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!
Saturday, July 9, 2011
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?
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!!
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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!!
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| 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.
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!!
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!!
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