Girl’s Conference…

was a blast. As an Agroforestry volunteer, I did things I never thought I would do like: a condom demonstration, blowing up condoms to stuff pertinent questions inside for a game of hot potato or hot condom if you will, or teach “ Head, shoulders, knees in toes” in three different languages as an energizer. The only thing I could think of that had anything to do with Agfroforestry was the wood in the wooden penis. No wait…I used bananas for the condom relay race!
I probably would’ve been more suited to be a public health volunteer given my studies and work experience but my volunteer work with farmers in Tanzania solidified my decision to be a tree hugger. Really most people are bewildered as to why this LA/Cali girl likes to her hands dirty and the answer is simple: women. Being the only female volunteer in the Sustainable Agriculture program in Tanzania ended up being amazing despite my initial doubts.
All the farmers were women. My broken Swahili didn’t stop them from wrapping me in their congas, traditional fabric worn in the fields. They showed their appreciation when I joined them, elbows deep in fresh cow manure for composting, especially when the guys refused. Their singing brought tears to my eyes and their hard work inspired me. They are why I am here.
I honestly believe the women of Africa, specifically Guinea are the strongest women in the whole world. With all odds against them like over 80% of females are excised, early marriage and bride price, expectations of bearing lots of children, and lack of education they can still do it all. I see it in my Guinean sisters when they get home from school juggling their studies with chopping wood to start dinner. Their brothers who go to the private Franco-Arab schools get to play soccer before tying up the goats, cows, and donkeys.
It’s unfair because it’s life. But these girls don’t complain because they know feeding their family of 10 is a priority. They don’t show emotion when they are called stupid by the teacher in front of the class. They don’t say anything. Most girls just don’t have the confidence.
Each volunteer was allowed to bring 2 girls from their village. Over the course of 4 months I had to encourage girls that their French was better than mine and the Peace Corps’ Girl’s Conference was an excellent opportunity. I ended up bringing Kane, a beautiful, smart, but shy girl and Aicha, a loud, trouble making mother who used little Mamydy as an excuse to her inappropriate behavior. She slept during the 1st day of the conference and was disrespectful to some of the volunteers.
Our sessions were held in the American Reading Room at the University of Kankan. There were 6 volunteers, 15 girls, and 8 members of a health related NGO which were made of all Guineans from different villages throughout the region. The 3 day conference was exhausting but worthwhile. Some sessions were harder to do than others like the session I did on why women are more susceptible to contracting AIDS on a social and cultural context. And others were more light hearted like the benefits of Moringa oleifera-the tree of life, which Alison and David held.
The girl’s favorite session was on excision surprisingly. There was no need for translation during the Guinean NGO’s knee slapping skit. Us volunteers were lost by the fast Malinke but we were just so happy the girls enjoyed themselves. Let’s just hope they really talked about excision and not about Islam.
I was a part of the last session of the conference called “Planning for our Futures.” Adam and Dr. Trian (Peace Corps Medical Officer) held their part indoors while I had to take mine outside because as I mentioned earlier, I like to get my hands dirty. When the girls came out I split them into 2 and had the girls compete for a prize (all the girls got nail polish at the end). The goal was to think of and write 50 jobs a woman can do. Because of time restraints neither team got to 50 but it got their minds running. I held a can of blue paint and told them that blue represented them the girl. I talked about the Guinean girl and her responsibilities at home, school, and to her peers. Next I held a can of red paint saying it represented their dreams, aspirations, and hard work. Well most people know what red and blue yields but the girls were blank which ended up being a good thing because what Adam and I ended up with was a bluish black color. I improvised our mistake saying, “Noir est jolie” and described what the bluish black represented. It represented the woman doctor, woman teacher, woman governor, the woman mother, the woman inside of them that can do anything
I pre-titled nice sheets of paper with “Les Femmes peuvent tout faire-Women can do everything.” I invited each girl to dip their hand in the paint and think about what they wanted to be when they grew up. Underneath their handprint they wrote their name, date, and the job they chose. There were 8 doctors, which I know most were just copying their friends but I was impressed to see journalist, engineer at the gold mines, and NGO worker.
There were many problems at the conference regarding logistics like having the girls wait for hours for water to bathe with as well as their lodging being a long walk, well planned sessions due to lack of resources at the villages, and using French as a bridge when neither party had it as their native language. But I could tell the girls took good things from it too like new friendships with girls from different villages. For many of the girls it was their first time to leave their village. What I took from it was 15 new friends and the understanding that the best thing I can do is give them confidence by showing them women really can do everything.

Home for the Holidays

You know a holiday is near when the Super-Walmart has dedicated aisle after aisle stocked with Easter baskets, Costco’s hydraulic bustle is accented with display Santa’s ringing a Christmas tune, or the normally vacant parking lot is bursting of pumpkins, hay stacks, and children. I love the holidays so having mine interrupted to come here was hard. But I thought it would have been harder.

I was distracted by the obvious: new surroundings, new friends, new family, new language, and didn’t have the reminders of white icicle lights or Starbucks advertising my favorite “gingerbread lattes.” Instead I had a semi-cold beer while watching the sunset over Conakry’s murky coastline and wished Jesus a Happy Birthday.

I look back and can’t believe that was almost a year ago. It didn’t occur to me that I didn’t have a real Christmas. I felt like I finally got to celebrate Christmas last month with the celebration of the end of Ramadan. After the head imam in Conakry declared the fast to be over I knew I was in for a treat when I took a chair and headed to the entrance of the village. I sat among the griots (my family) in a newly constructed concession of huts and played a cowbell for over an hour while N fa beat the taama, N na sang out of a megaphone, and my brother (a famous griot) played the balaphone. We called the whole village to celebrate under the blanket of night illuminated only by our flashlights. The old ladies managed to get me to join them to dance which is normally not a hard feat, but old lady dancing is very intimidating. Picture lots of billowy fabric and a rendition of “The Excorcist.” The women look like they are possessed as they flap their arms frantically, often being escorted to the sidelines for fear of over exertion but more to just be part of the act. I did my best impersonation while laughing, playing in my head the part of the movie where Emily Rose spins her head in a full 360 degrees. My 30 second performance wasn’t worthy of a nomination but I did get 500 GNF (approx. 10 cents) thrown at me! As we headed back N fa told me we would be drumming again tomorrow morning at 7 AM in our concession. I felt like it was Christmas Eve that night.

But instead of celebrating the end of Ramadan I opened my door to 20 silent Kouyate (my last name) men facing Mecca. I was confused expecting drums and singing like the night before but instead received a somber atmosphere. Something happened and I already know before N fa approached my hut. As I sat with the mother who just delivered the dead baby ( her second infant mortality this year) I was shocked that she was sitting up in her bed crying but seeming physically strong. I gave what benedictions I knew in Malinke like, “May Allah cool the earth of the recently buried,” and sat rubbing the mother’s back while women of the village made their rounds. There would be no music and dancing today.

But there was praying. Instead of going to the mosque the whole village went to my favorite spot. There is a huge clearing surround by mango trees that overlooks the vast Niger River. But what makes it even more special is this grand Baobab tree that has to be over hundreds of years old. Before my morning run I walk to the tree and touch it reminding me of my purpose here. It’s here the whole village has congregated, dressed in their finest, facing the bright river’s sun touched ripples. That memory will always be a special one during my service here.

The rest of the day was spent eating lots of meat, giving money or candy to kids saying, “I Sali ma fo,” and listening to their laughter as they chased the man who sings the call to prayer throughout the village. All the kids were clean wearing their new clothes and I realized that this was a day for the kids just like how Christmas has become for my family back in the States.

Gifts become less important as you grow older. What matters is being together with the ones you love. It’s about mom’s extravagant taste in decorations and dad’s unwillingness to flood his simple home with 4 ft. nutcrackers, it’s about Russ and Christian competing for the biggest man title by trying to out eat each other, it’s about my sisters’ and my doubts of breaking out the karaoke machine knowing we’ll fall asleep to my mom singing “Phantom of the Opera” (yes, we’re Asian). It’s about indulging in Cerisa’s surprisingly healthy pumpkin chocolate chip scones or Charmela’s not so healthy honey basted croissants straight from the oven. Oh the eating. It took me a week to resume my normal eating habits. I would come back from the market with bananas and set them on my table and stare at them until I realized they were game. I never enjoyed eating during daylight hours so much!

Ramadan was a really good experience despite how it started. I learned a lot about this culture and a lot about myself. There are times when I walk around and forget I’m not black which has pros and cons. It’s good because I feel comfortable and well integrated but bad because I don’t want to take this experience for granted. That’s why I remind myself of my past life and create commonalities like the holidays. Ramadan was my Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year. No matter how different cultures appear to be there are the same themes of fasting for forgiveness, trick or treating/I Sali ma fo-ing, showing gratitude through gifts, celebrating life and death, and creating resolutions. Finding the universal truths of life shows me how to be at home in any situation by keeping family close in your heart. You can’t be homesick when you’re at home. Or better said by my Guinean friend Moussa who learned English in Ghana, “ Da house of someone YOU love, it tis nevuh fa!”