No more PST - This PCT is now a PCV, until COS (or hopefully not ET or AS)

I passed my language test.  I completed all of the cultural, medical, security and technical learning requirements.  I bought my ridiculous Malian “formal wear,” which in many cases is a terrific misnomer, for reasons to be described later.  And then, I swore in.

Finally, almost exactly one year since I first submitted my initial application to become a Peace Corps Volunteer, I have taken the final step in the realization of that goal.  Not that there was ever really any question to me as to whether I would accomplish this feat, but the knowledge that I have still fills me with a warm glow inside.  Of course, that could just be a side-effect of my giardia.

Since my last entry, Tubani So had mostly continued in the same way as it normally does: hanging around, playing cards, reading, attending technical skill classes and administrative seminars, and of course, counting the days until we could attain the closest thing to “job security” we can expect from this gig.  We also began planning what was for a number of us, one of the most important elements of swearing in as a volunteer, our outfits.  This was like preparing for senior prom, with a bizarre twist.  As I forget whether or not I mentioned previously, Malians have a unique sense of fashion.  The expression “anything goes” is taken to weird new levels as the common practice among Malians is to buy a fabric adorned with designs ranging from abstract or floral to more blatant pictures of chickens, batteries, cellular phones and factories with smokestacks, and then have a tailor sew them an outfit, either pants, shirts, or a matching combination of both.  So far, I have been embracing the tackiest parts of this culture and have purchased fabrics with pictures of loaves of bread in plastic bags, spats (you know, those fun Las Vegas shoes from way back when), fancy cocktail drinks, and one with an entire living room scene straight out of the tackiest part of 1978.  The latter two were made into a shirt and pants combo, which combined with a mustache/soul-patch facial hair design made up the outfit I wore for the formal swearing-in ceremony (photo available at http://www.flickr.com/photos/29040473@N02/ ).  It doesn’t sound like it should be true, but this really does make up Malian formal-wear, and I know this because I checked multiple times with multiple people, asking “Are you suuurrre this is actually appropriate??”

Once I had established that what would barely pass for pajamas in the U.S. were in fact dressy enough for a televised event at the American Embassy, I went on with daily life at Tubani So, counting down the days until the big event.  On the night before, we invited our host parents from homestay over for dinner so they could get a chance to see the legendary school that we would periodically disappear to for days at a time.  They seemed impressed enough, though I doubt that the visit quite lived up to my host father’s high expectations of what this mythical place of learning and American comeraderie seemed from the way he asked me about it during homestay.

The next morning, everyone showered, shaved, put on their dressy (and again, I use the term loosely) clothing, and took off to the U.S. embassy in Bamako.  The ceremony was more or less as unexciting as we expected.  Speeches were given by important heads of things, mostly in languages I don’t know well enough to make out any content.  Finally, we gave our oath, remembering not to actually say “I, state your name, do solemnly swear, or affirm...” and we were in.  The rest of the day was spent at various clubs and bars, dancing to that Romanian “Numa Numa” dance song 4 different times at 3 locations, and reveling in ways that only incredibly excited newly appointed Peace Corps volunteers can.

So where does that leave me?  Well, I leave tomorrow bright and early for the lovely town of Niantanso for a few days, and then I get installed at my site, where I will be living on and off for the next two years.  I’m trying very hard to come up with something significant to say to mark the occasion, but the truth is I’ve been in and out of the bathroom all night, sick with a very bothersome giardia parasite who I’m hoping will be a little bit less aggressive tomorrow during my 6 hour trip.  But. . . this is it.  I’m starting.  I’m wondering what I’m going to be doing for the next few months with limited language ability and little idea of what projects to begin or how to initiate them.  I feel a bit like I’m being tossed into the deep end of the pool, and not for the first time either.  I’m not sure the next time I’ll get online, so send my some love to come back to and wish me luck.  Training wheels are off and I’m picking up speed.  This should be interesting...