Love

I didn't want to leave my cocoon of sheets on the roof this morning as the sun rose above the wall and woke me up. It was chilly last night!
I made it to church where Pastor Mossa had me do the opening prayer in English. His sermon was on how the more we love God, the more we are forgiven (Luke 7:40-47). So how do we love God more? 1) By accepting his grace in our lives 2) By thinking about our faith, putting into it our hearts, souls, minds, and strength 3) By following his commands for us and 4) By sharing our faith with others.
In the evening I went to cousin Tule's house for Dire food--her family is from T2. It was a new dish: resembling a meat pie, there was meat slow-cooked in date/tomato sauce covered in breading. You break off a piece of bread on top and dip below into the sauce. Delicious!

Empowering Women

I had an exuberantly happy moment at the hospital.
Since I acquired sewing machines through USAID, I have been talking with the most motivated and energized women in town to get them organized into a sewing collective.
We had our first meeting, conducted in French and Sonrai, depending on my vocab...but I think we understood each other. Most of the women were wearing Int'l Women's Day fabric, fresh from the festivities of Mar. 8th. Though they raised concerns about splitting up the times on the machines and how to determine whether certain women deserve machine use even if they don't know how to sew, their leader Fadi reassured them. She is the director of the Jardin des Enfants; a sure asset to any work I do in town. She is entertaining too, for when the women showed up nearly two hours late for our meeting, she called them all donkeys. The most stubborn and slow moving of all beast of burden here :)
I am excited for their ideas of sewing infant "completes" of a cloth to carry the baby on the back (to "bopbop" in Sonrai), bonnets, and onesies. They will provide the fabric, but first they will find a house where the machines can stay. Then we will develop a schedule.
I feel like I barely did anything, I guess when you work with the right people projects just fall into place! I really hope these women will be able to generate some extra income by selling the outfits in market and at the hospital, and hey, babies will be better clothed. A plus for health.
The best part of one of my first sustainable development experiences was when we left the conference room and some of the male doctors and nurses were hovering. One asked what we had been "plotting". I responded, "Oh, just doing my job empowering your women!" "Fine," he says, "Just as long as one doesn't become President of the Republic!!" Eh? If only!! We all laughed, for laughter is the best medicine after all...

FESPACO

At least the painful ride had a point to it: to enjoy the Festival Panafricain du Cinema et de la Television de Ouagadougou (FESPACO).
Upon arrival in Ouaga, we kept asking ourselves, "Where are we?" There are strawberries sold in the streets, bagged salad with dressing included for your convenience, and cokes in 1/2L bottles. Plus every morning there is an army of street sweepers. The sewers are covered. There aren't black pastic bags everywhere.
Saturday we went to FESPACO siege to register. It was a lot of confusion and after standing in line for 25,000F passes without the required photos we ended up getting the 10,000F passes. We got some cokes and headed off to explore the rest of the FESPACO centers around town. Then, to save taxi fare, we walked all the way to the Stadium for the opening. It was a bit of a let down; the band playing wasn't well microphoned but the stilt people were interesting. Evidently two years ago there were deaths in stampedes at the opening so this year it was toned down a bit. While we waited for the opening film, we played the Movie Game (name an actor/actress, next person names a movie he/she was in, next person names another actor/actress in that movie etc.) The film major got to show off his expertise. The opening movie "Faro" was set in Mali, which made it culturally interesting for us, but was sporadically filmed and without a real point.
All week we had delicious food (ISO should be advertised in all tour books...it's a mini country club of an international school). The films if not moving were at least though provoking. We saw 38 movies over the course of 7 days:

500 Years Later (Owen Alik) United Kingdom -- Documentary on the black experience since slavery
A la reserche de son eau (Sawadogo) Burkina Faso -- The life and trials of a water vendor in Ouaga
Ain Chemata/Perversions (Tlili) Tunisia -- Short on the options a man has after falling into the road
Baara (Souleymane Cisse) Mali -- Factory workers unionize in 1970s Bamako
Barakat!/Enough! (Sahraoui) Algeria -- Two women searching a husband who was taken by GIA
Blood Diamond (Zwick) USA -- DiCaprio, Connelly, and Hounsou portray diamond trade and rebel warfare
Congo River (Thierry Michel) Belgium -- Documentary on the life along the river
Contretemps (Amine Chitoub) Tunisia -- Short showing coffee time up close, repatative and odd audio
Deweneti (Dyana Gaye) Senegal -- Short with little garibou beggar wants to write to Santa
Dormir au chaud (Pierre Duculot) Belgium -- Short with immigrant traveller who finds old woman to help
El Kita/Train-Train (Beki Taoufik) Tunisia -- Short where woman leaves handicapped husband
Essarir/Le Lit (Arafa) Tunisia -- Short where artist leaves her husband after his shop closes up
Ezra (Aduaka) Nigeria -- Child warfare in Sierra Leone
Faro/La reine des eaux (Salif Traore) Mali -- Spirit in water torments village
Growing Stronger (Tsitsi Dangaremgba) Zimbabwe -- Documentary on AIDS survivors
Homeland (Kalimunda) Rwanda -- Documentary on Christianity's influence on genocide
Il etait une fois (Vernant) France -- Martinique love story
Jonestown (Stanley Nelson) USA -- Documentary on Jim Jones' cult and mass suicide
Le Bonheur? (Becher) Tunisia -- Short asking, "Is there happiness in life?"
Le president, a-t-il le SIDA? (Antonin) Haiti -- Rock star has AIDS
Le prince de Ouarzazate (Challa) Morrocco -- Short where a shoe shiner gets a part in a movie
Le rendez-vous/The meeting (Abidi) Tunisia -- Short where a woman gets stood up
Le sourire du serpent (Keita) Guinea -- Woman stranded at bus stop deals with unreal fears
L'ete de Noura (Pascal Tessaud) France -- The tragedy of arranged marriage
Menged (Workou) Ethiopia -- Kid, father, and donkey go to market in this short
Nosaltres (Toure) Senegal -- Documentary on a Catalan community where Malians live now
Nyaman' gouacou/Viande de ta mere (Laurent Senechal) France -- Short showing mother-daughter issues
O grand bazzar (Azevedo) Mozambique -- Two boys try and earn a living in the market
Pillar of Salt: The Angry Woman Syndrome (Farid) USA -- Documentary on women's issues
Pursuit of Happyness (Muccino) USA -- Will Smith stars as failure of a father who really is the best there is
Saba flouss/Mouisson magique (Lassoued) -- Short where boy tries to grow a tree of coins
Sbah el khir/Bonjour (Bouzid) Tunisia -- Short where breakfast is a woman's only constant
Shadow Boxer (Lee Daniels) USA -- Starring Cuba Gooding Jr. and Helen Mirrin as assasins
Teranga Blues (Moussa Sene Absa) Senegal -- Musician returns home from France rich but enters crime
Transfert (Matieu Rigot) France -- CGI short on depression
Tsotsi (Gavin Hood) South Africa -- Soweto life for a young thug changes when one job goes wrong
Un matin bonne heure/Early one morning (Gahite Fofana) Guinea -- Two youth want to fly away
Yeleen (Souleymane Cisse) Mali -- Traditional animist beliefs portrayed

Of the short films Deweneti was my favorite. The boy was endearing, the filming well planned and shot, and the portrayal of the goodness of innocence was refreshing among so many other heavy films. I also thoroughly enjoyed Menged which won the short film prize, because it was goofy and had great Ethiopian music.
Of the documentaries, I most enjoyed Congo River for the cinemotography and story line (actually had a constant theme unlike Pillar of Salt). It was chilling to see the warfare in the deepest part of the country, but overall the movie was effective in showing the medical struggles and solutions and the lives of Christians along the river. We actually walked out of Pillar of Salt because it was so bad. It was on the "angry woman syndrome" drawing somehow from the biblical story of Lot's wife turning back. It was supposed to discuss women's issues and racial issues and misinterpretation of the scripture, as the director said when he introduced the film; but all it did was make us angry! I don't need to see scenes of women being battered, nor nonsensical interviews of black women seriously expressing their beliefs followed by co-eds just being whiny.
I enjoyed Tsotsi, but of the more local feature length films, Un matin bonne heure was my favorite. I also enjoyed seeing the Malian retrospectives including Baara and Yeleen. It was shocking to see how little Bamako has changed in 30 years! The clothing was certainly different, and the audience cheered (all week I loved the vigor of the audiences) when the main actor struts onto screen in bell bottoms, pink shirt with huge lapels, and a neck scarf. Oh, and an afro. After all the subtitled foreign films and films in French, my language has definitely improved. It was too bad Blood Diamond was dubbbed without subtitles, for its original artistry was probably lost somewhat. We actually walked out of the screening of The Last King of Scotland because I didn't want to see and Oscar-winning performance with a different voice!
Because coke sponsored the festival, there was the spot where the woman passes out open cokes to people on the street before each film. We started singing along by the 15th or 16th movie :)
Ouaga was a great host to the festival. Certainly, there were more obnoxious English wanna-speakers roaming. A Liberian followed us one day, then even though we lost him, he found us the next day. As he was explaining how we ditched him and he had put all hope in us, a French man interrupted and asked him in French, "Is this what you do for a living? Just ask all white men for money?"
Our transport back to Mali (this time I was headed to Bamako) went much much more smoothly than coming. The four boarder checkpoints scared me, but it seems a US passport with PC stamp is an all-access pass! At the third one, I went to go wash up. When I came from round back the buildings, there was the crazy woman from the Gao Songhoy festival!! How did she get over 1500 km away?? I wanted to know if it really was her, so I greeted her in Sonrai. She was sooooo very happy she gave me a big hug and a kiss on the neck. A little close, but it made her smile. She ended up boarding our bus until the next town, leading a sing along to the music. Just like camp. Trouble-free transport is ellusive, I've found: one PCV got in an argument about the window being open, 3 separate packages fell on my head from the upper compartment, and the driver stopped much too often. At least the broom lady got off in Segou. There had to have been 50 brooms all up and down the aisles and in the upper shelves! For dinner we had beans, bread, and warm milk with a tabal-tigi from Gao. Lots of men at the bus stop were trying to get us to buy them dinner, so annoying when they speak slowly to me and then quickly to each other about me as if I don't understand. Blech. A later stop woke me up because an army of garibous (beggar children who study the Koran) was beating tin cans and running around the outside of the bus trying to get in. I thought they'd overpower us!
We rolled into Bamako around 1 am, 18 1/2 hours after we left Ouaga. Feet swollen, we argued for a cab at a decent rate, missing the waste-management of Burkina as the pungent odor of rot violated our senses. Oh Mali.

Ouch, ouch ouch all the way to Ouaga

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!!

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!

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!

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!