Hey folks at home. August has been a challenging month for a variety of reasons, but I’m living through it, and its almost done. Work has been slow, my cat died, and while I’m reasonably sure that the group who raises chickens, with whom I have been working, will be awarded the grant that we requested from the United Nations Development Project, it’s a little scary. This is, of course, very exciting; we worked very hard on it and did lots of revisions. However, now the REAL WORK will begin, and I feel a lot of pressure and responsibility for this $15, 000. We’re digging a well, we’re fencing their land, we’re buying, vaccinating, and raising 450 layer hens. However, the very day after I had learned that we would likely get the money (and the very day my cat died), I heard some drama from the history of the group, which makes me question their integrity. Seriously, guys, we’ve been working together for a number of months. This information would have been helpful, oh, any day but today. With careful management, this project could be profitable for the community, and with only a few people slacking, it could go to hell. So we’ll see.
Other work has been slow. I’m looking forward to school starting up again, I liked working with the kids at the secondary school.
When I’ve been feeling down, or frustrated, or just plain bored, it’s never anything outwardly very meaningful that makes me feel better, and I have to keep reminding myself that. It’s usually something really small, like teaching the kids across the street Itsy Bitsy Spider (and man, we can sing it like mo-fos, let me tell you), or seeing how many clothes pins we can to clip each other’s faces (you’d be surprised how many, actually). The other day, I went over to a co-workers house, he wasn’t there, but I chatted to his wife for a long time. She seemed genuinely happy to have me there, and not just because I’m white and therefore might sponsor her children to school, and not just putting up with me because she knows my host mother. We chatted for a long time and she made lunch. It was just nice, being appreciated for me.
So that’s that. I’m out of here.

Of course I can do that! Look at these muscles!

So one more thing that has made August difficult, and I figured it deserves an update all to itself. I felt that this month more than others, I heard the phrase “you can’t do this” more often than in previous months. This could because now is the time for lots of farming and manual labor, but when I try to join, I am confronted by “you cannot do this” or “you are not able” more often than before.
This pisses me off. It turns my day bad. It took a few minutes of clear-thinking to realize just how American my reaction is. Really, maybe it’s a very American experience to spring forth from the womb triumphant with the inherent knowledge that with enough hard work, one can do anything. I‘m told this is not a universal experience, so maybe people don’t realize how insulting it is to me to be told I’m not capable of something. Also maybe I need to chill out. You’re right, when I do my laundry, I can’t make the squilch-squilch noise that the women here make with it. And for God’s sake, I don’t know WHY I can’t, I use enough soap and rub the fabric together with my wrists and knuckles, but it just doesn’t make the noise. Because my laundering is silent, my host mother, sisters, and neighbors all assume that I am not getting it clean, so they come over and take the clothes out of my hands, bend down and do it for me. So now I do the laundry behind my house. I’m not running around with stains on my clothes, they smell fine. And I did it myself. So there.
But what about the things that I CAN do? For example, I was at the preparations for a baby-naming ceremony, and women were gathered around an enormous cooking pot frying panketos (Balls of fried sweet dough not unlike a donut. Fresh, they are delicious. Day-old and they squeak when you bite into them, and probably bounce like tennis balls). They asked me if I could do this. I replied, hesitantly, that I could. My reasoning is that while my first few might not be perfectly round, with a few minutes of practice, I think I could drop dough into the hot oil, roll it around with the three-foot-long spoon, and retrieve them. The women all argued that this is very hard work, the fire is very hot, and that I could not do it. But they also wouldn’t let me try.
Am I just being super immature here? When I know I’m not capable of doing something, I’m pretty open about it. Can’t make the squilch-squilch noise, though I think my clothes are clean enough without it. Can’t fix anyone’s computer problems. Ever. Can’t be an astronaut when I grow up….
So I was left feeling unsure about what the proper response should be. I mean no disrespect when I say that I am capable of something, and in no way mean to imply that the work is not difficult. Yes, I can dig holes with a shovel for many hours, but I’m glad that it’s not my job. It is hard work. I can distinguish weeds from crops, and can pull them by hand or with a hoe, but I’m glad that it’s not what I do day in and day out. It’s hard work. But to say aloud that I am not capable of something just jars me, and goes against my very up-bringing.
So that’s that. I’m going to explore up-country for a little while. Then we’re getting new volunteers, and I get new site mates! And then school starts again, thank God, and maybe we can get these GD chickens up and running.
Oh, and I decided that I will fast this Ramadan (It started Saturday the 22), at least while I‘m in my own community. My reasoning is that in the evenings, people eat lots of really really good food. While my host family would never exclude me from these dishes, if I were not fasting, I would feel that I didn’t quite deserve it. And would be nice to have that feeling of solidarity with those around me. And I can do it. So don’t tell me that I can’t. It pisses me off.
*Addendum: After my first day of fasting, my conclusions are that the thirst is WAY worse than the hunger, though at no time did I stop sweating or feel cold, so I think I was ok. The hours from 2-4 pm are worst, probably because that is Gambian lunch time, and when I am accustomed to eating. And the breaking the fast food is AMAZING. Totally worth it.

Hey ya’ll. It’s been awhile. The last couple of weeks have been sort of up and down. Work has been work, etc. My cat died a really nasty poisoned-thrashing-around-on-the-floor death. In a sort of mixed blessing, I’m reasonably sure that the group who raises chickens, with whom I have been working, will be awarded the grant that we requested from the United Nations Development Project.

Actually. To be honest I don’t feel like updating right now, but I thought I should because it had been a few weeks. I’m alive though, so until next time.