It rained!

The rain has finally arrived in Dimbatoro! It's a few weeks late, but it has come. You can't imagein the smiles on the villagers' faces when the rain actually arrived. Every day they would proclaim, "I am sweating. The rain is coming... Do you see those clouds? Those are rain clouds!" For weeks, this went on and the rain never came. But, July 26th at around 6pm, the sky blackened, thunder and lightening boomed, and the rain fell in buckets. For the duration of the night, the rain fell and my house flooded (but that's another issue for another time). The next day, the rain continued until 10am. Ousman, Difru and I sat in my wet, leaking house drinking coffee and tea until our heads were about to explode from all the caffeine. The rain stopped and we went out to assess the situation; Where the footpath between my house and mosque is, I was confronted by a gushing river of brown water, grass, leaves and bits of garbage (just a little) washing down from the moutains. Next to my house, the rabbits were emerging from their shelter amd seemed to be in pretty good shape. Thankfully, their house had not flooded. But, as I was walking around my house a gust of wind blew in and I heard a rumble and a crash. The wall next to the rabbit hutch collapsed from the wind and rain, but it fell on the opposite side, thus saving the rabbits from an avalanche of rock and mud.

What will we ever do?

Seeing that the rabbits were still alive and in the hutch, I immediately knew what to do. Ousman was bugging out wondering what to do. Why did this have to happen, he wondered out loud. Quickly, I summarized the problem in a language tht the villagers would understand. I told them that this was all Allah's work. The rabbits, being the good Muslims that they are, prayed to Allah for a bigger house. When he saw the rain coming, he knew this was his opportunity. The rain fell and weakened the wall. Soon thereafter, Allah sent the wind in to finish the job. The wall came down, and the rabbits now had their chance for a bigger home. Telling this to Ousman and Difru, they laughed, yet understood completely; We were to build the rabbits a larger home. Gathering up the fallen rocks and some new ones from around my house, we extended the wall out to twice the original size. Digging out the new extended floor, I lined it with rocks and then covered it with sticky mud, leaving a gutter for drainage. Now, the rabbits have a much larger home that they are unable to dig out of. Believe me, they tried.

The new and improved rabbit hutch

Ousman and Tijani laughing at my story and working on the wall

Rabbits munching on some greens in their new big home.

Thanks to the rain, I was also able to plant all of the millet I received from Bamako. The day it rained, I organized the farmers I was to work with and let them know that we would begin planting the following morning. As the ground was sufficiently soaked, they agreed. We had planned on planting many times before, but the ground was always too dry. The seedlings would never "hatch" in those conditions. The next morning, I ate breakfast at Ousman's house early, grabbed my notebook, and headed for the fields. We started in his field, planted 10 rows of 15 plots of the drought resistant millet and then planted 10 rows of 15 plots of the local variety next to it. In order to not lose track of the fields, we marked them out with giant rock lines. This will benefit in two ways. One, we'll know exactly where the fields are, and two, the rocks will catch debris washing out of the field during rain storms. Ousman and I then moved on to Yaya's, Amadu's and Difru's fields, where we planted the same exact way. The morning progressed like this through all 4 fields and we finished up by about 1pm. After lunch, I spent the afternoon translating the millet test field papers into Fulfulde and drawing out copies and maps for the 4 farmers. We're going to keep track of rainfall, growth patterns, and the differenced between the varieties (if all goes as planned). Filling out the forms may bea a little troubling as the guys aren't completely literate, but I will help them along with the process and make sure that everything is written out correctly. They were excited to get the millet planted, but are unconvinced that the drought resistant millet will be any better than the local variety. What can I say? They've got pride in their own stock, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Now it is once again time for the waiting game.

It's almost time to go on my big trip to Spain and Morocco, and the villagers are getting nervous. They know that I will be meeting up with Erica in Morocco, and they're afraid I won't come back! They've seen pictures of her and know she's a beautiful girl and they're all afraid I won't be able to leave her side. They are complelely convinced I will follow her back to America. I have tried to convince them I can't leave without finishing my projects. That has quelled their fears a little, but it hasn't stopped them from stepping up their wife-giving efforts. It seems like every day they are bringing a new girl to my house for me to take as a wife. Each day I give a new complaint. She's too young, she's too old, she's too fat, she can't cook, she's too tall, etc. You get the point. Hopefully I will have enough excuses until they finally run out of girls to give me. The hope is that I will takea wife in Dimbatoro and either won't be able to leave, or will be able to take her to America with me. I just smile, laugh and come up with a complaint for each girl.

Fikru standing in the first big rain in Douentza

Waiting out the rain last week with Fikru and Eric

Sunrise in Dimabatoro this morning

Hey!

All I think of is food.

Initially, I had planned to stay at site for an extended amount of time due to the fact that I had been traveling with Mike and Zack for a while, plus I will be leaving for all of August. I have a responsibility to my village, but responsibilities can, evidently, be put on hold. I am here in Douentza, albiet only 2 days, for multiple reasons. First, two of my good friends will be leaving Mali soon and I would like to spend time with them before they leave. Second, I decided I need to buy more wood for the rabbit hutch lid. But mostly, I was hungry. Literally hungry.

As posted in my last blog, it is now the rainy season. One is led to believe that the rainy season is a time of abundance in food and general happiness and well being. This is not so true. It is more true to say that the rainy season is a dirty, smelly, hungry, dire time for the Sahelian peoples of Mali. To begin with, the food that was grown during the last rainy season is nearly gone. What happens is the grains are grown from July to October, harvested and then sold off at a relatively low price because there is such a glut in the local markets. Farmers generally attempt to predict how much grain they will need to survive until the next harvest season, and then sell the rest off in order to bank on the available cash (as little as it is). The grain is eaten, eaten, and eaten and the pressure is briefly alleviated during the cold season (December - March) when people are able to grow (limited) amounts of vegetables such as tomatoes, lettuce, onions, garlic, cucumbers, eggplant, etc. Unlike the grains, the vegetables have a very short shelf life and are unable to be stored for very long. Garlic and onions are dried and stored, but who wants to live on garlic and onions alone?

Now, we're on the last available stores of millet left over from the harvest season. Once these run out, the villagers will be forced to buy back their own grains from the local "entrepreuers" who bought the grain in the first price, but at a much higher price. As you can imagine, the villagers are stretching their grain supplies to the max, which leaves most hungry, especially considering that this is the time when the most work is being done. And to compound all of this, many of young family members (ages 15-30) have returned to village in order to help out with all of the extra work in the fields. Before, I ate with my homologue and his nephew. Now, I eat with those two, plus 4 other young guys. The quality of food has decreased, the number of eaters has increased and the amount of food has remained the same. This leads me to why I am in Douentza this weekend. As stated above, I was just really hungry.

Of course, I can cook at site, or so I thought. I have a stove, I know how to cook, and I usually have access to food. Not now, though. Sitting at site, hunger pangs kicking in, I thought some pasta might help me out. To my great dissapointment, I sent little kids running all around village to scour for garlic, onions, oil, anything! There was nothing to be had. Maybe some powdered milk? No, that was all gone too. How about some ground millet to make a porridge (serisouly a last resort)? All but gone! So here I am. I sat in my rock hut, sweating and hungry, and made my escape from village while everyone was out in the fields in order to avoid the million and one greetings/goodbyes. (Don't worry, Peace Corps, I told my tutor and some local kids... I swear they don't think I am AWOL... which seems like a pretty sane option at this time.)

Dounetza is the land of plenty. I arrived arund 6pm, bought some roasted sheep meat, fried dough, beans, a soda, and then had two beers at night. I still wasn't full, but it helped. Eric, Fikru and I talked of lasagna and pizza for hours, but that did nothing to alleviate the hunger. That night I dreamed of more food. In my dream, Kyle was announced over the radio that he had invented a new type of pizza. With Mike and Steve, we headed off to Kyle's pizza place to sample this new pizza, the "Pizza-Wu." It was delicious (reminder: I'm dreaming) and full of terriaki chicken and pineapples.

After reading my previous statements, I am no more than a big jerk. My village has so little, and I have access to so much. I don't know what to tell you beyond the pure an simple facts that I was hungry. I am, by no means, saving one little African village at a time. I can't defend myself on any accounts here, but that food was good and much needed.

So, today I will go back to village and eat little amounts of millet "toh" and drink the slimy, bitter cobal. What has been neat about this time of year is that I actually have something to do each and every day. Everthing in Mali tends to become very stagnant very quickly. Luckily, living in an agricultural based society, life does not stay stagnant for long; there will always be a new job to do with the coming season. Harvest season was filled with, well, harvesting grain. Shortly there after, the cold season came and we worked in the gardens. During the hot season, we built new homes and brought compost to the fields. Now it is rainy season and time to prepare the fields for the millet growth. Once the millet is all planted, we can then go through and plant beans and ground nuts. Of course, we will play the waiting game again. But you can always count on the harvest season after the rainy season (praying their isn't a huge drought like all of the 1980s). Every day in village, I have been going out to different fields with different families from village. We have been plowing, weeding, planting, and working hard. Each day I go to a different field to prove that I can do the work. Sound familiar, Mike? "Dave won't do that! He can't!" "Oh yea? Well watch this! I'll prove you wrong!" Story of my life. Walking the cow plow is wicked difficult, but I am better at leading the cows. The cement-like ground doesn't take to the plow very well, leading the spade into the previously dug row. This is a test of endurance, strength, and a fight against the cows. Taking reign of the cows is no cake walk, either. You have 1200 lbs of live bull behind you that want to do nothing but sit in the shade. In your hands are two ropes tied through the bulls' noses. You pull, tug, lead and, generally, piss them off. Reluctantly, they follow, and you pray to Allah that they don't just ram one of those big sharp horns up your butt!

Notice how the wood over their necks angles their heads dirrectly towards your behind in ramming position.

Cautiously, I check the bulls to make sure I am still safe. I hope that Bukil has my back.

Working with different families has given me the opportunity to, let's say, sample more of the local cuisine. What have I discovered? As I had known, everyone eats the same millet-based foods, but the quality can highly change from household to household. As it turns out, my homologue's wife cooks the absolute worst food in all of village! Each day I eat a different "toh," and each day I am amazed at the quality and lack of rotting fish taste. Where did I go wrong in the first place and how can I go about getting a new family to feed me?

Because the rain has nowhere to go, it tends to pool in low areas. Here is one of the low-lying areas near the main road outside my village. What is really neat is that crocodiles are attracted to these pools where they wait for unsuspecting dogs, livestock, birds, and possibly small children to wade in and cool off. As elusive as the crocodiles are, I have managed to spot a few of them over the last couple weeks. They're a wiley bunch, yarrgghhh!

Grass is almost starting to grow out near the fields. In the upcomming months, the cows will beable to eat again, hopefully thus hiding their ribs. I only want to see the ribs on my plate, not walking beside my house. Fresh milk is in my future, too.

Mousa plowing a field with two of his kids. Just look at how dry the ground is.

Kids running outside my house as a sand storm approaches the village.

Rainy season and other complaints

There really are only about 2 good months in Mali. Initially, I had been excited for the beginning of the rainy season because it would bring greenery and cooler temperatures. This, so far, has proven to be true. But along with the greenery and cooler temps comes a massive influx of flies, gnats, mosquitoes, ants, etc. They are really no fun. Remember when I wrote about the powdered donut effect? The hot temperatures where you sweat, followed next by the intense dust storms, and finally followed by the rain... yup, it's here. And when the rain comes, it doesn't go anywhere. The ground has been baking under the sun for the last 10 months and has become like an impenatrable concrete floor. Everywhere you walk, there are just giant lakes of water mixed with the runoff from pit latrines and garbage piles that are a common feature outside EVERY home in Douentza (and most of Malim for that matter). You try your best to dodge, but sometimes you are left with no other option but to trudge on through to the other side. Or you have to fight a herd of oncoming cows for that last little island of mud.

Anyway, last night Phil, Fikru and I left the house in Douentza to get dinner by the main road. Clouds were rolling in, but we figured if we were fast, we might just beat the storm. About 10 minutes into the walk, the sand storm came in with a vengence and we couldn't see 2 feet ahead of us. This proved to make the walk through the lakes of pit latrine runoff even more difficult than it should have been. Arriving at the main road, we took cover in a tin-roofed hut and bought some roasted sheep meat, It was probably the best sheep meat I've had since I got here. We waited out the storm for about an hour and then had to make our waiy back. By the time we got to the house, the entire yard was flooded. What this means is that we must sleep inside. Inside the house, there are mosquitoe clouds thicker than porridge and the temperature is about 15-20 degrees higher. Yes, I now hate the rainy season. Like I said before, there are only 2 "good" months here (December and January). I say "good" because, like everything else here, it is relative compared with your constantly lowered standards of everything.

On another note, I have my "Dogon rock gym" at site. It is this really nice area on top of a hill that no one ever goes to, so I can relax and lift rocks, do pushups, situps, etc without a thousand kids watching me in wonderment (what's the white guy doing? what's the use in that?). My Dogon rock gym is great. I have different rocks picked out for different lifts, different types of pushups, for dips, and everything; it's perfect. Or at least it was perfect. The other morning I went for my run and ended up at my gym as the sun was rising in the distance. The view is so serene, as you can watch the sun rise and the air is still cool. Along the ridge of mountains, breakfast fire smoke rises in large puffs where villages stick out from the valleys. On my other side, I can always count on watching a herd of goats, sheep and cows traverse a ridge across the way. This is all before I have coffee to start my day and I really enjoy it. Last time I was up there, I was stretching and heard my name called from off in the distance. Looking up, I could see Hama coming towards me waving. I like Hama; he's a good friend of mine here, but this hour in the morning is my time. Well, he stopped about half way to me and, as he waved, squatted and pulled his pants down. He used my dogon rock gym as a bathroom! Plus, he didn't even bring the ass-kettle (plastic teapot used for bathroom runs...otherwise known as a salidaga or saatella) to wipe with. There are no leaves up here and toilet paper is unheard of. I didn't stick around to find out how he was going to clean up after himself. The peace, the tranquility, the serene view... it's all ruined by the uncleanly dumping of one man named Hama.

Maybe you are wondering what is going on with my projects now. I did receive the seeds for the millet test plots, but ICRISAT messed up big time. Instead of receiving 16 packets of seeds (4 different varieties for each of the 4 farmers), I received just 4 packets (and only 2 varieties!). My plans for a big scientific field plot research project have been stomped out. Now each othe the 4 farmers will only get one packet, which he will plant next to the local millet variety. By no means is the project completely ruined, just mostly ruined. I am wicked bummed about that, and felt like an idiot going back to village and explaining the problem to the farmers after promising them this big new millet variety project. But, in order to be successful here, enthusiasm is the key. So, I keep it positive with them. The blog can sort of be my area to vent, and maybe you all will find some of this funny.

I bought wood on Sunday in market to build a large lid for the mud brick rabbit hutch. Right now, it is only covered with chicken wire tied to rocks. This is obviously not a very good deterent to wild animals. The lid will do a much better job. I bought the wood and gave it to some guys from village. They said it would be no problem to take it back to village in the local transport bus, as I can't ride a bike with 10 foot long pieces of wood. Thinking the problem of transport was solved, I went to relax and pat myself on the back for a job well done. I patted too early. That night around 8 I went back to the market to get dinner and what was propped up against a building with no one around to watch it? My wood for the rabbit lid! They just left it there in the middle of market, where anyone could just pick it up and go. I asked a guy sitting by the wood where the guys from Dimbatoro were. They had all left, he said. Now I am in Douentza still with this wood and no way to get it back to site until next market day. The two girl rabbits are pregnant, I think. I need to protect them, but I am getting no help here.

I just have one more gripe, hopefully. All the cement I bought for the cereal bank has been sitting in Douentza for weeks now. I have been attempting to work with the village to get it delivered, but they had been of no help up until recently. They arranged a car to take it back and would charge 150 CFA per sack, or 3,000 CFA total. I agreed to this price and assumed we were good to go. Late in the afternoon, the car pulls up to ge the cement and the mobel-tigi (car chief... aka guy in charge from village) says he can't do it for any less than 7,000 CFA. I yell at him, call him a thief, tell him off and he won't lower the price. he just laughs in my face. At this point, I am stuck, My hands are tied. The rainy season is here, the cement is getting wet, it NEEDS to get to village, and he knows this. I end up paying the 7,000 CFA as he walks out laughing. That guy sucks. I swear, everywhere I turn in this country, I get hit up for extra surcharges for no reason beyond the fact that I am looked upon as being Mr. Moneybags due to my complexion. I serisouly need to get out of this country. Thank god this trip to Spain and Morocco is coming up soon. I need it.

But on a positive note, I have taken on a big project that will be very beneficial to Douentza, and probably really stressful to me. Fikru, who has volunteered in Douentza for the last two years, is leaving in August. He has worked with an association to build a library in Douentza, but has ultimately run out of time. The proposal is written, the materials are all accounted for, the land has been donated next to the school here, the mason is waiting for the go ahead and the the plans have been drawn up for the building. My role in this project will be to acquire funding and dole out the money. I will be working with a man named Baga Cisse, who heads up the library association and will be the main librarian once the project is finished. There is currently no library in Douentza. There are multiple schools. The kids here are able to study at home and at school, but they have very limited access to books. The hope is to get books in French, English, Fulfulde, Songrai, Bamabara, as well as in Dogon dialects. Te research for the project has been completed and all of the right people are waiting for the signal to begin. The original plan for the library does not include electricity, but I will be looking into that because I want to give the kids access to computers and the internet. There are volunteers in Mali who have worked to provide computer and internet access to students throughout Mali. I plan to work through their contacts to bring internet access to the students of Douenza. It's a big idea and a big project, but the bulk of the organizational work has been done. With a year-plus here, I can accomplish this project.

Fun with the brothers in Mali

It’s been a while since my last post mainly because I have had a lot going on. Also, there was a 3 or 4 week time frame when there was just no available internet. Ask my brothers, they were here for the tail end of it. The biggest news is that Mike and Zack made it. After 3 full weeks in Mali, I do believe they were ready to go home. I kept them busy and constantly entertained (although they may not know it, they were my entertainment for the 3 weeks as well!) When they arrived in Bamako, I met them at the airport amidst a brawl outside the main terminal. In the ensuing fight, no one was injured, but it was fun to watch as women attacked each other with heels and men pounded each other to the ground. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good fight!

Mike and Zack came out of the terminal all grins and greetings (not Malian greetings, but the more appropriate American style). They then informed me that the bag they brought for me full of climbing equipment, new shoes, and a grab bag mix of American goodies was lost in between time zones. Without asking for assistance, we had “well-wishers” and “helpers” working for us and eventually blocking the door until we paid them. Mike offered to pay, but I would not allow it. No wonder the Malians see us as suckers for cash (Mike!). The Peace Corps (mainly our financial manager Alyssa) was extremely helpful in getting the bag back (and she even bought me lunch). It turns out the bag was offloaded from the plane due to weight and was brought the next day. They figured I could wait…. Thanks, Royal Air Maroc.

The first leg of our trip took us down to Bougoni and Sikasso where Zack freestyle rapped in a night club called Alcatraz and then threw up all over Mike’s face in a taxi the next day. I promise that the two events are not related. And we can’t forget Sophie accidentally spitting chewed up nut kernels into a woman’s face after kindly asking her to move. Maybe the Bambara didn’t translate? We stayed with Sophie in Bougoni for a night. She helped show us around Sikasso region and took care of the Bambara and French, for the most part. In Bougoni, Zack jumped into a pickup game of soccer as soon as we arrived. His integration skills are impeccable. After Bougoni, we headed to Sikasso to camp by the waterfalls for a night. After being in the north for months, I have become very accustomed to a dry desert-like landscape and was completely caught off guard by the Jungle Book landscape of Sikasso. Mogli didn’t pop out swinging on a vine, but we were met my many curious onlookers at the waterfalls as we jumped in to escape the humidity. At night, we brought out the iPod and speakers to accompany our meal of canned chicken, mango jelly, peanuts, and dates (it was REALLY good). The air was so humid by the falls and none of us could really sleep. I felt submerged in a fog all night, which is not an ideal sleeping condition by any means.

The next day we hiked back to the main road for a little over an hour and I was given a chance to practice more Bamabara, but found myself in a Senufo village. Not much luck there. But, I did end up finding multiple Fulfulde speakers by the main road and felt right at home. I can speak Fulfulde really well and am extremely confident in my abilities. Mike and Zack thought it was funny to see me attract a crowd everywhere I went as I had them rallied around me while I told stories and joked around. I don’t know what I’ll do when I go home and am anonymous again; I enjoy this quazi-celebrity status that I hold here. Plus, I have become a little more proficient in both French and Bambara… mainly bar, restaurant and taxi language. The rest will come with time. Speaking a slew of languages is very taxing on the brain, but fun, nonetheless.

On the 10 hour ride between Sikasso and Sevare, I slept for the majority, but Mike and Zack were crammed and apparently experienced hell. You’ll have to speak to them for more details. My only qualm was stepping into a huge puddle of pit latrine water in Koutiala at around 3am. That put a damper on the ride and seriously downgraded the status of my new shoes. We saw the Darjeeling Limited at one point, which was perfect considering we were three brothers meeting up in a strange place after a long absense. I even had our itinerary worked out perfectly and was on pain killers by the end of the trip!

We hit up Sevare and Douentza quickly before making it to my village. The ride to Douentza was memorable because Mike was sick. We thought he might just make it the two hours, but 20 minutes before Douentza he looked at me with his pale face and said, “I’m not gonna make it.” I whipped out a pair of pants from my backpack and tied the legs together, creating a makeshift puke bag. As soon as the pants were open and in his hand, he let loose and I just laughed. Sorry, but I have very little sympathy for throwing up and/or diarreah in Mali. If you get Malaria, then I’ll send you a get well card.

We got to village the next morning. At the main road, we were met by two guys around my age (Hama and Mamadou) who carried the boys’ bags for them. They sent a kid ahead to notify the villagers that we had arrived. Waiting under a small shade tree and making small talk, we heard the beginnings of drums beating and guns firing. Within minutes, the entire village had assembled and come out to greet our arrival. What sounded like the coming of war ended up being the most hearty and warmest welcome I have ever experienced in my life. The entire village came out with guns blazing into the air and drums beating out rhythms. I introduced everyone and we were paraded into the village with such fanfare that I could have sworn we were in a movie. The villagers sang, danced, and jumped sporadically into the air as they accompanied us to all of the main house holds in village to greet the elders. Once the hooplah calmed down a bit, we were left at my house to unwind and relax a bit. We at some toh, a goat was killed, and the kids inundated us with questions. Shortly before the sun was setting, the drums and guns started up again and we were rushed back out to the main center where singing and dancing was at full force again. We all had our turn at dancing, but the dust was choking and we were tired.

The following day we hiked up into the mountains behind site and explored the ancient Tellem houses in the rocks and caves. Tijani and Ousman gave us a lot of information that I translated for the boys. They were looking for artifacts to sell to tourists, but found nothing remarkable. On the other hand, I was able to climb around and do some bouldering. I actually climbed up a large face without thinking of the consequences (very typical of me) and found that there was no way down. It was all overhangs and straight faces. I eventually pulled a Spiderman-esque move to get down and gave everyone a good scare.

That afternoon, it was time for me to kill the goat I had bought for Mike and Zack’s arrival. The goat was brought to my house and thrown onto the ground. Zack was squeamish and couldn’t watch, but Mike was ready with the camera. The guys in village made sure his angles and lighting were right and gave me the go-ahead to slaughter the goat (so long as I said the correct prayers). I grabbed the goat’s horn, pulled his head back as he faced Mecca and let out a loud “Bisimillah!” Slicing into the goat’s neck, he reeled back, but we had a tight grip on him. As instructed, I said “Allah akbar” as the blood came out, and everyone was happy. I sliced and sliced away until I could feel his spine. I was confused as one guy yelled “keep cutting!” while another yelled “enough!” I eventually came to a happy medium and stopped cutting. It was weird killing a goat; I almost felt out of my own body. I didn’t really feel like I was all there, but the dead goat at my feet and blood all over me confirmed the fact. Anyway, we roasted the goat and he tasted great. We dined on goat head soup with rice the next morning (not so great).

After leaving village, we met up with other PCVs and headed north to Hombori for rock climbing. We arrived around 1 in the morning and planned to climb up this one block to set the top rope for the morning, but Kevin was scared by mass quantities of bats. A rabies-laden bite is no way to start a climbing trip, so we put it off until the morning. The wind was fierce and we eventually found three camping sites to set up our tents where we wouldn’t blow away. I slept well until Kevin woke me up at first light to begin climbing. Mike really impressed me this day. On his first climb, he said it would be his last due to his fear of heights. But before I knew it, he was down on the ground and then strapped in on the other side for another climb! Go Mike! Zack was also really impressive. He got off to a slow start, but was consistently making it to the tops of his climbs. The second day he really came through. We had set a top rope on this face with tiny little holds. I belayed Zack on his climb and he just plugged away until he reached the top with no problems. I was a big fan of this rock because it was were I learned to repel myself down. It was like I was in a military commercial. Wearing my harness, I had the rope doubled up in my belay device and repelled down the rock with one hand above and one hand below. It was awesome having complete control of my decent.

That second morning, we were about to leave the campement we stayed at when I saw some odd looking clouds approaching. Hell’s chariot was on its way in the form of a sand storm. Imagine rolling clouds of sand thousands of feet tall engulfing huge rock spires in the distance barreling directly towards you. It’s scary and exciting, especially when your only shelter is a dried millet stock bungalow. Although Hell’s chariot never reached us, we were in for a neat treat as everything around us turned a bright yellowish-reddish-orangish hue. I don’t know how the storm missed us, but it did.

Leaving Hombori, we caught a ride to Boni in the back of a large truck full of people. Standing room only. A goat peed on Zack, Mike hit people in the face with his giant backpack and I was berated with questions in too many languages. We made it to Boni and negotiated a too-high price to go out and see elephants. Mike, Zack, Braxton (a fellow PCV) and I hopped into a 4X4 van (aka piece of junk) and rode out into the bush to search for elephants. At one point, the van was stopped by locals and we were hassled for the “local people tax,” which was complete bull and I told the guy we had already paid it to the local elephant association. He backed off. Our guide apparently thought we wanted to see a dead elephant and took us on our way. He then asked to make sure, and I said it would be preferable to see live elephants and avoid a large decomposing carcass. He agreed and turned the van around to go back nearly to where we began.

Again, we drove out into the bush in another direction until we found fresh elephant droppings, which where succinctly collected and deposited into the van (Braxton thinks they were selling them… for what purpose, he’s not sure). In time we found a Fulani watching over his animals who claimed to have seen elephants this morning. He jumped into the van and we were off again. Bringing us to a thicket of small trees, we exited the bus and headed downwind as not to be discovered by the elephant. Quietly, we tracked down an elephant near a watering hole and followed him for a short while. Stepping out from a patch of trees, we found ourselves face to face with the elephant himself (it was definitely a “him.” The Fulani pointed this out to me with much enthusiasm). The elephant stood there for a while and threw his trunk around. After we snapped a few photos, the elephant decided it was time for us to move on. He puffed his ears up and took a few steps forward, just to let us know we were on his turf. Yes, we got out of there very quickly. We saw our elephant, so all was a success.

The remainder of the trip was pretty anticlimactic. The boys made it on their own from Sevare to Bamako, which I found to be impressive. Due to an odd set of circumstances, I ended up on a different ride with all of the bags while they were on a bus. The end of the trip was spent in Bamako where Zack enjoyed playing pool and eating the Campagnard’s tex-mex pizza while Mike sipped cokes and made friends with PCVs. On Thursday I sent them off to the airport in a taxi cab and waited to hear that they had made it home safe. They did, so all is good.

As for me, I am still in Bamako under “medical arrest.” Something bit my finger and it became infected. My hand swelled up like a Mickey Mouse glove, so I’ve been bidding my time taking antibiotics and ibuprofen until the doctor gives me the OK to go back to site. I am anxious to get back to site in order to begin the millet field tests and make sure the rabbits are ok. I should also transport all the cement to village, as well. This must all be done in July before I head out to Spain and Morocco in August to rock climb, cliff jump, and see Erica at the very end. I really can hardly wait. Until my next blog post, adios!