The first week in the village

Friday 06 October 2006

It has been a week since the Peace Corps vehicle dropped me, my 3 bags, a metal trunk, a gas tank, and my bike upon the Veranda of my locked home. I sat there in the noon heat waiting for the keyholder, the principal of my school to return from the nearby market (5 km). I sat upon my concrete porch cushioned by a plastic prayer mat. My already patient nature and enjoyment of just being of just waiting has grown even more peaceful since coming to Africa. I sat in the disappearing shade, putting together my water filter, taking a few naps, meeting the 6 children living in my concession exchanging songs and games practicing Poular with the non-French speaking children.

I had full confidence as the minutes turned into hours that my village would take care of me. One of the mothers of the concession brought me bananas even though it was the month of Ramadam, the month of fasting. And when it became dusk as I lit a candle, the principal arrived opening my dark home.

The darkness was a blessing and a curse. It hid the cobwebs, the bat droppings, the dust, the layers of dirt of a house that has been sitting dormant for months, yet my imagination of the things unseen played with me. I debated whether or not to sleep on my prayer mat on the unswept concrete floor or on a foam mattress that I could not tell whether or not it was moldy or full of bugs. I fell asleep surprisingly fast cushioned by the foam separated from the horrors of what might be by the mat, a security blanket at least mentally.

Waking bright and early, I started cleaning everything. It was an all day job cleaning the two room plus shower room concrete-floored, metal roof house. The previous volunteer who I am replacing left the home well-furnished with exactly the right amount of housewares, not too much, and not too little fitting perfectly into my non-cluttered lifestyle. It was still a lot to clean though.

My house is spacious with lots of empty space. In the bedroom there is a queen size bed surrounded by a canopy of mosquito netting, hanging from the rafters and a table which I use as a dresser. In the main living space, I have a huge desk and a 3 tier table that is my kitchen, holding all of my cookware, food, and 2 burner gas stove. There is a hallway where I keep my bike and a room with a tiled floor with a drainage pipe where I can take bucket baths. Outside a slingshot away, there is pump water and a pit latrine.

The only bad things it that the porch gets the afternoon sunlight and there are no trees for shade. Luckily inside the house it stays cool.

Listening to the advice and wisdom of 4 expedienced volunteers, I force myself to leave the house daily inviting myself over for dinner, going to the tailor's, visiting a fellow professor, visiting the healthcenter, going to the big tree in the center of town to sit and talk, taking a hike over one of the hills to see what I can see. I do not know why I feel so safe hiding behind the walls of my house. I like my community. I like talking to people. Why is it so hard to get up, to lock my door, and to go out the gate?

What am I scared of? Maybe it is the judging eyes of the uncertainty of how to act in this culture or how to speak the local language. Yet I know how important it is for my mental health as well as my integration into this community for me to leave the confines of my home.

With time I will start to feel confident. I just have to get through this walking on eggshell phase. I have to relearn some of my reactions to social situations. it is okay to just sit in silence with a family. Being a wallflower is not bad.

My principal keeps me well-fed sending children over with rice and sauce, eggs, bananas, and oranges. I rode my bike over rocky terrain to the big market buying eggplant, tomatoes, and potatoes. My spaghetti sauce is getting better each night as I experiment with Guinean peppers, little packets of red powder (crushed dried tomato?), bullion cubes, red palm oil, and peanut oil. I am stuffing myself. I have got to learn to cook for one. Powdered milk with sugar, bananas and oatmeal is very tasty in the mornings. I will not starve; although, I often crave for something sweet like a Cliff bar or a granola bar. With time that will fade though. I think my taste buds are changing. I was never a big fan of eggplant, but my oh my fried eggplant is so tasty now!

School has not started yet. Monday is the first day of classes. School is Monday through Saturday 8 am-13 h. I will be teaching 14 hours a week for 5 days a week: 7th-10th grade chemistry and 7th-8th grade physics.

I have spent the week preparing lesson plans. This in itself can be very frustrating. Often I will sit inactive staring into space frustrated at my inability to understand the book, frustrated at not knowing how to teach concepts that have no relevance to these kids' lives. Eventually though a lesson plan gets written. Maybe I just need quiet time to absorb all of the new French I just learned.

Do you know what the most difficult thing is about living alone in the village? It is easy to be lazy and to do nothing. There is no boss pushing you to work. You have to be extremely motivated or you have the potential of becoming depressed at your lack of accomplishment. The activation energy to do anything is high. It is kind of worse than graduate school.

But you know what? I have learned how to make to do lists and to feel a sense of accomplishment with the little things. Reading a book is not wasting time. Sweeping and mopping the floor, good job Peace Corps volunteer. Going to the tailor to have a 60's hippie dress made which is all the rage here in Guinea is a check mark for a job well done. The spaghetti sauce, my compliments to the chef.

It is funny. I don't realize I am in Africa until I leave my village and ride the dirt paths surrounded by fields of fonio and rolling hills of green dotted with huts and low-growing trees. In the solitude of relaxing into the bumpy road, feeling my back tires twist in the red gravel, I realize wow, I am in Africa. I am happy, peacefully content.