Gambia Cashew Training

visiting one of the farmer's orchards

   Only 6 days prior to the departure for a 4-day training in our neighboring/internal country, the Gambia, was the invitation extended to the nearby agroforestry (agfo) volunteers. This is quite typical of the system, but it makes me wonder how long events sit on the PC plate before someone realizes that the rest of the country may need to be notified. The 11 of us with sparked interests and blurred expectations met in Kolda city to get passports (oh man!), visas, travel logistics, and all the other ducks in a row. I had a hiccup of a problem with my passport in safekeeping 225km away and a disagreeable printer at hand, but once the effort threshold was reached, I got a scanned copy (that would probably work). It was news to our older volunteer that he was going at all, but his name bolded on the Title line of our Visa persuaded him to throw a backpack together. Foreshadowing?

This is Peace Corps, so a degree of chaos and a margin of wiggle room is expected for the smallest tasks. 

  Our luck was exchanged with the second group the next day when our car arrived 30 minutes early, we found chicken sandwiches for lunch, money exchange was painless, and we arrived at our 'lodge' in the afternoon. This must sound silly, but these are the things that can and often do cause frustration that I have learned to appreciate. On the other end, the second group met us by dinner (8pm) after being hassled at the border, overpaying fees, and waiting at the ferry. The lodge was not the all inclusive resort (with AC, wifi, and a pool) that we cooked up in our heads, but the food served made up for our misconceptions. 

The training:     Peace Corps Gambia and now Senegal are collaborating with the NGO International Relief and Development  whose "mission is to reduce the suffering of the world’s most vulnerable groups and provide the tools and resources needed to increase their self-sufficiency."

Notice the 2 attaya/shot style glasses and the tea kettle
hanging from the cashew tree that we gathered
under for our meeting with the farmers.

During our training, we were able to learn about IRD's project objectives to improve food security through ag trainings with cashew farmers. IRD offers a well-organized manual in various languages to provide farmers with the resources and knowledge to successfully conduct meetings, improve marketing arrangements, and sensitize community members to the economical and nutritional value of cashew. 

IRD invited 25 PC volunteers along with local partners to attend trainings during June 2012. Although I didnt exactly know what to expect, I was pleased with the organization of the training, user-friendly materials, and clear objectives of the program. I have high hopes for this partnership and can say that we're all excited to extend the skills to our own farmers and villages. 

Although Jake looks like an aggressive tree hugger,he was actually pruning some of the branches with a saw.

weighing the cashew seed

The farmer cuts a deal with people that are
willing to scrounge around beneath the tree
canopy to collect the fallen cashew nuts for
a few days and on the last day they get to
keep their findings.

The delicious cashew apple is a very soft,
juicy fruit encased in a thin skin... so messy but worth it

"Unofficial Peace Corps Anthem"

Dear... home, 
I just wanted to share some of the things that keeps us occupied and even amused when we spend precious time with other volunteers or come across an internet connection strong enough to support anything beyond basic functions.
Without further a due, I would like to share this video that is nearly too accurate. Be happy that you can laugh or just think that its incredibly strange... We do a lot more than just Poop in a hole .
Peace,
"Homa Diao"

Mango Mania

Mango Count: 50! Ive consumed 50+ mangoes fresh off of the trees in vil. This number means something when I add in that it was in one months time. Excessive, I know. To redeem myself just a bit, they are bush mangoes that are most likely a fraction of the size of any imported mangoes youre going to find on the states side. I could go on a Forest Gump rant about the ways Ive seen this versatile fruit prepared.
Now that we have eaten our way through the bush mangoes, hope has been bridged with the next fruiting grafted variety, which is twice as big.
Ive passed out 2555 tree sacks and counting for people around my village (Heh, "my village people") to start their own tree nurseries. Most people  Everyone wants to grow mango and cashew trees. Trees are wonderful. The reason Im in Africa, even. I just wish that the landscape had a chance of lush and diverse succession. The land is now only sparsely sprinkled with fruit, Baobob, and the introduced Neem trees. Its a big wish of Sub-Saharan Africa.

Tomorrow a group of agfos (agroforestry volunteers- n., a treeloving person of a sustainable-thinking mind and farm-worked body. Also see: treewhisperer) are travelling into the Gambia for cashew transformation training. Because nothing seems to be well-organized, I dont know what the itenerary holds, but my hopes are high and my mind receptive. Update coming soon!

Unexpected day

   I left Kolda city just a little too late and missed the first car to my road town 110Km/80mi to the east. I shrugged my shoulders and was guided over to an infamous overcrowded mini-bus. My road time was 5 hours. That is twice as long as it could have been on a good day, but those dont happen often in the realm of transport anyways. During my transition from one car to the second, which would cover the last 7 km, some sad person stole my ipod right out of my pocket. another shoulder shrug.
   After just a moment I was pleased because I realized my first reaction was pity.   So, I started to think about that weird relationship that we have with objects. It is weird to give something that kind of hold over us. I beat the system. I wasnt thrown into anger or made anxious by some thing. Maybe it starts when we're taught to take care of our possessions that we work so hard for, but it gets lost somewhere and is taken too far.
"On the road again..." I finally made it to my road town and was able to stop off at Dan's (AKA Momoudi) village to help with some work. Once it cooled off enough to work, we headed to the women's garden. Task: dig the well a bit deeper.
We realized we couldnt send both of the guys down the 5 meter deep well with little ol' me to pull them up, we switched spots. So, for an hour and a half, Dan and I slowly dug our way around the well, sending pails of clay up and getting knocked in the head with the women's descending buckets.
Im quite happy with the accomplishment.

We worked until the wind picked up and rolling clouds threatened us with the first rain. This time they followed through and -ah haaa, sound from the cinemas- down came cooling droplets.
There is no way I could not have been more dirty if I tried. I was drenched from the well now with no hope of drying, I had so much clay smudged into my clothes they almost appeared cleaner, and days of sand in my hair.
This could have been an awful day, but I think I made the most of it.

Blue sky thinking

Ive been back in West Africa for a week now since my visit back home to America.  After discussing it with other volunteers, I think “Shiny” is an appropriate word to describe my much enjoyed time home. Taking a break allowed me to step away for a semi- retrospect view.
I am grateful for this opportunity to see another little piece of the world, meet hospitable and sometimes strange people, broaden my worldview, and hopefully help out a bit. I don’t think I answered questions from home very well because I used my friends and family as an outlet, jumping to complaints too quickly.
In my time away I would like to say that I have been able to test my strengths, definitely reveal my weaknesses, stretch my patience, polish up my courage and even open myself up a bit (big deal). I know my personal growth is only a secondary objective, but I feel like Africa has done me justice and I hope to give back just as much.
 

Made in America

First thoughts:

1. It didn’t take long to see just how much the importance of appearance has slipped into the background during my time in Senegal. Everyone in the airport was clean and I immediately felt like I was better off ditching the little bit of dinginess that I brought back in my backpack.  I had plenty of time during my 16 travel hours to people-watch, which is always amusing. I saw pounds of makeup, miles of jewelry, tapping heels, and wasted meals.  sigh.

2. I could also understand every word spoken from nearby whispers to distant jokes. I wasn’t being nosey or purposely listening, I was just appreciating the fact that I could understand. I couldn’t eavesdrop on a Pulaar conversation if I tried.

3. We (the inclusive American we) are organized, patient, and completely capable of forming a line.  We have had the idea of standing in line pounded into our heads since kindergarten and it has since gained an importance that may not be realized until being tested at every opportunity.

Story time. I arrived at the Dakar Airport early and then some. The most chaotic crowd filled the small, poorly designed building. Unlike other airports, the most time consuming stage was not the security checkpoint, but customs. The standing and waiting around at midnight was not an issue, but the anxious Senegalese man that thought he should be able to shove to the front of the meandering line was testing my patience. I rebutted at every turn until the situation finally boiled over. We shouted at eachother and neither of us understood a word.  New low? perhaps. But the crowd and police sided with me, so i didnt feel nearly as guilty for trying to make this building of a man understand that I value the ounce of respect and patience required to stand in a line. 

Surreal Thoughts

Just the other day I was sitting cross-legged in the dirt (I always feel grimy saying dirt instead of soil, but it seems like a more appropriate noun to play in) filling tree sacks with my work partner when my ipod committed to serenading me with homesick music. I found a surreal experience and wanted nothing more than to be in connection with my real home. The rowdy kids, cooking women, and work within my own fingers faded into the background. I was alone for those few minutes with a stream of emotions and old memories. Life is crazy beautiful and sometimes the reminders come in strange forms. Im in this different world, I swear it. I think there is still more good than bad, more happy than longing tears, and even more laughter than cursing. I still think if I were to be honest with myself, I could admit to the missery lying between the triangle of heat, humiliation, and petty annoyances, but in the end I do love my life. I live in Africa. I am exactly where I want to be, more and more everyday.