...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.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Monday, January 14, 2008
Dinner and a conversation
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.
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.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Culinary critiques
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?
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?
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Faith and works
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.
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.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Let's all eat sheep!
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.
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.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Seeds of Hope
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...
Friday, December 14, 2007
West Africa Wins Again
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.
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.
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