Pelleni, home sweet home

So that last post wasn’t the end of my journey to site… it’s just the part that all of us shared as a group. Once I got to Sevaré I, along with 7 other Dogon PCTs, had to take another car for an hour into Bandiagara, which is our banking town. Sevaré is our ‘regional capital,’ so this is where I will go in the case of an emergency, if I ever get sick and need a place to crash, when I have grant writing or other computer-necessitating projects, or (definitely more likely and more frequently) to party with all of my fellow volunteers… which we’ve already begun. Mopti Caw seem to be notorious for getting a little rowdy, so I guess they placed me well. Currently two of the volunteers in this area are under threat of being administratively separated for riding motorcycles (not allowed) and/or public drunkenness (also technically not allowed, but it seems like this one isn’t enforced except under the most extreme situations). Bandiagara is going to be rowdy as well—this is one of the most touristy sites in Mali because of the draw of Dogon country, all of the hiking, etc. As such, there are a few really nice and reasonably priced hotels (one with a swimming pool!) and restaurants, as well as a couple of internet cafés. I imagine this will be my oasis when I’m starting to go crazy from being en brousse all of the time.

I spent a night in Bandiagara at a nice hotel with the other volunteers, and the next day they let us all loose to go to our individual sites! We were each paired up with our counterparts and our “site buddies” – current volunteers who live/work in the region, who came to site for a day or two with us to show us the ropes. I met my counterpart, Hassim Kansayi, who is a gardener in Pelleni, a few days prior for training. He is wonderful and enthusiastic and funny as hell. I went with him and a girl named Ashley, a PCV who lives nearby in a town called Kalibombo (villages have the best names here) with her husband Joe. We crammed into a bush taxi bus with about 20 other people, and with multiple rice sacks, buckets, bags and goats on the roof. These buses (really just gutted out vans) are so janky, they’re basically nothing but the bare minimum. Shocks/brake pads worn down, no power steering, no upholstery, body beat up. Everyone was staring at me, wondering what the hell a Tubab was doing going out into the bush. They’re used to tourists out there, but not ones who get off the beaten path. As such, volunteers are a bit of a novelty and generally people are really interested to know what we’re doing—they’re very welcoming. The ride was beautiful. The road on the 40 km route to my town, Pelleni, is mostly unpaved. But part of it was constructed with flat stones, which gives it a kind of old Europe feel. The area I’m living in is a series of rolling hills and valleys. The climate is definitely semi-arid, it feels to me like a mix of Arizona savannah and Moab, Utah. There are rocks everywhere, and virtually no topsoil, which makes for a beautiful landscape and incredible stone architecture, albeit sometimes impossible gardening. After about an hour in the bus, we got dropped off in what looked like the middle of nowhere… oh wait, it is the middle of nowhere. There isn’t a road that goes directly to my site, so I have to walk 3 km from the road to get to my village of 450 people. Since it’s the rainy season, I had to forge through a river on the way, dangling my bags around my neck and back, trying to pull my skirt up out of the water. The town is pretty (although admittedly not as pretty as I expected), nestled beneath a set of low rocky hills in a valley, surrounded (right now) by millet fields and tall towering trees. All of the fences are built of stone, and the huts are made of mud.

My house is great for the most part. I have my own concession, blocked off by a bamboo-looking gate and stone wall, with a space large enough to have a small garden and a chicken coop, and a cat to catch the mice (plans brewing already). There is a brouse ladder (a log with notches etched in it for steps) leading to the roof, where I will probably spend most nights staring at the immense sky—so many stars out there!—and sleeping in whatever breeze there is. I have a 2-room mud hut with 3 windows, and a ceiling that is perfect for sleeping on top of but not underneath. The rainy season has wreaked havoc on my poor roof, and each time the rains come I end up having to set up buckets and tarps to catch the flood of water and mud that falls down from above. We’re working on getting that fixed. I have a palace of a nyegen (poop hole), it is made from stone and raised up, with spiral stairs leading to the entrance, because they can’t break through the bed rock easily and dig down. The former PCV I’m replacing, Ryan Shaw (or Bara Yele, here), was kind enough to leave behind a lot of supplies for me, including some great brousse furniture, a stove and gas tank, pots/pans/dishes, and (my favorite) three morenga trees he planted in the corner of my concession.

I spent most of my time at site either walking/hiking around to check out the area, playing with the village kids, or in the field cultivating millet with everyone—which is their main livelihood—or, finally, taking the time to sit alone in my concession and breathe. This was the first time that I’ve really been able to just relax and let go of everything, imagining myself living and thriving in this place for the next two years of my life, and smiling. It’s going to be a good two years.

But at the same time, there are some things related to this seclusion and poverty that I didn't even think about, and that I'm realizing will undoubtedly have a big effect on my life. One big part of this is my physical health-- there is virtually NOTHING to eat out there. They eat the same shit 3 times a day out there, which is a millet-based mush called toh, with a slimy green sauce made from Baobab leaves. I can't stomach the sauce. I'm going to have to do a lot of my own cooking. The problem with this is that the closest market to me is 7 km away in a town called Kendie (which is BEAUTIFUL), and only once a week. Aside from this, there are only 2 boutiques in my village to buy supplies from, and they have no food other than crackers/cookies, tiny little onions, and canned tomato sauce, and occasionally peanuts/rice. Veggies don't grow well out there because it’s so dry, so I'm going to have to work hard at supplying myself with good food year round. I’m going to buy a solar oven, and hopefully build a dehydrator, so I can become more self-sufficient.

After a few days at site, I headed back into Bandiagara, solo this time, to meet back up with my fellow PCTs, commiserate/bitch/rejoice over beers and cocktails, and head back to Bamako to finish training. We went to Sevaré together and met up at the stage house, where I finally got to meet all of the current PCVs. We have a fun group. They made us a delicious dinner and threw us a big party, we danced all night long to 90s American hip hop and stumbled home. Great night.

Well that’s all I can muster for this time, I’ll update you all after this last stretch of homestay. As always, I send you much love! Thanks SO much to all of you who have been sending me letters and packages, it makes me feel so loved!