Karate on the top of the finger
A little standing action
Watching Jared lead climb the second pitch
We climbed to the top of the fat finger on the right. There is one more finger out of frame. Hombori is seriously awesome.
20 January 2009
Hombori pics
Watching Jared lead climb the second pitch
We climbed to the top of the fat finger on the right. There is one more finger out of frame. Hombori is seriously awesome.
19 January 2009
Travel with the Family and Toubab Weddings in Mali
The last month has been an adventure. My parents and sister showed up for a visit that lasted a little over two weeks. I did my best to keep them comfortable and safe, but this is Mali. They all ended up sick and my mom even sprained her ankle the night before our scheduled hike through Dogon country. All in all, it was awesome having them here. From now on I will be able to share my life and experiences from Mali with full understanding from my family. As much as I have changed and grown here, they will now have a better grasp of how and why it has occurred.
When they first arrived, we took a early morning bus from Bamako to Sevare. The ride was a little over ten hours, which I thought was great timing. Apparently it wasn’t so good for the family. They swore off public transport for the rest of the trip after that ride. We stayed in Sevare for a night and awoke early the next morning to drive to my village. We spent some a few days in village which was marked by drumming, gun firing, dancing, singing, animal slaughtering, many miscommunications and lots of laughing! When we arrived, the entire village came out to the main road to greet us with their drums, guns and finest clothes. My mom brought lots of gifts for the kids, but she now fully understands why you don’t bring gifts to Africa. The kids rioted, broke everything, hit each other violently and cried relentlessly. They would rather have a broken gift in their own hands than see an intact gift in a friend’s hand.
After village, we hired a 4X4 and drove from Douentza down to Sangha on sand track road that was similar to Sandy Neck. The difference was that we were surrounded by rock spires, Fulani herders and staggering cliffs as opposed to sand dunes, piping plovers and the ocean. In Sangha, we met up with about 30 other Peace Corps Volunteers for a hike. Hilary became deathly ill, my mom sprained her ankle and my dad decided the hike wasn't really for him. The three of them hired a car to drive back to Sevare and recuperate while I hiked on with the group. They pampered themselves in Sevare at the Ambadjali hotel while I camped on rooftops and climbed over mountains for three days. It was some of the most fun I had had in a long time, but I only wish I could have shared it with the family. Mom never would have made it around those ledges, up the Dogon ladders and over the mountains on her ankle. In the end, it worked out. I had my adventure and they all relaxed and got healthy. I arrived back in Sevare and found them happy, safe and healthy (well, almost!) at the hotel.
We spent the next few days back up in Douentza for New Years with more PCVs and had a blast. New Years was spent among good folks in a great place with drinks and dancing had by all at the Tango Tango and later at a high school dance (of all places). We had our own Malian dance circle, yet completely lacked Malians. I think they may have been blown away, and maybe a little intimidated, by our white-guy dance skills.
The trip ended in Bamako and I ate pizza (which is huge news in the world of Dave). We took a guy from my village, Amadou Kassambara, another PCV (Jenny) and a Fulbright Scholar (Laura) out to lunch with us and it was an extremely interesting experience. I usually eat with Amadou’s family in village, so I figured it would be fun to see how he would react to eating with my American family. We went out to a relatively nice restaurant with American-type food. At first, he refused to come into the restaurant until I dragged him in. Sitting at the table, he would not look at the menu because the prices were well above his income level. I had to explained to him that as an American Peace Corps volunteer, I had the unique opportunity to live with his family, eat what they eat, share in their culture, become Malian, etc. I explained to him that it was now his turn to become a Malian PCV and experience the life and culture of an American family. I told him not to worry about the prices, as this is how we eat when there is a large gathering of family and friends. I explained that the day was a special occasion because it was the last meal my parents would have with me for almost a year. This eased his tensions a bit and helped him to understand the meal. He reluctantly let me order his meal. The restaurant was out of rice and sauce, cous-cous, fried rice…basically anything that would be remotely familiar to him. I landed on Chinese rice. He gets this dish in front of him and it’s a huge pile of rice, veggies and meat. To top it all off, it’s got a giant omelette laid over the top. Amadou is sitting there, poking at it, examining it, wondering what move to take next. Taking his fork, what my homologue (his uncle) calls an “American hand,” he poked, prodded and finally began to eat slowly. I gave Amadou some pizza, which was an entirely new concept to him, and I think he almost like it. He said, “Oo ana welli seeda tan.” (It’s only a little good). We finished the meal off with ice cream, another first for Amadou. I can’t imagine being 21 years old and having ice cream for the first time. His only comment was that it hurt his teeth, but I do think he liked it despite the tooth pain. I was sympathetic to Amadou because he felt out of place eating with us, did not understand our culture and didn’t know how to react to everything. But, as I have been doing this in his culture for 18 months, I will admit to taking a slight bit of pleasure from his discomfort. I did my best to keep him engaged in conversation and to explain everything to him, but now I know we share a similar bond in transcending cultures.
Anyway, the fam made it back home and life is back to what I can almost call normal here. Two of my friends, Kevin and Rachel, were married in Hombori last Thursday. We all arrived in Hombori for three days of rock climbing and marriage ceremonies. It definitely was an experience to remember. The ceremony was beautifully crafted, well organized and in the most amazing setting I can imagine. The Hand of Fatima laid out the background for the wedding, as well as for the rock climbing afterwards!
I went up climbing with Jared, Chris and Eryn the day after the wedding and was finally able to summit one of the fingers. We began after lunch, hiked up and around the base of the short/wide middle finger, scrambled up some large rocks and set the first pitch. Jared lead climbed and set down three ropes for us. He belayed me up first, followed by Chris and Eryn at the same time. I scrambled up to a higher ledge and set my rope in the anchor. Jared lead climbed again and made it to the top of the second pitch. It was a good sport climb up a well defined crack that he set with cams. I followed Jared up and had to unset the cams from their cracks. The wind began to pick up, which was a little unsettling considering I was hundreds of meters off the ground. The second pitch was long and took me to a good point where I was able to scramble the rest of the way to the top. I found the highest point, climbed on top of it and let out a huge whoop, as I had finally conquered one of the fingers.
The descent was ridiculously scary, I will give you that. Jared set up a rappel from a ledge on a different side of the finger. At this point, the sun was just about down and the wind, the harmattan wind, was blowing at full force between two fingers. I kept envisioning myself being blown from the face of the rock to the ground below. Finally, I strapped myself into an anchor with a sling and my heartbeat slowed considerably. Easing along the ledge, I got my belay device hooked into the rope and began my descent. I went down a few meters to the bottom of the ledge and then swung down into open space with no rocks to rest my feet on. It was me, the rope and a few pieces of metal holding my weight as I dangled about 50 feet above the closest thing to rock. My belay device kept jamming on the way down and the rope was heavy with wind drag. As the device would jam, I would smack it to allow the rope through. With the smack, I would freefall a few feet before the device caught again. With each fall, my heart jumped to my throat. You quickly learn to trust your equipment and the people you climb with. Making it through the free space hang, I found myself descending along a steep pitch. At least there was somewhere to kick my feet to, if only for mental security! I made it to the bottom of the rope and was completely tired out. We all took off our harnesses and climbing shoes, high fived, ate cookies and got ready for the hike down. The sun was gone and it was cold. We put on our headlamps and hiked for about an hour to the base. On the way, we spotted a wild hedgehog and some rock hopping mammals that look like giant mice/rats/hogs/whatever you want them to be. The climb rock and I am so ahppy to have finally made it to the top of one of the fingers. Hopefully there will be more climbing in the near future. That was the most badass experience of my life so far.
When they first arrived, we took a early morning bus from Bamako to Sevare. The ride was a little over ten hours, which I thought was great timing. Apparently it wasn’t so good for the family. They swore off public transport for the rest of the trip after that ride. We stayed in Sevare for a night and awoke early the next morning to drive to my village. We spent some a few days in village which was marked by drumming, gun firing, dancing, singing, animal slaughtering, many miscommunications and lots of laughing! When we arrived, the entire village came out to the main road to greet us with their drums, guns and finest clothes. My mom brought lots of gifts for the kids, but she now fully understands why you don’t bring gifts to Africa. The kids rioted, broke everything, hit each other violently and cried relentlessly. They would rather have a broken gift in their own hands than see an intact gift in a friend’s hand.
After village, we hired a 4X4 and drove from Douentza down to Sangha on sand track road that was similar to Sandy Neck. The difference was that we were surrounded by rock spires, Fulani herders and staggering cliffs as opposed to sand dunes, piping plovers and the ocean. In Sangha, we met up with about 30 other Peace Corps Volunteers for a hike. Hilary became deathly ill, my mom sprained her ankle and my dad decided the hike wasn't really for him. The three of them hired a car to drive back to Sevare and recuperate while I hiked on with the group. They pampered themselves in Sevare at the Ambadjali hotel while I camped on rooftops and climbed over mountains for three days. It was some of the most fun I had had in a long time, but I only wish I could have shared it with the family. Mom never would have made it around those ledges, up the Dogon ladders and over the mountains on her ankle. In the end, it worked out. I had my adventure and they all relaxed and got healthy. I arrived back in Sevare and found them happy, safe and healthy (well, almost!) at the hotel.
We spent the next few days back up in Douentza for New Years with more PCVs and had a blast. New Years was spent among good folks in a great place with drinks and dancing had by all at the Tango Tango and later at a high school dance (of all places). We had our own Malian dance circle, yet completely lacked Malians. I think they may have been blown away, and maybe a little intimidated, by our white-guy dance skills.
The trip ended in Bamako and I ate pizza (which is huge news in the world of Dave). We took a guy from my village, Amadou Kassambara, another PCV (Jenny) and a Fulbright Scholar (Laura) out to lunch with us and it was an extremely interesting experience. I usually eat with Amadou’s family in village, so I figured it would be fun to see how he would react to eating with my American family. We went out to a relatively nice restaurant with American-type food. At first, he refused to come into the restaurant until I dragged him in. Sitting at the table, he would not look at the menu because the prices were well above his income level. I had to explained to him that as an American Peace Corps volunteer, I had the unique opportunity to live with his family, eat what they eat, share in their culture, become Malian, etc. I explained to him that it was now his turn to become a Malian PCV and experience the life and culture of an American family. I told him not to worry about the prices, as this is how we eat when there is a large gathering of family and friends. I explained that the day was a special occasion because it was the last meal my parents would have with me for almost a year. This eased his tensions a bit and helped him to understand the meal. He reluctantly let me order his meal. The restaurant was out of rice and sauce, cous-cous, fried rice…basically anything that would be remotely familiar to him. I landed on Chinese rice. He gets this dish in front of him and it’s a huge pile of rice, veggies and meat. To top it all off, it’s got a giant omelette laid over the top. Amadou is sitting there, poking at it, examining it, wondering what move to take next. Taking his fork, what my homologue (his uncle) calls an “American hand,” he poked, prodded and finally began to eat slowly. I gave Amadou some pizza, which was an entirely new concept to him, and I think he almost like it. He said, “Oo ana welli seeda tan.” (It’s only a little good). We finished the meal off with ice cream, another first for Amadou. I can’t imagine being 21 years old and having ice cream for the first time. His only comment was that it hurt his teeth, but I do think he liked it despite the tooth pain. I was sympathetic to Amadou because he felt out of place eating with us, did not understand our culture and didn’t know how to react to everything. But, as I have been doing this in his culture for 18 months, I will admit to taking a slight bit of pleasure from his discomfort. I did my best to keep him engaged in conversation and to explain everything to him, but now I know we share a similar bond in transcending cultures.
Anyway, the fam made it back home and life is back to what I can almost call normal here. Two of my friends, Kevin and Rachel, were married in Hombori last Thursday. We all arrived in Hombori for three days of rock climbing and marriage ceremonies. It definitely was an experience to remember. The ceremony was beautifully crafted, well organized and in the most amazing setting I can imagine. The Hand of Fatima laid out the background for the wedding, as well as for the rock climbing afterwards!
I went up climbing with Jared, Chris and Eryn the day after the wedding and was finally able to summit one of the fingers. We began after lunch, hiked up and around the base of the short/wide middle finger, scrambled up some large rocks and set the first pitch. Jared lead climbed and set down three ropes for us. He belayed me up first, followed by Chris and Eryn at the same time. I scrambled up to a higher ledge and set my rope in the anchor. Jared lead climbed again and made it to the top of the second pitch. It was a good sport climb up a well defined crack that he set with cams. I followed Jared up and had to unset the cams from their cracks. The wind began to pick up, which was a little unsettling considering I was hundreds of meters off the ground. The second pitch was long and took me to a good point where I was able to scramble the rest of the way to the top. I found the highest point, climbed on top of it and let out a huge whoop, as I had finally conquered one of the fingers.
The descent was ridiculously scary, I will give you that. Jared set up a rappel from a ledge on a different side of the finger. At this point, the sun was just about down and the wind, the harmattan wind, was blowing at full force between two fingers. I kept envisioning myself being blown from the face of the rock to the ground below. Finally, I strapped myself into an anchor with a sling and my heartbeat slowed considerably. Easing along the ledge, I got my belay device hooked into the rope and began my descent. I went down a few meters to the bottom of the ledge and then swung down into open space with no rocks to rest my feet on. It was me, the rope and a few pieces of metal holding my weight as I dangled about 50 feet above the closest thing to rock. My belay device kept jamming on the way down and the rope was heavy with wind drag. As the device would jam, I would smack it to allow the rope through. With the smack, I would freefall a few feet before the device caught again. With each fall, my heart jumped to my throat. You quickly learn to trust your equipment and the people you climb with. Making it through the free space hang, I found myself descending along a steep pitch. At least there was somewhere to kick my feet to, if only for mental security! I made it to the bottom of the rope and was completely tired out. We all took off our harnesses and climbing shoes, high fived, ate cookies and got ready for the hike down. The sun was gone and it was cold. We put on our headlamps and hiked for about an hour to the base. On the way, we spotted a wild hedgehog and some rock hopping mammals that look like giant mice/rats/hogs/whatever you want them to be. The climb rock and I am so ahppy to have finally made it to the top of one of the fingers. Hopefully there will be more climbing in the near future. That was the most badass experience of my life so far.
The wedding band
The guys with Kevin
The married couple with rocks in the background as the sun sets.
All of the guests at the wedding in Hombori
The newly wed couple, Kevin and Rachel Belida, with Ted marrying them off.
Just another day of work in the Peace Corps!
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