There are tons of family and friends that I can’t thank enough for getting me this far.
What's going on here, all these strange vivid moments? It finally hit me the other day and I have been wholly enjoying the moments ever since. I am growing up. I am transitioning to my next phase of life. Perfect, for that is exactly one of the things that I wanted from this experience. Might this sound trivial? Sure, to some, but for myself it's rather monumental.
What kind of vivid moments have they been? They are hard to describe, but powerfully identify life’s moments in space and time. I am reminded of Professor Bob Eno who once told us that in ancient Chinese philosophy there comes a time when you are able to understand your life in segments, and as you get older those segments start to become larger and larger. Perhaps that is what is going on. What I do know is that the brief pauses in time when I feel engrossed in thought give me a sense that all of a sudden I've been given a set of super powers, a 6th sense on how to look at my life.
For example there are times when I remember events no longer just for their happenings, but also in a weird visualization zoomed all the way in on the specifics then all the way back out again as if desiring to reveal the entire time line to me. The time line goes not only into the past but also a bit into the future, providing a clear and pleasant insight into what could be. Short events and broad periods of history flash in my head making me stop my daily activity and become lost in the moment: what must have been going through my dad's head sitting under a hot Thai sun for the first time, the depth of the decision by my mother to depart from her home land, a special childhood of international relations, early Christmas morning waiting anxiously with my sister in her room wondering what Santa had brought, a classically confused teenage growth, the wonderful youthful excitement of college. These things and much more have hit me in intensity revealing not just the event, but also the larger time line. I guess you could call it family history.
Other flashes of adulthood are proving to be just as vivid, and fittingly for myself probably began to surface once I returned to something out of my youth. Re-reading Calvin and Hobbes strips, I began to see them more from the point of view of the parents than of Calvin. This carried over to moments of my own joy watching Bubacarr finally start to comprehend the world around him, those little eyes revealing a deeper thought and a new pint sized realization about life. Likewise trying to teach Amee basic discipline has found myself in moments of an unknown intensity guided by words of honesty and sternness spoken in a voice that sounds practiced yet also floating magically like a conductor's baton.
All the other small things that come with growing up have also appeared, meetings with the Boss, managing a paycheck, dressing up, reporting to work, and what to do on weekends without homework.
Like I said, I can't exactly put it all into words, but perhaps what is here is adequate enough for a glimpse. Some parts of growing up are better left to the indescribable magic that they bring to each individual in their own way.
I think something I forgot when I left for The Gambia was that I left as Todd Diemer who felt on a complete high of achievement in life. When I arrived I spent a lot of time broken down because as a new social actor in a strange place, most of my mental energy was drained trying to be Yaya Demba, a mere Gambian baby. It was easy to forget behind the name Yaya stood a confident growing man who brought Yaya to the Peace Corps in the first place. What's in a name? It's hard to negotiate the two when the Todd from home and the Yaya who was a stranger seemed to be polar opposites of one another. Perhaps I'll have to go back and check on what the philosophers of language have to say about that…
This is all related to what I told my sister not too long ago. This experience has already made me get over some aspects of my past, be proud of others, get ready for the future, and face the present with no regrets but a willingness to make it work one way or another. Growing up? Probably. Would kill for a bowl of ice cream and cake? You bet.
---
In a Gambia specific note, here are some acronyms and phrases that are commonly spoken by PCVs here, but might sound crazy to people back home. If you hear us use these, don't think we have gone crazy; just remember how long we've been away, and that Gambian English is not the same as English. (For Education 2006-2008)
SoaP - Snakes on a Plane.
ET - Early Termination
WAIT - West African International Time
GMT - Gambian Maybe Time
It is here only - Good answer for just about any question. For example: “How is the moring?” – “It is here only.”
(x) against (y) - Gambian English for "from (x) until (y)." For example "from today until Friday..."
gele-gele - A hollowed out 7 passenger van typically holding 15.
The Doctor - Adam the psychiatrist, you will be greatly missed.
Wack-Evac - Having to leave country for severe mental health issues.
Now now - When something is happening at this very moment.
Jammeh said... - The President of The Gambia said...
ICT Volunteers - Volunteers who tend to have very poor language skills.
Gun Shot! - Language and Cultural Helper Muhammadou Bah singing the chorus to his favourite song.
Rowdy - As some would say.
It's nice to be nice - All over The Gambia said by bumsters.
Bumsters - Males who tend to harass you and are always on the look out for a female "companion."
G-Spot - The volunteer run monthly newsletter.
---
Finally, for those of you who have not had the pleasure Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt, it is a heck of a book. You should go visit your local library, borrow it, and read it. If you are too young to be reading that sort of thing, check your local listings for the next showing of Reading Rainbow. Get inspired.
---
Yes, we all technically could be wack-evaced, but that's part of PC life.
08 November 2006
01 November 2006
Ch. 4 IN WHICH YAYA DISCOVERS UNIVERSALLY DEL.ICIO.US CANDY
Excerpt from Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman (Thanks Mom!)
So it is only proper that at this young age the cast should still be growing, and likewise the extras are cementing themselves as nothing more than the background noise.
"So are you from the U.K. or what," the student inquired? His deliberate seating by my side cast an impending shadow of doom.
I was not in the mood for this, no not today. It had been a particularly angry day due to the heat, the kind of heat where you aren't just perspiring, rather the kind where you can wipe off the glaze of sweat as if it were a coating of jelly. "No," I grumbled, "I am from America."
"Uh huh," came the lifeless pre-programmed reply, "So which European nation do you come from?"
I sat for a minute making sure that his last statement registered correctly. "Well um... I'm not from Europe. I told you, I am from Amer-i-ca," I replied, my voice growing more disinterested with each syllable.
A silent pause graced the air giving me hope that the Peace Corps Gods were being merciful today.
"So then," a pause as if double-checking with the computer for a DOES NOT COMPUTE reply, "you aren't from the U.K.," asked the stranger?
"No," I mumbled.
"Oh you know, because you sound like someone from the U.K.," he replied with a renewed conviction.
I sat quiet. I was struggling to compare my Indiana home and this new position. I was searching for some sign that whatever Hoosier twang I had cultivated from my youth had in four short months been magically replaced with the accent and dry wit of an Englishman. No, definitely not there, I thought as I peered back at this boy, lost as to the right words to end the overstayed exchange.
"Listen I've got a lot of work to be doing," was my clichéd reply more pulled from the office cubicle of pop-culture than my own mannerism. With that I stood up and took my leave. Cultural insensitivity: 1, my patience: 0.
Stumbling back home I knew it was time for a rejuvenating siesta. Taking off my drenched button down long sleeve I chuckled as it brought back memories of an appearance rather fitting of an afternoon at the Kings Island water park. Lying down on a concrete floor using a mat as the only padding, you never are at rest; you merely find the best position that averages out to the least amount uncomfortable body parts. By the time you wake up you look more belonging of a cubist painting rather than composed of the natural curves of the human body. At any rate, Picasso-sleep is better than no sleep.
"M baang, m baang, M BAANG (no, no, NO!)," declared Amee with a scream! Being woken up to the sound of a restless six year old reminds one that this job is 24/7. Emerging like a slumbering troll from my house I quickly realize what is the matter. Amee is trying to fight off the other children from the food bowl. Like a knight holding off a fire breathing dragon he has the bowl in one hand viciously swinging it side to side as if saying, "Back foul beast," and slowly takes calculated steps backwards away from the advancing children. Of course he is supposed to be sharing this meal with the other kids, but when you are the largest kid on the block you want to have your cake and eat it too.
The small drama in front of me is broken by the mega phoned roar in the distance. "Alllaaaaaaahhhhh," blares the 5 o'clock evening prayer call. Gee, church bells sure are pretty I think to myself. The evening routine is about to begin, and with it comfort in knowing the pacing of the night. I grab my bucket and from our hundred-foot-deep well I fetch two large buckets of water for the more than necessary evening bath.
On my way inside I watch Darbo gliding in from work on his bicycle. Somehow always chipper after a long day of work he strolls in and lifts his boys high in the air as they yell, "Daddy is home, daddy is home!"
"Yaya. Good evening, hope there are no troubles," he asks of me, as is Gambian custom.
"There are no troubles. You are hard on the work today Darbo," I reply complimentarily and also with an admiration of his enthusiastic energy.
Out of the concrete house comes Kaddy to greet her husband and to begin cooking dinner, a task that will take over two hours and really be more work than anyone should be expected to do at the end of a long day.
"Do you want any help tonight," I ask Kaddy, knowing the reply?
"Oh maybe just with small things," she replies meaning maybe she will ask me to cut an onion or two. I resolve to someday find a way to force more help upon her.
Under the shade of a papaya tree and the clear view of a setting sun I take my bucket bath. There is a cool breeze skimming the skin so that under the shade and splashing water I feel a hint of cold. It's not North American autumnal cold, but it's probably the closest I'll get to it, now if only the trees were changing colours...
After the bath I return to the front porch for a bit of relaxation time. I pull out the copy of Angela's Ashes my dad sent to me from home, and furiously try to read as much as I can before the daylight fades on the horizon. The dipping sun is both a curse and a blessing for the loss of reading light will give way to the night sky which presents us with the calm and wonder of the celestial waltz.
"You know Yaya, these candies are the best," Darbo says with a smile, jolly rancher wrapper strewn by his side like wrapping paper on Christmas morning. He adds, "Next time you are having access to e-mail pleas tell your parents that."
I laugh and in earnest reply, "No problem, the next time I'm there, that's the first thing I'll do."
-Todd Diemer is a United States Peace Corps volunteer currently serving in The Gambia, West Africa. He has written no books and published no articles. For more information please visit http://foundtheriver.blogspot.com/
"It is a small world. You do not have to live in it particularly long to learn that for yourself. There is a theory that, in the whole world, there are only five hundred real people (the cast, as it were; all the rest of the people in the world, the theory suggests, are extras) and what is more, they all know each other. And it's true, or true as far as it goes. In reality the world is made of thousands upon thousands of groups of about five hundred people, all of whom will spend their lives bumping into each other, trying to avoid each other, and discovering each other in the same unlikely teashop in Vancouver."
So it is only proper that at this young age the cast should still be growing, and likewise the extras are cementing themselves as nothing more than the background noise.
"So are you from the U.K. or what," the student inquired? His deliberate seating by my side cast an impending shadow of doom.
I was not in the mood for this, no not today. It had been a particularly angry day due to the heat, the kind of heat where you aren't just perspiring, rather the kind where you can wipe off the glaze of sweat as if it were a coating of jelly. "No," I grumbled, "I am from America."
"Uh huh," came the lifeless pre-programmed reply, "So which European nation do you come from?"
I sat for a minute making sure that his last statement registered correctly. "Well um... I'm not from Europe. I told you, I am from Amer-i-ca," I replied, my voice growing more disinterested with each syllable.
A silent pause graced the air giving me hope that the Peace Corps Gods were being merciful today.
"So then," a pause as if double-checking with the computer for a DOES NOT COMPUTE reply, "you aren't from the U.K.," asked the stranger?
"No," I mumbled.
"Oh you know, because you sound like someone from the U.K.," he replied with a renewed conviction.
I sat quiet. I was struggling to compare my Indiana home and this new position. I was searching for some sign that whatever Hoosier twang I had cultivated from my youth had in four short months been magically replaced with the accent and dry wit of an Englishman. No, definitely not there, I thought as I peered back at this boy, lost as to the right words to end the overstayed exchange.
"Listen I've got a lot of work to be doing," was my clichéd reply more pulled from the office cubicle of pop-culture than my own mannerism. With that I stood up and took my leave. Cultural insensitivity: 1, my patience: 0.
Stumbling back home I knew it was time for a rejuvenating siesta. Taking off my drenched button down long sleeve I chuckled as it brought back memories of an appearance rather fitting of an afternoon at the Kings Island water park. Lying down on a concrete floor using a mat as the only padding, you never are at rest; you merely find the best position that averages out to the least amount uncomfortable body parts. By the time you wake up you look more belonging of a cubist painting rather than composed of the natural curves of the human body. At any rate, Picasso-sleep is better than no sleep.
"M baang, m baang, M BAANG (no, no, NO!)," declared Amee with a scream! Being woken up to the sound of a restless six year old reminds one that this job is 24/7. Emerging like a slumbering troll from my house I quickly realize what is the matter. Amee is trying to fight off the other children from the food bowl. Like a knight holding off a fire breathing dragon he has the bowl in one hand viciously swinging it side to side as if saying, "Back foul beast," and slowly takes calculated steps backwards away from the advancing children. Of course he is supposed to be sharing this meal with the other kids, but when you are the largest kid on the block you want to have your cake and eat it too.
The small drama in front of me is broken by the mega phoned roar in the distance. "Alllaaaaaaahhhhh," blares the 5 o'clock evening prayer call. Gee, church bells sure are pretty I think to myself. The evening routine is about to begin, and with it comfort in knowing the pacing of the night. I grab my bucket and from our hundred-foot-deep well I fetch two large buckets of water for the more than necessary evening bath.
On my way inside I watch Darbo gliding in from work on his bicycle. Somehow always chipper after a long day of work he strolls in and lifts his boys high in the air as they yell, "Daddy is home, daddy is home!"
"Yaya. Good evening, hope there are no troubles," he asks of me, as is Gambian custom.
"There are no troubles. You are hard on the work today Darbo," I reply complimentarily and also with an admiration of his enthusiastic energy.
Out of the concrete house comes Kaddy to greet her husband and to begin cooking dinner, a task that will take over two hours and really be more work than anyone should be expected to do at the end of a long day.
"Do you want any help tonight," I ask Kaddy, knowing the reply?
"Oh maybe just with small things," she replies meaning maybe she will ask me to cut an onion or two. I resolve to someday find a way to force more help upon her.
Under the shade of a papaya tree and the clear view of a setting sun I take my bucket bath. There is a cool breeze skimming the skin so that under the shade and splashing water I feel a hint of cold. It's not North American autumnal cold, but it's probably the closest I'll get to it, now if only the trees were changing colours...
After the bath I return to the front porch for a bit of relaxation time. I pull out the copy of Angela's Ashes my dad sent to me from home, and furiously try to read as much as I can before the daylight fades on the horizon. The dipping sun is both a curse and a blessing for the loss of reading light will give way to the night sky which presents us with the calm and wonder of the celestial waltz.
"You know Yaya, these candies are the best," Darbo says with a smile, jolly rancher wrapper strewn by his side like wrapping paper on Christmas morning. He adds, "Next time you are having access to e-mail pleas tell your parents that."
I laugh and in earnest reply, "No problem, the next time I'm there, that's the first thing I'll do."
-Todd Diemer is a United States Peace Corps volunteer currently serving in The Gambia, West Africa. He has written no books and published no articles. For more information please visit http://foundtheriver.blogspot.com/
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)