West Africa's Largest Postcard Collection Grows!

We moved to a new postcard wall! Our friends and family are so amazing that we are not only be able to decorate a part of our living room but have now moved on to what we’ll call our "solarium" (which is actually more of a sandarium). At least once a day we check them out. It is inspires us to see where you all travel. It cracks us up to see what ludicrous cards you can find. It makes us nostalgic to see where you all live. Most of all, it heartens us to know what amazing support we have.

There were some serious travelers in this batch and some great scenes from all over, on the homefront and beyond.

Our friend Kelly “Big Red” Huster from Jackson, Wyoming, touched on a little of both themes when she crossed the entire country and sent us a postcard from Cambridge, Massachusetts. Her first time to Fenway Park was almost as exciting as a mention on our blog!

The Traveling Campbells continue their amazing string of journeys, checking in from sites as far a field as Tucson and Scotland. We are starting to wonder if they are ever at home.


Kelly Jones got all the way to South Africa for some safari stew before being sent back to america. She says that she is home in Colorado now but we are not sure, having no postcard-o-graphic evidence to confirm this fact.

We do know Steve Bory and Natalie Mette-Bory made it safely home to Chesapeake Bay. They also completed a swing through the southwest states, from which our postcard wall should benefit, insh’allah.

The "Ice Queen", Liz Becker, completed a lengthy trek herself. She checked in from Utah and Saugatuck, Michigan and Washington Crossing Historic Park in Pennsylvania on her way to the east coast after her eighteen-day float down the Grand Canyon. She sent us a postcard from the bottom of “the ditch” that was carried out partly by mule, a form of transport normally only occuring on the Malian end of things!

Our friends Nicole and Andrew Wallace sent one from far away but not quite from the road. They have moved to Orleans, France. The majestic chateaux seem a bit more appealing than the mud brick huts they had been accustomed to in Mali.


RPCV Emily Doerr is killing it on the postcard front, having checked in from Seattle and Portland, Oregon and from McMinnville, Tennessee on her way to the nation's capital where she sent a ridiculous card of the first family. We expect the cards to continue coming since, at last check, she didn’t have one of those pesky job things that might inhibit postcard writing.

PCV Therese Pasichnyk sent us one from Cadiz, Spain, where she traveled with her family. They apparently wanted to go as close to Africa as possible without actually stepping foot on the Dark Continent. You can practically see Morocco from there!

Casey and Matt Stratford got all the way to Iceland. This would normally be an impressive postcard except when compared to the other two absurd cards they sent out: Sam and Mark’s wedding and on the Jackson Hole Gondola with Sam and Mark. Awesome!

We even received a card all the way from Malaysia sent by a Choong Chee Yen, who is apparently making postcard wall as well. It is a small world!

Speaking of outlandish postcards, Kevin Coughlan has really hit his stride. He has been specializing in touristy Wyoming kitsch. From the stuffed bears asking that more tourists be sent because the last ones were delicious, to the bizarre owl claiming it misses us, to the legendary fur bearing (due to the extremely cold waters) trout and the elusive Jackalope, he has been nailing it.

Ben Carlisle sent Baroque Obama. Enough said.

Brian Hannon has recently been specializing in eccentric British cards with old ads for Brylcreem and a not so subtle claim from the MG car company that their vehicle will increase your chances with the ladies.

Brian’s friend Denis Moran lives in Santa Barbara and studies Africa as part of his reference publisher gig. Judging from the picture of the area, we suggest he continue working from afar, it is much nicer.

Ex-roomie Jon Scheibel continues his subtle pitch to get us to return to western Wyoming by sending cards from Jackson Hole and Yellowstone National Park.

Laura Cuddie and John Morgan reminded us of the beautiful scenery of the Teton Range. It is fun to show pictures like that to Malians, they are always blown away.

Back on the east coast, Jay and Jenni sent us one of their new hometown Media, Pennsylvania. This was less to show the beauty of their town and more so that Jay could point out his local coffee shop in the photo. The thought of a sandwich where the egg is not deep-fried and that has bacon and cheese on it is too much for us to fathom at this point. The Hannons went international too, kind of. Jay, Jenni and Frank sent one from Quebec City.

The Lavers have moved up to New Hampshire and sent a view of the Mt. Washington Valley. It reminds us of when we were able to see Mt. Washington from the dock at Sam’s family cottage on Lake Winnipesauke, a long time ago in galaxy far, far away where it is safe to touch the water.


Norma Crichton continues her come home to Bangor, Maine campaign with a card of the Thomas Hill Standpipe. Mark could still to this day ride a bike to his childhood home blindfolded from that particular landmark if the need arose.

Tom and Cathy Hannon sent a beautiful view of Scituate harbor in Massachusetts. It makes us want to see the ocean and eat fish from water which can be smelled miles away for its saltiness and not its raw sewage.

The same goes for Cousin Cindy’s card from Rye harbor, New Hampshire. Also, considering Rhode Island’s diminutive size, the large format postcard she sent from there gave us a chuckle. Mostly, though, it is her postcard of New England fall foliage that looks quite a bit like the farm road near Sam's house that makes us miss home.




Thanks everyone for your reminders of where we’ve been, where we're going and what we should put in our hair.









Kevin Coughlan summed it up nicely:

Posh Corps

Its official, we have transferred from Peace Corps to Posh Corps. Moving to Bamako a few months ago from Yelimané has been less like moving towns and more like changing of planets. While we certainly still have challenges in our daily lives, when compared to village life it feels like we are on vacation.

Get this: there are these switches on the walls of our house that, when toggled, turn on and off lights without any batteries or matches!

There are these metal pipe things which bring water into the building itself. It comes out a shower! Not only that, but there are other pipes which take dirty water away from the toilet in our house. Granted, most wastewater eventually empties untreated into the river not far from here but at least it is not collected in a cesspool outside the concession wall for children to play in (they only have donkey poop to throw at each other, dommage).

We have a bed that is not made of bamboo, a table with chairs and a sofa. We have tiles on our floor instead of concrete and paving stones. We have fans to move the swelteringly hot air around and dry our sweat. We get the BBC on the radio, so we know a little about what happens in the world. We even have (want can only be called) an easy bake oven. Best of all, we have a little refrigerator for cold water!

Work life is different in Bamako. We hesitate to describe it because it still is not that interesting for the American reader. Suffice it to say that it exists, which is a big step up from village. While the village life was relaxing and culturally enriching it could also be torturously slow. We would often reach our limit of reading books and playing with children but the only alternative was often staring off at the horizon for hours on end. In the city the time passes faster, which is good.

We have done so many things in town that we never had the opportunity to do out on the edge of the desert. We’ve swum in pools, we’ve gone to soccer matches in stadiums, we’ve been to concerts performed by famous Malians, we meet friends once a week for drinks, we eat chicken! We are no longer out at the end of a seldom-traveled spoke of a desolate wheel but at the hub of the country, so we see people a lot more. Time goes fast enough that we actually have to manage it!

And time runs short these days. It is hard to believe that we are in single digits for months left in Mali. By way of clarification, Peace Corps is a two year service after swearing-in (front row, with shades). This means that that count only began when training finished, two months after our arrival. Those of you who expected us back in July will be surprised to hear that our technical last day of service is September 11th, 2010. That is not when we arrive home, however, as we will likely travel around for an undetermined time. Not to mention that due to administrative constraints that day could be a month before or a month later, nor is it including any extensions past that or early end dates for which might possibly be applied. Is that clear enough?

So, while we really have no idea when we will be home to the States, you will be happy to know that this place has become an acceptable home in the meantime.

(Its a sweet pad, Avril is always hangin' out at our place...)

Holidays

We recently marked two holidays, Thanksgiving and Tabaski. These are strikingly similar. Although one is religious and one is not, they both are marked by gluttonous consumption of meat. Thanksgiving has its turkeys to commemorate the survival of the Pilgrims thanks to the cooperation of the Native Americans. Tabaski has its rams to commemorate Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his only son, Ismail, to prove himself to god. The bottom line is that an animal is killed and folks gorge themselves. These two separate cultural holidays happened to fall two days apart this year, which made for the tastiest week ever.

Since Tabaski was on the Saturday after Thanksgiving and it is the biggest holiday in Mali, the Peace Corps crew who live in Sikasso held their annual feast early, on the preceding Monday. This was perfect for us because it meant we got to go there and pig out on turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and maybe a beer or two and still make it back to Bamako to go to the U.S. Ambassador’s residence on Thanksgiving itself for more of the same! This was our Mali version of Thanksgiving with the Hannons and then driving to New Hampshire for Thanksgiving with the Briggs. Score!
Tabaski is celebrated by virtually all Malians and that means that the same move could be pulled for this holiday too. We spent the morning with our family cutting up animals and cooking then we headed to our tutor’s place for a feast with his friends. After that, we came back
home only to eat even more with the family again before they returned to the mosque dressed in their finest. Normally, everyone gets new clothes made for the occasion but since we rarely wear Malian clothes in Bamako our “swear-in” outfits were new to them.

(Sam with our host family in Bamako)

We ended the evening in an untraditional fashion watching a France versus New Zealand rugby at the bar. Heck, we are even culturally exchanging with Kiwis!

Happy Thanksgiving

Just a quick note to let everyone know we are doing well. Another Turkey Day without the family but at least there was turkey this time. We headed over to the U.S. Ambassador's residence for a feast she was throwing for those less fortunate (read: Peace Corps Volunteers). We were treated to turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, yams, veggies and wine and we didn't have to clean one dish. That's the life!

We recognize that the updates have been lacking recently. While this is partly due to a little computer snafu we'll explain later, it is mostly just us being lazy. Too lazy to even make up excuses. We'll get on that.

In the meantime, here is an update on the mummified cat:

It has returned to the earth.

Halloween 2009

Here’s a picture of Sam and Mark at a Halloween party in Bamako:


Those tins on their arms are beggars’ cups. No, they are not dressed as street beggars. C'mon, that would be uncouth. While Sam and Mark appear to be dressed as mere beggars, a closer inspection of their clothes reveals them to be - wait for it - twins.

What?!

A word about twins in West Africa: they are considered good luck. Yes, I know what you are thinking, they should be considered good luck everywhere, true, but here it goes beyond that. You are supposed to give them money. Another word about twins: they need not be real twins at all. In fact, they often are not.

Why?

A word about beggar mothers: it is safe to assume that beggar moms have lived in West Africa most, if not all, of their lives. So, while they may not have had the chance to attend the Sorbonne, they still know a trick or two. Giving money to twins being considered good luck means that when a beggar gives birth to a set it is kind of like hitting the daily double. Donc, it is very common to see children who are clearly not twins (sometimes it is debatable whether they are even related) dressed alike to bring in more money. We didn’t say they knew any good tricks.

Due to a fluke in the genetic code of the West African populace there are tons of twins (and, even more odd, albinos) floating around, mostly fraternal. Are Sam and Mark real fraternal twins? We hope not on so many levels.

More Postcards! Thank you!

We recently had a bit of a postal delivery/common sense snafu which could only happen of in Mali.

PCV: Can I have my mail, I see it there on the desk (pointing).
Mail Guy: We have to wait until the names are correctly on the mailboxes.
PCV: Here’s my mailbox (holding out hands), put it right here.
Mail Guy: We have to wait until the names are correctly on the mailboxes.

This went on for so long that the price of overseas US postcard stamps went from $0.94 to $0.98 in the meantime! Upon delivery resumption, a month later, our collection doubled in size once again. Well done, readers, the postcard wall multiplies faster than giardia in the large intestine!

A funny story relating to the ridiculous postal debacle: for an entire month now Sam has been upset that the Scheibels of Littleton, Colorado sent a postcard addressed specifically and only to Mark. She felt, it must be said, somewhat slighted. Fast forward a month, to the postcard windfall, and there in the pile was one addressed from the Scheibels of Littleton, Colorado specifically and only to her, sent the very same day! They dodged a bullet with that one. They were going to have to answer to Sam. Also, there were two from their formally postcard delinquent son, Jon.

Mark’s mom did send many but one was just to Mark, so she will have some answering to do. I guess her and John will owe Sam a dinner for this slight (for which Mark will tag along ).

Mark’s dad sent a bunch of sweet views of the artists’ colony formerly known as Belfast, Maine. His brother, Tommy, is doing much better now and will certainly soon be following the lead of his daughter Cindy, who sent one from Boston’s public garden.

Also in Boston was Brian’s friend Matt Kelly, who had some disparaging words about him written on the back. Similar sentiments came from Vince, Brian’s buddy with whom he is “competing to see who can finish his PhD last,” or so Vince says. This is a tight race.

Alyssa Wyman was a blast from far enough in the past that she has a new last name (Radcliff). Thanks for the lobster postcard. We try not to eat the seafood here, for obvious reasons. Also Maine based, Norma Crichton sent two views of beautiful Bangor, Maine. It’s the Queen city, you know.

Julie (Emery) Furlo and family went to Martha’s Vinyard and sent us some cards from what was, hopefully, a much more tame trip then her time living out there with Mark, Jay, Bryce and Scot. Her daughter was confused by the sexual ambiguity of the carrousel rider on this card and, frankly, so were we.

RPCV Emily Doerr is making the transition from Mali back into American life in Spokane, on the prowl for dudes to make out with (she also sent one from Turkey, although how long ago she visited there is uncertain).

Basadiki Ly and Habe Diallo (a.k.a.Cousin Mikey and Sarah) are also adjusting back to life in America after their long trek to just about everywhere in Mali except Tombouctou, which was fine because that is for "you know who" anyway...

Susan Rainey sent one from Mopti which had pictures of Montana, possibly because it looks so much nicer than Mopti itself.

Bishop sent us a picture of the old Tram flying over Crystal Springs pond at Jackson Hole. Mark fancies himself to be driving it in this photo (it could be him as we don’t hear the welcome recording playing).

Amy Widener sent us a selection from the “Beauty of the Patagonia Collection,” just in case we forgot how much cooler other places in the world are. The new $0.98 stamp from Jackson Hole that everyone is using reminds us quite well already, thank you very much.

The Travelling Campbells of Los Angeles (via Ireland and Scotland) are well travelled indeed. They seem to be all over the world. Owning a motorcycle really gives you lots of great opportunities to get out there and hit some cool spots. They get the award for creepiest postcard so far: a shot of the statue of liberty with the Manhattan skyline in the background complete with ghost twin towers rising towards the heavens. What the?!?!

One of the funniest cards this time came from Doug Cook, Lift Ops. The Aluminum Man sent us a coaster from Red Lodge Ales Brewing Company, Montana. Used, of course.

Keep them coming…



Note: Steve and Natalie, we had better be getting some road trip cards!



Nice one, Slats! You managed to find a card with the wrong character name on it (correction noted) and the town spelled wrong. Good eye!

Rainy Season

There are three distinct seasons in Mali: hot, cold and rainy. Hot season is an agonizing torture. It is the time when the entire countryside shuts down, reduced to hiding from the sun and napping for most of the daylight hours. Cold season is a misnomer. It has nothing to do with our normal understanding of the word “cold” but is merely a reference to our new understanding of the word “hot”, redefined during the previous hot season. Cold season might be renamed “sleep season”, as it is the only time it is truly comfortable to do this at night. The rainy season is a mixture of the two, hot days and relatively pleasant nights except, here’s the catch, everything is damp and covered in red mud.

Rain in Mali is an intimidating experience in itself. It is rarely the gentle New England rains that come in and patter all day, silently renewing the landscape with life giving moisture. There is none of this rainy day spent relaxing with a book curled up on the couch which you have in your mind’s eye. African rains are as chaotic as everything else here. Anyone who has ever been in a thunderstorm on a mountaintop knows the feeling. Typically coming out of nowhere, a blast of wind announces that you have mere seconds to find shelter before all hell will break loose. The first crack of thunder, originating from somewhere approximately ten feet from your ears, indicates that your scramble for cover has been much too slow. The sky opens up, the water hits the ground far too fast to be absorbed and it all starts heading downhill toward the river (directly through our neighborhood) taking everything imaginable from trash to dead animals to small children right along with it.


Currently, we are at the tail end of the rainy season. This is a monsoonal flow which typically lasts for three to four months (we are definitely on the long end of that estimate in Bamako this year). It does not necessarily bring rain every day, just most of them. It is hard to explain the disgustingness of a rainstorm here to anyone who grew up in Europe or America. The roads are already kept muddy year round by the human and animal waste flowing freely down them (you never fully appreciate pavement until faced with this situation) but add to that the rains of rainy season and it’s especially repulsive.

Picture a land without trash collection. Where anything one throws out literally ends up in the streets just outside one’s home. Picture a land where all toilets flush into those same streets. O.k., don’t picture toilets per se but picture all pee produced by a household leaving that house through a shallow trench dug to channel liquids under the concession wall and out into the street. While this may take away the urine of any given household, it simply joins it to the larger pee stream from other houses. Everybody lives downstream from somebody. “My pee flows by your house and your pee flows by my house, the more we get together the happier we’ll be…” Sure, here in Bamako there are some sewers on the main roads but not everywhere. It is an open sewer system (literally, you can easily fall in if you are not paying attention) and serves more as a rodents highway than to alleviate any sewage issues. Smells great, too.


Our neighborhood is in a low-lying area of town just next to the Niger river. This means that it floods out with even the slightest rains. Daily we are forced to jump from one little muddy island to the next in an effort to get out of our house (see: first picture) without having to wade through the sewer water running through the streets. We wish it could be said that we were always successful but that would be lying. Some days the rain comes so hard that we are utterly cut off. The only way out is to roll up the pant legs (we never wear shorts here, that is far too risqué) and wade out across the temporary lakes of vile sludge.

One morning Mark was wading along knee deep through a main street of Bamako, drinking yogurt from a plastic bag and thinking, “Well, this can’t get much more surreal,” only to be passed by not one but two dogpaddling rats (cue the carnival music). Another time he and a cabbie marveled at the temporary fast flowing river they were plowing through so deep the water seeped in the doors of the taxi when a moto rode by (feet up on the handlebars to avoid dragging in the water) and sent a cascade of filth in through the window all over them. No reaction. The window was silently rolled up and they stared straight ahead for the rest of the ride, neither wanting to mention the horror they had just experienced.

(A woman wading across what had been a road and soccer field mere hours, minutes actually, earlier - in fact, all these photos were taken within hours of each other. The first one is our front door.)