awkward turtle

awkward turtle. thanks nemo.

Being a PCV in Mali doesn’t have to be a continuous string of awkward events, but some days, being me, is a long story of the upmost awkwardness.

This week seems to be full of awkward. Let’s take Monday. I was supposed to have a meeting with one of the teachers at school and we were supposed to be working on the lesson plans for the English class together. Good idea. It was just going to be her, and me, which had never happened before so I was a little nervous, but I knew that she spoke some English and French so it was going to be ok.  I get to school and she is already there. Good I think. We can get started. So I sit by where she is set up. Nothing. Her phone rings. I’m waiting. She takes out schoolwork. I take out my schoolwork. Finally, I ask her if we are waiting on anyone. She says yes, that the other teachers will be here. I sigh. I have no idea what we are all supposed to be getting done, but whatever. By the time everyone gets there it’s been about 45 minutes. It’s about quarter till nine and they try to tell me that at 9:30 they are taking a break to go to a funeral. Turns out a coworker has had a death in the family and we are going. Ok, I think. So we work for a little bit and then off we go. The awkwardness you’re thinking? Well I mean sitting amongst people not speaking your language working on something you’re pretty sure you are supposed to be working together on, is slightly uncomfortable, but then there is the funeral. I was wearing a sleeveless shirt, cargo capris, and chacos (real cute I know). My arms were showing, my hair was showing, I was carting around a 20 pound backpack. I knew that it mattered that I was there, but I so should have been dressed differently! Covered! Respectful! Oh vey, I kept on chanting “I stand out, they know I’m not used to this…but please still let them like me!”

Slightly awkward. Very uncomfortable. An hour never felt so long.

The day continued with usual awkwardness. The funeral was kind of the highlight of that day. Which is pretty good because yesterday, that took the cake.

In the morning I wake up to ride my bike. Malians kinda think that is just funny. White girl in pink shirt panting around the hills of the region, dodging taxis, cars, donkeys, I mean I get it; I’m quite the sight. Some people are really nice and give me the thumbs up and yell “Good work!” They are my favorite. After that I get ready, and start to head out to work. Now I live off a pretty main road that connects the west of Koulikoro and other regions to Bamako. There are always trucks, taxis, motos, and buses coming along. When you turn from my house you talk pass some more compounds along a dirt road and then get to the main part. Ok, picture painted. So I’m walking up to the main road and I see this man and his moto near a bush. “Uh oh,” I’m thinking, “this man is totally peeing in the bushes!” I avert my eyes and continue to greet the kids coming out of houses and families I can see making breakfast, but I am quickly approaching this man who is still out for the world to see. I mean he has turned his back from the main road, which is super for those people, but approaching from the opposite direction means I’m kinda like getting a full view.  So here I am, young, white, female, trying to figure out what to do. I mean, I thought for sure he’d be done by now, how long can person continue? And of course because I am so new at this Mali thing I’m thinking, “What do I do? Can’t turn back now. Can’t avoid him he is totally in my way! Do I greet him? Do I walk by?” It was a traumatic moment. He never covered himself up. I continued walking hoping my sunglasses were dark enough to shade my stare and I was literally biting my lip to stop the 14-year-old laughter from erupting. There was no greeting, which, you know, all things considered, was probably for the best. I kept walking. I wonder how long he was there?

Awkward turtle.

I got to work pretty much unscathed after that.

Then my boss asks me if I want to join the new teacher recruits in a Bambara class. I look confused because why would native Bambara speakers need a class? But it turns out that it was grammar based. I got a wild hair and thought that sounded like a great idea. Why not, right? Hahaha. At first it was ok. I didn’t understand a lot, but I got the general idea. There was a break. I stretched my legs. And decided to continue sitting in. Well then it was an activity. This kind hearted soul tried to explain it to me, but I was totally lost. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I understood but then they were like, what do you think? ME? In BAMBARA? You want to discuss gender equality with me in Bambara. I had the biggest flight or fight moment ever. I wanted out of there. Everyone was looking at me. I was pleading with my ESP powers that somehow someone needed me somewhere. Finally, they brought in someone so that I could be translated. Well, like that doesn’t make me stand out. Oh, it sounds silly writing it down now, but at the moment, I just wanted to melt in my seat and disappear.

Needless to say, no more advanced Bambara class for me. EVER.

Awkward.

The day continued. It was just a weird day. I got really hungry and decided to eat one of my prized bananas only to have it plop right on the floor as I tried to peel it. Wanted to drown my sorrows and frustration in chocolate. And the chocolate just wasn’t very good. Bummer dude.

To continue the awkward…People from work are trying to introduce themselves and I am trying to learn people’s name and what they do. And man, sometimes do we have some interesting conversations.

Actual conversation from the other day:

I just got to work and am unloading my 20 pound backpack: computer, water bottle, cell phone, watch comes off so I can type, last earphones for iTunes.

Coworker:  You have earphones?

Me: Yes.

Coworker: I want what you listen to.

Me: Ok. What do you want?

Coworker: I want what you listen to yesterday.

Me:  But what do you want? It’s American music.

Coworker: I want what you listen to.

Me: But what kind of music do you like?

This is happening in English. At this point I try to switch to French. Still nothing.

He is not sitting directly diagonal from me, but diagonal and one over.

He looks confused.

I feel like a 21^st century Peace Corps version of “Who’s on first.”

Guy who actually is directly diagonal from me, with, I swear, a slight eye roll in the direction of other coworker guy: She means, what kind of music do you like?

Me: YES!

Nice coworker: Rock? Love Songs (to which I almost giggle)? Pop? Country? (To which he looks at me and says) Do you know the George Strait? He is my favorite.

Me: mouth wide open: Yes, I do know him and I do have country.

Coworker who is becoming annoyed this is no longer all about him: You choose. I want what you listen to.

Me: slightly exasperated: “Ok, Ok”

He has already handed me his flash drive.

AWKWARD, right?

I ended up trying to give a vast selection of music. Mostly new stuff. I tried to throw a couple in there to see if he really wanted what I was listening to. I have a pretty good mix going, everything from GLEE to MGMT and quite a lot in between.

The good part is that when the flash drive was finally returned and the two guys eventually got to pour over what I gave, which ended up being around 100 songs, they were very thankful. I ended up really hoping they like it.

I am constantly worried about being awkward. It’s an ongoing thing. I am always concerned about being awkward at home. I know that my host family just loved the PCV before me. She and my host sister were really tight and I can only hope to be half as good of friend now. I’ve got big shoes to fill and the prior PCV and I are just different.

I read a lot when I’m at home, and I’m not even really home often, so I’m always pretty conscious of paying attention and being a part of things, while also aware that any large chunk of time just sitting there left to try to understand a foreign language would leave me wanting to pull my hair out. So I read. And I’ve fallen upon some good books, so I read a ton.

Trying to avoid awkwardness as the kids pull the pages and droll slightly, and the older women glare slightly.

Oh vey.

Last night I was reading, trying to finish the last bit of The Help (have you read it? Omg, so good!) and my host mom leans over. She mentions that the book is in English. I nod. (I was like really close to finishing.) She mentions that she wants to learn English. I nod again. She wants to know if I have time to teach her. I stop. Sure, I can find time. But I smile, and I nod. She mentions Sundays. More nodding. I’m kind of in awe. Even if she never has an English session, this is the longest we have actually conversed (if we want to call my nodding contributing to a conversation) since I’ve been here. She smiles and laughs at the idea of learning English. The rest of the room giggles. I go back to my book (and did finish).

Later I’m in my room. And I’m thinking about the books I’ve read and now reading was supposed to make me invisible, but always turned into a production. Moms trying to get the kids away from my book, Nana saying all I do is read, family members asking to see the cover. I always felt so awkward. I just want to sit and be a part of things but have a book open so that on hour 4 I can read something I actually understand. I want to keep my sanity.

But it always turns, AWKWARD.

Then it hits me. All those awkward moments, all those times I wondered if reading was a good decision, that all led me to reading late at night and having my host mom think that if I was smart enough to read English I would be able to teach her something.

Something so NOT awkward. Rather, something quite inspired.

So there is going to be a lot of awkward coming, and a lot of awkward behind me. It’s the way it’s going to be. It’s what I get for coming here and being different, and for analyzing everything in my head. I’m just going to be awkward for a while.

And sometimes it is so going to be worth it.

we begin

James and Me! BCamp

It's September! Yay! I feel like this is a big accomplishment, getting through all that August had to offer with leaving homestay, to swearing in, to moving to site, to then staying at site, and trying to figure out how to stay in touch with all my Goodfella peeps without running my phone bill into the ground. (I think I've done all of the above pretty well, except maybe the phone bill part.) 

as you can see i welcome the new month with quite the excitement. it was even better because i got to have my first official visitor! (more exclamation marks, more excitement) jamie came in from koyan, which is somewhere around 20km from me. she's close, but not a walk in the park close. a two hour walk, two versions of African public transportation, and almost 4 hours later, and jamie met me at the one restaurant kati offers (ok, so by one restaurant i mean an eating establishment to which someone of the western world would consider a restaurant with chairs and a menu and staff). we chatted, we ate, we chatted some more. our main goal was to get to and find the bank. now, it may sound like an easy task, but after a nice hike around town and finally finding the bank behind a small strip of shops and next to someone's house (because that is where all banks are located) some nice military officer told us the bank closed at 3pm. On a thursday? oh yes. and what time was it at that point? 3:01pm. No wonder it feels as though nothing ever gets done! so back we hiked, all the way to my house on the other side of town. About an hour later we plopped down in my living room area convinced that tomorrow would be more successful and willed the fan and sad air conditioning unit to work (now i know I should NEVER complain about the lack of working AC considering I have it, but since i've told everyone and their mother i have it, i would like to literally blow them away in cool air). 

we continued the evening on the internet. we were able to skype with amy and brooke, two fellow BCampers, in Sikasso, which was funnier than productive once you account for the poor internet connection and the three minute delay. jamie was able to catch up on all her emails and facebook messages and talk to a billion people. i cooked dinner...my favorite...mac and cheese (with peas so it's like healthy). we ate and splurged on Cokes and talked. we talked about how much we miss American food, about site, about Africa and IST, and boys and clothes. it was therapy i didn't know i craved so much. 

we stayed up to late and willed our bodies to get going the next morning. once we were full from bread, nutella, and bananas we headed out again. Bank. Check (after only one hour waiting!). Market? Check. Street food. Check. Eating your weight in potatoes...bonus. We bought fabric, went to the tailors and are currently having two new outfits a piece made. Cross your fingers that they turn out. We battled the Malian sun all day and finally got back to my house early afternoon. But we weren't done. We paused just long enough for Jamie to say bye to my host family and collect her stuff and we were off. She had to get back and i was supposed to be making an appearance at work. We huffed and sweated up the hill towards town again. We made one last stop at a shop to pick up final things of upmost importance: cold drinks, laughing cow cheese, candy. And finally, as quickly as it seemed she came, Jamie was off. And I was sitting in the office of IEP. Working on syllabi. 

it's amazing what a treat it is to have someone come and hang out with you. someone to look at you with a sideways and knowing glance when someone asks you a question you don't understand because you don't speak the language well, or someone who also takes over thirty seconds to figure out how much money to pull out at the market, someone who worries you are too close to the cars on the road or that you didn't eat all your dinner. those things matter and i didn't realize that i didn't have them until jamie filled the spot. 

and now i'm left alone again. to fend for myself a little while longer until i have another visitor or figure out when to go with the girls to bamako. hopefully all of that will begin sooner rather than later. 

we are all beginning to exist without one another. while we cling to the friendships and the voices on the phone and the hope of constant text messages, we are here to be our own people, to create our own experience, to make our own impact. we tell ourselves it is what we came to do in the first place. 

so here we are. 

and so here we begin. 

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!