tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84677757957916731472024-03-05T06:46:35.386+00:00Travels with Nyarid.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-33253495036717358132009-05-01T08:01:00.007+00:002009-05-09T19:12:36.654+00:00Photos: Soka le n di<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpzvut2rLRyHcRubBP_ePP7A5rRel0Bt68bPfNcNafYkTfq6tPxaYXqReX6ZVqxcl6YQltKa6HO7XgLP2ksG4Kqs_f5M1mnNczzIQ3ZFsAXjQRqQYs3hZaFpwPT6z6afJayy-U6MiQKC2/s1600-h/lansineandiintree.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 254px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkpzvut2rLRyHcRubBP_ePP7A5rRel0Bt68bPfNcNafYkTfq6tPxaYXqReX6ZVqxcl6YQltKa6HO7XgLP2ksG4Kqs_f5M1mnNczzIQ3ZFsAXjQRqQYs3hZaFpwPT6z6afJayy-U6MiQKC2/s320/lansineandiintree.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333901849262631570" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">As my friends in Kankan like to point out, "Soka li di," I'm a villager. Lansine and I are hanging, literally, in some vines up in a tree. As always, he strikes a karate pose. And it's not just him, you see the videos: all the kids here strike karate poses whenever I pull out a camera. Seeing as how it's all they see on TV I can't really blame them, but it is a bit odd.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyO6QCiQVIDic_pEjKjxzbsW30edOCojq-Qzn9nXdEVvmofwOG9s6jf_UUwyq7OyH1x20hE0Qzo5afqWBQ9iSQ7TeK-zJI2G2CGO6AbB1C39HcrdEj_vZdInikkKTZ7i2gdBsTdex9U4Q/s1600-h/sewn+up.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyO6QCiQVIDic_pEjKjxzbsW30edOCojq-Qzn9nXdEVvmofwOG9s6jf_UUwyq7OyH1x20hE0Qzo5afqWBQ9iSQ7TeK-zJI2G2CGO6AbB1C39HcrdEj_vZdInikkKTZ7i2gdBsTdex9U4Q/s320/sewn+up.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333901492793472994" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">My stitches. I was worried they were going to heal with a couple holes leading into my hand muscles, but my good old body kept spitting out new bursts of skin until all the holes filled in. This is about as bad a job as you could ever want done, though. Still, it's better than the clothes my village tailor turns out for me.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSL-bQxIv74N1g2QHiCdVMEKa-SNkNIbOBJPD_lhcKIZ5FrVGIjvumU36DXbFC3W8mpfXoCKg8ZeE6E8ftt_ZG2qWavU0az730BJtNjFGK5Gy4SgXMxE_2_rJYmBYP4ZSmmr00RQPzgm8D/s1600-h/tohbattle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSL-bQxIv74N1g2QHiCdVMEKa-SNkNIbOBJPD_lhcKIZ5FrVGIjvumU36DXbFC3W8mpfXoCKg8ZeE6E8ftt_ZG2qWavU0az730BJtNjFGK5Gy4SgXMxE_2_rJYmBYP4ZSmmr00RQPzgm8D/s320/tohbattle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333901213757573138" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">I've made toh before - though I've never done all the steps at the same time. Nantine (left) was so proud she wanted me to take a photo, but Bourdelaye and Wounmare decided they had to pretend to eat the toh. I just took the picture instead of waiting for the battle to stop.<br /><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmb8JXVB24lc1PaDVT-cqqB40-gWlX-OC0aU38NMluRJkkNYnd5QAp171vWJC4-X6TaoZVqNfpFUISmiMY86JHKOjrHzRZE1XfRbo1uCgycl3M3CvqwU6u5DE19gFXybdPu5b7oHIH5VA/s1600-h/madionroof.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 257px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVmb8JXVB24lc1PaDVT-cqqB40-gWlX-OC0aU38NMluRJkkNYnd5QAp171vWJC4-X6TaoZVqNfpFUISmiMY86JHKOjrHzRZE1XfRbo1uCgycl3M3CvqwU6u5DE19gFXybdPu5b7oHIH5VA/s320/madionroof.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330766956080776146" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">The first few mango rains showed that yes, my roof still leaked; it didn't magically stop leaking since last rainy season. Well, Madi and I climbed up on the roof to fix it and now my bed is back in its old spot. No leaks! Also, my roof is now capped with an old bike tire; no more twisted vines for me; I'm moving up in the technology world.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbsrL6qsve2N9mWCL3QnyJ7ImaaxG3C3Xmsfp67uwktMud4cOOwJ6wRLUW3iwBKT1gLaY5H2gOBUAr-RnBpwNAWHgr1yBWC1zQ3fc-e_jE5MDU5FzaYzxRiO2s8GTuQrw4W_SfWD70Z2Fs/s1600-h/getrichordietrying.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbsrL6qsve2N9mWCL3QnyJ7ImaaxG3C3Xmsfp67uwktMud4cOOwJ6wRLUW3iwBKT1gLaY5H2gOBUAr-RnBpwNAWHgr1yBWC1zQ3fc-e_jE5MDU5FzaYzxRiO2s8GTuQrw4W_SfWD70Z2Fs/s320/getrichordietrying.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330765929835538610" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">As a friend pointed out to me, it's a sad world we live in when 50 Cent is quotable. I told Fanta what her shirt said and she thought it was hilarious. It sort of holds true here, too. Everyone is trying to get rich and eventually we all die.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAt9-hj547ppzDMvzsaBBbQPc3Cc6FyJ3gm6LC0-1lnJwR9slZQny8J0cKWy7bfLIE2saPDWGL1cuvVKV9kOIfBT-csAUzQdJ0t2tqUZ9XMz6xLsVQXLtGwmpfEFzabt970I6dVa0I35Yj/s1600-h/asiwantit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAt9-hj547ppzDMvzsaBBbQPc3Cc6FyJ3gm6LC0-1lnJwR9slZQny8J0cKWy7bfLIE2saPDWGL1cuvVKV9kOIfBT-csAUzQdJ0t2tqUZ9XMz6xLsVQXLtGwmpfEFzabt970I6dVa0I35Yj/s320/asiwantit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330765315598950994" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">Lansine, Madi, and I went out to get raffia. I was making a bee hive and they were selling it to the big city folks. This is right after Lansine jumped out of the vines (see above photo).</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKzeu3ruE4-tPgoffIH883A8aWkJhSAMkDzQlYePY3euyaITPgL99smikaSZ5q80CVeBNv22FU46ADiapNvBpRc1JneuZPa0CE9nNP3d0mFPacqVogAi6VdLVFloeqmv_pNiPS_EEkuGK/s1600-h/astheywantit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKzeu3ruE4-tPgoffIH883A8aWkJhSAMkDzQlYePY3euyaITPgL99smikaSZ5q80CVeBNv22FU46ADiapNvBpRc1JneuZPa0CE9nNP3d0mFPacqVogAi6VdLVFloeqmv_pNiPS_EEkuGK/s320/astheywantit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330764718780494450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">And after about five seconds, they start giving me karate poses. Naturally.</span>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-25449385015054001802009-05-01T07:49:00.003+00:002009-05-01T08:00:32.280+00:00Lemunun Kouyate<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxeTAKXneYEZDifipyE5zpebV6krium42oqh_v1t41VF7iTPCikYwNreVERoY-cukh102Y_9026vjogif0Kow' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">When Nyari went back to America with my family, I figured life would be much better because I was finally free of a cat on a leash and he would stop getting death threats for stealing chickens, fish, meat, and oil from my neighbors. Well, no. Instead I got a family of mice who started stealing my food and tree seeds. They dug holes all around the base of my hut (and my family since killed two snakes trying to get into one of those holes at night - two different nights) and would make a ruckus every night and keep me awake.</span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">So the solution was to get another cat. My friend Toure got her from his neighbors. Her mom had killed some chickens and was killed in turn. Her siblings are also all dead and she was the last one around: covered in fleas, filthy, and all bones pushing through her emaciated skin when he brought her to me. I washed her in warm water and started forcing as much food on her as she would eat. In return, it's almost as if she's imprinted on me.</span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">She is colored very similarly to Nyari, but she's got more orange, so her name is orange (as in the the fruit) and her last name is that of the griots because she was a constant crier at first and the best way to deal with it was to pretend she was singing.</span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">She is always looking for me to jump on my lap and fall asleep. She wants to rub on my ankles and is far more affectionate than Nyari.</span><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">However, she's nowhere near as effective a killer as he. She's a bit faster with spiders, but a lot slower with roaches. And the mice... One night I woke up to the sound of a chase. I was sleeping in my tent because it had started to rain while I was sleeping outside, so I quickly dragged it in and just kept sleeping in it. A mouse was running back and forth across the top of the tent and Lemunun was running back and forth along the side. This went on for over a minute with no progress, so I launched the mouse across the hut with a slap from below. Lemunun took off after it, but it got away. Nonetheless, they have moved out of my hut; so even if she didn't kill them, they're gone.</span>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-47286194582494901812009-05-01T07:37:00.003+00:002009-05-01T07:48:15.071+00:00The family visit<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwwqhj4RB4dZxazdoLbwYwYiGIDpZ72tGij2Ey1S6JA1irEe_5vPUVJYIPDn53Wbgyb1JCJSG-Pul6QYiyMKoDhAwQ8zq-bgSL4dOLIC_g5CjXLTIHIdKCPfXXiCUa8p68j6oKnT9JGdmT/s1600-h/family+in+bush+fire+haze.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwwqhj4RB4dZxazdoLbwYwYiGIDpZ72tGij2Ey1S6JA1irEe_5vPUVJYIPDn53Wbgyb1JCJSG-Pul6QYiyMKoDhAwQ8zq-bgSL4dOLIC_g5CjXLTIHIdKCPfXXiCUa8p68j6oKnT9JGdmT/s320/family+in+bush+fire+haze.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330757786550976354" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">I didn't take too many photos while the family was visiting. Mainly because they were taking a lot of photos. This is one of two pictures, really. I took them up the mountain and we could hardly see anything because of the smoke from all the bush fires. That said, we did see a couple fires go raging over some hills, which was sort of cool.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJYqs3cRTObFgysfO-3Fg8N7tQ-s9hzjPV8C-9xqaULMB88iJ5AXIzCRn2xEGhhEQkvQKpk5S-NYt5trmQ8HVlMLrPeJAQMXK4TEa0QnNjtXxelh-aZbpCZkzb5yqUV2MmtrHq3E2aSXX/s1600-h/kaya+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJYqs3cRTObFgysfO-3Fg8N7tQ-s9hzjPV8C-9xqaULMB88iJ5AXIzCRn2xEGhhEQkvQKpk5S-NYt5trmQ8HVlMLrPeJAQMXK4TEa0QnNjtXxelh-aZbpCZkzb5yqUV2MmtrHq3E2aSXX/s320/kaya+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330757297641257266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">The real surprise was the morning I saw Amy wearing this shirt. I actually saw the back first, which is a Bagga fertility godess, Nimba. The funny thing is I saw this, the front, when I asked where she'd gotten the shirt: it says "penis" in Maninka.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzNHmiad5SfGmEk9Y6gSxlozT-6Zr6kQyea_WfsmIEFfyyJmLRMVTA9pEJN4FSIzPebc-kp_kQ5FCFZsZOxQFlqNyJ_3myiB8-3Jb-zcasrL-EfIi-OtycMUXwrhz6UdCnU7Wpa6-cF4E/s1600-h/kaya+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzNHmiad5SfGmEk9Y6gSxlozT-6Zr6kQyea_WfsmIEFfyyJmLRMVTA9pEJN4FSIzPebc-kp_kQ5FCFZsZOxQFlqNyJ_3myiB8-3Jb-zcasrL-EfIi-OtycMUXwrhz6UdCnU7Wpa6-cF4E/s320/kaya+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330756992461725474" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">Apparently the shirt is from a restaurant in Pittsburgh by someone with a rich sense of humor. The fact that she would bring it to the country where I would know what the name means and recognize the godess, though... It was pretty cool.</span>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-22999640397234544762009-04-30T12:16:00.021+00:002009-07-20T18:15:09.377+00:00Mali Part I<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwT2yhBsM4P7Dxs2jnFCFpiuQDDiqS_sLbkxY37_NMejHefqTsU0EtmZhm6PPgboElWFaAdLLQVX2mKP4HOlY0eBXpPUTdKag9YOAbbLq2hWn_yOkGdWxbe0lU7gZiduiddZlDKDRizNQ/s1600-h/17+ciara+in+astrids+glasses.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330464339250117890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 204px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwT2yhBsM4P7Dxs2jnFCFpiuQDDiqS_sLbkxY37_NMejHefqTsU0EtmZhm6PPgboElWFaAdLLQVX2mKP4HOlY0eBXpPUTdKag9YOAbbLq2hWn_yOkGdWxbe0lU7gZiduiddZlDKDRizNQ/s320/17+ciara+in+astrids+glasses.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">The main purpose of our trip was to go hiking in Dogon, so we headed there after Segou and got going right away in spite of worries about how things would fare in Guinea with the president's death and the speculation about where the power would fall.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2V1MlzS3IxL-_WniPfoWy9wcdpIKl3ojcbltSt8OMmrYmS169iQU52z6c7jWJ2hxqBRhJY1h4Zeui2uVlK6jTZID7Q6vLW2zjbm25pRW1i9d8OK8wKrAspjHsLoximdC-nP3G6JDEur6q/s1600-h/16+amongst+the+baobobs.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330464078192480402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 284px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2V1MlzS3IxL-_WniPfoWy9wcdpIKl3ojcbltSt8OMmrYmS169iQU52z6c7jWJ2hxqBRhJY1h4Zeui2uVlK6jTZID7Q6vLW2zjbm25pRW1i9d8OK8wKrAspjHsLoximdC-nP3G6JDEur6q/s320/16+amongst+the+baobobs.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">The first village we stayed in was swimming in baobobs. Then I realized everywhere in Mali is swimming in baobobs - there aren't really that many trees that grow there. We travelled light and yet I still feel I was travelling heavy. Next time I'm only bringing one pair of pants.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59DfSasm7SR_PBUj3Scujw8w34V0dlDn222i5hvkpDBd5nkVJ2fyWIJer-2m22_DXOrOR-xMhuMCs5vfcIgEnCU94Ja0VUrcOQie3Gywla1sxOGWJUPZl1mn0H1Dr0eP1yOj5b5Qe-8Fh/s1600-h/15+ibra+among+huts.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330463659955247106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59DfSasm7SR_PBUj3Scujw8w34V0dlDn222i5hvkpDBd5nkVJ2fyWIJer-2m22_DXOrOR-xMhuMCs5vfcIgEnCU94Ja0VUrcOQie3Gywla1sxOGWJUPZl1mn0H1Dr0eP1yOj5b5Qe-8Fh/s320/15+ibra+among+huts.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">Our guide Ibrahima was very entertaining - mainly because he was in a rush to get to his village for Xmas and we weren't the best hikers in the world. He ended up paying a couple other people to carry a bunch of our bags just to make sure we could keep a decent pace up. We even got to ditch the path a few times and light out through the bush to cut time from our trip and make it to the next town by dark.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSx97nARdguUhkC0FeksXvRLZ0VFlusyMcBwGBpogj82qo2aTYnSMQ95zx6vdmF6sUUJL-JB2q43cV-3G42es4_tklwKWGA2Js9cBfHWC4PjU9d08p25URt7HHdOjSHAn7Otg_nZiFFSbF/s1600-h/14+girls+in+meeting+place.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330463063290514146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 174px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSx97nARdguUhkC0FeksXvRLZ0VFlusyMcBwGBpogj82qo2aTYnSMQ95zx6vdmF6sUUJL-JB2q43cV-3G42es4_tklwKWGA2Js9cBfHWC4PjU9d08p25URt7HHdOjSHAn7Otg_nZiFFSbF/s320/14+girls+in+meeting+place.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">A traditional meeting place.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv48zEjmhRGhLWC74VkYyDUqH7YNuNfCQjzSxLL7_XvrxGFKoewWZXxcz1vOeHDsf033ijgnYmlt1hGwOiowI1A1gT7GC0bH7NckX_kpAkBMPTqOFqf93iHxW3b9Z29zZby1olcRcb74KL/s1600-h/13+astrid+in+sunset.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330462721709036002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv48zEjmhRGhLWC74VkYyDUqH7YNuNfCQjzSxLL7_XvrxGFKoewWZXxcz1vOeHDsf033ijgnYmlt1hGwOiowI1A1gT7GC0bH7NckX_kpAkBMPTqOFqf93iHxW3b9Z29zZby1olcRcb74KL/s320/13+astrid+in+sunset.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">Astrid looks back at Adam and Ciara, who were slowing her down. </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcgHkbop6h7DuR_AEPwLQ3EdQdh2gsCU-vvPq7Nw0nKC4Lcftq-On5nwRlNXZMNwRkzs8Ic79pdusFCdFrgB8RR3t-kik1O31yjIubxUs7ENeZOLFYmXxbx1-lVIyplCXjDc_jxIh2Mut/s1600-h/12+wake+up+day+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330462277628872642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 186px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcgHkbop6h7DuR_AEPwLQ3EdQdh2gsCU-vvPq7Nw0nKC4Lcftq-On5nwRlNXZMNwRkzs8Ic79pdusFCdFrgB8RR3t-kik1O31yjIubxUs7ENeZOLFYmXxbx1-lVIyplCXjDc_jxIh2Mut/s320/12+wake+up+day+1.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">We slept on the roofs of Malian huts that mostly have flat roofs. It's a good place to crash - it actually gets cold and you can get a good night's sleep.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMR6YXeyAJJqSveeb3-fuyIadO1hmNGEjB4OZULhzj9MeokGaoJLsh8tjVWKugW393doQOdRFqQFkGoCtYPiDcgc1I1JNSjOwGeIrUt69szXYXpwNgx3kEktcdirHpn95DdfOlQtjE5CAH/s1600-h/11+thank+god+there+are+no+termites.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330462024540428146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 210px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMR6YXeyAJJqSveeb3-fuyIadO1hmNGEjB4OZULhzj9MeokGaoJLsh8tjVWKugW393doQOdRFqQFkGoCtYPiDcgc1I1JNSjOwGeIrUt69szXYXpwNgx3kEktcdirHpn95DdfOlQtjE5CAH/s320/11+thank+god+there+are+no+termites.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">If termites ever move up to the plateau, their bridges are toast.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhahYe1Hd7fC6nxT5h4vNsuBC17NxiaLxiKsb3M6iVQAjaeoKKvq53uUY9-VRcL03KdsIloMnA5ImJO_aQcNf5uGfXzQ_Oa3tpTZ6_qu0f_6LSntzl3FEMq98b-AKb-z8zn3T4ueCnMlB5w/s1600-h/10+all+on+the+rim.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330461687280695394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 178px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhahYe1Hd7fC6nxT5h4vNsuBC17NxiaLxiKsb3M6iVQAjaeoKKvq53uUY9-VRcL03KdsIloMnA5ImJO_aQcNf5uGfXzQ_Oa3tpTZ6_qu0f_6LSntzl3FEMq98b-AKb-z8zn3T4ueCnMlB5w/s320/10+all+on+the+rim.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">I had to climb up higher than the rim to make a call to check on the situation in Guinea. Everyone else just hung out on the lip of the valley.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60qVf1yf_6sMUS2bFO7TmkmZCejLlGIWhMI-hYAvMm0vLzpQkKLAPLSZmA5RYHBaTIw_7ZudcXW68MnJSZSIyzdmNSMS7OjuFGIyKdxXBTHWpFrIuxJRuxEUwHYZRlWq2nl0iPHIVChLj/s1600-h/09+kim+down+the+ladder.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330461406299528466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 296px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60qVf1yf_6sMUS2bFO7TmkmZCejLlGIWhMI-hYAvMm0vLzpQkKLAPLSZmA5RYHBaTIw_7ZudcXW68MnJSZSIyzdmNSMS7OjuFGIyKdxXBTHWpFrIuxJRuxEUwHYZRlWq2nl0iPHIVChLj/s320/09+kim+down+the+ladder.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">There were a couple of traditional ladders to go down. Luckily they put up branches in case you fall: you won't fall down to the next level, too. Their ladders are tree trunks with notches cut in them.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMucNm5JxNA7zQ1114Cb3Q1QbYH-aam6HvtRR_3ruvvbcFY4F_8w4_PPTWaIsQ3W17dXCeN2qyV8ebKgDj3EuIxNTO_vsMxZi1gMxLVV9CalwOvdTJL0bbZ-eLKqXGth6ptD4qyCamNlk0/s1600-h/08+jess+down+the+ladder.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330460915139054450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 201px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMucNm5JxNA7zQ1114Cb3Q1QbYH-aam6HvtRR_3ruvvbcFY4F_8w4_PPTWaIsQ3W17dXCeN2qyV8ebKgDj3EuIxNTO_vsMxZi1gMxLVV9CalwOvdTJL0bbZ-eLKqXGth6ptD4qyCamNlk0/s320/08+jess+down+the+ladder.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">Jess goes down the ladder.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHkVPSgHhHZbLR_6JrITQBg2CE5-rALjp5plUt0lCrRutZd5Ziy0WVADcSkfTFY_HXNEIzGG7EeoLKZGBMB74iw84khyS3F8HDbTOebYDwlSzou8ZJwZD7PW7oHxwX_hAawaCi4hnTe4v/s1600-h/07+jess+ciara+ibra+in+chasm.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330460319081155106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 183px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHkVPSgHhHZbLR_6JrITQBg2CE5-rALjp5plUt0lCrRutZd5Ziy0WVADcSkfTFY_HXNEIzGG7EeoLKZGBMB74iw84khyS3F8HDbTOebYDwlSzou8ZJwZD7PW7oHxwX_hAawaCi4hnTe4v/s320/07+jess+ciara+ibra+in+chasm.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">And this is the chasm those branches keep you out of. </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvn_VomRPiLzGAh0b2T7rTG0JIrwSViWFr3z7afGdjcCkS4Z2eCMS287M6KwucCPIgS_I29qMj3JlE9rbvxvJ70fVjgFxjN3NSkelUJhp9K6brpLNx6rrFp9BGDW2X6JfOjk7SP7ZXDV3U/s1600-h/06a+adams+hungry.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330460037820597938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 226px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvn_VomRPiLzGAh0b2T7rTG0JIrwSViWFr3z7afGdjcCkS4Z2eCMS287M6KwucCPIgS_I29qMj3JlE9rbvxvJ70fVjgFxjN3NSkelUJhp9K6brpLNx6rrFp9BGDW2X6JfOjk7SP7ZXDV3U/s320/06a+adams+hungry.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">Adam wasn't happy with our lunch schedule and got hungry early. </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqhhl0xcfk2jbDAef59CMB_-3FijSH7lHDW2zgprXjqhvJ-KtPrNphK7LkNUn-tetsGOk3pdzmFMKP3zPpOLMED4lBujKsRRwM0N2vd2o0o91axmFZ7vhR4zqL5Qdeq5cWXHBASpfr1JfT/s1600-h/06+mali+is+hot+and+deserty.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330459741803198322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 165px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqhhl0xcfk2jbDAef59CMB_-3FijSH7lHDW2zgprXjqhvJ-KtPrNphK7LkNUn-tetsGOk3pdzmFMKP3zPpOLMED4lBujKsRRwM0N2vd2o0o91axmFZ7vhR4zqL5Qdeq5cWXHBASpfr1JfT/s320/06+mali+is+hot+and+deserty.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">It's hot and dusty in Mali. We tried to avoid the midday sun at all costs, but it inevitably caught us out a few times.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUraR20QER91Dsw8RtyJPdqxsvwQPbkEM8b6b0a0pHEEYgJnAARNjTi6vBKDWsiQJag7rURJpQL2oCJnGWHzna8Q7ZPEdEtM9fZGoZ7vKL2Swsz1yx5PS6RCtU3cMeMZQj1hvs4SCJ4wu0/s1600-h/05+my+sunshade.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330459397858798626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 243px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUraR20QER91Dsw8RtyJPdqxsvwQPbkEM8b6b0a0pHEEYgJnAARNjTi6vBKDWsiQJag7rURJpQL2oCJnGWHzna8Q7ZPEdEtM9fZGoZ7vKL2Swsz1yx5PS6RCtU3cMeMZQj1hvs4SCJ4wu0/s320/05+my+sunshade.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">I had to invent a sun shade to keep it off, but the fact is it hindered circulation, which more than made up for the added shade.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwvHl1yuccjKZAZosDWeNWPYJQQrTy_Bm1h5Hvev6ZW4m8pb2ErW2LIy9yuyusq_h0ZnL7cT32t5ylrxfdN-nvVNiuAMo4mtsQ6xF3TcEuF1zxdKmSMm2Cdh1INXGS9AM1K1BkQ8BN2cv/s1600-h/04a+astrid+adam+door.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330459004419747874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 222px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGwvHl1yuccjKZAZosDWeNWPYJQQrTy_Bm1h5Hvev6ZW4m8pb2ErW2LIy9yuyusq_h0ZnL7cT32t5ylrxfdN-nvVNiuAMo4mtsQ6xF3TcEuF1zxdKmSMm2Cdh1INXGS9AM1K1BkQ8BN2cv/s320/04a+astrid+adam+door.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">We were down at the end of most days, but the area was still beautiful. Dogon doors take a ton of work to make, but they're gorgeous.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-97MYrku7aQqvbP4xSTVyOxL37U20CvBZvl__9zR8WkFC8IsQIknwG9Y2B84mXev5uJGGfdrMTJD4cQ-r_vohHP4U94gn1lcDtr7tVsTP43F0T5ZQIwGnZRKF_Oa805icvKzwmzANsoO9/s1600-h/04+millet+beer.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330458597398197698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-97MYrku7aQqvbP4xSTVyOxL37U20CvBZvl__9zR8WkFC8IsQIknwG9Y2B84mXev5uJGGfdrMTJD4cQ-r_vohHP4U94gn1lcDtr7tVsTP43F0T5ZQIwGnZRKF_Oa805icvKzwmzANsoO9/s320/04+millet+beer.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">We made sure our daily portion of millet beer was included in the terms of our travel contract.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizmvFJLxnqeT62GlRtg7X9XWno5nuy4n-fzrW0ayhXqR0Ura0LV1DNTphC0UqQceNe5V5z6NSjYkQv9Lyur85as6-dEDu8vATFh1HysS7XdQqdyiQ7AmK5nYjPR2V_IluJzZzXRHFR-j_Q/s1600-h/03+sunrise+over+baobobs.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330458455546744530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 166px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizmvFJLxnqeT62GlRtg7X9XWno5nuy4n-fzrW0ayhXqR0Ura0LV1DNTphC0UqQceNe5V5z6NSjYkQv9Lyur85as6-dEDu8vATFh1HysS7XdQqdyiQ7AmK5nYjPR2V_IluJzZzXRHFR-j_Q/s320/03+sunrise+over+baobobs.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">Sunrise over the baobobs.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnHJv2aDdK4O9-GN7oStufFy8Wcogr-TLCUVzt0dy87FC8v70qVpA6FmxDSrB2JrPZ3ZlLB1nKhsg8Vj77z5KqhxCPr6-SUKiBR2HNo-lPC75RqizFYqJDLcp7XW1R-UOQIA3N4tHVR_Xx/s1600-h/02+ibras+village.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330458189392609042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnHJv2aDdK4O9-GN7oStufFy8Wcogr-TLCUVzt0dy87FC8v70qVpA6FmxDSrB2JrPZ3ZlLB1nKhsg8Vj77z5KqhxCPr6-SUKiBR2HNo-lPC75RqizFYqJDLcp7XW1R-UOQIA3N4tHVR_Xx/s320/02+ibras+village.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">And the day after Xmas, we woke in Ibrahima's village.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisC4UYFfPW9WV3OQOa1kiTXe6OXveXnkOKrCR7Dk-v7M1WSdNzwn2dRoSwqAGvSDgc2VUJbgVVb9ZUZwq4sSx7eHJpQNd35iOJYcAsHbs8aQZZZ13T2K-elMsmNMA-xyZi8s5TMKrWloUt/s1600-h/01+mali+crew+end+of+hike.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330457773555741170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 268px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisC4UYFfPW9WV3OQOa1kiTXe6OXveXnkOKrCR7Dk-v7M1WSdNzwn2dRoSwqAGvSDgc2VUJbgVVb9ZUZwq4sSx7eHJpQNd35iOJYcAsHbs8aQZZZ13T2K-elMsmNMA-xyZi8s5TMKrWloUt/s320/01+mali+crew+end+of+hike.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">The Dogon is full of these piles of something that people dry. I believe it's cow fodder, but I'm not sure.</span>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-14983311077284581942009-04-30T11:54:00.009+00:002009-04-30T12:16:44.611+00:00Mali Part 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bd1iHPVkxy3ZZpK24GBcZhJaY6KLRIqBtl2EocN3L_YAhWimlhkVeBkRWXXX2X6Ra_8uKx9bAyQfaxhk6bh4b95AAGMWHRcibq6sCxHpTpquUKjXIOdEA_bwuZYmMSLzrsgEzQ00Y9eO/s1600-h/1+at+the+burning.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bd1iHPVkxy3ZZpK24GBcZhJaY6KLRIqBtl2EocN3L_YAhWimlhkVeBkRWXXX2X6Ra_8uKx9bAyQfaxhk6bh4b95AAGMWHRcibq6sCxHpTpquUKjXIOdEA_bwuZYmMSLzrsgEzQ00Y9eO/s320/1+at+the+burning.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330454341104036466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">The first stop on our Mali trip was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Segou</span>. About an hour's boat ride up the Niger from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Segou</span> is a pottery village. It was our first taste of just how touristy Mali is. It was a weird feeling after Guinea, where the most touristy spots are simply occupied by a couple rich Guineans, missionaries, and ex-pats.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcvw-4eHBiw-UdYD0p4ElQ2X5ruyUGU86rJnJ3fd3NqcKFHzpb5jNbVImotsFsg_3ar2gT47V3FkX7iodWJobTAfLWPsR7k88mIsi0FRmvZfK1mVKZJzfPU7Nebtdzu1pw5jH5h2yU9p7c/s1600-h/2+pot+formation.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcvw-4eHBiw-UdYD0p4ElQ2X5ruyUGU86rJnJ3fd3NqcKFHzpb5jNbVImotsFsg_3ar2gT47V3FkX7iodWJobTAfLWPsR7k88mIsi0FRmvZfK1mVKZJzfPU7Nebtdzu1pw5jH5h2yU9p7c/s320/2+pot+formation.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330454058570109762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">The village is known for its pottery, or else its known for letting tourists in to see all levels of the manufacture of their pottery. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Bambara</span> is a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Manding</span> dialect as is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Maninka</span>, so we were able to talk with the people on a level similar to that of French speaking Africans communicating with the French. So we got to play around a bit, too. After I took this picture, the woman handed me the pot to put in line with a bunch of others. She didn't tell me not to grab the lip, because obviously you don't grab the lip - it's still wet. So I grabbed the lip and she had to redo it.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOn4-JqbgC_1OfKTveKc5lwu67IHUetv1uEQC2AHCJA3KpS-5icYSXJAaXreuWUAEFdQY45nllmMY19IsngJeqqfOYca-RJ2gQTHXpXPtlxv3l7pmqQuNOLQLfltcHbkzzRFlJTpTS503L/s1600-h/3+hook+goes+near+pots.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 311px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOn4-JqbgC_1OfKTveKc5lwu67IHUetv1uEQC2AHCJA3KpS-5icYSXJAaXreuWUAEFdQY45nllmMY19IsngJeqqfOYca-RJ2gQTHXpXPtlxv3l7pmqQuNOLQLfltcHbkzzRFlJTpTS503L/s320/3+hook+goes+near+pots.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330453850054226354" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">By luck we arrived on the weekend, which is when they burn/bake the pots. They pile up an enormous mound of dried grasses and bury the sun-dried pots in it. As the pots get fired, they are removed with hooks on very long poles and taken to be dipped in a glaze.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCy9F3Bkt8SRUNlfujHnxWTKK2fsNovOl-zfOZ-l9g49t88r5kNnNFpbCT0PtDbbhtLIKXt2SOWsDOr4H7sV5lueWBzw2QlrdnLxXtz_VJQw2iATInqKtmw1Tqu983u2xpff24rOyWuHba/s1600-h/4+woman+with+pot+out+of+glaze.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCy9F3Bkt8SRUNlfujHnxWTKK2fsNovOl-zfOZ-l9g49t88r5kNnNFpbCT0PtDbbhtLIKXt2SOWsDOr4H7sV5lueWBzw2QlrdnLxXtz_VJQw2iATInqKtmw1Tqu983u2xpff24rOyWuHba/s320/4+woman+with+pot+out+of+glaze.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330453590762625842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">This woman is carrying a pot to a drying area after having taken it out of the glaze dip.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnOGSCRDLeI0DAioKiB0MaSsNZNfIPecc3SvDlteo9Ahv3zSmbZpfSBiaxYsweU3fhJ4hucMxBNN1v8q3KdWEo0h9YCNL1b6Zit7JXT49WDOAACA9vAwAuUEP1jZCS7fKBX7UavbWk5BZv/s1600-h/5+i+glaze+a+pot.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnOGSCRDLeI0DAioKiB0MaSsNZNfIPecc3SvDlteo9Ahv3zSmbZpfSBiaxYsweU3fhJ4hucMxBNN1v8q3KdWEo0h9YCNL1b6Zit7JXT49WDOAACA9vAwAuUEP1jZCS7fKBX7UavbWk5BZv/s320/5+i+glaze+a+pot.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330452011603705778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">And the benefit of speaking butchered <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Maninka</span>/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Bambara</span> is that they'll let you glaze a pot while your friend takes a photo. They got a kick out of it and got some free entertainment because I had a very hard time getting all the glaze out of the pot.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_T6iE-xtqyRZ34_tyUcrmNJRK7vp8WD68tBFzmi0Hh6-ALemtCEVMIms8yNbBzwDlMt4dD9xU9WQX-oGK1v1dXfyWA_mUOwEwT4awrlxQ45E2_JnNgqEwMcHqylg9u_xnrmN9HjU3n0k/s1600-h/6+boat+full+of+pots.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 111px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_T6iE-xtqyRZ34_tyUcrmNJRK7vp8WD68tBFzmi0Hh6-ALemtCEVMIms8yNbBzwDlMt4dD9xU9WQX-oGK1v1dXfyWA_mUOwEwT4awrlxQ45E2_JnNgqEwMcHqylg9u_xnrmN9HjU3n0k/s320/6+boat+full+of+pots.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330451743456254770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">When the finished products have cooled, they are boated back down to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Segou</span> from whence they're shipped all over the place.</span>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-75306931970950548102009-04-30T11:30:00.005+00:002009-04-30T11:54:07.281+00:00Mali Part 1<span style="font-family: courier new;">Last December I went to Mali with Adam, Astrid, Ciara, Jess, and Kim. We hiked around for a bit, got to be outside of Guinea when the president died, and had a good Xmas holiday celebration atop the roof of a Malian mud hut, overlooking the rim of Dogon Country's valley.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-tHgWY-XrERXzEVOxxrfyKjStH4XHbKZHBmUYeOBNWvFBiL8LkFT77g3xrH_IvUvxLBL1hbUMkhNO5GQJK6oc7ZAYva3KDP9-mKPFD0pnbgBVAvQ1XjYjDc3vAqoDXb421HZmNO-6cxz/s1600-h/ciara+in+her+hut.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-tHgWY-XrERXzEVOxxrfyKjStH4XHbKZHBmUYeOBNWvFBiL8LkFT77g3xrH_IvUvxLBL1hbUMkhNO5GQJK6oc7ZAYva3KDP9-mKPFD0pnbgBVAvQ1XjYjDc3vAqoDXb421HZmNO-6cxz/s320/ciara+in+her+hut.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330447400051409586" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">First stop on the way was to pick up Ciara. She painted the inside of her hut white, which makes it so bright. Nonetheless, I wasn't inspired to do the same.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkSMc5eEsxbTxiSruMePXl45BJMvPQY-9jDaAT_bNLY0p1RbbMIkmVBE3xSHHuMW1ArXXTJlV5IpuV83oUOmDCEeKGJj3dtfyhPooFqdqkjIK6OvTnWck17BtiLUdyi1VP6JDIK-hkhCjm/s1600-h/going+swimming.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkSMc5eEsxbTxiSruMePXl45BJMvPQY-9jDaAT_bNLY0p1RbbMIkmVBE3xSHHuMW1ArXXTJlV5IpuV83oUOmDCEeKGJj3dtfyhPooFqdqkjIK6OvTnWck17BtiLUdyi1VP6JDIK-hkhCjm/s320/going+swimming.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330447073999967074" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">Decked out to go swimming in the Niger.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwP3IsSiHdSvgPjIBVeFNCCBvtZZAfG9CtZ9M0sLO4pFAC861HAhppcliP2B6Ihmje4PprGJrolSX-Fs8zT4jDFBPe_Fpp21f4RSYYWuc2yWyru9n1nFHGurSeaOnw_BPUiCd3zLBImnU/s1600-h/dinner+with+jufanin.jpg"><br /><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwP3IsSiHdSvgPjIBVeFNCCBvtZZAfG9CtZ9M0sLO4pFAC861HAhppcliP2B6Ihmje4PprGJrolSX-Fs8zT4jDFBPe_Fpp21f4RSYYWuc2yWyru9n1nFHGurSeaOnw_BPUiCd3zLBImnU/s320/dinner+with+jufanin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330446191764038770" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: courier new;">Gathered around the communal dinner bowl. Not enough spoons to go around. Jess's new cat, Jufanin refused to eat; he was upset some kids had broken his leg. He's fine now.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfdRGngEzz3udojfYPPT9AKyG8PHXgcCLgezGJohAe5JoB1LYEFZlqlJMEWtn1I9c0aU2ogvFcmun8g5OvxsG7sHj_0jd9PUO7J_V4nG-30Y6KJ3JvEJwRpwaVwdl4qqhbAbFi_ID8BF7Q/s1600-h/rearranging+luggage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfdRGngEzz3udojfYPPT9AKyG8PHXgcCLgezGJohAe5JoB1LYEFZlqlJMEWtn1I9c0aU2ogvFcmun8g5OvxsG7sHj_0jd9PUO7J_V4nG-30Y6KJ3JvEJwRpwaVwdl4qqhbAbFi_ID8BF7Q/s320/rearranging+luggage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330448025633759426" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: courier new;">Finally in Mali, we passed this bus that had had to stop to rearrange its luggage. Things had apparently been hanging over the edge of the roof and getting in people's view of the scenery.</span>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-37256909533325373662008-11-17T20:47:00.006+00:002008-11-17T21:01:49.432+00:00Dawn and Dusk<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxiadXwC6D3VapzBZBE2QLKa102YJPOT9A9nm6fys4FKyTpUt25GreR-1P7HyOz4kWINOX4mhZBrggzpepXSSK_6VLr7YSJTunw-UGPFUxg4B4LyZYkeRiCKy-qJ3Za_m2rlWJdVeNp3s/s1600-h/conde+packing+car.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269733661873308066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxiadXwC6D3VapzBZBE2QLKa102YJPOT9A9nm6fys4FKyTpUt25GreR-1P7HyOz4kWINOX4mhZBrggzpepXSSK_6VLr7YSJTunw-UGPFUxg4B4LyZYkeRiCKy-qJ3Za_m2rlWJdVeNp3s/s320/conde+packing+car.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> The regional driver, Conde, packing the Kankan car for a trip across the country. If we don't leave around dawn, we can't make it home by dark. A very long trip.</span><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269733877692907154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 195px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiWKEsf7j0gDdTBlgRn4m6IJwZ3u8S63DldM9xCCOTpHKG_k4r0m9UA5HGDjvZ-9uWqIeWZS_ElrzvHG-STRtiwDmVfIiy70pQcnaKc7N8V7vSIPyD5M6t-GULPIPuQfYEiCjxSdniA1On/s320/evening+clouds.jpg" border="0" /> <div><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:courier new;">Evening from my back yard. The end of the rainy season brought some beautiful clouds and wonderful storms. I lament the newly arrived dry season - now I can't just get my bath water by putting buckets under my family's roof. And I have to water my nursery every day, too. Life is so much easier when water just falls from the sky.</span></div>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-124008116037333822008-11-17T20:35:00.004+00:002008-11-17T20:47:23.794+00:00The Mud Stove, with Steph's help<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7c3gIRXUbYIQKv2HNT0JGQUc_WdpnwJAzadOYCCiAkSYCWMeAL2S22Y5zCCJ4ibwirGqoTDGzXoOJR8X-cgLWnuuTqtBLVuRwtCvJ20ej5R1l2dtg_uwxdKm48yFzkCdq_U8J8gA84Xp/s1600-h/stove+balls.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269729093706247234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 226px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC7c3gIRXUbYIQKv2HNT0JGQUc_WdpnwJAzadOYCCiAkSYCWMeAL2S22Y5zCCJ4ibwirGqoTDGzXoOJR8X-cgLWnuuTqtBLVuRwtCvJ20ej5R1l2dtg_uwxdKm48yFzkCdq_U8J8gA84Xp/s320/stove+balls.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">I finally got tired of trying to convince women they should do a small amount of work to save themselves time and work later on by turning their three-rock cooking system into a fuel-efficient stove. So I decided to build my own so I can cook with wood, in public, and demonstrate how, why, and what.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmL63o2EnUw1GRc4OYSKSgG4RRsOKyrHS13vxkqxf9fd89yYvd46cDLchXdoPEafmDMl-0-u_k-G4PZSraSonsBEuK5uJlqHhlmTIH-HYjrcH4qdSjY_xOYqQSeAuJ2k8ACqgW-aJHsIem/s1600-h/stove+packing+mud+on.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269728956357756562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 238px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmL63o2EnUw1GRc4OYSKSgG4RRsOKyrHS13vxkqxf9fd89yYvd46cDLchXdoPEafmDMl-0-u_k-G4PZSraSonsBEuK5uJlqHhlmTIH-HYjrcH4qdSjY_xOYqQSeAuJ2k8ACqgW-aJHsIem/s320/stove+packing+mud+on.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">The nice thing is, I can't work alone, ever. There are always children with nothing else to do. So even though I'm not working with the target audience at first, I still end up teaching the inevitable crowd of children how to build a stove, why build a stove, and later they'll cook with me.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWs1gx0xoFEA7Con7XpnkgQ78HfRNVa9FAayplql_nMJeOVUlh87ZgARX3uU7P1ZfMX_jTqeQxQDmzOvsfrjSjJconJmgLe2AysZbG5z1ab2DtCnZJIsQ6ajFBLdkl_hVlQ9k2PV0OC9-K/s1600-h/stove+smooth+out.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269728111043984562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 205px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWs1gx0xoFEA7Con7XpnkgQ78HfRNVa9FAayplql_nMJeOVUlh87ZgARX3uU7P1ZfMX_jTqeQxQDmzOvsfrjSjJconJmgLe2AysZbG5z1ab2DtCnZJIsQ6ajFBLdkl_hVlQ9k2PV0OC9-K/s320/stove+smooth+out.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">At the end, I had a lot of extra mud so I smoothed out the walls perfectly with a wide apron and then built myself a chair in front of the stove so I can sit down in comfort molded to me as I stir my pots of rice and sauce. The stove will be in use about three weeks after construction so it has time to adequately dry (otherwise it will crack severely with the first few cook fires.</span></div></div>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-18501239774933087602008-11-17T20:01:00.013+00:002008-11-17T20:35:38.542+00:00First Visitor: Stephanie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJMCp1VhLsD-yHDh2OI5vOJN1K0TN5d58VQAWE686pEvsz335xgzbf6QXEjbN-uJaTxOx74Z0Ya5SgKu7qiRdJ9X5FeD0to4EY4ZcIeZpcROZhMCcNg8d4XMSf7Ply2aXZNSZcOn1wKn0/s1600-h/steph+pumps+water.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269723604468385666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 242px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJMCp1VhLsD-yHDh2OI5vOJN1K0TN5d58VQAWE686pEvsz335xgzbf6QXEjbN-uJaTxOx74Z0Ya5SgKu7qiRdJ9X5FeD0to4EY4ZcIeZpcROZhMCcNg8d4XMSf7Ply2aXZNSZcOn1wKn0/s320/steph+pumps+water.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> I tried to keep her work load to a minimum - because she was on vacation and because it's better for my work if I can talk to people about why as a man I, too, can haul my own water, wash my own clothes, cook my own meals, and do all that for her as well. Nonetheless, it's fun to pump water.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikvKhMuyeCl3pvgDZ4hHtS-zbzFb5FGo8snjh8zpZws3eoeTAFLzZuDsFyK4PKaOK0UGV5QdbdyhlOus_kxm6VHRpSZT9epaw0is83i6gcpWmK6E84HRuGs154byYpSyrqQf4rSY_rzBLH/s1600-h/rice+stamping.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269723447670570610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 242px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikvKhMuyeCl3pvgDZ4hHtS-zbzFb5FGo8snjh8zpZws3eoeTAFLzZuDsFyK4PKaOK0UGV5QdbdyhlOus_kxm6VHRpSZT9epaw0is83i6gcpWmK6E84HRuGs154byYpSyrqQf4rSY_rzBLH/s320/rice+stamping.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">One of the first days at site we went to the field with my family and helped them stamp on their rice to shake the grain loose from the straw. My sisters kept asking me how many bundles of rice I'd done so far; I kept replying I hadn't finished my first one. They have to make it a competition to entertain themselves and I didn't know we were counting until they asked...</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg05nW8IGPolDMf_BaGKRAg5rV4eZBjRC-MALMZFJpwEx7R5-Sl71AnuBfsikeir6Nom_eKGOB_k6YSHUyIIdDSTCpoFBJlhS_BwBQA1Qh_ywzFLXjEcWk-Jh67dtQULwYsWTJrUdUmBkff/s1600-h/asleep+in+tree.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269723078377633746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 296px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg05nW8IGPolDMf_BaGKRAg5rV4eZBjRC-MALMZFJpwEx7R5-Sl71AnuBfsikeir6Nom_eKGOB_k6YSHUyIIdDSTCpoFBJlhS_BwBQA1Qh_ywzFLXjEcWk-Jh67dtQULwYsWTJrUdUmBkff/s320/asleep+in+tree.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> I made Stephanie bike the 35 kilometers between my site and my regional capital, four times. She would get tired, obviously, so I would nap while she recovered.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xmI0xymFFXPySE-W8BQpYuERxEECXU_HKSFzlBslC_SVXjtNdd_SzLtQXzEIR1HV1BR4jy0tDRBgLGfAbCUOv6PLoDZhg0rjIo_He7fpbPluuGdAVr6Wva8SCiJO9yu_4RBELcv-gu6t/s1600-h/steph+and+fam.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269722471010868866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 236px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1xmI0xymFFXPySE-W8BQpYuERxEECXU_HKSFzlBslC_SVXjtNdd_SzLtQXzEIR1HV1BR4jy0tDRBgLGfAbCUOv6PLoDZhg0rjIo_He7fpbPluuGdAVr6Wva8SCiJO9yu_4RBELcv-gu6t/s320/steph+and+fam.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> Stephanie integrated so well, you wouldn't even be able to pick her out of this photo if you hadn't already seen her in a photo pumping water. My family loved her - they even gave her a gift when she left.</span><br /><br /><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklgFXtEoNKShkBorwx_8N-592ALcWO9BCF-13Jmlz4HT3M1IUAJ_XbMNe5e978LtLvpEden7aQ39lTrmmt4pO2JDGsQuFD9eOnQLB5frzsMa8i_4ycm1bL0Mid1pnsltlK6QnAnP6KmFN/s1600-h/moni+pour.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269721755586822770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 264px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgklgFXtEoNKShkBorwx_8N-592ALcWO9BCF-13Jmlz4HT3M1IUAJ_XbMNe5e978LtLvpEden7aQ39lTrmmt4pO2JDGsQuFD9eOnQLB5frzsMa8i_4ycm1bL0Mid1pnsltlK6QnAnP6KmFN/s320/moni+pour.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> I eat <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">moni</span> for breakfast every morning. The first morning I brought it home in a giant bowl. To cool it off, you have to pour it from a large gourd spoon over and over.</span></div><div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269721896263683538" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZ71jMNZXKRXPKDHH_GC_1v0yr7JTyvu1C5kZxcL7oXssdhp_x_npHtMkT6tykfLMYNFqpkY2e6rPVRoTvK734I5unSgE-_fYNfeEGtq3AQjaamJdzGQq5HFZ2jD7KxbIgvgC91Y5Iaf3/s320/steph+and+lizard.JPG" border="0" /> <span style="font-family:courier new;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Steph</span> didn't like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">moni</span> that much and had to look for alternative food sources.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZxD7P_Uk8IdjlR1EndOMIy3hXq14Y99JMhrviQNyHnfE6UR8HYrc6qNL6Whe2k7x4McGCeJlSV-F0dY9iWvajHAAQjpOipbKGxlUc9wGAON5pUdD87HGr0xhfxXLKn3cbXBex_q82FnC/s1600-h/bush+fire.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269721454037583234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 233px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZxD7P_Uk8IdjlR1EndOMIy3hXq14Y99JMhrviQNyHnfE6UR8HYrc6qNL6Whe2k7x4McGCeJlSV-F0dY9iWvajHAAQjpOipbKGxlUc9wGAON5pUdD87HGr0xhfxXLKn3cbXBex_q82FnC/s320/bush+fire.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> On the way to the field to stamp on rice I took a side trip to photograph my number one enemy: the bush fire. People set them to avoid them later when hunters set the bush on fire to scare out their dinner. It's a nasty cycle that creates large swaths of rock from formerly lush forest.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYm8-0f67vZKDKuLeF4WTeEVHWMIOqiKxLmjJWZn4QtstKG24G0ePfsLSlNCAy8bZAsSjJ9GWuFB_TPYNViR3aaR160W0mSWrO0pBbtEwYrYUIGWHVhLlc8imQxev4cdkSn-SzG9NT75Ps/s1600-h/laundry.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269721331768454946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 239px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYm8-0f67vZKDKuLeF4WTeEVHWMIOqiKxLmjJWZn4QtstKG24G0ePfsLSlNCAy8bZAsSjJ9GWuFB_TPYNViR3aaR160W0mSWrO0pBbtEwYrYUIGWHVhLlc8imQxev4cdkSn-SzG9NT75Ps/s320/laundry.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> Like I said, I took advantage of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Steph's</span> presence to show people that men work even when they are living with their "wife." Yeah, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Steph</span> was my fake wife for a her visit - to avoid people always asking to buy her from me.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXoE_JyBBkX8NmVNvjTl5OsNWwyvD-fi5U5lmmZUddspp1GcJa5xPMuXElp1OYwsAedIApBBNWvKUuj5dK4QQ93YsFnTdgA4UVlhgslBEbrstNEFQa656ACwlMBHXd1PUpfVam8KibeIHV/s1600-h/laundry+on+head.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269721178192706754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 257px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXoE_JyBBkX8NmVNvjTl5OsNWwyvD-fi5U5lmmZUddspp1GcJa5xPMuXElp1OYwsAedIApBBNWvKUuj5dK4QQ93YsFnTdgA4UVlhgslBEbrstNEFQa656ACwlMBHXd1PUpfVam8KibeIHV/s320/laundry+on+head.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> Again, doing women's work is a good way to show men they are capable of more than sitting in the shade all day.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSAJv4RBciWRt4wIsvgpbFSByQKVix5IxNPTJzSge1uglaJvfWtRbm9oKm0Gln7heHqIVQYI5CiHCtVnQX83t4pRgj0CU8WejmGqEAueWoB9NzuaGRh67GluKTfojMKizr5dqr3fkR6HpS/s1600-h/petits+and+UNO.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269721011457691042" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 224px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSAJv4RBciWRt4wIsvgpbFSByQKVix5IxNPTJzSge1uglaJvfWtRbm9oKm0Gln7heHqIVQYI5CiHCtVnQX83t4pRgj0CU8WejmGqEAueWoB9NzuaGRh67GluKTfojMKizr5dqr3fkR6HpS/s320/petits+and+UNO.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> At the same time, my work is to share American culture. Granted the kids still haven't gotten the hang of not showing everyone their hand, but what are you going to do?</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqakWYiJMOitEClzleAs5ElFtITqmIica1K4dZqgGReGERjwVGhOuBAEx77iQIO7Whk6jm-Nh3GFJUiv9wETxcwg5cKmqNiUyYSUuKkaDbMDLQlN_O-Js5HuknFB7jN4xBulkAwE7qco3/s1600-h/guitar+crowd.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269720289406523426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqakWYiJMOitEClzleAs5ElFtITqmIica1K4dZqgGReGERjwVGhOuBAEx77iQIO7Whk6jm-Nh3GFJUiv9wETxcwg5cKmqNiUyYSUuKkaDbMDLQlN_O-Js5HuknFB7jN4xBulkAwE7qco3/s320/guitar+crowd.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> And I sing for them. When they're good. It's a good way to entertain people with activities they don't consider insane. That said, it's hard to sing and play and say hi to every single person who comes up to watch and listen</span>.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsMrzKDtjdrK96MEYwsVij7Gvkiy6C0MPqdhsut4zVwIqYgwPZX0bFuqSypZWG31Q2uuB0JTrYjU6DORFQJ0UQ2_ti8J0SDI41XDAj-BFJW7p8povo397fa4LkZzi0z0MQMcQeX-OUe9J0/s1600-h/airport.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269720062916933394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 186px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsMrzKDtjdrK96MEYwsVij7Gvkiy6C0MPqdhsut4zVwIqYgwPZX0bFuqSypZWG31Q2uuB0JTrYjU6DORFQJ0UQ2_ti8J0SDI41XDAj-BFJW7p8povo397fa4LkZzi0z0MQMcQeX-OUe9J0/s320/airport.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> After three weeks, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Steph</span> had had enough and we headed back to Conakry to drop her off for her flight home to blessedly cold Belgium, land of chocolate, beer, fries, and waffles.</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-6869161935050177722008-09-23T19:24:00.015+00:002008-09-23T19:52:33.687+00:00Photos<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLhAP_w-iMiALZ9zSjdQIIYG9rdHzlZ_3YSeOIF5Re8-WFoTWdM0-C94rZZ6WtzuHoUMIX5z3xK_CW-EQWu35eMDMk3t9t7tGRZY8Vv3-FBUIDDZFPHLMcvRmrOj13w7EtIi3CU3Bf0id/s1600-h/koumban+cloud.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249305660640425666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOLhAP_w-iMiALZ9zSjdQIIYG9rdHzlZ_3YSeOIF5Re8-WFoTWdM0-C94rZZ6WtzuHoUMIX5z3xK_CW-EQWu35eMDMk3t9t7tGRZY8Vv3-FBUIDDZFPHLMcvRmrOj13w7EtIi3CU3Bf0id/s320/koumban+cloud.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> My village has a huge hill that plummets to a seasonal stream and then climbs up a bit more. This is about half way up the larger hill looking over the village. Unfortunately I don't have a good filter to bring out just how beautiful this cloud was; a giant storm racing over the mountain.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-u10n0D2w7QwapXrNOHcHd3hZlxe-obVQo5NZobxjDv_mo0D5qgeG4K6iZJ91ayz439KK3wBuVMXCxSEPId_K9GVB05qiWxgrfR-ZhWked4uza2YF4Z2mpeUb5FrAqD7B3_SEIGCeR1rI/s1600-h/swimming+hole.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249302933202833698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-u10n0D2w7QwapXrNOHcHd3hZlxe-obVQo5NZobxjDv_mo0D5qgeG4K6iZJ91ayz439KK3wBuVMXCxSEPId_K9GVB05qiWxgrfR-ZhWked4uza2YF4Z2mpeUb5FrAqD7B3_SEIGCeR1rI/s320/swimming+hole.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> My buddy Musa showed me a nice swimming hole. I'm teaching him to swim. I took a photo of him trying, but I can't publish it because it sort of looks like he's drowning. And he wasn't.</span></div><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz5QqITm0UgQSKsQ3MMsXkSyeUteL_wqW_XeiOOy3-cWB7vOCixP4av9WueysZOBJmY_0y1zrYa4BkH6VQk3mMJIVKcgyHM5g57099X-uw6cdKet_itGWnn1TGOH7VUJkPLqAi5ewt4ZbN/s1600-h/storm+and+corn.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249302730169381730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz5QqITm0UgQSKsQ3MMsXkSyeUteL_wqW_XeiOOy3-cWB7vOCixP4av9WueysZOBJmY_0y1zrYa4BkH6VQk3mMJIVKcgyHM5g57099X-uw6cdKet_itGWnn1TGOH7VUJkPLqAi5ewt4ZbN/s320/storm+and+corn.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">Look at the corn stalks. The tree branches don't quite do justice to the strength of the wind in this gust front. It flattened half the corn fields in the village.</span> </div><div><br /><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqCzmwjvbfOfUAVPyE48VAVG5UGWSy5d5YWjrlUD8UDARCwoV20mncPxXjvmw-asdXbHSdiUW6shIaBf28Aynx1FbNEZnqEwosf_e9_FJgux0YojCJT7FbNU-T2nlKPXB6QiCMgUS6DoY/s1600-h/sikidi+keita+rice+field.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249302276673642018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqCzmwjvbfOfUAVPyE48VAVG5UGWSy5d5YWjrlUD8UDARCwoV20mncPxXjvmw-asdXbHSdiUW6shIaBf28Aynx1FbNEZnqEwosf_e9_FJgux0YojCJT7FbNU-T2nlKPXB6QiCMgUS6DoY/s320/sikidi+keita+rice+field.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> I work with Sidiki to reforest. This is his rice field.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQRpwLajh7OW4i3TXjb2hN5Jf6Gic4PGe_vUL_TCXQfXYj2hlpVhcbGcom0NLxzBvT50LoeiCOYA7dgF_wt_7A-K4bPUdgaQgAioHJVHZ_-YWeTSoQ8SVxqBYjdSgm0p3iBCgjt91uILz/s1600-h/sidiki+keita+waterfall+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249302096857710002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQRpwLajh7OW4i3TXjb2hN5Jf6Gic4PGe_vUL_TCXQfXYj2hlpVhcbGcom0NLxzBvT50LoeiCOYA7dgF_wt_7A-K4bPUdgaQgAioHJVHZ_-YWeTSoQ8SVxqBYjdSgm0p3iBCgjt91uILz/s320/sidiki+keita+waterfall+1.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> And this is what's behind his rice field. Gorgeous.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDlJHxMizBJu16ag_S0KL082j28iChruWDdctuucp7H_Z9sCVIZ1sMlev0sUcXTzx-shsPAOrGNPrQCfOsOWjYlWE7xeajUqySKq11-PvYxXp8dJjlDxTCKeBxisQEPJG8HITRlekor6l1/s1600-h/overloaded+car.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249301776395089378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDlJHxMizBJu16ag_S0KL082j28iChruWDdctuucp7H_Z9sCVIZ1sMlev0sUcXTzx-shsPAOrGNPrQCfOsOWjYlWE7xeajUqySKq11-PvYxXp8dJjlDxTCKeBxisQEPJG8HITRlekor6l1/s320/overloaded+car.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">This car is loaded down with fire wood. This is a small load compared to what a lot of cars carry. I just happened to have only taken this photo.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwdZakIvO2RCynw9b7MZGNjUgc7uMeWLTczz9UVR2Gar0i0BJEb_x7hsEqa5luwAykCIZdqAICKna8-9buuF0k0Y0lMIDhBM5cvnoOxtgIuqeP4bYZPl7TN-8hiijNIfi7WSVrFzZfIOs/s1600-h/nyari+scared.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249301655363668898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgwdZakIvO2RCynw9b7MZGNjUgc7uMeWLTczz9UVR2Gar0i0BJEb_x7hsEqa5luwAykCIZdqAICKna8-9buuF0k0Y0lMIDhBM5cvnoOxtgIuqeP4bYZPl7TN-8hiijNIfi7WSVrFzZfIOs/s320/nyari+scared.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> Remember that photo of the gust front and the corn? Nyari hid under a chair in my hut.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1XMQM7P_LCC-lj1w0OLtTxeckaagB4hozuMFLs8gbF1zgtUMFBX8tJPp6rw5yHrF1CCjPoUYhMQRaw4aEZOMgEfZd0QFEk0l8_cUIe8zB7nykzqetfdkoujik3uHdO1E83LYuFkOp5sMr/s1600-h/nyari+corn+sunlight.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249301416563534226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1XMQM7P_LCC-lj1w0OLtTxeckaagB4hozuMFLs8gbF1zgtUMFBX8tJPp6rw5yHrF1CCjPoUYhMQRaw4aEZOMgEfZd0QFEk0l8_cUIe8zB7nykzqetfdkoujik3uHdO1E83LYuFkOp5sMr/s320/nyari+corn+sunlight.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">Cat prison: a rope tied to a zip line. Why? The neighbors want his blood because he's a dirty, rotten thief. Stole chicken eggs, fish, meat... At least the other half of the neighbors liked him because he ate their mice. Nonetheless, he's in prison now. There was an unrelated incident where some kid told me he was going to eat my cat. He backed off when I told him I would eat his legs and arms, one per week until he ran out. You never know what a crazy American is liable to do.<br /></span><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq8gC_Of-iOqOjsuB3tCyXhHwnXipMWihMnTnEj5DLjlLzZHtSPrwXxMDbd2jg_5DZvAw_nwm5d2R1TKH9Yic2cnIWO180EJg6Zbt5c0tNwiQgSHksDqNouFb-tTgbQpzlpst89yQbT0PZ/s1600-h/jess+moringa+garden.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249300990735332274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq8gC_Of-iOqOjsuB3tCyXhHwnXipMWihMnTnEj5DLjlLzZHtSPrwXxMDbd2jg_5DZvAw_nwm5d2R1TKH9Yic2cnIWO180EJg6Zbt5c0tNwiQgSHksDqNouFb-tTgbQpzlpst89yQbT0PZ/s320/jess+moringa+garden.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">A while back I went down to Gbangbadou to help Jess set up a Moringa plantation at her health center. This is what it looked like the next time I passed through: the start of success.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bdIqVNWAzI16l_e7TFwYkZlcgkYYsKlXlWzX6wi-8Sv_IyZ0RZUljJnrX9klPEysEHJzQe-XvBHg0p-_yi7fK3nADetPgjKJhjfZV4qfn9u4b3-lQrAELUWS_tTbKAw3ybgcnvMhZtEv/s1600-h/cow+yarakoro+bush.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249300583100569554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3bdIqVNWAzI16l_e7TFwYkZlcgkYYsKlXlWzX6wi-8Sv_IyZ0RZUljJnrX9klPEysEHJzQe-XvBHg0p-_yi7fK3nADetPgjKJhjfZV4qfn9u4b3-lQrAELUWS_tTbKAw3ybgcnvMhZtEv/s320/cow+yarakoro+bush.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> This is a view from a bush trail. The rainy season is so much better than the dry season. Everything's alive, including the cows.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz5nKjI2VB8MEFaRBVVQhcf43aBxJyXbp8nPY4mVRQEdTwPU6ryKRMwaGZ24mzNmPsAMHmlI6xdfgMM-nYPLj1ZEa5BYXwB6JYoofF3C8s_u6Y6uLzDWj2HMsUS-f93ds5x07IP70P5zBi/s1600-h/clouds+and+mango+leaves.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249300007486490738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz5nKjI2VB8MEFaRBVVQhcf43aBxJyXbp8nPY4mVRQEdTwPU6ryKRMwaGZ24mzNmPsAMHmlI6xdfgMM-nYPLj1ZEa5BYXwB6JYoofF3C8s_u6Y6uLzDWj2HMsUS-f93ds5x07IP70P5zBi/s320/clouds+and+mango+leaves.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> The evening few from my bathroom. Ah the rainy season is heaven.</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-75028378871463869372008-09-23T19:21:00.000+00:002008-09-23T19:24:12.071+00:00<div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;">We learned a song that we've carried around with us and busted out singing it from time to time in public places. It always gets a crowd of children whipped up into a frenzy at which point we leave, abandoning their parents to a scene they probably don't think is too abnormal considering it included a bunch of dancing "white" people.<br /><br />I don, kinin da ye ta ka<br />I don, sadi da ye ta ka<br />I don, sobo da ye ta ka<br />I don, malo bali lodan te<br />I don, i don, i don, i don<br /><br />Dance, the rice is in the pot on the fire<br />Dance, the rice pudding is in the pot on the fire<br />Dance, the meat is in the pot on the fire<br />Dance, he without shame is never a stranger<br />Dance, dance, dance, dance<br /><br />Baila, el arroz está en el fuego<br />Baila, el arroz con leche está en el fuego<br />Baila, la carne está en el fuego<br />Baila, el sinvergüenza jamás es forestero<br />Baila, baila, baila, baila<br /><br />Danse, le riz dans la marmite est au feu<br />Danse, la bouille dans la marmite est au feu<br />Danse, la viande dans la marmite est au feu<br />Danse, celui qui n'a pas honte n'est jamais étranger<br />Danse, danse, danse, danse</span></div>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-52721443277884762552008-09-23T18:44:00.005+00:002008-09-23T19:20:55.044+00:00The Kankan House Spectacular<p align="center"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy7Y6mAalvCBARbBm-JToNAfLaRAPVe3Hy9TNST92nzHQR_1eSPdTCP2D6cTIKO1aIcgoVlDeOsIbVT6DrndA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">I don't know exactly where the ideas started, but once there was a game created and named <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Ou</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Bien</span> (like <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">racquetball</span>) we had to keep building. First we painted the lines for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ou</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Bien</span>. Then we realized the strip of a walkway in front of the house was perfect for bowling, or even better, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">N'est</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ce</span> Pas? And when I say <em>we</em> here, I mean Alex and Jeffrey <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Lebowski</span>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Courier New;">That's when we decided <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Kankan</span> was going to be the best house of all the regional houses. Alex and I designed a barbecue pit, basketball hoop, and ping-pong table, then spent one of our monthly visits to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Kankan</span> building the good times.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Courier New;">We bought materials, bought tools, and commissioned the hoop and poured the foundation for the barbecue pit. When we were trying to negotiate with the carpenters for the backboard and ping-pong table we were given ridiculous prices. We said forget that, if we buy a saw and a plane, we can build it ourselves. So we did.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Courier New;">Except where's the ping-pong table? We didn't have time to properly dry the wood we bought and it was shredding horribly under our plane. Rainy season isn't the wonderful natural kiln <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Kankan</span> becomes during the dry season. So we scrapped the ping-pong table and made a couple benches instead. We'll make the table later when we can afford to pay for machine planing and it's dry enough to not destroy our wood in the process.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Courier New;">Tip o' the hat to Alex whose perfect serve and perfect shot allowed this film to be made in a single take. Miracle man he certainly is. If only we'd also had the time to grill something on the barbecue pit to finish off the video. Well, perfection and miracles never were guaranteed to be one and the same.</span></p>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-1235912262468468882008-09-23T18:30:00.004+00:002008-09-23T18:43:45.190+00:00Anecdotes<div><span style="font-family:courier new;">Taxis are dangerous, slow, and not necessarily running on my schedule. So I bike whenever possible. One morning on the way home from Kankan, around 7 a.m., I passed a column of soldiers jogging in pseudo-organized columns. They were chanting "Get up, Stand up, Stand up for your rights" to keep the pace.<br /></span><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"><strong>* * *</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:courier new;">My hut is full of spiders. Most of the are small (size of the joint of my thumb) with a dark brown body and black joints. The body is round up to their spinners where it tapers off. (Read: "Mefloquine Nights") They eat everything else that lives in the hut - except, so far, Nyari and I. Their crowning beauty is the bright red hourglass on their bellies.<br />The body shape caught my eye - the hourglass made me extra cautious - because it's the same as a black widow's. I asked the Peace Corps medical officer if there are any dangerous spiders in Guinea. I told him we learned a lot about snakes and scorpions, but I see a lot of spiders that remind me of a potentially lethal species we have in America. He said the only way to know would be for me to catch one and bring it to him.<br />Using a rake and a piece of paper, I managed to catch two in a bottle. They decayed rapidly. So I caught two more and showed them to people around my village. They were all wondering what was wrong with me that I had spiders in a bottle. At least I am now assured that no one knows whether they're poisonous to people because they don't bite. Now they're just my resident roach killers.</span></div><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">* * *</span></strong></p></span><div><span style="font-family:courier new;">A few months after a chameleon fell out of a tree right next to me in my back yard, I almost ran one over in the bush. I stopped just in time, picked it up, and put it in a tree. Before I could even get moving again some women from my village came around the bend. I always want to know the names of things, so I found it, picked it up again, and brought it over to them.<br />As I was lifting it to show them, they screamed and shocked me so badly I accidentally threw the chameleon up into the air as I spun around to see what was sneaking up on me. Nothing, of course. It turns out chameleons are actually sorcerers. If they change to the color of your skin or your clothing they gain power over you; the kind women were merely frightened for my metaphysical safety. The name in Maninka is pronounced "no see."</span></div><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"><strong>* * *</strong></span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">Because I'm white, I am automatically accorded doctor of medicine status. People constantly ask me for medicine or a diagnosis. Aside from one instance where I pronounced a kid a lazy, spoiled slouch, I refer them to their health center and real doctors. They rarely go, claiming poverty. There's a reason so many people here are blind or missing limbs. It's not lack of health care, it's a failure to value one's health. How many people in my village have lots toes, fingers or entire limbs because a small infection, easily treatable with Mercurochrome or soap, was ignored or deemed unworthy of attention? Many.<br />I recently had a chance to practice what I preach. I had a staph infection on my stomach about two inches in diameter. I started a round of antibiotics when a second infection appeared, but I was having trouble with the draining.<br />Once I got it to come to a head, I was able to squeeze it. I got about two teaspoons of blood and and a good piece of pus to come out. I'd never seen congealed pus before, so I went to the health center to ask if there was another way to get it all out. Doc said nope, just squeeze. <em>Prends courage, ici c'est l'Afrique</em>. I got most of it out, but there were still pieces embedded in the hole it left behind. I had to get the doctor to do the last scrubbing for me. I brought my gloves, surgical sterilizer, and sterile gauze; bit down on my rolled up shirt (no desire for dental problems resulting from ground teeth); and he cleaned it out.<br />I was able to save myself two potentially lethal days on the road by forgoing the anesthetic I could have gotten in Conakry. A worthy trade by any measure.</span></p><p align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">* * *</span></strong><br /></p></span><br /><p align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249288549823956178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoIeKQNvQFfAO5LvXD_JF24-dHtWO27MsRloubCFEA85L2dXwX7hFuk0fVhDcdBicmkuGNjCAsmVJl2X-fGUt6wKae0sPo8YUlNo_CbHxF1iJzBSsO7Q9pL7caEAn1risr8WGtAvAejls5/s320/collecting+termites.JPG" border="0" /><br />I've been helping my "brothers and sisters" collect termites when they pop out of the foundations of our huts. We grab the large, winged variety as they attempt to fly off. It was only after a couple weeks of effort that my oldest (still a bit younger than I) sister decided I, too, should eat them. I'd had my share of uncooked ones, but when she brought me the first plate of cooked ones I understood the effort. They're like popcorn with a protein kick.<br />She eventually showed me how to cook them and I even got a chance to do the whole process myself. Often when I cook with her I end up flinging stuff all over the place when flipping things in the air to remove wings, chaff, dirt, etc.</span></p>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-55285032470984844732008-09-23T09:44:00.011+00:002008-09-23T10:11:48.644+00:00Around the house<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcJNAtJLIH1Fw5cIrRFeUZyXd1f5uFheYlYCluXFrLI2Nv0fJoY5NJrPDKNGFu4m6SGQYgODJOqm4cdv0K5kgYJK5tDULnA-2DNaR841Jywq5e5P6IPRto9UW_KJ6EeXC2KuAB2jd4LP3/s1600-h/yard+1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249153298681506306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZcJNAtJLIH1Fw5cIrRFeUZyXd1f5uFheYlYCluXFrLI2Nv0fJoY5NJrPDKNGFu4m6SGQYgODJOqm4cdv0K5kgYJK5tDULnA-2DNaR841Jywq5e5P6IPRto9UW_KJ6EeXC2KuAB2jd4LP3/s320/yard+1.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">My soy, a small nursery, and my cooking hut. The pile of sand in the background is for an eventual new house my family wants to build. They won't have enough money to buy cement for another year or two. Houses are always built bit by bit here. Many of my neighbors grow corn in their houses during the long years between being able to afford the walls and being able to afford the roof.</span></div><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizGDJOAAOKJbfDiwHprHH8w3Z0x29VpAoM7rxCpBuYPSRW-O7LSTuIaEzlocwiq_SeI7FlZ__SpVa32UWemnJZUIP4boMkiz16gCkm0cXqOERu0x9a8HabpUktHJWn-FXippUVE5UfIIUU/s1600-h/yard+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249152927280445266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizGDJOAAOKJbfDiwHprHH8w3Z0x29VpAoM7rxCpBuYPSRW-O7LSTuIaEzlocwiq_SeI7FlZ__SpVa32UWemnJZUIP4boMkiz16gCkm0cXqOERu0x9a8HabpUktHJWn-FXippUVE5UfIIUU/s320/yard+2.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">A view of the same that's less attractive photographically, but will help you see what's actually going on here.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUMGdJQKLqzzqExXmDav-08YZy40WytrTGQ7LlKlIwHakgo_CYKR_8p_VUYRAPqJuYe3lYlrnQ6F4C4OtlQWCaZW2RjqYggUurFtmCFbOevmHS25A3Z4sqx8lu2WvPK8Us8WfRDBBiwMG/s1600-h/yard+3.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249152368494125618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUMGdJQKLqzzqExXmDav-08YZy40WytrTGQ7LlKlIwHakgo_CYKR_8p_VUYRAPqJuYe3lYlrnQ6F4C4OtlQWCaZW2RjqYggUurFtmCFbOevmHS25A3Z4sqx8lu2WvPK8Us8WfRDBBiwMG/s320/yard+3.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> This is my hut, seen from under my family's mango tree. I built the hut on the right and you can sort of see my rain gauge in front of it.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJCJFxgGgCBAeOGZr21H7mWHq8nMBBHAkt1p3fe7e0YCZTYyyr8UH65yZIAcDumE7GXJ2QI7yCzZGJZK52xjDt9GXyB9uI5unbRnW5gczdagOUP1DYo_kQqPPlnPYh6xdDQ_s7Bg6JP2I/s1600-h/yard+4.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249152086310663426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJCJFxgGgCBAeOGZr21H7mWHq8nMBBHAkt1p3fe7e0YCZTYyyr8UH65yZIAcDumE7GXJ2QI7yCzZGJZK52xjDt9GXyB9uI5unbRnW5gczdagOUP1DYo_kQqPPlnPYh6xdDQ_s7Bg6JP2I/s320/yard+4.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">Formerly the hut of the young boys, now the cooking hut of the first wife. Why? Half of her former cooking hut fell down a month ago. The walls on the porch of the house and the walls of the house itself were completed about four months ago.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhtOiiUWuwZPblt8iLj1wy_V6dysX7ifD5iUHiOkGX0_QOwrFr5tWhjdzFGcfXeV6wIp-vTikfGDehw79AR0ViDvT3P2Vle90sbqWI4nicLuidvvTqqDfGPiHvwa6z23PwJDIce2FxHjF/s1600-h/yard+5.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249151653445275394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhtOiiUWuwZPblt8iLj1wy_V6dysX7ifD5iUHiOkGX0_QOwrFr5tWhjdzFGcfXeV6wIp-vTikfGDehw79AR0ViDvT3P2Vle90sbqWI4nicLuidvvTqqDfGPiHvwa6z23PwJDIce2FxHjF/s320/yard+5.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> The cooking hut of the second wife. That's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Nyari</span> on the bed out front. He spends his days on a zip line that runs from the mango tree to the far side of the interior of this hut. He plays around behind their hut when they're home amid the lentils and tomatoes I'm growing back there and the mango nursery I planted with my brother.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWfV9XmnLzUHi8BayAuP5_H6TWF8QuGEaIYNDMBItkgwPz78JlG_Xjd2nsyPC0GPXtboRuqjdRKeK8bh2KVokKfxVDMaBxz591-Ejlq7K5A9AEnfHBoLg3f6OMrP9rbtpO4dtPS1YZF8gS/s1600-h/yard+6.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249151384401785058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWfV9XmnLzUHi8BayAuP5_H6TWF8QuGEaIYNDMBItkgwPz78JlG_Xjd2nsyPC0GPXtboRuqjdRKeK8bh2KVokKfxVDMaBxz591-Ejlq7K5A9AEnfHBoLg3f6OMrP9rbtpO4dtPS1YZF8gS/s320/yard+6.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">The rain gauge, and my cooking hut with its newest roof extension. In the background: my neighbor the mechanic. His video club is just behind my hut, hidden from view by my brick wall.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYCPjuvYembn35fiRVaXWhogeh1UMtTgwvEe1sQpsWDRSKo5ybkPwxrlWPXFrA7SJe5NGuASyF8ytqp9S5zGT3CjLRL_bhBEBayKLFu4oX9B1bCVPucQOGju9WWmZr2NsQ_53FsJXMKge/s1600-h/yard+7.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249151029538068402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkYCPjuvYembn35fiRVaXWhogeh1UMtTgwvEe1sQpsWDRSKo5ybkPwxrlWPXFrA7SJe5NGuASyF8ytqp9S5zGT3CjLRL_bhBEBayKLFu4oX9B1bCVPucQOGju9WWmZr2NsQ_53FsJXMKge/s320/yard+7.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> My small garden in the back yard. A giant millet plant, butternut squash, and three pineapples are doing the best. The bushy plants are from bulbs. I constantly harvest the leaves to compost them.</span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibT1SatQCBvdRA4ut3Ply7Cs5MSFEFiY_W0I37afj3dRuq3bKEVA15aGAXQbSsiQWrwNQyhdn43-dY_g6mw7pU1x3czJNgm3o23fqx_xAFPZolHqATNG2Fq_BcjuZ2c8zracwsPUZW_2jd/s1600-h/yard+8.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249150810925313986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibT1SatQCBvdRA4ut3Ply7Cs5MSFEFiY_W0I37afj3dRuq3bKEVA15aGAXQbSsiQWrwNQyhdn43-dY_g6mw7pU1x3czJNgm3o23fqx_xAFPZolHqATNG2Fq_BcjuZ2c8zracwsPUZW_2jd/s320/yard+8.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">My three compost pits, manure bucket, and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">gmelina</span> nursery. There are also two <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">lingues</span> in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">gmelina</span> nursery for whatever reason.</span><br /></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aPgvsm-6uwIY4IcVApuIMvhqWHZ9-bQKxVECQowyFrh0ES0H8GFPXF809Z9oq5dxUsl1NglsDl8Gkm1Nmb8jfI9DECydV_ZBi46k9kR9fZbgFDa2aKWiZfnZtAdmxxuUj-kWDZSJpkQg/s1600-h/yard+9.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249150631637591506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-aPgvsm-6uwIY4IcVApuIMvhqWHZ9-bQKxVECQowyFrh0ES0H8GFPXF809Z9oq5dxUsl1NglsDl8Gkm1Nmb8jfI9DECydV_ZBi46k9kR9fZbgFDa2aKWiZfnZtAdmxxuUj-kWDZSJpkQg/s320/yard+9.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> Overview of the back yard with my small mango tree.</span> </div><div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249155690807033522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMz42DCq_WxBIef5d0EXp___GA_B2IlTV6BxsXeueHjklrzyTFKpHe3FNTuoIMH-F4TwC6tMLdFl1zzHJoAEdyrz9tYomvp4ur6wyV-kEh5kS_Kfe7OSvseOqv1gyrhnFD7w3djfyy8qhG/s320/burning+trash.JPG" border="0" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">My fancy reclining chair with an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">expandable</span> footrest in the back yard. Those <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">morgina</span> trees can also be seen in the first photo of this post, lining the edge of the cooking hut where they will grow to one day be a wall. The leaves are edible and make a nice tea. This is how I dispose of my trash.</span>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-65598420087121509392008-09-23T09:20:00.002+00:002008-09-23T09:44:13.151+00:00Bread Economics<span style="font-family:courier new;">Ramadan leads to a greater consumption of bread because it's ready as soon as the mosques announce we can eat again. Bread is a fairly new phenomenon in Guinea, and especially in Haute Guinea. Almost 100% of the bakers are Puhls, the denizens of the Fouta Djallon, who make up 40% of Guinea's population and have been repressed by both governments since independence. They still manage to be the most prosperous Guineans, stereotypically being the merchants, bakers, and herders.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">The elders in Kankan decided during Ramadan that because bread is so important and the Puhls are to be beaten down whenever possible, the price of bread throughout their jurisdiction would be fixed at 1500 Guinean Francs. To further demonstrate their power over the Puhls, they set the price of beef at 10,000 Guinean Francs.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">The price of a standard loaf of bread in the city of Kankan is usually 1500 anyway, so that made no difference. It was in the villages that it changed: either they buy in Kankan and transport to the villages, or there is a baker in town who has to buy his flour in Kankan.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">My village has a very good baker. I am working with him to develop different products, but he is already acknowledged as making far better bread than you can get in Kankan. His normal price is 2000.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">For several days after the announcement, he continued to sell his bread at 2000 and nobody complained. Then there was a crackdown.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">He was thrown in jail overnight for refusing to lower his price. I heard that and was furious. I predicted to my friend that either he would refuse to make bread at a loss, continue getting thrown in jail for selling at a higher price, or make smaller loaves.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Sure enough, there was no bread the day after he got out. Or the next. Or the next. Then someone started shipping bread in from Kankan, but that didn't last. Who wants to sell at a loss? Finally, once he was sure everyone was really sorry they threw him in jail, we were inundated with bread: each loaf smaller than before.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I went to see him once I'd seen he was working again to congratulate him. He was ecstatic that he was now making more money than before because people were now happier with his product even though they now pay more than they did before per measure of bread.</span>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-29668865216288448772008-09-23T09:05:00.003+00:002008-09-23T09:20:12.960+00:00The Turtle<p><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwjsohw-BIinlQ1g5PLJ4qB65o98O7yCGOoxnGqX_BR2e5LqRUqYu3szjvA_M7UvBXgcIVCcI5v6FDIrpL8AA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">My brother caught this turtle and wanted me to take a photo. When I took a video, he insisted I show it to my friends. That's his little sister next to him.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">David: What are you doing?</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Lansiné</span>: I'm cutting it open.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">D: Cutting it open... What's that called?</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">L: A turtle.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">D: A turtle? What are you going to do with it?</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">L: Cook it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">D: Cook it!?</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">L: And eat it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">D: </span><span style="font-family:courier new;">And eat it!? Is it good?</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">L: It's really good.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">D: That's awesome.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Courier New;">For those of you who are disgusted by the fact that he's eating a turtle, note two things: One, he's a kid, turtles, lizards, and songbirds are about all kids are able to hunt. If it's his dad who hunts it, he won't get to eat much. When the kids kill something, they all share it with each other. Two: the distended belly his little sister is sporting is caused by a lack of protein in diet, which leads to the under development of her abdominal muscles.</span></p>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-20086818472748182462008-09-23T08:34:00.008+00:002008-09-23T09:04:39.198+00:00A Tour of My Hut<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHaU9RXJbbWlFRbFU2Ji3RuP6pYHMWDrikeaPtbW0yYicAKGowx9msjfTJQ3x7I-U16FS7b3XCWAGuBNBBTEUwVNkWNEuQxKx2qfkW1X95dqxHze3Q92L2-csoqfkhAITdfhWKEU-Wwqmn/s1600-h/hut+with+musa.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249134783152380386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHaU9RXJbbWlFRbFU2Ji3RuP6pYHMWDrikeaPtbW0yYicAKGowx9msjfTJQ3x7I-U16FS7b3XCWAGuBNBBTEUwVNkWNEuQxKx2qfkW1X95dqxHze3Q92L2-csoqfkhAITdfhWKEU-Wwqmn/s320/hut+with+musa.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> My good friend Musa is like the average Guinean: hard to photograph. They always want to be serious whereas I don't want him to look like he's having his portrait painted two hundred years ago. He obliged.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoca_IW2xKMP6BrdaHM6tMwvZH82J8jdfiIMh6OKU2rzdfzgrElNg56awBMJtS4mcG79TY4PJFVTxNJ7SWEwpIwdpT0_328Sr5seu_wyho9c_nMdw6bB1TJsiXm9eS1TJ4pBnx0J83LMKj/s1600-h/hut+7.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249134529254824114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoca_IW2xKMP6BrdaHM6tMwvZH82J8jdfiIMh6OKU2rzdfzgrElNg56awBMJtS4mcG79TY4PJFVTxNJ7SWEwpIwdpT0_328Sr5seu_wyho9c_nMdw6bB1TJsiXm9eS1TJ4pBnx0J83LMKj/s320/hut+7.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> I built and hung a bamboo shelf above my kitchen/office. The office is a bit cluttered with the kitchen in this photo, but these things happen. Before his incarceration, Nyari used the kitchen as an exit from the hut, pulling down my wall bit by bit as he enlarged the gap between wall and roof. Those bits of metal on the wall (largely hidden by the shelf) are the stars of the constellation Orion, formerly known as the lids of cans of evaporated milk.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuMHEJfo6TumZ5-wD5wdyFePV_9wL54vdKfBN5h7d9E8VZUG-zPUmEfZLKt0B1-lyledhh_6a53Lzdo3wlcrSS4AopfjFo0n8izntukwhxRAUv4QQOyIequ-XpysAZd6YRtnp5vy_5lZGB/s1600-h/hut+6.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249134309539602834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuMHEJfo6TumZ5-wD5wdyFePV_9wL54vdKfBN5h7d9E8VZUG-zPUmEfZLKt0B1-lyledhh_6a53Lzdo3wlcrSS4AopfjFo0n8izntukwhxRAUv4QQOyIequ-XpysAZd6YRtnp5vy_5lZGB/s320/hut+6.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> My bush boots, water filter, rice-and-corn cleaning thing and the first innovation in clutter reduction: a hanging piece of wood with things tied to it. I didn't think to concentrate on them, but almost all of my tools are hanging from nails behind that door and the filter. Rakes, shovels, machetes, hammers, drills, axes, etc.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg59IR7iHlVThTgryPO92THlLsXrHat4vFgkY2tU5DNvH_7C4r1oYNtLrVyRD13OPHhGm7MLMy17Hwb7phhkvgS3wIaWXt6i3vPaQaIpSnCNaIF-kEoolIs-ID-Z2OumucozP9w6p-ip8cO/s1600-h/hut+5.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249134042793650690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg59IR7iHlVThTgryPO92THlLsXrHat4vFgkY2tU5DNvH_7C4r1oYNtLrVyRD13OPHhGm7MLMy17Hwb7phhkvgS3wIaWXt6i3vPaQaIpSnCNaIF-kEoolIs-ID-Z2OumucozP9w6p-ip8cO/s320/hut+5.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> The second hanging stick. That purple bucket is my washing machine, aka I keep my soap, brush, and stuff in it and it's the rinse cycle during the dry season. Rainy season I use a stream. It was originally purchased to carry Nyari across the country. My beekeeping equipment is hanging on the right side of this stuff-hanging stick.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ZATEUTXuvoSTKin2ZssdTO6fGjrOTsTuUarCTIoCt4c1L3R0U_0h-fda2-oIruLBxc0m1cdBgjM4TzJ5y86U1mWO-m84QbbQ9zY8pBrucGzBCLRddCkAb-jCkHUC9u3xMKMw5KY1jY0o/s1600-h/hut+4.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249133864291596914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ZATEUTXuvoSTKin2ZssdTO6fGjrOTsTuUarCTIoCt4c1L3R0U_0h-fda2-oIruLBxc0m1cdBgjM4TzJ5y86U1mWO-m84QbbQ9zY8pBrucGzBCLRddCkAb-jCkHUC9u3xMKMw5KY1jY0o/s320/hut+4.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">My hammock and chair: where most of the reading takes place. This is also the most heavily decorated part of the hut with maps, a thermometer, a soap opera (written by Jess), and work-related propaganda.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpEYp2mkvS6tkbZVMOiwmVVKLoZ9PrrbgKRWAGoB9mW0NkF0JQgfqGwj86p22AzDnmCnV8X9RV_ZMfw5oNZwM6ZWOsOBYPNZg1djipGGF3SD52IELuRkAWNOQVuDJNjtLdFN-TCcA1r2l/s1600-h/hut+3.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249133650512036738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPpEYp2mkvS6tkbZVMOiwmVVKLoZ9PrrbgKRWAGoB9mW0NkF0JQgfqGwj86p22AzDnmCnV8X9RV_ZMfw5oNZwM6ZWOsOBYPNZg1djipGGF3SD52IELuRkAWNOQVuDJNjtLdFN-TCcA1r2l/s320/hut+3.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> Musa and I pose in the garage. My solar drier is hanging above our heads. My clothing is all on the table behind me, next to the bike. The yellow containers above the solar drier are the panniers I made for my luggage-intensive trips between site and Kankan. I don't use them as much now that I'm mostly moved in.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1RGAj_k6Yil_DoPjpI6et3BMtGZAp1_S7B9i5Uq7pMIUl5qg-gUVpjhbplWbwwKYcWscf_xnQjHHD30cKQL3WYrOyF7FCdwnvUM6pdMuFlDrtb66HEBRJv0kWSZnYdJ50zH-2kHLp5yE/s1600-h/hut+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249133447891463010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1RGAj_k6Yil_DoPjpI6et3BMtGZAp1_S7B9i5Uq7pMIUl5qg-gUVpjhbplWbwwKYcWscf_xnQjHHD30cKQL3WYrOyF7FCdwnvUM6pdMuFlDrtb66HEBRJv0kWSZnYdJ50zH-2kHLp5yE/s320/hut+2.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> My mosquito net. And bed. And one-person bed (new) which I take outside to sit underneath the fam's mango tree.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Ku8S6_bSFZdB8Pwowz64ZBojmBMoLesZ7UaeclPb2fPn21VnOt1pKw-7vkEjV1WqvBHTV4D5PmYyc5YZ7LuIU9F33sQGbHmuHKU2lM3VD4tmucbuY0siLBX2fz8MkxCOA_NhwuISP-sT/s1600-h/hut1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249133130716809858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Ku8S6_bSFZdB8Pwowz64ZBojmBMoLesZ7UaeclPb2fPn21VnOt1pKw-7vkEjV1WqvBHTV4D5PmYyc5YZ7LuIU9F33sQGbHmuHKU2lM3VD4tmucbuY0siLBX2fz8MkxCOA_NhwuISP-sT/s320/hut1.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">The overview shot. Those two brown things on the bottom left: calabashes. Soon to be beehives. This also gives a somewhat better view of Orion. The hanging cloth is my towel, skirt, sheet, car hammock, <em>pagne extraordinaire</em>. My favorite pants are made of the exact same fabric. It was the first fabric I bought here, too.</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-21155059900151632912008-09-22T09:40:00.003+00:002008-09-22T09:48:14.898+00:00Money<span style="font-family:courier new;"><p xid="10">Peace Corps Volunteers are paid once every three months. The money is sent to a bank account and we are free to leave it in or take it out when we need it. Ironically, the policy about monetary theft encourages us to irresponsibly take out all our money at once. Unfortunately, the poor Guinean banking (up to and beyond five-hour waits in lines with only ten people in them), transportation and communication systems encourage the same behavior for those living in smaller, remote villages. So at times there are PCVs walking around town with millions of Guinean Francs in their pockets.</p><p xid="11">Nothing - not even Mefloquine - can make you feel as paranoid, posh or powerful as walking around with a sack full of money, which is your food and drink for the next three months.</p></span><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:courier new;">* * *</span></strong></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><p xid="12"></p><p xid="13">Money, even when fresh from the bank, is a health hazard. Literally. It's a major disease vector. Some bills look like scraps of beat-up paper bag. If you remember most people's bowel movements here end up washed away with a hand and no soap (and for young women, so do the bowel movements of their children), you will realize just what's on the money tens of people will handle on a single day in the market. Don't think too hard about the food they hand to you, either.</p><p xid="14"></span></p></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:courier new;">* * *</span></strong></div><span style="font-family:courier new;"><p></p><p xid="15">The first time I withdrew money from the bank in Kankan was with Adam. The security is mindblowing. An average day sees <em>It's a Wonderful Life</em>-sized crowds huddling aroud three booths mostly enclosed with glass or plastic. The rest of the crowd is gathered around open counters. There is one military policeman outside. Lines are rare and even if present, often ignored: everyone who has business in a bank is "important" and therefore quite used to pushing to the front of any crowd. Order is, after all, overrated. And the tellers facing the mob sit in their boxes among bricks of money sufficient to construct a hut.</c></p><p xid="17"><c props="font-style:normal">When Adam and I got almost to the front, there wasn't much of a crowd left - we're not very pushy guys. Adam turned to me and joked how easy it would be to rob the place what with hundreds of millions of francs within arm's reach of the customer. When we finally got to the front we had to fill out some papers and as we were more or less the end of the line, the teller took the opportunity to stash the bricks of cash below his counter.</c></p><p xid="18"><c props="font-style:normal">Finally with my money in hand, I decided to be Guinean and I counted every single bill. That was 600 sticky, torn pieces of paper and it took a while. Adam waited with me, and said the security had increased dramatically now that the cash was out of sight. It was still funny because when you're one of the last to leave, the front door is locked and you have to exit by going behind the counters through the door that's directly behind the tellers's boxes. Once I'd finished counting, we left and as we walked away the teller politely wished us a good afternoon. In perfect English.</c></p></span>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-88575144374886990522008-09-22T09:36:00.001+00:002008-09-22T09:38:27.356+00:00Un sendero en el bosque<span style="font-family:courier new;"><p style="Normal" xid="10">Fui a ver el bosque protegido de un pueblo cerca del mío. Los habitantes habían plantado la mayoría de los árboles allí, pero la naturaleza también metió unos cuantos.</p><p style="Normal" xid="46">Los de los hombres crecían rápidamente y tenían mucho éxito. Los de la naturaleza daban a comer y a beber. Probé una variedad de frutas igual a todas las que había comido en mi vida. Bebé el agua de una planta que siempre la retiene, aún en la estación seca.</p><p style="Normal" xid="47">Llegué al pueblo ya habiéndome dado cuenta que el programa de hacer bosques del hombre no tiene valor. Decidí en ese momento que mi trabajo sería un programa para plantar los árboles que la gente use. Esto se hará al lado del pueblo para que dejen el bosque natural. Así el bosque puede exprimir su diversidad.</p><p style="Normal" xid="48">Sólo así se puede salvar los bosques trópicales. De otra manera, tendríamos bosques, pero perdimos lo salvaje y acabamos con una ciudad de hombres hecha en madera.</p></span>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-6841322356323266642008-09-22T09:15:00.002+00:002008-09-22T09:22:36.171+00:00Mefloquine Nights<span style="font-family:courier new;"><p style="Normal" xid="10">Malaria, likely the number two killer in West Africa behind traffic accidents, affects my life in direct, omnipresent ways.</p><p style="Normal" xid="1">I sleep in a mosquito net and never spend an evening minute outside the net without first having slathered my exposed skin with insect repellent. The net, at least, serves other purposes. Undesirables (roaches, scorpions, spiders and the many other denizens of my hut) don't sneak into my bed at night. I'm reminded of how wonderful that is every time I find a potentially painful or shocking experience lurking on a wall.</p><p style="Normal" xid="2">The number one malaria countermeasure isn't the net or the repellent, it's a weekly prophylaxis, Mefloquine (Lariam). It has interesting side effects, though to avoid a closer acquaintance with malaria, I suffer them with joking complaints.</p><p style="Normal" xid="3">I have woken up a few times with my hut laid out before me in perfect clarity. The most striking thing of those moments was a large yellow bucket with the word <em>Best</em> written across it in bright red script. I own no such bucket. And one of the greatest parts of living in my hut is lying in bed in the morning until I am surrounded by the glowing halo of sunlight creeping through the gap between my brick wall and the straw roof. At night, it's as dark as a cave inside, and I can no more see my hand in front of my face than I can see the contents of my hut.</c></p><p style="Normal" xid="4"><c props="font-style:normal">The first few times I could clearly see my hut at night were confusing. Yet I was able to puzzle it out thanks to an experience one night in January during training.</c></p><p style="Normal" xid="5"><c props="font-style:normal">I had a room in a house there. I was blessed with a window and the town frequently had electricity at night. Sight at night was never a big problem. When I woke up one night to see a lumberjack's torso climbing through my window, I was forced to reconcile myself to the irritating reality of a Mefloquine-inspired hallucination. Vivid dreams are one thing, and often fun, but flat out seeing things can be bit irritating when you're trying to sleep.</c></p><p style="Normal" xid="6"><c props="font-style:normal">Mefloquine has been the alleged cause of mental problems for many people. It causes anxiety and the usual vivid dreams and hallucinations. I've heard it shouldn't be taken for more than six months at a time and every ten days. I've been on it for almost ten months now and I have the privilege of taking it for at least 17 more, every Monday - read, every seventh day.</c></p><p style="Normal" xid="8"><c props="font-style:normal">The real problem for me came the night I woke up in darkness with tiny things crawling all over me. I smacked them for about an hour, waiting for the hallucination to end. It was only when I woke the next morning I found I had had hundreds of baby spiders in bed with me - all tiny enough to crawl through the small holes Nyari had long-ago ripped in my net.</c></p><p style="Normal" xid="7"><c props="font-style:normal">I don't consider myself to be susceptible to mental health problems and I have no intention of getting malaria. I have faith - everyone needs to have faith in something - in my individual biology to be strong against mefloquine's side effects for the long haul. In the mean time, I'm still waiting for my Kublai Kahn.</c></p></span>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-6993145900478661732008-07-05T15:49:00.003+00:002008-07-05T15:57:46.060+00:00Rain<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzb3ZPOLiQiHfVcrGlSSXx7YKq3VPA88MZ1G2jgqM-RWlBkO0ib2e3F4781ZwQL2TUE6LXO4ZRtNPsSd2tCAg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">The rainy season has started. Local mangoes are finished and now I'm stuffing myself with the larger, grafted varieties. They're more fun to eat because they're often full of worms and they therefore give you a greater protein kick if you don't always see them right away.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">It also means that on nights I sleep outside I am risking an inadvertent shower. Last night, for example: I've been sleeping on the roof here in Conakry in my mosquito tent. It's basically a mesh on poles - no protection from the rain. That's what the roof is for. But last night the wind was so strong I had to dig around for thirty minutes to find ear plugs and it blew my tent horizontal - I had the mesh pressed onto my face until I was able to put heavy things all around the edges to weigh them down. Life is good, though - it was much cooler with all the wind and rain.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">Here Amy and I are trying to collect rainwater to use later for whatever - bathing for example. After Adam finished he came out and asked me if he'd just used leftover rain water I'd brought in to use. I told him yes and he was relieved he didn't just randomly have twigs and leaves stuck in his hair after a shower.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:courier new;">That said, the best bucket baths I've had in country were all during heavy downpours. One of those downpours caught me while I was out jogging and as it continued until after I'd finished my shower, I never even had to worry about sweat breaking out after just having showered. Instead I put on long pants and a fleece jacket. I tell you, 70 degrees is cold!</span></p>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-71935308064806690002008-07-05T15:40:00.000+00:002008-07-05T15:41:00.349+00:00Una Jornada Típica<p style="Normal" xid="15">Me levanto a las 5:30. Ya me haré despierto hace 30 minutos, pero hace falta un poco de luz para empezar el día. Bueno, para hacer algo útil. Hasta que haya, leo con una antorcha.</p><p style="Normal" xid="35">Saco mi cubo para bañarme y me preparo para estar a la intersección del pueblo para desayunar a las 7. Siempre lo mismo: la harina de maís y azucar con algo ácido - una fruta trópica que nunca se ve entre todas las cosas allí mezcladas - sólo sabes que hay un poco de su zumo para que la harina se haga bolitas. Saludo a todo el mundo. Puede durar bastante tiempo para cada persona: I ni sööma, I ni sööma, Tana ma si, Here sira, I ni sooma, Mba, I Condé, Mba, Tana ma si, Tana si te, Here sira, Tana si te. Y esas frases se repiten como te de la gana. Mientras tanto estoy buscando la persona con la que voy a trabajar ese día. Muchas veces se le ha olvidado. O puede ser que cojo la bici para ir a otro pueblo de al lado (entre 3 y 30 kilómetros) para hacer un trabajo allí.</p><p style="Normal" xid="36">En cuanto la halle, voy al campo o al bosque con esa persona y hacemos lo del día - puede ser qualquiera cosa. No es raro que me llevan allí sólo para pedir el dinero de una manera indirecta.</p><p style="Normal" xid="37">Acabamos normalmente la mañana. Si tengo un programa para mediodía, será algo parecido - o no tendrá nada que ver. Hay mucha variedad. Entre los dos programas, voy al "bar" (una banca que quizás no caiga y quizás tenga un techo/parasol). Como el arroz con una salsa asquerosa que escondo con una montaña de pimiento fuerte.</p><p style="Normal" xid="38">Hace calor. Si no tengo un programa, me siento bajo un árbol para leer algo escrito en el inglés a los chiquitines o tocarles un poco de flamenquillo. Nunca dura - la música les interesa, pero todos quieren hablar conmigo mientras tanto y es dificíl hacer las dos a la vez.</p><p style="Normal" xid="41">Voy al pozo para coger el agua a las 4. Si hay mucha gente, puedo esperar hasta una hora para poder pedalear un poco. Cojo lo suficiente para bañarme la noche y la mañana, para regar lo arbolitos que he plantado por todos lados, y para lavar las cosas que están sucias - platos, el suelo, el gato, los niños...</p><p style="Normal" xid="42">De necesidad paso por el mercado - unas cuántas mujeres que venden lo que han sacado del jardín o que han hallado en el bosque para comprar la cena. Vuelvo después de saludar todo el mundo - una pequeña variación de la mañana. Decido si me interesa cocinar o si me voy a ascostar pronto. De todos modos me lavo y estoy en la cama antes de las 8 para leer una o dos horas con la antorcha y dormirme mientras el vecino, un video club, empieza a hacer más ruido que una discoteca y que puede durar hasta medianoche. </p><p style="Normal" xid="43">Mañana empieza de nuevo!</p></section></abiword>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-23191393717000284552008-07-05T01:00:00.001+00:002008-07-05T01:14:59.302+00:00Sueños de Cuajada<p style="Normal" xid="15">Aquí no se puede dar dos pasos sin ver una oveja. Las ovejas se han comido todos los árboles que yo había metido delante de mi cabaña. Pero aunque los guineanos viven con ellas, se sientan con ellas, y las ven a todo momento, nunca piensan a beber la leche de oveja. Comersela, sin cuestión; pero la leche nunca jamás.</p><p style="Normal" xid="32">La tomaría yo mismo pero no puedo pensar de la leche de oveja sin querer el queso o aún mejor la cuajada vasca - comida divina que echo de menos.</p><p style="Normal" xid="33">Hablo sin parar de la comida española. Una vez me tocó la suerte de ganar un jabalí entero. Fui a cogerlo y lo preparé para hacer cuatro jamones, salchichones, y no sé qué más. Lo que no sabía en ese momento es que el clima de España es perfecto para hacer el jamón ibérico. Creía que fue la preparación sólo que hizo famoso el jamón serrano. Qué tristeza volver a casa al día siguiente para ver el jabalí entero estropeado - salvo las costillas que Nyari y yo habíamos comido la misma noche que lo ganó.</p><br /><p style="Normal" xid="35">La cerveza de Guinea no es una de las mejores del mundo. Tampoco está muy buena. Cuántas veces he dado las gracias a España por haberme enseñado la clara - la cerveza con limón para vosotros los madrileños. Tenemos el vino de mesa aquí también - marca Don Simón, claro que sí. Nunca me lo bebo sino que sea en forma de tinto de verano.</p><p style="Normal" xid="36">Me he prometido ir a España para veros todos antes de empezar otra vez la vida en otro lugar. Ahora es más seguro que nunca: veo la necesidad de comer a la española otra vez y prontito.</p><p style="Normal" xid="38">Julián, para que sepas, una vez me tomó la cerveza en un coco para ti.</p></section></abiword>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-2814311119052012822008-07-05T00:39:00.012+00:002008-07-05T15:47:05.495+00:00Random Photos<div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYSzI0C6luodFhOHrJcmLPnNquKghvz3EpiWC8wB1Xl-R9LwdlDE9wiCOL2vJ0Xy_rAjBKL2PasMs7kZQfrp-v8G6l-YhFaDSzw7ziHt3bKvaNSAUvfClsfJHSTz1MqQGnitAg_OfO9KKl/s1600-h/atop+car.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219326312280292482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYSzI0C6luodFhOHrJcmLPnNquKghvz3EpiWC8wB1Xl-R9LwdlDE9wiCOL2vJ0Xy_rAjBKL2PasMs7kZQfrp-v8G6l-YhFaDSzw7ziHt3bKvaNSAUvfClsfJHSTz1MqQGnitAg_OfO9KKl/s320/atop+car.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> Atop the Peace Corps car so I could take a photo of other volunteers; our car broke a brake pad and got a flat, extending our trip by several hours and giving us that much more time to sing songs and enjoy good conversation and good company.<br /></span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdrzFBqTwzRHwg9DgqHPUrONUnzm3Xe3EIZS35Og8XGP1Nhnpp8DGRgleP_Zi3VvMmnK_QsNRsO07ns3Ztj_CB0PHO-4pDXR5kMrPeT5VwI0yyJn2rUaRjiLzxjaRYp3G0x8vlzYZFKUA/s1600-h/car+sling.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219326183476576738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHdrzFBqTwzRHwg9DgqHPUrONUnzm3Xe3EIZS35Og8XGP1Nhnpp8DGRgleP_Zi3VvMmnK_QsNRsO07ns3Ztj_CB0PHO-4pDXR5kMrPeT5VwI0yyJn2rUaRjiLzxjaRYp3G0x8vlzYZFKUA/s320/car+sling.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">The Peace Corps vehicle I took in to Conakry for July 4 and a JET meeting was a bit packed. Having nowhere to lean and sleep, I made a sling for myself with my pagne/towel.<br /></span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHKBt98njGElqJC2VDJvpaFwDmrhAGUs2ieDEaT3AT2EFqYSvTbe39E4Hv_9nRg2QK9mKC941V6Usj_2z7GRuQn91mlid6TqyncUhlb6E5Fnp3JDHX1rHBanfV4UEIY2laY0oC4m_gmYc4/s1600-h/chameleon.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219325496319988434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHKBt98njGElqJC2VDJvpaFwDmrhAGUs2ieDEaT3AT2EFqYSvTbe39E4Hv_9nRg2QK9mKC941V6Usj_2z7GRuQn91mlid6TqyncUhlb6E5Fnp3JDHX1rHBanfV4UEIY2laY0oC4m_gmYc4/s320/chameleon.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">I was weeding in my back yard one day when a chameleon fell out of either my mango tree or the neighbor's, landing right next to me. I picked it up on a stick and played with it for a while before it got too boring.<br /></span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxyPMLYf254LUc0nflo2BwasdUmfAhGhSXqP-4yD8GSKLdTOuKytKaW5GO-Twcpdy3i0qMFQqlM2uIMe4z29LGGiFOrrpif5XoMmD7FeO4Y4ls3WzXlhVAA0Oe_GJD-WpaHO9FQdOoLE_/s1600-h/my+mango+tree.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219324960095070194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipxyPMLYf254LUc0nflo2BwasdUmfAhGhSXqP-4yD8GSKLdTOuKytKaW5GO-Twcpdy3i0qMFQqlM2uIMe4z29LGGiFOrrpif5XoMmD7FeO4Y4ls3WzXlhVAA0Oe_GJD-WpaHO9FQdOoLE_/s320/my+mango+tree.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;">The mango tree in my back yard has huge mangos, but the majority of them are harboring worms. Bad luck.<br /></span><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUZXqcEUzCBfvoEzPXQzsJ5EOrSZ7XJbJx_OOG-sGvNxSyYpsmRczkCFJYLVuh-ZyPAuvXetNWgngWu-8gtoOpAw7Wuf7BSL3FxCHnNlz1SUYZHesJiBWs2MMMASn1Xzj272zPx9H2I4bY/s1600-h/gbangbadou+bed.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219324764334088978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUZXqcEUzCBfvoEzPXQzsJ5EOrSZ7XJbJx_OOG-sGvNxSyYpsmRczkCFJYLVuh-ZyPAuvXetNWgngWu-8gtoOpAw7Wuf7BSL3FxCHnNlz1SUYZHesJiBWs2MMMASn1Xzj272zPx9H2I4bY/s320/gbangbadou+bed.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> Working hard, making raised beds for the rainy season garden at Jess's site.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPJb43BBITDsu1JGfqpQ62lQa5ePP1SPRL_AlKdL1H6Kg7pVQKz1Z8muQLFcBKzY9USJI-IhOz1fzW_xOUn9MDj4-fK0QmFOOfI1Krob2MAf5hIkrgTq7xRejN1mL7_9hl4nDwhoZgqSe/s1600-h/jess+garden.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219324619487717122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcPJb43BBITDsu1JGfqpQ62lQa5ePP1SPRL_AlKdL1H6Kg7pVQKz1Z8muQLFcBKzY9USJI-IhOz1fzW_xOUn9MDj4-fK0QmFOOfI1Krob2MAf5hIkrgTq7xRejN1mL7_9hl4nDwhoZgqSe/s320/jess+garden.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">Also while visiting Jess, we intended to work with the school to help them create a garden to improve their nutrition. Unfortunately, they stopped going to school before term ended and the project didn't get too far.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jEjsrQEUyhofywp4OGBXjUMpx0ylv7ie9tkv9bMBL6diqoeGzkcpv0rNtHozNxAD0-h8AK2Sa_o7WdoJ_j9eXgkCl17d7RqtrSy2HqZ1bDt4jrxRYfb3EZOl0_6l4PbYh5LoZOhf8AHY/s1600-h/jess+charcoal.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219324451678269650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1jEjsrQEUyhofywp4OGBXjUMpx0ylv7ie9tkv9bMBL6diqoeGzkcpv0rNtHozNxAD0-h8AK2Sa_o7WdoJ_j9eXgkCl17d7RqtrSy2HqZ1bDt4jrxRYfb3EZOl0_6l4PbYh5LoZOhf8AHY/s320/jess+charcoal.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">Jess lighting charcoal on fire to cook me a fantastic dinner at her site while I was in town to work on a Moringa olifera garden at her health center.<br /></span><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219556308237312050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo6_K8dp-5Rbp2NSyDml8Vv_yHIxN9yTbHqmqF6K8orjxEKMNUmUiZvoh5jj6_IapxRHjosbNHdqWivc-ICpopuF51aQvlcc88jcqzKHAxw8x3r7QKEBWaIpZiuvbFGcb0xrGPw1Q3v-RL/s320/map.jpg" border="0" /> <div><span style="font-family:courier new;">In honor of our successful arrival to IST and the end of our first three months at site, I decided to decorate myself with a map of Guinea - company for the moustache contest we had that ended up just being a moustache having. We never did decide who had the best one officially, though unofficially Alex's moustache was fantastic.</span><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFgbPEjHGb83kXmXOyd4JrEmfQwF0Irjhn-Ljs2HdwKvEYjbgzeOGqoNEc9IHkhAa0wGo_ekZqANHbMHabHUqvDjfMvtVM-it2ex6CNBkGITvFQbMU1RAOjw5F7Bp5LwRR5j2OWc1Qb-m/s1600-h/chicken+bike.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219324072190164162" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFgbPEjHGb83kXmXOyd4JrEmfQwF0Irjhn-Ljs2HdwKvEYjbgzeOGqoNEc9IHkhAa0wGo_ekZqANHbMHabHUqvDjfMvtVM-it2ex6CNBkGITvFQbMU1RAOjw5F7Bp5LwRR5j2OWc1Qb-m/s320/chicken+bike.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">This is another holdover from training. I left this chicken behind by accident. I'm sure someone's eaten it by now. No matter; I have my cat. And I can always get a new chicken if I get hungry some day.</span></div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVaxgjf1c2RC8rzeXPodpVj1bPnN02Y-MQH8Ov8IALK_B6qdrqtmL5uSI2aUJfZLYc1mpE4QC5TF8BSOoYjmRvVLNlYmHzTFAh9k-7_AGpievUB-ghVSnAsWU7SYged9vUbqVDHt6qWj4m/s1600-h/building+a+store.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219323632476701362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVaxgjf1c2RC8rzeXPodpVj1bPnN02Y-MQH8Ov8IALK_B6qdrqtmL5uSI2aUJfZLYc1mpE4QC5TF8BSOoYjmRvVLNlYmHzTFAh9k-7_AGpievUB-ghVSnAsWU7SYged9vUbqVDHt6qWj4m/s320/building+a+store.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:courier new;">I took this photo during training. Buildings often have doors long before they are finished. Had I been a day earlier with my camera, it would've been even better: there was a bare minimum frame, the door, and the windown: not even all those sticks for a wall were there yet. </span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8467775795791673147.post-82188072436371342932008-07-05T00:38:00.001+00:002008-07-05T00:38:57.257+00:00The Dancing Collection<p style="Normal" xid="15">A recent trip to Jess's site saw me learn a lot about how to prepare a project, make avocado jam (still not black after a month!), and give up on my woodworker - I ordered bookshelves out of town due to overcharging (by American standards, even) and wood-lacking (doesn't like working for someone who requires sturdy, non-nail-dependent joins) carpenters. I also went to church for the first time in almost three years.</p><p style="Normal" xid="25">At first I was placed up front behind the preacher as a first-time guest. They quickly moved me next to Jess and her translator, who did an admirable job transforming Kissi into French on the fly for two hours.</p><p style="Normal" xid="26">Being next to Jess just made me stand out even more than I would have with merely my melanin deficiency. The men sit on the left side of the church and the women, plus one white guy and a translator, sit on the right side.</p><p style="Normal" xid="27">At the beginning it was great - there was singing accompanied by drums and calabaches in sacks of beads. The music was uplifting and invigorating. People were smiling and enjoying themselves. It was everything religion should be.</p><p style="Normal" xid="28">Unfortunately the sermon ended up being a long-winded speech about how the children of the rich are awful; state employees are rich, lazy, and awful; and people don't give enough money to the church. I didn't ask them to remind me why I hated going to mass growing up, but they did it anyway and as the guest, I just listened quietly. Redeeming note: everyone up front behind the pastor fell asleep during the sermon and they were all out cold by the end.</p><p style="Normal" xid="29">The holy sermon, once blessedly over, saw the greatest church collection ever. Both the men and the women chose a representative and a secretary. The competition was clear: who could raise more money, the men or the women. I put my money in with the men, but I was betting on the women.</p><p style="Normal" xid="30">There was music while each group gave, then a first-round count was intended to drive them to greater charity. The men's secretary preceded his tally with a short speech about how men, who earn money unlike women, were surely the victors and he went on in a bit of flowery trash talk. The women's secretary simply stood up and announced they had collected more than two times what the men gave. The second round ended much the same way; the women obliterated the men.</p><p style="Normal" xid="31">They cheered and danced their representative back to her seat as the men's rep walked back to his alone and in shame. Our translator was laughing like he was the happiest person in the world, glorying in the humiliation of the men and the joy of the women. On my other side, Jess probably was the happiest person in the world: she had finally shared her African church experience with another American.</p></section></abiword>d.solanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17398238667127982911noreply@blogger.com0