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...