Intense dreams have returned. Perhaps as a result of a more active and restless mind, or perhaps because of restlessness from the returning humidity at night. As my friends and family back home prepare for the coming chilled winds, changing colors, and pumpkin pie of autumn we prepare for the worst segment of the year here: the end of the rainy season. By the end of September the rains will go away but the humidity will remain. Days, like cheap wax candles sold at bitiks, will melt away sluggishly, slowing time as if some cosmic pause button has been pressed. Then we will hit the month of Ramadan and just about everyone will be in a state of frustration and weakness from the days of fasting in 100% humidity. Into the quagmire we go... I suppose its the one time of year when you might legitimately say, “It’s not easy here in The Gambia.”
For now the intense dreams have made a startling comeback. The downfall of failed relationships, street life and markets in Eastern Europe, roaring downhill in a bicycle race, these are just some of the more normal subjects that have popped up. Of course there are still all sorts of strange ones as well that shift from making ice cream, to ghastly figures surrounding me, to living rooms shaded in bright neon colors. The common thread that links them is that they have ended inconclusively. That’s how most dreams end anyways, without a clear end, but these have been particularly vivid and as a result particularly frustrating in their lack of finality.
Right now I need something to grab onto and steady myself in The Gambia. Dreams that leave one wanting aren’t exactly high on the priority list. I can only sigh and look at the time that lies ahead.
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“Well then he should be beat!,” I yelled.
Only this time it wasn’t with my typical American bred reserve with the words, I meant it.
The situation was explained to me as such: One of the kids was running around at twilight, disturbing everyone preparing for their evening prayers. Then he said something to our grandmother that was a distinctive insult and severe show of disrespect.
So I said the words, confirming the punishment already being administered. A whap in the background and a yelled cry confirming the result. It was the first time I said those words and I felt the change in my body when saying them. A clenching and push in the gut revealing a confidence and belief in what one is saying. It was the first time it came out feeling like a statement from myself rather than a begrudging cultural concession.
After I said it I felt a shame and withdrawal coming from the depths of my body, 23 years of teaching being challenged with a few words. It forced me to remind myself of my own upbringing and keep in mind there are alternatives. My job here and throughout life is to keep the lessons of my parents in mind and at least give them a chance to the future. Show the alternatives in a constructive manner and open other eyes. It was from then on out that I have displayed a renewed energy towards a hands on approach to working with the kids. Using the consistency in action, words, and firmness to make a point rather than a fist and fear.
I forgot how much it takes out of a parent, relative, or friend to hold firm when teaching a lesson. The looks I have gotten from the kids when telling them what to and not to do have been heart wrenching. “Why are you being so mean to me? I didn’t do anything wrong. I refuse to obey you. I am openly defying you to test how far you will hold your ground. You don’t want to see me cry do you?”
If you are a parent then I’m sure you can appreciate these difficulties. For someone encountering these problems for the first time with any prolonged duration, they are indeed exhausting.
Change and growth in West Africa.
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The new Education group is finished with their segment of training that takes place upcountry in small Gambian villages. They are now visiting their permanent site and we are graced with three new volunteers in the area. The next month or so will be spent helping them make adjustments to urban life and simply making sure their mental health stays well. Sometimes hard to do when your own state is a bit topsy turvy but one can hope for the best.
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Here is a small piece I wrote and presented to the new Education group during a training session in which they meet their Gambian counterparts. It is supposed to be a reflection of what ICT volunteers do in the field and therefore give some guidance to new volunteers as to what they can expect.
As Peace Corps ICT volunteers in The Gambia our mission is to help develop the infrastructure and education of information communication technology. That could mean anything from setting up computer labs, developing income generating and sustainability ideas, or teaching literacy classes. In addition we strive to solidify ICT education in The Gambia, making it an integral part of the education system. To that extent we work with DoSE to assess and modify the proposed ICT education curriculum, and work with institutions of higher learning to develop and improve their ICT curriculum.
Furthermore, as PCVs it is our mission to overcome what has been called the bush taxi problem. That is, bush taxis exist and thrive despite old and incomplete raw materials based on a distinctive need for transportation throughout the country. The same should be said for the ICT industry, we should assess why it is needed and desired and focus our development efforts to target these needs and desires. Without this we will waste time and effort fulfilling a undesired need, in other words creating an unsustainable enterprise. This creates dependency and a lack of internal confidence that will severely block the development of an industry that demands a highly skilled and technical workforce. With this problem in mind an ICT volunteer’s mission is to understand why ICT materials are needed, how best to meet that need, and how to sustain that need.
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I would like to return to writing some fiction but as of late my mind is a bit too wandering to keep the groundwork ready for such an endeavor.
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