5ive things for me to yammer on about

Well, wow. Where to start…
I’m officially a Peace Corps Volunteer!!!!!! No longer a Stagaire (trainee). The Swear In ceremony was on the 11th of April and was attended by the Peace Corps Mali Director, the American Ambassador to Mali, the Vice President of Mali, and the Russian Ambassador to Mali, among others. It was, of course, another swelteringly hot morning in good ole Mali-la. We were dressed to the 9s in our Malian garb as a gesture of welcoming cultural exchange. The ceremony was scheduled to last for 2 hours and we were wondering if we would make it through. A few volunteers had gotten together to prepare a musical number as an openner: a guitarist, a clarinetist, and a bongo player performed the theme song to Nintendo’s Mario Bros game much to the joy and amusement of all Americans in the audience. The Malians and Russians were confused and somewhat suspicious of our reaction to the music. The ceremony was distinguished by an openning speach – in French – by the Peace Corps Mali director, another speach – in Franglish – by the American Ambassador to Mali, and yet another speach – in Bambara – by the Vice President of Mali. We had a short musical interlude where a traditional Bambara song was performed by a clarinet-playing Volunteer and a bongo-playing Volunteer: the Malians were very happy with this interpretation. We, however, did not get their reaction to the music… ah, reciprocation. Next, the three sectors of which our stage (trainee group… stage is pronounced in a Frenchie way: stahj) represents – Water Sanitation (my sector), Natural Resource Management, and Agriculture – went before the assembly and performed skits illustrating some of the things volunteers face in service. Many issues were addressed and they managed to add a little comedy relief on faux pas that occur too. The last segment of the ceremony was our swear in oath. We stood in place, raised our right hands, and repeated the oath in front of the assembly. It was moving. Wish you were here. The cold coca-colas and brownies we had afterwards were sublime!!!!
They had given us a little money and we had some free time to nap or get lunch somewhere in Bamako, so Ellie (a fellow former-stagiare) and I took a taxi to a restaurant in the Tubab section of town. Tubab is what the Malians call out to the French – who they know are filthy rich tourists just itching to spend their money – when they want to get their attention and sell them wares. French are mostly white, so they’ll call us that too. It gets really, really, annoying after the gazillionth time, but once I start to greet them in Bambara and ask about the family, they change their whole attitude. Their jaws drop and they say “A be Bamanan kan fo?” It’s sooooo funny! We just laugh, say we’re learning, and say our good byes. They love that! Once they find out that you’re learning the language, their entire perspective changes: they respect you because they feel that you respect them enough to come to their place and speak their language. Greeting one another is a very, very, very important part of the culture here. If you don’t greet people with respect, nobody will like or respect you. The French only ever speak french, they only ever go to Tubab stores, they only ever take nice cars instead of bashees like everyone else, and they certainly don’t just sit around and have chats with the natives in their environment. Of course, I’m generalizing, and that’s wrong. That’s not true for all of the French, but for a large majority… it’s painfully true.
Annnnnnyyyyyywaaaaayyyy!…
So, Ellie and I had this free time to go eat lunch. So, we hopped a taxi to Tubab row to eat at a cafe called “The Relax”. They have ice cream!!!!!!!!!! They have pizza!!!!!!!!!! I was soooooo freaked out, I almost cried. Oh……my……god…..it was so tasty!! Ellie and I split a tuna pizza with black olives, cheese, and capers. Delicious! It was really cool to look at my plate and see a pizza instead of a fish head on rice with onion water. I didn’t even have to eat with my hand, I got to use a fork and knife (I prefer that with pizza normally anyway). After that, we had to hurry back to catch a ride to the Ambassador’s private residence (she’s a woman and all the other new volunteers were invited, so don’t get any ideas…it’s tradition). I’ve never been to an official’s private residence outside of country, but they’re hooked up!! She had a pool. I was submerged in water for the first time in over three months. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my two bucket baths per day. However, I enjoy sitting in a pool, drinking a beer that I didn’t pay for, and eating…. BAR-B-Q! You don’t understand. This may seem like nothing to you. But I was more excited about the food, the drinks, and being completely submerged in water than I have about anything…in a really long time! When you’re denied things, they mean soo much more once you get them back. I looked around and all I saw were smiling and clean faces. Normally, we’re just a little dusty, alot more busy, and a little testy. This day was different, though. We could only stay for a few hours, but it was really worth it. {{{ Side note: Don’t worry mom, I talked with the host as much as I could and thanked her politely for her hospitality}}} She had a really cool dog, too. The grounds were imaculate and actually had grass on the ground. It was so soft under my feet. I miss grass. She had a rose garden, bushes, palm trees, flowering trees, cacti, flowers, a geometric layout, and benches here and there in the shade. It was a beautiful garden (not nearly as nice as my mom’s, but it was bigger). Her house had all sorts of neat things in it, but I didn’t touch anything. It was almost like a museum. Although it did have a warm quality to it. There were, of course, many objets d’art that were Africa-esque, but I’m not completely sure that they were all Malian. That’s about all.
Later that night, there was a party back at the bureau and the Peace Corps staff had bought a ton of sodas and hired a Malian band to play music (they mostly played American/Jamaican/Arabic type popish music). The former stagiares had bought….. duh duh duh duh:
1224 beers (Castel, Flag, and Guinness—-oh, yes, my goodness, my guinness)
It was heavenly. We danced and drank and had a wonderful time. I had gotten over my bacterial infection just in time: no more antiobiotics holdin me back. Oh, don’t worry. The infection was only mildly discomforting…no big deal. Almost everybody had it in the same time frame. At one a.m., we all headed back to Zummanabugu (the gathering of huts that people stay in when they go to visit Toubani So – our training facility) as we had all moved out of our Samayan host familys’ concessions a few days before. We only stayed in Zummanabugu for a few nights as a transitory stop before leaving at various times to go to our regional stage houses in preparation for installation. It was good to have a little down time. Stage was always soooo busy and so demanding. It was nice to be at Toubani So and make up our own minds about what we wanted to do and when. My region teammates and I came into Bamako on Sunday. I spent the day in Bamako getting estimates from experienced volunteers on items that I would need to buy at market and made various lists and plans. The next day was protocol for the Koulikoro team. We went to the regional capital, Koulikoro, to meet the governor. He was nice. He’s a Keita, I was a Keita in Samaya. In my new village, I’ll be a Coulibaly so I had to introduce myself with my new name. Since we’re joking cousins, I told him that he eats beans when I said goodbye. He laughed and denied it, but I knew the truth (this joking cousins stuff is really fun sometimes). We visited the Gensdarmes (Malian version somewhat resembling the US National Guard). They asked, like Malian men always do, if the female volunteers were married or not. Then they asked if we would marry them. We said no. That happens alot.
Next, off to the bank to get our shopping money withdrawn. Banks in Mali suck. Really. It’s ridiculous. I mean, come on people. It should not be that difficult. Nevertheless, everything here operates by West African International Time…W.A.I.T.! I’m more used to it now than I was in the beginning. It was frustrating at first, but I’ve come a long way. But the BANK, my word, what’s wrong with those people? No offense to any of my wonderful friends at First Bank. I don’t think you have any branches in Mali.
Last, but not least, the last two days have been filled with mad market shopping to get everything for my site. I’m one of the lucky volunteers who gets to open up a new site…yay! That means that I have to buy all my stuff for it because there aren’t any COSing volunteers in the area to give me their stuff (COS = Close of Service (or leaving the country)). What’s worse is that the volunteers that are getting all of the stuff from the previous volunteers are getting the same amount of money to settle in! They get no more or less than I do, but they don’t have to get furniture, a stove, draperies, dishes, pots, pans….you get the idea. Well, that’s Peace Corps. I’ve spent more than I wanted to. It’s cutting into the funds that I would have rather saved to get a horse. Oh well. Maybe mister tax-man will have some extra dough for me.
Well, I’ve rambled on long enough. I think that all of this yada might give you an idea of what it’s like over here. It’s my hope that it’ll make up for the dry-spell of emails that is soon to come. I’m required to stay at site for three months. I’m not allowed to travel. I might be able to get into Bamako for mail, but I’m not allowed to stay. I’m supposed to be “immersing” during those three months by learning the language and integrating into the community. I’ll try to get some letters sent off before then, but I’m afraid that I’ll be dry in that area, too. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten you, OK? I’m just going to be cut off for a while, and broke. This starts Monday the 21st of April, so set your calendars. I’m allowed to travel after that’s over. My birthday will be just before the end of that period. I’ll be 27.
I still have a few days before I go, so I’ll try to get to the computer as often as possible. This is it folks! The time has come! Training is over and I’ve got to dive into the work. I’m excited and scared a little, but optimistic and happy. Thanks to everyone for supporting me and helping me along. I miss you all so much. If you want to call me at the Bamako stage house, the number is: international code: 011 (from the U.S. only), Mali country code: 223, Bamako stage house phone #: 221 15 39. To sum up, from the states, dial 011 223 221 15 39. Be careful, it’s expensive. We’re 5 or 6 hours later in the day than you, so take that into consideration on timing.
OK. Love, peace, and happiness to you all.

Ria