Now I have to bait it with perfume and place it in the bush.
The best route to Kasey’s village is a bush road from Kossemar to Diabugu. (Ha- that must be a bunch of gibberish!) I was headed with Pondo to have lunch with Kasey and Stripes the day before thanksgiving. Duck benechin! Yum! I crossed the river and headed up the bank. On the side of the path was a man field dressing the biggest snake I’ve ever seen.
I stopped to chat with the men about the snake and ended up buying about 2 kilos of snake meat. They claimed people eat it, so I was psyched to bring some meat home to the family. They showed me the skin tacked to the wall of a house. The snake was huge- at least 25 feet long!
At Kasey’s I tried to get her family to cook some of the meat. It turns out no self respecting Mandinka will eat snake meat. My family said the same thing. We tried to fry some at Kasey’s but it was not sweet. Rubbery and chewy and gross, actually.
The next day (thanksgiving) I tried to smoke the meat. I built a corncob smoky fire and the snake was smoking nicely.
Too bad I went up the hill to call home and didn’t stay by the smoker. While I was gone the snake caught fire, and burned to a charred crisp. Bummer.
I scraped the char off and ate the meat underneath- it was really good- the smoking made it tender and tasty, or it would have been tasty if it hadn’t been all charred.
Our (Tara and my) work in Kanyubeh is backed and prompted by a British couple who are funding the construction of a Nursery School. We’ve been working with them since Feb. to get the school open. D & J are funding it with a charity they created, the Gambia Upcountry Charity, and in early November one of their primary fundraisers came to Kanyubeh to work for 2 weeks. Over the two weeks they were there, E. and S. met everyone in the village, registered children for class, held school committee meetings and worked on the construction of the school. The village fell in love with them (ha- I did a little to if you can’t tell…). They motivated the village with model classes and even held a football tournament for the kids!
It’s been great working with the Brits (as I refer to them as). They are all committed to supporting the village and helping to make the nursery school sustainable. When we as Peace Corps Volunteers meet other white people in the Gambia we are usually pretty skeptical of their intentions. Too often we see people just come in and dump money on a project and leave, without any preplanning or follow up. This experience has truly been collaboration between the charity, Peace Corps and especially the Gambians and the village.
Facial scarring is a cultural tradition among several of the ethnic groups in the Gambia. Women (and men) cut small scars on their faces and blacken them with peanut ash for beauty. Several of the Volunteers have the traditional scars, but in places other than our faces! Kasey and I decided we wanted to get scars to commemorate 12 months in the Gambia. We had been discussing it for months, since July or August, and our one year mark was fast approaching!
Volunteers have a woman in Wassu they always go to to get scars, but I’m lazy and didn’t want to travel all the way down there. Plus, I live in an area with several Fula villages (the ethnic group most associated with scars) so there had to be someone nearby who would do it.
The week before we wanted them I discussed it with Chinese. We hopped on bikes and rode to Sare Sankule 3 k into the bush. Chinese explained our mission to several people and we were directed to the compound of the women who is best at scarring. She laughed at my idea to get scars, but not on my face (the women we met on the road all agreed that scars on my face would be very beautiful… no way says I!). We made an appointment for her to come up to HK the next week with her partner and do our scars. Success! Now where to put them…
November 7th, 2009- The women arrive at our compound and it’s supremely awkward b/c I don’t speak Fula, and they don’t speak Mandinka… Do-de-do… And we’re waiting for Kasey to arrive. While we wait I burn the peanuts that will be put in my skin to blacken it. And prep the razor blades that will cut me open. Yikes! This is another moment where I say to myself ‘I hope this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.’
Kasey arrives on a donkey, and we scrub up and draw our scars on with a pen. B. taped the whole thing and I’ll try to find the video- it may be on Kasey’s blog.
Kasey got hers on her foot, and I got mine on my upper right arm. It bled a lot. Mixed with the blood was the peanut charcoal/oil mix. For it to stay, she really had to rub it in hard.
And then it was over. Don’t get it wet for 3 days, and rub more ash in tomorrow. Done and done. Later that day I called home to tell my parents the silly thing I’d done.
The scars healed really nicely and I’m very happy with them. Besides the memories of the Gambia, I’ll have my scars for the rest of my life- this isn’t a metaphor for my time here right!?
This year I had the opportunity to harvest coos (millet), rice, sorghum, peanuts and beans. Ha, I say opportunity- but really it’s like saying I had the opportunity to clean the bathroom, or do the dishes… But it was actually really great. I feel like I’ve contributed to my family food bowl in a meaningful way.
First came the bean harvest. I think I mentioned that I urged Chinese to plant a bean field in the field behind the compound. Before I went to America I bought the beans for him to plant, and in October they were ready to harvest. I spent mornings and afternoons filling buckets with beans. The freshly picked pods dried in the sun until they could be shelled. With the family we probably picked 5 or 6 rice bags of beans. Of course, after you shell them they take up a lot less space, but I think we are still eating beans we grew. It adds protein to the diet that we didn’t have a year ago, and I’m going to encourage Chinese to plant them again next year.
Corn was harvested at the same time beans were, but I didn’t help pick corn. I’ve done that before, and I just couldn’t get into the corn here. I miss sweet corn too much, and am a bit of a corn snob it turns out. But the family did grow a small field of corn, or tobaňo.
We spent one day harvesting sorghum. This was a new grain to me, but it’s very tasty. (I didn’t take a picture of it, sorry.) Like coos, it grows several meters tall and the seed heads are cut off. Chinese, Amadou the Fula, Samba and I harvested sorghum and brought back 4 large bundles (maybe half pecks?) and put them on the roof to dry.
About two weeks later the coos was ready. To harvest coos we break the stalks at the base. After a row of stalks is broken we work back up the row cutting the heads off and piling them. We move up and down the field in rows cutting coos. To transport the coos we make a large bundle and tie it with locally made rope. Two bundles are joined together and tied for transport. Then you carry it back to village on your head if you don’t have a donkey cart. One bundle will feed our compound for about 5 days if we only eat coos. After it dries Fatou pounds it off the stalk and winnows it. It is then pounded again to remove the hulls. (Same with sorghum.) For every nine bundles harvested, one must be given to charity. I think Chinese harvested about 20 or 22 bundles from both his coos fields.
And rice! Funeh and I went to Chinese’s sister’s village 3 k away to help harvest rice. I had really no idea what to expect. All I brought was my knife and a hat.
We went with Maladou (the sister) down to her rice field- a marsh tucked along a small depression shaded by tall palm trees. ‘Are you going to take off your shoes? I think you are afraid (not brave) of the mud!’ Maladou asks as she leaves her shoes on the dry bank and steps into the rice. Now I have gone barefoot before in this country- I did all the groundnut weeding with no shoes- but this is something else. Who knows what lurks in that water- leeches, snakes, grody algae and slimy things!? On the other hand, I can’t really step in with my shoes on- they’ll get stuck and ruined, and I’m not very useful harvesting rice from the bank…
So leaving my shoes, I gingerly step into the water and immediately squish in. I am brave of the mud. I can do this. It’s time to harvest rice.
After a while you get used to it, and ignore the fact that there could be yucky things in the water. I think I got pretty good at harvesting, picking the ripe seed heads from the unripe and cutting them quickly. Maladou grew a few different varieties of rice including NeRICA, the rice that Peace Corps and other aid agencies are pushing.
We carried the rice back in the afternoon, and I’m pretty sure Maladou gave me half of what we harvested to take back to the family. There’s my rice harvest, a whole days work for about 6 cups of rice and a day spent working with my ‘extended’ family.Every time I bring out my camera I have to take pictures of the kids. (And Pondo) So here’s the update on their lives:
Omar is growing up an outgoing 3 year old, who plays hard and loves to read. All the kids love reading, actually, and I look forward to reading with them almost every day. Omar has been my good buddy this last year. We play all the time and he helps me learn Mandinka. His few English phrases are pretty funny- taught by Samba- ‘Are you hungry?’ ‘No’ ‘Are you crazy?’ ‘Yes!’
Amadou is still growing slowly. He’s small for his age and a little behind developmentally, but I think he’ll be fine. He finally started walking. I’ve been talking to him about it for a while. He’s still the cutest kid. I have one picture of him reclining in the chair at night; classic Amadou. He’s a little more trouble now that his mobility is increased, and we haven’t really started reading yet. But I imagine that will start soon.
Isatou came to live with us from Senegal. She came to go to school and live in our compound. Her mom is Chineses sister I think. She doesn’t speak Mankinka, only Fula, but her Mandinka is getting better and better. Isatou and Funeh are both in grade two at school. She’s a sweet and somewhat shy girl, who was really unsure of me at first. I may be the first white person she’s seen. (And when I say from Senegal I mean from less than 10 miles away…) She has become a part of our little family here and I hope she’ll stay through her schooling.
Funeh is one sassy girl. Now that Isatou is here she has a younger sister to boss around. She also acts as her translator and guide to the village. And the girl is ripped- her arms and back are so strong! She’s getting better at reading and seemed to do well in school last term by Gambian standards. Funeh is fearless! I have a picture of her and Samba 25 feet up in the tamarind tree, out on slim branches knocking the pods down.
Finally Samba. He’s growing up to be a man of the house. Chinese has him going to the bush every day to bring back firewood or coos stalks for fencing. He goes to school in the afternoon and then plays football with the team the boys have formed. Samba is in 4th grade and is by far the best reader of the family. He is actually able to read, not just recite based on memorization. Eventually, I think he’ll be reading simple chapter books!
Pondo is practically a child of Keita Kunda. I take enough pictures of him anyway… He’s finally growing up to be a real dog! (He healed fine from his operation in September!) I’d say he’s about 30 lbs and medium dog sized. He sits and comes pretty well on command, and is learning to lie down. Gambians get a kick out of him following commands, but he really only listens to me. Fatou will show off Pondo to visitors saying ‘He sits when you tell him- look’ and then I’ll make him sit and the visitor will say the equivalent of ‘Well, I never!’ And Fatou laughs. Pondo has been on several excursions with me- to Kanyubeh (10 k), Basse (20 k), and Diabugu (18 k). He’s a trooper! He has to run while I bike! But he has endeared himself to Kanyubeh, and when I bike without him people always ask where he is.
Kasey and I visited a Volunteer (B) in Ker Katim, a Wolof village on the north bank of the Gambia. The volunteer we visited was going back to America soon, and this was a great chance to see what a site can look like at the end of two years of service.
I went to Ker Katim knowing about five words of Wolof. Basically, I could greet and that’s it. Luckily, B.’s host, the village alkalo spoke fluent Mankinda as well as Wolof. It was an amazing cultural experience and exchange to have a conversation in three languages simultaneously. Kasey and I spoke Mandinka to the alkalo, who spoke Wolof with B., who spoke English with us! I think one of the richest and most unique cultural aspects of Gambia is the multiliguility of its people. I have rarely met a person, even a child, who only spoke one language.
I went out to B.’s field that he’s been working on with his host. The success of his project and his relationship with his hosts reinvigorated me and inspired me to go back to HK and do the same in my village. After a difficult two months it was just what I needed to get back on track.
We also stopped by the Senegal border on our walk. A stone marker is the only indication that something has changed.
B. reckons that some of his work sites were actually in Senegal.
