You know you’re a PCV in Salone when…
I’m beginning a list of all the ways I could finish that sentence. For example, you know you’re PCV in Salone when you don’t look twice at the man balancing half a bed frame on his motorcycle. You know you’re a PCV in Salone when you’re not surprised that the car you’re about to climb into already has eight people inside (two in the driver’s seat, two in the passenger’s seat, five in the back, but if eight can fit so can nine.) You know you’re a PCV in Salone when walking down the dirt path to the market and not stopping to greet everyone you pass along the way seems unthinkably rude. You know you’re a PCV in Salone when you are accustomed to children chanting your Mende name like a never-ending song. You know you’re a PCV in Salone when you reject at least one marriage proposal a week. You know you’re a PCV in Salone when the chiefs arrive with masked devils and parade you through the village for a special welcoming ceremony in your honor.
When I learned that I was to be introduced to the community with this special ceremony, my eyes grew wide in terror. On one hand, I knew the ceremony was a tremendous honor and I genuinely appreciated the gesture. On the other hand, I knew the ceremony was going to be a culmination of all the things I don’t like about being a volunteer: the praise for work I haven’t yet accomplished, the celebrity-style attention, the five hour long speeches…. “Don’t be afraid of the devils, okay?” my neighbor tells me. Of course, I didn’t know how to explain that the devils were the least of my concern.
Two days before the ceremony, my principal announced that some of the students needed to give a presentation at the ceremony. “What sort of presentation?” I asked, realizing the unspoken assumption that planning the presentation was my responsibility.
“Anything is fine. You can discuss it with them.”
Okay.
My JSS III students said that they wanted to perform the Merchant of Venice since we have been studying the play in class. I agreed to this plan, and quickly wrote out a script of the keys events in standard English and assigned parts to several students. We spent the next day practicing the play. After my students had mastered their lines, they told me they would help me write a speech in Mende to thank the townspeople during the ceremony. I’ll be honest, my students did a better job learning their lines in English than I did of learning my lines in Mende!
As things turned out, the ceremony was not nearly as terrible as I had anticipated. Yes, I had to be paraded through the village like a puppet, sat on a stage in the Court Barrie for everyone to watch, and draped in traditional African clothes that had been specially made for the occasion, but I learned to get beyond my discomfort and appreciate the kindness and enthusiasm of my community. As for The Merchant of Venice, I couldn’t have been happier with how the play turned out. My students performed their lines perfectly. Shylock’s enthusiasm to kill Antonio with my borrowed kitchen knife was an especially big hit that brought on the laughs of the crowd… Afterwards, people kept talking about how well Kankaylay students spoke English, which I take as a major success!
It might also be fair to say that you know you're a PCV in Salone, when the best part of your day is someone complementing your students. Or maybe that's just me . . .
