I apologize for the delay in updating the blog. I know it has been awhile. I hope all is well in the States and that winter has subsided bringing warmer weather, and maybe a little less rain. It is getting rather toasty here with midday temperatures reaching 110 degrees. We are definteily into the hot season now and the temperatures will keep increasing until June when the rains come, which will be a glorious day.
Right now I am in Bansang, a small city, town rather, in the Central River Region, using the computer. Bansang is located on the main road that runs through the south bank of Gambia. My village is about 12k from Bansang in the bush. There is power here in Bansang, unreliably, from 9:00 am to 3:00 pm every day. Power means that I can drink cold chocolate milk and eat an icee (small plastic bag of frozen juice) while I type this blog- I am really living it up today. I usually come to Bansang every other week to use the computer, visit volunteers in the area, and buy vegetables for my family (onions, potatoes, cabbage, eggplant, okra).
I have been in village now for a little over two months and it has been really incredible. It is difficult to describe the strong connection I feel to my village and host family. Maybe the best way to illustrate this is through the feeling I have when I come home from a trip to either Bansang, Basse, or Kombo. It is a feeling of being settled and secure. Upon returning, as I bike into my village (Peace Corps gives all volunteers new Trek mountain bikes), the women at the pump yell "Fatoumatta" and wave as they balance heavy buckets of water on their heads, my son (He is my sister's son but also considered mine. If you are a female, your sister's children are your own.) runs from his compound to greet me on the path hoping that maybe I have brought back treats from my travels (he has a sweet tooth comparable to Nelson's). As I enter my compound, my father and mother begin extensive greetings asking about my travel, my health, the people from the place I just visited, the day, the work, and the heat. My brother's wife, Fatoumatta, comes to greet me with a big smile. Ebrima, her 7-month old son, is tied to her back with a towel. "Fatoumatta arti," she says, which means "Fatoumatta, you have returned." In conversation, much of the obvious is stated. I say "Nange na wuli" (The sun is hot) many times a day as it seems to be a requried part of the conversation, especially this time of year. These arrivals capture the energy and spirit of the village, which has made me truly happy here these past two months. There have been definite ups and downs because language and cultural adjustment are difficult, but the ups always tend to extinguish the downs.
My village is very small with only 14 compounds, maybe about 100 people. My compound is also small compared to the average Gambian compound. As I mentioned, there is my mother, Fatoumatta (Yes, there are three Fatoumattas in my compound. In Gambia, having the same name as someone else forms an instant bond between you. It is something special that you share. This is different than in American where it seems that unique names are commonly strived for. This is a small example of the difference between individualistic and collective cultures.), my father, Ebrima, my brother, Mamadou, and his wife, Fatoumatta, and their son, Ebrima. My father and mother are in their early 60's, my brother is 32 and his wife is maybe 17 or 18 years old. Fulas tend to marry girls very young, even at 14, 15, 16 years of age.
This is my hut in our compound. I have a small backyard that contains my pit latrine, a small garden, and a bed for sleeping outside on hot nights.
This is my brother's wife, Fatoumatta, on the left holding their son, Ebrima. He is definitely one of the healthiest babies I have seen here (pictured on the right as well). She breastfed him exclusively for the first six months, which many women do not practice here because of lack of eduation. She also does not let him sit in the sand (which has animal and human waste, etc.) in the compound without putting a towel or cloth underneath him. This is revolutionary.
The boy on the right is my sister's, Babadou, son Ebrima and the other boy is from another compound. He is also named Ebrima. I posted this picture to show the ever-popular shirt and matching shorts that feature Obama's face. There are many many different versions of this here sold in all of the markets. My favorite is a shirt with a picture of Barack and Michelle dancing.
This is my sister, Babadou. I learned a few days ago, by looking at her I.D. card, that she is only 22 years old. Many Gambians do not know their age as birthdays are not celebrated so you have to ask to look at their I.D. cards to find out. I would have guessed she was close to 30 years old. She has two kids and is pregnant now. We have experienced very a different 22 years.Note: The scars next to her eye are decorative scars characteristic of the Fula ethnic group. Both men and women have them and they are done when the individuals are young children.
I hope to update the blog again soon and tell you more of what I have been doing in village. Again, I hope all is well with everyone. Lots of love from Africa.
