Monday 26 March 2007
Even though I have been swimming before I could walk, I have always felt much closer to earth enjoying the ground under my running feet, mud pies, clay at the bottom of a pond, the sound of gravel under my bike’s wheel, my bed inside a tent, worms hiding in the soil.
Now don’t misunderstand me.
I love drinking water.
It is my preferred beverage; however, I am a solid type of person rather than a flowy one, a person who loves to be grounded.
Water however has taken on a whole new perspective here in Africa.
My house is full of water: a large clay pot, three buckets, 2 bidons, and a huge garbage can. My water girl got over-zealous at $0.20 a bidon transporting 8 bidons of water today from the well. She wants to buy an expensive store-bought jean outfit for $10, to get dressed up for Easter.
Water is hard work here in my new village.
I have a new-found appreciation as I can down a liter and a half in 2 minutes, can take 3 bucket baths a day, and tend to drink at least 10 liters a day and still feel thirsty.
Water, more precious than the gold in the nearby mine.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Chores and Play
Saturday 24 March 2007
After drinking a 6:30 am cup of coffee and after sitting at a table with thousands of flies thankfully more interested in the skinned lamb instead of me as I waited for my flat tire to be fixed, I arrived home to my two seventh grade helpers and a 3-year old sibling, all sleeping on my sand-covered patio.
We washed clothes, swept the house, and washed my bike. The two girls braved the hottest part of the day to make 3 trips to the well to collect 5 bidons of water wanting to get me water instead of waiting for hours during the cooler parts of the day when the line of women for water is extra long.
I babysat the cutest little boy. The 3-year old taught me how to say I want water in Moore. He learned how to operate a spigot on a water filter. We played with rocks instead of blocks constructing bridges. We put his baby to sleep, a tiny figure that his sister molded out of candle wax. He listened attentively as I sang the ABC’s and all the nursery rhymes I knew, hoping he would take a nap.
When his sister returned, I watched as she used one small clear plastic bag amusing him for half an hour making balloons of all shapes and sizes that go boom.
Today was a nice mix of chores and play.
After drinking a 6:30 am cup of coffee and after sitting at a table with thousands of flies thankfully more interested in the skinned lamb instead of me as I waited for my flat tire to be fixed, I arrived home to my two seventh grade helpers and a 3-year old sibling, all sleeping on my sand-covered patio.
We washed clothes, swept the house, and washed my bike. The two girls braved the hottest part of the day to make 3 trips to the well to collect 5 bidons of water wanting to get me water instead of waiting for hours during the cooler parts of the day when the line of women for water is extra long.
I babysat the cutest little boy. The 3-year old taught me how to say I want water in Moore. He learned how to operate a spigot on a water filter. We played with rocks instead of blocks constructing bridges. We put his baby to sleep, a tiny figure that his sister molded out of candle wax. He listened attentively as I sang the ABC’s and all the nursery rhymes I knew, hoping he would take a nap.
When his sister returned, I watched as she used one small clear plastic bag amusing him for half an hour making balloons of all shapes and sizes that go boom.
Today was a nice mix of chores and play.
No Naan *pout*
I thought I liked eating with my hands, mashing up rice and beans into a ball that neatly pops into my mouth.
The oil factor has turned me off of the always handy utensil.
My hand drips of oil, impossible to remove after a meal.
I’m either going to have to keep a spoon or a bar of soap in my bag.
The oil factor has turned me off of the always handy utensil.
My hand drips of oil, impossible to remove after a meal.
I’m either going to have to keep a spoon or a bar of soap in my bag.
Q&A
Thursday 22 March 2007
In the US I am known for my never-ending questions. If I was in the US, what questions would I ask my friend in Burkina?
What is your living situation like?
I live in a tiny 2 room house full of sand and dust with an aluminum roof. It’s smaller than most of your garages. Can a car even fit into mine?
My latrine shares a wall with my house and has no roof. I wonder how that will be during the rainy season. I have a front porch, sand as the floor, enclosed and roofed by straw mats surprisingly private, a place to sleep in the heat. I write by kerosene lamp and have a couple of girls fetch water 2 football fields away from a wheel pump well. My house is empty except for a desk. I basically live in my porch. It’s too hot inside.
I don’t cook. There are too may food vendors: rice, black-eye peas and spaghetti ($0.20), corn toe (solid form of grits), fish and sauce ($0.20), bread and 1/3 cup of sweetened condensed milk and a spoonful of instant coffee, the rest water ($0.20), cabbage, lamb, rice, and spaghetti ($0.20), a huge plate of goat or lamp ($1).
Are you lonely?
No way. There is a ton of socializing here. Lots of people speak French. In the mornings, I have coffee and talk with students. In the afternoon I walk around town talking to whomever. Kids and students come visit especially girls. In the evenings, I eat with a family and drink green tea with a group of men.
How’s school and teaching?
Well I arrived during the last week of the 2nd trimester. Teachers were calculating grades and having the kids recheck the math.
My first impression is that it is a well-run school. The facilities are new provided by PLAN. They have 10 classrooms, a library, an administration building, a teacher’s room, a kitchen where the cafeteria lady cooks over wood, and nice homes for the teachers who are brought in by the government.
During the last week of the 2nd trimester, the students organized a football tournament, a traditional clothing pageant, a carnival, and a dance. I got to judge the pageant based on costume and a 5 minute speech on a theme like HIV/AIDS, child labor, excision, scholarisation of girls.
We are now on 2 weeks of vacation and I’ll finish the month and a half of the last trimester teaching 10 hours a week of math to 7th and 8th graders, class sizes of 80-100. That will be a challenge. I also haven’t done any geometry since 11th grade. I guess it’s good that I have a PhD, a badge of a self-learner.
Do you see any differences between your village in Guinea and your village in Burkina?
First off the village in Burkina has a Catholic church, a Protestant one and a mosque. It has pork running around as well as donkeys. It has cell phone coverage, cold beer, homemade millet beer, and cold cokes.
Another big difference is I see a lot of kids with big bellies which is something I never saw in my village in Guinea.
Here it is flat with sand, shrubs, and cliffs, kind of reminds me of Colorado.
I can’t get fruit in my Burkina village, but I can get cabbage.
There are cultural differences too, but I’m too new to comment on them.
I am very happy in my new home. I do daily 20-30 km bike rides and did a 60 km ride today. I am hoping to do the 80-90 km to Ouaga soon.
My house isn’t furnished yet. It feels more like a large walk-in closet. But this village feels like home. I have a daily routine, people to talk to, girls to teach how to make friendship bracelets, kids who come over to play. It is a community not a house that makes a home. I’ve never been a Martha Stewart. Who cares if my windows have curtains? I can be happy living outside on a cot as long as there are people who come to visit, people to cook for, people to share my huge bag of salted cashews with.
In the US I am known for my never-ending questions. If I was in the US, what questions would I ask my friend in Burkina?
What is your living situation like?
I live in a tiny 2 room house full of sand and dust with an aluminum roof. It’s smaller than most of your garages. Can a car even fit into mine?
My latrine shares a wall with my house and has no roof. I wonder how that will be during the rainy season. I have a front porch, sand as the floor, enclosed and roofed by straw mats surprisingly private, a place to sleep in the heat. I write by kerosene lamp and have a couple of girls fetch water 2 football fields away from a wheel pump well. My house is empty except for a desk. I basically live in my porch. It’s too hot inside.
I don’t cook. There are too may food vendors: rice, black-eye peas and spaghetti ($0.20), corn toe (solid form of grits), fish and sauce ($0.20), bread and 1/3 cup of sweetened condensed milk and a spoonful of instant coffee, the rest water ($0.20), cabbage, lamb, rice, and spaghetti ($0.20), a huge plate of goat or lamp ($1).
Are you lonely?
No way. There is a ton of socializing here. Lots of people speak French. In the mornings, I have coffee and talk with students. In the afternoon I walk around town talking to whomever. Kids and students come visit especially girls. In the evenings, I eat with a family and drink green tea with a group of men.
How’s school and teaching?
Well I arrived during the last week of the 2nd trimester. Teachers were calculating grades and having the kids recheck the math.
My first impression is that it is a well-run school. The facilities are new provided by PLAN. They have 10 classrooms, a library, an administration building, a teacher’s room, a kitchen where the cafeteria lady cooks over wood, and nice homes for the teachers who are brought in by the government.
During the last week of the 2nd trimester, the students organized a football tournament, a traditional clothing pageant, a carnival, and a dance. I got to judge the pageant based on costume and a 5 minute speech on a theme like HIV/AIDS, child labor, excision, scholarisation of girls.
We are now on 2 weeks of vacation and I’ll finish the month and a half of the last trimester teaching 10 hours a week of math to 7th and 8th graders, class sizes of 80-100. That will be a challenge. I also haven’t done any geometry since 11th grade. I guess it’s good that I have a PhD, a badge of a self-learner.
Do you see any differences between your village in Guinea and your village in Burkina?
First off the village in Burkina has a Catholic church, a Protestant one and a mosque. It has pork running around as well as donkeys. It has cell phone coverage, cold beer, homemade millet beer, and cold cokes.
Another big difference is I see a lot of kids with big bellies which is something I never saw in my village in Guinea.
Here it is flat with sand, shrubs, and cliffs, kind of reminds me of Colorado.
I can’t get fruit in my Burkina village, but I can get cabbage.
There are cultural differences too, but I’m too new to comment on them.
I am very happy in my new home. I do daily 20-30 km bike rides and did a 60 km ride today. I am hoping to do the 80-90 km to Ouaga soon.
My house isn’t furnished yet. It feels more like a large walk-in closet. But this village feels like home. I have a daily routine, people to talk to, girls to teach how to make friendship bracelets, kids who come over to play. It is a community not a house that makes a home. I’ve never been a Martha Stewart. Who cares if my windows have curtains? I can be happy living outside on a cot as long as there are people who come to visit, people to cook for, people to share my huge bag of salted cashews with.
The Walk
the heat
yet I'm not miserable
there is a savoring sense like a good dark chocolate
this walk in the sun
The Heat
Wednesday 21 March 2007
They say April is worse.
I sit legs spread not waiting the moisture of my thighs to touch into a sticky heated mess.
Why are clothes necessary for decency?
I move my cot out of the moving light, but it is impossible to escape.
The liters and liters I drink are as warm as a cup of tea and I rarely pee.
The hot breath of mother nature comforts me for a mini-second.
The droplets that flow down my chest are incredibly cooling.
Yet the heat is trapped here, a prison I cannot break free from.
At dusk when my eyes don’t seek shelter from the bright glare, its beautiful overpowering sphere, so moonlike, fills the sky, a huge presence whispering goodbye, its daily torture already fading from the memory in the awe of its beauty.
They say April is worse.
I sit legs spread not waiting the moisture of my thighs to touch into a sticky heated mess.
Why are clothes necessary for decency?
I move my cot out of the moving light, but it is impossible to escape.
The liters and liters I drink are as warm as a cup of tea and I rarely pee.
The hot breath of mother nature comforts me for a mini-second.
The droplets that flow down my chest are incredibly cooling.
Yet the heat is trapped here, a prison I cannot break free from.
At dusk when my eyes don’t seek shelter from the bright glare, its beautiful overpowering sphere, so moonlike, fills the sky, a huge presence whispering goodbye, its daily torture already fading from the memory in the awe of its beauty.
Nostalgia
Sunday 18 March 2007
Reading by flashlight, upon my single cot outside under the tent of a mosquito net reminds me of my youth, the many nights enjoyed camping in the tight confines of a tent placed upon my single in my bedroom.
Why are tents so much fun when we are young?
the tents made from tables and chairs
the ones bought to place upon beds
the refrigerator cardboard boxes shelter upon a hard patio
Reading by flashlight, upon my single cot outside under the tent of a mosquito net reminds me of my youth, the many nights enjoyed camping in the tight confines of a tent placed upon my single in my bedroom.
Why are tents so much fun when we are young?
the tents made from tables and chairs
the ones bought to place upon beds
the refrigerator cardboard boxes shelter upon a hard patio
Food and Biking
Saturday 17 March 2007
Sushi is yummy. I used to get the clear raw sweet flesh of shrimp served along with its head deep fried, its long antennas making it barely manageable for my petit mouth.
I found a Burkina snack food that is like popping fried shrimp heads except I pinch off the heads, removing the icky taste, of the deep fried little fish, a salty delight in this potato chip deprived town.
Where do the fish come from?
I rode my bike to a nearby village. I rode past big fields of water. I bet the fish are local. In the neighboring village, they were selling shrimp.
Biking is easy 22 km (13 miles) in 50 minutes and I am out of bike shape. It is easy until the wind. It took me 1 h and 30 minutes to make it home. Winds are easier than the hills and rocky terrain of Guinea though, but the winds make the trip super long.
Can I make the 90 km trip to Ouaga?
Should I even try?
Transport is easy, cheap, and fast.
Sushi is yummy. I used to get the clear raw sweet flesh of shrimp served along with its head deep fried, its long antennas making it barely manageable for my petit mouth.
I found a Burkina snack food that is like popping fried shrimp heads except I pinch off the heads, removing the icky taste, of the deep fried little fish, a salty delight in this potato chip deprived town.
Where do the fish come from?
I rode my bike to a nearby village. I rode past big fields of water. I bet the fish are local. In the neighboring village, they were selling shrimp.
Biking is easy 22 km (13 miles) in 50 minutes and I am out of bike shape. It is easy until the wind. It took me 1 h and 30 minutes to make it home. Winds are easier than the hills and rocky terrain of Guinea though, but the winds make the trip super long.
Can I make the 90 km trip to Ouaga?
Should I even try?
Transport is easy, cheap, and fast.
The Sounds of the Night
Thursday 13 March 2007
I sleep outside on a cot made of woven plastic rope, under a mosquito net hidden away by thick straw mats unable to see the stars.
My nighttime sleep weaves in and out of dreams of Africa and home.
My 30 some Catholic neighbors renting a courtyard until Easter are undergoing training before being baptized and they are loud: babies, chatter, and dinner. When they become quiet, the singing and drumming of choir practice at the Protestant chapel take over. Then the silence is broken by a random motorcycle, a bicycle that seems to stop at my gate, the loud action movie at the cinema hut, the thumping of the dance club. Then the loud braying of donkeys shatter the quiet, then the dogs, the guinea hens, the roosters, and then it is time for breakfast.
School starts at 7 am.
I’m in Africa, a dream soundtrack of a waking reality.
Silly us, complaining about the 5 am prayer call in Guinea.
I sleep outside on a cot made of woven plastic rope, under a mosquito net hidden away by thick straw mats unable to see the stars.
My nighttime sleep weaves in and out of dreams of Africa and home.
My 30 some Catholic neighbors renting a courtyard until Easter are undergoing training before being baptized and they are loud: babies, chatter, and dinner. When they become quiet, the singing and drumming of choir practice at the Protestant chapel take over. Then the silence is broken by a random motorcycle, a bicycle that seems to stop at my gate, the loud action movie at the cinema hut, the thumping of the dance club. Then the loud braying of donkeys shatter the quiet, then the dogs, the guinea hens, the roosters, and then it is time for breakfast.
School starts at 7 am.
I’m in Africa, a dream soundtrack of a waking reality.
Silly us, complaining about the 5 am prayer call in Guinea.
Day 2 Au Village
Saturday 10 March 2007
Dust covers everything in my new home, yet I am very happy. The house is simple: two tiny rooms, plus a front sand filled straw covered patio enclosed by straw mats, an outdoor latrine lacking a roof that shares a wall with the house. What will that be like in rainy season? Water? A well, 2 football fields away.
My new village has meat everyday, lamb and goat, has boutiques stocked high with soap, sardines, spaghetti, all that you could ever want. It has bars that serve beer and cold cokes. It has donkeys, pigs, sheep, and goats. It has solar power for a TV with a satellite dish, car batteries for music and cell phones. It has a Catholic church, a Protestant one, and a mosque. It has a lot.
With all of the amenities, one would think my village has a large population, but it is about the same size as my Guinea village. It feels small, and I am glad. It is the community that will make or break a town.
My first impression is a good one.
Dust covers everything in my new home, yet I am very happy. The house is simple: two tiny rooms, plus a front sand filled straw covered patio enclosed by straw mats, an outdoor latrine lacking a roof that shares a wall with the house. What will that be like in rainy season? Water? A well, 2 football fields away.
My new village has meat everyday, lamb and goat, has boutiques stocked high with soap, sardines, spaghetti, all that you could ever want. It has bars that serve beer and cold cokes. It has donkeys, pigs, sheep, and goats. It has solar power for a TV with a satellite dish, car batteries for music and cell phones. It has a Catholic church, a Protestant one, and a mosque. It has a lot.
With all of the amenities, one would think my village has a large population, but it is about the same size as my Guinea village. It feels small, and I am glad. It is the community that will make or break a town.
My first impression is a good one.
Friday, March 09, 2007
City life
Burkina Faso is nice at least the parts I have seen, Ouaga and Bobo.
Soon though I will see the village.
Yesterday I went on a bike ride. It was flat. It was on a paved road around a huge water reservoir, a big lake. It was fast and fun. Too many cars, motos, pedestrians, and other bikers. I actually passed a couple people on motorcycles. They were going a bit slow. I believe the challenges to biking here will be the wind, the dust, and mud, very different challenges than biking in Guinea with its mountains, rocky ravines, ungrated roads, and huge rocks.
Last night I went out to eat. It was nice. Before the meal there was all you can eat olives, soft tasty rolls with butter. For dinner I had a steak with mustard sauce and five tapas: frog legs, hummus, spinach fondue with shrimp, guacamole, and fish in a tasty oil sauce. For dessert I had a huge chocolate ice cream sundae with chocolate sauce and whip cream. Then they brought out little glasses of strong, strong tea and a bisap drink made out of hibiscus flowers for your digestion. There was lovely live music with local instruments and the walls were covered with local artwork. It was a fine dining experience. Something I never found in Guinea.
Soon though I will see the village.
Yesterday I went on a bike ride. It was flat. It was on a paved road around a huge water reservoir, a big lake. It was fast and fun. Too many cars, motos, pedestrians, and other bikers. I actually passed a couple people on motorcycles. They were going a bit slow. I believe the challenges to biking here will be the wind, the dust, and mud, very different challenges than biking in Guinea with its mountains, rocky ravines, ungrated roads, and huge rocks.
Last night I went out to eat. It was nice. Before the meal there was all you can eat olives, soft tasty rolls with butter. For dinner I had a steak with mustard sauce and five tapas: frog legs, hummus, spinach fondue with shrimp, guacamole, and fish in a tasty oil sauce. For dessert I had a huge chocolate ice cream sundae with chocolate sauce and whip cream. Then they brought out little glasses of strong, strong tea and a bisap drink made out of hibiscus flowers for your digestion. There was lovely live music with local instruments and the walls were covered with local artwork. It was a fine dining experience. Something I never found in Guinea.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Week 1 in Burkina
It has been many days since my last confession, and it is not much of a confession at all.
The trip from Mali to Burkina Faso was on a big bus, a bus with a schedule, each person with their own seat, a 12 hour trip on a ship tighter than an airplane with no air conditioning and windows shut.
Burkina Faso has been days worth of training. Moore is my new language. I have met tons of volunteers because of the film festival. I have been shopping to furnish a new house in a village without electricity or running water.
I have been busy.
But how have I been feeling?
Transferring to a new country is difficult. It is a challenge. I came to Africa looking for challenges, yet I didn't find many.
The other day I got teary-eyed.
I think I may have found my challenge.
It is hard leaving a village you love, a village you were only beginning to feel comfortable in, a place where you were starting to make friends. It is hard leaving that for something totally new.
Here in Burkina, my village will be big with daily transportation, with flat dirt roads for biking with an easily accessible nearest neighbor who shops at my market that stocks toilet paper and mayo, a village with class sizes of 100, with cell phone coverage, with internet 30 km away, with a mail system that actually works.
It is hard not to compare Burkina's village to my little isolated village in Guinea.
It can be a bit weird, overwhelming, sad having to say goodbye to something I really loved in Guinea to adapt to a new environment here in Burkina.
I can only hope that the Burkina village will one day become my home.
The trip from Mali to Burkina Faso was on a big bus, a bus with a schedule, each person with their own seat, a 12 hour trip on a ship tighter than an airplane with no air conditioning and windows shut.
Burkina Faso has been days worth of training. Moore is my new language. I have met tons of volunteers because of the film festival. I have been shopping to furnish a new house in a village without electricity or running water.
I have been busy.
But how have I been feeling?
Transferring to a new country is difficult. It is a challenge. I came to Africa looking for challenges, yet I didn't find many.
The other day I got teary-eyed.
I think I may have found my challenge.
It is hard leaving a village you love, a village you were only beginning to feel comfortable in, a place where you were starting to make friends. It is hard leaving that for something totally new.
Here in Burkina, my village will be big with daily transportation, with flat dirt roads for biking with an easily accessible nearest neighbor who shops at my market that stocks toilet paper and mayo, a village with class sizes of 100, with cell phone coverage, with internet 30 km away, with a mail system that actually works.
It is hard not to compare Burkina's village to my little isolated village in Guinea.
It can be a bit weird, overwhelming, sad having to say goodbye to something I really loved in Guinea to adapt to a new environment here in Burkina.
I can only hope that the Burkina village will one day become my home.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Flexibility
...is a requirement when being a volunteer in the Peace Corps.
If you are planner and need to know when and where, how and what, then the Peace Corps is not for you.
When my friend was going to visit her site for the first time in Guinea, she had to wait 10 hours for her taxi to leave.
Thursday we spent ALL day doing dental and sitting around the medical office waiting to get medically cleared.
Friday, we tried to leave Mali on Monday. The office closes at 11 am on Fridays. That plan went out the window.
Today, we tried to leave Mali on Tuesday. At 8 am, the coordinator said you are leaving tomorrow by bus. Would you mind leaving on a plane though? I replied, "I am as flexible as you need me to be."
We took the Peace Corps provided shuttle the 30 minute ride into town braving the horrible traffic and the kids selling stuff as they weave in and out of stopped and moving cars. I walked to get passport photos for Visas and then walked to the Mali Peace Corps office where we were told, come back around 3 pm. We will get your Burkina Faso visas and then we will give you money and a bus ticket to leave tomorrow.
We had a lovely lunch of falafels and yummy pita filled meat sandwiches. Then I went and had ice cream.
At 5 pm we learned that we would not be leaving tomorrow, but would be leaving on Wednesday on an 8 am bus. My friends who were looking forward to riding a bus to Niger learned that they would be flying. They were disappointed.
It was a day of waiting, of just being in the moment, of not worrying about plans, over the future, over anything, of just going with the flow of change. Funny how such a day was so stressful yet peaceful.
If you are planner and need to know when and where, how and what, then the Peace Corps is not for you.
When my friend was going to visit her site for the first time in Guinea, she had to wait 10 hours for her taxi to leave.
Thursday we spent ALL day doing dental and sitting around the medical office waiting to get medically cleared.
Friday, we tried to leave Mali on Monday. The office closes at 11 am on Fridays. That plan went out the window.
Today, we tried to leave Mali on Tuesday. At 8 am, the coordinator said you are leaving tomorrow by bus. Would you mind leaving on a plane though? I replied, "I am as flexible as you need me to be."
We took the Peace Corps provided shuttle the 30 minute ride into town braving the horrible traffic and the kids selling stuff as they weave in and out of stopped and moving cars. I walked to get passport photos for Visas and then walked to the Mali Peace Corps office where we were told, come back around 3 pm. We will get your Burkina Faso visas and then we will give you money and a bus ticket to leave tomorrow.
We had a lovely lunch of falafels and yummy pita filled meat sandwiches. Then I went and had ice cream.
At 5 pm we learned that we would not be leaving tomorrow, but would be leaving on Wednesday on an 8 am bus. My friends who were looking forward to riding a bus to Niger learned that they would be flying. They were disappointed.
It was a day of waiting, of just being in the moment, of not worrying about plans, over the future, over anything, of just going with the flow of change. Funny how such a day was so stressful yet peaceful.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Burkina Faso
I am off into the great unknown.
I left the US for Guinea with 80 lbs worth of stuff.
I leave Mali for my new country with a week's worth of clothes, a headlamp, a nalgene, a pair of sandals, and a pair of running shoes. I left so much behind at my village to be given away.
It is a lesson in attachment.
It is a lesson in letting go.
It is a lesson in living at the bare minimum.
I use to say that air, water, food, shelter, and human companionship were the only things I ever wanted or needed in life.
It is being tested.
I wonder if it is still true.
I left the US for Guinea with 80 lbs worth of stuff.
I leave Mali for my new country with a week's worth of clothes, a headlamp, a nalgene, a pair of sandals, and a pair of running shoes. I left so much behind at my village to be given away.
It is a lesson in attachment.
It is a lesson in letting go.
It is a lesson in living at the bare minimum.
I use to say that air, water, food, shelter, and human companionship were the only things I ever wanted or needed in life.
It is being tested.
I wonder if it is still true.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Leaving Mali
I am sad.
Each night I give goodbyes away.
Soon I will be the one being waved at from inside a car window heading toward an airport in the middle of the night.
I am transferring to Burkina Faso soon to teach math and science.
Each night I give goodbyes away.
Soon I will be the one being waved at from inside a car window heading toward an airport in the middle of the night.
I am transferring to Burkina Faso soon to teach math and science.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Last days in Mali
Here in Mali, I wait.
I sit watching the trees move in the breeze.
I am waiting for a transfer offer to a new African country for a 27 month Peace Corps tour.
If I say no, I will return to the US.
If I say yes, I will pack up my week’s worth of clothes, board a plane, and be dropped off alone in a new country.
I sit and I wait.
The viscious mosquitoes are tearing up my ankles and legs. I spray Off, yet my bites turn red, pus-filled, infected.
I wear long skirts, but they are sneaky little buggers. So now I wear pants found in the free-box left by Peace Corps volunteers departing for home.
Today I found a pair of jeans. It has been 7 months since I have worn jeans. Jeans and Africa do not exactly mix. It’s too hot for heavy pants, but today I have no new bites.
I feel so American in jeans!
What does that mean?
In Africa, I feel very female, a woman, a different sense of power as a second-class citizen compared to men. I feel the pressure to be a wife, a baby-maker. Wearing jeans, I feel tough, feel the girliness leave, feel the strength of being who I am regardless of my sex and gender.
I sit watching the trees move in the breeze.
I am waiting for a transfer offer to a new African country for a 27 month Peace Corps tour.
If I say no, I will return to the US.
If I say yes, I will pack up my week’s worth of clothes, board a plane, and be dropped off alone in a new country.
I sit and I wait.
The viscious mosquitoes are tearing up my ankles and legs. I spray Off, yet my bites turn red, pus-filled, infected.
I wear long skirts, but they are sneaky little buggers. So now I wear pants found in the free-box left by Peace Corps volunteers departing for home.
Today I found a pair of jeans. It has been 7 months since I have worn jeans. Jeans and Africa do not exactly mix. It’s too hot for heavy pants, but today I have no new bites.
I feel so American in jeans!
What does that mean?
In Africa, I feel very female, a woman, a different sense of power as a second-class citizen compared to men. I feel the pressure to be a wife, a baby-maker. Wearing jeans, I feel tough, feel the girliness leave, feel the strength of being who I am regardless of my sex and gender.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Time to leave
Even with the energy of the Malian camp changing from hope to ugh
Even with drama, anxieties, boredom and goodbyes
I still laugh and smile.
I am still well.
The time in Mali is coming to an end.
I still do not know where I will be, but by the end of this week
the answer surely will be seen.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
The Contrast of Life in Mali
Yesterday I went to participate in a community cleanup in a neighboring village where we collected and burned trash in the market and near the mosque. The village was dusty with no electricity and with well water from a hand pump. It was brown with brown mud huts dotted with a mango tree here and there.
Last night, I went out into the city to celebrate a friend's birthday. We sat in a restaurant with a case of cakes and pastries, with a freezer full of colorful flavors of sorbet. I ate ice cream on an outside patio next to a main road full of cars and establishments with Neon signs. The city has stop lights and fancy hotels, dance clubs, and casinos, supermarkets, and an art museum.
Last night, I went out into the city to celebrate a friend's birthday. We sat in a restaurant with a case of cakes and pastries, with a freezer full of colorful flavors of sorbet. I ate ice cream on an outside patio next to a main road full of cars and establishments with Neon signs. The city has stop lights and fancy hotels, dance clubs, and casinos, supermarkets, and an art museum.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Day 14 in Mali
We spent 14 days on standfast in Guinea.
We have spent 14 days consolidated for training in Mali.
Au village, I was alone.
Au Mali, I am with 106 Americans.
Au village I ate rice and sauce, fresh fruit, and cooking project dishes.
Au Mali, I eat eggs and pancakes, rice and sauce, and Western food for dinner spaghetti, mac and cheese steak and green beans.
Au village, I finished 6 books, wrote 10 page letters, worked on art projects, worked on community building by going to ceremonies and carrying rocks.
Au Mali, I souvenir shop, play ping pong, ultimate frisbee, flag football, watch music videos and Gray's Anatomy, eat chocolate, take educational training classes for if we return to Guinea, talk with people about our futures.
Time in Mali is coming to an end.
Political unrest in Guinea is not.
Where will I be next?
We have spent 14 days consolidated for training in Mali.
Au village, I was alone.
Au Mali, I am with 106 Americans.
Au village I ate rice and sauce, fresh fruit, and cooking project dishes.
Au Mali, I eat eggs and pancakes, rice and sauce, and Western food for dinner spaghetti, mac and cheese steak and green beans.
Au village, I finished 6 books, wrote 10 page letters, worked on art projects, worked on community building by going to ceremonies and carrying rocks.
Au Mali, I souvenir shop, play ping pong, ultimate frisbee, flag football, watch music videos and Gray's Anatomy, eat chocolate, take educational training classes for if we return to Guinea, talk with people about our futures.
Time in Mali is coming to an end.
Political unrest in Guinea is not.
Where will I be next?
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