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.