Driving Along in My Mind

16 August 2007

Another random writing

It has been brought to my attention that I haven't driven a car for almost seven months now. I have memories of cruising around (if you can call it cruising in my '94 Ford Taurus wagon with half its bumper missing-thanks drunk driver, hit and run!) listening to tunes.

Here, every morning I turn on my sort wave radio and listen to the Moroccan radio station (RIP iPod-read post). I have no clue what they're saying- "I don't speak French, but they play good music on occasion. However, on some days the music selection is worse than poor. There have been covers struggling artists. Covers of Rolling Stones, Bon Jovi, and even some Motown. MY favorite so far has been the mellowed "Sugar Pie Honeybunch" by the Four Tops. Whenvere I hear this song, it puts a smirk on my face for two reasons: 1) The cover is so pitiful that Levi Stubbs would be crying if he heard it and 2) I can't help but think of my mother driving the '88 Crown Vic around, listening to her Four Tops cassette tape. She'd sing "Sugar Pie Honeybunch" and remove her hands from the steering wheel (much to my fear and awe) and wave them around as if she were one of the groups long lost member. She'd have a smile on her face and be singing, both dimples showing.

Every time we rode in that car, she'd put the cassette in and we'd sing "Bernadette" or one of the other groups greatest hits.

Susan drives the Crown Vic now (or did you finally get rid of it?) and the tape deck likes to eat tapes. The past few years, Mom and I would take road trips to Pittsburgh, but now she drives the Buick and instead of the Four Tops, we listen to Morrissey...really loud.

Road Trip in 2009, Mom? I'll be ready...

Sorry Boys, This Chick Is No Longer Available

*JUST KIDDING*...but read on...



This is my 'husband', Fodaiy Fatty, also known as Paabi. He's three and technically my cousin (his father is my uncle).

Just recently, our relationship has started to bloom. Since my arrival to my permanent village, Fodaiy, unfortunately, has been afraid of me. As soon as he'd see me, he'd run the other way---all the while laughing and screaming at the same time. Then he'd start to cry. I told him repeatedly that our relationship would not work if he continued to be fearful of me, but he never responded or even listened. Typical male---never listens or perhaps it's because he doesn't speak English and I don't really speak Mandinka well...who knows.

A few weeks back, however, Paabi, fell asleep in my arms. I'm not sure if he was delirious or if he was jealous of Mero (see picture links) who is constantly in my lap and being held. Now, Paabi will come to my door, and at times, enter my house. Maybe we really can be a happy couple despite the language barrier (and obvious age difference).

Let me tell you a little bit more about Paabi...

Paabi can hardly talk and when he does, he mutters things that are indecipherible, even by his native Mandinka speaking family. Paabi likes to eat and has a big belly to show for it, or it could be attributed to the fact that he neve wears shoes and may have contracted worms because of this. Paabi also has a weird eye twitch that no one seems to notice except me. But I really like my husband for his uncanny similarity to one of Rock 'n Roll's greatest legends...Freddie Mercury of Queen. Paabi's dancing talent is much like Freddie's. In fact, Paabi typically parades around the compound half-naked or even completely naked. On more than one occasion have I noted that Paabi's dance moves share a striking resemblance to Freddie's performance of Radio GaGa at LiveAID (check out the video). The sad part is that I am the only one that finds the humor in his likeness to Freddie. My family has no idea who Freddie is, nor Queen...nor anything of the sort. Regardless, we all laugh at Paabi and yell at him when he stops to pee in the middle of the compound and then continues dancing. I laugh, however, because Paabi has helped me bring a smile and chuckle to the faces of many old men and many young 'cool' Rasta-bumster wannabes in my village. When those groups ask me if I have a husband, I say yes and point to the dancing three year-old donkey boy. And for this, I remain forever devoted to Paabi...

The Sounds My Sneakers Make

14 August 2007

While waiting for my students in Grade 8 English to finish an assignment on synonyms, I decided to write some thoughts down so as to not break down crying. On August 14, I was feeling kinda homesick...

The Sounds My Sneakers Make

My bicycle has a flat
Today I am teaching school
In August, there's always a chance of rain, but today, I'll risk getting drenched...I have to walk by foot.

As I pass through my village and onto the next, the children scream my name or variants of it.
They'll shout 'toubab' until my eyes roll back far into my head.
The children's shrieks and shrills are only white noise; my mind is somewhere else.

My ears are attuned to the beat, the rhythym of my sneakers on the tarmac.
As I try to avoid trampling and tripping through the water-logged potholes, the beat, the rhythym of the rubber against the pavement almost bring me to tears.

The sound, the humidity in the air reminds me of nights when I'd have 'dates with Dad'.
Mom would be working late, as she oftens does, so he and I would make some sort of 'feast' out of leftovers.
We'd watch cable news 'til we (usually just me) couldn't stand hearing the same headline for the **th time.

We'd look at each other as Chris Matthews or Keith Olberman would sign off and give each other the unspoken signal---time to take a (brisk) walk around the neighborhood.

Since I was little I remember him wearing New Balance sneakers.
From the time I began to play sports I'd wear the same brand too because I inherited his flat, wide feet and the different widths of New Balances accomodated this trait.

On our walks, I'd start off fast, following the momentum that our driveway's hill provided.
Dad would soon tell me to slow down, not because he couldn't keep up, but because he wanted to build his speed gradually, little by little...set the pace.

We'd chat about the past-his past-stories of his childhood and college days and his first years with Mom. I'd share memories of elementary school---memories usually triggered by things we passed by in the neighborhood---like...

The Buick Rendezvous parked on the street about 1/4 mile away from our house. I told Dad about a classmate's failed attempt at pronouncing 'rendezvous' in Mr. Del Rossi's 8th grade English class and how everytime I see that make and model, I can't help but laugh. (Note: I have not yet seen a Buick Rendezvous in The Gambia...nor a Buick of any kind. In fact, any American car is a rarity.)

On our walks, I'd tell him about my hopes, dreams, goals, and then we'd stop talking for a bit and I'd listen to the rhythym of the rubber against the pavement and the beat of the shoelaces against the tops of our sneakers-all in the peacefulness of our unspoken words.

Now during these days here, I'm feeling homesick again. I long for the familiar, for affection, for silence.

Each time I feel those feelings, I try not to cry, but try to remind myself that I used to talk and talk about how I wanted this adventure. This is not forever and I have waited so long for this opportunity.

And on many of those nights, walking with Dad---feet FLAT on the surface---I'd tell him of my dreams of being here (here not as in The Gambia specifically, but here in the moment)---challenging myself.

Isn't it funny how the sound of rubber on the pavement can automatically take you to a place where you wish you could be? I've wished to be here for so long...and now that I'm here, a part of me wishes I could be there, even if just for a walk with Dad.

My feet and my hopes and dreams take me to so many places, but I know that my feet are planted in the memories of the sounds my sneakers make.

A Disclaimer...Read Before Proceeding to New Posts

The upcoming posts will be a mix of writings (my best form of therapy while here), journal entries, and storytelling (all true!) of my various encounters, experiences, and thoughts.

It is a random selection...so please forgive me for skipping around in advance.

You may continue as you wish.

I'm Back in Kombo!

Greetings Everyone!

I'm back in Kombo for the next two weeks as I have meetings and a few other things to take care of here. I just spent 2.5 months in and around my village, and I must say it's nice to get away for a little while.

I will be posting many funny, weird, and sad entries over the next week or so. I've already uploaded a handful of pictures, but there will be more to come.

In these past two months, I have had many eye-opening experiences...taking a malnurished child to the hospital, trying to convince the mother of another child to take her malnurished child to the hospital, going to the Gambian Home Depot in the middle of a home improvement project, funerals of babies and young adults, and other lighter musings...

Miss you all...

Thanks for all the packages/letters/thoughts/prayers...I'll be sending shout outs to you all soon.