Swearing In

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We’ve finished training! Woohoo!

After returning from the conference in Mamou, we had a few days to pack up and say goodbye to our host families. I gave my family a few gifts, mostly trinkets from the US, toys for the kids, nice-smelling lotion for my host mom, a necklace for my host sister, and a chicken. Yes, I went to the market and purchased a live chicken. The people who sell the chickens were between the gare (where all the beat up taxis are) and the people who sell buckets and frying pans. After asking around about prices to make sure I don’t get ripped off because I’m a fote (white person), I bought a good-sized chicken. The man selling it tied its feet together and handed it to me. I carried my chicken back across town to my house the way I see Guineans carry chickens: hold it by the feet, it hangs upside down. Amazingly, they don’t fight you, they just hang there. When traveling, people tie live chickens to the backs of cars by their feet. Chickens are either really dumb or have accepted their fate.
Anyway, I carried the chicken back to my house as if it were a designer handbag. I presented it to my family and they were thrilled - they haven’t eaten chicken in a long time because the prices went up (inflation is ridiculous). In no time the thing was dead and plucked and that night it was delicious with some hot pepper sauce.
On Wednesday we had a Farewell Ceremony in Forecariah. Many of the families surprised their volunteers by having African clothes made for them. I’ve had some clothes made here - you go to the market and pick out some fabric, take it to a tailor, describe what you want, it gets finished days to weeks later then he says it will be finished, and often it comes out looking how you expected. In a big market there is a huge selection of fabric, mostly brightly colored with a large repeating pattern. Some are nice and others are ridiculous - I’ve seen pagnas with prints of roller skates, balls of yarn, snails, electric fans, a living room scene, my favorite was the one covered in dismembered hands and fingers. Guineans don’t seem to care what what’s on the material, I think they just choose at random. So half of the trainees showed up to the farewell ceremony in some of the most ridiculous clothes I’ve ever seen. Most were wearing some form of a moomoo with a hat. One had a boubou (a man-moomoo) printed with hundreds of chickens, complete with matching hat.
We had our last meal with our families and then piled on the bus to Conakry. I had thought my family was quite ready to get rid of me, but when it was time to leave they all started crying. It was sad to say goodbye; I probably won't be back in Forecariah during my service and therefore I won't see them anymore.
The last few days in Conakry have been chaotic. There are thirty something of us staying in one house, running around to different markets and stores trying to buy everything we'll need at our sites. Our swearing in ceremony was yesterday at one of the newest, largest, nicest buildings around: the American Embassy. I was technically on American soil for a few hours, in a big, air-conditioned building that had automatically-flushing toilets. It was the first time our Guinean trainers had seen a drinking fountain. There were speeches from Guinean government reps, the US ambassador, the trainers, and the trainees. I had the honor of giving a speech in Pulaar, the local language spoken in the highlands of Moyenne Guinee. (Everyone else refused to do it because Pulaar is impossible.) My knowledge of Pulaar includes saying things like "Good morning" and "the goat is next to the tree." So I had to write a speech in French and have a formateur translate it, then read the speech in Pulaar with very little knwledge of what I was actually saying. The Guinean press was invited and I'm told the ceremony will be on national television soon.
Anyway, we've had a good visit to Conakry and tomorrow morning we are off to our regional capitals; mine is Labe, about an 8 hour drive. We'll have a few days there to buy more stuff before we get dropped off in our villages.

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