January 3, 2014 On my 10-minute walk to the market I am greeted by nearly everyone, except the kids who simply just stare at me (they are either in shock are scared out of their mind). I am greeted in French, Fulfulde, and English. If I say hi first I never know which language to use. If they respond in a different language, then I usually say hello again in the language they use. I usually feel silly after I’ve said hi twice in two different languages but by the time I reach the market I forget. The kids who yell “Nasara” distract me and I can’t help but smile. Even though I know this should annoy me, it doesn’t. When the kids aren’t scared of me and say anything to me, even Nasara, I greet them back with a smile. When I reach the market, there are moto boys waiting on the road, there are people patiently sitting in cars and buses, and there are people of all ages watching life in Mayo-Darlé. I stop by my friend’s boutique. He sells telephones, batteries, and other electronics. Usually, he is either inside his shack watching TV, using his computer, or outside sitting with nearby shop owners. Every time I show up, I get offered a chair within seconds. It’s impossible to refuse because if I do, they ask me where I’m going, what I need to buy, and then offer to get it for me. Sometimes they go get it themselves, sometimes they find a kid to go get it, and sometimes, maybe when they are tired, they accept my objections and I go buy my own things. It is such a trusting community. If I give my money to someone to buy me something, there is no worry they will steal from me. I’m not sure if it is because they know their parents will discipline them, or if that is just because everyone is taking care of everyone here. Either way, I love it. There are days when I think I was meant for this place. I love when people smile and say hi to me even though we’ve never met. I respond with the same enthusiasm, like we’ve met a million times. So far, everyone I’ve talked to loves music, loves to dance (or at least watch), and loves to eat together. Naps are perfectly acceptable, and in fact a normal part of the day. My large scar on my chest is normal; no one asks me silly questions like, “were you shot?” In fact, there is a group of people here who do scarification on their faces when they are young. In addition, my post mate (the other Peace Corps Volunteer here) was sick, and I was nervous about telling my colleague I’d miss a meeting. But when I told him, there was not a stitch of anger or annoyance. He told me it is normal to take care of people when they are sick; health comes first, before work or anything else. I apologized multiple times and he simply said “bon voyage” and I hope your post mate gets better. My post mate still isn’t back and the town is very concerned for him. He’s been gone a while now and there is at least one person every day who asks about his health. Of course, there are also days when I think to myself (sometimes out loud) what am I doing here? I have nothing to offer, especially when I can’t even communicate with most of them. I am barely getting down French, there is no way I can have a conversation in Fulfulde. I catch one word and usually that word is a French word mixed in with the local language. I don’t even know how to survive here, and I’m supposed to help with development work. It seems impossible. I have a lot to learn before I’m in any place to open my mouth with any ideas worth sharing. I get overwhelmed often and when I think I’m on my way to being helpful or supportive, I get comments like “I haven’t seen you lately, do you just stay in your house,” “you need to speak up in the meetings,” and “why don’t you try to speak Fulfulde?” It bursts my bubble every time I hear this. It is usually exactly what I am thinking to myself, and when someone says it out loud to me, calling me out on everything I’m trying so hard to overcome, I find myself fighting off the tears. There was one time I couldn’t hold it back any more and broke down. Luckily it was in my own house with a guy friend who had sat in on a meeting with me and called me out on all the things I think about myself, but in my mind are impossible to overcome right now. Things like speaking up in a meeting held in Fulfulde, giving ideas on the things they talk about, and asking questions. Considering I catch a fourth of most meetings, I don’t think I’m anywhere near doing the things I so badly want to do. I want to show them I am here to work, I want to help, and I want to do something worthwhile. But instead, I sit quietly listening for that random French word thrown into a speech in Fulfulde. When I am feeling brave, I ask them to speak in French, but that usually works for about 5 minutes before everyone is back to Fulfulde. I have no idea what I can do to help, to empower, to develop, or even just support people. I got nothing. I hope that changes with time. I try to tell myself to relax every time someone gets upset with me for not speaking Fulfulde or not remembering their name or position in the community. I tell myself, they have one new name and person to remember and it’s near impossible to confuse me with someone else. Even if they don’t have patience with me, I try to force myself to be patient because otherwise I will start having pity-parties way too often. It is nighttime here, about midnight. Everything and everyone is asleep. The only noises I hear are the occasional mouse, dog barking, cricket, or my cats changing positions on my blanket. I have yet to adjust to the African schedule. I love my nights and hate mornings too much. I want to stay up til 2am and wake up at 10am. Instead I force myself to go to bed earlier and let myself sleep until 7:30 or 8 am. The whole town is awake and working by the time I am drinking my coffee and getting dressed. I am definitely not helping with the idea of lazy Americans. Sorry America. I’ll try to get better, but it’s hard. I love the quiet of the night. There are no children yelling at me to “open the door” or “I want a bonbon” or “I want to draw.” I take the quiet time to reflect on my day. I think about all my conversations and I often can’t remember if I spoke English or French with people, but somehow I got through another day mostly understanding, and being mostly understood (I think). It’s a small victory that is overshadowed by the people who ask why I don’t leave my house or tell me I am not trying. I tell myself it is okay, that they don’t understand what it’s like for me to be here. But also I think, “yeah buck up girl, let’s get this show on the road.” But how?!? I can barely have conversations about things outside of food, weather, and the day. On the other hand, I am quickly learning how to lie about my relationship status. I can’t count how many marriage proposals I’ve gotten. I am not sure they really count as proposals since it’s less of a question and more of a statement. Usually followed by “…and we can go back to America together.” I just laugh and say I’m here to work, but that hasn’t been very effective. Now, I have a boyfriend/fiancé/husband (depends on who I’m talking to) back home in the States who is waiting for me to come back. With what I’ve come up with so far, he is a stand up guy who I’d love to meet. The men/guys here are different and difficult. They think I am their woman no matter what I say or do. I made the mistake of going to a bar with a guy on New Year’s (although I invited all my friends) and he thought I was going to marry him. I finally had to tell him, I’m just your friend. My guy friends laughed pretty hard as I tried to explain to this guy, in French, over the phone, I just want to be friends and asking if he has understood my terrible French. He said he did but by the phone call and visit later in the day, I am thinking he didn’t. Thankfully I was at the river washing clothes without my phone, so for now, I’ve evaded his interrogation about why I don’t want to be his wife. I am trying to integrate/adjust/etc. Sometimes I want to crawl in a hole but it doesn’t last more than an hour (maybe 2 or 3 sometimes) and the kids are a good distraction. I think they enjoy coming to my house because there are no rules. It’s a MAD HOUSE here sometimes, but I love it (usually). They come in, they draw, they play with my musical cards, my fake spiders, and they take turns trying to build the Legos my nephew sent for a little boy. I followed Joseph’s request of “Please give to a little boy” loosely. I couldn’t pick just one kid to give it to, but I have lent them out a lot and the kids love them. None of them (including the older youth) are as fast as Joseph though. Maybe with practice they will be able to build those cars without a problem. Thank you, Joseph; I told them the Legos were from you! Happy New Year everyone! I miss America quite a bit. I miss the running water, the constant electricity, and the thick comfortable mattress. Overall, I can’t complain, life is good and I like the village life and the people here. (I had to change that from “love” to “like.” I’m not quite there yet.)