Ask anyone around and they'll tell you to go to the Amalfi coast, that it is one of the most gorgeous places in Southern Italy. So I decided to take a day trip from Salerno to the town of Amalfi. While I know now that I should have gone to another town, like Sorento, the drive was still amazing as we wound along a small mountain road overlooking the sea and passing through these adorable little villages. So while I found Amalfi to be an overpriced tourist trap (6 euro for a pastry and coffee) town the scenery was amazing.

Round point along the coast of Amalfi.

Ceramic mosaic, Amalfi is known for their ceramics. (Does it say something about my cynacism that when looking at some pieces in a souvenir shop I actually turned them over to see if they said- Made in China.)

Miniture village scene along the road. Apparently it was very popular in the South to make minitures of town life to complement nativity scenes.

A good way to remove trash.

Still not sure about this fountain.

Amazing gold-leaf covered church.

Views along the coast.

Upon leaving San Felice I had Anna drop me off in the nearby seaside town of Agropoli. I could tell she was a little worried since I didn't seem to know where I was going or staying. I was worried too (especially since the one hostel in the entire town was closed for the season) but I wasn't going to let her know that. Instead I had her drop me off along the seaside where I knew from my brief phone book research that there were a number of B&B's and small hotels. I quickly discovered that Agropoli was down for the tourist season and things would be too expensive for me but the nice man at the hotel gave me a glass of wine and let me use the internet so I could take an hour and get myself sorted out. Then I hid my stuff in the bar and went out to explore the town before taking a bus north to Salerno. Here's what I found:

The beachfront with a view of the old town and castle on the hill.

A memorial to those who served in the war in Iraq.

A very long and steep street leading to the old town.

Old church

The locks on the railing is something Italian kids got from a movie. So now young couples write their names on a lock and place it on a bridge railing, or in this case on the railing of the overlook.

A better shot of the old town over the water.

It's Sunday. I've spent a full week on the farm and I could use a break. It's been decided I need to visit Paestum, ruins of an ancient Greek city that are only about 10k away. My hosts have a soft spot for this little touristy town, there is a giant wedding photo of them posing at the big temple. Having spent the last two weeks running around Tunisia looking at the ruins of ancient Roman cities I'm not super excited but I figure it will be a nice change of scenery from the farm.

Anna volunteers to go with me and I figure it will be nice to walk around and try to carry on a conversation in my busted Italian. Turns out she was only going as far as dropping me off. Talk about feeling like I was back in junior high, getting dropped off at the mall with instructions to be back at this door in an hour. Still it was nice, I got out and was able to get some gelato, they even gave me a heart shaped wafer cookie. Oh and of course I got to see some cool Greek temples. I've actually seen so many ruins that I've now gotten the knack of picking out building functions based on their design.

Here are some photos of Pasteum:

I noticed a spider's web on the fence of the pig's pen the other morning. I wondered what I would do if one day I came out and saw the words "some pig" scrolled out instead of the geometric designs. I wondered if something like that would save the pig when he got too fat. Little did I know that his numbered days were quickly coming to a close. Two days later they took my pig out of his pen and turned him into pounds of ham and bacon. I was out in the field weeding away when they came for him. He tried to run but it was three against one and eventually they got him. All the other animals were upset, all of them knew what was happening, most of all the pig. I could hear him screaming up until the very end and I nearly threw up in the hay. So now I'll never know if a little arachnid propaganda could have saved him but I doubt anything could have that day.

I've had a lot of labels over the years: pharmacy tech, cashier, student, Peace Corps volunteer, teacher and now I can add farm hand to the list. Willing Workers on Organic Farms (WWOOF) has branches worldwide and I choose to sign up with the one in Italy. I found out about if from some PC friends and figured it would be a nice way to transition between Africa and America. It also crosses off one important item on my life list: Learn how to cook in Italy.

Waiting in the train station in some random town in Southern Italy, was I nervous. You bet. I was waiting for a complete stranger to come pick me up, to go someplace I had only seen from their website, not knowing exactly what to expect or if they spoke any English or French. Sure I've done something like this before but that time I had the US Government backing me up. Now I was just going off on my own crazy crackpot idea.

I wound up in a small valley at the edge of Cilento National Park, not far from the sea at a small family run farm where they sell fresh produce and preserves. The family is nice, the work isn't hard (although it can be tiring) and the scenery is gorgeous. Since things are slow I start my day around 8:30, starting out by feeding the pig and the horse. Normally they are waiting for me impatiently and it's hard to drop the pig his food without dumping it all on his head as he eagerly scarfs down grain. The horse wonders why I'm not hurrying up and feeding her already and gives the fence a sharp wrap. The dog runs over to see what I'm up to and keeps stopping me so I'll pet him, which only makes the horse want me to hurry up more. Then I mostly straighten up around the place. If I go to work up the hill where they have all the olive trees I can look out and see the sea.

All in all it's a good experience though it can be tiring, especially with the language barrier. After spending a month there I decided it's time to move along. Because we have trouble communicating I feel weird being there like some sort of creepy stranger. Plus I don't have access to things like internet which I really need if I want to accomplish some of the goals I have for myself, like trying to find a job. So it's on to other things.

You know you've read too much historical fiction when you still imagine traveling by boat will be like something out of Titanic. I had images of walking out onto the dock and up a wooden gangplank, people running aboard at the last minute, crowds waving goodbye to loved ones with white handkerchiefs floating in the breeze as people on the boat lean over the railing to call one last farewell. Clearly I've read too many novels and so has Jess because we both had the same vision and we both got a good chuckle at how silly we were. The "Gare Maritime" or Boat station in English was much like a modern day airport with a food court, souvenir shop, money changer, and pain in the ass customs officials. I'm actually still really annoyed at the woman who decided to put my exit stamp on the last page of my passport- you know the page with all the US government endorsements on it- what an idiot.

Any way we had a joke going off our very antiquated ideas, it actually started the night before as we were discussing travel in the time of Henry James or Jane Austin. You know you go by train or the mail coach (shared transport) and you arrive at a city and set up lodgings and you usually have letters of introduction so you can make friends with people already situated in the city so you could go to all the best parties, and young ladies always had a chaperone but still tried to sneak in some time with the dashing young hero anyway.

With Lonely Planet listing off hotels and the internet to inform you of events or put you in touch with people living in a certain city you don't to have much advance knowledge of a place or even an acquaintance in a town to travel these days and a chaperone is unheard of. But the spirit of travel is still the same, strangers in strange lands will almost always be willing to help one another out, even if it is only directions to the nearest coffee house, and make fellow travelers feel welcome. While chaperones are a thing of the past for adult women, most women still don't travel alone and when they are single they still give a sly smile to the dashing young man across the restaurant. So while the times have changed and our manner of traveling has too the spirit is similar.

So with that in mind I was given a mission before I got on the boat: Find a nice elderly lady to be my chaperone and get myself a handsome young man.

 *Please note that while I technically failed I did, to some measure at any rate, achieve both objectives within two hours of arriving in Italy. I met a pleasant British lady who I thought was going to be my chaperone (at least until we reached the city center) but she found a dashing young man to give her a lift and ditched me. Then I was approached by a young-ish man who followed me down the street to tell me he thought I was beautiful- alas he was the greasy guy working at the local pizza place.

For being a "Muslim" country and vehemently denying the Christmas holiday there sure was a lot of decking the halls going on in Tunisia. I saw Santa with a saxophone and I can't tell you how many little fake plastic evergreen trees around Tunis, not to mention the lights. Even the commercials were busting out the Christmas carols, even though there was no Christmas to be had there. Still we made the most of Christmas. Thanks to the lovely Monoprix and my desire for cheap chocolate goodies I was able to whip up chocolate mousse and little cakes filled with chocolate pudding and topped with pineapple and whipped cream. Thanks to the internet we were able to stream A Christmas Story even though all three of us fell asleep- I made it to the tongue on the flag pole. And Thanks to some man's obsession with the Plaza in NYC we went to the Plaza Tunis and I had the best steak I've ever had on Christmas Eve.

Santa rocking out on sax in downtown Tunis.

Jess and I acting goofy amongst the Christmas decorations (and plastic flamingos) at the Plaza.

Walking around the Southern town of Matmata you need to make sure you keep your eyes on the ground otherwise you run the risk of falling into a hole, a really, really big hole. While the mountains and scenery may be gorgeous the earliest inhabitants of the region didn't mar the natural beauty of the landscape by building their homes where they could admire the scenery, instead they lived underground in Troglodyte pit homes. Eight or nine families would work together digging out these giant pits and would live in their semi-subterranean homes together where it was cooler. A lot of them are now abandoned or used to store animals and farm equipment but some of them are wired for electric with satellite TV. Arriving at night I didn't see any of this til the next day. Of course I still got the experience,

 

I stayed in one while I was there. A very pleasant place called Hotel Marhala. It was listed in Lonely Planet's budget options and recommended over the Star Wars' Hotel- Sidi Driss. While it's a nice place- clean room, super clean bathroom, good food, nice owner- Lonely Planet totally had a bias against Star Wars telling people it was a superior choice over Sidi Driss citing camera toting Star Wars fans as a detractor. However, I got several noisy tourists who felt they could just walk into my room as they toured the hotel. While the owner apologized it was still annoying. So while I'd recommend Hotel Marhala, if you want to stay at Luke Skywalker's house don't let the guide book throw you off.

No matter what anyone says Matmata is wired for the tourist trade. Hell the whole country is with something like over 60% of its GDP coming from tourism. The town is full of tour guides, only three of them are licensed with the local tourism board. One big way locals bring in cash is by toting out their camels, no such thing as a free ride here, if they even catch you taking pictures it's going to cost you. One enterprising man was bottle feeding his baby camel outside one of the main hotels hoping to catch shutter happy tourists.

 

 

 

 

 

An abandoned troglodyte pit home.

 

 

In one of the more modern homes open to tourists- a small fee is greatly appreciated- we saw an old fashioned mill. Can you imagine grinding grain by turning a rock round and round.

 

I find it infinitely amusing that STOP works in every country unless you are talking to children, then it's about as meaningful as the word NO.

 

 

 

Thank you fellow tourists: now kids come out everywhere demanding money, caramels, and pens (I hear the Japanese are particularly bad for this).

 

 

I might have snuck through here and into one of the abandoned homes.

 

 

View from the hillside. See what I mean if you aren't careful there are pits everywhere!

 

 

 

 

Do I really need to tell you whose house this is?

 

 

 

I'm in their dining room- the one that's used in the movie!!!!

 

Tamezret is a town about 12k West of Matmata. While it has some gorgeous scenery and a cool little hillside town that made me think of a medieval town it's not worth spending more than an hour and be prepared to be hassled by men in the village who want to take you to see the museum.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like I said kinda like a medieval town.

 

They love their elaborate doors in this country.

 

 

 

I really enjoyed my time down south, it was a nice break from the North and I feel like I learned a lot about the culture however I really hated feeling like such a tourist. Still if you do come to Tunisia I would totally recommend coming to Matmata and if you need to get around they have decent bus transport- albeit crowded- so don't get talked into a guide. And enjoy the scenery!!

So ever since I saw this on someone else's blog I wanted to check it out.

 El Jem

Its said to be the 3rd largest Colosseum standing and you can run all over the place up to the very top.

And that's just what I did!

It was in fact so awesome and badass that I made a movie about it.

When I started this blog two years ago “Working without a Net” wasn’t exactly a spot on. Sure I was moving to the middle of Africa but I had the Peace Corps to back me up. Even if sometimes the only means of communication were via a note on a bush taxi. Still, there was someone there to watch out for me if something happened; I wasn’t totally responsible for everything.

Now I am.

Two years, two countries, an evacuation, three health centers, baby weighing, nutrition talks, hand washing demonstrations, English lessons, French classes, one dairy production facility and more vaccination campaigns than I can count and I’m moving on. Cutting the ties that bound together my safety net on December 10th 2010. I’ll admit it, I’m nervous about the next few months. Every time I get on a plane, train, or boat to take the next step in my journey I get anxious. Showing up someplace with just a phone number and maybe an address to figure out where I’ll be staying is very daunting, especially when I don’t speak the main language. Even though it’s stressful and crazy, I don’t regret my choice to go off on my own, I’m finally glad that I get my chance to work without a net.

One of my favorite things about traveling is finding new things during all the time I spent running around the tiny North African country of Tunisia I found two new ways to keep myself amused while traveling. I recommend these travel games for anyone who is about to embark on a journey by louage (long distance taxi) around Tunisia.

Where's the President

Unlike Waldo you can't miss this guy even if you are trying. I don't know the name of the President but I could pick him out of a line up. There are posters and pictures of him everywhere, from the small signs and pennants outside of shops to the overly large ostentatious ones hanging off of buildings in Tunis. They are ubiquitous. And for some reason that I just can't quite name he is always showing off the sleeve of his suit. I don't know whether it's a subtle statement saying either "look no tricks up here" or "wait till you see what I have up my sleeve next" or he just thought it was a cool pose. Either way it's a fun game to play on a road trip through Tunisia or even on a stroll through town. See how many you can get. My highest, 63 on the trip between Le Kef and Mahdia.

 The License Plate Game

Alright I know everyone plays some version of this game in America but this is a new twist. See Tunisian license plates go something like this: two numbers signifying how old it is (note this doesn't represent the year made) with 140 being new and 30 being old, then there is the name of the town to which it is registered and then another set of numbers. It's the first two numbers you want to pay attention to. The game is how low can you go. We had hours of entertainment trying to find really old cars- the oldest looking bunch being the old tan Peugeot work trucks that are ubiquitous in small towns. Some looked way older than their number would indicate so I'm guessing someone is swapping plates somewhere but who knows why. The lowest I got was a 31 and Jess won with an 11 that she spotted after I left. Still waiting on that picture because it seems too incredible to believe.

I listened to Simon and Garfunkel my first night over here. Homeward Bound. For the life of me I don't know why. I was anything but homeward bound. Words like home and family had become particularly painful for me.

Still I felt compelled to play it as I lay in bed freezing under the air conditioner reading a letter marked: Don't open till Africa. Now the countdown has begun and in 67 days I will be homeward bound. I've already decided I won't be taking the direct route. I have some idea of where I'd like to go for a bit. Some place by the sea. As usual I don't really have a clue- aimless. Of course the big question remains: when my aimless wandering is done where am I to go when I'm bound for home?

Book List

January 2009

How to Make an American Quilt par Whitney Otto- A collect ion of pieces about the loves of the Grasse County Quilting Circle- paints a socio-historic picture using analogies of quilting instructions to weave it all together. I like the movie better.

The Robber Bride par Margret Atwood- Discusses the lives of three women as they embody 60s, 70s, and 80s and the woman- Zenia who destroys their love lives and manipulates all around. Accept yourself when you stare down your enemy and realize you possess great strength. Recommend.

Dune by Frank Herbert- Just what I needed.

February 2009

Harry Potter 1 en francais- good way to study French get to follow a boy wizard as he discovers who he is and where he coms from.

Kouramangui Site Journal- my survival guide

Fool Moon- Jim Butcher I love Harry Dresden

The Summons by John Grisham- The father dies and the eldest brother finds him and three million dollars. Youngest brother sets him up. I realize I have read this before Protagonist is kinda an asshole a bit convoluted.

Thirteen Moons by Charles Frazier, First book read at site. Old man starts the retelling of his life which has become something of a tall tale. Great opening and his youth enthralls you but then it turns into a bland recounting with a few antedotes. Leaving you with the mundane behind the glamour of the outset.

March 2009

The Watchmen by Alan Moore- I loved it. I think the first half is my favorite. It has such rich and humanly flawed characters- Rorshach who holds his virtue like a shield and stands vigilante till the end. Vidt who is so self deluded in his self righteousness as the savior of the world till John leaves him with doubt because he had limited view. Amazing foreshadowing and concurrent plot lines.

April 2009

Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett- an epic novel following the lifetime it took to build Kingsbridge Cathedral. The characters were well realized and the love story was beautiful, however some parts became flat as he made certain characters too one dimensional.

A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier by Ishmael Beah. A very haunting tale of how he lost everything as a child and the lengths he’d go to to survive. It focuses more on his horrors than the process of redemption but very compelling.

The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monnk Kidd. I loved this book it follows a young girl who lives inside her head because she doesn’t have much else to go and one day breaks fee while breaking her nany out of jail and chases her mothers ghost to the calendar sisters.

I Hope the Serve beer in Hell by Tucker Max. Vile.

The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. I understand it better today than I did at 18.

One for the Money by Janet Evanovich- light reading while waiting for a bush taxi.

May 2009

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen. Yet again it turns out I’ve read this one before. Two sisters- Elinor all good sense and Mariann in touch with her sensibility. It’s a bit contrived as we follow theirrelationships flounder and rebound, Austen’s wit and sarcasm (ironic style) is as always spot on.

The Bonesetter’s Daughter by Amy Tan. As her mom’s mind comes unraveled by dementia so does Ruthe’s life. She is confused by pieces of the past her mother reveals until she finds the true history her mother’s life she left behind and finds redemption.

Saving Fish from Drowning by Amy Tan. Based on a psycic account by a dead woman following her 11 friends abducted in Burma. It would be interesting to look up the real facts of the case.

Star Wars New Republic Anthology. I love Star Wars!

July 2009

Star Wars: Ambush at Corellia Han Solo returns to his homeworld to find it is plunged into turmoil divided on species lines. Lando hunts for a wife and all become trapped in the Corellian sector. Entertaining read!

Star Wars: Assault at Selonia. Our heros are all scattered each trying to get a handle on the situation. All come together at Selonia except for the children on Drawl in preparation for the big showdown. Come to realize speciest movements are just a front.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire en Francais

Star Wars: Children of the Jedi by Barbara Hambly- Luke finally gets the girl- the spirit of Callista a jedi who disabled the precursor to the Death Star as he battles to do the same and save her too. While Leia, Han, Chewie, and R2 find the perpetrators as they search for the records of the lost children of the Jedi.

The Brief and Wonderous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz. The prose was almost lyrical. It follows a family the narrator knows well, Oscar the overweight nerd and the dynamic between him and his sister hit close to home. I miss my brother.

Princeps fury by Jim Butcher. Tavi fights to bring the Canim to safety after finding their home overrun by Vord. Vord attack Alera- holding off for now but at what costs. What will happen when the new first Lord returns.

August 2009

The Reader Not one of my favorites. It was a man remembering the plot points and getting lost in the woid of emotions. You read his emotions but you can’t feel them. The book is like listening to a nostalgic drunks tale at a cocktail party. The plot was good but the execution left me wanting more.

One Flew over the Cucoos Nest by Ken Kesy. I really liked it. Don’t see how it could have ended any other way.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson Basically a catalog of drugs, kind of written from a self important standpoint. Look at me I’m tripping’ off this. Superior to other drug users. All antidotes nothing cohesive about it. Only sense of paranoid is fun- he doesn’t know about the bats yet.

East of Eden by John Steinbeck- read in four days. Replay the fall of Cain and Abel trying to make sense of how we came to be as we are where does all the good and evil come from and how do we over come the bad to be good. One of my favorites.

September 2009

Sept 15 Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. Arhtur Dent not only loses his home but his entire planet only to find out Earth is just a testing ground to learn the question to learn the meaning of everything.

September 17 Primitive People by Francine Prose. Explores the childish self absorbed one sidedness of upperclass as seen thru the eyes of a Haitian immigrant.

Sept 20 Heir to the Empire by Timothy Zahn. Five years after Endor the Alliance has turned into a struggling government but an old vanguard of the Empire has found a way to take them down.

Sept 23 The Last Command by Timothy Zahn. Mara jade finally is freed from her past and Thrawn and Ch’orbath are defeated.

Sept 24 Caught in the storm by seydou Badian. Kany likes a boy. The story of a family divided as they try to follow tradition and break away I think the translation was bad.

Spet 25 Bridges to Islam by Dr. Phil Parshall. Basically a look at conversion practices from the Sufi Islam to Evangelical Christianity.

Sept 26 The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx. Its about life and how we get by. Might as well enjoy it, some day we all die. After his wife’s death Qouyle’s Aunt talks him into going to the families ancesteral home from there he finally gets to live his life instead of watching it pass by.

October 2009

Ishmael by Dan Quinn. An ape who knows how to save the world. We are living in captivity because we erroneously think we rule the world instead of understanding we are apart of the world and must live as such instead of trying to live like we rule. October 3

The Crystal Star

Stephanie Plum 4, 6,9

Rocky Road to Romance by Janet Evanovich

November 2009

Marley and Me by John Grogan

Bridget Jones’ Diary by Helen Fielding

Showdown at Center Point by Roger Macbride allen

Pradise Snare by AC Crispin

Hutt Gambit by AC Crispin

Harry Potter 1

Harry Potter 3

Jane Eyer by Charlotte Bronte

The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch

Brave new World by Aldoux Huxley

Jeadi Search by Kevin J. Anderson

Dark Apprentice

Champions of the Force

Shanghai Baby

In her shoes

January 2010

Finger licking 15 by Janet Evanovic

Plum Spooky by Janet Evanovich

The Time Traveler’s Wife

Blood Rites by Jim Butcher

February 2010

Poisonwood Bible

March 2010

Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison

Peter Pan by JM Berry

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Count of Monte Cristo

Eclipse by Stephanie Meyers

Their Eyes were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

Star Wars: Hero’s Trial by James Luceno

SW Planet of Twilight by Barbara Hambly

April 2010

SW XWING Rogue Squadron by Michael A. Stackpole

SW XWING Wedge’s Gamble “

SW XWING The Krytos Trap “

Restaurant at the End of the Universe by Douglas Adams

Life, the Universe, and Everything “

The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien

Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs

SW XWING The Bacta War by Michael A. Stackpole

SW XWING Wraith Squadron by Aaron Alliston

SW XWING Iron Fist “

May 2010

Dead until Dark by Charlaine Harris

Interview with the Vampire by Ann Rice

Scandel in Bohemia by Sir Arthur Connon Doyal

A Movable Feast by Ernest Hemingway

Odessy by Homer

June 2010

The best of Roald Dahl

Solo Command by Aaron Allston

SW XWING Isard’s Revenge by Michael A. Stackpole

Hero at large by Janet Evanovich

Son of a Witch by Gregory Maguire- Didn’t like as much as Wicked. About identify with who you are if you don’t know where you come from

Imperial Life in the Emerald City by Rajiv Chandrasekaran- insightful look at how America operated during occupation in Iraq during reconstruction period.

Generation Kill by Evan Wright

I, Jedi by Michael A. Stackpole- weird tense

Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

August 2010

Turn Coat by Jim Butcher – Morgan is framed and Harry gets one step closer to finding the black council.

SW Courtship of Princess Leia by Dave Wolverton- Did the guy ever watch SW? I don’t like how he portrayed the characters

What is the What by Dave Eggers

The Lucky One by Nicholas Sparks

Jinxed by Beth Ciotta

Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain

Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt

The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury

The Appointment by Herta Muller- Nobel Prize winner madness in Bulgeria

The Life of Pi hard to get into the writer’s style but really got into the story- beautiful how the human mind creates forgiveness or was it real.

September 2010

Sizzling 16 by Janet Evanovitch

The Man in the high castle by Phillip K. Dick – I don’t get it.

Fragment by Warren Fahy it’s a b-side Jurassic Park

The Rider by Tim Krabbe by Chronicles a ½ day road race in France.

Looking for Lovedu by Ann Joens- the travels of a woman from one end to the other Cape to Cairo sort of thing to find a rain Queen

The Last Days of Dogtown by Anita Diamant- about a luckless town and its inhabitants and how it dwindles till none are left.

October 2010

The Baron in the Trees by Italo Calvino Good Story – could have used more soul

Snow by Orhan Pamuk- had to get into it Good Ending

Therese Raquin by Emile Zola I get the whole roman noir sadley you can empathize with Therese more than Cathy

Americans at War by Stephan E. Ambrose- insightful makes me realize how much I’ve forgotten since college

The Last King of Scotland by Giles Foden could not put it down

A Very Long Engagement by Sebastien Japrost

Whisper of Roses

Eternity

Wolf’s Complete Book of Terror edited by Leonard Wolf

November 2010

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep by Philip K. Dick

Do I like living here? Some days. Have I thought about staying? Sometimes. Are there things I prefer about Africa? A few. I like the lazy pace of the day, where time spent drinking tea with friends is valued. I like the fact that not every aspect of life is regulated, unlike in the US. I like being able to afford to eat fresh fruit and veggies every day. Most of all I like that my life is sort of settled and carefree. I don't have to worry about insurance, bills, etc. I have a place to stay, a roof, albeit a leaky one, over my head.

But this isn't my life and I don't belong here. Yesterday it really sunk in when I went off on a woman at the water pump. I can't see this woman without her trying to give me her child and put her hands in my face. Some people are born obnoxious- they have to be loud, a spectacle and they want to be in everyone's business. She is one of these people. So when I tell her to leave me alone what does she do? She waits and while I'm leaning down to tighten the cap on my bidon she reaches out and rubs my hair. My nice clean, just washed hair. I am pissed. I am sick and fucking tired of being treated like a zoo animal. Surrounded by children screaming at me: for attention, for money, for God only knows what. Then one gets brave, runs out and smacks me before returning to the fold- now able to say they touched a white person. I am followed, harassed and why- because I'm so clearly an outsider.

People who are deformed, crazy, albino, midgets, victims of polio, goiters, the list goes on. They aren't met with stigma or treated like side show freaks. It's a good thing but my point is they are also different but they are treated the same as the rest of the village. It doesn't matter if an albino and I are both white; I'm not African so I get singled out. No matter how well integrated I try to be. I'm not going to be accepted and therefore my differences can be exploited and treated like some science project. I don't belong here.

It wouldn't be so bad if this was a really isolated area and I was the first white person they had seen. I understand when I'm in those situations. But here, no, I don't understand, there are several other foreigners living here on a permanent or semi-permanent basis. We are not unusual. There is no need to make a spectacle of us.

Still at the end of the day it's clear: I don't belong here. I'm caught in an odd position because I don't have much to go back to. There is no job lined up, no grad school applications, I really don't know what I'll be doing or where. I'll know the rules, how to take care of myself and I won't have to change my personality to fit in and function in society. I'll belong and after two years that will be a nice feeling.

My every action won't be under constant scrutiny. I won't be a major topic of community gossip (I hope). I can drink a beer at home or wear shorts. People won't constantly demand my attention because I'm a novelty. Friendships will not be based on bragging rights but because people genuinely like me. I'll belong.

I blame the researcher; it was his idea after all. I'm not sure how it happened but during his time working out of my village he learned about this group of herders who wanted to expand their operation into pasteurizing milk. And his thought was: this is something the local Peace Corps Volunteer could really help with.

I'm assuming all of this of course, because he never said a thing to me about it. It was only when Ba, the guy he was staying with and a local NGO worker, stopped me after English class to mention it. Still this is how I'd like to think my foray into the wild world of dairy production.

So this is my version of the chain of cause and effect that led me one June morning to be sitting in the middle of a small village 30k away, surrounded by about 40 people to discuss what they wanted for the future. I know, I know I'm a health volunteer but promoting milk is part of good nutrition and I was under the impression they had already done a lot of ground work so I didn't think I'd exactly be doing a hardcore small business development.

Oh false impressions.

So basically they knew of another village and had the idea to replicate their working model. If only it was so simple. Still they were really willing to make this work. They went through all the steps they needed to start a working model. We visited other facilities, organized work groups, and even started work.

Some of my best days have been working with them, but we have had our share of problems too. Just by being here I've both helped and thrown a monkey wrench into parts of the project. The fun of being a foreigner working on development practices. For example, while Ba was helpful sometimes he seemed to just assume things about the project and the group and I felt like that stifled dialog. There were problems with people trying to take advantage of the group because they saw there was outside help. I was able to do damage control on most of it but it still is disheartening to see people so willing to take advantage.

Then there was the time the Herders' Co-op President went to Bamako and found an organization who works with setting up milk pasteurization facilities. While the person he needed to talk to was out of town he made a great contact, which I then started calling to see how they could help us. In vain hopes of getting any information on how to successfully run this sort of business I set up a meeting. Apparently the answer is they couldn't really, as we were outside of their zone of intervention and they wanted a lot of money to help. Even without their direct help, seeing my utter cluelessness he decided to do us a favor and take us on a visit to a site near Segou. So while it was a positive result it was also a little depressing because he was willing to help me but I'd be willing to bet he wouldn't have gone so far if it was just the people from the co-op.

With all our successes and setbacks things have finally come together. The women are working together to pasteurize milk, reselling it into the Bamako market and proving to themselves that they can be successful. I always kinda wondered if they only really pulled it together to work when they knew I'd be there and watching, but the other day as I took transport past their village I did what I always do: I looked out to see what the women were up to. They were hard at work.

The main streets on Bamako are lighting up in yellow, red, and green (and for some reason blue) blinking lights. Flags are waving everywhere. Mali was gearing up to mark their 50th Anniversity of Independance. My village had much more modest preparations: they planted 50 trees. Our celebration was a lot more modest as well, especially after the village accountant confirmed there was no budget for festivities the day before the fete.

Still we managed to have a good time with drumming, singing, dancing and of course soccer. Instead of trying to describe it all to you I'd rather just show you.

This lady got down! She pulled me out to dance a little later.

Sorry I can't figure out how to flip the image but I think you can get the picture.

I love this picture

You can see the band waiting in the back

Do you think the duck wants to play the Djembe?

The Captain giving a speech on the 50th!

I love this picture too!!!

Selling food for the festivities

The Three Mayors

The sun slowly fades behind the mango trees, covering the world in orange and lavender. Water comes running down my face and through my hair causing it to come cascading down my back. The cool clean water I pour over myself is refreshing, a welcome change from the sweat and dust constantly covering me.

The splashing, tumbling water drowns out the world. The sounds of children yelling, of the pump being used, the radio my neighbor is listening to: all become distant background noises. My eyes see nothing; only feel the cool gentle waterfall washing over the lids. My nose stops noticing the stench of the outhouse, instead indulging in the citrus and soap smell of shampoo. Finally I put my glasses back on and wrap myself in a piece of cloth. Looking out into the dusk the moon hangs low. A mere sliver. A small star trailing along below it. And right now it doesn’t matter that I live in Africa, or I don’t speak the language. I don’t care about the children swarming around me or that my roof is ready t fall in.

Right now, I am home and I am clean and there is nothing to worry me till tomorrow.

So I realize that I am shockingly pessimistic most of the time but in order to correct the view I may have given some of you I thought I might give you a different view of what it’s like being here. It is all too easy to focus on the stressful things I have to deal with and often they eclipse the positive things.

In spite of all the challenges, it’s hard not to fall in love with this place. The easiest way is from the backseat of a land rover, Sayoune Camera crooning out the speakers, rocking back in forth along a rutted dirt road watching this foreign landscape pass by. Women walk down the road in groups carrying buckets on their heads, men driving along on donkey carts, roadside stands selling copious amounts of vegetables. It grabs you up, makes you feel like you’ve fallen into an unreality: Alice thru her looking glass. The landscape, wilderness, houses, dress; everything is different from what I knew in Ohio. The differences can be intoxicating and awaken a need to explore and understand this new place this different way of life. Like so many of the parasites here, Africa can crawl under your skin and stay there.

Even the idea of this place is intoxicating for some reason I really can’t define. Maybe it’s because this is the “Dark Continent” and I’m chasing the unknown or maybe it’s a response to America’s ingrained need for manifest destiny to move onto places free from our over articulated constraints, rules, regulations to seek out new possibilities. Maybe it’s an escape from boredom- the possibility to wake up with each day knowing you’ll find or learn something new: fruit you never knew existed, words that roll off the tongue and convey something wonderful, meeting people who will challenge and change your perspective on life.

I don’t know why deep down I really like this place. Looking out over rolling red mountains or watching the sun set among the palm trees just makes me calm. I think it has something to do with the fact that this place is still a little wild. By that I mean here every acre of land isn’t controlled or micro-managed, turned into a strip mall. Here the government doesn’t regulate every facet of life. Here, life isn’t defined by what you have to do but by what you need to do. I don’t have to do anything but what I need to do to survive and that is a welcome change of pace. It makes it easier to set my priorities straight and that in itself is one of the things I love best about being here: realizing what really is important and what isn’t worth the headache.

With the rain has come a whole host of freeloaders- insects, frogs, and lizards. New life looking for shelter. The sound of the rain sounds like someone creeping up to my house- it gives me a moment of panic. Nobody is supposed to be here.

Of course I somebody was here. They stole my foot brush off my outhouse wall. Who does that? I really don’t know what to think. I feel so violated and insecure. It makes me question the sanctity of my little fortress. So to all the freeloaders I say- take your asses elsewhere.

Things to love

Watching the sunset while you are taking a shower

The feeling of clean hair

Mangos

Being able to see the stars because there is no light pollution

Cooking dinner by candlelight with the radio playing

Watching ducks hunt

Finding fresh veggies at the market

Having one piece of fabric serve as a towel, robe, sheet, skirt, and dress

Reading a book while you are rained in.

Finding new trails to explore

Sometimes you have a calling.

A calling so great you can’t ignore it.

Though you might have to travel far across difficult terrain you know you must go.

Against all obstacles you push forward.

But sometimes you face something so horrifying that you balk in the face of it.

Something so terrifying it brings you to the brink of madness.

And makes you almost forsake everything.

Sometimes you must face . . .

All I was trying to do was go to the bathroom.

Welcome to Peace Corps

I woke up underneath my umbrella, hugging a box of cereal.

I really wish the story behind it was much more interesting. Being back in my village after my American vacation has been good. Of course its rainy season (and Ramadan) so I spend most of my free time holed up in my hut with a book trying to stay dry. Good deal until the rain gets heavy and then it falls on my bed- hence the umbrella. The box of cereal was dinner and I couldn’t let it get wet so I put it under my mosquito net with me away from the rain and bugs. Welcome back to Africa!

I don’t think I really missed my village but I do miss having a kind of peaceful lifestyle. (I know waking up to the rain on your face isn’t conducive to a peaceful lifestyle nor are the children who follow me shouting for money). It’s the pace of life here that is peaceful and the fact that people put more emphasis on friendships and spending time with one another than we generally do makes life here worth it. Still going back home has made me realize that I miss it and I realize it’s getting time for me to move on. So I guess what I am mostly feeling is the nostalgia you get when you know the end of something is nigh. I’m in the final countdown, the home stretch, and rather than be totally bitter- fucking kids yelling toubab- I’m trying to focus on the good stuff. I’m soaking up the time I have and listening to the stories my friends tell and learning a few more things before I go. I don’t think I’m ready for America full time yet but I’m ready to move on.

Though I will miss some of the crazy, weird moments, like waking up with a box of cereal all curled up under my umbrella.

I'm running on 4/5 hours of sleep in the last 27 hours so pardon me if this isn't the most elequent of updates. Also I am sitting in the most dreaded of airports- Charles de Gualle in Paris. Nothing will bring you awake like realizing the airplane is driving over Parisian freeways on these over passes. Only in France.

So why am I spinning my wheels in Paris- I'm headed back to Africa after a 3 1/2 week vacation in America. My time in America was enlightening, especially the major panic attack I had over coming back to Mali. To say I'm not excited about it is the understatement of the year as I eagerly count down my time remaining.

I think another really telling thing is all my family and friends pointed out this past month how most of the stories I choose to tell about Africa were about Guinea and not Mali. I talked about spending time with people in Guinea more fondly than those in my village in Mali and I haven't seen the people in Guinea in over 9 months.

So to say that the evac and my new placement has left a bitter taste in my mouth is a pretty fair assessment. I feel like with the current situation I am not going to achieve the goals I have set for myself here. Even if I stayed longer (never happening) I feel like the damage is done so I might as well move on.

Not that I've completely checked out. I have my adult english class I teach, a weekly radio show (and now I'm armed with new music), I'm starting an English club with junior high kids over the summer, helping women's groups organize into legally recognized co-ops, and possibly helping a group of milk producers refine and improve there product. Of course I also read 10 books a month and take afternoon naps frequently so . . . . its not like I'm worked to the bone.

If anyone out there know of any new and exciting job opportunities for the future let me know. I'm ready to move on- where to I have no idea. Maybe I'm just doomed to a life of bouncing around between places and jobs but I'd like to think I'd find something that sticks someday.

One of my favorite things about my site in Mali is there is a protestant church. I go sometimes when I'm not being lazy and sleeping in. It's kinda uplifting- lots of singing and clapping and I can't understand a word of it except for "Jesus ye baarake" (Jesus worked . . .alot- I figured that one out).

So I got really excited for Easter this year. I got to celebrate a holiday I knew here with people in my village and get a part to share traditions. For some reason I thought we'd have a bigger group, but if anything our already tiny congregation was smaller. Still we had a good service. The night before I had colored eggs with crayon and made up little packets of candy. So after I sent the kids outside and hid everything in our little one room church, shooing them away from peeking, we got ready to hunt eggs. After a failed attempt at explaining the game we finally got on the same page and the kids started looking for eggs and candy. I'm excited to say they were happier over the eggs than the candy.

However what everyone really wanted was to have ther picture taken. These still have to get printed and handed out. At least once a week someone is asking about their photos.

So anyway I made deviled eggs and ate ric and sauce at the preacher's house. I was kinda bummed because I thought it was going to be a bigger dinner- with lots of people instead of a small family thing. Plus I made 30 eggs so I was planning on having more people eat them. I was also hoping to get pork.

Despite the fact things didn't go how i'd imagined I had a good Easter. Although I won't lie, next year I hope to get a basket of Cadberry eggs, a nice ham, mom's eggs and Desert!!!

I've had to get used to a lot of things that I find strange. Some of them are out of left field: livestock licking the dirty dishes, chickens tied in a bunch to the side of a car, goats tied to the rack on a bicycle, sides of beef hanging off the roof rack of an SUV. (I'm noticing a pattern of ways to transport animals). Then there are the things that are fundametally at odds with my cultrually orientated world view. Things I don't necessarily agree with. Like the 70 year old men bringing their 14 year old wives and new babies to the health center (more than once I've had to stop myself from saying, "awww is grandpa helping you out today!"), children getting beat at school, teachers smoking in class, little girls carrying their younger siblings on their backs and almost falling over, children playing with knives and other sharp objects (very large sharp objects).

Some things I barely notice anymore, like goats tied to cars (unless the goat is screaming). Other things I speak up about by putting on my grumpy face and telling women they need to get the knife out of their toddler's reach. Still others I choose to not buck the system, its not my battle, its not my life.

Suffice it to say, Africa has changed what I view as normal. Sometimes my judgement of things is a little suspect. Of course anyone traeling in a car crammed with 13 people can be said to be lacking in the good judgement department. So when I moved into my hut I suspected my roof wasn't in stellar condition but I figured it was fine for the time being. Even though I have been known to complain about the animals and straw falling down but thats just normal frustration with living under a roof that could feed a cow for a week. So I wasn't concerned until PC staff and some villagers commented on how bad my roof looked. OK so lets get it fixed but no worries. It wasn't keeping me up at night thinking it was going to come tumbling down. Then finally my friend said, "man you're brave I wouldn't sleep in there. I'd be too afraid things would fall on my head."

Hmmm guess I made a bad call.

I finally got serious in my efforts to get a new roof and here's how they do it:

Sorry I left my SD card in America so pictures are not forth coming lets just say they collapsed my roof in on my hut and then made the new one in the courtyard. It required 20+ men to lift the new roof onto my hut. Always something new to learn.

I knew the phone call was coming. I figured it was only going to be a matter of days. It didn't matter I was expecting it, the news gave me a numbing shock and filled me with a sense of grief anyway.

For as long as I can remember my grandma has been a picture of good health. Over 80 and she could still drive to the store, she'd spot loose change better than a metal detector (earning her the nick-name eagle eyes), she'd put on blue grass and dance around the house and she'd still flirt with cute guys. I guess the best way to describe her would be to say she was "forever young". Then a couple months ago she got sick. At first we were optimistic. "Why worry," she said, "that will just cause me to get an ulcer." That was the kind of person she was. Then things went downhill quickly and one day I got the call that she was gone.

Now mentally, rationally, I knew what was going to happen. But emotionally I wasn't ready, I wasn't expecting it- this caught me out of left field. It's like Charlie Brown kicking a football. He knows Lucy is going to pull it away and he's going to fall on his backside but he's still suprised it happened anyway. I guess no matter how hard I try to keep connected to what is going on back home I'm always going to be out of things. Its like I know these things are going on but I'm not connected to them in any way. The best way to describe it is it's like reading a survivor's account from some catastrophe. You read the words and understand them, heck if they are a good writer maybe you have some sort of emotional response to what they have to say, but at the end of the day you aren't connected to those events and you can't truly relate to them. Even though it may have happened, it didn't happen to you so its not completely real, its just another story.

This might seem a little harsh or inhuman but this is the reality of my situation. Right now I can't think of my grandma being gone. The reality doesn't exist for me because it hasn't happened to me. I'm sure once I'm back home and I can't find her then it will really hit me.

It was real for me when my mom called and told me. I couldn't stop crying. I made myself pull it together long enough to tie up some work stuff. I managed to just barely keep myself from outright bawling till I got to the church. Then I asked Tabita, the preacher's wife, for the key. I needed to be someplace quiet and calm and I didn't want to be at home feeling isolated . . . so church was my next best option. Sometimes I feel better just being in church. Call it God or the Holy Spirit or my mind playing tricks on me. The point is I sometimes get a sense of calm, like everything is going to be ok, when I'm in church. I needed that. So I went to pray.

Now Tabita is a naturally curious person. Most of our conversations involve her questioning me about the best way to keep her children healthy or life in America. Given my lackluster church attendance today she was curious about why I wanted to get into the church. She was excited because she thought it was some sort of special day in America that all the Americans went to church to pray.

I tried to explain in Bambara what had happened. All I could say was my grandmother and then my voice broke and I broke down crying. I couldn't say it in Bambara, I couldn't say it. The word I know for saying someone is dead in that language is an ugly word. For that matter I find the french equivalent equally ugly. And the only pantomime I know for dying seems crude and vulgar. None of these has the comforting sound like you get in english. Saying my grandmother has passed away. Passed away. She's not gone, she's just passed on to another place, another phase. It lacks the finality of other words and phrases and comforts with the thought that things aren't over.

So here I am choaking out the words I dont want to say, crying and Tabita laughs. Whether at me and my sad state or at one of her children running around I can't say, but it makes me feel worse. So I numbly walk away and into the church. I open a window, shoo away the kids who want to watch the crazy white lady, and go sit in the back row where I can lean against the wall.

What happened was between me and the man upstairs but I left after an hour without finding peace. I stopped at the gate to tell Tabita I was leaving and that I couldn't get the key out of the lock. She stopped me and asked, "she was old right? You said she was like 80."

"yeah"

"Hey, she had a very long life!! What about your grandfather?"

"He's already dead"

"Well see now she's with him."

"They were Christian right? Not muslim?"

"No my family is Christian," I answered.

"Well then there is no problem. If they were Christian, now they are with God," she kept motioning towards the sky.

At least I'm fairly certain this is the conversation we had given my poor use of the language. But some how her admonishing me that didn't I read my Bible and didn't I know that everything was fine actually made me feel better.

Post Script

I just went back home and while I didnt feel like I'd been hit by a brick wall I did feel a sense that something was left undone. Even if Manda wasn't there I felt like she should have been. Her absence struck me the most when I went to her house. It felt wrong being there without her, almost like a violation of privacy. One of my last days I impulsively drove to the cemetery. I had no emotional response to being at the graveside and then I saw a pinwheel in the flower arrangement. They were the same flowers she had put out for my grandfather last fall. Seeing that which was so quintessentially her made me happy for the person she was and sad that she is no longer here.

IN LOVING MEMORY

One of the cardinal rules when you get in a taxi is: make friends with the driver. There is no such thing as a meter running so you haggle over a price until you either get in or he drives off. Sometimes even if you get in a bitter cabbie will complain how cheap you are until you reach your destination or will stop en route if he thinks you should pay more and kick you out if you wont. So if you can make friends with your driver.

Now I've found greeting them and asking how they, their family, their third cousin Mouctar is doing usually helps. Typically if I'm the one asking questions things go well. But inevitably the conversation turns to me: The strange white woman living in the middle of nowhere. They approve of PC and of America, often throwing in a joke against the French. Then they ask the question I hate: where is my husband. Magically he always seems to be just where I'm going. Too bad I'm taken fellas. That should stop this line of questioning but then they want to know if I have any single friends because they really REALLY want a white wife.

Now we come to the point where the friendship is going down hill. Call me a militant feminist (you wont be wrong) but my sense of social justice begins to rankle. I know whats coming. Still I play it cool. Nine times out of ten these guys are married so I tell them my friends wouldn't agree to be 2nd or 3rd wives. (Some men take their right to 4 wives very seriously.) However, this isn't a problem each and every one has said to me. They would simply leave their wives because with a white woman a man only has one wife but with an African woman it doesnt matter how many they have.

It is taking all my self control to maintain this taxi cab comraderie. There is no way a woman becomes more or less valuable because of her skin color. This isn't like choosing between a diamond or a cubic zarconia. I want to scream at these men, maybe punch them in the face. They would be fit to shine the shoes of some of the black women I know yet they treat all women as lifestyle accessories not a life partner or family member.

And that's it I realize. These guys dont respect women at all. What they want is a pretty thing to show off. A bunch of boys who want to brag over who has what. Any man can get a wife but rarely can they get four or even one of a different color.

I shake my head and hand them their money. Maybe next time I'll just let the driver be grumpy and save myself the anger.

People have very personal relationships with their food. Some don't eat meat or dairy or both. For others Carbs are the devil. Some shy away from foods with certain textures, smells, or even colors. Some will eat anything . . . at least once. I never thought of myself as having any weird food hangups or obsessions- aside from cheesecake and ice cream but thats normal right? Of course this was before Africa.

Let me explain:

You arrive in Africa and there are no McDonalds, no grocery stores like Kroger and people just eat rice and sauce. There is no such thing as Mexican night or calling Dominos. Suddenly a fried spam sandwich doesnt sound so bad and bland imitation oreos with almost cold coke is delightful. Anything is better than dried fish in sauce.

Once I was on my own I planned to cook for myself but my neighbor looked so sad and rejected when I turned down her offers of food that I ate with her family. So I was still a twice a day rice and sauce girl but the fish was replaced by beef so it was an improvement. Plus Aminata is a damn fine cook.

Now fast forward to life in Mali.

I live alone and dont know any of my neighbors. I have a host family but they live far away so I only go for lunch and I'm on my own for dinner. Good ole Home cooking.

Home for me consists of two huts. One is my bedroom, the other is my cooking/junk hut. So my kitchen is a table with a three burner stove and a metal trunk full of food. Martha Steward eat your heart out. Ok so I'm not working with much but it works. Somedays I live in fear a lizard living in my roof will cause some of the thatch to come crashing down into my dinner. It happens. Thankfully not often.

Even with my lack of cooking ammineties it turns out I love to cook. Africa has become a challenge in a new way. I'm forced to eat vegetables I would have never bought in the states- cabbage, eggplants and find ways to cook them instead of the plain old spagetti. I've also been trying new spices and seasonings. Its always awesome to try some new combination and actually enjoy eating it. So can you say I'm obsessed with food. Yeah thats fair. I just can't wait to get back into a modern kitchen and have access to more spice and foods!!!

Alright so the next time you have a holiday decorating delima think of how we solved ours here in Africa. Yes I know some of it is lame.

Chalk drawings in my hut.

Decorating Raven's bunny. Ce pas Lapin.

Did somebody order a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree?

And no Christmas can be complete with out the Great Christmas Watermelon.

Yes that is Santa carved into the side.

Hope you have fun looking at our ridiculous decorations.

I don’t know if you can tell but I am dirty. No I’m not talking about my mouth or sense of humor. I’m talking about head to toe covered in a disgusting mud mixture all in the name of something meaningful and relevant to do.

You know it’s bad when the small children who daily cake on the dirt and grime like its their job are cleaner than I am.

So what am I doing to look like a mud person from Woodstock?

This . . .

The Mud Stove (please not the people in the photo didn’t help but sent their kids to work- that’s what kids are for anyway).

This is my new project, not only do these babies cut down on wood use they also cut down on cooking time and smoke (which cause respiratory problems). Plus they are free and easy to make- which is the best part for me.

Some things sound like a really good idea, like necessary and worthwhile endeavors. Then you show up faced with a room of over a hundred loud, smart ass teens and you wonder how you could be stupid enough to think this was a solid plan and give a silent prayer it will be over quick and painless- like ripping off a band aid.

For me this exercise was going to do health talks at the local schools grades 5-9 for world AIDS day. It seemed like a good idea at the time until I realized I was dealing with a bunch of rude and crude (thank goodness I couldn’t understand a word they were saying but my helper seemed a bit shocked by some of the things coming out of their mouths).

What I’ve found is that while these kids have had the word condom drilled into their brains, they have no concept of fidelity and abstinence. After coming up with condoms as a preventative measure against AIDS they would take a few moments to come up with fidelity. Sadly they couldn’t explain exactly what fidelity meant and much to my anger and chagrin the male teachers explaining this in Bambara always used the example of the woman being unfaithful. I understand men are allowed to have 4 wives but damn man if you aren’t married to her a man is just as guilty of infidelity in the cultural sense as a woman can be. This propagation of the stereotype of women being whores while men were innocent made me so angry its just a good thing I didn’t go after them with my hammer (more about the hammer later).

The third mode of prevention was also the last to be brought up: abstinence. Coming from America, this is always numero uno but here it’s not even a topic of discussion. Some students never even thought of being abstinence. The angry group of 9th graders yelled at their teacher that sex was their right how could anyone support abstinence and I kid you not but he agreed they did have a right to have promiscuous sex, a given right, but they had to be responsible. (I think I’ve just found an explanation for the high rate of unwanted pregnancy in my village.) Then when I presented them with the question of what is the only sure way you won’t contract HIV? They said everything but abstinence and when I gave them the answer all hell broke loose. It just goes to show how our social conditioning trains us to think of things.

In fact the idea of HIV/AIDS is far fetched to them. It’s considered a false notion and want to debate it’s not real because it was created in a lab in the United States. There were students in every class who clearly resented my wasting their time by talking about something that in their eyes “wasn’t real”. As angry as these naysayers made me they made my Malian counterpart even more unhinged and I had to keep him from totally going off on the kids.

Whether they believe me or not, believe in HIV or not at least they have a little more knowledge with which to protect themselves from STDs and unwanted pregnancy. They all know how to use a condom and where to find them. Call me mean but I made one boy and girl from the older grades demonstrate how to use a condom after showing them the correct way first. Call me mean but it was funny to watch these kids gather up their courage and do the demonstration. Especially since a boy always volunteered first and we had to volunteer a girl but once they got to the demo it was the boy who was to embarrassed to speak up while the girl gave a good demonstration. I was worried at first about this whole exercise because I didn’t have a wooden penis and bananas were hard to come by but I’m not a resourceful PCV for nothing. I used my hammer. (I can make so many dirty jokes right here but please feel free to send me what you come up with).

Anyway . . .

So I guess you could say I hammered the message home. I just hope it stays there.

P.S. If you have someone give you a great “opening statement” for a presentation and you aren’t sure about the language you are speaking in please check first. I didn’t and when I realized what I had said to these kids when I first started my talk, I realized what an idiot I sounded like to begin with.- My brothers, my sisters I have a message for you- ugh!

I am doing jack. It’s a market day but not many women are coming to get their babies vaccinated. Fine by me, I have a head cold and all I want is for my face to stop hurting and a nap. I’m trying to focus but it’s not easy. I look out and see a group climbing the hill on the other side of the road. One of many groups who have made the trek up the hill. I tend to think of them as pilgrims marching up to stare at the new cell phone tower and the gate house being built with it.

The tower stands out over the village, a silent solitary figure. It represents hope to people here- most of all me because I hate having to bike 3k to get crappy cell service. Can you hear me now, how about now. Rumors abound about when it will come to life. Still we wait for everything to be finished. Until then people will continue to journey up the hill to see what’s happening and hoping for a miracle- that they will have cell service soon.

I thought some of you would get a kick out of this. One of the shrinks PC washington sent us decided to get us out of our funk we needed to participate in INternational Thriller Day. Thats right kids I now know how to do the thriller dance. (and you will too when I get back muhahahaha). So anyway we had a copy of the song that had some very proper sounding , telephone operator, white woman calling the moves (and booty bounce, and booty bounce, shake it and up). It was fun and entertaining.

AS I started to write this I thought about one night about a week before I left for the PC. I was out at Caddy's with a group of friends and as we got up to leave the Semisonic song "Closing Time" came on. (Yeah I know this sounds contrived but even I couldnt make this shit up and I know I"m kinda lame). But now I've started thinking of it I feel the song is kinda fitting for recent events.

Lets go back:

Closing time: Late Monday afternoon September 28, 2009.

After spending the morning working at my health center weighing babies I caught a car out to my regional capital so i could help with a leadership in development conference. I arrived at the PC house only to be caught up in the bad news. A group of soldiers fired into a crowd of prodemocracy suppporters the death toll kept rising and finally stood at 157 people. Political opposition leaders were specifically targeted. It still makes me sick to think about the loss of life that happened that day.

By Thursday I was sent home, away fro the large city where there was the possibility of demonstrations and more violence.

Saturday I called to check in and was informed to remain at my site I would be picked up in a few days and taken out of country. My heart stopped. This couldnt be happening. I cant leave, but in the end I do.

"ONE LAST CALL for Alcohol so finish your whisky or beer"

That night I had to dance around to music for about an hour to work off the nervous energy and to finish making arrangements and packing my things. I had to make myself feel ok about my uncertain future.

Three days later i was gone. Even though I knew I wouldnt be coming back, deep down i was holding out hope that i'd be home in a month. Those last days were difficult, I didnt want to say goodbye but I didnt want to just sneak out either. I told my close friends where I was going but to everyone else I said I'd be back in 3 weeks. It was like the elephant in the room. I think everyone knew with what was going on I wouldnt be back but they didn't want to say it either.

I dont have much to say about the evacuation or the first few weeks in Bamako. It was all uneventful.

"Closing time you dont have to go home but you cant stay here"

Lets move along to when they finally came out and pulled the plug for now. There is alot to think about and not much time. Do I want to go back to Dayton? No, not now and not for good.

Do I want to get a nice desk job? Hell no, I'd have to wear hose and I dont want to.

Do I want to go back to school? Absolutely not.

Stick with the PC? Only if they dont make me waite forever for a new spot.

Travel on my own? Yes but I"m not ready yet.

So there it is my big what to do crisis. Suddenly everything began to be thrown into question. If I transfer where do I go and what do I want to do? What if i choose wrong? Am I throwing away my youth, i'm only 24 but what if i wind up old and alone because I keep wandering around the world? (Yeah I'm neurotic) Finally after much distress it came down to this: I wanted to stay with pc but only till my February 2011 deadline and I wanted the experience to live in a village. I went with Mali, I was supposed to be a volunteer here anyway and I was already in the country.

So here I am. I"m in a village in Mali doing much of the same work only time will tell if I made the right choice but so far so good.

"Every new begining comes from some other beginings end."

My official counterpart working at the health center. Yes folks this is really all he has in the way of equipment for the consultations and alot of things are broken, like the scale.

A bush taxi. Yes you are looking at a car with six sheep and a man on top of it and yes people really do travel this way. I've also seen cars with so much on top the vehicle is twice its normal height.

Oh and we also fit 10 plus people inside.

Me and my petite Djenna on my last morning at site.

Nene (Mother) Aissatou learning her alphabet. She finally got thru it A-Z and she can write her name. She is very excited about this and about learning french.

She is a smart lady and teaches the Koran but she can't read or write in the roman alphabet so we started with that as step one for our lessons.

Petits in their fete clothes.

Oumou on fete day.

Mariama and Me. Check out the awesome outfits.

Aminata and Me

Hanging out in front of Binta's boutique

Petits all dressed up and headed out.

The pre-Ramadan fete market

So despite the hunger I really liked Ramadan. I tried to fast and I actually made it one day without caving in and eating. So yeah for me I guess. If you don't know you have to go pretty much from sun up to sun down without food or water. I really liked the end of the day because my neighbor Aminata and I would run over to Nene Aissatou's house and eat. Most of these pics were taken during the fete after the last day of fasting. Basically we all got dressed up and showed off our new complets and ate. I didn't go all out with the complet mine was simple without fancy embroidery.

Henna done in Mali Henna done in Guinea

You may have noticed my profile pic has changed. No its not real, its henna. And yes in case you were wondering I did ask the guy at the "salon" to draw on the huge serpent. (By salon I mean they had a little store but we sat outside amid cement rubble on wooden benches and prayer mats getting henna and for some hair braiding. The mood was set by old Motown coming from some body's cell phone and we were occasionally startled by large rats running around.)

Nobody ever tells me anything. Never. So I always find out as things are happening and stumble into them. I arrive home after my visit to Conakry on market day. AS I'm running about greeting the officials the police commissioner tells me PSI (a regional NGO) is having a big presentation on excision. (For those of you who don't know excision or female genital mutilation is a popular and dangerous practice here that involves removing the clit or all external parts of a girls vagina).

I haven't talked about this in my village. I'm still trying to build trust and talk about family planning. Even now asking a local midwife about excision practices in my village she says they do it but she doesnt and leaves it at that. Slowly people are becoming aware of how bad this practice is but some people insist on guarding the old ways. The girls only understand they get a party and no work for a week. How could they know what they are giving up? The risks they are taking for their future reproductive health?

PSI has launched a radio campaign to stop excision. They use the local radio to inform people, educate them and send out peer educators to talk with people. Now today is a big hoopla, the radio man, the psi people from conakry and labe are there giving out prizes to the people who know the most about why excision is bad. I go and meet the psi people and watch how my community responds. Since I don't understand a word of it, its all in pular, I"m content with watching the crowd.

I'm stupid, I should have known better, not like I blend in. I"m pulled up front. I protest I havent planned anything to say. No problem, just have to hand out a prize. I can do that. I can smile and hand out stuff.

I knew it was too good to be true. The radio man is speaking rapid fire pular. I"m next to hand out a prize. I hear the words Corps de la Paix thrown in there and then a mic is in my face. I am frantically looking around. what did he say, oh my name, i say my village name. I explain mido wawi pular seeda (I speak a little pular) the radio man leans over the mic and in a low serious voice repeats wawi seeda. I think my air time is up but no. Once again he shoves the mic in my face, seriously I dont' know what i'm being asked to say. finally after an uncomfortable moment someone tells me to say excision is bad. So I denounce excision and say something positive about psi in french. very good, very diplomatic. someone leans in and says en pular. I thought we had been over my language inadequacy. So the man says one word at a time what to stay- stop excision now in pular.

A few days later I get a text from the pcv the next town over. Our friend binta heard me on the radio is very proud. She also laughed her ass off at my pular. Win some, lose some.

So while I said the conference went well for the girls, it didn't go so well for me. I was sick most of the time. It started with pain in my lower back and the pain moved up my spine into my neck and head. Honestly I felt like I was being beat. Nothing helped and I'm in charge of getting 4 girls home safely and that includes passing a bunch of checkpoints. Thursday morning I say to heck with it and go to a missionary hospital nearby. I've been there once on a tour during training.

I feel like an asshole walking in and getting an appointment when some people camp out on the massive veranda for days waiting to be seen. They only pass out numbers for maybe 100 new patients and 50 followups a day. Of course I am paying 6 times the normal tarif. This is probably the best up country healthcare facility and they are amazing. There is also a really nice American pediatrician who helped translate for me during the exam. The Guinean Dr narrowed it down to 2 options: malaria or typhiod. This doesnt sit well with me, I take malaria meds, sleep under a net and I'm vaccinated against typhoid. They do the blood work and its typhoid. I'm not even showing the classic signs but now that i think about it the kids in my compound have.

I'm fine now and its debatable if i really had it or not. maybe the antibodies developed after being vaccinated gave a false positive or maybe being vaccinated gave me mitigated symptoms. The important thing is I'm better and now I have a heck of a story to tell about it.

A few days later I saw my friend who gave me a note and chocolate for my belated birthday, he had been planning on sending it to me by pc post. Along with wishing me a happy b-day he also hoped I hand't come down with the malaria like everyone in his village. "Thanks," I said, "but actually I've got typhoid." This got a perverse round of laughter, "Sorry dude, I didn't mean to low ball you there." We're still trying to figure out a decent nickname that can come out of this situation. I'm sick of being called White Danielle or Cracker.

Moral of the story: Some times you just have to laugh at this shit otherwise it'd be depressing.

This July we had our annual Girls conference in the Fouta region. I choose 2 girls from my town to attend. Marliatou, a really nice girl in the 10th grade who just took the entrance exam for the high school. Then Oumou Hawa, the doctors daughter, she is really animated and if she focuses she has so much potential. Because my pvc neighbor was under the weather I also took her 2 girls. Hawa the mayors daughter and Idiatou. Both are genuinely nice girls.

The conference covered topics such as: the importance of education, stds/hiv, excision, careers for women here, how to give a presentation and public speaking. the girls all seemed to have a really good time and got into session. it was a little sad to see the disparity between the girls, like my 4, from the village and those from bigger cities. The girls from the cities have been exposed to alot of these topics before and have had the benefit of really well run schools. The village girls have never been to anything like this and hung back. I really hope this experience gives them confidence and inspires them to succeed.

Marli wants be a pilot and Oumou Hawa wants to be a Dr.

My favorite part was on the last night. After dinner we pcvs are listening to music and packing up when we hear singing and clapping. we discover the girls in a dancing circle and the festivities continue til the light sgo out.

The next morning the girls get up late and the mood is somber. As we load up into cars they are crying, leaving their new friends and going home.

I've been telling people I'm almost 24 for so long now that i've turned it it is kinda anti-climatic. I had a really relaxing day. Read, ate, hung out with friends, drank wine. My mom sent me a magical birthday box: confetti, balloons, a banner, candy, and a birthday cake scented cadle (which some might consider cruel but I think its sweet). Plus there were presents! In bright paper with shiney bows.

My petits brought me an interesting gift: crabs. I should explain. About a week ago down at the laundry spot a woman started freaking out because she saw a crab wading thru the water. Now since they always give me crap saying "oh you're afraid of this or that" (Am not I just dont want things like chickens or fous taking a tour of my house). So in a turn of the tables I said, "you're afraid of that? But they are so good to eat. That is why they now think I would want crabs. Of course liking to eat crabs and actually trying to cook one of the ugly crustations are two different things. So I had them set free but not before pretending to grab oune up and caring the kids. Some days are never dull.

Thanks to everyone who sent me birthday wishes!!

View from where I go to talk on my phone.

My Stove/Kitchen area. A food basket hangs on the wall with a hanging scale and pants for baby weighting.

My tailor's shop.

My friend washing her clothes in the river. I promised to put up a better pic of her next time when she isn't dressed down to do chores.

The pharmacy where I hang out at most evenings. The tailor's shop isn't in view but it is the next building on the right.

On the other side of the tailors is the grand boutique. Here are all of the notables sitting around trading the evening news, listening to the radio.

My very cluttered table.

The mouse that woke me up at 3am as it was trying to escape the bucket. I named it Gloria. Alas Gloria died sometime during the night.

A bunch of local kids who came to celebrate Fatimatou's (sitting down in the orange) birthday. They decided to have the party on my porch. We danced and ate candy.

My bookshelf/clothing storage decorated with all of my birthday cards. Thanks MOM!!!

My bed. You can see part of the bright pink rice sack matress.

Petits watching me stop to take a picture of a camelion.

Across the street from me this is where I go to talk on the phone. You can sit under that little hut.

View from my porch of the mountains.

Some of the local petits hanging out in my yard: (l-r) Sekou, Cherno, and Amadou.

The pump where I go and get water.

More of my favorite petits: (l-r) Abdoulatif, Oumou, and Abdoulaye.

Empty market stalls. On monday this area is packed with people buying and selling.

Main road thru my town. That big hill with trees is where they sell livestock on market day, on the right hand side are boutiques and video clubs.

I used to call them toys and would have wanted one when i was little but now i think their sole purpose is to drive me crazy. The dr bought his kids telitubby shaped phones that play music make noise. They start playing them at 6:30 am and don't stop all day. I hear them at home, when i'm down town in the afternoon, at home in the evening as i try to listen to the bbc. Now another doctor came to visit and brought new toys. The torture continues. At least its good motivation to leave my house.

So I bike 9 k to our health post at horre fello (translation head of the mountain). I'm doing my malaria survey because July will be malaria palooza in my town. At the last house we stop at there is a bent over old lady. She was tall once but the years had made her stooped. When she straightened her head wrap moved and it became obvious she was just as wrinkled from the waist up as she was in the face. I don't know what she said aside from welcoming me. The Dr and I go back to the health post and she follows shortly after. I'm talking to women in the waiting room, the dr is doctoring and she shows up running amuck and being i guess really funny if you speak pular. When the doctor comes out he translates- she wants to give me 5000 francs for the price of kola because i stopped at her house and she had nothing for me. She is an adorable old lady and i cant take her money so i dig out my wallet and take out a 5000 note of my own. I offer it to her for her hospitality. We trade bills and it worked out. I adore old people.

Ever since coming home from in service training i've felt like a loser of a volunteer. To feel like I was doing something I volunteered to teach french for the 7 and 8 grade. It was only 2 weeks till the end of the year (Thank goodness!). I'll just say these kids have a really lackluster education and its not all my fault and teens everywhere know everything.

So to keep the work going after school was finished I organized a hand washing demo for the little kids one evening at the local pharmacy. I cut up big bars of soap into kid size bars as cadeaux, invited moms, learned songs, and all that. So I had some kids show up but my translator leaves so i'm entertaining a pack of petits singing Feist 1,2,3,4 and queen boom boom clap we will rock you but then they leave and my translator comes back. Its a mess but 2 hours late the moms show up with kids and we're in business. I sing and jump about so do the kids, i was their hands, we do why its important to wash our hands and tell the moms its cheaper to buy soap than meds. Its good, its done. . . . or so i think. The moms see their kids entertained and not bugging them and so they command i keep singing and so we keep singing. We must have done the handwashing songs 20 times the kids kept going. Then i had to change it up with skidamarinky dink, hokey pokey, and the chicken dance. Did i mention this was outside on main street which is also a major travel route. Yup.

Best part was the next day after school one girl stops to use the neighbors out house and she brings out her little bar of soap. One kid got the message.

After 10 hours in a bush taxi driven by a madman we finally made it to a small village in Haute Guinea for the grand fish festival. Let me preface this by saying upon arriving at the tree lined main avenue dotted with clusters of adorable thatch huts my fellow Fouters and I realized the village is exactly what we pictured Africa would be like when we learned we were coming to Africa. The drums were fierce and after dropping our gear off at our sleeping quarters we went to investigate. We found a crowded village square and finally made our way to the front and there we sat watching all the dancing and drumming. You might be able to find footage on line the national news service RTG (I think) was there among others with video cameras.

Later I fell asleep to drums in the distance and awoke to a different sort of pounding: women pileing rice in giant mortars and pestals. Working in tandem one, two, one, two slamming their pestals down. After breakfast we toured the bustling village, checking out an ancient fort- its been around since the village started and villagers would go there for protection if they were attacked. Then we walked to the Niger River and waded in. One by one 7 out of 10 flopped down into the river as the cool water washed over us clothes and all. I had brought a bar of soap and it made the rounds as we washed off the travel dust. It was great.

Now the fishing: there is a very large mar(very muddy, shallow lake) everyone surrounds the lake with nets and these wooden cones they use to stick into the bottom and hope they caught a fish. At no discernable signal everyone rushes in. I got stuck in the muck and had to dig out my sandals and continue barefoot. My makeshift net didnt work but I had fun wading around watching the fun.

The best part: returning to the Niger filled with thousands of Guineans and cleaning off the mar mud, exfoliating my feet with river sand. The day ended in rain but after the storm we went for tea. All in all one of the coolest experiences of my life.

So there are times when I have no idea what language I am speaking or hearing. I don't know if its English, French or Pular. Also if an english speaker starts talking to me like the 3 Argentinans who stopped in my village, I have a hard time switching to english to reply and I just keep going in French. Also my grammer in all 3 is atrocious.

You will be proud that I take myself less serious. Social situations are ackward here and you just get used to it. I even laugh when I catch the girls making fun of me. They think they are being sly but really I'm the only person that says "I'm learning small small" in Pular (Mido ekitaade seeda seeda"). If it gives them something to laugh at so be it.

My accomplishments this month: the vaccination room is running better than ever even though it is still slow going, they are resisstant to talk to mothers and council them, and it is impossible to find the health centers (hc) copies of the kids records sometimes. I have also found a new place to beat my clothes against the rocks that is more secluded and the water is supposed to be cleaner. I really hope I don't get river parassites. I have talked to two women about using birthcontrol, and so far I have a 50 percent success rate at making my case. I have also bought some african art (like 2 hours ago) its a wooden figure of an animal the only thing in my price range and i bought a cute tie dye dress. I live so cheaply I figure I can spend some mad money and I'm trying to save up to send presents back.

I have found the new love of my life: mangos!! Mangos are in season and they are wonderful. I am a fan of mixing them with cut up pineapple, tomatos, onions, and garlic to make salsa that is so good. Oh and if anybody is wondering you can make just about anything to eat by using tomatos, onions, and garlic. Even though the all rice and sauce diet is still tough at times I'm getting used to it and I realize I'm probably eating healthier than I ever have in my life. Someone please help me and send junk food. Although my friend in Labe has found a place that sells almost dounuts. We thought they had cinnamon rolls but we were decieved and it was just sweet bread.

Right now I am sitting in an internet cafe listening to a mix of african and american music trying not to be too obvious about dancing in my chair while the kids are all searching dating web sites. Ah young love.

So what else is new . . . oh so call it deja vu but we got new drugs in the hc and you guessed it I was once again counting and stocking drugs. I showed the other woman working how we do it in the USA so much faster and easier. Difference made. It made me miss being at home working with the K crew and eating junk food and counting pills. Here I am in Africa counting pills with a woman who has her baby on her back and the baby is handing us plastic bags to put the meds in. She's like 18 months old. As we were stocking the drugs in the back room I found something incredible and nobody else seemed to realize it: 2 computers a rich Guinean sent from Europe. One for the hc and the other for the school. Ohh the possibilities especially for my school library project I want to kick off over the summer so we can have books for the kids in the fall. How am I the one shocked and awed by technology and everyone is like ehh. Then again some people here have cell phones that are nicer than the one I carried back home. Heck they are nicer than my cheap ass nokia. But then I live in the bermuda triangle of cell reception one moment I have it the next nothing.

So I'm just trying to get grounded and figure things out. I can't believe its been almost 3 months at site. I kept saying go slow you have two years and now its like whoa I have less than 2 years. Soon I'll be doing my inservice training and then I'm supposed to begin my real work. for the first 3 monthes they want us to not do projects and just do a community study.

Here is how I've been keeping busy:

Wake up as the vultures use my roof as a landing pad- noisy bastards.

Eat cereal maybe listen to the bbc

bucket bath, sunscreen, and random tee shirt and wrap skirt and its out the door

drink some tea outside of Binta's boutique, go to the hc, visit people, maybe hike to an outlying village

around 1 or 2 I head home for lunch

Visit the taylor, and the pharmacy, maybe wash my clothes or house

buy anything I need

by 7 or 7:30 it starts getting dark and I head home. I reheat lunch leftovers of rice and sauce (I eat with a family and they give me food and I give them the stuff to make it with every market day). Listen to the news on bbc, write in my journal, do a little yoga while meditating on that nights passage of the Tao Ching (yep make any jokes you dare to). Then read and sleep and hope the rodents don't get in and steal my food or wake me.

Sundays are my days and I wait for people to call from home at my regular reseau (reception) spot.

Reading for this month:

Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett. Epic and wonderfully written. Some parts made the characters seem flat but otherwise I really enjoyed it.

I hope they serve beer in hell. Basically this guy recounting all of the sleazeball things he's done to girls. Entertaining until you realize this is a real person and he really thinks this way.

The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd I loved this novel about a girl running from her shattered life and finding shelter. It was beautifully written and the characters were amazing.

Currently I'm onto The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. Read this along time ago but I think I'm getting more out of it now.

I hope everyone is well please keep me updated.

Love always

I guess I'll start by saying time here is different. The pace of life is much slower but because the quality of life is so different from what I'm used to my days seem fuller. I look back and think did that only happen Tuesday. So much has happened since then that Tuesday seems like it happened last month. Perhaps

its the lack of a schedule that makes days more meaningful. At home I'd go to work, a job I could do blind folded come home and the only question was are we going out and where.

In actuality the only regular event in my week is market day. I love market day in the morning as I walk to the health center. People are pouring into the down town

area dressed in their most beautiful and brightest clothes. All excited for another market day ready to buy, sell, meet with old friends and new.

So many people spill out onto the road cars can barely pass and I wonder how people aren't hurt in the crush. The brightness and optimism of the day is catching. By evening though the atmosphere is different everyone

is desperate to make one more sale and then catch a car back home. Some people are contenct others a little let down. I like Monday mornings the best. Sunday evening is good to, market women arrive and set up selling fruit to

the passing trucks. I live on a highway if you will with all traffic from Dakar, Senegal coming into the main town here going thru the village. They rush at the

cars and trucks yelling "Sote bananas! Mille Franc!"

When I first got here at site I told myself I wasn't going to push myself: little by little (a favorite phrase here)

I would do something. This attitude hasn't lasted as I've gone a little stir crazy. Almost on a daily basis I question my

ability to effect positive change. There is alot of time to think. I have to remind myself most of my work is to promote

crosss cultural understanding. That by just being an American woman I can promote a positive example. Case in point:

when I first arrived my neighbor was shocked I was changing my own lock and she argued with me to wait for a man to come and do it

Two months later after one of the kids lost the spare key she came to me to have me change her lock. It just goes to show you that you

can change the perception of a woman's worth and hopefully in two years I'll be writing about women who change their own locks and don't let men dominate

and control their lives.

This is another change although i've always considered myself a feminist it has never been more obvious than here. I see all these young womken, some barely older than me and they have been married off

at 13, 14 as the third wives and now have 3 children and make their own living while their husbands are off in Dakar or Labe with their other wives.

Maybe he'll send money and a sack of rice but don't hold your breath. What I don't understand is how a man can value

his child so little that he gives her to such an existance. Then men complain how immature their wives are, you want to scream

BUT YOU MARRIED A CHILD It is ture most of the women here have the attitudes of young girls. They are treated physically as women from a young age (pre puberty)

raising younger siblings, washing the house, clothes, the giant cooking pots, making food daily to feed dozens. However they are not iencouraged to thing, express themselves, or

solve problems. Just to do things as they have been done for generations.

Child rearing is a whole different ballgame too. At home our babies are always at a distance. We push them in strollers, keep them in cribs because we don't want to spoil them

by holding them too much. But we always keep a close eye on our children knowing where they are and with whom all the time. Here babies are in constant contact

with their mothers- always strapped to her back. I wonder at how easily they can sleep there as she cooks and cleans or dances at a wedding.

But once the kid can toddle along anything goes often I find a group between ages 3-7 playing on the rickety market stalls like they are jungle gyms free to roam the village.

Often I know where my 3 year old neighbor Jennaba is because you can hear her yelling for her big brother Sekou "Cotoe, cotoe!!!" and you know she has found him because he inevitably hits her and she

starts to cry. I feel nervous and overprotective of these kids. I'd hate to see them get hurt. Its funny to think the majority of people here are under the age of 15.

Today kinda sucked no matter how hard i try my house is never clean i am such a ,idzest house wife. I wanted things to be presentable if Trian our doc was co,ing to make sure I was living healthy. There were lots of babies to vaccinate : positive but they left me out to dry when I was trying to fill out the health forms the women are so shocked a whitie is speaking their lang they don’t know how to respond.Then ibrahim the intern doesn’t know how to use the scale properly and he wont get onto the moms with really underweight babies. Its like oh a small baby next. I cant tell you how many times ive grapped my boob and said six moons in pular to stress they need to only breastfeed enfants: otherwise things are falling into place iù, ,aking friends and Im finding things I can do to be useful: