today. (bi)

Kati hillside. The view walking down a hill from IEP to Ciwara School. It won't stay green for long, that's just a perk to rainy season. And you will often see abandoned buildings like this one, similar to urban neighborhoods in the States.

I feel like a lot of the blog’s writings have taken on quite the pie in the sky, this is what I’m feeling, therapy kind of mood. And, don’t get me wrong, they will continue in that vain because this has become my journal and therapy session all in one. But I thought I’d try to do a little something different and give you an idea of what I’ve been up to this month.

August is different in the education world because it is a vacation month. School wraps up June 30, teachers spend July finishing up grades and whatnot and then flee. Plus, this year Ramadan fell during August so no one was around, it seems to me if you’re fasting all day, you don’t really always have a go get ‘em attitude. In September people slowly start coming back to work, and in October school starts and like in the States, everyone begins their routine again.

Background: I work at IEP a NGO that focuses on education reform in Mali. I really am assigned to their school, Ciwara, which means hard worker in Bambara. In October I will be there everyday (that’s right, school is 6 days a week here!). For right now I work in the office of IEP.

A Good Day:

7AM: Peak out window...Rain? Roll over. Rained during the night leaving ocean sized mud puddles? Roll Over. Sunny, no sign of a puddle? Sigh heavily, recognize that a run will make me feel better and get out of bed.  (I’ve run a total of five times at site. Rain has contributed, as has my laziness at the not running part.)

7:30AM: Greeting family trying to explain that I’m going running and this giant black thing on my arm plays music.

8:00AM: Back from running. Laughing as my host aunt hysterically points to the sweat on my arm. OR If God has blessed us with rain, just rolling out of bed.

8-8:30AM: Turn on phone. Shower. Dress. Turn on computer. Choose earrings.

8:30-9AM: Breakfast (nutella on bread or peanut and crackers) in front of computer (watching a movie, reading the New York Times, checking Facebook photos)

9AM: clean up breakfast, brush teeth, pack backpack

9:15AM: head out to the office. Say all my good-bye and sometimes good morning too, greetings to the family.

I walk about 25 minutes, sometimes faster, sometimes longer if I stop to buy breakfast or cucumbers for dinner.

9:45AM-10AM: Arrive at office. Hope it’s open. Try to stop sweating while everyone who is in the office looks at the funny white person sweating so much while they are cool as a refrigerator in the 90-degree heat. Turn on air conditioning.

10AM: Start the day. Computer on. Emails up. Word is coming. Multiple tabs wait!

My main objectives lately have been to form an art program from what was done last year in grades seven through nine which is our middle school. I spend a lot of time researching art programs in the US and taking ideas to my class. I also am working on adding activities to the English curriculum for the same group (7-9). Today though, I changed things up and researched a bunch on special education because Ciwara has one of the few, if not the only, special education programs in the country running in the school.

So I email, and I research and I type lesson plans. Because I’m convinced I am hard at work, I occasionally slip onto Facebook and spend a little too much time there.

Sometimes, I have a meeting with Debbie or help her with some organizing. But she is a busy lady and can’t babysit me all the time, so I usually work independently and forward her any big progress I make.

12PM/noon: Start to get hungry and perhaps remembered to bring a snack.

12-2PM: More Computer time. More lesson planning. Dream about what my mom is doing in California.

2-2:30PM: Debbie and I leave to go to her house to have lunch. Holler. I’m usually hungry by then!

2:30-3:30PM: Lunch time. I eat. I sit and talk with Debbie and all the neighborhood kids and try to understand the Bambara.

3:30/4PM: Debbie and I head back to the office.

4-6PM: More working. By this time I am usually trying to wrap things up. Sometimes people in the States are online, like right now, and I get to have little Gchat conversations while I finish up and save all my tabs and get things finished for the night. (Seriously, what was the world before gchat and skype and Facebook?!)

6PM: Walking home. Some days this is my favorite part. I love going home. No matter where home is, returning can be the best part. I walk the same way in the morning and the evening. Sometimes in the evening I do a little grocery shopping or buy some street food. But, most of the time, I just wander and let my legs move from sitting all day and my mind wander.

6:30: Home. And ready to eat again. Time to cook!

6:30-7PM: Cooking. Usually this involves me cooking one of the three things I eat these days: beans, potatoes, mac and cheese, or cucumber and tomato sandwich. And calling my dear friend Marcy in Segou. We chat while food cooks.

7:30/8PM: I tend to eat in my room but then re-emerge to spend some time with my host family.

7:30-9: Host family time! We usually sit and watch French TV. Seriously.  

9PM: I seem to count down the minutes until 9 when I feel like I can socially justify going to bed.  Sometimes I am legitimately tired and I do crawl into bed before 9:30. Sometimes I’ve had a rough day, or bad day, or just a day, and I watch a movie, eat some more nutella and unwind. On a stellar day I have a skype date planned and escape to find a happy face smiling at me on the computer screen from America.

10-10:30PM: BED.

That’s really it people. That’s my day. It takes three languages and a lot of computer battery, but each day is somewhat represented here.

I hope this gives you a more concrete idea of what my day looks like. Of course that is for right now, soon it will end and school will begin and then you will have to be updated!

rain down on me

BCamp kiddies watching us crazies paint the World Map, July 2011  

August in Mali means rain. And by rain, I mean RAIN. The seasons in Mali are rainy season and dry season, and then dry season is split into cold season (which I am waiting for with the excitement and anticipation of a five year old waiting for Christmas morning) and hot season (which I dread the way most dread the first day of school or the dentist, I mean it gets hotter?!). But in August it rains. Of course this year is a little wacky and it hasn’t been raining as often, but when it does something utterly crazy happens (and if you’ve ever lived in Seattle you’ll die) people stop. Seriously, people stop what they are doing and go inside. And if it rains for over ten minutes or hard, well then forget it. The workday is over. No more market, no more street food (tear). Call it a day.

I kind of love it.

I mean it’s nutty. But right now, it’s nice to be able to hide out. I sneak away to my room, curl up on my “this bed is so big I can’t believe I’m in Africa” bed and just get a chance to breathe.

But it also gives me a lot of time to think. In between the Disney movies, Facebook stalking, and old classic book reading (I’m currently reading The French Lieutenant’s Woman), there is always still time to think.

Life is crazy.

Ok, so that maybe is stating the obvious. And it’s a big subject, contemplating life as it rains, but you know, sometimes it comes to that.

I was skyping my parents the other day (skype maybe the greatest thing to ever happen to international travel, like ever, at least if you like your family and friends) and talking about how I feel more American in Mali than I ever felt in America. It’s true and it’s weird too, to recognize this different aspect of personal identity that never really dawned on you before. I guess it just goes to show how much can easily be taken for granted. 

During training we did all kinds of exercises about culture and values and identity and it was easy to list things that matter to Americans: democracy, freedom, individualism, equality, education, time…I mean the list could go on. And from an objective standpoint that was something I could easily do. But sitting there on my bed, wishing I had a pantry of food to choose from, I have come to realize, those things matter to me as well. It’s not totally unusual, I mean I was born and raised in the US, my Dad is retired military, I’ve lived on military bases, celebrated the 4^th of July with gusto, and studied the history since I was 5. And here I am, about 3500 miles from Washington DC and I can’t run away from being American.

So what’s an American do in Mali? A place that has different values, customs, looks. I stick out. I don’t look like my family or my neighbors. I have funny skin, I talk like a 2 year old (and that is sometimes insulting to the 2 year old), I read a lot, I go to bed really early, I cook funny things like mac and cheese (and I add peas to make it a “nutritious” meal…oh it’s a staple). And I run. Like just because. I’m ridiculous. (And yes, I realize some of that is just me, not all Americans climb into bed before their three year old sister, but whatever…you get the point.)

It’s the tall order of the Peace Corps. To assimilate to Malian culture without loosing your American-ness. To adapt. To learn. And to share. It’s not a one way street, I am supposed to and wanting to share my thoughts and ideas and culture with as many people who are willing to listen me try to butcher their language or French. 

Sure, some of it will come. I mean I only just had my two-week-at-site-celebration. In the meantime, it’s just crazy.  

And I know it’s not just Mali. Life swerves and hits hard every second, it knows no boundary. Life is the greatest equal opportunity employer ever. Sometimes it hurts with the power of a thousand knives and you are left completely overwhelmed and unprepared. Sometimes it surprises and brings joy so great and powerful you can feel it in your bones and know at that moment, this beauty is the meaning of it all.

So we search for the beauty. I go on in hope that one day the kid down the street will call me by my name and not just scream “Toubab” (which translates to “foreigner” or “white person”), or that the local store owner will crack a smile at me, or that at some point I will understand the people I work with when they ask me something beyond “How are you” in French or Bambara.

I just go on. Because one day it all will come. One day the reasons behind me coming to Mali will blur with the daily life and the good things that have come out of me being in Mali. Soon it will just be. For that’s the greatest irony. It doesn’t matter the reasoning or rationale about life and it’s mystery. At the end of the day, life just IS.

I was texting a great friend of mine who is a Goodfella and living in Segou. She kind of randomly texts me at night and says “you know, someday soon, not tomorrow, and not the next day, but soon, this is going to be over and we are all going to sit at some nice restaurant at a reunion talking about peace corps and saying remember when x happened?” she continued, “so I guess we had better enjoy it because if nothing else, I want to get to the day when I get to see everyone in America in American clothes!”

She’s right. These two years are going to be the longest and shortest two years. They are going to redefine so much about me. And in so many aspects, they already have.

So I lay back down. Put my head on my smelly pillow and put on a movie. And as the rain comes outside, for some brief moments I get to remember that I am Mary, and for right now—whatever that means, and whatever happens next—that is just enough.

When life gives you lemons, yell back “you got any tequila to go with that?”

what he said

Goodfellas Education Team in front of our world map in BCamp (oh yeah, we painted that baby, and it's really awesome looking)

Few will have the greatness to bend history itself; but each of us can work to change of small portion of events and in the total of all those acts will be written the history of this generation.
Robert F. Kennedy

oddly fitting for a bunch of peace corps peeps don't you think?

on the streets

one corner of Kati...

so there is this one corner of Kati that i walk or run by almost everyday. it's a funny four way junction with goats and kids playing soccer. but it's the street graffiti that made me smile the very first time i came here. you see, "Rooney" is a Manchester United football star (wears the number 10 jersey and everything), and he is also my brother's favorite player. "MC" are my American initials. (plus, we all know that my malian name has part of my sister in it.) it seemed like the corner was a reminder of where i come from situated in a place so foreign and away from everything i know.

 so i like to come to this corner. to see the graffiti (which is a favorite art form of mine), to think of home, to think of the people around me in this place and abroad. to soak it all in. to see that we really aren't all that different. 

and well the kids, they just really wanted to have their picture taken. they posed and everything, so really, how could i resist?

not totally out of it

image here

ok, so i may be in mali, but i'm not totally out of the loop, or so i like to think. and i've found another way to promote social justice for your feet!

we all know how i love conscious fashion and these new shoes, jojo, are just another example of how it can be done. you design. then you chose a NGO to partner with. and then you can follow your support of that NGO online! it's that simple! a way to track your contribution and have fabulous footwear. it's basically a win win. 

want to join the fun?

learn

design

love them!

i'm thinking i need a pair for malian cold season. and i'm totally digging the red ones with the white bandage. adding to wish list? i think so!!

and thanks linnea for posting this on your facebook...you're a trend setter! 

sometimes...

sometimes, at it's truest point, art touches it's viewer so close to his soul, it's as if, in that moment, the art can see right through the viewer, as if art can know a person better than the person can know himself, can speak truth he never saw, or give insight where everything was dull. i think music can do that too. i've never been a big music person. sure, i like to listen to it, love singing along to the radio in the car with the windows down driving all those around me a little crazy. but my true music education didn't start until a year or two ago, so i am just now figuring out favorites and what i really like and don't like.

music, like any other form of art, has some power.

these past few months in mali have taught me that more than ever. music can change a mood. it can become something more than just lyrics, it can become an anthem, as great and memorable music often is.

have you heard "home" by edward sharpe and the magnetic zero's? well you should. it's a favorite of one of the girl's in my stage, kat. she is an awesome singer and has some really cool music taste. she was singing this song from day one. it's kinda funny because at first the we all were split--it seemed some people loved the song, and some people wanted her to sing anything else! no one was shocked when she decided to sing it at the talent show we had in the last days of training. but i think that night a little something shifted. we all looked around and realized that for right now, this is home. these are the people we want to be home with. it was lovely to look around at these people who such a short time ago were strangers and now it was killing me to imagine not being so close to them. kat needed whistlers for part of the song, and like a choir, the boys on one side of the room were her whistlers. for me, it was a great moment.

it got even better. on friday, during our party, after they announced our name and played a gangsta song for us, they played "home". and so then, all 22 of us, whether you liked it or not, whether it was your favorite or became your favorite, we all sang the words we knew at the top of our lungs. we danced. we smiled. we laughed. we jumped up and down. in that moment, we were exactly where we were supposed to be. with each other.

peace corps redefines family and friendship, home and foreign. and then it is up to us to make it all ours. even so far away from what we comfortably call home, we make a new one.

welcome to our family.

 love, the goodfellas

the waiting room

from the inside of the BCamp School looking out

Ok, so I know that as of late this little blog has become a photo gallery (and of sometimes very poor quality, my due apologies) instead of any sort of writing, but I am here now to rectify that situation; though, I can’t promise the photo gallery won’t continue…a picture is worth a thousand words, right? Here we go…

I’m at site right now, in the office in fact, sitting, waiting to see if the sweat will ever stop pouring or if this look will just become a part of me. Sitting always ensues deep thought. I work at an educational non profit and August is a big vacation month so there is hardly anyone around, so I am left to my own devices, lucky enough to be one of the golden Malian PCVs with access to internet and the occasional air conditioning unit. (Yes, you can oh and ah now.)

But back to the thinking.

As I was walking to work I was thinking about this place and my place within it. In Mali, PCVs are given Malian names by their homestay host families (whom you met earlier). This is mainly because Mali has a rich history of joking relationships that work amongst people of corresponding last names and ethnic backgrounds. It’s not as complicated as it appears and it works, or so people say. Anyway, I have a Malian name. My name (N togo) is Lalla, after the women in my host family. It also happens to be the name of my host sister. I really like this name for many reasons. For starters it is the nickname I call my American sister, so having that name is like having a part of America with me always. To me, Lalla is like my alter ego and I use a little bit of my American Lalla to base that off of, which I think would make her laugh and be really proud. Lalla also means “maybe” in Bambara, the language here. At homestay that immediately made me laugh. It is like I’m being called “maybe” all the time! But now as I think about my insecurities and uncertainties, the name is becoming more and more poignant.

What’s in a name?

I’ve been alone at site since Wednesday morning. I am very blessed to have the home that I do and be surrounded by such wonderful people. I have a very structured work environment: an office, an office building, a boss, hours to be places…something uncommon to the education sector here. It’s like having one foot in the west and one foot firmly in Mali. A balancing act for sure, but an interesting juxtaposition of ideas and values, a shift in the idea of Malian immersion. Here, the people that surround me are just as interested in English, America, and me as I am in them, Mali, and Bambara. There is a constant use of three languages instead of just me fighting with Bambara. It’s always something different, that’s for sure.

So, back to my story, I’m walking to work this morning, up this giant hill that is bound to give me buns of steel or at the very least work me into a sweat and make me rethink trekking my laptop all over, and I started thinking about my name again. Lalla. Maybe.

I am hesitant and apprehensive. I feel awkward all the time. I hate that I can’t properly communicate with my host family, and at this stage they don’t love my awkwardness as much as my homestay family did. I’m afraid I am too quiet, or read too much, and certainly worried that I go to bed too early (but I so need my beauty sleep! And getting eaten alive by mosquitoes is just so unappealing). I’m right now in the constant state of maybe. And, thus, the name fits.

And it even fits on a larger scale. As a volunteer we are positioned to immerse ourselves into the daily life of another culture, another place foreign from our comprehension of what the world is like. We come here bright eyed and bushy tailed ready to change the world, be changed, and come back to the states and our families two years later as different people. But I think along the way something changes. Or something new emerges. Or maybe it really is a growth process from the moment your foot hits foreign soil till the moment you pack up your bags to leave. Immersion is a tough call. I am here as Lalla, everyone knows me as Lalla, and as much fun as I have with her as an alter ego, there is a part of me that wonders about Mary. Some days it seems like she is somewhere else, living another life.  Here I am trying to grasp onto a Malian life, and yet cling to the Americana in me. It’s like that cliché, “you can take the girl out of the states, but you can’t take the states out of the girl”. And I think that is difficult. To be Malian and to be American. Is that possible? Or at the end of the day does it leave everyone is a constant state of maybe. A word defined by its uncertainty.

But.

On the other hand, the maybe can also be defined by its possibility. And that is the silver lining, and the continued dichotomy. There is so much hope to being in the Peace Corps, to being in Mali, at this place, in this moment. And that hope is filled with this positive energy of maybe. Here, the possibilities are endless, what can be done, the relationships to be made, the people to meet. Everyday I learn something. I overcome something (unpacking? Totally scary and felt very permanent. Running? Turns out that sparked an emotional tailspin because the last place I ran was in the states with my mom, now its solo and in Africa!) everyday. It’s constant learning. Constantly being wrong, or searching for the answer, but there are answers. There are people who are willing to help. This is a team. This is literally my village. And here, they know the phase “it takes a village”-- they live it everyday.

And so, as I continue to babble on without making much sense, the state of maybe continues, but with all the hope of what is to come. I will take the uncertainty with the possibility. The optimism for what will come, with the hesitance of right now. Because right now is part of the process, without it the joy will not be as sweet. So I wait for the joy, the ease, the less awkwardness.

I wait.

it's good to be a gangsta

image here

here you have it! we have a stage name! now this may not seem like a big deal to you, but here it's a definite perk. every stage, or new class of volunteers, goes through training and everything as basic newbies, but then on the night of swear in, the trainers unveil their stage name. Past names in Mali include honey bunches of oats, risky business, team america, and the kennedys. Pretty cool right? and there is always a reason behind the name, some quirk or what have you.

Me? Well I'm a GoodFella.
Welcome to PCV-hood June 2011 trainees. It is definitely good to be a gangsta.

With Risky Business on their way out, I think it's cool we got another movie name. The trainers were nice in their description of us: thick as thieves, but willing to play a 20 person game of mafia until all hours of the night. the 22 of us are small, all friends, and yet i think the name reflects the dark and twisty part of us, the weird quirk that makes someone come to mali, the introspective mystery behind us. Sure, we may come across bubbly (one of the original suggestions was the brady bunch because we are like family and do everything together) but i always suspect there is more to us. In the meantime, we are all just so proud to have this cool name and thankful to our trainers for not choosing anything else.

The mafia certainly doesn't know what hit it. 

how do you say "party" in bambara?

back to swear in...after the american club in the afternoon we headed out for the hotel where we would be staying and dining. the plan was to get cleaned up, do to dinner in the hotel, then proceed to the party that is thrown by current PCVs and planned by our very own education trainer, alyssa. 

now restaurants in mali are a funny thing is that it takes forever to get food! especially in large groups. so we spent 3 hours at dinner. needless to say, that left plenty of time to goof around on the camera...

braid train! taz, jamie, and brooke

some of the ladies. all dressed up, this time American style. maria, ali (one of  our fearless trainers who is now headed back to the states after 2 years...she gave us all hope!), brooke, taz, jamie, marcy, amy, jenna, ashton, then in front, me, alyssa (fearless trainer number 2 and party planner, all around awesome), and kat

taz and amy (i totally take credit for the eye make up, that was my job prior to the before seen braid train)

ali and marcy...looking lovely as ever

marcy and taz (i was working my way down the table)

three beauties! marcy, taz, and amy

on the other side of the table...me, jamie, and brooke

AMES! i just love this one!

perhaps best facial expressions ever? marcy and taz

oh hey there hot stuff...jamie and brooke

totes adorbs. jamie and brooke (i wish i could take credit for the past two, but alas, my camera was in the hands of someone else!)

we had an absolute blast. even though at dinner we were a bunch of very hungry americans. but we all made it through, ate good food, and made it, however fashionably late, to our party. lucky for me, but not so much for you, i was having way too much fun dancing the night away with my peeps to break out the camera. plus it was pitch dark, so this is where friday night ends.

cheers to us! no longer trainees, we walk, hand in hand, to site, to two years in Mali, to a future all ours for the taking...

one oath later...

last Friday, August 5 2011, the newest Malian stage officially swore in as Peace Corps Volunteers...that's right WE DID IT!

due to Embassy regulations, we weren't allowed to take pictures during the ceremony or at the Embassy itself (though I am hoping to get my hands on some copies eventually). as plan B, we took a bunch of photos at the American Club, where stage 1 of the party took place. 

We are all still dressed in our Malian outfits. It's a tradition here to get swore in wearing the tradition formal dress of Mali. We were a big hit all dolled up and it was great and inspiring to have such love and hope from the Embassy, Peace Corps, and all the staff we got the pleasure to work with on a daily basis. 

on to the people!

the ladies of BCamp all dressed up. Brooke, me, Taz, Jamie, Amy

BCamp Bambara Class, or E and the Ladies. Whichever. Brooke, me, E, Amy, Jamie

what i think is just a really cool picture of Lucas

Marcy and me! with Pam posing in the background

the twins! ok, so they are not really twins, but people in BCamp always got Amy and Taz confused. We think it was a blond hair thing

ok, so i love these girls, but hate this picture of me! what horrible posture! but anywho, the ladies of H2! we made it! me, Taz, and Jamie

besties. E and Metting. they just ooze street cool, don't you think?

just like at prom, i kicked off the shoes early, so you can even see my chaco tan if you look close enough. just had to include a picture of the whole outfit, and this one is a bonus because it's me and amy. love.that.girl.

the boys of BCamp. looking quite dashing. sean, metting, manny

me and taz!

ok, so in mali no one smiles in pictures. so this is the boys taking on that tradition. or trying.
(e, lucas,sean, zach, metting, lyle, monte, vince, mccoy, pat)

HAHAHAHA
Ashton and Sean
Ashton: "Sean we NEED to have a Kentucky picture."
Sean: "Ok"
Ashton: "But we are going to spell KY, so you stand there and I stand here. Ready?"
and this is what resulted.

bad picture. so sorry, but here are some of the stage ladies.
(brooke, ashton, taz, me, maria, amy, marcy, jamie)

it's like a boy band only better because they are so serious and in malian outfits.
(zach, vince, metting, lyle, monte)

i think we all have futures in the modeling industry, right? we had a lot of fun, and the stress of the last weeks was melting away, we had just enough time to relish in the joy before the anxiety of site hit. And so, in blissful ignorance, we soaked it all in. 

my malian people

it's occurs to me that I haven't properly introduced you to the people who have fed me, housed me, and taken me in as family this summer. these lovely people are my malian family. Badji, in the blue, is my host mom and she is wonderful. she is just like my American mom...makes sure i eat all my dinner and call home regularly! 

the gang! 

the boys. Levi in the white is the oldest son and we would often have very insightful conversations about Mali, America, education, and being an adult. he wants to be a lawyer or an English professor. 

this is all of BCamp and their families who came to our thank you dinner hosted by Peace Corps. We think we are a pretty good looking group. 

this is me and my togoma, or namesake, Lalla

ok, so i kinda think this is a horrible picture of me, but it was the only one with the three of us. Lalla had been in Bamako my last week at BCamp so she wasn't able to be in the family photos. the two Lallas and Baj.

I don't think any of us at BCamp imagined forming the relationships we did with our host families. They are truly wonderful people. Both for just who they are and how they opened up their lives to us, we will be eternally grateful. These families are an example of what the human heart is capable of, and how generous people really can be, something every culture can learn from. I know that I will never be able to repay them, but the least i can do is try to pay it forward...

this.is.life.

it's been a while since i posted anything, so i thought as i pondered the words, i'd give you the pictures. this is what happens when a bunch of twenty-somethings are left to their own devices...let the fun begin...

B-CAMP! we love our garden

Sean and Jamie...pondering the garden's progress

at the garden

Marcy at Tubes

3 legged race for Jamie's birthday

the birthday girl herself!

dance party!

Brooke and Jamie

McCoy...our fearless leader

Taz and Amy "remember how dances were in middle school?"

we are a crazy bunch, but i love us dearly. from work time to play time, this is the life we've chosen and since life changes so rapidly, we are just trying to enjoy the moments we get...