Chris Murphy, the volunteer I visited in Sokone for "demystification," exuded a confidence and mafia like generosity that made me nostalgic for Emil D'Elletto, the Italian chef that was a mentor of mine for many summers on the Jersey shore. Tonight I met Jimmy Walter, a former Peace Corps volunteer in Guatamala, who ended his service in 2004. He and his beautiful English girlfriend Emily, who works for the World Bank, were on the Plymouth-Banjul rally cross from England to the Gambia. Jimmy and Emily are sponsored in their old-school tank like diesel MERC, or Mercedes Benz by an AIDS education and awareness campaign. They are passing out fake dog tags with the word SPEAK on them. The package they come in shows a picture of Christina Aguleira with tape over her mouth. Ironic I know. I took a large stack to pass out to young adults in my village.
The hazy settee area of the Zebrabar, my local campement and bar, was a saloon of travellers this evening- English, French, German, American, Swiss, Austrailian, South African, and Senegalese. The 100+ people at the normally calm campement feasted on marinated filet tenderloins along with salad, sweet potatos and carrots. They topped it all off chocolate cake and a banana cream custard that I got to take a sample of thanks to the insistent prodding of Jimmy, who in true form as a Peace Corps volunteer, made me take the free desert, no questions asked.
With over 60 steaks on the grill, many a beer flowing, and the music of everything between Manu Chao and Senegalese Sabaar, the night was not the antidote, but perhaps an aftertaste of letting go of just enough control over my life and my post here. It was really a quite a deluge of flavorful conversation, music, dancing, and of course my dinner of rice and beans which I was cheap enough to go home for while the crowd feasted on their filets.
An Englishman named Philip offered to buy me dinner, a whopping 6000CFA, or about $12, not cheap for me. In declining though, I did hedge a free beer, and got use Emily's satellite phone to call home. What a surreal experience to chat with my mom from a satellite phone in my village that has no electricity or phone lines. If rallies like these came every night to my village I'd be in trouble, but once in a while would be just fine by me.
The hazy settee area of the Zebrabar, my local campement and bar, was a saloon of travellers this evening- English, French, German, American, Swiss, Austrailian, South African, and Senegalese. The 100+ people at the normally calm campement feasted on marinated filet tenderloins along with salad, sweet potatos and carrots. They topped it all off chocolate cake and a banana cream custard that I got to take a sample of thanks to the insistent prodding of Jimmy, who in true form as a Peace Corps volunteer, made me take the free desert, no questions asked.
With over 60 steaks on the grill, many a beer flowing, and the music of everything between Manu Chao and Senegalese Sabaar, the night was not the antidote, but perhaps an aftertaste of letting go of just enough control over my life and my post here. It was really a quite a deluge of flavorful conversation, music, dancing, and of course my dinner of rice and beans which I was cheap enough to go home for while the crowd feasted on their filets.
An Englishman named Philip offered to buy me dinner, a whopping 6000CFA, or about $12, not cheap for me. In declining though, I did hedge a free beer, and got use Emily's satellite phone to call home. What a surreal experience to chat with my mom from a satellite phone in my village that has no electricity or phone lines. If rallies like these came every night to my village I'd be in trouble, but once in a while would be just fine by me.
posted by Nat Parker | 6:24 AM
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