Ramadan and nostalgia

Here I am listening to the mix that my sister made me before I left, missing her-missing a number of things- a light, my fingers pressing down on the piano keys, fresh cottage cheese or cold skim milk on my morning cereal, or just typing on my computer- what a convenience that really is.
The trip to Koulikoro was fanstastic. I couldn't help but feel a bit guilty though that we stayed an extra day to sit around and be lazy, but it really took the stress out of traveling in Mali. Besides, I got to stop in Bamako, pick up a package and some letters that eased the ora of my pity party a few days ago (when my computer died and the peace corps office yeilded no internet or postal access). I had traveled for hours to get a glimpse of the outside world, and at that point it didn't even seem worth it. I keep telling myself communication will get better- keep promising my family and frineds that I'll find and easier way once I get settled in, but it just seems to be getting harder.
I realized that all I've been doing lately is trying to please people- I'm a sucker for agreeing with everything, and its gotten me pulled in too many different directions with no time for myself. My little brothers especially are extreamly possessive of me, and I can't go for a run alone without them following after me, calling me. I'd love to just run with Shaka, but the younger boIf I ever try to go away from them to greet someone they say, "Don't greet him! He eats people! He will eat you!" So instead of people pleasing, I long to be looking at the bigger picture. Little by little, I'm learning that though the people here are bubbly, friendly, and welcoming- there really are some serious problems- with health, administration, education- the more I hang around the more I see. But its just these two damn barriers- language and resources. I can't ask all the questions I want to ask, and can't understand all the answers. And this week, all I wanted to do was draw a picture of the three food groups (yes, there are only three in Mali) to hang in the CSCOM to educate women on child weaning- but to get crayons or colored pencils would mean a whole day's trip into the city. Something as simple as a filing cabinet for our materinity is going to take weeks maybe even months to procure.
Yesterday marked the end of Ramadan. The moment I returned to Dombilia, I knew there was something different in the air. All the boys had their heads shaved and the girls had their hair braided and wrapped. Since Ramadan depends on the moon, nobody quite knew if it was going to be Tuesday or Wednesday, so when the radio announced on Monday night that it was to be the next day, cheers erupted throughout the village. It was almost like Easter Sunday when all of the villagers put on their best clothes and greeted each other with special blessings.
Even I whipped out my "complay" to go dancing at night. As much as I wanted to go to the mosque in the morning, Irene discouraged me. It was probably for the better because being totally clueless, I could have easily offended the whole village. But at dusk, I walked with Shaka through the tall corn, expecting to find a couple families chillin by the radio. Instead, we came across a large opening with two men playing large zylophones and another on a drum. There were maybe 200 faces there forming a circle around a half a dozen dancers. Dombila's so spread out- people's homes are hiddlen in the millt and corn filds and so far, I've only gotten to know my immediate neighbors. I'd say about 2/3 of people there had never seen me before. SO it was one of those clutch moments that everyone dread's in their lives. When a whole crowd of people stop what they are doing to stare at you. Yo, if you didn't know before, there's a white girl in town.
I sat in a princess' throne (a chair among benches) to watch a dozen people dancing in the middle of the circle. The basic steps didn't seem to hard, but when someone was doing especially well, women come to tie their head scarves around the dancer's waist. So when someone has like 6 or 7, you know they're really rockin it.
I was enjoying myself, pretending not to stick out so much, when Irene arrived. "Aminata! Get yourself up and dance!" She practically yanked me out of my chair and lead me by the arm to the middle of the circle. I'd like to think I caught on ok- I probably looked totally ridiculous. But as I lost myself in the music, I somehow felt greatly accepted. Especially when a young woman from the crowd ran out and tied her shawl around my waist!