Hello...Is anyone there...?

No one probably reads this anymore ‘cus it’s been so long since I’ve posted anything. To many of you, it may feel like I’ve dropped off planet Earth—some days I feel like that too. But rest assure I’m still here, living the African Dream…oh wait the African Dream is really the same as the American Dream (I’m definitely not living that dream). So I guess I’m still here…living.

In my world hot topics of conversation have been The African Cup, The World Cup, Zidane, Guinean teacher strikes, president’s health, and anything else to do with Football (know as soccer to Americans)

I enjoyed watching the African, then the World Cup in my village video club next the young and old sweaty Guinean Men. Maybe a year ago the shoulder to shoulder seating on hard wooden benches with no backs and 100% humidity caused only by human sweat would have bothered me so much that I wouldn’t have made it 5 min before I decided I didn’t care that much. Mais au contraire! Watching the games was sometimes the highlight of my day. Now that the African Cup and the World cup are over, honestly I’m sick of talking about soccer all the time…no really ALL THE TIME!

The Guinean teacher strikes made international news, even thought I doubt my family even heard of them. I was stuck in the village for my safety and things went on as usual there. I’ve heard stories about the protests en ville (in the bigger towns) and I’m definitely glad I steered clear of those. Here’s a couple of personal accounts of the events in Conakry and Labé from Human Rights Watch (http://hrw.org/english/docs/2006/07/05/guinea13689.htm):

“I was sitting next to the mosque for evening prayer. I saw a group of kids running by. Two policemen then passed me, but then they turned back when it looked like the kids were out of reach. One of them started to beat me with a club. A group of neighbors came out to help me. The other policeman fired in the air and some of the neighbors fled. The police took me and put me in their truck. One of them punched me in the eye with his fist. Then my aunt came and gave 200,000 Guinean francs [about US$40] to the police and they let me out of the truck. Otherwise, they take you to the police station.” -- 45-year-old electrician, beaten by police in Conakry on June 16.

“The police were dressed in full riot gear with shields and helmets. When they arrived, they leapt out of their cars and immediately started beating anyone they could catch with their clubs. The students stated fleeing. It was total panic. Then some students came back and started throwing rocks. The police responded by firing their rifles straight into the crowd. I don’t know if it was just one policeman firing, or several. The students fled again, and the police chased after clubbing those they could, and kicking those who fell to the ground. I saw four dead.” -- Taxi driver in Conakry, witness to police killings and brutality in Conakry on June 12.

I was very intent on listening to the Radio to learn what was going on with the strikes, but somehow you don’t get the same image when you listen to government owned radio. I can’t even imagine that this was going on because there was not a single difference in my village; stores and cafes were business as usual.

In other news, my sister (in the village) recently got married and I learned that marriages aren’t the same here as they are in the states. Instead of my sister, a beautiful blushing bride, presented to her husband in the most extravagant way, the final day of her wedding started out with me and 20 young girls sing as she prepares to leave her family. How beautiful and poetic you think? Sure, until the mother comes in and the bride with all her younger sisters start wailing and they have to drag her out of the hut and continue wailing through the streets as she makes her way to her husbands house. Perhaps the first time I saw this I was petrified to see that this women is not just shedding tears of joy, but was shrieking with pain and fear. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be with her husband. It’s that she’s used to being a girl with little responsibility, surrounded by her family with whom she finds her sense of security. Then it’s almost as if everything changes over night. Once she leaves her family my sister has 3 days before she starts resuming her new role as wife and mother (to other children in the concession). I’m sure she is a little scared to leave her old life to start a new one, which causes many of us girls to shed a few tears. I also know that these tears are usually a little over exaggerated because you don’t want to appear to excited to leave your parents now, do you? But the air was much heavier many of those tears were shed in remembrance of her older sister whose marriage ceremony would have been this year had she not have passed away this past Feb.
Before I came here I always pictured Africans having such a healthy way in dealing with death because it’s such a part of life here. Whether that’s true or not I can’t say, but what I do know is that those who were close with my sister still hurt by her absence, still cry on occasion, and still long for her with us.