Balding, Bees, and Impromptu Salsa with the Ambassador of Venezuela

Planet Bald - Population You

Planet Bald- Population: Almost every male volunteer but myself 

Reunited! Finally after months of separation volunteers from all over the country returned to receive In Service Training.  This included a number of exciting subjects that will be covered later.... but to my surprise, most of my returning friends, driven crazy by heat, went under the razor and were now bald.  


Am I now Gambian?

Upon landing on the Planet or Country (depending upon expert opinion) of Africa, the Peace Corp volunteers wearily venture out of their space pod to explore the strange new world. (That is in fact me in the bee suit pictured there)

Before I begin, it is becoming more difficult to write a post.  Life starts to seem quite normal here, and in my daily conversations with Gambians we start to wonder ourselves at all the amazing things that happen in America.  This week I sat down and had a conversation with Bahtu, a Peace Corps staff member.  He had visited the US, and started trying to explain a Wendy's drive-thru to the other Gambian staff members.  He switched back and forth to Mandinka, and the awe on their faces was a priceless.  Here lunch takes 2 hours to prepare and usually involves a large cooking fire, a giant metal pot, tireless stirring and maintenance, and possibly the slaughtering of one of the farm animals.  The idea that you can drive up to a building, ask for food, and then it appears out the window of the building in 2 minutes is nothing short of a miracle here.  




Afterward I took a video of him trying to relate what a parking ticket was in excited English and Mandinka.  If you watch the video, please also note that I am speaking in Gambian English, which is the only English I can effectively communicate in, it means speaking slowly and using phrasing that only a Wolof or Mandinka speaker would understand.  Phrases like "I am on my way coming" "Off it!" (Instead of turn it off), "have you lunched today?" and finally adding "eh" after most phrases is now common for me.  


Within this context, I find myself being able to relate to Gambian life more than American life.  This makes it really hard to write blog posts because I am having trouble thinking that my day to day life is that exceptional anymore, and I really have to try to pull myself to an outside perspective to realize that indeed there are so many things that I feel should be shared.

The Most Exciting Week Thus Far
Back to in service training, this past week we learned bee keeping, tree grafting, composting, water management, and general garden and planting ideas and solutions.  Meaning, this was the most interesting week of perhaps my whole service.  

BEES

By far the most exciting thing was learning about the African Honey Bee!  From a fear stand point.  The African Bee rules, they respond much more quickly to disturbances sending out swarms of bees and will pursue you for almost 4 times further than the average honey bee (about 250-300 yards).  All over the Gambia, they make large open air hives hanging from the massive baobab trees.  Sadly, traditional bee keeping in the Gambia usually involves honey hunters as they are called, climbing trees and killing whole hives by setting fires and burning them out.  This leads to declining bee populations and honey that is cloudy, sooty, and of poor quality. 


We spent a considerable amount of time learning about bees, bee keeping, and the large market and desire for Gambian honey.  Check out the video I took in one of the hives (also posted left, but of better quality on youtube) 

The pictures below document some of the interesting things learned from our beekeeping sessions.

Each of us were given baby bee hives in hopes that we would go out and catch our own bees.

This comb will be melted down to bait these top bars.

Dave a Peace Corps Volunteer putting down lines of wax on the top bars of bee hives to bait them in hopes
of catching bees.

Different than the bright white and yellow comb seen in the movie which was pure capped and uncapped honey.  This is older brood comb where the bees (drones and queen) reproduce and place their eggs.  Some honey is still at the top for their consumption.  The masses of bees on the edges are adding wax to enlarge the comb.

Some of us just like wearing Bee suits in case the world was to end... say like 3 Saturdays ago! 

Mick is an incredible man.  He has come to Gambia from England to promote local bee keeping with his wife, together they started an NGO called BEEcause.  It is a wonderful and truly selfless organization. He is preparing the smokers for action. 

One of the hives we investigated.  The signs for the closest tree are posted in front of each, every honey indeed tastes different and mango honey is awesome!

Other Activities During IST

Water and erosion management 

We built a dam as a water break to prepare for the rainy season.

Alternatives to gardening

As part of our IST this is a demonstration garden plot of lettuce using only peanut shells and a fertilizing chemical.

Pointless Games

In our free time, we pretend to be wizards and dwarfs and battle ancient fairytale creatures.  This picture commemorates me getting my butt handed to me by what I thought was just a potted plant... it later morphed into a Ancient Plutonium Dragon and I was roasted and eaten.

Composting

This amazing fellow has been living in the Gambia for about 40 years trying to help local farmers make and manage compost and bio-char (a potent fertilizer made from combusting organic waste without air). He is now 80 and still full of energy. He stands in front of a locally made solar dryer where fruit can be dried by superheated air.

Going to tree nurseries, this one was formerly sponsored by Iran, but no longer 

This means Mike can no longer run for president of the US in 2012.  This picture proves he went to a secret Iranian agricultural school! He must have been born in Iran.




All and all, this week was a truly once in a lifetime experience.

Finally Impromptu Salsa!

After a 6 month salsa drought... I found myself returning from a long day of beekeeping to the sound of salsa coming from a nearby restaurant. A few fellow volunteer friends were out on the patio so I decided to visit and watch what was apparently a salsa lesson going on... After watching for a few minutes, I decided to crash the lesson.  I went up to the instructor and tried to explain that I wanted to dance and found she spoke only spanish... I thought, "Oh, I know some spanish..." but upon trying all that came out was a weird spanish wolof mix as my wolof emerged in the midst of my decaying spanish.  This must have sounded quite ridiculous; regardless, I pressed on until I found someone in the class of only 4 who spoke English.  I explained my situation, and was allowed to dance with the instructor, a very scantily clad Lebanese woman, and a kind middle aged Venezuelan.  The latter two were novices, but we had a great time as I imagined my former glory days of salsa dance. I did quite well for not dancing in 6 months and trying to adapt to a different style of salsa.  In the end, I exchanged numbers with Carlos who said that he and the other woman worked with the government and were from Venezuela, and that we should all go dancing sometime at one of the local clubs (in fact the only one in the Gambia that has a Salsa night...).  Upon leaving I sat with my friends and was informed by the waiter that the lady I had just danced with was the Ambassador of Venezuela. Go figure!

I am going to write another extended post soon about my whole IST experience and some of the incredible things I have learned, until then I wanted to post what I thought was some really good photos and videos!


Be Beenen Yoon,
Until another time (actually translates to until another road, which I like as a unique cultural representation)

Roostatarian

This is the scariest most Godzilla like rooster I have found.  All the more reason they must be stopped!

You have heard of Rastafarian but I am resolving to be a Roostatarian.  Instead of some weird cultural movement or religion a Roostatarian has simply one conviction, to subside off of a diet of rooster meat.  My intentions behind this are simple; roosters are the bane of my existence.  The rooster does not crow to greet the day, it crows at whatever time it wakes up (here, usually at 5-5:30 depending on the mosque’s call to prayer).  It does not cease crowing really ever, it gets tired maybe, but will still squawk at regular intervals throughout the day.  If there are two male roosters it is worse.  To prove dominance I have watched two roosters awkwardly try to climb a mango tree to get the best position to squawk, all the while squawking each other in the face loudly.  This is too much for my sleep and sanity, what was a wolf spider day one, then a gecko, is now the worst trade off, a rooster.  Outside my window, they wait, wherever I go waiting to cookadoodaldo my sleep.  It is because of this, I think that I may be convinced to take my revenge by only eating rooster meat.  My thoughts have also drifted to having a C02 powered paintball gun which I can peak over the fence and painfully paint the scrawny roosters to teach them not to squawk at 5am.  For now my only salvation is finding the ear plugs in the morning.

Bumbles

Why is it that I drown the cockroaches I find (truly, large, scurrying and unkillable) and yet I find other insects adorable???  I don’t know, but for some reason I have become quite fond of the nest of bumble bees living in the roof of my bathroom shack (I have a shack with a toilet and water tap in the back of my duplex).  Anyway, some occasionally fall on their back in such a way they cannot get up (I think this is because of the smooth tile on the floor in the back).  The first one I found, I was particularly fond of naming it “bumbles” flipping him upright all the while giving him encouragement to fly after his tiring accident (Like “Oh bumbles you fell” and “Come on bumbles you can do it” in fact he flew away and was fine).  Others I help back into the nest, usually by letting them grab onto a broom and then holding them in from of their nest until they crawl back.  So far I have not been stung, but have been getting continually more paranoid that I will step on one as I make my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night as I have almost this done many times already.

Watching people watching me

So, I was recently surprised when I was looking through the stats on my blog and found out most people have been accessing my site recently from the UK?  I found the link and realized that I had entered into a tourism forum where a lady had found my blog and titled it “Interesting Blog by NGO worker, Gambian life” Complete with an analysis “He certainly has it sussed lol. If you read all his posts from the beginning you can see how his feelings for Gambia can be at variance in the same posting. He has a clear respect for the traditional Gambian way of life but hates modern Gambia with all the crassness its absorbing from the 1st world." It is fascinating to see how the internet forms connections like this over the web.   Also, we have a ridiculous chain of “I see you, you see me” because now, they will know that I know that I see them seeing me, and it could continue infinitely, but I will end it now by just saying hi and apologizing if anyone was offended by my comments on the royal wedding, as I have had some negative feedback on the polarizing comments. (I guess it up already as I just posted on there).

My main room after a few homey touches.

Just a note, if anyone wants to keep up with other friends of mine; most people access my site, and the site of other Peace Corps volunteers through Peace Corps journal which indexes all of us volunteers throughout the world.

Thanks

Spraying Mosquito Repellant in Open Wounds

Once again, serious and funny stuff for the day.

How do you save a continent? 

It is a growing thought of mine that leaving Africa to heal on its own is better than interfering with ignorance. That does not mean do not help, it is just that I experience many things here that tell me that just giving money to Africa does not help and may actually hurt!

One story as an example is that of my friend Kelsey and how she came upon a teacher spraying mosquito repellent into a child’s open wound; when asked why are you doing that, he replied, “It is in the medical kit I figured it would help.” A similar experience I had recently when visiting my family in village, Fatou my host sister had a tooth ache… which is understandable because most Gambians have a healthy addiction to sugar and know only about the tooth brush and nothing of floss. I have now started flossing all the time, because I can see many people have black lines of dying gums and teeth in the spots where a brush can’t reach. Anyhow, my host mother in an attempt to help pulls out the “medicine” (in wolof is the same word as fruit, translated literally as “child of the tree”) which consisted of assorted pills, some with labels other not. Amongst the heart burn pills and menthol drops meant as an inhalant, I realized that had I not been there, random pills some not even being edible would be consumed to fix a tooth ache. This is because people in the village are used to treating their illnesses with sticks that have been blessed from the local marabou (traditional healer). Our medicine is often treated in the same magical way, but no one has every really explained how it should be used. Here is an example of the discrepancy between intention and application in Africa. There are thousands of these examples from every Peace Corps volunteer speaking to this.

A pile of mittens from America being sold on the side of the road, on the bright side it seems clothes do stimulate the local economy.  Each pair there will go for maybe 10-20 dalasi or about 60 cents.On a 90+ degree day I do not know why anyone would want mittens though???

When we send money to Africa, the intention is good, but there is often no real direction to the money. The money is passed down from hand to hand, but no one take the time to figure out how to make an impact, and when it is received markets are built in the wrong place or it goes into the wrong pockets.  The key is education, "teaching a man to fish, feed him for a lifetime," is never more true than here.  Renewable technology, medicine, used clothes, all of it gets misused here, we need a way to teach and train people how to do it for themselves.  Furthermore it has created a culture of corruption and expectation.  They expect the white man has come here to hand out money or exploit them for money.  Never to teach them or be apart of their culture.  

Education is the key, education requires man power and cannot be fixed with books, money, clothes, or aid.  Figuring out how to educate Africa so that Africa can help it self is the only way for what we perceive of as poverty, hunger, and disease to disappear. We must be there to teach them or have dedicated people from Africa come here on our dime to learn it from us so they can go back and explain in the local language why it is not good to feed someone with a tooth ache vapor drops. 

My Work:

Currently, garbled skype calls to India have been the norm. I am constantly trying to pester cashew equipment supply companies in India to get back to us with their bids. Then trying to negotiate bids and set up reference checks. This is because IRD is setting up to buy a massive order of processing equipment which it hopes to give to 4 different villages in Gambia. I have been to each of these villages, danced, ate with the families, and sat under the tree brewing atia (a super strong green tea). I am undertaking things that I never thought I alone would undertake, and feel shocked that this NGO can actually use much of the help I can give. Hopefully, we will have ordered roughly $80,000 of equipment soon. I am just dreading doing the reference check which will further include me calling various African and Indian numbers over garbled skype lines.

Another captured geko from inside my house, shortly before his relocation.  This one looks much more life the GEICO Geko.

My Day to Day: My list of general day to day activities

• Read

• Do Yoga

• Meditate

• Go to the gym

• Play Frisbee at a British based research center with some British people and locals

• Go running on the beach

• Go to games night on Saturday and play board games with above mentioned brits

• Watch a traditional African band at the local theatre where many come to play

• Spend the night entertaining Peace Corps friends who are constantly coming into town to treat various amebas, bacteria, worms, or fungal problems they acquired in village.

• Hang out with random people I meet

• Have dinner with the house across from me (a nice Wolof family)

• Go to the market

• Of course work

• Visit friends up country to dig holes for trees

• Give counseling to friends on cashew trees

• Practice Wolof

This is currently my standard day to day life all of this mixed in.

 

Ferry of Doom

One of the many patrons waiting for the ferry. He subsided of trash and an apple core that I fed him.

There is no way to describe the Banjul to Barra Ferry. Chaos and purgatory come close, but waiting a combined 14 hours for a 3 day weekend trip going and coming is not fun. Our ferry adventure included: pushing a broken down van onto the ferry which we were stuck behind as cars attempted to and did cut us off, loud arguments with officials for not watching cars cutting us off, the asking for and passing of money, food, and even some cashew seeds to get into "VIP line" (the only one that moved) in order to get the vehicle I was riding in onto the ferry, large cattle which were borderline anorexic wandering through the lines of waiting cars, a man carrying an upside down adolescent hog tied goat in each hand onto the ferry, ferries pushing other broken ferries across the river, and 100 degree heat.

After eight hours of waiting, this is the ferry I finally made it on.

The only bright side was that a wonderful games weekend was had on the North Bank where I reunited with many friends I made during training. Frisbee, a mango eating contest, kayaking on the River Gambia, and settlers of catan were some of the wonderful games we played. I also bought 19kgs of cashew seeds in hopes to distribute them to all of my friends wanting to start cashew orchards in their village.

That is just a brief update, I have been putting off calling references in Tanzania and think that that is my next task for the day.

Me and some volunteers playing a game of spoons

Mango eating competition. How fast can you eat a plate of mangoes without your hands?

Thanks

My thoughts against a royal wedding...

A typical classroom in Gambia.  Taken by me as I visited on trek with my NGO.

Somewhere in a vault with glass cases, in a castle that stands as a remembrance to the world as the height of imperialism, is a bunch of ornate golden silverware referred to as the crown jewels.  I have seen this absurd spectacle complete with a massive golden royal punch bowl. 

I watched a few minutes of the royal wedding.  The TV was in a hollowed out shack across from my work.  I ordered a small bread and egg sandwich for a whopping 23 dalasi (75cents) and as it was being made on a dirty gas burner I thought of the golden punch bowl and what a disconnect with reality this spectacle represents!

And say you were to sell that punch bowl.  Well no one ever would because of its history and tradition.  But with the price of gold, if you were you could fund teachers and food programs that could boost the welfare of 100,000 kids in Africa at least.  I live in a country where the adult literacy rate is 40%, it is maybe 1/5 of that in the villages.  I live in a country where people have trouble affording food and there is a time consistently called “the Hungry Season.” Most of my friends are surviving off no vegetables, coos, and onion sauce because there is not enough water for a garden.   You get the idea that this is an impoverished country.

Our country also happens to be a former British colony.  Slavery as a foundation, this land was looted and plundered of people and wealth, and now it is forced to learn English and has practically been abandoned by the first world.  So here are my thoughts on a royal wedding, you cannot embrace the only the parts you like about the past and throw the others away.  The royal wedding stands as a symbol of tradition, but only the tradition that can be locked away like a golden punch bowl and presented as royalty at opportune times.  But the counties that were invaded and imperialized are not saved or cherished they are thrown away. 

So please royal family, sell your punch bowl to balance the damage you have done to cultures and peoples around the world, in the name of humility and progress.  Get married, but donate the multi-millions of your family fortunes to balance out the ancient serfdom on which those fortunes were founded.  This may only mean you drive BMW instead of a Rolls Royce, or the dress costs less but is still as beautiful.  Because if you really want to embrace tradition and the past in a true light, you can’t just have a beautiful spectacle, you would need to invite some of the small naked children from across my street to run up and down the aisles of Westminster Abby kicking trash as they would soccer balls.  

WMD - Weapons of Mass Diarrhea

I am still visiting my village family and it is a true joy, but I think I will intersperse humor with serious things.

My little sister Bosay offering me a WMD. One that she has partially munched : )

(my1000 things list) Experiences of culture that Americans must hear about, both serious and funny:

1. Perhaps 90% of women here have no pleasure during sex.  Essentially, most women here have a ceremony at an early age similar to the coming of age manhood circumcision ceremonies.  Some practice partial circumcision where just the clitoris is removed, others have the entire outer labia removed.  This is a practice that men from the outside like me do not get to hear much about, but my good friend Ian who has been here for almost three years has written a little on FGM- Female Genital Mutilation and has put some light on to this negative and oppressive practice. 

http://ousmancham.blogspot.com/2011/04/what-are-reasons-behind-fgm.html

Fatu and Malik attempting to retrieve a ripe mango from our family's tree that I often sit under.

2.  Mangos = WMDs Weapons of Mass Diarrhea.  With the arrival of mango season, everyone can eat all the mangos they can dream of. But… take your average Gambian who eats practically no fiber between rice, fish, and the occasional boiled onion and then feed them 5-10 fiber loaded mangos a day and….well you get the idea.  The mangos here are wonderful here in fragrance and taste every one is a true joy.

One of the many jellys to wash on shore

3.  Bobbing in the ocean on a deserted African beach with friends you haven’t seen in months.  This Easter weekend, I had a wonderful time vacationing down to Yundum and Gunjur to spend time with friends who were celebrating both easter and a birthday. I had the most wonderful time easting an easter meal, holding and petting the rabbits which were available in large quantities from the homes I visited, and journeying to a deserted beach to relax and swim.  Jellyfish are now starting to abound though

.

4. Defending yourself in a language that sounds like Klingon.  Yes, the deep H sounds give you a sound like you are hacking in your throat and the short syllabic vowels sound like I am about to return fire on Captain Kirk, but usually I am telling bumpsters, hustlers, scammers, and merchants that they are trying to steal, swindle, or overcharge me and that I know what is up.  My best example was a tirade that I responded with when someone came to a crowded van and after asking for money from everyone looked at me and in a condescending tone said hey tubob.  Before he said another word I challenged him to a Kilngon duel.  “Bul ma def tubob.  Yow fognga tubob yip amna halis bubuddi wy yow hammullo. Yow hammullo ma. Balla ma wy duma la jox dara.” Which translates to, “don’t white skin me.  You think all tubobs have tons of money, but you don’t know.  You don’t know me.  Forgive me, I will not give you anything.”  This ended the battle immediately, it is hard to explain how responses like this come about, but I think it is an overflow of frustration of being thought of as rich and ignorant 24/7 and then having to be prepared constantly to defend myself.

Final example, the other day a seemingly well meaning man comes up to me and says it is good to see me again, and asks me how I am doing.  I look sheepishly because I am constantly forgetting all of the hundreds of people I meet.  He sees this and asks “Oh, you don’t remember me?  How is the hotel?” Such anger came to me in that moment wondering how many tourists he catches with that line.  I am often tired of the continual cultural isolation and lack of intimacy that comes with white skin here.  I simply shook my head, looked at him and said in Wolof “You don’t know me!” and walked away. 

A local Cashew farmer with a knock off Obama hat

5. Obama Obsession.  It is hard to explain the love for Barack Obama here.  There is a certain love and passion here that drives a healthy part of the economy.  Obama bags, fabric, hats. rugs, skirts, and even a new brand green tea with a picture of the continent of Africa and then in big letters OBAMA over it.  I have seen so many logos and pictures of him on knock off merchandise I know just find it creative to see where his name or face will show up next.

A five day old baby goat near my family's house.

6. Cruelty towards animals.  Please look at and read another post here by Ian, but the way they treat animals is horrible here, and shows a lack of empathy in realizing suffering outside the human race. http://ousmancham.blogspot.com/2011/04/why-are-gambians-cruel-to-animals.html

7. Dancing to lady playing a large hollow gourd like drum with shotgun shells on her fingers.  Absolutely magical.  I have a video of this dance that I am trying to upload.

8. The love and affection the mothers show their children here.

9. Polygamy.  I have had many answers to this question from the attempt at a rational explanation.  There is a belief here that there are far more women than men in the world because that is the natural birth rate.  Really there are more women than men here because many men leave to try and work in the city or abroad.  But another good report has been given by Ian who spent much of his time upcountry. 

http://ousmancham.blogspot.com/2011/04/why-do-gambians-tend-to-marry-more-than.html

10. Feeling at home in Africa.  After almost four months.  Countless hours studying language and culture, assembling my house, learning about cashews, and making friends both foreign and domestic, this place finally feels like home.  I went on trek again last week.  I danced and made many connections with local cashew farmers.  I am finally starting to work in a meaningful way. Also, my body has finally adjusted to the chemistry of the local water. 

Thank you for reading; I am trying to bring more enlightening posts to you about the culture of West Africa.  My friend Ian is leaving the Gambia soon after three years of hard work, please read his posts (above) as he has much knowledge on these difficult subjects.

Thank You,

Alexander Kent 

A False Swollen Husk Named “Desire”

Act one: My work

I took this picture shortly before munching

 Meet the Cashew Apple.  My work for the next two years will at least vaguely orbit this strange fruit that very few people know about.  Every cashew you have ever consumed has had an apple attached to it at one point in its life.   For reasons that I don’t fully understand even as a biology major, the “cashew apple” is a false fruit and is really a swollen husk at the base of the cashew.   I in theory have been charged with writing a manual on the “best practices” of what this husk can be used for. 
 Interesting facts about the Cashew Tree that I have compiled to be affixed to napkins at a charity dinner in Washington, no joke:

The Tree

Native to Brazil, the Portuguese planted it in India in the 1600’s.

There it spread through Asia and eventually Africa.

A bark paste ground in water is used for the cure of ringworm.

The boiled leaf extract is used as a mouth wash.

The water-resistant wood is used for boats and ferries.

The resin is used as an expectorant, cough remedy and insect repellent.

Fibers from the leaves can be used to strengthen fishing lines and nets.

The Nut

In the poison ivy family, the inner shell has same allergenic phenolic resins.

 The cashew’s shell has a liquid that is an important industrial material with 200+ patents.

Obtaining the nut requires four processing steps steaming, cutting, roasting, and finally peeling.

The cashew kernel is a rich source of fat (46 percent) and protein (18 percent).

It has 1000’s of culinary uses.

It is estimated that 60% of cashews are consumed as salted nuts.

The Apple

Not a true fruit, it is really a swollen husk with the seed at its base.

The cashew apple contains five times more vitamin C than an orange.

A single glass of cashew juice meets an adult’s daily requirement of vitamin C

It is used for curing scurvy and diarrhea, and is effective in preventing cholera.

The apple contains considerable amounts calcium, iron and phosphorous.

It is also used to cure neurological pain and rheumatism.

It is a first-class source of energy.

It can also be made into jams, juices, preserves, spirits, wine and dried fruit.

Cashew wine is made in many countries; it is light yellow and contains 6-12% alcohol.

Only 6% of cashew apple production is exploited as there is currently only a market for the nut.

This was taken at a trek I did with IRD in the North Bank.  This is the house and family of some prominent cashew farmers we're hoping to help

     There are a few strange obstacles that both the apple and the nut create. Interestingly the shell and inside of the cashew has resins identical to those in the poison ivy family, and if you were to eat the nut without proper roasting you would be very sick. Most of my Peace Corps friends have had at least a small breakout from being in the village around the nut and its leaking poisonous resin. I seem to be one of the lucky 15%-30% of people who have no allergic reaction to poison ivy resin as I have handled the nut with no ill effects.  The apple if washed properly does not have the resin and is good for eating although some similar chemistry means that you may easily become allergic, and that many who are not allergic to either have a high chance of developing the allergy with exposure. 
      This presents a complex processing problem for the nut, the difficulty of getting the shell off and a need to destroy the resin, requires every nut to be steamed to soften the shell, hand shelled, roasted to destroy the chemicals on the skin, and then a final hand peeling of the skin from the nut.  Every cashew you've eaten has had to go through this labor intensive process with people hand shelling and peeling the nut!   

      The apple is strange, it is a soft juice filled sac and the flavor varies from apple to apple as there are many varieties and colors from red to yellow to orange.  Many taste like a sour warhead leaving the mouth dry and puckered.  Some though are very sweet and high in sugar.  All seem to be very healthy for you, and are so numerous during cashew season that they rot on the ground full of uneaten energy, nutrients, and vitamins. 

       This is where more problems arise; the apple is incredibly perishable and starts to ferment within a day of leaving the tree.  This means that unless you want to make wine out of it immediate refrigeration (Not possible as there isn't stable electricity even in the city) or drying is required.  Many of the non-Muslims here juice the cashew apple and let the wild yeasts already present turn it to wine in a matter of days. 

     So in my early weeks here I have been immersed in small business manuals, cashew processing equipment, and cashew apple ideas all in hopes of benefiting local associations of cashew growers here in the Gambia.  Much of the work in cashew apples is upcoming, for now I have been assisting in writing processing contracts between villages and suppliers and visiting local farmers.  Most of the purpose now is in getting cashew processing equipment distributed to some key villages in hopes that it will dramatically increase local employment and value for their cashew nuts, as most farmers just sell the unprocessed nut to Senegalese exporters.

Despite the appearance of busyness, it is all very slow, the Gambian way demands it.  In order to do business in the Gambia, you must do the following with your fellow cashew farmer or worker if you don’t you will not be respected.

Making a plan with a local mason who works for the association of cashew growers.  We have plans there for a steaming, roasting, peeling, cutting, drying, and storage room. We will give them all of this equipment once they build this processing center from mud bricks.  

Steps to Making Business Partnerships in the Gambia

Say you’ll arrive at 9 and arrive at 10

10am: Talk for an hour about how the family is and things vaguely related to business

11am: Go in the field and do “work” for perhaps two hours or until someone says “The sun is too hot”

1pm: Sit around for an hour waiting for lunch to be cooked over an open flame

2pm: Everyone, farmers and IRD staff eats lunch out of one giant bowl

2:30pm: Finish lunch, start brewing tea.

2:30-3: Discuss business

3-5pm: Drink tea in the shade of a large mango tree and joke about almost nothing in particular.  Large portions of time are spent in silence, and great humor is achieved from tricking the new guy (Me) with peculiar and fast Wolof slang.

5pm: Go back to hut or lodge for the night

Total work for an 8hr day = 2hrs or less

         This pace of work is very frustrating to someone fresh from America and is finally starting to instill in me the belief of altered time expectations.  Here Gambian days = American hours and American days = Gambian weeks.  So I may be doing interesting work, but I am spending much time sitting… and sitting…and waiting for the Gambia to catch up with me.  Occasionally I will pick up a juicy swollen husk and imbibe my daily allotment of vitamin C and then continue to wait for the green tea to brew in a small kettle.  

Act 2: “It is Nice to be Nice”

Well roaming the streets of the Gambia, I often see strange wild creatures:  The feral dog, the feral cat, the trash eating goats, the “zombie sheep” with tattered wool hanging off in frizzing lumps, the city vultures, and finally the most fearsome predator… the Bumpster.  In case you do not know here is the definition of a bumpster.

Palm wine, created by the  Christian population in the villages
of The Gambia.  Sealed in used motor oil jugs as a timeless
indicator of quality.  I let this concoction enter my mouth only to
 confirm it tastes like it was brewed in a hyena gut.

Bumpster:  Native to the Gambia, the Bumpster is a young Gambian man who makes his living feeding off tourists.  Bumpsters come out during the European tourist months of December-May and spend exorbitant amounts of time working out on the beach in hopes of attracting attention, they often take on the looks of Rastafarians with dreds and a love of reggae.  With perfectly chiseled bodies, two full grown bumpster (its own plural or its alternate a rasta of bumpsteri) can take down small families of seasonally nesting tourists with their friendly advances such as “Hey boss lady how are you?” and “It’s nice to be nice.”


 If you see a bumpster do not make eye contact.  Mumble appropriate responses as silence will anger them, but and do not engage. 

A bumpster serves two purposes, to either be your personal tour guide in return for money, food, hotel stays, and promises of a trip back to Europe. OR He will provide sexual services to aging European women who have arrived in Gambia to exploit the young men for the equivalent of pennies of European currency.   Interestingly, here is one of the few places in the world were the sex trade is reversed in the favor of female sex tourism.  It is a huge industry here, and everywhere you go you see aging or elderly European women arm in arm on the beach with well built 25 year old Gambian men.   This is just one of the more direct and obscene ways that the local people and culture is exploited by the first world.

 Bumpsters come out mostly just during tourist season and then go back to the village to work the farm or visit with their families.  They are however an intense annoyance to us Peace Corps volunteers as they are incredibly aggressive in trying to make “friends” with both men and women and there is no way they have of knowing we are often as broke as they are.

Unknowingly, tourists come and may pay these men maybe 10 Euros to help them.  They do not realize that even this in an astronomical sum in Gambia and keeps the beaches thick with hopeful tour guide or nighttime suitors.  A good description of Bumpsters and their commonly heard pick up lines can be found on the blog post below.

http://www.travelblog.org/Africa/Gambia/Western-Division/Kololi/blog-257082.html

Baby stares at chicken

On a previous post I commented about how I was text stalked by a girl who was to be my host sister in a family that I was visiting, until she starting texting me things like (exact quote)  “cant stand my filling to u am dying inside” Eventually when her sirens cries went unengaged she sent me a nasty “dont worry I will never tell you that again ok bye” and then stopped all together.  I have since avoided her with the knowledge of impending doom that tells me my suburb village is way too small to not run into her someday soon. I believe so much of the immediate “I love you”s have their roots in a few things   

 1.  The fact that people are starved for personal contact in a society where you don’t hug and a hand shake consisted of applying the pressure you would lift a used diaper with. 
2. Men and women do not interact in a meaningful way.  Men stay with men and women with women. 
3. The biggest of them.  Some of them have the dreaded disease called TV in their house.  Here they believe from a horrible concoction of rebroadcast soap operas that saying “I love you” and lets have intimate physical contact right after meeting is the proper course of action if you actually engage in meaningful conversation with the opposite sex.

This is very frustrating.  It is interesting how this society functions, out in the open, no physical contact and modest dress.  Behind closed doors the starvation for physical contact leads some (still unclear how many) to desire or engage in constant meaningless sexual intimacy. This has been related to me by other volunteers who live in these homes.  One even said, there is a belief among many men here, that if they do not have constant access to sex, that they will die.  This has been justified as one of the reasons for needing more than one wife that if one is sick, gone, very pregnant, etc. that another one is needed to satisfy a man’s constant desire.  Once again let me reiterate that due their skewed view of globalized culture and the reason some Europeans come here (sex trade” as mentioned above) there is a view that us foreigners are way more sexually charged than the men here and the false assumptions are walling me off from an entire gender in many ways. 

* A father offered me his daughter today for marriage sight unseen and then mentioned that I could still have one back in America if I wanted. 

Act 3: My House

This is where I get to my house, it is in a poorer suburb of the city and is really like the fourth part of a quadplex building of which I get three rooms.  I have finally almost finished making it homey.  I have hung an indoor clothes line for shirts, built a book shelf, table and clothes cubby with a cheap saw, concrete blocks and plywood, and taken a door off its hinges and put it up on blocks for a large “food table” I have three rooms, and am finally starting to make it livable.

Main room, I have a small backyard on the left and a front door on the right. I made the book shelf and there is a comfy chair off the picture to the left. There are two rooms on either side.

My kitchen.  The table or right is my door put up on blocks and the other I made with blocks and plywood. The fridge is ancient and decrepit and found for 40 dollars.  

Bedroom, foam block on the floor and dressing shelves on right. (also made)

1000 Things that must be seen to believed:  10 things hurting the culture in the Gambia

10. Tourists, with English that just gets louder if the person does not understand, their limitless funds and complete apathy towards culture continually bitters many in the city towards the presence of foreigners.

9. Bob Marley:  I am still trying to figure this one out.  His music is everywhere, and many teens have abandoned culture and religion to go “Rasta” I don’t know if it is for better or for worse, but there is little creativity in this movement and it seems to be a tape replaying from decades ago (Literally, they use old tape players here and CDs are just becoming affordable).  It feels more like culture left behind then culture being reborn.

8.  Knock offs.  There are Armani tee shirts here and plastic Rolex watches.  I can’t think of a worse way to be introduced to global consumerism.

7. Our used stuff: When we donate it, it does not get given away many times as we expect, it ends up getting sold.  Almost as sad as knock offs is that there are heaps of cloths in piles based on quality in the streets, you rummage through them and the pay 50 cents to 3 dollars based on how ripped or stained the shirt is, but it is sad and intense to see.

6. Cheap Nigerian films: “Passionate Envy”, “Sexy Game”, and “Forbidden Powder” are three titles that I saw at random today. These borderline home videos that mimic western values of money and sexuality are everywhere, and further mindless and pointless drama.  I will write more on this and get a picture of some of the ridiculous posters.

5. Bumpsters, (see above) both exploiting tourists and being exploited by them, with little work this is becoming a legitimate profession when very few people have work.

4. TV in all forms, as mentioned I love when the power goes out (about 50% of the time it’s off) because I can actually talk to people. If not, I go into a house, sit, and watch with everyone these horrible soap operas.

3. “India a Love Story”  Everyone watches it, and all I have to do is ask “Tonight, the television has Maya (the main character)?” in Wolof and people will excitedly tell me when it is coming on.   It is a Brazilian soap that mimics Indian bollywood (Indian soap opera) done in Portuguese, dubbed in bad English, and broadcast in Gambia.   The language barrier means someone is usually there translating what is happening but it is the worst soap to plague the land.

2. The internet, across the street is the “Global Midia Café” (YES they misspelled it in big painted letters on the sign, for the most part when one is used to a phonetic language, spelling in English does not matter).  People sit here day after day discovering dating sites and facebook on ancient used computers.  Many people come here and having never used a keyboard peck away for hours at these sites.

1.  Arnold Schwarzenegger:  Large muscles and a taste for action, his movies are everywhere on the street for roughly 25 cents and the other day I saw him staring at me from a box containing a DVD player.  His smiling face obviously approved of the cheap knock off electronics located within.  He is destroying this culture with bazookas and the buzzing 20 dollar DVD players on which he is watched.

I want to clarify want may come off.  What still remains here in the city is much happiness.  The problems of poverty and disease must be solved but not at the price of consumerism.  The people here work less as mentioned above, but seem to be happier due to keeping in contact with friends and family constantly.  They are always welcoming for the most part and seem very relaxed.  So much of my resistance to culture is in the city, I see how their attempt at mimicry is destroying their cultural roots, and from my time in the village, they seem much happier with less.  I am afraid that convincing them they need more in the ways listed above really is less.

Spend the day in peace

A man makes a bowl for pounding coos with his son. I took this on the same trek.

*this is now my favorite parting Wolof phrase: Nyu endoo chi jaama