Hey remember the Standells and Oldies radio? I barely do anymore...

Anyway, I doubt the Charles is THIS bad.

Thanks to you, my fundraisers and tireless supporters, I was able to start my long awaited soak pit project last month. Since April 18th, we have made FANTASTIC progress. As of today, my village has 155 latrines with new soak pits! "What is a soak pit?" you might ask. I don't imagine anyone not in the Peace Corps really cares about the answer to that question, but my father seems to disagree. He can be quite convincing, so I put together a little photo album detailing the work we're doing with your hard-earned dollars. Check it out here. For a review on the need for soak pits, you can also see my previous blog post requesting funds for the project here.

'Cause I hate that dirty water. Oh, Mali, you're my home...

This is Samba. Today Samba will vote for a new mayor.

See Samba travel to his polling place.

Good thing it's clearly marked!

See Samba check the list for his name.

There he is!

See Samba wait in line.

This is Samba's voter registration card.

Do YOU have a voter registration card?

See Samba receive his ballot.

This is Samba's ballot. Which party would YOU choose?

See Samba cast his vote.

Just kidding, silly!

Samba marks his ballot in secret like a good boy.

See Samba put his vote in a box.

See Samba sign his name. Samba is a smart boy! He can write his name with a pen instead of his fingerprint.

See Samba get inked.

Samba has now voted. Way to go, Samba!

I ye fasoden nyuman ye! You are a good citizen!

Yeah, Geto Boys, I went there.

I thought I would change it up a little and show you good people something you've never seen here before: evidence of work I've done. Starting on Easter Day (you know, because we don't really celebrate the Risen Savior around here) I hosted a training session for local women on improved shea butter making. If you're a girl, you may have noticed shea butter as an ingredient in various soaps and lotions and things. Shea butter is extracted from the shea kernel which is located inside the shea nut which is located inside the shea fruit which comes from the shea tree. Shea is only found along a strip of West and Central Africa and is mainly a woman's domain. Rural women collect fallen shea fruit on their ways to and from the fields during planting season. They then store the nuts until they have time to process them into butter, which is used for cooking, skin care, hair care, and in traditional medicine. Since shea butter making is the woman's duty, development projects concerning shea are a great way to target improvements in the lives of children since (theoretically) women spend the money they earn on family needs. Unfortunately, Malian women have been practicing bad shea storage and processing methods for... well forever I guess. Unlike women in other areas of the "Shea Belt" (for example, Burkina Faso and Ghana), Malians store their nuts in pits and smoke them on ovens - practices that lead to mold and carcinogens in the final product. That's why big European and American cosmetics companies won't buy Malian shea butter.

Good thing Mali PCVs like myself are changing the world, one shea butter training at a time. I had 83 women show up in my village for two days of shea butter education and demonstration. It was quite the party. Hopefully, in addition to having a good time, the women will go back to their respective communities preaching the gospel of boiled (not smoked!) nuts and slowly work on improving Mali's shea reputation in the world. See it all in action here.

Please welcome guest blogger Julia B. Dyer (aka Mom) as she shares her thoughts on the highlights (and lowlights) of making the trek through Mali...

In January of ’09, Jim and I went to another world. We went to Mali, West Africa, to visit Susie on the last leg of her volunteer commitment to the Peace Corps. For the past 19 months she has been living in a small village in Mali with no running water, two lightbulbs and an outlet 5 hours a day and a diet consisting of a gray-green cream of wheat type mush called “to” (toe), eaten with the fingers out of a communal bowl. She had told us a bit about her lifestyle each time she could make her way to a nearby town with an internet café and email us so we had an idea about what to expect. When we arrived at the Bamako airport, we walked outside the terminal to find Susie. There she was, the one white face among hundreds of others waiting for passengers. When she saw me she ducked under the rope and as we smiled and hugged, all the other people who had been standing around her lit up as well. They seemed so genuinely happy to witness our reunion. This was my first hint that the Malian people are largely a happy group. After a day in the Peace Corps house in San where PCVs stay when they come from their villages to go to the bank, post office and internet café, our driver, Bakary, drove us to her village in Kimparana. This was our chance to meet her host family, take a tour of the village and see exactly where Susie is when we picture her working, eating, sleeping and being.

Of course, all my friends wanted to know how I dealt with the bathroom and the food. Everyone knows the bathroom is a hole in the floor. Luckily, Susie has a hole of her own right there in her hut, a luxury afforded a very few. Most folks are aware that the ground millet cooked over a fire and served hot, is the ubiquitous meal. It was easy to get used to the bathroom arrangements. Susie gave me a quick lesson and I had brought enough toilet paper from home to last me a good two months. The Vanderbilt Travel Clinic where we went for pre-travel vaccinations had advised us to drink only bottled water and not to eat from communal bowls. We had plenty of snack food with us. We ate an adequate amount of the meal prepared by the host family to appear interested. The rest of our meals were taken in restaurants with menu items chosen carefully. (One of us chose a whole lot more carefully than the other.) Yep, that was the easy part. The hard part was watching hungry orphans carrying a plastic bucket around just in case someone had a few bites left from their meal that they were willing to scrape into it. One child stopped me to have me pour the last third of my soft drink into his pail instead of discarding it.

As we walked through the village everyone greeted Susie and us as if we were American dignitaries, carrying on in Bambara, their native tongue with Susie answering their formulaic banter so adeptly that the people gave me credit for knowing the language! It is the cold season in Mali and days were a heavenly 75 or so. For the citizens, however, it was freezing. Babies were dressed in snowsuits, heavy jackets and any other pieces of cold weather clothing they had.

The huts are built in groups, surrounded by a privacy wall. These concessions , as they are known, have a communal open air toilet hole. Beside it, a shallow trench is dug to carry the waste wash water a few yards away where it sits on the ground. Most people step around it but small children and animals walk right through it as if it were not there. It is here that mosquitoes and other insects and bacteria breed. When the stuff does eventually seep down into the ground, it is often just feet from the family’s well. Get the picture? Of course you do.

We visited a clinic (and I use the term loosely) which had just recently added a place for delivering babies. This was to help improve the odds of a delivering mother living to care for the baby. The doctor there showed us a room where babies are delivered. Mind you, there is no water or electricity, just a table and a poster on the wall showing 4 steps to delivering. After the birth, the baby and mother are monitored every hour for 6 hours then moved to a room where there are 2 rows of beds. (Think summer camp.) Obviously this is a vast improvement over delivering at home and taking a big chance on bleeding to death, but it looked pretty grim to me.

To cut to the chase, Susie and I discussed the villagers’ life, good attitude and marveled at it in the face of appalling living conditions. Her remarks during that walk struck me; Susie said she didn’t want to necessarily change the people’s way of life. She just wants to help them be able to drink decent water so they can live long enough to get some amount of education and plot their own course. That’s why she is currently fundraising to conduct a clean water project in her remaining months. I thought that was pretty cool.

I haven’t mentioned it much (if at all) on these pages, but I’m working on a project in village. I may be a Small Business Development Volunteer, but, as many of the PCVs in my sector have discovered with me, there often seem to be more pressing needs in the community than teaching every Traore, Keita, or Coulibaly basic accounting. For example, in my town (and virtually every other in Mali) the already dirty (you know, because they’re made of dirt) streets are further sullied by the presence of runoff water from family latrines. My project will address this sanitation problem in the homes of 300 families in my town. If you’ve heard enough and are ready to lend your support, you can go to this website and make a generous monetary gift by debit or credit card. If you are not yet convinced, read on for a more detailed explanation of the dire need for a solution to the dirty water problem. But be warned: it’s not exactly something I’d discuss with Grandmama.

This runoff in the streets is mostly “gray water” leftover from washing dishes and clothes, or people’s bucket baths. However, it is also made up of water used to “clean oneself up” after going to the bathroom or in the event of a missed target (those nyegen holes can be pretty small). You see, Malians do not use toilet paper. At least, the ones without running water don’t. And even some Malians fortunate enough to have a Western toilet still use the rural method anyway. Instead of paper, which is expensive and available only in cities, Malians take what looks like a large plastic tea kettle to the bathroom with them. It’s called a selidaga (pictured above). And it is omnipresent. You would think that a vessel for water used to clear away human waste would stay in the nyegen for that purpose and that purpose alone. But you would be wrong. The selidaga is used for washing hands, as well as feet and face, before each of the day’s five prayers. As it is also used to clean the mouth before prayer, you will often see a person come right out of the bathroom and take a swig directly from the selidaga. If you don’t believe me, ask Julia Dyer. She saw it with her own eyes. But I digress.

Gray and selidaga water from the bathroom has to go somewhere. The current system of nyegen drainage is just a hole at the bottom of the wall, leading into the street. Because if you can’t SEE the dirty water, it must just disappear, right? Out of sight, out of mind. But as you can see from the photos above and below, latrine runoff does not just disappear. I shouldn't have to say that the current situation is disgusting - both visually and olfactorily. That much is evident. What you at home may not think of, though, is that since this dirty water runs every day, absorption becomes difficult. Unable to soak back into the ground, the water becomes stagnant. And open stagnant water is the breeding ground of choice for mosquitoes carrying malaria. According the World Health Organization malaria kills an African child every 30 seconds.

My project aims to build "soak pits" outside the latrines of 300 families in my town to keep dirty runoff water out of the streets. I need your help to raise the funds necessary for the construction materials. Tell your mother. Tell your friends. Especially tell the mother of your rich friends. Spread the word to anyone you think would like to help bring improved sanitation to a West African village. Not only will it make our Malian neighborhood a cleaner and more pleasant place to live, it will make it safer by cutting the mosquito population. Since children seldom sleep under mosquito nets (which they ALL should!), reducing the number of mosquitoes is the next best method for preventing transmission and preventing the deaths of children whose families are too poor to buy medicine. Unfortunately, the San region PCVs can attest to the urgency of this need after a Volunteer's 3 year old host sister died before her father agreed to take her to the doctor. Soak pits can help. Fewer mosquitoes mean less malaria. And less malaria means fewer lives lost. Click here: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=688-293 or go to www.peacecorps.gov, click Donate Now, and click Donate to Volunteer Projects to see my project (I'm the only Dyer!) and hundreds of others from around the world. Aw ni ce. Aw ni baaraji.

I'm back in Bamako after a fun and eventful (mostly in a good way) African adventure with none other than Mr. and Mrs. Mom and Dad Dyer. The flew into la capitale the evening of January 15th for two weeks of African-style fun... you know, getting hot and dusty while being yelled at. We were constantly on the move in order to see as much of Mali as we could. It was a hectic eight days, but we got to experience quite a lot: spending the night in my site and being mauled by dirty children, surviving the swarming-with-mendicants riverfront in Mopti, full day hike in Dogon Country complete with cliff dwellings, elephant-viewing in Gossi. We even made it up to Gao, a land not often reached by tubabs – even Volunteers! Despite the car breakdowns, crowded buses, arguments in Bambara over 25 cents, dirty utensils, lack of indoor plumbing, and general harassment, both my mom and dad did beautifully in handling the typical crises faced by tourists in Mali. I’ll let these pictures do the rest of the story-telling: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2156279&l=e7ee2&id=1404038

Somehow, even before seeing the country with his own eyes, Dad knew that we would be needing a little break after our Malian adventure. So onto Morocco! We flew from Bamako to Casablance then boarded the train to Marrakech. The North African leg of our trip was decidedly more comfortable, less frantically-paced, and tastier than the West African one. Trust me - after the chaos of Mali, the legendary bustle of a Marrakchi souk is no big deal. In addition to exploring Marrakech (with AND without the help of GPS), we got to spend a day in the High Atlas Mountains admiring Moroccan highway engineering, snow, and baby goats. Again, in lieu of stories, take a look at these: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2156362&l=3d823&id=1404038

The entire trip was the classic definition of an adventure: something you’re glad you did, but only after it’s over. To hear more, stay tuned for the ponderings of guest blogger Julia B. Dyer! Until then, TAS is OUT.

I know, it's been too long. But I have had a lot going on over the last few months (including Thanksgiving in Sikasso, Christmas in Bamako with a real American Xmas dinner!, New Year's in Paris, and a project application in the works) and little time for blog posting and email writing. (However, I did somehow find the time for Facebook posting and email reading...) It is 7:37 AM Bamako time as I write this, and my parents are hopefully asleep under their mosquito net in the hotel down the street (aka dirt road). That or they're lying awake under their mosquito net wondering, "What in the world have I gotten myself into?" For they are here in Mali - that filthy, bustling place I have called my home for the last 18 months. We have a jam-packed 8 days in country followed by a 5 day rest in Morocco. Dad has already gotten the camera out, so I'm sure the trip will be well-documented for your viewing pleasure. Wish us luck. We'll need it.

I just got back from the land of the midnight sun. I made the very long, very hot 13 hour bus ride to the northern city of Gao with two other girls from the San region. I can safely say it was my favorite excursion within Mali. Gao is so different from the rest of the country. More sand, less trees, more rock formations, more camels. And you get to wear a turban! In most of Mali you feel like you're in the Sahel, that band of semi-arid land that borders the Sahara. But in Gao, you truly get the impression you're on the edge of the desert. The highlight of the trip for me was the "Rose Dune", so named because it looks pink at sunset. I thought dunes like that only existed in Star Wars and Spaceballs (We ain't found $%*^!), but there it is, pictured above: a real, sure 'nuff mountain made of sand. We were able to spend about an hour and a half playing in said sand before impending darkness required us to scramble back to our boat and make it across the Niger before nightfall. On the way back home, I declared it to have been the coolest thing I've ever seen. And I've seen some cool things in my day.

The other highlight of the Gao trip was, of course, Election Night. 20 of us gathered at a bar/brothel owned by a Nigerian some Gao PCVs had made friends with. This was the only place we could find with 1) a television, 2) a television with CNN, and 3) a television with CNN in a place that serves beer. We spent the day napping and caffeinating to prepare for the inevitable all-nighter ahead of us. Some of us started to fade around 2 or 3 AM, but the announcements on Pennsylvania and Ohio naturally energized the PC crowd. By around 5 AM it was speech time, and we all summoned the energy to listen attentively to Senator McCain and sob like little girls for President-Elect Obama. I swanee, it was worse than Jesse Jackson and Oprah combined. Guys included. The rest of the day was spent receiving various displays of congratulations from elated Malians, ecstatic that "un noir" will be leader of the free world. No matter for whom you voted, I hope we can all agree that it was a day to be proud of our country and the democratic process. Now can we please cut it out with the "YES WE CAN"? It's driving me crazy...

We can cha yee yaaaange the world! Rearra yee yaaaaange the world!

It's dying to get better...

It’s not my birthday, but tomorrow is. My “AQC”, we’re calling it. Almost Quarter Century. I’m approaching musokoroba (literally “woman old very much”) territory. At this point in time, the Breakfast Club stage has also bypassed the one year mark at site. In honor of this occasion, I took some quiet time to reflect upon my service, “Africa”, the nature of change, etc. I soon bored myself. Then I came up with this list:

After one year at site, I still… Don’t eat mayonnaise sandwiches, a staple in the Malian PCV travel diet. I just can’t do it. Spend WAY too much money on telephone credit, the internet café, and the post office. I miss you guys! Wash my hands with soap before eating, unlike SOME people *cough* Amy aka Aminata Haidira *cough*. LOVE baby chicks. Baby goats. Baby donkeys. Baby anything, really. Don’t eat those brown, dried, all curled up bottom-feeder fish. I’d rather be protein deficient. Forget to call my Malian family when out of town (a bad habit, some will remember, got me into trouble in high school…) and bring back “city” gifts for them. Terribly culturally inappropriate. Flinch a little at rocks, hair, bones, skin, bugs, worms, and/or sand in my food. I mean I’ll still eat it but, blech. Come on, guys! I personally volunteer for rice-checking duty next meal. Have to laugh at the ridiculous stickers and t-shirts I see on cars and people. This morning’s example from transport: A photo of Osama bin Laden framed by the words “NEVER DIE” superimposed over an image of what I truly believe was a shot of Chuck Norris from that cinematic classic, Delta Force. I mean, I couldn’t make this stuff up. Kind of enjoy making African babies cry in sheer terror. Simply at the site of my face. From a distance. It doesn’t get old. HATE doing laundry. It’s torturous. Use toilet paper. I no longer… Respond to children in my village who yell “tubabu” at me. You don’t know my name by now? Well, go ask somebody. You don’t get the Queen of England wave. Wave more than twice at any one child, no matter how many times or for how long he may scream my name. You MIGHT get three if I’m in a good mood. Which is rare. Eat in restaurants at every opportunity. $8 pizza or 10 cent plate of beans? I’d rather eat the beans and spend the difference at the cyber café. Take every baby that is handed to me. I’ll only hold your baby if I know you or if it is an especially cute baby, for a couple of reasons: 1) Malian babies will ALWAYS go to the bathroom on you. 2) Ever since fellow PCV Brooke aka Fakuru Kamisoko (kami sogo!) got stuck alone with a Malian newborn on the Kayes platform as his train pulled away, I don’t want to take any chances.

Yaba Daba Doo!

I came to the recent realization that rainy season is more than half over and I've yet to post an agriculture-related video. So here you are. I don't know about you, but I get exhausted just watching this video for 54 seconds. And those kids are out there all day. Most of the clearing, planting, weeding, and general field-tending in my area is done by guys with hand tools. No horse. No donkey. No plow. Just the daba. Dabas (the short-handled hoe seen here) are as ubiquitous among the Malian male 8-40 segment as knock-off designer purses are among the American female 12-30 segment. Girl, you know eeeeevverybody got one. Now that it's Ramadan, people aren't working so hard. That is both because no one has the energy (you know, due to lack of eating) and most of the hard work (planting) has been finished for a while. Now we wait for harvest time. We've had good rain and the millet's looking pretty tall, so I am anticipating a bountiful yield. You know, because I'm an expert in the field...

Aw ni ce. I just got some fun (and belated) news. Apparently, there was a recent (bloodless) coup d'etat in neighboring Mauritania. According to Peace Corps Mali's Country Director, "As coups go, it was pretty quick, neat and clean. " Lol. You know, as coups go... Actually, I think I'll let him fill you in on the rest of the details:

Dear Volunteers,

As you may have heard by now, yesterday morning at 4:00 a.m. there was a coup d'etat in Mauritania. As coups go, it was pretty quick, neat and clean. The national radio and television stations were taken over, as was the airport and presidential palace. The president was arrested and replaced by an army general. From all accounts, it all happened without a shot fired. Supposedly the military junta that seized power will be organizing democratic elections in the near future. Needless to say, hold off for the time being on that dream vacation you were planning to Mauritania. Below you can see a summary of where things are at vis-a-vis PC/Mauritania.

Hope you're all doing well, and hey, we could be in Mauritania...

Peace Corps:

-Standfast has been lifted and Volunteers are returning to their villages & sites.

-PCV travel to Nouakchott is restricted without advance approval from PC/Mauritania.

-Volunteer mood is expressed as relief that the coup was calmly executed without incidents of violence.

-Previously scheduled Mid Service IST has been cancelled -A few COSing Volunteers may be able to leave today.

-Volunteers encouraged to contact their families to let them know they are safe -All staff on hand.

-CD returning as scheduled on Friday (tomorrow).

Country:

-Transfer of power seems to be complete and there is some public support for the military junta. -Airport is now open (was closed yesterday), and the borders are open, all is calm and business as usual.

-The American Ambassador in Mauritania expressed that Mauritania may receive less foreign assistance and lose international prestige, but that there are no safety and security concerns at this time. There are scheduled political demonstrations for both sides (supporting the new and old presidents). These demonstrations are expected to be orderly.

I'm sure the new Malian trainees are glad the situation in Mauritania is stable. The last time there was trouble in the region, Mali's training center (Tubaniso, for those of you in the know) became the home for ALL of Guinea-Conakry's volunteers for over three months. And there ain't no way our new kids are sleeping two to a bed and sharing their nyegens for those jokesters in Mauritania. They're mean AND they stink at softball. Take THAT, Nouakchott!

Sanji na na! Sanji na na! The rains have come. Merciful Allah has granted us welcome reprieve from the oppressive heat of hot season. My mom asked me once a few months back if there was grass anywhere in Mali. And I said no. But that's not true. After the very first rain, the land just EXPLODED into greenness. It's like there was this great verdant mystery locked underground waiting for water. I don't think I ever doubted the fecundity of the Malian soil. After all, over 80% of people here make their living in agriculture. I guess I just forgot that this place could resemble anything other than a big pile of reddish dirt.

The joys of rainy season are chiefly the diminution of the temperature and thusly the ability to sleep inside (which is convenient, considering it's not too fun to sleep in the rain) as well as the extra downtime. Malians generally don't leave their homes if it's raining. Not for meetings. Not for church. Not for work. Not even for play. You can't really blame them considering the state of the dirt roads during the inevitable flash floods that occur every time it rains. The cons of rainy season include the aforementioned sorry state of roads, the "stuff" that gets washed out into the street, being forced to walk through this "stuff", the deafening roar of rain on my tin roof, and the occasional face full of mud from my bedroom ceiling (conveniently located on the dirt roof side of my house). However, the fact that it didn't get above 86 all day last week is worth all the unpleasantries.

If it's anything like last year, it will rain almost every day in August and the millet harvest will be bountiful. N'shallah. In other news, we're all pretty weirded out that we can say things like, "If it's anything like last year..." because we can't believe it's already been that long. In addition to disbelief, most of us are also suffering from the Peace Corps one-year slump of legend. Apparently, the one year mark is a danger zone for quitting due to a general feeling of "Holy cow, I have to do this ALL OVER AGAIN??" and the lack of productivity in general during rainy season. We're hoping the arrival of the new kids (who hopped off that Air France plane bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on July 10th) will inject some much-needed energy into our lives. On verra la vie en vert.

It's mid-service medical exam time! I'm in Bamako fulfilling my obligation to subject myself to being pricked, poked, and prodded in the name of PCV health. On the bright side, I get to stay in the Peace Corps med unit for free (no hotel voucher needed!) and take a break from site. Even though I just did that in Ameriki. Anyway, after an 8 AM appointment with the most decidedly not gentle Lebanese dentist, my PCV pal and I walked to the bloodwork lab across the neighborhood, ate some lunch, and finished the day with full physicals from the Peace Corps Medical Officer. On the bright side, we were later invited to dinner at a new friend's house. A lovely South African gentleman (last name DeBeer - he's in mining) cooked up some pot roast and potatoes which we ate with some awesome spicy peach and apricot chutney. Delish. Now it's time to go back to site for a few days before I leave again for a 4th of July celebration in Siby. Happy birthday, America!

Well that was quick. I’m back in Mali after what the calendar says was three weeks home in the States. Thank you to all who made my visit a truly lovely one. Unfortunately, there is a long list of people I wanted to see and didn’t; I guess that’s just another good reason to go back! That and Mexican food.

In lieu of philosophical discussions on reverse culture shock and new perspectives on old familiar things, I have a fun story from my travels back to Africa. After a three hour flight from Nashville to New York and a four hour layover hanging out alone in JFK, I was a little sad to get on my nine hour New York to Casablanca flight, knowing I had another twelve hours to spend alone wandering around the airport. I slept almost the entire nine hours and landed in Casablanca sometime before noon. As I was standing up to deplane, someone tapped me on the shoulder. It turns out another Mali PCV had been in the row directly behind me the entire time, unbeknownst to either of us. Awesome, I thought, now I have a buddy with whom to wander the airport.

We stood in line to have our passports stamped and chatted about how many official vacation days we’d used up. Then a woman behind us in line said, “Excuse me, are you Peace Corps Volunteers?” We were like, “Uh yeah, how’d you know?” She said the vacation allotment discussion was a familiar one to her. She was an RPCV from Morocco on her way to Mali do some research for her graduate program. We were on the same flight to Bamako. Now I had two friends for all day airport wandering!

After a little whining about how long the day was going to be, our new Moroccan RPCV friend said, “Well, I had this idea before but didn’t want to do it alone. But now that I’ve got you guys… You wanna go to Rabat?” I hadn’t realized that the capital of Morocco was just a 45 minute train ride from the Casablanca airport. She assured us that although it had been two years since she’d been back, she knew where to get the train, where to switch lines, where to have some delicious chawarma and coffee, and how to get back to the airport in time to catch our flight to Bamako. That decision wasn’t too tough to make.

I changed some euros for dirham in the airport, explained to the customs official that we were just going to Rabat for the day (yes, I know, my flight is tonight, thank you, sir), bought a train ticket and took off down the coast (which is gorgeous). We got off at the equivalent of Union Station in downtown Rabat and took and informal walking and taxi cab tour of the city. We saw the king’s personal mosque, a union protest on the main square, the old walled city, the old Portuguese ramparts by the ocean, and took a walk through a souk (market) so lovely and colorful I didn’t want to leave. Malian markets do not hold a candle. After fresh squeezed orange juice, mint tea, and fried bread (“fat girl bread”) we got back on the train for Casa feeling like accomplished world travelers.

I was very thankful to have found new friend who, coincidently, is the girlfriend of another Moroccan RPCV whose father is a Malian PCV from my stage. From Cleveland, Tennessee. How’s THAT for a small world! I have the good feeling that this will not be the last time the worldwide Peace Corps network provides me a great opportunity. I was also very thankful to have my French without which I may have been slightly less inclined to embark on such a spontaneous jaunt with someone I’d known about 10 minutes. Schoolhouse Rocky was right: Knowledge is power! And freedom.

Summary: America is great, I was glad to be home, but go to Morocco. It’s pretty fabulous. You can skip Mali.

P.S. You know I wouldn’t leave you without some photographic evidence: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2119216&l=7bc69&id=1404038

April is the cruelest month...

...but it doesn't have anything to do with Eliot or Chaucer. It's just flippin' hot outside. Since April is the hottest month of dry season and given that the second most common question I get (behind “How are you? Sick?”) is, “So, is it really hot?”, I will attempt to answer that question.

Umm… yes.

Until about mid-March it hadn’t been too bad - hot, but not REALLY hot. Unfortunately for... everyone in Mali (minus that one guy who sells ice), dry season is in full swing. Hot dry season, I should say. Mali has two seasons: rainy and dry, with dry season being subcategorized into hot and cold. We arrived in country in July - in the middle of the rains, which provide almost daily relief from the heat. Not too bad. But besides some freak sprinkles around the first of December, it hasn’t rained since Halloween. Novemberish through Februaryish is referred to as “cold” dry season. The quotation marks are warranted. There was a list in a recent Mali Rag with the observation, "You know you're a Mali PCV when you reach for your sweatshirt if the temp drops below 80. "Cold" is anywhere between 60 and 80. Anything below that would be better described as "frigid", at least in the southeast. Believe it or not, 80 does seem pretty cool after you've been here a while. There were nights in Bamako in January that must've been in the 50s, and it was FREEZING, even to me. Now we sit around the San stage house pining for those chilly nights. I don't have an accurate source for temperatures at my site (oddly, The Weather Channel doesn't cover Kimparana and most PCVs' thermometers have gone haywire - mine often reads 118) but I can say with confidence that it is over 100 every single day. The news said yesterday it was 109 in a town near me. Some people back in Ameriki say, "Oh, that's not so bad. I live in Florida and it's been 105." Yeah, but what people in Ameriki forget is that in Ameriki you can escape the heat easily - in your air conditioned home, office, car, restaurant, bank, etc. You can get some ice cream. You can buy a cold beverage. You can plug in a fan. Malila you're lucky to have some big trees in your courtyard. It's not that experiencing 109 is unbearable. It's that experiencing 109 from 9 AM to 5 PM with no reprieve is pretty harsh. And it's hotter INSIDE than it is OUTSIDE. Apparently I'm the only one who's noticed that the houses are made of the same material as the OVENS, for the sake of Pete. It's almost impossible to sleep (who's ever thought I could say something like that?) indoors, so everyone camps outside in the courtyard every night. I'm assuming this will go on until it starts raining again and we're forced back into our mud ovens. You'd think the coming of the rains would be a sorely anticipated event. I'm not so sure. Even if it did start raining now, I’m told that the beginning of rainy season is almost worse than regular hot season. Because it’s hot AND humid. At lest that's something a Southern girl should be used to. And to conclude, I give you a photo of the lush Malian countryside during dry season:

* For Arielle.

It’s video time again! And while this particular episode may not be quite as fun as last time’s, I hope it will give you a better glimpse of what is probably the second most oft-shown West African women’s activity (after carrying water on their heads, of course).

mmm... nyo

This is Aissata, and she is susu-ing. “Ka susu” is the Bambara word for the action of pounding things (mostly millet aka nyo) with the traditional wooden mortar and pestle. And you thought there were only those little stone ones for making guacamole… Actually, susu-ing, depending on the season and family income level, can take up a large portion of a typical Malian woman’s day – sometimes more than 4 hours. You can susu a lot of different things for a lot of different reasons – corn cobs (to remove the kernels), corn kernels (to make flour), millet stalks (to remove the grains), millet grains (to make flour), sorghum, garlic, onions, tomatoes, leaves (to make powders and spices), and even manure (to make fertilizer). The possibilities are endless, really. The mortar (“kolon”, also the word for well) and pestle (“kolon kala”) come in sizes ranging from tiny tourist trinket to a bit larger than the one lying on its side on the ground to the left in the video. Farm families grow and eat A LOT of millet, mostly in a porridge form called “tô”, which is made by adding millet powder to boiling water. Therefore, susu-ing is a daily task for many Malian women. And let me tell you, it ain’t easy. About 30 seconds is enough for me to get tired. It’s not that I’m a wuss – that kolon kala is solid heavy wood. Even Malians susu in short spurts and/or take turns. If you can get a partner (as shown), you’re really in business.

The act of susu-ing is an art form. These women have been at it a while (you know… like, probably a thousand years), so one starts to get creative. There’s the one-handed susu, which leaves the other hand free to tap the edge of the kolon, leg, susu-ing arm, and/or other objects in rhythm with the pounding of the kolon kala. Susu-ing with a partner in the same kolon or in groups with many kolons can be fun for singing songs and creating a polyrhythmic drum circle-like atmosphere. Lots of women, when alone, click their tongues or make some other sort of sound in their throats to complement the pounding of the kolon kala. And then there’s everybody’s favorite: the hand clap. The hand clap is probably the most common susu fun factor, but it takes a while to master. You may have noticed that I was audibly impressed with Aissata’s hand clap. You know a really good susu clap when it is heard and not seen. As you can imagine, the double hand clap is a rarity, and I have never had the good fortune to witness the elusive triple clap myself. If I ever find someone who can do it, I’ll let you know. As with materials, the susu-ing method embellishments are infinite. Just think of it as the Malian version of whistle while you work. (Incidentally, women are not allowed to whistle in Mali. As a woman and avid whistler, this saddens me.)

P.S. The car pictured in the middle of the concession is not operable. In Mali, when your car doesn't work you just leave it in the middle of your yard. Just like Tennessee!

Courtesy of the February 2008 Mali Rag:

Development Philosophies

A villager falls into a hole he can't climb out of. Later, a missionary walks by. The villager explains his plight and the missionary throws down a Bible. "If you follow Jesus, he will show you the way."

An NGO worker walks by. The villager explains his plight and the NGO worker throws down a wad of money and walks away.

A Peace Corps Volunteer walks by. The villager explains his plight and the Peace Corps Volunteer runs off. After a while, the Volunteer returns with a bag and jumps in the hole. "Did you bring something to climb out with?" asks the villager. "No," says the PCV, "I'm coming to live with you."

For a discussion, see the entry below dated today (22 Feb):

This Op-Ed and accompanying responses were published in the New York Times last month. The article itself expresses a common frustration with Peace Corps among friends and family of Volunteers (Q: So what kind of work are you doing in your village? A: Uhhhhh, nothing right now...). I have not yet met a PCV who disagrees, at least in part, with Mr. Strauss, but I found the letters to the editor particularly representative of general PCV opinion. Food for thought.

Too Many Innocents Abroad

(http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/09/opinion/09strauss.html)

By ROBERT L. STRAUSS

January 9, 2008

Antananarivo, Madagascar

THE Peace Corps recently began a laudable initiative to increase the number of volunteers who are 50 and older. As the Peace Corps’ country director in Cameroon from 2002 until last February, I observed how many older volunteers brought something to their service that most young volunteers could not: extensive professional and life experience and the ability to mentor younger volunteers.

However, even if the Peace Corps reaches its goal of having 15 percent of its volunteers over 50, the overwhelming majority will remain recently minted college graduates. And too often these young volunteers lack the maturity and professional experience to be effective development workers in the 21st century.

This wasn’t the case in 1961 when the Peace Corps sent its first volunteers overseas. Back then, enthusiastic young Americans offered something that many newly independent nations counted in double and even single digits: college graduates. But today, those same nations have millions of well-educated citizens of their own desperately in need of work. So it’s much less clear what inexperienced Americans have to offer.

The Peace Corps has long shipped out well-meaning young people possessing little more than good intentions and a college diploma. What the agency should begin doing is recruiting only the best of recent graduates — as the top professional schools do — and only those older people whose skills and personal characteristics are a solid fit for the needs of the host country.

The Peace Corps has resisted doing this for fear that it would cause the number of volunteers to plummet. The name of the game has been getting volunteers into the field, qualified or not. In Cameroon, we had many volunteers sent to serve in the agriculture program whose only experience was puttering around in their mom and dad’s backyard during high school. I wrote to our headquarters in Washington to ask if anyone had considered how an American farmer would feel if a fresh-out-of-college Cameroonian with a liberal arts degree who had occasionally visited Grandma’s cassava plot were sent to Iowa to consult on pig-raising techniques learned in a three-month crash course. I’m pretty sure the American farmer would see it as a publicity stunt and a bunch of hooey, but I never heard back from headquarters.

For the Peace Corps, the number of volunteers has always trumped the quality of their work, perhaps because the agency fears that an objective assessment of its impact would reveal that while volunteers generate good will for the United States, they do little or nothing to actually aid development in poor countries. The agency has no comprehensive system for self-evaluation, but rather relies heavily on personal anecdote to demonstrate its worth.

Every few years, the agency polls its volunteers, but in my experience it does not systematically ask the people it is supposedly helping what they think the volunteers have achieved. This is a clear indication of how the Peace Corps neglects its customers; as long as the volunteers are enjoying themselves, it doesn’t matter whether they improve the quality of life in the host countries. Any well-run organization must know what its customers want and then deliver the goods, but this is something the Peace Corps has never learned.

This lack of organizational introspection allows the agency to continue sending, for example, unqualified volunteers to teach English when nearly every developing country could easily find high-caliber English teachers among its own population. Even after Cameroonian teachers and education officials ranked English instruction as their lowest priority (after help with computer literacy, math and science, for example), headquarters in Washington continued to send trainees with little or no classroom experience to teach English in Cameroonian schools. One volunteer told me that the only possible reason he could think of for having been selected was that he was a native English speaker.

The Peace Corps was born during the glory days of the early Kennedy administration. Since then, its leaders and many of the more than 190,000 volunteers who have served have mythologized the agency into something that can never be questioned or improved. The result is an organization that finds itself less and less able to provide what the people of developing countries need — at a time when the United States has never had a greater need for their good will.

Robert L. Strauss has been a Peace Corps volunteer, recruiter and country director. He now heads a management consulting company.

To the Editor:

In ''Too Many Innocents Abroad'' (Op-Ed, Jan. 9), Robert L. Strauss criticizes the Peace Corps, saying that often its ''young volunteers lack the maturity and professional experience to be effective development workers in the 21st century.'' The agency, he says, ''neglects its customers.'' In fact, volunteers are trained to integrate into their host communities and listen carefully. As a volunteer, I spent more than a year in direct dialogue with my Chinese counterparts before helping to set up a weekend program for children. My ''customers'' -- peasant farmers and their children -- were immensely grateful. Mr. Strauss also suggests that the Peace Corps is satisfied if ''volunteers are enjoying themselves.'' This is, quite frankly, an insult to those who work tirelessly -- at great sacrifice and, at times, with little enjoyment -- to fulfill their missions. In applying the metrics of management consulting to the Peace Corps, Mr. Strauss ignores the essence of this marvelous organization: its humanity. If he wants to deal with ''customers,'' his matrix for analysis makes sense. The Peace Corps, however, deals with people.

Michael Levy Northampton, Mass., Jan. 9, 2008

To the Editor:

I served in Cameroon as just the kind of agricultural volunteer Robert L. Strauss mentions. As a 20-year-old journalism graduate, I'd grown nary a houseplant before trying to teach farmers how to improve their crops. The audacity of my arrogance in assuming that this time abroad would do Cameroon any good was apparent on Day 1. I lasted just five months before returning home, frustrated, confused and annoyed that I had put so much thought into a system that failed both the host country and a volunteer with the best of intentions. The Peace Corps is a great program in true need of reorganization.

Kelli M. Donley Tempe, Ariz., Jan. 9, 2008

To the Editor:

My wife and I were Peace Corps volunteers in India in the 1960s. Since becoming director, I have seen volunteers in action in more than 30 countries, including Cameroon. The quality of the volunteer experience has not changed, nor has the quality of the volunteers who serve. The Peace Corps remains true to President John F. Kennedy's vision articulated in 1961.

The Peace Corps recruits the best and brightest, and only one out of every three applicants becomes a volunteer. Volunteers provide trained skills at the grass-roots level and promote a better understanding of Americans and our culture. Government officials throughout the world praise the work of volunteers, and the list of countries requesting new programs continues to grow. The agency's success is more than anecdotal. Ninety-one percent of volunteers say they feel integrated into their communities, and we have created evaluation plans to better quantify the volunteers' impact. We can all be proud of the volunteers serving today. I encourage Americans of all ages and backgrounds to consider serving.

Ronald A. Tschetter Peace Corps Director Washington, Jan. 9, 2008

To the Editor:

In 2000, when I was a 23-year-old straight out of graduate school, I had very little to offer the Senegalese village I was sent to by the Peace Corps. Sure, I was the only one in my village with a college degree, but I was in no position to tell the villagers how to run their businesses. Sure, I taught them a little about accounting and some basic math, but my real value was being one extra person to hold a shovel. The reality was that I was the one who learned the most and got the most from the experience. The Peace Corps is really more of a cultural-exchange program than an international development organization.

Benjamin Y. Clark Athens, Ga., Jan. 9, 2008

To the Editor:

Today, a friend and fellow returned Peace Corps volunteer is being buried in Orchard Park, N.Y. He was murdered while working to end the violence in Sudan. John Granville was nothing like the ill-prepared young people Robert L. Strauss describes. During his Peace Corps service in Cameroon from 1997 to 1999, he was so successful and well loved by the community that he was given an honorary title by the chief of the village. He returned to Cameroon as a Fulbright scholar to research culturally appropriate approaches to H.I.V. prevention. When I visited him that year, we took many walks through ''his'' village. It could take hours -- every few houses or so, neighbors waved us over to exchange greetings and news. He was welcomed because he understood something about living and working internationally that Mr. Strauss seems not to have grasped -- the value of human relationships and the importance of being willing to learn.

The Peace Corps is not just about what ''fresh out of college'' Americans can teach citizens of other countries. It is an opportunity for Americans to prove to the world that hubris is not the defining characteristic of our country. While Mr. Strauss worries about how America can fix other nations, former Peace Corps volunteers like me will be putting to good use the skills we learned during our service. We will be listening, learning and sharing anywhere in the world we're still welcome.

Karen Greiner Athens, Ohio, Jan. 9, 2008

To the Editor:

Maybe Robert L. Strauss should talk to the average person in the countries the Peace Corps serves. In my work outside the United States, I am always surprised when people ask me questions about things that are taken for granted by Americans. Why, I've been asked, do Americans wear shoes in their houses? What is the Dow Jones (or who is Dow Jones and why is he average)? And is root beer alcoholic? The value of the Peace Corps is that people in other countries who may never have seen a foreigner are happy for the opportunity to ask questions directly to an American.

Robert Wong Khartoum, Sudan, Jan. 9, 2008

You can try the best you can. You can try the best you can. The best you can is good enough.

Today I have a video treat for you:

Water Pull Race or Are You Stronger Than a 5th Grader? Please notice the family donkey in the upper left corner. I like that this video confirms that Malian children (just like American ones) show off sillily in front of the camera. Some things in life are universal.

Aw ni fama sa! Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I know. It's been a while. I won't list for you all of my excuses for going MIA, just these two: it is/was quite difficult for me to get to Internet access, and when I get/got there my computer dies/died. My trusty laptop has met its not-that-unexpected demise. Fortunately for you, that does not necessarily mean even less Internet time for me. Praise be to Allah, San (my banking town) now has a cyber cafe within walking distance of the Peace Corps stage house. I have made it my personal mission to make sure it stays in business. I have also made a goal (I refuse to call it a new year's resolution) to post more often here and make my posts more educational and less list-of-things-I-did-today. I'm afraid I'm out of time today to update you on my Ramadan, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Tabaski, Christmas, and New Year's activities, but hopefully the following photos will be a sufficient visual substitute.

http://georgetown.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2100143&l=b8ffa&id=1404038

http://georgetown.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2100148&l=dcc22&id=1404038

http://georgetown.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2100151&l=93c27&id=1404038

http://georgetown.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2100157&l=98527&id=1404038

Don't feel bad, you don't have to look at them all. But I know some of you out there are sorely in need of new procrastination material.

Thank you to all those who sent Christmas greetings and/or PRESENTS. Just FYI, there is an international flat rate box available through the US Postal System. It's $37 for up to 20 lbs. Not a subtle hint, just a friendly tip from a cheapskate. I hope you all have a productive, happy, and blessed 2008. I'll let you know how mine turns out. Aw sambe sambe, TAS.

Greetings from Segou (the city, capital of Segou the region). As I write this TAS update, I am enjoying a lovely cup of REAL (not instant) coffee at the tranquil Hotel le Djoliba just steps away from the River Niger. Though unreliable, the Djoliba has free wireless internet for guests with laptops. I am on that of a friend since my own has been long out of commission. One other PCV and I are here together for the weekend to do a little “toubab store” shopping, eat at a restaurant (I had rabbit for dinner last night!), and, of course, spend way too much time on the internet. We were to be three PCVs in Segou, but our third is being held captive in the medical office in Bamako for three rounds of rabies shots after being bitten by a cat. Sad.

Also sad is the news that The Breakfast Club stage has had to say goodbye to four more PCVs for various reasons, both voluntary and involuntary. Special notes to Romeo and Medium Mike, respectively: I will always think of you when I hear the word “Giardia” and whenever I’m forced to sit through Alkalifa’s safety and security sessions. Knife to the eye! You will be missed, my friends.

There is some good news on the horizon: I have made some progress on procuring Internet service in San (my banking town). I don’t want to count my chickens before they hatch*, but I’m keeping hope alive. Either way, I will be back in Segou for the Thanksgiving holiday in a few weeks. I’ll catch you cool kids again then. TAS out.

* Heck, I don’t want to count my chickens AFTER they hatch. We had 11 new baby chicks in our courtyard two weeks ago (pictured above), and they have been the highlight of my days in Kimparana. Now there are 9. They continue to entertain me, but it’s sad to know that 2 are missing indefinitely.

Eureka! I have found it. It being the Internet, and it's in Koutiala. My town (Kimparana) is on a paved road between two larger towns: my banking town (San) and Koutiala. It took me approximately an hour and a half to get here via bachee (aka "green box of death"). It was a long hour and a half, but there were a four goats and three children in the van for entertainment. I am still making it my goal to find a place in San (which is closer than Koutiala and has my bank, mail, and stage house) that has Internet, but it's nice to know that Kla is here if I need it.

I'm doing well, thanks for asking. I just spent two solid weeks at site without non-Malian contact, and it was fine. I even made it without my computer (which is broken) and iPod (which is dead). That may sound like a wimpy accomplishment, but... two weeks can seem like a loooong time. Baby steps, baby steps. In the interest of full disclosure, the cell tower finally went up in Kimparana, and I now have phone service. I have already made multiple plans, goals, and budgets regarding my phone usage and have already broken all of them. Maybe the novelty will wear off soon, hopefully before I go completely broke buying phone credit.

I've made some Malian friends, which is helpful when you're stuck in the same place for two weeks straight. I've been spending some time at the mayor's office getting to know the people there and the (lack of) work they're doing. I also had a nice birthday. Thank you to all those who expressed birthday greetings via email, Facebook, and snail mail. My actual birthday was on a Sunday, but I spent Monday night in San with some Segou and Sikasso region PCVs. Good times. After over one month without Internet, you can imagine I have quite a bit of email to attend to, so I'm going to sign off. Stay tuned in the coming week for pictures on Facebook and my running list of English t-shirt slogans I've seen. Hilarious.

Ala ka tile here caya! (May God increase the happiness of your day.)

*I miss OK Computer. Radiohead would not go over well here.

Well now that we all have John Michael Montgomery/Boyz II Men stuck in our heads...

I literally have 14 minutes to write a final post before leaving Internet for... a long time. So here goes:

We are now PCVs! 77 of us took our oaths at the U.S. Embassy in Bamako on the 21st. The embassy is beautiful, and it has air conditioning. AMAZING. I got a HUGE kick out of swearing to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies. I also refrained from acting like a 4th grader and literally saying, "I, state your name, do solemnly swear..." If you're not proud of me for making it through stage, be proud of me for that.

We spent the rest of the day having a delicious picnic at Tubaniso and partying it up in Bamako at the "Pirate's Club". Georgetown kids, you would have loved this place. The stage before us had the task of naming our group. Each stage develops a kind of personality. The stage before is the "Belushi Stage". I don't think that one needs a lot of explanation. The Belushis, after much deliberation, have decided to call us "The Breakfast Club" due to our diverse array of personalities. Obviously, I'm Molly Ringwald.

September 22nd is Malian Independence Day. I celebrated with some friends with sleeping in, swimming in a pool, eating Chinese for lunch, and ordering two servings of ice cream. You can see a picture of my special Malian Independence Day outfit in the photo album whose link appears at the end of this post.

I am now in a hotel in the city of Segou, about to head out to my banking town. I'll spend a few days there before finally making it to my permanent site (Kimparana). At site, we have 3 months of just chilling out and getting to know our villages/towns/cities. I will love not having to work and slowing down the pace after a hectic 2 months of training.

As you probably already know, I will be gone from the Internet for QUITE a while, so I thought I would take this opportunity to make a shameless appeal for mail. You can also call my cell phone and leave me voicemails, but I can only check my phone when in my banking town. My address is:

Susan Dyer, PCV

Corps de la Paix

BP 75

San, Mali

West Africa

Thank you to all of those who have already written me letters (and there are a lot of you!). Replies have been written as well but there are no stamps around this place. It's ridiculous. Hopefully now that I will be closer to a post office I can reply to written correspondence with a bit more alacrity. Here's the link for the last batch of pictures for a while: http://georgetown.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2083305&l=dd02a&id=1404038. As always, I hope you enjoy them. Wish me luck!

TAS out.

I'm baaack. I'm sorry for the recent dearth* of posts, but, as you might imagine, reliable Internet is hard to come by in this neck of the woods. Here's a quick update on some pressing issues:

I was fairly surprised I didn't hear more about the recent unpleasantness up north from you people back home. In case you haven't heard, a U.S. military plane was fired upon in northeast Mali last Tuesday. You can read the full story here: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/09/13/AR2007091300500.html Needless to say, Peace Corps (and the rest of Mali, frankly) is not really affected by Tuareg rebel activity. PCVs do not serve in the two northernmost regions of Mali for safety reasons. To quote Han Solo, "Uh, we had a slight weapons malfunction, but uh... everything's perfectly all right now. We're fine. We're all fine... here... now, thank you. How are you?"Homestay and training (known in PC lingo as PST or stage) has now come to a close. We spent the last few days packing our lives into rolling duffel bags and trunks to be delivered throughout the country to our respective sites. Hard to believe that we will soon be spending two years in the same place after living out of a suitcase for two months. We are all extremely excited and extremely ready to actually get out on our own and start working on what we came here to do (which is surprisingly different for each person).We swear in as bona fide Peace Corps Volunteers on Friday the 21st. Dressed in our Malian finest, almost 80 of us will shed that pesky "T" in our titles for the much more elegant, prestigious, and gratifying "V". After swearing in at the U.S. Embassy, we get to have a little party at the Ambassador's residence followed by a day of fun at Tubaniso and a night of... even more celebration in Bamako. However, I have determined that the best part about swearing in is the oath itself which requires a pledge to defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies (foreign or domestic). As I am quite a fan of the Constitution, I'm pretty excited about that part. I think I might even pull a Sen. Robert C. Byrd and take my little pocket Constitution with me to the ceremony. Yes, I brought a pocket Constitution with me to Mali. I feel obligated to inform you, dear reader, that on Sunday the 23rd I will be leaving for my site in Segou region. I have been told that my village is four hours by bus from the nearest available Internet service. This is just a warning to prepare everyone for the lack of blog posts, emails, and Facebook updates that will certainly result from my geographical predicament. I will say to you what we say to each other (in French of course): courage. I hope to post a few more times before leaving on Sunday to include some pictures from swear-in and give one little last goodbye. In the meantime, I've posted an album on Facebook of some random recent goings-on: http://georgetown.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2082828&l=53589&id=1404038 Enjoy.

* That was for you, Berkeley. Wherever you may be. It's Sleepytime time.

I'm back from site visit! I had a fantastic trip down south and can't wait to go back. I don't have a whole lot of time to post right now, but here are some highlights:

1) Public transport. This can get ugly. I had a 6-7 hour bus ride (the buses are really old and are equipped with air conditioning which is naturally too expensive to run - also the windows don't open) to San.

2) San. My banking town. This is where I will go to run errands like visiting the post office, bank, and market. Peace Corps has what is called a "stage" house there (that's the French stage, not the English stage). Forget Disneyland, people. This is the happiest place on Earth. It's got 2 bathrooms, and the house got a water heater the day we arrived. San has treated water, so you can drink it right out of the faucet! Heaven. The PCVs there gave us a very warm welcome which involved Mexican food and Jello cheesecake from a box. San is one of only 3 towns in all of Mali where Peace Corps has a stage house, so I LUCKED OUT. I must be livin' right.

3) Kimparana. This is where I'll be spending the next 2 years of my life. I have a great little apartment-type thing in a compound with two other Malian families. We share a little courtyard, but I have my own living room, bedroom, and storage room. No electricty yet, but it's coming soon! Same on the cell phone (luckily my network has coverage in San). Kimparana is a 45 minute drive from my banking town, which is not bad at all. My host family is great, and I got a great chance to meet the people with whom I'll be working and catch up on some needed rest. I'll have to include details of my future work life in another post.

So, in conclusion, site visit was a complete success for TAS. My friends up north didn't have such an easy time. Some got sick, some stranded on the side of the road with police (gotta watch out for those bandits), some forced into boats due to flooding. Those kids are real troopers. I would be remiss in my reporting duties if I did not mention my colleague Big Fat Tony. Big Fat Tony is a member of the Posh Corps. He gets a 2 bedroom, 2 full bathroom, electric ceiling fan-equipped apartment all to himself. Above a restaurant. Down the street from an Internet cafe. I have to ride 3 hours on an awful bus to get to Internet. Then again, I don't have to deal with roaming bandits. The grass is greener...

We live in a beautiful world. Yeah, we do. Yeah, we do.

More sad news: While on site visit, a very near and dear PCT slipped and broke his ankle. Fortunately, he didn't cry! Unfortunately, he requires surgery and has (wisely) opted to fly back home to the States for his operation and 2 months of rehab. We have had to say goodbye to 5 other colleagues so far (for various reasons), but we were not expecting a medevac so early in our service. Heck, we haven't even gotten out of training yet. Way to go, Slugger. I hope you read this.

RIP Seydou Diarra

You will be sorely missed. Please come back to us in Segou soon. The chat on your toit wants you to retourner.

I promised I would post something more positive, so here are 5 happy things:

1) It's not bed bugs that are eating my feet, it's sand fleas! Sand fleas I can handle. Bed bugs are gross. Glad I got that cleared up.

2) A fellow PCT has a new baby brother in village. Especially in light of my previous post, this is happy news indeed for the Moribabougou crew. Unfortunately, we will have to miss his naming ceremony - which always takes place one week after the birth. Maybe we can pick him up a present during our site visits (see number 4).

3) I went to Bamako yesterday, and it turns out that there is stuff there! We took a bus full of tubabs to visit the main Peace Corps office (bureau) in the city and stopped at a nearby popular hotel. It had a restaurant and a bar and a BATHROOM and everything. It was the first toilet we'd seen in a month, so you can imagine our excitement. (Sorry, Mom, had to say it. I was not about to use the word "commode" or "thing you'd expect".) Needless to say... we're going back... VERY soon.

4) Site visit! Tomorrow morning (for me, 5:30 AM) we embark upon our respective journeys to our permanent sites for a little visit. I will be heading south and east toward Burkina Faso into the Segou region of Mali. I'll get a chance to scope out my new house (which I hear has running water! but no electricity...), open a bank account, get a permanent address, and see what's up with the cell phone situation. My banking town (PCVs who live in villages too small to have things like banks and post offices bike or take public transport to their "banking towns" to run errands and buy things) is called San and has hotels and restaurants. Based on my Bamako hotel experience, I have high hopes for many fun trips into San for some Westernization. I have a relatively short trip (about 6 hours). Some PCTs heading up North to the Gao region have two days of travel ahead of them. And THAT'S if the road didn't wash out during the storm last night...

5) I share a birthday with the United States Peace Corps. October 14th. I think that's pretty cool.

Catch you crazy kids when I make my triumphant return to Tubaniso on the 27th. TAS out.

Well, I knew it would have to come eventually, so here it is: the depressing entry.

We've had a bit of sad news in my village. A fellow PCT's baby host sister died the morning of the day we returned to Tubaniso. We're not sure why (no one speaks enough Bambara), but it was clear to anyone who saw her before she died that she was very sick with something. When we got back to Tubaniso we learned that the exact same thing had happened to a PCT in the south. I'm not sure how old that host sibling was. It's all very sad and all very common. Mars ain't the kinda place to raise your kids, indeed...

Here, just about everyone has malaria in some stage. That sounds worse than it is. The malaria parasite incubates in the liver until it can make its way into your blood stream. People show the classic symptoms (flu-like stuff, fever, chills, cold sweats, delirium) only when the parasite causes red blood cells to burst. Apparently, you can get along just fine as long as the thing doesn't make it out of your liver. Be that as it may, I can tell you this much: I will not look at a mosquito the same way again. I was recently a little ill, which my host mother naturally attributed to le palu. I guess she figured if everyone here had it, I must too! I assured her that it was not, in fact, malaria that I had but just a little too much dibi sogo - smoked goat meat. Maybe I won't have to eat dibi sogo again for a while. Here's hoping!

Don't worry, I'll post something more pleasant tomorrow.

N togo Haby. N jamu Diawara. I ni wula. After 4 days at the Peace Corps training site outside Bamako (Tubaniso), all the PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees (we're not Volunteers until official swear-in on September 21st)) have been dispersed through various villages and towns to live with Malian host families, take language and culture classes, and actually see Mali. As many of you have seen in the pictures from the previous post, Tubaniso is a lot like summer camp and not anything at all like the surrounding area. It has its pros and cons. Pro: Everyone speaks English and you can take a shower! Con: The wireless Internet and ample supply of silverware spoil us really quick! Tubaniso has become a PCT haven and has taken a spot in our dreams right next to cheeseburgers, air conditioning, and various friends and family members.

I live in a village of about 6,000 people north of Bamako. My host family could NOT be better. Whereas most Malian families are quite large (for example, another PCT has 9 brothers and 3 sisters), I live with just my host mother and sister. The other children are either married or have moved out of the house. They read, write, and speak French (a MAJOR plus since I am not currently taking Bambara classes). My host mother (whose father was a fonctionnaire for the Malian government) has done a lot of travelling, most notably to France, so she has been quite understanding and sympathetic during my various sicknesses and periods of exhaustion. My host family named me after my host grandmother - Haby (pronounced ah-bee).

We have class every day (EVERY day) at 8 AM down by the Niger river (see picture at the top of this page). My mother or sister always manages to wake me up before my alarm goes off at 7. In Mali, greetings are of the utmost importance and follow fairly strict rules and patterns. For example, you do not say "good morning" to anyone until washing your face. So, at 7 AM I get up and go to the well to pull water for my twice-daily bucket bath. The nice thing about the well is that the water is cool when it's hot outside, but warm when it's cold. Very niiiice. I usually have a little piece of plain bread with tea or instant coffee (prepared over a propane burner) in the morning before heading off to class. Walking anywhere in Mali takes twice as long as it would anywhere else (at least if you're a tubab - a white person) because EVERYONE stops to greet you. Everyone's always up for a chat. There are also various sheep, goats, chickens, horses, and donkeys along the way. Which is fun.

I'm currently working on improving my French instead of learning Bambara because I will be working in business. The only problem with that is, no one likes to speak French. The Peace Corps mantra is integration, integration, integration; however, (poorly) speaking the red-headed stepchild of local languages puts a damper on things. At my permanent site I may receive private Bambara tutoring sessions. We'll see.

Most everyone is over various illnesses and slowly growing accustomed to eating bread ALL day and bleaching their drinking water. I am very fortunate to be with a fantastic group of PCTs in my village. We're having fun and keeping each other sane.

My Internet cafe time is up, so further details will have to wait. For a better look at village life, here are some pics: http://georgetown.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2075979&l=23a76&id=1404038. Enjoy! TAS out.

It’s hard to believe, but I’m finally here: on Mars. That’s what some friends from Georgetown call Africa – so far away, so foreign, so out there. I left McMinnville for Mali via Philadelphia and Paris on July 17th, 2007, for 27 months of Peace Corps training and service in West Africa. For the next two years, I will be a small enterprise development management advisor in a town or city somewhere in southern Mali (exact location TBA). It is my hope that this blog will a) keep you updated on my whereabouts, activities, and general well-being, b) answer specific questions posted by you, and c) give me a place to tell the many stories I have already started to accumulate.

First, I would like to say a few words of explanation about Peace Corps in general and Mali specifically. The U.S. Peace Corps is a federal government agency started in 1961, and has served 138 countries. The three main goals of Peace Corps are:

To help the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women.

To promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of peoples served.

To promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.

That’s where you come in! I know there’s a lot of work to be done on the third goal just by the questions I’ve already gotten about “Africa” (which, by the way, is quite a large continent with over 50 different countries), “Muslims” (who number over a billion globally), etc. Just as a general reminder and disclaimer: I can speak only about my personal experiences within Mali and cannot answer questions about stupid and/or fictional things like Blood Diamond, the conflict in Sudan, or zebras. There are no zebras in Mali.

Mali is a French-speaking country in West Africa and is, depending on when/where you look, the 3rd or 4th poorest state in the world. Statistics vary from source to source and year to year. Let’s just say there’s general room for improvement. Economically, most Malians (around 80%) are involved in agriculture with many simply farming at the subsistence level. Most people are illiterate and speak a local language called Bambara. There are over 10 major ethnic groups represented in Mali, many with their own languages and/or dialects of Bambara (also known in some places as Bamana or Bamanakan). On the bright side, Mali is a major center for West African music and dance and is home to the oft-mentioned ancient city of Timbuktu (which, as a sidenote, I am not allowed to visit due to State Department restrictions – fantastic). I refuse to refer people to Wikipedia, but you can read up on Peace Corps in Mali here: http://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=learn.wherepc.africa.mali.

Now the fun stuff! As it takes a VERY long time to upload photos here, I will periodically post links to my Facebook photo albums. You can check out the first one here: http://georgetown.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2073716&l=8dccc&id=1404038. This album details our arrival in Bamako and a tour of the Peace Corps training center, Tubaniso. It also contains photos of the now-famous Tubaniso tortoise seen above. More posts to follow about life in Mali and all the food, bathroom, disease, and wild insect and animal questions I’ve already heard from many of you. TAS out.

I'm new to this. Bear with me for a sec.