Success

One worry that persists in me despite my varied attempts to quell it is appearing successful in the eyes of others.

Part of my motivation for doing Peace Corps was to be admired for my noble choice and dedication. Shameless? Would-be humanitarians, like everybody else, have a need for attention and acceptance.

I remember when I received my acceptance letter from Peace Corps to go to Niger. I was so overjoyed, telling everyone I met! To some I must have appeared quite a lunatic. "You're EXCITED to leave the greatest country in the world for TWO YEARS to work for FREE in one of the hottest, poorest countries in the whole WORLD?" a few of them must have thought. "What the heck is wrong with you?!" Most were polite enough not to verbalize such thoughts and by so doing rain on my parade (I really don't have that many, parades that is).

A few people questioned my choice to go to a foreign country to help people when people are suffering right here in the US of A. This was a new perspective for me and I never knew quite how to adequately reply, and I still do not. Ready for a sweeping generalization? The conditions of impoverished Africans are much more pressing than those of impoverished Americans. Logically, aid would seem to be most merited by those most in need. Thus I went where I did!

Now I work with some American Poor through Americorps and I still get the sense people think I'm crazy for doing what I'm doing! "It's nice to help those less fortunate, but it's certainly not the most important thing."

Money, power, fame- these have evaded me, or I them.

What should I do to be a successful American? And does it matter if I am?

Afloat, Adrift, Content

It's been a little while since the last update. I think my life has gotten less exciting and blog-worthy since leaving the African continent. Many memories from Niger and Mali are in my head, some of which may form future blog posts, but those pieces float and dance in this mind, wispy elusive fairies, as yet uncaptured. I decided to update what I'm doing these post-Peace Corps days, where my head and heart are at, and where I'm headed. Won't be too long an entry, promise.

So after getting back to the U.S. I shortly dove head first into the job market. I had heard Peace Corps volunteers have a high employability, possibly from being adventuresome and self-assured and passionate. Well, many of my fellow PC friends have obtained respectable employment, so I guess it's probably true. As for me, I wasn't getting too many leads or calls back. I did however get a job offer to teach English in China, which I declined. As the days passed and my despair grew I decided to return to an old possibility I had once considered: Americorps. Like Peace Corps, but in America! And so I applied.

And I got the interview, and saw the place, and was offered the job, and I ACCEPTED! Technically it's not a "job" but  full-time volunteer work with some benefits including a small amount of money to keep this boat afloat. I am working as a "Youth Tutor" at a Seattle non-profit organization called "Neighborhood House." The possibility of one day working at a non-profit interests me so I am happy for the opportunity to volunteer for one. And I hope I can help some of the low-income kids at the public housing project where I will be located. I've done some social work in Africa and I am now doing some in America, which will be a different but hopefully also rewarding (spiritually, not monetarily!) endeavor. I will keep you posted.

So again I find myself trying to do good, not getting paid much for it, and wondering where this path is leading me. Sometimes I feel bad or guility for not making bathtubs full of dollars but I think that's just my culture's pounded-in message conflicting with my own values. Right now I am fine with living cheaply, doing something interesting and meaningful, "building the soul" (in a metaphorical sense, my more literal-minded readers!). Feel free to judge me or criticize me for my actions or beliefs and believe me I often scrutinize endleslly my own decisions and actions. We all wear our blinders, no? Having all the Answers is not something I claim; instead I try to be a cheerful and open wanderer, engaged and engaging. "Mind forg'd manacles" are what scare me the most!

Friends in Western Washington, we should hang out! "Hanging Out" for me these days often means "Staying In," doing the following: watching movies, cooking something, playing board games (new favorite: Dominion!), listening to great music (new favorite: LTJ Bukem!), watching movies, conversing, hiking. Not super glamorous or excting to some, perhaps, but enough for me! And isn't it who you spend time with that counts, not what you're doing? Heck, most of my time in my village in Mali was spent sitting with people and talking and drinking tea and I loved that!

And I am still dancing nearly everyday.

Moussa Dembele and his Four Wives

Every Peace Corps Volunteer has a "transportation horror story," or indeed, several. "Horror" may be too strong a word, for these incidents are rarely (though occasionally) wounding or fatal. They certainly are frustrating! Due to how things are in the developing world,  cars and engines are old, hardly running. They break down and no one comes to fix them. And Peace Corps volunteers mostly use public transportation, suffering these breakdowns. These incidents are frustrating. They test your patience like nothing else. In my time in Africa I was lucky to only experience one of these episodes. And, you guessed it, here it is: the time our van broke down but how I lived to tell the tale. And made a memory.

This particular day last February began with me biking 8 miles to my market town and going to look for a van headed south to the local Peace Corps hostel. I found one. The fare was equivalent to $6, quite a hefty fee to be honest, but I paid it, because sitting under a fan, getting online after a month off, and drinking something cold were all important factors in keeping me sane.



Our van was ike this, but way more busted up: this "bush taxi" is from Cameroon, a country doing a bit better than Mali economically: Cameroon is ranked 150 on the UN Human Development Index, while Mali is 175.

After waiting a few hours for the van to fill up (bush taxis never leave unless they're filled way past capacity), we were off! The time: 3 PM. This trip which I've done before usually takes about 3 hours. The distance is only around 50 miles. So you know I was surprised when about 1.5 hours into our trek the engine stops and our driver coasts to the side of the dirt road. We are lucky because there is a village. The driver pops the hood, looks around the engine, and walks off into the village. The other passengers and I wait a little while, then when he does not return unload ourselves. And the waiting begins.

We wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

The driver comes and goes, trying new parts, fiddling around, resting. The passengers show little open impatience. They are used to things like this. I have enough water, and some beef jerky (thanks Dad!), and a great book, so I am pretty content. No cell phone reception, which is always worrisome. "We'll be going soon enough" I tell myself.

Nope.

Night falls around 7, and I am slightly concerned about the fate of our still inoperable vehicle. Also distressing is the fact that I have seen no other cars pass, cars which I would have paid to get on. But clearly that was not happening. So I walk into the village with a few others, to see if we can find a TV showing the Mali vs. Cote d'Ivoire soccer game. We find it, along with the entire male population of the village. I make a splash, being white and all, but people are more interested in the game. Which is fine with me!

The game ends close to 9. It's fully dark, I do not have unlimited water, no way to call anybody, and I am quite alone in a strange village. Thank god for all the language study I have been doing, because I am truly on my own. I begin thinking of contingency plans if we have to spend the night here at a stranger's house. This had never happened to me before, but I was pretty sure it would be acceptable, what with Malian hospitality being what it is. Still, it was not an option I was 100% comfortable with. So I'm prayin' on that car!

Still not going.

So, I wander around, find some of the passengers who have made a fire, and sit with them to wait it out. By this point I think word got out that a foreigner was in town, because many village kids started coming up to me at the fire. Mostly they just stared, but a few were brave enough to speak to me.

"Hey Toubab [Bambara for "white person"], what's your name?"

"Moussa Dembele," I reply. This is my Malian name, the same name as my village's chief, so the kid is quite surprised at this foreigner with a local name.

"Moussa Dembele! Where are you from?"

I say my village name.

"What do you do there?"

"Well, I am the village chief and I have four wives" I reply.

The kid is dumbfounded. He's looking at me with the strangest look, eyebrows raised, like, what is this thing, a ghost? How did it learn Bambara?

Meanwhile a bunch of other kids, maybe 20, have gathered at this point. I am so tired of waiting for the stupid van so I just start talking and making up stories about myself and joking and singing and dancing with the kids. We all loved it. I would be rather be silly and amused than bored and gloomy, you feel me?! This tomfoolery continues until around 11:30, when, thank the heavens, THE CAR STARTS WORKING! SEVEN HOURS IN THAT DAMN VILLAGE!

I walk with the other passengers towards the car and many of the kids follow. They question me: "When will you come back to our village?" "Will you remember us?" "Where are you really from?"
"Can we fly in your air car sometime?" (I told them I fly airplanes...).

I'm in the car, it's starting up, it's going, and the kids are chasing after, calling my name. "MOUSSA DEMBELE!" MOUSSAAAAAAA!"

The car breaks down shortly, and continues to do so, off and on, as we travel through the night. Many hours later, at 7 AM, exhausted, having slept only a few bumpy hours, I reach my destination, which is a mere 50 miles away from where we left. The trip, 3PM to 7AM, took 16 hours. Only in Africa.

I never made it back to that village and cannot even recall its name. But a few hours there talking and joking with kids who I would never see again greatly comforted my exhausted spirit. I wonder if some of those kids ever talk about the mysterious white stranger who spoke their language and who wanted to talk to them. Who did not mind looking silly. A benevolent apparition, come from a strange faraway place, come only for a brief moment and then quickly gone, into the night and the dark.

One of my favorite memories from Mali.

We want what we do not Want: Reflections on Service

"Doing Peace Corps was when I felt most alive."
-random Peace Corps Volunteer

Due to the nature of my current occupation (namely, finding one...), I find myself, like in Africa, with much unstrucutred time in which my restless thoughts scurry off to all corners of Everywhere. Work, the economy, society, American culture, are some of those places. But naturally my mind often flees back to Niger and Mali. The process of processing experiences like that is no quick thing, as I try to make sense of so much I lived through. I'm reminded of a quote by Kierkegaard: "Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards." I know I will be puzzling and working through my time in Africa for years. Which is great! Only such a rich experience would provide that. In this post, however, I want to muse a little on where I am at now, especially with regards to "service." If the idea of wondering about why people volunteer, and how it changes both themselves and who they work with, interests you, then kindly read on!

First, I want to say just a little about my motivations for joining Peace Corps. They are not entirely noble and selfless, which I am coming to believe is true of many who do such work (and nearly all human actions, but that's a post for another day). First, as a liberal arts major with no hot job prospects (see: first sentence of this post) Peace Corps seemed like a reasonable alternative compared with getting into the "job market." Second, possibly from my religious background, which included a lot of "community service," I did (and still do!) have a desire to help people. Thirdly, and the strongest  of my motivations, was the need to feel important and necessary. There it is. The really selfish reason! I went halfway around the world to prove to people how important I was, that I mattered. (And I write this post in another such attempt at attention. The ego loves the spotlight!)

Of course when I got to Niger everything I had thought it was going to be was catastrophically turned upside down. Totally. Nothing was as I had thought it would be. Including the work I was doing! As an "education volunteer" teaching seemed like a logical guess as to what we would be doing. But oh this was not so.  Volunteers have roles as facilitators, mentors, cheerleaders. We try to get our community members to work together to solve their own problems. We provide technical advice and support, based on our education and experiences. That descrpition does not romanticize the work, and I hope those descrpitions do not dimish it: I like to think volunteers do get some really cool work done. It's just different than they thought it would be, in that mostly we encourage others to do work rather than doing their jobs for them.

I think I am getting off track. Well, I mentioned how our advice-giving and leading of committees is a big part of what we do. The other part, equally big, is cultural exchange. And this is the really cool part about Peace Corps service: the immersion in a foreign culture and the sharing of our own. It's what makes Peace Corps a unique program. There are many many aid groups working in developing countries to better impoverished nations. But how many organizations place their workers at the grassroots level, in the village, to live close to the level of those they have come to help? I tell you, not many! Peace Corps volunteers learn the local langauge, take a local name, wear local clothes, eat local food (with care package food supplementing, on the side...), dance like maniacs at weddings (I can only speak for myself...but I assume it's common), attend funerals, everything. Heck, some volunteers even marry locals!

So we did Peace Corps to be a Hero, to change the world. We got to our country and were shocked at everything, especially what we were supposed to be doing there. We adjust, most of us. We live close to the local level (but, and it's important to note this,  not at, what with our medicine, huge living allowances, our guaranteed trip home, and so on). We eat weird food, we get sick. Even make a friend or two! We completely embarrass ourselves in front of the locals in a variety of interesting ways. We miss home and friends and food and just familiar things. The strangeness fascinates us, then terrifies us, and then it eventually bores us. So why do we stay?

Why do we stay?

To try and put a little good into the world. To learn about a new culture the best way possible. To share our American culture and set the record straight. To grow.

For that's one of the great things about service: you get what you give. By giving your time and energy for no material reward you are put into places you have never been, do things you have never done, and learn things you never even  knew that you did not know.

Yes it is hard to explain our motivations. Yes "ourselves" is really our first priority. But we can strive for something greater than just our own personal happiness. And the great thing about service- of doing things for others without expecting anything in return- without expecting love, appreciation, gratitude, or even understanding of our efforts- service lets us be better than we are in an attempt to get beyond ourselves and connect with other lives, a reminder that no one is alone, and only together can we be "ever closer to what the Dreamer in the dark intended before the dust arose and walked" (Loren Eiseley, "The Hidden Teacher).

And that is what Peace Corps taught me.

Do you see what I see?

All Cowboys Hang Up Their Saddles One Day

Back in the USA. Twice have I gone out into the world to do good and twice have I been sent back early. Now where does my compass point???

I have tentatively began looking for jobs, but so far the search has been...unproductive. Furthermore, nothing I've seen so far seems to match up to my Peace Corps experiences in Niger and Mali. In Peace Corps the work feels so important, so necessary, so vital, that even though it's hard, we give so much to it. Teaching a class, leading a health training for mothers, repairing water pumps with the village sanitation committees (shout out to PC Mali Wat/San folks!)- the best! Finding purpose in post Peace Corps work seems to be a challenge for many former volunteers. I am sure something will come, eventually...

Enough of me! Do you know how Mali is doing? I don't know if you have been following the news about Mali since the coup, and I don't really want to summarize everything here. However, I can say a few words. The north of Mali, which has been taken over and declared a new state (Azawad, currently not recognized by a single international body), has been put into a humanatarian crisis. In the capital, Bamako, there are still many uncertainities regarding the interim governemnt, the holding of elections (all but impossible to do with the North how it is), the role of the millitary junta in the government, the possible deployment of 3,000 to 5,000 troops from ECOWAS (Economic Community of West African States) to Mali. Things are far from resolved in Mali, politcally, and on top of that, all signs (drought, poor harvest) point towards a famine this year in the Sahel region (Mauritania, Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger, Chad). Is there no end?

Okay, so people are suffering greatly in Mali, West Africa. And with Mali being in the news so frequently,  people are only getting one side of the story- the coup and the rebellion in the North, portraying Mali as just another dysfunctional war fraught country, a potential "failed state."  The richness of Malian culture and amazing fortitude of the Malian people are ignored. The joking, the resolute acceptance of life's difficulties, the strength, the dancing, the henna, the laughter, the hospitality (especially this!), the warmth of Mali's people- these do not make news headlines. And yet they are what we volunteers saw everyday, why our stay in Mali was not a prison term but an opportunity to to give and receive, to teach but also to learn. To love. 2 my fellow Niger volunteers now serving in Rwanda and Kenya have told me the people in their countries are not this friendly or open. Here's a great video which has so many of our beloved Malian friends just living their lives.

I still have much to say (probably too much), and am wondering if I will continue this blog since my Peace Corps service has ended. I think I should probably close it, but first I will get a few more entries out. Maybe my favorite pictures from Mali will show up here. I might start a new blog and write about stuff which interest me- art, poetry, international affairs, religion (but would anyone read it...). I have to say, writing this blog, and even knowing that a few people have read it, has been rewarding. Though I can get kinda gloomy these days I am still dancing, still reading poetry, spending great time with friends and family, and in my better moments feel grateful for what I lived and saw in Niger and Mali. Times of transition are difficult because of the inherent uncertainity...we crave answers, order, direction, signs and portents...

Peace Corps Mali Evacuated

[Note: I wrote this entry about a week ago, and a few things in it have changed since then. But I would like to post it anyways, mostly unrevised, to show at where I was.]

The rebels control the North, the military has seized power, the international community has cut off aid, bordering countries have closed borders and declared a trade embargo, and, before the political catastrophe, poor harvests have threatened famine in villages across Mali. Things fall apart, indeed. How did this this happen, and so quickly? Well, other folks can better explain how and why the events of the last few weeks occurred, and what is yet to come for Mali (this is the one I follow: bamakobruce.wordpress.com). For better or worse this blog is made up of my own experiences and thoughts and impressions, and not a journalistic account of Mali. Accordingly, I want to write about where I’m at, how this experience has affected me, and where I’m headed. I know that focusing on and privileging my own thoughts and ideas seems selfish, compared with what Malian are suffering now, but I’ve made this blog as a record of my own experience, so I will stick to that.

Soon the current Peace Corps Mali volunteers will officially close their service with Mali in an undisclosed location. This means a grueling mount of paperwork, medical tests, interviews, and figuring out the future. On top of that, volunteers are reeling from this rupture in their lives: their tearing away from their (often) beloved villages, their friends and fellow Peace Corps volunteers, the Peace Corps experience, and, it has to be said, their JOBS. A stressful time, no? I would be lying if I said that volunteers are not going to solace their pain in a variety of interesting and enjoyable activities in the coming days…

Details are not yet known, but word is that Mali volunteers MAY POSSIBLLY be able to finish their Peace Corps service in a new country. So what about me, who has done 6 months in Niger before being evacuated, and 10 months in Mali before being evacuated a second time? Should I do Peace Corps a third time? Am I so desperate to be the heroic and selfless do-gooder that I will scheme and bribe and swindle my way however I can into a 3^rd post? Are my intentions less than noble, more concerned with my own righteousness than truly helping those in need? Is this very blog my way of saying to the world “I’m better, nobler, more selfless, just an overall better person” than the rest? Can there be humanitarians who do not have giant egos?

I’m reminded of an interview question that the Red Cross is rumored to ask interviewees: “What are you running from?” In other words, why do you want to leave your life of comfort and ease to risk yourself in dangerous work helping others? What do you want?

Overall, PC Mali volunteers are tired, hell fatigued, weary, stressed, uncertain, and sad. We are mourning. Most of us have put great time in to villages. We have learned Bambara, adapted to a new culture (never easy or simple), been painfully far from home, tried to do good work despite barriers of culture and language. The human relationships were planted and blossoming; the roots were deep, flowers were coming; but now, now the flowers fall, the leaves drift away, everything fails but for Memory.

However, as has been said before, they live on in us, these many lives. They exist in the cinemas of the mind, always playing, never ending, never completed. Some of my films include:

-Macky, my 11-year old always smiling host brother, whose favorite activity was throwing rocks at baobab trees to get the high-up fruit to fall to earth. And then asking me, with a sad puppy-dog face, to give him sugar for his baobab smoothie (contents: baobab fruit, water or milk, peanut butter, sugar).

-Harouna, my host dad, perpetually sick and sleepy, and FORGETFUL, instantly sleeping after every meal, always hinting at me to give him medicine, and then one day, after dinner, presenting me with an interesting offer: a wife and a plot of land to live in the village. Not sure if he was serious…especially because I was never sure if he liked me all that much.

-Ma, my host mom, short and round but pretty, with an enormous smile, always laughing, who helped me greatly in my quest to speak Bambara.

-Seydou, my best friend in village. 23 years old, smart, motivated and sincere, but unable to finish high school due to the death of his father and the need to become head of the family. He was always genuine with me, the way he explained so much of the village and villagers to me, demystifying so many mysteries. I miss him already.

Okay, enough sentinemental crap, since I personally believe that we never are so overwhelmed by ONE sole emotion to not feel the others, so let’s change the tone a bit, shall we? We volunteers had a crazy/wild dance party a few nights ago and we lit the place ON FIRE. IT WAS BURNING UP! We were dancing so hard for so long, it was just out of control. We sweated and sweated and sweated. IT WAS AWESOME! Part of it was to fight the stress and worry and fatigue. Part of it is what Yeats was talking about when he wrote “Hamlet and Lear and gay,” that it’s better to experience any emotion and to grow from it, that even in moments of pain, times of tragedy, we still can feel joy and beauty and love. Maybe.

I do not know where next I am headed, and though that uncertainity is stressful, it is also slightly liberating. I am free to do what I want. I do know that I dread returning to normal American life after the thrill ride that Africa has been. It is one bug bite that will not get better. Living abroad has given me so much. Am I greedy for wanting more of these experiences? Will I wander as the mariner, telling my tale to all who would listen, desperately? I know one day I will will return to my 2nd home.

Rebellion, Coup d'etat, Cabin Fever- and a Wedding!

Conufsion. Uncertainity. Doubt. Worry. These are all the feelings that we Peace Corps volunteers and many Malians have been experiencing in the last week, since the millitary seized power and the president fled. Also equally disconcerting is the rebellion by the Touaregs in the North of Mali, who want to establish their own state. It is truly a whirlwind of events, and many of us, myself included, long to be back in village, in the gentle pace of things. But that is not to be, not yet at least!

We have been grouped together at regional hostels to outwait the current storm. Today is the 8th day here and the whole situation is really starting to get to us. Living in a constant state of uncertainty is wearing on the spirit. So much free time leads to doleful reflections, which is why we are trying to keep occupied. We painted a map of Mali which does not look half bad. Also, I re-read King Lear, naturally, concerned as I am with themes of universal CHAOS and knowledge through suffering. I read it in the hope of purging unhealthy emotions, of course. Don't know if it worked.

This whole situation has some added resonance for me personally, as last January I was serving in Niger when that program was closed due to security concerns. That whole process of leaving was painful, and I cannot fathom experiencing it again. I dearly hope that this current political situation resolves itself, that people make the right decisions and that life can return to normal. But this is not often the case, is it? And hope not only sustains but destroys as well...

Well, enough ranting and emoting. I'll say a few words about village life. Due to lack of rains and a resulting poor harvest most of the men of my village and even some women have gone elsewhere to find paying work. Many have gone to the gold mines in Senegal. The result is the village is a little lonely, especially as most of my fellow young men have gone away. But the situations is really quite desperate this year, forcing them to leave. Hopefully they may find some good paying work, as they really do need the money.

I had an interesting cultural experience, so I guess I should share with you, my Reader! I had the privilege to attend a wedding, which lasted for 3 days. Afterwards I wrote a handwritten journal about it in village and now I will copy that entry for you here:

"March 16, 2012- 11:21 PM. [Name of my village], Mali.

Hello! I have so much to tell! Where even do I begin? Well, I just spent 3 days at a wedding. It was like this:

-I spent the 3 days mostly with the groom and many young men around my age sitting in a room at the groom's father's house.

-The groom and young men were well-dressed in clean new collared shirts and slacks. As was I.

-We feasted heartily (no small thing in a poor village). We dined on goat and a spicy rice dish and cous cous with peanut butter sauce and bread and coffee and candies and more.

-We danced! First, some traditional drummers came, and later we listened to current pop music.

-Much tea was brewed. Some cigarettes were smoked.

-Prayers and blessings and speeches were spoken from time to time.

-My good friend Seydou went to the window and blew a horn made of animal bone at every meal time, as a signal to the other young men that 'It's eatin' time!'

-Many kola nuts were distributed, usually in conjunction with speeches and blessings. Kola nuts are very important here, as signs of respect.

-The tone of the wedding was mostly jovial, with a few tense moments. (Seydou explained to me later that a few traditional customs had not been respected, which led to some heated debates).

-A group of young women, corresponding in age to our group, would come to the room we were staying in and greet us, sit with us, chat, and dance. They wore fancy colorful dresses, had their hair covered, and wore makeup and henna. Some were wearing jewelry, earring and bracelets.

And I was a part of it all, even though I didn't catch everything that was said. Woo!

Bakari Danyogo and Oumou Dembele, may your marriage truly endure and prosper.

LIVE AND LOVE BABY!"

Okay, entry done! Well, at least the parts that I want to share... Good bye for now. Here's the latest (and positive!) news on Mali:

http://www.aljazeera.com/news/africa/2012/04/20124181943166936.html

Do you wonder what I do here? And what it's like?

Hey all. I didn't get online in January, as I was trying to spend a lot of time in my village. Bit I have much to tell! In this entry I want to: describe what my village looks like; describe an average day; and detail some tidbits of life here.

What My Village Looks Like

So, my village is a collection of mud huts, with a few large cement houses (which are often financed by family members who have found work abroad, perhaps in France or Spain). The mud huts have thatched hut roofs (which do not always keep the rain out so well...). There are a series of fences made of tree branches lining certain village streets and most family's households, though not every concession is so ensconced. And it seems that many of the fences have been burned for firewood (an endless need!) or been knocked down by wandering animals. Oh, as to these roaming animals they consist of goats, sheep, donkeys, and they roam endlessly looking for food. And sometimes they run, like the donkeys, who sometime get it into their heads to chase other donkeys and in so doing create a great ruckus. Charging donkeys are surprisingly alarming. Oh yeah, the streets are all dirt, which means that now in the dry season an ungodly amount of dirt gets blown around everywhere, including my face. Boo.

What My Day is Like

6:30 AM- Wake up. Lie in Bed.

6:45-8:00 AM- Exit my hut, wash my face, feed my dog, boil water for coffee on my gas stove, sit and wonder what the day will bring, listen to classical music on my Ipod.

8:00 AM- Eat the corn or millet porridge that one of my host siblings has brought me, give a little to my dog, get presentable clothes on (important here in Mali as a sign of respect), get my bag ready, put my solar panel on my roof, and go to school.

8:15 AM - 12:oo PM. Go to the one primary school and try to do something productive. Sometimes I may sub for a class; other times observe other teachers; and sometimes just study language or other work-related manuals.

12:oo PM - 3:00 PM. Walk home from school with host family siblings. Eat lunch, usually clumpy rice porridge with either green leaf or peanut butter sauce, with the male members of my host family, out of one big bowl with our right hands. After, I don't really do a whole lot, this being the hottest time of day and all. Lately I've been sitting under my hanger in front of my hut, in the shade, reading (current book: The Poisonwood Bible) while my dog sits near me. This is a lazy time due to the HEAT.

3:oo PM - 5:oo PM. Return to school to try and be productive, and help out where I can.

5:oo PM- 7:00 PM. Return home, heat water for bucket bath. Take bucket bath (pour water on myself). Feel clean. Cook a light dinner for myself, which does wonders for my mood. Malian food in the bush is the same thing day after day, so this variety is needed. Tidy up my huts, of which I have two.

7:00-7:30 PM- Go next door to my host family's house to have dinner. Sit and chat with my host family.

7:30 - 10:30 PM. Social time! The day's work being done, and dinner eaten, and the unbearable heat having become dissipated, it is time to wander around my village, sitting and chatting and drinking tea with my villagers. I find that I am most talkative in Bambara in the nighttime. I've pondered why this is so, and have come up with a few reasons: it's dark so I stand out less; it's dark so I am not intimidated by people's stares; and I feel relaxed at night, work being done and all. As my language skills increase so do my conversations, and comfort.

10:30 PM- break the news to whomever I'm sitting with that I must unfortunately go back to my hut to sleep. Floss, brush, PJs, read a little, then BED.

That's an average day. Of course, this routine is often interrupted, especially by social events, such as baptisms (Muslim), marriages, funerals, village meetings, meetings with the Woman's Microfinance Group, and so on.

Tidbits:

-Among the little boys (and some teenagers) the newest craze here is...MARBLES. Yes, the kids in my village love playing marbles day in and day out, as opposed to studying, chores etc. Everywhere that I go see boys standing or sitting in the sand (where else would they play?) playing or spectating to this sport. This just strikes me as both funny and quaint.The kids really get into it too!

-One day, sitting with some of my friends under a tree doing nothing but watching people walk by I saw an amusing sight. One of my host brothers, Sada (aged 12), had just come into view. But not walking, oh no: he was riding a dirty old donkey. So, this bareback barefoot African kid is riding a bareback donkey, ambling ever so slowly on the dusty dirty villages streets and get this: he had the biggest GRIN on his face, like he had just won the lottery. But no, he was just riding a donkey through a village. I saw this and I just wanted to laugh so hard. But it also filled me with joy. I ask you, how much do we really need to be happy? Sada seems to know.

-Humor. I've lately realized that most of my villagers are joking with each other in most of what they say. It has taken a while for my language skills to get good enough to understand this, as it can be subtle. Funny or goofy things are often said with a straight face in a normal tone. And sometimes the jokes can even be quite raunchy! It seems that humor is very necessary for survival here.

Okay, I've emptied out my thoughts. Perhaps they will interest you. Let me know!