The Slow Road

I have not really been that inspired to write lately. I’m not sure what is the cause, but I feel too tired to write about what is happening. Like my experiences were too exhausting the first time around to want to put the added effort into looking at them again. Not that things have been horrible, certainly no more extreme than the highs and lows that I have been going through everyday since I arrived. I just think that maybe Mali is starting to wear me down. Within a week, the first wave of my teammates will head home. As you can imagine, everyone has been eagerly discussing vacation plans, work and school goals, food cravings and loved ones at home as the time draws near for them to finish their service. And just as much of their time is spent releasing two years of pent-up frustration about living in Mali – of course, because it makes the difficult departure easier if you feel like you are not leaving much behind. My friends are ready to go home. And as much as I want to be around to see them off and wish them well, it is wearying for me. I am still here, and the light at the end of my tunnel is still too far away to blind me to my surroundings. So I envy them for all the wonderful American things with which they will soon be reunited, but I feel like they are tainting my time that I still have here. I don’t want to be jaded or bitter for my last 7 months here. I have unfortunately seen too many volunteers that have pushed through despite the fact that they seem to hate Malians and life in Mali in general. I don’t see how it does anybody any good. One friend said she will not miss one thing of this country when she goes. I know she stayed mainly for the Peace Corps friends that she made during her service, but I can’t help feeling that that is not a good enough reason to stay. Please don’t misunderstand, Mali aggravates me plenty. I just screamed at my homologue the other day (in English): “I hate you, I hate you!!” with my fists clenched in a rage because I get so frustrated at his selfish shortsightedness (that can be a story for another day – Mali has certainly helped me to be more effective in releasing my anger). There are many days when I wish I could just go back to the states – not that it is any less fucked up, but at least it is a fucked up that I understand. But I am here, and I have agreed to finish the work that I’ve started, so I want to at least feel like my remaining time will be focused on my life in Mali. With all of its mania, chaos, sorrow and beauty – I don’t get to chose; it all comes flooding in together, whether I want it to or not. I would hate to spend a part of my life here only to realize after the fact that it was time well spent.