Hey people,

I just returned from vacation in Togo and Benin a couple weeks ago. Photos are under the title "Vacation II" in the right sidebar. Enjoy.

Life here in Mali is pretty alright. Hot season is definitely upon us-- it stays about 104 degrees inside my house during the day and down to about 93 degrees at night. The outside daytime temperature is crazy-hot and the nighttime low is about 80 degrees (which feels chilly enough to have to cover myself with a sheet-- I'm going to die when I return to the U.S.!).

I am expecting to be leaving Mali around September or October of this year (only six months or so from now!) and plan to move to the coast of Ghana, where I am hoping to find some type of development work.

I hope life is swell. Take good care.

-B

Vivant

Hey people,

Just a quick note to let you all know that I'm alive and doing well. I'm in Bamako at the moment, getting ready to head out on vacation to Benin, Togo, and Burkina Faso. I'll be gone for about two weeks-- should be a blast.

Life is hot but good. Mango season is about to start, which will make things even tastier.

I just uploaded 50 or so new photos under the album "2009" on the right sidebar. Check it out-- they're pretty good!

Take care.

-B

Update

Hey people,

Not a whole lot of exciting things happening in my corner of the world. The rainy season is officially over and the the cold season has begun, which is wonderful. It has been getting down to a low of around 60 degrees in the middle of the night, which feels cold! after being in the Mali heat for so long. It is still around 95 or so during most days, and doesn't get much cooler than about 84 degrees inside my house.

My phone number has changed, for anyone who is thinking of giving me a ring. Check it out on the sidebar on the right side of the screen.

I am in the process of uploading new photos-- check the "Vacation" and "2009" albums for a little bit of visual pleasure.

That's all. I hope life is treating you all well.

Take care.

PHOTOS

Hey people,

I recently returned from a two-week vacation in Ghana and the Ivory Coast. The photos are posted under the link "Vacation" on the right sidebar. Enjoy:)

The story of a young girl.

You have probably seen an image of the young girl on your television screen at some point. The well-dressed, neatly groomed man that appeared next to her told you little more about the child’s situation than her name and that she needs your help. The rest of her story you would simply have to imagine, drawing clues only from the picture on the TV screen in front of you: the bare feet, filthy clothes, the unmistakable look of despair on her small, weathered face. She holds a petite tattered teddy bear that appears to have been rescued from a landfill—perhaps the one you see sprawling out across the land that lies beyond her. An overwhelming number of buzzing flies occupy the space around her, and based on a quick glance at her arms, shoulders, and legs, it is clear that this child is severely malnourished.

The image is striking, to be sure, and is meant to invoke any number of intense emotions—sadness, astonishment, heartache, anger, disbelief—that will motivate you, the viewer, to contribute a small amount of money to help improve the life of this one child and those of the many other children who live each day in similarly-deplorable conditions. But within your life of fortune and general luxury, you may have never actually come face-to-face with a reality as shocking as the one depicted on the screen in front of you, and so such a scene becomes somewhat difficult to believe.

Conditions couldn’t possibly be that bad for a great number of people beyond this little girl and perhaps others that live nearby, you tell yourself. She must be “the worst of the worst”, chosen to be plastered across the TV screen in order to ensure a steady supply of sympathy and donations, right? Human waste and garbage doesn’t really fill all the streets and alleyways of this small town, does it? And there must be little chance that she is actually malnourished—there is so much food in this world!

You are told little more than her name and that she needs your help, and so you simply don’t know the extent of the poverty that this young girl lives in each day. You don’t know her story. If you will imagine that this child lives in a small rural village in Mali, West Africa, however, I will tell you her story.

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The young girl that you have seen on your TV screen is nine years old, and in a country with a death rate of 22 percent for children under the age of 5, you might say that she is lucky to be alive. The environment in which she lives can most simply be described as extremely isolated and inadequate; the resources, few. The small village that she calls home is situated at the edge of the Senegal River, which happens to be the only source of water—for drinking, washing, cooking, bathing, etc.—that the four-hundred-plus inhabitants have access to. The village itself is some sixty kilometers (thirty-seven miles) from the next town—a distance most often traveled, very slowly, in a small cart pulled by an under-weight and over-worked donkey. (The same mode of transportation is used for any items or materials too heavy to balance on the top of one’s head.)

The girl lives with her father, his two wives, and her nine brothers and sisters in three very small round houses made of mud and straw (note: polygamy is both legal and widely-practiced within Muslim society—a man can have up to four wives). Not far from their concession lie two large fields that act as a significant source of food for the large family—just before rainy season each year, the young girl’s father spends nearly ten hours per day plowing the earth with a small tool that fits perfectly in the palm of his hand. (Some seventy-percent of the country’s labor force does the same.) Other than the corn and peanuts that are cultivated on these two plots of land, the girl and her family eat rice or pounded millet (a grain) for lunch and dinner nearly every single day. Fruits and vegetables are extremely limited, as is meat.

Because electricity is not available, many residents of this small village navigate each night with the dim glow of a small flame burning inside a kerosene lantern. Food is cooked outdoors, inside of large caldrons that sit on three large rocks over a small (and extremely energy-inefficient) wood-fueled fire.

In the absence of any type of medical center or hospital, the only health care options available to this girl are natural remedies suggested by a traditional healer, or nothing at all. Malaria, Tuberculosis, and Cholera are a few of the sicknesses that all-too-commonly strike the local population.

A small six-classroom school is located at the edge of the village, but because of the extraordinary amount of work and energy that cooking, cleaning, and caring for five children under the age of six requires, this young girl’s father has decided that she will not be attending school in the upcoming year. Family is more important, and so she will remain at home each day and help her two mothers with chores—the opportunity for education denied.

Just as there is no electricity or clean water in this girl’s village, there too is no sewage or garbage disposal system—yes, the streets and alleyways really are covered with trash and waste. Children and grown men often urinate on the ground wherever they may be when the urge arrives, and the narrow dirt roads throughout town are spotted with puddles of stinking bath water that flows from the latrines of nearby homes. The sight of emaciated animals rummaging through piles of garbage looking for food is a common one.

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So that is the young girl’s story. If it ended with her and the others in her small village, then we would probably all feel pretty comfortable with the way the world currently works. But it doesn’t, and so we just can’t.

The story told above—of the young child you once saw on your TV screen—is similar, in many ways, to the stories of some three billion people on this earth. Many have dark skin. Many live in Africa or Asia. Many are living every day in conditions so deplorable they are difficult to believe. Believe it, and be upset about it.

If the well-groomed elderly man has already convinced you to donate money, I suggest you continue to do so. But beyond that, I encourage you to read books, watch documentaries, pick through the news, and put some sort of significant effort towards gaining an accurate image of the way the “other” half of the world lives. Learn about the mechanisms, policies, and government leaders that are keeping poor countries locked in poverty. Visit these places to gain the valuable insights that no other experience will offer. Take a step outside of the comforts of your own world and familiarize yourself with the very discomforting reality of another—one that you may know very little about, and which half of the world’s population knows far too well.

(Note: when I first arrived in Mali and began to witness and experience the many inadequacies and struggles that exist in everyday life in this country, I was shocked and bothered. After spending quite some time here, however, I must say that those same unfortunate realities now bother me much less—because perhaps more powerful than the sense of astonishment that such conditions exist in this world is the feeling of wonder at how the people in such harsh, resource-scarce environments are able to continue to live seemingly-happy lives. It is important to note that life in the developing “third” world is not all about poverty and despair. Life everywhere, after all, is largely characterized by balance and equilibrium. And if there is one thing that humans universally do extremely well, it is that we adapt to the environment in which we find ourselves. And so alongside all the hardships and challenges that are ever-present here in Mali also exist many moments and sources of joy and satisfaction. Children will sing, dance, and play, regardless of the state of the world around them. Men and women will always form friendships, families, and connections that they will celebrate with laughter and love, the best they know how. As humans, we naturally focus on the things that bring joy and happiness—I have done the same thing here in Mali. But in order to remain motivated and not lose touch with my primary reason for being here, I must remind myself that although life throughout the developing world certainly can (and, in fact, always will) contain laughter, happiness, love, and good times, it is still, overwhelmingly, marked by gross inequality, inadequacy, and unacceptable hardship. We should all be extremely bothered by such a fact.)

Photos

Just posted a dozen or so new photos under the link titled "My Home" on the right sidebar. Enjoy:)

Latest and greatest

Hey people,

I thought I better throw a message out to the world while I’m around an internet connection.

Things here in Mali are going pretty well— I’m still healthy, happy, and enjoying life. The last couple months have been super hot—probably around ninety-five degrees in the shade—but the fact that I have a refrigerator at my house (unlike ninety-nine percent of volunteers) probably means that I can’t complain a whole lot. Ice cold water is a beautiful, beautiful thing—don’t forget that.

I still help out with English classes at both the elementary school and high school in my town, which continues to be a lot of fun. I am also still giving private English lessons to two young guys a couple days per week. They have actually become pretty good friends of mine, which is nice. Almost the entire community of Bafoulabé (my town) knows me by now, but most of the connections I have with people are based primarily on a daily exchange of greetings and small talk—not much else—so it’s great to have some closer friends that I can actually spend time with and get to know on a more personal and deeper level.

I recently painted a large, colorful mural of Mali inside my house (sorry—I forgot to take a picture!) and it gave me the idea to get five or six young students together in the near future to paint one or two murals in a public space at the elementary school. I would like to do the same thing at the high school, also. I think a huge world map would be interesting, and would help the kids learn more about this wonderful world we live in. We will probably also do a huge hippopotamus (Mali means hippo in the national language of Bambara, and the animal is particularly famous in Bafoulabé—there is a huge hippo statue in the center of town).

My good buddy Ryan Shaw, who lives about six kilometers from me, recently taught me all about the magic of using urine as a fertilizer for crops. Our bodies expel tons of nitrogen and phosphorous through our urine, and both are what many vegetables, grains, and fruit trees need in order to grow big and strong (and produce lots of good food for us to munch on, of course). A decent bit of Ryan’s excitement about the concept rubbed off on me, and I am now about to begin the process of teaching the benefits and the application process to locals in my community, and helping them get set-up with the correct urine-collection equipment. My goal is to begin with a group of about ten people and then expand the project to many more once that first group begins to see an increase in their yields and starts to spread the word about it. Considering the fact that around seventy percent of economic activity in this country is agricultural, it seems to me that any new technology or technique has the potential to benefit a huge number of people (which makes me believe that every volunteer, regardless of which sector they are in, should focus some sort of energy and attention towards agricultural work). We’ll see how it goes. Should be fun.

A few days ago, I had a meeting with my homologue (a local Malian man that I work closely with) and some other community members in order to begin planning a large sanitation project that I am initiating and will be a part of. Our goal is to construct a soak pit for three-hundred different families. Right now you have no idea what a soak pit is, but you will in a quick minute. Read on.

Inside every Malian family’s walled concession is a “bathroom” which stands alone about thirty or more feet away from the house, and consists of a small room enclosed by four short mud or concrete walls. There may or may not be a door and/or roof. Inside the “bathroom” is a small hole cut into the floor (usually about a six-inch square) that acts as a toilet would, and waste drops down into a huge space (usually a couple meters long and wide, and a few meters deep) underneath the floor, where it sits and slowly decomposes. It functions like a port-a-potty does, except that it is never emptied with a pump.

Also inside this “bathroom” is where a person washes him or herself with water from a small bucket (running water inside of a family’s concession does not exist in rural towns and villages). Because of the frequency that Malians bath, it is not possible to have bath water run into the same large hole that human waste is deposited into, because it would fill up quite quickly. So, in the absence of any type of sewage or plumbing system, dirty water from bathing drains out of the “bathroom” through a tiny hole or short pipe and into the public street outside of the family’s concession (as most “bathrooms” are constructed on the perimeter of the walled concession). The result, as you can imagine, is an ever-present and ever-growing amount of disgusting, stinky water that sits stagnate on nearly every street in town and becomes a breeding ground for mosquitoes and, unfortunately, a water source for a variety of animals to drink from. It is quite a terrible sight. Now, a soak pit is a large hole (usually around one-meter cubed) that is constructed directly outside of the “bathroom” where the dirty bath water exits onto the street, and simply acts as a way to catch that dirty water and trap it underground, where it will filter through the earth and become clean once again. Each soak pit is filled to the top with rocks (which provide structural support to prevent someone who walks over the pit from falling in, and to prevent the walls of the pit from eroding into the hole), and a small pipe attached to the wall of the “bathroom” allows bath water to drain into the center of the pit. Each pit is then covered with two layers of thick plastic tarp and covered with dirt. So the finished soak pit is completely hidden from view and effectively traps all of the dirty bath water that exits the “bathroom”. It’s a pretty simple, inexpensive solution to a very wide-spread problem.

A majority of families in Bafoulabé do currently have a soak pit, but nearly none of them are covered, so as a result, they are all filled to the top with mud and garbage, which renders them useless—bath water drains into the street as though the soak pit didn’t exist. And imagine the scene during rainy season when it pours rain nearly every day and the streets are flooded with a mixture of rain and bath water.

So the project that I am initiating will involve the re-building of three-hundred soak pits over the span of three or four months. Working with community members, we will employ a small team of four Malian men who will actually do the physical work that each soak pit requires. Each family that decides they want to be a part of the project will be required to dig the hole, obtain the rocks (by either purchasing them or gathering them from the outskirts of town) and actually putting the rocks in the hole. The work team will then come along and attach the pipe with a bit of concrete and cover the pit with plastic and dirt. By the time the project is completed, we expect that quite an improvement will have been made in the appearance and cleanliness of the town. NOTE: If this project sounds like a worthy cause that you might like to contribute to, well, you’re in luck! A portion of the funding will come from a program called Peace Corps Partnership, which is fully supported by donations made online by ordinary (I mean, extraordinary) people just like you! Once I submit the proposal (hopefully within the next month), my project will be put up on the Peace Corps Partnership website, and I’ll post a direct link to it on this blog. Check back soon!

Thaaat’s about all for now. Oh, a few highlights for the months to come: For the Fourth of July, over one-hundred volunteers will be getting together to celebrate and have some good times—fishing, swimming with the hippos, playing with wild monkeys, eating good food, and making some good memories. I’m excited. And for two weeks in late July, I’ll be going on vacation to Ghana (an English-speaking country—wooo-hoooo!) and the Ivory Coast with three friends. Should be a blast!

Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, I hope you are healthy and well. Take care.

The past few months.

Here’s a little update of the past few months. I haven’t been very inspired to write much lately, so I don’t have a ton to share.

Life in Mali is good-- not wonderful but definitely not bad. We’re heading into the hot season now, which will be a bit tough-- it’ll be around 105 degrees in the shade for the whole months of May and June, and not much cooler than that at night. It has already begun getting hotter during the last month or so, and the heat definitely has a negative effect on the motivation level of everyone, including myself. It’s just too hot to go out and do any kind of work in the direct sun during the day.

Speaking of work, I haven’t done a ton of it up to this point. I think a lot of people have an image of development work as rapid, and improvements and change being life-altering and quick. The truth is that integrating into another culture takes many, many months, and progress comes very slowly and in small steps. Since being here, it has become clear to me just how much Americans measure success by tangible results and by doing things-- we constantly think we have to be completing tasks, staying busy, and always getting things done in order to have an impact and make a difference. But we’re called human beings for a reason, and sometimes we just need to be rather than do.

I have now been living in my town for about six months up to this point. The first three months were pretty much just spent learning about the surroundings, people, language, resources, and needs of the community-- I didn‘t do any real work. For the past three months, I have been occasionally teaching English to a couple of different classes at the local high school and also helping with English lessons at the elementary school three days each week. It’s a lot of fun-- I enjoy being up in front of the class, and the students love having me there. I have also been planning different projects that I would like to do during the next year, and that I will be starting to organize and get the ball rolling on within the next few weeks.

I’m going to teach my villagers how to collect and apply urine to their crops as a fertilizer. The supplies for collecting it (a large jug and funnel) are super cheap and affordable for most people, and the results are huge-- urine is a wonderful fertilizer! My goal is to start with a small group of about a dozen people and teach them all about it and get them committed to trying it, then once they see the results on their crops and gardens, they’ll be stoked and tell others about it-- I want to eventually expand to gardening associations and larger groups of people. I’m going to have the whole town peeing into jugs and putting it all over everything!

I would also like to explore a better garbage collection system for my town-- there is apparently one in place now but it doesn’t seem to be operating very well or efficiently. It’s a typical Malian town-- there is garbage absolutely everywhere. So we need to sensitize people to the benefits of a clean environment and get them to develop some sense of pride for a clean town. I do believe that people want their surroundings to be clean and sanitary, but there just isn’t the correct infrastructure and leadership in place right now to really make it happen. So I’ll be working with a small group of locals to try to improve the garbage situation.

Language is going well-- I didn’t know a word of French when my plane landed in Mali, and now I can understand most of what is spoken to me and can express myself well and as much as I need to. The language dynamic in this country is interesting. French is the official language, but is the second language of everyone here-- each Malian learns the local language of his or her ethnic group from birth. The result is that people almost never use French in daily conversation (since it isn‘t their first language and many do not know it well, if at all), which has made learning the language much more difficult. It’s tough to learn a new language when you are constantly surrounded by people who are speaking a completely different one. But I’m getting by well, and have started to learn Bambara, which is an ethnic language that about eighty percent of the Malian population speaks and uses almost exclusively.

That’s about it for now. I don’t have internet access in my town, and am only online for a few days every two or three months-- the next update probably won’t be for awhile.

Wherever you are, I hope life is beautiful. Take care.

Oh, I added a handful of new photos to the album titled “My Home.” The link is on the right sidebar.

Videos

Here are a few very short video clips. Enjoy.

COUMBA.
THE RIVER.
DANCE PARTY.

NEW PHOTOS

Hey people.

There's a new link titled "My Home" on the right side of the page, under "PHOTOS". There are only a few there now, but I will be uploading a couple hundred more at some point during the next two weeks.

Check back often.

Oh, and MERRY CHRISTMAS:)

TONGUE TIED

Imagine this.

You have recently arrived in a land far from home, where the values, beliefs, practices, and way-of-life are a bit different than you are accustomed to, but where the people, thankfully, radiate with a sense of kindness and generosity that you are familiar with, and which makes you feel more at home. As you settle into your new life and adjust to the culture and climate that envelop you, it becomes clear that the largest challenge you face—one that you must overcome in order to be successful and retain a sense of connectedness with those around you—is communication.

A simple exchange of dialogue, which used to be effortless, frequent, and enjoyable, is now difficult, uncommon, and often marred by misunderstanding. Intellectual conversation, which was once a great source of satisfaction and connection, now ceases to exist. You may think of yourself as decently intelligent and capable of offering words and ideas that provoke thought and encourage discussion, but the broken, child-like sentences that now characterize your everyday speech show no indication of such intellect. In fact, they may suggest something of the opposite: a simple person with little to offer—not the way you see yourself at all.

But despite the general silence that seems to accompany you most places you go, the kindness and generosity from those that surround you remains ever-present—a fact that you are very much thankful for but which you begin to feel unworthy of. You haven’t done anything, and beyond the abundance of friendly greetings that you offer to (quite literally) everyone you see each day, you speak very little to very few people—held back by the vast amount of local language that you don’t know and surviving with only the small bit that you do.

The days, weeks, and months pass, you continue relying on the relatively small set of vocabulary that (by now) you know well, and the people around you continue to treat you as one of their own—with respect and generosity—for seemingly no other reason than that you are here with them, now, sharing space and time. But amidst the feelings of connectedness and belonging that naturally result from the actions of such kind individuals lingers a slight but definite sense of isolation. Because you have thoughts, beliefs, values, dreams, history, stories, knowledge, and advice that you desperately want to share and exchange—you believe they do as well—but a barrier of misunderstanding blocks the way, with only the occasional complete idea or sentence breaking through. With the many thoughts and curiosities that crowd your mind each day comes a feeling of frustration in knowing that you cannot vocalize them—at least not completely, correctly, or well enough to be fully understood.

Welcome to Mali.

THEY HAVE EACH OTHER.

Before leaving the United States for Mali, I remember extensively researching the country online to learn as much as possible about the place I would call “home” for the next two years. Through all the information I found and the facts I discovered, the one feeling that remained with me (other than excitement) was that life in Mali must be difficult.

The United Nations Development Program’s 2006 Human Development Index ranked Mali as one of the world’s three poorest countries; a 2005 estimate put the percentage of the total population living below the poverty line at seventy-two; life expectancy at birth is very low and infant mortality very high. Adult illiteracy is around fifty-five percent.

As I began telling friends, family, and acquaintances about my upcoming adventure to the West African country, including some of the statistics above, I received the same response that had initially filled my mind: Malian life must be tough; perhaps primitive. How do they survive?

Yes, life is tough—no matter what part of the globe you may find yourself in—but after being in Mali for a few months and seeing the people, the land, cultural practices, beliefs, and way-of-life, I can now easily see how the people here survive: they have each other.

It is an unfortunate fact that a significant portion of the twelve million Malians that inhabit this country are living with very few of the basic resources and needs that most in the developed world have never lived without: paved roads, clean drinking water, electricity, access to adequate health care, a solid education system, an ever-present supply and variety of nutritious food, and the right to freely choose one’s profession, partner, or path in life. These are the basics, and they are in serious short supply. If you are wondering about available luxuries, the answer is that, in the rural areas of the country (where a majority of the overall population lives), there aren’t any.

But what Malians lack in luxuries (and unfortunately, basic needs) they more than make up for in family. No, they don’t have Starbucks on the corner, a shopping mall down the street, or a good friend named Google that they can go to at any time for answers, comfort, and advice, but they have each other, and the value of companionship and genuine human-to-human connection far outweighs that of any latté I’ve ever had.

In fact, I would even argue that in many areas of the United States (mostly urban, but some rural as well), if you looked past the Starbucks and Wal-Mart, past the 105-inch flat-screen Plasma TV, and in between the millions of pixels on the computer screen that you sit in front of for far too long every day (reading this blog, of course), you would see that we don’t have each other. How do we survive? In a culture that is completely over-saturated with luxury goods and services, we, as Americans, have a serious shortage of what matters most, and with what Mali appears to be wealthy in: real relationships with the people around us. Sure, we have our family, close friends, co-workers, and acquaintances, but beyond that, we are virtually isolated from those that surround us—too much so to even offer a friendly “hello” to the person we pass on the street.

In rural Mali, very much a communal society and atmosphere, everyone is viewed and treated as family and a friend. Walking through the village, you will be warmly greeted by virtually each person you see, and not simply those that pass nearby—friendly greetings shouted from afar are as common as those spoken softly and within close distance. Greetings, it turns out, are an extremely important part of the Malian culture, and are constantly and consistently exchanged between everyone in the community. The mentality: a friend of yours is a friend of mine.

When you enter a family’s compound, whether your relationship with them is long and well-established or not-yet existent, you will be treated with kindness and generosity. If you are hungry and ask for food, you will likely be fed, and if the family happens to be eating a meal at the time, you will definitely be invited to join them at the communal bowl. The mentality: the food that I prepare is not only for me, it is for everyone.

In the rare occasion that a serious crime is committed within the community—theft, assault, harassment, etc.—the people will swiftly join together and organize a plan for dealing with the problem and reaching a solution. The mentality: a threat to you is a threat to the entire population.

It’s easy to look at the resources, money, goods, services, and luxuries that a community, country, or continent doesn’t have and to feel sorry for the people that live there—to wonder how they survive. But what is more challenging (and more important) is to look closely at what it is that the people of those places do have which keeps them generally happy, satisfied, and surviving despite the severe shortage or absence of the important resources on which you may believe that happiness, satisfaction, and survival are dependent (but in fact, as I have seen, are not).

The people of Mali have each other—something that I believe the United States, which has a ridiculous over-abundance of everything else, could use a whole lot more of.

A TONGUE THAT STRENGTHENS YET RESTRAINS

It is an interesting fact that although the official language of Mali is French (who the country was colonized by), it is actually the second language of virtually everyone here—there are six or seven main local languages spoken by ethnic groups of varying sizes in different regions of the country (Bambara, considered the national language of Mali, is used by around eighty percent of the country’s twelve million inhabitants), and children are raised from infancy in their ethnic group’s native tongue.

It isn’t until around the age of nine or ten that children begin learning French in school, but if you take the fact that a number of females don’t attend elementary school and a large number who do attend do not continue on to high school, and couple it with the fact that French is almost never spoken by children outside of the classroom, you arrive at an unfortunate conclusion: a large majority of adult women, and some men, do not ever speak French, either because they don’t know how to or because the small bit that they do know would be riddle with mistakes that they are afraid of making. And so what you have, interestingly, is an official language (French) that is virtually only used by people—mostly men—in government or other official business positions (in other words, a very small portion of the country’s population).

The tendency to prefer one’s own ethnic tongue over French (or any other language, for that matter) makes perfect sense—I think it represents a large part of the unique cultural identity that Malians value so much, and which separates them from others (after all, they are neither White nor French). But when the focus on one’s local language comes at the expense of understanding and being able to speak French—a much more useful language—I believe it becomes a poor choice, and one whose disadvantages are perhaps greater than the value of the cultural identity that the ethnic language helps to define.

First, the local languages of Mali are largely unwritten—their speakers begin learning them naturally from birth, and are exposed to them only briefly in school (if they attend). What this means is that those who do not learn to speak French are also likely to never learn how to read or write—adult illiteracy in Mali is around fifty-five percent—and the effects of this are clearly negative and potentially far-reaching. And so the exclusion of French, I believe, has a stifling effect on literacy.

Secondly, while an ethnic language (such as the national one of Bambara) carries with it a great deal of cultural identity and value, such tongues are spoken by few in Mali’s neighboring countries, and (surprise, surprise) virtually nobody in the expansive (and opportunity-filled) world beyond that. And so the ethnic language acts as a kind of restraint, keeping its faithful speakers from ever accessing relationships, resources, people, opportunities, or life outside of Mali and Africa.

The point is not at all that Malians should abandon their native language—the identity it helps give them is extremely important and must be carried on through the generations—but that if such tongues were accompanied by a solid understanding of, and ability to speak, French, it would open the doors to opportunity and improvement that they could then walk through with strong cultural identity and pride in hand. Unfortunately, those who cannot read, write, or speak French are likely to find those doors closed, and opening them again will surely prove difficult.

A DIFFERENT SORT OF DYNAMIC

Of all the new and unique things I have experiences and seen in Mali—people, places, animals, ceremonies, culture, climate—one of the most interesting, which I have spent a lot of time observing and thinking about, is the dynamic of “love” (specifically the relationship between a man and woman within the context of marriage) and the primary qualities that are valued and desired in a potential long-term partner.

If I were to make a list of all the different characteristics that my ideal partner might have—the person I may spend the rest of my life with—I have to admit that it would probably be rather long and complicated (hey, in an ideal world, we can have everything we want, right?!). But at the very top of the list, above the abundance of less important items like must love ice cream and will sing with me in the shower would be those relatively few qualities that I respect, and am attracted to, the most—things like honesty, sensitivity, a compassionate and caring heart, genuine respect for one’s self and others, a craving for mystery and adventure, a sense of humor, firmly held beliefs and values, goals and dreams (and the motivation to chase both), and a set of interests that are at least slightly in accord with mine. These are the traits that are most important to me, and whose presence or absence are, at least in some part, the basis on which a potential long-term partner is judged. And although this “list” is mine personally, I assume that a vast population beyond myself would settle on very similar (if not some of the same) qualities—that is, that they are nearly universally valued and sought. After all, they are human characteristics—respect, honesty, a system of beliefs and values, humor, kindness, compassion—and therefore transcend race, gender, class, culture, and geography, right? Perhaps not entirely.

What I am beginning to realize, after noticing a much different and smaller set of valued and desired qualities among Malians, is that many of the traits just mentioned are, in fact, largely shaped by one’s culture and environment, and are at least partially dependent on both the availability of resources and opportunity, and on a knowledge of the expansive world beyond one’s own. A closer look:

It would be very difficult (and in fact, probably nonsensical) to develop and keep a sensitive, soft heart when the environment surrounding you is saturated with struggle and inadequacy. Disease, death, very little (if any) health care, a severe lack of clean drinking water, and a harsh, flood- and drought-prone climate characterize much of Mali—such conditions demand resiliency and create tough and hardened individuals. And so Malians, as far as I can see, are generally not sensitive or soft people—the trait is both valued and sought by few. The result: sensitivity does not make it on the Malian list of desirable traits in a romantic partner.

When a serious lack of resources, money, and knowledge keeps you firmly locked in your poor, routine daily life, it becomes extremely unlikely (although certainly not impossible) that you will develop dreams and goals that lie beyond such an existence—either because you don’t expect to ever break free of poverty or because you simply don’t know what exists in the larger world that you could possible dream about or strive to make a reality. Your goals, in effect, are limited by the absence of the resources that would be needed to achieve them. Here in Mali, where resources and opportunities are scarce and where knowledge of the outside world is rather limited, it appears that goals and dreams are in serious short supply—their existence is both valued and sought by few. The result: goals and dreams (and the motivation to chase both) does not make it on the Malian list of desirable traits in a romantic partner.

A shortage of resources, money, and knowledge also severely limits the hobbies and interests that a person could potentially have. Some of my own interests include photography, music, the studying of psychology, reading, and writing. But the existence of each of these as an interest of mine depends entirely on an environment and a host of resources that, together, have (thankfully) provided me with the opportunity to access and enjoy them—such conditions are clearly not present in many parts of the world. You won’t find reading or writing on a list of the hobbies of someone who never learned to do either; photography is not going to be the interest of a person who hasn’t ever seen a camera; and the studying of psychology (or any other subject/discipline) will not be the favorite of somebody who is the product of a broken education system that never taught, among many other things, the value of knowledge and discovery. And so your interests are both defined and limited by the quantity and quality of the available resources in the environment around you. The result: a set of interests that are at least slightly in accord with mine does not make it on the Malian list of desirable traits in a romantic partner.

So what does all of this mean? Well, besides the fact that I will almost surely not find my future bride in Mali, it means that in the absence of the qualities discussed above, each partner in the rural Malian romantic relationship, interestingly, is both sought and valued for having one primary (and in my opinion, meaningless) characteristic. The details:

Thanks to the rules and dynamic of the religion of Islam, marriage in Mali (a country that is nearly ninety percent Muslim) can almost entirely be described in terms of rigid, firmly established roles. For the man, it is to work—perhaps in agriculture, small commerce, or government service—and earn enough money to support himself and his family completely. He is the sole money-maker, and all the financial needs of each family member depend on him. The woman’s job, in contrast to that of her husband, is to stay home every day and cook, clean, and care for the couple’s children. Her duties likely include sweeping and cleaning shortly after waking up in the morning, walking to the market (where you will rarely spot a man) to buy food, cooking each meal, washing clothes and dishes (by hand, of course), walking some distance to a well to collect water, and bathing her children. When her husband is home, she has the added responsibility of bringing him food and water (or anything else he might want) whenever he demands it—a sort of servant, the way I see it (and one who rarely, if ever, disobeys her husband’s orders or questions the subordinate role she is in).

The dynamic of this typical marriage, although often male-dominated, seems to be one of mutual dependence—men, who never cook and rarely clean or take care of their children, inarguably rely on their wives to do these things each day. Women, who generally do not earn money, depend on their husbands for any need that is financial. And so it is precisely these qualities—in a woman, obedience and the ability to cook and clean well; in a man, the means to make money—and nearly nothing else, which are valued and desired in a potential long-term partner. Their presence, in the eyes of many Malians, seems to create “love” and signal the likelihood of a quality, successful marriage.

But one of the many problems I have with this dynamic is that these qualities can be found in almost any Malian man or woman—yes, she is obedient and can cook and clean well- she has been taught the importance of such things since youth, and yes, he can support you financially- he knows that men like himself are obligated to work and earn money. And so what you have, it appears, is “love” and the conditions necessary for a quality marriage within nearly every person you look—not at all the special and uncommon kind of love that I would like to believe in.

When love and marriage are primarily based on such things as money and the willingness of one partner to be the obedient servant of the other, I believe that they become cheap and meaningless. But this is only true because I am not the product of a society in which love and marriage are commonly this way. For many (perhaps most) Malians, this dynamic is simply life and love the only way they know it. For me, however, it seems rather unfortunate and empty.

ALIVE AND WELL

For those who have been wondering what happened to me for the past few months—why I haven’t posted anything here—let me put an end to your worries: I’m alive and well. Now you can sleep better at night. You’re welcome. :)

Unfortunately for both of us, there is no internet connection in my village or anywhere nearby—the only time I can get online to give you new exciting stories and photos is when I travel to the closest large city, which doesn’t happen very often; probably every few months. Sorry.

I’m away from village for the next three or four weeks, so if you would like to send me an email or message, I should be able to reply fairly quickly. Here’s an update of the past five months in Mali:

FÉLICITATIONS!
For the first two months after arriving in Mali (on July 20), I lived with a host family near the capital city of Bamako and attended a variety of training sessions—language, health and wellness, safety and security, cross-cultural and technical education—intended to prepare me for the next two years of service. During this time, I was constantly among other trainees (our group began with seventy-two—a dozen or so have since gone home) and Peace Corps staff, and the days were very scheduled and full. Finally, on September 21, pre-service training came to an end and I officially became a Peace Corps Volunteer.

The swearing-in ceremony, which was held at the United States Embassy, felt a bit like high school graduation. Our host families came dressed in their nicest outfits, clearly proud of their newest sons, daughters, brothers, and sisters for having made it through such an exhausting and difficult time. Speeches were given, tears were shed, plenty of photos taken, and a few hugs were even exchanged—something very rarely seen in Mali. The only thing missing was the diploma. Emotions were mixed: among the strong sense of relief, excitement, and accomplishment remained a feeling of unease in knowing that we would soon, in a few days, be leaving the company (and comfort) of each other—fellow trainees—and venturing out to our respective villages, where we would once again face many of the struggles we had recently endured, only this time without the support of those to whom we had grown the closest. Nevertheless, it was a time of celebration. We made it!

LA VILLE
On September 23, I left Bamako and the other volunteers and made the fourteen-hour trek to my new home: Bafoulabé. The town itself is located in the western Kayes Region of Mali—the hottest in the country—not too far from the Senegal border. Bafoulabé is the capital of the Circle of Bafoulabé, a collection of seven communes (each of which consists of a few dozen small villages), so although the town is fairly small (the population is around 3,200) there is electricity available throughout, and many houses—maybe around half—are made of concrete, as opposed to the mud brick huts that are found in most small, rural villages. While nearly every family here eats rice with sauce for lunch and dinner each day, there is a nice supply of fruits and vegetables year-round—bananas, mangoes, apples, watermelon, oranges, papaya, tomatoes, cucumbers, corn, eggplant, potatoes, sweet potatoes, peanuts—thanks to the Senegal River, which lies at the edge of town (a five-minute walk from my house).

Bafoulabé has an elementary school (which serves around seven hundred students, ages seven to sixteen), a high school (of several hundred students), a small public library, bank, small outdoor market, a few dozen tiny boutiques (a couple of which sell fabric and small hardware; most of which sell food), a hospital, hotel, a few small restaurants, a bar, a post office, two mosques, and two small Christian churches. The main religion of Bafoulabé (as well as Mali as a whole) is Islam, which is practiced by around eighty or ninety percent of the population. Christianity is practiced by less than ten percent (one of the Christian churches, operated by two Norwegian missionaries, has a regular Sunday attendance of around twenty adults), and Animism by only a few.

LA VIE COLLECTIVE
As you may guess is the case in a communal society, everyone in Mali lives, eats, and socializes together at pretty much all hours of the day—it is fairly rare to see a Malian alone. It is common to find two or three generations of the same family—brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, parents, nieces, nephews—all living in two or three houses within the same walled complex, sharing space, time, food, clothing, and resources, and all referring to each other as “brother” and “sister”. The dynamic at my house is similar—I live with two Malian families within a large walled compound, and sharing is pretty much mandatory (which has taught me that sometimes when you make a big batch of delicious peanut butter chocolate cookies or caramel candy, it isn’t necessary to tell anyone else about it—there are just too many mouths to feed!).

The communal way of living is nice—it’s comforting to always have people around that you know are willing to share in friendly conversation, laughter, food (usually rice, which I will probably never eat again after leaving Mali!), tea, and life.

LA ROUTE: LONGUE ET LENTE
Before leaving the United States, I had a certain (perhaps slightly romantic) vision of traveling to another culture and quickly (and somewhat easily) beginning to help—starting my work shortly after arriving and seeing positive results not long after that. My destination was Mali, West Africa, and I was going to make things better for the people there—to bring new ideas, perspectives, creativity (which is in serious short supply here), resources, and inspiration.

But after being in Mali for a few months and learning more about both the Peace Corps and development work in general, it is now clear that, in contrast to my initial beliefs, change (which is, to some extent, necessary for improvement) is a very slow-moving, difficult process which is not uncommonly resisted, to some degree, by those that you are working with and for the benefit of. Because in order for development to be effective and successful, it must be sustainable—able to continue on in the hands of locals long after outside aid and resources are gone—and so the focus must be on encouraging behavior change (perhaps something as small as convincing a family that washing their hands with soap before eating will reduce the risk of becoming sick) and building the capacity of locals—that is, getting them to recognize and truly believe that they already possess the skills, knowledge, and creativity needed to make improvements in their lives. Neither of these is by any means an easy task.

Perhaps the largest roadblock, as I see it, is communication—speaking and understanding the local language well—but beyond that, there is a host of other hurtles that threaten to slow or even bring to a halt the process of improvement.

Superstition, for example, keeps many Malian families from washing their hands with soap, as they firmly believe that it will rid their lives of good fortune and luck, and long-held family values keep the process of “washing” one’s hands before eating unchanged (and unsanitary)—each person rinses his or her right hand in a bowl of water before passing it to the next, who does the same. This routine, done before each meal, is thought by some to help keep the family together, and any significant deviation is seen as threatening. But as you can imagine, the practice is anything but sanitary—in a large family of eight or ten, the last few to dip into the bowl may be doing themselves more harm than good. Did I mention that Malians eat meals—mostly rice and sauce—from a large common bowl with their right hand? (Note: the left hand is used for cleaning one’s self after using the bathroom, and should never be used for eating or greeting).

The refusal to sign any official paper document, for fear of it somehow being used against them by a mal-intentioned person in some unknown (and probably non-existent) way, prevents some men from opening a bank account that could allow them to save money and greatly help themselves and their families in times of sickness or misfortune (which, I’m pretty sure, are not a result of washing your hands with soap). The examples go on.

But enough about hurtles and roadblocks—life is challenging no matter where you are or what you’re doing. Here’s a bit of what I’ve been up to during the past three months in village, and what I hope to accomplish in the next two years:

CAISSE D’EPARGNE
The local leaders of Bafoulabé originally requested a Peace Corps Volunteer in order to help them re-launch a small, informal bank—savings and credit—that has been out of operation for quite some time, thanks to the former president stealing and running away with everyone’s money—not nice.

Although this now non-functioning institution isn’t the only one in the community (there is a formal, corporate bank here), its small size and informal structure make it extremely valuable to locals, who would benefit greatly from its return. Here’s why:

A large number of rural, working Malian men and women live day-to-day with very little money and virtually no savings. They earn, spend, and loan to friends small sums of cash each day, often without keeping track of any of it—personal money is mixed up with business funds, profits are not calculated, and spending happens whenever there is money in one’s pocket. There is little to no consideration for the value of saving money, and so people often don’t do it. In fact, some do not even understand the simple idea that if you save a small amount of money each day for a certain period of time, you will, by the end of that period, have accumulated the sum of those savings—possibly a substantial (and very useful) amount of money. And so this daily “earn some, spend some, save none” routine continues, and the reason it does so is because, for the most part, it works—people take care of each other, free food is readily available from countless neighbors, friends, or family members, and expensive luxury items, which would require saving money in order to afford, simply don’t exist in many rural towns and villages.

But what does exist, unfortunately, is sickness, drought, flooding, low crop yield, death, and a number of other unexpected occurrences that demand large amounts of money—money that those who earn some, spend, some, and save none do not have. I saw an example of this several weeks ago when a friend of my landlord asked if I could loan him 10,000CFA (equivalent to about $20) because his young son was very sick. This man didn’t have $20—the problem is not that he doesn’t work (he’s an electrician and handy-man) but that he doesn’t save.

So the value of saving money can be huge, especially during emergencies or other sudden, unexpected times of need, but people don’t do it on their own—the presence and guidance of a savings institution is necessary to convince individuals to begin saving and encourage them to continue into the future. But the high account activation fees and required minimum deposits (and account balances) that are standard at most large, formal banks make such institutions useless to the many who cannot afford such charges and demands. The small, informal bank (like the one I will be working with) allows one to create a savings account free of charge (or for a very small activation fee—much less than the larger bank requires), deposit any amount of money as frequently or infrequently as wished, and even receive small loans, despite possibly not having a great deal of cash in the bank. The benefit to one family can be substantial—multiply that by a few hundred and you have the potential to improve the lives of many by the simple act of saving money.

PARLEZ-VOUS ANGLAIS?
Shortly after arriving in Bafoulabé, with everything (and everyone) around me being new and unknown, I naturally gravitated toward the familiarity and comfort of English. I visited the local high school and elementary school and learned not only that English is taught at both, but that the teachers at each school were excited to have me here for the next two years, and wanted me in the classroom with them soon. For me, it would be a great opportunity to work with kids, which is where a lot of my interest is, and to more quickly become known in the community—somewhere around forty percent of the Malian population consists of children under the age of fifteen, and regular visits to both schools would definitely help me integrate into the community. For the students, it would be a chance to hear English from the mouth of a native speaker—something that doesn’t happen very often (I am the only American here, and the only native English speaker—there are two Norwegian missionaries who speak some English as a second language, and the English teachers at both schools are Malian).

So for the past five or six weeks, I have been in class at the elementary school three days a week, for an hour each day. So far, I haven’t really done much—the students learn very basic vocabulary and sentences, and there isn’t an opportunity for me to play an active role in the class—but I believe that my presence along encourages the students to make more of an effort to speak well, and they clearly enjoy having me in class with them. One young student, whose motivation and intelligence inarguably sets him apart from his eighty-or-so classmates, asked if he could have one-on-one tutoring with me a couple days a week to further improve his (already impressive) English speaking and comprehension. We now meet at school for a couple hours every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon.

At the high school, where the students speak and understand a decent amount of English, I come to class on discussion days—every couple weeks—and spend the hour talking (very slowly) to the students and encouraging them to ask questions and contribute to the often one-sided (mine) discussion. An unfortunate aspect of communal society, as I see it, is that people have a fear of standing out among others—of an individual spirit—because of the way they may be perceived by the community: as radical, rebellious, or just simply weird. And so often times the norm—the (perhaps only) established way of doing things—is accepted and taken up by the entire population, which is generally unwilling to experiment with, much less accept, any deviation. In English class, silence is the norm, and the alternative—speaking, asking questions, contributing to discussion—is not often attempted by many. Nevertheless, a handful of students do eventually speak up and begin asking questions (although perhaps not about the day’s topic. How old are you? Why are you here? Are you married? Do you want to be? Do you love Malian women? Are there a lot of jobs in America? Can you take me back there with you?).

The high school currently does not offer computer access to students—few even know how to use one—but they do have a closet full of about fifteen dusty computers, which, with my help, will soon be used to create a large computer lab. Once the room is ready and all the machines are up and running, I will begin teaching the staff and students how to navigate a computer, and about the benefits and uses of various programs.

AVEZ-VOUS L’ARGENT?
Although the primary goal of Peace Corps work is to help build the capacity of locals and to encourage them to utilize their own thoughts, creativity, and resources to improve their lives, the truth is that the one thing which prevents a large number of projects from becoming a reality is a lack of money. Fortunately, Peace Corps Volunteers have access to a few different potential sources of funding that can be used for a variety of much needed construction projects: latrines, hospitals, schools, wells, gardens, fences, etc.

The Mayor’s Office in Bafoulabé has already identified a few dozen such large construction projects that the citizens of various villages within the commune would benefit from—within the next few months, I am hoping to identify the most important of these and begin exploring the idea of making it happen.

LES AUTRES CHOSES
Aside from the small savings and credit bank that I was sent here to help repair and bring back to life, any other work that I do during my two years of service (and the Peace Corps encourages a lot) is completely undefined and will be shaped by my own areas of interest, the needs of the community, and the willingness of local citizens, businesses, and organizations to work with me.

As of right now, I am interested in exploring the accomplishments and needs of the local health center to see if there is an appropriate place there for me (perhaps helping with vaccination campaigns, general health and sanitation education, or even baby-weighing).

I also plan on looking into fruit and vegetable dehydration—possibly teaching some locals how to build a dehydrator and package the dried goods. During the months when crops are largely done producing and food is in shorter-than-normal supply, it would be great for families to have a stockpile of dried fruits and vegetables to rely on.

A few weeks ago, I was told that a volunteer in a nearby village recently started a project to build a school, but is about to reach the end of her two years of service and will soon be leaving. Another volunteer and I are apparently going to be taking over the project for her. Should be fun.

We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.

As humans, I believe that we often find little to no difficulty in quickly recognizing differences between ourselves and others, and our judgment of these differences creates a sort of organized ranking system from which some of us draw a part of our identity and self-worth. This skin tone is better than that one; the religion of those people is inferior to that of ours; my gender is more powerful than yours; our way-of-life is superior to theirs. It can be easy to fall into the routine of judging others and finding security and stability in your reasoning. After all, people are different, right?

One of my main motivations for applying to serve in the Peace Corps (aside from the simple desire to help others) is that I wanted to experience something different. As someone who had spent the first twenty-three years of his life in Northern California, I was excited to venture far from home and begin something fresh and completely new.

Upon arriving here in Mali, I, like most people, instantly noticed the strangeness and unfamiliarity in the physical environment, climate, animals, activities, and people that surrounded me. This, I initially thought, is the different kind of life I had imagined. As my first several weeks passed, however, I began to recognize something that had, up to that point, almost entirely escaped me. In observing the Malian people around me each day—men, women, children—I started to see many similarities emerge from beneath the glaring differences that had first seemed so abundant and overwhelming.

What I saw were children playing in the streets, lost in laughter and the joy of youth; friends greeting each other in the market, sharing in a moment of genuine connection. On many occasions, I saw people come together to help a stranger in need, and on one unfortunate day, I witnessed a family gather to offer strength and support to a woman mourning the loss of her young daughter. I saw values being taught and put into action, and the behavior of people clearly dedicated to their faith. I saw compassion and kindness; I saw humanity.

Years ago, I remember reading a poem called “Human Family”, by Maya Angelou, which focuses on the many differences that exist between people all over the world. What struck me the most about this poem was the final line, which captures Angelou's belief perfectly: “We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.”

Since being in Mali, a country that is very different than the United States (and many other areas of the world), I have seen the truth in Angelou's words. We are alike; we do share common values, experiences, hopes, fears, and dreams with people everywhere. Spend time considering the differences between people, genders, countries, religions, etc., but set aside more time to focus on ways in which we are alike. You might just discover a feeling of comfort in knowing that you share something special with the rest of the world.

Jigiya

A note about the disabled: In the country of Mali, the physically and developmentally disabled receive absolutely no assistance-- monetary or otherwise-- from the government at neither the national nor local level-- an example of this being when a group of disabled citizens went to the local government office in a small village to ask for help, and were told to leave immediately and not return. Aside from this, many disabled Malians are completely shunned by their fellow citizens. This leaves them with little choice but to become beggers in order to receive the money and food necessary to survive.

A note about Jigiya: Jigiya, which means "support" or "help" in the local language of Bambara, is a group of more than 200 physically and developmentally disabled Malians-- both men and women-- from the Segou Region who have organized themselves in order to come together and provide encouragement, inspiration, and support to each other so that they can all improve the quality of their lives. The members of the association teach each other technical and business skills and share in the joy of music, dance, and laughter. The group has also pooled their resources together in order to provide small loans to members in need-- another way that they are improving lives and helping fellow disabled Malians. Jigiya, with the help of current Peace Corps Volunteer Stephen Andersen, have connected with the Self-Advocacy Association of New York State (SA), a group of similarly-disabled Americans, and the two groups now exchange regular communication, thoughts, stories, and support. Please visit THIS site to learn more information about Jigiya and SA.

Last night, about a dozen or so members of the Jigiya group performed a showcase of singing and dancing for the current Peace Corps Trainees. It was inspiring to see a group of people so full of energy, joy, and life despite the struggle and discrimination they are faced with each day. It was also great to see the connection and companionship that these otherwise-ignored individuals have found in each other.

Click HERE to see a short video of the performance. Enjoy:)

My new home.

Yesterday I returned from my first visit to the town that I will be working and living in for the next two years. I'm about 15 hours by public transport from the capital city of Bamako, and fairly close to the Senegal border. I met all of the important people in town-- the Chief, law enforcement, school administration, Mayor, and others-- and it sounds like I'll have some interesting projects to work on once my language skills have improved. I just decided that once I permanently move to my site, in about a month, I'm going to stop studying French and focus entirely on Bambara, which will be easier and much more useful for me. I'm expecting to study continually for around six months before I begin doing any type of substantial work.

My house is great-- the structure itself is made of concrete, and I have three large rooms with a light and electrical outlet in each. I also have a personal bathroom-- detached from my house-- that is covered and enclosed by walls and a door. My house is inside of a huge walled compound and two Malian families' homes are connected to mine, which is wonderful for a few reasons-- the most important being that they seem really nice and appear to eat really good food, and will be including me in all of their meals:) They will also protect my house from the possibility of being broken into whenever I'm not around. Nice!

My town-- Bafoulabe-- seems really nice. Two rivers come together to form the Senegal River right in town, and during dry season, there are a pretty decent number of hippos and monkeys around the banks of the water. The town appears to be pretty clean, and there aren't too many people around, which is nice. I'm also about 6k from a current Peace Corps Volunteer who seems great-- he'll be a good friend and support system. He already taught me how to make ice cream, which is going to end up making my wallet a lot skinnier and my life a whole lot better:)

That's about all for now.

My new address and phone number are on the right side of the page. If you continue to use my old address, I will still receive mail, but it will take much longer to get to me-- please use the new address.

This is Africa.

A quick update: I'm currently living with a host family in a medium-sized village (about 6,000 people) and taking French classes 4 to 5 hours per day, 7 days a week-- I'll be here for another 7 weeks, at which point I'll officially become a Peace Corps volunteer and will move to my permanent work site (where I will be for the next two years). I'm learning a ton, but still can't say all that much to my family, which is unfortunate.... and difficult at times. They are amazingly generous though, and have treated me very well. Life is very different here, but I am adjusting to the Malian culture and way of life more and more each day. Overall, I'm healthy, hydrated, and experiencing some challenging but good times:)

Click the photo link on the right side of the page for many more photos.

The Niger River-- the location of my language classes.

We sit in the shade under a mango tree.

The area surrounding my village.

My brothers and sisters.
These kids LOVE the camera!

My brothers and sisters.

About half of my host family:)

I'M HERE!

07/20/2007. Day one. Mood: exhausted, excited, HOT, and sweaty!

It is currently around midnight local time and I am sitting on my bed under a mosquito net in our training village of Tubaniso. We flew into the airport in the capital city of Bamako about 3 hours ago, and at the moment, I'm very hot and sweaty and about to spend my first night in Africa! A few highlights so far: (1) the toilet is called a "negen" and consists of a 6"x6" square hole cut in the concrete floor of a tiny structure, and we either stand, aim well, and pee into it, or squat, aim really well, and do our deed. Should be interesting; (2) a huge 1-eyed tortoise lives in our village and sleeps right outside of my house. Awesome! I have yet to see him. I'll take pictures when I do. There is also a small gazelle roped up around here somewhere. Haven't seen him yet either; (3) the locals have all been very friendly and helpful so far-- I love it! That's all for now. Long day tomorrow. Goodnight from Mali, West Africa. --Brookeabroad