I'm having trouble writing lately.  Not for a lack of inspiration, because I can tell you, spend one week in the middle of nowhere Mali with no electricity or running water and you could have yourself a novel written by the week's end.  More so because blogs only allow a finite amount of writing.  Well, maybe blogs don't have that rule, but I do (which if you scroll down, you can already see I am thoroughly disregarding for this post).  So deciding what I want to write about is the hardest part.  Do I tell you about my 14 little sisters that spent hours braiding and rebraiding my hair?  Or maybe the prenatal consultations I was able to sit in on with the matron of my village?  Or possibly the stand off I had with the spider family of mine that were not holding up their end of the agreement when I found a rather large insect (still unknown what kind) in my "kitchen"?

I guess those will come later, as maybe this post will serve to describe my new family I now live with in Namposella, Mali.

There were two interesting occurrences that happened this week in my new village.  I witnessed one of my mothers beating her child, and found out my host dad's occupation.

My host dad, Wawa (yes, like the New Jersey convenience store) is the village herbal medicine doctor.  He practices traditional medicine from our house; he has bags of leaves, twigs, powders and soils speckling the concession that we all share.  Wawa, while one of the most respected men in my village, has had no formal education.  He has never been to school, does not know how to read, yet is the first point of contact that any villager goes to in a medical emergency.  Whether it is a broken bone, Malaria, or a simple sore throat, Wawa concocts something in his cauldron and treats any patient that comes his way.  

Last week a boy came over with a broken arm (or so it appeared by the angle of his wrist).  I took a particular interest in the consultation as I have grown up with a orthopedic surgeon father in the developed world.  I watched as Wawa poked, prodded, tugged, and bent the child's arm just as I have seen my own father do when my achey knees act up.  He then walked behind his house, grabbed a couple bamboo sticks, cut some mane hair from a donkey and set to work to make a splint.  Ten minutes later, the boy walked left our compound wearing quite an impressive bamboo cast tied around with some donkey hair.  Same problem, dealt quite differently from the first to third world, no?  Now that I write the story, I don't know that it was the best one to tell, but HA, you already read it so jokes on you.

One of the children in my compound was caught stealing.  She apparently stole some groundnuts from the house and I walked up to the conversation as one of my host mothers, Koro, was speaking in her angry mom voice.  Now I surely did not understand what she was saying, but angry mom voices are universal, when you hear it, you know the shit is about to hit the...well, mud hut roof. 

Moments later, she grabbed the girl and walked her away from the family.  It was already 8p there, so I couldn't see anything but was able to hear the cracking of some branches as the child screamed out in pain.  It lasted only a couple minutes, where everyone sat in silence, waiting for Koro to finish with the child.  Now I realize writing this, it sounds cruel and horrifying, but I have to be honest, I wasn't the least bit upset by any of it.  In no way was the child severely hurt--besides maybe a sore butt tomorrow, she was playing with the kids again the next morning.  She stole, and in a country when there is not very much to steal, it's best she learn early that it will not be tolerated.  And I can tell you from looking at the faces of the other kids, none of them will ever steal again.  Because you see, the beating was less about the pain, and more about the humiliation that followed.  The little girl had to walk back over to her dozens of brothers and sisters and see their glares of disappointment.  She stole not from a stranger that she didn't know on the street, but from the very family that feeds her.  

Have more stories to share, but have to let them out slowly as not to lose my audience.  Made it through the first week at site alive and well, I bike back to my village tomorrow to back to the simple life.  

Goal for the next week: Know all of the children in my compound by name.  So far, I remember 3 of the 23...

Hi, My Name is LeeAnn and I'm a Peace Corps Volunteer.

This past Friday I was sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mali.  All 40 of us went to the ambassador's house and heard speeches from the Peace Corps Director of Mali, the Malian Minister of Foreign Affairs and the Madame Ambassador herself.  We stood, raised our right hands, and repeated an oath that had more do to with defending our country and upholding the constitution than helping the needy, but to hell with it, I am a volunteer!

There were some thoughts I'd like to share.  Not really anything of interest to any of my readers, but this is a post for me.  Because you see, when you have all this time to think, thoughts go in and out of your frazzled tired brain so quickly if you don't write them down, they are gone forever.  For that reason, I'm feeling especially thoughtful right now and am trying to document as quickly as possible.

So the following are some things I told myself today, a day that I felt a little lonely for my loved ones, to help lift my spirits:

Remember that feeling you had when you took that oath at swear-in.  Don't ever forget that feeling of success, of standing there among new found best friends in a foreign country that has already tested you to limits you didn't know you had and simply thinking, "I can do this."  Because you can; you can do this. And yes, you will be tested everyday, but know that everyday is a day that is building who you are and who you will become.  And while you may feel weak now, you will come away from this stronger than you ever were before.

Understand the seriousness of your mission while in Mali, but also know to laugh when the going gets tough.

Don't diminish the importance of integrating into the local culture, but never forget who you are and your own values.

And most importantly, know that while I may not see immediate results or any for that matter while I am here, what I am doing matters.

Okay, that's my pep talk to myself.  I'm off to bake some brownies my family sent me in a clay oven.  Wish me luck!

_There are definitely a lot of fears making their way into my
overwhelmed brain nowadays.  As I approach January 6th, the day of my
swear in at the embassy, it all begins to feel quite surreal that I'll
be moving to my permanent home in a week.

I'll be leaving my friends, my absolutely amazing family in Kobalakoro
and heading to the unknown that awaits me in Namposella, Mali.

Where if I thought I was living minimally before I was largely
mistaken.  My village of 2,000 people has no running water, no
electricity and only if you walk about 1km down the "road" any cell
phone service.  My house is a two room mud house with enough room for
me and my spider family.  They take good care of me and while for a
little bit I was considering killing them (just the sheer size of them
is scary), I noticed there are no other bugs at all in my hut.
Meaning I need to pick a side; either live with large spiders and no
other bugs, or kill what may be my only allies and find out what kind
of other bugs Africa has to offer.  So for the time being, I will
leave the spiders be and allow them to live rent free in my humble
abode.

My village is roughly 15k away from a major town, but since there are
no roads, my means of transportation are either my Peace Corps issued
bicycle, or a donkey cart.  As I write this, I can see my prospective
visitor numbers dwindling..

My village as a whole is simple.  It's very spread apart, with no
direct roads, just pathways from house to house.  On multiple
occasions I have wandered throughout the village thinking I was
walking down a path, but accidentally walk right into someone's
compound, in which I casually play it off like I meant to, introduce
myself, and quickly leave to only turn the corner into someone else's
compound.

Last night was New Years, where we all walked about 5k down the road
to a Malians house to enjoy a couple warm beers and some sachets of
gin.  We ended the night making up our own countdown, dancing until
our legs gave out and for a little bit of time, forgot we were all far
from our usual New Years company, and ran around giving hugs and being
grateful for the new additions we now have in our lives.  This is our
last week altogether, so there was plenty of love to go around when we
all got the gut check of where we would be next sunday night.

I'm running low on inspiration to write, so if you have any questions
or topics you'd like me to write about, feel free to comment.

The life and schedule of life in Mali is a timed science.  The flies, incessant from the break of sun over the horizon until sunset are relentless.  They have no shame.  They fly directly into your ear, in your mouth, uncomfortably close to your eyes without any fear of being swatted.  Which, it makes sense, there are so many of them, statistically their chances of being hit or killed are lesser odds than the betting on the pistons to win the championship title (that is
if the lockout is even over...?)

Then, as if on cue, as the sun sets the flies retire to bed and there is a five minute hiatus where there is nothing buzzing around you, as peaceful as the eye of the tornado.  But then, as if the flies has gone home to awaken the mosquitos, they came all out at once and depending on your B.O. level, you can have a range of 5-50 mosquitos hovering over your head in a matter of seconds.  For your information, I typically average roughly 20 mosquitos a night.

Dogs are another part of life that is interesting in Mali.  Even without ever getting pet or being shown ANY love at all, the house dog (named Polici) loves to be around people.  He wags his tail relentlessly each time someone walks into the compound.  Someone will even pretend to strike him, he cowers for a minute, then is back to wagging his tail and enjoying the company of humans who barely acknowledge his existence.  Now, I've always been a cat person, but Malian dogs have shown me how far the "Man's Best Friend" motto really goes.  Malian dogs take more of the "Man's best friend that is completely ignored and abused, but still continuously sits at your side and shows his allegiance".  While our outdoor kitchen/living room/dining room has only 4cm tall of brick separating it from the rest of the compound, the dog still knows not to dare ever cross that line.

I visited my future home for the next two years (that blog post will come later) but came away with even more observations from village life.  Everyone looks at me funny.  The kids have yet to approach me which I think right now is a good thing considering there are 23 kids in my compound.  I can't imagine the peace will stay forever, so I'm enjoying their fear as long as possible.  Even the goats in my compound look at me funny.  A kind of "what the hell are you" look. They are chased into the compound (about 20 of them) and the second they see me, they stop dead in their tracks and just glare.  Kids congregate outside the concession entrance trying to get a look at this season's attraction: me.  It doesn't really bother me, but it's especially interesting to see the wonder, curiosity and occasional
fear in their eyes when I suddenly glance up at them.

I'll put together a post this week about my site visit.  Maybe even upload some pics for some Christmas entertainment.  It's going to be quite weird here celebrating Christmas in 90 degree weather.  I'll be back to the training site for Christmas, then wrap up the year here as well then move permanently to Namposella.  Until the next post, keep the emails coming, the comments a rolling and I have ordered stamps so letters will go out next week if you have written me and I have received your letter!

Almost an entire month has passed and I still can't believe this is all happening.  Most of all that tomorrow is Thanksgiving.  Yet by the time you read this you will be celebrating the New Years.  So even though  I am currently an entire month away from 2012--Happy New Years Ev!  Heck, even by now you might even be enjoying Mexico with the fam sans me.  Just know to not feel bad for me, my ideal vacation spot is more along the lines of Mongolian winters and the North Pole.  Don't get me wrong, your company is yearned for, but the circumstances in which I would have to see you is not coveted.

There are so many things I want to tell you about what is happening now and how I feel now, but I hate that the words most likely won't hold true when my letter finally arrives.  It's hard to fill a letter with generics when you are one of the few people I want to give details to.  Yet, when I sit down to write you, I am left tapping my pen against the dirt with little to say.

This past Sunday, Peace Corps took us on a field trip outside our homestay.  We all were taken to the Mali National Museum which consisted of 2 rooms.  That's it.  After a quick tour, they took us to this place called the American Club.  Entry access only if you hold a US Passport.  We had pizza (which should not have even been called that for the lack of cheese) and cold draft beer.  So for about 4 hours on Sunday, we all forgot we were in buttf*@! Mali and sat and drank cold beers poolside.  That is, until our conscious got the best of us and we decided four hours of luxury was enough for the day. Then again, I think every once in a while a little luxury is needed to keep the sanity or at least get a little buzzed to keep the brain happy.  Tomorrow should be another escape as we will head back to the training base for some Thanksgiving dinner.

I've been trying to think of things that I miss from the states and I have to admit, it's quite hard to have a substantial list.  Pooping in a hole, while at first took some major physical and mental adjustments, doesn't bother me in the least.  It actually makes me much more efficient in the bathroom as I want to get in and out.  No reading material necessary.

As far as the food, I like it.  Rice, peanut sauce and vegetables has yet to get old.  I'm sure it will, but today, I was able to explain to my host family that they do NOT need to add oil to everything.  That should fix the fun time my GI system has been having.  Eating with my right hand (never left, that's gross) while primitive, has a very relaxed feel.  Food falls everywhere, your hand is filthy and if you get a bite with a bone (or god knows what else) it entirely acceptable to simply spit the food out on the ground.

Life here, while at first appeared simply, it more complicated than any world I have ever been a part of.  Multiple wives, dozens of children, 5 different meanings for the same Bambara word, there is nothing simple about this life.  Even as I sit here around 20-25 people, I only know 5 names and 3 relations to my host mother.  Three weeks in, I still do not know whether I have 6 or 7 siblings. Fortunately, I am okay with that.  I have accepted the unknown and while frustrating at times, certainty in not understood here.  There is never a clear answer and I have come to expect murkiness in my everyday life.

I try to write in my journal each day, but my writing is starving.  I am left tired by the day's end and end up regurgitating the days events instead of documenting any real reflection.

Here is a funny story (or at least my exhausted brain was humored): Two nights ago while sitting watching a poorly made French dubbed movie that skipped over every 4 scenes, eating a plate of beans with my hands under the stars where at 8p it was still 90 degrees, my host father, Dramane, says, "This is exactly like your American life. Great good, good TV, with your family.  You are happy in America, you are happy in Mali. Same, same."  I'm sure I don't need to say this, but my host father has never left Mali, let alone been to the good ol' USA.

I am indeed happy here, but a very different type of happy.  I am happy here when I can take part in a Bambara conversation, when I can use the hole without running into any cockroaches crawling out mid-movement, or when I am taking my bucket bath as the sub rises or under the unbelievably illimunated stars of the night.  I am happy here, no doubt about it.  But the origins of my happiness stem from an entirely different roots.  And comparing the two, the happiness here while intense and never stable, feels more genuine than the happiness of a badger win, a lions playoff run or seeing a good movie.  I miss the company of my American life.  But the true American lifestyle?  I simply do not crave it yet.  The characters of my American life are yearned for, but no props, no scenes, no America.  I'm sure that will change, but until then, I'll enjoy this version of happy and hope it continues to grow.

Again, always thinking of you.

Lee

Since it is extremely difficult to write a letter home and stamps are hard to come by, I've been hoarding letters that should have been sent weeks ago to Evan.  So since I skyped with Ev last night and read him my letters, I thought it also be nice to share the letter with my other family and friends.  

November ....18th ?

Dear Ev,

I never quite know how to start off a letter.  Given the conditions I am in living in, the appropriate questions seem, well, stupid for a lack of a better word.  My days are long and tiring, yet I feel more alive than I ever have.  I think that if I were you, I'd want to know exactly what in hell I was doing everyday in the middle of Mali.  So that is what I will start off with.  

Every morning at 4:30a, the call to prayer starts.  It lasts exactly 7 minutes in which I curse the entire Muslim world.  I live about 1,000 feet from the village Mosque and the call, even with ear plugs jar me from my slumber each morning.  I tend to fall back into a light doze that is disturbed often by the donkeys, dogs, roosters and people outside my hut.  Oh and do not be fooled, roosters/chickens do make noise at all times of the day, not just sunrise.

Around 6:00a I wake up and walk across the compound to take my sunrise poop.  It makes the whole idea of pooping into a smelly fly infested hole almost bearable when the sun is rising over the hills.  After that, I grab my bucket and make the walk to the water pump in the village.  It's luckily rather close (5 minute walk) where I wait in line with Malians to get water.  They are constantly amazed that I pump my own and carry it back.  Have no doubt, that bucket is heavy as f@#$, but it's a good right arm a workout.  Tomorrow my sister is going to show me how to carry the bucket on my head which is supposed to be easier.  If not, I'll have some crazy Popeye right arm muscle by 2014.  

Breakfast consists of tea (even when it is 90 degrees outside)  and French bread (thank you colonialism!)  I then grab my books and walk through town to get to school.  Everyone calls my name (Kajatu Diarra) and I know now that I never EVER ever want to be famous.  EVER.  The attention is slowly dying down the longer I am in the village, but it takes a lot of getting used to.  Especially because in Mali it is extremely rude to not greet everyone.  So what would be a 5 minute walk to school turns into a 45 minute stop and go of handshaking, telling people my family is good and praising Allah for my good health.  

Once at school, it is a bit more relaxed.  We sit around a makeshift blackboard and study Bambara from 8-12p.  I’m actually getting quite good at it considering I just started learning it last week.  It helps that my homestay family only speaks Bambara and talks to me all the time,  We break from 12-2:30p to eat and not much more since the heat is so bad.  You sit and do nothing and sweat drips down your face.  And get this, it’s the cold season!

From 2:30-5, we go back to class and continue to study.  It’s boring and intense but exciting to be learning a language so quickly on the fly.  I come home by dark (6p) and help to make dinner which usually consists of rice and a peanut sauce and one (literally one) vegetable.  I’m lucky to be given pretty good food at homestay and have enjoyed almost everything I have had so far—especially since I cut meat out of my diet. 

The night usually flies by between cooking, eating, writing in my journal and homework that by 9p I am ready to go to bed and fall asleep reading.  But not before my 2nd bath of the day!  I go get water once again, walk to the hole (yes, it’s the same hole I go to the bathroom in), stand under the Malian stars with no artificial lighting and take it alllllll in. (well, not the smell of poo, but the view at least). 

So the days go by fast, but that isn’t to say it feels a lot longer than 3 weeks that I’ve been in country.  Thanksgiving is next week and while I am not the least bit homesick now, I fear the emotions I will have come time to eat rice and beans as my Thanksgiving dinner will prove difficult.  So that’s my everyday.  My brain is exhausted, I ooze starch from my pores, but I can sit here and genuinely say I’m so happy.  And by the time you get this and read it I could be in tears, know that today and for the past three weeks, I have been more than content with my life here.

So for the time being, I am truly living in each moment.  I look at the stars each night.  I laugh with my family every joke they make that I understand.  And I tap my foot to the music of Kobalakoro, Mali.  For I know that the day will come, when the burning garbage smoke will cloud the sky, my family will grow tired of the American and the music will turn to noise.  And while that may seem cynical, it is the unfortunate truth.  That while this life offers much beauty, there are alleys of darkness that I will undoubtedly walk through.  So it is with this letter I will read and remember the beauty of Mali in a time when the sun may be too hot and the day may feel too long.

The frogs have arrived and the cockroaches are creeping which means even without a watch, it is time to retire to bed.  Tomorrow is another day of language learning, visiting a health center, and learning to carry water on my head.  I do hope you can make it here one day.  I think you would find it most beautiful.  The people are kind in ways I can only hope I am half of.  And while you may not love the food (HA, may?!) I promise that other aspects of life in Mali make up for the culinary lacking.  I miss you and I love you.  Always thinking of everyone.

Lee

The time has come.  The time where I can no longer avoid packing, where I can no longer brush off this journey as "no big deal" and when I finally have to realize why everyone looks at me so doe-eyed when I tell them of my upcoming adventure.

Yes, I'm moving abroad for 27 months to a developing country and leaving all I know behind (including language) and starting a new life.  I wish I could concisely put down into words how I feel, but the second I start to explain one feeling, by the time I end the sentence with a period, an entirely different feeling is knocking at my emotional door.

So forget about appeasing the 2 (if that) readers I have with material they want to know, instead I'm using this entry as a way to explain how I feel.  That is what most blogs are about now anyway...

1.  Excited:  I'm freakin excited.  Peace Corps was first introduced in my journal on April 14, 1999.  I had just returned from piano lessons with Mrs. Simon who doubled as my life coach.  She was a Foreign Service Officer in her previous life and encouraged me to look into programs with the government.  I came home that day and wrote in my journal, "I think I will join the Peace Corps one day." (to be fair, at 12, I wrote Peace Core.)  So now, 12 years later, I am finally there.  So yea, I'm freakin excited.  How many people actually go through with what they were dreaming of doing at 12?

2.  Nervous: As with any major change, I'm nervous things won't exactly go the way I'd like.  Luckily, I'm okay with that.  I'm pretty okay with things going wildly not how I picture and going along for the ride.

3.  Sad: My family and friends are fantastic.  I am leaving when my relationships with my family and friends are the best they have ever been.  It's both hard to leave when things are so good, and also amazing that I'm leaving on such a good note with so many people.

4.  Annoyed: Not a huge emotion, but packing for 2 years is annoying.  There is nothing rewarding about buying reusable batteries, solar power chargers and bug huts (other than I'm being extremely green).  And while I am grateful to those who want to know what the peace corps is about, how long I'll be gone, where Mali is, I'm ready for it to finally happen and have my family start to explain to people where I am instead of me always saying where I will be.

5. Anxious:  I'm anxious to see how my relationships will change while I am away.  As mentioned, I have a great network of support, but you never quite know what will change until you are halfway across the world with limited contact.  It's exciting to see how my relationships will change and grow and how each will look upon my return in 2014.

This summer has been unbelievable.  Quite literally, I still can't believe that some things actually happened.  I've endured a great loss, enjoyed many laughs with my friends and family and came out of this entire "Funemployment Summer 2011" with a great appreciation for everyone that has been there.

So as I embark on this journey, I'd like to say thanks to everyone who has helped me along the way. (this is starting to sound like a bat mitzvah speech, no?)

Oh and go badgers.  #RussellWilsonHeisman

...a facebook group has been created for your PC group.

Last week a fellow October 2011 Mali volunteer created a facebook group for all of us heading off in a couple months.  While the blue packet was the official welcome to Peace Corps, this whole life experience didn't really hit home until I started seeing the faces of who I would be going through this process with.


I came away excited at the prospect of new friends, nervous about the lack of packing I have started, and researching the best type of "bug hut" I can buy.  It seems there are quite a few midwest folks in my group, which is comforting that hopefully, if I am in a desperate state of homesickness, I can hopefully have someone to talk Big Ten sports with.  Fingers crossed.

On the whole, I'm extremely nervous to take off.  I feel like I need one more day, one more meal, one more laugh with everyone I know.  To me, 2+ years doesn't sound that bad, but every time I tell someone how long I will be gone for and hear them gasp at the time commitment, it makes me doubt my understanding of time.

One of my best friends passed away this week.  It was a freak accident with no warning, no signs, and definitely no closure.  Less than 24 hours later, I received news that my long awaited invitation from Peace Corps was in the mail.  It's interesting to me the way life can test you..

Mavs won last night--I know he is celebrating in heaven.