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
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
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