Distances

I had an idea of what one of the poorest countries in the world should look like based on commercials about starving African children and National Geographic specials about tribes out in the boonies doing incomprehensible rituals usually involving stretching necks, walking on poles, killing animals with spears, walking on fire, or performing some other unfathomable craziness. 

Sometimes, I see or hear about exactly what I thought I’d see and hear about—there are places that make crazy masks, in which people dance around huge bonfires.  There are some (to our ears) crazy clicky sounds.  There are children that show signs of malnourishment with incredible outies atop bloated little bellies and stringy limbs. People get sick and don’t have money to get taken care of.  A child in my village died a few weeks ago from malaria.  Kids are really dirty a lot of the time and wear some of the most incredibly tattered clothes I’ve ever seen (pants with the bum blown out, pieces of fabric, pants worn as shorts, holes in everything, with breakfast, lunch, and dinner from yesterday still on it—impressive really).  There isn’t running water in my village.  There isn’t electricity in my village.  These things make me go woah! I am way in the developing world right now, and that it is a gazillion miles away from the developed world.  The difference between that ING and ED can seem pretty profound, far more than a three-letter difference would lead one to believe. 

So I think, oh, this is a developing country! So many people (women specifically) can’t read or write.  Just last week, I spotted my host sister, who is 22, carefully tracing the letter H over and over again in a paper manual, with her tongue between her teeth in a look of deep concentration.  Needless to stay, I lavished applause and pride on her for learning how to write.  My 12-year-old sister also somehow always seems to evade attending school.  When questioned why, she either tells me that she has to help cook, it's a holiday, or just laughs and looks at me, and I assume I must have missed something and drop it.  Hmmm.  Ok, yes, developing.

But, then that same 12 year sister is spouting all the numbers in French, a few of my brothers speak worthy spatterings of English, and by god everybody knows who Barack Obama is (not only know his name, but sport shirts with his face and ‘Obama girl’ inscribed on them; eat cookies called “Obama Bisiki”; and ask if I live near the white house). 

I also saw that same sister who was meticulously practicing her Hs with the light from her cell phone shining out in my compound at 8 o’clock at night as she and my host mom’s huddled over it watching some, from what I could deduce, Malian soap opera on the internet.  She’s not the only one with a phone--everyone’s got one it seems.  

Further evidence of my proximity to civilization is, for one thing, the proximity of a cold soda, which is just a bike ride away.  Many women wear make-up and get henna tattoos.  Most families seem to have flashlights.  Kids do eat three meals a day, at least in my village.  Everyone in my village lives in a house of some kind.  There are many, many ways to make not having running water no big thing (I personally am now a bigger fan of bucket baths than conventional showers).  People have some really spectacular clothes that they wear for holidays and pretty cool clothes that they wear day to day.  Even kids get sweet braids and new threads for holidays and dress reasonably well if they go to school and such.  They all have shoes.  There are many professionals and business people in Mali.  Bamako is a bustling capital, no doubt about that, where everyone zips around on scooters and motorcycles and where markets, restaurants, and music abound. 

So maybe I’m closer to the modern world than I thought.

I feel the distance between the two worlds as a very Toubab (white) lady in a very West African place sometimes though.  I feel high maintenance frequently, which is just downright frustrating as one who has before prided myself on my flexibility and necessity for little.  Now all the sudden I need shots so I don’t die, my family has to be super duper careful about everything they cook for me, I have to have a special water filter where I get my special drinking water; I have to bleach all my vegetables, I have fancy sandles with buckles and colors, I have a watch and earrings, I have a bicycle that I whiz around town on (and that, more importantly, actually fits me—I saw a five year old riding a bike the other day that was clearly made for someone at least 6 feet tall—it was a little comical, he had to ride really fast not to tip over), I have to have a special room with a special lock, a mosquito net to rest my fragile body under at night with a mattress and pillow, I have a frickin’ loofah to scrub my self with--I mean come on.   

I know, I know, from America, you’re thinking Uh, duh, of course you have to have those things so you can have your basic needs met.  I know I know I know.  But man do I feel overly privileged and rather pampered.  I feel a common twinge of frustration amongst my fellow Peace Corps Trainees is the constant feeling of being demoted to childhood again, where we have no participation in making our own food, washing our clothes, and getting our basic needs met.  Only this time we feel bad that our mom’s do everything for us but sure as hell don’t want to do it ourselves! Making all food from scratch, washing clothes without a machine, and hauling water long distances on your head, for example, is no easy feat.  Malian win the toughness award, hands down.  Truly, all they can do is laugh when I try!

I think the family I’ve been staying with has gotten used to my delicate nature and many needs.   This week I’ll be heading to my new village, which is between Sikasso and Bougauni, in the southeastern part of Mali.  We’ll see what this new village things of my delicate nature!  I am the first volunteer they’ve ever had and I may legitimately be the first white person and definitely American that some of them have ever seen!   

Well aren’t they in for a surprise.  

 I guess I am too.   

Wish me luck! 

And a bon voyage!

A day in the life....

 

Unbelievably, it was only a month and amazingly already a whole month ago that I stepped off the plane in Bamako, Mali!  Just a little more than a month ago, I was in Asheville, spending time with my lovely friends and some irreplaceable family!  Before I left, my day to day life consisted of first waking up to the noisy cricket alarm on my smart phone, pushing snooze a couple of times, and crawling out of bed to a shower and toilet (with a seat and all), and hopefully coffee very soon after.  I drove to work and hung out with crazy kids at the YMCA.  Most afternoons, I went to my French class at UNCA or spent time at my (gracious!) friend Sallie’s house in which I lived to hang out with all the neat housemates on the porch.  I cooked my own dinner every night, under a light, with an electric stove, pulling items like cheese out of the refrigerator.  Oh how things have changed!

Here in Mali, needless to say, my day-to-day life is, ahem, different shall we say.  Every morning, I wake up at 5:30 am as the call to prayer rings through my Malian families compound.  That’s snooze.  Sunrise is last call at 6:15.  Soon after, either Sira or Mamine (my host moms) calls softly at my door “Sako,” that’s my Malian name, “I b’I ko?”  If I answer “Owo,” which means yes, she’ll put hot water in a bucket in the outdoor bathroom for me to use.  The negen, as this outdoor potty is endearingly called, sounds unpleasant but is truly awesome.  My negen is a large, cement walled roofless room that consists of a hole in the ground for business, and ample space for taking a bucket bath.  Don’t knock it till you try it.

After I make myself presentable in a knee and shoulder covering outfit, I greet everone in my family.  This is the marathon.  It has to happen pre-coffee and breakfast and it has to occur between myself and every family member.  Here’s the translated dialog: 

Good morning!

--Good morning!

Was there peace in the night?

--There was only peace in the night.  Was there peace in the night?

There was only peace in the night.  How is your family?

--No problems at all.

How is your father?

--No problems.

How are you children?

--No problems.  How is your family?

No problems.

--How are your children?

No problems.

--May Allah increase the peace of the day!

Amen!

This is not skippable!  It’s super important to everyone!  After breakfast I walk to school and literally go through the same dialog with at least 10 people, whether you know them or not, anyone you pass.  And you also swap where you’re coming from and where you are heading to. But it doesn’t stop there.  Oh no.  At noon you must greet people again when you meet them.  Afternoon, you must greet them again when you meet them and ask the same questions!  At night, no different!  I think I must seriously spend an hour and a half a day just greeting people!  It’s kind of nice and dispels any of that awkward, “oh I’m walking past this person, should I say hi?”  Yes.  Always.  Every time. Being friendly can be rather time consuming.

My school is a large compound on the other side of town.  Since families are much larger in Mali, “houses” are set up differently in something called a concession or compound.  Basically, a family has a block of land, which has cement rooms surrounding a central congregating area, not so different from an outdoor living room.  It’s pretty cool.  There are big trees usually for the family to sit under and eat and hang out.  My school is at a house similar to this.  I have two teachers who are both Malian.  There are six other volunteers in my class who are all close to my age.  We learn Bambara together, painfully, as none of us have any experience in a language quite like this!  French is the “official” language of Mali, but only those who have gone through high school or further have any real grasp of French, and that is usually confined to men and some women whose families may have had a little more money. 

At noon, I return back to my families concession for lunch.  I eat almost the same thing EVERYDAY for lunch.  It’s good…but everyday is everyday!  A Malian meal is basically a starch of some kind like potatoes, rice, millet, grits, etc. with a sauce over top.  At lunch, for me, I usually have rice with an okra sauce.  I wash my hands really good because we don’t use silverware around here!  Right hands only please, and try not to make a mess.  When I first started eating with my hand, I was a mess.  Really.  I had to bathe after I ate because I had rice EVERYWHERE, shoes, skirt, face, hair.  I can’t even imagine what my family thought!  I’ve got some skills now though.

After that, I try to sneak in a very, very warm nap.  West African afternoons are toasty as the mornings are chilly.  Then it’s back to school with all gajillion greetings along the way!

After two more hours of Bambara, I come back home, greet, and try my best to help them make dinner though I am pretty useless as far as actual manual labor.  It really doesn’t matter though because just the act of me trying to do it is entertainment enough for everyone in my compound, including myself especially.  These women are amazing, for real.  They pick up fiery pieces of charcoal without flinching.  They cook outrageous quantities of rice without burning it.  They somehow manage to use this huge mortar and pestil sort of contraption to pulverize corn, sorghum, millet, etc. without hurting themselves or anyone around them, with rhythm.  Holy crap.  One day, one day.  But probably not.

After we eat dinner, men eating together in one place, women in another, and children in another, everyone chats while the goats clean up the mess.  It’s already dark by 6.30 pm, so I am pretty much zonked by 8, and also quickly deteriorating in my ability to comprehend Bambara in anyway.  So I go through the reverse greeting process, give zillions of blessings, and head to my little room, where my comfy bed, big green mosquito net, and Kindle await.  I filter out donkey brays, rooster calls, and Malian dance tunes throughout night for a peaceful, lovely sleep. 

I’ve gotta say, it’s really a pretty great day. 

Just a few overall high lights of my life these days:

-People eat porridge every morning and sometimes its mashed corn, which is grits! It’s just grits! But, fresh! They look at my funny for putting salt and powdered milk in but it just makes me so happy.

-I have secret stashes of chocolate and candy in my room that my Malian family doesn’t know about.  Mwahaha. I’m not sharing.

-Goats really, really sound like people.  When a goat looks at me on the street, it opens its mouth, sticks its tongue out, and the voice of a man imitating a goat comes out.  Its uncanny and really, really funny.

Also on goats, there are baby goats everywhere.  They are smaller than shoeboxes and very fuzzy, and also sound like people, but very small.  Equally hilarious as the adult goats but far more adorable.

-There are really cool bugs.  And rocks. 

More soon, must sleep

OH Mefloquine!

Yesterday was not such a good day.  For three days, I've been taking a medication called Mefloquine which protects my feeble little self from big scary mosquitoes with malaria.  Mefloquine, however, has some strange side effects.

For example, many people experience very vivid dreaming while they are on mefloquine or sometimes night terrors.  Many people have a hard time sleeping--some of the other volunteers didn't sleep more than a few hours over the course of three days, but still felt very energized every day.  I also met someone who experience bleeding of the eyes! Eeek!

My side effects were perhaps not as intense as bleeding of the eyes, but the first strange effect was a coppery, irony taste in my mouth all the time as if I had a penny hiding under my tongue.  The other sensation was a dull throbbing pressure behind my eyes that didn't really hurt but made it a little hard to focus.  However, yesterday, it really got to me!  Mefloquine can also play with your emotions and anxiety and that's just what I got.  By the middle of the day I couldn't sit in the session due to some pretty intense anxiety so I went to the nurse's ward where I was very loopy and feeling drugged without a way to come down.  After a couple hours, I felt better and I feel good now though I couldn't sleep much last night. Bah!


HOWEVER!  Today is a big huge day!! Let the awkwardness begin!! I will be moving in with my homestay family this morning.  My homestay family is a Malian family that lives in Bamako, and apparently my host dad is the chief of the little village outside Bamako in which he lives.  I"ll be staying in their house, taking meals with them, drinking tea with them, using the negen (hole toilet! it's really not that bad though!), and using their Malian-ness as a base for me to learn all about Malian culture, including improving my Bambara and French.  WooohoOo!

Also, this weekend is a festival called Tabaski! It is a Muslim festival (most of Mali is Muslim) that celebrates that story of Abraham.  If you are not familiar with this story, it's the same story as in the Bible!  Some may not know that Islam and Christianity share many stories, similar to Judaism and Christianity.  So, this story is the tale of Abraham's faith to God through his willingness to sacrifice his own son.  However, just as he was about to do it! Bum bum bum!
His son was saved and God told him to sacrifice a sheep instead, much to the joy of Abraham's son!



So Tabaski entails, I hear, eating lots of sheep, going to Mosque, big markets, music....all the wonderfulness of a festival!

So, most importantly to those of you who keep up with me and worry for my safety, I will most likely be internet free for a couple weeks, until Thanksgiving or so.  Don't worry!!  I'm not dead yet.

One other little story to tell....after my awful day yesterday, I went for a shower in one of the little cement structures outside of our huts.  I was pretty exhausted, freaking out a little, under the grey glow of the florescent lights.  As I closed the door, a praying mantis freaked out and began launching itself against all four walls of the little room in an attempt to get out, which also freaked me out, of course.  He finally settled down across from me as a started washing my hair and I took my eyes off him for a minute.  When I looked back, he also seemed to be washing his "hair,"  pulling his mantis-arms over his eyes, not unlike a cat, and not unlike me at the moment. 

Ok gotta go pack for homestay!

Lots of love, talk to you soon

Day 1!

Well, I managed to carry all 70 lbs of my junk across the ocean to my new home in Mali, West Africa!

I'm currently occupying a little hut with two other ladies.  There are several other huts around us and all of them are surrounded by a metal barricade.  There is a cafeteria area with a big open space and computers where everyone seems to hang out, and that's where I am now.

I'll be here about the Peace Corps compound for a week then I'll be going to my homestay--a Malian family to call my own!  I'm little nervous and very intrigued by this after driving through Bamako, the capital, today when leaving the airport.  The roads were mostly dirt and a brownish red color.  We passed donkeys leading carts, dark women in beautiful cloths carrying baskets with 4 and 5 oblong watermelons in them on their heads, shanty half-built houses with its occupants on the front patio drinking tea or trying to sell things, and sheep everywhere.  Many "compounds" (I'm not sure what else to call them as they are not really houses but not really huts--many are cement or mud with metal roofs) also had tall skinny cement structures in front that I found out where barbecues--throw in the sheep in the morning and come get it later. Mmmm.

I also saw the Sahara Desert for the first time today and the Niger river from the plane.  I couldn't believe how huge the desert looked or how wide the Niger was.  I though about The Little Prince (Le Petit Prince) the whole time over the Sahara, remembering the pilot's encounter in that story with the little Prince in the Sahara after his plane crashed.  The city of Bamako looks as if it has washed up on the river's shore in a flood and continued to spread in half-made structures and rusty roads, it's own type of urban sprawl!

There are big toads everywhere that leap away from your feet and flashlight as you walk down the paths, and smaller sounding tree-frogs that chirp in the night.  There are so many new types of little bugs.  I haven't taken the malaria medication, but I'm a little worried about the strange dreams it may induce and the other potential side effects like hair loss I have heard about.  But, it's better than malaria, right?

Everything else aside I think that I will love it here! The people seem really friendly, both the other Peace Corps volunteers and the Malians.

I'll keep you posted!

Good night--