Well hello there. I would like to start by talking about how I ended up in front of this piece of new fangled technology.... so with no cell service the fastest way to send notes is to grab a petite (anyone younger than you), and commission them to run your note for you....distance is immaterial. This method also works for having your water carried, your house swept, your porch built, tracking down ingreidients, killing scorpions, fighting sorcieres, or anything else someone so dignified as myself does not want to do. Sorry back to my story...so a series of miscommunications/failed deliveries later, I ended up missing the taxi that my freinds were taking to Labe for our Fouta Hallozeen party. After feeling sorry for myself for a few hours, I ;ade myself delicious french toast for dinner, and decided I would man up on the morrow and do it on my bike. So Yesterday morning I woke up at 5am, along with my close personal friends the mice in my ceiling, the lizard who lives on my floor, and the Muzzien who serenades the community everymorning with an Allah hu'Akbar so loud it puts sorority girls singing Journey to shame, threw African music on the IPOD, and rocked out 67km on my bike over brutal terrain. Some parts of the trip were unreal. I go to watch Africa wake up, riding over gorgeous mountains, fording rivers up to midthigh, and getting horrible directions from nene's (Mothers) on the side of the road. With 30km left to go, in the middle of nowhere, the clasp that holds the handlebars to the bike snapped off, which made the last 30k horrendous. But I made it- rolled into the PC office looking like i'd been through a war, and got a heroes welcome from the lesser mortals who took the taxi .



Since I last posted, I have been installed in my site, spent the first month on my own, started teaching, and life has been full of extremes. I'd like to start with some tragic news. Three weeks ago my 4 year old host brother, Mohamed Dioubate, died of Malaria. I've put up some pictures of him on the left. He was an animated, engaging , adorable kid who had no buisness dying of a diease as preventable as Malaria. Now that I think about it...I can't think of a Guinean family that I know reasonably well who has not lost at leat one child...and they, like Mohamed's mother, soldier on admirably. My last memory of Mohamed is on the day of our departure ceramony...his mom had bought him a new Boubou for the ceramony and he loved it...he became too cool to talk to anyone, and proceeded to parade around the neighborbooh showing off his new clothes, it was adorable. 5 dollar mosquito nets shouldn't stand between kids like Mohamed and a full like...its ridiculous.

On a happier note, life at site is slowly settling into a rythm. But, to be honest, its not easy. Life is so different. Its harrder than I though to force myself out of the house and and into the community. The tempation to bury yourself in a book, and avoid everyone is overwhelming sometimes. Its hard to explain, because everytime I leave the house good things happen. I'm invited to meals, I meet new people, I joke around with my students, people want me to come meet their families, i hang out with my CRD and his 4 wives and 30 children, or I take a great walk or bike trip into the bush. Yet still, even knowing that, living in a fishbowl is hard...people have little patience with your Puular, you never know who is genuine and who is trying to take advantage of you, who is dangerous and who's not. Everyone is observing you all the time, and comparing you to all seven of the other Americans they've ever met...it slowly wears down your reserves.

However, on the flip side, I have had tons of near perfect moments. Sitting under a tree drinking tea with the old guys who play checkers, talking to the otehr teachers about anything and everything, making a few genuine freinds amoung the older students, and slowly getting a feel for the rythm of life in my village. My house is awesome, I would put up pictures, but they take forever to load and I only have 20 more minutes. Its got three 3 small rooms, and an indoor latrine. The Latrine is one of the creepiest places on earth, but I guess you can't haev it all. Its this long tunnel into a dark low ceilinged chamber filled with cockroaches wating to jump you when your pants are around your ankles. The meflequin (malaria meds) have now built up enough in my system that the dreams, combined with creepy images from the latrine, have started to get too intense. Two weeks ago I dreampt that someone was locking my in a dark low ceilnged cha;ber with cockroaches and I was screaming only to wake up and find that I was on the outside of my mosauito net, screaming, trying to get back inside. I have heard variants of that same dream from several other volunteers. Sorry, i got sidetracked.

My health is back on track, im working out a lot, my allergies are under control, and unlike many of my freinds, I have yet to spend a night 'exploding out of both ends'...in fact, that phrase/experience is so common I think its pretty much a required element of all PC stories. You never know where its going to enter the story, but enter it will. It might start out..."so there I was, in the bush taxi on the way to conakry, exloding out of both ends. " Or the storyteller will mislead you, and start his story with, "so there I was, chatting up this missionaries daughter and Labe.......where I went to the bathroom, and started exploding out of both ends." ITs always there somewhere.

In the kitchen, my reportoire expands everyday....notable success include awesome Guava bannana Jam, pot stickers with sweet potato filling, and all manners of breakfast goodies. Failures include...well, everything else. Merci a Dieu my neighbors have arrived and can feed me from time to time....im starting to love rice and sauce.

Im now rushing like crazy because I have 8 minutes left, so I want to slip in some thank yous. First credit where credit is due...Mama and Papa Godfrey are second to none when it comes to care packages. Were talking smoked saucage, soups, spices, back issues of the economist and foriegn affairs, cookies....its out of control. If you see them....give them a huge hug for me. I have also recieved wonderful packages from other family and friends, and they are all truly appreicated.

I will try to get on again tomorrow, but there might not be time. I am thinking about all of you, and missing home remains the single hardest part about being in Guinea. Please call me on sundays from 11 to 1 EST, I will be in my service tree anxiously awaiting your calls. For those who are inclined, please say a prayer for Mohamed Dioubate, or keep him in your thoughts.
much love to all,
Conor