Change is in the air

Well, things began to go terribly wrong in Mali, and I am writing now from Colorado Springs. Well, things went wrong for me, anyway. I went to our doctor with what I thought was a cold, which I still think was a cold, and was subsequently diagnosed with a condition that is incompatible with PC service. Well, the condition I was diagnosed with is incompatible with life, but luckily that was a bogus diagnosis. And I'd like to congratulate my brother, the newly minted Dr. Jones, for being the first to make the correct diagnosis, and for making sure that diagnosis was one (a) compatible with life in the short term and (b) completely curable.

So after the initial diagnosis, I had the opportunity to go down and spend a couple weeks in the new Regional Medical Office in South Africa, and that was fantastic, and I'll tell you about that later. And then I came straight home. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. It was a shock. A very unexpected shock, especially for a healthy 27-year old. But so it was.

I've been home for almost a month now, and I haven't updated my blog, even though I keep fielding veiled hints and outright questions. There are a couple reasons for this. Making the adjustment has been hard, in different ways than I expected it to be, even in the few days I had to consider coming home under these circumstances before I actually flew. I expected to be cold; I expected to miss the thrill of misspeaking languages all day long. I expected to be shocked by the over-consumerism, by the waste and by ignorance. But I haven't been. They say that will come, but for now, I appreciate so much of America, and I am appreciating the base that leads to these issues: that people are always striving for better, that people are free to express an opinion. And when I woke up to a dusting of snow the other day, I was nothing but excited. What I didn't originally expect was that I would come back here without that extra year to think about my plan, to start making connections and sending out letters and resumes and have an idea about what I would do. I didn't expect to be living in my parents basement because I have no money and am rejected from three jobs a day. I simply wasn't expecting to jump into this with no warning. Its kind of depressing, but I know that just means I haven't figured out what my new opportunities are, that in ten years I'll be able to look back and say, well, at least it meant I was able to do this...

But it is the other reason I have put off writing that is the really tough one. It is because I want so badly to be able to write one of those flowery, tear-filled, heart-wrenching celebrations of my time in the Peace Corps. But I can't. I just don't have those kinds of good things to say about Mali, and I really don't have those kinds of good things to say about the Peace Corps. The Peace Corps is a great idea. And it has so many good people that have been and are involved in it. But I just feel that JFK, Sarge Schriver and the crew would be saddened to see the ego of the Peace Corps, to see how badly their five-year-plan has failed, to see the support that could be that isn't, to see that forty years in Mali without us having learned how to communicate our message is celebrated as a great accomplishment. There were obviously some great things about my service. I learned so much and met so many people and saw something I never would have seen otherwise and will never see again. There are things about the last year I would change in the blink of an eye, there are other things I don't think I'd want to change at all, and that the price might have been worth it. I hope that with time and the perspective I will gain in that time I will be able to articulate those ideas fully, but for right now, I can't say what I wish I could, and therefore have not said anything at all.

But so, yes, now I am back, no longer in the Peace Corps, and it has been nothing but thrills and giggles since I've been here. My immediate future is filling up nicely. Next week I'll start a yoga teacher training program with my old teacher at my old studio, which I am very excited about. I apply for dozens of jobs a week, and even though I'm not getting them, it is interesting and inspiring to see all the possibilities out there. It's great to be back with my friends here, and I miss my friends there, but you know what this means? It means I don't have to miss a single Christmas Cookie season (I had put last year's in the freezer before I left)! So you Mali PCVs expect a box sometime soon! And I've already written the 2012 winning Pillsbury Bake-Off recipe (unfortunately I missed the entry deadline for the 2010 Bake-Off - I am learning patience). So maybe I have already found my opportunities, and I now my job is just to watch them unfold.

And for those interested, I have included an important educational video, which will hopefully help to eliminate some of the confusion. Provided I can make the link work. I don't know how to embed this in my blog, so I just put in the link, and also there is no sound, so just watch, and you will learn what you need to know. Very educational, if I do say so, myself!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUO0JyTjSSA

And once my stuff gets here from Mali, I have some other things to share, so hopefully (fingers crossed) in the next couple months I will be able to post some other interesting things.

Peace Corps

I believe my mother read Monique and the Mango Rains, which happens to take place pretty close to my site. I have not read it, however rumor has it that it is a pretty inaccurate description of life in Mali. So much so that I don't know anybody who has actually been able to finish it, it is so bad. I have here, though, two titles of other books that come very highly recommended. They may not be as geographically proximal to my experience, but it sounds like they are much more realistic to what Peace Corps in West Africa is really like. There is another one about fish farming, something to do with River in the title, but we can't remember that one. NB: I have read neither of these.

Village of Waiting by George Parker/Packer (we didn't have this one and the last name is questionable)

Nine Hills of Nambonhaha by Sarah Erdman (the last name is right on this one, but I couldn't read my own handwriting, so the name of the village might be wrong. Whoops.)

Look, it's me and Heath. We so pretty. This isn't my picture, it is Caitlin's.

So, yes, the new stage has been here for almost a month! I can't believe it, and I'm sure they can't either. They are really great - a lot of fun to be around. They are working hard and learning Bambara, French, Fulfulde, Dogoloso and Tomokan like its their job. Which it is. Because we're the most fun sector, we are also growing gardens. Their gardens are doing really well. We planted rice sack gardens a week or so ago, and they are doing sort of well. One or two of them are doing really well. Mine are doing great! Except we seem to be having a tomato rot thing going on, and a caterpillar problem. Boo caterpillars. But I'm growing container potatoes, which is fantastic, and they are really starting to come up now! I'll describe the process in detail sometime, because it is amazing. But I feel it deserves some pictures, and it is raining outside right now, so I'm not going to go out and take them. Later, though.

That's not me, it's Moussa and Audrey. But apparently all the other old pictures of the rice sack gardens are in my camera, which is in my hut, which is not only through the rain, but on the other side of the mudroad that in the dry season is the driveway into Tubaniso. Moussa is a great gardener, exect that he keeps burning all our little lettuce seedlings with rabbit manure. But see the little bag? I planted lettuce in that and we are letting it go to seed, but it is huge!

Hippos (=Mali in Bambara)

This is one of the Hippos we saw in Manantali.

You can't really tell, maybe, but she has two wee bebes behind her. We kept our distance.

And have I mentioned that, yet? That "mali" is the Bambara word for "hippopotamous?" And "bamako" means "crocodile river."

Long time coming

I see it has been a couple months since the last time I posted on this blog. In fact, I was chatting with Ryan the other day, and he very pointedly said, I see you haven't posted anything new on your blog... Well, I've been meaning to sit down and write a really nice entry, but it's been a busy time, and now it's been so long since I've written anything that I lose my momentum after just a little while. So instead of writing you a really nice entry, I'm just going to give you a really quick overview. But there is good, good news. My mother tried to teach me how to resize photos a little while ago, and I didn't really learn, but then necessity forced me to really learn it afterall. So now I know how to resize photos, and that will make it much easier to upload them. So I will do that sometime.

I did, indeed, go to America, and it was fantastic. America really is a great country. And I'm not only talking about the concrete and the steel, though that is a good thing, too. It was really crazy while I was home - had to graduate people, marry other people off, and drive all around the country and then the state. And I had to go to Kennywood. Which was fantastic. I went on almost every single rollercoaster and didn't even cry once!

But now I've been back in Mali for over a month. Wow, I didn't even realize that. Good for me. And I've been busy here, too, even though some of you think, yeah right, all you do these days is be online. Well, yeah, there's been a lot of being online, but that is because I have set up shop at Tubaniso. You see, our new trainees are coming in tonight. Alyssa said this morning "I couldn't sleep last night. It was like the night before Christmas and all I could think was 'Santa is bringing me friends!'" So we are excited about them getting here, but it turns out that organizing and preparing for a training like this is a HUGE ordeal, and we have been working our little fingers and other things off since I got back from America. Hopefully we are ready for them. And if we aren't, hopefully they are forgiving.

I did get to go back to my site for about a week during all this, and it was nice to be back. It actually wasn't great, because our well ran dry. A manye dat! There was still water in town, just not in our concession. I went with Adissi and Abi to go get water, because we had to go to the neighbors and pull it out of their well and put it on our heads and bring it back and put it in a big barrel in our concession. So they carried these giant twenty gallon jugs on their heads. I, on the otherhand, carried a salad bowl half full of water on my head. I tried to convince Addisi that I could carry a salad bowl entirely full of water on my head, but the one time she let me try I spilled three-quarters of it and ended up with less water on my head than when I started. So she went back to only letting me carry half a bowl full. Despite the fact that I was useless more than helpful, everybody seems to have been quite impressed and very appreciative. Hmm.

And then, as you know, we had the dual occurance of the death of Michael Jackson and the Fourth of July, so I got another weekend off for that. Michael Jackson dying was pretty funny in Mali, (sorry, that sounds harsh now that its out there), because while it didn't really affect us volunteers all that much, it seems to have devastated a lot of Malians that it didn't devastate us. They are curious folk. So we went to a place in Mali that isn't really very much like Mali for the Fourth of July. It is called Manantali, and the thing that sets it apart is that it has a nice, large, German-built hydroelectric dam. The electricity, of course, is sold out of country. But it was beautiful. And downstream of the river is the frequent haunt of hippos! So I saw some hippos. Hippos, if you don't know, are extremely dangerous and could kill you if they cross you and are very, very fast runners, but actually prefer cabbage to people. I know all this because I read Congo. We played cards, dressed in red white and blue, looked at the hippos, and roasted and then ate a pig. It was a lovely celebration of independence.

Independence Day was interesting here, because the Malians were shocked that we had to have one, too. They were shocked, but I think they were impressed. I think it made them feel like I had a little more legitimacy. So those were some interesting conversations.

Oh, and we got lucky enough to go to Manantali from Bamako in a Peace Corps vehicle, so it took us about five hours or so. We had to take public transport back, though, and it was a more than ten hour journey. Aahh, Mali!

Scary, scary

One of my last days in village before going "en vacance" to, Inshallah, Ameriki, Inshallah, I was caught in a little miniature cattle stampede. Little and miniature because it was just me and one cow. But still. Now I was taking a - shall we say "creative"? - path home, mainly because I have yet to make it all the way from the garden to my house by the back channels without getting lost. But every time I am more adept at getting myself un-lost, so at least there is progress. Anyway, there I am on my bike, and its very sandy, which is very hard to ride in, and this cow, with no provocation, just starts chasing me! I figure he must have someplace to go in a hurry, so I take a quick (slow, wobbly, and slidey) turn and continue on, assuming my troubles are over. But when I look behind me (just to make extra-special sure) he's followed me around the corner! So the race is on, with me, panicked, pedaling as fast as I can without risking losing control in the sand - because if I do lose control and fall off, he'll come up and trample all over me, pop both my kidneys and my gallbladder, and then I'll really be goners - and he's chasing behind me, snorting and shaking his great big curly horns. Even at this point I still think maybe I am just extraordinarily unlucky and I just happen to still be on his pre-chosen path of rage, but then I double back around somebody's house (to the great delight of the family on the other side of the low wall) and he's still there so I know that for whatever reason it really is me he's after. So I'm looking around for anything familiar, thinking to myself that if it comes down to it, I can probably pull one of those jump over really tall wall moves that rodeo clowns sometimes do, when they don't just get gored, instead. But it doesn't come down to it and eventually I do know where I am and I turn into out courtyard, leap off my bike, and slam the gate shut. And my host family is curious and I say "there's a great big beast out there trying to kill me," but panic Bambara not construct good and all I really say is "Cow Is!" And their eyes say to me, "sometimes we're not sure how your country got to be so powerful," but all I can think is, "if one cow with crooked horns is that frightening, how scary must it be to be caught in an elephant stampede?"