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.