Election Day is Coming

Mark it on your calendars, folks. November 24th is Thanksgiving.... For 'Merka. But here in the sunny, skinny, smiling coast of The Gambia, it will be Election Day. You probably wonder how it works over here. Negative campaigning? Check. Protests? Not that I've seen. Violence? Nada.

This year there are 3 candidates. We have the incumbent, Yahya Jammeh, Lawyer Ousainou Darboe of the United Democratic Party , and the independent candiadate Hamat Bah of the United Front, which represents at least four political parties. The campaigning constitutionally began on November 12, although there were quite a few billboards already erected for the ruling party some weeks before that. Among the billboards are "Vote for him in 2011 as your sacred duty" and "Gambian women LOVE the President". There are quite a few restrictions on who is allowed to become a presidential candidate, but I did learn that you need to submit a check for D10,000 (~$350) to Independent Electoral Commission (IEC). I wonder how much it is in the U.S.

I'm new to Gambian political campaigns, but this time around there's a sense that the outcome is not already predetermined. The opposition candidates are speaking out against the current regime more than they have in the past, focusing mostly on the issues. This is good for The Gambia.

If you're interested in what's going down, check out these online newspapers:

http://observer.gm/

http://www.foroyaa.gm/modules/news/

http://hellogambia.com/

http://thepoint.gm/

http://www.freedomnewspaper.com/

Kuliyo diyaata le nung

The last couple months have been interesting for me. I left Jigimar-Farafenni in tears, drifted around for a couple months living out of a suitcase, and have now found my situated in a rather swank living arrangement here in Saateebaa (Big Village) Brikama. And by swank, I mean 3 rooms of intermittent electricity, with a flushing toilet, and cold shower. But I guess that beats waking up every morning lightly coated with grass, dirt, and tiny little termites.

 You may be thinking to yourself "This guy's moved up in the world". That thought is correct. I am a visiting lecturer at The University of The Gambia (UTG), so a man in my position can't be suffering from a lack of basic needs. Because, that just looks bad. And in this country, image is everything. 

When I'm not busy cultivating my image, I'm just, well, busy. When I lived in Farafenni, one of my goals in a day might have been "Today I'm going to show Fatou how to print something on the computer". Now, my goals are "Today, I'm going to finish the lecture slides for CPS101 and CPS212 and load them on the class server. Oh, and maybe I should go ahead and start grading their last assignment too." It's not easy. But rewarding.


The students are the best this country has to offer. Some of them are legitimately good and can actually program. But they're suckers, since I've lured them in to playing pickup Ultimate for some (paltry) bonus points. Or maybe they just really like Ultimate; which is exciting because I had 25 people last time and had to make two fields.

But enough about the new Stevo. Let's revisit the old Stevo. I did. Last weekend when I went back to Farafenni to visit my family for a naming ceremony. The event was pretty standard as far as naming ceremonies go: 3 big meals, 3 dead ungulates, more than 3 old ladies asking for money, and of course, alot of music, dancing, and drumming.

A couple things that stuck about the weekend were:

An old lady asking for money stole my brother's attaya cups for not giving her money.

I shared a bed with a random guy named "Manlafi", which means "not wanted" in Mandinka. Don't worry, I'm perfectly safe.

-Bless

And now, time for some pictures.

Toulaye = cute

Serra and the mother of the baby, Yama.

These guys stole the party

This boy likes chatting too much

Baba accepting big money as head of the compound

She came bearing gifts

And more gifts

Apparently, this guy is important. When he greeted me, the first thing he asked for was money. I don't care how long I live here, that will always be rude.

What did you expect, a Thanksgiving turkey?

This was actually a combination wedding/naming ceremony. Not exactly sure what's going on here, but that's the bride/mother

It's never a bad time to answer your mobile

Regularly posting a blog: It's not easy

So, I realized today that it's been more than two months since I've posted a blog. I have plenty of excuses for this, but mainly they are

I'm lazy.

It's hot. *

I've been here so long nothing surprises me anymore. **

I've been here so long everyone nothing surprises anyone else anymore.

I'm not 100% sure that anyone actually reads this.

It's Ramadan. ***

and....

It's not easy.



* Heat is a pretty standard excuse here, which is almost always followed by the phrase "It's not easy." Actually, any excuse here is followed by "It's not easy." Example: "Computa, it's not easy." or "To get a Visa, it's not easy."

** I walked into a bathroom the other day and saw a giant snail eating a roll of toilet paper. What surprised me the most was the fact that there was a roll of tp.

*** Ramadan started August 1st this year. It will end some time at the end of the month depending on the moon. When people break their fast at sundown, they normally eat bread. That means huge lines at the bakery in the big town. People wait for hours just to buy bread. Ramadan is a month of no food, water, smoking, sex, or any other form of enjoyment during the daylight hours. For muslims, it is a reminder that there are people in the world that are going hungry or being deprived of pleasure. This makes them more likely to give alms, which is one of the 5 Pillars of Islam. I urge you to go to wikipedia to learn the other 4. 

I myself have not been fasting. Every day Gambians will ask "I sunta?", which means "Did you fast?". I usually say something along the lines of I'm too scared to fast. But really, just I enjoy eating. I have fasted a couple times, and I think that's all experience I need. On a gele the other day, the apparante (driver's assistant) was falling asleep on the job because he was tired from fasting. I joked with the other people in the car that he wasn't interested in making money. Joking back he asked me if I was fasting. I sheepishly said no, and then agreed with him that "It's not easy". Which in this case is actually true.

--Junkung Ceesay

Deep Thoughts

The other day I went to bum some sugar from my family, mostly because I was too lazy to walk to the shop and buy some. That act of laziness got me in an introspective mood. Here are my thoughts.

I'm willing to borrow things TO people. I'm also willing to borrow things FROM people.

My backyard is now a chicken coop, which houses an enormous chicken. *

I don't use toilet paper. Instead I use old Peace Corps newsletters. 

I lost 20 pounds. Then gained 10. I feel not fat. **

I could probably drink water out of a Shell Station toilet now and be ok.

I now have a tattoo, sort of.

My Happy 50th Birthday Rusty shirt has spoiled, but I refuse to get rid of it.

I can grow a mustache. I've been immortalized on Facebook.


Now, of course, these were not the only thoughts that I've ever had, nor that surfaced during my meditative session. Just thoughts.

Moving on.

By end of June, I will have moved from my awesome 5-sided hut on the cusp of the bush to a more urban and probably quadrilateral place in Brikama. Brikama is home to the single most legitimate learning institution in the country and I intend to teach programming there. While the last two years have been a challenge in their own right, they haven't been a technical challenge. I've got the itch to do some programming; a fever I would say. And the only prescription is more cowbell. So wish me me luck as I begin to wrap up my Peace Corps career with this new endeavor.



* My host mother came to me one afternoon wanting know if she could use some extra chicken wire I had laying around. Sure, no problem. I went away for some Peace Corps business for a couple weeks. A came back to find this monstrosity of a chicken in my backyard, along with a stud rooster, who was dwarfed by this hen. So business savvy, that mother of mine.

** Here's my secret to my not-feeling-fatness: 
- Rice to eat, lot's of it. 
- Water to drink, lots of it. 
- Natural exercise, not necessarily a lot of it. (e.g. push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, yoga)
- Biking, a little bit of it. 

That's it. After living here for two years, I realize that we Americans are physically pathetic. Sit in the car and drive to work, sit in front of a computer and do work, sit in the car and drive home, sit in the chair and watch the television, lay down in the bed and go to sleep. No physical exertion. The short little walks to the fridge don't count. We even maintain our lawns sitting down. We've evolved (or have been designed) to walk upright, even run at times. If we humans were a species whose intended mode of locomotion was sitting, then we'd all look like Jabba the Hut. (And some of us do.) In all my time here in Africa, I've seen TWO fat kids. Two. And the family of one of them owns a restaurant. So... there's no reason why people can't walk anywhere that's within a mile radius of home. That's a twenty minute walk. In the age of DVR and Tivo, if people have time to watch their 4th favorite sitcom, they can take the time to walk to the grocery store or to the take-out chinese place. It's not that hot, trust me. My testicles are sweating as I type this. But it might be cold, so wear a jacket.

Sierra Leone, Baby!

I know what you're thinking... isn't this blog about The Gambia? Well, I decided that The Gam is old news. I mean, I've been here almost two years now, and I'm sure my diatribes about mangos and diarrhea have gotten tiresome. So... Sierra Leone it is.

I went there once. It was awesome. The end.



...







...





What, you can't just take my word for it? Fine... blogging can be so tedious sometimes.

There's a lot of reasons I decided to go to "Mountain Lion" (literally translated), including
1) I needed a vacation
2) It's not The Gambia
3) I'm in West Africa already
4) My friend Regan is a volunteer there, who also happens to be, by the same mother and father, the sister of my other friend Destin.
5) Peace Corps has pretty much restricted me from traveling to any other West African country. (Doesn't Cote D'Ivoire sound awesome right now?)
6) It's cheap.


The trip all started with Destin flying into Dakar, Senegal. I traveled up there, in relatively smooth fashion* , picked him up, and the very next morning he got some XP for the 8 hour trip back. I don't want to dilute the Sierra Leone experience, so to summarize Destin's time in The Gambia, we almost gave Des a heat stroke, blew the minds of school kids by launching a model rocket, and taught my family a magic trick. 

We flew into Freetown and met with Regan. The thing that impressed me right off the bat was Regan, not Sierra Leone. Somehow within our first 20 minutes of being in Freetown we managed to eat, change money, and get a car to her village without moving. All was possible with her ability to speak English poorly. In SL, Krio is the lingua franca. Krio is pidgin English and is hilarious. The second thing that impressed me was that there are hills. And trees.

We piled 6 people into a taxi with four seats and made it to a town near her village in about 3 hours. At one point, one of the guys sharing the front seat had to get out and walk through a police checkpoint because it's technically illegal to fill a car beyond its seating capacity **. In town, the third thing that I was impressed by was PINEAPPLE. I love pineapple, but it's "a mang soto" in The Gambia. From there, we took a car to Regan's village, Mano. Destin and I collectively had about 3 hours of sleep, but within the first 24 hours in Mano we had a football match played in our honor, a dance party thrown in our honor, ate monkey soup, saw a dead 8-foot cobra on the road, had a chat with suspects involved in robbing Regan's house, held a monkey, slaughtered a chicken, and went to church. 

Our remaining time there was spent more leisurely. Over the next four days, we only taught multiplication to middle schoolers, swam with naked people in the river, and slaughtered a goat.

The fourth thing that impressed me was perhaps the best part of the trip. Regan's headmaster at school took us to a neighboring village about 2 miles away. This little place near the village is one most spectacular places I've been. We hiked to a section of the river where there is a beach, a swimming hole, rapids, and little old ladies panning for gold. If I were Regan I would apply for a site transfer to that very spot immediately. After basking in the magnificence of such a place, we decided it was time to make our way back to Freetown for a couple days before we headed back home. 

The only things I can say about Freetown are that it is dirty, crowded, and it contains the fifth thing that impressed me - the beach. Because SL is on the rebound from civil war, the tourism sector has not yet recovered. This means that the beaches are relatively devoid of other tourists and bumsters***.

Basically, everything about our trip went swimmingly, until we tried to fly. The Freetown airport SUCKS. Our flight was delayed by three and a half hours, the airport restaurant tried to overcharge us for cokes, and sadly, Destin had his Gerber stolen from his checked bag.

So, the verdict on Sierra Leone: Awesome for West African Peace Corps Volunteers who don't have anything valuable. For other folks, well, there's about 200 other countries in world.


* The car I was in only broke down three times. The driver eventually fixed the radiator hose with super glue and an empty water bag.

** Capacity, I have learned, is a relative term in Africa.

*** Bumster - a sleazy and probably attractive African dude who solicits old European women for financial favors, uhumm... free of charge.

I'm the white guy.

Best river ever

A random Icelander and Hollander that passed through Mano

Not cute. He bit me twice.

The village equivalent of the Wal-Mart parking lot on saturday evening

Destin was serenaded with song by these old ladies

That was a goat once.

This lady is making country cloth the old school way

Grossest thing I've seen in a while

Yes

The boys are not wearing clothes. As for myself....

A view from the old railroad bridge, which is actually the sixth thing that impressed me.

Okay.... so I'm gonna steal thunder from Sierra Leone and sneak in a few Gambia pictures, taken courtesy of Destin.

My sister's comment was that I look nice. I'll admit to that... but what's that in my pocket?

Baraji, fresh off the kill

I am here

The Kankurang

WARNING! This blog contains a spoiler for children under the age of 11.

uhum...
It seems that every culture has its own tradition of fictional characters that come to life in the form of some guy plunging himself into a hot, sweaty, silly, suit and acting the part. We toubabs have the traditions of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the every so stealthy Tooth Fairy (Seriously, how does she really manage to slip a quarter under my pillow? My pride refuses to accept any explanation that accuses her of being anything other than nonfictional and magical.) Here in West Africa, we have the Kankurang, or Kankurang-O for Mandinkas.

So what exactly is this Kankurang? The Kankurang looks like the result of an encounter between Cousin It and Swamp Thing at a very hazily recollected frat party - with machetes. Now here is where I shroud the Kankurang in mystery and leave you asking 'why?'. Because people here like to keep some aspects of their culture a secret, I have deleted my narrative about the purpose of the Kankurang and what happens during the ceremony when he is conjured from the bush. Cruel to leave you hanging, I know.

Anyway, the Kankurang is a pretty cool tradition (I swear) - way more awesome than an old fat guy, a giant bunny, or a mosquito wearing a tutu. Our traditions would never catch on in West Africa, because old fat guys don't exist, bunnies don't either, and the tooth fairy would be carrying malaria. 

--Bless 'dem

What I do for $180 a month

I've been gone well over a year now... 1 year, 4 months, and 26 days to be more precise. So, what have I actually been doing during all this time besides crapping and eating rice? Believe it or not, I'm incredibly busy these days.

At the moment, my big project is a Tour-de-Gambia IT Workshop. Another volunteer, Jame Gomez (That's his Gambian name...boring I know. He lives in a Christian compound), and I have collaborated on a pretty sweet interactive IT manual with videos and we're workshoppin' to support it. Participants will receive training from "IT experts from Europe", get some free CDs, and bean sandwiches. Its a gonna be good.

Interestingly, in this country, people expect to be paid to attend a workshop or conference. Completely the opposite of America...where you can pay hundreds, even thousands of dollars to attend. This is an outrage. I mean, why, would an 8 foot tall Wookie wanna hang out with a bunch of 2 foot tall Ewoks? It makes no sense, ladies and gentlemen, it makes no sense. I rest my case.

I am starting a library club at one of my schools. As a part of the club, I'm going to have a competition where students break into pairs and score points by finding the answers to questions in the library. My first task for them was to make their team name using alliteration. Among the names were Body Bone, Excellent Elephants, Fashionable Friends, and Double Dragon.... I laughed so hard when I saw that. The kids thought I was crazy. If they only knew about 8 bit Nintendo. But seriously, I think getting kids to be active in the library is one the best things a volunteer can do here. They all say "Reading is my problem". I always reply with "It will always be your problem until you start doing it". Books are good.

Also I'm playing a lot of Ultimate with kids at the football fields. They love it. You wouldn't believe how quickly they learn. Some kids can throw a good flick in only a few tries. I've given a few discs out to kids in the area, so thanks for donating discs! I'm hoping to get a couple of teams formed over the next few months. I will strongly advocate for alliterative team names.

Change the beat!

Here's a few pics from this year's Tobaski.

Kadi Faye doin' what she does

This boy loves Tobaski too much

The worst beard ever, but also the best Tobaski Komplet

Prayers at the Mosque...kinda like church on Easter morning

My puttytatt "Toodles"

I almost got him to smile

Maanoo!

So its near the end of the rainy season which means A) Its wet 2) suusuulaa siiyaata le (mosquito is plenty) 3) it's time to harvest rice. I've been going out to the 'faro' (rice field) every once in a while to help weed...not easy. And now all that hard work is paying off - with more hard work. I never really thought about the fact that rice is a plant like every other starchy food we eat, and for some reason, I was slightly surprised that it looks a heck of a lot like wheat once its grown. Actually, harvesting rice is not physically difficult - just take a small knife and clip the stalk a few inches below the rice grains. The difficulty lies in distinguishing ripe rice from not-ripe rice. Apparently, ripe rice is lighter in color... but since my ability to distinguish colors is 'poor', ahemm....well let's just say if my family's food sucks for the next few weeks, my bad.

As my mother, brother, and I were out in the field, a storm was abrewin'. My mother kept trying to convince me to go home because I would get wet. "The wind is here...the rain will follow... go home." Now, in hindsight, I think it was her way of making me stop prematurely harvesting her beautiful rice, after seeing the quality of my work. I pretended to ignore her until the rain finally came, then we loaded up the rice on my bike. I got completely soaked on the way back home, carefully transporting our rice down the muddy, winding, windy bush roads. As soon as I got home, I stood outside with the Sisqo, King of Dragon, topless, enjoying myself. The women go topless - so why can't I?

--Junkung Bless Kumpawarrior

Ceesay Kunda

One of the biggest differences in Gambian culture is the living arrangements. Where Americans tend to live as a 'nuclear' family in a single house, Gambians tend to live as an extended family in compound consisting of multiple houses. Here's a birds-eye view of Ceesay Kunda.

Ceesay Kunda is fortified with a concrete block fence. Baba looked into also installing a moat around the compound. While crocodiles are are dirt cheap, the drawbridge proved to be the dealbreaker. Inside the compound there are two main houses, and 4 smaller thatched roof huts. Note their geometry. We also have 2 big mango trees and couple of gardens. My favorite feature is the well. You have no idea how convenient it is to 'only' be required to walk 100 feet rather than 1000 feet just to fetch bath water.

--Junkung Jammeh

Durango diyaata baake!

What is the most awesome Gambian dish? Is it Benechin? Nyankatang? Supa? Plassas? That, my friends, is a rhetorical question. The most awesome Gambian dish is Durango (as the Mandinkas call it) or Domoda (Wollofs). Durango is a stew made with peanuts, served over rice. Expressed in its most abstract form, it is equivalent to 

Comfort food*infinity*2.

Mmmm.....

But don't take my word for it. Make it yourself.

Durango

Serves 15 hungry Gambians. Keep in mind that all measurements are my best estimation....as the women don't actually measure anything. Also, the cooking is done over an open fire.

Ingredients:

1/2 pound meat in chunks (chicken, goat, beef)
1/2 pound stomach in chunks (if using beef)

1 tablespoon red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon black pepper
2 beef jumbo cubes
1 chicken jumbo cube
2 small bags of some other jumbo seasoning (about the same as 2 cubes each)
1 small bag tomato paste (same as small can)
Salt (to taste)

1 cup vegetable oil

2-3 habanero hot peppers
2 small onions, chopped
4 small tomatoes, chopped

3 big serving spoons of old-fashioned (homemade) peanut butter

2 medium potatoes, cut into big chunks (optional)
3 bitter tomatoes, whole (definitely optional, not a fan)

4 cups water

Alot of white rice

Directions:

1) Heat oil in big pot.

2) While oil is heating, pound red pepper flakes and black pepper using mortar and pestle.

3) Add meat and tomato paste to hot oil.

4) Add beef and chicken jumbo, onions, and tomatoes to pepper mixture and pound till onions are coated thoroughly.

5) Add pounded mixture to pot.

6) Let simmer for a few minutes till meat is browned.

7) Add about 4 cups of water and peanut butter. Stir and let boil uncovered about 30 minutes.

8) Add bags of jumbo seasoning and hot peppers. Simmer for another 30 minutes. Add salt to taste.

9) When finished peanut oil should rise to the top. Sauce should be about the consistency of a thick chili or spaghetti sauce.

10) Serve over cooked white rice.

11) Take a huge nap.

Nyosal! (Enjoy!)

Trojan Mice

On my way walking to the junior school, I nearly stepped on a used condom. Gross! But...responsible. Good for that guy, practicing safe sex. About 10 steps later, another one is lying on the ground. Gross! But...normal. A lot of guys here have multiple partners (wives and/or girlfriends). Okay, cool, he's not leaving anyone out. A few more steps. Gross! Jeez, do they sell Viagra here? A few more steps. ...Gross!? This guy is...8 years old. I had an 8 year old offer me condoms. Hahaha.

Change of subject.

Mice. They are a problem. They disturb my sleep. They eat my food. They poop everywhere. When they die, the legacy that they leave behind is that God awful smell.

It all started a few months ago. They like to come in through the holes between my roof and the walls. They crawl around making all kinds of racket - sometimes they fight each other. They even become so bold as to crawl on me in my sleep. That definitely crosses the line. But, on the other side of the line lay two shiny new mousetraps I received in a care package. 6 dead mice in 4 days. Problem solved.

Or was it?

Months later, I received a shipment of gold in the mail.... the salty, savory, salivating substance known as Cheezits. I went through an entire box in a day, with more to spare. I secure the rest of the gold in the trunk. At least I thought it was secure. At 3 AM, I hear the distinct chirping noise. I ignore it. It continues...

Finally, I awaken from my slumber, annoyed that this little rat has no manners. I flick on the flashlight and I see him darting towards a little crack in the lid of my truck. Crap, I didn't shut the trunk all the way. He scurries off. But wait, he dropped something. Holy crap. It's a tiny, naked, squirming...alien? No. Its, its, its... a baby. Dammit. That mouse has a got a lot of nerve. Trying to make a nest in my trunk. Trying to steal me Lucky Charms. I stood there for a couple minutes, completely dumbfounded. I looked down and the baby was gone. Sneaky. I hear a faint squeaking noise emanating from the trunk. I completely empty it in a mad rage and I find... two more baby rats!

My initial thought was to torch the whole place. That should get rid of them. On second thought, bad idea. It's dry season; I might end up torching the whole village. After a couple minutes deliberating, I scoop them up with one of those little plastic Gatorade scoops and toss them over the fence. I knew that would come in handy one day. Afterwards, I lock the trunk and put about 20 pounds of books on top, just in case this mouse is ridiculously strong, or happened to slip on my host brother's swiss dragon boots.

Back to sleep. Mama mouse didn't come back. Ha!

Mangos Part II

As I have attested previously, mangos are dangerous. Yes, they are a physical danger; I have been smacked square in the temple by one of the little bastards. But, they are a psychological danger also.

People go mental for mangos here. I'm constantly shooeing kids out of my backyard like those hamburger flies that loiter around the picnic spread. You flail your arms about, "Acaa, Acca!"......still there. In my tree. My sister says "Junkung, n su dutoo." while she's still eating a mango. I've seen my brother eating one still fresh with a layer of the dust/coos/chicken poop mixture that coats the concrete floor of the compound. But, several days ago things went from just mental to completely insane when I witnessed domestic violence because of these little guys.

Everyone was lying around the compound under the big mango tree in the afternoon; as is the norm, because it's too hot to do anything else. One of my sisters was doing laundry with a couple of her friends. One the girls, Fatumata, apparently saw some mangos she liked up in the tree and started picking them. Rule #1 of mango etiquette - DON'T TAKE SOMEONE ELSE'S MANGOS. A few minutes later, my brother Ismaela, King of Dragon, walks by and sees the mangos. Pure rage. He starts screaming in Olof, grabbing for them. She resists. This continues and I learn the mangos are not ripe. Rule #2.... broken. Eventually, he takes control of the mangos and storms away, still screaming.

Apparently, Fatu thought she was entitled to these adolescent fruits, because she chases after the King of Dragon (why would you mess with this guy?) and tries ripping them away from him. He smacks her. She smacks him. He hits her. She hits him back. He grabs her braids. The hitting continues. At this point, I'm thinking "Should I break this up?", but no one else is stopping it. Not my father, mothers, brothers...anybody. Is this how things work here? Girls fighting boys? The King assumes his Jackie Chan fighting stance. They tumble some more. Fatu is a big girl, and she could easily kick my ass. King of Dragon is massive; he tickles your elbow when you shake hands. Somehow she rips his shirt off. This is the cue that things are serious and someone should intervene. Fatu's friends step in and he stomps back to his hut. Fatu trots out the compound gate.

Silence.

Ismaela comes back outside, carrying a pair of European boots his friend brought from Switzerland. They are magical and endow him with the power of a Swiss dragon from ages past. His jams his feet into them, still cursing, and runs out of the gate of the compound. More silence. Two minutes later, he bursts back into the compound, empty-handed. No blood, no severed body parts of the enemy. It's over. Every goes back to their afternoon nap as if nothing happened.

Mangos.

-Junkung

Mangos

So, it's mango season. And it couldn't come at a better time of the year. The weather forecast for the next two months is clear skies, 0% humidity, and a high of about 110 degrees. It is HOT. And dry. It hasn't rained since October. Needless to say, sloppily biting into a big, fat mango hits the spot.

But the unseen truth about mangos is that they are dangerous. Remember how Newton discovered gravity? It hurt. This is the threat that I face every night; only, much bigger. And juicier. I have a mango tree in my backyard, and since its too hot inside the hut, and ants have now decided that my bed is comfortable, I am sleeping outside in the hammock. The other night, my sleep was disturbed by, THUMP!!, no less than 3 mangos falling within 3 feet of me. They are persistent. During the day, the low hanging fruits attack me as soon as I walk out the back door. I'm surrounded. They're everywhere!

This is a serious situation. There is only one solution for keeping myself out of harm's way. Eat the mangos. Eat them all.

-- Junkung

What I does every day

Due to popular demand, I am going to give you all a little insight into my average daily routine. Obviously, the time specified for each event is the calculated average over the last 213 days, 17 hours 23 minutes, +- 30 seconds, with a standard deviation of approximately 18 minutes. The particular events described at each time are representative of the events recorded and measured to occur on more than 55% of occasions.

12:05 AM: I stumble my way back inside my hut to sleep inside. My motivations for doing such are two-fold. First, the temperature inside the hut has descended below 78 degrees Fahrenheit, which is the approximate upper bound for my sustaining REM sleep. Second, the number of mosquito bites I have accumulated directly on my ass cheek has exceeded the maximum allowable for attaining desired REM sleep status.

5:20 AM: ERR-eh-ERR-eh-ERRR!!!!

7:37 AM: I take my first peek at the clock on my phone and begin to consider waking up.

7:53 AM: I actually wake-up. 87% of the time this event is directly caused by the uncontrollable urge to make a large deposit in the pit latrine.

7:57 AM: Phew!!!

8:20 AM: Daasaamo. What does Junkung eat for breakfast? Survey says:

Butter, Salt, and pepper w/Grits
Butter, Sugar, and Vanilla Protein powder w/Oatmeal
Nescrape (TM)
Roadside Omelette Sandwich (2 eggs, full bread, mayonnaise, and Jumbo seasoning (TM))
Jikando - 2 parts Sweetened condensed milk, 1 part hot water, and a pinch of Nescafe.
Something else (Mangos in about 1.5 months :-) )

8:53 AM: Time to leave my hut to try change the world. However, I must greet the family first.

9:10 AM: After a nice, dusty ride across town, in which I am greeted by no less than 53.4 people, I arrive at one of the following organizations: AFPRC General Hospital, Farafenni Upper Basic School, Anglican Mission Institute, or Farafenni Community Center. The time of my arrival coincides with the time at which I believe the electricity will actually come on.

10:30 AM: Let there be light. The official schedule for power is from 9 AM - 3 PM and again from 6 PM - 1 AM. However, the average time at which it actually comes on is much later due to one or more of the following factors:

The power station is out of fuel
Somebody forgot to pay the bill
A football game is being played on TV after 3 PM
Somebody important wanted to have power all night long the previous night
Somebody tripped a breaker, but everyone assumed that factors 1-4 occurred instead

10:31 AM: Daasaamo. Second breakfast. Mburro ning sosoo aning tea. (Bean sandwich and tea)

10:45 AM - 3:00 PM: My work day currently consists of, in no particular order, removing computer viruses, chatting, showing people how to use the help menu in MS Office, reformatting computers that have been deemed to have the equivalent of Swine Flu, turning down requests for American Visas, convincing middle school kids that there are other sports than football (i.e. Ultimate), formal computer training, and being in awe of how good Gambians are at Solitaire; All while listening to the same 20 song playlist of Jaliba and Yousa Ndagga songs.

3:15 PM: I arrive home, and it's hot as balls outside. Tiloo kandita. I am escorted by junior members of family to my hut and I spend the next 12 minutes and 32 seconds changing shirts, rehydrating, and shooing the kids out of my hut.

3:27 PM: Kontongo is delivered to my door, since I am too late to properly eat with the family. Lunch is usually one of the following:

Rice with sauce
Rice with a different sauce
Rice with another sauce
Rice with some other type of sauce

3:45 PM: After fending off multiple bids by my host mother #1, Kenneh, to eat more, I sit and chat and/or read a book. In the Gambia, the word 'chat] has a slightly more specific meaning, as it implies that the brewing and drinking of attaya will be performed under some large source of shade, most likely a mango tree.

5:15 PM: piddle-farting

6:00 PM: One can only piddle-fart around for so long, so I train in my backyard every other day. My routine varies.... lots of wicked yoga moves I learned from a book I found at the PC office, mixed in with 50 - 125 pushups and 30 - 45 pullups. What else have I got to do?

7:11 PM: Time for a bucket bath, drawn from the well. Ahhhh.....

7:25 PM: I either read more or play my recorder, depending on my mood. If I'm in an amiable sort of mood I'll do the latter, since it tends to attract an audience. Sometimes the audience becomes so inspired by the performance, that they pick up harmonicas I have lying around and a 'jam session' ensues. Complete cacophony.

8:32 PM: Siimango, which is the same as Kontongo, with the following possible addition: coos

8:45 PM: With the radio tuned to Paradise FM, where 'It's nice to be nice.', I lie around on the big mat outside and either read, eavesdrop on the family's conversation, or do absolutely nothing until REM sleep has been interrupted, or the mosquitos have gotten an early start on my ass.

9:54 PM: I proceed to either my backyard to sleep, or possibly, if the conditions specified at time t = 12:05 AM above are met, inside my hut.

That, my friends, is a completely average day for Junkung.

-- Blessed Kumpawura James Junkung Jammeh Camara Ceesay, Father of the President

A.K.A

It's been awhile, so I'll put in a word or two just so folks know I'm still alive and well. It seems, in a short time, that I've already managed to accumulate nicknames here.

As you all know, my Gambian name that I was given at my naming ceremony was 'Junkung Camara'. Since then, I have changed my surname to that of my host family here at my permanent posting here in Farafenni. So make that 'Junkung Camara Ceesay'. (By the way, phonetically, in Mandinka, that sounds like 'Bathroom Camera Chicken')

It has been drawn to my attention that Junkung is the name of the Gambian president's father, which was James Junkung Jammeh. Around my compound, I hear 'James-Junkung-Jammeh, father of the president', or 'James, Junkung', or just simply 'James'. So make that 'James Junkung Camara Ceesay Jammeh'.

Here in West Africa, there is the custom of drinking chinese green tea, also known as 'attaya'. N lafita attaya min na. Attaya is consumed in small, hyperconcentrated quantities, super-saturated with sugar, while chatting under the mango tree. Receiving a serving of attaya is also jokingly known as receiving the blessing. My host brother is known as the 'Imam of Attaya'. So when I drink attaya, I am 'Blessed'. So make that 'Blessed James Junkung Camara Ceesay Jammeh, father of the president'.

We'll see what I end up with another year and a half.

--Blessed James Junkung Camara Ceesay Jammeh, father of the president

Christmas and Chicken

Of all the Christmas' I've experienced this one has to be the most unique. Nothing crazy, but different.

On the eve of Christmas, I attended a Catholic mass. It was a nice, but slightly goofy and confusing service. The entire mass, the priest would flip-flop between local language (Olof) and English. Sometimes, he would be speaking English for a couple minutes before I would realize it. The music was cool - many of the songs were traditional, but were performed in an African style with djembes and other percussion instruments. Communion started off a little on the chaotic side, as Gambians don't really 'do' lines. Everyone rushed to receive communion at once. Over the course of a couple minutes, order was restored and lines were formed. Perhaps the most bizarre, yet appropriate part of the service was at the very end, when the priest broke into 'Happy Birthday Jesus' complete with the extended 'How old are you now?' verse.

I spent the day of Christmas with a bunch of other PCVs enjoying air-conditioning, television, fudge, chili, meatloaf, guacamole, mashed taters, chocolate cake, cokes, more fudge, collard green gumbo, and ice at our friendly PC Administrator's (Patti) bungo. It was quite a spread. We played Scrabble and Crossfire! and watched Planet Earth on TV.

Later in the evening a few volunteers decided to go to an open mic night in the touristy SeneGambia area. There was a huge, rowdy crowd of Gambians trying to push their way into the venue. Each time someone got out of line, some security guy would beat them away with a huge leather belt that looked like he won it at a wresting match. There were a few fireworks on display, so we stuck around, but ditched the place shortly afterward. The night ended with us dancing at some club, which is about the last thing I ever expected to be doing on Christmas, but then again, I never expected to be in Africa on Christmas either.

Now I'm going to change to subject to a 'sexy' chicken. In addition to goats and sheep, there are lots of 'sisewo' running around my compound. Most of the time, they're part of the background and I don't really pay much mind to them. But, there is this one orangish-gold colored hen that runs around that I absolutely cannot stop staring at. To be truthful, there are more impressive hens than this one, but there is something about this 'chicken next door' that catches my eye. Weird.

--Junkung

Tobaski

On Saturday, November 28 the Feast of Tobaski was celebrated in Farafenni. Tobaski, for Muslims, bears the same magnitude as Christmas - families getting together, and lots of general merriment and food. Consult the always friendly Wikipedia for a concise description.

Earlier in the week, three of my host brothers from the Kombo area, Samba, Sainey, and Fude came for the celebration. All were cool dudes that were about my age, so we chatted and drank lots of attaya while they were in town.

As for the day of Tobaski itself, it began with me fumbling with my 'Kompleto' trying to get the drawstring of my pants properly inserted and tied. It took the effort of my mother Keenee, Sainey, and myself to finally get er' done. We were running late for the prayers that were taking place that morning. My father is the Alimamo, i.e. the religious leader, so this is his big moment.

We arrived at the Mosque and tossed our prayer mat down outside. The Mosque was too small to house every one in attendance.....sort of like church on Easter Sunday, right? We immediately began recanting a prayer that involved lots of standing up, kneeling, kissing the ground, standing up some more, etc. The language of choice was Arabic, so I had no clue what was being said, but I was able to play along with the physical aspects of the prayers at least. It was a nice ceremony. Lots of handshaking and pictures afterwards, with everyone dressed in their finest cloth.

For the past three or four weeks, my father had been escorting a very fine looking ram around the village. During this time, our ram had it made, eating only the finest grasses and mango leaves and even getting a nice, refreshing bath every couple days. This all came to an end at the conclusion of the prayers. As soon as I arrived back home, there he was, breathing his last few breaths before he turned into breakfast, lunch, second lunch, afternoon snack, dinner, and second dinner. I personally had a hand in the butchery, which was quick work, as my family are all skilled butchers.

Tobaski being the exception, I don't think meat made it on to the final draft of the Gambian food pyramid. Everyone was excited about the prospect of eating meat all day long. I was just happy to have a rice-free day.

Amidst gorging myself all day long, I was constantly being asked for 'saliboo', i.e. money. Apparently, giving prayer gifts is expected, but being the awkward foreign guy in town, I was wholly unprepared for this. I had money, but only 'large' denominations of 50 and 100 Dalasi. I'm pretty sure asking for change would have been tacky in any culture.

Somewhat surprisingly, most people were going to bed early - I suppose all that meat needed digesting. I also turned in early. But my Tobaski experience did not actually reach its climax until around 5 A.M. the next morning, when I blew some serious chunks. Initially, I wanted to blame it on eating too much. But I've put on far greater displays of gluttonous excess before. Then I remembered the sheep testicle I ate in the food bowl for dinner. Yea.

Baabaa with his pride and joy

Gettin' all pertied up

A faata le

Jongfolo be tabiroo la

Opah, Jongfolola kewo

Mariama, future super model

No, I didn't show my little brother (front center) that gesture...

--Junkung

National Condiment

Possibly one of the biggest differences that I've encountered since I've been has been the food, particularly the availability of certain foods. With the exception of the Banjul and surrounding area, there are no fast food joints, delis, or white table cloth establishments. In village, there is no ordering a pizza when your feeling lazy and don't want to cook. Good bye McDonald's, Subway, Taco Bell.

This is not to say there aren't places that emulate the look, feel, and to some extent, taste of a franchised eatery. However, the cost of experiencing Western-style dining is 'A Koliyata' (difficult). A few weeks ago, I splurged and when to a classy, white tablecloth place named GFC.

Yes, you did successfully deconstruct that acronym into it's full, but cumbersome form. Gambia Fried Chicken. It had air-conditioning, it had beer, and unexpectedly, had good pizza.

So, since the American tradition of 'eating out' on a regular basis is not fiscally responsible, what do people eat here? How do they manage? You're probably thinking lots and lots of rice, and you are correct. But only half correct.

Sugar......ridiculous amounts of sugar. And not just your run-of-the-mill, white, granulated sugar, but the thick, syrupy, sticky variety commonly known as sweetened condensed milk. It's amazing what you can do with it. You can add it to your tea, your nescafe, your juice. You can add kool-aid, and freeze it in little baggies to sell as 'ice'. You can reduce it over low heat, and roll it into little 'butterscotch' balls. It's everywhere. It's a phenomenon. As a side project, I think I'm going to start a diabetes awareness club.

Seeing the people here mixing it into everything, it's a bit akin to the 'ranch dippers' you find in America. My sister was one of those, putting ranch on french fries, baked potatoes, pinto beans, and sometimes salad. Since those days, I think she has detoxified, and is clean and sober. I'm proud of you, Amy.

--Junkung

Oh Crap!

"Junkung...... what is this?"

"Oh.....that, haha, um....whoa! don't open that....kana wo yele!..... wo mu buwo kabo kono le ti"

"Oh....Junkung, Junkung....haha."

Mumbala, one of the kids in my compound, almost opened a jar of my crap. I had to give a stool sample for what I suspected to be some sort of intestinal parasite. Probably Giardia. Look it up yourself. The symptoms have since waned, but it will come back to haunt me if it is indeed Giardia. I'm not sure exactly where I got it from; there are too many possibilities. But, what this means is that, at some point, I had eaten crap. Just thought that was noteworthy.

--Junkung

A friendly visit

The other day, I went to a Fula village the other day to visit my friend Abdullah, who works at the hospital. Fulas are known for raising cattle and for being light-skinned, beautiful people. Gambian hospitality is something to behold, especially with regards to eating. Right now it is harvest season, with the most notable crop being 'tiyoo' or peanuts. To recap our meals in 5 hour span:

First, we 'roasted' peanuts. The roasting process is a 13 year old boy's dream: You take the raw harvested peanuts, still attached to the peanut plant, throw a bunch of hay on them, and light them on fire. When there is nothing left but the charred peanuts, the roasting process is complete.

Before I'd finished my peanuts, a bowl of futoo with ninsi keke was brought. Futoo is pounded coos, and coos is essentially birdfeed. Ninsi keke is fresh cow's milk. Add a bit of salt, and it's delicious.

A little later I ate lunch twice, and both times I ate more than anyone else.... I'm such a fat American. Lunch was rice (what else) with fish and a peppery sauce.

To cap off my visit, I saw the oldest, saggiest boobs that I (hopefully) will ever see. It seems the women here wear shirts less often the older they get........

I will leave you all with that image now.

-Junkung