The House That Jane Built

It may not be a house and my name might not be Jane, but I did build it. Almost all by myself, too.

Daily life here requires a lot more manual labor than in the US. Some of the obligations I fulfill without too much complaint (like getting well water for bathing; bath time is always great) and some I shirk (like laundry; I hate it). But I was willing to do whatever it takes to ensure that I have outdoor shade for the upcoming hot season, because it's uncomfortably hot inside the house for most of the day during the months of April and May. Last year a friend at site arranged for someone to come build a hangar for me, but that one didn't last a year, so I tore it down recently and started anew. Said builder was not in town this year, so I opted to do it myself.

I'm proud of having built this thing (even though it's crooked and will probably fall down; don't look too closely at the photo), it's a manifestation of my less-than-ideal living situation. My neighbors moved recently, and while they were never especially kind to me, I liked having people to live with--especially their kids. They moved to a house on the edge of village, so I still see them, but they vacated the yard, leaving me more or less alone, on my own. At first I thought it would just make me lonely, but I figured I could deal with it.

But a few months ago a man named Lamini showed up out of the blue (no one tells me much), and started squatting in our concession, which was apparently okay with the neighbors. I had always felt like he didn't respect my living space, throwing cigarette butts in my yard and so on, and then I learned that he used to live in my house and now wanted it back. He had moved to Bamako and returned, having no place to live, and so moved back into our concession. So when the neighbors moved recently, he stayed, and now seems just to be killing time until I leave so he can move into my house.

Needless to say this makes for a difficult place to live. He went on a trip to Bamako lately, leaving me alone in the concession, with strangers coming and going as they saw fit, in what is temporarily an abandoned home. And surprise, surprise, this turned into a security issue: I came into San for a day last week and when I returned to site, someone had broken into my house. Someone knew that our place was empty, saw that I had gone out of town, and made a move.

I told the chief, out of obligation, but nothing will come of this, and of this I am sure. Our entire neighborhood is filled with his extended family, and family comes first for them. This means that there's no one to look out for me, to come to my defense, or to help out when I need a hangar built. I think in most other towns, a PCV's friends would be mortified to know that a guest in their village (ie the PCV) was forced to build her own hangar because there was no one around or willing to help her.

Recently someone compared the presence of a PCV to that of a rich thirteen year old kid in America. If a rich kid showed up in your neighborhood and had everything handed to him without really having earned it, carrying around his iPod and wearing fancy shoes, telling you what to eat and how to take care of your children, you'd probably be pretty annoyed, right? I can't say I blame Malians for not wanting to listen to us most of the time for this reason. And While this comparison is a joke, it's not entirely inaccurate.

But if that 13 year old showed up, wouldn't you also notice that he was vulnerable, and in need of someone to take care of him? Yes, PCVs are all adults, but we're also way out of our elements, and all in need of someone to look out for us and help us through difficult stages. Some of us find this support system more easily than others. And I feel like this situation is incredibly rare for a PCV, and it's unfortunate that it has to be this way. The people who have become my host family live ten minutes away, and while I eat two meals a day with them, they aren't near me, available to help me with things around the house unless Mom gets word that I need something and sends them over to do it.

I value independence and privacy but at the end of most days, I wish I had a family to live with. Or, at the very least, that people wouldn't break into my house. I don't expect everyone to love me, or even like me, but when someone breaking into someone's home is extreme. This would probably never happen to a Malian family in most villages, for two reasons. One, that in the average village family, there is almost always someone home to hold down the fort and to keep an eye on things. Two, I think that Malians would be much less likely to take advantage of another Malian than of the rich American.

Usually I have some sort of lesson to be learned, but this one seems harder to find. I've always been independent but this might be one time where I'm wishing someone would just help me. When situations like this arise, it becomes that much harder to find the motivation to continue trying to help others. But that's the only reason to stay in village, so we move forward. Send letters!