With a brand-new site mate there were four of us, enthusiastic and sweaty in our little radius of 15km of western Mali brusse. We decided to get together for a little more than our usual weekly naps listening to our ipods and did a little mural painting campaign. We started out in Eric's, painted about hand washing and bleach well treatment. His host family gave us fresh milk, creme brulee! we declared, and we wandered into the brush in a failed search for the strong stocky genies.
The next day we biked through the pink tinted cotton fields to my village; greeted the chief and my homologue, and painted a mural of the food groups. As we napped and waited for the pasta to boil I went to the health center and grabbed Kristin to watch a birth. That night the milk tasted like goats.
At Kristin's village the next day we painted a recipe for oral re hydration salts at the corner store as the villagers stared at our sweaty backs. Nighttime we built a fire, played exposing card games.
Finally in Cary's village we painted a large handwashing mural on the mosque, felt guilty for defacing the religious building with our garish paints but the villagers loved it. That night they killed two chickens and started a dance party in the village square; we jumped around trying to imitate their swift legs, happily getting to bed at midnight. Early in the morning we jumped in his village bush taxi and made the long journey back to Kita, singing as we rattled off the strange insane wild life we've got here in the bush.
With a brand-new site mate there were four of us, enthusiastic and sweaty in our little radius of 15km of western Mali brusse. We decided to get together for a little more than our usual weekly naps listening to our ipods and did a little mural painting campaign. We started out in Eric's, painted about hand washing and bleach well treatment. His host family gave us fresh milk, creme brulee! we declared, and we wandered into the brush in a failed search for the strong stocky genies. 
The next day we biked through the pink tinted cotton fields to my village; greeted the chief and my homologue, and painted a mural of the food groups. As we napped and waited for the pasta to boil I went to the health center and grabbed Kristin to watch a birth. That night the milk tasted like goats.
At Kristin's village the next day we painted a recipe for oral re hydration salts at the corner store as the villagers stared at our sweaty backs. Nighttime we built a fire, played exposing card games. 
Finally in Cary's village we painted a large handwashing mural on the mosque, felt guilty for defacing the religious building with our garish paints but the villagers loved it. That night they killed two chickens and started a dance party in the village square; we jumped around trying to imitate their swift legs, happily getting to bed at midnight. Early in the morning we jumped in his village bush taxi and made the long journey back to Kita, singing as we rattled off the strange insane wild life we've got here in the bush.
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