Jurassic Park - or - The Monkey Stole My Things*

Since September 15th I’ve been helping out with a leadership summer camp for the region of Kedougou. It will be ending on the 30th, and I’ll save most of the details for after that - for now I want to talk a little about Movie Night and living arrangements.

For the first of the two scheduled movie nights we chose Jurassic Park (The plan for the second one is Finding Nemo, but there is little respect for the Chrono so who knows if that will happen). We decided an action movie translates best across language barriers, we showed the French dub but French is still at best a second language for everyone. We also wanted to blow their minds with a movie about dinosaurs. Minds weren’t blown in quite the way we all hoped for but it was still a lot of fun to watch the movie.

I was most looking forward to the big T-Rex scene and seeing their reaction to that. I was expecting a lot more on the fear spectrum of reactions, but they seemed to have a far better grasp of just how pretend the scene was than I had hoped for. Another volunteer / my roommate for the two weeks and I talked about it afterwards and we came up with a couple ideas on why. First, when we first saw Jurassic Park we were younger than these campers are. Second, a lot of these campers have already seen action flicks on TV at some point and have been exposed to CGI so it’s not a new thing.

Everyone was still definitely entertained and on the edge of their seats for the scene. I could feel the tension in the room rise as everyone’s eyes remained glued to the projection. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t the silent type of tension, it was the yell at the characters for doing something stupid type of tension… and as things got more intense the comments became more and more urgent. It was really fun to watch; I mean, I love that scene but I was having so much more fun watching the audience for most of it. It was most clear just how tense everyone was during the actions scenes when they ended. The collective sigh of relief was audible and followed by a discussion of what just happened with your neighbors. Unfortunately there was a lot of whispering at once and in a bunch of languages that it was tough for me to pull out any good comments.

A lot of joy was gleaned from watching people get hurt, and they loved watching the “fat one” do pretty much anything - plus at the end of his arch he gets hurt too, what more could you want? All in all everyone seemed to follow the movie really well, and there was a surprising amount that was relatable to life in Senegal. Raptors eat cows fast, the T-Rex gets a goat (both animals are EVERYWHERE), and all lizards must die. Speaking of which, the scene where Alan Grant and the kids spend the night in the tree and the Brontosaurus comes over to say hi turned into the moment that made me laugh the most thanks to someone’s reaction. There is the line in the movie that compares them to “big cows” which was apparently lost on one of the Senegalese counselors (kind-of counselor, her role really was unclear). She started to scold them quite loudly as soon as they started petting them. She had the full “whatever, fine, don’t listen to me” reaction too and threw up her arms in disgust.

It was really great to people watch the whole time. Now it’s time for the Rocky and Bullwinkle style chang up. During camp the Peace Corps Volunteers involved stayed at a different place than all the campers. I got to share a hut with Kellen, my closest neighbor actually; however, there’s a small debate as to wether or not our hut can actually be considered as suck. It was basically a box made out of bamboo poles with a thatched roof on sticks. The thatch roof was the most weather proof part of the hut and at least bigger animals wouldn’t be able to make it into the hut. We came to the conclusion that a good tent could probably provide better protection from the elements the night of the big storm when the grass mats lining the walls nearly blew down onto us. Kellen may have made a hole on the back porch on the way to take a bucket bath one day, but the beds are REALLY comfortable. Next to our hut there was a monkey leashed to a tree, apparently it’s the more temperamental of the pair of pet monkeys that lived there (the other being left to roam free and apparently live under our hut). Now, I had been leaving my toothpaste out back by the sink so that we could brush out teeth there when it went missing one day. I will admit that I laughed off Kellen’s suggestion that the monkey had taken it for a few days until the tube was found in the Lost and Found with monkey bite marks on it. That was just funny, no harm done, first offense, all the toothpaste was still there, and I was basically inviting it to get taken by leaving it out.

The Second offense however… the cursed little monkey came into our hut and stole out corn! We had the back door open, and a couple ears of corn left on a small table that we were planning on roasting up that night. We were all hanging out having a Coke/Fanta break when Kellen had to get something from our hut. He came back with two empty ears of corn in his hands, “The monkeys ate our corn.” Apparently he caught them and his mouth dropped open, a motion the monkeys decided the mimic as they stood over their prizes. If you can’t tell I have a very specific picture of how this all went down in my head. It was a traumatic experience, I was looking forward to making someone roast that corn for me so I could have a tasty night time snack.

Pure devastation when the evening rolled around and I wanted to have a snack. Stupid Monkey.

Korité*

Well, I made a big deal out of staying in site for this party, I should probably let you know what happend on Korité (Friday 10 September).

I woke up early knowing that they probably let me do any work on this party day and tried to quietly move my newly aquired soil under my shade structure before breakfast. After I was successful with that task I had breakfast as usual, the went out to sit with my host father, Niama. Since the night before he had shaved his head for the big day, in doing so I had some trouble recognizing him at first since he looked significantly younger. While sitting there with him trying to get an idea of what was in store for me today I became very self conscious about my personal “challenge” of not shaving for the month of Ramadan. So after some Nescafe I excused myself to take a shower. Not only did I scrub extra hard with my loofa as instructed by my host sister but I also treated myself to the free shampoo sample that came with my bar of soap a few months ago (I was saving it for a special occasion). But this all started with the shave. Using good ol’ Dr. Bronner as my shaving cream and my hands being the closest thing I had to a mirror I managed to get rid of all my facial hair with no major issues.

After the shower I fumbled around in my hut for a while because I didn’t want to get all fancied up too early. In the process of getting ready slowly the neighbor boy burst into my room catching me in my boxers; he reacted as though I was naked and basically ran away. I thought it was hilarious because he has seen me in my pajama shorts which were basically the same and he never had a problem there, I will admit, these particular boxers are in the flesh color tone range. After that excitement I decided to put on my fancy pants but procrastinated more on getting my shirt on to complete the outfit. It didn’t take too long for one of my host mothers to stop by and tell me that everyone is going to Mosque RIGHT NOW. So I threw on the top, got out the door, did a little modeling for the family, and was led to the mosque by my oldest brother.

I wasn’t fasting for Ramadan (my family just keeps giving me food, I can’t let it go to waste!) and I never pretended to be Muslim so I was expecting a place in the back of the mosque. Nope, once we go there I was given a spot just a few rows from the front next to the youngest son of the Village Chief. Not only that but one of the old men around me gave me his prayer mat to use for the service and there was another man who gave me his prayer beads at one point and tried to teach me how to use them. It was pretty nice of them, and that prayer mat is one of the softest things I have touched in country. The service - like most religious services it’s fairly easy to follow along and eventually you’ll find the rhythm. In this case there was a definite of words that would make everyone change positions (stand, bow, kneel, touch forehead to ground, etc). Every once and a while we got to do my favorite one (I wish I could take credit for this explanation, but I heard it from someone, I just don’t remember who) which consists of cupping your hands in front of your face, saying your prayers into the cup you just made, and finally washing your face with your prayers. The mosque itself was not the grand mosque that you picture, it was more comparable to a large garage and was ridiculously hot. One man too it upon himself to stand next to the man leading the service and fan him the entire time, another man took it upon himself to photograph the entire service in the most intrusive ways possible. I’m sure he got some great shots, but boy did he know how to get in the way and be distracting.

After Mosque I was taken to my community counterpart’s family compound by the neighbor who had caught me in my underwear earlier. I met some more people there who had a lot to say about Famara and not as much to say about Shekho. It was a pretty food time, not to mention the tastiest meat sandwich I’ve ever had in Senegal, I dodn’t know this was even possible. The meat was cooked well, seasoned right, and actually actually meat - not organs. Where did these spices even come from? Amazing.

Thus begins the day of food. Well cooked, good cuts of beef were all over the place (when I say good cuts I’m not necessarily talking about anything you’d find in a grocery store, it’s probably still pretty close to the scraps by American standards). Three lunches and a bunch of snack times later I needed to take a break and have a little gemalschgaming - even laying down was painful for me I was so full. A gemalschgaming, by the way, in this case means a walk to aid digestion and it is another inside joke, sorry (Thank you Ali and the Engle family for this word that has filled a void I didn’t realize existed). This walk aligned nicely with a tradition of going around and greeting everyone else in the village. What I was not warned about though is that children expect gifts/money when they greet you. I didn’t plan out my month at site very well and was down to 475cfa of cash in my possesion… 400 of those cfa were reserved for the purchase of bread in the morning so I would survive my bike back into Kedougou. The remaining 75cfa just wasn’t worth giving to only one kid, and besides I also wanted to keep it in case I needed to buy a sac of water on the way. There were a lot of disappointed children who greeted me on that walk. I’m sure they assumed I had money but was just withholding it, but it is considered better to lie in a situation like that and say ‘I have nothing’ than to say ‘I’m not going to give you anything’.

The gemalschgaming was a pretty great time - more people know who I am (and that I’m not Shekho), I got another (less sincere) offer of Malinké lessons for English ones, and another visit to Lengkhoxoto. That was the highlight for me, there were only 2 men sitting under the tree at the time, but after a short talk and an explanation of why I was walking around they wound up thanking me for stopping by. It felt really good. From Lengkhoxhoto I headed to the blacksmith’s place. His name is Bakary Kamara and has been one of the most understanding people in Khossanto when it comes to my language acquisition and the what I’m going through in general.

I wound up greeting every person notable to me during that gemalschgaming and I wasn’t even trying. I accidentally did what I was supposed to do because I ate far too much. I left my village the next morning very happy with the status of everything, looking forward to meeting the new volunteers who were coming to visit, and just about bouncing off the walls for summer camp to happen.

The Neighbors
(some of them - the boy on the left is my buddy that
saw me in my undies)

Let’s talk about today…*

Today was one of those days where I really needed Cake’s song “Sheep Go To Heaven” to help make me feel better. If you don’t know it I recommend you find it and listen to at least the opening lines. If you choose to go through the rest of the song (and why wouldn’t you?) keep in mind that I live with both sheep and goats (along with other farm animals, and yes Zach, I realize it’s an allegory).

To get the full story I guess we need to start with last night… well, I guess for that one we need to know a little about yesterday afternoon. I’ll start there:

Even though it is Ramadan I still get to eat during the day for a couple reasons (1) My light complexion apparently means I can not possibly survive a day of fasting, and (2) Most of my host family is not fasting due to age, work schedules, or pregnancies so food still gets made anyway. All the same, I still like to eat my lunches secretly in my hut so I don’t go rubbing it in for anyone who is fasting. Also, it’s kind of fun because I get my very own bowl since the ones I normally eat with are off farming, that means no need to build rice walls between my part of the bowl and that of the dirty, dirty child squatting next to me - the dirtiest one just doesn’t get it though and keep taking from my section, and it’s food I’ve already mixed to the consistency I like. I’ll let him know what’s up soon enough. After my lunch I read/nap, it’s a great system I’ve got going for me.

I’ve gotten off track. So I was heading to my hut from a morning of Malinké acquisition to hold up in my hut for “secret lunch’ (with super secret hot sauce!). Upon entering the compound I hear the distinctive “Iburahiiiimaaa…” of my host sister (actually a host aunt) to which I have started responding to by mimicking the call with her name (Kouta) as opposed to the traditional response of ‘Naamu” (A Mandinkified verstion of Arabic for “Yes” if I haven’t been lied to). She seems to get a kick out of it, and I’m happy to have an inside something of my very own with someone in the family. With greetings taken care of she dives right in to her point - I can’t leave for Saraya or Kedougou as I had planned. I need to stay in Khossanto for Korité (The party at the end of Ramadan). I really wanted to do that anyway so that was all the push I needed, “Awa, after Lunch I need to go for a bike to get cell phone reception and call my neighbor to tell him that I’m not going to Saraya to do the radio show tomorrow.” It’s the first Peace Corps radio show out of Saraya and I really wanted to be there, but there will be a bunch more of those and only one more Korité. Plus they said I’d get to eat cow, a bull in fact, and I need an excuse to wear my fancy Senegalese clothes.

So after secret lunch I did just that. The plan is - Thursday: No Radio/Saraya, Friday: Korité/Pray/Food, Saturday - Go to Kedougou and buy a bunch of phone credit to sing my mom Happy Birthday, Sunday: New volunteers head down to Kedougou for demyst (and hopefully Leah too).

Fast forward to after dinner when I decided to sit with my host dad who tells me that Korité is going to be Saturday. HOLD UP… after cross referencing with Kouta we decided that the celebration will be Saturday. This means I can go to Saraya for the radio show tomorrow (today as I’m writing)! Sweet. I’d better go to bed quick and rest up for the ride in the morning.

Now we’ll get today started, and why I need some Cake. I’m all kinds of excited so waking up at 7 is pretty easy to do. I’m trying to take it slow and make sure I don’t get rained on the whole way like last time when my host dad comes to my door to tell my that Korité will actually be on Friday… so, I’d miss it if I went to Saraya. If’ you’ve been keeping track I believe we just crossed off Plan C; luckily though it just reverts to Plan B - and I don’t have to tell anyone about any changes in plans!

No I’m bound and determined to make this day a productive one. First thing on the list, go to the Health Post and ask the ASC about Khossanto. Well, he’s gone for Korité and not coming back before I have to leave for Kedougou. Oh well, whatever, I’ll just find Moussa (my adult host brother)and get that tree he want’s planted in the compound taken care of. Well, I can’t find him so I’ll just hang out with the neighbor boy for a while… Actually, he showed me a GREAT potential gardening spot that I want to use for the school. That was a good thing in the morning.

Then it was time for Secret Lunch, after which I decided to shorten my siesta by a bit to ensure getting some work done. I headed back over to the neighbors’ compound to ask about getting my hands on a wheelbarrow to get soil for my personal tree nursery and gardens. I’ve been asking, trying to get this to happen for at least a month now and I’ll be darned if it’s not going to happen today! He had told me he knew where dirt was last week, so when I asked for a wheelbarrow he was very suspicious of where I was going to get this soil from. So I took him to take a look at the stuff I had picked out, it was rocky, but everything is rocky around here and the soil was nice and dark. He instantly said it was no good, I asked if it was because of the rocks and he informs me that it is because I would have to sift it… I’m a little impatient due to a lack of sleep, and he might be a little irritated because his stomach apparently hurts (unless he was lying to get out of work) so I probably shouldn’t have said out loud, “Right, we have to sift it because of the rocks.” I’m thinking he picked up on my attitude and spit back with a little ‘Chekho (My ancien) did it this way,’ which I think he’s realizing irritates me even more. But, no biggie, I just need to find someone with a screen to sift it with, shouldn’t be too bad. Oh, but wait, he has a place with good soil for me.

He led me to the other side of the village where we poked at a pile of rocks with a mostly clay/loam soil that was the color of sand. Not nearly as good of a soil as the other pile. Then we moved on to a decent soil with just as many rocks as the first pile, but a spot he had found so that was better (even though the first one was closer to home). Finally he takes me to the pen where his family keeps their cows at night where we both agree this is good (Basically it was a pile of manure that I really wanted to mix with the soil already in my yard to make pure awesomeness, but I needed to keep my cool). “We’ll do it at 4,” he tells me after I have to remind him that it has to happen today.

At 4 he actually came back and we grabbed my shovel and pick and made our way to the pile of manure, broke it up a bit, and confirmed it was good stuff. Then he informed me that the sun was too hot and we would come back later with the charette (a cart made to be pulled my a donkey or horse) to pick it up. I laughed a little because I didn’t believe him, but what am I going to do, I really need to use his charette so I agreed. He started to pick up the tools so I told him to just leave them since we would be coming back later in the day to pick everything up, now we have collateral involved and I am bound and determined to make this happen today.

Now it’s nap time because I realize I’m unreasonably cranky… no nap, but a tea break, kind of the same thing… but opposite. While waiting for the tea I came to terms with the fact that my white skin means I’m going to have to be assertive with certain people to allow me to actually do any physical labor. Also, the default assumption is that I don’t know how to do any physical labor and need to be taught, and finally that I am probably going to have to work using this same level of determination and slight trickery in order to make things happen on a schedule I can agree with. I’ve gotten the word ‘after’ said to me a lot and need to start reminding more often or butting my foot down with more people to keep myself from getting too angry.

In a personal triumph the neighbor boy returned later with the charette and we got the stuff into my back yard. So, knowing that Korité’s date is unclear to say the least I got to work trying to get my soil mixed and where I want it… then it started to rain.My initial calculations were a little off and the sprinkle was more of a downpour for the rest of the evening. I sat the storm out in my hut working with some bamboo pieces for the garden and almost laughed myself into tears with how all of my plans for the day had somehow fallen through.

When the rain broke I went back to work with the soil (not mud thanks to a woven mat that I threw over it). Long story short I might have caused some structural damage to my shade structure and I won’t be surprised if it isn’t standing when I get back from Summer Camp. I’m a little worried about it lasting the night to be honest with you.

Night time bucket bath.
Dinner.

Both unremarkable, but they happened. I went to remind Kouta about the radio show tonight and she made me come in, sit, and eat some tasty leaves mixed with dried fish. Tasty until you hit a big pocket of the fish. Anyway, she got the radio set up and reminded me about my fancy clothes.

I had given her my swearing-in outfit to get washed - I’m sorry Aziz, Lamine, and the Senegalese Fashion Police, they weren’t even clean when I got them and I trust her to do it right. Which she did, and spent the first half hour or so of the show ironing my clothes and getting all the creases in the right places.

Now the radio, as much as I wish I could have been there for the first show I think I’m more happy that I got to experience it with part of my host family. Now, when I actually go in to help out I have a good idea of how they’ll be reacting. I have experience with both sides of the show now, and I can’t wait to greet them from more than 40 km away!

With that said, they were really excited to know the people who were talking on the radio since they have met all the Malinké volunteers, they laughed at the jokes and danced to the American Music (looking to me to make sure they were doing it right). They were probably more excited than I was to hear my name mentioned on the radio, once as a recording of me, and another shout out from the volunteers who made it to the show.

I really do think this radio show is the start of something really cool for Saraya, if nothing else a lot more people with get an idea of what the Peace Corps is and what we are here to do.

That’s how it is, a day of small disasters topped off with an optimistic peak into the future. Donding donding.

Rains*

I didn’t realize it until today, but it had started two weeks ago when I biked to Saraya and spent the first 3 hours of that trip in the rain… I knew the rain was coming. I had come to a realization that morning that I didn’t just want to go to Saraya for a movie night with other PCVs in the area but that I needed to go for my own sanity. It was actually not a bad ride and just what I needed; ever since then though whenever I get on my bike it will rain. Granted, it is rainy season, the name is telling you what to expect; it seems to wait just long enough for me to get to a point that turning back makes no sense whatsoever. Also, if I didn’t do things because it looked like it was going to rain I would wind up never doing anything.

The past couple weeks have been the rainy season I expected before I came here and people told me what to expect from rainy season. I was told to expect a storm of some kind nearly every day to blow through and the sun would come out and make everything hot and muggy, but things would dry. In Khossanto though, we have been getting long soaking rains with all day mists. Nothing ever dries. When I started writing this it was sunny - that 10 minutes of sun was long enough, now the mists and winds have moved in and I’ve moved into my hut. It’s not what I was told to expect, but no one here seems to think it’s weird.

Me, I wish there were more storms. Sitting out or “sleeping through” a big storm in my hut is unbelievably fun. Its mud-brick construction and thatched roof keep out enoug of the rain in predictable areas that I don’t need to worry about myself o my things getting wet. What I do get though is all the sounds of the storm as though I weren’t in a building at all (without all those nasty getting sick side effects). I’ve been woken up in the middle of the night by more than one clap of thunder that you would swear hit in my back yard, or by my door being slammed shut in the wind. I get angry about being woken up for a bit, but then I just get happy and enjoy the music of the storm (in the case of the door slamming I was angry for a bit longer because I needed to get up, make sure the door wasn’t in fact broken, fix it, then secure it and go back to bed). Just be sure that all flashlights,radios, and electronics are off because they will get struck my lightning according to most Senegalese, including my host father.

A few days ago I set out to meet my neighbor at his field conveniently located some distance out of town along the road to Bambarayaa. I, having only been there once, took the road to the fields of one of the many Cissokhos (Family name) in Khossanto by mistake. It was a beautiful ride along the hills it turns out you can see in the distance from the fields I was trying to get to. When I reached the dead end in this family’s corn field and temporary hut that made me know for a fact I was in the wrong spot (nothing has been familiar since IST when the rains made the forest a jungle) I greeted “I nin tiling?” to make sure no one was in the hut. Thankfully nobody was so I wasn’t going to need to admit to getting lost and I turned to correct my mistake. This is where the adventure became a little serendipitous when I came across a patch of bamboo. Only a few hours earlier had I decided that I wanted to try planting bamboo along the back of my yard for a little more privacy (as I shower I can look into the entire neighboring compound, and they often say hi). So I took a few pieces of a couple shoots and continued back to Khossanto. When I found myself in the middle of a herd of cows with a sizable storm obviously coming I decided to suck it up and go back to the hut to sit out the storm.

The storm, once it came, was obviously going to be a soaker and the kids just kept laughing at me and saying that I don’t understand Malinké. So when a break came I headed out, at which point the hardest of the storm came and I got soaked in about 3 seconds. At that point it was not worth turning back anymore… guess I’ll keep going. It was kind of fun to be cold, but I did feel really bad for my bike each time I had to go through the muddy streams that were now crossing the paths.

At that point I came to the small river I was worrying about for the whole ride (Flashbacks of the Ozarks for those who get the reference) until I heard the shouts of joy coming from that direction. The shouts were a group of women who had been out in the area digging for gold, they had stopped there to play in the water and to bathe. Since it was a group of only women they were, as a whole, a lot less reserved in their manners than they are within the village. It was refreshing for me to know that the women of the village CAN in fact have fun and be loud and have that outlet from all that work they do all day every day. Even in this case though, they had been digging for gold in the hills. I feel that I don’t need to work very hard to let you know how hard this work is. It goes to show the personality of the people here, always finding the happy.

I’m glad I went the wrong way.
I’m glad that it rained.
I’m glad I was able to see that the women of Khossanto can have a good time just playing in the rains.

Lengoxoto*

Today encapsulated a lot of the past few weeks for me in ups and downs. Luckily, today used that saying in reverse. I spent most of the morning in my hut, at first I had the excuse of the rain, but that really didn’t last all that long. So I laid there getting angry at myself for not taking enough action and wasting everyone’s time. Ultimately I was just dwelling on the downs of the past week or so. After lunch however, I forced myself to get out to the Health post and ask them some questions I had worked on translating from English a few days ago. No one was there. I figured this was going to happen because I got the motivation at a weird time of day, I had a back up plan prepared.

This back up plan was really more of a personal dare because it was to go to the place in village where all the old men sit on this huge bench under this AWESOME tree. I’d been there a couple times and never really felt welcome. They would always just mumble something I couldn’t manage to make into words, say “He doesn’t understand Malinké” a lot, and eventually someone would throw in something like “White Guy doesn’t speak French either.” Then we’d all laugh and I’d get out of there feeling rather dejected. Last time I was there, the two men who happened to be there I’m pretty sure actually hated me. However, I know that if I really want the good Malinké I need to talk to the older generation who haven’t been quite as tainted with French in their language.

So I made my way back to the spot, Donding donding (little by little), when I turned the corner and saw the nine men sitting there on that gigantic bench made of whole trees, I lost all my courage to approach them. So I took the path that would keep me walking through the area instead of up to the men. I greeting them all, they greeted back and I was home free. Then one said, “Iburahima (me), come here.” My plan had been foiled, and I knew that for my own good I needed to go to them. We chatted for a bit, they invited me to sit, so I did, I felt the need to write a few things down in my notebook. I turned them into teachers and they loved it. I did stumble through a few things and got the chorus of, “He doesn’t understand Malinké,” but I was able to throw in a few gems forcing them to admit that I was understanding, donding donding. In the end they basically told me to come back every day if I wanted to learn the language really well. The part that struck me the most was that they barely even mentioned my ancien volunteer - I am the third volunteer in Khossanto, first was Famara (my double ancien), then came Shekho (my ancien), now Iburahima is there. I’m not going to lie, these guys would not shut up about Famara who’s been gone for more than a year and a half now, but we weren’t being compared. They just were remembering him fondly and I could tell that they were hoping to be able to build that kind of relationship with me too. When they talked about Shekho they did so only to say that he was there, I seemed to have found a pocket of the village that he did not spend a lot of time in. It’s what I’ve been looking for, usually when he comes up it’s a direct comparison because he’s a lot more recent in everyone’s memories. When that happens and I get the feeling that they wish he were still there or that they think he was better than me. At that point I usually turn off and stop listening.

Now, because I really liked making that last post, a few bullets:

• They are actually really nice (except the one who wants things from me) 
• It’s a great place to go to avoid being compared to Shekho 
• One younger guy there actually wants to work with me specifically on language in excange for English lessons (If he’s actually good I can also pay him in money Peace Corps gives me for a tutor) 
• They are all very patient with my language abilities 
• They’re old and generally speak the real deal Malinké 
• That tree is REALLY cool. 

When I left I had a huge smile and was feeling SUPER re-energized, I will be going back.

With an extra spring in my step I made my way back to the Health Post where I found only the ones who don’t speak Malinké. I was feeling motivated and they were in a good mood too, so we worked with my limited French and their equally limited English to get my questions answered. It was a fun and productive game, plus I noticed that when searching for words in a foreign language my default has changed to Malinké, which is far more effective than the German that has usually been popping into my head.

Then, to wrap up the day I sat on a log outside my family’s compound with a man I think I can start calling a friend, and a few men I don’t know at all, and they told me the name of the place with the old men and the AWESOME tree - Lengoxoto. After a little research into the meaning I came to this, “Under the Lengo tree.”