I'm going, going, back, back to Cali, Cali

I'm coming home!! Well for 2 weeks anyway. For all of you that I will be unable to see while I'm there, I'm sorry! But feel free to write me an email and I'll call you from where ever I am. For those of you I will see, there are a few Malian habits I have acquired which will be hard for me to shake in my limited time in Ameriki. And, that my friends, is an example of the first, Mali-yfing words and phrases. Other weird habits include, but are not limited to, the following:
Using only my right hand for everything from shaking (normal in the US) to almost dropping everything to switch money to my right hand to give to a merchant (not normal in the US)
Eating with my hands and generally lacking table manners
Making very childish jokes about bodily functions (Farts, burps, that's what she said jokes)
Eating in small portions
Cringing at wasted food
Littering
Being a bad dancer (only because I've been in Africa, I swear)
Not wearing makeup or looking at myself in mirrors
Going to bed at 9pm (hard to stay up late without lights)
Getting sick from eating dairy products or meat
Saying "Uh-huh" every 3rd word (how else would you know I'm still listening?)
Forgetting words in English
Avoiding eye contact during conversation
Holding hands for longer than is comfortable or culturally appropriate
Miss matching clothes, or just having bad fashion tastes in general
Also I'm sure I'm going to be pretty awkward in general. I'm really excited to see you all, but try not to make fun of me too much! I will try not to be too weird, promise.

Just an Island in the Sun

I took a much needed and long over due trip to the Hawaii of west Africa, Cape Verde. Unfortunately the rains had not started yet so it was not in fact a green cape, but beautiful none the less. We took a couple of hikes and laid by the ocean a lot. We also went to, count it, one historical landmark. It was a concentration camp during WW2. That's the picture of the yellow building with red flowers. Enjoy!

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.

More pictures I forgot to post

This is my little host sister with her new backpack. She loves getting her picture taken



GIANT spider, with a scale for mom.



Emily has no fear of spiders apparently. Don't worry I killed it after I took the picture.

Women's Day and other fun times

We had International Women's Day on Sunday. It basically consisted of the women having their own parade, wear all the same fabric and then a big party all day. Unfortunately the whole thing was directed by men, not women, but we'll let that slide this year.





As we marched down the main street we sang a song a clapped in rhythm.







And then we danced.





I got my hair braided, left it for a couple of days and then took it out, this is the result.





This is a little hike I went on early one morning.





And this is why I get mad props in my village now. "Oh yeah Massaba went all the way to the woods to collect firewood, and then carried it on her head!" Yes, yes I did.

Malian Hospitality

I had just had a big fight with another volunteer and wanted nothing to do with anyone, especially those I can't actually communicate with. I locked myself in my room and would have been perfectly happy to sleep away the morning, but for some reason the Malians thought this wasn't healthy. As I was awaken from a deep sleep at 11 am, I cursed my new found friend making skills. Things were so much easier when no one really knew me, no one really expected me to leave my house! I reluctantly dragged myself out of bed, threw on whatever was hanging next to me and walked to my friend's house to have tea and stare at each other, again. I was surprised by her humor and energy. It was impossible to be in a bad mood. We made tea and I lost track of time. Before I knew it I was rushing off to my homologue's to try to get some work done. And to think I wanted to just mope in my house all day! Malian hospitality is easy to be welcomed by. Most is not expected to be paid back either. Last week my worst fears were realized. When taking public transportation in Mali, you don't pay until you are almost at your destination, making it difficult to run back or ask your friend that you are leaving for money if you, for example, forget your purse. Of course the Malians found it hard to believe that the only white foreigner on the bus didn't have any money. I was in the process of trying to ask a friend in a passing bus at the station for some money by yelling, "Wari bana, my money's out" when someone paid for me. The guy didn't tell me his name and got off at the next stop. Thanks Mali, I owe you one.
Other Malian hospitalities are harder to get use to. My homologue feeds me lunch and dinner everyday I am in my village and I feel the need to pay her back. She refuses to let me give her money and the gifts I bring back after going to the capital seem too small and culturally required even if she wasn't feeding me. I was told that just getting a lot of rice is a good gesture as most meals are rice based. That failed. Her husband, instead of thanking me, joked that I must be really hungry and that's why I brought all the rice. I brought back wood that I gathered with one of the other women in the village, but that too was met with, "Massaba, why would you bring us wood? Look at all the wood we have!" Strike 3. I was about to give up and resign myself to feeling like a burden when the Peace Corps came up with the universal global currency, Obama. They had fabric made with Obama's face printed on it and the phase, "Yes we can!" on it and it was for sale at the office. When I gave my homologue enough fabric to make a "complete" outfit she did an Obama dance. As I was leaving after lunch her husband was saying goodbye and, almost as an afterthought, said, "Oh Massaba, thanks for the fabric, it looks really nice." Yes! Finally I got the pat on the back that I was so desperately looking for. Of course then my homologue bought me an entire outfit for the women's day holiday. Homologue one million, Massaba 2.