Thoughts of Home

While I sit completely still, shaded, inside my house with the windows and door open (for optimal air flow), I'm amazed at how the amount of sweat dripping from my skin could easily fill my Nalgene. And yet, it's really not all that bad. I think that once it gets any hotter than 95 degrees Fahrenheit, I can't really tell what temperature it is anymore- it's just hot. So, no, I'm not complaining, and yes, I know that it is much hotter other places (including places in the US). It's merely a reflection on the fact that I currently like snow, or maybe the thought of snow, and other daydreams (maybe heat-inspired delusions?) or actual activities that remind me of home.

It Helps to Think We Might be Wishing on the Same Bright Star

Last night I slept next to a day-old goat who, luckily, had not yet found its voice. With the heat, my tin-roofed house has become too hot to sleep in and therefore I find myself pitching my mosquito net tent under my front gwa (hangar/porchish area). There are grass-thatched walls that encloses my gwa on two sides, but leave plenty of space for all sorts of night time visitors to join my camp-out. To be honest, I was quite reluctant to sleep outside at first. Reluctant because I was scared, unjustifiably so of course. It was just like when my father, brother and I used to pitch a tent in my backyard during warm summer nights in the north country. I remember getting all prepared: gathering my old red flashlight, changing into my pajamas, having popcorn as our late night snack and then carrying my Rescue Rangers sleeping bag out the back sliding door to our tent. It wouldn't be more than a few hours (maybe only one hour even) before I would become unnecessarily frightened and would wake up the boys to profess my fears. Although they were more than enough protection from the noises of the forest, they could not convince me to stay the rest of the night with them and Matt would kindly wriggle out of his Alf sleeping bag to walk me the 15 yards back inside. Conversely here, the noises of the forest are more like noises of a farm- donkeys, cows, dogs, goats, frogs- and are more comforting and reassuring than anything else. I usually end up humming the song "Somewhere Out There" from An American Tail --"it helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky."

TOM'S sandwich

To supplement my rather unchanging diet of millet to with yummy leafy sauce, millet porridge and more millet to with a gross fish sauce that I don't really like eating, I have begun purchasing large amounts of veggies whenever possible. (Mango season has also arrived... I like the ones you can bite into like an apple). And on nights when I get the gross fish sauce that I don't really like eating, I can return to my home and whip up some midnight snack that is much healthier than Papa John's. My special treat to myself is what I have dubbed "TOM'S sandwich" in honor of my father and his stories about his university days where he lived off of tomato sandwiches. This is my Malian version of a BLT... but the only things it has in common are the tomato and the fact that it's an accronym. TOM'S sandwich consists of garden fresh tomatoes, sliced and strategically placed on the bagget, a handful of diced onions, a thin layer of mayonnaise, and salt. Delicious thoughts of home.

Let's Shea-r Ideas!

In preparation for the shea butter and association building formation being held at my site the last two days of this month, I have been working very closely with our now legally recognized women's group called "Miiriya Nyuman" or Good Idea in Bambara. As I mentioned last entry, the formation was postponed a week, but now seems to be gliding along as planned. I'm currently in Bamako making some final preparations here before the wedding (this week) and the formation (next week). If all goes well, approximately 40 women- 30 from my village and 10 from surrounding villages- will attend the formation to learn the best practices for high quality shea butter and ways to improve the functioning of an association. I'm sure I'll have lots of pictures and stories to share come May.

During the next month of hot season, it is my hope to work intensively with my community to identity and outline specific goals for the village-- where do they want to be at the end of this year, the end of two year, the end of five years? Having already tossed around a lot of ideas at the past few all-community meetings, all we have to do is clarify and make a game plan. I'm also attempting (with another volunteer) to write some scripts to be performed over the radio that would encourage the proper practices to make and sell good shea butter (in radio soap opera form). After speaking with the director of the radio in my banking/post town, I'm thinking that I might be able to have a regular radio program to speak on a variety of issues. This is an idea in the works, so we'll see how it progresses. No podcasts as of yet. Maybe next year.

Currently, some interesting things going on in village are:

-The construction of a well at the school (with the assistance of an American NGO). It's temporarily on hold, but the community contribution is complete and makes me encouraged to see what the village is capable of when really motivated.

-The making and firing of pottery, which is then sold at a number of markets in our area. The women are pros!

PS: To quell any fears that my last blog was a direct insult at my homestay family members by calling them donkeys, it was, but an insult meant as a joke... because that's what joking cousins is. Sorry for those of you who were confused. I guess my transition between paragraphs could have been clearer.

My homestay family set me up as their "joking cousin" with a last name unlike their own. Historically, our peoples (identified by last name) have had a tendency to not get along. So today, the cultural practice of "joking cousins" allows me to call them names (and vice versa) all day long with no real repercussions, except a sore gut from laughing so hard at some of the jabs they come up with. That's the reason for all the donkey references.

Fali Family Reunion

Fali Family

All of last week, my first homestay in Mali turned into a donkey corral. Of course there normally are a decent number of Eeyores passing through, braying at all hours, but even this was excessive.

My homestay father, Souman, who I got to see at least once a week when in my original homestay for market, passed away on Monday, March 16 at around 11:00 am. This was the closest relative of mine that I've had die within the past few years and definitely the first "funeral" I've attended in a while. I think that I jinxed myself by telling friends of my surprise that I had not yet experience a death in Mali.

So, donkeys (fali in Bambara)? No, there is no Bambara tradition that calls for rallying around donkeys or pin the tail on the donkey or even donkey basketball. Rather, my whole family (at least those decended from Souman, as all children take their father's last name and not mother's) are all donkeys.

There is a conflict resolution technique used here called "joking cousins" that I might have referred to before. In general, it's pretty ingenious for diffusing tension between groups of people in Mali. Depending on last name or ethnic group, there are other last names or ethnic groups that are your "joking cousins" (ex. Bagayogo vs. Doumbia or Bambara vs. Fula) and with that title, become the butt of any and all jokes you would want to make: bean jokes, you aren't real jokes, you're my slave jokes, you're a donkey and I can't understand your language jokes. Some are pretty hilarious and others get annoying, but I couldn't go wrong when my entire homestay family had the last name of my joking cousins.

The entire family tree of Doumbia donkeys (He had over 20 children!) gathered quite informally throughout the concession for the entire week following Souman's death. We shared stories of his life and ate plenty of good food while the colts and foals (baby and adolescent donkeys) played with the real cousins they had not seen in years. Although I was not one bit happy about this necessary congregation, it was comforting to be with the people I truly see as my family here- those people who didn't mind holding my hand through all the mistakes I was trying so hard not to make and laughing at me as necessary.

Souman's body was buried (along with his donkey cart... haha... um, you might have to be here to laugh at that) in a cemeteryish location in fields on the outside of town. Monday meant dispersal of most of the donkeys to their own homes. While it was phenomenal to see all of my relatives, I surely hope the necessity does not come around again for some time.

Here my two mothers sit inside for the first week of grieving.

Also, a picture of my siblings.

You All Deserve An Update
In general, not much has been going on. I recently completed a two day refresher formation at our training center again. It was great to share stories and advice with other volunteers living in the central part of Mali.

The women's association in my village received legal recognition in the form of their "recipisse," which now will allow them to establish themselves and take advantage of opportunities for similar groups, including the possibility for loans and other funding sources. We are now working toward hosting a formation on making good shea butter in our village. While they seem pretty excited for it to happen, they are also excited about the wedding that was originally scheduled to take place the same day (we just postponed the formation for a week... :-/). I plan to head back and stay at site for a few weeks at least to prepare for the formation.

Hot season has begun and that means sleeping outside, although I had just adjusted to sleeping inside on my new bed and hanging mosquito net. The metal roofing allows for my house to act like an oven and I find my self sweating at all hours of the day and night and any time in between. Luckily, my roof is pretty high and my windows provide a decent amount of circulation.

It's crazy to believe that I have been in country for 9 months now. While the days are long and drawn out, the weeks and months have flown by... and I'm hoping hot season will also fly to move us into rainy season.

Divers

The word divers appears in the title to most shops and boutiques here in Mali to basically mean "everything else" or "miscellaneous goods" and therefore, is the most appropriate title for the link to an article written in the Notre Dame Observer. Enjoy!

ND Peace Corps service increases

Siaka Samake

My life from Notre Dame and my current vie here is Mali collided for the past 9ish days, with phenomenal results.

One of my best friends from college took a break from his constitutional law research in Germany to trek down to Sub-saharan Africa. Before his arrival last Monday night, I was worried that even a short 9 days would prove to be too much for any of my potential visitors. Of course, this was an unnecessary underestimation of my friend's ability to roll with the punches, although I, myself, am still trying to figure this out.

We woke up early the morning after Grant (Siaka Samake-- pronounced Shaw-Ka Sah-ma-kay--the male elephant, as I named him) got in and took a bus to Sevare. Forgetting the fact that my knuckles turned white while bus drove way too fast around some sharp turns, Grant's first sojourn on public transport in Mali was relatively painless. We even made it all the way to Sangha that day and began our time in Dogon Country.

Although I was only in Dogon a little over a month ago for Christmas, the sights were just as beautiful and the hiking was just as fun-- it might have been even more so getting to share the diversity of Mali with such a good friend from home. We finished our two and a half day hike and headed to my site, which is quite a contrast to the desert and cliffs of the north.

We made it to my original homestay village for market day, visited my amazing family and did our "grocery" shopping before jumping on the one taxi minibus that goes to my village each week. I had only used this minibus once before and had almost forgotten how nerve-wrecking the trip would be on the dusty bike path to my village. After a good bucket bath and short nap, we dove into my pre-established routine of dinner with my host family and after dinner conversation at my homologue's house.

On Tuesday, we spent the morning greeting everyone in village. Most everyone was disappointed to find out that he wasn't staying for long, either in village or in Mali, but was glad that he had been able to visit me. Of course, I think that I was more glad than all of them, combined. And glad that Siaka made it through without getting sick! He left last night and safely made it back to Germany with plenty of photos and memories that will hold him over until we meet again, probably state-side.

Tomorrow I will head back to site again to get back into the swing of things with my village. I have really missed them! While I was away, my women's group took the initiative to collect dues and plan their next meeting. Their enthusiasm to move ahead with their association makes me very excited to return. The money from the sale of their shea butter will help with their recipisse, or legal recognition, and any other small start up costs. Getting into good habits now and regular meetings will provide for a better foundation in the long run.

Back to site, back to work, back to Madjo Bagayogo.

Nenajeke (celebating)

A lot has happened since Thanksgiving- the refining and selling of our women's shea butter in Bamako, Eid, Christmas in Dogon country (near Bandiagara- check it out on a map), and New Year's with my initial homestay family a hour south of Bamako. Of course, I would love to go into detail about every moment, but alas, a brief summary of the events will have to do for now.

Daily life (the random stuff that everyone asks about)

I've begun eating and liking a lot of things that I refused to touch in the states, including cucumbers (see ginormous example below), watermelon, and oatmeal. These are to supplement my normal meals of to (ground up millet gelatinized patty thing) and fish sauce, seri/moni/bagan (corn/rice/millet porridge), and the occasional rice dish. My village has started to work extensively on their gardens since harvesting season is over and I'm more than excited for the upcoming influx of delicious vegetables or nakofen in Bambara, meaning things from the garden. Spending time planting has really peaked my interest in the possibility of doing a formation on garden improvements, such as pumping techniques, better seed varieties, and introducing new plants. AND it gets me to thinking about what I might want to plant in my own garden... mmm... if only berries grew in Mali. Here are two pictures of the inside of my house. I didn't want to include my second room just yet because I'm in the process of getting an actual bed-- I had done without until now, but figure that I'm here for the long run and might as well really move in! Make this house my own! The pictures and letters on the wall have only increased in number since this photo was taken, so thanks! They make fantastically readable wallpaper. The first picture is your entry into my house, the window covered in the back by my "skurtain" as I like to call it-- haha-- just an old skirt that was a little too short for Mali that cut in half, perfectly made two curtains for my house. My table is wonderful, thanks to the previous volunteer, but I am hardly ever in my house to use it since I eat every meal with my host family. The table on the right hand side in the second picture is my kitchen with my two burner gas stove that I use pretty regularly for cooking pasta, tea, rice, oatmeal and other goodies.

One day in December, my village borrowed a large scale from a neighboring village to weigh our cotton crop from this year. I found this generally intriguing since (a.) never really seen cotton grown before, and (b.) all of the work I did on the farm bill and cotton subsidies while working with the Africa Faith and Justice Network (check out the movie Bamako if you're interested... it's in French and Bambara, just fyi). Supposedly my village didn't produce a great crop this year (over 6,000 kg seemed like a lot to me!) and they're still in the midst of paying off a loan taken out last year... I'm not quite sure that I understand it all yet, but hopefully we'll figure it out.

Seliba.Eid.Tabaski

I appreciated Seliba more after my homologue (coworker in village) explained the significance: that it is the celebration of the story of Abraham and the sacrifice of a ram instead of his son. For two days we ate a lot of sheep, greeted, played soccer, greeted/gave blessings, took pictures, got dressed up, ate more sheep (I was actually kind of frustrated with the amount of meat I was given).

My friend Ami and I got "uniforms" made for Seliba. When greeting people on Seliba, you walk around the village with your friends and people give you small change if they like your blessings/hair style/outfit. It kind of reminded me of Halloween and trick or treating in that sense.The henna that my homestay sister did for me. It was really pretty.Okay, I love this picture. You probably can't really tell everything that's going on, so that's why I'll tell you: My little homestay sister is in the foreground in her snowsuit, haha. I always think that's so ironic. It was probably in the low 70s at this point. In the midground on the right hand side is the shadow of another host sis last-minute braiding someone's hair the morning of Seli. Finally, in the background the guys are in the process of slaughtering a sheep... another thing I had never seen before, and probably could go without seeing ever again. But that's when I think of how sterile our lives are in America and the distance we are from the reality of such processes. We often take for granted the steak that somehow ends up on our plate in restaurant. Then again, I don't really mind so much not having to see my meat alive one minute and not alive the next.
So, the festivities of Seliba continued well into the next week for some communities, including the next village over (1km from my village). They had invited sigui dancers to come and join in the celebration. The Sigui are the traditional masked dancers from different regions of Mali. Each mask represents a different animal or concept. This was my first taste of the stereotypical "African" dance and ceremony, but it was good because it was REAL-- not like a show that was being put on for me, as I often feel is the case. Everyone had come out to watch... and I mean everyone, including the mayor and the dugutigis from a lot of the surrounding villages. The first picture is an action shot and then I tried to include a video-- we'll see if it works out.

Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays, except Mali
Thanks to everyone who sent holiday e-mails, wishes, packages, letters, calls, thoughts, facebook messages, etc, my first Christmas away from home didn't feel all that away from home. I think that this also had to do with the fact that I was with an amazing group of PC Volunteers, hiking the cliffs of Dogon. Absolutely gorgeous! It's amazing to me the diversity that Mali has to offer-- from the lush greens of Sikasso region to the stunning rock formations in Mopti, which isn't including the variations in cultures, languages, and religions. We spent Christmas Eve and Christmas just relaxing before heading out on our 3 day hike.

The Tellem people once inhabited the cliffs of Dogon, but since have left. The Dogon people's villages are not built into the cliffs, but are rather at the base of them.

Just a few from the top of one of the cliffs on our descent back into the sandy desert.

The Dogon sigui (see above). Very colorful and entertaining. I have a video of this, too, but it was too big to add here. Later. And check out the guy on stilts in the back.

A current day Dogon village at the base of a cliff (still on the sideish) in order to save the flat/non-rock ground for farming. Quite a trek down to get water daily.
This last picture is another view from the top. There's a lake (not a mirage, I promise) and a village in the bottom left corner.

For New Year's, I headed back to my intial homestay and celebrated with the fam. We ate well and then headed out to the donkeyoro (dance place), which is mostly a concrete-fenced in area with a covered stage. We danced to DJed Malian music until midnight and set off some sparklers. All in all, a good time.

Well, that's about it. In-service training begins in a week. I'll be headed back to our training village outside of Bamako for three weeks of cross-sectoral and technical training so that we can get things moving! I'm excited to be learning, but know that three weeks of sitting will make me more than ansy. And then Grant comes! :-)

Hope that your holidays were just as enjoyable.