I was expecting it. On returning to The Gambia I knew that, however happy I was to be home, coming back from a holiday would leave me with confused emotions and a drop in my mood. It's a long time to be away from home and I know from experience how hard getting the work done is going to be. And yet, two weeks after coming home a wave a demotivation hit hard.
Naturally tenacious, sometimes to the point of not knowing when to stop, demotivation is not something I'm well equipped to deal with. Partly it was the ongoing tiredness from a residential. In the UK taking time off in lieu of the weekends and evenings worked away from home would be policy. Here it's not and it took time to remember that I know that works. So on Tuesday I spent a day in pyjamas watching films and the rain, treating myself to a mini bottle of wine carried from UK with pasta and Parmesan.
And then this is where the VSO network comes in. I went for a drink with Natalie and Nicola (they invited me for exercise which would have been a great mood lifter but I was still wearing pyjamas when they were warming up). We chatted and I heard tales of love and romance, weddings and washed out walkways. Hungry, we asked someone to find peanuts for us and a smoking bag of hot toasted groundnuts appeared on our table a few moments later. There were about twice the number of nuts as we would've had if we'd bought them ourself in packets but we managed to finish them all off. It was a moment of "ah, there are nice things here" which was badly needed.
The following day I was back at work, still struggling with motivation. A quick trip to the VSO involved greeting everyone and looking cheerful. No post (sigh), forgotten library books, then I decided under "drink as soon as you think of drinking" rules to get water. The kitchen revealed a gaggle of volunteers. When questioned I replied I was demotivated and was sagely advised by Rob "when you're demotivated, motivate someone else".
And so it was that the following day I made sure I asked about issues and listened and advised, I praised others and reminded them of forgotten achievements, I thanked colleagues publicly for compliments. I went to VSO Agnes' leaving do and heard what people were grateful for then I made sure we spent the evening at her favourite beach with her favourite people in the country. It took a lot of concentration to get out of my own despondency and back into what I'm here to do, to be a catalyst for change. But by the end I even thought "maybe extending the placement isn't a 'never never'" idea after all.
Monday 16 September 2013
Wednesday 4 September 2013
With thanks for stuff
On the off chance that a packing prospective VSO is following this blog my mind has turned to the stuff I have found particularly useful. One of my many internal contradictions is that I hoard everything as I will find a use for it one day. Those of you who've had homemade cards or wrapping paper will appreciate this, and most of this craft kit was passed on to an imaginative home who see the value of a piece of plastic shaped like a leaf, However, I also have a make do and mend attitude, once making a jewellery holder out of a painted stick with nails in it, and from my mother I've inherited a "with just a bank card to my own money, passport and my own sense I can survive anywhere" attitude. Therefore my thinking when coming to The Gambia was largely "people survive there. I'll be fine". Yet some items of baggage have proved their metal.
1. Scarves
Dad and Eileen bought me a beautiful scarf for Christmas. Blue to match my eyes, with tiny yellow dots, it's perfect for my capsule wardrobe. It's served as an impromptu blanket in the back of a windy pick up (as I write), a beach dress when tied halter neck, covered me from the sun or in favour of modesty and wrapped tightly as insulation to slow the melting of frozen water on a day's hot travel. Another scarf has done time as a laptop bag to general acclaim ("it's very African!") leaving one linen scarf from mum for smart occasions.
2. Swiss Army Knives
The massive advantage of having gadgety folks dating various members of your family is that they value a tool kit. Christmas therefore brought two Swiss Army knives both now in heavy use, one carried around the other at home. Additionally Uncle John found a version with pliers which has mended bag zips, bike frames and desk drawer locks.
3. Rechargeable lamp
Given the mosquito net, having a lamp that works without constant mains power by the edge of my bed is very handy. Margaret bought me a lamp and I found myself a wind up head torch, both of which have turned my netted bed into a small sanctuary each evening, regardless of the availability of power. I seem to now be used to walking by moonlight but my handbag torch does still have its moments.
4. Bed sheets
The pillows I bought here are lovely but finding sheets to fit the bed leads down either very expensive or very inadequate routes. I had some which served but a too small sheet means a nightly fight with a wandering cover becoming tied up around one's legs. And so, on my last trip to England, my grandparents gave me some old double sheets. The difference this makes to sleep quality is significant, plus who doesn't sleep well at their Gran's house? Additionally the double duvet cover I carried originally serves as a sheet sleeping bag when travelling in unknown levels of comfort and cleanliness.
5. The sanity bag
When I was packing both mum and Lizzy suggested I take one bag to make sure I'm comfortable, containing clothes, toiletries, first aid etc, and one bag to keep me sane. In my case this includes my paints (even if I had to restock on paper), books, and luxuries which I now know includes a small block of Parmesan cheese, a few small bottles of red wine, a rechargeable tiny speaker for my iPod, and some Pukka Three Ginger tea. This sanity bag has served its purpose well, giving me access to my favourite things no matter what is happening around me. I can capture The Gambia in my own way, exploring the colours and texture of newly met flowers by adding huge frangipani blossoms to a bare wall. I can send personalised cards home, make new memories as I drink tea, sate longings for European music or radio podcasts. Long term VSO John has a similar bag with fishing tackle which has given a crowd of us days at the beach and a new skill to try. Most importantly this kit keeps us in a frame of mind where we can improvise and make do for other requirements.
Of course there are other handy items: photos for the wall and a photo album to show new friends, a journal and daily diary, a cup with my name on, a potato peeler, a kindle, and summer pyjamas (light enough to wear, modest enough to allow sleep as the compound boys to walk past my window) Most of this stuff came as gifts from people with a good idea. Other people's thoughtfulness is helping my day to day life. And what makes that especially exciting is that every time I use the gift or the idea I think of the kindness of the person who gave it to me.
1. Scarves
Dad and Eileen bought me a beautiful scarf for Christmas. Blue to match my eyes, with tiny yellow dots, it's perfect for my capsule wardrobe. It's served as an impromptu blanket in the back of a windy pick up (as I write), a beach dress when tied halter neck, covered me from the sun or in favour of modesty and wrapped tightly as insulation to slow the melting of frozen water on a day's hot travel. Another scarf has done time as a laptop bag to general acclaim ("it's very African!") leaving one linen scarf from mum for smart occasions.
2. Swiss Army Knives
The massive advantage of having gadgety folks dating various members of your family is that they value a tool kit. Christmas therefore brought two Swiss Army knives both now in heavy use, one carried around the other at home. Additionally Uncle John found a version with pliers which has mended bag zips, bike frames and desk drawer locks.
3. Rechargeable lamp
Given the mosquito net, having a lamp that works without constant mains power by the edge of my bed is very handy. Margaret bought me a lamp and I found myself a wind up head torch, both of which have turned my netted bed into a small sanctuary each evening, regardless of the availability of power. I seem to now be used to walking by moonlight but my handbag torch does still have its moments.
4. Bed sheets
The pillows I bought here are lovely but finding sheets to fit the bed leads down either very expensive or very inadequate routes. I had some which served but a too small sheet means a nightly fight with a wandering cover becoming tied up around one's legs. And so, on my last trip to England, my grandparents gave me some old double sheets. The difference this makes to sleep quality is significant, plus who doesn't sleep well at their Gran's house? Additionally the double duvet cover I carried originally serves as a sheet sleeping bag when travelling in unknown levels of comfort and cleanliness.
5. The sanity bag
When I was packing both mum and Lizzy suggested I take one bag to make sure I'm comfortable, containing clothes, toiletries, first aid etc, and one bag to keep me sane. In my case this includes my paints (even if I had to restock on paper), books, and luxuries which I now know includes a small block of Parmesan cheese, a few small bottles of red wine, a rechargeable tiny speaker for my iPod, and some Pukka Three Ginger tea. This sanity bag has served its purpose well, giving me access to my favourite things no matter what is happening around me. I can capture The Gambia in my own way, exploring the colours and texture of newly met flowers by adding huge frangipani blossoms to a bare wall. I can send personalised cards home, make new memories as I drink tea, sate longings for European music or radio podcasts. Long term VSO John has a similar bag with fishing tackle which has given a crowd of us days at the beach and a new skill to try. Most importantly this kit keeps us in a frame of mind where we can improvise and make do for other requirements.
Of course there are other handy items: photos for the wall and a photo album to show new friends, a journal and daily diary, a cup with my name on, a potato peeler, a kindle, and summer pyjamas (light enough to wear, modest enough to allow sleep as the compound boys to walk past my window) Most of this stuff came as gifts from people with a good idea. Other people's thoughtfulness is helping my day to day life. And what makes that especially exciting is that every time I use the gift or the idea I think of the kindness of the person who gave it to me.
A trip to Senegal
A week after getting home and I was leaving The Gambia again, this time for Senegal. Since I arrived I have been part of the organising committee for two summer camps run by the Ministry of Youth and Sports. Having missed the first by being in the UK I was keen to see at least one of them in full swing. And, on a personal front, I got a trip to another country.
With learning from past Sarahs I volunteered for the programme sub-committee. Like The Gambia itself, most of the participants are Muslim and we were keen that all prayer times were observed, including for the three Christian young people attending so I was also tasked with making sure their religious observances were met.
We crossed the border after sunset so all I could see of Senegal was a potholed road and sodium lights glowing through distant suburbs. Rufisque, where the camp would be held on the outskirts of Dakar, was still some miles away. Fighting sleep to see the new country it seemed as if every time I opened my eyes I saw the same bush passing the window. Finally convinced sleep would win I curled up into the bumpy Senegalese drive.
The programme followed a pattern of celebration, looking at life skills, playing different sports, creative arts and exploring both Gambian and Senegalese culture. As the theme of the week was Discovering Gambia's Young Talents, we held a talent contest, performed plays and cultural dances, and the participants could try new skills. Of course this was all accompanied by regular appearances of shared food bowls. Perhaps the nicest point for me was one young boy delivering a message with the phrase "Auntie Helen, Uncle Mohammed wants to speak to you". None of my godchildren are old enough to say my name that way yet so I think it's the first time I've been called auntie by a child. Mind you, to the godsons and any other relevant children who turn up I'll be "The anti-Helen".
A youth residential camp doesn't really allow for an exploration of the area in a tourist style. However, we all had an excursion to the Monument to the African Renaissance. This 57 metre high construction is on top of a hill by Dakar airport and shows an African family rising out of the earth (a French - Wollof play on words, sufferance being the suffering they've left, suuf being the ground). The family points into the continent of Africa, enormous baby held aloft by a protective and confident man with his wife, partly also representing the work in the times of suffering, following the gaze of them all. One of the other youth workers and I bought a ticket to take the lift to the man's hat which is also a viewing platform across Dakar. It's enormous, though I was most excited to be up a hill after months of living on an African plain. (Yes, Durham included a hill and yes, I enjoyed that one too!)
I also had a look around the local area, escorted by a trainee priest Alphonse with the Catholic children before mass. We popped into a wedding, met some nuns (and I was roundly instructed by my charges not to become a nun but to have a family instead), then joined the parish for the service. There was more French than Wollof but it was still scattered with music in the local tongue. Alphonse also told us more about Mam Kumba Lamba, the djinn who the local animists believe protects Rufisque and the people of Senegal.
The camp closed with a ceremony and thanks to the organisers, which kindly included a certificate for me. I took the opportunity to practice some final French. We left very early in the morning and again I slept through the dark.
We stopped at day break and I poured coffee for friends leaning on a pick up truck between a verdant ground nut field and a railway track, maize waving in the distance. The morning air was cool and the light pleasant with clear blue skies, signalling a hot day ahead, all be it joyfully. As a freight train passed it may well have been the first train some of these children have seen as Gambia doesn't have a railway.
Dosing through the morning drive I looked out onto Senegal. Our red brown road was cheerfully taken over by round-leaved groundnut plants, throwing a fresh green over the landscape. Occasionally a baobab springs up, a green grey mushroom against fading blue sky. I was struck by the sheer classic Sahel plain image. I might have enjoyed the hill but the flat landscape has become for me my current corner of Africa.
With learning from past Sarahs I volunteered for the programme sub-committee. Like The Gambia itself, most of the participants are Muslim and we were keen that all prayer times were observed, including for the three Christian young people attending so I was also tasked with making sure their religious observances were met.
We crossed the border after sunset so all I could see of Senegal was a potholed road and sodium lights glowing through distant suburbs. Rufisque, where the camp would be held on the outskirts of Dakar, was still some miles away. Fighting sleep to see the new country it seemed as if every time I opened my eyes I saw the same bush passing the window. Finally convinced sleep would win I curled up into the bumpy Senegalese drive.
The programme followed a pattern of celebration, looking at life skills, playing different sports, creative arts and exploring both Gambian and Senegalese culture. As the theme of the week was Discovering Gambia's Young Talents, we held a talent contest, performed plays and cultural dances, and the participants could try new skills. Of course this was all accompanied by regular appearances of shared food bowls. Perhaps the nicest point for me was one young boy delivering a message with the phrase "Auntie Helen, Uncle Mohammed wants to speak to you". None of my godchildren are old enough to say my name that way yet so I think it's the first time I've been called auntie by a child. Mind you, to the godsons and any other relevant children who turn up I'll be "The anti-Helen".
A youth residential camp doesn't really allow for an exploration of the area in a tourist style. However, we all had an excursion to the Monument to the African Renaissance. This 57 metre high construction is on top of a hill by Dakar airport and shows an African family rising out of the earth (a French - Wollof play on words, sufferance being the suffering they've left, suuf being the ground). The family points into the continent of Africa, enormous baby held aloft by a protective and confident man with his wife, partly also representing the work in the times of suffering, following the gaze of them all. One of the other youth workers and I bought a ticket to take the lift to the man's hat which is also a viewing platform across Dakar. It's enormous, though I was most excited to be up a hill after months of living on an African plain. (Yes, Durham included a hill and yes, I enjoyed that one too!)
I also had a look around the local area, escorted by a trainee priest Alphonse with the Catholic children before mass. We popped into a wedding, met some nuns (and I was roundly instructed by my charges not to become a nun but to have a family instead), then joined the parish for the service. There was more French than Wollof but it was still scattered with music in the local tongue. Alphonse also told us more about Mam Kumba Lamba, the djinn who the local animists believe protects Rufisque and the people of Senegal.
The camp closed with a ceremony and thanks to the organisers, which kindly included a certificate for me. I took the opportunity to practice some final French. We left very early in the morning and again I slept through the dark.
We stopped at day break and I poured coffee for friends leaning on a pick up truck between a verdant ground nut field and a railway track, maize waving in the distance. The morning air was cool and the light pleasant with clear blue skies, signalling a hot day ahead, all be it joyfully. As a freight train passed it may well have been the first train some of these children have seen as Gambia doesn't have a railway.
Dosing through the morning drive I looked out onto Senegal. Our red brown road was cheerfully taken over by round-leaved groundnut plants, throwing a fresh green over the landscape. Occasionally a baobab springs up, a green grey mushroom against fading blue sky. I was struck by the sheer classic Sahel plain image. I might have enjoyed the hill but the flat landscape has become for me my current corner of Africa.
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