So I just returned from a Safety and Security training trip into Senegal. What is that you ask? It is a time for responsible PCVs (That's me and one of my site mates) who are the Security leaders of their region to check out their volunteer consolidation checkpoint in Senegal in case something is disturbing the peace within Gambia.
All in all great short little trip. Saw some monkeys, chatted with PCVs from Senegal that I met at WAIST, got to know my site mate better, spent a taxi ride watching music videos on a Gambians portable DVD player (How weird is that?), and worked on some French and Wolof skills. I also wasn't able to sleep from excessive mosquito bites (Senegalese ones are vicious...)
I also wanted to put a quick post up saying that I'll be gone for this upcoming week doing more training for the new Education group. I am looking forward to seeing them all again and their progress, but am absolutely exhausted right now so will have to dig deep for some extra strength.
Miss everyone at home. Sending my thoughts. Remember, beauty is in contrast.
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Because I was sent this link randomly and realized 11 years after I first heard those opening notes, how much I still enjoy listening to the band.
"One life
But we're not the same
We get to
Carry each other"
-U2 One
20 July 2007
18 July 2007
Riding Spinners and other throwbacks to a life long ago spent on two wheels
Niche groups exist everywhere but by definition they are masters at hiding in the little pockets of society, undiscovered to the untested eye. Here in The Gambia I never thought that I'd come across Professional Cycling in any other form than clips and reports on international television. This proved to be a inability of mine to see my surroundings, rather than an actual lack. Over the past year the country has revealed its dedicated few, riding out on the quiet roads of the Western Region of The Gambia. Their days are spent spinning away at seemingly endless kilometers of landscape dominated by gently swaying palm trees, exotic silky blue colored birds, and small boys whipping their donkeys down the road. This is a group of professional cyclists in The Gambia.
Out on a simple ride on the countryside I came up behind one such cyclist and smiled broadly at the chance to catch up and chat. I pedaled up to his side and offered a greeting.
A thought experiment: Imagine you are a Gambian who has been on the road training for a few hours, about the time when the eyes start to blur and focus solely on the road. A figure passes you which is not accompanied by the standard clank and dings of a normal Gambian vehicle, rather by a whirring sound of spinning gears. On the bicycle is a foreigner wearing a bright white Trek helmet, sweating profusely, and moving his mouth in communication but not speaking English or French. Are you seeing things, weird individual visions meshing together in an inexplicable soup?
My guessing skills were off and starting to greet in Mandinka didn't work, the guy was a Fula from the urban area. So we ended up going through the normal routine of "Jam Tans" (Peace only) and then got down to the real business. The following is a simplified and condensed version of how the conversation went. Translations as needed are put in parenthesis with footnotes at the end.
Rider: How are you?
Myself: Fine. Nanga def (How is it? Wolof)
Rider: Mangi fi rek. (Peace Only) You can try for Wolof? That is nice.
Myself: Do you hear Mandinka?
Rider: No, Wolof and Pular only. I am a Fula.
Awkward Pause. Children screaming "tubab" in background. Cattle grazing on freshly growing grass, growing only because of our first rains.
Rider: So you only have a bumper*? You don't have this type of bicycle?
Myself: No only this kind. In my home, I am having your kind of bicycle.
Rider: You want my kind? I will sell it to you, 1,500 Dalasis.
Another pause. I think it over, not a bad deal really.
Myself: I will try for buying it, later small small. (Later small small. A non-commital way to say that you are interested and will see by the grace of God). Your shirt is very nice**, do you ride for a team.
Rider: Yes, my team is very nice. This weekend. We are having a race in Kombo. Westfield to Banjul starting at 9am, you should try for it. It will be very nice.
Myself: You have races here in Gambia? I did not know, that is very nice. I will try to come see you race. I would like to meet your team.
Rider: Yes, this weekend. 9am. Next week we are having a race on the North Bank, Barra to Kerewan. You should try for that also***.
I smile and nod and there isn't much else to say so we pedal. He is in much better shape then I am and I curse the day that I left cycling.
The whole thing was sort of brief and language was a mashed together into some awful combination that didn't resemble anything in particular. So we let the riding do the work, a universal like music, mathematics, or a smile. I point to his back wheel and position my bike right behind his and for the first time in a year enjoy the pleasure of riding with someone else. We begin to rotate who takes lead and quickly move into a rotational pattern that works with mechanical efficiency. It makes me smile, it makes me miss sport, and it makes me miss riding in a large group.
In the end nothing was said, nothing had to be said at this point. Cyclists have a language all their own.
* Bumper. I've never heard this before but I suppose its slang for a mountain bike.
** The man is wearing a true cycling jersey colored in African green, yellow, and red colored stripes that says Gambia large on the back and front with some sponsors on the back.
*** I just wanted somewhere to put: Steevo, you 5uck man. :) Good luck job hunting.
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Many of the education group of '05-'07, who helped make us what we are in The Gambia, are now finding themselves on airplanes headed back to the wild world of the United States of America, back home.
As my group transitions to year two volunteers there is definitely a sense of growing up. Time to prove oneself to the country and the inner drive to maximize one's abilities. I can't help but once again thank the outgoing group for their leadership, direction, and advice, and hope that we can provide the same to all others still in country.
I think we have the skill set and I think we have the attitude to make the most out of the entirety of the volunteers' skill sets. In particular, there are some volunteers who I admire because they present themselves to be true Confucian masters for their ability to fluidly change roles throughout life. From the volunteer at the community level, the teacher or mentor, a friend to a fellow PCV, a son or daughter who left home so long ago.
I recently visited a good friend of mine about half way up country who best exemplifies this mastery. His work as an ICT Education volunteer saw him seize opportunities not only at school computer labs but also branching out into other fields including working for one of the nation's best medical training facilities and numerous government offices. At the same time he is a hands on, fix-em-up guy who has helped out numerous other volunteers with alternative electrical systems and has the creative mind necessary to make a lot happen from a little. On top of all of that he has a great relationship with his host family and community, and is still able to switch into American mode to cook, laugh, and relax with other PCVs in the area. Fluid changes from one role to the next, brilliant.
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Yes nerdy book request here only. Hyperion - Dan Simmons.
Out on a simple ride on the countryside I came up behind one such cyclist and smiled broadly at the chance to catch up and chat. I pedaled up to his side and offered a greeting.
A thought experiment: Imagine you are a Gambian who has been on the road training for a few hours, about the time when the eyes start to blur and focus solely on the road. A figure passes you which is not accompanied by the standard clank and dings of a normal Gambian vehicle, rather by a whirring sound of spinning gears. On the bicycle is a foreigner wearing a bright white Trek helmet, sweating profusely, and moving his mouth in communication but not speaking English or French. Are you seeing things, weird individual visions meshing together in an inexplicable soup?
My guessing skills were off and starting to greet in Mandinka didn't work, the guy was a Fula from the urban area. So we ended up going through the normal routine of "Jam Tans" (Peace only) and then got down to the real business. The following is a simplified and condensed version of how the conversation went. Translations as needed are put in parenthesis with footnotes at the end.
Rider: How are you?
Myself: Fine. Nanga def (How is it? Wolof)
Rider: Mangi fi rek. (Peace Only) You can try for Wolof? That is nice.
Myself: Do you hear Mandinka?
Rider: No, Wolof and Pular only. I am a Fula.
Awkward Pause. Children screaming "tubab" in background. Cattle grazing on freshly growing grass, growing only because of our first rains.
Rider: So you only have a bumper*? You don't have this type of bicycle?
Myself: No only this kind. In my home, I am having your kind of bicycle.
Rider: You want my kind? I will sell it to you, 1,500 Dalasis.
Another pause. I think it over, not a bad deal really.
Myself: I will try for buying it, later small small. (Later small small. A non-commital way to say that you are interested and will see by the grace of God). Your shirt is very nice**, do you ride for a team.
Rider: Yes, my team is very nice. This weekend. We are having a race in Kombo. Westfield to Banjul starting at 9am, you should try for it. It will be very nice.
Myself: You have races here in Gambia? I did not know, that is very nice. I will try to come see you race. I would like to meet your team.
Rider: Yes, this weekend. 9am. Next week we are having a race on the North Bank, Barra to Kerewan. You should try for that also***.
I smile and nod and there isn't much else to say so we pedal. He is in much better shape then I am and I curse the day that I left cycling.
The whole thing was sort of brief and language was a mashed together into some awful combination that didn't resemble anything in particular. So we let the riding do the work, a universal like music, mathematics, or a smile. I point to his back wheel and position my bike right behind his and for the first time in a year enjoy the pleasure of riding with someone else. We begin to rotate who takes lead and quickly move into a rotational pattern that works with mechanical efficiency. It makes me smile, it makes me miss sport, and it makes me miss riding in a large group.
In the end nothing was said, nothing had to be said at this point. Cyclists have a language all their own.
* Bumper. I've never heard this before but I suppose its slang for a mountain bike.
** The man is wearing a true cycling jersey colored in African green, yellow, and red colored stripes that says Gambia large on the back and front with some sponsors on the back.
*** I just wanted somewhere to put: Steevo, you 5uck man. :) Good luck job hunting.
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I love this island but this island killing me.
Sitting here in silence man I don't get no peace.
The waves upon my shore take me away piece by piece.
Going to leave everything I know going to head out towards the sea.
Get miles away.
---
---
Many of the education group of '05-'07, who helped make us what we are in The Gambia, are now finding themselves on airplanes headed back to the wild world of the United States of America, back home.
As my group transitions to year two volunteers there is definitely a sense of growing up. Time to prove oneself to the country and the inner drive to maximize one's abilities. I can't help but once again thank the outgoing group for their leadership, direction, and advice, and hope that we can provide the same to all others still in country.
I think we have the skill set and I think we have the attitude to make the most out of the entirety of the volunteers' skill sets. In particular, there are some volunteers who I admire because they present themselves to be true Confucian masters for their ability to fluidly change roles throughout life. From the volunteer at the community level, the teacher or mentor, a friend to a fellow PCV, a son or daughter who left home so long ago.
I recently visited a good friend of mine about half way up country who best exemplifies this mastery. His work as an ICT Education volunteer saw him seize opportunities not only at school computer labs but also branching out into other fields including working for one of the nation's best medical training facilities and numerous government offices. At the same time he is a hands on, fix-em-up guy who has helped out numerous other volunteers with alternative electrical systems and has the creative mind necessary to make a lot happen from a little. On top of all of that he has a great relationship with his host family and community, and is still able to switch into American mode to cook, laugh, and relax with other PCVs in the area. Fluid changes from one role to the next, brilliant.
---
---
Yes nerdy book request here only. Hyperion - Dan Simmons.
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