Celebrity

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

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!

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

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!

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

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

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.