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.
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