A Return to Hope

OK So I cleaned up the dirty language in my last post and I’m feeling pretty optimistic. You know, Job may not have ever denied his faith, but he DID curse the day he was born… and like, his mother’s womb. So I think I’m doing pretty good. I didn’t even make it that far. So I’m healthy and trying to stay that way. The doctor said I have to force-feed myself if necessary. Guess how much weight I’ve lost since arriving in Africa. Here’s a hint:

I know I look terrible. This is the day before I went to Bamako to be treated. I had a fever that day and was pretty exhausted. But the point of this post is that I’m BETTER now.

Thank you all again for your concern and thoughts and prayers and everything. I was sort of surprised to hear of the random people who were worried for me or praying for me. It’s a little overwhelming.

So what can I tell you? I’m told our cows are ready to sell and I’m hoping to write up and close our little project and the women are excited to start their individual projects.

My SPA funded project was just approved and we should get the money in a week or two. The garden associations are excited and it will be great to have wells again (now that the waters have receded). We have to wait a little before we can dig the new wells but it’s great to know the money is there.

It’s been fun working with Sidiki. He’s a very kind Dogon man and friends with lots of people. He found it in his heart to invite me to church again (after my little rude incident on Christmas) so I intend to go check it out. One great thing about working with a Dogon is that Bambara is HIS second language too, so it’s actually easier to communicate with him.

Learning Bambara has been a really good setup for me, even though I end up working with people from other cultural/language groups. It’s a lingua franca so they speak it as a second (market) language. We muddle through together. It reminds me of one of my favorite cross-cultural moments:

When I was in Germany singing in a choir, we were able to interact with a number of groups from different countries. One evening we were hosted by a German accordion band. I shoot you not. Maybe it was polka. ANYWAY, there was also a group from Japan there. As I sat on the front row waiting for some amazing accordion action, the director of the band and the leader of the Japanese youth had to discuss how the joint program would go. The only problem was that the German man didn’t speak Japanese and the Japanese man didn’t speak German. To my delight (and amusement) they discovered they both spoke some English. So there I was, an English native speaker enjoying watching the two wrestle out a conversation in a language foreign to them both. It was a fascinating moment. Did you know that more people on earth speak English as a second language than as a first? Sorry, I’m getting distracted.

I can’t imagine what native Bambara speakers think when they hear Sidiki and I converse, or Kadia and I try to find common meaning. Still, I NEVER tire of the surprise on people’s faces when they realize I’m not just another Toubab trumpeting French at them, that I actually speak their language. I often catch them hissing out comments under their breath that I am able to respond to. It is a lot of fun actually. I get to make fun of the Toubabs along with them.

It reminds me of a story my Spanish/Chinese teacher told us that I thought was pretty funny. He said he walked into a store in China one day and the clerk said slyly to her work mate, “Here comes Da Bi-zi (big nose)” Which is what they call whitey out there (c’mon, we deserve it). Being the good natured man he is he smiled and said “Da Bi-zi would like to purchase [such and such]” or something like that. Both sides of this conversation in Chinese of course. The clerk was a little shocked I think.

I love to play on that shock. I’m never insulted really. I know their little comments are meant for someone I’m not, for the post-colonial tourist or whatever who doesn’t know what they’re saying anyway. It’s sort of fun to be in on the joke.

Which reminds me of another story. I was playing with some of James’ little Korean cousins and one of the little girls asked me quite frankly, “Why is your nose so big?” Good question. I guess I should blame my mom? That’s a tough one.

I was at my one market in Sofara a couple weeks ago buying oranges and mandarins and potatoes and plantains (not for me… blegcht) and there was quite a few Toubab’s hanging around. It’s usually hard for me to interact with Toubabs here because I don’t speak French. As it turned out these tourists were from America (weird huh?). The Sofara market is actually pretty good, and since it’s right between Djenne and Dogon country, guides bring tourists through every so often. ANYWAY, the point is it was nice to be able to tell them that “yes, I live here” and to be able to bargain in an African language as they looked on. It takes a lot (I’d say sacrifice) to get to that point, so it’s rewarding to actually enjoy it, especially in contrast to the “outsiders.”

I’m the only white person IN Sofara. I think I told you this but it is still amusing. Did you know that Sofara is also called Kaka? I live in Kaka. And the commune of villages around is called Fakala. How many awesome names can my town have? I thought of a slogan for my town: Sofara so good.

I thought of a new slogan for Peace Corps. I think the slogan now is “The hardest job you’ll ever love.” And the old one is “How far are you willing to go…” Or maybe I swapped that. ANYWAY (again), with recent experiences in mind I was thinking it could be: “Peace Corps; The ass-kicking of a lifetime.” What do you think? I think I’ll submit it to Washington.

Lastly, can you believe how long I’ve been here? More to the point, that there is some light at the end of the tunnel. Some time in the next seven to nine months (from tomorrow) I will be coming home. I’m a little trunkie, I’ll admit. And you know what else? I still have all my vacation time saved up. I’m thinking (right now) India and then Ghana later. Well I’m definitely going to India, we’ll see what else happens. I have like 48 days of vacation to blow. I’m pretty much out of here. PEACE!

No, OK. I’m not pretty much out of here. But I’ll be home to vote and holiday it up. I’ll make a more formal list, but have the pumpkin pie on standby. And the funeral potatoes. And roast beast and Yorkshire pudding. Dang it, I’m making myself hungry.

I heart ATT. I mean... I'm not politically affiliated with any party or politician. This is me and Dan, a great friend of mine and fellow PCV. We're wearing Dogon hats. SYLISH!