First Couple Months in Guinea

Hello everyone! Hope all is well. I thought that some of you might want to know what I’m up to here in West Africa so I decided to post a blog so that you can follow me on my quest for conaissons, wisdom and exciting new experiences.

            I’ve been in the Guinea for approximately 4 months now and I already feel like a different person. At this point I’m finished with training and have been at my permanent site for almost two months. I’m slowly but surely making the transition from the fast paced life of Los Angeles to the slow and sometimes difficult life in rural Africa. The following are my experiences thus far derived from memory and parts of my journal.

November 29 2011

 My journey began in the city famous for its cheese steak sandwich, Philadelphia. This orientation consisted of a general logistical presentation complete with boring paperwork and a review of Peace Corps policy and safety regulations. Such a fitting commencement to set the stage to a brave and righteous journey, n’est pas? The orientation was not too dire, however, as I also got to meet my future friends that awaited the same fate in the courageous voyage that is the Peace Corps.

I met volunteers from all over the States. Most of them were from the Eastern Coast, as out of the 33 people, only 4 were from the West Coast. The rest are scattered throughout the Northeast, Michigan area and the South. One guy from North Carolina even has a southern accent that you never hear in LA. Unbeknownst to me, I would later realize that he and I would spend much time together as we were both Public Health Volunteers. 

After one day of getting to know each other and a couple of beers, we all departed on a charter bus to JFK airport in New York. The bus trip was smooth riding as most of the time I was talking to a guy named Kenny from St Paul, Minnesota. We enjoyed some good conversation regarding American football, our nostalgic college years and what we expected from our service. I also got to experience the pleasant site of the Statue of Liberty. It wasn’t an ideally touristic encounter, however, as I eyed our amicable gift from France through a window of a moving vehicle.  

At JFK, we had a three hour layover that was mostly devoted to binging on our last meal. The whole cohort met up at a restaurant to partake in our last traditional American feast; hamburgers and fries. I had to give my body its final dosage of saturated fat, cholesterol and processed provisions. So…I helped myself to a Double Bacon Cheeseburger complete with a Vinaigrette salad and curly fries. Afterward, I washed it down with some good ol’ Guinness Stout.

That plane ride to Brussels was one of the most uncomfortable. Peace Corps only use American owned airlines; this means that the volunteers are subjected to travel in less than desirable circumstances. American Airlines are crap as they subdue their economy class to closet space seats with no leg room. I was constantly fighting back the feeling of claustrophobia and restless fatigue most of the 8 hour voyage over the Atlantic. Towards the end I stood up towards the back of the airplane and chatted a bit with the other volunteers. I had a nice chat with a Volunteer named Fred from Wisconsin. We discussed our mutual enjoyment in electronic music and exchanged knowledge of our favorite DJ’s. This took my mind of the plane ride and allowed me to alleviate the edge of traveling.

 We got to Brussels, Belgium at 6am and had another 3 hour layover. Here, I explored the airport a bit and checked out what the Belgium terminals had to offer. I bought myself and enjoyed a strawberry-banana smoothie that was surprisingly refreshing.

In addition, I also initiated a pathetic attempt to practice my then infant French with a convenience store clerk. Before I left the States I learned a couple of salutation phrases with a French language audio book. These memorized phrases stayed ingrained in my head and I constantly repeated them aloud to myself with the confidence of an Olympic athlete. As I kicked off my first real French exchange, I was promptly slapped in the face with the hand of reality as I realized that I couldn’t even articulate how to order a damn sandwich. After I repeated my memorized nonsense, I stood like a deaf mute as the store clerk responded in what might as well have been gibberish. I had no idea what he was saying! After realizing my incompetence in French he switched to English so that we could finish our exchange. I was forced to admit defeat and unenthusiastically turned to my imperialistic tongue.

            From Brussels we switched airlines and were allowed to enjoy the luxury and superiority of European airlines. The plane ride to Guinea was another 8hrs but it went by breezily as I treated myself to a cocktail and a movie.

December 1 2011

The first thing you feel in Conakry (the capital of Guinea) when you disembark from the plane is the humidity. It hits you in the face like a sweaty, shirtless fat guy on the basketball court. Anticipating this, I dressed myself in summer gear but it was to no alleviation because I was drenched in my own sweat within 15 minutes of departure. 

            Once we got out of the airport, it was a completely different world. The “airport” was probably smaller than the Target down the street from any American city. In the parking lot, there was a man who had a baby deer on a leash. Next to him there were a group of men arguing and shouting at each other. The city smelled of humid smog, cow dung and dried meat.

 After we were all loaded on one bus like sardines, they took us to the PC headquarters in Conakry. The scenery was interesting as I noticed families, vendors and teenagers running around the streets. The streets were surprisingly busy as we arrived at 10pm. The road was a chaotic mélange of cars, people and livestock. It was virtually a free for all as cars passed each other on the same lane and cut off the pedestrians on the street. Pedestrians in guinea do not have the right of way. Drivers expect you to be smart enough and get out of THEIR way. All in all, it was a welcoming welcome.  

Dec 2 2011

Our second day of training we began with French interviews and placement of language classes. Unsurprisingly, I started at the most basic level. Most others, though, also had no French background as we only have one native French speaker. We immediately began our language training in the demanding learning style that PC abides by. This “complete immersion” learning style mandates that the student become enveloped in an environment where only the foreign language is spoken. This means instruction and communication was all French and only French. The instructors knew little English, if any.

 Everyone always told me that French is similar enough to Spanish and that I would understand at least some of it. Like the store clerk in Brussels, I was completely lost when people spoke to me in and had now idea what they were trying to communicate. That’s wasn’t even the best part-the third day of training the instructors began instruction in our regional dialects …with translations in French. I could barely understand French and they already expected us to start languages that don’t even use the same Latin alphabet!

December 12 2011

Hi guys. I’m writing this message from my bed in my training village called Yurocoguia. This is the name of the village that I’ve been placed. It is located about 60 km from Conakry and it is in the outskirts of a medium sized city. The population, I would guess, is probably less than 200 people.

The transition began with our nerve wrecking adoption ceremony. On our fourth day after arriving in country we took a bus to a smaller city about 60km north of Conakry.  We were then led to a small auditorium where a bunch of host families awaited our arrival. This is where my trepidation really solidified as I had no idea what destiny awaited me. I mean, here I was, freshly off the plane and was about to live with a host family who I know nothing about, who spoke a language that I could barely understand and all in a unfamiliar environment that caused apprehension and uncertainty. Just then the perfectly simple, strenuously difficult and philosophically engaging question that every PC volunteer thinks about at least once during their service flashed through my mind, “What the fuck am I doing here?”

Destiny finally came in the form of our training manager, Ousmane. He called my name to the front where an old woman and teenage boy came to greet me. This was my host mom and brother. We shook hands and I initiated an awkward one-handed hug. My host mom then took my hand and led me back to my seat. “Whew, that wasn’t so bad”, I though to myself.

After closing presentations were given in French and local languages, we were loaded on the same bus (now with double the amount of people) and departed to our new villages. I remember getting off the bus and feeling the humidity in my long sleeve shirt and pants. Prior to this rendezvous, we were mandated to dress professional and I was sporting a pink H&M long sleeve and white khaki pants. This was definitely a bad choice as I could not prevent the sweat constantly running down my back, chest and legs.  

As we arrived to my new home I was given a chair and Fanta Orange. The rest of the family came out to say hello, or to put it better, came out to stare. And stare they did as I was swiftly surrounded by a semi circle of gawking Africans. This awkward situation went on for what felt like 7 minutes. After the lively welcome I excused myself to my room and slept for what felt like two days.  

Dec 20 2011

These 1^st two weeks have been interesting. Since I don’t know how to form sentences in French or Susu, my communication consists of playing charades, pointing and looking like a damn fool. My brother is pretty patient, however, so communication with him is somewhat efficient.

The days are scheduled and very busy with training and language course. Every day, more or less, we follow the same schedule. In the morning I wake up and take a bucket shower in our outdoor bathroom. These are surprisingly refreshing and welcoming because I wake up every morning bathed in my own sweat. After this, we have our 1^st language class at 8am. The class is two hours long as we mostly practice dialogue and lightly touch on grammar.

At 10am we have technical training that is related to our job. Since I’m a public health volunteer we have been learning about things like Nutrition, Malaria Prevention, sexual health and things of that nature. The types of projects that PC wants us to focus on are Malaria Prevention and Diarrhea. Yea I know, I was just as surprised when they told me that I will be working on trying to prevent Diarrhea. But apparently, that is the most prevalent killer of infants younger than 5yrs old. People seldom wash their hands or their food before they eat it. It’s not part of their culture. This gives the infant diarrhea and most often they die of dehydration. Also, I definitely have my work cut out for me in terms of Malaria because it is a popular belief that mangos cause Malaria and African people are “immune” to Malaria because they have “tougher skin” as compared to white people.  

The rest of the day is mostly more language classes and practicing speaking French.

December 31 2011

Hello all, I have been here for approximately one month now and today we had our second language interviews. I definitely know a lot more French as compared to when I first came here but it’s still dragging along pretty slowly. I’m a slow learner so it gets really frustrating at times. There have been days were I wanted to grab the chalkboard and throw it out into the brush.

This 1^st month has been extremely difficult both emotionally and physically. Sickness kicked off my emotional roller coaster in the form of a heat rash and traveler’s diarrhea. Let me start out with describing the heat rash. It starts out as tiny red bumps on your arms that occasionally itch throughout the day. As quickly as two days, this tiny rash has overcome your whole body you have to suffer through a constant state of irritation. The diarrhea on the other hand is a more of a hassle as you are constantly forced to excuse yourself from class in order to succumb to the badly digested food you had that morning.

            Coupled with this is the frustration of trying to learn another language. Your brain is just getting used to understanding a new way of communication and it becomes extremely difficult to stay focused and not lose your patience. And finally to top it all off, this month I also received news that my grandfather passed away.

The combination of frustration, fatigue, illness and sadness finally took control of my body as I broke down one night and released all of the feelings that I was bottling up inside of me. I may have cried a bit (or a lot) and also reflected upon my service as a volunteer, my role as a family member and what kind of person I wanted to become. It was actually a relieving experience as I felt a renewed sense of reason, clarity and focus the next morning.

           

January 18 2012

Like I said, my breaking down point was the 1^st turning point in my service. After this refreshing night I experienced my first “aha!” moment as French finally began to make sense. It was like a hundred little pieces of jigsaw puzzle finally coming together to form a recognizable picture. I began to see the similarities between French, English and Spanish. French is, after all, a romantic language and does exhibit similar rules of syntax, grammar and expression style. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a long way from fluency, but this was a major turning point in my comprehension of the language and effectiveness as a volunteer.

This was also a turning point in my relationship with my host family and other Public Health volunteers. Upon first meeting my PH cohort, I thought that we had nothing in common and refused to confide with any of them. But difficult circumstances and a stressful environment has a funny way of bringing people together. We got closer over NYE 2012 as we were able to cut lose with some cold beers and dancing. This was the beginning of a good friendship as we all became inseparable and frequently went out on picnics, jogs and hikes. On the nights when language classes got the best of us, we would visit this huge boxcar in the middle of a clearing and stargaze for hours.

My relationship with my host family also improved as I was finally able to communicate with them and have deeper conversations about life and the future. My host brother, Nabylaye (who I am named after) wants to attend university in the capital and become a doctor someday. My sisters also revealed to me that they plan to put off marriage in order to attend school. You could guess that I was very supportive of this.

            The last week of training we painted a mural at the community pump where the whole village fetches their water. In it, we advocate to only drink pump water and not well water. (Well water contains more bacteria and organisms that make us sick). Also we will a big “opening day” at the pump where we will all deliver presentations about Malaria, Nutrition and Infant Health. Lastly, we will also present a dance routine that I choreographed to my village and our training class! All in all I feel pretty happy and content with our final projects.

FEB 9 2012

Alors! I finally get installed to my permanent site. The journey from Conakry to KanKan (my regional capital) was pretty swift as it only took 12hrs to get from one place to the other (of course I’m being sarcastic, that ride was hell). Afterwards, we hung out in the regional capital for two days and awaited our installation.

Mine was one of the first as my village is close to the regional house.

I can still remember waving goodbye to the Peace Corps car as it sped away. This is usually a moment where most volunteers experience some sense of nostalgia, anxiety or sadness. But not me, I was in a general good mood and somewhat excited as I set out to unpack all my stuff and arrange my new home. The first thing I did when…

But wait, what kind of host I would be if I didn’t describe my site and living arrangements d’habord. Not a good one I would reckon, so here is a detailed enough description of my site:

Diankana, the name of my village is in the Eastern part of Guinea, next to the country of Mali. As matter of fact, the capital of Mali is only a 5hr taxi ride away. The village consists of mostly mud huts and simple housing. From time to time, public electricity is available to our citizenry. It definitely is a rural African village, as desert brush exists within a 17 km radius in any direction. Livestock also roams freely throughout Diankana as I regularly wake up to goats and cows promenading my courtyard. The village is tucked parallel to the Niger River.

 I live in a modern compound with three other families. Our compound is one of the few that provides electricity and running water to its dwellers. Running water is available 24/7 as it is linked to a water tower. And asked for electricity, the compound houses huge solar panels that power us for at least 5hours in the evening. The families that live next to me are all related and have some link to the leaders of the village.

 In my house, I have two bedrooms, one living room and an outside bathroom. Upon arrival, the house was also equipped with three leather couches where I regularly take my afternoon siesta. I don’t have a kitchen area but I do own a gas powered stove. This living situation is a luxury in Guinea as most of the other volunteers live in mud huts. But I do appreciate the amenities and am extremely grateful that I was blessed enough to receive them. My village is on a main road and I could easily take a 45min bike ride to Guinea’s second largest city, KanKan. In KanKan, I could relieve myself with hamburgers, cold soda and, of course, the company of three other Peace Corps volunteers.

So now that you know a bit of my living situation, let us get back to the installation. Like I said, the first thing I did when I got to my new site was put on some music and started to unpack. My neighbors came out to say hello and offered a plate of Guinea’s national delicacy- rice and sauce. It took only two hours to unpack everything as I intentionally traveled lightly. It was nearing dusk and I was in a pretty good mood. I mean, here I was about to start my journey under some pretty sweet living conditions. The universe seemed in order and I thought I was too. Boy was I wrong.

After a couple introductions with village elders I decided to take a walk and explore my new environment. As I passed the main road of my village I thought it a good idea to explore the dirt trails in the brush. My only companion was my ipod as I entered a narrow dirt trail with some dark trees lining the edges. The sun was descending and I began to notice how hazy the sky was. But I kept along thinking of what I might traverse. As I continued, the trail became eerily dark and foggy. It was almost like walking through a scene of sleepy hollow. As I halfheartedly continued my promenade listening to Ingrid Michelson, I came to the sudden realization that this was a really fucken depressing walk. Dusk was creating an eerie environment and here I was listening to no so upbeat music, by myself, practically in the middle of nowhere. To add to it I also became lost and half wandered through unknown foliage for another half-hour.

That night I did not sleep. And the following four nights as well. I’m not sure what it was, it could have been the rats that kept gnawing at my roof loudly, or maybe it was the noise of the nocturnal animals roaming outside my window, or it could have been simple night terror in a dark room (I forgot to mention that for the 1^st two weeks my compound had a problem with the solar panels and we had to carry on lacking electricity). Whatever the reason, it was not an enjoyable experience. You just lie there in pitch black and your mind races for 7 hrs about the most bizarre things. You lose track of time and before you know, your delirium has survived the morning and you feel more fatigued than the previous night.

When I finally could fall asleep, it was a still not a relieving experience. Meflaquin, the name of our anti-Malaria drugs are the culprit for these restless nights. They create some sort of chemical reaction in your head that allows your body to experience frightfully vivid dreams. I remember one common dream that kept on repeating. The “dream” itself starts at the point where you feel your body dosing off to sleep. At this point your consciousness drifts off from my body and you experience this out-of-body experience of watching yourself sleep. Although it may sound ridiculous enough, the realness of the dream is what scares you. You really believe that you are looking at yourself as your body becomes a detachment of your perception. I have not yet dreamt that someone is out to kill me, but I’m not really looking forward to it.

And finally, the cherry to my homecoming came the second week when I had to administer myself a Malaria test. That night I had a fever that surpassed 100 degrees and a raging case of diarrhea. Lying in bed, thinking of what I got myself into, I decided that I might just have Malaria and decided to consult our PC doctor. She agreed, and instructed me to administer the test. That test took forever as my body was shaking and I couldn’t prick my fingers correctly. Finally after almost slicing open three fingers and feeling like I would pass out I was relieved to find a negative test in my possession.

February 20 2012

But let us not get carried away here as I was not forced to be subjected into the wild, brutish state of nature that Hobbes’ had in mind. No, no, no, we are in the 21^st century after all and I could still watch Mean Girls on my laptop to raise my spirits.

My second week at site I dedicated to improving my living arrangements. First came the sweets, I went to the market and bought myself some cookies, chocolates and fruit. Second were the essentials as I invested in a gas powered stove, trash cans and bed sheets. Lastly and most importantly was the invention that ensured the survival of our species and enabled us to become the most powerful, civil and progressive beings on planet earth, fire. Only my fire came in the form of Chinese manufactured candles and I was definitely not making any historical impacts by igniting them in my comfortable living room.

During these first two weeks I met a lot of cool new people that were excited and willing to help a lowly foreigner get adjusted. The 1^st people that I began to get acquainted with were my neighbors. Like I said, there are three families in my compound who are all interrelated. The head of one of these families is named Abu Kakoro.  He is somewhat of an older brother figure. When I moved in he helped me set up my locks and made sure that my shower was working. At night when I feel like taking a stroll, he makes sure that I am accompanied. I eat with him and his family every night. Dinner is interesting as 3 or 4 men gather around a huge bowl of rice to eat with their hands. I have eaten with my hands before but have not yet perfected the art of using my hands as an eating. Therefore, I usually take advantage of my status as a foreigner and opt out for a spoon.

 I also met another cool guy named Mamoudou. Mamamoudou is a university student in KanKan. He studies modern literature and speaks a bit of English. He is a very smart person and a bit of a philosopher. We often have conversations on the welfare of Africa and his ideal progress for modernity in his home country. We have become each other’s unofficial tutors as he teaches me French and I teach him English. The dynamics of our conversation remind me of the same exchanges that I have with my mother; she speaks to me in Spanish and I respond in English. But with Mamaoudou, he speaks to me in English and I respond in French. Overall though, our exchanges are effective as I am beginning to use different verb conjugations that I was unable to use just one month ago.

March 5, 2012

Today has been a good day thus far. I woke relatively early in order to wash my clothes. I should know by know that washing clothes in Africa is a difficult task to perform. Never mind that you need to fetch the water, wash every item by hand, bend down in an uncomfortable position and do all of this in the scorching hot African sun. No, these reasons are not why it was difficult for ME to wash my own clothes. The culprit of my prevention was my sex. The minute I start to perform “women’s work”, the women in my compound practically snatch the clothes from my hands and promptly direct me to sit down while they endure the dire work that is washing clothes. The second I object or offer to help, they explain to me that washing clothes is a “woman’s job” and that men should not partake in such an activity. There have been times when I have been able to wash two or three articles but they then get frustrated and tell me that I’m doing it wrong.

I hope that someday I can convince them that a man can wash his own clothes and that they will enable me to faire my own labor. Either way though, the women in my compound are so nice and just want to help me out. I hope to give back to them by doing some sort of empowering exercises and activities.

            I believe that I have planted the seeds to at least a miniscule empowering activity. Every Tuesday and Thursday I teach Latin dance to willing volunteers. Surprisingly, they get pretty excited for the class. At first, my classes consisted of a bunch of guys taking center stage and trying to show off. Any time a woman makes a mistake she gets yelled at and harassed by the men. Women, young girls especially, are shy and take a back seat position to the male dominated Guinean society. But I did manage to shake up the dynamics of Guinean gender relations a bit on the dance floor.

I explained to the men that in Latin dance, the women are equally important as her partner. While dancing, I explained to them, you need one woman and one man. Both need to be equally competent in the art in order for the moves, spins and turns work. Both need to work together. Immediately after this explanation the attitudes of the men changed as they were (at least a bit) more sympathetic to their partner and tried to work together. In a miniscule way I felt like I gave the women a bit more say in a communal activity.

            Also, today I had an interesting conversation with a man from Mali. Bamako, to be exact is the capital of Mali and this man had amicable ties to my village. We casually talked about where we are from and what we do. The conversation somehow shifted to politics and we began discussing the diplomatic relations of West Africa. Apparently, the government of ousted Libyan leader Muahmar Qaddafi had financial ties to guerillas fighting the Malian militia in the north of the country. I was an interesting conversation as I began to realize how interrelated world relations really are. You guys know that I could go on forever talking about International Relations but we’ll leave that for the next blog…

(Update)

Not sure if you guys are aware, but the government of Mali experienced a coup d’etat (military coup) on March 21 2012. The military claimed that the Malian government was not providing them with enough logistical and financial support to fight the Qaddafi financed rebels in the north. Thus, the military overtook Bamako (the capital) and stormed the presidential palace. Afterword they broadcasted their takeover using all media channels and claimed that they would oversee and implement the elections scheduled for next month. This came as a surprise because Mali is one of the models of (and most lasting) democracies in Africa. Analysts and political commentators were all shocked with the events. Although no violence has occurred, it is a possibility that Peace Corps Mali will evacuate all volunteers for security purposes. The city of KanKan (being so close to the border) has also imposed a 12pm curfew in response to these events. But don’t worry about me; I should be fine as I am serving in a separate and (relatively) peaceful country.

March 15 2012

Today I witnessed a live birth, being part of the miracle of life was both incredible and disgusting. The woman that I was assisting was about 20yrs old and was in labor for a good 5hrs. It is amazing how much pain the female body can endure in order to produce life. As she was suffering through her contractions, I was next to her holding her hand.

Finally, after massages from the midwife and a couple of curse words in Manenka (the local dialect), the miracle of life happened and out came an infant drenched in disgustingly yellow and brown bodily fluids. Boy was that thing ugly! (To be fair, I’m sure we all look like that at birth). After the midwife administered oral vaccines and eye drops the infant was promptly cleaned and clothed.

I definitely have a new found respect for women who are able to endure childbirth.  We owe it to mothers around the world for raising and continuing our human species. It’s a wonder to me how women all around the world are subjugated to everything from spouse abuse to FGM (Female Genital Mutilation). There is an African proverb that states that, “If you teach a man, you teach one person [but] if you teach a woman, you teach a whole nation.” This verse is especially applicable in Africa because women are the driving force to the advancement of the community. The men here enjoy 1^st class status as more men are educated and exclusively hold important positions in government and academia. This, I believe, is a hindrance to progress as we cannot expect a third world country to flourish into a self sustaining state without empowering their women first.

March 30, 2012

So to conclude, I’ve been here for almost 2 months and am finally beginning to settle in. I began to establish a general routine to keep myself busy. Everyday I go to the Health Center for about four hours and assist the doctor with small tasks. Afternoons are usually English-French language exchange with Mamaoudou. At 5pm I go to the soccer field to make an ass of myself (To be fair, I am getting better and my stamina is returning slowly). Then at night I will usually have either English instruction or dance class, depending on the day.

            The schedule changes of course, but as of now I am content as I prepare for my next “in country training” in March. Next month, April, there will be a huge fishing celebration in my village and soccer tournament. Also, in KanKan, another Public Health volunteer is hosting a Girls Empowerment Conference that I plan on attending.

            Well, hope you guys enjoyed my 1^st blog. Sorry it took so long to write it. If you guys have any questions or just want to chat it up, shoot me an email (adrian.arellano@live.com) or add me on skype (adrianarellano). Hope everyone is well and that your health is better than mine (I’m currently fighting an annoying eye infection). Inshallah, until next time!

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this blog are solely my own and do not reflect the opinion, beliefs and attitudes of the Peace Corps.