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.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
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?
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?
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