Unplanned Absences

It was just one week ago that I was living my simple life in Guinea. I was at the weekly market near Koundara, and was overjoyed that the butcher had lamb to sell.  I had been trying for months to buy lamb, but people in my area rarely eat lamb.  They prefer either goat or cow. The sheep are typically exported to Senegal or sold elsewhere.  So after buying a kilogram of lamb chops and loin (the best parts) for $30,000 Guinean Francs (just over $4 in US currency), I walked over to the “market square” to find some onions and 2 french baguettes.  Often, I also say hello to the Sous-Prefect when I am in town or discuss the progress of my projects with one of my professional counterparts.  Because I still had to finish my planting (and I had raw meat in my backpack), I did not plan on staying long this week.  After a quick bite of rice and leaf sauce, I walked 7 kilometers back to my village.  (My bike was broken, and I was awaiting a new one to be sent from Conakry.)  

On the walk home, I planned the rest of my day.  Trim, cut and liberally season my lamb with rosemary, garlic and salt.  While it marinated (yes, at room temperature), finish planting my sweet corn (generously donated by Andy and Mimi Edwards of Champaign, IL) and kidney beans.  Then, return to my hut and braise my marinated lamb for two hours while I work on expanding the bed where I intended to transplant my bananas.   Bananas do not like sand, and grow best in rich dark soil.  My idea was to plant them next to my counterpart’s bamboo stand, which grew nicely in a gigantic hole he and his father dug for them.  Once I had expanded the hole to accommodate 7 banana plants, I would fill it in with clay, rich soil, compost, plant litter, and cow manure.

I am making room for my bananas to the left of this bamboo.

* Gigantic holes in the ground are typically used by my village for waste disposal.  Inorganic and organic wastes are tossed in the hole where they slowly decompose and enrich the soil.  Of course there are things that don’t decompose very rapidly (like plastic), but in my opinion, burning these things does more damage to the environment and the communities’ health than burying it does.  So until development reaches a stage where weekly municipal garbage removal is feasible, I wholeheartedly support this option.

In short, I was fully engaged in living my life as a Peace Corps volunteer in a tiny village in the middle of the African bush. I was content and happy.  (And exhausted!)  My crops were almost in, as well as were my counterpart’s.  We were both pushing the limits in what we thought we could achieve this season.  My counterpart had even taken out a loan in order to plant an extra field of peanuts (and reap and extra 10 sacks at harvest time).  I had countless small experiments and new ideas in various stages of implementation, with hopes that a few might show promise in improving the agricultural productivity in the region.  

And then, the text messages started to come.  The first message I received when I was planting my corn.  I didn’t quite understand it, as it was half written in short hand.  But I had work to do, and I couldn’t stop just to read (with dirty hands) non-urgent texts from the country director.  So I ignored the texts… one after another… nine in all.  I forgot them, and focused my attention on planting my corn and beans, and trying not to salivate as I thought about the delicious meat that sat marinating in my hut.

As the sun was setting, I returned to my hut to build my fire and start braising my lamb.  Just as I got the fire started, my counterpart comes over and I invite him to sit down.  We chat.  He asks me how my day was. I say great.  I ask him.  He says he also had a good day.  I ask him about his plans for tomorrow.  Plant the popcorn and cannellini beans I gave him.  I remind him to let me know when he’s ready to move in the morning so that I can help.  He replies of course.  

“Uh-oh,” I say (in English). “ I forgot to check what all those text messages are about,” I say (in French).   

As I re-read the first message that was sent by our country director, and then continue with the following eight messages, I stare in disbelief at my phone.  I can’t believe what I am reading!  Apparently, two (unnamed) Peace Corps volunteers came into contact with an African who recently died of Ebola.  In addition, two American aid workers (non-Peace Corps related) have contracted the disease and are in serious condition.  As a precaution, Peace Corps has decided to temporarily remove all volunteers from Ebola affected countries (Guinea, Liberia, and Sierra Leone).  As tears started welling up in my eyes, I stood up and started pacing around, repeating “No” and “This can’t be happening... not now... “ and getting angry at the two Peace Corps volunteers who disobeyed orders and “Touched a sick person!”  “What part of Do not touch! do you not understand? “ I demanded to no one in particular.  I know we all want to help, and showing compassion for another person’s suffering is an outstanding virtue, but there are some things that we are just not trained to do.

Still in a bit of shock, I finally turn to my counterpart and explain to him why I was so upset.  Did he know the current Ebola situation?  Did he know what the Peace Corp’s recommendation was for reducing the risk for contracting Ebola, for its volunteers and Guinean citizens? – which incidentally was reviewed by the CDC and given the two thumbs up.  Did he know that I deeply cared about his family and village and was very committed to teaching him new skills and techniques to improve his future?  Did he know that there are some things that are beyond my control and sometimes people make decisions for me?  Does he believe me when I tell him that I promise that I will return to finish what I started?  

I tell him that this isn’t fair.  I tell him that I don’t want to leave, especially not now.  I tell him that this is only a temporary absence.  I tell him that I do not know when I will be back.  I tell him that I will miss  Guinea.   I tell him that I will miss him and his family.  And I also I tell him I am sorry…  many, many times.

But nothing I could say to myself, my counterpart, or the world would change the fact that I will be out of Guinea within days.  You could not have picked a worse time to send me home.  In the middle of the rainy season, no less???  Perhaps my discovery of lamb at the market today was a gift.  Perhaps I can also give my counterpart a gift as well.  I decide to quickly mix up a batch of cornbread that he loves so much and within an hour we are both smiling as we enjoy another perfect loaf of three rock cornbread.  

As you might guess, not many volunteers slept well that night.  Early the next morning, I was informed that the Basse Cote region (in which I was located) was the first to leave.  The volunteers in or near the Koundara prefecture would spend the night in Koundara, and then leave for Conakry very early the next morning.  That didn’t leave much time to pack, say goodbye, and give instructions on my various projects that I had started.  In fact, I was still giving instructions when my regional coordinator pulled up.  Grabbing my things and giving last minute instructions to my counterpart, I climb into the Peace Corps 4 Wheel drive and wave goodbye.  But it wasn’t actually goodbyes.  It was more like “good luck” and “see you soon.”  And hopefully I can return in time to help get the crops in. Si Alla jabi!

By the end of August, the squash in (the rear of) this photo will be producing more squash than one family can eat.

The next couple of days I would like to forget. I endured a most uncomfortable car ride in the back seat of an SUV going as fast it can over very bad Guinean dirt roads.  To prevent me from seeing my breakfast and lunch a second time, I kept my eyes closed most of the trip (I forgot to bring my ginger chews with me… which are very effective at preventing motion sickness).  Friday evening we were de-briefed on the reasons for our removal, the current statistics for the Ebola outbreak (including the Americans affected), the current media frenzy over Ebola (given now that an American life has been lost and more may follow), the logistics of our departure, and Peace Corps’ expectations for our quick return (even if the exact date is uncertain at this time).  Lastly, the very long flight home gave me a swollen right ankle that I am still recovering from.

As I reflect on the time I’ve spent in Guinea, I am thankful for the opportunity to serve my communities on both sides of the ocean, and anxious to return to “the land of way too hot and not enough rain.”  Yes, many things about Guinean culture frustrate me: the lack of quality construction, the inordinate focus on immediate needs and lack of long term planning, and the violence that is so commonly used to guide the behavior of young Guineans as well for animals.   Yet many things equally make me proud: the work ethic of many Guineans, the leadership and integrity displayed by many in face of endemic corruption, the compassion and forgiveness displayed when people make mistakes, the persistence Guineans display when faced with unexpected hardship, and the enthusiasm many Guineans show for learning new skills and knowledge. 

Carrying water on one's head (with no hands)!  Very Cool!!!

Guinea is just like the rest of the world.  It is not black and white, and there are not always easy answers.  People make do with what they have in the best way they know how.  When they know better, they do better.  Without development assistance, there is no way to know better.  Quitting or disappearing may do more to reinforce current bad or ineffective behavior/practices than does staying, enduring objectionable behaviors, and demonstrating better methods through your example.   I am also not naïve to think that everyone is always looking out for my best interest.  There are people who are awesome to be around, and there are people who cause pain and frustration.  But overall, the joys and gifts that I receive far outweigh what anyone can ever steal or take from me.  I am anxious to return to my village and continue sharing what I know to help to make Guinea an example for the rest of the world to follow.

To be continued… 

I promise.