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.
