Death. It is the only thing that is certain in life and it is interesting how death is viewed all around the world. Each culture has their own way of dealing with death. I was visiting Tenna when she told me that we had to go give our death blessing to a family not far from my house. As we started our walk, I could feel Tenna’s mood changing and I knew that I was in for an interesting day. As we entered the concession I was overwhelmed to find almost every single women from my village crowding in the shady spots. Tenna quickly grabs my arms and pulls me behind a woven straw wall before bursting into tears. I quickly noticed that all the women behind this wall were sobbing. In a culture where crying in public in not acceptable, I felt so awkward- like I was intruding on an intimate affair. As most funerals people come and give their death blessings to the family sit or a respectable amount of time before continuing on with the rest of their day, and they most certainly don’t talk about the dead. It became quite obvious that this was no regular funeral. I sat, shocked to be surrounded by sobbing women, looking to Tenna for answers to my unasked questions. Soon I learned that we were there to mourn the death of not one but two of the most respected women in my village. They were known as traditional midwives, and medicine women, and they were best friends
For the next few hours I sat and listened to stories between sobs from women from my village and surrounding villages. Stories of women who were brought here to marry older men when were only 15 and Djenaba came to them with calming teas and promises that they would be taken care of, and everything would be fine, stories of sick crying babies who suddenly found comfort in the arms of Djenaba or Sako. Stories of successful, and some not so successful births delivered into the hands of Djenaba then cleaned and cradled by Sako. One lady with a very swollen belly said she was delivered by the two women as were her 6 other children and she is sad that the one due any day now won’t get the chance. The next lady showed up with one of the tiniest babies I have seen, coming to give her blessings and thanks to Djenaba and Sako for even in their old age, crippled hands, fingers, and backs were able to coach her through a very difficult birth only four days before.
As I sat and listened to the stories of these most respected women of the village knowing I really missed out not spending time and getting to know them- knowing that our relationship never went further than a daily greeting. The longer I sat the more crowded the “crying area” got. When large bowls of rice and sauce came by for the husbands they were followed by a line of curses from the crying women. Out of respect for the ones who have passed loved ones are expected to fast the following day- in a culture where if a husband dies the wife cannot leave the house for 40 days of mourning. And for the two most respected females of the village their husbands show no respect by accepting food and filling their stomachs while the rest of the village mourns.
While the sun floated across the sky I sat and listened to more stories and more sobbing. Having never seen my best friend cry or so sad before, I had no idea what to do or how to comfort her. Before I knew it I had let the stories touch my heart and fill it with love for these two women who I did not even know—took Tenna’s hand and wept with her. The somber mood washed over the village into the evening. Even though the moon was big and bright over us, the night time yalaing had all but stopped so that together the village could mourn the loss of two of its Grandmothers.
To Djenaba, and Sako: May God bless your spirits and May your resting place be cool.
1.28.2012
1.09.2012
Dirt...Life...Love
*Surprise for my readers! My Mama was in Mali for ten days so she has guest written my most recent blog! Please enjoy reading and viewing Mali through her eyes.*
Has your heart ever swelled with so much pride that it seeped from your tear ducts without warning? Well, I experienced that over the past 10 days in Mali, many times over, I might add.
From seeing Dani standing outside the airport in Bamako with our taxi driver in tow, to bargaining for the best market deal, to jumping off a hot bus to “chat” with our driver having tea and keeping us waiting, to speaking her peace with the school directors, to loving village children and old men, to eating village food and loving it; my heart swelled and seeped many times.
Miriam, aka, Dani, immersed me into the Malian culture as soon as I arrived in Bamako by securing a seat on a bus to Bougouni. The temperature was 114’ F inside the bus and we were off! We absorbed the sounds, sights, smells and laughter of the market day in Bougouni, then off to village and what a welcome! There is no phone or electricity in village, but within moments of our arrival, the house was surrounded by people young and old! They were so excited to meet Miriam’s Mama – I’m sure it just wasn’t just to see another Toubob in the village!
The day of greeting was heartwarming. We started off in our matching Malian outfits to present the school supplies to the school director, parent association representative, board members, Dougoutiki, and teachers. We were all sitting in a room and the director of the school chaired the meeting. When he spoke, he did so to one member who then shared the information with the next person and so on until the Dougoutiki had the information. His comments to Dani and I were so sincere and grateful. They praised her parents for giving her a good heart and mind so that she will be favored in God’s eyes for all she is doing. Even though she has worked hard and done a lot already, they want her for another year!
The rest of that day was spent roaming the village greeting people and giving gifts from America. There isn’t a person in the village that doesn’t know Dani and always smiles and greets her. You can tell in their comments that she is respected and loved there. So much that by the end of the second day of greeting, she was 8 chickens and 1 guinea richer! People brought her these as their way of showing their gratitude and respect. The village is so rich in that they have their faith, family and food. They have no idea what they don’t have that it simply doesn’t matter. They are rich beyond words.
Friday was my day to really become Malian as it was Toe making day and I had the honor of cooking and stirring much to everyone’s laughter! Then we had henna put on our feet to get ready for the big celebration on Saturday night. The goat was sacrificed in our honor and drummers and dancers were brought in to help us celebrate. The show was spectacular with the dancers in costumes – masks and noise makers! Dani and I were the guests of honor and I literally was “crowned” by one of the dancers! Of course, we were coerced into dancing but somehow our feet just couldn’t keep up the beat! We partied ourselves out shortly after midnight but the village gang still went on strong – kids and adults alike!
Sunday was our day to chill and rest which was a good thing because I awoke to what I thought was a thunderstorm only to find out it was my stomach – yeah, you know the drill! Three days in village consuming cultural cuisine was just a bit too much for my digestive system!
On the mend by Monday morning which was a good thing because we were off to the school to hand out the supplies to the students. Now US students, take heed…this was this last day of winter break and very early in the morning, the school bell rang and over 350 of the 370 students came to school! We visited every classroom and handed out the supplies. We were able to give each student a new pencil and either a crayon or colored pencil. Groups of students received sharpeners, markers, erasers and much more. The bags we made for them to carry their books and supplies were a huge hit. They clapped for us, sang for us and each thanked us.
Then it was off to prepare for our trip to Segou! We secured a bus in Bamako at 11 which was to leave at noon…….at 4:00 we were finally on the bus and moving! But wait, the first police post, just outside of town had a market and our driver stopped, had his shoes shined, shared tea and chatted with friends for over an hour. Dani finally had enough because we still had a four hour ride so off the bus she marches, right up to the driver and tells him her mother is waiting on the hot bus and we needed to get moving! He laughed, telling her to calm her mind, bring her mother out to have tea and chat with them! Finally we were on the road again and arrived in Segou about 7 hours after we left Bamako. But of course, our night was not over yet! We arrived at the Catholic Mission only to find out, after our taxi left that we had no reservation! So Dani once again argues her case, gets us a room and vows to tell Baba about the experience with the catholic nun!
Our day in Segou was incredibly awesome, but of course not without incident!! We took a stroll along the river, watching mothers wash their dishes, clothes or babies, and tend their gardens. We had an African version of a Primanti Brothers sandwich with meat, fries, and plantains all on a fresh roll.
We visited a Bogolon shop and learned the craft of mud dying, even trying it ourselves. Incredible and so pretty! We shopped the artisan shops and had an awesome fish lunch at “The Shack”.
We met some really nice Tuarug guys from Timbuktu and one was actually wearing a Steelers shirt! I grabbed my Terrible Towel and had my picture taken with him. We were invited back later to share tea after our sunset boat ride.
Our tour guide met us to start on the boat ride, taking us to two fishing villages across the river. All was going well, until he took us right back to dock long before sunset. Again, Dani’s negotiating skills kick in just as two other men jump into the boat telling us we were with the wrong guide! He lied to us, telling us he was our guide! After pleading our case, we were back on the river for the most beautiful sunset ever!
Tea with our new friends was so much fun! I never understood fully the idea of three cups of tea until this evening. We were sitting with three men dressed fully in head wraps and robes speaking broken English and having the best time. It truly was the traditional three cups of tea. We drank tea, laughed, listened to stories about living in the desert, raising camels all the while listening to authentic music. Now that I have experienced the entire three cup process….”Strong like dirt, Sweet like life, Sugar like love” it make total sense! There is so much in life that can be relevant to this thinking.
The bus ride back to Bamako wasn’t nearly as eventful or as long! We spent our last night together talking about the week, looking at pictures, laughing, and just enjoying our time together. On Friday, our last day, we went to the Artisan market to finish our gift buying. Sekouba met us and was our person with bargaining power! He was able to secure us some good deals, although I think Dani could have done as well! A perfect way to wind down the visit – market then a good dinner and just relaxing before heading to the airport.
Now as I sit in my 12th hour of flying, I can tell you my heart is proud….I wouldn’t have missed this trip for the world. I realize first hand that my baby girl is strong like dirt, sweet like life, and sugar like love and she is spreading that in a village that desperately needs her and knows it. Thanks for the wonderful time Dani – you make me proud! Strong – sweet – sugar!
Has your heart ever swelled with so much pride that it seeped from your tear ducts without warning? Well, I experienced that over the past 10 days in Mali, many times over, I might add.
From seeing Dani standing outside the airport in Bamako with our taxi driver in tow, to bargaining for the best market deal, to jumping off a hot bus to “chat” with our driver having tea and keeping us waiting, to speaking her peace with the school directors, to loving village children and old men, to eating village food and loving it; my heart swelled and seeped many times.
Miriam, aka, Dani, immersed me into the Malian culture as soon as I arrived in Bamako by securing a seat on a bus to Bougouni. The temperature was 114’ F inside the bus and we were off! We absorbed the sounds, sights, smells and laughter of the market day in Bougouni, then off to village and what a welcome! There is no phone or electricity in village, but within moments of our arrival, the house was surrounded by people young and old! They were so excited to meet Miriam’s Mama – I’m sure it just wasn’t just to see another Toubob in the village!
The day of greeting was heartwarming. We started off in our matching Malian outfits to present the school supplies to the school director, parent association representative, board members, Dougoutiki, and teachers. We were all sitting in a room and the director of the school chaired the meeting. When he spoke, he did so to one member who then shared the information with the next person and so on until the Dougoutiki had the information. His comments to Dani and I were so sincere and grateful. They praised her parents for giving her a good heart and mind so that she will be favored in God’s eyes for all she is doing. Even though she has worked hard and done a lot already, they want her for another year!
The rest of that day was spent roaming the village greeting people and giving gifts from America. There isn’t a person in the village that doesn’t know Dani and always smiles and greets her. You can tell in their comments that she is respected and loved there. So much that by the end of the second day of greeting, she was 8 chickens and 1 guinea richer! People brought her these as their way of showing their gratitude and respect. The village is so rich in that they have their faith, family and food. They have no idea what they don’t have that it simply doesn’t matter. They are rich beyond words.
Friday was my day to really become Malian as it was Toe making day and I had the honor of cooking and stirring much to everyone’s laughter! Then we had henna put on our feet to get ready for the big celebration on Saturday night. The goat was sacrificed in our honor and drummers and dancers were brought in to help us celebrate. The show was spectacular with the dancers in costumes – masks and noise makers! Dani and I were the guests of honor and I literally was “crowned” by one of the dancers! Of course, we were coerced into dancing but somehow our feet just couldn’t keep up the beat! We partied ourselves out shortly after midnight but the village gang still went on strong – kids and adults alike!
Sunday was our day to chill and rest which was a good thing because I awoke to what I thought was a thunderstorm only to find out it was my stomach – yeah, you know the drill! Three days in village consuming cultural cuisine was just a bit too much for my digestive system!
On the mend by Monday morning which was a good thing because we were off to the school to hand out the supplies to the students. Now US students, take heed…this was this last day of winter break and very early in the morning, the school bell rang and over 350 of the 370 students came to school! We visited every classroom and handed out the supplies. We were able to give each student a new pencil and either a crayon or colored pencil. Groups of students received sharpeners, markers, erasers and much more. The bags we made for them to carry their books and supplies were a huge hit. They clapped for us, sang for us and each thanked us.
Then it was off to prepare for our trip to Segou! We secured a bus in Bamako at 11 which was to leave at noon…….at 4:00 we were finally on the bus and moving! But wait, the first police post, just outside of town had a market and our driver stopped, had his shoes shined, shared tea and chatted with friends for over an hour. Dani finally had enough because we still had a four hour ride so off the bus she marches, right up to the driver and tells him her mother is waiting on the hot bus and we needed to get moving! He laughed, telling her to calm her mind, bring her mother out to have tea and chat with them! Finally we were on the road again and arrived in Segou about 7 hours after we left Bamako. But of course, our night was not over yet! We arrived at the Catholic Mission only to find out, after our taxi left that we had no reservation! So Dani once again argues her case, gets us a room and vows to tell Baba about the experience with the catholic nun!
Our day in Segou was incredibly awesome, but of course not without incident!! We took a stroll along the river, watching mothers wash their dishes, clothes or babies, and tend their gardens. We had an African version of a Primanti Brothers sandwich with meat, fries, and plantains all on a fresh roll.
We visited a Bogolon shop and learned the craft of mud dying, even trying it ourselves. Incredible and so pretty! We shopped the artisan shops and had an awesome fish lunch at “The Shack”.
We met some really nice Tuarug guys from Timbuktu and one was actually wearing a Steelers shirt! I grabbed my Terrible Towel and had my picture taken with him. We were invited back later to share tea after our sunset boat ride.
Our tour guide met us to start on the boat ride, taking us to two fishing villages across the river. All was going well, until he took us right back to dock long before sunset. Again, Dani’s negotiating skills kick in just as two other men jump into the boat telling us we were with the wrong guide! He lied to us, telling us he was our guide! After pleading our case, we were back on the river for the most beautiful sunset ever!
Tea with our new friends was so much fun! I never understood fully the idea of three cups of tea until this evening. We were sitting with three men dressed fully in head wraps and robes speaking broken English and having the best time. It truly was the traditional three cups of tea. We drank tea, laughed, listened to stories about living in the desert, raising camels all the while listening to authentic music. Now that I have experienced the entire three cup process….”Strong like dirt, Sweet like life, Sugar like love” it make total sense! There is so much in life that can be relevant to this thinking.
The bus ride back to Bamako wasn’t nearly as eventful or as long! We spent our last night together talking about the week, looking at pictures, laughing, and just enjoying our time together. On Friday, our last day, we went to the Artisan market to finish our gift buying. Sekouba met us and was our person with bargaining power! He was able to secure us some good deals, although I think Dani could have done as well! A perfect way to wind down the visit – market then a good dinner and just relaxing before heading to the airport.
Now as I sit in my 12th hour of flying, I can tell you my heart is proud….I wouldn’t have missed this trip for the world. I realize first hand that my baby girl is strong like dirt, sweet like life, and sugar like love and she is spreading that in a village that desperately needs her and knows it. Thanks for the wonderful time Dani – you make me proud! Strong – sweet – sugar!
12.04.2011
November Celebrations
The month of November was chock full of celebrations, and reasons to party! I kicked off the month of celebrating by showing up to village with three boxes of school supplies donated by the attendees of Harrisonville United Methodist Charge Vacation Bible School. It was such a great feeling to walk around the school yard seeing the children showing off their brand new pieces of chalk, crayons, or pencils sent all the way from America! The kids were most impressed with the markers- tubes of paint like liquid they could color with that didn’t need to be sharpened. The elders of school board were simply in awe of pencil top erasers, obviously the greatest invention ever! Leaving the teachers to muse over the need for sticky notes, highlighters, and list all the possibilities one would need a glue stick.
The biggest Muslim Holiday of Tabaski is in November, and my village sure did celebrate! The day of Tabaski the morning is spent praying, and rest of day is spent greeting, blessing, socializing with friends, giving gifts, receiving gifts, and most importantly eating! In the days leading up to Tabaski, the village is full of nervous mewing and calling from goats and sheep who seem to know that their life on Earth is soon to be over.
I dressed in my Malian outfit, (matching Tenna’s ) headed to soccer field to in enjoy the peaceful scene of colorful Malians, bent in prayer as the sun is just peeking over the tree tops. As soon as the praying ended, I was bombarded with blessings for me, my family, my yet to be found husband, and children for years and years to come. I headed straight to Tenna’s with my bag of gifts, to greet and bless, and start chopping up veggies for our feast. Once all the garlic, onions, peppers, and tomatoes where properly peeled, chopped, and pounded I left to make my rounds in the village; timing my greetings perfectly, because just as I got to the Dugutiki’s house he was in the process of butchering, and dividing meat, setting aside a pile just for me! The same thing happened at the next two houses I visited. I returned to Tenna with handfuls and handfuls of raw meat, some goat, some sheep, and all packed full of glorious protein! After the cooking is finished, we spent the afternoon, evening and late hours of the night eating-no gorging ourselves on rice, sauce, meat, noodles, fried plantains, and sweet potatoes in-between courses greeting and blessing people and dancing. This continued for three days, by the third day I was so full from eating meat, my body loved being overwhelmed by protein so much that I hardly cared that I was eating, unrefrigerated three day old meat! I really think the Malians would continue partying for an entire week if it weren’t for all of sugared up children starting to get cranky, along with the old men, who cannot get any sleep as a result from drinking highly caffeinated tea for three days.
In the calm of celebration recuperation, I decided that painting my nyegen with my left over paint would fill the gap nicely before getting ready for my next celebration. My now, fun, happy, polka dotted neygen makes pooping in a hole so much more pleasant. I can’t even look at my neygen without cracking a smile-it is amazing how happy a little paint has made me!
The weekend before Thanksgiving, A small group of volunteers joined me in traveling to Segou to celebrate November birthdays. Segou is a beautiful city right along the Niger River full of artisans trying to sell you their over priced goods. The trip to Segou was quite long, and like any other trip on public transport in Mali, a little frustrating. The first hour of the ride was spent by us getting yelled at to close the window before the blowing air gives everyone malaria, but don’t worry, to make up for the stuffiness of a bus full of sweaty Malians with absolutely no air flow the driver played horrible Malian music at deafening volumes.-needless to say we were very much we ready to exit the bus and start our fun filled days yalaing around Segou. We spent time at a “bogolan” workshop where they weave cloth and die it with mud, wondering in and out of shops admiring wood carvings, beaded jewelry, leather wallets and shoes, all the while getting harassed to make purchases. While in Segou we ate lots of good food, and even spent one evening taking a boat ride up the Niger at sun set. All in all it was a great and enjoyable trip. After a few days we hopped a bus to Sikasso to celebrate Thanksgiving with 85 other volunteers. Thanksgiving was a huge success, complete with turkey, mashed potatoes, and all the fixings, followed by a day at the pool and a Mexican Fiesta .
I made it back to village in time to finish out the month of celebrations by throwing a huge birthday party for myself! The morning of my birthday Sekouba calls me over to ask if we can have wild rabbit instead of beef for my birthday supper- I readily agree, rabbit is by far the best meat I’ve eaten in Mali! In the evening I put my party dress on, and head to Sekouba’s to start chopping veggies for our rice dish, and buy all the other ingredients that are needed. While the meal was cooking, we listened to music, played cards and drank round after round of tea and hibiscus tea. As soon as the music starts kids swarm the butiki and dance their hearts out. When the meal is finished cooking, the women come join the party and we dance until 11:00pm, when Sekouba thinks it time to serve the food. Since it is my birthday I take all the women into the concession and make them eat with me before giving food to the men and kids. (this never happens in Malian culture!) When everyone is full, we then take the meal out to men and fill a few plates for the dancing children. The rice is followed up by water melon, and the night and month of celebrations ends with a seed spitting contest at midnight.
Now it is time to start planning December events, and all the festivities for my Mama’s visit!
The biggest Muslim Holiday of Tabaski is in November, and my village sure did celebrate! The day of Tabaski the morning is spent praying, and rest of day is spent greeting, blessing, socializing with friends, giving gifts, receiving gifts, and most importantly eating! In the days leading up to Tabaski, the village is full of nervous mewing and calling from goats and sheep who seem to know that their life on Earth is soon to be over.
I dressed in my Malian outfit, (matching Tenna’s ) headed to soccer field to in enjoy the peaceful scene of colorful Malians, bent in prayer as the sun is just peeking over the tree tops. As soon as the praying ended, I was bombarded with blessings for me, my family, my yet to be found husband, and children for years and years to come. I headed straight to Tenna’s with my bag of gifts, to greet and bless, and start chopping up veggies for our feast. Once all the garlic, onions, peppers, and tomatoes where properly peeled, chopped, and pounded I left to make my rounds in the village; timing my greetings perfectly, because just as I got to the Dugutiki’s house he was in the process of butchering, and dividing meat, setting aside a pile just for me! The same thing happened at the next two houses I visited. I returned to Tenna with handfuls and handfuls of raw meat, some goat, some sheep, and all packed full of glorious protein! After the cooking is finished, we spent the afternoon, evening and late hours of the night eating-no gorging ourselves on rice, sauce, meat, noodles, fried plantains, and sweet potatoes in-between courses greeting and blessing people and dancing. This continued for three days, by the third day I was so full from eating meat, my body loved being overwhelmed by protein so much that I hardly cared that I was eating, unrefrigerated three day old meat! I really think the Malians would continue partying for an entire week if it weren’t for all of sugared up children starting to get cranky, along with the old men, who cannot get any sleep as a result from drinking highly caffeinated tea for three days.
In the calm of celebration recuperation, I decided that painting my nyegen with my left over paint would fill the gap nicely before getting ready for my next celebration. My now, fun, happy, polka dotted neygen makes pooping in a hole so much more pleasant. I can’t even look at my neygen without cracking a smile-it is amazing how happy a little paint has made me!
The weekend before Thanksgiving, A small group of volunteers joined me in traveling to Segou to celebrate November birthdays. Segou is a beautiful city right along the Niger River full of artisans trying to sell you their over priced goods. The trip to Segou was quite long, and like any other trip on public transport in Mali, a little frustrating. The first hour of the ride was spent by us getting yelled at to close the window before the blowing air gives everyone malaria, but don’t worry, to make up for the stuffiness of a bus full of sweaty Malians with absolutely no air flow the driver played horrible Malian music at deafening volumes.-needless to say we were very much we ready to exit the bus and start our fun filled days yalaing around Segou. We spent time at a “bogolan” workshop where they weave cloth and die it with mud, wondering in and out of shops admiring wood carvings, beaded jewelry, leather wallets and shoes, all the while getting harassed to make purchases. While in Segou we ate lots of good food, and even spent one evening taking a boat ride up the Niger at sun set. All in all it was a great and enjoyable trip. After a few days we hopped a bus to Sikasso to celebrate Thanksgiving with 85 other volunteers. Thanksgiving was a huge success, complete with turkey, mashed potatoes, and all the fixings, followed by a day at the pool and a Mexican Fiesta .
I made it back to village in time to finish out the month of celebrations by throwing a huge birthday party for myself! The morning of my birthday Sekouba calls me over to ask if we can have wild rabbit instead of beef for my birthday supper- I readily agree, rabbit is by far the best meat I’ve eaten in Mali! In the evening I put my party dress on, and head to Sekouba’s to start chopping veggies for our rice dish, and buy all the other ingredients that are needed. While the meal was cooking, we listened to music, played cards and drank round after round of tea and hibiscus tea. As soon as the music starts kids swarm the butiki and dance their hearts out. When the meal is finished cooking, the women come join the party and we dance until 11:00pm, when Sekouba thinks it time to serve the food. Since it is my birthday I take all the women into the concession and make them eat with me before giving food to the men and kids. (this never happens in Malian culture!) When everyone is full, we then take the meal out to men and fill a few plates for the dancing children. The rice is followed up by water melon, and the night and month of celebrations ends with a seed spitting contest at midnight.
Now it is time to start planning December events, and all the festivities for my Mama’s visit!
10.24.2011
I'm NOT a teacher!
Somehow, I managed not to get bitten by the education bug like so many of my family member and friends. As an education volunteer I am here to help the school run better, and teach people how to perform their roles better. I am not a teacher! I could not reiterate this statement enough times over the past year. Just when I thought everyone in my village got it, school started and somehow confused everyone again. I can’t remember how much I have written about the education system in Mali, but to say the least it’s flawed. First of all the children are being inconsistently taught in two languages. Secondly they really aren’t learning anything, unless you consider copying and memorizing so they don’t get beat learning. The government has created many groups, and organizations to benefit the education system, but has yet to provide any money.
The school in my village hardly has enough books to meet the needs of half the students per class. This school kicked off with the first week being spent cleaning and reorganizing the classrooms, and cutting the grass. A good and bad thing I suppose, because we only had four out of six teachers show up, so the those students would have just been hanging out anyway. The second week of school I thought it would be great to stop in and visit each classroom, see how things are going, hoping to see some teaching being done. I walked over to the school only to find all the teachers in a “meeting.” (meaning drinking tea) Why would I think the teachers needed to be doing their jobs, its only the second week of school-they have lots of other time to work! I was told to check in on the first graders and sit with them until the end of the meeting.
I walked into the first grade classroom and was confronted by 64 dirty little smiling faces, excited to learn, and write in their brand new (hand-me down) notebooks. After greeting them all, and sitting down, they wanted to know what I was going to teach them. Now, keep in mind, these children have never been to school before, they don’t know how to identify letters or numbers; they can’t read, write, or even hold a pencil. I do the only thing I can think of, I draw lines and circles on the board and have them count, only up to 5 because after that, they get confused. Well one can only count to five so many times in an hour, and once the children realized I wasn’t really going to beat them with the stick I was using as pointer things got quickly out of control! I made a run for it when children were standing on desks and jumping out windows to pee in the field! After sticking my head in to interrupt the teachers’ “meeting” telling them “I’m NOT a teacher!” I ran to the welcome peace and quiet sanctuary of Tenna’s cooking hut. Everyday for the rest of week I couldn’t conjure up the courage to make another appearance at the school for fear of being put in front of another out of control class.
Maybe next week I’ll venture back to the school…
The school in my village hardly has enough books to meet the needs of half the students per class. This school kicked off with the first week being spent cleaning and reorganizing the classrooms, and cutting the grass. A good and bad thing I suppose, because we only had four out of six teachers show up, so the those students would have just been hanging out anyway. The second week of school I thought it would be great to stop in and visit each classroom, see how things are going, hoping to see some teaching being done. I walked over to the school only to find all the teachers in a “meeting.” (meaning drinking tea) Why would I think the teachers needed to be doing their jobs, its only the second week of school-they have lots of other time to work! I was told to check in on the first graders and sit with them until the end of the meeting.
I walked into the first grade classroom and was confronted by 64 dirty little smiling faces, excited to learn, and write in their brand new (hand-me down) notebooks. After greeting them all, and sitting down, they wanted to know what I was going to teach them. Now, keep in mind, these children have never been to school before, they don’t know how to identify letters or numbers; they can’t read, write, or even hold a pencil. I do the only thing I can think of, I draw lines and circles on the board and have them count, only up to 5 because after that, they get confused. Well one can only count to five so many times in an hour, and once the children realized I wasn’t really going to beat them with the stick I was using as pointer things got quickly out of control! I made a run for it when children were standing on desks and jumping out windows to pee in the field! After sticking my head in to interrupt the teachers’ “meeting” telling them “I’m NOT a teacher!” I ran to the welcome peace and quiet sanctuary of Tenna’s cooking hut. Everyday for the rest of week I couldn’t conjure up the courage to make another appearance at the school for fear of being put in front of another out of control class.
Maybe next week I’ll venture back to the school…
9.23.2011
Put Your Watch Down...
As most of you blog followers know, nothing happens on time in Mali. This is something I am pretty sure I will NEVER get used to! This fact was only re-enforced upon me time and time again this past week, starting with hearing about a Malian telling another volunteer to “Put his watch down and don’t worry about it!” Sunday, myself, and two other volunteers were planning to head to another volunteer’s village to paint a world map mural. She had arranged special transportation for us from Bougouni to her site. We piled into the nicest car I’ve ever seen in Mali, and head south to her village. She doesn’t live near the main road so as we turn off onto a rough red dirt road, we are very thankful to not be on Mali public transport! The further we go, the quieter our conversation gets, and the harder we hang on to the sides, and each other! The past week’s rain sure did lots of damage to the road. Malian’s are horrible drivers, nothing happens fast in this country, except for driving! Malians drive with lead foots, and then when we come upon a bump, or huge ditch in the road they slide that lead foot over and slam it on the break. While we are trying to save ourselves from whiplash, and concussions, we notice lots of motos, and people heading the opposite direction waving to us to turn around. Finally we stop and ask what’s going on only to be answered with one word, “ji!” (water). Thinking well of course there is water in the road, its rainy season…only to be confronted with a running river of water crossing the road in front of us! Shocked! We jump out to get a closer look. Lots of people are standing around, offering to carry us across for $2 not realizing that once we got across that we would still need a ride the rest of the way to the village. We watched as they carried a moto over their heads through the chest deep water. We rode back to town, as our first day of working on the mural got washed away with the river. We made it back to house, put down our watches, and stopped worrying about the work that wasn’t getting done and wasted the afternoon away with old “chick flicks.”
The next morning we were up early and on the road! We were amazed to see a fast flowing river, safely under the bridge when we crossed and made it to village in good time and only suffering slightly from motion sickness and whiplash. Once there, we were greeted with open arms from everyone in the village, excited to see four white people! Ready and anxious to start working, we head to the school where we are to paint a world map in the 7th grade classroom, only to be told that the key to the classroom was in Bougouni (where we just came from) but someone was just sent to go get it. As we watched our work time shorten yet again, we put down our watches and took a nap until lunchtime. After lunch we still have no key to the classroom, but we do have a strong Malian, and a leatherman to open the school so we can finally start working, a day and a half later than planned.- Glad to report that after a few days hard work we had a beautiful world map completed and the Dugutiki even managed to come check it out!
By Wednesday, we were done painting, but exhausted, and ready to get back and celebrate Mali’s Independace Day. I decided to spend the holiday in my friend’s village because there, they celebrate with exciting bike, and donkey races. Due to the late arrival into town after the mural painting, we could not catch a ride to her village that evening. Waking in early in the morning we walk to the bus stop, only to be told that we were crazy to think that a car would be going that way on a holiday! Annoyed, we decided to bike to her village, in hopes we would make it in time to watch the bike, and donkey races planned for later that day. We get back to the house to grab our bikes, only to find out that my bike has a flat tire (that I attempted, and apparently FAILED to fix the previous night!) so I borrow another volunteer’s bike without asking, knowing she wouldn’t be in town for a few more days. Finally we head down the road, hoping to make good time. We have picked up a good pace, but we keep getting slowed down by all the hills, which after each one my friend assures me that this is the last one then it is free sailing from there, until we reach the next hill, by the fourth hill, huffing and puffing between bursts of laughter we decide to stop counting the hills. Almost half way there, and my borrowed bike starts acting up, and every third pedal my bikes falls out of gear. Click, click, clicking down the road, we finally stop to try to fix it but have no luck. We look up and see a crowd of bikers heading right for us! Moving quickly out of their way, we cheer them on and give each other a look that clearly means, “Aww man we’re missing the bike race but I don’t want you to know how disappointed I really am!” jumping back on my bike I click, click on to the next village when I realize that my handle bar is starting to get loose, and is sliding around. Finally I decide I need to stop biking before this bike falls apart in my hands. So we find someone who can fix my bike, and sit down and chat with a lady, who’s most exciting day of her entire life is Independence day and she talks for the next hour telling us about past winners of the bike race, and who she bets will win today. Our lovely conversation was interrupted by bursts of cheers, and hoots, and hollers, as the bikers have turned around and are now headed back to collect their winnings! As the next hour passes we decide it is now time to put down our watches and not worry about missing the events of the day. When my bike is finally finished, I go to get on only to find out that instead of tightening the screw to hold my handle bar on, he thought the best solution was to GREASE the handle bar!! I now have to use every muscle in my hands and arms just to keep the handle bar in the up right position, while pedaling. As far as I can tell my gears are working, and by working I mean they are not slipping in and out they are now stuck on the highest gear, making it quite a challenge to pedal up hills, and hold on to the handle bar, I can’t even attempt to change gears without loosing all control of my bike. We make it up the last mountain of a hill and come free sailing straight into her now empty village because all of the festivities are over.
Today (Friday) we woke up early, ate breakfast, and went to sit by the road to wait for a bus to stop and pick us up and take us back into town. After three hours of “patient” waiting, a bus finally stops. I then have to call the volunteer who’s bike I borrowed and tell her it no longer switches gears, and there is a small chance that her handle bar may come loose again! Afterward I head into to town to see the tailor only to have him ask me to sit and wait until he comes back from the mosque…so I put my watch down and waited…
The next morning we were up early and on the road! We were amazed to see a fast flowing river, safely under the bridge when we crossed and made it to village in good time and only suffering slightly from motion sickness and whiplash. Once there, we were greeted with open arms from everyone in the village, excited to see four white people! Ready and anxious to start working, we head to the school where we are to paint a world map in the 7th grade classroom, only to be told that the key to the classroom was in Bougouni (where we just came from) but someone was just sent to go get it. As we watched our work time shorten yet again, we put down our watches and took a nap until lunchtime. After lunch we still have no key to the classroom, but we do have a strong Malian, and a leatherman to open the school so we can finally start working, a day and a half later than planned.- Glad to report that after a few days hard work we had a beautiful world map completed and the Dugutiki even managed to come check it out!
By Wednesday, we were done painting, but exhausted, and ready to get back and celebrate Mali’s Independace Day. I decided to spend the holiday in my friend’s village because there, they celebrate with exciting bike, and donkey races. Due to the late arrival into town after the mural painting, we could not catch a ride to her village that evening. Waking in early in the morning we walk to the bus stop, only to be told that we were crazy to think that a car would be going that way on a holiday! Annoyed, we decided to bike to her village, in hopes we would make it in time to watch the bike, and donkey races planned for later that day. We get back to the house to grab our bikes, only to find out that my bike has a flat tire (that I attempted, and apparently FAILED to fix the previous night!) so I borrow another volunteer’s bike without asking, knowing she wouldn’t be in town for a few more days. Finally we head down the road, hoping to make good time. We have picked up a good pace, but we keep getting slowed down by all the hills, which after each one my friend assures me that this is the last one then it is free sailing from there, until we reach the next hill, by the fourth hill, huffing and puffing between bursts of laughter we decide to stop counting the hills. Almost half way there, and my borrowed bike starts acting up, and every third pedal my bikes falls out of gear. Click, click, clicking down the road, we finally stop to try to fix it but have no luck. We look up and see a crowd of bikers heading right for us! Moving quickly out of their way, we cheer them on and give each other a look that clearly means, “Aww man we’re missing the bike race but I don’t want you to know how disappointed I really am!” jumping back on my bike I click, click on to the next village when I realize that my handle bar is starting to get loose, and is sliding around. Finally I decide I need to stop biking before this bike falls apart in my hands. So we find someone who can fix my bike, and sit down and chat with a lady, who’s most exciting day of her entire life is Independence day and she talks for the next hour telling us about past winners of the bike race, and who she bets will win today. Our lovely conversation was interrupted by bursts of cheers, and hoots, and hollers, as the bikers have turned around and are now headed back to collect their winnings! As the next hour passes we decide it is now time to put down our watches and not worry about missing the events of the day. When my bike is finally finished, I go to get on only to find out that instead of tightening the screw to hold my handle bar on, he thought the best solution was to GREASE the handle bar!! I now have to use every muscle in my hands and arms just to keep the handle bar in the up right position, while pedaling. As far as I can tell my gears are working, and by working I mean they are not slipping in and out they are now stuck on the highest gear, making it quite a challenge to pedal up hills, and hold on to the handle bar, I can’t even attempt to change gears without loosing all control of my bike. We make it up the last mountain of a hill and come free sailing straight into her now empty village because all of the festivities are over.
Today (Friday) we woke up early, ate breakfast, and went to sit by the road to wait for a bus to stop and pick us up and take us back into town. After three hours of “patient” waiting, a bus finally stops. I then have to call the volunteer who’s bike I borrowed and tell her it no longer switches gears, and there is a small chance that her handle bar may come loose again! Afterward I head into to town to see the tailor only to have him ask me to sit and wait until he comes back from the mosque…so I put my watch down and waited…
9.13.2011
Clouds Clouds, Clouds
Rainy season has come once again, a little later than usual, but came none the less. Like all planters and farmers, my villagers welcomed rainy season with open arms like the long lost prodigal son; glad to have clouds over flowing with rain and promises of a fruitful harvest. I however was not quite as welcoming. For me, along with rain clouds came clouds of frustration, and boredom. Not to mention mud, mosquitoes and many other critters that wish to take shelter in my mud hut. My cloud of frustration burst open with a clap of thunder and first poured down on me (quite literally) on a bike ride home from Bougouni. Some how I managed to forget that the road to my village turns into a muddy, swampy mess in rainy season. I arrived to my road just as the down pour decided to turn my road into a river fast than my little legs could pedal. After a few failed attempts to walk and push my bike proved to be impossible, I dug my shoes out of the mud and decided I had no choice but to just keep pedaling. When I say river I literally mean running water river- covering the entire road, making it a guessing game as to where to steer the my bike. Thankfully I managed to keep my bike up right and only had to pedal through water up to my knees twice. I made it safely to my door absolutely covered in mud (even in my hair!) just as the sun came out to shine its witty little grin on my dirty self before sinking over the horizon. Shortly follow that misadventure, my cloud of frustration continued to rain down on me when my propane gas tank sprung a leak, my gwa fell down landing on my bike bending the tire rims.
All of the above happenings too place between my last blogpost and the 4th of July. As July rolled in, I finally finally began to see the cloud of frustration break up with sun rays of hope and project approval! My school has taken it upon themselves to create what we call a canteen, and provide students who travel from other villages with lunch. However the ladies cooking the lunch were cooking under a few mango trees. While mangoes provide great shade, they don’t do much in rain storms. So for my first funded project my village is building a cooking hut at the school. My work partner and the school director met me in Bougouni to purchase cement and tin for the roof. I happily went back to village, letting the bliss of productivity fill me…only to have dark cloud of boredom creep in. I haven’t blogged, in hopes that in my next blog I would have great things to report on, the longer I waited the less that happened. Week after week after week, I was told the brick maker was coming soon. Soon turned into two months and over those two months while the farmers were watching their fields grow, the only thing I watched grow was my personal library.
Since my villagers were not working, and holding up their part of the project, I decided to let them take their time for a while, and attempted to keep myself busy by painting murals. I decorated the wall surrounding the doctor’s office with health murals about spreading germs, hand washing, and the benefits of eating the leaves of the moringa tree. Along with the paintings I hosted a few informal education sessions on how to make oral re-hydration drink for children who suffer from diarrhea, and how to make a natural bug repellant called neem cream to a few women in village. All of which turned out well.
I have spent the past few days visiting the doctor in Bamako for my mid service medical exam, but before leaving my village I set my foot down and told my village that I was tired of waiting on their mason to come to make the bricks. I had explained time after time that I am unable to start a new project until this one is finished. Giving up hope on ever motivating them, I complained to Sekouba. He has politely been keeping his nose out of this project because he and the school director do not see eye to eye. Sekouba showed up at my house one morning introducing me to his friend, who just happens to make bricks! I followed the Malian protocol by introducing the school board members who were originally responsible for finding a mason. But gave them a very American ultimatum that if their mason did not show up on Thursday like he said he was (like every other Thursday for the past few weeks) than my mason friend would be back to make the bricks. Friday morning I called my mason, who in the end gave us a better price per brick anyway, making plans for him to come Monday morning. I left my village with full confidence that I will find rows and rows of freshly made bricks upon my return…
All of the above happenings too place between my last blogpost and the 4th of July. As July rolled in, I finally finally began to see the cloud of frustration break up with sun rays of hope and project approval! My school has taken it upon themselves to create what we call a canteen, and provide students who travel from other villages with lunch. However the ladies cooking the lunch were cooking under a few mango trees. While mangoes provide great shade, they don’t do much in rain storms. So for my first funded project my village is building a cooking hut at the school. My work partner and the school director met me in Bougouni to purchase cement and tin for the roof. I happily went back to village, letting the bliss of productivity fill me…only to have dark cloud of boredom creep in. I haven’t blogged, in hopes that in my next blog I would have great things to report on, the longer I waited the less that happened. Week after week after week, I was told the brick maker was coming soon. Soon turned into two months and over those two months while the farmers were watching their fields grow, the only thing I watched grow was my personal library.
Since my villagers were not working, and holding up their part of the project, I decided to let them take their time for a while, and attempted to keep myself busy by painting murals. I decorated the wall surrounding the doctor’s office with health murals about spreading germs, hand washing, and the benefits of eating the leaves of the moringa tree. Along with the paintings I hosted a few informal education sessions on how to make oral re-hydration drink for children who suffer from diarrhea, and how to make a natural bug repellant called neem cream to a few women in village. All of which turned out well.
I have spent the past few days visiting the doctor in Bamako for my mid service medical exam, but before leaving my village I set my foot down and told my village that I was tired of waiting on their mason to come to make the bricks. I had explained time after time that I am unable to start a new project until this one is finished. Giving up hope on ever motivating them, I complained to Sekouba. He has politely been keeping his nose out of this project because he and the school director do not see eye to eye. Sekouba showed up at my house one morning introducing me to his friend, who just happens to make bricks! I followed the Malian protocol by introducing the school board members who were originally responsible for finding a mason. But gave them a very American ultimatum that if their mason did not show up on Thursday like he said he was (like every other Thursday for the past few weeks) than my mason friend would be back to make the bricks. Friday morning I called my mason, who in the end gave us a better price per brick anyway, making plans for him to come Monday morning. I left my village with full confidence that I will find rows and rows of freshly made bricks upon my return…
6.11.2011
My Kaleidoscope’s Broken
As my one-year mark is quickly approaching, I seem to find myself stuck in a bit of a lull. It seems like a good time for a reflection on the past year. The first half of the year I spent getting to know the language, and way of life of the culture that surrounds me. The second half of the year I spent still learning the language, and strengthening relationships with people in my village. For the most part I was pretty much awestruck with the beauty of Mali, the excitement of being in a new place with new people and the simplicity of how the villagers lived off the land. Maybe now that I’ve been here for almost a year I’m starting to see things more like a local, (but isn’t that the point of becoming integrated?) but now I am very much less awestruck with my surroundings, the excitement is no longer new, and I would give anything to jump in my car and run to Wal-Mart in stead of live off of the land.
Most recently I have been initiated into, what I would call a Malian fraternity, and not by choice. I was told how all of my male friends, and coworkers pull off having multiple wives AND girlfriends on the side-thus loosing a lot of respect for a few people I consider my close friends. When I attempted to explain how wrong that is, I was only interrupted, and told that this is just the Malian Culture. Oh. Morals, commitment, loving relationships, and respect for your significant other are part of culture- who knew?
Now that I’ve been here, living, and not doing much work for an entire year, I’ve decided it is time to get down to business. I brainstormed, and talked with lots of people about needs and wants of the village, and came up with what I thought was a fantastic list of projects to keep myself busy for the rest of my service. I went to discuss my list with the director of the school in hopes that he would be just as excited as I was for my projects. As it turned out, he was rather disappointed with my super list, because I had no plans of building them a new school, big buildings, or giving them large sums of money to spend at their own will. Clearly this guy didn’t attend the meeting that explained what exactly Peace Corps is all about! I walked away with my hopes and dreams shattered. Later that night over a few rounds of tea I was discussing the projects and the director’s complaints with my friend and was once again reminded that this is the Malian culture. Malians are used to having people come in and build things, and buy things rather than teach the Malians how to accomplish and acquire such items on their own, after all that is how the doctor’s office and school were built in my village.
After lounging around in my hammock feeling a little hopeless, I realized that this is no longer an adventure-this is life. Like every hard, stressful situation in life you have to choose the way you want to look at it! In the beginning I was looking at the big picture. I was looking at Mali as if it were a beautiful kaleidoscope- the culture and the music mixing flawlessly into the food, and the dancing. It was beautiful. It was complex and fit well together. But when I start picking the pieces apart, and looking at each part by its self, the picture wasn’t so pretty- my kaleidoscope is broken. In hopes of cheering myself back up, I joined my friends in a dance party to celebrate one of the many weddings that have taken place over the past few weeks and as I looked around I could see the colors of my kaleidoscope slowly merging back together. Realizing that it may be possible to fit all the pieces of culture, music, food, and dance back together to create the beautiful mixture that I once saw, only this time with a bigger and better understanding.
Most recently I have been initiated into, what I would call a Malian fraternity, and not by choice. I was told how all of my male friends, and coworkers pull off having multiple wives AND girlfriends on the side-thus loosing a lot of respect for a few people I consider my close friends. When I attempted to explain how wrong that is, I was only interrupted, and told that this is just the Malian Culture. Oh. Morals, commitment, loving relationships, and respect for your significant other are part of culture- who knew?
Now that I’ve been here, living, and not doing much work for an entire year, I’ve decided it is time to get down to business. I brainstormed, and talked with lots of people about needs and wants of the village, and came up with what I thought was a fantastic list of projects to keep myself busy for the rest of my service. I went to discuss my list with the director of the school in hopes that he would be just as excited as I was for my projects. As it turned out, he was rather disappointed with my super list, because I had no plans of building them a new school, big buildings, or giving them large sums of money to spend at their own will. Clearly this guy didn’t attend the meeting that explained what exactly Peace Corps is all about! I walked away with my hopes and dreams shattered. Later that night over a few rounds of tea I was discussing the projects and the director’s complaints with my friend and was once again reminded that this is the Malian culture. Malians are used to having people come in and build things, and buy things rather than teach the Malians how to accomplish and acquire such items on their own, after all that is how the doctor’s office and school were built in my village.
After lounging around in my hammock feeling a little hopeless, I realized that this is no longer an adventure-this is life. Like every hard, stressful situation in life you have to choose the way you want to look at it! In the beginning I was looking at the big picture. I was looking at Mali as if it were a beautiful kaleidoscope- the culture and the music mixing flawlessly into the food, and the dancing. It was beautiful. It was complex and fit well together. But when I start picking the pieces apart, and looking at each part by its self, the picture wasn’t so pretty- my kaleidoscope is broken. In hopes of cheering myself back up, I joined my friends in a dance party to celebrate one of the many weddings that have taken place over the past few weeks and as I looked around I could see the colors of my kaleidoscope slowly merging back together. Realizing that it may be possible to fit all the pieces of culture, music, food, and dance back together to create the beautiful mixture that I once saw, only this time with a bigger and better understanding.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)