Small Successes

It’s hard being where we are and doing what we are doing. Yes, it is hard being a Peace Corps volunteer, but living and growing up in this generation is hard to. Many of us don’t give ourselves enough credit for our accomplishments. We only look at the failures in our lives and forget about all the small successes. When I was in high school all I did was go go go. I had to do everything because I felt that people would think I was a failure if I wasn’t a strait A student, in all the clubs and doing numerous extracurricular activities. I was concerned not only with what my parents thought, but I was concerned with what my future college recruiter would think. At then when I was accepted to college, I started to be concerned with what my future roommate would think about me. Would I be skinny enough? Pretty enough? Rich enough? Smart enough? Good enough? Once I entered college, my thoughts concentrated around my coach and if I was good enough to be on the rowing team. Did I have what it took? For four years of my life, well for much of my teenage and young adult life, all I cared about was what people thought of me. Was I good enough? Was I matching life up? Was this the way I was supposed to act? I never one looked at the small victories in my life. No, I only looked at what I wasn’t doing, or what someone else was doing better.
I always said that I wanted to join the Peace Corps because I wanted to change my life. I wanted to leave my family and friends and come back someone different, someone better. I was so wrong. I am not becoming better here, none of us are. We are all growing into the people we all ready were, but had no time to find. I like to think of one of the most engaging and special moments in Mali to be one, which included a group of women and myself at market. Now, when I tell this story to other people they’re like “really Hannah, that’s your special moment?” – well yes it is. I was sitting there, on a log, at the end of a long market day. Since I am living in Mali, the sun was beating down on me so much that all my clothes, of course, were soaked in sweat. Nonetheless, I sat there, on that log, with this little 5 foot woman who lives in my village. We started talking – aka laughing and pointing at each other – when another woman (im not sure who she actually is) came up to me and said she loved my necklace. I said thank you and jokingly took it off and gave it to her. So she, in return, took hers off and, moving the hair, clipped her necklace onto my sweat soaked neck. She looked at me and said, there, now we’re friends. Then, of course, the necklace I was gave her broke, haha. Well, of course, I felt terrible and tried to give her necklace back. She would not take it, telling me she could fix the necklace and wear it all the time.
This simple act of friendship caught me so off guard I didn’t know what to do. Yes, I had been going to market with these women for months now, and yes we had talked before and yes they were the closest people to “friends” I had in village, but that simple act of kindness blew me away. I sat there on the horse cart going home and began to think about the differences between Malian and American culture. Yes Mali is one of the poorest countries in the world, with a illiteracy rate of around 70%, a malnutrition problem, where children only go to school till the age of, hopefully, around 13 and then – if we’re lucky – wait a couple of years to get married and start reproducing. Yet, with all of these “problems”, the people in Mali are a whole other story. They’re kind. They’re generous. They’re loving. They are funny. They care. Yes, they might not “think the way we do”, but is that bad? Why do we need to live with washers and dryers? Why do we need to drive a car every where we go when walking can do? Why do we need to blow dry our hair every morning, just so we can look cute walking down the street impressing total strangers? Why do we need all these things? I think back on my high school and college years and all I think about are the things I did to impress other people, socially and professionally. I never did anything for myself or because it was simply the right thing to do. I lost everything about myself that I wanted to be, everything that I wanted to grow up to be.
Mali is special in a way because it allows you to look at life simply. It gives you not only another view of the world, but another view of yourself. One of the aspects of the PC that I find so difficult is the way our mental thinking is challenged here. We cannot start a project from beginning to end just in a couple of months. Other things matter or get in the way, which prevent us from doing so. Sometimes it is very difficult. We have grown up in a culture and environment where everything is go go go. We have to get things done and get them done now. If we don’t, we are failures and we don’t deserve to be doing what we’re doing. We never give ourselves credit for our small successes when all we do is look at those few small failures. We are too hard on ourselves. We deserve so much more. For peat sake, we are in the Peace Corps. We are living in AFRICAN VILLAGES BY OURSELVES! We are eating with our hands, living without electricity, speaking new languages, peeing in a hole, sleeping with bugs. We, in its very definition, are a success. We have trained our brains to only think about the big projects, the big steps in life, big big big, yet, sometimes what matters is not big, but is small. The smells of shea ripening in the hot Malian sun, the smile of a friend who understands you and visa versa you understand them, a small gesture of friendship between two very different people. Life is full of small successes. Just because they are small does not mean they matter any less. We forget this. We are, in a way, trained to forget this.
In light of this, I have placed below some small successes. Some are my successes in country so far. Some are cultural gatherings between new friends. And some are plain beauty found in a country full of beauty, grace and eloquence.

First manicures ever! and with sparkelly nail polish too!

This is Peace Corps Life

In the beginning, we were told we would go on a roller coaster ride of emotions throughout our Peace Corps service. In this beginning, I thought I was doing great in terms of dealing with the culture shock and transition to living in Mali. PST was an experience, but generally I regarded the process with a sort of indifference to my surroundings. I had been away from home for months at a time, been in countries were I could not understand the language and been culturally and environmentally different from my own. Furthermore, I was living in a village with seven other Americans, many of them becoming my closest friends in Mali. Through this process, and after I swore in as a PCV, I went to site and felt ok with my situation. It was different, for sure, but I felt like I was dealing with my current predicament in a stable and mature manor. I knew I was having hard times. My previous blog postings depict that fact very well. My ramblings on about things that now seem irrelevant or overly personal was my way of “dealing”. I thought if I were open with the way I was feeling, I would get a positive feedback from my peers. Also, I thought that I was dealing similar to other PCV’s in my current situation. Well… this may not have been true. Some of my previous postings did receive a bit of feedback from my fellow PCV’s saying I was actually writing down what everyone else as feeling. This made me feel a little less lonely in my brusse village in east Mali.

Looking back on my previous postings, and reexamining my feelings during the first couple of months in Mali, I have discovered I was probably in my low slump of this roller coaster ride that is the Peace Corps. Additionally and unfortunately I feel like I am still in this slump. Returning to site after IST has been a challenge. It has caused me to revise my thinking on why I am here, what I am doing, and what I expect of myself. Also, I am confronted with what I call the Real Peace Corps Life and what that means. I am not living life in my village, counting down the days to IST where I will visit my friends anymore. Now, my village is even more represented as my home. That is where I live. I am not on vacation anymore. And I am definitely not at home in the states. I am having to reinterpret my views of who I am as a person, who I represent, who I want to represent, what is important in life, where I want to go, who I want to be and basically who I am. This is the easiest way to describe my emotional status:

I am in the desert and look around. There is nothing to see for miles but sand. I am alone. There are no paths to take, no sun to even get a general direction of where I am. I am lost. Completely and irrevocably lost.

The thing with the Peace Corps is you have so much time to yourself you start to examine parts of your life that you may have “accidentally missed” before. Things that happened to you or around you, experiences you had, or people you’ve met, and now you have the time to start mentally processing all of this. This is a good thing, especially for me. Its good I am learning how to scrutinize who I am as a person, and discovering new ways to either keep that behavior up, or change it for the better. Although this “mental examination” is good, it tends to leave me in a slump. A terrible, low, slump. A slump that sucks.
Now, I was told by some fellow PCV’s that I either needed to 1) stop blog posting or 2) stop blog posting because my blog posts were too negative and that the Peace Corps Admin would be reading it. Now, this got me thinking and I want to make some things perfectly clear:

1)Mali is great. Malians are great. My village is great. The people are generous, kind, and very friendly AND I have learned so much already being here for five months, that I am excited about my future as a PCV.
2)The Peace Corps is great. The people I have met are incredible and phenomenally strong individuals that I look up to with great respect. I am so lucky and blessed to be able to be surrounded by such caring, courageous and inspirations people.
3)ALTHOUGH THIS IS TRUE……THIS IS THE PEACE CORPS AND THIS IS MALI…this means……
a.ITS HARD! Its SUPPOSED to be hard. So I’m sorry and apologize for being negative, but sometimes that how it is and I don’t want to sugar coat anything for anyone. For people who are reading my blog and thinking about joining, it is important for them to know how it really is here. That this is no vacation. This is hard work, which will test you physically and mentally. There will be days you will cry alone in your hut. There will be days you will be so filled with joy and happiness because of an experience at site (although I have not had one of these days yet, I am hopefully that they will come). There will be days you will feel confused, lonely and well just plan upset. The Peace Corps is not supposed to be a walk in the park. This experience will change your life. It will mold you into a new person. But before you can grow, you have to build the bricks, and sometimes churning that cement and putting that cement in the mold is hard, excruciatingly difficult and strenuous work.

b.Not sugar coating my blog and writing as it is, is not only good for other volunteers to read but its good for our families. For the other volunteers, it’s great to hear that someone else is having the same problems and might be feeling similar feelings. We have a network of friends here, but we are all dispersed throughout the country. Knowing someone else is there, that you are not alone, is HUGE, sometimes it’s all you have. As for our families, I have found it is incredibly difficult to explain how it is to live in Mali. What that feels like, how that affects us and the relationships we have; both in country and at home. Writing what is actually happening on the ground and how I am feeling, hopefully, will allow my family and friends to try and start to comprehend what I am doing here and how I am living. We are so scared to actually tell others how we are feeling because of some due consequence that might befriend us. Being truthful with yourself and others, and admitting what is actually going on, is far more courageous than shutting yourself up and lying, telling yourself nothing is wrong. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to allow someone else in, where this is precisely what we must do to survive and thrive.

Being a PCV is hard. Sometimes it even sucks. But this is 100% the place I want to be. I feel like it is right for me to be here and to be doing the work I am doing. Peace Corps life is just a more “in your face” example of real life, it IS real life. Sometimes its hard, so hard we don’t want to go on with it anymore. Sometimes its gives you the most joy and happiness, and all you want to do is bask in the radiance of the beauty of life. In the states, we don’t see it this way as much. We have so much to distract us from what reality is, that we forget the life we are living. Mali has been the most amazing experience to allow me to see the true face and reality that is life; the joy, the pain, the hardship. Just because sometimes it is difficult, does not mean you have to give up, it just means you have to work harder to get to the finish line, and hopefully, in the process, you will grow into the person you want to be, the person you can be, the person you were meant to be.

An Explanation

I would like to start out by apologizing to everyone for my last blog posting. I understand that some of you might have taken offense by it. I would like to explain myself and to explain my blog in general.

When I started a blog I wanted it to be one thing. Yes, I wanted people to be able to track my adventures in Mali and the lessons I learn here. But really, I wanted, I want my blog to be an outlet for my thoughts and allow other people, who are not in the Peace Corps, to be able to get an idea of the mentality and physiological affect this place and what this institution has on people. I hoped that over time, with the succession of my blog, one would be able to determine my “calendar of emotions”, the railroad that is the Peace Corps, through my blog.

It is difficult to explain to people at home what we are going through here. This is not a vacation. This is not just a job. This is a life changing opportunity, time, where we give up everything we had at home, every comfort of America and our families and friends and come to a completely different environment and place and are alone. Doing this with someone is a different deal. You know that person. You know who they are really, and there are no secrets. But if you are alone, if you come here by yourself, which most of us do, we are all alone. We are alone because everyone has secrets and hiding them is hard. Everyone has a past, and for some our pasts are tragic, and hurtful and sad. For some our secrets dominate our lives. They decide every move we make, how we act, react and how we think. When we come here alone, the people we count on at home who know us and where no explanation for actions is needed are gone. This makes us downright alone. Coming to a whole new world (which is what it really is) is not only hard physically, but mentally. We have to not only learn how to trust people and take a huge faithful step, hopefully in the right direction, but we have to deal with all the other issues the Peace Corps throws at us; a COMPLETELY different and strange language, a new culture, a new way of thinking. Here, you are the minority. Here, you HAVE to change the way you think and live your life to be able to get to the next day.

Have you ever been so scared to go to sleep because the conditioning of America has told you that all Africans are barbaric, and you’re terrified that you won’t wake back up? Even though you remind yourself that that is not true and that Malians are the most generous, caring and loving people, you still have this fear that motivates your every move, which prevents you from sleeping. It takes every amount of effort to pretend your sleeping until your body takes control and nature wins. That’s what I go through every night.

Have you ever woken up and feel completely alone because not one person around you knows who you really are? You feel like you are living a fake life, one of courage and strength, when in reality you are just trying to get to the next day and not fall apart. Every one here wants to project that image that we are strong, confident people, that nothing can push us down because we got into the Peace Corps and we are here. Really though, this is all a façade. Everyone here is struggling, or has struggled to get from one day to the next. We silently, or not so silently cry and tell ourselves to just deal and to not be weak. We look at other people and tell ourselves to not compare ourselves, but then look on in jealousy or desperate longing to be that person, or to just be with that person, so we are not so alone.

Have you ever experienced not seeing the people you love for 27 months? Not one touch, not one kiss, not one smell of their sent? I cannot think about my mother or my sister or my friends because when I can’t help but cry. I cannot think about all the people I am missing, who usually are just a phone call away, because it is such a daunting thought that I have to purposefully push it out of my mind, hoping that the next day will be different. It never is.

My point, to all of you out there, is that no one at home can ever understand what we are going through. Its not there fault either, it’s just a Peace Corps thing. If you have done it, you know. If you haven’t, no matter how hard you want to understand you simply can’t. And that is why, although we call home and talk to friends, we sometimes still feel so alone. No matter how much we want to share with these people who have completely defined our lives, we can’t, and that boundary kills. It can kill our spirit and our hope. Therefore, we have to depend on the people here to be our new family. So we can go to them when we are sad, or alone, or out of our minds crazy. Yet, once here, everyone is trying to be someone they aren’t, not until you really know them, and breaking that barrier can be tragically difficult. Allowing yourself to trust someone you don’t know and hoping beyond belief they will respect you and keep your secret is, well, now that is hard. That is a bloody hard thing to do. We all come in with secrets, and we all come in trying to find something; something about ourselves, something about humanity, something about blind human nature. We are all searching and the question of the day is will we find it? We all have fears; will we be able to combat them? Everyone has things about themselves they don’t like, will we settle or try and change them? We all come here somewhat broken, and are hoping beyond belief that we will be fixed by this experience; by the people we meet here.

All I’m trying to say is there is a reason people say the Peace Corps is the hardest job you’ll ever love. We all want to be here, and we all love something about this place, but the pressure to succeed, change, and excel push us to physiological limits. I guess that is why it is said that this will change your life, why you leave home one person and come back another. It is hard. And although we can do it, sometimes it sucks. Sometimes there are the most amazing moments and sometimes we just feel completely and utterly alone.

Sex and Bitterness

Before I actually start writing my next blog posting I would like to say something: I know that I should be writing about my experiences in Mali and what happened with this kid this one day, and how I am changing the world and how I am changing and all that kinda shit. Well, not today. Maybe one of the other nearly 800 days I will be living here and being a PCV, today I am writing about sex and being bitter (which really has not a lot to do with Mali but at least it’s fun to hear me bitch).

16 – 05 -2011:

Alas! This blog posting is about sex. So if you don’t like sex (I question our friendship), don’t like me talking about sex, or feel uncomfortable in any way concerning sex and or me, please cease reading and tune in next time.

Sex, our mommies and daddies never wanted to have the discussion with us. Yet, on the verge of our youths, 12 years old, erupting with zits and questioning why blood was coming out of that area (or for you gentleman, why that thing down there was suddenly standing up! --- Or well, im told. I don’t have a penis so I couldn’t tell you how going through puberty was as a boy), we looked for our parents for that answer. For many parents, mine included, they decided to defer that specific convo to the special employers of the public, or private, school district. Unless, you had the special opportunity to have a parent that was a teacher, them that said parent got the grown up responsibility about teaching said child about how babies were born. Undeniably, the concept of the birds and the bees would come up, maybe with an interlude of “planting and watering the seed”, which from a child’s perspective, I will tell you, either will leave said child confused or obsessed with gardening.

Now, in my household we never had the discussion and my parents left it up to my teacher to tell me what sex was and how NOT to get preggos. I must confess, I don’t eve know if I was listening to the whole sex part of my schooling, I was more concerned with the boobage part. “Where are my boobies?” I would wonder to myself. My mother, on the other hand, was not worried. “Don’t’ worry” she would tell me, “You’re going to have boobs like your aunt”. Lets just say, she was exceptionally wrong. For the most part of my life so far, I have had to declare war on boobies and lean on Victoria Secrets as my only confidant in the darkest of times. See, Victoria Secrets has this great thing called padding. My mother never liked this idea, she always said I was being decisive. Our conversations would go something like this:
- “Sweetheart, when you take home a gentleman [and yes, this ACTUALLY happened, like really conversation] and he takes off your bra, he is going to be greatly disappointed”
- “Mom, number one, the padding is only to lure the guy in and two, if he doesn’t like my boobs the way they are, as members of the tiny titty committee, well FUCK HIM”

…I would like to put it on the record that I have never had a complain, that I know of, against my tiny titties.

Back to what I was saying, when I was learning about sex, I was more concerned with my boobs than actually having sex. To be honest, I was kinda grossed out by the whole thing and about talking about sex, and until recently I am still not completely comfortable about talking about it with my mother. Aunt? Yes, best friends? Yes, acquaintances? Yes, sister? yes, but mother? Well the way I look at it is that she pushed me out of her vagina, im not comfortable telling her what I’m pushing in mine.

Back to my topic, sex . . . sex in Mali . . . and sex in the PC.

Sex in Mali is like talking about sex in front of your parents, its awkward and uncomfortable, but in reality your parents would probably give you tips rather than send you to your room for being rude. I mean who really cares about what you favorite position is, other than your significant other and or best friends, because bifs are always in the know. Well in Mali, people don’t talk about sex. They don’t acknowledge the elephant in the room that is the mammoth bulging prego 17 year old, who is about to push a 7 pound human being out of her vagina (which is probably why pre-natal consultations are such a hot-bottom issue right now). Anyways, people don’t talk about sex, or at least personal sex. Since I’ve only been here for 4 months and my language still sucks, I can’t really understand full conversations or secret conversations at that. I’ve heard that the teenagers here not only talk about sex in code – who doesn’t, but they get it on like possessed rabbits on a mission to bread more than the year before, leaping out in to the middle of brusse, while their parents believe they are talking long walks on a path with their childhood bif talking about ponies and rainbows and catfish. Other than the random not so random child resulting in these long walks, reproductive sex is never discussed. Here is an example conversation that I mastered up in my head:

- Hello kind sir, how are you?
- I’m fine, how are you?
- I’m fine. And your family? Your children? Your dog? Horse? Sheep? Goats? Second wife? Cousin second removed called your sister? oh yeah, here’s some peace bitch
- Yes, peace only
- By the way, going along with our casual made up conversation, I had the best sex last night! Like totally! It was missionary position, very enjoyable, simple, I suspect we should be having our 11 child arrive in around 9 months.
- Oh that is wonderful!

Yeah, no, that would NEVER HAPPEN.

Sex in Mali is never discussed. Which bring me to the topic of sex and the Peace Corps. As a woman in the PC, we are told sometimes we should make up a spouse. If not, given the fact that some of us are in our twenties, never married and haven’t birthed children, people here think we’re old maids.

“What!!!! You don’t have 5 CHILDREN?!?!?!?!?! BUT YOU’RE 23!!!!!!! We need to get you a ce (husband) and pregos sisan sisan (right now).”

So this topic might be awkward for some, but for me, usually all of my conversations with Malians are awkward so I just shrug it off and go home. anyways, since sex and sex are like forbidden publically here, so is touching, kissing or anything to do with affection. Which is were the problem arrises with sex and being a PCV. Sometimes dammit, we want a little cuddle, maybe a smotch, maybe a rough get it in sesh, maybe some non-commital touching or maybe, JUST MAYBE we want some freaking affection!!!!!!! You see where im coming from? (of course you don’t, unless you’re another PCV where right now you’re being like, um duh). Well I would like to leave you with a conversation I had with another PCV.

Friend: “Next care package request: vibrator. Holy shit, every other guys starting to look good to me”

Me: “no shit Sherlock, ps did I tell you im pathetic?”

Me to my mother via text: “Vibrator, in next care package. A NECESSITY. No judgment”

Friend to me: “It’s me, my dirty thoughts, my hut . . . im bound to force a Malian up against a wall and demand we get it on . . . sooner rather than later”

Moral of my story or this blog posting:

Young ladies, if you’re coming to the PCV, bring a vibrator. If not, you will, inevitably, end up having another awkward conversation with said package sender about 1) long lasting batteries 2) Pure Romance package deals 3) RUSH SHIPPING.




17 – 05 – 2011:

So as I sit here waiting for the horse cart to take me to market, I’ve come to the very important decision that will most definitely change the course of my life forever, making me not only fat, but miserable and alone . . . I’m bitter. Let me explain

1) This fucking morning. Y’all know I don’t wake up early, aka 4:30. If any of you know me at all, you would say I probably sleep more than anyone you know. So, I value my sleep. I value my sleep and made up dreams about hot tall blond haired men touching and making out with me. I value my sleep. So don’t fucking tell me I need to be ready to go at 7:30 when 7:30 really means 9. I mean, for realsy, is it really necessary to wake me up from my beauty slumber one and a half hours early? NO. FUCK. . . . Bitter.
2) Last night I was playing solitaire by myself. Lets play a game, how many things can you do by yourself to keep yourself occupied? Exercise? Done (need to do more though). Play solitaire? Done and usually lose. Sudoku? MASTERED, or at least up to the medium level. Play with myself? Yep done that and mastered that too (sorry, im being a boy, all I think about is sex, this is terrible). I can also talk to myself, sometimes it is even quite enthralling!
Mind: you need to take a shower
Hannah: I just took a shower
Mind: But you smell, like really bad
Hannah: Who cares! It's not like there is anyone here who I want to impress
Mind: I CARE, you smell and I don’t want to smell you anymore. GO SHOWER!
Hannah: NO! YOU go shower if you want to that bad
Mind: BITCH, I AM YOU so if I shower you also have to shower
Hannah: HA I win. No shower till 5
Mind: You’re such a ho.

Anyways, back to playing solitaire with myself. I am minding my own business when a little boy, I think he might be my little brother, but I don’t know all kids look the same, comes to my compound. Here’s how the conversation goes (in Bambara but the sake of you all non-Bambara folk I have translated it)
Me: Good evening
Boy: Good evening, how are you?
Me: im good, and you? Peace
Boy: Yes, peace only

. . . . . . . . long awkward pause

Me: so . . . what are you doing?
Boy: Food, are you going to eat?
Me: oh thanks, but I am full
Boy: but are you going to eat?
Me: um I’m full, I am not eating
Boy: are you doing to eat!?!?!?!
Me: . . . no
Boy: Eat, eat, nom, nom (gesturing with his hands in an eating motion) are you doing to eat?!?!?!
Me: No! I’m full! I am not eating!
Boy: . . . you don’t understand
Me: Yes I understand
Boy: no you don’t
Me: Yes I do
Boy: no
Me: yes
Boy: no!!!
Me: Ok ok, I understand, I am not going to eat, im full
Boy: you’re full?
Me: (fuck shit damn hobag) yes, I’m full
Boy: oh . . . bye!

I’m bitter. I’m a bitter terrible human being who talks to herself. I mean seriously! Im even listening to a song titled “fuck you” --- thanks Lily Allen. I love being bitter, it is so much fun!

The end.

No seriously that was the end. Yeah, not really inventive eh?

Monkey Time

I have come to the conclusion that I am a monkey. Not some of that evolution crap, but actually a monkey. Now all of you out there probs think I am crazy, out of my mind, lost for goo (which is not a far off statement). When I say I’m a monkey I mean a creature that we, as humans, study behind glass, study about and talk about in introduction to evolutionary biology classes. So lets try to imagine and use our brains and transform ourselves to be at a zoo (ironically I actually really miss the zoo, the cotton candy, the green grass, my mom ☹). When animals live at Zoo’s, the zoo keepers try and make their environment similar to their “natural environments”. Lets say, we’re a monkey (ME) and I’m from Africa. The zookeepers and designers try and create a space for me to live with trees, dirt and other biological species that are native to my homeland (Africa). They give exhibits names such as “Nocturnal” exhibit (which by the way is the BEST exhibit at the Seattle Zoo), “Tropics”, the “Rainforest”. They assume that decorating the décor in the characteristic stereotypes of such places, the animals will feel more at home. Now, due to my automatic metamorphosis into a monkey, I say that’s bull crap. Yes, they give me a house, with a roof and 3 windows and 2 doors. Yes, they give me my own compound and my own porch, yes they give me a bathroom….Well, no they give me a place to GO to the bathroom, and yet I do not feel at home. I have foreign bugs forcibly inhabiting my living environment (without my permission), the sun is way to bloody hot, and the smell is completely off. Along with that, when I am with my other monkey friends, we talk in our native language (to some this may sound like an odd array of clicking) and most definitely talk about how we are NOT at home. Anyways, so me, a money, is living in a zoo, a foreign place they have put me to teach and “be examined”

(In conjunction with my above statement I would like to clarify. The second and third goal of the PC is to, simply put it, learn about another culture and simultaneously displaying American ethics, ideals and ethos to said culture. We can be said to be cultural ambassadors. Learning from our new family, but showing that culture who Americans are)

On to the food in the zoo, the zookeepers feed me what they think I want to eat. They give me utensils to use, and let me eat out of my own bowl (which really makes me just feel more lonely than I already am). In reality, im like, really? You think im going to eat that? And no, just because you put one piece of green leafy thing and then cooked it for 6 hours does not mean it has nutrients. So what do I do? I say im full and go home and eat the sticks and twigs I brought from home, ameriki style (thanks mom!!!).

Now at the Zoo, the surroundings and food are only a small part of what I live through every day, really it’s the people, the kids, the countless small smelly dirty kids who annoy me….who really annoy me. I mean, think about it, if you were in a cage and kids kept on screaming your name for hours on end and tapping, no pounding on the glass, you would get a little annoyed too, right? Anyways, the purpose of a zoo is to alloy people to see something new, to learn something new about a different culture, even if that may between species. When this cultural exchange happens, what results is STARING! Everyone stares. It’s like I’m an alien and I’ve come to the planet and BOOM, I’m the biggest attraction since sliced bread, King Kong, the royal wedding.

(Disclaimer, this notion has nothing to do with any Malian. Malian culture is one fulfilled with community and family. A single white woman is not only a phenomenon, but it does not make sense to Malians that I like to live alone and be alone. This is part of this cultural exchange we, as PCVs, partake in).

On with my ranting, you have all been to the zoo. You know when you are looking at a monkey, lion or any animal, and it is sleeping and then slowly lifts its head, gives you a death stare and then lowers it? Well, I do this every day. Its like, I know I’m interesting and all, but im sleeping and you keep on calling my name, yelling my name, can’t you tell im sleeping? So I look up and say “lots of profanities” and then lower my head and go back to sleep. Furthermore, all the kids are staring and smacking their lips makes me, even more, want to pretend I’m sleeping so I don’t have to watch you stare at me awkwardly! On top of that, when the zookeepers realize that I CAN wash myself and I CAN cook, its like the greatest discovery since the moon (sorry NASA, I gotcha passed).

In conclusion, I’m not a total bitch and would like to add a couple of thoughts and feelings since my transformation into a monkey. When kids (and adults at that) go to the zoo, they never mean to be mean or annoying, they are just curious. When I am at home, I love to go the zoo, so I am just as guilty as anyone. They’re curious and most times just want to learn your story, what you’re about. This is human nature, I tell myself and most importantly this is how it feels to be different.

In high school, or at any time, no one wants to be so different that people stare, point and talk. Yes I am 6 foot and quite large, but I have never been so different that people stare at me like this, I’ve never wanted to stay in my house all day just so I don’t have to feel so different, so bad, so wrong. Feeling this, knowing how this feels like, I think, is good. I’ve never been on the other side of the fence before, and now that I am, I am so thankful and grateful for who I am, for who I have grown up to be. I have never felt so much in the minority; I feel uncomfortable in every way. Learning how to deal with that, while keeping my own identity and personality and mainly learning what its like being different, is paramount to what I am doing here and in teaching me the lessons that will, hopefully, make me a better person. The PC is hard not just because we have moved away from our families, friends and culture. It is not just hard because we don’t know the language and are not familiar with the environment. The PC is hard also because, for some of us, it is the first time we have ever felt so different that we are uncomfortable at all times in the day, we don’t know how to act and feel by being in this new group, and that is why its hard. Why most of us talk to ourselves during the day (seriously, we do ALL THE TIME), telling ourselves we can do this, telling ourselves we are strong and confident and smart enough to embark on this journey.

Combating Fears

As I sit here in the San stage house, one day, 12 hours before I head to site for the first time, I think of the biggest fear that kept me from applying to the peace corps. In the 12 hours, I will be facing a fear that has reserved me from reaching many of my dreams, many of the things I have wanted to do in my short life, and which I have chosen not to. This fear is loneliness. All who know me well know my biggest fear in life is to be alone. This is not uncommon with youth my age, who have yet to find their true love or companion. Being one in this group, I find myself sitting here, on a cliff, if you will, of my whole life behind me; my fears begging me not to descend into the black hole which if life. Yet, when I wake up tomorrow morning and put my bug hut away I know that I will be, finally, choosing to take this plunge and stop being scared (well kind of).

Being scared is such a part of life. Everything that we do, in some way, has been affected, or will be affected by an inner fear each and every one of us holds dear to our hearts. As I said earlier, my fear is loneliness. Being alone in a village, not being able to communicate, except “I need to eat” and “I’m tired”, is such a terrifying thought for me. Finally, I will be independent, on my own. For the last couple of years my life has turned upside down and completely re-written. I have thought, before this moment, that I have become an independent young woman; I don’t think so. I think the experience that I am about to encounter will make me the independent and responsible woman I WANT to be. It will force me to face my fears, literally and metaphorically. For some of us, we have fears that we can handle at a distance, encountering them only in a safe space of family and friends. For me, for any Peace Corps volunteer, we face this alone. We are forced to grow up and live on our own, in a country we don’t know, with a language we don’t understand (but hopefully will), and on top of all that, all that growing up we HAVE to do, we are expected and branded with a most important task, the task of being a representative of a country. Wow, I think about what I am expected to do here, and that is to be a representative of the United States of America. Shit, that’s deep stuff. I not only have to take care of myself, but I have to take care of an image that means so much to millions of people. I have to be an ambassador of the American dream, American values, American ethics, and the American people. How many people, at the age of 23, can say that is their job? to this date, over 200,000 people, and I am one of them. I am one of the lucky ones who gets to be a leader for the American people, on the ground of another country. I am blessed to learn another language, be a “middle gender” and discuss issues that normally would never be contemplated. I am here for the people, the Malian people and the American people.

Having this task on my back, I feel, has made this fear of mine grow exponentially. I am so afraid of being alone, and now I have to not only combat my fear but succeed when others have failed, I can not fail, I will not fail. In this book that I am reading, the writer says: “She was simply numb, her mind having absorbed all the fear it could, like a sponge saturated with water; after a while the fear became a constant, cold companion, a simple fact of existence”. This has been my life for the last 23 years; so consumed with fear that I have been unable to exist in any other context. I am done. I am no longer afraid. I am ready to confront these fears and be ok with an outcome that does not match my dreams. I have been avoiding opening the door because I am so afraid of what is on the other side. But I don’t want to live that way, with fear controlling my every move and decision. I want to love my dad so much, that I have been resisting opening that door, in fear that what I will find on the other side will banish my love for him. I cannot live like that any more.

In essence, this blog posting was a reassurance to myself that I can do this. I am strong enough, I am able enough, I am courageous enough to embrace the future. I don’t know what will happen, but I hope to think that my past experiences will have “toughened me up”. I hope to think I am strong enough now to overcome any feat that may or may not impede its way on my path of life. So tomorrow when I leave the safety of this stage house and embark on a new journey, a journey to my new home, I will go with gusto, and as my grandmother would say “hello world, here I come”.

- This blog post is dedicated to my dear and closest friend Frosty, who with her strength and courage, made it possible for me to be here today.

What the F*** am I doing here?

There has been talk recently among other Peace Corps volunteers and trainees about the age old question each of us has had to and must answer eventually: why the F*** am I here? Now to some of you at home, you’re probably thinking “why hasn’t she already answered this question?, you should probably have know what you were going to do before you left all your friends and family for a country half a world away!”. This is my time to answer, or begin to answer that question. I worn you though, this blog might appear to resemble a soapbox session. It is.

Many of you know my past. It is not pretty, like many others who have come before me, and that is ok. I love my family and would not change them for the world. For this reason, I have had the opportunity to learn some “life lessons” that many have yet to experience. The first time I left home for a country abroad I was running away. I was running away from my family, from my past, from my fears and from the inevitable future. This time, I have left for another reason, which I am starting to discover.

I graduated college and moved myself, packed up my belongs, everything that defines who I am in boxes and moved to Africa. Definition and identity are strange concepts. We all like to say that we are individualistic and unique; “there is only one of me”. In reality, I think, it is otherwise. We are all defined; our identities are shaped by what we do. In college and for a long time, I was defined as an athlete. I was a rower. Everything about me was a rower. Being a rower made it ok that I was 6 foot and 180 pounds. I would tell myself it was ok to eat that one sandwich or wear that size 14 pair of pants because I was a rower and you wanted to be big. Being a rower became so much engraved in my identity that once I realized I needed to stop, it was one of the hardest things I had ever done, and it took me 3 years to do it! My mom always said I was stubborn ☺. When I stopped rowing, I still faked my identity and would say “I can’t row because I got injured”. This was true, but if I really wanted to continue, I could have. I could have gone to more physical therapy, I could be careful to NOT workout (which I would purposefully do just to get injured again and have my excuse). I realized, by the end of my forth year in college, my whole identity was scattered. The only place I felt normal, where people did not criticize me for my faults were when I was with my sorority sisters. These women looked at the fact that I worked out every day as a triumph, and not what number I pulled on the erg. They saw that I did something and praised me for actually going through with a plan. Even my family would criticize me sometimes. They would say “wow, you’re looking fat today”, and although I would want them to say that so I could keep myself in track, a part of my confidence would always go down the drain. Anyways, I was talking about identity. My identity was shattered when I stopped rowing and when I graduated college. I felt lost. I felt know one could understand what I had been going through (which was a feeling I realized was consistent for much of my life).

Sooo…..I decided on the Peace Corps. Not to lie, this idea has been gathering in my mind for many years, but I never had the courage to go through with it. I always envisioned them leaving me in the middle of a village and me being so scared of that idea I never actually turned in the application. Now, I had filled out around 5 or 6 applications before, but never clicked the “apply” button. Through the application process for the PC I was always excited to go, but knew that I could not get too excited because I had know idea what I was getting myself into. I was going in blind. I had never gone in blind before. I had this idea of “saving the world” and “making a difference”, which right now, as I write this, sounds soooo stupid.

I am writing this blog right now, being on my soap box, to partly remind myself of why I am here, what I have learned and to complete one of the goals of the Peace Corps, which is cross cultural exchange. I have been here for 2 months. In this two months and I have discovered that 1) I am meant to be here. I always told myself that this was the right journey and direction to be going on, the right path to precede with, and I am happy to say I was right (for once in my life). 2) The people here, the Malians, are a breed of their own. Out of every person I have meet in my travels and at home I have never experienced anyone so kind, loving, welcoming and warm as every Malian I have met here. They care about family, relationships, their personal values and morals. Everything here happens in a family. You eat with your family, you drink tea with your family, you work with your family to support your family, and everyone participates. This concept, for westerners, sounds strange. We call it child labor; they say: “family participation”. We say electricity; they say why do you need it? We say individualism; they say family. Now, I am not dissing America and our values, I just feel like we, Americans, have so much to learn from Malians. We need to learn the value of family, learn how to get along with someone out of respect and friendship, even if we might not agree on certain points. We need to learn the concept of working together, for a common cause. We are so individualist that sometimes, I feel, in my opinion, we forget about the important things in life. I sit here and think, yes I don’t have electricity but that means that at night I sit with my family and play cards under the moonlight. To see the stars, to actually see them, is a spectacular vision. No I don’t have a toilet, but I do have the opportunity to be sensitized to another culture and to appreciate a nice clean lu (when I get home of course).

Now, back to my original question, which to all of you who are reading I am sorry (I went on a little tangent there for a bit), why the F*** am I here. I am here, simply, because I can be here, because I made a choice to give 2 years of my life to helping someone and learning about them. I am here because I can be here. I am healthy, have a supportive family, and a set of amazing friends who accept me for my crazy adventures. I am here because in this world, there are people who are intelligent, beautiful people on the inside and out, who just have been born into circumstances that are at a disadvantage to others. The Malian government asked me (well the PC) to come educate and sensitize their communities and peoples about topics. This act of welfare was an act of courage, an act of strength. They understand that we can help and have enough bravery to ask. That simple act, to ask for help, is something that we, in America, I feel sometimes view as detrimental and a sign of weakness. Actually understanding a problem and realizing that you cant figure it out yourself, which leads one to ask for help, is simply one of the most powerful actions one can do.

So the Malian government has asked us to come here and do what? To assimilate into their culture and to learn; to teach Malians about water sanitation, that there are things called germs and that if you simply wash your hands with soap and water your kids or parents or friends wont get sick; to build wells and pumps, to teach about loans, capital and how to strengthen personal economic values. We are here not to change a country, but to add to it; we are here to give this country a chance. A chance to use the intelligent people it has and its natural resources to grow personally, economically and physically, a chance to develop. We are here not to “change the world” but to plant a seed. Knowing that one child washes his/her hands and therefore preventing illness is more important than giving a family Western toilets, or washing machines or forks and knifes. If we can plant a seed and help ONE person, just one, in one way or another, my job here is done.

So that is why I am here. I am here to learn, to teach and to grow. I am here because I chose to be here, because I am able.

Yep, im still white

I am sitting here in the cafeteria at t-so thinking about the last couple of weeks and what is about to come. We just arrived back from site visit a couple of days ago. My site, currently, is in south west Sikasso region in a small SMALL village called Gouriko. It has around 2,000 people. My day arriving there was quite hectic. We departed t-so at 7 am and went strait to the bus station with our homologues. My homologues is this man, im assuming is around 40, with two wives and lots of children. So we get to this “bus station” and immediately a ton of men start running around the bus trying us to buy things and tickets. Now, ive traveled some and you don’t usually go to a bus station WITHOUT any plan. Its quite silly actually. So we are getting BOMBARDED by these men and ladies and gentleman, it is the FIRST time I have been actually scared while in Mali. HAHAHA. It was very overwhelming. So once we finally get to the bus we actually will be taking it starts to sink in, im in Mali. This bus, oh this bus. Let me see if I can actually describe it to you in some detail. This bus was probs built in the 70. It has orange “velvet” seats. There is super glue holding the pieces of this bus together. No top, just card board rafters and layers of stapled mettle hold this thing together. They put all our stuff on the top and we embark actually IN the thing. The first step has holes in it and you can see the road underneath. The seats are so dirty touching them makes you feel like you have hepatitis B. EVERYTHING IS RUSTED. The air inside this thing is so cloudy and BO filled I talk to myself saying “it will be over in a little over 8 hours Hannah, just breath and put on some Pretty Ricky”.

SOOOO we sit in this bus for around 2 hours, just sitting there. In Mali, they don’t leave on time, they leave when the bus is full. Depending on how many people are on it, you can leave at 8am or 12pm or 3pm, depending on if the driver wants to take you. Also, the price can change depending on how many people there are. So we are sitting on this bus. The seats are so tiny that your ass falls out of them. I mean people, im a thick girl, but sers, a 10 year old would not be able to fit in those seats. So we finally leave around 2 hours later. When driving in Mali you just need to shut your eyes and tell yourself that when you get into an accident, because it is an assured thing here, you will be far enough back that the head on collision wont kill you…first. The drivers in Mali are worse than new york! Road signs and even lanes are “optional”. No one has drivers licenses and if they do, they have no idea what the f their doing. Its crazy, caotic, scary…kind like a rollercoaster…for 8 hours.

So we finally leave and 4 ½ hours later we turn onto this dirt road. Actually it is very picturesque, but im like “we must be getting close”. 4 ½ LATER we arrive at this village and the my homogloyge and I get out of the bus. I am the only one left and it is getting dark. I know that I have to bike some way to the village but nothing compared to what I actually experienced. The people in the village (not mind) have probs never seen a white person before so they start to stare. People here stare soooo much, it’s like “SORRY im still white. Yep, still white. Yep still white”. So we start to bike. AN HOUR LATER we arrive in my village previously riding on a dried up riverbed for an hour. I wonder to myself, how am I going to do this every week? When we finally get to my village I start meeting all of these people, but its dark so I have no idea who any one is. After riding around for 30 minutes we finally reach a compound. I later find out it is my homologues house. They tell me to take a shower, and that is when I find out they have NO BATHROOM. People just shit and pee in the fields and where they can find some privacy. Soooo I am trying to take a shower in a cabine which REAKS with pee and I think to myself “its ok, I have my own negen at my house. You’re going to be ok. This is good. You’re growing Hannah. HANNAH YOU’RE FUCKING GROWING GET USED TO IT”.

I am EXAUSTED by this time, but have not eaten anything the whole day. Im assuming that I will get feed, but nope, they didn’t feed me. Actually they only meal they ever feed me was one dinner. They did, however, give me 30 uncooked eggs. I was like “um thanks???”. Soooo they tell me to sleep outside and im like “malaria, mosquito net” so I sleep in this house. However, this house is a communal place so while sleeping people are walking in and out…its awk to say the lease. Then at 5 am in the morning, YES 5 AM IN THE MORNING, a lady comes in a shakes the mosquito net telling me to wake up. WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WAKING ME UP AT 5 AM??!?!?! I tell her im still sleeping (odv) and crash back into another weird fucking dream that I seem to be having all the time now (the other day I dremt that I was supposed to get a pink tutu from the PC and didn’t get it and so flew on elephants to Bamako to get it). Anyways, the next week was an interesting experience. It was filled with a ton of misunderstandings and naps. It was a great learning experience. Let me explain a little about my site to you though:

I have no electricity, no running water, limited to no cell phone service. I am 8 hours away from any major city and 2 hours away from my banking town. I only get transportation out of my village once a week, which means I have to leave for at least a week at a time to be able to get money and become sane again. The “roads” are more like riverbeds, and although they said that I would be able to get in and out, I highly doubt it. my village itself is very picturesque Africa, with a ton of mango trees, and lots of greenery. I love my village actually but this transportation issue is going to be a problem. So the hilarious (yet great thing) is that I am getting a site change. So I think the last week was a good … way for me to look at Mali and have another “Malian experience”. When something here happens that im like “really? Really? Sers?” I just say “another Malian experience”. I wish every single one of you was on that bus with me though…it was, well, only the strong survive.

Sooo now I am leaving for home stay tomorrow morning. I AM SO EXCITED TO SEE MY FAMILY! They are so fabulous and I miss my host sister, Sally, her tea. SOOO GOOD! I will hopefully have some internet in the next two weeks and so will be able to update the blog more. Sorry about my writing, its not that descriptive. I wish I was able to make y’all feel like you were sitting there in that ball of rust, but well yea. Love you all!!!!!

Ps letters? Packages?

I LOVE YOU ALL!!!!

Gnamanto...GNAMANTOOOOO

It’s been two weeks since I have blogged/had Internet. In two weeks the following things have happened:

1)Libya?

2)It is official, 36 days after arriving in Mali I cried. We had a “midterm” test that basically set where our language level was. It just told us where we were and if we needed more tutoring or what not. I scared novice high. Normally, at this stage, we all should be between novice mid and intermediate, which means I scored right in the middle. I guess I should be happy. In reality, every other person in my home stay scored higher than me. I was so upset and mad at myself…so I cried. Sounds pretty stupid eh? I mean, I have been in Mali and learning Bambara for 4 weeks. I know how to say hi, describe my family, tell directions, talk about food, health stuff (peace corps), my wants, likes, dislikes, the past, present, future, all that jazz. Still, I keep on thinking, why am I not better? Anyhow, the whole funny part about it was that we were having movie night in my room so I couldn’t be that secretive with my crying, so I went outside. LITERALLY in like 10 minutes all these women are coming up to me asking me why I am crying and if I am ok. THE WHOLE VILLAGE KNEW. And I am talking like a village of like 5,000 people. “The random tubab is crying”! I mean seriously, everyone else cried their eyes out the first week and I have a mealy 15 minutes of tears and it’s like the apocalypse happened. My host bro, the next day took aside of my friends and was like “why was Gnamanto crying?” she kept saying “she’s fine, no worries” but no matter what she said he was so concerned about me. And then I hear out my window “SHAKA SERIOUSLY WANTS YOUR BABIES”…awk

3)It’s hot here. Mali needs to invest in some pools and put one in our town, and have a no peeing rule, because I am melting. Like actually melting. It’s hot. REALLY HOT. Shit. It’s hot. AND IT’S NOT EVEN HOT SEASON YET!

4)AWESOME thing happened at the bar the other day. So yeah, we have a bar. Its not in our village, but one 7 k from us. We normally hitch hike there, and if we are feeling really good about ourselves we bike. Anyhow, since it is SOOOO FING HOT OUTSIDE, we decided to go to the bar in our village and see if we could get a ride from the jeep that was parked out in front. Turns out, this snazzy shiteeee jeep owner is a Malian police officer who knows ALL OF Mali. Like no joke. His mom’s uncle is the president, YES THE PRESIDENT OF Mali. His dad is a colonel in the army, and he is the chief of police for a branch of the army. Along with this, the bar we were going to is owned by his best friends dad, who just turns up to be the mayor of Gao. Like really people, the mayor of gao. Which for all y’all non-Malians is like a region within Mali up north. Apparently he is liked this international most wanted person who is an arms dealer but who cares, he bought us a couple round of beers. And then gave us his card. Yep his card. Anyhow, can’t go to Gao because it is too dangerous, but it is the thought that counts right?

So I have been in Mali for, as I said, a little over 30 days now. Tonight, we find out where we will be living for the next 2 years. I am SOOO excited. All I know is that I needed to bring my bike back to T-S0, which means I will probs be biking everywhere. Watch out athletes, I will be backkkkk. Other than that my life is not that interesting. I go to school every day and sleep like literally 14 hours a day. And then eat and try and speak Bambara. I really do like it here though. Other than the spiders, and cockroaches. I guess I could tell you about my family and that I have become absolutely obsessed with Lipton tea, but that is not really interesting. My rooms awesome, its hot in Mali, I hate peeing in a hole so I have an “emergency” cup in my room, which I use at night or whenever I am too lazy to go to the bathroom. Sounds gross, but hey what can you do. I like in a third world country, some people even have EMERGENCY BUCKETS, yes people, BUCKETS. I have opted for the cup, but I guess I could upgrade at some point. Also, my hair is even whiter than before, and my roots are growing in so I look pretty much HOT all the time.

So I guess I could write about this hiking adventure that I went on with some of the other trainees a weekend ago. I am getting lazy though so it’s not too exciting. We just hiked this mountain…in Mali. It was like out of the lion king, which apparently is an old folk legend, which took place in Mali. We took pictures, climbed rocks, almost feel into caves, the ugsh. It was nice and windy up there so we stayed for a bit, and then went to eat food. That’s about it. I guess I could be more elaborate, but as my mom always said, I am a terrible writer. I guess its both the “bad at English” thing and also “I get bored REALLY easy” thing. Right now I’m leaning on the bored easy. Plus I want a pool. And im sorry mom that this blog has misspellings. I can give you my sign in password so you can go back and edit. Uggggghh the Internet is being a little bitch right now.

Shirt to Vag Ratio = Too High

So it has been a little over two weeks since I have arrived in Mali. I am sitting in my room at Tubaniso, which will now be officially known as T-so, and listening to some Lily Allen. I can’t believe it has been two weeks. Wow, so much has happened, my thoughts are all unorganized, like the rest of my life, haha. I love my home stay and my home stay family. My home stay is in a medium town (apparently, I think its small) called Mountugula. It has about 3 boutikis, which sell chocolate cookies (my downfall) and COLD soda. Now if you know me you know I don’t like soda, or even calling it soda, but I have grown to love it because it is the only cold thing I ever get. It is hot here, and it is not even hot season, SOOO CRAY. I don’t even know what I am going to do when it does get to 120 degrees outside and inside and ever side. Anyways, my home stay village is a new home stay village for the PC so many of the people there have never seen a Tubab (white person) before. I was named “Gnamanto Sacko” when I got there and now wherever I go I have little kids yelling “I ni sogoma” to me every morning, and then due to the culture I have to go through a HUGE dialogue just to greet that one person, or that one little kid and then one second later, right after I left that one person I have to and do it ALL OVER AGAIN WITH EVERY SINGLE PERSON I SEE ON THE STREET. All of us here are like “can we have a village greeting” every morning. Our school is legit a 6 min walk but it takes us like 20 minutes because we have to stop and greet every person. Haha.

So my schedule every day goes somewhat like this:

1. Up at 7, and yes I DO get up at 7 ☺
2. Shower with my bucket in the Negen (Malian bathroom), pee
3. Get dressed in my room
4. 7:30 eat breky with my host sister/mom Sally. She makes me lipton tea every morning, or she makes me sugar with a little lipton tea added and a bulu Shefan which is a fried egg sandwich.
5. Get to school by 8
6. Learn Bambara for 4 hours until 12
7. Walk back home, take a nap, be tots anti social and then eat
8. Back to school at 2:30 to 4:30
9. Go sit under a tree with the girls
10. Around 6 go back home
11. Shower again, pee number two of the day. It is very important in this time to shower BEFORE dusk because that is when all of the cockroaches come out of the negen hole (aka Hannah and cockroaches do not mix)
12. Eat some sort of din
13. Go over to laurens and talk with her fam fam
14. Bed by 9

We go to school Monday through Saturday and then have Sunday for homework. It is always an exhausting day. Every moment is trying to learn or speak Bambara and I am NOT good at Bambara at all. I get frustrated at myself that I am not picking it up as easily as everyone else, but know that I can not compare myself either. Everyone has a different experience here and mine just might be a little more concentrated on the Bambara.

I do like it here though. Everyone is talking about culture shock and what stage we are in. We had the “initial enthusiasm” about being in Mali, which turned into the “initial culture shock” and now we are supposed to be in the “getting used to it” stage. Maybe its because I have traveled so much on my own, but I am not getting the culture shock aspect yet. I mean yes, I pee in a hole twice a day because I don’t want to have to go any more, and I eat out of a bowl and have the most random things for dinner, like French fries and fried plantains, yes that’s it, but I am not having too much of a problem yet (knock on wood). I am really glad to have made some good friends here, but I definitely miss everyone at home. It was so true, I didn’t go to UVA to get a husband, but to get bridesmaids. The friends I have back at home, I know now being here for only two weeks, will be my friends for life. I am so blessed to have people in my life who love me and understand me, for all my silly craziness. I miss not having to explain my language or the way I talk because my friends understand everything I am “trying” to say. LOVE YOU ALL!!!! Not to be saddened or anything, but I do find that if I start to think extensively about everyone back home I get sad, so I tend to only look forward to the experiences I will soon be able to have.

When I signed up for the PC and actually arrived here, I was hoping that my life back home would help me to prepare for my life here. It is so true. I am in this experience and know that it can only go up from here. I guess I feel that in my short 23 years of life I have already experienced more good and bad things than many people will ever dream of. I have an amazing uncle who gave me the gift of education and was able to study at one of the top and most prestigious universities in the nation. I was blessed with my travels abroad and the people I met. I AM blessed with the most amazing family in the world. Although I may not always understand my sister, I do know she is always there and hopefully she knows that I am always there for me. I am blessed with the most courageous mother anyone could have, someone who is selfless because she only wants the best for my sister and I. I am blessed with an AMAZING and phenomenal aunt and uncle, who will always be, in my heart, my second parents. And I am blessed with some of the best friends someone could ask for. Along those lines, I have lived through some of the most horrific hells a person could go through. As I sit here, I think if I have lived and survived so far, I can, hopefully, get through anything life throws at me. When it gets hard, I just think of the last four years and know that I can do this, and not only do this but be successful at it. I guess that’s why they call us “survivors”. We really are.

I have sweat dripping down my leg

I want to Angelina Joli a baby. The only probs is that she never wears pants and the shirt to vag ratio is WAY TO HIGH. Its like I don’t want that on me, put pants on, wipe your nose, stop eating trash and then we can have a discuss (she is only like 1 though).

There is trash everywhere and no such thing as a trashcan. I put my trash down the negen because I HATE littering, but sometimes you just have to ☹

I’m a vegetarian. Well at home stay at least. The meat in T-So is good.

My hair is white now. Welcome to Mali.

The end.

IT IS OFFICIAL, I ATE A FRIED BALL OF DOUGH

It is true. I ate piece of fried dough today…and it was GREAT! We had our Malian culture festival today, which allowed us to buy so pagnes (Malian skirts), get henna, witness some traditional Malian dancing and eat FANTASTIC FATENING AND CARBO LOAD Malian food. All Malians eat is carbs. They are officially my favorite people EVER! Ok, to go back to the beginning.

We arrived in Mali on the 2nd of February to a hot night of 90 degrees. The first thought that emerged into my already filled with emotions head was “shit, its hot”. The next one, almost immediate to its prior friend was “wow, I can’t believe how much I love Mali”. I never knew that I could fall in love with something. There were very few people in life I have loved, and an object, nonetheless a place, was included in that category. But for Mali, it did not matter I was in love. The smell of the Malian air, the humidity that filled my throat, the terminal that I had first placed my foot once I stepped off that plane and onto the country that I would soon call my home. It’s so weird to think of Mali as my home. All of my friends are either in grad school or are doing something amazing with their lives in the states, and here I am, in Africa, officially calling Mali as my new home.

Anyhoo, the first couple of days have been a blur. Other than learning Bambara, which is the local language here and learning how to say “I ni sogoma” (which is good morning in Bambara) and so many other phrases I feel like my brain is on overload, but it’s a good overload. Everything I have experienced here I am in love with. As I mentioned earlier, I love carbs and therefore I love the food. The sauces are delicious and filled with spices. Everything that I had previously heard about Malian food was that it was dull and tasted the same, which is kinda true, but it is also SOOO good. The fact that it is full of carbs and I am going to gain thousands of pounds, I love the food and therefore I love Mali (wow I sound like a commercial).

In order for me to somewhat categorize my experiences I have a list below:

1)First animal sighting, frog, 11:40pm, February 3, 2011. It was in the roadway on our way to our huts, and yes I said huts (look at pictures below).

2)First time peeing in a hole, on the 3 of February, at night (I avoid this action at any cost, holding in my pee until I cannot hold it any longer, not because I am peeing in a hole, but because it is a HOLE and I am a TERRIBLE aim)

3)First time pooping, not yet. Yes I know it sounds gross but everyone poops. I hear that the PC gives you a thick skin and soon volunteers talk about everything from pooping to farting to sexing. Well, is that different than me at home? I am scared, and also think I am having a bit of Mr. C (We have had a whole 3 hour session on Mr. D, I can’t wait….not)

4)First time I ate communal (follow pics). AWESOME experience but totally gets you messy. You don’t eat with any utensils, only your hands, so it gets everywhere and there is grease and rice all over your clothing, oh what an adventure.

5)And last first time I saw the Niger River, February 6, 2001, approx 2pm in the afternoon. Beautiful. That is the only word to describe it. Beautiful.

So far I have been in Mali for 4 days, have peed in a hole, ate communally out of a bowl with two other Malians (one being my Bambara teacher so I was a little shy), stood next to one of the biggest and most important economically rivers in the world, danced in the Malian style, worn Malian pagnes, eaten fried dough and more carbs than I eat in a month, and had the time of my life. I can’t believe the short time I have spent in this country and cannot wait for what is to come. It helps so much to have a positive attitude here. If one is negative it all goes down from there. We also have to remember NOT to look at the whole picture, because that is scary. Realizing that we will be in here for 27 months is such a daunting task that looks impossible to achieve, but when we live for the minute, which is what I believe everyone should do, the task ahead of me looks like the most fun and challenging adventure I will ever have.

So to leave all of you out there reading my incredibly long blog, I have a couple words of advice:

1)NEVER complain about your bed
2)Be JOYFUL every time you see your toilet, praise it for its glory
3)Be MINDFUL of what you see, because it may a glorious vision clouded by the rose color glasses of life
4)Be THANKFUL for your friends and family, because they are the most important people in your live
5)Be HAPPY for living, for the gifts our parents have bestowed on us, and for the opportunities we have
6)And LOVE, continuously love.

Love your African beauty,
hannah

The Time Has Come

I started this process, like every volunteer before me, with a thought, an idea, a hope. Now, I am less than 4 hours away from stepping on a plane and saying good bye to the two most important people in my life. I hate good byes. I also like to say them quick, so to impose the less amount of harm on my emotions and basically to keep myself from creating a river of tears where there should be none. In the last three days I have said good bye to the people in my life who have had an integral part in making me who I am to this day.

(1) First, there was Leslie. Leslie is my aunt. Leslie is my best friend. Someone once said that Les and I were the same person, but in different bodies. She is my rock, she is my comfort. She is the person I go to when I am scared, happy, joyful, bored. She is always there and for that I will forever be grateful. She makes me feel safe, and in all of my travels and life experiences, she has always been there. Be it next to me in a car, me wrapped in her arms, or on the phone she has never failed to make whatever I am feeling either go away or increasingly exaggerate. She makes me laugh. When I was a kid, my mom and sister and I would go and visit her. I SO hoped she would like me. After every day, when my mom would tuck me into bed, I would secretly ask her "How was I today mom? Does she like me?" I have admired this woman, this wonderful truly beautiful woman since I could have any memories to remember. My admiration, love, respect, and dedication, will never cease to exist. As my mother says, she is my number 2 mom. Tears roll down my checks as I think that I will not be around such a phenomenal person, but I know she will always be there, even if it does have to be through skype.

(2) Second, there was Diane. Now I have only known Di since I was 12 years old. She was the drillmistress (and is to this day) of my drill team, the Highlanders. Throughout my six years on the Highlanders, I was allowed the opportunity to grow into someone who I had always wanted to be. The team taught me dedication, respect for authority, poise, bearing, confidence, self-respect, and through all of my lessons and experiences there was Di. AT practice, when I would be tired from marching or doing drills, I would look over to her and she would give me her "secret winks". I always thought these were secretly directed at me, like no one else in the world could see the little spark of friendship she would communicate to me with every "secret" wink. As I grew, matured, graduated high school and then college, she continued to be there, to keep teaching me those so important life lessons. In fact, my middle name was changed to honor her importance in my life. When I was choosing a name, I could not think of a better person to represent a new part of my life. In a resent lunch we had, she quoted a common statement, "don't forget to stop and smell the roses". The one thing about Di that I have always admired, and will continue to admire, is her grace and kindness, her pure caring soul, the love she has for every single child and adult. She told me that life has an expiration date, live it to its fullest. Thank you Diane, thank you for teaching me humility, kindness, and most of all faith. Thank you for showing me, with your actions and words that there are truly beautiful people in this world. People that make you look at all the bad and say "there is good". Ever since I could remember there is a like poster on her wall that says "to the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world". Di, you are my person, and because of you I have the self-confidence to go out in the world, to make a difference, to do my part, and hopefully to shine a light, like you have shined in my life and display grace, beauty and faith. My mom calls her mom #3.

(3) My mom. Although I haven't said good bye to this angel, this strong, courageous, beautiful, lady I know that when I do it will be more difficult than any good bye. There are no words to describe the courage and strength of my mother, and the love that I have for her. I am so blessed to have been given such a loving, dedicated mother. She is who I hope I will become. She gives me so much hope for the future and she is...she is my number one and I will miss her terribly. Very terribly.

(4) This next young woman happens to be watching tv in the next room, cartoons probably. She is the one, the only, Amelia Jordan, my sister. Now Amelia, like my mother, is one of those people who words can not ever describe what I think of her, how much she has affected my life, how much I love her, with my whole heart. Ever since I was a little baby she has been my protector, and now that I am leaving for Africa, she can no longer protect me. Giving this up, this connection, this soul pounding love and affection, this no-words-can-describe love and comfort is hard. Very hard. I look up to my sister more than anyone else in my life. I look at her and say "i can get through ANYTHING". When there are hard times, when I am scared, frightened, I think of my sister and know that I can get through whatever issue that is confronting me. I love her so much. She is my other half. She is my one and only sister. She is my strength. She is me. She gives me the courage to do things I never thought I would do.

As the list above demonstrates, I am so lucky and blessed to be surrounding by strong, beautiful, adventurous, faithful, stunning women. Each is her own, but each gives me something, has given me something that has had me who I am today, and who I will be. I love each of the above women so much, with my whole heart. They represent my friends, my mothers, my soul mates, my "other halves". They are the best representation of who I want to be someday. Earlier on in the day my sister, mom and I opened a bottle of champaign. My sister looked in my eyes and said "I am so proud of you, and scared shitless". With any new adventure comes new dangers. I was talking with a fellow PCV earlier in the day and she said something that really resinated with me, "think big". I am thinking big. This new adventure is just one in many. I will leave Seattle one person and come back a completely new one. This chance, this opportunity is big, its scary, its frightening, its a challenge, but it is also exactly where I want to be. I cannot go throughout life scared. Sometimes, I just have to jump and hope I land.

Thank you to every person who has been there. To Dena, for over 15 years of friendship, for being my rock, for knowing me better than I even know myself. To Frosty, for teaching me friendship and humility, for bringing out the best in me, for allowing me to mess up and be there when i've pulled myself out of my ruts, for never abandoning me. To Lauren, who is my angel, you have a place in my heart. You helped me glue the broken pieces together, you have seen me, and you are still here. To Kendahl, who is my girl, she makes me laugh, oh so hard. I love you. Thank you for allowing myself to find myself. You are my sister, both literally and metaphorically, you are perfectly beautiful in my eyes. And to Martha, you are and were always there, you never stopped allowing me to learn from my mistakes and you loved me every step of the way. I love you girl. And to everyone else who saw me grow up, who helped me grow up. I am starting this new journey and every single one of you has helped me get here.

And now I must go. The time has come and so I must be ready. I love you all.

This Is Only The Beginning

It has taken me over 24 hours to figure out how this 'blog' this works. Last night, sitting in front of the electric fire in my living room, absorbing its warm radiating rays, I looked over and realized in less than two weeks I would (possibly) be sitting in front of a real fire, in Bamako (or near Bamako -- which for those of you who don't know is in Mali -- which for those of you who don't know is where I will be serving my 27 month commitment as a volunteer with the Peace Corps).

For my first post I think I would like to introduce myself to all of you. Now, most of the people who choose to read this blog are my friends and family. My friends, hopefully, will read my blog with curiosity and excitement, wondering what has their friend has got herself into. Some of you will be looking at my photos and reading my posts saying to yourselves "i'm SOOO glad im NOT in Mali right now, I really appreciate my bathroom and electricity (and to you Frosty, your Swiffer)". Then there will be others who are saying: "why did I say I would come visit her? . . . what have I got myself into". To my family, many of you will surf my blog and wonder about the adventures I have experienced and what crazy stories I will inevitably bring home with me in April 2013. Others then, like my mom, will probably look on my blog every day, reading the “Mali News” column, absorbing every word I write, repeating to oneself that yes, I am doing what makes me happy and yes I am safe (I love you momma).

I have contemplated the Peace Corps (PC) for over three years now. As a second year at the University of Virginia, I knew I wanted to work in international relations and be some sort of lawyer (a life long “dream” that I thought up since I was a little young’in and due to my stubborn state have yet to relinquish). I thought of the PC but pushed the idea out of my mind due to the fear that accompanied the thought. My third year of undergrad, I found myself traveling around Eastern and Western Europe, mostly by myself. The experience of living on trains, in hostels, and wandering the streets of foreign countries by myself, being completely dependent on myself, helped me not only mature, but allowed me to begin to believe in myself. I realized I was a lot stronger and courageous than I had ever thought. Not only learning to be resourceful in times of limited funds and cold (or warm) nights, the possibility of the PC started to become more of a reality. Although I was still fearful of the concept of going to a third world country, with no electricity or running water and having a large communication barrier, the idea seemed to be more of a welcomed challenge than a “absolutely not”. I was curious of the thought of challenging myself beyond my known limits.

Beyond my fearful thoughts, the idea and concept of the PC was something I had always valued and respected. I was studying foreign relations in college and read about the troubles and realities of peace between countries. Written treaties, diplomatic relationships, and customary international laws between nations were things that I found very intriguing to study. Consequently studying at a top college in the nation requires you to take classes that (in thought) will create a ‘well-rounded’ person. In every one of my classes we would discuss the nature between ethics and politics. In any liberal arts class theology and politics struggle with each other, they collide like atoms in a structured environment. Immanuel Kant believed that reason is the salvation of humanity. He said that although human nature is not pretty, we know that we can work towards peace because nature has given us the ability to reason and over time our reason will allow us to make better decisions.

In 1961 President Kennedy established the Peace Corps in order to promote world peace and friendship. He wanted to create a program, which would established a better understanding of Americans on part of the peoples serves, and in reverse, help promote a better understanding of other cultures on part Americans. While making my decision to apply for the PC I realized that if I wanted to work in the human rights sector when I ‘grew up’, I didn’t want to just learn about human rights abuses in textbooks, I wanted to experience them in person. I waned to immerse myself into a community with no running water and electricity, become a part of that community and live like they live. My passion to work in human rights and my nature as a person accumulated in my final decision to volunteer with the PC.

I have no idea what I am getting myself into. There is only so much a person can do over the Internet. One can read about a place, read about its peoples, look at pictures and research a culture, all without leaving a confined space. Robin Williams said, in Good Will Hunting: “But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling”. I want that.

This is the first post. This blog with chronicle my experiences in Mali; my fears, my many inevitable crazy adventures, my thoughts, feelings. It will, hopefully, allow me to organize the wild challenging adventure that will be Peace Corps Mali.