Pictures and the Name Ninja

I think I have figured out a better way to post pictures; one that doesn't involve secret handshakes, long e-mail chains, or having to mortgage my kidney. Please let me know if this doesn't work. And if you didn't get the giant e-mail with the secret handshake code that lets you access my homestay pictures, please let me know that too.

http://picasaweb.google.com/home?tab=mq

I'm going to go with the whole 'a pictures worth a thousand words' thing and not write much.

The climbing porn pictures are to taunt all the climbers I know and hopefully sucker a few of them into visiting. I didn't take those pictures and haven't been there yet.

The Bandiagara b-day was a night of tubob (white person) fun with a bunch of Peace Corps people and some local aid workers. We had great food (kabobs, fries, salad and cake), good drinks, and bad dancing.

Swear in is when I took the oath and became an offical volunteer. The pictures shows what great clothes you can get made here. There is one picture in this group that does require a little back story. If your are bored with my rambling at this point just check out the pictures. If not, keep reading and I will explain what a name ninja is.

The Name Ninja

During training I lived in a town with a population of about 7,000 Malians and 8 Peace Corps trainees. The children here find us tubobs to be a bit of a spectical so there is shouting, crowding around and handshaking when they see you. Mark, a fellow trainee, lived as far away from the school as you can get and still be in the same town. He got to meet a lot of kids on his way to and from school every day. One girl did not have the standard reaction to him. Instead of jumping and shouting, she would come tiptoeing up, crouched like a cat buggler, with a finger to her lips like she had just shhhed you, (the pictures explains it better than I can) and in a whisper ask, "comment t'appelle tu?" ('what's your name') If Mark crouched down to meet her, she would get nose to nose with him. If he backed up, she backed up. If he moved forward, she moved forward. Never breaking eye contact of course. How do I know this you may ask yourself. Well by week 6 of our 8 weeks in this town, Mark could get her to follow him across town and into school, in the crouched position. They would then go around and ask all of us are names. And that is how I got to know Iassata Djarra, a.k.a. the Name Ninja.

Velo

I have a bike, finally. Our bikes were caught in customs, I guess, but mine arrived at my door Wednesday evening. A total surprise, brand new, shiny and....pink?!? I've never had a new fancy bike, and this is a nice Trek bike. But it is a girl's bike, a concept I don't really understand. Maybe after biking in a skirt I'll appreciate a "girl's" bike, I'll get back to you on that. Why pink, is my real question? Well, it is more white with pink and grey highlights. I'm already fairly noticeable as one of the few white people around, add in a white bike and a white helmet, and I look completely ridiculous. There is always a fair amount of staring, and surprise when I say hello in Bambaran from the people on the street. Now I have taken ridiculous to a whole new level. Today I couldn't help but laugh at how silly I must look, and I noticed I wasn't the only one laughing. I did convince Rabayah, the other PCV here with me, that we should use our new pink bikes to go the 12 K to the bank and better internet. I had to bribe her with my homemade ginger lime-aid, but it worked. Don't get me wrong, I love Mali public transport. Normally for this journey we would take a bashee. This involves packing 18 or so people (not counting kids sitting on laps) on benches in the back of a truck; get a push start; belch a lot of smoke; probably stop for gas, only enough for the trip; and trying to pay the 275 CFA somewhere in the middle of the trip when we are packed in so tight no one can reach there own pockets, and of course no one has exact change. So as much fun as that is, I decided we should try out or new pink bikes.
As is everything here, our trip was an adventure. It started with a herd of cows in the road, we let them have the right of way. In the middle of the trip we stopped for a lime-aid break, and I was, well, um, sort of in Rabayah's way when she got off the bike and well, she sort of fell down the shoulder of the road..but just a little. I fell horrible, but she was laughing as she rolled in slow motion, down the hill. Luckily she wasn't hurt, but the chain did come off her bike. While I was trying to put it back on two nice guys, both named Ibrahim, stopped and helped us. Hopefully I haven't scarred her for life so that she won't ever want to bike again. Here she is showing of her war wounds.

Maybe: the Bougs - But no

So I have had to try a different method for picture sharing . I sent out a giant email that will hopefully let you look at the ablum from my time at homestay. Now I will be looking for a different way to share pictures. In the mean time I give shutterfly an F-.