To end my long hiatus from writing let me post to say that I have reached the end of my time here. Two years done.

I have had so much going on these past moths keeping me from writing. Not having a computer or an internet connection has not helped.

I finished my OLPC laptop pilot program at the school, held the first Speech and Prize giving day at the school, prepared all of my students report cards, visited about every person I have met in this country and a million other things I am bound to forget. No time to write about them now, perhaps later when I get back.

So, if you are around Cincinnati give me a ring after 6:30pm on the 7th of July and we will go eat something tasty. (Skyline Chili has already been reserved.)

Omar P. Sanyang�. No more

Being an ICT (Information Communication Technology) teacher in a developing country, I have heard a lot of talk of this 100 dollar laptop (now called: One Laptop Per Child� couldn�t hit the mark). The laptop computer being designed for children in developing countries that is going to save the world. Voted one of the top three innovations of 2007, we were going to educate the third world� with laptops.

From the beginning I have been a bit skeptical of the project. A bit skeptical at least for its use in the Gambia as students here my grade 7 students don�t need computer skills and laptops. They need basic literacy (verbal and written), they need teachers whom go to class, they need to learn the basics that is so often missed (Ex: What multiplication means)

Like I said, this is The Gambia and I am no world traveler. However from a few contacts I have had with others around Africa and South America this doesn�t appear to be a special case it appears that these basic hurdles are faced around the world in the education system of developing countries. I don�t think green laptops are going to improve education any more so than the billions of dollars of aid have trickled into this content over the past 20 years (Not much). But I didn�t go to MIT, I don�t work at there Media Lab, they must know better than I.

I shouldn�t badger the little green computer with ears with out actually interacting with them.

So I now have 4 of them.

An opportunity came up made possible by our country director here in The Gambia to get my hands on a few of these little green rabbit looking laptops. Truth be told I was excited to get my hands on them, but at the same time already had some bad tastes in my mouth. I had heard real world reviews had not gone so well. The batteries that were supposed to last for days were lasting for minutes, keyboards were failing and software glitches were numerous.

But I was still excited, excited to do some real world testing, I had read a hundred reviews of tech heads and IT experts picking apart the machine for its short comings here or there. However I had not, or could not find any information on what happened when you took one of these things and put in the hands of a kid and got them to use it. Sure there were a few pictures and stories up on the OLPC website, but they were obvious promotional crap like, look at these kids in Napal using our laptops. No real information of what the kids were doing, So I have decided to figure it out for myself, I have recruited four students whom I see as being in the best position to use the laptops.

First priority, a strong grasp of written English, as the machines use statements like �Rehashing Objects� with a progress bar when doing time intensive tasks, perhaps that is part of 7th grade reading levels in the states, however my strongest students probably read at a third or forth grade level. The instructions themselves make me wonder if there was actually consideration for the ability levels of the students it was intended.

Secondly, responsibility. These are 7th grade students. Are you going to give any 7th grader in the states your laptop for a month? Guess what, kids are kids, and this is The Gambia where stuff just gets hell wreaked upon it just by the environment alone it is hot, hummed, dusty, and electrically unstable.

Lastly, has electricity. The batteries on two of the OLPC will only last about 30 min before crapping out, (The other two not much better) so as much as I would like to pick a student who lives off the grid, I already know what the outcome would be, I want my best shot of success, so they have to have electricity at the house. If you�re wondering about the hand crank power we all heard about, from what I understand that is actually an additional cost option.

In preparation for the classes I brought the little machines down to the Peace Corps office to try and get some good software for them to use in my class. Perhaps some cool math, science and English activities of some type. Something I could use to make up a cool curriculum for the month or so I am going to have with the kids.

But there is not really, there are some cool creative programs (Drawing, Music, etc) that come preinstalled however there is nothing that I would consider as a learning program. You see OLPC actually doesn�t have a curriculum plan around this machine, didn�t actually develop programs for students in developing nations. All of this apparently superfluous stuff has been left to the open source community to take care of, OLPC is hardware, the rest is up to, well, the rest of us.

To be fair, the concept of OLPC is that it would be a nation wide implementation where the laptops would become a cornerstone of the education system in that country. The implementing country would find local programmers and educators to write the programs that they would use in the schools. Additionally, following the OLPC plans, nation wide Wi-fi would be provided so that students could access the power of the internet for information and as extension support there laptops over the internet.

Local curriculum development, sounds like a good idea, local programmers um.. I wish you luck, they have already left for Europe. Nation wide Wi-fi? How bout we start with nation wide electricity, or running water.

Ok, so back to the open source community and trying to find some software that I could structure some classes around. I dug around the Wiki for something I could use to help reinforce math, science or English lesions. The only stuff on the Wiki were program written by (assumingly) parents of children in the developed world and would blow my students out of the water, I�m looking for LeepFrog-esque (sp?) programs but with no luck. This Wiki, community support and development thing is just not working in the developing world.

However I did come across some critical updates to the OS that I needed to download, as after opening a program three times it would apparently freeze the computer. (How did this shit get past alpha testing?) However with out having a non password protected wi-fi hotspot available to me, I could not update it. I could of downloaded the 100+ Megabyte updater to my USB stick on another computer, but it would probably crap out half way through even with the direct to the U-S-of-A satellite link at the Peace Corps office� Have these people ever left the MIT media lab and gone to rural America, let alone rural ___(insert developing country). We don�t have F*ing always-on 200mbs fiber optic cables.

So I gave up, with 4 years of a computer science degree, a whole day spent running around trying to download shit to USB sticks and trying to make wireless connections with a laptop that is supposed to be simple enough for a child to use I threw in the towel. I gave into the fact that I am not as intelligent as a 7th grader, as I can�t get this thing to connect to a wireless network, even though my 7th graders are expected to do so� with out the Wiki!

I am just going to let the kids play with the stuff that is there, beyond having them typing some letters in the text pad program its going to be painting and music games. I am not going to try and tie it in with there curriculum even though that was my original plan. Part of that stems from the lack of education programs, the other part was the apparent lack of capability to send documents/files to my students and then have them send them back to me electronically with out having to walk around to every laptop. (Please correct me if you can find it) I don�t know if it is just me, but I would consider that one of the basic abilities/programs required for a computer �system� designed for schools. I would also consider some type of site management system, where you could install or update all the laptops at one time, as highly important.

I could go on and on, but will stop my griping here, as I said there have been enough nerds picking the hardware apart since the beginning. My point is not to highlight the hardware but just the oversights that I see in terms of implementing such a project in this environment. I completely agree, if everything went as planned it would be great. If the government implemented country wide wi-fi, installed solar charging stations, supplied every child with a laptop, found programmers to write 5 or 6 years worth of educational programs, found enough IT support staff to help students at the school*, trained an army of teachers on new teaching methods based around computers** , had the open source community develop support applications, and had teachers teaching there classes***. If we can make all those things happen in a country then yes, I would say that yes this is a great idea!
*Or never had one technical glitch with any laptop in the field
**(FYI most of them are not currently computer literate)
***See paragraph 2 and start reading again.

The real interesting test begins tomorrow when Kaddy, Isatou, Bakery, and Lamin turn on there laptops tomorrow. I hope I am wrong about everything I said before and that the students thrive on them. These laptops are for kids in developing countries and that is all that really matters.

With the impending national athletics (Track & Field) competition coming in the Gambia it was time for we the Sports Committee to figure out how to fund getting 30 students to the capital, housed, fed, and returned back all without breaking into the school budget.

It was decided that a program (Party) would be held, with live music, in Soma where tickets could be sold for D25 a pop and hopefully pull together enough cash to get our athletes to the competition. To ensure profits were high we got into contact with Freeky Joe, (his spelling, not mine) the second most popular artist in the Gambia and got him to agree to come and play the program for a low low fee of only D4500! What a deal, that only put us D4500 further away from being able to send students to the competition. But you have to spend money to make money.

The funny thing about Freeky Joe is that he �knows Soma�, and from my assumptions his schedule, and he suggested that a Thursday night program would make the most money is Soma. We didn�t agree, but we are also not famous so a Thursday night program it would be.

By Thursday morning flyers had been posted for a week, hundreds of tickets had been sold, and final preparations were underway including checking in with Freeky Joe, whom was on his way. Things were looking good, it was 12 hours before the program and we had almost recovered the cost of the entertainment in pre sale tickets. The Freeky guy was right, Thursday is the new Friday!

We the pack, known as the athletic committee, starting setting up the venue around 5:00pm to prepare for a crowed expected to arrive at 11:00 or 12. We set up pay booths, reinforced the entry and exit doors, designated bouncers, and ensure the generator was well fueled. However there was a little hole in all of our stomachs.

Last contact with Freeky Joe was around one in the afternoon when he was almost in Soma. Since then, calling his mobile phone either went unanswered or disconnected after a few rigs. Humm, perhaps it is just that shitty Gambian mobile phone network rearing its head.

Around 10:30 the warm up act DJ Lucky had started and was on his fourth playing of �Ganja Farmer�, this time with extra Casio Keyboard Tempo 12 mixed in. By this time is was rather apparent that Mr. Joe was a no show, logically it was also apparent that the 300+ that had bought tickets were going to pissed. Along with the other 500 or so who had broken into the venue through the back gate before we knew what the hell was going on. Anger by association.

A little pow-wow is held between the athletic committee on what is the best �exit strategy� at this point. We had no way to return the money as we had no idea which people inside actually deserved a refund and which ones had broken it. Returning the money was not an options.

Mrs. Collie is an institution to the students at Pakalinding Upper Basic School, she has been there for as long as anyone can remember and she can remember just about every student who has gone through the school by name. Even the ones that are 29, angrily single, and high while they watch her climb onto stage.

As a precaution the rest of the athletics committee converged on the rear exit while everyone was turning there attention the great Mrs. Collie on stage. As we watched her begin to thank the students for coming out for the night, a fellow committee member leans over, and in a deadpan voice whispers into my ear, �If you hear the word �BumberClad� start running.� He obviously sensed my confusion and after a few seconds continued �� so we don�t get stoned�.

My initial reaction was to start running immediately while screaming threats involving George Bush, atomic bombs, and religious wars. However, after a quick flash back to OJ�s getaway, I decided that would just make us look guilty before Mrs. Collie could talk.

My Mandinka is horrid, but judging by the fact that we didn�t end up getting stoned, it seemed Mrs. Collie did an eloquent job of informing the patrons that were not thieves and that some how the extra 500 or so people who were enjoying DJ Casio program for free made up for the fact that we couldn�t give back the cash to those who paid. (Something about your brothers money being your money?)

Even with Mrs. Collie�s wonderful speech, it was still time to make a clean getaway before the tides changed. Following the speech we grabbed our bags, and headed home, leaving the closing down of the program to the venue.

The next morning we were shorting through the money at the school and putting into stacks of D1000. By the time we finished taping together all the pieces (literally, the money was falling apart) we had unknowingly duped our own (ex)students out of D7000 for the athletics team. Enough to send them on the trip, and we didn�t even have to pay for entertainment.

I have been stuck on a plateau, a good plateau, for the past few months with work. My counterpart, Sohna, and I have been busy at the school. We have really improved the lab and the instruction that is going on there. Student classes in the morning are moving along, and a good curriculum that is really concentrating on just getting the basics down has make a world of difference. In the evening, teachers have been coming to do research with the electronic encyclopedia and polish up on there Word skills.

While Sohna has been there all the way helping and learning, it has been getting a little disheartening as I have always been the one to initiate the next step. To propose that we might take the time to install new software in the lab that will help the students with this or that task has always been me. Or more concerning for myself, that when it comes to maintenance of the computers it is often me sitting next to her saying �yes, that�s correct� or �Ok try it, lets see what happens�. She still lacks the self assurance that she can trouble shoot the machines, that she can reinstall Windows XP.

A few weeks back I got a call from across the river at the Upper Basic School in Ferrifinni that they wanted me to come over and help them set up there computer lab. They currently have a lab manager, but he had never had training much beyond opening up Microsoft Word and typing. The school had just recently received donation of 15 computers to the school, but no one to help them implement them. So I coxed Sohna into coming along for the weekend on an �all expenses paid� learning field trip.

Before we went on our field trip, Sohna was right on that edge were she knew what to do, how to trouble shoot, but just had not had enough experience to feel comfortable. In that way the field trip was perfectly timed, it moved Sohna and I off of our plateau of doing the same thing and vaulted her into Computer Guru status.

We arrived at the school to find that only three of the fifteen Pentium 4 computers that were sent over had had CD drives in them. Not to mention they had all been wiped clean and installed with Windows 98, and nothing else, before they were sent over. (Please donating companies, if you are going to send over computers, send something we can support and use).

What we were originally planning to be one day of plugging stuff in and installing programs was very quickly turning into a �rip each one apart and put it back together� marathon weekend of computer nerding.

Sohna started to shine right off the bat, though I have to give credit to their lab manager for giving her lots of opportunities. When we walked in and starting looking around, she made the comment that most of them did not have CD drives. To which the lab manager countered by noting that they all do have floppy drives thinking this somehow solved the problem. Not in a bashing way, Sohna was on it, explaining that floppy disks would not fit the task and that we would have to take the three CD drives out of the computers that have them and move them from one computer to the next for setup of XP and Office� Which was then followed by a glance to me to check if what she was saying was correct, the best answer I could muster was two thumbs up. I was all choked up having a proud papa moment.

After a little more planning we all Sohna and I started digging into the computers and installing Windows, Office, virus scan, and a spattering of other educational software. As we started into installation my computer started getting wacky, keep on rebooting and chirping like a bird when ever a key was pressed. I aborted my installation and started digging around inside of the case to figure out what was going on telling Sohna to ask if she had any questions.

Next thing I know an hour had passed, I was off in another computer trying to steal some ram to get my chirping computer to start working and I look up to find Sohna ripping the CD drive out of the computer she was working on explaining to the other lab manager about changing slave/master settings and how they are ready to move onto the next machine.

We ended up being in the lab the whole day, from 9am in the morning till electricity went off at 2 at night. But we got all of the machines done, all of them setup and ready to use for there classes. Well except for mine, I never was able to get it to run normally, never able to get it stable. But that too ended up being a blessing in disguise, I ended up installing windows XP on a total of zero computers that day. Sohna had done all of them, she had moved the CD drive from one computer to the next. She had ripped the ram out of all the machines and redistributed evenly. She had identified and swapped out a dead hard drive. She had mucked around in the BIOS (computer settings) to figure out why the computer couldn�t boot from the CD. She had been in the middle of installing a power supply and concurrently walked the other lab manager through installing the CD drive on the machine he was on. All of this completely on her own except when asking for me to confirm her assumption that the hard drive was really kaput, which it was.

A little after 1am I had all but given up on the chirping computer and I stopped and turned around to see Sohna installing XP on the last of the computers in the lab. However here she was, talking on the phone to her sister (free late night calls), slumped back in her chair, hand casually resting on the mouse all while flipping through the installations of the OS and software we were installing. Long gone was the self doubt that held her, us, back before. She had it!

This past month I got a slosh of magazines, manna from the heavens, sent over and have been poring through them quicker than I should. With a mix of PopularMechanics and MaximimPC I was excited to refresh myself on some up to date nerd-ness.

Though it is sadly apparent that I am �Out of the scene�, I have been left behind by the true nerds out there that are pumping tri-rail, crossfire, HDMI_v1.2.34, and a half million other acronyms that I have no idea flippin idea what they mean.

Perhaps it is just because I am becoming a bitter out of date quarter life crisis, I have to think that this nerd world thing is getting ridiculous. It true what they said, the nerds are taking over the world, and making all the rest of us pay with our stupidity.

In one magazine there was a three page article on how to connect the right components to get your high definition TV, HD-DVD, and other �High Definition Must Haves� to work together. The fact that it takes a three pages magazine article to describe the process is frickin ridiculous. Especially when you consider the actual �Hook Up� part (�Plug this into here�) was a short paragraph basically saying if you couldn�t figure that out don�t even try the rest. The meat of the article centered around figuring out if the various pieces you own were compliant with one another and which HD components can work together and which ones can not.

What the hell happened to plugging in the output to the input, turning the shit on, cranking the volume to 11 and enjoying the surround sound created by your ears not being able to discern directional sounds above 110 decibels. Now guys are writing into computer magazines complaining that the fur-coat on the Polar Express Bear is not as clear as they think it should be on there 78inch Plasma, HD. Or the strange muffle that comes from the center-left-rear-subwoofer during Luke Skywakers last battle seems a little off.

Are these people actually enjoying the media they are watching? Or is a movie, music, or football game merely a way for them to demonstrate what there checkbook could do. I don�t know about you, but when I watch the Bengals score the winding touchdown of the next Superbowel in the last seconds I am not going to be checking if the plasma black levels are a little off, or if the DVD and TV have made an agreement on HDMI1.1 or HDMI1.3 protocol. No, I am going to be jumping on the sofa, dancing on the coffee table, and then throwing my beer at the TV when the referee calls back the touchdown for a bull shit penalty.

When the instructions to getting a TV and video player working together involve checking a revision numbers on hook up wires and downloading updates for the TV off the internet, things have gone too far. The statement �Confuses the system� is used to describe why plugging in a new component causes everything else not to work; we have come servants to the machines. Is it just me or does this statement seem to insinuate that we are not as intelligent as the TV we are trying to use. When I call something confusing I usually mean it was poorly designed, or that it does not fit into the normal human thought pattern. If my TV is confused does that mean I don�t fit into the acceptable behavior methods of what the TV expects or worse yet perhaps I was poorly designed?... F-Off TV.. your mother was a snow blower!

Ok, so you get my point, I am out of it, and a little bitter. Though just wait till the end of this year when I turn on my 15 year old TV and get nothing but snow, cuz we are all going 11000100010110001100 (Digital). I am not against progress and moving on but it seems like the average Joe has been pushed out of technology. There is no way the average guy can keep up with all the little nuances that are required to hook up and watch a DVD these days. Since when and how has (Pick your least favorite moving making house) been able to walk over to Sony/Panasonic/etc and say that the TV they are producing must first check in with the DVD player to assure that it is HDCP complainant (aka not going to copy that shit) before playing a movie. We are just hanging on the bottom being pulled along by companies that figure the faster they make it obsolete, and the more confusing it gets, the more money they get.

But I am getting off topic. Going through the magazines it makes me what caffeine-induced-techno-weenie is behind these products and more so what how have they leaked over to be editors of the magazines that report on them. Below are 4 great examples of what I view as technical absurdity.

1. Found on the front page of Maximum PC: �Power Users Guide to becoming a Power User�. Um, if I am already a power user why do I need a guide, and if I am not a power user, why would I use a guide written for them. Am I missing something?
2. Found on the cover of Popular Mechanics: �Man Made Humans�. Have we humans not been making other humans for� oh I don�t know�as long as there have been humans. Most of us call that process sex. Perhaps they mean MAN as in the absence of woman, then yes, quite a feat for that to appear on the cover of PM.
3. New Video Card in Maximum PC: Nvidia XFX 8800 Ultra, XXX Edition. Um unless you are selling porn, there should be a limit to one X in the name of any product you are selling. I mean shit, who comes up with these names. In the same article they are comparing this to the Nvidia XFX 8800 GTX and the XFX 8800 Ultra versions. Who else is lost, um me!
4. To continue the computer stupidity. Intel released a new processor based on what they called �Core� which was quickly replaced by a second generation �Core2�. Which was then made better by putting two processors in one Called �Core 2 Duo�. Ok so far I got it covered, Duo means Two. Now here is where I am f-ing confused. They then decided to stick four processors together in one. I would assume calling it �Core 2, Quattro� but no an obvious error in my judgment �Core 2, Duo Extreme� seems to be the golden ticket. Apparently the word Extreme means �X2 Duo�. I missed that in English class. My prediction, the new 8 processor in one: �Core 2, Duo Ultra Extreme�. Is it me or do these names seems like they were dreamed up by Willy Wonka and his short little men, up-next� Sixteen processors: Scrumditlyumptious Core 2.

I am just bitter I have turned into one of those old grouchy men who digs around through his tool chest while mumbling something about �In my day��. I now seriously understand why some people, mostly older, are afraid the things. You, I, read about the computers and wonder if I can type my word documents and check my email without causing the machine to melt down due to �incorrectly set video card memory setting�. More painful yet am I really getting the HD picture I paid for or has the TV �decided� to reduce the quality because my telephone is not properly configured. I read these things and just say fuck it, it isn�t worth my time, why do I need to be able to see the jockstrap lines of the QB as he throws a pass. Just let me watch the game, movie, etc and enjoy it. Not sit there and worry about if my �hardware� is performing as well as it should.

Here is a two simple rules for any electronics manufacturer types that might be out there reading.1. If the plug fits, it should work�always.
2. I am the human and owner, I make the decisions, not the machine.

I am looking at these review of new computers and �sexy� TV�s and I realize I am no longer a power user, no longer a techno geek. I am happy with my Microsoft Word, internet browsing machine I am happy with my standard definition TV with standard definition DVD�s and HUGE floor speakers that make Bose Series2 look like a drowned rat.

It is funny we have the original Maximum PC magazine at the school (Yes here in Pakalinding) and To give you an idea of how things have jumped, in that magazine in 1998 they built the ultimate computer which included a �behemoth� 300watt power supply for any future upgrades. Now, ten years later a gaming rig (computer) needs at minimum a 1000watt power supply minimum, if not more� Everyone spray your aerosol cans into the air for the environment!

It dumbfounds me to see how high in the stratosphere hardware has gone. When before we were trying to get 30 frames a second (what your TV uses) in a computer game for it to look good (Any slower it looks like a slide show) now it appears that less that 150 frames a second is sub-par. Has anyone reminded these people that the human optic-nerve cant discern the difference between 30 or 1000 frames a second.

But that is a minority of computer users, most of us are using computers today for the same thing we were using them for 10 years ago typing documents, checking email, and surfing the web, though with more emphasis on the latter. We are happy to cuddle up with our honey on a Friday night under a blanket and watch Toy Story on VHS. We are not nerds, we are users who just want to enjoy IT when we press the power button. For me I just happened to be one of these people who once held nerd status.

I am better than everyone else, I know that�Its that big headed perception that most of us carry around naturally, or with Prozac, that the balance of choices we make in life is somehow better than any other. A healthy belief that the path through life that we have chosen is the best, giving us the gumption to stand up for what we want and believe in.

I know I am not the greatest teacher, nor do I have a Baywatch body, but somehow I justify to myself that the compromise I strike between lesson planning and doing pushups is the right one. I have found the right balance between a flat-assed-academic and a meat-head beach bum. I am taking care of my body unlike many academics while not letting my brain turn into a protean shake for my biceps. Somehow that with about a thousand other tradeoffs I make each day makes me realize that I am better than everyone else.

Since I am better than everyone else it is rare that I ever consider another person to be all around better than me. I mean sure, Bill Gates has a lot of money, but I have interpersonal skills that he doesn�t (I have no idea if it is true) but that assumption is why I, in my mind, can be better than the richest man in the world. Which is why Fatou K. is special, she is all around better than most all the rest of us, especially myself.

Fatou K. breaks the rules. She has broken every culturally female rule in the Gambia. She is a young woman who is (in the process of getting) well educated. She is staunchly head of her nursing class, not just females. Shares and defends her thoughts and opinions. Flows socially in any environment with any company. Speaks and presents dramatically. She is a beautiful woman with strong ties to friends and family whom is self directed and more; all while being humble almost to the point of ignorance about what she has accomplished.

Fatou K. is a student the CHN (Community Health Nursing) school who I have been working with on putting together an informational video about the school. A kind of �day in the life of a nursing student� clip to give people here, and around the world, an idea of what it is to be a student. I has given me the chance to chat with her and find a lot out about who she is outside of school and where she came from.

Fatou K. grew up in Basse at the very top of the country, about as far away from the capital as you can get in this country. She is one of about a bazillion kids from her family. She had gone straight through school and finished Senior Secondary School at the age of 17, while most of her classmates were between 20 and 25. She graduated top of her class in SSS school and then enrolled at the CHN School.

She has continued her academic feats at CHN by defeating other �Top of class� graduates habitually. To cut though all the bull shit, the whole education system here has an underlying, boys are smarter than girls mentality. Most institutions have reduced requirements for females. Schools recognize top of class (Read best boy), and top girl. However, to chauvinistic view of many male students, this is absolutely ridiculous and impossible. Not to mention she is the youngest in her class at 19 years old� I have 7th grade students who are 19 years old!

Needless to say she excels even when she �shouldn�t�. She comes the computer lab after school hours to type her notes from her notebook so she can practice on the computer. She asks critical thinking type questions, in an learning environment where critical thinking usually stops at �if I do this am I going to die� (At times even that is a stretch). She gives presentation and speeches that are well structured, to the point, and informative.

The above things might not seem quite so fantastic, but when you figure in the environment Fatou K. is coming from it is absolutely mind boggling. Its like a kindergartener walking out of play time and being able to do 7th level derivatives. How the hell did that happen.

All of that is just the academic side of her life. I could go on for pages about the thousand other aspects that make up life and still not pay proper service to her dexterity in life. So I will leave it to say that when I talk to Fatou K., I realize that her shortcomings are still taller than most of us could reach on even our best day. She is a whole rank and order above what I, most of us, could ever be.

But it is not bothersome; I never feel that I am slacking off in comparison. Never feel I should go home and study conversational Mandinka, or call my parents for an in-depth conversation in order to try and �measure up�. It is pure amazement of what she has achieved and the grace by which she has done it. I only hope she continues and that I can help her in any way possible with what little time I have left here.

But do I tell her? Do I tell her that she has something that few others have? That I think that she is one of few who could really overcome the odds. Yet she doesn�t seem to know that, isn�t aware that she is better than everyone else, which makes it all the sweeter.

Between a 10in dildo in my right hand and the �Education for Sexuality and HIV/AIDS� book in my left, was me, walking into a classroom of 20 male nursing students. It was time for �The Talk� and thanks to site-mate, Nurse Kelly, I had been appointed to teach them all about sexuality and proper condom use (Practical Included).

By all means I would not consider myself qualified to be teaching a nursing students� on the topic of sexuality. Mostly due to the fact that many of the students are older than I, and a few are married. However, drastic times call for drastic measures, and there was no drastic way that the students would accept �The Talk� in a room mixed with both woman and men. Kellie got the girls, I got the boys� er men.

Here, people are drastically religious, or as would be better said: Claim to be drastically religious in terms of sexuality. Talking about sex in an open environment, suggesting the idea that people have sex outside of marriage, or even discussing contraceptive methods is as taboo as any topic comes here. The reasons for this is far and wide, however suffice it to the example of the Alkalo (Governor, �The Man�) Pakalinding whom made the statement that any woman seen going into the family planning office in the village would be publicly denounced. Denounced because, in his eyes, there is no reason a woman should need birth control as non married individuals are keeping there pants locked. While the job of married couples, as according to the profit Muhammad, is to fill the earth with his followers. However, one would then have to assume there is sperm in the water that is causing many unmarried woman to become pregnant.

Now to be fair, before I go on, there are lots of very religious individuals here whom follow the word of Allah (Not outside of marriage) , however just as most young adults in the USA are not waiting for the wedding night, most young adults in The Gambia are not waiting either. The only difference is that Gambians seem to be in denial about it. want proof?

Kelly and I decided it would be good to start out the sexuality lectures with a blind survey of all of the students just to get a better understanding of where young Gambians are at in terms of sexual activity. Out of our 40 students (20 male and 20 female) only 5 of them ticked they were or are sexually active, now before you start waving you chastity belt around, take these other statistics into consideration. Thirty six of the students are in the 20-30 age group, the other 4 are over thirty. All 5 sexually active individuals (by the survey) were males, no females. There are three married woman in the class, five married men. None of the students are married to one another. Lastly, after the condom demonstrations the whole box of 200 condoms was emptied into the pockets of sneaky students. Needless to say the only information the survey provided was to inform me that yes, this was going to be a difficult class to hold.

The taboo factor was going to make it difficult to teach. But what worried me more is what was I supposed to teach a bunch of 20+ year olds about sex that they don�t already know. These are nursing students who could name the intricate anatomy of both involved parties forward and backwards. These are young men and woman whom (By my observations) are or have been sexually active for the most part. What is a sex ed class with out anatomy and� um physics. For me there was only one obvious direction for a sexuality discussion: Red Book, Sex Column.

The years and years of digging around in the magazine holders at the doctors offices, and wrapping Seventeen magazine in computer magazine covers was going to finally pay off�in an educational way. I had not been a sexually deviant as a pre-teen; I was merely preparing for this day, and while the Social Studies lessons from that time are totally lost to me. I can still remember the funny colored discharge �Amber from Alabama� was having after some interactions with some tainted (in more ways than one) fruit. I was going to have a classroom of 20 men who had never had a chance to sneak off with there mothers magazines when they were young and read the sex columns.

My lesson plan started at the top with a quote I took out of the opening page of the Sexuality Book: �Sex is normal�. I figured it would be a good way to get everyone relaxed and realize that it is nothing to be embarrassed about. Which would be good for me to get everyone relaxed as me standing in front of a nursing Sex Ed class seemed about as logical as having a pee-wee-football coach call plays for the Steelers in the Superbowl. He knows the game but not the league. Drastic times, Drastic measures. I would just have to rely on a killer lesson plan which roughly worked out to starting with common misconceptions of sexuality in the Gambia, followed by condom demonstrations, and finally sexual performance (Dear Omar).

I had looked at my lesson plans a few times, but walking into class I couldn�t of held a sippy cup without spilling it. I tried to use that �Fatherly voice� you know that makes you seem 20 years older than you really are. However I broke out of the voice after three words: �Sex is normal� where my brain attached for the first time ��for everyone else�. What a confidence builder. But the show must go on.

The misconceptions surrounding sex run ramped, any elder that would actually know this information would not discuss such a topic leaving the youths to relay on one another for information. The common beliefs we addressed ranged from the classic and light hearted, blindness due to masturbation. To more serious and harmful topics involving the believed direct connection between a woman�s hymen and her virginity, especially when proof of virginity is expected on the wedding night bed sheet.

Kelly was taking longer than planned for her condom practical which ended up working well. We seamlessly moved from common misconceptions to our performance review with a question that roughly worked out to: how can a woman make her orgasm as powerful as a mans. Which prompted my explanations changed from clinical descriptions to more of �Now this is what you need to do�, this prompted the students to be the most attentive class in the world. Being a sex ed teacher for young boys has got to be one of the biggest confidence builders of any teacher.

My confidence in being able to effectively pull off my advice column was wavering. I just kept looking at the student in my class who has 3 kids and thinking wondering why he wasn�t up here. Then foreplay happened, ok well it didn�t happen, but hands flew up around the room in angered anticipation to understand what this strange word was that I used in passing. If knowing what foreplay was and being able to provide a few suggestions of what it would look like makes me an expert, then I was ok.

Though, not all students were really into what was going on. There were one or two who are definitely locking the zipper closed till that time comes. As with many elders and pious individuals the topic of sex is a no-no so they stick to metaphors to describe what they are saying. Once of these metaphor-istic individuals who were obviously put off by the session interrupted at one point and stated �If you teach me how to fish, I am going to want to eat fish�. How was I supposed to respond to that, What is wrong with eating fish? Seemed a little inconsiderate, however that was the only answer that was coming to me, and was blocking out all the others.

But it was dealt with in the best way I could for someone I had obviously offended religiously by the subject matter I was �teaching�. I feel I have moved from the category of acceptable human beings to a person not to be associated with or respected due to my apparent sexual activity. Regardless of any other qualities I might have. I just hope that if any patient comes up to them once they are nurses with questions about contraceptive methods they will be willing to teach them about it rather than say they are wrong.

I won�t bore you with all the topics that we ended up covering. But just look in your local sex column and you will get a general good idea: impotence, stamina, and taking care of your partner were the major areas of interest. Luckily my childhood research proved to be sufficient and we managed to have a good session that ran over the condom demonstrations.

As for the condom demonstrations, they brought back the tension in the room. However this time the tension was from the other end of the teacher student relationship. It all started with the oversized �model� suction cupped onto the desk. Which upon its arrival in the classroom brought about gasps and gestures to its size. I could have been a bad teacher at this point and made all of my students feel rather inadequate with the statement of �I know it�s a little small�. But decided it would be better for them to actually be able to pay attention to how to put on a condom rather than dealing with there inadequacy. (As was done by another Peace Corps volunteer)

After the demonstration none of the students were willing to do there practical of the �Rip n� Roll� technique, which they were all required to demonstrate. After a short stand off we got ripping and rolling and it was apparent that most had not been taught before on how to put a condom on. Though to be fair with the model we had it was more like parking a Mac truck in a sandwich baggie.

The lesson was all finished and, in a big headed moment believed we were all now ready to take care of our partners better, and safer, than in the past. I would assume lubricated condoms don�t have many other uses, however if I do get a chunk of ice with �ribs� I�m going to be pissed.

Every class has a shining star. That star shown brightly on Mr. S. during the condom demonstration when after I finished describing the process of putting on a condom he raised his hand and added: �Now when you are putting this on it is going to be dark, you are not going to have a lot a room, and you want to be quick. Grab the package and feel for a rough edge, tear from there down the side and ��. You get the point. Thanks Mr. S. for showing all of us that sex is completely natural and that you should have been in the front. Well at least I had confidence when I needed it.

OK, OK, OK. I know it has been a month and a half since I last wrote anything. But have no fear. I have dedicated this Friday night, a can of coke, and bad techno on repeat, to getting a half decent update out to those of those who might care to read it.

The past month and a half has been absolutely insane, I have had guests, been a guest, worked 12 hour days, and squeezed in sleep when possible. It has that amazing feeling of ones senior year of college/high school when everything falls into place and the biggest problem is choosing the blond or the burnet for a prom date. There has been lots to write about, just not enough time to actually do the writing.

To start all the way back at the beginning, somewhere around December 17 a good Peace Corps friend of mine, Terry, came to visit for Tobaski (Muslim Christmas). Terry is one of those dangerously good friends who will make sure you are not only sucking the marrow out of life but chewing the bones as well. As with most holidays there were gluttonous levels of food intake and somewhere between eating the head and the hoof of the ram we managed to go head over handlebars into the side of a cow.

After leaving bits of epidermis draped around the south side of Gambia it was back down to Kombo to celebrate Christmas, New Years and no classes. Most of my Christmas to New Years week was spent down in Lamin village with the lady friend. Though breaking away to eat pork and drink beer with the local Christian population in the area on a semi regular basis. Though to be completely honest the pork was more a cover for a reason to drink a few beers to deal with the nerves leading up the parents� arrival.

I have had 23 good years of training in dealing with the parents, giving me just enough confidence/stupidity for me to convince them they should come over for a visit. The enthusiasm of having the chance to extend this experience beyond myself and at the same time getting my parents on the continent of Africa met its maker the week before they arrived. Leading up to there arrival when it hit me I was a good year and six months out of dealing with MAD (Mom And Dad).

Before my whole inheritance gets signed over to the dog, let me say that I was truly impressed with the leaps and bounds my parents made in the two weeks they were here. They went from paranoid white knuckled hand sanitizer wheeling tourists to local water drinking (Dad) local cloths wearing (Mom) cultural debutants� who use lots of hand sanitizer.

We never grow up

So while �in house� time proved to be� historic. It was nice to get some alone time with the parents where we could talk and catch up with the latest gossip from across the pond. Lucky for all of us, mother packed enough gossip for 3 weeks of solitary confinement. When our ears were tired from gossip it was often to head out, chill with the family or stroll around the village.

I was impressed by my parents adventuress spirit, while myself, most volunteers and almost all visitors that come to the Gambia are down right afraid to step out of the house on there own when they first get in country. The morning after we arrived in my village I headed off to school for a few hours to check in with what was going on with my teachers there. Despite telling me they were going to just hang around the house, I came back a few hours later to find my house locked, with a stick.

My host father informed me they headed out on a small �stroll� a short time ago and that they would be back. At this point I had a little appreciation for my parents freaking out when I was leaving to come here. I mean shit, my parents were lost�in Africa, under my care. What if something happened to them, a tree could fall on them, a rabid donkey could charge, a latrine cover could collapse, an intestinal worm could drop into there mouth from a bird flying over head.

However, lucky, the description of �two while people walking around� proved to be descriptive enough to find them quickly. Despite my worries they appeared to of survived and even made a few friends along the way. However just for good measure I lectured them (in my head) that if they ever scared me like that again I was going to �tan there hides� and that some day I hoped they would have �parents just like them�.

We ended up doing lots of strolling around which I think is the best way to get to know the place. The parents did a fantastic job of going in and out of compounds, visiting all the markets, and observing in some classes at school. They really took the time to hang out in my compound and just chat aimlessly with the family and friends that came over. One might have to ask them a little more what they learned out of it. But from my perspective the way they were talking from the first day they arrived about what you would observe from a picture to talking about the values and beliefs of the people they met was a major step.

But two steps forward and one step back. One step back, pictures. As best described by this dialog. �

�Ma� you cant just take a picture of the guy on the donkey�
�But Chad, I want some pictures of this place�
�Mom, if you were walking down your driveway and someone you didn�t know came up and snapped your picture, would it not be weird�
�Chad it is fine�
�Fine, let me at least ask the gu��
(Click)
�MA! ��

So yeah my parents kicked ass and I pretty much resorted back to being 7 years old.

Perspectives

I know my perspectives have changed being here. However, upon my parents seeing my house and the community in which I live in it was apparent that they had changed more than I thought. Ma� had a break down the second day we were at my house in part, I know, due to the �difficult� conditions that I and everyone else lived in. Dad wanted to constantly clean and organize everything in the house.

It also didn�t help that while I was gone picking up my parents my site-mates assaulted my house and painted it in a ridiculous Nightmare before Christmas theme.

But as they say here, �slowly slowly� things began to change as they got out and met more people. While at first they would look at a food bowl and see intestinal worms and scabies. By the end they were chawing down on sizable portions of there favorite African meal, Benachin (Ben-ah-chin) and pulling up buckets of water for the community garden.

On the way back to Dakar at the end of the trip my mother said it best as we sat three wide in the middle row of a station wagon from 1985, about to depart on a 5 hour car ride: �This is nice�.

The One Story

We had headed to Serrekunda, which is the big market area for the whole country. If you cant find it in the Serrekunda market you probably cant find it anywhere in the country. So you could say that it is big. As with most things there is absolutely no regulation or control over how the place developed. So it has turned into what I would best describe as the an interweaving of caves from move The Goonies though replace the drippy ceilings of stone and fungus with drippy ceilings of corrugate, rice bags, and fungus.

We weaved through the market, which upon exiting back into the sunlight, I was quickly informed that the market was not an enjoyable experience, but down right scary. I figured I struck out on that one but we were heading to the tourist town of Senegambia for lunch so all would be well as we would soon be munching on pizza and cold Vimto.

We tracked down the car for the mini buses (Think mini-vans) use as a pick up point for people wanting to go to Senegambia. We jumped in a mini bus to head to Senegambia. A youthful chap behind the wheel did the impossible of turning around a 18 foot long mini bus in a 12 foot wide, wall to wall, street. Something akin to the scene in the first Austin powers movie.

Except in the move there was no corrugate and stick shop on the corner of the street that despite being larger than the car was in the drivers blind spot. Or perhaps the old guy behind the counter didn�t give the driver the correct change, we will never know. While backing into the shop and half on top of the shop owner, about 20 people started beating on the outside of the tin can that is a Mini bus (Yes it sounds like sticking your head in a metal garbage can being used by Stomp) while the 20 people on the inside (Remember Minivans) all yelled at the driver.

Now Ma� was stuck way in the back of the bus, meaning she was right in the middle of the action as we were going into the shop� tailpipe first. Sadly she had not adopted the universal signal for �Stop, you are running over an old man� yet so instead of beating on the roof a cutting �OohhHHHH� jumped above the rattle of hands beating on the chassis.

After the driver adequately got his point across that he didn�t give a shit what the other 40 people were trying to tell him. We headed off down the road a good 10 meters before we came head-on to a line a parked mini-buses waiting to load. Now I am not sure what our now obviously angry driver was thinking, but I would guess it to be something along the lines of �If I beep, yell out the window, and burn enough clutch the 14 buses in this line will move out of the way for me, even though there is no driver in anyways.�

Untimely our �driver� yielded to the lack of technology, specifically levitation and autonomous vehicle operation and decided that we would go around the line of busses. This meant cranking the wheel all the way to the left and gunning it. Now I did not get a chance to look when we were getting in but I assumed that the driver had two eyes�that worked. Now I am doubting my assumptions and think this guy might be known around the area as �Little One Eye� as we were about a foot and a half away from the car in front of us when he stalled out the car twice. Then revved the shit out of it, lurched forward and pushed the car in front backwards about a foot and a half. (good thing no one believes in parking breaks or leaving your car in gear)

At this point it was apparent that in addition to having blatant disregard for shop owners, �driver� also had a thing against the laws of physics. I am not sure if turning radiuses of mini buses would be considered physics, however I would consider the statement �no two objects can occupy the same space at the same time� as rather basic�to being alive. However our driver didn�t seem to be bothered by such terrestrial limitations. But like I said it might have been good old �No eye� in the drivers seat.

After pushing the first bus out of the way and we were going past, the driver cranked the wheel back to the right dragging the whole right side of the buss along the corner of the bus we just smashed into. However by this time the owner of said bus was pissed and yelling something lovely at our driver, our driver yelled back gesturing to the location of this mans bus. I am sure saying something along the lines of �What the F* do you think you are doing with out a car that cant fly out of my way�.

Having now covered a good 15 meters since the start of the trip we were well over due for something interesting to happen. Now I will be the first to say if you are riding a bike in this country and there is a car coming up behind you, Get the Hell Out of the Way! However in a culture where elders respected above anything else, one would assume that a old man and a bicycle that look to date back to WWI would demand some right away.

Again, this respect for elders proved to be another one of those annoying points that spoils our drivers day. As we practly push the old man around a corner, and then actually push him and his bicyle into a fabric shop� Much yelling erupted.

Now I didn�t get a good chance to look at mom and dad, I was too busy taking in the adventure. However in catching them in the corner of my eye as I looked back to see the old man climbing out the the fabric shop I noticed that I could fit a bowling ball in my mothers mouth as she gazed out the window. If dad were holding onto the bag in his lap in tighter the handles would of turned into diamonds I am sure.

Mr. �too busy for worldly limitations� finally decided he had enough now having covered a good 30 meters and pulled the mini bus to the side of the road. Though that whole one eye depth perception bit him in the ass again as we hit the wall as we came to a stop. At this point everyone in the car is yelling at the guy in mandinka/wolof that the guy is an idiot� etc. He jumps out and goes to run around the car which is parked at a slight angle with the front corner pushed into a wall.

Cars are coming the opposite directions and are trying to sneak past our car while our driver is running around. Now most people who care about living would not squeeze themselves between a moving car and a parked car that are 3 inches apart, and closing. Now sadly I didn�t catch it all as I was trying to see how the parents were doing with the whole situations as my mother screamed �OH MY GOD� HE COULD BE KILLED� while the rest of the patrons in the car scream �STUPID IDIOT�. I do remember driver getting slammed up against the side of our car by what I would assume was the rear view mirror of the passing vehicle.

To the dismay of some, and the relief of others, the guy did not get killed, or seriously injured as he climbed into the apprentice jump seat in the back. Meanwhile the real driver walks out of a house, jumps into the seat and rubs a little more paint off the side of the van as we pull away. The apprentice, former driver, collected the fair from the passengers and I sat there contemplating where he got such a indistinguishably authentic looking glass eye.

The parents are coming to visit in the beginning of January and thus have been planning out the two weeks the best I can. Hopefully the dust, oily food, and crazy transport does not get anyone dead.

That said, this being such a small country, it is often I interact with tourists, whom drive me crazy with there amazing stupor. Well parents, future visitors, and all others, follow these few simple rules and your �Stupid Tourist� image should all but disappear.

1. Don�t give stuff away to kids.

Giving kids candies, pens, money, etc encourages begging, enforces arrogant views of the west/westerners, and enforces a choking �victim� mindset. The kids here are not sad and un-happy kids despite what some not for profit�but my job depends on your donations�organizations may like you to think. If your goal is to find and cheer up depressed kids aim your candies at your closest suburbanite grade school, you�ll find more unhappy kids there. Finally the kids that are in need are not the kids playing football, they are the ones working in the compounds and fields, to busy helping the family.

2. Keep your cloths on� or at least knee pads.

Yes, this place can be hot. But please, unless you are ON the beach, keep your shirt on and at least moderate length shorts. Need dressing tips, think �Casual Fridays� at work. Only bust out the short shorts and the swimsuit if you enjoy being a spectacle. To put it shortly this is Muslim country where �boobs are knees and knees are boobs�, at least in terms of sexual nature.

There is a reason that National Geographic is a favorite magazine of pre-adolescent boys. There is a reason that there are so many boobs in National Geographic, namely function over form. Here the boob is seen for what it is: 1. A feeding tube for babies 2. A crying control device. Not much else. So if it is hanging out or flying completely free it don�t mean anything, unless you are a hungry 2 month old.

Though the west has had some influence, so typically the shirtless women find a shirt when leaving the compound and unmarried woman will not be seen without a shirt.

3. Right Hand Rule

Anything involving contact with other people or communal items should be done with the right hand. Any time you are shaking hands, giving or receiving items, eating (even with a spoon), and pointing at others should be done with the right hand. Why? Well, not the whole world uses toilet paper, some use a cup of water and the left hand. Do you want to shake that hand, eat out of the same bowel as that hand? Yeah, we don�t either.

Now, I know, I know. If you are reading this you probably use toilet paper, so the right hand rule does not apply, right? Figure that touching a persons left hand is about as appealing as sucking on a someone�s toes. Would be ok to suck on a bed ridden geriatric patients toes just because she doesn�t use them? Its still toes, its still the left hand; its been programmed in to be nasty.

On a cleaner note, the use of soap is on the rise, so that provides a bit of comfort. As does knowing that germs, bacteria, and in general anything you can�t see with your naked eye does not exist here. You got nothing to worry about, as long as you keep your left hand in your pocket.

4. Your not fat� just eat too much.

Based on family lineage (and some other things) there are certain people you have a joking relationship with, the most common jokes having something to do with eating too much or being a lazy. Now before you get up off your �lazy fat ass� and punch some grandmothers light outs take a second to remember that this is the land where it is a complement to tell someone they are �looking fat today�.

Its not that they think you are lazy, or eat to much (which I do), or are insulting you in any way. It is what has always happened, and is more of a recognition of a friendship than anything else. If you are a recepant of such an insult go ahead send one back regarding the number of breads they ate today or the size of there stomach.

However if you decide to bust out an American �Yo� Mamma� jokes in response get ready to fight. As general rule of thumb, don�t say anything about another persons mother unless you want to throw down. Though if you are looking for a fight you might as well use the nuclear bomb of insults: �I am going to climb your mother�.

5. Lover, touch me�later.

In short, Public Displays of Affection (PDA) are about as acceptable as Janet Jackson�s nipple ring on Super Bowel Sunday.

I have never seen my host father say anything more endearing than �Isatou, where is lunch� to his wife in the year and a half I have been here, which would lead you to think that the whole intimate relationship concept is lost here. However six kids are living proof that there is a spark there somewhere just so happens that it is kept well under wraps, even with married couples.

6. You think your better than me?

Follow me for a second here:
You are sitting on your front porch late afternoon, sharing a few Budweiser�s with your neighbors and watching the kids play mumbilypeg (sp?) when a black stretch Bentley with a vanity plate reading �Got$$� pulls up in front of your house. Out of the back comes a well dressed man with a big smile on his face, he walks up, shakes your hand, says hello, asks your name, and then hands you a big pile of his old suits and clothing and says �these are for you�. Turns his fine leather shoes back around while walking back to his Bentley pulls out a little bottle of hand sanitizer squirts it on his hands and then drives off.

So do you sit there and comment how �Kind, helpful and nice� this obviously rich person is to your neighbors and how it was great that he came to see �the common folk�. Or do you grab your half empty Budweiser bottle by the neck and chunk it at �that arrogant rich asshole�s� Bentley with hopes of busting out a 5 thousand dollar tail light.

People here know that you �The Westerner� have more money than them. Just like I know the guy rolling the Bentley has more money than me. That doesn�t mean I want him treating me like a charity case. My life is not poor and pathetic just because I don�t have a toilet that squirts pre heated 98 degree salt water on my ass after taking a shit. Their life is not poor and pathetic just because they don�t have electricity or running water, so don�t belittle them by treating them like a charity case. Its just down right insulting.

Besides, once you see everyone all dressed up here, in there own clothing, you are going to wish you would of brought your Armani Suit and Spit Shined Shoes just to fit in.

Just come and get to know the place, come and hang out, come and work. If it was your friend that showed up in his Bentley on Saturday morning, strapped on a tool belt and helped you slam a few nails into your deck project ill bet that bottle of beer wont get wasted on the pavement.

7. Greetings.

I know I have written a bunch about it and it may seem hokey and frivolous when the first minute or two of every conversation is basically the same. �How are you�, �How is your family�, etc. But it is important, it shows respect.

In general the rule follows this. First, the person entering an environment has the responsibility to initiate the greeting. Second, if two people meet on the street it is the younger who should greet the elder.

Finally, despite how rude it may seem to barge into a persons conversation, to not greet is worse. Go ahead and shoot a �hello, how are you� between two fathers who are trying to agree on a �fair price� for a bride. What respect you will be showing.

This doesn�t mean you have to learn the local language and spout out a �sumuulouley� to every dude that walks by. But just to show you want to know how the person is before you �get to business� is a huge.

I guess I was asking for it by saying everything was all peachy in my last post. I should of known there was a an 24 inch pipe wrench flying though the air directly at my head while I was proclaiming my �love� for all things Gambian.

Though, in a way I am proud of my pipe wrench, if I would not of taken the time to know the people I do, as well as I do now I probably would of never known. But anyways, my pipe wrench: My Host Father Is A Bad Man.

Right now I can�t stand to look at my host father. Can�t stand the way he sits around the compound all day, doing nothing. The way he orders everyone around like he is on some high horse. Can�t stand how he drives to Soma every day in his car for no reason except to show off his prestige of having a car, and a driver.

My anger comes not from the perceived laziness, or the arrogance of trying to show off ones importance. What angers me is to learn where all the money did and is coming from that supports his non working yet somehow relatively well off lifestyle.

I knew my host father was the bursar (aka accountant) for the senior secondary school (High School) up to about 5 years ago and that he was removed due to some �creative accounting processes�. What angers me now is to learn that his creative accounting was so egregious it would make an Enron executive lay awake at night. Furthermore it is still going on.

To make a long story short, my father designed a school building project quite a few years back, while he was the bursar, that was supposed to construct a student dormitory. The project pulled in tens of thousands of dollars to buy materials and pay for labor. However there was one small glitch, there was no building, no such project known to the students, community, or anyone else in the school except for the Principle and my host father.

From what I hear, the Ahamda mission that founded and funds the operation of the school came and inspected the school and found that after pumping in all this money there was not even an attempt at building a dormitory. It was soon figured out that my father was the �brainchild� (I use that term loosely) and the beneficiary of a lot of the funds that just seemed to disappear. This being an outside organization managed to get my father and the principle removed from the school, but that is not the end of the story.

I am not sure exactly how he fandangled it, but even after being removed, he still has connections at the school. Still now, almost weekly he walks in to his old office and walks out with a shirt pocket full of money. Then it is back to sitting in the compound under the tree, watching one of the two TV�s he owns contemplating who he is going to drive past today in his car.

He was smart though, as soon as he got enough money he spent it to send his eldest son to America to work. Bought him a plane ticket and a knowing smack on the ass of �send us back money�. There was no way for the school to get there money back. Politics and enforcement of laws (especially around embezzlement) are just not carried out the way we would in America. Its more of a �Oh, you got us, you got our money� we will be sharper next time�.

So now my father sits around, pulling money from the school. Pulling money from his eldest son in America. All while he needlessly drives his car around flaunting what �he�s got�.

It is frustrating enough to be at school and see resources vanish and principles becoming rich off of a pipers pay. It�s worse having to come home from that and have to stare at my food bowel knowing that the fish I am eating, the bowel that it is in, and even the room I sleep in was paid for with money that was siphoned out of a crumbling school.

My unfulfilled three-month-goals from 8 months ago are still hanging on the wall. My running schedule has eroded to an every-other-once-in-a-while event. Ditto to stretching. My house is a out of control, boiling water requires that I first clean a dish, taking a bath requires tiptoeing around my leaf pile, my cloths still are sitting in a stack from washing them last week. Did my class marks sheets last minute and ended up staying up till 3am. The back wheel on my bike has looked like a Taco Bell burrito for a month and I haven�t bothered to fix it.. I haven�t written a web post in a month, email in two. Life is a mess right now, out of control, and unorganized. Physically it�s a mess, but mentally and socially I am on cloud-nine.

Until three months ago my two years hear was an impossibly long time, an eternity I would never see the end of, never actually make it the finish line. Now I am getting pulled into the finishing shoot, the end is now inevitable, its no longer an IF but a WHEN. I have started the good-byes, the regrets of things not done noted, and me trying everything to suck life out of my time left. All those things that I put so much effort into before, the goals, running, cleaning, writing blogs, etc. are not what life is about. I have friends and family here that most likely in 6 months will never see again. I have opportunities here that will never present themselves again. I am having fun, too much fun spending time working and playing with friends here, time that I so stupidly wasted in my first year by getting caught up in the small stuff.

I hate to sound like a person that has just been told that they are going to die in 6 months, but in a way I am. While I the person is not going to die, Omar Sanyang, Chad Weis of Gambia, no longer exists when I leave this place. No longer exists to the people here because I the physical person is gone. No longer exists to me because the friends, family, environment, and million other little things that make a person who they are will be an ocean away.

This past month has been a crazy blurry of, holy shit where is time going, moments. That make me realize I need to suck everything out of my time here. The month started with a last all-volunteer meeting and ended by watching the seniors at CHN school walk out of the classroom for the last time; holy shit!

Every six months Peace Corps has a meeting with all volunteers in country, at the end of November I attended my last one. I am not particularly going to miss the meetings, but the heart strings where tugged a bit when someone noted that the next time our group would be all together is at COS conference, where we get ready to go home. That the people who held me up through the 3 months of training, and the 8 months of roller coaster emotions that followed will never be together after this is all over. That we will all probably exchange email addresses and promise to keep in touch, that in reality we will get to busy with life and keep in contact with maybe one or two. That I hate that it happens that way, but know that we can�t hold onto everyone. That the whole process shows us who really matters to us and who are cheerleaders helping us along the way.

Anyways, while some other moderately usefully discussion at the meetings was going on, all this was running through my head. I unplugged myself from the room and just sat back looked at each of the other people, thinking about how much each of us had changed. Thinking about how Dan couldn�t ride a bike when he arrived and now he is telling stories of crashing into a road sign while greeting the customs officers. Or a million other stories that mean nothing to anyone but me. It is saddening, but also neat to see life happen when you forget about it for a while. Wondering who I will hold onto after this is all over.

Not long after coming back to site from the meeting, the seniors at the CHN school sat for there final exams. Even though I had them for only a few classes (What can I teach senior nurses?) it was still hard to watch them walk out of the classroom after that last exam. Many of them having that familiar shuffle of not being sure they want to walk out of the classroom just yet, for the last time.

As much as I was watching the seniors leave, I was thinking about when I have to walk out of the classroom for the last time with the junior class, my class, at CHN. The students I welcomed into the school and whom are my friends I know all by name, these are the student that are going to cause me to cry. I am not sure why I make things hard for myself, why I dig up these thoughts and emotions. Perhaps because it proves to myself that I really have made connections here.

Where does the connection happen, what point do people start to matter to you, when did I go from thinking I could just up in leave in one day flipping a peace sign out the window to now feeling the inevitable some 6 months before it happens.

This is not about me being doom and gloom, of me thinking about the end wayyyy before I should be. But more of how good things are going now, I think about the end because I don�t want it to happen. Because I have reached a point where I feel like I could happily live the rest of my life doing what I am now. Where my work and life-in-full is flying along and am so caught up in the moment I forget the days are going by.

I don�t have enough free days, weekends, and lunch hours to visit all the people I should and to do all the things I want. I can�t work in the garage, harvest groundnut (peanuts), hold weekend computer classes, prepare lesions, and mark papers in one weekend.

I am trying my best to fit it all in, life has become a crazy all day scurry running from one place to another, one thing to the next. I feel bad coming home late, completely exhausted, to the host family whom I want to spend time with. But in the back of my mind I smile a little, thinking how life here now mirrors what life in America was for me before. Meaning I am really living here, I have reached my equilibrium with this place. I wrote in my Peace Corps application that a person becomes part of a culture when they forget about it. I have forgotten the comparisons, the differences, and that even being here is a unique experience; it is just life. I may not doing the same things as I would be in America, but I have still managed to get lost in them just the same, and I didn�t even realize it. So lost that my house, dishes, exercise, and three month goals just are not important. Holy shit, life is good.

I can�t believe how incredibly offensive, crass and promiscuous American women are. They walk around wearing tight clothing, freely bantering with men. Women who act like this, women whom do not cover there head, women who are free to speak there mind will be the downfall of our western society.

Letting women act in these ways causes nothing but problems. The family has problems as the woman is being distracted by the attention that she is creating. She distracts men from working and turns them into hard-up sex chasing lunatics. Half of all marriages in America fail, we have the highest percentage of single parents of any country in the world. All because woman want this independence. It causes problem after problem after problem.

All woman should be required to wear full length clothing and only speak when spoken to. Woman should be under the control of her father or husband, if not, she will get herself into trouble, this has been clearly seen.

AMERICA, Who is with me!

Wait, what is that, I am a male chauvinist pig. Hey, I am just taking ideals that are common in other parts of the world and instituting them into a culture, America, that has a total different conditioning.

So if taking the idea of woman being seen and not heard and introducing it in America makes me a bigot. Then taking the Western ideal of alternative discipline methods and pushing it upon a culture that has been conditioned to speak the language of the stick makes me what?

Push Over. I am a push over, was a push over, at least in the eyes of my students and fellow teachers. That if I don�t beat then I must not care, no matter how red, or how far the vein on my forehead stuck out, I didn�t mean business till I picked up the stick.

I, We, (Of the younger generations) have been raised to believe that corporal punishment for children is wrong. That it is all bad and that any person who uses it is also bad. That teachers who use it are bad teachers. That I am a bad person.

We believe that effective discipline can be carried out thought alternative methods. That holding a child after school or talking to the parents will remedy the problem. That sitting down and taking the student to the principles office will have the needed effect. These alternative methods are effective and they do work, in the West. In the west, where children are conditioned to react to these actions.

Now move your perspective to this place. Where time is viewed as cyclic, sitting around in a room for 5 hours on Saturday is not a waste of time. There is no concept of boredom, no feeling that having to sit in a room with out talking is a bad thing. This is a normal every day occurrence.

Going to the principle or being lectured by a teacher is just more of what has happened every day since they were born. Kids are constantly being yelled at and bossed around by anyone that is older than them. Is being scolded a bad thing, not when it happens every day, children are conditioned to block it out, laugh at the �angry dude� and go on.

What students know, what the culture has conditioned, is that when you have done something wrong you get the stick. Or even an open hand slap to the face. Anything less than that and it is not worth the time to pay attention to it. The stick demands respect.

Compared to African children, American kids are weenies. African kids have a thicker skin they will sit and get insulted by a panel of teachers for being �stupid� and �dumb� and forget about the whole thing before they even have a chance to stand up. Me while our American kids will break into tears when Sr. Marry Pitchpipe suggests that �we might be able to work a little harder�. Or as I was explained: You cant tame an elephant with a small stick, you cant control a African child with words.

I demand respect. Is it fair for the 49 other students in my class to spend 10 min of my class dealing with students whom will not listen to what I say because they perceive no consequence. Or do I give 3 cuts across the hand to a student and have the rest of student fall into line, knowing there are consequences. 20 seconds, problem resolved.

Before you damn me to being the worse person you know, and that i am looking for a reason to beat children. Let me tell you that it is my students, my best and most respected students, came to me explaining that because i don't use the stick the kids do not listen to what i say. That i should beat because as that is what they will listen to.

Using the stick in class is not this horrid image of a teacher grabbing a big stick and running across the classroom in a fit of rage and beating the shit out of a student till the teacher feels better about themselves. It is (mostly) a bit more formal process. For small infractions, talking in class, the student is asked to stand up from there seat and hold there hand out, to receive between 3 and 5 cuts (strikes) across the open palm. The teacher then administers the strikes, the student sits, shaking there hand, and class goes on. More advanced infractions are usually carried out by the principle and exchange the open palm for the backside.

Looking at this process makes it hard for me to believe that i am teaching my students that they should use violence when ever they are angry. That hitting one another is the way to solve your problems. I am not hitting my students because i am angry with them, and they know it. When they hold out there hand there faces are not frozen in fear. No it is more of a head drop of "Shit, that was stupid" and then the presentation of the hand. Not to mention in the last year and a half at the school of 1400 students, i have yet to witness or hear about one physical fight between students. How many progressive American schools can claim that.

I am not a violent, angry person who is damaging children by using the stick. Just as the devout Muslim man is not holding woman back in there own culture. If you ever get a chance ask a few devout Muslim women if they feel oppressed by the men of there culture do it, and tell me about it. As much as we westerners may not like it, most will tell you they don�t feel held down(as they do here). They will tell you that they value and happiness comes from being a good and dutiful daughter and wife. Its there life, there decision, its not your right to decide for them what is acceptable.

If you ever get a chance to ask a few children who have been raised on the stick see if they were traumatized by it, ask them if they feel more violent because of it. My students, whom are at the business end of the stick, don�t seem to think so. The teachers, the parents, and administrations don�t seem to think so. I don�t seem to think so. Its there life, there culture, and such is the way they are conditioned. Peace Corps pushes being integrated with the culture, saying it makes you more effective volunteer. I couldn�t agree more.

News Flash Updates

Science Smells

So much for my year of slacking off. My plans for handing my math notebook from last year off to the class prefect (leader) and having him copy it to the blackboard for everyone to copy has been foiled. Looks like I am going to be stuck actually teaching the little-�uns � science.

This year I have been transferred to the science department to fill a empty spot or two there. Somehow the most hated (as all Gambians will tell you) subject in the Gambia, Math, has enough teachers and science is proving to be the shortage of the year. Perhaps the teachers have learned what I am not discovering. Math much easier to teach than science, at least in an ESL environment. (English as a Second Language� or as I have been informed the latest euphemism ELL- English Language Leaner� what ever)

Having now been trying to successfully teach science for four weeks now I long for my math classes. It is true when they say Math is its own language. Where as last year with math I could use simple English and very detailed examples to demonstrate most points. Science is filled with complicated (both linguistically and substance wise) explanations of concepts and ideas. The name of science should be changed to �figuring out how to describe the world with language� I am truly struggling at this point, well except for being able to elicit blank stares.

A big part of this struggle is coming from the difference between the western idea of education and what the rest of the world regards as the educational process. I have long griped about the rogue memorization that �plagues� the education system here, only to recently read that rogue memorization is the standard in most non-western countries. This is also why US/European universities are sought after the world around.

In western education the emphasis is understanding and application. Where it is not about being able to recite the periodic table for Pluto in pig-Latin. But instead if you can use the elements of Pluto to make George Bush a little more bank role.. you get the point. Here, and many other places, there is not what we (westerners) would call comprehension learning.

When it comes to western learning, I am one step away from the 85 year old farmer in North Dakota who never went to school but can take one �gander� at the space shuttle and correctly tell that �that yellow thing is much too damn small�. I don�t/can�t/choose-not-to remember anything. So when my kids want list and definitions to memorize for science I want to pull my hairs out.

Back to my little struggle and how this all ties into science. All 104 of my students in know the definition of science: �Science is the systematic study of living and non living things involving observation, classification and quantifying.� However I have yet to have one to be able to tell me what it means. I have yet to have one that can tell me what the word systematic/observation/classification/quantifying is.

I am not holding this against my students. It is just how they have been taught, how they know to learn. Memorize words and puke them out on a page when it comes to test day and you will do ok. I am not even holding this against the school, the teachers or anyone else, just an area that I want to make improvement in but as seems to be the case with education, time is the problem.

I am only 4 weeks in and I am already behind the other classes. Behind, because I have been trying to create a level of understanding of what the words and concepts mean. Trying to get the students to apply the ideas to real life for them to come up with examples on there own.

I think, I feel that understanding is more important that covering more information. But at the same time, why should I be so selfish to say that my idea of what education should be is better. Especially when the final science school wide test at the end of the year will be memorize-and-puke style covering all the information of the syllabus. Meaning that if I don�t get through all content it because I was too busy explaining and having the students put into practice the scientific process rather than memorizing it, then I am screwing them.

Though it might just be that I am pissed that my daily nap time in the back of the classroom has been disrupted. Or that I am going to have to grade test with puke all over them� science stinks!

Ramadan � a second helping

Ramadan is a lot like Christmas, even if you are not part of the religion you still manage to get sucked up into the event. While Christmas is all about eating till you split, punching out relatives, and shopping. Ramadan is all about starvation, dehydration, and seeing Allah.

Going into this month of fasting I was not planning on taking part. I was going to be the scrooge of Ramadan, sitting in my house eating food and drinking juice while the family affirmed there faith by not eating or drinking between 5:30am and 7:00pm.

I started out doing a normal breakfast, at a normal hour, and then sticking to �just the water� till the 7:00 hour so I could break fast with the family. The first few days were a little tough but once the body figures out the new schedule it wasn�t so bad. I wasn�t so stoked about the idea of dehydrating myself on a daily basis, so I decided to join the family for the 5:30 breakfast to make it a �full food fast, with a side of water�.

Getting up at 5:00 in the morning to eat breakfast managed to make me tired as hell. However the early mornings provided a hidden keys to fasting success, taking an afternoon nap and the masking of hunger when tired. Just like before, once I got used to it, it wasn�t so bad. Then the challenge came.

�Omar, are you fasting�
�Yes, well food fasting. I still drink water�
�That�s not fasting; the water is the hard part�
�I will die�
�You won�t die, you are not strong�

I decided to take the Saturday a week before the end to do nothing all day, lay on my floor, and count down the seconds while I was �strong� and did the full fasting. Wouldn�t you know, it was pretty bad.

Pretty bad partly because I didn�t quite manage to lay on the floor all day. After hydro loading in the morning I felt great and decided to partake in my average weekend excursions to the market and visiting some friends around town. Add on top that I no longer notice or consider it abnormal to sweat completely through a shirt just by walking around. By about 3 in the afternoon I was spitting cotton balls and maxing out at three word cave man sentences. �Me, lay, floor.�

But ill be damned if I am not strong! So I stuck it out, laid on the floor, and spooned with the fan for the rest of the day. Wouldn�t you know, when 7:00 came around I wasn�t hungry, just thirsty as hell. Its true, the body�s need for water is greater than for food.

But I did it, it felt good. Feeling the energy rushing back to the body and the brain as I sat with my host father drinking tea and munching on beef and bread was fantastic; so I decided to do it again. I decided to do it for the rest of the week, till Koreteh, the end of Ramadan arrived.

Well I can sit here and say that I survived. Even having to teach classes and take visitors from America on 4 hour tours of the schools in the middle of the day I managed to �be strong�. But it was not just a stupid male my-balls-are-bigger-than-yours thing. It pushed my boundaries in directions I never had before. I learned a little more about how a little suffering can bring people together.

Sure it is not horrific suffering that my grandchildren are going to read about in a text book. But still there was something about lying on the porch with the rest of the family sharing in the misery of making it through a 112 degree day devoid of AC or water. Rarely was anything said, but nothing had to be said, just being there with everyone else, somehow quenched the thirst, just a little.

Bio-Fuel

After a year of �living green� on solar power, I have switched back to the use of bio-fuels (Both fossil and human.) and donated the solar to a better use.

The electrification project uses huge diesel (fossil fuel) generators to produce power for the area, which I am not crazy about. But it has been unexpectedly reliable and comes out of my wall so it is a bit hard to turn down. Not to mention using my battery charger I can fill the storage battery in 1 hour when the solar took 3 days.

The electrification project has been nice, however it has put me at the mercy of the electric company. Already we have had 3 or 4 days straight with out power, getting me dangerously close to having to go to fan-less sleeping. Luckily that is where the second bio-fuel comes into.

I was reading about new battery powered motorcycles (glorified bicycles) that would go 40km on a 150amp charge and thought to myself. If 150amps of current can carry a person 40km, and I can ride 40km on a bicycle with out much problem, then I should be able to use a bicycle to make 150amps. Right? 150amps is a ton of electricity for me, my laptop uses perhaps 7amps an hour.

I will skip the whole development process that took two revisions, but pedal-bike-generator version 3.2 is able to push out about 40 amps an hour at a comfortable clip. Its not 150amps (unless I decide to ride for almost 4 hours) but I am happy with it.

The whole contraption consists of a retired children�s bike flipped upside-down and mounted to a stand that holds it firmly in place. On the stand we added a mount to hold an alternator from an old VW found in the back of the garage in Soma. From there it was just making a belt out of an old truck inner tube (think twist and tie it together). Wrap the belt around the back rim and the pulley of the alternator, hook the alternator to the battery, pull a chair up to the other end and start peddling.

I think this could be the new craze in home workout equipment. Think about it. Don�t just do good for your body, but do good for the environment. A stair master that puts out enough power in an hour to run the dishwasher. Wanna� watch Scrubs? Better hit up the rowing machine, lets just hope its not a double episode.
Two pictures posted in the Pix'n Such Section

Living outside of the American News circuit it is interesting to talk to people back in the states and hear what topics are bubbling up on the news there, verses what is popping up on the international scene.

Not to say that one is drastically better than the other and its nice to know that the freedom of press does actually mean freedom. However, epically when dealing with government, sometimes not the most factual spin, at least compared with what the international community is saying.

Ok, so to my point. On the BBC world news last weekend the top story was the meeting called by George W. Bush of the top 16 polluting countries of the world to discuss cutting green house gasses. As the current �suggestions� are obviously not cutting it. It has been the desire of most of these countries to create hard deadlines and legal ramifications for not obtaining the set goals. Well you can guess who is not in agreement with that, George W. and his Texas oil fields. (Ok so that is unfair, but it feels good) Apparently to him optional compliance would be a better method for reducing green house gases in the future.. right.

Why don�t you talk �optional compliance� next time you do air raids over Iraq.

The following Monday the BBC reported that the meeting had lasted all of half a day when good old W. and his �well oiled machine� of people. Opened the meeting talking of the optional compliance being the way to go. Oh well, so much for being diplomatic, so much for having a meting to generate ideas.

I don�t get it. If George W. is so committed to reducing our carbon footprint/green house gasses/pollutants. Then why the hell would you stand so astutely against mandatory accords that hold everyone to the same standard. Perhaps he is defending democracy and free capitalism by artificially protecting big oil and a crumbling Detroit. Is Georgie setting us up for the future, or is he setting up his bank account for the future.

Beyond this whole environmental issue, our government, namely the House and the Senate, has become a laughing stock for there crowdedness. Most notably with the bill that went though which ripped the 4th amendment (if I remember correctly) to shreds and allowed warrant-less eavesdropping on Americans.

A bill that went though even though most members of the house opposed the bill. Why? Because no one wanted to be the person who voted against a bill that, if another terrorist attack happens in the near future, could be pinned against them for voting against a bill that MIGHT of prevented it. Though from what I have heard/read that is quite unlikely.

I don�t want to get all political and what not, and I don�t know how this all ties in. But this is why I want to see Barack Obama as the next president. Because it is the same family dynasties that have been controlling this country for too long. Think about it, we have had a Clinton sandwich with Bush bred, and possibly with a Clinton topping if things don�t go well.

I like the Big-O because he is new, because he does not have a track record, because he doesn�t have lots of ties that he has to worry about. At least comparatively. Because when he makes a decision he doesn�t try to leave himself an exit plan, he doesn�t apology. Just says he is wrong and them moves on. Plus he likes to ply UNO!

Big-O in 08! (Bet you won�t see that one on any campaign ads)

My second, and last, Gambian school year has officially begun. Officially, school opened two weeks ago on the 17th. Un-officially classes SHOULD hopefully begin next Monday on the 1st of September.

I am much more comfortable with the way things work here, last year I was sitting around in disbelief of students sitting in class, teachers sitting under the tree and no learning going on for two weeks. But now, no need to get worked up over things I have no control over.

I am changing my goals for this second year, I am lowering them from the Peace Corps tag line of �Chang the world, Change your self� to something a little more along the lines �Change with people I work with���And educate some kiddo�s�.

I had a hell of a time about 4 or 5 months ago, wresting with this �lowering my expectations� and it got me down. Caused me to question why I was here, if I was wasting my time, and while that month (or so) was difficult, it was a good month to have. It got my head in the right place, set my sights where they needed to be.

I have had lots of �revelations� from that time in regards to my time here. However the most impact full has been realizing that I am not here for me, not here for my motives. I am not here to do what I think needs to be done, I have to help the people I work with get done what they want.

Its that second part, having someone else pick what I should be working, that I think is so hard to attach to. From an outsider standpoint it is so easy to walk into an environment and see a list a kilometer long of things that could be improved or changed. However to have real development happen, work that is sustainable once assistance is removed, then all that matters is what the beneficiaries want. That is what myself, and many development organizations, seem to miss out on. We walk into a situation and act of a grand-martial-Mr.-fixit, trying to repair this equipment or change this process.

A friend of mine, Todd, has a great example. Its his Gellie Gellie analogy describing why the MB transport vans that run up and down this country have every possible mechanical malfunction but stay on the road, while a missing mouse ball will cause a brand new computer to sit collecting dust. Why? Simply because people want transport, they don�t want to walk 20k, and the drivers want to make money. So the Gellie Gellie that has 4 broken leaf springs, no starter, and an axel so badly bent the fender was removed to make the wheel fit keeps running up and down the road while world food program struggle to get a bag of rice delivered to a school.

This is not to say that what the World Food Program is doing is not good, it is very good, though in my opinion is over implemented. But if your purpose is to create change people have to have a vested interest. So until there is some inset concern for getting that bag of rice to the school, its going to be tough to make it happen. Everyone here knows that that bag should get to the school, but who is going to do it?

Its not like this is special to The Gambia, or this part of the world, it is universal human nature. Think about it, how many of you think that the USA needs to cut emissions of green house gasses? Everyone, thought so. Ok, so what have you done in the past month do reduce your carbon footprint?

Not trying to make anyone feel bad, just seems to happen that way. I doubt there has been a big jump in carpooling or riding the bus. But please, correct me if I am wrong. (I would love to be wrong.) But why, we all know we need to cut back (Well except for George W. and his bull shit meeting among the 16 biggest polluters to try and talk them out of mandatory emissions cuts) but we don�t, because we can keep doing what we know because we don�t need it.

So I am not becoming depressed over the polluting methods of Americas madness, so why did trying to do something good here hit me so damn hard. Because being here as a development worker I am the equivalent of the guy that sells his hybrid scooter in favor of an biodegradable bicycle to get to work in the mornings. I am just way to far out for the people that are here, I cant expect them to change the way they do things. Just like I will not be calling a biodegradable bicycle my main form of transportation any time soon. So my goals have changed, they have simplified to being what ever my counterparts goals are, nothing more nothing less. What ever she wants, we want. (I will also consider this a good evaluation of marriage for that reason) However I will still keep my own things on the side that are outside of that sphere: afternoon science classes and biodegradable bicycles.

If there is one thing that gets drilled into the heads of all Peace Corps The Gambia volunteers during training is the greeting. No matter what the language, or situation, you can never be in the wrong by greeting someone. Two people arguing over a goat being run down by a high-speed Senegalese car, walk up and ask them how the home people are, it will stop, for a second. A mother morning over a lost child in the hospital? Make sure you ask if she spent the night in peace, even though she didn�t, it was �peace only�. Greeting are presented any time you meet with someone known or unknown to you, and follow this basic outline.

Salaam aaleekum - Peace Be Upon You (Arabic)
Maaleekum salaam � Peace e upon you also (Arabic)
Somanda be naadii? � How is the morning.
Somanda be jang durong � The morning is here only.
Kayira be � Peace be upon you.
Kayira durong � Peace only.
Suumoolu lee? � Where are the home people. (How are the home people)
E bee jee. - They are there.
Kori tan ate jee? � Hope there is no evil.
Tanate jee. � There is no evil.
E dimbiah lee? � Where is your family.
E bee jee. � He is there.
A be naadii? � How are you.
N be jang durong � I am here only.
Dookuwoo be naadii? � How is the work?
N be a kang domang domang. � I am on is slowly slowly.

This series is not set in stone and there is the speed greetings such that you use if you are really in a big hurry or running or something. But commonly a good 5 or 6 greetings between people is common upon meeting with them. Though not seeing someone for a while might involve and endless barrage of greetings. Mostly by changing �where is your family� to �where is your mother/father/sister/brother/X/etc� which can go on for as many people as you two know in common. If the person greeting runs out of people, well he might just go back for another lap to check back in on all those people a second time, just to see if they are still �there�.

It seems a little cheesy, epically considering the responses are always the same, regardless of how you or your acquaintances are. Get your arm ripped off in a grain-milling machine and you are on your way to the hospital? Make sure you greet when you enter the ambulance and that you are �Here only�.

To sound like a textbook, to look at the greetings from a pure literal meaning is to miss the sentiment. I have come to understand now that it is not what is said, but how it is said, what the emotion is behind the voice. I was missing this component early in my service, and the part I now recognize.

I know, I know, interpersonal communication 101. Duh Chad, it took you a year to figure out that the nonverbal is more important than the verbal. What can I say, I must have a fewer wrinkles on my brain than most.

While most greetings are, dare I say, rushed through in most situations and treated as a mere formality. There are those times when the words do not even touch the surface of what�s said.

Like walking back into the compound after being gone after a few weeks and greeting my host mother. When on a normal morning we can slam through the 5 or 6 greetings in 15 seconds or so, instead it takes at least twice/three times as long. All the same words are said, the same sequence followed, but the critical pauses, the emphasis, the willingness to stop what we are both doing just to acknowledge and show one another that we are more important to one another than what ever else we are doing at the time creates an amazing feeling.

That is just one example of the good greetings; does my host mother really know any better how my home people are? No. Does she know any better if I am doing well? No. That will come later. What is important is that we both care enough for one another to share a mutual moment.

The best way I can describe it is having a heart-to-heart with a close friend, take that same emotion and make it last 30 seconds, but will all the same residual good feeling the hours afterwards.

On the flip side, you know someone is pissed at you if they don�t greet, or there just an asshole. The way I figure it, I might as well walk up and stick my middle finger in there face if I don�t greet someone I know, it would be about the same thing. If you want someone to know you are pissed mumble though your greetings, if you want someone to know that you wish they were dead, don�t say anything. That�s if you know the person.

Then there are the assholes (I run into a good number of them, as they don�t think I speak local language, so I cut them a break on automatically putting them in the a-hole category), the assholes interacts with people they don�t know with out greeting them. They can�t hate you because you just met, but they are rude for not caring about your home people� asshole.

Gambians find it funny to hear that in America we do not really greet one another. We don�t walk past one another, walk past perfect strangers, and wish peace upon one another. Sure when we talk we ask how one another is, but its not quite the formal process it is here. Well at least not as a culture wide rule.

The greetings do have good parallel, for me at least, in the states. Looking at the way friends hug upon seeing one another. I know with my friends it is expected, required. Sure, it may sound a bit corny, just like the verbal greeting here. But the hug has a deeper meaning a way of showing trust and connection, the same way the greetings do here.

While skipping the hug with the cashier at the counter of the drug store will not make you an asshole, skipping the hug with a friend surly means trouble. Perhaps as Americans we have skipped the formal greetings, but if you ask me, we still slow down when it really matters and bond.

Don�t skip the hugs, I wont skip the greetings.

Well thank you to Rachel for her addition to the picture section. Apparently not having provided the party pictures to the swearing in was a crime against humanity. So thanks to Rachel.

Just for a little understanding, Rachel bought the 50cent/2Pac shirts in Paris during her last trip for only a euro, and Becca, Rachel and I wore them as part of the party planning “staff”. We figured we should look as professional as possible. My apologies to all young children.

In my seemingly unconscious quest to not actually have a summer break, I was pulled into a 4 day workshop at the nursing school last week. It was to be a low-key meeting, updating the 10+ year old curriculum of the three nursing schools with the latest HIV/AIDS content.

The workshop was well stocked with tutors from each of the three nursing schools and representatives from the likes of WHO (World Health Organization) and DOSH (Department Of State for Health). The content needing to be inserted had already been laid out by the WHO, as they are providing the funding. However it was up to the tutors and administrators from each school to figure out where to insert it into the already overloaded curriculum, this was our objective over the four days.

All together it was 30 some representatives, all Gambian, except for, of course, myself. Having worked in this environment and culture for the past year, this thought never crossed my mind, and just figured it would be just another day at the J-O-B. In hind site it is apparent I should of brought the video camera, and hard alcohol to the ensuing 4 day debate.

For each of the 8 topics we had to decide on the objective the topic, major content of content, time spent, and how to evaluate, roughly creating for each of the topics a list that looked like this:
Objective: Preventing Mother to Child Transmission
Major content:

• Breastfeeding with early weaning.
• Wet nursing
• Exclusive formula feeding

That’s all, just enough for the tutor to know what they need to prepare and how in-depth to go with the topic. 4 days? We could crank this out in 4 hours and then head home for a nice relaxing weekend.

I neglected to account towards the minute attention to detail while seemingly ignoring the larger more impact full issues, well at least from an American perspective.

After breaking into three groups, each one working on one of the schools curriculum, we reconvened in the computer lab where we put the suggested changes up on the screen for all to seen then had each group describe there changes.

Things were looking good, it was an hour before lunch and the new group had finished presenting there changes to the SRN school’s curriculum. Then it was time for comments.

A few general questions cam and went, then apparently someone turned on the fine comb filtering in the room and the question came out. “Well I think we should teach exclusive breast feeding as part of the Mother to Child prevention section. In my village there are many children who are fed by mothers who are HIV positive and they are fine”. All that was missing from this guys comment was a cowboy hat and a thick southern twang.

The disagreement that perused lasted all the way till lunch, with the WHO and a few fellow supporters dictating why that should not be taught and what scientific data they have to back it. While the other supporters argued of this or that special case that tried to poke holes in the curriculum.

Now I would call it an argument, or a good discussion. However usually in a discussion while one side is defending their point, the other side is listening intently to what they are saying in order to respond and poke holes in there support/logic/etc. Thus the discussion moves forward as both sides get a better idea of what the other is saying, and hopefully eventually, even if they cannot come to a conclusion, they can at least agree to a stale mate. This proves not to be the discussion method studied here.

It started with the WHO side, saying that the curriculum was designed this way based on there findings in the whole region to prevent transmission. To which the countering side would respond with some example that was contradictory to what the other said. Sounds rather normal, however, the missing point was the whole listening thing. As is listening to what the other side has to say. It was like we had put a wall between the two halves and each was having there own conversation. One side would be shouting out there point (for the 15th time) over the drone of the opposing side who is not paying attention to what the presenter is saying, instead talking to there fellow supporters saying this like “This is the way it should be”. Oh how ground breaking.

Needless to say we got no where fast, but lunch came and I still had hope that this was an isolated issue. Lunch was good, but the discussions continued as they had in the morning all afternoon. By closing time at 6 we had made it about half way though the first schools curriculum and my paticence was wearing thin. As no decision was ever made, it was either chalked up as ‘A point to come back to’ or the M.C. took a side and decided that ‘this is how it will be’.

The rest of the three days proved to be trying, specifically when the finer points came into discussion. Such as the 15 min conversation that developed on rather an objective should read “Describe common health issues in The Gambia” or “Describe the common health issues in The Gambia”. Apparently I miscalculated the importance of the word THE in the sentence, of course I am in THE Gambia so I should have been prepared for that.

I could of maybe understood such a discussion if one of the sides was arguing for the fact that it didn’t matter. However it was split about 70-30 over the different meanings that the THE provided by being there. Now I wish I could give a better description of how a 15 min debate occurs over such a topic, but it was so ludicrous, so absolutely insane, that I could not even comprehend what was being said. It was disbelief of are we a room full of the leading nursing teachers in this whole country arguing over the use of THE in an outline? I had to write it down as I knew I wouldn’t believe it myself once I left the room

Not long after that came the discussion between “The interaction of culture and health” and the phrase “The interaction between culture and health”… someone stick a fork in my eye.

Basted on amount of time debated, it is apparent that the placement of the THE is more important in nursing than the amount of time a baby needs in order to be properly weaned. Seems crazy to me, but then I am just a IT guy.

Every time I turn around there is someone being born, or a couple getting married in this fertile place. Each birth involves a naming ceremony, every marriage involves two ceremonies one for the tying of the marriage (Giving the wife to the husband) and one to celebrate as the wedding of the two (Just want another party, don�t know). I have done a rather good job of avoiding these parties as they are about as much fun as a priests retirement party.

Needless to say when Lamin from the garage asked me to travel down to Kombo (capital area) for his sisters wedding this past weekend I was less than enthused. At first I was looking for excuse out, but decided to be a �good friend� and attend the wedding. Plus I have never �weekend� with a Gambian, so on Friday we jumped in the car and headed down to his village, aptly named, Lamin.

Walking into the compound I could tell that Lamin (The person, not the village) had neglected to tell his family that Omar (I) was a white guy. His mother looked shocked and after quickly greeting Lamin looks at me and says to Lamin, in Mandinka, �Is this your stranger�

This is always a judgment call when someone assumes that you don�t understand what they are saying. Do you jump right in and flash your language feathers, or do you let them go on for a little while and see if they ask (while subconsciously hoping they say something asinine that you can pocket for later use).

Seeing that I would be staying with this woman for the weekend and she would be the one cooking my dinner for the next few days, I jumped in before Lamin could respond informing her that yes I was his �luntango� (Stranger) and that I hoped that her Mother/Father/Children/Husband/home-people and every other relation I could think of were ok.

Apparently I made the right choice. Upon finishing my barrage of greetings, we went into the house and sat down and started to chat a bit. Mama Joof yelled for Mariatou to bring water for me. Mariatou, the bride to be, brought out a cup for me to drink from accompanied by a bowel and pitcher of water which I assumed was for some other task. I assumed wrong.

The part of Lamin I was in was rather far off the road and has never had a peace corps volunteer before, never really interacted with them. Apparently this strange white guy who can speak small mandinka is deserving of washing his hands and feet in a bowel in the living room while the bride-to-be pours the water from a pitcher. I insisted that I was fine and could go out back and wash myself, but they insisted more, well no fighting culture. Plus, when else is a 19 year old girl, in a bra, going to kneel at my side and poor water over my feet while I wiggle my toes in delight and not have to pay for it.

After finishing my foot bath I thanked them and they tried to explain the best I could to go to no trouble for me and that I would manage just fine on my own. We chatted a little longer and then headed out to cruse the village and visit some of Lamin�s old friends.

We come back late and we are both ready to pass out. I walk into Lamin�s room pulling my clothing off getting ready to climb into bed and Mariatou yells for me to take the room across the hall. It seems that 8 people sharing 3 bedrooms is not enough crowding, that I need to have my own room with a humongous bed. Meanwhile she along with 4 or 5 siblings are laying on the floor, two days before her wedding, planning to sleep on a plastic mat.

Having �lost� the last battle with the foot washing, I was not about to loose this battle. I refused and in a slip of cultural sensitivity forgot that you cant call someone crazy here in a joking manner. Oups, but well it seemed to work, either she accepted my explanation as to my use of crazy or she thought I was really angry or the idea of sleeping on the mat was enough to convince her otherwise.

I awoke the next morning and stumbling through the early morning haze when Mariatou comes to me and asks me for my dirty clothing. After putting down her request to wash my clothing, Lamin, insists that because I am her brothers friend, I am her brother. Meaning that she should do my laundry, fetch my water, and various other �womanly things�. I plead once more but it is insisted upon, and Lamin is threatening to give her my whole bag of clothing, so I relent.

The bride-to-be takes my cloths to the back yard and comes back to tell me that she has fetched my water and put it behind the fence for me to take a bath with. � What the, Thank you but no, You are getting married, I should be getting your water, you still slept on the floor last night, you should wear a shirt� all ran through my head but all that came out was �Thank you, I can fetch my own water, you work very hard�. Then I went and enjoyed my bath.

And it just kept going and going and going. Every time I walked into the house someone would get up out of there chair and tell me to sit in there spot. Every food bowel I was with in ear shot of I was required to take a handful of. My shoes were brought to me after saying �Let me get my shoes then we will go��.

The second day a few more of the brothers and what not came home and that night occupied all the beds. I felt like a total ass, the night before her wedding, and the bride is sleeping on the floor while her brothers and I snooze away on the mattresses.

The morning of the wedding I awake to find the bride scrubbing Lamin and my shoes. Not just throwing them in a bucket, but rubbing them to a shine. I try to butt in and push her out the way to take over but this woman has been working around a bucket much longer than I, she boxes me out.

The rest of the day I do my best staying far away from the compound as that is where all the preparations for the evening our happening. While it would be hard for me to watch a bunch of woman (I am not being an ass, but no men cook) cook all day and not do anything, it was going to be damn near impossible since the bride was part of the cooking team.

We sat on the side of the road and sipped tea and I learned Mariatou was going to be this mans second wife and that he was not going to be able to come to the wedding, apparently this is not uncommon. Her to-be husband is buying a second compound for her and so he will spend (in theory) half his time with his first wife and half his time with Mariatou. The husband had wanted the first wife to move to be closer to Kombo however she refused so he decided to get a second wife who lives in the Kombo area.

I asked Lamin if it bothered him that his sister was not going to be his first wife. To which he said �its our culture� though he didn�t seemed so enthused. It is also apparently his �culture� (Not enthused) for her at the age of 19 to be marrying a man who is in his 40�s.

The whole event goes off well that night, the DJ was good, the kids were dancing and the bride collected the 1000D (40 bucks) from the husbands family to give to her family as payment for the bride. The night wore on and when the rains came we retreated back to the house.

About 5 of us sat around the living room while Mariatou opened her wedding gifts. Plates, cups, and lots and lots of body soap, which seemed to entice a snicker with ever additional bar that appeared from the packaging. I was dumfounded, but due to past experiences I know it is best to wait for a quite moment with Lamin to figure out why. I was also a little uncomfortable holding the flashlight while the well formed bride sat topless, on her wedding night, across the table from me as she dug through gifts. At least her mother and her brother were in the room.

The next morning I woke up and had to rush off to get a car back to Pakalinding, I thanked them profusely and told them I would love to come back, though only if I was able to wash my own cloths. Of course I was welcome any time, however next time I was not allowed to do so much work as apparently carrying my own bowel back to the wash buckets was more than I should of done.

Even having to fight with the bride all weekend it turned out to be a fun adventure, the culture and programs in and around the Kombo are different from up-country programs. They have more of a western touch to them, but just enough to make it fun for me, but still completely different from anything you will ever see back in the states. If I am lucky, Mariatou�s first child and naming ceremony will arrive before my time is up here.

Speaking of babies, back to the soap. It is part of Islam that after �sharing