so it begins

there's not much I can say without a smile on my face after a week at site. I haven't had much time alone, my brother drags me out of bed around 7 and we're usually out past midnight. I eat with my dad who doesn't have much to say, maybe he knows I'm getting it from every angle all the time or that I don't like to talk when I eat. the food is good, right now it's mostly peanut and okra sauce on rice. but the breakfast they bring me sucks. moni is like a plain porridge with little chewy balls of ground corn or millet. I have to add lots of sugar or just eat bread and mayonnaise. it sounds gross but you come to love it... they slaughtered a cow my second day there. I got to watch some and they gave me a good cut of meat. I cooked it with onions peppers garlic and salt and served it over macaroni to my brother and cousin. they tried giving me the meat back as a sign of respect, or they felt uncomfortable indulging themselves. but I made them eat it. and wherever I go I'm handed roasted corncobs, I eat at least six a day.

two days later was the end of ramadan - no more daylight fasting and incessant praying. they requested that I attend one of the final mosque sessions but I couldn't bring myself to accept. several other PCVs have participated, but really I just have no interest. the day after was the 49th anniversary of their independence from france, so the entire weekend was constant eating dancing and playing. the dancing is indescribable madness, they move like they're possessed and it's always in rhythm with the music and in sync with everyone else. I tell them I came to africa to learn to dance and play soccer... so I've been playing soccer everyday, and teaching the kids football. I used candy and 500 to get the boys to give up soccer for a while. they can throw and catch now and we played something like rugby. it was hard getting them to tackle me, they don't want to hurt the white person I'm sure. only after I started running over dudes did they decide to really play. afterwards we chill in my hut and eat roasted corn and drink tea. the furune was my best buy, one will cook outside while five or six sit on my floor mat and I lay in bed.

I've met and had class with the local language tutor. he's the village school's headmaster and was placed in marembilia by the malian government. he speaks a little bit of english, I think he's more interested in learning it than teaching me malinke. my homologue too. I tell everyone I'll teach them english, and that I'll build a plane to take them all to america. then I tell them kids in america go to school and adults go to work for eight hours a day. their demeanor changes until they find out how much money americans make. they get it and they want it, but they don't realize it's more important to make it here. anyways my village isn't bambara, whose language I had been learning during training. most people can understand me but it's more bullshit my ears have to sort through when people start running their mouths a million miles an hour. my tutor's use will be for leaning french. he teaches french to middle schoolers starting in october so I'll sit in class every morning. I think it'll be school I can handle, breeze instead of a/c, language of love instead of differential equations, mischievous kids instead of young professionals in the making.

everyday I make sure to do an errand since we're discouraged to start projects before we've been fully assimilated (they suggest after IST, which is in december). I visited the broken pumps and community garden, they want those fixed and that systematically irrigated. they also want a bridge, but I've initially decided this to be a superfluous request. I'll be able to do a proper needs assessmend for the village once I have a confident grasp of the language. I've seen their unimproved nyegens and lack of personal hygiene, which might be better targets for my efforts. I've realized behavior change is more important here than tangible constructions. I went pig hunting with my homologue and he showed me his peanut cotton rice and millet farms. we rode bikes another morning to the village where the family of his second wife lives. they're in worse shape, they have one broken pump and the wells run dry in the hot season. but they make a mean peanut and okra sauce and they like to hear about america. they fed me milk and sugar and millet powder for dessert so I'll probably end up doing work there as well.

I biked 20 k with my brother to kokofata, my local market town. right now everything is green so the ride is beautiful, and we got to walk our bikes across waist-high creeks where the topless women wash clothes and dishes. in town he sold a sack of charcoal while I met the mayor and his cronies, whose place I'll keep my bike at when I need to catch transport out of town. about 2/3 the way back my bike unravelled. we scooped up all the pieces we could pick out of the mud and puddles. I was pissed because I didn't have any water and hadn't eaten in six hours, and it got worse when I had to greet every damn person on the way. I didn't want to deal with it but malians will make you, they don't let you continue without a smile on your face.

next post is about my unplanned and extended vacation to bamako.

swear-in & risky business

the night before swear-in was our talent show and superlative announcement. some committee self-formed from our stage decided to implement the high school tradition of mosts and bests. I'm most likely to fall asleep behind my aviators and end up in a malian jail. sweet right. the talent show was the highlight of the evening with 12 quality presentations. I usually avoid this type of deal, but there was lots of good singing dancing and beats. and buffering with social lubricant cures stage fright. I was part of the circus act, the freak show, with kat sara and ali (hula hoopers), zan jeremy and I (jugglers), and clemente (freak). the girls hooped sexy well, jeremy kept his juggle and after Zan and I lost ours we did chair walks and hung from the hangar rafters. for the finale, clemente came from the crowd sat at front stage and held his leg behind his head. I lit six cigarettes and put them in everyone's mouth while they were in action.

we didn't win. to forget the painful loss we went to the trash bar. there my glasses fell apart, foreshadowing the return to tubaniso. I rode back against better advisement without my eyes and in the dark. so as expected I ended up face-planting the side of a ditch, leaving pieces of my beautiful mug in the grass and mud. K helped me out of that hole but then it rained on us. we walked our bikes probably a mile the rest of the way and directly to the med unit for cleanup. I had to scramble the next morning, I wasn't in my room for wakeup and we had to get to the embassy. I took my first mali walk of shame, trying to shrug off lots of omgs and duuudes. swear-in was in brutally sweltering heat, but it was quite impressive to walk the embassy grounds and take the oath of service. another PCV and I ran through and laid on the thick green grass surrounding the embassy, he made the point that we won't see the kind of grass we're used to for a while. I shook the country director's hand afterwards and he just smiled upon reviewing my face. I looked fresh out of a bar fight or skating wipeout for all the pretty group pictures. from the embassy we were bussed to the american club to swim eat drink and work toward starting the wild swear-in night right.

before everyone else got good and deep, our stage was nicknamed risky business. every stage is nicknamed by the previous year's stage. many of these extracurriculars seem juvenile but the name is somewhat appropriate. I heard that my mishap the night before was mentioned as an example. by the time we made it to the pirate's club everyone was loose. I always enjoy seeing that, everyone coming out and drinking their face off, everyone without the mask of inhibition. it was a good time anyway, got to go out with my girl and get loud with the boys. we polished off a nalgene of jack daniels (spent extra for that sweet stuff) and went dancing at the second club, a legit two story deal where no one could hear each other. we were beyond that anyway, we just smiled and moved together.

somewere along the way we lost our room key. we were staying at an inn different than everyone else and we had problems with the front desk, at whichever early hour in the morning it was. they supposedly didn't have a spare, since we're in mali you know, and nothing is the same as it is in the states. good thing K knows french, we had to argue for another room. when we woke up they presented a sparkly new spare key, only after more arguing. we were supposed to have sessions back at tubaniso but K had a bad foot so we went to the med office. we stayed there the whole day, we had the entire building to ourselves. movies and a balcony and a real bathroom with a toilet tub and sink. they really spoil you when you're sick... I was just along for the ride. and I went into town to get us lunch. white cheddar and chocolate from the white person store and greasy delicious spring rolls and sandwiches from the vietnamese stand by the bureau. it was a good final day in the city.

I had to go back to tubaniso that night for the guest dinner. we were supposed to invite someone from our homestay so I chose my uncle. he got to eat cake with chocolate frosting and drink cold sodas. we left for our banking towns the next morning. most of kita-kaw, the group of us seven who bank in Kita, spent the next few days under the influence and buying essentials. I got a malian charcoal stove and a big thick bed, cheese pasta chocolate and condensed milk.

I get installed on 9/17...

we're out

this is a sweet job, right now work is cruising and talking to villagers... the dudes outside the butiki, the ladies who sell coconut and frybread on my corner, the kid gangs that roam the streets at night. I like riding my bike after it rains so you can't go fast or you'll get all dirty. then stay dirty for two years because you can never really get your clothes clean and then don't care if your whites stay brown. and I like walking around at night without a flashlight, because if you do the frogs will jump into the light and disappear. a week later your light won't work and you'll find a dead frog inside.

we left homestay yesterday morning. people were crying, my dad and lots of the women. minata is my little sister, like three, who walks everywhere with me and carries my water bottle. I feel like such a baller with her on my wing. all sorts of kids always try and carry my shit, but I usually only share my candy and gato with her. she's cute with big puffy cheeks and little gold earrings. she's always smiling, especially when I spin her around in the air. she falls no matter how carefully I put her down. my uncle told me to sneak her inside my bag before we left for good. but we'll be back, with all the soundougouba boys.

for our last night, two of us managed to top the forbidden rock next to the dugutiki's. we were trying our hardest to taste the rainbow that was out. instead I almost ate rock on the way down, it was a tricky climb. a good rush though, like having just had sex. I smoked a cigarette afterwards. when I got home my mom confronted me about not telling her I was leaving for good the next morning so I hugged her and she gave me some coconut. she wears her intolerance like my mother, as a mask, but all you have to do is smile and the debt is washed away. even the dugutiki knows it; before we climbed the rocks we had a final session at his place for a formal farewell, during which he stated that we were all raised by very good mothers. living speaking and laughing with these people goes a far way because it lets them know we actually give a shit.

last night I skipped dinner and made ramen at the trash bar. it was elegant... whiskey pouches and drinking from the bowl and a bluegrass music box. my kind of date. the next morning I had to make the bus for the field trip to several national departments with the water and sanitation heads. the buildings are modest concrete cubes tucked into dirty corners that are abound in bamako. we met all the people in charge and were extended full support. everyone is excited to have us out in the field, their gratitude is genuine and they're anxious to overcome the vast language and cultural differences we'll soon be having to work around. during one of the meet and greets I realized that we're involved with the small but strong government organizations that were occurring in the US 200 years ago. another perk. mali has been independent for 49 years and a democracy for 18 years. it's a baby thrown into an incredibly fast and technical bush without centuries of health and education for a foundation.

just imagine. america was under british colonial rule for about a century and a half. mali was under french colonial rule for about 2/3 a century. in half a century they were able to establish a trademark democracy in west africa, after settling political unrest without major bloodshed or civil war. they're quick, relatively speaking. and they've been untouched and untapped. but everything's relative. who's to say they won't catch this world wide wave and somehow manage not to wipe out. I've already mentioned their superior grace...

next post is about PC swear-in fun.

later