I had my first day of school this morning. The teachers had told me that there were more than sixty students per class, so I was sweating and my heart was pounding like I was going into an audition. My goal in the first few days is to help them develop simple conversational skills and introduce them to ways of greeting people. I figured that if I could get them to learn as much English as I know Malinke, it’ll be a good start. But everything turned out to be a lot more complicated than I had thought. The two hour lecture had to be cut in half, because everything has to be repeated so many times, in so many different ways. Things you thought were going to be simple, like sentence structures with a subject preceding a verb, end up being the most complicated. I realized how difficult it is to prepare for the questions they might ask. I had to be on my toes at all times to quickly respond to the changing course of the lecture. The students had a great deal of respect for me and I was greeted with a round of applause when they learned I was teaching their class for the rest of the school year. The teacher who was going to assist me on my first day walked out after exactly 15 seconds. After introducing me and saying goodbye, the clapping provided the soundtrack to his sortie. And there I was, in front of roughly fifty or sixty boys and girls of the ‘classe de 11eme,’ mostly between the ages of fifteen to their mid twenties. I actually counted only three or four girls in the classroom. I got everyone to come up to the board as much as possible to interact with the class, express themselves individually then dialogue in groups. I wanted to see them participate and move around the classroom as much as possible and they were really excited with the new approach. A few kids shined allot more than the others, especially one kid who introduced himself as 'Philosophe'. They kept their eyes fixed on me, they repeated nearly every word I said, and with every hand that went up they were screaming “teacha, teacha.” I underestimated how much these kids were motivated, and none stood up before the end of class, even though time was up. In the first classes I sat in on after meeting the teachers, all the students would get up and down as they pleased, and immediately took off when it was time to leave. It’s a real draft having them going in and out, so I gave them a time out after an hour, since it was a two hour lecture. Two hours go by so quickly when you’re the one in front of the board! It's quite fun really, but I realize how exasperating it would be to teach a bunch of spoiled kids in the high schools I grew up in. These kids actually envy me, and would do anything to learn the expressions, the accent, and information I have to offer them. At the end of class, nearly ever one of them shook my hand, with a “Good-bye, see you tomorrow, an be soma” and “Good, teacher, Good.” Pronounced ‘an bay soma’ in Malinke, meaning see you tomorrow.
In the afternoon I decided to go help out Sekou, aka 'Campbell', one of the Guinean workers that runs the canal project in the village. My brother introduced me to him the other day, and I promised him I would stop by. About twenty workers in hard hats were digging away on each side of the road near the center of the village. I found Campbell, got some equipment, and to his surprise I insisted that I wanted to help. I jumped down into the deep trench and began digging. After about a minute, maybe less, one of the workers reached over for my shovel and asked if he could help. I refused. Then Sekou volunteered to replace me so that I could take a break. This continued for quite a while, and I was surprised how much they insisted, so I persisted and continued digging. Eventually I proved to them that I could manage the work and that I intended on staying and doing the job. I only put down my shovel when it was time to leave. Their perception of who I was made them believe that I was either incapable or that I wasn’t meant to be doing such a labor.
As a ‘Babou’, or ‘white,’ I immediately became that astronaut I described earlier. But people determine your status not only from the color of your skin, but also by the way you conduct yourself. Perhaps it was a 'faux pas' to engage in manual labor with Sekou and his employees, but on the other hand, if I was to be judged, I sure as hell wouldn't let any of them stop me from digging. I was breathing hard, geared up with my hard hat, and gloves, I filled my shovel up with as much dirt as I could and threw it as far as I possibly can. After trying to replace me roughly a dozen times, they realized I was there to stay, do the job and soon they congratulated me for my work. Funny enough I even had a few men walking by asking me if I had a wife, I answered “no, not yet”, so they asked “a fiancé?” I guess I proved to be the ideal candidate for the Kerouane elders’ daughters. Sekou would ask me later if I needed any women.
I learned from the experience on the road that every action you take is analyzed and judged to the smallest detail. And there being only a few Babou’s in town, our reputation quickly spreads across the airwaves. I knew that I wasn’t going to take on some sort of arrogant or superior attitude. Instead I would try to teach my students from then on to treat everyone as an equal, whether younger or older, smarter or dumber, handicapped, boy or girl. At the basketball courts that afternoon, I decided I would keep playing with the kids as much as possible, but since we were just starting classes, I wanted to maintain a professional distance between us. I came, I played, and at the end of the game, left the court after a few handshakes. I wanted to make sure that being the first week or so that we were in contact, they’re able to distinguish between friend and teacher. With time, we’ll all have to earn each others friendship. I still played until I was the last one of the court, putting my hands on the ball as much as I could.
I had this great conversation with Dennis on our way to set up beehives for his little honey collection he makes in every country he travels to. Dennis is one of the guys running logistics here at the base. He drew an interesting comparison between the ‘patrons’ of classic antiquity and the system of elders that is in place here in Guinea and across Africa. He explained how the Romans would build their houses with a courtyard in front to greet the people of their neighborhood and help them solve the problems in their community, much like the elders in Kerouane. Indeed the presence of private and public spaces to interact with the people reminded me of the Palazzo's in Venice. The Medici Palazzo for example was built to both defend the family business against the threat of public revolt, but also to create a space to interact with individuals, both by setting up benches and communal spaces on the front of the building, and also by creating an inner courtyard to greet their guests. The 'patron' or elder would use this space to consult, and often to do business with the merchants and people around the district. People could let him know about the problems disrupting their work or business, they would tell him what needed work, or that his child was being bullied, that he needed money to start a specific trade or that the schools and medical clinics were not providing the appropriate care in specific areas. The same thing still goes on here, people create a sort of emblem out of certain people from the actions they perform, from the way they talk, from the contributions and the results they have brought to the community, and they become the 'patron' or elder. That patron is often someone who can provide security, food and who can deliver on the needs of the people in his neighborhood. Today we have civic representatives that report to the government and to a structured system that then provides relief efforts and who can implement important change within a community, whereas here they still rely on the basic idea of a local 'Don' who can help them solve their problems. With the fear of either addressing the Prefet, military Governor, or challenging the corruption of some elements of government, they rely on elders and 'patrons' to help them with their daily lives. My bro has become one of these men from the responsibilities he has had with dealing with people both in Conakry and in Kerouane. His driver told me when I first arrived that he was always listening when others weren’t, that he was curious and could help solve people’s problems that others ignored. He became an important figure recognized throughout the community, a ‘patron.’
If the ‘patron’ fails to satisfy his neighborhood, he will loose the faith of the community. If the people don’t believe in him, in the way he acts, talks or behaves himself, then they loose confidence in him and the patron looses their trust. Soon they begin to judge him and tarnish his name throughout the community. Thus if the individual who has the responsibility of the ‘patron’ looses that respect, he not only tarnishes his name, but in the case of our company, he will loose the peoples and elders’ respect in the name of the entire organization. At a conference meeting, if you fail to impress the buyer, or they dislike you for the way you present yourself, they may not loose interest in the product, because the individual at hand does not represent the aid and large scale effects that the product may have on the consumer. In Africa, you are the product, and everything is dealt with through human emotion, feelings, and sentiment, no matter what the effect of that product may be. Despite our company’s promises of community development, we lost the trust of the elders and Prefet because of the prior PR executive in place. The fate of a multi-million dollar company was decided through the ‘feelings’ they had for one man rather than the benefits his company had to offer. They passed their words on to Conakry, and decisions were made that removed the concession the company has been working so hard to obtain. I’m here to get it back. If we win the youth, we win the families, if we win the families, we win the elders, if we win the elders, we win the trust and stability of conducting business in Guinea. “Inshallah, all is in the hands of God…” says the Prefet at our first meeting. I disagree, the fate of the community is in all our hands and with our help and the motivation of the youth, families and elders of Kerouane, we can bring change to thousands of lives.
There’s a quote that I’ll always remember from Edward Zwick’s movie ‘Blood Diamond’ that explains the way of life in Africa. When Archer asks the Sierra Leonean barman where he plans on going once the rebel army enters Freetown, he says: “This my country, man. We here long 'fore you came, long after you gone.” In essence, things have been done here for hundreds of years, the beliefs, the traditions, and the culture are something that will always be the same, whether the community and cities develop or not. This is Africa. After the digging I walked through the market with Sekou and back to meet his family and to see where he lived. It’s a great honor for someone to invite you to their house. He invited me 'pour prendre le the', an invitation that would be disrespectful to refuse. Even when he then went on to offer me a sip of cow's milk they had preserved from the day before, I couldn’t turn it down. It tasted like yogurt, real sour yogurt, with an incredible sweetness from the sugar they added. I lifted water from the nearby well to help his little son fill his tin bucket, and then asked him what the collar was around the neck of his youngest boy. It was a thin, colored string necklace with a small bone hanging from around his neck. He told me that it was a shield, a protection against the sorcerers and evil spirits that roam the villages of Africa. Knowing that the life expectancy of a child is quite low, and that the chance of him getting infected and dying is quite high, I immediately associated the high mortality rate with Sekou's fear that his son may be hurt, and that he would therefore take any measures to protect him. There being only one hospital in town, with little medicine and solar panels just recently running its electricity at night, I can't imagine they are of any use in educating villagers to the advantages of modern medicine. The necklace was made for his son by a medicine man, in fear that the sorcerers, often in the form of birds, may try and take him away.
In the afternoon I decided to go help out Sekou, aka 'Campbell', one of the Guinean workers that runs the canal project in the village. My brother introduced me to him the other day, and I promised him I would stop by. About twenty workers in hard hats were digging away on each side of the road near the center of the village. I found Campbell, got some equipment, and to his surprise I insisted that I wanted to help. I jumped down into the deep trench and began digging. After about a minute, maybe less, one of the workers reached over for my shovel and asked if he could help. I refused. Then Sekou volunteered to replace me so that I could take a break. This continued for quite a while, and I was surprised how much they insisted, so I persisted and continued digging. Eventually I proved to them that I could manage the work and that I intended on staying and doing the job. I only put down my shovel when it was time to leave. Their perception of who I was made them believe that I was either incapable or that I wasn’t meant to be doing such a labor.
As a ‘Babou’, or ‘white,’ I immediately became that astronaut I described earlier. But people determine your status not only from the color of your skin, but also by the way you conduct yourself. Perhaps it was a 'faux pas' to engage in manual labor with Sekou and his employees, but on the other hand, if I was to be judged, I sure as hell wouldn't let any of them stop me from digging. I was breathing hard, geared up with my hard hat, and gloves, I filled my shovel up with as much dirt as I could and threw it as far as I possibly can. After trying to replace me roughly a dozen times, they realized I was there to stay, do the job and soon they congratulated me for my work. Funny enough I even had a few men walking by asking me if I had a wife, I answered “no, not yet”, so they asked “a fiancé?” I guess I proved to be the ideal candidate for the Kerouane elders’ daughters. Sekou would ask me later if I needed any women.
I learned from the experience on the road that every action you take is analyzed and judged to the smallest detail. And there being only a few Babou’s in town, our reputation quickly spreads across the airwaves. I knew that I wasn’t going to take on some sort of arrogant or superior attitude. Instead I would try to teach my students from then on to treat everyone as an equal, whether younger or older, smarter or dumber, handicapped, boy or girl. At the basketball courts that afternoon, I decided I would keep playing with the kids as much as possible, but since we were just starting classes, I wanted to maintain a professional distance between us. I came, I played, and at the end of the game, left the court after a few handshakes. I wanted to make sure that being the first week or so that we were in contact, they’re able to distinguish between friend and teacher. With time, we’ll all have to earn each others friendship. I still played until I was the last one of the court, putting my hands on the ball as much as I could.
I had this great conversation with Dennis on our way to set up beehives for his little honey collection he makes in every country he travels to. Dennis is one of the guys running logistics here at the base. He drew an interesting comparison between the ‘patrons’ of classic antiquity and the system of elders that is in place here in Guinea and across Africa. He explained how the Romans would build their houses with a courtyard in front to greet the people of their neighborhood and help them solve the problems in their community, much like the elders in Kerouane. Indeed the presence of private and public spaces to interact with the people reminded me of the Palazzo's in Venice. The Medici Palazzo for example was built to both defend the family business against the threat of public revolt, but also to create a space to interact with individuals, both by setting up benches and communal spaces on the front of the building, and also by creating an inner courtyard to greet their guests. The 'patron' or elder would use this space to consult, and often to do business with the merchants and people around the district. People could let him know about the problems disrupting their work or business, they would tell him what needed work, or that his child was being bullied, that he needed money to start a specific trade or that the schools and medical clinics were not providing the appropriate care in specific areas. The same thing still goes on here, people create a sort of emblem out of certain people from the actions they perform, from the way they talk, from the contributions and the results they have brought to the community, and they become the 'patron' or elder. That patron is often someone who can provide security, food and who can deliver on the needs of the people in his neighborhood. Today we have civic representatives that report to the government and to a structured system that then provides relief efforts and who can implement important change within a community, whereas here they still rely on the basic idea of a local 'Don' who can help them solve their problems. With the fear of either addressing the Prefet, military Governor, or challenging the corruption of some elements of government, they rely on elders and 'patrons' to help them with their daily lives. My bro has become one of these men from the responsibilities he has had with dealing with people both in Conakry and in Kerouane. His driver told me when I first arrived that he was always listening when others weren’t, that he was curious and could help solve people’s problems that others ignored. He became an important figure recognized throughout the community, a ‘patron.’
If the ‘patron’ fails to satisfy his neighborhood, he will loose the faith of the community. If the people don’t believe in him, in the way he acts, talks or behaves himself, then they loose confidence in him and the patron looses their trust. Soon they begin to judge him and tarnish his name throughout the community. Thus if the individual who has the responsibility of the ‘patron’ looses that respect, he not only tarnishes his name, but in the case of our company, he will loose the peoples and elders’ respect in the name of the entire organization. At a conference meeting, if you fail to impress the buyer, or they dislike you for the way you present yourself, they may not loose interest in the product, because the individual at hand does not represent the aid and large scale effects that the product may have on the consumer. In Africa, you are the product, and everything is dealt with through human emotion, feelings, and sentiment, no matter what the effect of that product may be. Despite our company’s promises of community development, we lost the trust of the elders and Prefet because of the prior PR executive in place. The fate of a multi-million dollar company was decided through the ‘feelings’ they had for one man rather than the benefits his company had to offer. They passed their words on to Conakry, and decisions were made that removed the concession the company has been working so hard to obtain. I’m here to get it back. If we win the youth, we win the families, if we win the families, we win the elders, if we win the elders, we win the trust and stability of conducting business in Guinea. “Inshallah, all is in the hands of God…” says the Prefet at our first meeting. I disagree, the fate of the community is in all our hands and with our help and the motivation of the youth, families and elders of Kerouane, we can bring change to thousands of lives.
There’s a quote that I’ll always remember from Edward Zwick’s movie ‘Blood Diamond’ that explains the way of life in Africa. When Archer asks the Sierra Leonean barman where he plans on going once the rebel army enters Freetown, he says: “This my country, man. We here long 'fore you came, long after you gone.” In essence, things have been done here for hundreds of years, the beliefs, the traditions, and the culture are something that will always be the same, whether the community and cities develop or not. This is Africa. After the digging I walked through the market with Sekou and back to meet his family and to see where he lived. It’s a great honor for someone to invite you to their house. He invited me 'pour prendre le the', an invitation that would be disrespectful to refuse. Even when he then went on to offer me a sip of cow's milk they had preserved from the day before, I couldn’t turn it down. It tasted like yogurt, real sour yogurt, with an incredible sweetness from the sugar they added. I lifted water from the nearby well to help his little son fill his tin bucket, and then asked him what the collar was around the neck of his youngest boy. It was a thin, colored string necklace with a small bone hanging from around his neck. He told me that it was a shield, a protection against the sorcerers and evil spirits that roam the villages of Africa. Knowing that the life expectancy of a child is quite low, and that the chance of him getting infected and dying is quite high, I immediately associated the high mortality rate with Sekou's fear that his son may be hurt, and that he would therefore take any measures to protect him. There being only one hospital in town, with little medicine and solar panels just recently running its electricity at night, I can't imagine they are of any use in educating villagers to the advantages of modern medicine. The necklace was made for his son by a medicine man, in fear that the sorcerers, often in the form of birds, may try and take him away.
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