Let's all eat sheep!

Festival Eid al-Adha or Tabaski (West African version) or cibsi in Songhoy is the Festival of the Sheep, commemorating Ibrahima's willingness to sacrifice his son Ishmael. It is only in the Judeo-Christian tradition we read the story of Abraham and Isaac. I have a translation of Genesis in Songhoy, and mentioned to Aliou the verses say Ibrahima nda aruizo badja foloko or "Abraham's only beloved son" with which Aliou found fault because Abraham did father two sons. He asked me why the Bible does not follow the story of Haggar and Ishmael more closely. If we knew that somehow I think there would be a little more peace in the world...

This year I decided to fête with La Famille Dicko because of the tensions with my family currently (the children destroyed my trees, yes those planted in honor of Rakietou, and have repeatedly strewn trash all over my courtyard while treasure hunting...so I've locked off my section of the compound including the pump). The family was amused when I showed up early I had already gotten all suppay (one of the few Songhoy words with p in it...borrowed?) or dressed up. Zubbu only put on her fancy clothes for 30 minutes to take pictures and then it was back into a simple pagne in order to work. I regreted putting my indigo on so early, cause I was already turning purple by 10h.

We killed the requisite sheep mid-morning. I held little Bebe back so she wouldn't see the twitches and the blood spurting. The sheep was lain to rest on the BBQ grill Aliou fashioned out of fencing and mud bricks while the skin was stretched as a prayer mat. The process is slightly sickening, but at least every part of the sheep is used. And by "used" I mean eaten. The family let me cook a spaghetti sauce for lunch because the sheep meat (other than flash-fried liver) wouldn't be ready until the evening meal. It was amazing. But Dave and I were aghast that Zubbu and Aliou only "understood" the sauce upon adding liver sauce to it. Seriously! I put red wine (left over from the Italians), fresh basil (grows wild at the hospital) and eggplant from the garden in the sauce. Plus Dave whipped up some garlic bread using spices sent from home. We gorged. Even after sheep-organ munching mid-morning. I spent the night because I really hadn't the energy to get myself home. Too much meat.

The next morning our marinara was still leftover and we had it for breakfast. There was sheep meat with mustard on the side later on. Much to my horror however, and probably the cause of my severe stomach ache later, Dave and I found fried sheep pellets in amongst the meat. The piece of mis-cleaned intestin was found and Mamata just popped it into her mouth. Mmm...HepA...mmm...

Now time to curl up into a tiny ball cause I have never known such pain as this.

Seeds of Hope

Only twelve girls came to the morning's lesson--but they actively participated. The rest had gone to get their hair done for the upcoming festival. Oh priorities. At least 30 showed up to basketball practice in the afternoon. It was happy moment seeing them in their jersies and shoes doing drills already:

My garbage cans are being noticed too. A PeaceCorps staff member came through and commented on how maybe one day Ansongo can be clean? A local standing nearby us said "It's in God's hands." I refuse to accept Inch'allah. Refuse. It is in your hands; it depends on you to work. Here is our team of collectors (Association Gaham Baani) in front of the donkey carts (the children just couldn't be convinced to not be photographed) as well as a market area near the river that is well, trashy:

I am amused I can distinguish by sound when my bucket is ready to be removed from underneath the pump. It comes at a trickle...

West Africa Wins Again

I forget if I've previously introduced my dear readers to the concept of "WAWA" (said in a Debbie Downer sort of voice). You see, when transport goes awry or one gets slammed with amoebas and giardia at the same time, one says, "WA-WA."

So when during the big vaccination campaign where President Bush's Malaria Initiative nets would come to Mali, but somehow they didn't come to the three northern-most regions, all I could think was WAWA.

Some say it was the Southerners who bouffed the Northern nets. Others say the nets were sent months ago intended for the campaign but the CSRefs misunderstood and already gave them out. Needless to say, many Songhoy and Bela and Peulh and Tamacheq were frustrated about being forgotten. Again. WAWA.

At least, upon sharing notes with other Southern volunteers, we didn't have the problem of mothers essentially killing their children. They would come back each day of the week-long campaign with the same children, present them for treatment (polio, de-worming, VitA, and measles) and get a net. They'd do this each day--until obviously their poor child's immune system and stomach couldn't take it and they died. Too much of a good thing. WAWA.

I enjoyed my role in the campaign of educating the mothers on what their children were receiving. They particuarly enjoyed my graphic demonstration of wiping a babies behind and then washing ones hands with soap. It is a shame more of the hospital staff chooses not to do educational demos; is it shyness? They're all very outgoing in daily life, but when it comes to speaking out...silence. Then of course many of them are cynical as well; saying for behavior change it takes generations. WAWA.

In the afternoon, I made my way over to the school to discuss why the 6th grade teacher was refusing to attend my HED sessions. The school director is being difficult--"interest" here means cash. The NGOs of yestertear began a trend of paying people as incentives. And now they are dependent on such payments. No such thing as volunteering here. I got flustered when he started going off on the US and my work: "Volunteering. That's easy for you. You have everything over there." All I wanted to say to him was "If you'd work for more than what you get paid you'd have everything too!" But instead I nodded and told him, "Yes it is difficult here." WAWA.

Fatebenefratelli vini Ansongo

The arrival of a team of Italian doctors (optometrists) has made my life more difficult (litterally everyone and their aging, blind mother has been at the hospital since Saturday) but oh so more delicious.

Yesterday I managed to make rounds to all of my ongoing projects: teaching HED class for two hours in the morning, dealing with garbage-collecting project coordinator who is somewhat untrustworthy and very difficult...sewing with the women, observing basketball practice, and greeting. Always greeting.

In between all these actvities I helped the Italians deal with the very same project coordinator who is difficult. He had them calling him "the president." Because he is a president of a 12 member association. Right. The Italians wanted a photo-op giving spaghetti to children in town and requested "the president" to have 30 kids ready. Of course 100 showed up and it was insane. O tried to help on crowd control, needless to say the Italians were frustrated. But still gave "the president" cash. For his rent and his association and for school children who can't afford the fees. Why do I get embarrassed when I witness stupid development? You think "the president" will use these Euros for what the Italians want him to use it for? No. He's barely managing our project funds and I have him on a very tight leash. This is a local who has lost a job for skimming off the top, bouffing we say.

I still got good Italian coffee and Christmas cookies. And an invite to dinner later. I had to do my radio show first (Songhoy/French now to reach a bigger audience) and though exhausted made it over to the guest housing at the Ag offices for an amazing Italian dinner. They brought over a chef from Rome with them!! We had risotto, bruschetta, prosciuto with cheeses, wine and bread. The publicist who spoke English was hilarious. We the volunteers and the consultant asked if we could keep the chef. They all laughed, but he was flattered Americans liked his food. Did we ever! The table was cleared for coffee and homemade Italian biscuits. Made by one of the doctor's grandmas. Really. My teammate even got a cigar. There are ways to do development and there are ways to do development.

This whole team is funded by an NGO (Fatebenefratelli or the "Do Gooders Brotherhood") and the Italian Airforce. In a word, efficient intervention (other than the lack of judgement or research on local contacts..."the president" would have been my LAST recommendation to help them with organization. But they didn't ask me...) Everything they needed was brought with them. In two teams, Gao and Ansongo, they completed 750 cataracts surgeries and 2000 eye exams in 2 weeks. Aliou's father and mother came, and though the old man's eyes were uncorrectable, his mother could once again see clearly out of both eyes after the surgery. Pretty amazing. Zubbu received antibiotics for floaties she had been seeing on the surface of her eyes. The Italians loved all the children and cried bambino! bambina! while playing with them. Maman got some nice clothes as did Bebe. People were crazy about getting the cadeaux, it just shows you how desparate people are. Precious few ever have opportunities for treatment like this.

The publicist's impression of Mali, a snapshot, was interesting. He thought there couldn't possbily be any malnutrition in Ansongo. "There is such a variety of produce in the market," he said, "and sheep and goats and cows for meat and milk. People must eat well." I had to be frank. I have seen too many children die of malnutrition in areas of perceivable abundance to know his observations were shallow. I told him maybe this seems like a typical African country where sometimes the pain, suffering and poverty are hidden. I've said before how I think malnutrition is a quiet killer. He agreed Mali was typical, but just couldn't understand how with the river and such a market there are problems with hunger. Another had him translate his ideas on how he thought the paved road to Ansongo and onto Niamey from Gao was a waste. Little do they know this road is an artery of development. An oppotunity for Ansongo, the bread basket of the Gao Region, to more cheeply send their produce to larger markets. Yes, only one or two trucks and a few cars pass a day. It's mostly the donkeys who use the road currently. But there's potential. Not a waste but an investment.

These doctors came to give physical sight. I hope they learned to see a little more clearly as well.

Smack.

I've hit my first child.

The kid actually presented me with the switch, or birzu, to hit other obnoxious kids who were crowding at the windows of the school where I started a course on Health Education for 6th grade girls. They wouldn't listen to my polite entreaties. They laughed at my threats. So when Moussa brought my new kid-whapping stick over, I used it first on him. He was being so bold as to answer questions from the window before the girls would (they are notoriously shy). Somehow he thought providing me with the stick meant he had amenesty. Nope. Smack!

The first morning of the HED course we did a survey. At least the girls understood how to treat water and what foods had Vitamins in them. But other than that, I can see this series of courses will be very educational for them. It is all part of program funded by Peace Corps Partnership: Saturday mornings the girls aged 10-15 years will learn everything from hand-washing to nutrition during pregnancy to negotiating safe-sex and Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday afternoons they will play basketball at the youth center. They are all incredibly motivated and excited to learn! Working with youth is so rewarding! Well, as long as I always have my birzu within reach...

Mmm...food coma...

Gobble-gobble! Team Gao acquired 4 turkeys for the occasion and enjoyed every-last sinewy morsel.

The Peace Corps demographic remains predictably nurdy: one of the new recruits has Settlers and we played. Another PCV's parents came and they generously provided some necessary ingredients (**below). The spread was incredible and most of it was from the Gao market:

• Baba ganoush and hommos**
• Turkey with homemade gravy
• Rice
• Beans
• Squash
• Greens (sauteed peanut leaves)
• Tukas (traditional songhoy dish)
• Garbanzo bean salad
• Salad (with two dressings)
• Cranberries**
• Escalloped potatoes
• Mashed potatoes (served from a bucket)
• Stuffing
• Apple tart
• Pecan pie**
• Chocolate cake**

Many calls to family and friends. The saddest was to another PCV at site eating a fruit cup alone; a fruit cup without enough cherries. Aw.

All in all it was an impressively traditional thanksgiving. But to me, Turkey isn't all about the cooking, though I love concocting deliciousness, it's about seeing family. And there was none of that on the menu. I miss them dearly. Tear.

A Tree Grows in Her Name

As I approached the hospital today, the director of the Kindergarten, with her trail of children in matching smocks pitter-pattering behind, stopped me and said she heard one of my patients, Rakietou Abdrunass, died. She was 4 months old. The photo at the left is when we released her from the hospital when she had gained enough weight to surpass the average kilos for her height.

She died of dehydration due to diarrhea. 2.1 million children a year die from complications due to illnesses which cause diarrhea.

She was seriously malnourished upon entry. We got her weight stabilized (I was helping with the feedings 8 times a day) and got to know the family. The sad thing was the mom just wouldn't listen. The dad was involved, and bought meds; but, then when we put her into "ambulatoire" mode, mom'd give the kid dirty water again and her diarrhoea would come back. The first post-release visit I did with the family, Raki was looking good. Smiling and even recognized me. It was a good day. We let them go home again with new packets of re-hab milk and scheduled another visit. 7 days later. At the rendez-vous, Raki was at a lower weight than when she first came into the program. Her face was contorted and she was crying constantly. She refused the breast and would barely take the bottled milk. She died that night. So I went home and I planted a moringa tree. Maybe it will flourished even in this incredibly unforgiving climate.

Encounters with a meter-long worm

I had a fantastic time out in the bush for four days with the Carter Center Eradicate Guinea Worm team. I saw the worm itself coming out of an old man's ankle and 7 other cases in various states of care. The missions focus on water-source treatment with the chemical Abate which I think is Toluene and Xylene and paralyzes the Cyclops parasite that eats the worm eggs and then gets ingested by the human host. So we put this stuff (2 cc's for 100 L) in everything from "puissards" (mini-wells which are really just holes that seasonally fill up with muddy water) to huge lakes. The puissards are difficult because as they consist of a series of holes they dig where the water table is close to the surface, currently some are dry and some have muddy water but we can only treat actual liquid, not dried mud. But the cyclops, the parasite that eats the worm eggs and then is what a human ingests, hibernates in the mud. And the chemical "Abate" only lasts for a month. So this means likely they draw from contaminated water. Oi.

We also supervise local health agents in awareness and follow up treatment of exit wounds and making sure suspected cases (lump is present but no worm yet) don't go into water. One guy up from Niger didn't really follow these rules and is responsible for over 60 cases this year (the worm's life cycle is 10 months to a year) in an area that wasn't previously endemic! Sadly some Malians say as long as there are still even 10 Belas left in the world, there the worm will be also. These are the Black African former slaves of Arabs, Sonrai themselves or the Tamachek Rouge. And though I discourage people calling "Hey Bela!", they do lead very pitiful lives; even when there is opportunity for better. Such as listening not just to the foreigners like me and Carter Center consultant, but also to their BROTHERS who say don't spread the worm, filter your water, use the pump. But no, they use the contaminated lake next door instead. GAH! Not in terms of just formal education, but the consultant believes these are some of the least enlightened people on the planet. They don't do what is productive for them EVEN WHEN GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY. It makes me sad.

Chairman Mao Comes to Gao

As promised, our dear friend Chairman Mao exhumed himself from his Beijing Mao-seleum and paid Gao a visit. Dusting himself off and clearing his throat of formaldehyde, he brings these words of wisdom to the Village People:

"It is up to us to organize the people...This is also like sweeping the floor; as a rule, where the broom does not reach, the dust will not vanish of itself." So, Village People, what Mao is trying to say is that he likes clean houses and organization. Would it kill you to line up to get on the bus, once and awhile?

"To criticize the people's shortcomings is necessary." Thus spake Chairman Mao, Village People. I feel, therefore, it is my duty to inform you that if you drink dirty, guinea worm infested water, you will get the worm; if you don't feed your child, he will get sick and die; if you don't sleep under a net, you will get malaria...and for Mao's sake, stop eating without washing your hands with soap!!

"Political Power grows out of the barrel of a gun." Feeling weak? I know this friendly AK-47 dealer near the boarder; sadly, more than ready to actualize this truth of The Chairman.

"We should rid our ranks of all impotent thinking." That means you, 'Mr. I can't water the trees because the well is too far away' and you too, 'It's too dry, hot, and windy to do anything-guy.' Consider yourself ridden.

"We are closely bound by common interests and common ideals." You said it Chairman Mao, we all want the Village Person who plays "SIDA est-la" and "Wolloso" and the "Allez-retour" song until late into the night to give it a rest.

"A man's ability may be great or small, but if he has this spirit, he is already noble minded and pure, a man of moral integrity and above vulgar interests, a man who is of value to the people." Village People! Do you feel the spirit?

"Nothing in the world is difficult for one who sets his mind to it." Not even stooping to put a full bucket of water on your head while the baby swaddled to your back is screaming and a second child is tugging at your pagne to go home? The Chairman is impressed with the Village People's women.

"We stand for self-reliance. We hope for foreign aid but cannot be dependent on it; we depend on our own efforts." Well said, Chairman. Somehow it doesn't surprise me from out of such a culture grew a country with amazing advancement and economic growth...can you the Village People do the same?

Chairman Mao thinks "We should be modest and prudent, guard against arrogance and rashness, and serve the Village People heart and soul." And so do I.

We Made it Back Alive

Thank the lord. I'm not kidding, James and I must be blessed. I spent my last 50F on a breakfast of spicy beans upon arriving in Gao (en retour from Ghana) and then headed to the bank.

Our transport luck ran out--and we were stuck in Tamale Ghana forced to stay in a pricey hotel and then even once we got across the boarder to Burkina the timing almost worked, a car was supposed to leave an hour after we arrived, but then we ended up spending the night in said car parked at the station, for we were too cheap to go to a hotel (though it did give us the opportunity to get out into Ouaga on the night of Eid el-Fitr (the end of Ramadan) and eat good pizza).

We made it to Niamey, Niger on Sunday before dark at least mostly due to the nice boarder guards. The moment we got out of transport, a guide approached us asking "Boston or Peace Corps?" He knew we were one of the two because of our water bottles. Ha. I never did get a chance to see the program run by my alma-mater, alas. Another trip. We did see the giraffes of course, which was expensive but A-mazing. And got to hang out with PC Niger which has a totally different vibe. They like being at site despite having this beautifully furnished hostel to stay-in in Niamey. I also appreciated being understood in a capital city--half of Niger is "Zarma" an ethnicity who speaks a dialect of Songhoy. So again, a future option for development work!

After our day in the bush with the giraffes, we found out we could only get official transport out of Niamey on Monday mornings. Oops. It was Tuesday. So a friend I called who does business between Ansongo and Niamey tells us to get whatever transport we can get to Ayorou, Niger and from there it is "easy" to get to Ansongo.

"Easy" he said. Sure, we did get transport to Ayorou. And then we sat. All day. At the guards-station leaving town playing dominoes while the kids watched us anasarey hoping SOMETHING would pass. I've climbed atop a shipping/produce truck before, and I'll do it again. We were desperate. Finally (after one guy offered us two seats in his 4x4 for 125000F--hahaha, you think we have money left? No! We had 15000F and some pocket change), a truck passes at sundown heading to Ansongo. They ask how much we can pay and we give them 10000F...which is the price of a bus ticket from Niamey all the way to Gao, and we were only going to Ansongo and already in Ayorou. Ugh. I fell asleep, only jarred a few times, once by a near axle-breaking dip in the road and then the boarder crossing guards. In fact, Jojo was so sleepy from being on the road since Friday, I was asleep when we arrived in Ansongo at midnight. Pitch black. I was so embarrassed to be lost in my own town!! I didn't see where we had turned off the road or anything. So...we circled around a bit me desperately searching for a landmark I knew. Finally I saw the hill up to the radio tower and found Dave's place. He wasn't home but we let ourselves in and Zubbu even got up to make us some sardine soup with bread. Oh, was it good to be home.

Worth the Trip

Ice cold Coke in Niamey, Niger: 225 F

Kilo of bananas for the road: 300 F

Chartered taxi: 25000 F

Guide fee: 11500 F

T-Shirt Souvenir: 2500 F

Walking through the bush with the last herd of giraffes in West Africa: Priceless.

The Green Turtle Lodge

Our trip to Kakum and the rope walk through the rain-forest failed, because, well it was too rainy. So we headed to the beach a day earlier than planned. The series of tro-tros we took to get there work incredibly well--and of course we kept eating Fanmilk along the way (Ghana's street ice cream...sooooo good!). A guy even gave us a free ride in his car between car-parks once! I heart Ghana.

It was also raining on the beach, but that didn't stop us from enjoying cocktails and games of cards or dictionary and even some soppy tai qi on the beach. The sun came out on the third day and we got some great body-surfing in. And a sand castle built. Good times. The food was so delicious--tuna salad, red red, chunky chips with real ketchup. Ah! Brie kept saying, "Let's never leave."

The toilets decompose themselves and you shower in a banana grove. There was beach volley ball and beach walking and Mia the huge German shepherd who would chase sand balls. Clearly born and raised on the beach. Aside from the HUGE spider-eating spider we saw, I'd bring my parents here it was so nice!

Everything's Going so well!

The first morning, I woke up to an ambulance siren in Accra, Doppler-effecting into the window of our dorm room in the Salvation Army Hostel. It's a different world here. Everything is paved. Ghanaians are super nice and helpful even if sometimes I can't understand their English.

Still, the bus ride. Whew. LONG. Van from Sevare to Kora, Mali was interesting with entertainment provided by 3 students and one talk-a-lot moron (I quote: "Transubstantiation is the language of drunkards"...riiiight...and "Kilogram is weight and kilometer is distance, you can't say there are 15kilos left of the trip"...they were discussing everything from mundanity to religion to politics). Plus they dubbed James "Monsieur President" because he is a Toure and so is ATT. We got the last 4 seats on that van and arrived in Kora with perfectly enough time to eat some lunch and get the van for Ouahigouya, Burkina; and, there we ate delicious spaghetti and hopped right onto the bus to Ouaga. Brie and kept exclaiming "Everything is going so well!!" Moulin Rouge style. We weren't cursing it; really! Not possible. We were headed to Ghana and everything is better, in, Ghana.



So sure, with flooding we had to get out and ford the "river" of a washed-out road, but generally no mishaps. Or maybe I am just numb to transport issues now?



Really, I can't believe how many times I've said I am moving to Accra. Seriously, I'll consider it an option for future development work.



Sunday we went to El Mina (derived from the Portuguese for "mine" and the gold mined there) to see the fishing community and the slave fort. Really wretched what humans can do to each other. The governor of the fort (Dutch) had a staircase from the female quarters for rape-access. He'd pick his favorite from the balcony and have her sent up. The balcony from where you could see the first Roman-Catholic church in W.Africa (the fort and church were built by the Portuguese in 1482--which makes it the oldest European structure still standing in Sub-Saharan Africa). I don't think Christians have always faithfully practised the greatest commandment of them all...standing in the "room of no return" where slaves were shuffled through onto boats to the New World we said "never again" and had a moment of silence.

***

El Mina the town gave us a flavour of coastal life--fisherman and their boats, animist fetish houses, a Dutch cemetery (one governor was murdered and buried there in 1808), St. Jago fort and the slave fort. Oh, and men, naked, shitting on the beach. Yes...coastal life. We also saw well dressed men and women (it was Sunday) and polite children. Stumpy goats tried to steal part of my RedRed (beans and plantains). There were various church services going on and much singing, drumming, and clapping of hands throughout town.

In general, I loved the fashion in Ghana. Fitted suits of pagne fabric and shiny basin completes--but pants for women too! It seemed to be a more open/free culture. The "Use a Condom" billboard in Accra for example where the message was spelled out in stick figures of people in well, various positions.

We came upon a dance rehearsal of sorts in Accra at a small beach-side bar, which made me jealous of the clearly more richer music and dance culture. I guess it is just too hot in Gao. I repeatedly asked myself during the trip, is it the Christianity? The English? Or, what did the French do to Mali? Though really it is probably just a question of climate and resources.

This Month Jojo brings you the column “Ask Confucius”

Because we all need a little more Confucian guidance in our lives. And let’s face it guys, China is going to take over the world. We may as well start learning how they think. Next issue, don’t miss “Chairman Mao Comes to Gao.”

Betrayed in Bagoundié asks: “Confucius, that little shit of a garibou took my plate of beans and rice before I was even finished. Is hunting him down and demanding penance a good idea?”
Confucius say: “Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.”

Malodorous Ménakite asks: “Confucius, I am just sick and tired of smelling my own sweat, what can I do?”
Confucius say: “Everything has its beauty, but not everyone sees it.”

Faux-pas Fearing in Fafa asks: “Last night, my jatigi yelled at me for eating with my left hand—but I had a bandaged cut on the right!! I just can’t get over the faux pas I committed, can you help?”
Confucius say: “Be not ashamed of mistakes and thus make them crimes.”

Blasphemous in Bara asks: “I was mimicking the call to prayer yesterday from my courtyard and someone overheard. It’s just so darn catchy. Was that wrong of me?”
Confucius say: “I hear and I forget. I see and I remember. I do and I understand.”

Gorging in Gao asks: “Salty rice just really doesn’t do it for me and I have gotten into the habit of going to the chicken lady every night for dinner. But now, to quote a dear APCD of ours, ‘Les volontaires sont broke!’ What should I do now?
Confucius say: “He who will not economize will have to agonize.”

Harmed in Haousa-Foulane asks: “On the road to site, the blasted bush taxi window shattered and shards of glass embedded themselves into my hand. I want to march over to the driver’s house and demand recompense. Is this too drastic?
Confucius say: “Forget injuries, never forget kindnesses.”

Doubting in Douentza asks: “I went to have my fortune told, but all the old woman read from the cowrie shells was that I had ‘two minds,’ had to give some alfinta to a garibou, slaughter a white chicken, and go on a trip. This is all bunk! I really want to know what’s in my stars, how?”
Confucius say: “Study the past if you would define the future.”

Afraid in Ansongo asks: “The recent abductions in Niger and violence in Ménaka have me spooked. What advice can you offer to console?”
Confucius say: “The superior man, when resting in safety, does not forget that danger may come. When in a state of security he does not forget the possibility of ruin. When all is orderly, he does not forget that disorder may come. Thus his person is not endangered, and his States and all their clans are preserved.”

Grossed-out in Gossi asks: “What is with the way people eat fish here? All spitting of bones and eating of eyeballs and gills…why am I so disgusted?”
Confucius say: “Men's natures are alike, it is their habits that carry them far apart.”

Tossing in the Towel in Tashran asks: “The emotional roller-coast ride of my service is nauseating; I’m this close to ETing. Any words of advice?”
Confucius say: “They must often change who would be constant in happiness or wisdom.”

Teased in Tchintchinomé asks: “This morning was the last time anyone calls me an Anasara or Tubob. When will the name-calling end??
Confucius say: “He for whom neither slander does gradually soak into the mind, nor statements that startle like a wound in the flesh, are successful and may be called intelligent indeed.”

Linguistically-challenged in Léléhoye asks: “I’m jealous of my teammates’ ability with the local language. Help please?”
Confucius say: “Fine words and an insinuating appearance are seldom associated with true virtue.”

Lagging-behind in Labbezanga asks: “Can the bus take any longer? I swear they were being extra-godly and stopped to pray doubly as often! Why is transport so damn frustrating?
Confucius say: “It does not matter how slowly you go so long as you do not stop.”

Offensive in Ouatagouna asks: “So, I kinda ended up peeing in a mosque the other day. But I swear, I didn’t know! Is Allah a forgiving god?”
Confucius say: “Ignorance is the night of the mind, but a night without moon and star.”

**Note: Any association between localities used above and the life of the PCV found there is purely coincidental. Forgive me, I was amiably achieving alluring alliteration.

Out of place

Aliou has malaria and with 5 children in his house under the age of five, he is a bit exhausted.

I worry about Zubba and the new baby too; she seems too tired to feed him, and often I pick him up to quiet him and let him suck on my finger.

It's funny how they don't like letting me help out around the house, but I am insistent now and trying to occupy Bebe and get water.

No matter the place I feel I have established in the family, I felt awful after the baptism because 1) I didn't sleep at all due to mosquitoes and noise 2) there was no water to bathe with, so once I did get dressed in my complete I still felt icky. Then Aliou told me I have to go back inside the house with the women--I couldn't sit with the men. Of course, Zubba told me I was doing the benedictions wrong. The baby, once his head was shaved and kohl applied to his eyes (and even a cross on his head to fend off the evil eye) was named Mohammed. Surprise! Ha. The women didn't want me eating with them, and instead put me in the back room to eat by myself. I ate both pieces of bread they gave me and then Zubba complained I had eaten too much. I really feel I cannot do anything right.

Respect Gender Identity!

The volunteers of Gao joke how because we can't seem to consider the dog a girl (she IS named Reagan) and the cat a boy (he had been thought as a female since birth), we need to work on respecting gender identity. I feel the same about how the Malians consider me!

I am reading the old testament...very slowly, but it'll come. And find it interesting how outdated things like "women should not wear male clothing" are. Not so outdated here where the gender lines aren't so blurred...Just the other day I was napping at Zubba's and a friend of hers asks if I were male or female. Sure I was wearing pants and a button down shirt--but really?

This morning I was coming back from the hospital having changed into pants from a skirt to make biking easier, and my new favorite fried-food lady asked why I wasn't in a pagne and musor. I replied, I am still American no matter what. I can't bike in a complete anyway! Kids often greet me with "Bonjour Monsieur!" when I wear pants. I sought solace in my house and slept.

This is Bébé

She is two years-old. She loves eating powdered milk right out of the package and peanuts. She likes to fly. If you tell her to spit when she is crying, as soon as you take the "spit" and throw it away she will stop fussing. Whenever I come over, she is reminded of the white people in her life; if my teammate is ever gone, she demands where he is. "Man Ali go?" I usually have to say he is coming, even if he isn't coming for another few days. She is now the owner of a fluffy stuffed-animal cat who she thinks is real.

She is known to sing about how camels move (they go "taley-taley") and screams out "walia! walia!" every time a heron-like bird flies over. When a garibou beggar-child comes to the door she yells out the blessing "Irkoy ma doonandi" (May God get you used to it--really, this is what you say to people who beg. It's like they pity your suffering but know there is little they can do to help. We all got problems).

When she became a big sister, she ran to greet her mother, just coming back from the hospital. "Eh, mother, what's this? My little brother, or what?" She incredibly observant for her age, saying things like, "Mother, your breast is gross." (The new mom has an infection sadly and I hope her husband can get a goat to supplement her lack of breast milk). Or when she picks up the bottle of baby powder, she exclaims "Look mom, there are children like me!" (French baby powder, so I chuckled that the kids were white, but maybe kids here are metaphorically color blind?)

Clearly, she loves the "baby" act now that she has to be the big sister. Often she'll just cry and cry until she gets what she wants. Nice cultural exchange when I tried to explain the phrase "terrible twos" in Sonrai.

Basically I am thankful to have this little doll of a two year-old in my life, and I so wish my teammate or me could actually take her back to the states like they all hope we will.

New Baby

Passed by the hospital this morning only to greet. I spent the rest of the morning contemplating animations but not actually writing anything. Slept. A lot.

In the evening I went over to Aliou and Zubba's where she told Aliou she wanted to go to the hospital. He didn't hear her properly and there in-house help goes, "Eh, what now?" Laughing. I went home because a storm was approaching, and was bummed I couldn't go assist.

The next morning I met Zubba and new baby boy (a healthy 3kg500g) at the hospital. Surprisingly, this was the first time I extensively held a newborn here. They joked how he was the same color as me. A little Anasara. He was heavy! I guess I am so used to itty-bitties. Zubba complained how there had been not net to tie up and spent the night swatting mosquitoes. Great. Zubba asked me to name the baby, but of course the name I gave "Joshua Charles" was "too hard to say!!!" So instead I told them to name him after Aliou's father so he would have the nickname "Papa." Cute.

Met the women at the sewing center where we actually started lessons on some old pagnes they brought. Not much sewing per se, just threading the machine and stitches and hand cranking. It was uncomfortable sitting on the mat--but I was glad they had actually bought a mat, a cannery, and a broom. Baby steps...baby steps.

Got a little frustrated when we were chatting casually after the sewing lesson about why I am not going to marry a Malian. I tried to explain the history of race relations in America and how it doesn't work in our culture to just decide you want to marry a type of person--it is the actual person you meet and fall for who matters! (I always get bugged by the question "Can you tell me your American girl-friends about me? I want to marry one of them.")

Zubba helped me through some of my frustration. Why do people see me as a racist just because I don't want a Malian husband? They don't see that I have clearly come here to help--volunteering precious years of my life to serve--rather my rejection of Malian men is because I don't like the color of their skin. Zubba explained it is not all about skin color but more that they see a single woman like myself as unclean until I marry off. Right.

Got some baby time--good for me he doesn't like to be set down, so he napped in my arms for a large part of the afternoon. Good thing too cause Zubba is exhausted and still ill. Somehow I had magically hoped with delivery her health would drastically improve. Alas.

Falafel Flop

So, turns out Malians don't like falafel. Well, my teammate and I enjoyed it!! And actually with the tahini we got in Bamako, the bean-based hommos actually tasted pretty delicious with the fresh cucumbers I found in market!

I am glad I got a chance to cook after this morning. Saw the smallest baby ever: 20 days and still only 1kg390g. The mother claimed she had no breast milk. Really, this was her first child and it seemed like she just didn't know how to breastfeed. She said she carried the baby to term without any illnesses--but regardless I couldn't help thinking how badly this child need neo-natal care at only 3lbs!!

Zubba taught me how to properly recognize good beans. The kilo I bought was infested with bugs and when floated in a calabash, most proved inedible. Now I know.

It is difficult cooking even "American" food, because the Malians still tell you you are doing everything incorrectly. I didn't know how to pound spices. Nor mush up cooked beans into a puree. We couldn't fry the falafel properly, and ants got all over our bread. Plus, they declared the falafel "not tastey."

One redeeming factor: I swear Bebe is the only 2 year-old Malian who knows the word "falafel" and actually asks when we will eat it again. Ya gotta win them over when they're young and impressionable evidently!

Persuasion

Three volunteers from the stage before mine came to Ansongo to persuade the doctors to take them out on a Guinea Worm mission.

At first, my teammate and I were a little worried about how we'd meet up with them. Neither of us had any money left other than 2000F to ride the bus to Gao and get to the bank (I have enjoyed truthfully telling Malians I have no money--they laugh when I use the line "I don't even have one CFA to my name!"). But luckily my counterpart was waiting with the three outside our town general store. We dropped stuff at my place and headed over to find the doctors. We tracked down one of the doctor's wives who told us where we could find them (the hospital was deserted after 5pm) and at first I thought we were interrupting a meeting but it turns out it was just poker night. With tears forming in their eyes, the three volunteers argued their way onto the mission team. A car had broken down, so it seemed like the chances of going were slim. but two of these three were leaving the country at the end of the month. So they really really argued their case (in perfect Bambara) and said they would even ride on top of the truck just as long as they could go. The doctors (from the South so this was the first time they had heard someone speaking their language) were amused and acquiesced to the PCVs' request. I was impressed at their negotiating skills!

Dinner was at my counterpart's where she made us greasy semolina pasta. A real treat. ORTM (Malian TV) was showing a special on Keplerian physics. Now, I turn to one of the PCVs and ask them if they are even following it. My French isn't awful, but I was a bit lost. I asked Bebe if she understood. Nope. Made me wonder why they don't just stick to health awareness campaigns and information on citizenship....we star gazed on my roof before going to bed. Sadly, my amoebas kept me busy all night.

Mariam prepared for us one of the best breakfasts I've seen in Mali. A whole chicken in broth with fresh bread, hot sweet milky tea, and corn "stir-stir" with fresh milk. Too bad I was in no mood to eat. ORS for me!

We headed to the hospital to discuss logistics. The Carter Center consultant heard about the PCVs persuading the doctors and was impressed. Evidently a whole mission was planned just for them. Sure, the shiny Ordre de Mission on PC stationary helped too. One of the doctors shuttled us around to get baggage and deliver the paperwork to the Conseil de Cercle. Because my system had rejected everything I put into the last 24 hours, I was a bit light headed, and as I was thinking to myself how nice that chair looked--as people were joking with fonctionnaires about their names--I fell over. Deemed "graceful" with my spotters at hand, I was amused by Malians' reactions. "Mariam, taking a little rest there?" Yes, I thought I'd take a little nap in the dirt entry way of a government building. Ha. And all the doctor we were with said, "You should eat more." Right. Thanks. Mostly people just went about their business. Again, I see how 'we all got problems.'

I took it easy the rest of the day, whereas the PCVs went over behind the river to play on the rocks and boulder where they could. They went out on mission just as black ominous clouds rolled in...glad I gave one of them my rain coat!

Funny haha

How it was originally told by Aliou, Zubba's husband and one of my favorite Malians:

Une fois, un ONG a décidé de faire une enquête au tour de monde. La seule question le dans: "S'il vous plaît, qu'est-ce que votre opinion sur la pénurie alimentaire dans la reste de monde?" D'abord, ils ont commencé avec les chinoises. Mais "s'il vous plaît" les chinoises ne comprennent pas. Ensuite, ils ont demandé les pays d'Europe Orientale. Mais les Européens de l'Est ont répondu, "Notre opinion? On n'a pas des opinions. C'est l'état qui commande." Et puit, les membres d'ONG ont posé la question aux Europe Occidentale. Les Européens de l'Ouest ont dit: "La pénurie? On sais pas la pénurie. Ça n'existe pas en Europe." L'ONG a continué avec Afrique. Mais les gens là-bas conaissent pas "alimentaire" veut-dire. Ils ne voient jamais les aliments! Finalement, l'ONG est parti pour les Etats-Unis et a demandé la même question. Mais, les Americans sont confondus par la dernière partie de la question. Ils ont demandé: "La reste de monde? Qu'est-ce c'est?"



My translation:

Once an NGO decided to conduct a survey around the world. The only question on it: "Please, what is your opinion on food insecurity in the rest of the world?" First, they began with the Chinese. But the Chinese don't understand the word "please". Next they asked Eastern Europeans. But they responded, "Our opinion? We have no opinions. It is the state who decides." Then the members of the NGO asked the states of Western Europe. They said: "Insecurity? We don't know insecurity. It doesn't exist in Europe." The NGO proceeded onto Africa. But there people didn't understand what "food" meant. They never see food! Finally, the NGO went to the United States and asked the very same question. But the Americans were confused with the last part of the question. They asked, "The rest of the world? What's that?"



I couldn't believe how frank he was in telling the joke. I was surprised this would be how a Malian sees development. Course, Aliou isn't your average Malian: he is in a monogamous marriage, has lived elsewhere in West Africa, speaks fluent French, and has been known to read French translations of literature such as "The Odyssey." That having said, sadly I don't find the reality of complacency in the West much of a joking matter. I mean, the last large-scale famine only ended in 1985--and since then rebellion and climate change make life hard to live. I guess it's good they can laugh about it.

Reality

I went with the president of Bongfeeri to see the mayor about the chairs and tables he promised us. Despite his annoying insistence on me finding a koyraboro husband, he was very honest about the situation of development here.

Bureaucrats essentially work for free. There is no money to pay them. No one pays taxes either--even at the low low price of $2 (1000F) a year per member of the family! So the Mayor can't fund projects. I wish I could do a non-partisan good-citizenship campaign. Such as, "Come on, you want roads that don't fill with water spreading disease and fostering mosquitoes when it rains? Then pay your taxes!" "You want free mosquito nets? Pay taxes!" It is quite annoying knowing people want development but don't want to do what it takes to get there. Sure the economy needs to expand--rather the market economy needs to become independent of foreign aid--in order for people to be able to afford taxes but that would take business opportunities and entries into the global market. At least the mayor approved us getting the chairs from the school board. Now let's go get them!!

Playing herdswoman

With Bebe still not back from Gao and most staff in a training for regional Chef de Poste Medical, I had to handle baby weighings on my own. 38 weighed and many requiring milk or porridge explanations. Or weaning advice. Sometimes I feel like my head will explode doing it all! Yelling for this one to take the baby's clothes off, that one to take her hands off the baby in the hanging scale, another one to give me the baby's name as I write her registration and the number of kilos for another baby's chart, and then demand another one to listen to my advice etc. etc. Whew.

The president of the Health and Hygiene Committee wants to do another project. We still haven't gotten funding for the garbage collection one! He showed me this description of a project emphasizing how they wanted American donors because Americans like hands to be washed. Right. I explained we shouldn't be picky in terms of nationalities, everyone should value clean hands!! Plus we discussed how making it a soap-making and hand-washing project would make it sustainable. Now if only the garbage collection project can be funded and I can close-out on the Girls' Club project so I can apply for more Partnership funds...then this would also be doable.

Great radio show on water treatment where I went script-less and we covered everything I wanted to talk about. I have to get better about witty "last words" so we can conclude with something other than greetings. I am getting better with being able to just answer questions M. Haidara poses and feeling like we are simply conversing about good health. Which I hope makes it more accessible to listeners.

I helped my teammate go get his goats (his old house caved in due to rains) but we left to late in the evening and so soon I found myself leading a nanny goat across town in the dark. I was attempting to use the clicks I hear Abba using all the time. And she would respond to me; though, clearly she wanted to bolt every time a car or truck or moto passed us. Probably knew she lost too many cousins to that sort of untimely death before. My teammate had her kid in his arms, and if he strayed too far nanny goat would go nuts. Screaming. Mwehhhh! Mweeeeeeeehhh! Despite utter blackness (a moonless night) people still knew we were white and comments of "Eh, Anasarey du hancin izey! The whites have goats now!" followed us across town.

Work frustrations

This morning I made myself busy during the two hours I had to wait for the women to show. Sweeped out the entire sewing center and finished Snow Crash (must get my hands on more Stephenson. Sure, he likes to monologue, but that meant I learned a lot about Sumerian history and coding. I did get bugged by him using characters as props--introducing them to make a point and never finishing the story line. It would make a good screenplay). When the women showed up, we talked about what we need to do for the umpteenth time. Cannot...lose...patience...
We need supplies to be bought from the pool of money they have collected; to get chairs from the school board; and finally get papers attesting to our presence in this building. Why they couldn't have done this one, in my absence, and two, like 4 months ago is beyond me. At least this morning they did go over the whole story.

About two years ago, right when the hospital was built, it was a golden age for the association Bongfeeri (lit. "enlightened/opened minded"), where they had space in this old maternity but instead of machines they would sit on mats and embroider sheets to sell. They wouldn't just come on weekends, but every day of the week once work at the home was done. They'd chat and cook brochettes (meat skewers) and hospital staff would come over and eat lunch at noon. Then the Mayor's office kicked them out when they were building a new place. All of the association's things were taken to a storage room in the then Conseil de Cercle, now ancien Conseil de Cercle where eventually everything was lost. Canneries, buckets, stoves, brooms, mats, chairs, benches, etc all gone. So their story goes. Zubba, who is no longer with the group but was, claims all the members made off with the materials and just refuse to bring them back. Either way, we are starting at square one, with much more discouraged women. So I understand the delays now but just wish either a) they would bring all the stuff back or b) be thankful they have been granted a second chance (now that all the admin buildings are newly built) with these machines I got through USAID. But I guess moving on takes a little more time here...

Article on Women's Day

“Rôle et place de la femme dans la lutte contre la pauvreté au Mali.” Goes the theme of the pagne of the July 31st Pan-African Women’s Day. According to the advocate of women in the town of Ansongo, Gao region, Mme. Hamsa Maiga, women need to first be educated to understand the importance of development; they need to be involved in the education of children, the improvement of community health, credit and savings schemes, and income generating agricultural or artisana projects.
In Ansongo, the day began with a conference of many responsables of town: two village chiefs, the Commandant de Cercle, Mme. Maiga, presidents of women associations in town, and the High School English teacher, M. Haidara, who is actively involved in awareness campaigns and radio shows. Attendence was high—women from all over the circle came into town to listen. Mme. Maiga was encouraged many young women of town attended, for she believes youth need to listen and understand what they can specifically apply to better the position of women in the future.
But is simply listening sufficient? I was struck by the lack of input from the women seated on mats in the very crowded room where the men sat in front on slightly more comfortable chairs. The Commandant’s address, much like Mme. Maiga’s opinion on the role of women in the fight against poverty, was largely rhetorical. The question immediately came to mind, ‘What can we concretely do to improve the position of women?’ After the conference, Mme. Maiga told me if we want women to be able to lift themselves up out of poverty (literally the Sonrai phrase she used was to ‘pick themselves up’), we need to facilitate them taking their kids to the doctor when they are sick, we need to tell young women about STIs and HIV/AIDS, we should give youth apprenticeships with skilled workers, we need to give them opportunities to make money like soap making, tailoring, or gardens, and we need to be advocates for women who do not readily speak up for themselves.
On the day of the fête, Mme. Maiga mobilized the women to plant trees in Ansongo in order to show how women contribute to their community and environment. With USAID’s program “Sewing for Development,” I’ve been able to put tools in the hands of a collective of women in town to sew baby clothes. Peace Corps Partnership is enabling a curriculum targeted at 6th grade girls to have them be more knowledgeable of good health and hygiene as well as be encouraged in school. Up in Gao, Sarah Peters works with women entrepreneurs on numerancy in hopes they can soon learn bookkeeping. This is work which has direct results, work that will allow the women to have a stake in their own development.
Mme. Maiga expressed the desire to have the women themselves organize the day next year. With increased responsibility, there is ownership and motivation. “If they could only realize the role they play, [the women] will be able to prevent further deterioration of their place in society,” said Mme. Maiga. She hopes in the future women will be more involved in lowering illnesses which frequent their homes and adopt family planning practices. The most important thing for them to be is organized. To receive help to make the community aware of the fight against poverty—to make the whole community understand their needs.
It is easy to get discouraged in such endeavors. Later in the day, when I was at the hospital chatting with the staff of the maternity, a women complimented my outfit made out of the July 31st pagne. She wished she had the money to spend on clothes to celebrate. In fact, after the men had left the conference room at the Conseil de Cercle, the only topic Mme. Maiga discussed with the women was the failure of them to organize pagne distribution. No one had saved up enough to afford the fabric. Though it is clear priorities on getting fabric may be misplaced, it clearly shows the need to work with women on how to save money and use credit responsibly. When I was ready to go to the dance party in the community square, I asked two women I chat with from time to time, “Come, let’s go dance and celebrate your day.” One responded, “We’re hungry. People can’t celebrate if they are hungry.”
So, what is the role of women in the fight against poverty in Mali? Currently, it is to sit silent, be told by well-meaning men what they need to do to ‘pick themselves up,’ when they don’t even have the means celebrate a day meant for them. Nevertheless, I hope PCVs throughout the country had a good Women’s Day this July 31st. I hope this day next year especially, and every day in between, we can all do more to promote the work of women in the march towards a more developed Mali.

Wijila and a lesson

What more could I want? A patient Sonrai woman (Zubba) helping with my culinary skills and teaching me health-related vocabulary the whole day! Sweet!

The meeting I had this morning with the Health & Hygiene Committee was surprisingly non-Malian. They were there on-time, we got to business without the requisite gossipping, and out in 15 minutes! They will all start the extensive survey to find 150 families to manage our garbage cans. Met up with my teammate and we went to market to get wijila fixins. The spice guy and ladies waiting to buy were impressed with my "deydey" skills. But I had a cheat sheet Zubba gave me.

I enjoy the snacks I get alongside the women too. They prepared this dried-then-re-hydrated tuber (not manioc, not yam) with spices. Yum. We talked a lot about puberty and girls dealing with periods here. A subject I had never learned the vocab for with male tutors, and was very thankful for Zubba's help. I need all this information for my health curriculum I am teaching beginning in the Fall. But wow, the horror stories she was telling. Girls who double and triple shorts under their wrap skirt for 3 or 4 days never changing them...only to smell and walk funny; girls getting cut up from dried matter on poorly tied cloth; and mothers or older sisters who seem to have forgotten how it was for them and don't help out! We also had the birds-and-the-bees chat in Sonrai. Lots of good vocab and even ways to explain things while being culturally sensitive. You don't have intercourse you have a "meeting with a man." They aren't days of high-fertility but the "mean days" (mean as in not nice). To help me out Zubba even produced her copy books from 1986-87 when she was in the 9th grade. Amazing. I really hope she gets better once she has her baby and can go back to Health School. She would make such a great health worker!

Once we started making the wijila, my basin got a bit dirty. In fact, evidently it is a faux pas to wear such nice clothing while cooking. Sheesh, I thought the Sonrai valued looking nice at all occasions! I was touched that though I am constantly called too skinny and weak, when we were kneading the dough the women saw I actually have a bit of umph. Yay. This round of wijila-making I learned some details on spice preparation I hadn't learned in Sala or with my host-family here. Like the redder the tomato powder the better (black means they roasted the dried tomato too long); you pound the kabe (I am sad I don't know the translation for this, I think I won't be able to find it stateside!) to remove the black powder that comes off and only use the white powder and mossy leaves remaining. Soaking the date-paste makes it easier to incorporate. Pounding the garlic makes the flavor come out. And one can leave out the peppers if desired.

Rain forced the wijila making operation inside--at least now Oumar and Bebe couldn't trampled our formed dough. The sauce turned out a bit salty--but other than that it was delicious!

Nearly defeated

At my own game! I played Scrabble with Dr. Diarra and he nearly beat me! I guess I can't dumb it down too much, even when we play in English. Course, he clearly knows Scrabble and said he had played in French many a time. I mean, he knew how to make 3 and 4 words a turn AND how to attach well--like turning "you" into "your" and "how" into "show". Next time I'm gonna get my Scrabble on!

DJ on the Radio

My second or third time doing this went much smoother. I feel more confident without a script even and just focusing on a dialogue with the "animateur." Today M. Haidara and I talked about the health of pregnant women. I was amused how he would just answer his cell phone during the show. Our main message was for women to come to the hospital for deliveries. But we covered everything from the signs of eclampsia to nutritious food, from birth spacing to birth certificates. And of course M. Haidara made a political comment of how Malian President ATT has helped pregnant women to by making C-sections subsidized. Even the transport to get a C-section case to the hospital is free. We talked about the difficulties in convincing people to trust the educated staff of the hospital. Tradition is good, but here are people given to you by the Grace of God to serve your community and ensure healthy babies and mothers. I also liked his analogy of how pregnancy is like 'a women who is asked by her husband to fetch water. She doesn't know if she'll get water until she has made the journey to the river and back; and she doesn't know if there will be a lion waiting to attack along the way--but if she communicates with her husband and understands the risks in going to the river, it is more like she will return with water and all in one piece." Here, without ultrasound and amniotic fluid testing, etc. they don't know about lurking lions; but it is amazing with what diagnoses I've seen made correctly just based on experience and intuition. Plus, you have to believe nature wants the baby to be born in good health too. Went to Bebe's for dinner after the show; they get branched electricity from the cell tower, meaning we got to watch a ridiculous Qing-dynasty kung-fu movie. I miss Chinese. Helped my host-sister with her English when I got home. Even just basic sounds and letters need work. I hope I can help her enough to be able to pass her bacc!!

Discovering cultural universals

We all know the story "The Boy Who Cried Wolf." Well, so do the kids in my host family. I just had to laugh tonight as we were waiting for dinner the boy in charge of herding kept telling the octogenarian of a grandmother there was a hyena in the pen (of course there wasn't). She'd get up wielding a stick and run into the pen only to come back out again and scold him for his trickery. This went on for an hour. Finally the older nephew living with us told the boy-herder to stop scaring him with stories of vicious hyenas. He was also giving the boy a tough time about his size, calling him "kilowatt". Everyone has to have someone to pick on...the kid picks on the helpless grandmother; older children use younger as whipping-boys. And I think that is why more than once I witness small children beating up on animals.

Déchargée

Like my phone, I am without charge. Tired.

I finished writing the survey to ask the school girls and get a sense of their knowledge before we start the program; now I have to track down all their families to conduct the survey.

I spent lunch with Adiza now in her husband's home but it was somewhat awkward--after a few handfuls he got up saying he was full and that we women wanted our time to chat anyway. "Men and women aren't the same you know." He says as he leaves the room. Really? Wow. I had no idea!!

Back at the hospital, I waited. And waited. In fact I would say I could add "waiting" as a honed skill onto my resume. Finally my project guys showed up and we could have our meeting. Usually I use this time to work on language, but the maternity ladies were speaking Bambara on account of our Sage Femme being from the south. As much as I wanted to get incredibly frustrated at the two project coordinators, I swallowed my pride (question: what does pride taste like?) and though one was totally silent AGAIN as the other went off complaining and bragging about his skill set, I too just went for passive acceptance.

At least some women made me feel better as I left the hospital asking me about the many motos parked outside the gate. "Is one of these yours?" An older lady asked. "No, I don't have a moto, only my own two feet." I replied. Much to their amusement. I got a few, "Eh, she speaks Sonrai!"s and then got laughter as I went off on motos saying the drivers have no brains and they'll kill us all with their recklessness.

I was thankful for Bebe's "kangb'izey" (lit "children of the hand" though any gift tends to be "child of the ----, whatever place or thing you are coming from be it a trip, the market, your house). It ended up being my dinner. I am feeling the distance from the harvest and still the lack of good grazing grass despite rains having come: all we have is salty rice now. And tonight if it weren't for these two mangoes and fish from Bebe, all I would have eaten would have been mushy millet porridge. My host-sister and I split the gift from Bebe, and then some of the kids got our leftovers. One even pounded the skin and bones from the fish until he could stomach it. And my mango skins got eaten too. I was ashamed that when I awoke to my windows banging open and shut because of a dust storm approaching, I was hungry. How were they sleeping through the night?

Back to work

A beautiful slow rain known as "handiiri fin" in Sonrai--a Seattle rain, one that starts in the morning and clears up by noon--has it's own word!

I tried to find a laundry lady who lives by the river, but she had to move her tent (she is of the fisherman class) and was no where to be found. I've decided doing my laundry is just a waste of time. And hey, lots of my co-workers have someone do theirs too, so I don't feel too patronne-y about it.

On the way to the hospital many people greeted me as "way hiiji" or "wedding girl" cause of my henna. I got frustrated at the hospital because in the month I was gone many many new stagiares came who don't know me. I got a lot of "Who is this Anasara who knows Sonrai?" So I just started saying, "And who are you?" I mean seriously, I am probably older than most considering DEF+3 (9th grade education with three years at the health-worker school). Yet there is no initial respect. Even with the more seasoned staff, no matter how close I feel we may get, I still am an outsider. And it is easy to get discouraged when Bebe didn't do baby weighings the whole time I was gone. The worst past is that the women who came this morning asked me where I had gone. They said they came but no one was here. This is how we lose people. Bebe claims there is no interest at the hospital to help her out--but this morning two nurses, a stagiare, and a matronne all helped me out off and on. I am thinking of doing a training to get people energized. It is difficult when people who help don't know how to use the scale or put the charts in the wrong order or can't find charts...it makes women frustrated and not want to come back. Plus, the Gao representative from the regional bureau came down to review our program and declared it insufficient. We need our own room dedicated to nutrition and another re-hab room so mothers understand how to make the milk and porridge and can stay at the hospital until their baby is better.

I passed out the stuffed animals to the maternity staff for their kids and a few for babies who were just born. As much as I wanted to use them as incentives for mothers who frequent the baby weighings, it would get problematic when the toys ran out. And some kids are frightened by the somewhat lifelike cats! Bebe made a girl cry with the frog and Diarra tricked Denbele with the panther holding it as if he had come in from hunting...from afar, Denbele thought it was real! Ah, fun and games...

Here comes the bride!

Well, okay, so in Malian weddings she doesn't really come or go anywhere. She sits under a white sheet for three days until the husband's cousins and brothers come get her to take her to her husband where she then sits in his house for 7 days until finally they present themselves as a couple, sign the marriage certificate at the Mayor's and enjoy their new life together.

My good friend and co-worker Adiza got married this past weekend. She had very little to do with the festivities however. It was like we were partying for her, and M. Maiga her new hubbie, but with neither present at the festivities. At first we, the close friends of the bride, sat with her and got henna done on our hands and feet and got our hair done. They wanted to "install" a "koyra boro hiiri" headpiece for me, but I declined. And when I say install, I mean install. A large leather strap is attached to a headband which has a woven crest on top and is braided into the hair. Then strips of beaded bands are also braided in. Two clumps of dried dung are attached near the ears and other large yellow and red beads are woven in on top. Side tassles attached, other metal coins and cowries tied onto leather train. If you can't picture it yet, voici my co-worker Bebe:


The women who did my henna were very interested in the Anasara who speaks Sonrai and has lived in Mali almost a year. It was hard to be around so many people who didn't know me (Adiza's parents are in Gao, that was where the first part of the ceremony took place). The griot walked in while I was cat napping, but I still heard her say "What's this Anasara doing here?" And then she proceeded to make fun of Cisse's. How droll.

All day I enjoyed the conversations the women had: how to please your husband, who of their neighbors is a witch, how to find a good calabash...and because I was reading the Red Tent at the time, I was reminded of that community of women. More and more ladies piled into the salon, probably 30 in all, in their finest basin "completes" and soon it was time for lunch. I ate with Adiza, though she was still under her sheet.

After resting and waiting for the sun to drop lower in the sky, the women all washed and changed into white basin. Adiza stayed under her sheet. The takamba dance party began with an old griot MCing and a male band, but the guests were all women. Of course, lots of neighboring men came to watch us dancing. Still, bride nor groom participates. I danced with the Ansongo folk, the women of "La Sante" and with Mariams. The griot guy even raised my arm a few times (how you declare someone can dance) but I left early--too early to get my boisson! Gasp!

I brought Adiza her gift of new sheets the next day and got the boisson they set aside for me. Today we chatted mostly about beauty products. A woman came to bless Adiza and give her perfumes and traditional medicines. Bebe, laughing, gave me a little bottle of aphrodisiac. She says, "You put it here, here, here and here a ben. It's done." Ha. The last thing I need is more Malian men pursuing me! Ack! In fact, some of the male nurses and doctors came up from Ansongo to greet Adiza. "Major" noticed the little bottle near my purse and gave me a hard time about it.

We drank doonu, which is pounded millet mixed with spices and sour milk. Nothing too remarkable happened today--I think the whole wedding ceremony is time for the bride to rest before she begins a long life of hard work with little appreciation.

Taking my time

After getting back in-country the week of July 4th, doing medical tests because I am at my mid-service (AHH!), partying with staff and PCVs American-style (with real ketchup for the burgers and everything!), I am finally on a bus back to site. I guess it took so long to re-adjust cause getting some parental lovin' and perks of more-developed country life made it all the harder to come to Mali.

I saw my Nigerian friend on the bus as well as the school director, who didn't greet me. I am so Malian now, haha, demanding greetings from people I know! I gave the Bambi stickers away to two kids who gave up their seat for me (who therefore spent the two hours on top of coolers full of ice). I don't think they knew what to do with the stickers despite my demo. And the mother complained of headaches and fever and wanted "kinin" (how they pronounce "quinine" and basically the word for every medicine). At least they are predictable...

I got off the bus and immediately the bus guys and other townsfolk said this friend or that friend liked me, if I am single, where my husband was...oi! I literally screamed "I don't like anybody!" And stormed off. Some welcome home...I swallowed my pride and still bought the bus manager tea and sugar--guaranteeing a seat on any bus ride back to Gao.

The kids came running to help me with my bags. The family was double-greeting, I think they thought I wasn't coming back! I especially like how Nangey, one of the elder women, grabbed my hand and held my shoulder and really asked how my parents were. So often the greetings sound so insincere because they repetitive and said in a drone...but this time, she really meant it. All the worries I had about being back melted away. They really do care about me here.

But Mali really wanted to remind me I was back: as I fell asleep on the roof a blister beetle exploded under me. I washed the acid off and took antihistamine to cover my bases, but my God, it stung!

Intensity

I photographed my host-brother Abba in the family's cattle corral. He has a way with animals; he is seemingly fluent in chicken or sheep or bull, clicking away to subdue the animals. This young bull hardly put up a fight, his mom on the other hand grazed the cheek of my older host-brother with her horns!


The story of Abba intrigues me. My host-father's mother (our "kaagaa" or "grandmother") went to Mecca on her Hadj (in fact she has been three times). The most recent time she came back with Abba. He had been orphaned, left in Mecca at the age of 4. A few years ago, his birth-mother comes to town looking for him. She is Sudanese. Evidently he refused to go with her, and is essentially considered one of La Famille Cisse.


I appreciate the intensity with which Abba gazes at the beholder.

Moseying across the Maghreb

11 days in Tunisia and Morocco with my parents was a wonderful vacation, allowing me to relax, enjoy history, the sights and new cultures, and catch up with news from home. Plus play loads of Scrabble (final score 8-4, Mom winning) and get a good dose of hugs.

We started in Tunisia where we visited Tunis, the Hammamet coastline (loving the whiff of Jasmine in the air, the national flower), Sousse with its old Medina and souks (young Tunisians were playing local music from their Motorola phone sitting atop the tower of the Rabat), El Jem and its Roman Colosseum (321 AD), Monastir and Tunisia's revolutionary Habib Bourguiba's mausoleum, Gabes and its palmeraie, the island of Jerba where a synagogue was built in Nebuchadnezzar's time and where Ulysses stopped in the Odyssey, Matmata and the troglodyte homes, Douz for a camel ride into the Sahara, Tozeur for the waterfalls and Star Wars site (plus on the way we followed part of the path used in the Paris-Dakar rally), Nefta for winding old-town streets and more palms, Roman temples at Sufe Tula, the 4th holiest site in Islam (Kairouan Mosque), and Carthage. My favorite parts were jumping into the Mediterranean with all my clothes on cause the tour hadn't scheduled beach time, eating the original "fig newton," eating olives produced by 2000 year old trees, and guides. The one at the waterfalls taught us "I love you" in Arabic and called us gazelles or gazellinas as we clambered through the rocky landscape. The one at Bourguiba's mausoleum would say "gold leaf. touch. sit take photo. upstairs, take photo. box (the tomb), 7 tons. very heavy. guard, take photo." And the one at Carthage kept saying the Phonecians would sacrifice babies (as he drew his finger across his neck) while the Romans were civilized and sacrificed animals. Pleasant.

In Morocco, we basically saw all the Imperial cities. Starting in Casablanca, though all we saw was the waves of the Atlantic crashing a shore as we got transported from the airport to the tour bus, we made our way first to Rabat, the capital. Along the rode we saw parts of the "tin towns" of Casa, the slums. Almost 2 million living there without water, sewers, and sporadic electricity. Then, in grave contrast we pull up to the King's palace, which he doesn't really use. Why can't they turn that into a university? And why can't the royal family use some of their wealth to build housing for Casa's squatters? Alas... We continued on to the late King's tomb, on a plaza where I was accosted by a woman offering Henna. She literally grabbed my arm are started squeezing out the dye!! We had no money yet (one I forgot to change my CFA into Euro or something internationally accepted and two there hadn't been time for a bank stop yet), and I couldn't pay her despite her quickly finishing my hand. It was incredibly poor, and faded quickly. Toured our first Moroccan Medina and checked into our very ornate hotel. After the capital we went onto Meknes to see the mausoleum of the first Arab sultan here. A town nearby is his holy city, non-Muslims aren't allowed to set foot in it. But five trips to the city for Muslims is equivalent to one trip to Mecca. The Roman ruins at Volubilis were the most impressive we've seen, complete with mosaics in situ. Sad part is, as soon as they were unearthed, they've begun to fade. The whole excavation was well done with reconstructed arches and lettering, and whole city streets intact. Fes ended up being my favorite. We had a great local guide who gave more personal stories at the sites. We toured the souk and the heart of the medina while stopping at local craftsman's stores: the bronze work carved with a tiny hammer and needle to achieve the detail (the craftsman we observed made the doors on the King's palace), the rug makers who charmed us with hospitality and mint tea (we found out the women making the rugs only get $0.50 an hour, but at least it is a job! One weaver even let me tie on 6 knots or so), cactus silk weavers (they spin the silk down the narrow streets and dye everything naturally), and the tannery. Wow. They use 1200 year-old practice to tan the hides. The young men working there have shorted life spans because of the limestone mixture they use to treat the skins--we actually saw a guy climb into the big tumbler to remove hides. It was interesting to see the natural dyes: green from mint, yellow from saffron, red from poppies, blue from indigo or cobalt, and black from mascara. We went out of the city a bit to see the ceramic workshop, where again young men had not-so-great working conditions drying olive pits and skins in the sun for fuel, stoking the fires which produced very black smoke, throwing and painting the pieces, and carving tiles for mosaics. We saw the Switzerland of Morocco, Ifrane, which produces the cedar wood used in traditional Andalusian architecture. Marrakech included a tour of the medina (not as impressive as the one in Fes) and an evening excursion to the plaza Djemma el-Fna, where for the price of my ONE campaign bracelet given to the vendor, Dad and I got free mint tea. Plus we saw snake charmers, dancers and performers while people-watching--it was great that at night the square was full of locals enjoying the entertainment. The Majorelle garden was beautiful. The French artist was fond of cactus and Berber wares. Our last night we were taken out to the suburbs (passing two McDonald's on the way!!) where quite frankly, Morocco embarrassed itself. Here was a show specifically tailored to tourists, and the horsemen weren't very skilled, the dancers off beat and not in line, the belly dancer not even able to belly dance, and most young participants looking completely disinterested. And the food was mass produced. At least the fruit was fresh, a fact we found to be true all over the country. Back in Casablanca I had to say goodbye to the parents again, tear! But enjoyed my day seeing the Art-deco style of the buildings and the world's 3rd largest Mosque with the world's tallest minaret built by the last King of Morocco.

We laughed at Dad trying to use his 30-yr old French (or was that 300 yr old?? Hehe. Habibi!)

Tough to readjust to a not-so-developed country and have only a little bit of home only to start my 15 month countdown to the end...

Quote

Urban T. Holmes writes: "A life incapable of significant sacrifice is also incapable of courageous action."

Cebo

42 babies at weighings this morning! Safi came back, and her mother had strung beads around her neck. Fetishes of a kind. Bebe actually ripped them off Safi's neck saying "she has good medical care no need for superstition." But I kinda feel as long as the beads weren't hurting Safi, why not let the people have their superstition? Mentality is half the battle when it comes to healing.

In the afternoon I went to a baptism or "cebo". It was the baby of the hospital's driver, Youssouf. Everyone I work with was there, plus many of the women in the Bonfeeri association, and other neighbors. All dressed in the finest of Basin of course. I was only in my pink tungu. But when we, "La Sante" got up to dance to the appropriate song "SIDA est la" (AIDS is here), I got 2000CFA put in my head wrap and a shawl draped over my shoulders--even without a booty it was deemed that I can dance! It was incredibly amusing having the women try and get me to shake it. No matter how I tried to explain my lack of a derriere, they'd just try harder. I greeted the mother and baby, and gave money to the griots (the older male griot tried to dance with me, ha) so they wouldn't insult my name. The next morning I was greeted with "Ni nda gaani!" "You and the dance!" Fadi, a nurse, said I can't go home, I am truly Koyraboro now (what the Sonrai call themselves, "village people"), awww warm fuzzies of acceptance!

Market strike

I went to Gao to get some Gao-borey lovin', but the mood was soured by the fact that the market had been closed for days. The Mayor threatened to raise tariffs on stalls, doubling them to approximately $0.40. The police were actually hitting people in market! So I still have yet to get my 10-month bracelet though the day passed May 27th. Ah well, if anything service has taught me it is patience.

On my way back to site I took the bus (my way to Gao was in the nice and air-conditioned hospital vehicle), and had to pay 2000CFA for myself and 2000CFA for my bike! Guidronne-robbery! Plus, I didn't even get a seat. Sarah and her homologue were headed to a village 25km south of Gao on the road to Ansongo and wisely reserved tickets. I however was left to sit on an ice-box in the middle of the aisle. At least it was a pooly insulated ice-box and I was kept chilled.

The kids of La Famille Cisse had an impromptu dance party in our courtyard. Addey and Abba have some moves! And Abba was trying to teach the other kids how to roll their stomachs. I was amused and slightly disturbed by the "grippa" dance which is a song about the bird flu calling out to dancers to dance like dead and or dying chickens. And you thought our chicken dance was annoying?

Tweet, Tweet!

I went to the hospital again today to find Safi's mother had started to make the milk, and when we weighed her child again she had gained a kilo!

Coming back home Addey, a host brother in the 4th grade, was holding a decapitated birdy by its wings tweeting and flying it around. I was aghast. Then again, he doesn't have a transformer or a GI Joe to play with. Everything is a little more...(insert graphic adjective here).

Wait, that's an Oregon Trail disease!

I managed to fight away a case of bacterial dysentery (literally "bad stomach") just by drinking lots and lots of clean water...but was advised to turn to antibiotics to clear up an upper-respiratory infection that came on the day the dysentery cleared. I'm all healthy now; but it does remind me that no, I do not have an iron stomach. I had been buying the ice people sell in market in attempts to beat the heat, but chances are it was made with untreated water. And one cannot exactly filter ice.
I was amused by how the Malians reacted. This was the first time I was seriously ill. Many many came to visit and say "Albai yeesi." They laughed when I said I was praying the diarrhea away (really, it is best to just let it pass) and not taking any medicines. The answer to all maladies here is an injection of "kinin," or the Sonrai version of "quinine"; Of course that is also because all maladies are assumed to be malaria. In fact, there are two words for "medicine" in Sonrai: "safari" (it's a wild ride for your immune system!) and "kinin." I am often asked on the street for "kinin" be it that the local is pointing to a gash in their leg or holding their head in pain. But I don't have a problem with doctors treating for a deadly disease--malaria--even if it might just be dysentery (the symptoms are often the same). A better safe than sorry attitude does save lives.

Oh, Anniversaries!

It was five years ago today I graduated from Wayzata High School. I wonder if anyone back in MN will have a reunion? Or they've fallen out of style cause everyone practically stays in touch whether superficially or not through Facebook.

The mood of the day, pensive, and the fact that I was not getting off my mat other than to run to the latrine, gave me time to reflect. I was happy Safi, a 2 year old was brought into the hospital with a bad case of whooping cough because at 6kg390g and 79cm with an arm circumference of only 9cm (average is 12cm), she seriously needed nutritional rehab. It was the obvious illness that caused her parents to bring her in, not the silent killer: hunger. Now, Bebe reports to me when she visits that Safi's mother is refusing to prepare the rehab milk. It is incredibly frustrating when the resources are available and people don't use them! Maybe the shiny silver packaging is just too foreign, or the idea that the mother's milk isn't enough is offensive. Maybe the parents don't even want the burden of their child anymore. Safi is just so small!! And she'll only keep wasting away unless the worms are killed and she starts eating. I want to be back at the hospital! My foreign presence can be a blessing and a curse: people fear or don't trust the white woman, the outsider. Or, they are more likely to act because I am there, "we'll do it if the foreigner says so." But in this case I feel because Safi didn't cry when I weighed her, the mother just might warm up to me enough to let us treat her daughter.