first real trip

so we've just come back from our site visit, the places we'll be for the next two years. it would normally bother me to have my future so definitely planned. my new hood is marembilia, which is 80 km from the banking town (if you're interested in pointing me out, google kita mali and it's 60 km west then 20 km south from there) and maybe 1000 people living in between corn and cotton fields. it's rainy season so the stalks stand high, turning the village into a maze that I kept getting lost in. no problem, just say hello sit and drink tea. I'll do this for the next three months... the village is surrounded by rock ridges and dotted with mango and citrus trees, some really good ones for climbing.

we climbed trees on the way back from the tubaniso bar the night before we went to site. we went all the way to the top and shared pocket shots, we could see out to the bamako lights. when we got back to the training center we roasted marshmallows on the bball blacktop and talked to one of the malian cultural facilitators about polygamy. the girls didn't want to hear any of it. I guess I don't care one way or the other, I usually tell the dudes here good work when they start counting their wives by hand. I do care about female genital mutilation though, which they say is performed on 95% of the female population over 15. and they wait until right before they get married. sucky. I'm surprised more don't aspire to become whores. I would. especially with all the laundry to do. it would take me all day to do mine, if the women didn't do it for me.

anyways site was chill. I get two, count it, two mud huts with termite infested thatched roofs. I like when I'm sleeping and the termites that land on my mosquito net squirm through the little holes and land on my face or somehow climb into my shorts. maybe that's what crabs feel like. and my nyegen is about a head and a half too short... and there's no goddamn lid! I'll have to make one when I get back for good. and a pot to sit on as well. screw decking out my room, I'll never be in it. however the nyegen could definitely use a seat and some tile. the food wasn't bad, kayes region is pretty well known for tiga degenna, which translates as peanut butter sauce and can look like anything from Mr. D, especially when they're pouring it, to black tar. but it tastes good, better than most things. and they already figured out I like the spice, so I get a few peppers with each meal. now to get them to feed me the sweet seri for breakfast... though they do have something that I haven't seen anywhere else en brousse - dessert. I think my jatiki (host father) is just a G like that. it's fresh milk mixed with millet powder and sugar. we aren't supposed to drink fresh milk because of parasites and TB risks. I can't really justify having done that, except maybe just because it tastes so good.

didn't do much else during site visit, got offered some women and saw a 12 hour old baby that they wanted me to name. it's weird, the babies don't come out black, or at least this one didn't. I picked Angel, short for my sister Angelica. I guess the woman who had just given birth was working up until the day, and she was already up and greeting people 12 hours postpartum. these chicks don't fuck around. I saw one lady walking through muddy bamako around motos and buses with a baby on her back, a hand full of bags, and a ten gallon bucket on her head. she made it look like nothing. grace baby.

the way back to the kita stage house was long. friday morning I was on my way by 8:00, via donkey cart. I tried convincing my jatiki to let me ride my own donkey, but I kept translating their words as stubborn ass. so off we went, one of the dugutiki's (village chief) sons was my chauffer. he went through at least 10 2-inch thick branches beating the animal into our direction of travel. stubborn ass indeed. it was a rough four hour trip to kokofata. I passed the time sharpening my slingshot skills and learning how to master the donkey. the way was pretty too, lots of rocky hills and climbing spots and big trees and hidden creeks. when we rolled into kokofata I was greeted well. there I had a rice and beef sauce lunch with my contact and his buddies and they hooked me up with some other street food. and they tried giving me one of their girls for dessert. after three hours the transport came - a rice delivery truck that doubled as a bus. it took me 60 km of the rest of the 80 km to kita. on the way we stopped for some dude who wrecked his moto. he was scratched up pretty bad, but if you can walk you have to pay full fare. the driver bitched to me in french about the guy wanting a free ride. I laughed and we smoked cigarettes.

I saw monkeys about halfway there. I thought they were big cats at first, they were burnt orange with long tails and ran down tree trunks on all fours. but when they stopped and turned towards the road I could see flat faces and side by side eyes. they ran together in a pack weaving in and out like fire. it started raining and the windows didn't roll up. I liked it, daytime rains are pretty mild. but when I got to kita the streets were a mess. I got dopped off on the outskirts of town and I walked around for an hour trying to find my way. the PCVs told us to ask locals where the mission was when we got into town, but no one knew what the hell I was talking about. I eventually figured it out and about 300 yards from the house a PC transport passed me. how convenient. I was pissed and just wanted to walk the rest, but they stopped and took my bags for me. a PCT buddy had gin pocket shots lined up for my arrival, and we went to a restaurant for dinner. they only had a few steak plates left, I got a steak plate and chicken plate. and for lunch yesterday in bamako I ate a chawarma frites sandwich (big lamb and fries burrito), half of someone's burger complet (big roll hamburger with fried egg), a plate of fries, a couple of cokes, a double ice cream (pistachio and chocolate), a chocolate eclair and marlboro reds. I found a pack with a street vendor for 600 cfa ($1.20). I'm getting my weight back.

homestay calls me the stomach.