Here a liver, there a liver

The walk over to Diallo's house the morning of Tabaski was not for the faint of heart. Everyone had been to mosque for the mass-prayer and had already sacrificed their sheep. Therefore, it was a matter of dodging pools of blood and various entrails in the road as I made way through the Château d'Eau neighborhood in my basin dress all nicely embroidered and shiny. It's fun to suppay for festivals.

The only frustrating part of the day was because Orange (cell phone service) has already been difficult lately, and everyone and their mother was calling relatives to wish them kaa yeesi (literally, "may the new year come"), I was unable to talk to most of my friends and family. Aliou had smartly called the night before, and I finally got through with Albekaye (Bamba), Bébé (Ansongo) and Kanté (Bamba) today. Mostly, the greetings go something like this: 

War kaa yeesi! May the new year come!

War kaa yeesi, m'ir alhaanan! Yes, may the new year come and may God pardon us!

Irkoy m'ir cebbe yeesi! Irkoy m'ir dam tamawey ra kang ga dii yeesi! 

May God show us the new year! May God favor us as a part of those who see the new year!

War ma hansa k'ay alhaanan. Pardon me.

Man ay jingar gooro? Now, where's my gift?

I gave out 10F pieces to kids and some milk/tea/sugar "baskets" to others. 

Diallo and I celebrated and ate sheep meat with his friends, mostly from the hospital. Then we greeted his cousin in the 8th neighborhood and got a leg of sheep. We greeted a PCV over there and we found out Diallo happened to have delivered his host mom's twins. We spent the afternoon digesting and then cooked up our sheep leg into a yummy soup for me, Diallo and two other PCVs. As we were eating, we heard a Tamacheq band tune up, and therefore headed over to watch. I enjoy Tamacheq music as opposed to Takamba (Sonraï) because of the use of guitar. And it was fun to see all the ladies in beautiful tungus (full body wraps). 

The following morning my neighbor gave me another portion of sheep meat and though I graciously accepted I am still wondering what I should do with it. I can't just give raw meat to a garibou...

I would have to say this was the most enjoyable of Tabaski's because it was more low key but I still managed to greet and suppay and thank God for all the happy I have in my life right now. 

Yalla! Yalla! Yalla!

I was entirely all too amused by the SONEF (Société Nema et Frères) bus coordinator who boarded on the checkpoint leaving Bamako. He was definitely Arab (the company is based in Gao and run by N. Malian Arabs) and yet spoke Bambara, Sonrai, French, and a little English. He was yelling at people (yalla! yalla! yalla!) trying to get them to get off and on smoothly to make last minute purchases. I only wanted to buy a water but the door was blocked by all the vendors yelling: Bene be! Bene be! Jisuman Jiiiiiiisuman! Buru be, keme ni mugan! (Get your seasame seeds! Cold water, cold cold water! Bread here, 600F!) and so I say to the guy, "Ah, I'm afraid to get off!" In sonrai. And he responds, "Yalla!" And practically pushes me out the door. I buy my water and get back on, only having to tell one pushy vendor off and yell at a guy trying to speak to me in English to get me to buy his ticket. Soon the animated bus coordinator was taking money for tickets, and trying to prevent anyone else from leaving...so when I tried to help the elderly Peuhl behind me buy some bread I was swiftly rejected. Goro! Sit! Then another Peuhl got on the bus and headed toward the back. The prendtigi (ticket taker/baggage handler) didn't hear the Arab guy's calls for the gentleman's name, so he just goes, "Oh, well it's a Peuhl, Diallo it is. Yes, Sidi Diallo. Voilà." Everyone was ready to go and so the Arab yelled to us a few benedictions in Sonrai, "May you all arrive safely! May God protect even the Bambara's on board!" 

I heart companies run by Northerners...Yalla!

Irkoy m'ir faaba nda gaham baani foonda!

"May God help us on the road to good health!"

Those were my "last words" at every site where our theater troupe performed during the last 3 weeks. I got warm fuzzies when later, sitting in a meeting with our Programme Manager and ECHO Coordinator, when the PM suggested as a Sonraï title "Baani foonda" for the Projet Intégré Eau et Nutrition...it's so fitting because it already came naturally as a theme for the project. And baani means health, peace, happiness; foonda can mean road or means--so it is exactly what we preach, you find the means to peace and happiness through good health!

The theater festival which I had been preparing since August went incredibly well. Outside of generator issues, communication to chefs (aside from litterally sending a child to give a heads up to the villages...the word just doesn't spread even with radio announcements, a communiqué by the mayor's office, letters to the schools, phone calls etc etc), and the fatigue of the actors, I was impressed. We built the troupe from the ground up. Meaning even content--health messages they were communicating for us--had to be taught to them first. Since the whole troupe aside from the organiser is illiterate, that meant creativity. I recorded a series of cassettes with the necessary information and we practiced practiced practiced. I enjoyed how kids would perch up on the 2m wall to watch practices and already began to sing the educational songs we wrote before the performances began. 

My favorite moments were seeing the evolution of the troupe. They really began to play off of each other. Especially the two girls--I was worried about them in the beginning because of their shyness and giggles but they convinced me by the end. I also enjoyed how the comedy just continued to grow. By the last show on the island of Bania (the Niger is very very wide for the 75km stretch in the commune of Bamba) the father character was just hamming it up making jokes about his wife; the other father added an element of jealousy when he found his friend speaking with his wife about the health of their kids; the two wives discussing porridge began to ask why it isn't their hubbies who get busy and do some of the work (Fact: when speaking with a women's group in Kermanssawe, a woman said, "for every month a man works, a woman works 3"). The doctor character mastered his monologues--he was the key player in the troupe to get our messages across. 

Now, they want more trainings including literacy classes, health/hygiene basic training, and music lessons. Working with youth is so encouraging because they are so excited to learn. I really think it will be possible to create an orchestre de Bamba with traditional instruments--drums, guitars, nzarka violins, gourd drums, etc. Because half the troupe also animates on the radio, we have great potential to cut an educational cd and play it around the commune, maybe the region. 

I enjoyed getting to know the troupe (when you rehearse and then travel by boat together from village to village for 3 weeks you get close) and it was touching when I came back to see the last show in Bania (I had to go back to Gao to work at the office before going back out en brousse) the two girls came running down the dune to meet me at the river's edge with hugs. I love my job. 

Ganda hasaraw

Man ti koyra no. This isn’t a village, says our agent. I am so tired it’s not even funny. And feeling ill. The stress, the work, the people! Ah! The secretary general at the mayor's office comes to ask one of our staff members to go out in our boat to wish a family well—one of the counsellors to the mayor died in Bahondo. And yet when the 1er adjoint asked me last Wednesday, I said no because our boat conductors are already exhausted and we have the big theater festival coming up. Still, they come and ask someone else, more forgiving, and of course he not knowing my refusal earlier, said ok. But it was up to them to find gas. So the secretary approaches me this evening to say there is NO gas in Bamba and was hoping I could loan him 7L and he’ll reimburse it later. I pause and call an agent for advice. The secretary leaves the courtyard. The gas vendor, whose house I was in cause he rents to one of our agents, and with whom I work to organize the youth and the theater festival, comes over to tell me the secretary 1) told him to lie to me and say if I ask, that there is no gas in Bamba; when in fact there is easily a 1000 liters he could have tonight and 2) that the secretary would never reimburse the gas he just wants to get it for free. When we’re already giving him the boat which I didn’t even want to do in the first place. If you give a jackal a baby goat’s leg…

Then the artist troupe who did our launch (very well I could add) is still complaining to everyone and their mother about the fact that we gave the theater festival contract to local youth. It's called capacity building my dear friend. 

Later in the evening, I called over one of our comediens to help get the panels (huge informational signs we'll be putting up in the villages) from the boat in from Gao to the courtyard. He does it semmingly for free. Then he asks me later if it is me or the boatman who will pay him…gah, and another comedien told me today ay ga baa afor??? Me? I like it easy?? Nooo….ce n'est pas possible!

At least me and the agents get along. They make me laugh. Two of the male agents had gone out in search for food because I was on strike as the cook--just too tired and busy really, but we have a good time with it--and stopped by where I was eating to see where I was. Well, I happened to be enjoying tigadege with Ami…she welcomed him to the bowl, but like a small child he said ay ši shrugging the one shoulder. No. 

Back at the house I tell Ami, much to everyone's amusement, ganda hasaraw with those two out and about disturbing the peace!

I'm starting to see why my people back in Ansongo warned me about Bamba...

Sensitizing

It’s as if everywhere I go now I give a little health talk. The woman who makes fries for the school kids to snack on (and who is the treasurer for Bamba's Comité de Gestion de Pointe d'Eau) called me over as I was on my way to the radio. Soon there is a small gathering of women on the way back from the market. An elderly woman asks me what is wrong with her pregnant daughter who doesn’t see well at night. Vitamin A deficit! Tati Cissé, the fry lady, gives most of the health talk. Evidently she studied in Gao under the Red Cross when they were here (during the 80s famine maybe?) Then the old woman asks about dried mangoes. I guess they heard about them on the radio and didn’t understand so they want to hear more. Cool. I explained that you soak them in water after drying them really really well and eat them. Or pound them into a powder and mix into a bita for kids. Yum! I love it when people are eager to learn...because sometimes I feel I must be like a broken record: wash wash wash your hands hands hands with with soap soap soap soap soap...

NB: Does anyone else find the idea of "sensitizing" disturbing? It is the direct translation from the French sensibilisation which is my work here...health talks and radio shows and theater etc etc. But I can't help but think of little white lab mice getting injections when someone says sensitize. And yet "awareness campaign" is too awkward. Maybe I'll start encouraging people to use "canvassing" in financing proposals...

Market Day

The prehistoric bellows of the camels gathered just beyond the courtyard wall reminded me it’s market day in Bamba. I decided to conduct a market survey to determine this year’s prices in comparison to last year. Rice, millet, meat, yams, oil, onions, almost everything has gone up substantially in price. Still, there is a lot available for the moment, especially with the new harvest of rice coming in. I learned the word for blowfish “talibonbon” which is pricy here compared to the tilapia or catfish. I ended up at my Spice Ladies to chat for a bit in the shade. Leleisha and her mom Aminata are great fun. Other women gathered, and I ended up giving a talk on bouillie enrichie. I really enjoy my work!! It gives me such energy to be with the people learning about them, speaking and hearing their worries and ideas. Everyone seems to know me here. But sadly I don’t often recognize people. The woman who made my beaded headband came up to see me as I was buying some charcoal, and said her child died. She said she had tried to look for me but I had gone back to Gao. When? It was after my last trip here—early this month. I asked if she had gone to the CSCom. Yes, but it didn’t help. What could I have done?? That is the sad thing, my skin color gives people the idea I am able to fix everything. Even extremely ill kids. Sadly, no.

With my market purchases I made for the first time fakuhoy. That'd be the classic koyraboro black, viscous sauce made from the faku leaf found in the bush of northern Mali. And it was delicious.

Just like new

First, Happy Birthday Boy! And he was all nice and called me...but at the time I was helping explain the pompe à corde (a new low-cost technology Oxfam is introducing to the region) to the visitors. Our mission coincided with the arrival of 4 Oxford/London Oxfam workers. So I had a jolly good time explaining northern culture, Bamba and our projects. And lots of official meetings and translation so they could collect their testimonies! It’s nice even at the point where I am in my service and understanding of Malian life/politics, I am still learning new things. 

We heard nzarka music (a traditional violin) at Temera/Takamba (evidently the origin of the dance). We drank mangshi and ate borgho hawru because that is all our host family had--both are made from the seeds of the river grass which grows wild in the shallows. I bathed in the garden at sunset with river water--also a first and I hope I let it sit long enough to let the ick settle. One of the younger Brits brought his trumpet and the kids loved it. Then even a few tried playing and got some sound out of it! Ah, cultural exchange. When in Bamba we got to see a kamba hooray a rhythmic clap/stomp dance only performed by the former slave-class. The participants organise themselves in a circle and chant and clap. A few go to the middle to dance--where often the women go into trance. It was interesting hearing the mayor's wife's descriptions of who was leading the rhythm, the pairs of dancers (one was mother-son, her only child, a rarity) and which of the women often go into trance. Luckily, no one did, otherwise we would have been there all night! 

The guests got some great interviews with leaders and chiefs and people affected by Oxfam’s work. At the CSCom, I almost died when the president of the comité de gestion asked, "Wait, what does Oxfam do in our CSCom?? We don’t work together…do we?" Gah! At least Moustaph, the nurse had good, informed commentary to make because he's the one we directly work with. But it baffles me there is not more communication between management and service. I feel like a lot of what we do here is contingent on the internal funtioning of the government offices/services. We're starting to talk about good governance and transparency, but before most offices get a complete make-over, I feel like the information, though important, will fall on deaf ears. The way the system is currently organized props up the corrupt officials at the top, so why would they want anything to change?

A genral theme was the difficulties this year caused by last year’s poor harvest and that people’s animals were dying for lack of food. Often, Bamba folk are only eating one or two meals a day. But it will get better they said, soon, when the rice comes in. The women’s groups were a disaster because they ALL came when in essence the guests only wanted a few testimonies. So politically charged here! And of course the mayor’s wife wanted to be interviewed. We ended up in small focus groups. Sadly, she was with our group. And she was definitely influencing answers. Then she brought up the coordination of women—to which not all groups belong. I don't think I’ve never heard so many raised voices arguing in Sonrai and French and Tamacheq! At least as one of the Oxford visitors commented, the women are active and vocal!! Though, as usual the men came in to sort things out. And I was reprimanded by the chef during the opening meeting (me and our agents, with the mayor and his counsellors, plus the guests at the front of the room on chairs facing the women waiting on mats) for not translating everything he was saying. I was, really...it's just that he kept repeating how difficult life is here and how much they need help. We know. As soon as the men left, the women became talkative despite my entreaties for them to contribute to the opening commentaries. Despite my ability to cross lines through language and the fact that they see me as a koyra izo I'm still identified as siding with the power brokers. After the dust settled, the Tamacheq and Bella women were complaining because we didn’t have a Tamacheq tranlator. Our agent later explained to me he attemped to respect the hierarchy of status in Bamba, inviting a group of Songhoy women from the high society and another of Bella, but despite his efforts, all the women showed up. Nevertheless, I think the guests were pleased. If anything the experience showed them how difficult it is to work in Bamba! They continued onto T2, though one left his Songhoy hat behind. So we sent it down to Bamako on the boat. Hmm….I wonder if he ever got it?

Child of the village

In preparation for my mission to Bamba, I went to market with our logistician (in the car…gah, I get so pampered now!) to buy rice and beans because there are rumors there is nothing in Bamba for eating. At the bean vendor I was speaking with the woman making sure there weren’t worms in my beans. She later follows me to the rice vendor marvelled at my lack of accent, “n’ga šenno, wallahi, žiibi kul š’a ra.” "Her language, my God, it's not dirty at all!"

Later, when helping the people from Oxford get situated with their host family in Bamba, the women gathered said to me I was one of them—“these people here are strangers, but you Mariam, you’re a koyra izo!” 

Warm fuzzies. 

Around the river bend...

We managed to sensitize both the populations of the “village of my fathers” (Abbakoïra) and Zorhoye (actually in the Timbuktu region but it is a large market and attracts the populations from the villages we're targeting). The Relais were annoyed we didn’t inform them better—despite phone calls to the chief by our agent stuck in Gao (he was to originally come with us) AND radio announcements since Wednesday. Being so isolated makes communication difficult.

It was still a successful dance party/informational presentation on the typical themes of malaria prevention, clean/potable water, and childhood nutrition focusing on proper breast-feeding. We gathered 250 people. The wind picked up, just like in Garbamé, and I was COVERED in sand by 4am the next day when we moved on to Zorhoye. The men had slept in the boat. Crazy. The following day was great. I really enjoyed interviewing people in the market (full of produce despite Bamba being in crisis and it is only 37km away by river) on malaria, breastfeeding, and hygiene. The dialect was even more similar to that of Timbuktu, so I tried to greet in what I remember from Goundam. Our party was tamed by the fact that the chief forbade us from playing music (he said the only "music" they need in Zorhoye is that of the Imam preaching in the mosque). Luckily the Tamacheq DJ from the radio was there for market and he helped translate. We did the public broadcast from the CSCom, where the aide soignant (a step below nurse with typically a 6th grade education at best) was running the place. After all the questions and answers posed at the CSCom and in market were collected and judged, 

a young boy of 12 or 13 won the radio because he answered every question perfectly. It’s good to see such enthusiasm.

The culture, naturally, is more like T2 out here…I don't know how to explain it but the feeling of the town reminded me a lot more of Goundam than of Bamba or Gao. The chief's wives were very nice, one tamacheq rouge like him and the imam, the other one Bella, who luckily spoke Bamba-sonrai. They were both named Mariam. The tamacheq rouge Mariam gave me 5 bracelets which I thought she wanted me to buy because other vendors had already come into the courtyard to sell a goat-skin water bag, bracelets, cakes etc. But no, this was simply a way for me to remember Zorhoye. And she jammed them on my wrist so I don’t think they’ll be coming off soon. 

Ramadan Fête Eid al-Fitr

I went to fete the end of Ramadan with Kate in Bara. We ate a lot of fakuhoy, drank fresh milk, tried to teach the women to sew (after Bébé was making things difficult in Ansongo I ended up sending one of “her” machines to Bara) and quizzed the children demanding for their jingar gooro. “Gooro” actually means kola nuts; a tribute or gift during festivals, weddings, baptism, and funerals. Now it means money, or for the kids candy. Well, before any of the children got their “gooro” Kate and me asked them health questions or trivia. Why should you wash your hands with soap? What water is clean water? Who’s the president of Mali? What’s your father’s name? Can you count to 10? The daughter of the school director got that one perfectly. In French. And then we asked fairly easy questions to young kids, all in Sonrai, like: “What are you wearing on your feet?” And though the child had on shoes, he goes “Nothing.” My favorite: Who’s the “chief” of Mali”? "My Mom." What gives you malaria? Swimming in the river. Okaaay….well, we don’t want you doing that either…but mosquitoes give you malaria dear. Anyway, it was good times. We had lots of fun greeting. It seems like everyone in this village is related! The first day of the fete Kate and I went out with all the village to a field (rather outside the town limits where because this is the sahel, it is just empty flat space) to pray. We didn’t do the whole prayer but we did kneel and give benedictions. Labbadja (rice with mutton and a lot of homemade butter) for lunch.

Baby weighings were kinda of a bust cause people know there isn’t any flour so they don’t come. Jem. I enjoyed playing with the few cuties who couldn’t get enough of the plumpy nut though. I miss this work! Too bad the CSCOM staff especially the matrone won’t work…she actually rolled her eyes when I told her to come help me explain the program to the women.

The following day, sitting out on the side of the road...I liked how Ibrahim the Chef de Poste summed up my inability to find transport “we are so underdeveloped!” I mean seriously, even the guy who runs the transport consortium for the village (town really, almost 7000 residents) said a bus would come. A few NGO cars passed me by as did private cars and I didn’t hop on the camion but probably should have. It didn’t have a windscreen tho! So Kate and I sat on the side of the road all day long, got delivery fakuhoy, and chatted. Eventually by Thursday morning I was able to get SONEF to Gao. The assistant of the education program almost thought I had quit my job because I had been stuck en brousse...

The Wild Wild North

The security situation is more of a nuisance than threatening. There are rumors constantly about bandits and carjackings. And then as I go out of my house on Sunday night, I start to hear gunfire, but think it is just firecrackers. I get to the next block and see three tracers whiz through the air. I pause. I ask someone. And the woman, running past, goes willi ka koy hugeydo! Get inside! I went a block back and saw a broussey truck zoom past on the gravel road. Still more gunshots. But people are outside, breaking the fast, saying it is just stupid kids playing with firecrackers. I get to where I normally eat dinner and they are afraid to go out. We conclude it is the rebels. We find out later, yes, some armed Tuaregs came into town looking for someone. The gendarmes arrested 3 men and rounded up many others. I don’t think this is an escalation. It’s unrest, yes, but this is the Wild Wild North.

Some articles from the Malian press, my comments are in red.

Security: Confrontation in Fafa; The army attacks the Gandaïso

Le Républicain - Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Yesterday afternoon a clash took place between the Malian army and the Gandaïso. There have been deaths on both sides. The army, determined to get their hands on the alleged head of the armed group called the Gandaïso, carried out thirty arrests in Fafa.

The alleged head of the Gandaïso, Mr. Amadou Diallo, is a native of Fafa, a village located 75 kilometers south of Ansongo on the national highway between Gao and Niamey.

According to our sources in Gao, the closure of the "Chateau" district (sector 3) by the army on Sunday resulted in the arrest of six people. Hence, the army has embarked on a concerted effort to apprehend the head of the armed group (most people think what happened in Gao and the Gandaïso are unrelated).

Reached by telephone, concerning the question of the existence of militias in Mali, the Director of Information and Public Relations for the Malian Army (DIRPA), Colonel Abdoulaye Coulibaly, was firm in saying that "militias do not exist in Mali. Everything must be done to restore peace. The army will never accept the existence of a militia. It is not possible to support the existence of a militia in our country." Concerning Gao, Colonel Coulibaly maintains that "the army is now patrolling the area and there is no question that people will be allowed to create disorder." (Really? Wouldn't you say shooting off guns in the middle of the city creates disorder?)


Gao: Army fire breeds panic

By B. Daou - Le Républicain - Tuesday, September 16, 2008

The "Chateau" district of Gao (sector 3) was cordoned off by the Malian army at sunset, Sunday, September 14 after gunfire, which terrified the population for nearly an hour (it was a few rapports followed by a few more periodically for 10 minutes and then a few more isolated rapports 30 minutes later; and, like I said, people kept going about their lives, breaking the fast, listening to music/the radio, and even playing at the foosball tables in the road). The army was, we learn, looking for members of the Gandaïso militia, which resulted in two arrests (in the article above didn't they say the arrested 6? And I heard it was only 3...). During the day yesterday (Monday), it was learned that all of the gunfire of the previous day was a diversion; firing in the air which created a panic (not really, all the people I talked to thought first of hooligans with firecrackers before rebels with guns) among the population of Gao. Has the existence of militias in the north of Mali become a reality? (It has been a reality since the rebellion. They just haven't been active).

Sunday evening, it was panic in Gao, just at the time of the breaking of the fast: gunfire was heard. The "Chateau" sector had been identified by the military and the army covered the city of Gao.

The population, meanwhile, was relieved of their fear, the fear of a rebel attack. Or was it the Gandaïso, which took the city? (I seriously dislike the politics of fear in these two paragraphs--southerners will read this and panic not knowing what actually happened! One neighborhood where 3-6 men/soldiers shot guns off into the air is NOT taking the city).

According to some comments in the town of Gao, it was the security service in the region of Gao, headed by the governor, who took part in the gunfire.

For others, it was a threat of attack that targeted the residences of the Director General of the Agency for Integrated Development in the North (ADIN), Aklinin and the President of the Chamber of Agriculture of the Gao Region, Mr. Mohamed Ag Hatabo. The armed troops included elements of Ganda Koy (or Gandaïso), according to the rumors resulting from the panic.

In this confusing situation, there have been arrests. According to our sources, citing the names of two persons who were reportedly arrested. It is Mr. Aliou Maïga, a former policeman and native of Labbezanga (near the Mali-Niger border) and a custodian of the Norwegian Church in Gao (whose name was not known).

In the "Chateau" area of Gao, which was cordoned off, families have been searched and throughout the night, the army patrolled the city of Gao, our sources indicate.

It was yesterday that the population realized that the shootings did not occur by chance, but was the result of the army itself that shot into the air, indicated a source in Gao. "They created the attack in order to carry out the arrests," says one.

According to our source, at the time of shooting, (i.e. the alleged attack), the head of military operations, Colonel El Hadj Gamou, was camped at the time with his family in the stadium, which is located on the way out of town. This makes people believe that the attack was only a simulation (A local NGO rep who works with good governance agrees that it was simply a posed "attack" to help the governor, who is currently a colonel, attain the status of general. He even said that they used some firecrackers as distraction, hence the confusion of whether it was gun fire or not).

In the opinion of some, this military operation created a psychosis and leaves the door open for the settling of scores. Sources indicate that the head of Gandaïso (Mr. Amadou Diallo) is the target.

Activities resumed yesterday during the day, but after 6:00 p.m., people hid in their homes, leading to a de facto curfew (the 100s of people I passed while out in the evening weren't exactly hiding). According to the Governor Amadou Baba Touré, he participated on Sunday, September 14, in Ouatagouna (80 kilometers south of Ansongo, on the road to Niger), along with the Minister of Environment and Sanitation, Mr. Alhassane Ag Agatham, at the launching of an activity to protect the environment.

Miss Not Enough Salt

I'm enjoying working with my colleagues of the PHP team—and because I am interested in actually seeing the work succeed, I work hard. Sometimes though, I get the feeling that as a result people assume I can do everything. Not true. 

It's fun figuring out everyone's truc (French for "thing"). Our guardian in Bamba is Monsieur pas de problème, another agent is all about kanga cirey. They were joking about it so frequently, I finally demanded one night, and learned it literally means “under the palm trees” and they let me figure out the "other" sense. We have Madame n'importe quoi who is always commenting on the seemingly chaotic unfolding of the projects. I especially like Monsieur ça va aller, which is a way of saying there's still hope. 

It was great going out to Garbamé in the pinasse (long, wooden boat with grass mat-canopy). Well, beyond the poorly timed sand storm, the non-operational generator which was "fixed" after the lancement, and the lack of good sleeping quarters, it was a good mission. ALL the relais (community health relays/first response team) showed up. Even having only been informed the night before and it being Ramadan. Our animator did really well and the morning question-answer was great, though it was the doctor's wife who won. She did answer practically all the questions perfectly. More women than men answered, and no kids replied. The riddle we came up with as a "challenge" was figured out too quickly: Adamize kaŋ kaa aduñya ra, a si hin ka huna nda haya kul kala n’ga. Macin ti hayadin?” Fafa wawa. Translated roughly as "A child who has come into the world can't live but for one thing." Two guys said water, and another just said their mother. The answer we were looking for was breast milk. The sun gave me a nasty burn even in my tungu (blue full-body wrap). It was funny that with my way of dress an agent commented on the trip over that I resembled the bride when her cousins take her away from her family to go live with her husband. I guess I had the lounging, sad look going. It was beautiful to see the wind play at the blue tunics of the men as they stood and knelt on the side of a dune at the edge of the river to pray. The dedication of the fishermen casting their nets. The hopeful look of the farmers in the rice paddies. And the rare sight of two women poling a pirogue along. 

The whole week reminded me of what a gift it is to be able to speak like a koyraboro. From radio shows to informal chats with my "spice girls" (who both got their high school diploma this year; one wants to go to Gao for health school and the other to FLASH--the English program at the University of Bamako). Even one butcher recognized me from Sala! (Speaking of Sala, my training host-family called to say the daughter-in-law gave birth to a little boy). The evening the Timbuktu boat came was great—well, interesting to see the commerce come and visitors and how Bamba borey actually got more animated. Because honestly, it is a village that sleeps after the sun goes down. Or they’re just good at retreating into their homes. A woman I knew in Ansongo was there to greet the boat, she’s actually from Bamba and was there with her family for vacation before she goes back for the school year. I was voluntarily the cook for the mission. Once the driver even asked, "Are all Americans like you? Doing nice things for people?" It was funny how each meal they told me there was not enough salt—to the point where it has become I joke. So now I'm Madame ciiri mana wasa. 

Little by little we are making progress. People definitely listen to the radio in the commune of Bamba. My celebrity continues to spread--even out to the smallest of villages. And people often approach to ask about what I said in the radio shows. Our theatre tour should go well, as should the HEARTHs (nutrition-oriented support groups) I am going to start with women. The agents are working on following-up on the relais (whether they actually retained what we taught them) and will soon do a household baseline survey on nutrition. I am really enjoying my work. It gives me such energy.

Wa kobi kob'i se!

::Applause:: Our program manager is still receiving phone calls about last Friday’s "lancement" (kick-off of activities) in Bamba. Despite some difficulties with the generator, a sick cameraman, and changes in the program, we presented messages on cholera, malaria, and good breast feeding to over 50 officials/chefs and easily 200 community members. The audience especially loved the bit when the cholera "microbe" was trying to get into the wooden replica of the pump (access to clean water is one of our main interventions) and the giant mosquito attacking people who don't sleep under nets. I translated our coordinator's address directly from French to Sonrai much to the amusement of the crowd. It's been replayed on the radio too many times--and now with the messages I recorded on good health that play morning and night, Mariama Cissé is very well known along this stretch of river! It amazes me how many people rely on the radio, a result of isolation I suppose. It's a great tool for our information dissemination. The children were excited to sing our educational song, and get a Tshirt for their work (others "won" Tshirts if they answered questions properly during the evaluation part of the program). The idea is to our 25 singers hooked and then they will sing in school, in the road, while playing etc. and other kids will learn the message...goodness, it's like a shady propaganda scheme...

Question du jour: Who? Who will it be, to make change? Everyone accepts the system status quo, even the West and Development. It has to start with individuals who will demand higher standards for their own children. Education is key. And then if we can get the system to change--I feel it would be better to build a few well-supplied schools with strict admission standards. I am starting to realize you can’t have equality. There will always be a ruling class. And it is good, important to society, to have an order: to have those who provide services, those who think, those who educate, those who lead. It is crazy to want universal primary education because it does nothing to change the country—saying after everyone, boys and girls have a basic RRR level they will develop themselves. In fact, it is the cause of a lot of unemployment. Once a farmer is enlightened, albeit only a little, he refuses to continue his work in the fields and goes to the city to find work. But without industry, there is no work. And without a base, farming and cultivating, there is no industry. The education he got closed doors. Especially because the quality is still poor. Ansongo passed everyone, no questions asked. Students in Bourem got their DEF (9th grade diploma which is the basis for most positions in the civil service) this year without ever getting basic math, physics or chemistry. The French system could work because it is a more vocational, tracked approach, but the students of this broken system (post-colonial, Development created dependency, poor funding) are today's teachers. So the quality continues to descend...

Mission

I had a difficult but incredibly educational mission en brousse. First of all, lots of staff were in the field, but literally, all men. Except for our PHP officer, but she was out in a village for the Nutrition training. It gets unnerving sometimes. 

I appreciate the radio director because he takes the time to understand what we’re looking for. The president of the assoc. that runs the radio is somewhat of a formality and most decisions are made by the director unilaterally--so I hope to talk to them a little about management and governance. The Mayor amuses me—a typical politician who speaks in a very exact French of France (the South near Marseilles according to a friend of mine from Lorraine). It will take me awhile to learn the politics of the town and who to go to for what service. Such as organising. The animators of the radio asked for 100.000F CFA! And here I thought working as a white person is tough—working with an NGO known to dispense cash is even harder! Gah, some of the precedents we’ve set like say, paying chefs to come in from village to participate, bother me. Coming back through Bourem I saw the costumes and the work the theater group had accomplished. It will be interesting to see how they "play," especially one cross-dressing actor who will also play the mosquito.

The Mayor said something that I think is one of the biggest barriers to development. The population has never been decolonized. They are still accustomed to having everything come from outside. The only solution as I see it? Stop all interventions. All funding. And I know, White Man’s Burden and our guilt persist. Well, we need to stop making it worse. Can we let them develop themselves for a generation according to their mores and objectives and see what happens?

Persisting

What an auspicious day for the Chinese, 8-8-08 and the opening ceremonies of a day they have been waiting and preparing forever it seems...their debut on the international event-planning and execution stage.

For me, it is another day at a great job—Oxfam (I work in the bureau of Gao) has named me sensibilisatrice to their Promotion Santé Publique project based in Bamba. Bamba is a commune seat (where the mayor works) situated between massive dunes and the banks of the Niger River. So I ask myself when they build the hydroelectric dam in Tausa on the road between Bourem (circle seat where the Prefecture is) and Bamba, where will the displaced persons go? Nearly all agricultural production is situated on large islands where the water is sufficient to cultivate rice, the aliment du base; this poses a problem when the islands are submersed as water levels rise due to the damming. WFP finds the commune food secure; and yet, many prefer to grow the cash crop of tobacco rather than rice. Little to no gardening is pursued during the cold season when most villages along the river produce carrots, manioc, potatoes, squash, beans, tomatoes, eggplant, and sweet potatoes. This is probably the cause of the 16.1% rate of acute malnutrition in children under five—a rate higher than found in crisis regions of Niger during the 2004-2005 locust/price/flooding induced drought and food crunch. Mali’s global acute malnutrition rate is 13.3%. This measures height versus weight. When you take into consideration chronic malnutrition or stunting, the statistics point to a larger problem: 33.9% of Malian children 6 – 59 months are chronically malnourished. With high fertility rates and low literacy rates I wonder without industry and most support coming in from NGOs or Malians abroad (and by abroad that includes not just Western countries but also Cote d’Ivoire or Senegal as well where many Malian men flee to find work), how will things improve? The global increases of prices, climate change and disease epidemics are all working against these farmers and herdsmen. The Prefet in Bourem tells us there has not been a sufficient amount of rain this year either. And granaries, which were filled in 2005, are empty. Infrequently WFP or a local group funds a few tons of millet or rice for the granaries but it is never enough. Not only that, but it is not local production and therefore hardly sustainable. A sack of millet (20kg) is up to 15,000F and rice sells at 550F per kilo (up from 300F in 2006). He feels like food security is a question of simple survival—no planning, no economizing. In this inch’allah culture it is for God to decide what tomorrow will bring.

Bamba itself is lovely. The roller coaster ride through the dunes was difficult to bear, but suddenly when you cross the Zan-Zan plain (where camels and goats roam) and surmount the last thread of dunes it is the vast flood plain and rice paddies of the Niger dotted with fishermen and farmers that lies before you. Hippos peak their ears out of the water and kingfishers dive for lunch.

In between visits to the Mayor, village level health centers, and the radio I enjoyed speaking with the locals as facilitated by my Songhoy (evidently being close to the origins of the ethnicity in Ansongo—only 40km from the former seat of Koukia where the askias or kings resided during the Songhoy empire—I speak a pure koyraboro versus Bamba-borey speak a mix of Gao šenni and Timbutu ciini--note the difference even for the word for "language"). A man approached the butcher where I was buying meat for lunch and says Bonjour! so I reply to him in Songhoy. Eh! He goes. “You scared me! How does an anasara come to speak our language?” I told him how long I’ve been here and where I used to work. He says, “Now this is truly peace, thank you.” He appreciated that Peace Corps bothers to actually give us the tools to work with locals. The women selling spices and oil also enjoyed very much meeting me. Especially because when they asked, “Why, what will you be cooking?” And I replied that “Oh, you must be able to tell…look what I bought!” And she coyly goes “No, you tell me!” So I starting explaining the traditional fried-rice dish surruntu I’d be cooking. Laughs all around. The salt vendor asked the Oxfam guardian I was with (a local who watches our house for us in between missions) if he has himself a hondo yooizo or “a camel calf from the hills”—in Bamba ciini this is equivalent to “chick” or young lady. I think I made good first impressions particularly at the Radio Zan-Zan where I will be working.

Using the resources provided by GeekCorps and USAID, we’ll be producing a weekly show on good health and hygiene practices with the goal of helping families reduce the rates of malnutrition in village. I worked on improving the treatment of malnutrition in Ansongo and now I will focus on prevention. I have designed a T-shirt, written short radio messages to play daily along with a “grabber” which I may or may not be singing…and soon with the help of an artist troupe from Bourem we will launch the program with a grand soirée at the Mayor’s éstrade. The mayor himself is very content and laughed how I am indeed Peuhl with the name of Cissé but also because of my stature (tall and thin). Even another doctor on our team has taken to calling me Peuhlette. I am excited to work in Bamba—despite warnings from Ansongo folk that these are difficult people—and hope with village and household visits we will get a sense if people are listening and taking our advice. The Radio director believes if you can succeed in Bamba, you can succeed anywhere.

Milestones

I’ve survived precisely two years in Mali. I feel like I need to throw a little party for myself. But the day will be nothing more than church, laundry, animation typing, naptime, running, street food, and then bed. But I am incredibly excited to start at Oxfam tomorrow.

It is well with my soul. I am serving. I am learning. The food is fresh and without processing and packaging. I get to work with my hands. I am close to God and my beliefs are daily challenged. It is easier to become apathetic in the states I feel. Here everything and everyone is in your face. And now with certain perks like a computer, an ipod which I can actually keep charged on fairly reliable electricity, a fridge and a nice house in Gao where I am able to easily hang out with friends or other expats. I have a social scene, I have access to air conditioning!

And I am well-adjusted to my celebrity status. While out running a little kid started running along with me. I couldn’t help but smile. So I go Ir ma koy! Let's go! and started sprinting. He was pretty fast and laughing, so I let him enjoy himself then slowed back down to my jog. Joy.

Slavery?

I've spoken a lot about slavery and captives which exist in Malian society up to present day lately; mostly due to an article my brother sent me and therefore I was curious to hear what Malians think. A friend of mine is a Peuhl (Fulani) and therefore noble. There is work that noble Peuhls, to this day, simply refuse to do. He tried to explain it is a poor choice to call the class system of Mali an enforced slavery because 1) There is work certain ethnicity do and certain others don’t. It is a way of organizing society. The Bozos fish, the Peulhs herd, the Bamana farm, North Africans/Arabs are businessmen, the Songhoy cultivate rice and the Bellas are blacksmiths or are bound to noble (mostly Tamacheq) families. And 2) captives (in the sense their ancestors were taken as spoils of former tribal wars) are proud of their position in society. Particularly when you think of the alternative. If they were to leave their master—which they are free to do—they would not be fed, clothed, or housed. So really, he finds the "free" Bella squatters in their tent-huts in Gao sadder than captives. I'd agree--no latrines, no enclosures for animals, and a way of life that makes the koyraboro ("village people" or what the Songhoy call themselves) look down upon them. He does agree that it is a mindset which lingers and grandsons of captives still identify themselves as such—even this Peuhl says he has friends who say they are not as high status-wise as he is. Therefore that is why you see the marginalization of Bella. But it is they who keep themselves down, so says a friend of mine in Ansongo. Yet I still cringe when I hear hospital staff yell "Hey, you dirty Bella, come over here!" They tell me it is all in good fun. In Bamana society there is no noble-slave class distinction anymore because the slaves once overthrew the king in Segou. It was a captive who became friends with a son of the king and then other nobles and royal family members took notice and forbid the captive to play any longer with royals. So he left and amassed horses and troops and staged a coup. Bitter much? But it has relegated “slave” to only a joke in Bamana society. Whereas in the north it is true with certain people like captives and Bella you can’t really talk openly about it. It is certainly true the article my brother sent me was trying to play into Westerners comprehension of slavery—it’s not forced labor and the selling of persons as commodities like we had in America. It is a product of poverty and how society has been aligned. You would stay with a master too if life was better even as a captive.

Fear

The next person to tell me ganda si boori will convince me it is as Aliou said, "The great fear has installed itself." Kidal, precisely Abeïbara, was attacked with a force of 80 vehicles full of marginalized, gun-toting rebels. There were casualties on both sides and the rebels killed the Commandant. Then yesterday, rumors were spreading that Labbézanga, on the boarder would be attacked, so the government sent reinforcements (good thinking, after the Ansongo attack where there was ONE guardian in the gendarmerie courtyard). Everyone is saying this is an escalation. Us volunteers aren't panicking, but it is hard ignoring rumors. These people have seen and know war. 

The gandakoye rebel leader of the 1991-92 coup d'état has returned from Senegal. He sits and drinks his tea outside along the road near the phone-charging boutique here in Ansongo. And now as I am finally typing this entry, 3 months later, does the Malian media circulate the following article: 

Security: Northern Mali, another rebel front is being born

By Abdrahamane KEÏTA
While the open front led by Ibrahim Ag Bahanga begins the process of its disintegration, another hotbed of tension is trying to take over. It has to do with a rather faint copy of the "Gandakoye" Movement, as isolated veterans who have had difficulty in succeeding are drawing inspiration from the May 23 Alliance.

"Ganda Izo." This is what the former "Gandakoye" veteran, Cheybou Diallo, has named a new movement of ethnic revindication that nearly missed the 7th Region (Kidal). The diplomat, after a long stay in Dakar, has chosen to settle in "the City of Askias" (Gao) where his multiple offensives of charm directed toward the youth in Gao has only managed to stir up wind.

Mr. Diallo's plan, according to our sources, was first to recreate from its' ashes the mother movement, while attracting the sympathy of a youth lost through the shimmering favors comparable to those obtained by the May 23 Alliance. But after lengthy and unsuccessful attempts to bring people together around the same ideals, the prophet of violence retreated to the village of Fafa in the Ansongo Circle, not far from the Niger border, where he seems to have sufficiently labored for the needs of his cause.

According to our sources, Mr. Diallo finds himself finally at the head of a more or less formidable rebel battalion, composed mainly of young Fulani men from Mali and Niger. But unlike the former Gandakoye Movement, where he had once carved out a somewhat mixed reputation, the new front has nothing to envy to a rebel position. He openly chose to use the same methods that Ibrahim Ag Bahanga used to impose on the Malian government the same concessions made to the fighters from Kidal.

Our sources affirm that the former "Gandakoye" activist has already established cooperative ties with the Malian and Nigerian branches of the rebellion, which in turn, agreed to strengthen its capacity for creating a nuisance with an endowment of appropriate materials. To begin with, Ag Bahanga, add our sources, had already provided him with a satellite telephone (Thuraya) and three all-terrain vehicles.

The problem is that all these threats of destabilization and conflagration have free rein, with the knowledge and in view of everyone, without appropriate measures from the highest Malian authorities. Which obviously prefers to extinguish fires rather than stifle crises in their infancy.

If you give a jackal a baby goat's leg...

This is my teammate's attempt at translating "If you give a mouse a cookie..." into an understandable story for my dear koyraboro friends who know so well how to "eat." This is the slang in both French (bouffer) and in koyraboro to explain how people try to profit in community development projects, or skim off the top, or accept bribes. 

It bothers me even people with whom I've closely worked for the last year or more choose to sabotage my work with others because they don't directly profit. And all I am trying to do is appropriate resources according to those who actively approach me and to those who may not be active but whose need is readily apparent. One thing I've learned, okay like 377th thing I've learned while working in Ansongo, is that you can't trust anyone (always get a second or third opinion in regards to someone's character) and that negligence never solves anything. If you forget about it, no, it won't just go away. I know I am speaking in rather vague terms; my attempts to fairly divide USAID-donated sewing machines amongst townsfolk have been stressful. Two planned projects (those who originally requested the machines) essentially failed and now six months later I am trying to better the situation. I am sure of the causes of failure which at least will help me prevent a similar situation in the future. One group of women is beyond their "golden age" of association work and choose instead to play solely the role of mother; the other never got off the ground due to illnesses in the leadership and lack of time. People who are often more capable of project management are those who also seek to take on too many projects. Also, in the face of want, most people are desperate to profit. At least the angst and fire-fighting was worth it and in the end the machines were placed with two deserving groups: Yehiya Ag Mohammed representing the artisans and Aissata of the women's group "subaa naffa" (meaning Choosing to Benefit). 

Assoc+subaa+naffa2.jpg 

It was Aissata who said, upon receiving the machines for her group of youth, korombata toosi ga tonton bangu ra or "The peeing toad adds to the pond." This warmed my heart--that she was truly appreciative of even the little help I could provide.

Ouijila Recipe

In response to a posted comment...

The following is a traditional Northern dish, Ouijila, which I have learned to make alongside my good friend Zeinaba Adama. For those of you reading in country, I do take requests for Ouijila making kits complete with pounded spices and non-perishable ingredients. The recipe below, converted to Ameriki measures makes enough for a family-style meal for 6-8 people.
NB: It may take a few times to get the following in a good tastey balance because the conversions were made off of the typical market measures which change from vendor to vendor and are based on the monetary amount of the item you are purchasing. For example, you buy 100FCFA of "tawatl albashar" the date paste.

Ouijila dough:
10 cups wheat flour
4 T active dry yeast
1 T salt
4 cups water

Clean out a large basin or bowl. Mix water into 8 cups flour until the gluten forms. Mix in yeast. Add flour by the 1/2 cup-full if it is too sticky. Mix in salt. Kneed until when poked the dough returns to it's pre-poked form. Let dough rise for 1hr in the Malian heat, it may take longer in cooler temperatures. Wait until dough has doubled in quantity. Shape into small rounds. Lie out on counter-top or clean grass mat to rise again.

As the dough-balls are rising, begin the sauce:

2lbs beef (steak-cut style not ground) or mutton, cut into chunks
2 large onions, chopped
1/2 cup oil
1t cumin
1/2t black pepper
1/4t red pepper
2t ground cinnamon
1t gound sun-dried tomatoes (for those in Mali, make sure you dissolve dried tomato powder in water and strain, there is always grit in it)
1/4 cup tomato paste, dissolved in 1 cup water
4 T date paste dissolved in 1 cup water (or whole dates, pitted and mashed, diluted w/water)
2-3 bay leaves
4 cloves garlic, crushed
1 clump of "kabe" moss, pounded and rolled between palms to remove black underside (tree bark remnants)
1 cube maaji chicken flavor, 1 cube Jumbo (Elsewhere chicken boullion and MSG will do)
Salt to taste

Set a pot on the stove or cook-fire  full of water to boil for steaming. For the sauce, in a large cookpot, sautée meat with one of the chopped onions in the oil. When browned, add cumin, both peppers (increase red pepper if you like spicier foods), cinnamon, and sun-dried tomato powder. Sautée until aromatic. Add reconstituted tomato paste and date pastes. Bring sauce to a boil. If too thick add water a cup at a time. It should be a soup-like consistency. Add remaining ingredients. For those of you opposed to MSG, I'd just like to say, "Maaji et moi, le secret de bonheur!" Let the sauce simmer (add water if it is sticking) as you steam the dough.

At this point the dough balls should have doubled in size again unless you went to a boutiki that sold you old yeast. Prepare a double-boiler of sorts--with the pot of boliling water upon which you affixed a metal collander with strips of damp cloth to seal the two together. Or, you go to your local garasa/blacksmith in market and have him pound many holes in the bottom of a wok-style metal pan or furno top to serve as a collander. Or, if you are elsewhere and have access to Chinese-style bamboo steamers, use them. Basically the dough balls should be place in the collander in a dampened cloth or dampened rice sack and covered with the lid of the pot so the hot air doesn't escape. Steaming for each batch of 8-10 depending of the size of the steamer should take about 10 minutes. If you are cooking over a fire, watch you don't catch the steaming cloth on fire. It adds to the excitement but ruins a perfectly good rice sack :)

When the ouijila is steamed, serve 2-3 per person with the sauce for dipping. If you don't feel up to the whole steaming process, once the sauce is prepared, place balls of dough directly into the sauce pot until the sauce is covered with dough. Close the pot and simmer until dough is cooked through. This is known as toosa-toosa in the Gao region or toukas in Timbuktu. It is just as delicious and saves time. Enjoy!! A ma ni naffa!!

Halfway to Boiling

We had a good laugh realizing as we made the brownie batter it was already halfway to boiling in the heat. We were making comfort food for the "consolidation." It seems I bring unrest where ever I go! 

Early Monday morning, I awoke to gunshots and tracers flying overhead. And then I went back to sleep. So, now my teammates and even PC staff joke I deserve a T-shirt which reads "I survived a rebel attack on my town and all I got was this stupid T-shirt." 

It wasn't until 5am when Aliou called (I ignored it), then my teammate up in Gao saying rebels attacked Ansongo, then Aliou again asking me if I was safe inside my house, then another teammate in Gao, then PC staff etc etc that I started to get worried. Thankfully, I was escorted by Aliou to the last bus leaving town. 

N.B.: 2 years ago today Robyn and I were running down Commonwealth Avenue in the rain, soaked to the bone, upon graduating from Boston University!

Both of us volunteers in Ansongo got offered early COS with full benefits--and both of us turned it down. The work is more important; not to mention the chance of another attack very low. I just hope with recent attacks in northern Segou region (boarders with Mauritania) this isn't a general escalation...Alaafiya ma kaa!

Marriage proposal #808

Youssouf Haïdara, formerly the Chef of the Bazi Gourma CSCOM says, "Manna dey?" 

I told him I bought one, it didn't please me, so I returned it. And I don't have the patience to try another. Much to the amusement of the hospital staff lounging around after work. 

Rabble rousing

Because of my work at the hospital I wasn't able to get tenda completion materials--the grass and reed vendors sell out early. But I chased down the boat of hoobu vendors and got one for 300F. My water jar had cracked and with hot season you can't go without cool water. 

The basketball girls have stopped playing. I assume it is the heat. 

I don't blame them. Friday, I slept and relaxed at home all day. When I did stop by the hospital to greet later in the afternoon, people were asking where I had been all day. I said, "Sometimes people don't know where Mariama is and that's a good thing!" 

With dinner, we ate hippo. I guess the guy who has hippo skulls on either side of his concession's entrance shot another menacing hippo last week and sent Bébé her bagga. The meat is very very chewy. They had to pound it so I could eat it. 

The school children have gone insane. Basically, rioting because the teachers aren't giving homework or compositions or exams. On Thursday the high school students marched into town and harassed the elementary school teachers and students. I have never seen so many kids hike a 6ft wall so quickly (the hospital and school share a wall). All the students, wielding rocks and torches marched to the commandant's place up on the hill. But the gendarmes did nothing. Friday evening, Bazi kids were marching and chanting through the streets. It is interesting to see the students demanding better treatment--it is especially serious for high school students who count on passing the BAC to get into the university in Bamako or vocational school. Even 9th graders who will go straight into trades still need their DEF to get into nursing school or accounting school. But will this rabble-rousing come to anything? 

Mean Mariama

This is getting ridiculous. It makes me not wanna do nice things for people anymore. The cell phone charger guy (guy under a tenda with a generator and lots of power strips) told me to get him some medicine. Of course I refused. This time when I dropped off my phone, and then when I went to pick it up, he refused to give it to me until I gave him some medicine for malaria. I tried to explain 1) I’m not a doctor and 2) the hospital is right there!! Not kidding you, he sits kitty-corner from the hospital gate. Finally a friend of his intervened and I got my phone.

The wife of my landlord’s younger brother says she is worried her child is eating too much dirt. I told her typically this a sign of a lack of iron or a general mineral deficiency. There is multivitamin syrup in the pharmacy (where her brother in law works) or she should boil some liver for him. Give him a mango or some green leafies like okra. When I passed the pharmacy I told my landlord to bring her the vitamin syrup. She comes by again after dinner because my landlord forgot. So I told her when she goes to the market tomorrow, go get the vitamin syrup. Then, this morning, she sends another child to get a prescription. Again, I had to explain I’m not a doctor and quite frankly she needs to go get the vitamins herself—I already helped by telling her why her kid is eating dirt, now use the knowledge and help yourself!

At the hospital I was number crunching and found we have all “alarming” statistics. Abandons, deaths, non-responses are all too high and treated/released as healthy kids are too low. At least the number of kids we consult are up from last month. Plus, the Chef is deciding to change the national protocol. We should only give wheat flour to malnourished pregnant women or breastfeeding women instead of the norm of CSB plus oil and sugar. We do mix it before giving it out so the women don’t use the sugar for tea and the oil for cooking…but why can’t we even try to respect the norms? Because, Bébé tells me, “There is no protocol in Ansongo.”

Destiny

Our dear neighbors, the Community Radio Nata, had a “rap” concert last night. This consists of the same basic beat playing over and over with various youth attempting to rap in either Songhoy or French. It’d be entertaining if it wasn’t from midnight until 3 am! I took the time to call Le Boy.

Back in Ansongo (I ended up waiting until the Monday morning Niamey bus because halfway down the road out of town on Sunday I realized I left all my drugs back at the house. Oops), we received 52 babies for weighing. The ACF doctors came for a supervision in the CSCOMs, but stop by to see how we were doing. A girl who was only moderately malnourished 3 weeks ago came, now severely malnourished with complications. She had been marked abandoned because the mother had stopped coming in for visits. The child didn’t even react to the VAA/VAR needle prick. She drank some milk, but was clearly beyond help. I went to go make some sugar water while Bébé was trying to get her to take her medicine; I come back, and she had stopped breathing. Bébé just says: “That’s destiny.” Cause of death filled-in as “destiny” is not an acceptable answer for me.

People are starting to think about my departure scheduled in um, another 5 months. I think it is because I am pressuring them into working by saying I’m not going to be here forever. So someone asked for my stove, another for my radio, I’ve received plenty of requests for the bike, the women in Djéfilani asked for a sewing machine. Once again, “if you give a mouse a cookie…”

Recovery

If you yourself don’t rest, your body forces you to do so. I finally went to the regional hospital to get an ear check-up. All cleaned up and now on new stronger antibiotics and a strict regime of rest and dust-free surroundings (meaning I have locked myself in our computer room watching the HBO series Weeds which though is entertaining the premise is hardly believable). Bébé called not to ask how my ears were doing but when I was coming back. After how this weekend went I’m not sure I want to go back! Sunday I was at the hospital before 7 am to make porridge for the kids, weigh them, check vital signs, and give them morning medicines. With the mothers, I like to take my time; this morning it ended up I didn’t get outta there until past time to go to church. Tried to find Competent to do the Radio show at 10am, but he was no where to be found. I went home and found my tenda complete. Now I can sleep outside, on ground level (safe from sand storms and rebels) without worrying about rain. I gave Zubbu what I bought in market for dinner and told them I see them later. Rested for all of 30 minutes, showered, and went back to the hospital for the 13h feeding. I graduated both of the severe cases into the transition phase, so if all goes well, they could be released Thursday in time to catch transport out to villages after market. The annoying part was that one of the moderates was the Kwash’s cousin and the sisters wanted to leave together that evening. Just when Ibrahim was getting better! Marasmus is obvious, but Kwash, once the swelling goes down, it is difficult to convince parents their child still needs to treatment. There exists a serious imbalance in their metabolisms and electrolytes, protein processing etc. (Bébé informed me once I left for Gao they did leave. Everything is paid for and they even had people in town to care for them…it makes me sad). Sunday afternoon Bébé finally showed up. The weekends pose a problem—any day we could have sick kids, and the staff is unwilling to follow the protocol—meaning milk every 3 hours, porridge twice a day, medicines and their given times, and patience enough to speak with the mothers about the state her child is in. I told Bébé it is up to her to do the rest of the work for the day or explain it to the Sage Femme on guard. I get to Zubbu’s (mind you this is 4pmish now) and sat for all of 5 minutes when I woman came into the courtyard to show me her sick child. It’s nice people come to me seeking help, but it is sad they have no faith in the health care system. I walked the mother to the hospital because Bébé said since it is Sunday she refuses to check the child in “Can’t it wait until tomorrow??” Some health CARE…the woman had to prepare her things to stay with the child at the hospital so it turned out after I registered the kid and gave her her first dose of antibiotics, they went home. Bébé took the opportunity of my presence to leap at the chance of an evac from Outtagouna. In other words, money. I explain to the nurse the form to fill out for the evening--tracking the treatment and how the kids take to the supplements--and go back home. The nurse doesn't think the way things are now in terms of staffing the program will advance. We need a separate guard schedule for Nutrition. Really, I don't want another death due to negligence on our part!

At least I went home to a fantastic meal made by Zubbu. Ouijila-like sauce but with potatoes. Tué, the old man, joked he hadn't had potatoes since independence. Ha. 

So, in Gao, aside from earning sympathy points for having survived two visits to the regional hospital and remaining nosocomial illness free, I am resting and catching up on recent care package DVDs amassed at the PC house. Woo.

Fway??

I was up before 6am despite my ears to work at the Nutrition center. Plus, a volunteer is here from a neighboring village to plant moringas. While dodging various demands (Alhouss wants garden help, Bébé too as soon as they saw the fencing for the trees; Fadi wants a live fence and Ablo is still maneuvering his way out of responsibility), I kept up with the cases at the Nutrition center. With the additional two moderates, one whose mom honestly said she doesn’t sleep under the net they got at the CSCOM, I was busy trying to get the twins to eat. And convincing the kwash he can’t eat! He was practically sticking his hand into the bita pot—but he needs to level out his salt before he can go off the rehab mik F75. One of the twins refuses F75, plumpy nut and bita. So I proposed an SNG, but the doctor refused to place it (does he even know how?) This is why I want to go to nursing school—so I don’t feel so damn helpless. When I debriefed with the matron who stayed the night, she said the kids drank their respective milks. But the cups were still on the tray the way I left them the evening before, when usually the mothers collect them in a bucket in their room with the kids...

Checked in on the tree planting and saw Aliou about bricks to protect them from goats; then, went off to the school to teach. Naturally, there was the teacher’s strike and the students weren’t coming. Back at the hospital I met a Moor who wanted me to look at his sick kid. An old man stopped me to look at his wife with a cavity. At about the same moment, I was telling a Bella man through a translator in Songhoy to bring his kid on Monday for weighing and vaccinations, the ACF film crew came to speak to me about HIV/AIDS…speaking to me in French. The Moor was switching from French to English (he’s a guide and even works with PCVs in Mauritania) and it turns out the Bella guy actually speaks English. Fway?? All this with my plugged up ears. I did the consult with the Moor’s kid, ran off to get my keys, prepped the milk and tried to convince the mother of the twins to stick it out this time even if it seems her son doesn’t like any of the rehab foods—eventually he will get used to one of them and we can get him better. I baby-sat for the nurse’s son while she went to deliver a baby. Finally I got away for lunch—you make yourself available and people take advantage! 

During lunch, we listened to entertaining stories of witchcraft. Back at the hospital, the mothers told me the matron who said she had made the milk actually hadn’t—so I was right to be suspicious. Even telling the Sage Femme Maîtresse I don’t think will make a difference. We made the evening’s bita and milk and I explained the preparations to this evening’s nurse. Went to check up on the Moor family—they had bought the meds I recommended, so I explained dosages and went over to Bébé’s to explain my troubles. She was very tired and outright told me she was ready to quit. We’re finally getting children into the program and the maternity staff is just neglecting them. I appreciate those who do help—but don’t they know I find out when they lie about work they haven’t actually done? Good work will be rewarded. There is a concept of tiyaabu here—kind of like karma. But I don’t know what has killed it at the hopsital. I feel if you are in the health profession, you should want to help people.

Exhausted with a capital E

Ami, grace à Dieu, came to help me at Nutrition. We weighed 41 babies and gave out 8 rations of flour—meaning there were 8 babies needing their mothers informed of the program, drugs allotted and given rendezvous. Both people from the village I visited with PC came! I was so happy the CSCOM successfully referred them. We didn’t finish until well past 2pm and it was easily 40°--Aliou guessed 43°. That’s 110°F!! The office was disgusting when we were done. Afterward, I cleaned it all up with bleach and demanded people take off their shoes. We really need mats in the hallway to keep the dirt out. Zubbu was annoyed I only came for food and then when right back to the hospital for feedings. I was so tired I couldn’t even stay after dinner for my favorite kind of bita: wheat serri. But my ear is leaking brain juice and the antibiotics are helping but I hate going to the pharmacy so much. At least a woman there agree with me when I called the Pharmacist to his face an aruzey kaŋ moñey ga kogu hala a man ti moso. Basically, he's a bit of a jerk.

Comfortable?

Went on a site-development visit with PC to see if we can put a volunteer there this fall. It is a beautiful village situated up above the river a bit. Sandy, so a bike will be useless, but the Chef at the CSCOM is a motivated woman. It was her conduct during the nutrition training in January that convinced me we should put a volunteer with her. The ASACO president, who manages the people who run the finances of the CSCOM, may prove to be difficult; but, was impressed that I whipped out the proverb “a stick thrown in the water won’t become a crocodile” when explaining in Songhoy how to treat the future volunteer. I feel that though I help on missions like this, I also cause problems because I am white—the host family said they’d be expecting help if they were going to host the PCV. But the Chef at the CSCOM and the matron who worked with me during her schooling at the hospital reassured me they would protect the PCV from the village ☺

I went all the way to Gao with the PC to visit Bébé and Pedro at the hospital. He is finally getting treatment that he needs. But the stroke has rendered his left side paralyzed and him speechless.

While watching the Liverpool v. Chelsea game, I chatted with a friend about how I’ve changed since coming to Mali. I feel like my faith has grown. I appreciate things more. I see the world differently. I enjoy being around kids—or least have established patience sturdy enough for any child no matter how annoying or how sick he/she is. This patience also means I can stand Malian transport. I take more time for people here. He asked particularly about how I thought my faith changed. It has grown because Muslims ask me difficult questions more often. When surrounded by people who agreed with you it is too easy to become comfortable.

Men. Ugh.

If Peace Corps has taught me anything, it is not to generalize. MOST Malian men I can’t stand. SOME however are my good friends. And I have learned to deal with harassment by joking right back. The pharmacist (I have two nasty ear infections) was hitting on me saying we should talk. As I was standing in front of the pharmacy, a young road worker grabbed my arm and so I yelled after him “He! Wo manna boori!” The men sitting around actually agreed with me that this sort of conduct is unacceptable. The Pharmacist goes, yes, you see I didn’t even shake your hand. But then when goes to give me my change, it was short 40F. “Won’t you come back for it?” Ha. Abada! At the hospital I was working on the chart of systematic treatments amidst "Competent" (radio animator) singing love songs to me and the Chef asking if I’d go to the alfaga so I can marry a koyraboro. "Or is it that you don’t like black people?" Gah. The sarcastic “Yes, I’m so racist I decided to work in Africa for three years” is usually lost on them—but I did get a good laugh outta me slyly implying I have a koyraboro I like. The Chef goes, “Well yeah, you already tie a musor on your head.” To which I respond, “Ay si tuubi wullah!” But I won’t be converting!

Dijo actually came to help with baby weighing this morning. No new malnourished cases (I know they exist they just don’t come to the hospital). I burned my beans for dinner and was frustrated the Sudafed and other components of my drug cocktail kept me awake.

Negligence

Irkoy se! For God’s sake! Another petit poids case, Sayédi died in the night, at 23 days old. The mother just didn’t have enough milk with one breast dysfunctional (Cancer? Abscess?), and had been giving him goat’s milk which probably provoked the diarrhoea. He had a fever, and wasn’t breathing properly. He was accepting the rehab milk well, so I had been worried about under which criteria we’d be releasing him once healthy—he wasn’t breastfeeding. Typically a case under 6 months or under 3kg is released once they gain weight on breast milk alone. Evidently the Sage Femme who had slept over at the maternity left the Nutrition center to deliver a baby. And because not enough staff actually sleeps at the hospital or are willing to come in when there is a crisis—no one sat to monitor Sayédi after he drank his milk. He probably died of heart failure. But who knows without the proper monitoring equipment here?

I barely slept in the night. There was too much wind moving my skeeter net around. Once I moved inside, I just sweat. And I have strange training déjà-vu with the new grass mats I got for my tenda construction and the BF soap—both of which I used when I first got to Mali.

I went to Gao and came back in the same day. I was so exhausted and I swear my legs were swollen. But, it was a productive visit. Got care packages from the parents (THANKS!!) and chatted with a teammate over dègè (creamy millet drink) while waiting for the Internet to open. We gave up, and went over to 8ème to visit Pedro, Bébé’s husband. To get directions, I went to the CSCOM (where Sophie works) and helped Aissata, who used to be with ACF, with her cases. Four kids: 2 Rabietou’s, a Fatoumata, and an Aoudou. Fatoumata was a classic kwash complete with candidosis and moon face; Aoudou had quite the fever—a recovering marasmus. One of the Rabietou’s was a petit poids case, which I recognized from an account told by an ACF doctor: the mother died in child birth because the CSCOM staff wanted to go home at noon and told her that she should come back later. They overlooked the fact it was a placenta previa (when the placenta presents first instead of the baby’s head). She hemorrhaged to death at home—luckily they were able to save the baby through C-section at the hospital. Yalaayan! Is it a coincidence “to neglect” is yalaa in Songhoy, which means “to God” in Arabic? Songhoy borrows heavily from Arabic. So does that mean when you leave things up to God you neglect them?? The CSCOM’s doctor gave me directions to Pedro’s house. After asking people where the CSCOM was twice, and a school kid and then two ladies at Bella bugu who demanded 100F for their services, I found the house. Pedro was pretty ill—I greeted the family and him, though I’m not sure he recognized me—and this is the husband of my closest colleague in Ansongo. They said it was hypertension—but why not take him to the hospital only a 1km away to check? Back at the CSCOM I discussed his case with Aissata and Sophie who both thought he should go to the hospital—it easily could be a heart attack or stroke! But the doctor who examined him said it wasn’t worth the trouble, he’ll be fine. Negligence even in the face of means—Pedro is quite well off, relatively. He could easily afford the treatment. That night, I get a call from Bébé saying he is in a coma in the hospital. But she is still convinced it is witchcraft and not a treatable illness—someone is jealous because he has done so well for himself.

I made some market purchases, had a cold coke at Source du Nord, complete with an amusing conversation about President Bush and whether I would vote for Obama. Sadly, back at the PC house, the gas ran out as I was trying to make a box of Mac n Cheese. Tear.

Back in Ansongo, my Bazi Haousa girls, well, all five of them, came to class but were all shy cause we started talking about reproductive health. Saturday afternoon, Zubbu and I and two other members of the Association walked all the way to Djéfilani and back. It was a good meeting and I trust the women will implement the project well. They are paying into the Associations caisse and are easy to talk to. I really think there is a difference as soon as you leave the town limits of Ansongo. The air is lighter, there’s birdsong on the wind, and more people want to work and contribute to their own betterment.

Walking back Zubbu was saying how her back hurt. "Mine too!" I say, “That’s what 17 years of dance does to ya!” Turns out Zubbu did traditional dance—like what I saw in Gao for the Semaine Régionale. She was always the person put in front so others could watch her steps. I knew there was a reason I liked her ☺

My teammate found the corpse of Vess, his cat. Sad. It was totally the ornery old neighbor who killed Vess. The PCV in Tassiga came up and we made French fries. Yum.

Busy weekend

Despite it being a Saturday, I got over to the Hospital early so Bébé could head to Tassiga to visit her sick father. I lingered at Nutrition knowing my Health-Ed class would probably be canceled. At least I’ve hung up all the guides based on the National Protocol to help staff with the treatment of malnourished kids. Low and behold, the school director called me to say there was a meeting at CAP and I couldn’t teach. We’ve had only 7 sessions since the start of the school year. I see now that working with the jeunesse directly would have been better—they’re considering scratching the whole school year and making everyone re-take it due to strikes and lack of testing. The teachers refuse to correct students’ work, which only compounds the problem—the students have no desire to do the work!

At least I was productive at home treating my skeeter net for a new season of blood sucking.

Lunch was zumbu hawru or the part of the corn that comes off in pounding. So, essentially koyraboro do eat whole grain, just in parts. We discussed a woman who is cursing Zubbu. She has taking much too much interest in Zubbu; the woman will follow her and even grab her in market. Zubbu thinks it is this witch who is responsible for her illness. 

We died laughing when the old man from Koussoum, Toué, did an impression of Arabs. And then one of two cats getting it on…riiight…

I went back to the hospital in the afternoon and noticed 4 oil canisters were gone. 3 people have keys to our storeroom. I pray Bébé is staying honest—if not, how will we be able to nail the Chef? He passed by without greeting, clearly avoiding me after the tension over the PAM donation. 

I went to the bball court to give the “elite 8” (the most motivated girls) new jerseys and shorts.

Spent a little time preparing Sunday’s radio show (which never happened because they just had to sweep out the radio during our health show!!) and then got ready for the theater production that the youth performed in Gao. It was even better—probably more relaxed being in front of their friends and family only.

Sunday afternoon, over millet-flour sifting, Zubbu and I chatted. With the canceled Health Ed classes, canceled radio shows, change of management at Radio SONI, politics at the hospital, the trash pick-up coordinator clearly hiding something, etc etc I feel like my work is going nowhere! I suppose the more you do the more likely you are to have problems, especially in Ansongo. We have a 73% abandon rate in the Nutrition program. Bébé never wants me to leave and is reluctant to fill out charts and forms etc. ACF staff feels like I can’t leave either. It’s great to feel necessary, but I feel my good example/work ethic has only been abused. Zubbu thinks the day I leave the Nutrition Center will close. Be it lack of motivation or simply incompetence of the staff, or the stubbornness of local populations, she may be right. Considering ALL free medications and even help to people who come from afar in terms of eating expenses while at the hospital, I can’t believe why we have such poor statistics. It has to be shame or distrust of the system or reliance on destiny and the will of God.

Arabs came from Aliou’s village, Gaberro, with a camel and a horse. Zubbu didn’t have enough food for them. We had to make more zumbu hawru. While we cooked, naturally we chatted. This time about rooftop sleeping and how it is dangerous because you never know when a dust storm will come. Nor do you know if rebels will attack in the night. I hadn’t heard many rebellion-era (1991-92) stories before tonight.

Gift from the American People

...Not to be traded or sold. Then why do I see the USAID oil in the market? And the PAM-donated corn-soy blended flour? Gah. 

I got many a comment on my “American” outfit today: SIDA shirt tucked into jeans to show off my cowries’ shell belt from Ghana and hair slicked back into a bun. I am amused now matter how I dress-up people are pleased. It’s all about looking put-together here.

I was so excited when I went out to the village of Djéfilani to find the petit poids case, I met the family coming into town on a donkey cart. I too can play health-relay!

I enjoyed cooking lunch with Zubbu (helping her when she is ill—it might be typhoid) and being able to write down the recipes in koyraboro senni.

I just about died this afternoon when the Chef decided to put the PAM donation intended for the Nutrition program in an old office in the exact opposite corner of the hospital from where we pass out flour and supplements. He claimed it was too much to store in the newly opened, um, EMPTY, store room for Nutrition. We’ll go through this month’s shipment in no time with the culinary demos and increases of malnourished children during “lean season” (May-October, the farthest away from harvest, the hottest months too). Will there be any accountability? ACF assures me yes, there is an ONG who follows up on PAM donations. Why PAM doesn’t do it themselves is beyond me. Thwump! "Here’s your flour that creates dependencies and discourages local production not to mention causing in fighting amongst local leaders and chefs!" We spoke with the Gao PAM rep; he washes his hands, and we only got a little sympathy from the Sage Femme at DRS (Direction Régionale de la Santé). Gah.

I enjoyed a delicious spaghetti and mango--in my underwear--for dinner. I heart hot season! Ha.

Tout sont en désordre!

Bébé and I work well together to weigh and treat the babies who come in for rehab and follow-up, but we sorely need more staff to help when say we get a pair of twins, a severe case, someone needing a weekly flour ration, and 50+ mothers with healthy babies to weigh as a check-up. Plus, everyone from the hospital comes to drink from the jar we work to keep clean and filled with treated water. I know we should share, but then why can’t they come work? Later I was écartée’d by the Sage Femme who gave everyone SIDA T-shirts except for me. And even when I asked for one, when a nurse told me there was one for me as there were for all the staff of the Maternity, the Sage Femme called the nurse a liar and refused. Bébé fought my case saying I do more work here than most staff! I got my T-shirt. Later, the Sage Femme came over to the Nutrition office to use our scissors. I asked slyly, "So isn't Nutrition a part of the Maternity?" She just laughs...but really, all this divisiveness kills me. Why must it be General Medicine V. Maternity V. Nutrition V. Doctors V. Nurses V. Pharmacy V. Workers etc etc. I fault the head doctor--he'd rather pit staff against each other to his benefit than have this hospital work for the good of the community. I am curious as to how the Gao CSREF is run. Though at any level there is confusion: We received a case to follow-up on after the child had received treatment at the Gao Hospital. The name on the Reference Card was Soumeila (a boy's name) instead of Soumeya (a girl's name), they didn't send the history of treatment, nor did they correctly take the height. Well, at any rate I don't think a child can grow 3 cm in a week's time... It was a case of brutal weaning. The mother got pregnant when Soumeya was only 7 months old. Bébé turns to me and says, "Tout sont en désordre!" Chaos!