After a slow start to my time in Mali, things are starting to pick up.

Work is going well. I spent the past two weeks in Maourolo, a village of 227 where we will be installing a press for jatropha oil extraction. The village already harvests the seeds from the 2621 meters of jatropha hedges around town and uses them to make soap and oil. (I know it is 2621 meters because I counted!) The goal is to improve upon and expand the production of these outputs, providing an additional income for residents, a majority of whom are farmers and extremely vulnerable to droughts or other shocks.

But it wasn't until I had been in the village for three days that I realized how poor the people there truly are. The community is so happy that initially I was unable to believe that they could possibly be poor. They laugh in the shade and sip tea throughout the day. There are no deadlines and everyone is their own boss (except for women; husbands are the boss). However, I soon realized that poverty has many dimensions.

While my initial observation was right - the people are indeed happy - I eventually realized that many of them eat only once a day. They have few alternative options to farming, and this can only be done during the rainy season (four months of the year). There are many children under the age of five and very few between 5 and 10, a particularly unsettling observation. These people may be free to relax under a tree in the shade, but they are not free to travel to Canada or work as an engineer. They have few mechanisms to cope with shocks such as a poor harvest since agriculture is essentially the only livelihood in the village.

Yet despite the extreme poverty, I have a great deal of hope for the village of Maourolo - the people there are motivated and have a strong desire to emerge from their current situation. With our partnership they will be able to diversify their income and be self-sufficient in fuel production. (Anyone who thinks prices at the pump are high in Canada, try paying $1.50 CAD for a litre when you make only $2 a day.)

The most memorable part of my visit to Maourolo was a dance party in the moonlight. A tape player powered by a 12V battery blared out Ivorian dance music. I danced with girls of five years and men of 60, each with more spirit than a Texas cheerleading squad. It was a beautiful and spiritual evening. It was the purity and rawness of it all that I loved. This was an evening that was about people, connections, and community.

And it is this focus, on people and community that must shape any form of development in the village, an approach that aims to reduce the extreme poverty that may not be obvious but is certainly present.

-Levi

I have now been in Sevare long enough to get settled and adapt to the local conditions. I am trying to live a life that is as close to those of my neighbours as possible. I have a mud-wall room in a compound shared with 20 other people - a few bachelors in the army and the landlord's family. We have a big open area in the middle with a couple trees and some sheep - a good spot to sit and relax in a lawn chair. I read and chat with the men, but engaging the women of the household in conversation is far more difficult. This is a trait of the cultural context, but in time I hope to gain their trust.

I eat rice, beans and local couscous on the street for about fifty cents a meal. I cruise around town and to work on a bike. Slowly I'm learning Bambara, the local language. I'm trying my best to integrate and understand the culture, and for a while I thought I was doing a good job.

But I have since realized that the poverty in Mali is so severe that I will never be living as the locals do. I spend fifty cents on a meal while others spend hours pounding millet and cooking over a charcoal stove to make a meal for much less. My $2.00 daily food budget makes my life far easier than the majority of Malians as I never finish a meal wondering when the next one will come.

My neighbours are not so lucky. It has been months since the harvest and people are nearing or have already surpassed the end of their food stock. Last year was a bad one for millet, leaving many people without enough to eat. Even the Peul herders have been selling more cattle than usual so they can pay for food. Others sell whatever they have because short-term hunger is more important than long-term possessions.

I live in a house like most people here, but I have two small rooms for one person compared to my friends who share the same space among four. I have two light bulbs, giving me more electricity than about 80% of the people in my town. On a nearby street, hundreds of people read the Koran and study in the evenings because it is only the publicly accessible light.

To a foreigner these differences may seem very romantic. The mud houses, donkey carts, and the women doing laundry at a public tap are all easily romanticized. The Peul women carrying fresh milk on their heads, with gorgeous colourful clothing makes me think of "the good old days" when we bought milk directly from the person who milked the cow. Often westerners see this as representative of a wonderfully simplistic life without worries of cell phone calls, declining stocks or getting the kids from the suburbs to soccer on time.

But life is not that simple.

If that woman who walks kilometers each day trying to find buyers for her milk cannot make a sale today, she will have no money. When the rain comes, the poorly constructed mud buildings will start to fall apart. And although the few lights allow for a spectacular night sky, it makes studying for school exceptionally difficult.

And although I am trying to be a part of this community and live like people here do, my actions are by choice. I choose to eat meals of rice and onions, ride a bike and live with enough electricity to be comfortable. My neighbors did not choose. It may look pretty to see ten women washing laundry by hand in public, but do not think they had a choice in the matter. I can sit down beside them and do the same thing but I am free not to. And even when I do, I am not having the same experience. My citizenship and one week's worth of income back in Canada gives me the freedom to choose. And I will only be here for two years. My situation is temporary and by choice.

I will continue to live, learn, love and share with my friends here, doing my best to live as they do. Hopefully this will foster connections between us, allowing exchanges that are truly meaningful and move our global community in a positive direction. Solidarity is important but it will take much more to allow all people to chose a life that they value.

-Levi