It seems that I just can't post any pictures from any of the computers I've been at recently. Everyone got a small taste of some of the stuff I've been seeing, and now there's nothing. Apologies for that. I have been seeing amazing things, I swear, but I'd like to post some pictures to really drive the point home.
Well, what can I say instead? I was in Mopti for my birthday, in Djenné, a city of faded glory from the days of Islamic empire, for Christmas, and now I'm in Mali's capital, Bamako, for New Year's Eve. It seems I've been running into Mali Volunteers all over the place lately, as everyone is moving around for the holidays. It's been great for me, as Volunteers tend to know the cheap/interesting places to eat, sleep, and see.
But this post is about something different. I could write about the old city in Mopti, or the massive mud mosque in Djenné, about the first's surge as Mali's major river port at the expense of the second, about Djenné's once glorious past as a center of Islamic learning and one of the major trading cities on the trans-Saharan routes, rivaling even Timbuktu and Agadez. But I'm not going to do any of that. Instead, I'm going to throw out some of the challenges the traveler faces in West Africa, which just reaffirm that you haven't left this part of the world, that though places like Mopti, Djenné, and Segou all have Internet access (even wireless in some places), the difficulty of moving around is still the biggest pain of West Africa.
I was told by the Volunteer in Djenné, which is a city more or less on an island, requiring a ferry service to access, that if I wanted to get out of Djenné, I'd have to get to the loading point (gare) by 7:00 am, or else it'd be really difficult to get anywhere before nightfall. So I woke up early and was there before 7. This is how the next three hours played out.
Me: Hi, I'd like to go to Segou today, so I want to buy a ticket to the carrefour (the main stop on the road outside Djenné where everyone gets buses, cars, etc.)
Ticket Guy: Why go to the carrefour? We have a bus that's leaving this morning for Bamako. It can drop you off in Segou, and it goes direct. You'll have no problems.
And it's leaving this morning?
Yes, this morning.
So I take the ticket and I sit down to wait. I've probably been waiting about half an hour when a woman getting in a car to the carrefour looks at me and says, "You need to go to the carrefour. If you're waiting for that bus, wallahi, you'll be waiting here still by tonight. Just you see, you'll still be here tonight." Well...that was ominous.
Excuse me, sir? That lady who just left said that this bus isn't going anywhere today and that I should go to the carrefour.
No, no, no, it is going today, trust me. (We walk over to the bus) See? Everything is already packed on top. We'll leave in twenty minutes. 8:00 at the latest.
By 7:40, they're taking everything off the bus.
Why are they taking everything off the bus? (Search for the ticket agent again after 20 mins of waiting.) They're taking everything off the bus. It's obviously not leaving today.
No, it will leave. They're taking everything off the bus and sweeping it. It will leave after.
You said before they loaded everything on it last night so it could leave early.
Look, I'll ask the driver. (To some random guy) Is this bus leaving today? Yes, it's leaving today. See? Just sit here and wait.
More waiting. It becomes more and more obvious that this bus is not leaving. Find the ticket seller.
Okay, give me my money back, I'm walking. (It's 30k to the carrefour and 2k to the ferry)
No! It's leaving, I swear. You just be patient.
But not now! It's not leaving this morning, and I want to leave.
It is leaving now. Not at noon, not even at ten. In a few minutes.
Bullshit! (Is what I was thinking and trying to communicate, but I don't know how to say that in French) Give me my money.
Look, I'll ask the driver again. (Some other random guy, not even the same one as before.) Oh, he said tomorrow morning.
F*** you, give me my money!
Patience, patience, we'll get a car for all of you waiting for the bus and it'll leave toute suite.
Fifteen minutes more. I talk to a French couple traveling overland through West Africa. Back to the ticket guy.
Let's go. You said toute suite.
Patience, we need five more people to fill the car.
I might actually kill you! Give me my expletive-inducing money!
The car will leave soon.
I don't want soon! I've been waiting over two hours for transport that barely exists anyway! GIVE ME MY F***ING MONEY, I'M F***ING WALKING!
It's too far!
I DON'T GIVE A GOOD GOD D***! I'M WHITE! I'LL HITCHHIKE! TOURISTS WILL PICK ME UP! ANYTHING TO GET AWAY FROM YOU!
The guy basically lied to me the entire time because he wanted more money. He knows the bus schedule and knows that every week for, I'm sure, years that the bus stays overnight on a Sunday to take people home after Monday's market. In this case, patience was not a virtue. If I'd waited, I would still be in Djenné or God only knows where. As it was, I started walking, got picked up by a really, really crappy bush taxi that was carrying goods only, not people, as I'm sure this thing would be unsafe under any conditions. There were no interior panels, the doors had to be jammed shut, they didn't close fully without a good kick, there was no starter, the guy just had to literally hot wire it everytime he wanted to start it. It had a max speed of about 10 mph, and the popping I kept hearing, I found out after about 30 mins, was the metal of the door grinding against the metal of the frame everytime we hit a bump.
But overall, none of this mattered. The car managed to get me to the carrefour, where I immediately got a bus. Though cramped in the back seat, breathing in the heat and exhaust from the engine, it got me to Segou about two hours slower than a regular bus would. However, I did meet some Volunteers on the bus, and they showed me around Segou and have helped me out a lot in Bamako. Overall, there wasn't a lot to Segou, but after a full day of travel hell, the simplicity and laid-back atmosphere of the city seemed like a god send.
So for now, that's all I want to spend on a computer. I'm off to somewhere else in Mali for a couple weeks until I'm in Ivory Coast to meet up with Emilie Ross, who was the first Volunteer in Tanka Lokoto, my village in Niger. We'll have a lot of stories to trade I'm sure, but until then, I'll see what other adventures I can have.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Celebrating a Quarter Century while Hiking Le Pays Dogon
No pictures this time around because I forgot my camera cord in my backpack. It's a shame, because as beautiful and interesting as the area around Banfora was, I think Dogon Country just blows it away. In fact, it probably eliminates the competition in all the rest of West Africa, but I can't make that claim until I visit the rest of West Africa. Dege dege as the Dogon say. That's moso moso to all you Zarma speakers or slowly slowly for everyone else.
To get to the Bandiagara Escarpment (where I hiked with Eli and Lauren for four days and nights), we had to start at 4:45 am to catch a bus from Ouagadougou to Ouahigouya. From there, we waited around a few hours for a bush taxi to Koro, and a few hours later, we grabbed another bush taxi for Bankass, our starting point for Dogon Country. Overall, it was a full day of traveling or waiting, but it was all worth it when we caught a view of the Bandiagara Escarpment while on the road to Bankass. Traveling through the Malian countryside, you're surrounded by plains, grasses, and trees of the Sahelian variety. In short, it looks exactly like Niger. Then, suddenly, your gaze moves to the west, and a 500m cliff face just seems to appear out of the middle of these vast, unbroken plains and stretch to the horizon. It's a 150km-long cliff that looks like someone just gashed the ground and pulled up solid rock.
The hiking is amazing. Let me say this now: I had giardia for the entire trip, and I still thought it was amazing. The trip. Not the giardia. I've had worse giardia, but anytime you think you're going to pass out while climbing onto the roof where you're sleeping in the pitch black...ya, not a great feeling. This echoes a friend who went to Dogon Country and realized he had malaria. Despite the horrible symptoms, they could not overpower the magic of Dogon Country. By the way, I don't mention it like I should, but we slept on the roof of the Dogon houses. An amazing view of every star in an ink-black sky, and mornings at sunrise? I don't think you can feel anything other than peace as you watch color slowly bleed into a brightening sky.
The Dogon are an amazing people. There's been a lot of research done on the Dogons in anthropological and archaeological sources, so I'll leave the heavy work to anyone really interested. The Dogon people came to the Escarpment around the 15th Century, where they met the Tellem people, who were already living there. The Tellem allowed them to settle but said the Dogon were not allowed to cut the trees or eat the fruit. The Tellem were a very small people, only about three or four feet, but they possessed powerful black magic which allowed them to fly. This explains the vaults, small houses in the rock which are completely inaccessible today but which the Tellem used to store their most prized possessions. An explanation more likely than flight (or very advanced climbing gear) is that this area was at one time much rainier, which allowed vines and other plants to climb the cliff face, allowing climbing access for some pretty scrappy people. Whatever the explanation is, it still takes a pretty brave little guy to climb up the 300m to where some of these vaults have been secured into the cliff face.
I'll skip ahead a little now. The Dogon eventually broke their word and began cutting the trees, so the Tellem left the Escarpment, never to return. The Dogon, holding tight to their animist beliefs in the face of repeated aggression from Islamic empires such as the Malian and Songhai, built their houses at the very base of the cliff, making them nigh-impregnable. Thus they maintained their distinct culture down to the present day. In the past fifty years or so, most of the Dogon have moved down to the plain, and many have taken up Islam or Catholicism. The only thing assaulting the Dogon these days are hordes of tourists, which has actually helped the Dogon in that they haven't suffered the loss of their younger generations to better opportunities in the big cities or elsewhere in Africa, America, or Europe. They no longer live at the base of the cliff, but all the old houses and granaries are still there, and their culture, strangly, has been somewhat preserved by the tourism industry. There's actually a reason for the Dogon to continue speaking their language, performing their ritual dances, and remembering their past, and that reason is because they've found a market among Westerners.
I could go on and on about the people we met, some of the breathtaking scenery we saw, and the even more breathtaking cliffs of which we peered over the edge. However, all of it is just words, and pictures paint a thousand words or more, so I'll try to post some in the near-ish future. I'll also try to post more about this amazing place, but honestly, I'm having such a hard time keeping up with the places I'm going that it's going to be very difficult to go back and rehash the places I've been.
For example, right now, I'm in Mopti, the Venice of West Africa. It's spread out over three islands at the confluence of the Niger and Bani rivers and is probably the biggest river port on the Niger. Everyone and everything on the river seems to move through Mopti, and as a result it's very hectic and colorful. However, hectic is not what I wanted for my birthday yesterday, so Eli, Lauren, and I chose a nice bar down by the water at sunset to while away the time and watch other people be hectic. After, we met up with our Dogon guide, Moumouni, for another beer, and I began to hatch some plans about possibly trying to get to the Festival in the Desert in a couple weeks. We'll see how that goes. Overall, it wasn't much activity by way of birthdays, but zipping through the streets at the end of the night on the back of a motorcycle, I could only think of how happy I was. I'd hiked out of Dogon Country in the morning, made it to Mopti by the early afternoon, and was drinking beers by the river in the Venice of West Africa by sunset. All with two great friends alongside me. Of course there are more people I wish could have been there, and they know who they are, but I couldn't ask for a better end to a great day.
To get to the Bandiagara Escarpment (where I hiked with Eli and Lauren for four days and nights), we had to start at 4:45 am to catch a bus from Ouagadougou to Ouahigouya. From there, we waited around a few hours for a bush taxi to Koro, and a few hours later, we grabbed another bush taxi for Bankass, our starting point for Dogon Country. Overall, it was a full day of traveling or waiting, but it was all worth it when we caught a view of the Bandiagara Escarpment while on the road to Bankass. Traveling through the Malian countryside, you're surrounded by plains, grasses, and trees of the Sahelian variety. In short, it looks exactly like Niger. Then, suddenly, your gaze moves to the west, and a 500m cliff face just seems to appear out of the middle of these vast, unbroken plains and stretch to the horizon. It's a 150km-long cliff that looks like someone just gashed the ground and pulled up solid rock.
The hiking is amazing. Let me say this now: I had giardia for the entire trip, and I still thought it was amazing. The trip. Not the giardia. I've had worse giardia, but anytime you think you're going to pass out while climbing onto the roof where you're sleeping in the pitch black...ya, not a great feeling. This echoes a friend who went to Dogon Country and realized he had malaria. Despite the horrible symptoms, they could not overpower the magic of Dogon Country. By the way, I don't mention it like I should, but we slept on the roof of the Dogon houses. An amazing view of every star in an ink-black sky, and mornings at sunrise? I don't think you can feel anything other than peace as you watch color slowly bleed into a brightening sky.
The Dogon are an amazing people. There's been a lot of research done on the Dogons in anthropological and archaeological sources, so I'll leave the heavy work to anyone really interested. The Dogon people came to the Escarpment around the 15th Century, where they met the Tellem people, who were already living there. The Tellem allowed them to settle but said the Dogon were not allowed to cut the trees or eat the fruit. The Tellem were a very small people, only about three or four feet, but they possessed powerful black magic which allowed them to fly. This explains the vaults, small houses in the rock which are completely inaccessible today but which the Tellem used to store their most prized possessions. An explanation more likely than flight (or very advanced climbing gear) is that this area was at one time much rainier, which allowed vines and other plants to climb the cliff face, allowing climbing access for some pretty scrappy people. Whatever the explanation is, it still takes a pretty brave little guy to climb up the 300m to where some of these vaults have been secured into the cliff face.
I'll skip ahead a little now. The Dogon eventually broke their word and began cutting the trees, so the Tellem left the Escarpment, never to return. The Dogon, holding tight to their animist beliefs in the face of repeated aggression from Islamic empires such as the Malian and Songhai, built their houses at the very base of the cliff, making them nigh-impregnable. Thus they maintained their distinct culture down to the present day. In the past fifty years or so, most of the Dogon have moved down to the plain, and many have taken up Islam or Catholicism. The only thing assaulting the Dogon these days are hordes of tourists, which has actually helped the Dogon in that they haven't suffered the loss of their younger generations to better opportunities in the big cities or elsewhere in Africa, America, or Europe. They no longer live at the base of the cliff, but all the old houses and granaries are still there, and their culture, strangly, has been somewhat preserved by the tourism industry. There's actually a reason for the Dogon to continue speaking their language, performing their ritual dances, and remembering their past, and that reason is because they've found a market among Westerners.
I could go on and on about the people we met, some of the breathtaking scenery we saw, and the even more breathtaking cliffs of which we peered over the edge. However, all of it is just words, and pictures paint a thousand words or more, so I'll try to post some in the near-ish future. I'll also try to post more about this amazing place, but honestly, I'm having such a hard time keeping up with the places I'm going that it's going to be very difficult to go back and rehash the places I've been.
For example, right now, I'm in Mopti, the Venice of West Africa. It's spread out over three islands at the confluence of the Niger and Bani rivers and is probably the biggest river port on the Niger. Everyone and everything on the river seems to move through Mopti, and as a result it's very hectic and colorful. However, hectic is not what I wanted for my birthday yesterday, so Eli, Lauren, and I chose a nice bar down by the water at sunset to while away the time and watch other people be hectic. After, we met up with our Dogon guide, Moumouni, for another beer, and I began to hatch some plans about possibly trying to get to the Festival in the Desert in a couple weeks. We'll see how that goes. Overall, it wasn't much activity by way of birthdays, but zipping through the streets at the end of the night on the back of a motorcycle, I could only think of how happy I was. I'd hiked out of Dogon Country in the morning, made it to Mopti by the early afternoon, and was drinking beers by the river in the Venice of West Africa by sunset. All with two great friends alongside me. Of course there are more people I wish could have been there, and they know who they are, but I couldn't ask for a better end to a great day.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
On the Road in Burkina Faso
Not a very imaginative title, I know, but guess what? I just found out that you can add pictures on this website. So now you can all stop going to my facebook page to check stuff out, and I can make my posts a lot more pertinent to my travels. I'll warn you right now: this is all going to seem very cool and exotic. I have to admit, it kind of is. I'm in Burkina Faso's capital Ouagadougou right now, and eventhough it's kind of a calm, slightly boring capital, just the name alone I think wins it points for originality. I've officially been out of Niger for about a week now, and I've been hopping from city to city, visiting Volunteers, and helping with any Agriculture related projects that I might have any experience with.
Ouagadougou and Bobo Dioulasso are the two biggest cities in Burkina Faso, and while I've met a lot of really cool Volunteers, there wasn't really much to distinguish them from Niamey. I'd spent over two months stuck in Niger's capital, so I needed a break from cities. I found it in Banfora.
Banfora is Burkina's tourist Mecca. To be honest, there isn't a lot to see in Burkina according to the guide books, but Peace Corps Volunteers are always a good bet to see the really cool stuff. In Banfora, I stayed with a Volunteer named Brad and got to visit two of the coolest geographical sites in the area. I'll get the names later when I update this post, but the Domes are about 15km from Banfora, which I managed to get to with a rented bike. Evidently, they are only one of two sites in the world where the erosive forces have worked to create these entirely unique rock formations. From the nearby waterfalls, you can hike along Banfora's main water supply to the Domes, and you have a great view of the local sugar cane fields.
Unfortunately, that's all I have time for right now. I'm heading up to Mali and Dogon Country bright and early tomorrow morning, so I'll be out of any contact for quite a while. Hope everyone's safe and enjoying the holiday season. I'll be spending it in Mali, where there's no snow, but at least I don't have to deal with the cold. I'm sure I'll have some amazing pictures in the next post, but until then, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. - Sterling
Ouagadougou and Bobo Dioulasso are the two biggest cities in Burkina Faso, and while I've met a lot of really cool Volunteers, there wasn't really much to distinguish them from Niamey. I'd spent over two months stuck in Niger's capital, so I needed a break from cities. I found it in Banfora.
Banfora is Burkina's tourist Mecca. To be honest, there isn't a lot to see in Burkina according to the guide books, but Peace Corps Volunteers are always a good bet to see the really cool stuff. In Banfora, I stayed with a Volunteer named Brad and got to visit two of the coolest geographical sites in the area. I'll get the names later when I update this post, but the Domes are about 15km from Banfora, which I managed to get to with a rented bike. Evidently, they are only one of two sites in the world where the erosive forces have worked to create these entirely unique rock formations. From the nearby waterfalls, you can hike along Banfora's main water supply to the Domes, and you have a great view of the local sugar cane fields. 
Now that I'm no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer, I have no restrictions on any kind of stupid thing I want to go off and do in the African countryside. So what did I do? I rented a moped and took it 50km into the bush to see the Sindou Peaks.
Let's just put it out there: I've never driven a moped before. I've always wanted a motorcycle, but I've also harbored a secret fear of them. No more. It was so much fun. Granted, I did almost crash it into a fruit stand, but once I got away from town, away from the goats, children, and fruit stands, I really had the laterite road all to myself. It meant that I was coated with fine red dust by the end of my trip, but what a feeling.
The Sindou Peaks are a chain of rocky spires that extend from the city of Sindou. There's really no other way to describe them other than fantastic, as in, I thought I was on the set of some Hollywood fantasy film. I honestly expected a Muppet to jump out from behind the rocks. Maybe Hoggle would lead me to the castle of the Goblin King. If you understand that reference, then more power to you. But seriously, doesn't this look like a place where you'd find faeries?
Unfortunately, that's all I have time for right now. I'm heading up to Mali and Dogon Country bright and early tomorrow morning, so I'll be out of any contact for quite a while. Hope everyone's safe and enjoying the holiday season. I'll be spending it in Mali, where there's no snow, but at least I don't have to deal with the cold. I'm sure I'll have some amazing pictures in the next post, but until then, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. - SterlingSunday, December 6, 2009
Leaving Niger
This one is hard to write, but it's been a long time coming. How do you sum up two years living in the bush in Africa? How do I even sum up the last month, when those of us Northern Tillaberi refugees became grouped with a whole new set of refugees from an expanded terror threat. In case you haven't been diligently following Nigerien news. Here's the official word on what's been going on lately:
https://www.osac.gov/Reports/report.cfm?contentID=110469
To see how this plays into the larger picture of AQIM and all the fun they've been having across the Sahel, focusing on events that have occurred during my service, go to these places:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7798571.stm
http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSLP155404
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/8080447.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8373821.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8381200.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8385559.stm
Wow. I didn't realize how frightening a picture that paints until I put them all together. My village was about 100km give or take from the border with Mali where the French national and the European tourists were kidnapped. However, throughout my entire service, I never once felt as if I were in danger. Someone with an outside perspective could call me naive or worse, but I think it says more about my community and the place I live. I firmly believe my villagers would have done anything to shelter and protect me had the occasion ever arisen.
Looking back, the week I had at my post seems like a positive, real risk. Would I do it again? Definitely. I hold no regrets. At least I was allowed to say goodbye. After the attempted kidnapping of embassy staff in Tahoua, a capital city much farther from the border than my village, the entire region was evacuated of all Volunteers. Many of them had no idea they would never be allowed back to their villages when they got the call to consolidate in Konni. As dangerous as it was, I know that I needed to see my villagers again, and sometimes, when something is that important, you just have to take a few chances.
I'll leave that. There's too much involved in the decisions made by individuals in any given circumstance to really examine them closely. Especially in a situation as extraordinary as this. Overall, I think Peace Corps' response was well managed and assessed all risks responsibly. I won't say anymore in part because of those who've decided to leave due to the security reasons and for those who will be staying on in very trying circumstances. The worst part of my entire second year living under travel restrictions was the uncertainty of the situation on a day-to-day basis. I was sure after the British tourist was executed that I would be evacuated from my site. I was allowed to stay, but it did underline how quickly things could change. That uncertainty will inform their entire service, but I'm confident those who have stayed will weather through it.
And now I'm leaving Niger. I have my visas for Mali (the non-dangerous part) and Burkina Faso ready and I'm heading out the door. This blog has been a pretty good representation of my service, but it can't cover even one percent of the emotions I've felt, the trials I've been through, the friendships I've made, and the rewards I've been given. If none of these kidnappings had happened, I can confidently say I would be staying another year. However, I can't really complain about that. One of my best friends in country (who also spent a full year under travel restrictions in Northern Tillaberi) said to me once that living alone in the bush, over a hundred kilometers from any other American, working with limited resources within our communities was closer to the "romantic" idea everyone has of Peace Corps, which is pretty cool. And throughout all of this, I've learned that Allah provides. I'm not saying things aren't meant to happen for one reason or another, or that things always turn out okay. However, when those two paths diverge in the wood, they lead to endless other possibilities and endless other divergences. That's just the route life takes, and it's better to appreciate what's on your own path, rather than wonder at what you'd missed.
I'll be keeping this blog going throughout the remainder of my time in West Africa, so keep checking for my whereabouts and to see what adventures I've had. Much love to everyone at home. I know there are some worried about me, but I hope that worry is tempered with excitement for all that I hope to experience in the coming months.
Irkoy m'ir cabe cere!
https://www.osac.gov/Reports/report.cfm?contentID=110469
To see how this plays into the larger picture of AQIM and all the fun they've been having across the Sahel, focusing on events that have occurred during my service, go to these places:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7798571.stm
http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSLP155404
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/8080447.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8373821.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8381200.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/8385559.stm
Wow. I didn't realize how frightening a picture that paints until I put them all together. My village was about 100km give or take from the border with Mali where the French national and the European tourists were kidnapped. However, throughout my entire service, I never once felt as if I were in danger. Someone with an outside perspective could call me naive or worse, but I think it says more about my community and the place I live. I firmly believe my villagers would have done anything to shelter and protect me had the occasion ever arisen.
Looking back, the week I had at my post seems like a positive, real risk. Would I do it again? Definitely. I hold no regrets. At least I was allowed to say goodbye. After the attempted kidnapping of embassy staff in Tahoua, a capital city much farther from the border than my village, the entire region was evacuated of all Volunteers. Many of them had no idea they would never be allowed back to their villages when they got the call to consolidate in Konni. As dangerous as it was, I know that I needed to see my villagers again, and sometimes, when something is that important, you just have to take a few chances.
I'll leave that. There's too much involved in the decisions made by individuals in any given circumstance to really examine them closely. Especially in a situation as extraordinary as this. Overall, I think Peace Corps' response was well managed and assessed all risks responsibly. I won't say anymore in part because of those who've decided to leave due to the security reasons and for those who will be staying on in very trying circumstances. The worst part of my entire second year living under travel restrictions was the uncertainty of the situation on a day-to-day basis. I was sure after the British tourist was executed that I would be evacuated from my site. I was allowed to stay, but it did underline how quickly things could change. That uncertainty will inform their entire service, but I'm confident those who have stayed will weather through it.
And now I'm leaving Niger. I have my visas for Mali (the non-dangerous part) and Burkina Faso ready and I'm heading out the door. This blog has been a pretty good representation of my service, but it can't cover even one percent of the emotions I've felt, the trials I've been through, the friendships I've made, and the rewards I've been given. If none of these kidnappings had happened, I can confidently say I would be staying another year. However, I can't really complain about that. One of my best friends in country (who also spent a full year under travel restrictions in Northern Tillaberi) said to me once that living alone in the bush, over a hundred kilometers from any other American, working with limited resources within our communities was closer to the "romantic" idea everyone has of Peace Corps, which is pretty cool. And throughout all of this, I've learned that Allah provides. I'm not saying things aren't meant to happen for one reason or another, or that things always turn out okay. However, when those two paths diverge in the wood, they lead to endless other possibilities and endless other divergences. That's just the route life takes, and it's better to appreciate what's on your own path, rather than wonder at what you'd missed.
I'll be keeping this blog going throughout the remainder of my time in West Africa, so keep checking for my whereabouts and to see what adventures I've had. Much love to everyone at home. I know there are some worried about me, but I hope that worry is tempered with excitement for all that I hope to experience in the coming months.
Irkoy m'ir cabe cere!
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