Thanksgiving in the Gambia – Letter #4 December 20, 2006 (Part Two)
We had our Swearing-In ceremony on Friday, 2 days before we were scheduled to leave for our sites. The ceremony was to be held at the U.S. Ambassador’s residence, which sits overlooking the beach just south of where we swam everyday. In preparation for the ceremony, all of the guys in our group had been growing mustaches for swearing-in - it has been a PC tradition since the current Ambassador (who himself sports a fine mustache) arrived in country. There was a whole array of mustache styles on display for the big day. Some of us, namely Peter, had grown an impressively large mustache, and had spent the past week trimming the rest of his facial hair into different outrageous styles. He had the “Civil War general” for a few days; which morphed into the “Captain Morgan,” and for Swearing-In, he had just the ridiculously outsized, “Barbershop Quartet” mustache. I myself experimented with a goatee for a couple hours, before deciding to go for the “White trash, ex-professional wrestler/ bounty hunter” look. (All the styles can be seen on my photo website.)
The Ambassador’s residence sat on a small bluff, overlooking the ocean, and was surounded by a beautiful array of exotic plants and flowers. There was a long staircase that ran down to ocean level, and a swimming pool halfway between ocean and house. The ceremony took place on the upper patio- essentially the backyard- that overlooked the ocean. Upon our arrival, we learned that several VIPs, actually all of them, would not be attending the ceremony. Both the Ambassador himself and the PC country Director were away on Emergency leave, and the Gambian government’s Environmental Director was unable to attend. We dubbed it the “Stand-in swearing –in” since all the VIPs had stand-ins to deliver their speeches. Fortunately, the lack of VIPs didn’t affect the food, and after the speeches and oath talking (I swear to defend the U.S. Constitution, against all enemies, foreign and domestic) we got down to business. Honestly, food was probably the reason most people came, particularly the 2nd-year Agro forestry volunteers, who were there for the occasion. After eating ourselves sick, we all headed to the beach to lie in the hammocks and digest the feast
. That evening, the 2nd-year Agfo’s threw us a party @ the Pc transit house. It was quite the party too-I don’t know much they all spent on alcohol, but is must have been a small fortune. We even had a table for beer pong and a table for flip cup (competitive college- drinking games, for the unitiated). After a rocky start, I had been over 2 years since I last played, Nick and I dominated in Pong, but stepped down after 3 consecutive wins, due to the fact that our stomachs were still full from the swearing-in feast.
A bunch of is had decided to go out to a dance club after the party began to wind down. Matt decided it would be a good idea for the 5 of us hanging out in the kitchen to finish the rest of the whiskey and Wanjo before we left for the club. (Wanjo is a sweet red juice made from sorrel flowers). In our drunken states, we all thought it was a good idea too, and no one complained when he added the rest or a bottle of whiskey to the already potent concoction.
We were about halfway to the club, packed into an old, beat up Renault taxi when the first wave of whiskey and wanjo hit. By the time we got to the club, I knew that I was going to be in trouble if I didn’t do something to sober up. Therefore, for the next 3 or 4 hours, I danced as hard as I possibly could to sober up. (It was one of those strangely clairvoyant moments in the midst of a drunken haze.) Those few hours we all spent in the club were easily some of the best I’ve spend on the dance floor. When we arrived, we were essentially the only ones on the dance floor, and we got the DJ to crank out 80’s hits, from Michael Jackson, to Wham! The music progressed to Hip-Hop as the night went on, and by the time we headed back at 3am I was both exhausted and only mildly drunk.
Training is Officially Over (p. 34)
Early Sunday morning, our group of trainees packed up all of our belongings and began to load them into the fleet of PC vehicles waiting to take us to our sites. Training was officially over, and there was a nervous, excited tension in the air. We had all spent the last 2 and a half months together in a strange country, and had grown pretty close. Now it was time to go it alone. I was really excited to get to Jali, and to see my house, but it was sad to leave everyone, particularly Sharon. Knowing that I would see her in a couple weeks for Christmas made the pain a little easier to manage. Peace Corps had effectively brought almost its entire fleet of Land Cruisers and Land Rovers, a totally of 5, and still we had to cram ourselves and all our gear into the vehicle, barely fitting. The vehicles were each going to separate areas of the country, with ours being the only one to take the South Bank Road. Our group rode in relative comfort compared to the vehicle that was headed to Janjanbuch. I believe they had to sit on each other’s laps to make enough room, and their roof rack had 10 feet of gear on it-trunks, gas stoves, and mattresses. Our Land Rover was crowded, but we dumped two people in the first 30 minutes or so, which made things considerably more comfortable. The crew going to Janjanbuch, however, had a 6 hour drive before they dropped-off a single person.
It was interesting going to everyone’s sites and meeting their families, checking out their houses, and driving through the various villages. Mohammadou Bah, a PC language teacher, summed it up nicely; “Well, once you’ve seen a PC house, you’ve seen them all.” He was referring to the fact that they all had white walls; green floors, the exact same windows and doors, and all were essentially the same size. It’s a very standardized housing system, since the houses all have to meet PC specification. Watching everyone’s reactions as the vehicle drove away and they were essentially on their own. I was impressed by how cool and calm everyone looked. It seemed training had prepared us well.
When I arrived in Jali, I was a little surprised, naturally, to see that my house did NOT have a roof!! Again my first response was laughter. I had half assumed that something like this was going to happen. That being said, I was greatly relieved when I saw another Pc vehicle parked under the African Locust Bean tree that abuts my backyard- Mustapha’s truck!! Mustapha, who is in charge of construction and maintenance for Pc, and 2 of his men were here helping my host father with the house. I jumped out of the Land Rover and greeted my family, who had all come out to say hello. Mustapha came up and explained that my father had been too busy with his peanut harvest to work on the house, so he had arrived yesterday to help get things squared away. When I entered the house, I realized that the fence surrounding the backyard was really the only thing that had been fixed. “Oh well”, I thought at least it would give me something to do for the next couple days.
Mustapha and his men had pulled the old grass off the roof, and were in the process of re-cementing the destroyed back wall when I arrived. After unloading my things from the PC vehicle, and saying my goodbyes to Nick and the driver, Sam, they drove off, and I quickly got to down to business. While the cement was drying, the men had erected a support for the back section of the roof, and we started to lay the new grass on the repaired wooden super structure. It was a very quick, efficient procedure, they simply laid a pile of grass on top the wooden structure, unfurled it, so it was spread flat, and tied it into place with Baobab bark rope. When the first layer had covered the lowermost section of the roof, another layer of grass was placed on top, overlapping the layer underneath. In about 4 or 5 hours, we had exhausted out supply of woven grass, but the roof was almost completed, except for the upper quarter, while Lamin (my host father) and 2 of the other men began weaving more grass, Taliboo (the carpenter/mason and I started replacing the old, cracked door frames. Finally, around dusk we called it quits for the day. It was then that Mustaphu excitedly told me that they had killed a crocodile earlier in the day while they were harvesting grass for the roof, and that we would be eating it for dinner. I wasn’t sure exactly whether to be excited or worried, but he assured me that it was “very sweet,” He wasn’t kidding. I had 3 or 4 chunks in my food bowl that night, and they were delicious! It tasted like a cross between fish and steak; essentially very mild, juicy, tender fish. We had it a few times during the next 2 days and I looked forward to every meal.
We worked dawn to dusk for the next 2 days, finishing the roof, re-cementing the interior gap between roof and walls, patching the crakes in the walls, putting screens on the doors, and repainting the walls, floor, and exterior of the house. I slept outside in my bivy sack during the repair process-either the house was too filthy, the roof wasn’t finished, or the floor paint wasn’t completely dry but it was nice and cool, so I slept well. The night before they were supposed to leave, Mustapha locked his keys in the Land Cruiser, so we spent the next hour breaking into the truck, eventually using a red-hot wire to create a groove in the door lock tab so we would pull it up from the outside. The next morning the floor paint was dry, so we went in to inspect our work. It didn’t even look like the same house, the change was dramatic. Satisfied that their work was finished, mustapha and his men left to fix another new volunteer’s house.
The 12 days I spent at site before heading back to Kombo for Christmas absolutely flew by. I was so busy I found myself wondering whether or not I had actually left the fast—powered world of America. They kept warning us in training not to be too ambitious and to go slowly, and had conditioned us to adjust to a slower pace of life, but to this day, I feel I haven’t had a free moment, There is always something to do, some new project to start, or people coming up asking for help with a mud stove, or with a garden. I’m not complaining, whatsoever, I thrice on the activity and the busyness, and wouldn’t want it any other way, but it certainly has made finding time to write, rather difficult.
Peanut Fields (p. 38)
The day Mustapha and his crew left, I headed to the peanut fields to help Lamin with the harvest. He had already brought a load of groundnut hay (essentially the non-nut part of the Peanut plant) back in Mustapha’s truck, and we needed to winnow the remainder before returning with a donkey cart. In the Gambia, there are many phases of harvesting, all of which are labor intensive. First, the peanut plants are pulled from the ground and laid in small piles to dry. After a few days, the small piles are collected and deposited in one large pile. The pile of peanut plants is then hand- threshed to separate the nuts from the plant. Finally, the threshed material is winnowed to separate the nuts from the hay. The Gambians rely on the strong Harmattan winds that blow from the northeast during the dry season to facilitate the winnowing process. Therefore, a certain amount of patience is required, as the winds aren’t totally consistent.
When we arrived at the fields, Lamin climbed up the remains of a dead tree that had been buried in the ground, the whole thing shaking wildly with his every movement, I was certain it was going to snap, but it held firmly. He was about 7 feet off the ground when he reached the top, and it was my job to gather the peanut hay and pass it up to him in buckets. At that point, he would wait for the wind to pick up enough speed, and slowly dump the contents of the bucket onto the ground, letting the wind do the sorting, It was a very simple process, but unfortunately, not very efficient, as we had to winnow half the pile again, to remove all the hay. While Lamin and I were winnowing, my two little brothers, Buba and Alagi, both 5, were picking up individual peanuts out of the dirt surrounding the pile and throwing them on top. It was a pretty thankless job, as the lowermost peanuts were constantly being re-buried by dirt. It amazed me that he hadn’t thought of throwing down a couple rice bags to act as a tarp and prevent the dirt from hiding all the nuts. I pointed this out to him and he thought it was a wonderful idea saying that he would do it next year. It made me realize how little value Gambians place on efficiency- it’s all about cost saving measure here. Which, considering it’s one of the poorest countries in the world, is pretty understandable when the winnowing was completed, Amadou (Lamin’s eldest child) and his friend, both 13, began bagging the peanuts in old rice bags. When we finally had bagged all the peanuts, including the several thousand buried in the ground, it was approaching 3 pm, and we hurried back for lunch.
Lamin and I returned to the peanut field 3 or 4 times over the next 2 days to gather up the rest of the peanuts and the leftover hay, and bringing them back to village with a donkey cart he borrowed from a neighbor. He sold the peanuts to a merchant in town, and we dumped the peanut hay in the fenced- in backyard. It would be used to feed his 5 cows during the heart of the dry season, when they would no longer find enough food by foraging. When I wasn’t out working in the fields, I was busy fixing up my house, getting my locally- made bed and mattress (local mattresses are made from the rice bags sewn together and then filled with straw, which I was told was much cooler than the soft, cushy foam mattresses due to the fact that you don’t sink into it.) and unpacking and sorting out all the things I had accumulated since my arrival. I spent considerable time getting my backyard spruced up. I made tree basins for all the moringa trees and the papaya, added cow manure for fertilizer, and pruned and transplanted some of the larger moringa trees. I was starting to feel at home finally, and began to settle into a little morning routine where I would get up and go for a run or do yoga, come back and bathe, and then cook myself a delicious breakfast of oatmeal, that I would spice up with peanut butter, honey or Jam, freshly ground cinnamon and nutmeg, or wheat bran; depending on my mood.
First Projects Chosen
Despite all the busyness and activity, it was strange and sometime difficult, to adjust to a completely none-scheduled life. There was essentially nothing that I had to do, so it took a fair bit of self-motivation and drive, sometimes, to get started on a project. My mood was also extremely varied, and would undergo dramatic swings on a daily, even hourly basis. There were times when all I wanted to do was hide out in my house and not talk to anyone, but then almost invariably, something would happen to make me realize how great it was to be here, and how many possibilities I had for projects and work. Mornings are typically the hardest for me. I usually wake up exhausted, not so much from lack of sleep, (I usually mange to get a good night’s rest) but because adjusting to a new culture, lifestyle, language, and environment is totally draining. Add to that all the exploring on my bike, garden work and morning exercise, and it becomes quite a load on the body. Granted, I wouldn’t want it any other way but it does take me a while to leave the bed most mornings. That being said, compared to me, Gambians hardly sleep at all, and I haven’t been able to figure out how they manage. I’m usually asleep between 10:30 and 11:30, and I get up between 7:00 and 7:30. When I go to sleep, my family is up at first light, pounding rice or coos and Lamin goes to the mosque every morning at 6am when it’s still dark.
During the two weeks before Christmas, I visited the school in Jali twice to meet the headmaster and to see if there were any projects I could assist with. Jali has a Lower basic School, which is essentially like our elementary schools, Grade1-6. The Gambia also has Upper Basic Schools, Grades 7-9, and secondary schools, grades 10-12, but these are much less common then Lower Basic Schools, which usually can be found in most villages and towns. Jali’s school was relatively new and in good condition. The Headmaster, Demba Bojang was very excited about the possibility of our collaboration, and took me on a tour of the school to show me his various projects. Even in our first encounter, I could tell he was a very determined, ambitious, and hard working man. After seeing all the projects he had helped to implement. I knew he was very committed to the school and would be a fantastic counterpart for part of my work in Jali.
The school projects were both numerous and varied. The headmaster had obtained a grant to start a poultry project to generate income for the school. They had purchased 50 commercial layer hens from Senegal, and were selling the eggs to people in the area. It was an impressive se-up, they had the chickens well protected in a small bamboo shack, and had purchased commercial chicken feed from Kombo. The headmaster told me that he even had to use some of his own money at the start to pay for the feed, but since it was for the school, he was happy to do so. The school also had a small goat project, where they bred and fattened goats to sell to the surrounding area. The Headmaster had also implemented a banana plantation some years ago, which was now thriving. The students had their own banana plant, which they were responsible for watering every day, and the banana sales were used to help pay for their book fees. When I arrived they were in the process of starting a school garden so the children would have practical gardening experience, and would reap the benefits by having fresh vegetables in their school lunch. All together, it was an impressive enterprise, and I told the Headmaster I looked forward to working at the school, and helping out in any way that I could. We discussed the possibility of expanding his poultry project to make it more profitable, and talked about starting and Environmental Club for the students. I left the school very excited about the potential there, and promised to return after the Holidays.
On the walk back, I probably greeted about 50 people- a very typical occurrence here, as the school is on the other side of town, During one of the many greetings, I discovered that the man I was talking to was the baker in Jali. I expressed interest in his work, and he invited me to come over that evening to observe. I was very curious to see how bread was made in the Gambia, so I said that I would definitely come. When I arrived at his compound that evening, his family took me over to a semi open-walled hut that was dominated by a huge clay oven, about 7 feet in diameter, and 10 feet tall. It sat on a large mud-brick square, so its door was at waist level, and the roof had a small opening for the chimney. When I arrived, Lamin greeted me enthusiastically and began explaining what he was doing. He had already shaped the dough into individual baguette-esque loaves, and was busy preparing the oven for baking. He had a large fire burning in the middle of the oven, that he said he started at around 4pm. It was not 8pm, so it took a considerably amount of time to heat the oven large oven. While I watched, He carefully pushed the fire to one side of the oven letting the embers continue burning. He then took a mixture of water and dirt, and spread it over the surface of the oven, presumably to keep the bottoms of then loaves from burning. Today, he said he was only baking 40 loaves, because the demand had been low recently. In the candlelit semi-darkness of the hut, he transferred the loaves from his dough making area on one side, to a wooden shelf next to the oven, from where he would lad them into the oven. When he was satisfied the oven was ready, he placed 4 loaves into a wooden baker’s paddle, scored the tops with a razor blade lengthwise, and brushed a thin solution of sugar, water, and yeast on the tops of the bread. Then, with quick, expert hand movements loaded the bread into the far corner of the oven and withdrew the now empty paddle. He placed a piece of wood over the opening while he prepared the next 4 loaves. The whole time I watched, I imagined myself somewhere 5 or 6 hundred years ago, watching the exact same process. Except for his small flashlight that he used to peer into the oven, we may as well have been in Medieval Europe, watching a baker at his craft. It was simply fascinating. While he loaded the remainder of the loaves, he rearranged the ones he had placed earlier with the same quick expert movement, made it all the more impressive by the fact that he only had 3 fingers on his right hand, and 4 in his left. (This is a pretty common problem I’ve noticed among older Gambian men). Lamin was a smallish, thin man, who looked like he was in his late 60s. Because of the heat, he was working with his shirt off, and even at his age, he was still very sinewy, and his small body belied a quiet strength. He started to pull the loaves out, as they were ready, knocking them together and then brushing them with a rag to remove the dirt on the bottom. When they had cooled enough to handle, he broke one in half and handed it to me, the broken and still steaming. It was delicious!! My mind very quickly thought of all the possibilities, fresh baked pizza, with fresh tomatoes from the garden, bean sandwiches, ect. Needless to say, Lamin and I became pretty good friends. I visited him twice a week to chat and watch him bake, He would always give me half a loaf to munch on, and I would buy several loaves for my family, Unfortunately, as I write this Lamin is currently sick, and is staying with his son in Kombo.
Eating peanut butter with my oatmeal every morning quickly exhausted my stockpile of peanut butter I had bought at the Kwinella market, so one day I asked my family if anyone in town sold it. Then said no, but Fatoumata offered to help me make my own the following day. After breakfast, I sat with Lamin and the two of us de-shelled a big bowl of peanuts. After an hour or so, we gave the bowl to Fatoumata, who hand winnowed the shells and the nuts with a big, flat woven basket. Once the nuts and shells were separated, we roasted the peanuts in a big metal pot partly filled with sand over a small workfire. After about 10 or 15 minutes of stirring the peanuts and sand, we removed the nits and allowed them to cool in the basket. Once cooled, I de-husked the peanuts and put them in a peanut grinder that my family had mounted on a small table in the porch. The grinder was, of course, hand powered, so after 20 minutes of good solid cranking, my peanut butter was ready. Most of it had ended up in the bowl, but the grinder had a good layer of peanut butter stuck to it, which I gladly ate off my fingers as I wiped it clean. It was still worm, and delicious!! So, far the next 2 weeks or so, I had my own handmade peanut butter with my oatmeal in the mornings.
Later that day, as I was sitting with my family practicing my ataya brewing skills, one of our neighbors, Baba, came over and quickly said something to Lamin that I couldn’t catch. I didn’t know what was going on, but Lamin and Baba made it clear that they wanted me to go with them. I followed them up the path a ways, and turned the corner to see about 25 men gathered around a water pump. As men NEVER fetch their own water here, I found it pretty unusual that so many men would be gathered around the pump, but it turned our that a man had come from Kombo to fix the pump, which had been broken for about 2 weeks. Watching the procedure, I was amused by how similar the whole operation was to a construction project back in the U.S. There was one man who clearly knew what he was doing, a handful of men working, a bunch of guys “helping,” and another bunch just watching. Pretty much the only thing missing was the beer. I have trouble just standing around whilst people are working, especially here, where everyone assumed that Toubabs don’t do manual labor. Since this Toubab enjoys getting his hands dirty, I was eager to help out, and to prove that I would work just like the rest of them. At first, they resisted, talked about how hard it was, and that I would get my hands dirty. (I get that a lot, to this day) I had trouble reigning in my anger, and insisted that I would help. I had watched for a few minutes and knew what to do. They already had the pump housing off, and were starting to haul up the pipes that led down to the water table. The man from Kombo had diagnosed a problem with the rubber valve at the bottom, the piping was very heavy. It took 5 of us to lift the pipe up (2 with pipe wrenches) while one man operated a clamp that locked the pipe into place. Slowly we began to haul the piping out of the hole unscrewing the 3 meter section and placing them to the side, as they came up. We pulled up and detached 9 of the 3m segments before getting to the pump unit. The repairman replaced the faulty pump with a new one, and we reversed the process, slowly adding pipe and lowering it into the hole. It was a pretty ingenious design, and despite some quibbles between the “chiefs” the whole process went smoothly, and I proved, once again, that yes, Toubabs could work too. Although some people tend to forget it rather quickly.
Knowing that I was only going to be at site for 2 weeks before going to Kombo again for Christmas, I wanted to do a small quick project that I knew would help my family, and get the word out around the village that I was here to help. I decided that building improved cook stoves would be a good start. I talked to Fatoumata and Bintou about it, and they were both were receptive to the idea, They knew what the mud stoves were, but just didn’t know how to make them, and after I explained that the mud stoves use about a third less firewood for cooking, Amadan, my younger brother said he would like to help out, He’s the primary firewood collector for the family, so he had a vested interest in getting the stove built. The stoves are fairly simple to build, and will last several years if made well. Amandon and I went out the following day to collect the necessary materials; Clay from termite mounds, cow dung, and wood ash. We dumped the materials in the backyard, and began pounding the cow dung and termite clay into fine particles that would mix well. After the pounding, we mixed everything with water, and stomped on it with bare feet to mix it. Once it was mixed well, we piled it, and covered the pile with grass, where it would sit for 6 days to allow the mixture to strengthen. We watered the pile every day to prevent the mixture from drying and hardening.
In the meantime, I did some exploring of the surrounding town on my bike, and went Keneba to visit a livestock research facility there, and to try again at MRC. (I had met a health extension worker in Jali from the MRC who gave me the name of the doctor I should consult.) The visit to the livestock facility went really well they were eager to collaborate on a project to grow fodder for their cowherds the second attempt at MRC also went very smoothly. Having the name of the doctor helped immensely- I was taken right to his office. I think he was a little surprised when I opened the door- I don’t think he was expecting to see another Toubab, especially one he didn’t know, He invited me in and we had a nice chat. He said he had been here for 1 year, with his wife and 18 month old daughter, He was from a small town in the southwest of England, but said he was familiar with Harrogate when I told him I lived there for several years. WE talked about MRC, its purpose and service, and vaguely discussed collaboration possibilities, but said he would be eager to see me after the holidays as he was leaving for England the following day. He also said he’d like to have me over for dinner occasionally, which I told him I didn’t think would be a problem. It was very encouraging to get such a positive feedback from both organizations, and it just added to my growing list of project ideas. Our Volunteer Leader during training, who has since completed his service, put it nicely; “The advantages of working in once of the poorest countries in the world, is that there is always something to do.”
As luck would have it, (actually not luck, just poor planning on my part.) the materials for the mud stove constriction weren’t ready until the day I was set to leave for Nick’s site to begin our crazy travel to Kombo- which I’ll discuss a little later. Luckily, I didn’t have to leave until the evening; since he’s only 25 km away- a quick hour plus bike ride. Nonetheless, I got up early that morning, did my yoga, and began work on the mud stove after breakfast, Amadou had the day off from school, and so he and we built the stoves together. Bintou and Fatoumata wanted 2 stoves built, one for cooking rice, and one for cooking the various sauces. After mixing the clay a second time, we formed it into little balls, and formed a ring around each of the three cook stoves, which the pot sits on to prevent them from moving. We then slowly built up a wall of clay around the perimeter of the three stoves insuring that it made a good fit with the pot. While I was supposedly teaching Amadou how to make the stove, I was also learning how to do it myself. I knew the theory behind it, but missed the hands on demonstration during training due to sickness. It took considerably longer than I had expected to build both the stoves. The second one, although larger, took less time as I already had the technique down. By the time we finally finished, it was 4 pm, and my lower back and legs were killing me from all the bending over and squatting. I left instruction with Amdou to cut a hole in one of the sides for firewood after a day, and to keep it covered for 6 days while it dried.
I took a quick bath to wash the fermented cow dung off, threw some clothes into my bad, locked the house, and said goodbye to my family. It took another 15 minutes to get out of Jali, since everyone wanted to know were I was going and how long I was going for. When I finally got on my bike at the edge of the village it was 5:30pm. It starts to get dark around 7 pm, and being that I had never actually been to his site, I was anxious to get moving, The largish pack I was carrying slowed me down a bit, and only made my lower back pain worse, so I stopped in Keneba to throw it on the rack, half expecting it to fall off during the ride. I had also tried unsuccessfully to confirm with Nick that I was actually coming that day- my text messages weren’t going through. I was especially anxious to let them know I was coming because his last message had said that his father wanted to kill a chicken for my arrival, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to miss out on that. I tried again, in Keneba, where I have full service, but the message still wouldn’t go through. (I was out of credit, I just didn’t realize it.) I was pretty frustrated at that point; the sun was sinking fast, my back was sore as hell, I still had 17 km to go. To top it all off, I was probably going to miss out on the chicken. (I pedaled as hard as I could, but had to stop a few time to get directions or confirm I was on the right road, and when I finally got to Janned Kinda it was pitch black. After a bath and dinner, I passed out.
Travel to Kombo
Nick and I woke early the next morning, eager to get started on our adventure trip to Kombo. Nick had found a way for us to cut off the vast majority of the terrible South band road by crossing the Bintang Bolong, that essentially makes our area a peninsula. The first leg of the journey included biking 14 km to Misira, where Nick had arranged for us to leave our bikes with the Alikaloo (village head). Once our bikes were safely secured, we shouldered our packs and walked a few km to the edge of the bolong where we would catch the boat that was to take us across the bolong to a small town called Bintang. We had to wait about an hour and a half for the boat operators to show up. They had been waiting for enough passengers to arrive to make the trip profitable. Transportation here runs on demand, not by schedule. The two operators showed up, checked to make sure they had enough passengers, and then promptly walked off into the bush. They returned in 5 minutes with a small outboard motor that they had presumably stashed in the brush nearby to prevent theft, while the two men were setting up the motor. we began to load the boat. The bolong’s bank was comprised of shippery ankle deep mud that made loading a fun little challenge. Before everyone had brought in preparation for the holidays. There were bags of rice, bags of charcoal, gallons of milk, goats, suitcases, firewood, a couple chickens and containers of oil. Once the gear was haphazardly stowed in the middle of what was essentially and oversized, glorified canoe, (technically called a pirogue.) the 20-odd passengers slipped and slided their way aboard. It took us about 30 minutes to get to Bintang. We had to go up a separate side creek before turning and going down and across the bolong. The ride was very pleasant, nice breeze and good scenery. I wouldn’t help thinking that our alternative as being cramped into an overloaded van while careened crazily down the South Bank road, trying to avoid potholes, but hitting most of them anyway. We were told that there would be a gele-gele waiting in Binang to take us, and the rest of the passengers to Kombo, but when we arrived, there was no gele in sight. Everyone we talked to said that the gele would come, so we simply sat and waited. 10 minutes became an hour, and hour quickly became 2 before we head the distant sound of a diesel approaching. We had followed the advice of several men who we had befriended, and we were waiting for the gele in the middle of town, hoping to get aboard before the rest of the previous gele stopped, it was immediately swarmed by people trying to get on. We tried to explain to the people hanging all over. Nick and I tried to jump aboard, but we wouldn’t fine space on the rear bumper, and ended up chasing the gele down the street, packs slapping our backs. When the driver stopped at the riverside he erupted at the swarming people to wait and let the people get off, which everyone reluctantly did. It quickly became clear that there was plenty of room for everyone, once the other passengers disembarked. I wanted to yell “I told you so” but I didn’t know the equivalent Mandinka phrase. The ride to Kombo went pretty quickly, and smoothly, we had bypassed the vast majority of the bad road. We arrived at the PC transit house around 4:30 pm. We both agreed that it was far better than sitting in that cursed gele on that cursed road.
January 23rd, 2007
So as you can see, I got a little carried away once again, and failed to finish the letter on time. (The Pc mail run comes today, so I have to give this to them today.) Mail run comes once a month; it leaves Kombo on the 18th, and arrives at my site on the 23rd. However, another PC vehicle comes in a week or so to pick up some grass thatch from Lamin to store, in case they need to do an emergency repair during the rainy season. Bush fires have been sweeping across the country-like they do every year- and soon there will be no good grass left, hence the storage.
Things are excellent here, my garden preparation is finally finished, and I’ll plant it in a week. I should have an absolute ton of fresh vegetables when March, April, May rolls around. My host family is very excited about it, as am I. Things with Sharon are going well, despite the month long absence from each other. I’m going to head to her site at the beginning of next week for a few days, which I’m very excited about. The Yoga book you all sent is great, I’m getting much better at it. I either run or do yoga every morning, and can feel myself getting stronger and better in shape after the 2 months hiatus during training. Miss you both. Love you very much!
Rob
So in the end I decided not to remain in South Africa, obviously. Although I have to admit it was a pretty attractive option at the time. 
ing a fabulous Thanksgiving weekend!! We kicked everything off on Wednesday night with a belated karaoke birthday party, and continued the fun at a massive grilling party at Rodney's on Thursday. Our goal was to grill 60 full chickens in one day for the Thanksgiving Dinner that we were to have at the Ambassador's Residence. It was a pretty ridiculous affair - the grill was really HOT and really SMOKEY, and we had to quarter all the chickens, so all told Beth, Nick, and I grilled up 240 pieces! But we managed to finish the last one with about 10 minutes to spare! The other crew baked 20 pumpkin pies.
ing a fabulous Thanksgiving weekend!! We kicked everything off on Wednesday night with a belated karaoke birthday party, and continued the fun at a massive grilling party at Rodney's on Thursday. Our goal was to grill 60 full chickens in one day for the Thanksgiving Dinner that we were to have at the Ambassador's Residence. It was a pretty ridiculous affair - the grill was really HOT and really SMOKEY, and we had to quarter all the chickens, so all told Beth, Nick, and I grilled up 240 pieces! But we managed to finish the last one with about 10 minutes to spare! The other crew baked 20 pumpkin pies.
