This is the last blog update I will be writing from Mali- I cannot believe that it's time to leave here already.  These past two years have flown by incredibly fast, and right now, I am in a state of denial that I am even leaving, and I am convinced that I will still be here for another year.

I left my village yesterday for the last time.  My emotions are in a state of limbo, and I feel as if I am walking around in a dream.  It hasn't sunk in yet, and I keep attributing my stress and huge workload here in Bamako to the fact that I have to go back to village in a few days- which couldn't be any more incorrect.  I hoping that I will be able to come to terms with my leaving, and that my emotions don't catch up on me while I am traveling.  It is quite bizarre to think about leaving- after all, I will only be in Mali for four more days, and then I will be leaving the only home I knew for two years.  It physically is too difficult to comprehend.  That is why this blog update is not really making any sense- because of the difficulty I am having putting my thoughts into words. 

After leaving Mali on Friday, September 7th, I will be traveling to Morocco, England, and then a tour of SouthEast Asia, which includes stops in India, Nepal, Myanmar, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Malaysia, and Hong Kong.  It should be wonderful and exhausting at the same time, but I am thrilled to have the opportunity to see all of these amazing places while I am young and able to.  My flight from Hong Kong to New York is 17.5 hours (!!!) and I arrive the evening of November 3rd.  Everyone, please mark your calendars!!

That is all for now.  I wanted to thank everyone for all of your love, support, and warm words of appreciation for these past two years.  It has been an incredible experience- both incredible in a positive and negative aspect- and a time in my life that I will never forget and will always treasure.  I am looking forward to returning to the United States so much, and enjoying the little luxuries that America has to offer- including a comfortable bed, a cool breeze, and cold milk.  Being in Mali has taught me so much on how to appreciate the small things, and I intend to! 

Again, thanks for all of your concern and well wishes!  Hope the beginning of fall is going well for everyone.  I will hopefully see many of you SOON!   

Haven't posted a blog update in a long time.  Things have been really busy and I am getting ready to wind on down.  Here's some of the things that I have been up to:

I got back a few weeks ago from an absolutely wonderful cruise with my parents through the Mediterranean.  It was so fabulous and exactly what I needed to re-energize myself to come back to Mali.  I also spent a few days with my very good friend, James, in Barcelona- and that was just the icing on the already deliciously wonderful cake-of-a-vacation.  It was definitely something I will never forget. 

I am back in Mali and eagerly and frantically planning and preparing to leave.  I have less than two months to go and the time is approaching very quickly!  I am going to be traveling quite extensively before I return, and I am very excited to be going to several countries in southeast Asia, in addition to Morocco and London.  It should be wonderful, and an excellent way to get the traveling bug out of my system so I can settle down and work all of the bills off back in the United States. 

Unfortunately, I don't have much time to embellish much more on this update.  I just wanted to let you all know I was safe and well, and soon I won't be needing to put anymore blog updates up!  Hope you are all doing well and enjoying your summers!  Will be in touch soon!

Additions to Read What I Have Read list

My Sister's Keeper - Jodi Piccoult - an excellent read, but very, VERY sad.  I highly recommend it with several tissues at hand. 

This is a journal entry that I wrote last week, and I thought it was appropriate to share.  

I have been thinking of legacy a lot recently. The British Prime Minister Tony Blair is going to be stepping down in the next few weeks, so the people on the radio keep going on and on about legacy.  Now I absolutely know that my work here is nowhere near the scale of Blair, but is still has me thinking. 

My COS date is in September, so I will have been in my village for 21 months- 1 year and 9 months.  That’s pretty long to be living in one spot working to make a difference.  I think it warrants talk of a legacy.  And the optimist in me just needs to fight tooth and nail to not allow the complete and utter pessimist of Lindsay to come out.  I talked to Namory, Fode, and Aiche about this, and they were quick to mention the SPA project for lights in the maternity as a major factor of my legacy- well that and working to get the blasted maternity opened in the first place.  But I honestly think that the maternity would eventually have been opened- I mean, it was built without any outside assistance.  And I just feel pompous crediting myself with opening it.  Is that just my humble nature though?  I think I am going to mention opening the maternity and getting lights for it on my DOS (Description of Service) though.  I have to, otherwise I don’t really have anything else to mention.  My soakpit project was a bust (I did get two made at the maternity though).  And the moringa trees, provided they don’t get eaten by any animals might be okay.  The other day, I discovered that 4 were eaten, and I got really upset, I think because I am putting my legacy in the hands (or should I say branches) of those trees.  So if they fail, what sustainable thing have I done here?  I mean, no one listens to a word I say, and they just laugh when I get frustrated.  Sometimes I am convinced they just want to say they know a white person and get gifts from her.  If that is the case, where the hell is the development work we are supposed to be doing?  What the crap is Peace Corps doing here? 

I have heard volunteers cynically say that the only reason we are here is for the cultural exchange.  So we can go back to our big comfortable houses with Big Macs, Mercedes’ and the Gap, and explain what life is like in Mali.  So instead of people watching a documentary or Hollywood film about Africa, they get a real life person telling the sensational tale, instead of an actor.  Then they can be shocked and bewildered for about 10 minutes, only to go back to their Grey Goose cocktails or Starbucks coffee, and forget about it.  Then they are preached to by a famous pop star or politician for “forgetting about Africa.”  But what are they supposed to do really?  Even if they did decide to go to Africa themselves and try to do what they can to ‘help,’ what can they do? 

So where exactly do I fall into this intensely depressing equation?  I don’t know.  Am I doing more harm than good?  What did I spend two years doing?  Is maybe convincing 1 or 2 women to go on birth control, and 1 or 2 women to begin sleeping under a mosquito net better than nothing?  Well obviously, but it still seems ridiculously hard to quantify the work I have done here.  Granted, quantity isn’t as important as quality, as the old saying goes- but is that the case in the big, scary problem that is Africa?  I don’t really know- but I am far more depressed now than when I began this journal entry…

Read what I have read:

Confession of an Ugly Stepsister – Gregory Maguire

Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting by in America – Barbara Ehrenreich

A must read- a woman decides to live in three cities in America on medium wage jobs, to see if she can survive.  It’s an eye opening book, and shows America on an economic scale, and just how out of balance it is.    

I witnesses one of the most vicious beatings in my service this week.  It was horrible. 

Now beatings, almost always inflicted from adult to a child, are something that I have become a little bit lax too.  I, myself, have struck a child more times than I want to admit- and that's probably because I have lost count.  Even a missionary friend of mine, who is one of the most compassionate, moral Christians I've ever met, has admitted to hitting kids here.  It's not something I am proud of, but I do know where to draw the line. 

One thing about Malians that I haven't really gone into yet is that there is so little parental control among the children here.  The parents are all so busy, and honestly they have too many children to keep track of all day long.  So the kids are free to roam, play, run errands for other adults, etc.  There can be some days when parents don't see their kids until night, and vice versa.  Usually, people hang around their concessions, and since my village is so small, everyone is always within shouting distance. 

Therefore, because children don't really have their parents to discipline them during the day, well, let's just say that they can test your patience.  They push your buttons- and wait until you lose your temper.  For example, outside my house, kids love to play soccer.  Whatever.  I have no problem with that.  But when the ball gets kicked high in the air and comes crashing down onto my loud tin roof while I am reading, listening to music, or worse, sleeping...well let's just say, it gets a little annoying.  I call out to the kids to go somewhere else: once, twice, five times.  I then go outside to take their ball away.  After I do that, I return feeling accomplished, and then just because they know it annoys me, and that I am less inclined to hit them, plop plop plop, they begin to throw pebbles and rocks onto my roof.  I am about ready to go through the roof myself, and I wonder- why are they still doing this?  And the logical question that comes to any Westerner's mind: where are their parents??  Answers: because they can, and their parents are nowhere to be found.  It's the same case as when I tell kids to not come into my gwa, the straw roof outside my door.  They respond to this by taking baby steps closer, closer, wating for me to lose it, so they can run away laughing.  Ugh, just thinking about it makes my patience wear thin.  So long story short, I have become far more liberal to a smack every now and then.

What happened this week, was much worse.  For Malian parents, who don't have the luxury of self-help books, fancy child psychiatrists on The Today Show, or frankly a shining example to follow set from their own parents, the only type of discipline they resort to (when they can actually find their children) is a full-on beating.  I mean, at least that grants short-term compliance and obediance.  Right??

Now, I have had many psychological and sociological inner dialogues with myself, about where Malians' stresses go?  When they bury their third child in a row, and can't externally grieve for more than 2 days, where does that pain go?  When they can't feed their family of 9 because the harvest hasn't come in yet, where does that stress go?  Malians are such a good-natured people- always wanting to dance, sit, chat, or share their food with you.  One certainly wouldn't expect this when living in the 3rd poorest country in the world.  I mean, they almost seem lethargic, or worse, apathetic to life's difficulties.  So maybe they take their frustrations out on their children?  I don't know- it's just a conjecture.  Or maybe, I'm just too in touch with my emotions to understand such a different culture than mine. 

Regardless with the beating this week, I got really upset at what I saw.  It was between a father and his 13 year-old daughter, who was in the wrong.  But it was just so intense and violent, that I couldn't justify a single thing about it.  I mean, my village knows that I don't agree with beatings- I have threatened to leave and return to Bamako on a number of occasions because I have witnessed too many.  Well this time, I lost my cool, burst into tears, and starting ranting in English about what a country of monsters Mali is, and that's why they are under-developed, in addition to several four letter words.  This was made much worse, because my Malian friend from Bamako, who studies English, was there, and understood it all.  Ooops.  But I was furious about it- and I mean, they didn't need to do it there.  I have been making so many concessions to Malians and their culture, I thought the least they could do was respect this part of me?  That I don't agree with it, and I'll never get them to change their minds, but just don't do it in front of me?  I honestly don't know it that will ever happen.  But I'm leaving soon, so hopefully I won't have to see it again.

I don't really know where I was going with this entry, but I wrote it right after the beating happened, so I think I just wanted to put together my thoughts about it.  Also, and to demonstrate that things aren't always rosy and happy here that I might lead you all to believe with this blog.  That's all.  I hope you are all doing well!  I just got word that I will be home in October sometime.  It's coming up soon!

It has been more than two months since the last update.  I have been very busy the past several weeks.  My wonderful friend, Christina, COSed in the middle of March and she's doing very well in America re-adjusting.  After saying goodbye to her, I joined the rest of the volunteers in my region for a rock climbing / St. Patrick's Day party.  It was really fun, but let's just say that the whole rock climbing thing didn't go so well.  I think I am one of those people who are destined to remain on the solid ground. 

The first weeks of April, I went back for some more training at Tubani So, except this time, it was with every other volunteer in Mali and our working counterparts.  My homologue (the midwife in my village), participated in a training for midwives run by Peace Corps.  It felt really good to see a bright, beautiful woman from my village learn even more about her job and become more empowered.  All of the midwives were really cute too- it was like a summer camp for them.  They sang songs, learned chants- the works.  It was also wonderful to see all of my volunteer friends again- it had been too long for most of them.

After the matrone training, I went back to my village, and my lovely friend, Sarah, came with me.  We had a very packed few days together including a trip to the market and a big wedding in my village (which was complete with Sarah and I dancing by ourselves to "I Like to Move It, Move It," immediately followed by a presentation on soakpits).  We couldn't believe that we were talking about soakpits AT A WEDDING, but we thought we would take advantage of the audience while we had it.  We also constructed two prototype soakpits at my maternity, which are supposed to get people excited to do their own.  But alas, people haven't caught onto soakpit fever as quickly as I hoped.  I am determined though...

I then went up to Sarah's city, Niono, in the Segou region on the way to Mauritania.  A bunch of us went to help Sarah paint some health murals on her clinic's walls.  Despite the intense heat and the artisticially challenged yours truly, the murals turned out awesome- we did one on the food groups, like in my maternity, except way better, and one on family planning.  That was to encourage people to use birth control and space their children- ie: don't have a child every year.  Some people in Mali do that, simply because they don't know about contraceptives or they feel Islam is against it.  It's a huge problem though, and a leading factor to child malnutrition and worse, infant mortality.  Anyway, I have loaded pictures of the murals and my trip to Niono online.

I got back to my village just in time for my 24th birthday and presidential elections in Mali.  My birthday was delightful, but HOT!  I have never been that uncomfortable on my birthday before- it made me miss late Aprils in New Jersey!  My village killed a chicked for me, and Nakon cooked my favorite peanut sauce to go with my rice.  I had even brought back a tiny French cake with me from Bamako, and concluded a very low key day with me singing "Happy Birthday" to me by myself, while several Malians watched me in complete confusion.  It was hilarious, and far less stressful than last year's in Burkina Faso.  Even so, I think I'm going to have a big party next year to make up for two very unorthodox birthdays.

The 29th of April was presidential elections in Mali, and I got the chance to be an international observer.  I saw how a village of an almost 100% illiteracy rate have about half of the population cast their votes.  It was fascinating.  I took many pictures documenting the voting process in between the constant questioning of why I wasn't voting.  Apparently, village loyalty and community unity should override citizenship requirements.  In my villagers' eyes, I am a member of Tegue Coro, therefore I should be able to vote.  I wish life was as simple as that sometimes. 

The last week of April also marked the start of the big, annual fishing festival that I took extensive pictures of last year.  It was a good thing too, because this year I went in the water and fished everyday, so I wasn't able to take any pictures.  It was really fun, and once again, I dove into the muddy water filled with cow poop and lilypads with relief to be in somewhat cool water, as an escape from the heat.  To me, it was like water in the Caribbean.  I did catch a fair amount of fish as well, enough to earn the admiration of my villagers- no simple feat, I assure you.

This week, a very good friend in my village, Mama, got married to a man in another village.  It was very eye-opening, because, since I had close ties to Mama, I had the opportunity to take part in all of the customs and rituals that families and friends go through when someone gets married.  I also got to see just how miserable the women really are.  Just imagine this- a woman has absolutely no say in who she would like to be her husband, her father or older brother / relative chooses for her.  The would-be husband goes to the girl's father, and offers his dowry price.  Then, if her finance lives in another place, she has to uproot everything she knows and owns and go to this new village, leaving behind her family, friends, and all familiarities.  She is forced into a marriage, where more often than not, she doesn't love the man, and he only sees her as someone who will cook his food, clean his clothes, and bear his children.  She is treated as a second-class citizen- bought and sold almost like cattle.  She has to ask for permission to do anything, doesn't have any money to her name, has no control over her body, and has to obey her husband as if he is her father.  And what's worse, is that most of the time, I see young girls getting married- 13, 14, 15 year olds.  Beginning this life of servitude, that is expected of every women- with lesser degrees in cities, where there is more wealth and educated women.  It's heartbwrenching to see.  So when I was with Mama, as she was preparing to go off to her husband for the first time, she was hysterical.  And I couldn't hold back tears, because my heart was breaking for her.  It makes me truly contemplate the differences between us women in America, who look forward to her wedding day from childhood, with absolute bliss, and Malian women, view the day in dread and misery.  It is so sad. 

On that uplifting note, I thought I would finish with books I have read.  I hope you are all doing well- I miss you all!!  Will be in touch soon!

Read what I have read

Books 1, 2, 3, 5- Stephanie Plum- Janet Evanovich- I was a bit reluctant to get into these, cause there was so much hype from several of you at home.  But I did get into them, and I am so glad I did!  They provide a welcome relief from the constant difficulties of living in an impoverished country.

Berlin Noir- triology of March Violets, The Pale Criminal, & A German Requiem - Philip Kerr - a triology about a private investigator in 1930's Nazi Germany.  Not one of my favorites, but interesting to read about that time period not in a historical or political context. 

**Just as I did with Persian literature, I also read a triology of African stories

Sundiata, An Epic of Old Mali - D. T. Niane - the story of Sundiata Keita, the first king of the Malian empire.  Told by a griot in grand style, it is really interesting, and most of the story takes place in my area of Mali (for example, Kaba, where Sundiata forms his empire, is Kangaba, where I go all the time)

Emma's War - Deborah Scroggins - this is about a British aid worker who marries a commander of a rebel group in Sudan, during the civil war in the 1980s and 1990s.  This is often hard to read, and I think in all the books that I have read, I have never despised a "protagonist" so much.  Published in 2003, the author leads the reader to think that as the book draws to a close, the situation in Sudan will improve with the signing of a peace treaty- completely unknowning of the genocide in Darfur that will break out within months, and that these people are still suffering.

A Sunday at the Pool in Kigali - Gil Courtemanche - a love story set during the Rwandan genocide.  Also difficult to read, and not as good as I thought it would be.  I can't quite put my finger on why though.

Nine Hills to Nambokaha - Sarah Erdman - written by a Peace Corps volunteer in Cote d'Ivoire.  I actually couldn't finsh this, because I tend to regard reading as a form of escape, and this was too real for me.  When I don't want to think about my problems, I certainly don't want to read about them.  I will try to read again when I am home.  But a great book for you all to see what my life is like here- it's very similar.

Wicked - Gregory Maguire - very interesting.  I liked it a lot, but very depressing.  It felt kind of choppy to me too- would be willing to discuss it with someone.