When there is no time

Things in Mali don't happen on time.

In fact, things barely happen at all. If you get someone to show up on time, or at all, consider it a success. In America, time is money... In Mali, time means nothing.

People show up hours late, and then take their time greeting literally every person at a meeting. Or people don't show up at all, and they don't call. Here, if you show up 15 minutes late you're crazy because you showed up so early.

The other thing is, life as a PCV is lonely.

My recruiter warned me of this when I was applying...but I brushed it off as something that I could handle easily.

I underestimated the loneliness factor in Peace Corps.

I'm out here, in the middle of nowhere, or Timbuktu (not that we can go there, it's too dangerous)...the only American in my village. The only white person. With no language skills and a bunch of crap I brought from America.

And you learn how to be independent.

Not only are you fighting to showcase your American independence with your Malian host family that wants to do everything for you...from pulling your well water to carrying your bucket for you across the compound to washing your clothes by hand...it's a struggle to assert your independence on a daily basis.

But at the same time, most of us are more independent than we've ever been in our lives.

Like...living this far away from home. Like...living in a third world country. Like...living in one of the poorest countries on the planet. Like...being here with no one you ever knew. Having to form friendships and relationships to save your life, to make your community trust you. When those relationships YOU form are all you have as keys to success.

Where you learn that your support groups are a journal, a nice walk or some peace and quiet to yourself. Where you find yourself completely lost on a daily basis with no language skills to find your way. But you find a way.

There's a motto here, in Bambara, that those who ask are never lost.

When you are alone so much with your own thoughts, because you're the only one who understands you...and you're the only one in your vicinity who can understand you...it's just you and you. Here in Mali. Just me.

You learn to rely on your self awareness through journals. And you learn to trust your instincts better than you ever have before. Because we have limited phone credit, there are only so many minutes we can call people from home for support. And it's not like there's Internet or text messaging to America to send a message here It's not like we can just drive to our friends' or family's house to talk things out. It's just us.

You also learn a lot about what you stand for.

And how you operate under stress.

And where your attitude naturally goes when things don't go as planned.

In Mali, family goes a long way. My ideas of family have shifted dramatically.

My ideas of gender roles, development, poverty, family, America, patriotism, Barack Obama, independence, support, writing, traveling, friends, sisters, electricity, luxuries, rich and poor, white and black...have all transformed because of this experience.

There are times when I feel insecure.

Really insecure. And I'm not usually an insecure person. But, Mali is teaching me a lot about how to deal with insecurities. Usually, I'm finding that dancing or writing are the tricks to dealing with feeling insecure. A good yala yala never hurt either.

I have learned to live for five months without the luxuries, as we call them here, but really, in America, they are everyday parts of life. Without them, one would be considered extremely poor...which isn't as bad as I may have imagined. It's actually...beautiful to get a glimpse into the other world.

Because I believe in understanding through direct experience.

I have learned to live without electricity for five months. Without running water, showers, toilets, paved roads, safe and comfortable transportation, without TV, movies, air conditioning, fans, cars, nice clothes, real shoes, variety in my diet, nutritional diet, clean water, language skills, formal surroundings, toilet paper, paper towels, napkins, garbage pickup, city government that works, women in positions of power, insulated buildings, cleanliness, carpet, tiles, light, people who know me inside and out, or other common sense things such as hand washing and teeth brushing...these things are few and far between here in Mali.

A skinny kid with no shoes on and a ripped up shirt came up to me with a bucket the other day, looked at me with big, open eyes, and said he was hungry.

I've watched kids pick up onions sitting on the ground after a chicken pooped on it and eat it.

(Most of) The buildings here are not buildings, but shacks, thrown together with whatever the cheapest and most available product is they could find. And of course the 90% of babies I see...have chunks missing from their hair because of malnutrition or sometimes, ringworm.

There's trash everywhere. Piles of it. In the streets, people's yards, areas of business, places of eating. Even in Bamako. The capital cities are supposed to be somehow cleaner, or nicer. Not in Mali. It still looks like a trash yard with tin or thatch roof. That's Bamako for you.

There's trash. There are these big concrete ditches built on both sides of the road - both for nyegen and shit runoff and for the random trash people cover the streets with. You often see little kids without shoes or proper clothes playing in the concrete trash ditches. God knows what kind of health risk those nyegen/trash piles pose.

Here, people recycle, not because it's "cool" or environmentally friendly, but because they're so poor that it just makes sense.

Here, people eat TO all day and night, not because they think it's good for them, but because they're hungry and real food, nutritious food, is too expensive for the average Malian. Here, it is considered a sign of wealth to have a few extra pounds on you.

Because that means you've had enough to eat. And that's a sign of wealth here in Mali. That you can eat enough.

I still can't comprehend how poor this country is. And it seems like education is one of the strongest ways to change that...but I don't know.

It's pretty shitty that women have such a secondhand, second class, second best, second always... role here. If the women were empowered economically, it would go a long way toward reducing Mali's poverty problem.

And the education system here itself...it's pretty depressing.

The kids grow up learning all these different languages. They're taught French formally in school, but with Bambara that's never written down. I met an English teacher here who couldn't even write Bambara. An ENGLISH teacher! A TEACHER! Who couldn't write his country's native language.When three fourths of the country can't even read or write its own native language...and can't speak the national language...what do you do??

I don't find Mali depressing. I do find some things...surprising. Its culture makes up for all the things I would normally find sad about such a poor, poor place. The culture here is beautiful. It's togetherness, it's oneness, it's all done with a sense of brotherhood and sisterhood and a sense of humor. I think that's why Mali isn't wartorn like a lot of other African or poverty-stricken countries. These are the nicest people out there.

I've taken away that all I can do as a Peace Corps voluntneer is try to do no harm, to think things through as much as possible, start slow, simple and small, build relationships, integrate myself into my community, learn the language, abide by (most) cultural norms and focus on sustainable change.

In other words, keep a positive attitude in the face of extreme adversity, persevere...and try my best.

Change never happens overnight. Especially in a place like Mali, where time is NOT money. Where people don't even know what time it is, only whether it's morning, the heat of the day, afternoon or night. Time here, moves sloooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww.

A banna.