Both literally and figuratively. PS: The heated debate at the end is over whether this structure is actually a bridge, a stool, or a replication of the Eiffel Tower, and therefore whether it qualifies for competition. Staff Leadership Training Relais Touristique Hotel Tin-buktu Moussabougou Sira Moussabougou, Bamako, Mali +223 66 72 01 58
Egg sandwich on the go: eggs, tomato, onion, peppers and mayo on a baguette… And a little culinary love from Batman, neighborhood restaurateur extraordinaire. Faso Kanu, Magnambougou, Bamako.
Shared lunch in Seliban village: Tô, a starchy porridge–this one made from sorghum flour–served with baobab leaf sauce.
Found myself guilty of that slippery, easy, well-intentioned mistake of cultural re-adjustment: Believing that all people, deep down, are essentially the same, and gripping that belief as a compass through foreign territory. It’s not true, of course; there are deep and oft-divisive differences. But the big problem with the we-are-same perspective is that it’s my same informing my assumptions. How are we the same? In what ways? If any one person answers these questions, the response is rendered invalid on a collective level. What I see or expect to be equal or translatable or essential comes from my own subjective perspective. When you get down to it we are not, in fact, the same. And we are certainly not the same in any way definable by me alone. It feels like swimming in deep water, searching with your feet for something to stand on, lurching forward–sometimes in a panic–to get to solid ground. It can be deeply unsettling to realize that, in intercultural dynamics, there is no ground to stand on: it’s all about the swim. There is no quick …
In moments of hazy confusion I mix languages, I forget cultural basics, I speak of “here” as if I were elsewhere, I wake from sleep unsure of where I am. Peanut plant pulled fresh from the earth in Sinsina village, offered as a gift. This is the hand behind this awesome blog, most recently on aid work in the Central African Republic, but on many other things as well, and also the hand behind this moving, inspiring, and oft-hilarious twitter feed. major props, my friend.
the accumulation of Things I Do Not Know has reached impressive proportions: i do not know the roads here, or the routes, or most destinations. i do not know half of what people say, or how i’m to feel about it, or how to reply. i do not know how to do my job, or whether i’ll be any good, or whether i’ll find it satisfying. i do not know what’s in most of the food i eat, how to cook over a gas tank, or recognize the things for sale at market. i do not know when to engage strangers, or how, or whether i appear as foreigner or fool when I idle in the street. i do not know how to be funny here, or when to smile, and I can’t quite figure out the tortoise who lives in the yard. and yesterday i realized that i Do Not Know how to tie a bathrobe. the string on the outside and the string on the inside and the loops on the seams don’t …
outerNotes 