The Camel's Knees

Garibou assillaaaaaama!

2009-07-14T15:48:00.001+01:00

I often write about the concept of solidarity. But there is one aspect of Malian culture that’s not so “solid.” Talibizey as they are called in Gao, are garibou, or young students of the Koran who study under a Maribou. To learn humility and to gain their daily bread, they are forced to beg door to door for either a portion of cooked food, some grain or a few coins. Whatever they earn they are instructed to bring back and share with all the other garibous and of course so that the Maribou can take his share. Certain harsher Maribou will chain hands or feet of garibou who ate from their bowl before returning to the house, which makes it all the more difficult for them to beg the next day. They are often filthy, and I was particulalry appalled once when, for lack of a hand washing bowl, a group of men filled a garibou’s bowl with water, rinsed their hands, and began to eat.

Garibou literally means “foreigner” in Arabic. In Islamic teachings, Muslims are to feed, house, and clothe any “strangers” who come by. Though, it is understood that if you stay longer than three days, you are considered to no longer be a foreigner.

The problem in Mali, aside from harsh treatment of legitimate garibou, is that there are many children (almost all boys) who are sent away (or who run away) who know nothing of the Koran yet beg just like the garibou do. This is why often Aliou would demand the garibou to recite the Koran before giving anything. Non-garibou would then be comically teased until Aliou thought they had earned their dinner. For example, Aliou would ask Dave if this was the little punk who threw the rock at him today (untrue of course) and Dave would exclaim, “Yeah, yeah that’s the one, get him!” The garibou would promptly run out of the courtyard. Similarly, if Aliou would call to Zubbu to bring a nice, sharp knife, for garibou liver is what would cure his child’s sickness, the garibou would also run (screaming sometimes) from the courtyard. Because, even in Ansongo, most of the garibou were originally from Gao gourma (the villages on the right bank of the river or as it flows between Gao and Ansongo, the West bank), Aliou would quiz them on exactly where they were from or who their father’s father is. Once, a garibou thoroughly confused by the barrage of questions, ended up telling us he was from both the West and East banks of the river. Right. Once, Aliou found a garibou from his village of Boya (commune of Gabero in the gourma), and began to feed him well. He was surprisingly a legitimate talibize.

When I was at restaurant recently in Douentza, coming back from Timbuktu with CARE, ATN Plus, and Nouveaux Horizons staff, we were appalled by the behavior of the town’s garibou. These were surely not students of the Koran. When one table had finished their bbq’d meat, the server held up the pile bones on a platter to keep it from the groping hands of almost 20 garibou. Almost each one got a bone that they started to happily gnaw on. Mahamane turns to me and says what a tragedy these garibou/beggars are. Why can’t an NGO (or the government) build centers to house and feed them and teach them a skill. Another colleague commented that if the system continues, these beggars, once adults, would also send their children out to beg. I understand certain families cannot afford to take care of all of their children, or in the case of an orphaned child, take him or her in because their parents were relatives. It is the norm, but it is not easy. Therefore, though to most Malians it is culturally appalling, I find it necessary to started building orphanages/vocational training centers for these unwanted kids. In the case of the talibizey who are trying to learn the Koran, there needs to be a system of community involvement to support the Maribou in taking care of his students. Buddhism also promotes begging and a simple life in order to learn humility; nevertheless, in learning this lesson, these children shouldn’t have to act like dogs.

At peace in my skin

2009-07-09T14:59:00.002+01:00

One of the most important things my fiancé has helped me to understand is why people call me anasara or tubob. Greetings are incredibly important here. So important, if you don’t greet someone, they think you are mad at them, not just that you forgot to greet them or didn’t notice them passing by. Even before buying something you have to go through the greetings—from their spouse and children to the state of their cows. Additionally, ethnic identity is still very strong here—and relatedly, family names carry much more significance than they do elsewhere. Often when greeting, people address each other by their family name. If they don’t know the person’s name, they’ll address them by the name the most common to the ethnic group (Bambara = Coulibaly, Peuhl = Diallo, Songhoy = Maïga). If a person greets someone not from their ethnic group, they will call out the name of the ethnicity. Therefore, Diallo is often greeted as fula ce ! (among Bambaras) and fulan aru ! (among Songhoy). And I am greeted equivalently as tubob or anasara. It’s not meant to be a slur because I’m white, but merely a way to classify and greet me.

During the lunch break of the training I was in Monday and Tuesday, one of the trainers asked me if I get bother by people refering to me as anasara (just before my colleague had told the server the anasara doesn’t eat that much, so don’t fill her plate). I said it used to bother me but no longer does because I’ve come to realize that everybody uses certain terms to identify and refer to people here. I think it only becomes a problem when people use the terms to generalize about certain ethnicities and do so out of the context of joking cousins (for example, the artisan who made our wedding rings is a Peuhl of the blacksmith class of forgerons who joke with Peuhls, so he joked about the significance of my fiancé’s small fingers and the fact that all Diallo’s are traitors). Sadly, two groups excluded from the joking cousins/ethnicities (Diarra’s joke with Traoré’s, all Dogon joke will Songhoy, etc) are the Touaregs and the Bella. These are the only two groups I’ve heard being seriously slurred against here in the North. And they are the ones you hear about most on RFI.

West African French, quoi

2009-07-06T14:51:00.001+01:00

The more time I spend around French people (or other Europeans who speak French) the more I realize I speak very West African French. And evidently the mélange with local languages is even more noticeable in Côte d'Ivoire.

On est ensemble, the subject of my last entry, is a quintessential West African French phrase having largely to do with the fact that it represents the Neighborhood Watch aspect to the culture here. It’s not really used in France in this sense, probably because the system of solidarity isn’t as strong in the West (I know, I know, France is in fact north northeast of Mali).

Présentement is widely used to say "currently" but French people find it awkward. Maybe this too is a result of me using the equivalent to "presently". Usually, when searching for a word I don’t know, I say the english word with French pronunciation (especially if the word is more than 3 syllables long) and it works. In this case, it doesn’t.

On est où là ? Literally meaning "One is where ?", has become a greeting or a way to warm up a crowd. It doesn’t really mean anything. But it became popular in the West African hour of guests and music on RFI at 21H10 because the Sénégalese host uses it profusely.

Peinturer in West African French means "to paint". However, they took the actual verb peindre and made it into an easy to congugate regular –er verb. So instead of being lazy and saying Le nouveau maire a coupé tous les arbres dans la cour de la mairie et peinturé le batiment conformément à son hôtel (true story), you should say Le maire a peint la mairie desagréablement.

Often, to designate an event or action that has not happened yet but is expected to happen, West Africans say, Je n’ai pas fini à préparer d’abord. I thought this was perfectly acceptable French. It is not. I have now learned that the construction comes from Bambara (or the more widely spoken sister language of Dioula), in which for an action that has not yet occured you simply tack on folo to the end of the sentence. Folo translates best to d’abord. But, a proper French housewife would use encore to say she has not yet finished cooking : Je n’ai pas encore fini à préparer.

Quoi is added at the end of phrases so often it's become a habit, quoi. Similar to "like" in English. While watching Bienvenue Chez les Chtis, I found that it is also used in this north northwestern French dialect. To the point where a southerner gets quite confused and the two actors get into a loop much like a "Who's on First?" bit. Quoi literally means "what" and therefore, with the intonation of the Chtis, it is as if you are always asking a question rather than confirming a statement. Here, there is no confusion over intonation, so it becomes an extraneous word at the end of phrases, as in, Je vais terminer ici, quoi.

On est ensemble

2009-07-05T14:45:00.000+01:00

On est Ensemble is a West-African French phrase which literally means « We’re together » but more figuratively speaks to the system of solidarity that is deeply imbedded in the culture.

For example, when I forgot to grab money out of my safe for the week, I found myself broke, 4km away from home, and with a blazing sun outside. Lunch costs 500F ($1,20). But I didn’t even have a 5F piece on me. So when I went to our usual restaurant, I asked the lady if I could pay tomorrow. She gave me a heaping plate of rice and red-fish sauce and said, On est ensemble. You don’t let your neighbor go hungry here. It’s one of the aspects I like most about Malian culture—even if it may cause a certain level of indolence.

Human Universals

2009-06-26T14:16:00.002+01:00

First rain in Gao and I discovered another human universal: kids love to puddle stomp.

In the Road

2009-06-02T15:37:00.000+01:00

Though it is tiring to be going around town on a bike—from my house along the river to work one way is over 4km—I enjoy how it allows me to observe and interact with people, especially the kids:

"Ni go foonda ra !" I said to a toddler IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD, he looks up at me and starts to bawl. A young woman comes over and says his mother was out and there was no one looking after him.

"Nice rhythm" I shout over to a kid, who, surely sent by his mother to get water, was sounding out beats on the 4 over turned 20L water jugs strapped over his shoulders. I sure hope he wouldn’t be the only one carrying that load back…

One toddler pulling another out ofthe way of a speeding moto by the back of his oversized shirt.

Pays Dogon

2009-02-28T17:04:00.000Z

The Dogon are a people unique to Mali. It is said they sought refuge from wild beasties in the cliffs of the Bandiagara Escarpement when it was still a forested region. Now, you can see the desert approaching once you descend the fallaise into the plain where dunes encroach from the northeast. The Dogon chased out the Pygmies (who liked the forest and therefore ran off to the Congo River basin) and settled in villages along the 200km escarpement. With the Peuhls to their west, on the top of the ridge and in the plains beyond, the Dogon were introduced to Islam but have generally held fast to their animist beliefs. Many villages still retain their traditional religious chiefs who are in contact with the Creator, Ogon (all this I learned from our guide and from what my fiancé had learned in school, so forgive me if there are errors) ; though, in nearly every village we visited there was a Catholic mission and often schools supported by the Church. Still, we chanced upon a traditional mask ceremony for two funerals.

When there is work to be done in the fields, people who pass away are burried but there is no passing ceremony to recognize their accomplishements. These two elders were very accomplished and therefore merited an elaborate ceremony. Women born during the Dogon fête of the year become the master of the ceremony. They hold large, decorated calabashes (gourd spoons) and are the only ones allowed to dance along with the masked men. Each mask represents either fertility (these male dancers are equiped with breasts), rain, hyenas, lions, hunters, and life (the tallest of them all…this dancer must have an amazingly strong neck to raise and lower the tree-trunk of a mask attached to his head). The men drink millet beer before starting the ceremony and a few dancers had to be removed from the circle for drunkeness. I was amused by certain more modern decorations on the masks : colored plastic mirrors, « Nihe » sneakers, and other « chinoiseries ». The rest was made from Baobab and monkey-fruit wood, grass and natural dyes.

The Baobabs of Pays Dogon are huge and numerous. You can see the scars from where bark was harvested for masks and uses in the home (rope or baskets). The trees really do resemble a tree pulled up roots and all and planted upside down. One of my favorite quotes from the trip was to Diallo as he sat under the shade of a Baobab : « Hey, does this thing that resembles a Peuhl speak Fulfulde? » (a Poullo woman passing by selling milk). He responded in Fulfulde, of course, and we decided to buy some milk. From then on we refered to him as « this thing here ». It was interesting to see him playing tourist in his own region. He had never visited Dogon Country before and enjoyed himself.

The hiking wasn’t so rigourous, but on the way back you end up scalling the escarpement quite quickly (it’s no more than a 1km climb) so a few in our group got vertigo. The force of the wind made some passes precarious, particularly how it has over the years carved rocks down to perfectly round boulders wedged into crevasses just waiting to fall on the innocent passerby…we had difficulty imagining how the Dogon lived in the cliffs (the oldest villages were literally caverns dug out from the cliff face)—how would they have transported water ? How did they use the toilet ? We joked how the sleep walkers of the tribe most certainly had been selected out. Our guide explained the Dogon knew how to fly and therefore the height of the cliff posed no problem. That was how they beat the former Pygmy dwellers of the region. To us, it was certainly a task to climb through the villages to reach areas reserved for the religious chiefs. Each village has a meeting shelter/hangar (still used today) to settle disputes and discuss village matters. The roof is so low no one can get angry and abruptly stand up to intimidate others. Plus, most of these structures were carefully constructed along cliff edges to be more visible to passerby ; therefore, making a ruckous would also result in a tumble. I was amused by a c.1904 French oil canister turned into a drum. There were often signs explaining local laws such as « No widowers allowed for three years » and you have to wonder what dispute that sign settled. We also noticed the Dogon sensibly had houses for the women to retreat to each month. I wonder what has changed in society that women no longer get 5 days to themselves each month??

The populations were very accostommed to tourists. Especially the children. We were left alone for the most part, though were still asked to buy things or to give them things. Craig enjoyed beat-boxing with the kids, leading them in rhythms and songs as we hiked along the base of the plateau to our campement. We asked a few students to show us their notebooks. A 4th grader couldn’t answer simple questions in French nor write clearly. It seems they focus on local language and teach it orally reminding me if Mali wants to truly be independent of aide they need to improve basic education first. We especially enjoyed observing the daily work : drying and pounding onions into balls to store them all year (a Frenchman introduced this type of onion to the area and it grows in abundance); watering of gardens with gourds ; pounding millet ; cloth dying (I bought some indigo) and guiding. We ran into many other tourist groups with their guides. I hope to go back and hike for more than two days, possibly towards Sangha and the north part of the escarpement. There is certainly more to discover, particularly about the regions geology. The guide explained it was underwater, then a forest, and now it is slowly being turned into desert. But much of the rock and its coloring led us to believe there was volcanic activity. Pumice and other igneous rock doesn’t just fall from the sky. But, to support the guide, there was a lot of evidently sedimentary stone with bits of shell and evidence of sealife petrifed. I can believe why Pays Dogon is the most visited area of Mali : beautiful terrain, interesting culture and great trails. The people for one, yeech ! A bunch of donkeys !

I’m sorry, as a koyraboro, in the name of joking cousins, I just had to.

Hamiisa go no wala?

2009-02-15T16:47:00.000Z

How would you determine a child’s age who has neither a birth certificate nor a vaccination record and how the father (who was probably off in Ghana trying to make a living during the birth), the grandmother, the mother and the neighbor remember the period of the birth are all different ?? You count their teeth, have them fold their left arm over their head and reach for their ear, or try to coax the information out of the family using local events (had Abdoulsalaam gotten married yet ?) and seasonal calendars (was the tabacco flowering ? Had the river dried up ? Where were the cows at the time ?) You check for contradictions (the local names of the moons change from zone to zone) and hope you’ve made a good approximation. Because when calulating various forms of malnutrition (acute/starvation, chronic/stunting and ponderal insufficience) you need height, weight AND age. Our team of surveyors, doctors and sociologues became well versed in the science of age-determination by the end of the two-week CAP (connaissances, attitudes, pratiques) survey. The « training » we had in Gao was somewhat worthless, but did give me a good refresher on college statistics…random sampling, determining sample size, bell curves…etc etc. The problem with the methodology was that the southerners (we had hired the government’s public health consultants) are used to villages that get built up around a central point. In the communes of Bamba and Téméra, the villages are split up into « neighborhoods » of 100-200 residents stretched along the river. Each village is only a few huts up from the banks, but a few kilometers long. So, the method of random sampling to which they were accostommed of finding the central point of the village, throwing a pen in the air, walking to the periphery of the village in the direction of the pen’s cap and numbering the houses as you go, drawing a number from the range of houses numerated and starting from there…wasn’t gonna fly. From the first house on, you continue to the nearest house to the right. But that too posed a problem—the « houses » (which we begun to label « economic units » because there are multiple huts/tents/structures to one family) are not in a compact area. Even near water points there aren’t really conglomerations. The river is their livelihood : rice paddy, fishing, water for cooking, cleaning, bathing, drinking. You have to live near the river. Period. « Fractions » of villages off in the dunes and pastures (herdsmen and Tamacheqs) weren’t surveyed due to their distances. We had a difficult enough time finding sleeping arrangements and clean drinking water in the more established villages ; I couldn’t imagine treking out to campements where they live off milk and pond water (if that). A pastoral/livelihoods Oxfam staff member told me he was out in the fractions during the drought of the 2004-05 season and asked for water. Among all the campement residents, they couldn’t find enough water to fill his 4L jug. The average daily need for water (and what most « Access to Water » projects target) is 15L per person. An entire village couldn’t come up with 4L !

In two weeks, we visited 26 villages, measured over 600 children under five and surveyed their mothers. The most interesting part other than testing my limits in supporting the broussey-life was investigating food security indicators (this experience has reinforced my desire to pursue a specialisation/masters in foodsec). I’d always try and get the chance to chat with some of the mothers after the survey about their livelihood, well, if they didn’t run away from me! We had a few women who had probably never seen a foreigner let alone one who speaks their language. These informal discussions allowed me to learn that, for example, the sheep get woozy when they eat the tobacco. Bamba is the largest tobacco producing region of Mali—a cash crop for the families and one of the few agricultural jobs sonrai women manage entirely from planting the seedlings in the rich mud along the bank of the river to de-flowering, harvesting, drying and pounding the leaves. I found that there is no lack of protein in the diets due to a constant supply of fish and therefore it is a poor indicator of a good or bad year (the question posed was how many days of the week the “economic unit” eats meat or fish). Most of the families rely on wild crops—barley, bourgho grass and its grain, water lillies (flower, stalk, root and grain found in the bulb are all consumed), and burrs. When the birds eat the rice seedlings, the population will still eat the paddy (what’s left of the grain). One mother told me, Zankey ma duu ka dungay. She looks to keep her children quiet with what they can find and nothing more. The state food-sec annual analysis found both Bamba and Téméra as food secure— with Bamba fairing slightly better. The problems we found weren’t directly related to quantity, quality or frequency. No, they were structural problems such as dikes that break every year leading to flooding of the traditional paddies, a lack of irrigation (they just wait for the river water to flow into the paddy after planting in October), and grain storage. Even when it’s a good year, said one woman, they’ll just eat more. There is no sense of saving up for next year in case of a bad harvest. One of the better indicators of a good or bad year we found was the selling of animals. The sonrai only sell animals as a last resort. Their herds are their pension plan. So in a sense, they do have savings, it just moos and has four legs and can die if there’s not enough pasture or water.

Once again, I found that Mariama Cissé, the white woman who speaks koyraboro senni, is very well known from Titilane to Gareygoungo (villages along a 45km stretch of the Niger). In Zamane, women from the village came to dance and play the nzarka for me. After having introduced the methods of the survey and the Oxfam project on the radio in Téméra (the commune next door to Bamba) with the help of the mayor, we could say that stretch has now expanded to 75km. I was impressed with Téméra : nearly all of the villages were informed of our schedule and many women had their child’s birth certificate and vaccination information in hand upon our arrival. And this was without the aide of our trained village health workers ! People say it is a less politicized commune and people are more open to helping us help them.

All the surveyors and I got along well—always joking and telling stories as we travelled from village to village. Crossing into the gourma (always the territory up from the right bank of the river as it flows) of Hamgoundji, the chief arranged a canoe for us. As the river water is drying up, our larger pinasses have to fandi farther and farther from the villages. Our canoe, though a long-boat with a shallow hull, got stuck in the mud and bourgho roots. So we had one of the larger surveyors get out. On the way back, he insisted on helping the child pole the canoe along. Of course he got off balance and fell in. We couldn’t help but laugh at him, a chain smoker, throw one-by-one, his soaked cigarettes into the chanel. Walking back from the second chanel to the island where we had lunch cooking, I got covered in mud up to the knee provoking various comments of how Mariam is getting broken in (as if I hadn’t already lived here for 2 ½ years). « Baa ni ga jiiri fo teeeeee haro raaaaa, ni si ni darbaway naaaaang jeso gaaaaaa » was their taunt that they’d continuously sing for the rest of the survey : « Even if you keep swimming in the water for a year, you don’t forget your clothes on the shore when you get out. » That is to say, even if I’m well-adjusted, speak koyraboro senni, accept to eat greasy rice-shuck (not the grain, but what’s left of the grain after pounding it to open the husk), and bathe in the river, I’m still an anasara and I can always go back to the Good Life.

Finding our lunches and dinners was always interesting. The question « Hamiisa go no wala ? » became somewhat of a greeting for us : as soon as we anchoered at a village, we’d yell out to see if there was fish to be had. On market day, we ordered a sheep by phone. In the middle of the Niger, I placed the call back to our driver in Téméra. Often, the villagers would make us labbadja, one of my favorite sonraï meals, consisting of rice piled high with roasted sheep or goat and smothered in fresh cow butter. Though most of the time for lunch, in the name of finishing off a « grappe » (the sample of kids necessary for that village), we’d just get tomatoes from a nearby garden—in one village there were tomatoes the size of softballs—and make cold porridge from dried manioc powder.

The southerners were used to families serving as one grappe. But here the norm is less of polygamous marriages, and women often only have 1 to 2 children. Though that isn’t to say she hasn’t tried for more. Even with most of the women answering they had been pregnant 5-7 times (the average in Mali), the majority only had 2 living children. We did come upon one island near Téméra of fishermen which was two brothers, their wives and all their children and grandchildren, coming to a total of 83 people. The two brothers had originally come up from Ségou (5 hrs from Bamako). We quickly finished our grappe that day.

Since the survey, the temps we hired from Gao still greet me in town and typically yell out « Wa’dungay ! Dungay ! » Because while out in the boat on a particularly blustery day I was nervous of capsizing and was calling out to the pinassier to determine whether or not we should keep going but couldn’t hear, so I was yelling at the team for silence. They’ll never let it go. One said to me he had never seen an Anasara so afraid before. Especially an anasara who knows how to swim traveling by a pinasse conducted by a descendent of the sorkos who traditionally are friends of the water spirit, talk to the hippos and know how control the currents of the river.

Those currents will soon change with the construction of a dam between Bourem (the circle seat) and Téméra. The water level behind the dam will rise, consumming all the islands of Bamba and Téméra and most of the houses along the banks. Meaning the large portion of the population will be forced to relocate up into the dunes. Though the dam will bring irrigated fields, eventually, the livelihoods of these people are entirely dependent on what they grow in the flood plain and the islands. Can the sandy soil of where they’ll relocate to produce enough ? Will the state actually pay for new homes ? When asked what they think of the changes to come, most of the villagers replied, « God will help us».

Irkoy m’ir kul faaba indeed…

The Things They Carried

2009-01-20T06:55:00.005Z

I do believe the number of motos in the capital has increased noticeably since I've been here. Especially the Chinese made "Jakarta" motos. I can't imagine what it would be like to a Malian, like the one who I met in CDG, who had left for France in 1988 and hasn't been back until now. What amuses me are the items one frequently sees being carried/dragged with a moto:

- The family (Mommy, Daddy, and three kids)

- A sappling

- Meters and meters of rebar, dragging behind, sending up sparks

- A HUGE mess of bean leaves

- A sheep

- Crate of bread

- 4 chickens

- A 4m plank of wood

Aw bissimilah!

2009-01-16T17:19:00.002Z

From the moment I heard the loud Ivorian music and Bambara, I knew I was already almost home. And this was only in the CDG gate for the flight to Bamako.

There's the good: Lebanese falafel and silly Bambara women amused with me for trying to speak their language while buying bananas (100F for 3!!) or flip flops, warm sunshine (not too hot yet!) and cute babies...and the Bad: open sewage, mosquitoes, scary taxi drivers (um, **thanks** for the statistic on car accident related fatalities abroad, Kev) and barely breathable air...but at least most of those things I only have to deal with here in the capital.

Thanks to both the Malians and the dear citizens of Awesomeland for sharing me!!

Awesomeland

2009-01-11T23:43:00.007Z

Have you ever been in McDonald's and at a loss for what to order?

Been startled at the automatic toilet flushing as you stand up?

Paid $5 for a chocolat chaud and realized you could have lived a couple days off that?

Been wide-eyed in a shopping mall?

Been appalled at the size of portions and then making 3 meals of it?

Thought how delicious some people would find that nice, fat cat who was voguing on the sidewalk?

Been amazed at the choices of wild rice in the supermarket?

Giggled at the cowboys stepping out of their truck in button-up shirts, jeans and boots when you are FREEZING pumping the gas in 3 layers, a hat, mittens and a turban in Somwhere Off of I94, MT?

Been unable to pick first which margarita (out of 8 flavors), then what kind of salsa (at least 20 options from mild to spicy, fruity or sour), then what kind of meat (ground beef, chicken, pulled pork, vegetarian, or spicy marinated beef), what kind of beans (black or pinto) and finally, unable to say if you were ready to pay the bill or not?

Pausing, then realizing that it was the number of white people on the bus with you that was different?

Forgetting to close cupboards and to turn off the oven?

Using the affirmative "ayyo" to agree with someone or say "diplôme" for diploma and ONG for NGO?

If you have had these feelings, don't hesitate to talk to your doctor today. These are signs of the common syndrome known as readjustment. Call today about readjustment and how we can help...umm...I believe I have watched too much tee-vee lately...

It has been an interesting month experiencing the US on home leave--most accented by realising the vast amount of choice one has in the states.

Time with family and friends has been so incredibly wonderful. I've realized me and my friends have grown up a bit in the last 3 years and yet it seems as if it was just yesterday I flew off to Mali. And the parents...well, they've adopted certain habits I find quaint. Like watching the News Hour with Jim Lehrer during dinner, facebooking, and rotating who does the daily Sudoku Calendar page. Above all, the scrabbling, the laughing, the church-going, the eating of ice cream, the joys in playing "I opened my grandmother's trunk..." and "Hide n' Seek" with young cousins, and the hugging have given me the strength and love I need to keep going. Thanks!

Here a liver, there a liver

2008-12-10T16:55:00.002Z

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!

2008-12-08T08:21:00.000Z

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!

2008-11-18T08:02:00.000Z

"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

2008-11-01T09:53:00.000Z

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

2008-10-28T09:43:00.000Z

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

2008-10-27T09:25:00.001Z

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

2008-10-25T08:59:00.001Z

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

2008-10-22T08:51:00.002Z

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...

2008-10-11T08:33:00.000Z

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

2008-10-02T08:10:00.000Z

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

2008-09-18T10:29:00.002Z

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

2008-09-12T10:29:00.001Z

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!

2008-09-01T10:29:00.004Z

::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

2008-08-23T11:29:00.001+01:00

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

2008-08-08T09:47:00.003+01:00

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

2008-07-27T14:39:00.001+01:00

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?

2008-07-18T14:03:00.001+01:00

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

2008-05-23T15:18:00.000Z

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...

2008-05-19T11:14:00.000Z

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

2008-05-17T09:38:00.003Z

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

2008-05-14T15:31:00.001Z

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

2008-05-11T15:26:00.000Z

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

2008-05-10T14:43:00.000Z

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

2008-05-07T14:21:00.001Z

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

2008-05-05T14:17:00.000Z

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

2008-04-30T18:40:00.001Z

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??

2008-04-26T18:32:00.000Z

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

2008-04-24T18:17:00.002Z

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?

2008-04-22T18:09:00.001Z

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.

2008-04-21T18:03:00.001Z

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

2008-04-20T17:32:00.001Z

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

2008-04-13T17:25:00.000Z

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

2008-04-11T17:18:00.000Z

...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!

2008-04-10T17:42:00.001Z

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!

A handful

2008-04-08T17:39:00.000Z

I watched Mama while Zubbu went to get her “head fixed” (braids and koyraboro beads weaved in). He was sleeping. Then fussing. Then pooping. After I cleaned him up, we cuddled and he quieted. I <3 style="font-style:italic;">bupbuping) and go find her. Luckily, she walked in just as I was attaching the screaming kid to my back, laughing, saying, “Eh, Mariam ni duu goy! Aru lala wo, bissimilahi!” The little guy is a handful! Still I love spending time with him as his ña hinkanto, his second mother.

At Bébé’s this evening we had kurbakurba (millet paste) and then milk with lunch’s leftover rice. She was angry with the milk vendors because they had been adding water and you can definitely tell. At least they are being entrepreneurial...

Good to be back

2008-04-07T12:10:00.000Z

Alhorma cell phone communication, because otherwise I would have missed the SONEF Niamey-Gao bus to get back to Ansongo in time for baby weighings. I can’t believe the SONEF guy told me yesterday that the bus would leave from the Market when in fact it never leaves from the market but always from the 8th Quarter’s bus station. At least they phoned the driver and told him to wait for me on the side of the road. There are advantages to being one of few anasara around here…

I realized that I had been away from site for two weeks, working in both Bara and Gao. And a lot changed! When I got off the bus, I went straight to the hospital. A little girl (2 yrs old) is not getting any better even with the rehabilitation foods and we wonder if her mother is giving the food to other members of the family. It’s been since January and she isn’t gaining weight, where as other children, without serious infections, gain an average of 8g/kg/day during treatment.

My teammate’s cat disappeared; we think the neighbor murdered it.

Maman is drinking bita now and crawling.

The radio is back up and running, so I was able to finally do the show on optimal breast-feeding.

My homologue moved! This is the second time since I’ve lived here. They remodeled an old 2-story home that had been abandoned. She is a little uneasy though and I think would prefer a job in Gao. Her husband seems to spend more time there than in Ansongo anyway. At least they cooped up the chickens and made an enclosure for the sheep, irkoy beeri!

Seeking understanding

2008-04-06T19:14:00.003Z

Took advantage of being in Gao and went to church. Ibrahim preached on spiritual healing using the story of the sick man lowered into the crowd to be healed. He thinks spiritiual healing has 5 steps: 1. Frustration (the crowds, everyone wants to see a miricle) 2. Determination (because nothing is impossible with God) 3. Affirmation/confirmation—God sees your faith, your determination and therefore will heal/pardon you. 4. Confrontation: only God truly pardons because he gives us proof—we can get up and walk again when healed by God but other farces like modern messiahs and healers who claim to do the work of God don’t do anything for us—or material fixes, money can’t buy spiritual healing. 5. And when you do walk, walk on a new path—change yourself because you’ve been healed/forgiven.

This evening I had a good conversation about religion: It bothers me how divided even just the protestant church is—all I want to do is believe in God and live my life according to Matthew 25. Sharing my faith through my actions. But is this too simple? Islam demands so much more of its adherents it seems. The Malian with which I was speaking talked about the life of the prophet and the 5 tenets (believing in God as a unique God and that Mohammed is his prophet, praying five times a day, fasting during Ramadan, going to Mecca on pilgrimage if you have the means, and tithing or as they say zakat). He says it is an easy religion to understand if you just sit down and think about it. Then he asks, with what aspects do I disagree? I said 1. Polygamy 2. People who ignorantly practice without understanding even the verses they chant from the Koran in Arabic and 3) the treatment of women. He agrees with me that the treatment of women is difficult to cope with but it is more the society than religion that keeps women in an inferior position. As for polygamy he said God only blessed Kadija, Mohammed’s first wife with children. So there wasn’t jealousy between the other co-wives. He added only if you can treat your multiple wives perfectly equally should you take on up to 4. The Koran never says, take 4 wives, but insteads limits men to four. In the time of the prophet polygamy was used to strengthen tribal relations. As it was here in Africa, and there wasn’t a limit of 4. I asked him directly if he would take a second wife and he said no because he knew he wouldn’t be able to treat them equally. But he said taking a younger girl later on in life as a wife is better than just having an affair with her. I don’t understand here how society and the government allow polygamy and men still are unfaithful and cheat.

We continued by discussing women’s place in Islam. Women aren’t allowed to preach or to pray in front of men because of biology. The female form was created to be appreciated (hair, breasts, ass). So I joke, and what about the male form? I can’t appreciate his ass? The Malian goes “I don’t see the attraction.” Ha. He agreed with me where in seriously Islamic places there are separate hospitals for women and thus they get inferior treatment. For him there is nothing sexual even about Ob-gyn work—you are professional and don’t take account of what you see.

He explained as well that the prophet wasn’t well educated and was a humble person so it shows God chooses anyone. And so I retort, why didn’t he choose a woman?

So, as I write this post, I am doing the work I came here to do. Convince Americans not all Muslims are terrorists. And convince Malians not all Americans are money-grubbing capitalist war-mongers. We talked about how Christians are taught if you are wronged, you turn the other cheek. Other Malians have brought this aspect of Christianity up before so it must be written about in the Koran. I do agree that though this promotes forgiveness and brotherly love, where does it end? Islam teaches if you get slapped, you pardon. If you can’t pardon you slap back. Yet an eye for and eye leaves every man blind…well, he explained really, it is the pardoning that is the most important. So we talked about how hard forgiveness is. He says in the end God is the final judge. I tell him how yes Jesus wll come again to judge the living and the dead. So he asks, how will he judge all those before him? I said he’d give them new bodies in essence. Even if all that are left fo them are carbon traces every life ever lived is in the “book” as it were. He asked if I believed even Jews and Muslims will go to heaven. Ah, hard question. I so thoroughly having my faith challenged!

Espionage-Health worker style

2008-04-01T19:09:00.000Z

"Enjoy hell!" I texted to my teammate who lives in Ansongo with me. He texted me this morning saying he just got off the phone with the director and they are sending two PC vehicles to evacuate team Gao. I was swearing, I wanted to throw up, I even woke up James!! Tensions were rising between the rebels and the government again…so I believed him! Of course, it was April Fools. He ws proud he got me, and the rest of the PCVs around, until Sean realized what day it was. I was still shaking to go to ACF for a meeting. Now how do we get him back?

I took a tour—or as Dr. Diallo joked, I was spying—of the expat-run CSCOM in the 8th quartier of Gao. It is impressive because it is clean, the infants have everything they need (diapers, clothes, blankets, toys), and therefore it is well-frequented. But staffing still poses a problem because they don’t properly fill out charts and document the treatments they give. They do give the proper treatments—of course it helps that all the necessary drugs for nutritional rehab are available—the treatment just goes undocumented. They have a/c in the office and you have to take off your shoes to go into the maternity. As far as hygiene goes, it was really impressive for Mali. Why couldn’t all the CSCOMs be like this? Well, they aren’t financed like this one is. The rehab room for the babies had toys and beds for each baby—ah, I had resource envy compared to what we have at the CSREF in Ansongo!!! And this CSCOM is actually Gao’s CSREFs UREN instead of housing it at the CSREF because this expat has access to such great support. But now, if only they could start documenting we could see if they have fewer abandons than we do or less deaths and more recovered kids.

"'Tis the Season"

2008-04-01T18:44:00.000Z

Misery by any other name wouldn't be so…

Hot
Dry
Lazy
Dust-stormy
Angry
Divorce-crazy
Hungry
Mango-licious
Beach-going
Windy
Thirsty
River-drying
Sweaty
Hippo-sightastic
Shower-three-times-a-dayful
###

I hab a code

2008-03-31T19:03:00.000Z

The head cold persists, at least I’ve caught up on sleep being able to relax in between Semaine Régionale events. I got a good turn out of expats to support our girls playing against Gao…but they got killed! I think we only made 2 baskets, both free throws.

While working on the PC computer some volunteers came in wanting to watch a movie and go “She’s doing that again.” “You know…THAT.” “Yes, I’m working!”

There was a bit of a scandal on the court this afternoon. We were about to play Bourem when it was discovered they had brought in ringers from Bamako that morning—guys from the Gao professional team. We refused to play unless they only started players who had been registered since last month. Both Ansongo teams beat them handily. Yay! So we placed 3rd overall. It was more important just for these girls to have left Ansongo and played in a tournament. But what confuses me is that after we got back to Ansongo the girls stopped coming to the court. It’s as if the tournament was enough for them. And then the new jerseys I awarded girls who were coming regularly discouraged others from coming at all even though I told them they’d get a new jersey too if they’d come regularly. Ah, no dice. Incentives just don’t work! How?

Tonight was Ansongo’s theater and arts presentation. They had a “ballet” portraying the water spirits and sacrifices made to them in the past. I am still shocked at the scandalous midriff-showing costumes on the girls. There was a great drama on protecting your daughters from going off and getting unwanted pregnancies—starring Agaichou the bball captain as Bintou, a girl who goes off to make money as a servant in the city to save up for her marriage and gets seduced by her patron’s son, ends up with a child and therefore sent away by her father. Sad. An ensemble song about loving your husband or wife: Hala ir ma waaaaafoku! Ir ma cere diiiii! Ir ma baaaaa cereeeee! Then Safaraou, the tallest of the basketball girls who could really have a future in sports, sang a great solo on respecting and obeying your parents. Some takamba dancing and then a stomp dance.

When the awards for the week were announced, Ansongo cleaned up in theater and arts so we placed second overall for the week. Gao naturally was first, then Ménaka because of their bball prowess then Bourem. Interesting how the placement reflects the general level of development in the region—Bourem being the most impoverished and with the highest rates of child mortality and malnutrition in all of Mali.

Hoops

2008-03-29T19:00:00.000Z

Even after going to sleep only at 2:30am (great ACF party) and a teammate staggering out of the house at 4am waking me up...I still pulled myself out of bed to get over to the stadium for the morning matches. Our girls were down 7-2 at one point but came back to only to lose 12-11. Adiza was the MVP making 4 baskets. Bibata double-dribbled shortly after being called in and the Mens coach yelled at her so I yelled at him saying, "Chill! It is her first match ever and she is only 12 whereas most of the other girls are in high school!!" 5 of my 6th graders made the circle team. Ansongo represent! The guys lost their match. Both teams played Ménaka, who ended up winning the basketball tournament. The Mens teams are full of guys making stylized passes and shots and voguing instead of passing to teammates. Gah. It was great seeing other youth cheer the girls on and I had a moment where I wished I had gotten more involved in youth development my whole stay here—they are so enthusiastic it is encouraging.

Mariam goes mobile

2008-03-28T18:53:00.000Z

I am feeling slightly better after taking Sudafed, ibruprofen, doxy, a vitamin and drinking 1L of water. The dust and crazy dust/wind storm we had in Bara has given me a serious head cold. Nevertheless, the Health-Relay Training in Bara was fantastic. Bara people are so motivated! They accepted to do a training without per diem (transport and food costs--a fact that has destroyed the concept of learning for learning's sake). When I arrived Kate and I went to market which was entertaining because a lot of people said, “Eh, Mariam, ni duu yow!” As if Kate who has lived in Bara for 8 months is MY guest! I guess a lot of Ansongo people come to the Bara market to sell goods. We make a good team, Mariam and Rafi. Her host mother is very sweet and reminds me of Zubbu. It's nice to be able to work outside of my site using the knowledge I've gained there.

Wafi the Relais President was adorable. An old man sporting a hot pink boubou. He gave feedback at the end of the training encouraging the relais to get out there and work now that they have this knowledge we have shared with them. I thanked them and said that "my heart was sweetened" by their enthusiasm.

I made the mistake of taking the overloaded Niamey-Gao bus and we broke down. The basketball girls, headed to La Semaine Régionale des Sports, Arts, et du Théâtre, passed me in their rented Bani buses. Ha.

James went with me to the Semaine Régionale opening. They gave me the Ansongo sign to hold. Which meant at one point when Ibrahim Alpha, the director of the youth programs in Ansongo, was parading us around I was the front of 500 some odd athletes (runners, basketball players, and footballers), actors and musicians from the four circles of Gao (Ansongo, Ménaka, Bourem and Gao). Might as well be front and center, people are going to look at me anyway. The governor, mayor and the president of the regional assembly all spoke. I got sun burned and thirsty standing out on the pitch.

Greeting

2008-03-24T09:05:00.000Z

Spent a busy morning weighing babies—it was only me and Bébé due to the Easter Monday holiday. But you see, broussey people still come—they don’t know what Easter Monday is! So quite frankly the fonctionnaires should work anyway! Everyday here is practically chômé.

"It was let’s roast Mariam Day" at Aliou’s. I saw his brother Ibrahim at the hospital and threw out a War ga ban? but clearly that wasn’t good enough because I only greeted him in passing. I have to warmly shake people’s hands and say hello. Not even my joke about him being sick got points! So then all of them, even my teammate, laughing at their comments, was party to the roast. Conclusion: Mariam doesn’t greet. I walk with a purpose and do not greet people along the way. And if I hear my name often I don’t respond. I’m aloof. I chuckled knowing Pingping and Liang Bocong and Shaohua all used to say the same thing when I was in China. For me here, if someone yells Mariam! And I take the time to respond and all they say to me is Ay ga baa ni! "I love you!" Is that really worth my time? No.

Another afternoon spent talking about development. What is the solution? One, Aliou, if I knew the answer to that I wouldn’t be here! He says America needs to change their image in the world. Putting more money into Foreign Aid would help. And spending less on the military and fighting stupid wars. Extremists come from universities too—so education isn’the only solution. Aliou believes Mali has reason to hope. Look at how far it has come since Democratization efforts began in 1992? True, but it still has a long way to go.

I believe the West is in a position to take risks to truly discover what works. But it seems we aren’t willing to get out of the current rut. Aliou says why not dredge the Senegal river to Kayes and suddenly Mali would have a seaport. Think and plan before execution, but even if it seems crazy at least it is something. God knows we’ve poured money into the Africa Project over 30 years and have yielded little. But never will you hear me say Mali is screwed. Why join PC, why work in development if you have no hope? There is a big difference between pragmatism and cynicism or hoplessness. Vision and hope are crucial to being pragmatic. Your logical well thought-out steps need a direction.

He is risen!

2008-03-23T10:29:00.001Z

He is risen indeed! It is difficult here not observing Lent nor Holy Week and then suddenly having an Easter service without even Communion. We did sing Bambara songs about the resurrection at least. I wore my purple basin dress which Amina thought suits my figure, and which Aicha and Fadi couldn’t believe I wouldn’t wear stateside. It's just so nice! They exclaim. Then of course there was the extra attention from men—Mariam! Ay ga baa ni! Really?

Moussa came down with a Bible Institute guy Coulibaly who knows Aliou through another Bible Institute guy Abdulaziz. So they invited him for the service. When I told him later the sheep eating was at Ibrahim Denebele’s from 11:30 onwards he realized that was why no one was at the mission at noon. “So they wanted me to listen them to talk about Jesus?” Lahilay-alulahi! Goes Aliou. He was shocked. Ha. It is a shame he didn’t make it for lunch cause many non-christians were there. The Medecin Chef, Daou, friends/fellow teachers of Isa, Fadi, Aicha, Dr. Touré, Maimouni, and a handful of youth.

Moussa preached about how to know we believe in the resurrection and the life. 1. Jesus himself predicted his death and subsequent resurrection. 2. All four gospels say it precisely whereas they differ on other accounts. 3. There had to have been a reason Sunday became a holy day and the first day of the week. 4. The disciples went out and made the first Christians on account of the resurrection, why would they have said the Messiah had come and saved us otherwise? 5. The prophets saw it coming. Nothing as profound as “Keep your fork” but still a good sermon.

I was amused when presented with bread and sheep-intestin soup the men all turned to me and said "ladies first." We were eating with practically all the guests around one bowl. There had to have been 11 men and me. Then upon noticing I wasn’t really touching the meat they took a rib and put it on another plate and said for me to eat it. I am so babied here!

The TV taught us the bishop in Bamako led a lovely Easter service (they even do a vigil with a candle lighting—you know there is something to say for Catholic adherence to tradition) and that Osama bin Laden wishes Christians around the world a Happy Easter. Jesus is a prophet for them just not the most important. Tiny little difference ;)

Later we had delicious rice pilaf with mutton and tea and drinks. I heart Muslims who come just for the food. It is fellowshipping at least. The pastor put on this video of a family falling apart and then the children brought them to Jesus and it made it all better. Joy.

In the evening I spoke with Aliou and his brother about development and faith. He thinks Americans don’t have the capacity for faith. Like I must be a materialist/humanist. He thinks I believe in God but rely on what is measured and seen. I was annoyed cause Aliou was saying you only mke a choice to believe if you defy the norm and leave the tradition you were brought up in. So my teammate made a choice to be Pagan. I was simply born a Christian. True. But there was Confirmation and then going to church in college and still going to church in Mali. A lot of my friends did not continue the practice. Many give up faith (or maybe just the expression thereof) in college, but I didn’t. Nevertheless he still says all I was acting on was the influence of my parents and society. Fine. And you my Muslim friend?

Celebrity

2008-03-20T10:27:00.000Z

I’m such a celebrity here! Going to go get bread for my spicy bean dip I got many a Mariam! A Salut! from Dr. Diarra passing on his moto; a cherie de moi! from the coffee guy who wants to go back to the states with me and be my servant; a bon soir! from Vieux at the bus station and a Ay no mille francs from some bold little garibou—who asks for 1000CFA? I refuse them even if they’re only begging for 25F!

Outliers

2008-03-16T10:20:00.001Z

The biggest laugh Aliou has gotten out of Zubbu and all of us sitting around after dinner—what is it about full moons that makes us sit out and chat longer?—he said, Le français, ils cherchent que le travail et le dodo. Nous, ici nous cherchons de ne se reveiller plus. "The French, the try to simply work and sleep. Here we try and never get up again." Sad. We talk a lot about development. He asked me if I could pocket donor money instead of putting it in the hands of an idiot, would I pocket it? I countered with, did I know the person was an idiot before I got the funds? Yes. Ok, I would try to redistribute it according to plan to prevent bouffing. I personally wouldn’t seek to profit I told him. See, I’m not desperate enough to be corrupt. I know I’ll have a way to support myself in the future. Again; we talked about solidarity and how it perpetuates poverty. If you know there is always someone to fall back on you never work so hard to pull yourself out of poverty. They all agreed that though poverty may exist in the States it is a better life over there (Tué, Aliou and Tapshirou’s father).

They talked about older women who marry younger men and how rare it is. Agreed that the point of marriage was children but Aliou insisted you need love. Though even if the love that may have once been there dissipates, you stay together for the sake of the children. Kids are the fruit of love, he says. Too bad often it doesn’t seem true here—so once again Aliou’s opinions set him apart as an outlier in Malian society.

Heffalumps and woozles, oh my!

2008-03-14T11:48:00.002Z

It began with the idea to go elephant stalking.

It ended with collapsing exhausted on a mat after counting our blessings descending from a truck piled high with millet sacks in the dead of night, shining our flashlights on the bumper to see what was left of the two donkeys we hit with a thunk-squelch, thunk-squelch once we had taken a 4x4 out in the moon-scape of a desert near Gossi, Mali (fearing for our lives thinking the tire blowout was a rifle rapport) to only crunch along sun-baked earth, crouch in sewer-lid sized tracks and ford knee-deep across muddy streams to eventually get vistas of a lifetime of a threatened but once majestic West Africa beastie.

Religious sharing

2008-03-09T10:15:00.000Z

I had to drop some things off at Zubbu and Aliou’s so I walked back to church with Aliou. I asked him if he wanted to come. He reminds me in Islam you can falter or stray once and then come back when someone asks you to come back and be okay. But falter again, and it’s your head. Eegh. He told me the pastor at the church is going to hell because he is estranged from his father over religion: not how I see it, but okay. Still he is glad I am learning about Islam. He particularly wants for me to take back the idea that Muslims and Arabs and Islamists aren’t the same. He said what he likes most abut Islam is the emphasis it places on respecting the environment. You must slaughter animals in an appropriate manner, with little suffering to the animal. You must be a caretaker of creation. And even as the fires and death of the apocalypse approach you, you plant a tree.

After church, where Isa preached on John 17:1-26 when Jesus prays for us; we are worthy of his prayer but we must follow his commandments, I zipped off to Koukia where despite some technical difficulties I gave the same talk I gave at the women’s conference yesterday. I was pleased with feedback I received later in the day. I tried to add more on how certain types of prevention don’t work for everybody; so, be it condoms or fidelity each individual must find a method appropriate for him/her.

Later after lunch Aliou was asking—in between mediating two fights between the neighbor and his wives and the school boys who stay with him—if I find Islam to be true, would I convert? I said I read a lot about Buddhism and still am Christian. I found aspects of the faith which pleased me and others with which I disagreed. Christianity is similar for me though the general principles I can follow and it is the culture with which I am comfortable. So no conversion? He asks. Not likely.

Int'l Women's Day and Birthday, Hooray!

2008-03-08T13:34:00.004Z

I enjoy the fact that the word for "celebration" is hooray in Songhoy. So one can exclaim Hooray! at a hooray. I know, I'm a linguistic dork.

I had a wonderful birthday celebrating International Women's Day. I woke up at 5:30am and managed to actually find breakfast. Tried to locate where they were playing the football match--it wasn't until 7:30 women began to show and even then only Sympatique ladies came, La Santé totally did not represent! So we scrimmaged until the sun got too hot--about 30 minutes. I assisted a goal, but because the event was for the ladies, why be in spot light? Too bad this caused townfolk to pester me for the rest of the day..."Hey look, there's Mariam. SHE didn't make a goal this morning..."

Went over to Bébé's to quickly shower and to suppay (dress oneself up nicely) for the Conference. It was a shame despite the work of the President of the Promotion of Women, Children and the Family; the attendance at the conference was low. And considering the keynote speaker she found—an official with the Circle Government—who droned on in French, no wonder the 34 women nodded off, chatted, bowed heads and glazed over. He did make some interesting points including the lack of female representation in the government (the fault of whom? The women he made it sound like); that there is seed money at the commune level to support women’s groups; there are savings and loan banks who can help women start a business; and above all, women need to understand they cannot sit around and wait for development to come to them. They need to seek out partners! True!

My talk on "HIV/AIDS and its implications for Women" speech in Songhoy was well received. I got a few laughs when I said they shouldn’t let young girls accept money from men. Funny? Um…not really! It probably just made them uncomfortable. Ami from the Radio Soni, who was acting as MC, asked for statistics (which later even when I made a request for cases in Ansongo at the CSREF I never got my anwser). We have to make people understand that it is a threat in Ansongo and people must protect themselves from SIDA. The Chef of Badji Haousa made incredibly irresponsible comments: First, men lord over women even though there is no man without woman it is through man that women will develop. And in terms of the low representation in government—it is the fault of the women for not getting on counselor lists for local elections (Responding to Ami’s other comment that men go out in the middle of the night with their turbans tied and formulate the lists without a single woman present); then he went on to talk about SIDA saying the only way to insure it doesn’t impact you and your family is to be faithful to Islam. For Islam forbids adultery. He condemns those who use condoms—“les preservatifs sont des histoires”—condoms are nonsense. I flashed Aliou a meaningful look (he was there filming and taking pictures). I got agitated and wanted to respond—but he is a Chef. It should have been one of those in attendance to speak up—the conference was for them afterall. And I didn’t want to cause a scene…so I am culpable in the communal silence of the women. Then not a single woman made a question or comment—only the attendees who were men spoke. Later, Aliou told me he wanted to respond and most of his card-playing buddies agreed the Chef was one crayon short a box. He goes “See, this is why we are underdeveloped. Everyone just accepts what is said by the authorities.”

The Sympatique women and I went over to Ana Bocoum’s for a delicious fish zamey. I heart fish zamey. And I got to eat with the takamba band. Yummy but spicy doonu too (a millet-based drink made with finely ground millet, milk, and spices). Went with Zubbu to their place to relax and get ready for the hooray. I had on the blue 8 Mars complêt, blue earrings and necklace, blue sequined shoes and blue underwear. Zubbu laughs and says even my eyes match! She gave me some traditional perfume and kohl for my eyes. Then put on the finishing touch of one koyrahiri for my forehead. Needless to say I got a lot of attention going to and at the hooray. “Mariam! Your outfit is crazy-nice! Eh, Mariam! Nice beads!” The sympa ladies got things started and I went into their dance circle to praise their style—you make an inside loop and wave money over their heads. Someone put a miafu—head scarf—on me and even 5000F in my beaded koyrahiri. They liked my style! I had to dance with La Santé and made people happy that the anasara knows how to takamba. There isn’t much to it beyond swaying and undulating ones arms like the heat waves rising off the dunes beyond the river (it was a beautiful setting along the Niger in the town square).

After the hooray we ran over to the butchers to se if the meat was done—I had ordered a whole sheep for my party. There was some misunderstanding and after going back to Bébé’s to bring trays to carry the sheep and couscous (baked inside the sheep as it roasts). We plated and 12 of the women from the hospital came. We chatted and had some soda and then they left. Then the men came—two doctors, the lab tech, the sanitation tech, and two guys I know from church. Amazing how it worked with the men-women split (almost as if it had been planned that way) and that there was enough food for everyone. Fadi generously gave me some perfume and the doctors blessed me in Bamana. Amiiiiina! Then I went back to Zubbu’s taking them their sodas and part of the sheep, had some seri (rice cereal), and a great conversation about SIDA with Tapshirou as he walked me home. He had lots of questions about transmission and prevention. I went home exhausted but felt great about the day. Hooray!

Nutrition Project

2008-03-06T00:13:00.004Z

The National Head of Health Services in Mali recommends for the treatment of acute malnutrition a "pre-mix" of Corn-Soy Blend (CSB), donated by the World Food Program in most cases, sugar and oil made into an enriched porridge. But, I ask myself, why not produce a "pre-mix" locally? A women's group named "Association Naffa Djéfilani" approached me wanting to work. Considering levels of motivation here are generally low, I was intrigued. We put together a project and the Peace Corps posted it on the web. The women will add the super-enriched leaves of the tree moringa oleifera to a blend of rice and bean flours and market as "NafFarine." By installing the machinery to husk rice and pound both rice and beans into flour in a compound near a plot of land with easy water access and opportunities for rich fertilizer to grow the trees, the Djéfilani Association will package the "pre-mix" for the nutrition program at the Centre de Santé de Référence (CSRef) in nearby Ansongo and to sell in the town's market. "Naffa" is a Songhoy word meaning nourishing or beneficial. We hope to fund the machinery, fencing for the trees, tools, and packaging, NafFarine will transform local resources into a product both nourishing and beneficial to the people of northern Mali.

Solidarity

2008-03-05T10:09:00.001Z

As always, the conversations I have with Aliou give me pause.

He asked me what I appreciate about the life here. I told him the lack of waste. And the support everyone gives each other--incredibly strong family units exist here. He agreed and said this "solidarity" is both and cause of and a relief to poverty. On the one hand, no one progresses because Malians are about collective-helping rather than allowing individuals to soar ahead on the socio-economic scale (generally speaking, there are always outliers). But on the other hand, it is impossible to be forgotten. You are expected to share and to support each other--few truly suffer without being able to turn to a family member or a neighbor. Even people ask for "goungouti" (the scrapings of the rice pot) to eat if they are desperate. So rarely do you wash the pots directly after the meal. Aliou, and others (including my supervisor and school director who are being difficult but I'll spare you all the details), share the idea that volunteerism requires prosperity. This frustrates me because though I understand you need to at least be able to survive, how can you develop by only doing the bare minimum? But the people who tell me this are all salaried civil servants who even "bouff" to pad their income. Aliou poured the tea, blamed the French, and told me I am lucky to be able to do what I do. True.

Progress

2008-02-28T10:11:00.000Z

This is Hamil at his 3rd visit since he was released from the hospital. He is eating well (he even came to the Nutrition Center with a piece of boiled sweet potato in his hand) and his Grandmother is taking good care of him. He was crying a lot (a good sign, he is strong) and even swatted at me, the Anasara in the white coat. It was great to see such progress and we use him and his Grandmother as testimony for the other mothers who come.

Mysteries of the Niger River Festival

2008-02-24T10:31:00.001Z

Ansongo hosted its first-ever international festival over the weekend. Many locals said it was poorly organized; but in fact I thought it was impressive considering they even built latrines on the festival grounds, hosted the First Lady (ATT's wife), and kept the crowds from stampeding (which happened at the Gao festival I attended last year).

I learned much about the Songhoy culture, or at leasts of aspects I had not previously been informed. Such as the woven mosquito "nets" they used to sleep under. Now this begs the question, if they used to sleep under these woven-grass "nets", why don't they anymore?

Some old women in the Badji Haousa hut who knew me as their neighbor in this northern quartier of town dressed me up in traditional Badji Haousa war-apparel. We laughed when I said all I bring is peace! Here we are in the bugu or hut holding an old leather pillow:

They also put on a short theatrical demonstration showing how people use to hide from the slave raiders. There was a large internal trade along the Niger and they explained they always knew to run when the boats came.

In the same hut there were manuscripts, including love letters from the 16th and 17th centuries; old Korans and medicinal guides. It is a shame they are not housed better because clearly they have been ravaged by termites and time.

I enjoyed all the music and dancing and colors and really thought the festival brought together Northern Nigerienne culture and local Malian culture--we hosted delegations from Songhoy speaking parts of Niger and Burkina. Our perch on top of a van gave us a great view of the camel parade and the arrival of the First Lady. I purchased a silver ring and some of my teammates got complex trunk locks fashioned in silver and bronze in the Tamacheq tradition. This photo captures what I mean by the enjoyable colors:

Rehab and a make-over

2008-01-27T20:09:00.000Z

The title may sound like the recent tomfoolery of Britney Spears...but no no, I am refering to the training of nurses on how to rehabilitate severly malnourished children and improvements made to the Nutrition Center at the Ansongo CSRef. This is the mural I painted in our office:

Si vous aimez vos enfants, prenez soin d'eux et donnez leur une alimentation équilibrée

"If you love your children, take care of them and give them a balanced diet," reads the French message. But ideally, and as I've already found, the pictures mean more than the words--particularly in an illiterate population. Already we've begun weighing babies in the room rather than out in the hospital passageway and explain to mothers what sorts of foods are important for them (especially if they are pregnant) and for their kids. I'm amused when many have asked, "Mariam, why is the man leading a dog by a rope?" "It's a goat," I say. "Why does the dog have udders?" "It's a GOAT!" "Ohh...a goat. For milk." "YES!"

With patience, everything comes. The technique of rehabilitating a baby under 3kg requires the attachement of a modified IV tube next to the mother's breast to ensure as the baby suckles, it receives vitamin-enriched formula as well as breastmilk:

The danger of exclusively giving small children the Nutriset powdered milk is that the mother's breasts will stop producing. But attaching a tube and having a nurse sit by you while you breastfeed is disconcerting. The baby must be patient and continue to suckle until the suction is sufficient to pull up the milk from the cup. And I have to be patient with the mother trying to take her baby home with her. My new favorite Songhoy phrase: Gaham baani fonda, a ga waato zaa! The road to health takes time!

Action contre la faim (A French NGO) came to give a training on nutritional rehabilitation to all the head nurses at each CSCom in the Circle of Ansongo. I helped give some of the presentations, particularly pushing the use of education and counselling, since that is the large part of the work I do at the hospital. I had a great time with the ACF staff and was particularly amused by the French expat's interpretation of the local "seka seka" dance. Awesome. One evening of the week-long training I went with them to a town 30km up the road to where ACF WatSan workers were giving animations on good water treatment and water-borne illness prevention. They were actually traveling by pinasse from village to village giving the presentations. In the car-ride back, one of the ACF doctors asked me, using the French woman as an intermediary, to marry him. Though he is handsome and smart, I said a flat-out "Non." But he insisted, as did she, that I at least state my conditions. I said at first he had to fly to Seattle and ask my father's permission. He said he would bouff from ACF to buy the plane ticket. I demanded cows and camels, at least 40 head. He is Peulh, and said it wouldn't be a problem...and he'd arrange for the camels. "And I'd get all the milk I'd want?" "Naturally." He replied. I demanded he cook and clean and treat me like a queen. It was entertaining...

The last day of the training we received a petit poids (photographed above) and a severe case:

When Hamil was admitted to the program, he weighed 5kg. He is over a year old. His mother got pregnant when he was only 7 months old, and as soon as she knew of her condition, cut him off of breastmilk. No weening process at all. Women here believe if you continue to breastfeed you'll hurt the growing baby. Untrue. Early or improper weening is the cause of much of the infant deaths before the age of 5 here. I won't even get into why she got pregnant with a 7 month old to take care of...When the grandmother brought him to us, she said he was drinking some goat's milk but mostly just tradition medicines and lipton, or brewed tea. Suffice it to say the mural come in handy...Hamil was severe marasmus. He had candidosis of the mouth, sores on his lips (sign of dehydration), vomiting, and diarrhea. He was wasting away. Only after a few days of antibiotics and creams and our milk he was turning around. It was difficult at first to watch him throw up or reject everything, even just sugar water; but soon he was willingly taking the sippy cup of milk. One evening I had put the porridge on the fire for the mother of the petit poids to stimulate breastmilk production and Hamil comes crawling out of the rehab-room. He had his cup in his hand and banged it aside the cook-stove to get my attention. His appetite had retourned, and in a few days we started the weight gain program. Severe cases are fragile, and Nutriset through UNICEF has provided formula and enriched peanut paste for each stage of recovery. Despite a nagging cough, he is doing so much better and looks less like a tiny old man.

Adiza, breastfeeding above and here, clothed in a much-too large but warm outfit I had her father buy for her, was our petit poids case. I fell in love with this tiny little girl:

She is 2kg. A case of a new mother who had malaria during her pregnancy. So even at one month, Adiza is too weak to really stimulate breastmilk production and hypothermic. Slowly but surely we'll help the mom, Safo, learn to breastfeed and eat well herself and rehabilitate Adiza in the process. I've "slept" at the hospital twice recently to feed these two little ones. I was at total peace eye-droppering milk for Adiza and decided I need to seek a career in nutrition and nursing. She isn't gaining any weight yet, but looking healthier and finishing all her rehab milk. Really, she was just hungry.

I love sitting and talking with the women who gather each day to keep the patients company. We mostly chat about the "road to health" but also about witches and cooking, typical women's-circle topics. I keep thinking how difficult it really will be to leave here.

I know it is but one step; yet the first step in a lifetime committed to convincing people malnutrition is a serious affliction deserving as much if not more attention than HIV/AIDS or Polio. It's more difficult as a condition treated not simply with drugs and injections, but care and patience.

Conversion

2008-01-26T17:35:00.000Z

"Eh, Mariama, ni tuubi!" Yelled a shop owner as I was leaving town on the back of a donkey cart. Some others shouted to me greetings, using "koyraboro wayo" "Songhoy woman" instead of the typical anasara. I asked later what tuubi means. In the religious sense, but also clearly cultural, it means "to convert."

The donkey-cart ride, though a cultural experience was less than enjoyable. The poor beast of burden was slow and his master was beating him mercilessly. Blood started to trickle down his backside, and on the next "thwap!" blood spurted back onto me, sprinkling my clothes and glasses with little red spots. Ew.

During our training, a few of the broussey nurses were asking me to convert in order to become a good Muslim wife. I asked why they couldn't become Christian. More blasphemous evidently for a man to leave his faith than for a woman to leave hers.

I gave the "message" on Sunday on Hebrews 4:12-16 and Mark 10:17-31. The word of God as sword judges, severing soul from spirit, flesh from sinew--or in plain terms, cutting away our vices that keep us from a God-centered life. Even good things like a job or serving others are dangerous if they are all-consuming. So it isn't only giving up your riches and following Christ but living a balanced life as an example to those around you. Sanago translated and clarified my French into Bamanakan for the rest of the worshippers. I don't think I will convert anyone over here; or for that matter if I really want to--I simply lead my life as well as I can providing a testimony through my actions. So maybe to me faith without works is nothing?

The joys of cold season...

2008-01-17T17:00:00.000Z

...I haven't showered in 3 days. I use a blanket at night. I don't need to carry around a gallon of water. Oh, and I don't get sick of smelling myself sweat.

I ate way too much today. That's a perk of cold season as well, having an appetite. I had tea and bread for breakfast followed by a snack of little millet cakes mid-morning. Porridge before lunch of rice and sauce and then before dinner fish with some fried dough. Still before dinner, Bébé gave me bread with mayo and jelly on it (for those of you who knew me as having a taste aversion to all that is white and comes in dollups like mayonaise, cottage cheese, sour cream, plain yogurt, my tastes have changed). Then there was more pre-dinner of whole milk (mmm...) and finally dinner of rice and beans and then they offered rice and milk! I excliamed, using a new emphatic marker I learned, "Ay gunda to PET!" I'm very very full!

Today I enjoyed watching basketball practice. The girls are really improving. Eight or so are skilled enough to dribble, shoot and score. Impressive after going from no sport/athleticism to this in two months. The coach of the Circle-level youth team (men) asked a few practices ago why I'm not including boys in the program. I told him it is all a step at a time; besides, it's not easy for girls to get any sport training like this. Today he said under his breath, as a girl fumbled with the ball and it went off rolling into the sand, "This is such a waste of time." I heard him, and said bluntly, "Is encouraging young women a waste of time? Hmm?" I think he got my point.

Dinner and a conversation

2008-01-14T16:15:00.000Z

It's pretty typical for us to chat around the rice bowl now; especially cause Zubbu eats with us and she is talkative.

By the light of the cooking fire we enjoyed a tastey eggplant-onion sauce. I was amused when Aliou shined the torch on my area of the bowl and found I had eaten around the meat morsels. Laughing he says, "Ah yes, this one doesn't eat meat now..." I tried to explain it wasn't the killing of animals, I was just...disgusted by it. I'm glad we have come to a point where I can comfortably express my tastes.

We usually chat in Fronrai--a mix of French and Songhoy for Zubbu who somehow understands French fluently but refuses to speak it--and tonight the subject was the arms trade and gun control in Mali. The siutation in Mali is that there are still arms passing through; still guns left over from the rebellion (the Peace Flame in T2 didn't quite melt them all down); and, guns of retired army men floating about since the dictatorship years. It worries Aliou, because as he started to say, "It's different in civilized countries where..." But I cut him off asking, "You don't think Mali is civilized?" "Eh? Mali? Civilized? Noooo...barely anyone can even read!" He believes with education guns would be used more properly. Um, where are more people killed by guns than anywhere else in the world yet has some of the best universities and educational opportunites? You know where.

He said guns make people more arrogant and more daring, but also feels when a man (or woman) is sufficiently enraged, the can find a way to murder. Aliou was evidently stabbed once after getting in a fight with a co-worker and barely escaped death. He said a Muslim monk came to visit him to pray over him at the hospital. With tears in his eyes he described how the monk blessed him and told him to keep his cool in the future. The monk has by now passed away, but clearly Aliou still thinks highly of him. And after observing Aliou playing 3rd-party diplomat amongst his neighbors and co-workers often, I'm certain he is still following the monk's advice.

Culinary critiques

2008-01-13T18:03:00.000Z

Aliou tasted the wijila sauce I had made all on my own and declared I had my diploma in wijila making. I appreciated the praise, but appreciated Zubbu's critiques more. Like the dried tomato powder must be reconstituted in water so the sand in it sinks to the bottom, and dede or fried, spiced onion flakes don't go in either (they turn the sauce blacker). She also thought I could have put more cumin in and a little more date paste. So next time I'll shoot for a masters...

Over dinner we discussed development. Aliou believes the approach of development has been all wrong and has created dependency. Look at the Songhoy, the Peulh, and the Tuareg--three of the proudest ethnicities in West Africa--have been broken by aid. People who would have never accepted a gift without work now come to rely on handouts. Which makes me wonder, and Aliou has brought this up as well, why did the West ever feel these peoples needed "developing"? Maybe they would have been perfectly content left to their own vices. He believes many people are ignorantly blissful here. It's the educated like him who a re the most cynical and jaded and have wants and dreams they sadly will probably never achieve.

He does commend the Peace Corps approach. We care. "You can't help from a distance," he says. "We need to engage youth and use volunteers to spread the word that the establishment is changing--that they won't accept complacency any longer." All right Aliou, now how do we change the establishment?

Faith and works

2008-01-12T15:32:00.000Z

This evening I asked Aliou if he thought it was odd the 5 fundamental pillars of the Islam faith (God is unique and Mohammed is his prophet, prayer 5 times a day, trip to Mecca, zakat or alms giving, and fasting during Ramadan) are all but one dependent on action. Doing things. Whereas for me, Christianity is more faith than action. Certainly, most of Jesus' teaching is a call to action; however, the core of the religion is intangible. I asked him if when so much of the religion is obligatory action (to be Muslim you have to practice the five tenets above) it takes away from the value. I am in Africa not going to Church, not taking communion, not studying the bible, rarely fellowshipping, but I am still Christian. My faith may even be stronger when you take all the practices away. Now it is just me and my Lord and my little light...

Aliou thinks works and practice must come before faith. He also said giving is dependent on means--Islam (interpreted by Aliou) says if you don't have the means one year, you can wait until the following year to zakat. But for me it is the opposite; a gift given beyond one's means is so much more meaningful because it is a sacrifice. We did agree genuflecting while praying is important; and that people here don't really practice fasting. They party during the nighttime and start smoking right when Ramadan is over. "You should economize the whole year," said Aliou. He continued to say, "Faith without works is nothing." Maybe Mohammed read a bit of James? Or is Allah/Yaweh/God one? In practice these faiths are incredibly different but many of the same root principles are at work--though in the end it is interpretation that matters.

Let's all eat sheep!

2007-12-23T12:30:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

Seeds of Hope

2007-12-15T10:15:00.000Z

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

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

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

West Africa Wins Again

2007-12-14T08:50:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fatebenefratelli vini Ansongo

2007-11-28T16:18:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smack.

2007-11-24T16:00:00.000Z

I've hit my first child.

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

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

Mmm...food coma...

2007-11-22T13:25:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

A Tree Grows in Her Name

2007-11-16T15:45:00.000Z

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

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

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

Encounters with a meter-long worm

2007-11-13T20:30:00.000Z

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

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

Chairman Mao Comes to Gao

2007-11-10T21:17:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We Made it Back Alive

2007-10-17T19:13:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

Worth the Trip

2007-10-17T14:56:00.000Z

Ice cold Coke in Niamey, Niger: 225 F

Kilo of bananas for the road: 300 F

Chartered taxi: 25000 F

Guide fee: 11500 F

T-Shirt Souvenir: 2500 F

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

The Green Turtle Lodge

2007-10-10T18:54:00.000Z

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

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

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

Everything's Going so well!

2007-10-07T12:57:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

This Month Jojo brings you the column “Ask Confucius”

2007-09-10T08:21:00.001Z

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Out of place

2007-08-24T08:51:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

Respect Gender Identity!

2007-08-20T09:01:00.000Z

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

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

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

This is Bébé

2007-08-18T15:38:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

New Baby

2007-08-17T08:34:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Falafel Flop

2007-08-16T08:22:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

Persuasion

2007-08-10T07:56:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

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

Funny haha

2007-08-08T18:12:00.000Z

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

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

My translation:

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

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

Reality

2007-08-07T17:54:00.000Z

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

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

Playing herdswoman

2007-08-06T17:33:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

Work frustrations

2007-08-04T17:17:00.000Z

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

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

Article on Women's Day

2007-08-03T16:52:00.000Z

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

Wijila and a lesson

2007-07-25T16:26:00.000Z

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

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

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

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

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

Nearly defeated

2007-07-24T16:22:00.000Z

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

DJ on the Radio

2007-07-23T16:02:00.000Z

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

Discovering cultural universals

2007-07-19T15:57:00.000Z

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

Déchargée

2007-07-18T14:33:00.000Z

Like my phone, I am without charge. Tired.

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

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

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

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

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