Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Photo Post! Peace Promoters

Post by Kevin

August 28, 2013

This is our verandah wall prior to the help it desperately needed.
First we drew and framed the section that was going to be the mural itself.
After we drew our graphics, we filled in the empty space around it.
Next comes the colour (yeah, I spell like a Brit now)
We were lucky to find a graphic on the computer that centralized Africa on our globe graphic.
Finished with the color!
Now fast forward six weeks and we decided it was time to wrap it up.

Turns out very few Sierra Leoneons can actually read cursive... but we thought it added to the artistic value.
Check out the African ladder I'm using.  Nothing like standing on a stool on a table to reach those extra high points.
No peace mural is complete without a quote from Barack Obama!

The quotes from top to bottom read:
  • "to promote world peace and friendship" -Peace Corps Act of 1961
  • "Peace requires the simple but powerful recognition that what we have in common as human beings is more important and crucial than what divides us." -Sargent Shriver, 1st Peace Corps Director
  • The 3 Goals of Peace Corps Sierra Leone [hopefully you can read those because I'm too lazy to type them]
  • "Peace requires responsibility. Peace entails sacrifice." -Barack Obama, Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech
  • "blessing and peace be ever thine own / land that we love, our Sierra Leone" -Sierra Leone National Anthem

Monday, August 26, 2013

The Difference between Ducks and Chickens




Post by Lara

23 August 2013

Today we were sitting outside with our friends at the AYM office while Old Meh (that’s his nickname) cooked potato leaf sauce, and chatting about common livestock in Sierra Leone.  Chickens are by far the most common, and the conversation started with Old Meh pointing to the hen we just gave AYM and showing me that she’s growing and doing well at her new home.  Then as a Guinea fowl walked by, Kevin started asking about the mechanics of keeping Guinea fowl (mostly out of curiosity—our friends inform us that you have to keep different kinds of fowl in different places at night or else they’ll fight…so we’d need to augment our chicken house with some new structures, or do the culturally appropriate thing and start putting some of our livestock in rice bags overnight).  Next a duck walked past, and it occurred to me that this was a perfect time to figure out what it is with ducks that makes them different from chickens.

Now before you fill up our comments section with your own lively answers to the question of how to tell a duck from a chicken [and of course we can’t wait to see what insight you, our readers, can provide us!], let me explain.  We know that ducks have bills and can float on water and fly sometimes and raise little batches of ducklings instead of clutches of chicks. And we know they walk differently and quack instead of clucking. We also know that both are on the list of things that are acceptable to eat here, and that people who keep ducks are keeping them to eat them. What we didn’t know was why it’s ok to put a live chicken in a plastic bag or tie its wings and legs up and take it with you in a vehicle crammed with 30 people and sometimes another chicken and frequently a goat tied to the roof or lying down under a bench, but it is a well-known fact among Sierra Leoneans that you just don’t take ducks on transport.

Here's Ebony and Ivory, ready for transport!

So I asked.  And the answer was something along the lines of, “Well, no driver will take you if you have a duck with you.  They think it will make the car break down.”  I had at one point assumed that this peculiarity arose from some sort of reverence to ducks—like perhaps that they are a delicacy or that you eat ducks for special occasions and that means you shouldn’t travel with them…but no, they told me.  Duck isn’t anything special to eat, except that you get more to eat out of one that out of a single chicken.  Also our friends did not have a story to tell about why drivers are afraid of ducks, such as this one time a driver allowed a woman to bring a duck with her and the duck was really an evil spirit and it made the vehicle crash, though I have a feeling that at the bottom of this a story just like that is lurking. 

What we did learn, though, is that there is a whole list of things that drivers won’t let you take on a trip, and a similar lack of explanation for why anything is on that list.  On the list of items not allowed: cats, dogs, snakes, and…wait for it…pumpkins.  “Monkeys?” I asked Old Meh. “No no no. Monkeys are fine. It’s pumpkins. Pumpkins.  The driver won’t let you take a pumpkin.” Oh—pumpkins! Wait...why pumpkins?  That question has not been met with a sufficient answer…especially when you consider that other produce such as pepper, corn, onions, rice, and even watermelons are a-ok.  (Sidenote: I considered titling this post “The Difference between Pumpkins and Watermelons”)

Oh, and by the way, pumpkins are only not allowed to a point. To make a normal, totally-not-allowed-on-this-vehicle pumpkin into a special pumpkin that’s permitted to be in a car, what do you do? Cut it. Cut it up into small pieces? Oh no, you don’t have to do that, just shave a little off the side—a nick, really.  Then the driver will let you take it.  Oh and if you really need to get your cat to your volunteer friend outside Bo…just put him in a rice bag with some holes poked in it and hope it’ll be quiet until it’s too late for the driver to kick you out [speaking from experience here, my friends].  Getting a driver to allow a dog is also frequently a matter of putting her in a contained space that keeps her well removed from the human passengers [read: empty rice bag]. But a duck?  The only way, our friends inform us, is to hide it so the driver doesn’t know it’s there (and hope it doesn’t quack, I guess). 

So there you go—your mini guide to cargo in Salone.  Remember your rice bag any time you want to transport a small mammal; be prepared to have your large mammal tied to the roof or slid under a seat; make sure to give your pumpkins a nice little scar before hopping on board; and don’t forget that although ducks and chickens may seem kind of similar to the untrained eye, they are definitely not. 

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Not a Real Blog Post, Part 9





Post by Kevin and Lara

28th June –18th August 2013

More short thoughts and one-liners:



  • We just jumped on the BBC Sherlock bandwagon and we are officially hooked.  If there’s more than the first 6 episodes available, then someone needs to send them to us ASAP.
  • This one time, when we were Peace Corps volunteers in Africa, Lara had to pee into a test tube a little wider than a pencil.
  • Right now, as I type, there is a live tarantula in an old peanut butter jar on my living room bookshelf.  (Update: the tarantula is decidedly dead now.)
  • The other day, I (Lara) went to the pharmacy to buy some medicine for a friend.  The woman behind the counter was holding a baby and had one breast out of her bra.  She handed the baby to the woman next to her, took my order, took my money, and gave me my change all with the one breast out.  The funny thing?  It didn’t feel that weird.
  • Q: How do you transport a kitten 52 miles without killing it or allowing it to escape into the great beyond?  A: Rice bag with holes punched in it! It may be embarrassing at first when the rice bag starts meowing, but just remember all the times you’ve traveled with a goat bleating on the roof or a chicken clucking in the front seat.
  • Poor Killer just wanted out of the bag! Sorry bud, but it's another couple of hours of transport before you get to roam free in your new home at Anne Marie's.
  • Peace Corps Salone just added a new vehicle to the list of approved methods of transport: the tuk tuk, or rickshaw.  It’s awesome for several reasons: 1, it’s way faster than walking and protects from blinding sun and heavy rain; 2, the driver gave us his number and comes to pick us up anywhere in Bo, and 3, we feel like we’re in India every time we step into one.
  • During Kevin’s family’s recent trip to Salone, we had several conversations that put into perspective how much different our life is now from theirs. Some topics of discussion included: why we just have to get a sleep number bed when we get home (we’re working on maybe getting a spring mattress before we leave here); how remote controls operate almost everything in their houses; and how one of the 8 TV channels at their gym always shows terrible shows (1st world problems?).
  • Mini Mende lesson: you can make a lot of English/Krio words into Mende words by adding “ee” to the end of the word or phrase.  During our most recent trip from Bo, some of our fellow passengers got very annoyed at the driver for his “waste-time-ee" attitude.  We found this quite funny, but also think it’s telling that there’s no pure Mende word for wasting time.
  • Quote from our recent trip from Bo- “There is a man underneath you” “Yeah, could be worse.  Could be a goat.”
  • Nimbus’s little Thor is such a good cat—he licks the blood up off the linoleum after he eats a mouse.
  • It’s funny how some things stick with you—we both brought our Masterlocks that we received freshman year of high school at CHS and we use one to lock our lock box and one to lock our wash room.  11 years later and we’re still using them!



Sunday, August 11, 2013

A Bend in the Road




Post by Lara

11 August 2013

There are a lot of ways to look at the 27-month commitment that Peace Corps asks of volunteers. For some, it’s 2+ years of resume-enhancing.  For others, it’s a hiatus of sorts—leave everything for a couple of years and do something totally different for a while, then get back to it.  For many (if not all), the reasons listed for joining Peace Corps change during the course of service—the focus shifts at least once.  It has certainly been that way for Kevin and me. 

For me, joining Peace Corps was the realization of a lifelong dream, going out of my home and my comfort zone to learn how to live in another culture and to create a bridge of understanding between my previous home and my new one.  That was the driving force at the beginning—very big picture.  And while there’s nothing wrong with that view, I don’t think that having a large overarching goal of “connecting with people” would have kept me here long.  Once you’re on the ground, the “big picture” becomes harder to see, crowded out by a million little pictures: the children in our town chanting our names as we walk by, our good friend suffering from several health problems, my 3 different classrooms full of students [or nearly empty, some days], my fellow teachers buying lunch for me, two of our neighbors having a fight over a lost chicken, the student whose tuition we pay… The list goes on and on—many good and inspiring things, plenty of frustrating ones.  After several months here, my goals got smaller, more measurable. I wanted to see this student figure out that. Kevin wanted to see waste management practices improved at his school.  We both wanted a lot for our schools and community, but we were focusing in on what might have the most impact and what changes might last.

After a failed attempt to dig a well, there was an opportunity for TVSS to get a trash pit!  Kevin and his counter part used stones and school funds to build a wall around it and turn it into a trash pit for the school.

Somewhere in all of this, my personal focus shifted too.  I had been moving along with the plan that after Peace Corps, I would get a master’s of education and begin teaching high school math.  That was what I had wanted before I left—it was why I was thankful to have a teaching assignment in Peace Corps. It was how I framed my classes here and how I made my experience here count toward what I would be doing next.  What I didn’t expect was that living and working here would cause me to take a giant step back—all the way back—to consider options I haven’t considered in years. 

Now let me step away for a minute and describe our town to you.  It is a district capital—the largest town for at least 30 miles in any direction.  We host a weekly market on Thursdays that brings people from a large radius together.  We have at least 2 mosques and something like a dozen churches, one community bank, 5 junior high/high schools, a whole lot of primary schools, a radio station that focuses its programming on women’s health and equality, a nursing school, and a hospital.  I’ve heard that our town holds something like 7-10 thousand residents, but if you include the outlying areas you’re up to 40 or 50 thousand people who consider our town the first stop to go to a large market, visit the hospital, or go to a “good” high school. 

When we first got here, we were education-focused. That wasn’t a decision we consciously made, so much as a reflection of our full-time jobs.  Teaching is our primary project here, so naturally, teaching and improving our schools were on our minds.  As we’ve spent more time in the community and learned about the dynamics of living here, we’ve come to see that our community needs a lot of things, better education being one among many.  We need paved roads (they’re working on it!); we need a well-staffed hospital (they’re trying to work on that, but right now there isn’t even one doctor regularly there); we need teachers and educators who are qualified and trained, which might mean incentivizing the better teachers to move out to the provinces (Engineers Without Boarders is working on that at my school); we need libraries, not just for the school but for the wider community. Our town needs a lot of things, and also needs a lot of caring people to help it accomplish those things.  We want this place to become more accessible, more attractive to good teachers, more self-sufficient…and we want to be a part of making it that way.

It was in light of all of these thoughts that I found myself one day thinking, “What if I don’t become a teacher when I leave here?”  And suddenly the game shifted.  What I thought was a fairly straightforward road from here to my future career suddenly didn’t have to be.  Did I want that?  What did I want?  The thoughts swirled around in my head for a few days before they settled down into something I could interpret.  What I realized at the end of the day was that I wanted to pursue a career that would allow me to continue to be a presence here in my town, even from far away.  I didn’t want to move here permanently, but I wanted to have the means to come here occasionally, and to contribute to the effort to develop our community after my 2 years are done.  I also wanted job and income security in the states, and I wanted to have more technical skills than I have now. 

Which technical skills? That was something to decide.   The way I saw it, engineering and health care were the two most attractive options.  As an engineer I would be able to work on water and sanitation or solar and wind power.  As a health care professional I could help with the hospital as well as local clinics, running workshops or taking part in vaccination campaigns. 

Health care won out, and here are some reasons why.  Living 180+ miles from my own doctor (we have most of our appointments by phone) and something like 50 miles (read: at least 3 hours by car) from being able to see a doctor has put healthcare at the front of my mind.  One friend of mine has an ulcer causing her constant pains, or at least she’s sure it’s an ulcer, though it’s never been diagnosed and she doesn’t have the money to go to the hospital for it.  Another friend recently had an attack from what we think are gallstones, but the only thing they could do at our hospital was give her some pain medication and encourage her to go get tested in Bo.  I have made “Where There is No Doctor” my go-to guide for all kinds of ailments, both my own and those of my friends.  When the Peace Corps medical staff gave us the book at the beginning of our time here, I assumed the title was somewhat hyperbolic—turns out I was wrong.  Furthermore, I know that health care professionals are sorely needed in parts of the states too, and having firsthand knowledge of what life is like when you live in a town with no doctor, I know that my skills would be needed in the states as well as abroad. 

Now, my Bachelor of Arts degree in math, Spanish, and International Studies is not going to get me far in a health profession, so I’m still going back to school when I return, but now I’m going with an entirely new goal in mind.  I’ve begun to scope out post-baccalaureate pre-medical programs which will prepare me for med school, a PA program, or another medical master’s program.  Right now, I think I want to work in a family practice, which I could do as a doctor or a PA.  What specific career I’m going to follow will depend on a lot of things, such as how many years of schooling or preparation I plan to put into the career change.  I’m glad to know I have at least a year or two to sort that out. 

So now I find myself a year into my Peace Corps service, trying to decide how to frame the next year, what to focus on, and what comes next.  I’m still a teacher, first and foremost.  I now share a career goal with many of my students, which I hope will enhance our classes and help us focus.  I want to contribute to my school’s success, but now I see a wider goal as well—helping my community be healthier.  I have decided to start volunteering at the hospital and/or with the local Red Cross. I plan to get a hold of my little sister’s anatomy book to be able to start some independent study before I return home next year.  Ultimately, I hope to have the skills to be an effective health worker in the US and a career which affords me the opportunity to be involved in global health efforts not just in Sierra Leone but anywhere where medical care is scarce. 

Lara's students giving a lecture during morning assembly about conjunctivitis and cleanliness after a small outbreak at the school. 

Kevin likes to joke that he views his time in Peace Corps as a “snooze button” of sorts—he was an engineer before he came and wants to get an engineering job when we return.  Some things will be different, but ultimately his time here has further settled in his mind that engineering is what he loves and what he wants to do.  I’ve come to see my own Peace Corps service as a giant bend in the road.  When I joined, I thought I knew what was on the other side. Now I’m starting to realize that I had no idea, and that whatever comes next, my two years here have forever altered the way forward. 

Thursday, August 8, 2013

Creepy Crawlies




Post by Lara

8 August 2013



This story happened a while ago, but we decided to delay publishing it until after Kevin’s family came and visited us. You may understand why after reading on.


When we first moved to our site, we were enthralled with the lovely canopy of mango, orange, cacao, and avocado trees that offer shade for our house. We were also excited that the environment seemed to attract an endless variety of wildlife: butterflies, horn bills, wydahs (a long-tailed bird), and quite a lot of insects.  We’ve frequently spent afternoons hunting butterflies or beetles to photograph, and we don’t have to go far to find them.  It took us a while to realize that this lovely assortment of wildlife also included some not-so-welcome house guests.  Cockroaches are unavoidable in this country (and just about anywhere on this latitude). Salone is also home to a variety of spider that is apparently harmless, but grows quite big and is generally referred to as a common spider. Common spiders are considered good luck, so we often refer to them as good luck spiders. Here’s a good luck spider we befriended early-on, named Stuart. It may be hard to tell, but his leg span is about as big as Kevin’s palm:


The first time I saw a tarantula outside of a zoo or pet store was in my bathroom.  It was dark and I was heading out to the toilet (about 60 feet from the back door of our house) just before going to bed, and as I opened the door I noticed a dark spot on the wall. Turning so my headlamp lit the wall, I saw it.  Without saying a word, I turned around, went back inside, and said, “Kevin, get the camera. There’s a tarantula in the bathroom”

“A tarantula? Cool. Coming” he replied.

We went outside together and Kevin stopped outside the bathroom, saying, “Oh cool! That’s not a tarantula but it’s pretty big”. Confused, I turned to see a relatively big and ominous-looking spider sitting on the outside of the door. “That’s not it” I said, and brought Kevin inside. “Wow! It’s a tarantula!” he gasped. “Yes. A tarantula. Like I said.”  Kevin managed to get a photo with both the spider and the tarantula in it. The tarantula was almost as big as Kevin’s hand, fingers and all.



After we got our photo, I decided I didn’t need to use the bathroom that bad and we went to bed. The next morning our new friend was nowhere to be found.  We showed a picture to our neighbor and she immediately yelled at us, “Why didn’t you come get us? You have to kill those! They bite people!” She then told us that the volunteer who lived here before us found no less than ten of those inside the house during the two years that he lived here. Ohhh boy.

The next tarantula we saw was not kind enough to stay out of the house. As we climbed into bed one night, we looked up to the ceiling and saw him clinging to the wall in the corner.  Since it was already late and we weren’t inclined to wake the neighbors to come into our house and kill a giant spider, we decided to tuck our bed net in extra tight and deal with it in the morning.

Unfortunately, it’s not terribly easy to sleep when there’s a tarantula watching over you. At least not for us. I knew we were heading for a restless night, but I had no idea how restless it would turn out to be.  Around 3 am Kevin woke up to the sound of plastic scraping on the concrete floor of our parlour. He got up to investigate and found the lid to a bucket of ours hopping across the floor. Confused, tired, and mildly terrified, he picked up our wash bucket, set it on top of the jumping lid, and got back in bed, tucking the net in securely.  Kevin told me what he saw and we both presumed the tarantula had gotten itself stuck.  That’s nice, we thought—our friends won’t have trouble killing him now.  We promptly lay back down to attempt to sleep. Almost immediately the moving-bucket-lid-sound was replaced by the sound of whatever we had trapped scraping the inside of the lid it was trapped under. 

About two hours of scraping later, I was the one who ventured out of the bed. Kevin called into the parlour, “it hasn’t moved, has it?” I replied, “I don’t know. Where was it when you put the bucket on top?”

“About 4 feet from the bookshelf” was the reply.  Oh dear, I thought.  The bucket was only about 8 inches from the shelf now.  I quickly found the first heavy thing I could locate—our charcoal iron—and plopped in down into the bucket. “Ok, now it’s not going anywhere.” I said before sneaking back under our trusty bed net.  The last two hours that we attempted to sleep, we were serenaded by the incessant scraping of the trapped creature against plastic.  Needless to say, we didn’t do a lot of sleeping.

In the morning we decided to leave the bucket until after school, when we would have a friend come up to investigate. We knew it was going to be a long day, having gotten probably 2 hours of sleep through the night, and we were anxious to get it over with.  As I tied my shoes while sitting on the edge of the bed, something on the wall caught my eye. Looking up, I saw the same tarantula, still on the wall, about 10 feet from where he was the night before. Then what the heck is under the bucket? My mind wandered to all sorts of nightmarish places, egged on by the paranoia that a sleepless night can inspire.

After school, we brought our friend Homeboy (his real name is Idrissa) up to the house. The tarantula was thankfully right where we left him, and the bucket had not moved.  Homeboy got a stick (more like a small tree- about 10 feet long and 3-4 inches in diameter) and moved into the bedroom, being sure to remove his shoes before stepping into the room, as is culturally appropriate. We tried to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but he insisted.  With two swipes and one big stab, the tarantula was no more.  Next we pointed him in the direction of the bucket, which by now was a giant mystery to us—what did we catch? Another tarantula? A snake? A rat?  Homeboy wasted no time. He slid the lid out onto our veranda and slowly lifted it. Out came…

A mouse. Not even a big mouse.  Still, mice are pests here and can spread all sorts of diseases including the dangerous Lassa fever, so Homeboy was not going to let it go. He killed it quickly, and disposed of it outside the house. 

After this second encounter with tarantulas and one incident involving a small, harmless, yet unwelcome-in-our-bedroom snake, we set to work sealing the small cracks around our windows to at least make it a bit more difficult for any more crawlies to get inside. Our house is still home to several good luck spiders, though the slow ones get picked off by our kitty Nimbus pretty quickly.  Speaking of the cat, since we got her we have seen significantly fewer pests in the house, and tend to meet them outside in the bush, where we don’t mind seeing them.