It has been way too long since I last wrote and for that I apologize! It's hard to write interesting entries now that fewer and fewer things strike me as unusual. Competitive donkey racing, manly men wearing glittery jelly sandals, and frisbee-sized scorpions have all become decidedly ho-hum. My neighbor set up a metal bear trap outside my kitchen (at night, so it wouldn't catch children), and when he returned the next morning with some rat meat for me I was just like, "SCORE! I needed some protein."

As you can imagine, this attitude was not immediately shared by my family when they came to visit me for Christmas. They adapted quickly, though. By the end of the trip they were drinking fresh cow's milk, wearing Malian clothing, taking bucket baths with cold water, and eating communally with their hands (except for Dad, who we discovered was the high-maintenance one in the family. He brought a spoon with him to every meal and seemed dismayed when no one came up to him with a pepper grinder asking, "Would your excellency like some seasoning for your foie gras and caviar?"). We traveled all over the country and saw the various sites and traditions of Mali. We hiked up the steep cliffs of Dogon country, saw the cave dwellings filled with bones and talismans, watched a traditional Dogon mask dance, rode in a wooden pinasse (dugout canoe) down the Niger river, walked around the largest mud building in the world, and experienced the music and markets of Bamako.

We spent Christmas in my village, and I was incredibly impressed by the kindness and openness my family showed for all of my Malian friends and neighbors. Despite not knowing the language and environment, my entire family danced to the wooden xylophone music, ate goat's meat with my Malian host family, and cooked up pork presented to us by the congregation of Christians in the neighboring village. The members of Kadiaradougou, for their part, were ecstatic to have 6 fresh foreigners visiting. They chattered delightedly about them and commented on everything they did. I especially enjoyed this aspect of the visit, because I could translate everything they said in whatever way I chose. Example:

Fatoumata: "Tell your brother-in-law he dances like a blind field monkey picking oranges off a tree!"

Me: "Carl, they say you dance like a majestic king and the "robot" will become a village classic."

Just kidding family... everything I translated was completely accurate. And the greetings I taught you weren't rude "your mom" jokes or anything. But even if they were, you'd never know ...

Throughout the whole trip, I was incredibly proud of my family. Everyone in my village loved them. Every week someone tells me, "Your mom is such a wonderful dancer!" or "Your father is a good man," or "Marry me to your brother. He'd feed me Oreos every day." (Actual quotes, by the way). I cannot help but agree with them on all counts; my family is wonderful!

Mali's hot season has just begun, meaning people can't work in the fields and as a result have much more free time. It's the best time for working on projects and getting stuff done. We're working on getting a 2nd pump installed, creating two community gardens, improving shea butter production, and holding literacy classes. The members of my village never cease to impress me with their motivation and deep courage. Last year, only one out of my 5 best friends in village could write her name. The sense of shame they felt at being unable to write letters or numbers, as adults, was crippling. This year, of their own initiative, all 5 of them worked through their fear and signed up for a 4-times-a-week adult literacy class. Between taking care of their newborn babies, cooking for their families, and hand washing all the laundry, they diligently study their lessons by flashlight and practice drawing and identifying the letters of the alphabet. They say becoming literate will "bring them out of darkness" (ka bɔ dibi la). It's seriously inspiring to see them working so hard to become educated, and it's awesome to hear them talk about how they'll fight to send their daughters to school.

I miss y'all a bunch and can't wait to see you in another 7-8 months! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Year, and let me know how everything is going in your lives.

After living here a year, I thought nothing could surprise me anymore. Black mamba? Ho hum. An adult man wearing a Viking helmet ski hat, complete with fake blond braids, as he sells tea? Meh. Eating field rat? Boorringg. But then I saw a massive adult cow, alive and unhappy, tied onto the back of a dinky motorbike with a teenage boy driving. According to the laws of physics, I don’t believe that is possible. But I saw it, blinked, looked again, confirmed my first impression, then asked seven other people if that was indeed a very large cow tied onto the back of a scooter-esque motorbike. The answer was affirmative and aweless. Seriously, how does that thing not tip over? I guess the laws of physics simply do not apply to any mode of Malian transport.

I understand, however, the logistics of a cow tied up in the back of a sturdy station-wagon taxi… although I’m not saying I’ve gotten used to an angry cow glowering at me from the backseat with a bloodshot eye while its massive horn is an inch from my face. Sadly I don’t have pictures of the cow on the motorbike, but here’s one of a cow going into my taxi (note: this is not a unique experience).By the way, we also fit 7 people in the front of that car.

Speaking of odd animal placement, the pump-installation truck arrived in our village with heavy machinery, a monkey, and two live chickens in the cab. We ate the two chickens, and the monkey disappeared on the same day. I don’t know what happened to it, but I’m hoping I didn’t just think it tasted like chicken.

I just want to thank all of you for your incredible generosity. Because of your donations Kadiaradougou will be able to install the pump almost immediately! This is incredibly fortunate because the deepest well just dried up! It is thanks to you we will soon have clean water readily available. I'll update you with pictures and more within a few weeks. Hadi Berthe, Wasa Jabate, Fatoumata Jabate, Bakary Watara, and all the other members of Kadiaradougou thank you!

When I was told that my friend Ajara was getting married and that a bunch of us were going to get matching outfits made I naively thought, "Oh snap! It's just like an American wedding, complete with bridesmaids' dresses and EVERYTHING!" As is often the case here, I could not have been more wrong...

To start with, no one in Mali agonizes over where to place Great Aunt Murkle on the seating chart for dinner. Anyone and everyone who hears about the wedding is welcome, rendering guest lists and any idea of planning completely useless. This fact makes Mali a virtual wedding crasher's paradise: no alibi necessary. Although if it was, you could just claim to be Fatoumata's cousin, since approximately 10% of the women in my village are named Fatoumata and they all have at least 20 cousins.

All of Ajara's friends and family members helped cook up massive vats of rice and tigedegena (peanut butter sauce) for the guests to eat. After an appropriate rest period to allow for digestion (since you don't want any cramps on the dance floor) the best part of the wedding got going. A group of musicians began to play jenbe drums and a large wooden xylophone known as the balani. Everyone got up and danced... and I do mean everyone. The 93-year-old wife of the village chief shook it like a Polaroid picture. After a couple of hours myself and my two best friends, Wasa and Fatoumata, took a break from the dancing to go visit Ajara in her bride hut. She was sitting and eating with all the young, unmarried girls from our village (at the age of 22 I'm in the older married crowd) as one of them played music. Wasa's last name makes her a griot (a musician), so she started singing a call-and-response song and beating on a calabash bowl that had strings of shells attached. I don't know how to describe it... all I can say it that it was absolutely breath-taking. We spent the rest of the night dancing and went to sleep on the ground around 3 AM.

The second day was totally unlike anything I've ever seen before. Ajara and the 14 other brides being married that day were covered with blankets and led to the wash area to be ritually bathed. They then donned new bras, tight capris (Malian underwear, called the 'mpogo'), sunglasses, a necklace, and a headwrap. A woman dressed as a man (to signify the bridegroom) then sprinkled each bride with oil and baby powder and put strings of traditional baya beads (the Malian equivalent of lingerie) around her waist. The brides were then paraded around the village under umbrellas which kept them shielded from the sun. Given the extremely conservative way women usually dress, the brides' bra-and-underwear-only outfit, worn in front of men and women both, absolutely shocked me. We then went back to Ajara's bride hut, where we sang and danced a a little longer before heading home.

My pump project is now up on the Peace Corps donation website; you can read about it at https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=688-322

Here's a brief summary of the project and how it came about:

According to the Malian government, each village in Mali should have at least one hand-operated pump that draws clean drinking water from very deep underground. Unfortunately, Kadiaradougou (population: 276) is technically part of Woroni, a much larger village about 10 km away. This means that Woroni received the government’s pump, school, and hospital; if the people in my village want to use any of these services, they must walk, bicycle, or persuade someone to take them by dirtbike to Woroni.

The village is diligent about keeping their wells covered, but since large numbers of women draw water every morning and evening debris inevitably makes its way into the wells. Villagers use cloth scraps to filter it and treat the water with bleach when they can afford to, but these methods alone cannot eliminate all the harmful contaminants. Additionally, the wells occasionally go dry during hot season. The previous Volunteer worked with the village to repair and improve the existing wells and brought in a geological expert to assess the best location for a pump. Unfortunately, her term of service ended before the next two phases could be implemented. That's where I come in- I'll be working with the village to get the borehole drilled and the pump installed.

The Kadiaradougou Water and Sanitation Committee, made up of 6 men and 12 women, planned and worked on all the well improvements and on the first phase of the pump project. They are an extremely motivated and effective group, and they will be responsible for almost every aspect of the pump project. The leader of this Wat/San Committee, Hadi Berthe, will coordinate with the pump company to have the borehole dug and the pump installed, and he will direct the construction of the pump stand and soak pit. Benefou Djabate is the treasurer of the committee and will be responsible for collecting the village's money and purchasing the sand, gravel, rocks, cement, local supplies, etc. Sediki Berthe is the secretary and will keep records of each day's activities and participants. Bakary Watara is the president and will oversee the project, assist with construction, and help with the purchasing of materials. I'll manage all Peace Corps funds, supervise the project, provide advice when necessary, and assist with construction.

You can see a picture of the India/Mali pump here: http://www.sovema.fr/catalogue/present_pmh.php?cPath=23&language=en Let me know if you have any questions about the project, as I'd be more than happy to answer them!

So, you may be wondering what exactly I do here in Mali when I'm not drinking tea, eating millet mush, or honing my machete-wielding skills by attempting to whittle a thimble with a knife the size of Iceland. Actually, I think some of you might wonder if I do anything besides sleep, eat, and make up new blessings for my joking cousins ("May Allah give you all the beans you ever wanted and make you less ugly so you can find a wife"). To relieve you of any suspicion, I'm going to give a list of some of the projects I've been working on. Here goes:

-Writing a proposal and budget for one of two water pumps for Kadiaradougou and submitting it to the US Embassy in Mali (I'll hear back about the funding in March)

-Writing a different proposal and budget for the second pump and submitting it to Peace Corps Partnership Program (Peace Corps will approve it and put it up online within the next 3 months, at which point I'll email you all and let you know how to donate if you'd like)

-Attending Food Security conferences at the governor's office in Sikasso (learning how to improve grain storage, farming techniques, and nutrition knowledge)

-Working with another Volunteer to plan the 4-day regional training session that will occur in March; it will consist of technical/instructional trainings for Volunteers, NGOs, and Malian counterparts

-Creating a weekly radio program at the local station with 3 other PCVs. We talk about health, education, sanitation, etc., play American and Malian music, talk about American events, and generally make fools of ourselves by making bean jokes and donkey jokes with the radio host

-Having two Malian university students come out to my village to give a presentation on HIV/AIDS

Hope that gives you a good picture of some of the stuff Peace Corps Volunteers in Mali work on!

Similar to America, in Mali it is customary to bring gifts back to your family and friends when you have been away for an extended period of time. I brought some presents from the USA and decided to make them extra America-tastic by wrapping them in shiny Christmas wrapping paper and ribbons. I thought my Malian family would be simply delighted by this unique American tradition. Instead, they stared at the paper-covered objects and back at me with a bewildered look as I tried in vain to explain why they needed to tear open the decorative paper and throw it on the ground with great gusto. The number of Malians who think I'm a legit loony increased by a factor of ten in that day alone.

On the bright side, it turns out that the annoying sealed plastic that everything in America comes cased in poses no threat to a Malian. Whereas an American man would accidentally slice his fingers open with a pocket knife while attempting to wrestle his new Frisbee out of its plastic packaging, my host brother easily took care of things using his recently sharpened machete. One whack and that Frisbee was free to fly; not a drop of blood was shed. It's great being back in Mali! My friend Fatoumata is getting married next month, so soon we'll head over to the big Zegoua market to get matching fabric for our wedding outfits. Also, now that my first 6 months in Mali are over, I am able to communicate pretty well in Bambara and can start seriously planning projects with my homologue. Our major project is getting a pump installed so that people in Kadiaradugu have access to potable water (more detail on that in my next email). However, I'm also doing some smaller projects: a literacy program, handwashing formations, and a weekly health-based radio program in Zegoua.

The biggest holiday in Mali- Seliba- came and went without a problem. We wore our nicest Malian outfits, drank tea, ate lots of beans, and “yaala-yaala’d” (meaning walked around talking to people). The “sheep festival” is also a day of doom for thousands of wooly animals throughout the country. Each family, if it can afford it, buys and slaughters a sheep. Part of it is burned in sacrifice, part is given to the village chief, and the rest is cooked and consumed over the next few days. Thinking that every household in my village was expected to buy a sheep, I planned on doing the same and sharing it with my host family. However, I found out from other PCVs that as the sheep purchaser, custom would require that I oversee the cutting of the throat and personally select which still-bleeding parts should be sent to my Malian counterpart, the village chief, and my host family. Question: which sheep body part is best? Answer: I’m not buying a sheep.

Instead, I settled on four chickens: one each for my host family, counterpart, language tutor, and the village chief. One of the lessons I’ve learned in Mali is that live chickens can be easily transported if one holds them upside down by the feet. Seriously- they don’t even cluck. Thankfully, the birds turned out to be a great decision- my village’s harvest was terrible this year and the village chief was the only person who could afford to buy a sheep. It would have been culturally taboo for me to buy one as well, seeing as how the village chief makes more money than I do and has a higher social status. After his sons killed and cut up the sheep, the meat was distributed throughout the village.

Now for some random facts:

1) My 23-year old host brother killed, cooked, and ate a viper that he found in the fields.

2) I saw people cooking and eating a rat the size of a possum. They’re going to let me know the next time they catch one so I can try it. Apparently it takes better than either chicken or fish.

3) A fellow PCV in a super-rural village found and killed a 12-foot python in front of his hut. I saw the pictures, and he definitely wasn’t exaggerating.

It's October in Mali; the rainy season is coming to an end and soon "cold season" will be upon us. That means the temperature will dip into the low 80s or maybe even the shockingly cold high 70s. Accordingly, my Malian friends will be donning their massive puffy winter coats and wool hats with tassels. Oh, and if you ever wondered where your mom's neon pink and green ski onesie from 1982 went, here's your answer: to a 42-year old Malian man riding a moto.

In terms of my village, everything is going really well. My Bambara is continuing to improve, thanks in large part to one woman who recognized the fact that I was faking comprehension approximately 60% of the time. I had MASTERED the "un HUH" sound that Malians make to indicate understanding, and as a result I used it to successfully end many a conversation despite not understanding a word. Of course, I was out of luck if the person had asked a question... un HUH apparently doesn't work for that. I tried it. Anyways, along came my neighbor Wasa, who repeats things in different ways until I completely understand what she's saying. She also has an amazing knack for understanding what I'm trying to say, even if it isn't quite clear to me yet. Like when I say in Bambara: "Day before, market I take mint and now mint no water" she somehow understands that I actually mean "Wasa, guess what? Yesterday, I bought fresh mint leaves at the Siekroni market and dried them in my yard because I like to put mint in my tea."

Speaking of tea-drinking, it's a big deal here socially. Malians gather around several times a day to talk and boil a small metal teapot over a charcoal fire pit. They make 3 rounds of tea from one bag of leaves, a process which can take anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour and a half. There's a saying that, "The first pot of tea is bitter like death. The second pot of tea is hard like life. But the third pot of tea is sweet like true love." There are two small tea glasses, and they are filled and given to drink according to the social hierarchy (age and gender being most important). In other words, the village chief gets the first glass, then the next oldest man, the oldest woman, etc. I qualify as a sort of third gender because I'm a weird American woman who wears pants and reads books. I'm given the glass before other women my age and often before the men my age.

To give you an idea of the (admittedly somewhat dismal) transportation situation in Mali, I'll provide you with a sample transport schedule from the country capital to my village. Prepare yourself.

BAMAKO-SIKASSO: duration (6 hours... or 2 days, depending)

Head to the nearest bus station, hoping its location has not changed since your last visit. Choose the most reliable-looking bus leaving with the next 24 hours, meaning the only bus leaving within the next 24 hours. Ignore any alarming facets of the automobile, such as broken windshields, rust holes, goats falling off the roof, etc. Haggle the price down by calling the driver a bean-eater and step inside. Pretend the dirt-colored interior does not owe its hue to actual dirt. Wait anywhere between 30 minutes to 4 hours for the bus to fill up with people and rice bags. Depart.

After the bus breaks down, as it almost certainly will, check out the damage and assess whether to prepare for a night or a few hours by the side of the road. In either case, copy the other bus riders by pulling some leaves off a bush and fashioning yourself a nice napping mat. After 5 hours or so, load onto a different bus that has come to pick you up. Since this bus is already full of babies, manioc, and chickens, stand for the remaining 3 hour ride into Sikasso.

SIKASSO-MY VILLAGE (duration: 1 to 4 hours)

Head to the closest side of the road. Flag down the first white station wagon to pass by and load your baggage and bike on top. This will increase the car's total height from 1 1/2 stories tall to approximately 2 stories tall, due to the bags of woso, chicken crates, and cows already on the roof.

Squeeze in and greet the other 12 passengers; place a small child on your lap so as not to crush him/her. Realize that you made a BIG mistake when 4 men get out to push the car, since it will not start on its own. Prepare for a very long ride.

Proceed to stop along the side of the road multiple times so one passenger can inquire about local charcoal prices. Finally, find a satisfactory charcoal stand and watch as the bag is loaded and the car is again pushed to start. 20 minutes later, get out of the car: the tire has blown. Wait as the car is unloaded, the spare tire is dug out and put on, and the car is reloaded. Pile back into the vehicle... ride for 15 minutes until new tires are spotted in a pile in front of someone's hut. Stop, get out, and sit as the car is again unloaded, spare tire is removed, new tire is put on, etc. Converse in broken Bambara with a nice lady cooking up some to. Pile back in the car. Once pushed, the car will sputter on for another hour until it drops you at your village.

I'm now officially a real Peace Corps Volunteer! I met language requirements and passed the other tests, and on Thursday I swore in at the American Embassy in Bamako (which has GRASS on its lawn!!!). On Friday our homestay families came to the training center to eat dinner with us, and for once the Malians had culture shock instead of the PCVs! We all ate in the American way: buffet-style, with individual plates and forks. My family was definitely a little uncomfortable, and halfway through the meal my older sister stopped trying to use the fork and went back to using her hand in the Malian style. Honestly, I think hands are more efficient. It was good seeing them all one last time, but it was sad to say goodbye. I'm pumped to go back and visit the village in a year or so when I can speak the language better.

I'm now in Sikasso, a regional capital which is about an hour away by bus from my permanent village site. It's the town where I have my bank, my post office, etc. Getting here from Bamako is always an adventure- it's a 7 hour ride by public transport on a good day, but last time our bus broke down for 5 hours. Luckily that didn't happen this time, but we did get rained on... while inside the bus. Malian buses definitely do not have air conditioning, which is a major bummer when it's like 105 degrees inside the bus and the fellow passengers refuse to open the windows because they are afraid of wind. When we got to the station, we unwisely took the first taxi we saw... we should have realized this wasn't a great idea when the car had to be pushed by 2 men in order to get it to start. Oops. After riding for 5 minutes, we ran out of gas, and when the driver got the car going again, smoke poured into the interior. I rolled the window down and hung my head out the window like a dog to get fresh air, but I think my life has still been shortened by about 2 years.

On Wednesday I will move into my house in Kadiaradugu (pronounced cod-ji-are-ah-do-goo). I am replacing another volunteer, so I bought all of her furniture from her... I've got a gas camping stove, a bamboo shelf, some tables, a low bamboo bed, plastic plates and kitchen stuff, etc. My favorite part: she painted one of the tables with an American flag, and one with a Malian flag. I love them!

Strange things I have seen so far in Mali:

-2 giant tarantulas

-1 black scorpion the size of my hand

-3 prehistoric-looking beetles measuring approximately 6 inches

-Many people with six fingers on each hand

Here is a recap of the last week or so of my Mali Peace Corps experience:

As a birthday present, Mali gave me a parasite! Luckily, it was a relatively mild one that Malians just call "amoebas"... I had to take some heavy medication for a few days and then the unpleasant symptoms went away. Despite the illness and meds I actually enjoyed my birthday! I was happy to be at the training center in Tubaniso because they made me a cake and I got to hang out with my PCT friends. I haven't been back to my homestay family this week because of site visit, but I'm guessing they don't celebrate birthdays the same way we do. Actually, I found out that many rural Malians don't have names for colors: an object is either 'light' or 'dark.' Only in urban areas do they have Bambara names for red, blue, green, etc.

In other news, I just returned from a week-long visit to my permanent site (which I'll move to in a month)! I would not consider myself to be a big believer in destiny, but seeing my site and meeting everyone in the 270-person village gave me a feeling of purpose that I just can't describe. My "homologue" (meaning my coworker/colleague/mentor) is named Hadi Berthe; he one of the village's most vocal leaders and is extremely motivated. I'll be working with him to get 2 pumps installed in the village so that they finally have a source of potable water. Hadi speaks Senufou, Bambara, and French fluently (though he cannot read or write them), and he has worked extensively to build and improve the wells and soak pits in his village. He also looks EXACTLY like Tupac Shakur. Seriously, look Tupac up on Google Images and that is what my homologue looks like... people throughout Peace Corps have started calling him "Tupac" instead of Hadi. He couldn't be more pleased.

I'm an hour away by bus (when it doesn't break down: this is a big problem in Mali) from the city of Sikasso, and only 45 minutes away by bike from another American volunteer. I have cell phone service when I stand by one specific corn stalk located about a 5 minute walk away from my house. No joke- it goes from "no service" to three bars as soon as I step up to cornstalk number 14. I'll be able to go into Sikasso and get internet about once every 2 weeks or so, and I'll also do my grocery shopping there. I've got a solar oven and a little gas stove, so I'm pumped to start experimenting with cooking. Once a week I will eat dinner with my host family: sadly, despite the fact that my host father has 3 wives, none of them can cook. They always make corn to (pronounced "toe") with this watery spicy sauce. It's like slimy, tasteless cornbread jello dipped in motor oil and hot pepper. Luckily my culinary-inclined homestay family has taught me how to make some delicious Malian dishes, so anyone that visits me will get a nice taste of Mali.

I just returned to Mali's Peace Corps training center after spending my first two weeks with my homestay family. I've been staying in Kobalakoura, a village of about 300 people, and there is no electricity or running water in the entire area. Mali is the third poorest country in the world, and my village reflects that: the bathrooms (called 'negens' in Bambara) empty out into the street, and most of the children run around without shoes on. There is a pump in the center of the town from which I draw my water each day, and the temperature usually soars above 90 degrees.

My next three months will be spent living and learning Bambara in Kobalakoura with the Coulibaly family. They have renamed me Korotoumou Coulibaly because that is waaayyyy easier for them to pronounce. They're an incredibly friendly family- my host dad has two wives and a ton of kids and grandkids. They don't speak English or French, but my Bambara is rapidly improving. I can now communicate things like, "I take bath now" and "No, I have no children.... uhh America we not marry early, children we have at 30 years old." I can also tell when they are mocking my sloppy millet-pounding technique.

One of the most unique aspects of Malian culture is their standard running joke about beans. Yes, beans. The different families in Mali used to be violent rivals, so the government leaders decided to make it all into a joke to diffuse tension. These former enemies now insult each other mildly by saying things like, "You Coulibalies are bean eaters! You smell. And... you eat donkey." I'm not making this up. Seriously, any time I meet someone with the last name of Djarra or Jabate, they call me a bean eater. They say I'm poor and smelly because I spend all my time eating beans. In turn, I am expected to deny that I eat beans and retort that they eat dogs or something similarly insulting. No matter how many times these jokes are repeated, they are still absolutely hilarious to all Malians. A word of warning, though: NEVER, ever make 'your mom' jokes. It will turn out terribly.