Maria

Maria has quite a story. Born in Rochester, NY she was raised in Erie, PA and is a 2008 grad of Penn State. Swimmer, musician, and nutrition fanatic, she was drawn to Peace Corps service and got on a plane to Madagascar last December. Her service parelled mine- four months of learning the local language, adopting to culture, figuring out the needs in her community- with one exception. Her and her fellow PCVs were on close standby as local riots escalated into a coup d’etat. Finally she got a text message. Madagascar was no longer considered safe for Peace Corps service. She was to take one bag of essentials and leave her village quietly, without telling anyone. In a quaint little village on the edge of the rainforest, she never felt the least bit in danger. But soon she was bunked temporarily in city with the other volunteers, counting the gunshots they heard outside on the street.
The Madagascar volunteers were quickly evacuated to South Africa, where they had their close-of-service conference. They could consider their Peace Corps service complete and return to the states with their readjustment allowance and RPCV (returned Peace Corps volunteer) status. To Maria, and some others, that wasn’t enough. Each volunteer had to see a therapist, and Maria recalls him saying to her, “Peace Corps isn’t done with you yet,” which was in the back of her head anyway.
After two weeks of greesy hotel food and maid service in South Africa, Maria and four other former Madagascar volunteers headed to Mali where they would fill some of the open slots we supposedly had. That’s where I found her- with limited language, no understanding of the culture, and four months of a crazy experience behind her. They were given just two weeks of training- including four days of a site visit with a Mali PCV. So Maria came to check out Dombila with me.
Having her here was a blast. She was so easy going (I guess you’d have to be to transfer your Peace Corps service to a totally different country.) And never flinched on the long transport or bike rides or weird food or heat. But besides having an English-speaking friend for four days, what was really nice was to see Dombila through her perspective. At a point where the kids were getting on my nerves, Maria’s reactions to them reminded me that they were adorable. And thinking that my work was not amounting to anything, a fellow PCV was truly impressed by what I’ve been doing with child nutrition, school sanitation and wells. Since my installation, I ashamedly haven’t been to greet the chief- mostly because he lives far away and I am unfamiliar with the route. But Maria and I went, with Shaka, Cesalo and Madu sitting on the back of our bikes as guides. The shaky, wrinkled man with one good eye gave us a warm greeting as Maria offered him a small gift of tea and sugar. We then went and pounded millet with the women. My village, I’m thinking, is a pretty cool place.
And when the zylophones play week after week, I find myself wanting to stay at home and read a book. It’s old hat and isn’t exciting anymore. But the novelty of it to Maria was indeed exciting, and we both enjoyed doing the traditional dances with the villagers in the hot night, sweating off every drop of water in our bodies. I realized that during the first three months of my service, this was what I considered my work- getting to know people and culture, participating in every village activity there is. I was really happy back then doing these things. As my role changed- I was now expected to do projects and work- I let these little things drop out of the picture. There wasn’t much to discover in Dombila anymore, so I lost an interest in discovery. I was all about projects, and could speak of nothing else. If I wasn't doing "real work," well, I was useless. And sitting around with Malians drinking tea was no longer a productive way to spend my time.
But sitting around drinking tea is still the only key to helping these people. It is still my work- this integration, living like the natives. And I still can discover new and exciting things about the culture, especially with my improved language skills. Dombila's a pretty cool place, Maria told me, and I should be considered very lucky that I was put in my service here.
Maria ran with me, biked with me, cooked with me, and left Dombila with an better sense of Malian culture. She's headed to the Sikasso region to work in health education and nutrition. Best of luck to her, and thanks to her, Dombila has a refreshing air to it through my eyes. It's full of problems, poverty, and illness but my friends, its a jewel in the rough and I'm as proud as ever to show it off to a newcomer.