Riding Against the Current

It seems ironic that during the two months that I was actually in Bamako with decent internet services, I wrote no blog entries and uploaded no photos. Perhaps it's a testament to how much I was working at the new volunteers' Pre-service Training (PST) or perhaps it's a reflection of the general malaise that arises with me spending extended periods of time in front of a computer (I'm not sure how you do it, Matt). Regardless, apologies for the hiatus and for the lack of photos meant to accompany this entry; I left my camera cord at site and my usually trustworthy USB/SD jack is faltering. Hopefully, it won't be long before I am able to update this in color.

Riding Against the Current
The rainy season has earned its name with record rainfall in some parts of Mali. Where we were, we received over 121 mm (approx. 5 inches) of rain in 12 hours, which does not even compare to the 300 mm (almost a foot!) of rain that they got in Burkina Faso. My homologue and I had planned to travel the 8 km to our market town to speak with the Chef de Poste at the CSCOM or local health center to make plans for our village project (I promise to write more on this just as soon as I can). We covered up in our rain jackets, stuffing extra plastic bags in the pockets to cover our backpacks and other goods on the return trip. We mounted our bikes and began the trip on the now mud/wet sandy road that is our one possible route to leave village for a main gudron (paved road). This trip usually takes 30 minutes in the dry season with only the occasional pot holey, gravely section or hot persistent sun to delay us. This day it took at least a hour and 15 minutes, plus or minus a few moments of my complete shock at the amount of water on our road.

I usually enjoy the trek from village to market, often feeling that biking isn't the worst method of transport available and believing that automobiles really aren't a better solution for the movement of people and goods. This day's experience, however, has allowed me to face this contentedness that has been brewing. Now I ask myself if my enjoyment of this mode of transportation is purely because of my lack of necessity- my acceptance in the knowledge that after my two years of service, this will not be my reality of everyday living. I have a choice where my fellow villagers do not. If someone was sick or needing to leave our village, this- walking, riding a bike, motorcycle or donkey cart- would be the only option. And I did it in full health, with an amazing bicycle, no child on my back or goods to get to market.

We were honestly riding against the current of this river that had previously been our road. At one point, we dismounted when the water was too high so that we could wade across a section of the dike. This dike, created with the very purpose of providing a way to leave 3 villages, is in dire need of repair or complete replacement. I asked my host mother what they did before it was there and she said there was a small raft they would use. If you look to my previous entries, this was the area I referred to as "the troubled bridge over waters" and then I couldn't imagine just how troubled it could be. After my homologue removed his sandals and I tightened my Chacos, we braved the rushing stream of water flowing over the usual path. Afraid as my bicycle was being pulled from my grasp, I asked my homologue to help me place it back on the rocky ground (under a foot and a half of water). He demonstrated with his own bike the best way to stabilize the bike at the same time as we moved forward. We made it safely to the main road, accomplished our tasks, and then waited for the afternoon, in hope that water would have receded with the end of the storm.

(These are two pictures of the dike taken from the path that you can ride during dry season. When my other SD is working, I'll provide you with pictures of when this entire area is FULL of water and moving over the dike. Use your imagination until then and listen to "Have You Ever Seen the Rain" by Creedance Clearwater Revival)

This metaphor seems extremely fitting for much of the situations faced here (so forgive its corniness)- that my friends and family members in Mali are riding on not-so-great bicycles in the midst of ever-changing circumstances or the unnecessary and unexpected current. A bike is not the best option for traversing muddy paths completely submerged in water, but is the best option currently available. To make it out, one must trust one's memory of the road, the reliability of transport, one's own determination, and make up for the rest with a good sense of humor. It's hard not to become discouraged- that even after the valiant efforts by the local government and the hard manual labor by those who often use the road- still not enough gets done to keep up with the constant deterioration of the road, let alone to stand for improvements. To think that this is only one of the thousands of examples of inadequate infrastructure and definitely not the worst.

I'm not quite sure what the appropriate solution would be to solve these issues or where to start, because it seems many questions need to be asked: do you begin with providing improved methods of transportation to deal with the poor road, or work at fixing the road itself? with what technology should the road be fixed? should they start at the dike? what are the appropriate materials for such work? would it be better to look at making broussey villages self-sustaining so they wouldn't have to rely on this road so much? whose responsibility is all this? And you can't blame the rain when you live in a place that droughts happen so often.

My Malian friends are doing the best that they can given what they have, but often it still does not adequately address their needs. Like I said, there is not even a choice to have. Where I find biking the 22 km to my banking town fun and amusing way to avoid having to pay 350 CFA (all the while singing all parts of the ND Glee Club's version of "Beautiful Rain"), they find it a necessity. And when the natural bridge that connects us to the next village falls because of the Noah's Ark amount of rain, there is no choice but to bike the 6 km detour in hope that the next bridge is accessible or retrace the already treacherous path back to the main road, pray for a vehicle to pass and take you 11 km, to then bike the 8 km into brousse (and hope that the dike isn't flooded...). When I write about the inadequacy of these routes, it is only after having unconvinced myself that the path was more than sufficient for the transportation and travel needs of these communities. My detour was only briefly inconvenient, while the same detour for my homologue made him late for a meeting that he still ended up attending wearing sopping wet clothes, although we left plenty early and plenty prepared (internal play list changes its track to REO Speedwagon and "Riding the Storm Out").

In addition, most women do not own bicycles and therefore find themselves either at the whim of a mototigi who often charges outrages fees, the mobilitigi who comes once a week on market day and has a limited number of places for our village and the surrounding villages, or their own two feet and the possible elements to be encountered during the 2 hour walk. So their "riding against the current" becomes an attempt to "run/jump/swim against the current" when none of those activities are taught or even encouraged for young women. It seems that there's just so much that they are up against (re-enter CCR and "Who'll Stop the Rain").

And yet my homologue, as an representative of the others, was helping me through this with a smile on his face; a smirk sometimes, when he snickered at my amazement and general ineptness at voyaging across the flooded paths. "Just grin and bear it" seems to be the motto for so much. Although we are riding bikes against the upstream against innumerable currents present here (malaria, corruption, illiteracy, poor infrastructure, etc), we are doing it as a team, knowing that we want to return to make sure that others can make it as well or providing them with new options and letting them decide the best solution. Perhaps bikes are not the best way to ford the river, but truthfully, cars would not be any better. Realizing that not all technology is directly applicable or appropriate will help us determine which questions need to be addressed first. Until then, we'll take things as they come, keeping optimistic in the face of being pulled downstream. Leave it to say, we're not drowning. It would just be better not having to use our tires as floatation devices in the first place.