Hello. My name is Damaye Camara. I have cats in my backpack. I eat dogs. I steal things.
At least that’s what someone with the last name of Sylla would tell you about me. Guineans love to joke and laugh. There is this strange but hilarious cultural tradition here that you make outrageous insults at people who are your “cousin.” Each last name here has a corresponding last name which is your “cousin.” When you meet someone who is your cousin you should immediately tell them that they eat dogs and cats and accuse them of being a thief (don’t worry, people don’t actually eat dogs or cats here...to my knowledge). Beyond verbal abuse, you can also go as far as to steal the goat at your cousin’s wedding and hide it so the couple can’t get married (apparently you need a goat to get married). All of this is in good humor, of course.
Because I’m a Camara, I should insult or expect to be insulted by anyone with the last name Sylla. When I visited my future site a few weeks ago I was introduced to a lot of Syllas. I thought I was perhaps being a bit rude to insult the director of education of the district upon first meeting, but I was reassured once he insulted me back and we all started laughing. The Syllas of Guinea have been rather impressed that after only one month in Guinea I know how to properly insult them. Integration!
The road to my village
Before the car even starting moving from the gare routiere (taxi station) in Conakry, the man next to me asked if I’d be his wife. This is going to be a looooong car ride. Sitting in the back of a tiny car, with 3 adult Guinean men squished in next to me was...rather crowded. After a few hours on a nicely paved road along palm tree mountains and forests, one of the Guinean men informed me that the good road ended here. The road was slightly less smooth, and I though, this isn’t sooo bad. Then the potholes came. We zig-zagged across the whole road trying to avoid the biggest potholes, zooming at what I would guess was 10km/hour – though I couldn’t be too sure since the speedometer was broken. “How long do we have left on this road?” “95km”....uh oh.
2.5 hours later we were there. And by there I mean a mosque by the side of the road. It was past due time to pray, and this mosque was as good as any. The men got out, left me in the car and then came back 10 minutes later. I inquired about how far we had traveled. Only 50km. Eish. Eventually, 2 hours later, we made it to my village.
My village is pretty much in a mango tree/palm tree forest (very shady!). It’s on the Basse-Cote (same region as Dubreka). There are 2 paved roads in my village ( a lot for the average PC/Guinea volunteer), a huge daily and weekly market, and a broken gas station. My future home has walls made of cement (instead of mud) and a roof (instead of straw). Une vie de luxe (a luxurious life)! Running water? Not a chance. Electricity? In your dreams. I’m starting to learn Susu language in my training because that’s what they speak there. Only people who have been well-educated speak French very well. Which, unfortunately, means that most women do not speak French very well.
Home Sweet Home
After the week long site-visit I was really glad to be home in Dubreka. I missed my host family a lot. I got a grand welcoming from the family when I returned home. The kids almost peed their pants they were so excited to see me. It felt good to sit on the ground and dig my hand into the big bowl of rice and sauce and be in the company of the women of the house.
PC training is ramping up. This week we start Practice School which is a full simulation of our teaching experience. I will be teaching 11th grade physics. At my site I will be teaching 11th and 12th grade physics (Lycee). Lesson planning is hard work – the curriculum is poorly planned out and the textbooks are horrendous (2 of the French high school physics books I was given here fail to mention Newton anywhere in the book...). I’ve also got a lot to work on in terms of language, I need to increase my technical French and I’m also trying really hard to learn Susu so that I can communicate with the women of my village.
That’s all I have time for now, need to finish writing homework problems for practice school. Stay tuned for more. I leave you with this bit of wisdom: "Qui ne risque rien, n'a rien" - nothing ventured, nothing gained (who risks nothing has nothing.)
Peace,
Liz
