slowly, slowly to catch the monkey

Monkey evidence in my papaya tree

I'm becoming quite fond of this Wolof proverb: slowly, slowly to catch the monkey (ndànk-ndànk, mooy jàpp golo), or just “ndànk-ndànk” for short. Things move “slowly, slowly” here so it's a common response for “how's that project coming along?” or anything, for that matter. For me, it's my favorite phrase when people ask how I'm coping with the mountain of work or adjusting to life – ndànk-ndànk. Usually I get a laugh too (more just out of sheer surprise that I might actually be making progress with the language). The volunteers have a great language immersion program and their fluency is impressive, but for the two sole American staff, we're on our own.

Friday I went to the 3^rd annual oyster festival of the TRY Oyster Women's Association, a community-based organization of over 500 female oyster harvesters in The Gambia. Oysters are small here and harvested from the swampy estuary within mangrove forests. It's dangerous work (one woman drowned two weeks ago), but the association strives to improve cultivation techniques, market development and access to credit for these women who are the often the sole earners in their families. One of our Peace Corps volunteers has been working with the organization as her counterpart (all PCVs have a local partner in their project, whether a school or organization). The festival was fun, with oyster dishes to try, plus seaweed soaps, jarred oysters and knit seaweed tops(!) for sale. Speeches went on for over two hours (the usual when government ministers are in attendance), but there were breaks of dancing, as Jola groups from different regions all came to participate (they are known for their dancing stamina). At one dance break I went out with some of our staff and soon was grabbed by the hand and brought to the middle of the huddle of dancers. Local TV was filming (the President was supposed to speak, but canceled), so I may have been on the evening news as one bright toubab (white person) in the middle of a hundred Jola dancers. Good times. Very sorry I forgot my camera!

Check out the TRY website photo gallery for more pictures like this

Work is rolling along – I feel really well-suited for the position and enjoy the challenge of harnessing all the moving parts that support our volunteers. We've had our share of emergency situations over my first two weeks, so I've learned quickly, but also now know my tools for handling situations (and have successfully done all tasks myself on a weekend when it was necessary). Though I may have the luxury of a generator when power goes off, I'm learning that being a paid manager entails a lot of service, sacrifice, and hardship – just like our volunteers, but different challenges. It's definitely a joy to be part of the work.

"Binta, I'm going to shave your head now!"
(actually, the name is whispered in the 
baby's ear during the naming ceremony)

Some of you have asked how Binta came about as my name. It was obvious to me in my first three days that Heather wasn't going to work at the market or around town unless I wanted to repeat the pronunciation several times. Knowing the staff was naming me that Friday, I would mention to Gambians I met that week that I'd soon have a Gambian name and ask “what's a good one?” Some suggested Hawa or Haddy since it sounds close to Heather, but we've already got a Haddy in the office. One day I was at the Embassy warehouse chatting with three of the mechanics and they were certain I was a Binta. One's mother was named Binta and he said it's always a kind and caring person. As usual, I inserted some humor, which is always a big hit, “So what you're saying is I remind you of your mother?” They laugh and I go on, “okay then next time I visit, you will be my son” (more laughing) “Goodbye Binta, goodbye mother!” Anyway, word got around that I was happy with the name and it was also a good choice since it spans the language groups (usually Bintou in Wolof). Binta it is!

Finally, here's a photo from the Scottish Embassy last week. A group from the National Centre for Arts and Culture (the project counterpart for our PCV's musicology side-project) came down for the presentation and performed songs. Here's a photo of them lined up right underneath the Scottish flag on a bamboo pole. The Scotsman who runs this restaurant (basically in his backyard) is a filmmaker from Edinburgh who has seasonally worked in The Gambia since an NGO stint years ago when he was taken in by the Peace Corps crowd. The pub area is complete with a mural of a bagpipe (with Nessy swimming through) and copious amounts of cerulean blue paint at every opportunity to paint a Scottish flag (bar stools, poles, anything). Actually, he has a great vision and you can even see how to set up your own Scottish Embassy on his website. I think the Scots can be proud of this, their one and only "embassy" in the world!