Five a Day

I have to face the fact that this place is not America but I can’t help but coin certain activities and places comparing them to the “land of opportunity.” My days are really simple and I laugh a lot but this American labeling to African daily life has put a real appreciation to the things I took for granted.

Everyone is extremely friendly always greeting “I ni sooma” which means “good morning” and “tana ma si?” which means “did you sleep without evil?” My favorite is when someone says your last name and you’re supposed to answer back in affirmation. I always get “Kouyate” and I respond “nse” because I’m female which means “I am able.” It’s like if someone yelled “Ignacio” and I said “Yeah, you know it!” Since the majority of my village is Keita I have a high chance of this working. Villagers love it when I say, “ Keita yay sondedi” which means “Keitas are thieves!”

There is this one rice bar that serves the best rice and sauce en ville. Katalina, my closest PCV friend, and I decided it was deserving of the label “sushi.” After we get sushi I like to get “Starbucks” which is the frozen tamarind drink that is served in a plastic bag. The seeds inside my tall sweetened “Starbucks” remind me of espresso beans. I often sip, or rather I often suck on my “Starbucks” while strolling through the market aka “the mall.”

But sometimes there is no need to go to the mall because the vendors selling anything from pocket mirrors to red palm oil will pass right by your hut. I like to think of this as “Ebay” because of the price wars that take place. My bargaining skills have been sharpened since I’ve been here, with my routine starting out with me asking for the Guinean price and ending with the vendor laughing after I sing the one song I know in Malinke.

I see my concession of huts as this really upscale apartment complex that would overlook some beautiful landscape like Central Park. The location is priceless being one of the closest to the Niger River. Also my hut has two doors which are key during the dry season and it has its own latrine pit.

Rain here is like going to watch a show at the Pantages Theatre. The thunder cracks throughout the entire sky and rolls as if there were stone walls for them to bounce off of and stadium seating for all to experience. However, I think this is better than the theatre because I don’t have to dress up and the price of all of messini would never add up to the value of this spectacle.

This act of relabeling is my way of coping with missing my life in the states. Hanging out with my girls has been replaced with sitting among Muslim men. Playing with my nephews has been substituted with spinning dirty faced little boys by their arms. Going to the gym can be satisfied by my hour long run that ends with a cool down along the Niger river. Watching American Idol with my mom can be the same as watching the village mask dances with N fa Mou. My love for driving has been replaced by riding my bike, and trying to eat at least 5 fruits and vegetables a day has been replaced by eating 5 mangoes a day.