Wednesday, September 28, 2011

1,2,3,4,5

me and the pacific

So, as noted in the ramblings of prior blog postings, it's been a rocky couple of weeks. On top of the fact that I'm in Africa and all that junk, I've been in the middle of some bad self-esteem moments. We can make it a girl thing, but nothing sucks like being hot, smelly, and dripping with sweat (Malians basically call me wet all the time). There is nothing cute about that. Even if I could, no make up would last. I've worn the same pair of cargo pants almost every day for two months just because I thought they would last. They have not and right now I have three big holes in between the legs. Attractive. And certainly making me feel good about myself. 

But I know that self-esteem issues is something everyone everywhere at every age faces. So lying in bed on morning I began to think. In times like this, I have to think of what is good. At least with me. I may not be able to change Mali or Kati in one wave of the magic wand, but me? Now that's something I can try to get control of. 

So here they are. In no particular order. The top five things I like about me. I think that everyone should have a list like this. Post it to your mirror, your jean drawer, your make up case. And remember, life, it just ain't all about jean size. ;)

1. I am wickedly funny. Most of the time I don't plan it. I cherish wit, and I like to think that every once and a while I nail it. 

2. I can pull of short hair. Who knew? People think I have guts just because I didn't want to take a blowdryer to Africa. 

3. I am a fantastic listener. Really. Any problem, concern, story, or joke you want to tell me, I want to hear. Active listening is something everyone should practice but a lot of people don't think about. 

4. I really like my shoulders. From years of carrying book bags and holding all my weight between my bellybutton and my knees, my shoulders look pretty without me having to try too hard.

5. I rock my glasses. It's odd that someone my age doesn't wear contacts (I can't get them in to be honest). But I love my glasses. They are green and match my eyes. They are Prada. My Mom says they are the only Prada item she will ever buy me. In an era where more people don't wear glasses, especially girls, I relish in mine. It's like a little mini-barrier between my thoughts and the outside world. If you really want to see what I'm thinking, you have to look a little harder...it's not just a dead giveaway. 

Ok, so in honor of my brother's favorite number, that's it. It's fun to focus on the good for a moment. I tried to mix the physical and the character favorites. I hope it doesn't come across as too self serving. 

And yes Ma, I know, I should attach this list to my own mirror and stop handed out advice that I won't take myself. Note taken. 

So, what are you're top five?

da blues

Pacific Ocean, from Coronado CA

Oh, it’s Wednesday again. It seems like the past couple of Wednesdays have been slumps for me. It’s like I’ve climbed to the top of the hill and am still huffing and puffing before I can enjoy the slide downhill to the weekend.

It’s been a rough stint. I really don’t know why. (Which I know is not helpful or analytical.) But I am calling it the “midterm blues.”  It’s about halfway in the long three months between swearing in and IST, and I’m feeling the stretch. At this point I am getting easily frustrated and annoyed, as if I’ve been treading water just long enough that now my muscles hurt and I don’t know how to keep going through the pain and cramps. Just trying to keep my head above water. Sometimes I just want to see what happens if I let go, if only for a moment.

Last week was a four-day weekend due to Malian Independence Day. It was like slow roasting torture. Part of me loved it. I didn’t have to sweat and walk to and from school and the office four times a day, I was able to read and hang out with the family, which is really crucial. So it was supposed to be good times. FALSE.  I had the worse case of homesickness I’ve had since maybe the very beginning of PST.

I’m blaming the internet.

See, I am totally spoiled. I get internet at my house, the school I work in, and the office. It’s truly a blessing and keeping me sane. (And now every PCV can roll their eyes. I get it. I get it!) Ergo, my Mom and I get to talk a lot via skype, and that keeps me going. It eases the feelings of being away, of being left out. I get to be part of her day no matter what time it is in Mali or what kind of day I’ve had. And it’s wonderful.

But this past week the internet has been on the fritz, in need of something, and I was without all weekend. No venting sessions, no outside, no Mom. Just me and my thoughts. Which, if you know me, you know is sometimes the worst pairing. Like. Ever.

So I buried my head in books. I read three and something like four fashion magazines. I slept a lot.

Still I couldn’t shake it.

It has something to do with the weekend. I would dream about home, and just as I would open my eyes, it would be like I could feel myself there.

I am a sleeper. Always have been. When I was itty bitty my parents found it a blessing. When I was a tween and teen my father found it obnoxious and a waste of time.  At home in college I got to blame it on the lack of sleep I usually got while at school. Anyway, at home, I am sometimes the last one up. Saturday mornings have a rhythm. At our old house my room had windows that faced the front yard and the door that opened to the landing of the upstairs where you could hear anything in the whole house. Sometimes I would lie and bed and just listen. I could hear my Dad talking to the TV, yelling at the football highlights or repeating the lines of some old black and white, whining about how many commercials are on TV these days. My mom would be on the floor decked out in running clothes with the newspaper sprawled out in front of her, her handy green and white mug of water or crystal light next to her pushing my dog Archie out of the way. (Archie always felt in competition with the paper for my mother’s attention. Soon she would get over it and curl out somewhere else. Rejected if just for the moment.) My mom would read some of the headlines out loud, only to repeat the good ones and the girly ones later to me when I finally came downstairs. I could smell the bacon from Dad’s breakfast. Hear him offer it to either my brother or sister. Laura usually took him up on it. Bobby sometimes did but was always happy with his equally flagrant frozen breakfast pastries. I never wanted; I always preferred cereal. I would finally crawl out of bed and plod down the stairs to find them all just like this. The boys discussing sports, looking straight at the TV. Laura making silly faces at Archie and eating her bacon. Mom holding the edge of the paper in one hand and her cup in the other. There would be a slight pause when I entered, a polite offering of breakfast, but I would already be standing in front of the pantry reaching for my cereal. Mom would start reading me the headlines, the movie reviews, the wedding announcements.

These past few days I can’t get those images out of my head. I wake up and for a moment I think I’m there. Some smell, some noise, the muffled voices, something triggers it and I have to wake up and stare at my mosquito net forcing focus and repeating over and over “This is Mali. This is Mali.”

Sunday I couldn’t take it and broke into tears. It was the ugly cry. It was the first time I’ve cried since moving to site. I knew it would come; I’m not so naïve to think I would make it through these first months unscathed by the emotional roller coaster that is my life right now.

I wish I could say that I felt so much better. That after a relief came over and I was able to move on. But that’s not true. Some days the greatest knowledge is admitting that there are some things I can’t fix, I can’t bandage, I can’t talk myself out of. Some things I just have to move with.

Loneliness, homesickness, missing people, longing for significant others, wanting good food, and a really clean bathing area—these we learn to deal with. Sometimes we can laugh about. Sometimes it doesn’t bother us as much. Sometimes though, it becomes our greatest obstacle. We hurdle it the best we can. But sometimes we trip on the hurdle, and fall flat on our face. And in the moment, no matter how long the moment lasts, we have to eventually get up.

So I get up. And the loneliness and homesickness becomes part of the baggage I carry with me. With each step throughout the day I hope the baggage gets a little lighter, a little more manageable. Sometimes it really does.

With Monday came a chance to get online at school and work. I did briefly have internet at the house but another storm came along and with one fateful zap internet a bana.

I’m trying not to let it get to me. I’m going to try to have it fixed because I have people coming this weekend who yearn for my internet accessibility and it would be great to share with them. Plus, I have promised my siblings that we could “see” each other soon.

I’m fighting the blues as best as I can with what I have. Waiting to slide down the hill toward the future.

In the meantime, I put one foot in front of the other and take it one day at a time. One day at a time.

And I’m really beginning to hate Wednesdays.

(But in case you were curious, I am going home for a visit in less than 15 months. I’ve already started counting.)

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

easy for her to say

Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco CA

Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow.” Mary Anne Radmacher

I'm having a moment. My internet is taking FOREVER. Everything and everyone is driving me crazy. I got unnerved by kids in the street who insisted on following me home (and then got yelled at my my 76-year-old Nana). I am hot. I smell. And I have to go home and do laundry. Worse, I have to clean my sheets. It needs to rain. I have to buy some groceries, hopefully the tomato stand lady is still around.

I want to take the longest shower ever. I want someone else to make my dinner. I want to read fashion magazines lounging in front of air conditioning. I want to sleep. I want to be clean and smell yummy and not swat at a fly or mosquito. 

So tonight I'm going to run my errands. I'm going to smile. I'm going to lock my doors and blast American music and sing along as I do my laundry. I'm going to take a long shower. I'm going to turn on all the fans. I'm going to think about using my last can of tuna for dinner. I'm going to go to bed early and not feel guilty. 

I am going to take some very long deep breaths. 
And I am going to try again tomorrow. 

Du courage. Du courage. 

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

How To: Chocolate-y Goodness

this is my powered milk. it's really not so bad once you get past the fact that it's powder and i'm adding not ice cold water to it. (in fact that would be lukewarm filtered water.)

french chocolate powder. just like hershey, only generic. hahaha

see, i told you, milk powder--just add water

Mix the two together and you have chocolate milk. heat the water before hand you you have hot chocolate!
and what's not to love about that?

i was telling my mother about my hot chocolate/ chocolate milk fascination and i thought i'd share. it seems weird, and a little gross that this is all powdered, but hey, this is mali, and you do what you gotta do to crunch that chocolate craving when it comes.

bottoms up!

How To: Laundry

drying rack. clothes line. sting tied across my bed. whatever you call it, it's where the wet clothes chill.  
washers! the buckets to which i clean with. small bucket on left is filled with bleach water as i try to brighten my whites. the green bucket is done with for the moment and drying pleasantly. 

washing! cargo pants. they are a pain to wash. but not as big of a pain as sheets. i hate sheets. 

my handy dandy washboard 
soap. like tide. only more hands on

i'm lucky enough to have a fan which acts as my dryer. most people wash and hang their clothes outside but i live with way too many peeps so i stash away in my bathroom and do my laundry in my own room.


one of the big questions as i was leaving to come to mali (right next to, how do you go to the bathroom) was "how will you do your laundry?!" i thought now would be a good time for a little show and tell. this is really how i do my laundry.

it's usually morning on one of my non-workout days. though if you have every done laundry by wash board you know that it is a work out in and of itself. i like to do laundry in the morning to get it done with and that way it has all day to dry. I use my bathroom and the buckets you see above. it's quite a good system i have going at this point. i've started doing laundry twice a week so that it doesn't seem so daunting, though i'm not sure how long that will last because i really hate doing it period. (and i never really know if it's clean or just smells like soap...TMI?)

let's just say that in two years i am finding an apartment with a washer and dryer. i'm going to love that thing like no other washer and dryer has been loved. and hopefully, never complain about laundry again! 

Monday, September 19, 2011

the art of doing nothing

this is one of my new favorite photos. its this mini park, mini tree sanctuary between IEP and Ciwara.

My how time flies. I cannot believe that it is Monday already. I’m already looking forward to Friday!

But I can’t lie. I had a pretty fabulous weekend. Not fabulous in the “look how much I’ve done, or seen, or been” sense. Rather, this past weekend was completely the opposite. I purposefully did absolutely nothing.

That may seem odd. I know a lot of new PCVs really fight boredom and are constantly looking for something to do, someone to hang out with, somewhere to go. I’m just the opposite. It may be because I have the benefit to have a structured service that has put me to work early. I’ve already made syllabi and lesson plans, had Saturday meetings, and working lunches. I go to work in the morning, come home for lunch, and go back to the office for a couple of hours in the afternoon. I have a pretty good schedule that I’m told will only get crazier once school officially starts.

Plus, I have discovered, I am rarely bored. I just don’t get bored easily. I relish in daydreaming, in watching hours of TV, or searching meticulously for the right answer online. I read for hours thinking just minutes have past. Sure, here there may not be hours of TV to watch, but now I take afternoon naps, plan dinner menus, and continue to read for hours. I schedule Skype dates, write very long emails, and do daydream for hours.

Now maybe, if that was my day all the time, I would get bored. Or at the very least get stuck in a rut very quickly. But, I guess, lucky for me, that’s not the case. So I get to purposefully do nothing every once in while, when a blissful weekend becomes free.

Such was this past weekend. Friday was a usual workday but I received TWO care packages from America and got my workout by carrying them home. (Quite a feat let me tell you!) I spent the evening relishing in care package goodness, and eating my weight in s’mores while watching free TV episodes I downloaded from iTunes (perhaps one of the best iTunes features right next to podcasts which I am just delving into). I topped it all off by finishing the book One Day (yes it was a book before it was a film) which I quite enjoyed and look forward to downloading the film when it comes out if only because I think Jim Sturgess is a cutie pie and I adore Anne Hathaway. Friday. Check.

Working out is always questionable on the weekend. The lure of my pillow and the fan humming is sometimes too great. So I did what any good person would do, and I prayed for rain as a scapegoat. No such luck. But I rolled over anyway, claiming to workout later, and didn’t get my lazy self out of bed until almost 9. It was glorious.

I spent the morning watching French TV with the family (they seem to think that is all I ever want to do) and reading my new book, (thanks Savoy!) The Book Thief. I didn’t get much reading done because one of my favorite American shows, The Good Wife, came on and I tried to follow it in French. Not much luck. I was very lucky in that I had potatoes for lunch—yummy—and then once I had a full belly, the rain started. Blissful, I excused myself and took a very long nap. Ahhhh, Saturdays…

I woke up to find the rain stopped. I looked around and everyone seemed to be doing their own thing, so I sat down in my own area and started reading once again. Only this time to be interrupted by Iman, my 2ish year old host brother, and Fanta, my 13-year-old host sister. I officially had two shadows for the rest of the evening. Entertaining a 2 year old who doesn’t really speak the same language as I do is one thing; a 13 year old is an entirely different manner. We sat. We played with Iman. We read my abstract art alphabet book. Twice. Then silence. Yet another awkward turtle moment. We sat some more. Iman came in and out, but it was basically me and Fanta. My cool points were depleting so fast I was losing track. Finally, I succumbed to my hunger and told her I was going to go cook dinner. A reprieve. Time to think of a way to get back to my A game. Ok, so maybe I don’t have A game, but sometimes at least it is A for effort. I cooked pasta. I retuned to my room and my iTunes TV to eat. I just finished and was waiting for the conclusion of my very bad cop drama when my audience reappeared. And entered my room. Side note: this is the first time really anyone has been in my room. I was just praising the Lord I hadn’t just done laundry and would have hat clothes and underwear all about. That would have amped up the awkward radar 100 fold! They sat down and watched the end of my cop drama to which I tried to translate but thankfully Iman was only interested in scaring me with a toy rat, and Fanta was busy detracting him from such ventures. Then we moved on.

Luckily the evening ended on a much less awkward note. Fanta and I got to witness Nana, the 76ish year old woman I live with, try on all her new outfits from the tailor. Awesomeness if I’ve ever seen it. The tailor made the sleeves of her dress so big it looked like she had wings and was going to just fly away! Fanta, her mom Helene, and I burst out laughing and didn’t stop until the final dress was being folded up. I figured I should end the day on a high note and went to bed. I know, I know, sleeping again.

Sunday continued in the same vein. Sleeping in. But I did do laundry AND clean the bathroom. So, yeah!, to getting some chores done. I sat outside with the family and read and listened to them all chat as lunch was being prepared. I must have looked a hot mess because everyone kept saying how tired I looked. Finally, after a lunch of rice and okra sauce, which is actually not too bad, someone said that I should go take a nap. So I did. (I know, I’m like 4 years old taking naps and whatnot.)

Afterwards, I was super lucky and found my Mom online on Skype and got to chat to her for a while, and my Dad for a bit. Silly internet connection though and it was a lot of repeating ourselves, but talking to home always makes the days better. Before I knew it dinnertime arrived. More pasta. More TV. (I got a the pilot episode of a new comedy Free Agents with Hank Azaria…anyone seen it?) And finally back for family time.

You will be happy to know that the laziness and sleeping in ended this morning, as most weekend luxuries do when Monday rears its ugly head. Back to work. Back to a routine, or something like it.

But, c’mon…don’t you just love a lazy weekend?

for some reason whenever i want to stay in bed i think of this song. and then it gets stuck in my head. so now may it be stuck in yours. :) (Snow Patrol, Chasing Cars)


Friday, September 16, 2011

behind every pcv...

why yes, that would be my mother giving me bunny ears. 

Throughout my time on this blog I have done quite a bit of shout outs. Little thank you notes or featurettes (if I can be so bold as to call them that) of my siblings, my dear friends, my favorite places, and now my Malian family. But one person I should mention is my Mom. My friends know her as “Mamma C”, a name which came about because I talk about her so often I felt silly continuing to say “my Mom” this and “my Mom” that all the time. Ergo, something had to come up. And, if I do say so myself, she is the bomb, she’s the best, the one and only.

My Mom and I have one of those freakishly weird mother-daughter relationships, we are super tight, talk for hours, and finish each other sentences. We are the real life Gilmore Girls. She is one of the handful of people I would chose to be on a deserted island with, travel with, get lost with. 

These days she is the one keeping me sane. With my super lucky internet capabilities we talk on skype often and for hours (which still, after all these years, mystifies those around us).  She keeps me up to date on everything going on stateside from daily familial life to who is going to be one Dancing with the Stars and when the primaries start. And she is the master care package sender. Queen of them in fact. I became the grocery store during homestay, helping keep my fellow BCampers happy with supplies of dried fruit and crackers (you know how hard it is to find a Ritz cracker in this country?!). That twenty-four pound package from this weekend was her good doing. I tell people that it’s because we are a military family, and my mom has had lots of practice, which I think is true, but I also just feel so utterly blessed to have someone that doesn’t set foot into Trader Joes, Target, or Wal-Mart without two lists, one for herself, and one for me.

Peace Corps talks a lot about personal sacrifice of the volunteer—asking us to choose to step away from our lives, our families, our comforts. I don’t think they emphasize enough the sacrifice of our families. The birthdays we miss, the holidays, the vacations, the funny jokes that just occur over breakfast, the ability to curl up on the couch with your family when it rains on a Saturday and fight over football versus chick flicks. We miss that. And our families notice the void.

Yet, there they are, smiles on their faces via skype, funny stories in email, letters full of pop culture tidbits, and care packages stocked with comfort foods and just because gifts.

I couldn’t be here without my mom being there for me. So this is just a little note to say, Thanks Mom. I miss you. I love you. Talk about you all the time. Skype date later? You won’t believe my oatmeal issues this morning…

me and mom. la jolla, CA

Thursday, September 15, 2011

past. present. question mark.

even though i write about pie in the sky stuff, i really don't take myself too seriously--it will cause premature wrinkles or something...


I’m in another pondering kind of mood. I think it’s because I’m waiting for lunch, and my weekend in Bamako is totally over, and Kat is now safe and sound at her site, so we are all left to fend for ourselves until next time. Anyway, here we go.

I’ve been thinking a lot about right now. Sometimes I feel like I live in the vacuum, like I’m in this dream and I am going to wake up and be in my air conditioned bed in San Diego, under too many covers, with my family and dog eagerly awaiting me in the living room and a hot shower looming in the bathroom. It surprises me to hear about friends who are doing things, and siblings who are growing up. Meanwhile, this life I am living just seems so removed from all of that, and thus, so weird.

I was looking through my pictures just now, editing and fixing some of the recent ones, and then got sucked into a little walk down memory lane. I haven’t had a digital camera for long, but in that time I seem to have documented a lot. The big, the small, the still lives, the actual lives, friends, smiles, silly faces, multiple hairstyles and places, they are all there staring at me. Even that life surprises me, amazes me that I was there and lived separately from Mali and right now.

It’s funny I think. Here, I get a lot of questions about what I’m going to do after Peace Corps. It’s like everyone but me got the memo about how short two years really is. Sometimes I shrug. Sometimes I say that two years is a long time so I can figure it out. Sometimes I want to scream: SLEEP, EAT, HUG MY MOM!

Fellow PCVs talk about why we all thought joining the Peace Corps was a good idea. Malians and staff want to know what we are going to become. It’s funny though, few people talk about who we were. Sure, people ask where I’m from, and where my family and friends are. They ask about where I went to school and what I majored in. And then how in the world an art history major ended up sweating in Mali. And then we talk about Mali and the lack of chocolate and what we are going to do without our favorite fall TV series.

But not about who I was.

And granted. I’m not an entirely different person. I’m very much the same. But looking back through my pictures there was a time when I wore nail polish, rings, straightened by hair and had immaculate eye make up. I wore heels and skirts and liked to read fashion magazines as much as I like to read classic literature. I am a total gleeK and yet am really going to miss The Good Wife.  I take full responsibility for decorating my parent’s apartment, though my Mom is finishing it with fabulous taste all on her own (I like to think I taught her everything I know). And even though I know she thinks my room is a little much, I’m sure every time the door is open and the pictures and posters on the wall peek through, she smiles and thinks of me (and all my crap). I give fashion advice, shopping tips, and know every aisle of Target. To me, Barney’s will always be a store and not just a children’s television show.

Ok, so maybe that is totally materialistic and rather shallow. Or maybe really shallow.  But does that mean that it doesn’t matter anymore?  Does no one ask because no one wants to be reminded themselves?

I wonder what I will adapt to whenever I go home and what I will think is silly. I am totally going to kiss my washer and dryer, and stand in front of the fridge like I’m worshipping it. I am going to call my Mom everyday on an unlimited cell phone plan.

I think about reunions with the Goodfellas and us being so clean and put together. I wonder what we will think of ourselves and where we’ve been and what we’ve done, together and independently. I wonder if in our suits and cocktail attire we will still see ourselves in bandanas, cargo pants and Chacos, sweating and squinting in the Malian sun. And I wonder if in that moment, this vacuum of a life in Mali will seem like the realest thing I’ve ever done.

I’m going to move on from Peace Corps, this is destined to be a chapter in my life and not the whole book. It’s a chapter in the middle, flanked by a past of becoming a person who wanted to take the chance and go to Mali and see what I could do and who I would become. The 23 year old journey to get me here is important, even the scattered fashion magazines and pop culture knowledge does matter. And here I am. Ready to face today, tomorrow, and the big question mark that is my future.

But just once, can we talk nail polish colors and not grad school programs?  That would just be great. 
ahhh, to be a woman of leisure once more

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

we came. we saw. we ate.

i spent the past weekend with some good friends in a good city. bamako is both the national capital and my regional capital. in theory i am only 20km from bamako, but you have to factor in the public transportation, and you know, the Africa factor, and you get about a two hour travel time from my door to the door of one of my go-to restaurants downtown.

jamie and kat came to me in kati saturday. we spent the day on our computers, talking about our sites, Mali, home, and, of course, boys. we left for bamako sunday morning. the plan was to stay in bamako at the Peace Corps Transit House (the stage house) sunday night and leave monday. we had a few days of errands, chores, eating, and TV to enjoy. we. were. stoked.

after a pretty successful public transportation jaunt into the city (i only almost got run over by a car once, and the sweating was kept to a minimum), our first stop was to eat. obviously. we hit up our favorite spot, Broadway Cafe. Jamie and Kat are pretty darn excited about it. 

i am always being critiqued for not having any pictures of myself online, so here you have it. me, chillin'. 

hello ice and coke, it's been a long time. 

kat, on the phone. 

Patagucci, my backpack named by Sean, who is also enjoying the air conditioning.  
i forgot to take a picture at the beginning of the meal, but here it is at the halfway point. my brother keeps asking for pictures of food. this was a fish burger, vegetables (they were eaten by then) and french fries. so yummy! oh, and that's right, real ketchup!

our check. the monetary system is slightly beyond my comprehension, but here you have actual malian currency! and coins, which can be hard to come by sometimes. (exchange rate: 500CFA= $1) 
my friend the Fourmi, the supermarket to which i buy all my toubab things--tuna, cereal, cookies, dove soap, chocolate, beans...and this trip i bought a dustpan and duster a la Americana, best purchase EVER

HELLO BAMAKO!!

ice cream. SO FREAKIN GOOD. 3 scoops: chocolate, chocolate chip, and mint. in a cone. and the place that sells ice cream, is called ICE CREAM. just so that no one gets confused. 

I scream, you scream, we all scream, run, jump, and ride public transportation to get to ICE CREAM!

i want it again! it was so dang tasty!

CARE PACKAGES! Thank you so much to such a wonderful family who make this Peace Corps experience even better with fashion magazines, books, food, drink mix, candy, new necklaces, and earrings...you guys are all amazing and i will never be able to repay you. just know that i love you and i am the envy of all my fellow PCVs!!! 

the stage house living room. with AC and fans. Hi Jamie and Kat!

watching the tube. currently: Best in Show. 

the stage house is part hostel, part frat house, part your house. this is the dining room table and everyone who is in transit's crap. we all carry a lot of crap. 

this is what a stocked American food shelf looks like! i currently have 5 small nutella jars--let's see how long that lasts me! 

the book list. the bottom was is Portrait of a Lady. I've also added Out of Africa, and The Book Thief  (thanks to savoy who sent it to me!) to the list of things to read. 

more stuff from AMERIKI! Gum, banana grahams, chocolate, new shirt, fashion magazines litter my bed! it's like Christmas!

 
i'm having too much fun! I DON'T WANNA GO TO WORK! I WANNA BE ON VACATION FOREVER!

that was our trip. we ate. we ate ice cream. we tried to go to the fourmi on sunday, but turns out they closed at 1pm and we got there at 1:04pm. figures. so we went to ice cream earlier and headed back to the stage house to hang out and watch tv. we went to the shop around the corner and stocked up on peanuts, coke, and popcorn for the afternoon. i spent the evening watching TV and chatting with other PCVs who wondered in and out of the house on work errands or mid-service medical evaluations. for dinner kat and i went to the chicken place down the block and had delicious chicken sandwiches. then, in true twenty something fashion, we stayed up late watching jersey shore.

seriously. that is what we did until past midnight.

i got to sleep to air conditioning and with 7 other people in bunk beds. hostel style.

in the morning i took a warm shower and jamie and i quickly made our way to the bureau to fetch what we hoped to be massive care packages. and man we found them. my package from my mom weighed 24 pounds! carrying that sucker in the African heat was fun. but so worth it. i also got a lovely stash from my aunt. those are the pictures from above. i'm not fat and happy for a little bit with all this american food. yum-o!

jamie was able to get some more chores done and we had our first dip into yogurt in Africa, which was nice and cold, and continued to try to get to know those around us. in mid morning we finally made our way to the fourmi and yay, it was opened. so there we got lost in a sea of food and beauty products. i got all kinds of goodies--more dove soap, toilet paper, dustpans, lentils, chick peas, tuna, chocolate, salt, and multi grain bread. it was a little excessive, but it's been worth it so far!

well, and since we were out, we had to have lunch. we went down the street to another restaurant, Le Relax. More food. More fries. And then of course, more ice cream.

The makings of a great balanced meal. Duh.

We then made our way back to the stage house. We cooled down and got our things together. Kat had decided to stay with Jenna, another Goodfella, one more night in Bamako, so Jamie and I were heading out. With the grocery trip and the new care packages, I had no idea how in the world i was going to carry all that junk around. so, i did what any spoiled girl would do, i called my service, IEP, and tried to arrange, in French, to have someone come get us. It actually did work and Jamie and i managed to get air conditioned transport door to door. in about a half an hour.

genius move i think.

jamie stayed one more night. we cooked. we chatted. we were online.

tuesday morning jamie was off. it was hot and i felt so bad for her having to travel with all her weight in luggage. but she's a trooper and made it to her site in due time. with a nap at the top of her to do list!

kat stayed another night in bamako and is finally here in kati with me. having friends around has been good for the soul. plus kat as excellent taste in BBC series so right now north and south is on. it's kinda amazing. and it's pushing back my re-entry into my own real world rather nicely. i assume that i will have to spend a full day at work sometime soon. maybe even tomorrow. tomorrow i will work with my teachers, write productive emails, and try to understand what my family is talking about when they watch the news.

but today, today i'm going to eat a little too much, talk about nonsense stuff like fashion and pop culture, wear sweats, and watch tv. today i'm going to pretend i'm not so faraway from my family or friends. today i'm going to nap and not do laundry (that was yesterday) and plan what's for dinner.

it has the potential to be a great evening.

tomorrow. tomorrow i will be productive.

but today is another day. :)

Saturday, September 10, 2011

n be baara ke kosebe

the view from the back of IEP, the NGO I work for...love the sunsets...i'll have to try to get a picture of that... 
there used to be wall here. then it rained. ergo. no wall

what is left of the wall...and then it tumbled down

the side of IEP. the first door (to the left) is the door i enter in everyday!

how cool are these flowers?!

here i am. chacos and all. 

the side of IEP

Welcome to where I work! I really like it. Actually, I really like the WiFI and air conditioning, but the people are amazing and i really believe that good work is being done. just thought i'd show you around a little. i'll make sure to take pictures of school once it gets started!

(ps. the title in bambara for "i work a lot" or "i work hard" both are true!)

normal: just a setting on the dryer

trying to make the peace sign...but really who cares when you see that smile!

at the desks. this means business. 

super special kiddies getting their physical therapy on

oh hey there cutie pie!
Working at his special computer thanks to some very lovely Dutch teachers. Who said a physical disability would get in his way?


Whoops! I'm supposed to be blowing up this balloon but you have a camera, so never mind my work!

Group time. Today we are learning our vegetables and colors. (It was my kind of class. I learned a thing or two myself.)

Fatim, the awesome special education teacher in her equally awesome complet and headwrap. 

paying REAL close attention...just incase they are called upon


Maria, and two PHARE peeps who have come to check out the special education program as an outline 

and PAUSE

who is ready for lunch?!

Ciwara, the school i work at, has one of the few, if not the only, special education program in the country. That's right. COUNTRY. it started off simple enough, let's just have students bring their brothers and sisters, but turns out their were more special needs children in the neighborhood, and a whole class was formed. right now there is no national special education curriculum, so what is done in class is done with the help of some very passionate administrators, dedicated teachers, and helpful international resources that come and train and guide all of us wanting there to be more. That's where I am going to come in. One of my jobs, and goals, is to work to get the special education classes a curriculum and to use Ciwara as a pilot program in order to get the attention of the Malian Ministry of Education. in time, there should not only be a curriculum, but more schools with more classes like this one. the fact that these kids come to school and are establishing a routine is a first step, but the fact that they come with eagerness and an empty backpack is becoming a metaphor and not just logistics. it's time for knowledge, and power, and encouragement. i mean, how can you resist these precious faces?!

plus, isn't normal just a setting on a dryer? my mom always told me i was special too. ;)