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.
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