Racial diversity, attentive parents...and health insurance for dogs? Seeing the US through new eyes

I used this analogy when I'd been studying in Paris and went to visit my brother in London: Arriving in an English-speaking place felt like stepping onto a moving walkway at the airport; you've been getting by just fine, but suddenly you are simply gliding, sashaying along with so much less effort. Signs, announcements, and interactions are so relatively smooth - compared to having to constantly translate and expand energy to figure life out, everything now just flows.

Coming back to the US a couple weeks ago gave me an overwhelming sense of the same kind, but much more dramatic. It felt as if I'd been trying to walk up a downward moving escalator, and suddenly changed to the right direction and was whisked away with forward movement. Instantly everything was on my side and trying to help me succeed in making progress, not pushing back at every turn and making everything more difficult. Even in the airport the SIGNS telling me where to go and how to do things, empowering me and letting me be independent and productive, seemed impossibly organized and advanced. I could not believe my eyes when I saw a public water fountain - Free? Potable? WATER just given to us, that we can trust and just dip down and drink? When I walked into that first HUGE airport bathroom with its jets of soap, hot water, hot air and more working toilets than I've used in 16 months, I just gasped.

And when the PA system clearly announced that the next Airtrain into the city would be arriving in 3 minutes, then one minute, then had arrived, and then what the next stop would be, I think a very audible "Oh My GOD, are you KIDDING?!" escaped my lips. After waiting for three hours for the bus that was supposed to take me ( though you are never sure ) to Douala where the airport is (and while no one else seems the least bit phased and everyone is just sitting, doing nothing - no newspapers, no books, no crosswords, no knitting - as we pass the day away, again), I finally gently asked the ticket seller if he had any idea where the bus was or how close they were, and his exact very annoyed response was: "NO. YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN AND STOP ASKING SO MANY QUESTIONS, MISS." One of my next blog posts will be dedicated entirely to transportation : )

Still, it took me a couple days of being back to realize that I could expect water to come out when I turned on a faucet and to remember that cars were going to stop at red lights, that I did not have to dart in front of oncoming traffic to cross the street. Not only were there trash cans (in bathrooms! in hotel rooms! at gas stations! so lovely and helpful ), but differentiated recycling options -- this seemed to mock that there is not even a basic system in the vast majority of Cameroon for removing trash, so all of it is littered, dumped behind houses, and covering the sides of streets where people just drop whatever trash they have on the ground or throw it out vehicle windows - so jarring, but what should they do?

And the beautiful wide sidewalks along the streets of Manhattan meant I could just WALK, and walk FAST to where I was going, with everyone else next to me clipping right along so PURPOSEFULLY to their destination, like they wanted to be going there, or at least felt they had a purpose in their task. So energizing to be around people who move and live like they mean it. I often end up walking behind individuals or groups in Cameroon where it’s as if someone has put a gun to their neck and said "when you get to where you're going, I'll shoot you". And sadly that's often about the vibe they are giving off too.

I stared in awe as city busses in Seattle picked up and buckled in handicapped passengers along the way - to think of how many ways in which this would be impossible in Cameroon was overwhelming. Who here would even have access to medical care that would get them a wheelchair? And what good would it do - the streets are a ragged mess of rubble, rocks, broken pavement if there is any, and people selling and leaving stuff all along the edge of the street - definitely no sidewalk for pedestrians of any kind. And if you had a smooth road to wheel down, how would you do anything else? The only handicapped ramp I've seen, at the hospital in my city, brings you right down to a three foot deep, two foot wide trench - the gutter - with no way to cross it except to jump.

The realization that in many parts of the US people can live independent, functional, successful lives being handicapped - that we are set up to fully accommodate people of so many different abilities and needs, was suddenly staggering. To say nothing of the fact that its socially acceptable!! In Cameroon most people with handicaps -especially mental ones - are stored away in back rooms of their houses by their families, who are so ashamed of them that they don't even want company to the house to know they are there. This is largely because people believe it is sorcery and witchcraft spells that lead to handicaps, so if your family is associated with that, others may stigmatize you or be afraid of you.

There were a handful of other white people on my flight from Douala to Brussels (and I was very taken aback to see them, as I rarely see non-Peace Corps whites). And then to my astonishment and delight, there seemed to be about the same number on my flight from Brussels to NYC, but of course this time there was no majority, just a mish mosh of every kind of person from every kind of place possible, a scenario so unlike any I've been in here that I was swept away with relief and appreciation.

To not be stared at and closely observed, or yelled at and called to because of your being a white woman, or sized up and regarded with a sense of tension/jealousy/amazement/ resentment/interest/intimidation/uncertainty - wow, how simple it was so go outside here and just BE! NYC was the most incredible point to enter the modern world in for the sheer contrast it provided on the levels of infrastructure and insane levels of human accomplishment, the BUZZ that keeps that place zooming with efficiency (people behind counters! and they have change when you buy something? and they've been trained to ask how they can help you?! and the ATM is not broken?!) and the diversity that I would just LOVE any of my Cameroonian friends to be able to witness as its pretty extraordinary coming from a place where if you are not black, you are clearly not from here.

I watched so many mothers and fathers attentively holding the hands of their children as they crossed the street, and hugging them or talking to them or playing with them in little ways like as they picked out food at the grocery store. This level of caring for individual children actually made me sad as I thought about how little individual or affectionate attention I see children receiving in Cameroon. Instead, children are already selling fruit or peanuts or bottles of gasoline along the side of the road by the time they are six, sprinting up to moving vehicles to beat their friends to the sale of some cola nuts, safety a very far thought, and guardians nowhere near. Because they are probably hand-washing the clothes or hand-peeling the seeds for a dinner soup to provide for the other six children - where is the time to give to the thoughtful development of each child? Family management and child discipline are done mostly through rough reprimands, and the system leaves so many cracks for small children to be left unattended, to eat things they should not, to hurt themselves. When I ask people when a child can be left at home alone, I usually hear "three years old"! So, babysitting is not a big student money-maker here like it was for me growing up...

Last night my nurse friend, who had stayed three hours late at the hospital to take care of some badly injured accident victims, even though the government has not paid the nurses in 29 months, came over to visit. She told me about the cases she had had that day, including two toddlers who had died, one because he drank bleach, another because he ingested toxic pesticide chemicals that had been left on the floor when a parent returned from the field. Tragic consequences of a society that does not allow for, or does not value, the type of coddling that help many US youngsters develop healthy bodies and bright minds because of the nurturing of their parents and caretakers.

By the way, my first meal (you know I'd been thinking about it for weeks!) was Thai, a blissful reunion with my cousin, brother, and now sister-in-law near Union Square. I had landed a few hours earlier, and they were all "How are you holding up?! That trip was so long!" In fact, I could not have felt any more gleeful or well-rested! "That whole trip was like a cruise! Hot water, three kinds of paper products and lotion in the working bathroom! MY OWN WHOLE SEAT! A personal TV with endless movie options? No yelling about the price, no babies on my lap, no window crank jabbing into my side? Drinks other than beer or fruit soda! And wow, airplane food has definitely gone gourmet. That.Was.So luxurious."

Marrakech, Morocco with Mimi - Marvelous!

Majorelle Gardens - the former private gardens of designer Yves Saint Laurent

Leaving sub-Saharan Africa for the first time in over 15 months was at first overwhelming and disorienting, and then magical and reassuring. My sister and I decided to have our African adventure in a place that would be a little cushier and more accustomed to hosting foreigners than Cameroon, where it would be a vacation for both of us, but still off our beaten path. Marrakech was the perfect solution - I'd always wanted to go to Morocco (in fact the first returned Peace Corps volunteer I ever met as a girl served in Morocco, and I remember being so intrigued), and wanted to experience more of the Arab influence on architecture, food and culture I had loved when I visited the Alhambra in Granada, Spain. And since despite being able to use Facebook  and a cell phone, I feel like I live on a different planet here, or at least in a different century, knowing we would still be on this continent I have gotten used to was actually a relief.

But upon arriving at the massive Casablanca airport (or maybe just massive to me?) I was totally blown away...at how clean and shiny everything was, at seeing trash cans and escalators and public bathrooms and helpful signs. And at all the fair skin. I am used to being the only white person wherever I am and standing out unmistablably, and even when I am with other volunteers we are always the odd men out. But here were thousands of Europeans milling around me, and along with the lighter local complexion, suddenly I was one in a million faces that did not stand out from the next. While unfamiliar, this racial diversity that freed me from getting stared at by everyone was extremely welcome.

Coming from the tropics, I knew Morocco in December would be colder, but it's hard to properly imagine the cold when you are so hot - I packed a few scarves and a little fleece and thought I would be golden, plus it was all I had. Now everyone was in stylish winter coats, boots, scarves...women had highlighted hair, nice handbags and rolling luggage. With my battered backpack, Birkenstocks and African dress over leggings, I felt so out of place and turned around that for a few minutes my head was spinning. Hadn't these people also just travelled?? Why did everyone look so damn good? And why did I look like...

"...A Peace Corps Volunteer. I look like a Peace Corps volunteer. Ok, calm down, you are fine. Yes, these people look like they belong on a runway, meanwhile your feet have permanent dirt lines, your exposed ankles are covered in bug bite scars, and the most stylish thing you are wearing is an REI stretch headband. But most of them surely could not handle what you face in Cameroon everday, so just chill and be proud of yourself and where you are coming from."

If I was already feeling like I'd come through a Harry Potter-like portal into a strange world where things functioned inexplicably smoothly and there was a bizarre lack of shouting, the next hour made me question if Cameroon actually existed. Since nothing but security was open at the Cameroon airport at 4AM when I went through, I was not able to exchange any money before flying out. And since my debit/ATM card had been hacked into two days before (and my phone had been completely destroyed by someone trying to fix a broken button on it) I arrived in country with nothing but a pile of Central African francs and a naiive expectation that that would get me somewhere.

The airport exchange desk turned these away, and at first I thought the guy was teasing me when he said NO ONE in the airport would accept or change that currency. Come ON, we are still in Africa after all, and its not even just Cameroon that uses CFA....but he was right. 25 exchange booths and at least 8 bank branches did not even legitimize that the money I had was real - they waved me away as a nuissance, like a small child getting in the way, trying to exchange monopoly money. When I asked them for help finding a solution, they just gave me smiles of pity like I was pretty darn dumb to think anyone would want anything to do with my money.

Having exhausted all my options, and after other central Africans (several Senegalese) said they did not recognize the francs I had (what was going ON?), I started to wonder...had my whole time in Cameroon been a dream? Was I dreaming right now? I did not know anyone in Casablanca, my sister was flying into Marrakech three hours away, I had to buy a train ticket in order to get to her, I had no credit card, no travellers checks, no local phone...hmm. And once I arrived I was supposed to pay the balance on the hotel and finance a week of vacation...but I wasn't even thinking about that yet.

I asked several guards what they would recommend, but they said the only solution was illegal and they could not discuss it while on duty, so I'd better talk to the taxi men. I did just that (living in Africa has made me a lot bolder), and after an hour of strange huddled conferences in corners and men whispering and motioning and telling me to "show them the money", they had figured out who should take me into town, where we needed to go, and how much of the payoff they each would get from the abysmal deal I was about to have to make.

With a driver who spoke no French, me not knowing the city in the least, and a sister who by now was surely wondering why I was not at the B&B as planned, I was just a little nervous as we drove into Casablanca. An hour through customs and I was already participating in the black market? In order to spare my mother a panic attack, I'll skip to the part where I got some money, had a train ticket, and was on the way to Marrakech having paid the driver and thanked God for my safety. I swear I have a guardian angel - I call her Olivia after my grandfather Oliver who died before I was born - and she was definitely working overtime to get me out of that pickle in one piece.

36 hours later I had my developped world  feet (whenever I referred to Morocco as developped my sister's look reminded me were were coming from different worlds!) and was ready to fully indulge and enjoy. We started off the new year right with body scrubs/masks and massages at this traditional Hammam spa....so luscious and rejuvenating! Big white bath robes, mint tea between each element, and a trio of jovial older French gentleman enjoying it all alonside us topped off the experience perfectly. After months of being squished and jabbed and poked in tight cars, riding on bumpy motorcycles and sleeping on a lousy piece of foam, that massage and all the pampering had me feeling I'd died and gone to Heaven.

Speaking of Heaven...oh, the dried fruit and nuts!! These are things I miss in Cameroon where you can only get peanuts easily and never see apricots or the like..so we stocked up on dates and pistachios etc and had daily picnics along with bread and cheese and hard boiled egs and apples and oranges. Being able to enjoy things like parks, public squares, gardens, fountains, even a single bench...any space that is meant for enjoyment and relaxation and taking in life, was such a treat - that's another aspect of the developped world that I miss dearly.  

The "riad" (traditional Moroccan B&B) we stayed at had a charming communal living and dining room (with this real fireplace I never wanted to leave) where we met lots of interesting visitors - a gay couple from Paris where one man used the common space to practice his classical singing, and the other pretended not to speak English the first day, seeing if he wanted anything to do with us...he did; an American diplomat to Sweden and his bubbly wife; a man from Guatamala working in Africa for the UN, and his German wife. I was touched to get asked lots of questions about my work in Cameroon. One woman asked "Did you cry the first week?" I instinctively and sincerely responded, "I cry every week."

The main square Djemaa El-Fna that was a five minute walk from our riad, and where we liked to watch things come alive from above. All those smog particles hanging above the city made for beautiful sunsets!


I had a serious "OMG, I've become Cameroonian" moment when I boarded the train from Casablanca to Marrakech, which I was in shock to see come and leave exactly on time...what WAS this place?! It was Friday evening and the train was full of people who worked in Casablanca going home for the weekend or for the new years celebration. No one was finding a seat, so I kept moving down the track to further cars...finally as I climbed into one I was relieved to look over the other passengers and see how few people were in the car - places for all of us, surely. But still no one took their seats, and we were all instead crammed, standing, into the loading space at the end of the car.
Wait a minute, what on earth was going ON? All I could see were long, comfy, cushioned bench seats, where four people could have easily fit on each side of the isle. Instead, only two were seated, lounging out each with more leg room than 10 people share in a Cameroonian taxi. Finally it dawned on me, there were only two actual spots, and so the first two got to enjoy their space while the rest of us crammed in the corner.
My first thought: "We would NEVER go for this in Cameroon!!!" My second thought: "I just 'we'd me in with Cameroonians!" That was my first true culture shock - seeing that instead of all cramming in on the seats, luggage and children on our laps, people respected that it was one person to a (huge) seat. I wondered what Africans leaving their country for the first time think about scenarios like these in which people go about things so insanely differently...if it was strange for me, I can't even imagine!

Mint tea, postcards, great view, and Mimi (debuting her new scarf!)...yes, life is good.

As we visited palaces and museums and just walked around the old city, beautiful, intricate doors were one of our favorite aspects.

Thank goodness it was sunny and warm during the day.

Our fantastic chauffeur for two days - Abdul! A returned Peace Corps volunteer friend, Kristy, told us we had to use him, and I'm so glad we did. He and his assistant showed us the authentic places to buy scarves and pottery, told us all about Morocco history and current events, connected by a long line of kings named Mohammed, and humored all our requests for photos together. There is nothing like having a local by your side in a new city. Behind us, the beautiful Koutoubia Mosque.

Day trip out of the city into the surrounding villages and mountains. I had to laugh a bit when this was deemed as an authentic way to see "the real Morocco" and sit side by side with the local people in their true habitat. The whole thing, while charming and beautiful, was extremely touristy - when tour busses are carting outsiders by the hundreds into the village to snap photos and "get a taste of the village life", where the whole town has figured out how to cater to  and make money off this crowd, it doesn't quite feel authentic. The kicker for me was that the bathroom of the restaurant we ate at up in these hills...had a working automatic hand dryer!!! Maybe living and working in a part of Africa that hardly sees foreigners let alone tourists, where the village I visit are WAY out in the bush and have no running water let alone restaurants, has made me a "authentic Africa" snob. But it did make me appreciate that as a Peace Corps volunteer I get the chance to experience places that have not shaped themselves around white visitors. Even if that means its not as smooth a ride, and you get shouted at "WHITEMAN!!" and instead of a hand dryer in the bathroom you get a latrine with no door and no toilet paper, I realize it's a unique experience I should not take for granted.

They were dying the fabric in huge pots right behind us. It was a lot of fun putting my newly aquired bargaining skills to use in the markets - I know how to play the game now. Mimi seemed in half-horrified, half-admiring awe of the "bargaining beast" I've become...I got a beautiful stone necklace down to less than 30% of the quoted price in about 90 seconds. Earlier that day I had told Mimi she was being ripped off buying avacados, and she said she didn't mind. Her first words after we walked away with the necklace, when I had budged 50 MAD, and the salesman 800, were "Tessie, you can buy ALL the avacados from now on!"

Day trip to Essouria on the coast

Having grown up by the water in Maine, we are always happy campers to see the ocean, especially from a new country or continent!

Getting grilled fish from a stand is one of my favorite local things in Cameroon, so I was thrilled they had it here too - though much fancier with nice plates and table cloths and bread. Once again, Mimi validated that I have toughened up a lot - when you walk through all these stalls the men really harrass you to come eat at theirs, and surround you and try and push you to a table. This treatment is old hat to me now, and I can hold my own like the best of 'em. In order to get through it though, I feel like I have to be pretty aggressive - but Mimi said it came off to her that I was legitimizing these vendors by talking and joking with them and giving them a hard time, that treating them back like they were treating me was actually respectful, whereas many others simply ignored and ran away from them. That was a completely new way of looking at the scenario that I would never have come to but found eye-opening.

Saying goodbye to Mimi at the bus station before heading back to Casablanca. My carry on is a Cameroonian market bag - many Cameroonians on my flight used these as their actual luggage, wrapped in layers of tape.
After a year+ in the developing world, I feel like I look the part - rather run down mentally and physically. But I'm renewed and a happy camper after a week of blue skies and crisp dry air (unlike the humid, cloudy heaviness of the air in Cameroon), precious alone time with my beloved sister, and the reminder that there are (many) places in the world where things do work well...and the places where they don't, like Cameroon, are getting there slowly.


 When we were planning logistics for our arrival to the country over email, I shared with Mimi that the riad was happy to send a car to pick us up, me at the train station and her at the airport. I laughed out loud at the fact that I jumped at the offer (wow, private car, just for ME? yes PLEASE!) while she declined saying she was ready to dive in to the challenge with both feet and wanted to figure out public transport. One of us was ready for a break from Africa, the other ready for the rough edges of Africa. Luckily, Marrakech let us meet in the middle and both get what we needed.

Even better than a white Christmas


Nothing like a little African Christmas adventure to keep you from feeling nostalgic for Marstaller family sing-a-longs around the piano and Toblerone bars in your stocking. Especially when you are visiting the coldest region of the country where we actually did need to huddle around the fire in wool socks at night to stay warm! I was in the NW for the weekend visiting my friend and fellow New Englander, Laura (red bandana), and we hooked up with two other Peace Corps volunteers, five European volunteers and one awesome Cameroonian friend for a Christmas to remember in the hills. What a group!  You know you are lucky when even spending Christmas abroad there is nowhere you would rather be. 

We got a couple neighbor kids who had never held cameras to take these shots of us before we took off on our hike. The "1-2-3 go" was lost in translation, but they captured our enthusiasm. We've got tents and sleeping bags and loads of blankets, hammocks, a stove, pots, food and drinks and utensils, a Christmas tree, a camera tripod, firewood, hats and scarves, even marshmallows and real Cameroonian cocoa...everything but a chimney for Santa to come down.  

"Last one to the top digs the latrine!"
We look better than we feel! I thought the boys were joking when they pointed to the peak we were heading to the top of, then thought I was going to die when the trail basically blazed straight up! The elevation in this region is already much higher, and my bag quickly felt like I could have built us a chimney myself. We came up with games to keep us distracted, and one of the volunteers even got his iPod and speakers going and tied it to his pack to keep us motivated and prevent us from jumping ship on the whole thing. Much more slowly and steadily than most of the others, we made it!

Hardcore Laura on the other hand blazed up the trail without so much as a heavy breath, casually on the phone to her mother much of the way, and spent the last half hour cheering me on from the top! She's from Vermont and does intense winter camping trips, one of her many admirable adventurous hobbies. I stayed at her house before we left, and we had real maple syrup on our cinnomon oatmeal pancakes - definitely got me in the spirit : )

The trail that had brought us up is used by farmers, who charge up it just to reach and tend to their crops - I can't even imagine. So no actual camping, we just made our own site on an abandoned plot. We spent the last hour of daylight scouring for firewood, hanging up hammocks and the tent, making a firepit and setting out dinner. It got chilly up there really quickly and the layers and blankets were piled on.

Ahh, that'll do. The Cameroonian man who trecked up with us hung a hammock too, by nailing a sheet into two trees, at least 15 feet up...and slept there soundly all night!

We didn't let anything keep us from enjoying what's important: Christmas spirit...

...complete with music...

and good food!

Staying cozy by the fire, but as soon as you turned your face away, the air was nippy - climates in Cameroon are surprising! One of our 25 tries to spell the town name, Belo - that E was not easy to capture!! We had a talented and patient amateur photographer amongst us, several of these pictures are his work.

Christmas morning - hiked a nearbye hill to watch the sunrise after prying ourselves out of the pigpile of limbs and blankets we had formed in the one, one-person tent to keep warm!

With some creastivity and an able photographer, we turned this setting...

...into shots like this! No phtoshop, just settings and a great angle (and great leap!)

"I can see into the future, and 2012 is gonna be a big one!"  

"Last one to the top digs the latrine!"

Merry Christmas!

 

World AIDS Day & new volunteer training

This year for World AIDS Day (Dec 1) I was in the village of Bokito helping train the new batch of health volunteers who are about to swear in and go to their posts. Before and day-of we were out in full force getting the community involved and aware - it was a blast and erased all disappointment I'd had about having to miss this day at my own post. A stellar example for the newbies of what successful community action can look like - I hope this inspires them as they head into their own work.

The heroine of the week was Frieda, this dynamic force of a young woman who led her high school health club in their awesome efforts to put on a World AIDS Day event with our help. She impressed us all, and the whole team of students was dedicated and on top of things which made working with them on this project so fun and rewarding. Doesn't this lady look like she means busness and is going places??

We all got to watch the line-up of skits, songs, poems, dances, quiz competitions, speeches and prize-awarding that took place outside school the afternoon of World AIDS Day. The group even made t-shirts - I gave mine away, but I've still got the spirit. It was one of the best organized youth initiatives I have ever seen, anywhere!

We started out out the day walking around and talking to villagers about the basics of HIV/AIDS and encouraging them to get tested. A couple of the trainees also made these awesome posters that we hung them in public places. This one encouraging pregnant women to get HIV-tested was hung outside the hair salon.

Amanda, all smiles as she jokes with teenage male passers-by who are already noticing the poster, did the artwork, one of her many extraordinary talents that will make her an incredible volunteer. Here, a couple happy and protected inside of a condom : )  I wish I could be a fly on this wall to see what reactions these posters get.

On the right is Kim, one of the (best) volunteers (ever) who helped with my training last year, and has now finished her service but is staying another year to work for a social marketing organization that tries to promote behaviors like the use of condoms, water filtration methods, and mosquito bednets. They came and presented what they do in communities - here the trainees are getting a demo of a female condom, from a Cameroonian man - pretty progressive!

What's great about Peace Corps training is that it gets you out into the community to practice what you learn. Now, the trainees are showing school kids how to use female condoms - this is a topic of great curiosity over here, though its a tough sell since it looks funny and seems like it will be more work to use since its different.

It's always hard to know what people already know, as when I ask nearly everyone tells me they don't know anything about AIDS, even though I know they hear things and have ideas about it already. But it feels good to get some correct information out there about how the virus is spread, that it can be passed to babies but can also be treated, and that sorcerers can neither cure it nor send it maliciously to people they have grudges against. I don't think they take my word for it right off - but in combination with other things they learn over time, I hope beliefs and practices will shift. HIV is quite prevelent and misunderstood in these communities, so its a huge area of need for health educators to address.

We got the biggest classroom packed with students for an after-school viewing of HIV/AIDS video clips from a series called "Africa Scenarios", where the script ideas are proposed by African youth. Getting hooked up took some work, but with a lot of adaptors and extension cords we were in business! Getting all the info and messages from their African peers was really effective, and the kids totally responded to all the scenarios, making it clear that all the same stuff happens here. The most heated one was about teachers who trade grades for sex - our students were holllllering with familiarity of this phenomenon and its complicated implications. And the principal was there too - I was nervous, but luckily there was no fall-out, at least not then and there.  

We asked the students what messages they found in all the film clips, and though it took some coaxing to get to the critical points, I was really proud of how they expressed themselves.

What an awesome tree for a school to have in the middle of its campus! Watching skits the kids wrote with trainees' help about the consequences of unprotected sex and random relationships - youth here are great actors as they never have stage fright and already have a major flair for drama, so the skits were wildly entertaining.

They shared their traditional dancing...

And we shared ours!

I was totally clueless before arriving to how into fashion both women and men are over here. Just because there is not a lot of money doesn't mean they won't spend what little they have on looking good. It's true the goods are cheap, but the demand for style has completely influenced the market, so cute and trendy Chinese imports are everywhere. And for schoolgirls, if you have to wear a drab blue uniform everyday, shoes are what's left to make your style statement.

Another poster, this one made by a brilliantly talented student -- check out that evil army of HIV virus germs trying to plot their attack against the condom! The title is "AIDS: You will NOT get passed me". They hear so many bogus myths and stories about HIV that getting good info out to them warms my heart, especially when it is coming from their own peers and is more likely to be taken seriously.

Anytime, anywhere, shoes, socks, or barefeet, no matter how completely deflated the ball

Trying, unsuccessfully, to bind some Thanksgiving dinner chickens for the ride back to village...they will ride with at least ten more volunteers piled onto these seats, then await their fate!

Here's one of the village tailors working on a dress for me. Aren't their fabrics awesome? I hear one of the biggest immediate shocks for volunteers coming back to the states from Africa is arriving at the airport and seeing everyone dressed in black and grey when they are used to loud vibrant dresses.  

One of my favorite things we did while I was there was make soy milk and tofu with community women - promoting soy is a popular volunteer project, so learning and sharing how to make fresh tofu is a great skill to take to post. It's cheap, widely available, and bursting with nutrition their starchy, oily traditional diet lacks.  

I got giddy when I ordered a bean sandwich and the vendor went and washed her hands first-- with soap! It's fairly simple to set up wash and rinse buckets and have soap nearby, but it still takes a little effort and focus, so it often gets neglected, especially when water is limited. This scene right here is a rare gem, exactly what we try and promote.

Back at the training site, volunteers find lots of ways to unwind - cutting each other's hair, massages, setting up a hammock, slack lines, card games, and my favorite from the past two weeks, group yoga classes.