In Kakan

I have been spoiled recently.  I am approaching an
entire week in Guinea with both running water and
electricity.  In fact, for four days, I had AIR-
CONDITIONING.  After the farewell ceremony in
Forecariah, we spent a few days in the capital of
this lovely country becoming volunteers and getting
prepared to go into the field.  Although the water
in Conakry was off about 12 hours a day and the
electricity in Kankan wasn’t working upon our
midnight arrival, I still feel like I have escaped
the developing world for a week.  I also have eaten
well – hamburgers (with fries, egg, and piment on
top), schawarma sandwiches, cold sodas, cheese and
wine, yogurt, etc, but due to the consumption of many
raw tomatoes and/or sketchy bisap juice, my intestines
and I are at war again.  It was worth it though.

So, we all successfully swore-in as volunteers on Friday
in Conakry.  It was a really meaningful moment for
me – one that I had waited over two years for.  Our
Country Director, Steve, quoted one of our PCTs during
his speech at the Affectation Ceremony: “I don’t plan
to move mountains while I am here, but I do hope to
move a few stones.”  Now that we are official volunteers
and we are heading out to site, I am ready to begin
working on those small stones.

The rest of our time in Conakry was spent eating
protein-filled food, visiting Marche Niger (the
largest marche in West Africa – a frightening
place!), going through one can of Skol beer after
another, and just getting ready to say good-
bye to the group that we had grown so close to.
Spending our last days together as a group put a
lot of stress on all of us.  We wanted to make the
time special; we wanted to go out with a bang before
parting ways.  I definitely left Conakry on a high
note that included a dance party on the roof, a
date on the beach with wine and cheese at sunset,
and a hysterical prank pulled on Ping, one of
my favorite people in Guinea.  I spent quality time
with Reid and my other friends before Sunday
morning, when we left.  It was harder to say
good-bye than I thought it would be, although
it makes sense it was difficult.  I am leaving
most of my support system to venture out alone
to the savannah of upper Haute Guinea and I
won’t see my new-found but very close friends
for over 3 months.  But come July 1, I am free
to leave my work-zone and venture around the
country, visiting Fouta to see my favorite non-Hauters.
It’s going to be a rough but fun three months –
with many ups and many downs, and I seriously can’t
wait until In-Service Training in mid-July to
see everyone and hear how everyone’s sites are.

But right now, I am chilling in Kankan until
Saturday with all 13 of my Haute peeps.  Basically,
we are here to recover from our emotional
departure from Conakry, purchase things for moving in,
and just have a good time.  Today, I am just hanging
out at the PCV house, recuperating from a very rough
ride from Conakry to Kankan yesterday.  After only
getting an hour and a half of sleep on Saturday
night, we left Conakry at 9:30am in one PC vehicle jam
packed with 13 new volunteers.  Typically, we are
just left to make our way out to site on our own,
but due to numerous reasons =(including the lack of bush
taxi safety and the lack of enough move-in allowance
after a year full of inflation), we were taken to Kankan
together and we will be carted out to site by PC
beginning on Thursday.  If you think a transatlantic
airplane ride is rough, you haven’t ridden in a bush
taxi.  If you think a bush taxi ride is rough, you
haven’t ridden with 12 other people in the sideways
PC SUV.  We had negative leg room and the ride was 15
hours long.  Some lowlights of the trip included
stopping too much and wasting time, trying to figure
out how to make the most out of the available room in
the truck, hitting my head constantly while trying to
sleep against the window whenever we went over bumps,
and the horribly potholed road between Dabola and
Kouroussa.  I still don’t understand how one of the
three or four major, paved roads in the country
can suck that much.  Anyway, here are some highlights
to balance out the lowlights: Geordie’s spray bottle fan
contraption that sprayed a cool mist of water on you,
buying a Snickers bar at a gas station, a bruised but
delicious papaya, and most of all – getting to see the
Fouta people unexpectedly in Mamou when we stopped for
lunch.  I thought I had said my final good-byes to
everyone, all teary eyed, in Conakry, but when we
stopped for lunch in Mamou, the Fouta-bound bus pulled
up 20 minutes behind us to dejeuner as well.  It was
perfect to get to see Reid one more time, unexpectedly,
and spend a happy 20 minutes with him eating mango and
meat on a stick.

The rest of the week here in Kankan is devoted to whatever
we want to do.  I plan to shop a bit tomorrow and also
open my up-country bank account.  On Wednesday night, a
huge Kankan party is planned for all current and new
volunteers, and the theme of the party is “Haute Couture.”
Get it?  We are in Haute Guinea, just in case you didn’t.
Some people are going all out - having outfits made or
going dead tubabu* shopping.  It should be a great
welcoming party for us new volunteers – I can’t wait!

On Saturday, I will leave Kankan for Siguiri with Rob,
Geordie, and Cathleen.  Luckily, PC is taking us all
directly to site, baggage and all, and although it’s
another long PC-SUV day, I still think it is easier than
getting to site via deplaced bush taxi.  After Saturday,
I will be alone at site.  Not really alone – there are
100,000 Guneans and Malians in Siguiri, and one other
American – Mandy, a former PCV who ETed to take on a
full time job at the NGO she was working with.  Keelin,
a health volunteer and Rob, an AgFo volunteer are also
both a short bike ride/pirogue ride away, so I am
not too isolated, for a Haute Guinea volunteer. Still,
it will be a challenge unlike any other I have ever
faced.  And I absolutely cannot wait to get it started.
Wish me luck, and please stay in touch.




*By “Dead tubabu shopping” I mean “used Western clothes
shopping”.  Kinda like going to a thrift store.  It’s
called dead tubabu because tubabu means white person in
Malinke, and the locals think that a person must have died
to part with such amazing clothes.  On the coast, it’s
“dead fote shopping”, in Fouta, it’s “dead porto shopping”
and here in Haute, it’s “dead tubabu shopping.”
Guinea and her languages…wow!