The fate of lovers...

I’m sure I should start looking for a job right away, but I feel like I need a few days off. A few days to catch back up with family and friends. Let them know I’m home. Put out there that I’m looking for a car and a job. Helpful hints are much appreciated.


October 14, 2011
I’ve been home for just over a week. Oddly enough I’m feeling a little melancholy...homesick if you will. Maybe things didn’t turn out the way I had wanted and maybe I wasn’t 100% happy but I was fulfilling a dream of mine. I was having the experience of a lifetime. I was living in another country, with new friends (american and otherwise), learning a new language and living in a culture so far out of the comfort of most of our boxes...I was living in AFRICA!! For goodness sake who gets to do that? How many people get to live their dream? How many people get the opportunity, again good or bad, to live in another country for a time? I was doing it, and I left. I left early and not accomplished much of anything. It has been harder coming home then it was leaving. 

Most people don’t know this as I didn’t make a big deal about it there or to my friends and family here, but I had a boyfriend (I hate using that word at my age, but what else is there...male friend...LOL) in Mali. He is Malian, I won’t divulge his age as I don’t want to set myself out there as a “cougar”, he lives in Bougouni the city that I would go to on the weekends to get food, recharge my rechargables, talk to family and friends and relax with other english speaking persons. He is an English teacher in a small village about 80K from Bougouni towards Bamako...putting him that much further away from the village that I lived in. But it is summer and he was home (Bougouni) every day until the first Sunday in October when he moved back to his school village (he left for his village the same day that I left for Bamako to start my journey back home). Once he does that he will only return to Bougouni to visit with his family the last weekend of the month. So even if I was staying I would only see him one weekend a month. But, at least I would still be in the same country with him.

I went to the post office one weekday that I was in Bougouni to pick up a couple of boxes. I didn’t know they would weigh so much. It seems like such a long way back to the house when your arms where full. Just when I thought I’m never going to make it back a guy walked up to me, oddly enough that spoke English, and asked if I needed help. Of course I need help. My arms are falling off. So he took one of the boxes and walked me all the way back to the transit house. His name is Mamadou. I was so grateful.

A few weeks later, in July, when we had to report back to Tubaniso, the PC training camp, I took the bus into Bougouni where I would spend the night and then leave with other volunteers in the morning. Because we were going for 2 weeks I had my carry on suitcase and my backpack. Of course it was well over 110 degrees. As I’m dragging this stuff down the street here comes Mamadou on his scooter (vespa type moto that everyone drives in Mali) to the rescue again. Do I need help? Of course I need help. So he put my suitcase in front of him and me behind him and we’re off to the house. This time he stayed and chatted for a few minutes and then we exchanged numbers so we could be text friends and maybe hang out a bit here and there when I was in Bougouni. This is the story of how I met my friend, Mamadou.

He is handsome, funny, young (hehehe) and he speaks English. What more could a girl ask for? We started texting back and forth right away. He said a couple of things that made me think he wanted to be more than friends. Being old enough to be his mother I thought it appropriate to nip that in the bud and let him know that we would be better to stay friends because of the above age difference. He seemed OK with that. But I would see him here and there when I visited Bougouni and then thought, “what the heck, if he wants to date an old lady who am I to argue”. Thus blossomed our short, fun, interesting, heartbreaking relationship. I say “heartbreaking” because of the sad feelings when we finally had to part ways. If I stayed our relationship would not have progressed much further than it already was. For goodness sake...did I mention I was old enough to be his mother?? Not to mention once a Malian man always a Malian man and Malian men and American women should not be any type of long term relationship. They are so archaic in there thinking...from making sure the women they marry are virgins to thinking it’s OK to hit their wives if they are not behaving properly. They may not all do it but they do believe it’s OK to do. I’m old enough to have a relationship and move on. I’ve done a lot of that over the years. I guess the difference being I never left the country so there was always a chance if I changed my mind... I didn’t think it would matter much to me. Apparently I was wrong.

For the most part Malians are not affectionate people. I wasn’t even sure who was married to whom in my village. The men and women don’t even talk to each other. I was never sure who was the mother to which children...or is that there grandmother...or not even related. The adults show no affection to each other and there isn’t much love and hugs or kisses with the children. Who belongs to who?  But Mamadou was a little different.  He would text me every night in my village and tell me he is "looking forward to seeing me", "I miss you"...he even came to visit me in my village one night.  Boy that was the talk of the town. 

We spent my whole last week together before I left...and he left.  Mamadou is an english teacher in a village about 80K from where he lives.  Once he goes out there when school begins he only returns home one weekend a month.  So we were both getting ready to leave only when he returned home that once a month I would not be there to see him.  We had a good week.  We spent every night together.  Then finally came Sunday morning.  It was time for him to leave for his small village and for me to leave to spend then next few days in Bamako until my departure date.  Saying goodbye was harder than I had imagined.  How do you let go of someone knowing that chances are you would never see that person again.  Again, I knew our relationship would never go any further but it did not make it any less painful.  I cried and he got teary eyes (more unusual Malian behavior).  He told me don't cry, don't cry.  Everything in life happens for a reason.  Then he left. 

A few hours later I received a text from him.  "Hi my baby.  Please do not weep.  It has always been the fate of lovers that they may part.  It is through you I learn a deep sense of love.  I never forget.  I love you. XOXOXO"

My homecoming

SURPRISE – October 6, 2011
In hindsight maybe surprising everyone wasn’t the best idea. I had to wake up my roommates to surprise them. They were so happy to see me but I’m sure they were not excited about the fact that they stayed up talking to me for an hour before heading back off to bed. They are going to be tttiiirreeeddd at work tomorrow.

Then I had to wait until the next day to see either of the boys. The original idea was to try and set it up so we could get Loreen and Randy and both boys in the same spot at the same time. Once I realized that was impossible, between the time I would be arriving and the boys work and school schedule. I was feeling bad now. I should have just arranged to have them pick me up at the airport. But what’s done is done. So then next morning I went over to were Josh is living and my friend called him to tell him to come outside. Being my crybaby he immediately started crying. We hugged and cried...he did say he was hoping when the time came that he wanted to pick me up at the airport. Oh well...again, in hindsight... We could only spend a few minutes because he had to leave for work. After we got Jarrod to meet us down at Starbucks at the Santee Trolley Station. I was walking through the parking lot towards him. When he saw me he looked around as if trying to figure out if he was on candid camera. His first words were, “You are so F’n skinny.” Nice... It was a good surprise all around.

They are excited to have me home to say the least. I think me being gone was harder on them than it was on me. I’ve been the person they have relied on their whole lives up until now. And although some would say they are old enough to take care of themselves, I don’t think children are ever old enough to not need the support of their moms. I know nothing would make my life just a little easier if my mother was still here to call when times got rough, to call when I needed a little help with some cash, to visit whenever I wanted to and just to know she was always there for me. Right where she was supposed to be. I can’t blame them for wanting me to come home. I wonder though...would I have stayed if it weren’t for that?

Last minute chores and my travels

October 3, 2011




I saw Dr. Dawn today. She gave me a TB test and took blood to run some tests. I will need to give a urine sample and stool sample. That’s always fun!! Especially since I’m not an everyday pooper. They will check liver function, kidney function, red and white blood cells, check for shistos (worms), worms (worms), giardia, aomebas, and other such parasites that after this prolonged period of time I probably have. I got on a scale and have lost 44 pounds since I’ve been here. They are not too happy about that but are glad to know that it’s been over the whole period of time that I’ve been here and it didn’t happen suddenly because I was sick. I told her that if I lost all this weight because I have some kind of worms then she should leave them there. I’d rather have worms then gain all that weight back. And I am afraid of gaining it back to. It is too easy to overeat in the states. There is so much food and cheaper than eating here comparitively speaking. I had my blood pressure checked, hearing, vision. I got a voucher so I can have my teeth checked and cleaned when I get home. And was told that with everything going on and the fact that I have to go to the bank and close out my account I would be leaving Wednesday...there is only midnight ish (between midnight and 2am) flights out of Bamako. OK Wednesday. Again it’s going so fast it’s making me nervous, but may as well get it over with.


October 4, 2011

Went back to the bureau. Met with the guy to take me to the bank and closed out my account and met back with Dr. Dawn. My blood test results are in and most is good except for I am anemic. Which makes sense. It is hard to eat properly in a small village. There is no fruits and vegetables available every day. And I won’t cook meat myself. So my diet has been lax of the vitamins and minerals one needs to stay really healthy. I got another voucher. Dr. Dawn said to go home, eat well for a couple of weeks and then have my tests repeated in the states at PC expense.

Then in the middle of our discussion Dr. Dawn said, “you do know you’re leaving tonight, right?” UMMM....NOOOOO. I heard more than once from more than one person that I was leaving Wednesday around midnight. Now I’m freaking out again. But again, better to just get it over with. I now have my ticket on me and will be on a 2am flight out of Bamako, through Casablanca, JFK and into San Diego by 10pm Wednesday CA time. So I will be in one state of travel or another (flights, layovers, etc) for 26 hours. Now I have to really say goodbye to everyone. I won’t cry, I won’t cry...it’s the right move for me at the right time. But I have made a few friends along the way. I will miss them.

11:30pm

The PC car just came to pick me off. I’m off to the airport. The first leg of my trip is only a 3 ½ hour flight. Then a 7 hour layover in Casablanca. Unfortunately there is nothing close enough to make it worth trying to venture out.

I am in Casablanca. It was so foggy when we landed I didn’t even know we were close to the ground when we hit. As you can imagine that gave me quite a scare. When you don’t see the ground underneath you and then you hit you know about it. Scared the crap out of me. The airport is filled with duty free shops with cool stuff. I wish I would have skipped shopping yesterday in Bamako so I could buy more cool stuff here. That’s OK, I got a couple of cool tokens and I will wait for my flight. Only 3 more hours.

I just got charged $6 for a small bottle of water and a small bag of potato chips. And I paid it. Not like I can run out to 7-11.

I’m off to JFK.

This flight was 8 hours. That’s a lot of time to be sitting and doing nothing. Thankfully the plane was only half full so there was plenty of room to stretch out and at least be comfortable. About 6 out of the 8 hours was choppy and bumpy with a couple of really rough spots. Thank goodness for Dramamine and Sea-Bands for motion sickness. The landing...OMG...I’m convinced now that it wasn’t turbulance but the pilot doesn’t know how to drive. The landing was awful and the plane was wavering back and forth. There was no signs of any great winds outside. The lady one row up and across the isle threw up. I don’t blame her. My palms were getting sweaty and was feeling a little peaked myself.

I have to wonder about the folks that put together the reservations. I had a 3 hour and 20 minute flight to Casablanca from Bamako. Then a 7 hour layover. Then an 8 hour flight to New York with 1 hour and 20 minutes to catch my flight to San Diego. In the 1+ hour I had to go through customs, go through security, claim my baggage, recheck it on the other side then run outside and over 2 terminals to catch my flight. The customs line was probably 2 hours long. Thankfully because my flights were so close together I got a quick connect...like a quick pass at Disneyland. So I got through in about 20 minutes. Then I got to security and there was about a 20 minute wait. I told the lead person there that my flight was in 25 minutes and I still needed to get my luggage and recheck it. So they let me go through again. I got my luggage, ran over to the counter to recheck it. The guy said they had already started boarding that I needed to RUN!! So I ran outside, up the hill and over two terminals. I had to go through another security. But they let me go through as well. Just as I was running up to the counter at the boarding gate the guy had the phone in his hand to page me. I made it on the plane. I was concerned about my luggage. If the guy at the counter said I needed to run to make my plane, what was the chances that someone at the airport outside would run to make sure my luggage got on said plane.

Sure enough, although another uneventful flight, my luggage did not arrive with me. Delta SAYS it will be here in the morning and someone will deliver it to my home. Thankfully I have clothes in my carry on.

My friends daughter picked me up at the airport. The plane was actually 30 minutes early. Good head winds I guess. We headed home for the first of 2 big surprises. My friend stood there with her mouth open after I jumped out of the dark at her. It took her a good 20-30 seconds to realize what was going home. She was beside herself. Then her husband came around the corner. He was just as excited. It was a fun surprise. Can’t wait to see the boys in the morning. Still not sure how I’m going to surprise them. I’m just hoping it will come to me.

Surprise, surprise, surprise...

Dropping the bomb...

September 28, 2011

Telling the other volunteers is proving to be harder than I thought. No one ever wants to see the others leave before our time. But they are understanding. They know that I’ve been having a hard time at my site. Some of them feel that they want to go home as well...but they won’t. They will suffer through and finish their time like it or not. The one thing I feel that they have that I don’t is the luxury of time. Being older, the thought of doing something I don’t feel good about, am not happy about and have no success to speak of for the next 2 years doesn’t appeal to me. Although I never would have thought I would renig on this commitment, or any commitment, and I had no intention of leaving early when I came here it’s just the way it worked out. Sorry if I’m disappointing anyone. No one is more disappointed in this than I am but I just can’t stay here for the sake of staying here. Wasting time and money has to stop somewhere.
Luckily my best friends that I was living with while I was waiting to leave will be so excited to hear I am coming back and will welcome me back into their home with open arms. It feels good to know I have such good friends. And eventually when I start working, and with the boys both working now, I hope to rent something again for the three of us and make sure they stay on their feet. In the meantime, my friends daughter is the only one that knows I’m coming back. We decided to keep it a surprise from her parents and the boys and surprise the. Since I have no idea at this point what time, day or anything I will be getting home it’s hard to plan this surprise but I’m sure we’ll think of something when the time comes. Now I’m finally feeling excited to be going home. They are going to shit themselves.
PC Shuttle is here
October 2, 2011

So the shuttle came to bougouni today and picked up me and all my stuff. We will go directly to the PC offices so I can drop off everything that is staying here and then when I get to the transit house I can repack and make sure I have everything that I’m taking and take out anything that is staying. Some clothes, toiletries. No sense lugging all that stuff back. We have stores with soap and shampoo in the states. I came into town on Sunday and the bureau is closed so I will have to wait until tomorrow to find out what I need to do.

Can't bring myself to do it...

September 26, 2011

So I thought about it, as I have been thinking about it day and night and I am so demotivated at this point I have decided now would be the right time for me to go home. I have stayed up nights, worrying myself sick wondering if this would be the right decision or not. I don’t want to go home and then wonder would it have been different and maybe worked out if I stayed longer. I kept coming up with “no...I don’t think so”. And so my decision is final. I am in Bougouni today so I will call PC and let them know. Knowing I was going to call them this morning I woke up sick to my stomach, very nervous and spent most of the morning crying. Like it or not this has been “home” for the past 8 months. I do like the people in my village and it will be hard to leave. PC was upset at losing what they consider a good volunteer. They are upset that they had not offered me enough support over the past 5 months I’ve been living at site and that no one did anything about my inquiries and calls of concern. But they do understand that I am not up to the challenge of starting over again. It will be a harrowing task that not alot of volunteers would agree to either. OMG...I’m going home.

SO I was told that I would need to get all my stuff out of my site myself...on public transportation. If I could get it to Bougouni a PC shuttle would be by there on Sunday (one week from now) to take me and my things to Bamako. There I would undergo medical exams and tests, have to close out my bank account and turn in all my PC equipment (bike, water filter, med kit, etc). My question to my regional coordinator was that if the PC shuttle was going to pass right by my village and then head to Bougouni then Bamako why couldn’t they just pick me up with my stuff in my village and I could come in with them. Makes sense to me, right? So the coordinator made a phone call, came back in and said “come on let’s go”. Let’s go!! Let’s go where? Your site. I have time to pick up your stuff today...let’s go. I didn’t know what to say. I only called and told PC 2 hours ago. I wasn’t sure I was ready to go to my site and get my stuff and say my goodbyes right now. But when it comes to transportation in Mali you take a ride when you can get it. So off we go. It went fairly smoothly. Of course my site was told that I had an emergency in the states and had to leave. Which I was not in agreement with them saying that. If they are going to put a new volunteer in there it is important that these issues be taken care of beforehand. Lying to them does no good for anyone. If they are afraid if they tell them the truth they are going to refuse a volunteer well then maybe they don’t need one in the first place. But it did make it easier for me to leave without them thinking it was because I felt things were not going well.

We packed my stuff and were done and gone in 45 minutes. My whole 8 months of life in the back of a jeep. We went back to Bougouni and I was dropped off with my stuff to await the shuttle on Sunday. It was a hard decision for me to make. I gave up a lot to take on this adventure. To admit it is not working out was a tough realization. Making the decision to call and go home was a tough task. But now that it is all said and done I do feel better and at peace. I’m sure I’m doing what is right for me...and my family...at this time. Now I can start freaking out about what I’m going to do when I get back home. I have no house, I have no car or motorcycle, I have no job. NO JOB!!! I can only hope I don’t spend the next year, or more, looking for a new job. I can’t survive without a job.

Monday, September 19, 2011

I don't want to turn this into a bitching session but I do want truth be known what I've been dealing with at my site/home.

For a while now I’ve been torn about what to do. I am feeling very unsuccessful and am definitely not getting anything accomplished in my village. It becomes more obvious to me every day that the matrone in my village has no intentions on working with me...or letting me work with her. Which I find really disturbing since she is the one that contacted Peace Corps, requested a volunteer and did all the leg work involved with actually getting a volunteer at your site. What was she hoping for. What is it that she wanted a volunteer for if not to work with her and help her in the clinic. There have been 5 separate incidences that we were supposed to go into Bougouni together. She was going to take me to the CSCOM (clinic) to introduce me to the doctors there and show me how and where she gets medicines to bring back to village. Each time we were supposed to go I showed up at the boutiki bright and early so we could catch the bus and each time she wasn’t able to make it. I went on to Bougouni without her because that’s my banking and market town and where I go anyway to talk to the boys and the rest of my family. Then there were 3 incidences where she “snuck” out of village and went to Bougouni without me. I don’t know why she felt the need to sneak. If she doesn’t want to work with me and doesn’t want me to go with her that’s OK with me. But again what is it that she wanted a volunteer for.

Then of course there’s my jatigi that comes to my house at 7am to tell me I’m old and lazy and I need to go out and work in the fields instead of sleeping all day. I told him, several times, under no uncertain terms was I there to be a free field hand for the village. I came here, to Mali...to Bougoula, to work in maternity with the matrone. My job is as a health volunteer. I will work every day, all day, all night with Miriam. If she doesn’t want me to work with here then so be it but I’m not working in the fields. I sit at her house, which is located right behind the maternity building, all day long waiting for someone to come along. Not that when they do she has me sit it on the consultation, exam or delivery, but I sit there waiting with her none the less. I believe she enjoys our friendship but that’s not what I’m here for.
My homologue, although I really enjoy hanging out with him, does not follow through with anything we start out with. It is so hard to keep everyone motivated. It’s very frustrating. He had finally planted some bashi yiri (moringa trees) but of course when the guys came to week and aerate they dug them all up and they are all dead now. Considering 3 children have died in my village since I’ve been living there I consider this a huge loss for the community. It is such a simple solution to a huge problem. But no one seemed to care they were gone.

And then there’s my neighbor “horny old guy”. I don’t even know what to say about him. He is the old, gross uncle that always has candy in his pocket to try and convince the young girls to hug him or sit on his lap. I never really felt threatened by his constant touching and feeling (or trying to) or I would have contacted PC earlier. If he ever did do something soooo inappropriate one good swift kick and he’d have gone down like a ton of bricks. No worries.

Add in the fact that my language skills suck and it adds up to that I’ve been feeling pretty useless here. I feel that if I stay I am wasting PC money, but if I go I am wasting PC money. It cost to do the screenings, to get me to Mali, to train me and of course I’ve been getting paid (just a measly stipen but surely enough to live comfortably here). But truthfully I’ve been thinking more and more about going home lately than I had been before.

One of the Mali directors came to my site today. I explained very clearly all of the above to her. I told her that I had spoken to my supervisor and others on my team about what was happening with the matrone and there was no follow up. I told her that my language skills suck and 5 months ago when everyone was getting a tutor I did not get offered one, even though I was one of the few people that did not pass the oral test in July the first time. I inquired about a tutor but no one ever got back to me. She met all the people that are involved in my being at my village...except for the matrone who was in Bougouni. She agreed right away with some of the observations I had made and why I felt the way I felt. She seemed to feel legitimately bad that maybe PC could have done a better job evaluating this site and preparing them for having a volunteer. Although she agreed with me she also said that she has seen situation like this turn around wherein the volunteer wound up being quite successful. We could pick all new players for me to work with. We could get me a tutor for a solid week and see if that couldn’t improve my language skills enough to be able to communicate better. Basically I would be starting over. I told her that although I would think about it, it sounds like a daunting task to me to start all over again. I haven’t been here 4 or 5 months. I’ve been here for 8 months. It takes months to build a rapour with the people you are working with. It takes months to build enough trust that they feel comfortable letting you into their circle and working with you. By that time and then add on starting hopefully at least one project after that point I would be here well over a year before I accomplished even the smallest of tasks. I would think about it and let her know.

Random stuff

*We spent the night in a different village each night after hiking through Dogon country. The first night we slept on mats, under mosquito nets on the roof of a house. It was a tricky climb up and down as we had to climb up these logs that had niches in them for your feet. I didn’t like it. Once we got up there the roof looked smaller from on top than it did from the ground. There was only four of us and the two on the outside where precariously close to the edges, One of those people was me. Since we were up on a hill the wind was really blowing and because it was cloudy most of the day the night was cool. A little too cool. In fact, and I hate to say this out loud, we were freezing our asses off. We didn’t have sweaters or jackets with us. We only had the clothes we had been wearing on our backs and they didn’t supply us any sheets or blankets. Usually cold is not an issue. I had my head wrap that I wrapped around my body the best I could. The wind blew and the cold maintained the whole night. Didn’t sleep well.


When we woke in the morning we were just sitting enjoying the sunrise and letting ourselves wake slowly when I noticed something on the edge of the rood where the thatch for the overhang met. I was freaking out because I thought it was a snake slithering along the edge. It was 12 to 14 inches long, 1 to 1 ½ inches in diameter and didn’t really have much of a face or mouth which I thought was strange. It moved so smoothly. I was trying to find my camera (even though I was peeing myself to get away from it). I have a picture section on the large Jurrasic Park like creatures I’ve seen since being here. Giant moths, beetles, snails and the like. This would have made a nice addition to my collection. While looking for my camera and trying to keep this thing in site as to make sure it didn’t get to close and upon further observation it wasn’t a snake at all. It was a frickin centipede. Dear lord it was disgusting. A 14 inch centipede. It was horrid. It also was gone by the time I got my camera out. I don’t know where it went but I got the hell off that roof as fast as I could stumble down the log I had to use to get up there... centipede pictureless.




Good morning sunshine!!


*Djenne, the city we visited with the biggest mud structure in the world, was a real shithole. I think I mentioned. Besides all the obvious reasons...nyegen runoff running down the streets, trash everywhere, the stink...there were boys begging for money everywhere. Most of the boys that beg are called garibou. They live and are schooled in their religion and in the koran in these little schools that are located in these little rooms throughout the city (most are either orphans or are given away by their parents). Part of making their living is they are taught to go out and beg for money. Some will just stand in front of you with their little cans and stare. Some will sing to try and earn their money. As bad as I feel for them is equal to how annoying they are. They follow you and stare at you (especially us being white) and they will just not go away...even if you give them money. The first afternoon we were in Djenne we were walking down the backside of the market with our guide and these boys (around 10 or 11ish) started following us asking for money. They were not garibou, just annoying kids asking for money. The first kid I told no. The second kid I just looked at and kept on walking. He fell behind and got out of my sight and then kicked me in the ass. I was surprised and appalled. I don’t care what country you are in and how ignorant people claim themselves to be I was absolutely appalled. Respect is respect is respect in any country and I know without a doubt this child would never have kicked a Malian woman...or man or other for that matter. After he kicked me he and his friends ran away laughing I turned and started yelling at him, in English. Thankfully the kind of language I was using is not language even an english speaking Malian would understand or probably has ever heard. When my friend told the guide that the boy had kicked me he said he saw what happened and he would take care of it.
The guide sent his brother down the side street he had run down to get the boy and bring him back. About a minute later here he came dragging the kid behind him. They bought him down the side street and out onto the main road where we were waiting...the site of the incident. After the guide made sure I could see him he proceeded to beat the absolute shit out of him. By the third or fourth hit I felt kind of bad and thought that the punishment was a little extreme...they were BEATING this boy. That feeling went away though and I was hoping they might hold him so I could take a whack at him. Some older woman passed and tried to stop them. The guide told her what he had done and she said “OK” and continued on her way. Did the punishment fit the crime? I don’t know but I can guarantee that boy won’t kick anyone else anytime soon.

Back to Bougoula

September 5, 2011

Veronica and I headed back to my village.  Even after letting her know how boring and that there is nothing to do in my village she really wanted to see where I live and what I do here in Mali.  So to Bougoula we go.  It took us 3 hours on the bus.  Uneventful I'm happy to say.

The people in my village were very receptive and excited to see another white person.  We spent the 5th and 6th just sitting around, eating at the Matrone's house and hanging around my house.  Not very exciting after all we've done over the past week and a half. 

It is time for Veronica to think about heading back towards Ghana.  As our last hurrah we decided to visit Bamako.  I hate Bamako.  It's like any large, dirty city only worse.  We had some more shopping and eating to do before our travels were over.  Genni was already in Bamako so we made plans to meet back up with her a the Sleeping Camel Hotel where we would spend the night.  We took the bus into town and then a cab to the hotel.  We ate and then got on a bashe (bush taxi) to the big market.  I hate the big market.  The vendors follow and harrass and people beg and will steal if they have an opportunity.  We headed over to the artisan section as we mostly wanted to look at jewelry.  We came, we saw, we bought and then got the hell out.  We met Genni at the hotel, ate, met some folks that were touring/vacationing in Mali and got a good nights sleep.  The next day we met up with a man that Genni works with in Sikasso.  He drove us to our somewhat destinations.  I was dropped off after a 2 hour drive in Bougouni.  And Genni and Veronica went on for another 2 hours to Sikasso.  Veronica would spend the night there and then head out in the morning for Burkino Faso and then back to Ghana.  She leaves back for the states on the 17th.  It was a good time!!

September 1, 2011

September 1, 2011
We ate and we shopped and I have spent a fortune. It’s uncomfortable shopping as the folks that run the shops will come after you down the street to try and get you to come into their shops. They follow, they beg, they plead and if you don’t hold onto your purse they’ll steel if they have to. We found a lot of beautiful things though and when they see us with all our bags they know we are shoppers. I bought necklaces, fulani hats, earrings, a mask, a beautiful knife that we got to watch our friend Abu from Tombouctou make. It was an expensive day but well worth the trip and the money.

September 2, 2011
We went to a women’s cooperative today where they make and sell mud cloths. All of the colors that they use on the cloths are made from mud, bark, ash and leaves. It was very interesting. We got to make our own little cloth to take with us for a souvenier. They sold jewelry in the store. What’s a girl to do!!?? I shopped.

We left today to Sikasso. This is the beginning of the end of my trip around Mali. It was just long enough. I am shopped out and exhausted. Veronica and I will stay in Sikasso for a day or so then head back to my site. We may head over to Bougouni just because there’s nothing to do in my village and it’s not time for her to head back to Ghana yet. We’re playing it by ear. Whatever happens is whatever happens.

Just Veronica and I left Segou for Sikasso.  Genni stayed as she was going to catch a PC shuttle to Bamako on Suncay.  We got on the bus at 8:30.  The bus we got was with Wasa Transport. I was told this was the worst line and now I know why.  They seats were dilopadated, ripped, dirty and stuffing coming out.  The floor was filthy, it smelled god awful and it was probably 110 degrees and the windows don't open.  We were stuck in the very back row again.  Before the trip even began we were sweating our asses off.  There are vents on the roof that are open so when the bus starts moving and there's a breeze coming in it can only get better right?  Wrong...apparently there were bags of millett on the roof of the bus so when the bus started moving loose millett and the dust from the bags started flying around the bus.  At first I couldn't imagine what the hell was blowing in my eyes.  Then I looked down and my skin (stuck in the sweat) and covering my clothes was millett and millett dust.  I looked around me and everyone was covered in dust.  People were yelling to shut the vent and just pissed off that they were all dirty.  Finally the bus guy shut the vent.  It stopped any new dirt from coming in but of course no there's no air and because the dust and dirt is stuck in sweat there is no getting it off of you.  That's OK.  It's part of the challenges of traveling by public transport.  I can take a bath/shower when we get into Sikasso.  It's only 7 hours away.

August 29, 2011

August 29, 2011 (afternoon)

We were able to secure a private car to take us to Mopti it was a little more expensive than taking the bus but would get us there in an hour opposed to three. When we thought about what our time was worth we decided to pay up. We got to Mopti where our driver made sure we were going to get on the next bashe to Djenne. This was going to leave at 11 and was about a 2 hour ride. No matter how many times we’ve been told times and distances and length of rides and they have been nowhere close to what we were told we actually believed we were leaving at 11. Not to our surprise but to our dismay we finally got on the bus and out of the parking lot by 1. The ride was crowded and hot and squished and fairly unpleasant but we made it in less than 2 hours. Just before actually entering Djenne there is a river that we needed to cross to get there. So with a jolt and a bang the bus drove onto this barge like boat and across we went. We had a little trouble when we arrived on the other side as there were some men (not in uniforms) that were trying to make us pay a “tax”. No one else...just us white folk. We told them we weren’t going to pay and we didn’t understand what they were saying and finally in all their frustration they let us go through. We were dropped off in front of the big market where we met up with our next guide that would show us around Djenne, take us to the Mosque (the largest, oldest mud structure in the world) and help us around the market. We went to the hotel and then headed to do some shopping. I have already spent more money in these 3 days than I have the entire 7 months that I have been here. But I have been waiting to travel and shop since I got here. This is probably going to be my one and only big trip and shopping spree. Let me at ‘em!!

Djenne is a sad turn of landscape compared to where we just came from. It is muddy and filthy and strewn with litter. It smells just awful. Rotten food and sewage seems to be the main culprit. It is one of the dirtiest places I’ve seen so far. After shopping it was already getting dark so we headed to the restaurant and then to the hotel to get a good nights sleep. Tomorrow is seli (the end of Ramadan). We are going to tour the mosque and participate in morning prayers and then we are going to head into a fulani village (by horse cart because the roads are mostly washed out to other transports) just to see how they live and celebrate.

The Great Mosque of Djenné is the largest mud brick or adobe building in the world and is considered by many architects to be the greatest achievement of the Sudano-Sahelian architectural style.  Although the original mosque on this site was build in the 13th century this particular updated version was built in 1907.  It is one of the most famous landmarks in Africa.

The Great Mosque of Djenne.

The horse ride was great. It was only 5k but seemed alot further being tossed around in the back on the cart like a rag doll. The fulani village was clean and spread out enough to be comfortable. The people were different looking in that they circle their mouths with henna and some of the children had interesting haircuts (shaved with a circle of hair on top). There is also some jewelry and ornate earrings that are worn specifically by the fulani. The more we walked around the more we realized that these people did not want us here. There is one woman that you can take pictures of (she gets paid) that was really upset by our presence. I totally understand. They feel like they are being exploited...I felt like I was exploiting them. It was an awful feeling. But they do it regardless of their feelings because the money that we paid to get there is given to the village for the schools. They don’t really have a choice I guess. But it wasn’t the highlight of my time in the north for sure. I left feeling depressed and sad for them...even though they are making money from our visit. I would have rather just given it to them and stayed at the hotel. In the morning we are leaving for Mopti then Segou.

August 31, 2011

We have arrived in Segou. Segou is considered one of the bigger towns in Mali. Bigger than Bougouni, smaller than Bamako.  It has a lot to offer in a small space. There are restaurants (I’m totally having pizza for lunch) and coffee shops, a market and a lot of artisan shopping. Again, I can’t wait to shop. We’ll head out tomorrow after breakfast.

August 27, 2011

It is 9am and I am the only one awake yet. I’m feeling antsy and want to wake up everyone else but I know it was a long night and know their bodies need rest. So I am updating my blog and being patient.
We ate breakfast and met up with our guide that would take us into Dogon Country. For 40,000cfa ($80) we would have a guide for our 2 days of hiking through Dogon villages, up into the cliff dwellings and across part of the saheli (desert). This tour would include 3 meals a day, accommodations and transportation out of and back into Bandiagara which is no easy feat. We left the hotel about noon. We drove just a few minutes on the street until we headed out a dirt road. This trip included about 1 ½ hours of back country, rocky, mud driving in an old Toyota 4 runner. I don’t know how these cars survive here with the abuse they take. I’m grateful I decided at the last minute to put on my sea-bands (motion sickness wrist bands). I would never have survived. Like most of the rest of our trip so far the scenery was incredible. Lots of trees, green landscaping, some running water (thank goodness it’s rainy season or it would have been barren waste land), all the kids out herding cows and sheep. Of course everyone we passed stopped to look, laugh and wave to us. Not a lot of tubobs come out this way. We were an anomily for sure. We finally arrived at the village where we would begin our hike. Although the hike did not cover a lot of ground across, it sure did cover a lot of ground up and down. We hiked through ravines and drop offs where just piles of rocks were the steps that we used. All I can say is never look down. It was exciting, scary and definitely good exercise. My thigh and ass muscles will never be the same. We hiked, stopping in small villages along the way until 6pm. The villages were amazing compared to what we have seen so far in the villages that we live in and/or bank and shop in. They are small (500 or less people), well built considering some of the structures have been there forever and clean. CLEAN...what a nice change. We saw the buildings were they lived, were they cooked and were they stored their food. We also saw the “menstruation” house. This is where, still to this day woman are expected to stay 5 days a month while they have their period. The kids were so excited to see us and no one seems to know the word tubob. Thankfully we had a guide as communication would have been more difficult than usual as there are only a few people in these villages that speak Bambara. Most speak the different Dogon dialects. We ate, we were taken care of and greeted like we were royalty. It was amazing.



This is the type of hiking we did in Dogon for 2 days.  Up and down and down and down and up rocks all day long.  It was awesome.



The menstration house.



The ravine we had to cross.  If you looked down you could see straight to china.



August 28, 2011
This morning we were up, ate breakfast and headed out of village by 7:30. We hiked up and then down and then up and then down most of the day. We finally were able to get to the point where you can see the curvature of the earth. It was hazy and it’s hard to get the full effect as you can’t see to both ends at the same time. This area, the desert, is so vast and enormous and breathtaking. We were sitting on cliffs high above the desert floor and my first thought is that if there is a god certainly he has walked here. I know I use the word amazing a lot, but there is not many other words that can describe what we were looking at. We just sat and watched and looked and contemplated. Amazing!!  (Since I have been back I looked up about being able to see the curviture of the earth from the ground.  It's pretty much not possible to actually see the curviture from less than 60,000 feet...I'm glad I didn't know that at the time because you think your seeing it and it's a wonderful feeling.  Humbling would be the word.)

Contemplating life overlooking the saheli.



Why did the PCVs cross the deep, deep ravine?
To get to the other side of course!

 We headed back out and up and down and up and down. I tended to lag behind a bit here and there..not too far behind mind you. I attribute that more to my short legs than my age. I think I did a damn good job considering I don’t do much (any) rock climbing at home. We ended this days adventures in a village just underneath some of the cliff dwellings that we would be hiking up to. When we got back though it was getting late and would be dark soon. We decided to wait until the morning before we left Dogon to hike up the rocks to the dwellings. We ate, we bathed (which we hadn’t done up until now) and we slept. We slept on foam pads under mosquito nets on the roof. I had just gotten into a deep sleep after watching stars and lightning before the men that were taking care of us coming running up onto the roof to move us because it had started to rain. So we readjusted and resettled and right back to sleep. Since we were leaving Dogon and heading back to Bandiagara at 7:30 we had to be up and dressed and ready to move up the cliffs at 6:30.

The hike was steep but not very long. Before you knew it we were standing on cliffs and in dwelling that were hundreds and hundreds or years old. There used to be ladders that went up the cliffs which is how these dwellings were accessed in the past but those are no longer there. There were structures that were graineries (separate ones for the men and women), the living quarters, the meeting places were all disputes were settled and decisions made. We passed an area were up until 1976 they made human sacrifices. There was an area where babies would be delivered. They would sacrifice an animal and then deliver a baby at the same time rubbing the blood on the mother...from what I could understand . There were paintings on the back wall behind the dwellings. These paintings are changed and redone during a festival that takes place once every 60 years. I’d like to be in village for that celebration. Every person, inshallah (god willing) will get to see only one festival in their life time. And I’m sure they spend their lifetime looking forward to it. It is time. It’s almost 7:30 and if we want a ride back out to Bandiagara we must leave now.

The cliff dwellings.

Spot in the cliffs where human sacrifices were made
until 1976 when they were forced to end this traditional practice.

These paintings are changed at each Dogon Festival which takes place
every 60 years.  The lucky will get to attend this fetival once in their life.

The ride back out was as bumpy and muddy as the ride in. But before you knew it we were back in town contemplating our next move.

August 26, 2011

We arrived at the gar (oh the gar...what a horrible place) at 9am and actually where on a bus heading to our first destination where we would have to change buses by 10:30. We were lucky that it only took an hour and a half and also VERY lucky that the sun was not out and it was threatening to rain. The temperature was probably 15-20 degrees cooler than it could have been if the sun had been out. The first part of the trip although uneventful took a bit longer than it should have as it seemed that our bus driver stopped every 2 miles to pick someone up, pee, pray or get something to eat. Un-frickin-believable. It should have taken 3 hours, from what I understood and instead took us 5 hours. We finally arrived in Bla and had to switch from a full size bus to a bashe (bush taxi) for the next part of our trip going to San. A bashe is a full size passenger van, approximately 20-30 years old with hundreds of thousands of desert miles on it. They take the seats out of put in wood benches that extend around the perimeter of the inside of the van. They could sit up to 15 people (I’ve seen up to 20 or more people in them at one time), huge 80 kilo bags of rice, chickens and goats. We were lucky it was the 4 of us and only one other person. This part of the trip should take 1 ½ hours...so they said. 3 hours later and stopping only about 6 times to either pick someone up or drop someone off we arrived in San. Although it was a bumpy ride as bashe’s usually don’t have much in the way of good, sustainable tires or shocks...or brakes for that mater...and considering you could see through holes in the floor down to the road, and considering that half the windows were missing and the doors don’t shut all the way, it was actually a nice ride. The scenery was beautiful and even though it wasn’t far in distance you could see the terrain changing as we were moving out of a rainy season area into what would be more desert. We passed through several small and some larger villages. Waved to people on the side of the road that could apparently spot a tubob (white person) from a mile away in a moving vehicle.

Our plan was to spend in the night in San as it was already dark when we arrived and we had already been traveling for 10 hours. But when we arrived our chauffer tigi (bus driver) told us there was a bus that would be coming into San at 8pm and driving directly to our next and final destination of Bandiagara. We felt lucky to make a connection that quickly and directly to our destination spot without other stops in between...supposedly. He told us that it would be 3 hours to get there. We could be there and sleeping by midnight. You would think we would have learned something along the way even though we were only 10 hours in. That thing being that double whatever time they tell you it’s going to take and you will have a better estimate of timing. Regardless, we got something to eat, waited until 8:40 as nothing in Mali is on time or sticks to any kind of schedule and finally got on the bus to Bandiagara. We had to basically squeeze in the back but thought we are on the road, it’s night so it’s cool and it will only take 3 hours. Count our lucky stars, try to close our eyes for a little while and before you know it we’ll be there.

As it turns out we stopped several times, for what I’m still not sure, but just a minute or two and then 2 hours in they stopped for a half an hour for a bathroom and food break. We continued on our way and didn’t stop again until we were at some kind of check point were military personal boarded the bus and started checking ID’s. They only did the first few rows, checked some of the luggage on top of the bus and then went on about their business. That was another half an hour. So that puts us, what? An hour behind. NOT SO MUCH. Our 3 hour trip took 7 hours. We arrived at Bandiagara at 3:30 am. Exhausted, cranky, in pain, because if you remember we were squeezed into the back of the bus, and dirty. Traveling has got to be the dirtiest part of this Africa adventure. The dust blowing into the bus, the filthy buses in general, people throw their trash and left over food onto the floors and of course there is all kinds of luggage and packages spewn about the place...like chickens. We waited for about 45 minutes for the person that will be our guide for the next couple of days to come and get us to take us (walk us) to a hotel about ½ mile down the road. By the time we got here, got showered and got in bed it was almost 5am. I’m thinking we won’t get a real early start in the morning. But that’s OK. We have nothing but time for the next week or so. All in all, including stops and eating and bus time we have been traveling for 17 hours. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. And we are here!!

Vacation time is here!!

August 25, 2011

For the first time since I’ve been in Mali I am finally getting the opportunity to travel. A friend of mine, Veronica, that was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mozambique a few years back has been in Ghana for the past two months on a volunteer job. That job is completed now. She left Ghana a few days ago to travel through Ghana and Burkina Faso to come visit me in Mali. I am so excited to see a friend...here...in Africa...and to travel. We are going to visit in Sikasso, then head north to the Mopti region and visit Djenne, which is home to the biggest mud structure in the world, and to visit Dogon, which was home to the cliff dwellers many years ago and whose structures continue to exist. We will do a 2 or 3 day hiking trip with a guide. Interesting fact, there are only a few places on earth where you can see enough of the earth at one time that you can actually see the curviture of the earth. I am excited to see that, if nothing else just to say that I did. Then we will visit a few other touristy destinations in the area, do some serious Artisan shopping and hopefully get some real authentic souveniers of Mali and gifts to bring home.

I was in Bougouni helping the volunteer in that area, with several other volunteers to paint a mural on the wall in a school in her area. I am leaving this morning to go back to Bougoula, change my clothes, pack my traveling backpack and leave again for Sikasso. My village is actually part of the Sikasso region but Bougouni was set up to be my banking town because it is only a 45 minute bus ride from my village opposed to Sikasso which is 2 ½ hours. This is my first time going past my village in the other direction (east). I’m excited. Veronica has already been there for 2 days because she got in early. She has been staying with a friend, Genni, from my stage that lives in the area. There is definitely a special commorauditry amongst the PC community, current and previous, that I am grateful for so my Veronica didn’t have to try and find a hotel and stay by herself until I was able to catch up to her.

After a quick uneventful (which is always a welcome surprise) bus trip I arrived in Sikasso. Took in a lot of harassment from the taxi drivers and others at the gar (bus station) until I finally found a “real” cab and arrived at the restaurant to meet Veronica and Genni...and from what I understand they met another American the night before staying in Mali for a few months with his cousin who lives nearby with his wife and 5 children (6 on the way). They met him in a restaurant and started chatting (as we tubobs tend to do). He has been wanting to make this trip but it is difficult enough traveling around a country when you have only some language skills, but he has absolutely none. So being a perfect opportunity, he decided to tag along. So within minutes of arriving at the Sikasso gar I am finally sitting quietly with Veronica, Genni and our new travel partner Jacob. We sit and chat and catch up for a couple of hours, have something to eat and head to Genni’s house as the plan is to leave early in the morning to start our adventure.

I'm not a field hand

My jatigi came to my house at 7:30 am telling me to get up and get out of the house I was coming to the fields with him (and 10-12 other men of the village) to aerate and weed the fields of corn, cotton and peanuts. He told me that he told the PC regional coordinator in my area that I am lazy. All I do is sleep and I don’t work. My jatigi said that the coordinator said that I was to work in the fields. First of all I know he would not say that. I was bought to Mali as a health worker not a free field hand. I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to tell my jatigi that he should wake me up in the morning so I could work in the field...and that my 24 year old jatigi should be the one to give me these instruction. Secondly, I was bought to Mali as an health extension agent, not a field hand to do hard physical labor. I told him this. I also told him I don’t sleep all day. Just because I’m not out in the fields doesn’t mean I’m sleeping. It doesn’t mean I am lazy and it doesn’t mean that I don’t like to work. I came here to work with the Matrone at the maternity clinic, who, by the way is the one that made the request to PC for a volunteer to come to this village. She has not had me into work with her except for once (the infamous testicle story from earlier in my blog) in the 4 months I’ve been living in Bougoula. That is not my fault. I sit out at her house or the butiki (both of which are next to the maternity clinic) every day for hours just in case she needs or wants me to work with her. I don’t know why she requested a volunteer or what she thinks I am there to do but if she chooses not to have me work with her no matter how many times I tell her that’s what I’m there for I don’t know what to say. But I sure the shit am not going to work in the fields. End of story. He was shocked, by the way, to learn that working in the fields is not what I did in America.

Ramadan

Ramadan is the Muslim new year celebrations. It lasts for the entire month of August. They eat breakfast by 5am, wash and pray. Pray throughout the day as well but do not eat again until after 7pm. During the day they not only fast, but they do not drink any water, tea...nothing. They are also not allowed to tough their wives or husbands during this same time. I have had a couple of conversations with some Malians about this practice. They live in one of the hottest places on earth and they don’t drink anything all day long. It’s unhealthy and dangerous...in my opinion. The biggest reason for fasting is self inflicted suffering to show god their loyalty. They don’t see the problem.
The above of course is the way the “good” Muslims celebrate the holiday. In my village I see most people, the younger crowd, not following the tradition as closely. They eat and when I question them they say they’re hungry. They drink tea and water because, of course, they’re thirsty.

Ramadan has to be hard on those selling street food and food and produce at the market. No one is eating and in the evenings they cook for themselves and their families. When you go to the gar (bus station) there are women and girls there selling sandwiches, hard boiled eggs and the traditional rice with red vomit sauce. The women are still there but no one is buying. It’s supposed to be a holiday. Not cause extra hardships for the people of Mali (so I would think)

Bashi jiri a bana (Moringa trees are done!)

August 21, 2011 –


So I hoped for the best and got the worst. The matrone had some men/boys (15, 16 years old) come to her field to aerate and weed. I saw them doing it but didn’t think too much about it...until the next day when I had a terrible thought. I walked around out in the field to find that all but 4 of the 20 bashi yiri trees that we planted had been weeded. Now these guys didn’t know but two things bother me about this. ONE...by each tree that was planted a stick about 2 feet high was posted in the ground to mark the spot. How easy would it have been for the matrone to tell these guys to watch out for the sticks and the plants that look like “this” (and point out the trees themselves which were already 8 or so inches high) and not to dig/rip them up with the weeds. TWO...how could these guys not look at these 4 rows of 5 sticks in each and not think to themselves, “there’s a pattern here, I wonder what it could mean”...and then ask!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I was so mad to say the least. The matrone said, oh well, a bana. They’re done. What’s the frickin point.

I sat with my matrone with 3 patients at the clinic. 3 sick children. All appear to be suffering from malnutrition. This time of the year... Then the mother of one of these sick children was also not doing so well herself. Her baby is 17 months old and she is pregnant. Of course this is causing her to be malnourished. She is still breast feeding so the pregnancy is sucking nutrients from her thus also taking nutrients away from the 17 month old. It’s a vicious cycle. That’s why they encourage birth spacing (waiting a minimum of 2 years in between children). Not only as a form of birth control but this way you don’t find yourself in this perdicament.

I just found out yesterday that 3 young children (between 1 and 3) in my village have died over the past 2 months. All from malnutrition. Unfortunately the worst of “hunger” season hasn’t come yet. With rainy season that puts most small villages in a time between times. They have planted now but have nothing to harvest until October or November. In the meantime, they eat toh (pronounced toe). That gives them two options corn based to, or millet based to. Either one is filling, cheap but has no nutritional value whatsoever. They do not have the money to eat meat, fruits and vegetables. It’s a sad thing. I see signs of malnutrition in so many children.

Tippy taps for all!!

The last couple of weeks at site have been fairly productive. We planted 22 Bashi Jiri (Moringa trees). The two I planted in my yard, although started out fabulously, were ravished by goats...I’m assuming. I did not see them in action but I heard the goats really love the leaves of the tree. The other 20 trees were planted in between the corn in the field next to the Matrone’s house. Since the goats don’t seem to bother with the corn I guessed this would be a fairly safe place to start the trees and they would have time to grow quite a bit before the corn has been harvested and the plants die off. That’s the plan anyway. The trees are in their third week.

This past weekend my homologue and I built two tippy taps in village. A tippy tap is a cheap, everyone can make one, hand washing station. Using tree branches as the frame, a 4 liter motor oil jug, a bar of soap and some rope (soap on a rope) everyone can wash their hands. There is also a 4th stick/branch used as a foot pedal if you will.  If everything gets set up properly when you step on the "foot pedal" the water jug will tip and water comes out of a hole on the top.  My idea was to put them in areas around the village (we are going to put up three more this week) were they would get the most visibility. This way everyone would have a chance to see them, use them and note how easy it would be to have one in their own compound. That’s the hope. We put one up in front of the Maternity building and one up in front of the butiki. Everyone who comes in and out of Maternity whether they are delivering a baby or there with a sick someone will see it. And of course at the butiki all the men hang out there during the day and the women and kids are in and out making purchases throughout each day as well. Unfortunately it has come to my attention that no one has actually used them yet.




Tippy tap at it's best.




The village Matrone using the tippy tap.


There is a volunteer from the previous group that keeps statistics in her village on the tippy taps that were built. She built several herself initially and since then there has been a total of 61 built in her village. She goes around village throughout the week, usually around lunch or dinner time, checking to see if the tippy tap is wet underneath. She also keeps track of the soap. Is it the initial bar they put up when they built the tippy tap, which means even if they are using the water they are not using soap, or have they replaced it recently. Unfortunately about half the tippy taps that were built are either broken or someone took the water jug or soap off of them. That’s too bad. Also, she noted from last year that during rainy season, which is planting and growing season, most people work and eat out in the fields so they don’t get much use during this time anyway. Which is a shame since this time of year sickness is definitely at a high. It’s the time of the year when hand washing is most important. I am going to keep a close eye on the tippy taps by maternity and the butiki and see what kind of action they’re getting. I’m expecting the worst and hoping for the best.




Now that's a tippy tap!!



The Matrone testing out the "foot pedal".
Looks like it's working.

July 24, 2011

Bougoula’s dugutigi (village chief) died last night. I heard drums at about 6 this morning. I knew something had happened.

He was very old and not very healthy. The Matrone said he was 98. I think he was old, very old, but I can’t imagine he was really 98. Maybe 90, 91, 92...but not 98. In separated groups, men from women, most of the people in village gathered at one point of the morning or another at the dugutigi’s and the neighbors compound. I put on a nice skirt and top. Put a scarf around my head and walked over as well. I only live right next door.

Everyone sat around talking and of course food was being prepared. After about 2 hours we walked out of the compounds towards the mosque. There was already a mound just outside the mosque were apparently the dugutigi had already been buried. A group of women danced around the gravesite laughing and playing instruments. Apparently death is a happy time...especially when you have lived a good long life as it should be.

It's been a while

It’s been awhile since I’ve updated my blog. I’m not sure why. I guess because there’s not much that is new. Site is fairly boring. There isn’t much to do in the way of work and of course these first 3 months were to be strictly devoted to integrating and continuing our language studies. My integrating consists of spending several hours a day sitting at the Matrone’s house, chatting and waiting for something to happen. Or sitting up at the boutiki with the same few men that hang out there drinking tea every day.
It’s a very interesting culture here. Unless it’s to work or go to the market for food or to sell their items the women stay at home. The men go to the fields or hang out at the boutiki or with their friends drinking tea. I was very surprised in my village, after all I had heard about the women doing the planting and caring for the fields, to see the men out there planting. Now the planting is done. They still go out into the fields every day to aerate the ground and try and keep the weeds to a minimum. With only the little bit of rain that we’ve gotten it appears that it’s only the weeds that are thriving. The village has planted cotton, corn (lots and lots of corn), peanuts and rice. August is supposed to be the absolute wettest month of the year. I know it’s only the 7th but it doesn’t appear to be raining much more than the months previous. Which is not a good sign. Most of what they grow in Bougoula they grow to sell so that they have money to feed their families. No growing, no selling, no food. This is the most unhealthy part of the year in most small villages. Besides the abundant diseases, infections and the such that most are more susceptible to during rainy season, malnutrition is a huge issue.

Malnutrition already seems to be an issue in my village. At first glance at the children you would think that they eat...plenty... and that they must be healthy. They are chubby and have lots of energy. But after further observation you notice that they are chubby, but only their bellies. A lot of the children have circles of missing hair, or their hair has lost the pigment and so it is red in color. They have dry scaly skin, edema and brown stains on their teeth and pitting due to decay. Also, chronic diarrhea is also a symptom of malnutrition. Unfortunately most Malians, including the little children have tooth decay due to not brushing their teeth and the horrid amounts of sugar they eat (most people in my village are missing some if not all of their teeth, especially the front ones, including the children. If they are there, they are rotting and will eventually come out. Then yet some, very few, but some, have beautiful teeth...go figure.); and most live with diarrhea regularly so they believe it to be somewhat normal. So these signs go unnoticed as actual symptoms of malnutrition. I imagine it will get worse as rainy season progresses.
Most of the families in my village eat serri (corn based cereal...with lots of sugar) for breakfast and toh (pr. toe) for lunch and dinner. All three are corn based meals. Corn is available in village, if not in market all year round. It is cheap and once it’s dried you do not have to worry about it going bad without having electricity/refrigeration. Very few families eat vegetables or fruits. And meat, is almost non-existent. They are none of these things available in village. The market town is only 7k away but is only on Thursday. They do sell some things there on the other days of the week but the only way to get there is to walk. Since most of every lit hour is spent working in the fields and walking 14k (7 there and 7 back) takes up most of the day it is not reasonable to go to the market more than once a week. So there just isn’t anything available. Even if these things were more readily available, most families, were the daily income is $1 or less per day, they just can’t afford it.



Classic case of malnutrition.  Scaley skin, reddish coloring of hair. 
Poor baby is rubbing and scrataching like she's on fire.



"Bougoula will be a hungry village."

It has only rained one time since I've been back.  This is very bad.  Because of not having a good source of water for irrigation any other time of year most small villages wait and rely on rainy season to do their planting.  They plant when they know rainy season is here and as long as the rains keep us as expected their crops will be ready to harvest by the end of the season...October-ish.  Well they are ready to plant and some have planted already and still no rain.  Someone told me the other day that if it doesn't rain soon "Bougoula will be a hungry village".

Wedding Bells...or drums...whatever!
July 5, 2011
I went to my first wedding.  Well actually it was the day before party.  The women and men celebrate seperately until the actual wedding.  They gather around 11am and eat and talk...and eat and talk.  At night there are drums and dancing.  After the wedding is a procession of 20-30 motorcycles/scooters riding down the road, beeping their horns with the bridge and groom out front.  Except for their festivities taking place all outside, rain or shine, and the no electricity...and the drums...it's much like a wedding in the states.  LOL!

The land of cotton

Look away, look away, look away Dixieland:


I planted cotton today. I saw my jatigi this morning and he said I should come with him to the field. I came back with a new outlook and decided I should get into the spirit of small village living. What better place to start than the fields. I didn’t know I would actually be doing work. Oddly enough there was about 10 guys out in the fields planting. Usually this is woman’s work (along with everything else). I was a little surprised. But they handed me a dabla (hoe type tool) and pocket full of cotton seeds and I planted along with everyone else

Rain, rain go away, come back another day:

What is the opposite of this song. I think I am listening to it right now. I was woken up by drumming in the close distance. It’s about 12:30am. Not sure which direction it is coming from. It is a rain dance. Since the rains have not come on their own in desperation they are out playing drums and dancing for the rain to come. It actually looked all day like it was going to rain. But it has looked like that every day since I’ve been home and hasn’t rained since the first day I got back. But as I look out my bedroom window I can see stars now. Although the thermometer in my room reads about 20 degrees cooler than it had been before I left it doesn’t feel any cooler. The humidity is overwhelming. I am sweating and my bed is a big wet spot. The only relief is rain. I hope this rain dance works. It can’t hurt to try, right?

Bougouni bound

I traveled all day in the rain. Which actually was pretty good. The rain made it so that the bus was very cool inside. There was thunder and lightning the whole way and my seat mate was a nice, good smelling gentleman that only laid his sleepy head onto my shoulder once throughout the whole three hour ride. The only unsettling thing about the whole trip was when I realized the windshield wipers didn’t work and someone was standing up front with a rag to wipe the fog the front window in front of the driver. That’s never a good thing. I was only three seats back. My thought most of the way is that if we hit anything I’d be one of the first ones out the windshield. At least I would have to worry about the windshield wipers bludgeoning me to death.
When I got to Bougouni it was getting dark and the mud at the gar was ankle deep. Only imaging what the walk to the house would be like I decided to take a cab. I’m not sure how this particular vehicle made it the whole mile or so to the house but as usual, without ceasing to amaze me, it did. It was only me and one other volunteer for Monday night. But soon learned that others were coming the next day and the next. As it turns out most volunteers weren’t ready to go back to site. There was a lot of us that were going right from camp out to Manateli, an area of Mali that is supposed to be beautiful and the last place in Mali where you can see hippos in the wild. As appealing as that and the 10 hour bus ride sounded from what I understood it is more a drunk fest that an outdoor adventure. If this was the 80s I would have been all over that, but in my older age I thought it best to stay my distance. I would be just fine with a few people eating, watching movies and relaxing in our transit house.

I stayed until Friday. Waati sera (it’s time). I got back to Bougoula by early afternoon. Enough daylight left to clean up a mess I knew there would be in my house. If nothing else there would be some lizard droppings and dust from the wind blowing through the windows. I had put my bed and tent up and I was sure it would be covered as well. I was hoping nothing moved in to my house in the 3 weeks I had been gone but I got some folks to go in before me, shake some stuff around and make sure there wasn’t anything in there for sure. After they were done I went in with a broom. It wasn’t too bad but still need everything to be moved and a good cleaning and sweeping. There was dust from the wind, there were dirt tracks up and down the walls that are left by termites that needed to be scraped off, which makes a mess, some lizard dropping, termite droppings and piles of very fine saw dust. As it turns out there are small bugs, supposedly not termites, that eat the wood ceiling beams. When they do they produce this fine saw dust that piles up around the floor and all over my stuff. I’ve noticed it before but not in such magnitude as I sweep every morning when I wake up and throughout the day when I am in and out of the house. It took about 2 hours but I was finished before dark and ready for my own “bed” for that evening. I went around and greeted everyone and let them know I was back. They seemed genuinely happy to see me. Hmmm…

The Matrone and my homologue were telling me that it had not been raining. It is rainy season. It should rain every day, but it has not been. This is very, very bad. They wait to plant the fields until rainy season comes since they have no other way of watering. But it has to rain for everything to take root and start to grow. It rained this afternoon. The whole village was sure it was because I was back. I am the best!!



This is what it looks like when it's getting ready to rain in Africa.



Muntugula visit

We finally got into town and of course you could spot us from a mile away. The welcome we received from everyone was unbelievable. They were as happy to see us as if they had known us our whole lives. It was funny to me as they weren’t that thrilled to have us there to begin with. It made me think…if I could stay out of my village for two months maybe they would be as excited for me to come back as Muntugula kaw (peeps) were. Just a thought. Some kids helped me carry my bags to “my house”. No one seemed to be around but my host sister, who didn’t show up to say goodbye the first time around, was inside sleeping. The kids woke her up and she came out of the house in somewhat of a haze. It took her a moment to realize what was going on and that I was there. When she did realize she immediately started hugging me and crying. It was only then that I finally was sure that she didn’t show up to say goodbye to me feigning being sick not because she was an asshole and didn’t like me but because she didn’t want to cry. For Malians there is a taboo to crying and making a fuss about someone or something. It is shameful for them and they will be teased about it forever…or for a good long time anyway.

When she finally calmed down enough to think she put my stuff in the house and started locking doors. It took me a minute to realize that she was getting ready to take me out to the family garden where my host mom and younger brother were. Unfortunately my older host brother was in Bamako. As it turns out he is back in school, at university, and very rarely comes home anymore. I really would love to have rested for a minute. Traveling is a tiring chore, but I was excited to get to see everyone. So we started on our 25 minute walk to the garden. The mom saw me walking up and although wasn’t quite as excited to see me as Sitan was, she was excited none the less. My host brother was out moving a cow with a plow around the field with two other boys. He appeared also not as excited to see me which I was surprised about considering how he cried and cried when I left. But again, showing emotion here is not their strong suit. We sat, we talked, we ate and then started our walk home. Host mom and brother came back to the house later that evening. We ate dinner and hung out until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore. They had set up my old room with a mattress and mosquito net. They really went out of their way to make me comfortable. I felt bad making them have to do work especially since I showed up unannounced. When I apologized and told them this they insisted that whenever I was able to come back that would always be considered my room and they are more than happy to make me comfortable.

It was a good visit but now it is Monday and time to head out. As soon as the others came by to get me so we could go and hitch a ride back up to the main road both my host sister and younger brother immediately started to cry. Sitan hugged and hugged me. I was really surprised how emotional it was since it was the second time. When we got to a waiting area by the road when I looked I saw my host mom crying as well. It touched my heart. We got a ride to the main road. Waited about a half an hour and finally got a basche (bush taxi) into Bamako to the gar (bus station). This is my first time on a basche. I have avoided them at all cost. There are the little buses that are made for about 10 people. They take out the seats, have could benches that go around the circumference of the inside and squeeze in as many people, sacks of rice and animals as they can. This bus had 17 people in it including the three of us that left at the same time. Not a comfortable ride but a ride. Got to Bamako gar which is a place I would rather never see again in my life. We were immediately approached by about six men that all wanted to “help” us get to our buses or get a taxi. I was the only one getting on a bus. There is a million (or so) people looming about. It is very overwhelming. Someone grabbed my suitcase and just started walking. The other volunteers I was with asked me why I kept following this guy. WELL for one, he has my suitcase!! On the way to the bus we parted company without even a good bye as I went in one direction and they went in another. It was all very overwhelming but finally I’m on a bus…still not to Bougoula. Between camp and Muntugula I felt that I still needed to decompress for a couple of days. I’m headed to Bougouni for a day or two…or four.

Mali AMINE!!

I think I’ve explained already how with rainy season has come a whole other array of creatures we had not experienced up until now. Scorpions are biting, termites a swarming, centipedes a crawling, flies eating all of us, locusts are leaping, fiiivvvvve scarey trarantillas… There are have been four run ins with tarantillas, including tonight’s event. So being that the internet was working so badly anyway and the lightning was getting more and more frequent I figured I would go back to my hut, take a quick shower to wash today’s Africa off and watch the second half of Sex in the City 2. Sometime during the walk back to my hut the wind picked up just coming out of nowhere. Once the wind starts you can rest assured the rain is right behind. I had enough time to grab the few things me and my roommate had drying on the clothesline from earlier in the day before the drops started. I got undressed and wrapped into a panja and headed towards the shower.

Last night I wouldn’t go into the showers or the nyegen because the swarms of termites were everywhere so I wound up peeing behind my hut. Tonight there were no termites but both showers had other various creatures. Spiders, crickets, grasshoppers, etc. So I decided I would brave the nyegen, pee and get the hell out of there. I checked around any corners inside to make sure there wasn’t anything I wasn’t aware of. Got into the squat position at half mast when I spotted right by the door a tarantilla. I opened the door, leaped about three feet from where I was standing over the creature, down the step out the door and let out a scream the likes of which I didn’t think I could even make a noise like that. It was more like three consecutive screams/screeches. There was a PCV outside by the water faucet brushing her teeth and she couldn’t help but laugh when she saw me sprint out of the nyegen. Brushing her teeth and laughing I was yelling and pointing. She finally saw the trarantilla herself. By this time two other PCVs came running from their hut and one of the Malian kitchen workers staying in the hut across from theirs came running out. In PJ pants, no shirt and holding a scarf in front of her to cover her boobs. While she was laughing she kept asking me in Bambara what was wrong…”mun? mun?” I just kept yelling, “I hate Africa, I hate Mali, Mali amine (is bad), Mali amine!!” She was laughing so hard I thought she was going to pee her pants. It was pretty funny and it’s easy for me to say them from the safety of my hut under my bug net. So in my hysteria I decided I would just pee behind my hut again. But the PCVs from next door said to just use their nyegen. The Malian woman walked me over to the shower stall, went inside and checked it out for me so I decided to go ahead and take a shower. There were no bugs in there like in ours. When I came out there were two Malian women now still just laughing and laughing. I’m sure I will be the topic of conversation at breakfast tomorrow and the brunt of many, many jokes. AMINE!!