Jassong: A Glimpse into My Life in Village

The last five months of service have been a challenging, eye-opening adventure to gain acceptance in my community and set the stage for the rest of my service in the Gambia. I’ve laughed, cried, and struggled with everything from food and language to the critters living in my house, but I have persevered and fallen in love with my life in village. Now, I’m nearly always the last person at the communal food bowl, polishing off the remaining slimy green leaf sauce (kucha) and boney fish that I refused to touch during my first months in the Gambia. And I recently turned a typical 5 hour gele (30+ passenger public transport van) ride into a 12 hour travel day, while waiting for the delicious rice porridge my host moms prepare every morning. My initial struggles with the Mandinka language have been replace by compliments from Gambians who tell me Ya Mandinka kaŋo moy (You hear Mandinka), and I’ve settled into a peaceful cohabitation with the rats, lizards, and geckos living in my ceiling (as long as I don’t see any tails hanging down between the gaps in the rice bag ceiling) and the giant spiders living everywhere else. 

I am living and working in a small Mandinka village called Jassong in the Lower River Region of the Gambia. It is home to roughly 600 people belonging to the Mandinka ethnic tribe, the largest ethnic group in the Gambia. I have been welcomed into the community and given an identity as Amie Kanyi, a sister and daughter, in an amazing family. My host family consists of my father (74 years old, nearly blind, and still working in the fields), his two wives (typical in the Muslim faith) and 7 of their children. My host mothers look after me as they would their own child, becoming very protective at times- my younger host mother actually got a man arrested for harassing me at the market a couple weeks ago. My host siblings are sweet, curious, and a little wild. Sometimes I can’t believe that the same 5 year old child, who holds my hand so I won’t slip when climbing a steep hill, would later catch, kill, and roast a little yellow bird. But things like this happen, and I can only smile, laugh, and hesitantly ask Munaketa? (Why?) But the answer seems so obvious to them Amie, niŋ mu suubo (Amie, this is meat), and what kind of health volunteer would I be to discourage their efforts to supplement their protein-deficient diet? 

These children, who I desperately tried to keep out of my house during my first weeks in village, have found their way into my heart. Every afternoon, they lure me outside by loudly singing the alphabet song, often in unusual order (A, B, C, D, F, P, O, M, H, I…) at the door of my hut. I have been attempting to teach 8 children from my compound, who don’t have an opportunity to attend school, to read, and they know I can’t refuse their desire to learn. The majority of adults in Jassong are illiterate and most children don’t attend the government-run English school in the neighboring village. While the excuses are many (lack of school fees, distance to the school), the underlying reason seems to be that education is simply undervalued and viewed as a luxury rather than a necessity. Gambian girls are much less likely to be sent to school than male children, since girls actively participate in hauling water, cooking, cleaning, and laundry from a very young age. It is also assumed that girls don’t need an education to perform the traditional role of Gambian women as housewives. Teaching the children in my compound the ABCs isn’t going to change the education system in the Gambia, but maybe it will change my host parent’s attitude toward girls’ education by showing them that girls are just as capable of learning as boys.

Although I technically belong to a single family in Jassong, the entire village has become my home. I have gained trust and respect as a health worker by interpreting child clinic cards for mothers and providing alternative first aid strategies to those typically used (No, tomato paste and hot wax are not appropriate treatments for festering wounds). Additionally, I have gained acceptance as a community member by celebrating local holidays (I attempted to fast during Ramadan), working in the rice fields and gardens, and joking with the old men about not having a husband (well, actually I do have a husband in village, but he’s a baby). I dance at their marriage ceremonies (still lacking any form of rhythm or style), celebrate their babies’ births, and grieve the untimely deaths of family members and friends. The Peace Corps has become much more than just a job; it is my life, and the community is my family.