A year of Sexy

DISCLAIMER: This blog states only the opinions of a Peace Corps volunteer and in no way states the opinions of the Peace Corps Organization or the US gov.

Exactly one year ago, July 10th, 2009, I arrived here in Mali. It’s hard to believe I’ve been here a year already.

I think back to that wide-eyed kid getting off the plane. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Any volunteers (now my friends) will tell you that I was way more excited than I should have been on the plane. After two planes and an 8-hour lay-over I was shouting while everyone else was either sleeping or sad and crying.

I can still remember getting off the plane and smelling…Africa. It really does have a particular smell. It’s hard to describe, but as soon as I smelled it my mind was taken back to Dakar.

That was one reason for my over-excitement. I thought I was going back to Dakar. A huge, somewhat modern city, on the coast, with an uber-rich host family (electricity, TV, good food, etc).

Sadly, I was mistaken. Mali has very little in common with Dakar.

I also badly misunderstood how long two years actually is. I thought I was going to Africa for a vacation.

Had I actually known I what I was getting myself into, and actually done my research beforehand, I might not have been so excited.

A year in though, things are looking up. I have no idea how to sum up an entire year, but here is my best attempt.

It started with that plane ride. Then it moved on to what amounted to summer camp. Lots of sessions wedged in between trying to get to know all of my fellow volunteers, playing sports, and learning to poop in a hole.

Then came homestay. For me that was Banankoro with 4 other Education volunteers. It went by in a blur of Bambara lessons and stomach problems. My favorite memory from homestay is an embarrassing one.

This one night, I must’ve woken up about five times to go sprinting out to my hole in the ground. In the morning, I woke up early to go running with my friend Kat. My stomach was killing me. I thought I could hold it in. Sadly I was incorrect. And shit literally hit the fan. And my boxers. And my mat. I once again went sprinting out to the hole. Kat was standing there, puzzled to see me go running by. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that morning.

I also got two new names at homestay. Amadu Coulibaly, the donkey and bean-eater (in Malian tradition Coulibalys get to joke with everyone), and somehow I became Sexy Jeremy (thanks V).

Summer camp came to an end, and reality quickly set in. Travel during rainy season became nearly impossible and I was essentially trapped at site for two consecutive 6-week stints at site.

I had my first trip to a Malian doctor, and learned exactly what a boil is. I greeted, greeted, and then greeted some more. I ate my weight in rice, and eventually my stomach got used to it.  I learned about the wonders of Malian transport. Getting stuck in the mud, averaging ten miles an hour, sitting on a water jug, if you are lucky enough to get a seat at all.

As the school year began, I taught the alphabet. I learned that Malian kids snap and scream to get the teachers’ attention. I then became their favorite teacher by default; because I don’t hit them.

I attempted to gain my spot on the soccer field, and finally found it as a goalie.

Back at our next training a few of us ran a half-marathon through the streets of Bamako. Running through the market as it opened is still something I will never forget.

After about a million sessions and a Sean Paul concert complete with chair-throwing, I headed to Dogon Country for an amazing hike and took in the most breathtaking views I have ever seen.

Soon, I fell in love with my cats. Nala continues to have babies. Simba is still a little baby in my arms.

I then went back to Senegal for an amazing week with a softball tournament, hitting the town, and seeing my old host family. It ended with a few relaxing days at a hotel on the Atlantic Ocean.

Back at site I had to deal with the terrible reminder of just how fragile life is as my 22-year-old friend Abdoulaye died in a tragic moto accident.

I got yelled at as I attempted to ref our school’s soccer games and travelled through lakes to neighboring towns to play goalie for Dialafara.

I pretended to teach art and music as teachers took unscheduled vacation. Singing the Star-Spangled Banner and watching the kids trying to draw me are a couple of great moments from the school year. Another has to be the unexpected effort and subsequent tantrum I threw in an attempt to organize the students’ efforts to write cards in response to Jill’s class’ amazing gifts.

I celebrated San Patrick’s Day, Passover, and just recently the 4th of July on a river in Manantali.

I loved every minute of watching the African-hosted World Cup in Africa. I screamed in ecstasy as Landon Donovan sent the US into the next round.

I learned to laugh at myself as I attempted to dance to Malian music.

It has been quite a year. The relationships I have built here also mean the world to me. I have been fortunate enough to forge incredible friendships with both Malians and Americans.

Sadly, a few of my friends, have recently decided to go home. It is a terrible reminder when that happens that I, too, could go home at any time if I chose to. I quickly push those thoughts aside and focus on all that is still to come here.

People coming and going is unfortunately a part of life. Congrats to all my friends in the group before me who have now completed two years of service and will soon be on their way home.

That does mean as well that a new group is now in the country and ready to get started. It is the circle of life if you will. Soon new volunteers will be placed in my region.

So, a new year begins. It begins full of hope and promise. It should be a good one, if the last one is any indication. What an incredible roller-coaster ride of a year it has been.

Unfortunately for you my plans changed, so I have no pictures. However, my plans changed for a very good reason which will soon be explained.

Take care!