Thanks to all my supporters!

Thank you to everyone who helped support my attendance at the Net Impact conference in November. My experience was a success! The conference was terrific. All the sessions I attended were very valuable, I saw many friends and made great new contacts. I’m still trying to assimilate all that I learned in those two days! (And I walked everyday, which was a success in itself.) My sincere, heartfelt thanks to you all.

Chip in to support my attendance at Net Impact this Fall

au revoir, mali

After that I remember very little, except broken fragments that don't really make any sense at all, until I woke up at Yale New Haven Hospital. I don't know the exact date that I regained consciousness, but I remember the March snowstorm, so it was around the 1st.

Now of course I've been able to piece together what happened during those three months: medevac'd from Mali (Mopti or Bamako? I'm not sure.), two weeks at the American Hospital in Paris, three months in ICU at Yale. Multiple trauma, complications, lucky to be alive at least three times over.

Certainly, I know that I wouldn't be here without the help, love and support of my friends and family. Many many Peace Corps volunteers helped from the beginning. I don't know how they learned of the accident, but I remember them all being there with me at the hospital (Mopti? Bamako?) in Mali. Thanks to them I received immediate medical attention, the embassy was contacted and the medevac team alerted. They took care of me amidst their own personal grief at losing Cristina. MBAEC worked hard to make sure I'd receive necessary care. My family was with me 24 hours a day while I was in ICU, holding my hand while urging me to hold on. Julia and Milica visited me at Yale too, doing their best to help my family remain positive. Once I was alert and able to read, I was happy to receive the hundreds of cards, emails, FB posts from friends all over the world wishing me well. I appreciated everyone's wishes so much and enjoyed a good round of happy tears.

So that's how my adventures in Africa ended. Now I'm beginning a different adventure: the road to recovery. I'll continue my story at http://www.brenda-pie.blogspot.com

the accident

On December 2nd last year, Cristina and I traveled to Kokodiougou, a remote village outside Bandiagara, to verify the completion of a water tower, which had been constructed in order to irrigate a local garden. This was a small local project, typical of Cristina's attention to local needs, funded by GSTA to promote protection of biodiversity.

While we were at the site, local men responsible for the garden began to fill the water tower. They carried a generator and pump out to the riverside, connected a hose and we waited, talking and following the shade as the tank filled. It was masonry construction, stone blocks and cement, standing on concrete legs approximately two meters off the ground holding approximately two square meters of water.

Suddenly, I was on the ground. The structure had collapsed: stone and concrete and sand had fallen to all sides, followed by rushing water.

The men picked us up and loaded us into the blue Toyota pickup truck that had brought us to the site. I know that I screamed. I called to Cristina. I asked about the children-- there had been many children milling about while we were there. In the front seat was the driver and a man holding Cristina in his arms. I was in the back seat, two men holding me. They drove us back to Bandiagara, where we were unloaded at the hospital, and soon I was heading to Mopti in an ambulance.

I never saw Cristina again. It breaks my heart that I wasn't able to say goodbye.

Dear Brenda's Friends and Loved Ones,

As many of you know, after graduating with her MBA in May, Brenda took on a great challenge this August. She joined the MBA Enterprise Corps and accepted an assignment in Bandiagara, Mali. Her role was to serve as the Business Advisor to the Global Sustainable Tourism Alliance. Brenda was thrilled to accomplish her dream of working in International Development.

On December 2, 2008, Brenda suffered a tremendous tragedy. She and her colleague, Cristina Nardone, traveled to the Dogon Region to visit a newly built water tower. As the tower filled with water, it collapsed on Brenda and Cristina. Sadly, Cristina succumbed to her injuries. Our thoughts and prayers are with Cristina's family. Brenda suffered many injuries, but was safely transported back to the States.

Today, Brenda is in a hospital in Connecticut healing from her injuries. Currently she is heavily sedated in order to allow her body the opportunity to rest and recover. Her prognosis is positive, but progress is slow. Brenda is a very strong and wonderful woman. The tremendous outpouring of concern for her well-being from family and friends is evidence of the deep support for her recovery.

We, Brenda's family, will keep this blog updated with new information as it becomes available. Many people have expressed the desire to help Brenda. At this time, the doctors and nurses treating her are the only ones that can directly help her. However, we appreciate your continual thoughts and prayers for her recovery. We will be sure to let you know if there are any tangible ways you can help.

Please continue to check this blog for updates. In addition, please post any comments you have on this blog. Brenda will be checking this when she is able to, which we hope is very soon.

Best Regards,

Thanksgiving at Mac's Refuge

Mac is an amazing fellow. He grew up in Sangha, in Pays Dogon, son of American missionaries and was educated in the US. He now runs a small hotel, Mac’s Refuge, in Sevaré. He has several staff, maybe 10, all locals that have been trained in-house. The rooms are simple but clean and cozy, decorated with local items. Each night he serves a family-style dinner, offering a different international cuisine each night of the week. French, Italian, Mexican, etc., always using only locally grown meat and produce. (Though I think he buys some spices in Bamako.) Breakfast is always a grand affair—pancakes and/or French toast, served with local syrups (ginger, hibiscus, tamarind) and jams (mango, guava), fruit salad, muesli, peanut butter, sometimes yogurt. Good coffee too.

So when I heard that Mac was serving Thanksgiving dinner, I made my reservation right away. We posted a sign-up sheet at the Peace Corps office, knowing that any Americans in town would be interested (and especially those malnourished PCVs!). More than 20 people signed up within a week!

my house

After all my complaining, all the suffering I’ve described in detail about my living arrangements, I thought I should post photos of my home. Here’s a link to the album.

Home in Bandiagara

It’s cute, isn’t it? Next week I’ll post photos of the critters that share my humble abode.

pizza night

Saturday night is pizza night. A local hotel serves pizza cooked in a wood-fired oven. It’s good—and it’s the only place, the only time, you can find pizza in Bandiagara. It’s also the only opportunity to eat cheese in Bandiagara. Word is that the owner travels to Ougadougou to get the cheese (that’s a four hour drive).

It’s a big event for us expats—as we say, it’s something to do. There’s not much to do here, so we make a lot out of a little thing.

the world bank group

Attended a workshop today presented by the World Bank to public sector officials, titled “The Tourism Sector in Mali: Possibilities for Development.” (Unfortunately, I missed the morning session, conducted for the private sector. The project never received an invitation, it was simply coincidence that the coordinator called a local official on Friday and he told us about the Monday workshop. I later learned that it was the prefet’s responsibility to delivery invitations. Even the hotel that hosted the workshop wasn’t informed until Saturday afternoon.) A group of approximately 10 men (plus me, the only woman, the only non-Malian), a group I’ve begun referring to as “the usual suspects,” attended. All of the informational sessions, business associations meetings and workshops I’ve attended are composed of the same individuals.

My impression is that the purpose was to build awareness among public officials of the importance of tourism as a tool for economic and human development. The discussions centered on obstacles to development of tourism in Mali—acknowledging first that they exist—and how to remove them or at least lessen the negative impact.

A highlight of the session for me was when the WB facilitator was talking about the difficulty of travel in Mali: visas, border crossings, roadblocks and delays. He gave the example of a recent event when a bus of 30 mayors, all in official dress, was stopped on the road and delayed for three hours without explanation. The discussion continued about difficulties tourists face when traveling in Mali, the police commissioner became agitated (he seemed to take personal offense and felt obligated to defend his position), and said, “they come here, used to being treated like kings, and expect us to treat them special.” I wanted to jump up and say, “That’s right! The client is king!” Le client est roi! It’s one of the major obstacles to tourism development in this region—the lack of an attitude of customer service—and will require much sensitization and training in order to develop staff for the hospitality industry.

At about 4pm, after the afternoon coffee break, the facilitator distributed the per diem to the attendees. 3000cfa per person, plus coffee and snacks, not bad for an afternoon. The workshop ended at about 5:30pm, but seemingly because it was time to end, not because any resolution had been reached. The WB facilitators were terrific, they did a good job of delivering their message. But I was disappointed that they didn’t demand more from the participants. No outline of an action plan, no responsibilities were assigned for next steps. But awareness was raised.

work

So—what am I actually DOING? After three months, I’ve identified two areas of focus: travel philanthropy and attracting investment to the region. For travel philanthropy, that means setting up a system to connect tourists and travel operators with local development projects. How to collect and disburse funds, how to measure and report results. Just starting to put that together, with support from staff in the US. It means meeting with local organizations, discussing their field projects, learning about their accounting systems, understanding their method of tracking results. Also identifying potential donors and communicating with them. Setting up the funds management is the sticky part, it’s what I’m trying to sort out right now.

For attracting investment—this will be fun. So far I’ve completed an analysis of the local business environment (and in a country that has essentially no statistical database, this was a neat trick) and composed an informational brief for potential investors. I went to two conferences in October (in Bamako, the capital city) and met a few prospects there. The big fish I’m targeting is a company that operates luxury lodges, five star properties, super de luxe. Hopefully I’ll met with them next month, they may do a field visit to scout sites for development.

I also spend a lot of time tagging along with the project coordinator—attending meetings of local associations, consulting with local hotel owners, trying to build awareness about the benefits of tourism while at the same time recognizing fundamental unmet needs and local constraints.

full moon

Last night I slept outside. It was a full moon, bright and round. Shining through the dusty hazy sky, rays of moonlight radiated from the glowing orb, diminishing toward the horizon and fading into the dark sky. It was nice and cool too, I used a blanket for the second time since I’ve been in Mali.

small successes

This morning I returned to the copy shop, still looking for someone to copy these surveys for me. Still no connection, but luckily this morning was staffed by a young man who quickly took the job and started working on it right away.

Savor the small successes.

small struggles

I needed copies of a survey we're conducting with hotel owners. So I went to the cybercafé/copy shop (yes, there's only one). There's always a group of young men out front, drinking tea and chatting. One of them calls the owner of the shop as he sees me walk up to the front door. "There's no connection," he says, knowing my daily question. "No, today I have a small job for you," I reply. "I need to have some copies made." "OK, come in, come in," he says. I walk in. The place is filthy, it couldn't be more of a mess if it had just been looted. There's trash all over the floor--crumpled office paper, sticks, dust, broken bits of chairs. He walks over to the table that serves as the manager's desk. "The guy who works the computer will be here in a few minutes," he tells me. I wait for a few minutes, then go back outside where it's cooler. After waiting 10 minutes, I leave. My friend was leaving for Mopti (60km away), where I could get internet access. No copies today.

note

FYI, I've added new posts below, with photos taken during the past two months.

it's a beautiful morning

I can truthfully say that it's a beautiful day this morning in Mali. It's breezy, sunny and cooler (under 30C, or around 80F). I'm staying at the Hotel Ambedjele in Sevare for a day, in order to profit from their wifi, take a swim in the pool and just relax. It's lovely here, a large swimming pool surrounded by a tropical garden. And breakfast was a treat: fresh papaya juice, yogurt, croissant and coffee. These four things just don't exist in Bandiagara, only 65 km away. The juice was heavenly. Fruit is my favorite food in the whole wide world.

reminder/disclaimer

I’m hot. I don’t hate Mali but I don’t love it either. But I’m hot and sticky and it makes me cranky. These notes are sometimes complaints but are always intended as observations and stories about my personal experience.

marshmallow

I’ve never been as white as I am in Africa. For one thing, cultural norms require that women cover their shoulders and knees (Yeah, I know, it sounds weird to me too, I don’t know why but dresses and trousers must cover your knees.) For another, it’s a small town and I’m the new arrival here, so everyone knows who I am but I (so far) only know a few locals. All “les blancs” (aka “toubabs”) really stand out. And I’m getting softer every day. I try to do yoga regularly, so my body gets some kind of movement, but it’s too darn hot to run or bicycle (not to mention the cultural requirement that shoulders and knees be covered) or even to go for a walk. Maybe I’ll order a jumprope. And wake up before dawn.

too darn hot

It’s so hot here in the afternoon that no one moves if they don’t have to. (No one except us crazy expats, who feel like there’s just so much work to be done and we’re only here for a short time and all of my activities are behind schedule there’s so much to plan so I’d better rush work quick there’s so much to do!) After lunch I walked back to the office and saw maybe five people—max, in total. (In the morning and evening, there are many many people in the street. This time of day, everyone is hiding out indoors or in the river or whatever less-hot place they can find.) And they were all in the shade, lying on mats on the ground, limbs sprawled, like corpses awaiting the homicide team’s chalk. When I first arrived, I was startled, I thought to myself, “omigod, everyone is just lying around, they’re not doing anything!” Now I realize that this is all anyone can do in the mid-afternoon. It’s just too darn hot to move, to work, to think. I wonder if there’s any evidence demonstrating that the brain functions less effectively at high ambient temperatures?

back home (away from home)

I was worried that I was becoming cynical and sarcastic, losing touch with my bright-eyed world view. But now that I’m back in B’gara, I realize that it’s the heat that makes me cranky. Good lord, my brain can’t function! And my body can’t either. Bring on the cold season (when it goes down to 30C)!

"toubab"

I actually spent an entire week without hearing the word “toubab” – what a delight. On the drive back from Bamako to Bandiagara, we stopped for gas. In less than 15 seconds, a child demanded “toubab, donne-moi un cadeau!” I could feel a small part of me harden inside. One more tiny piece of armor constructed.

banking

Banking is always an adventure. Don’t ever go to the bank on Monday or Friday—market days. This is a cash economy, and there is only one bank in town, so there’s not much choice. ATM? Sure, there’s one in Sevare, 60km away, and I’ve heard that it takes about a year to get a card. Checks? Those’ll take six months to arrive. This is a poor region in a poor country, but there’s money here—not a lot, but some people do make a profit somewhere. Yesterday I saw a man at the bank deposit CFA11 million. (How did I see t hat? Easy. There’s no privacy in Mali. Everyone in the waiting room at the bank can hear you when you tell the agent how much you want to deposit or withdraw.) That’s about US20,000. That’s not chump change here or anywhere (well maybe Moscow?).

hospitality training

Photos are from the training sessions, it was a trip. Yup, that's me (scary, huh? but I'm laughing!)
>br>



In the second photo you can see a breakout group working on an exercise, and in the background are pointy thatched roofs of Dogon granaries. (As someone said to me, "It’s the 10th century meeting the 21st century.") It was a rewarding experience. The participants were all excited about learning and very engaged in the program. Those guys (and it was guys—108 guys and 2 women) just have no resources to work with—-but can we change that? This project is bringing them information, not computers or even flipcharts. We’re trying to teach them how to change their circumstances for themselves, but they’re really starting from less than zero, and the only support they get is from aid projects. No government support, no private enterprise support: it’s hard. I just finished reading Jared Diamond’s “Collapse,” and Mali seems like another society on the verge of collapse. Everyone is fighting for survival—or so accustomed to fighting for survival that they don’t want anyone to know that they have any bit of surplus.

catching up

Returned to Bgara on Sunday, after being out of town for most of the past three weeks. (The few days I was back in town, the internet connection was down.) Eight days “en brousse” (in the field), two days at a local conference, one week at international conferences in Bamako. The week in Bamako was a welcome respite—a retreat from the dust and heat and noise of Mali. It was clean and everything smelled nice. I took full advantage of my Radisson mini-vacation, extended my stay by two days and lived in dust-free, AC bliss for a week. Room service too. I even drank a capirinha. And got ice cream, once. Sadly, the one club (the one club that we knew about) in the city that showcases live music had changed owners and closed its doors. Too bad my little holiday ended with malaria. Good thing I had already bought the emergency anti-malaria drugs.

the road to tereli

This is the road leading from Bandiagara, across the plateau, to the descent to the base of the cliff. This is a typical view of the plateau: millet and sorghum fields are in the background.





A narrow passage as the road descends from the plateau, emerges on the cliff face. Boys hooting and hollering to herd their goats. During this time of year, children are responsible for managing the herds, mainly to keep them out of the fields and prevent them from eating the crops.





At the base of the cliff, whomping across the dunes toward Tereli.



In the afternoon, traveling along the same road in the opposite direction, heading back up to the plateau and Bandiagara. On the left, below, you can see the dunes and further in the distance the plain.

another oumar

I take it back-- there is a trash collection service in Bandiagara.

I learned it about a week ago, when the president of the community association that collects trash stopped by my house. He asked if I'd like the association to pick up my trash, "Like the Germans and the Italians," he said. 1500 CFA per month, three months paid in advance. "Do you need a trash can?" He could provide that too-- 3000 CFA. I asked him to come back the next day because I didn't have any cash on me.

He showed up at 7:30 am the next morning. I was doing yoga on the terrace-- downward dog pose or something-- wearing yoga shorts and a tank top. For Malians, that's like seeing me naked! I tried to maintain my deep breathing and, at the same time, tell him politely (in French) that this isn't a good time, can he return in an hour? (He did, while I was in the shower. Finally, he found me at home that evening.)

He returned today to deliver the trash can. He had to have it made. "Does it have a cover?" I asked. "Oui, c'est encore en train de fabriquer (Yes, it's still in the process of being fabricated)," he replied. That's Mali.

my new friend

The other day I was herding two toads out of my house. They were tiny, and I thought they had hopped in to escape the rain (but that doesn't make any sense at all, does it? I guess they just took a wrong turn.) That night, I was in bed and I saw something moving on the floor. In the dark, through the mosquito net, everything is indistinct. Then I realized that it was one of those toads. He was eating mosquitoes.

music: madou at the cheval blanc

nose-picking

Evidently, nose-picking is socially acceptable as a public practice here. (I guess it makes sense—it’s so dusty and dry here that you always have crusty boogers, and you’re itching to get ‘em out.) But I can’t get used to it. It always makes me giggle inside when someone—in the midst of a conversation, during a meeting, in mid-sentence—sticks their finger up their nose. It happens all the time. I still find it distracting.

waiting for oumar

Speaking of waiting, I’ve done a lot of waiting for Oumar. (Oumar the plumber who repairs the stove, not to be confused with Oumar the plumber who fixes the plumbing or Oumar who heads the trash-collection association.) Oumar the stove-fixer wears a striped shirt with a Roto-Rooter patch on it, evidently a uniform in a previous incarnation. The stains from grease and rust pasted on the shirt hem tell the stories of many lifetimes of wear. Oumar, a nice guy, repaired the stove when it first arrived—“I’ll be able to make coffee,” I thought, “he’s my hero!”—but declared that he needed some parts to complete the repairs. The parts are not to be found in these parts, had to be ordered from Bamako. Three weeks later (my cook is still preparing meals over a charcoal stove), after multiple phone calls and threats from Allaye that if he doesn’t show up chez moi with the diffusers he’ll haul him down to the police station, Oumar reappeared with one diffuser. It worked! I was ecstatic! I gave him money for the stove parts. And he sat down on the terrace to chat with me. “Are you married,” he asked.

Today, six days later, I’m still waiting for him to finish the repairs. Calling him for the past three days, finally he came to the office and agreed he’d be at the house this afternoon, between noon and 1pm. It’s 2:30 now. Time to buy more charcoal.

money matters

Everyone asks for money all the time. So far, it’s easier to name the people who haven’t asked me for money than to list those that have. I expressed my disappointment to a German friend, and he commiserated. Just have to get used to it. Had a long conversation with Cristina last night about it too—-what’s the best way to respond to the requests, how to manage our emotional reaction. So far I’ve just said “no,” but I think my future strategy will be to respond just as the Malians do: “oh, sorry, I can’t help you right now, today—maybe tomorrow.” Wait.

not in utah anymore

Funny how things turn out. Still running away from Utah, trying to get as much distance as possible, escaping memories I’d like to forget—- I find myself here in Mali, a semi-arid region accentuated with sandstone cliffs, immersed in a local culture shaped by social pressure and a powerful religious belief system.

the best storm ever

It hasn’t rained in over a week. Every morning, every evening, I scan the sky and wish for rain. I daydream about an encore of the best storm ever, the one that kicked off a mini wet season about two weeks ago.

I was at the Mission Culturelle, where I was participating in a meeting of local project heads. There were about 10 people around the table, the meeting had gone on for about two hours, and I noticed the wind had started to pick up. Outside, the dust in the courtyard began to swirl about and I could hear the whoosh of the wind in the trees and metal shutters banging against stone buildings. The windows and doors of the conference room were open, and the wind and dust started to blow through the room. We continued the meeting—I was facing the window and was entirely captivated by the escalating storm outside—but the man who was speaking (one of the local NGO heads) didn’t even pause to turn and look as the storm mounted and the sky grew dark outside. All of a sudden, it was upon us, everyone very quickly said their “au revoirs” and scattered. Through the conference room doorway I could see the rain—horizontal—blowing sideways down the corridor. I got up, looked out into the corridor and was rewarded with a cool blast of wind and rain. The courtyard was flooded already and the floor of the corridor too. A dog was huddled against the wall, hiding from the blowing rain, hoping no one would chase him out into the storm.

trek in pays dogon

Trek in Pays Dogon, southern circuit

dawn at Kani-Kombole

data collection

Sometimes it's difficult to describe the circumstances here without sounding negative. Often a description sounds negative, but my intent is to make an observation.

For example: Yesterday (Wednesday) I began my search for statistical data about the region-- economic and business information-- to begin to work on an analysis of the local business environment. I met with the statistical expert for the region I'm working in. He's accustomed to working with NGOs and understands the need for transparency and information-sharing. He's super smart, knows what data is available to him and how to put his hands on it.

But here's what the meeting was like: a technical assistant on the project (Malian, educated, smart, high-performing), picked me up at my house. He gave me a ride on his moto (a 125cc Yamaha) to the economist's office. We had to go across town, which means dodging mud puddles that cover more than half of the road, never knowing how deep they are. Many of them are home to some local pigs (I live in the Christian neighborhood) and piglets. I was wearing a skirt (didn't know when I got dressed that morning that I'd be riding on the back of a moto)-- but that's ok, because all of the women wear skirts 100% of the time and they always ride on the back of motos, so that's just the way it is. Honk at the sheep in the road, they scatter. Honk at the boys leading a donkey cart full of recently harvested onions, they move to the side. (We're only going about 20mph.) Stop to greet friends and family at least three times. Arrive at the office, park in the shade (phew), say hello to everyone (at least 15 people, who work in different offices in that complex, taking a break outside), the men are cooking tea over a small charcoal stove. It's served very very very strong, very hot and with lots of sugar. (It's really just the men who drink it, but they offer it to us expats and I tried it of course.)

Here's what really surprises me-- the office is a large room, empty except for a simple wooden table and three chairs. The walls are cement or stucco, were once painted blue and looks like they were yellow before that. Now they're pockmarked, stained, faded and discolored, a multi-color tie-dye tapestry of concrete, earth and paint. This guy (sorry, I can't remember his name, but I wrote it down), is tall, young (mid-20s), and arises from his chair behind the table to greet us. His cell phone is on the table, and that's all-- nothing else. We shake hands, go through the traditional ritual greetings and sit down across from him. I kept looking at the wall, amazed at the circumstances that he has to work in. (Turns out that his computer is at home.)

today was a good day

I have good days and bad days: days go bad when the psychic distress of witnessing so many people living in the dirt weighs me down. Some days I feel hopeless and helpless, feeling that it will never change. It's a complex mix of political, economic, geographic, cultural factors (and more) that keep the standard of living low.

Today however was a good day. I am very lucky to have been assigned to this project and happy to discover that the project is managed by a truly high-performing team.

This morning I attended my first staff meeting with the team-- Cristina, the project administrator and my main contact directed the meeting. Also present were two staff members, Malians, who reported on the activities accomplished in the past month, status of ongoing projects and plans for the second year (beginning October 1st). These guys get a lot done! And Cristina runs a tight ship. (And, an ongoing challenge for me, all in French-- except when I tried to explain how to link MSMEs with the appropriate finance organizations, I needed help with that).

Then we visited our new office, a good-sized building with a pretty courtyard just a half block from my house. We're moving at the end of the month, we'll have AC and internet! I won't have to walk through town to get to work in the mornings. (It is a typical village in a developing country, with goats and sheep and children dressed in rags demanding "donnes-moi un cadeau" and dusty or muddy streets and trash scattered about. No worse than anywhere else, but it makes me sad, discouraged and tired.)

Also, it rained last night, a grand storm that brought with it cooler temperatures, which seems to cheer me up. It arrived with strong wind and heavy rain, followed by a steady light rain until about 9am. I enjoy the ringing rhythm of the rain falling on my roof, corrugated metal. The temperature dropped about 20 degrees and has stayed cool all morning, grâce aux nuages! It was (and will be) a good night for sleeping!

Still no photos yet. Waiting for my laptop to arrive (ETA 3-4 weeks), or one I can borrow, I don't think the computers here at the cybercafe can handle the file sizes.

anti-negativity

Just last night I was feeling bad about starting off the blog so negatively. But I'm sticking to my commitment to always be true to my present state when I post, so that's what you get. Really,
things have been surprisingly good despite the obstacles. I don't think I wrote about that yet, the obstacles: the surprising contradiction that I have a large beautiful house with a cook and a guard but I have no furniture. (My neighbor loaned me a small table and a chair this morning, so I no longer will have to eat on the floor.) Like the fact that I'm here but my office is not. (It's moving here at the end of the month. My computer should arrive in October.)

By the way, having a cook and a guard is standard and somewhat necessary. For example, because I don't have a stove yet, the cook is using a traditional charcoal stove to prepare my meals (indoors, if it's raining). If I want to eat chicken, she purchases a live one. I may even get some chickens to keep in the garden-- mmm, fresh eggs. The guard takes care of odds and ends-- like calling the plumber to figure out why the water coming out of the tap is black, talking to the landlord about finally getting the electricity turned on, and keeping strangers from cultivating crops in my garden (Turns out that the mini millet field presently in my garden was planted by the guard next door. I told him he can use the field until the harvest).

I was writing to say that I'm not miserable. I'm ok, really, I'm just pissed off that things weren't prepared in advance, as they had agreed, and that I'm still sleeping in a mosquito tent. Now Washington has told me that I don't have a budget for furniture.

Honestly, I remain optimistic about this project and about my role in it. The needs really do fit my strengths and the professional challenges match those that I personally want to tackle. I still believe in the power of human energy and innovation. But now I'm getting impatient, I want to get started, I want to have the tools and resources I need to get the job done.

the good life

The good news is that I'm eating well and getting plenty of rest. This goes a long way toward supporting my mental health. Haven't gotten sick yet (other than minor intestinal distress, of course).

disillusioned and discouraged

Ned's right.

Yesterday I experienced my first day of disillusionment. It's been building up, I've had good days and bad-- usually alternating. One day I'll feel that I've learned a lot, got something accomplished (even if that means finding potable water-- we're talking baby steps here), have enthusiasm for advancement on the project, then the next day I'll be hot and sweaty and sticky with dust and can't imagine moving from my position, lying spreadeagle, naked, on the floor under the fan. (It's best to do this right after a shower, to take advantage of the cooling evaporative effect.)

It all culminated in Daou asking me if I can help him resolve a problem. The solution, of course, involved me giving him more money. After I've paid him in advance for a month of lessons, after I told him that the project is not giving me a budget for house furnishings, after I explained that I'm not getting paid for this... I just said no, flat out no.

Later I remembered Margaret explaining to me that in this culture no one ever says no, it's considered rude. When the guides hassle you on the street, when a kid tries to sell you a necklace, you always have to say "plus tard" or "demain" never "non." So we'll see what happens. Will he ask again? I wonder what he needs the money for anyway-- gambling debts, girlfriends, a house in the country-- is it rude to ask?

wait

It's hot here. I'm always waiting for a storm, hoping it will cool things off. That has happened once so far in the two-and-a-half weeks since I arrived. There have actually been several storms since I've been here, very exciting with strong wind and heavy rain, but only once did it cool off afterwards.

I've made friends with the local expat crowd, the Germans and the Italians, there're all terrific, especially my neighbor, Margaret, who loves to speak english. Sadly, she's leaving for an extended holiday tomorrow and won't be back until early October.

The language gap is a problem, more so than I had hoped. But I've found a tutor to work with, Daou, and I'm becoming more accustomed to the local accent, so I know will improve over time. It's just so slow. But I've learned that the keyword for my experience here is "wait." Either wait for someone or something, or wait and the problem will resolve itself. Patience, time, don't force it. It's a good lesson.

packing

Jack Sherman once told me that during his travels in India he had only one tape (back in the days of the Sony Walkman). The Rolling Stones' "Shattered" became the theme for his travels. As I sort through my old CDs (some of which have been in a box in storage since January 05), I recall the events for which these songs played as the soundtrack of my life in the past. Now I can take 100 gb of music with me to Africa, in a box the size of a pack of cigarettes. Amazing!