ON BEING AN AMERICAN

This topic could go in oh so many directions as does my mind when I think about it.  Curious to see what I end up with within the confines of a single blog entry.

It wasn’t just that we were the rare vanilla skin in a sea of chocolate and coffee bean.  It was our clothes, our hair - the fact that we have body hair, how we walked, talked and gesticulated.  We weren’t the white Europeans who seemed more prevalent in the human mix, no not us.  They could tell we were Americans at first glance.   

 Money

There is a perception that because we were able to travel so far, we must be “rich.” While by American standards we are far from that, by Guinea standards we most certainly are as 7,000 guinea franks is the equivalent of one American dollar. 

Landing in Conakry after almost 24 hours of traveling, we “allowed” a local to carry our bags out of the airport.  In that moment we had no idea of the economy.  We ended up paying $40 American for our bags to be deposited at the edge of the terminal – I wouldn’t have paid that much in the US.

We bought two manioc fritter like things (think potato pancake) from a street vendor for the equivalent of 15 cents, after watching her peel, grate, heat the oil, and fry them.   Not sure if she had also grown and harvested the manioc or purchased it from someone else. 

Bargaining for fabric and shirts and souvenirs ….. I thought I had gotten decent prices – bargained well, only to find out later that even getting something for less than half the asking price was still a swindle.  The merchants apparently starting their asking outrageously high and were excellent at conveying in minimal English and many gestures that WE were stealing from THEM.

BIG QUESTIONS – philosophically – if we think of the world as one, is it up to us to help others?  To stimulate their economy?  On one hand yes, on another – do I really owe them?  Does this build a bridge or widen the chasm?

Politically

Kalifa told us we should go register at the American embassy so in case there was any trouble they would make sure we got out.   I haven’t traveled a whole lot out of the country, but this is the first time it ever occurred to me to check in at the American embassy.  My previous trip to the African continent was with an American tour group, and they “took care of us.”

Kalifa who was born and raised in Guinea and now has dual citizenship uses his American passport when he travels to Guinea, because being an American has more clout and provides more protection than being a Guinea native in Guinea.  NOT that a country should treat foreigners poorly, but how awful that if he gets harassed by police or army officials, that his protection is to claim he is an American.  Does the rest of the world truly fear the wrath of the US should they bring harm to one of its citizens?  My thoughts are that somehow that should feel comforting, but instead being from a place that invokes that level of fear feels horrible.  How does one connect on a deep level with people who are afraid of what they think you represent?                                                                 

                                                    

 

Socially

On the island the children often called out foti (foe – T) as we walked by.  Kalifa explained it was the equivalent of saying “hi white people” or “hi people who are not my color/race/from here”.  The same would be used for someone who is Asian. It wasn’t a racial slur – not at all the “honkey” equivalent, but used in the way a child might say “hey teacher” if s/he didn’t know the teacher’s name.  It was actually a friendly greeting. 

We practiced the appropriate response: fore (for –RAY).  The “hello black people” greeting emitted giggling, rolling on the ground and another chorus of foti.  It became a game of sorts, a way to acknowledge each other when our share of common words was so limited.

Perhaps this is why they die so young

Kalifa had told us that most of his siblings had died and that each year when he returns to Guinea at least one of his friends is no longer alive.  He even said that he would take us to the best drum maker – unless he had died since Kalifa’s last trip home.

This place we visited seemed a place of opposites or maybe discordant things is a better choice of words.  While there I learned in bits and pieces about the things that I believe contribute to shortened lifespan.

Our first time crossing the water, we waded through the surf to mount the boat. I later realized that the bathrooms in the Obama café, our touchstone in Conakry, emptied directly into the surf.  Never again did I walk through the water which also had rusted metal objects embedded in the floor, though for the folks who lived there it was routine to do so.

Although marveling at the way women and young children carried loads on their heads, it does make we wonder that if despite correct posture, etc., the cumulative effects over time are compressed vertebrae.  Does sleeping on the ground or on a mat as thin as a towel on concrete or tile ebb away at one’s skeleton and cause degeneration of bones?

We drank bottled water, but the water we bathed in came from uncovered wells with openings at ground level allowing easy access for dirt, garbage – whatever happened to be rolling by.  As such I decided not to shave my legs while there, thinking that if I nicked myself I was opening myself to  being vulnerable for disease.  But the folks who lived there drank the well water…. Are they immune to the contaminants or is it a role of the dice?

When we were giving out toys Kalifa pointed out some kids with distended bellies and he commented that they have parasites.  Not sure if that was treatable or contagious I kept my distance.  It was such a challenge for me to not be welcoming of small children who grabbed my legs or wanted to snuggle up on my lap.  Not knowing if runny noses and eyes were “common” colds or something more serious, something that my immune system was not prepared for, I stayed at arm’s length.  The children who did make their way onto my lap seemed fine, but who’s to know? 

The food, cooked outdoors over a wok shaped item filled with charcoal, simmered for hours and  our guess was that was an effort to kill any harmful organisms that may have been present in the unrefrigerated meats and fish.  I stuck to rice and veggies – deliciously flavored I might add.  There were times when Don said the meal’s protein tasted suspect and he found ways to avoid eating it.

I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that in a place where people travel by car and have smart phones that they don’t have safe drinking water, their average life expectancy is 55 years and there is the very real expectation that if you haven't seen someone in awhile they might be dead.

As I write this - in August 2014 – over 1500 people have died from Ebola in 4 West African countries  including Guinea, and there are an additional 3000 reported infected people. The first case was reported shortly after we returned to the United States.