Currently reading: The Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac
So apparently, it's the 21st of December. WHAT? The thing about December in this heat - it's confusing me. I'm used to snow, ice, and cold, so I keep forgetting that it's December and almost Christmas. This is probably a good thing because it's keeping me from feeling homesick about missing the holidays at home. So I'm not really sure if I'm going to get used to the lack of seasons (besides, you know, really hot and raining a lot) or if some internal thingamabob will just keep telling me it's summer. For all 27 months. 820 days of summer is a lot of summer.
So brief recap. After my last blog post, I went to Sikasso for Thanksgiving with about 60 other volunteers. It was really nice. Good food, good people, nice break. I was back at site for 1 week before in-service training (IST) began, which is where I've been for the last 2 weeks. Training invloved me getting pizza 5 times (as compared to... once in the last 3 months. that was hard.), lots of sessions on a blur of subjects, going out on the town a couple of times, and a lot of time speaking English. I didn't realize how much I wanted a break from having to be "on" all of the time until I get to Tubani so. So that was really nice. I was back at site for a hot second and am now in Koutiala, in transite to go to Sikasso and hang out at some waterfalls for Christmas. I'm excited for next month and digging into work, whatever form it takes.
Also, quick shout-out for all of the letters and packages!!! I cannot adequately express how warm and fuzzy they make me feel. so yay.
Kansas (12/19)
For the past two weeks, I've been living at the PC training site, Tubani so, for 'in-service training' with 79 other volunteers (my whole stage). It was exciting to see everyone, though a little overwhelming, but that quickly wore off and boredom set in as we sat through session after session. Eventually, life at T-so became somewhat enjoyable and comfortable. Pre-service training felt a lot like latchkey - we gave up a lot of freedoms, were monitored, and generally felt like we were being treated like children. We've apparently grown up since then, being allowed to choose our sessions to some extent and being able to leave the site. And leave we did. People went out for dinner, dancing, and drinking (I do love alliteration...), spent a lot of money, and took late-night cab rides home. Morning sessions sometimes found people catching up on the gossip of the last night and nursing hangovers.
But despite the occasional fun night, I was ready to come back to site - come back home - a couple of days in. Then, at some point last night, I realized that I kinda liked seeing all of these people and going out for good food. I started to worry that I didn't want to go back, that I'd get to F. and crash in a 'what the hell am I doing living in a Malian village' kind of way. This morning, I ran on autopilot as I packed, ate breakfast, and said goodbyes. I was scared that I didn't want to go, that a few fun times in the city somehow stole my motivation instead of replenishing my energy.
Pretty early on in the trip, I had a TIA (This is Africa) moment. We were stuck in traffic in a market area and I was admiring the fruit being sold on my right when my view of the bananas was obstructed by a kid - around 16 years old - pushing a wooden wheelbarrow with a dead cow in it. Just doing his thing, probably bringing said cow to a butcher not too far away for 50 ¢ or so. The people around him didn't bat an eye at the boy and his cow; nothing out of the ordinary for them. The whole scene made me laugh ('cause seriously, wtf.), but also jolted me. I am here and this IS reality. I have a tendancy to view my life in America as "the real world" - as if the next 2 years are just a mirage, a game. As if I am on pause while here and we're all just playing house. But this house, this village, and these people aren't some part of an elaborate dream - this is real and this place is really my home.
I spent a lot of that car ride thinking about the tendency to treat Africa - as a whole continent - as a neverland or Oz: Africa is wild, a jungle, a safari. It has been raped and pillaged, it's war-torn, its children are starving and have flies on their faces. Africa is what you think about when you want to give back to the world, when you don't finish all the food on your plate. Africa is up on an exotic pedestal while at the same time unable to get up and out of the mud. And in reality, all of those things most definitely exist here. But there's that word again - reality. And in reality, there's a Malian village called F. with people just living their lives.
I think that if I am going to make it through my entire service, I need to accept that this is my life without stamping an expiration date on it so quickly. I want to become invested, entangled in these people's lives, to really know them and from that knowledge help them. I don't think that I can do that if this is my Oz - this has to be my Kansas. But, you know, easier said than done.
Firelight (12/2)
At night, my host family pulls up a few logs under the gwa (hangar) and we sit around a small fire. My host dad nods off listening to his radio while I deal out the Skip-Bo cards for the next round with my host mom. Looking across the road, the darkness is dotted with small fires; the sound of laughter and murmurs floats and swirls in the air. On my other side, the sky stretches out, endless. Some nights, the moon illuminates the ground like a floodlight. Other nights, like tonight, the milkyway sits like a cloud of spun-sugar on an sea of stars, each glittering and winking at me. These nights make me feel stress-free, feather-light, invincible, eternal. These nights, I am not an American trying to prove something in the African bush; I am just another person warming my feet at the fire, another beating heart, just breathing.
(12/1)
Yesterday, I went into Koutiala ("the city." ha.) for a few hours and got home in the early evening. When I got home, some things were scattered on the floor and one of my windows was slightly ajar - I assumed that my kitten had just gone a little crazy from being cooped up all day and went about my business. About an hour later, something made me check the place where I was keeping my cash. The money, as you've probably anticipated, was gone. I frantically searched my house as I calculated how much I'd left in the house, about $80, or 1/3 of my monthly stipend. I freaked, there may have been crying - the loss of money I could deal with, but the thought that someone in my tiny village would break into my home and go through my things was a little much.
So I want you all to pause here and consider what you would do in this situation in the U.S. I'm going to guess that you would call the police. They'd come over, a report would be filed, and then... nothing. The plan of action in a Malian village is, not surprisingly, a little different. I walked over to my host family's house in the calmest way possible (reminding myself to take deep breaths the entire way), and tried to explain to my host mom what had happened. She came over shaking her head incredulously - the last 3 volunteers in F. were all bad about locking up their windows and door and had no issues what-so-ever. I always lock my door and windows when I will be gone overnight, but there is one screen with a bitch of a lock, so I left that window open and the screen closed but not locked, thinking that I would be gone for less than a day so it would be fine. Not true. Anyways, Djelika went to get Drissa (host dad) as I stood there, suddenly unsure and uncomfortable about everything around me. Drissa reiterated that this has never happened to a volunteer in F. and that we would figure everything out.
Thinking there was nothing left to do for it at 7:00 pm, I went to call my mother and eat dinner at my host family's. After dinner, Adiaratou, my homologue, showed up - apparently while I was talking to my mom, my host dad got her and they told the village chief as well as the other 'important' people around. Adiaratou told me that everything would sort itself out. When I just nodded mutely, she said, "Mariam (my Malian name, btw), you are not hurt, no one is hurt, and we will find out who did this, so don't cry." The similarities between this and what my mom said on the phone earlier that night made me smile, though I ignored the "we will find them" part. I went to bed that night uneasy. Everyone I saw used to be a neighbor, a friend. I tried not to, but I couldn't help seeing everyone I passed as a thief as I went to bed.
In the morning, I was still in my pjs when Adiaratou stopped by. She was grinning at me, which made no sense until she pulled out her wallet and handed me my money - all of it. Overnight, word had gotten out in the community. A few boys tried to buy a phone in the next village and were "caught." Just as suddenly as it disappeared, my feeling safe here returned. The town where the boys were caught is 6 km away and has a few thousand people in it, yet they still knew overnight and, more than that, even the store owner cared enough to get the money back to me when he could easily have pleaded ignorance and gained a nice chunk of change out of the experience. I know that I'll sleep well tonight, and every night that I'm in F., because I truly feel protected.
Peace & Love,
Elyse
Oh, and Happy Holidays!!!
December 21, 2010
November 20, 2010
comfort food
Currently listening to: River by Joni Mitchell
How time flies... I came into the city for a day because my fingers were itching to cook in a real kitchen. Apparently I've been craving fall/winter foods, even though the days here are still hitting 100ºs. I made a sweet potato cheese soup for dinner and pumpkin-banana spice muffins for dessert/breakfast tomorrow, when I head back to village, refreshed and exhausted from wandering around markets all day and playing in the kitchen for a few hours. Good day. So this is a rather long post, apologies for that - apparently I've had a lot to say lately. Let me know what you think.
Grief Revisited (11/15)
A few days ago, my host father's younger brother died. The sadness in his eyes that day was difficult to even look at. Faced with grief that strong, my (and I suppose all humans) natural instinct is to comfort. Culturally, my reaction is to hug, but Malians - as much as they are in physical contact - don't hug. I gave my host parents the death blessings and considered how we all try to comfort in times of grief. If I was home,t here would be cards, condolences, and casseroles. Mostly, however, we would gather and sit.
So here I am on the other side of the world, surrounded by people doing what people do for each other. The day of his brother's death, my host father's friends came over to sit with him and - though they have to leave for work and whatnot - have been there every day since. Today, my host father, his friends, and visiting family sit outside under a mango tree while visiting women sit inside under the hangar. Neighbor women have come over with food and are helping my host mother cook for everyone. They all sit and chat, drinking tea, their support in their presence.
I find it beautiful that our drive to comfort others crosses cultural boundaries, that I'm sitting at a mud house in Mali, West Africa, surrounded
Tuesday Night at the Movies (11/11)
Every Tuesday, right after I eat lunch, I take a small white pill with a very tall glass (*ahem* nalgeen) of water. It is the best insurance that the nasty little malaria babies in my liver won't migrate elsewhere in my body and make me sick. This itty bitty pill is also the reason my Tuesday nights have been dubbed "Tuesday night at the movies." Mefloquine, as all other anti-malarial drugs, has a curious repetoir of side effects, including depression, anxiety, paranoia, aggression, nightmares, insomnia, and seizures. On Wednesdays, I'm almost always dizzy. If I don't take my pill with a lot of food and water, my stomach cramps enough to keep me from really moving. But, like a lot of other people, mefloquine affects me most at night. 4+ months in, I've had a chunk of Tuesday nights where I wake up around midnight and spend the next 6-7 hours mostly reading because of insomnia. The rest of my Tuesday nights have been full of long, strange, vivid dreams from which I awake having to sort out what happened in real life and in mefloquine-dreamland. Consequently, Tuesday night at the movies.
For all of my funny dreams, I count myself lucky. Some people have had anxiety attacks; I know multiple people who have heard things at night, and one of my roommates at Tubaniso pretty much stopped sleeping for a while. That being said, my Tuesday night fun-times are starting to expand themselves. I now have multiple nights a week with dreams vivid enough that I confuse myself the next day as to what has really happened. I've woken up in the middle of the night with my heart in my throat because of a noise that my mind twisted into mice, lizards, or spiders coming to get me (this stems from the lizards that live on my roof and wake me up obscenely early, the very large spiders lurking in the corners, and the mice living in my house that my cat refuses to catch). Last night, I woke up with a start after something tickled my hand. I tried to calm my heart, positive that an infestation of cockroaches had appeared overnight and were living in my bed, though my barely awake self mumbled that I would deal with them in the morning.
I took mefloquine last summer with few effects and was a little disappointed that nothing more interesting happened. I expected this round to be the same, but now I'm starting to wonder, and to wish that I could go back to the less interesting part. If the hallucinations of cockroaches continues, we may have a problem.
"Surely, it's not what you do, but how you do it" (11/8)
So, I was having a conversation with my sister on one of my lucky internet days about the tendency to get frustrated with people for not doing more for themselves. My simple answer at the time was that I don't get frustrated with people for that because you really can't here. Since the conversation, the topic has kept edging into my thoughts. Thus, the blog post. I've decided to divide the issue into 2 broad directions - what you do to help yourself, and what you did today. I suppose I should note that these are still scattered, preliminary thoughts and any outside ideas are welcomed.
If you look up stats for Mali, you learn that it's considered one of the poorest countries in the world; most people here survive on subsistance farming. I've been conducting interviews with households in my village - when I ask people what they do, most will say farming first. If they have another position where they get a steady (if low) income, they will still note farming as their second job. Put simply, I've found myself in a place where everyone does something. In F., as in many parts of Mali, if you don't farm, you and your family aren't going to eat. It's an almost eerie feeling to contentedly watch the harvest come in, enjoying the enormity of it, and realize that the person standing next to you is looking at the same thing and praying - truly praying - that it will fill their children's stomachs all year long. In F., there are no beggars - who would they beg to? In Koutiala, the vast majority of beggars are young boys who are being given a (school) lesson in humility the hard way. That, of course, is not to say people don't ask me for money, a ticket to America, the clothes off of my back, the bananas I just bought, etc. - I am, after all, a Toubab - but most of those people don't actually expect something from me and will laugh with me while I say no (unless I'm having a bad day). Any adult I see today knows what real work is, and is about 10x stronger than me from that work. Right now, for example, my host father is out in the 100º+ heat, cutting millet because it has to be done now. Thus, there are no people in F. and a very few number of poeple in Mali of whom I question if they do anything.
The other hand, then, is not the question of "what are you doing with your life", but of "what the hell have you been doing for the last 3 hours and don't tell me just drinking tea." In this arena, some days I can laugh. Some days I can't laugh and to call myself "frustrated" wouldn't give my emotions justice.
First, I must explain tea. Each Malian household has a tea set with 2 little pots and a couple of shot glasses. Culturally, tea is very important - any meeting or gathering must include tea; when visiting someone, tea is an inexpensive but very respectable (and respectful) gift. Making tea the Malian way requires overbrewing green tea leaves, adding enough sugar to make any dentist cry, pouring the tea between the pots and shot glasses to mix and to create the desired level of foam (which, as far as I can tell, has no purpose but which I now admire - to my own chagrin), heating the tea up again while cleaning the glasses, and finally pouring each person around about 1/2 a shot of tea. Then you repeat this process 2 more times. Everyday. Needless to say, it takes some time. Coming from a culture where you can get almost anything 'to go,' it's been a challenge for me to learn to just sit and let the hours go by. But sit I do, meticulously cleaning my fingernails, which are ALWAYS dirty, and amusing myself by singing old girlscout songs in my head. Recently, I've learned how to make the tea myself, providing myself with a way to whittle away the time and my fellow sit-and-do-nothing-ers with some entertainment.
And here we arrive at the bane of many Westerners' existence while living in the area. W.A.I.T. - West African International Time (punny, no?) is something that we are all very familiar with. 'En Brousse,' everything happens on W.A.I.T., including my local bank. Let me tell you a story. I attended a meeting with the board of directors of my clinic not that long ago. 2, in fact. The first was supposed to start at 9:00 AM and got rolling around 10:15, after the tea set was found and someone had delegated who would prepare the tea. By 12:30, the board had met me, introduced everyone and their positions, and argued enough to come to the conclusion that they would decide things at the next meeting when they mayor could actually be there. The consequent meeting was supposed to start at 8:00 AM and got rolling around the same time as the first, after peanuts had been passed around and everyone introduced themselves again. Then, almost every person there gave a speech about this, that, and a lot of hot air (from what I could understand). At 1:00 PM, I left for lunch and didn't come back, though they apparently continued until 5:00 or so. The meetings, though important, easily could have been drastically shortened. Efficiency, however, is not a part of W.A.I.T. and not a strong suit of Malians. Good story, right?
This is the kind of situation where I can become easily frustrated. There are days where I do very little and can admit that it's because I was being lazy and really liked the book I was reading. There are also days, however, where I do very little because despite all of my trying, things just aren't going to happen and I might as well join the group of people drinking tea. Mornings can be fairly productive. But after lunch is designated tea-time and it goes down-hill from there. Men sit in groups, just to sit. Students from the local technical school can be seen wandering after classes alone or in pairs - kind of studying, kind of greeting people, kind of just walking. Slowly. Even women, who are ALWAYS working in Mali, will take hours and hours in weekly money gathering groups chatting, braiding hair, and drinking tea. Plus then you're already out so you might as well take the 30 minute walk to visit that one random person - and look! They've just started tea. We'd better stay until at least the second round.
It's taking time for me to get used to the idea that we don't do as much as we possibly can in one day, that we sit. I'll find myself thinking of all the things that could get done while we sit, which just leaves me aggitated. I'm (slowly) learning to appreciate just sitting, and to not schedule too much in a day - to barely schedule at all, really. Market days, for example, are in a town 6 km away. If I was functioning on American time-tables, I could leave F. around 8:00 AM , spend an hour doing my weekly shopping (with time to spare), grab a coke on the way out, and be back by 10:30. But then what the hell would I do with the rest of my day? As it is, I try to head out between 9:00-10:00 AM. I wander around greeting people I know in the market until I run into my host mom so we can do the weekly what-I-buy-for-the-family shopping together. Then we take that stuff back to her donkey cart, say our I'll-see-you-soons, and I wander back to some of the same market stalls to grab some stuff for myself. After that, I head over to the shop where my bike is kept to drink a cold soda and chat with people, and then head home at around 2:00-2:30 PM. It's a process. And that is what it all comes down to, and what I have to remind myself daily - it's a process. Being here makes me think it really was a good idea to have 'patience' tattooed on my foot.
A Few of my Favorite Things (10/26)
I eat with my host family every day except Saturdays (Sunday is market day, so the family meals on Saturdays are usually very bland and not-so-appatizing). I eat with them because it's hard to deal with only being able to get food stuffs once a week and not having any way of preserving it the rest of the week, because that way my host family gets more of a variety in their diet, because I'm 'busy' and kinda lazy, but mostly because it keeps me from sitting by myself too much and getting lonely. It can be easy to hole myself up and start down the dangerous path of "if I was in America right now...," so I generally try to steer clear of that. When I'm with my host family, or other friends in F., I may not understand them all of the time but at least I have a connection - something to keep me rooted here and now.
So anywho, for dinner I'll head over between 6:00-7:00, eat around 7:30, and play a round of Skip-Bo with my host mom sometime after. This, obviously, leaves a rather large chunk of time just sitting (as much of my days do), in which I meditate on my day. If something or someone upset me, I'll try to figure out the whats & whys so that it's less likely to happen again. If my temper flares or I become upset & agitated for no reason multiple times &/or days in a row, I'll make a note of it in my journal to keep track and make sure I'm not sinking into something bigger than I can handle.
A couple I know keep track of days they 'win,' in a them vs. Africa way; they do not note days when Africa 'wins' because that would be tragically depressing. There are times when I feel like Africa always wins, and there have been a few times where Africa has had me literally on my knees before 10:00 AM wanting home. Thus, during my night-time processing, I also make sure to think about what things made me happy throughout the day. Sometimes I make a list, no matter how small and insignificant the moments are, either because I'm overwhelmed by life and need a reminder, or because I'm overwhelmed by how good things are. Recently, I find myself having more positively overwhelming days, where I both wake up and go to sleep at peace with the universe. On those days, my thought is that if I'm still standing, still going and finding some enjoyment out of it, I've got to be winning, right?
So, without further adieu, tonight's list:
sharing a fresh coconut with my host-family - having a kitten curl up & sleep in the crook of my arm - fresh fruit - hammock - stargazing in a place without electricity for miles - peanut butter sauce & rice - clean laundry - feeling healthy - yoga - yogurt - conversing and joking in Bambara - cool breezes sitting under a mango tree - babies that aren't scared of me - a cup of tea in the morning - not using (or needing to) an alarm clock - building relationships - laughter - roasted peanuts - colors
Peace & Love
Elyse
How time flies... I came into the city for a day because my fingers were itching to cook in a real kitchen. Apparently I've been craving fall/winter foods, even though the days here are still hitting 100ºs. I made a sweet potato cheese soup for dinner and pumpkin-banana spice muffins for dessert/breakfast tomorrow, when I head back to village, refreshed and exhausted from wandering around markets all day and playing in the kitchen for a few hours. Good day. So this is a rather long post, apologies for that - apparently I've had a lot to say lately. Let me know what you think.
Grief Revisited (11/15)
A few days ago, my host father's younger brother died. The sadness in his eyes that day was difficult to even look at. Faced with grief that strong, my (and I suppose all humans) natural instinct is to comfort. Culturally, my reaction is to hug, but Malians - as much as they are in physical contact - don't hug. I gave my host parents the death blessings and considered how we all try to comfort in times of grief. If I was home,t here would be cards, condolences, and casseroles. Mostly, however, we would gather and sit.
So here I am on the other side of the world, surrounded by people doing what people do for each other. The day of his brother's death, my host father's friends came over to sit with him and - though they have to leave for work and whatnot - have been there every day since. Today, my host father, his friends, and visiting family sit outside under a mango tree while visiting women sit inside under the hangar. Neighbor women have come over with food and are helping my host mother cook for everyone. They all sit and chat, drinking tea, their support in their presence.
I find it beautiful that our drive to comfort others crosses cultural boundaries, that I'm sitting at a mud house in Mali, West Africa, surrounded
Tuesday Night at the Movies (11/11)
Every Tuesday, right after I eat lunch, I take a small white pill with a very tall glass (*ahem* nalgeen) of water. It is the best insurance that the nasty little malaria babies in my liver won't migrate elsewhere in my body and make me sick. This itty bitty pill is also the reason my Tuesday nights have been dubbed "Tuesday night at the movies." Mefloquine, as all other anti-malarial drugs, has a curious repetoir of side effects, including depression, anxiety, paranoia, aggression, nightmares, insomnia, and seizures. On Wednesdays, I'm almost always dizzy. If I don't take my pill with a lot of food and water, my stomach cramps enough to keep me from really moving. But, like a lot of other people, mefloquine affects me most at night. 4+ months in, I've had a chunk of Tuesday nights where I wake up around midnight and spend the next 6-7 hours mostly reading because of insomnia. The rest of my Tuesday nights have been full of long, strange, vivid dreams from which I awake having to sort out what happened in real life and in mefloquine-dreamland. Consequently, Tuesday night at the movies.
For all of my funny dreams, I count myself lucky. Some people have had anxiety attacks; I know multiple people who have heard things at night, and one of my roommates at Tubaniso pretty much stopped sleeping for a while. That being said, my Tuesday night fun-times are starting to expand themselves. I now have multiple nights a week with dreams vivid enough that I confuse myself the next day as to what has really happened. I've woken up in the middle of the night with my heart in my throat because of a noise that my mind twisted into mice, lizards, or spiders coming to get me (this stems from the lizards that live on my roof and wake me up obscenely early, the very large spiders lurking in the corners, and the mice living in my house that my cat refuses to catch). Last night, I woke up with a start after something tickled my hand. I tried to calm my heart, positive that an infestation of cockroaches had appeared overnight and were living in my bed, though my barely awake self mumbled that I would deal with them in the morning.
I took mefloquine last summer with few effects and was a little disappointed that nothing more interesting happened. I expected this round to be the same, but now I'm starting to wonder, and to wish that I could go back to the less interesting part. If the hallucinations of cockroaches continues, we may have a problem.
"Surely, it's not what you do, but how you do it" (11/8)
So, I was having a conversation with my sister on one of my lucky internet days about the tendency to get frustrated with people for not doing more for themselves. My simple answer at the time was that I don't get frustrated with people for that because you really can't here. Since the conversation, the topic has kept edging into my thoughts. Thus, the blog post. I've decided to divide the issue into 2 broad directions - what you do to help yourself, and what you did today. I suppose I should note that these are still scattered, preliminary thoughts and any outside ideas are welcomed.
If you look up stats for Mali, you learn that it's considered one of the poorest countries in the world; most people here survive on subsistance farming. I've been conducting interviews with households in my village - when I ask people what they do, most will say farming first. If they have another position where they get a steady (if low) income, they will still note farming as their second job. Put simply, I've found myself in a place where everyone does something. In F., as in many parts of Mali, if you don't farm, you and your family aren't going to eat. It's an almost eerie feeling to contentedly watch the harvest come in, enjoying the enormity of it, and realize that the person standing next to you is looking at the same thing and praying - truly praying - that it will fill their children's stomachs all year long. In F., there are no beggars - who would they beg to? In Koutiala, the vast majority of beggars are young boys who are being given a (school) lesson in humility the hard way. That, of course, is not to say people don't ask me for money, a ticket to America, the clothes off of my back, the bananas I just bought, etc. - I am, after all, a Toubab - but most of those people don't actually expect something from me and will laugh with me while I say no (unless I'm having a bad day). Any adult I see today knows what real work is, and is about 10x stronger than me from that work. Right now, for example, my host father is out in the 100º+ heat, cutting millet because it has to be done now. Thus, there are no people in F. and a very few number of poeple in Mali of whom I question if they do anything.
The other hand, then, is not the question of "what are you doing with your life", but of "what the hell have you been doing for the last 3 hours and don't tell me just drinking tea." In this arena, some days I can laugh. Some days I can't laugh and to call myself "frustrated" wouldn't give my emotions justice.
First, I must explain tea. Each Malian household has a tea set with 2 little pots and a couple of shot glasses. Culturally, tea is very important - any meeting or gathering must include tea; when visiting someone, tea is an inexpensive but very respectable (and respectful) gift. Making tea the Malian way requires overbrewing green tea leaves, adding enough sugar to make any dentist cry, pouring the tea between the pots and shot glasses to mix and to create the desired level of foam (which, as far as I can tell, has no purpose but which I now admire - to my own chagrin), heating the tea up again while cleaning the glasses, and finally pouring each person around about 1/2 a shot of tea. Then you repeat this process 2 more times. Everyday. Needless to say, it takes some time. Coming from a culture where you can get almost anything 'to go,' it's been a challenge for me to learn to just sit and let the hours go by. But sit I do, meticulously cleaning my fingernails, which are ALWAYS dirty, and amusing myself by singing old girlscout songs in my head. Recently, I've learned how to make the tea myself, providing myself with a way to whittle away the time and my fellow sit-and-do-nothing-ers with some entertainment.
And here we arrive at the bane of many Westerners' existence while living in the area. W.A.I.T. - West African International Time (punny, no?) is something that we are all very familiar with. 'En Brousse,' everything happens on W.A.I.T., including my local bank. Let me tell you a story. I attended a meeting with the board of directors of my clinic not that long ago. 2, in fact. The first was supposed to start at 9:00 AM and got rolling around 10:15, after the tea set was found and someone had delegated who would prepare the tea. By 12:30, the board had met me, introduced everyone and their positions, and argued enough to come to the conclusion that they would decide things at the next meeting when they mayor could actually be there. The consequent meeting was supposed to start at 8:00 AM and got rolling around the same time as the first, after peanuts had been passed around and everyone introduced themselves again. Then, almost every person there gave a speech about this, that, and a lot of hot air (from what I could understand). At 1:00 PM, I left for lunch and didn't come back, though they apparently continued until 5:00 or so. The meetings, though important, easily could have been drastically shortened. Efficiency, however, is not a part of W.A.I.T. and not a strong suit of Malians. Good story, right?
This is the kind of situation where I can become easily frustrated. There are days where I do very little and can admit that it's because I was being lazy and really liked the book I was reading. There are also days, however, where I do very little because despite all of my trying, things just aren't going to happen and I might as well join the group of people drinking tea. Mornings can be fairly productive. But after lunch is designated tea-time and it goes down-hill from there. Men sit in groups, just to sit. Students from the local technical school can be seen wandering after classes alone or in pairs - kind of studying, kind of greeting people, kind of just walking. Slowly. Even women, who are ALWAYS working in Mali, will take hours and hours in weekly money gathering groups chatting, braiding hair, and drinking tea. Plus then you're already out so you might as well take the 30 minute walk to visit that one random person - and look! They've just started tea. We'd better stay until at least the second round.
It's taking time for me to get used to the idea that we don't do as much as we possibly can in one day, that we sit. I'll find myself thinking of all the things that could get done while we sit, which just leaves me aggitated. I'm (slowly) learning to appreciate just sitting, and to not schedule too much in a day - to barely schedule at all, really. Market days, for example, are in a town 6 km away. If I was functioning on American time-tables, I could leave F. around 8:00 AM , spend an hour doing my weekly shopping (with time to spare), grab a coke on the way out, and be back by 10:30. But then what the hell would I do with the rest of my day? As it is, I try to head out between 9:00-10:00 AM. I wander around greeting people I know in the market until I run into my host mom so we can do the weekly what-I-buy-for-the-family shopping together. Then we take that stuff back to her donkey cart, say our I'll-see-you-soons, and I wander back to some of the same market stalls to grab some stuff for myself. After that, I head over to the shop where my bike is kept to drink a cold soda and chat with people, and then head home at around 2:00-2:30 PM. It's a process. And that is what it all comes down to, and what I have to remind myself daily - it's a process. Being here makes me think it really was a good idea to have 'patience' tattooed on my foot.
A Few of my Favorite Things (10/26)
I eat with my host family every day except Saturdays (Sunday is market day, so the family meals on Saturdays are usually very bland and not-so-appatizing). I eat with them because it's hard to deal with only being able to get food stuffs once a week and not having any way of preserving it the rest of the week, because that way my host family gets more of a variety in their diet, because I'm 'busy' and kinda lazy, but mostly because it keeps me from sitting by myself too much and getting lonely. It can be easy to hole myself up and start down the dangerous path of "if I was in America right now...," so I generally try to steer clear of that. When I'm with my host family, or other friends in F., I may not understand them all of the time but at least I have a connection - something to keep me rooted here and now.
So anywho, for dinner I'll head over between 6:00-7:00, eat around 7:30, and play a round of Skip-Bo with my host mom sometime after. This, obviously, leaves a rather large chunk of time just sitting (as much of my days do), in which I meditate on my day. If something or someone upset me, I'll try to figure out the whats & whys so that it's less likely to happen again. If my temper flares or I become upset & agitated for no reason multiple times &/or days in a row, I'll make a note of it in my journal to keep track and make sure I'm not sinking into something bigger than I can handle.
A couple I know keep track of days they 'win,' in a them vs. Africa way; they do not note days when Africa 'wins' because that would be tragically depressing. There are times when I feel like Africa always wins, and there have been a few times where Africa has had me literally on my knees before 10:00 AM wanting home. Thus, during my night-time processing, I also make sure to think about what things made me happy throughout the day. Sometimes I make a list, no matter how small and insignificant the moments are, either because I'm overwhelmed by life and need a reminder, or because I'm overwhelmed by how good things are. Recently, I find myself having more positively overwhelming days, where I both wake up and go to sleep at peace with the universe. On those days, my thought is that if I'm still standing, still going and finding some enjoyment out of it, I've got to be winning, right?
So, without further adieu, tonight's list:
sharing a fresh coconut with my host-family - having a kitten curl up & sleep in the crook of my arm - fresh fruit - hammock - stargazing in a place without electricity for miles - peanut butter sauce & rice - clean laundry - feeling healthy - yoga - yogurt - conversing and joking in Bambara - cool breezes sitting under a mango tree - babies that aren't scared of me - a cup of tea in the morning - not using (or needing to) an alarm clock - building relationships - laughter - roasted peanuts - colors
Peace & Love
Elyse
November 3, 2010
Nesting
Currently reading: Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder
^ fascinating ideas about international aid.
Just a quick check in before I head back to site, so I can't promise that this will be well written. I'm feeling pretty scatter-brained right now, so I'm positive that it won't.
There's a phrase in Bambara that I learned toward the beginning of training - 'Little by little, the bird builds its nest'. I'd tell you what it is in Bambara, but I've forgotten how to say it in Bambara. My bad. It came to mind today because of the literal truth it has to my life right now. Earlier today, I bought a big clay pot - about 10 gallons? - to put water in because it will cool the water. (note that this clay pot cost the equivalent of $3. Awesome). Early last week, I finally bought a full size mattress for my bed. Soon, I'm gonna be buying chairs. Basically, I'm nesting. And it's nice. It's nice to have a place to call my home and to feel completely comfortable. I'm getting into patterns and routines - tea and yoga in the morning, going to the maternity or the clinic depending on the day, tea with my host dad in the early afternoon, etc. I'm becoming less daunted and more excited by the idea of this being home for the next two years. Life is good.
I've got about 1 more month hanging out at site before I head to Bamako for more training. The month will be full of interviews - the school, the clinic, the mayor, as well as a baseline health survey for the families in the village. Basically just trying to feel out the local health issues. I already interviewed my homologue - the midwife/maternity person - and am starting to compile a list of possible future projects (know that sometime in the future I will probably be asking for money...). I feel busy, though definitely by Malian standards. There have been multiple days where I've gone to my homologue's house and been like, "surveys today?" and she's been like, "well, today we can't because of X." I'm amused by the idea that if I was looking at this work in the U.S., I'd send a few emails, make a few phone calls, go door to door, and be done in 2 weeks max. Here, I'll be lucky if I can get it all done in a month. Just gotta go with the flow, I suppose.
That's about it. Enjoy the cool weather for me - today, the high in Janesville is supposed to be 54 degrees, where as the high around my place is around 96 degrees. And it's not even the hot season...
Peace & Love
Elyse
^ fascinating ideas about international aid.
Just a quick check in before I head back to site, so I can't promise that this will be well written. I'm feeling pretty scatter-brained right now, so I'm positive that it won't.
There's a phrase in Bambara that I learned toward the beginning of training - 'Little by little, the bird builds its nest'. I'd tell you what it is in Bambara, but I've forgotten how to say it in Bambara. My bad. It came to mind today because of the literal truth it has to my life right now. Earlier today, I bought a big clay pot - about 10 gallons? - to put water in because it will cool the water. (note that this clay pot cost the equivalent of $3. Awesome). Early last week, I finally bought a full size mattress for my bed. Soon, I'm gonna be buying chairs. Basically, I'm nesting. And it's nice. It's nice to have a place to call my home and to feel completely comfortable. I'm getting into patterns and routines - tea and yoga in the morning, going to the maternity or the clinic depending on the day, tea with my host dad in the early afternoon, etc. I'm becoming less daunted and more excited by the idea of this being home for the next two years. Life is good.
I've got about 1 more month hanging out at site before I head to Bamako for more training. The month will be full of interviews - the school, the clinic, the mayor, as well as a baseline health survey for the families in the village. Basically just trying to feel out the local health issues. I already interviewed my homologue - the midwife/maternity person - and am starting to compile a list of possible future projects (know that sometime in the future I will probably be asking for money...). I feel busy, though definitely by Malian standards. There have been multiple days where I've gone to my homologue's house and been like, "surveys today?" and she's been like, "well, today we can't because of X." I'm amused by the idea that if I was looking at this work in the U.S., I'd send a few emails, make a few phone calls, go door to door, and be done in 2 weeks max. Here, I'll be lucky if I can get it all done in a month. Just gotta go with the flow, I suppose.
That's about it. Enjoy the cool weather for me - today, the high in Janesville is supposed to be 54 degrees, where as the high around my place is around 96 degrees. And it's not even the hot season...
Peace & Love
Elyse
October 6, 2010
Bracelets
Song Playing: You and I by Ingrid Michaelson
I'm in the city (Koutiala) for a week for language classes, which basically means a week of English, electricity, good food, and internet. It seems somewhat strange that they take us out of sites where we are forced to speak and understand Bambara to learn it, but I'm not complaining. Last night I helped one of the other volunteers make Spanish omlettes, fried plantains, and bruchetta (on lightly toasted bread), all using a little charcoal grill and a fan. And when I say charcoal, I mean pieces from a tree that was charred the next town over, not nice little brickettes that you light with lighter fluid. Normally, we would have a stove (and oven. I miss ovens.) here, but they've been out of propane in Koutiala for a few weeks. Rumor has it they're out of propane in all of Mali... neat, huh? The food was delicious, none-the-less. AND we had hobo sangria. Lovely.
So bracelets. You can buy a handful of basic seed-bead bracelets for about 20 cents in any market you go to here. A lot of female volunteers in Mali wear monthly bracelets - every month you're here, you add another. Right now I have excess bracelets jangling on my left arm and three little bracelets on my right. Looking at them surprises me - sometimes it feels like a lot more than 3 months, sometimes it feels like a lot less. There are (many) days at site where I feel like I'm not doing enough, or not really doing anything. Seeing those bracelets reminds me that I've still got a lot of time to go and that I should stop stressing about it.
Because of the distinct lack of internet & electricity in my life, I'll be writing entries for this thing in a journal and then just unloading multiple posts at once. So under this, the bottom entry is the first one; the closest is the latest. Hope you enjoy, I'll be around all week.
Peace & Love
Elyse
Little Critters (9/30)
Like most children, I used to love books that personified animals. The Berenstain Bears and the Little Critter series were some of my favorites. The real things were just as fascinating. Lines of ants marching through the kitchen were intriguing, not pests. I would catch fireflies and tadpoles in the summer, studied frogs regularly, and once tried to 'incubate' an abandoned robin's egg under my desk lamp. Most of this can be attributed to my sister. As I got older, critters became less amusing and more annoying. In my more ‘adult’-like years, I either killed all insects that dared enter my home or completely ignored them. Here, both ignorance and exterminating all insects are not possibilities.
Out in my yard, I religiously pull up stray weeds that could house anything I don't like. Toads appear outside at night and on my porch in the rain. Flies are constantly on the attack – I have recently launched counter-attacks with a homemade fly swatter. Besides being annoying, flies here can carry sicknesses that I'd rather not name. There's a colony of ants that lives in the mudbricks under the cement on my porch - we watch each other warily. They allow me to exist because I bring out delicious treats, like dead flies and moths, but I did spend a few days trying to drown them out. I allow them to exist because of the sadistic pleasure of watching them carry away said dead flies, but they bite HARD and I am constantly worried that they will invade my house and am on the lookout for trains of them inside. Inside, I brush off termite lines on the walls almost daily and am trying to oust them from my window sills. The spiders and I are in a truce - as long as they don't come down to my level, I ignore them. Everything in my kitchen that might be of interest to anything is contained. About a week ago, I'd forgotten to clean off the knife I used to make my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That night, bigger ants (the ones that don't bite and are not carnivorous), had swarmed it.
Last night, I heard a rustling in the corner when I opened my front door. My makeshift trashcan (cardboard box) sits there - I've been debating what to do with the trash for the last few weeks. Most people here burn it all and dump it in this big pile on the side of the village road. There is no garbage disposal system here, no landfills, just piles of trash. I am averse to burning plastic (need I explain?), and have been considering dumping it down my nyegen, but wasn't sure if that was the best option.
So anyways, I shined my flashlight in the direction of the trashcan and saw something trying to jump out of it. Figuring it was a toad and wondering how the hell and WHY it was there, I stepped closer - to find a very large mouse. By Malian standards, this mouse was small. The body was only 3.5-4 inches long. Tiny, really. But I'm not Malian. I cursed out a storm and hopped from foot to foot as the mouse continuously tried to jump out of my trashcan. More than anything, I was worried it would find my kitchen.
I locked the mouse in and ran over to my host family's house. Not knowing the word for mouse, I told my host parents there was a "thing" in my house. They stared at me, confused. I remembered that the previous day, some creature was found in the corner of their porch that they tried to kill. Assuming it was a mouse, I pointed to the corner and said, "like that thing yesterday!" They both exclaimed, my host father grabbed a big stick, and started racing to my house. As we got closer, my host father gallantly held out his arm and told me to stay back. This seemed a little odd – I mean, I don’t like mice, but I wasn’t scared that it would eat me or anything. Stick at the ready, I opened the door for him and he entered cautiously. I pointed vigorously at the corner, but hung back in case the mouse HAD jumped out and was actually rabid and was about to attack. After cautiously looking around the room, he peered in the trashcan and chuckled. He said something to my host mother and soon they were both laughing quite hard. My host mom explained that they were worried because the thing that was in their yard was a snake (many of which are dangerous here) and that a mouse was nothing to worry about. I smiled, but repeated that mice are bad and I wanted it OUT. Still laughing, my host father tapped it with the stick and picked it up by the tail. He waived it in my face, teasing, which sent them both into a second bout of laughing when I backed up from him and said something like, “no no no no, very bad. bad bad bad.” He threw the dead mouse over my wall and they both bade me a good night, still chuckling. The next day, I threw my trash in the nyegen.
Grief (9/28)
song playing: The Sound of Silence (Simon & Garfunkel)
Volunteers go through a somewhat defined rollercoaster of emotions. We’re given a chart pinpointing the stages and what to expect at each one. It’s one hell of a rollercoaster the first couple of months, let me tell you. Once past the worst of it – the daily plummets and sudden inclines as well as the longer slumps and hills – it seems pretty trivial and not necessarily something that I want to blog about unless I’m interested in sounding mentally unstable. But rollercoaster aside, there are experiences that affect my emotional self and form an important piece of this whole Peace Corps thing. I’ve been debating how personal this blog should be. It would be strange to write out my emotions when I don’t know who the recipients are and aren’t. Then again, this particular experience isn’t something I will forget and is probably something that will affect me for a very long time, so here it is. I’d like to note before I delve into whatever this is that I’m only writing out chunks of the picture – little personal bits I’ve sifted into words of something much bigger than me. ...
On the 13th of September, my Uncle Chuck (my dad’s older brother) died. I visited him a couple of weeks before I came here, and though I knew his death was a possibility, I didn’t really expect it within my service, let alone within the first few months. Put simply, the grief rocked me. To experience strong grief like that in a foreign environment is a little disconcerting. After sobbing to my mother for an hour, there was no way to contact or connect with family for a couple of days. I was the lone American in a tiny Malian village. Understand that Malians laugh a lot. They speak passionately, express a full range of emotions, and are very social, but they do not cry or hug. So after mumbled explanations to my host mother and homologue, I pushed away my grief – there’s nowhere for it to go here. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.
About a week after, I was reading Around the Bloc by Stephanie Elizondo Griest, and this passage struck a chord in me.
“When I packed my bags for Moscow, I somehow thought I was simultaneously wrapping 21 years of personal relationships into a box, tying it neatly with a ribbon, and setting it off to the side so that nothing would change in my absence. …After all, we’re the ones venturing out into the big, crazy world, filling up our journals, growing like weeds. And we have the gall to think [our families] are just sitting at home, soaking in security and stability. It’s only when we reopen these wrapped & riboned boxes, upon our triumphant return home, that we discover nothing is the way we had left it before.” (Around the Bloc, pg. 36)
Reading that, I realized how much I wasn’t dealing with my uncle’s death. Being so far and so disconnected from home forced me into a sort of detachment. While my family was preparing to go to the visitation, I was bartering in the market. Since my mother’s phone call, considering my uncle’s death as reality would slam into me, turning me into a puddle. But once a puddle, there was no outlet – I could not bury myself in junk food & TV, could not leave just to get out, could not cry, and couldn’t really contact my family. So that day at the market, and in the time since then, I have either ignored the whole thing or considered it sideways – a secondary thought to be observed objectively with no personal relation. Writing this, I recognize that I am still not facing it straight on, because I can feel the tears and the pain waiting for me and still have no place for them to go, nor a way to come to terms with them once face to face with them. There’s a distinct lack of closure, an inability to attain that closure. So here I am, warily watching my pretty little box with it’s ribbon, knowing while not accepting that once I open it, I will find – among many other things – a deep, profound grief.
For the last 2 weeks now, my heart has been with my family. I love you all very, very much. Rest in peace, Unca Chuck.
Reality (9/5)
I am a Peace Corps volunteer. How the hell did that happen? I was dropped off at my village around 3 this afternoon. Just, “alright, here you go. we’ll try to get your luggage here tomorrow. You’ll be fine without it for a day, right?” though maybe not in those exact words. I swept and read until 5:30 when I decided I should sit with my host family (simply because that seemed like the thing you do on your first day). In the last 5 minutes, I have realized that this is actually my life and that I will live here for 2 years. Two. Years. There are tears somewhere behind my eyes, gathered from a conglomeration of good and not so good emotions, but they will have to wait.
My host mother is proud, her actions sure, precise, and practiced. Her mind is sharp, her toung ready. She is safety; a stronghold. My father looks feather light; a small face holds deep set, concerned eyes. He moves gracefully, slowly, after considerations have been made. He is a farmer and a mason – sinew-y muscles hidden but verified in his work. He learns American games, counts, reads, and does sudokus with me. He is an advice giver and a mediator, meditative thoughts creating deliberate opinions. My homologue is young. Her sile is ready, but her eyes flutter and her hands wring, nervous and unsure. Still, she holds her head high, befitting the position of a matrone, and issues birth papers in small, careful handwriting. She will be my friend and my case study. I will watch her, follow her, depend on her, talk to her, and laugh with her countless times in the next 2 years.
I sit here, gazing at stars appearing after the sunset and writing down the roots I need to grow in order to stay sane the next few hours, let alone months or even years. My mind whispers that I’m tired, that I should go curl up with a book in my private house, excape my fears of this sudden new life. Instead I sit with my family. My body is curled around my journal, my thoughts running around like the chickens pecking near my feet, but I am present. When I was younger, a book I was reading described the dream god as having one foot in reality and one in chaos – I suppose that’s what this feeling is. Deep breathing is necessary
I'm in the city (Koutiala) for a week for language classes, which basically means a week of English, electricity, good food, and internet. It seems somewhat strange that they take us out of sites where we are forced to speak and understand Bambara to learn it, but I'm not complaining. Last night I helped one of the other volunteers make Spanish omlettes, fried plantains, and bruchetta (on lightly toasted bread), all using a little charcoal grill and a fan. And when I say charcoal, I mean pieces from a tree that was charred the next town over, not nice little brickettes that you light with lighter fluid. Normally, we would have a stove (and oven. I miss ovens.) here, but they've been out of propane in Koutiala for a few weeks. Rumor has it they're out of propane in all of Mali... neat, huh? The food was delicious, none-the-less. AND we had hobo sangria. Lovely.
So bracelets. You can buy a handful of basic seed-bead bracelets for about 20 cents in any market you go to here. A lot of female volunteers in Mali wear monthly bracelets - every month you're here, you add another. Right now I have excess bracelets jangling on my left arm and three little bracelets on my right. Looking at them surprises me - sometimes it feels like a lot more than 3 months, sometimes it feels like a lot less. There are (many) days at site where I feel like I'm not doing enough, or not really doing anything. Seeing those bracelets reminds me that I've still got a lot of time to go and that I should stop stressing about it.
Because of the distinct lack of internet & electricity in my life, I'll be writing entries for this thing in a journal and then just unloading multiple posts at once. So under this, the bottom entry is the first one; the closest is the latest. Hope you enjoy, I'll be around all week.
Peace & Love
Elyse
Little Critters (9/30)
Like most children, I used to love books that personified animals. The Berenstain Bears and the Little Critter series were some of my favorites. The real things were just as fascinating. Lines of ants marching through the kitchen were intriguing, not pests. I would catch fireflies and tadpoles in the summer, studied frogs regularly, and once tried to 'incubate' an abandoned robin's egg under my desk lamp. Most of this can be attributed to my sister. As I got older, critters became less amusing and more annoying. In my more ‘adult’-like years, I either killed all insects that dared enter my home or completely ignored them. Here, both ignorance and exterminating all insects are not possibilities.
Out in my yard, I religiously pull up stray weeds that could house anything I don't like. Toads appear outside at night and on my porch in the rain. Flies are constantly on the attack – I have recently launched counter-attacks with a homemade fly swatter. Besides being annoying, flies here can carry sicknesses that I'd rather not name. There's a colony of ants that lives in the mudbricks under the cement on my porch - we watch each other warily. They allow me to exist because I bring out delicious treats, like dead flies and moths, but I did spend a few days trying to drown them out. I allow them to exist because of the sadistic pleasure of watching them carry away said dead flies, but they bite HARD and I am constantly worried that they will invade my house and am on the lookout for trains of them inside. Inside, I brush off termite lines on the walls almost daily and am trying to oust them from my window sills. The spiders and I are in a truce - as long as they don't come down to my level, I ignore them. Everything in my kitchen that might be of interest to anything is contained. About a week ago, I'd forgotten to clean off the knife I used to make my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That night, bigger ants (the ones that don't bite and are not carnivorous), had swarmed it.
Last night, I heard a rustling in the corner when I opened my front door. My makeshift trashcan (cardboard box) sits there - I've been debating what to do with the trash for the last few weeks. Most people here burn it all and dump it in this big pile on the side of the village road. There is no garbage disposal system here, no landfills, just piles of trash. I am averse to burning plastic (need I explain?), and have been considering dumping it down my nyegen, but wasn't sure if that was the best option.
So anyways, I shined my flashlight in the direction of the trashcan and saw something trying to jump out of it. Figuring it was a toad and wondering how the hell and WHY it was there, I stepped closer - to find a very large mouse. By Malian standards, this mouse was small. The body was only 3.5-4 inches long. Tiny, really. But I'm not Malian. I cursed out a storm and hopped from foot to foot as the mouse continuously tried to jump out of my trashcan. More than anything, I was worried it would find my kitchen.
I locked the mouse in and ran over to my host family's house. Not knowing the word for mouse, I told my host parents there was a "thing" in my house. They stared at me, confused. I remembered that the previous day, some creature was found in the corner of their porch that they tried to kill. Assuming it was a mouse, I pointed to the corner and said, "like that thing yesterday!" They both exclaimed, my host father grabbed a big stick, and started racing to my house. As we got closer, my host father gallantly held out his arm and told me to stay back. This seemed a little odd – I mean, I don’t like mice, but I wasn’t scared that it would eat me or anything. Stick at the ready, I opened the door for him and he entered cautiously. I pointed vigorously at the corner, but hung back in case the mouse HAD jumped out and was actually rabid and was about to attack. After cautiously looking around the room, he peered in the trashcan and chuckled. He said something to my host mother and soon they were both laughing quite hard. My host mom explained that they were worried because the thing that was in their yard was a snake (many of which are dangerous here) and that a mouse was nothing to worry about. I smiled, but repeated that mice are bad and I wanted it OUT. Still laughing, my host father tapped it with the stick and picked it up by the tail. He waived it in my face, teasing, which sent them both into a second bout of laughing when I backed up from him and said something like, “no no no no, very bad. bad bad bad.” He threw the dead mouse over my wall and they both bade me a good night, still chuckling. The next day, I threw my trash in the nyegen.
Grief (9/28)
song playing: The Sound of Silence (Simon & Garfunkel)
Volunteers go through a somewhat defined rollercoaster of emotions. We’re given a chart pinpointing the stages and what to expect at each one. It’s one hell of a rollercoaster the first couple of months, let me tell you. Once past the worst of it – the daily plummets and sudden inclines as well as the longer slumps and hills – it seems pretty trivial and not necessarily something that I want to blog about unless I’m interested in sounding mentally unstable. But rollercoaster aside, there are experiences that affect my emotional self and form an important piece of this whole Peace Corps thing. I’ve been debating how personal this blog should be. It would be strange to write out my emotions when I don’t know who the recipients are and aren’t. Then again, this particular experience isn’t something I will forget and is probably something that will affect me for a very long time, so here it is. I’d like to note before I delve into whatever this is that I’m only writing out chunks of the picture – little personal bits I’ve sifted into words of something much bigger than me. ...
On the 13th of September, my Uncle Chuck (my dad’s older brother) died. I visited him a couple of weeks before I came here, and though I knew his death was a possibility, I didn’t really expect it within my service, let alone within the first few months. Put simply, the grief rocked me. To experience strong grief like that in a foreign environment is a little disconcerting. After sobbing to my mother for an hour, there was no way to contact or connect with family for a couple of days. I was the lone American in a tiny Malian village. Understand that Malians laugh a lot. They speak passionately, express a full range of emotions, and are very social, but they do not cry or hug. So after mumbled explanations to my host mother and homologue, I pushed away my grief – there’s nowhere for it to go here. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose.
About a week after, I was reading Around the Bloc by Stephanie Elizondo Griest, and this passage struck a chord in me.
“When I packed my bags for Moscow, I somehow thought I was simultaneously wrapping 21 years of personal relationships into a box, tying it neatly with a ribbon, and setting it off to the side so that nothing would change in my absence. …After all, we’re the ones venturing out into the big, crazy world, filling up our journals, growing like weeds. And we have the gall to think [our families] are just sitting at home, soaking in security and stability. It’s only when we reopen these wrapped & riboned boxes, upon our triumphant return home, that we discover nothing is the way we had left it before.” (Around the Bloc, pg. 36)
Reading that, I realized how much I wasn’t dealing with my uncle’s death. Being so far and so disconnected from home forced me into a sort of detachment. While my family was preparing to go to the visitation, I was bartering in the market. Since my mother’s phone call, considering my uncle’s death as reality would slam into me, turning me into a puddle. But once a puddle, there was no outlet – I could not bury myself in junk food & TV, could not leave just to get out, could not cry, and couldn’t really contact my family. So that day at the market, and in the time since then, I have either ignored the whole thing or considered it sideways – a secondary thought to be observed objectively with no personal relation. Writing this, I recognize that I am still not facing it straight on, because I can feel the tears and the pain waiting for me and still have no place for them to go, nor a way to come to terms with them once face to face with them. There’s a distinct lack of closure, an inability to attain that closure. So here I am, warily watching my pretty little box with it’s ribbon, knowing while not accepting that once I open it, I will find – among many other things – a deep, profound grief.
For the last 2 weeks now, my heart has been with my family. I love you all very, very much. Rest in peace, Unca Chuck.
Reality (9/5)
I am a Peace Corps volunteer. How the hell did that happen? I was dropped off at my village around 3 this afternoon. Just, “alright, here you go. we’ll try to get your luggage here tomorrow. You’ll be fine without it for a day, right?” though maybe not in those exact words. I swept and read until 5:30 when I decided I should sit with my host family (simply because that seemed like the thing you do on your first day). In the last 5 minutes, I have realized that this is actually my life and that I will live here for 2 years. Two. Years. There are tears somewhere behind my eyes, gathered from a conglomeration of good and not so good emotions, but they will have to wait.
My host mother is proud, her actions sure, precise, and practiced. Her mind is sharp, her toung ready. She is safety; a stronghold. My father looks feather light; a small face holds deep set, concerned eyes. He moves gracefully, slowly, after considerations have been made. He is a farmer and a mason – sinew-y muscles hidden but verified in his work. He learns American games, counts, reads, and does sudokus with me. He is an advice giver and a mediator, meditative thoughts creating deliberate opinions. My homologue is young. Her sile is ready, but her eyes flutter and her hands wring, nervous and unsure. Still, she holds her head high, befitting the position of a matrone, and issues birth papers in small, careful handwriting. She will be my friend and my case study. I will watch her, follow her, depend on her, talk to her, and laugh with her countless times in the next 2 years.
I sit here, gazing at stars appearing after the sunset and writing down the roots I need to grow in order to stay sane the next few hours, let alone months or even years. My mind whispers that I’m tired, that I should go curl up with a book in my private house, excape my fears of this sudden new life. Instead I sit with my family. My body is curled around my journal, my thoughts running around like the chickens pecking near my feet, but I am present. When I was younger, a book I was reading described the dream god as having one foot in reality and one in chaos – I suppose that’s what this feeling is. Deep breathing is necessary
September 17, 2010
The Market
In smaller towns, the market is somewhat ordered. Shanties of wooden beams and cornstalk roofs lean against each other, creating a block formation maze of brown. When it's not market day, the place is absolutely abandoned, tables overturned and discarded plastic bags blowing across the paths. On market day, each stall is filled with giant ricebags full of stuff, the territory staked out long ago. In the city, the market blossoms out of the streets, women arriving early to get a good spot. The market twists and turns through the streets, diving under plastic tarp and corrugated metal roofs one minute to flood back into the sunlight the next.
I love the experience of a market. All of my senses are assaulted as I wander through the stalls. Women sit behind vegetables and spices, trying to get me interested in their wares. If a seller with something unusual sees me, she goes right for me - they seem to have figured out that the foreigners like the strange fruits. There's a crush of people in front of and behind me and I feel like I'm swimming in a school of fish, just going wherever the mob pulls me. Children weave through the crowd, calling out "Tubaboo!" as I pass, just to see if I'll look. Sometimes, they follow me for a few minutes, ordering me to give them money until I order them to go away. My mind wanders as I focus on the smells and colors around me; the smells can change drastically and suddenly - one minute, I can smell pepper and crushed spices, but then the air around me is filled with the smell of dried fish or fresh meat, and then just as suddenly it switches to a perfume of soaps and new fabrics. My eyes are in constant motion, flitting from one stall to the next, straining to make out what's in the shadowy shops behind the stalls. It doesn't matter if a whole side street is just tomatoes, onions, and cabbage, I still watch, searching for the elusive carrot, avocado, or fruit.
In town, I can expect to start at one place and end at another, with the ability to get back to any stall I wish to. In the city, I find myself completely turned around and lost, using my senses to guide me back to the noisy, sunlit main road. I wander from fresh vegetables into meat into jewelry and fabrics. The fabrics always give me pause, just staring at the vibrant colors. I keep moving, drinking up the patterns with my eyes and listening to the whir of old Singer sewing achines. In another section, different sized metal cauldrons and clay pots are stacked next to rows upon rows of brightly colored plastic dishes. In still another section, I find myself surrounded by prayer mats and religious items, while one street over there are dried animal skins and bones, talismans, and strange powders for people still practicing animism. I love the possibility of finding something new and surprising, of asking what something is and having to use charades to understand the answer. I love being lost in the crowd and just wandering with them, deciding which way to turn at an intersection on a whim. I come out at the end of the day, berating myself for spending too much money, but feeling refreshed and excited despite it.
On a related note, I bought a hammock.
I love the experience of a market. All of my senses are assaulted as I wander through the stalls. Women sit behind vegetables and spices, trying to get me interested in their wares. If a seller with something unusual sees me, she goes right for me - they seem to have figured out that the foreigners like the strange fruits. There's a crush of people in front of and behind me and I feel like I'm swimming in a school of fish, just going wherever the mob pulls me. Children weave through the crowd, calling out "Tubaboo!" as I pass, just to see if I'll look. Sometimes, they follow me for a few minutes, ordering me to give them money until I order them to go away. My mind wanders as I focus on the smells and colors around me; the smells can change drastically and suddenly - one minute, I can smell pepper and crushed spices, but then the air around me is filled with the smell of dried fish or fresh meat, and then just as suddenly it switches to a perfume of soaps and new fabrics. My eyes are in constant motion, flitting from one stall to the next, straining to make out what's in the shadowy shops behind the stalls. It doesn't matter if a whole side street is just tomatoes, onions, and cabbage, I still watch, searching for the elusive carrot, avocado, or fruit.
In town, I can expect to start at one place and end at another, with the ability to get back to any stall I wish to. In the city, I find myself completely turned around and lost, using my senses to guide me back to the noisy, sunlit main road. I wander from fresh vegetables into meat into jewelry and fabrics. The fabrics always give me pause, just staring at the vibrant colors. I keep moving, drinking up the patterns with my eyes and listening to the whir of old Singer sewing achines. In another section, different sized metal cauldrons and clay pots are stacked next to rows upon rows of brightly colored plastic dishes. In still another section, I find myself surrounded by prayer mats and religious items, while one street over there are dried animal skins and bones, talismans, and strange powders for people still practicing animism. I love the possibility of finding something new and surprising, of asking what something is and having to use charades to understand the answer. I love being lost in the crowd and just wandering with them, deciding which way to turn at an intersection on a whim. I come out at the end of the day, berating myself for spending too much money, but feeling refreshed and excited despite it.
On a related note, I bought a hammock.
September 4, 2010
Team America
So it’s official, I’m a volunteer and tomorrow I move into my new home. The ceremony was yesterday (Friday) morning. It was pouring all morning, so we were all soaking wet and pretty unhappy when we got to the embassy. I figured that the ceremony would be more or less just something that I had to sit through, as ceremonies often are, but I actually enjoyed it. It was a strange feeling to be looking up at the ambassador as she gave her speech and realizing that I’ve actually gotten myself here and can now call myself a Peace Corps volunteer. I must admit, I’m pretty freaking proud of myself :-P
After the ceremony, a lot of pictures were taken (and eventually, I will have some on here. It might be a while) and we went to the American club for a few hours. Lunch was burgers (I had a veggie burger that left a lot to be desired. Anyone have a good black bean burger recipe?), salad, and really good chocolate stuff for dessert. Then I put on my swimsuit and hung out at the pool for 3 or 4 hours. Very relaxing. Then we bussed over to the hotel we stayed at for the night to shower, change, get ready, etc. I had a hot shower and put on jeans and makeup. It was pretty crazy. I went to a Chinese restaurant with a bunch of people and had some really good potstickers. After that we went out to a couple of clubs and literally danced the night away. It was at the club that our trainers (current PCVs) revealed our stage (training class) name - Team America. I got back to the hotel at 4:30 AM, and then woke up about 3 hours later. Pretty exhausted now.
Today involved a lot of walking around Bamako in search of a music store to buy a guitar. I’ve decided that I’m going to have a lot of free time, so I might as well try to actually learn to play a guitar. I am now a proud owner of a blue acoustic. Hopefully I’ll be able to play it in 2 years.
So the next three months are kind of in-site on your own training. I’m not allowed to start any projects and am supposed to focus on language and integration stuff, as well as conduct a survey with as many families as possible. I’ll probably be back around the internet world in a month or so. Maybe less, I’m not really sure. Below are a couple of stories from homestay. The first one isn’t written well, but I don’t feel like editing it. Maybe another day.
Lessons in Anger
The last few days that I’ve been with my host-family had gone really well. I’d enjoyed being with them, talking to them. Today, I got back from class early and decided to finally do the laundry that’s been piling up (some volunteers give it to their families to was, but I feel awkward doing that). It took about half an hour to wash my underwear in the privacy of my room – everyone is expected to wash & dry underwear privately. As for my actual clothes, I estimated that I had about 2 buckets worth to wash. I bring out my buckets, clothes, and soap, lugged water out of the well, and go about washing the clothes without any issues. While my 10 year old sisters (or some relative, somehow) help me hang the clothes to dry, the rack holding up the line falls over and a few things get dirt on them. My sisters exclaim and whisk the clothes away to be rinsed again while I grab the rest of my laundry and bring it over. They snatch the bundle from me and dunk it all in a bucket of water, sprinkling some powdered soap on top. Some sense of unnecessary pride makes me shoo them away. My sisters watch skeptically as I put my hands on my hips and stare at the buckets – they have messed up my system and I’m hesitant as to where I should go from here (I should have bought a 3rd bucket a few weeks ago…). I have barely put my hands in the bucket when they rush in, pointing emphatically and jabbering on about what I can only guess is the top 10 things I’m doing wrong.
“I’ve got it,” I insist, possibly too harshly. They get my point even if they don’t understand the English. After this many weeks, they’ve figured out that sometimes it’s best to just let the Tubab do her backwards thing (besides, they can always fix it later, when I’m not around). As I continue, the 24 year old washing dishes next to me chuckles a little at my lack of expertise. She’s been doing this for the last 19 years and I’ve only got a few months under my belt, but whatever. She continues to laugh and shouts something across the compound. Just ignore it; she isn’t trying to be mean. Patience. I ought to stand up, demand to know why she’s laughing, and join in. I know I’ll feel better if I do, but I just keep going, staring hard at my laundry. Still laughing, she comes over to take away your personal space and your laundry, telling you what you’re doing wrong. “I know, it’s fine,” I tell her, unable to come up with the simplest Bambara sentence through my frustration. Just laugh, my mind whispers. NO, I argue with myself, I am hot, I am tired, and I know how to do my goddamned laundry. This is not funny. The woman stands up and gasps out that I don’t know how to do your laundry AND I don’t understand her between bursts of laughter.
“Ayi, N y’a faamu (No, I understand). The skirt is bleeding color into the water and you want me to get new water, but I think it’s fine. It’s fine. N y’a faamu, but it’s fine,” I insist. If I tried, I could tell her that in Bambara, but I just want her to leave. She’s just trying to help… just laugh with her! “I’m not an idiot, it’s fine. Go away.” Something in my voice makes the woman let me be (though still laughing), and I finish my laundry. My hands shake as I hang up the last of it. I’m upset and frustrated at myself for being upset.
One of the 10 year olds follows as I head to by room to eat. I close the screen door behind us and realize that flies invaded my room because someone left the screen open. If I was being honest with myself, I would admit that it was probably me, but I’m too overwhelmed by thoughts of amoebas and parasites and how the hell to get rid of the flies. “Fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. Goddamnit. Fuck!” I mutter as I grab some folded paper – a makeshift flyswatter. My sister, wide-eyed from surprise at my sudden anger, grabs a handheld fan to help. She whispers to a girl who comes over laughing – probably something about how the Tubab has gone crazy and should not be teased right now. I eventually give up and sit down to eat. The girl joins me cautiously, opening the bowl to reveal one of my least favorite sauces, though I can’t turn it down because there is no other option. I concentrate on the floor in front of me as I feel the tears gathering. This is ridiculous, I’m being ridiculous. I shake my head and look up, exasperated by my lack of control over my own emotions. I catch my sister wringing her hands and flitting her eyes around the room. Something in her face – her fear at my own bizarre behavior – amuses me, and I can’t help but smile. She cautiously smiles back and giggles, which makes me smile more, and suddenly we’re both laughing. My mind clears as I remember that it isn’t me against the world & that I have a whole country of people happy to laugh with me whenever, at whatever, if I just let them.
Lessons in Attachment (8/26)
Last night, I sat in front of the kitchen and stared at the full moon rising over my family, gathered for the evening prayers of Ramadan. I guessed shapes in the clouds and meditated to the sound of my father chanting for the group of silent, pious bodies. My 23 year old sister-in-law sat next to me, designated to cook the fish while everyone else prayed.
“Mamu,” she called me by my Malian nickname, drawing my attention back to the present. We chatted for a few minutes about my approaching final departure from Banankoro, though I just got back a few days ago, and about what I’ll be doing over the next few months. We both stared into the fire for a few minutes, all of my attention on how good the frying fish smelled. “Mamu, I nyenan fin bena n na.”
“N ma faamu…” I don’t understand…
She repeated herself, and I turned the verb she used, nyenan fin, around in my mouth. I recognized the way it sounded, the way it felt, but the meaning wasn’t coming to me. Eventually, I shrugged and she nodded – mutual agreement to drop it because I wasn’t going to understand. I went back to staring at the moon and mulled over the last couple of months. During PST, we never really knew what was going on. We were shuffled around, put through an emotional rollercoaster, and weren’t always nice people. I realized that through all of it – the sudden coming and goings, the mood swings, and the inability to communicate – my family had stood there, encouraging me, making me wake up for class & bathe, guessing at food I would enjoy, and brushing it off when I offended them. I wasn’t always easy to deal with, but they always smiled when I came home.
It was at this point that I realized this place and my little sky-blue bedroom had become a home for me, and that my host-family had somehow become my family. It happened both suddenly and quietly – they immediately accepted me with open arms and then won me over by loving dependableness. Then I realized that I wouldn’t be able to see them for some months, and that I would really miss them.
“Miss,” I mused, “I never remember that word. Starts with an ny, has two words… oh!” I touched my sister-in-law’s arm, “Batouma, N fanna. I nyenan fin bena n na.” Batouma, me too. I’ll miss you too.
After the ceremony, a lot of pictures were taken (and eventually, I will have some on here. It might be a while) and we went to the American club for a few hours. Lunch was burgers (I had a veggie burger that left a lot to be desired. Anyone have a good black bean burger recipe?), salad, and really good chocolate stuff for dessert. Then I put on my swimsuit and hung out at the pool for 3 or 4 hours. Very relaxing. Then we bussed over to the hotel we stayed at for the night to shower, change, get ready, etc. I had a hot shower and put on jeans and makeup. It was pretty crazy. I went to a Chinese restaurant with a bunch of people and had some really good potstickers. After that we went out to a couple of clubs and literally danced the night away. It was at the club that our trainers (current PCVs) revealed our stage (training class) name - Team America. I got back to the hotel at 4:30 AM, and then woke up about 3 hours later. Pretty exhausted now.
Today involved a lot of walking around Bamako in search of a music store to buy a guitar. I’ve decided that I’m going to have a lot of free time, so I might as well try to actually learn to play a guitar. I am now a proud owner of a blue acoustic. Hopefully I’ll be able to play it in 2 years.
So the next three months are kind of in-site on your own training. I’m not allowed to start any projects and am supposed to focus on language and integration stuff, as well as conduct a survey with as many families as possible. I’ll probably be back around the internet world in a month or so. Maybe less, I’m not really sure. Below are a couple of stories from homestay. The first one isn’t written well, but I don’t feel like editing it. Maybe another day.
Lessons in Anger
The last few days that I’ve been with my host-family had gone really well. I’d enjoyed being with them, talking to them. Today, I got back from class early and decided to finally do the laundry that’s been piling up (some volunteers give it to their families to was, but I feel awkward doing that). It took about half an hour to wash my underwear in the privacy of my room – everyone is expected to wash & dry underwear privately. As for my actual clothes, I estimated that I had about 2 buckets worth to wash. I bring out my buckets, clothes, and soap, lugged water out of the well, and go about washing the clothes without any issues. While my 10 year old sisters (or some relative, somehow) help me hang the clothes to dry, the rack holding up the line falls over and a few things get dirt on them. My sisters exclaim and whisk the clothes away to be rinsed again while I grab the rest of my laundry and bring it over. They snatch the bundle from me and dunk it all in a bucket of water, sprinkling some powdered soap on top. Some sense of unnecessary pride makes me shoo them away. My sisters watch skeptically as I put my hands on my hips and stare at the buckets – they have messed up my system and I’m hesitant as to where I should go from here (I should have bought a 3rd bucket a few weeks ago…). I have barely put my hands in the bucket when they rush in, pointing emphatically and jabbering on about what I can only guess is the top 10 things I’m doing wrong.
“I’ve got it,” I insist, possibly too harshly. They get my point even if they don’t understand the English. After this many weeks, they’ve figured out that sometimes it’s best to just let the Tubab do her backwards thing (besides, they can always fix it later, when I’m not around). As I continue, the 24 year old washing dishes next to me chuckles a little at my lack of expertise. She’s been doing this for the last 19 years and I’ve only got a few months under my belt, but whatever. She continues to laugh and shouts something across the compound. Just ignore it; she isn’t trying to be mean. Patience. I ought to stand up, demand to know why she’s laughing, and join in. I know I’ll feel better if I do, but I just keep going, staring hard at my laundry. Still laughing, she comes over to take away your personal space and your laundry, telling you what you’re doing wrong. “I know, it’s fine,” I tell her, unable to come up with the simplest Bambara sentence through my frustration. Just laugh, my mind whispers. NO, I argue with myself, I am hot, I am tired, and I know how to do my goddamned laundry. This is not funny. The woman stands up and gasps out that I don’t know how to do your laundry AND I don’t understand her between bursts of laughter.
“Ayi, N y’a faamu (No, I understand). The skirt is bleeding color into the water and you want me to get new water, but I think it’s fine. It’s fine. N y’a faamu, but it’s fine,” I insist. If I tried, I could tell her that in Bambara, but I just want her to leave. She’s just trying to help… just laugh with her! “I’m not an idiot, it’s fine. Go away.” Something in my voice makes the woman let me be (though still laughing), and I finish my laundry. My hands shake as I hang up the last of it. I’m upset and frustrated at myself for being upset.
One of the 10 year olds follows as I head to by room to eat. I close the screen door behind us and realize that flies invaded my room because someone left the screen open. If I was being honest with myself, I would admit that it was probably me, but I’m too overwhelmed by thoughts of amoebas and parasites and how the hell to get rid of the flies. “Fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit. Goddamnit. Fuck!” I mutter as I grab some folded paper – a makeshift flyswatter. My sister, wide-eyed from surprise at my sudden anger, grabs a handheld fan to help. She whispers to a girl who comes over laughing – probably something about how the Tubab has gone crazy and should not be teased right now. I eventually give up and sit down to eat. The girl joins me cautiously, opening the bowl to reveal one of my least favorite sauces, though I can’t turn it down because there is no other option. I concentrate on the floor in front of me as I feel the tears gathering. This is ridiculous, I’m being ridiculous. I shake my head and look up, exasperated by my lack of control over my own emotions. I catch my sister wringing her hands and flitting her eyes around the room. Something in her face – her fear at my own bizarre behavior – amuses me, and I can’t help but smile. She cautiously smiles back and giggles, which makes me smile more, and suddenly we’re both laughing. My mind clears as I remember that it isn’t me against the world & that I have a whole country of people happy to laugh with me whenever, at whatever, if I just let them.
Lessons in Attachment (8/26)
Last night, I sat in front of the kitchen and stared at the full moon rising over my family, gathered for the evening prayers of Ramadan. I guessed shapes in the clouds and meditated to the sound of my father chanting for the group of silent, pious bodies. My 23 year old sister-in-law sat next to me, designated to cook the fish while everyone else prayed.
“Mamu,” she called me by my Malian nickname, drawing my attention back to the present. We chatted for a few minutes about my approaching final departure from Banankoro, though I just got back a few days ago, and about what I’ll be doing over the next few months. We both stared into the fire for a few minutes, all of my attention on how good the frying fish smelled. “Mamu, I nyenan fin bena n na.”
“N ma faamu…” I don’t understand…
She repeated herself, and I turned the verb she used, nyenan fin, around in my mouth. I recognized the way it sounded, the way it felt, but the meaning wasn’t coming to me. Eventually, I shrugged and she nodded – mutual agreement to drop it because I wasn’t going to understand. I went back to staring at the moon and mulled over the last couple of months. During PST, we never really knew what was going on. We were shuffled around, put through an emotional rollercoaster, and weren’t always nice people. I realized that through all of it – the sudden coming and goings, the mood swings, and the inability to communicate – my family had stood there, encouraging me, making me wake up for class & bathe, guessing at food I would enjoy, and brushing it off when I offended them. I wasn’t always easy to deal with, but they always smiled when I came home.
It was at this point that I realized this place and my little sky-blue bedroom had become a home for me, and that my host-family had somehow become my family. It happened both suddenly and quietly – they immediately accepted me with open arms and then won me over by loving dependableness. Then I realized that I wouldn’t be able to see them for some months, and that I would really miss them.
“Miss,” I mused, “I never remember that word. Starts with an ny, has two words… oh!” I touched my sister-in-law’s arm, “Batouma, N fanna. I nyenan fin bena n na.” Batouma, me too. I’ll miss you too.
August 19, 2010
Site visit!
So before I forget this, I have a different address - ask my parents, my sister, or Philippe if you would like it.
I wrote the following on the 16th (at site):
So I've been at site for a few days now. As I write this, I'm eating roasted peanuts from a little bag that my (new) host father gave me. The hulls taste like dust and dirt, but if you roll a pile of them around in your hand, the hulls come off and the peanuts are quite tasty. My family things I'm strange for doing this - they keep staring at me and shaking their heads.
Getting to F. (my site name since I can't give the real name) was a 6 hr bus ride from Bamako. Everyone else in my 1/2 of the stage (we've been divided into two groups since the beginning) that was going to the Sikasso region is on the other side, so I was the only PCT on the bus. It was a quiet, uneventful ride (thankfully ... I've heard a few horror stories from other people). The bus stopped in the middle of nowhere and my homologue (Malian counterpart, her name is Adiaratou) & I got off. When the bus pulled away, I was looking down a dirt/mud road lined and shaded by full grown mango trees for as far as you can see down. It's very picturesque, and pictures will be coming sometime, I promise). A 15 minute walk down the road puts you at my house. I'm savoring the way those words feel to say... my house. funny what a little personal space and privacy can do for a person.
Eventually, I will be posting a video of a virtual tour of my house, but that won't be until I get it furnished and decorated - probably sometime in October? I have 3 rooms at about 7.5 x 13 ft each. that estimate was made by using my height as a measuring stick, so it might be a little off. The structure is mudbrick that's been cemented and painted, though I might be repainting. The door leads to the middle room - there's a window opposite it and two windows opposite each other in each of the other rooms, all on the NE & SW sides, so I get sunlight all day and a cross breeze. very nice. My roof is metal and extends out about 3.5 ft in front of the house for a little cement floored porch thing where I will be putting bamboo chairs. I wouldn't have minded a thatch roof, but I do love the way rain sounds on the corrugated metal (someone once told me it's zinc, but I don't actually know). The sound of rainsticks I made as an itty-bitty girlscout make much more sense now. Some volunteers dislike it, but for me the sound is always very calming, even during a big storm.
Next to (sharing a wall with) my house is my nyegen (latrine), which is very large, clean, and has high walls. There is a 4 ft tall wall on three sides of my area (called a concession), with the back of my house making the 4th wall. My yard is fairly large, considering it's just mine. There are a few young-ish trees that I couldn't name, a moringa tree (a.k.a. amazing tree. google it.), and a ton of aloe vera plants, so that's fantastic. If you have any cool ideas for what I can do with aloe, please let me know.
I don't have running water or electricity, but that's to be expected. It is possible for me to buy a solar panel and a car battery and get a few lightbulbs installed with that, but we'll see. might be too much of a hassle. There's a well next door that I can use for most things, and a pump less than 500 meters away for drinking water. I'll buy a gas stove, kitchen stuffs, a bed, a desk, etc. when I move in in September. I'm excited to buy furniture, decorate my house, cook for myself... just to get settled in and not be living out of a suitcase. There's been a distinct lack of fresh things in my life lately, so that will change once I'm able to cook for myself. Since I'm in the southern region (well, kind of), I'll be able to get fresh fruits and veggies year round, which is pretty impressive. Right now it's mainly cucumber, onions, and garden eggs (similar to eggplant; they're very bitter and not really good cooked, but I may experiment with frying them), with cabbage and tomatoes around sporadically. Right now everyone is farming rice, millet, and corn, so I can't really get any veggies in my town itself. My market town is about 6 km away, so I'll be biking there about once a week to stock up on things. I'm really excited to have the time to just hop on my bike and ride wherever (and get regular exercise for the first time in a very long time).
Moving along... each volunteer is assigned a host family - some live with the family and some don't. My family is two compounds down from me; compared to my homestay host family (I realize this could get very confusing very fast), my hostfamily in F. is very small - husband, 1 wife, and 7 kids, but only 4 of the kids live with them still. My host mom runs a little store out of her house - salt, batteries, cigarettes, packets of powdered milk, little bags of cooking oil, etc. She sells a kool-aid type drink called Jucy Jus (seriously)... just add water... I may develop an addiction. She also fries up woso (it's kind of like sweet potato, but more potato-y and less sweet) and has her daughter carry it around and sell it in little bunches. My host father is a mason and a farmer, because you cannot survive here unless you farm. They've hosted 3 other volunteers, so hopefully they kind of know what to expect from Americans and I don't offend them too much. They have some games - skip-bo, set, etc. - from one fo the past volunteers, so I feel like we'll end up spending a lot of time with those games. My hostmom kicked my butt at skip-bo the other night. The man living between us bakes bread (pretty good, too), so I'll have to stock up on peanut butter, jelly, and nutella. My plan is to befriend the bread man and use his big mud-brick oven sometime to make pizza and cookies... I will keep you updated.
I haven't really had a chance to explore the area, but what I have seen is beautiful. The sun is going down as I write this - blues, pinks, and peaches light up puffy clouds carrying the promise of rain. The riverbeds are full and everything is a shade of green right now, broken up only by the red-brown mudbrick houses of small villages off of the main road. There are birds in colors that surprise my eyes. Shocking yellow, bright red, and blush rose small birds, medium size indigo-watery birds, and large ones with long tails that trail behind them and fan out when fly. Those ones are oil-black - you can see rainbow patterns in their feathers when the sun hits them right. Everything feels serene and vibrant at the same time.
I catch myself thinking about how everything here is so nice and peaceful and happy - it's a wonderful life kind of story. And in some ways it is. I meet a lot of happy people, people who are proud of their culture and wouldn't trade it for the world, there's just a lot of good around me. At the same time, there's always something to remind me where I am and why I'm here. I'll see a child with hungry, sad eyes, or a baby that doesn't have baby fat. I watch people eat nothing but carbs and cook anything with vitamins into oblivion, and women who go straight from the nyegen to cooking without washing their hands. I'll remember how many people here want my life, my opportunities. I guess that's why I'm here, when you get down to it - just because I can. I can have this crazy, amazing, life changing experience, and hopefully get the chance to really help people in a sustainable way at the same time. Weighing pros and cons when I first was considering Peace Corps, when I was in the thick of that frustrating application, and even when I was asked to serve in Mali... it was never a fair debate. In my mind, if I could, how could I not at least try? Something like that, at least.
-------
So now it's a few days later. I got back from site yesterday, had sessions in Tubaniso all day, and then will head back to homestay for 9 days starting tomorrow. We come back to Tubaniso on the 29th, have stuff and tests here for a few days, and then swear in as real volunteers on the 3rd of September. so soon. I was at site for my birthday, and most Malians don't know what date they are born on (or the year, some of the time), so it wasn't a big deal to them. I celebrated in small ways... lunch was a big bowl of beans and onions, which was awesome (I know, my exciting birthday food here is ... beans. gotta take what you can.), and a big storm blew in, so it was nice and cool for most of the day. The next day I got ice cream on my way in to Bamako, and then got to see all of my American friends. The staff at T-so made cake for me this evening, so I even got birthday cake.
Life is really good. Seeing site reminded me that I will have a home here and will be actually doing something eventually, so that was good. Extra motivation to boost me through the rest of training. soooo yeah. good vibes.
Peace and Love
Elyse
I wrote the following on the 16th (at site):
So I've been at site for a few days now. As I write this, I'm eating roasted peanuts from a little bag that my (new) host father gave me. The hulls taste like dust and dirt, but if you roll a pile of them around in your hand, the hulls come off and the peanuts are quite tasty. My family things I'm strange for doing this - they keep staring at me and shaking their heads.
Getting to F. (my site name since I can't give the real name) was a 6 hr bus ride from Bamako. Everyone else in my 1/2 of the stage (we've been divided into two groups since the beginning) that was going to the Sikasso region is on the other side, so I was the only PCT on the bus. It was a quiet, uneventful ride (thankfully ... I've heard a few horror stories from other people). The bus stopped in the middle of nowhere and my homologue (Malian counterpart, her name is Adiaratou) & I got off. When the bus pulled away, I was looking down a dirt/mud road lined and shaded by full grown mango trees for as far as you can see down. It's very picturesque, and pictures will be coming sometime, I promise). A 15 minute walk down the road puts you at my house. I'm savoring the way those words feel to say... my house. funny what a little personal space and privacy can do for a person.
Eventually, I will be posting a video of a virtual tour of my house, but that won't be until I get it furnished and decorated - probably sometime in October? I have 3 rooms at about 7.5 x 13 ft each. that estimate was made by using my height as a measuring stick, so it might be a little off. The structure is mudbrick that's been cemented and painted, though I might be repainting. The door leads to the middle room - there's a window opposite it and two windows opposite each other in each of the other rooms, all on the NE & SW sides, so I get sunlight all day and a cross breeze. very nice. My roof is metal and extends out about 3.5 ft in front of the house for a little cement floored porch thing where I will be putting bamboo chairs. I wouldn't have minded a thatch roof, but I do love the way rain sounds on the corrugated metal (someone once told me it's zinc, but I don't actually know). The sound of rainsticks I made as an itty-bitty girlscout make much more sense now. Some volunteers dislike it, but for me the sound is always very calming, even during a big storm.
Next to (sharing a wall with) my house is my nyegen (latrine), which is very large, clean, and has high walls. There is a 4 ft tall wall on three sides of my area (called a concession), with the back of my house making the 4th wall. My yard is fairly large, considering it's just mine. There are a few young-ish trees that I couldn't name, a moringa tree (a.k.a. amazing tree. google it.), and a ton of aloe vera plants, so that's fantastic. If you have any cool ideas for what I can do with aloe, please let me know.
I don't have running water or electricity, but that's to be expected. It is possible for me to buy a solar panel and a car battery and get a few lightbulbs installed with that, but we'll see. might be too much of a hassle. There's a well next door that I can use for most things, and a pump less than 500 meters away for drinking water. I'll buy a gas stove, kitchen stuffs, a bed, a desk, etc. when I move in in September. I'm excited to buy furniture, decorate my house, cook for myself... just to get settled in and not be living out of a suitcase. There's been a distinct lack of fresh things in my life lately, so that will change once I'm able to cook for myself. Since I'm in the southern region (well, kind of), I'll be able to get fresh fruits and veggies year round, which is pretty impressive. Right now it's mainly cucumber, onions, and garden eggs (similar to eggplant; they're very bitter and not really good cooked, but I may experiment with frying them), with cabbage and tomatoes around sporadically. Right now everyone is farming rice, millet, and corn, so I can't really get any veggies in my town itself. My market town is about 6 km away, so I'll be biking there about once a week to stock up on things. I'm really excited to have the time to just hop on my bike and ride wherever (and get regular exercise for the first time in a very long time).
Moving along... each volunteer is assigned a host family - some live with the family and some don't. My family is two compounds down from me; compared to my homestay host family (I realize this could get very confusing very fast), my hostfamily in F. is very small - husband, 1 wife, and 7 kids, but only 4 of the kids live with them still. My host mom runs a little store out of her house - salt, batteries, cigarettes, packets of powdered milk, little bags of cooking oil, etc. She sells a kool-aid type drink called Jucy Jus (seriously)... just add water... I may develop an addiction. She also fries up woso (it's kind of like sweet potato, but more potato-y and less sweet) and has her daughter carry it around and sell it in little bunches. My host father is a mason and a farmer, because you cannot survive here unless you farm. They've hosted 3 other volunteers, so hopefully they kind of know what to expect from Americans and I don't offend them too much. They have some games - skip-bo, set, etc. - from one fo the past volunteers, so I feel like we'll end up spending a lot of time with those games. My hostmom kicked my butt at skip-bo the other night. The man living between us bakes bread (pretty good, too), so I'll have to stock up on peanut butter, jelly, and nutella. My plan is to befriend the bread man and use his big mud-brick oven sometime to make pizza and cookies... I will keep you updated.
I haven't really had a chance to explore the area, but what I have seen is beautiful. The sun is going down as I write this - blues, pinks, and peaches light up puffy clouds carrying the promise of rain. The riverbeds are full and everything is a shade of green right now, broken up only by the red-brown mudbrick houses of small villages off of the main road. There are birds in colors that surprise my eyes. Shocking yellow, bright red, and blush rose small birds, medium size indigo-watery birds, and large ones with long tails that trail behind them and fan out when fly. Those ones are oil-black - you can see rainbow patterns in their feathers when the sun hits them right. Everything feels serene and vibrant at the same time.
I catch myself thinking about how everything here is so nice and peaceful and happy - it's a wonderful life kind of story. And in some ways it is. I meet a lot of happy people, people who are proud of their culture and wouldn't trade it for the world, there's just a lot of good around me. At the same time, there's always something to remind me where I am and why I'm here. I'll see a child with hungry, sad eyes, or a baby that doesn't have baby fat. I watch people eat nothing but carbs and cook anything with vitamins into oblivion, and women who go straight from the nyegen to cooking without washing their hands. I'll remember how many people here want my life, my opportunities. I guess that's why I'm here, when you get down to it - just because I can. I can have this crazy, amazing, life changing experience, and hopefully get the chance to really help people in a sustainable way at the same time. Weighing pros and cons when I first was considering Peace Corps, when I was in the thick of that frustrating application, and even when I was asked to serve in Mali... it was never a fair debate. In my mind, if I could, how could I not at least try? Something like that, at least.
-------
So now it's a few days later. I got back from site yesterday, had sessions in Tubaniso all day, and then will head back to homestay for 9 days starting tomorrow. We come back to Tubaniso on the 29th, have stuff and tests here for a few days, and then swear in as real volunteers on the 3rd of September. so soon. I was at site for my birthday, and most Malians don't know what date they are born on (or the year, some of the time), so it wasn't a big deal to them. I celebrated in small ways... lunch was a big bowl of beans and onions, which was awesome (I know, my exciting birthday food here is ... beans. gotta take what you can.), and a big storm blew in, so it was nice and cool for most of the day. The next day I got ice cream on my way in to Bamako, and then got to see all of my American friends. The staff at T-so made cake for me this evening, so I even got birthday cake.
Life is really good. Seeing site reminded me that I will have a home here and will be actually doing something eventually, so that was good. Extra motivation to boost me through the rest of training. soooo yeah. good vibes.
Peace and Love
Elyse
August 10, 2010
Well hello there technological world… it’s been a while. We got back to Tubaniso yesterday after being at homestay (with a few short fieldtrips) for 19 days. The most exciting news: I will be living in the Sikasso region of Mali for the next two years. Due to security this-and-thats, I can’t put exactly where on here. I visit my site in a few days, so I’ll post more about that after I get back from that visit.
Homestay has been going well. My stomach and I weren’t getting along very well the first time around, but I didn’t have any big problems this time around. A few people have gotten different sorts of fun digestive infections from food and/or water. After hearing about them, I’m really glad that hasn’t happened to me (yet…). Most days during homestay, I get up around 6:45, take a bucket bath, say greetings to my family, eat some white bread (with or without a boiled egg) and instant coffee for breakfast, and then head to school at 8:00. The school is about a 10 minute walk away, and along the way I’m usually met by a ton of children screaming “Tubaboo!” (white person/foreigner) and some goats. I go back home around 12:30 for lunch, hang out with whatever family members are around that day, nap, clean my room, etc. until going back to school at 2:30/3:00. Class is over at 5:00, but I usually hang out with the other PCTs until 6:00 or so. Then I head home to journal, read, take a bucket bath, chat with the family, etc. until bedtime. which is 9:00 (yes, I am 21 years old and going to bed at 9:00 pm). Nothing very interesting, just… life.
There were a few days where we got away from Banankoro for one reason or the other. One day we went to another village to learn about mural painting and ameliorated porridge (there should be a tagged picture of me with my first mural on facebook). The Sunday before last, we took a trip into the city to eat lunch at the American Club and visit the Malian museum. It was nice to get away from the village for a day, but the day was a little too packed. We couldn’t all go to the American Club at once b/c there are too many of us, but even at half and half the food took a long time and they ran out of stuff (like ice cream ☹). Another day, we went to talk to the environment volunteers about community gardening and how we (health volunteers) can push different gardening practices. Afterwards, we convinced the driver to let us go out to eat in Bamako. The last Tubab restaurant that we went to had been a little of a let down for me, so I was trying to not get too excited. But then I got to eat soft serve ice cream and real pizza. With sauce, veggies, and cheese. It was an amazing moment. I’m just going to leave it at that.
Every day tends to go slowly here, because the pace of life is just a lot slower (especially when it’s raining. Mornings when it’s raining, I expect my bath water and breakfast to be late enough to make me late for school. Malians hate the rain), but it’s hard to believe that I’ve already been here over a month and that I’m done with training in less than a month. I feel excited to start being a volunteer and move to my site, but I do not feel close to ready in my language abilities or my health education volunteer abilities. The first three months at site are for getting to know my community, integrating myself, working on language skills, and assessing the community’s needs, but no actual projects. Apparently I’ll be spending a lot of time reading. Its got its pros and cons, this time thing. It's really nice to not be stressed about getting everything you can done in a day, but it's also very frustrating to expect something to happen at one time, and then a couple hours later people start moving around to maybe think about starting. lessons in patience.
Malians have this cultural... thing called joking cousins. There are only so many last names, and every person with X last name is a joking cousin with people with Y & Z last names. So, when you meet someone with the last name of one of your joking cousins, you call each other bean eaters or donkeys or dog eaters. seriously. Apparently it was established to diffuse conflict or something... make everyone call each other names and laugh about it, so they have to get along. It's kinda fun, and when a vendor is giving you a really bad price because you're a Tubab, you can joke with them about their last name to get a better price out of them. So that's a fun tidbit.
I'll try to structure my journal entries better in the future. That may or may not work out.
Peace & Love
Homestay has been going well. My stomach and I weren’t getting along very well the first time around, but I didn’t have any big problems this time around. A few people have gotten different sorts of fun digestive infections from food and/or water. After hearing about them, I’m really glad that hasn’t happened to me (yet…). Most days during homestay, I get up around 6:45, take a bucket bath, say greetings to my family, eat some white bread (with or without a boiled egg) and instant coffee for breakfast, and then head to school at 8:00. The school is about a 10 minute walk away, and along the way I’m usually met by a ton of children screaming “Tubaboo!” (white person/foreigner) and some goats. I go back home around 12:30 for lunch, hang out with whatever family members are around that day, nap, clean my room, etc. until going back to school at 2:30/3:00. Class is over at 5:00, but I usually hang out with the other PCTs until 6:00 or so. Then I head home to journal, read, take a bucket bath, chat with the family, etc. until bedtime. which is 9:00 (yes, I am 21 years old and going to bed at 9:00 pm). Nothing very interesting, just… life.
There were a few days where we got away from Banankoro for one reason or the other. One day we went to another village to learn about mural painting and ameliorated porridge (there should be a tagged picture of me with my first mural on facebook). The Sunday before last, we took a trip into the city to eat lunch at the American Club and visit the Malian museum. It was nice to get away from the village for a day, but the day was a little too packed. We couldn’t all go to the American Club at once b/c there are too many of us, but even at half and half the food took a long time and they ran out of stuff (like ice cream ☹). Another day, we went to talk to the environment volunteers about community gardening and how we (health volunteers) can push different gardening practices. Afterwards, we convinced the driver to let us go out to eat in Bamako. The last Tubab restaurant that we went to had been a little of a let down for me, so I was trying to not get too excited. But then I got to eat soft serve ice cream and real pizza. With sauce, veggies, and cheese. It was an amazing moment. I’m just going to leave it at that.
Every day tends to go slowly here, because the pace of life is just a lot slower (especially when it’s raining. Mornings when it’s raining, I expect my bath water and breakfast to be late enough to make me late for school. Malians hate the rain), but it’s hard to believe that I’ve already been here over a month and that I’m done with training in less than a month. I feel excited to start being a volunteer and move to my site, but I do not feel close to ready in my language abilities or my health education volunteer abilities. The first three months at site are for getting to know my community, integrating myself, working on language skills, and assessing the community’s needs, but no actual projects. Apparently I’ll be spending a lot of time reading. Its got its pros and cons, this time thing. It's really nice to not be stressed about getting everything you can done in a day, but it's also very frustrating to expect something to happen at one time, and then a couple hours later people start moving around to maybe think about starting. lessons in patience.
Malians have this cultural... thing called joking cousins. There are only so many last names, and every person with X last name is a joking cousin with people with Y & Z last names. So, when you meet someone with the last name of one of your joking cousins, you call each other bean eaters or donkeys or dog eaters. seriously. Apparently it was established to diffuse conflict or something... make everyone call each other names and laugh about it, so they have to get along. It's kinda fun, and when a vendor is giving you a really bad price because you're a Tubab, you can joke with them about their last name to get a better price out of them. So that's a fun tidbit.
I'll try to structure my journal entries better in the future. That may or may not work out.
Peace & Love
July 18, 2010
I am back at Tubani So from my homestay for a few days and am enjoying electricity, internet, and salad.
On the 7th I left for a town called Banankoro – my home for the next two months or so. I live with a family in a really big compound. My host father has 4 wives and 11 children, though the 3 oldest aren’t around. His uncle & his three wives (and some of their children) also live with us, as well as two of my host father’s brothers, their wives, and their 9 children. And the grandmother. Like I said, it’s a big compound.
I like my family a lot. They’ve been hosting volunteers for a long time so they’re really good at dealing with my lack of language skills and my cultural weird-ness. Everyone eats from a big common bowl, but they give me a smaller one to share with one person – usually my 15 year old (host) sister-in-law. The food is lots and lots of carbs with some oil and a little fish, so meals are not the high point of my day, but whatevs. There is very little fresh stuff in season right now. Mango season ended a little while ago, so there are the last dregs of those, but they’re supposed to be a lot better in March. Besides that, the fresh stuff I see around is usually cucumber and a citrus orange-type-thing.
I spend almost every day in Bambara class all day long, which is really intense, but also really enjoyable (Bambara is the biggest language in Mali, btw). Right now I feel like I’m taking to it like a fish to water, so that’s a lot of fun. Every day when I can go home and say something more to my family and actually communicate with them makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something.
The weather here is pretty hot and really really humid – 90’s (maybe higher?) and then mid 80’s at night. It’s the beginning of the rainy season, so it’s storming every few days or so, but eventually it’ll be more often. The rainy season ends mid September, and then there’s a “cold” season from November-ish through early February-ish. Not really sure what the temperature will be then, but I’m defnintely excited for it to cool even a little bit. The humidity is what is getting to me the most right now. February/March through late May is the really hot dry season (also tasty fruit season!), and then it starts all over again.
If you are interested, I would love to get letters… and packages… but for realz letters would be awesome. if you’re interested, you can mail me a letter at:
Elyse Callahan, PCT
Corps de la Paix
B.P. 85
Bamako, Mali, West Africa
I don’t know what else to write about. I’ve had a few low points (usually centered around food), but I’m doing well and enjoying the majority of the experiences that I’ve been having. I haven’t gotten my camera out yet for some reason, so I don’t have any pictures to load, but I will soon. Lots of love to everyone, I’ll post again when I’m back at Tubani So (about 3 weeks from now). If you want to call, my mom has both of my phone numbers.
On the 7th I left for a town called Banankoro – my home for the next two months or so. I live with a family in a really big compound. My host father has 4 wives and 11 children, though the 3 oldest aren’t around. His uncle & his three wives (and some of their children) also live with us, as well as two of my host father’s brothers, their wives, and their 9 children. And the grandmother. Like I said, it’s a big compound.
I like my family a lot. They’ve been hosting volunteers for a long time so they’re really good at dealing with my lack of language skills and my cultural weird-ness. Everyone eats from a big common bowl, but they give me a smaller one to share with one person – usually my 15 year old (host) sister-in-law. The food is lots and lots of carbs with some oil and a little fish, so meals are not the high point of my day, but whatevs. There is very little fresh stuff in season right now. Mango season ended a little while ago, so there are the last dregs of those, but they’re supposed to be a lot better in March. Besides that, the fresh stuff I see around is usually cucumber and a citrus orange-type-thing.
I spend almost every day in Bambara class all day long, which is really intense, but also really enjoyable (Bambara is the biggest language in Mali, btw). Right now I feel like I’m taking to it like a fish to water, so that’s a lot of fun. Every day when I can go home and say something more to my family and actually communicate with them makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something.
The weather here is pretty hot and really really humid – 90’s (maybe higher?) and then mid 80’s at night. It’s the beginning of the rainy season, so it’s storming every few days or so, but eventually it’ll be more often. The rainy season ends mid September, and then there’s a “cold” season from November-ish through early February-ish. Not really sure what the temperature will be then, but I’m defnintely excited for it to cool even a little bit. The humidity is what is getting to me the most right now. February/March through late May is the really hot dry season (also tasty fruit season!), and then it starts all over again.
If you are interested, I would love to get letters… and packages… but for realz letters would be awesome. if you’re interested, you can mail me a letter at:
Elyse Callahan, PCT
Corps de la Paix
B.P. 85
Bamako, Mali, West Africa
I don’t know what else to write about. I’ve had a few low points (usually centered around food), but I’m doing well and enjoying the majority of the experiences that I’ve been having. I haven’t gotten my camera out yet for some reason, so I don’t have any pictures to load, but I will soon. Lots of love to everyone, I’ll post again when I’m back at Tubani So (about 3 weeks from now). If you want to call, my mom has both of my phone numbers.
July 5, 2010
So how do you use this thing?
I wrote this yesterday but couldn't get online. I would have added more today, but I'm pretty tired. more later sometime-ish
Today was my first full day in Mali. We got in 4 hours late last night, so we didn't leave the airport until about 1:30 AM, which was pretty lame. We drove to the training site, Tubani so (sounds like too-ban-is-oh) and just crashed because we were all exhausted from all of the travel. We started in Philidelphia at noon on the 1st, so it's been a long time getting here. By the end I wasn't really nervous, I just wanted a bed to sleep in (ok, maybe a little nervous).
Tubani so has a cafeteria, some open buildings for classes, and groups of huts for rooms. Mine is exactly what you're picturing - mud brick round hut with a thatch roof. quaint. I do have electricity, though, and internet in the cafeteria. This morning was introductions and a lecture-style class on some general guidelines. We started our anti-malarial pills, so we'll see if I get dizzy like I did with the last ones. (Quick note from the future: yes, I do get dizzy. it's no good). This afternoon we went to the American Club to celebrate the 4th of July. It's seriously a little walled in America - the building has AC and an indoor bathroom (toilet, sink, AND hot shower), there were hamburgers, hot dogs, and ice cream, and (my favorite part), there was a swimming pool. It was strange to be there while knowing that we're in Mali and about to live in villages. We have more classes over the next few days and an interview quiz thing to find out how good everyone is at French. This Thursday we will all move to our training homestay sites. there are 80 people in my class, but each homestay village will have around 8, so there's a lot more personal attention for lessons. The next 9 weels are supposed to be extremely intense - busy with classes constantly. Should be fun.
Today at lunch I was marveling at how much I've missed being in Africa. It's hot and humid (I sweat constantly), I don't have a toilet, there's trash all over, traffic is scary, and the food is generally bland at best, but I truly enjoy living here and living iwth people here. I s'pose that's a good thing. Hope it rains today, it's supposed to be the rainy, "cool" season. ha.
Lots of love
Elyse
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)