The past few weeks have been super crazy. Upon my return from regional IST in Segou I barely made it back to site in time for Easter. I was able however to return to the little village who doctored up my bike on my day of Murphy’s Law and pay Solomon Coulibaly the 250 cfa (approximately 50 cents).
Easter was celebrated much like any other event in my village, dancing and eating. We killed a couple of pigs (huge because in a Muslim country you don’t eat pork…fortunately, Christians do!) and danced all night before Easter and then again all night Monday. The actual festivities on Easter consisted on a Sunday morning service immediately followed by singing and dancing (all the village married men, all the older women, all the married women, all the young adults and all the kids danced in respective order). I made a dress of Malian fabric and delighted my village with my new outfit…normally I wear exclusively American clothes which still confuses some people to see a women in pants but I like to push the boundaries a bit.
The heat is something I continue to write about not to bore you, but because it’s hard not to live in Mali without mentioning the heat. It’s getting to such a degree where it barely cools off into the 90’s at night thus you never really get the chance to stop sweating even sleeping outside. Heat rash has taken over my body but unfortunately there’s not too much you can do to stop/prevent it when you live in this environment (unless perhaps I install AC in my hut???). Suggestions from fellow volunteers include taking my bucket bath with my clothes on so they can cool me off as they’re drying…I dried out in about 20 minutes then started sweating again. Others sleep on their roofs to try to get more wind flow but have to wake up by 5 when the sun rises and other keep buckets of water next to them so when they wake up (most can sleep for 15-30 minute intervals) douse themselves the fall asleep again for a bit.
By some divine reason I truly can’t explain I decided to call my mom the Wednesday after Easter…highly unusual for me to call let alone so shortly after I talked to her on Easter because it’s extremely expensive but for whatever reason I called and found that my grandma had passed away just hours before. I have never been one to cope well with death and found that I was grateful to have a bit to time to myself in my hut, not only to cry but to reminisce. I also became increasingly grateful for my dad’s foresight to take me to Lawrenceville last June where I had a chance to find some closure in saying, as it goes, my final goodbye. I was able to hug and kiss the Grandma whom I remember from my childhood and that memory has proven to be a huge comfort and eased the pain of my mourning. Having a good friend to support me also eased the pain of loss of my grandma and I can’t be more grateful for what he did for me.
I’ve been busy at site taking Food Security Survey’s. Food Security is severely under addressed in most developing countries and as a result countries like Niger are facing massive famines and unimaginable deaths from starvation. I interviewed 10 farmers in my village about the kinds of grains they grow, income generating activities, garden products, how to deal with running out of food, etc. I was struck by a couple of the questions and results. (1) when asked how many kids are in the family there is always a minimum age of 5 before the children are actually taken into account by the government because the chance of death before 5 is so high. (2) Every single farmer I interviewed ran out of food as early as August and definitely by September…I knew hungry season was a problem, but its extent still continues to impress upon me how dire the situation is. (3) Every single farmer I interviewed admitted they were regularly worried their children did not get enough food and often they would eat only once a day in attempt to prolong the duration of their food. (4) Each farmer had a least one of their children die in their life. (My homologue for example is relatively well off and still, two of his children died from malnutrition and disease). Last year was a terrible harvest and I fear that hungry season will be particularly cruel this year in Mali.
On a happier note, I took a mini vacation up to Sevare then onto a village about 5 hours north called Hombori. Mt Hombori is the highest point in Mali and my friend Justin and I climbed it…sort of. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done but really exciting and so rewarding. When we neared the summit and could look out over what felt like all of Mali the view was intoxicating. Carefully looking in the distance you could see the sand dunes of the Sahara just before the horizon. Fortunately Justin grew up with mountains and was able to navigate the cliffs but talk about an adrenaline rush! Going down the mountain was essentially me scooting down the mountain on my butt…but we made it in one piece with only a few bumps and bruises…and a lot of sore muscles.
Getting back to the “hotel” we took delightfully cold showers and continued to hydrate (we each drank about 7 liters of water on the hike and were still so thirsty when we reached town). We didn’t rest long however as we decided to go see the elephants before they crossed over to Burkina Faso. We hired a guide and driver and set off into the African wilderness. We drove about two hours deep into the heart of Mali until we came upon one of the last watering holes that still had water. We didn’t have to wait long before we saw three gorgeous elephants drinking and bathing at the hole; a female, yearling and the Chief male. At one point the male was probably 30 yards from us. I’ve seen an elephant in zoos before but to be out in the wild with nothing between you and this beast of an animal was extremely exciting and awe inspiring. These animals are totally free, roaming as they please without any fences to confine them. After about 30 minutes of admiring the elephants at the hole we headed out into the brush and saw a dozen more eating and foraging. Beautiful is too cliché a word but it’s impossible to articulate what exactly I felt. All I know is that in less than 24 hours I was humbled twice with just how small I am and how huge this world is.
I’ll wrap it up now because I’ve written too much already. I’ll be at site for about 10 days then I’m headed to Bamako for Derby Day and then back to San to celebrate my birthday with some friends so look forward to more updates in two weeks!
Love,
Cait
Murphys Law
So, as a request from my mom I’m writing about my worst day in Africa…which I have to admit is kind of funny now that I can look back on it.
March 27, 2010. The wind when biking to San from my village is extremely strong, thus, I decided to leave my house at 6am to ideally get to San before 8am and meet my friend Holly on the way (her village is about 45 minutes from me). So I get up early and bike to the road and start biking to meet Holly when I feel my bike kind of deflate. I look back and my back tire is totally flat. I get my phone out to call Holly to tell her I will be late and guess what, my phone is dead (I was expecting a call the night before so I fell asleep with my phone on which effectively killed the battery). I had just enough to call Holly to tell her to go on without me and then it died for good. I walked to a neighboring village and they pumped up my tire. I hopped back on and continued along my merry way for about 20 minutes before the tire was totally deflated again. I wasn’t particularly close to a village so I was going to try to catch a ride with a passing truck/car so I took a seat on the side of the road under a tree (aka: bush) for as much shade as possible. 1 hour passes and no cars pass only moto’s. Finally, I get frustrated and start walking. Unfortunately I decided to wear my Teva sandals (endurance/trekking sandals) because I wanted to break them in before rainy season when blisters never heal and are easily infected. I hadn’t been walking more than 10 minutes before my feet were massacred with blisters. After about 8 kilometers (still no passing trucks or cars) a man on a moto finally helps me find a village where I can get my bike fixed. While on the mission to find a local village I get the chance to chat with the man who was extremely helpful and friendly…much needed after such a long morning. We find a village a few kilometers off the road and the people were extremely helpful and repaired my broken bike. I go to grab my money and realize I’ve left it at home because I brought my backpack to go to Segou instead of my purse (which ironically also had my bike repair kit in it). I apologize profusely and promise to return the following Saturday on my return from Segou IST and feel absolutely terrible. I finally get back to the road and start biking. It’s now about 10:30 and the wind is fierce. I stopped to take a drink and found that I had only one sip left because over the course of the morning I drank most all the water (usually I never have to stop to drink when I leave at 6am because it’s cool enough). I start biking again and am about 10 kilometers outside of San. I vividly recall looking to my right and seeing a tree, peddle several times, looking to my right and seeing the same tree…it hadn’t moved. I was exhausted and thirsty and it was hot and this stupid tree wasn’t moving. I started to cry. You do NOT cry in front of Malians, it is a huge faux pas. Thus I pulled off again and sat on the side of the rode in attempt to compose myself. After a few minutes I get on my bike yet again and am on my way. I’m totally parched at this point and quite literally can’t talk. When I passed some kids they naturally greeted me enthusiastically and I go to greet them in return and find that I have no voice. Perhaps the most insulting thing you can do in Mali is not return a greeting. As I passed unable to greet I heard them say approximately “the white person didn’t greet let’s get her!!!!” and so the take off running after me. Totally exhausted and against the wind I had no energy left so they caught up pretty easily and started throwing things at me (I know at least one rock because it hit me in the back and did not feel good). Any other day I could have retaliated but this day from Hell I was almost expecting it. They stopped after a few seconds and I was able to finish the last 3 kilometers to San in relative peace. The wind creates a bit of dust and my tear stained face was a dust magnet so by the time I arrived at our house in San at 11:45 (almost 6 hours later on a 2 hour trip) I looked just about as bad as I felt. I ran into the house and broke into tears again this time in the presence of other Peace Corps members who were able to help hydrate and comfort me. After a cold shower and some alone time to recover I was able to return to the outside world.
So, after Africa broke me, I realized some things:
I am incredibly lucky to have extremely supportive friends in San. I can honestly say that I am genuinely happy to see any of the 7 other volunteers in the San area which is very challenging to achieve when 8 strangers are thrown together in extreme conditions. I will never again ride my bike without my phone, money, air pump, repair kit, hand fan, extra water…haha. Mali won this day, but I’m definitely winning overall. Brownies are a great remedy to a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. You can make a new friend in the most unlikely of places. The generosity of strangers reminds us of the best parts of life, especially when we feel like it’s one of the worst parts of ours. I am one lucky girl.
March 27, 2010. The wind when biking to San from my village is extremely strong, thus, I decided to leave my house at 6am to ideally get to San before 8am and meet my friend Holly on the way (her village is about 45 minutes from me). So I get up early and bike to the road and start biking to meet Holly when I feel my bike kind of deflate. I look back and my back tire is totally flat. I get my phone out to call Holly to tell her I will be late and guess what, my phone is dead (I was expecting a call the night before so I fell asleep with my phone on which effectively killed the battery). I had just enough to call Holly to tell her to go on without me and then it died for good. I walked to a neighboring village and they pumped up my tire. I hopped back on and continued along my merry way for about 20 minutes before the tire was totally deflated again. I wasn’t particularly close to a village so I was going to try to catch a ride with a passing truck/car so I took a seat on the side of the road under a tree (aka: bush) for as much shade as possible. 1 hour passes and no cars pass only moto’s. Finally, I get frustrated and start walking. Unfortunately I decided to wear my Teva sandals (endurance/trekking sandals) because I wanted to break them in before rainy season when blisters never heal and are easily infected. I hadn’t been walking more than 10 minutes before my feet were massacred with blisters. After about 8 kilometers (still no passing trucks or cars) a man on a moto finally helps me find a village where I can get my bike fixed. While on the mission to find a local village I get the chance to chat with the man who was extremely helpful and friendly…much needed after such a long morning. We find a village a few kilometers off the road and the people were extremely helpful and repaired my broken bike. I go to grab my money and realize I’ve left it at home because I brought my backpack to go to Segou instead of my purse (which ironically also had my bike repair kit in it). I apologize profusely and promise to return the following Saturday on my return from Segou IST and feel absolutely terrible. I finally get back to the road and start biking. It’s now about 10:30 and the wind is fierce. I stopped to take a drink and found that I had only one sip left because over the course of the morning I drank most all the water (usually I never have to stop to drink when I leave at 6am because it’s cool enough). I start biking again and am about 10 kilometers outside of San. I vividly recall looking to my right and seeing a tree, peddle several times, looking to my right and seeing the same tree…it hadn’t moved. I was exhausted and thirsty and it was hot and this stupid tree wasn’t moving. I started to cry. You do NOT cry in front of Malians, it is a huge faux pas. Thus I pulled off again and sat on the side of the rode in attempt to compose myself. After a few minutes I get on my bike yet again and am on my way. I’m totally parched at this point and quite literally can’t talk. When I passed some kids they naturally greeted me enthusiastically and I go to greet them in return and find that I have no voice. Perhaps the most insulting thing you can do in Mali is not return a greeting. As I passed unable to greet I heard them say approximately “the white person didn’t greet let’s get her!!!!” and so the take off running after me. Totally exhausted and against the wind I had no energy left so they caught up pretty easily and started throwing things at me (I know at least one rock because it hit me in the back and did not feel good). Any other day I could have retaliated but this day from Hell I was almost expecting it. They stopped after a few seconds and I was able to finish the last 3 kilometers to San in relative peace. The wind creates a bit of dust and my tear stained face was a dust magnet so by the time I arrived at our house in San at 11:45 (almost 6 hours later on a 2 hour trip) I looked just about as bad as I felt. I ran into the house and broke into tears again this time in the presence of other Peace Corps members who were able to help hydrate and comfort me. After a cold shower and some alone time to recover I was able to return to the outside world.
So, after Africa broke me, I realized some things:
I am incredibly lucky to have extremely supportive friends in San. I can honestly say that I am genuinely happy to see any of the 7 other volunteers in the San area which is very challenging to achieve when 8 strangers are thrown together in extreme conditions. I will never again ride my bike without my phone, money, air pump, repair kit, hand fan, extra water…haha. Mali won this day, but I’m definitely winning overall. Brownies are a great remedy to a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. You can make a new friend in the most unlikely of places. The generosity of strangers reminds us of the best parts of life, especially when we feel like it’s one of the worst parts of ours. I am one lucky girl.
March 27, 2010
March is absolutely flying by and I can’t believe it’s almost April. I have a regional IST for a few days in Segou from the 28-3 then I’m heading back to site for Easter. I celebrated St Patrick’s Day in San with a bunch of friends where we started a new tradition with a new name, dubbed San Patrick’s Day. It was a great success and there were about 20 people here. We killed a pig and had the butcher cook it then we made yummy BBQ sauce and Cole slaw and salad…No green beer but we all rocked out green clothes. Hosting an event can be exhausting and I apologize for not getting an update out around the 17th but I knew I’d be back soon so I hope this will suffice.
As painful as hot season is, it’s more the dust storms that’s really getting to me. Sometimes when I’m walking through village and I see a tornado of dust come barreling towards me and I just put my head down in a fairly futile attempt to inhale as little dust as possible. Regardless, when I return home I have to brush my teeth to get the grime out of my mouth and shake out my clothes after my bucket bath. While my village is very dry, I have an all new respect for northern Mali and any dessert residents…it can be downright difficult to breathe in this environment. One of my friends from up north has been forced to wear his turban all day just to breathe.
My bike ride in today was anything but pleasant but I won’t bore you with the details, except that I left my house at 6am and arrived in San (should be 1:45 minutes later) at 11:15am…
On the other hand, I’ve had a great week at site. There was a wedding I returned just in time for from San Patrick’s Day. It was someone somehow related to my host family (the groom that is to say) and for days in advance extended family was arriving from Bamako. I’m not sure exactly how many sheep and goats and cows were killed for the festivities but needless to say I ate really well for a few days. The evening before the wedding there was a sort of rehearsal dinner were essentially everyone gathered at the host house and ate and danced till late into the night. In the morning it was super busy. The bride and groom went to mayors office to sign the marriage papers and all the men and women were eating and drinking tea all dressed in their best at the host families house. I found out the families tended to wear the same fabrics. For example, all the “bridal party” was in one of two fabric designs. All the Bamako women on the grooms side were in a fabric and another fabric for the Sebanso women on grooms side, etc. It was fascinating to watch. This was my first Christian wedding and I can’t get over some of the similarities. The bride wore a beautiful white dress and the groom a nice suit. There was a maid of honor and a best man that sat with the bride and groom for the THREE hour service. That was a little excessive and I have to admit that I fell asleep more than once. The singing was incredible though. Three choirs came (two in addition to Sebanso’s) and you couldn’t help but get totally caught up in their music. Several ministers led worship and there were some friends who did readings, there were vows made and I do’s said and rings exchanged. It was truly bizarre. Afterwords there was of course dancing and eating for the rest of the day and again late into the night.
One of my favorite moments since I last wrote actually took place during the socials at night. A lot of the young men and women my age all returned for the wedding and I was able to chat with them increasingly more. People who used to speak and I would stare at dumbly I could now have a semi intelligent conversation with. It was incredibly exciting and when I went to market on Thursday I had a similar experience. I was sitting with my friend Enice who was making and selling little cakes and I was playing with her son Kardi (almost a year old and so darn cute…I ‘ve sent pictures of him before). We were chatting and of course when people walk by and see a white person speaking Bambara they freak out and come joke with me. I’m definitely getting better at my communication (though I have so much to still learn) and it was the first time I really understood just how far I’ve come in the past nine months. I know have a new appreciation for why Peace Corps is a 27 month service…your first year is simply trying to survive. On the other hand, I had my first run in with a really mad Malian at market and I definitely could not keep up with his angry words (I have a feeling Peace Corps didn’t teach the kind of language he was using). From what I could gather it was a dispute about the price of something but these two guys decided to duke it out while we were biking home…My homologue's friend with whom I always ride to and from market with was the so called third party used to keep disputes under control and thus I spent much of the ride stopping and going trying to keep up yet not get caught in the middle of weaving bikes and angry fists. It was a bit of an adrenaline rush and made the 45 minute trip home fly by.
I’ll be leaving in the morning for Segou for a regional In Service Training with all the volunteers in the Segou region and I’ll return next Saturday and try to get another email out for the Easter holiday! March has been a whirlwind and I apologize that I couldn’t get to San more often. I’ll be in San briefly mid April before heading up north for a few days and I’ll be leaving for Bamako on the 30th of April for a Kentucky Derby party at the pool in Bamako. In the middle of hot season, I can think of nothing better (though there’s not really much worse than the transport to get down there…oh well).
Love,
Cait
As painful as hot season is, it’s more the dust storms that’s really getting to me. Sometimes when I’m walking through village and I see a tornado of dust come barreling towards me and I just put my head down in a fairly futile attempt to inhale as little dust as possible. Regardless, when I return home I have to brush my teeth to get the grime out of my mouth and shake out my clothes after my bucket bath. While my village is very dry, I have an all new respect for northern Mali and any dessert residents…it can be downright difficult to breathe in this environment. One of my friends from up north has been forced to wear his turban all day just to breathe.
My bike ride in today was anything but pleasant but I won’t bore you with the details, except that I left my house at 6am and arrived in San (should be 1:45 minutes later) at 11:15am…
On the other hand, I’ve had a great week at site. There was a wedding I returned just in time for from San Patrick’s Day. It was someone somehow related to my host family (the groom that is to say) and for days in advance extended family was arriving from Bamako. I’m not sure exactly how many sheep and goats and cows were killed for the festivities but needless to say I ate really well for a few days. The evening before the wedding there was a sort of rehearsal dinner were essentially everyone gathered at the host house and ate and danced till late into the night. In the morning it was super busy. The bride and groom went to mayors office to sign the marriage papers and all the men and women were eating and drinking tea all dressed in their best at the host families house. I found out the families tended to wear the same fabrics. For example, all the “bridal party” was in one of two fabric designs. All the Bamako women on the grooms side were in a fabric and another fabric for the Sebanso women on grooms side, etc. It was fascinating to watch. This was my first Christian wedding and I can’t get over some of the similarities. The bride wore a beautiful white dress and the groom a nice suit. There was a maid of honor and a best man that sat with the bride and groom for the THREE hour service. That was a little excessive and I have to admit that I fell asleep more than once. The singing was incredible though. Three choirs came (two in addition to Sebanso’s) and you couldn’t help but get totally caught up in their music. Several ministers led worship and there were some friends who did readings, there were vows made and I do’s said and rings exchanged. It was truly bizarre. Afterwords there was of course dancing and eating for the rest of the day and again late into the night.
One of my favorite moments since I last wrote actually took place during the socials at night. A lot of the young men and women my age all returned for the wedding and I was able to chat with them increasingly more. People who used to speak and I would stare at dumbly I could now have a semi intelligent conversation with. It was incredibly exciting and when I went to market on Thursday I had a similar experience. I was sitting with my friend Enice who was making and selling little cakes and I was playing with her son Kardi (almost a year old and so darn cute…I ‘ve sent pictures of him before). We were chatting and of course when people walk by and see a white person speaking Bambara they freak out and come joke with me. I’m definitely getting better at my communication (though I have so much to still learn) and it was the first time I really understood just how far I’ve come in the past nine months. I know have a new appreciation for why Peace Corps is a 27 month service…your first year is simply trying to survive. On the other hand, I had my first run in with a really mad Malian at market and I definitely could not keep up with his angry words (I have a feeling Peace Corps didn’t teach the kind of language he was using). From what I could gather it was a dispute about the price of something but these two guys decided to duke it out while we were biking home…My homologue's friend with whom I always ride to and from market with was the so called third party used to keep disputes under control and thus I spent much of the ride stopping and going trying to keep up yet not get caught in the middle of weaving bikes and angry fists. It was a bit of an adrenaline rush and made the 45 minute trip home fly by.
I’ll be leaving in the morning for Segou for a regional In Service Training with all the volunteers in the Segou region and I’ll return next Saturday and try to get another email out for the Easter holiday! March has been a whirlwind and I apologize that I couldn’t get to San more often. I’ll be in San briefly mid April before heading up north for a few days and I’ll be leaving for Bamako on the 30th of April for a Kentucky Derby party at the pool in Bamako. In the middle of hot season, I can think of nothing better (though there’s not really much worse than the transport to get down there…oh well).
Love,
Cait
March 8, 2010
Hope all is well and everyone is enjoying March and the welcome break of spring. I am currently adjusting to the heat of hot season and I have to admit, it’s really hot. It’s only reached 108 degrees thus far, but apparently in April and May it can reach almost 130 degrees…sometimes I wonder if people were actually meant to live on this land, or any extreme climate like this. At least I’ve been here long enough now that my body has started to acclimate and the 90’s are actually the equivalent of a perfectly lovely day.
I’m mildly embarrassed to confess that I didn’t really need to come into san today, but I have quite literally been dreaming about a cold sprite at night and thus made the trip to San. Most of the time I can deal with drinking what I can most accurately describe as bath temperature water, but at a certain point in time, it just doesn’t cut it. Plus, my good luck finally ran out and I’m sick…you don’t want to know the details but I figured I wanted access to both cold water and a real toilet over the next few days.
Site has gone well since I last wrote; Senegal was a delightful break from the day to day grind. I’ve been attending the secondary school several times over the past two weeks and working with the female English teacher. It’s pretty much unheard of for a woman to teach English in such a small bruce community and she has thus far served as a valuable resource to me. She is helping me plan a monthly workshop for the 8th grade girls about some life skills…relationships, decision making, peer pressure, fighting with friends, etc. As frustrating as it is, I’ve finally come to the conclusion that as much as I work with the older generation, they are “stuck in their ways” so to speak and the only way to make significant behavior change is to work with the younger kids and hope it carries through to the next generation.
I’ve had my first run in of the season with a scorpion and I’m sad to say that this most certainly will not be the last. Apparently during hot season they are absolutely everywhere. This scorpion was huge but they say that that’s good because it’s the little ones that can kill you…oh joy. On the bright side, I have yet to deal with rats and mice thanks in large part to the local cats and my homologues dog, whom I’ve named Duke.
I’ve now been here long enough that when I greet people in village I can’t really ask names anymore because I should know them, but learning a few hundred names is hard for anyone let alone when their names are impossible for me to pronounce in the first place. Fortunately, it’s a compliment to call people by their last names and nearly everyone in my village is a Coulibaly, so I get by most of the time calling people Coulibaly. Even if it’s not their last name, the Malians just laugh because a huge part of Malian culture is joking cousins. Mali is full of ethnicities and minority tribes so Joking cousins are used as a kind of tension breaker. Coulibalys are known to be bean eaters thus calling someone a Coulibaly who isn’t insinuates that they stink because they eat beans all the time. Other joking cousins involve calling someone a donkey, a blacksmith, a younger sibling (age is a huge status symbol here), your slave, etc. There are quite literally about 20 last names in Mali and certain last names joke with others, except for Coulibalys who can generally joke with everyone. A typical greeting in my market village goes something like this
I ni ce (hey)
Nsay (doesn’t translate but can kind be the answer to anything…men say “nbah”)
I ni sogoma (good morning)
Nsay I ni sogoma (good morning)
I ka kene (how are you)
Torotay (great)
Somogow be di (how is your family)
Bashi te (no problems)
Somogow dun (and your family…yes, you must ask about the family twice…I don’t know why)
Toro tu la (they are great)
I Coulibaly (you Coulibaly)
Nsay (you bet)
Hahhahaha, I be sho dun, hahaha (hahahaha, you bean eater, hahaha)
Hahaha, I ye Fali ye (hahaha, you donkey)
Then repeat asking the questions…this is an extremely simplified version of a greeting; I’ve often greeted someone for at least 5 minutes because there were countless benedictions and blessings to accompany the standard greeting.
I hope you all are all doing well; I’m sad to say that I’m suffering another bought of illness though I’m waiting for my medicine to arrive from Bamako and am anxious to start feeling better. I miss you and think of you often, especially when I’m sick and I long to be home the most. Your thoughts and well wishes help get me through these harder days and I can’t thank you enough.
Love,
Cait
I’m mildly embarrassed to confess that I didn’t really need to come into san today, but I have quite literally been dreaming about a cold sprite at night and thus made the trip to San. Most of the time I can deal with drinking what I can most accurately describe as bath temperature water, but at a certain point in time, it just doesn’t cut it. Plus, my good luck finally ran out and I’m sick…you don’t want to know the details but I figured I wanted access to both cold water and a real toilet over the next few days.
Site has gone well since I last wrote; Senegal was a delightful break from the day to day grind. I’ve been attending the secondary school several times over the past two weeks and working with the female English teacher. It’s pretty much unheard of for a woman to teach English in such a small bruce community and she has thus far served as a valuable resource to me. She is helping me plan a monthly workshop for the 8th grade girls about some life skills…relationships, decision making, peer pressure, fighting with friends, etc. As frustrating as it is, I’ve finally come to the conclusion that as much as I work with the older generation, they are “stuck in their ways” so to speak and the only way to make significant behavior change is to work with the younger kids and hope it carries through to the next generation.
I’ve had my first run in of the season with a scorpion and I’m sad to say that this most certainly will not be the last. Apparently during hot season they are absolutely everywhere. This scorpion was huge but they say that that’s good because it’s the little ones that can kill you…oh joy. On the bright side, I have yet to deal with rats and mice thanks in large part to the local cats and my homologues dog, whom I’ve named Duke.
I’ve now been here long enough that when I greet people in village I can’t really ask names anymore because I should know them, but learning a few hundred names is hard for anyone let alone when their names are impossible for me to pronounce in the first place. Fortunately, it’s a compliment to call people by their last names and nearly everyone in my village is a Coulibaly, so I get by most of the time calling people Coulibaly. Even if it’s not their last name, the Malians just laugh because a huge part of Malian culture is joking cousins. Mali is full of ethnicities and minority tribes so Joking cousins are used as a kind of tension breaker. Coulibalys are known to be bean eaters thus calling someone a Coulibaly who isn’t insinuates that they stink because they eat beans all the time. Other joking cousins involve calling someone a donkey, a blacksmith, a younger sibling (age is a huge status symbol here), your slave, etc. There are quite literally about 20 last names in Mali and certain last names joke with others, except for Coulibalys who can generally joke with everyone. A typical greeting in my market village goes something like this
I ni ce (hey)
Nsay (doesn’t translate but can kind be the answer to anything…men say “nbah”)
I ni sogoma (good morning)
Nsay I ni sogoma (good morning)
I ka kene (how are you)
Torotay (great)
Somogow be di (how is your family)
Bashi te (no problems)
Somogow dun (and your family…yes, you must ask about the family twice…I don’t know why)
Toro tu la (they are great)
I Coulibaly (you Coulibaly)
Nsay (you bet)
Hahhahaha, I be sho dun, hahaha (hahahaha, you bean eater, hahaha)
Hahaha, I ye Fali ye (hahaha, you donkey)
Then repeat asking the questions…this is an extremely simplified version of a greeting; I’ve often greeted someone for at least 5 minutes because there were countless benedictions and blessings to accompany the standard greeting.
I hope you all are all doing well; I’m sad to say that I’m suffering another bought of illness though I’m waiting for my medicine to arrive from Bamako and am anxious to start feeling better. I miss you and think of you often, especially when I’m sick and I long to be home the most. Your thoughts and well wishes help get me through these harder days and I can’t thank you enough.
Love,
Cait
Feburary 23, 2010
I just got back from Senegal and spent a few days in Bamako before returning to San. I hope to get back to site this afternoon. Cold season was all too brief however and the days are already becoming incredibly hot so we’ll see what this afternoon brings.
Dakar was unlike anything I have seen in Africa thus far. The vast majority of the time I thought I was in Western Europe. There are developed roads with street signs that people actually follow, all the stores have windows and air conditioning and there are credit card machines and ATMs everywhere. It was the most bizarre feeling and I have to admit I’m glad Bamako is not Dakar because I would be hard pressed to leave.
WAIST overall was really fun. We had three softball teams and none of them made it to the finals but it was fun none the less. It was actually kind of eye opening seeing volunteers from other countries. I know I’m a little prejudiced because I am a Mali volunteer, but the first time I saw the Gambia volunteers I was struck by how healthy their team looked. Our guys can’t stop losing weight, but I swear some of those guys almost had guts on them…no wonder we couldn’t win a game. This is totally me trying to justify our terrible softball skills but it still makes me feel a little better. Speaking of food, I’m pretty sure I put on a few pounds over the past two weeks. I ate well in Dakar. There was ice cream.
The more time I spend in Mali and having the chance to travel a little outside of Mali to other developing countries I’ve started to find some untraditional poverty indicators. There is the obvious infant mortality rates literacy rates used to measure poverty but I’ve come to find some other measures. For example, you don’t see many joggers in Bamako but there were men and women constantly running near the beach (of course if Mali was as cool and breezy as Dakar we might have more runners too). Another was the moto-car ratio. In Mali only the most wealthy drive motos thus they are the main means of transport you see by Malians other than bikes and donkey carts. In Dakar I rarely saw motos because everyone was driving cars.
The American club in Dakar, which is where the softball tournament took place, was beautiful with a huge pool and yummy delicious food. Needless to say my days were not spent sightseeing but relaxing by the pool with grilled cheese in hand…Cheese, it’s been 8 months since I have had cheese!! Part of me regretted not seeing much of Dakar but I’ve come to really value what a difference knowing a local language makes in getting around a foreign town. I hate getting ripped off and hassled thus I much preferred hanging out with friends by the pool. I did hike up to the light house and had an incredible view of the city and coast which I’ll send pictures of soon.
The bus ride to and from Senegal was exhausting. Spending 30 hours on a bus with no AC and very little leg room probably gives the impression that it was a miserable trip, and I assure you, it was. Fortunately I have medicine for motion sickness that has the lovely side effect of knocking me out. Thus I would wake up at the check points and show my passport, wipe the sweat from my face and fall asleep again. All in all, not a bad trip.
I came back to Bamako on the night of the 17th and spent a few days in Bamako. The Peace Corps bureau moved over the weekend so I went to visit the new bureau which was gorgeous and so nice and clean! We have a stage house in Bamako that I stayed in while in town. I came back to San on the 20th with my friend Justin who stayed until this morning when he left for home in Mopti. It’s been relatively uneventful so I’ve been enjoying the break and soaking up the luxury of San for the day. I am however, sad to say that hot season is arriving with vengeance and it’s a pretty formidable forerunner of what’s to come. I’ll keep you updated.
I’ll probably be at site for the next two or three weeks but I’ll try to write again when I come into San for St. Patrick's Day. A bunch of people are coming into san which will be nice. I like the people in my stage a lot but only in small doses and while I was ready to leave Dakar, it will be nice to see some of them again in a few weeks. I hope you all are doing well and can’t wait to hear from you all soon.
Love,
Cait
Dakar was unlike anything I have seen in Africa thus far. The vast majority of the time I thought I was in Western Europe. There are developed roads with street signs that people actually follow, all the stores have windows and air conditioning and there are credit card machines and ATMs everywhere. It was the most bizarre feeling and I have to admit I’m glad Bamako is not Dakar because I would be hard pressed to leave.
WAIST overall was really fun. We had three softball teams and none of them made it to the finals but it was fun none the less. It was actually kind of eye opening seeing volunteers from other countries. I know I’m a little prejudiced because I am a Mali volunteer, but the first time I saw the Gambia volunteers I was struck by how healthy their team looked. Our guys can’t stop losing weight, but I swear some of those guys almost had guts on them…no wonder we couldn’t win a game. This is totally me trying to justify our terrible softball skills but it still makes me feel a little better. Speaking of food, I’m pretty sure I put on a few pounds over the past two weeks. I ate well in Dakar. There was ice cream.
The more time I spend in Mali and having the chance to travel a little outside of Mali to other developing countries I’ve started to find some untraditional poverty indicators. There is the obvious infant mortality rates literacy rates used to measure poverty but I’ve come to find some other measures. For example, you don’t see many joggers in Bamako but there were men and women constantly running near the beach (of course if Mali was as cool and breezy as Dakar we might have more runners too). Another was the moto-car ratio. In Mali only the most wealthy drive motos thus they are the main means of transport you see by Malians other than bikes and donkey carts. In Dakar I rarely saw motos because everyone was driving cars.
The American club in Dakar, which is where the softball tournament took place, was beautiful with a huge pool and yummy delicious food. Needless to say my days were not spent sightseeing but relaxing by the pool with grilled cheese in hand…Cheese, it’s been 8 months since I have had cheese!! Part of me regretted not seeing much of Dakar but I’ve come to really value what a difference knowing a local language makes in getting around a foreign town. I hate getting ripped off and hassled thus I much preferred hanging out with friends by the pool. I did hike up to the light house and had an incredible view of the city and coast which I’ll send pictures of soon.
The bus ride to and from Senegal was exhausting. Spending 30 hours on a bus with no AC and very little leg room probably gives the impression that it was a miserable trip, and I assure you, it was. Fortunately I have medicine for motion sickness that has the lovely side effect of knocking me out. Thus I would wake up at the check points and show my passport, wipe the sweat from my face and fall asleep again. All in all, not a bad trip.
I came back to Bamako on the night of the 17th and spent a few days in Bamako. The Peace Corps bureau moved over the weekend so I went to visit the new bureau which was gorgeous and so nice and clean! We have a stage house in Bamako that I stayed in while in town. I came back to San on the 20th with my friend Justin who stayed until this morning when he left for home in Mopti. It’s been relatively uneventful so I’ve been enjoying the break and soaking up the luxury of San for the day. I am however, sad to say that hot season is arriving with vengeance and it’s a pretty formidable forerunner of what’s to come. I’ll keep you updated.
I’ll probably be at site for the next two or three weeks but I’ll try to write again when I come into San for St. Patrick's Day. A bunch of people are coming into san which will be nice. I like the people in my stage a lot but only in small doses and while I was ready to leave Dakar, it will be nice to see some of them again in a few weeks. I hope you all are doing well and can’t wait to hear from you all soon.
Love,
Cait
January 31, 2010
I’ve come to San for just two days to say good bye to one of the volunteers whose COS (close of service) date has finally arrived after 3 ½ years of service in Mali. I’ll be back again for a night before leaving for Bamako on the ninth but not sure if I’ll get a letter out before I leave for Senegal.
My plan was to come in on Saturday, but I was roused early to find that my host family grandmother had passed away early that morning. I was surprised by the way Malians approach death. It was much more a celebration of her life than it was mourning her death. The women spent the morning preparing food for my host family as hundreds of people came to great the family throughout the morning. I sat for a few minutes with the women who sit inside the house with the body and sprayed the body with perfume before I left. The rest of the morning things continued as normal doing chores about the house that I thought that might be all. Around 4pm my homologue came to get me and we went to the common area where the service was held. The body was laying in the center of a wide circle of people and there were people singing and drumming for a while before the Pasteur performed a memorial service. All the while, women came to perfume the body as several men led prayers and hymns. When the service was over the attendants (I’m guessing about 700 men women and children) rushed out to the fields were the burial would take place. The hole was already dug by the men of the family and they climbed into the hole and were handed the body which they proceeded to use mud bricks and mud to seal the grave. A prayer was said then all the men of the village took turns shoveling dirt into the grave. Tree limbs and more mud bricks were the final step to keep animals from digging at the grave. we all went back to my host families house where we danced and sang and played the drums for a few minutes. People then went home and ate dinner until about 9pm when the music started again and people met at the common area for dancing that lasted quite literally until Sunday morning at around 6am. Before leaving Sunday morning, I went to great my host dad and still hundreds of women were gathered eating breakfast with the family. In all of this I never saw any tears shed, only smiles and celebrations. My homologue told me that her death was an opportunity to bring the community together to celebrate her life and that there is no reason to mourn when we will all die one day. Blunt, but a lovely way to approach death.
In other news, my homologues nephew planted some flowers in my garden...which is very hard to keep alive in Africa. Baba, one of the other boys told me that Seni just planted the flowers so he could spend more time with me because he has a crush on me, haha. My afternoons are still spent watering the garden and my arms are becoming quite toned due to the work. I’ve also enjoyed helping cook with some of the women in the mornings and am mortified that I ate Toh voluntarily for the first time upon coming to Africa and found it good. Wouldn’t want to eat it every day, but considering a few months ago I quite literally gagged myself when eating it, this is absolutely unprecedented. I’ve bonded with the family dog which I’m constantly being made fun of for. But I started to regret this development when he came prancing into my concession holding the bloody neck and head of a baby lamb and proceeded to eat it in my yard. Talk about reminders of my new life in Africa. I managed to give myself a fat lip when I went to get my water from the pump. I was tying the 20 liter water container to my bike rack with the rubber tie like always when the tie snapped and smacked me in the face. With half a dozen kids gasping at my rapidly swelling and bleeding lip I had to finish tying the container and rode home with very little dignity left. My Peace Corps doctor came to my site for site visit just to make sure everything was up to par and she gave me a flu shot. I have a love hate relationship with my doctor. She acts quickly to get us healthy but I’ve yet to see her without getting a shot. In the past year since I found out I was nominated for a position, I‘ve lost track but can only assume I’m well over 25 shots I’ve had to get, plus having to take malaria medicine every week for the next 2-3 years.
Love,
Cait
My plan was to come in on Saturday, but I was roused early to find that my host family grandmother had passed away early that morning. I was surprised by the way Malians approach death. It was much more a celebration of her life than it was mourning her death. The women spent the morning preparing food for my host family as hundreds of people came to great the family throughout the morning. I sat for a few minutes with the women who sit inside the house with the body and sprayed the body with perfume before I left. The rest of the morning things continued as normal doing chores about the house that I thought that might be all. Around 4pm my homologue came to get me and we went to the common area where the service was held. The body was laying in the center of a wide circle of people and there were people singing and drumming for a while before the Pasteur performed a memorial service. All the while, women came to perfume the body as several men led prayers and hymns. When the service was over the attendants (I’m guessing about 700 men women and children) rushed out to the fields were the burial would take place. The hole was already dug by the men of the family and they climbed into the hole and were handed the body which they proceeded to use mud bricks and mud to seal the grave. A prayer was said then all the men of the village took turns shoveling dirt into the grave. Tree limbs and more mud bricks were the final step to keep animals from digging at the grave. we all went back to my host families house where we danced and sang and played the drums for a few minutes. People then went home and ate dinner until about 9pm when the music started again and people met at the common area for dancing that lasted quite literally until Sunday morning at around 6am. Before leaving Sunday morning, I went to great my host dad and still hundreds of women were gathered eating breakfast with the family. In all of this I never saw any tears shed, only smiles and celebrations. My homologue told me that her death was an opportunity to bring the community together to celebrate her life and that there is no reason to mourn when we will all die one day. Blunt, but a lovely way to approach death.
In other news, my homologues nephew planted some flowers in my garden...which is very hard to keep alive in Africa. Baba, one of the other boys told me that Seni just planted the flowers so he could spend more time with me because he has a crush on me, haha. My afternoons are still spent watering the garden and my arms are becoming quite toned due to the work. I’ve also enjoyed helping cook with some of the women in the mornings and am mortified that I ate Toh voluntarily for the first time upon coming to Africa and found it good. Wouldn’t want to eat it every day, but considering a few months ago I quite literally gagged myself when eating it, this is absolutely unprecedented. I’ve bonded with the family dog which I’m constantly being made fun of for. But I started to regret this development when he came prancing into my concession holding the bloody neck and head of a baby lamb and proceeded to eat it in my yard. Talk about reminders of my new life in Africa. I managed to give myself a fat lip when I went to get my water from the pump. I was tying the 20 liter water container to my bike rack with the rubber tie like always when the tie snapped and smacked me in the face. With half a dozen kids gasping at my rapidly swelling and bleeding lip I had to finish tying the container and rode home with very little dignity left. My Peace Corps doctor came to my site for site visit just to make sure everything was up to par and she gave me a flu shot. I have a love hate relationship with my doctor. She acts quickly to get us healthy but I’ve yet to see her without getting a shot. In the past year since I found out I was nominated for a position, I‘ve lost track but can only assume I’m well over 25 shots I’ve had to get, plus having to take malaria medicine every week for the next 2-3 years.
Love,
Cait
January 18, 2010
It is rare that I get the chance to send emails so closely together but I doubt it will happen enough for anyone to become spoiled by it.
In answer to a question Uncle Larry in particular asked, there is bee keeping in Mali. Honey is available in Bamako and some of the regional capitals though it is much harder to come by in village. As a potential project I’m trying to feel out my village for anyone interested in being trained as a beekeeper and thus introducing honey into the market. I think it would be a great opportunity for someone to start their own business or at least add to their income. The APCD (the head of every sector) of the environment sector is a beekeeper and would be more than willing to come to my village for training if I can find someone willing to take on the risk of learning a new trade (MUCH easier said than done)
I’ve returned to the local school (grades 7-9) a few times and assist in the English classes which is really fun and the kids seem to really enjoy it, that might be due to me not beating them when they get a question wrong, but I like to think that I’m a decent teacher. After working at summer camps for two summers, I’ve become more comfortable and enjoy working with kids who used to really intimidate me. I helped grade some papers from the final exam of the fall semester and the average of the English exam for the 7th grade was about 35%. Talk about discouraging. It makes me realize how lucky I am to be surrounded by highly motivated kids in my concession. My homologue’s kids get back from school around 5pm and then help with the cooking and bathing of younger kids then they spend much of the rest of the evening studying (at least Monday through Thursday). I guess I didn’t realize that study time is actually a luxury here and if my homologue didn’t make time for it, they could easily fill the evening doing more chores which are truly endless.
As far as my village I’ve only just realized that I’ve given few details about it. Sebanso is one of 7 villages making up the commune N’torosso. The so called “capital” of my commune is the village of Bolokalaso where the school I work with is located as well as the mayor’s office. The local doctor’s office is about 3 kilometers from my village and the maternity is situated directly across from it near the village of Sokoroni where the local tailor lives. My village, Sebanso, has about 650 people. It is a Christian village and next to my Chief of Village, the Pasteur is probably the most respected man in village. The dugutigi (chief of village) is kind of royalty and the title is passed down to the oldest son upon death. My dugutigi resets broken bones and works with traditional medicine which is pretty cool to see him brewing sometimes. My village is quite well off, relatively speaking, I have reasons to believe due in part to it being a Christian instead of a Muslim village that I’ll discuss later. Sebanso is very fortunate in that we have an wide array of resources such as an adult literacy program, a school (pre-K to 6th grade), a mill grinder, a cereal bank, and financial bank, a butiki aka the Wal-Mart of my village, well builders, animal raisers (and a veterinarian who lives in a neighboring village. Someone I’ve come to know quite well seeing as my homologue is president of the animal raisers association), an established women’s garden, basket weavers, and a tanteen (a women’s group that collects money each month from its members and every month a woman from the group gets to keep the money as a sort of personal savings).
Now, you might be curious as to my hypothesis that Christian villages financially are better off than Muslim villages or animist villages for that matter. It’s actually a very rational and logical conclusion that I’ve come to. The Muslim religion allows and some might argue promote polygamy allowing men to take up to four wives. When these men take multiple wives, with it come multiples sets of children and as all parents will attest, children are expensive. This also demands more housing among other things and nothing comes free. Christian families are still relatively large, most families I know have at least 6 kids but, when compared to some Muslim families where they have 20 or more children supported by one man, you can do the math for yourselves. Often these families are forced to take the older children out of school to work in the fields and take care of the younger children thus depriving them of much needed education, poor quality though it may be. I can’t reiterate enough how important I think improving the education system is to providing sustainable economic growth.
I’ve just returned from my first visit up north which I’m sure will have many more to come. I caught a bus to Sevrae on Thursday and arrived around 6:30 pm…about a three hour bus ride which was incredibly quick by Malian standards. I stayed in sevrae for the night then went to Bandiagara for a day before returning to sevrae on Saturday afternoon and now I’ve just returned to San. Bandiagara was absolutely gorgeous and I can’t wait to go on a hike through Dogon country. The cliffs, unlike the rest of Mali, are very picturesque and scenic (in the dry desert kind of way of course). Saturday afternoon was leisurely spent by the pool of a local hotel; I however refused to swim when I could not see the bottom on the pool. I did get to enjoy a cold apple juice while reading a magazine and listening to my ipod which was delightful. My friend and I ate dinner at a local restaurant that who he knew well and we were chatting with the owner seeing as we were the only customers. He was complaining about the affects terrorism and al-Qaida is having on his business. In fact, much of the tourism industry in the north has all but disappeared with Americans and most all western tourists having been advised/forbidden on going to Timbuktu, Gao and Kidal. It’s so sad to see what might have been a great chance of development absolutely destroyed.
Love,
Cait
In answer to a question Uncle Larry in particular asked, there is bee keeping in Mali. Honey is available in Bamako and some of the regional capitals though it is much harder to come by in village. As a potential project I’m trying to feel out my village for anyone interested in being trained as a beekeeper and thus introducing honey into the market. I think it would be a great opportunity for someone to start their own business or at least add to their income. The APCD (the head of every sector) of the environment sector is a beekeeper and would be more than willing to come to my village for training if I can find someone willing to take on the risk of learning a new trade (MUCH easier said than done)
I’ve returned to the local school (grades 7-9) a few times and assist in the English classes which is really fun and the kids seem to really enjoy it, that might be due to me not beating them when they get a question wrong, but I like to think that I’m a decent teacher. After working at summer camps for two summers, I’ve become more comfortable and enjoy working with kids who used to really intimidate me. I helped grade some papers from the final exam of the fall semester and the average of the English exam for the 7th grade was about 35%. Talk about discouraging. It makes me realize how lucky I am to be surrounded by highly motivated kids in my concession. My homologue’s kids get back from school around 5pm and then help with the cooking and bathing of younger kids then they spend much of the rest of the evening studying (at least Monday through Thursday). I guess I didn’t realize that study time is actually a luxury here and if my homologue didn’t make time for it, they could easily fill the evening doing more chores which are truly endless.
As far as my village I’ve only just realized that I’ve given few details about it. Sebanso is one of 7 villages making up the commune N’torosso. The so called “capital” of my commune is the village of Bolokalaso where the school I work with is located as well as the mayor’s office. The local doctor’s office is about 3 kilometers from my village and the maternity is situated directly across from it near the village of Sokoroni where the local tailor lives. My village, Sebanso, has about 650 people. It is a Christian village and next to my Chief of Village, the Pasteur is probably the most respected man in village. The dugutigi (chief of village) is kind of royalty and the title is passed down to the oldest son upon death. My dugutigi resets broken bones and works with traditional medicine which is pretty cool to see him brewing sometimes. My village is quite well off, relatively speaking, I have reasons to believe due in part to it being a Christian instead of a Muslim village that I’ll discuss later. Sebanso is very fortunate in that we have an wide array of resources such as an adult literacy program, a school (pre-K to 6th grade), a mill grinder, a cereal bank, and financial bank, a butiki aka the Wal-Mart of my village, well builders, animal raisers (and a veterinarian who lives in a neighboring village. Someone I’ve come to know quite well seeing as my homologue is president of the animal raisers association), an established women’s garden, basket weavers, and a tanteen (a women’s group that collects money each month from its members and every month a woman from the group gets to keep the money as a sort of personal savings).
Now, you might be curious as to my hypothesis that Christian villages financially are better off than Muslim villages or animist villages for that matter. It’s actually a very rational and logical conclusion that I’ve come to. The Muslim religion allows and some might argue promote polygamy allowing men to take up to four wives. When these men take multiple wives, with it come multiples sets of children and as all parents will attest, children are expensive. This also demands more housing among other things and nothing comes free. Christian families are still relatively large, most families I know have at least 6 kids but, when compared to some Muslim families where they have 20 or more children supported by one man, you can do the math for yourselves. Often these families are forced to take the older children out of school to work in the fields and take care of the younger children thus depriving them of much needed education, poor quality though it may be. I can’t reiterate enough how important I think improving the education system is to providing sustainable economic growth.
I’ve just returned from my first visit up north which I’m sure will have many more to come. I caught a bus to Sevrae on Thursday and arrived around 6:30 pm…about a three hour bus ride which was incredibly quick by Malian standards. I stayed in sevrae for the night then went to Bandiagara for a day before returning to sevrae on Saturday afternoon and now I’ve just returned to San. Bandiagara was absolutely gorgeous and I can’t wait to go on a hike through Dogon country. The cliffs, unlike the rest of Mali, are very picturesque and scenic (in the dry desert kind of way of course). Saturday afternoon was leisurely spent by the pool of a local hotel; I however refused to swim when I could not see the bottom on the pool. I did get to enjoy a cold apple juice while reading a magazine and listening to my ipod which was delightful. My friend and I ate dinner at a local restaurant that who he knew well and we were chatting with the owner seeing as we were the only customers. He was complaining about the affects terrorism and al-Qaida is having on his business. In fact, much of the tourism industry in the north has all but disappeared with Americans and most all western tourists having been advised/forbidden on going to Timbuktu, Gao and Kidal. It’s so sad to see what might have been a great chance of development absolutely destroyed.
Love,
Cait
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