Is this thing on?

2010-12-25T05:02:00.000Z

2010-03-03T07:13:00.002Z

Relent.

I'll admit to not understanding Lent very well. I never noticed the word until I was in Jr. High. "What are you giving up for Lent?" Good question, I thought. What is Lent? I was pretty good at pretending to not have not known things. I was a stupid kid after all. Not a STUPID kid, a stupidkid. The way all kids are stupid... the normal ones anyway. I just had more... shame? Pride maybe. Or the same amount. I guess it's not a fair assessment to think I was good at pretending. I was probably terrible at it. I tried though.

So what is Lent anyway? Where does it come from? I grew up knowing about Jesus and his fast and his temptation, but never seemed to run across Lent. I just looked it up on Wikipedia. It says Lent comes from a Germanic word meaning spring, which comes from the root long. A time when the days are getting longer (thank goodness).

It's a fast. I think I'm getting it a little. A Christian Ramadan of sorts... as Melville might say.

Well I'm a little late. Anna and I decided we need to cut back on a couple things. We're going to take a look at our media consumption. We don't even have a TV but we manage to watch it anyway. Go figure. We decided to cut back. Less surfing, less watching, less facebooking. What a verb. So we'll use the internet with purpose, have an agenda and get it done. And get out. We'll get our brain used to reading. It needs to calm down. It needs to wake up.

I took a media theory class where we had to do an experiment. We would study our media consumption for a week and write our thoughts. Then we would go on a media fast and write about our experience. Part of me didn't like the idea. Part of me knew it was right. The latter part wrote the paper. The former was happy when the paper was done, with it's unhappy experiment. What do you guess I wrote? It's an easy paper to write if you try. Who would want to though?

My discovery--aside from the obvious--was that I use media to turn off my brain. Thinking is hard. Have you ever tried to learn a new language? It's exhausting. Imagine if you could quiet your brain all the time. Ah, the energy you'd save. Plug in.

So for spring I'm unplugging a little more. Not altogether mind you. I'll still turn some stones to bread. But fewer. Gotta watch those carbs.

2008-12-03T22:21:00.004Z

A Life of Joy and Giving

Cristina, we miss you.

You spent your life giving, giving, giving and never taking for yourself. Yet you were happy and brought us joy and cheer (even in the heat somehow). You loved without regard for race or creed. You loved Daniel without regret or restraint. You loved us, even those who never earned it. Thank you. Thank you. Now it's our turn to honor your memory. We promise to give more because of you. We promise to bring more cheer to others because of you. We promise to extend our love because of you. You have made a real difference in the lives of countless. And now we, because of you, will make a difference in the lives of those we meet. It's all we can do while we live the rest of our lives missing you.

2008-08-24T11:22:00.005Z

I'm STILL here!!!

Can you believe it?

2008-06-08T14:23:00.005Z

The Well Project

Things aren't AS far along as one might hope (given the impending rains) but some wells are done and others in process. Here are some recent photos:

Sidiki and the boys digging.

The boy who fell in the well. Ok he didn't fall. His job was the dirtiest, and perhaps the hardest, but at least it was the shadiest.

Kickstart: the foot powered pump. Pumping can be fun. "BROWN WATER FIGHT!"

One of the completed wells.

2008-06-08T12:54:00.005Z

Photos I Took
With a friend's camera.

I make mud bricks.

I make mud houses.

I make woven baskets.

I ride bikes (chekoroba).

We like to have our photo taken.

2008-06-07T18:05:00.003Z

Where to Start?

Do you ever feel like this? This happens to me a lot when I'm meant to clean a room, a table, a small animal. Where to start? So here's what I do: I choose a place to start; a wall, a side, a leg. Then I draw a line and start making my way from that point. Anything the line touches has to be taken care of. It's like a rugby game, you gotta just hold the line. It is also like war I suppose. Hold the line, don't get flanked, we don't need another Battle of the Bulge situation. OK, you've waited a long time for a post right? I'll level with you. You want to know how I really think about this? In my mind, I imagine a Baryon Sweep. OK! That's all you're getting. If you want to think less of me then google that! But seriously?, I recommend NOT googling it.

My POINT is when you are overwhelmed with so much to do, you just have to start somewhere and then work at it. Take into account priorities of course (Need to sleep sometime soon? Clear off the bed. Does part of your small animal stink more than others [you know where I'm talking about here]? Maybe start there), but in the end, you just gotta work at it dooni, dooni. Beats doing nothing right (assuming you would be happier getting the task done over just leaving it)?

What a mess I've gotten myself into, eh? NEVER, since the beginning of my blogging days, have I missed two consecutive months of blogging. Well, there it is. Here I am. I am what I've done. How do I ever start blogging again (oh, the shame!)? I just gotta start with something little and stupid. Let's get this Baryon Sweep going.

Good Cop, Bad Cop

Or
"Hold me back, I'm gonna punch him. Hold me. You're not holding me. Dude, I said hold me. Hold me back!"

There is an aspect of Malian culture that I have almost wholly failed at embracing and participating in. This is not because I disapprove, or have been unaware of it, but it is just such a foreign concept that even as I see it happening it is too hard to jump into action. When it happens I feel unable to leave my American-ness behind and participate in the little play that goes down.

Let me give you an example. This actually happened to me.

I am at a family's house. When I say house I mean courtyard (concession). There are two main indoor housing areas connected to the courtyard, one for each wife. I rarely go into the actual houses. In Mali (like many warmer-climate developing nations) most of life takes place outside. Women cook outside. People sit in chairs outside. Visitors are received outside. Few things actually happen inside (unless it is currently raining... hard).

One of the teenage daughters comes home. Her mother starts grumbling at her. This is a common occurrence at this home. I am talking to the other co-wife at the time, so I don't pay much attention to what she is mad about. I assume she came home late or didn't do a chore or something. The grumbling continues and escalates into yelling. I still don't really pay attention. This isn't really as awkward as it may be elsewhere in the world. They are coming in and out of the house and the daughter is sweeping the floor, then not sweeping, then yelling, then sweeping. Very soon you hear the daughter scream. Her mother is yelling at her and her daughter is yelping. Now I am disturbed but unsure as to what is going on. I look to the other co-wife for some guidance as to how I should react. She just sits there so I'm unsure what to do.

She reluctantly gets up and says "that's enough." Soon neighbors are showing up. An old man arrives and enters the house and tells them to stop, that's enough. The fight is over and the daughter is crying while the mother fumes. The co-wife I was talking to comes back to me and asks "why didn't you go defend the daughter?" or something to that effect.

As a member of the community within earshot, I was expected to intercede.

In fact, disciplinary action is based on this assumption.

Basically--from what I can tell--a parent or other disciplining party has no responsibility for controlling their anger. It is left up to others to intercede. In order for a mother to convince a child they are in real trouble, they let themselves lose control. But the mother relies on others to keep them from hurting their child more than they would ACTUALLY want to.

I guess this is more of an extreme case. I mean, there is a precedent in the States for intervening when there is abuse going on. But this method is used all the time in really, everyday cases. An adult breaks a branch to use as a switch and any adult around will block the child from being hit/spanked. If an adult is yelling at a child other adults will let it go for a minute then tell them it is enough.

Could you imagine though? You are at a friend's house and they start to discipline their child for not cleaning the room. After the point seems across you feel free to jump in. "OK Steve, that's enough. Let it go." Ok so maybe even that might happen. Um, you are angry and yelling at a family member and a neighbor comes over to get you to stop. Not because you are making noise but because they seem to be questioning how you are disciplining your child.

I seem to be doing a really terrible job of describing this huh? I'll try again later.

It works the other way too, though. Random adults can discipline other people's children. This one I like. Could you imagine in the states if you were at the grocery store and a stranger told your child to stop whining? If only.

2008-05-12T13:34:00.002Z

Incredible India
That's their slogan.
Seriously.

Me and my future wife After a friend's Wedding.

Posing pensive at the Ashram.

Me and Ganesh.
Hanging out outside the office where my sister worked (at the Ashram). I like Ganesh for some reason. Did you know how he got an Elephant head? His father (Shiva) chopped off his head when he wouldn't let him in to see his mother. In fairness to Shiva he had been away at war and didn't recognize his son (nor Ganesh, him) and he felt really bad afterward. Bad enough to find another head for him. Elephant head? I say upgrade.

2008-03-27T15:22:00.001Z

Who is ready...

...for vacation?

I am!!!

2008-03-14T16:30:00.002Z

Nyogome

OK let’s try this again.

Remember when we had to “save” our documents in case the power went out or the computer locked up? I guess we still have to do that in Africa.

So, I wish I had something clever or profound to share. But I’ve been drawing blanks of late. If I were more creative I’d be able to amuse you with what parts of my life might amuse an accidental reader (assuming there are not other kinds). But, alas, I am not. So. I’ll bore you with the little odds and bods (and occasional little sod) that have been amusing ME.

First of all, the Nyogome. Nyogome is the Bambara word for Camel. And I am in love with camels. At this point I’m a little afraid that I am revealing how few things I think about. Have I blogged about this before? Oh well, who cares? You should know my affinity for Camels, so long as you care to know anything about me. I seek out the company of camels. I’m always sort of asking around for camels. I’m talking about the animal, right? Not the cancer catalyst. I live in a part of Africa where camels walk by, but don’t necessarily hang out. The nomadic families have one (along with children with hilarious hair shaving patters riding on donkeys [ballpark amusing]) or two at the end of their train. They stop by but they’re hard to track down sometimes. I guess camels can walk.

Any further north and I’d be in camel lovers’ (not like that) paradise. But here it’s just an infrequent thrill. Tuesday is my market day. I love the Sofara market. I haven’t found a better balance of culture and goods and flavor than what’s found at my own town’s market. On Tuesday I was at market running an errand or two and my little buddy Adama said “Isa, Nyogome file” (Issa, check out the camel). Like a baby on task, interrupted by a passing balloon, so too was I by that camel. Hey, was that an epic simile? Eat your heart out Homer. Sorry, OK so I just start following this Camel. Where do you suppose guy is going with his camel? I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m on it like spice on a rack (which is a thing now). I’ve got stars in my eyes and a smile on my face.

I’m not sure what it is. Here’s part of it: They make me feel like I’m on another planet. You know that awesome pickup line, “Is this a space station, because you are out of this world?” That’s like what I say to camels. They are way underrated. The camel owner guy was kind of a hay seed and I don’t think he could imagine why I was in such awe about his beast of burden. So, I’ll be on the lookout.

I think maybe if I wasn’t sure they wanted to kill you, elephants would be cool. But I’m pretty sure they do. Camels are like domesticated awesome.

Sorry, I was meaning to be done talking about that.

What else?

So my house is made out of mud bricks right? They are pretty thick, like 12 inches or something. So that’s how thick my walls are. And my windows are that deep. So on the near side there is a screen. On the far side there is a grate that can be opened and closed. In each of my windows there is a lizard and a gecko. They are like my first line of defense against bugs. I guess I just thought it was funny that in America we have terrariums to keeps lizards and here we have windows. That’s not very interesting.

Still, anything that eats bugs, I’m ok with.

The corners of my house have spiders hanging out in them. I’m cool with it. I encourage it. They eat bugs that eat me. You know that old saying, my enemy’s enemy? Same thing. In fact, two nights ago I heard a squeek squit squilt!!! And flashed my flash… light… my electric torch! Up to see a bat flying through my house. In America, isn’t that like grounds for freaking out? I was ok with it. I went to sleep. Honestly I’m impressed that he could get in and find his way out.

Speaking of torches. I went to a friend’s house in Sevare to spend the night and walked into the room where I was to sleep and instinctively clicked on my head(nerd)lamp. I’m no longer used to houses that have light switches. And… you know… electricity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for it. I also like showers and water that comes out of pipe on command. Novel.

I’m good btw. Oh you might be amused by this. (and by you I mean I).

After I had malaria and shisto and amoebas I came back to Sofara and everyone was like “you have gotten skinny” and “Allah give you rest” and whatnot. All sorts of people were consistently telling me I was skinny (this is not a good thing btw). Lately I’ve been getting a pretty consistent “you’ve gained weight!” and “you’re fat!” (kind words). So take courage in that mom.

AND

I’m taking vacation in less than a month!! I can hardly wait. I’m going to India and Korea and WILL be fat when I get back. I’ve been looking at this travel book on India and salivating over the yummy that’s to be had. And Korea? Kim chee? Korean bbq? Pi bim bop? Forget about it.

I’m going to get my fill of travel for a spell. Check out this flight itinerary:

Bamako, Mali -> Adis, Ethiopia -> Bombay, India -> Bangalore, India -> Bombay, India -> Hong Kong, China -> Seoul, South Korea -> Hong Kong, China -> Bombay, India -> Adis, Ethiopia -> Bamako, Mali

Fwewf.

Someone check my spelling. I have to go back to Africa.

2008-02-16T21:25:00.004Z

Ala k’a ba ni fa to.

The spectrum of emotion and experiences in one man’s life seems but a trifle for the poet. I mean, there in one line we find our summers, our winters, our sorrows and our joyful triumphs enumerated and foretold. Then life takes us by the hand and guides us towards our own experiences and emotions, all in due time and with the wisdom only life can foresee.

In what ways are we prepared for heartache, or forced to appreciate a little sunshine (or shade as your desperation requires)? Are we allowed to learn or remember a lesson we never faced ourselves? However that whole thing works out, I’m glad for the lessons and reminders I face. At times they seem to juxtapose themselves in my life for the very purpose of teaching me what is true and what is not so sure, lest I build my foundation on a faulty foundation of future expectations.

Have you ever been in love? Try to remember what an exciting and happy time that is. Unabashed optimism never seemed so rational. All is right in the world and you have to force yourself to anticipate how anything could ever go wrong again.
Thusly enamored and dreaming of a happy future with your love, you receive a phone call. You hope it’s who you hope it is… but the voice of an unfamiliar man is at the other end:

Hello?
Allo? I’m calling in behalf of Abdoulaye.
(at this point you suspect it’s a wrong phone number…
… but then he calls you by name)
Abdoulaye would like you to call him back.
Who?
Call your father Abdoulaye at this number…

You call the number back…

Hello?
Allo,
(now a familiar voice calls you by name)
How are you? Are you well?… We are all healthy, but last month Adam got sick.
(you begin to fear why you might be called to be told such news)
He was sick, we took him to the hospital but no cure could be found.
(your heart sinks but you can’t make him say it. It breaks your heart to make him say it)
What has happened? Has he passed away?
Yes. It aches my heart to tell you.
I’m so sorry. God rest his little soul.
I thought I should call and tell you.
(you struggle to find words. What should you do?)
I’m so sorry. I’ll come visit next chance I get.
Thank you. God bless you.
Abo, I’m so sorry.
(What could possibly be said? What can you do?)
We’ll see you soon.
OK Goodbye.
Goodbye.

It’s a shock more than anything. You are sad, but mostly wish you could do something. You feel helpless. These people who have taken you into their home and made you their family, have lost their baby, their boy Adama, born in your presence and nicknamed after your own father, and now these people you love are hurting. You’re not confident it has sunk in, not sure even if it can.
But I wonder… Are you still in love? What of your happy plans for your own future and love, family and life? How do they look in the light of tragedy? What are you feeling and what are you meant to feel? You still have love in your heart but the reality of life has made itself known.
Later you confess what has happened and your feelings to this person you love. As you confess, you realize how sad you really are and can’t hold back tears. Why hadn’t you cried before? What do you feel, love or sadness? Does one make the other easier, or more true or more well informed?

I do have a lot of questions, but I still hope to learn and anticipate how best to navigate the summers, winters, sorrows and joyful triumphs we might face.

Again (and far too often), in sweet memory of the child Adama Samaké

August 2006 – January 2008
Ala k’a dayoro suma.

2008-01-27T15:44:00.000Z

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!

2008-01-10T12:59:00.000Z

Merry Christmas
You’re Going to Hell.

Well. It’s been an interesting month. Highlights include…. It being over. I’ve been treated for Malaria, Amoebas and Shistosomiasis. Imagine the hellish symptoms leading up to that! Still, they would come and go so I had some terrible nights and some doable days. Like Christmas.

So try to imagine my morning. I was up on and off the previous night with a death-fever and my back was killing me for some reason. Finally the morning is here and my fever has broken and I’m trying to not feel. Just laying there not ready to start the morning.

Someone comes into my concession. “NNSOMA!... NISOM!... AASOM!!” Over and over he shouts I ni sogoma, but in a (what I feel is) rude short, inarticulate shouting, curt,… ok so it’s maybe starting to become apparent why I’m going to hell right?

FINALLY! After like five minutes of him shouting, and me determined not to get up (no chance in my little hell), he goes away. Jeeze.

So I’m laying there. Wishing I wasn’t awake, but what can you do right? A couple minutes later the guy comes back in with renewed determination to shout his little mantra NSOG!!!! NSOG!!!!! NNNNSOG!!!!!!!!!!

(I’m sorry mom. I don’t use foul language very often, but I may or may not have used some here. Though I’ll admit, what I think I actually said on christmas morning was something I don't say most years, let alone the day we celebrate Jesus' birth.)

Finally I realizing this one doesn’t go away but with fast and prayer. I get up with some very unchristmasy language and storm through my house and slam open (somehow) my door and march up to this well-dressed young man and stop a couple feet short. The image is obviously a little startling for the poor teenager and he, startled, takes a few steps back.

He’s too scared now to say anything and I’m too angry to have pity. I drop my head as if to say “WHAAT!?” and the poor lad delivers his message:

“Sidiki told me to tell you that Christmas services are at 10:30 not 9am.”

Sigh.

“OK. Tell Sidiki I’m sick and may or may not make it depending on how I’m feeling. Thank you.”

OK so you’re going to hell. Big deal. You’re in too much pain to care.

I try to find a position on the mat that assuages my pains but nothin doin.

Having only just survived (in quite pathetic fashion I’m sure) into the 10am hour, I decide to just take a fist full of Advil and see where that takes me. They kick in handsomely around 11am and I feel like maybe I can do something with the day.

Just in time because Kadia shows up saying they need money for cattle feed. Why are these cows not sold yet? When will they be and WHERE were you planning on magically finding this money?

Yes, yes, I realize I’m white, but I don’t keep that kind of money around my house. I don’t even have that kind of money to spend on your cows. WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO THE MONEY FOR THE PROJECT, THE PLAN, THE BUDGET, EVERYTHING WE SAID WAS GOING TO HAPPEN???

OK so I call over guy who’s been helping on the project because I’m not getting anywhere (good anyway). He comes over (thank goodness), and they begin to have like an hour long argument in a language I don’t understand.

I’m praying to know what to do to help this project not fall apart. I don’t want to enable irresponsible actions but I want to help. I want to do the best thing.

In the end the question is “OK well, how much money DO you have.”

I take this opportunity to remind him that it’s my holiday. It’s Christmas. (THAT’s right… Happy fette. May allah bring us another year of such.) Thank you.

I continue, I’m in africa by myself trying to help these women. What’s his motive? He says he wants to help and doesn’t expect money. OK let’s continue.

So I spend the day at market helping them by feed and using all my energy in doing so.

Here’s another funny thing about this day. I wanted lunch. Guess what. The cattle feed place that I was spending my time was RIGHT NEXT to a place who sold market day food to our lowly pilgrims. They even had Zame. So I find out the woman’s name, do the standard joke/greeting and say I want a plate of zame.

Ten minutes later.

Yeah I know I’m white but I seriously want some food.

Heh, of course you do. WINK.

Ten minutes later.

I’m waiting for a guy to come back from haggling over the price of feed. Make me a plate.

Right away sir WINK AGAIN.

Uh, are you out of zame now? What the freak? Forget it, I have to work again.

After all is said and done I pass through market and pick up something to eat. I can’t remember what now. I go home and call it a day.

It’s still the afternoon but I’m tired. And going to hell. Merry Christmas anyway.

2008-01-05T13:26:00.000Z

Happy Tabaski to all
And to all a good night.
It's like Christmas but way more throats get slit. Kids love it ;) Throw that liver on the grill.

Found some rams in the thicket. So anyway, all is well. My malaria is gone and I'm being treated for amoebas or however you spell them. Should be 100% lickity-splits and head back up to my region. As much as I love Bamako.

2007-12-16T15:24:00.000Z

Horse Sense

I got nothing. So how the crap are you supposed to ride a horse? I’ve ridden them several times at camp or with cousins, in Mexico etc. and it has never been this painful. The truth is I don’t know much about how to do it. I think I have some suspicions though. I think my stirrups are too short. Wait, is stirrups the word? The leg thingies. Here were my choices last time. Murder one of the following: my balls, my tail, my legs, my shins, my knees, my back. I decided to split the difference. But I tried to do that “trot” thing I think I’ve seen in the movies where your ass hits the horse every other stride and you sort of hop up and down. But it was like doing constant squats but no full extension. It was hard and I was really sore after. So my leg thingies need to be longer right? I mean, bareback, my choices are limited but with this terrible, African saddle there’s got to be a way I can get used to where I don’t have to recover for a week afterwards right? Right? Laura, I’m kinda looking to you on this. I nether even WENT to Texas.

Grandma’s Teet

I know this might be a little crass but hey, no children commented on my recent beast-post so I think I’m in the clear. I saw something on market day that… was…

OK so no one adjective could possibly fill that vacancy, but it was many things. I’ll just describe it. An old woman. An old Peuhl woman. She is looking after—what I can only assume is—her grandson. He’s a toddler, maybe he can say a few words, but still plainly young and innocent. So it’s been a long day at market I’m assuming. Grandma is sitting on a stool and waiting. Grandson pulls her shirt down. He’s hungry, who can blame him? Like I said, it’s been a long day. She kind of pulls her shirt up half-heartedly. The boy insists. She is kind of not paying attention. Uh. Is this thing on? It doesn’t seem to be working. Grandma seems to have all the equipment, but something is amiss.

Now have you ever seen a little boy try to suck a thick malt shake out of a straw? You know, a little boy or like me, in college? Baby be goin’ to TOWN on Grandma. And to no avail. Every so often grandma sort of tries to push him but boy be all determined and she’s not really embarrassed. So the boy starts really digging in. Now it’s like a guy trying to push, heft and heave a heavy vehicle out of deep mud. He is pushing as hard as he can, ramming grandma and his feet are futiley (which is a word now) losing traction in the dirt. He pushes and pushes and sucks and sucks and grandma just has a resigned look on her toothless face.

I wanted to take a picture but I knew what a great honor it was to just watch this hilarious, if sad, situation. I also knew I’d never be able to capture it. Then I started to think about that situation and it kind of reminded me of Africa in a way. How hard was that boy toiling to get what should have been his? Grandma (Africa) was not unwilling or withholding, she just didn’t have the resources to provide the boy with a fair reward for his efforts. He spun he wheels and huffed and puffed but in the end there was no use. You should see the effort people put into growing an onion, or a stalk of millet, and the marketable value it has in the end. Companies in the developed world may claim that their greatest asset is the people, but here, people’s work is nothing. It’s almost free. If someone can work all day to get something that they wouldn’t have had otherwise, they do. Holy crap I feel for that boy. Such effort would have been amply rewarded if the little boy’s caretaker had just been a little more fruitful. Know what I’m sayin?
Don’t get me wrong though. It was hilarious.

And a photo that has nothing to do with any of that.

2007-11-24T16:19:00.000Z

I was taking a bucket bath and then I thought about my laundry and then I wrote a poem:

brown dirt
red man
yellow sweat
black hands
blue die
white shirt

This is Moktar, a friend of mine. We joke around together and study the Qur'an and go fishing and he lets me ride his horse. One day we were taking and this little girl comes up and was giggling with her friends. He asked her if she liked me and she said "No. He's red." I guess that's only fair, I mean, Black people aren't REALLY black now are they?

I eat rice cereal in my pjs. Why can't I hang out in a rice field in them?

2007-11-09T11:01:00.000Z

A little of the…
Polychronic

I just noticed how used to this I am. Have you ever heard of this theory? I studied this crap in college so I’m full of coined phrases for the way culture and communication work. It’s a way of talking about how we manage our time and interactions with others. Generally, Americans tend to be Monochronic, ie, one thing at a time. We write down in a planner what we will be doing at 7am, seven-thirty, eight, 8:30 and so forth (that sentence [and frankly, most sentences I write], was designed to bug any grammar sticklers out there). We make an appointment with the man and he brings us in his office when it’s time and he closes the door and we sit and have a meeting. Priorities are established (or not) and we go through things—like I said—one thing at a time. If you’re in a conversation with someone and someone else you know walks buy, you don’t stop talking to that person and start something new with the new person (in most cases). Just like if you are walking down a hall and two friends are deep in conversation (or even shallow), you don’t say “hey, how are you doing today?” you just give a nod or smile and leave them to it.

NOT SO (and I know it’s belaboring the point to explain it but, hey, you’re not a captive audience, you can skip this crap) with Polychronic organization! As you might have guessed, someone who sees the world in this way and interacts with people as such, defines priorities a little different. I sat down with the Mayor of Sofara the other day and was talking about the different projects I’m working on and other possibilities for Sofara and someone came to the (always open) door. I just instinctively stopped in the middle of my meeting and looked up so he could greet us (greetings are very important in Africa). He then described some problem or issue. The mayor told him what to do and he left. I picked up right where I was and continued. The man returned with someone else, more instructions. This happened a few times. I’ve gotten good at pagemarking my own conversations so they can be continued later.

It was during this conversation that I took note of how naturally this seemed to flow (despite how unnatural it should have appeared to an American having a “business meeting” with someone important). So I started to watch how this worked during the next few days and realized it was happening all the time.

One thing that is a big step for me (and I know you’ll be proud of me for this Ellie) has been the greetings. As you walk down a path, it is generally expected that you will greet people (esp. anyone you know to any degree) along the way. Even if two people are talking intensely or arguing or kissing (ok they don’t do that here, but you get the idea) you would still be expected to greet them and they will interrupt their goings-on to reply (to at least some degree). This took some real getting used to, and I still feel weird interrupting people. But it’s not rude here, it’s expected. To not do so would be rude.

You want to know how I learned to do this? Too bad (unless you skip this too, shoot). I was trained. The person approaching or walking by is expected to initiate greetings. If you don’t, once you pass, people will tell you “HEY! You don’t greet me? What’s the deal?” It happened to me all the time. Now I just blaze down the street interrupting left and right:

“Hello!”
“Yes”
“Are you healthy?”
“Peace.”
“Family?”
“And children?”
“Peace?”
“Family.”
“No problems.”
“Good work.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Peace.”

OK so it doesn’t make a lot of sense but it shows you care somehow. Let me share a little secret with you (and we’ve obviously deviated from talking about poly and monochromic organization to greetings, WHICH is a rad example of mixing it up as such). When we first got here we had language training for two months. The first thing we learned was the greetings. We learn the correct question and the correct response:

“Hello.”
“Yes.”
“Did you have peace in the night?”
“Peace only.”
“Are you healthy?”
“I have no problems.”
“How is your family?”
“They have no problems.”
“And your spouse?”
“They have no worries.”
“And your children?”
“They have no problems.”
“Good work.”
“Thank you.”
“May Allah bless your path.”
“Amen.”

The reality though (and secret) is that this never happens in an actual Malian village. We spend so much time (in the beginning) trying to get the responses right and we are so frustrated to find THEY never answer OUR inquiries correctly. HOW RUDE!

But that’s not how they show they care. They show they care by keeping the rhythm going. It’s like saying “I like you enough to keep inquiring and responding (irregardless of what your inquiries and responses are).” It is actually more ruder ;) to sit there concentrating to get the right answers down because it cuts off the greeting or doesn’t perpetuate it.

“How’s your health?”
(oh yeah?) “How’s your family?”
(nice try) “What about those people in your extended family?”
(take this!) “Did you have peace in the night?”
(trying to throw me for a loop, I see) “They’ve got no problems!”
“PEACE!”
“FAMILY?”
“HEALTH!?”
“YES!”
“YES!”
“OK?”
“ALRIGHT!”
“May God bring peace to your day!”
“Amen!”
“May god bless your dwelling!”
“AMEN!!”
“May God show us tomorrow!”
“AMEEEEEEEEEEEN!”
(jeeze).
(You’ve won this round Coulibaly).

It’s like a rivalry of respect. Don’t say what you mean, mean how you say it. On a couple of side notes: Your last words on your sickly deathbed could be “I’m healthy.” In reply to a “Do you have health?” inquiry. No one ever says they are sick. Only lesser degrees to which they are full of health and peace (or “better,” whatever that means… although I suspect they use it as “better than dead”). Likewise you will never say that something is gross or not delicious, only a little delicious or you like it a little bit.

So back to that Polychronic thing (before I was so rudely interrupted). Stuff will get done but you just can’t be in too much of a hurry or want it done on a really specific time-table. I mean, you can want that (and may get it sometimes) but you will find yourself regularly frustrated and will confuse and frustrate the people you expect that out of. I like to take time to go visit people I want to (already) be working with and give them the heads up on what would help us go forward and keep at it do-dooni (little by little).

Oh man, I’m about to drop some more knowledge. You know how I was explaining about this way of prioritizing? It applies to jobs too. My host family’s father is a tailor. I’ve found there is a way to get your clothes made and there is a way to be neglected. Ready:

Goofus the neglected:
Goofus gives his fabric to the tailor and asks when it will be done. He arrives (on time) at the specified date and is frustrated to find it is not done. While there is no evidence of the work the tailor assures him it is “almost done” (ie almost started). He asks when it will be done and leaves (frustrated) and returns on the given date. Goofus sort of gets what he sort of suspects and the work is not done again. Who knows how long this could go on.

Gallant the integrated:
Gallant visits his tailor and delivers his fabric and describes what he wants. He notices the other people hanging around the shop, seemingly just chatting it up and watching the work. He waits a “reasonable” amount of time and then returns knowing the tailor will have been busy with other projects (slash drinking tea). If there is not too many people there he will sit down and start asking about his project and ask if he can see the progress. The tailor will describe the circumstances that explain why it is still folded, just as he left it days ago (perfectly reasonable I’m sure) and the explanation will be accepted (and expected). He will then sit there (making himself a priority to the tailor) and watch as the tailor actually starts the project. He will return periodically and if he REALLY needs it done by a certain time, he will come in early and say he needs it and sit there and watch it get sewn.

I know it sounds unreasonable, and it may be way less productive for a society to have to have one person watching the other work, but that’s how it works here. Actually, if you don’t mind when it gets done you can just keep stopping by till they believe you are serious and they will do it eventually. There are different ways to do this but Gallant chose the most common.

All this useless knowledge (in some circles anyway), brings me to my next point. It’s part of why:

I’m kind of sad…

…thaaaaaaaaat… what?

I’m a year in or so and I walk around Sofara with constant greetings of “ISA” (my name here in case you forgot) and hellos from friends and jokes and conversations. I’m at that point where I enjoy playing with words and joking around. It’s fun to realize that I’m sort of part of the community and instead of being the new Toubab, I’m now Isa.

Why should that make me sad anyway? Well, I can see the end (which, honestly, I can fully accept, or at least I’m not sad about that yet) and I sort of realize that no one from my former life[s] will come and see me in this town in Africa joking with women about buying their kids and accusing friends in jest of “cutting girlfriends” (uh, dating), or greeting and loving people. It’s not something I need or anything but it would be so fun to show someone around and prove the fruition of so many months of work and frustration. Maybe they wouldn’t be impressed (not knowing how sorry and helpless I was in the beginning) but I still sort of wish I could share it with someone.

Not that sad though. I’m still happy and enjoying my time and glad I’ve got things to do.

Happy and Things to do?? You want to hear more about his? Too bad (still):

Mein Kampf

Some of you know about my latest struggles which I won’t go into much detail here (riiiiiiiiight). It all started with a little spot on the top of my head. It was a little sore and acted like acne (which I thought it was). After a few days without coming to a head another one started to form on the back of my head. The first one formed into what I assumed was a big boil on the top of my head. It was actually pretty painful (not sharp but a dull constant pain) and grew in size and painfulness until after a week and a half or so it seemed like it was about ready to burst. Then it did.

I’m trying not to go into much detail here (as us Peace Corps Volunteers are famous for) but let’s just say it was gross. It made me pretty woozy to see so much puss and blood (OK I’M FINISHED!). The open sore worried me (as did the… gross… sorry… I took a picture of the first one if you really want to know [and have a strong stomach]) so I called the med office to get some advice. I was told not to worry and to take some antibiotics from my med-kit.

Long story short, that first one was only a hint of what was coming next. The antibiotic failed and I soon had an irritating spot on my waist (which made wearing normal pants difficult). Then my butt had a sore (oh man). Still, I was handling it when new, painful bumps started growing on my head. It was becoming difficult to find a position to sit or lay but I was still trying to treat things from village when one day, exhausted, I took a nap and woke up sweaty and in pain and overwhelmed by how many sores I was trying treat and how many new boils were forming. From the first (now) four I new the hellish process from first indication to eruption to healing and it was more than I could bear. I called the med office again and they decided they wanted to treat me in Bamako so now I had a 10 hour trip to face on a bus with a nasty, painful boil (two actually) on my bum.

Long story long I guess (oh, but not as long as it could be) it was a real spiritual, emotional and physical trial for me. I made it to Bamako (with my now dozens of boils) and received treatment and got better.

Why am I sharing this? Hmmm… I’d like to say something about how “tough” I am but… it was actually pretty humbling. I got through it though. Oh here! Here’s a lesson (of the many lessons I took out of the experience) that I feel comfortable sharing via blog: I got through it. Looking back I can’t imagine going into it knowing what it would be, but I got through it. It made other problems seem easier and put things on a new spectrum.

(Do you think those scars are permanent? Let's take a survey.)

For example: after a 10 hour bus ride in such a state, now these rides seem like a total cakewalk. They are much easier now. While I was in Bamako I also did mid-service medical exams and had blood taken. I don’t like needles but compared to a few days earlier where the doctor was digging open my extremely painful sores with a giant needle (and me giving it all I had to keep from crying) a needle in the arm was small kine.

I’m sure this contributes (but only partially) to why I’m so happy and content right now. I feel blessed to be able to compare my blessings to other possible situations. That said I have to thank my family and friends for all of their thoughts, well-wishes, fasting and prayer. The part of the story I left out is how my Heavenly Father helped me through it all, which I’d love to tell you if you would like to hear it some time.

As for…
Things to do:

I’m happy to have some projects to work on. Ah! There is so much I want to tell you but I know I won’t do it justice. Let me just mention a couple of things:

First, our early rainy season brought a lot of rain all at once. As a result some areas of Sofara (and other parts of the region and country) flooded. One of the places that flooded is where several women’s associations have their gardens. Unfortunately, the Dutch-brick construction and the soft dirt were a bad combination and five out of six wells collapsed (the surviving well being in another garden, far from the others). So I’ve been working with the garden association president to write a project to fund the purchase of cement for new wells. I’m glad I get to work with him because he is really motivated and knowledgeable (and has worked with Peace Corps before). This garden association is great for the women it serves (there is a Dogon, Samogow, Maninke and Fulfulde garden) and I’m happy I can help them in this difficult situation.

(I couldn't photograph the worst of the wells that collapsed, but this one (not actually flooded at the head) is an example of how the bricks react to the moist dirt.

BTW the new wells will use a design less susceptible to flooding. Here are two examples of wells he built that did NOT collapse despite flooding. (this is how we will build the five we are making).

(Issa, a Dogon man in the neighborhood shows me his well that flooded but didn't collapse.)

(They were able to fill this sinkhole in and save the well)

I have also been working with my French colleague to see if we can build a much-needed dike to prevent future flooding in this area.

Second, I am working with a women’s association to create a cereal bank. YOU will be able to help with this one by donating online (100% of proceeds go to the women via me [who your tax dollars support by funding Peace Corps, a gov program]). So keep that in mind as something that is coming up later. I will write more soon and keep you posted on the project’s status.

In the mean time, the project you have already helped me with is moving right along (this Peace Corps Partners Project must be completed and closed before the next one can be submitted). The millet harvest has been cut so we are now buying feed for the cows and should be selling them at market soon. I’ll let you know.

Well. Congratulations to anyone who actually read that. I know it was a lot of really specific detail (to my specific situation). I can’t write my blog do-dooni. I have take the time to travel to our office and then sit down and write it and then go to the cybercafe and then post. I spend most of the time in a town with no electricity (let alone computers) so thanks for forgiving my long delays and then beasts like this.

Just as a side note, I really don’t know who is reading this thing. I mean, I know a few of you (probably the all the ones who would read this whole post to the end, and then some), but randomly I hear about other people who read it that I didn’t know about. Anyone with the time is welcome but try to remember that I don’t really know who my audience is. Hopefully my stories or language isn’t too inappropriate. Any chance of getting a comment “shout out” from anyone who is listening? Click on “Comments” below. Whatevs.

2007-11-09T10:12:00.000Z

More Photos From a Broken Camera
HEY! PUN!

My counter part and his brother hard at work reading the pony ticket. Their family name is Camara. Pretty clever huh?

Pretty standard.

Papa (or papa frito as I call him), my host little bro. He's sweet.

Just assume this is a photo taken with an artistic eye, framed for maximum aesthetics and profound meaning. Not a "picture of chickens" with the worst framing ever.

2007-11-03T17:28:00.000Z

A Few Picks From a Hike

I love you all and will explain later. BACK TO AFRICA for now!

2007-10-11T22:50:00.000Z

A Change of Heart

For all its challenges and confusion, life can be a beautiful place. For all our best intentions there is no such thing as a charmed life, and if there is, I’m not convinced I would want one. Some of my most profound and cherished moments come quietly, once I’ve gotten used to some sad reality. It’s then that something ineffable happens; a change of heart.

Sometimes I still feel more qualified to be friends with children than with adults. I don’t know, they’re funny to me and usually a spot more sincere and kind and fun than their adult counterparts. I find it hard not to greet the children in the families I’m closest to here and probably end up learning more from them anyway.

I’ll give you a wa fila if you can figure out where I’m going with this.

Some kids are really reluctant to warm up to me. I’m this big, goofy, white, beast that for all they know (and possibly for all their parents tell them in jest), is some sort of white devil (i quensu orcha). I’m a wandering aberration of humanity to them and some kids just don’t like me. It’s funny to me most of the time and I just learn to accept it.

Recently, on my way back from market I spotted amongst the masses three little girls that I knew. They are nieces of my work associate and I see them quite often on visits to his home. They are all funny and fond of saying “ISA! SuguMo!” on market day, which basically means “bring me back a treat from market,” which I find hilarious and hard to pass up since I used to do the same thing. Remember mom? All it took was the rattling of the keys to prompt a “Mom. Where are you going? (out.) When will you be back? (soon.) Will you bring me a treat? (we’ll see.)” But I digress. Here were three little girls saying “Isa!” and holding out their hands to shake mine. Something was different though. Their youngest sister was holding out her hand too. This is the little girl who runs to her mother when I come around. She cries when I come near. She avoids me like some kind of i quensu orcha. But there she was. Suddenly she knew who I was. In that crowd of people I was her friend somehow, when for a year I had only been a plague.

I know the friendship of a toddler is not meant to be important to an adult but it was one of those magic moments. I had sort of accepted things as they were. She, hates, me. C’est la vie. But then something entirely intangible happened and she was my friend. This wasn’t just a market day special either. I’m part of her family now and I haven’t done but what I’ve been doing all along.

When does this change of heart happen? Is it while someone dreams or on a whim? because I sure didn’t introduce anything novel.

Tamba was two years old when I came to Missalabougou for training (last year). We were the first group of volunteers to be in that village and I suspect many of the children had never seen a white person, especially a two-year-old Tamba. Understandably he kept a cautious distance. He wasn’t scared or mean, he just knew his family and I was something else entirely. Then one day, after a few weeks living in the same home, I was standing near Tamba, talking to someone and he leaned up against me. Just like that. Suddenly I was part of the furniture. Suddenly I was one of the family that could be leaned on as he saw fit. He knew I wouldn’t knock the poor sod over. We were friends. We were family.

What happened Tamba?

There’s only one other thing I can compare it to.

You know I was a missionary in Nicaragua? The people there were so open and willing to talk and fight and laugh and love. We brought a message to the willing. Anyone who wanted some hope, something true, something more. Some were compelled but—let’s face it—some of what we brought was hard to digest after a lifetime thinking something else was true. They had to dissect it and understand it and as long as they were interested, we did that with them.

But I remember the first time it happened. For weeks it had been visits with fun and learning but also doubts and confusion and questions. It seemed like a match at times. VS! The great struggle. They were honest and they felt enough truth to not abandon the bits that were still hard to understand, but the bits were not going to be ignored. Then, one day we came over, and the ref rang the bell but somehow it wasn’t vs. anymore. We were two friends on a walk in the forest, admiring all the same things. I couldn’t believe it. Suddenly everything had changed and trust had replaced doubt. Hope had replaced fear. They knew if they leaned on what they had learned it wouldn’t knock them over.

I like the hope and the trust. These moments make all the others worth the struggle. There’s something intangible there that the heart seems to be fond of.

2007-09-29T11:22:00.001Z

Thank You

The project funding micro-finance for a women's association has been fully funded and is in full swing. Due to privacy law issues my project was funded during a window of time where they are not allowed to tell me WHO funded the project. Our many thanks to any who contributed. I'll keep you posted on the progress and impact.

These are the boys that are looking after the cows we bought and are fattening up to sell at market.

In Loving Memory

I left at 4am and biked under the moonlight out to the village to shoot the cows (with my camera) before they left for the bush. See those stones we're sitting on? I dropped my camera on that. It is broken. Enjoy some of the last photos my camera ever took. Don't ask me what I'm going to do about it.

A Shot In the Dark

That said, my camera actually still takes photos. I just have no idea what I'm shooting (there is no manual viewfinder) and I have no idea what I've shot till I travel to a computer and look. I took these photos post-camera shatter.

2007-09-29T08:53:00.000Z

The 4th of July

Why do Malians celebrate their 4th of July on September 22? That doesn't make any sense.

2007-09-29T08:43:00.000Z

NPR

I may or may not have accidentally called in to Talk of the Nations on NPR. They were having this show on Polygamy in the US so I called in as a Mormon living in a culture that practices Polygamy. Can you tell I was kind of nervous? I get stage fright. Still, because I love you (my cherished core of blog readers--you know who you are, I don't want to waste the half-line of text it would take to list your full names [middle names included:P]) and think you might find it funny to hear me on the radio, I'll share this gift:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=14350293

If you can't listen to the whole show I come in at about 31:40.

Buen proveche.

2007-09-29T08:33:00.000Z

Soccer

Hi Americans.

Have you ever seen that Simpsons where Springfield goes to a soccer game that ends in a tie? The spectators are so enraged with such an outcome that they start a riot and tear the stadium apart. Makes a lot of sense huh? I never really got soccer. Do you? How could a game that seems so boring and action-free to most Americans be so appealing to the entire rest of the world? I can explain it.

Seriously.

I figured it out.

Get ready to have your mind blown America. Cause I can explain the appeal of soccer (notice me not calling it football).

My house is directly behind one of the goals of our town’s soccer field. Lots of balls hit my walls, windows and fly onto my roof and into my yard. On many afternoons I have had occasion to watch the young men of Sofara play (they play every evening once the sun has lost its bite, before it’s dark) from my roof. I have a pretty good seat. As you watch the game you realize how rare and valuable a goal is. This makes each attempt so crucial.

One day as I watching, one of the players broke away from the defenders and was charging at the goal with just the goalie between him and the precious goal. The player seeking the goal (I don’t know what any of the positions are called) was playing skins and this muscular, black, charging bull reminded me of a black stallion charging into battle before a lowly pawn. It was kind of scary. Then I realized, that is what soccer is. It’s a battle. A real battlefield isn’t boring because it only takes one fell stab to kill a man. Soccer is like two men fighting to the death. Each goal attempt is like a swing of the sword. If the men are well trained they will understand how to defend against attack and cuts will be rare. That doesn’t make the swing any less menacing. But when the blade finds flesh? Suddenly the fight has transformed, the stakes for the wounded man, the losing team have become more desperate. They must strike back or become weakened and die.

Points in other sports start to look like cheap knockoffs of a true struggle. What is another basket in basketball? I can hardly stand to watch the first three quarters of most games. Football, baseball, remember those amazing come from behinds or nail biting finishes? What if the whole game was like that. What if every score attempt was THAT valuable?

Not all games are this exciting. Some are boring, like watching two crappy, unskilled fighters or a merciless slaughter (not so sporting). What do you think?

I still like an amazing baseball playoff game though. Remember Papi’s home runs against the Yankees? Priceless. I don’t despise soccer so much anymore though.

Kids aren’t funny

OK that quote was taken a little out of context. What I actually said was “I hope my kids aren’t funny.” Cause man, if they are, I know they’re gonna be cracking me up. And it’s hard to discipline someone when they’re making you laugh. I went to watch the Independence day soccer game and I was standing with the setting sun in my eyes so I shielded them with my hand at my brow. Then this family of four siblings shows up and start talking to me and decide it would be funny to imitate everything I did. This, of course, struck me as funny as well. So I have these well dressed kids (people get new clothes for holidays. It’s like the first day of school.) following me around and imitating my every move. As long as I thought it was funny there was no putting an end to it in their minds. I was impressed with how long the kept it up too.

2007-09-10T08:45:00.000Z

Sasquatch

“That’s just saaaasquatch. That’s what that is.” Think it’ll catch on? I’m gonna see if I can get people to start saying it. Sasquatch as an adjective, I like it. I got distracted by that awesome word. Oh, now I remember. So when I visited my friend’s village back when we tried to fix the pump I had a funny little experience. Stop me if I blogged this already. I was sitting on this beautiful hillside enjoying the setting sun and just taking in the amazing valley view. As I sat there I could hear some little herder boys singing as they came up the hill with their cattle. I waited there watching them come into view, sitting perfectly still so as not to disturb the scene. BUT such is the life of a Toubab, that would prove impossible. As the boy got a little nearer (oh I don’t know, like 150 yards—still pretty far) he noticed something different about the familiar hillside. He froze and staaaaaaaaaared. What is that? I probably shouldn’t have but I could NOT resist. As he stared at me trying to figure out what I was, I didn’t move an inch until I new he was really concentrating. Then, in my best sasquatch impersonation I suddenly, beastlikefully stood up and stared right back. The reaction was hilarious, even at such a distance—maybe because of the great distance. In true cartoon style, he turned tail and ran as fast as he could to his herder friend. It was like an Abbot and Costello move. He pointed and they both stared and deliberated on what I was. They were clearly scared. Then I started to lumber around and hide behind trees then come out again and then stare. When I started towards them they retreated. Soon the novelty ran out and I wanted to see what would happen if I started to stalk them. So I start going from rock to tree, closer and closer. They retreated closer to their neighboring village. Then they found a third boy and sent him up a large tree to get a better view of what was coming at them. When I was getting close enough to where they should have figured out what I was, I started to run. Then I stopped. I watched them. Then, finally—as if testing a theory—the boy in the tree shouted a tentative “Ça va?” So I rewarded their courage and intelligence with a clearly human double-hand raise salute. Crisis averted. It wasn’t sasquatch at all! It was just a Toubab. Rare to these parts.

So I walked over to the boys and talked to them and asked their names and which village they were from etc. Then I took their picture as a reward for being part of my little rouse. Fun was had by all… well… me anyway. Here is a picture of the two boys. Notice the third boy in the tree.

This picture is entitled: “Is this turning anybody on?” The photo clearly answers the title question.

Me, Hassana, Umu.

For the love of the North. Mopti-Gao love.

2007-09-10T08:43:00.000Z

Fresh Blood

Some might say “fresh meat,” but not me. I’ve sworn off Peace Corps relationships. Hah, Peace Corps Volunteer Swear-in was in September and Peace Corps Volunteer Swear-off was last April. Still going strong on both accounts. I don’t know how easy it will be for the non-PCV to understand the volunteer community but let me try to expound. You spend weeks (months even) at a time as the one cultural and linguistic outsider in little village, trying to integrate and make a difference in the African’s lives. Then, every so often you get together with other Americans, other PCV’s. Ah, it’s like a relief just to speak your language and talk about things that people will easily understand and commiserate. The loneliness can make you kind of desperate for familial contact and this leads to PCV’s “hooking up” to various degrees. But this is how it goes down: you like someone and you have like 3 or 4 days where you can be together constantly and it’s great and comforting, etc. Then, you go back to village for some amount of time and weeks or months can pass before you see the PCV again and then you have to see if your feelings match up when you see them again. Sometimes there could be an expectation to sort of pick up where you left off. This was something I realized I was no good at fulfilling. Hence my swearing off of the whole fiasco. There are lots of other reasons like the wisdom of avoiding “pissing in your own pool” as it were. The PCV community is your family and they’re what you’ve got for the next year or two.

So that said (TMI? Try living here.), after a year of being the newbie group, it is nice to have some fresh blood to get us excited and to help us see Mali through innocent (or disturbed) eyes again. I heard a couple of stories from our new volunteers that I thought were funny and reminded me of being fresh (you know, like without the trauma of having suffered one hot season, knowing you are destined to suffer another).

Dorome Dorome

One of our new trainees said “when I found out about how they count money, I was ready to E.T. (early termination – go home) right then and there. I felt his pain. In Bambara (other languages have their own equivalent systems) money is counted differently than in French. Money is counted in a unit called the Dorome. The Dorome is not 1CFA but actually 5CFA. So when someone says something costs 10 Dorome, the price is 50CFA. WHAT the origins of this are, I have not yet discovered, but it makes a day at the market quite interesting. So I’ve gotten a lot better at multiplying things by five in my head, but I still screw it up sometimes. Enjoy the sample scenarios:

“How much for the bananas?”
“3, 10. 4, 20”
Translation: Some cost 50CFA for 3, others 100CFA for 4.

“One hundred and forty.”
500 + 200
700 CFA

OK try to keep up.

“One thousand, six hundred, seventy and five.”
5,000 + 3,000 + 350 + 25
8,375 CFA

“How much money did you end up with for your project?”
“Eighty-one thousand, two hundred and fifty”
405,000 + 1,000 + 250
406,250 CFA

Then you compound that by the way the French count. Did you know this? It goes:
10
20
30
40
50
60
60 10 (70)
4 20 (80)
4 20 10 (90)
Why can’t we just say seventy, eighty and ninety like in Spanish? Would that be so hard? So to say 95 you have to say “Four-Twenty-Ten and Five.” Am I the only one who finds this irritating? And don’t get me started on the French keyboard. The semicolon is one of the primary keys but you have to hit SHIFT+semicolon to get the period. Are they just trying to be difficult? WHO IN FRANCE IS USING THE SEMICOLON MORE THAN THE PERIOD? OK I’ve had my rant. I was just never that good at arithmetic or typing in the first place.

Finish your plate…
…there are people starving in Africa.

Ever heard this one growing up? Feel free to substitute Africa with China. Actually, I told some of my Chinese friends in Hawaii that this was an American saying and I don’t think they were as amused as I was. Anyway, I thought this other story was quite amusing.

So there is a trainee whose home stay family gives her bread every morning for breakfast. By all accounts they give her far more bread than should be expected to be eaten so she puts the rest in her bag for later consumption or whatever. So one morning after breakfast she’s on her way to class and she sees a typical (you know, malnourished) Malian dog. She takes pity and gets out her piece of leftover bread and tosses it to the pathetic thing. Wouldn’t you know it, but who should round the corner to witness this merciful act: a poor African child. His reaction was, what could only be described as a “what… the hell?” look of utter disbelief.

Oh, Africa. She’ll put your sympathies to the test, or at least put them into new perspectives.

2007-08-09T11:22:00.000Z

The Other Hard Way

That last post was meant to have two stories but I lost the drive late in the game and quit. Now I think I'm ready. I've told some of you about my latest flash of inspiration: horsie. It is harder for me to make an impact in my town than could be made in the many villages in my commune. My idea is to get a horse and start riding to villages and getting to know their needs and how I can help and what village(s) might need a volunteer of their own (since I'm the last volunteer in Sofara). So I bought a saddle and found a guy with horses and he was happy to have me start riding his to get the basics. Oh, did I mention I don't really have any experience with horses? I'd say I've ridden a horse maybe 5 or 6 times before this.

Anyway!

I started riding his horse but just to start he left the rope tied from his right, front leg to the right, back leg so he could only walk (not run). I was lead along by the horse boy... actually that sounds like a freak mutant... he was a stable boy... there you go. OK so I got the hang of it. Early one morning I told him I was ready to ride the horse sans restraints but with a saddle (oh man bareback hurts, heylot).

Now there are two things I had to learn the hard way, I'll let you guess what they are, then I'll tell you at the end.

I get on this horse who, honestly, is taller than I am and huge and powerful to boot. The horse owner (and guy I study the Koran with) was nervous and baulked saying, "no, let's get the rope." I said NO, I could do it and jumped on the horse. So, I give him a little nudge and we start walking. Slowly, the horse realizes it's not tied up and goes a little faster and a little faster. I was fine with the trot. Kr-plunk, kr-plunk, kr-plunk. Then: kr-plunkity-dunk, kr-plunkity-dunk, kr-plunkity-dunk. And finally: Kerdledunkkerdledunkkerdledunk!! As we go from trot to faster I pull back on the reigns but he only goes a little faster. Then I pull back harder, FASTER. OK, don't panic, we don't want to flip this thing.

Now a bigger problem, I'm going way faster than I'm comfortable going and frankly, this saddle is not holding in place too well (duh, maybe that has something to do with the fact that it's basically tied on with one leather shoe lace). But now, the horse wants to leave the wide road and go down a little path it's used to taking to go graze. This is in an alley between mud houses and we're sure to destroy some poor little child in the process. So I start cranking on the reigns to go right and he desperately wants to go left. So instead of going on either path, we start going right in between them on a non-path heading for a shelter of wooden staves with millet stocks on them. These staves are just my height. You know, the height to stab me. Still, I knew the horse wasn't going to run into this wall and would stop short. What I was also aware of is how quickly horses can stop and I was NOT going to be catapulted at them.

So we are galloping full speed at this shelter (inhabited by kids selling peanuts) and I'm getting ready for the abrupt stop by holding on to the saddle with all my strength. Kerdledunkkerdledunkkerdledunk!! BAM!!! The horses feet kick the metal peanut tray with a bang and they go flying. I young boy runs from the shelter with an infant in tow (by the arm). The horse stops on a dime and the saddle flies forward and then to then back and off to the side where I land on my feet. I grab the horse by the bit and lead him, defeated, back to the house only a few blocks away. Malians fill the streets and laugh once the ordeal is over.

Now for the info that would have been nice knowing before my near death. A) That horse has been tied up for who knows how long. Days? weeks? It is a powerful horse with a lot of energy and it WANTED to go, to let off steam as it was sick of being held back. B) A horse can bite on the bit so it doesn't pinch and the horse doesn't have to stop. When this happens, one is meant to give the horse some slack till it relaxes it's jaw then pull back quickly, forcing the horse to slow or stop. Info I could have used like 5 minutes earlier.

When I got back I started yelling at the horse owner, "You don't tie up a horse for weeks so he has all this pent up energy!, then place a Toubab on top of him!, untie the horse and let it go free!! You need to run your horse every once in a while! Jeeze!" It was a playful scolding and we were both sort of laughing. He told me after that he was so scared when we took off. "My heart was going b-dta, B-Dta, B-DTA!" He was afraid he had killed a toubab, which couldn't have been good for him. Honestly, I wasn't scared causes I knew it would be OK but I did learn a couple things.

I always understood the saying "If you fall off a horse..." But somehow it has come to life even more vividly. I'll let you know how my next ride goes.

2007-08-09T08:23:00.000Z

The Hard Way

It seems sometimes like this is the only way Malians like to find things out. Actually it's how they like ME to find them out.

I have a friend (fellow volunteer) in a small Dogon village who asked me to go to her site and help diagnose a broken well pump. The village is not too far from my home (50k as the crow flies) but it is hard to get to her site. She said there was a guy in a neighboring village who had the tools we needed so we planned a time and I started my trek to her house.

I took a bus to a town called Somadougou maybe 30k from Sofara. This town is like an African truck stop on the main highway. It's actually pretty gross but it's fun to muck in every once in a while. Actually I was surprised at the number of people I knew from Sofara and public transport, etc. Anyway, there is a dirt road that goes out into Dogon but catching a ride can be tricky. Not five minutes after I got there this French girl came up to me and asked me if I was going to Bandiagara. I told her I was only going half way. She seemed really anxious to get going and said there were four of them that were trying to get there but no transport would leave till more people came. I sort of chuckled to myself thinking of European tourists in Mali all anxious to get things done. Probably not the right attitude in West Africa (if you want to stay sane). It reminded me of Hawaii when parents would come from the mainland with their kids and be super anxious and asking questions, trying to get classes arranged and insurance etc. You could always tell where they came from (esp. when they were East Coast).

Anyway, I only waited another five minutes before a truck with local police officers pulled up to the checkpoint to go down that dusty trail. I popped up and went over to talk to them. After greeting I asked them if they were going to pass by the little village. They knew the volunteer by name and I told them I was going to visit her. They debated for a few seconds then said "you're a volunteer? OK hop in." So I get in the back of the truck like a happy dog ready for a ride. Then the Frenchies start getting in the truck too. "Oh, hi. Are they going to Bandiagara?" I asked the French people. "Eh doo net no. Wii deed note esk." Hmmm, so I lean over and ask the police guys if they're going all the way to Bandiagara (cause I only asked about the small village). He asked if I was going and I said no but I think these people are (who were busy getting in the back with me). Then he says "Wait! They're not volunteers???" I sort of shrugged and he jumped out of the front cab and started yelling in French and told them to get out. Tourists had to get public transport to pay, he would only give a ride to a volunteer. They protested but he just kept yelling till they got out. I kind of tried to appologize but I was too distracted by this French lady's hair. She had bangs but they were cut like a 4 year old girl's hair when she gets her hands on some scissors and the mother comes in the room after and says, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!!" and maybe cries a little. They were distractingly hideous. Another girl asked if I was a volunteer. "Yes, Peace Corps." Booya.

So we left them in our dust and flew through the beautiful red roads and green hills contrasted by rock cliffs, this, all at sunset. It was amazing. I kept thinking to myself, this isn't my Africa, this is someone else's Africa. It was so close to home but it looked different, they spoke a different language, they farmed different. It was another world. And so beautiful in rainy season. So I had an absolutely ideal trip out.

That's not the "learning the hard way" story but I thought it was mentionable (unlike my underwear).

So I get to the village a dusk and it was a really nice trip. The next day I got up and the tool guy came over but left some tools at his village and said he wanted to start earlier in the day so we decided to wait till the next day. That night it poured jakimanw ani wuluw (cats and dogs) and the rain didn't quit the next day. The villagers said the tool guy would not come because it was damp. But I guess he left the tools at the road near by. OK I'm getting bored with this story so I'll cut to the chase...

There is a big ordeal getting the tools and after hours of half dissecting the pump and sending kids to get things and going to get the lazy tool guy we get to the point where we might be able to pull the cylinder out from the bottom of the well. WELL... as it turns out they didn't want to even try to lift it out. "Oh, we've done it before... it's too heavy." Realize, this is the whole reason I am here and why I waited around. No one spoke up during these hours and days to say "we have tools but not the RIGHT tools." They happily spent the time taking it apart and never mentioned we wouldn't be able to finish the job. Info I could have used before all that effort.

Lesson learned. I'm in Bamako now though and we're finding the right people for the job.

2007-07-28T17:25:00.000Z

Assimilation Shock

This, I decided, is the opposite of culture shock. It's when you are shocked at yourself because you are not shocked by what should be culture shock inducing.

I walked to the highway and hopped on a bus to come here to Sevare (about an hour and a half or so to my banking town, internet, some food, etc.). It is now officially tourist season so there were some Toubabs with me on the bus (Frenchies) which is kind of odd but fun. It is actually really cool to be able to joke around with people and speak their language while others only know French. So these ladies wanted to get off the bus at the Hotel in Sevare and I pretty much wanted to get off there too so I was telling the guy to drop us off there (all this in Bambara) and the bus guys were joking around. When I was getting off the bus the driver said "What's this? What's this called?" referring to who knows what and extending his hand as if to shake mine. I take his hand but he kind of drops it and pats me in the crotch, then does it again and asks me what it's called. I'm not sure what the motivation for this quiz was--if he just wanted to know the extent of my vocab or if he was getting at something--but I just laughed and said "It's my penis (or slang actually meaning "little meat")." Then following up with "Don't touch it!" They all laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaughed and I got off and came here. When did this type of behavior become reasonable to me? I'm glad my language is where I can joke around and understand a lot but, man, I got's to remember what's normal here and what's normal when I get home. Note to self.

...for I am sorely needed here...

At the Ashram!

In some ways I am very lucky here with my village and house. Many volunteers live right in the middle of their families and at the center of their small villages. I, on the other hand, have my own concession (courtyard) who I share with one old man who looks after things for me. It is quite peaceful in fact. A friend of mine (fellow volunteer) who lives in center of a small village and shares a concession with a family came to my house and found it a peaceful getaway. So in some way's I'm not roughing it as bad as some. In fact, many volunteers can't sleep in past 6am or 6:30 or 7 depending on the circumstances, children, privacy, women working early, and animals OH! the animals. Donkeys hee-haawing, horses pffpfpffping, cow's mooing (I ain't never heard a cow low), Sheep baaaaing, goat's screaming bloody murder, cocks crowing, etc. My concession? An old guy quietly sweeping. It's actually more like a lullaby of white noise than an early disturbance.

But last week a Kami, or Guinea-Foul, started hanging out in my concession every day. They roost in the trees like chickens and I guess he just decided to start living in my concession. Devotees will remember that I do not like roosters crowing when I'm sleeping but I think the Guinea-Foul beats the Rooster for annoying. It's like a kid who REALLY wants some attention so he just keeps going and GOING AND GOING!!! Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack Squat squack. Man that disturbance to my peaceful refuge was really waring me thin. So I started to go out and chase it a few times and had a few hilarious adventures trying to get this IDIOT over the wall. He was too dumb. I was pretty sure it wasn't the old man's. No it was the neighbor's but what a nerve letting it live over here. Hmmmm.

The next day.

"Ousman?" (the old man's name) "Is that your Kami?"

"No" he says anxiously.

"Well, you should grab it and eat it."

Mutual laughter.

"I'm serious Ousman. It spends all day in our concession. You should capture it and eat it."

"Haha, OK."

Probably that very day and certainly the next...

Peace only at the Ashram.

Here Doron.

I never saw that kami again.

Well that didn't take much cajoling.

2007-07-23T12:51:00.000Z

It's Been
One year since you looked at me.

Hey peops. Sorry about the whole... you know... not updating my blog thing. You know I live in a mud house with no power or running water right? I mean... It's not like I play hearts online and I'm just putting you on. Still, I should be able to update more. I've still got plenty of letter writing time available. I'm sure to write you back. No biggie. Though, at this point if you just emailed me your address I'd probably be desperate enough to write you. YOU.

But I digress (from not boring you).

Seriously though, exactly one year ago today I got on the airplane to go join Peace Corps. Things have come full circle. The fruits that were ripe when I got here are ripe again. And... it's raining again! Thank God. There have been some amazing and beautiful evening thunderstorms. Could have been the second coming the other day (seriously, could have gone either way). And get this. GET IT... before it rains it is SO hot and humid, muggy and sweaty all day. Then the rain comes with a cool wind... and here's the get part: hail. It hailed. I had hail. Hail the size of tick tacks, I shoot you not. Oh man it was amazing. You may not realize the hell the hot season has been. Relentless and unforgiving. Sweating 27/7 for weeks, MONTHS! Sweating so much my whole body breaks out in heat rash. Sweating so much I have to wake up 2x a night to drink more so I can sweat more. It's over! Still hot but with breaks! Ah breaks. You can't imagine. I never could have anyway.

What else?

Elections

Let me vent this because I can’t express any political opinions while in Sofara (in order to stay politically neutral).

Elections are OVER! Thanks be again. The Presidential elections in April were pretty uneventful. There was little controversy and everyone voted for ATT. But yesterday were the second (and final) round of the Deputee (I don’t know what to call that in English) elections. This is the local rep in the capital (something like that). Anyway, there was a big controversy in our town. The party reps got together to vote for two candidates and the dugutigi (town chief: non-political, honorary position) who usually is the deputee as well (giving the popular figure a political say) was one of three reps. One from Djenne, one from Sofara (dugutigi) and one who has ties in both. So apparently the debates went on all night and into the next day. The newcomer (with ties to both Djenne and Sofara) was bribing people. Openly paying for votes. Dugutigi refused to pay for votes. In the end, dugutigi lost the party nomination by one vote on both counts. So that was a big scandal. Then he decides to run on another party ticket. Now our town is torn in two. The popular party on one side with a “cool” and “rich” guy vs. the popular candidate, dugutigi (I mean, his last name is Sofara for heaven’s sake!). Honestly, I know nothing of what dugutigi has done in the past (if he’s worthless or hard working or honest or project money stealing, etc) nor do I know anything of what the new guy promises. Still, I just don’t think it’s a good sign when someone is so anxious to buy a political position. When I was at my counterpart’s house the new guy came through campaigning and shaking hands (kissing babies, you know) and there was a group of young men and he pulled out a 2,000CFA (like four bucks) and gave it to him. It made my stomach turn over. The guy seemed so sleazy. On the funnier side, his campaign photo has him with a cell-phone to his ear. Classic Tacky Mali, but meant to impress (with his wealth and influence). Anyway, yesterday were the elections and DUGUTIGI WON! Don’t tell anyone at my site I said that. But I am glad he one, if just on that one point of integrity.

One last thing.

I know it feels like I just left but in the meantime there have actually been some changes in this crazy world. For one, there is a new channel on my Satellite radio. It’s a comedy channel and I’ve really enjoyed listening to it. The point is, I saved the channels I listen to a year ago and haven’t channel surfed till just now.

More excitingly (is that even an adverb? Should an adverb go there??), when I first got here the satellite photo of my site on GoogleEarth was really blurry and bad but HEY they updated it. Glad I randomly checked. That’s my life. I check for changes in my world every year. Anyway, I marked some sites (my house etc), so check it out. I don’t really know how to post the picture here so follow the link! Be sure to click on the “Satellite” button in the upper right of the picture and then zoom in to the things I marked. Maybe I’ll updated it later or make one of my Mali-wide adventures:

http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&msa=0&msid=117707499835118648326.000434ffe77498927fe3d&ll=14.019106,-4.214458&spn=0.034892,0.05785&t=k&z=14&om=1

Actual pictures of me are somewhat few and far-between (I’m usually the one taking the pics) but here’s a recent one we took on the way back from Ariel’s site where we planted some trees (DEVELOPMENT!!). The walk was only 5 kilometers. Like my hiking boots?

2007-06-14T11:31:00.000Z

A Te Malo

No shame. These are some of the first words I learned in Bambara because my host dad was always comparing two of my “little sisters.” One “be malo” and the other “te malo.” Still, when a little girl has “no shame,” she is missed even more when she’s gone.

While in Bamako turning in my project, I stopped by my homestay to stay for a couple nights. These visits are always unannounced since communication is difficult. I showed up and my host father was the only one there. Little by little word spread and the family returned. My little brothers returned covered in mud from catching baby fish. My little sister (seventeen) came out of the house with her new baby (don’t worry, it’s not mine). My older brother came back from the garden and another from drinking tea. Last was my older sister and her kids. I asked for all the news (besides the new baby) but was told nothing was new. Something, though, worried me and for some reason I felt to practice my death benedictions in my head. Finally Sali returned and I did the standard greetings, “How are you? How is the family? Does Tamba have health? Does Rokia have health?” Pause. “Where is Rokia?”

Another pause.

“They didn’t tell you?”

Oh God. I know what’s coming. How do I stop it? How can I sit here and force this poor mother to tell me about how her little girl died? What do I do?

Abo said he just couldn’t say when I asked. It hurt him inside, too much. I couldn’t believe it. After it sank in he (my host Father) told the others to stay behind and he took me on a walk to explain what happened. He told me the family went to the next village but she was told to stay behind. By the afternoon they were asking where she was and come evening time they were searching for her. Abo found her in a muddy watering whole. She must have waded in and got stuck in the mud. It broke his heart to bring her back to the village so they buried her there next to the watering whole and covered the grave with thorns so the cows wouldn’t disturb the grave. We sat at her grave and I promised I would develop the photos that I had taken and give them to the family.

While spending those days with the family Rokia’s absence was defiantly felt. It reminded me how important it is to appreciate the moments we have. At times she was a bit of a nuisance, but sometimes she would take my hand and be very sweet. These pictures are my tribute to Rokia Keita.

Ala ka dayoro sumaya.

2007-06-07T19:07:00.000Z

More Nya-Ouro

See the previous post for an explanation.

This is the bulk of the women's association in their finest for a group shot. They were very excited to have their photo taken and to open dialogue with new American friends. After the photo they took me around to a couple people's houses to take photos of women who were too sick to come or who had just given birth.

We have our meetings in the town school house and while we were finishing up the entire town's children showed up for afternoon classes. The more the merrier right? These are the children the good women of Nya-Ouro work so hard for (for whom they work so hard? It would have sounded grammartastic in Bambara).

Women go to the field to separate the millet from the tares as it were. They drop the grains into a container below and let the wind take the lighter stuff away.

Women and children hanging out under a tree. Water is transported from well to home in a bucket on the head. These people have some amazing posture.

"Susulike" Bambara for Millet pounding. I don't know the Peuhl word for it. Whatever it is they spend a lot of time doing it.

The woman works the cow eats the donkey works and the boys walk that line.

Our staple harvest and lifeline.

During dry season roofs are repaired and houses are built in preparation for the rains.

More susu-ing and grain. Hey, this is life in the bush.

She may not speak a word of my language (I'll explain later but these women speak Peuhl or Fulfulde and I speak their market language, Bambara) but that doesn't stop her from being hilarious. Old funny women of the third world, be it Nicaragua or Mali, where would I be without thee? Less cheered up to be sure.

Raising Cattle is a reliable way to raise money whether a man feeds the cow or a woman. Where the money goes at selling is often a different matter.

She's funny. I see her at market and she calls out my name "SAMAKE" and then we struggle through a few lines of Bambara and she asks me for the photo. The curse of the digital world.

Crowd control was in effect for the last shots of my photo shoot when the local child population got a little unruly.

On the way home I was literally in the middle of nowhere when I heard someone call out. I don't know where these girls came from but they didn't speak a lick of Bambara. The only word I understood was "foto." So a took their photo and they seemed pleased. When I took a step towards them to show them the result they ran away in fear (probably smart in the middle of nowhere with a strange white and red oddity like myself and no one else about) but I was able to convince them to look. Random friends. What a life.

2007-06-07T08:48:00.000Z

Nya-Ouro

There is a women's association in a little village 12K from my home. These women are amazing and have high hopes for their families. They are also very poor, but surviving. Together we wrote a project to help the women collect some money in order to make loans to themselves within their own association. While it's usually the men who have the time and freedom to raise money, it's the women who, with rare exception, dedicate all they have (time, money) to their children and families. Our project helps the women buy a few cows to feed, medicate, fatten up and sell again at market. The proceeds will allow the women to embark on their own side projects while still dedicating the bulk of their time to their families (as they would have it). Soon the project will be posted on the Peace Corps website and YOU will be able to contribute directly to these beautiful people. There is no overhead because I am at the ground level and the admin stuff is a gift of the US government so everything donated goes to the project (tax deductible). I'll keep you posted. In the mean time, I went on a special mission to capture life in Nya-Ouro with my camera. Here are some of the images to give you an idea of what things are like in a distant village in Africa.

I will post more soon (including more of the women themselves). These are the ones that needed no formatting (the rest need to be rotated etc.)

Some children are tender and will come and sit at your knee or on your lap and be nice. Some children will learn your name and don't come around just because they want something. These are the children I love.

Building a temporary shelter for hot season. The homes absorb the sun and become very uncomfortable (just ask my heat rash). These millet stocks will provide a shade that the breeze can penetrate.

Chekorobaw (old men) come to check out the action. You can see the grain storage house behind them. All buildings, walls, etc are made of mud bricks (esp in the bush).

Millet is the staple harvest of this people. Women spend much of their time pounding millet and preparing meals for everyone else. When money is tight in a village like this, many people are forced to sell their harvest to pay off the seeding loans or what they borrowed during the last "hungry season" and then are forced to borrow to buy back their own harvest again during the next hungry season (at a high price). Breaking this cycle will put more proceeds into the hands those who need it most instead of the lenders. When the women become the lenders, everyone wins.

I just love it when people ride donkeys. I don't know why. Boys learn their trades early and can often be found herding goats or collecting feed or driving carts when not in (or instead of) school.

Ah family life. This photo was not set up, I just stumbled on this little family. The mother takes care of the little ones and the older siblings lend a hand.

2007-06-06T20:32:00.000Z

Hey Aliopa.

Is that how that's spelled? Part of my inter-cultural exchange ends up being Swedish greetings (not as good as Swedish fish or as cool as Swedish Chef) and German curse words. Introducing the world to the idiosyncrasies (heavy on the IDIO) of some Americans. If they only knew what OTHER Americans thought of me. They love me right?

Anyway,

Sorry about the no updates thing. I'm on a tour de internet now and I'll be posting pics and stuff but I don't QUITE have them with me right now. How 'bout a story. I have 10 minutes. GO!

You'll hate this one: I was so excited yesterday. OK so it is the hot season. And I mean HOT season. I have heat rash everywhere... no not everywhere. But on my arms and forehead. I feel like I'm in Highschool again. Which.... IS awesome. No. It itches. Anyway, while we may have no electricity in our town, we have regular transport from the Regional Capitol. So, we get Ice delivered everyday. Why do i capitalize Ice and not i? Cause I'm an IDIO. Anyway, I discovered something. Crush the ice. Put it in your Nalgene bottle (use this brand only if you want to fit in) add like 4 heaping spoons of Powdered milk, 2 heapers of Nestlyquick, water. Shake. Shake, SHAKe. What you have there? An unreasonable facsimile of a milkshake. AT SITE. in the african bush. Holy crap it's good.

OK that story sucked but it is like the most exciting thing in my life right now.

Writing extemporaneously equals bad post but you gots to post something right?

OK here we go again.

So last Thursday our sanitation committee in Sofara decided we should delay our current garbage collection project AGAIN till after more elections in July to avoid it being politicized and the problems that are involved with that bag of nyegen cats (that's for you dan and cathleen, both had kittens "fall" in their bathroom holes). So THAT'S IT!! I said. I have been staying around to help out with this and meanwhile everyone and their stinky cats are going to Ghana and other neat places. So I said SELF you're going to Bamako to turn in that OTHER project for the women's association (more info in upcoming posts) and to eat a banana split and to visit your homestay friends etc. I'm leaving. THIS IS YOUR BIRTHDAY PRESENT. Hey did I tell you all I turned 27? Who am I kidding, all three of you reading this know already. Thanks for the well wishes. SO, I decide to go to Bamako on the shuttle. I ask the driver to pick me up at site and he is DUH CORD. Can you imagine that? Door to door service for over 300 miles! In Africa that is unheard of for a lowly PCV. For my luck anyway. SO, 3 days to go YEAH 2 days. Beep beep boop beep badadada... (my cell phone rings), OH hey Peace Corps Office, What's that? You want me to stay at my site to receive a visitor from PC Washington? NO! I'm out of here. I didn't go to Senegal so I wouldn't miss the action that never happened. Ghana is slipping away... I NEED A BANANA SPLIT and my work here is grinding so I need to get the other paperwork IN. What? huh? who? is it that important? hwaaa... OK If you are telling me that I want to be helpful. I will cancel my trip. (click) Gun to head.

OK so I have no gun but man it's probably a good thing. My friends were kind (via text messaging) and allowed me to vent. It took me a couple days, some soul searching fasting (which involves drinking water none the less, lest I wish to die. Lord knows how Jesus did it in the desert... was that redundant) prayer etc. I got the Ensign in the mail from Ghana and devoured it. Jesus helps. Seriously though I got into a better place by visit time (today) and was actually ready and happy to receive them. Thank God. Literally. The visit was good and I was glad they came. The Deputy Director was nice as was the Country director and it's always good to have an outside perspective come in and see the things you are doing and the life you're eeking out in Africa. Now I'm in Sevare and I'll go to Bamako soon on a Bus. Coolio.

I'll post again tomorrow and with Pics!! Just a quick "the latest" while I have a few minutes in the cybercafe. Love to all... Like to most.

2007-05-07T11:58:00.000Z

Africa.
Where nothing goes to waste.

2007-05-07T11:13:00.000Z

Photos from Life.

Some new, Some old

Welcome to africa.

Wheeeeeeeeeere to sit... This is the scene afer the party. I like watching chickens.

The guy in the hat with the dreads is my counterpart and friend Sekou. Master MC and all around popular dude in town. Can you see what's on his hat?

Lead is lead, but these guys would probably be a liability for whoever they fought for...

in the revolutionary war (that's about the arms technology at work here).

Some Peuhl women I found in my adventures. They are nice, hard-working and poor. I am writing a project to get them some micro-financing. I'll keep you posted on how you can help.

So, I LOVE Camels. But I hate waiting in line. The wait to ride this one was EPIC.

Just Kidding, this was the view from my roof when the President came.

But I do love camels. Pretty sure it's love.

There are FEW ways to beat the unbearable heat. We're doing our best.

Honorary "Pulo Dorko"

2007-04-25T16:41:00.000Z

Pop Quiz Hot Shot
Test your my Mal-iQ

1. Which of the following is not a name (for a man) to be found in Mali:
A. Dudu
B. Sacko
C. Mama
D. Pipi
E. Zu
F. Pipo

2. Mun ma na? Which of the following have I not heard in Sofara in the last week (and therefore is untrue)?
A. “Resio nana” (Cellphone reception has come)
B. “San ji nana” (The rain has come)
C. “Isa nana” (Jesus has come)
D. “Biyaki nana” (The Guavas have arrived)
E. “Funteni nana” (The heat has arrived)
F. “Manguru nana” (The mangoes have arrived)
G. “ATT nana” (The president of Mali has come)

3. What is NOT a name for where I live?
A. Kaka
B. Lahara
C. Sofara
D. Fakala
E. Biyaki Tolilendon

4. Which of the following pests have I not found in my house?
A. Scorpions
B. Bats
C. Snakes
D. Mice
E. Lizards
F. Spiders
G. Little flying, biting, ant-looking things

5. Which of the following books (all of which I have started reading), have I actually finished?
A. A Purpose Driven Life
B. Catch-22
C. Rainbow Six
D.The Dead Zone
E. Under the Banner of Heaven
F. Walden

6. Which of the following is not a greeting that can be heard in Sofara?
A. Iniche!
B. Tiabu!
C. Aikai
D. Sewa, seo, seo, seo, seo, seo.
E. Nakisma
F. A salam a lekum
G. Ababa weia tuna (bumblebee tuna)

7. Which of the following animals is least likely to be eaten in Sofara?
A. Saka (Lamb)
B. Ba (Goat)
C. Misi (Beef)
D. Sye (Chicken)
E. Le (Pork)
F. nTongono (Duck)
F. Jakuman (Cat)
G. Basan (Lizard)
H. Jege (Fish)
I. nZozani (Rabbit)
J. Kuru Kuru (Turkey)
K. Kami (Guinea Foul)

8. Which of the following did I NOT buy at market last week?
A. Potatoes
B. Avacados
C. Mangoes
D. Sheep Liver
E. Guavas
F. Plantains

9. Which of the following did NOT wake me up in the past week?
A. Spider on me
B. Cricket Chirping
C. Propositions from young Malian women through my window
D. Heat
E. Thirst

10. Which of the following things have I not been called in the last week in Sofara?
A. Toubab (Whitie)
B. Isa (Jesus)
C. American Noir (Black American)
D. Jeman (White)
E. Samake (Malian Surname)
F. Coulibaly (Malian Surname)
G. I Kuensu Orcha (White Devil)

2007-04-01T10:41:00.000Z

ONE MORE THING.

I was on transport all day yesterday and now I'm in our compound and I don't have phone credit.

Which is to say, I want to send my love and birthday happies to my brothers.

Happy Birthday Ben and Dan. Much love from Africa. I think of you often, even if I seem lost and far away.

And to my other brother James. Happy Birthday. Thank you for being so supportive. Most friends when they get married sort of drop off the map but you have not given up on our friendship and it means a lot to me.

ALLAH KA SAN WERE YIRANA!!!
to all three.

2007-04-01T10:24:00.000Z

Tu-bizzle sizzle

Ah, toubani so days... and zumanabougou nights. So, I'm back in our Bamako training center. All the Peace Corps Volunteers in country are coming in so it should be a time. We are having a week-long In Service Training. I wrote this really clever pop-quiz for you all but I left it in Mopti. So maybe later. I am feeling really un-clever right now though. I brought my hard drive so I'm on the prowl for new music to add to my iPod. It's like half-full and that's with tons of videos that could be preplaced. Doesn't really sound like I'm in Africa does it? Still, music keeps me going so, tres important.

In Sofara I work with this French guy who is organizing a garbage collection project sponsored by this city in France. He is really cool and, thank goodness, speaks English. So I speak Bambara, the Malians speak Bambara. The Malians speak French, French guy speaks French. French guy speaks English, I speak English. It's fun having meetings. Anyway, he lives in Sevare so he invited me over for dinner when I was in town and it was DELICIOUS. I had roast pork, can you believe it? I'm used to hanging out with Muslims. So, he busted out this quality bottle of white wine (fun for them) and he was offering more to my friend who I brought, Dan. There was not much in the bottle so he said, in the most offensive (were he not French) French accent, "Zere iz anazah boattle in zi frwige." Quote of the night, I tell you what.

So that garbage project is coming along. I am writing a project for a women's group (in a small village) for a micro-finance loaning co-op. Also, a women's group in Sofara want to start a chicken farm for eggs. Sofara needs eggs! So there is work to be done enough. Also I'd like to work on some grey water issues.

AND! it's hot.

2007-03-29T16:15:00.000Z

I have cell phone reception.

You can call me at almost any waking hour and catch me. So get a Mali phone card on the internet and call me up

My phone number:
223.517.4776

I'd like to see telemarketers spend the money to call me here.

Well I'm skip, skap skapootin my way around Mali again. This time from Sofara to Mopti then to Bamako and back again. It was to be the great Bamako hadj of no public transport. My French friend Julian was meant to give me a ride to Mopti but the Mayor cancelled our meeting and he didn't come git me. SOoooo... in an effort to keep things interesting (and since I didn't find out till just after the Sofara-Mopti transport left) I walked the 3k to the Highway and flagged down the "WORST BUS EVER!" Oh man, I had to go to my happy place. I was literally in the fetal position. And it's always a gamble. A TERRIBLE bus shows up and you think "well, I could take it and suffer two hours or pass and possibly wait three and then take the next terrible transport." I paid my 2 bucks and suffered. Not long after taking our snails pace did we get passed by - and get this - no less than 20 buses SPEEDING by, mocking me with thier luxurious BITTAR brand name (one of the trusted of Mali). I shoot you not. That's got to be some sort of record. Well, that was discouraging to say the least. But it turns out they were part of a charter of some political nature or something and they wouldn't have picked me up anyway. So my quest for the perfect transport has been delayed. Still Peace Corps is driving us to Bamako (under the guise of an evacuation drill) and I MAY even catch the shuttle back. I'll try to post tomorrow too. JUst a short note. Buya.

2007-03-08T12:12:00.000Z

Yala Yala,

Im on a bit of a yala right now (and typing on a french keyboard so this will be short). Yala means to wander or walkabout. Right now Im in Djenne learing about soakpits and drainage for a city made out of mud. Hopefully I can use this info in my town. Alls well. Ill be home soon.

2007-02-26T18:17:00.000Z

These are the Ups and Downs

So, all is well. I am healthy and I am seeing some things where I can make a difference. Duh, but I mean, make it worth my being here. There seem to be an endless number of frustrations as well. Language, for one. I don't know, it just feels like I hit a brick wall or something. Bambara started off seeming overly-simplistic. In a way, it is. At a certain point they use the same 20 or 30 syllables and just start shuffling and shuffling them around to make completely different meanings, words and sayings. Oh, man. So, I've reached this phase where I understand a lot sometimes. If someone is talking directly to me I understand a lot. If two natives are speaking to each other sometimes I understand nearly nothing. I mean, OK I can pick out words but what the crap are they doing in that sentence? I can also understand a LOT more than I can articulate. So, people hear me speak and they realize, for all intensive purposes, I'm a retard and they start to talk about me right in front of me. The problem is, I usually understand either what they are saying or pretty close.

Friday night I went to sit with some lads who were listening to the Bamako Imam's address on the radio. Yeah, it was hard to follow. What I did catch was the Imam comparing Muslims to Christians. "Muslims and Christians are not the same. Christians lie, steal, drink, fornicate, (and some other verbs I didn't catch but don't imagine were too positive)." He then went on to compare Malians to white people (Toubabs) and the evils of our world and the the Malian standards. OK. So I understand trying to inspire your people and have them live up to a higher standard but I didn't appreciate the generalizations nor did I find them helpful for the Malian people. I guess as an American I'm just not as hot on stereotyping. The truth is, I am a Christian, and when Malians learn that I DON'T have extra-marital sex (or intra-marital for that matter), they are shocked. I have witnessed the exact opposite of what that Imam was preaching so I guess I can understand why it needed to be addressed. It is just frustrating to not be able to express myself and explain these things to people who are listening to the Imam trash-talk my beliefs.

I'm sure he didn't anticipate any actual Christians or Toubabs to be listening. Bambara is like a secret language that way. A private audience. That's the burden of understanding this you shouldn't sometimes. I remember on the Pacific coast in Nicaragua, English was our secret language. Every once in a while you can get yourself into trouble though.

Saturday morning I went to a friend's house but he wasn't there. Some other guys I recognized where sitting around shooting the shoot and they acted all "hey what's up" with me. I sat and chatted for a while, maybe an hour and one of the guys, after asking me some questions and getting my regular, retarded Bambara, decided I couldn't understand and started talking about me to my face, pretending like he wasn't. He basically said, "this guy doesn't drink our tea, he doesn't speak our language, why is he here?" Which, in case you're wondering, wasn't exactly a boost to my already challenging weekend. Actually, it was exactly what I didn't need to hear. When someone is insulting and rude by their own culture's standards it makes it even harder somehow. That was the most frustrated I've been since getting here. I was angry and hurt and I stood right up and said basically "I'm leaving," without doing the obligatory announcement that it was time and I had to go and goodbye and Allah bless, etc. They called to me (realizing I had obviously understood) and I stopped but he had nothing really to say, he tried to engage me in conversation but I just left. I wanted to cry. But that's not what 26-year-old men do right? Not Americans or Malian. I had several blocks to walk home on the verge of man-tears and that was no moment to be patient with the constant "TOUBAB, TOUBAB!!!" disrespect from the children. They reached out their hands to shake mine and I ignored them raising my hands out of their reach. If I could have had it together enough to convey my disdain for them at that moment I probably would have.

As I approached my house I heard someone call out "ISA!" (that's my name here btw). I ignored it. "ISA!" I looked up and gave an insincere smile (more like a grimace) and a half-assed wave and kept walking to my door. I was almost home-free. "ISA. YOU STOP!" The young teenage boy who I had met at his house (his father plays the local version of the bongo drum) and at his school forced me to engage him. "Hey, what's up? Did you buy a Jembe (drum)?" I admitted that I had. "Cool. Is it at your house? Can I see it?" What could I say, I want to go sulk or cry? So I let him in and he played it for me and talked and asked questions and told me about his family and other people his family had taught to play the drum and asked me more questions. I understood almost everything he said. When I didn't he explained it to me. He wanted to talk to me and was patient. I don't know what I would have come home to feel all by myself, but he turned my mood and helped me feel like there was hope. Mind you, if it were up to me at that time I would have sent him away. I didn't want anyone around. I wouldn't have prayed for it but it was thrust on me. I think I needed it. It was a blessing.

Anyway, I'm good but out of time. I'll try to type something up about THE WORK I'm doing. I have some exciting opportunities and I may need your help! I'll keep you posted, but like I said, I think I might be able to make a difference yet. Allah willing.

2007-01-25T21:33:00.000Z

Bored. Check out these photos.

I had internet access (last time for a while) and a jump drive with old photos on it. So here are some photos I took at homestay.

2007-01-23T15:54:00.000Z

Getting Jiggy with it

The Bambara verb ‘Jigi’ can mean so many things. It is what you do to get off a bus. It is what happens when you fall on your face. It’s also what happens to a baby to bring it into this world. “Den yirinin jigina sisan.” There’s a phrase I heard once before at homestay. I’m sure you all remember the post a few months back (wink) when I said I was sitting outside in the courtyard when my host mom gave birth a few feet away inside. Well, you’ll never believe what happened. I am in Bamako for technical training and a few of us decided to go back and visit our homestay village. This was my second time back in so many weeks and in the three hours we were there this time, my host brother’s wife gave birth. I was sitting in exactly the same place. This time it was a girl soooo… Tim meet Susan. That’s right mom and dad, you both have a togoma (namesake) in Mali. Also, if you’re over-due and ready to go, I’ll come sit by your house and things should start rolling. I’m like castor oil, for pregnancies.

btw: Baby number one is fat and black now. Here's a picture of my host dad Abdoulay (Abo) and Adama (Tim).

2007-01-14T20:10:00.000Z

The Power of God...

(...like that fire is burning)

So I was getting ready to leave for Christmas, cleaning and whatnot. I got all my garbage together to burn and as I did, my Ja-tigi brought in all of this hay stuff for the donkey's to eat and put it all around my burning hole... close anyway. So I'm like... OK I guess i won't burn the trash. The next week after I came back it was still there drying or something. The Boy Scout inside me said "self, dude, don't be stupid. If you start hay on fire I'm pretty sure you might not be able to stop it. Plus it's Africa and the sun has been impotent for a couple days due to dry sandy weird clouds. Don't do it." So I didn't burn the trash. Then my Ja-tigi comes over and is like "you should get rid of this trash." And that would prove to be the last straw.

So I'm listening to the General Conference recording from church on my iPod and takin' care of business. "If I can just light a small fire and keep stoking it and keep an eye on it?" Well. You know it's all fun and games till a fire gets out of control and burns down your hay, your house, and eventually a whole African town you're trying to develop. Mmmmm. Anyway it got hairy and a little scary there for a while. As the fire spread I ran into my house to grab my bathing water and doused it... "Crap... OK other bucket. No? It's getting bigger." There was not time to turn off my iPod so my headphones and General Conference were along for the ride. The fire kept getting bigger and hotter. And man, it wasn't even that hot when it STARTED. How am I supposed to put this thing out? As I ran to the well in my concession over and over again the words of the Apostle speaking on my iPod were about the power of God given to man. MAN I was struggling with the power of man against a force of God. Needless to say I said not a few prayers for a little backup (hold steady and still sweet wind) as I labored out of breath to create a fire-wall with the buckets I jerked out of the well.

By the end I was a sweaty, muddy mess, but I was able to limit the fire's reaches to just one giant pile of donkey food. Nothing is worse than burning down a poor African's sad donkey's food stuffs. Next I had to go to Ja-tigi and tell him what I had done. Well, what doesn't end up burning down the village can only make you stronger right? I'll try to be more diligent in abiding those Boy Scout promptings next time.

2007-01-14T19:50:00.000Z

I canoe now, or is it a gondola?

Did I tell you I canoe now? On my first try. I canoe. I'm a canoer. I canoe.

A Dogon Christmas

Christmas was fun. We went to Dogon country which is a lot more Christian and Animist (so we had some delicious piggy). We also went on some beautiful hikes. Here are some of the amazing views and stuffs. The Dogons are the people who live in the cliffs here. Sort of like a pueblo co. in Mali if you will. This is me over the valley and then me near some burial grounds. Good times.

2007-01-13T16:40:00.000Z

The Great Cattle Crossing

Geeze what a spectacle. You'd think the Toubab was the cow.

2007-01-10T18:35:00.000Z

Toubaniso Days.

So I’m back in Bamako for Phase 4 training. We’ve all spent our first three months at site getting to know the lay of the land, the culture, the language and the people and their needs. Now we are (supposedly) getting the technical training to be able to go back and start projects.
It is really great to see everyone that I haven’t seen in months. On Thursday I got to Bamako and hit up all the things I’ve missed (grand-slamesque breakfast, banana splits, burgers and the market). Friday I took a Sutrama (cucaracha mobile) to my homestay villiage to visit my host family. It was really great to go back and see everyone. How strange is it that I can go to an African city, take a bus an hour and a half to a little-known town, walk an hour down an unmarked dirt road to a small, poor farming town and be embraced by an entire community as an old friend. It was surreal and pleasant. 223

Saturday was a pretty lazy day while more Peace Corps Volunteers came in we hang out and I didn’t really do much. Oh, I think I watched Men in Black II at the hotel. What a colossal waste of time… fun to make fun of though. But we ate pizza with it. So no worries. Sunday we got treats, bananas and such and then headed off to TOUBANI SO, the Peace Corps training compound. We will be here for two weeks learning all the ins and outs of the water sanitation world and then it’s back to site. Well, I may stay around a few days to volunteer as a testee to train trainers to test volunteers in language. We’re having a party for the volunteers who are finishing soon too so it might be 3 weeks before I get back. 517

No worries. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to touch base and get projects rolling before I head off to Senegal. Yeah. Since I am unable to budget my money, I have no idea if I can afford it. BUT HOW CAN I NOT AFFORD IT? I mean afford to not go? I mean, anyway, I’m going in the end of February. There is a softball tournament for expatriates in Dakar. PCVs from all over West Africa hit it up so it should be pretty fun. 4776

Anyway, I’m having fun and here "and in the mean time… It’s a lot like summer camp." Name that movie. Anyway, I have my cell phone and ACTUALLY have reception so give me a call. I don’t have minutes to call out right now but calls in are free. Get a Mali phone card and give me a ring. It is 5 hours later than the East cost. 8 hours later than the West coast. That’s 11 to you Hawaii. So don’t wake me up but give me a ring a ding. My phone number is found in this very post at the end of each paragraphs (in that order).

Cool, much love. Christmas was a blast. I sent a bunch of photos to my brother and he should put them up this weekend. So you'll hear about Chrismas in a bit.

2006-12-22T13:05:00.000Z

Aesop’s Fables

Was it a mouse that took the splinter out of the lion’s paw? What was the moral again? Lions are powerful but have clumsy paws, while mice are weak and dexterous? Soooo, do we consider ourselves the mouse or the lion? If so, what does that mean? Help powerful people or don’t eat weak people? Why was I not paying attension for any of elementary school? Dang! I really could have used that lesson today.

I went for a walk to the mayor’s office. When I found no one there (as per usual) I initiated “plan che,” ie, the fall-back plan when plans A-C fall through, as one will find, in Africa, often do. Plan che? Whatever I feel like doing. Today this included visiting an orchard that I walked by earlier, where some young boys were climbing the trees and picking… something. I didn’t recognize the tree as a fruiting tree. I soon relized why. They were knocking down the most ungodly and perverse of all fruits, so evil; many botonists refer to it as a “false fruit.” The boys were climging for cashew fruit. Not for the seed mind you. “You can roast the seed?” They said with surprise (in Bambara of course). “Yes.” I replied.

Then, as I stepped over a branch, or into it rather, I experienced that moment of raging silence when you’ve hurt yourself terribly, but too prideful to show it. With a ‘no big deal’ look on my face, I contained the girlish scream I would have otherwise released had I not been trying to be the “cool” Toubab to these young lads. I don’t care how “dark” the continent you’re on is; no mere stick should refile with such potency. “Atension!” the boy warned. As I stepped out of the Sleeping Beauty-esque thorn branch (you know how the prince has to battle through epic thorns and slay a dragon maybe? OH! The Lion King! That’s more contemporary). There was a giant thorn rivaling the thorns removed from Woopie Goldberg’s hyennaed butt, sticking out of my toe. I stepped next to the squatting boy with the “Disney Thorn” standing up for fine weather and deeply embedded in my market toe. Slowly and calmly, but with no hesitation, the boy seized the gigantic thorn and confidently pulled it out. I continued to talk to him about the marañon, asking him if they made juice out of it in an attempt to disguise how plainly clumsy and uncool I am. The blood casually flowed out, a colour of red on pale contrast I’m sure they had never witnessed. I chatted with the boys, climbed the tree before heading off to plan D. But what was I supposed to do? Wasn’t I the lion in this situation? I decided on the “if you fall in my pit later, I won’t eat you” payment plan. I may be confusing my fables here. Anyway, it was painful and grotesque. Could you imagine an American boy reacting with such calm competence? Pain and panic are so culturally relative.

But the moral of the story? I don’t care how willing to try new things you want to show your Guatemalan companion you are; never take an apple-bite out of a cashew fruit. For the love of virtue, don’t do it! I don’t care if it looks exactly like the forbidden fruit; it’s not meant to be eaten. I learned that lesson seven years ago and it paid off big today. Now if only I could remember my grammar school lessons I’d be quids-in.

Anecdotally, during the civil war in Nicaragua and other times of hardship and famine (lovingly referred to as “la crisis”) Central Americans found it, regrettably, necessary to eat the marañon (cashew fruit) to survive. “La crisis…” they would sigh, taking a bite out of the bitter fruit. By contrast, in Africa, little boys knock the foul plums out of trees even before the innately hideous fruits are ripe. Crisis? What crisis?

2006-12-22T12:58:00.000Z

Firsts

Most of our firsts are known only to our parents, celebrated triumphs or casually noticed milestones. How many are reached before we are able to store long-term memories can hardly be numbered. There are, however, a select, memorable few that are reserved for a time and place of infamy in our own memory’s hall of fame. I remember the first time I saw a palm tree; a little boy traveling to California to see gramangrampa. First kisses (on my elementary and Jr. high school-yards respectively), first dive (Jackass Falls, Oahu – that’s right, not till college). Actually, Hawaii holds a lot of first for me.

I remember the first time the moon smiled at me. In Washington, it never smiles. More like it makes an open-ended parenthetical statement (or closes one it started a month ago). Stepping off the plane in the warm, inviting air of Nicaragua, I looked up and the moon smiled back at me like I never knew it could. Nicaragua had a lot of firsts for me too. My first time living in a different culture and climate had surprises around every corner. I’ll never forget seeing the sun in the sky like a red, rubber ball. As it approached the horizon its impotence amazed me. I could stare right at it as if it were a big, red moon. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it as it set in the west. This one, like most such firsts left me in awe while everyone around couldn’t be bothered to notice such an everyday event or opportunity.

I loved that sunset. I don’t know if I ever saw it again (I rarely had the chance to sit around watching the sun set). Maybe I saw it a few more times, but usually some number of clouds obscured the orb.

Imagine my delight to move to the beautiful island of Oahu, maybe 15 minutes from the famous Sunset Beach. Here’s the thing though, Have you ever seen the sun set over the ocean from Oahu? I saw it countless times. I never gave up on it, but each new time I would find myself hoping “maybe this time.” Maybe this time the clouds won’t obscure it. Maybe this time I’ll see that beautiful red star set in the ocean. But never once did I get to see the pacific extinguish the fires of the sun. You know why? Because this damn thing doesn’t work at all!! Oops sorry. Slipped into a Back to the Future quote there. No, because the sun in determined to visit the garden island before its last goodbye. I’ve never seen Kauai myself, but its perma-clouds proved the demise of every sunset I hoped to watch. Maybe next time.

So there are some advantages to living in sub-Saharan Africa over the paradise of a tropical island. All the dust and sand prove a better filter for sunsets than do clean, clear sea air. Also, a dry, barren waste = no clouds = unobscured view of the setting sun. How romantic. Now if only I wasn’t so profoundly alone.

2006-12-08T19:06:00.000Z

Calling all Chefboy R Ds!!
(well, if that would be your robot clone's name)

I have a lot of good resources but dont know exactly how to use them to make the delicious dishes that I so dearly miss (from scratch). Check it out. Then email me or coment me your recipes. Or better yet write me. Its a contest (I guess) and the winner get's something totally kickass (it would be merely kickbottom for you mom). AND....

... GO!

Some stuff is seasonal:

Pasta (Spaghetti, Macaroni)
Tomatoe paste
Tomatoes
Onions
Garlic
Ginger
Cucumber
Carrot
Olive oil
Veg. oil
Rice
Other grains (corn, millet)
Flour (various grains)
Sweet potatoe, yams and other root plants
Squash
Peanuts
Fresh unpasuerized milk, and powdered milk
Meat (Beef, lamb, goat, chicken, phesant, fish)
Bread
Honey
Margarine
Mayonaise (though I refuse to touch it)
Salt, Pepper, red peppers, sugar, broth mix, basil

Fruits: (especially seasonal)
Mango
Guava
Oranges
Lemon
Watermelon
Coconut
Bananas
Dates

I hope to get a meat grinder in Bamako in January for ground meat but that remains to be seen. Also. I have a propane burner or old-school charcol fire and metal pot. No OVEN NO OVEN. i repeat. nah, never mind. But yeah, seriously. No oven. That's the trick.

GO, NOW!

2006-12-08T18:48:00.000Z

“No Tod!! I’m not in the mood!!”
“It’s Mr. Ballstien.”
“This better be good news!”

Do you ever get in front of the internet to write an email or blog and you just don’t feel like writing? If that happens to me then I don’t get another chance for a month. And if it happen’s twice in a row? Well, you can guess. I guess some people are better at forcing themselves than I am.

Well, all bets on the table stand. In the long awaited JR Tolkien v. Tom Clancy results are in:

Tolkien 1279 pages read, quadrilogy finished (Hobbit and Lord of the Rings).
Clancy 300 pages read, one third of 900 page book (Rainbow Six).

I was racing these books. Good greif Clancy can a single character get a cup of coffee, nay, think about getting a cup of coffee without you including it in the book?? Geeze. I will finish it so I can say I need not ever read another of your bricks. Talk about liking the look of your own words (I just made that up.).

Site is going fine. I have my ups and I had a down. Who would have thought this Africa thing would be hard for me? Aren’t I made for this or something? I struggled with that question, but after a few days of debilitating gastrointestinal mayhem I remembered from whence comes my strength anyway (“which thing I had never supposed”).

I’m feeling good now and looking forward to Christmas in Dogon country, and even more to Phase 4 training in January so I can start real at site work. Plus it will be good to see everyone and seriously, I need a burger. And a banana split. Oh man. I might get two.

Oh, um. Thanks for the letters. And the packages. James, thanks for the TV shows and movies. I’m loading them Ass I write this. All is well in Africa and I got mail. So forget the guilt trip. Glad it worked. Thanks to all those who wrote and you can forget about me for a while I guess.

Although.

To those of you who don’t know.

I bought an Ipod. 80gig!!! So I got’s to fill this bad boy up. Send me a dvd or cd of your favorites and to keep me company while I Africa it up. Eric. I’m looking in your direction. I know you got the time. Ellie? Talking Heads? Hailey, Got any decent IZ? You know happy-go-lucky Under the Rainbow and that guilt ridden Protest 76 stuff. Anyone else? Any good Emo out there? Send me .mp3’s. Books on tape? I think I’ve said enough.

I love you guys. I’m pretty sure I love anyone who reads this. You care about me or are as accident-prone as I am (finding this page). Love but maybe not like. Let’s not get carried away. Well, I’ll try to get some photos out to my brother so he can POST. (that’s how a gangster would say it.)

2006-10-23T03:07:00.000Z

A picture is worth 1k words

We finnished training and had to leave our host village (of two months). We got a lot of the town together for this last shot.

My new Mopti region family. These are a couple of the PCVs and all of the new Group (right after swear-in).

Missalabougou Kau!!

Me and my fellow PCV village homestay buddies at the Office in Bamako after Swear-in.
(how do you like my bubu [traditional garb]?)

Got bugs?

2006-10-20T08:05:00.000Z

If my hand writing now seems terrible, it is because I am swinging in a hammock. Imagine the birds singing—squawking really—lizards scatter constantly, one end of my swing is anchored to a eucalyptus tree, the other, some African beast. I pause to watch two finger-sized lizards (lagartillos) fight in a funny circle. “if we do not fight to the death, they WILL kill us both!” B-r-r-r-r-r-Ah! The air is so warm. I closed the windows in my little house because the breeze was no relief. It breathed a thick, warm air, like an idiot blow-drying their hair in a hot room. So it’s dark inside and toasty-warm. Perfect if it were snowing outside. The air now is humid. I don’t mind. This is what they call “mini-hot season:” the time when the rain has stopped cooling the ends of hottest days and the cooler “winter” season is not yet upon us. I wonder how it will compare to “hot season.” Is this a mini-heat or a mini-time period of heat? Peter said it is dryer and hotter in hot-season. We shall see.

I am in my 7th year living in the tropics (always northern) and some things feel so familiar. Mali lies at the exact latitudes as Nicaragua. Sill though, some things take me by surprise. My Nyegen (bathroom) is a funny place. It was there that I was shocked by the biggest gecko I have EVER SEEN! Shocking. Maybe, I don’t know, three times as large as the very biggest, daddy, terminally obese gecko I have ever seen in Hawaii or Central America. As long and fat as my hand doing the shaka (hang-loose) or longer, maybe like my dad’s or older brothers’. Their cry (which took me a while to recognize) isn’t the cheerful half-chirp, half-click of the other geckos. His is like a 2-year-old banging a quarter as hard as he can on tile or smooth cement, echoed down an empty hallway. No pitch. Just smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

It soon becomes evident how the buggers get so big when you step in the Nyegen. Therein lies base-camp for a veritable insect army. I don’t know if it is me or their commanding officer that calls for the attack but sure enough, all hell brakes loose when I step in. It makes you wonder if the human body, having evolved in Africa: the cradle of life, didn’t develop certain ailments (coping mechanisms if you will), just to get in and out of that damned Nyegen faster. Heaven help me if I ever get constipated. I suppose it will be a blessing if it means going in there less often.

My visits to the Nyegen are most often serenaded by a choir of 20 or more (they get hard to count after a while). This choir is not made up of Malian school children but the blackest of bats. That’s right, my Nyegen smells overwhelmingly of guano (“does POOP ring a bell?”). I guess I don’t mind them too much. “I’m NOT TOUCHING THEM THOUGH! No spank you.” Lord help me if they fly into me (“die winged spawn of SATAN!”)

On my way to the my roof (AKA telefone cabine) I have to walk through the bat corridor: their main, if not only exit. I quickly learned to walk with one hand in front of my face. I have already felt the brush of a soft bat-wing on my cheek while returning from a phone call. I do NOT want to catch one of those devil-birds in the face. So if you talk to me on the phone, know what I’ve risked to get cell phone reception.

Extra Credit: Cite the Jim Carey movies of cited quotes.

2006-10-15T11:23:00.000Z

KarmaPolice

What goes around eh? I wasn’t terribly unhappy in Jr. high school. But then again, I wasn’t terribly happy either. It was a time when I didn’t really have a good friend or a solid group of friends, and the friends I had were themselves changing; becoming less and less of what I even wanted in friends. Sort of lonely. But I’m not entirely sure I was unhappy. I can’t really remember. What I do remember is the great contrast between Jr. high and high school. Night and day. Socially, academically… everything. Teachers, classmates, administration, even our own bodies betrayed us at every turn during those awkward Jr. high years. I was no exception to the laws of cruelty. I was, what you call, a bad person. Guilty as anyone of children’s inhumanity to children. I survived those years clowning my way through class and the social environment. Often at my own expense, often at others. Poor James.

“You be nice to James!!” my mother would scream at me, overhearing my conversations with him on the phone. There’s no excuse. No excuse why James, despite those terrible adolescent years, is my best friend now. Shouldn’t have even forgiven me really. I could go on and on.Once, in Sr. Boyce’s Spanish class, we were up to our old antics. I wasn’t the perpetrator, but I definitely thought it was hilarious and encouraged the action: We ripped the last page out of the novel James was reading. We only wished we could have been there when he got to the end. Years later James told me the book seriously climaxed and resolved on that last page. He must have gone to the library to read the rest. I don’t know what he did.

I’m reading The Dead Zone by Stephen King. The title sounds retarded but it’s actually good. Well, I like it. I should say I was reading it. Half-way through the book I figured out that I didn’t have the whole book. It looks so solid but the truth is there’s a good 100 pages or so missing from the back. So out of a three-part book I have all of part one and hardly any of part two. Serves me right.

Hey if anyone in-country reads this and sees The Dead Zone in a stage house or bureau, pick it up for me eh?

2006-10-13T12:05:00.000Z

Tough Call

My heart is torn. On the one hand, I can stay the course (not asking for mail) and become, perhaps, the only PCV to COS without ever receiving a letter, or I could send a little shout-out to my yo's and ho's to let them know: I have made a name for myself in country as one who, as of yet, has not received any mail. Cool. Hmmm. Yeah. I guess I am willing to live with being a PCT who got through all of training and swear-in and installation without having received mail and just leave that behind me. So. To my many fans, IE Mom and Dad I guess. Don't feel like you have to keep my record going. I'm willing to exchange it for some mail I guess.

Christopher Krey
Corps de la Paix
Sofara, Mopti
MALI
WEST AFRICA

That being said, my first week at site has been great. I'll try to post more later but I am doing well. Probably losing weight (thanks Ramadan) but the holy month should end soon and food should make itself less scarce. WORD.

2006-10-02T14:41:00.000Z

Ala ya ke.
Three weeks, three miracles.

Some of you (anyone who has communicated with me) are aware that recently my mp3 player broke. You know this because of how traumatic it was for me. I obviously rely on music as a great stress reliever and it became very evident when I no longer had it. Even my homestay family knew that it broke. One day I was just sitting there—not listening to the Bambara lesson in favor of a great album—and it just sputtered and turned off and was obviously spontaneously broken. As things that break with no apparent motive sometimes have the tendency to fix themselves spontaneously, I had been putting new batteries in it from time to time to see if it would work. After a week or so, I came back to homestay from a night in Bamako and randomly tried it and… IT WORKED! My family noticed right away and asked “who did you get to fix your radio?” The only thing I could say to explain was “Ala ya ke,” which is to say, Allah did it. For me, of course, having my music back was a miracle.

The second miracle came one night after dinner. I had formed the habit of walking to the well pump to get water after diner so I had water at night and in the morning for brushing teeth, etc. Every time I went it was like a parade of my little siblings; Chokoro Ba, Isa, Zumana, Ba, Orikia, and even Tamba. They would be running around, fighting, laughing, carrying my things and generally making a ruckus and some mayhem. This night however I just didn’t feel like having them around. I headed out right after dinner with Laji and the minions followed suit. Somewhat out of character I stopped and yelled at them and told them not to come, to stay home. Laji followed suit with his threats (that actually meant something, lord knows I’d never hit them) and they all stayed behind. As I walked down the path to the pump (maybe 300 yards) I talked to Laji and let my headlamp light the way. Nearing a crossroads I saw a branch that I was about to step on out of the corner of my eye. In only a split second I decided not to change course and just step on it (as my brothers will tell you, that has always been my M.O. [stepping on things in lieu of going around them]) but then in the downward motion of my step I thought maybe I should not step on it. As my left foot moved awkwardly over my right to miss the brach the branch quickly changed position. I let out a girlish shreak, realizing that it was not a branch but it was a big-ass snake. It was what the locals call Gorongo: a big black viper (I’m not sure what the English word for it is). It is VERY likely that if the minions had been with us (as they had EVERY other time), someone would have been bitten. Two days later we had a health session at the training compound all about snakes and learned how very deadly these snakes can be. That was a strange miracle.

The last miracle is simple but of great importance to me. The other day my little sister walked up to me eating something that smelled sweet and familiar. She came back from the garden with a biyaki, better known to us toubabs as guava. That’s right, Mali has guavas, and they just started getting ripe. That is probably the most profound and far-reaching miracle for me. Good gravy I love guavas. I know they have mangos later so all they need now is the strawberry-guava. Can someone in Hawaii send me some seeds? They also have a fruit similar to the mamon (from Nicaragua), which I loved. It is called poponi and its big brother is called zaban. They are both sour, delicious fruits.

Good times in Mali. Tomorrow I am “installed” at site and start my two years in Sofara, Mali. Wish me luck.

2006-09-29T18:36:00.000Z

From Civilian to Peace Corps Volunteer

Today we officially swore our allegiance to the US Constitution and became Peace Corps Volunteers. On Sunday I take my ten-hour bus ride to Mopti and by Tuesday I will be at site for my first 3 month stint (alone). We are all pretty excited about getting started (and finishing training).

I wrote the following for the Peace Corps Mali newsletter so officially it belongs to Peace Corps but I figured I'd share it with ye olde lot. Bon apetite:

Fresh in the minds of each PCT is the fateful day when the large envelope arrived in the mail. For most, this was the culmination of years of preparation, and for all, the fruition of countless forms, interviews, and yes (turn your head and cough), exams completed. To each of us—even those who opened it nonchalantly, there in the post office—the significance of what was contained therein was not lost: inside, already determined, was the course of our next two years. Our invitation was both deeply personal and yet profoundly communal. Some of us gathered our many friends and families to learn the news, while others still were determined to learn their fate in their closets and quiet places. To be sure, not one of us could have imagined sleepless, sweaty nights, serenaded by epileptic donkeys, fist-fulls of Tô, dripping to the elbow, nor friendships so natural with such a foreign and peculiar people, when we read those words inviting us to serve with Peace Corps Mali.

When the slip in my own mailbox read ‘large envelope,’ I knew it had come. Mustering all the cool I possessed (such as it is), I handed the mail clerk the slip and tried to keep the grin off my face. When it proved instantly a vain attempt, I embraced the smile and asked the mail workers for a drum-roll. “This is my Peace Corps invitation!” The two portly Fijian and Samoan ladies feigned a fleeting interest then returned quickly to their usual mailroom malaise. As the wait became abnormally long, my anxiety was tempered by that oft-cited Peace Corps application motto: “be patient.” I knew the parties involved: The United States Postal Service, another federal bureaucracy, and what we island-rats refer to as Hawaiian Style.

After much debate it was decided that the package had been sent to a neighboring postal outlet. Funnily enough, they knew this because they had also accidentally left the package log-book behind. With that same unconquerable smile, I offered to ride the book there on my moped, and thus attain my prize. Procedure being thusly damned, my four years visiting their quaint Hawaiian office and the Spirit of Aloha left them no choice. As I rode through the fragrantly warm air, the weight of my destination hit me; soon this would no longer be my home. As all of us who are truly committed to the Peace Corps ideals must, I said goodbye to everything I knew and loved, and accepted whatever it was that waited for me at the wrong post office.

Months later I found myself sitting under a Malian hangar with my comrades from 70 some-odd other post offices and mailboxes across America. Mali was a very real place to us now, one in which we had spent the last month or so (what by then already felt like a lifetime of its own). Once again I called out for a drum-roll. The only semi-rhetorical request, like in Hawaii, was again humored only by my self. We each now knew Mali, but still had only a vague idea of what we might be actually doing here. In reality, the announcement of our future site had a much greater impact on how we would be living for the next two years than our invitation could have ever implied. Our future friends, family, work—in short our future lives—were about to be announced. Ironically, at this very special moment, we were surrounded by scores of the only people who could make us very un-special: 70 PCTs who were going through the exact same thing. Each of our armies of loved ones was far, far away, leaving us only each other. And let’s face it, when you are going through it for yourself, it is an impossibility to be at all humanely excited for the near-countless other PCTs.

The anti-climactic revelation of our destiny came and went without so much as a kind pause to let us catch our breath. Before I knew it, I was on a 10-hour bus ride next to a complete stranger: my new Bambara teacher. With my face pressed against the window, I took in everything I could. I was surprised to see—nearly without fail—the farmers and herdsman we passed stare curiously at the windows of our enormous bus, as if some secret could be learned if they studied intently enough. How few busses could travel this road to summon such curiosity? I wondered. I sheepishly remembered my own embarrassingly childish fascination with looking at airplanes that pass in the air. Besides, how many hours had I spent staring a box with moving pictures? If goats were my all-in-all, I suppose I too, would watch every ten-second window into another world that passed me by.

This mutual fascination between the Malians and myself seemed a common theme of site visit. My first day at sight was market day. I had seen and met many Malians at this point, but that visit was my first true exposure to Malian diversity. Market day in Sofara (Mopti region) conjured masses of Bambara, Fulde, Dogon, Bozo, and Sonrai people, from what I understand. But which was what, and who was who? Lucky for me, I was clearly the strangest and most out-of-place person at market that day, awarding me the prize of countless blank stares. The funny thing was, I could not help but stare right back. How strange we must have appeared, waltzing around puddles of mud and piles of onion never quite watching our feet, instead, holding a fast gaze, like innumerable dancers constantly trading partners.

As fast as it was thrust on us, it was over and we were faced with the same one-month-lifetime of Pre-Service Training that we had only just completed. This time however, we finally had some idea of what all the sacrifice was for. Fuel in our engines, we steamed toward the coveted title: PCV.

2006-09-26T02:32:00.000Z

World View

This is the whole village (or their kids anyway) seeing us off to site visit.

I couldn't help but take a picure of my 3 year old sister Haua and her newborn brother Adama. This is the traditional way of carrying babies here. Haua (Ba) is very shy and would never let me take her picture but she was very proud to have her picture taken holding little Adama (who's "American" name is Tim after Isa's Father).

This was the view facing out of my front door the other day when it rained all day. My funny farmer family likes to look in and I like to look out.

2006-09-01T23:12:00.000Z

Getting Ready...

This is my host family during training.

Here I am in my quaint little hut in my training village: Missalabougou.

Site visit was great. I look forward to getting back to site and starting life. In the mean time its back to Missalabougou for one month. I swear in at the end of Sept then to site in Oct.

Mailing Address
Christopher Krey
Corps de la Paix
Sofara, Reg. de Mopti
MALI
West Africa

2006-08-22T13:45:00.000Z

I apologize for the lateness of this post. This is from Chris from August 16th. (pk)

Me before I cut my hair. These are the neighbor kids who played some soccer with me by the school. Good times in rural West Africa.

I murdered a chicken... and i ate it. I also plucked it, gutted it and fanned the fire that cooked it (I guess cooking is for girls in Africa). Whatever.

Public transport... and i cut my hair.

2006-08-14T16:11:00.000Z

Bird's Eye
This is Paul (brother of Chris) invading Chris's blog. I just google talked with him and he's doing well. He had the "runs" last week but he's doing better now. He'll get to see the doctor today anyway. He says mosquitoes aren't a problem but the flies are driving him buggy. So far things are going pretty well.
He doesn’t know when he’ll get the chance to see a computer… so I thought I would do this post for him. The computer he did get to had a French keyboard and it was very hard for him not to look like a first grader typing. That's what he was trying to say in his last post :P Here is a satellite picture of where he is now. He sends his love to all.

2006-08-14T15:40:00.000Z

Isa Jang!

They call me Isa Samake. Training is going well. Im still waiting to sleep in just once. They keep us very busy during training. This French keyboard makes me want to type so little. It also makes me type like a Malian might speak english. Now that I am here all I can say is that I am so busy and things are great. My host family are poor farmers but a lot of fun and they treat me very well. I am learning Bambara and very few people in my host village speak French so so much for learning that for a while. I will know my permanent site later this month and go for a visit. Im stoked! Love to all. Write me.

Christopher Krey, PCT
B.P. 85
Bamako, Mali
West Africa

Seriously... write me.

2006-07-19T01:29:00.000Z

Recurring nightmare

I just remembered a recurring nightmare I have had. I don’t know how long ago or for how long. I think I’ve definitely had it since graduating. In the dream I am at school; university but at my high school. I have a math class but don’t realize it or remember until I have forgotten to go to class for too long or until somehow I end up there and don’t have the homework. I guess it’s a nightmare because it is unsettling. The really “scary” dreams I actually enjoy. This one is just disturbing.

When I lived in Nicaragua I had dreams about my former life more than I thought about it. It was like my subconscious was dealing with the change by reaching out and spending it’s free time where it felt most comfortable. I knew I would be there for two years but then, I would end up at home and feel so relieved and happy. Then—even in my dreams—I would realize that I shouldn’t be home or that it didn’t make sense. My subconscious would do it’s best to explain, giving one excuse or another. Sometimes I would buy it, and sometimes I would figure out that it was a dream.

So. Mali. I guess I’ll be dreaming of toilets and hot showers. Nous verrons.

2006-07-18T02:33:00.000Z

Chris 5:33

Why do the friends of John and of other people blog, but you blog not?
So I said unto them, Can the littlest brother of the family blog, while the family is with him? as long as he has the family with him, he cannot blog.
But the days will come, when he shall be taken away from them, and then shall he blog in those days.
No man also seweth a piece of new cloth on an old garment: else the new piece that filled it up taketh away from the old, and the rent is made worse.
And no man putteth new wine into old bottles: else the new wine doth burst the bottles, and the wine is spilled, and the bottles will be marred: but new wine must be put into new bottles.

Me and three bros.
Vacation is great.
T-minus one week to Africa.

2006-06-16T22:58:00.000Z

Balancing the checkbook.

Ten fillings: $800
MP3 player: $90
Satellite radio & subscription: $200
Cheap speakers: $25
Solar Charger for Camera/AA batteries: $200
Bike Helmet, a grip of AA Batteries (rechargeable and otherwise),Nalgene bottle, Teva sandals, bandannas, down pillow, etc, etc: More money than I have.

Having everything you need to survive two years in the sub-Saharan Savanna: Priceless

For funsies: More pics from NYC:

The Babel Inc. Tower, NY

Frisbee in Central Park.

Hot Dog from street vendor (My Mt. Everest).

The roommate I had waiting for me when I got back.

2006-06-13T02:26:00.000Z

Para mis amigos Nicaragüense,

Me alegra haber recibido una carta electrónica de la Gemita, una amiga mía de Nicaragua. Es difícil creer que más de cuatro años y media ya han pasado. Me siento el mismo chavalo de 19 saliendo para un mundo que nunca había imaginado. Aun que me siento chavalo todavía, la verdad es que he aprendido bastante al vivir en Nicaragua por dos años y durante los estudios aquí en Hawaii.

Cada mundo con lo cual me encuentra me deja haciendo falta algo, alguien. Del lugar donde me creí me hacen falta los veranos tranquilos, amigos tan lejos y olvidados, y la familia que tanto les amo. De Nicaragua me hace falta el gallo pinto, tortillas frescas con cuajada (¿me crees?), las frutas en el mercado y mas que todo la gente. La raza, Mis amigos, La familia Castro entre ellos. Espero anhelosamente regresar a Nicaragua a verlos. ANTES, tengo que descubrir un nuevo mundo. Después del cuerpo de paz me voy a regresar a la tierra de lagos y volcanes. En aquel entonces me harán falta otras cosas. Hasta ahora no sé que son, pero me imagino que son unas cosas bonitas, super-tuanys como dice la raza. El tô tal vez o el sol fuerte. No sé. Sobre todo: la gente. Por eso voy y por eso valdrá la pena. Esto me alimentará hasta aquel entonces.

2006-06-09T21:42:00.000Z

If you had to go as far as I do,
you would be GOING FASTER!!

Welcome to the North Shore of Oahu where the locals take their sweet time getting from driveway to driveway on the region's only highway, unless of course you are passing a world class beach (Sunset, Pipeline, Waimea) where the tourists are doubtlessly going TOO SLOW to look at the waves, requiring a dangerously close tailgate. The title of this post occurred to me in January when I was commuting to Manoa on the other side of the island for a few days. You always new where the person was from/going by the way they drove. It seemed analogous to life. Some people are just cruising. They really don't plan to go far in life but if we let them they can hold us up. They don't care.

Just a thought as I was heading to Queen's Medical Center in Honolulu. Monday in New York I was hoofen' it through Greenwich Village and my phone rang. "Hi, this is Bishop Gold, Have you heard about Eric?" As soon as he said this I knew what happened. Eric, my roommate, is an avid cyclist preparing for a circle-island bike ride before he graduates and leaves the island this month.

"I had a good NDE today." This was a common phrase from Eric when he got back from his rides to Sunset, Pupukea, Haleiwa, or even Dole. NDE is code for a near death experience. When you ride your bike several times a week on one of the most deadly highways in the country it's only a matter of time. The hope was that, after four years of school and countless rides, he could make it through his last month without incident.

Not so.

Eric, my best friend and roommate, had the most N DE so far. Neck in a brace, arm in a sling, prostrate on the bed. He was in pretty sad shape.

Good news is, despite the fractures in his vertebrae, broken clavicle, detached (and surgically reattached) radial nerve on the right arm and other bruises and road rash, he is being discharged on Saturday. There isn't much more the hospital can do for him really. He just needs to heal. He is in good spirits and I think he have a successful recovery.

More about that later.

New York was awesome. Awesome, what a crappy non-descript adjective. Oh well. It was great. Better than I expected. I really had a lot of fun. I was surprised how much I liked it actually. People always say they like the big city or whatever but I was always skeptical because I'm sort of a home body. I mean, I love to interact with people on a real level. I love to travel and experience cultures, but I'm not one of those people who always NEEDS to be entertained or ALWAYS needs to be with friends or I'm unhappy. Sometimes I just like to chill or to spend time with someone and do something low profile. I like to dance with people I know but I've never been to a "club." So I just figured it would be over rated.

In reality I actually enjoyed the independence that the city offers. You can get ANYWHERE on the subway or bus and there are so many places to eat and see and enjoy. Central park is great and it is nice to see a city in America with so much diversity. I mean, Hawaii is diverse in a way, but in another way it is sort of highly provincial, especially on the North Shore (perhaps outside of our international student body). So I had a lot of fun. Me and my work associate hit up the town. I went to the empire state building, ground zero, saw the Joseph Smith statue at old slip park, played Frisbee at central park, went to the UN building, went in the Opus Dei headquarters, saw a Broadway show, ate at local delis and other restaurants, grand central, harlem, did a lot of walking and pretty much got addicted to nicotine from second hand smoke.

FREE AT LAST!!!

You know that feeling when you take your last exam? I felt that yesterday, afterter getting my last fillings. Ahhhh... free. I HATE the dentist. At one point while he was drilling in my lower jaw I swear my shoulders, back, arms, hands and butt cheeks were all tensed up. I had to consciously remind myself to relax. I usually never take any medication for any reason but Ibuprofen has really come in handy during this process. My tooth started throbbing last night and I was glad to have the drug. Why suffer needlessly?

One last thing about Eric:

When I got home I talked to him and he said he didn't have his glasses. I called the Kahuku police and the were ABLOLUTELY UNHELPFULL!! If I was a user of the "Effer" as it were, I would use it on these effers. The guy was RUDE and defensive. "No he would have any personal item."

"Yes but he was taken away in an ambulance and kind of out of it."

"We don't pick things like that up. He should have it on his person. That's not our responsibility."

AAAAAAHhhh. In the end I had to go to the site of the accident to look for them (two days later). I talked to an eye-witness who helped stop the bleeding and they said they left the glasses on his chest (completely unharmed - and these are expensive glasses with all the works). What I found at the site of the accident was five shattered pieces of glasses. Maybe it was an oversight but they just left them there.

I also went to the Fire station looking for his bike. Surprisingly, it was in good shape. The front wheel was parallel to the handle bars and the fork was bent but the frame was completely intact. His helmet was there too: Bashed in and bloody. It was an amazing object lesson. It doubtlessly saved his life.

I'm looking forward to him coming back to the North Shore this weekend.

I'm looking forward to vacation later this month (today I told my boss straight-up that I am trunkie and don't really want to be at work so keep me busy or I'll just want to leave).

I'm looking forward to getting started in Mali. Man my French is terrible.

2006-05-30T21:05:00.000Z

25 or 6 to 4

"The title refers to the time of day. It is either 3:35AM (25 to 4) or 3:34AM (26 to 4). We know it is early morning because of the line "Waiting for the break of day."

The things you learn on the internet. I thought of the lyrics of this song for some reason on my way home from the dentist. I replaced this part with RTC or... a filling. I asked around for another dentist and found one to give me a second opinion. He seemed better. He sat down and showed me the x-rays and what was there and what he wanted to do. He wanted to do less work than the other doctor, was more personable and his fees were more reasonable. He did however, agree with the other dentist that I had a "possible Root Canal." He then started talking about referring me to a surgeon etc.

"Frankly," I told him, "I can't afford a Root Canal. Can you just go in there and see if you can put in a filling?"

"Start praying" was his advice. Later he said "well I'll have to tell the rest of my patients this week that you used up all the luck for the entire week. I don't know you too well so I didn't know how you'd react but at one point I was going to say 'OK DON'T MOVE.'"

So I've been back to the dentist since then and my mouth doesn't quite fit together like it used to. Oh well, hopefully that will work itself out. One more visit and I'm home free.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I am now 26, the age that the unmarried man becomes "a menace to society" as the lore goes. Feels pretty much the same. I got five fillings on my b-day. For some reason I thrive on miserable birthdays. Reminds me that if on my very special day things aren't so special that... I don't know... things are OK. It keeps me humble or something.

My friend Sarah bought me my very favorite desert for my birthday: a Ted's Bakery Strawberry-Guava Pie. Mmmmmmmmmm. I put it in my co-worker's fridge for safe keeping and my co-workers saw fit to eat it without me. That made me sad. I loved that pie. I didn't even have a slice.

Well I'm off to NY tomorrow. My first time in the big apple. The BYU-Hawaii concert choir is doing a concert in Carnegie Hall and I will be "chaperoning." Awesome.

The weather is beautiful and I burned my beak a little on Saturday. All is well though.

Well, it's official. I'm trunkie. Ready to be done with work. I need to go out and enjoy what little time I have left in paradise.

Oh here's a good one: I spent 2 months laboring with a tutor from France to correct my Spanish accent when I speak French (in preparation for Mali) and guess what! I downloaded the language lessons (including audio) from the Peace Corps and the Malians speak French like it were with a Spanish accent! I thought that was funny. They flip their R's and everything. Anyway, that should be fun.

Last week I went to an art exhibition of a friend of mine from Hong Kong. If you recall from an old blog about a Chinese guy named Edward who was in cahoots with my Chinese stalker, well, he was there. He asked me "So Cwistofuh, how iss yo giwfwend?" "Oh, we broke up" I replied to my surprise! CRAP! What have I done. Oh, well who cares I'm gone in a month.

The next day (my birthday) I got 3 calls from my stalker and 2 calls from him. All Week it has been the same. I have not picked up the phone for her once and yet she continues calling. Like 3 times a day. What does a guy have to say? Geeze. "NO! BAD! GO HOME! GO!" I was never good at making stray dogs take me seriously.

2006-05-17T20:34:00.000Z

Don't Get Me Wrong...

That last post wasn't quite sitting well with me. Uh... I'm not happy all the time. I'm just surprised sometimes when it happens at weird times. Nor was I complaining. I love it. Apparently I love musing about it. Anyone who knows me knows how cynical and grumpy I can be. Like:

• In the morning.
• When I'm tired.
• When I'm sick.
• When people are FRICKIN IDIOTs.
• ¡Cuidado las tetas!

2006-05-16T03:25:00.000Z

In Love with an Idea

When I had my tonsillectomy I was given pain-killers with some interesting side-effects. On the list of side-effects was the following: "May produce a false sense of well-being." Amused, I have always been left wondering, when is a sense of well-being ever false? Can it be? Life-threatening situations aside, in the world of side-effects, this one must be the most kickass (kickassiest?). I'm not often in a life or death, where it might not be to my advantage feel at ease.

So what is the appropriate motivation for "a sense of well-being?" To be quite honest, I OFTEN find myself--perhaps without proper motivation--happy. Standing in line at Subway, Mopeding the moonlit northshore, listening to music or just walking or even (dare I say) at work, I find myself reflecting on why. What's with the sense of well-being? Might it be false?

I've discussed it with some friends and they seem to think everything is as it should be. I've been encouraged to gratefully dismiss the question, but I still wonder: Is my condition a happy side-effect or symptom of a fortunate ailment or does my well-being mean that all is well and anything "less" denotes subluxations of the psyche?

You've heard of clinical depression due to disease, disorders and chemical imbalances (unexplainable and incurable by merely changing attitudes, circumstances and lifestyle), could there be similarly, yet undiagnosed, disorders causing well-being?

Being a nerdy student of sci-fi I am reminded of a recurring plotline in the awesome British comedy/sci-fi series Red Dwarf. C'mon just read the next three lines, it's not going to kill you. In Red Dwarf they introduce the concept of biologically engineered viruses that can give you pure good luck or bad luck. The writers postulate that when we have streaks of good and bad luck it is due to biological diseases (ie viruses).

But how could a good virus be a disease? DIS-EASE (well being asunder)=the body or mind is in a state of bad stuff. So by definition we can't define the condition of being "afflicted" with (what we view as) positive symptoms as disease. So what do we call it? Conease (cuh-nees)? CON-EASE (driven or catalyzed well-being). OK so my latin morphology sucks nuts. But rest assured I don't feel bad about it. Probably the condition I have. You know, my conease.

I'll tell you a secret--and I suspect this is a symptom of my conease-- I'm in love. I am in love with a person. I just haven't figured out who it is. I walk around all day pleased with myself like I am in love. I am in love with an idea.

I used to start dating girls assuming that they didn't have what it takes to make the grade. As we dated, if she was awesome, I would be pleasantly surprised. Lately though, it seems I take the relationship tactic of the a-hole gym class teacher. "Now listen up! As of now you all have A's! CLEAN SLATE! It is up to you to keep that grade! If it slips, it's your own fault!" Which is to say, I am in love with every girl that outwardly seems to display characteristics that could be amendable to the "A student" (uh girlfriend).

Then as I get to know the girl, disappointment ensues. I'm not sure which tactic I liked better but the change came involuntarily (to be sure). So right now the perfect girls for me are the ones I don't know. I feel sorry for the girl that actually "makes the grade" so to speak. She is in big, big trouble. Cause I'm already in love with her.

Bonus ~ Cultural Where's Waldo: (Can you find me?)

Don't tell my work I stole this picture.

2006-05-10T22:37:00.000Z

Music Theory

Why am I the only one who thinks this is funny?:

fortesisimo
fortisimo
forte
metzo forte
metzo piano
piano
pianisimo
penisisimo

I'm still looking forward to Mali in every way... even eating. From what I hear they eat everything with their hands. Yummy. It just seems weird that I'll be eating tô (an oatmeal consistency dish) every day with my hands and somehow dipping it in something else. I was reading a blog from a volunteer who just finished her service in Mali and they got together with other Americans and made spaghetti... And ate it with their hands. In Nicaragua the indians always said "tastes better with your hands." The sentiments are the same here on the islands. But these Malians really mean it. Anyway I'm used to not knowing how to eat things. This is a pic from last Chinese New Year. Here you can see five HongKongers in hysterics over how wrong I ate a nut that I had never seen before.

Here's some of my other favorite Mali tid-bits:

There are about 150 Peace Corps Volunteers in Mali.

Religion: 90% Muslim, 9% indigenous beliefs, 1% Christian

Volunteers typically live in a small house made of mud or cement bricks with a thatch roof.

Most Volunteers do not have running water or electricity.

Mali produces some of the best mangoes and papayas in the world (yessss!)

Staple meals include rice (damn!) and tô (a thick porridge made of millet , sorghum, corn or yams)…(damn?), served with a sauce made from peanuts, okra, greens or tomatoes with meat or fish (di-aaaaaaaamn baby)

Mali's climate is similar to that of Arizona.

Volunteers work in the Kayes, Koulikoro, Sikasso, Segou, Mopti and Gao regions (sorry not Timbouctou [or Kidal]).

There are some other funny ones that I forgot to write down.

Thanks to Sariah for forwarding her pics from our Manawili falls hike. Isn't it cool when people do that? How many times have you heard "can you email me a copy of that?" when group pics are taken? I don't even ask anymore. Cool frijoles. Tonight: Laundry. When I leave in June we may have a new record: Laundry three times in 6 months. Thank goodness I have choke underwear (if you know what I'm sayin').

2006-05-06T00:14:00.000Z

Peace Corps Assignment

I have been assigned to Mali in west Africa. I will begin staging on July 24, 2006 completing my service in September of 2008. I will be working on Water Sanitation projects in rural areas of the country.

I will put fun facts on this blog when I have researched it a little. In the mean time I am VERY anxiously researching the area and my assignment. I am excited and look forward to my service.

2006-05-03T00:02:00.000Z

Checking Off the List

On my way to Papa Ole's for lunch I got a call from Meg: "We're jumping off the point!" Man, if I can jump off the point AND get Teriyaki Chicken in one lunch hour, it's a good day.

2006-05-02T01:58:00.000Z

Oh Ha Ha Guys!

OK you can all be in on this. SOMEONE is hilarious but you can all pretend like it was you. I stopped by the office the other night to run up and check something on my computer. When I do this I often park my moped right to the side of the front door because the back door by the bike rack where I usually park is locked. Yeah so I'm up there like less than then minutes. I come down to hop on my bike and go to my French lesson and low and behold my moped is gone. Crap. I always sort of suspected this would happen but I feel like I'm so close to getting off the island without loosing it. I run to the street and look around... nothing. I run towards the parking lot and towards the main road... nothing. THEY CAN'T HAVE GOT FAR! I run to the back of the building by the back steet. Did they try to duck out on me?... nothing! I run back towards the front building and I see a familiar rear view mirror pointing up for fine weather at a far bike rack. Geeze man! There it is. OK good I don't have to walk it home. Thanks jerks!

IN OTHER NEWS...

What you are all dieng to know (well I am). My Peace Corps invitation is IN THE MAIL!!! I hope it gets here this week (it should). I have till Monday the 8th to accept or decline the invitation so I guess it pretty much has to. I think I'll have a little bbq at Hailey's house to open and celebrate. Stay tuned and keep your calendar clear.

Rolling with the Punches

Not that it's any of your business but my g.f. and I broke up. SO STOP ASKING! Just kidding. I still think she is really great but I guess we just are not a match. When she finds the right dude it will just click. He will be better than me too so I'm not worried. And mom don't worry about me. Things will work out like they shid have.

Oh the Painful Truth

My biggest obstacle at this point is my dental work. I went to a dentist and he wants to overhaul my entire mouth. I feel very uncomfortable with his diagnosis (I think he's digging for gold) and will get a second opinion. That said I can't really afford this. What should I do. I am thinking about seeking sponsors. "Sponsor my #13 bicuspid so I can join the peace corps!" What do you think? I am worried about my teeth too... I don't want to screw them up just because the doctor knows I HAVE to do what he says. Let me know what you think.

When Does Great Become Awesome?

Last week I was able to find a score of UK census records listing my mom's family. In the records I discovered who my Great Great Great Granparents (Davies) are. On the other maternal side I found my Great Great Great Great Grandparents (Stobo). Great Great Great Great? I think I'll just call them awesome. Thanks for your help mom. I also found a new cousin on my dad's side. Her family and ours came from the old country around the same time, and from the same place (with the same rare last name). We're still trying to figure out the exact connection.

2006-04-21T20:05:00.000Z

My new slogo

Well, it's finals time. A great time of the year for those of us who no longer have to take finals. It's great to be "resting" the brain for a while. Yeah, I know, there are words for that. There are also posters. These are some of my favorites:

2006-04-10T19:33:00.000Z

SEPTOPUS Rides Again

I'd say four days in Utah is juuuuuuuust about right. It was great to see my parents, 'clandy, Aunti Nani, Aunt Heather, and my cousins Michelle and Sarah and all the many super-cousins I have out there. I also got to stay with Jimmi and HeeSoon which was fun and also see Kira and Jillhane and of Anthony Pabst of all people. It was cool but a weird mixture of past friends. Sleep was somewhat of a commodity while there so I wasn't always on my best behavior (plus hanging out in the church office building sort of drains all of my ability to behave). The air was dryer than crap… really dry crap. My nose and all got dried up and uncomfortable. The second I stepped off the plane in Honolulu I knew it was gooooooooooood to be back.

Jimmi and I in VO-Town (THESE two davis').

My cousin Michelle, Me, Mom & Dad, Clandy and Nani at the Provo Temple.

'Septopus' in the lobby of the church office building.

Performing on the 26th floor for BYU-Hawaii PLC meeting.

Tired and goofy would best describe us that day. Notice the blood-shot eyes thanks to dry air and no sleep.

2006-03-29T02:37:00.000Z

I am going to Salt Lake City.

The university is paying for me to go to SLC this weekend to sing with a 6 man vocal ensemble. Shidbe neat.

FYI this is my plan for conference weekend:

Arrive: 8:45am, Friday, March 31 SLC

Returning:
Depart: 11:30am, Tuesday, April 4
Arrive: 2:30pm, Tuesday, April 4

Sunday and Monday night I will have a room at the Howard Johnson. Friday and Saturday I plan on staying with James in Provo (or wherever).

I hope to hit up some conference while I am there. I have a mission reunion Friday night in Bountiful. In between Saturday sessions my coworker Justin who is in a Mormon boy-band (Jericho Road) will be performing at a bookstore nearby (maybe I'll check it out if I'm in the neighborhood). I have a BYU-Hawaii Alumni Fireside that I will be singing at Sunday night somewhere near SLC (you can come if you'd like) and I will be performing for PLC Donor meetings in Salt Lake Monday morning. Monday and Saturday evenings should be free (Jame's birthday is Sat so there may be some kimchee involved) and I can be flexible (other than the two meetings I'm singing at--that's why the University is flying me out).

That's my plan anyway. Hope to see you there.

Other than that life is good. The sun came out Monday afternoon, which is a state holiday here in Hawaii (Prince Kuhio Day). So I got to enjoy that. I am still dating Sariah. She's fun to be around. The Peace Corps office is reviewing my Medical papers. While in Utah I hope to see Mom, Dad, Clandy and fam, auntie and all her gang, James and Heesoon, Jillhane McCauley, Kira and whoever else I can fit in. Shoobie fun!

2006-03-22T01:50:00.000Z

Slip 'Tup

OK so its been a little spell. I guess I lose track of time when it rains. And I kid you not, it has been raining since my last post. You may have even heard about it in the National news. Some storm systems have been absolutely parked over our little Ko'olau mountain ridge. We do get breaks now and then (unlike Washington rain) but the big mud puddle in the front hard has been growing and shrinking for over a month. School even got cancelled a couple weeks ago.

Remember those little cartoons where the rain cloud hovers over the sad little person? That would be Hau'ula, the little town on the southern border of La'ie (where I live). It is like 2 or 3 miles down the road and yet the difference in yearly rainfall has got to be very noticeable. I often ride there to visit friends or get food (mmm Hau'ula Korean BBQ) and it seems like if there are clouds in La'ie, there is rain in Hau'ula. Hau'ula is also known as a notorious 'ice' community (since there is no real ice in Hawaii it is never a question that ice means methamphetamines). What a sad, sad little crack town... and proud proprietor of 7-11 (you can't seem to have one without the other).

Meanwhile life marches on. I am meeting with my French tutor every week. French is a fun little language. I find myself often laughing at its quirks. It's grammar, spelling and phonetics are almost as screwed up as how I speak English when I'm bored. It cracks me up. Unfortunately, since my vocab is still pretty limited, the sentences I create rarely have a context for actual expression ("Je mange la fille.") Although I'm quite fond of saying "J'ai troi freres et un seur" or however you spell it.

I sing in a male-voice sextet here at the university. We have sung at devotionals and other events. The President of the university is flying us out to Utah during the LDS general conference to sing at some donor meetings (we will also sing at a BYU-Hawaii alumni fireside). So if you're gonna be in Utardia, drop me a line. I am also going to a Nicaragua mission reunion (My first in the 4+ years since I've been home). Anyway I'll be there March 31-4 of April.

Uh... what else. I received my "official" letter of nomination to the Peace Corps yesterday (despite being nominated in February). So that's exciting. I sent in my medical paperwork but it has not been reviewed by the PC staff yet. DENTAL is another matter. I am currently seeking a second opinion. I am a bit worried that the Dentist that checked me out was digging for gold.

I've been dating a very nice lass. I met her a year ago or so then she went to Utah for a semester. This semester I saw her a couple times but never where I could talk to her. SOooo... as embarrassing as it may seem, I sent her an email to ask if I could ask her out, basically (for her digits F U will [and you will]). So we went on a hike and have been spending some time together which has been quite nice. Nothing for anyone to get too excited about but we're enjoying each other's company. We'll respectfully leave it at that.

I had something else but I lost my train. Oh well. Don't forget, I choo-choo-choose you!

2006-03-08T20:45:00.000Z

Word Exchange Rate

A picture is worth one thousand words. What is a smell worth? Its been said that smell is the sense most closely associated with memory. And yet, it is fleeting, hard to capture. Some chemical compounds resemble and approximate others fooling your brain into thinking they are the same smell or similar. That's how perfume can smell like a flower without actually having any part of any flower in it. Have you ever smelled something? SOMETHING! Something... familiar. Something you know, but you don't know where you know it from. Something you know where you know it from but can't remember what it was? Like the feeling that you think you remembered a dream but you're not entirely sure about it. In moments like these I want to grab hold of that smell, pin it down and smell it until I remember. But these memories ride on the air. Yesterday on the three steps between my room and my bathroom I smelled something. It was a good memory that I think I remembered more fully in the moment but now I forget what it was like. I remember it being from Nicaragua. I wanted to smell it more but it was just a moment. Perhaps it was two smells colliding for one short moment wherein they created "the perfect storm" of smell.

In Puerto Cabezas there were 3 rooms and 4 missionaries. We lived two to a room with no furniture but beds. So we used the empty room as a dressing room. We each got half a bed for our clothes and after a bucket-bath we went in that room to change. That room smelled like Old Spice. I don't know who used it (one or all of us) but it permeated the ambiance of the room. One day we all four went to a wedding reception where potato salad was served. This was a rare treat for missionaries. Nicaraguans, however, add raw eggs to the mix for some reason. Well I don't need to tell you what the Nicaraguan sun can do during a day to a batch of potato salad made for a reception that night. The food took soooo long to serve that we had to eat and run in order to get home at a reasonable hour. We ate so fast. Too fast to notice anything. The next day was epic. Musical toilet-seat on a toilet with no plumbing. Four boys wiped out by food poisoning and with rare strength to draw water from the well. But I digress. The point is, for some reason I have associated that particular experience with the smell of that room. Old Spice (Original flavor) makes me sick to my stomach.

Once in Nicaragua a family insisted that they had a large Rubbermaid plastic container that held water that smelled like me. Or that I smelled like. I risked tearing a whole in the space-time continuum by going into the back area of their house, opening the container and smelling it. HOW SURREAL. Just kidding. I don't know what they were talking about. But they claimed it wasn't a bad smell so I guess that's OK.

2006-02-28T02:57:00.000Z

At Long Last

It was a good weekend. Eric and I finally did Maleakahana falls... the right way. We made it and it was way easier than any of the other failed attempts. Goes to show you how much easier things can be if you know what you are doing and where you are going.

This is me right after the initial climb. Notice the fatigue. That's Laie (my home) in the background on the coast.
This is Eric on the climb to the upper falls.
The upper falls. Am I fatter this year? Answer: yes.
The lower falls. When we were leaving I lost my balance and fell in with my camera. Everything went under water except my hand with the camera. Thank goodness for the lifesaving merit badge or it may have got doused

2006-02-23T02:05:00.000Z

Conditioned Learning

What did you expect? In my experience, the only way to prevent what I would describe as the 'abstract worrying' of certain individuals is either one, withhold all information that anything exists that that person may worry about, or two, know enough about the given situation to assuage the irrational fears of said person. In my case I have always been forthcoming with the fact that I was thinking seriously about joining the Peace Corps. Until I actually receive an invitation to serve in a specific program and location however, there is no sense in anyone (other than myself) jumping the gun and worrying about this, that, and the other. I do not know if I will be nominated. I do not know if I will receive an invitation. I do not know what quadrant of the Earth I will actually be sent to if I do. All I know is that I understand the commitment involved and I have the desire to join the Peace Corps. That, and that I have now officially applied. I freely told anyone who I thought would be supportive and rational (at this stage of the process) that I was applying. Others I simply did not feel it would be productive to tell until I know more about if and where I will be placed.

I have never been a salesman. I rarely feel inclined to try to convince others of something unless I feel it would benefit them. I cannot bring myself to sell something to someone for my own selfish reasons instead of for their own best interest (which is why I am a terrible salesman). My reasons for joining the Peace Corps are my own. They are very good and very convincing but my job is not to convince YOU that it is the right path for me, only to be sure myself. Your job is to be supportive of my decisions so far as you trust my ability to decide. Do you trust my ability to decide on this matter? Do you think I go into it ignorantly? Do you think I have not done my homework? Whether or not I should do something has nothing to do with your knowledge or ignorance on the topic. Trust and fear SHOULD be mutually exclusive. So try to think about whether you trust me or not.

I believe I am quite able to anticipate how things will turn out or I have at least learned not to get too attached to how things may or may not turn out. In this ability to look to the future with open eyes I am better able to deal with the challenges and opportunities that come my way. I believe this is one of the great advantages of being the youngest child in a family where my siblings have my best interests in heart. They have helped me anticipate and understand my future to a far greater degree than do my peers. I owe this to them and continue to be appreciative of their wisdom and communication.

So there it is. If you feel you can handle the truth: I have officially applied to the Peace Corps. I have completed my Health Status Review and have sent in my fingerprints and National Agency Check Questionnaire. My references have agreed to recommend me as a candidate and have been emailed. I have officially been interviewed and at this point I appear to be a good candidate. I am very interested in water sanitation projects as well as other community development opportunities. Right now my recruiter is looking at positions in the Caribbean and Western Africa, both of which interest me. Whether or not they will consider my fluency in Spanish as a "near match" for the one year of French requirement in Africa remains to be seen. I am deeply moved and concerned about post-colonial issues and problems that have left the African continent supremely neglected. I will tell you now: I consider it to be selfish for myself or anyone else to "hope" that I do not to go to Africa based on the unknown factor or the imagined dangers of such a distant and foreign place. We should not turn a cold shoulder to our brothers and sisters that are suffering in order to temporally preserve ourselves or the ones we love. I do not criticize those who remain in developed nations working for the betterment of the world through the economy and other means, as I do believe it is possible for "all boats to rise with the tide" so long as they are globally minded and considerate of the suffering masses. Part of this includes supporting those who are willing to leave home to try to spread peace.

2006-02-17T23:07:00.000Z

Buyakasha!

Yesterday I sent this Email to the Presidents of BYU-Hawaii, Hawaiian Reserves Inc. (Zion's Corp. in Hawaii-they own the town) and the Polynesian Cultural Center as well as the director of housing and various other VPs in each organization. I am sick over the indiference in this town.

"While writing a letter I realized I wrote something that I feel very strongly about and felt you should know how MANY members of this community feel right now: out in the cold.

'I have tried and tried to do my laundry in an honest way. But the powers that be have made that impossible in my town. HRI closed the Laundromat to move them in order to bring in tacobell. The school changed from coin-operated to a special card that only housed students get. My landlords, a humble family, do not allow the many renters to use their washer and every other landlord (especially HRI) doesn't want non-residents using theirs. The laundry in Kuhuku closed down long ago which leaves the closest facilities in Kaneohe, about half an hour by car. So what do students and other residents of this town do if they do not have a car? Answer: nothing honest. It is the Garden of Eden here. They give us conflicting mandates: "Be clean, avoid debt, do not steal or lie... and you can not use any of our resources." It is paramount to a heartless slap in the face."'

Nobody feels responsible. But HRI, BYU-Hawaii and the PCC have a stewardship over this town and need to take care of these students, employees and other less affluent community members in need. Please help.

Christopher Krey
Laie Community Member"

I will let you know what the response is.
I also found this picture yesterday and was amuzed. I'm so local! (jk)

2006-02-15T02:18:00.000Z

My Favorite Valentine's Images:

2006-02-10T02:26:00.000Z

Subscribers Now Exceeding 3!

I've been working hard and not much else has been happening so I haven't been so posty lately. SORRY! Geez. Get of my back. Just kidding nobody cares. Although readership is at an all-time high seeing as my sister-in-law started reading my blog. So Awesome. So since nothing is new and since anyone who makes a request pretty much gets attention, I'll take some time to update Laura on how my half-finished stories ended since she's going back and reading them now.

MLK
My moped is still going strong. The new-found horsepower catches me off-guard every so often. A couple weeks ago I hit the gas heading onto the Kamehameha and the bike jumped out from under me. It flew onto the highway and I was left standing confused on the road. It was pretty embarrassing since there was a car behind me who saw the whole thing. I had to go pick up the bike and laugh at myself. I've licked all my wounds from Maleakahana and we'll probably head up next chance I get.

SWM seeks good music
drew recommended me a group called Electric President. I really like them. WMMF are still King.

Hau'oli makahiki hou
Still great to be home. Recent developments at work and elsewhere have lead me realize that I'm ready to go. Sad, I know. So come fall I'll be out of here. Reasons include:
They don't NEED me for 2007 projects.
Social life is lamer as college kids get younger (age and life direction).
Laundry. There is no off-campus laundry mat within 20 miles. My clothes are dirty.
I am anxious to get on to the next big thing.
Don't worry. It will be big.

Mele Kalikimaka
I left some stuff at home. Mom can you send me the DVD Dan gave me for Christmas with the pants you bought? Dad can you scan my vaccination records and send them to me? Ben can you send me my glasses? They're probably on your microwave. Anyone else, send me anything else I left behind.

Lei Ho Lang Loi ~ GUNG HEI FAT CHOI!!
I guess the gay Chinese kid wasn't hitting on me. Just trying to hook up his friend. When I showed up for the "coming out" this little giggly Chinese girl was there. I met her at Thanksgiving dinner and cracked some wise so I guess that is like a Sino-turn-on. Anyway, when I get there, she says "HO-SO Luuuuus, What you want to do???" I told her I didn't plan anything, she asked me out. She refused to plan something and frankly I didn't really want to be there but I found myself having to suggest what we would do. Yikes. So we saw a movie and at some food. Pretty standard stuff. She was nice. But in the end... Chinese. Since then, she has been persistent. She calls and I usually screen it. If I run into her she invites me to something or another. I usually avoid stuff but she invited me to a Chinese New Year dinner at the house of another friend of mine (I work with her) so I said I would go. It was funny. All Chinese then me. I don't know what this girl wants but I don't have it for her. One day she called me 7 times. Can you believe that? Guess how many times I picked up. Never. That's how. A few more calls and random things and that's pretty much fizzled out. Geez does she need me to say strong things to her face? Women.. i mean... Chinese... Chinese Women!

Hasty Post
Still trying to get back to the black on my credit card. The card thought it would be helpful to up my credit limit another $1,000. Jerks. Shirley tried to set me up with another girl. Her husband EP gave me a letter to bring to her at her work yesterday so I could meet her. Anyway this girl wants to be an actor. I just don't know about that. That aside, She's not really my style.

Friendshift
Still broken up with my friend I guess. I msged her on IM and we chatted. That's about the most contact either of us can seem to manage. She's cool when she is chill. But she tends to get all riled up sometimes and bugs. Then there's the other stuff. Funny... I'm sure the exact same thing could be said about me. On a similar note, Kira and I kept in touch for a few months after we broke up but now we haven't talked in donkey's. It's weird. For my part I just don't feel like I have anything to update her on. I'll call maybe if something changes in my life. In the mean-time, same ol' same ol'.

Happy Thanksgiving.
Hailey, who had her accident just before Thanksgiving, went in for her second surgery yesterday. I'll visit her today if I can get a hold of her of Friday or Saturday. She has one more after this. Frankly, I like to have friends who I know need company. It makes me feel more comfortable just stopping by and spending time. Otherwise I suspect I'm bugging people.

wtf?
My crazy roommate was soon kicked out of my house by the landlord for being crazy and always slamming doors. Later the cops came by and wanted to drop him off at the house because he was on the Temple grounds being nuts and they wanted to pawn him off. My landlord said he was not invited. Then he disappeared for a while. I heard some rumors about going to an asylum in town for a while. I don't know. A month or two later he showed up working at Foodland. He seemed nice again. Rumor has it he went off his meds and it didn't treat him right. I haven't seen him in a while but I still avoid his checkout line at Foodland if I can. I don't know. He told the landlord I went in his room and stole things. My landlord told him "first of all, chris' underwear are worth more than anything you have in there" which is probably true considering I have to keep buying new underwear since there's no where to wash my clothes. Anyway all that drama is over and I don't really see him anymore. His spot in the house was replaced by the Landlord's son who got off his mission. I came to live with them RIGHT when he left so that means I've been living at one address for 2 years. That's pretty good considering I've lived four places here in Laie.

BRSS
I am still riding hard... and alone. I still love it though.

Funeral Services Friday
I still can't hold down a crush.

Smoked Salmon
My wallet still stinks. Mom sent me a new one.

Of Turtles and Telephones
I guess I still like turtles.

2006-01-20T21:49:00.000Z

MLK

So much to write makes me not want to. I had an appointment for my moped at a shop in Honolulu. Instead of leaching off someone to give me and my moped a ride to town and wait all day and come back, I decided to ride it there myself. Avoiding major highways and freeways proves a beautiful if long, long trip to town from Laie. I followed the coast all along the windward side. It was amazing. Kamehameha highway past Chinaman's hat, Kualoa Valley and down to Likelike highway then on past Kaneohe. Then on to the 72 down the coast and around the bend past the Halona Blow Hole and Haunama Bay. Two hours later I rounded the corner into Hawaii Kai

Rr-rr-rr-rr-rrrrr. I thought maybe the grooved cement was effecting my steering. The moped started to fishtail. RR-RR-RR-RR-RR! Blah! The rear wheel was flat. So. What do you do? I just started pushing the bike. I had never been down that road so I figured a gas station could be at any turn. 20 minutes later I call the shop. No answer. Push, push, push. One mile later I'm sweating like a beast. That thing is heavy with no rear tire. I called again and by chance a mechanic picked up. He said he'd come get me. Righteous so I got my bike there and they fixed some lights, replaced the tire and made a couple other "improvements." So while they worked I walked from H1ish on MCulley to Ala Moana then all the way around and to Ward. I watched a movie (perhaps the first time I've gone to the theatre by myself) then hiked back. Urban hiking. Seriously. It was fun. Then the ride home. I went a little faster this time.

Monday was the appointed day to re-attempt the Maleakahana Falls hike. We planned to leave at a decent hour (morning but not too early). We stayed up late watching DVDs so the morning came a little early. By the time we got up, got ready (water, energy bars and supplies) and hit the trail it was noon. In the first hour there were a couple of steep inclines that really kicked my butt. Last time we went it was much muddier but this time seemed so much harder for me. I was bushed before we got half way to where we turned back last time. In retrospect I should have eaten something before we left. I ate my first energy bar after the second climb.

We forged on. Strangely, by the time we passed the place where we last gave up I felt fine with energy more than I had. We continued on for a very long time. After 3 hours it was apparent that we were not on the Maleakehana ridge. Not to long after that we found ourself on the Ko'olau Summit. Check out the view of Laie from that far up. Think of how far we hiked to get from that place on the cost. We could also see the other side of the island and the pineapple fields. We went on and on trudging through mud and pushing through the overgrown ferns. Every so often we would stop and discuss what our options were. Neither of us was willing to go back and do what we had done. We only hoped the the future wasn't as long or hard (recognizing that we had to start thinking about daylight). We were 3+ hours in and dark came in about the same. We kept on the summit trail for quite a while till we finally found a sign that confirmed where we were.

We rejoiced and chose the for marked "Maleakahana" (the ridge we were supposed to be on). Muddy trails dug out by boars webbed out making the path ambiguous. We struggled to find the trail markers. Eventually (after filtering more water) we found the trail. As soon as we were sure we were on it the trail all but disappeared. We pushed and pushed through ferns that were chest high and higher, weaved together and stiff but brittle so as to break and scrape your arms and hands. At one point we doubted whether we were even on a trail we hadn't seen a marker in 10-15 so we turned back but sure enough we found the last one in the middle of some serious cabbage with little to no sign of the trail. So we returned to our ridge path and found a faded marker at the top of each slope. By this time it was 5:30, 6 and it was getting dark. In our minds we thought about the realities of sleeping up there on that ridge. But we forged on and then, as soon as our path had disappeared, it seemed to resume. Our legs ached after 6+ hours of hard hiking with little rest but even the resemblance of a path (be it in the dark) came as a sight for sore eyes.

We hiked down in the dimming light and then the dark. Seven hours after we started we found the turnoff to the falls. By this time it was too late to actually go to the falls but at least we found how to get there (funnily enough the actual hike to the falls is way easier than even the one we gave up on last time. Guided by a cellphone light and my GPS device (we never would have forged on without GPS) we made it to our stashed mopeds and were out of the wilderness by 8 oclock. What a day!

2006-01-14T00:28:00.000Z

swm seeks good music

"What type of music do you listen to?" Good question. Usually my answer is "I have a pretty eclectic taste," Which is true... sort of. What I've noticed lately is that there is music that I theoretically like, and own, but in all reality don't listen to. I seem to have cultivated a new found sense of urgency in what I listen to. Which is to say, I can no longer listen to music that I am not enjoying. Sometimes I can't enjoy it because it is no longer novel in any way. I sort of ruined a couple of groups that way. I think Rhapsody has something to do with it.

I KNOW there is more great music out there that I haven't found. I go on leads and try stuff out but it is really hit or miss. And for some reason I have no patience to listen to something that I don't LIKE.

So here is my actual list of music I have the patience to listen to. This usually means I can listen to their albums straight through and like it. There are other songs out there that I mix in but ja'know.

The Darkness
Modest Mouse
Coldplay
What Made Milwaukee Famous
Weezer
Badly Drawn Boy
The Rentals
Death Cab for Cutie
Red Hot Chili Peppers
The Strokes
Elliott Smith
Green Day
Spoon
Jarabe de Palo

Can you add to my list? What do you really like? My latest discoveries are "What Made Milwaukee Famous" who only have one album BUT it is awesome and I really like "Spoon" which I found yesterday. I know you guys know about other great stuff that you're hiding from me, you jerks! give it up.

2006-01-06T01:50:00.000Z

Hau'oli makahiki hou.

I got to the airport at 6:45 in the morning. My flight didn't leave till 8:40 but we got there early cause jimmi and heesoon's flight left earlier. I want to my airline to check in but was directed to a different (much longer) line. An hour later I was at the head of the line. By this time there were hundreds of people behind me. I was at the relative beginning of the line. The woman told me my "flight was cancelled" and other arrangements needed to be made. "The best I can do is fly you through L.A. getting to Honolulu at 11:58pm."
"What other choice do I have?" I asked. She silently worked and then handed me my ticket. She must have thought my question was rhetorical.
"Thank you!" she commanded, dismissing me.
"Do I get some sort of compensation?"
"Your voucher is right here. Thank you." I looked back at the hundreds of people waiting in the switchback lines on both sides of the airport walkway. I now had to check in at a different airline and connect to a third airline in LA... the worst airport to make a connection (LA is more like 7 different airports loosely affiliated with each other). I didn't have the heart to be a dick. I picked up my bag and peered in the sealed voucher envelope. The voucher was worth 25% off the purchase of another ticket with the airline that just cancelled my flight (up to $100 value). It was paramount to a slap in the face and a kick in the teeth. It didn't seem like the time or the place to piss and moan and make everyone else wait even longer so I wandered off, bewildered. I walked through the score of lines to get to the airport walkway. They began asking me questions (as if I knew any more than they did). They were like cattle heading to some gestapo slaughter. I told them what I knew and wandered off to a quiet corner with my luggage. I think the military have new traveling clothes. It's like camo pj's. Looks like a softer material and lighter in color. I watched some people for a while. I tried not to hurry anything. I had all the time in the world. Instead of waiting an hour and then flying the six hours directly to Honolulu, I now had to wait over 7 hours then fly the 2 plus hours to LA then wait a few more and fly the almost 6 hours to Honolulu. Hungry but no appetite, tired but nowhere to sleep. I walked around then headed to my new airline. I waited in their line for a long while then checked in. I bought a couple books and spent the next 20 hours reading, sleeping and wandering. I got to Hawaii a mere 13 or 14 hours later than I anticipated.

Life goes on. I read a good book (an entire good book). It's called "Freakonomics." Chas recommended it to me so I jumped on it when I saw it there. It is really good. I think it was an easy read and interesting. A tad repetitive perhaps (though maybe the authors didn't anticipate it being read in one day so they felt they would reiterate a few things). But regardless I have to recommend it. People should think about things more. The other book I bought was "Tipping Point" which I haven't yet read but also came recommended by a few friends.

Here's a question: what profile do I fit that would flag me for a shakedown every time I go through security. There was something that tipped them off the security people at every point during my travels. Maybe they could tell that I had bundles of time and didn't care. But they were looking for something. Is it my mullet? temp. vacation goatee? a saber.

It is great to be home. It was nice to visit home but it is great to be home. I like it up here. Here's another question: if people hate their life so much, why don't they think outside of the box and do something about it. I'm sick of people saying "Oh, I feel sorry for you." When I tell them where I live. I make a lot of sacrifices in my life to be where I am. But I measure my options and do what I feel is BEST for me and my situation. I don't humm and hah and wish I was somewhere else. I'm here. I live in an infested kava shack and ride a moped and live 40 minutes from civilization. But it is where I want to be. If you don't want to be in Washington then move. "Oh, poor you." I pitty you, for living a life unmotivated enough to pursue the things that would fulfill you.

I'm happy to be home.

2005-12-24T06:05:00.000Z

Mele Kalikimaka

Well the cat is officially out of the bag. I went home for Christmas. I know I said that I couldn’t but here I am. A couple months ago I realized I could get away so I bought some tickets and didn’t tell anyone at home. Tuesday I came home and Jimmi picked me up at the airport with Vern. I got to my parents house and the lights were off and the heat was off. It was freezing. We cranked the heat and set out looking for the boose (my pooch). We obviously didn’t look very hard because we didn’t find him till we were leaving for lunch and he was just in my parent’s studio like 20 yards from the house. Anyway I got to eat some chicken teriyaki (what I crave most in Hawaii) at ichiban.

Then we went to my brother’s practice to surprise him but only my sister-in-law was there. She brought me over to Ben’s new house so I could surprise him. I got to play with the kids a little and kick it so that was fun. I wasn’t sure what time my brother Dan got home from work so I went home and played some Halo and whatever else. When I was getting ready to jet over to Dan’s, Alison (Ben’s wife) called. She mentioned talking to Dan so I asked if she told him I was home. “Weeeelllll.” Oh geeze. So basically I can keep a secret for 2 months but some people can’t keep a secret for 2 hours. Some how I expected it though. “So Dan,” says Alison, “any surprises today?” Dan has no idea. “Anything you didn’t expect?” Tee-hee, I’m so sneaky, Alison thinks. “What?” Dan asks. “WELL OK SINCE YOU ASKED!!!... Chris is home for Christmas! But act surprised when you see him.” I wasn’t really mad at all. It could have been fun but, eh, I’ve learned to not be disappointed by fallout from gossips. I still love her.

Last night my parents got home from Mexico so I got to surprise them by being in their home, with the heat up, their car driven and their bed’s slept in. MERRY CHRISTMAS! I think they’re happy I’m home. It is nice to be home with no other obligations. I get to kick it with my siblings and friends and parents. It is so nice to have food in the fridge and best of all a washer and dryer, oh and a car. It really is a sweet gig. I did two loads of laundry and I’m thinking of just doing a load for fun… no clothes. JK. On the downside; like the daft fool I am I left my carry-ons in Kiffen’s car (in Honolulu). So I am missing basically everything I need but clothes (which turns out to be nothing you really need). My computer, camera, books, Christmas presents, passport, cell phone charger (that’s why my phone’s dead), deodorant, toothbrush and every other necessity and luxury one would need. Good think I have my parents like a distant umbilical cord to plug into when I’m away from home like when I was a little kid (See above).

One last note. I went to new Costco in my home town today. It was like a blast from the past. I saw so many people that I know. When I was first there I hear "hey, it's chris krey." And low and behold, IT'S DAVIS!! DAY-VIS. from highschool (see pictured). He is wearing a three piece suite. The very image I have of him in my mind from high school. Like the matrix "residual self image" of davis. Prototypical davis. That about made my day. Then Jimmi and I pick a random line at the checkout and who is "bagging?" None other than Carla Halazon, our high school friend's mom. As we talked about the coincidences Jimmi said, "man it would be the cherry on top if Gary (other kid from high school rumored to start working at Costco right out of highschool) was here." As soon as he said it I laughed, nay, gaffawed and started looking for Gary. I kid you not, he was checking right next to us. Man what a trip. It's gooooood to be home. slash depressing.

2005-12-16T00:35:00.000Z

Lei Ho Lang Loi ~ GUNG HEI FAT CHOI!!

For those of you who don't know, I graduated and now am employed by the most internationally diverse campus in the United states. BYU-Hawaii's student population is 45% international with an additional 15-20% being "american" Polynesian. Laie, Hawaii is an amazing microcosm of the world. I have learned a lot of things about a lot of populations on the earth. I have grown to appreciate, love and loath different parts of different cultures. One of the conclusions I have come to is that Asians are very, very different. Not bad but not even close to being me. My first roommate was from Hong Kong and since I didn't really have any friends when I got here, I spent some time getting to know the Cantonese people. I am pretty well resolved against ever attempting a relationship with a tried and true Asian (culturally). They are a riddle. A puzzle that I don't really feel like working on my entire life. I'd rather be with someone who I understand to a fulfilling degree and who understands me to some extent. Achieving any degree of intimate understanding with a Chinese person has proven... difficult in the years I've been here and friends with them.

THAT BEING SAID!... A funny thing happened to me yesterday. For the past few weeks this Chinese kid that I have known for years has been nagging me for housing in my house. In my house the roommate decides who their new roommate will be. So while I had a roommate who had an opening, I had no say in the process. And yet dude kept on calling me and asking me. I was like... "dude..." So finally he tells me that he found a room and didn't need it. And yet... he kept calling. And I kept not answering my phone. FYI if you ever want to get a hold of me and I'm not picking up my cell, just call me at work. There's no caller ID. So he got me a at work. He's really weird. I can't tell if it is weirdness cause he's Chinese or because he's a weird person... that is also Chinese. He says, "Christopher... I missed you." Um... did he not get a hold of me or did he actually miss me? Anyway, "what time are you leaving work?" Oh I'll be here till 5. "OK I have something to drop off to you." OK?

A couple hours later I am not in my office and I get a call on my cell. I screen it. When I get back to the office I find a decorated bag on my desk. A post it on the bag reads:

Christ,
Can you give me a call at xxx-xxxx when you receive this?
Thanks.
(The Chinese Kid)

Hmmmm. This is weird. Inside the bag is a Styrofoam container, a bag with two apples in it, a Snickers bar a piece of red origami paper and a note written on pink Japanese Hello Kitty stationary. It reads:

Hope you like the "Clues"
Anyway, I want to invite you to come out on Thursday, 6:00PM. Meet you in the Laie Shopping center, entrance of foodland.

Um... so now I'm really nervous. Are there gay Chinese people? How do you tell them apart from the not gay ones? They all seem effeminate to me. OK well I have to call this guy to let him know I don't swing that way. I don't do Chinese or Dudes, let alone a Chinese dude. When I called him he said that each item in the bag represents one letter and the letters spell out the name of the person who sent me the package. Fwooof!! So he was just a messenger. Huh. So there's some Chinese chick asking me to "come out?" (I think that means go out but to where she already is... or something). Chinese dude told me that the burger stands for H (hamburger). And that the origami paper stands for R (red). Two apples and a Snickers bar. SARAH right? I don't know. Unless Snickers is Candy and apples are fruit. I don't know. I am absolutely amused and curious by the proposal. Especially since I already have a resolve not to get involved with a Chinese chick (no fear of... whatever). I have to sing at the Graduation Banquet tonight so I can't go but I told Chinese dude and so I told him Friday. Can't wait.

2005-12-14T03:39:00.000Z

Hasty Post

My three days at the University of Hawaii Manoa were well spent. In retrospect it may have been wise to wait before I spent so much money on... anything. But I suspect that my time and money will be more scarce in the future so I can't really have any regrets. I didn't have any great epiphanies or great revelations at the conference but instead was able to understand the grant writing process in the context of knowledge I already have (writing research papers etc). So the seminar helped demystify the process for me. That's all I'll really put you through regarding that.

I started to write the events of my last weekend but was about to kill myself out of boredom just writing it so I decided to spare you. Needless to say I hung out, had some fun, slept and what have you'd.

There is a phenomenon. I can no longer remain silent on the affair. The singularity of which I speak is... the Beaver Trilogy. There is a movie called The Beaver Trilogy. It is amazing. This movie is a must see. It premiered at the Sundance film festival in 2001. My friend Hailey got her hands on a copy after Chas recommended it (Hailey's parents are from Beaver). The movie is not in distribution, not available in stores and not coming to a movie near you. Chas digitized the film and put it on a DVD and I made a few copies this weekend. NPR did a special on the film that you have to listen to: http://www.thisamericanlife.org/ra/226.ram The episode about the film is found at about 6-31 minutes on the one hour program. It is amazing. I will be showing private viewings of the movie wherever I go. I promise. It is amazing.

I went out with two girls, neither of which had any potential for future relationship/dating. Which do you think I actually like liked? The NiCMO or the hug? I guess I've learned that is there is power in respect and restraint and when a girl has none she is, in the end, powerless and undesirable. Anyway, it seems I'm setting a trend of starting things with people with whom I could have no future. I'm not sure it it's my lot or something I'm doing on purpose.

I sang at a Church fireside last night. Misty and I sang "Cantad Santos Angeles." Oh there's an interesting cat. Misty had a crush on me earlier this semester. Then she went on a trip for 4 or 5 days to Arizona to visit someone from her mission. There she met a guy she knew in the mish. In those few days they courted and got engaged. All he had to do was propose his love and she was his hook, line and sinker. Damn I guess I missed that boat. Just kidding, I'm good. Anyway I'm her home teacher so I had to tell her that she is an idiot. I think that's my duty right?

OK I just got a text that there's pizza so I gtg. I'll put up some pictures later.

2005-12-02T03:25:00.000Z

Friendshift

I guess my own kin don’t really know what I have planned. Oops. Don't mean to scare you (left: dad scared). So here's the sitch: My boss, Dr. Rob Wakefield, Director of Communications, is leaving BYU-Hawaii and taking a position at BYU as a professor of international communications. He leaves mid-December and his replacement has not been chosen yet. So in the mean time me and my associates will be filling in at the office for President and the University's needs. That is why I will not be going home for Christmas. Likewise I may be going to China in January (although the closer we get without a decision from the agency we're working with the less likely it looks to happen). Mom and Dad have a big show at the end of January so that wouldn't be a good time to visit anyway. So right now it looks like February may be the month when things are a little more chill and I'll make it home.

As for work, I told my boss at one point that I could commit to 2 years here. The concert choir is going on tour in the summer of 2007. That is why I may go to China in preparation for the choir trip. They will tour Ulaam Baatar Mongolia and Beijing and Xi'an China. I will be working on logistics along with my partner-in-crime Justin. After that I suspect I will still not quite be ready for grad school (where I plan on getting an MPA or the like and go into NGO management). At that point I will either join the Peace Corps or do a year of service in Latin America, get some on-ground experience. This job I have in Media & Public Relations will help me get into a grad program plus I can earn some money while I get experience. So far it's been a wash. Which is to say I have no positive in the bank. But I do have some things to show for it… sort of.

Next week I will be taking a seminar on Grant Writing. This should help me in my future with NGOs. It did cost me bank though; $600 which is bank to me. I'll let you know how it goes. It will be Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday all day in town at UH Manoa. I wonder what kind of people will be there. Anyway, at the end I will be a certified grant writer. I plan on using it too.

So I talked about Shirley setting me up right? Well, I find out she is a senior I think graduating this month! That is like in two weeks. So why do people try to set me up with someone who I'm guessing is leaving. If that ain't enough, today at lunch I saw a girl that seemed cool (I don’t know how to qualify that) and was pretty and didn’t seem lame like is often the case. We made eye contact a few times so I though maybe something was up. Later one of her friends who I sort of knew shouted to get my name. She said that her friend thought I was hot. Well geeze if that's not a queue I don’t know what is. I got up and met her and she seemed rad. Oh, and guess what. She's leaving the island forever in two weeks. Oh I'll still call her but… well you know. I'm so jaded by past experience with long distance relationships that I'd just about as soon do bamboo shoots. Shoots! Thanks fate for these two primo opportunities. Someone up there wants my life to stay simple. Anyway I'll let you know how it goes.

OH! I almost hung up the… blog without telling you about this one thing. I broke up with a friend this week. Thought it was impossible to break from a quasi-platonic relationship didn’t you? Well… It's not! After two years plus of friendship we decided that it would serve us both to stop being friends. She couldn't be my friend without falling in love with me (who couldn't? jk.) and I couldn’t live with her demonizing me when she got hurt cause I didn’t reciprocate. We had some really good times together. We were really chummy (I wanted to say we were really good friends but all things considered we were terrible friends). She claims that boys and girls cannot be friends without it becoming complicated. Is that true? I think if you had the right combo it could work. Kind of like how socialism theoretically should work. I just have never seen it work myself. Anyway it's kind of a moot point cause she moved to the mainland anyway. There's more to it but I think that's all that's really fair or interesting to put in this public forum. I'm not really that sad right now because I basically wrote that friendship off back when… she moved away and got all… lets just say things got complicated.

This is the gang on the Thanksgiving hike btw. The picture of me at Wailele is from a previous hike.

2005-11-30T03:21:00.000Z

Happy Thanksgiving.

How was your vacation? I hope things were as nice and relaxing as my things were. I probably should have posted a… post for each day I had off. But what can you do? I don't have an internet connection at home and I couldn't find my employee keycard. My wallet now consists of loose credit cards and IDs and money in my pocket. My wallet is still out of commission for offenses of smell. So I dipped my ID in my little Gideon's Bible then promptly didn't read it for the whole week (oops). I found it the following Sunday. Boring. Anyway.

Thanksgiving was pretty righteous. At 8:30am we were off on a morning hike to Wailele Falls (PCC falls). This is one of my favorite hikes of all time. It is RIGHT in our back yard, short and fun to do in like an hour (each way), and has a pretty good payoff (swimming hole) and is a pretty good judge of people (ie girls) without too much of an investment. It will quickly tell you if they are complainers or like to have fun or if they are fragile amongst other things. But we were all just friends heading up anyway. Anna, Chas, Sterling, Jefferson, Jessica, Littler Mortensen, Shums, Lacey, Whitney, myself and who else? I don’t remember. We had a fun hike as usual. I walked all the way back from the falls bare foot without too much trouble so my feet are getting pretty rough from always wearing Mexican sandals and stuff. That's a big accomplishment I think.

Thanksgiving "dinner" was 12:30 or so. I love getting free food. Here at BYU-Hawaii each church ward provides dinner for all the students. It's pretty hard for people here to get home for the long weekend. We also have 45% international students, most of which are on a work tuition program and only go home once in 4 years. So there are lots of people with no where else to go. Anyway, later I went home and lost consciousness. Then I woke up and ate all the leftovers that I had packed home. Pretty sure not much else happened.

Friday was a good day… if I'm remembering it right. I enjoyed a good sleep in then Chas and I took a Kayak out to the Hukilau. We set sail for Goat Island, but not before picking up a couple of stragglers. Nate and Rachel grabbed onto the back and we taxied them out there. Geeze! It makes such a difference with two bags of sand holding on. We capsized in the surf a few times but it was all good fun. I think Rachel was nervous or something but she would not shut up! SHUT UP! Seriously. Geeze. Nervous chatter has got to be on my Nixonesque blacklist. By the end I was in the water and the rest of the gang was in the kayak. I abandoned ship and we kicked it on Goats. Making it out to the goat island beach is like a Thanksgiving (weekend) tradition by now.

I also visited Hailey at her house later that night. Maybe this stuff happened on satuday… I can't remember. The moral is that I lost one of the days to a comatose "brainstem only" day as Ben would put it, and the other was pretty fun. Poor Hailey is bored to death stuck at home because she was in an accident. I brought her all my movies and a great book. We visited her in the hospital the week before. I wont tell you how she hyper-extended her knee and broke her leg but lets just say we're all glad it wasn't us… if you know what I mean. The "white tiger" hasn’t let me down yet.

Out of pure boredom and disappointment in the girls I've met on my own accord, I've submitted to the various populations of jackals and vipers that want to set me up with people. So far I haven’t been too impressed with their recommendations. I just got an invite from Shirley Parchman to have dinner at their house Sunday. I know it's an ambush but I told her "Frau Parchman, if you cook a delicious meal and waft the odor out the widow you'll find me floating through the air on a trail of delicious smell every time, set up or no." So I'll let you know how it goes. So far people have been either way off or choosing ineligible candidates.

2005-11-22T01:50:00.000Z

wtf?

The subtitle could be: I don’t trust monkeys, horses or people with personalities like monkeys or horses. This is a photo I took of a breadfruit tree in Laie. I like it because it is a beautiful tree in the yard of a local family. In Polynesia the breadfruit tree is known as "the giving tree." By sharing the wealth of the tree with your neighbors it is said to make the tree grow and be more fruitful. If you look at the left trunk of the tree there is a sign that says "PRIVATE PROPERTY: No Tresspassing." I thought this message lacking in aloha was an interesting choice to nail to the giving tree. People and horses are throwing me off this week. I'll tell you some other time about the monkeys.

When I was growing up I tried on not a few occasions my hand at writing a journal. I didn't think of myself as being a terribly negative person, perhaps aloof at times, but my journals always ended up becoming a forum for complaining and writing the sorted details of my childhood not-romances. They always ended up being trivialisimo. I seem to have that same piss-and-moan feeling today ("looks like someone has a case of the Mundays"). Every so often I reap the consequences of a two year stay in Nicaragua. I love spicy food now but man my little wormies don’t seem to appreciate it so much. So today I'm dealing with the repercussions of delicious Tim's Cascade Jalapeño Potato Chips. So that doesn’t brighten my outlook by any means. Here's the deal though, I have to get this off my chest:

Last Thursday or so I went to the grocery store to buy a couple of things. The store was just about to close so there were only 2 checkout clerks and not many people. One of the checkout clerks was one of my housemates (who for the duration shall remain nameless, and if you know him for gooshness sake don’t say anything or he'll "f-ing" kill me). I went to the shorter line which was a few stalls away from him. Well as I was checking out I realized he was angry and shouting the other clerk & bagger. The gist of his rantings was that someone else got a managerial position and he was passed up. It was aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawkward. I tried not to get involved and said goodbye to my housemate as I left.

A couple days later (on Saturday night) there is a knock at our bedroom door. Eric, Whitney and I were chillin', watching TV and eating dinner. I open the door and that same housemate from the grocery store was there. He says, "ohp, never mind. I didn't know you had a visitor." I said it was no big deal and asked him what was up but he said "No, no, nevermind" and closed the door. Whitney said that was weird because a couple minutes earlier he had just told her that we were in our room and he should have known she was over. Anyway like 20 seconds later he knocks and opens the door again and this time he says very forcefully, "I want to tell you guys that NO ONE is allowed to go in my room. NO ONE is allowed in my room except my roommate!" I asked him if someone went in there and he trailed off, "No! It wasn't you guys!..." and closed the door. That was really weird and inappropriate. He basically accused us of going in his room. The funny thing is he has lived in the house for a few months but I have lived in that house for two years and have never been in that room (except once to help a past housemate move). It just takes a lot of nerve to say that to us.

So the next day I noticed he came to our ward and was sitting in the back of the classroom after Sunday school with a scour on his face. I went up to him and asked him if someone had broken into his room. "Just leave me alone I don’t want to talk about it!" he said. I began to apologize and he stood up and walked away saying, "Just leave me alone." I just walked away and one of the bishopric members asked me who I was. I said I lived with him and who's roommate he was. Just as I did he went storming by "YOU KNOW WHAT CHRIS!?! FUCK YOU!!" and slammed the door open and wend dashing off. I went running after him (oops I almost wrote her because it sounds pretty gay) and tried apologizing and telling him I had no idea what the offense was but he just stormed off. It was really weird. Later that afternoon the only way we could tell he was home was by his door slamming every time he went to the bathroom or did something else. Who does that?

So my question is: wtf? Any suggestions? This is the first real drama in my house since I've lived there. I guess I should just avoid him but I don’t know what to expect from him. It was unprovoked in the first place. Usually my first instinct with people who break the social taboos (ie crazy people, monkey and horses) is to just have fun with it and break the same taboos right back at them. But I have to live with this guy. Yikes. Well I told his roommate to tell him that we supported him if he needs us and that I meant no offense. I hope this case of the crazies passes him up soon. Geeze anyone who reads this don’t go spreading it around. Its not to gossip. Just something interesting I'm dealing with.

OK so you want to know about horses? I saw this Nature show about wild horses. Those things are beasts! They seriously freak me out the like bite chunks out of each other and punch. I remember seeing the show and being like, "woah, that would be scary." OK so Eric, Whitney and I decide to go on a hike Saturday, Maleakahana Falls. Once we get back into the woods away and start up the hills we see these horses in the distance. I thought for a second that maybe the horses were loose and a little wild. I'm pretty sure there are no wild horses in the Ko'olaus but Eric told me that a pig that is set free turns wild and into a boar. OK so I was worried that they were a little wild. Later the trail led us right up to where the horses were chillin. In case you can't tell, this is a picture of me uneasy about walking past those horses. I made the girl go first but to no avail they still followed me. Those freaks. I was pretty freaked that they would bite chunks out of me. The scariest thing was that I had no plan of action if they attacked. All I could think of was to panic. And even then I didn’t know what form that would take. So they were chill I guess. They just wanted an apple or something.

OK so the difference between a hike in the summer and the same hike in the winter can be night and day. It had been raining so the hike was all muddy and made things much more difficult. I'm so tired of hiking that trail that I can't even talk about it too much. Lets just say the last mile or so was scrapy, scrapy, fern stems that tore up our legs. It was hard to believe that the path to the falls was that less-traveled so I though we were on the summit hike and missed the turn off. We turned back but to no avail. We didn’t quite go far enough and never even got to the falls. We got home seven hours after we left (this including a trip to the grocery store, waking up/picking up Whitney, and leaving my keys locked in my moped seat, going to the security office to try to jack it open [in the end I just pulled really hard on one side then I could reach in and pull them out], walking to the trailhead and back afterward). It was a good day though. It didn’t seem like the same hike I did last summer. Eric and I will not let that defeat rest. We will wear pants next time (uh… instead of shorts), and make the falls.

OK so that's why I don’t trust crazies, horses or monkeys. Well, I'll tell you about monkeys later.

2005-11-18T00:15:00.000Z

BRSS

Well since ben seems to be the only one who reads these gems I guess I'll just cater it to his whims. Frankly I'm not as lazy as you'd think… or as I'd probably like to be. Work wakes my lazy bones up and keeps me going till five or (usually) later. Then outside of that I try to cultivate some sort of social interaction. I am a member of a "moped gang," if that's at all possible. We scoot the town and terrorize the locals. There are actually like 13 of us all told or something. I'm not really sure. They did an article about us in the school newspaper (the Ke Alaka'i). Anyway, I do have my lazy days, but those are usually in conjunction with sick days, which isn’t the optimal laziness expenditure. Although while you all like to say I suck the energy out of ya'll, I seem to recall you were the one that snuck into a room in dan's half-built house to sleep on a cardboard box next to the newly installed heater. Aaaaah, those were the days. Avoiding doing work on dan's house while avoiding the man (but collecting the hours); "Maybe is? Chicken bob? Chicken randy?" Comrades always lookin for the man, maaaan.

So for the rest of you who may be confused by this post, notice at the bottom of the page where it says, "comments." Feel free to click on that link to read other people's (ben's) comments, then add your own comment. It's fun. It is sort of like communicating… sort of. actually is.

2005-11-16T02:43:00.000Z

Funeral Services Friday

After two and a half years of faithful service, I regret to inform you that my Dell Inspiron has passed away. In recent months its health had been declining. The battery would no longer charge and as the release button broke off, the computer had been plugged into life-support and outlet ridden. It recently suffered catastrophic CD/DVD drive failure and was in a lot of pain. Last night the ailing computer was booted up for the last time. The computer labored through the task and was unable to provide lighting for the LCD screen. Using a flashlight I was able to read the unlit screen. In the evening the computer was rebooted twice but could not find the strength to light the screen. The computer was then powered down for the last time. Moments later the power button brought no sign of life my old friend. The computer was drawing power erratically from the power cord (causing the green light to pulsate as if there were a massive electrical failure). The Dell laptop passed away peacefully in my arms last night at about 8:30pm HST. The computer is survived by the 100+ gig hard drive that carries most of its memories and is currently plugged into my work laptop. Funeral services will be this Friday. In lieu of flowers send money to me. In loving memory of the deceased, I will now recite the lyrics to "The Love I'm Searching for…" by The Rentals (I highly recommend it).

I don’t think
I'll find the love I want,
the love I'm searching for,
in this machine-oh.

The system's failed,
all the circuits blown,
and the message lost,
in this machine-oh.

Try all the codes
all possibilities
all combinations but
still nothing-oh

Call for backup
from my assistance but
no one seems to know
anything-oh

Disconnect.
shut the main reactor down,
and separate from this
technology-oh

I tried,
you know I tried,
I tried
Hard as it may be
I know you should be with me
Even though it seems
its all lies
I still believe
you should be with me

I don’t think
I'll find the love I want,
the love I'm searching for,
in this machine-oh.

I tried,
you know I tried,
I tried
Hard as it may be
I know you should be with me
Even though it seems
its all lies
I still believe
you should be with me

And even though it seems
its all lies
I still believe
you should be...

OK so speaking of "the love I'm searching for," can someone explain something to me? When I was sixteen years old I had a crush on a girl for like an entire year. Now it seems like I have a new crush (if I'm still allowed to call it that) like every week. What gives? I like a girl for a short spell then I get to know her and then think "eh." So am I more picky now or just worse at choosing them? It's getting to be ri-gash-dang-diculous. Can't figure this thing out. Personally I think my experience has only narrowed down the type of person I can be with. That probably accounts for it. Anyone with some more experience can solve this for me?

If you knew her you'd know why I was making this face.

2005-11-14T23:38:00.000Z

Smoked Salmon

I lied. The extremely loose term I used to describe my upcoming Saturday in my last blog will no longer stand. After my last uupdate I went to the BYU-Hawaii basketball game. It was a blowout against China (who btw sucked). Afterward there was a bonfire at pounders beach. Oh guess what? My moped headlight stopped working. Then two days later it just started working again. So that is good and scary. It was a driftwood bon fire, which I learned means "good" fire in French. Fancy that. After one fire was built we decided, "why not dos fuegos?" So me, carlos the mexican, his friend greg or whatever dug another whole and started building another fire. Soon we tired of two fuegos and decided to dig a trench between the two and connect the two fires with one long fire. Well along with all of the usual bonfire activities (clicking, beatnicking, guitar playing, singing and socializing), people started jumping over the long fire and doing fire-walkingesque dances. Before I got away from the game I discovered that it was my esteemed pleasure to pick up one of the Kiwi players and take him to the airport at 6:30am. At about 12:30 I decided I should probably jet. But not before someone called out "someone should do a cartwheel over the fire!" A few people decided they needed to practice before the stunt so I jumped up and went in head first. As with all my stunts, it was flawless (if you consider a lack of hilarity the only potential flaw). I straightway headed for the highway to go home. I called the people who had the van I needed to use the next day and they said, "we're just now leaving for WalMart. I'll call you when we get back." OK. I went to sleep like at 1am or later, I don’t remember. So at 4am I get a call. "Let's meet at 6:30 at the school." OK. I went to sleep. So at 6:20am I get a call. "I'm too tired. Come to my house and pick up the van." OK. I got up and looked for my wallet for too long, 10…then 15 minutes. I had my wallet last night… So I picked up the van and cruised over to Pounders before I went to TurtleBay. I walked onto the sand at 6:45 and the sun was just peaking over the ocean.

There was the long charred path of our fire. Inches away from the damp ashes was my wallet, open and ground with sand. Everything was there. Somewhat the worse for wear. My wallet smells like a mixture of fishy salty sand and potent campfire. My wallet smells like smoked salmon. So as I did a cartwheel over the fire my walled fell out of my pocket and into the sand.

This was my weekend wallet miracle. If I hadn't had to look for my wallet at 6:30am, it would have been lost to the beach goers of Hau'ula who are oft less than above jacking stuff for ice money. If I had put it in my left pocket which I had done before and switched for some reason it would have been burned (which is better than getting it jacked I guess). This is a receipt from my wallet after the night on the beach. I was glad to get it back and felt it was a blessing.

This wasn’t my first wallet miracle.

Almost exactly four years ago on the way back from Nicaragua I left my wallet on the airplane. I called the airline but nothing was found (surprise). A couple weeks later I got an envelope with the name and address written in box-letters. Inside were the contents of my wallet (minus the cash and the wallet itself). What I call considerate larsony. I think all the missionary paraphernalia guilted them into giving my stuff back. I had a card from seminary that said "Make Good Decisions." Only a big fat rat steels from a missionary on his last day.

A year or so later I got a job at interact communications (aka initech). I had just finished orientation and was heading up to Canada for a weekend trip. Did I say Canada? I meant Bellingham. Same diff. Anyway, somewhere near Everett the traffic was gridlocked (as usual) so I opened my door and was goofing around (I was riding shotgun in Troy's truck). We were heading up to celebrate Price's birthday. Later the traffic picked up and we continued for a couple hours. At about Mt. Vernon I had an epiphany: I didn’t have my wallet. I remembered having my wallet on that very road trip so it wasn't hard to imagine what happened. Well. It kept my friends from spending all night in bars since I lost my ID. That was nice. We got home late. Early the next morning I got in the car and started driving up to Everett. Around the trafficky place where I thought I opened my door I started watching the road and median. I saw something black (like the cover of my wallet). I pulled over and as soon as I opened the door there was the Seattle LDS Temple schedule I had in my wallet. I went back to the black thing and it was just a chunk of tire. I walked along the freeway for about a mile picking up one item after another. It was particularly important for me to find the things I had JUST received from my new employer during orientation. My employment was still probationary. I found the Key card on the highway and my license and everything else. There was one last piece of paper that had my Network login ID and passwords for my first day at work. The paper was about the size of half of a business card (hamburger cut). I walked up to a storm drain and there balancing in the wind between one of the grooves was that little piece of paper (try to imagine how much basura is on the freeway). It was a needle in a haystack. That was everything (minus the cash), so I ran back to the car and drove off. I didn’t feel like tempting fate since there was a cop at the last turnabout. I never found the black part of my wallet (well the plastic cover to a day-timer).

Last year I did lose my wallet on a bus. But before I got off the bus I felt like I was missing something but shrugged it off. Lesson learned.

Peace out fer now.

2005-11-12T04:22:00.000Z

Of Turtles and Telephones

His name is Lawrence. The turtle. We hung out for a while. In order to get into Haunama Bay you have to watch an instructional video. Its got some pretty catchy tunes like "Don't step on me, or take a pee." and "Don't feed me meat, that I don't eat." I need to get the soundtrack to that thing. Anyway. The point is. I don't want to sit through that tripe and think "how stupid do they think we are?" and then go into the water and watch retards do exactly what the video told us not to. After hanging out with Lawrence for a while this guy comes shouting after him and grabs his flipper and then his shell, practically punches him. Stupit Haole. No wonder they hate us. Anyway. It was beautiful. It wasnt like finding Nemo or anything. More like finding Lawrence. But I did find him.

This week is BYU-Hawaii's Asia-Pacific Basketball Tournament. This year teams are here from China, Philippines, Korea, Australia and New Zealand. It is my esteemed duty to help them get all their ducks in a row. We have like 10 different airport pickup times and housing was a mess. It's cool to see it come together though. I'll be glad when my phone doesn't ring all hours of the bloomin day and night.

When I was a little kid it was always a pleasure to pick up the phone. Like a little fun surprise. Who could it be? Remember? "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaylll get iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!!" On my mission I learned to hate the phone ring. Some chimado Salvadoranian on a power trip calling to see how your day went. Elder became a derogatory term. Elder! Puto! Enseñá! So now I've found that work doesn't enhance the phone answering experience. Nor does CallerID. Responsibility. When you're a kid no matter who calls its just interesting. Never a burden. How to to rekindle that lifestyle... or relationship to my phone at least.

My new water filter is in the mail. Last summer's mountain adventure only had one shortcoming: a limit on fluids. Unless we wanted to risk the mountain fever. So when it comes next week we'll be heading out. Perhaps next weekend in the hills. I think we'll hit up the hills of Hau'ula. There is a hike called "7 falls." It will probably be wet though. An adventure. So this is a pic from our last adventure. This is under a story or two ferns heading up the other side of the gulch. This trip helped my roomate eric and I appreciate the simple pleasure of walking on a path. When you have to struggle for every inch up a mountain side with no more Gaterade you start to wonder what made you start on that path in the first place. BUT WE DID IT!!! At the end we were absolutely out of water. Hence the filter. It was also so hard we had to take rest (months) to get the appetite for adventure back up. Time to go.

As idealistic as intend to be, I'm still a pretty avid consumer. I bought a webcam that is too much fun. It creates a more natural context for communication. On the phone you have to be saying something all the time or it is a worthless medium. It is cool to be able to just "hang out" with someone while you are surfing the web or doing stuff on the computer and to be able to read their expressions and then to be able to just bring something up randomly. It's pretty rad. Other products I'm consuming: I bought a camera as you can see from the first pic. Its got a nice underwater case. I am still on Netflix. Thats fun. They just released "The Muppet Show" season 1. Its pretty clever. I watched "Arrested Development" season 2 which is genius. Christmas will call for a "24" season 4 marathon. There are other DVDs I think I'll be purchasing soon. "Home Movies" seasons 1-3 fer sherr. I just got a Rhapsody account. That leads me towards the latest mp3 player craze. Though I am sincerely frightened by how it would change me socially to cut myself off from the world that way. I bought a moped. There's always something. How am I going to save at this rate?

Speaking of expenses. I signed up for a grant writing seminar. It is expensive but I think it will come in hand in the NGO field. Getting a job may be easier with the certification. Plus getting other people's money to do good things is better than not having any money to do the same. That's 3 days in December. Hopefully it is useful.

Did you know I'm learning to play the bass guitar? And I quote, "the bass is thankless. " Yeah that's right. Oh well, its fun to back up my roomate as he does face-melting guitar solos. Eric, Jeffrey and I formed a band: "Against All Odds" which is a direct quote from Jeffrey on a band-trip to foodland in reference to the only way we'd ever play a gig. WELL! There you have the proof. This is an artist's rendition of us playing the Aloha Center Ballroom. Artist: photographer. We have like 4 songs tops. But we are pretty much the best band ever. SLASH a musician and two other guys trying to keep up. Jealous? huh. guess not.

So tomorrow is a free day. Saturday. Well free until 3pm when I have to go back to work. I guess I'll go kick it on the beach. Though we should probably try out for students with guitars. This is me wrapping this thing up. Sorry it was so long I guess I had a lot of catching up to do. I still do. Any requests? Questions? I'll blog it up. Peace and love to my peeps. Delicious, delicious candy peeps. To the rest of you, "hey."