Roadtrip!

Last week I went to Conakry for some meetings and a workshop held by Save the Children (SC). It’s a long and bumpy ride, but I was in one of the SC/Ministry of Health cars, so it was a much faster and more comfortable ride than it would have been on public transport – I got my own seat and everything.

The drive out wasn’t so bad. Once we’d cleared the flats of Upper Guinea there were low mountains and rocky cliffs to admire. Everything is excessively verdant this time of year, rivers are full, waterfalls spill over rock-faces, and there’s flooding in some lower-lying areas. (Looking at all the water made me think of the view from the airplane when I landed in Guinea in June – the approach to the Conakry airport starts over the Atlantic and then comes in low over a delta covered in serpentine loops of water and what looked like mangroves and deep mud, and it just goes on and on until you start to wonder if there really is a city and an airport and a runway.)

Aside from the scenery, the most striking thing about the drive was the number of broken-down trucks and wrecked cars, frequent reminders that my borderline phobia about in-country travel is not really so unreasonable.  Thanks to the nice car and good luck we made it to Conakry in about 14 hours, and I was very glad to get dropped off at the Peace Corps office/transit house to stretch, take a hot shower, and get some sleep. The rest of the week was mostly filled with meetings at the NGO Jhpiego’s Conakry office and at the Ministry of Health. The main event was SC’s presentation of the results of the Community-Level Contraception Access pilot project that they’re hoping to expand over the next few years, and it went really well. 

Rain boots & Rainbows

Last week Ramadan ended on the rainiest day I've seen so far in Guinea. The morning was overcast and calm until the wind kicked up, bringing in the kind of horizontal rain that makes you circle around the house double-checking that everything is closed and latched and that water is not streaming in under the doors. (Happily, my rooms stayed dry.) After awhile the wind tapered off but it rained steadily for most of the rest of the day, putting a damper on everyone's end-of-Ramadan festivities. 

The next day people were out and about and making up for lost time, all dressed up and carefully skirting the pond-like puddles on their greeting rounds. The theme of the day seemed to be Small Children in Sunglasses, and it was adorable. Just on the streets right by my place I saw at least a couple dozen little kids in brand-new frilly dresses, little brightly striped t-shirts, fancy new sandals and neon sunglasses. (I really wanted to take pictures, but feel weirdly about taking photos of people I don't know. One of the big drawbacks to not living with a host family is not having a constant supply of people around who're more than happy to pose for the camera.) 

It rained a lot yesterday, too, and I took some pictures of the street-turned-stream outside the Save the Children office, and also of the amazing complete double rainbow that followed. (It was a lot more impressive in real life, but you get the idea.)

This is why I brought rain boots to Guinea. 

After work I walked around the neighborhood, surveying the water levels and picking up things for this morning's breakfast. I tried to make it over to the Pulaar vendors who were so amused by my mediocre Pulaar the other day that they gave me a free loaf of fresh bread, but I didn't feel like wading so I settled for bread and eggs from the vendor lady just down the way.

The vendor lady is also nice, as are her kids, who very expectantly watched me leap over a decent-sized puddle and were impressed (and possibly disappointed) when I made it. She wears a black burqa-type veil, made of very thin fabric that she seems to be able to see through just fine. (I can't recall seeing any burqas in Senegal, but I see them here pretty frequently.) As someone who hasn't done much interacting with burqa-clad women, when I first went by her boutique I wasn't sure if I was supposed to look at her face-area while talking to her or what, but I think any awkwardness on my part probably blended in with the general awkwardness of being a foreigner who doesn't know where to find pasta or what that white powder is or how much anything costs. In any case, she seemed pretty relaxed about everything, and I go by there pretty regularly, partly because she's patient with my questions and partly because she always has fresh eggs. I've been by around prayer-time a few times and noticed that she just flips up her veil to do her ablutions there in front of her shop and doesn't seem to mind coming over to sell me some eggs and onions while bare-faced, which I found slightly surprising. I suppose I didn't expect her to be so laid-back about it, but then I'm the one who's not used to veils and washing up at prayer-time and running a little side-street boutique and all the rest.

Anyway, yesterday her shop was not totally surrounded by a rainwater moat, so I stopped and bought my bread and eggs and continued on my way. It's remarkable how quickly the earth soaks up the water - roads that are completely flooded can be partially clear after just a few hours, and dry up almost completely if the next day is a very sunny one. On the days when it isn't raining it's been really nice out, blue sky and extremely green grass and billowing clouds. Here's a recent sunny-day photo of the welcome sign on the main road not far from the Peace Corps office, the phone company Orange puts them up at the edges of cities and towns all over West Africa. 

A Day in the Neighborhood

I'm starting to get to know Kankan, and other day went for a walk in the Airport Neighborhood, the part of town in which, as the name suggests, there used to be an airport of sorts.

It had rained the previous evening, so there were lots of puddles and muddy places, but it was pretty easy to get around without too much trouble. (Today is a different story; it poured half the morning and the street outside is basically a long, shallow pond at the moment.)

The other day, though, there were goats and a fair amount of kids out and about. I stopped by the Peace Corps office and took some photos from the rooftop, looking out on the neighboring lots and trees.

Because of all the rain most streets have these treacherous giant-gutter-drainage-canal-type things along the side of the roadway. Some are relatively small and narrow, like this one, and some are intimidatingly wide and deep. Sometimes there are little cement walkways, but more often people make little bridges out of planks or metal sheeting or whatever is on hand, and some of these improvised bridges are more stable and sturdy than others.

Roadside Drainage Canal-Ditches

Don't let the power lines fool you - municipal electricity is rare and unreliable. Most people or organizations who have the resources own generators and/or solar panels, and everyone else uses candles, flashlights, battery-powered lamps after dark. There are a few solar-powered streetlights downtown, and they seem to be working pretty well.

The area around Kankan is strikingly flat. It's less humid than the cast, though, and I like the red-dirt-green-grass color scheme of the rainy season. It will be interesting to see how things look in a few months.

Peanut Field by the Old Airport