Feel Like A Stranger

~yes and it's gonna get stranger, some things you just know~

Okay, so it's true that my host mother refers to me as her "stranger", but it's also true that i'm referred to as the "toubab" or white person.  And if I'm really lucky, I am referred to as "Sally Bojang", my Gambian name.  Many of you have been asking what life is like here, and what's a typical day like...for whatever reason this is a difficult question to answer.  But I've grown accustomed to many ideas, sightings, and behaviors that I'm currently surrounded by, and sometimes when I stop to ponder...I feel like a stranger to myself.

Some components of the strangeness....speaking a different language (Mandinka); living in a predominantly Muslim culture...you know, polygymy, prayer five times a day, conservative beliefs; hitch hiking, grabbing taxis, and being patient when the gele gele has to be pushed by several men to get started;  admiring plastic jewelry, anything with Obama on it, and shoes with rhinestones; mistaking the dirt on your body for suntan; not cooking for yourself, and eating whatever is handed to you....whether or not it looks disgusting or mysterious;  having small children help you do your laundry...b/c they are better at it than you; covering entire body in baby powder to avoid heat rash and chaffing; being fearful of rats and unknown creatures falling through the ceiling while you are sleeping; fighting off ridiculously sized unidentifiable insects and cursing the ants for continuing to create holes in the walls; seeing people blowing snotrockets constantly (makes me gag!); rotted teeth and head to toe skin infections on the majority of people you come in contact with; having a 3-yr old accompany you everywhere you go in hopes to receive less harassment; being gawked at for being 30-yrs. old and unmarried with no children (okay, so people do this in america also but it's more shameful here);  being a grown woman living with a family, having to report when and where you are coming and going, being spyed on by little kiddos, and basically having no privacy;  random people offering you their children; watching your host mother (who is a grandmother) use her breasts as a pacifier for infant;  no longer recycling or having trash pick-up, but rather throwing trash on the ground, burying or burning it; heterosexual men holding hands;  keeping mental notes about your bowel movements; meeting people with black gums b/c they willingly poured battery acid on them; and finally,when it is weird to see a white person, you know you've grown accustomed to living in Africa.

I've been comforted by many things which help me to feel more at ease with myself...Bill Maher podcasts, receiving mail, listening to music, shopping at fukujai (an open market that's like a huge american thrift store), reading tons and tons of books, eating candy bars, playing djembe, having a cell phone (i can text other volunteers for free)....and ofcourse, occassional internet access!  I appreciate technology like never before (I think that's because it has a limited role in my life now)  Though my #1 comfort item is my gift from Bella...

The work on my living space was completed, and I was able to move back to my village at the end of April.   I returned to find cashew fruit everywhere, and mangoes ripening.  All the tree climbing and fruit picking came to a end though when I experienced a gnarly allergic reaction to the urushiol that is thriving in these trees and fruits.  My face was much improved at the time of this photo, thanks to steroids, benedryl, and epinephrine, but still not a sight for sore eyes.

The adjustment to village life has otherwise been going well, and I'm plotting up ways to improve my compound such as building a chicken coup, composting, repairing the damaged fencing, and continuing to help the dogs chase the cattle and goats away.  Aside from fencing issues, the biggest challenge I'm facing is convincing the family to put trash in the hole that's been dug, instead of spreading it all around the compound and applying it to the garden.   I hope to educate them about managing waste and using compost, and sanitation...like not letting the chickens poop in the cook house, and not letting the kids poop in the yard.  I've got my work cut out for me!

The neighbor's cattle help themselves to our mangoes

and have destroyed our banana trees

Being back in the village has also meant lots of reading, family time, football matches, and enjoying bucket baths once again.  And I saw my first Kankuran!  They are sorta like cultural mascots....the ones I saw had just emerged from the bush and were headed to the ocean with the young boys that had recently been circumsized. They act as protectors for the boys while they spend several weeks in the bush.  Supposed to be a magical time in a young boy's life, but hanging out with trippy beings dressed in branches and leaves that are packing machetes is unsettling to me.  Didn't have the opportunity to catch a photograph of them, but the other day my little brother's friend dressed up as one....

Sally and Njaka not only help me clean my house and do my laundry, but they also keep me entertained!  Sally is the only person in The Gambia that will listen to Grateful Dead with me.  Which leads me to my next point; the Peace Corps is not full of hippies!  Did you hear that America?!

Several friends have come to visit my village...unfortunately their stellar local language skills lead my family to think I'm a moron that doesn't "hear Mandinka", but we've managed to have some fun anyways.  Highlights include celebrating Bob Marley Day, making cheese dip (thank you for the velveeta Sara!!), and hanging out at the beach.  

All in all, we're just people living our lives...you know, eating, sleeping, breathing, chatting, working.  Although I sometimes feel like a stranger in my own life, I'm okay with it. So let's get on with the show.