Lamal, Lambal, LAABAL. It's Laabal Dindefelo, you know?

Laabal, in Pulaar, means cleanse or clean-up.  But because Pulaar is not commonly written and has only in the last decade ever been written, it's spelling is up for grabs.  Thus, when I arrived in Senegal with T-shirts sporting the waste management logo I designed, accompanied by the words 'Lamal Dindefelo,' there was some conspiracy.  A Senegalese friend originally instructed me to spell lamal this way.  But in no time, people came to me with aggression towards my "mistake."  I corrected it along the way according to their advice.  So, on our waste management T-shirts, you'll find lamal.  On our education brochures, you'll find lambal; and on all 100 waste bins, you'll see laabal.  We've settled on laabal, officially, in case you're wondering.  

Although I am uncomfortable with the consistency of the spelling, I am choosing not to look at it as unprofessional, and instead as a reflection of Laabal Dindefelo's infancy.  The inconsistency symbolizes the newness of garbage consciousness, for lack of a better term.  This project only a loose beginning and will hopefully take many forms in its lifetime--from simply consolidating trash, to recycling and composting, to reducing and repurposing waste.  And the variety of spellings of Laabal symbolizes the way in which we move the project forward: listening to the counsel of many voices and accepting the help of many hands. 

Lakeside (Seattle, WA) students, a crowd of curious kids and me

Mi new os

Today, Peace Corps Salone announced where we will be living for the next two years. After a long and agonizing day of waiting, imagining, and hugging dear friends to whom we wish to stay close, we were given envelopes each with a puzzle piece. We were to find other volunteers with pieces that fit. Once the puzzle came together, we were guided towards a teacher who handed yet another envelope to us. Inside, the long awaited name of our new homes. I will be living in a very small rural village (approximately 1000 in population) called Bandajuma in the southern most district called Punjehun. Bandajuma is about 30 miles south of Bo (the second largest city). There are small daily markets and a Sunday Trade Fair. My school is a Muslim JSS School called Ahmadiyya Junior Secondary (The equivalent of a U.S. Middle School). I will be the only Peace Corps Volunteer in my village and the only volunteer within a 20-30 mile radius. Next week, we will be going to visit our sites. I cannot wait for the adventure to continue! A tel God tenki!

Persons of Bo, Sierra Leone

Me: Wetin na yu gladiest tem na yu lyf? - What was the happiest moment of your life?

Samura Conteh: Wel, di gladiest tem na mi lyf na we a hep misef fo do somtin gud fo di futur. A don dicayd fo lan job we we go mek a go kam sefrilayant in da futur. Mi na ka oprator. Mi na driva. - Well, the happiest moment of my life was when I decided to help myself do something positive for the future. I decided to learn a job so I could become self reliant. I am a car operator. I am a driver.

Street Art Steals My Heart

I don't know what it is.  Perhaps it's the beauty alone, perhaps it's the beauty in the rebellion.  I am a big time fan of street art, which is a lot harder to find here in Cape Coast.  A couple weeks ago I found this piece on a walk back from the post office in town.  Talk about eye candy.

Mi Ticha Bob

Throughout our PST (Pre-Service Training), we are immersed in language classes. Upon arrival, our training began. We have started with Krio, the most widely spoken language in Sierra Leone. A conglomeration of English, Portuguese, French, and local languages, my mind often struggles to comprehend the complexity of letters which now consume my life. Facilitating this learning experience is my LCF (Language and Cultural Facilitator) Bob Conteh; A native Sierra Leonean, teacher by trade, and wise man in his early 70s. Each day, Bob and I sit underneath a mango tree speaking and learning Krio with a few of my fellow volunteers. He brings with him a well worn chalk board on which he writes Sierra Leonean proverbs, conversational queues, and Krio phrase after Krio phrase.  

One morning in our early days of training, I asked Bob “Monin-o! Ow di bodi Bob? Ow yu slip?” – “Good Morning! How are you? How did you sleep?”

Bob: “Oh Molly, A no slip fayn. Mi bodi no wel. A git Malaria” – “Oh Molly, I did not sleep fine. My body is not well. I have Malaria.”

He described his situation in a very matter of fact manner. Malaria is a common illness here. Luckily, if you have access to anti-malarial medication, a bed net, bug spray, and malaria medication, one is generally safe form Malaria. And thankfully, Bob has access to malaria medication. A week later he was healthy.

Suddenly all these health issues I had learned about in my honors courses and International studies classes and public health studies while studying abroad are present. These issues are now actively a part of my life. 

As I walk through the streets of Bo, neighbors have learned my local name, Koloma. As you may have expected, I have also sung the "Great Big Moose" song many a time and consequently I am confronted with many a smiling face, voices singing the tune, and little hands making moose antlers on their heads. Mama Salone na mi om. Mother Salone is my home.

Who says pool parties are just for kids?

Last weekend I celebrated my 22nd birthday in the company of all of my future nieces and nephew.  We took them to a local pool to go swimming for the afternoon.  It was pretty awesome.

Croix-Rouge Village Clean-up