I am STILL finding bruises a week later. Never taking a camion (large truck) again!! It was 36 hours from Gao to Ouagadougou, Burkina, ten of which were spent in the back of an open-air semi truck. Our bus to Boni, Mali to catch said truck went smoothly. The men were their usual harassing selves, but one of us PCVs handled that coolly saying "Don't call me Anasara (what they call foreigners in the North)!" "What should I call you?" A man asked. "Wayma (sister)." "Okay then, you must call me Arma (brother)." If only all Malian men would treat us like this, the way they treat their fellow Malians!
When we got to Boni, we sat down by the side of the road under a hangar (one of only three structures there) and wondered, "Why Boni??" But people were asking us in a Sonrai dialect closer to that of Timbuktu if we were going to Burkina. Good sign. We placed bets as to when the other PCV who coordinated the trip would meet us. I was stuck with between right then and noon. We would have never found him if it weren't for a PC car zooming by on their way to Gao who told us Boni was 2 km up the road. We found the camion scheduled for 6pm and went winding through the streets looking for the other PCV. A PC staff member was leading us through the mess and maze of donkey carts and temporary stalls. It was market day. We were feeling like we were going in circles when he exclaimed, "I'm NOT lost." Right. We got directions to where we could wait together for the day. I won the bet, and therefore a pizza upon arrival in Ouaga :)
One member of the family where we were waiting brought us chicken and "alfinta" small crumpet like pastries. Delicious. I started rounds of tea, and we amused ourselves with the women in courtyard.
At 5:30pm we went to find bread and figs and got our tickets for the truck. The two of us women declined the offer to ride in the cabin with the driver. Bad idea...
I was beginning to be afraid as they were loading more and more into the truck. Every square inch on top of the cargo was a body. Even once they closed the doors people were coming in over the walls and perching on the metal frame over top. One of us got clobbered with a tea kettle, and another got in a slap-fight with a hilarious woman sitting next to us. No language necessary, only gestures and laughing. Over the course of the ride, I slept periodically, but the jostling along the non-road and the branches pelting us meant none of it was restful. Plus my limbs would fall asleep, and I swear I wet pants from laughing so hard. We were giddy over the ridiculousness of it all.
Getting off in Djibo, Burkina Faso I felt like a bruised peach. Mostly we survived. The gooey leaking bag of peanut butter, nearly getting clotheslined by branches while standing to stretch, too many groping men, cramps, cold...mysterious boarder crossing...it was all too much. When we got off, the driver told us to be quiet and shuffled us over to some mats in a courtyard where we collapsed and slept until curfew was lifted at 6 am.
We all exchanged stories of the ride, the one who got out to pee when we changed a tire and realized it wasn't a wall he was facing, but a sleeping camel, won first prize for ridiculousness.
We were so impressed by Burkina and its fresh tomatoes with omelets, irrigation, rock lines in fields, gardens...it was beautiful. When we got to Ouaga that evening, I peeled off my once blue shirt (now greyish-brown), took a hot shower in the mansion of the PC Ouaga hostel, and got me some pizza. Yay for vacations!!
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Songhoy Festival
Every two years people of the Songhoy ethnicity descend on Gao to dance, sing, peddle wares and art, and be merry.
The festival was delayed a day to accommodate the guests from France who were to come. So Saturday we went and saw our very own Fatimata Maiga (a PCV) ride her horse, leading the parade. Dressed up in a "tungu" too. The hunters of the region paraded as well, showing off skins and snakes. Creepy. I enjoyed all the women in ornate head dresses and completes.
After hours of introductory speeches, the theater acts performed "ballets" of Sonni Ali Berr, the former Songhoy King.
On Sunday there was a horse race and a camel race. Fatimata entered her horse "Zin" (devil) and placed 11th. Everyone was talking about the white woman who raced. On the radio and even the national TV! The men all wore turbans while riding, but poor Fatimata got mouth fulls of dust and sand.
One of the more entertaining parts of the festival was a crazy woman who was cursing people and blessing them nearly simultaneously. She was bold enough to take the governor's coke from him, and also prance around in a scary mask. Really, she stole the show. Even from the favorite guest of the festival: a donkey dressed in boubou, turban, and pants with a sword tied around his girth. Ridiculous.
A frightful episode occurred when walking back to get our bikes the kids kept outside the festival grounds broke free over the ropes and all chaos broke loose. We had to get behind a tree to avoid the trampling! I lost a shoe, but when the dust cleared I retrieved it.
A UNESCO sponsored dance and poetry contest was going on near the festival grounds, yet due to costume mishaps, it was a bit shocking. Too much booty dancing for our tastes...
I much prefer the mellow "takamba" we had later in the week: sitting, you wave your arms and pulse your head in time to the guitar and calabash drums played with ringed fingers. The Kora, a stringed instrument sounding much like a harp can also join the band. I hope to find recordings of all this great music I experience here!
The festival was delayed a day to accommodate the guests from France who were to come. So Saturday we went and saw our very own Fatimata Maiga (a PCV) ride her horse, leading the parade. Dressed up in a "tungu" too. The hunters of the region paraded as well, showing off skins and snakes. Creepy. I enjoyed all the women in ornate head dresses and completes.
After hours of introductory speeches, the theater acts performed "ballets" of Sonni Ali Berr, the former Songhoy King.
On Sunday there was a horse race and a camel race. Fatimata entered her horse "Zin" (devil) and placed 11th. Everyone was talking about the white woman who raced. On the radio and even the national TV! The men all wore turbans while riding, but poor Fatimata got mouth fulls of dust and sand.
One of the more entertaining parts of the festival was a crazy woman who was cursing people and blessing them nearly simultaneously. She was bold enough to take the governor's coke from him, and also prance around in a scary mask. Really, she stole the show. Even from the favorite guest of the festival: a donkey dressed in boubou, turban, and pants with a sword tied around his girth. Ridiculous.
A frightful episode occurred when walking back to get our bikes the kids kept outside the festival grounds broke free over the ropes and all chaos broke loose. We had to get behind a tree to avoid the trampling! I lost a shoe, but when the dust cleared I retrieved it.
A UNESCO sponsored dance and poetry contest was going on near the festival grounds, yet due to costume mishaps, it was a bit shocking. Too much booty dancing for our tastes...
I much prefer the mellow "takamba" we had later in the week: sitting, you wave your arms and pulse your head in time to the guitar and calabash drums played with ringed fingers. The Kora, a stringed instrument sounding much like a harp can also join the band. I hope to find recordings of all this great music I experience here!
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Doughboy
Doughboy, smiling Doughboy
sat on my bed
Frank, skulking cat
scratched up his head
All of Jo's threads and all of Jo's mends
Couldn't put Doughboy back together again.
Tear!
sat on my bed
Frank, skulking cat
scratched up his head
All of Jo's threads and all of Jo's mends
Couldn't put Doughboy back together again.
Tear!
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Happy New Year! Kaa Yeesi!
Here, New Year’s coincided with the Tabaski festival of the Muslim faith.
Thus, it offers me the occasion to wish you all best wishes of health, wealth, and happiness. Along with that, sambe sambe! Kaa yeesi! Happy New Year! Everyone wished me well likewise, for Tabaski and the New Year are times to pardon, start over, and renew.
The first of three days, my family went to the mosque. They prayed in unison for themselves, their families, and world peace. Muslims believe that this is the time when God hears their prayers and pardons them. According to my host-father, this is why Sadaam was executed on the first day of Tabaski. After they felt sufficiently pardoned, they returned home to slaughter sheep.
My family slaughtered three sheep. First, the slit the throats and let the blood flow out neatly into one pool. The two of the old women of my family, my host father’s mother and her sister, prepared the hole where the sheep would be barbecued while the men skinned the sheep. The third old woman of the family, a Tomachek, took the skins to stretch and dry in the sun. Skins like these become prayer mats, water jugs, bags, milk and butter churns, etc. Nothing goes to waste.
When all the internal organs had been removed, the sheep were put in the fire to roast all day. The young men of the family took the livers, lungs, kidneys, hearts, intestines, everything to grill and eat with hot peppers. I was amused when two of the little ones took the intestines and played tug of war. The family gave me an entire liver to eat. At least I am not at risk to go anemic!! My neighbors also brought meat to share with me. Liver with pasta from the Bambaras, a rack of ribs from the other Sonrai family nearby…and still my family served me Arabic couscous for lunch!! My homologue sent over more couscous in the later afternoon, and when I went to her house to watch New Year festivities on TV, she served me more couscous.
Aside from eating, we chatted.
My host father explained that every year they slaughter sheep to represent the faith of Abraham and his willingness to even sacrifice his son Isaac. Laughing, he said they believe humanity would end if we went around slaughtering our sons! Just think, he would not be here if his father did sacrifice a sheep! True, true. I told him the same story is in the Bible. He did not believe me. Always, I have conversations about Christians versus Muslims (and Jews though most do not know this faith). At least in Mali such exchanges are peaceful.
The latter two days of the “fête” (“Cibsi” in Sonrai), I went to church to hear a sermon on the efficacy of a single Lamb of God to pardon sins (slightly backhanded approach to illegitimizing the purpose of Tabaski); I danced “takamba,” a traditional Sonrai circle dance in the town square; I tried to avoid the children who whenever they yelled “sambe sambe” at me I suppose to give them “jingar gorro” or kola nuts, which have been long replaced by giving coins. Of course, I also continued to eat meat meat and more meat. Ribs, mutton stew, sheep jerky…all must be consumed or preserved! I rang in the New Year in a food coma, glad there would be no work at the hospital for a few days!
Thus, it offers me the occasion to wish you all best wishes of health, wealth, and happiness. Along with that, sambe sambe! Kaa yeesi! Happy New Year! Everyone wished me well likewise, for Tabaski and the New Year are times to pardon, start over, and renew.
The first of three days, my family went to the mosque. They prayed in unison for themselves, their families, and world peace. Muslims believe that this is the time when God hears their prayers and pardons them. According to my host-father, this is why Sadaam was executed on the first day of Tabaski. After they felt sufficiently pardoned, they returned home to slaughter sheep.
My family slaughtered three sheep. First, the slit the throats and let the blood flow out neatly into one pool. The two of the old women of my family, my host father’s mother and her sister, prepared the hole where the sheep would be barbecued while the men skinned the sheep. The third old woman of the family, a Tomachek, took the skins to stretch and dry in the sun. Skins like these become prayer mats, water jugs, bags, milk and butter churns, etc. Nothing goes to waste.
When all the internal organs had been removed, the sheep were put in the fire to roast all day. The young men of the family took the livers, lungs, kidneys, hearts, intestines, everything to grill and eat with hot peppers. I was amused when two of the little ones took the intestines and played tug of war. The family gave me an entire liver to eat. At least I am not at risk to go anemic!! My neighbors also brought meat to share with me. Liver with pasta from the Bambaras, a rack of ribs from the other Sonrai family nearby…and still my family served me Arabic couscous for lunch!! My homologue sent over more couscous in the later afternoon, and when I went to her house to watch New Year festivities on TV, she served me more couscous.
Aside from eating, we chatted.
My host father explained that every year they slaughter sheep to represent the faith of Abraham and his willingness to even sacrifice his son Isaac. Laughing, he said they believe humanity would end if we went around slaughtering our sons! Just think, he would not be here if his father did sacrifice a sheep! True, true. I told him the same story is in the Bible. He did not believe me. Always, I have conversations about Christians versus Muslims (and Jews though most do not know this faith). At least in Mali such exchanges are peaceful.
The latter two days of the “fête” (“Cibsi” in Sonrai), I went to church to hear a sermon on the efficacy of a single Lamb of God to pardon sins (slightly backhanded approach to illegitimizing the purpose of Tabaski); I danced “takamba,” a traditional Sonrai circle dance in the town square; I tried to avoid the children who whenever they yelled “sambe sambe” at me I suppose to give them “jingar gorro” or kola nuts, which have been long replaced by giving coins. Of course, I also continued to eat meat meat and more meat. Ribs, mutton stew, sheep jerky…all must be consumed or preserved! I rang in the New Year in a food coma, glad there would be no work at the hospital for a few days!
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
By Boat to Gao
Happy Winter Solstice ! The shortest day of the year, felt even at my more equatorial latitude. So, how early is early? First prayer call early? 5am. Ability to see the Southern Cross in the Malian sky early? 4:45am. Before people light their fires early? 4:30am. That is the time I was up this morning to catch the first boat to Gao. It’s dark. Very dark. When I reached the “docks” (really just a sandy area with some boards for gangplanks) after 5am, the men there were in prayer. One was crouched down in the shallows performing his abolutions. Luckily, he finished just before another man relieved himself in the river. Fires dotted the shores of the Niger, the stars were fading. So dark, especially now foreigners have ditched town for the holidays and turned off their generators. We load the boat and are off by 6:15. 50 some passengers board, as well as motos, merchandise, trunks, two “pirogues” (filled with sheep as they were placed perpendicular to the hull), more sheep in the stern and aft pens, plus an angry bull. Some goats too, and a cow with calf. Smells great. The man next to me plays with his sword. We’re in the middle of the Niger, Mali’s bath tub-toliet-spitoon-playground-sewer-avenue of commerce-food source of a River. No escape. A man dips a cup overboard and takes a deep drink. Ew. Every stop people wade through the shallows to get to the gangplank, for the hull does not run deep, but we can’t quite pull ashore. This is the transport of the “ntalka,” the commoner. Some start to cook breakfast on board. Good, open flames on a wooden boat. I begin to chat with my neighbour; who also gave me a “taffe” to wrap up in (traditional skirt) cause it was chilly out this early on the river! As I get comfortable on top of the sacks of rice which line the hull, I notice the men bailing out water. Everytime I have been on a boat in Mali this happens. I guess they don’t use tar or anything to seal the wood. Another thing I learned on voyage, sheep can swim. Yes, a sheep jumped out of the boat and started swimming to shore. I think he was trying to make an escape, remembering how all his buddies were slaughtered this time last year for Tabaski. The captain turned the boat around and three men heaved the ram back into the boat. At the next stopped I inquired if there were an outhouse I could use near the banks to go “spill water” (lit. Sonrai translation of urinate). Well, I forgot my modesty and squatted right on shore like the rest of the women. No bushes or anything, but I am understanding the necessity of always wearing a taffe: serves as a nice curtain. When the owner of the boat went around collecting fares as we approached Gao (I was going to the regional capital for Christmas with fellow volunteers), he demanded I pay 5000 CFA, five times the actual price, which luckily my host sister had told me the night before. I tried to explain how I’m not like other “Anasara” that have come before, I may have white skin, but I don’t have money. He didn’t understqnd the concept of volunteer and how I work without pay. Once I paid the 1000 CFA, he still wouldn’t drop the issue. Not all people with white skin have a lot of money. I tried to explain the poor and hungry in the US and Europe…but he wouldn’t have it. Alas. The schema of white person here is just not a PCV who speaks their language and doesn’t have money to just give away. I fell asleep for a bit, but woke up to drama. A woman had slapped her 6 or 7 year old of a son for peeing in the bottom of the boat. Most of the women there were criticizing her as the boy tried to be tough and not cry. Your business quickly becomes everyone's business. The wind had picked up, and the argument subsided. I tied my shawl around my head the Malian style to keep my hair kempt (I’m sorry but if unkempt is a word then kempt should be its opposite). The women were then supportive and laughing, calling me "koyra-boro way"; a Sonrai woman. At last, a full 10 hours later, I was off the boat in Gao to the cries of Anasara. A man asked where my husband was, naturally that is what you say to a complete stranger. It is sorta the “how’s the weather?” here. I had a great Christmas in Gao, complete with Catholic mass (accented by a crêche with flashing lights and a disco ball over baby Jesus), an army of Gingerbread men turned dancers and a tiny Charlie Brown Christmas style tree. We also entertained the neighbors with our caroling, and had two Christmas chickens. Merry Christmas and God Bless us, one and all! Peace in the New Year!
Saturday, December 16, 2006
MWEEEEH! MWEEEEH!
Screams the goat. They are hilarious, particularly when fleeing from owners by jumping my courtyard wall. MWEEEH! Sanctuary! MWEEEH! They scream. Sorry guys, I think you are delicious in my lunch just as much as my neighbors do!
Frank, my cat, has begun to take commands in Sonrai.
I walked to the edge of town today on the way to work. I met a Sonrai man along the way working on his very colorful wall (various broken bottles and shards of ceramics were pressed into the mud). We chatted for a bit about Peace Corps and our faiths, but without labels. So when he was saying how God is the model of patience because if he were not patient he would just entertain himself and recreate the world everyday, I replied "He has the power." No matter what, I felt like we were speaking about the same God. It was also a message I needed to hear right then, feeling lonely and homesick. I just have to be patient and see where this service takes me.
I spoke with a woman who works in the Circle-level administration. (National-Regional-Circle-Commune/Mayor-Chief) She is excited to have me around, and has a very nice family. I was their during laundry time, so naked children were running about.
One Gao volunteer is having her whole family come soon so they are bringing us Christmas! Cheers!
Frank, my cat, has begun to take commands in Sonrai.
I walked to the edge of town today on the way to work. I met a Sonrai man along the way working on his very colorful wall (various broken bottles and shards of ceramics were pressed into the mud). We chatted for a bit about Peace Corps and our faiths, but without labels. So when he was saying how God is the model of patience because if he were not patient he would just entertain himself and recreate the world everyday, I replied "He has the power." No matter what, I felt like we were speaking about the same God. It was also a message I needed to hear right then, feeling lonely and homesick. I just have to be patient and see where this service takes me.
I spoke with a woman who works in the Circle-level administration. (National-Regional-Circle-Commune/Mayor-Chief) She is excited to have me around, and has a very nice family. I was their during laundry time, so naked children were running about.
One Gao volunteer is having her whole family come soon so they are bringing us Christmas! Cheers!
Sunday, December 3, 2006
Re-adjusting
I've been in my new home with my new family since a week ago. I have my own space (three spacious and sunny rooms in a mud brick house) but I also do things together with them. Sure glad eating with my hands is second nature now and I don't spill as much as I eat!
I love my new work assignment in the Ansongo hospital. I have spent lots of time with mothers and their new babies to chart growth and encourage vaccination. Few are severe marasmas, but I know those who actually come to the center are already motivated. I need to get out into homes and teach women how to use what they have to nourish their children. I have decided nursing or a public health career is probably what I will pursue after observing rounds and all that needs to be done to convince people the importance of good health.
I found a Christian community that meets in a home, so I went to "church" for the first time, singing hymns in French. I look forward to spending time with the pastor and his family because he is Touareg and his wife is from Timbuktu.
Being on the main road to Niger which is currently undergoing an update to a paved highway attracts all kinds of people, so I have to act as I would in a big city: head covered, avoid walking at night, make friends. I know as I learn the dialect better I will feel more a part of the community.
I love my new work assignment in the Ansongo hospital. I have spent lots of time with mothers and their new babies to chart growth and encourage vaccination. Few are severe marasmas, but I know those who actually come to the center are already motivated. I need to get out into homes and teach women how to use what they have to nourish their children. I have decided nursing or a public health career is probably what I will pursue after observing rounds and all that needs to be done to convince people the importance of good health.
I found a Christian community that meets in a home, so I went to "church" for the first time, singing hymns in French. I look forward to spending time with the pastor and his family because he is Touareg and his wife is from Timbuktu.
Being on the main road to Niger which is currently undergoing an update to a paved highway attracts all kinds of people, so I have to act as I would in a big city: head covered, avoid walking at night, make friends. I know as I learn the dialect better I will feel more a part of the community.
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