As you may have guessed, we do not have internet service in Forecariah, site of our Community Based Training. I had typed up a rather massive entry on my laptop, only to discover that Word 2007 is not compatible with the computers in the Conakry internet cafe. Ah, c'est la vie.
This will probably be the only for the next couple of months, and it's guaranteed that I will not have internet access at my permanent site. So entries/updates will unfortunately be sparse and clustered.
Forecariah is beautifully tucked into some low mountains in the southern Basse Cote (near the coast) region. I live with a large family (12 total in the house, 7 kids) and attend school daily. French is coming along. Yesterday we were treated to Cafe Francais, an activity where local school students from the community came to meet and talk with us for a couple hours.
A week ago we learned our site assignments. I'll be headed to the Fouta Djallon, a mountainous region in the center of the country. In a few weeks we'll travel to our sites to meet the community, schedule our classes, etc.
Sorry this post is so brief. There should be a few additional photos on Flickr. I had more, but it took the entire hour to just get the handful up that are there. Thanks in advance for any mail sent over the last month. I've only received one letter so far (from mom), but look forward to the next delivery!
Oh, and I got a phone:
011-224-62-87-40-89
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Staging
July 06
I looked down at my feet as I trudged to the Philly baggage claim, mostly due to the overstuffed Kelty on my back affecting my posture. A Peace Corps advertisement slapped the fatigue out of my attention on one my first glances upward for bearings: “No one wants to look back and say, ‘I wish I would’ve.’” My first surreal moment.
Staging in Philly was chock full of the stale ice breaker flavor. We learned that, due to ’08 budget cuts, our one-day stay was actually a third of the norm. None of us seemed to mind the brevity of staging; nor could we fathom the monstrosity of ennui that would be three days of the stuff. Really, just give us the damn plane ticket.
There were a few opportunities for creativity. Three groups of our 17 volunteers each drew some of our concerns and aspirations on a 36x24 sheet of paper. Aside from a number of ominous mosquitos, french flags, chalk boards, and vomiting stick figures was a mythical lizard with jagged fangs (one volunteer’s interpretation of the many cute animals she hoped to see) and a green Peugot station wagon barreling into a volunteer—a rather gruesome mess (bush taxis aren’t touted as the safest of transport choices.
Our last ice breaker involved six groups each reviewing a scene with a questionable event involving a volunteer. After scrolling throught the Peace Corps Handbook and finding which rule applied, each group of three acted out a public service announcement related to that scene. For example, “Jason Reyes is a volunteer in East Asia working in a small village. As his relationship with another American from a neighboring town begins to intensify, he learns that his girlfriend is working for the Drug Enforcement Agency. She insists that her position has no bearing on the relationship; however, Jason has second thoughts.” Zach, who had read this scene prior to the activity but was actually in a different group, had left a gem of insight: “This is the scene most likely to be turned into a movie script.”
The most natural (and quickest, due to time constraints) script for our group’s PSA came as follows:
3RD PERSON NARRATOR (in token deep movie preview voice) – Jason Reyes is a Peace Corps volunteer living in Cambodia. When a sultry expat strolls into his paddy, more than the rice starts getting steamy…”
JASON: Tammy, these last few weeks have been absolutely amazing. I couldn’t imagine a sunset being more beautiful than the ones I saw on my arrival. And then you strolled into my life.
TAMMY: Oh Jason, you’re so sweet! I just wish I could introduce you to my DEA friends.
JASON: What?! You work for the Drug Enforcement Agency?
TAMMY: Yeah, but it’s no big deal, I swear. You’re the man for me. The fact that you live in the heart of heroine-trafficking country has no bearing on my feelings for you. Just promise me that you won’t tell your friends.
JASON (internal monologue): Jeez, this girl is awesome, but I remember something on page 74 of my Peace Corps Handbook explaining that I need to disclose all possible relationships that might involve internal conflicts to the Peace Corps Office. Whatevs yo, this girl is too hot for me to keep this a secret.
One week later in the capital….
JASON: Guys! You would not believe how hot this DEA girl is that I’ve been getting with…(more internal monologue) oh crap, I hope she’s not upset that I told everyone
THIRD PERSON NARRATOR: Actually Jason, despite your boyish giddiness, you actually did the right thing. Peace Corps policy requires that you disclose any relationship with a foreign intelligence agency you might have, as it might compromise the integrity of the Peace Corps’ relationship with the host country. You may have failed at relationships, but you’re right on par with following the rules. When in doubt, consult the Handbook. This has been a Public Service Announcement of the US Peace Corps.
The other notable skits involved a careless volunteer who didn’t take her malaria medication and contracted the disease from a 6’3 mosquito. And the crudest blog entry known to man:
OBDEN: It’s terrible here, everyone smells like shoes…I had fish for dinner tonight, but they wouldn't let me leave the table until I swalloed the bones…I think they stole my underwear…I can’t take it anymore…This is an official Peace Corps Blog. Anything and everything written is the exact viewpoint of the US Government and the Peace Corps.
We were rolling at Obden’s skit. His group’s example explained the Peace Corps’ rather recent attempt at addressing the cultural implications of blogging. The hypothetical situation involved a group of host country nationls (HCNs) obtaining printouts of a volunteer’s rather negative postings about his site (i.e. their home). It’s a touchy subject, as we want to convey our indelible impression; yet raining down from above are warnings to be heeded.
· “You’re the center of the looking glass.”
· “Your reflections are amplified.”
· “It’s up to you to be a good ambassador.”
· “The probability of HCNs to discover your blog is greater now than ever before.”
The literal translation: don’t write anything bad about your experiences. From a macroscopic perspective, this chord has held throughout our training. Political views are expected to be curtailed, cultural opinions to be swallowed. “Tomorrow is your yellow fever vaccination. The night you arrive on site you’ll begin taking your malaria prophylaxis. Oh, and don’t forget your literary seatbelt.”
For me, I don’t really expect this figurative hand to weigh too heavily, as my writing is mostly censored anyway. Even within my own written journals, I often write as if someone might bore through the wall with some high powered telescope, transcribing for the authorities. So what ends up here is nothing more than the usual 1-4-5 chord progression. Yeah, 1-4-5 trandscends time, but only because geniuses have squeezed out the genius. The rest of us just emulate and hope that we can tap into the same vein.
Maybe the policy’s discouraging because emotional restraint was the wall I wanted to topple.
I looked down at my feet as I trudged to the Philly baggage claim, mostly due to the overstuffed Kelty on my back affecting my posture. A Peace Corps advertisement slapped the fatigue out of my attention on one my first glances upward for bearings: “No one wants to look back and say, ‘I wish I would’ve.’” My first surreal moment.
Staging in Philly was chock full of the stale ice breaker flavor. We learned that, due to ’08 budget cuts, our one-day stay was actually a third of the norm. None of us seemed to mind the brevity of staging; nor could we fathom the monstrosity of ennui that would be three days of the stuff. Really, just give us the damn plane ticket.
There were a few opportunities for creativity. Three groups of our 17 volunteers each drew some of our concerns and aspirations on a 36x24 sheet of paper. Aside from a number of ominous mosquitos, french flags, chalk boards, and vomiting stick figures was a mythical lizard with jagged fangs (one volunteer’s interpretation of the many cute animals she hoped to see) and a green Peugot station wagon barreling into a volunteer—a rather gruesome mess (bush taxis aren’t touted as the safest of transport choices.
Our last ice breaker involved six groups each reviewing a scene with a questionable event involving a volunteer. After scrolling throught the Peace Corps Handbook and finding which rule applied, each group of three acted out a public service announcement related to that scene. For example, “Jason Reyes is a volunteer in East Asia working in a small village. As his relationship with another American from a neighboring town begins to intensify, he learns that his girlfriend is working for the Drug Enforcement Agency. She insists that her position has no bearing on the relationship; however, Jason has second thoughts.” Zach, who had read this scene prior to the activity but was actually in a different group, had left a gem of insight: “This is the scene most likely to be turned into a movie script.”
The most natural (and quickest, due to time constraints) script for our group’s PSA came as follows:
3RD PERSON NARRATOR (in token deep movie preview voice) – Jason Reyes is a Peace Corps volunteer living in Cambodia. When a sultry expat strolls into his paddy, more than the rice starts getting steamy…”
JASON: Tammy, these last few weeks have been absolutely amazing. I couldn’t imagine a sunset being more beautiful than the ones I saw on my arrival. And then you strolled into my life.
TAMMY: Oh Jason, you’re so sweet! I just wish I could introduce you to my DEA friends.
JASON: What?! You work for the Drug Enforcement Agency?
TAMMY: Yeah, but it’s no big deal, I swear. You’re the man for me. The fact that you live in the heart of heroine-trafficking country has no bearing on my feelings for you. Just promise me that you won’t tell your friends.
JASON (internal monologue): Jeez, this girl is awesome, but I remember something on page 74 of my Peace Corps Handbook explaining that I need to disclose all possible relationships that might involve internal conflicts to the Peace Corps Office. Whatevs yo, this girl is too hot for me to keep this a secret.
One week later in the capital….
JASON: Guys! You would not believe how hot this DEA girl is that I’ve been getting with…(more internal monologue) oh crap, I hope she’s not upset that I told everyone
THIRD PERSON NARRATOR: Actually Jason, despite your boyish giddiness, you actually did the right thing. Peace Corps policy requires that you disclose any relationship with a foreign intelligence agency you might have, as it might compromise the integrity of the Peace Corps’ relationship with the host country. You may have failed at relationships, but you’re right on par with following the rules. When in doubt, consult the Handbook. This has been a Public Service Announcement of the US Peace Corps.
The other notable skits involved a careless volunteer who didn’t take her malaria medication and contracted the disease from a 6’3 mosquito. And the crudest blog entry known to man:
OBDEN: It’s terrible here, everyone smells like shoes…I had fish for dinner tonight, but they wouldn't let me leave the table until I swalloed the bones…I think they stole my underwear…I can’t take it anymore…This is an official Peace Corps Blog. Anything and everything written is the exact viewpoint of the US Government and the Peace Corps.
We were rolling at Obden’s skit. His group’s example explained the Peace Corps’ rather recent attempt at addressing the cultural implications of blogging. The hypothetical situation involved a group of host country nationls (HCNs) obtaining printouts of a volunteer’s rather negative postings about his site (i.e. their home). It’s a touchy subject, as we want to convey our indelible impression; yet raining down from above are warnings to be heeded.
· “You’re the center of the looking glass.”
· “Your reflections are amplified.”
· “It’s up to you to be a good ambassador.”
· “The probability of HCNs to discover your blog is greater now than ever before.”
The literal translation: don’t write anything bad about your experiences. From a macroscopic perspective, this chord has held throughout our training. Political views are expected to be curtailed, cultural opinions to be swallowed. “Tomorrow is your yellow fever vaccination. The night you arrive on site you’ll begin taking your malaria prophylaxis. Oh, and don’t forget your literary seatbelt.”
For me, I don’t really expect this figurative hand to weigh too heavily, as my writing is mostly censored anyway. Even within my own written journals, I often write as if someone might bore through the wall with some high powered telescope, transcribing for the authorities. So what ends up here is nothing more than the usual 1-4-5 chord progression. Yeah, 1-4-5 trandscends time, but only because geniuses have squeezed out the genius. The rest of us just emulate and hope that we can tap into the same vein.
Maybe the policy’s discouraging because emotional restraint was the wall I wanted to topple.
Arrival
After 36 hours of travel we arrived safely to a misty Conakry. Normally two flights arrive per day, and due to our Air Brussels flight arriving 45 minutes late, the arrival times perfectly overlapped, which led to a rather claustrophobic customs experience.
Worth the wait was our greeting. I was still walking through the narrow corridor to baggage as I heard the first wave of cheers from the G-16ers who had patiently stood for hours in amidst the chaos.
Last night's official training was of the meet-and-greet variety over falafel at the house and beachside beers.
One last quick anecdote: a quick conversation with a current volunteer went something like, "I get to sight hoping that I might get a couple pieces of birthday mail and this damn trainee already has a stuffed mailbox!" Thanks Mom.
I will update as time allows.
Worth the wait was our greeting. I was still walking through the narrow corridor to baggage as I heard the first wave of cheers from the G-16ers who had patiently stood for hours in amidst the chaos.
Last night's official training was of the meet-and-greet variety over falafel at the house and beachside beers.
One last quick anecdote: a quick conversation with a current volunteer went something like, "I get to sight hoping that I might get a couple pieces of birthday mail and this damn trainee already has a stuffed mailbox!" Thanks Mom.
I will update as time allows.
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