Little man's birthday

My host mom gave birth today. I was struck with the same thought I always have when seeing newborns (more often now than ever before), "That was just inside you yesterday!" He was not as small as I expected and definitely not as cute, but marked the beginning of trouble for my two younger host sisters. Although they were excited about something new and different from the daily small town routine, they failed to see how their already attention deprived world will be vacuumed by this little bundle of boy. Being the only son thus far as well as the youngest, he is sure to steal the show. If he is successful in encouraging the host dad to stay home more he, the baby, will be showered with attention from not only the formally absent father, but also a grateful mother. I may just be seeing stereotypes, but so far my host family has yet to disappoint. My host mom gave birth sometime after lunch, the hottest part of the day. Although in the US it is called the ultimate "labor" to give birth, it is seen as something less here. As I said in Bambara, "Good work, you must be tired" the youngest daughter, already affected by her culture, spurted out, "Why? She didn't do any work today. She didn't even cook lunch!" And she's only 5. The father made an appearance long after dinner, long enough to see the baby and take the TV power source to play one of his 4 music tapes on full blast. This made me think of my own possible future child bearing days to come(way future mom, don't freak out). In an ideal world the father would be the love of my life, but even not in an ideal world I would want the father to be there for the whole thing. To cry with me, laugh with me, awe with me and fall asleep with the thing that was just inside of me yesterday. This also led to discussions about population control and the end of the world with my fellow volunteers, but we'll leave that from some drunken ramble later. Right now I am pro baby, and excited to see my new nephew when I go back to the good 'ol US of A.

The summary

It's been months since my last blog and there are many events that are worthy of their own entry with all the intricate details. Had I been a good little blogger I would have written them earlier on one of my hand full of times in the capital. I would have written about my nearly flawless first big training I planned in my village, or rather the training they planned themselves. I would have explained how my smaller training's in the surrounding villages have been, for better or for worse, completed. I could have described the unluckiness that took over my birthday, or my Cinco de Mayo celebration by the Niger river with mango salsa. And mango season! Who knew there were 10 different types of mangoes to be eaten with every type of food? I could have moaned about my failed attempts to plan a trip. Turns out it's hard to get a plane ticket with a company with only one plane and about to go bankrupt. Really I could have told one of dozens of anitodical stories that happen at least 5 times a week, a large spider, a sand storm, an untimely flat tire. Some of these have been shared with family, friends, other volunteers and even some Malians in my broken Bambara. But for now know that I am happy and healthy, apart from some heat rash, and am living in Africa. A fact I sometimes rediscover when Malians are completely unaware of the ocean and a continent that separates my home and culture from theirs and how it's not possible to just take a bus back. At the end of the day sometimes I feel useless and frustrated but I have to remind myself that I felt that sometimes in the US too, but here the good days are fantastic. The stars are brighter when you can't watch TV and soda taste better when you only drink it once a month, but running water would be nice.