Nine Hills to Nambonkaha
Two Years in the Heart of an African Village
by Sarah Erdman
Overview
From the Publisher
The village of Nambonkaha in the Ivory Coast is a place where electricity hasn’t yet arrived, where sorcerers still conjure magic, where the tok-tok sound of women pounding corn fills the morning air like a drumbeat. As Sarah Erdman enters the social fold of the village as a Peace Corps volunteer, she finds that Nambonkaha is also a place where AIDS threatens and poverty is constant, where women suffer the indignities of patriarchal customs, and where children work like adults while still managing to dream. Lyrical and topical, Erdman’s beautiful debut captures the astonishing spirit of an unforgettable community.
My thoughts
This is an amazing story of courage and success. I have great respect for Peace Corps workers, and a little bit of envy that they followed their heart and accepted tremendous challenges far away from home. Part of me wishes I'd have had the direction to head the same way.
Early in the book the author expresses concern that she's not accomplishing much. It's a little difficult to know what the village needs and how she can help. Little by little she makes progress, and at the end of her two year stint in Nambonkaha she has made tremendous changes to this little village that didn't know how to care for their infants and didn't know basic sanitation rules. She taught communication skills and family planning skills and made a remarkable impact on the lives of the villagers. My heart swelled with pride at her accomplishments, and I was a sobbing mess at the end of the book when she said goodbye!
This is a remarkable story told by a humble servant that did a world of good. It's a story we all should know by heart.
Favorite Passage
I have five flashlights, and each performs its own trick. I have a raincoat with zippers and net material so I never get too hot in a downpour. I have a shelf crammed with books and a shortwave that speaks Arabic, Japanese, Dutch and Russian. They have mud huts with maybe a few chairs and faded pages of old magazines fastened to the wall. I ride my twenty-one speed Peace Corps-issue bike to Ferke not to save a dollar on transport, but for the luxury of exercise. They ride in from their settlements on cranky old mopeds or bikes with a single cog because it's the only option. And they give me charity. I just star at it - near tears. To refuse their offer would be pure insult. So I do the rounds again, shaking hands with all the men in boubous, saying over and over, "An y che," Thank you.
