Reflections on my service...

Now that I'm leaving Budapest and heading back to The Gambia, I thought it'd be a good time to reflect on the past 19 months I've had. As most of you know, the highs have been sky-high and the lows have been some of the lowest I've ever had. But throughout it all, I've had the most incredible support network [both in The Gambia and home], and I just want to THANK YOU all for being you. YOU are amazing. YOU have touched my life, and assisted my work here in more ways than you will ever know. YOU are in my heart, in every breath I take, in every thought I have.

I was visiting with one of my friends the other day... I always pass by her compound in the evening when I go for my daily walk into the bush behind Kuraw. She greets me with a smile, showing me her swollen thumb, expressing her concerns about getting better by the time the rains come so she can use her 'darbo' [hoe] to work her groundnut fields. I nod, amazed as always at the beautiful strength exhibited in each woman I have met here. I settle into her house as she starts calling the women in nearby compounds to come over and visit.

Before I know it, there are 7 women cracking peanuts in a 6x6 room and Sirra [my host sister] and I are squished into a small bench. The small tin of condensed milk [ley] and bag of sugar I have brought is excitedly passed around to Jansaba, who has collected the hot coals and starts heating the tiny blue kettle. They are all chattering happily and I am content.

Jansaba suddenly turns to peer at me...
"Isatou, you don't have a husband? What happened to Malik?" she asks me.
"He was never my husband..." I answer awkwardly. "I'm not ready, you know this! All the time you ask me this, Jansaba."
She giggles, then looks down to punch two small holes into the can of ley. "I miss my husband."
I wasn't sure if I heard her correctly. She was married? She looks so young!
"Where is he?" I ask. Sirra's head falls delicately into my lap and she starts to snore.
"Italy." She starts to clean the shot glasses used as drinking cups for attaya and ley. "He has been gone 6 years. Sometimes he calls."
"Why hasn't he sent for you?"
She shrugs her shoulders.
"But... you love him?" I ask, which may seem foolish, but a legitimate question in a land of arranged marriages.
"OH YES!" She exclaims, standing up. "I don't take boyfriend because of my love for him. Sometimes it seems so big I think it's not possible. Other days I think I cannot remember his face."

Is this what love is? I couldn't help wondering. So many people in this world are on the quest for TRUE LOVE, but is this an example of it? Waiting for a man who never gets in contact with you, who has probably married another woman who doesn't know you exist? And yet, clutching that one picture you have of that love at night while tears roll down your cheeks, only to awake before dawn to begin your relentless days of tirelessly taking care of his family?

Jansaba is a martyr of love, the epitome of a devoted woman. I pray that love will find her, that this isn't the case for her, that all she has ever wanted will return home to her... and to fill her open, awaiting, empty arms.

Budapest

This city is absolutely beautiful, and while it has been cold and rainy, Jessi and I have been having an incredible time! We've walked everywhere, from Gellert Hill to the Castle, all the way to the Jewish Synagogue and back to Matthias Church. We've gone to TWO MALLS [!!!!!!!!!] and had our pictures taken with a small Hungarian girl [still not sure why]. It's been a beautiful trip.

Tomorrow we leave for Slovakia and I cannot wait to see what it brings! :]

Headed to Kombo

Time to burn everything before the bush fires come...

I realize it's been an incredibly long time since I've written here, but I wanted to write a quick story about when I was traveling to Kombo.

As most of you know, it's pretty near impossible to get out of my village, unless I want to do one of two things: 1. bike 40km to Basse at 6/am to catch a car or 2. walk 4km at 5/am to catch a car out of Diabugu that goes to Basse and from there, 10 hours of travel time to Kombo. Neither of these are that appealing to me.

I lucked out when my good friend Ismala called me to tell me he was making an east-to-west trip from Wuli district to Kombo via north bank road... all I had to do was sit on the road around 7/am and he'd pick me up.

I walked to the road around 6:30... Kuraw is beautiful at that time of day, it's quiet and the women are all on their way to the garden, so I was able to greet them as they walked by.

Within a few minutes, I heard my name being called and turned around... 2 of my sisters were sprinting down the road from Kuraw to sit and wait with me.




They sat with me for 2 hours, waiting patiently for my car to arrive, chattering away about how they hoped I'd come back and that it wasn't time for me to go home to America yet. I [of course] became emotional, as my time is drawing near... I feel it every time I hug them, or snuggle them at night on the bantaba, or whenever Sirra offers to buy me a mintee from the bitik with her 50 bututs. It got me to thinking... how am I ever going to leave this place, knowing I'll never see these beautiful girls grow up?





...something I can't concentrate on at this time. I'll face it when December comes.

Pictures...

Bella boo.

buzzards.

Maiyo helping us cut up the snake meat over the pit latrine. sanitary, I know.

went on a hike with Bella boo, and came across this :o]

The snake meat. I am shuddering as I write this.

Pleasure & Pain

The past few days have been spent in Jessi's village, Sibanor. What a beautiful village it is! Besides being enormous, her family & friends are incredibly welcoming and not one person asked me to buy them something. Ha! That's huge!

We biked over to her friend's house the other day and became involved in a pretty intense conversation in Mandinka about sex. I realize that this may not be appropriate to write about in a blog, but between the two of us, we were pretty proud of ourselves. We first started talking about birth control and let her friend know of options she has, then we maneuvered into sexual intercourse and The Gambia. From what we could gather, it is all about the man, and nothing with the women. I realize that FGM is alive here and that could be a major stipulation, but Jessi and I tried talking to her, telling her to talk with her husband, encourage a more open relationship, and to not be afraid to tell him how she feels. She took everything we had to say more seriously than I thought she would, and we left with smiles on our faces.

Next day, we decided to henna our feet. I thought this would be great, I could go home with orange feet and cool designs, and Jessi could become a more 'Gambian woman.'

We arrived at 7pm. Oumi worked soooo hard on my feet, but the tape we had brought was useless and didn't stick that well. After she applied the henna, she stuck my foot in a plastic bag, duct taped it to my leg, then stuffed my foot into a knee-high sock. At this point, I had to pee pretty badly, but her house was full with 4 other women and 6 kids, plus Jessi & I. Finally I begged her to let me go to the bathroom, and she scolded me, saying I couldn't stand or my henna would be ruined.

Sure enough, her mother waltzes in with a tomato paste can.

I kind of stare at her, thinking I've got it all wrong. Nope. She wants me to hover over it and pee.

She ushers all the kids out and I am still sitting on the floor, wondering how I'm going to get my pants down, much less hover over a tin can and NOT get pee all over the floor. I somehow managed it. The women came back in laughing and Oumi's mum whisked the can away.

Then we ate coos and milk. And I got sick the next morning.

And we hobbled home on our feet... so this is what they now look like :

No, it's not gangrene. We are just clearly very much Toubabs still.

Back to Bumari

[Ash & I on the beach during our sector's one year anniversary in the Gambia]

I had the opportunity to go back to my training village today, and I took it. Brendan & I hopped in the Peace Corps car and I anxiously fidgeted the entire ride down. When we finally arrived, it was as if I had come home. I remember thinking to myself, When did this place become my home? And then I began debating my decision to go home for Christmas... which is really insane, if you think about it. But maybe in a good way? :o]

So we climb out of the car and walk into my old compound, which is right on the main road. My host father, Jatta, was laying on his prayer mat but immediately sat up when he saw me and started shouting, "Saatu! Saatu!" We then greeted each other, he complimented me on my Mandinka, then turns to Brendan and proceeds to say, "Seikou, when Saatu first got here, she was big and strong. Now, she is not...?" Then he turns to me, "Saatu, are they feeding you?" ...what a wonderful, wonderful man. He sent one of his oldest sons to buy gas so we could turn the generator on that night.

I ended up sleeping with Brendan in his compound. They made me this nice bed on the floor and while I was worried about mice, I slept like a rock. Before we crashed, Brendan wanted to take pictures of a controlled fire on the road into Bumari. We were out there watching this beautiful flame grow in the night, licking at the shadows of a baobob tree, looking as if it were reaching for the stars. I sat on a log and just watched the embers glow as the flames went out. It was beautiful. I had 3 children on either side of me, each just sitting, one holding my hand, the other 2 just talking quietly amongst themselves, and I observed the gray ash smoke against the blue of the night. And I felt renewed.

Days like these are blessings. I hope to never forget them, or the feeling I have in my heart right now.



[Jax dancing on the beach with cows in the background. Oh, Africa...]

Pictures