Kadidya Dumbia. But everyone just says Kadja for short. We were all given Malian names upon our arrival and since our village – Mountugula – is so small, all the little kids run around screaming our names when we walk by and most of them want to touch our hands. Being OCD as I am, and not being the biggest fan of dirty hands, I usually extend my wrist, as we’ve been taught to do when people want to shake our hands and either theirs or ours are dirty. I live with the dugutigi (chief of the village) and his 3 wives, though I swear only 2 are ever around. I call them Granny 1,2, and 3, but to their faces they’re Monyo, Korotun, and I forgot Granny #3’s name since she’s never around. I’ve met 7 of his sons, or atleast 7 that claim him as their father, though not all biological. In Mali, and in most African cultures, when a man dies, his brothers will take his deceased brother’s wives and children for his own, so there’s a lot of “He’s my father, but my father died” going on. In descending order, according to age, my brothers here(sons of the dugutigi): Madu (lives in Bamako, so he’s not around much), Mahaman (the Muslim name, Mohammad. He, too, lives in Bamako, so I only see him on weekends when he comes to visit his wife, who lives across the street from us. He’s super cool and has drank with us at the bar), Sungalu (has 2 wives: Nana & Mai; they do the bulk of the cooking and cleaning and are more or less my mother figures here), Drisa (you’ve met him in earlier entries. I can’t write enough compliments about him), Sedu (has taken a while to warm up to me, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate me), Koniba (made me a sweet shirt he made at his job in Bamako; he’s a tailor), Solo (my running buddy and also conversation partner. He’s also said on multiple occasions he wants to marry me. Sorry) and lastly Somila, who I walked in on in the nyegen after being here only a few days. It was super awkward, but I think we’re both past it. I temporarily forgot the courtesy clap before entering. Definitely didn’t happen again.
Music jam sessions make me miss Marla. Talking about crappy TV shows with other Americans make me miss Steph. Drinking makes me miss Jamie. This whole experience really make me appreciate my friends and family back home and how loved I am, especially after getting back to internet access and seeing how many people are keeping up with me. Thank you all. You have no idea how much I love your seemingly random Facebook messages, wall posts, music updates, emails, and letters. Keep them coming.
Last weekend, we went hiking in Niamana after biking there with some people from that village. On top of the mountain, overlooking the whole village and it’s beautiful scenery, Delissa, in all her profoundness: “I’m black and I didn’t expect Africa to be like this.” Hilarious.
3/9/11
Had our language evaluations yesterday afternoon, where Peace Corps Language Officials came in to sit down with us one-on-one to test our progress and rank us on the scale as follows: Novice Low, Novice Mid, Novice High, Intermediate, Intermediate Mid, Intermediate High, Expert Low, Expert Mid, Expert High. I ranked Intermediate Mid, which I was happy about, since that’s where you are required to be at before being placed at site in April. Meaning, I can kind of breeze by the next few weeks. Not that I have been really studying at all. Oops.
We find out our site placements today! Everyone’s super anxious/excited/nervous to find out where we’re going to be sent to for the next 2 years, especially to find out if we’ll be near the friends we’ve made so far or if we’ll be a 30 hour bus ride away from our buddies. I'll let you know soon. 3 1/2 days of internet access, fans, electricity, running water, and socializing with eachother. Wahoooooo.
The title's for you, Mo.
