As a last hurrah in training, we walked a half marathon through The Gambia: around rice fields, near cashew orchards, in waist-deep boiling mud, across dry plains and through knee-deep grass. The “Marathon March” served as a perfect metaphor for our service.
The following is a profile on my host mother and Gambian namesake who cared for me during my two months of Peace Corps training. She not only welcomed me to her home, but folded me into her family — worrying and fussing over me as if I really was her daughter. She is quite the character and an inspiration for my service.
Dressed like little princes, my younger brothers are quite possibly the two cutest boys I’ve ever seen!
Every time I cook with my sisters, they ask: “Do you eat this in America?” Time after time, I stare into the pot: fish heads bobbing in a red sauce, green curd-like paste made from leaves off our tree, spaghetti with mayonnaise, rice with palm oil. “No,” I shake my head. One day, my sister Sainabou finally exclaimed, somewhat perplexed: “Well, what do you eat in The Gambia?” I promised to show them one day.
Despite some beliefs that my malaria meds caused me to hallucinate and cut off my hair, I am still loving the new do. It’s growing…
As of now, other than to cause anxiety, Ebola hasn’t had an affect on Peace Corps The Gambia. It is business as usual here for volunteers although we have a heightened awareness of who we interact with due to what’s going on in the region.
