Right now Mali is in the middle of hot season- also known as prime MANGO season!!! Recently I have been seeing women in my village carrying around big sticks, like 25 feet long! I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. I was sitting with my friends, listening to the gossip while they braided each other’s hair, when all of a sudden we see old ladies run by the door carrying buckets, and their big sticks. My friend pops her head out the door and hollers to find out what is going on. I didn’t hear or even have time to process the answer before I was being grabbed, and drug out of the hut. I was handed a bucket and all my friend said was, “Come on! Hurry the mangos are ready!” Thinking she was crazy, I’ve been eating mangos for weeks, I obeyed and quickened my pace to keep up. We run out into the middle of a field where four mango trees stand side by side and are surround my fellow villagers. What happened next I like to describe as Mango Madness. I never saw anything like it. The trees were absolutely full of fresh, ripe- and by ripe I mean ready to eat and have juice run to your elbows ripe, mangos! As we got closer I realized that the trees were also full of children! The mango madness has taken over and children have lost all fear and suddenly have no problem climbing up a 50 foot mango tree to shake, and jump on branches, making the mangos fall down to friends with open arms and waiting buckets. The women also were over taken by the madness, they were hitting down mangos with their big sticks and actually fighting over whose mangos were on the ground! Older kids, who weren’t in the trees, were sent home with full buckets and returned for more mangos. For a while I just stood in amazement. I never saw anyone so excited over mangos.
When my friend realizes I’m just standing there, she yells for me to start filling her bucket. When I think the bucket is full, and tell her I’ll take it back and bring another, she walks over, clicks her tongue, shakes her head and says, “That bucket is NOT full!” After hours of collecting, and eating, eating, and collecting, we finally head back to my friends house, all of us with a bucket balancing on our heads. Well, I was holding mine in place, to the amazement of many villagers. So many tried to stop and talk to me, but I hurried along saying that I was only ½ of a Malian Muso because I can’t walk, talk, AND balance a bucket of mangos on my head. We enter her concession to find a cooking hut absolutely overflowing with piles and piles of mangos! She insists on my taking two big bowls home just for me to enjoy. After washing the sticky remnants of mango madness from my skin I head to the butiki for some rounds of tea. As I pour the tea from glass, to tea pot, and back I look around and take notice how the “mango madness” has now turned into “mango fullness” and watch as the old men sit with full bellies picking mango out of their teeth.
This week along with the sweet taste of mangos, I got to experience the sweet taste of victory. I went to visit the Dugutiki, to give him a gift from Italy, and let him know that I was back in village. To my surprise we was so happy to see me! Not because he missed me, but while I was gone my village played in a soccer tournament against surrounding villages, and tonight was the championship game! He was so glad that “The American Muso” was back in village to make an appearance at the game. He even for arranged for me to ride in his friend’s car so I did not have to ride my bike. Watching the soccer game was quite interesting. Having not played soccer myself, I really don’t know all the rules of game, and with no official uniforms, I had a little trouble remembering who was on our team and who was on the other. No one seemed to notice my lack of knowledge; they were too busy talking about me being there, and speaking Bambara with them. I’m not even sure whom, but someone made the announcement that since it was getting dark we needed to end the game soon. In the end the whistle blew, just as our village kicked the ball just out of the goalie’s reach scoring the winning goal of the game!
I have been in Mali long enough to be apart of lots of celebrations, babies being born, weddings, the 50th Anniversary of Independence, New Years, International Women’s day, to name a few, but NONE of those even compare to celebration that took place after wining the championship soccer game. The crowd went crazy and rushed the field to congratulate our players. I was quickly rushed to the car, being among the first to leave the scene. Wondering why we left so early, thinking the Dugutiki would want to celebrate, only to learn that we had to leave to tell all of the villages we pass through that we were the winners! We made it back to Sakoro with the sun setting behind us, only to be greeted by the ENTIRE village cheering for our victory! I was blown away by the noise, shouts, screams, music, drums, racing motos, revving engines, honking horns, someone even had an old rusty trumpet! I ran to my friend’s concession to tell her come celebrate, only to pass concession after concession of nothing but emptiness, -fires left to burn out, untouched bowls of toe and sauce. As I headed back to join the crowd I could see old ladies running in, late, from the fields with bundles of fire wood stacked on their heads, dancing and cheering their way into the crowd as if they were called by the beat of drums. As I got closer I could feel the heat radiating off of the hot bodies before me. I stood back and enjoyed the moment. Here I am, amongst a village of people who used to be strangers, and now all I see are friends, friends who are so full of pride-so proud of their village for winning a soccer game. The excitement is so strong, I can almost taste it!
Everyone was so full of prideful excitement the only thing they could do to express it was scream, shout, and dance. And boy did they dance! After dancing in one spot for a few hours they then paraded all around the village, they danced long into the night with the stars twinkling, and the a sliver of the moon smiling down on them. The next day I was surprised they weren’t all still dancing! I did greet a few people who had no voice from all the cheering. I’m pretty sure everyone in my village would agree when I say that the only thing sweeter than fresh, ripe mangos is the sweet taste of victory.
4.29.2011
Time for a Vacation!
I know this blog is supposed to be about Mali and my Peace Corps experience, but I recently took a vacation to Italy and it was amazing!! -So amazing that I want to tell you all about! For those of you who don’t know my friend Jade and I couch surfed through three towns in Italy. Couch surfing is a way to see different parts of the world, and meet new and interesting people, while getting a free, or relatively cheap place to stay. Our vacation started late Saturday night (April 25) with a small emergency! All Volunteers have two passports a personal passport, and a Peace Corps passport. Whenever we leave the country we have to take our PC Passport because it has our Visa to get back into Mali. Around midnight Jade and I arrive at the door to the airport, take out our passports, only to have Jade ask me why I had my PC Passport!! She had her personal passport along with a denied entrance into the airport. With a frantic call to a Peace Corps worker with a plea to please bring her passport to the airport! A very long hour later we see a Peace Corps car round the bend to the airport entrance! We have a 3-hour flight to Casablanca airport in Morocco a two hour lay over then a 3-hour flight to Bologna Italy! With all the time changes, and flights, and lay overs, we arrive in Italy around 1 in the afternoon. We had some trouble getting into contact with out first couch surfing host due to the fact that African cells phone do not work in Italy-go figure! Luckily we have information about hostels in each of the city’s we are visiting so we find one and check into a “dorm room” for the night and head off to find ice cream and pizza!
The best way to get around in most cities in Italy is the Bus, or metro if there is one. However the Bus system is hard to understand, and it is very easy to get confused…needless to say we spent a good chunk of time happily ( or not too happily) lost. We climbed a HUGE watch town overlooking the city and were able to get some awesome pictures! After enjoying a wonderful meal of cheesy pasta we attempt to head back to the hostel. We have a tiny, not very helpful bus map, and the address of the hostel. We jump on the nest bus we think is heading out of town toward the hostel, only find out 20 minutes later we are on the bus going the WRONG way out of town. With the help of some very friendly English-speaking Italians we find our way back into town, to the right bus stop. The buses in Bologna do not stop at every stop, they only stop when there are people to pick up or a passenger pushes the STOP button. Not knowing exactly where the closest stop was to the hostel we accidentally push the stop button a little too soon. Leaving us with maybe a mile walk, in the cold dark night! Luckily, Italians are really nice and we are approached by an old man heading our direction and offers us a ride-well we are assuming that’s what he said because he only spoke Italian and the only thing we could say is “No Copicie” Anyway, we make it safely back to the hostel and melt into hot showers and beds loaded with blankets!
The next day we spend sight seeing, eating, and window-shopping. When we stop to buy post cards we see a big church we haven’t seen yet, we hop the next bus to see it, only to be dropped off at the bottom of a humongous hill, with built in steps. Preparing ourselves for a climb we take off in high spirits. An hour later, after a few breaks, we finally see the top! The view from the top is breath taking, and like most sites in Italy, taking a picture does no justice to the beauty of it! The inside of the church is just as breath taking, and like most churches in Italy, doesn’t not allow photos of the inside. As we descend we make our plans to meet our first host.
His name in Daniele and he lives a short bus ride just outside of Bologna. We meet up with him and are taken to a pretty nice apartment and shown to our bed- a futon in his kitchen. Daniele is no stranger to the couch surfing network; he hosts people at least 3 nights week. He was very entertaining, and told us that when God Created Italy he realized it was so close to being paradise so then he created the Italians. Not only is Daniele a successful lawyer, he is also a self-taught musician. I enjoyed a nice evening being serenaded by Jade, and Daniele’s lovely guitar playing.
The next morning after a “breakfast” of McDonalds burgers and fries (they didn’t have an actual Breakfast menu :-() we jump the train to Venice. Actually to Mestre, a town that is only a short bus ride away from Venice. We have a host for the next three nights with a family from Sri Lanka. We dump off our bags, head to the grocery store to pack a lunch and catch the next bus to Venice. Venice is AMAZING! It is the one of the most beautiful places in the world! No matter how many pictures I took I was always disappointed with their quality, because there is just no way to capture the true beauty! Over the next three days we visited almost all of Venice, including Morano, an island off of Venice known for its glass blowing, and hand made glass factories, and Lido, another island of off Venice. We toured almost all of Venice by third day, we headed back to rest our weary feet and tried to find a movie theater. We were lucky enough to find one within walking distance from the house we were staying in. We take off to check it out only to be completely mortified to walk in to an X-rated theater! Who watches that stuff in theaters??
The next day we wake up and head straight for the train station to catch a train to Rome. Once there we soon learn that all the train tickets are sold out until 3 in the morning. Doing pretty much the only thing we can, we take our luggage and find the next bus headed to the beach! A nice relaxing day sitting by the water, enjoying some ice cream was exactly what we needed in the middle of our busy vacation! Top the day off with some great Chinese food and we are all set to spend the night in a dreary train station. We entertained ourselves by taking pictures, playing cards, and eating left over Chinese, until we met Sasha. Sasha is a traveler from Ukraine who happened to be on the same train as us! She was traveling all over Italy, making her way to Rome to do some inner city volunteer work. The last few hours quickly filled with conversation, question, comparing this country to that, and it was time to board the train before we knew it! Once on the train we ended up sharing a section of seats with three young engineers from China, who design parts for John Deer. As I’m lulled off to sleep by the chug-a-lug of the train, I can’t help but be impressed with how many amazing people we’ve met on our journey so far.
We finally arrive in Rome around 9 in the morning, unable to contact our host for the next few days, we are once again stuck with our luggage. Having already missed one day in Rome, we did not wish to waste another, so we took off for the Roman Forum, and Spanish Steps, with luggage in hand-well technically mine was on my back. By 3:00pm we were absolutely exhausted and, getting a little grumpy. We finally connect with our host and hop the next train to his house. Once there we are greeted by by far the most interesting person we’ve met so far! Shaeeb, is an artist, who was raised all around the world. He is Indian, speaks English with a British accent, as well as 6 other languages. We shower, and rest while he gardens until it is time to cook supper. Over dinner he explains his artwork to us, maybe it’s the wine, but I soon find myself caught up in a dreamy conversation of world politics, lack of love for one another, and need for world peace.
The next day is Easter Sunday and Rome welcomes us, along with floods or other people, with warm weather. We head straight for Vatican City, to catch the Pope at work, unfortunately he is the only one working on this Easter Sunday, and we are unable to tour the museum, the Sistine Chapel, or much of the city its self. We spend the rest of the day wandering around some ancient ruins of a city just on the outskirts of Rome. Figuring we are so close to the beach, we may as well check it out a bit before heading back into the business of the city. Distracted by the calmness of the beach, we head back to the city a tad bit later than planned, and missed the train that takes us all the way to Shaeeb’s house. We find ourselves stranded one stop before we need off, with no way of contacting our host. We are happily informed that we can catch a bus that will take us to the next train station, however due the Easter holiday the bus stopped running the hour before. Unsure of what to do next we sit on the curb and wait. Finally we are once again approached by a nice guy going our way, and once again he only speaks Italian. Giving him directions to a house down a dirt road, back in the woods, proves to be a little difficult. After turning around three times, and a few shouted, “Mamamia’s” we finally are back at our host’s house.
We spend our last day in Rome enjoying the park, and seeing a few sights we have yet to make it to; one being the Capuchin Crypt, an chapel decorated (if you can call it that) with bones of Monks. There is a full wall of just skeleton heads. It was eerie, morbid, yet amazing to see! Ending the day with a real cappuccino, we catch the train just as the rain starts to fall. Reaching the train station in the middle of a down pour, we search for a phone to call our host to ask if he would be able to pick us up. Unable to reach him, we are left with the only option of walking.
Our very last day in Italy is consumed of a long train ride back to Bologna, a quick lunch, and one last ice cream before catching the plane to Morocco. Sad to be leaving the coolness of Italy, and all the tasty food, yet still satisfied with our fun filled vacation. Luckily, thanks to some flight changes, we get to ease our way back into Africa, with a one night lay over in Morocco-hotel accommodations, breakfast, lunch, and dinner thanks to AirMoroc. We literally have all day in Morocco seeing as our plane does not leave in 10:30pm on Wednesday night. We meet a girl in the lobby who is headed to the market and asked us if we wanted to join her. Jumping on the next train into the city, we soon are greeted with a much more developed city than we were expecting. Our friend tells Moroccans consider their country a tree; with their roots in Africa, but the branches and leaves are considered part of Europe. The market is full of color, and puts Canal Street to shame with its supply of knock off designer hand bags, shoes, and clothes. We truly enjoyed our jaunt through the market, and back to the hotel. We spent the last few hours of our vacation basking in the air conditioning, watching Home Alone 2- in English none the less!
We say goodbye to our friend, to our vacation, and board the plan to Bamako. Upon landing we gather our bags, and head out the door only to be confronted by the heat, dust, and Malian greetings that we’ve managed to escape for the last ten days.
The best way to get around in most cities in Italy is the Bus, or metro if there is one. However the Bus system is hard to understand, and it is very easy to get confused…needless to say we spent a good chunk of time happily ( or not too happily) lost. We climbed a HUGE watch town overlooking the city and were able to get some awesome pictures! After enjoying a wonderful meal of cheesy pasta we attempt to head back to the hostel. We have a tiny, not very helpful bus map, and the address of the hostel. We jump on the nest bus we think is heading out of town toward the hostel, only find out 20 minutes later we are on the bus going the WRONG way out of town. With the help of some very friendly English-speaking Italians we find our way back into town, to the right bus stop. The buses in Bologna do not stop at every stop, they only stop when there are people to pick up or a passenger pushes the STOP button. Not knowing exactly where the closest stop was to the hostel we accidentally push the stop button a little too soon. Leaving us with maybe a mile walk, in the cold dark night! Luckily, Italians are really nice and we are approached by an old man heading our direction and offers us a ride-well we are assuming that’s what he said because he only spoke Italian and the only thing we could say is “No Copicie” Anyway, we make it safely back to the hostel and melt into hot showers and beds loaded with blankets!
The next day we spend sight seeing, eating, and window-shopping. When we stop to buy post cards we see a big church we haven’t seen yet, we hop the next bus to see it, only to be dropped off at the bottom of a humongous hill, with built in steps. Preparing ourselves for a climb we take off in high spirits. An hour later, after a few breaks, we finally see the top! The view from the top is breath taking, and like most sites in Italy, taking a picture does no justice to the beauty of it! The inside of the church is just as breath taking, and like most churches in Italy, doesn’t not allow photos of the inside. As we descend we make our plans to meet our first host.
His name in Daniele and he lives a short bus ride just outside of Bologna. We meet up with him and are taken to a pretty nice apartment and shown to our bed- a futon in his kitchen. Daniele is no stranger to the couch surfing network; he hosts people at least 3 nights week. He was very entertaining, and told us that when God Created Italy he realized it was so close to being paradise so then he created the Italians. Not only is Daniele a successful lawyer, he is also a self-taught musician. I enjoyed a nice evening being serenaded by Jade, and Daniele’s lovely guitar playing.
The next morning after a “breakfast” of McDonalds burgers and fries (they didn’t have an actual Breakfast menu :-() we jump the train to Venice. Actually to Mestre, a town that is only a short bus ride away from Venice. We have a host for the next three nights with a family from Sri Lanka. We dump off our bags, head to the grocery store to pack a lunch and catch the next bus to Venice. Venice is AMAZING! It is the one of the most beautiful places in the world! No matter how many pictures I took I was always disappointed with their quality, because there is just no way to capture the true beauty! Over the next three days we visited almost all of Venice, including Morano, an island off of Venice known for its glass blowing, and hand made glass factories, and Lido, another island of off Venice. We toured almost all of Venice by third day, we headed back to rest our weary feet and tried to find a movie theater. We were lucky enough to find one within walking distance from the house we were staying in. We take off to check it out only to be completely mortified to walk in to an X-rated theater! Who watches that stuff in theaters??
The next day we wake up and head straight for the train station to catch a train to Rome. Once there we soon learn that all the train tickets are sold out until 3 in the morning. Doing pretty much the only thing we can, we take our luggage and find the next bus headed to the beach! A nice relaxing day sitting by the water, enjoying some ice cream was exactly what we needed in the middle of our busy vacation! Top the day off with some great Chinese food and we are all set to spend the night in a dreary train station. We entertained ourselves by taking pictures, playing cards, and eating left over Chinese, until we met Sasha. Sasha is a traveler from Ukraine who happened to be on the same train as us! She was traveling all over Italy, making her way to Rome to do some inner city volunteer work. The last few hours quickly filled with conversation, question, comparing this country to that, and it was time to board the train before we knew it! Once on the train we ended up sharing a section of seats with three young engineers from China, who design parts for John Deer. As I’m lulled off to sleep by the chug-a-lug of the train, I can’t help but be impressed with how many amazing people we’ve met on our journey so far.
We finally arrive in Rome around 9 in the morning, unable to contact our host for the next few days, we are once again stuck with our luggage. Having already missed one day in Rome, we did not wish to waste another, so we took off for the Roman Forum, and Spanish Steps, with luggage in hand-well technically mine was on my back. By 3:00pm we were absolutely exhausted and, getting a little grumpy. We finally connect with our host and hop the next train to his house. Once there we are greeted by by far the most interesting person we’ve met so far! Shaeeb, is an artist, who was raised all around the world. He is Indian, speaks English with a British accent, as well as 6 other languages. We shower, and rest while he gardens until it is time to cook supper. Over dinner he explains his artwork to us, maybe it’s the wine, but I soon find myself caught up in a dreamy conversation of world politics, lack of love for one another, and need for world peace.
The next day is Easter Sunday and Rome welcomes us, along with floods or other people, with warm weather. We head straight for Vatican City, to catch the Pope at work, unfortunately he is the only one working on this Easter Sunday, and we are unable to tour the museum, the Sistine Chapel, or much of the city its self. We spend the rest of the day wandering around some ancient ruins of a city just on the outskirts of Rome. Figuring we are so close to the beach, we may as well check it out a bit before heading back into the business of the city. Distracted by the calmness of the beach, we head back to the city a tad bit later than planned, and missed the train that takes us all the way to Shaeeb’s house. We find ourselves stranded one stop before we need off, with no way of contacting our host. We are happily informed that we can catch a bus that will take us to the next train station, however due the Easter holiday the bus stopped running the hour before. Unsure of what to do next we sit on the curb and wait. Finally we are once again approached by a nice guy going our way, and once again he only speaks Italian. Giving him directions to a house down a dirt road, back in the woods, proves to be a little difficult. After turning around three times, and a few shouted, “Mamamia’s” we finally are back at our host’s house.
We spend our last day in Rome enjoying the park, and seeing a few sights we have yet to make it to; one being the Capuchin Crypt, an chapel decorated (if you can call it that) with bones of Monks. There is a full wall of just skeleton heads. It was eerie, morbid, yet amazing to see! Ending the day with a real cappuccino, we catch the train just as the rain starts to fall. Reaching the train station in the middle of a down pour, we search for a phone to call our host to ask if he would be able to pick us up. Unable to reach him, we are left with the only option of walking.
Our very last day in Italy is consumed of a long train ride back to Bologna, a quick lunch, and one last ice cream before catching the plane to Morocco. Sad to be leaving the coolness of Italy, and all the tasty food, yet still satisfied with our fun filled vacation. Luckily, thanks to some flight changes, we get to ease our way back into Africa, with a one night lay over in Morocco-hotel accommodations, breakfast, lunch, and dinner thanks to AirMoroc. We literally have all day in Morocco seeing as our plane does not leave in 10:30pm on Wednesday night. We meet a girl in the lobby who is headed to the market and asked us if we wanted to join her. Jumping on the next train into the city, we soon are greeted with a much more developed city than we were expecting. Our friend tells Moroccans consider their country a tree; with their roots in Africa, but the branches and leaves are considered part of Europe. The market is full of color, and puts Canal Street to shame with its supply of knock off designer hand bags, shoes, and clothes. We truly enjoyed our jaunt through the market, and back to the hotel. We spent the last few hours of our vacation basking in the air conditioning, watching Home Alone 2- in English none the less!
We say goodbye to our friend, to our vacation, and board the plan to Bamako. Upon landing we gather our bags, and head out the door only to be confronted by the heat, dust, and Malian greetings that we’ve managed to escape for the last ten days.
3.19.2011
Just Another Month in Village
February passed so quickly, I hardly noticed a new month started until it was half over. In the past month (and a half) I have been learning more and more about the Malian culture- things that no one told me, and things I haven’t seen or heard of until now. I have chosen a few of my lessons learned to share with you:
1. I have learned that nice little old ladies, who usually are sweet and full of blessings- show NO mercy when is come times to getting a seat on the only bush taxi out of village to the big market up the road. I wish I was kidding –but they literally pushed and shoved me out of the way. Thank goodness my friend Tenna knew this would happen and magically managed to run faster (or push harder) than the old ladies and saved my seat right next to her. Of course since this story is about Mali transportation it goes without saying getting a seat on the rickety old van was the least of my problems. The row of seats Tenna choose for us was the third row- with a broken seat in the middle and tire hump (as if we weren’t already squished as sardines). Tenna was sitting by the window, then me, then the broken seat had been replaced by a sack of rice, occupied by an old man with two chickens (ugh chickens!) seated beside him was another old man, and a lady with a baby-thus filling our row. In case you have forgotten, the road out of my village is rather horrible-it is only 8K however it takes a van like this one about 45 minuntes to an hour to make it to the main road. As I sat enjoying the ride I was trying my best not sweat on and squish Tenna any more than I had to, while at the same time trying not to fall out of my seat on to the man (and his chickens) on the sack of rice. Hanging on to the seat in front of me for support and balance on this bumpy the road, I feel the van pick up some speed- thankful for the rush of air (not cool air, and not exactly fresh air-just air) I feel myself begin to relax a bit and start a conversation with Tenna about all the stuff she would buy at market if she money for everything she wanted. The next few moments were so full of commotion I don’t really even know what or how it exactly happened but the next thing I knew we hit a bump and the row of seats in front of me and all six old ladies crammed into them came falling backwards onto everyone in my row! Apparently when we hit the bump it caused the front legs of seats come unbolted from the floor. As we pushed the old ladies back into the upright positions, I couldn’t help but think HA! You fought me for that seat! Without stopping to check on anyone, or to fix the seats we finally made it the market. After a wonderful day of yalayalaing with Tenna we headed back home, and I’m glad to report that the ride home was surprisingly uneventful.
2. I have learned to ignore, and laugh at daily marriage proposals, however most recently I found out some people are not always joking. My friend Sekouba (Tenna’s husband) pulled me aside one day and said I just wanted to tell you that everyone in village really likes you, especially my family and my close friends and I really want you to meet my brother, Sumyla. Presently he lives and works in Angola but tonight we can call him. What do you think about that? Is that okay? You would just have to greet him and say whatever you like. Thinking sure no problem I can greet someone on the phone. Then as the day went on everyone seemed to be talking about Sumyla and me calling him, and Sekouba’s sister even dug out these old pictures to show me. Finally the time came for “the phone call” Standing under a big mango tree with Sekouba and his two sisters we call Sumyla and I learn that Sekouba, his wives, and sisters sent a picture of me from Sekouba’s son’s baptism party to Sumyla. I learned this because he told me how pretty he thinks I am and oh yeah, he thinks we should get married. I laugh and turn to look at my company who all have a silly grin on their faces, nodding their heads as if to say yeah! He’s serious!! Confused, shocked, and a little flustered I learned that they had a plan. They know how important it is to me that my parents approve of him, so he will write a letter, and send it to Sekouba’s friend who will then translate it into English and send it to my parents. I really don’t think I even replied, I couldn’t get past the fact that this was no a joke! Sumyla and Sekouba talked then and decided to give me four days to decide and then he would call back. Four days! I had four days to convince my very best friends in village why I couldn’t marry their brother, whom I have never met, or seen, and lives in another country. In America this would not be a hard task, however in Mali convincing someone that you can’t marry him is rather silly. I can’t even explain what really happened over the course of the next fours days. The air was so full of excitement and Sekouba’s head was swimming with party plans and future plans of me really being his sister, and family vacations to visit me and Sumyla in American. Every single excuse I came up with as to why I could not marry him, Sekouba had a plan and reason as to how it would work out. Finally I told him that Peace Corps said I cannot get married while I’m serving, I would either have to quit the PC (and at that they would send me straight home) or not get married. Sekouba was a little disappointed however he said Okay, okay we will just have to talk about again in two years. Pheww that was close!
3. I have learned that when a husband dies, the wife cannot leave her house for 40 days, and at the beginning of the 40 days everyone goes to visit, help out, cook, take care of kids and everything. But as the 40 days continues all this help, and company fades away and the wife gets very very bored. Feeling bad for my friend (because I know the feeling of boredom quite well) I tried to visit every other day and tried to think of some form of entertainment, however this gets hard when my language skills are limited. After a few days I ran out of things to talk about, and Abbie ran out of energy trying to explain things to me so we sat and listened to the radio. Then next day that I went for a visit as soon as I got there I knew something was up, Abbie was so excited to see me and offered me a big bowl of porridge and asked if I had been to see Tenna that morning. I said that I had and Abbie was anxious to know what Tenna was talking about. I answered that I didn’t really know, I heard her mention something about the doctor but I did not really understand it all. Smiling Abbie said well, let me tell you… and she continued on sharing the village gossip with me. So today I learned that no one actually comes out and tells you about the village gossip unless they know you already know something about it. I was glad to be in the loop.
4. I learned what the words “Hot Season” actually mean. It. Is. HOT. I have learned that in Africa I am capable of sweating buckets and buckets full while just sitting. It really is getting hotter and hotter by the day- uughh- if only the mangos would ripen a little quicker! All my sweating lead to a conversation with Sekouba about the heat! He warned me that this is just the beginning! I have three months of this heat to deal with! Sekouba went on to say that soon I’m going to be so hot that I’m never going to sleep. Its too hot at night to sleep, and too hot during the day to sleep. I’m going to call my Mama and say how much a HATE Mali. He said it is going to get so hot I’m going to cry and he is going to laugh! Shocked I said Sekouba you would laugh at me if I was crying? But he had no problem reminding me that a few months ago I was the one laughing as he sat around a campfire in long selves saying how much he hated the cold! My house at times is simply unbearable. The mud bricks hold in so much heat and my tin roof doesn’t let it out either so at night I am quite literally sleeping in an oven; or not sleeping, rather just laying there in a pool of sweat fanning myself. I have come to learned that at 2:00 am Malian radio stations play hilarious American music. The first song that threw me back to middle school was, Shaggy’s "It Wasn’t Me."- quite thankful I wasn’t listening to this with my friend who always asked me what the songs are about. The next two were unknown to me but had lyrics like, “Boom boom boom boom I want you in my room room” and “When your in a bad mood just think Sheewowwow!” Laughing I thought it’s a good thing Malians don’t really know what these horrible pop songs are talking about-but then ironically Nelly’s "It’s Getting Hot in Here” came on making think maybe they do know…
5. Most recently I have learned that even though I have been here for almost 9 full months, my “celebrity status” as yet to wear off when it comes to getting to work with me. I have a homologue, who technically is my “work partner” and by Mali standard this title holds a lot of pride. After returning to village from another trip to Bamako I was finally ready and able to start planning some projects. I came back and had a discussion with Sekouba, and my homologue at the same time, because at times I have trouble understanding my homologue’s Frambara (because he still continues to talk to me in French even though I have repeatedly asked him not to) and Sekouba has a way of explaining things to me so I understand them. After explaining that I needed someone to check the prices of materials so I could write up a budget and send it to PC, Sekouba steps up right away and says I’m going to Bougouni on Thursday I can check then. Thinking this is great, work is finally starting, I plan to hold a meeting with the school board on Saturday. Saturdays rolls along and I come to find out that everyone is up in arms about Sekouba helping me and not my homologue, I tried to explain that my homologue was there and could have stepped in and said no but he didn’t but this did not seem to matter. This drama continued for days as I was stuck in the middle of a chauvinistic male-pride roller coaster. Finally I called a meeting at the Dugutiki’s house and put it all out on the table and said this is what needs to be done, I don’t care who does it as long as it gets done! Not very pleased with my American outlook on work, and work roles- what I thought would be a short meeting turned in to a two and half hour long argument ending with Sekouba, and my homologue helping me do everything.
6. Lastly I have learned that as the days, months, and heat continue I will never stop learning (and sweating). I will never stop learning about Malian culture, and ways of doing things, nor will I stop learning more and more about myself.
1. I have learned that nice little old ladies, who usually are sweet and full of blessings- show NO mercy when is come times to getting a seat on the only bush taxi out of village to the big market up the road. I wish I was kidding –but they literally pushed and shoved me out of the way. Thank goodness my friend Tenna knew this would happen and magically managed to run faster (or push harder) than the old ladies and saved my seat right next to her. Of course since this story is about Mali transportation it goes without saying getting a seat on the rickety old van was the least of my problems. The row of seats Tenna choose for us was the third row- with a broken seat in the middle and tire hump (as if we weren’t already squished as sardines). Tenna was sitting by the window, then me, then the broken seat had been replaced by a sack of rice, occupied by an old man with two chickens (ugh chickens!) seated beside him was another old man, and a lady with a baby-thus filling our row. In case you have forgotten, the road out of my village is rather horrible-it is only 8K however it takes a van like this one about 45 minuntes to an hour to make it to the main road. As I sat enjoying the ride I was trying my best not sweat on and squish Tenna any more than I had to, while at the same time trying not to fall out of my seat on to the man (and his chickens) on the sack of rice. Hanging on to the seat in front of me for support and balance on this bumpy the road, I feel the van pick up some speed- thankful for the rush of air (not cool air, and not exactly fresh air-just air) I feel myself begin to relax a bit and start a conversation with Tenna about all the stuff she would buy at market if she money for everything she wanted. The next few moments were so full of commotion I don’t really even know what or how it exactly happened but the next thing I knew we hit a bump and the row of seats in front of me and all six old ladies crammed into them came falling backwards onto everyone in my row! Apparently when we hit the bump it caused the front legs of seats come unbolted from the floor. As we pushed the old ladies back into the upright positions, I couldn’t help but think HA! You fought me for that seat! Without stopping to check on anyone, or to fix the seats we finally made it the market. After a wonderful day of yalayalaing with Tenna we headed back home, and I’m glad to report that the ride home was surprisingly uneventful.
2. I have learned to ignore, and laugh at daily marriage proposals, however most recently I found out some people are not always joking. My friend Sekouba (Tenna’s husband) pulled me aside one day and said I just wanted to tell you that everyone in village really likes you, especially my family and my close friends and I really want you to meet my brother, Sumyla. Presently he lives and works in Angola but tonight we can call him. What do you think about that? Is that okay? You would just have to greet him and say whatever you like. Thinking sure no problem I can greet someone on the phone. Then as the day went on everyone seemed to be talking about Sumyla and me calling him, and Sekouba’s sister even dug out these old pictures to show me. Finally the time came for “the phone call” Standing under a big mango tree with Sekouba and his two sisters we call Sumyla and I learn that Sekouba, his wives, and sisters sent a picture of me from Sekouba’s son’s baptism party to Sumyla. I learned this because he told me how pretty he thinks I am and oh yeah, he thinks we should get married. I laugh and turn to look at my company who all have a silly grin on their faces, nodding their heads as if to say yeah! He’s serious!! Confused, shocked, and a little flustered I learned that they had a plan. They know how important it is to me that my parents approve of him, so he will write a letter, and send it to Sekouba’s friend who will then translate it into English and send it to my parents. I really don’t think I even replied, I couldn’t get past the fact that this was no a joke! Sumyla and Sekouba talked then and decided to give me four days to decide and then he would call back. Four days! I had four days to convince my very best friends in village why I couldn’t marry their brother, whom I have never met, or seen, and lives in another country. In America this would not be a hard task, however in Mali convincing someone that you can’t marry him is rather silly. I can’t even explain what really happened over the course of the next fours days. The air was so full of excitement and Sekouba’s head was swimming with party plans and future plans of me really being his sister, and family vacations to visit me and Sumyla in American. Every single excuse I came up with as to why I could not marry him, Sekouba had a plan and reason as to how it would work out. Finally I told him that Peace Corps said I cannot get married while I’m serving, I would either have to quit the PC (and at that they would send me straight home) or not get married. Sekouba was a little disappointed however he said Okay, okay we will just have to talk about again in two years. Pheww that was close!
3. I have learned that when a husband dies, the wife cannot leave her house for 40 days, and at the beginning of the 40 days everyone goes to visit, help out, cook, take care of kids and everything. But as the 40 days continues all this help, and company fades away and the wife gets very very bored. Feeling bad for my friend (because I know the feeling of boredom quite well) I tried to visit every other day and tried to think of some form of entertainment, however this gets hard when my language skills are limited. After a few days I ran out of things to talk about, and Abbie ran out of energy trying to explain things to me so we sat and listened to the radio. Then next day that I went for a visit as soon as I got there I knew something was up, Abbie was so excited to see me and offered me a big bowl of porridge and asked if I had been to see Tenna that morning. I said that I had and Abbie was anxious to know what Tenna was talking about. I answered that I didn’t really know, I heard her mention something about the doctor but I did not really understand it all. Smiling Abbie said well, let me tell you… and she continued on sharing the village gossip with me. So today I learned that no one actually comes out and tells you about the village gossip unless they know you already know something about it. I was glad to be in the loop.
4. I learned what the words “Hot Season” actually mean. It. Is. HOT. I have learned that in Africa I am capable of sweating buckets and buckets full while just sitting. It really is getting hotter and hotter by the day- uughh- if only the mangos would ripen a little quicker! All my sweating lead to a conversation with Sekouba about the heat! He warned me that this is just the beginning! I have three months of this heat to deal with! Sekouba went on to say that soon I’m going to be so hot that I’m never going to sleep. Its too hot at night to sleep, and too hot during the day to sleep. I’m going to call my Mama and say how much a HATE Mali. He said it is going to get so hot I’m going to cry and he is going to laugh! Shocked I said Sekouba you would laugh at me if I was crying? But he had no problem reminding me that a few months ago I was the one laughing as he sat around a campfire in long selves saying how much he hated the cold! My house at times is simply unbearable. The mud bricks hold in so much heat and my tin roof doesn’t let it out either so at night I am quite literally sleeping in an oven; or not sleeping, rather just laying there in a pool of sweat fanning myself. I have come to learned that at 2:00 am Malian radio stations play hilarious American music. The first song that threw me back to middle school was, Shaggy’s "It Wasn’t Me."- quite thankful I wasn’t listening to this with my friend who always asked me what the songs are about. The next two were unknown to me but had lyrics like, “Boom boom boom boom I want you in my room room” and “When your in a bad mood just think Sheewowwow!” Laughing I thought it’s a good thing Malians don’t really know what these horrible pop songs are talking about-but then ironically Nelly’s "It’s Getting Hot in Here” came on making think maybe they do know…
5. Most recently I have learned that even though I have been here for almost 9 full months, my “celebrity status” as yet to wear off when it comes to getting to work with me. I have a homologue, who technically is my “work partner” and by Mali standard this title holds a lot of pride. After returning to village from another trip to Bamako I was finally ready and able to start planning some projects. I came back and had a discussion with Sekouba, and my homologue at the same time, because at times I have trouble understanding my homologue’s Frambara (because he still continues to talk to me in French even though I have repeatedly asked him not to) and Sekouba has a way of explaining things to me so I understand them. After explaining that I needed someone to check the prices of materials so I could write up a budget and send it to PC, Sekouba steps up right away and says I’m going to Bougouni on Thursday I can check then. Thinking this is great, work is finally starting, I plan to hold a meeting with the school board on Saturday. Saturdays rolls along and I come to find out that everyone is up in arms about Sekouba helping me and not my homologue, I tried to explain that my homologue was there and could have stepped in and said no but he didn’t but this did not seem to matter. This drama continued for days as I was stuck in the middle of a chauvinistic male-pride roller coaster. Finally I called a meeting at the Dugutiki’s house and put it all out on the table and said this is what needs to be done, I don’t care who does it as long as it gets done! Not very pleased with my American outlook on work, and work roles- what I thought would be a short meeting turned in to a two and half hour long argument ending with Sekouba, and my homologue helping me do everything.
6. Lastly I have learned that as the days, months, and heat continue I will never stop learning (and sweating). I will never stop learning about Malian culture, and ways of doing things, nor will I stop learning more and more about myself.
1.29.2011
January Boredom, Pump, Projects, and Public Transportation
Since returning to village after training, and Christmas festivities nothing really exciting happened, actually to be quite honest I was fighting boredom with all my might. It is easy to get sucked into the everyday monotony of just sitting around drinking tea, not even saying much, just sitting. Finally the monotony was broken with the arrival of a new pump to be put in next to the Dugutiki’s house. Excited for a change in my daily routine of greeting, and sitting at the butiki drinking tea for hours, I switched up locations and sat and drank tea for hours at the Dugutiki’s house watching the men working. They built a wall, and a soak pit around the new pump- rather quickly too! Surprisingly it only took about two or three days for the project to be completed. One morning while yalayalaing around the village I decided to check the progress of the work being done on the pump. Joyously the dugutiki greeted me saying how glad he was I finally made it to his house because he was waiting for me all morning. I had to be there to witness the Dugutiki pump his first bucket full at the new pump! To the average person this may not sound very exciting, watching an old man pump water into a bucket, however to me it was exhilarating! It was so wonderful because he was so proud of the pump, proud to finally have access to clean water rather than grimy well water, and proud to know that his family and other villagers will be healthier too.
I was not the only spectator present, among us was Old Man Segou, who thinks it is absolutely hilarious that I walk around village telling people they should drink pump water instead of well water, or at least treat the well before drinking it. He ceases to understand that there is importance in this message, and only hears me saying “Kolon ji A min!” Well water is bad! Every time I see him around village he always makes a comment about me thinking well water is bad and laughs-hysterically.
I thought there is no better time to reinforce my message than now, while standing around a brand new pump! Of course I called Old Man Segou out of the crowd and said isn’t great that this brand new pump is so close to your house? Actually you have to walk by it everyday on the way into village, and to your field. You can stop here and fill your water jug every morning! You don’t have to drink dirty well water anymore and the pump water won’t make you sick, won’t make your stomach hurt, and won’t give you diarrhea like the well water does. He agreed that is was nice to have another source of clean water in our small village. Thinking he finally understood the importance of drinking well water I was happy that my message finally made it through to him.
Later in the week I was on my way to visit my host family and I see Old Man Segou chatting with friends who where about to make tea. I walked over eyeing his water jug. I picked it up saying how thirsty I was, and that I couldn’t wait to drink this clean pump water that I know is in his water jug. But before taking a big gulp I looked at him and said this is pump water right? Because if it is not I will get sick and you are going to have to call Peace Corps and tell them why I have diarrhea! Segou jumped up and took the jug out on my hands saying don’t drink it! Its well water! Attempting my most disappointed look, I ask did you walk by the new pump on your way here this morning? He said yes, but my jug was already full. I said oh okay, I understand, you would just rather have diarrhea than refill your jug. He laughed, not knowing that I was not about to back down. Segou then offered his money to buy sugar for the tea. I took the money from his hand and said you put this back in your pocket! I turned to his friends and said sorry fellas your friend here can’t buy sugar today; he has to save his money to buy medicine because he has diarrhea! Finally, for once, Segou is not the one laughing! He looks at me and says okay okay Marium. I won’t drink well water; tomorrow I will fill my jug at the pump. I said tomorrow, and the next day and the next day and everyday you walk by the pump stop and fill your jug! He agreed. I have decided that if getting Old Man Segou to drink pump water and actually understand why it is better for him is the only success I have living in Mali I will be happy!
Among the excitement of the new pump being put in, my village also was excited to see some Peace Corps visitors stopping in to check on my village and me. The PC Doctor stopped to see my village, my house, my water sources, and to check my mental status-which I am glad to report were all up to her standard! Also the education program assistant stopped in and met with me, my homologue, the director of the school, and the school board members to talk about possible projects that I could get started working on. It was nice to not be the only stranger in the village, and nice to have someone there to translate my still learning, broken, Bambara.
After the meeting, and discussing my village’s wants and needs, my head was swimming with hopes and dreams of funding and successful projects. I was ready to set plans into actions and really get the ball rolling, so I decided to venture to Bamako to further discuss my plans- however the only sucess I had was adding yet another funny story to my book of never ending Peace Corps Adventures. Getting to Bamako was quite the interesting ride as is every ride on Mali public transportation. Once a van stopped to pick me up I greeted everyone, as I squeezed into the second row of seats filling what I thought was the last available spot. I shoved my backpack under the seat between my legs and while doing so I noticed a chicken occupying the space under the seat in front of me. Muffling a giggle, thinking “Lord, this ain’t America!” I notice that there is more than one chicken…actually there are about five chickens hanging out under the seat. Just as I was settling in for my three-hour ride I start to feel little pecks at my feet. So as nicely as I can I say to the man next to me, excuse me sir, your chickens are eating my feet. He looks at me and says they aren’t my chickens. But he gently gives them a little kick and they settle down. At the next stop, since I am the closest person to the door, I am asked to hold a small child out the door so she can relieve her bladder, and then pass her back to her mother in the row behind me. After doing so, one last passenger enters the van and spots the three centimeters of seat next to me and squeezes in. Doing all I could not to just burst out in laughter, or tears from being stuck in the middle of six people shoved into seats for four and sweating like crazy, I start to feel a few little pecks at my feet. I once again turned to the man beside me and said Just whose chickens are these? Grinning he says nothing and points to the man in the front of the van. What? There he is sitting upfront, the best seat in the house, with a window that opens, not squished between six other people, and his chickens are two rows back eating MY feet? I couldn’t take it anymore! I holler up to him saying, “Hey Old Man! Why aren’t these chickens under YOUR seat eating YOUR feet?” Sending the vanload of people into a fit of laughter and comments about the white girl not liking chickens. Mali’s public transportation certainly is never boring!
After returning to village I made a hair braiding, tea drinking date with my best friend Tenna. Tenna is a twenty-three year old, second wife, with one child and one on the way and she is my very best friend in village! I have spent days and days sitting on a tiny stool next her in a smoky, round, mud hut with a thatched roof watching her cook over an open fire. I have listened to her talk about her husband, her daughter, the catty women in the village, and sing along to her always-present radio. My favorite days are the ones when she has a string of questions about America, I answer her the best I can, knowing she really doesn’t understand what it would be like to cook at a real stove, or throw a load of laundry into the washer. As my Bambara gets better I can see our friendship getting stronger.
Another month is closing in on us, now having survived living in Africa for almost 7 months, I am excitedly looking forward to my growing projects, and friendships that will take place over the next 20 months.
I was not the only spectator present, among us was Old Man Segou, who thinks it is absolutely hilarious that I walk around village telling people they should drink pump water instead of well water, or at least treat the well before drinking it. He ceases to understand that there is importance in this message, and only hears me saying “Kolon ji A min!” Well water is bad! Every time I see him around village he always makes a comment about me thinking well water is bad and laughs-hysterically.
I thought there is no better time to reinforce my message than now, while standing around a brand new pump! Of course I called Old Man Segou out of the crowd and said isn’t great that this brand new pump is so close to your house? Actually you have to walk by it everyday on the way into village, and to your field. You can stop here and fill your water jug every morning! You don’t have to drink dirty well water anymore and the pump water won’t make you sick, won’t make your stomach hurt, and won’t give you diarrhea like the well water does. He agreed that is was nice to have another source of clean water in our small village. Thinking he finally understood the importance of drinking well water I was happy that my message finally made it through to him.
Later in the week I was on my way to visit my host family and I see Old Man Segou chatting with friends who where about to make tea. I walked over eyeing his water jug. I picked it up saying how thirsty I was, and that I couldn’t wait to drink this clean pump water that I know is in his water jug. But before taking a big gulp I looked at him and said this is pump water right? Because if it is not I will get sick and you are going to have to call Peace Corps and tell them why I have diarrhea! Segou jumped up and took the jug out on my hands saying don’t drink it! Its well water! Attempting my most disappointed look, I ask did you walk by the new pump on your way here this morning? He said yes, but my jug was already full. I said oh okay, I understand, you would just rather have diarrhea than refill your jug. He laughed, not knowing that I was not about to back down. Segou then offered his money to buy sugar for the tea. I took the money from his hand and said you put this back in your pocket! I turned to his friends and said sorry fellas your friend here can’t buy sugar today; he has to save his money to buy medicine because he has diarrhea! Finally, for once, Segou is not the one laughing! He looks at me and says okay okay Marium. I won’t drink well water; tomorrow I will fill my jug at the pump. I said tomorrow, and the next day and the next day and everyday you walk by the pump stop and fill your jug! He agreed. I have decided that if getting Old Man Segou to drink pump water and actually understand why it is better for him is the only success I have living in Mali I will be happy!
Among the excitement of the new pump being put in, my village also was excited to see some Peace Corps visitors stopping in to check on my village and me. The PC Doctor stopped to see my village, my house, my water sources, and to check my mental status-which I am glad to report were all up to her standard! Also the education program assistant stopped in and met with me, my homologue, the director of the school, and the school board members to talk about possible projects that I could get started working on. It was nice to not be the only stranger in the village, and nice to have someone there to translate my still learning, broken, Bambara.
After the meeting, and discussing my village’s wants and needs, my head was swimming with hopes and dreams of funding and successful projects. I was ready to set plans into actions and really get the ball rolling, so I decided to venture to Bamako to further discuss my plans- however the only sucess I had was adding yet another funny story to my book of never ending Peace Corps Adventures. Getting to Bamako was quite the interesting ride as is every ride on Mali public transportation. Once a van stopped to pick me up I greeted everyone, as I squeezed into the second row of seats filling what I thought was the last available spot. I shoved my backpack under the seat between my legs and while doing so I noticed a chicken occupying the space under the seat in front of me. Muffling a giggle, thinking “Lord, this ain’t America!” I notice that there is more than one chicken…actually there are about five chickens hanging out under the seat. Just as I was settling in for my three-hour ride I start to feel little pecks at my feet. So as nicely as I can I say to the man next to me, excuse me sir, your chickens are eating my feet. He looks at me and says they aren’t my chickens. But he gently gives them a little kick and they settle down. At the next stop, since I am the closest person to the door, I am asked to hold a small child out the door so she can relieve her bladder, and then pass her back to her mother in the row behind me. After doing so, one last passenger enters the van and spots the three centimeters of seat next to me and squeezes in. Doing all I could not to just burst out in laughter, or tears from being stuck in the middle of six people shoved into seats for four and sweating like crazy, I start to feel a few little pecks at my feet. I once again turned to the man beside me and said Just whose chickens are these? Grinning he says nothing and points to the man in the front of the van. What? There he is sitting upfront, the best seat in the house, with a window that opens, not squished between six other people, and his chickens are two rows back eating MY feet? I couldn’t take it anymore! I holler up to him saying, “Hey Old Man! Why aren’t these chickens under YOUR seat eating YOUR feet?” Sending the vanload of people into a fit of laughter and comments about the white girl not liking chickens. Mali’s public transportation certainly is never boring!
After returning to village I made a hair braiding, tea drinking date with my best friend Tenna. Tenna is a twenty-three year old, second wife, with one child and one on the way and she is my very best friend in village! I have spent days and days sitting on a tiny stool next her in a smoky, round, mud hut with a thatched roof watching her cook over an open fire. I have listened to her talk about her husband, her daughter, the catty women in the village, and sing along to her always-present radio. My favorite days are the ones when she has a string of questions about America, I answer her the best I can, knowing she really doesn’t understand what it would be like to cook at a real stove, or throw a load of laundry into the washer. As my Bambara gets better I can see our friendship getting stronger.
Another month is closing in on us, now having survived living in Africa for almost 7 months, I am excitedly looking forward to my growing projects, and friendships that will take place over the next 20 months.
12.26.2010
Away from Home for the Holidays
Tabaski-Thanksgiving-Birthday- Christmas Oh My!
Tabaski is a Muslim holiday celebrated 40 days after the end of Ramadan. The celebration is something that is looked forward to for weeks! Everyone buys expensive fabric and gets extravagant embroidering and tailoring done spending 1000s of CF. Tabaski is comparable to Christmas in the excitement and celebration- actually it was like Christmas for my belly! Everyone has spent weeks fattening up their sheep and goats in preparation for the Tabaski feast. Everywhere I went I saw sheep and goats, tied to the roofs of bush taxis, shoved under seats in bush taxis, in the trunk of taxis in Bamako, I even saw a moto with a sheep sandwiched between the driver and rider. In preparation for the holiday all the women in the village paint their feet black with henna- I of course participated by allowing my friend to slather first a green colored paste on the bottoms, sides of my feet and the tips of my toes, letting in on over night. The next morning after scraping off the gunk, which left my feet a reddish orange color, yet another paste was slathered on to my feet. This one was made with ashes and this turned my feet black. Everyone was excited to see that I participated in this tradition..it stayed on for weeks after!
On the morning of Tabaski around 9:00am everyone gathers for prayer, since it is a special holiday they hold prayer on the soccer field instead of inside the mosque due to the fact that practically everyone in the village attends morning prayer. Everyone has to pass by my hut to get to the soccer field, so I was very well informed that it was time to pray! As I make my way to the soccer field I’m passed by veiled women, capped men, and freshly bathed children all wearing brand new, stiff clothing. After and hour of up and down and prayer the next hours was spent with me being blessed by practically every person as they made their way back home to start cooking their feast. Of course I was blessed with the usual blessings of May God bless this day, May God make today better than yesterday and the Tabaski blessings of May you be blessed with, wealth, good health and May God let us spend this day together for years to com.
Afterward I made my rounds greeting everyone I saw, complementing their new clothes, and of course showing off my new Malian Garb as well. I made sure to stop buy the Dugutiki’s house and my Djatigi’s (host father) house accepting handfuls of raw goat as my Tabaski present. As I made my way back to my neighbor’s house, who was cooking for me. I stopped in and gave her my gifts of meat to add to our feast. While she cooked I joined the men of the house in round after round of tea.
After tea, it was finally time to eat! I joined them for round after round of food! Good food! Meat! The first course was meat with oily sauce and bread, the second course was meat and noodles, and the third course was meat and Malian yams. I never really know what part of the goat, or sheep I’m eating I just tell myself, yum protein! After I insisted I was full they poured me a drink, being thirsty I took a big gulp and it tasted horrible! I had to force myself to swallow it! As soon as I did I said WHAT IS THAT? And everyone cracked up laughing, telling me the name of whatever it was I drank, I have yet to really find out what it was! Following my feast I yalayalaed around the village until I found a nice shady spot and played cards with my friends, as we bask in our rare feeling of fullness-fullness of non-toe!
For my favorite American Holiday of Thanksgiving we traveled down south to Sikassoville,- the regional Capital of Sikasso which is very lush and has all of typical food one could ask for at a Thanksgiving Meal! Volunteers who live in Sikasso helped pull together a wonderfully delicious meal of Turkey, stuffing, salad, green beans, fruit salad, and of course apple and pumpkin pie- all of which were simply AMAZING! I’m not going to say it was better than Grandma’s Thanksgiving Dinner, however it was quite comparable!! The next day we rented out a swimming pool at a fancy hotel and the fellas cooked the ladies a Mexican feast complete with Guacamole! The following day we all gather our things together and piled into two cars that drove us out of Sikassoville to a village about an hour away called Woroni. Woroni is the home of amazing waterfalls! We spend the day climbing, hiking, and enjoying the scenery and good company. We spent the night by the campfire because it was actually COLD! Sunday I woke up early to enjoy some quiet time with in front of the beautiful waterfall just enjoying God’s breathtaking creation being thankful that even though I wasn’t with my real family on this holiday, I was glad to have my Peace Corps family to share it with!
I left the waterfalls feeling relaxed, calmed and having a since a peacefulness that I haven’t really ever experienced before, however because I live in Mali, that feeling didn’t last too long! We ended up with having more people staying over night than originally planned witch was fine at the waterfalls, we had enough food and no one minded sharing tents for sleeping, however when we hiked back out to meet our drivers to take us back in to Sikassoville we realized this was a problem…about 20 people now have to fit into two cars! With a little arguing and persuading we managed to stuff the calls full with people, throw our luggage on the roof, along with four brave souls willing to ride on top of each car. The trip was very interesting to say the least, the whole trip turned into quite the adventure! Our car kept breaking down, Oh! Have mentioned the beginning condition of the car is probably something one would fine in the line up for the derby at the fair! The first time the car broke down the driver got out, grabbed a wrench banged around under the hood for a bit got back in and started it right up, however the second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth times the car broke down the wrench wasn’t much help and much more time was spent with the driver looking confused under the hood. When we finally reached the guard station before entering the city the roof riders had to join the rest of us inside the car in order to pass. We finally finally made it back to Sikassoville in one piece!
After returning back to village from the nice holiday break it was time to celebrate my birthday! In Mali birthdays are really not celebrated at all, actually most people don’t even know how old they are! However informed my friends a week prior that my birthday was coming up and we were going to celebrate it! I spent the morning walking around greeting every one and telling them about my visit to Sikasso. In the afternoon I painted mine, and a few my friend finger nails and toe nails before whipping up a few batched of no bake cookies. After my friend cooked me my requested birthday dinner of “Malian Macaroni” we ate cookies, drank hibiscus tea, and sang and danced to Ameriki music including the Black Eyed Peas and Muso Gaga (Lady Gaga).
And the most recently celebrated holiday was of course Christmas which turned out to be a three day long celebration- kind of. Starting Thursday I traveled to my friends village to stay the night there so we could travel into Bamako together the next day. On Thursday we walked around her village enjoying the scenery and the more modern luxuries her village has that mine does not. Thursday night, sitting in her room reading and chatting in our pajamas we are interrupted by her host sister coming in and asking us what we were doing, and why we were going to bed. She went on to explain that drummers were coming and we were going to have a party, laughing we didn’t believe her. She left and we continued with our relaxing evening then around 9:30 we hear drums! When we walk out the door we see every neighbor has crowed into the concession, drummers, singers, and dancers all setting up speakers and microphones preparing for a party! When asked what the special occasion was the answer we were given was “Grandpa wanted to see the dancers tonight.” Well Grandpa requested Dancers, and Dancers he got!! It was amazing! Everyone really enjoyed themselves and partied and danced under the full moon until midnight!
The next day our Christmas celebration continued as we traveled to Bamako, ate some chicken sandwiches and made our way to the one and only Spa! I enjoyed a wonderful body massage. Starting with my feet she rubbed away all of miles and miles of walking I’ve done in the past six months. Working her way up she massaged away all of the bike rides to Bougouni and back. She rubbed my hands and relaxed the muscles used to greet every one I see. Continuing up my arms she rubbed out every bucket of water I’ve filled or pumped. Making her way to my back and shoulders she relieved all the stress of leaving my family, learning a new language, and witnessing such poverty that I have been carrying with me since July. She even massaged my face and neck, calming all of my laughing muscles that have been working overtime lately. With every breath I could feel stress, worries, regrets, and reservations leaving and my body filling once again with that indescribable peacefulness I felt with I first left the waterfalls.
After enjoying that fantastic experience, my friend and I bought scrumptious ice cream bars and walked toward the Peace Corps House to continue our Christmas celebration with the other volunteers who were staying there too! All together there were seven of us celebrating, with movies, music, and making a home cooked meal. Christmas day was spent buying yummy food at market bringing it home and preparations began! In between phone calls from family, we cleaned, chopped, cut, peeled, mixed and prepared food all afternoon. Finally around 7:00 the seven of us sate down and enjoyed a wonderfully cooked meal of Corn chowder, wheat berry salad, stuffing, green beans, garlic roasted potatoes and dessert of chocolate pudding cake, and apple and cranberry crisp. If I had to spend Christmas away from home again I wouldn’t want it be any different, or with any other people because it was extraordinary!
Tabaski is a Muslim holiday celebrated 40 days after the end of Ramadan. The celebration is something that is looked forward to for weeks! Everyone buys expensive fabric and gets extravagant embroidering and tailoring done spending 1000s of CF. Tabaski is comparable to Christmas in the excitement and celebration- actually it was like Christmas for my belly! Everyone has spent weeks fattening up their sheep and goats in preparation for the Tabaski feast. Everywhere I went I saw sheep and goats, tied to the roofs of bush taxis, shoved under seats in bush taxis, in the trunk of taxis in Bamako, I even saw a moto with a sheep sandwiched between the driver and rider. In preparation for the holiday all the women in the village paint their feet black with henna- I of course participated by allowing my friend to slather first a green colored paste on the bottoms, sides of my feet and the tips of my toes, letting in on over night. The next morning after scraping off the gunk, which left my feet a reddish orange color, yet another paste was slathered on to my feet. This one was made with ashes and this turned my feet black. Everyone was excited to see that I participated in this tradition..it stayed on for weeks after!
On the morning of Tabaski around 9:00am everyone gathers for prayer, since it is a special holiday they hold prayer on the soccer field instead of inside the mosque due to the fact that practically everyone in the village attends morning prayer. Everyone has to pass by my hut to get to the soccer field, so I was very well informed that it was time to pray! As I make my way to the soccer field I’m passed by veiled women, capped men, and freshly bathed children all wearing brand new, stiff clothing. After and hour of up and down and prayer the next hours was spent with me being blessed by practically every person as they made their way back home to start cooking their feast. Of course I was blessed with the usual blessings of May God bless this day, May God make today better than yesterday and the Tabaski blessings of May you be blessed with, wealth, good health and May God let us spend this day together for years to com.
Afterward I made my rounds greeting everyone I saw, complementing their new clothes, and of course showing off my new Malian Garb as well. I made sure to stop buy the Dugutiki’s house and my Djatigi’s (host father) house accepting handfuls of raw goat as my Tabaski present. As I made my way back to my neighbor’s house, who was cooking for me. I stopped in and gave her my gifts of meat to add to our feast. While she cooked I joined the men of the house in round after round of tea.
After tea, it was finally time to eat! I joined them for round after round of food! Good food! Meat! The first course was meat with oily sauce and bread, the second course was meat and noodles, and the third course was meat and Malian yams. I never really know what part of the goat, or sheep I’m eating I just tell myself, yum protein! After I insisted I was full they poured me a drink, being thirsty I took a big gulp and it tasted horrible! I had to force myself to swallow it! As soon as I did I said WHAT IS THAT? And everyone cracked up laughing, telling me the name of whatever it was I drank, I have yet to really find out what it was! Following my feast I yalayalaed around the village until I found a nice shady spot and played cards with my friends, as we bask in our rare feeling of fullness-fullness of non-toe!
For my favorite American Holiday of Thanksgiving we traveled down south to Sikassoville,- the regional Capital of Sikasso which is very lush and has all of typical food one could ask for at a Thanksgiving Meal! Volunteers who live in Sikasso helped pull together a wonderfully delicious meal of Turkey, stuffing, salad, green beans, fruit salad, and of course apple and pumpkin pie- all of which were simply AMAZING! I’m not going to say it was better than Grandma’s Thanksgiving Dinner, however it was quite comparable!! The next day we rented out a swimming pool at a fancy hotel and the fellas cooked the ladies a Mexican feast complete with Guacamole! The following day we all gather our things together and piled into two cars that drove us out of Sikassoville to a village about an hour away called Woroni. Woroni is the home of amazing waterfalls! We spend the day climbing, hiking, and enjoying the scenery and good company. We spent the night by the campfire because it was actually COLD! Sunday I woke up early to enjoy some quiet time with in front of the beautiful waterfall just enjoying God’s breathtaking creation being thankful that even though I wasn’t with my real family on this holiday, I was glad to have my Peace Corps family to share it with!
I left the waterfalls feeling relaxed, calmed and having a since a peacefulness that I haven’t really ever experienced before, however because I live in Mali, that feeling didn’t last too long! We ended up with having more people staying over night than originally planned witch was fine at the waterfalls, we had enough food and no one minded sharing tents for sleeping, however when we hiked back out to meet our drivers to take us back in to Sikassoville we realized this was a problem…about 20 people now have to fit into two cars! With a little arguing and persuading we managed to stuff the calls full with people, throw our luggage on the roof, along with four brave souls willing to ride on top of each car. The trip was very interesting to say the least, the whole trip turned into quite the adventure! Our car kept breaking down, Oh! Have mentioned the beginning condition of the car is probably something one would fine in the line up for the derby at the fair! The first time the car broke down the driver got out, grabbed a wrench banged around under the hood for a bit got back in and started it right up, however the second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth times the car broke down the wrench wasn’t much help and much more time was spent with the driver looking confused under the hood. When we finally reached the guard station before entering the city the roof riders had to join the rest of us inside the car in order to pass. We finally finally made it back to Sikassoville in one piece!
After returning back to village from the nice holiday break it was time to celebrate my birthday! In Mali birthdays are really not celebrated at all, actually most people don’t even know how old they are! However informed my friends a week prior that my birthday was coming up and we were going to celebrate it! I spent the morning walking around greeting every one and telling them about my visit to Sikasso. In the afternoon I painted mine, and a few my friend finger nails and toe nails before whipping up a few batched of no bake cookies. After my friend cooked me my requested birthday dinner of “Malian Macaroni” we ate cookies, drank hibiscus tea, and sang and danced to Ameriki music including the Black Eyed Peas and Muso Gaga (Lady Gaga).
And the most recently celebrated holiday was of course Christmas which turned out to be a three day long celebration- kind of. Starting Thursday I traveled to my friends village to stay the night there so we could travel into Bamako together the next day. On Thursday we walked around her village enjoying the scenery and the more modern luxuries her village has that mine does not. Thursday night, sitting in her room reading and chatting in our pajamas we are interrupted by her host sister coming in and asking us what we were doing, and why we were going to bed. She went on to explain that drummers were coming and we were going to have a party, laughing we didn’t believe her. She left and we continued with our relaxing evening then around 9:30 we hear drums! When we walk out the door we see every neighbor has crowed into the concession, drummers, singers, and dancers all setting up speakers and microphones preparing for a party! When asked what the special occasion was the answer we were given was “Grandpa wanted to see the dancers tonight.” Well Grandpa requested Dancers, and Dancers he got!! It was amazing! Everyone really enjoyed themselves and partied and danced under the full moon until midnight!
The next day our Christmas celebration continued as we traveled to Bamako, ate some chicken sandwiches and made our way to the one and only Spa! I enjoyed a wonderful body massage. Starting with my feet she rubbed away all of miles and miles of walking I’ve done in the past six months. Working her way up she massaged away all of the bike rides to Bougouni and back. She rubbed my hands and relaxed the muscles used to greet every one I see. Continuing up my arms she rubbed out every bucket of water I’ve filled or pumped. Making her way to my back and shoulders she relieved all the stress of leaving my family, learning a new language, and witnessing such poverty that I have been carrying with me since July. She even massaged my face and neck, calming all of my laughing muscles that have been working overtime lately. With every breath I could feel stress, worries, regrets, and reservations leaving and my body filling once again with that indescribable peacefulness I felt with I first left the waterfalls.
After enjoying that fantastic experience, my friend and I bought scrumptious ice cream bars and walked toward the Peace Corps House to continue our Christmas celebration with the other volunteers who were staying there too! All together there were seven of us celebrating, with movies, music, and making a home cooked meal. Christmas day was spent buying yummy food at market bringing it home and preparations began! In between phone calls from family, we cleaned, chopped, cut, peeled, mixed and prepared food all afternoon. Finally around 7:00 the seven of us sate down and enjoyed a wonderfully cooked meal of Corn chowder, wheat berry salad, stuffing, green beans, garlic roasted potatoes and dessert of chocolate pudding cake, and apple and cranberry crisp. If I had to spend Christmas away from home again I wouldn’t want it be any different, or with any other people because it was extraordinary!
11.09.2010
Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day…
Your probably wondering how I am able to post another blog so soon. I had to make a special trip to the PC office and see the wonderful Dr. Dawn to put a halt to my ever spreading rash and to be honest I needed a little break from village life, especially after have a horrible no good very bad day on Friday.
Before I get into the details of my worst day so far in Africa, I have to make sure you understand a few things first. First of all, Malians are very laid-back people, and by laid back I mean really really lackadaisical, so laid back that everyone takes a three hour lunch/nap break on a daily basis. A prime example of this: One day while waiting for the post office lady to pick up our packages (which took her three days by the way) I bought some fabric and took it to a tailor to make an outfit. The outfit is a typical Malian Bubu- like a dress/poncho and a pangne to match. The sewing is really simple and doesn’t take long so I asked him if I could come back later today and pick it up, explaining if not that’s okay I would be back in town next week. He said no problem no problem come back at 3o’clock and it will be ready for you. Returning at 3:30 to pick up my outfit, I discover they hadn’t even started it yet. No use arguing about what time he said to be back I asked him to start it right then, explaining that I had to ride my bike home soon, turning a blind eye to the thunder, wind, and ominous rain clouds gathering above my head. So an hour late my outfit was pressed, paid for, and packed away for my race against the rain. Malians do not feel a need to be rushed, they have no sense of urgency, they really don’t even understand it, I’m actually surprised there is a word for “hurry” in Bambara.
Secondly, before I move on to my story I have to introduce you to Pete Repeat, a teenage character I have renamed because he tends repeat himself continuously. I have a good idea the reason he does this is because is head is a little on the empty side, however maybe he thinks the same about me… I’ve had a few previous conversations with Pete Repeat prior to my bad day and ever since, whenever I see him every cell in my body shouts “just greet and go just greet and go don’t start a conversation!” Pete Repeat for some reason can’t remember that I’m from America. Every time (EVERY SINGLE TIME) I’ve had a conversation with him he asks “ Are you from America, or Spain?” Every time I respond with “I’m from America not Spain,” sometimes I add “Remember you asked me yesterday,” or “How many times are you going to ask me that question?”
Maybe Pete doesn’t like the answers I give him and that’s why he repeats himself -who knows? Another conversation we had consisted of him saying over and over “My sister can come to your house and wash your dishes and you can pay her.” I said “No thank you; I can wash my own dishes- that’s okay.” “ But my sister can do it and you just have to pay her.” “No, I am able to do it myself thanks.”
The third thing you must know before I tell you about my horrible no good very bad day is that on Monday my friend Sekouba’s goat died leaving a baby to fend for herself. Sekouba gave the baby goat to me telling me to give her milk to drink three times a day and let her graze on grass and whatnot throughout the day. Excited to have a pet I a tied a bow around her neck, named her Lila and together we yalayalyaed the village. Pretty soon everyone knew her by name and if I was seen without her everyone asked where she was. At night I would tie her to my table, lay out a towel, some water, and some leaves from the tree in my yard for her midnight snack. Lila, still a baby did a little crying at night (which was really good for scaring my mice away or at least masking the sound of them scurrying around) but she would stop when I called out her name, or shown my flash light every few hours or so. Friday morning I woke up and took Lila outside and tide her to the tree while I fixed my breakfast and bathed. After I bathed I walked over to her and I noticed she was lying kind of funny. When I picked her up I realized she couldn’t stand up on her own. Scared something was really wrong with her I hurried to the butiki to get Sekouba. I told him what was wrong with her and he said oh no! That’s not good I will come and check on her. However, on the way to my house Sekouba was side tracked for about three hours by watching some guys fix a moto. I’m pretty sure Sekouba doesn’t know much about fixing motos since he never fixes his own, but he does a pretty good job of telling other what to do. By the time Sekouba made it to my house, Poor baby Lila was dead and solid as a rock. Sekouba thinks she must have been born sick because her brother died at the same time the mother died. Sekouba said he would send some kids to come by later and get her and take her out to burry her.
… Hours later no one came to burry Lila. I walked around the village and had to explain her death to everyone who asked where she was. I stopped and asked some guys if they could come burry her, agreeing they said they would come to my house later. 5 o’clock rolls around and I’ve had a dead goat in my yard all day long. Feeling a little frustrated I went to find Sounkoro my homologue. I went to the place where he is usually working only to find out he wasn’t there only a stranger I never met and good old Pete Repeat. I aksed Pete where Sounkoro was he said he didn’t know, why? Did I need something? I said “Well actually yes I do. My goat died.” Pete instantly started laughing saying Lila died because I gave her bath! I shook my head saying no, it was just water and that was on Monday she didn’t die because I bathed her. Pete then said she died because of the thunderstorm, the thunder scared her to death. I shook my head again saying, Pete! It hasn’t rained here for two weeks! That’s not why she died. She died because she was sick and now she is laying in my yard and I need someone to burry her. He said no problem I will be there soon to help you out. Crossing my fingers that soon really meant soon soon and not Malian soon, I told him I was getting water right now but then was going straight back to my house and would be there waiting for him.
Pete showed up at my house just as I was setting my water jug down. Sending up and quick prayer of thanks at the sight of him I greeted him and pointed him in Lila’s direction. He went on to say you have to pay me to do this you know?
I said, “What? No I don’t!” Thinking he was kidding.
“Yes you have to pay me to burry her.” Seeing he was serious, I asked how much. Ol’Pete just said, “You have to pay me, you have to give me money, money you have to pay me to burry her.”
I said, ‘Okay I understand how much money?”
“You have to pay me money. You have to pay me 2000cf.”
Shocked I said, “ 2000cf?? That’s a lot of money! And Sekouba said I didn’t even have to pay anything. Let go ask Sekouba right now how much I should pay you.”
Pete responded, “No no no Sekouba doesn’t know. I guess 2000cf is a little high how about 1000cf.”
“I really don’t think I should pay you at all! I can wait for Sonkoro and he’ll burry her for me.”
But Pete was insistent and it was getting dark so frustrated and tired of having a dead goat in my yard I agreed to pay him1000cf. Explaining that I didn’t have change right now I could go to the butiki and get change or to market tomorrow and pay him 1000cf tomorrow. Pete said no no just give me 2000cf and I’ll bring you change back after I burry her. Agreeing I handed over the 2000cf. (2000cf is about $4, however in Mali that’s a lot!)
Pete returned later than I expected him to telling me Lila was buried everything was taken care of, and he came back to cut my grass and I had to pay him.
I said “No, where is my change.”
Pete said “I don’t have your change you said I could keep it.”
I said, “No, we agreed that you were coming back here to give me my change.”
Pete said, “No I came back to cut your grass and your going to pay me to do it.”
“ I ask why? Why are you going to cut my grass?”
“I’m going to cut your grass right now and you are going to pay me.”
“Pete! I already paid you money today and you owe me change.”
“No no Marium! You said it was okay. I kept the change because I have to eat!”
At that very moment I could just see every ounce of patience I have gained over the past four months leave my body, like a tree loses its leave’s, and in its place frustration began to grow. Maybe it was frustration built up from dealing with Malian’s sense (or lack there of) of urgency, or maybe it was frustration from being tired of getting ripped off because I’m white, or maybe is was just plan annoyance of having to deal with Pete Repeat for much longer that I would have liked but either way the words that left my mouth were words I didn’t even know I knew how to say in Bambara.- Let alone put them in the right order that they would make sense to someone, make sense even to Pete! I lost all control of being a polite American, a guest in this foreign country and I just let Pete Repeat know exactly how I felt by saying: “Pete! You? You have to eat? Well so do I! I’m a volunteer. You think I have a lot of money because I’m American! Well I don’t! I’m a volunteer. I left my family in America for two years to come here and help the people in this village and here you are showing up at my door asking for money when you owe me money. I think you know what you did today was wrong. You said you kept my money to buy food, that’s fine But I better not see you buying any cigarettes with that money.You are just here to cause problems, and no I will not pay you to cut my grass because there are kids that will cut it for free. I think now would be a good time for you to leave” and just incase he didn’t get my point I took this opportunity to REPEAT myself in English. When I was finish, Pete seemed to understand that he needed to leave, and he did just that, but not before asking if I would pay him to wash my bike.
Thanks goodness my weekend got much better! Saturday is market day and my little best friend Lae spent all morning playing at my house “helping” me wash my clothes while his Mama cooked sweet potato fries at the market. Sunday I got to talk to my family, Monday was cool, cloudy, and a little rainy, and today I ate an ice cream sundae! I guess Africa isn’t so bad!:-)
Before I get into the details of my worst day so far in Africa, I have to make sure you understand a few things first. First of all, Malians are very laid-back people, and by laid back I mean really really lackadaisical, so laid back that everyone takes a three hour lunch/nap break on a daily basis. A prime example of this: One day while waiting for the post office lady to pick up our packages (which took her three days by the way) I bought some fabric and took it to a tailor to make an outfit. The outfit is a typical Malian Bubu- like a dress/poncho and a pangne to match. The sewing is really simple and doesn’t take long so I asked him if I could come back later today and pick it up, explaining if not that’s okay I would be back in town next week. He said no problem no problem come back at 3o’clock and it will be ready for you. Returning at 3:30 to pick up my outfit, I discover they hadn’t even started it yet. No use arguing about what time he said to be back I asked him to start it right then, explaining that I had to ride my bike home soon, turning a blind eye to the thunder, wind, and ominous rain clouds gathering above my head. So an hour late my outfit was pressed, paid for, and packed away for my race against the rain. Malians do not feel a need to be rushed, they have no sense of urgency, they really don’t even understand it, I’m actually surprised there is a word for “hurry” in Bambara.
Secondly, before I move on to my story I have to introduce you to Pete Repeat, a teenage character I have renamed because he tends repeat himself continuously. I have a good idea the reason he does this is because is head is a little on the empty side, however maybe he thinks the same about me… I’ve had a few previous conversations with Pete Repeat prior to my bad day and ever since, whenever I see him every cell in my body shouts “just greet and go just greet and go don’t start a conversation!” Pete Repeat for some reason can’t remember that I’m from America. Every time (EVERY SINGLE TIME) I’ve had a conversation with him he asks “ Are you from America, or Spain?” Every time I respond with “I’m from America not Spain,” sometimes I add “Remember you asked me yesterday,” or “How many times are you going to ask me that question?”
Maybe Pete doesn’t like the answers I give him and that’s why he repeats himself -who knows? Another conversation we had consisted of him saying over and over “My sister can come to your house and wash your dishes and you can pay her.” I said “No thank you; I can wash my own dishes- that’s okay.” “ But my sister can do it and you just have to pay her.” “No, I am able to do it myself thanks.”
The third thing you must know before I tell you about my horrible no good very bad day is that on Monday my friend Sekouba’s goat died leaving a baby to fend for herself. Sekouba gave the baby goat to me telling me to give her milk to drink three times a day and let her graze on grass and whatnot throughout the day. Excited to have a pet I a tied a bow around her neck, named her Lila and together we yalayalyaed the village. Pretty soon everyone knew her by name and if I was seen without her everyone asked where she was. At night I would tie her to my table, lay out a towel, some water, and some leaves from the tree in my yard for her midnight snack. Lila, still a baby did a little crying at night (which was really good for scaring my mice away or at least masking the sound of them scurrying around) but she would stop when I called out her name, or shown my flash light every few hours or so. Friday morning I woke up and took Lila outside and tide her to the tree while I fixed my breakfast and bathed. After I bathed I walked over to her and I noticed she was lying kind of funny. When I picked her up I realized she couldn’t stand up on her own. Scared something was really wrong with her I hurried to the butiki to get Sekouba. I told him what was wrong with her and he said oh no! That’s not good I will come and check on her. However, on the way to my house Sekouba was side tracked for about three hours by watching some guys fix a moto. I’m pretty sure Sekouba doesn’t know much about fixing motos since he never fixes his own, but he does a pretty good job of telling other what to do. By the time Sekouba made it to my house, Poor baby Lila was dead and solid as a rock. Sekouba thinks she must have been born sick because her brother died at the same time the mother died. Sekouba said he would send some kids to come by later and get her and take her out to burry her.
… Hours later no one came to burry Lila. I walked around the village and had to explain her death to everyone who asked where she was. I stopped and asked some guys if they could come burry her, agreeing they said they would come to my house later. 5 o’clock rolls around and I’ve had a dead goat in my yard all day long. Feeling a little frustrated I went to find Sounkoro my homologue. I went to the place where he is usually working only to find out he wasn’t there only a stranger I never met and good old Pete Repeat. I aksed Pete where Sounkoro was he said he didn’t know, why? Did I need something? I said “Well actually yes I do. My goat died.” Pete instantly started laughing saying Lila died because I gave her bath! I shook my head saying no, it was just water and that was on Monday she didn’t die because I bathed her. Pete then said she died because of the thunderstorm, the thunder scared her to death. I shook my head again saying, Pete! It hasn’t rained here for two weeks! That’s not why she died. She died because she was sick and now she is laying in my yard and I need someone to burry her. He said no problem I will be there soon to help you out. Crossing my fingers that soon really meant soon soon and not Malian soon, I told him I was getting water right now but then was going straight back to my house and would be there waiting for him.
Pete showed up at my house just as I was setting my water jug down. Sending up and quick prayer of thanks at the sight of him I greeted him and pointed him in Lila’s direction. He went on to say you have to pay me to do this you know?
I said, “What? No I don’t!” Thinking he was kidding.
“Yes you have to pay me to burry her.” Seeing he was serious, I asked how much. Ol’Pete just said, “You have to pay me, you have to give me money, money you have to pay me to burry her.”
I said, ‘Okay I understand how much money?”
“You have to pay me money. You have to pay me 2000cf.”
Shocked I said, “ 2000cf?? That’s a lot of money! And Sekouba said I didn’t even have to pay anything. Let go ask Sekouba right now how much I should pay you.”
Pete responded, “No no no Sekouba doesn’t know. I guess 2000cf is a little high how about 1000cf.”
“I really don’t think I should pay you at all! I can wait for Sonkoro and he’ll burry her for me.”
But Pete was insistent and it was getting dark so frustrated and tired of having a dead goat in my yard I agreed to pay him1000cf. Explaining that I didn’t have change right now I could go to the butiki and get change or to market tomorrow and pay him 1000cf tomorrow. Pete said no no just give me 2000cf and I’ll bring you change back after I burry her. Agreeing I handed over the 2000cf. (2000cf is about $4, however in Mali that’s a lot!)
Pete returned later than I expected him to telling me Lila was buried everything was taken care of, and he came back to cut my grass and I had to pay him.
I said “No, where is my change.”
Pete said “I don’t have your change you said I could keep it.”
I said, “No, we agreed that you were coming back here to give me my change.”
Pete said, “No I came back to cut your grass and your going to pay me to do it.”
“ I ask why? Why are you going to cut my grass?”
“I’m going to cut your grass right now and you are going to pay me.”
“Pete! I already paid you money today and you owe me change.”
“No no Marium! You said it was okay. I kept the change because I have to eat!”
At that very moment I could just see every ounce of patience I have gained over the past four months leave my body, like a tree loses its leave’s, and in its place frustration began to grow. Maybe it was frustration built up from dealing with Malian’s sense (or lack there of) of urgency, or maybe it was frustration from being tired of getting ripped off because I’m white, or maybe is was just plan annoyance of having to deal with Pete Repeat for much longer that I would have liked but either way the words that left my mouth were words I didn’t even know I knew how to say in Bambara.- Let alone put them in the right order that they would make sense to someone, make sense even to Pete! I lost all control of being a polite American, a guest in this foreign country and I just let Pete Repeat know exactly how I felt by saying: “Pete! You? You have to eat? Well so do I! I’m a volunteer. You think I have a lot of money because I’m American! Well I don’t! I’m a volunteer. I left my family in America for two years to come here and help the people in this village and here you are showing up at my door asking for money when you owe me money. I think you know what you did today was wrong. You said you kept my money to buy food, that’s fine But I better not see you buying any cigarettes with that money.You are just here to cause problems, and no I will not pay you to cut my grass because there are kids that will cut it for free. I think now would be a good time for you to leave” and just incase he didn’t get my point I took this opportunity to REPEAT myself in English. When I was finish, Pete seemed to understand that he needed to leave, and he did just that, but not before asking if I would pay him to wash my bike.
Thanks goodness my weekend got much better! Saturday is market day and my little best friend Lae spent all morning playing at my house “helping” me wash my clothes while his Mama cooked sweet potato fries at the market. Sunday I got to talk to my family, Monday was cool, cloudy, and a little rainy, and today I ate an ice cream sundae! I guess Africa isn’t so bad!:-)
11.01.2010
So what exactly are you doing in Africa?
I’ve been in Africa for four months now, and of course everyone knew the first nine weeks or so I was training, but now everyone asks, “Dani, what exactly are you doing in Africa?”- the funny thing is I ask my self that very same question on a daily basis! The Peace Corps has pretty strict rules of us not to start any projects during our first three months at site, until we complete our second round of training, which is in December. This is mainly because right now I don’t have enough information to complete anything major. I don’t have enough language training to hold meetings and plan for sustainable projects. I don’t have a good understanding of my community yet, and I haven’t developed strong working relationships among the villagers. So there you have it. During my first three months, and up until my training in December I’m learning Bambara, learning the culture and the way things are done in my village. So yes, technically yala yalaing all day, or helping people cook lunch, or sitting in on some classes is all considered work for me at the moment.
Most recently I have been working on translating a survey from English into Bambara. Once I completed translating, I did a quick run through of the questions with my language tutor, made a few minor, and a few major changes to my Bambara until I felt comfortable enough to ask other people around the village. The survey consists of questions dealing with Education, the school, how the school functions, the community’s support of the school, access to education in surrounding villages, and similar questions. I felt confident enough with my Bambara to bring up a few of the questions in a non-formal conversation among people I usually talk with. Asking the questions was no problem-understanding the answers wasn’t quite as easy…Once I started to understand a little of what people were saying, I realized that people were telling me all different answers to the same questions. Questions that could have been as simple as yes or no quickly became run on sentences of perplexing Bambara that still have my mind reeling. Needless to say my survey needs a little more work…
Aside from conducting the survey I have been visiting the school. In training I was told all about the school system in Mali, how things are run, the similarities and differences between the American school system, and what to expect in the classroom. The very first time I walked into the school, I was in utter shock- I’m pretty sure no amount of training, or explanation of what to expect could have prepared me for what I was walking into! The classroom I happened to walk into first was “third grade” a classroom about half the size of a normal (American) classroom, six windows, about 20 bench desks, a blackboard, one teacher, and 85 students. EIGHTY-FIVE- ages ranging from 7-12. The days Math lesson was learning place value, ones tens, hundreds… the teacher drew a chart on the board and gave the students a number to fill into the correct slots. As soon as he asked for a volunteer, practically every student jumps to their feet raises a hand or two in the air snapping their fingers shouting” Monsieur, Monsieur.” It took them seven tries to get the first one right. After two more examples the students were given four questions to work on quietly on their own. Next on the “class schedule” was art. The teacher gathers up some colored chalk and draws the Malian Flag on the board- backwards. When I attempt to explain that it is backwards he erases the drawing, goes and looks at the flagpole, comes back and draws the Malian flag on the board-backwards again. The students then continue to draw and color Guinea’s flag rather than the Malian flag in their notebooks.
After a three hour lunch/afternoon nap the students and teacher return and the first thing they do is review the French alphabet, by shouting the letters when the teacher points to them and singing a few songs about the sound each letter makes. The teacher then gets called to another classroom. So I take this advantage to point to the letters out of the order of the song and the students could not identify them. Overcome with so many emotions, I excuse myself as soon as the teacher returns. I can’t even begin to explain the number of emotions I was feeling, I didn’t even know I was capable of feeling that sad, sorry, disheartened, disappointed, overwhelmed, frustrated, discouraged, and dispirited all at once. I couldn’t help but feeling that the students were not learning a single thing, and the teacher was just there to collect a paycheck. From what I saw there was no shine, or gleam in the that teacher’s eye that said, “I’m here to change some one’s life” like I’ve seen in so many of my own teachers over the years.
After a little crying, venting, and returning to the school a few more times I began to see things in a different light. I saw that the teachers are working with all they have, and doing all they can to teach the only way they know how. I do get the feeling that people here really do support education and think that it is important for their children to be educated, however education is still very much a work in progress and that’s why I’m here. I’m here to attempt to explain the importance of education, and help this community strengthen the education system that is already in place.
Along with all the work I’ve been doing, I’ve had the chance to, harvest peanuts, make peanut butter, among other Malian peanut dishes, plant a garden, and make quite a few proposals to take some Malian babies home with me in two years! Speaking of proposals, I’ve had to find very clever ways of convincing Malians that they don’t want to marry me. I explain that I’m not much of a cook, and pretty much tell them all the things they would have to do in America that they don’t do here, and of course number one they must speak English. To my surprise there a few men in my village who are a lot smarter than I’ve been giving them credit for! In a combined effort to find me a Malian man who is, single, can cook, clean, and wash his own clothes, they found one and taught him how to say, “ Hi, how are you? I am fine!” and presented him to me. When I said I still couldn’t marry him, because he hasn’t asked my American father yet they responded by asking for his phone number.- So, sorry Daddy..if you get a call from a strange number…
Since I’m not able to actually do any real work yet, one thing I’ve been struggling with lately, other than a tad bit of boredom is the lingering question of who is serving whom? Here I am living among the nicest strangers I have ever met. On a daily basis I am offered food, water, a helping hand, pretty much anything I could ever need and the furthest I have to go is outside my door and greet a passerby. One lady walked all around the village to find me one day because she cooked a certain kind of rice for lunch that I love and she wanted to share it with me. All the time people are offering to help me, “Marium, I’m going to the well give me your bucket,” or “I’m going to market do you need anything?” or “ That man selling fabric ripped you off I’m going to talk to him.” Malians may not have the best manners, or hygiene, but they sure have hospitality down!
Most recently I have been working on translating a survey from English into Bambara. Once I completed translating, I did a quick run through of the questions with my language tutor, made a few minor, and a few major changes to my Bambara until I felt comfortable enough to ask other people around the village. The survey consists of questions dealing with Education, the school, how the school functions, the community’s support of the school, access to education in surrounding villages, and similar questions. I felt confident enough with my Bambara to bring up a few of the questions in a non-formal conversation among people I usually talk with. Asking the questions was no problem-understanding the answers wasn’t quite as easy…Once I started to understand a little of what people were saying, I realized that people were telling me all different answers to the same questions. Questions that could have been as simple as yes or no quickly became run on sentences of perplexing Bambara that still have my mind reeling. Needless to say my survey needs a little more work…
Aside from conducting the survey I have been visiting the school. In training I was told all about the school system in Mali, how things are run, the similarities and differences between the American school system, and what to expect in the classroom. The very first time I walked into the school, I was in utter shock- I’m pretty sure no amount of training, or explanation of what to expect could have prepared me for what I was walking into! The classroom I happened to walk into first was “third grade” a classroom about half the size of a normal (American) classroom, six windows, about 20 bench desks, a blackboard, one teacher, and 85 students. EIGHTY-FIVE- ages ranging from 7-12. The days Math lesson was learning place value, ones tens, hundreds… the teacher drew a chart on the board and gave the students a number to fill into the correct slots. As soon as he asked for a volunteer, practically every student jumps to their feet raises a hand or two in the air snapping their fingers shouting” Monsieur, Monsieur.” It took them seven tries to get the first one right. After two more examples the students were given four questions to work on quietly on their own. Next on the “class schedule” was art. The teacher gathers up some colored chalk and draws the Malian Flag on the board- backwards. When I attempt to explain that it is backwards he erases the drawing, goes and looks at the flagpole, comes back and draws the Malian flag on the board-backwards again. The students then continue to draw and color Guinea’s flag rather than the Malian flag in their notebooks.
After a three hour lunch/afternoon nap the students and teacher return and the first thing they do is review the French alphabet, by shouting the letters when the teacher points to them and singing a few songs about the sound each letter makes. The teacher then gets called to another classroom. So I take this advantage to point to the letters out of the order of the song and the students could not identify them. Overcome with so many emotions, I excuse myself as soon as the teacher returns. I can’t even begin to explain the number of emotions I was feeling, I didn’t even know I was capable of feeling that sad, sorry, disheartened, disappointed, overwhelmed, frustrated, discouraged, and dispirited all at once. I couldn’t help but feeling that the students were not learning a single thing, and the teacher was just there to collect a paycheck. From what I saw there was no shine, or gleam in the that teacher’s eye that said, “I’m here to change some one’s life” like I’ve seen in so many of my own teachers over the years.
After a little crying, venting, and returning to the school a few more times I began to see things in a different light. I saw that the teachers are working with all they have, and doing all they can to teach the only way they know how. I do get the feeling that people here really do support education and think that it is important for their children to be educated, however education is still very much a work in progress and that’s why I’m here. I’m here to attempt to explain the importance of education, and help this community strengthen the education system that is already in place.
Along with all the work I’ve been doing, I’ve had the chance to, harvest peanuts, make peanut butter, among other Malian peanut dishes, plant a garden, and make quite a few proposals to take some Malian babies home with me in two years! Speaking of proposals, I’ve had to find very clever ways of convincing Malians that they don’t want to marry me. I explain that I’m not much of a cook, and pretty much tell them all the things they would have to do in America that they don’t do here, and of course number one they must speak English. To my surprise there a few men in my village who are a lot smarter than I’ve been giving them credit for! In a combined effort to find me a Malian man who is, single, can cook, clean, and wash his own clothes, they found one and taught him how to say, “ Hi, how are you? I am fine!” and presented him to me. When I said I still couldn’t marry him, because he hasn’t asked my American father yet they responded by asking for his phone number.- So, sorry Daddy..if you get a call from a strange number…
Since I’m not able to actually do any real work yet, one thing I’ve been struggling with lately, other than a tad bit of boredom is the lingering question of who is serving whom? Here I am living among the nicest strangers I have ever met. On a daily basis I am offered food, water, a helping hand, pretty much anything I could ever need and the furthest I have to go is outside my door and greet a passerby. One lady walked all around the village to find me one day because she cooked a certain kind of rice for lunch that I love and she wanted to share it with me. All the time people are offering to help me, “Marium, I’m going to the well give me your bucket,” or “I’m going to market do you need anything?” or “ That man selling fabric ripped you off I’m going to talk to him.” Malians may not have the best manners, or hygiene, but they sure have hospitality down!
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