Some Like It Hot

My boss, Sali, for example, says that hot season is good because it means she doesn't have to oil her skin [because she sweats so much]. My PST language teacher, on the other hand, would suddenly turn serious and depressed and say "I hate it." That was amusing back in rainy season, but now that I'm in it, I'm more inclined to agree with him.

The hot season is descending, my friends, and I do not like it. Every day right now hits 110º F and it's still rising... the nights might dip into the 80ºs. I down more water than I ever have and sweat it all out constantly, I pass out in the middle of the day from heat exhaustion, and I'm pretty testy. fun fun.

Houses here are made of mud bricks and/or cement. If you lit a fire in my house, the things inside would be gone and I'd have no door, but the house itself would remain (that's a lie. There's a propane tank inside for my stove, so lighting a random fire has the potential of creating some major problems). The mud bricks make sense, really. They are affordable, easily repaired, and more accessible than wood here. Plus, they don't succumb to termites like wood does. Brilliant. But before we get too excited, let's consider what else is made of a large box of bricks. Ovens. My house right now is one hot little box, an oven, a sauna if you want it to sound exotic. The cement floor that's provided sweet, cool relief since September now radiates heat back at me. Forget the stove, I could probably fry an egg on my metal roof.

But I prefer to stay as upbeat as possible. So, after creating the first list (below, made 3/20), I tried the second. ...

10 Things I Hate About Hot Season
1.) Scorpions yala. Into my house (NOTE: there is no good translation for the Bambara word, 'yala'... it's somewhere between 'to go on a walk' and 'to wander'
2.) No matter how much I drink, I'm dehydrated
3.) I shower multiple times a day and yet feel dirty constantly
4.) Clothes can only be worn once because of sweat and dust. Out of laziness and disliking sitting outside doing laundry midday, I break this rule. Which is gross.
5.) Everyone is cranky and no one wants to do anything.
6.) People on public transit smell that much more and rub it all up on you
7.) Waking up in a pool of sweat
8.) When I go outside with a cool water bottle, it's instantly HOT.
9.) My feet are dry and cracking and peeling and sweaty and smelly. Buh.
10.) Water sources dry up

10 Things I Like About Hot Season
1.) Mangos
2.) ...

At least it's only for a few months.

Transitions (3/28)
I had a strange moment earlier today. Starting tomorrow, we have regional IST, so I cae into Sikasso this morning. I then biked to a nice hotel with a few friends to spend all afternoon at the pool. I was sitting at the poolside, one leg dangling in te water, reading Glamour. The taste of pina colada was still on my lips. I looked up and was watching a man re-tile the floor. As I watched, I thought about what the man was paid, where he came from, where he was going home to. The man was probably a mason, living a life very similar to that of my host father, also a mason, and in some ways, a life very similar to my own.

Drissa is a quiet man. He likes to listen to men argue about silly things and then wander off, pondering.He's shark with his kids, but only when he's in a bad mood, and then not nearly as much as many Malian men. He likes to know how things work, to learn. He provides for his family and listens to his wife. He, as a Malian in a tiny village, is very poor by our standards, but he is someone I turn to for support and someone I respect a great deal.

Back at the pool, I realized that my friends and I had not greeted the man working right next to us. Somewhere between F. and that pool, I'd transitioned away from what I consider my Malian self and into my American self. As PCVs, we make this sort of switch constantly and now without thinking about it. We go from shitting in a hole (sorry for being crude) and functioning happily by headlamp to bitching to each other about unreliable electricity and searching for who has the latest Jersey Shore.

For me to survive and really thrive in F., I have to step away from my "American" self, to some extent. You have to be able to deal with all of the little things, the dirt, laugh at the bean eating jokes every day, and enjoy greeting and just sitting to be able to make it. But once I step out of F., I step onto the first rung in a ladder towards the western world (though I suppose I don't like that metaphor, it suggests that I hold my American life in higher esteem than life here, which isn't true). Koutiala, Sikasso, Bamako, and then Dakar... in some way, they're further transitions toward being fully Americanized. I suppose since Senegal and since Philippe came, I've been more aware of the little switches in my thoughts and behaviors based on where I am and who I am with. Still, it bothered me to some extent that I was able to tune out the Malian working beside me at the pool, as if he was no longer worthy of a simple "i ni ce" when I was behaving in a more American way.

Smoke Out (3/21)
A few months back, I went behind my house and was attacked by some bees. I told Drissa, hoping he would magically get rid of them, and he responded with a "Oh? They do that sometimes." Ok, fine, I figured, I just wouldn't go behind my house anymore. A couple of days ago, I got back from a trip to San and saw that the hole in the structure support where the bees live (right under my bedroom window, I might add) was surrounded by soot - Djelika said that kids had done it. Whatever that means.

Yesterday, when I got back from the market, I was told to hang out at my host family's place for a while - the bees were swarming. I suppose it shows how accustomed I have become to life in F. when I nodded and sat down to wait for an undetermined amount of time calmly, even contently. Later, after dinner, my host brother ran over and said something to Djelika. She in turn got up immediately and said, "Mariam [that's me[, come look. The bees are swarming." I followed, wondering why we didn't go in the opposite direction.

As we neared the backside of my house, I could smell smoke and saw a glow coming from the area. Stepping around the house, I found a crowd and 2 young men with lit cornstalks by the bee hole. We looked on as one man stuck the fire in the hole for a minute and then pull it out, jumping back as the second man rushed in, thrusting his whole arm into the bee cave, pulling out big chunks of wax and brushing away embers. Both men were wearing shorts and tank tops. Besides the chance of my window frame catching on fire, my house was in no danger, so I looked on with some amusement. After deciding they'd pulled all of the comb out, the men filled and covered the hole with mud. Again, I was told not to go home for a while. So it goes.

Desire (2/12)
I'm coming to realize that even when I have sudden cravings for very specific things, my want and my frustration are aimed at the option, not the thing. To be in the states, I could say, "I really want a frosty," but that doesn't mean I'd go get one - the option of being able to and then talking myself out of it for this or that reason was satisfaction enough. Here, the inability, the lack of options, comes alive by doing a mocking jig in my mind daily. Strange. It's like there's a glass wall. I know what's on the other side, and I can even see what's over there. I don't beat at it or burst into tears at the site of it. It's not a 'grass is always greener' kind of wall (though truly, the grass is greener over there). It's more that I'm sitting on this side and think of thing X on that side. No problem, I'll just get up and go get it - and then I remember that wall. Or run into it. So I just continue on without thing X. There are times when it gets quite old, I must say, but often, it's just the way things are.

Also, I'll find myself craving X and then realizing I have X (with love, shipped across the world), and then I'll lose myself deciding how badly I want it now as opposed to a future time & then decide I didn't want X but wanted... something undetermined. And moreso than that, I'm conditioning myself to instead crave semi-available things, cook food with (almost) all Malian ingredients, create local snack mix, solve whatever issues with local supplies, etc. It makes me feel better about myself in some way.

Thus, it can be hard (though not at all impossible) to come up with what I want sent if put on the spot - how do you say you want everything and whatever they send will be VERY appreciated, but you can't give them specifics right now because you're happily chatting and swinging in your hammock and don't really want the disturbance of remembering what all you're without? Complicated.

It's quite trying at times, this unspecified yearning. [edit: this yearning extends to seasons, as well. During January, I was craving sweaters, hearty soups, and hibernation. Now that April is starting, my cravings are turning towards spring shopping, italian sodas, and parks. I'm curious to see if this internal seasonal clock continues.] This evening, I was happily going about my business when the weight of it caught up with me and my shoulders drooped. It would be impossible for me to even get a banana until the next day, after biking 3 miles. But that won't do, so I shook myself out of it, continued on, and soon enough I was fine again, munching on local peanuts and package- gummy bears.

Peace & Love
Elyse