Not as glamorous as last week

I'm once again hanging out with the ALDET crew, but no waterfalls or chimpanzee calls today: Tibou, Gabriel, and Hilary and I are in Labe today, working on a website.  Abe, a fellow volunteer who works with Credit Rurale, has been kind enough to offer not only his expertise but also his office space-- in this 10x10ft room, we have: 2 desks, 5 laptops, 6 chairs, 1 desktop computer and printer, about 20 cellphones charging, 1 generator running downstairs, and 1 amazing wireless network.  Thank you thank you Abe!  We also have about 14 different things going on at once: Abe and Hilary are registering the domain name and downloading software; Tibou and Gabriel are working out the text we want to put on the site (at least I think that's what they're doing; I'm facing the backs of their laptops, in the opposite corner of the room), and I'm here, updating the blog, working on the job description that will let me stay here another 8 months, emailing, working on a powerpoint presentation... meanwhile, at any given point, we have at least 2 cellphone conversations going at once, and at least 12 of Abe's colleagues have stopped by to say hello to his guests... ah, multitasking. 

Tired legs…

Today, my legs are sore and my feet are clean.  What have I been up to? 

Hiking to Sinden! 

Yesterday, Hilary, Tibou, Gabriel, Diouma Fleur, Amadou Ouri, and I took the same road that Mariama and I take when we go to her fonio fields.  We kept going, though: past the new school that’s being built for the kids in Sinden (right now, it’s at least an hour’s walk for them to go to Sebhory), past the water pump, past the 20ft tall rock that’s been split in two by a tree that took root in a crack near its base; past several mango trees loaded with ripe fruit (thank you to the generous owners of those trees—and thanks to the next household, too, that gave us water to wash all the stickiness off our hands and faces), and finally, to the edge of the world.  Luckily, we’d acquired another member of our entourage by this point: a local kid from Sinden.  He scrambled nimbly over the edge of the world, and we followed more slowly. 

I was the first one to lose my footing on the descent; in some places, we had usefully square stones underfoot, at times as regular as a staircase, but in between the rocks, the loose soil and dried leaves proved treacherous.  Finally we reached the valley floor, bracketed by abrupt rock faces on both sides;  with Diouma in the lead, we followed cow trails towards the sound of water. 

At the first stream we crossed, I lost my footing and stepped right in— luckily it was only a few inches deep, so I just waded across.  Onwards through the thick trees and lush elephant grass, then another turn of the stream to cross: this time I made it across without giving my sneakers another dunking.  Ahead we heard the rush of the waterfall, then another sound bouncing off the rock walls: baboons!  Diouma called back to them, but they didn’t come over to say hello.  The path up to the waterfall was completely grown over; luckily Diouma had brought his clippers, and he cut us a path through the overhanging vines and new branches.  One more wet scramble over the stream, and we reached the base of the falls:  twin curtains of water streaming from the rock face high above, falling in a blur of mist and spray into a pool surrounded by rocks smoothed by years of rains and river.  Have I mentioned how amazingly beautiful Guinea is?  This is just one of the many waterfalls Diouma knows: the kids around here know it, and the old people remember being kids themselves and scrambling over the rocks to play in this pool.  But no one on the paved road knows how to get here, and it’s been a year since Diouma brought any other visitors here.  So the waterfalls, the pool, the baboons, and the sun-warmed, water-smoothed rocks keep their own company.  We visited for an afternoon, ate our picnic on the rocks, and returned to the cow trails, cutting a path back up out of the valley. 

A few more tight passages through overgrown bush, a few more scrambles up steep valley sides, and we found ourselves at the next series of waterfalls.  Here, a bridge built of bundles of logs and branches arched across the stream, well out of reach of the quiet waters of dry season, but ready to withstand the torrents of rainy season.  After Tibou lost his footing on the bridge and nearly went in, I decided to go across on all fours—not particularly glamorous, but I’ll sacrifice glamor if I can avoid falling six feet into a shallow rocky channel.  As we perched at the top of a series of falls, we spotted another pedestrian—a man walking towards Sebhory with three newly carved stools balanced just so on his head.  He was the first person we’d seen since we’d descended into the valley, though quite a few cows gave us questioning looks as we tramped past.  We left the water behind, stepped a few meters through the trees, and suddenly we were back in the fonio fields—steep slopes cleared and burned in anticipation of the season’s plantings.  A long march uphill—Diouma and Hilary raced up one section like mountain goats while Tibou and I slogged along behind—and then we were back on the roads I know well from last fall’s fonio harvest: there’s Mariama’s field; there’s the tailor’s mother’s field.  Back past the pump, and past the well; past the field dotted with jasmine bushes and past the leafless trees adorned only with tiny purple orchids.  Past the men carrying bundles of manioc cuttings, past the goats returning home with the setting sun, and back to the back roads and alleys of Sebhory, where everyone asks me, “Where have you been?”  and “You’re tired, aren’t you?”  Yes, I am.  My legs are worn out, my feet have been scrubbed to an unimaginable level of cleanliness by miles in wet sneakers, my T-shirt is drenched in sweat and stained by mangos, and my heart is full of good memories. 

Agricultura

Alas, this picture isn’t from Guinea (150 points to anyone who can tell me where I did take this picture!), but it’s a good emblem for me these days: I am plotting a move out of ecotourism and forestry, back to the world of vegetables.  I’m hoping to extend my Peace Corps service for another 8 months and work with some local vegetable growers’ cooperatives on post-harvest handling (yes, I hope to make my profs back at UC Davis proud).  Food security is a big topic in West Africa; in a lot of places, the push is to produce enough to be self-sufficient.  In the Fouta region of Guinea, though, we’re producing way more vegetables (and fruits… and coffee...) than we can consume.  It’s a great climate for veggies: the cold winters here mean we can grow crops like broccoli and strawberries that can’t survive anywhere else in Guinea.  So, for us, contributing to food security means getting our surplus to other regions, so that more people in Guinea have access to affordable, nutritious vegetables year-round.  The problem is… fruits and veggies are the hardest crops to transport.  They wilt, they rot, they get smushed.  Since most of our beautiful avocados, shiny eggplants, and plump tomatoes need to travel at least nine hours, in giant trucks, over some harsh roads, before they get to the big markets… well, a lot can go wrong. 

I want to work on helping more veggies get safely to their final destination, by improving post-harvest cooling, sun protection, and packaging; I also want to help farmers use even those veggies that aren’t safe to travel: some of the dead-ripe bananas, bruised tomatoes, or nicked eggplants can be dehydrated for snacks (banana chips = good) or convenience foods (no fresh tomatoes in the market?  Throw a handful of dried ones into your sauce pot). 

The first step is finding out more about how the post-harvest value chain works right now… so I’ve started interviewing veggie farmers, the ladies who buy and sell produce here and in Conakry, and the guys who rent the big trucks; tomorrow I’m hoping to talk to some more people at market, and learn more about the growers’ cooperatives.  I love market day.