Monday, October 31, 2011

art class!

8th Grade Art. That is Moussodije walking in the back. She is the amazing English teacher I have the pleasure of working with daily.  
Moussa! He has a special place in my heart since my first day when I asked the students what they knew or liked about America to which he responded "My favorite thing about America is (pause to ask the kid behind me what my name is) Yes, my favorite thing about America is Lalla Cisse." swoon. Plus, he lets me help him read. I love reading.  
kiddies using their mirrors i fought so hard for! 
the board. that was our goal for the day: observation based self portraits through the use of mirrors. that side poster says "never give up!" which they enjoy having up, or so i like to think. 

and more mirrors. they wanted to keep them, but i had to convince them to give them back 

 
from the front. the young lady in purple is Fatumata, but we call her banesi and she lives with my family during the school year. 
this is my 8th grade art class. i love these kids, but they are quite the wild bunch. i like to say they have a lot of personality and character, hahaha. i had to fight to get them mirrors, so i had to document them using them. getting art materials is hard to do in mali and i have to go through quite the chain of command to get anything i want to use. that is what happens when you pilot an art program in mali, i suppose. even though the kids are still grasping with the idea of art class and drawing for more than five minutes, the look on their faces when i pull out materials and new things they can use is priceless. i firmly believe that sometimes as a teacher you have to give your kids the benefit of the doubt and the responsibility of handling new materials, let them rise to the occasion. and this is just one instance of when they did, they did so well. 

if you are interested in helping my art class, please visit my amazon wish list. thanks so much in advance, and enjoy the pictures!

update: it seems that there are some difficulties in sending things from my amazon wish list directly to me in mali. sometimes that happens, though i don't know why. if you still want to send me art supplies please do so, you don't have to buy things like colored pencils off of amazon when you can walk to wal-mart, target, or michaels, and not have to pay shipping. i so appreciate your support. 


my address is:
Mary Carter, PCV
s/c Institut Pour L'Education Populaire
BP 42A
Door 177, Suite 177
Kati-Koko, Kati, Mali
West Africa


don't forget to add "par avion" or else it will give another meaning to the song "i'm on a boat"


thanks again. and let me know if you have any problems, comments, or questions!

we put the fun in dysfunctional

stage one: my fall tree (hello construction paper!)

the leaves. it's as close to fall as i'm going to get. 

FINISHED! i had to abbreviate the family tree a litter (sorry) but you know, if my family just wasn't so complicated! :)

the peeps.

the immediate fam. the fabulous 5
the english teacher i work with at ciwara asked me to create a poster to help explain family relationships. we are soon learning the english names: "sister," "brother," "grandparent," "aunt," "uncle," etc. i think she expected a drawing of boxes with names and arrows. what i gave her was this. i am not sure she really knew what to think of it at first, it certainly wasn't what she expected or asked for, but i do believe she was quite pleased with the turnout. if only i had cemented walls and window closures to hang it up properly in the seventh grade classroom. but alas, the classroom is not finished and has holes in the walls, so that the art i did hang on the wall swiftly fell on the ground to be covered in dust and ash. bummer. 

hope you enjoy my little piece of art. i may not be an artist, but i kill classroom crafts! Hahahah!

Monday, October 24, 2011

welcome to the twenties. it's good to have you


HAPPY 20TH BIRTHDAY LALLA!

I love you so much and wish I could be there to help you celebrate. You are an amazing person. Smart, sassy, beautiful, spunky, witty, with eyes that could pierce into the soul--you are a treasure and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Words cannot describe how proud I am to be your sister, how happy I am that we are so different and yet so much the same, how  blessed I feel to call you my friend. 

So, to the original Lalla, to my favorite sister. Cheers, on your birthday. May all your birthday wishes come true, and may this year bring you all the happiness you deserve. 

smooches, me

"I plan on living forever. So far, so good." LC

ps...this is so my favorite picture of us!

Friday, October 21, 2011

in the box

Jasper Johns, Flag,  1954-55 (image)

My 9th grade English teacher (who then became my 12th grade AP English teacher…lucky him J) said all the time “Think outside the box.” He would give us essay assignments and there would be a doodle—a box with an arrow to the exterior and he would mark it “You are here.” We were outside the box. We thought outside the box. If you didn’t, well then, that was kind of stinky for you.

In the years since then, I like to think of living life outside the box. You think you can impose stereotypes upon me?! Well, you may think you know, but really, you have no idea (anyone get the reference to the old show “Diary” on MTV?). People are a series of contradictions, of deep crevices, of secrets, and stories. No one is the same, and often, even if we don’t want to embrace it, we can never be rid of it.

Well, unless people put you in a box with walls to high to climb out of and you figure instead of fighting to get out, might as well decorate the interior and get comfortable.

Insert me. I’m an American living in Mali. That’s the basic statement. I know there is more to it, you lovely readers know there is more to it, but that a true statement. I’m the sole PCV in my town, which is pretty big and at one point had up to four PCVs, and at school I get the “Well she’s American” looks, thoughts, and gestures a lot.

Before coming to Mali I often thought about how the cosmos decided I would be born an American baby. I often say I have never won anything in my life, but really, being born in Newport, Rhode Island was the biggest and most important lottery win ever (sure my father could be Bill Gates, but let’s not get too particular here).  Besides feeling just grateful for, well, life as an American, I never gave much thought to being considered “American.”

Does that make sense? I appreciated what I had, everything from being able to wear pants to school, to going to college, to walking down the street without my citizenship being questioned, but when asked in all those school projects, “Who are you?” my first thought wasn’t: “I am an American.”

That’s starting to shift.  Here at school, my life is one of a goldfish. I’m constantly being looked at and inspected, and if I had a glass bowl I’m sure my host family would be tapping on it often.  I have an American backpack. I speak American English. I have short hair (obviously American). I have buttons that are written in English. I have an American name.

I was asked earlier this week to speak in the 9th grade history class about American Independence and the American Revolution. I was introduced as being “an American” and therefore, an expert on the topic. I sat in the class, and when the teacher asked me what I thought about the US flag one of the students drew I said it was wrong. The kid looked at me like I just told him Santa Claus doesn’t exist. The teacher paused, staring at me. I said that the flag doesn’t have blue stars, it has white stars with a blue background. The teacher totally takes my side (because I mean, it’s true) and says that the kid is getting a zero on his flag because it is not the American flag. I sat down.

I was a little surprised at my blunt response. I wouldn’t want kids to think the flag looked the way it was portrayed, but slowly, it seems this deep sense of American patriotism is itching its way into daily conversation. I just finished a conversation with the another coworker about Obama and his rise to political history during the last election, about what a sight it was to behold when it was happening, what it meant to his supporters when he got the nomination, and then when he won. The crowds really did go wild.

I’ve been put into this box of representing all that is American. And sure, most of the people and the kids here do know that I’m not every American, but right now I am their American. To some of the kindergarteners I see everyday, I’m the first white person they see whom smiles and waves to them. It’s a challenge, and a blessing.

I was asked by one of my favorite students one day on the way home from work, which place I like better, Mali or America. I said that is a hard question because everyone has a soft spot for their home no matter where they are.

So, I’ve officially started to embrace this Americana box I’ve been put in. I’m happy to talk about life in the States, about why we fought for independence and why that is important today. I’ll help explain the American education system, and the election process as it comes. I’ll continue to be weird because I like pasta over rice, and think a 9pm bedtime without tea is totally legitimate.

I’m an American. I’m a lot of other important things too. But right now, I’m in the American box, working on arranging all my flags just so…

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

words i'm trying to say

the side of the road in Bamako. Really. on one side there is an ice cream shop and grocery store, and the other has goats and chickens. ahhh mali...
+++

Hello there. Sorry it’s been a while since the last post. I’ve been thinking about it, and writing it multiple times (I’m currently on draft 3) but I just can’t get the words right. So for the moment I’m going to table that topic, and fill you in on a what’s been going on.

It’s been another busy week here, full of classes and tutoring, long (and HOT) walks to and from school, and of course, never enough sleep. My art classes are getting into full swing. I have 8th graders starting on self-portraits next week assuming we get our materials this time. In 9th grade we are wrapping up hand drawings, and my young ones, the 7th graders, are presenting their constellation drawings today (and next week we are making Greek vases!). So time is moving right along.

It’s funny teaching art. I mean, it’s an elective everywhere, but here it is a total transformation. Students here aren’t encouraged to think “outside the box” or to use their imagination, to pretend, or to play. Sure, they play soccer, and run around with their friends, and are observant about the world they live in. They have hopes and dreams, think of faraway places and what life is like elsewhere. But sit them down and have them express their thoughts, well that my friends, is a whole different story.

So, in essence, I’m trying to get 60 tweens and teenagers to channel their inner creativity and express it. In one hour. Once a week. And do it in English. Their 3rd language.

Yeah. About that.

But like I said. It’s progressing. The kids are getting interested, and there are some VERY good artists in my 9th grade class. They tend to think I’m a little nuts, and there is no concept of taking your time and that this is not a race or a test. Slowly, there will be progress, slowly they will understand, and slowly I may get them to take their time.

Outside of art, I keep the time going by sitting in on every English class for 7-9th grade, so I see my kids often. I usually just sit in the back and take notes so that when the kids come to me after school or on the weekend with homework, I know exactly what is going on and have it written down. Sometimes in the 7th grade I do more teaching. I got to teach the alphabet last Friday, which was a total riot. I was getting the kids to pronounce “r” correctly by making the pirate noise (ARRGH!) and accompanying hand gesture, which got them to erupt into giggles and yet mimic the whole think perfectly (they didn’t know it was a pirate thing, so I’m pretty sure that put me in “crazy white person” category yet again). That was like the highlight of my month. (The 7th graders are weaseling their way into teacher’s favorite even though I know I’m not supposed to have any…)

My weekends are full of more kids. Saturday I was woken up by ten 8th graders who came to my house to watch a movie they had seen in class and wanted to re-watch. It wasn’t yet 9am and yet there they are were. So we watched the movie, and then Beauty and the Beast, just for fun. Usually, one day a weekend I get out. Sunday I went to Bamako with my American neighbors who are here to work with IEP (the office of the school, kinda). It is nice to get away for even an afternoon, have lunch, and talk in English with people who know where I’m coming from (and on this trip I ran into another Goodfella randomly on the street who was in Bamako for a dentist appointment, small world!).

Then the weeks, so quickly, move into another one.

I’m still waiting on the weather to break. It’s still ever so hot here. But I have started running again, which is a total production. I get laughed at every time I leave the house (I’m still deciding whether to run today or take the day off, if I take the day off I’m sure my not running will be the topic of conversation) and the people I run by literally stop and stare at me go by (which could be a minute because I’m not running far or quickly right now).  Basically, it’s toubab on parade. But, oh well. The really funny part is everyone has heard about me running, it’s spreading like wildfire. And then they get concerned that I’ll loose weight (IF ONLY) and are now out to feed me. LOL.

It’s Wednesday and my last art class is this afternoon. I like that I have three art classes right in the row; it creates almost a long weekend. Even though I got to school Thursday and Friday I can relax a bit and breathe from not having to teach or worry about the office getting my materials on time (though I’m still waiting on Mondays materials which may end up driving me crazy!).  This weekend I have to run into Bamako super early to try to go to the bank on Saturday before it closes at 11am that is if it is open at all. Then, some of the girls I have in class are interested in some English lessons, and so that may begin this weekend in the afternoon. I think they just want to work on their English homework, watch English movies, and hang, but maybe it really will turn into more of a lesson…we shall see and I will keep you posted.

Everyday is new. Everything is still different, but a life is forming.

Someone asked me the other day if I was happy. I laughed. At that moment they were the third person to ask me that in 24 hours. I answered as honestly as I could:
I’m afraid I’m one of those people who rarely realizes how happy they are in the moment, something I’m trying to change. And it’s a little difficult here because I feel like I’m missing so much back in the States my vision of Mali is slightly tainted or clouded because I have one foot at home. I think in the future I’ll laugh at this period saying I should have realized how good it all was. But right now, at this moment, I’m content. I know this is where I should be, I don’t know what I would do in the States after I showered for hours, slept, snuggled up to the latest TV with my Mom, and ate cheese—no matter how good that sounds. Right now I am here. And most of the time, I am really okay with that. For me, that’s a pretty good step. (Pause.) That was a longer answer that you expected wasn’t it?

Sunday, October 9, 2011

wisdom that should be put on repeat


When Steve Jobs' died earlier this week the internet went crazy with farewells and remembrances. Facebook had a whole category of status updates just about Jobs, often young 20 somethings picking out a quote that is able to say so much ever so briefly. 
My Mom told me to take a look at the 2005 commencement address given my Jobs to the graduating class of Stanford University; she said I would find some truth in it that perhaps I could use throughout this Peace Corps journey. I read the speech, watched it, and read it again. It's just that good. 
So now I'm reposting it all, hoping that if you haven't seen it, you may just find yourself inspired and in awe of a truly good human being. 


I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I've ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That's it. No big deal. Just three stories.
The first story is about connecting the dots.
I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?
It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: "We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?" They said: "Of course." My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.
And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn't see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.
It wasn't all romantic. I didn't have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends' rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:
Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn't have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.
None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.
Again, you can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.
My second story is about love and loss.
I was lucky — I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation — the Macintosh — a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.
I really didn't know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down - that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me — I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.
I didn't see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.
During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple's current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.
I'm pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn't been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith. I'm convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You've got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. As with all matters of the heart, you'll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don't settle.
My third story is about death.
When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: "If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you'll most certainly be right." It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: "If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?" And whenever the answer has been "No" for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.
Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure - these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn't even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor's code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you'd have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.
I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I'm fine now.
This was the closest I've been to facing death, and I hope it's the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:
No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.
Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960's, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.
Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: "Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish." It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.
Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.
Thank you all very much.

this week in the life of lalla

my first day of school outfit!

say "cheese!"

This week has been crazy. School started, I ended up subbing some English classes, I got sick, it stayed hot, I went to Bamako and got lost. Here’s a little recap:

Monday: FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL! I have had my first day of school outfit planned since like the first day of September, my dear old Malian complet. I was really excited to wear it and prepared to shock my coworkers because for the past two months I had been wearing the same pair of cargo pants. For some reason I stayed up too late the night before, but I was running on great energy despite the fact that I woke up with the beginnings of the cold (that I was blaming on the cosmos, wondering why I wasn’t sick the weeks I could have stayed home and taken care of myself, and not the first week of chaos until June).

I walk to school each morning with my 13 year-old host sister. Our relationship is kinda awkward, and deserves a whole other blog post about trying to bond cross culturally, but that is for another day. Anyway, we walk to school and separate, so she goes to class up a hill and I enter the main door to meet the teachers I’ve been working with all summer. I arrived at 7:30am. One of the teachers didn’t come at all, she was sick. The other one didn’t arrive until 7:55am. Those twenty-five minutes felt so long. I didn’t know where to go, or what to do, or where to stand. I just hung around; I could have just held a sign that said “WHITE PERSON HERE!” I didn’t know any of the kids or many of the teachers outside of my little circle.  I kept on praying someone I recognized would be there. Soon.

Finally, Aisha, the history and geography teacher for 7-9th grade rode in on her moto and it was like a wave of anxiety left me. I became glued to her for the day. In the afternoon I had my art class so I watched 9th grade for the morning. After lunch (we get a break for lunch and I go home for that) I was told I was going to take over 8th grade English which came right before my scheduled art class in that grade. Well, they kind of ate me up for dinner. I just have to say that my 8th graders are wild. They are loud and full of personality. And it was my first class. I just dug in. I almost surprised myself. I tried to win them over with my lesson plans and games. Trying to explain doodles and Pictionary across cultures is actually more difficult than I thought. But I got through it and it really was a short of high. I really liked it. I thought I was terrible. That juxtaposition made me feel exactly like a teacher.

Once 5pm came it was time to go home. I was so glad it was time to go home, and for the day to be over. I was really lucky that night because I got to talk to a dear friend and my Mom on skype, which made the day even better. I tried really hard to go to bed early, because sometimes day two is harder than the exciting day one.

Tuesday: I got ready again. Walked with Fanta (trying to make it less awkward). Show up to school. Well, on Tuesday the English teacher was sick again. And guess who became the English teacher for the day? Yours truly! So Tuesday was crazy.
I taught four hours.
I had one hour to prepare.
I went back to my 8th graders and tried again with them. They are really great. I had them work in groups and that they really enjoyed. There are just amazing kids in there that really want to do well and want to go places and so it’s a tiny dose of heaven.  I had my first experience with 7th grade. These kids are just learning English. At this point, English is their third language. In Mali, kids grow up speaking a local language; here in Kati it’s mostly Bambara. Then they get French in school around 2nd/3rd grade. And then—voila!—English in 7th grade. I was really nervous because these kids intimate me and their language skills are just out of this world. We worked a little on greetings, and then started counting. And there was where we worked very hard. Who knew eleven and thirteen where so hard? So we worked on that. Once that was over I had lunch. And then, after lunch I had two and a half hours with 9th grade. They are amazing people. I have a niche for high schoolers. I just love them. Americans, Malians, whatever. I love their spunk, the way they look at the world and their future. I was super excited to work with them. They were the most receptive to my style of teaching and what I wanted them to do. One of the things we did was write a letter to yourself. Did you ever do that in high school? My high school English teacher had us do that and I thought it would be cool to do. Well, that is another cultural thing that didn’t translate very well at first. But then they got it. And they really wanted to get into. We talked English. We talked about America. We talked about the American education system. And then we moved to art. We talked about art and culture and visual versus performing arts. It was awesome! I love talking about art and so I just felt these kids were puddy in my hands! It was one of those times where I was really hoping that they liked me as much as I liked them. Crossed my fingers!
I left school to the pleasant surprise of seeing a whole group waiting for me! Jamie and McCoy, two Goodfellas, were waiting for me. I knew that they were going to be in town, but seeing them was a great relief. They were just going to be there for the night, but the fun was starting right there at 5pm outside of school, and I was ready for it. We walked home and talked all the way. They are great people. They chat with everyone and make everything interesting. McCoy had never seen my crib so I wanted to show it off. He was very appreciative of my dwelling and I was happy to host him. We decided to make dinner. It was going to be potatoes, chickpeas, tomatoes, onions, and garlic. We had to do a little grocery shopping and we were the cat’s meows at the market. Jamie was chatting it up with one lovely lady, and McCoy and I were at another. They had them all going and chatting up a storm. I was happy to just watch it all happen and smile at my life as it was in this one moment.
Dinner became a production because the gas went out in my kitchen and we had to relocate. We didn’t get to eat until 9pm and the electricity went on and off so it was all a trip. But man was it good. YUM-O!
We continued the evening eating and talking. We got to skype with a friend of ours and that was a hoot. My Mom came on skype and McCoy got to meet her. It was just a great night. But I of course, didn’t get to go to bed until 2am. PLD.

Wednesday: Getting up with four hours of sleep was not fun. And I was still fighting my little cold. Jamie and McCoy slept in and I went off to school as per usual.
Wednesday was a big deal because the program director of the education sector for Peace Corps was coming to visit me at site. I was hoping and praying that the English teacher would be back at school so I would be able to have this site visit and not have a conflict with an English class.  And she was! I was so happy and relieved.
Site visit went really well. It seems I am right where I am meant to be. Still awkward, still unsure, still sticking with it. I’m like a baby horse learning to walk, stumbling around wondering why I can’t sit down more often. But I guess that is to be expected. Or so I am told.
The day went on and I shadowed English classes with the right teacher. And then my last hour was spent with 7th graders in art. It was my last class of the week and I was nervous because I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to communicate with them in English. It ended up being French/English and bad French on my part. I was able to teach them some shapes and explain that the class was going to be in English. We did the same doodle exercise that other classes did and they got into that. The last five or so minutes I had them draw a house and a tree, which I’ve read in art therapy information that you can tell a lot about a person. It was so cute because one of the kids said as they were leaving “Madame Lalla! I’m taking this home and coloring my house and tree.” SWOON. Warms me heart and soul.
Jamie and McCoy had left at lunchtime for Jamie’s village. I had the evening and I was so ready. I was going to eat a good dinner, go to bed early, and hopefully skype with my Mom. All which happened and I did go to bed super early, which made my Nana roll her eyes and look at me like I had three heads.

Thursday: Same morning routine. Moved from oatmeal to nutella and bread for breakfast just to spice it up.
Thursday I didn’t have any art class and just shadowed English classes. It was a lot of fun and low key. It was nice to see how the routine would continue without teaching too much. I was able to catch up on some emails and other work stuff like planning and seeking out materials. I was still feeling crappy and went to bed even earlier than the night before which made Nana look at me like I was fibbing to her and was really going to my room to throw a party or something.

Friday: TGIF! So Fridays are very low key. I only shadow one class and it’s the last hour of the day. It’s almost like an early weekend. But I still go to school all day (8am-5pm). I am able to continue to bond with the teachers and sit in on the kindergarten and special education classes, and continue my own brain storming on what I can add to the school. I love just being at school and while sometimes I feel like I should be doing more than just checking email and keeping up with art planning and brainstorming more ideas, I still just like the environment. And by Friday the kids started knowing my name and would come say hi to me and greet me in the morning. That makes me feel so welcome and like the kids may like me, at least a little.
I was just happy to have made it to Friday. I was still not feeling well and looking forward to sleeping in and having the weekend off. It was a good day. I finished the day with the 7th graders who I really like and helped one girl spell the word “answer” and that was like the highlight. Sad maybe, but true.
The evenings haven’t been filled with much and I spend most of them showering, preparing dinner, eating dinner, finalizing lesson plans, skyping, and getting ready to bed. I haven’t been able to sit much with the family due to figuring out the workload of school and not feeling well. Friday night was no different really. My neighbor, Dory, came by and wondered if I was interested in finding Chinese food in Bamako with her and her son Carter on Saturday. I agreed as long as I could still sleep in. She said that was fine. Hooray!
Saturday: Bamako and Chinese Food. Really need I say more? Sure it was a long day and consisted of me bugging the crap out of our new PCVL (a 3rd year PCV) asking for directions and complaining about being ripped off my taxi drivers. It took an extra long time to find the restaurant because we got lost. But when we found it, OMG, so good. I had spicy chicken and vegetables. Chicken can be hard to come by, so it was such a treat. We, of course, had to have ice cream, and I got one of my favorite combinations: mint, double chocolate, and chocolate chip. Seriously. You can be impressed. It was a long day because we didn’t get started right away, but it was great food, great fun, and great company. Yum, yum, yum.
That kind of brings us today. I feel like it’s the super abridged version, so I’m going to try to reread in a bit and see if I can fill in the blanks. Today has been a productive day. I’ve worked on lesson plans, emails, signs to hang in classrooms, more emails, skyping with my dear friend Becks in London and my parents in San Diego. I’m waiting for the kitchen to clear out and have the munchies so I ate way too many shortbread cookies. (For some reason being sick doesn’t eliminate my appetite the way it does for some people.) I am planning on having tuna and mac and cheese, which totally grosses my mother out, so we will see how that goes. I’m not sure if I am ready to do the week all over again, but I am kind of excited. I am really just trying to take it all day by day and see what happens. Tomorrow marks the one-month before Marcy, my dear friend and Goodfella, comes to Kati to prepare for IST. Like I told my Mom, I think I can do one month.  
One week down. Too many to count to go. Let’s have it!


for 7th grade 

the map i made for aisha in geography

Friday, October 7, 2011

this is a sotrama



this is a sotrama. (so-tram-a) and it is how we all get around here in mali. they pile as many people as possible inside and off we chug along. it's an interesting way to travel, and sometimes you don't get as far as you want before you break down, but it works. (i made sure to take up a chose picture of bob marley, he is kinda big here, thought you'd enjoy that)

chronological order

did i mention how much i LOVE coke here? it's addicting.  
Kat

we made it a jean and flip flop kind of a day. it was very americana of us.

Mary, stop it with the pictures. LET'S EAT!!

chicken and mashed potatoes 
burrito and fries. (i'm blaming my mexican food craving on life in san diego) 
dessert #1-chocolate cake 
where the magic happens: Broadway Cafe, Bamako 
just outside the restaurant. the very un-western streets of bamako: street vendors, old railway tracks, and those green van things are sotramas--it's how i get from kati into bamako. 
why yes, you will kind the goats and cows right next to the street. don't you have that where you live?

ICE CREAM!

it was sooooo good. 
back at the Bureau, Kat and all our loot. we done good. 

my mailbox in Bamako! ain't it cute?

a view of the PC Bureau and the grounds. pretty swanky huh?

look ma! i'm in mali! and wearing jeans!

nothing says the end of the day like pasta and wine

Ok, so I know it’s been a while. And whenever I have these lapses in postings, and stuff is actually going on, I never know where to begin. This time I’m going to work my way in chronological order, and catch you up on Bamako, school, sickness, and how to explain going to bed early.

Last Thursday my fellow Goodfella and neighbor Kat came into town. What should have taken an hour, or two at the most, became a five-hour ordeal. With her travel excursions and the fact that the entire city of Kati lost its electricity, trying to keep in touch was quite a feat. But, finally, two and a half hours after her expected arrival, Kat made it, and we celebrated with burgers and fries at the prized Kati burger joint near my market. Our plan was to hang out Thursday night (check) and make it into Bamako Friday for errands. Saturday was to be a do nothing day and watch eight hours of the mini series Little Dorritt, and then Sunday she would head off home.

We decided to head out early for Bamako on Friday to sneak into the mailroom at the Peace Corps office and see if we had any goodies awaiting us. Luckily, we were able to find a sotrama and a taxi without too much trouble. We made it to the Bureau in time to get packages, return library books, and raid the med office for bug spray. Our next stop was the bank. Oh la la. Soon I will have a bankcard and not have to enter the bank unless I want, but for now, we wait. I walked in and the teller number read 621. I was number 738. It was going to be a long morning. Kat and I tried to hide in the back of the room, out of the way to speak English and not be bothered, or so that was the plan. We were sought out by a Malian man from Gao who proceeded to tell us his whole life story, present occupation, and the lineage of our last names. It became quite the one sided conversation. Finally, with noon quickly approaching, the bank decided to open more teller space to take care of the masses waiting. Kat and I went from thinking we were going to be at the bank all day to being out in an hour and a half, quite a surprise when operating on Malian time.

Our travels and bank encounters made Kat and I ready for lunch so we headed to our favorite spot: Broadway CafĂ©. A typical Malian toubab restaurant it has a little bit of everything. We were very happy to be back, and to have the whole day in front of us to eat, get ice cream, and do some grocery shopping. (Check out the above photos for some details on lunch and dessert—which we had twice.) I got a burrito, Kat got chicken. Both of us got something new, and think we may go back to our regulars (Kat’s favorite is the roast beef sandwich and mine is a fish burger). In Mali many stores take lunch breaks, and our go to grocery store didn’t reopen until 3:30pm. We knew we had tons of time, so we decided to order cake at Broadway. It was quite good and really hit the spot. We lingered some more, watching the ridiculous music videos that the restaurant plays against one wall, and people watching through the big front windows. Finally we decided we had let part one of the eating marathon digest well enough to venture out to get ice cream. I love ice cream. I love it even more in Mali. I love how cold the shop is and (Duh) how cold the ice cream is. I love that you can get a waffle cone in Africa. I love that it all costs about as much as Cold Stone. It’s ridiculously Western and simply wonderful. I will probably never go into Bamako without going to get ice cream. It’s an addiction. This trip I got chocolate chip, coffee (the best coffee ice cream I have ever had period) and double chocolate. YUM!

After ice cream it was time to do some grocery shopping. We found another store before our go to spot opened. Turns out this grocery store is a bit cheaper and we were able to find some stuff there. Now, let me tell you a little bit about money in Mali. Like everywhere, money rules, but here there is a little hiccup in the system. Everything may cost money, but money isn’t everywhere. What I mean is that finding change is difficult. In the US if you walk into 7-Eleven and buy a pack of gum you can give the cashier a $20 bill you can expect change even if the change is $18.50. Not so in Mali. I cannot walk into my local butiki and spend the equivalent of $1 and pay with a $5. I’m not guaranteed change. Sometimes in the bigger cities it gets better. In Bamako at the grocery store, it’s supposed to be much better because they get so many people in and out their registers should be equipped with change. OK, now let me add that when you go to the bank you are given bigger bills. Now, sometimes I ask for small bills and sometimes I get them. Not last week. All they had was big bills and it was going to be up to me to break them.

So, all this being said, I go to check out. And both times, at both grocery stores, I got sassy cashiers. Let’s say my total was $22.60, I paid with $30. The cashier looked at me asking for change, I told her that was what I had. She huffed. One of them actually was like, ok and made the change (she had it! I could see it in her register!). The other one huffed and puffed and required me to find the change! It was chaos as Kat tried to help me out. Needless to say it was very frustrating feeling like no one was helpful. And here I am spending, in Mali terms, a lot of money, and you want to sass me so that I never want to come back?! I was getting my feathers ruffled and my relaxing lunch was becoming a faint memory. Luckily Kat was there and let me get all huffy. In the cab ride back to the Bureau to collect some of the stuff we left there I was able to calm down and vow to wait as long as possible until I had to deal with all that again. (That being said I already have a list of things I want to get and it’s only been a week! So much for vowing!)

By the time late afternoon rolled around Kat and I were ready to collect our things and head back to my house. We were ready to leave Bamako. So we did. We got all our loot and took a taxi and a sotrama to Kati where we then walked the 15-20 minutes from the drop off to my door. We were pooped. The perfect end to that day was our mac and cheese dinner and the cheap bottle of red wine we found. We topped it all off with the Whitney Houston/ Brandy version of Cinderella. Don’t judge. We needed to unwind.

Friday came and went.

In the planning of the weekend I had been most looking forward to Saturday. I wanted to lie on my couch and not move. Kat had said she would cook and I was looking forward to that as well. Late Friday Jamie had texted to say she would also be coming in Saturday in preparation to go to Bamako to visit her boyfriend, the adorable McCoy, who was going to be in the city. Saturday became a party. Kat and I decided to make the long walk to the market to grab a couple of things for the day. We promptly headed right back home to make French toast and prepare to not move for the rest of the day. Jamie joined us for our Little Dorritt marathon and the day continued quite well. I was happy to not do much, though I did have to break out some school stuff for the first week was quickly approaching, but really, it was a great day of rest.

Sunday morning we all headed back to the market to drop Jamie off to get to Bamako and to go to my favorite bread guy. Kat decided to not leave until after lunch. We continued to hang out, take pictures, and I made a “no bake” dessert, which turned out very well (I would have had pictures but we ate it too fast to bust out the camera).  I was sad when Kat finally had to leave. Whenever we plan these great mini vacation weekends, I am always bummed that they have to end. But we had already discussed another trip to Bamako to do some shopping, so we had something to look forward to for sure.

By late afternoon I was left to my own devices. I had a couple of things to do for school, but really, I just had to mentally prepare for the start of the school year (more about that next).

It was a great weekend and a good way to celebrate the end of summer and the start of a whole new adventure! Du Courage!