you here? There’s nothing here! Nothing! We even encourage our volunteers NOT to come to the Capital. This isn’t a tourist area.”

Thanks for the comfort.

The waitress accidentally tripped on a chair, which by chain-reaction had my lunch and drink splattered on the floor. His response to the scenario: “See, that is how we treat foreigners!” I could tell it was an accident, but his comments were quite negative.

I explained that my first day I was spit on. “Yes. That has happened. One volunteer left her village and went home because of the harassment. Spit. Yes. It can happen. I am even surprised you stayed at your drivers house. It is not safe.”

[I was thinking it was quite safe; they fed me, toured me around the city, and even let me sleep at their house without any charge other then for the ride down]

Back at the office I was pleased to find that the Associate Director invited me to stay at his house for the night since I hadn’t found a place to stay yet. Both the Peace Corps office and his residence (along with the other American residents’) have brick walls enclosing the compound with barbed wire in a helix pattern on top. Guards stand 24/7 at every post and every Tuesday morning each American employee working at the Embassy or Peace Corps must acknowledge a radio call for safety and security reasons.

The next morning we took his kids to school. One of them, named Morgan, was his very first day of school – little backpack and all. The father brought out his digital camera and was taking pictures, to his the confusion of Morgan. When they left he naturally cried. This was at the American International School where the children of American citizens can get an American equivalent education up to grade eight. There are other options for higher grades. The compound had swing sets, slides, merry-go-round, all enclosed in a guarded barbed-wire compound.

So far I’ve only met friendly Chadians – some even offered me rides to certain places, like the Egyptian Embassy to get my visa.

We’ll see when my flight is.

Medecins Sans Frontieres

2005-09-19T15:38:00.000Z

Day 59
Sept. 14
Diffa, Niger

No volunteers are stationed in Diffa, as it is too far East and the roads are terrible. I was told about the conditions of the roads, and got myself ready for a rough ride, but it was better than any road in The Gambia. To date, which will change in a bit, only one other road compared to the South Bank road in The Gambia and that was the Nioro to Diema road in Mali, which took eight hours to travel 60 miles. All the rest, while very poor in American standards, were a comfortable ride in Gambian standards.

Despite not having any volunteers in Diffa, I did have two contacts. A former volunteer, who never went home after service and moved to Diffa now runs a camel-riding company. I was told to ask for “Camel Steve”. The other, a former Peace Corps driver, the local chief of police would know and could direct me.

After an hour or so of asking around I found the Police Station and Chief of Police. I showed him the piece of paper I had with the driver’s name on it, and tried to pronounce. No clue. I tried Peace Corps, Corps de la Paix, American, [I wasn’t about to ask for “Camel Steve” and try to explain that ‘Camel’ was not his first name]. Finally, he announces:

“Ah. American. Medecins Sans Frontieres!”
[What was ‘Medecins Sans Frontieres’??] “Yes! American! Medecines Sans Frontieres.”
[I knew ‘medecines’ was doctor and took a shot at the dark that ‘frontieres’ was border, or upcountry of somesort. Ah! Doctor’s Without Borders!]

The policeman pointed to a local man who showed me the way to the MSF compound. There was a doctor, from Holland (the country), and a nurse (who went to UM) working when I went in. Her first question: “What are YOU doing here?” I was the first traveler they had seen since being in country. I found it intriguing that I first passed through a famine area and now am a tourist in a area where there’s Doctors Without Borders. They were impressed that I made it this far, considering the weight of my bag doesn’t exceed 25 pounds and is just a school backpack and I don't know the language.

It was going to be a busy day for them, as they had to go through all fifty-some contracts with the locals individually in order for them to get paid and know what their benefits and procedures were. Before today they were going on a day-by-day basis. Understandbly he recommended a hotel I could stay at for the night, but was welcome in the evening to hang out. He even got one of the drivers to drive me to the hotel!

After showering, doing laundry (goats were about, so I had to find a higher place for the clothes to dry or else they’d get eaten), and taking a nap I went back to the police station to get my passport exit stamped, as the guidebook said I should. They didn’t understand what I wanted and just stamped it as a visitor. Oh well, I crossed into Mali without an entrance stamp.

I spent a few hours at the Doctor’s compound; there were nine there in all, but I only saw five of them. Two doctors and three nurses. One book they had in their collection which I found fascinating was “Engineering in Emergencies : A Practical Guide for Relief Workers” It shows how to set up a camp to handle 10,000 refugees including water treatment, medical, housing, all from scratch. Also included in the book were Engine mechanics, simple physics (for pulleys, water treatment, and basics on a need-to-know basis [i.e., water treatment had fluid dynamics]. It was an interesting book.

They usually see malnutrition in their cases but a few others not-related. One doctor told of a story that two brothers were playing in the mud when an alligator (or crocodile?) attacked. They screamed and their father ran to help them. The crocodile had grabbed the buttocks of one of the younger kids and it took the father to stab the crocodile with a spear to have him let go. The doctor explained that a whole cheek was missing when he arrived, but eight weeks have gone by and slowly the wound is healing. “Cutest kid I have ever met!” was the doctor’s impression of the wounded boy.

A nurse had another story. A poisonous snake had bit a girl on the leg. While she didn’t die her leg started to deteriorate. When they finally brought her into the hospital only the bone and strands of infected muscle were what was left of her leg. They’d have to amputate. The father declined. The reason: He didn’t want his daughter to be handicapped; no man would want her. The nurse was reposted before she could see what recovery the girl could have gotten.

We talked about Niger, the famine, and news from back-home. They had not heard of Katrina in New Orleans in a while, and didn't know the Chief Justice had died.

Being just 6 kilometers from the Nigerian border, and being a market day the next day in Maiduguri, Nigeria they suggested I go to Chad by that route. I exchanged 20,000 CFA (~$40) from them for Nigerian currency. I'd figured I'd been told three times to go through Nigeria to get to Chad, this being the third, that it must be a good option to take.

I left when they were going to have a full staff meeting, and went back to the hotel; which happened to be the only one in town.

Three beatings in one day.

2005-09-19T14:42:00.000Z

Day 58
Sept. 13
Start: Zinder, Niger
Middle: Goure, Niger
End: Somewhere between Goudoumaria and Kelakam, Niger

The night before I went to the car park to get a ticket to Diffa. They kept on repeating: “Ceasar.” Which I kept on thinking “Julius?” I figured I better remember that word and ask one of the volunteers. “Ceasar” is actually “six heures” or “six-o’clock” I guess we leave at six.

At seven, while waiting for the car to fill up I heard a commotion by the car. I don’t know what the argument was about, but one man threw a rock about two-fists full size at another hitting him on the head and knocking him down. The man who threw the rock just walked away, while other Nigeriens were yelling at him. He got on his motorcycle and left. Meanwhile, the guy on the ground gets up and is bleeding from a gash in his head. Blood is pouring over his hands as he covered the wound, and is dripping onto the ground making a puddle. He refused all assistance and started walking away, leaving all his stuff behind. He stumbled back and forth across the street for a block before another man picked him on a moped and presumably took him to the local hospital. No police were called.

I noticed this in the Gambia also, but not to this extreme. People are pleasant, helpful; but when they get into a fight all hell breaks loose. The fight happens out of no-where and it could be because of a simple act. What I witness in Zinder was the most extreme case.

I was told to get in front, between the driver and another passenger. The stick-shift was pressed up against my thigh, my head was hitting the scented-tree ornament, and my back up against the edge of the passenger seat. It was going to be a long ride…

We stopped at Goure for lunch. I saw the start of two brothers bickering at each other, which eventually went to shoving and then a full-out hitting match rolling around the ground with other kids cheering their personal favorite. That is until the father came by with an elastic stick and mercilessly whacked each of them across the arms, legs, and rest of their body until they stopped and ran full-speed away in horror and pain – not from the fight but from the father’s stick.

Two minutes later an elder boy tormented a younger handicapped boy by walking away with his crutches (soldered pieces of metal with no cushions). The younger boy, with crippled legs, dragged himself to the new location begging in tears for his crutches back. The older boy walked farther away. I saw the father coming along and I feared for the worse. I expected the worse, but witnessed even worst. The father grabbed the crutches away from the older boy, who ran away, but then while the younger boy was on the ground the father hit him once with his own crutches and then grabbed his arm and dragged him away out-of-sight as his withered legs tried to fight back against the motion. The cries continued, with each new hit producing another shriek in the air.

Others went about their business as usual. No one stopped the fathers in either case. I could understand the first case to a degree, but what did the handicapped boy, about age eight or so, do to deserve being beaten by his own needed-support?

Corporal Punishment does exist in Africa, despite it being illegal (in theory) in some countries. Technically, it’s illegal in The Gambia but we learned about certain punishments during training – not to give out, but to know it when we see it. You will see children carrying buckets of water back and forth in the hot sun; others being beaten; some told to lie on their knees and hold out their arms in which a heavy stone are placed in the palm; and others are told to go home instead to receive an even harsher punishment from their parents for being sent home from school – which the parents pay for them to attend.

That night we slept on the side of the road, to continue the trip the next morning.

Famine Area

2005-09-19T13:41:00.000Z

Days 55 – 58
Sept. 10 – Sept. 13
Zinder, Niger

Actual newstory:

==
Malnutrition, deaths on rise in eastern Niger-MSF
Tue Sep 13, 2005 10:07 AM BST

GENEVA (Reuters) - Tens of thousands of children in Niger are not getting enough food and an increasing number are dying of malnutrition, the aid group Medecins Sans Frontieres (Doctors Without Borders) said on Tuesday.

A survey last month in the eastern region of Zinder showed "alarming conditions" and a worsening situation, with one in five children suffering from malnutrition, MSF said.

Mortality rates in the Zinder region for children under age five have risen to 5.3 deaths per 10,000 -- more than double the internationally recognised emergency threshold of 2 deaths per 10,000, according to an MSF statement.

"Unless children suffering from malnutrition receive massive care, this human disaster will be even more tragic," Christian Captier, general director of MSF Switzerland, was quoted as saying from Zinder.

The situation was even more critical for children less than 30 months old, with nearly one in three malnourished and 5.6 percent severely malnourished, it said.

MSF has accused the United Nations of being too slow to mount an emergency response in Niger, where the world body is now trying to feed 2.5 million people.

MSF has treated more than 30,000 severely malnourished children at emergency nutritional facilities in and around Maradi, Tahoua, Zinder, Diffa and Tilaberi.

Medical teams estimate that they will treat more than 40,000 children for severe malnutrition by year-end, it said.

==

I’m now traveling through a famine area. The region of Zinder is headed by the city of Zinder itself, which I stayed at and where the Red Cross Center was located. I didn’t know it was a famine area until I talked to the volunteers, and didn’t know the Red Cross was in town until I stumbled across them while walking around.

By the looks of international news it seems that everyone is lying on the streets dying. I saw children at Koran School (where they memorize the Koran) all share a foodbowl, meat being grilled out on the streets, restaurants opened, random Nigeriens inviting me to drink tea with them. I didn’t know what was fact or fiction. It’s hard to explain that you know hardships exists, but to the extent the media portrays it does not.

In the middle of town, I went to the best restaurant for lunch. For being the best it’s not that fancy (I knew that ahead of time). Plastic chairs and tables (four total), one room. Other, lesser expensive restaurants might be outside. This was on the second floor. While I was eating my bread and soup it occurred that maybe it was a money issue. Those with money get to eat while those don’t. That night I was able to test it.

The volunteers and I went out to eat, in the streets. The food was there, in fact plenty of rice and beans and soda. Nigeriens were crowding the stand to order their food. A bowl of rice for 50 cents, a common price. No mass hysteria or people fighting for other people’s food. Across the street kabobs were being served, at 100 CFA each, or about a quarter. We ate what they ate, at the price they paid, at the location they ate at. We sat and talked, drank tea with the residents of Zinder, and ordered more kabobs to go.

A mile down the road was the Red Cross center passing out free food, and across the street was a small restaurant where food was available to buy.

Bite! Bite!

2005-09-19T13:07:00.000Z

Days 52 – 55
Sept. 7 to Sept. 10
Birnin-Konni, Niger

I ran into Dave and Dawn the night before, Tuesday. They are a married couple both serving in Niger and were in the capital picking up a friend who was visiting. They took me around, out to eat, and shopping for their trip upcountry. At one point I made a comment about Michigan.

Dave: “You’re from Michigan?”
“Yes”
“What city?”
“Holland.”
“Get out! I’m from Holland. What part of town are you from?”
“North.”
“Did you go to West Ottawa?”
“Yeah!”

We’re both excited for the next few minutes we talked about Holland, the south-side, north-side, and the high-school rivary. He went to Holland High, but hasn’t been back to Holland for over 15 years. We both invited the other person over whenever the other’s in town.

The ride up to Konni took four hours. You would think a four hour ride would leave comfortably in the afternoon or late morning. Nope. We had to be at the bus station at three thirty in the morning! The bus left at four. The usual time for the trip is five or six hours, but we cut an hour off by the speed we were going. We even felt a bump. We ran over a dog. Both Dawn and Dave were on high-edge since they were on a bus like this that was going this fast when it tipped over. One thing I did miss on the ride, since I was sleeping part of the way: wild giraffes.

A list of typical animals in Africa: Monkeys, Lions, Tigers, Elephants, Rhinos, Giraffes, Hippos, Camels.

I’ve only seen (of those) Monkeys and Camels and I’ve been here for two years. I’m not counting the lions and the sort I saw in the zoo in Mali. The rest are in protected reservations that you can visit.

Two little known facts:
There are penguins in Africa. (the southern tip of South Africa)
Hippos account for more deaths in Africa than any other animal.

However, there is something nice about walking out of a drug-store in a nations capital and having to wait for the camel to cross your path before you can continue.

In Konni, I met the volunteers pet dog (named in the local language ‘to bite’ – just for kicks of yelling at him while he’s running in the street) and saw some of the trainees who had will sworn in as volunteers in a few days time. They had an initiation ceremony for them, and even surprised them by turning off the lights and bringing out a cake with candles to blown out. They blew out the candles, turned on the lights, and got the real surprise. Their cake was just a pot full of sand! The elder volunteers laughed as the trainees sunk back into their seats.

I went with the local driver to other sights upcountry for a few hours. We had to drop off a few items to other volunteers around the area. It was nice to see the different villages that I otherwise wouldn’t have gone too. Just like upcountry The Gambia, these villages were just the same – pumping water, little (if any) electricity, and the occasional NGO helping out a little.

Guide books can be wrong

2005-09-19T12:39:00.000Z

It seems amazing that anyone comes to Africa if one reads what guide books have to say about it. Take for instance one of the most popular for independent travelers: Lonely Planet.

These are the countries where the staff writers were unable to visit to update the current chapters on that country.

Algeria: Unable to visit
Angola: Government around the world have discouraged tourism to Angola
Burundi: Unable to visit outside capital
Central African Republic: Unable to visit
Congo: Unable to visit
Congo (Zaire): Unable to visit
Guinea-Bissau: Unable to visit
Sierra Leone: Unable to visit
Somalia: Unable to visit

However, even those countries the staff members were able to visit have gloomy appeal:

Chad:
But with peace seemingly now restored, Chad amply rewards the small number of travelers who make the effort with its many attractions.

Ethiopia:
Throughout the 1970s and 1980s the outside world knew Ethiopia as THE [emphasis original] most persistently famine-prone country. But since the changes of government in 1991, agricultural production is increasing, and tourism-from a near zero base – is set to become a big foreign-exchange earner.

Liberia:
However, many areas remain factionalised and remote, and the country is not yet a place for independent travelers.

Libya:
Libya must surely suffer from some of the worse excesses of Western paranoia and media spin-doctoring.
[Actually, that sounds like a positive critic]

Nigeria:
There’s a very real danger that the nation will burst into widespread chaos and violence at any time.

Sudan:
Large areas of the country are currently off limits to travelers because of its debilitating civil war. But wherever you manage to go, you’ll be struck by the natural charm, dignity and hospitality of the Sudanese, at variance with the fundamentalist excesses of the present government.

And the two that mad me laugh personally:

The Gambia:
Africa for beginners.

Mauritania:
If it wasn’t for the Parc National du Banc d’Arguin, one of the world’s great bird-watching areas, we would just about suggest that Mauritania was THE [emphasis original] place to avoid.

So, let me get this straight… there’s a war in Sudan, Liberia “is not yet a place for independent travelers”, Nigeria will “burst into widespread chaos and violence at any time.” and a half-dozen countries you were unable to visit – but the one country they specifically tell you to avoid: Mauritania!

I visited Mauritania for two weeks – without going to that one park! The people who live there, especially the Americans and other expats who Mauritania is their home, can’t fathom why they would write “THE place to avoid.” If you love to experience deserts, Muslim culture, camel rides, and riding on top of iron ore trains – GO to Mauritania! Forget what the guide book says!

Also, The Gambia as “Africa for Beginners”. That is true, for an extent. The country is very small, so you can get around and explore the country in a few days stay. However, most tourist don’t attempt explore the country. For example, we sometimes laugh at the European tourists who visit The Gambia and stay at the tourist resorts for their whole two weeks thinking they're getting the African experience. Yes, they visited Africa; but they stayed in two-mile radius of the comforts of electricity and water. Go five miles out of the tourist area and there's no power, and you have to pump your own water from a well. Go ten miles out and you're living in mud huts. To us, since we live here, THAT's the real Africa. Not the beaches, the tourist shops; but eating at the street shops, taking public transportation, drinking non-bottled water, visiting a mosque and NOT taking pictures, learning a few local language words and trying out the greetings, living without air-conditioned rooms with only a candle and a bucket of water and eating rice for every meal.

Guidebooks can give a lot of helpful advice. I carried around a torn-up copy of The Lonely Planet (only the chapters of the countries I was going to visit) along with my trip. But it’s like reading about the murder rates of New York City and deciding not to visit. It’s a great city, you’re just taking out of perspective: and not everyone is out to kill you! [For that example alone, my friends and I were walking around NYC from 3am-6am once a few years ago and being a ‘tourist’ for those middle-of-the-night three hours. We all made it out alive, limbs intact]

Embassies

2005-09-06T17:19:00.000Z

Embassies are an interesting sub-culture.

The PC Hostel is right next door to the Canadian Embassy, and the guards share a shack. Whenever I wanted to go back to the PC Hostel I would tell the Taxi Driver to take me to the "Ambassade du Canada". This made an intriguing experience, when, once after exiting the Chadian embassy with a local guide (who saw my American Passport) he was confused when I told him I wanted to go back to the Canadian Embassy. "You mean the American Embassy?" he asked me, thinking I didn't know my own country, and wanted to clarify it for the driver. "No. The Canadian Embassy." I left him on the sidewalk confused as to whether I was an American or Canadian.

Two blocks down the road, away from the center of town, is the Monacan Embassy; not to be confused with Morocco. The former (Monaco) is a small 2 square kilometer country in eastern Spain, the latter a half-million square kilometer country in North-West Africa. Why does Niger have a Monacan Embassy? How many Nigeriens visit a country three times the size of the Washington Mall? I'm interested in seeing what the diplomatic relationship are between these two countries.

[I know of Monaco from Statistics classes, the famous Monte Carlo gave rise to a probabilistic way to determine limiting probabilities. [Flipping a coin a 100 times and counting how many heads to figure out the probability of heads is statistically called the 'Monte Carlo method']

Go a few more blocks down and you reached the ever elusive American Embassy. No cars are allowed to stop within the viscinity of the Embassy and we must walk a block to reach its gate. Armed guards stand by. Across the street is the Ambassador's residence, on the banks of the Niger River. She doesn't have far to go to work! Inside the compound there is a video rental store, baseball field, TV lounge, swimming pool, playground for the kids, and picnic areas. For the kids there are swimming lessons and little-leage baseball games; the adults there are dodge-ball tournaments, baseball games, football games, and language lessons to name a few services.

To have access to all these great things you must 1. Be American; 2. Pay a fee. The fee is waived if you are a student in the American School, which most children are of the Embassy staff. For Peace Corps volunteers it amounts to a dollar for a day pass (cheaper per day for longer passes). Since I was just visiting and not associated with PC or the Embassy my fee was $4 to visit the club for the day. Needless to say the volunteers come here often when they are in town, especially during the weekends when the sports games happen [saturday is baseball, sunday is football]

While watching the game of baseball happening you can order burgers, chips, drinks, ice cream, milkshakes, and pizza along with a long list of other items. The chocolate milkshake I ordered was the best one I've had in Africa!

The Nigerien staff members are discouraged from handling cash. You pay for everything with coupons, although you can buy coupons from the vendors anyway. There are strips of paper, each containing the whole menu on it. You circle what you want, add the total, write down your name, and give them the coupons for the amount. A few minutes later a bell rings and someone yells "Mike!". My lunch was ready.

I would have gone swimming if it wasn't for the doctor's orders!

This was over the weekend. Monday morning I needed to get the Chadian embassy to get my visa. I asked a volunteer where it was. "I don't know. I only know where the white people's embassies are."

Great...

Monday morning I eventually arrived (it had moved since the map was published in my guide book). A lone, unarmed, guard stood by the doors and asked what I wanted. A local Nigerien man, who helped me find the place, explained I needed a visa. The guard pointed to a second floor window. We went inside, all empty, not a soul in sight, and went upstairs. There, a lone secretary waited for people to come. His English was understandable. He asked these questions as he's filling out the forms

"What is your final destination?"
"Egypt."
"Let me see your passport."
He flipped through each page and eventually put the passport down
"There is no Egyptian visa. I can not give you a transit visa without a destination visa. You have none for Egypt."
[I sat there thinking this was the end of the road for me. I was about the get up and thank him and head out when he looked at my passport again.]
"However, you are not travelling through Chad; right?"
[Huh?] He continued.
"You are visiting as a tourist. Correct? You see, a transit visa is only good for a week and you need a desination visa; but a tourist visa you don't. So I guess you are visiting Chad as a tourist."
[What's happening? Think. What? Oh! He's helping me!] "Yes! I am visiting Chad as a tourist."
"Good. How long are you visiting our country?"
[Give a good answer...] "A month."
"Good! Plenty of time to see our country!"
"Yes!"
[Phew!]

He helped me fill out the forms, which were written in French. I had no idea what I was writing, he would just say "yes, no, yes, no, no, tourist, [etc.]" and I would write what he said. One question I could make out what it was saying.

"What is your final destination?"

He paused.

Should I put down Egypt, US, or Niger? He looked up.

"Sudan."

I looked up "Sudan!"

"Yes. Put down Sudan."
"But I'm not going to Sudan."
"PUT DOWN SUDAN!"

I put down Sudan as my final destination.

Ten o'clock Tuesday morning I picked up my Visa for Chad. Good until Oct. 11 with no mention of Sudan.

My seventh week budget was shot. Spent $238 in one week. Had bought two visas, ($40 and $30 respectively), took an unnecessary side-trip to Bobo while in Burkina Faso, had to see a doctor, and pay for the medicine.

Off to the Doctor's!

2005-09-06T14:38:00.000Z

My first full day in Niamey my ear was bugging me. By later that night I felt my left ear and looked at my hands. "That ain't right!" I said as I saw small amounts blood. It wasn't a lot and there was nothing I could do until the next day anyways so I went to bed.

I was originally suppose to catch the next bus upcountry to visit a volunteer, but this changed the plans a bit. The next morning I went to the Peace Corps Office hoping to talk to the Medical Officer. While he listened to my case he was, by law, not able to help me since I wasn't a volunteer anymore. I knew that going in, but hoped he could help in some other way. He recommended another doctor I go see and wrote down his information.

The Clinic I was told to visit was on the edge of town, near the banks of the Niger River. The taxi driver passed beat-up neighborhoods; corrugated tin houses; military barracks before arriving at the clinic. Any thoughts of how 'third-world' it would be dissappeared when I walked in. The outside wasn't impressive, but the inside told the story of a clean facility with knowledgeable doctors and nurses. The specific doctor the PC doctor told me to see wasn't in yet so I waited. By four o'clock he showed up. We walked to his office and I saw, by his nameplate, that he was the Director of Medicine in the clinic. That's good to know. His English was understandable and he understood mine perfectly.

Ear infection. He tried to explain what it was, but I already knew. One good thing about having ear infections as a kid is that when your twenty-five in Africa and the native French speaking doctor can't remember the English words for 'Cochlea' or 'Eustachian Tube' you're able to help out. He wrote out the prescriptions for the medicines and told they were available at any pharmacy, just show them the Rx - no French required.

The visit cost 11,000 CFA, or about $25. The drugs cost an additional $75. As a kid I cringed at the thought of those ear drops three times daily when an infection occurred. Now, I have to do it to myself!

A few days later, as I was exploring town, I saw the National Hospital. It was more run down then some of the houses! Nigeriens were waiting outside, taxis were pulling in and out of the area and I didn't bother going inside. A little research later found out that the clinic I went to was the best in the country - and I was treated by the Director of Medicine! I felt good about that, just some backpacker travelling through seeing one of the best doctors in the country. Then the thought occured - for a common ear infection! The analogy that came to mind was in the card game of War: You play an Ace, your opponent a two.

While you're a volunteer they pay for everything: doctor visits, medicine, and transportation. They will (and have) fly you to another country for a tooth ache; or fly you back to the United States for a simple operation. However, once you finish your service you're on your own. That $100+ I spent, while a lot less than it could be in the US, hurt a little bit. Could have been a nice side-trip or a few good meals. It was worth it though...

The little things

2005-09-06T14:29:00.000Z

I forgot to expand on the little differences I’ve seen. While in Burkina Faso I ordered a glass of coffee. What came was a bowl of black soup with a spoon. That was my coffee! They drink their coffee like soup, with spoons and all. It was really confusing the first time I ordered. In Mali that didn’t happened, and neither in Niger – only in Burkina Faso.

Also, on the bus ride to Niger the first stop we had while crossing the border still had the usual vendors coming to the windows trying to sell items, but with an interesting twist. Usually it’s women selling fruits or vegetables, children selling bags of water, or young men selling little trinkets. Nope. None of them. It was all grown men selling animal carcasses! Want a lamb? He held up the skinned carcass to the window for me to ‘inspect’. It was skinned and gutted, with two sticks making a cross to expose the insides to those who want to see the rib cage. You want a full animal or half? Half? No problem, here’s another man carrying two halves on each hand. One customer in the bus only wanted a quarter, so the man went to the table took out a machete and cut the half carcass in half again. He then wrapped it up in old paper and passed it through the window. Good thing I wasn’t sitting by him.

Don’t want any meat? Other men were walking around with liver, heart, lungs, intestines; all for sell on a platter. With all transactions through the bus window.

Truth be told I have seen more meat for sale on street here in Niger then in any country I’ve been to so far. You can get brochettes down any major street in town.

Then there's the taxis. It's both annoying and intriguing what new system of taxi usage each country uses - especially when travelling into that country without knowing. In The Gambia there are set routes, if you want to deviate you buy out the taxi. In Senegal it's just like New York, you buy the whole taxi but at a set rate (sometimes you can barter). In Burkina Faso you tell them where you want to go, barter the price and you get in with the other people all going to different locations. Each person pays a different price.

And now there's Niger. Same scenario but with a twist. The unit price of a taxi seat is 200 Francs. If you're going very far they might ask for two, meaning your paying 400 Francs. Here's the scenario:

You're at Point A, and want to go to point B. You wait. A taxi pulls up, and you say you want to go to point B. The taxi driver thinks to where he is going (point C), where the other passengers are going (points C, D, and E). If your destination isn't too far off the mark he'll tell you to get in, otherwise he'll drive off leaving you standing there (sometimes in the rain). The set-price system, with all passengers going in possibly all different directions, gives getting a taxi an interesting experience. Since everybody pays the same amount, and not all going to the same destination, you have to wait for a driver to accept you.

Another thing I found out was how far out of proportion the news of the Nigerien famine has been. Speaking from the volunteers who live in the same neighborhood as the ‘famine’ victims it’s mostly political. The news agency stresses that they live off of a dollar a day. Well, that’s their normal budget! Think of it this way: A wealthy country, where every citizen is a multi-millionaire, sees a report that the average American family lives off of $X / day. They might think we’re starving if X is significantly less than a few thousand – which is probably their quality of life in that imaginary country.

Food is available, but it’s less than usual – correct. Las years rainy season wasn’t good and this year they had the locust invasion. Some families have sold their cattle for money to buy more food, but their usual lifestyle is to store food to last the dry season. Usually it’s rice or millet. One volunteer even commented that the ‘famine’ actually helped in some small way. It forces the family to stop eating their millet and rice and go to more nutritious food like their cattle or fruits and vegetables they pick off the trees (they usually sell the fruit to buy rice, now since there’s little rice they eat the fruit).

I’ll see first hand in a few days when I go upcountry. Right now just trying to get over being sick (watching a few movies in the meantime), and then researching how to get to Libya from Chad – or even how to get to Chad.

If you want to see a good movie about troubles in Africa, and the turmoil that could occur – rent “Hotel Rwanda” about the Rwandan Genocide in 1994. This was my second time seeing it and it was just as powerful as the first.

Catch-22

2005-09-01T10:27:00.000Z

Day 45
Wed Aug 31
Start: Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso
End: Niamey, Niger

The bus left at seven in the morning. I didn't have a visa, either but was told not to worry about it. We arrived at the border at around 2pm and the police officer told me I had to pay 20,000 Francs (~$40) for the visa. I knew that was the correct price but didn't know if he was doing it for himself or if it was the actual visa price. He left the room and came back with actual visa stickers, which he filled out and put on my passport and stamped it. He then asked for my 20,000 francs. Ok, that's a deal.

For the first time since arriving in Africa I crossed a time zone. The one hour time it took to cross the border just took two, it was now four o'clock with out knowing it.

Entering Niamey is one of the best sites upon entering a capital, of those that I have seen. Green fields surround you, a lush marsh wetland, and then your on a bridge crossing the Niger River entering the city - still full of trees such that individual streets are hidden ahead.

At the Peace Corps Office there was some confusion. I arrived after hours and wasn't allowed inside the office. The guard called the Safety and Security Officer who told me I wasn't allowed in until the next morning. No problem. I waited outside for a few minutes until some volunteers exited and they showed me where the hostel was.

Another problem: The guard had radioed ahead to the guard at the hostel saying I wasn't allowed in. I had an e-mail I received from the Safety and Security Officer a few months back saying I could stay at the hostel, but apparantly the rules had been changed; very recently I was told - yesterday.

I wasn't allowed inside the hostel to call the officer and wasn't allowed inside the office to use the computer to show him the email that I was allowed inside the hostel. I can't get into the office after hours without his permission, and can't get a hold of him without calling him. That I can't do since I'm not allowed inside the hostel. Even the volunteers were confused and really didn't understand what was going on.

I left the bag by the gates and went out to eat with the volunteers. Ten of us went to a Japenese restaurant where the sake (sah-ki) flowed freely from the owner and we had our own private room with karaoke machine. In order to leave my bag at the hostel I had to promise the guard I wouldn't sleep there that night. I didn't arrive back to the hostel til around a quarter to midnight, with some of the others staying behind for more drinks and fun.

The volunteers I came back were allowed in. I brought one of the guard chairs over, sat down, and starting reading under the guard light.

"You no find hotel?"
"No."
"You no sleep?"
"No. I read. " [I was being stubborn]

He went inside and came back. "Ok, I called the Officer. You can stay the night, but meet him tomorrow morning at the office."

At 12:30, as I'm heading to bed the Officer stopped by the hostel. He wanted to see my passports, IDs, and to clarify the situation. I showed him all of the IDs and explained the e-mail to him, which he remembered.

Result: I have a friendly, safe, and cheap place to stay. I'm allowed to stay at the hostel.

What I turned down

2005-08-30T18:56:00.000Z

Day 44
Tues Aug 30
Start: Bobo-Dioulasso
End: Ouagadougou

Despite how the previous day ended I was still up in the air about going further back-tracking to Banfora and seeing the waterfalls. I tried to find the cars, but with only a half-hearted attempt before getting back on the bus to Ouga.

The hospitality of the staff at Peace Corps was only exemplified when I returned and the Safety and Security person for Peace Corps told me exactly how to get a visa at the border to Niger (thanks to another staff member who knew my predicament and left for Niger a few days earlier, but called back on the procedure after asking). I give them my passport at the border, am allowed through with a piece of paper. The next day I go to the police station in Niamey with the piece of paper, pick up my passport, pay $40 and get my visa. Simple.

He then took me directly to the bus station, helped me buy a ticket for the next morning; confirmed a taxi would be picking me up; helped me back to the office and later on tonight will be showing me around the part of town I didn't get to see a few days back. On the way back to the office we passed the Airport. A brief thought occured, then left. I don't know when the best time to quit is, but it's not when your down. I put the bus ticket to Niger in my wallet.

I e-mailed the Country Director directly thanking her for the hospitality of her staff and the volunteers for going above and beyond what I expected.

After what happened yesterday I need a vacation. True, I've been traveling for a six weeks and some might call this a vacation - but I need to just sit in one place for a few weeks. A village maybe, someplace relaxed, where I can re-energize. Just this evening I received an e-mail from my contact in Niger. A new group will be swearing in on the 16th and there's a festival on the 14th which most volunteers go to. I might stay in Niger for two to three weeks just to slow down a bit and relax.

It wasn't until I got back at the office and was able to look up pictures of Banfora and the waterfalls did I truly regret missing that opportunity. It would have been fun and refreshing to sit under waterfalls and just cool off - but I missed it. Turned it down because I had a bad day the day before, when this would have made everything better. Now I know it's time for a vacation! This time, if there's waterfalls in Niger - I'm going!

WATERFALLS NEAR BANFORA
(That I did NOT go to ... )

[picture not mine]

A bad day

2005-08-30T18:49:00.000Z

Day 43
Monday Aug 29
Bobo-Dioulasso

Didn't expect that to happen! As I was getting ready for the day I check the guide book on what to do in Bobo. "Bobo-Dioulasso only really comes to life at the weekend; on weekdays, you're likely to be the only clients." I checked my watch: 7:45 am Monday morning. Doh!

Also, before I forget to to do it later I did my accounting. Maybe I should have put off on that for another week since it ruined my mood a little. I spent $124 this past week since cashing that check. While only $17/day, I could have sworn I was saving money while being in the city. Throughout the whole day I had the unjustifiable fear that I was spending money way too fast and that I would run out again. The truth is, I'm actually below my budget and other then a few tourist things (e.g., Dogon Country, Timbuktu, etc.) you can't get much cheaper! I eat street food where I can, travel local transportation, and lodge at the some of the cheapest places I can find (and in some cases in the street!). Yet, it still had me bogged down that money was going fast. To make up for this nonsense I decided to really splurge. I'd find a restaurant tonight and treat myself. I never actually had splurged in this trip yet, always in the under $10 range for a good meal.

In the morning the wind picked up, knocking over signs, blowing dirt in the air, and people running for cover before the rains came. I didn't make it. Toured the market, and down-town in the rain while getting back to the hotel soaking wet. How many times do I have to be caught in the rain, I asked myself?

I wanted to leave. Jake had suggested I tour Banfora, further south, where you can rent a moped for $10/day and explore the green countryside with waterfalls a few kilometers away. There's a "McDonald's" restaurant in town (no relation) which the volunteers rate as not to be missed.

Another thing that bugged me today, as well as being cold, wet, still sick, and worried about money; was that I wasn't going as far as I planned. I have been travelling 43 days and when I looked at the map (especially since backtracking) it didn't seem that far! Doubts of completing the trip, running out of money, making any progress, raced through my mind as I'm laying in bed. I wanted to leave the town, leave the country, leave the continent. I had enough of Africa. The children bothering you in the streets, the sellers who won't take no for an answer, people ripping you off. I've seen the deserts, the markets, the mosques. What does this town have to offer that's different from the hundreds of other towns? I've been here over two years and all the inconveniences of being in Africa I want over with. I've lived in mud huts, not showered for days, been hot, sweaty, hungry, singled out as a tourist or as a white person or rich person (ha!). I want to be anonymous again, another face in the crowd.

I didn't want to go to Banfora, either. It was more of a detour, more money, and it would probably rain - and knowing me I would be caught in it.

I saw the market and it was just like any other market. The bumsters were around the Grand Mosque and wouldn't leave me alone. I just wanted to scream at them or throw whatever they were trying to sell me at them. Why couldn't they just let us tour their city alone, why do they feel obligated to interrupt your casual walk with "Excuse me, excuse me,..." (The first time you hear that, you turn - then you learn). I wanted to scream to the children begging for money, the bumsters trying to sell wood carvings or be my guide, the shop owners signaling me into their shops to "just look". I wanted to scream at them all "Shut up! Let me be!"

I stopped in my tracks and sat down. The guy was still on me like a magnet to a refrigerator. I'd push him away and he come back stronger. Couldn't he see I didn't want anything? If when the pot boils temper explodes he was sure adding heat to the oven. When I thought the first bubble would burst two French tourists turned the corner; more oblivious then I was; and the magnet found a better refrigerator to attract onto. As I watched him take another target I could feel the ice being put in the water, cooling it just enough as that little air bubble creeping up to the surface stops and heads back down. I sighed in relief.

Today wasn't a good day.

By late afternoon I had my thoughts in semi-good order. I am making progress; yes, this is a detour, but look at how far you HAVE gotten. This is your fifth country in six weeks. Despite Burkina Faso being, as a whole, a detour, it is not as much as the possibility of having to make one to Ghana to get to Niger. Look at all you've seen and done: camel rides, train rides, Sahara, Timbuktu, Dogon country. You've been traveling for six weeks, four of which by yourself, in a language you don't know.

One other thing made me think about the money more: I can splurge on any day in Africa and it would be less than spending frugalily any day in Europe.

That helped some. By dinner time I was good to go and ready to splurge!

I stopped by "L'eau Vive" which is a Catholic Missionary who also run a restaurant. The open air gave a sense of eating under the stars (despite being cloudy), and the breeze was cool. Only six other patrons were there, despite having room for close to a hundred. The nun who showed me to my table spoke some English and I struck up a conversation with her. She was from Kenya and is doing her Missionary work here. At any time they can call on her to go live and work any where in the world. Asked if she chose Burkina Faso, she simply said: "God chose for me. I obeyed."

This is one of the finest restaurants in town, and the nuns know how to serve wine properly and make you feel like your at a five-star restaurant. Casual music was played in the background, more upbeat then you would think for a missionary but still calm enough to be enjoyable for the atmosphere.

I ordered steak, medium-rare. With a bottle of water and a glass of orange-juice.

It came with bread! I ate everything they gave me, forgetting it is the African custom not to eat everythign on your plate. If you do, they think you are not full and will give you more. I ate all the bread, they gave me a second helping with butter. I ate all the butter with all the second helpings of bread - they gave me a third helping of bread. I need dessert! Ordered some ice cream (really splurging!); after that an after-dinner tea.

After an hour and half or so I went to pay the $20 bill.

"You are not leaving now are you?"
"Yes. My hotel is far, I have to walk."
"We are about to sing."
"Oh, ok. I will hear you sing."

I sat back down, had more tea and listened to the nuns of the L'eau Vive Missionary serenade me and the rest of the diners in a song of about the Virgin Mary - in french. Beautiful end to a horrible day.

Ouga to Bobo

2005-08-30T18:47:00.000Z

Day 42
Sunday Aug 28
Start: Ougadougou, Burkina Faso
End: Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso

My only true detour on the trip started out with a bang. Literally. Of cymbals - from a marching band. I needed to cross the highway but was interrupted by two things: the bike race happening on both sides, and the military policemen stopping people from crossing. The military band, along with the officers, were sitting directly across from where I was and right in front of where I needed to go (the bus station). One of the guards realized my predicament and signalled me to cross when it was clear.

The 300-km ride took about five hours in an air conditioned bus. I was 'warned' about this the day earlier from Jake:

"Just take the bus. It's air-conditioned."
"Air conditioned? I don't want a tourist bus, I want the local bus."
"That IS the local bus!"

By 2 o'clock in the afternoon I arrived at "Casa Africa" a small hotel in the outskirts of town where I had room with bed, mosquito net, and fan for $8/night. Toilets and showers were outside. The owner asked if I wanted any food. "Let me take a nap first." I woke up 18 hours later and had my meal I promised; breakfast instead of lunch.

Ouga-Ouga-Ouga!

2005-08-30T18:41:00.000Z

Days 37 - 41
Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso

According to the UN, Burkina Faso is the 3rd poorest country in the world; and according to volunteers it should fall a rank to number two due to the locust destruction this past year. Despite being #3 you would never have guess it by travelling to the capital. [However, it's usually the people and living conditions outside the capital which makes the influence in the rankings] The streets were paved, the buses left on time, there was no rush, and it was very efficient. This was by far the most efficient running country so far in my travels.

Before Burkina Faso was called Burkina Faso it was called "Upper Volta" . After WWII France really ignored their little colony and instead focused on Cote d'Ivoire. This led to some of the downfall of Burkina Faso. It became independent of France in 1960 and went through military coup after another before the most notable one of 1982 happened. Captain Thomas Sankara seized power in a bloody coup and two years later renamed the country 'Burkina Faso' meaning 'land of the incorruptible', or better translated 'Country of the Honest Men'.

Despite coming into power with blood on his hands, he lifted his country up from decay and economic growth started to take. He even led a two-week marathon that vaccinated 60% of all Burkinabe children against measles, meningitis, and yellow fever - to the great praise of Unicef.

Five years later he was brought outside the capital by another captain and shot. His captor, Captain Blaise Compaore, buried his former leader in a simple grave next to the city dump and took over the country. The grave has become a place of pilgrimages to those who want to pay their respect for their lost leader who did so much for their country.

Compaore was elected president a few years later, as the sole candidate; and afterwards had his major opponent assassinated. He has since won every 'election' to date.

The guidebook had this to say about taking pictures in Burkina Faso:

"The official off-limits list is formidable, and includes airports, bridges, reservoirs, banks, any military installations, police stations or government buildings and post offices, train stations and bus and bush-taxi stations, TV/radio stations, petrol stations, grain warehouses, water twoers, idustrial installations and poor people."

So I can take a picture of the sky, right?

Despite all the hoop-la about taking photos it is quite suprising to find out that Burkina Faso is home to THE film festival of West Africa. Every odd year in February or March Ougadadougou hosts thousands of visitors and tourists to catch a glimpse of whats new in African film. If you want to hear music in Africa head to St. Louis, Senegal during their Jazz Festival; but if you want to see true African cinema head to Ouga where all-day long you sit back and enjoy the show - either the characters on the screen or the characters on the street. If you happen to be in Burkina Faso during an even year - no problem! The town of Bobo-Dioulasso in the South West hosts the festival in the even years.

In Ouagadougou I ran into a few volunteers who took me in as one of their own without any reservation or akwardness (who are you? why are you here?): Mike, Katy, Airy, and Jake. The first night in town they treated me by showing me the recreation room at the American Embassy, where we watched a few movies. The next night we went to a Chinese Restaurant. Katy, especially, was very helpful, as in the midst of a downpour of rain she went with me to the French Embassy to get information on how to get a visa for Niger. When the Embassy wasn't open yet, she showed me around town, still in the rain though not raining as hard. The next day during lunch she tried teaching a few french phrases to get by on. Airy cooked a few meals for the gang, which I was invited too, and I even brought desert one time (watermelons and pineapples). When one was leaving for the airport I went along, despite only meeting the person leaving two days before. It was a genuine welcome!

The first full day in town I tried walking around - took two wrong turns and ended up off the map. Ended up out of town. The taxi on the way back demanded more money, although I was already paying him a good deal (confirmed with volunteers). Two blocks away from the Hostel he refused to move unless I paid him more. "OK". Got out the door and walked away to him screaming. It led to nothing as he turned around and left.

When I did finally get to the explore the city I got lost within, and due to the humidity, the twenty minute walk back took me more than an hour to complete. One unique characteristic of this city is they have seperate lanes for the motorcycles and mopeds, which the bicycles use also. You have the main meridian seperating the two lanes of opposite traffic and then at the end of each a small meridian seperating the lanes for the automobiles for the lanes for the mopeds. The downside? When cars have to make a right-hand turn they must wait for all the motorcycles to finish crossing the street first before they can turn right.

As non-volunteers are not allowed to stay at the hostel I found a way around it. Before it got too late I left the hostel to go the office to 'work'. I made sure to stop 'working' before the office opened and head the two blocks to the hostel to log on as each day's first visitor at 6:30am. I never stayed a night at the hostel, but took an occasional nap or two in the morning. When I told this to the volunteers they asked: "Who taught you that?" thinking it was one of their own. Every country that has an office and transit house has volunteers who 'work' late to save a few bucks. It was nothing new.

My second-to-last night in the city ended up being violently sick. Volunteers love to go into details, but I'll be semi-nice here: explosive D with projectile V, simulatenously. I had a choice, stay on the toilet or not. Split second decision. I stayed. Took two hours to clean up the walls. I finished at sunrise.

I crashed the next day, barely going outside, with that night we headed to the airport and Jake convinced me I should go down to Bobo-Dioulasso, Burkina Faso's second largest town.

Response to Questions

2005-08-23T18:14:00.000Z

==
Anonymous said...
Mike, you're a crazy guy. Maybe instead of carrying cash, you could carry something else like gold so you don't have to worry about exchanging your money at every new country.

8/17/2005 07:32:10 PM
==

I know it's somewhat of a joke, but there is some merit to the question. Other than Mauritania every country I've been in has been on the same currency, the CFA Franc. There are actually two franc used in Africa - the West African CFA and Central African CFA.

Benin, Burkina, Côte d'Ivoire, Guinea Bissau, Mali, Niger, Senegal and Togo which form the West African Economic and Monetary Union (WAEMU), whose common central bank is the Central Bank of West African States (BCEAO)

Cameroon, Central African Republic, Congo, Gabon, Equatorial Guinea and Chad which form the Central Africa Economic and Monetary Community (CEMAC), whose common central bank is the Bank of Central African States (BEAC).

And so, other than a small side step in Mauritania changing to Ouguiyas I've been using the same currency throughout the past month - just had to convert from the hard currency to the CFA's.

When I cross Niger to Chad I will have to change over all my West African CFA to Central African CFA, with a theoretical one-to-one exchange.

Today as I took the taxi to the bank I watched the meter (first metered taxi I've been in since being in Africa). The reason for watching it? At some point it was going to exceed the total amount of money I had and I had to tell him to stop and would have to walk the rest of the way to the bank. I had 2425 CFA (~$4.50) left to my name - with a US Treasury check in my bag worth more than twice I had spent on the trip to date. Just needed to get to the bank and cash it.

I watched the meter creep up. At 2400 I would had to tell him to stop. It reached 2000, 2100, 2200, 2300,... and then at 2340 he stopped at the bank. I had made there with 85 CFA or 15 cents to spare. Walked in practically broke - couldn't even buy a piece of bread.

An hour later I was having a half-chicken and chips lunch in the Rec. Room at the American Embassy while watching last night's football game with some of the staff members.

Close call.

Welcome to Burkina Faso!

2005-08-23T06:05:00.000Z

Day 36
Mon Aug 22
Start: Sevare, Mali
Mid: Koro, Mali
End: Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso

I ran into Rachel at the car park to get to Koro. She was volunteer actually stationed in Koro and would help me out to get to Burkina Faso. Koro is the main transportation hub between Burkina Faso and Mali, and the bus usually leaves around two.

We arrived in Koro ten minutes to two, and bought a ticket to Ougadougou for the three o'clock bus (the actual time the bus left). Although it's spelled Ougadougou, it's pronounced "waga-doo-goo". Even more confusing, was that before getting to Ougadougou you have to pass through Ouahigouya, pronounced "waee-gee-ya".

At Koro, I bought her lunch in thank-you and she showed me around town for an hour or so. The main post office has only twenty-five post office boxes, each one handwritten on a wooden box with a portable key lock attached to it. One package laid on the floor, but not for her. As we were about to exit the Post Office employee asked my name
"Mike"
"Ah! Michael!"
"Yes."
"Like Michael Jackson."
"Yes." and I moonwalked the last few steps out of the office to his delight.

After the bus was loaded and we started to drive towards the border. When we got close the bus stopped and someone got out and started running away. I didn't say anything. We cross the exit border, when another mile and picked up the same guy again. We cross the Mali-Burkina Faso border and headed towards the entrance station when the bus again stopped and he got out and started running.

It was here at this border that we were told to go to police station. By this time it was around 5:30 in the evening. When walking towards the staton there was a sharp blow on a whistle signaling us to stop. We looked to see who commanded such and found two plain-cloth officers standing at attention looking towards our right. We all turned to our right and saw the Burkina Faso's flag being lowered, and realized it was just a symbolic whistle blow to start the ceremony. We started laughing when it came to mind it wasn't anything we had done, but quickly quieted when stares from the plain-clothe officers commanded us to.

A mile down the road we picked up the same guy again. Sneaking across the border using public transportation and a bus full of Malians and Burkinabe. It's Africa!

At Ouahigouya I called the Peace Corps office in Ougadougou to get directions. The office was already closed, being eight at night, but the security guard helped very much.

"Where are you now?"
I looked at the map and saw the word "Ouahigouya" but what came out was that of an imitation of a two-year old: "Waga-waga-waga-waga-waga-wagago-..." He interrupted me: "waee-gee-ya?"
"Yes! That's the one"
"What's the name of the bus company" I look and its "Sogebaf"
"So-so-so-so-so-so-soga-soga-..." He must think I'm a complete moron!
"soe-ge-baf?"
"Yes!"

He then told me how to get to the office. BY 11:30 at night I had arrived in Ouagadougou, found a taxi, and with less than $5 in my pocket had arrived at the Peace Corps Office.

The same guard, who was very friendly and is actually going to university for English, said I could go in and use the computer. It's a big building! I tried almost every door trying to find the computer lab. Nope, that's the toilet; nope, janitor's closet. Found a room with a big desk, which happened to be the Country Director's. Oops, wrong room. I eventually found the computer lab and began talking to two volunteers that were still there that late in the night.

They had just received a new Country Director and her first day had just finished. Her first day on the job and I had accidently broken into her office!

I spent the night typing e-mails and these stories so I could crash for another day and not worry about them. More about Burkina Faso and Ougadougou later on. Top priority now: 1. Cash that check! 2. Get a good meal.

You learn from your mistakes.

2005-08-23T06:02:00.000Z

Day 35
Sun Aug 21
Start: Outside Tombouctu, Mali
End: Sevare, Mali

It's a good thing that Sunday is my weekly Malaria pill day for I definitely needed a booster after sleeping without a net next to the Niger River. Even the locals had nets strung up in poles and sticks. I was the only one without one, and when I tried to get into one (after asking and thinking they said yes) it ended up I was taking the childrens bed so I was asked the leave.

You have to take the pill with food, which I learned the hard way a few months back. There was a Canadian volunteer who lived a few blocks away from me named Sara McKeon. She had first visited The Gambia the same time I did, but we never crossed paths. She went back to Canada, finished her last year of school, took a few months off and then headed back to The Gambia again - I was still there. She was impressed I knew where her Province of Alberta was, and knew the capital of Canada was not Toronto. (Ottawa, easily remembered from my High School's name). She just finished a trip to Timbouctu and we agreed to meet at "Palais de Chocolat" for breakfast at eight on Sunday for me to get the details of the trip.

I had met the owner of Palais just a few days earlier when I accidently had dinner with him at one of the most expensive restaurants in town. The two French people who lived in my compound were treating me to dinner and were having it with a few friends - the owner of Palais included. His name is Jihad, the same word the news protrays as the Islamic 'Holy War'. What a name? And he's half-French, so whenever he goes back to France he has a whole security concerns because people at the airport see the word Jihad and freak out.

Sunday morning I got up and took my malaria pill thinking I can time this right and have breakfast to cover it in time. By 7:45 I'm feeling queazy so I order something light just to hold me over until breakfast. By 8:00 I'm throwing up over the balcony of the restaurant as Sara's rounding the corner and Jihad's yelling at his staff to get me water and to cover the vomit up with sand.

I never did use any of her information I collected that day.

Back near the River I found some fried pieces of dough to eat as breakfast to take the pill with. I found a car that was willing to take me for $30 - so I lost my $10 deposit a few days back. Even though we crossed on the second ferry of the morning, each crossing taking about an hour total, we had passed every car that came before us within two hours of getting to the other side. We were going fast! We even stopped to help a truck out of a ditch for ten minutes and still caught up to everyone.

I reached Sevare and the Peace Corps house and just relaxed on the couch, watching Law and Order episodes on tape for a few hours.

Week 5 Budget:
Spent $150 this week, for an average of $21/day for the week and $19/day average for the trip. I had $24 on me to last until I can get to a bank in the Capital of Burkina Faso.

Escape from Tombouctou!

2005-08-23T05:59:00.000Z

Day 34
Sat Aug 20
Tombouctu, Mali

When I woke up everyone was gone and no vehicle was there. I knew they hadn't left town since one was 'supposedly' going with me. His stuff was still there though. One other problem: I was locked in again.

The only furniture in the house was a small dresser and a TV with a VCD player and five movies.
Ethiopian Music Videos
Kung-Fu movie in Chinese with French subtitles
Kung-Fu movie dubbed in French with Chinese subtitles
'The Gods Must be Crazy' movie dubbed in French
'James Bond 007: Die Another Day' dubbed in French with ENGLISH subtitles!

I watched James Bond, with the amusement of listening to the dubbing of "Bond. James Bond" pronounced more like "Bond. Shames Bond." No hard 'J' sound, but the the French 'J' like in Jacque.

After that I watched Ethiopian Music Videos for two hours, then I started on the Kung-Fu movies, then I taught the ten-year kid (how did he get in?) the card game Memory.

The Ethiopian Music Videos were unique. All the videos were from the same artist, and everyone danced like a chicken. Now I know you can't judge the dancing style of a country by one artist (how would you think if an Ethiopian only saw Michael Jackson videos?), but I now have Ethiopian chicken-dancing on my mind whenever I heard that music in the car. The cocking of the heads, the pushing forward of the shoulders, the jagged movements - you name it.

At noon the guide came back and told me five o'clock it will be here. Also, the four French tourists now turned into three Italian tourists. At six-thirty there was no sign of anyone, no car, no way out of the house, and I felt they were stalling me to get more money for each night. I felt like I was under House Arrest and I had been waiting to leave for 36 hours now.

I jumped the roof again, with my bag, and 'escaped'! Went first to the car garage and did a half-hearted attempt to get my $10 deposit back. I had $50 on me now to get me to Burkina Faso, and the nearest place where I could cash the Treasury Check for the rest of my trip. The $10 wasn't there, so I considered it a lost and walked out of town at seven at night.

One person stopped me:

"Where are you going?"
"To the river."
"That's 20 kilometers!"
"Yes." I guess he saw something in my expression knowing I was serious because he then started giving me directions of what roads to take. After two more blocks walking he pulled up in his moped along with a car, they would drive me but I'd have to be in back.

I hopped in back and watched the town leave coming from behind me. I felt like I was a escaped kidnapee running to safety.

I realized when I reached the River they were lying to me. Cars were leaving everyday, transport out of the city was easy to accomplish, the prices were set, and the suppose 6:00 car that was leaving couldn't even because by the time I had reached the ferry it had stopped running for the night.

I slept in the streets next to the river.

Well, this is Africa...

2005-08-23T05:58:00.000Z

Day 33
Fri Aug 19
Tombouctu, Mali

At six AM I was up and waiting. By ten the car hadn't showed up and the driver said there was a problem. By ten thirty he pulled up witha different car and I hopped in. What I thought would be a drive out of town turned into a drive around town. For two hours. What were we doing? We'd drive down one street, put the car in reverse, drive in reverse back up it. We'd go into the desert, do a few circles, then head back into town. We'd head to the edge of town, towards the River, and then head back into the main center. We were looking for tourists to fill the car. Four in fact, French. They had already reserved the seats and we were looking for them. They hadn't come back from their camel ride yet.

We eventually tracked them down and I sat down to talk to them. I was called to the car and we got in and left - without the tourists. We headed back to our place for lunch. It was now 12:30.

"We leave at one o'clock, no problem." Mustapha said, "We have lunch first"

Lunch was served at 1:30

2:00 we can't leave because it's two o'clock prayer-call on Friday (the biggest prayer call of the week - similar to Sunday mornings for Christians)

3:30 We can't find the tourists

4:00 Yeah, we're not going today; but we find another car to take - no problem. But how about taking the boat?

He started at $100 and worked his way down to $40, each time I denied it saying I wanted the car. Money was tight and I couldn't afford the boat even if it was $40 (despite the car ride being $30). Besides, if I make it to Egypt taking a boat ride along the Nile is better then a boat ride along the Niger in my opinion.

Other then being in the car for those two hours driving around town I hadn't been out of the house since I didn't want to miss my ride out of the town. A day wasted. I had already paid the $12 for the two nights when they told me I had to pay more since I was staying another day. I argued that I didn't plan on it, and it was in fact, you who promised I would leave today. I got to stay the night for free.

A rainbow over the desert

2005-08-23T05:52:00.000Z

Day 32
Thurs Aug 18
Tombouctu, Mali

A brief history of Tombouctou: The name originates from 'Tom' and 'Bouctu'. 'Tom' means "[water] well" while Bouctu was the name of the woman who owned the well. Near 1000AD Bouctu was a slave owned by a trader. The town started off small, with a few traders coming from the West heading towards Mecca. Eventually the town competited with Gao in the east and Walata in Mauritania for Gold, slaves, and ivory. Bouctu was given her freedom and was also given a water well. She started exchanging buckets of water for little items, and eventually those little items to bigger items, and her name grew as a business woman. "Go to Bouctu's Well", I suspect, was mentioned more often than once. When the popularity of this small trading post grew it's initial camp it was made into a village with the name Tombouctu. By the 14th century it was the place to go to trade your materials. Right on the edge of the northern point of the Niger River and on the southern edge of the Sahara it had a strategic position. It was ruined in 1593 by invaders from Morocco and never truly recovered. The trading posts died, and the town which had hosted universities and scholars dwindled to a village of 35,000 present day.

This is not to say it's dead. There are schools here up to grade 12, a police station, post office, weekly markets, the daily salt trade (during season), and two banks.

My first priority of the morning was to try those banks and cash my Treasurer Check that Peace Corps gave me. Money was dwindling and I needed more. A local kid helped me out, but neither bank would cash my check. I had $100 to last me to get to Burkina Faso in a week. while trying to find the banks, and walking all over town, it rained and poured. I came back to the house around 10 soaking wet to find the room in which my stuff was in was locked. That's nice security, but I want dry clothes. I took a nap on the mattress covered in a blanket to warm up. Two hours later when I woke up I was locked inside! The doors wouldn't open.

I went to the roof, where I pulled a Houdini stunt and vanished. Actually, I just jumped to the next building (they were connected, but different elevation), and walked down to the amusement of the women in the compound. I tried to explain to them that the doors were locked. Eventually they understood and I now had my entrance to get back in set if the doors were still locked.

I was sick. Being caught in the rain didn't help either, but I wanted to tour the city. For the next four hours I explored the market, took the typical "Tombouctu" pictures, had my passport stamped by the police proving I had been there, and even check out the museum where the original well was suppose to be at where the namesake is.

On the way back I stopped at the hotels to find transport out of Tombouctu for the next morning. I found a driver and agreed he would pick me up at 5 am at the arts and craft market. When I got back to the house I told my hosts, who were four people in number, that I was leaving tomorrow. "I am leaving tomorrow" he said, "with the same car you came in with. Come with us, we leave at six." He convinced me to switch to the same car (which, actually, is the custom unless otherwise told. The same drivers drives you in and out). He then contacted the other driver and told him I was going at six with him. I paid the $10 advance to reserve my seat.

Before I had left Sevare I ran into three volunteers who had just gotten back from Tombouctu. Their advice? Don't pay the women to dance for you. They had taken an overnight trip into the desert on camels and the guide asked if they would like the women to dance for them, for $12. They agreed and three teenage girls show up. They sat cross-legged on the sand, bored looked in the eyes and start signing as non-musically as you can with each beat accented by their weak clap as they moved their head side to side an inch. Then they did it in double-time, two pathetic claps per beat.

If you want to see real African dancing, don't pay for it! It's everywhere, for free. It's in the villages, it's in the city, you just have to find them. There you can find men and women dancing wildly, smiles of excitment and friendly challenges made to out-perform them. Their arms flaring off in every direction while the children beat on tin cans and plastic containers and the women who aren't dancing are singing or humming.

In fact, in The Gambia there's a dance competiton every Sunday night where the locals competite for cash prizes. In this type of dancing it just gets crazier and crazier every minute. By 3 o'clock in the morning, the women are dancing with chairs or griding on the floor to the shock and embarassment of the men in the audience. "Did you see that!" can be heard with as much disbelief from men in the crowd as if you had seen an alien land and give you the keys to Mars.

We ate dinner and brewed tea on the roof while watching the clouds go past. The rain had ended a few hours before and a huge rainbow could be seeing opposite the sunset and into the desert to the East. My pot-of-gold laid before me - my destination - if I could reach it.

All the way to Tombouctou!

2005-08-23T05:49:00.000Z

Day 31
Wed Aug 17
Start: Sevare, Mali
Mid: Douentza, Mali
End: Tombouctou, Mali

At 9:30 the next morning the car pulled up. I shared the back seat with an Italian couple named Fabio and Valentinia. They had paid 125,000 CFA each for the ride to Timbuktu, plus the hotel, plus a camel ride, plus a boat ride back. That's $250 each! I was paying $30 just for the seat. I could tell that in some sense they were getting ripped off, since it can be a lot lower - but if you go a little bit lower you disproportionally lower your comfort. The price they were paying was to be in their comfort zone, but still low enough to challenge them (overnight in the desert, for example).

The ride up took ten hours and was not what I expected. For being the legendary middle of no-where I thought sand dune and desert would surround the area. For the last hundred miles of the trip, before reaching the Niger River it was a prairie! I expected little Laura Ingles Wilder to be running through the hills, carrying her school books while Charles fixes the wagon wheel. It was only after we took the ferry across the river did sand start to creep in to the landscape. If you want deserts and dunes, and camel rides - don't go to Tombouctu. Go to Mauritania! We had dunes creeping into the roads, and seeing nothing but desert for hours and hundreds of miles! In Tombouctou you see just the beginning of the Sahara - in Chinguetti you're in it!

Across the river town of Koriume lies the road to Tombouctou, lined on both sides with trees. I felt I was entering Beverly Hills! Twenty kilometers later, and after a month of travelling I entered the middle of no-where.

We took Fabio and Valentinia to their hotel, Hotel Bouctou, which was too expensive for me. (About $12/night just for a mattress on the roof). The driver said no problem and took me to his friend's place within town.

While the tourists were mingling with each other and getting guides to the desert, I was talking to the owner of the house on his roof while brewing tea discussing the salt trade of Taoudenni. This town is about 700 kilometers further north than Tombouctou, near the northern edge of Mali, and has a salt mine. From October to around March every year caravans of salt traders come from Taoudenni (a 16-day journey) to sell their slabs of salt they have on their camels. Each camel has about six slabs weighing about 60kg. The caravans can be as big as 300 camels in one day or as little as just 60. From Tombouctou the salt is sold to Mopti, where it's sold to Bamako and spreads from there.

What I didn't learn from Mustapha, but read in the guide book, was how appalling the work in the salt mines are. You earn $60 for "six months work and are allowed to keep one out of every four bars mined. But they don't bring many back to Tombouctu where they can be sold: The nearest oasis to the mines is a three-day camel journey away and the masters provide water to their workers in exchange for salt. One 30L jug of water costs two slabs."

I slept on the roof watching the stars appear over the Sahara.

The Gambia vs. Russia

2005-08-23T05:47:00.000Z

Day 30
Tues Aug 16
Mopti, Mali

Back at Mopti again. This time to try and find transportation to Timbuktu. I wanted originally to take a boat up and a car back. When talking to the ferry people I was getting hassled too much I didn't think it was worth the hassle so I left. After consulting the guide book they mentioned that if you try and get a boat going up you'll get hassled. Should have read that first. They suggested take a car up and a boat down. Now I needed to find the car park.

Within one hour of finding the car park I confirmed it was the place to get transportation to Timbuktu, asked the price for a seat, proved it was non-negotiable, proved it was the correct price and not a tourist price, reserved my seat and was told to go back to Sevare to the Peace Corps House where they will pick me up on the way out of town. All this in French, which I don't know.

Not knowing whether I had an hour to wait or day I stayed inside for most of the time, telling the guard each time I left that I'll be around the corner getting my meals (street vendors). Since I had a lot of time to spare I started reading the magazines laying around. I was the only person at the house at the time so I MacGyver'd the CD Player to work and read the magazines while listening to Dave Mathews - one of the few CD I could find that I could stand to listen to repeatedly. (Lack of options means same CD again and again)

One magazine I read was "Foreign Policy" July/Aug 2005 edition. A few articles caught my eye. One was an article of instable countries, labelled "The Failed States Index" in which they ranked all the countries based on twelve criteria.

Social Indicators

1. Mounting Demographic Pressures
2. Massive Movement of Refugees or Internally Displaced Persons creating Complex Humanitarian Emergencies
3. Legacy of Vengeance-Seeking Group Grievance or Group Paranoia
4. Chronic and Sustained Human Flight

Economic Indicators

5. Uneven Economic Development along Group Lines
6. Sharp and/or Severe Economic Decline

Political Indicators

7. Criminalization and/or Delegitimization of the State
8. Progressive Deterioration of Public Services
9. Suspension or Arbitrary Application of the Rule of Law and Widespread Violation of Human Rights
10. Security Apparatus Operates as a "State Within a State"
11. Rise of Factionalized Elites
12. Intervention of Other States or External Political Actors

The top five countries?

1. Ivory Coast
2. Congo
3. Sudan
4. Iraq
5. Somalia

On the flight to The Gambia from D.C. we flew to Abidjan as a connection from Brussels to The Gambia. We weren't allowed off the plane. Now I can see why. It's the top failing state in the world.

Another thing that concerned me was Sudan ranking three. If I want to get to Egypt by land through Chad I have to go either through Libya or Sudan. Seeing Sudan ranking less stable than Iraq really sealed the deal. If I can't get through to Libya safely I'll fly.

Here's other's that ranked in:

#7: Chad (The last Peace Corps country on my trip, and in fact the least stable country PC is still in)
#16: Guinea (where I vacationed last year.)
#38: Egypt (my destination)

For Guinea it actually ranked the highest in the world for Human Flight, meaning:

4. Chronic and Sustained Human Flight
"Brain drain" of professionals, intellectuals and political dissidents fearing persecution or repression
Voluntary emigration of "the middle class," particularly economically productive segments of the population, such as entrepreneurs, business people, artisans and traders, due to economic deterioration
Growth of exile communities

And the real kicker? The last three ranked states:

#58: Cuba
#59: Russia
#60: The Gambia

The Gambia is more stable than Russia?! That's a surprise!

The over-all affect of this article: I lived in the 60th least stable country in the world for two years, vacationed in the 16th and 38th least stable countries, travelled to the 7th least stable and flew into the airport of the number one least stable. That's a lot of instability in one's life! The odd part? Mauritania didn't make the cut (stopped at #60, The Gambia) even though they just had a coup two weeks ago.

Another article asked nine countries whether China, France, Russia, Britain, or the US has negatively or positively affected the world. Five of the nine countries surveyed where the five the survey was about. I concentrated on those, and based on just those five countries and what they said about the other four:

1. Every country (of the five) considered themselves to be the best influence in the world -

except the U.S. who voted the UK the best.
2. U.S. was voted the worst
3. France voted the best
4. U.S. was the most opinionated (the sums of + and - for the countries closely added to 100%)
5. Russia was the least opinionated
6. China was the most optimistic of the bunch
7. Britain was the most pessimestic
8. More countries had a viewpoint on the US then any other country
9. More countries didn't have a viewpoint on China than any other country.

That's a lot of mud!

2005-08-23T05:43:00.000Z

Day 29
Mon Aug 15
Start: Sevare, Mali
Mid: Djenne, Mali
End: Sevare, Mali

Luckily Monday was Market Day for Djenne. This helped in two regards for me: transportation there and back in one day was now very easy to accomplish - and the market would add more flavor and colour to visiting this ancient city.

The city itself is south-west of Mopti, and is an island between the Niger and Bani rivers. Like Timbuktu, it was a popular transportation hub in the 14th and 15th centuries. However, unlike Timbuktu, it didn't decline and actually stayed wealthy throughout the next half-dozen centuries.

The most popular thing in Djenne to see? The mosque. Why is it so special? Because it is the largest mud-brick building in the world. The original Mosque was built in 1280 when the king of Djenne converted to Islam (therefore his kingdom did). It fell apart in the 1800s and was completely torn down and rebuilt in 1907. Wooden poles stick out from all sides for an interesting view. This is for two reasons: The wood itself helps the structure withhold its own weight, and second, it helps support the ladders each year when 3000 volunteers help re-mud the mosque.

On top of the mosque, at each corner, is an Ostrich egg perched high above. The original builders asked the spiritual leader at the time how to keep the mosque safe. He said to place an Ostrich egg on top - so they did. It's still there.

I toured Djenne with Alessandra, an Italian woman I met while waiting for the car to fill up. It helped as she spoke French better than I could. However, when we bought a guide it became clear that she understood his English better than his French so he gave the tour in English - good for me.

On the southern side of town in Tapama Dienepo, the tomb of a young girl sacrificed in the 9th century after a local religious leader decided the town was corrup. Her indirect descendants still take care of the tomb 1,000 years later.

Our guide for the afternoon was named Toca, and for $5 each we got him for two hours touring the island. He lived in Wisconsin for a few years for physical therapy. He couldn't walk a few years ago and a tourist couple from the US paid for his entire passage to the US and medical bills for therapy for a year. The couple has never met Toca's family, and he only met them for the same time he met us - a two hour guide of the island. He was in a weelchair before. Now he walks with a limp. He knew Michigan, been to Chicago and Detroit and actually recognized the name Grand Rapids. "Grand - something" he said.

Foosball over an open sewage

2005-08-23T05:39:00.000Z

Day 28
Sun Aug 14
Mopti, Mali

The day after Hassimi dropped me off at Sevare, I chose to explore Mopti a bit; just a fifteen minute taxi ride.

Mopti is the main transport up for upcountry travel. This by bus or by boat, as it lies in the junction of the Niger and Bani Rivers. Tourist boat trips to Timbuktu are common, while bus trips for to other sites usually begin here.

The highway into town divides the town actually into three parts. Ahead of the highway is the vibrant port where fisherman come in everyday, and boats loaded with cargo are shipped to Timbuktu or Bamako. Passenger boats take off frequently when full and can take up to three days to reach Timbuktu.

To left of the highway is the Old Town where very few tourists actually explore. This is where I got lost for a few hours. At the entrance of Old Town is one of the largest mud mosques in the world, although just a day's journey away in Djenne is one bigger. It was built in 1933 and every year they must repatch the lower parts with more mud. The older part of town still has open sewers going parallel to the streets and occasionally you would see women pouring their dirty-water into the sewer, directly in front of their steps. Kids playing foosball are also common, with the game running parallel, and on top of, the open sewers. Kids are on both sides playing their respective teams. I later noticed that the highway the Peace Corps house was on, also had a foosball table - this time on the medium between the two sides. Kids played with no regard for the passing cars (granted, not alot) and the parents didn't mind.

To the right of the highway is the newer part of town with the countries slowest [maybe] and most expensive internet connection [fact]. I didn't know that until afterwards.

When waiting for the car to fill up to head back to Sevare I noticed another car pull up with goats on top. They all looked like they were dead, heads hanging low and swinging to the motion of the car. It wasn't until the driver was pulling them off that I realized they were alive - they had just given up. Pulled by their feet they only 'baaah' when their foot was stuck or when it was an akward position and was in pain.

It was also during this wait I noticed some of the little things between Mali and The Gambia. For one thing: Peanuts. In The Gambia the woman sell the peanuts on the street already shelled. In Mali you have to shell them yourself. When telling the car to stop in The Gambia they take a coin or some metalic object and tap the window. Here they pound once or twice on the roof or side.

When I got back to the Peace Corps House a new addition occured: a VCR! We could now watch a movie. Electricity is very rare in The Gambia for upcountry and so I'm still amazed that in other more 'upcountry' regions of Africa there is reliable power. Goes to show it's the country and not the continent.

Weekly budget report:
Week four ended in spending $238 this week, averaging $34/day (out of budget) within the week, but $18/day (within budget) for the trip. What caused the huge expense for this week? The Visa for Burkina Faso ($50), paying for the hostel staying at Bamako ($24), transport ($20), plus the guide to Dogon Country ($100).

Dogon Country

2005-08-23T05:31:00.000Z

Days 25 - 27
Thurs Aug 11 - Sat Aug 13
Dogon Country, Mali

All doubts to the friendliness of the guide were lifted when he picked us up at the house. The volunteers greeted him happily, told jokes, laughed, asked how his family was (with specific names), and they started talking business of what other things can be down around the house in which Hassimi (his name) might help. He was true friend of the volunteers and not just some random guy. I would pay extra for that added comfort.

He spoke semi-fluent english and told me no problem to being added, I just would have to pay the same as the girls. No discount on all three of us which we all hoped the night before. His younger brother came along and we hopped into his car, nicknamed "Grandma". His brother had quit school, so Hassimi told him he should help him out as a guide. I think after our experience he had enough of toubobs and would go back to school. Unintentionally we made Hassimi yell at him for the most mundane things, which to us was no problem. For instance, he had us wait five minutes one time. He got yelled at for making his (Hassimi's) customers wait. We didn't mind.

Dogon Country is in the South-East region of Mali. He drove us to the first village Bandiagara and started telling us the history of his people. The original settlers of Dogon Country were the Tellem people who lived in the rocks and cliffs. The Dogons believed they could fly since no one could get up there for some time. Before Islam hit the region the Tellem people would 'bury' their dead in the caves - which still to this day you can see the bones and remains of some of their ancestors as we did that first day.

The Dogon people entered the region to actually escape the rise of Islam. They are animist society, and believe in fetishes - similar to modern day Voodoo beliefs of Haiti (although highly distorted by Hollywood to be demonic and evil). Individual houses have a their roof extended with the appearance with a grid of holes, maybe 6 by 4, each one the size of a post-office box. In each hole are some bones, animal blood, or some other fetish that particular family believes would help (or did help) in a particular situation. The holes face outwards and not upwards so from a distance you can see which houses are animist or which are Muslim. Yes, although they tried to run from Islam, it caught up to them. The first person to convert to Islam was in Bandiagara (hence it's importance in the Dogon Country). From within the Dogon community he was able to convert others, as outsiders had failed. Through centuries this has brought a mix of the Dogon people of those who practice Islam and those who practice animist beliefs.

Each day we put our bags in the car and hiked to the next town or village. Sometimes we would hike back through a different route, other times his brother would get the car for him to continue on the trip.

One interesting thing about Dogon religion is their cosmology. As most westerners have a priority towards the northern star, theirs is Sirius, the Dog Star - which is the brightest in the sky. They believe that the divine male named Amma created the earth, moon, and sun. The earth was formed in the shape of a woman, and by her Amma fathered twin snake-like creatures called the Nommo, which Dogon believe are present in streams and pools. Scattered across villages are drawings, made of coal and other material of snakes and crocodiles. For years they believed that Sirius was three stars - two visible and one invisible. The 60-year cycle of the binary star system (now recognized as closer to 50 by modern astronomers - technically speaking (I looked it up) 18295.4 days) is celebrated by the Dogon community with huge masks and ceremonies. The last was held in the 1960s. This is to celebrated their cosmic origin. Interestingly, it wasn't until 1995 that telescopes were able to confirm their three-star system belief. There is indeed an invisible star to the naked eye, but not gravitationally bound to the other two.

On the second day we hiked up a plateau reaching a village on top. This is also a tourist attraction as many other tourists were there as well. The village was broken up into three sections: the Islamic, Christian, and Animist regions. The animists lived behind a small cliff to the side and signs were posted to not cross the area. The tourist camp was set up in the Christian part although the call-to-prayer from the Islam region could be heard.

The hike down covered isolated villages, where animist practices were the norm of life.

One lady we met on the hike was from England. Her job was to work with special education students at the high school. When she isn't helping them she sits in the other classes and acts like a student to the benefit of the other students. She raises her hand, "I don't understand that" and makes the teacher explain it again in a different way. If she feels the students still don't understand she says "I don't understand" again. This irritats the teachers sometimes, but the students really enjoy it. They benefit since sometimes they don't want to be the only person to raise their hand. She causes some trouble in her school, but has fun with it. I told her about "Buzz Word Bingo" she should try on the next faculty meeting. Each faculty member has a Bingo board with different buzz-words in different order (affirminative, brain-storm, consensus, etc.). The first person to get a Bingo wins!

It's hard to due the hike justice, as there are entire books written about the Dogon people, their religion, and their way of life. Hopefully some of these pictures will help.

One Egg - Six Kids

2005-08-23T05:26:00.000Z

Day 24
Weds Aug 10, 2005
Start: Bamako, Mali
Mid: San, Mali
End: Sevare, Mali (near Mopti)

The 12 hour bus ride from the capital to Sevare, where the Peace Corps house was, started out impressive. It was first come first serve with reservations. They called each person by name to enter the bus and to give them your ticket, and it left on time! If only The Gambia can adopt this strategy.

On the way down we stopped for lunch. I bought a hard-boiled egg from a local girl who was selling them, carrying the bowl on her head as she walked by the bus. As she's peeling the shell off it slipped and fell into the mud. She gave a grunt before getting another egg for me. As she's peeling the second egg two younger boys just passively stand next to her staring at the egg in the mud. She gives them an annoying-but approving- sound and they bend down, grabbed the pieces of egg and run off. I watched the boys carry the dirty pieces over to a wall and share that one egg between six other children.

I didn't know why until a week later what the story was behind it. Some families, when their sons are five years old, send them off to a Marabout (mary-boo) which teaches them the Koran. The five year old must fend for themselves for food and for payment to the teacher. When they are not in school, memorizing line after line, they scour the city asking for donations. You can recognize them immediately with their tin can they hold around their neck. This continues for up to ten years, without them seeing their families again. Granted, when they are older they work for the money as oppose to beg - but seeing six children, all less than ten, share one hard boiled egg that fell in the mud shows how little they have.

When I finally arrived at the Peace Corps house, and taking the second motorcycle ride since leaving the Peace Corps (the first was in Bamako after visiting the National Museum, the guard took me home as he just finished his shift), I ran into two Malawian volunteers: Amanda and Annie. They were going to do Dogon Country the next morning and already had a guide set up. However, it was expensive, at 50,000 CFA (~$100) for three days of hiking per person. This was a little higher than usual but other Malian volunteer vouched for the guide saying he was one of the best. Originally I was going to do Timbuktu first and Dogon last but since I would have company I agreed to the price and set up for tomorrow.

The art of the exchange

2005-08-09T18:52:00.000Z

I'm not an expert when it comes to black market exchanges, but I do have my fare share of experience. Here are some things to consider:

1. It is a mutual business transaction
2. There is no BBB for the Black Market.

Meaning? You might get ripped off, as you are taking a chance. It's illegal for a reason!

At the border you will get the worst rates. (Capital cities usually have the best) They are counting on you to be either desperate or ignorant on the current exchanges. Either way they can "legally" rip you off. By "legally" I mean they gave you a quote and you agreed on it. Contract. You gave them the exact amount you said you would and they gave you the exact amount they said they would. That, in my mind, is a legal rip off.

Another way they might get you is to surround you in swarms. Any distraction, especially if money is out, will cause you to maybe lose a bill or two. They then might claim you didn't pay what you promised, or you'll go home to find out that you're missing a few bills. That's an illegal rip off in my mind. And that is the most common.

Don't wear lose jeans. Slippy-fingers over there can get those bills you just put in your pocket. He might not take all of them, as you would certainly notice that before you leave - but a nice big amount which you won't notice until you get home.

Watch for slights of hand, both on the calculator and when counting money. You think since they're doing the arithmetic on a calculator that the values are correct. Watch closely what buttons they push. They do it fast when they want to rip you off, but if its an honest (up to that point) transaction they go step by step with you.

When counting money, did they quick count a bill and then hide it in the other hand, or underneath another stack of bills? If you catch them on it, did they deny it and then proceed to count 'correctly' by also doing a slight-of-hand bringing the bills back. Watch for it. You count their money with them watching and they count yours with you watching.

I always bring my own calculator. That way I can double check their math and also maybe do a little bit on my own. Another good reason for bringing a calculator is that you might not understand them, they might not understand you - but both you all understand money. Numbers talk. Everyone knows what 1000 on the calculator means.

Speaking of talking. I try to get one that doesn't speak English well. Why? The pleas of his family, or that's not a good exchange rates, etc. doesn't affect me then since I don't understand them. I simply go back and forth on the calculator. If he's saying his children haven't eaten in two days (lie - they wouldn't be in this business if it was paying!) you don't know it. You only concentrate on the exchange.

Always know the official rate going in, and have a lower limit of what you will accept. If what they're willing to give you is less than that amount - simply walk away. If they are bluffing they will call you back. Just tonight, when I exchanged, I walked away and they called me back - we bartered some more and I walked away again. They didn't call me back and in fact yelled "See you tomorrow!". I walked out of sight, actually around the block. If they come after you, you called their bluff. In this instance no one came after me so I knew it was a reasonable amount. I continued around the block and met up with them again to continue the deal.

Do each different currency seperately. Start with the lowest ones (in some base currency, such as dollars). Don't confuse them, or more practically yourself, with trying to exchange two or three different currencies at once. Do one, finish it - everyone's happy. Start another. I like starting with the lowest amount (in whatever currency) first since I will accept that at somewhat of a loss to grab them later when I want to exchange more afterwards (and bigger amounts). I can make up for the loss with the bigger amounts later on. It's almost impossible to do it the other way around. Tonight I exchanged 50 Euros first before I started on the 150 Dollars. I lost a little on the Euro exchange, but made up for it on the dollar exchange (with the same person) - and in fact got more than my minimum amount I had in mind at the beginning. Both people finished happy.

If they bring you in an alley there's a reason. What you are doing is ILLEGAL. Of course, some times you can do it right out in front in public, but that's rare. Tonight, actually, we did it right in front of the main bank's window. I could wave to the teller if I wanted too. The good thing about that was I could see the official exchange rates through the window, although I already knew them before.

Talk to other people and see what the typical black market exchange is. If you don't, you don't know whether you're getting a good deal or not. Yes, you might still get more then the bank - but why settle for less when you could get more?

Count the bills. Make sure they are all there in number. Did they take a bill or didn't give you one? Make sure the number of bills are there.

Count the money. Does the money add up right? Did they package a smaller note in a bundle of bigger notes hoping you wouldn't detect the difference. One way to check is to go note by note, aligning them all in the same way with the numbers showing.

Have them increase their first bid first. (Thanks, Nate) With that you can tell how much their willing to go up. Did they increase their bid by 20 or by 2? It makes a difference to how you should decrease your bid.

Don't be mad afterwards thinking you got ripped off, even though the whole deal was honest. If you accepted their offer it was your own fault if it ended up being a bad one. It's a mutual business transaction. You BOTH should be happy at the end. If, during the transaction, you're not happy with the way it's going walk away. Deal over with. A simple as that.

Be confident and only talk business. Walk straight. It helped tonight that I recently got a haircut and just looked like I came from boot camp. If they see that you don't know what you're doing they're come after you. When I get out of the car I love pointing to one of them, who are now surrounding the car, in the back of the crowd. He wants the business, yes, but he's not THAT desperate to be up front shoving the calculator in my face before I get out of the car. I point to him and just walk somewhere, usually a bench nearby. Others usually follow but I only deal with the one person I picked. I picked him, he didn't pick me. If the deal falls through I walk away and pick someone else.

Tonight the exchange went just as business transaction that afterwards we both knew we settled on a price, each had the exact amount the other person said, and no one got ripped off (especially me) that he gave me his business card and we ended on a handshake. His card had a 100 dollar bill printed on it with his face instead of Benjamin Franklin and his contact information where the serial numbers should be. Classy.

Every instance I gave in which they might rip you off actually happened to me at some point. You learn a lot at the school of hard knox.

Trying to find change for a dollar.

2005-08-09T10:44:00.000Z

Days 18 - 23
Thurs Aug 4 - Tues Aug 9
Bamako, Mali

Despite taking a week to get here, I thought I would stay until Friday, get my visa, and head out on Saturday. While talking to other volunteers and the Country Director it became apprarant that it was better to go through Burkina Faso to get to Niger then to go the Eastern route of Mali. By the time I figured that out it was Friday afternoon. Have to wait until Monday morning.

The first few days I just relaxed, by watching TV and sleeping. We watched the entire first season of "The O.C." (27 hours) continuously with only a few breaks. This is usual in PC - if anybody has any new movies or shows from the US it gets played non-stop until it's finished. Very common to watch 5 hour stretches of The Simpsons, The OC, Sopranos - whatever is new to the volunteers.

Bamako is known for people not staying long. Visitors and tourists see the open sewers running parallel to most of the streets, and the occasional smell of it and leave as quickly as they come. If they do that then they truly miss out. Despite Mali being the fourth poorest country in the world (according to the UN), the city is quite nice compared to other capitals. Monuments adorn the city commemorating their independence, world peace, or famous Malian leaders. Surrounding the city are green hills with the Niger River on the fourth side. A few blocks away from the PC Hostel is a French culinary school where Malians learn how to made bread, sweets, and other treats. The building, with it's new look, seems out of place next to older shops and corrugated tin-roof shacks along side it with the local Malian women selling fruits and vegetables.

I met a Guinean volunteer, Amanda, who is here on business. She lives in Guinea, but close to the Malian border. Since they are flying to Niger it was easier for them fly from Mali then Guinea. Each having nothing to do, we invited her Guinean friend to join us to see the top of the hill. The taxi wound it's way up the hill, passing the zoo and botanical gardens on the way up. At the top we were told we couldn't take pictures of the city so we made warning calls (quack-quack!) for each other if a policeman was nearby so we could take a picture or two of the city below.

Looking down you could see the oldest part of the city, with the roofs full of dust and aged - while as you looked further away the newer parts took ahold. Near the bridge, crossing the Niger River, were office buildings a few stories tall and the major highway to the administrative center of town (not located in the old center of town). Just like cutting a tree in half you can see the rings of it's life and it's age, you could see the life of this city by the circles of expansion. No car horns were heard on the hill, just different sounds of African music from distinct regions of the city. Some you could faintly hear as they were echoing from around the hill, but the drumming and pulses reached you.

Down from the hill, as we walked, we entered the zoo. There lions, hyenas, cheetahs, and chimpanzees all slept through the heat of the day with only the ostrich being friendly by trying to bite your hand off.

In the middle of town there's the train station, post office, and craft market. The craft market is where the "fetish" stalls are consisting of dried animal skins, bones, and shrunken monkey heads. I didn't see any monkey heads, but I did see the others with the dozen or so other tourists I saw trying to pick their favorite leather bag or necklace with teeth alongside it.

Sunday afternoon I did my accounting. Week three ended in spending only $74 that week with $13/day over-all. Paying to stay a week at the PC Hostel ($24) and Burkina Faso visa ($50) goes on next week's accounts.

Monday morning was the Burkina Faso Embassy. As I paid for my visa ($50!) they didn't have change. Instead of them owing me, they gave me too much change back and told me I now owed them 200F (a quarter ). They then wrote a note on my visa application to the affect of being void unless I paid the quarter of a dollar. I walked outside to the local stalls to buy a small trinket to get change. They wouldn't accept the 2000F note I had, which was not only the smallest note I had on me but also the same exact note the Embassy had given me. They didn't have change for it. If they didn't have change how was I suppose to get some? After walking around I met a nice Malian who understood what I was going after. As I watched his briefcase of goods he was selling on the street he ran off with my money. He came backa few minutes later with a 1000F note, 500F coin, three 100F coins, and four 50F coins. Brilliant! I gave him a 100F as a thank-you and headed back to the Embassy. They were closed. For lunch. I was told I could wait inside, with the video cameras watching me. I waited for an hour to hand her the quarter worth of money. I pick up my visa today.

Walking back to the main section of town I stopped for lunch at a woman's stall on the sidewalk where you could get a plate of rice for twenty cents. Eating with the local Malians made for an interesting time. They speak Bambara or French, and I speak English with a little Wollof. Hand gestures, exaggerated expressions, and the occasional laughter made an interesting lunch. At one point the man next to me said I should try some of this spice. I asked if it was really hot, by acting it out. He said no and as I put a little bit into my mouth he bursts into laughter as my mouth exploded. Hiccups start to more laughter of the lunch lady and other customers about. To get back at him I took his drink and finished it off handing the empty glass back to him with a smile and a final hiccup.

Tonight I have to reserve my seat on the bus to Mopti. I'm so use to fighting my way to get a seat that having a reservations, when I found out about it, floored me. The ride should be about 10 hours (and about $20) and there's a PC Transit house nearby. Mopti is going to be my base camp for other adventures upcountry. Some include Djenne, where the largest mud mosque exists; Timbuktu of middle-of-nowhere legends, and Dogon country where some of the best hiking in the world exists.

My Burkina Faso visa await for me to pick it up, and the National Museum seems like a relaxing side-trip to end the day. Although I've been eating mostly street food the past week and despite spending $50 on a visa, I think I'll treat myself tonight to a good dinner - in the under $10 range - for my last night in Bamako.

A Marine on Guard has no Friends

2005-08-05T11:29:00.000Z

Day 17
Wed Aug 3
Start: Diema, Mali
Mid: Didjeni, Mali
End: Bamako, Mali [The Capital]

We rode along again for another six hours before something went wrong with the truck. At first I though they were just stopping to let the engine cool but we got yelled at to get on a bus that was waiting. I climbed down and went from a very bumpy, uncomfortable ride on top of a truck to laying across two seats almost falling asleep in comfort (despite the bumps).

Two hours later we stopped in Didjeni for lunch. Another transportation hub. This one because it’s the borderline from paved roads to the crappy roads we were on. I sighed in relief thanking that the worst roads were over with. While, I have to admit, Gambian roads were worse these felt worse primarily because it was for 170 miles of it and it took two days.

While I was enjoying my lunch, history was being made in Mauritania. Two days since leaving country they had a coup. Actual news story:

--
Mauritania coup: New president named

Thursday 04 August 2005, 1:17 Makka Time, 22:17 GMT

The military council that overthrew Mauritania's president on Wednesday has named the longtime chief of national police force as the country's new leader.

A statement by the coup leaders published by the state news agency said Colonel Ely Ould Mohamed Vall was "president" of the military council which toppled President Maaoya Sid'Ahmed Ould Taya.

The Military Council for Justice and Democracy had earlier announced the coup in a statement run by the state news agency.

"The armed forces and security forces have unanimously decided to put an end to the totalitarian practices of the deposed regime under which our people have suffered much over the last several years," the statement said.

The council said it would exercise power for two years to allow time to put in place democratic institutions.

Pledge for democracy

Vall, 55, had served as the national police chief since 1987. Known for being calm and tight-lipped, he was considered a close confident of Taya for more than two decades.

The military statement also identified 16 other army officers who were members of the council.

It pledged to "establish favourable conditions for an open and transparent democratic system on which civil society and political players will be able to give their opinions freely".

"This council pledges before the Mauritanian people to create favourable circumstances for an open and transparent democracy," it said.

Top establishment involved

An opposition leader and a military source said they believed the head of the presidential guard, Colonel Mohamed Ould Abdel-Aziz, was involved in the coup d'etat.

There were reports that some senior members of the military had been arrested but it was not possible to confirm them.

Hundreds of people took to the streets of capital Nouakchott, shouting and honking car horns in celebration after the coup announcement, witnesses said.

Convoys of cars with people hanging out of them shouting "praise be to God" and making victory signs paraded down one of the main sand-blanketed avenues.

Freedom from dictatorship

"There was no democracy here, there was just slavery. We have been freed from a dictatorship," said one man, Bilal, aged around 45, watching from a side street.

"It's like we've been imprisoned for decades. I'm so happy. Change is good. We've been disappointed by the regime," shouted Mohammed, in his early 20s, as he ran down the street.

Police armed with batons patrolled other parts of the city but appeared to be maintaining a low profile, while some streets around key buildings were still sealed off by soldiers, residents said.

Seizing power

Earlier on Wednesday, troops led by the presidential guard took over key buildings in Nouakchott, including the military headquarters, the state radio and television offices, the presidential palace and ministries.

They acted while Taya was in Saudi Arabia for the funeral of King Fahd.

He was later reported to have landed in Niamey, capital of Niger and was received by Niger's President Tandja Mamadou and government ministers.
--

It goes to show how volatile governments in Africa can be. While the UN discourages coup since they are an undemocratic way to change governments, for most part it is for the better of the country. The former volunteer we met from Mauritania, who was friends with the president’s sister-in-law said Taya would be president for life since he was, in theory, almost a dictator. Within two weeks of that statement he was ousted.

I saw nothing approaching a coup since being in Nouakchott, or even in villages and guard posts going out of the country. It was like this in The Gambia. The citizens woke up one day and they had a new president.

By nine o’clock at night I arrived in Bamako without knowing where the Peace Corps Office or Transit house was. The drivers of the taxi helped me and drove me to the US Embassy where the Marine Corporal on guard duty gave directions to where the Transit house was, but the taxi instead took me to the office. From their the guards were very helpful and actually walked with me to the house a half-mile away.

The Guard actually had this posted by him: “A Marine on Guard has no Friends.”

I had been wearing the same clothes, and hadn’t showered, in three days. I took two showers in a row before calling it good. What surprised me was I didn’t fall asleep but instead stayed up all night with other volunteers watching TV. It was the next day I crashed.

I’m in Bamako, and judging my the time it took to get here I’ll be here for a few good days.

A brief synopsis of Mali. One of the truly respected things the Malian government has done was to step down. Let me explain: In Africa, once you have power you rarely give it up. In fact, most presidents become presidents for life or they rig the elections or intimidate the opposition so they always win. Mali used to be a dictatorship, until 1992 when their first democratic election was held. The man elected: Alpha Konare. He was re-elected in 1997. In keeping with Mali's two-term constitutional limit, he stepped down in 2002 and was succeeded by Amadou Toure. By stepping down, he gained great respect from other African countries and the world. He followed the democratic process, which is so rare here and gave someone else a turn to be President. In sharp contrast to many African leaders, he did not change the constitution the night before; but in keeping with the 2002 constitution he helped write stood down.

The country itself it the largest in West Africa and is about twice the size of Texas. 90% of the population is Muslim with French being the official language. The infrastructure is, so far as I have seen, better here than in The Gambia. I’ve seen villagers with television sets, bicycles. (I saw one kid, in Mauritania, with roller-blades!). While walking down the streets I am not hassled by the kids asking for money or candy. They simply walk right passed me as if I’m nothing special. In The Gambia if they see you three blocks away they run after you yelling “Toubob! Give me money!”

Bamako seems like a nice place to hang out for a little bit. Now I just need to find out how to get a visa for Niger. If that doesn’t work then it’s on to Burkina Faso – or, if I can get a Nigerien visa at the border. I have some leisure time to find out.

A very slow ride. 60 miles in 8 hours.

2005-08-05T11:26:00.000Z

Day 16
Tues Aug 2
Start: Nioro, Mali
Mid: Some village in northern Mali
End: Diema, Mali [14 29 N 09 08 W]

I didn't want to spend another minute in this town and I was at the garage park at six in the morning, hoping for the first vehicle out.

Despite being one of the first ones at the garage park and buying a ticket for a front-seat ride (I felt I deserved front-seat for last night, so I could sleep. I was willing to pay extra for it as well). While I waited for my guy to come back with the car other cars came and went to Bamako. Private cars left. Land-cruisers. Buses. Trucks. They all passed. Three hours later my guy showed up saying no car and gave me back my money. I missed all those rides! There was a few I bet I could have gotten for free as well. Fed up I was just going to wave down the next vehicle that crossed.

Ended up bring a truck with ten other passengers in the back. This truck was big though. The back was filled with crates of empty coke bottles, with bags of rice on top of them, with dried animal skins on top of the rice, with the people and the luggage on top of the skin. We had room to walk around, and when we stood up (and hung on) we could see over the driver’s cabin. Two women were also in the back with their babies.

I soon realized I shouldn’t have been too eager to get a ride. The road we were on was comparable to the Gambian roads of pot-holes, unpaved, sand-traps, and mud. It took us eight hours to go 60 miles. The guide books I had not only suggested not using this road but if you must, to used a 4WD or land-cruiser. I looked around. I was in a truck – this was going to be a slow day.

We got stuck (of course!).

For the next two hours the workers dug in the mud trying to get the truck free, with each unsuccessful attemp actually overturning it more. After a while they switched sides to get the other two tires on the ground before trying to get it unstuck. In the mean-time I talked to the owner of the vehicle, from Ghana, whose brother bought him the truck. He now rents it out to people who want to us it to ship items across the country. I didn’t ask why he came along, but it was his truck he could do what he wanted. As we’re talking a 4WD drove past slowly with Europeans in it.
Momodou, the owner, looked at afterwards: “You did not get a ride with them?”
“Why should I?”
“They are white.”

I looked down the road. Being white was inconsequential, the point I was thinking was they have private transportation and can go 5 times as fast as this truck. I watch them speed down the road and then looked at our half-flipped over truck. With that I told Momodou that this was my ride. He was impressed that I didn’t leave them the first time there was trouble and headed for the white-people vehicles.

Throughout the trip, whenever we stopped we would always joke with each other. (I was riding in the back, and being the owner, of course, he sat upfront with the driver, along with two other people).

He would joke that I was weak since I was not helping them dig out of the hole. (The rules actually are that the people who rent the truck are responsible for it, so they were the ones who were digging it out – the one or two others that were helping just were giving a friendly hand. No obligation. The rest all were just sitting)
“If I am weak, you are old!”
“Old? I am not old. I am 45”
“Too old! See, you don’t even help them. Pretty soon you will need a walking stick!”
“No no. I’m hard worker” and he showed me his hands, full of calluses. He then grabbed my hands, flipped them over. “See, you no hard worker.”
“Ah! But I am a teacher. I work hard up here” and I pointed to my head.
We then went on to writing in the sand, on the road, for him to explain Arabic. It was him that explained the numeric writing. Also, we talked about the differences between

Ghanaian (ga-nay-an), someone from Ghana
to
Guinean (gan-ay-an), someone from Guinea

or, even worse

Nigerien and Nigerian

Nigerien (knee-shair-ian), someone from Niger
Nigerian (Ni-gere-ian), someone from Nigeria

They get very fussy if you pronounce Niger as just a shortened version of Nigeria. They are pronounced very differently.

Late at night we reached Diema, a major transportation hub, although being out in the middle of nowhere. Trucks and buses were lining the street, men with their street shops of food, women selling goods. I called PC to see if there was a volunteer here. Nope. For the second night in a row I slept in the streets.

Welcome to Mali - I chose to sleep on the street

2005-08-05T11:22:00.000Z

Day 15
Mon Aug 1
Start: Ayoun el’Atrous, Mauritania
Mid: Kobenni, Mauritania [15 49 N 09 21 W]
End: Nioro, Mali [15 10 N 09 33 W]

Having left Ayoun at three in the afternoon I didn’t think I would make it to Nioro that day. The man at the garage park said he could drive me to Kobenni for 1300UM or to Nioro for 4500UM. I thought those where too much but he wouldn’t budge. Only when the police officer which confirms the tickets was present did I learn those were the legitimate prices. However, I already bought my ticket to Kobenni, since I didn’t have enough UM on me to buy the Nioro ticket. He said he would take 11250 CFA for it; almost 30% mark-up on exchange rates! No thank you.

During the ride I figured out what should be the reasonable payment from Kobenni to Nioro, based on exchange rates; etc. Anywhere from 6000CFA to 8000CFA. Got transport to Nioro for 6000UM so I was happy.

At the Mauritanian-Mali border the guards wanted 1000UM to stamp exit-stamp our passport. I watched as everyone took out their wallets and paid. I took out mine and looked inside. I was down to 700UM. I handed it to him.

“1000UM!”
“700UM” I said pointing to the stack
“1000 UM !”
“700 UM. All gone! No more UM. It’s finished” and I opened up my wallet to reveal nothing. All my Mauritanian currency was gone, none to be saved and my last 700 of it went to pay a bribe. I was let off the hook and he stamped by passport.

I arrived in Nioro after sunset. My first night in Mali ended up being my worst to date. After walking around for a bit trying to find a hotel I managed to get a Malian to help me and we found out that was willing to give it to me for 5000CFA (~$8). I thought that was too much, but with hand gestures and showing me the room it became evident that no single room was available so if I wanted to have a room to myself I would have to pay for both beds.

The room that I had rented consisted of a bedroom and shower room. The beds were just cots with flimsy foam mattresses and a single bullet-holed blanket partially covering them. The floor hadn’t been swept in ages since when I put down my bag there was a puff of dust. In the shower room the manager showed me the shower did in fact have running water; but failed to mention that the toilet didn’t and the bowl itself was infested. The lights to the shower room didn’t work and when I turned on the lights to the bedroom I was electrocuted to the point of almost falling on my knees.

The springs to the beds were broke, so I put the two mattresses on the floor on top of each other and tried to sleep on them. A few things kept me up:
Mosquitos, which has I tried to swat them I unintentionally would get three or four in my hand.
A few cockroaches that scurried across the floor.
Something was biting me in the legs, despite sleeping in jeans.

Tried sleeping outside, but the guards were talking loudly with their motorcycles going back and forth and marijuana smell all over the place.

At three in the morning I left, leaving the money on the table in the room with the key holding it down. From three to seven I walked the streets trying to sleep in a corner, under a truck, and anywhere I could.

Accidental minimization of supplies

2005-08-05T11:16:00.000Z

Day 14
Sun 31st
All Day: Ayoun el’Atrous, Mauritania

I watched in horror as my only bar of soap fell in the pit latrine when I took a shower. Earlier I had given up my towel, shampoo, deodorant, and shaving cream. You don’t need a towel, since the heat would work well. Shampoo, soap works just as well for a few days. Deodorant, I’m not working anymore and most volunteers upcountry don’t use it anyway. Shaving cream, I can borrow someone elses when I get in a capital area (or just use lather from the soap - which I now don't have). So I just had a bar of soap. Now I have none. They had one bar of laundry soap I used for the next day, which was the last shower I had in four days until I reached Bamako. Dirty!

Maddy, the volunteer, took me to her house for lunch which consisted of eating with the family. Think of a normal U.S. bedroom, that’s the size of their living room with no furniture and 14 people watching TV on the floor. TV! She has satellite TV in her compound, in the middle of Mauritania! In The Gambia we rarely even have electricity, here she lives in a mud hut compound with satellite hook-up! Not only that, but in the same room is a refrigerator with cold drinks and ice. With 14 other family member around us we watched a French-dubbed TV Show, and an Arabic soap-opera.

At the end of the day I did a budget count. Average spending per day (so far), including transportation, lodging, food, bribes, and getting ripped off was $15/day.

My dinner was the same as the cats...

2005-08-05T11:15:00.000Z

Day 13
Sat 30th
Start: Somewhere in Southern Mauritania, before Kiffa [16 30 N 11 23 W]
Mid: Kiffa, Mauritania [16 30 N 11 23 W]
End: Ayoun el’Atrous, Mauritania [16 34 N 9 35 W]

After a no-reason-behind-it three hour break in Kiffa we arrived in Ayoun where there was a volunteer where I could stay at. After finally finding someone who know what I was talking about, and knew her I got in contact with her. Just the day before the cell phones where working so I was able to call, but starting today and for the next two days they were down. Good thing I called when I did.

She showed me another volunteers house, which I met in Nouakchott and how I was able to get in touch with her. He said I could stay at his house. She stipulated the only obligation was to feed the pet cat they had. For dinner the cat and I had the same dinner: water and a can of sardines. Different plates.

What's pi in Arabic?

2005-08-05T11:08:00.000Z

Day 12
Fri 29th
Start: Nouakchott, Mauritania
Mid: Nouakchott, Mauritania
End: Somewhere in Southern Mauritania, before Kiffa [16 30 N 11 23 W]

The car ride from Nouakchott to Ayoun el-Atrous on the southern side of Mauritania became my longest car ride to date. 21 hours in the same car. However, we stopped for the night on the side of the rode at some police intersection.

The car I was in had three people up front (including the driver), four plus baby in the middle, and five in the back. Crowded. At the first stop after beginning I bought a bottle of water and noticed that the different elements that were in the mineral water were listed twice: once in english and the other in arabic. I knew I couldn’t figure out the arabic letters, since the words can be translated – but you can’t translate numbers unless you have a different base system (The Wollof tribe in The Gambia uses a mix of base ten and five). For ten minutes I was rolling the water bottle back and forth trying to figure out the arabic numbers. It’s just all pattern recognition. You have a square here, and a square where a seven should be – ah, square is seven – etc.

After a while I asked if anyone had a pen. No one did but someone had a permanent marker in his pocket (!). Even better! Writing directly on the bottle itself I wrote down what I thought was 0-9 in arabic to the amusement of everybody parallel and behind me watching. They started laughing when I got to 3, not so much because I screwed up but because they finally understood what I been doing for the past ten minutes, rolling the bottle back and forth and cross referecing two parts of the bottle. Only made two small mistakes.

ARABIC NUMBERS

Another thing that interested me was the I knew the words were written right to left, but from the water bottle to numbers were written right to left. For instance, 15 would be \ o where I thought it would be o \. This was confirmed a few days later when I on the way into Mali the owner of the truck was Ghanian and therefore spoke English. He demonstrated to me on the road in sand that if they want to write something like

“I am going” in Arabic, it would look like [in English] “gniog ma I” and not “going am I” as I thought. It’s literally read and pronounced right to left. However, if you want to write “I am 25 years old” you would write it as “dlo sraey 25 ma I”. The numbers are written right-to-left, opposite the way you write it! In English it would be like to say “I have 123 paperclips” you would write “I have 321 paperclips” but SAY “I have 123 paperclips.”

In the Wollof tribe in The Gambia, they use base 5 but write it as base 10. ‘68’ is said “five one ten five three”. A few months back Erik and I figured out how they could multiply and divide by five so fast. I highly doubt they do it this way but it “makes sense”

Base 10:
Multiple by 10: add a zero [12 becomes 120]
Divide by 10 (if multiple of 10): subtract a zero [120 becomes 12]

Base 5: same thing
Example: 85 in base five is 320. To divide by 5 (in base five) you subtract a zero so it becomes 32. That number, 32, is the base five representation of 17, which IS 85 divided by 5.

We multiple and divide by ten so easily since it’s what base we are using and we don’t consciously know of the deep mathematics that go into it. I guess the same is true for base 5 in The Gambia.

I practiced learning the Arabic numbers by writing on the water bottle the first 50 digits of pi in Arabic. This is instead of learning the more useful pronunciation of French numbers! For bartering, I use a calculator if they are speaking French. Now if they speak Arabic I can just write the numbers down! In other words, completely useless.

That's a lot of Pita!

2005-08-05T11:01:00.000Z

Day 11
Thursday 28th
All Day: Nouakchott, Mauritania

Today mostly explored the capital, taking pictures and getting lost. I even befriended the owner of a small bread factory; conveyor belts and all, and he gave me a private tour. It was all purely automated, and they made what looked like pita bread, but thinner. When it came out of the oven it was puffed up and the employees had to whack them to get the hot air out and make it flat. He gave me a few for free and as I sat down and ate them I timed the process. They make over 2,000 pita breads an hour. Not bad for a small one-room factory.

I also saw the grand mosque, which after I returned to the office found out I couldn't take a picture of it. Nonetheless, I took one standing on the edge of the corner, without knowing I wasn't suppose to. I went inside, very respectively, into the compound (but not in the actual mosque itself). Men were praying, or lying down, or just relaxing inside. Inside was a hundred times more beautiful then the outside. Grand carpets and intricate patterns interwoven was what they laid on. Tapestries rolled down the walls, while the carvings in the building inside where as detailed as a Parisian Cathedral. Standing at the doorway I was asked to leave.

Another female volunteer said I could stay with her so I treated her to dinner as well before going back to her place. What was interesting was that in order to get into her house you need four separate keys. (The only downside according to her). Four doors, four locks, four different skeleton keys.
Key to the gate of the compound
Key to the building
Key on top of the stairs to her balcony
Key from her balcony to get inside

Unlike the first Mauritanian volunteer we stayed at a week before, she has never been broken into. I can see why.

Customers vs. "Customers"

2005-08-05T09:57:00.000Z

Day 10
Wed July 27th
All Day: Nouakchott, Mauritania

One of the volunteers said I could stay with her for the night and so to thank her I treated her to dinner of her choice. We ended up at this Chinese Restaurant a block away from her house. They had a regular menu and the “Peace Corps” menu. For P.C. you could get maybe a $10 meal for $3 or so. Another interesting thing about this restaurant was that it was a brothel. Their were customers and their were “customers”. We were seperated by a glass partition from the “customers”. One kept on coming in and talking to us in English. The owner and manager tried to get him back inside their area.

“[french] You are drunk. Don’t disturb them.”
“[english] I am not drunk! I am not … wait. Yes. Yes! I am drunk! I am not disturbing them. [to us] Am I disturbing you [before we could answer, to the owner who doesn’t understand English] See! I am not disturbing them. But yes, I am drunk!”

He then bounced back and forth like a ball in a pinball machine trying to find the glass door in the glass partition. It was quite enjoyable seeing how the managers interacted with their two types of customers. They try not to make them interact with each other, but they depend both of their money. They don’t want to kick out the customers since the restaurant makes a significant portion of their profit. However, they also don’t want to kick out the “customers” since they drink the most – in a country where alcohol is illegal for nationals to buy or sell, and so each can of beer is equivalent to $5.

In the end, they tolerate the side-business but try their hardest to keep the actual restaurant respectable. It was quite good food and fun entertainment.

Mauritania trip done

2005-07-28T13:03:00.000Z

Day 9
Tues 26th
Start: Nouadhibou
Mid: Somewhere in western Mauritania
End: Nouakchott

The current road from Nouadhibout to Nouakchott used to not be there. It used to be a 12-hour ride alongside the beach, starting at low tide and racing to get there before high-tide. The road we were on was partially paved, sandy at best, and no road at worst. It took eight hours.

On the way out of town of Nouadhibout we saw signs warning everyone that do not deviate too far off the road or path, as there are landmines. Pictures showed a kid, an explosions (labeled “Boum!”) and then a kid with one leg and crutches. We were 5km away from the disputed Western Sahara territory, although the city was safe enough to have three volunteers.

Our previous contact in Nouakchott was in another town but we met another volunteer he said we could stay with him for the night. We went to the market to buy fabric, before heading out to eat and back to his place.

When we entered he was as surprised as we were. “that’s odd, when I went to work this morning this place was completely furnished.” The room was bare. He was sub-renting his room from the renter who lived there and she had moved out, that day, without notice or telling anyone.

He was kind enough to find us another place while he ran around trying to figure out what happened. He now has to find a new place to stay, since his renter moved out.

The entire weeklong trip: Travel, getting ripped off, accommodations, food, camel rides, oasis overnight, and bribes was less than $150 a person.

The next morning Nate and Erika left for Guinea. From now on I’m solo...

Nouadhibou

2005-07-28T12:57:00.000Z

Day 8
Mon 25th
Start: Somewhere in northern Mauritania
Mid: Nouadhibou [20 54 N 17 02 W]
End: Nouadhibou

Early in the morning we awoke to the early sun being partially blackened by the ore going into the air. All of our bags were the grey color and we got up to just enjoy the morning. As we approached Nouadhibou the Mauritanians two cars over with were throwing something overboard. We watched as they threw a bumper, empty transmission, and other car parts. Throughout the course of about ten minutes they had practically thrown over a whole car. The odd thing was that every piece had to be brought on top at the beginning of the ride.

13 hours and 10 minutes after getting on top, we got off. My face looked like a raccoon, despite being completely covered by the turban, and there were black iron pellets stuck in my front teeth which made everybody laugh when I smiled. A taxi brought us directly the our hotel, while we tried to call the three volunteers we had contacts for in Nouadhibou. None of them worked. Hotel is was then.

After showers, checking e-mail at an internet café, and eating lunch, we went to the market to chec out the city some. On one silver shop the owner showed the addresses of three Gambian volunteers that had passed by just a week before. In the middle of Mauritania at a random shop we met someone that not only interacted with Allison, Mary and Michelle but had their contacts in their own handwriting. It was neat to see that connection.

Before it got too hot we started on our laundry. I threw away the pair of jeans I wore on the train while Nate paid the hotel staff to clean his. We did all the other shirts by hand. It took three washings before the iron coming off our clothes was an acceptable minimum. Two hours later our laundry was hanging to be dried.

While Nate took a nap, Erika Ulf and I went to find some fish for dinner. We bought a ½ kilo of tuna and ½ kilo of some other fish for a total of $3.

We now knew what other volunteers had said about he train: “I’m glad I did it, but would never do it again.”

Before going to bed we said goodbye to Ulf, as he would be spending a few more days n Nouadhibou before heading to Morocco. The next day would be our last together, heading back to the capital.

Also, we settled all money accounts. They paid me back for their share of the trip in either CFA (good in six countries) or Euros or USD. I then bought their remaining UM from them since I was staying a few more days longer in Mauritania.

On top of the Train!

2005-07-28T12:47:00.000Z

Day 7
Sun July 24th
Start: Somewhere in the desert
Mid: Choum [21 11 N 13 03 W]
End: Somewhere in northern Mauritania

This being an almost impossible day of travel, time wise, we got up and left the oasis at 6:30 in the morning. Two hours later we were back in Chinguetti, after riding the camels back and watching our guide and Mahommed walk the ways again. Not knowing whether we could make it to the train in Choum by nightfall or not, we were trying an almost impossible task of getting three different modes of transport in one day, all separated by hours of riding.

At the car park we met another traveler, Ulf, a 22-year old German who after finishing High School just traveled to Australia, then to Africa and was now heading home through Morroco. He had spent five months traveling through Africa with three of them in Ghana. His German was fluent, which made Erika happy since she also knows German, and his English and French were understandable. We had another guide!

We rode on top of the pickup again, on top of all the luggages, for the ride to Atar. At Atar Nate was almost kidnapped by a Wollof woman who was so happy to meet someone who spoke Wollof that she grabbed him and rushed him to her shop, all the while jumping up and down and speaking a thousand words a minute.

A few minutes after arriving into Atar we got real lucky and had transport to Choum, where the iron ore train would meet up with us. For what we thought was less than the ticket cost, we had rented out the back of a pickup to ourselves (with no luggage to sit on top) and he would leave now to Choum. The driver and two passengers were up front while we were all in the back, the four of us.

This was the hottest part of the trip to date.

For three hours we were in the back of the pickup in the hottest part of the day going across the desert; the landscape changing from lunar to martian to Arizona badlands. At some points the ‘road’ didn’t exist and we were going over small rocks and boulders. Once they had to ask for directions. We all had our turbans on, but even the sun was getting to us. My arms were sunburnt with the hair on them bleached white. Others were as well. We drank all our water in the first two hours and didn’t have any more until they stopped for a break and shared theirs which I had been sitting on and didn’t know. They let us fill up all our canteens and bottles.

We were all dehydrated, hot, sun burnt, and tired – all from three hours in the back of the car.

Choum reminded us of the old wild-west ghost towns. Very few buildings and train tracks alongside the town. We had been very lucky so far with transport and now were going to make the train tonight. We had some dinner (dried rice with no flavor, shared by all) and bought supplies to last the night on the train.

At six-thirty the iron ore train arrived and we had five minutes to climb aboard. Enough time to take pictures and get comfortable. The train is supposedly the longest in the world at 2.3 kilometers in length. The four of us shared an entire car to ourselves. You could pay to ride, in the passenger car, but it is usually crowded and you have to fight to get a seat. Or, ride on top for free!

The iron ore was like a big sandbox, just much dirtier. It wasn’t big sections of rock, but fine grains. The Mauritanians a few cars over gave us a huge tarp to use as cover (cover the iron dust, not ourselves - basically to use as a mat), which we gladly appreciated.

I safety-pinned my turban to completely cover my face as the train accelerated to about 20 mph. The wind was blowing the ore into our face, bags, clothes, shoes and in every open area. For dinner, we used Ulf’s small gas burner he had brought and made some tea while eating the driest sandwich to date: stale bread with sardines and onions with no sauces for taste.

The train stopped only briefly at hours 4,6,7,10.5 before arriving at Nouadhibou after 13 hours travel.

Around 10pm the train stopped, at hour four, and kids in the village were selling everything from bread, snacks, camel milk (which we bought), and coke to the “passengers” on top of the ore. Flashlights were used to see the items and the money.

I was quite amazed at the physics of the trains as well. I took a small clumped up section of the iron ore and watched it fall off the train to explode upon impact. In the 1600s there was an argument that the Earth can’t be moving since if you dropped something, and if the Earth was moving, that the item would fly off and not land at your feet. Since that doesn’t happen Earth isn’t moving. Wrong argument. Galileo was the first to see the reason why. If you drop something, that item is still going the same speed of that the Earth was going before it dropped and it seems to be dropping in a straight line.

I tested it on top of the train. With one eye closed I peered over the train and dropped a small pellet. I had it lined up originally with a vertical pole going up the car. Other than air friction it followed that metal pole all the way down before hitting the ground and exploding as we passed the explosion. It had hit the ground going 20 mph horizontally (speed of the train) and 24 mph vertically (gravity). It exploded since it hit the ground going over 30 mph at almost a 45 degree angle. It was quite an explosion too! Watching the dust go in every direction! I ended up getting bigger and bigger clumps just to watch the explosion. The few pennies I had wasted the iron company was nothing compared to the tons of iron that was flying off every second from the 2 kilometer long train going 20mph.

I then took my compass out and walked around the car watching the compass go haywire with all the iron ore around. Fascinating!

These are the types of experiments that freshmen physics students should do! Go on top of a train at 20 mph and see for yourself Galileo’s postulate and his reasoning. Although I knew it would work, the only “experiment” I had seen for that effect was just computer simulations in class. It makes it all the difference when you actually see it firsthand (Especially on top of a speeding train in West Africa at night!)

Einstein, himself, had constructed his Special Relativity theory by doing thought experiments of riding on trains and what happens to different viewpoints.

As we passed another train I counted the cars. 147 give or take a few. I could swear I counted more cars on a trains before in the US as a kid waiting for them to pass. But, according to the Guinness World Records these are the longest trains.

During late in the night I had to go the bathroom. What to do? If you urinate off one side of the train it’ll come right back at you at 20 mph. No thank you. Off the sides and you splatter the people in the next car. Nope. Did the next best thing: went in the corner of the car and kicked some ore on top of it.

We all went to sleep around ten after the longest day of travel we had, stress wise and being exhausted. All of our water that we had filled up, including Ulf’s 5-liter jug was gone – either used to make pasta on the train or drunk. We slept until morning.

Camels

2005-07-28T12:30:00.000Z

Day 6
Sat July 23rd
Start: Chinguetti
Mid: Chinguetti
End: Somewhere in the desert

Early in the morning, after we had moved everything back down from the roof, Jeff showed up and we started chatting of what to do. It was getting later in the morning, so if we were going to do something we better get going else we’d be walking in the heat of the day.

One thing I was interested in seeing was the old libraries. We met up with one of the owners, which was actually an extended family member of Sidi and agreed on a time of noon to see his family’s library collection. There are only 12 family libraries in Chinguetti, with only four of them open to the public for viewing.

Jeff took us to the newer part of town where we could check out the market. It only consisted of one block on one side of the block with about five stalls. This was not like a market in The Gambia or Dakar. Nate and I wanted to buy a turban so Jeff took us to a store to barter. We each bought three meters of black fabric for 200 UM / meter. A grand total of $3 for each turban. The store owner helped us wrap it around our heads and to get it on tight. There are many ways to wrap a turban. Some wrap it such that your mouth is not showing, others just wrap it on their head so their entire face is showing.

We continued walking around the village, checking out the old infrastructure and architecture. Most buildings, in the old part of town had collapsed, but a few were still standing and some people are still living there. The image of rooftops covering in sand and mud was destroyed in a way by seeing satellite dishes on some. Hey, even Mauritanians love their MTV! After lunch we went back to the library and had to wait for the owner to show up as promised.

He opened up his library and we were told to come in. The entrance just let to an open air room where another door laid. He opened that one up with a key that looked more like a meat-pounder than a key. It had metal prongs sticking up, and you had to insert the key just right into the slot for those prongs to grab the lock. The format of the key, which is centuries old (if not older) is the precursor to computer cards and player-piano rolls of music. He demonstrated that the key is not a toothbrush for a joke.

The first room of his library at first was a disappointment. I saw modern textbooks of English, high school mathematics, and recent journals. This was not what I was expecting, but he sat down and explained that since no public library system exists, the family libraries – in part – become public libraries. These books are for anyone to borrow or to read. The private collection, which we would see , has his older books which no one can “check-out”

Crossing the open air room again and backtracking he lead us to his private collection. There he showed us books as old as 1300’s, all of them in protective sleeves and binders. He showed old writing utensils, and how they could write evenly across the page by using string as a guide, a precursor to today’s lined paper.

One old paper he showed us fascinated me and I instantly recognized it. It showed four interlocking circles and represented the path of the planets around the earth (still in geocentric theory, and the path of the earth can be seen as an outlier of the other circles) It was written in Arabic.

We exited the library and went back to Sidi’s house to wait for the camels, which should arrive around four. Nate and Erika went with Jeff to get supplies for the night while I watched the bags. After a little while I thought I could hear Chewbacca from Star Wars outside. I went outside to see three camels tied to a tree and our guide preparing to get ready. His seven-year old son would come as well, to serve as a guide. When the rest of the gang showed up Jeff argued that a seven year old could not possibly be a guide and we should not pay for a second guide. The father agreed but Mohammed would come along as well.

Although the camel’s legs are like any other four legged animal, the sit down in an odd motion of going back and forth. You must step on their feet and then their back to get on, and then hang on as they rock back and forth to get back up. Sort of like riding in a rodeo.

We would be going to farthest oasis, about 15 kilometers away. Sidi said he would come along as well, which was a pleasant surprise since his English would help tremendously with understanding the guide. On the first hill, which we were still walking alongside the camels and not on yet, the last camel was stubborn and wouldn’t go down. His nose ring was attached to the second camel and the pull caused the nose ring to come off completely by ripping through his skin. Blood was splattering everywhere and the camel ran away. Our guide chased after him and caught up to him, with putting a new knot along his mouth. We asked Sidi if this was common, and he responded in the affirmative and showed us the noses of the other camels, with gaping holes in their noses where previous nose rings had been ripped off.

The oasis was 10 miles away and took two and half hours to get there by camel. Mohammed, the seven year old, walked the entire way barefooted with occasionally wearing his flip-flops. We were impressed by a seven-year-old walking 10 miles without complaining and made sure to have Sidi translate our impression to him, which he took with a smile.

I had the camel with no padding on the seat. I thought I wouldn’t have any kids afterwards. Going uphill you had to lean forward and downhill lean backwards. We wore our turbans to protect us from the afternoon heat and the occasional sand blowing.

At the small oasis, which was nothing like Terjit (we found out the water was pumped in as opposed to being a natural oasis) we met his wife and other “bush people” who lived there. At the camp sight we laid everything out and got ready for dinner. Our guide and his son started making Atai (green tea) for us, while his wife took little trinkets out for sale. Sidi was in back mixing flour, salt, and water to make bread. As he was kneading it the wife took over and went at least three times as fast and finished making the dough in less than a minute. She then lit a fire with coals and moved the fire over, so that only the sand was hot. She placed the dough on top of the sand, covered it with more sand, and then placed the coals of the fire on top – and then went back to selling her trinkets.

Less than an hour later we had the densest loaf of bread I’ve ever had in my life. We shared our soup we made with Sidi and Mahommed while his father made pasta for themselves as well.

We slept under the stars with the camels by our sides.

Chinguetti

2005-07-27T20:00:00.000Z

Day 5
Fri July 22nd
Start: Terjit
Mid: Atar [20 25 N 13 03 W]
End: Chinguetti [20 20 N 12 22 W]

Today was the 11th anniversary of President Jammeh’s presidency in The Gambia. I can now picture it in The Gambia, signs saying “Celebrating 11 years of Progress and Prosperity”

We told the kids what time we wanted to leave in the morning, but they weren’t around and we were still locked in. Nate climbed the fence and met an old man on the other side which had a set of keys. Figuring the man and kids were in the same family we showed him the money and he eagerly took it. Whether the kids knew we paid or not we would never know. Maybe they might have taken a cut for themselves and given the rest to the family if we didn’t give it to the old man.

For a half hour we walked down the path to the intersection of the main road to Atar before being picked up by a pickup truck. The roads at parts we could tell were impassable the day before, and some were barely passable now with the pickup. Even before he got picked up we walked across two small streams that weren’t there a day ago.

The driver said he would drive us all to Atar for only 1000UM a person ($3.50), we agreed. At Atar we thought we were being scammed into an expensive ride until we met a Mauritanian teacher who worked in Chinguetti (where we were heading that day) who spoke just enough English to tell us the names of volunteers living in Chinguetti. Usually you don’t know it, but you give their names first and someone will say “Oh, yes, I know Jack!” and scam you somehow. This teacher named both contacts we had without any prompting from us, and his receipt had the same cost we did. We thought he would be a good guide and show us where one of them lived but he left for another ride.

Before he had left we talk to him for a little bit concerning what we did in The Gambia. He taught at the Elementary School in Chinguetti. Nate had trouble again with the bee part, so out came a book I borrowed from one of the staff members. “Picture wordbook in English, French, German, and Arabic”. For over a thousand items this small book shows a hand-drawn picture of the item and then on the four corners of the box for the pictures has what that item is in the four languages. It doesn’t help much for German, but the French and Arabic is great for an Arab country. We found “bee” and showed him the picture, with the French being “une abeille” and the Arabic being something that can not be produced here on an English keyboard.

I borrowed the book primarily for those types of reasons, to get points across or to illustrate something I need. However, there’s one drawback in the book. It’s not meant for travelers. It doesn’t have bread or water, but if I ever want to meet the Mauritanian Astronaut I know can write down Astronaut in Arabic. I can’t mail a letter home, but I can use a microscope on the space shuttle. Believe it or not, the first African Astronaut was actually self-funded: Mark Shuttleworth of South Africa.

Erika and I went to get some lunch while Nate watched our bags. As were buying little fried bread I saw through a window to a shack kids playing Super Mario Brothers on a Nintendo! Things you would never expect to see you see! Just because their houses look like run-down shacks, the roads are dirt, the children have used clothing does not mean that they don’t have money. You’ll be surprised what you find in those shacks made of corrugated tin.

When we got back to the car garage Nate was on top of the luggage which was on top of the back part of the truck. We were going to ride on top of everything while holding on. Erika and I climbed on top the six or seven feet and took our place, along with six other Mauritanian men, along with all our luggage and bags of rice. A few blocks down the road we picked up Francisca, a Malian volunteer also vacationing in Mauritania. She was half French and half American, so she helped a lot when it came to communicating to people in French along the way.

For the three hour ride Francisca, Erika, Nate and I talked about Mali, Mauritania and The Gambia. She asked if it was all right to take pictures of the other passengers for us which they agreed. The most eager to have his picture taken would be a dentists’ dream in the U.S. Crooked, yellow teeth – of those which we present. Huge gaps separating other teeth and even a few hanging on by roots. After the picture Nate asked if I got him smiling.

The view from Atar to Chinguetti changes dramatically, from desert to plateaus to climbing up huge hills and having to go around them. And here we are riding on top of the truck going around curves going up the hill. There’s a few good pictures among them. After the cliffs the road leveled out and we continued along our way. A half-hour later we passed what looked like an airport runway, but it was just dirt. I was, at this time, sitting on top of the driver’s cabin facing the other way and was able to see the sign saying it was an airport.

We arrived in Chinguetti exactly at two o’clock in time to see everyone coming out for the two o’clock prayers required by Islam. Chinguetti is split into two sections, the old region dating from 1600AD is across a dried river bed from the section of town we were arriving in which was founded in the 1960s. The original Chinguetti, dating from 700AD, has long been covered by the sand a few kilometers away. No one has seen it in centuries. Despite the fact that the original city is hidden, the old city is now considered the seventh holiest city of Islam. Mecca is number one, followed by Medina. The others are Jerusalem and Cairo. The reason for Jerusalem, which you might think is a Christian holy site, is that Islam also believes in Jesus – as a prophet and not the messiah. Judaism believe Abraham was the last prophet, Christianity believes Jesus was, and Islam believes Mohammed was. Just like the Bible is the Torah plus the New Testament, the Koran is the Bible plus some additional parts about Mohammed. The books in the Koran are in a different order than in the bible; actually the order of the Koran is by longest chapter to shortest chapter irregardless of chronological order. Since the Koran is memorized (literally, there's schools specializing in the memorization of the Koran) they found it easier to put it into poetic verses, which meant get the hard chapters first. Other than an opening brief paragraph (which counts as a chapter) proclaiming Allah the one true god, the first chapter is labelled "Cow", "Family" is number two, followed by "Women". The shortest book (and hence the last at 114)? "Mankind"

Chinguetti used to be on the main route for follows to make their pilgrimage to Mecca. This stop over made is a holy site throughout the ages. Although being a holy city for Muslims, it is quite the tourist spot. The airport we saw earlier coming into town serves for the European tourists who come in. Each person off the plane gets a turban, just like tourists in Hawaii get a lei. The original town had up to 12 mosques, and was the home to over 20,000 people. Now, only 4,000 live here.

After dropping supplies off he drove around trying to find the volunteer’s house. We tried everything from “Peace Corps” to “Corps de la Pais” to “White Person” to “American” No Avail. Finally he came upon a house which he says he lived here, but he’s not living there now. That didn’t help. A Mauritanian boy, named Sidi (pronounced C-D), came up and in almost perfect English asked if we were looking for Jeff. Jackpot!

He wasn’t in, but Sidi took us to a small restaurant where we could get some food and water. As were waiting Jeff showed up. He knew we were in town by going to his house and seeing three different sets of Chaco’s treks in the sand. He followed them until he found us at the restaurant. Although we had the right house, he was in fact, not living there at the time. We walked into Sidi’s house instead. More correctly, Sidi’s Hotel. It was Jeff’s old house, that Sidi (at 19) bought from the renter, fixing it up, and is renting it out to tourists. The night we stayed there he was making the sign. There was one big room, enough for maybe a crowded six mattresses, but there was three.

Nate and I walked up to the ceiling of his hotel, using the dried mud bricks that made up the stairs. In the distance, right outside the city, the dunes lifted up to the sky to over 20 meters in height. You could see people on top either sitting or just standing, pondering or meditating.

Francisco was feeling worse off, probably due to heat exhaustion; so we tried to find ice for her. None was found in the old part of town, although some could on the newer part. Wet towels were given to her to help, and more water to drink. She was determined to do a camel ride in the morning.

We chose to do ours the next evening and sleep over in the desert.

We slept on the roof with the desert wind blowing over us keeping us cool.

Trying to get out of the Oasis

2005-07-27T16:24:00.000Z

Day 4
Thurs July 21st
Start: Terjit
Mid: Terjit
End: Terjit

Time to explore the region! Both Nate and Erika are geographers from school and Erika is also a geologists. We climbed passed the rocks to the oasis and higher into the outer region to look down. Erika told about what she could tell from the rock patterns of the formation of this region while Nate gave a geography lesson of desert geography. The dunes we could see in the distance with Erika explaining their shapes and how they form. I have an interesting picture of Nate holding his GPS unit to figure out the coordinates of Terjit, while Erika is holding my compass with a hand glass to identify rock crystals. Following the scientific route I began to throw rocks.

“What are you doing?”
“Throwing rocks.”
“Why?”
“Gravity!”

Although it was joke, there is a deep implication of inertial mass (the mass you feel when you push something) to gravitational mass (the mass you feel when the object falls). To this day no one can prove they are the same! Even Einstein had to assume it to get his General Relativity theory. I began dropping rocks down the cracks of the boulders and watching the interactions: it falls, it bumps into a bigger rocks that inertial mass, then it falls again, gravitational mass. They should be equal, but can it be proved? I think so.

For a few hours we hiked up the boulders getting higher and higher. At the top the oasis could be covered up by your hand. Looking around you feel you were in Arizona or some other rocky place. Except for the occasional camel you saw in the distance.

A French family was also hiking the cliffs and their guide pointed out a snake. We each took a picture of it and just watched it for a while. It never moved. The French family did, they moved on, but the snake did not. Was it dead? Don’t know. We didn’t want to take pictures of a dead snake that’s nothing impressive. With a very good distance away I threw small pebbles around it. Nothing. On the last pebble it snapped up and struck the small pebble coming at it, a good fifteen feet from us. It’s alive. We left and headed back down.

We had a problem to figure out, of when to leave and how. We wanted to make it to Atar, which was about an hours drive north. The only cars going there were coming from Nouakchott and it would take all day to reach the intersection. If we reached the intersection by around 3pm that would give us enough time to catch a driver going to Atar. We had a few volunteers living in Atar which we had contact information for from the Mauritanian Peace Corps office, so finding a place to sleep wouldn’t be problem.

With a few hours of doing laundry by hand, and waiting for them to dry, we decided to leave the oasis today and try to reach Atar by nightfall. Patrick assisted in the money transaction to paying for the night’s stay and walked with us to the village right outside the oasis (which actually is Terjit, but most people know the oasis as Terjit).

In the village, as Patrick is trying to buy cigerattes, Nate’s talking to the truck drivers, the village children and women are distracting Erika and I by putting Henna tattoos on her hand, to go through our bags. They didn’t get very far as Nate rushed over and grabbed them. Only the top of one bag was partially opened.

In the distance we saw a storm approaching and was wondering what to do. We could either take cover and lose possible transportation out of town, or wait alongside the road for transportation but get soaking wet. Erika convinced us to go inside. The wind started blowing harder and the sand blew in our face like tiny needles. I had to look down, while having one hand covering an ear and because of the wind had to walk at an angle else I go with the wind. The sand-storm was blowing in people’s houses and our entire bags were covered with dirt and so were faces.

It started raining as we were heading back to the village from the road. We took cover behind some guy’s house which had corrugated roof and every drop could be heard. The roof was held open by pieces of wood. In the corner we had our lunch: Sardine sandwiches and Twizzlers. A few minutes later we heard commotion and followed the Mauritanian village men outside. Nate and I watched as a water flowing down from the plateaus was reaching the village. A small river was being formed right in front of us. We took pictures before going back to the shelter.

Fifteen minutes more commotion. Another river had formed on the other side of the village and the two were now combining to forma small flash flood. All the men were running around with shovels to the meeting point. I raced up a small hill to take a few pictures. On top of the hill were women watching the men and when they saw my camera they did the opposite of what they usually do if men were around. They showed their faces, smiled, and asked for the pictures taken. I took a few of flood and then a few more of the women next to their straw-and-mud huts. In one hut every single woman came out and stood in a line to have their picture taking in the rain.

My camera broke. It wouldn’t shut, the lens was exposed to the elements and I had to hold it tight so no rain or sand could get in. When I got back to the shelter even Nate and Erika couldn’t close the lens, they couldn’t rotate the dial to close it. Eventually, after hours of playing with it I got the dial to rotate using my leatherman as leverage. Going back and forth I was able to get the gears working again and the sand out. But for a day or so every time I wanted to take a picture I needed to pull out the swiss army knife and use the ice pick to rotate the dial to turn it on. The camera is fine now.

When the rains stopped we went back to a small hotel which a fifteen year old boy was running, well, more correctly, had the keys to. We figured out a price by writing in the fresh wet sand which the kid eagerly agreed. We wanted dinner for three and mattresses to sleep on for one night. Agreed. In the middle of the compound there was a big storage room which we felt was the best place to sleep. The rooms were too stuffy and outside it would rain. They brought big mats down for us to lay on, and even mattresses that were wet. The pillows were only half-wet. With only having a sardine-sandwich that day we ate all but three bites of the food bowl they put in front of us. These food bowls are big enough for a whole family and us three ate it all. The kids finished it up and locked us in.

We couldn’t get out. The compound was locked from the outside, although we could walk around. We suspect it was more a security concern for them, but we wanted some drinking water from the shop around the corner.

The sleeping arrangement was settled: A burrito. Our bags would be the meat and we would be the toppings. The mat was long enough to wrap around all of us, so we all three laid down with all of our bags to my right and I grabbed the other end of the mat and passed it down. Peace Corps Burrito.
We were cold, wet, but full from food. We went to bed at eight o’clock.

Arrived in an Oasis

2005-07-27T16:23:00.000Z

Day 3
Wed July 20th
Start: Nouakchott [18 07 N 16 02 W]
Mid: Akjoujt [19 41 N 14 24 W]
End: Terjit [20 12 N 13 06 W]

To thank Marc for his hospitality we went out in the morning and got two soft drinks for him and left him a note while we headed out for the garage park to get a car to Atar. At the park we met a former volunteer from Mauritania named Bridget Fox. She had served from 90-92 and worked in Peace Corps DC for a few years. She was friends with President Taya’s sister-in-law during her service and was coming back to visit them. As it turned out one of her fellow volunteers while she served is now the PCMO, the medical officer in charge of all volunteers and staff in country.

Along the road, in Akjoujt we stopped for lunch. It consisted of taking our shoes off, entering a room with mats on the floor and being served one bowl of rice for the four of us with tea afterwards. The stall next door had coke and soft drinks with a few fruit. We asked how much the apples on display was with the owner writing down “K=700”. One kilogram of apples for 700 UM, or about $2.50 a kilogram. I don’t know how much apples are the US, but it was a good deal for being in the desert.

Although we paid the full route to Atar we were stopping at Ain Attaya to go a different direction to Terjit, the desert oasis. At the intersection the guards were telling us we had to go to Atar and get a private vehicle to Terjit. Just from the intersection alone to Terjit was 10 miles. Bridget helped with the French while we agreed to just walk the 10 miles. The guard told us some French guy left about 15 minutes ago to do the same thing. Maybe we would reach up to him. Five minutes into the walking the trail, with plateaus on each side and desert shrubs ahead, we were picked up for a free ride. We sat in the back of the pickup

A few minutes into the ride we passed the French guy, named Patrick, who had a free ticket to Africa and decided to go along. He spoke French and some English and helped us a lot when it came to prices while we were in Terjit. You really don’t expect to see an oasis in the middle of the desert, but turn a corner and there’s palm trees full of dates, a small stream, children running the water, a small pool, women in full clothes talking in a circle, while the men played cards enjoying themselves. Tents were set up, with no walls, and just a ceiling. The creek was near a cliff going up and following the contour. For upper-middle class Mauritanian’s this was their vacation spot. I watched the men play cards some, and was surprised to see one with a hearing aid – as even glasses are rare in The Gambia.

After dark the Mauritanian tourists leave, since you have to pay for visits, day visits, and night time sleep overs. They would drive down the road and sleep elsewhere and come back the next day. The charges were per person. 1500UM, about $5/day and $5/night to stay at the oasis per person. Food was an additional $5/person. We ate what Patrick couldn’t eat from his dinner.

It was a long day and after a few hours of swimming and relaxing we brought our the mattresses and played cards for a few hours while the creek was at our feet, the moon above us, the date trees surrounding us and the cliff to our backs. We fell asleep in the cool open air of a Saharan oasis.

In Mauritania

2005-07-27T14:56:00.000Z

Day 2
Tuesday July 19th
Start: St. Louis, Senegal [16 01N 16 37 W]
Mid: Rosso [Senegal / Mauritania border] [16 30 N 15 49 W]
End: Nouakchott, Mauritania [18 07 N 16 02 W]

We got bright and early at six and headed out. We knew from reaching the border we would get ripped of from the exchange and so we wanted just enough to exchange to get us to Nouakchott where, hopefully, a volunteer could help us get a good deal on the black market. I have American dollars and with a quick calculation $50 would be more than enough for us three to get from the border to 127 miles to the capital. Up until this point Erika had been keeping track of who spent what amount and for what, so later we could pay each other back. For instance, I had zero CFA on me for Senegal. Both of them had to pay for me for the days travel through the country. However, they had plenty of CFA and no Mauritanian Ouguiya (pronounced you-gee-ah). I would pay the $50 to get to Nouakchott, exchange enough US for everyone for the week and they would pay me back at the end of the trip in CFA which was valid for the next two countries I planned on going anyway.

We took a taxi to the garage park, about ten minutes away, where we got a car going to Rosso – the border town between Senegal and Mauritania. Getting into the car we headed back the exact same way we went and actually passed our hotel. The ride up to Rosso was an hour and a half. In that time, as I was looking at the meters and gauges at the drivers side and I realized only one worked. The gas gauge. He had no idea how fast he was going, how many miles the car had, how hot the engine was, how many revolutions the tires were making. Nothing. Only the occasional: We need more fuel. All others were secondary. If cars are passing you, your going too slow; if your passing other cars your going too fast. I was trying to determine if there was a car somewhere in Africa that had more miles on it that the record in the Guinness World Records. Your piece of junk car in the US would easily last another ten years or so here, with all the MacGyver mechanics they do to keep it running.

Every 5km there was a stone marker on the road which I could use to estimate how fast we were going. About 50 mph, or about four times faster then any car in The Gambia. During the ride Nate started talking to the guy sitting in front, asking what certain plants were we saw on the side of the road. They ended up being sugar cane fields. The guy and his wife worked in Rosso, on the Mauritanian side, and were heading there now. They helped us out at the border a great deal and we tipped them at the end.

The cars we were in are called ‘set-place’ for seven-seats. In the US, you would have the driver, the passenger, three in the back, and two in the way back. In this car we had the driver, two passengers up front, four in the back and three in way back. We count the driver as one, they don’t; plus we fit one more in there. Erika, Nate, and I always had the way back since it worked well there was three of us. Of the seats in front, one had to flip over for us to get in and out – and such we were the last to get out and first to get in at every stop.

When we reached Rosso, on the Senegal side, vendors stormed the car. We were told not to talk to anyone even if they ask for your passport. Amidst the commotion someone was, expectedly, asking for our passports. We blew him off and continued walking. He yelled louder. We continued walking. Then the vendors got involved – apparently this guy was the real deal. Oops. He led us to the police station as the border patrol man in the office checked our visas. To the right was a jail with five people in it just sitting around, two using their cell phones to text the outside world. The guard stamped two passports before he realized the stamp had the wrong date on it. Officially, according to my passport I had left Senegal on the 18th and 19th, with entering Mauritania on the 19th.

Guys in the streets were selling everything from hand lotion, belts, zippers, pants, vegetables, toothpaste, mirrors, and even one guy hint he could get me a visa. (Already had a legitimate one). We waited for the ferry to appear, to cross the River Senegal. As we waited, three familiar faces appeared from the other side: Micah, Dave and Tina. All three are Gambian volunteers who were just returning from their Mauritanian trip and we caught them at the border. Micah had bought a fold-up wooden chair and was now carrying it back to The Gambia. With only a few minutes to spare we had just enough time to say hello and catch up. As Micah was leaving he yelled back “Make you sure you get 300”, meaning 300 Ouguiya [abbreviated UM] for the dollar. The official exchange rate was 254.

On the ferry it was standing room only, with trucks pulling up a foot in front of you, and luggages and other bags behind you it was quite crowded. They bottled necked us getting out while a police officer collected every passport on the boat. Luckily we had been told beforehand not to worry about that procedure since it was the common practice and that we would get our passports back if we just go with the flow and not make a scene as some volunteers did a year before.

On Mauritanian soil a policeman pointed to where everyone must cleanse their hands clean before going another foot into his country. Officially, and by law, if you are born in Mauritania you are Muslim. Even the United States recognizes that Mauritania has a 100% Muslim population. Despite the legality, it is well over 90% and even close to 99%. Although being in West Africa it is considered an Arab country. The entire country is mostly barren, with some flat plains of the Sahara stretching to the horizon. It isn’t until you get to the northern region do you see some hills and plateaus. Over 75% of their land is desert, 99.5% of their land is non-arable, with half a percent for arable land. It didn’t always used to be like this, though. Before the Sahara started spreading about 10,000 years ago Mauritania was covered with large lakes and had enough vegetation to support elephants, rhinos, and hippos. The only large animal we saw in the week was camels.

All the men were wearing turbans on their heads while the women were covering from head to toe with only a single piece of cloth wrapped around their bodies. Despite only being one piece of fabric, they are fully clothed – but most of clothing underneath anyway, as do the men. You are fortunate to take a picture of the men and very lucky to get a picture of the women, as their husband or brother must approve.

As I was about to cleanse my hands I accidentally bumped the tank the lid fell in the tank. This caused no concern other then when I looked into the tank and saw the water was dirtier than the river. After we all “cleaned” our hands we waited for our passport. Surprise, surprise one was “missing”. Nate, being the best Wollof speaker among us, went to talk to the policemen. He played ignorant for a little bit, before other people in the crowd told him he had ‘sweeten his business’, which he already knew.

We paid the bribe and were allowed through. I cashed in my $50 with the best rate I could get at the time, 260UM/$1 – a bit low, but still above official. We used that money to pay for our fare to Nouakchott.

Heading north, from Banjul, The Gambia to Nouakchott, Mauritania you could see the ground change; from sub-Sahara savannas to desert with a dry mid-lattitude steppe climate between. This is the area between the tropics and the desert, with a combination of tallgrass praire (with more rain) or a arid desert with less. It also helped I was traveling with two geographers. North of St. Louis is started getting less and less vegetation, and almost north of the Mauritanian border it was practically a desert scenario.

While driving through that desert on the way to Nouakchott we stopped in the middle of nowhere, but there was one small store. Believe it or not, but in the middle of nowhere you can get coke by the dozen. They had them stacked up along the wall, going around the store; a refrigerator kept some cool, they had cookies for sale, and other snacks. Just because it’s Africa doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a Mountain Dew or a Coke. It’s interesting that Mauritania has Mountain Dew but The Gambia doesn’t, while we have our own beer factory and alcohol is prohibited in Mauritania. In Mauritania, the Mauritanians can neither buy nor sell alcohol; but non-Mauritanians can do either, albeit expensively.

Our first view of camels was when the driver had to hold down the horn for the camels to get out of the way as they were crossing the road. At one police stop the policeman was trying to tell us something. Maybe it was going to be a question? We thought he was trying to ask what the capital was before D.C. We told him Philadelphia, then New York. That wasn’t what he was looking for. He then went on to try and talk about Presidents and Europe, then people who lived there before Americans. All of this was in Wollof or French with very broken English. Finally, after ten minutes of talking we realized all this wasn’t connected at all, he was showing his trivia of US he knew and no question was involved. What he was trying to say about Europe was that none of the original people of America were Presidents, only descendants of Europe. We agreed, although it was after we left that I remembered that we did have a Native American Vice President, though. I couldn’t think of it at the time but it was Charles Curtis who served under Herbert Hoover from 1929-1933.

We arrived in the capital at 4:30. Not knowing when the Peace Corps office was going to be closed at five we raced to the office only to find volunteers casually standing at the balcony waving us in. It’s open 24/7, just like in The Gambia. Their office in Mauritania is like a palace! It’s a block long and goes back almost a block. I had to take two pictures of it at different angles, it was so big. They have three different computer labs depending on what stage of service you are in, they have their own kitchen, shower area, walkways, and balconies. Right across the street is the Embassy for Mali, which was a good sign for me, since that was my next stop.

The contact we had for Mauritania was busy in another city helping out with a new training group and so another volunteer housed us for a night. Marc Valentine. Before we met up with him another volunteer, Jae, took us out for dinner and showed us the market where we could exchange money illegally. This has the advantage of getting a better rate but the disadvantage of being scammed. We also asked him "How do you know what cars are taxis?", "If they have less than two headlights" was his reply.

We were going to exchange $450 to last us the week for three people. The exchanged money would be split among us and anyone could pay for anything that the group did for since it all came out of the same pot. All personal expenses were recorded as well. This kept money problems to a minimum since we mostly did everything as a group.

The Mauritanian volunteer, Jae, set up with a black market dealer at a rate of 306 for every $100 and 300 for $50 (they don’t like fifties). We agreed and he left for fifteen minutes to get it organized. After a while he signaled us to follow him as we went inside an alley where small stores were and more privacy. Each stack of ten bills were together with the tenth bill wrapped around the other nine. I took each one out and counted that they were all there, as a number, while Nate counted what I had counted to make sure all was there as an amount. A discrepancy. We stopped everything and went further in where for the next ten minutes we counted every bill one by one, orientating them in the same way with numbers showing. They were going to cheat us out of 7600 UM ($28.50). Later that night we figured out how: The back of the 1000UM note is strikingly similar to the back of the 2000UM note. In the stack of ten 2000UM notes they simply put a 1000UM note instead for a few of them making sure the back is facing us. That’s why they needed the 15 minutes, to make sure it all looked good. We almost fell for it as well.

Back at our hosts house, Marc, his living room was about the size of my house, and his bedroom was air conditioned, and he had continuous power and water. In his bedroom was three mattresses on the floor already, not necessarily for us, but he always has guests coming and going from other countries who just need a night stop. In his two year service his house had been broken into three times: The first time he was out of the house and his guests left the house for a few minutes without locking the door and the guy just walked in and stole his stereo and money. The second time someone crow bared his way through the front door, stole his new stereo and more money. The third, and most recent time was someone took a saw and cut through the metal grating in the windows then kicked the window out and crawled in. The sawing along probably took more than an hour.

Marc went out for the night while we just crashed on the mattresses for a good nights sleep.

First Day!

2005-07-27T14:22:00.000Z

Day 1
Monday July 18th
Start: Banjul, The Gambia [13 27 N 16 35 W]
Mid: Kaolack, Senegal [14 10 N 16 15 W]
End: St. Louis, Senegal [16 01 N 16 37W]

The last time I would leave my house for the past year was at 5:30 in the morning. While waiting on the highway for taxis, we had to split up. I managed to get a front seat of one car while leaving Nate and Erika behind for other transport. At Banjul, for the first time, I got a car to the ferry terminal instead of walking. While I pulled in with my second car to the terminal there’s Nate and Erika pulling in with their private transport they got two minutes after I left which drove them directly to the terminal.

At the customs post at The Gambia / Senegal border we were waved into the back area where they checked each of our passports. From here on out, my passport, we realized, would take the longest. I almost filled up the pages with visas and exit/entrance stamps that I had to go to the Embassy the week before for more pages. This was after I had already gone to the Mauritanian embassy. Every custom guard now had to go through blank page after blank page in order to find my Mauritanian visa, although the entrance stamp to the country was in the middle of the book (where the new pages were added).

In Kaolock I laid my last four dalasi I had on me on a rock for anyone to find. With those 15 cents gone, I now had no Gambian money left.

From Kaolock we headed to St. Louis, in North-Western Senegal. St. Louis, which is in Senegal, used to be the capital of Mauritania when it was under French rule. However, when Mauritania became fully independent in 1960 St. Louis went to Senegal and so a new capital had to be formed. Not wanting two capitals side by side, they headed north and founded Nouakchott, their new country capital. If you look at a detailed map of Mauritania and Senegal you can see that Mauritania actually bends down to reach St. Louis, but doesn’t actually reach it.

The actual layout of St. Louis makes it interesting. From the mainland there’s a river that go north-south. Going further west, passed the river, there’s an island, then the other side of the river, and then a peninsula of Senegal sticking out. Passed that is the ocean. So, St. Louis is split into three sections: The peninsula, the island, and the mainland.

Heading in St. Louis you can see the French influence in the buildings, the curved streets, not to mention the language. Every year St. Louis hosts a Jazz Festival that attracts thousands and thousands of tourists from all over the world. There are enough hotels in St. Louis to handle all of them, and we were looking for one in particular.

The man who drove us from Kaolack said he knew where the hotel was and would drive all three of there for 1500CFA (~$2.75) total. We agreed and he drove from place to place asking for directions to where it was. We backtracked, went up side streets, backtracked more, zig-zagged back and forth though a main street before we found it. The taxi couldn’t go down the side street since it was full of mud, but along the edges was clear. I walked that way to see if it was a hotel and found some guy who spoke English who was from The Gambia. He tried helping us out. Nate got involved since it was easier to communicate in Wollof with him.

What I thought to be an employee was just some visitor who was helping out for something in return. We asked him politely to go back to the hotel and eat his dinner, which he kept on insisting he stopped eating to help us.

“My friend, we did not ask you to help us. You left your dinner to help us. Go back to the hotel and enjoy your dinner”
As he whipped his glasses off he yelled “Fxxx you! Fxxx you!” and he stormed off. I yelled back “Thank you” again for a sincere acknowledgement of his help. He responded with another “Fxxx you!” before turning the street to our original hotel.

We agreed to go to another hotel.

We hadn’t paid the taxi driver yet and Erika asked Nate “15?”, which he replied “Yes.”. I then watched her pay the driver 15000CFA ($27.50) and thought nothing of it. Only when we were walking to another hotel, around the corner did Erika realize it should have been 1500CFA and not 15000CFA. We agreed to split the costs since we all were in fault to some degree. Erika asked Nate “15?” thinking 15,000. Nate said “Yes” thinking 1,500. I watched her pay 15,000 thinking it was for the full taxi fare from Kaolack and not just to go a few blocks down the road.

The driver honked for us to get out of the street and we watched him leave to have a good time with his friends with our money without us realizing we overpaid him 40 times more than what it was worth. (we were overcharged a factor of four found out later, and 10 times for the mistake). So, if you’re ever traveling from Kaolack to St. Louis and see taxi number 6092 make sure to yell at him for us. Split three ways we each lost ten bucks. One good thing about having this happen on the first day was that we now agreed to tell each of us exactly what was paid for and what wasn’t, and without any shortcuts of language (15 for 15 hundred or 15 thousand) to use for money between us – unless absolutely understood.

We left the hotel to find something to eat for dinner. While walking down a secondary road we came across an internet café where for 50 cents all three of us could check out e-mails for an hour total, with a French keyboard. This made typing an interesting account and my first email home was just in lines

In St. Louis
NW Senegal
French keyboard
No type good
More later

In The Gambia we are used to finding ladies sitting on the street selling everything from vegetables, fruit, bean sandwiches, rice with sauce and other street food. For a fraction of a cost of eating out you can be twice as full. In fact, that’s what we mostly survive on when traveling. There was none to be found in St. Louis, no bean-sandwich ladies; no rice servings, and only the occasional vegetable lady. Nate used his Wollof skills to ask a few vegetable ladies where something cheap would be to eat. They recommended this one restaurant that we couldn’t find so we went inside this one-room restaurant. The had maybe twenty seats total, all plastic, with one fan in the corner. Plus, a TV. This was a surprise to us as very few small shops in The Gambia have TV’s. For one, the power – or the lack thereof. We ate our meals and watched TV for a bit before heading back to the hotel to shower and sleep.

Yes, the shower. Surprised to even have a shower (The Gambia, most of the cheap hotels we have barely have running water, so bucket baths are the way to go). It had a shower head that you could hold and move around. Well, when I was taking my shower the tube connecting the shower head to the water pipe broke loose. It wouldn’t have been a problem if there was actual knobs to turn off the water. I scream as water was now racing to the wall at full speed, splattering in every direction, and changing paths to now sprinkle the entire bathroom. There was no knobs, only screws where the knobs used to be. With wet fingers I tried to turn them off and managed slowly to turn it millimeter by millimeter while getting showered upon in every random direction. Turned the water off, plugged the hose back in and continued. Ten seconds later the hose came off a second time! I now am using one hand to block the firehose of water coming to the wall while the other trying to turn off the water again.

Neither Nate nor Erika had any problem, although for the floor being a little wet form my episode. The sink was in the same fashion, with no knobs and only screws. I was the only one who had enough torque to turn they completely off and each time they used the sink they called me over to make the final twist on the screw.

While I was showering, Nate was talking to the ladies downstairs in Wollof. He explained that Erika and I were both teachers, while he taught agriculture in The Gambia. The ladies understood just enough Wollof to understand the basics, but when Nate tried explaining that he worked with bees they were lost. He finally made them understand with: “I work with tiny animals that go pop pop on your arm. I reach inside their coffin and pull out gold.”

We all shared the only bed in the room for the night, luckily it was double.

Description of Service

2005-07-13T15:45:00.000Z

OFFICIAL DESCRIPTION OF PEACE CORPS VOLUNTEER SERVICE

1. INTRODUCTION
Michael Sheppard began Peace Corps training on July 9th, 2003, in Washington D.C. and completed the 10-week training program in The Gambia, West Africa. The training program included 52 hours of technical training, 64 hours of directed activities, 8 hours of language clinic during seminar, 142 hours of language class in the village, 20 hours of culture, 34 hours of personal health, 8 hours of safety, and 6 hours of administration. During his training, Mr. Sheppard successfully completed a two-month intensive language program in the language of Wollof. At the completion of training, Mr. Sheppard was chosen to begin a 22-month tenure. He was sworn-in as a Peace Corps Volunteer on September 12, 2003.

Mr. Sheppard was assigned to Kanifing in the Kombo Region. Kanifing is located about 18 km south of the capital city of Banjul, in the Kombo Municipal Division. Kanifing is home to 27 Primary Schools, 13 Junior Secondary Schools, and six Senior Secondary Schools along with The University of The Gambia and Gambia College. The district has approximately 325,000 people. The predominant language in Kanifing is the official national language of English, but there are also many Wollof and Mandinka speakers throughout the region. The monthly per capita income of The Gambia is 775 Dalasis [D] with the current exchange rate being D30.00 to $1.00.

During Mr. Sheppard’s service in The Gambia he served as an education volunteer. He was posted to the University of The Gambia in which his primary responsibilities included teaching mathematics and science. In addition to these responsibilities, Mr. Sheppard worked at the Central Statistics Department in the capital Banjul as a guest statistician. During his two-year tenure at the University Mr. Sheppard worked hard to promote a healthy attitude toward education by acting as a role model for teachers and students. He consistently encouraged preparation, punctuality, positive reinforcement, and alternative discipline. Throughout his two years of service Mr. Sheppard was an active member in Peace Corps Administration. Mr. Sheppard showed essential signs of cross-cultural adaptation and demonstrated a grasp of the skills needed to successfully transfer this knowledge to other applications of life: personally and professionally.

2. PRIMARY PROJECTS
During Mr. Sheppard’s two-year service in the Kombo district, his primary responsibility was a Lecturer at the University of The Gambia. Additionally, his specialties in mathematics and statistics help procure a placement at the Central Statistics Department as a guest Statistician.

Lecturer, University of The Gambia
§ Taught one semester of Basic Mathematics: concentrating on Number systems, functions and relations, exponents and logarithms, elementary theory of equations, inequalities, and systems of equations.
§ Taught one semester of Ordinary Differential Equations: concentrating on separable and exact equations, linear equations and variation of parameters, higher order linear equations, Laplace transforms, systems of first-order linear equations, introduction to partial differential equations and Fourier series.
§ Taught two sections of Basic Statistics, concentrating on data analysis, probability models, random variables, estimation, tests of hypotheses, confidence intervals, and simple linear regression.
§ Taught one semester of freshmen level physics, concentrating on the following areas of electronics: resistive circuits, loop and nodal analysis, and network theorems.
§ Along with another volunteer, co-taught an accelerated math program for conditional acceptance into The University of The Gambia. Classes met twice a week for three hours and taught four years of senior secondary mathematics in nine months. It was catered to girls' education, but male students were accepted.

Guest Statistician, Central Statistics Department
While Mr. Sheppard worked at the University he also worked part-time for six months at the Central Statistics Department (CSD). The CSD is involved in the collection, compilation, analysis, abstraction, and publication of statistical information and related matters about The Gambia and its residents.

3. SECONDARY PROJECTS
In addition to the efforts Mr. Sheppard was making towards his primary projects, he continued to use his free time to work on auxiliary goals that would benefit the communities in which he lived.

§ Participated in a five-day expedition throughout The Gambia with a Fulbright Scholar assisting in his research on Internet and Computer usage throughout The Gambia. Including conducting interviews with Gambian students, testing their computer and internet skills, and interpreting the results.
§ Served as scientific consultant for an educational CD developed by the Center for Educational Technology. The disc and program will be distributed nationwide to enhance the science education of Gambian students using local materials.
§ Facilitated a five-day workshop for the “Science Teachers Association of The Gambia” labeled “Information, Communication, and Technology in Science Education," on how to use computers more effectively in the classroom to teach science. Within this workshop Mr. Sheppard taught a one-day workshop on “Introduction to Microsoft Excel” to the teachers.
§ Attended a workshop sponsored by the Department of State for Education on possible launching and annual conduct of “Science and Technology Week.” The week has been developed to promote the achievement of both Science and Technology in The Gambia and promote interest in science and technology as well.
§ Collaborated directly with the American Embassy in Senegal with the international effort to house forty volunteers for three days for the annual West African Invitational Softball Tournament.
§ Supervised the selling of hand-made notebooks to volunteers. The “Recycled Paper Project” made the notebooks and all profits went towards buying education supplies to Gambian schoolchildren.
§ Mr. Sheppard did a one-year letter writing campaign indirectly promoting Peace Corps / The Gambia to United States Congressman, State Governors, and Supreme Court Justices. A total of over 800 letters were sent, with a good many responding.
§ Consulted in the statistical analysis to detect behavioral differences, both individual and collective, between orphan and wildlife monkeys in Abuko Nature Reserve.
§ Tutored students in subjects of Mathematics, Physics, and Statistics.

4. PEACE CORPS
Taking full advantage of experiences as a volunteer, Mr. Sheppard extended his responsibilities to working within the Peace Corps Administration to assist current volunteers throughout the country.

Leadership Roles
§ Served a complete term as Kombo’s representative for the Volunteer Advisory Committee [VAC]. The elected members of VAC meet quarterly with the Country Director to discuss volunteers’ issues and concerns. VAC members, along with the Peace Corps Volunteer Leader [PCVL], make up a volunteer congress.
§ Assisted in the revamping and rewriting of the rules between PCVL and VAC. The newly defined roles were approved by Peace Corps Administration and VAC, and were distributed to all the volunteers. This helped Peace Corps Administration further define and strengthen the role of PCVL within Peace Corps.
§ Nominated for the position of Peace Corps Volunteer Leader.

Mail Collection and Delivery
Even before being sworn in as a volunteer Mr. Sheppard took over sole responsibility for the collection and delivery of all incoming mail to the staff, 100 volunteers, and trainees. Mr. Sheppard was able to serve his entire Peace Corps service as the main volunteer for mail collection and delivery. This entailed upwards of three-times-a-week runs to Banjul to collect mail and parcels. The Peace Corps organization receives 15% of all parcels coming into The Gambia.

§ Every month assisted two volunteers in the organization of Peace Corps's monthly mail-run, which entailed visiting over 80 sites throughout the country in five days to deliver mail and collecting outgoing letters and parcels.
§ Restructured the package cataloging system for Peace Corps volunteers. The new system entailed every parcel being fully accounted for and numbered, with monthly bills going out to volunteers for reimbursement for the collection fees from the Post Office.
§ Kept an on-going roster of volunteers’ names, villages, Gambian names, and contact information to assist in the monthly mail run and to streamline communications between volunteers.
§ In March 2005, by permission of the Director of Posts for The Gambia [equivalent to the United States Postmaster General], Mr. Sheppard was able to work in The Gambia’s main Post Office in the capital Banjul for two full days, totaling 13 hours. This enabled Mr. Sheppard to witness first hand The Gambia’s mail delivery and collection, along with the distribution of parcels for upcountry sites and The U.S. Peace Corps.
§ Assisted in the collection of over 4,000 pounds of donated schoolbooks for distribution to Primary, Senior Secondary and University students throughout the country.

Hostel
Until all responsibilities were shifted to PC Administration, Mr. Sheppard served as Chairman of the Hostel Committee for nine months. Responsibilities included payment of three staff members every month, fee collection of volunteers, bill distribution for lack of payments, monthly purchase of communal supplies.

Gambia Student Scholarship Committee
The Gambia’s Student Scholarship Committee is an assembly of volunteers that focuses specifically on locating, raising, and distributing funds to selected students in The Gambia. As someone passionate about the pursuit of education, Mr. Sheppard took full advantage of the opportunity to collaborate with the Gambia Student Scholarship Committee to assist needy students in finding funds to afford basic education.

§ Served a full term as co-chairman of The Gambian Student Scholarship Fund. The co-chairman is responsible for handling any scholarship business; writing/distributing checks, making follow-ups with schools, contacting recipients/schools, depositing checks, and withdrawing money. Co-chairman is also responsible for recording all data into the scholarship database for complete and up-to-date spreadsheets.
§ Delivered checks to schools and conducted follow-ups to monitor processing and distribution.
§ Assisted in the selection process of more than 250 applicants.
§ Facilitated in the complete restructuring of The Gambian Student Scholarship Fund’s procedures.
§ Distributed thousands of dollars in scholarships to students spread across the country.

Newsletters and Bulletins
§ Six months into his service Mr. Sheppard was selected to become the new co-editor of the Education Newsletter. Mr. Sheppard successfully served one year term as editor and supervised the distribution of the newsletter every month to 34 Education volunteers. Information included guides to teaching in The Gambia, habits of effective teachings, alternative discipline, and upcoming events.
§ With another volunteer completely remade and updated a booklet for volunteers newly sworn in to the country. Information contained in the booklet consisted of maps of regional cities, restaurant guides, and volunteer support contact information.
§ Re-designed the official bulletin board for Peace Corps / The Gambia showing guests and visitors where volunteers are located, their responsibilities, and what functions Peace Corps does in The Gambia cross-sectorally.

Training
§ Assisted in the training of new volunteers by bringing four trainees on an all-day excursion to Banjul using only public transportation.
§ Assisted in the interviews for the new Education trainees for site placement.

Administration
§ Selected to be on the committee for hiring a new General Services Officer [GSO] for Peace Corps / The Gambia. The committee chose a candidate after meeting with each candidate individually.
§ Attended a two-hour workshop at the American Embassy in The Gambia with Peace Corps employees on how to prevent Bio-Terrorism and procedures to follow if an event occurs.

5. PERSONAL
Besides working with his primary and secondary projects, and volunteering in his free time with Peace Corps Administration, Mr. Sheppard has benefited personally from his two-year service.

§ Participated in a two-week hike through three countries.
§ Wrote over 300 pages concerning his experience which was distributed to an audience of over 100 people, indirectly promoting Peace Corps generally and Peace Corps / The Gambia specifically.
§ Explored the country of The Gambia by frequently going upcountry, even taking vacation days to do so. Explored the terrain by participating in multiple twelve hour walking treks throughout the country to volunteers’ sites.
§ Participated in the World Wise School program, writing to thirty fifth grade students in the U.S about the experiences in The Gambia.
§ Attained novice level in the language of Wollof.

6. CONCLUSION
Pursuant to Section 5(f) of the Peace Corps Act, 22 USC 2504(f), as amended, any former Volunteer employed by the United States Government following his/her Peace Corps Volunteer Service is entitled to have any period of satisfactory Peace Corps service credited for purposes of retirement, seniority, reduction in force, leave, and other privileges based on length of Government service. That service shall not be credited toward completion of the probationary or trial period of any service requirement for career appointment. This is to certify in accordance with Executive Order 11103 of April 10, 1963, that Michael R. Sheppard served successfully as a Peace Corps Volunteer. His service ended on July 13, 2005. He is therefore eligible to be appointed as a career-conditional employee in the competitive civil service on a non-competitive basis. This benefit under the Executive Order extends for a period of one year after termination of Volunteer service, except that the employing agency may extend the period for up to three years for a former Volunteer who enters military service, pursues studies at a recognized institution of higher learning, or engages in other activities that, in the view of the appointing agency, warrant extension of the period.

Two Years Later

2005-04-12T16:59:00.000Z

Our Education / Health Group the day after we finished our COS conference.

We are in the same relative positions in the 'after' picture as in the 'before' picture.

[You can save the pictures for larger viewing; roughly three times larger]

July 2003

Back Row: Rebecca Sawyer, Janny Chang, Isaac Christiansen, Doug Ricket, Erik Chantiny, Bethany Stewart, Kathleen Lester, Kristina Rerucha, Jennifer Russell, Greta Klingler, Jordan Engler, Allison Dorsey, Kate Jorgensen, Louis Simmons, Lauren Gauchat, Michael Sheppard, Carrie Platt, Jessamy Garver-Affeldt, Annamarie Behring, John Warren, Justin Shirley, Jeffrey Bugaski, Alicia Bloch, Arhur Remien, James Bellenger, Kelly Packer.

Front Row (sitting): Mirlene Andre, Amanda Little, Sarah Grimm, Melanie Natoli, Olivia Ashmead, Victoria Lawrence, Nicole Chapman, Hilary Renaldy, Ariane Lee, Vidisha Parasram, Matt Smith.

March 2005

Back Row: Doug Ricket, Bethany Stewart, Krissy Rerucha, Greta Klingler, Mike Sheppard, Jessamy Garver-Affeldt, Jeff Bugajski, Bear Remien, Kelly Packer

Middle Row: Erik Chantiny, Kate Lester, Jenni Russell, Jordan Engler, Annamarie Behring, Alicia Bloch, James Bellenger

Front Row: Mirlene Andre, Sarah Grimm, Vickie Lawrence, Hilary Renaldy, Ariane Lee, Matt Smith

Not pictured: Allison Dorsey, Kate Jorgensen, Justin Shirley

Tobaski

2005-02-11T17:18:00.000Z

WEDNESDAY

For Tobaski I knew I wanted to celebrate it upcountry. There was nothing wrong with last year, celebrating it in Kombo, but I realized that not only was this my last Tobaski I did not have a lot of village pictures let alone ones where they slaughter a ram. A disadvantage of living in the city I guess. I visited Kelly before, back in March, for a weekend and so I asked if it would be fine to visit again only this time a little longer and during a Muslim holiday. He asked his host-family whether it was all right and when he was down in Kombo for his 30th birthday celebration he told me it was o.k. Tobaski was on the following Friday.

The festival itself is only called Tobaski in Senegal and The Gambia. Everywhere else it is called Eid-Ul-Adha. It is the celebrations of their prophet Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his only son since Allah commanded it and on this day Muslims sacrifice a ram in remembrance of Abraham's faith in Allah.

My classes that I taught were both on Monday and Wednesdays, back to back. During the Monday lecture I told them that yes, there will be class this Wednesday but none the following Monday due to Tobaski. On Wednesday I showed up to my first class, Basic Statistics, which only about eight students were there. I taught permutations and combinations, which for most of the students were review. Since very few people where there in class and continuing to give new material was relatively useless for the last half-hour or so I held a General Q/A session which could act as a review session for them. Near the end one student raised his hand.

"Mr. Sheppard. Are you celebrating Tobaski?"
"I am. I'm celebrating it with a friend upcountry."
"Upcountry?"
"Yes."
"You haven't left yet? Transport is very difficult."
"I'll leave tomorrow. The first ferry."
"You're taking the ferry!"
At that moment I had gotten a little nervous with his anxiousness, as he continued, "Mr. Sheppard. There are people sleeping in line to get on the first ferry. Any ferry! Some won't make it for Tobaski."
I did not know that, but I hid my surprise and just said: "Well, we'll see what happens."

Between my Statistics class and my math class I had an hour break. This was enough time for me to go home, since it is on the way, and rest for a half-hour before leaving again to teach. When I got home I set my alarm to get a quick catnap. I slept through the alarm and woke up at the time class was supposed to start and I raced out the door, this being the first time I was ever late. On the way to the University I passed all my students walking away as they had waited five minutes before calling it good and leaving, and I was already ten minutes late. They asked if we should all go back, but I told them no and wished them a happy Tobaski.

After canceling my last class of the week I walked on to the Peace Corps office and asked the receptionist his point of view:

"Famara, how bad is the ferry terminal?"
"The ferry. Oh man, it is very hard. You're going upcountry?"
"Yeah. I was thinking of getting the first ferry tomorrow."
"The first ferry? Good luck, man."
Thanks…

When I reached the computer lab I found another surprise as Tatjana was in town. This was a surprise for a few reasons, as she lived upcountry and I thought most people would want to celebrate Tobaski in their home village, yet she was here, and she had to take the ferry to cross over; granted, from the other side.

"Hey, Tat! You're here for Tobaski?"
"No. I'm here just here for the day. Thinking of going back either tomorrow or on Friday."
"I'm thinking of leaving tomorrow. How was the ferry?"
"You're going upcountry?"
"Yeah, to Kelly's site"
"Oh! The ferry was packed! It wasn't so much coming into Kombo since I was going against the flow but on the Banjul side there were people lined up all the way to the bank which is near the Post Office." That distance was about a ten-minute walk, or about a kilometer. That was a long line!

My only hope was that I could think of was that our Foreign Affairs Identity Card had enough clout to bypass the line. I brought it up with Sarjo, our security officer, who did not give a definite answer but said I could give it a try.

Later that night I visited the Hostel and had another surprise as Erik was in town. This was more of a surprise then seeing Tatjana since Erik was usually at his site a lot more than the average volunteer, and was rare to see him out of his site, especially near a Muslim holiday. Tatjana was also there and we agreed to leave together tomorrow morning, but not the first ferry as both of us would rather leave later with someone else going with them then early by themselves.

While we sat and talked Erik told the story of how he arrived in Kombo. He was casually waiting at the side of the road for transport to come when a group of Swedish tourists drove by who thought he was either trapped or lost and picked him up. He made sure not to correct them, and got a free ride to Kombo on private transportation.

Wendy and Ed also were there at the Hostel and so us three went out to dinner at a local African restaurant that was down the block. The chairs were outside, the restaurant contained only three plastic tables, the entrance to the restaurant was just a room from the house, and the cooks were the family members cooking it next door in their kitchen.

I sat down and ate my Ox-Tail soup while listening to Wendy and Ed's stories. Both had worked in the medical field for a while; Wendy in the ER and Ed for a private ambulance service. They shared their stories of people calling in for an ambulance just to get a free ride or a bed for the night. The biggest surprise of the night was how the private ambulance workers got paid. Their pay each week was variable as it depended on how many trips they took and how long they took between each trip. This was illustrated with the following example: When they transferred a patient from one hospital to another the clock started when they arrived at the first hospital. After checking vitals and signing for the patient into their care they transferred the patient into the ambulance and radioed in "Patient in Transit" in which the clock stopped. Transport between hospitals was not timed. On arrival of the new hospital they again radioed in that they had arrived and the clock started up again as they transferred the patient from their care to the hospitals. After the transfer of care was completed they radioed back to headquarters that the patient was delivered. The total time of pickup and drop-off, excluding transport, had to be less than 34 minutes. Take the total time you were clocked for the week and divide that by the total number of drop-offs you did. If that number was more than 34 minutes your pay was deducted; if it was less, you got a pay raise for that week.

This had the unfortunate consequence of some medics signing for the patient into their care before they took vitals. After they transferred the patient into the ambulance and radioed in that they were in transit and the clock stopped it was only then they took vitals in the still parked vehicle. By protocol you are not supposed to sign for a patient into your care without doing a complete set of vitals. If the vitals are not good the patient is still in the care of the hospital and can be treated by them. Once you sign that form the patient is now in your care. On occasion some of the inefficient medics , according to the company, to save a few precious minutes, took their first set of vitals while still in the parked ambulance. With that comes the possibility that the patient might crash and you are forced to bring the patient back into the Emergency Room of the hospital that your van is still parked in the entrance of. All this so their pay would not get deducted for a few extra minutes.

Contrast this to another scenario: A patient, who has a record of calling in frivolous claims in order for that free meal and bed, calls in reporting an injury that is considered a trauma. By regulations the medic has to have the patient in a neck brace on arrival of the hospital, and by hospital regulations only a doctor is qualified to take off a neck brace. Now, despite the ER being busy, the medic will wait until a doctor arrives, assesses the patient, takes the neck brace off, and then proceeds to yell at the medic for wasting his time for this frivolous claim. Pay deduction or not, since they are on the clock, they will wait as long as it takes for a doctor to arrive, as they would rather get a pay deduction then have the possibility of being a defendant in a lawsuit since they had an unqualified person, either themselves or a nurse, take a neck brace off a trauma patient.

I learned a lot in those two hours.

THURSDAY

The next morning I got up at the usual time of 7:30 and took a shower, although 99% of the time when traveling upcountry I do not even bother since you will get exponentially dirtier then the day before just by traveling down the Gambian roads. However, that day my travels would consist of only the ferry and an hour's ride on paved roads.

I arrived at the office at a quarter to nine and Tatjana and Ed were already there. This being Friday meant we could get free transportation to Banjul if they went to go get the mail. However, as I was going upcountry, and even though Tatjana needed to go the post office, there was no way to bring back the mail and therefore no free transportation since no mail would be delivered back to the office. That problem was solved when we persuaded Ed to come along solely for bringing the mail back to the office, so Tatjana and I would not have to pay a total of 22 dalasi to get to the ferry terminal. As we passed Famara on the way out he made the comment, "Watch your wallet, and your glasses. It's a mad-house at the ferry terminal!" I had not seen the terminal yet but already began to dread what we would expect on arrival.

Ed did not carry a backpack with him, as he did not expect to be going anywhere that morning, and so he brought the entire out-box with him to bring back any letters Peace Corps might receive that day. Also in car was Samanka, another Peace Corps driver, who was also going upcountry but had a few errands to run in Banjul before catching the ferry. John let Samanka out where he wanted to go, and then parked the car a few blocks away from the Post Office. All three of us got out of the car and headed to the Post Office, but Tatjana and I lagged behind Ed who took off as if his it was the 2004 Summer Olympic Games. By the time Tatjana and I leisurely arrived at the entrance Ed came out and passed without saying more than five words, "Nothing. No mail. See you," as he walked back to the car as quickly as he left.

Tatjana's boyfriend, Jason, had visited a few weeks back and was intrigued about the local editor that was killed. The Gambian Government, despite heavy protests from journalists and editors from domestic and international sources, had passed a law back in December that would sentence jail terms for journalists found guilty of libel or sedition. One of the press law's leading critics, the editor of private newspaper The Point, was shot dead days after the law was passed. Throughout the capital area there were protests to find the murderer, but the police, due to government pressure, closed the case as unsolved. Back in the US Jason teaches Civics Class and wanted Tatjana to mail him current newspapers that dealt with the issue.

We finished mailing her items, bought a couple sandwiches wrapped in old newspapers, and walked towards the terminal. Most of the long lines that I heard about the day before were no longer there, but the cars stretched farther than what they were before. The end of the line of people was about two blocks away from the terminal.

We were about to just stand in line when someone came up from behind and said, "Here. Come! Crossing the ferry? We have canoe. Leave now!"
We asked the question, "How much?"

His response of "D25" caused us to look at each other questioning what the other person thought of the deal. Although it was five times more than the price of the ferry we were able to leave immediately and that made the best impression. With the long line behind us we accepted his deal and he showed us behind the buildings to the water's edge. There was a big canoe, fitting about 20 people, that was going to leave as soon as it was filled. One man bent down and lifted Tatjana onto his shoulders to carry her across the water to the canoe, so she would not get wet. Another man came up to me to do the same, but I told him to wait while I quickly got my camera out of my bag and took a picture of Tatjana being carried as getting one of myself was impossible. When we were safely on the canoe the two men that carried us asked for a tip. Tatjana had her money more accessible then I did and held out the first two bills she found, a ten and a 25. She offered them the ten, but the man on seeing there was a 25 in her hand said "No, the other one!" She was on a boat to go across the river that was going to leave in one minute as opposed to waiting in line for hours; she gave them the 25. That was the first time I was ever carried on someone's shoulders to get on a boat.

The long waits and dreaded ferry I had despaired on using turned into the most fun crossing I have had to date. As we crossed we ate the bean sandwiches we bought earlier and enjoyed the breeze and the occasional water splashing onto board as we traveled across the river. A half-hour later we were at the other side and was once again carried to the mainland. If I had thought about it I would have had Tatjana take a picture of me being carried out of water's way, but did not think of it.

Our canoe arrived at the north bank terminal the same time as the ferry that left before us. Granted, that was not the ferry we would have been on, but with hundreds of people now trying to get cars at the car park it was going to be hectic to say the least. I was going to Kuntair, a few villages before Kerewan, which was a major transportation hub, while Tatjana's village, Njaba Kunda, was between Kerewan and Farafenni which was the end of the line. If I wanted I could have ridden with her on a car to Farafenni, pay more for the ride but have company, and just get off early at Kuntair or I could ride in a separate car to Kerewan and get off at the same point but pay less; I choose the latter. As I looked for cars going to Kerewan Tatjana tried to find a car going to Farafenni. Ten minutes later we gave up, for strike number one

With that day being the equivalent of American Thanksgiving and with the problem that very few people in The Gambia have their own private vehicle, all the public transportation vehicles were full. It was a few minutes later that I realized I did not have a present to present to his family, as custom called for it when you arrive after a long absence. A packet of Kola nuts would be a welcomed thank-you gift to his family, as the people here are addicted to the caffeine-containing nut. I left Tatjana again to find some of these bitter tasting nuts. A local kid escorted me for a few dalasi and showed me where they were being sold at, which was a middle-aged man with a huge rice bag full of kola nuts in which he used a cheap scale with dead weights to measure either a half kilogram or one kilogram of weight depending on your liking. For D40 I bought a half-kilogram of this local favorite in which he wrapped them in a bag for me to take away. A few minutes later the same kid that showed me where the kola nut seller was found a vehicle going to Kerewan. I did not have enough time to find Tatjana again, but it really did not matter since she was not getting on this vehicle, so I paid the kid the spare change I had, four dalasi, and scrambled into the now filled up vehicle.

While I casually sat in my seat I watched other people act not so casual to get a seat. Arguments arose over items placed on an available spot, over whether another person could fit in that spot, once it was agreed upon someone could fit people were pushing to got into that spot, and the baby next to the spot on his mother lap started crying. What a way to start a trip! A little over an hour we arrived at Kuntair and I told the driver to stop, which caused some passengers surprise as this was a village and not a town. Does the toubob know what he is doing? Yes, he does. I tried to get out, but the van is too crowded and I had no choice but to kick my feet loose an occasion, kicking some passengers along with it.

At the edge of town and to the right of the road was Kelly's compound, being the last compound before Kuntair Senior Secondary School, in which he taught. I walked over to his compound and entered, to the delight of the four women that were there, but Kelly was nowhere in sight and his door was locked. Although I had been to Kuntair before, in March, I had forgotten who his host-mother was and judging by ages of the women I had a fifty-fifty chance of getting the right one as two were the right age, with the other two being either too young or too old. I greeted one of the two I thought was his host-mother and she spoke English well enough that I could talk to her. The social blunder came when I greeted the other two women, who were sitting next to each other on the floor. One was an elder woman and the other was about the right age to be his host-mother, in fact, it was his host-mother. I asked both their names and Isatou laughed when I did not recognize her. In all, there was Isatou, his host-mother; Binta, his host-sister; another Binta, the elder woman; and Adama, his host-sister-in-law.

Kelly's combination to his house is written in roman numerals by the entrance, as are most volunteers. This helps for when you get trapped for a day and need to crash at someone's site; or if you are just depositing mail for them, as is the usual case. Gambians are taught roman numerals in school, but just because they are taught it does not mean they learned it. The opinion of most volunteers are that the chances of someone in the village knowing roman numerals, that those roman numerals are the combination to the lock, and how to use those numbers to open the padlock is slim enough for them not to worry about their stuff being stolen. I decoded the numerals and opened the lock, before dropping my bag inside, and closing it up again in search for Kelly.

The younger Binta told me that Omar, which is Kelly's Gambian name, was in Memeh, which is his nearest site-mate, Derek’s, home village. To get from Kuntair to Memeh you simply walk down the street two blocks, turn left, and go two kilometers straight down a dirt road. However, I had to find out what Derek's Gambian name was as the location to his compound within the village was a bit hazy in my memory and I would probably have to stop for directions. Binta helped me out in that department and reminded me that his name was Malik Njie, therefore, if I got lost in Memeh all I had to do was ask where Malik lived. If that did not work, or no one understood me, I could ask usual "Peace Corps, toubob, where does the toubob live?" which usually worked as a last resort.

The elder Binta and Isatou were telling me that Memeh was too far, as it was two kilometers away and this was the middle of the day. I assured them it was not that far and if Omar or Malik were not in I would come back to Kuntair. Nonetheless they were worried about the poor toubob walking in the hot sun.

Luckily, all the preparation of asking for names and worrying about asking for directions was deemed unnecessary as I recognized a tree on entering Memeh that stood next to Derek's compound. When I entered I greeted the family members that I saw and asked if Malik was in, as his door was open but no one was inside. His host-brother said they went to the river, and having nothing to do but wait for them I went inside his hut to grab and book and brought it out to read while I waited. That lasted ten seconds before coming around the corner was not only Derek, but Kelly and Heidi as well.

Those three collectively are known as "The Bermuda Triangle". They are the closest site mates to one another, both being two kilometers away from either side of Kuntair and Kelly. That explains the Triangle part. The Bermuda arises from the fact that when those three people get together and start talking their conversations get weirder, crazier, and raunchier. Strange things can happen in the Bermuda Triangle.

While I sat and talked to Heidi, Derek tried to fix his bike, but instead just gave up and took both wheels off and put in the corner of his hut despite the suggestions of Kelly saying he could fix it if only they had some pliers and wrench. Derek eventually gave in and the pliers appeared, but his host-father had the rest of his tools and he did not want to ask for them back, and so Kelly was forced also to give up trying to fix the bike.

Before I had left Kuntair, Binta had told me to remind Kelly that lunch was going to be at two o'clock, and I told him that as it was now approaching two. As Derek stayed at his compound, Kelly, Heidi and I traveled back to Kuntair with Kelly walking his bike along. At Kelly's hut they gave him his lunch inside his hut, which was unusual since Kelly always eats with his family. The meal consisted of a bowl of rice with vegetable toppings and hot sauce, which Heidi did not have much of, not because of the sauce but because of the rice as she does not like rice.

In his hut was a car battery and equipment for a small solar polar set up. The panels themselves were on the roof of his hut and provided enough energy to run his lights in his hut, the lights in his host-father hut, and whatever else he needed to run such as a small fan or CD player. In the nine months he had the solar panels the batteries were always kept charged; however, due to a week of cloudy weather, and the locusts blocking the sun, the battery could not recharge and were dead. The closest place to charge the car battery was in Heidi's village of Ker Jarga Jobe, so we strapped the car battery on the back of his bike with a rubber strap and started towards Ker Jarga, with Kelly again walking his bike as Heidi and I walked alongside.

The distance from Kuntair to Ker Jarga is about the same from Kuntair to Memeh, just in the opposite direction and along the main road so it seemed longer. It only took about 15 minutes before we arrived in her village, in which we dropped the battery off at a bidick with high hopes of picking it up the next day with it being charged. After dropping the battery off we walked over to her compound and she introduced us to her family, before she lent me her bike so Kelly and I could ride back to Kuntair.

When we had arrived back at his house and set the bikes out back in his fenced in backyard, we had just enough daylight to play a game:

Kelly asked me, "Chess or Cribbage?"
"I don't know how to play Cribbage."
Again he asked the same question, without deviating in tone or suggestion, "Chess or Cribbage?"
With having nothing to lose in learning a new game I responded, "Cribbage."

He went inside his hut and got his cribbage board, which was wooden and had the holes drilled into it in the pattern of the number 29. Between the two digits of the number there were five cards displayed painted on the board: Five of Hearts, Five of Diamonds, Jack of Clubs, Five of Spades and a Five of Clubs by itself. On seeing the board and the display of cards I asked the most obvious question, "What's so special about 29?"

"See, that's why I like this board. It makes you ask the obvious questions! 29 is the highest number of points you can get in one hand."

"So I take it that's the best hand?" I said while pointing to the displayed hand on the board, and before he could answer yes I continued the question, "How is that equal to 29?"

He smiled and nodded, acknowledging that the answer was not as simple as he had hoped, "That'll take some explaining."

For the next half-hour we played my first game of Cribbage with Kelly explaining each rule as it came up. After that, and a few more games later that weekend, I now know why the Five, Five, Five, Jack and Five combination is the best hand (if the suit of the last Five matches the Jack) and yields the maximum number of 29 points:

eight times 15 for two = 16 points
six pairs for two = 12 points
one for the matching jack = one point
total points = 29

As the game progressed and I am getting more accustomed to the scoring I began to wonder what the average expected value for the hand should be if you played the game long enough. I brought it up to Kelly who guessed around eight points. When I got back to Kombo, after the weekend of Tobaski, I did a quick search on the internet and it ended being a relatively unsolved problem, mostly because of the complex strategies involved of discarding and all the permutations thereof - but the overall consensus was it was around eight points.

After we had played two games, in which I had lost both, we called it quits due to lack of light and waited for dinner to be served. We did not have to wait for long for dinner was on its way, a big bowl of coos, which I had not had since the last time I visited, and before that the last time was during training. The only time I have coos in The Gambia is when I go upcountry and particularly to someone's site. This is the same millet that used to make me sick during training, but I have grown accustomed to the taste over the year.

While Binta, Isatou, Bubba, ate the coos from the bowl with their hands, Kelly and I joined in while using a spoon. The elder Binta did not join in for some reason and the father rarely ate with the family, or if he did it was minimal at best. While most of the family was present during dinner, there were two exceptions, Essa and Adama, who were nowhere to be found. One particular thing about the foodbowl that still confuses Kelly to this day is that they are adamant of returning Kelly's spoon to him if he accidentally leaves it out. This is the same family that if he forgets his flashlight, it goes missing for a while and the same holds true for matches. However, for the spoon it's back within an hour and he does not know why the spoon, of all objects, possesses this unique trait.

When dinner was completed we either watched Bubba do the whole preset routine of brewing attaya, or we watched Isatou get prepared to apply henna tattoo to herself. At one point she needed another hand and had Kelly help strip a piece of tape lengthwise as she placed it across her foot. She again asked Kelly to make another strip that she wrapped similarly around each toe, as these were the areas she did not want the tattoo to appear to create contrasts between light and dark patterns on her skin.

When all the tape was finished and she was pleased with the mental picture she had of the possible outcome she took a bowl of what looked like green powder and started mixing water with it. The water made the powder congealed and was now a dough like substance. While the flashlight was between her head and shoulder she rubbed the dough, a little dab at a time, on her foot making sure not to get any on the prayer mat she was using to sit on. When she was finished she wrapped each foot individually in a plastic bag, tied it, and put a sock over each foot as the foot had to be covered over-night in order for the Henna to appear dark enough for their liking.

Bubba then served us the first round of attaya, then a second, and then a third as was the custom. Since I had the full three rounds of this green tea, sugar, and mint in boiled water I did not get any sleep that night. The whole process itself is very distinctive, as one must pour the tea from one glass to another a half-dozen times to mix it up. The whole three-glass ritual could take an hour or more easily, as it did this night.

Essa and his wife, Adama, live in the Kombo region and Essa worked right across the road from the Faculty Building of the University. His knowledge of the English language is better then most Americans, as was illustrated when Kelly wanted to know the difference between "give me" and "get for me" in Pulaar. The whole conversation took place in English as both Kelly and Essa would go back in forth with trying to find the Pulaar word for the present-perfect-tense or the future-perfect-progressive of different verbs and actions, while using those phrases of verb tenses in their discussion. While Essa explained the logistics of using the future-perfect-progressive in the Pulaar language I scratched my brain trying to remember what they were in English! This Walking-Encyclopedia of English and Pulaar Grammar and Vocabulary made Kelly point out:

"If Essa lived here, I would be fluent in Pulaar by now! I can ask him all these intricate questions of changing tenses, and describing things in the future, past, or present. Sometimes in the market my host-mother has to 'translate' for me what the villagers are saying. She still uses Pulaar but knows which words I know and don't know and so phrases them a bit differently. I could learn so much from Essa regarding proper Pulaar grammar!"

The highlight of the evening came when the younger Binta had to use the latrine. There are only a few latrines available on this side of the village, which are located at the school next to their house. Kelly actually has one in his background, by Peace Corps policy, but no one uses it except for himself and his guests. As Binta was getting up to leave and grabbed the water container Bubba yelled back to her, in Pulaar, "Say ‘Hello’ to Yahyah for me!"

Yahyah Jammeh is the President of The Gambia and his tenth year of being President was this past July with the motto being "celebrating ten years of progress," yet everything is worse now then it was ten years ago. In the US, Reagan won the 1980 election partially because he asked the question "Are you better off then you were four years ago?" Imaging changing that to ten years, answering no, and still there is nothing you can do about it since all opponents suddenly disappear or die.

Yahyah will either be President-for-life, or it will take another coup to oust him out of power. There are small opposition parties scattered across the country but the villages they are headquartered in gets zero help from the government and actually have to pay more taxes, fines, bribes, to function, mainly because they are an opposition. Their electric power is non-existent, despite having power ten years ago; the water supply has dwindled and corruption is high. That along helps discourage opposition parties from even forming, the backlash the organization would have on their friends, families, and the community as a whole.

Bubba’s joke made the entire compound burst into laughter.

FRIDAY

The early morning had begun with Bubba creeping around the hut and yelling through the closed window, "Omar. Omar. Omar!" at which time both Kelly and I woke up from the light sleep we had at that early of the morning, and Kelly yelled from his bed, "Yes!"

"I need to borrow your broom."
"I am sleeping. Where is your broom?"
"I cannot find it."

Not wanting to continue this discussion any further he just announced, "It is there somewhere" and went back to bed. This was not the end, however, when a few minutes later Kelly heard his host-mother ask Bubba why he did not ask Omar for his broom. These occurrences of being woken up for something they have, but simply do not want to search for them, happens on a regular basis.

My favorite story that he told concerning this manner is about matches: He was asleep in his bed when Bubba yelled through the window, "Omar. Omar. Omar!"

"Yes!"
"We need matches."
"You have matches"
"We cannot find them."
"If I come outside and look, will I find them?"
"No"

He got out of bed, opened the door, took three steps and looked around. Without lifting a single object or taking another step, he pointed to the lost matches that were lying by the fire pit and announced "There's the matches!" Before anyone could say another word he turned around and went back to bed, closing the door behind him.

Before I had time to take a bucket bath breakfast was served, with the portions being small as we would be eating all day. The meal consisted of left over coos from the night before, and we sat down to finish it as Isatou still had her socks on over her feet from the night before to make sure the Henna tattoos turned out nice and dark. After the coos was finished I went to take a bath while Kelly tried to find the kaftan that he wore the year previous so I would have something to wear, as he already bought a new one for this year's celebration. I came out the back wearing a normal T-shirt and jeans, and the kaftan would fit on top, when Kelly handed me the old kaftan with an explanation, "It's old. Well, I mean it's old by a year, but only worn once. I bought a new one for this year." These kaftans are the traditional Muslim dresses that the men wear during prayers and celebrations.

We walked out of the hut together and into the compound to the happy exclamations of Essa:
"It is nice! These types of cloth they wear in Saudi Arabia. Very nice!"
"But we do not have to pray?"
"Oh no. You can just come and watch."
"Is it alright to take a few pictures?"
"Yes. Of course. You can take pictures at any time after the main prayer."
We then saw that none of the women in the compound were getting ready, "And the women are not allowed?"
"No, they are allowed. You will see women there praying. Most do not go, they choose not to go. They are very busy today preparing for the meals."
"Please let us know when it is not appropriate to take a picture."
"Yes, yes, of course. Anytime is ok."

Kelly and I, together with Essa, walked across the street to the other side of Kuntair and headed towards the mosque, which has been under construction for the past year and a half and still was not completed, despite the rush to have it done before Tobaski. Essa pointed out, "Now would be a good time to take a picture of the mosque, before the people start arriving." With a few minutes to spare we tried to judge angles, lighting, and other photographic qualities to get the best picture of the unfinished mosque.

Although the mosque was big enough to fit all the people in the village, it was not used for that day's ceremony since it was uncompleted, where instead they had their loudspeakers up on a work shed that was in front of the mosque, which served as a temporary structure for leading the prayers. The men slowly started to arrive with their prayer rugs, ranging in size from an individual size to family size and just like their kaftans had a rainbow spectrum full of colors, and they put them down on the ground in front of the work shed to claim their spot.

Not wanting to interfere with the ceremony we stayed behind the whole crowd and watched as a procession from the alakalo's compound continued until it reached the front of the people. The prayers continued, with the villagers bowing in unison when appropriate. After the main prayer was completed the alakalo gave a speech on what it meant to be a good Muslim. The speech itself was in Arabic, as custom called for it, but most of the villagers spoke Wollof, so it was translated again to Wollof for them to understand. To those amongst the crowd who only understood Pulaar they were in the same boat as we were, not understanding a single word, except they had the chance of maybe understanding a little bit of the Arabic as the Koran is memorized in the Arabic language, but the entire ceremony all sounded Greek to us.

The entire ceremony, with prayers, sermons, and ending remarks lasted not longer than half hour with everyone afterwards going to the alakalos compound to watch him slaughter his own ram. This is the usual custom, as it is consisted a bad omen if you slaughter your own ram before the one who led the main prayers slaughtered his. While I was in the front row observing the slaughter, Kelly and Essa were outside the compound talking to their friends, colleagues, and other villagers. When I came out of the compound after the slaughter they mentioned that a few of the students of the University were in town and recognized me, saying they had to take my class next year. If any of those students were one of my current ones I would have went to their compound to greet their families and join them in their celebrations, but they were all future students.

By now I had a reputation in my Basic Mathematics course, a remedial course that only non-science majors needed just as a requirement and do not have to continue with any other math courses. According to the students I have been teaching the class more material than course the science-students take, but I grade appropriately and fairly taking that into account. This has the outcome that most everyone in the course is learning more than what they should according to the syllabus, and are getting a decent grade for trying their best. As such, the students who have to take the course next year all know who I am because word spread from my current students, either positively or negatively.

When the slaughtering of the ram was completed and conversations ended we arrived back at his compound where Sulayman, Kelly’s host-father, brought out the ram from out back. The custom for sharing the meat is one-third for your family, one-third to friends, and one-third to the poor. With this mind Kelly made the comment: "You could walk around the village with just a spoon in your hand and be full all day!"

Sulayman nominated an extended family member to do the immolation and he came into the compound knife in hand, but first a small square hole had to be dug for the spilt blood. When the hole was finished, the ram was held down by two men, one at its hind and the other holding its neck down as he prepared to slaughter it. Beforehand we had asked Essa whether taking any pictures of the sacrifice would either be offensive or ruin the sacrosanctity of the moment, but when he replied in the negative we stood there, cameras in hand, taking pictures to capture the event.

As we waited for the muscles spasms to stop, the women served us bread with butter and coffee for the wait, while in the meantime Essa showed off the ram to his young daughter and let her pet the dying animal. After the ram had died and all muscle spasms ceased Sulayman dragged the carcass around the house to prepare for the skinning. For the next hour Kelly and I stood, still in our kaftans, as we watched him skin and gut the lifeless ram. Each organ that was to be eaten was placed in bucket of water to be cleaned and cooked later that day, while the inedible organs were thrown away into the fields. Only two such organs were deemed uneatable, the penis itself (the testicles would be eaten), and a gland that would cause the recipient who ate it to fall asleep. Sulayman threw those two organs for the chickens and other small livestock to eat, while he concentrated on removing and cleaning the small and large intestines. The only incident that caused our stomachs to stir a bit, as he was working on the ram's stomach, was watching him drain the intestines as he had to stretch and squeeze the manure, and partially digested food, out a few inches at a time. At one point in the process the pressure was too much between his fingers and the intestines and the organ partially exploded spraying the contents on his shirt and pants. After the initial reaction, from all of us, we both told him "mas", which meant 'sorry' in the same sense as someone would say if their friend walked in a mud puddle.

One of Kelly's majors in college was biology and he showed me with interest and delight the different organs, their purpose, and significant differences from humans. It is crazy what one forget from freshman level biology, as I found myself asking him the basic question "What's the difference between the kidneys and liver, again?" For completeness sake, the kidneys are responsible for proper water and electrolyte balance, as well as filtering the blood of metabolic waste, while the liver is responsible for secretion of bile, and the metabolism of carbohydrates, fats, and proteins. Not only are the not similar, they do not even fall in the same organ system, as the liver is part of the digestive system and the kidneys are part of the excretory system. Everyday I find myself either learning new things or recovering lost knowledge that I should have retained.

As we were discussing the purposes of the organs laid out on an old prayer rug, or floating in the bucket of water, Sulyaman started on the actual stomach. After separating it from the hanging animal he and another villager carried it a few feet away to another mat to dissect it, as we were going to eat that organ as well. When they cut the stomach opened it was full of grass at all stages of digestion, in which they threw the grass into the fields and cut the stomach up into pieces, which they threw in the bucket of water in order for them to be cleaned. The stomach is similar to the brain in at least one regard as it has a fractal characteristic in dimension, all folded up to try an increase surface area for either digestion or cell capacity, depending on the organ.

When the gutting was completed, we changed out of our kaftans and waited for the meat to be cooked. As we sat, either chatting or reading, they offered us the delicacies of prime organs, as we were the guests of the compound. Both of us had an unwritten drive to see who can eat the most different types of organs, all of them if possible. Before the main dish was prepared they served us, and we ate, bits of lungs and liver to munch on, and the freshest set of ribs I ever had, from live animal to on your plate in less than two hours!

Throughout the day we ate like kings, eating rice topped with meat of variable tastes and textures, while neighbors and friends dropped off food and plates all day as well. By the time the day ended we had eaten almost every type of meat you could, ranging from kidneys, lungs, liver, and stomach, to sets of ribs, intestines, tongue, heart, and even one we even did not recognize and so asked Binta what it was. Her response? "I don't even want to know!"

After the late lunch Kelly, Essa and I sat outside the compound watching the kids come by asking for salibo. These are small treats you give to the kids, like American Halloween, but instead of kids dressed like witches and superheroes saying "trick or treat" you have kids dressed in their best outfits offering prayers for you to have a long life in exchange for a piece of candy. Knowing this would occur Kelly bought a whole bag of sweets a few days beforehand and was giving one each to every kid. The candy, which they call "minties" are actually just methanol cough drops, but the children love them, as they would often disappear in the crowd and reappear hoping to get another minty.

While passing out candy and generally enjoying the afternoon, a swarm of locusts appeared overhead that was just the right number to be impressed by them but just few enough not to show up on film. Only a few landed in the trees across the road, while the majority did not stop and just hovered overhead before continuing their route of destruction.

As the day would progress the number of children coming up asking for salibo would increase exponentially, and so to avoid the mad rush of kids we left towards Heidi's village of Ker Jarga to pick up Kelly's car battery that he left the previous night to be recharged. Heidi was dressed up in her traditional completo, the women's equivalent to the men's kaftan but more colorful and full of patterns, that is also donned with a matching head wrap, and she did the full 360 to show it off. The Gambian women like to dress up and so if a completo was bought, as oppose to being made at the tailor, they would purposely leave the tag on to prove that it was new and not an old dress.

Despite the fact of going to Ker Jarga for the secondary reason of escaping the children in Kuntari asking for salibo, the village children here also stopped and asked for salibo, although somewhat less. She let Kelly give one piece of candy each to them, although if you do not have a lot of candy you could give a few to every group of kids who carry only one bag around for them all to share.

While we were relaxing and lying down for being full of meat, just like Thanksgiving, we started talking about mazes. Kelly pointed out that if you always keep one hand on the inside part of the outside wall you will always solve the maze, this meaning that once you enter a maze you stick your hand on a wall and never take it off you will eventually come to the end. Although hesitant at first about the theory, Heidi and I tested it with a few crossword puzzles that were lying around that we pretended to be mazes and were able to solve every one using that method. When I got back to Kombo and searched it on the Internet I found it was a mathematically true statement having its roots and proof in an area called Graph Theory, which is important in Computer Science for searching databases. The statement for mazes is mathematically identical to what is called depth-first-search, in which you continue the current path as far as possible before backtracking to the last choice. My last required mathematics course in college was a course on Graph Theory, but we did not cover the equivalence of depth-first-search to mazes. If we had I probably would have been more interested since I now saw a real-life application. Although I do not want to retake the math course again to relive the mathematics I do now want to go back to the Black Hills Maze in Rapid City, South Dakota, to test the theory. I spent three hours one summer trying to crack that maze while on family vacation and eventually had to climb under a wall to do so! Now I can put my hand on a wall at the very beginning and walk my way to the end with confidence!

When the peanuts we were eating as snacks had finished, and all possible mazes tested for a counterexample, we headed out to get the battery back from the bidick. The battery was charged and he gave Kelly a discount of D15, from the usual price of D50 to D35, since he knew his host-father; however, we had the suspicion it was actually D30 but he wanted us to think he was giving us a good deal, when in fact he was getting more than his usual profit. We made no further inquiries into the matter, though, and considered it a dead subject.

After we arrived back in Kuntair, tested if his battery was charged, and set up the light system, it was time for dinner. This consisted of more meat, organs, rice, and for dessert three-rounds of attaya, so therefore no sleep.

SATURDAY
We started the day playing Cribbage sitting on a bench inside the compound. Friends and family would stop by and watch us lay down cards, count in a weird pattern, and move our pegs in what seemed to be in a random fashion. Most Gambian children only know how to play "Crazy Eights" and it's only with great effort to teach them other games more complicated. Forget poker, rummy, or even blackjack, let alone Cribbage! A year ago, though, Doug and I had some success teaching his former-host-brother a playing-card version of Memory. With three games of Cribbage played, and the village people watching over our shoulders, I managed to win one game.

Between our second and third game we paused to watch Isatou cook the head of the ram on an open fire while its legs were spread across the dirt near the charcoal. Last year at this time Kelly went to open his food bowl for lunch the day after Tobaski and was surprised to find a cooked ram's head looking right back at him. He knew what was coming this year and told me so we were both prepared, although despite cooking it they never served it to us while we were there. They might have chopped up the head meat and served us the meat in the food bowl, but an entire head never did appear despite both of us wishing it would for it would be a good picture.

This being one of those relaxing days after a holiday, unlike the day after Thanksgiving, for the next few hours we just sat and read while having the day go by. At the beginning of his service Kelly started making a list of all the books he had read while being country, with the ultimate goal of reaching 200 by the close of service. Since some of those books on his list are thousand-page masterpieces, such as Atlas Shrugged, Moby Dick, and Les Miserables, his actual number will be a little less at around 150, but his knowledge of classic literature will be considerably more. In the four days I spent at his site he started and finished Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" and completed half of Michael Crichton's "Jurassic World" (which implied he actually finished "Jurassic Park" and was on "The Lost World" by the time I left). In the city I have to make a concentrated effort to sit down and read for leisure, while upcountry volunteers that is all they do some days!

During a break we had from reading Heidi showed up since she also had nothing to do today in her village and decided to visit Kuntair. Now having three people doing nothing we went to Memeh to get a fourth, Derek. It was in Derek's hut that he showed us pictures and videos he had taken the day before of the locust storm that visited Memeh and dropped down to visit. While we were two kilometers away when the locusts came and did not have a single one land, Derek unfortunately had the entire swarm land in his own backyard. Although this was not good for his crops, as all were eaten and destroyed, it did make for an excellent video. The video he shot looked like enemy bombers coming towards the camera, with the best music that would fit would be Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries", which was made famous in "Apocalypse Now." If you heard the music you could picture helicopters flying overhead, the General ordering his soldiers to advance, and bombs exploding in the distance. The locusts on that video reminded me of that song, with the way they acted and flew passed the camera.

While we sat in his backyard assessing the damage done the day before another swarm of locusts came, though not an order close of magnitude received the previous day. Derek brought out his binoculars and the cloud in the distance turned into individual insects through the lenses. Within a half hour they had arrived and skipped over Derek's backyard, as nothing was left, and continued to the next compound over. The men in the streets took off their shirts and whirled them around in the air to kill either the locusts that were disturbing their fields or just themselves. The cat in Derek's backyard pounced in the air to catch a few and only was able to eat the sole one it injured which fell to the ground.

The excitement of the day flew away as quickly as it arrived. With nothing else to watch, other than the cat eating its only victim, all eyes fell on Derek's dog, or mutt, as he called it, since it was one of the ugliest and dirtiest dogs any of us has ever seen since arriving in country. If the dirtiness did not bother you the nipping at your heels would.

Derek kicked the dog away from his heels. "I've been telling my family I would give him a bath but haven't done it yet. In fact I was actually going to do it today, even got the bucket of water ready but got lazy."

Having nothing to do, Kelly, both annoyed a little by Derek's laziness and bored enough actually to volunteer said, "Here. Just give me the bucket, I'll do it"

Derek brought the bucket of water from the latrine area to where we were sitting and as Kelly held the dog in the bucket, Heidi poured the shampoo, and Derek poured the water to rinse. The water in the bucket turned completely brown and we used almost half the bottle of shampoo with the net result of Derek saying "He's just going to play in the dirt again," as we finished. We let the dog go and he ran off to play in the dirt.

We talked some more before calling it a day and for Kelly and I to head back to Kuntair and Heidi to Ker Jarga. As we were heading out Heidi wanted to see the dog again, and while standing in the middle of the compound asked, "Where's your dog?" I looked around and it was right in front of her, taking a nap. You could not have recognized it! It was fully white, and did not look like the same dog that we put in the bucket an hour earlier. When we petted it goodbye, it purred like a kitten, which confused us a bit.

A half-hour later Kelly and I were sitting down on a bench in his compound playing a game of chess, while Heidi rode her bike back to her site. During the game children would come up asking for salibo, as they would for next couple of days, and Kelly would reach inside his candy bag and respond to their pleas by giving them a piece of candy each. This gave me enough time to play a few tricks on him, such as taking his King or his Queen. I made sure not do something which was not blaringly obvious, such as moving a single pawn one space, but something which he would notice right away, or in a few minutes of thinking. The game itself ended when I became greedy and took a pawn, which allowed him to sneak in and checkmate me. We reversed the play a few turns to see what would happen if he did not take the pawn, and in that scenario he still won.

It was getting dark so we headed inside for the night, when Kelly's phone rang. A member of our group, Kate Jorgensen, was getting married to her Gambian fiancé on Monday at noon and wanted to invite Kelly to the wedding. He knew about the wedding only a week before, when she told him about it, but she did not have an exact time and only knew it was on a Monday. This bit of information about the time changed his plans a little, as instead of leaving on Monday, as originally thought, he would leave with me the following day to make sure he was in Kombo by noon Monday.

Heidi was also thinking of leaving on Monday for Kombo to be prepared for her Reconnect Conference, in which volunteers who are six-months into service go back to training village and have workshops of how to improve training and how their service is going so far to date. The Conference itself is held upcountry, on the other side of the river, and usually takes three to four days. With that in mind most volunteers come down to Kombo beforehand a few days, and some stay afterwards also. Kelly called Heidi up to tell her he was leaving the next day and invited Heidi to do the same in which she agreed, as any reason is a good reason to come to Kombo.

On some days Kelly and Derek go to Banjul just for the day, which completely shocks their host-families. The transportation costs alone is less than $2 roundtrip but for their families this could be an entire day wage, just on transportation to have a day-out-of-town - a luxury most villagers cannot afford.

It was agreed on that the next morning we would all meet at Kelly's house and leave from there.

SUNDAY

The first thing Binta asked for when we woke up the following morning was our dirty laundry. Since I was headed home that day I did not give her my dirty clothes, but Kelly gave her his entire dirty-laundry bag. After breakfast was served and eaten we played a few games of chess to pass the time away while waiting for Heidi to show up. M'Linda, the next nearest site mate to Kelly passed Heidi, was coming into either Heidi's village or Kelly's village later in the day but the exact time, or location, was uncertain. If she went first to Heidi's village she would receive the message that Heidi was going to Kombo and had the choice of heading back home, but if she went straight to Kuntair we would have to phone Heidi to inform her that M'Linda was here so Heidi knew not to wait for her any longer.

The first game played was a game of regular chess in which he won the game but I won the redo match, in which the last few moves are taken back and played over again. The second game was my choice, so I suggested a game of Warped Chess, a version I particularly like as your pieces can move off the sides of the board and reappear on the other side like Pac-Man. Some interesting consequences are that you could move your pawn on the right hand side of the board and it would cause a check on the left hand side by a piece being able to warp through the sides. In essence, it's like wrapping the chessboard on the surface of a cylinder and it makes for some interesting situations! I lost at my own game.

When both games were finished and all redoes that were suggested played, M'Linda showed up. As she had not stopped in Ker Jarga Kelly had to text Heidi saying that M'Linda showed up here, in which Heidi replied back saying she would come as soon as her laundry was done as it was her laundry as well. Within ten minutes after calling Heidi, Derek arrived and a half-hour later Heidi. We talked inside the house for a few hours, just passing time away.

At two o'clock Isatou announced it was lunch time and Kelly, Derek, and I brought out spoons to eat out of the foodbowl and M'Linda and Heidi stayed inside the hut and continued talking as they had already eaten. When lunch was finished and an extra hour passed Derek pointed out that since we were going to Kombo we should at least wait outside near the road, as we all heard cars passing all day and could have gotten on any one of them.

The actual act of stating the obvious got us motivated, as apparently Derek was the first to realize that we missed a half-day's worth of cars passing the village. At around three o'clock we brought out all our bags to the road and sat at the bantaba to wait for a car. A few cars came and went but all were full or nearly so, an empty car even passed with everyone just staring at it and no one realized we should have flagged it down until it had already passed!

One hour later, no cars.
Two hours later, no cars.
Three.
Four.
Five.
We gave up.

The sun was about to set and the chances of not only getting transportation this late but even catching the ferry once arriving in Banjul would be next to impossible. M'Linda and Derek were a good sport and waited the five hours with us on the side of the road, but when we announced we gave up, they went in opposite directions their respective villages and houses. Our plan had now changed to just sleep the night in Kelly's hut and get the first car we could the very next morning. Heidi would be staying the night as going back to her village and coming back early the next morning seemed redundant.

We again opened Kelly's combination lock to his house and set our bags inside. Bubba, his host-brother came in and just sat listening to our conversations. After a while he asked Kelly, quite out of the blue:

"Omar. Would you rather be white or black?"
Realizing the sensitivity of the subject he responded, "I would rather be black."
"Why? White is good!"
"White is not good. You get called 'toubob,' children ask for money. It is not good. Should we trade skin?"
"Ok."
"Ok I will get the scissors and will cut down your arms and legs and then cut down my arm and legs, and you know what?"
"What?"
"I would only have enough skin to cover my face, my legs and arms. You are small and I'm big. The rest of me would be white, but I have enough skin for all of you."
"I do not want it"
"Why"
"I want to stay black"
"Why?"
"Because God gave me this skin. I want to keep it."
"That is good. Tell you what. You keep your skin and I will keep mine. You keep what God gave you and I keep what God gave me."
"That is good."
"Good. We are now both happy."

That conversation was the most philosophical discussion I've heard in The Gambia amongst The Gambians. Granted, I had not heard many since it rarely comes up in my conversations back in the city, but for a ten-year old to first ask that question, refute the answer given, and then liked the way his skin was, was kind of comforting.

I learned a little bit about Bubba and the Muslim culture that weekend as well. He told me he was ten years old but is actually eleven, as his birthday was in mid-January and had already passed, but no one celebrates birthdays here - except Mohammad's birthday (analogous to Christian's Christmas). What would Gambians think if you explained in America, and elsewhere in the world, there is huge party just for you once a year?

MONDAY

For the first time that Kelly could remember in his service, he set his alarm. It woke everyone up at the early time of five thirty in the morning, where the stars were still up. Never mind showers, or even bucket baths, as we just got up, and walked out the door to wait for a vehicle. The five-hour wait the previous day seemed like an eternity when we waited for at most five minutes this morning for a car to pass that had room for three people. The cars were traveling before six in the morning for two reasons, that it takes about an hour to reach Barra, the ferry terminal, and that the first ferry across to Banjul left at seven in the morning.

The only disadvantage for leaving early? It's cold! We were in the back of the ghelli-ghelli shivering along with the Gambians. Despite what you may think of living in Africa, it does get cold here. However, like most things, temperature is relative, as the temperature of that blistering cold morning was a cool seventy-five degrees! We are used to temperatures in the high 80s or more everyday and some days in the 90s or 100s, and during the summer months you could burn your feet going to the latrine outside. When bugs got in volunteers' huts during the summer they sometimes throw them on the cement in the direction of the latrine and watch them burn up and in some occasions, depending on the type of bug and the temperature of the cement, combust. In other words, seventy-five was a cool temperature for us, and in fact a bit on the cold side.

The first ferry across the River Gambia to Banjul left at seven o'clock, and we arrived fifteen minutes late but it was still docked. We gave Kelly our money so he could just buy three tickets and save a few precious seconds, but as we are running down the ramp we slowed down and gave up when we saw the ferry was already moving, and so we would have to wait for another ferry, at least an hour's wait away.

We waited at the edge of the terminal watching the other ferry cross from the other side, which at times did not even seem like it was moving due to the distance involved. It eventually arrived and for the first time since going on my first Cross-Country-Trek over a year ago we purposely got seats on the inside cabin. The reason for not doing so is that if you stand by the exit area you can be the first one off and also the first one to get transportation to where you were going. Since there is always transportation out of Banjul there was no need to rush, and we relaxed sitting on the seats enjoying the early ocean breeze.

After the ferry finished crossing, and we got a ghelli-ghelli out of Banjul we stopped at Westfield for some breakfast, this being around ten o'clock now. This afforded Kelly just enough time to eat his breakfast before heading to the Hostel to take a shower, change, and be back in Westfield by noon for the wedding. The place we ate at was a small one-man circus on the side of the road. Imagine a picnic table that the far corner of it is full of eggs, bread, coffee, condensed milk, sugar, mayonnaise, and the sort, while a gas burner sat on the ground beside him. This was only my second time at this one-man-shop and my first time eating here, despite living only a few kilometers away. Technically I am the closest volunteer to this place but the upcountry volunteers been here more times than I have.

The sandwich we had for breakfast was a half-loaf of local bread with fried eggs in the middle, which they call the whole ensemble an omelet. The drink of the day consisted of coffee that had enough semi-sweet condensed milk to feel the affects the rest of the day. If any of us were not awake beforehand the coffee sure woke us up!

At the Westfield junction we tried to get a taxi to go back to the Peace Corps Office and Hostel but were unsuccessful. While walking to the Garage Park, where the cars dropped people arriving in Westfield, a car picked us up and dropped Heidi and I off at the Office while Kelly went to the Hostel to get ready for Kate's wedding.

Heidi and I walked into the office, dropped our bags, and relaxed in the chairs as we check our latest e-mail and news. My trip upcountry for Tobaski was completed.

1/11/05

2005-01-11T17:43:00.000Z

TUESDAY
JANUARY 11, 2005

The first priority of the morning was to go to the bank and get the American Dollars Dave left me exchanged to CFA to pay back Mary. After taking her up on her offer to eat the ice cream I had a bowl for breakfast. I believe the last time I did something like that was when I was ten, but it sure felt good! After my bowl full of chocolate-ice-cream-smothered-with-chocolate-sauce breakfast I left the house to the bank. I exchanged the whole $40, so I would have enough both to pay Mary back and also enough money to get back home, which would cost another $10 for public transportation.

With not wanting to spend any more money than what I had to, I stayed inside for the rest of the day watching more movies. Two movies, in particular, I liked. The first was one Dave recommended, The Bourne Supremacy. “When Jason Bourne is framed for a botched CIA operation he is forced to take up his former life as a trained assassin to survive.” The other starred Marlon Brando and Johnny Depp called Don Juan de Marco, “A psychiatrist must cure a young patient that presents himself as Don Juan, the greatest lover in the world.”.

Again, not wanting that ice cream to go to waste I had another bowl for lunch and continued watching movies. When dinner time came I again had my third, and last, bowl of ice cream. Not since I was ten years old have I had this much ice cream in one day, but it was worth every brain-freeze!

By 8:30 at night Mary came home as I was just starting to watch Moulin Rouge. I had watched all the movies I had cared to watch in her house and was now repeating. She apologized for being late and explained that a shipment from the The Gambia had arrived at the Embassy close to closing and only certain personal could transfer the items into the Embassy itself. Most had already gone home for the day, and so she stayed behind to help out as they called in saying they would be late.

She came into her room, which was next to the TV room, and as I watched Moulin Rouge she asked if I wanted to join her and her embassy friends to go out to dinner. A few things almost prevented me from saying yes. It was already approaching nine and I had to get up very early the next morning to catch transport and my money was running low than going out would almost break me leaving just enough for transport. I held out making a confirmation until she asked from the bottom of the stairs, as she was getting to go out the door, if I was coming. I made the best decision of the day by joining her.

She had called her friends and asked where they wanted to meet. It was only a few blocks away from her house, as we checked on the map, and despite being late we decided to walk it. Turning down this street, that street, backtracking, and, in general, getting lost we couldn’t find the restaurant. Mary stopped at a prominent apartment building, where some Embassy employees lived, and was asking the door-man in French where the restaurant was. As the man was telling her a van pulled up and she recognized her friends. They invited us in and I met Kristine and Princess for the first time. They drove around a block a few times to find a parking space and afterwards we walked into the restaurant, which we had passed earlier without knowing it.

The restaurant was a little bit above my price level and I ordered one of the cheapest meals I could from the menu and still have a good meal. The price on the meal was $10, and I made sure not to know what it was until after I ordered it, for the fun of the surprise. I tried ordering tap water but was quickly corrected by the embassy people into getting the bottled water.

Princess, which was her real name, was visiting Africa for the first time. She had arrived a week earlier to help out in this transfer and was assisted by Kristine, who worked in the American Embassy in Mauritanian and had been flown in to Banjul to help out. Originally they were suppose to have arrived the day before, but because of the ferry in Banjul one truck was stuck on the north side while the van was on the south side. Being stuck in the North Bank, and not seeing any restaurant, they had survived the night on Ritz crackers for their dinner. I was taken aback, as there is plenty of food available on the north side of the ferry.

“What about all the vendors?”
“What vendors?”
“On the street, selling bean sandwiches.”
“I didn’t want to eat those.”
“I eat those all the time!”
“You eat the street food?”
“Every morning. That’s how most Peace Corps volunteers survive if they don’t have a host family cooking for them, or if they are traveling. It’s quite good.”

The conversion then continued to living in Africa and some of the inconveniences. They had stories of not being able to find a toilet, while I had no toilet paper. They couldn’t find a vehicle while my vehicle caught on fire. They had to drink the city water while I drank yellow water in Guinea. Basically for every hardship they encountered I could one-up them. At the end of the meal as I was getting ready to pay for my meal Kristine told me to put my money away. They were paying for my meal.

This was not the end of the story, but only the beginning. During the meal it came out the Kristine and Princesses were heading back tomorrow.

“Back to where?”
“Banjul.”
“Banjul? You’re going to Banjul tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“So am I. Is it possible to get a ride if there’s room. I was going to take public transportation back.”
“Yeah, I think there’s room. Can you be at the Novotel Hotel at nine?”
“If there’s private transportation I can be anywhere at nine!”

I had secured myself not only a free ride, not only private transportation, but a diplomatic ride back from Dakar to Banjul! Plus they paid for my dinner. Free meal and transport, this was my day! On the way back from the restaurant I was almost kicking myself for thinking of declining the offer to go out to dinner. I almost passed up a diplomatic ride back home!

1/7/05 - 1/10/05

2005-01-07T17:54:00.000Z

Jan 7th thru Jan 10th will, hopefully, be written by Dave since it was his special side-trip to Laland to visit Rebecca. I figured it was best to get it in his perspective.

1/6/05

2005-01-06T17:53:00.000Z

THURSDAY
JANUARY 6, 2005

I wanted to show Dave the usual place where I get my breakfast. It was just an ordinary bidick a few blocks away, which also doubled as a telecenter called “Barry’s Telecenter.” The location was perfect for them, being in the intersection of two secondary dirt roads, and they received a larger-than-normal amount of customers because of that. Only two guys, Alagie and Amadou, who start each day at five in the morning and end at one in the morning every morning, run the business. For most of the day they are working side-by-side, each one serving every-other customer. During the morning and late afternoon they are extremely busy making sandwiches. Most bidicks in town the fresh bread only arrives once in the day, in the morning. This business is doing so well that they get two fresh shipments, once in the morning, around seven, and another one twelve hours later. I have become a regular customer that, other than greeting them in the morning, I do not have say another word and I get my breakfast: a loaf of bread with potatos, eggs, mayonnaise, and a dash of Maggi spice. The added spice is just from a bouillon cube, and advertisements for Maggi can be found all over West Africa. Every morning I pay them twelve dalasi for their sandwich and eat it on the way to the office, or back home, depending on the schedule for the day.

Dave waited for me to run back home to get more money, as I forgot I had to pay for two people for the rest of the day. Arriving back at “Barry’s Telecenter” Dave had already paid for the sandwiches and was waiting on the half-decayed bench outside. Total bill for two sandwiches was less than a dollar.

Although people were interested the previous day in going to Abuko, the past twenty-four hours had changed some minds. When we arrived at the office only Nate, Tatjana and Andrea were there. Tatjana and Andrea had already seen Abuko during training, a fortunate circumstance which we did not have the opportunity. That left only Nate.

“Nate, do you want to go to Abuko?”
“When are you leaving?”
“Now. Well, in five minutes or so if you want to come.”
“Ah, Ok”

We got another person! Nate’s father was coming into town in a few days and Abuko was one of the Nature reserves he wanted to show him. Nate agreed to come along so the next time he would know how to get there while showing his father. Nate’s Wolof is one of the best in the country and he’s been compiling a database of proverbs and sayings in Wolof, along with jokes. His compilation is already over 4,000 general words; not to mention specific words relating to food, body parts, house, clothing, etc which he put separately for easy access. My favorite was that if you don’t believe someone you could say (in wolof) “Agreement over swollen testicles is only reached when the pants are dropped.” Its English equivalent? “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

From the office us three got a local taxi to Westfield and then grabbed a gelli-gelli going to Brikama, which Abuko would be a drop off. Throughout the half-hour ride Nate was talking to the passengers, with a few turning their heads trying to get a look at this toubob who speaks their local language. He explained who we were and why Dave only spoke English and me only “tutti rek” (small only). The day before I had called Scott explaining the one extra we had and if he would still be willing to be our guide. Scott said he would be there in the late morning, around 11 am, and we should just tell the guards to get him when we arrived.

The guard at the entrance of the park knew who Scott was, or more correctly, who Mussa Sanneh was; but he was in a meeting still and wouldn’t be out until later. Nate threw in some of his Wollof, while I showed my Peace Corps ID and we got in as a resident. Dave had to pay twice as much.

Walking across the park, we stayed on the trail and hadn’t seen any monkeys yet. We arrived at the “Charles Darwin Nature Reserve” and were able to see crocodiles in the distance, along with a few varieties of birds. Some bird watchers from Europe had the long camera lens to zoom in as close as possible and get a picture of the Speckled Thick-Knee or Northern-Carmine Bee-eater. We just pointed, clicked our cameras and said, “cool birds!”

Continuing around the park we passed the dens where the hyenas were located and a few of captive monkeys. Most of the monkeys that were caged were female. The male monkeys, still wild, would sometimes just come out of the wild and sit by the fence for hours.

Halfway through the park a man came up to us and tried to be our guide. He took us ten feet over to some more caged up monkeys, told some story and then asked for small donation. It was just a ploy to get some free handouts. Even the craftsmen selling wooden items and souvenirs in the middle of the park said they made their own stuff and that it would be good price. I found out later by Scott that some of them actually do make their own crafts, but when they tried selling you a bracelet for thirty dalasi where you know you can get it for five elsewhere you know their “good price” is “good for me price.”

We never did run into Scott, but we did see a lot monkeys, which was just as good. I promised Dave he was guaranteed to see monkeys. I never made it to Abuko before, but if this somehow failed I would have taken him to the small monkey park we just saw the entrance too yesterday. I’ve been to that place twice and you can even play small games with the monkeys there’s so many. A month previous Doug ’taught’ the monkeys a game of copying his drawings in the sand with a stick. He would draw a straight then, they would copy. Back and forth.

At the exit we got more vendors trying to sell their woodcarvings, or half rotten fruits and vegetables. We said no to all of them and crossed the street to get a ride back to Westfield.

We dropped Nate off at Westfield while we continued to Banjul. The entrance to Banjul is towered by the Arch 22. The arch was built for, and commemorates, Jammeh’s bloodless coup to the presidency on July 22, 1994. Technically speaking, it was not a coup. At the time Jammeh was a 29 year old lieutenant who was burdened by finances, like the rest of his comrades, due to lack of payments. The protest he organized was announced as a coup and the president at the time, President Jawara, fled to an American naval ship docked off shore Banjul. Seeing no one was in power when he entered the Presidential Palace Jammeh took control. For a few years after the government was military and it wasn’t until, due to outside persuasion from other countries, a democratic election did Jammeh get elected President by a vote.

We got off near the entrance to the city and went up the arch. The four supporting columns are big enough that one of them has a stairs and the other an elevator. Like most things, there is a fee to get in. D15 if you’re a resident, D50 if you’re a tourist. The guard wanted to charge me the tourist price.

“I am not a tourist!”
“You live here?”
“Yes. I live in Kombo. I am a Peace Corps Volunteer.”
“So you act like a guide?”
“Yes. I know Banjul. I know the Arch. I am not paying a tourist price.”

It went back and forth for a few minutes before he granted me the dollar discount. Dave still had to pay the tourist price. The stairs were a spiral staircase. The first floor we could get off was a museum and gift shop. It was poorly lit, had little items, and the check out girl was nowhere to be found. We continued up the stairs to the second floor. This had a very small restaurant, where you could get cold soft drinks for five times what they’re worth. Across the restaurant is the walkway between the two arches, where you could relax and watch the city drive by around you. We continued one more flight to the next, and last, flight. It consisted of more museum items; some obviously fake (after living here you recognize immediately what’s for the tourists). In the corner they even had the steel chair that Jammeh had sat on when he took control of the country, with a picture of the moment above on the wall.

On either side of the museum were two sets of stairs that led to the viewing area. The space was only big enough for five people maximum. Looking through one, southward, you saw the cars entering Banjul along its only highway and the cars exited the city. In front of the Arch is a huge roundabout, with a statue commemorating the bloodless coup, which all traffic have to circle around to get either in or out of the city. The statue is a military soldier holding a baby, signifying that we are safe in the hands of the military.

Looking north you look down upon the entire city, an island. In the far distance you can see the ferries shuffling back and forth from Banjul to the north bank. Only three buildings are dominant in that view. The Grand Mosque, located two blocks away from the Arch, towers over all the other buildings. The next is the radio antenna halfway across town that acts as a good indicator for directions when lost. The third, to the far end of town, was the Central Bank. The Central Statistics, where I worked for six months, was located on the top floor of that building, floor number five, before the offices were moved to Westfield.

After the Arch we walked all the way across Banjul to go to Ali Baba’s, my usual place for lunch in Banjul. I ordered a banana-milk shake. The whole place stopped when this one woman walked in wearing a skin-tight red dress. That never happened before! I was especially shocked because this was a Muslim country and most women pride themselves by not showing off, as is the custom for the religion. In strict muslim countries the women must be completely covered, with seeing through a veil. Maybe this woman was Christian, or a non-practising muslim, but it sure caused a stir! All conversations within the restaurant ceased until she left. In the US, this might have caused a few turned heads but nothing out of the ordinary. Here, in The Gambia, this was the equivalent of seeing a flying elephant down Time’s Square.

Some of the women volunteers don’t understand why the women have to cover up because it is the men who feel ashamed of looking or feeling desire. “They should just not look!” one female volunteer said, “why is it the women’s fault if the men can’t control themselves!”

During the meal Dave had to take his daily malaria pill. However, he accidentally dropped it and gave up searching for it after a few seconds.

“I don’t think the five-second rule applies here.”
“Yeah. Well, we’d have the five-minute rule.”

His point was that The Gambia was dirtier than in the US and he wouldn’t stick anything in his mouth that was on the floor for even a second. After living here, and knowing how dirty things can truly get, having something lying on the floor for five seconds is nothing. We eat peanuts off the ground while walking. Once you’ve eaten goat intestines with your hands, taking a pill off the ground pales in comparison.

After lunch as we walked down the dirty streets of Banjul I heard my name being called. It was Sarjo, the security officer in charge of Peace Corps. He was sitting inside a telecenter and Dave and I went inside to talk. Sarjo and I have a teasing relationship and each trying to ‘arrest’ the other one.

“What are you doing here, boy?”
“I’m on vacation. This is Dave, my friend, from the US.”
“No, no. No vacation for you.”
“It seems like you’re on vacation.”
“Yes, I can have vacation; but you, no. You must go to the post office.”
“Actually that’s where we’re going right now. Well, to the market behind it.”
“You’re showing him the market.”
“Yes, I figured he would like it.”
To Dave, “Don’t trust this boy. He is a criminal!”
“I’ll arrest you!”
“Get out of here!”

We continued along behind the post office to the market. At one stall we both saw a thinking-man statue that obviously stood out from all the rest. There was some character in the statue, some quality absent from the others - as if the maker added a little personal touch to it. Whatever it was, it was just enough to make it unique. I told Dave if he wasn’t going to buy it I would. He bought it so I took a picture of it with the seller holding it so I would have a reference to go back to in six months. His first offer was D1500. Thirty dollars! We got him down to D1200 which included more smaller statues as well.

After we bought the item, and wrapped it up in his bag we exited the market to head back to Kombo. We got in the local buses going to Westfield and then another one going to Bakau. Usually they would stop a few blocks away from Laybatos and we would just walk, but it turned shortly, because of construction, and went on towards Bakau. We got off and got on yet another vehicle, which ended up being the same one we got off on and continued down the route and got dropped off right on the corner.

Before we left Banjul, though, we tried calling Rebecca a few times, using multiple telecenters. Finally, on the third try Dave got through and was able to tell her we would be leaving the next day.

At Laybatos for dinner again we ran into Matt, Alexei and Nate (a different one than before). We had dinner consisting of vegetable pizzas. While we ate Dave went to the counter and bought a paper-made journal to give to Rebecca. The journals were locally made and all proceeds go to school children in the greater Banjul area. Also at the counter they could exchange money, so he gave me $60 so far for all that I’ve paid for since arriving in The Gambia.

After dinner we left and then went shopping for Rebecca. At St. Mary’s he bought a bottle of wine and now needed a box to put it in. Near the entrance / exit were a stack of boxes so we tried each one individually until we found one that box of the wine and book fit into and headed back home to get a few hours of sleep.

1/5/05

2005-01-05T17:41:00.000Z

WEDNESDAY
JANUARY 5, 2005

The next morning, as we were packing up to head to Kombo Courtney offered us a suggestion. If we were hungry for bean sandwiches there should some ladies down the path. One of them, Isatou, is a good friend of hers and if we should run into her we should greet her and buy our sandwiches from her. We thank her for the suggestion and headed out down the path towards Brikama. We passed the sign, now on our left, the water pump on our right, and the water tower before reaching back into Brikama a half hour later.

At the entrance to the city we saw some random bean sandwich ladies, picked one at random and ordered our breakfast. As we were sitting at the entrance to the bidick, with the ladies sitting outside with us, we started to chat. I casually ask her what her name was, in which she replied, “Isatou.” We had, by coincidence, gone exactly to the same lady that Courtney wanted us to go.

Further down the road was a sign that any other day I would have passed without a second notice, but Dave had his eyes out and noticed the name “Holland” on the sign. The Netherlands had a few projects set up in The Gambia and this sign proudly declared the country of “Holland” with the flag of Netherlands. Despite being from the city of Holland, we nonetheless took a picture of it.

When we were approaching the car park a man yelled from behind me, I turned around and recognized Mr. Fye who had worked with Peace Corps for years during training for the education group and is a headmaster of a Senior Secondary School upcountry. Unfortunately, on my part, I couldn’t remember all that then and so my conversation with his was brief; but I knew I recognized him and that he helped with training, but his name was lost at the moment.

After the brief meeting we found a car going to Banjul. Although we were not heading to Banjul it was cheaper to get in this vehicle and pay the partial price to drop us off early then to get a direct route. All those in the car going to Banjul paid the usual eleven dalasi while Dave and I, and a few others, just paid Westfield fare of five each. Five dalasi for what usually would be a half-hour trip, but that day it took upwards of an hour due to traffic. At Westfield, passed the Photopia business where I usually had my pictures developed, we told the driver we wanted to get off. He had to continue driving for a while since parking right near those businesses are illegal and there’s a specific spot those vans could park at. Having missed my usual junction by a few blocks I decided to risk it and just walk straight anyway down a road I never been on but should lead straight to a road I did know. We got lost going to my house in my own neighborhood, but once we found the Taiwanese Embassy I knew my location.

Between the main street in Kombo, where all the businesses are and which was the street we missed by a few blocks, and the street that the University is on is a secondary dirt road which is my main street. I do not technically live on the street, but two blocks off. Although I lived less than a hundred feet away from the University’s road I nonetheless had to backtrack and go out of my way to get on it. I live on a corner in the middle of a dead end next to church that wakes me up on Sunday mornings.

When we approached the entrance, as we were about to enter, the red-painted metal door sprung open and Kristen and Iven walked out. In the compound that I live in, there also lives another Peace Corps volunteer, Mary Ann; a shipping contractor, Edward, along with his replacement Thomas; and two Norwegian Peace Corps volunteers, Kristen and Oyvend. Although they are technically called Peace Corps it has no affiliation with American Peace Corps. Kristen and Oyvend come from different parts of Norway and are going to school to study music theory and music performance, with Kristen in vocals and Oyvend with percussion. Their organization, called “Fredskorpset” in Norwegian and “Peace Corps” in English, has three different sectors depending on your age. The main program, for those aged 23-35, they were too young to qualify having only turned 23 while being here. They instead enlisted in the Youth Program (18-25), which sent them to The Gambia to study African music. They had invited both Mary Ann and I a few times to their concerts and we had a great time enjoying both their signing and drumming. Iven, who we were now shaking hands with at the entrance, is Kristen’s boyfriend who was visiting for a few weeks.

I introduced Dave to both of them while she introduced Iven to Dave before they headed out to where they were going and we headed inside. When you enter the gate you see two small apartments to your left and a main house to your right in which I live in neither one of them. Mary Ann lives nearest to the gate and is occasionally woken up by my pounding on the door to get in late at night when the guard is asleep, while Kristen and Oyvend live together in the other apartment a few feet away. In the main house lives Edward, who is only here for a few months until his shipping company can find a permanent replacement, which ended up being Thomas. In order to get to my house you must turn right, as if your going to the main house, and then cut through a small enclosed hallway cutting through the space between the garage, which they don’t use for vehicles but for spare appliances, and the wall separating the compound from the church. When you are through the hallway you turn left and my house is the second apartment on your right, with the first apartment being empty and only occupied when the landlady decides to relax here before going home for the day.

The keys to most volunteers’ houses in Kombo are reminiscent of 17th century skeleton keys. They are big, bulky, and don’t quite fit into the lock. Each time I want to lock or unlock the door I have to kick the door at the bottom for the key to snap into place so that it can turn.

My house consists of one room, a bedroom, and a hallway that acts like a kitchen connecting the bedroom to the bathroom. When water is running, I have running water; when the power is on, I have electricity. This has a disadvantage sometimes of just leisurely reading and the power goes out for the night, or in the middle of a shower and the water stops. For the first scenario I usually just call it a night and for the latter I finish with the water I previously stored in four buckets. Although having water and power is considered good, it does cause a headache in those situations. I would rather have no power, no water and know with certainty I won’t have it, then for NAWEC [National Water and Electricity Corporation] to tease us with uncertainty.

After we dropped our bags down I gave Dave the grand tour, which lasted all of thirty seconds. There is a door connecting the bathroom to the hallway, but it never shuts. There is also a drape you can pull separating the bedroom from the hallway, which I never have pull closed since I had no use to. Now, when company is here and you want to take a shower or use the bathroom you should, and do, close the drape and then either keep the door closed with your foot, if you are going to the bathroom, or drag one of the buckets of water over to keep it shut. I took a shower first before going outside to read while waiting for Dave. He came out a few moments later.

“Mike, did you know you have a handle for your shower head?”
“I do?” My showerhead was one that you held while taking your shower.
“Yeah! I was taking a shower and realizing what a pain it was and so I looked up. There’s a handle, so I just put it in and you have an actual shower now.”
“Wow, I do!” I had lived in that house for almost six months and never noticed the handle that I could place the showerhead on. I walked inside the bathroom, and there it was, about a foot higher than my head it was attached to the wall. I now had an actual shower to use!

We walked down the dead end road, turned left to the secondary dirt road that led perpendicular to the main dirt road in which we turned right. Follow the dirt road for a few blocks and you’re now on the paved road that the old hostel used to be on. If you turn left on the road for three more blocks you arrive on Karaiba Avenue, the busiest street in The Gambia, and the main street for businesses, in which the Peace Corps Office is one of them.

A few months back, Jordan and I dropped Joe off at the airport for him to go home from finishing his service. After he had left, we walked around the airport parking lot trying to get a free ride back and save $10 between the two of us. A Canadian couple was nice enough to let us ride with them, up until the traffic light, which was only three blocks away from the Peace Corps Office. Throughout the drive they told us they’ve been here permanently for over 15 years and have seen the development that has happened. Kariaba Avenue, now the busiest in the country was non-existent fifteen years ago. It was not even a dirt road. The government put down a water pipe going through the fields to Serrekuda. The path the pipe went along became a footpath and then a dirt road, named Pipeline. A few years later they paved the road and businesses started to grow on it. Within five years of the formation of Pipeline the traffic was busy enough on the intersection that the first, and only, traffic light in the country had to be installed to control the flow.

The Peace Corps Office is guarded around the clock with security and there is only a small walkway you can use to get in, which is between the guard station and the six-inch-diameter metal rod they open and close to let the vehicles through. While we were at the guard station asking what the procedures were for visitors, as I had forgotten whether it was at this station or at the receptionists inside they had to log into, Alison came up to me. She lives near Basse and came into country the same time I did, as she was in our group but is a health volunteer. Our group was the last group to have both education and health together.

“Mike, I’m sorry” with her head down in mock sorrow and looking up with puppy-dog eyes to get the full affect.
“For what?”
“We had to cut the lock.”
“What lock?”
“For the package money.”
“I gave the key to Ed.”
“Yes, but somehow it got upcountry.”
“What? How?”
“We don’t know, and then they lost it.”
“So you had to cut the lock.”
“Yeap, and…”
“…and?”
“we lost eleven package slips.”
“Oh boy.”
“I’ll buy you a new lock. In fact, I have too since that was the only way Mustapha would cut it, if I promised I would buy a new one.”

I hadn’t even reached the building and already had work to do. The lock wasn’t a big thing; it just kept the money relatively safe. The package slips weren’t big either, just caused a little headache. The actual packages themselves were safe in the Post Office, we just had to ask them to cross-reference everything again for us to find out which 11 hadn’t been picked up in a while.

Once inside the office I introduced Dave to Famara and he showed him what forms Dave had to sign as a visitor and gave him a visitors badge to wear at all times while in the building. At the computer lab I asked if anyone was going to Omar’s for lunch, in which a few responded in the affirmative but in a half-hour or so. Dave wasn’t allowed to use the computers and so, after a little tour of outside and of the volunteer lounge, we gave Famara back the badge and exited the building.

The next building over is an Internet Café, which for D30 you can use for an hour. We both checked our e-mails while afterwards I sat and read a magazine as he finished replying. I paid for the both of us, since he had yet to get Dalasi, and we went back across the street to Omars where a few people were eating already. There was Alexei, who I last met at Christmas, Matt Selinske, and Nate Kettle. Alexei was recapping the baseball game we had at Kharafi during Christmas:
“My dad was playing outfield. He was yelling ‘Strike Out!’ over and over again. I yelled back ‘Watch this, old man, I’ll hit a home run right to you!’ He replied, ‘We’ll see who’s old when you can’t see the ball coming!’. I hit a home-run right at him! That shut him up!”

Alexei and his dad get along great and the teasing and mocking were all in fun.

The other two people, Matt and Nate, were both from Alexei’s group. Matt was the one I went to Georgetown with, along with Kelly. Nate lives in Fass, on the Central River Division, and is one of the best Wolof speakers in the country. There is another volunteer, M’Linda which can speak just as well and they have their individual strengths. M’Linda can speak more conversationally and the flow is better. Nate has better vocabulary and knows the Wolof words for strange things. For instance, take your right hand and make a tight fist. There is a piece of skin by your pinkie that hangs out from your palm. I have no idea what the English word for that piece of skin is, but Nate knows the Wolof word for it.

We talked for a little bit, and ordered our meals when Kate and Doug arrived making it a total of seven people. Dave asked the usual illness and sickness questions which each one giving his or her spiel and trying to upstage the last volunteer.

The only thing we had planned for today was the Rotary Club meeting. Other than that it was free sailing. Dave wanted me to put his camera in my mailbox, so he wouldn’t have to carry it around, and so as he waited outside I went inside the office compound to put the camera in the box. Upon exiting I noticed Mustapha was about to leave.

“Mustapha, where are you going?”
“To the hostel.”
“My friend is here, can we get a ride with you?”
“Sure.”

I waved Dave to come inside the compound and explained we had a free ride to the Hostel, which was on the way to the beach. I got in the front seat and Dave in back for the five-minute ride down the street. The new hostel has a very strict policy that nobody except for volunteers or immediate family members are allowed even inside the premises. During New Year’s the American Ambassador asked the Peace Corps Country Directory for a personal favor of having a volunteer take his teenage son out with other volunteers for New Years Celebration. Although he was the son of the American Ambassador, and it was a personal request from the Ambassador himself, he was not allowed inside the gate.

Dave and I rode with Mustapha and walked in

The guard asked “Who’s this?”
“This is Dave”
“Is he a volunteer?”
“Yes”
“Which site?”
“Basse”

There is Dave in country that lived in Basse, who is rarely down in Kombo so I figured I played it safe. However, inside the hostel I ran into Greta, who is married to the Dave who lives in Basse. We all knew the in’s and out’s of policies and how to get around them.

“Greta, if Kex asks, this is your husband, Dave”
“OK”

Inside there were just three people, Greta, Cheeta and Wendy. I wanted to introduce Dave to them all but he just stood in the doorway not wanting to get in trouble for being in the Hostel. Within a minute of arriving we left to head to Laybatos, the beach restaurant. On the way there we passed Sarah Grimm and her younger sister Christy, who her entire family was visiting for a month. At this moment the Fishbowl apartment was just two blocks away. Despite Sarah telling us no one was there I still wanted to show Dave where it was and with the hope that someone might have come home in the few minutes since they passed, so he could check out the inside. No such luck.

We walked for a few more blocks to Laybato’s, located on the beach. The restaurant is a nice vacation for volunteers, but due to increases of prices the number of volunteers visiting the establishment has dwindled. When I first entered country you could get a full vegetable pizza for only D45. Now, after almost two years it has tripled n price to D135. The outside has a relaxed atmosphere, comprised of a dozen hammocks and a half-dozen tables seating five that one may choose from. After five minutes of waiting for a waiter to come by I went inside to order our drinks. Inside the main hut, which the bar was located was Tatjana sitting in the corner. Her boyfriend was visiting and was actually leaving that night. They were relaxing for their last day before heading off to the airport.

Originally I wanted to bring Dave to the “Come Inn”, the hangout restaurant for volunteers. When most visitors come they invite the volunteers along to a meal and the Come Inn and the visitor can meet other volunteers and hear more stories and see that it’s not as isolated as one thinks. However, Laybatos was right by the water and a good break from the travels so far. It was quite by accident that another volunteer should happen to be there, as it wasn’t even the weekend but the middle of the week.

I called Dave over to the bar and we sat while talking to Jason and Tatjana. Jason was a Civic teacher in the US and was particularly interested in the editor that was killed, but was broad enough to talk about other interests. The following is Tatjana’s recollection of what we talked about:

--
yeah, I can remember an interesting discussion about worms and different types of diseases here.... and giligili rides..... and bumsters. jason was very much amazed by the complete lack of driving signs and meandering donkeys in the road. basically every part of gambian life was new to him.... but the worms that take a week to come out of the skin disturbed him the most.
--

As they took their last stroll on the beach together we left to go to Senegambia to go to the Rotary meeting. We obtained a taxi right at the entrance of Laybatos and paid him the D50 to bring us to Senegambia. We had a choice of either that or walking the half kilometers for a local taxi for D5, but we took the tourist route.

At Senegambia we had enough time to check out the location of the monkey park, but not enter it. We did, however, get a picture of Dave doing the monkey pose near the monkey-crossing sign. Walking back we crossed the sign posting for taxis going to Banjul or other places. Even Dave, being in country just a few days, but knowing transportation costs knew these were outrageous prices. Three hundred dalasi to go to Banjul and come back! I could get you there, round trip, for fewer than thirty. Granted, some tourists want this expensive trip for a variety of different reasons. Either they think that’s the normal price, don’t know how far Banjul is (and for the distance it’s not a bad price in American terms), or are afraid or nervous on taking Public Transportation.

We had an hour to kill before the meeting and we spent that hour laying by the pool and checking out the general vicinity. I never knew the hotel had a life-size chess board or even an observatory for astronomy, which unfortunately was closed.

We sat reminiscing about college, telling stories about Freshman year, how we didn’t even know we were from Holland until the very last night, and the past few years and how things have changed. From struggling to solve calculus problems freshman year to struggling to finding careers. Our biggest worry then was midterms and finals, now it’s bills and paying off student loans.

Down the stairs of the main building to the hotel was the conference room that would hold the meeting. Another woman was waiting to enter. Only a half-hour late the meeting started. The men, and women, took their seats around the table while Dave and I sat in the back part. A log book was passed around for the visitors to sign, and I looked through it to see if any other Peace Corps volunteers had attended a Rotary Meeting recently. Vickie and Mirlene were the only two that I found. We both signed our name, got our drink, and waited the meeting to begin. Dave told me later it was not like the rotary meetings in the US, this one was dry and spoke mostly of business and finances. The meetings in the US are livelier as those business aspects are taking care of earlier by the officers.

At the end of the meeting Dave gave a little presentation presenting the Holland Rotary flag to them in exchange for a flag of their own. While he presented them with the flag I took a snapshot so he could bring those back his club in Holland. They didn’t have a flag on hand in return and promised to mail one to either Dave in the US or me here in Banjul. To date, I haven’t received it on my end and I doubt Dave has either on his.

We took a taxi back to the Peace Corps Office, to get his camera, and walked back to my house for the night.

1/4/05

2005-01-04T17:40:00.000Z

TUESDAY
JANUARY 4, 2005

The alarm went off at 5:30 in the morning. The main purpose of an alarm is to wake you up. We were already awake because of the rats, so the alarm served its secondary purpose – time to get a move on. Usually there isn’t any power in Bansang, or very rarely if ever. Throughout the morning we were packing by candlelight. I first had to use my key-chain light to find the candles and then the matches. None of the girls were up and so we left without saying goodbye and walked the few blocks to the car park.

Only two cars were waiting for passengers. One of the cars was headed to Basse, only an hour ride away, which caused some confusion as to why people would want to leave so early. The other vehicle was heading west to Brikama, outside of Banjul, and would take eight hours. People were lined up to get on that van, as were we. The front seat was open and we were going to get it, but as we were handing our bags to the aparante to put on top someone else grabbed front seat. This meant that Dave would have no leg room for this trip.

The ghelli-ghelli’s are second-class vans that can usually fit around thirty people (plus screaming babies and/or squawking chickens) if full. Three benches facing the driver and front passengers, along with two back benches facing each other, is the usual layout. For each of the rows the last seat folds in our out, depending if a passenger needs to get through or not. When it is full you may wonder how the people even got in, as there is no aisle or passageway to be seen, as the folded up seat is now taken. The outsides are painted white with other decorations painted on in bright colors. The phrase ‘Alhamdulillah’ is usually painted on the front, right underneath the driver’s window. The phrase means ‘Praise be to Allah’. Although decorated in the Muslim style, with Arabic saying and praises to Allah, no ghelli-ghelli is complete without a matching set of pre-1984 Madonna stickers on the back window!

I liked what Mark Moxon had to say about Ghelli-ghelli’s:

--
Not only are the buses in this part of the world crammed to bursting point, they're also decorated with the most intriguing collection of stickers and posters. Along with the taxis, the buses have stickers plastered over the backs and sides, most of them proclaiming allegiance to a marabout brotherhood (in which case the sticker is of a guy looking suspiciously like the evil Emperor in Star Wars), or to Allah (in which case Koranic quotations are the order of the day). But a hugely popular and completely mysterious sticker is of Madonna in her 'Material Girl' period, bending her head back and blowing a kiss at the camera. She's dolled up in clothing that screams '1980s!' at you, and every time it's exactly the same sticker. It's a really common picture, and it's faintly disturbing; religion and politics I can understand, but 1980s Madonna? Goodness only knows where that fad came from!
--

After about an hour of waiting the car left around seven-thirty. The sun was up and the new day had started. The road from Bansang to Soma is very smooth by Gambian standards and the car drove on without much hassle. It was only about three hours later before we made it to Soma, the halfway point and stopped for lunch. The most popular place to eat in Soma, while at lunch break, is the one-man chop-shop on the main road. This guy had his table set out in front of a bidick, and had enough room for maybe eight people to sit around the material, spread across two tables. We watched him effortlessly make different orders of coffee and sandwiches simultaneously. Dave and I ordered two sandwiches and a coffee for myself. The coffee is made with instant powdered coffee (Nescafe), water, and a half-glass of sweetened condensed milk. The owner mixed the coffee not with the usual swirl that we do regularly in the US but with a chopping motion with a side twist to each down-turn that after being here a year I still can’t reproduce. However he did it, it produced a frothy foam.

Before we had put our bags on top I had taken out the roll of toilet paper and stuffed it in my pocket as you never know when you might need it. At lunch Dave had to use the latrine as a result I took out the toilet paper while another Gambian had to translate to the owner what we were requesting. The owner finished the drinks he was making, picked up a small bucket of water with a spout solely for washing the hands and escorted Dave to where the latrine was. A few minutes after he returned I had to go myself. The latrine was around the corner and actually in a family’s compound. I don’t know whether that compound was the owner’s of the shop or whether it was just the closest latrine and the family was used to random people using their facilities.

There was someone inside the latrine when I arrived so I passed the time away by playing with the kids, grabbing their arms and twirling them around to the delight of the parents, until it was my turn to use the latrine. When I got back to the shop there were two other white people sitting down. I recognized one of them.

“Hey Alicia!”

Alicia turned around and was surprised to see me. Her and I are the co-editors of the “The Oh-Fish-All” which is the official newsletter for the forty-some Education volunteers in country. While I live in Kombo she lives in Sare Alpha, which is not only passed Bansang, passed Basse, but she is, in fact, the farthest upcountry education volunteer. We rarely meet, and usually conduct business about the newsletter by e-mail as she’s only an hour’s drive away from Basse where there is Internet access.

“Hey Mike! What are doing in Soma?”
“Stopping for lunch. This is Dave, he’s my friend that’s visiting. We just came from Bansang this morning.”

Alicia also had one of her friends visiting Janelle. Dave shook two hands, Alicia shook one, I shook one, and Janelle shook two. Six handshakes from four people. We were heading from upcountry down to Kombo while they were heading from Kombo back to upcountry. We both met at the same spot at the same time. Although this spot is a popular designation for lunch and all cross-country trips stop in Soma for lunch it still reminded me of the popular math problem of a mountain climber:

“A man leaves his home at 2:00 p.m. Friday to begin a hike up a mountain. That night he sleeps at the top of the mountain and at 2:00 p.m. Saturday begins his journey down the mountain to his home. On both legs of the trip he occasionally stops to look at the view or to rest and pays little attention to the time. He follows the same trail on both days. Is it likely that sometime Saturday he would be at the same place on the trail at the same time of day as he was on Friday?”

The answer is 100%, certainty. This is analogous to Dave and I starting at Bansang at seven in the morning and Alicia starting at Kombo also at seven. There’s a 100% chance we’ll be at some spot at the same time. The spot here was this picnic table having lunch. Our paths crossed at the only place it was almost guaranteed to during transport on the south bank, at this small eatery.

For the next four hours we continued our journey on the dreaded south bank road. From Bansang to Soma it’s paved and goes by fast. After Soma it’s better off not to have been paved at all. The potholes add years to your vehicle and take years off of you and your back. From the car rocking back and forth, the gas fumes coming out, and the dust swirling around we both felt sick to our stomach and on a few occasions I thought I would vomit, despite the fact that I have traveled this road many times before. This is why, whenever possible I try to travel the north bank road; although dirtier, you save your stomach.

When three thirty approached we arrived in Brikama. This is Gambia’s third largest settlement, and the first proper ‘upcountry’ town you reach going inland from Banjul. Courtney said she would be in language class until four o’clock. We waited another half-hour by just walking around the market and teasing the kids who begged for money. It sounds bad, I know! It really isn’t. The kids are fine, they aren’t starving, despite some commercials you see on television. The have a family that takes care of them. It’s just a group of kids who see a white person and take a chance they’ll give them money. It only takes a few tourists giving away spare change to get the reputation going.

“Toubob, give me dalasi!”
“You give me ten and I’ll give you one.”
“OK. Give me ten dalasi.”
“No no no. YOU give ME ten dalasi and I’LL give you one.”
They figured it out, “NO!”

Having said that introduction, however, there are starving children in Africa and in The Gambia, as there are starving children everywhere in the world. I do admit that, but having lived in Africa, and in one of the poorest countries in Africa, I haven’t seen a single child die from starvation, or heard of one happening. That does not say it doesn’t happen - it’s just rare. Most children here are fed what the rest of the family eats and turn out fine. Only in the poorest families are the children malnourished or undernourished.

During the wait Dave bought some oranges. We tried teaching the kids how to juggle three oranges simultaneously. I failed, Dave succeeded briefly. I could do only two. After we played with the kids and found the telecenter we had another ten minute wait to go. A man was selling kola nuts next to the entrance and I gave him a Dalasi for Dave and I to each have one. The first time I had a kola nut was when we were heading to training village and the driver passed them out, all knowing the outcome. It’s like giving a kid a lemon before they know what it is. However, instead of being sour like a lemon, kola nuts are bitter like coffee. In fact they do contain caffeine and that is why the Gambians eat them on a regular basis – and their teeth show it!

Dave spitted out the first bite he took. I laughed as the drivers laughed at us beforehand. It goes in a circle!

At four o’clock I called Courtney on her cell phone using the telecenter. She had actually cancelled her language class and was just waiting for us to call. These are her exact directions to her compound:

“Get a taxi going to Manduar. You can either get a ghelli-ghelli for five dalasi but you might have to wait an hour or so, or you can do a town-trip. Tell them you want to go to the mosque, but you’re actually not going there. You’ll pass a water tower on your right. After that you’ll pass a water pump on your left. Past the water pump is a sign on your right. You’ll notice the sign. Get off at the sign and ask a small-boy where my compound is. I’m just a block off the road but anyone in that area will know where I live. If you’ve gone to the mosque you’ve gone too far.”

The price for the call was more expensive then I thought it should have been. I argued for a minute or so before it became clear that the owner was in the right. I had made a call from a landline to a cell-phone and therefore the units that the prices are set for go faster in one minute then a landline-to-landline call. Listed above the owner was the price of what each unit would be, but not how many units were in a minute! The chart was useless in my opinion.

In the US we are so used to giving exact addresses. I relayed the following, typical Gambian, address to Dave, “passed the water tower, the water pump, and stop at the sign.” We hired a private taxi to take us for D50. It was a ten-minute ride, interrupted for a few minutes by the driver who stopped to watch in the rear-view mirror a man tease a woman on the side of the road. He had her books and wouldn’t give them back. The woman’s reaction? She got a stick and ran after him! We drove off laughing as the man ran away.

We saw the water tower, the water pump and then saw ‘a’ sign. We figured that had to be ‘the’ sign she referred to and got off. Upon exiting we did exactly as she said and asked a small boy where “Fatou Bojang” lived. The volunteer who lived there previously, John Capuano, tried teaching his host family the song “Mr. Bojangles!” but they neither got the song nor the joke. Courtney didn’t try.

Courtney was surprised to see us so soon. She expected us maybe an hour later as she usually waits for public transportation, or as a last effort walks the forty-five minutes to her compound. She welcomed us in and introduced us to her host-family. Her compound had four main houses. Two were for the family themselves, one was for Courtney, and the other for a random West African who rented the room from the family.

She offered to cook us spaghetti for dinner if one of us went out to the bidick and bought some butter for the bread. I was tempted to have Dave give it a try, but I went instead. Outside on the main road was the nearest bidick. Before I had left I asked her what the Mandika word for ‘butter’ was. It was a good thing I did since they had no idea what I was saying in English, despite being an English speaking country, and I murdered saying the word in Mandika but they understood. The owner asked how much butter I wanted in a language I didn’t know. I also didn’t know how much was one unit. I searched quickly for some container that would work, so I could motion for him to fill it. None was found. If I said one, would that be one spoonful, one cup, one packet, etc. I had no idea. Having nothing to lose, the number that I picked was three. He did three knife-fulls of butter and wrapped them in a corner of an old newspaper.

As she was making dinner we each took a bath to clean off all the dirt we had accumulated throughout the day of traveling. Despite being in Africa a total of five full days now this was Dave’s first bucket bath. I quick gave him the instructions and the rules of the game. The main rule for taking a bucket bath is not to get the water dirty of dirt or soap. You use a cup, about a size of a liter, and just repeatedly scoop water out and pour it out over yourself. This doesn’t imply you have to use the whole liter at a time. Usually you would want to conserve water and so after a little practice you can get three baths completed with only one bucket of water. However, for someone who never took a bucket bath before, as all of us were before training, you might end up using the whole bucket full of water. Courtney had fetched more water just in case, one bucket for washing and one for drinking. In extreme cases you learn not to get your washing water dirty as that is also your drinking water.

I finished my bath first and then told Dave to go ahead and to let us know if he needed more water. The area to take the bucket bath was in the same area as the latrine. The cement gets wet from the bath, but evaporates quickly during the day. In fact, most of the times you cannot even take a bucket bath during the day lest you burn your feet, and must wear sandals. Both the outside area was fenced off, as per requirements of Peace Corps, as we must have our own private backyard; and also the latrine area was fenced off which regardless of requirements was the usual custom anyways. And so if a problem arose such as needing more water you could safely bring another bucket within arms reach without intruding.

As he was taking his shower Courtney and I jokingly debated if we should take a picture using his camera so he’ll have a picture of his first bucket bath in Africa. We didn’t. Dave came out a few minutes later laughing.

“I was taller than the fence! I could see the whole village! I was taking my bath and it was like ‘Hi guys’! They don’t make those fences tall enough!”

As we ate dinner we discussed the plans for the following day.

“Should we do Abuko first, then Banjul, then go to the Rotary Club?”
“Do we have to do everything in one day?”
“Well, we could skip something but if we’re leaving the day after we should do all that you want to do.”
“We’re not leaving the day after tomorrow. The following day. We have two days in Banjul.”
“Two? Oh. I guess I was a day off. Then there isn’t much a rush, then is there?”
“Not really.”
“Ok.”

That caused some relief and less stress. Tomorrow was Wednesday and our only obligation was the Rotary Club Meeting. The following day we could choose either Abuko Nature or Banjul, or both, to tour.

She laid an extra mat out on the floor and we slept on the floor in her living room for the night.