Bicycles!!!

Well, the Peace Corps really came through with the bicycles. These things are so cute, they’re almost enough to make a girl sign up to stay in Africa forever. White with pink and grey. The grey is like regular bicycle paint and the pink is done in flowery tendrils all over the place. My frame is teeny tiny, so much so that my complementary water bottle (International Procurement Agency, Inc.: Proudly Serving the Peace Corps for over 25 Years – over half of Mali’s uninterrupted PC experience) doesn’t actually go all the way into the holder, and then it sticks out and sometimes I kick it off while I pedal, but it fits me remarkably well. And then my mother came through for me with my bike shorts. On a side note, if you ever join the PC, brink bike shorts. Because even though you have baggage restrictions and you may end up in a situation where you don’t need them, if you do you’ll be happier to have them than sad not to have something else. Except protein bars. Pack them over bike shorts. That’s the order: protein bars, bike shorts, sandals that don’t make your feet bleed, Gatorade. Everything else is inconsequential. And then my sister-in-law came through for me with this thing called a Cool Tie. Its not cool like the adjective that comes to mind whenever you think of me, but rather cool like the opposite of warm. Its this thing you tie around your neck with little balls in it that you put in water and they swell up and become gelatinous globs (a lot less gross than it sounds when I describe it) and then you put it around your neck and its not wet, and its not cold, but it keeps you cool. Amazing. And then the other pair came through with the Gatorade. I just have the best family ever.
But so, its about 60 km from Kita, my banking town/rainy season market town (PC really didn’t come through with that one), to my village. And doing this ride has done nothing but increase my respect for century riders. Because 60 km is what, 35 miles? I could figure it out for exact if I wanted to. I can still remember the day – 8th grade, Mrs. Daniels’ class – when we learned the Rule of Three, as our book called it. It was like magic, finding the missing fourth term in a pair of equivalent ratios. Right up there with the 9X finger trick. Now I wasn’t the most gigantic fan of Mrs. Daniels – she didn’t like David, and if nothing else we have family loyalty on our side – but that may have been the moment I fell in love with mathematics. I didn’t know it until years later, of course, but unfortunately, I think that’s how love sometimes works. But anyway, 35 miles. And after 35 miles I am SO tired! I can’t imagine wanting to ride another twice that far again. And then I think of certain people I know who do it on foot, and I am even more struck with awe. I think maybe PC is teaching me that I was put on this earth to be a couch potato. I also learned that I’ve just been breezing through police checkpoints with a good morning and a smile, which is a little bit of a no-no, but not enough of a no-no that the gendarmes ever got up from their tea to do anything about it. I thought that if you were on a bike you didn’t have to stop, but I’ve since been informed that everyone is supposed to stop. I guess that’s one way to avoid paying bribes in Mali.
I think that possible the rainy season may be over. It hasn’t rained in a while here and it has gotten ungodly hot. The timing is about right, and there is supposed to be a couple week long “mini hot season” before it turns cold. I’m hoping this is going to be the worse of the hot seasons because it is still so humid out in addition to being ungodly hot. And all the bugs are still alive. And there are no mangoes.
Well, I would like to apologize for misinforming my reading public about the nature of Ramadan. Turns out when you live in a Muslim country you still don’t necessarily learn anything true about Islam. (And this one came from a native English speaker, so I can’t even blame the translation) But I will tell you that the festival at the end, which we here in Bambara-speaking Mali call Seli, is one useful religious observance. I have never witnessed so much iron/protein intake in one day in my life. Even American Thanksgiving. Well, maybe American Thanksgiving. It’s really exhausting, to eat all day long. And this is fun. In the village, you not only eat all day long, but you burn with righteous indignation all day long. Because village people have one day of Seli, while town folk have two days, and Bamako fold have three days. And we village people be ANGRY about it! But not too, too angry, because we also all wear new clothes and don’t go to the fields for a day. I didn’t actually notice any praying or religious observances of any sort, but this host family is much less devout than the last one – as in not at all. So they might just put their energy into the eating and the new clothes, you know, a where’s the Christ in Christmas kind of thing. But I don’t know much else, I’m a well of information that was sunk in the wrong place and isn’t filling properly.
And finally, bless the Mines Geology Department. I have made the most beautiful map of my village and its water sources, and while its entirely possible that nobody in this country will appreciate it, gosh darn I’m proud of myself! (My other moment of great pride since I’ve been in Mali was crushed when the malaria smear that I labored to make a few weeks ago in the throws of the sweats was simply re-done as soon as I got to the clinic. I was crushed!)