From within the Kennedy Compound

Possessions.

Too many events and too little sleep have transpired since Philadelphia for me to remember much of it.  There was a restive red-eye from JFK to Dakar, where 29 confused people got of the plane and into the first bus with open doors in eyesight before considering where they needed to go. 

Can't we just walk it?

These airfield buses seem to be the thing here in West Africa.  They have no signs indicating their destination and only carry you 30 or 40 yards, but the man in the blue camouflage and with the rifle strongly suggests you take it.  There was also the inception of Mefloquine Wednesdays, when most of us take our weekly malaria meds.  As Mike, a fellow trainee said, a couple days a week of heightened anxiety, sleeplessness, and terrifyingly lucid nightmares are much preferred to a foreshortened life of exploding blood vessels. 

And it’s the anxiety that really took hold of me on the first day in-country.  On the plane ride, people from the different projects in our staging group, Small Business Development, Public Health and Agroforestry (mine), were quizzing one another on their job descriptions and quickly finding that no one really knew anything about what they were going to be doing.  Sure, people are qualified and could say things like, “Oh, I’ll be working with NGOs to facilitate more sound business practices”  or “I’ll be trying to increase the nutrient productivity of crops among rural farmers and starting Moringa plantations,” but clearly these were responses we had all repeated for weeks or months to people asking us why we were going to West Africa. 

Want vitamins? Eat, drink, or just lick this Moringa tree.

 We were (and definitely still are) completely ignorant of how Guinea operates and what working toward those ends entails.  So, when we finally unloaded from the quick flight from Dakar to Conakry and deposited ourselves and our vital possessions into the Peace Corps vans for a ride through our new country’s capital, the vagueness of my oft-repeated explanations was suddenly dwarfed by the chaotic  streets of midday Conakry. 

Mind the gap.

A more representative image.

What am I doing here again?  After being stared at and waved to for a half hour, the bus pulled us into a concrete walled compound that said Peace Corps on the gate. 

Peace Barracks.

Amy on the roof.

Sadiqi, a current Peace Corps Volunteer assisting with our pre-service training, keeps wondering aloud whether Conakry is the only national capital without regular electricity.  It may well be, but electricity is not its only problem.  The water system is unclean and only operates periodically and waste seems to get dumped directly into the ocean. 

Do not swim here.

But the people are absolutely incredible, and I doubt it’s just because we’ve been around mainly Peace Corps foreign national workers.  Last Friday night, I missed dinner because I was typing an email.  Ibrahim, the dishwasher and general kitchen master, found me some spaghetti and has since called out my name when I come in to eat, as though marking me off the absent list.  We’ve had many a small chat over the weekend (which actually  feels like it has lasted weeks), and today he even invited me and some other trainees to his Tabaski (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eid_ul-Adha) meal tomorrow.  Here, it’s kind of like inviting someone to your Easter and Thanksgiving meals all wrapped into one.  It was hugely nice of him to do so, and I knew that saying no would be, if not an insult, at least a bit let down, but the prospect of navigating this city unguided on an enormous holiday was way too much for me.  I had to say no thanks.  I’m pretty sure he understood why, well, I hope.

On Tuesday, we go off to our training site and begin living with our host families.  In preparation, we had a Homestay Orientation this afternoon, the highlight of which was a detailed explanation of latrine use.  Now, of course, there is a toilet paper method that seems to be preferred by most PCVs, but there is also a second method that is preferred by the Guineens.  This is the “Water Method,” and it involves a bare left hand, a kettle of water in the right hand, well trimmed fingernails and results in an intimate knowledge of one’s stool characteristics.  They say it’s far more comfortable than paper during those inevitable bouts of diarhea and sooner or later you’ll run out of toilet paper.  As Siara, another PVC assisting with our PST, declared, “You don’t choose the ‘Water Method’.  The ‘Water Method’ chooses you.”

Am I already chosen???

In the last couple days here, I’ve realized that my jeans and unbreathable shirts are meant for a totally different place.  (I’m still ridiculously scared of malaria and have been wearing long pants and sleeves as much as I can.  As well, I’ve made a point of attacking any mosquito in eyesight – even at the risk of disrupting a speaker.  The enemy shall receive no reprieve.)  Once I get to our training site this week, I’ll be getting a couple outfits tailored.  The material is really inexpensive and apparently the tailors are incredible.  I saw a picture of a dude with a wild tailor made suit that couldn’t have cost much more than the equivalent of $20 USD.  Local threads all the way.

Ian.

 

OK- The begging list:

2 oz. bottles of hand sanitizer
sugary water additives, like crystal light or even better gatorade powder
multi-vitamins
pro-biotic chewables (lactobacillus)
Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese
A fixed 60-gig iPod (that’ll be a miracle)
hard candy
powered spices (I’ll be eating rice and sauce for a very long time)

Also:  Big up to Ben for a couple of those shots.

Mailing Info and Philly

Hey Fellers. 

This, here, is my blog.  I know, even the word itself is disgusting but get over it.  I did. 

Today was a bit of a long one.  At 12:01 AM, I was far from packed.  There were shirts drying on a rack in front of the fire, mismatched socks on the dining room table and a suitcase that seemed to have vomited my posessions all over the floor.  From 1:30 to 2:30 AM I would periodically fall asleep and wake up with a start, obsessed over some completely irrelevant item or another.  Ties.  Thick socks.  A Billie Holiday Songbook.  Make or break items to be sure. 

As an aside, if you feel so kind as to send me correspondance or some fantastic item (I found the Billie Holiday Songbook but no ties) I can be reached at the following address:

Ian Hartman, PCT (PCV as of Feb. 6, 2009)
Corps de la Paix Americain
B.P. 1927, Conakry
Guinée (West Africa)

To find out exactly how to send anything and everything to Guinea see this ridiculously exhaustive post by Dorian: http://dorianinafrica.blogspot.com/2008/11/epic-mailing-guidelines-post.html.  Really a stand up job the lady has done there. 

The 7 AM flight to Philly included the most serene above-cloud ceiling sunrise ever, but for the rest of the day I’ve felt like a zombie.  So, I’m going to end this short post because sleep calls.  And so does Africa, in 29 hours.