Practicalization!

I have a grade twelve student who enjoys making comments like, “I think this year you will only teach us what will be on the exam” and providing similar suggestions along the lines of why-are-you-teaching-us-this. I have finished an example of pieces-of-bread as fractions when he raises his hand.

"Yes?"
"I think next time we should practicalize the lesson."

I prepare for the worst. He continues:

"And next time bring bread for the class."

A joke!

Teddy bears!

In one care package I opened in September I found eight pages of teddy bear stickers. Of all animals, bears, the creature I am least able to explain but most often find myself needing to explain. I still remember a ninth grade maths lesson last year where I thought I could quickly give {bears in The Gambia} as an example of {}, but no. The question, "What is a bear?" quickly complicated my example.

Then there are the bears that appear in the American textbooks I share with neighborhood kids, the bears on the Sierra Club calendar, the bears tumbling through forests and snowdrifts in assorted postcards…

I decided to do an experiment. I gave the ninth grade students a pretest (this was not part of the experiment, I would’ve given them a pretest in the absence of stickers). After marking the tests I affixed a teddy bear sticker to each one. I returned the papers and listened for the response:

“Miss Jallow, how is five the answer to number one?”
“Miss Jallow, Fulay is absent. I can take her paper.”
“Miss Jallow, explain number twelve.”

Only when the bell rang did I overhear one student remark, in Pulaar, “Look a baby.”

Sound advice

• “You can only hide from human being you cannot hide from microorganism.”
• “Be a friend to garlic.”
• “Please use the toilets wisely.”
• “Make use of what God has given you and that is the human brain. Do not make it just a load for you to carry.” (this was overheard on the radio the morning they were discussing Steve Jobs' death. listeners texted in their opinion on whether he’d be going to heaven—because he was a good person—or to hell—because he was not a Muslim.)
• “Take the sense out of the nonsense.”
• “Let us not be parasites.”
• “If you married an African man, that would be a very good combination.

Deoderant!

A teacher is spritzing nearby teachers with underarm deodorant. They all obligingly lift their arms. “Would you like some Binta?” “No, I’m alright.”

What ethnic group are you from?

One of the teachers is talking to me in Pulaar, basic introductions, probably more for his own amusement than anything else. He asks my American name and I tell him and he asks me to write it, so I do. I should have told him the written version would not be of any help, but I did not, so he pronounces my name with an English "j" and I cringe. Diana, another teacher, asks to see my name. She says it’s a pretty name and I’m going to pretend she said this because of how the letters S-o-n-j-a look together in that order and not because of how she imagines they’re pronounced.

Then the teacher asks what ethnic group I belong to. As this is a question I’ve only ever had to bubble in an answer to with #2 pencil for the benefit of people not staring directly at me, I don’t know how to answer until Diana prompts, “Your last name, Kubik…” and I explain it is Slovak but I am also Swedish. “From Sweden,” I add, with the faint hope I can convince people I've got no relatives in Switzerland. The teacher responds with some interest, but then explains that wasn’t what he meant, I still have not answered his question. "What ethnic group are you from? What tribe? You know in The Gambia we have the Fulas, the Serrehules, the Mandinkas…"

So I explain we don’t have those in America, people identify with what countries their family members originally came from. Except then I remember the Native Americans so I explain about them too.

I should've just answered “Viking!”

Carnival!

A student was reading the back of my World Carnival 2008 t-shirt but I did not know this was what he was doing. So when he asked, “What is a carnival?” with “carnival” accented so as to render the word unrecognizable, I really had no clue what he was talking about.

I asked him to repeat the word. He did. I remained confused.

I asked him to spell the word. Instead, he asked, “Is it a sort of animal, or what?” I told him, in a regretful tone of voice, that still I did not understand what he was saying.

Finally he said, “On your t-shirt, ‘World Carnival.’”

“Ah-ha! A carnival is like a party.”

I should laugh very well

I almost trip and fall.

Teacher: I should laugh very well.
Me: If I fall?
Teacher: Yes.

Picky!

Levi always sniffs his food before eating it. If the rice is cooked without oil or comes without a sauce, he will walk away and let the chickens eat it. Once, after Levi acted particularly snobbish, Neene said, “Levi is picky, but Binta will not be picky.” Fatou Bobo cheerfully began listing the various foods I will eat: “Rice with peanut sauce, nyankatong, futi…”

All I could think was: “I've got less discerning taste than a scruffy village dog known to eat decomposing chickens...”

Please stand for inspection.

Some mornings, a group of four or five student counselors will ask to interrupt class for "inspection." All students in the class wills stand as the counselors walk carefully down each aisle, inspecting shoes and earrings and opening bags.

Last year, when I first saw an inspection take place, I was shocked that the counselors were allowed to rummage through fellow students’ bags and even “seize” items deemed inappropriate for school. "Wow," I thought, "They were right about Americans and Gambians having different standards of privacy.”

But this year I overheard a conversation between two of the new teachers, both from the Kombos. They were saying that at the schools in Kombo this sort of thing would never happen, and even the police need a reasonable reason to search you, but these are just fellow students, etc.

Miss S. started questioning Mr. K, a teacher who has been at the school for a couple of years, about the seized items lying on the table before her. What was so forbidden about a small hand mirror, she wanted to know. Mr. K. replied that it is not necessary for school. She said, “But at assembly you talked on the importance of looking presentable. A mirror will help students to look presentable.” She added that even she has a mirror like this one. Mr. K. asked to see said mirror. She showed him. He observed that her mirror is a part of her wallet, and as her wallet is very necessary, hers is a different situation.

Miss S. decided to expand upon her original argument that students need to look presentable for school. Sometimes they will want to apply oil. At her school in Kombo there are mirrors by the sink in the bathrooms for this purpose, so students will not need to bring a mirror, but if they did it would not be a problem.

Unable to dispute these facts, Mr. K. raised a new concern: “Some boys will do funny things with mirrors.”

“But the girls here wear trousers,” she replied, answering my silent question about what sorts of funny things boys do with mirrors. Mr. K. agreed yes, the girls wear trousers, but nevertheless, the boys will find ways of causing mischief with mirrors. “Like what?” Mr. K. could not think of an example. “But they will think of something!” he insisted.

“Anyway, it is not even the boys who will bring the mirrors to school,” Miss S. continued.

“The boys will steal the mirrors from the girls.”

“Then we should tell them thief-ology is not offered here. We are not training professional thieves.”

Miss S. put down the mirror and picked up the lighter. She said instead of seizing lighters we should inform the students about the dangers of smoking. But as long as the students are not smoking on school grounds, actually, it is not our business.

Mr. K. gave a noncommittal mumble.

Miss S. put down the lighter and picked up the earrings. And what about these earrings? These are small, and they are of the style we are encouraging the girls to wear. Mr. K. said, actually, he agrees, and he does not know why the earrings were taken -- perhaps the girl had multiple piercings in each ear? Miss S. countered that maybe multiple piercings are a part of the girl’s culture and if she does not put something into the hole it will close and is not an earring more hygienic than a twig? Mr. K. agreed she has a valid point, really, he agrees with her, but anyway, these are the administration’s rules.

All in all, Miss S. thinks they are inspecting the wrong things. I said I agree with her, that they should only seize something that is a danger, like knives.

Miss S. agreed, sort of. "Yes, but even knives you do not know, some of those razors the students will use to sharpen their pencil. And you know, you cannot write with a pencil that is not sharp. What they should be inspecting is shoes. Shoes should be brown or black. Full stop. Belts also should be plain. None of these colorful ones you will see the boys wearing.”

Also, some of the students wear uniforms made of very thin fabric so that you can see their underwear. The students should wear only underwear that is white or a solid color.

“And inspect their nails, so that we can help them with their hygiene.”

Catfish!

Hajahawa handed me a dried catfish. A dried catfish, for some reason, is much creepier than the usual dried fish sold in the market, which are not actually creepy at all. But dried catfish looks like something out of a museum diorama. A museum diorama located in a natural history museum’s Prehistoric Life exhibit.

The catfish was tasty, for the most part, but there wasn’t much actual catfish meat to eat, after I’d peeled away the skin and plucked out the bones. I made the mistake, though, of eating the large black blob of something that was near the head. I thought it might be edible. It tasted so disgusting I worried I might poison myself. I spat it out.

After I'd finished chewing the catfish, word gets out that the girls had stolen them. Neene lists off the names of all the girls who she saw nibbling a catfish. "Hajahawa, Adama, Kumba..." Kumba adds, “And Binta!” I look up startled. Neene says, no, Binta was sitting here the whole time, she ate it but she did not take it.

I love that I live somewhere little girls steal dried catfish.

Marseilles!

Last week the French teacher was trying to convince Therese, a student, about the importance of learning French. French is now a core subject, equal to English and Maths, but Therese argued that she does not need to learn French because she can already speak English, Pulaar and Manjako.

The French teacher rebutted that many Manjakos move to France, to Marseilles. How will she be able to move to Marseilles if she cannot speak French? How will she be able to find a husband there if she cannot speak French?

Therese countered that she does not want to move to France; she will go to America. Another teacher asks, I originally think unrelatedly, “Binta, do you have a brother?” I say yes I do. “Then maybe Therese can marry your brother!” I say, sure! Therese agrees, “Yes, I will go to America and marry Miss Jallow’s brother.”

“…but all the Manjakos go to Marseilles…”

Buy me...

Cherno: Binta, buy me a football.
Me: If I have money…
E.B: Me too, buy me a football.
Me: If I have money…
Buba: Binta, buy me a tractor.
Me: A tractor?
Buba: Yes, a tractor.
Me: Okay, if I have money I will buy you a tractor.

Glares!

I hit a girl with my bike coming home from school one day. I’d pressed on my brakes, so it was more like tapping the back of her leg instead of running her over, but still, it probably hurt. I felt bad, but not too bad because instead of bursting into tears or even sniffling, she turned around and glared at me.

That same afternoon, Fama’s Alieu, maybe aged four, also glared at me. I’d pointed to a picture of a warthog and announced, “It is Alieu’s wife.” The other kids laughed hysterically, especially Rugi, who ran to show her mom. Fatou Bobo replied, with real concern, “But Binta, this is not a person.”

Flyswatters!

Two flyswatters might seem excessive for one small hut, but they’re really not when you consider:

1. They are color-coordinated
2. If Mamadou comes to sit in your hut to eat roasted corn while admiring his surroundings and if he then asks, “What is this?” while pointing to the flyswatters and if after you demonstrate he wants to try, you can each grab a flyswatter and go hunting for flies and then two flyswatters is the perfect amount.

"I want to enter your stomach."

After dinner I notice a satellite or something gliding quickly across the sky.

Me: Rugi, look!
Rugi: What?
Me: Look, there. It is running.
Rugi: That moon, also, it will go.
Me: It is fast!
Rugi: It is following that moon.

We watch in silence until it disappears.

Me: But now I do not see it.
Rugi: I see it. It is there.
Me: It is not there. It left.
Rugi, pointing to a faint star not at all near the point where the satellite was last seen: It is here!
Me: But it went there. Now it is here? It is not the same.
Rugi: It entered the moon’s stomach.
Me: The moon’s stomach?
Rugi: Yes…It said, “I want to enter your stomach.” Then the moon said, “Okay.”

Conjunctivitis!

There were at least four students in the class with conjunctivitis. Just when the neighborhood kids’ eyes were clear and I thought I could let down my guard. Because of course the more I reminded myself, “Don’t rub my eyes, don’t rub my eyes,” the more imaginary specks of dust would land in my eyes, begging to be rubbed away.

I told the class I was scared for my eyes and one student wondered why this should be because my eyes and his eyes are not the same. I said, “It does not matter. Blue eyes or brown eyes…all of them can get conjunctivitis.” Then, of course, they wanted to know how to spell conjunctivitis. And then I felt I should warn against touching their eyes. And then one student wanted to know how to cure con-con-conjunct-conjunctivitis.

But after all, our collective health was at stake. Fractions could wait.

Tomas and Lephant

The Jack Hanna safari book contains pictures of Jack Hanna's safari through Kenya and Uganda. I am not sure who Jack Hanna is, but apparently he has his own TV show. Fama did not recognize the hippos, but she does know about elephants. She saw them on the telly, a film, Tarzan. Elephants are in India. They can break trees. They will pick it up and break it. Also, she will sit there [Fama points to the tusks]. Yes, in the film they did that! Heh! Elephants are strong.

The Old Man knows all the English animal names, as I learned when he overheard me teaching Fama about hippos.

Me: Ko ngabbu. [It's a hippo]
Fama: Heh! Ko ngabbu? [Heh! It's a hippo?]
Old Man: Tomas.
Me: Yes. E dum ko ñiiwa. [And that is an elephant]
Old Man: Lephant.

And Musa knows about cheetahs. He knows the cheetah will run and kill the zebra and chew it. He saw it on someone’s mobile in Camara Kunda

The unasked question

I bought a bean sandwich and before the lady added onions she asked “onions?” and before she added mayonnaise she asked, “minus?” but before she poured on extra extra spoonfuls of oil she said nothing at all.

Oh well.

Whose moon?

Girl 1, pointing: The moon!
Girl 2: It is the toubab moon.
Girl 1: You are lying! It is not the toubab moon!
Girl 2: No, it is the toubab moon.
Girls 1 and 2: Binta, is it the toubab moon?
Me: I think it is all people’s moon.
Girls: What?
Me: It is all people’s moon. Not just the toubab’s moon.

The girls must have overheard adults talking about the toubab month, but since the words for month and moon are the same in Pulaar, and since the girls were too young to understand the concept of "month" anyway, their mistake is understandable. But no less hilarious. 

Monitor lizard!

I come home from school and Mamadou calls me to come look and I stare as Alieu Sowe explains that the monitor lizard before us, whose neck is sliced and whose innards still look squirming and alive, came from inside Neene’s house. It will eat chicken eggs. I keep watching until I remember it’s culturally inappropriate for me to do so.

That evening I overhear Alieu telling Noogas about it. “Where is it now?” she wants to know. “In the cooking pot.”

Doubt!

While walking home from school, two ninth grade boys approach me on bicycles.

Boy 1: Good morning, Miss Baldeh.
Boy 2: Jallow.
Boy 1: Eh, good morning Miss Jallow.
Me: Good morning. How are you?
Boys 1 & 2: Fine.
Boy 1, slowing his bike to keep pace with my walking: But there is something that doubts me.
Me: Yes?
Boy 1: Is it Mrs. Jallow or Miss Jallow?
Me: Miss.
Boy 1: Miss Jallow.
Me: Yes.
Boy 1: Well, I hope you find a husband.
Me: Thank you.

Thanks! And...sorry.

I brought some picture books out for the kids but Iiley is being a pain. He wants to rub his dirty fingers all over the pages and then dangle the book by the front cover. I ask for the book back, but he just grins and steps away. There are no other adults around and What Do You Do with a Kangaroo? seems seconds away from being dropped and/or torn in half.

What do you do? I turn to Buba and instruct, “Buba, beat Iilley.” Buba, who is a helpful child, smacks Iilley in the chest. Iilley, startled even though he’d had advance warning, turns to face Buba and loosens his grip on the book. I snatch it away and shout, “Buba, thank you!”

Buba doesn’t hear me. He is busy scowling at Iilley, who has just countered with a similar smack to the chest. Then they try pushing each other head first into the ground while shouting “Your ____!” “____!” “You _____!” and similar insults. There is also some punching and clawing. I try to break them apart with a cheerful, “Okay, it’s finished!” I feel awful about what I got Buba into. At least now I can tell people I've had a boy fight for me...I'll just leave out the fact that he's two years old.

Finally some mothers arrive and intervene, but not before Iilley releases one final “Your mom’s ____!”

Tobaski!

Today is Tobaski! Probably. I am typing this on the Friday before Tobaski, so I'm only assuming Tobaski is actually happening November 7. 

Beginning about a month ago, the following message would arrive regularly in my cellphone’s inbox: “Win Tobaski rams for FREE, SMS or call 2011 & get 5 FREE Africell minutes valid for 1 day + the chance to win 1 to 10 Tobaski rams everyday D10 per SMS or call” The messages annoyed me, because I kept being fooled into thinking I might actually be getting a message from a friend. But one day I decided it could be fun to win a Tobaski ram, or ten, so I replied, “Please i want to win Tobaski ram!! Thank you!!!!!” Probably I could’ve sent a blank message, but I thought I should write something just in case. My enthusiastic reply was returned with, “Thank you, your entry to the Tobaski Ram draw has been recorded and you will soon receive 5 Africell minutes valid for 1 day. SMS again to increase your chances.”

Sadly, I did not win a Tobaski ram. Or ten.

Here are photos from Tobaski last year. I imagine the photos I take this year will be similar.

My Groundnut Narrative

One of the teachers last year said I should help out with planting groundnuts. He said I could have my own little plot of land to farm and then afterward I would have a narrative to share with the people in America.

After school that day I told Neene that the teachers think I should help farm groundnuts. She said, “But we do not have any groundnuts to plant.” Then she asked me, without really asking me, if I would buy five hundred dalasis worth of groundnuts for planting. I agreed, because what kind of a groundnut narrative would I have otherwise?

Unfortunately, I was unable to help plant the groundnuts because I went on vacation during planting time. When I returned, the groundnuts had already sprouted. Except for Neene’s. She said the rains did not come after she planted her groundnuts and all of them died. However, a few weeks later she asked for the peanut butter maker to be brought from Kombo. I wondered of what use the machine would be without peanuts, but I decided to buy the machine anyway.

Now the groundnuts are ripe (I guess some of them grew after all), which mans we were able to discover that I bought the wrong sort of peanut butter machine. Actually, it is not even a peanut butter machine at all, but a machine that grinds unroasted peanuts into a powder for those times when you want to cook nyankatong. I guess that’s what happens when you buy a peanut machine from a man whose shop is filled with electronics. Amadou has reassured me it’s okay, people will come and pay a dalasi to use the machine, and I am not alone in making this mistake. There is one man who lives over there, he also bought this type of machine when he wanted the other kind.

This concludes my groundnut narrative.

Haircut!

I thought one of the benefits of short hair, besides increased frequency of hair-washing, would be that the neighborhood girls would stop running dirty fingers through it and yanking it into braids/knots. No such luck. In fact, my hair now gets yanked harder and with more frequency because the braids come undone before they’re done. The girls enjoy the challenge.


Reactions to my haircut have been mixed. Fama either said I’m a bad person or that I spoiled my hair. She’s probably mad because now she can’t braid my hair for Tobaski. Rugi said, “Your hair is not beautiful. You are a man” and Cherno said I have men’s hair. Really, my hair’s not that short. Isatou Kumbel and Sinni both said something that may or may not have been a compliment but I didn’t quite hear either one and was afraid to ask for clarification. One girl, whose name I wish I could remember, loves my haircut and wants me to cut her hair in the same style.


Fatou Bobo asked, “Binta, you cut your hair?” Amadou asked, “Binta, you cut your head?” and I wondered, in a fairy-tale sort of way, about self-decapitation.

Twix!

There is a shop in the Basse market that recently began selling Twix candy bars.

They are 20 dalasis each.

This is a problem.

It is a problem because 20 dalasis isn't that much money, really, and I like absolutely everything about a Twix. I like that the wrapper is shiny gold on the outside and shiny silver on the inside. I like that the writing on the wrapper is in English, French, and whatever language they speak in Indonesia. I like the suctioning sound as the shop keeper opens the refrigerator to remove one. I like the chocolate wrapped around the caramel wrapped around the biscuit. I like the way my teeth feel gliding through caramel. I like the way just the right amount of chocolate melts to my fingers--not so much to make a mess, but enough to lick away.

The shop also sells Snickers and Bounty bars, but I don't care about those. 

Writing this makes me want to go and buy a Twix RIGHT NOW. I can't, however, because it is 10:07 pm. Oh well. Tomorrow...

Here I am! In front of the computer!

I biked into Basse this afternoon. Previously when I've biked to Basse I've left around sunrise so I can avoid biking in heat that's too dreadful. But today I needed to teach maths, so I did not leave until about a quarter to 11 (there's no school tomorrow--Tobaski on Monday!).

I've decided I'm not in a sentence-writing mood, so I'll write about today's adventure in a Pro/Con list.

The Pros and Cons to Biking 42 Kilometers along Dirt Road in the Middle of the Day in Africa

Pros:

• The lady who sells groundnuts will be awake (buy five dalasis worth)
• Isatou, Fatoumata and Hawa, who live in Kumbel, will be awake (greet them)
• The volunteer in Suduwal will be awake (greet him)
• The host family of the volunteer in Badari will be awake (refill water bottle)

Cons:

• Too much sun. Despite copious amounts of sunscreen, arms will turn frightening shade of red.

I'm not sure I'll ever leave for Basse this late in the day again, but it's nice to know I can leave later than sunrise and survive.

Also, Levi followed me almost all the way to Kumbel. This would sound more impressive if I could tell you how far away Kumbel is, but I don't have a map of The Gambia handy. I thought I'd lost him after the first big hill, but he caught up. I stopped in the first village past mine, in front of a group of children (not a single one shouted "TOUBAB!" Probably they were in shock because I wasn't biking past them). I asked for water and a little boy promptly ran to fetch some. Then they all laughed hysterically as I poured it into my hand for the dog to lap up. As I biked away they called, "Leebi, Leebi, Leebi!"