the holiday season, pt. II

came in for thanksgiving. before leaving site I heard promises of turkey n stuffing, pumpkin cheesecake, and even ice cream. these were delivered and the day was done especially well; we got live feeds of the football games and even figured out how to make cranberry sauce. malian friends showed and were rewarded accordingly, filling up on food and booze. ammmerica.

didn't mess around much in kita, new transit house rules are a bitch. no malians after dark, families can't stay, no drinking, smoking, and if you exceed your limited number of stays you pay big money. bullshit. some bullshit about volunteers getting too close and therefore too far away from their malian people. like if you were trying to escape your reality here you couldn't just sit in your hut all day. I know lots of people who do.

christ what kind of stupid shit is this, when transit houses can be places for collaboration between volunteers, about work, or places for relaxing with your malian friends. oh yeah, you'll put us up in their village, they'll invite us over for dinner, even give us their bed if we're sick or just feeling bitchy, and what do they get? a nice handshake out the door around 10, thanks but there's a curfew. oh and we're dry. don't you love it? america, guards and ID cards.

haha whatever. so checked out to site where well work picked back up with relative vengeance. having lots of fun out there, still. just waiting around for project money, which tends to last a long time in the hands of whoever, and not in mine while my time here runs out. red tape, bureaucracy, more bullshit. while the people in my village ask and ask and ask, "when are we gonna get that garden? we're awfully stoked about it, and we can only spend so much time in it before the rains come again. what's the deal?" ahhhh... papers are the deal. I don't expect them to understand, especially after spending nine hours in the fields and under the sun, instead of an a/c office.

on the brighter side... I fucking love the cool season. very holidayesque waking up each morning to sit by the fire with my host family. got some trees losin their leaves, the cotton fields look like snow, and wrapping paper corn husks rustle underfoot. walking around at night, keeping warm with tea and whiskey, wondering whether or not these people actually like me.

so I've committed a grave mistake. this place is not to be romanticized, and I've already done my share of damage. talking about all the running around, the fun, the big skies and free wilderness, the graceful women. there's a struggle for life here that must be recognized and dealt with, especially when the struggles you and I are used to revolve around such stupidity. I always knew I was removed from everyone else at some level, but this place won't let you get away with it. I've noticed that america tends to breed isolation from your neighbor (whether it's the neighboring country or person next door) when really, that's the only thing we've ever had. the only thing we'll ever have. the people next to us.

if you've ever sat in your bedroom or apartment at night, wondering what else is out there, what's missing, then come here. or go anywhere. go look for it because it's out there. malians always advocate travel, as a means of understanding others, understanding your neighbor, though he may be so so far away. your paths will cross some day. maybe I'm just a new soul, figuring all this shit out for the first time. so pardon any trivialities, any redundancies in my writing and anything you've already figured out. but I haven't, and I'm realizing day by day that there's so much to open your eyes and heart to.

the holiday season, pt. I

halloween was entertaining. we sorta had a full house and everyone decided to get their rocky horror on. in the transvestite spirit I doubled up on ladies fashion, having sported a skirt and makeup last year as well as this. we finally hung out at the infamous brothel in kita. le chat rouge, the red cat, has lots of rooms to stay the night, or just the hour. I guess I don't think anyone sleeps there. we danced though, some of us uninhibitedly and to the point of being asked to leave the floor. and as terrible as we look or act if you greet and bless in their language everyone seems to look the other way.

then a deviation, to manantali, for the regular relax. you can do whatever you want out there. after recharging I wanted to go back to site, but bamako called. had my mid-service medical exam and took care of paperwork. all healthy, just the standard amoebas that turn your shit into snot and make your hangovers a lot more heavier. hooked up with a cousin who's been working in kayes at our transport station and started my way back to marembilia, with tabaski fast approaching.

tabaski is the most celebrated muslim holiday. in rural west africa this includes a short service (not your typical hour grinds for easter and christmas), strolling around sharing blessings, eating meat and potatoes, and dancing. last year I spent it in sikasso, a relatively large town, which has quite a different buzz than doing it in the bush. big family time right now. absolutely no work. everything got put on the back burner, but got lots of talking done nonetheless. soon, soooooni, farming will ease up, the cool weather will settle in, and hopefully we can pick the well work back up. it's been long overdue, and I haven't even been able to bust bricks on my own because no one's gotten any gravel.

I was able to work in a neighboring village, karo, where I'm never without workers and a friendly stay. we fixed their well a while ago, and I had left them the last part of the job to finish on their own. I wanted to find out if they understood the work we had been doing - quality control for concrete work, knowing what kind of mix to use where - but they didn't. after a good absence I visited them to find a falling apart headwall and not so user-friendly apron. so this past week we fixed it all nice and neat and they offered their services if marembilia ever decides to get their shit together and get some sand. I know the incentive is relatively low, at least when compared to income generating activities, but they asked for a water and sanitation volunteer and self-identified the need for increased access to potable water. so what the hell else am I supposed to say?

also spent a day in kokofata with bureaucrats; I don't really know how it works everywhere else, but it was quite the sight to see all the prominent figures in our area - mayors, chiefs, etc. - yell over each other in an attempt at electing representatives and establishing bylaws for a new association called for by a foreign NGO. some french or italian group wants the area to organize itself into a body for project management. another example of putting the western squeeze of rule of law on traditional tribesmen. oh boy oh boy oh boy.

everyday I find out a little more about my village, marembilia, and the villagers, malinkes. as much good I hear there comes the bad. so welcoming and generous, yet possessive and manipulating at the same time. they love to trick you, lie, only because it's about things that aren't important to them. all in all, they take their way of life very seriously, seem to have a more crystallized perspective, a more clearly understood direction and destiny. get a good woman, have lots of kids, establish or maintain your lineage. paradise for some, a prison for those with a taste for something different, something more.

black hole sun

in a world where it's getting harder to be truly free, I say, get the fuck out and enjoy yourself. duh.

I finally visited dogon country. we bounced through bush and sped across skinny spillways. we bring hardly anything because we're happy with the small things. we wait all day for beer and sodas to get cold and make boutique banquets. got to walk through places I'd only seen in pictures, through civilizations tucked into the guts of an ancient plateau, where only millet can survive and stoned is the way to go. the sangha market we rolled through was beautiful... stone floors and concessions, open and loud platforms for vendors. while owen jembe'd a crowd I found the best meat house I've seen in country. a dark and steamy room with vats of boiling and roasts of tender beef, dozens catering to and surrounding the comfortable butcher. we made bbq sandwiches with our leftover jar of mustard, frozen dablini for dessert. tired after the hike out, the children could tell and sat with us quietly within the whizz of market day. the old folks were nice too.

after living here a year I imagine how long I could sustain a backpacker's lifestyle. it certainly suits me, but I don't think it could give me what I want. so like all things it's bittersweet. as soon as I slip into a damp cavern and peer out to the bright life I'm panged with the disappointment that I won't give the time to really know this place. I assume to attain any further levels of understanding, some deeper sort of commitment would have to be made. and I know my time is coming, to mold my life in the fashion I see fit, but this doesn't involve here. I love so many things about this place - their different handling of objects, their relationship to subjects, the lawlessness and camaraderie - that typically raise questions regarding personal happiness. I could be happy here, but I'd rather be happy somewhere else.

the great things about peace corps are the human keepsakes, the people you get close to who will be there on the other side. maybe one day it'll be like doing mali but in the southwest US, or maybe on the road to colombia.

on my way back from sevare we stopped in segou for whiskey and jessies. then in bamako I picked up my dad and stepmother to head to site directly. we had a rare night in kita, only because I imagine that very seldom do volunteers get to see dads blasted on the special combination of strong local brew and golden tequila, and very seldom do parents get to see how our nightlife looks after being transplanted here. what a mess.

site was a blast. lots of good eating and laughing, dancing. my brain melted when my host dad jumped at my dad's invitation to get down. playing translator wasn't so bad, I learned a lot from all the obvious questions I tend to overlook after having become so comfortable. lots of stories about the old days and how things used to be, more mystery flaunted about the secrets these people keep. I've heard it and read it, there are things africans hold very close to the chest, and that vanish at the first sign of outsider intrigue.

and this is an appropriate climax, so now we do the falling action. I'm sure the best is yet to come, but this past month or two certainly marks a revolution in state and ideals. like fuck the melancholy, it's really good for nothing, except wallowing with other melancholies. empathy is a much better tool, and joy is the best.

back to school

class is back in session and several of marembilia's teenagers have relocated to the larger towns with middle and high schools. marembilia has a broken down middle school that was built by pdrik (programe du development rurale integre de kita or whatever) in 2007. the structure was poorly designed and constructed, and before its grand opening the roof on a majority of the school was destroyed by high winds. look:

after telling my village of their presence on the internet, a media savvy local told me to fuck pdrik and their 20% OPEC arab/oil financing because they don't really give a shit about their development work. he wants me to post pictures of the school that never was, to show this unfulfilled potential to the rest of the world, and explain how valuable a fix would be to the community. he said sure pdrik shells out lots of money and buildings, but they could give a fuck about the marginalized rural poor. I, a supposed partner in development, have been told personally by pdrik representatives to not inquire about the situation anymore because it could be damaging to my career. I'm more just dissatisfied with yet another poorly managed affair or neglected project and I'd really like pdrik to face the music and finish this shit.

instead, the internet and its ability access resources worldwide has been the avenue chosen by several villagers, and like I've said before, I've been feeling acquiescent to most of my malian family's wishes. so we have a building to house grades 7-9 that would enroll kids from a large surrounding area, including six other smaller villages. right now the closest middle school is 13 miles away. but the structure was poorly designed and villagers confessed that the construction contractor used bad materials (I've been drilling concrete quality control into their heads for a while now, even they know how it should go). pdrik sent out some dudes to make estimates on the repair after my pushing but they were assholes. didn't really greet or listen to what anyone had to say. we were told to wait for formal estimations on paper to arrive, that was over a month ago I think. so my village got it's own estimate from a contractor trusted throughout the area, with a reputation in kita and a seemingly sincere dude. 804,000 cfa or almost $2,000.

basically marembilia has been getting fucked around for three years, getting uh-huhs and we're-comings from pdrik. apparently 5% of the project cost (~700,000 cfa) is set aside in the event that problems of construction or something else arise. the way their admin works, the different levels of payouts and pushoffs rinses their hands clean of responsibility. anytime you get close enough, it's never pdrik's fault, but the contractor or project accountant or someone else that you can never get a hold of. and if you want that 700,000 cfa, you just gotta wait for that one dude to come back from bamako or the other guy from vacation. or talk to the mayor so you can get lost in that whole other sea of malian red tape and inefficiency.

and all marembilia wants is to get this opened for the coming school year. what a party they'll throw they said. their want is there, the interest. they got the papers approving the placement of a teacher for 7-9th grade, they just recently renewed it in some exercise of blind faith that the roof would be fixed. and now I tell you because sekou says, "just throw it up on the internet, www.ericbraaten.com, so the whole world can see and someone will surely want to help." I wanted to explain to him that it's not that easy, not everyone looks at what I write, and that things have to be done more formally than that since we're dealing with $$. but it really is that simple. all he wanted was the pictures put up and the story shared. so we'll see what happens.

a year in

I feel the way I think changing. naturally. after something so different for so long, being daily approached and frustratingly reproached by aliens, staring off into skies and silent abysses when I run short of foreign speech. returning to site is tripping back to neverland. I've alluded to it before, lost boys and the sahelian jungle, with makeshift banquets, lawlessness, construction of emotional and enduring bonds. different kinds of fun going on here, different ways of living.

I feel like only remarkable people have the natural gift of objectivity. rather, my instincts move me to subject myself to my village. after dealing with locals and the elements, a whole morning of dragging feet and dicking around, I happen to be cruising my bike and feel myself slipping into a different character. a son, one who should be grateful that he gets fed every meal and has all his clothes washed by women who don't bitch, one who should work in the fields with his family, if only because they want me to be there with them, to share the experience. they're extremely proud of their work, they carry it with more truth than I've seen anyone else pull off. amazing grace.

but it's a double edged sword. there's a noticeable lack of creativity here, lack of knowledge and in need of progress, critical thinking. it's stifling. I strangely enjoy the desperate admissions by other volunteers, that they feel stuck, hopeless, unmotivated. I enjoy it because I share it on some fundamental level. I'm split between empathy for us and empathy for them. and all I figure after all the thinking I do in the bush is that we're all the same. just different places, different circumstances. we're all human, and you can't convince me otherwise. entreprenuers, thieves, mothers, laborers, etc. people who have seen it can argue with me, people who haven't, can't. but I wouldn't want anyone to take my word for it...

some family ameriki came out. they bought a cow and we had a dancing party. a lot of good feelings despite the incredible differences. the last few days were a rigid contrast to normalcy and yet another perspective for my consciousness. it was brief but striking, and I'm grateful for their visit.

I wish I could tell more about the past year, but it would be a lot of ideas and concepts I'm having difficulty literalizing. so until next time, the next chapter in fun.

state of mind

the only negativity to speak of is american nostalgia. of material things, delicious foods and access to the right substances, the right people. otherwise I'm riding a huge fucking wave of contentment, the good life, dashed with happinesses of progress with projects and accomplishments at site. marembilia wants new nyegens and is learning to work with cement and fix pumps. all the pushin of pdrik finally saw some dudes out to fix the school's roof. the ladies are stoked on the soon to come garden. they know they don't know everything and want me to teach them new shit. community composting, urine fertilization, natural pesticide. sweet.

family life and love like I've never experienced. I can't wait to get back to mine. not like it's never been there, I was always just too much of an ass to see what the hell was going on. if these people can look past all the cultural differences, and all the shit I purposefully do to irritate them out of stubbornness with western ideals, then I'd say the human spirit can be quite triumphant. we're talking about having nothing in common, at all, but still finding the soul to joke, laugh, lay, love. dance and hold hands. grow and smoke. and now, work with each other to save lives and give chances. I really like helping people, but I'm sort of an inconsiderate prick. so I'm finding out how much I can get away with while giving some back at the same time. right now it's a fun beam to balance.

was just in bamako for the new stage's swear-in. lots of drinking and dancing, seeing old places and meeting new faces. fitting in work at the office and on the computer. fighting the rain and traffic and relationship fallout. we're a messy bunch, this is africa. if you're new here then just wait... we're moving the transit house in kita. new fridge and oven and mac desktop. I'm on it now and it's pretty slick, for fighting third world food insecurity with fancy technology. so no more sewage-filled nyegens, shitty murals or sticky bathrooms. someone's got our back...

but what's it all for? do we deserve all this, especially after assuming the role of resident fuckhead for leaving america to live in one of the hardest places to survive? is all this hoopla over development a worthwhile endeavor? lots of questions.

all I know is that speaking in a strictly utilitarian manner, I totally dig this right now, and I'm more satisfied than I've ever been. I've seen faces on my villagers that I bet are one in millions, after a good day of work or a conversation about america. I feel like so much happiness has been bred out of this experience... but at what cost? does this satisfying lack of self in turn breed mediocrity or dependency on the first world? I'm gonna have to say fuck that, because day after day I do less and less. and the person after me will do less than I did because thank fucking god for the small shifts toward institutional knowledge we volunteers are supporting.

damn I'm rambling, I'll finish with a little something from someone else...

"I'm realizing that the real impact is in putting us young, perhaps naive, but ambitious and courageous volunteers in the places most marred by global economics, politics, natural disaster and misfortune, where we can better understand the functioning of the world, and what roles we can play to better it. so if all this can be imprinted in the minds of even some of the 200,000 peace corps volunteers this world has seen so far, it is achieving something extraordinary."

the nightlife

6/29} ...the kids help me out. they tell me when I lose my shit. they help me hide my gin sachets. they shake my hand when they go home. last night was devendra banhart and the creepy eeriness of the wilderness at night. I love it, relish it. bats flying overhead, jine in the distance. motos pass my concession occasionally, bringing a softly blowing breeze that rustles my thatched hangar and roof. like last breaths of some scarecrow's life. the moon is low and small but bright, like a streetlamp on the corner. i be te min and think about opening up, losing those last hang-ups, the great personal struggles. clarification of the present, that instantaneous perception of reality, of now. the moment that's not even a moment. these are the things I look for and think about. gotta get your head right first, be responsible. can't just go of on your own without any regard for others. that's not the point...

7/23} ...took a night ride to jigiya. looking for a lighter but they only had matches, which suck right now because of the rain. the rain makes a good and heavy night. romantic really. thick hot air and sprawling trees. the moon tries to shine but clouds move across its face like molasses. everything a shade of grey and vague. thin trails split off into every direction of fields and more fields, secret getaways. the fields are sexy this way, when you look out to them and their descent, rolling right up under the next rock ridge. these meadows are mysterious, working their way in all snug and curvy. fireflies are floating candlelights to turn dread into spontaneity and startles into speechless embraces. no wonder they like it here, don't leave the bush. I like it here...

7/25} ...tried to make a cover for my nyegen but made a fucking mess of my concession instead. ended up not waiting long enough for the concrete to set, the thing split when I pulled on the handle. got no damn willpower, such a bum sometimes. so then I cleaned up and went to open my first pump, do a little bit more tomorrow. fell asleep waiting for a daba to start on my garden, gonna try and spiffy up the place for family and it'll give me something to do at home. yaalayaala'd, looking for a chicken. chilled at sise's and talked about marriages and how marembilia used to have huge trees and water and animals everywhere and everything was awesome. had a little bit of dinner (saved our chicken for tomorrow morning, big mistake) and went running. felt good, but again no willpower. showered and headed to diakite's dance party after some tea. I was the main attraction once again, danced with sidati my brother, the fucker, and talked about sex with the dudes there. they don't do a lot of stuff we do but seem to really enjoy the enterprise nonetheless. they're curious, that's for sure, with their cells full of nasty porn clips. you can tell the women enjoy it also, the ones lucky enough to have a man man. it'd suck to be stuck with some old fucker....

8/2} ...back home and under night I yaalayaala'd with the jeli kid looking for peanuts. ended up at filifen's, his wife and some of their kids were circled up and chatting around embers. after a few minutes of talking the kids all started inching towards me. with everything I said they got closer, until they were just feeling me with their hands. I was out of my head... these kids are always around my place, messing around, just being hooligans. but this mood was different. no antagonism, anxiety, confusion. just familylove, like closeness. all very calm and comforting. didn't get any peanuts, stopped at host family's on the way home. rain just started rollin in when I started talking to maman... more comfort. I ran home to put all my shit away, the winds picked up quick. read some of people's history and ate old packets of oatmeal I found in the transit house...

8/3} ...a weird thing happened at dinner. super turned on the radio right before we were gonna eat. everyone strangely started gathering around it and doing that sulk they do when they're irritated or something generally doesn't agree with them, like spaceship movies and rock n roll music. I realized the radio was calling the family names of the bereaved to my host aunt's older brother's son (second cousin?). I didn't know him but everyone else was losing it. they all gathered in fusenu's concession and alpha followed to try and shut them up. he was yelling telling them to wizen up and stop crying. he saw super and I waiting for bourama, who was crying like I've never seen a guy his age cry, and told us to go ahead and eat. it was sagasaga anyway, and damn good too. I stuffed myself with the lack of eaters. then alpha gave us a huge bag of medecine that came on the transport with sugar and rice gifts from his son in libya? he said the driver made a mistake, the meds aren't for him. good thing because the shit looked serious, and without knowing what you're doing or even how to read, you could really fuck someone up.

8/7} ...more striking feelings after work in karo. this time ... I felt like I was being delivered to the gates of heaven. I would imagine the way to be untamed, growth all around and clear rain-cleaned skies. distinct clouds. just cruisin, waiting for the next thing. and at dinner the forecasting clouds were so vivid I felt like I could throw my arm up around the edge of one and swing myself up. wrap up and ride the clouds like waves checkin all the shit out. wouldn't that be heaven? as long as you could swing yourself back down for all the fun. winds are pushing out to the north again. lightning gives day flashes of the open bushlands while thunder gives bass to the night...

a day in

7/25} ...woke up early supposing to run and start work but didn't get going until after nine. started out to the dugutiki's but ran into a baby's burial. very informal and I was an ass about just walking through and not greeting well and trying to get work done. I did go out past the village where they were preparing the ground but everyone was just arguing about how to place the branches over the hole. I should be more respectful...

7/26} ...up early expecting that chicken, not until lunch. back to the pump to start digging the reservoir/cold tub. got most of it done before lunch. dugutiki's for free milk from the cattletaker, I gave him aspirin for his fever. opened up more pump, at this point I just need more helping hands. back at home I ate the papaya samankou gave me and I'm about to drink some of that milk. oh yeah and by the way, that chicken lunch was dynomite. so much salt and oil over rice. chicken tiga degenna. I ate so much, didn't do anything back home. wrestled and watched some of their cell porn. bobaraba haha. drank my milk with sugar. sat back and watched kids kick the shit out of each other, flying roundhouses and haymakers. no mercy for men down. shit's funny, better than pay per view. imagine, dirty sick skinny halfnaked kids wailing on each other. laughable for sure, I couldn't stop...

7/27} ...sidati woke me up early to go to likuruni, I didn't know it was so far. of course the road is longer when you don't want to walk it. without sleep or breakfast I didn't want to. it didn't help that their village was full of fucking flies. they gave me a blanket to lay on at sidati's friend's place and I just wrapped my head in it. god damn shit covered flies. the friend, fala, gave me his room and some peanuts and I passed in and out. then came food and sour milk, the dude was really accommodating and seemed to have a little bit more than the normal malinke dick. all this changed my mood, I even got some fresh milk and sugar since I won't eat that rotten shit, unless it's in moni or something. then we had the normal talks and greeted everyone who wanted to see the white man. we left and fala saw us to the road. the walk back was much more enjoyable, a crystalline sort of contentment. I started thinking about malinkes and how happy they can be, how high their highs and how low their lows go...

7/28} ...fell asleep round three. aijara woke me up around eight, just wanting to talk. I told her I'd get her at her house, but I wasn't getting rid of her that fast. she just told me her father is my host uncle, that she's my cousin, and that she had never seen him before coming to mali. she grew up learning french with her mother in cote d'ivoire. married in burkina '97, came to mali '01 to find her father. when she got here he married her off to a dude half her size and twice her age. she wants to go back to her mother but can't keep any money. she's got the biggest chip on her shoulder, damn...

8/2} ...went to madina with souleymane after doing brick work. sweat my fucking balls off. we opened their pump and then big rains came. we sat in kamissoko's place and I stared at the rain running out the bottom of the door in drippy streams. like looking down with a shower over your head. so sullen and quiet when the rains come. dark inside, low voices. kamissoko gave me a cigarette, they talked about damandalla. rain let up so we finished work with kids all over the damn place and the sun out of sight. I love the kids but they really get in the way here. there's no sense of hey, we're working, watch the fuck out...

8/3} ...orange skies this evening, in every direction, I don't know why. the crazy lady who always talks to me in one-word expressions and clicks and grunts just passed by and fell off her bike. she's not really crazy, just acts like it, like spacey or she ain't got some handle on her head. but enough handle to tell me to farm and to wave her finger at me in disapproval. I laugh. and she didn't really fall, they always catch themselves. I never see anyone fall here, just babies really. and they take some nasty spills. over stools into their food, into bullshit. into the fire pit. one kids whole face is charred, like a facial from hell. bangin heads on shit too and stepping on the worst kind of stuff...

independence

I caught the same transport back to site as a bunch of the chief's people. one was his son whose been in spain for the past ten years. brought his kid too, who'd never done the bush thing. the rest of them were back home from bamako, students and stuff, since the teachers are on strike. so I've been chilling at the chief's place mostly, watching the kid suffer through the food and lack of amenities. we went out to the fields and he wouldn't pick up a daba, the little hand hoe they use to pull weeds. once you figure out how the cotton looks different than the other stuff, it's really not that bad. hard on your back after a while, otherwise the work feels good (I know I don't do it everyday). and it's entertaining to watch a black native-speaking African who won't do what the good majority of most black native-speaking Africans have no other choice to do. it's cool that his dad dragged him all the way out here.

I gave up making bricks for my well improvement project. I like the work, but that's why I can't do it. If I keep doing it, they won't. I told them I wasn't going to start work anymore, if they wanted to do work they could get everything going in the morning and I'd come out with them. so I'm just gonna sit for now, and if they don't do anything I'll give all their cement away to the satellite villages who have already shown that they'll work. and I ain't gonna write up schedules or assign tasks or nothing. the ones who'll be doing it can't read or write anyway. I even did all that already and it got shot to hell. puttin shit down on paper doesn't mean anything to them, giving ultimatems seems to be the only fix.

but the ladies... damn. they're all tough and good-hearted and self-sacrificing. not many crazies. I'm generalizing, but they seem to know how to make you happy. they make me happy. they collect fuckloads of shea everyday and stop to talk work everytime I stroll past their places.

I love when the rains come. I raced home from the chief's field against a strong dusty head wind to shut up the house I always leave open. we had just finished up some good tiga degenna and chicken and my shit was all over the concession... bamboo bed, chair, bike, books, toilet paper in the nyegen. oh yeah I use toilet paper now, have been the whole time really, none of that salidaga shit. so when the rains come I screen everything and let the mist drift in. smoke cigs, drink tea, sip on some gin.

the fourth was another manantali shit show. knocked me on my ass. getting out there foreshadowed the madness. left site around 8:00 after running around for a couple of hours trying to get everything I hadn't gotten done in village the night before done. just enough time for tea and porridge breakfast with my host dad, whose finally back from the mines. he's going to senegal soon, always yaalayaalaing, such a player. we broke down in mahina, flat tire on the road to kokofata. they sent the apprentice kid on someone's moto to come back with a fix. we were there for almost five hours, getting rained on and laying around with strangers. I know the town but my buddies are all working. one of them's been trying to keep me there for an extended visit, wants to teach me about islam and the koran and all that. I slept on his bed while the first flares of fever were coming on.

the apprentice kid never came back, the driver ended up fixing the flat with some melted rice sack plastic. on our way to kokofata we ran into the kid who was wheeling the fix all the way back from town, like 5 miles. after that bullshit, we took an unusual detour in the opposite direction of the town I needed to catch a ride to manantali. we waited around for some wedding party to get shoved into our already full bus and they weren't even waiting roadside. we sat there while they finished lunch and the rest of all their bitching and running around. more hours. finally getting to tambaga, which is 35 km from my site, took seven hours. should've just fucking rode my bike and dealt with that. caught a lucky break anyway, another bus with the last wave of volunteers going to the lake. it was a good ride, good company and an appropriate transition into the party. we were fashionably late anyway. the military police took us the rest of the way, from the market to the suburb, in exchange for our tall white woman. then traded in a mad fever for some tequila heat.

next day was 103 degrees inside my body and sweat soaking a bed in a room full of a/c. doc said it was malaria, took meds for it and to help me eat. laid around until I luckily caught pc transport bringing a buddy to bamako for early-termination. they did bloodwork there, all negatives. I don't know man, but everyone sure is nice and I got taken care of real well.

ohhh africa, figured I'd give some more tastes of the road...

back to tubaniso

a return to tubaniso for a workshop with my shea ladies. they're all excited now and told me to help them spread the news at site, resolve any conflicts with their message. easy. hopefully information was retained so there isn't much to help. after everything, their income-generating activity will soon be operational.

but my well improvement project is looking fucked with respect to the schedule. seeing all the elders to discuss where to go from here. obviously I fucked up somewhere. wanna say it was unavoidable with all the people in village leaving or some other excuse, but it mostly seems like an issue of motivation. and I'm pretty sure that's my job. or maybe I couldn't pick out the right people to work with at the beginning. that'd be another my bad.

the work with my ladies is a silver lining. one of their kids got sick at tubaniso and we all got real close, they trust me. where the dudes mostly just patronize. makes sense really, like hanging out in the cigar room versus being a pimp.

slipped into something nasty

got thrown a fucking curveball

strike out swingin, smile

walk back and wait

back at tubaniso

blank space

melted head

walking through a cemetery where you know all the dead

dead in the ground, death all around

but of course comes new life

and where do you find it

in each other

we use each other for what each other is good for

something about me makes you feel good

something about you makes me feel good

~~~~~~

you know how to do it

wonder milky bitch

you never wear cosmetic

you don't like arithmetic

you know how to do it

wonder milky bitch

tasting, touching, swallowing me

drinking me like bloody mary

you know how to do it

wonder milky bitch

~~~~~~

feeling different, more perspective. losing more hang-ups, I've been shackled in them.

need to get back to site, I lose it when I leave

blood sweat tears

been wakin up round 7 for breakfast, sour millet porridge, and workin til dinner. in between is beef jerky from grandpa and grandma and spoonfuls of peanut butter. mixin concrete and pounding out dutch bricks for well improvement. it's hard to get workers so I do a lot myself. already wore through the american construction gloves I brought. my hands bled at first and are now turning hard like old mans or malian kids. no shirt or shoes and really hot and dirty. dead by the end of the day. sleeping sound, spread out, outside. I lay half naked smoking cigs lettin the cold front wind that's been bringin in the rains roll over my body and take the heat. it sways the trees and rustles the thatch roofs, the only sound you can hear late at night. like living on the ocean maybe, just the sway of the ocean and empty night sky.

with the rains is greenness and that deep thick smell of the damp wilderness. no dust, this I like. flies rise at 5 in the morning, this I hate. start suckin face suckin toes. reading zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance on the heels of deciding to take a trip south of the border when I get back to the states. a timeless planless venture relying on the survival skills learned here and some spanish I hope to pick up from the mexican mother who refused us to learn it. MOM! cervezas latinas carnitas. and they're a little more chill than the people here, treat women better and aren't hung up on flash as much.

as for tears, maybe just crying kids and emotional eruptions from fellow volunteers. nothingness is hard to handle if you're head ain't right. but it's doing mine some good; figure out what's good for you, what you want to do, make decisions about the future. "oh that's nice" but sometimes it takes living in a different reality to get a hold on your own. it's easy stateside, easy to just fuck around, not care and not look forward to anything. but when you're here you realize everything you weren't doing, everything you weren't taking advantage of. everything you weren't opening yourself up to. I can't wait to get back. live for myself and outside the lines. if you can do this you can do anything and it's empowering, inspiring even. sure I could have done everything before but it wouldn't have tasted as sweet.

after committing to living for others you want to live for yourself. because that's really what it's all about. nothing grows from sacrificing yourself, not in a place like america. when everything is at your fingertips all the time it should be exploited for the individual. responsibly of course. human progress comes from individual greatness not massive movements. it's always some one or two doing something really bad or good that flips the switch. everyone else follows. so I'm laying out my future how I want it, and if I end up making something great out of it then fuck, I did it.

for now I'll hang with the lost boys and play our favorite game of pretending dinner is a smorgasbord of honey hams and candied yams, hot cocoa and cream pies. the characters in my book eat hot beef sandwiches and hot cakes with syrup, griddle steaks and black coffee. the kids wrestle me and forget I'm white, really try and take me down, try to hurt me. after dinner they follow me out to the soccer field for marathon training and count off my tenth miles. every ten tenths they scream eh! toumani!... running gets pretty boring so I look to the stars falling behind the dark silhouettes of trees and rock ridges and pretend I'm running a cosmos road laid til the end of the universe. mario kart rainbow road or pokemon snap final scenario, star child from 2001. don't ask. it's trippy though.

I could talk some about work but that's boring as shit. same old shea butter and sanitation garbage that no one here is really interested in. just wandering eyes and patronizing words. I'll focus on the few who give a fuck, that'll be good enough. and maybe get my hands dirty with some admin stuff, maybe try and make this PC thing an actual legit operation. like I might've said before, 40 years and nothing much to show. bullshit.

damandala

the transport there was my worst in mali. 15 people packed in a 1/2 size pickup with half my body hanging off the side. six hours of dirt in my mouth, in my eyes, mango on my legs and some bitch taking up all the space next to me. when we got to kenieba I just wanted food and beer. got those and a shower in a clean nyegen. left early the next morning for the mines, more bad road but lots a sweet scenes along the rock ridges and undeveloped bush.

hamdallaye was hot. hot and humid and dirty. the dirtiest place I've seen in mali. dirtier sicker and richer. meaner, we weren't welcome. heard that the president of mali is selling all the land out there to an american company. the miners are gonna stop working when the contract is signed in two months. 20% of the gold will go back to the state. locals will be able to keep selling the gold they kill themselves over to get, to the white buyers who come. all this according to locals, so I guess that's just one side of the story. whatever the situation is, the people are getting fucked and don't even know it. don't wanna know it...

bad water too, one pump constantly servicing a queue of 20L jugs stacked two tall and fifty wide. otherwise it's bad well water with certain contamination. talked with the doctor, says he thinks 80% of the people are sick, with malaria, water-borne and sexually-transmitted diseases being the most prevalent. there's a measles epidemic too. saw lots of kids covered in the shit. saw lots of flash in the streets. all this money and there's new motos, clothes, shoes and girls. no sanitation, medicine, education. prostitution and human trafficking. there were english speaking girls from nigeria with humble cries for help. ties to governments, military, the whole damn show. I guess we're not talking about peanuts and cotton anymore. fucking gold.

won't say much else other than the experience wasn't enjoyable. got to greet my people and shock with bambara. not many white people find themselves on the side of the mines where the locals live. went down the meter-wide, 50-60 meter deep mineshafts with the foot and hand holdings they have carved into the rock well wall. swiped some of that glowing goodness. got all dirty and sweaty. the workers pocket a little everyday, take it home without washing, eating or sleeping after working 15 hours and pound it up to see how much they got for free. they got the fever.

the 4 day stay at the chief's was shitty. a nyegen with a 2 x 6 ft hole, just a pit of shit really. the ladies were alright, got us washwater. they weren't hooked up like the normal chiefs I've seen, nothing really worked there like it normally does everwhere else in mali. still feeling off.

got back to kita on a flatbed, more than 12 hours standing up, eating dust and checking out fula musows. it was a bad rollercoaster for most of it, stop-n-gos up-n-downs. getting my head wet with icycles flowing through the waves in my hair. lost the shirt early and just rode the train. rolled in under a late influence and let my mind go. someone needs to wake these people up and start a fucking revolution. fuck the man, he kills. empower the people.

in n out

when I got back to kita someone from PLAN was knocking at the door. for a while I've been trying to include my village in their CLTS formation, you know, to end open-defecation, to get people from shitting outside and into the nyegen. I don't know though, it's a culture thing. first of all, I've heard women are discouraged from using latrines at all, that they have to hold it all day until they can shit out in the woods under night cover. then the school thing becomes an issue. if a girl's gotta go during class, what's she gonna do. I heard lots of girls miss school because of their period or just because they don't wanna use the school nyegen. it's real shameful to get walked in on by a dude. whatever it is, it seems more like culture change than what I've heard is just behavior change...

so they went out to my site and were received well. I wish I could say that it would make a change. the methodolgy seems pretty legit: sitting a pile of shit and a pile of food in front of the chief so everyone can see how flies transmit sickness, calling everyone who doesn't have a nyegen in their concession out, drawing shit all over their community map to illustrate where the kids relieve themselves in the morning. but to me, it seems like a show. everything's all gung-ho until the PLAN people leave. then it's like oh I shit in the woods so what. my kids shit outside the concession I don't care. that's how we do shit. we'll see. I'll try my best, don't mean to be negative or anything...

also had someone from PC come out for food security needs assessment. he helped me set up a committee to gather and process shea, hopefully to sell to the ladies in kita. I don't know though... the more I read about africa, the more I see, the more I ask myself how far I should go. yeah I came here to help people and make a difference, but I didn't come here to hold people's hands and give hand-outs to more-than-capables. say what you will, but that's just my take. the only person - since the two and half months have passed since I told them - who's collected the sand and gravel to improve wells is the teacher from out of town. yeah he has a donkey cart, but other families have donkey carts and everyone's had months to get this done. ahh shit...

toubabu=white person=wari b'a bolo=got money you know it=ain't gonna work for free, even if we get cement and rebar for free. fuuuuck it. no that's just how it seems, I could be wrong. but most of the other ngo's come in and do all the work for free. PC doesn't really work that way, that's something I like about this group. it's grassroots too... government hadn't done shit for the people here.

so after PLAN and PACA demonstrations I took off for kita. the PLAN people invited some representatives from my village for the big show. photos and video cameras and all that bullshit. I wonder who they show this to. maybe 1st worlders who have no idea. maybe their bosses. maybe other 3rd world villages? probably not the latter, I haven't seen anything from any other villages that PLAN's worked in. but I don't mean to be negative or anything... we got fed anyways. zame and fish and foronton tastes good. especially when fula musows prepare the lot. I can see why everyone wants to do these formations. screw the humanitarian plot, we want free food, sodas and tasty ladies.

oh I forgot, I wasn't planning on coming to kita so early. but the PLAN people told us to show up for the formation today, starting at 8:30. since we're not allowed to ride motos (thanks PC, work would be so much easier and we'd be able able to help so many more people if we could just get a goddamn moto, but fuckin bureaucracy and government organizations and whiny parents from former PCVs...), I biked to kokofata last night, slept under the bush bus with the transport apprentices to make the 5 am trip to kita. we didnt leave til 6 and then the bus was slow as hell, took two hours to go 60 guidron km or about 35 miles on nice paved road. we didn't even make it to kita, the goddamn engine blew up right in front of my face. I can't even explain the situation, only that everyone was freaking out, the driver most of all. I'm pretty sure they all thought the bus was gonna explode. anyways I had to fight with the driver to get my bike off the top, I just wanted to get the fuck out of there, get to the formation. hadn't eaten, hadn't showered. I was late 15 minutes. haha no problem in mali though. everyone didn't show up til after 10. bastards.

this afternoon I went to the local home depot to complain about some of the tools that were sold to me. supposedly no problem, since we're friends now. also looked for the bastard machinist who still owes me parts and labor, but I got lost and ended up in kita back alleys until they spit me out next to the catholic mission. christ. so I bought a sack of 20 sachets for 2500 cfa. that's a liter of booze for five bucks, couple of cokes and you're gravy.

off to bamako tomorrow. gettin more tools and seeing my girl off to the states. soon to see damandala and the circus of sickness and suffering with the photojournalist buddy. let you know how it goes...

the good, the bad

missed the formation at tubaniso, apparently it was a full house. heard otherwise. my ladies were pretty disappointed. lack of communication is frequent and frustrating, but I guess when in africa… not getting project money is also frustrating, especially with the approaching rains. both volunteers and administrators could go on and on about unprofessionalism and disappointment with each other, but the fact remains that PC could run faster, better, and be a more legitimate entity all around. haha government organizations… I’ve heard lots of ideas on how to fix us. someone should just fucking do it.

left kita with a machinist to repair the grinder in town. he seemed like a cool dude at first, but ended up being a fucking asshole. he knew his shit but wouldn’t shut up. throwing accusations around, inflating labor costs, hasslin women, bossin the kids around. he called my homologue a bad person and wouldn’t quit raggin on my village. chests started bumpin and fingers were waving. but my people knew what was up, we helped each other fend this fucker off and got a pretty good price on the whole deal. after pushing his traditional meds on elders and scaring people with his fortune telling we ran his fat ass out of town. something I’ve learned here is that if someone is good at what they do then they don’t advertise… people come to you. just like I came to him to fix the machine. he should’ve stuck to shutting his mouth and fixing the machine, since he was certainly good at that, instead of all that other bullshit that’s gonna get his rep bruised.

his bad vibes carried over to the next day with the death of the chief’s first wife. it’s a bummer because she was head of the women’s association so recently I’ve been collaborating with her frequently. her body came from kita that night and everyone freaked. wailing and flailing arms and writhing on the floor. then the jeli dude came and coached all the women to pound grain all night for the coming procession. these ladies were beating like mad with tears pouring out their eyes and snot running down their nose. the dude just kept yelling.

she’s the closest person I remember dying. a schoolmate passed in middle school but I don’t remember the funeral or anything, and her mom didn’t like me much. my great-grandfather passed when I was a freshman in college, but I only remember the smell of stink bait from catfishing on the mississippi and his wife’s rhubarb pie. and I didn’t go to the funeral.

seeing Numa’s sons cry was pretty emotional. grown men with big booming voices and broad shoulders. but the sorrow didn’t last and the procession was long. after the burial was three days of cooking and socializing, drinking tea and eating meat. they get over it quick here. guess you have to when it happens so much. all in all the whole thing was a blast, meeting extended families and running errands. after a couple of good weeks at site I was out for another break in manantali.

stopped in kita for a couple of nights. played my first games of beirut since being in country. climbed mt. kita under slight showers. then off to the river. again, you know how that goes. and again, highlights: hippoes getting a little too close, canoeing on the lake, rock jumping/island hopping, vice marathons, more pork and lovin under the tall manantali trees. paid for it though, got boils on my butt. long public transportation is hell and biking is even worse.

went through bamako before going back to site for a little work and play. walked downtown streets at night, as fun as any other downtown night-walking except maybe dirtier. I found a dried up fountain with crocodile statues surrounding the centerpiece. would've been a homeless hangout back in the states for sure. I brushed my teeth with nalgene water and smoked some cigs. listened to the call for prayer. hopped into a taxi for the US embassy and marine happy hour. those dudes love PC kids hah. back on the big green lawn and with the green bottle jameson. 1000 cfa/drink. a couple doubles and that shawarma tastes pretty damn good.

found a nice place to stay and woke up early to go to kita.

night prowling

tossin hang-ups out the window

another sweet stay in manantali. took off from site with mr. photojournalist after dugutiki dance party, yaala yaala-ing and trying to village myth bust. we took a midnight trip to the haunted watering hole about 5 km deep into the bush. no one would go with us, my host mother forbade me until I convinced her that we know how to kill the jine because we killed all the jine in america (I've mentioned the jine before, but the latest describes them as tree-tall apparitions that play with each other until bothered, at which point they manifest your worst fears). we're white, we know how to do it. so we got within a couple hundred yards before we heard sounds of giant rocks splitting. not just tossin gravel or kickin pebbles but big busting and cracking like something was doin' work. we stood around with ears and eyes open and heard the rocks again, coming directly from our wanted destination.

I was already as scared as I was gonna get, my brain was melted and I wasn't really operating on any kind of survival skills. we didn't even have a machete. I was ready to creep onward until we heard labored walking through the bush, about 50 yards away. it wasn't like the animals that rustle around and run off when they hear you walking around. this was walking towards us real low and grueling. we hid behind some bushes but it kept coming so we were ready to bounce. we walked back hastily and were constantly checking our backs, we were on a pretty jagged edge. when we got back to village a cekoroba stopped by and asked us what was up. we gave him the short story and he just smiled and said yeah, that's what happens. not surprised.

going back soon, packin.

we celebrated passover in manantali. a few of the in-country jews put together a bomb meal with the best variety I've had in mali. we makeshifted a ceremony which was cool, something new. seems like they're really into symbolism and the story behind the story. plus they like to dance and drink and eat. it was a fitting open to another chill trip to the river. if you read this you know how manantali goes. highlights: infused mango cobbler, the new toubab bar with ping pong darts and a pool, floating a little too far down river (we've yet to scope out the croc and hippo situation round the bend) and spicy fish tacos worthy of being sold stateside. night dips and stumbling upon "the others".

back in kita now, site tomorrow. going to bamako next week with a couple ladies selected by our women's association to attend the shea formation at PC's training center. we just had a pretty promising meeting on everything from GAD opportunities to the possibility of increasing shea production once we fix our grinder. they seem pretty stoked, the community garden project is just around the corner and we just settled on work schedules and plot divisions. local politics.

back to tubaniso ahhhh...

work

waitin on money for my clean water project. guess I can talk a little bit about work...

to start, this work really isn't what I had in mind. the scale is a lot smaller than I expected. I'll end up leaving with maybe a few concrete items to boast about my stay. hopefully, and within the goals of peace corps, where are work really makes a difference is the number of people we reach with capacity building. there's just a complete lack of resources here - knowledge, tecnology, capital, etc... if we could hook the bush up with some of this modern stuff, they could turn the corner with a vengeance

so I'm gonna improve eight village wells with a concrete well wall, head wall, apron and metal cover. also purchasing a 1/2 million cfa pump repair kit to fix all the pumps in my area. within this work is the more important capacity building that will occur, by showing villagers how to do quality concrete work and other construction techniques. introducing them to engineering with pump diagrams and disassembling the pumps for basic troubleshooting. what frequently happens is that an NGO will install pumps that end up breaking down and leave the village without the technical capacity to fix them.

NGOs also do a lot of other things that probably do more harm than good, like throwing money at big projects, which ends up getting pocketed by corrupt government officials. more often than not. that's more in regards to those big first-world contributions and programs that make the bulk of the development industry. it seems like local malian NGOs are a different story... usually smart, savvy and well-intentioned people who've seen shit at its worst and decided to do something about it. they've experienced the problem first-hand and tend to be the most qualified to remedy solutions. instead, most aid money is the product of feel-good. many people who contribute aren't informed about what's really going on, they give and it feels good no matter where it goes. once you've been here and seen what's going on and realized what it'll take, you see a lot of work wasted in a place that can't afford lost opportunities. the most unfortunate thing is the difficulty in explaining the situation here to people in the first world; it's hard to comprehend all this without a personal account. but a discouraging fact remains... you can't empathize by simply giving. their plight is still an abstraction.

so I've also been increasing awareness about water-borne diseases and their prevalance, via oral-fecal transmission. diarrheal diseases that most developed parts of the world have eliminated are still a serious problem in the third world, especially since it contributes to high infant mortality rates (mali's high in the top 10, with 23 percent not making it to age 5). there is a wide variety of preventative measures that can be taken, including adequate hand-washing, ending open-defecation (O-D is just people not shitting in the nyegen, but in the streets or fields instead), increasing access to potable water, practicing sanitary water-taking practices, etc. also doing well treatment demonstrations and motivating the village's water and sanitation committee to make monthly collections to purchase the bleach used for treatment.

hosted the country director at site. talked about everything from getting kicked out of the bamako transit house to projects to development work in general. had beers together, a real chill dude. an authority figure I can respect and a smart man with lots to share. I'll soon be hosting a photojournalist from the states who wants to do a story on the water situation in mali. he'll stay at my site for a couple of days, that'll be pretty cool. until then...

cruisin

...greeting eating digging sleeping smoking. hot high and dusty winds. no ice, ice cream, a/c, swimming pools, cool lovers, cold covers. I'm in hell. we dance at night, the sweat heat and dust rise into the starry night sky. the women throw a fit and the men stare at the village idiot, the town fool. kids chewing on black rubber and sucking on their shit filled fingertips. sometimes I can't stop laughing...

ups n downs. village has been pretty quiet, a lot of my people went to damandala to dig for gold. really diggin site lately... maybe hot season won't be so bad. my homologue and I went to a commune party in kumakeri. it was a buck to get in, a big deal out in the bush. this bought meat and macaroni, some television shows, and the dance party. we sat for like three hours watching terrible malian music videos and nature shots. they started playing the fifth element, in english too not french, but everyone freaked in the beginning when the big metal aliens come down. they don't really like that sci-fi garbage. action and guns and martial arts. fbi cia cops and robbers and detectives. that's more like their thing.

my sense of humor is finally comin around, it helps to be able to laugh with them, laugh at them. you have to start joking with these people or it's gonna be rough. most things are pretty laughable anyway.

helps to open up too. share ideas, motivate, be social. I'm not really, definitely pickin some up though. reading a lot... finished Dandelion Wine and Choke. dandelion was a nice escape into small town old school america. haven't read Ray Bradbury since grade school, I think maybe I got a little bit of how I write from his style, way back then subconsciously or something. choke was way different and more enjoyable, reminded me not to be so damn uptight. I try too hard sometimes, gettin caught up in my head. once again, open up and shit will just come, just be yourself. I'm not myself so much that I can't even think straight, can't find any reference. we're all a little messed up, but it's all good. it's good that I'm out here. nothing I expected but everything I wanted.

in the middle of Basic Economics, a really good read if you wanna understand how the world works. how our world works, the world of wants and needs and how we affect each other. but that's where it stops, in this reality. if you're lookin for an alternate reality or maybe spiritual growth then don't bother. after that I'm pickin Anna Karenina back up and finishing it once and for all. also got The Enormous Room and Tale of Two Cities on the roster. drop suggestions if you have them. though we have a limited selection. I've never read this much in my life.

I'm really just having a good time. no distractions, start thinking about your life. get a handle on it. realize how much you can do. no one around to follow or worry about.

this is the local language summary that prefaced my project proposal, if you're interested in some malian tongue...

Sayn n kana Marembilia, dugu mogow tun b'a fe ka miniji nyuman caman soro. Sisan, u ye ji la bana caman famuya barisa u mana taa ponpe walima kolon na, u be samara bo ani u te juruflen bila duguma. U y'u jija ka kolon ko yiriwa, nka u ka baara ma dafa barisa u t'a cogo don. Ola anw ye ji ni saniya ton sigi sin ka, ka masala caman ka ka, ka ben kan kelen kan.

An bena kolon segin laben ani ka ponpe fila dilan ka dow bo ji ko toorola. Miniji yoro nyuman kelen bena bo kelen na ka se tan ni kelen. N bena kolonji furake cogo yira dugu mogow la, ka jaw yira u la. N bena ponpe baara cogo, ka ponpe minaw, ani simon baara cogo nyuman yira dugu mogow la, i ko kordelapay yan kalan na cogo mina. Nin bee kofe, an ka baara nin bena men barisa dugu mogow bena fen caman kalan. O saba b'u la dugu mogow fene bena se ka dugu were kalan.

WAIST

stayed at site for almost three weeks. that's enough. helped thatch houses, village-planned with soulman, got a hanger and hammock. I'm feeling out a permanent wedge between me and the locals. we just think differently, you know, for the most part. sure we all want to be happy and contented, but their vehicle for this is completely foreign to me, and I'm not willing to budge from my way of doing things. sure, changing who I am or how I perceive things might make a better peace corps experience, but I'm not in this for some abstract and foreign connection. I came to work so I'll do it and get out. like usual I guess. gotta find something I actually love.

it's come to a head, the incessant propositions and confrontations. I'm pretty tolerant and I'm not gonna hold any judgments, but goddamn let me be for a second. or just quit disguising friendship and love for a buck or fuck. I know it's tough here but I thought we were all the same. pride and independence are unfortunately but frequently substituted with obligation and partiality. but americans are assholes right? I don't know, I can dig just about anything except an obvious phony. but they're everywhere. after a while you just laugh and work every little way to get as much out of them as possible. returning the favor I suppose.

so good thing I'm on vacation. went to WAIST after three weeks of fighting with my host family and venting to my homologue. he's a real chill dude with a great family, well-behaved kids and kind wives. he understands our differences and doesn't mind maintaining them. he took me to my market town and we had lunch before I left. some bomb tiga degenna and egg sandwiches at the place I always stop when in kokofata. I surprised soulman with how much I ate; I might finally fill out in africa. the diarra muso serving us knew what was up, she just sat there smiling and waiting for the next thing I wanted. anyways the way out of malinke country was on a bashe full of huge 50 kg sacks of peanuts. there was just enough room between all the sacks and the bus's roof for me to lay between a couple of fula kids and a teenage girl with a baby. the girl spoke without shyness.

WAIST is this thing where a bunch of white people living in west africa get together for drinking and softball. unless your team is the missionary, they weren't about our slapass and antics at all. we had so much fun though, swimming and laying out and getting fucked up before lunch. every night something was planned and dakar had seafood and good streets for walking. after a while you just start fucking with all the vendors and beggars. it can be entertaining, the beat for a buck. whatever.

after surfing for just an evening and spending valentines night on the titanic we rolled out of dakar for the real thing in the gambia. the gambia is a nugget of english speaking, spice packing, whore dishing heaven with stretchy sand beaches and green grass everywhere. after only a day I've seen it's a place to live to visit to get fucked up and to get your groove on. some old dude who said he was the elder running the street with all the clubs on it tried pickpocketing me by play wrestling. he was strong and just about muscled his way through it, but I caught his hand in my pocket and got a little scary. the gambia was a sweet stay, their stage house is hooked up with dozens of beds, hot water, flat screen, wireless, ping pong, hammocks, and a big ass kitchen with everything you need to make dinner. plus there's legit supermarkets right down the street. they had safeway for god's sake.

from their we dragged ourselves to an island sandwiched between the niger river and atlantic ocean. this consisted of cabbing from the capital banjul to the ferry, which crawled to the port of barra, where we then jeeped through the bush to canoes that finished the trip. we found a cheap place to stay and just ate munchies we'd brought. deserted beaches lost bars and neighborhood farming made another world. and all the way across this world we happened upon a bunch of malians, coming to the island for work. they miss their families but enjoy beach life and no hassles. they were very welcoming and generous. much love, enjoyed the stay.

finally made it back to mali. in kayes city, which is in my region but way on the other side close to the senegalese border. I've been showering in the ocean and wearing the same pants and shirt since dakar. my foot's all fucking infected and I think I'm reaching the limit. but goddamn it was fun, wish I could share more.

thanksgiving

thanksgiving was in sikasso, where we ate a lot and spent most of the time in malian bars and in our hotel room. we got out to spend a night at the waterfalls but it wasn't deep enough to jump into:



IST was right after that and back in bamako. night after night of fires and maintaining morale in between valuable sector sessions and language classes. played lots of basketball and ate well too. not really any sleep though... PC can be full of bullshit sometimes. but it's all been good.

getting out of town

headed straight into christmas at lake manantali. we like that place. no dusty streets and choking exhaust, just shimmering river water and music boxes. we found christmas lights and the girls put together stockings with all our favorite things mali. cigs, candy, old american t-shirts and jerseys. got jellies for soccer, I've been playing barefoot. did new years in the capital, pcvs get really thirsty then really horny. I sipped JD in between dance off pants off and people getting awesome. and now it's time to go back to site, I miss it so.

the river

some differences (generalized)

-women who smoke, drink, show their knees/shoulders are considered whores

-men beat their wives without regard, the women joke about it

-if an animal isn't being eaten or used for work it's useless

-there is a very loose conception of time, they're just getting used to 24 hrs/day

-most don't comprehend oral sex

-men try either to give you a woman or to get you to take them back to america

-public displays of affection with the opposite sex are highly inappropriate

-men and women eat seperately

-male friends hold each other's hands

-white skin = money = they try and rip you off everywhere

-no personal space, malian strangers get very close

-malians hardly ever hold grudges

-malians are extremely hospitable, you're never without a place to stay

-lots of drawn-out greetings and respect for elders

-kids grow up fast and are very functional at an early age

-most malians just want to chat, not work