And So It Goes.

I left Mali very unexpectedly on April 6, 2012, and the week leading up to my departure was one of the most stressful weeks of my life. How do you wrap up two years of tears, struggles, triumphs, dance parties, and friendship in just a few hours? How do you express your gratitude and sincere thanks to a new family that showed you how to be a better person, despite the daily challenges that they didn’t realize they presented you with in the first place? And, then, how do you return to the place that you’ve always called home, only to have no one understand that you didn’t just spend the past two years in Africa, but in the very specific and wonderful-in-itself country of Mali? I have been struggling with these thoughts and many others for the past seven months, and that is why it has taken me so long to write “the final blog post.” There is so much pressure to eloquently express my thoughts and feelings while simultaneously “sugar coating” my unique experiences in Mali. All of my friends have written beautiful final posts that speak of a two year journey where they accomplished a plethora of projects, met villagers who positively changed their lives forever, and always felt supported by Peace Corps staff, their families at home, and their small villages full of new friends. Yes, I experienced a lot of positive times in Mali similar to theirs, but I also experienced an equal number of challenges and hardships that, at times, seemed to outweigh the good. To me, these challenges should not be overlooked - but, I have been so worried about being negative in such an important blog post that I have simply procrastinated on it all together. I have not called my village as much as I’ve wanted to. I have not kept in touch with Peace Corps staff, both in Mali and in the States, as much as I’ve wanted to. The most frustrating part is that I have been thinking about writing this post for months, yet I have not taken the time to put my feelings down on paper. I have been so angry at so many things ever since leaving my Malian family, and I think that writing this is the first step in really beginning to readjust to American life. So, my faithful readers, make sure you have twenty minutes (or 40…) to spare, and continue reading…

The week before leaving Mali... 
Around March 22nd, 2012, I was the happiest that I had ever been in Mali. I had great friends in Peace Corps, I had great friends in my village (Katele), I was secretly planning a Malian wedding to Roger to officially “unite” our villages (where I was going to ride into his village on a donkey and it would have been EPIC), and I FINALLY had a project that I was proud of. (I successfully taught my entire village, made up of mostly illiterate people, how to tax in order to generate money for projects. We created a completely sustainable alternative to any outside funding, and raised over $3,000 for village projects and income generating activities for women. Wouldn’t you be happy, too?!) I was going to facilitate a few training sessions and was even planning to have a meeting with Peace Corps staff about the importance of focusing on smaller, non-funded projects. Things were going well, and I was ready to celebrate my 26th birthday and the 24th birthday of one of my best friends. I arrived in my banking town early to celebrate with my closest friends (in Sikasso).

Then, in a matter of days, my happy world exploded. We learned of the military coup in Bamako, and realized how serious it was when Peace Corps consolidated us in our regional house for two weeks. (You can read about the coup on any reputable news site, and I recommend BBC News. If you haven’t heard about it by now, then I can only assume that you live in a mud hut somewhere, or the appropriate equivalent). We could not leave to get food. We kept hearing more and more about the “noise” in the North of the country. We heard that the President, ATT, was in hiding. We heard that all of the other foreigners in Mali were being pulled out by their respective governments. We saw tires burning in the streets. We learned that the airport temporarily closed, shortly followed by a temporary closure of the land borders. The power kept cutting out. Then, the water kept cutting out. For 40 unsure and frustrated volunteers in a confined space, this affected even the most stable ones. None of us knew what the immediate future would hold, and even though we all felt completely safe in the Sikasso region, we did not know what effect the fighting in the North would have on the functionality of Peace Corps Mali. We were stuck in this holding pattern for almost two weeks. The scariest part of all was that we hardly heard any new updates from Peace Corps, which meant that they were taking our safety and security into high account and did not want to say anything to make the situation worse. We were playing the waiting game, and we could not even go back to our villages to console ourselves with our families.

In the middle of it all, I received a call from my mom, and she told me the news that I had been fearing ever since I joined Peace Corps – her cancer was back, she was no longer in remission, and she did not know what the future would hold for her. Considering the state of uncertainty in Mali and the idea that the airport could close down at any time, I made the decision to leave Mali sooner rather than later. I told Peace Corps staff, and they were very supportive and worked very hard to get me home in a timely manner. But, as it turned out, I only came home a few days before everyone else because Peace Corps made the decision to evacuate us two days after I made the decision to go home to see my family.

The Goodbyes… 
After being consolidated in Sikasso, we finally received the go-ahead to return to our sites, but only if we could hypothetically get back to Sikasso within one day. (Keep in mind that Malian transport is not reliable, and sometimes, you might wait 5 hours for a bus to pass you by… and then might not see anything on the road for 3 more hours after that). So, Roger and I headed back to his site to say goodbye to his village. (At this point, we did not know Peace Corps was evacuating us, but I knew that I was going home). I visited his work partner and said goodbye, and he gave me many blessings. He stayed cheerful, as if he did not believe that I was actually leaving. I could not muster the actual words to say goodbye to Roger’s host mom (who was like my second mom in Mali), so he told her the news, we nodded, and we both walked away crying, knowing that we would probably never see each other again. After saying goodbye to a few more people, we hopped on our bikes and headed over to my village, as I mentally prepared myself for leaving the first family that really made me feel at home in Mali.

When I said goodbye to my villagers in Katele - my home - everything felt like, and still feels like, a blur of emotions. I can’t even remember the exact goodbyes. I do remember saying goodbye to so many people, and being surprised at their words about how much I meant to them, and how much I taught them. I do remember taking a final picture with my host mom, Jelia, and hearing her promise to take care of my dog and feed her three times a day. I do remember telling people that they should take whatever they want from my house, and hearing them refuse because they were my things and they did not want to impose during such a sad time for me. I do remember that everyone thanked me and did not get upset when I sobbed at the thought of leaving them, and how some people – MEN – even let me hug them to show my gratitude. I do remember that in the final picture I took of my village counterparts, they ALL smiled when I told them that my mom would be looking at their picture and framing it on the wall. And, I do remember that my village chief waited with me on the side of the road until my transport came, looked into my eyes, thanked me, and gave me a left-handed hand shake. The left-handed, or double handed shake is important in Mali because it means that you must come back to shake hands properly, with the right hand, one day – and, I told him that I would be back to correct that wrong (once Roger and I are married with our brood of honorary Malian children, of course).

I left for Tubaniso, the Peace Corps training facility, to say goodbye to all of my friends and PC counterparts, but it did not seem real until I was actually on a plane, surrounded by ALL of the fleeing Americans. They all seemed happy and relieved to be returning to American or European luxuries, but I felt strange and empty and scared. I called my first counterpart from my first village and told her I was leaving for good, and then hung up before I started crying. Before I knew it, one day had passed, I had eaten the amazing plane food provided by Air France, and it was Easter Sunday in America. I was back in America, in my parents’ house, facing the realities of cancer, and having allergic reactions to medications that almost put me in the hospital. America was not all that I had hoped for, and I felt very incomplete. It was a VERY long seven months, and I’ve lost and gained quite a few things along the way.

America… 
I’ve had a long journey since I’ve been back, just figuring out what is important to me and slowly uncovering more and more lessons that Mali has taught me. Every day is now easier and easier, and many thoughts and many people keep me going. I talk to my villages about once a month (thanks to the wonders of Skype and limited Facebooking), I live with my best friend/boyfriend (THANK YOU for being so super), I surround myself with positive and sassy friends (who know when a good margarita, dinner date, phone call, text, soup dumpling, or GH rager is in order), and I try to think of everything that I have gained over the last two years, rather than dwell on the many things and people that I have lost. So, I apologize if I haven’t made as many efforts to talk to you all as I should have, and I apologize for just dropping off the radar a few times. It has taken me a while to finally feel comfortable with my life and to find a positive way to handle the challenges, and my best friends know that it has NOT been easy for anyone. (PS - Friends, you really are AWESOME, and I am thankful for you all).

So, thank you for reading, for listening, and for caring, and please know that all of your comments, letters, packages, prayers, and positive vibes were, and continue to be, a very huge part of this journey. Thank you all, again, for reading, and for continuing to keep me in your thoughts.

N bora so, N nana so. I left my home. I came home. And now, I have two homes.

Thanks for following along!

The End...?!

(Written on April 6, 2012)

As I sit here in the Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, awaiting my flight home to America, I’m not really sure what to think. I had a family emergency that brought me home a few days before everyone else, but no matter my personal situation, “evacuation” is still a difficult word to digest. I am trying not to think about how the political situation in Bamako, the North, and the cut-off of international aid will affect the pre-existing food shortage in my village and my friends’ villages. I am trying not to think about what will happen in Bamako if gas really does run out, since the land borders are all closed. And, I am trying really hard not to think about the looks on my Malian friends’ and families’ faces when I only had a few hours to tell them goodbye, and that another volunteer would not be coming right away, as I had promised. So, instead of mulling about these depressing topics right now, I am going to share a story that will always make me laugh, and that will always remind me of my 21 months in Mali. I need some time to reflect on everything that has happened, and after all of my PC friends have returned from their “transition conference”, I will blog about my take on my last few weeks in Mali. But, for now, all of my faithful blog readers will have to settle for this story.

After being “coup-ed” up in the Sikasso Regional House for about a week, some friends and I decided to go to the one open pool in town. We walked thirty minutes to get there in the high-noon sun and temperatures of 100 degrees and humidity, only to learn that a wedding was being held at the pool all afternoon. Sweaty, irritated, and pained by headaches from the incredibly loud Malian music playing (for the wedding attendants), we looked at the pool, laughed because we remembered that most Malians do not swim in pools (or anywhere else for that matter), and decided to pay the three dollar fee to swim. Then, we went around back, whipped off our sweat-drenched clothes, and jumped in the pool in our bathing suits… with about 30 Malian men and children staring at us. To be honest, watching us was probably something like pornography to them, since Mali is a Muslim country and women cannot bear their knees, nevermind wear a bathing suit in public. But, we had a nice peaceful time (especially after they turned the music down), just watching the men, women, and children dance as they waited for the bride and groom. In Mali, you do not need an invite for anything, so we weren’t even crashing their wedding. Additionally, the bride and groom do not even need to be present for the wedding celebration to happen – you can substitute other people if the bride and groom cannot come, and on the first day, people just sit around and drink tea in honor of the wedding. So, we were not imposing on the wedding at all – if anything, maybe we gave them some more entertainment!

We were sitting in the pool, minding our own business, when a very large Malian man wearing very tight red underwear took a running start, flapped his hands at his side like a ballerina, and did a front-flip into the pool. We could not believe our eyes, and we could not contain our laughter. He came over and we all introduced ourselves, and he told us that he wasn’t part of the wedding party either. We talked for a few minutes, and then we all took turns jumping into the water with him. I wish I had brought my camera. Then, after my friends and I had returned to the shallow end to sit, our new friend swam over to us, picked up both of the male volunteers that we were with, and twirled them around in the water – it looked exactly like a parent playing with his kids, except that a large Malian man was playing with two full grown American men. He helped them float and even threw them up in the air and into the water. It was hilarious, and it was something I will never forget. Our pool date ended with our Malian friend taking some of the wedding food (chicken and fries!), sharing it with us, and then inviting us dancing that night.

We never went dancing, and now, we might never see ournew friend again. However, this story is indicative of Malian culture – you always make new friends, men are very friendly with each other, and, even when Malians have almost nothing to give, they will share their food with you, even if it means they are still hungry. None of this would have happened in America, and this story reminds me of the good parts of Malian culture that I will miss. I’ll be thinking of my new friend when I’m crying at home because I can’t afford or figure out how to work a smart phone, or when I awkwardly stare at someone eating just so s/he will offer me her/his food. I also won’t be able to just pick up random babies that I think are adorable (when I’m on a bus or taking a walk, for example), because I don’t want someone thinking that I am a baby-stealer. I will have a lot of adjustments to make, but at least I’ll be in the comfort of my own home, where crying is acceptable. I will miss Mali, and after I reflect on these past few weeks, I’ll put up a new post. But, we’re all safe and sound… I hope my friends in Mali stay safe and sound, too.

Allah ka Mali deme.

And, some Resolutions...

1. Whenever Mali or Malians make me upset, I will take a deep breath, count to 10 (or 20), and really think "Is this worth it?" before getting upset.

2. I will try to be more understanding of how I view "communication" differently than my friends in America - for example, I will try not to get upset when I never get emails or letters from people I've tried to talk to, because my idea of "communication" (sending letters, writing emails, and writing Facebook messages) is different than theirs (not having time to send a long email or response). I forget that I have a lot of time to think about existential life questions when compared to other people, but at the same time, I wish other people would realize that even just a quick "Hello, how are you, I'm busy but I'm thinking about you" response makes me smile. (Hint: Please send me those emails). I will just try to be more understanding and less judgmental. (But, again, THANK YOU to everyone who sends me messages of love and support regularly!)

3. I want to get as in shape as I was in high school. (Haha. These are in no particular order).

4. I want to write more about this experience here, and hopefully turn those writings into something publishable and/or graduate school appropriate.

5. I want to make sure that my village understands how our new Tax Committee will help them in the long run, even if they can't see results immediately. This is a pretty lofty goal, and I do have my doubts. Some people already understand what they call "American economics", and I want to work with them to get through to everyone. I am also going to try to not give up when obstacles come up, as they inevitably will, and I will try to remain positive and not cynical about the financial aid cycle and mindset in Mali.

6. I want to enjoy this last stretch here in Mali and not wish it away by applying for jobs too early!

As a very wise and sassy friend recently told me, "The next few challenges in your life serve as a marathon, not a race, so just keep the finish line in sight." I think that's a good way to start off 2012.

2012!

I really cannot believe that 2012 is already here! I remember receiving the big, blue envelope in April 2010 from Peace Corps and thinking, "Well, I guess it all starts now...", and then freaking out when I found out I was coming to Mali, one of the poorest countries in the world. I remember being constantly sick through Homestay and wondering, "How the shit am I going to make it through TWO YEARS of this?!" I remember trying to survive every day in my old village and thinking, "Well, maybe when I go home to America for a visit, I'll just never come back." I remember moving to my current site and realizing how volunteers can love their sites and stay there for months at a time, just hanging out and making friends with locals. And now, I am sitting here wondering where all of the time went, and thinking about how in 8 months, I will be home in America! (Mark your calenders, friends, and if you want a visit from me upon my return, you should all probably start returning my emails or remembering which country I've been living in for the past 18 months... just sayin'.)

So, 2012 is officially here! I rang in the new year in Bamako with a few friends, and it was a truly great night. We went out for pizza (which was DELICIOUS by Mali standards), carried our "adult beverages" with us in a backpack, and bar hopped until after midnight. At midnight, the salsa club we were at played American rap music (PITBULL! I knew it signaled the start of a great year), and city fireworks went off all around us. It was an awesome way to ring in the new year!

I also received the great news that my Rotary grant money should be arriving very soon! I found an excellent Rotarian in Bamako to facilitate all of the transactions, so within the month, my tax committee should be functioning. Finally, everything all seems to be coming together for me here.

Hiking through Dogon Country (http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Bandiagara_Escarpment) on Christmas was an amazing experience, even though it took a lot longer to get there than we thought it would... and despite the fact that we had to scale a LOT more rocks than I thought we would. It was interesting to see a part of Mali so different than where I live, and I really felt like I was in "Africa" - there were cliff dwellings, traditional masked dances, camels, tortoises, monkeys, and animist histories that just do not exist in my little village in the Sikasso region. It was nice to travel, visit new places, and see some old friends that I haven't seen in a LONG time, but I am really excited to go home to my village, my dog, and my routine that keeps me sane and happy.

Thanks again for following my blog, and for those of you who take the time to respond to my emails and blogs, THANKS EVEN MORE! It's always nice to see a new email or new comment after spending a month at site, and knowing that my friends care enough to send me a quick message or two really means a lot to me. I really have tried to send letters in the mail to EVERYONE who has written me letters, but I seem to have consistently bad luck with the Malian postal system. They always get sent back, and the letters I sent before Thanksgiving seem to have been lost in transit somewhere. Sigh, this is Africa. Again, I will keep sending and resending letters until they finally make it to America!

I hope everyone had a great Holiday and a Happy New Year! I'm crossing my fingers that 2012 will be a good year for everyone! See you in 8 months!

Noeli Feti Ke!

Here I sit in Sikasso, having just made three different types of Christmas cookies, onion and cinnamon raisin bagels, and having just eaten a delicious pineapple upside down cake. Temperatures may reach 90 degrees during the day and 60 degrees at night, and my village might giggle at my home-made Santa hat (for me and my dog) and Christmas decorations, but I am on Christmas vacation right now and I could not be happier! Tomorrow, we are heading north to Bandiagara and continuing on to start a three day hike through Dogon Country. With the help of a guide, we will be trekking through cliffs and cave dwellings, and hopefully seeing some masked dancers and Dogon parties along the way. I am really looking forward to having a relaxing holiday with some friends that I have not seen in a while.

I've spent the whole month of December in village, and things there have been going really well. I've read two books, started a third (a long book with small words, so it should take me a while), and have even started cooking to pass the time - we've made sweet potato curry, corn chowder, and some delicious tuna melts with fresh bread that I've helped bake. It may seem like I've had a lot of free time between the cooking, reading, and running (have I mentioned that I've taken up running to pass the time, as well?) but I've actually been really busy with small projects and one large project.

When I moved to my new village, I told myself that I did not want to apply for any large grants for projects, given the many problems that I had in my old village... namely, everyone viewing me as a piggy bank and not respecting me as an intelligent woman capable of helping them become self-sustainable. However, after moving to my new village, I realized that I really wanted to help my new family of 2702 people in any way that I could. They share their food with me, we cook together, we talk about real issues like gender roles and homosexuality without judgment and with tolerance, and we spend our free time together - they helped me integrate, and I decided to help them by finding them money. Let me give some background information: I work at a health center that is not financed by the Malian government. We do not serve enough people to have the government cover the costs of salaries and supplies, so my village works extra hard throughout the year in order to pay the salaries of the doctor, vaccinator, and the guardian, in addition to buying all of the necessary supplies, like cotton, bleach, soap, etc. The money for these things comes from the cotton cooperative, and in addition, that cotton cooperative also gives money to the village to fund all of their projects and to pay all of the teachers. Essentially, all of the money from the cotton cooperative goes directly back into the village, just breaking even, not making any money and not saving any money. While this may seem generous and hard working of them, it is actually an example of poor management, considering that my village ran out of money four months ago. So, the doctor, vaccinator, guardian, and all of the teachers have not been paid in four months, nor have any village projects been finished due to lack of funding. I thought, “What can I do to help?”

I explained the "American economic idea" of taxing for services, and together, my village and I decided to tax all residents over the age of seven 50 CFA (10 cents) each month - half of this money will go into the village fund, and half will go into the health center fund. If all people over the age of 7 are taxed and actually pay (because at age 7, children begin school), then we will have enough money to not only pay everyone that needs to be paid, but to also start up new village projects and small income generating activities for women. So, together, we started a tax fund and micro loan group.

Thanks to a $1,000 grant from my local Rotary Club in Plainfield, CT, this tax fund is really happening! We just had a meeting, and we decided that I will go to Bamako to meet with their Rotary Clubs to discuss wire transfer options in the beginning of January – in the meantime, my village will form a tax committee and begin the taxing in the end of January. This project has been long in the making – since September, we have been formulating ideas and postulating about how to make a tax system work in rural Mali. I have very, very high hopes for this project, especially because it is completely sustainable after I leave… so, cross your fingers for me!

I’ve also been venturing into the first grade classrooms to teach them about water and sanitation. I started by reading them a story about a “big mean elephant” and how a germ was able to jump in his uncovered well and kill him. It was a success because the kids understood, on a basic level, what a germ was – an invisible thing that gives you sickness and eventually kills you. The following week, I went back into the classrooms and did a handwashing formation. I rubbed hot pepper all over the kids’ hands and had them wash with only water, representing how you can’t get rid of the invisible germs with only water (because the hot pepper juice is invisible, too). They licked their hands to show that the water alone did not wash away the hot pepper. Then, we washed our hands with soap and water, and the hot pepper (and the representative germs!) were washed away. They understood this as well, and because the school director liked my presentation so much, I will be going back into the school in 2012 to do more health and sanitation animations for all of the grades. I’m glad to be keeping busy!

So, despite the hiccups that November gave me (my dog got hit by a car and died, I saw a mouse, rat, bat, and snake in my hut, and my water pump broke as I was pumping water), December turned out much better. I’m also really looking forward to 2012… and coming home in September! Please keep the support coming, and I look forward to hearing from you all in 2012!

Happy Holidays! Ala ka Noeli Feti Ke Diya!

It's been a while...

I know that I’ve been slacking in the blog department and that you’ve all been dying to read the latest installment of “what disease does Jessica have now,” so I am sorry for the very long delay. Since I work best in short points (and find them to be the least boring to write), please bear with me as I attempt to sum up the past few months of my life in a few not-so-short paragraphs.

Diseases:
I am always sick in Mali for some reason, and these past few months have been no different. Don’t worry, I do not have malaria (again) or anything serious – I’ve just had another bladder infection, amoebic cysts, and a big toenail that is about to fall off. (I’ve been documenting my toenail in pictures, so if our Internet decides to upload the photos, then you can see the whole disgusting process). I feel absolutely fine, and now that the weather is getting cooler, I don’t even mind these sicknesses. I do have a cold, which is more annoying than painful, but that seems to be on its way out, as well. So, as of right now, I am healthy… keep your fingers crossed!

America!
I spent the month of September in America, courtesy of Jean and Lou Soja. It was great to just lay on my parents’ couch, eat copious amounts of burgers, cheeses, broccoli, and strawberries, and catch up with my family and friends. Even though it was amazing to be home, I really missed Mali while I was gone, and being home really reminded me of the reasons why I left in the first place. As much as I love America (and everyone speaking my language), the bothersome aspects of life in a developed country have not changed. Everyone still looks at their IPhone every five seconds, even if you are in the middle of a conversation, on the Metro in DC, for example; everyone still complains about EVERYTHING, especially waiting for only five minutes in an airport customs and border control line (and yells about how we need to privatize airports because waiting for five minutes is just unacceptable); and when people ask you how you’re doing, what they really mean to say is, “Let me go through the formality of asking how you’re doing so I can talk about myself and how awesome my new desk job is for twenty minutes instead.” Life has just gone on in America, and the only change is that now I don’t understand how to make a phone call on an IPhone because I’m not sure where the numbers are on the touch-screen. Don’t misunderstand me – I loved seeing all of my family and friends, because I love all of them and really missed them. But, I noticed how differently I really am beginning to see things. Why would you order a huge and expensive meal, finish a quarter of it, and throw it away, when I know kids who would fight another person just to have a chance to eat your scraps? Why would you have over 200 pairs of shoes, own only Seven brand jeans, and waste your money on nonsense like a 300 dollar handbag when I live with some great people who own only one outfit because that is all they can afford? Or, why would you complain about a long, ten minute wait at a laundromat, grocery store, restaurant or even Dunkin Donuts when some of my best friends here wake up at 5AM to heat water, start cooking, wash clothes, wash the children, wash the dishes, and then wait for three hours for a bus to take them to their market, where they will only find onions and cabbage because of the food crisis? I just don’t understand how some people can be so self-absorbed and focused on the latest “thing” to not take advantage of the great education system in America (compared to here) and not even know where I have been living for the past year, or even the name of my country. It is very frustrating. Even though I am a lot more laid back than I was when I left over a year ago, I think that coming back in September 2012 is going to be a tough adjustment. I didn’t feel at home when I stepped onto American soil at the Atlanta airport to be questioned, over and over again, about what I am doing in Mali, but when I came back to Bamako and talked to my Malian cab driver (who raved about the Peace Corps and how Americans are in Mali to learn the language and really try to help), I felt a sense of relief. Leaving Mali really helped me see how much I am learning here and how I really have found a new family.

New Village:
Maybe one reason why I am really enjoying Mali right now (besides the fact that I can have a conversation with someone without stopping to ask them to repeat themselves, slowly) is because my new village is simply amazing. Every day, my work partner comes to greet me and takes me to any meetings that the village might be having. My friends invite me to their dance parties in the fields during the harvesting season, and we work and dance together. If I happen to bring anyone the smallest present, even sugar, they are so thankful and give me many, many blessings. Everyone sits and talks with me for hours and plays cards with me, really making me feel at home and like I’m really part of the family. They offer me the first round of tea, even though I am a woman. When my chairs remain outside after I leave village, they look out for me by putting my chairs in their huts for safe-keeping until I return. They share their food with me at all times of the day, help me get water if I need help, and go with me to all of the nearby markets so that they can help me get good prices and find my way around. They never ask me for anything, and are just eager to learn about me, my American family, and American culture. This is what I wish my service had been from the beginning, and now I understand how volunteers stay in village for three weeks straight. I feel completely at home, and I love my new village. I may be farther away from the city and be more “en brousse,” but this is everything that I could have wanted – hard workers, great people, my own hut and concession, and quite simply, respect. My little puppy, Chicken, and I are very happy in our new home.

Projects:
One of the big lessons that I learned in my old village is that big, funded projects are not always successful, and that they sometimes lead villagers to think that a Peace Corps Volunteer is synonomous with a piggy bank. So, right now, I am just working on integrating and making friends in village. Now that the rain has stopped, my homologue (work partner) has agreed to help me make inexpensive hand washing stations, mud stoves, mud ovens, and take me along on vaccination campaigns to do animations. We have already made mosquito repellant and ameliorated porridge for many families, and soon, I will be heading into the first grade classroom to give health and sanitation animations over a three to four week time period to the kids. The teacher is really excited for me to come, and I am equally excited to talk to the kids about germs, handwashing, covering wells, and the evils of open air defecation. However, I think that my proudest moment in my new village was when I realized that my supervisor at the health center washes his hands with soap everyday before he eats lunch – he forces his family to do the same, even if I am not there eating with them. If one family has understood the importance of handwashing, then maybe I am helping a little! As they say here, dooni dooni, or “small small.”

Thanks for reading this very long blog, and thanks for caring about how I am doing in Mali! I will see you all in September 2012, and hopefully, I’ll be able to post a few more blogs before then. Thanks for your letters and care packages, and I will keep trying to send letters, even though they are frequently returned to me for no reason at all. Oh, Mali…

A quickie...

1. Thanks to my wonderful parents, I will be home in America in ONE MONTH for THREE GLORIOUS WEEKS! My plans consist of sitting on Jean and Lou's couch and begging them to drive me to all of the fast food chains within a 30 minute drive of our house and watching reruns on Discovery and Bravo. If you wish to be included in these plans, would like to sit on the couch with me, or would like to take me to a fine dining establishment and get some quality time in (like Burger King, KFC, or Chipotle), then please email me! I can't wait.

2. My new site is simply awesome. It is everything that I wished I had for my whole first year here. I have only been there for three weeks now, but these three weeks have been better than my entire first YEAR in my original village. I definitely made the right choice, and once I am in America, I will write a better blog post detailing my new start!

...ONE YEAR...?!

For days, I have been sitting in front of my computer, typing and deleting sentence after sentence while attempting to summarize, through words of lyrical genius of course, my year in Mali as a Health Education volunteer. And…

I have nothing. I have no idea what to write. It is really difficult to write about my life because I see it as completely normal and boring, yet everything I do still seems crazy to everyone in the States. I am still the same ol’ JessSoja that I was before I came here, but now I just have a bit of a different outlook on life. I still stand up for what I believe in, no matter the consequences; I still like to have fun, even in a society that feels women should be barefoot and pregnant in the “kitchen;” and, I still have no problem defending my feminism in a predominantly Muslim and (from my experience) chauvinistic country.

When I arrived in Mali, I did not plan on changing the world, or even changing myself through some magical, soul-searching journey like some people write about and hope for. I arrived here after being on a super delayed, super cramped, and super long flight, and I was sweaty. I was sweaty and smelly. I saw trash lining the sides of the “road” and children playing in that trash for fun. I was told how to bathe out of a bucket every day, and told that I would never really be clean because I live in the dust belted Sahel. I was given lessons on how to squat into a latrine and use my left hand as toilet paper. I was prepped on how to live my live as the “third sex” in this Muslim country, not quite a man but not a traditional Malian woman. I was trained in community health work and how to live in a village with no electricity and no access to the outside world, sans a short wave radio. I saw pythons, scorpions, camel spiders, puff adder snakes, and other creatures that I was used to viewing only behind very sturdy glass at the National Zoo. I was given peanut sauce, rice, and cabbage and told to eat with my right hand only. I was told to bleach all of my veggies for 30 minutes before eating them in order to avoid amoebas and other common parasites. I was prepped for temperatures to reach over 100 degrees daily, and told how to avoid heat stroke by drinking four liters of water per day. So, I was drinking warm, filtered water, dreaming about ice and slushies from 7-11, and being scolded for venturing into beautiful, cold waterfalls because I could acquire schistosomiosis. I was shitting about 10 times a day into a hole in the ground for a week straight. I was forced into a new environment, forced to live with a family who I could barely communicate with, and forced to cry in the privacy of my leaky, one room, mud walled, tin roofed hut while trying to become friends with the volunteers that I was arbitrarily assigned into Homestay with. Being in the third poorest country in the world, being unable to communicate, and being thousands of miles away from my family and friends made the beginning of this journey seem hopeless. I was lost, confused, and literally, shitting my ass off. It was not pleasant. And, I barely knew how to say my own name in a silly language known as Bambara.

Staff thought that I was going to leave for America and never come back, but, in true JessSoja fashion, I did not give up. Now, one year later, everything that I hated about Mali has become endearing in some way… or, I just don’t care enough to worry about it anymore. My hygiene has completely disappeared and I don’t mind being dirty, not washing my long curly hair for a week, or having my straw roofed mud hut filled with dust. I love eating with my right hand, and I don’t use my left because I no longer use toilet paper. I don’t mind shitting in a hole. I don’t mind the heat anymore, and I have learned to love the smell of the rain and even the dirt that comes with it. I have even learned to love every cultural thing that shocked me when I first got here, such as the dirty children, all of the creatures that invade my hut, throwing my trash onto the ground, living without electricity, and not shaving my legs for weeks at a time. I love that I no longer rely on my Blackberry or Facebook for my latest entertainment, and similarly, I love that when Malians ask how I’m doing, they genuinely care about my answer. They are not multitasking with their latest IPod application and tuning me out, but instead, they thank me for moving away from my ungrateful village and coming to befriend and work with them. Learning about Islam has been very different and interesting, and I feel very fortunate that I am not one of the masses of ignorant Americans who feel that everyone who prays to Allah is going to blow up part of our sacred country. The Muslims I’ve met here are more generous than many of the Catholics that I grew up with. While Mali has been challenging, I feel so fortunate to have the opportunity to simply be challenged like this.

So, I can’t offer any words of wisdom on how Mali has profoundly changed my life… I’m sure that will come years after reflecting on this journey. What I can say is this – I am definitely in a different place mentally, physically, and emotionally than I was one year ago, and I can’t wait to experience what this next year in Mali has in store for me. I’ve truly made some best friends here, and I know that I can talk to them about anything from my latest stool sample to what someone in village killed and cooked me for dinner. Whether my new site (which I am moving to on Monday!) brings me more joys or more challenges, I really can’t be certain. But, I have one year left, and I plan on making the most of it.

This quote by Tolstoy, told to me by a wise volunteer, really sums up how I feel about my service right now (thanks, Rover): “I have lived through much, and now I think I have found what is needed for happiness. A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music, love for one’s neighbor-such is my idea of happiness. And then, on top of all that, you for a mate, and children, perhaps-what more can the heart of [wo]man desire?”

Solutions?

After spending a few days in Sikasso catching up on Glee and some movies (like The Rite, No Strings Attached, and my all-time favorite, Practical Magic), I am ready to head back to my site... thanks ENTIRELY to my AMAZING Peace Corps Regional Coordinator. When I texted him that I was coming in to Sikasso because of some problems at site, he drove down to see me from Bamako within 24 hours! (And, it's a solid five to six hour drive). He listened to me yell, swear, cry, and threaten to leave my village, and he offered me some really great solutions.

1. He called my homologue and told her exactly how I felt, because it is hard for me to express exactly how I feel in Bambara. He told her that she needed to be more active in my service in village, and that when I have a problem, she needs to basically suck it up and go with me to talk to the village chief or my Chef de Poste about issues, even if their sides of the village hate to work together. He reminded her that she is my lawyer, negotiator, and all-around care taker in the village, and that she needs to defend me more instead of taking the traditionally feminine role of letting the men handle everything...and being passive about not encouraging the entire village to work together. Clearly, that approach has not worked. She is supposed to tell the village and my Chef de Poste that they need to want to work with me on projects, or that they need to not be upset with me when I travel to other villages to accomplish things that I cannot do in my own village. He reminded her again and again that this is their last chance to make things right with me, and that it is a privilege, not a right, to have a PCV. Mama (my Regional Coordinator) was very upset about how I felt, and apologized over and over again. He also told me that he knows how hard I work and that it's not my fault - that made me feel good for the first time in a while. It's nice to have your work recognized.

2. My Chef de Poste called me yesterday to tell me that my hangar was fixed and that I can come back now. I thanked him for calling me and said that I would be back on Sunday as planned. I did not tell him that I talked to Mama because...

3. Mama will be coming to my village next week to check on how things are going. To be honest, I do not have high hopes because I do not want to be disappointed. I guess anything would be better than how things have been going, but it's still hard to want to be in my village when other Health volunteers are doing projects that their villages suggested, like building 300 soakpits or hosting a training for 20 midwives "en brousse." I don't know... I bought some pans so that I can bake with a "brousse oven" if I get stressed in village, so hopefully that will occupy more of my time. I've also planned a few technical exchanges to nearby villages for rainy season so that I don't get bored - I'll be making more ameliorated porridge and painting some world map murals. We will see.

4. Lastly, I bought some kola nuts (a peace offering kind of thing) to give to my homologue, my Chef de Poste, and my village chief. Mama suggested that I give them the nuts and tell them that I know it is bad to shame the village and cry, but that I cried because they made me mad and sad. He also said to tell them that I want to work with them and help them, but that I cannot help them unless they want to work with me and help me, too. I am headed back in a few hours, so we will see how it all goes.

In other news, I am excited to be heading to the San region next weekend for a MUCH needed break with my good friends from Homestay. I can't wait to see them, and I am also going to stop by my Homestay Language and Cultural Facilitator's house (hopefully) to catch up and eat some delicious food that he promised me. So, I am giving my village another chance, but this is it. I feel like if they don't get their shit together in a month (because they have had almost a year now since I've been there!), then I need to start re-evaluating my options and looking into a possible site change. We will see. Cross your fingers for me.

The straw that broke the camel's back...

Oh, "the straw that broke the camel's back" - we seem to toss this phrase around without thinking about how straw might actually break something... like a roof... to a hangar...attached to a house... from a torrential Malian rain storm. Let me explain...

I had a great week at Roger's site down the road (60K) from mine. We cooked, read some books, made some compost, played with some kids, biked to some markets, biked to the waterfalls, visited three villages/weighed babies/made ameliorated porridge in all of them, and greeted teachers and the Mayor of Zegoua, a town that borders on the Ivory Coast. His village is so relaxed, his homologue is great at introducing him to people, and his village loves him and greets him every day. It is very clear that they want him there and that they want to work with him. Everyone was so friendly to me and I really felt at home and completely unstressed. My entire week there was relaxed, and I felt ready to come back to my dirty village and yet again, try to motivate them to work WITH me, and not just ask me to GIVE them money or tractors or cement.

So, I biked the 15K uphill back to my village and was very pleasantly surprised when everyone greeted me and was incredibly nice to me - they didn't even make any bean jokes at me. (Bean jokes here, like calling someone a "bean eater", are the equivalent of an American fart joke). I thought this was a little strange, but then again, I will take whatever I can get from them. I was feeling positive until I walked up the hill towards my hut and saw that my hangar, essentially my front porch (and my ONLY source of privacy, considering that I live directly in the concession with the village chief and his brood of annoyances) was COMPLETELY GONE. The cement in the walls were cracked, two wood posts had fallen, and the roof had completely fallen in and was scattered on the floor. I was shocked, to say the least, especially because no one bothered to call me or try to clean it up before I got there. I was so mad, and everyone that I asked told me that it broke FIVE days ago from a very windy storm and that they were going to fix it "soon." Here in Mali, "soon" can mean anywhere from tomorrow to a week from now. I made it very clear to EVERYONE that I was upset, and so they tried to calm me down by bringing me copious amounts of food. For the first time in my life, this method did not work. What if the hangar had been my thatch/straw roof?

For eight months now, I have literally given all of my efforts to my dirty, disgusting village. I put up with their daily pleas for money, my bike, my clothes, and presents; I joke with them about all of the dirty, latrine water that floods the mud streets in hopes that they will want to actually do work and fix it; and, I greet everyone in my village at least once a month to show them that I care about them, care about getting to know them, and about helping them develop. And, how do they repay me?

- They barely thank me for the vaccination hangar I built for them, and they barely let me help with baby weighings or do animations. Instead, they put me on the spot by asking me questions in front of large groups of people, I fumble with my Bambara words, and they think that I am not competent. My Chef de Poste constantly belittles me and makes me feel like I know absolutely nothing, when in reality, I am more educated than he is. It is to the point where I do not look forward to going to the CSCOM to greet or work.

- They STILL have not dug their holes for their soak pits - a project that the PREVIOUS volunteer started. It takes maybe three hours to make an entire soak pit, and my villagers have ALL of their materials (courtesy of Peace Corps), yet do absolutely no work. They understand that building a soakpit will eliminate some standing water and therefore cut down on the amount of malaria mosquitoes in the village, but they still do not put in any effort to DIG A HOLE. Have I mentioned that all they need to do is dig a hole, throw some rock in it, and cover it with cement that Peace Corps bought for them? In a land where daily routines consist of drinking tea and chatting, perhaps digging a hole is a daunting task.

- They tell me that building "tippy taps" for handwashing is a great idea, yet they get mad at me when I walk to the other side of the village to help that side (my homologue's side, and the only part that is semi-willing to work with me) build the stations and don't tell the village chief's side of the village that I am going to help other people work. The politics in my village are awful - there are three main factions, and no one likes each other and they refuse to work together, both in general and with me. In fact, they get mad at me for not going back and forth between them to pass messages, even though it is not my job AND it is only a five minute walk. (As a side note, "tippy taps" are a great resource for handwashing if villages do not have a lot of money - see this for more details: http://www.akvo.org/wiki/index.php/Tippy_Tap)

- Telling myself to only help those people that care to help themselves is easier said than done - in a village as divided as mine, there is no way to help only a few people without everyone else noticing and getting mad, even though it is their own fault for not trying. It is also hard to live on the side of the village that does not work with me, for they just get mad at me for helping on the other side of the Mosque and not giving them money or a tractor. I feel stuck.

- The same concept applies whenever I mention the work that I am starting in other villages. My goal is to motivate my village to finish their projects (the soakpits!) so that we can start a new one, but they miss the point completely - they just get mad that I am traveling "so much" and that I never "sit in my village." The crazy part is that the enriched rice project that I am doing in the village 4K away from mine was FIRST DONE IN MY VILLAGE at this time last year. But, no one cared to come to the formations or there was a miscommunication or something, because now my village wants the same project again! I cannot even explain how frustrating this is. I am also planning a "Take Our Daughters to Work Day" in Sikasso, and rather than be excited that a few girls from the village will be able to come to Sikasso for a few days and learn about careers, they just see me as not being present at the CSCOM, and therefore, not working. Why would I go to a CSCOM where no one respects me, no one lets me do the work that I was trained to do, and where I am treated like a subordinate, rather than an equal? Again, I feel stuck.

- Finally, as wonderful as my homologue is, our relationship was established because I made all of the effort. She never introduced me to people in my village, she never greeted me at my house, and she never really practiced my Bambara with me. The reason that we are so close is because I practically lived at her house when I wasn't at the CSCOM or trying to make conversation with the dugutigi's family in between their requests for everything that I own to be given to them.

- Not to mention that I am ALWAYS sick because my hut is literally surrounded my human and animal shit.

So, the natural next step would be to seek out some solutions. Should I have Peace Corps come to my site, AGAIN, for a third time? Should I continue to work with only the people and villages who want to work with me, even though the people I look out of my window and see every day will be mad at me? Should I try to travel and do malnutrition animations with the NGO that comes to my village all of the time, even though my chauvinistic Chef de Posts insists that he must accompany me everywhere? Should I continue to "lead by example," even though people just ask me to give them everything instead of work with them and teach them? Once again, I am stuck.

My broken hangar was the straw that broke the camel's back. I now completely understand this phrase. And, I am tired. I am tired of being nice. I am tired of being patient. I am tired of explaining that I left my home to come somewhere completely different and that sometimes, it is a little hard. I am tired of having to write down the positive things that happen every day just so that I can look at it to get through the next day. I am tired of having to prove my competence every day, even though I am fully capable of functioning in this country (as evident from my ten months here). I am just fucking exhausted.

So, I told my village I needed a break and that I was coming to talk to my Peace Corps Regional Coordinator here in Sikasso. They get mad whenever I mention talking to Peace Corps, maybe because they know that things are not progressing like they should and that it's bad if Peace Corps has to come to my village, AGAIN. Either way, I will be staying in Mali, NOT EARLY TERMINATING, but something needs to change... I just haven't figured that part out yet. Cross your fingers for me. And, feel free to send me care packages. I will be updating my list momentarily.

Long Overdue Updates

It is really hot.
Cote D'Ivoire cuts our power...
I could not blog post.

I hope all of my avid readers appreciate this haiku apology for not blogging or sending any emails sooner. It is hot season, so the power cuts out at least once a day, and the Internet only works on good days. Not too much has happened over here, though, or else I have integrated and felt at home enough to think that my life is boring. Anyways, here are some updates about my projects and my birthday celebration!

Vaccination Hangar

My vaccination hangar is complete! Some people in my village really appreciate it, and others still don't seem to understand what I am doing as a volunteer here. I guess that you can't win them all? Either way, I am proud of the hangar. We have started weighing babies regularly, holding talks and discussions on malnutrition and other health topics, and giving weekly vaccinations to mothers and children. I am not sure what else I could do, projects wise, at my CSCOM, so I am trying to focus my intentions elsewhere. My CSCOM really understands what they are doing and runs very well, so I am focusing on something else now...

Village Sanitation

I am sick ALL OF THE TIME, and I've realized the cause of it all - my dirty village. I live in a mud hut surrounded, literally, surrounded, by cows, sheep, donkeys, children, and all of their fecal matter, as well as dirty latrine and dirty dish water. To make a long story short, some very motivated and awesome individuals in my village took my concerns to heart and organized a village sanitation committee! We had our first meeting (which was a surprise to me, kind of) and apparently, every Tuesday, we will meet to discuss sanitation projects. I want to firstly construct the soak pits that the last volunteer got the materials for OVER A YEAR AGO, but given my village's unwillingness to do work for themselves, we will see how it goes. I told them that I am not doing any more projects until the 50 plus soak pits are finished, so we will see how it goes. We are also going to construct some simple hand washing stations around the village and dig some large holes to throw our trash into and burn. (Sorry to all of the environmentalists out there - I love the environment and everything, but there are bigger problems in my village than holes in the O-Zone and such. I have no other options here!) Honestly, I do not have high hopes for any sanitation efforts in my village, but we will see how it goes. Maybe I will get sick a little less often!

Take Our Daughters To Work Day

I am also working with some other volunteers to organize a day where we take a few motivated school aged girls from our villages to Sikasso. We have them stay overnight for a few days, give them housing and food, and take them around to various women who have good jobs - such as bankers, food sellers, doctors, NGO workers, police women, etc. The goal is to show them that they do not have to drop out of school, get married, and start birthing babies at age 15 in order to be "successful". We want to have this event sometime in May or June, so right now we are trying to organize the funding for it. I will keep everyone updated as we solidify more parts of the event!

Farming

Given my village's (sometimes) unwillingness to work with a volunteer (and constantly ask for free handouts, which is NOT my role as a Peace Corps development facilitator), I will be working on some kind of farming project in a village about 6K away from mine. We will be doing formations in schools on sanitation, and then going into the fields to grow corn, rice, and cabbage with urine fertilizer to show the positive effects it has. I don't know a lot about this project right now, but the three men I will be working with are VERY motivated and have already completed a similar project in my village. They know what they are doing, they are very excited, and for once, I am excited to work with someone other than my homologue on a project that people are willing to put in effort for.

My birthday!

I am now 25, and it's not as scary as I thought it would be. I had a great, relaxing birthday in my village with my PCV friends and village friends. We killed a sheep and ate it with my favorite Malian food, tiga dega na (rice with peanut butter sauce), talked and drank tea all morning, and danced all afternoon. Even though I face a lot of challenges in my village, I really feel like I am in a good place. Overall, I had a great birthday with my friends, even if I did end up sweating streaks of dirt off of my body from all of the dancing I did. And, my AMAZING homologue made us matching dresses for the occasion! I honestly do not know what I would do without Alimata or her family.

And... that's about it. I read a lot of books, I bike a lot, and I play my ukulele and dream about the rains that should really start to pour out of they sky in about a month or so. My life is getting boring, but I like it. So, thanks again for all of your support and please keep the emails and letters coming!

Imagine...

Hot Season

Imagine waking up at 6AM every day because there is sweat permanently dripping off of your nose and down your face. It is already 80 degrees. Imagine putting on as little clothes as you possibly can, while still covering your knees, of course, and sweating out a liter of water on your 5 minute walk to the CSCOM because the heat is so intense. Imagine sitting under the mango tree around noon and not feeling refreshed by the "cool", 90 degree breeze that hits you like a blowdryer blast straight to the face. Imagine not leaving the shade of the mango tree until after the 100 degree afternoon heat wave is over and you can take your 5PM bucket bath in the cool sunset temperature of 90. Then, imagine cooking dinner in your mud hut/oven with the black plastic lined the thatch roof and sweating into all of your food. Finally, imagine sleeping outside in your bug hut because it is too sweltering inside, only to have to move inside around 3AM when the insane dust and sprinkle of rain storm comes. Imagine this is your daily life with no air conditioning, no fans, no electricity, no ice, and therefore, no cold beverages. Welcome to hot season in Mali - this is my life for the next 3 months.

Wedding Season

Despite the crazy heat, it is also wedding season here in Mali. A typical wedding day includes waking up at the first call to prayer to get the bride ready for "her day" - this includes slathering her face with makeup and jewels, slicking her hair back with gel, and trying to keep her white dress clean among all of the dust and dirt that flies around every minute. After drinking tea and talking all morning with the hundreds, literally hundreds of guests who have come in for the occasion, the bride and groom are then shuffled to the sweltering Mayor's office. There, they, along with their two witnesses, sign papers to make their marriage official, and are read their marital rights (such as the man's ability to take up to four wives and the woman's duty to basically serve her husband daily). Then, it is lunch time, and everyone sits on the ground, does not wash their hands with soap, and eats with their hands out of the communal bowl. After, the bride and groom are paraded around the village to take pictures with everyone, and as the sun goes down, the djembe band starts and does not stop until around 4AM. Weddings happen every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday, and they do not stop for temperatures that exceed 100 degrees. They can be really exciting, but when there are 10 weddings in just my village in one day, they can be a little overwhelming.

Senegal

Imagine coming back to this wedding filled, dust filled, landlocked, Sahelian country after vacationing on the BEACH in a magical land called Dakar. I lounged by a pool, went to the beach, ate PIZZA and GOOD VEGGIES, and drank tequila sunrises in the mornings. None of the these things are available in Mali, and it was a hard adjustment back to my Peace Corps, not Beach Corps, reality. It was a much needed vacation, and even though Mali is not in it's finest season right now, it is still nice to be back because...

Projects are starting!

My grant money came through, and we will be beginning the construction of my vaccination hangar on Monday! Because of the political struggle in the Ivory Coast right now, the prices of materials increased and we had to downsize our project at the last minute - but, the builders still gave us a good price, and the project should begin and finish ideally in the next 3 weeks! After the hangar is built, we will have our own separate building to give vaccinations in, instead of crowding in front of the pharmacy and making women and babies sit on the ground before they receive their shots. We will also start weighing babies and giving talks on healthy lifestyle habits, which my homologue is very motivated about. (She loves to talk about hand washing with soap and water! She is amazing). I feel fortunate that my village is so motivated to develop more! And, now that my language is finally at an advanced level, I can sit down and really talk to people for hours and hours - they can voice their concerns and goals, and I can actually understand them. It makes the hot, dusty days pass by that much faster!

And, I am turning 25!

How will I be celebrating? Well, my Chef de Poste (who is now actually a friend, not a problem!) helped me plan out my birthday party itinerary with a pricing guide. That's right - for my 25th birthday, I am staying in village and throwing myself a village-wide party. In the morning, we will drink tea and talk. Then, my friend is selling me his sheep and I will kill it! I will then give the knife to the men to do the skinning and meat cutting, and my homologue will take the meat back to her women's group so that they can cook us my favorite Malian meal for lunch - tige dega na. (It is rice with peanut butter sauce, and it is SO GOOD). Finally, in the afternoon, the village band comes and we will dance until someone brings us dinner! Everyone is really excited, and my homologue even bought us matching fabric for the occasion.

Despite the heat, dust, and constant carb load of foods, I could not be more satisfied with my life right now. I finally feel at home here, and I am so happy to be spending my birthday with the 8,000 people in the country who care about me the most. Even though the days make me miserable because of the dust and heat, I am still the most satisfied that I have ever been, this close to my birthday. There will be no quarter-life crisis for me this year!

Goodbye Malaria, Hello Giardia

The good news is that my malaria is gone! The not so good news is that because of my weakened immune system, I somehow contracted a parasite known as giardia. As of right now, that is completely cleared up too - cross your fingers that February will be disease free, as I will be traveling to Senegal and the Gambia for a much needed vacation!

Overall, January was a super productive month for me:

1. My site buddy and I killed and ate a delicious chicken. My site buddy killed it after I chickened out (haha), and village children plucked it and roasted off the feathers for us. They just love to help out the Toubabs, and I'm sure that my title of "karate master" among them didn't hurt their willingness to assist us. We cooked it in a tomato/chili sauce and ate it with a lovely side of bacon baked beans. It was an amazing day.

2. I had a meeting with about 20 people in my village - 10 men and 10 women. We talked, completely in Bambara, about future plans for the village, and together, we decided that our main priority should be building a vaccination hangar for the CSCOM. We will soon be able to give mothers and children vaccinations without crowding the already busy CSCOM building, and will additionally weigh babies for malnutrition and give talks on healthy life choices, like using a latrine, hand washing, and eating foods with nutrients in them. The village came up with all of these ideas on their own, and I fully support them!

3. I filled out my SPA proposal to get funding for the vaccination hangar project, and I am currently waiting for Admin's approval. My village did all of the work for me, like pricing the materials and finding skilled and unskilled labor. Step one accomplished!

4. I try to remind myself that I can only help people who are willing to help themselves and initiate change. So, in order to reach out to the people who refuse to put in effort and instead choose to wait for handouts that will never come, I am going to use my house as a huge mural. I am going to paint a mural on my latrine that depicts the importance of using a latrine and not defecating outside, and I am going to paint a hand washing mural on my porch wall that shows people washing their hands after using the latrine, before cooking, and after eating. Hopefully, this will spark some questions from passers-by, and when they tell me that they do not have money for soap, I will then come to the rescue and tell them that I can show them how to make soap for very little money. Then, they can make soap, use it, be healthier, and then sell the rest in market for a profit. This is the ideal situation, but of course, we will see how it actually pans out. The murals will definitely happen, though.

5. I have a meeting in a few days with my women's association to show them how to make soap. They are interested in selling the soap in order to earn the money towards a women's association vegetable garden. Girl power! The women in my village are amazing, especially my homologue.

6. There was a party in another volunteer's village in my region. What was the purpose of this party? It was to praise us as Peace Corps volunteers for all of the good work that we do! There was food, dancing, and tea, and considering how one volunteer's homologue organized and paid for the ENTIRE fete, I would consider it a huge success.

7. My parents sent me an awesome Christmas package that included mac and cheese, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia DVD's, family pictures (which both the Malians and I love), and TEQUILA. I literally jumped up and down for five minutes after receiving this package. THANK YOU to EVERYONE who has sent me letters, cards, packages, and emails! It means so much that you all care about keeping up with me and Skyping me, and when I have bad days, I think of all the cheerleaders that I have and am very grateful!

I will keep everyone updated on my projects, and please continue to keep me updated on your lives!

A text that says it all...

Me: Confirmed. Malaria. Have to go to BKO tomorrow. Shit.

Rover: Oh shit, congratulations. You can check that one off your list of things to do before you die... which could be soon...

I am not dying. But, I do have malaria. At least I have a great story to tell everyone about! And, I get to take advantage of the great food that Bamako has to offer, when I have an appetite. Do not worry - I am fine!

Happy New Year!

New Years in Mali appears to be quite fun – there are concerts, dancing, and tons of legitimate, “shoot high up in the air like you might see at a minor league baseball game” fireworks. But, I rang in the New Year with a fever, thus possibly imagining the grandness of these fireworks, and all alone, because I have some type of sinus infection and possible malaria.

I was ready to travel to Segou with my friends to spend New Years with a bunch of other PCV’s (now that our three month “no travel” ban is over) – I even had an outfit made at this awesome tailor that I found. However, my plans were haulted when I woke up still fevering from the previous night and feeling like a moto had run me over twice. I know my body pretty well, and I knew that I had to get back to Sikasso and call the PCMO. I had also been feeling sick for the past few days and realized that I could no longer chalk it up to a cold. Of course, my ride back to Sikasso from Koutiala was eventful in the typical Malian fashion – my bus ended up being a mini-bus with broken doors, known as a “bashee”; as usual, there were five people squeezed into three actual seats; I had a fever and my whole body ached; and, we stopped every twenty minutes so that the Malians could buy the same foods and drinks at every stop. This is Africa.

But, last night as I was shivering and sweating out my fever in the Sikasso transit house, I was also reflecting on where I am in my life right now and how all of these “crazy stories” are completely normal to me right now. I remember that last year on New Years, I watched some live swing music at a club on U Street, drank more than I should have, and ended up back at Garfield House where we took that oh-so-flattering picture of us in the kitchen (that is currently my desktop picture because I absolutely love it). Last year, I loved drinking away my stress, eating pizza, being clean and cleaning, and hated the “9 to 5”, “reviewing documents for eight hours a day” part of my job. I knew that I would be going somewhere for the Peace Corps, and I was ready for whatever that challenge might be because I was so bored in the situation I was in. I loved my work environment and the intelligent people I met, but I knew that it just wasn’t meant for me.

Now, every day is literally a roller coaster of emotions, I wash my hair once every two weeks, I wear the same crazy Malian clothes for days in a row (until it gets too dirty to wear anymore), I am constantly dirty from all of the dust at this time of year (which doesn’t bother me because it’s really just dirt), I sweat all of the time, I eat mostly carbs, but, most importantly, I am honestly very happy here. I am working in a rural health center and maternity every day, learning about global public health in the developing world and getting paid for talking to people and helping them develop projects to improve their villages. This is exactly what I wanted, and even when I am feeling miserable and sick, I still love being here and knowing that this new Peace Corps family is here for me. Since coming to the transit house yesterday, the guard here has checked in on me, my regional coordinator has stopped by and told me to call him if I need anything, my friends have sent me tons of texts, and my friend in Sikasso was amazing and brought me dinner – chicken, fries, salad, chai tea, a Sprite, and this delicious peppermint fudge. I feel very lucky to have such a great family helping me out. Being alone gave me time to reflect on where I am now and where I want to be by the time I leave Mali in 2012, so in a way, I guess I am glad that I am sick. I do hope I don’t actually have malaria, though.

There are a few things that I want to remember to do this year:
1. I want to remember the “small victories” and write down at least one every day. Sometimes, it gets overwhelming here, and it’s nice to remember that everything matters, even the small things like meeting someone new and getting the greetings completely correct.
2. I want to try and be as healthy as I can – so, I want to start cooking all of my meals for myself, biking more, and possibly running. I have more than enough free time during the day, so I might as well put it to good use. Maybe it will even cut down on my sicknesses.
3. I want to focus on the present and not wish away this journey that I’m on. Sometimes, I find myself thinking about what I will do when September 2012 arrives and worrying about finding a job that I’m happy with – but in doing that, I’m kind of dismissing the fact that I am here, right now. So, I want to focus on the present.
4. I also want to remember that this is the real world and not some fantasy “Oz.” My friend made an excellent point when she wrote that we need to make this our “Kansas”, or our real world, and not imagine that Mali is some dream-like “Oz” that we get to escape from in two years. I am here doing real work, meeting real people, and forming real relationships. There is nothing un-real about this experience, and I need to remember that in two years, I’m not going back to the “real world,” but that I’ll just be going back to a different world.

I hope everyone had a great holiday and new year, and thanks again for all of the emails, letters, cards, and packages! I will get back to all of you, I promise! It will probably take me a few weeks, though, so please be patient!

Reasons why December is better than November...

1. We had our In-Service Training in Bamako and our whole stage was together for the longest amount of time that we’ve ever been together – it was a good two weeks! I have significantly more Facebook friends now.

2. I went into Bamako and ate PIZZA. If you are my friend, then you know how much I freaking love pizza.

3. I caught up on all of Glee, Season 2 – again, if you are my friend, then you know how much I freaking love Glee.

4. I got sucked into Jersey Shore, Miami, and I don’t hate it. (What time is it? Tee Shirt time!)

5. I will be spending Christmas camping at some beautiful waterfalls in my region with a few friends. Even though I love snow, waterfalls seem like a great alternative…

6. I saw the new Harry Potter movie! I’m so glad that other people know how to download movies, TV shows, and music from the Internet.

7. I saw The Social Network! And, I only fell asleep for half of it….

8. I am going to Senegal and The Gambia in February! Let the traveling begin…

9. I received some awesome Christmas cards and packages from quite a few people, and I was very pleasantly surprised by all of them!

10. Another PCV cut my hair for free, so now all of my split ends are gone. I can go back to washing my hair once every week again.

In all seriousness, IST made me pumped to head back to site, and it’s mainly because my homologue is so wonderful. She understands my frustrations with my Chef de Poste and the treatment of women, and she agrees that we need to make the women feel like their opinions matter. We talked about potential projects, and she definitely has her act together – she wants to use the women and the men to clean up the village (by making and maintaining soakpits so that the standing water, and hopefully malaria rates, will decrease); she wants to build a vaccination hangar so that we can continue to vaccinate babies and start weighing them every Monday (so that we can educate about healthy eating and malnutrition); she wants the women’s association (that she is the President of) to start a garden project where they can sell half of their crops for profit on market day (and eat the other half); she also wants the women’s association to make “neem cream”, which is mosquito repellant made from local sources; she wants to revamp the adult literacy center; she wants to take me around the village so that we can talk about the importance of birth control to the families (since the women in the village come to her house at night so that she can give them the shot or the pill for a good price); and, she wants to do a radio show with me in Sikasso-ville to talk about important health issues in our village. The best part of all of this is that she came up with all of these ideas on her own! I simply told her that I wanted to have a meeting about potential projects and listed the people I wanted to be present, and it was like she read my mind with all of her ideas! This is a great sign, and I feel positive about my future village projects.

Thank you for all of your support this past month, and I hope everyone has a great holiday! It feels more like Christmas now that there are fake trees and decorations everywhere (including blow up Santas), and now that the weather cools down to about 70 at night. Happy holidays!

In the words of Jay-Z and Little Orphan Annie, “It’s a Hard Knock Life…”

The month of November has by far, been my most challenging month, and I am very pleased that it is over. I have been more overwhelmed this month than at any other time, and it’s hard to process everything that happens when I am A.) The only white, American, English speaker in my village who understands American customs and traditions; B.) Still only at an Intermediate High level of Bambara; and C.) Thousands of miles away from the family and friends that I care most about and want to be near. Let me explain further:

- To be completely honest, my Chef de Poste (my boss, the “doctor” [AKA, nurse with three years of school training) is a complete asshole. As bad as this may sound, he knows that, as a Peace Corps volunteer, I should be treated like royalty here and not made to do the traditional “women’s” work. I am here to help the village develop from a health education perspective, and should therefore be asked only to do tasks that deal with health education or, in my case, water sanitation. He should not be making me bow to him, fetch him water, get his shoes from inside his house, buy him tea, make him tea, get hot coals, sweep a room, bring him hot sauce, or clean out his tea set – however, he has been making me do all of these things, like a traditional Malian woman. At first, I pretended not to understand anything he asked me, but my lies became problematic when he started learning select English phrases like, “Bring me the water,” and saying them in front of the CSCOM staff. It became awkward for me to refuse by “not understanding” (as it is disrespectful to flat out refuse), so I just did as he asked. I did NOT bow, though, and I explained that I would only bow to him if he bowed to me – in America, women do not simply bow to men because they are men. However, once I found out that all of this was unacceptable, I told my Peace Corps Volunteer Leader, we had a meeting with a well-respected man in my village, and I was told that this well respected man would talk to both my homologue (who is an AWESOME woman) and my Chef de Poste and fix the situation. Even though I was out of village for a few days for Thanksgiving, I came back a while ago, and, as of a few days ago, my Chef de Poste was still an asshole trying to make me his bitch (although my homologue understands and intervenes before I actually have to do any of the work). Someone from Peace Corps came to my village, and we had a meeting to discuss my role as a volunteer – specifically, how he is not my “boss” but my “work partner” who should help me integrate and be helpful to the community. Apparently, when they look at me, all they can see is the former volunteer, who was very well integrated and who spoke really great Bambara. They forget that I have only been at site for about two months and that when the previous volunteer left, she had two years of experience. I honestly think that the excuses my Chef de Poste gave were complete bullshit (like, that the previous volunteer used to just bring him water voluntarily or that they just assume that I am bored and need something to do when I am watching them work… when, in reality, I am just doing my job these first three months!) These gender roles are so frustrating for me every day, and I still have not figured out how to work productively within a culture that I completely disagree with, yet, at the same time, cannot change at all. I have to take it one day at a time, I guess. I will never, ever, EVER understand why having a penis grants a person a sense of entitlement, but I am going to keep an open mind and try to work productively in my service.

- The sick children at the CSCOM and in my own concession with the dugutigi literally make me cry every week. All of the children have malaria, and all of their parents wait to take them in to the CSCOM until they are on the verge of death – vomiting up water, foaming at the mouth, glassy eyes, and not even enough energy to cry. I talk to the parents over and over again, but I will never understand why they REFUSE to buy a mosquito net in market for 2,000CFA, but will spend 10,000CFA or more on medicine to keep their child alive. And, at the CSCOM, we give away nets to all pregnant women and children who finish their (FREE) vaccinations! This is all especially hard on me because, when we are short staffed at the CSCOM, it is my job to hold down the children so that the nurse can stick the IV needle into their veins. This is usually a 20 minute process because the kids are so dehydrated that no one can find a vein. It’s emotionally draining because I don’t know how to help someone that doesn’t want to help him/herself. They all know where malaria comes from, yet they refuse to help themselves! All I want to do is help, yet I feel so helpless. Again, I have to take it one day at a time and look for small solutions. It’s not the quantity, but the quality that matters, and I just need to keep that in mind.

- In my village, people are always asking me to give them my belongings – my clothes, my earrings, my shoes, my bike, etc. At first, I didn’t mind that they were joking around or that they wanted all of my treasures. However, now they physically grab at my items and surround me to ask for all of my things, and this is unacceptable. At first, I tried to be “culturally appropriate” and ignore that they were making me upset. But, because part of my mission here is a cultural exchange, I have started telling them “NO!”, “I will never give you anything,” and “If you give me money, then I will give you this.” The volunteer I replaced was not afraid to be sassy with them, and I think I just need to channel the real Jess Soja and let my village know why I am here. I am here to help them develop by teaching them sustainable, long lasting skills – I am not an NGO giving them freebies that do nothing in the long run. Once again, I have to take it all one day at a time.

- Lastly, and probably the worst part of my month, can be summed up in one awful, saddening, and deadly word – cancer. Two people that I really thought I would see again in two years were taken by cancer in the past few months, and that is something that no village Malian understands. Luckily, I was able to Skype the people I wanted to talk to, but more than anything, I wish I could be at home with my family and best friends. I hate being so far away from the people that I want to hug and drink away the pain with, and it’s really challenging to deal with two unexpected deaths while living all alone in an African brousse village, barely speaking the language, and trying to make people stop grabbing at your bike as you ride it down the “road” (dirt path filled with rocks). I know that this is all a learning experience and that I am here for a reason, but I just wish that reason would show itself in more clear ways sometimes. I am okay, but I wish I could be at home with everyone I love and care about right now. Sometimes, taking it one day at a time is really challenging.

It’s been a long month, so I’m sorry if I haven’t written back to your emails, letters, or text messages. But, thank you all so much for letting me know how much you care (and for letting me know that you were worried for not hearing from me for a while!) I will definitely write back to you all, but I just need some time! And, THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who has sent me a care package!!!! You have no idea how much it brightens my day!! And, of course, thanks for reading this extremely long blog entry. I promise to make a more uplifting entry next time!

Bored with the Internet?

For the past few days, I’ve been in Bamako on “medical hold” – the doctors think that a bug crawled inside of my eye and bit me, causing an infection of both my eye and my eyelid. There were days when it looked like my eye was exploding with puss, and there were other days when I could barely open my eye because of all of the swelling and built up pressure inside. However, because I have been on two basic pain killers, an anti-inflammatory steroid, an eye drop antibiotic, and an oral antibiotic, my eye is finally better and I will be able to go back to my village tomorrow. And, even though I have been enjoying amenities such as fried chicken, quesadillas, coffee, milkshakes, soft serve, and air conditioning… I am really looking forward to going back to my village.

Before coming to Bamako for medical reasons, I was in Sikasso for my in-service language training. When I was there, I also had access to these same amenities, but I was significantly less overwhelmed – I feel comfortable walking around Sikasso, people know my name there, and it is a much smaller city than Bamako. Here in Bamako, I can only walk a small distance before I get completely lost and begin sweating uncontrollably. Bamako is so big that you have to take taxis everywhere, and everything is so expensive that you can easily spend 10,000 CFA in a single day. So, I am excited to go back to my village where everyone knows my name, where the kids chant my name as I walk down the street, and where people give me free food because they are happy that I am there. Tomorrow will be a great day!

Public transportation is always an interesting situation, and it is like nothing you have ever experienced in the US. This is how my bus ride into Bamako went, and keep in mind that I made this journey while barely being able to open my swollen, oozing eye. I hope that my ride back goes a little more smoothly…

1. Arrive at bus station and order ticket. (This is the bus that sometimes has “air conditioning,” AKA, air blowing on you, and very comfortable, non-crowded seats).
2. Wait for the bus driver to call your name, get on bus, and find empty seat.
3. Greet the people around you so that they know you are able to speak Bambara and are not a French person.
4. Realize that this is going to be a completely full bus ride, so you slide over and allow a Malian man wearing cologne to sit next to you.
5. Laugh when the bus does not have air conditioning, but be thankful that you sat near a functioning window.
6. Stop approximately two to three times per hour to allow the Malians to leave the bus and buy the exact same products (water, Coca-Cola, bananas, meat sandwiches) at every stop.
7. Become annoyed at all of the stops along the way.
8. Try to nap because there is nothing else to do.
9. Realize that you cannot nap because the driver beeps his loud horn every time he sees a person, animal, bike, moto, or donkey cart on the road to let them all know that a large bus is approaching… because, apparently, they can’t see or hear a Coach sized bus coming from a distance.
10. Stop on the side of the road for over an hour (in addition to all of the other stops per hour) because someone’s computer is missing from the luggage compartment.
11. Be glad that you kept your luggage in the seat with you and not in the compartment.
12. Finally leave and continue to Bamako.
13. Continue stopping multiple times per hour.
14. Politely refuse a “non-alcoholic dark Malt beverage” from the Malian man sitting next to you because he feels badly about your leaky eye.
15. Accept blessings from said Malian every few minutes because your eye looks like it might explode.
16. Stop again because the bus driver hears a tire pop.
17. False alarm – someone else's tire popped, so continue on to Bamako.
18. Finally arrive in Bamako, seven hours later, when it should have taken only five.
19. Laugh. You are in Mali.

I am hoping that my bus ride goes smoothly tomorrow morning, but really, you never know. At least I’m able to go back to my village and my eye is all set! And, now I have a great story (or two… or three) to tell people about my adventures in Mali. As always, thanks for reading!

So, that one time...

I’ve realized that a lot of random things have happened to me in the past two weeks, and since my PCV friends enjoy my stories via text as they occur, perhaps the blogging world will enjoy them as well. Here are a few stories from the past two weeks – they seemed bad at the time, but now just make me laugh.

- Last week, I caused an accident with two motos and a donkey cart on my way into Sikasso. I was on my bike, and it was the morning of market day – meaning, that the streets were very crowded with donkeys, bikes, and motos. I was coming up to a donkey cart full of wood, and when I looked in back of me to see if I could pass it, I saw that two motos were approaching on the left side of my bike. My brakes are getting worse as they days go on (because I bike around 60K or more each week, and sometimes, I do ride the breaks), so I had to screech to a halt to avoid hitting the donkey cart and motos. The motos, however, must have thought that I was going to pass the donkey cart and not break, so they both swerved into each other to avoid me, skidded across the road, and dropped the short-wave radios that they were carrying into the street, where they promptly shattered. I looked back, smiled an “I’m so sorry I caused you to skid across the road and break your radio,” smile, and kept going. Oops. It didn’t look like any injuries occurred.

- For some reason, whenever I am in large crowds of people (which is all the time) the women always hand me their babies. I think babies are great because I can always give them back when I get tired of them, so I always hold them. I was holding one baby that belongs to some unknown woman in my concession (since the dugutigi has three wives, I never really know who belongs to who), when I not only feel it pee on me, but hear and feel it’s tummy a-rumblin’. So, I got peed on and shit on by a baby, but apparently, this is good luck in Mali. I then gave the baby back to the woman I assumed to be the mother. However, she did not hold the baby, but instead, put the baby in a bucket. Picture a two month old baby being plopped down into a small bucket, surrounded by blankets so that it doesn’t fall out of the bucket – this is what I refer to every day as, “baby in a bucket.” Maybe American women should start putting their crying children in buckets, too? Who even needs a high chair when you have baby in a bucket?

- As I was wandering around the streets of Sikasso the other day, I noticed that a child riding a bicycle was trying to sell something to me and the other PCV I was with. The child kept shouting that it was 5,000 CFA, or about $10 US for this mysterious item. I had no idea what was happening until I turned to look at the kid to see what he was selling – and, he was selling a monkey. That’s right – this kid had a monkey tied to the handlebars of his bike and was trying to sell it to the white people that he assumed to be rich. Only in Mali…

- My host sister tried to pop a pimple on my chin this morning. Without saying a word, she just leaned over, put her dirty fingers on my face, and tried to squeeze. I stopped her before she could complete the action, but it was still surprising to have this happen at 6:30AM, right before breakfast. I just laughed, shrugged, and walked away to my mouse-infested hut to eat some sugary porridge for breakfast.

Oh, Mali… I really do like this country.

I just bought rat poison...

... and Peace Corps gets real! I had my first "oh shit" moment at site last week when I woke up to mouse droppings on top of my mosquito net. Meaning, that the mice have become so comfortable in my mud hut that they feel like they can literally walk all over me...at night...when I can't see them. Well, the mice better think again, because after I poison them tonight with "medicine" and peanut butter, I will hopefully not see them again. Or, at least I won't see them for a while.

So, as you can see, I am a real Peace Corps volunteer now! I keep getting a lot of questions about my site, the work I've done so far, and the 50th Anniversary of Independence celebration, so I will try to answer these questions in as few words as possible (to avoid the super long blog entries I've become accustomed to writing).

Site:
My site is in the Sikasso region of Mali, so it is in the South, near the borders of Burkina Faso and the Ivory Coast. I live in the bush in a village about 1K off the main road. It is beautiful and green and it has about 3,000 to 4,000 people, I think. I live on the same compound as the dugutigi, or the village chief. He has a huge family and I am slowly beginning to learn their names... but I will probably never get the kids' names right. The dugutigi, his mom, and his wives don't have a lot of teeth so it is hard to understand them when they speak, but we do make limited conversation every day. They are very, very nice to me, and if anything goes wrong, they are always over to check on me and my house. For example, after it rains (which is every day now, in the rainy season), they always come and make sure that my hut isn't leaking. It's not! (Knock on wood).

I live in a two room mud hut, and the outside of the hut has been plastered with cement. I have a thatched roof, so it stays cool - however, I do have a family of mice that live somewhere inside of the roof, between the thatch, mats, and layer of plastic that's been applied to the ceiling. I have no electricity, and I charge my appliances (cell phone, camera battery, computer) whenever I come into my market town once a week. I also have a large nyegen (AKA, hole in the ground) that I use for my bathroom, and it has a beautiful view of the sunrise and the sunset. I would describe my living situation as a slight step up from camping. I make most of my own food with my gas stove, or I eat with my family when they cook food that I like. This is definitely the definition of "living on my own."

Work:
Every day, my family wakes me up around 6AM, fills up my water buckets from the pump for me, and gives me porridge for breakfast. I walk around, greet my family, and then I make my way over the the Centre de Sante Communitaire (CSCOM), or health center. Mondays are exciting days because we give vaccinations to babies and pregnant women. I can't give vaccinations with a needle, but I give babies polio vaccination oral drops, and it is pretty cool. I work from about 8AM to 12PM, have lunch with the CSCOM staff, and then wander around my village, talking to random people and getting to know them all afternoon. They give me free food, afternoon tea, and help me with my Bambara and French (although my Bambara is much better than my French right now). I return home from wandering around by 6PM, take a bucket bath as the sun sets, and then hang out with my Malian friends at night. They talk to me so that I can understand their Bambara, and they give me free food, too. (And, if any of you know me at all, then you know that I absolutely love free food!) I haven't been gaining any weight, though, since I bike about 25K every few days to my market town for veggies. It's nice - I've lost about 10 pounds so far! Then, I wake up Tuesday through Friday and do the same thing. Except, we don't give vaccinations on any other days, so I just watch people get treated for malaria, make conversations with the villagers, and try to understand what each medicine is used for... in French. This is my life! It really is pretty awesome. Sometimes, I can't believe that just a few months ago, I was sitting in an air conditioned office, reading hundreds of documents every day, and spending lots of money on lunch and drinks. It's amazing how fast priorities change! These days, I love just reading a book, playing my uke, writing songs, and talking to people in my village. Life is hard, but easy at the same time.

Cinquantenaire:
Mali recently celebrated it's 50th Anniversary of Independence, and my village had a rockin' party. It started the night before (September 21st), and there was a HUGE, late night dance party. Being the only white girl there, they called my name and I danced in the circle, surrounded by Malians, drums, and guitars, directly under the full moon and plethora of stars. It was so surreal, and is by far one of the most awesome things that I have done so far. I made it to bed by 1:30AM and then woke up at 6AM the following day for the real celebration.

I was treated like a VIP, so I had a front row seat for all of the action: the Mayor's speech, the running race, the bicycle race, the bicycle tricks, the dance-offs, the sack races, and a weird twist of a pinata game that involved tying bags of toys on a clothes line, blindfolding kids, spinning them around, and then letting them wander away, hopefully in the direction of the prizes. It was like a field day in America, but with tons of happy Malians dancing and playing games. There was even a soccer game that I watched, and it was so intense!! I am starting to like soccer now. And, I'm beginning to get used to dancing in large circles of Malians... mostly because I try to sneak away, and then they call my name in the microphone and make me dance alone. But, it's great!

Wow - so much for not writing a long blog entry. If you want to see more pictures, then click on this link: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2105544&id=17605365&l=bff3ff9994

Thanks for following my blog!