In village I write often in my journals. I write about my life here, the lives of the villagers, thoughts and musings, poems. Maps and drawings somehow seem to find their way into my journals as well. I know why I write: to better understand, to make a record, to entertain. To make things here, dreamy and unreal as they sometimes seem, more real.
No matter where I go or what I do I will always write.
Ok, onto the actual entry. Our 2nd training is complete and I have been back in my village, trying out some of what we learned. I have made an improved cookstove, been talking to people about and planting Moringa Trees, am learning how to make soap (so I can teach people in my village), and more. Work here is slow, but...still good.
The longer I have been in my village the more I feel a part of it. I am gaining a deeper knowledge, learning things about the workings of my village that are not immediately apparent. And it feels good! Along with this my language skills have kept improving, though, like most other volunteers here, I never feel I'm as good as I could be. We always want to be better than we are! The mind drives ever onward in its search for more and new and better. Perhaps that is its nature. Sometimes our drive energizes, but other times it wearies.
What about the people in my village, do you want to know who they are? Here are a few:
-Haoua, the widowed grandmother who's always feisty and often in her garden.
-Moussa, the 8-year old orphan with the great imagination (he usually pretends to be driving a motorcycle) but the visible sense of loneliness. Also, he never seems to remember to wear his worn-down plastic sandals!
-Moussa, the village chief, so old that his daily task involves wandering around the village greeting people and then sitting under a tree for a while.
-Habibou, the old blind patriarch, speaking to me much more than I can understand, perhaps with the unspoken wisdom that someday the flow of sounds will turn into words in my mind.
-Maimouni, never ceasing her woman's work- hauling water, cooking, cleaning clothes, going to the fields, making brooms, sweeping the family concession. This woman never rests, even at night!
-Kunba, the middle-aged childless woman who lives alone, and whose husband has taken another wife. She lives near me and often brings me samples of what she's been cooking (Somebody loves us all). She is possibly one of the shiest, most withdrawn people I've ever known. And yet she is always so kind.
-Kenba, the old man, a widower, whose kids are grown and gone, who always prays, smokes, and goes to the fields, day after day.
-Mamadou, motorcyle mechanic and general repair man, with 6 (!) kids and wife and mother to support, with little means who can be real tough, but also can be heartfelt and funny.
These are a few of the many people that I am beginning to know so well. Writing this has moved me, realizing my connections, so strong already, from these people who have welcomed me into their village and life. When I no longer see them I know it will hurt. Sometimes I imagine if, for whatever reason, I had to leave early, and how hard and painful that would be.
Well, it's Christmas, and I'm with my Peace Corps friends, and a fancy Italian restaurant is calling our names, so I had better be going. I hope you are all doing well, as I always hope, and that if you are not, then that you will be doing better soon! Keep flowing and don't freeze; stay open, not closed; dance joyously, don't sit awkwardly; laugh when it feels right and cry when it feels right; read poems, sing songs, garden your gardens, and do everything that builds the soul. Peace!
