Back to the Beginning

I’ve been pretty bad about getting blog posts up lately, but there is a reason for this. I’m currently in Tubaniso again for “In Service Training”, or IST, and am once again together with the rest of Team America (80 people) and all of their counterparts. This is a pretty joyful occasion, as one could imagine, but means I’m pretty busy catching up with people I haven’t seen in months. Additionally, with this many people trying to use a regular router you aren’t able to be get on the internet most of the time. However, right now I’m sick as a dog so it seems like a pretty good time to spend some time on the computer.

A lot has happened since my last post. I’ve made new friends, met a load of other ex-pats reconnected with friends from PST but two events dwarf all of these. 1.) I have a new host brother! My host mother Annee had a healthy baby boy on the 3rd of December. I know all of you want to see pictures, but the little man was borne while I was making my way to Bamako. Consequently, I have yet to see him. My host dad, who came in a week later tells me the baby is doing fine and I can’t wait to see him. Jennifer, the PCV I replaced, named the baby Jan and tells me he is a cute little guy.

2.) The day that my homologue left to join me a T-so his horse died. Not only was the horse by far the most valued of the my families live stock, but there certain level of affection shown towards the horse (something very rare here in Mali). Essai is understandably sad not only for the reasons that a person in the States would be for losing a pet, but because this is a serious threat to his livelihood. With no horse these is no way for him to take goods into San to sell. If crops were still in the field they would have to be transported into town by hand, instead of wagon. This would add an insane amount of time to how long it takes to get a crop turned out.

Being back at Tubaniso with everyone brings up some complicated feeling. It doesn’t seem like anything has happen. I’ve spent three month at site and it seems like nothing has changed. However, the realities of the situation make one look at the event differently. Realistically this may be the last time I see quite a few of my fellow volunteers before our service ends. This is the last of the big gathering until we have the “close of service” conference in 2012. For the next few days it feels like I’m back at the beginning. Back in T-So where I live with other Americans, speaking English on a regular basis and hope to get tacos for dinner. In actuality this is the end of the beginning; the last time I’ll be at T-So, the last time I’ll see some of the staff that is retiring, the last time I hear people complain about the condition of the negens and the last time I damn the internet here.

Card

Dear Friends and Family,

You might be asking yourself “Why has Jim written a separate Christmas card?” The answer is that I’m living across the ocean from the rest of my family. Currently my place of residence is a small farming village by the name of Zana in Mali, a country is Sub Saharan West Africa. I’m working here with the Peace Corps as a “environment extension agent”, but really my job is help the people of my village help themselves in whatever way I can. Whether by working with the women’s cooperative to improve basic business practices, or encourage the planting of veggies in gardens I lend my assistance to my new friends.

The people of Mali are easily the most friendly people I’ve met in my entire life. When I arrived here I did not speak any Bambara (the major native language here), spoke very little French (and did so badly) and had spent the last four years thinking and writing about politics and history. How was I going to help these people exactly? I had no clue, but regardless of all of that I was welcomed into a community, guided though two months of language and technical training by an amazing family and am to the point where I do pretty good here by myself. The idea of someone coming into the States with no English and being taken in and loved by a community as much as I have been can’t be fathomed by myself.

When I came here I read that Mali was the third poorest country in the world and the poverty can be seen everywhere (the bottom 25 countries are suppose to be a toss up because GDP becomes less and less meaningful with an increase in subsistence farming). From the garbage that scatters the streets as the result of an absence of landfills, to the lack of running water and electricity to most of the country and the condition of the school system poverty‘s presence is widely felt. However, the people here are happy and make the most of the situation. All of this has made me realize more sharply than ever how lucky we are to be from the United States. No matter how poor one is, any child can get an education up to the 12^th grade if they so choose. In Mali it is rare someone makes it past the mandatory test to make it out of the 6^th grade. Additionally, a shocking number of girls that are pulled out of school to do cooking and other chores. Women here spend at least 6 hours a day pounding grain to be used in the feeding the family. We can just buy pre milled flour for a fraction of what one makes in an hour working minimum wage.

Despite all of the things that our great nation has going for it, and all the problems that my new home has, when my friend’s here ask me I tell them though America and Mali are very different I like them both. People here stick together, help each other out and are deeply involved in their village even though they make on average a little over a buck a day. America has a lot going for it, but I think a lot of people have failed to realize it.

I do not want to get too preachy so I’ll move on. I am very happy here, have discovered a lot about myself and even more about the world around me. Joining the Peace Corps is the best decision I think I’ve ever made, and am looking forward to spending two years here. I hope everything is going well back home with everyone. I sincerely wish all of you a merry holiday season, and would like to thank you for the friendship you have given to myself and my family.

Sincerely,

Jim Cave

Holidays Old and New

Certain times of the years are associated with family. These last few weeks have marked a huge milestone in my time spent here in Mali largely because we’ve entered into one of those time periods, the holiday season. The coming of Thanksgivings has really marked the transformation of San Kaw into a family. Sitting around a table composed of doors, eating native fowl along with the standards of stuffing and mashed potatoes and sharing what we are thankful for solidified my group of new friends into something more. For the next two years these guys are my family. However, another holiday has passed since my last blog post that I spent with my village family.

Tabaski is the largest holiday in the Islamic world and it was evident in the celebration put on in my village. The celebration lasts four day and it’s customs are sort of a fusion of Thanksgivings and Halloween, though the origin is very different. Everyone buys meat or slaughters an animal (in my village mostly goats) and eats a lot of a rare delicacy, meat. I also saw a lot of people making pasta from scratch which is a huge change from toh. Everyone is always eager to share their food, and this day was no different. I decided to walk around a greet people, I left with a plan. I was going to spend half the day in Sobala and the other half in other parts of town. Due to peoples hospitality the plan feel about and I didn’t even get to greet all my friends in Sobala before the sun feel. The first day of the four was filled the consumption of a jaw dropping amount of meat and at least two liters of tea. In addition to all of this, kids wander the streets and trick or treat sans costume. As far as days in site go, Tabaski was pretty awesome. My host family is Christian so they did not host a very large event, but they still took part in the fun that occurred. My host dad wandered around and had tea with many of his Muslim friends, and my uncle bought some meat.

Besides Tabaski I’ve spent a lot of time in the fields harvesting millet. Millet, the main ingredient in toh, is the staple crop for the region. All of the harvesting is done by had with the aim of a small knife and takes a little while to master. My speed has increased quite a bit since I started, but I’m still a lot slower than the guys that have been doing this all their lives. After harvesting gets done I expect things to slow down quite a bit, but I’m leaving for Bamako for training next week so I’m sure if I’ll see the change for a while.

Tea Time

Halloween has come and past, November 1st marked the four months time spent here in Mali. This effectively means that I’ve spent a semester here and I’m still learning new things about this place everyday. Whether discovering a new trail that leads to a family that I didn’t know about, or how to properly harvest millet I’m starting to get the hang of this place.

This week marked the beginning of millet harvest, which is the largest and last crop coming out of the field in my village. People are noticeably more busy, but people still take the time to sit down and drink tea.

It would be pretty tough for someone who hasn’t been here to understand the importance of tea in the culture of Mali. Drinking tea is the national past time here, and people take it pretty seriously. Tea brewing ability is a skill that is prized and I am not the only volunteer that has attempted to improve there tea prowess. You might be thinking, “But Jim all you do to make tea is heat up water and put in the tea bag.” However, tea is way more than that here. First, heating up water is not nearly as simple as you would thinking. You have to light some coals and get them rolling. One technique, especially popular with the kids, is to grab the grill/coal holder thing and swing it around very fast with your arm fully extended. If you can’t picture that, YouTube Pete Townsend’s famous windmill strum on the guitar, remove the guitar/pick and replace them with a bucket filled with hot coals and you’ll get the idea. Second, all of the tea is loose leave (if it comes in a tea bag and you say “this is tea” they will look at you weird and tell you it is “Lipton”, not tea). Said tea is shoved into a small tea pot then placed along with the water onto the coals. Next you wait, from what I’ve noticed you pretty much just wing the length of time. Once the tea has brewed long enough you pour it into a second tea pot and add a shot glass or so of sugar to the tea (Malians love sugar). The second tea pot goes on the coals to heat for a while. Then the true skill is displayed. To dissolve the sugar the tea make pours the tea into a shot glass, the further apart the tea pot and the shot glass are from each other the better. You repeat this action a lot and serve the tea in a shot glass. That is the first round. You repeat all of these steps three times. I’m pretty sure the entire population of Mali is addicted to tea.

I'd have pictures, but the internet cafe lady is streaming some tunes and hogging all the bandwidth.

That’s a lot of nuts!

I’m in San and just finished regional language IST. Three teachers from the Peace Corps came here for a week to help us get a better handle on our language, and it certainly helped. Spending an entire week with my friends here has been real refreshing, but I can’t wait to get back to site.

Last week was spent picking peanuts. Every day my routine was wake up, ride my bike and then harvest. Wagon after of wagon of peanut plants appeared at the house and my family and I spent hour after hour harvesting these nasty treats. I don’t know how many of you have had fresh peanuts, but it is a entirely different experience from the dry roasted nuts we get in the states. I never thought a peanut could be juicy, but it certainly can.

Site is going well and I’m making quite a few friends. In fact, I’ve earned myself a nick name. Every night a few people come over to chat, drink tea and hang out with Esai, the family and myself. The evening starts with me being exited to chat and practice Bambara. My enthusiasm is usually matched and a conversation that I can engage in begins. However, eventually people begin to talk amongst themselves, I can’t understand what they say and I begin the nightly ritual of watching stars. Watching stars is something that just isn’t done here, and having tried and failed to engaged my new friends in my fresh passion for the celestial giants I sit in quiet contemplation. One day my concentration in one such moment was broken by my friend Madu “Adama, Adama, you are now Nos.” At first I was very confused, am I still Adama (yes), is Nos a common nickname for Adama (no) then why the hell are you guys going to call me Nos. It is then that they explained that Nos is short for Nostradamus the French astrologist. I haven’t been Nostradamus’s biggest fan for some time, but my having a nick name among some of my better friends is pretty neat. Me being named after an astronomer should give you a fair indication as to just how time time I spend watching stars.

Megapost (last three posts I did not get to post)

Where No Cars Go!

I have officially moved into the site that I’ll live in for the next two years, and let me tell it will be an interesting few years. Though the life flows at a fairly slow pace there are things that certainly ad spice to everyday. For instance, the “road” that I go on to get to site. When I leave San to head out to my village I ride my bike about 25 k on the “gidron” or the main paved road. Since the country is very flat the ride of the gidron is pleasant and rather easy. However, immediately upon leaving site I have 8k on a bush road. This pathway is filled with miniature ravines, deepest and darkest mud and most of all water. The rainy season in Mali is like nothing I never saw in Montana. All of a sudden the rain come “Sanji be na” and stuff starts to get real. The pressure drops, the wind begins to blow with all the fury of a lion, a torrent of water begins to fall from the sky and for the first time in my the roll of thunder. It is very common hear to have hear thunder, and have the sound continue to rumble for a good minute (seriously). Additionally, it rains so hard, often lasts for hours, that the road gets absolutely destroyed. The end result is me fording though a feet and a half of water with my bike in tow. On the way I take a wrong turn that cost me 2 k, met a hunter with shotgun in tow and had a run in a horde of biting ants.

After I make my way down the road to my village I meet the first of four neighborhoods/villages. It is a much more spread out than the rest of village, it’s very relaxing. It’s the home of a few of my good friends, and I usually stop to talk of them for about half an hour. Tea is drunk and I leave for my house.

Once I get “into town” I go right to my compound and am greeted by my host brothers and sister. They all like me and are awesome, except for the little girl that loathes me. Jennifer, the girl I replaced, was endless spectacular and loved by everyone. Her number one fan was my little host sister Christine, Tinni or poopy for short. My coming is associated with the departure of her favorite person in the world. She was not aware of this till she saw me, asked who I was, asked if I was with Jennifer, changed facial expressions to one of incredible loss and began crying. Since them she crys and runs away every time she sees me.

My house is pretty awesome and so are my cats. Caya and her two kittens are freaking awesome and kill a legion of bugs a day.

My host dad and his wife are amazing, soft spoken and make me feel at home. Everything is going well and I like my site very much.

Birds, Bikes and Baseball Sized spiders

I’ve been living in Zana for a month now and the time has flown by. My role is still the same as it has been. Every day I pick one of the four neighborhoods in my town and explore it more deeply. Two of the neighborhoods are build like mazes with branches I’ve yet to explore. The other two are a few K a way and a lot more spread out.

I’ve taken to riding by bike a few K every day into the bush, and it really lifts my spirits every day. There are quite a few trails to explore and despite the utter lack of wildlife there are quite a number of very interesting birds. Far more interesting than the birds to more of you is the largest spider I’ve ever seen. This fellow lives in my house on the ceiling and as far as I have seen only eats other spiders (Pictures will come). He is about the size of a baseball, and I’ve made peace with him.

Anyways I’m doing well

Death (Yup this is going to be a fun post)

So I’ve been living at site for a while now and a few things have begun to change. Rainy season is going to end soon and I catch myself thinking wit every rain “will this be the last”. The thought of getting no precipitation, everything turning brown and leaves falling is a somewhat depressing one. Especially since I am spending a good deal of my time in the bush. However, things have to change and I got a few big reminders of that this week.

Every day my morning routine in the same. I wake up, work out, take a bucket bath and meet my family for breakfast. Thursday seemed pretty normal as I ate my porridge chatting with my homologue about peanuts. Suddenly Esai’s face brightens up as he recalls he has news to tell me. The chief of one of the neighborhoods had DIED this morning! My immediate thought has sorrow, I know the acting chief quite well and often tell him he beans. I thought I had lost a friend and a partner, but Esai seemed to read my mind and told me that it was not the chief I was thinking of. You see when a chief gets old they kind of just stop doing most of their duties, this guy was 90 so his son (my friend) had become the de facto chief. Needing some time to process this and to finish my book I took the morning and enjoyed the company of my cat and a easy read.

Before cooking lunch I decided to take a stroll, do some greeting and maybe have myself some tea. Fate had other plans. Before I explain the gravity of the next event I have to relay a little bit of prior information. Baobob trees are the coolest thing in Mali, in my opinion there is no arguing this point. Sure they have some great blues musicians and the cloths are pretty fantastic but these trees are something else. First the look of the trees if almost magical and the large ones are incredibly old. Baobob look like normal trees, more or less, for the first century of their lives. Then they start to put on the pounds and get fat/amazing. Additionally, the fruit they bear is delicious, their leaves are a essential sauce ingredient and are said to have magic powers. Yup they are awesome. Directly outside my compound was a very old one of these sages that had African Cranes nesting in it during the summer. When volunteers the first thing I relay is information of this tree. When I first arrived the tree was my point of reference for where home was, it was the most well known land mark in town and it provided a lot of shade.

Upon leaving my compounds I found my friend the tree dead, lying on the ground, limbs scattered in every direction for yards. I was shocked somehow this giant had fallen (age and a big wind storm had taken their toll) and I was unaware of it. People were looting the corpse of dead birds, eggs and leaves. Punk kids jumping on the old sages back shouting at the top of their lungs. I go grab my camera take a few pictures of the scene and retire to my house. Upon further contemplation I feel a lot better about the dead tree. If I had the chance of becoming a jungle gym upon my death I’d take it. After all what else are you doing.

It might sound odd to hear but the funeral for the chief was a ruckus affair. A lot of people breaking it down, a lot of drums, people running about town carrying flags screaming. Everyone that I know in town was there and everyone was having a ball. When someone has lived a long life they celebrate the live the person lived here. Mourning is done, but though livelihood. Jokes and stories about the person were shared, and many blessings given. That was a hell of a day.

Good news|Bad News

Good News- I'm O.K. Site is going great and I'm meeting a lot of great people that are going to be a huge part of my work in the next two years. I've gotten the lay of the land somewhat and enjoy myself daily. Long bike rides into the African bush and nights pondering the clearest sky you've ever seen are not to bad ones to say the least.

Bad News- These internet cafes suck and I can't get my laptop to get the internet/they won't let me put my zip drive into one of their computers. As a result for two weeks in the a row the long blog posts I type out at the San house (complete with pictures) cannot be posted. I'll work to remedy the situation more next week. Right now I only have time to deal with emails, but you should have three blog posts next soon!

Jim Cave

One hell of a week

I’m now a volunteer and that can come with some stark realizations.



(Homestay brother Adama)

1.) While many of my friends are starting school, planning wedding or clocking in; I am across the world attempting to help people that I don’t understand a lot of the time.

2.) Many of the friendships I had cultivated in PST may begin to wilt from months of not seeing each other.

3.) San kow is my family now, and I really only know one of them very well (initial impressions of everyone lean positively.

4.) Last but not least, in the unending debate Beatles vs. Stones my stone falls on the side of the Stones. For a long time I have leaned towards the Beatles, but that was a cautious stance. Though both bands are without question great the Mick and the boys (old men now) just have something else. My mentor/advisor/person I’m replacing at site, Jennifer, told me while we were dancing that “Kelly knows, she just knows” (in respect to Kelly Clarkson). Though Jennifer and my opinion are different in regards to Miss. Clarkson, her phrase really describes my feeling towards the Stones. When one is lying under a mosquito net in a mud hut listening to tunes to fall asleep it becomes clear that the Stone just know.

5.) I’m happy I‘m here



The last week has been a blur of good times. Training ended and we got a private concert from world class musician Vieux Farka Toure (look him up he’s very good). The concert was probably the highlight of the week, but we also got sworn in by the US Ambassador to Mali. After a lot of swimming at the American club came a lot of celebration around Bamako. Two days later I arrived at San, and tomorrow I’m officially moving into my village.

It might be a while before the next blog post as I’m venturing into the bush, but it should come in a few weeks.

P.S. Pictures are a pain to post on this thing, but I'll do my best

PST ABANA

It’s been a while since my last post, but I’ll try to do a few while I’m here at Tubani so (yes it’s two words) this time. There are now 80 of us trying to use the same crappy household modem so I can’t promise anything.

There has been a lot that has happened in the last few weeks and I’ll try to break it all down in somewhat chronological order. As of last episode the protagonist of this story, me, had just found out the village he is going to stay at for the next two years. Since that time I have spent a week at site, finished the first section of my language training and am now finishing training before I swear in. To put it shortly, homestay is done. Or as one would say in Bambara, Stag abana!

Firstly, I’ll give my impression of site. I’m in a small village outside of San in the Segou region. I know that means absolutely nothing to most of you, so I’ll give you a brief description. If I were to give you a topographical map of San, then I’d hand you a blank sheet of paper. The place is incredibly flat and is no where near as lush as Niamana. I’ve traded cliffs and an pretty amazing variety of vegetation for brush, a lot of cool trees and a astounding amount of horses (there are hardly any horses in the rest of Mali, but for some reason they are everywhere in San). When you put this together with the relatively plentiful amount of booze due to the large Christian population, the brothels and the large herds of cattle it feels like I live in the wild wild west of Mali.

The Stag house in San is awesome. Many PCV think that it is the best PCV house in Mali, and I’m pretty impressed myself. We have the largest library in Peace Corps Mali and a cistern that functions as a sort of “cold” tub. To top it all off the other trainees moving into the house are a really good group.

My village is about 25K away from San (an easy bike ride) and is pretty intimate. A giant Bao Bao tree is right outside my compound and the tree is home to around twenty giant cranes. Immediately out of my front door is a mammoth place for me to put a garden. Two other solid additions to the location are ducks and pigs. I’m the third volunteer at my site and the girl (http://jenniferinmali.blogspot.com/ ) I’m replacing is doing a third year in Bamako with my buddy Fletcher (info below).

I might make another post on homestay, but I’ll sum it up briefly. It’s the fasting month here, and ironically that means that I ate like a freaking king. Once night falls people go nuts and consume a great, great deal of food very quickly. I did not fast, but enjoy the feasting anyways. I’ve passed my language test, and discounting disaster should swear in on Friday.

PST Friends of note (I have many friends here, but a few warrant a mention. We are pretty much family at this point)

Anderson- By partner in time at all times here in Mali. I think we may make an odd pair, but we are a pair none that less. Back in Montana if I had the labor statistics on number of people doing a given profession opera singer would be a laughably small number. Anderson is an opera singer and is now for some reason in Africa hanging out with me a lot. Whether kicking it at the local hostel, climbing cliffs or watching an episode of Life at 1AM in the library after a night at the Trash Pile; Anderson has been by my side. During homestay we were living at rival dugu tiki houses. However, I think Anderson’s heavenly voice, and my charming good looks may have brought peace to the two families.

Fletcher- Born in Paris, went to boarding school and college in Portland. Awesome. Nuff said

Ryan- Those that know me well may know that I tend to have a lot of friends named Ryan. It should come as no surprise then that I have a good friend named Ryan here in Mali, but Ryan is different. It’s a girl! She is awesome and a fellow Poli Theory enthusiast.

Yet again the only time I can do this is at around 1am, so I’m not going to bother editing it very much.

Hanging with the Lions of Niamana

I’m leaving pretty early in the morning so this is going to be a shot post, but I’ll do my best to recount a pretty important last few weeks.

I’ve continued to live with the Diarras, and have learned a lot from them. My host mother is an amazing women that has helped me more than I can possibly describe. She will sit and listen to my terrible Bambara with great interest, and correct my pronunciation. Though her I’ve learned quite a bit about gender relations here in Mali. For instance, my host mother runs a stand at the market in Bamako (she can sling a lot of veggies) and is well respected in the community. Many important elder men come to pay her respects and in an family meeting I sat in she spoke with authority. Everyone knows she is very intelligent, very strong and knows how to manage. However, if a man (someone married) comes into the room she will give up her seat, and sit on the floor. It is not as bad as it sounds since people sit on the floor here all the time, but it is still a sign of submission. Women here can make a lot of money (their husbands have no control over) and have equal civil rights. Traditional values and roles still have women as a lesser position (largely for religious reasons), and that is the reality here. In Bambara, Diarra means lion, and if I have met a lion during my stay in Niamana it is certainly my host mother.

One of my host dads (it’s a strange situation) is the Imam at the local mosque (think of the priest or pastor). Last week he asked me if I wanted to go with him, at first I was going to say no, but then I reflected on the decision and decided I had nothing to lose. Last week was the first, and probably the last, time I’ll attend mosque. The place was packed as my crew rolled up in our Mercedes (I’m not joking I roll around Mali in a Mercedes) and step out into a mass of people. The mosque was literally overflowing with people sitting on the ground outside of the mosque. As one can imagine a honky rolling up to the mosque with the leader of the church drew a lot of looks, but no one got up. I was led into the Mosque proper where room was made for me and the service began. It was good to see my host dad in action, tending to his flock, and I was pretty impressed. First he read from the Quran in Arabic, but after he explained the passage to the people in Bambara (this is blasted all over town via loud speaker). Shortly after nuts were handed out in the service was over after about twenty minutes. People stay around, chatted and ate beans/goat out of communal bowls. All in all it was a good experience, but I do not want people to think I’m Muslim (for a number of reasons). Consequently, I don’t plan on making a habit out of attendance.

My language is progressing, and I’m pretty much at the level I need to be by the end of training. However, my Bambara is still worse than my four year old brother’s (he is awesome). Additionally, the little kids are now less annoying (though they still love them high fives).

Now for news that is hot off the press! I found out where I’m going to live for the nest two years! Though I can not mention specifics (policy) I’m in the Segou region and will be the third volunteer at my site. I think I’m going to be working with existing farmers associations and getting a millet grinder running. The town has around 2000 people and they are mostly farmers and herders. However, I have yet to go to site so I still have a lot of questions, but some of those should be answered in a blog post a week from now. Why you may ask? Because, I’m going there tomorrow morning! I have also met my Malian counterpart (partner), and he is pretty awesome. I haven’t asked him if I can write about him yet so I’ll leave it at that.

I’ve been think a lot a philosophy/ political theory lately (I have a lot of time to think about stuff). When I get more computer time expect a longish theory paper. Sorry if this is full of errors, I’m rather tired and don’t have time to proofread.

Jim in Mali Land

Since I’ve last made a blog post a lot has happened, but the days have flown by. It hardly feels like I’ll have been in Mali for three weeks tomorrow, but that’s the case.

I’ve moved in the second part of my Pre Service Training (PST) “homestay” where I’m living in a village learning Bambara. Joining me in the village of Niamana are seven other trainees in the environment sector, and two teachers that are native speakers(called LCFs). The days flow in a routine where I wake up at around 6:00 (most days to the noise of donkeys), take a bucket bath and eat breakfast before heading to school. After a few hours of language training I return home for lunch and another bucket bath. Another three hours of school, and I’m done for a day after which I return home to practice by Bambara. All of this has become pretty routine, but school is not the most important part of homestay. The actual experience of living in a family in Mali is the main attraction for these two months.

I have moved in the Diarra family, and they are about friendliest people that I’ve ever met. There is no a person could show up in the United States, knowing no English, and feel as welcome as I do in Mali. Every person you meet on the street greets, wants to know how you are doing and what the hell you are doing in Mali. The interest only increases once you greet them in Bambara, and tell them you are American. The people here assume that every white person here is French, and are pretty interested upon finding otherwise. My language skill is still pretty lacking and as a result most conversations fall apart after the greetings. However, the people you are greeting remain friendly and interested throughout. My name here is Amada Bakari Diarra, given to me by my host father Bakari Diarra, but people here call “Jim Cave”. I live in a compound with around thirty other people, twenty of them kids, and the result is pretty interesting. People eat together, most of the time out of the same bowl, and with their hands. The ability to eat all sorts of foods with your hands takes quite a bit of practice.

The kids are both a blessing and a curse. Understandably, having a “educated” white person living with you that speaks worse than your three year old sibling yields endless entertainment. It’s pretty common to have 16 kids around me repeating “Jim Cave….Jim Cave…..Adama Bakari Diarra” looks for me to lay down high fives. Most of the time this is pretty cute, but if you are trying to get some homework done the whole thing can get old pretty fast. Two of the teenagers are best friends here and my saviors. My brother Adama and sister Kiatou have taken it upon themselves to turn me from a blubbering idiot into a respectable individual. Additionally, the Diarra matriarch Fatoumatah, is one of the coolest ladies that I’ve ever met. A strong woman that has helped me integrate to a remarkable degree

Lastly, the other Americans that I find myself here with are all pretty awesome. I have some solid friends, and can tell we are going to be a pretty tight group

Greeting from Summer Camp

Greetings from Mali,

Well it is hard for me to call what I am going through right now Mali. I am currently doing the first part of my training in the Peace Corps Training Center known as Tobuniso (probably spelled wrong). In this compound, a 45 minute bus ride away from Bamako International Airport, 80 of us Americans have gathered for the purpose of helping the people of Mali. However, right now the days are filled with presentations and lectures like you would find during your orientation day at any job. A superior stands before a group full of noobies and talks about policy, company culture and safety. The difference is our safety lecture was more about how to avoid getting mugged. I should mentioned that volunteers rarely get mugged in Mali, and very little crime occurs at all if one is careful. All in all I currently feel more like I’m at summer camp than thousands of miles away from home in Africa. For instance, I called my parents and told them how I was doing on a cell phone I bought today (I get better service here than I do at my house in Great Falls).

The living situation is also a lot like summer camp. I’m currently sharing a thatched roof hut with two other guys. Our hut grouping (H-Hut Represent!!) is all male, and only one of the hut groups is co-ed. Our saag (trainee group as a whole) comes from all over the United States, and seems to demographically represent the U.S. fairly well. We have a majority of whites, with individuals of every nationality besides Native American. There is only one married couple, and almost everyone is under 26. Geographically the entire national is represented (Michigan heavily); however, I’m the only volunteer from Montana or any of the bordering states. One of the guys I’m living with, Lucas, hails from Pennsylvania and is going into the environmental sector with me. Clay, my other roommate, is from Virginia and is in small enterprise development. Both of these guys are pretty cool, but I have made other close friends in the last few days. As much as it feels like I’m at summer camp right now, I’ve gotten a taste of what lays outside the controlled compound of Tobuniso.

For the 4th we went to the American Club and attended a party. Think of the American Club as an American only country club in Bamako (a very low scale country club by US standards). The event felt like a regular 4th, but without the fireworks. The same music, the same food, the same beer, the same Frisbee and a small pool. However, the trip gave me a little taste of what is to come. First, the drive though the small section of Bamako was intense. Everyone’s eyes were glued to the windows as we rolled past in a nice air conditioned bus completely in contrast to our surroundings. It was the first time any of us had seen Mali outside of the compound during the day, and we just absorbed the information. The poverty was very evident and other aspects, such as livestock and the crazy road, made the drive a memorable one. The second major important event happened in the area of “Jim interacting with the Malian people”. I’ll give a brief recount of the events

Jim having bought a ticket redeemable for a beer (the last he will have in the foreseeable future) go to order a beer for a Malian bartender. Jim swaggers up to the drink cart.

Jim: Bonjour

Malian Man: Bonjour

J: (doesn’t know what to say next, and is afraid he will mess up the French) Rolling Rock (points to bottle)

M: (Begins to speak in French of Bambara, of which I recognize nothing)

J: Rolling Rock (points to bottle again, but beginning to feel embarrassed)

M: (More questionable speech and some gestures)

(Rinse and repeat last two lines three of four times)

J: (Having guessed if I wanted the beer poured in a glass) The bottle is fine

M: (Begins to concerned at still speaks undiscernibly)

J: Je ne compred pas

M: (points to the other bartender)

J: (walk to the other cart, points at the beer on tap, takes said beer and leaves embarrassed)

The entire situation left me pretty feeling like an imperialist or something along those lines. Needless to say learning Bambara is on the top of my to do list. Lastly, we saw about a few hundred people playing soccer as we left. You can not underestimate the number of people playing soccer.

I’ll be moving in with a Malian family for the rest of training in a few days and am excited for that.

Currently I’m in Paris, waiting for the plane to Bamako. There’s 80 of us, and we sort of move around as a mob clog things up; however, the French version of TSA did not help things. I’ve been informed that this is normal in European airports, but the security here is much more rigorous than in the United States. Almost everyone got a pat down, and I had to take my external hard drive out of my backpack (something I’ve never had to do in the states.)

I’ve spent quite a bit more time with a few people here, and so far everyone is really cool. Additionally there is a lot of variety in areas of specialty among the volunteers. Of all of ag/env volunteers only two were raised on a farm. Two other are grad students in ag econ, but have no farm experience. Most interestingly there is an opera singer in the ag/env sector. This king of variety is not isolated to my sector, but standard among all sectors.

Right now everyone is just anxious to get to Mali, and get to work. When I post this I’ll be in Mali, but I’m bored so I thought I’d write an update.

P.S. I'm in Mali and net access is pretty limited right now due to the number of us trying to get on. So far everything is awesome, but a little surreal. I spent Fourth of July at the American Club with is the country club here, and it was a pretty good time.

My last days in Montana and why I hate Denver International Airport

It seems like conspiracy theories are a dime a dozen. Between the fake moon landing, “loose change” 9/11 theories and the reptilian agenda there seems to be a plethora of evil doers to blame for any given wrong. One such popular conspiracy theory involves a “New World Order” of bankers and similarly high power personalities that secretly control the world. Like the other fantasies mentioned, I in no way believe in the creditability of the NWO conspiracy, but one aspect of the theory attracts me. This group of super bankers and others that supposedly control the unfolding of society have their secret base in the Denver International Airport. DIA might seems like a strange place for the seat of an evil power, but then you actually spend some time in DIA. To put it simply, regardless of the existence of the New World Order DIA seeps of evil. I can not think of a place I loath more as I sit in DIA waiting for nine hours for my departure. Just five days ago my flight out of DIA was cancelled leaving me stranded in Denver. When one totals it up I’ve been stranded in Denver overnight four times. I should be on a plane heading to Philly as I'm typing this, but the plane closed the doors fifteen minutes early leaving me behind as my flight to Denver was late.

In an attempt to make the most of the situation, I’m going to write this blog post/study Bambara until my laptop runs out of batteries. My last few days in Montana were busy, but enjoyable as a whole. In five days I’ve seen a lot of friends, and talked to many well-wishers. All of these people I will miss, and talking to them bring to my attention how Montana will continue to live in my absence. The next time I set foot in my home state two of my best friends and going to be married to each other living elsewhere, all my buddies are going to be graduated and have real jobs, my baby relatives aren’t going to be babies anymore and countless other changes will have occurred. I will miss all these people, but I’ll also miss places.

There is a certain time of the year between late May and mid July where Montana discards it’s drab shades of yellow and dawns an attractive shade of green. Things that at one time would not have caught ones eye become beautiful, and a sense of pride for living in this place can fill you. You can forget the wind that roars though Great Falls constantly, or that Bozeman has snow on the ground during May, and just take in the surroundings. I would really love about another weeks to go hiking and journey to Bozeman one last time, but it was just not in the cards. It is no surprise in this time of beauty that I had to go see my cabin one last time.

For those of you that are not familiar with my cabin it is located on the Missouri river betweens the towns of Cascade and Craig, a little downriver from where the Dearborn flows into the Missouri. My grandfather build that cabin when my father was a small child, and it has been it family for almost sixty years. The cabin started as a construction barracks, but has been added onto over the years. This cabin is most likely my favorite place in the entire world, and my favorite activity there is sitting on a swing watching the river flow. As one watches the water flow continually, and fisherman try their luck on boats in front of the cabin, the stress of the life flows into a enjoyable calm. Family, friends and areas like this is what I’m going to miss most about my home.

Leaving Montana for two years in exchange for a mysterious foreign place is going to be challenging, but it is a challenge I look forward to facing.

P.S. I'm having trouble with the website when I try to post pictures, but I'll figure something out soon. Additionally I'm now in Philly and doing staging (orientation). Everyone seems cool from the little conversation that I've had with them. I'll be leaving for Mali tomorrow!

First Post

The major reason I am writing this blog is to keep in touch with family and friends while I’m gone. In addition, writing something on a regular basis may stop my writing skills from evaporating away in the Malian sun. However, I have learned in preparation for my journey that these blogs can be an interesting read, and a great tool for future Peace Corps Volunteers (PCV’s in PC lingo). It seems fitting then to give a little bit of background on myself. I’ll start off with the basics.

I’m Jim Cave a 22 year old that is going to serve as an environmental/agricultural volunteer in the United States Peace Corps. I was born and raised in Great Falls, Montana (in the middle of the state), and just graduated from Montana State University-Bozeman. My degree is in Political Science, and I have a minor in History. I’ve worked a bunch in a bunch of different jobs including working for U.S. Senator Jon Tester and the Montana Farmers Union, but one day hope to be a lawyer focusing on labor law. The PC is something that I’ve wanted to do for a long time, and for a number of different reasons. Firstly, I think I’ve lived a pretty good/easy life with loving/hard working parents and an extended family that are first class. I’m lucky enough to have good friends across the United States that have helped me out continually. The Peace Corps has always seemed like the way to give back. For two years my main career goal is to help others out, and that is something I could not get if I went straight to law school or began working. Additionally, PC offers a chance for a journey abroad that expands beyond a visit. This promises to take me out of my comfort zone, and truly experience another way of life currently unknown to me. All in all I think I’m a pretty normal guy that might care a little bit too much about the news. For those of you that already know me I’ll talk about a pretty busy last few weeks.

On May 17th the Peace Corps told me I was set of leave on July 1st, before this I thought I was going to leave in September. Since the news I’ve been in a frantic scramble preparing to leave the country. I have made a short list of law schools and made a trip to visit them, worked full time until about two weeks ago, went to a cousins wedding and tried to get my personal affairs in order. All while being busy with shopping, packing and filling out PC paperwork. I’m going to focus on the law school tour briefly.

I visited law schools at U of Wisconsin - Madison, U of Iowa - Iowa, George Mason, U of Richmond, Wake Forest and a few other schools in the New York/D.C. area. Though I don’t want to make a list raking the schools since they all have their own strengths, I have some points to make. Madison is the definite front-runner on the list, and quite frankly I was very impressed. I had never really thought much about the area of Madison (or Wisconsin in general), because I did not think their was much to think of. If I wanted the good things about living in a city I’d move to one of the coasts. If I want to be close to nature I’d just stay in the comfortably populated mountainous area of awesome known and central and western Montana. However, Madison was recommended to me by a professor and I am glad I went. Madison is very near two lakes, and the campus is actually directly adjacent to one of the lakes. The city is pretty large, and the local flora was pretty impressive. In addition to all of this Madison is highly ranked, and has a labor law concentration available (pretty rare).

If after spending some time in Mali I feel the need to live in the big city (or make the kind of money associated with doing so), I’d rather live in DC than New York. I have a good group of friends currently living in DC, and was more impressed with the law schools as well. However, I have a feeling I would like New York more and more the longer I was there. Richmond offers something unique and intriguing. It is only 90 minutes away from DC, and if you are from Montana 90 minutes is nothing. Additionally it is only 90 minutes away from the ocean and from the mountains. The kicker is they told me I could get a good scholarship there as well bringing the cost down. This post is getting pretty long and I have some thinking to do so I’m going to end it here