Journal entries from the past 4weeks

1. March 29th. Jack's birthday. Maliville. Dianaba, the cook at the local cafe, almost had a fit insisting that the frosting on the cake be mayo, but thanks to persuasive rebecca, she made a sugary sauce instead. We sat in the small room until dark, drinking sweet bisap juice and laughing at the instuctors' puppet show.

2. April 4th in Labe:

I am sitting in the courtyard on a stone, closing my eyes and listening to three rows of people pray, folding their bodies on the mats. My favorite person in all of labe, mamadou, the old wrinkly grandfather in the house, is sitting next to me murmuring the words in his throaty voice.

3. April 6th, Labe

Mamadou (the younger one, 18) took me to the market today. It was so fun wandering the mazes of busy people, greeting evzeryone in sight and stopping to sit and talk to his friends every thirty seconds. He has a little crush on me I think, and he bought me some hard-boiled eggs to show his affection. Oh Guinea!

4.April 6th, Labe

After dinner (a feast for this family - rice, fish, and a potato) we all lay on the mats whispering in the dark. Neene, my three little sisters, and the baby (Hadja) tilted our heads back and watch the sky turn black. I fell asleep and woke up soon after to soft chanting.

5. April 9th through 12th in Timbi Madina

I spend all day every day at my older sister's tiny tailer shop. A bunch of guys and her sit around on pots sipping ataya and joking. We sit so close to the gound; her elbow resting on my arm, them laughing and shouting in pulaar and giggling when i try to jump in. I eat every meal in the shop wsith her, the bowl balanced between our knees, and we walk home after dark with a flashlight, holding hands, in lockstep.

6.April 15th, Douki

We all sat around in a circle by the fire and had a sing alond while the spaghetti cooked. The Circle Game kicked it off - it was amazing, exactly how a singalong should be, and everyone was singing out. Other highlights include Cecilia and I Am a Rock (a rousing version)

7. April 16th, Koundara

Just downed 8 deebees (meat sticks) with Jack. Enough said.

8. April 23rd Saare Basirou

I am sitting outside a neighbor's hut, baby Aisa strapped to my back, her tiny head flat again my sweaty taiboss. It is quiet and I am alone (rare). The women are cooking dinner. Suddenly, the three kids from next door run up shrieking with excitement and put a radio on the dirt below. As a bob marley song comes on, they gather tightly around in and begin dancing. Basirou is my favorite, his knees quaking back and forth, his head watching his feet. Ilos tiny shoulders shake quickly, he closes his eyes and breathes heavily. This is the best kind of dancing.

As it gets later and later, the night fades into static until I can only see in black and white. Ilo gets pulled away for a bucket bath (two feet away), and julde snuggles up to me. I clap my hands and shout encouraging phrases in pulaar when I can muster them up. I can see their mother punding millet and roasting cashews in the distance. Hamadou is studying int he corner, straining to see as it gets darker, bisap sauce splattered on his notebook. Once in a while I hear him repeat a french phrase with his highpitched, stuttering voice.

The kids are picked off one by one by their neenes. Various screams of 'Ar gaa!' interupt the music and the children yell 'nam!' back as they run to the huts. Fatamata is the last dancing, swaying in front of the radio in the dark, until she and I get called home.

9. April 24th, Saare Basirou

My favorite memories from this whole trip are my walks. Today was an especially good one. I passed the cashew fruit tree and the usual small children who hang out there ran up to me with all the energy in the world. After some quick songs and way too much fruit, I crossed the bridge and continued. A few silent minutes later, I passed Janniba's hut, which resulted in a 5 minute greeting, complete with quzestions about my mother, siblings, and children ('but i dont HAVE children'). I ate a mango and then got on my way. I passed a few smiley strangers who somehow knew my name and finally walked past the big mango tree into the woman with the scratchy voices' yard. She and her daughters wanted to talk about the last student who stayed with them ('do you know her?! Shes a white person, like you!) and even brought out some photos.

I walked throught he next village and passed a hut -they told me to come in - when that happens, even if youre late, even if youre rude, NO ONE is too cool to refuse. I spent the next 3o minutes sitting between a breast feeding woman and her daughter, all of us sprawled out on the floor, drinking ataya. We laughed and slapped hands until I made my exit, tired and happy.

11 through 13: the unbelievable party in Manchankane and dancing in that INSANE circle of woman, getting to kolda by ourselves and lugging those chickens on the Alhumdulilay van, singing all night long with Fanta and learning tons of traditional music...

chica picca

Our final day in La Paz before we head to Chapi Chapini for our solar oven project has allowed me a little free time. Thus, a yak seemed only appropriate. As we approach our final days in the country that has been our home for the past 80, I´m overcome by the strangest feelings as constant companions.

Throughout my life, especially in the most recent years, I´ve certainly found myself in situations where I couldn´t fully comprehend every detail of my surroundings that I wanted to, but it was probably in a classroom, in some trivial part of my daily life that didn´t matter two days later, or some other aspect of my life prior to 9 February. And it still left me wanting for more- for something that would confuse me to the very core, that would blow my mind, and that would leave me curiously satisfied. This exploration into Bolivia, an explosion of culture, clashes, beauty, hardship, and uncertainty that I didn´t know a thought of before, has done just that.

I remember first arriving in Sucre and driving to Yotala. I was seemingly permanently astounded by my lush green surroundings. The mountains were unreal to me and I stared at every building as if nothing were more foreign. So, too were the people that inhabited this beautiful paradise. The women carried their beautifully colored awayos as a staple for nearly everything they needed and were more in touch with the pachamama than anything I was used to. As the trip has progressed, these initial perceptions have become permanent surroundings and while I´m not so astounded at what´s around me on a daily basis, I still wonder how I ended up in such an incredible place.

I look back at Laguna Glaciar and the accomplishment I felt at actually making it to the top, no matter if we could see the ¨laguna¨or not. I think about days in the Sorata program house, one in particular, where we had a great scrambled egg, bread, and tea breakfast and sat on the backporch to the beautiful morning. I remember staying in a hospital in the tiny town of a Morogwa the night we needed somewhere to stay, and the family that didn´t charge us and helped cook us dinner. I envision Kaata, a village with no bathrooms, brand new electricity, a straw bed I shared with my 9-year old sister, and sacrifical ceremonies that had us all wondering, at times. I talk with people we´ve met along the way, and am ever-thankful by their presence and overall generosity. I imagine a village in the Amazon, where people pick lush grapefruit off of trees, harvest rice for their families, and give up their own water for over a day for a group of foreigners- then have to remember how real it is.

I´m not sure how my reentrance into the States will go. I don´t let it weigh on my mind too much, but I can´t help but wonder what kind of an effect this program, this country, and this past three months has truly had on me and don´t think I´ll really understand until I´m back in the comfort level I´m used to. Only time will tell and I´m eager for what´s to come. Hasta Sorata....

Nepal Arts Summer 2009

Exploring the intersection of ancient artistic traditions and contemporary mediums in the heart of the Himalayas

Where There Be Dragons seeks to explore hidden reaches of the planet: dusty back alleys ringing with the tinkling of hammers as artists tap away at copper statues, open air bazaars screaming with vibrant colors as women clad in saris walk past piles of multicolored spices, bright green hills terraced with rice fields that reflect the distant snow capped peaks in their puddles. Can you taste spicy chai on your tongue and hear rivers raging and smell the burnt odor of a pottery kiln? This summer Dragons is pioneering an incredible new program that will approach the culture of Nepal by examining and practicing her myriad artistic traditions. The art of Nepal mirrors its close-knit culture, history and spirituality, offering us an intimate exposure to this pulsating place. We will travel off the beaten path to explore a rich and dynamic side of Nepal that few people take notice of, and travel deeply inwards as we explore our own creative processes and approaches to living.

The Nepal Arts program IS…

Experiential!

Work directly in the studios with some of Kathmandu’s finest artisans on this apprentice-based program. All of the artists and lecturers we work with are nationally and internationally recognized for their superb craftsmanship and contribution to Nepal’s rich heritage.

Learn the delicate art of Newari thangka painting where your brush will trace the figures of Buddhas drawn in the traditional way for hundreds of years; chip away at black stone to reveal the vital, hidden image inside; shave intricate designs into fragrant wood to produce beautiful frames or bursting scenes; carve semi-precious stones and crystals into bowls and statues embellished with golden flourishes; tap away at sheets of copper using the ancient technique of repousse to shape metal into the divine and demonic statues that adorn the temples, shrines, and homes of Nepal; create ancient rhythms on the drum or harmonize with a local musician on your sitar; pour molten metal into casts shaped by the lost-wax process to create beautiful brass wares and sculptures.

All students will have the chance to work 1-on-1 with local artisans. In addition, we will visit other studios and projects to observe directly the techniques for weaving traditional Dhaka-print fabric, for spinning ceramic pots, and for fashioning Nepali khukuri knives. We will also visit with modern painters, listen to lively performances from local musicians, and meet with city planners to discuss approaches to preserving Nepal’s precious, ancient architecture and cultural heritage.

Comprehensive!

We will weave our way through the narrow lanes of Kathmandu, visiting incredible heritage sites of the three ancient capitals of the valley. The ancient capital of Patan will be our home base where we will live with families, take Nepali language classes, and apprentice each day with our artist mentors. We will also have the opportunity to taste the diversity of Nepali culture and geography by snaking along mountain roads to visit remote communities resting under the shadow of the great Annapurna mountain range. We will explore the village of Bandipur perched on a hilltop, once a bustling and important stop along the India-Tibet trade route. Here we will observe Newari architecture at its finest preserved in the houses of this village, hike to a Magar village studded with traditional round houses with thatched roofs, and explore a nearby cave that boasts some of the largest stalactites and stalagmites in the Himalayas! From Bandipur, we will travel to Tansen, another bustling township that is famous for its textiles and metalworks. We will live with families in town, engage with local artists and professors, and check out the reconstruction of a luxurious palace. Tansen will also be our starting point for a scenic 2-day hike through villages and hillsides too steep for car traffic. We will spend the night sleeping in the old corridors of a crumbling palace, and spend the days following the raging Kali Gandakhi river which cuts deeply into the surrounding hills. On our way back to Kathmandu, we will stop in Lumbini, the actual birthplace of the historic Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama. Many countries have sponsored temples at this world heritage site, demonstrating the incredible cultural diversity and distinct artistic representations within the greater net of Buddhism.
 
Inspired!

Join an inspired group in an inspired place and meet inspiring people! The Nepal Arts summer will be a rugged opportunity to delve into a unique and evolving culture while examining our role within it as travelers and artists, ultimately recognizing our shared humanity. Although the program will fly by in 4 short weeks, we will be conscious to take mindful steps back for true observation and reflection, to really be in a place and notice the effect this grounded presence has on our senses and beyond. Nepal will ultimately be a mirror of our own selves, our outer traverse of the country a cradle for our inner wanderings. These adventures will be punctuated by many friendly smiles, meaningful discussions, and lot of laughter. Please join us!

Mancankani village meeting to discuss health hut project

My village dad, Ousmane Balde, talking during the village meeting

Getting on local transportation to ride to the clinic and bank in the village of Bagadadji, 5km away

Standing outside the bank in the village of Bagadadji

Bouba Seydi holding the cooperative village bank card

The waiting room to see the nurse at the clinic in Bagadadji

Still waiting...for a visit with Aisatou, the local nurse

The Bagadadji clinic where Bouba and Aisatou trained under the nurse for 6-months

Meeting with the nurse to discuss the project

Future "Rural Agent of Health" - Boubacar Seydi. We're so proud of him!

“Suudu Santé” (“Health hut” – “suudu” is hut in Pulaar, “santé” is health in French)

Two years ago my colleague and friend, Mbouillé Diallo, and I were traversing the vibrant green hills of southeastern Senegal alongside 12 young wide-eyed and dust-ridden Dragons students.  We were sharing one of those moments in time unique to walking long distances next to a dear friend – the path stretched out in front of us, the sun beat relentlessly, and we embraced the space to chat for hours, catching up on the details of each other’s lives.  Over the years of guiding young Americans through the varied cultural landscapes of Senegal, Mbouillé and I had become quite close.  He looked towards me for professional advice and I looked towards him whenever I had an elusive cultural uncertainty (which, after 4 years on the African continent, still happened frequently).  It was during that hike that I told Mbouillé that I was ready to give back to my Peace Corps village in a way that could improve the lives of the community at large.  After all, hadn’t they housed me, fed me, taught me and nurtured me for two full years, accepting me as their neighbor, daughter, sister and friend and now were they not doing the very same for our students, rainy season after rainy season, openly welcoming them into their simple lives and sharing themselves without reservation?  I had been living in the states again after having spent the second half of my 20s in West Africa, and I was struck with the stark reality that my jaunts to the local coffee shop cost more than most people worldwide make in a day.  And above all, I was confronted with the fact that my Peace Corps sister, who I had watched grow from an infant to a gorgeous child of 8 years, had recently been gravely ill with malaria.  She would likely have died if Mbouillé didn’t happen to pass through my village and leave my family with 5,000 CFA (about $10 USD) to take her to the local nurse.  At the clinic, she was administered medicine whose cost equaled the price of a double cappuccino.  How was it that every few days, I could obliviously saunter to my local coffee shop and throw down a few dollars when people I love don’t have enough money to buy a few life-saving pills for their dying daughter?

Mbouillé’s response, when I asked what we could do, was, “build a health hut”.  My little agricultural village, compiled of less than a dozen compounds, is 5 kilometers from the nearest clinic staffed with one RN who, in the typical fashion of West African development, doesn’t even really speak the language of the people that she treats.  She’s a well educated, self-assured Wolof woman from the north who was placed amongst these simple Pulaar farmers.  The nearest hospital  is a daunting 28 kilometers to the west, which might not seem far for American standards, until you sit in the glaring sun for a few hours waiting for an overloaded chicken van to rescue you.

Not long after our hike, Mbouillé and I found ourselves with our students engaging in a week-long home-stay in my village.  Soon after arriving, I broke the news that we’d like to help build a health hut and pay to train someone to be the new “Rural Agent of Health”.  My village was ecstatic.  My village dad broke out clapping, smiles emerged, a meeting was called and I knew that we were on our way, that there was no turning around now.  During that week, our students watched grassroots development at its best.  Several village meetings were called and we sat in observing the process.  A few dozen of my neighbors congregated in my Chief’s compound, the men and women sat separately, and as is customary, the experienced men spoke first, the Chief was asked to give his input, and then it was requested to hear from a woman.  At that meeting, the fate of two people was determined by the community, as they chose one man and one woman to receive the 6-month long health training.  With Dragons students in tow, we journeyed to the clinic and sought advice from the nurse as well as acquired permission from those holding the governmental seats.  We watched two men donned in their finest fabrics and wearing pointy white Muslim shoes, stroll into my village and we ceremoniously walked out into the field my Chief donated and looked out onto the site that would someday house a hut where people from 6 villages would receive basic health care.

That was the summer of 2007.  Over a year later, I returned to prepare for the arrival of our first West Africa semester students.  During that trip this past fall, I brought in cash $2,000 of the $5,000 that Dragons donated for the health hut cause.  Three villagers and I journeyed back to the village containing the clinic to deposit a portion of the $2000 into the community bank account and hand over the rest of it to the nurse for the 6-month training.  Two villagers, Boubacar Seydi and Aisatou Baldé, have been working under the supervision of the nurse and will be fully trained by the start of this year’s rainy season, which correlates with summer in the west.

While the project is underway, it hasn’t been without difficulty.  The original agreement was that the villagers, along with the Dragons semester students, would build the huts themselves rather than hire a local mason to do the work.  I’ve seen too many “Peace Corps monuments” left for decay – the water pump near the rice patties that collects rust, my own grant-funded community garden that grows nothing but weeds.  Any development project is unfeasible without the buy-in and toil of the local community.  Have you ever noticed a difference in your appreciation and care for a gift that was given to you verses a gift that you’ve had to work for day after day? (By the way, I think it's not a bad idear for Dragons kids to pay for a part of their trip themselves).  Yet the nurse has said that the government won’t recognize our “health hut” if it’s not built to their standard – which translates to a building that requires the purchasing of cement and the hiring of a mason as opposed to a simple earthen hut that the villagers can build on their own.  And thus, I am reminded of why engaging in a development project in Senegal is a bit like banging my head against the wall.  Why would the government put any more obstacles in the way?  Isn’t it enough that two villagers need to take a full 6-months out of their lives leaving chores and children and field preparation behind to devote to a training that no one can afford without outside aid?  What’s wrong with the earthen walled, thatched roved huts that house generation after generation?
Thus, the fall semester students helped to prepare the field and now the spring semester students have met with a few local authorities, finally getting permission to build the hut in a simple fashion.  Mbouillé has been in touch with my mentor, my Peace Corps boss, Famara Massaly, who holds the development of his people as his own and continuously suggests the most evident solution to any community problem.  The villagers of Mancankani have constructed the bricks and we anticipate that in the next couple of days, the students will work side-by-side with my old neighbors placing one brick at a time in an attempt to bring basic health care to a community that has taken such good care of us and our Dragons children.

Megan Fettig, West Africa Program Director, Where There Be Dragons

For more information about the project, or to make a donation, please contact Megan: megan@wheretherebedragons.com