Wait, people are still reading this blog?

Okay, guess I'll write a post.

“The logic of the Peace Corps is that someday we are going to bring it home to America.”

President John F. Kennedy

I took that quote from the Peace Corps website, the part of the website discussing the Third Goal, "to help Americans understand the people and cultures of other countries."

This blog would be one example.

Walking around rural Maryland in traditional Gambian dress would be another. Sort of.

The contemplation of it

“I only thought that I had never seen the country so lovely, as if the contemplation of it would in itself be enough to make you happy all your life.” --Isaak Dineson, Out of Africa

I think I’m finally ready to write my final post, which is good, because I leave for the airport in nine hours. And I wish I hadn’t calculated the number of remaining hours just now, because a jolt of panic just ran through me.

There were lots of stories left to write, that I guess at this point will remain unwritten. Also lots of adventures left to have, that I guess at this point will remain un-had.

I never did find the Swedish Newspaper Warehouse.

Or go to church.

 Or see the Wassu Stone Circles.

Or photograph the Janjanbureh dragon.

I contemplated writing a post about what it felt like to leave my village, but realized it could be summarized like this:

Now I’m feeling more like this:

And what’s annoying is, everyone keeps asking how I’m feeling and while it’s nice to be cared about, it’s frustrating that I don’t have an honest answer less confusing than “I feel like Picasso’s Family of Saltimbanques.” So I’ve just been telling lies.

People have also been asking what’s the first thing I’m going to do in America, which is silly, because obviously the first thing I’m going to do in America is walk up to that man behind the glass and hand him my passport. I hope he says, “Welcome home” like he did when I got back from my semester in Hong Kong, because even though he says it to everyone, it still felt nice.

And some people like to ask about my Future and I sort of wave my hand and mumble something about the circus and change the subject.

But I guess the note I would like to conclude on is this:

When I said goodbye to the imam, part of our conversation went as follows:

Me: “Tomorrow I am leaving; I am going home to America.”
 The Imam: “I’m happy.”

And I thought about it some, while all my dearest friends reminded me that after I left Fatoto the people would be sad, they would cry, and their hearts would not be happy.

And I thought about it some, while I sat in the car that was taking me away, leaving home to go home. And I realized, with tears streaming down my face, that I’m happy too. So happy.

I’m happy I joined the Peace Corps. And ended up in The Gambia. And had so many adventures. But most of all, more than anything, I’m happy I got to share two years of my life with the people I did–the people in my village, the students at my school, my fellow volunteers. That sounds like the start to a speech, sorry, and I also think I've over-used the word "happy." But if it were a speech, here's what I'd tell them:

"You will not believe how glad I am that I have met you."

 I wish I’d thought of that, but it’s something I once read on a magnet. It’s true, though. Saying goodbye is never fun, two years pass too quickly, but I will always be glad to have met you, Gambia. It will be enough to make me happy all my life.

[Oh, I nearly forgot: www.sonjasblogg.wordpress.com is the address to my new blog. There is exactly one post at the moment, but no, it's not the default one. The straightforward title is so I can stop creating a new blog every time I have a new adventure. The extra 'g' is to make it less boring and more Swedish.]

“Eh, Binta. Children are fast to grow up.”

We are sitting outside Mango and Fatou Bobo sends Musa with a plastic cup to fetch water from the jibida on the porch.

As he runs over I say, because it is on my mind and I might as well let people know how much I’m going to miss them, “When I came to Fatoto, you hadn’t given birth, and now Musa can run.”

“Eh, Binta. Children are fast to grow up.”

Superstitions!

I was super-excited when the conversation turned to superstitions, although considering I was the one who brought up the topic, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I remembered that I’d once wondered if Fulas had an unlucky number, and I realized I still wondered this, so I tried to ask my question by explaining the American dislike of 13—the absent hotel floors, the missing airplane rows, the dread of the thirteenth day of a month.

Ousman said he’d heard of this. There was a footballer from Germany whose number used to be 13 but when he went to England the team started to lose so they made him change his number. That is why Ousman likes 13 and whenever they are choosing shirts he will choose 13 even though no one else wants it.

This fascinating bit of football trivia didn’t answer my question, however, so I pressed on. I said in China they dislike 4 because it sounds like their word for “death.” He said in Mandinka it is the same: “four” and “lose” are the same word. He did not, however, say that as a result of the words being the same, Mandinkas avoid the number four. Maybe not every culture has an unlucky number. Or maybe the Gambian unlucky number is too unlucky to even talk about.

However, there are plenty of non number-related superstitions that he then explained for me. I’d heard most of them before, but until now had never been given any reasons.

• A pregnant woman should not eat eggs because it will give the unborn child a skin infection. 
• You should not call a person’s name loudly at night because evil things will hear it and repeat it and you will answer. Then I forget what happens but I guess the evil spirits will know where you are and do whatever evil spirits do. 
• You shouldn't whistle at night because it’s bad luck. 
• You shouldn’t buy soap or needles at night, or rather, the shopkeeper shouldn’t sell them to you because it will be bad for his business. 
• If you hold your hand beneath your chin, both your mother and father will die. 

Ousman said he doesn’t believe the superstitions and he told his mother so. He said it just doesn’t make sense. For example, why shouldn’t a pregnant woman eat eggs? There are many good things about eggs.


But: there was a compound with a cow and this old man came and looked at the cow. And this old man was very good at seeing things and he said they should sell the cow or somebody will die. But they kept the cow until a close relative passed away, and then they sold the cow. There are people like this, who can look at an animal in a compound and know. I wanted to know, since the family had been instructed to sell the cow: who would buy a bad-luck cow? But Ousman didn’t know either, I guess, because when I asked that question he just repeated the bit about some people knowing when an animal should be sold.

How do you recognize a bad-luck cow?
Don't ask me.

Fill 'er up!

Yes, that is a donkey cart being filled up at the gas station.

Probably my new favorite picture.