La Nostalgie

Since I’ve spent the past week or so feeling really nostalgic, I’ve thought a lot about what I’m going to miss about this country. Of course there is the obvious: I will miss my family, the girls on the program, and all of the other friends I’ve made here. But there are definitely other, more discreet aspects of life here that I am going miss. The pace of life here, though it did take some getting used to, is so much more laid back than life in the US. There’s a lot of sitting around and waiting… which still bothers me at times, but it’s a more relaxed lifestyle than anything back home. Then of course there is all of the importance of greetings, and how no one simply walks by each other in the street. Also, although it will be nice to eat the food back home, I’m going to miss the dablennin (hibiscus drink), degue (yoghurt-millet porridge), tigadegena (peanut sauce), pain au chocolat from pastry shops, zere (watermelon), and all of the other delicious fruit. I’m going to miss spending the last 4 months Lady Gaga-free. I’m going to miss the bright colors that everyone wears. I’m going to miss never having to worry about layering, and being able to just throw on a tank top and go outside. I’m going to miss seeing Malian men riding their motos with their boubous blown up by the wind, making them look like marshmallows. I’m going to miss the French television my family watches, notably the international new on France 24.  I’m going to miss stepping out of my house and watching soccer games on the field right outside. I’m going to miss waking up to the quiet sound of sweeping outside of my window. I’m also going to miss not having constant internet access; it’s been a nice break. And I’m really going to miss hearing my name, Raki.

That isn’t to say that there aren’t some things I won’t miss. Having privacy is currently the number one thing I’m looking forward to, especially now that my sister has taken to locking me out of my room basically every day. It’ll be nice to finally sleep through the night without being woken up with lights, my sister’s phone calls, and loud music. My family has also been fighting a lot lately, and it’s uncomfortable for me to sit through. I’m really looking forward to controlling what I eat and when I eat it. I won’t miss inhaling diesel fuels every day when I cross the paved road near my house. And it’ll be nice to be able to walk down the road without hearing “toubabou!” nine hundred times.

As my days remaining in this country are down to the single digits, the negative things about my time here are harder to think of, since the positive aspects are so much more important and are the things I want to remember. I’m sure that when I get back home, the bad things will be a distant memory, and I’ll just want to come back.

Crunch Time

Phew. The last week was crazy, but I’ve finally turned in my ISP and feel like I can relax again. After going back to Kalaban Coura for a couple of nights last weekend, I headed back to Sikoro to finish up my project. On Monday, I interviewed two more government officials: a worker for the Service of Sanitation, Pollution, and Environment, and the representative of Sikoro to the “town hall” of Commune I, the district of Bamako that Sikoro is in. The interviews were interesting; they echoed a lot of the grievances that the mayor of Sikoro has told to me the week before. The government’s resources are just too limited to provide adequate sanitary infrastructure to Bamako’s booming population.

I spent the day on Tuesday writing up my report in French for the coordinator of PACAPSI, the NGO I’ve been working with over these weeks. I promised him I’d give him a summary of my findings at the end of my time with him… but it really was a lot of extra work on top of my ISP. After turning over to him my 25-page report, he read it and said, “But you didn’t include anything about liquid waste, only solid waste.” Needless to say, I was a bit annoyed. I told him I could give it to him next week, after I finished up my paper for SIT.

I moved back to Kalaban Coura on Tuesday night and dedicated the next two days to writing my paper. It was exhausting, and I don’t really want to have to think about it again, at least for a couple of days. It felt good to turn it in… but I do have to present my research for 30 minutes on Wednesday, so I can’t totally put the subject out of my head quite yet.

After turning in my paper, my rapidly diminishing amount of time in this country became a reality. I’m starting to really dread going back. Although it will be nice to take a shower, not be hot all the time, and download Taylor Swift’s newest album (and of course to see my family), I cannot imagine leaving what I have made my home here in Bamako. My family is truly wonderful, and I hate that I’ll have to leave here without them really knowing how much they mean to me, since there’s no way to put it. They gave me a beautiful gift yesterday: a dress of beautiful green and purple tie-dye, several bracelets, and a pair of leather sandals. My father keeps threatening to hide my suitcase so I won’t be able to leave. I’m mostly worried since keeping in touch with them really won’t be too easy, but I’ll have to find some way to make it work.

Today we had our final party at school. All of our homestay families were invited, and we were asked to prepare the food. Our options were fairly limited, since we don’t have access to an oven and instead cook everything over coals, but we ended up making a pretty delicious (if I do say so myself) stir fry with a wide variety of veggies along with homemade hummus served with pita bread. Modibo’s wife provided some Malian food… which was probably for the best since I don’t think my family was crazy about the vegetable-filled meal and were happier to eat something they were familiar with. I, however, ate a lot of the stir fry and hummus, and was extremely content.

I feel really weird right now; I’m essentially done academically and now have all this free time that I don’t know what to do with, but I definitely don’t want to spend the next week and a half twiddling my thumbs waiting to leave. I guess I’ll just have to enjoy my time with my family as much as possible.

Happy Thanksgiving

                Well, I have finally finished my week plus of walking (more like hiking) around Sikoro, literally wandering into people’s homes and asking them to partake in my questionnaire. It was interesting, to say the least, and very, very hot (in the upper nineties everyday… how is it November?). I’m lucky enough to have a wonderful translator, Souleyman, who is a joy to be around… lucky because I’ve spent five hours with him every day for the past week and a half.

                My survey consisted of a dozen or so questions about where families get their water for both drinking and utilization (cleaning, cooking, laundry, etc.), how long it takes to collect the water, who does the actual collecting and how many times a day, where the families dispose of their solid waste, and how they empty out their pit latrines when they are filled up. Listening to people’s grievances about obtaining water is not easy. It is especially difficult for those living on the top of the hill, for the closest water source they have is a well located relatively high up, but by no means near the top, and the potability of this water is questionable. Not only that, but carrying buckets of water up the steep hills is truly unimaginable for me, since it was really a struggle without a load. Families at the bottom of the hill, where it is crowded but there are more water sources, face huge problems with lines at the public faucets: it can take them several hours to collect their water even if they live 100 yards away. The problem is worsened exponentially during the dry season (March-May), when most wells dry up and the faucets are sometimes cut off during the daytime hours, and thus families can only obtain their water between midnight and five in the morning.

                Trash pick-up is a bit less of an issue, thanks to PACAPSI, the NGO with which I’m working. They’ve supplied a lot of the GIEs (private enterprises that charge small fees to take care of trash pick-up since the government doesn’t do it) with suitable equipment, like working tractors and new shovels (as opposed to the donkey and cart routine), and have organized them to provide for different sectors and all charge the same price, as opposed to competing with each other. However, because the state of the roads is so bad in areas of the neighborhood, GIEs cannot access a number of households (notably those on the top of the hill, where there literally is no road access).

                Today I met with the mayor of Sikoro. A soft-spoken, sweet man, he lamented to me about just how hard his job is. There are a lot of things he wishes he could do, and that he knows he should be doing, but that he simply does not have the funds. He explained that Sikoro is not high on the government of commune 1’s list of priorities, so he is hardly given anything financially. He also said that the commune government “has not put a cent” into bettering the sanitation of the neighborhood. No wonder PACAPSI faces such hurdles.

                Living in Sikoro is going well. My family is not the friendliest, but I do have my own room and I’m a five minute walk away from PACAPSI. Also, there’s an American NGO in the neighborhood and I run into their workers nearly every day, so it’s really not too lonely. It’s also a nice change to live on the north side of the Niger River, where all of the action takes place.

                I cannot believe today is Thanksgiving. I’m meeting up with the other girls in the program for dinner tonight; those that went away to different cities are now back and I’m looking forward to seeing them and eating well! The fact that it’s turkey day is a rude awakening that I now have less than three weeks in this country… it’s really upsetting since I finally feel like I have my bearings. I guess that just means I’ll have to come back!

Relocation… and Sheep’s Blood

                Well, I guess it’s about time I actually write a bit about what I’m researching for my Independent Study Project. After much inner debate, I finally chose to stay in Bamako. I had originally been desperate to get out of the city – away from the pollution, traffic, and noise – but I’m used to it now, and am learning to love it.

                The overall theme for my research is to explore the effects of rapid urbanization on health. I’m working in Sikoro, one of the poorest neighborhoods in Bamako on the outskirts of the city that is growing at an explosive rate, with an NGO that focuses on sanitation and access to water in the neighborhood. The organization, called PACAPSI, consists of a couple of Malian men working out of a tiny office in Sikoro. In the past week and a half, I’ve managed to design my research project, complete all of my background research, write up a questionnaire for families in the neighborhood, and start administering the questionnaire. Specifically, I’ve decided to look into the partnership between the NGO and the local government, since it does a lot of things that the government is supposed to do like trash pick-up and water provision.

                Sikoro is unlike anywhere else in Bamako, and entering the neighborhood from Hippodrome, one of the more “modern” areas of the city, is striking. Perched on a steep hill on the border of the Manding Mountains, the neighborhood is extremely inaccessible. None of the roads are paved, and a lot of them are even unreachable by cars and wagons. You can imagine how this complicates matters of trash pick-up, which shows: litter is strewn about the streets, and piles of burning trash are ubiquitous. The local government, which, with Mali’s system of decentralization, is supposed to take care of waste management, does not have the resources to keep up with the neighborhood’s rapid growth. Private organizations now have the duty of trash pick-up, but their services are not free, and some families cannot afford the $3.00 a month fee.  Access to water is another huge problem for the neighborhood. Only 3 percent of the people have running water access in their homes, and the rest rely on common fountains, wells, and pumps. Transporting barrels of water up steep cliffs is one of the major grievances for the people of Sikoro. The problem is intensified during the dry season (March-May), when many of the fountains are cut off and the wells dry up.   Illnesses caused by these problems consist of dysentery, diarrhea, malaria (which is intensified by the stagnant water in the neighborhood, providing breeding grounds for mosquitos), among others. 

                Since the neighborhood is extremely far from Kalaban Coura, where my host family lives, I’ve had to relocate to Sikoro for the time being. I have a new host family – the Gakous – and am attempting to settle into life at their home, though it’s not easy. No one in the family speaks French, save one of the children (who doesn’t speak much) and the father, who is always at work. My Bambara skills can only get me so far. Fortunately their home is only a five minute walk from PACAPSI, cutting my commute time down immensely. It’s also definitely interesting to be living the problems of water access: we have no running water and have to store the water from the common fountain in buckets and giant barrels around the house.

                I can always come back to my host family in Kalaban Coura, and I took advantage of that this yesterday, for the celebration of Tabaksi. The Muslim holiday’s “claim to fame” is the animal sacrifice that occurs in the morning, and the eating of that animal for the rest of the day. In Mali, the animal of choice is a ram. The morning of Tabaksi, I got into a shared taxi filled with Malians dressed up in their nicest bazin outfits. As we drove through the city, I saw a few sacrifices occurring on the side of the road, but managed to turn my head away in time to avoid seeing the blood. As I walked to my house, I saw the ram tied up outside and my sisters digging a hole in the dirt. They explained that the hole was for the ram’s blood. Oh boy.

                My dad came outside all excited, telling me to get my camera and laughing at my dread for the sheep’s death. A new knife had been purchased for the slitting of the throat, and he ceremoniously brought it out of the house. Our neighbor seemed to be the man in charge of the actual killing, since he walked around door to door and did the deed at all of our neighbors’ houses.

                I guess the actual killing wasn’t that bad, but when my father brought me a chair to view the butchering of the animal it was a bit much for me. After the ram’s entire coat had been removed, I retreated to my room for a nap. I had a really vivid dream that my parents (my real, United States parents), came to visit Mali on Tabaski and to partake in the slaughtering and to meet my Malian parents. When I woke up the worst was over. I went out back to the kitchen, and all signs of the slaughtering were gone, save the ribs that my sister was grilling over coals. My mother told me she’d bought watermelon, papaya, and was making dablennin (the delicious hibiscus drink) – all things she knows I love. She was also making yassa, a really good onion sauce, so I knew I was in good hands.

                The meal was great. It really did make up for being here for Thanksgiving. I ate until I could not eat anymore, and then my mother brought out the fruit, so I ate some of that. Needless to say, by late afternoon I had entered a food coma, and spent the rest of the day lying in bed with Nene. Overall, it was a great fête.

Quirks

Well, I’d say I’m officially “used to” living in Bamako… the traffic doesn’t terrify me anymore (save my experience at the wedding last weekend), hearing “toubabou” (white person) yelled at me by children in the street has become the norm, and my stomach has officially adapted to (most of) the food – I don’t even treat my water anymore. (This is especially great because I can now buy dablennin, a deliciously sweet drink made from the hibiscus plant, off the street for 10 cents -- I’m drinking some as I write.) Since I feel pretty adapted to life here, I’ve realized that there are things about Bamako that I originally thought were weird or crazy that I don’t even notice anymore, but that you, my oh so devoted blog reader, may find amusing. Here are some that I can think of:

1.       Soap operas. I don’t want to generalize but… they sure do love their soap operas here. My host family must watch 3-4 different ones a day; sometimes they play at the same time so they have to flip back and forth between the two. The soap operas are of a variety of nationalities: Spanish (of course), Brazilian, Indian (my favorite), even Cote d’Ivoirian. All dubbed in French, of course. Watching them with my host sisters has definitely sparked some interesting conversations on a variety of things like infidelity and bulimia… but I usually steer clear from the living room when they’re on.

2.       Barack Obama paraphernalia.SO MUCH! They love Barack… it’s actually very nice to feel proud of being an American. Barack Obama t-shirts. Barack Obama hair salons. Barack Obama painted on sotramas (the form of public transportation). Obama Biscuits – basically buttery cookies served in American flag packaging sold all over the place. My favorite is the “Barack Obama American Restaurant” in Sikoro, an extremely poor peri-urban neighborhood.

3.       Non-alcoholic beer. Being a Muslim country, there is a big market for it here. It’s funny to see “0.0% Alcohol” as a major advertising slogan.

4.       Mercedes Benz. More than half of the cars in this city are really old Mercedes that run on diesel fuel. My host dad drives one. I guess they really are good quality since they last so long!

5.       American T-Shirts. I know this isn’t unique to Mali, but I still can’t get over it when I see a Malian woman on a sotrama wearing a “Pennsylvania Jewish Little League” t-shirt.

6.       Cell phones. No matter how busy you are, if your cell phone rings, you answer it. This is something I don’t think I will ever get used to. The amount of times we were in class with a guest lecturer and they answered their cell phone I cannot count. Another memorable one was our tour guides on the grand excursion… no matter if they were in the middle of recounting the history of the Djenne mosque to us, if their cell phone rang, they’d answer. And then there is of course my sister, who answers her cell phone in her sleep.  Putting your phone on silent is something unheard of here. What I gather is that it’s actually ruder to ignore someone’s call than it is to answer your phone in the company of others.

The list surely could go on and on, but those are my favorites.

Le Mariage

Yesterday, my sister took me to her good friend’s wedding. (She called the friend her cousin, but I’m not sure if that’s really the case since family lines are very blurred in this country and all of our neighbors call my host parents “mom” and “dad.”) She told me the night before to be ready to leave at 9AM, but punctuality is not Malian’s forte, so you can imagine my surprise when, at 8:45 Sunday morning, Aka opened the door and said, “We’re leaving.” I threw on the one fairly nice dress that I brought to this country and was rushed into the car of a young man that I was never formally introduced to, but I assume is one of Aka’s friends. I sat in the back with Haby, my little sister, and her friend Ami. The car started up, drove quite literally around the corner, and we had arrived. Aka told us to stay in the car while she went into the house, and there we sat for 30 minutes. I asked Haby what on earth we were doing, and she said waiting for the bride and groom to arrive. Finally a big SUV pulled up, honking its horn oh so obnoxiously, and the bride and groom stepped out and went into the house. I was confused as to why we stayed in the car, but about three minutes later they came back out and got back into the SUV. Aka came back to the car and informed me that we were going to the neighborhood’s town hall for the official marriage. The drive there – and all of the drives that I would take on this day – was quite literally one of the more terrifying experiences of my life. The traffic in Bamako is not the safest, as there are so many cars and mopeds and so little street signage or traffic lights, but I never really feel like my life is in actual danger. Yesterday, however, was different. The marriage caravan was much like a funeral procession in the USA with everyone’s hazard lights blinking, but unlike a funeral procession, where drivers go especially slowly, these drivers were speeding especially quickly and slamming their horns the entire way.

When we arrived at the town hall, it was completely crazy. There were two other weddings there at the same time, so literally hundreds of people crowded into the small courtyard. Griots were all around, serenading people (I was lucky enough to be the recipient of a serenade…), and the overall energy was very high. The women were dressed very ornately, most of them wearing bazin, a white, waxy cloth that women purchase and then have colored in beautiful tie-dye patterns. Their make-up is pretty extreme – many of them paint on thick eyebrows and put on brightly colored eye shadow to match their dresses – and most of them wear wildly high plastic heels. (It is a funny sight to see them trying to walk on the dirt roads strewn with rocks and garbage). All of them wear wigs or weaves in their hair. Most men also wear bazin, with a “boubou” and a matching pair of pants, although some wore western-style suits and ties that didn’t quite fit them properly (pants too long, tie too short, etc.). We stayed at the town hall for about twenty minutes, mingling with the others and taking photos.

Finally we left, presumably after the official papers were signed, although I didn’t even see the bride and groom the entire time we were there. Getting out was a bit hairy, with a bottleneck through the tiny gate to the town hall, but eventually we made it out and got to the car. We sped back to the couple’s house and were herded into their courtyard. There was an area of seating for the men on one side, and women stood and mingled on the other. Sodas were served to everyone, and I was just opening mine up when Aka grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s go!” Off I was, herded back into the car, this time to be driven all the way across the city to Hippodrome, a neighborhood in the Northeast. Time spent in the car: 40 (terrifying) minutes. Time spent at the destination: 45 seconds. I was told we were going to greet the parents of the bride and groom, but I didn’t even make it into the house before the greeting was finished. And so this continued: drive, get out at someone’s house, watch everyone go in, stand outside with a bunch of young men and women, watch everyone leave the house, get back in the car, and drive some more. This probably occurred seven or eight times. Finally we were taken to an Espace Culturelle, essentially an outdoor setting for functions, and were seated at tables with very loud music playing. We stayed there for about 10 minutes, for Aka to pose in some pictures with the bride, and then left before everyone else did. We drove back to the bride and groom’s house, and I was shocked to see hundreds of people there, sitting under a tent. Musicians were performing and people were dancing, even though the bride and groom were not there. Aka explained to me that they were waiting for them to return from the Espace Culturelle. I sat under the tent for about 20 minutes listening to the music and watching the dancing, until about 2:00PM, when my host mother sent me home for lunch. At this point, after five hours of running around Bamako, I was relieved to go home. My other sisters didn’t come home until about 4PM, and they told me that the wedding would keep occurring until sunset, when the couple would be delivered to the location of their first night together. The new wife will stay in that location in bed for the next seven days. According to my sister she can receive visitors, but she cannot leave. Quite a honeymoon…

I cannot believe how exhausting the wedding was. It was definitely interesting and I’m glad I went, but phew!

The Grand Excursion

I am exhausted, freckled, and my butt is sore from spending days in what is most certainly the world’s most uncomfortable van, but I am also very pleased with my travels around Mali and am so sad they are over. There is a lot to write about and many stories to tell, so I’ll break it up by recounting all of the highlights from the various places we visited.

We started out in Sikasso, a small city 370 kilometers southeast of Bamako and capital of the Sikasso region. The region could really be called Mali’s “bread basket;” it is noticeably verdant (especially compared to the rest of the country) and is the country’s primary region for agriculture. The town itself really isn’t a tourist destination like some of the other stops on our trip, but that made it nice to walk around without being harassed by vendors and guides. We also did get to visit a few cool things… most exciting was Missirikoro, a village outside of Sikasso with a beautiful grotto that we got to hike around. The cave itself is used as a Muslim mosque, but also animists come and perform sacrifices in this sacred place. (When we went, we came across a group of village chiefs from surrounding areas that had come to sacrifice chickens for good fortune for their villages.) We also got to climb to the top of a cliff for a stunning view of the region. Unfortunately, everything else we did in Sikasso was pretty underwhelming. For example, we visited the “great wall” of Sikasso – the “tata” – which is actually a crumbling down mud wall no taller than 6 feet built for protection in the late 1800s. (You can imagine our reactions after being told we were going to visit the “great wall of Sikasso.”)

Our next stop was Teriya Bugu, Mali’s first ecotourism project. The hotel is perched on the River Bani and is surrounded by eucalyptus trees and so many incredible birds (the best were certainly the wild peacocks). Teriya Bugu was created by a French missionary who came to Mali in the 1960s; all of the hotel’s earnings go into the development of the surrounding villages, providing schools, healthcare, jobs, electricity, and running water. It was definitely a treat visiting this little slice of paradise, with wild birds so loud you can’t hear each other speaking and with a restaurant serving fresh baked bread. Coincidentally another study abroad program run by Antioch College was in Teriya Bugu the same nights as we were, so we got to spend some time with the students and compare about our experiences.

Our next stop was Djenné… wow. What a town. It is striking how different it is from Bamako. For one, the landscape is much drier and dustier, especially compared to Sikasso. Djenné is north, between Bamako and Mopti. It is on the River Bani; we had to take a ferry across to get there. Right now, since it’s the end of the rainy season, it is essentially half under water since the town was built on the floodplain, so it is filled with seasonal lakes and ponds. The most striking thing about the town is that all buildings are constructed with the same medium: mud. Of course the most exciting thing to see is the colossal mud mosque, the largest mud structure in the world. Although a mosque has stood in its place since the 13^th century, the current structure was built in 1907. (The picture on my blog is of the mosque). Every year before the start of the rainy season, members of the town volunteer to resurface it with another layer of mud. Sadly, we weren’t allowed to go in since tourists were banned a few years back. It was still awesome to see, especially since we arrived during Friday noontime prayer, so afterwards we got to see hundreds and hundreds of men pour out of the mosque. After dinner, Jessie and I heard loud drumming coming from next to our hotel, so we walked over to see what was going on a stumbled upon a rehearsal for a men’s dance troop preparing for a national competition. The guys were very nice and kept asking us if we wanted to go up and dance to… we had to turn them down, however. I’ve had enough humiliating public dancing in this country to last a lifetime.

After Djenné, we went to the Dogon Country. Getting there was a pain because the last 60 kilometers were on a very, very bad road; we were essentially bouncing over rocks for two hours. However, it was totally worth it. We arrived at Sangha and my first thought was, “People actually live here?” That is, there is no arable land in sight, and the ground is made of stone since we were perched on a cliff so digging wells seems like it would be pretty difficult. The next morning we woke up bright and early (we didn’t even need an alarm since there was a rooster crowing at 4 in the morning outside of our window) and left for the hike before seven. It was already uncomfortably hot, and the sun had only just risen. The hike began walking across the rocky terrain I had previously mentioned. There was a bit of vegetation, but overall it really felt like walking on another planet. Then, all of a sudden, we started climbing down and were able to see that we were in fact perched on top of the cliffs. The views of the green valley were stunning. Hiking down the cliff, we reached the village of Ireli. Dogon villages may be the most interesting places I have ever visited. For one, they are visually stunning, built up against cliffs and consisting of mud huts, their most distinctive being the granaries, small round buildings with straw roofs that look like witch hats. Above the villages are ancient pygmy dwellings, built into the cliffs hundreds of feet above the ground. Dogon history is a bit muddled, so it is unclear why the Dogon originally moved into the cliffs. Today, the Dogon remain widely untouched by Islam, which is very different from the rest of the country. Instead, they are animist. For this reason, walking around Dogon country without a guide is a bad idea, since really anything could be sacred, and if you take a photo of it or walk into a sacred space you will be forced to pay a high fine. Trekking in Dogon country was so incredible and I absolutely want to go back and do more of it. Since we were only there for one full day, we only visited two villages, but it’s possible to spend days and days going from village to village. However, I will say I’m grateful we only hiked for one morning, since it must have been over 100 degrees by the time we made it back to the hotel at around noon. We were not a pretty sight to see after five hours of pretty tough hiking in the intense sun.

Finally, we visited Mopti, a small city located where the Niger and Bani rivers converge. Mopti has stayed small because it was in fact originally built on several islands, which have now been connected by dykes and landfill. Its main industry is fishing, and the quintessential image of Mopti is of long, thin pirogues out in the river. We got to take a pirogue out, which was lovely and peaceful. It is easy to see that Mopti is essentially constructed on artificial land at this time of year, since it’s the end of the rainy season and some peoples’ homes are completely flooded. We basically spent our day wandering about the town, visiting the market and the area where pirogues are built. For lunch, we actually had deliciously fresh fish served with a curry sauce… yum yum yum.

For the last night of the trip, we went back to Sikasso to hang out, swim in the pool, and use the wifi.

Overall, the trip was great, although I will say I wish the ratio of time in the car to out of the car would have been different, since we really did spend half of our time in transit. It was great to get out and see the rest of the country, to spend nights having slumber parties in the hotels, to drink boxed wine, and to hang out with Alou, the driver, and Suleman, the apprenti drinking tea and causer-ing. Two of the nights Jessie and I went out with Suleman, and we had a fun time meeting an array of Malians, other tourists (namely two Norwegian men who could not speak a word of French and were quite out of place), and tons of guides trying to convince us to hire them…and then not leaving us alone when we said no (this actually almost led to a fist fight between over-protective Suleman and one guide).

This afternoon I got back to my family and Bamako –  I wasn’t thrilled to be back since our independent studies start so soon and I’m anxious about it and would rather just keep traveling – but coming back to my little brother joyfully screaming “Raki!!” and attacking me in a hug was a warm welcome home.

I’m getting a little panic-y over the fact that I only have six weeks left in this country. Although it’s not easy, I absolutely love being here and experiencing such different things every day. I am looking forward to lots of things about going back home, but in the end I’m going to be devastated to leave, and six weeks sounds like nothing!

Then There Were Five...

Yesterday was a sad day for our group. Anne Marie, one of our classmates, had to go back to the United States because of a family emergency. We are really upset… since there are only six people in the group, losing one is a hard blow. I wish only the best for her and for her to have a smooth reentry.

After a somewhat exhausting week, we are finally done with classes! Monday we depart for the grand excursion, a trip around the country that lasts two weeks. I am very excited. Exams were a bit of a pain, but they were all take-home which was nice. I’m just relieved to be done. Today, for the last day of class, we had a musical performance by a group of griots. They performed songs for each of us individually, as is done at weddings and other events, and we each had to get up one by one and dance… humiliating as usual.

We did go on one interesting excursion this week to Save the Children. The organization’s tiny office is on the top floor of an apartment building in a newer quartier of Bamako. The director, an Irish American who has lived all over the world but started his travels in Mali when he was in the Peace Corps 20 years ago, had a lot to say about working for an NGO focused on development – so much to say that we were there for over two hours. He was great, though, and gave us a lot of helpful advice about living and working abroad.

Aside from that, the week was filled with homework, lectures, and feeling sticky and hot. The cold season is right around the corner, and I can’t wait.

Back to the Grind

This has been a very long and somewhat trying week.

Unfortunately, my feelings towards my schoolwork have continued to plummet. Not only do we continue to have lectures that insult our intelligence, but we also have a multitude of assignments due in the next week, which adds another level of stress to the situation. I began the week with the idea of spending the pointless parts of school working on my Bambara, which has been pretty successful and I’ve actually improved significantly! I’m planning on continuing with that this week. I shouldn’t say that all parts of school have been pointless – I still absolutely adore my French professor. Every day he comes to class with a stimulating topic to discuss, usually making up for our painful morning lecture. Examples of topics we talked about this week are dowries in Mali (which are common; Ousmane was surprised that they essentially do not exist in the United States) and Mali’s import and export economy. The best day was when Ousmane asked us to explain the game of baseball, as he said that when he was in the U.S. he could never manage to comprehend it. Sitting around a table in Mali and explaining the system of “three strikes and you’re out” in French class was bizarre but made me feel oddly patriotic. It also made me realize that this will be the first year in a long time that I won’t be watching the World Series. Sad.

Aside from a frustrating week at school, we did go on some interesting excursions. We visited the APDF, a Malian feminist organization, which was bittersweet. The women that work there are truly incredible, but they are up against some really big odds. One of their programs is to eliminate female circumcision in Mali, which they do by showing informational videos or giving talks on the dangers of excision to communities where it is still prevalent, and by training the women who base their livelihoods on circumcision to perform other income-generating tasks.

We also visited a vocational training center for adolescents that did not attend secondary school. The program begins by teaching literacy in Bambara; the students must complete two levels before their vocational training. Then, each student can choose what they wish to specialize in. Choices include tailoring, hair dressing, plumbing, electrical work, masonry, making food such as yoghurt and degue (a porridge-like substance, made with millet and milk and served cold – I eat a lot of this), and wood working, among others.

We visited a similar vocational training center called the Centre Aoua Keita, but this one is only for women and specializes in hospitality. The highlight of that trip was getting two freshly baked madeleine cookies…

Outside of school, on Wednesday night, a bunch of us went out to dinner with an Egyptian man that Jessie had met, Ahmed. He was excited to meet someone that spoke English (he doesn’t speak a word of French, and doesn’t really want to learn), so he invited us out to a restaurant. He even got his driver to come out to our neighborhood and pick us up. Ahmed works for an internet company and is stationed in Bamako for three months. At this point, he’s been here for two and a half. He brought us to a restaurant where expats frequent, telling us he eats there every night. Exchanging stories with him made me realize how utterly different our experiences are. He is essentially living the least Malian life he can: he goes out to eat at two restaurants, his driver takes him to and from his house, he spends all of his time with his coworkers, he does not know a word of French (not to mention Bambara), and he essentially just doesn’t care. We were trying to explain why we chose to come here, and he could not wrap his head around it. Coming home that night, I relief to be coming back to my host family. I understand that Mali is not an easy place to live, but his utter lack of curiosity was distressing.

On Saturday we got a special treat. Jessie’s parents are visiting Mali for the week, and we got to go to their hotel, swim in the pool, and were treated to a beautiful lunch. Her mother brought us homemade cookies (chocolate chip and sugar) and we got to benefit from the hotel’s free wifi. After seven weeks in Mali, it was lovely to be with her family.

On Saturday night, I got to accompany my sister to a baptism.  We were driven there by one of our neighbors, and on our way there we picked up another woman. When we arrived at the baptism, which took place under a large tent outside of the new mother’s home, I was struck by all of the colors the women were wearing. The evening’s festivities are only for the women; Aka explained to me that the men have a separate ceremony in the morning. We approached the tent and found a place to sit on the ground. As soon as I sat down, I heard someone singing extremely loudly. When I looked over, I realized that it was the woman we picked up on the way there. Aka explained to me that she is a griot, very well-known and respected in the community. Griots, essentially bards, are a huge aspect of Malian culture, where history is mostly oral. About six griots essentially led the baptism, presenting gifts on behalf of the gift-givers and singing. I was most taken aback by the magnitude of the gifts presented. They consisted mostly of pagnes (cloth) or money. By the end, Fifi (the new mother) had received over 60 new pagnes and more than 500,000 FCFA (over $1,000). I was really shocked by people’s generosity. Aka told me that this is the norm at each baptism; some new mothers received even more money.

Today was our last Monday at school. Only one more week of classes! Then we spend two weeks traveling, followed by a month-long Independent Study Project. Things are definitely looking up! I just have to make it through this week.

Out of the Sticks

            Well, I have returned from my week in Sanankoroba, a village right outside of Bamako. “Village” is a weird term for the place, since it’s on a road that leads to Bamako and has a population of 12,000, but it definitely felt light years away: it is exponentially quieter (except for the sound of roosters crowing at 2 in the morning), cleaner, and the pace of life is much slower.

We got to live with our homestay families in pairs, which was fortunate because most of the family members didn’t speak French.  My partner Maddie and I were with the Coulibaly family, which consists of Sounkalo, our grandfather, Awa, our grandmother, and a bunch of cousins (who were completely adorable). The family is quite untraditional since most of the grandchildren are being raised by their grandparents while their own parents live and work in Bamako. The kids stay in Sanankoroba because schooling is less expensive than in the city. It was a little difficult to figure out what exactly our family members do for a living, but our 20-year-old cousin Abdulaye (our only French-speaking relative) told us that our grandfather’s main job is to run the village mosque. It was also clear that the family farms millet and raises animals (chickens, sheep, and a cow), but I’m not sure whether that’s for subsistence or commerce.

I absolutely loved village life. Each family has its own compound, composed of a collection of mud huts, an outdoor area for cooking, and a negen (outhouse). I still don’t really understand who lives in separate huts – I believe that in traditional families the children stay with their mother while their father has his own– but in our case, Maddie and I had our own hut that belonged to a family member that was out of town. We slept on the ground on mattresses that we brought. At night when it cooled down, we kept the door open (which was a bit scary because of all of the animals outside) which made sleeping much easier and cooler than in Bamako, even though we had no fan. It was so wonderful being somewhere that had a gorgeous view of the stars.

Our family was great. Since there were no parents in the compound and the grandparents are pretty old, neighbors come by and bring them dinner every night. Our cousin Abdulaye prepared our meals for us – the first (and probably only) time I’ve seen a man come even close to cooking in this country. We ate a lot of fried eggs which were very oily but at least we knew they were fresh since we ate our meals next to the chicken coop! It was also really adorable to see the children’s relationship with their grandparents. Every morning, our grandmother would put Fatoumata, our 2-year-old cousin (who was actually quite sick – it was really sad to see), into a bucket and give her a bath. She would spend the rest of the day following her grandmother around or tied to her grandmother’s back. If Awa walked away for even a minute, Fatoumata would start crying.

Aside from spending time with our family, we did some really fun things as a group. On Tuesday we visited the SOS Village that is located in Sanankoroba. SOS Villages were created by an Austrian philanthropist and are now located in 131 countries around the world with the goal of housing and schooling orphans. I was extremely impressed with the set-up – each orphan is placed in a family with nine others and two caretakers: an aunt and a mother. They go to school from nursery through high school and are also provided some vocational training. Currently 150 orphans live there; a lot of them started out in the orphanage we visited in Bamako. We got to visit one of the houses and talk to one of the “mothers.” The facilities were very impressive, especially in the school, which has 800 students, both orphans and other children that live in Sanankoroba.

We visited the regional CSCOM, a public health center, which was a little upsetting simply because it doesn’t even have its own laboratory. The doctor was clearly frustrated by having to make diagnoses for malaria without a blood test.

On our last evening, we had a dancing lesson by local women. Overall it was pretty humiliating since we gathered quite a crowd and the women insisted on taking us up one-by-one, but fortunately we all had a sense of humor about it. It’s definitely something I’ll remember fondly...though I really wanted it to be over while it was happening.

I was (and still am) sad to leave Sanankoroba. It was really, really great get out of the city and to experience village life. Considering 80 percent of the population lives in rural areas, it was necessary to experience Malian village life, which was completely different from life in Bamako. I do wish I could have stayed longer!

Funteni Be (It's Hot)

Happy October! (October, really? But it’s 90 degrees out!)

Life in Bamako is getting easier and easier every day. I finally feel like I understand the basic layout of the city which simplifies a lot in terms of getting around. I am not completely lost when my family bickers in Bambara, nor when they speak to me in French in their very not-Parisian accents.

We also did several things in school this week that (finally) felt great and worth my time. On Wednesday after school we visited an organization called the Groupe Pivot Santé Population in Hippodrome, a neighborhood in northern Bamako. The organization is essentially a collective of NGOs in Mali that focus primarily on healthcare. The purpose of the Groupe Pivot, which is financed primarily by USAID but also by other bodies, is to provide funding, assistance, and coordination to Malian NGOs. Our meeting with the leaders of this organization was great; the director spoke to us about the challenges he faces (such as resistance to family planning and illegality of abortion) and how the organization attempts to handle them. Overall, it appears that this organization does important work in an efficient and successful way, which is truly refreshing in a country where efficiency is certainly not an important factor.

On Thursday, we visited the country’s one public orphanage. I was very nervous about this excursion. Orphanages are by their own nature depressing places, and visiting one in a country that does not have high standards of hygiene or a great deal of funding for public institutions made me very anxious. However, I was really, really happy with the visit. The orphanage only holds babies younger than about a year and a half and handicapped children of all ages. The building itself was quite nice – very clean and painted colors you would expect for a nursery school. I was most struck by how well staffed it was; at least two women were in every room, holding and playing with babies. However, it was upsetting that most babies were lying in their cribs or on the floor when they really need to be held. When we talked to the directors about adoption in Mali, they said that most adoptions occur internationally (as I mentioned before Malians are wary to adopt because they care so much about family lineage), and that it is Mali’s law that a couple prove their sterility prior to adopting, which I found distressing. They equated this law to the fact that in Mali, couples marry to have their own children, and if they adopt a child along with having children of their own they will most certainly give less care to the adopted child. Thus, the directors believe that the only cases of Malian couples loving their adopted children to the fullest extent are when they biologically cannot have children of their own. I really don’t know how true that is.

Friday after school we had Kara, our beloved van driver, drop us off at the Grand Marché downtown. It is a crazy, crazy place. A huge amount of traffic, people, and tons of stalls selling food, cheap plastic backpacks and sandals, hand-me-down T-shirts and stuffed animals from countries like the United States, and traditional medicine (which includes some very unappetizing things such as monkey skulls) crowd up the streets. There are so many noises, smells, and near-death experiences crossing streets that it is really overwhelming. However, we did visit the Artisanat, an indoor market selling beautiful handcrafts, which was exciting, though I had to exercise my bargaining skills which is not my favorite thing. (Ask my mother who saw me break down in tears multiple times in the souk in Morocco.) After that overwhelming experience, we were able to decipher the map in my Mali guidebook and find a charming Thai restaurant on a shockingly quiet street near the river. What a treat! Though it was a bit pricey (by Malian standards), it was worth every penny for spring rolls and vegetarian curry. We arrived quite early since we were so hungry; by the time we left we looked ridiculous covered in dust and dried sweat, since all of the patrons around us were toubabouw (white people) sipping wine and wearing their finest. Where do all the white people come from? I very rarely see them, except when I go to one of the three grocery stores in the city. However, I know there are tons of them here – Bamako is a dumping ground for foreign aid.

Tomorrow we depart for our village homestay, which lasts until Saturday. I’m very excited to get out of Bamako, but a little nervous about some aspects (namely the food). I won’t have internet access all week, but I will write about how it goes next weekend!

One Month Down

            A month in this country and I’m finally beginning to feel like I’m settling in. Although I’m still not used to being gawked at walking down the street, something tells me that I will never be accustomed enough to not be bothered by it. However, I’m definitely getting used to the heat (which is hardly bearable lately; my room gets down to a “comfortable” 89 degrees at night), the constant loud noises and screaming in Bambara surrounding me, and learning how to navigate this city. I can finally successfully take a sotrama, the public transportation system in Bamako that consists of green vans that circulate the city, by myself. I can also understand bits and pieces of the Bambara conversations that occur in my house, although by no means do I know what is fully going on.

            I do feel settled in my homestay, but I’ve just had to accept the fact that I will never really feel part of the family, the language barrier being the biggest reason. In addition, my family doesn’t allow me to contribute in any way even when I offer to cook or wash my own clothes, so I automatically feel like a guest in my house. I’m also becoming increasingly frustrated with Aka, my roommate. She is certainly not easy to share space with, and although I feel somewhat guilty that she is forced to share her room with me, I can’t help but be upset with how she treats me. Every night she comes in at around 1 or 2 in the morning, turns on the light, gets ready to go out, and talks on her phone. I have to go to bed early since I leave for school at 7:00AM, so it’s very frustrating to be woken up for at least an hour nightly. She goes out clubbing at 1 in the morning and doesn’t come back until around 5 or 6 and often calls me to let her in.

            Apart from Aka, I do like the rest of my family. My two younger sisters are very sweet and always try to include me to an extent. I spend a lot of time playing a board game or watching TV with them. My little brother Mahammed spends the entire day running around the neighborhood – I see him go out when I go to school at 7 and he doesn’t come back until dinner time, covered in dust and exhausted from running around and playing soccer all day. He always eats dinner and immediately passes out in front of the TV, his eyes not even fluttering before he falls asleep, and must be carried to bed by a sister.

            My father…well, that’s another story. I spent the first few weeks at my house completely terrified of him. He does a lot of yelling: at his children, his wife, and the maids. He’s a very demanding man, and does very little for himself. In fact, he won’t even get up to get the TV remote when he’s sitting in the living room. I’ve talked to the other students about their fathers, and while some of theirs don’t yell at their families to the extent that mine does, none of them do any housework or cooking to be spoken of. My father is also extremely religious. Every morning I hear him drive to the mosque at 5:00. The walls in our living room have pictures of him visiting Mecca. Aka told me that she goes out so late because it is after he has gone to bed, therefore he won’t know since she knows he disapproves. Despite all of this, I’m beginning to see some good sides of my father. He always speaks French to me and is genuinely interested in me and my life in the United States. I’ve also seen him be very sweet to his children and his wife. However, I can’t really get past his bossiness and apparent cruelness to the maids.

            This past Thursday we went on our first overnight excursion to a town 110 kilometers away called Selingue. It was great to get out of Bamako and made me realize that I want to spend November, when we do our independent study research projects, in another town. There is just an ease and quietness outside of this bustling and very crowded city that can’t be found here. We spent one night in Selingue, staying in a hotel that was heavenly… especially since we had air conditioning! It was great to actually sleep a whole night through. The next day, we visited a hydroelectric dam that provides a great deal of electricity to Bamako. The trip was wonderful but way too short – less than 24 hours. Now we are back in Bamako, and the heat is really picking up which is uncomfortable and difficult to handle. It’s so strange to picture going back to a Minnesota winter at the end of the semester!

The Help … and Other Cultural Qualms

            A few times throughout this blog I have mentioned the maids in my house, but I think I need to finally devote some time talking about them.  Rokia and Bintou are two girls the young age of fourteen. After a few days of living in this house, a few things about them struck me: the enormous size of their muscles, the amount of work they do (never sitting down for a break), and the tiny quantity of time they spend sleeping each night.  The girls sweep the courtyard, mop the floors several times a day (not with a mop, mind you, but bent over a wet rag on the ground), cook the meals, and wash the laundry and dishes, among other things. They stay up later than everyone in the house, and are already awake when I arise at 6:20 every morning. They do everything for me – they wash my clothes, cook my food, tuck in my mosquito net at night, and even follow me around with a plastic chair if I go to sit outside in the kitchen or on the front courtyard. I cannot stand it; I feel guilty and useless and shameful. I am six years older than these girls, yet they wait on my hand and foot. It is not right.

            After a week or so of living in the house, I asked Aka about them. She says that they live in the small outbuilding next to our outdoor kitchen. They are from villages outside of Bamako and have come to work so they can save money for their weddings. At the age of fourteen? Yes. Our French teacher told us more about this awful convention. He said that all of the maids that come to work in Bamako are from farms in the countryside. They have to save up money to by pagnes (cloth material) and other expenses for their weddings. The minimum wage for maids is $12.00 a month, with room and board provided. This wage is sickeningly low; even if Rokia and Bintou save every penny for the next couple of years, they will by no means be able to support themselves. On top of that, they are fourteen years old…shouldn’t they be in school, learning to read and write? This is a part of this culture that I’m having a really hard time accepting. Ousmane told us that a growing problem is that maids become pregnant in Bamako, yet must abandon their children when they return to their village in order to find a potential husband.  He said that these orphans are very rarely adopted by Malians since family lineage is so important here.

            I’m definitely struggling a lot with some of the aspects of life here. While I of course want to remain respectful and nonjudgmental about some things, there are others that I cannot ignore and simply do not like. The inequality between males and females is striking and upsetting. Polygamy is still accepted here, and when women marry they must go into the relationship knowing that her husband can and may take on another wife later in the marriage. Divorce is looked down upon, and if a couple does break up, the woman must move back in with her parents. In fact, it is seen as poor form if a woman lives on her own. Finally, and what I truly find most disturbing, is that female circumcision (excision) is still widely practiced in this country. Some believe that a woman will not be able to control her desires and therefore must be circumcised. I came here knowing that it was still going on, but I had no idea that the majority of females in this country have had some form of genital cutting.

            These facts of Malian society have been a problem for me to grapple. I came here wanting to love everything, but there are blatant facts that I can’t ignore and that my heart of hearts believes is wrong. Unfortunately this post was somewhat depressing and I apologize for that, but I think it’s important that I not censor these issues since there is already very little discussion about them going on here.

A Long Week and Preparing for the Cinquantenaire

This past week at school was long, long, long and exhausting. We had a series of guest lectures that .... well, some were better than others, I'll leave it at that. It's just frustrating to be in a lecture about malaria in Mali and have to hear about basic biology of disease: "the mosquito is the vector and can therefore transmit the disease when it bites a human being." We know! And when we asked how exactly the anti-malarials we take work in terms of prevention and efficacy, and we were told "you take the pills and they work." Frustrating, to say the least. They weren't all bad, however; we had a pretty interesting talk on traditional medicine by a practicioner that was realistic about the fact that in some cases, modern medecine is the better solution. It was a bit strange, however, when he was shocked that blind people exist in the United States. French class is pretty great. Our professor, Ousmane, is a really great resource. We can ask him about anything in Malian culture and he won't shy away, so it's almost like he makes up for what isn't said in the lectures. He is a very interesting man; we had to interview an "elderly" person in Mali (which is shockingly young, since life expectancy is 53), and I chose him. His father fought for the French army in WWII and was captured and lived in a Nazi concentration camp for five years until the Americans liberated him in 1945. Upon his release, he moved back to Mali and lived as a polygamist with four wives and seventeen children. Ousmane saw how polygamy did not work in his own family, and since then swore that he would only have one wife. He spent his life as a teacher, and now works at a large university in Bamako teaching English.
A few days this week, we went on excursions after school. We visited the National Library, which was nice but surprisingly small in its number of books, the National Museum, also small but well-kept with a beautiful garden and wonderful cafe, and the French Cultural Center, which has its own library and venue for musical performances.
Bamako is currently gearing up for Mali's 50th anniversary on Wednesday. There has been a ton of new construction: a new roundabout in downtown, a gigantic new governmental building that opens tomorrow and will hold all of the ministries, and a very strange-looking garden at the bottom of a cliff, perched under the president's house. There is also just a lot of painting and sprucing up of the city. I'm looking forward to seeing what the actual celebration entails on Wednesday!

An Uncomfortable Sunday

            Sunday morning began like any other: I woke up a lot earlier than my sister, read in bed, got up, took a bucket shower, got dressed, and brought my book into the living room.  I ran a couple of pages, but was interrupted by the sound of someone crying. I looked up and saw Nene, my 16-year-old sister, bawling. I had no idea why but we locked eyes and she didn’t really offer an explanation, so I tried to ignore it and go back to my reading. A few minutes later, my mother walked into the house. I smiled at her and said good morning, only to notice that she too was crying. She went back into the kitchen and was talking to the maids, all the while crying pretty hard. I realized then that something pretty bad had probably happened. Nene walked by a few minutes later carrying a suitcase upstairs to where my parents live. Finally Aka, my roommate, came out of her room. She sat down in the living room without saying good morning and stared blankly at the television. After a few minutes, she went back into our room. I was really uncomfortable especially because I could still hear my mom crying, so I followed Aka into the room hoping to get an explanation. She was furiously packing a suitcase but didn’t even look up when I walked in. I asked, “Where are you going?” She answered abruptly, “Segou” (a town about 400 kilometers away). No other explanation. I decided not to ask any more.

                I walked back into the living room because there really was nowhere else for me to go. Women kept coming in to the house in groups talking to my mother in Bambara and giving her money. Finally, after about an hour of not knowing what was going on, my mom explained that her father had passed away. She said they were leaving for Segou immediately. I gave my condolences and sat with her for some time, really wanting to hug her or put an arm around her but not knowing if that is culturally normal here. I have never seen anyone hug before. She left to pack her things, and my sister Haby came in. I asked her if she was going to Segou, too, and she said that only the oldest child goes to the burial.

                My father, mother, and Aka left pretty quickly after I found out what had happened. I spent the rest of the day with Haby and Nene. It was hard being with them since they were really upset. I asked Nene if she wished she could have gone to Segou as well and she said she did but that was not the custom. It is hard for me to imagine being told that your grandfather is dead and then immediately being separated from your parents and your older sister, left to tend to the house on your own. They also said that they are not sure when the rest of the family will be back. This really has made me realize how mature these girls are. Haby, who is 13 years old, not only looks my age, but she also acts significantly older than an 8^th-grader. Nene and Haby, along with the two maids, have been cooking for me and cleaning my dishes…whenever I offer to help they say no. It’s hard for me to remember that they are younger than me since they have such autonomy and skill.  It truly is humbling.

The Food

                You are probably wondering what I have been eating since I arrived in Mali. Having spent the past three years as a vegetarian, the food situation has been extremely difficult.  Growing up, I had the good fortune to attend a school with a pretty good cafeteria, so I never got the stereotypical school food experience with disgruntled lunch ladies in hair nets. However, this trip I am finally learning the meaning of “mystery meat.”

                Most meals consist of a starch (and lots of it) with a meat sauce. The starch can be rice, fonio (similar to couscous), pasta, to (a dough made from pounded millet), or yams. The sauce…well, that varies. On days when I consider myself lucky, it’s a light(ish) red sauce made with…well, I don’t really know what’s in it since my family doesn’t let me help with the cooking. I know that there are onions, garlic, and palm oil (and lots of it), but I have no idea why it is red. On days when I consider myself extremely unlucky, it’s the same thing, but with a huge amount of fish paste which makes it very, very smelly and unappetizing.

                As for the meat…I think I finally figured out that for the most part, I’ve been served sheep. Sometimes I feel like a little kid again, trying to hide my vegetables under the pasta or rice, but this time with hunks of meat. A few times I have been served chicken which is actually quite good, but apparently chicken is one of the more expensive foods in Mali so it’s rare. Whether or not I eat the food has really become a problem. Living with a family is a huge struggle between being rude and feeling sick, but for the most part I’ve sacrificed myself (and my stomach) for the sake of not being an impolite guest.

                All of the cooking is done outside. There are no “conventional” stoves or ovens; it’s all made on coal-burning little stoves. Thus, the cooking takes an incredible amount of patience and time. However, like I said, my family really won’t let me help out, save being allowed to fan away the flies (that really is the most complicated task I’ve been given thus far). The eating is done with one’s right hand out of a communal bowl. The women eat outside and the men inside (at least at my house).

                Breakfast has become my favorite meal. Each morning I am given a baguette, and, though it’s really just white bread, it’s extremely satisfying. I usually eat it with jam, Laughing Cow cheese, or if I’m really lucky, Nutella. Some days after dinner, my family has given me bouillie, a porridge-like rice pudding served warm. It’s not bad but they really pile on the sugar. On our first day here, our teacher Lamine says if food is good in Mali, it probably means it has too much sugar or too much oil. I think that sums it up pretty well.

Guest Lectures and the Festival of Ramadan

Monday was the start to our first “real” week of school. We spend a lot of time there: from 8 am to 3 pm every day, with some afternoons extended to 5 pm if we go on a field trip. Classes are each two hours long. We began the week with a meeting with Modibo, the program director, to go over basic (and final) pieces of orientation such as safety, where we will be going for our upcoming trips, and an advising that we begin thinking about what we want to research for our Independent Study Projects that begin in November.


The official title of this program is Health, Gender, and Community Empowerment, but this week we focused a lot on the history of Mali which is understandable because obviously it’s important to know context to really learn anything at all. However, I do believe having six hours of guest lecturers speaking about the different dynasties, kingdoms, and empires of Mali was a bit of overkill. The lectures were conducted in French by various “specialists,” yet (unfortunately) they were quite dry and included very little student participation…especially disappointing considering what could be possible since we have such a small group.

Every afternoon from 1 pm to 3 pm we have French class. There are only three people in my level of class so we are all definitely learning a lot. Our professor works at the University of Bamako. He completed a Fullbright where he got a Master’s degree at Columbia, so he knows and understands that we are used to a participatory classroom experience unlike what is popular here (lecture, memorize, and recite). The class is especially great because each day he comes in with an interesting topic that we discuss and ask him about, such as gays and lesbians in Mali (which is in fact illegal) or problems faced by orphans in Bamako. He is a great resource because he knows a lot but really doesn’t shy away from topics that other lecturers are far too uncomfortable to discuss.

As we were leaving school on Wednesday, we were told that we may have a four day weekend because of the end of Ramadan, depending on whether the moon was visible that night. I asked my father more about it, and he said it says in the Koran that the moon must be seen for the month of Ramadan to end. There is a commission in Mali whose job it is to decide whether the moon was spotted anywhere throughout the country; if it is they announce it on television, and the fasting can end. Well, this actually caused a lot of confusion. My sister came home from a birthday party at 2 in the morning (I was fast asleep) and told me that the moon hadn’t come out so I would have school the next day, but that morning I woke up and got a text message from our director saying the festival had started. When I came into the living room, my sisters were really pissed off. They explained to me that the commission announced the moon’s appearance at 2 am, but that my father refused to believe it and would not let them celebrate. Thus, while everyone else around us was partying and feasting, they were not. Aka and Nene ended up saying “screw it,” getting dressed up, and going to their aunt’s house for the party. Well… that left me with nothing to do, and I definitely didn’t want to eat the fried sheep head that they were preparing outside (unfortunately I am not joking about that) so the other students and I took a cab to a pastry shop where lots of toubabou (white people) hang out.

Hah. Bad idea. We picked the wrong day to go there. I guess on the day of Ramadan, all the children are given coins. And clearly they want to spend them on sweets from the nice pastry shop. So as we sat there drinking beers and eating crepes, literally hundreds of screaming children were overtaking the counter…so much for our relaxing escape. On the way home, our cab broke down and we had to find our way back home on foot when it was dark and extremely crazy in the streets because of the festival… just one of those days, I suppose. We were able to laugh it all off, of course; I don’t think you could study abroad in Mali without that ability!

Why Bambara is so Great

Probably the most useful course I am taking, at least in terms of daily living in Bamako, is Bambara. My Bambara teacher, Lamine, who also acts as the homestay coordinator for SIT, makes the two hour classes quite entertaining (though they will always remain mentally exhausting).


Greetings in Mali are extremely important. Before any conversation can occur, people must greet each other properly. Even if you are in a hurry but you see someone you know, you absolutely must stop to greet them…so obviously greetings are the first thing we learned on our very first day here.

The greeting goes a little something like this:

In the morning, the greeter begins by saying I ni sogoma! The literally translation of this is “You and the morning!” Or, as Lamine puts it, “You facing the morning: are you the winner?” The greeting changes depending on the time of day; there are different forms for good morning, good day, good evening, and good night. The response to this greeting differs if you are a man or a woman. Women respond by saying n se! or, “my power,” thus expressing that they are the “winner.” Men, however, respond by saying n ba!, or, “my mother!” I guess this suggests how important a mother is to family life here.

Thus, a literal translation of a greeting in Bambara can be expressed as:

A: You and the morning!
B: My power! You and the morning!
A: My mother!
…It seemed strange at first to us, too.

Another odd but loveable trait of Bambara is the addition of the letter “i” to foreign words. For instance, when we say “I am from America,” we say, “N be bo Ameriki.” We asked Lamine how you would say various state names such as Rhode Island, Vermont, and South Carolina, and literally they are pronounced as Rhode Islandi, Vermonti, and South Carolini. So silly.

La Famille

Our last morning in Siby, Thursday the 2nd, we woke up bright and early and ate our breakfast at the lodge, consisting of bread with jam and tea. (One perk of living in a country that was once under French rule is that the baguette is actually quite good!) We then got back into the vans and drove to Bamako. It’s really striking how quickly the view outside the window went from rural to “urban,” though it’s hard to call Bamako urban since it seems more like one gigantic, sprawling town. The vans took us to Modibo’s (the Academic Director) house, where we stopped to pick up luggage some people had stored before traveling to Siby. We all piled back in the vans, luggage in tow, to be dropped off at our homestay families. At this point, I was extremely nervous. One other girl, Maddie, and I were in one van with the staff and the luggage, while the rest of the group was in another.


The vans took off. What added to our nerves was the fact that we didn’t know who was going to be dropped off first. The roads were really, really bumpy due to the rains that morning and Maddie and I both really had to pee because of how nervous we were – a really bad combination! We ended up giggling nervously the entire ride as we watched the girls get dropped off. I was the fourth one to go.

My house is on the side of a soccer “field” (it can’t really be called a field because there’s no grass, just red dirt) where a group of children were playing. Three girls came out to greet me: my older sister and two young girls that cook and clean for the family that took my luggage. They led me into the room that would be sharing with my sister for the next 7 weeks: a small, somewhat dank room with a queen size bed. We have our own FLUSHING toilet (!!!) connected to our room which is glorious (many students’ houses don’t have toilets). The rest of the house consists of a living room with a television, couches, and a dining table, a large bedroom where the rest of the children sleep, a small “indoor kitchen” with a miniature refrigerator, and an outdoor kitchen (most of the cooking is done outside on fire-burning stoves) and latrine. The parents live in a separate house stationed above this one.

My family consists of four sisters: Aka, who is 23 and my roommate, Toussi, who is 18 and actually studying in Utah right now, Nene, 16, and Haby, 13. We have one little brother, Mahammed, who is absolutely adorable. Everyone in the family, including my parents, speaks French to some degree, but they exchange in Bambara which is…overwhelming and confusing, to say the least. It really sounds like they are always yelling at each other! My mother works selling clothes and my father as financier in a hospital. There are always children from the quartier in the house playing as well… here they truly treat their neighbors like family.

The hardest thing about the adjustment thus far, apart from the Bambara language barrier, is the fact that right now it’s Ramadan and everyone (except for Haby and Mahammed) is fasting during the day. They are all pretty grouchy and tired (understandably) and I feel really guilty when they bring me food or when I have to ask for something during the day. It’s also hard because I am sharing a bed with Aka, who has to wake up at 4AM to pray and eat before the fast begins. I’m also around when the family members pray and I’m not really sure what to do with myself during that time. Ramadan ends in 5 days, however, and there is a large festival at the end that is supposed to be really fun so I’m looking forward to it!

Oh! I almost forgot to mention that on my first morning here, I was given my new Malian name: Raki Bah. My family calls me Raki, and when I introduce myself to people here I say n togo Raki (my name is Raki). Just one more thing to get used to. Everything is an adjustment, but I do think it will start getting easier soon.

Transitions

What a whirlwind of a week.


The craziness ensued when, four hours before I was supposed to leave for the airport, I logged onto my email only to find a brief note from Air France informing me that my flight was canceled and that I wouldn’t leave until the next day. I spent the rest of the day fretting about whether the SIT office in Brattleboro would be able to contact my Academic Director in Bamako before my flight was due in. All ended up working out, however, and during my ten hour layover in Paris I got to go into the city and walk around for hours. It was extremely wonderful but disorienting especially because I hadn’t slept on my red-eye flight there, and even more disorienting for me to think that by that evening I would be in Africa.

When I landed in Bamako, I stepped off the plane and saw the tiny International Airport of Bamako. Getting my bags was… well, as a woman next to me said as we looked at the baggage claim, “Bievenue en Afrique” (Welcome to Africa). There were hoards of people surrounding the tiny conveyor belt. The heat was already sweltering, and the humidity... It took me thirty minutes to even get to the front of the pack to see if my bags had yet arrived, and another thirty minutes before I found them both. After I found them, however, it was smooth sailing – I found Harber, the French teacher, and he took me to the hotel where I got to meet two of the other girls and finally get some sleep.

The next morning we woke up bright and early and headed to Siby, a town about 45 minutes outside of Bamako. We stayed at a hotel with little huts that housed three girls each. While there we visited a women’s cooperative that produces shea butter and got to learn the complicated process. There was a Peace Corps volunteer in the town that oddly enough knows my dad since she went to Boston College! What a small world. We also had our first Bambara courses (more on that later). The group certainly bonded over the food that was served to us… half of us were vegetarians before coming here, so you can imagine our shock at the first dinner when we were each served a gigantic chicken leg with a little bit of rice. That will certainly take some time to get used to. While in Siby, we also went on a beautiful hike up to the some caves that are at the top of the cliffs surrounding the town and were all happy to be getting some exercise after all of the starch we’d been consuming.

After two nights in Siby, we headed back to Bamako to get picked up by our host families. I think I’ll save that story for another post!

All in all, things have been great here. Our teachers are extremely warm and helpful, which is making this transition infinitely easier. Of course many things are difficult – the language barrier, the food, the unfamiliarity – but I know that over time, those things will improve. For now, there's just a lot of not knowing what in the world is going on!