The Wedding

"Love is not a union merely between two creatures, it is a union between two spirits." - Frederick William Robertson

Saturday night I went by Mieko's place to say goodbye to Dana, who was leaving to go back to DC, and talk about the Speaker Series that I am putting together while we are here. (Friday we are scheduled to meet with the Malian representative of the CDC.)

I brought with me the dress I had made quickly for the wedding and Dana and Mieko were not impressed. They said the fabric quality could be better and the tailor could have done something more with the cut even if it was last minute. Mieko pulled some dresses out of her closet but since I have her by a good foot even though they fit me, they were much too short. Armed with the knowledge that absolutely no one else I know would be at the wedding, I got dressed the next morning.











Coumba came by to pick me up, lent me a purse that matched the dress and wrapped my head with my matching scarf. In the car were her friends Myriam and Bedi. The wedding was more like a reception since I didn't see any actual vows. Tents were set up in the middle of the street stretching for three small blocks. Inside two or three rows of chairs formed around a long oval. The outfits were colorful and gorgeous. I looked every single person up and down once or twice just to take it all in. All of the mother-in-laws (many still practice polygamy) were all dressed in white with light blue-green scarves and yellow and red decorations signifying their roles. Drummers played at one end of the tent and griots sang haunting tunes in falsetto with lots of ululations that sounded very Arabic to me and at the same time reminded me of Japanese opera.



Coumba and I went into the circle to dance a few times. People go in do a dance and then leave the circle and another comes in the center to take their place. When we left the circle a few of the mother-in-laws reached for my hand and said I did well. The mother-in-laws and the bride both gave out money and did a walk dance through the tent.

People offered me water. Here it is easily carried, stored and sold in clear plastic baggies tied with a knot. To drink it you simply bite a hole in the corner of the bag and suck out the water. Coumba deftly deflected all attempts to give me the water. I had my bottled water with me as I have been told that the water here could possibly make me sick.

Later we went into one of the houses just off from the tents with all the mother-in-laws and all squashed onto two couches and the floor in one room. I was introduced to them all and they chuckled with delight at the name I have taken in Mali. Then they took to speaking in Bambera and since I only know greetings and terms for taking the bus I settled down to observe. Their hands and feet, and those of the bridesmaids, were intricatly decorated with a dark henna, or indigo, maybe, in flowering, striped and checkered designs. They were such gracious hosts, an older woman standing to insist that I sat and I only took the seat briefly to be polite and then found a way to get back up so she could have her seat back. They offered me a soda and poured it into a communal tin with a hunk of ice in it. I apologized profusely and said the ice would make me sick. They apologized and gave me a hot soda instead.

Coumba had gone to pray when the large bowls of food arrived. I didn't see anyone get up to wash their hands. There was a bucket with water that I dipped my hands in but apparently that was for use after eating. They bade me several times to sit on a footstool in front of a communal bowl and reach my hand in and grab some food which was so hot it burned my palms and fingertips. I complied and focused on eating the food right in front of me that no one else had touched. On the second handful Coumba came in with a plate and a spoon so obviously for me and said Eh are you eating out of the bowl with everyone else? I said Awo, yes in Bambera. She said you're eating with your hands? I said Awo again. She said don't do that; here is your plate and spoon. While I felt relieved that I did not have to eat the entire meal out of the bowl with various unwashed hands in it, I also had been trying not to stand out as an outsider. The plate and spoon simply reinforced my outsider status, especially since there was no longer a reason for me to sit in one of the circles around the bowls. But feeling like an outsider outweighs getting some intestinal sickness. The meal was rice and cabbage and fish, with various spices and lots of lemon juice sprinkled over it.

Coumba said besides I do not know how to eat with my hands and I tip my head back to drop food in my mouth, making myself liable to choke, rather than rolling it into a ball and popping it into my mouth. For the record, I try to roll it but it doesn't stay together. She has been telling our coworkers about the way I tip my head back and they all laugh. I'm happy to provide the fodder for laughter.

Back at the party we danced some more and then left. We had been at the wedding for six hours and had literally been sweating under that tent the entire time.

Coumba took me by her parents' house and I met her sister who had lived in DC for a time. I also met both her father, mother, and her other mother and various other people in the house which is more of a compound. Doors open onto bedrooms and whole other livingrooms with rooms off of them. When Coumba said I was from the US her mother said she was sorry. Sorry for slavery, sorry for the fact that I have been estranged from my heritage, or sorry that I live a Western lifestyle or...? Her father had recently come from a visit to Paris and we spoke in French and English and I shared with him the Bambera that I knew. He laughed at me when I stared at the tree in his yard and said I had never seen mangoes growing on a tree before. Also in the yard were two peacocks and a goat. Her mother was pretty quiet but when I left she held my hands and kissed both cheeks.

When Coumba took me home I showered, dressed and headed to Daley's where the rest of the gang was already. I had a little trouble deciphering which house with high walls was his and stumbled upon the places of people who worked for the embassies of Germany and France before finding his place. Again we are so obviously roughing it. Inside his house I was so lulled into thinking I was in the States that I was halfway through a drink with ice before I thought to ask about the ice. He said it was triple-filtered and I would be fine.

Everyone else was already done eating and the guys were in the kitchen chatting. I ate curry goat, rice and peas, and spinach patties with Tabitha, from Alabama who works at the Department of Defense. She was the sole other female since Mieko just left to pick someone up at the airport. In addition to Rodney, Andrew and Daley, I met Morgan, a recent Morehouse grad, finishing up his Fulbright Scholar year in Mali. The food was delicious, even chocolate crepes with vanilla ice cream for dessert, and Rodney's drama with females provided for great, rousing conversation.

Daley was very understanding of our limited amenities and tabletop range and packed us a huge to-go bag of leftovers, including soy milk which Rodney and Andrew have been trying to find in every supermarket. For the next two nights we ate the leftovers cold because we were out of cooking gas and did not know how to replace the canister. Our stove is actually a tabletop range with two burners connected by a hose to a canister of cooking gas that sits under the table. To turn on a burner you have to turn the valve on the canister a bit and then turn the burner on and then light a match and hold it to the burner. When you are done cooking you have to remember to close the valve after turning the burner off.

Desperate Roommates

"Let it be our duty as human beings -- blessed with the capacity for love and compassion, and inspired by the knowledge that our lives are, in the end, linked together – to do our part." - Congresswoman Nita Lowey

Friday night I asked to borrow Andrew's converter once again. It had been a day since I discovered the problem was not my phone charger but my adapter which had ceased working. He said I could borrow it for 5 minutes since he needed it to charge his computer. I knew 5 minutes would not do much as the 20 he had let me use it the night before did not do much, but I did not want to look a gift horse in the mouth. After 5 minutes I returned it and devised a plan to wake up in the middle of the night and use it when he no longer needed it.

At 3 am I went into the livingroom where he and Rodney were sleeping, as that is the only room besides mine that has AC, and took the converter which had been resting on the table. Ten minutes later, I kid you not, he was knocking at my door asking for it. I returned it and then at 4:30 I went back and retrieved it again and this time had it for 20 minutes before he awoke and came knocking at my door.

I told him I had only had it for 20 minutes and asked if it was possible for him to tell me when I could borrow it for 2 hours to make sure my phone was fully charged so I could field calls. He said you know you can buy your own. I said yes I am well aware of that but I do not know where to buy one yet and in the meantime you said I could use yours...it has only been 24 hours since I first borrowed it. He said he was saving it since one fuse had already blown and there was only one left. I said it was not that big of a deal and if the other fuse blew while I was using it I would buy him a new one when I bought mine. He said I'm not trying to be stingy. And I said hmmm goodnight. I just don't understand how he can be saving it if he stays on his computer all day and constantly has to charge it. Basically he should have just told me he didn't want me to use it at all.

His behavior is especially jarring in face of the communal living that takes place in Mali. People share what they have, however little or much. In general, I have felt that people are looking out for me and helping me do what I need to do, whether it's get off at the right stop on the bus or remember to rehydrate myself.

Rodney and I made plans in the morning to go to the market and the supermarket. The supermarket is what we are used to in the States and the market is an open air affair, think farmer's market just 50 times more hectic and congested. I told him that in no uncertain terms I must find an adapter that day and I told him the story of why and was satisfied by his shock. Rodney has been on the continent for a year so all his plugs were already for here.

On the way out I greeted the vendor across the street who sells phone cards in Bambera. (While French is the official language, the great majority of Malians speak Bambera, the language of the dominant ethnic group). I started with good morning and we both inquired about how each other was doing, how the families were doing and how each other had slept. And then into the order of business. I told him that I needed an adapter for my American plugs and asked him where I could get one. He said he would walk us to the store and help us find exactly what I needed which he did. I ended up getting what looks like a surge protector and has international outlets all along it so Rodney and I can both charge our electonic devices. I'm waiting for karma to kick in and Andrew's last fuse to blow out.

Rodney and I found a supermarket that is very close and shopped there and went to the bureau d'echange so he could convert some money. That night he cooked since I cooked earlier in the week. (We're still waiting for Andrew to cook.) Since Rodney is a vegetarian, we had spinach, potato curry, and rice. I am a vegetarian here too unless someone else cooks the meat. I simply cannot deal with the hanging carcasses in the market or the unrefrigerated cuts of meat.

The Boat Ride

"Much may be done in those little shreds and patches of time which every day produces, and which most men throw away." -Charles Caleb Colton

We enjoyed Friday morning and afternoon off, only to meet at the Hotel Kempinsky early that evening. The international hotel sits on the banks of the Niger River in the Quartier de Fleuve (River Quarter) and is a meeting place for all types of people. It was there that I saw the most diversity during my time in Mali: Malians, Frenchmen, Americans, Arabs, businessmen and upscale tourists.

I was wearing an attractive broad-brimmed hat that I bought at the Carlsbad Street Fair with Erika and her mom. I sat down in the lobby and immediately felt stares of people trying to place me. Maybe I am perverse but I like it better when people cannot easily figure me out from one glance. A waiter came over and greeted me in French in the extended way that people do here. Then he said it was certainly hot here, not like where I was from. My breath caught. Where did he think I was from? But he never clarified. He simply asked if I wanted something to drink while I waited.

Apparently there were also a lot of government folks from DC at the hotel as Daley was there overseeing the security operations. We ran into him once our group convened and we walked out the front door. He told us where to find the boat dock for our scheduled ride and we were on our way.

As we walked down the dock we commented about the clouds in the distance. I hadn't seen any ressembling those since I had been here and wondered aloud if it was going to rain. Someone else, possibly Mieko, joked about us going on a 3 hour tour and ending up stranded like the folks on Gilligan's Island. The boat was more like a covered gondola, complete with poles for navigation, and we all settled in to our seats for the ride down the Niger River, looking up at the congested bridges that crossed it.

We had not been in the boat for more than 10 minutes when the rain came and the wind started whipping the river into a frenzy with waves that lapped dangerously near the lip of the boat. I say rain, but the effect was more like someone spraying a garden hose. The navigator steered the boat to the edge of the river, into the mangroves, but in doing so, but the broadside of the boat against the waves. Now I am no mariner, but that put us in the precarious position of almost capsizing. I clutched my bag I thought desperately about the pictures on my digital camera which would be lost, the process of swimming through mangroves whose roots reach down to the soil under the water, and what novel creatures could be lurking in the Niger River. Thankfully the issue never arose.

We simply sidled along the mangroves next to an abandoned boat half in the water and half on the banks. While our navigator stood in the river and steadied the boat for us, we climbed from one bow to the other and then to dry land and under some construction before getting back onto the street level. So much for a leisurely Friday afternoon!

We were supposed to go straight to dinner after the boat ride but had to go to Mieko's so Dana could change since she fell into murky stagnant water at the bottom of the abandoned boat. Andrew laughed hard, while Rodney went around him to help Dana, and continued to bring up her fall all night long and laugh about it.

At Mieko's house I realized how much we are roughing it compared to Americans who work here. While our laundry is washed by hand with a wash basin, a brush, a hard bar of soap and a clothesline, Mieko has a washer and dryer which I was able to use to dry my pants quickly before going out. Plus she and Dana had facials, manicures and pedicures planned for the next morning. Must be nice.

The Market

"One of the reasons we're here is to be a part of this process of exchange." - Dizzy Gillespie

We met a group of Canadian women who will be volunteering at ASDAP for two months as well, got our certificates from orientation and for lunch had cous-cous and chicken that looked like it had walked to the ends of the earth and back before it ended up on our plates.

Coumba said we should go shopping for my dress for the wedding today and that since we were going to the market she would help us get what else we needed. She told us that the supermarket we had been going to was too expensive (indeed) and showed us another small one across the street and halfway hidden by the overpass with much better prices. We stopped by our place to drop off the cases of bottled water, empty our bags, and then we couldn't find Coumba. I went into my room since I saw her shoes kicked off at the door and there she was in the corner facing east, her head and body draped in an embroidered cloth praying. Then all of a sudden it made sense why she had rushed in, washed her face and hands, slipped on my house slippers and needed to ask the neighbor a question. Probably which way was east. I backed out of the room and closed the door and we waited for her to finish.

Meanwhile some of Rodney’s acquaintances came by and he went down to talk to them. Coumba eyed them as we left and said be careful with them. Don’t take out more money than you need when you go out with them; don’t invite them into your house; don’t lend them anything. I asked her why and she said you have to be careful of young men who quickly befriend people they know are strangers in town. Rodney does have some odd friends but I think it is a function of the salt of the earth lifestyle he is living now.

We hadn't reached the end of our street before a huge dust storm swirled up in the distance. I closed my window quickly but Coumba who was driving a stick and slowing down at the intersection closed hers more slowly. The dust overtook the car and I bent over as small rocks sprayed the back of my neck and dirt became ingrained there. Yikes. And then it was over.

The market was nuts, very packed and you have to know exactly who sells what were. As Coumba wound her way through the market to find cloth for my dress, a wash basin, cord, pins, and scrub brush for us we all followed, squeezing in between hordes of people, ducking into and out of stalls, dodging wheeled carts of merchandise, sidestepping puddles of mysterious liquid, and going around market women frying skewered pieces of meat. If we had gone ourselves we would have been there all day. Not to mention all the people who were trying to get us to buy from them. The print for my dress is dark indigo, white, and rose with a dark indigo headwrap. Coumba says it has to be a simple cut with no embroidery if it will be ready in time for the wedding. The cost was the equivalent of 16.50 USD for the fabric and 3.50 USD for the tailor to cut and hem it. Wow.

When we bought the string for our laundry line I asked Rodney and Andrew how much they thought we needed. Andrew didn't say anything so Rodney and I talked it out and decided on an amount which the vendor promptly cut. As we were reaching for money to pay Andrew said this isn't enough why aren't we buying more? Argh. He left the cyber café earlier in a tiff about how much he was being charged to use his laptop here. Rodney and I have been here all week and have had no problems. I asked Andrew to calm down and ask questions if there was a misunderstanding not just get angry immediately. Especially since will be in and out of this place for two months as it is at the end of our block.

Earlier this week Coumba asked Andrew if he was missing his mother. We all laughed but she was serious. He said no. She asked him if it was his girlfriend he was missing then. He said no to that too. But I do get the sense that something serious is upsetting and because he is not expressing it he takes it out on all the little things. Like for lunch one day we had fish, rice and vegetables. He pushed his plate away after taking a few bites. Someone asked him what was wrong. He said the fish tasted different. (To me it didn't taste any different than any other broiled/grilled fish in the States.) Someone helped themselves to his fish and that was the end of that.

Coumba took Rodney into the market to buy his spinach and Andrew and I stayed in the car which Coumba precariously double-parked. Pretty soon a huge bus was behind us trying to turn and honking for us to move. Coumba hadn't left the key in the car. People started yelling to move the car. I yelled back that I didn't have the key. The bus was still honking loudly. The vendors started inching close and saying move the car, why aren't you moving the car? I said do you have the key? I don't. What do you want me to do?

I got out of the car briefly to see if I could see Coumba and Rodney but all I could see was a crowd of annoyed people closing in so I got back in. Still the honking. And then a helpful guy came over and suggested I push the clutch in while he and some others push the car. More honking. I stretched my leg over (I wasn't getting out again) and pushed the clutch in and moved the gear to neutral. They pushed but the car didn't budge. And then Coumba was there, seemingly looking at all of us like we were crazy. She got in and I let Rodney in. She turned the key in the ignition, disengaged the emergency brake and off we went. Ah yes the emergency brake.

Calling the Bluff

"It is always with excitement that I wake up in the morning wondering what (the day)will toss up to me, like gifts from the sea." - Jonas Salk

Murphy's law has taken effect again. The expensive converter/adapter that I bought before coming here no longer works. So I couldn't recharge my phone. It died today before I borrowed Andrew's to recharge it. Hopefully this issue is resolved soon.

Mieko is holding a party on Saturday for us and our NGO partners. I'm looking forward to it. Coumba told the guys they were only welcome to bring their girlfriends if they did not have wives. Wow. (Just for more info she is a doctor, obviously feminist and less obviously married for 9 years, who consults with both Projét Jeune and ASDAP.)

We've noted how laidback Malians are about religion. They are Muslim and they are also open to other's religions. Katie says they would be most concerned if you didn't believe in any God. During our security briefing, Daley said that during the Dutch cartoon riots someone called for a riot in Mali and only 10 people showed up. Dana lived in Senegal for two years and says the Muslim influence seems more prevalent there. Coumba says yes they all walk around fingering their prayer beads saying nothing; The Sengalese bluff a lot. Then she tells us a story about an American in Senegal who wanted to buy a crocodile so a Senegalese painted up a lizard to look like a crocodile and sold it to the man for lots of money; Always bluffing Coumba says.

Instead of meeting at ASDAP this morning we met at the National Museum. Once again I was the first on ready to leave the house in the morning. What's up with that? I live with guys... On the grounds of the museum we saw two men filming a guy in traditional dress dancing and singing. For one second I was puzzled and then I realized they were filming one of those cheesy African music videos which will probably include a screen split into 16 parts post-production.

Inside the museum we learned about the artifacts, culture, and textiles of Mali. There were symbols for fertility and rain, and Madonna and child icons as well as of the first couple Adam and Eve. We looked at mudcloth and tie dye styles. Mudcloth is usually black and white, or brown and white. Mud and water are mixed and fermented and then added to cloth in patterns. The darker parts are where the mud stained the cloth. The intricate tie dye patterns are made from plain cotton that is embroidered then tie dyed. The designs are very distinct and very detailed.

Mali's Dogon tribe is possibly the most well-known out of them all. During the time of slave raids, they moved away from the Niger River, where slave raids regularly took place over a period of 400 years, and into the inhospitable cliffs of the desert. From that vantage point they could see any intruders from far enough away to stage an attack. They were also very sophisticated with their astronomy. They focused specifically on Sirius, the brightest star in the sky, and somehow accurately described its orbit and knew that it had a companion dwarf star although Western astronomers were not able to see the companion star using technology until the 1900s or prove its existence through photography until 1970.

After the museum Coumba said she would give me a ride. A huge open-backed truck full of police went down the street and I got out my camera and then asked Coumba if she thought I could take a picture. She said sure but by the time the lens was ready the truck was gone. We backed up and headed out of the lot and there was the truck again. This time we were alongside it. I snapped a photo and at least five police officers jumped out.

One came up to the car and demanded my camera. I flipped to display mode, reviewed the photo and deleted it immediately. Coumba and I both said that I erased the picture. Thank God for digital cameras. He reached into the car and grabbed the camera. I grabbed it back and we were having a tug-of-war during which I put my arm through the camera's strap saying all the time I erased, I erased. He said something to Coumba and she told me that he wanted me to get out of the car. I let go of the camera and followed him to five feet away.

He asked me to show him the picture I took of the police. I flipped through my pictures of the museum grounds. He said what's after that. I came back around to pictures from my graduation. I said these are my graduation pictures from the US. I deleted that picture. He asked where I was from and then he said never do that again and gave my camera back. When I turned Coumba was right behind me. She had parked her car on the side of the road, left the door open, and come to where we were. We didn't say anything until we were down the street. She asked where you scared? I said yes where you? She said no, they bluff a lot like the Senegalese.

Orientation

"Solitude and meditation gave me an awareness, a perspective which I have never lost: that of solidarity with the rest of mankind." - Vicente Aleixandre

Each morning we head for orientation by hailing a taxi on our road. Monday and Tuesday we went to ASDAP headquarters where I met President Madame Traore Fatoumata Toure in person after reading about her, and the organization she created, on the internet a few months ago. We have working sessions with Dana who is here from One World for only a week and Malian young leaders Coumba, Namory, Ousmane and Amadou whom they call Coulibaly (his last name).

The harrowing taxi rides take 15 minutes through motorbikes, buses, other taxis, people walking, vendors sidestepping cars to sell to passengers and beggars doing the same. The motorbikes are the preferred method of transportation and I have seen it all from women riding with babies strapped to their backs, to 3 grown people riding at the same time, to people transporting HUGE bundles, to women dressed nicely and in heels riding them. I have only seen 2 helmets in all this time. It is every man, woman and child for himself on the roads.

We have a morning breakout session and we break for tea and what looks and tastes like empanadas. Then we go back in for more discussions, brainstorming and activities and then break for lunch which they serve. We usually have salad and some sort of rice, potatoes or couscous with either chicken, beef, or fish. I was warned not to eat salad but for some reason I felt this was ok and I must be right because I have not gotten sick. I do not drink the water though. The first day I thought they would provide water so I did not bring a bottle. But they of course provide tap water. I was so thirsty that I thought I would just bite the bullet and drink it. Instead I had sodas. I have drank more sodas in the past few days than I have had in the past few years though mostly I stay with my bottled water. I actually have been sick but not with one of the various issues one might expect. I traveled 6000+ miles to catch a common cold. The constant switch from sweltering heat to AC is doing me in. I'm almost over it though.

I speak French the best out of our group. Andrew has been struggling, probably more than he thought he would, because his Haitian French is more of a patois. Rodney speaks a bit but has been studying avidly every day. Every day without fail Andrew says it is hot and that he is tired. He nods off in class sessions and goes to sleep as soon as we get home. Today was cooler in the evening as it got cloudy so I had more energy to go out when we got back but he did not. I wonder if he has anemia or if the situation will subside once he starts working at his placement.

Today we went to the US Embassy with Mieko and met with Daley, the Asst Security Advisor to talk about safety in Mali. Our meeting was particularly interesting since he is a Jamaican who lived in the US for a time. After the required talk about not opening ourselves up to petty thievery he told us that what we are doing is very important and also that there are great restaurants and places to go out dancing here and that he would take us out before we left. Andrew was very excited to meet Daley as he is also Jamaican, and Haitian. They both spoke in Jamaican patois while Daley escorted us down to the lobby.

Afterwards we went to Projét Jeune offices and World Education (WE) offices. WE talked about their success in creating sustainable community projects surrounding education. I was particularly interested in their projects in the distant northern regions of Mali bordering Algeria which may harbor extremist activities. Apparently the State Department sees their educational successes there as critical to our defense efforts.

Then we had a presentation from ASDAP and another from a group representing female rights with regards to the law. Earlier this week Namory and Coumba were going back and forth. Namory said that women and men in Mali already had equal rights; Coumba said they didn't. The presentation resolved the issue. If a woman's husband dies and he has designated a guardian of his estate, the woman has to collaborate with the guardian to make decisions about the children and the household. Property is not allowed to pass from father to daughter or husband to wife. A man must always take possession of the property and 'safeguard' it for the woman, a way to keep women from having power or say. Until 2002 a woman had to have her husband's permission to obtain contraception. Coumba also said that many times a husband will give his wife money each day to buy food and things for household needs and if it is not enough to feed the children, the onus is upon the wife, not the husband, to find a way to get more money.

After the presentation I asked Namory how he could have said that women had equal rights, no matter how well he treats his own wife. I said human rights provided the right to control one's own body and destiny and women were humans were they not? Later he asked a very poignant question on the premise of my argument. During another conversation Namory asked me if I liked Mali. I said yes. He asked me if I liked it enough to stay here. I said that I was used to freedom, rights, and power, as a person... as a woman, and that once someone had experienced freedom they would never be happy with less than that.

Coumba invited me to a Malian wedding. Obviously nothing I have to wear will do and so she said she will look into me having something made. Mieko's friend Katie said she had a strapless dress made for a US wedding for the equivalent of 4 USD, not including the fabric. Oh that I could be so lucky.

Coincidence?

"Coincidence is the word we use when we can't see the levers and pulleys.” - Emma Bull

1. Years ago my friends Jean-Marie and her husband Morris gave me a 2 ft. x 2 ft. piece of an ornately carved wooden door. Morris said it was from somewhere in Africa or so he had been told. It was beautiful so I kept it. It was very heavy though so I was afraid to hang it lest it tear down the wall. So I stood it in the corner as decoration for years until I moved from NYC to California. The door was indeed heavy, ridiculously heavy even, and with a limited budget I chose to give it away rather than pay to have it shipped all the way to my new home. Now that I am in Mali, I have learned that the door was created either by those in the Dogon area of Mali or by those familiar with their techniques.

2. I was assigned to work with Projét Jeune this summer. As a part of our orientation week we toured their facilities today. They have a lot of activities on their site to attract young people, and while they are there they can get reproductive health counseling, materials and health checkups. Among the activities they have is a court for soccer and - of all the sports in the world - volleyball, the sport I have been playing competitively since age 13. Playing it in this weather is another story though.

3. On our first full day here when we had the miscommunication with Rodney, he wandered the streets with very little money while he waited for us to get home. (He had the key to the outside door but not the second door which we locked). A man on a moped offered him a ride and it turned out the man was our next door neighbor. Apparently other people told him they had seen his new neighbor wandering the streets sweating and he should go check up on him. With no more info than just that and the direction Rodney had set out in, he found him.

4. The more we discuss the specific situations of public health and education in Mali, the more it becomes apparent that youth in Mali and youth in US communities of color are experiencing the same issues. I did not expect that parallelism but is is more than striking. It hits you over the head. Overcrowded, underfinanced public schools with inconsistent curricula and quality; under-educated parents who cannot or do not know how to advocate for their children; a shortage of teachers, in general, and qualified teachers specifically; the general lack of access to resources; the lack of awareness and the prevalence of stigmas surrounding AIDS; unequal footing for power and negotiations for all but particularly for women and for the young, the need for immediate action...

What does it mean if Mali, a country where donkeys, goats, begging children, mansions, and cyber cafes share the same street, experiences the same problems that are experienced in the US with all its resources? It offers wonderful opportunities for international collaboration, coalition-building, strategy-sharing, yes, but does it mean there is no hope?