Thanksgiving 2008 (12.20.08)

I had to make a game-time decision. The choice perilously teetered between attending a lavish dinner at the new ambassador's house and stepping onto the idling charter bus that was headed toward the gathering of volunteers in my regional capital. The suffocating crowd of Malians shouting and jostling for the next banana or chunk of meat quickly squeezed me toward the door and up the steps of the dinosaur-like contraption that I was to cram inside of, sweating, for the next four hours on my way to Sikasso. Leaving nothing behind but a cloud of black smoke and the lingering vibrations of the thunderous engine, my fate was sealed. The Thanksgiving spent in the regional capital was nothing like going home but well worth the ride over. We feasted like only Peace Corps volunteers can, and the fact that I almost got a free ticket home (inside a box) was the whipped cream on my pie.

The Saturday after Thanksgiving about 30 volunteers remained in Sikasso. I slept late (until 8 or so) and watched as about 20 people packed into 3 old station wagons equipped with safari-type roof racks set to journey out to the waterfalls. A few of us stayed behind to finish digesting and take advantage the free Peace Corps transport that was headed our way. The large group chaos clunked away with the sound of the departing station wagons and we were left with a strangely quiet house. Instead of sitting around idly we decided to put our bicycles to use and explore some caves that were rumored to be about 12k outside the Malian metropolis we found ourselves trapped in.

We asked a stranger for directions and not only did he tell us where to go, he kindly escorted us partway there to make sure we didn't get lost. At least the adventure started well. Sooner than later I discovered keeping up with my friends proved most difficult. Assuming it was just amoebas, anemia, or some other energy-sapping ailment I didn't thing to check out my bike (turns out the brakes were rubbing – a discovery made after the day had come to its exhausted end).

After the scorching African sun and aching legs coaxed me into a mild state of dehydration (Mom, you should probably skip to the end) we were met by possibly the most persistent individual I have encountered during my short time here on Earth. He wanted to take us (and our money) on a tour of the caves and would not take no for an answer. After about 20 minutes of extreme rudeness on our part he finally buzzed off. We lost him inside the big cave used by the locals as a mosque.

Frustration serving as fuel, we clambered to the top of this holy rock formation that towered above the farmland like a medieval fortress. Naturally, I made it my mission to find a way up to the very top. Apparently the others valued their lives more than I did as they refused to climb the extra 10 feet. Looking back, that may have been a wise choice.

As I am reveling in my uncontested kingship of the mountain, the fact slowly dawns on me that I am not quite sure how to get back down. The small platform I claimed as my throne featured death on three sides and a beautiful view. Meanwhile, my comrades were trying to find a different route of descension from the towering battlements. What they discovered instead was an army of bees. I quickly abandoned my quest for lower elevation in exchange for the free entertainment. Unfortunately I soon became part of the show. Punching a few in the face just seemed to attract a bigger, angrier crowd until the swarm persuaded me it was high time to abandon my crown. So here I am, now the closest offender to the nest, trapped on top of a thousand-foot cliff flailing about wildly as the offensive force threatens the delicate integrity of my position. It is amazing what adrenaline can do for you. I chose to jump off the one side that offered mere broken bones (somehow avoiding that fate) and continued jumping off ledges until the flies were the only things buzzing around my head.

We all managed to make it off that rock with only a few scrapes and bruises and no major allergic reactions. Our dejected guide didn't even mess with our bikes. The ride home was long (especially for me) but the promise of something cold to drink and a movie to watch kept us going. The return to civilization and plentiful sources of clean water never felt so good.