You will only regret the things you didn't do.

February 13, 2012

I actually received a call today from the Mali Country Officer.  He apologized for taking so long to get back to me and wanted to let me know that he would contact the country director and talk about my case.  I never thought I'd hear from anyone.  And never thought they would actually consider my situation.

I have made a decision, here and now, that this was to be my last effort to try and make good my wrong.  If this does not work out in my favor I need to finally accept my decision, it will take awhile to overcome my feelings of regret but I'm sure I will, and move forward with my life.  Wallowing in guilt and self pity because I made a bad decision does  not do anyone any good.  I've made plenty of bad decisions in my life and have survived all of them.  You will only regret the things you didn't do.

February 21, 2012

I heard from Peace Corps today.  They suggested that it would be possible for me to reapply to Peace Corps again, but at this time it would not be possible for me to return to Mali and finish out my service.

"It's hard to accept, but you can't change the past. You can't go back and manipulate things to the way you wanted them to happen. Because life'd be meaningless and boring and just not worth living. But you can change the future and that's a beautiful thing about life. Yes, you will make mistakes. And yes, you will have bad days - but as long as you let the past go, you'll have such a gorgeous and bright future ahead of you. Knowing that things were meant to happen. Knowing that each day you will learn something so that you keep growing to be a better person. Life is like a rope, twined in all its complexities and yet weaved into one marvelous stream that you have the chance you use something amazing from. So grab hold of it."

I'm going to CHINA!!

Regrets...I've had a few

I always tell my boys and family and friends that you can only regret the things you didn't do.  Never regret the things you did do.  Wasted time, effort and energy.  Unfortunately I don't think, at this time anyway, that I will ever not regret having left Mali early.  But I do think I'm ready to move on from there...or here.  I keep saying "if I could do it over", "in hindsight" (I don't think I've ever heard a more useless term) and my favorite "if I could just go back in time".  All of these things are impossible and pointless.  It is our mistakes and imperfections that make us who we are.  We are not meant to go back and change things...for better or worse.

That being said, I gave one last try to trying to find a way back to Mali to finish my service.  We can't go back but sometimes we can fix our mistakes and rectify our regrets.  I sent an email to DC to the Mali Country Officer.  Basically pleading my case on why I left and that I'd like to go back if at all possible.

February 2, 2012

My name is Clare Francavilla.  I am a RPCV (sort of) having served in Mali.  I was accepted as a volunteer and received my orders in October 2010.  I left San Diego for Washington DC on January 31, 2011 and landed in Mali February 2, 2011.  One year ago today.  It was the greatest most proud day in my life.  I had been planning this once in a lifetime opportunity for about 15 years just waiting for the right moment where I was in a place in my life where this would be possible.  Children grown and in college, financially unburdened and mentally ready to “move away from home”.  Because I do not have a degree I had spent the previous 5 years doing volunteer work with International Rescue Committee and Alliance for African Assistance as a Resettlement Volunteer working with refugees.  I worked as paid staff for American Red Cross in disaster relief and volunteered with them in disaster response. 

Due to extenuating circumstances both at my site and home I felt forced to leave Mali after just 8 months…in October 2011.  There were some issues at my site that I had spoken to different PC staff about on a few different occasions that never got resolved.  I believe with some more effort and badgering (which I am usually very good at) I believe that in time these issues would have worked themselves out.  But when I received a couple of phone calls from home with issues that made me feel that my only option was to leave and take care of my family I let PC know that I needed to leave as soon as possible.  I would be happy to go into more detail regarding these issues if necessary.  

You know what they say about hindsight…  Had I have thought better of it and with a clearer mind instead of my “hair is on fire” attitude I surely would have done things differently.  And although I am most capable of helping others through times of need and disaster with a clear mind and a good plan when it came down to my family and my disasters I jumped the gun.  Although both situations at home were dire at the time, fortunately things are working out well.   My wish is that I would have thought more clearly up front and taken a month or two leave, come home and took care of the issues here and then went back to Mali and my village to finish my 27 months.  But I did not.  I now find myself wishing there was a way for me to finish my time.  All the PC staff in Mali although sad to see me go was very understanding.  I know that it cost quite a bit to train and send a volunteer to their serving country.  I left early and feel very badly, unfinished and unaccomplished.  I stay in touch with the matrone and my homologue in my village.  I do know that there is a new volunteer in Bougoula.  For this I am grateful.  I would have been disappointed to know that they suffered because of my personal issues at home.  They are wonderful people and deserve the chances that a volunteer in their village could offer them.

I’m sure after all my babbling you are wondering why I am writing you.  Since I have returned I have thought of little else besides being able to return to Mali.  My goal in life was to volunteer and serve in a developing country.  I am not finished.  I sought out different avenues, spoken to different organizations both here in the states and in Mali to find out other ways to return to Mali.  Until this morning I never thought about contacting the PC to find out if there is any way I could be reinstated and return to pick up where I left off…albeit in a different village.  I am willing to pay any expenses incurred for my return.  Plane ticket, any training you would deem necessary and although my Bambara has suffered a bit I’m sure with some practice that will also pick up where it left off.  I will make up the months I have been back home tacked on to the end of my service.  I know this is a long shot…a very long shot, but there is one thing that I always taught my children is that “you never know if you don’t ask”.  The worst thing that could happen is someone says “no”.  I’m sure it seems that I am begging and pleading for a do over…I assure you I am.  It can’t hurt, right?

Again, Nicole, I know this is a long shot but it hurts my heart that I was not able to finish my work and time in Mali.  Any consideration you can give this will be much appreciated.  I will look forward to hearing from you.

Clare Francavilla  

I wish I would have remembered "to go outside and let Africa save" me

Another blog piece I did not write.  Thanks Michael Waid.

The Real Peace Corps

I feel as though I’ve done somewhat of a disservice throughout this blog. I’ve painted a picture of my time here that isn’t precisely accurate. I’m an emotional person, a romantic, optimistic to a fault. I like extremes and superlatives. I exaggerate in an attempt to draw the reader in, and to make sense of things I can’t make sense of.

I romanticize this experience as a function of my personality but also as a coping mechanism. Peace Corps is really hard.

So I want to write about the real Ethiopia. And the real Peace Corps experience. That way, if a future volunteer reads this, they understand what to expect, and won’t hate me for only showing sunset pictures and kids holding hands.

So what should you expect?

Nothing is the best answer. Expect nothing and you will be pleasantly surprised. Every experience is different. My friend Jon lives 80 miles away. Our lives could not be more different. His house has no floor save for the mud it was built on. He is lucky to have power one day out of the week.  My sitemate Dave lives 200 meters from my house and our experiences are entirely different.

So here are some observations, a look into what I do, and an idea of what your potential service will look like.

Peace Corps is defined by a strange dichotomy. Freedom and containment. I wake up every day with a blank slate. I can do anything. I can do nothing. And while the possibilities are only limited by my own imagination, the ability to do as I please is corrupted by a number of social, political, and cultural practices.

Case in point: Most volunteers assume they will run to let off steam in their new country. However, running here is a cause of stress more so than a release. You get stared at as a foreigner here. These are stares that know no shame. Stares that you can feel without seeing. They are honest and curious stares, but can crack even the kindest of spirits. But a foreigner in shorts? Running? That is unheard of. Running here means being followed by hordes of children, the last thing you need when trying to let off steam.

I want to export coffee to benefit local farmers and provide an organic alternative to the Starbucks mess we have back home. The bureaucratic structure here has destroyed those dreams. Disappointment is part of the PC experience.

Doing something like the Peace Corps will be your lowest of lows and your highest of highs. Highs that shatter your previous world views.  You will feel refreshed, walk in a forest and quote Thoreau. The lows can last so long that you need a fleeting moment of existentialism just to make it through the rainy season. Well, that, and a ton of movies. You will consider going home. You will count down the days until you leave. You will count up from the day you arrived.

“I can’t believe we’ve been here for a year.”

“I can’t believe we’ll be here another year!”

You will understand yourself, question yourself. Compare where you came from to where you are. I have days when I miss America. I have days when I loathe it. Why do people care about Charlie Sheen and Amy Winehouse? How many marines died last week? How many kids in the horn of Africa died of hunger? I can’t even imagine dying of hunger. When I’m hungry, I eat.

But I eat strange food. Ethiopian food is unlike anything else in the world. Sometimes it is delicious, but most times it is very mediocre. Other times, it is so incredibly bad that I consider burning down every plant that grows whatever the hell is in ‘gunfo’

Don’t try gunfo.

Universally, Peace Corps volunteers crave food. I have dreams about it. Vivid dreams where I belly flop into a bowl of ice cream off of a hot fudge brownie diving board. Sushi. I have a long distance relationship with Sushi and we are not communicating well.

As volunteers, we love to complain. We joke about our poop and our pooping locations. We laugh about smelling bad.

We smell bad.

We yearn for hot showers. But I think it’s just for show. Any volunteer, more so than food or showers, miss people and places. You will miss friends and seasons. During your service, you will be alone on the Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving. You will miss your family, your really hot girlfriend, and the contextual clues you associate with fond memories. I know what the Chesapeake bay feels like on thanksgiving. I can feel the football, and taste the sweet potato pie. I know what Glebe Park looks like, the green asphalt and the smell of cut grass.

You will be stared at 24/7 365. I understand what it’s like to be a good-looking girl at a frat party. Stay strong ladies.

You will develop an eerie sense of calm. I’ve spent 75 hours in the last two weeks on a bus. The DMV will be a breeze now. I’ve found new and embarrassing ways to entertain myself. I could watch paint dry and be perfectly happy.

One of the great things about Peace Corps is you have a massive amount of time to become a better person. The best advice I can give is to try and do something everyday to improve upon yourself. For some people this is writing or reading. For others it is teaching English or working out. Learn an instrument or paint. Do whatever works for you. You will stare at the wall. I stare at the wall a lot. I’ve had every thought someone can have. Probably twice.

Transportation completely sucks.

I just got out of a bus with 12 seats on it. There were 25 people on it. There were two chickens and probably 20 kilo’s of rancid butter. Here’s a quck letter:

Dear Ethiopia,

It’s ok to open the windows on the bus. I promise you won’t die from the wind. I promise it’s not that cold. Currently, sweat is running down my lower back and into the danger zone. My sweat is sweating. Fresh air is nothing to be scared of. Tuberculosis is. As much as I like saunas and the smell of chicken feces, can we please crack the window’s for 2 minutes? I will love you forever.

Yours truly,

Michael

There is no average day.

Last week, my Tuesday was crazy. I had a meeting with the tourism office about making them a website. I taught a man how to make guacemole and tortillas which he will sell in his store. I played basketball, added a layer to a clay oven and worked on the newsletter I am writing for Peace Corps.

The next day? I slept in, watched a silly amount of the show ‘Dexter’ and checked my fantasy baseball team while the internet was up. Yeah, I’m cool.

There will be times when, despite your pictures of you hugging little kids, you just want to tackle one of them and scream, my name is NOT,

“you you you!!!!!, give me money!!!!!!”

In America we ask for the time. Here, we ask for the month. It’s the most obvious difference. The pace of life here is slow, methodical, cyclical. Everything takes a long time. If you aren’t a patient person you will become one.

Life here is completely different. It is another world, lost in space and time. It is hard, and the little annoyances can manifest themselves into a black cloud. They certainly will, but it is important to make note of the small victories and the little moments. When I open my eyes I am reminded of why I am here. Just when I think a kid is running up to me to ask me for money, she tells me that she loves me and blows a kiss. But then I get on a bus and start crying. I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere with a busted engine. It’s getting dark, I have a chicken in my lap and personal space at this point is a distant memory. People are yelling into their cell phones, begging me to speak to them and take them to America. Oh and the only food in the town by the road is Gunfo.

Remember in times like this to take a deep breath. Peace Corps really is a roller coaster. An exhilarating and scary ride that completely sucks and totally kicks ass.

And when you are feeling down, just remember to go outside and let Africa save you.

Couldn't have said it better myself

This post was not written by me, but when I read it I though it spoke for most Peace Corps Volunteers.  Since I could not say it better myself I thought I would just post her blog for the reading...Maya Lau

Volunteer life bursts with cultural faux pas, fruitless projects and second guesses. For two years, I felt like the joke was on me. Even on my best days in Senegal, the sudden scream of "toubab," a taunting word for foreigners, reminded me that my cheerfulness was jinxed, my presence perhaps unwelcome.

In West Africa, I confronted the toubab version of myself, a self previously foreign to me that was lethargic, cynical and at home with failure.

For a long time I hesitated to admit that I felt incompetent as a Peace Corps volunteer. I felt that if I expressed my suspicion that I was inept, it would confirm criticisms that the program itself is irresponsible and presumptuous. I signed up largely because I saw myself as a go-getter and I wanted a challenge. I have a childlike loyalty to getting things right; I lack a cleverness for bullshitting. Yet these traits, from which I had previously derived strength, became the source of my immense heartbreak.

I did extra work in my demonstration garden only to find out later that agriculture agents resented me for it. I had lengthy, optimistic conversations with a village chief about starting a community garden only to discover that I misread his reaction and that he was, in fact, against the whole endeavor.

When a project faltered, I wondered if I should blame the cultural difference or my language skills, my lack of expertise or my accidental impropriety. I never knew for sure.

And yet, seeing my confidence unravel was helpful. Maybe everyone needs a period in their lives when they barely recognize themselves.

The story that Peace Corps volunteers like to tell -- and Americans like to hear -- is one of urgent and awe-inspiring work. Americans like to feel that at least someone is out there fighting all those incomprehensible African problems.

This narrative is too simplistic.

As the Peace Corps celebrates its 50th anniversary, some still find it hard to put a finger on what exactly the program achieves. There are both quantifiable yields, like number of wells dug and trees planted, and unquantifiable gains, like the intimate bonds volunteers make with people all over the world.

One benefit of the program that is never trumpeted (and likely never will be) is that it produces a group of young Americans who understand failure.

Americans, especially the variety who join the Peace Corps, are raised to believe that hard work pays off. We come from a place where the phrase, "We'll meet tomorrow at 5," means, "We'll meet tomorrow at 5" -- where you put a stamp on an envelope and it gets delivered.

"Failure is not an option," according to the locker room poster likely brought to us by the same people who birthed "Impossible is Nothing." Americans are immature when it comes to honestly accepting failure and maybe that's why so many of us lack the emotional depth to make sense of it.

We all have failures, yet we bury them in the folds of our pasts as curious gaps in our résumés and cryptic replies to direct questions. If we are unable to emerge triumphant, our failures eat away at us.

My Senegalese comrades are less brittle. They admit freely that their lives are full of fiascoes, delays and disappointments.

When I asked locals in Pulaar how work was going, I didn't often hear: "Oh, just fine!" Instead, the response was a more honest, "I'm trying, little by little." It seems to me that growing up with unpredictability has better equipped the Senegalese people to persevere in the face of real obstacles.

The same barriers Senegalese people manage to climb over regularly ended some of my projects. When I tried obtaining a grant for a women's farm, the land rights had to first be legally transferred to the women themselves. While the paperwork lingered in a government office, I foolishly kept preparing for the project that would never be, blocking off months in my calendar that I would devote to it. Meanwhile, the women moved on, continuing their own, smaller version of the farm they wanted. They knew not to rest their hopes in government offices and the men who shuffle within them.

I don't mean to give the impression that Peace Corps volunteers don't accomplish anything. We do a lot of the things other aid organizations do, but our version is less grandiose: We hold small-group trainings on childhood nutrition and organic pest control. We help small businesses grow, often through a series of one-on-one interactions. Our hyped-up expectations of success are often quashed--we learn quickly that smaller is better.

I survived two years in the Peace Corps. My proudest accomplishment during my time in Senegal, one that can't be expressed on a résumé, is how much I grew up.

I now know that no occupation, despite my generation's obsession with passion-following, is without compromise or disappointment. And I know that failure, despite its negative connotations, takes practice.

Moving on...not so much

It was one year ago today that I landed and put my feet down in the country of Mali in West Africa.  A dream come true.  Something that I had planned for almost 15 years to join the Peace Corps and live in Africa and now I’m here.  Unbelievable.  How many people get to say they lived their dream??!!

Unfortunately if anyone is still even reading my blog I went home after only 8 months.   While there I saw issues that came up in my village as irreconcilable.  I had complained and spoke to PC staff on several occasions and felt as if they weren’t doing anything about it.  Then issues came up at home and my first response was “it’s time to go home” and I left.  Now here I sit and all I’ve been able to think about the past couple of months is why did I come home?  I spent the better part of the past 15 years thinking and working towards nothing else but getting to Africa…AND I LEFT.  This has left such a void in my soul.  A void of unfinished work, unaccomplished change and unfulfilled dreams. 

I have been in touch with several NGOs both here and in Mali that have staff (both paid and/or volunteer) in Mali trying to get back.  Although Mali wouldn’t be my first choice to go back to that’s where I was sent and that is where I feel like I need to finish my time in whatever capacity.  Thus far I have not been able to accomplish anything and maybe it’s just not to be and I should just move on with my life, but I’m finding it very hard to move forward.  

I am trying one more avenue that I hadn’t really thought of before.    I’m going to contact Peace Corps and find out if there is anything I can do to be reinstated and sent back.  A new volunteer has already been place in my village of Bougoula.  So even IF they did consider it I would be placed in a different village.  I all but begged and pleaded in my letter to them to let me go back.  I haven’t finished and closed out my blog yet because I can’t seem to bring myself to admit that I’m done.  Not with this adventure…not yet.  

We don’t get many do overs in this life.  Usually we don’t get any.  But second chances are not impossible.  Of course in hindsight if I could go back in time and do it over again I would.  I can’t go back in time but hopefully I may be able to do it over again.  I this doesn’t work I am willing to admit defeat.  I screwed up and I need to take responsibility for that and move on with my life.  I have an alternate plan in mind.  I have a dear friend that has been living and teaching English in China for the past 5 years.  She has invited me to come and stay and she will help me to get work also teaching English.  I think I might do it.  We only pass through this life once.  We don’t get second chances so when you have the opportunity to have an adventure we should hold on with both hands and go for it.  

I will first go to Mali to visit.  I miss my PC companions and I miss my Malian “boyfriend” Mamadou.  I miss him more than I thought I would.  I'm sure some of that is because we can't be together and some of it is absolute affection for him.  Sometimes life is not fair for sure.  We still talk at least once a week and text at least 5 times a week.   I will visit them for a while and then move on to China and live out a different dream.  We are entitled to more than one dream in a lifetime, right??

The fate of lovers...

I’m sure I should start looking for a job right away, but I feel like I need a few days off. A few days to catch back up with family and friends. Let them know I’m home. Put out there that I’m looking for a car and a job. Helpful hints are much appreciated.


October 14, 2011
I’ve been home for just over a week. Oddly enough I’m feeling a little melancholy...homesick if you will. Maybe things didn’t turn out the way I had wanted and maybe I wasn’t 100% happy but I was fulfilling a dream of mine. I was having the experience of a lifetime. I was living in another country, with new friends (american and otherwise), learning a new language and living in a culture so far out of the comfort of most of our boxes...I was living in AFRICA!! For goodness sake who gets to do that? How many people get to live their dream? How many people get the opportunity, again good or bad, to live in another country for a time? I was doing it, and I left. I left early and not accomplished much of anything. It has been harder coming home then it was leaving. 

Most people don’t know this as I didn’t make a big deal about it there or to my friends and family here, but I had a boyfriend (I hate using that word at my age, but what else is there...male friend...LOL) in Mali. He is Malian, I won’t divulge his age as I don’t want to set myself out there as a “cougar”, he lives in Bougouni the city that I would go to on the weekends to get food, recharge my rechargables, talk to family and friends and relax with other english speaking persons. He is an English teacher in a small village about 80K from Bougouni towards Bamako...putting him that much further away from the village that I lived in. But it is summer and he was home (Bougouni) every day until the first Sunday in October when he moved back to his school village (he left for his village the same day that I left for Bamako to start my journey back home). Once he does that he will only return to Bougouni to visit with his family the last weekend of the month. So even if I was staying I would only see him one weekend a month. But, at least I would still be in the same country with him.

I went to the post office one weekday that I was in Bougouni to pick up a couple of boxes. I didn’t know they would weigh so much. It seems like such a long way back to the house when your arms where full. Just when I thought I’m never going to make it back a guy walked up to me, oddly enough that spoke English, and asked if I needed help. Of course I need help. My arms are falling off. So he took one of the boxes and walked me all the way back to the transit house. His name is Mamadou. I was so grateful.

A few weeks later, in July, when we had to report back to Tubaniso, the PC training camp, I took the bus into Bougouni where I would spend the night and then leave with other volunteers in the morning. Because we were going for 2 weeks I had my carry on suitcase and my backpack. Of course it was well over 110 degrees. As I’m dragging this stuff down the street here comes Mamadou on his scooter (vespa type moto that everyone drives in Mali) to the rescue again. Do I need help? Of course I need help. So he put my suitcase in front of him and me behind him and we’re off to the house. This time he stayed and chatted for a few minutes and then we exchanged numbers so we could be text friends and maybe hang out a bit here and there when I was in Bougouni. This is the story of how I met my friend, Mamadou.

He is handsome, funny, young (hehehe) and he speaks English. What more could a girl ask for? We started texting back and forth right away. He said a couple of things that made me think he wanted to be more than friends. Being old enough to be his mother I thought it appropriate to nip that in the bud and let him know that we would be better to stay friends because of the above age difference. He seemed OK with that. But I would see him here and there when I visited Bougouni and then thought, “what the heck, if he wants to date an old lady who am I to argue”. Thus blossomed our short, fun, interesting, heartbreaking relationship. I say “heartbreaking” because of the sad feelings when we finally had to part ways. If I stayed our relationship would not have progressed much further than it already was. For goodness sake...did I mention I was old enough to be his mother?? Not to mention once a Malian man always a Malian man and Malian men and American women should not be any type of long term relationship. They are so archaic in there thinking...from making sure the women they marry are virgins to thinking it’s OK to hit their wives if they are not behaving properly. They may not all do it but they do believe it’s OK to do. I’m old enough to have a relationship and move on. I’ve done a lot of that over the years. I guess the difference being I never left the country so there was always a chance if I changed my mind... I didn’t think it would matter much to me. Apparently I was wrong.

For the most part Malians are not affectionate people. I wasn’t even sure who was married to whom in my village. The men and women don’t even talk to each other. I was never sure who was the mother to which children...or is that there grandmother...or not even related. The adults show no affection to each other and there isn’t much love and hugs or kisses with the children. Who belongs to who?  But Mamadou was a little different.  He would text me every night in my village and tell me he is "looking forward to seeing me", "I miss you"...he even came to visit me in my village one night.  Boy that was the talk of the town. 

We spent my whole last week together before I left...and he left.  Mamadou is an english teacher in a village about 80K from where he lives.  Once he goes out there when school begins he only returns home one weekend a month.  So we were both getting ready to leave only when he returned home that once a month I would not be there to see him.  We had a good week.  We spent every night together.  Then finally came Sunday morning.  It was time for him to leave for his small village and for me to leave to spend then next few days in Bamako until my departure date.  Saying goodbye was harder than I had imagined.  How do you let go of someone knowing that chances are you would never see that person again.  Again, I knew our relationship would never go any further but it did not make it any less painful.  I cried and he got teary eyes (more unusual Malian behavior).  He told me don't cry, don't cry.  Everything in life happens for a reason.  Then he left. 

A few hours later I received a text from him.  "Hi my baby.  Please do not weep.  It has always been the fate of lovers that they may part.  It is through you I learn a deep sense of love.  I never forget.  I love you. XOXOXO"

My homecoming

SURPRISE – October 6, 2011
In hindsight maybe surprising everyone wasn’t the best idea. I had to wake up my roommates to surprise them. They were so happy to see me but I’m sure they were not excited about the fact that they stayed up talking to me for an hour before heading back off to bed. They are going to be tttiiirreeeddd at work tomorrow.

Then I had to wait until the next day to see either of the boys. The original idea was to try and set it up so we could get Loreen and Randy and both boys in the same spot at the same time. Once I realized that was impossible, between the time I would be arriving and the boys work and school schedule. I was feeling bad now. I should have just arranged to have them pick me up at the airport. But what’s done is done. So then next morning I went over to were Josh is living and my friend called him to tell him to come outside. Being my crybaby he immediately started crying. We hugged and cried...he did say he was hoping when the time came that he wanted to pick me up at the airport. Oh well...again, in hindsight... We could only spend a few minutes because he had to leave for work. After we got Jarrod to meet us down at Starbucks at the Santee Trolley Station. I was walking through the parking lot towards him. When he saw me he looked around as if trying to figure out if he was on candid camera. His first words were, “You are so F’n skinny.” Nice... It was a good surprise all around.

They are excited to have me home to say the least. I think me being gone was harder on them than it was on me. I’ve been the person they have relied on their whole lives up until now. And although some would say they are old enough to take care of themselves, I don’t think children are ever old enough to not need the support of their moms. I know nothing would make my life just a little easier if my mother was still here to call when times got rough, to call when I needed a little help with some cash, to visit whenever I wanted to and just to know she was always there for me. Right where she was supposed to be. I can’t blame them for wanting me to come home. I wonder though...would I have stayed if it weren’t for that?

Last minute chores and my travels

October 3, 2011




I saw Dr. Dawn today. She gave me a TB test and took blood to run some tests. I will need to give a urine sample and stool sample. That’s always fun!! Especially since I’m not an everyday pooper. They will check liver function, kidney function, red and white blood cells, check for shistos (worms), worms (worms), giardia, aomebas, and other such parasites that after this prolonged period of time I probably have. I got on a scale and have lost 44 pounds since I’ve been here. They are not too happy about that but are glad to know that it’s been over the whole period of time that I’ve been here and it didn’t happen suddenly because I was sick. I told her that if I lost all this weight because I have some kind of worms then she should leave them there. I’d rather have worms then gain all that weight back. And I am afraid of gaining it back to. It is too easy to overeat in the states. There is so much food and cheaper than eating here comparitively speaking. I had my blood pressure checked, hearing, vision. I got a voucher so I can have my teeth checked and cleaned when I get home. And was told that with everything going on and the fact that I have to go to the bank and close out my account I would be leaving Wednesday...there is only midnight ish (between midnight and 2am) flights out of Bamako. OK Wednesday. Again it’s going so fast it’s making me nervous, but may as well get it over with.


October 4, 2011

Went back to the bureau. Met with the guy to take me to the bank and closed out my account and met back with Dr. Dawn. My blood test results are in and most is good except for I am anemic. Which makes sense. It is hard to eat properly in a small village. There is no fruits and vegetables available every day. And I won’t cook meat myself. So my diet has been lax of the vitamins and minerals one needs to stay really healthy. I got another voucher. Dr. Dawn said to go home, eat well for a couple of weeks and then have my tests repeated in the states at PC expense.

Then in the middle of our discussion Dr. Dawn said, “you do know you’re leaving tonight, right?” UMMM....NOOOOO. I heard more than once from more than one person that I was leaving Wednesday around midnight. Now I’m freaking out again. But again, better to just get it over with. I now have my ticket on me and will be on a 2am flight out of Bamako, through Casablanca, JFK and into San Diego by 10pm Wednesday CA time. So I will be in one state of travel or another (flights, layovers, etc) for 26 hours. Now I have to really say goodbye to everyone. I won’t cry, I won’t cry...it’s the right move for me at the right time. But I have made a few friends along the way. I will miss them.

11:30pm

The PC car just came to pick me off. I’m off to the airport. The first leg of my trip is only a 3 ½ hour flight. Then a 7 hour layover in Casablanca. Unfortunately there is nothing close enough to make it worth trying to venture out.

I am in Casablanca. It was so foggy when we landed I didn’t even know we were close to the ground when we hit. As you can imagine that gave me quite a scare. When you don’t see the ground underneath you and then you hit you know about it. Scared the crap out of me. The airport is filled with duty free shops with cool stuff. I wish I would have skipped shopping yesterday in Bamako so I could buy more cool stuff here. That’s OK, I got a couple of cool tokens and I will wait for my flight. Only 3 more hours.

I just got charged $6 for a small bottle of water and a small bag of potato chips. And I paid it. Not like I can run out to 7-11.

I’m off to JFK.

This flight was 8 hours. That’s a lot of time to be sitting and doing nothing. Thankfully the plane was only half full so there was plenty of room to stretch out and at least be comfortable. About 6 out of the 8 hours was choppy and bumpy with a couple of really rough spots. Thank goodness for Dramamine and Sea-Bands for motion sickness. The landing...OMG...I’m convinced now that it wasn’t turbulance but the pilot doesn’t know how to drive. The landing was awful and the plane was wavering back and forth. There was no signs of any great winds outside. The lady one row up and across the isle threw up. I don’t blame her. My palms were getting sweaty and was feeling a little peaked myself.

I have to wonder about the folks that put together the reservations. I had a 3 hour and 20 minute flight to Casablanca from Bamako. Then a 7 hour layover. Then an 8 hour flight to New York with 1 hour and 20 minutes to catch my flight to San Diego. In the 1+ hour I had to go through customs, go through security, claim my baggage, recheck it on the other side then run outside and over 2 terminals to catch my flight. The customs line was probably 2 hours long. Thankfully because my flights were so close together I got a quick connect...like a quick pass at Disneyland. So I got through in about 20 minutes. Then I got to security and there was about a 20 minute wait. I told the lead person there that my flight was in 25 minutes and I still needed to get my luggage and recheck it. So they let me go through again. I got my luggage, ran over to the counter to recheck it. The guy said they had already started boarding that I needed to RUN!! So I ran outside, up the hill and over two terminals. I had to go through another security. But they let me go through as well. Just as I was running up to the counter at the boarding gate the guy had the phone in his hand to page me. I made it on the plane. I was concerned about my luggage. If the guy at the counter said I needed to run to make my plane, what was the chances that someone at the airport outside would run to make sure my luggage got on said plane.

Sure enough, although another uneventful flight, my luggage did not arrive with me. Delta SAYS it will be here in the morning and someone will deliver it to my home. Thankfully I have clothes in my carry on.

My friends daughter picked me up at the airport. The plane was actually 30 minutes early. Good head winds I guess. We headed home for the first of 2 big surprises. My friend stood there with her mouth open after I jumped out of the dark at her. It took her a good 20-30 seconds to realize what was going home. She was beside herself. Then her husband came around the corner. He was just as excited. It was a fun surprise. Can’t wait to see the boys in the morning. Still not sure how I’m going to surprise them. I’m just hoping it will come to me.

Surprise, surprise, surprise...

Dropping the bomb...

September 28, 2011

Telling the other volunteers is proving to be harder than I thought. No one ever wants to see the others leave before our time. But they are understanding. They know that I’ve been having a hard time at my site. Some of them feel that they want to go home as well...but they won’t. They will suffer through and finish their time like it or not. The one thing I feel that they have that I don’t is the luxury of time. Being older, the thought of doing something I don’t feel good about, am not happy about and have no success to speak of for the next 2 years doesn’t appeal to me. Although I never would have thought I would renig on this commitment, or any commitment, and I had no intention of leaving early when I came here it’s just the way it worked out. Sorry if I’m disappointing anyone. No one is more disappointed in this than I am but I just can’t stay here for the sake of staying here. Wasting time and money has to stop somewhere.
Luckily my best friends that I was living with while I was waiting to leave will be so excited to hear I am coming back and will welcome me back into their home with open arms. It feels good to know I have such good friends. And eventually when I start working, and with the boys both working now, I hope to rent something again for the three of us and make sure they stay on their feet. In the meantime, my friends daughter is the only one that knows I’m coming back. We decided to keep it a surprise from her parents and the boys and surprise the. Since I have no idea at this point what time, day or anything I will be getting home it’s hard to plan this surprise but I’m sure we’ll think of something when the time comes. Now I’m finally feeling excited to be going home. They are going to shit themselves.
PC Shuttle is here
October 2, 2011

So the shuttle came to bougouni today and picked up me and all my stuff. We will go directly to the PC offices so I can drop off everything that is staying here and then when I get to the transit house I can repack and make sure I have everything that I’m taking and take out anything that is staying. Some clothes, toiletries. No sense lugging all that stuff back. We have stores with soap and shampoo in the states. I came into town on Sunday and the bureau is closed so I will have to wait until tomorrow to find out what I need to do.

Can't bring myself to do it...

September 26, 2011

So I thought about it, as I have been thinking about it day and night and I am so demotivated at this point I have decided now would be the right time for me to go home. I have stayed up nights, worrying myself sick wondering if this would be the right decision or not. I don’t want to go home and then wonder would it have been different and maybe worked out if I stayed longer. I kept coming up with “no...I don’t think so”. And so my decision is final. I am in Bougouni today so I will call PC and let them know. Knowing I was going to call them this morning I woke up sick to my stomach, very nervous and spent most of the morning crying. Like it or not this has been “home” for the past 8 months. I do like the people in my village and it will be hard to leave. PC was upset at losing what they consider a good volunteer. They are upset that they had not offered me enough support over the past 5 months I’ve been living at site and that no one did anything about my inquiries and calls of concern. But they do understand that I am not up to the challenge of starting over again. It will be a harrowing task that not alot of volunteers would agree to either. OMG...I’m going home.

SO I was told that I would need to get all my stuff out of my site myself...on public transportation. If I could get it to Bougouni a PC shuttle would be by there on Sunday (one week from now) to take me and my things to Bamako. There I would undergo medical exams and tests, have to close out my bank account and turn in all my PC equipment (bike, water filter, med kit, etc). My question to my regional coordinator was that if the PC shuttle was going to pass right by my village and then head to Bougouni then Bamako why couldn’t they just pick me up with my stuff in my village and I could come in with them. Makes sense to me, right? So the coordinator made a phone call, came back in and said “come on let’s go”. Let’s go!! Let’s go where? Your site. I have time to pick up your stuff today...let’s go. I didn’t know what to say. I only called and told PC 2 hours ago. I wasn’t sure I was ready to go to my site and get my stuff and say my goodbyes right now. But when it comes to transportation in Mali you take a ride when you can get it. So off we go. It went fairly smoothly. Of course my site was told that I had an emergency in the states and had to leave. Which I was not in agreement with them saying that. If they are going to put a new volunteer in there it is important that these issues be taken care of beforehand. Lying to them does no good for anyone. If they are afraid if they tell them the truth they are going to refuse a volunteer well then maybe they don’t need one in the first place. But it did make it easier for me to leave without them thinking it was because I felt things were not going well.

We packed my stuff and were done and gone in 45 minutes. My whole 8 months of life in the back of a jeep. We went back to Bougouni and I was dropped off with my stuff to await the shuttle on Sunday. It was a hard decision for me to make. I gave up a lot to take on this adventure. To admit it is not working out was a tough realization. Making the decision to call and go home was a tough task. But now that it is all said and done I do feel better and at peace. I’m sure I’m doing what is right for me...and my family...at this time. Now I can start freaking out about what I’m going to do when I get back home. I have no house, I have no car or motorcycle, I have no job. NO JOB!!! I can only hope I don’t spend the next year, or more, looking for a new job. I can’t survive without a job.

Monday, September 19, 2011

I don't want to turn this into a bitching session but I do want truth be known what I've been dealing with at my site/home.

For a while now I’ve been torn about what to do. I am feeling very unsuccessful and am definitely not getting anything accomplished in my village. It becomes more obvious to me every day that the matrone in my village has no intentions on working with me...or letting me work with her. Which I find really disturbing since she is the one that contacted Peace Corps, requested a volunteer and did all the leg work involved with actually getting a volunteer at your site. What was she hoping for. What is it that she wanted a volunteer for if not to work with her and help her in the clinic. There have been 5 separate incidences that we were supposed to go into Bougouni together. She was going to take me to the CSCOM (clinic) to introduce me to the doctors there and show me how and where she gets medicines to bring back to village. Each time we were supposed to go I showed up at the boutiki bright and early so we could catch the bus and each time she wasn’t able to make it. I went on to Bougouni without her because that’s my banking and market town and where I go anyway to talk to the boys and the rest of my family. Then there were 3 incidences where she “snuck” out of village and went to Bougouni without me. I don’t know why she felt the need to sneak. If she doesn’t want to work with me and doesn’t want me to go with her that’s OK with me. But again what is it that she wanted a volunteer for.

Then of course there’s my jatigi that comes to my house at 7am to tell me I’m old and lazy and I need to go out and work in the fields instead of sleeping all day. I told him, several times, under no uncertain terms was I there to be a free field hand for the village. I came here, to Mali...to Bougoula, to work in maternity with the matrone. My job is as a health volunteer. I will work every day, all day, all night with Miriam. If she doesn’t want me to work with here then so be it but I’m not working in the fields. I sit at her house, which is located right behind the maternity building, all day long waiting for someone to come along. Not that when they do she has me sit it on the consultation, exam or delivery, but I sit there waiting with her none the less. I believe she enjoys our friendship but that’s not what I’m here for.
My homologue, although I really enjoy hanging out with him, does not follow through with anything we start out with. It is so hard to keep everyone motivated. It’s very frustrating. He had finally planted some bashi yiri (moringa trees) but of course when the guys came to week and aerate they dug them all up and they are all dead now. Considering 3 children have died in my village since I’ve been living there I consider this a huge loss for the community. It is such a simple solution to a huge problem. But no one seemed to care they were gone.

And then there’s my neighbor “horny old guy”. I don’t even know what to say about him. He is the old, gross uncle that always has candy in his pocket to try and convince the young girls to hug him or sit on his lap. I never really felt threatened by his constant touching and feeling (or trying to) or I would have contacted PC earlier. If he ever did do something soooo inappropriate one good swift kick and he’d have gone down like a ton of bricks. No worries.

Add in the fact that my language skills suck and it adds up to that I’ve been feeling pretty useless here. I feel that if I stay I am wasting PC money, but if I go I am wasting PC money. It cost to do the screenings, to get me to Mali, to train me and of course I’ve been getting paid (just a measly stipen but surely enough to live comfortably here). But truthfully I’ve been thinking more and more about going home lately than I had been before.

One of the Mali directors came to my site today. I explained very clearly all of the above to her. I told her that I had spoken to my supervisor and others on my team about what was happening with the matrone and there was no follow up. I told her that my language skills suck and 5 months ago when everyone was getting a tutor I did not get offered one, even though I was one of the few people that did not pass the oral test in July the first time. I inquired about a tutor but no one ever got back to me. She met all the people that are involved in my being at my village...except for the matrone who was in Bougouni. She agreed right away with some of the observations I had made and why I felt the way I felt. She seemed to feel legitimately bad that maybe PC could have done a better job evaluating this site and preparing them for having a volunteer. Although she agreed with me she also said that she has seen situation like this turn around wherein the volunteer wound up being quite successful. We could pick all new players for me to work with. We could get me a tutor for a solid week and see if that couldn’t improve my language skills enough to be able to communicate better. Basically I would be starting over. I told her that although I would think about it, it sounds like a daunting task to me to start all over again. I haven’t been here 4 or 5 months. I’ve been here for 8 months. It takes months to build a rapour with the people you are working with. It takes months to build enough trust that they feel comfortable letting you into their circle and working with you. By that time and then add on starting hopefully at least one project after that point I would be here well over a year before I accomplished even the smallest of tasks. I would think about it and let her know.

Random stuff

*We spent the night in a different village each night after hiking through Dogon country. The first night we slept on mats, under mosquito nets on the roof of a house. It was a tricky climb up and down as we had to climb up these logs that had niches in them for your feet. I didn’t like it. Once we got up there the roof looked smaller from on top than it did from the ground. There was only four of us and the two on the outside where precariously close to the edges, One of those people was me. Since we were up on a hill the wind was really blowing and because it was cloudy most of the day the night was cool. A little too cool. In fact, and I hate to say this out loud, we were freezing our asses off. We didn’t have sweaters or jackets with us. We only had the clothes we had been wearing on our backs and they didn’t supply us any sheets or blankets. Usually cold is not an issue. I had my head wrap that I wrapped around my body the best I could. The wind blew and the cold maintained the whole night. Didn’t sleep well.


When we woke in the morning we were just sitting enjoying the sunrise and letting ourselves wake slowly when I noticed something on the edge of the rood where the thatch for the overhang met. I was freaking out because I thought it was a snake slithering along the edge. It was 12 to 14 inches long, 1 to 1 ½ inches in diameter and didn’t really have much of a face or mouth which I thought was strange. It moved so smoothly. I was trying to find my camera (even though I was peeing myself to get away from it). I have a picture section on the large Jurrasic Park like creatures I’ve seen since being here. Giant moths, beetles, snails and the like. This would have made a nice addition to my collection. While looking for my camera and trying to keep this thing in site as to make sure it didn’t get to close and upon further observation it wasn’t a snake at all. It was a frickin centipede. Dear lord it was disgusting. A 14 inch centipede. It was horrid. It also was gone by the time I got my camera out. I don’t know where it went but I got the hell off that roof as fast as I could stumble down the log I had to use to get up there... centipede pictureless.




Good morning sunshine!!


*Djenne, the city we visited with the biggest mud structure in the world, was a real shithole. I think I mentioned. Besides all the obvious reasons...nyegen runoff running down the streets, trash everywhere, the stink...there were boys begging for money everywhere. Most of the boys that beg are called garibou. They live and are schooled in their religion and in the koran in these little schools that are located in these little rooms throughout the city (most are either orphans or are given away by their parents). Part of making their living is they are taught to go out and beg for money. Some will just stand in front of you with their little cans and stare. Some will sing to try and earn their money. As bad as I feel for them is equal to how annoying they are. They follow you and stare at you (especially us being white) and they will just not go away...even if you give them money. The first afternoon we were in Djenne we were walking down the backside of the market with our guide and these boys (around 10 or 11ish) started following us asking for money. They were not garibou, just annoying kids asking for money. The first kid I told no. The second kid I just looked at and kept on walking. He fell behind and got out of my sight and then kicked me in the ass. I was surprised and appalled. I don’t care what country you are in and how ignorant people claim themselves to be I was absolutely appalled. Respect is respect is respect in any country and I know without a doubt this child would never have kicked a Malian woman...or man or other for that matter. After he kicked me he and his friends ran away laughing I turned and started yelling at him, in English. Thankfully the kind of language I was using is not language even an english speaking Malian would understand or probably has ever heard. When my friend told the guide that the boy had kicked me he said he saw what happened and he would take care of it.
The guide sent his brother down the side street he had run down to get the boy and bring him back. About a minute later here he came dragging the kid behind him. They bought him down the side street and out onto the main road where we were waiting...the site of the incident. After the guide made sure I could see him he proceeded to beat the absolute shit out of him. By the third or fourth hit I felt kind of bad and thought that the punishment was a little extreme...they were BEATING this boy. That feeling went away though and I was hoping they might hold him so I could take a whack at him. Some older woman passed and tried to stop them. The guide told her what he had done and she said “OK” and continued on her way. Did the punishment fit the crime? I don’t know but I can guarantee that boy won’t kick anyone else anytime soon.