I have an overwhelming urge to write down what I am grateful for. One day, on a long drive, at one of the many check points that make you wanna die because you're sitting in a tiny van packed with kids and the wind is no longer blowing through the windows, these kids that approached us were especially aggressive. Cadeau? Bidon? Bic? Chemise? (present? bottle? pen? tshirt?) I got so fille with sadness and undeniable inability to help that it quickly turned to frustration. You have to ignore it after a certain point. Being here, above all else makes me realize what a beautiful life there is waiting for me at home. I constantly make lists in my head, trying to remind mysef which things I always have to consider a privelege once I get home. Toooooo much.
I thought I would come back with all these, oh poo, America revelations, but no. I LOVE America.

I prayed with Ladji again, this time, he took my picture. It's funny, no part of my wants to convert to Islam, but no part of me finds anything strange about praying with him, it feels really great, calming, dhikr - to remember.
I've talked several times to my brother Moctar about my problems with violence. When he hits his sisters playfully (though it's a bit much for a 27 yr old for my taste), I shake my head, and I can see that it gets to him. He always like, "quoi?" He gets all well what do you expect? but I know he feels self conscious. His explanation, defense, is that words can more permenantly bruise someone, versus a slap, thats just in that moment. I told him you have to try to control words too, I'm not for verbal abuse either. Whats so great is that I feel like I can have these really honest conversations with Moctar, among others, not afraid to leave cultural relativity behind and without condemnng him for his actions say, it's not good to hit people, that teaches them nothing except to be afraid. When you know someone so well it becomes more difficult to just say, oh yes, this is what they do in Africa. Its this person I care about right in front of me, and we're able to have really open discussions.
my generalization of the day: Maliens are incredibly tolerant people. they have a very different lifestyle, yet no problem with mine. the religious tolerance, and beyond that, acceptance here is something to learn from.

So I just got back from sanakoroba again, conducting the first half of my interviews. I interviewed about13 individuals, men and women, about polygamy, relaxed, read, played with kids, thought about home mor than ever. if was the least busy time since I've been here because I had to wait for my translator to show up and take me to interviews. I ended up speeding things along and taking matters into my own hands a little more towards the end, conducting more informal interviews with random people I met, but these were all men. Because the women are busy. women are incredibly busy here, constantly working. If anythings going to bring them out of poverty it's the women.

so. one night. after hearing about this sweet dude that plays bob marley songs and jams out all day on his guitar, i went to sleep under the hut next to our lodgings. At 3am i was woken up by "could you be looooved...." sat up, and said, "megana! do you hear that?" my friend sleepily said yeah what is that? I replied excitedly "I think its that guy we were told about, the definitely sounds live!" I laid there trying to fall asleep, but decided I could not without checking out the "concert". So at three in the morning, I ran down the dark village road towards the blaring music and the bright lights, my chacos half on, giving me blisters. As I got closer, I started to wonder what in the world I was doing, and as the music became clearer, I realized, it's not live at all! After finding that all there was to see was some shadow dancing in the bliding lights, I hobbled back towards our hut, into darkness. I wondered if i'd even be able to find it, I couldn't see anything. but all was fine. I went back to sleep my heart pounding, feeling confused as to why I'd run down the road in the first place. I coulda sworn it was live.

so. my friends and i here, in attempt to stay aware of the arrogant pats on the back we could be giving ourselves through the struggles here, laugh and say 'wow, i am learning soooo much about myself'. it's easy to think. it's probably true, and will be even more apparent when I return home. but none of us want to be the annoying friend who gives a condescending scoff when people talk about anything 'difficult' back at home. note: for all listening, do not let me do that, i just may need to hit you in the face with a pillow the first time you complain about food in the dining hall every once in awhile. cool? cool.
bon, so anyway, i think i am getting tired of 'learning about myself'. it's tiring constantly watching my personality deal with the plights of the african life. i'm very ready to not think, wow kyra, you feel guilty waaay too often, you should learn to do what you say and say what you mean without regrets, or why do you feel the need to prove yourself in this situation....blah blah blah. its good for me but wow, i'm ready to sit and relax with kyra, let her be.

meanwhile just being here, has its very strong points too. I find myself making lists in my head of the things i'm grateful for in my country, amongst my friends, in my family. we talk about incredible meat is, as I get about three small chunks of goat/sheep (maybe?) a week, or the healthy feel that fresh green vegetables give you. IN ADDITION. it has been recently brought to my attention that the water here, even after I use my nifty steripen to treat it, is heavily chlorinated and really fails to hydrate me. I gulp down bottle after bottle workin the battery to its maximum only to find i still have a headache...until I realize that everytime we've done an excursion including this recent GRAND excursion and our leaders buy us bottled water, I finally do not feel light headed and lacking energy anymore. hmmm although some other students are just fine, but maybe I just get dehydrated very easily, not sure, but i think i'm gonna stick to leaving my carbon foot print for my last few months and go with the bottled water.

So we finished classes - our last day was a grueling four hours of a man teaching us Bambara and french songs that I'm pretty sure he said were written by his friend. I guess he felt the need to fill the gaping time slot and after writing all the lyrics on the chalkboard he would proceed to sing it about 20 times. i absolutely kid you not. it was almost unbearable. my embarrassment at the fact that only one out of 18 students were paying attention by the end, and the mere annoyance at listening to the SAME simple song over and over made me very angry. I excused myself to go to the bathroom in the middle. i'm not lying when i say that that little trip was more thrilling.

with some easy exams on monday and tuesday, we headed off on our touristy adventure on wednesday. In two burning hot metal boxes filled with 10 kids whose legs did not fit in the space in front of them, whose bare feet could not rest on the floor for fear of the scalding, uncovered surface, we drove to Segou, Djenne, Mopti, and the Dogon country. Beautiful. some of the hotels had air conditioning, and all had actual showers!!! my hair actually felt clean, it was quiet in the nights, no morning prayer waking me up at 5:30, it was glorious. The air was cleaner, life was more calm, packs of children weren't always running behind yelling 'tubabou! tubabou!' at us. Djenne was an entire town filled with mud architecture, including a gigantic mosque that our non muslim status prevented us to enter. My friend Elle and I got lost wandering through mud houses, weaving our way through a maze of small dusty corridors, until finally we found our way back to the hotel. But it felt good. and safe. and people smiled as we walked by. In Mopti we went on a boat ride in the Niger, in the Dogon country (one of the most charming, quaint, beautiful, rural places I have ever been) we went on a difficult hike at 6am, walking over loose rocks and wondering how SIT lets its students do it... The scenery on the long car rides is difficult to describe. A sea of palm trees followed by rocky canyons followed by villages that seemed like something out of a historic museum. Dogon country is upposedely one of the most isolated and unchanged area/people in the whole world. There are round clay huts with straw rooves shaped like hersheys kisses.

There's too much to cover. In all, it was refreshing, tiring and relaxing at the same time. I ate a lot of good food. I used toilets. Our group bonded and got tired of each other. I missed my Bamako family, and started to think about how little time I have left here. I started to stress about my future research. I take off for Sanakoroba on Tuesday to begin interviewing, and I have four weeks to complete that all and write a long paper. (sigh)
Until next time, all is very very very well, I'm excited/scared/amazed/sad at the idea of going home.