Real life Boogeyman

I've been afraid for the first time ever while living in the village. I've been avoiding the main routes every morning when going to the school. I've been riding my bike extra fast to and from the garden. I've even been hiding behind n na ( my host mom) while going to the marche. You would too if you saw "the conde". There will be days I don't see the conde but the constant beat of drumming makes you imagine the flash of dried grass and mask between the huts. The drumming starts in the morning and ends in the evening, always indicating where the conde is lurking throughout the village. I am grateful for the signal, giving me a clue as to how I may avoid crossing paths with the it but I hate the feeling it leaves me with all day. If you've seen Jumanji, Heart of Darkness, or Lord of the Flies, the drum beats give you that loathing feeling that something bad is around the corner. And the conde is just that because it can run fast, is masked with human or animal like features, and hits you with sticks. All I've ever seen the conde do is chase villagers around threating to whip them. While it's supposed to be funny,I find it frightening. I was a victim one day, screaming my head off as it clung onto the back of my bike.I thought I lost it at a point until I look back and it was still running alongside me. Scary!!!
Although I’m still scared of the condé I have a new found respect after discovering “it” or “they” can dance. Mask dances are sacred rituals of West Africa which more than often turns into social entertainment. I sat in awe as I watched 4 condés dance to the beat of drums, displaying their deftness and agility. It was like watching lyrical gymnastiques with an urban edge. Their head to toe costumes made of dried grass makes them look like Cousin It from “The Adam’s Family” combined with Big Foot. 2 condés wore masks that were intricately designed using metal and mirrors to portray a human like face while the other 2 had the head of an owl and a warthog.
The faster the beat the crazier they dance, billowing up clouds of dust, reminding me of how lucky I am to be here and witness something that’s been happening for hundreds of rains. Watching the drums talk to the condé is so unreal. After having watched the dance for almost a week I feel like I have picked up on the traditional language of percussion. The conversation can make the condé mad, happy, or excited coercing it to jump high over the drummers, but not until the last moment, where you think it is going to tackle them to the ground. My favorite is when 2 condés dance facing each other, as if they were mirror images.
When something the condé does pleases you, it is customary to run up and throw 500 FGN at it. Some run away immediately after their offering, fearing the condés’ stare but many do a little dance making the crowd go wild. Men stomp at the ground and do back flips while the women do their hysterical dances of flapping their arms, using their clothing to exaggerate the already exaggerated move.
I admire this culture so much. They laugh with all their gut and they dance with abandon. If I leave Guinea with anything I hope to bring those qualities with me. Those drums have spoken to me, daring me to talk back, telling me there is no reason to be shy any longer. The more wildly I flap my arms, mimicking the women, the more I hear the drum speak words of approval. And as I dance in front of my whole village I feel their laughter and joy speak straight to my heart.

Always under observation

I’ve come to realize that being a Peace Corps volunteer is a 24/7 job when you’re in the village. You’re always being watched, meaning whatever sour mood you’re in can represent the attitude of Americans in general. I’ve learned from the people in my village their view on what a real American is described as tall, blond, rich, vegetarian, who enjoys their privacy and spends lots of time reading and writing. They have small family units, are Christian, and don’t eat rice very often. Oh, and we don’t like huge spoonfuls of mayonnaise.
Even though I may fulfill almost half of their stereotypes I make a point to talk about the diversity of America. Being an Asian-American I share with them on how I grew up eating rice everyday and am very familiar with peanut sauce (in the Philippines it’s called kare-kare). I talk about knowing many families with 6+ kids, just like my family here. I also them about the problems of homelessness, something they can’t fathom, questioning, “Why doesn’t their village feed them?” Nobody would ever let anyone go hungry here.
So the teaching never stops. I’m always under observation. After helping at the school I go to the village garden to water our tree nursery and help n fa with his beautiful plot of tomatoes, eggplant, onions, lettuce, and manioc. And without fail as I’m pulling up water from the well I catch a couple pairs of eyes in my peripheral view. They’ve come to watch the white person…again. I bite my lip in fear of blurting out, “Am I really that interesting?” and continue my work. This is my time of serenity, away from my 83 screaming students.
We get back as the sun is setting, just in time to take my hot bucket bath (heated by keeping in a covered bucket under the sun) and to eat dinner. Around 8:30 n fa and I go to a video club to watch the news. Before going into the crowded room lined with wooden benches we buy a couple of oranges from the vendor outside. Sucking the juice out of them helps quench my thirst, relieving the inevitable heat wave that the half functioning fans can barely alleviate. But I quickly fall in love with the place despite its sauna like atmosphere. I love the darkness of the video club because I am hidden, becoming the same color as them. But the instant there is an American, French, Lebanese, or Chinese person on the television, which happens every night, the whole club starts laughing my name and I feel elbow nudges from n fa. Okay, I get it, I’m white!
After shuffling out of the dusty room n fa, Monsieur Diallo (a teacher at the primary school where I work), and I are led to the café by our flashlights. As the two men walk and talk about the news program, I am carefully translating questions in my head to ask them. For this is my chance to get the answers probing my mind all day from n fa, the village griot, or Monsieur Diallo, a well educated and well traveled teacher.
Last night I listened to Monsieur Diallo’s time in Sierra Leone, being forced to live in a displacement camp for 5 years due to the rebel war. He told me about the times he feared most for his life and I cried inside. He talked to me about the importance of traveling to gain a better perspective of the world and I couldn’t agree with him more. Our conversation really hit me. For as much as I feel like I’m constantly teaching and being watched I am doing much more observing and learning by just getting the opportunity to be here. Sadly, movies like Blood Diamond and Hotel Rwanda set a base of stereotypes of their own for many Americans like myself. But what I’ve concluded about Guineans is that they are happy, loving, and generous people. In fact they appear to be happier than most Americans in general. So getting to form relationships with them is hardly work.