Routine

OK, now that I have a few weeks under my belt and I have a better idea of my routine I thought I’d compile a week’s activity list for all my faithful and devoted readers. Love you. Also, check out the photoblog. I should have some new pics up soon.

Monday -- Friday: Wake at 7a put on some oatmeal (usually included are bananas, peanut butter, milk powder, or mangoes, milk powder, and honey) or cold cereal. Hop in the freezing cold shower to wake my butt up, quickly exit and enjoy my breakfast over some reading until I head to work.

I walk about 40 min to work down near the soccer stadium while having everyone I pass just stare at me; I feel they’re waiting for me to do some amazing trick. I don’t understand it yet. It’s not like I’m the only whitey in the city area.

At work I head out with a couple of the employees to Banjul where we do one-on-one patient education for hypertension (Mon.) Diabetes (Wed.). One of the employees is a younger chap by the name of Seedi who is a blast to hang out and work with and another veteran of the nutrition scene, “the queen” or Auntie Ooulay. We head up to the hospital’s kitchen for lunch, which usually is a choice of mashed black beans over cassava, white rice and chicken, chicken and chips, or okra soup.
After the session we head back to the air conditioned, internet equipped office for any filler work. At the moment I’m working on a diabetes and hypertension brochure we can hand out to the patients being counseled.

Following work I walk home and pick up dinner at a local stand. There’s an assortment of fresh fruits and veggies; I usually grab some green peppers, tomatoes, onion, cucumber, and or fruit, depending on what I need. Also along the car-exhaust, red sand, warm ocean breezy walk home I grab some talappa, which is basically a French bread that is abundantly consumed and produced country-wide. I will usually pat on some hummus, sauté the veggies, and cut the meat off the bone for a scrumptious dinner.

Can you tell I’m a dietitian? I don’t talk or think about food much at all.

After dinner I might head to the beach to read, or at least I try. We have a lovely presence of “bumsters” ever running up and down the beach. They’re, to sum them up, male whores. Thanks to the tourist season they’re more prevalent than ever jogging, stopping to pump some push-ups, jumping jacks, or performing any other assortment of exercises waiting, or convivially forcing themselves into conversation with anyone looking like a tourist. They’re mighty annoying, but at least I’m not a woman.

When I come home I shower the acquired salty film off, slip on some comfortable clothes and relax to, if we have power, a movie, or if not a book.

Recently I joined the local ex-patriots, Kenyan’s, Ghanians, and other Gambians in Tuesday and Sunday’s beach rugby and Saturday and Monday’s volleyball gangs. The much-needed exercise has been redemptive for me as 2 months in village elicited zilch on the physical activity meter.