I was reading through the journal I’ve kept (not very periodically) to record my experience in Mali. I came to my first entry and wanted to share it here. It seems to speak for how I am feeling in the midst of my last week.
“It is the night before we leave for our sites. I am sitting under the hanger looking at the empty chairs around me, the hanger where our first PCT meetings took place. It’s always pleasantly surreal to go back to this familiar place that was so unfamiliar in the beginning.
There is a map of Mali painted on the front wall of the hanger. Green, yellow and red the color
of Mali’s flag. The yellow part has a map of Mali pained on it. I remember the first night we arrived to Tubani So (our training center) and looking at the map—the regional capitals painted on and noticing how huge Mali really is. Now that map is full of post-its with each volunteer’s name and their site. Scattered across the whole country just like we will be and piled together side by side. I look at everyone’s name and it makes me think about what the next couple of years are going to be like for us. Names and sites on the wall-what are our lives going to look like?
I am getting that calm feeling I always get at transitional moments such as this. Really though, I think there is a fearful anticipation all of us are having tonight. It’s just so hard to expect too much—just so unrealistic. I am preparing myself for the reality that this is going to be one of the hardest parts of my life. I know I am going to feel inadequate and frustrated and then at moments feel so empowered by what is in front of me. What I want is to be happy and to have real people in my life that I can work with and make a life with—that’s the core. And just thinking, this is it, this is going to be your life what are you going to do with it? Through all of training and home stay, I don’t think I can really say that I am ready. I want to be ready but I am scared. I sort of want to run back in time. I want to know that I am going to be okay.”
Two years later… I think I’m okay.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
All dogs go to heaven..even a Malian one like Boo.
It’s down to my last week in Mali. I don’t know how many times I have said how crazy this is—but yes, it is all pretty crazy.
The biggest news is that Boo my canine companion for my two years of service decided to peace out on me. Yes folks—Boo Sagara died last week. I am still a little shocked about it and get moments when I really miss him. The odd thing is how he died. I came home last Friday and noticed he was walking in circle—yes very odd. I called for him and he seemed to try to get to me but couldn’t because he keep walking in circles to the left. I got some help from other volunteers with vetenary contacts in America and then went on to contact the vet from town. He was just as confused as the rest of us. The days to follow were horrible to watch. Boo just got worse and his whole sense of space and direction was deteriating to the point where he was just bumping into things and could not even stay still enough to eat. I ended up feeding him toh from my hand to his month and pouring water from a kettle to let him drink. By day three, he was not able to get up and was basically paralyzed. The nights were horrible; he was crying and moaning until morning. By the end of the weekend, I made the decision that putting Boo to sleep was the best thing for him. He was in so much pain and personally, I could not take seeing him the way he was. I talked to the vet and gathered that he had something to put Boo to sleep and we planned for Wednesday morning. The night before, Boo was pretty much out of it. He was defecating on himself and gathering thick spit around his month. By morning, I work up to see that Boo had passed. I was relived that he died naturally. Rob and Musa helped bury Boo and Marium laid yellow flowers. All my close Malian friends were great about Boo passing. They gave him blessings—May his soul rest, May he be forgiven for his faults. I even got calls from women in my women’s group asking about Boo. Then of course the other PCVs who stuck around with me through the whole event. Boo made his mark with Peace Corps Volunteers—not always the best but he was such a character.
Boo was a monster of a dog—he used to chase fruit sellers, drag kids’ clothes and pretty much bark at any Malian coming towards my house. He liked to sleep in the most opportune places: on top of my table, right in the middle of the kitchen floor (even as I am cooking and having to step over him every time), or up against me between my mosquito net tent. He would follow PCVs into town and walk into places like he owned them—cyber cafes, stores, stranger’s homes. Then of course there was his way of running around my concession getting worked up by any loud noise outside my gate. He had amazing speed and even hopped at times over 2 feet high, it was quite a sight! Local kids were terrified of Boo and yes this is not nice but it was soften funny to see him chase kids down the road or tug on a boy’s pair of pants to get hold of a soccer ball. It was all fun and games right?
Yes so that is the story of Boo. The thing is, I have never been the dog loving type of girl. My sisters and friends know I am personally scared of the dog my family has at home. I was even surprised at myself of having Boo in the first place—not to mention in Mali. But I guess that’s way he is so special to me. He is another reminder of my life here and was a learning and growing experience. Malians tell me Boo knew I was leaving so he died because he couldn’t take being with another owner. I don’t know about that but it leaves me with another part of my life here that Ive had to say goodbye to.
The biggest news is that Boo my canine companion for my two years of service decided to peace out on me. Yes folks—Boo Sagara died last week. I am still a little shocked about it and get moments when I really miss him. The odd thing is how he died. I came home last Friday and noticed he was walking in circle—yes very odd. I called for him and he seemed to try to get to me but couldn’t because he keep walking in circles to the left. I got some help from other volunteers with vetenary contacts in America and then went on to contact the vet from town. He was just as confused as the rest of us. The days to follow were horrible to watch. Boo just got worse and his whole sense of space and direction was deteriating to the point where he was just bumping into things and could not even stay still enough to eat. I ended up feeding him toh from my hand to his month and pouring water from a kettle to let him drink. By day three, he was not able to get up and was basically paralyzed. The nights were horrible; he was crying and moaning until morning. By the end of the weekend, I made the decision that putting Boo to sleep was the best thing for him. He was in so much pain and personally, I could not take seeing him the way he was. I talked to the vet and gathered that he had something to put Boo to sleep and we planned for Wednesday morning. The night before, Boo was pretty much out of it. He was defecating on himself and gathering thick spit around his month. By morning, I work up to see that Boo had passed. I was relived that he died naturally. Rob and Musa helped bury Boo and Marium laid yellow flowers. All my close Malian friends were great about Boo passing. They gave him blessings—May his soul rest, May he be forgiven for his faults. I even got calls from women in my women’s group asking about Boo. Then of course the other PCVs who stuck around with me through the whole event. Boo made his mark with Peace Corps Volunteers—not always the best but he was such a character.
Boo was a monster of a dog—he used to chase fruit sellers, drag kids’ clothes and pretty much bark at any Malian coming towards my house. He liked to sleep in the most opportune places: on top of my table, right in the middle of the kitchen floor (even as I am cooking and having to step over him every time), or up against me between my mosquito net tent. He would follow PCVs into town and walk into places like he owned them—cyber cafes, stores, stranger’s homes. Then of course there was his way of running around my concession getting worked up by any loud noise outside my gate. He had amazing speed and even hopped at times over 2 feet high, it was quite a sight! Local kids were terrified of Boo and yes this is not nice but it was soften funny to see him chase kids down the road or tug on a boy’s pair of pants to get hold of a soccer ball. It was all fun and games right?
Yes so that is the story of Boo. The thing is, I have never been the dog loving type of girl. My sisters and friends know I am personally scared of the dog my family has at home. I was even surprised at myself of having Boo in the first place—not to mention in Mali. But I guess that’s way he is so special to me. He is another reminder of my life here and was a learning and growing experience. Malians tell me Boo knew I was leaving so he died because he couldn’t take being with another owner. I don’t know about that but it leaves me with another part of my life here that Ive had to say goodbye to.
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