So, it's kind of a shitty story...

HERE IN MALI! Got in on Sunday afternoon, exhausted after discussing my expectations of my service here in Mali to the max with my group in Philadelphia. Basically, we got into training for 8 hours straight, with everyone on 2 hours of sleep and no foods in our tummies, and then had our last night on the town (i.e., dinner, because we were all so tired), before I had a luxurious Lush-filled bath for the last time in 2 years!

Got to see snow on Saturday for the last time in awhile! It was a really nice, winter-wonder-filled way to go, minus the fact that I was dressed for literally 100 degree weather (every day here in the cold season). But, coming into the airport was a disorienting experience. This next part is gonna sound intense, but I think it's just apart of a personal journey to better recognizing myself within any context, which is an overwhelmingly spiritual and dignifying experience that I feel blessed to have :-).

Basically, being Kenyan in Peace Corps Mali is an interesting combination. Everything I expected to see (i.e., no running water, no electricity, washing your hands before eating, things being a little dustier, things being in a different language a large amount of the time) was not what surprised me. What surprised me coming in to the training site from the airport was the responses of other volunteers. This is not because they were strange, mean, or anything out of the ordinary from what my father remarked upon noticing the first time he arrived in Nairobi to do his post-doctorate: different drainage systems, less infrastructure, womyn with baskets of different things on their heads, soccer games as social focal points, cities that look less extensive than DC, etc. What surprised me, rather, was how this, for me, was something I've never questioned, and that, for many other people here with me right now, it is. It makes me feel a little...dissociated from everyone else. I'm constantly pouring over how I can learn Bambara (the language I'll be speaking at my service site I get to on January 7 if I get through training, fingers crossed :-) ) in order to feel more like I do in Kenya (since one of the main languages there is English, so I can always feel at home). So I can feel more like I'm not here on some sort of cultural ride that gives me the upper hand of expecting some differences already without hesitation along with this sense that Nairobi's more comfortable because people know me there and love me already, regardless of how I present myself in these first, incredibly important introductions I feel I'm about to make with homestay families and continuously with other trainees and volunteers. I feel like other volunteers are adapting to the rest of it that I just don't think of things to "adapt" to. I mean, minus changing up some essential routines (i.e., bathroom activities, washing my underwear, which I SUCK at, paha, etc.), I'm focusing on how to make my identity show through in this new gender role, this new culture. How to cover my knees but still speak loudly and effervescently. How to joke and joke similarly to how I usually do in English. How to carry that sarcasm! It's just strange to know that other people might do this at different times than me. It feels a little isolating. It means that, so far, the few tears I've had have been because I thought I might have eaten meat (I didn't, but that's spiritually a problem for me if it happens), or because I feel as though I might not honour my mother's memory with grace in everything I relay to womyn in the future site I do service in through my health education post. I've been engaging with really wonderful people about their identities. I just want mine to feel like it fits in Bambara, like in Kenya. It feels different, being from "Africa," I guess. I hope that all makes sense.

BUT THIS IS NOT THE REASON FOR THE NAME OF THIS POST!! The REASON, though, for the post name, is that I HAVE ALREADY SHIT MYSELF! (Excuse my language, populace). First full day here, it was probably a combination of crappy Chinese food, loads of coffee, and a lot of hot sauce at my first meal here, but I had a really serious mix of bad diarrhea and dizziness (definitely from the States) when in anything but a lieing-down position, and I SHAT MYSELF. Apparently, it happens to eeeeeeverybody at least once! If yo' laughin', that's 'cause you hidin' somethin' too, is what I learned, paha. In Peace Corps, we talk about poop. All the time. It's a good thing. No, really--it is.

Along with the identity struggles and learning how to WASH MY UNDERWEAR (see where that comes in, now?), the culture here is beautifully different. People are genuinely so much nicer. Greetings are big here, so people constantly acknowledge each other (literally, as opposed to trying not to say hello to someone when you cross their path, which is considered incredibly rude here), and joking is big, especially with people with your same cultural background if you're Malian (we're given Malian names here, so we are basically given an ethnicity that we're allowed to incessently joke with to ease tension and enjoy ourselves). On toooop of all that, I found out, I don't have to take vacation off when people visit me here in Mali!!! Which means, a. PLEASE VISIT IF YOU WANTED TO!! (lookin' at YOU, Sofia, Rai, Christina, and Zarela), and b. COME FOR AS LONG AS YOU EFFING WANT. 2-3 weeks would be FINE. And, this also means, I MIGHT COME HOME AT SOME POINT! For, like, 2 weeks. It depends. I might also just spend more time in Kenya. But now, I've got about 7 weeks (weekends don't count as time taken off here :-) ) of vaca, and I wanna spend 3 weeks of it with fam. We'll see.

No Timbouctou, apparently, because of security advisaries, which SUCKS, but otherwise, I'm beginning to love this. Henna on my hands for the upcoming Tabaske (a religious holiday), and ready to learn some mo' Bambara!

Ate logo, populace, from Mali :-).