"For the love of money, People will lie, rob, they will cheat, For the love of money, People don't care who they hurt or beat...I know that money is the root of all evil, Do funny things to some people...For a small piece of paper it carries a lot of weight...It'll keep on - it'll keep on - changing - yeah - changing up your mind, I'm tellin' y'all, People, don't let money, don't let money change you, Almighty Dollar!" - The O'Jays 'For The Love of Money'
Almost every day I spend 400 CFA on a large bottle of water, 300 CFA for the two sotrames I take to get to work (I get a ride back), 200 CFA on breakfast, 450 CFA on lunch (I thought about bringing my own lunch to work but not only do we lack sufficient Tupperware at our place but there are no facilities at work to heat the food), 300 CFA for one hour on the internet (and let’s be honest if I am blogging, checking emails and uploading pictures it’s more likely that I will be there for 2 hours).
All this comes to a total of 1650 CFA (1950 if we count the second hour of internet time). This translates into about $3.50 - $4.20 per day in a country where 90% live on less than $2 per day. So on the average day I spend 75 - 110% more than the average Malian and I have not yet eaten any snacks, dinner, called or texted anyone, engaged in any form of entertainment, gone anywhere but to work or considered the cost of electricity, cooking gas, or rent for the apartment. Talk about privilege.
In contrast, it isn’t abnormal for folks here not to have enough money to put credit on their phones so they can make as well as receive calls and texts. Fa went to the doctor ages ago for a stomach malady that bothered her from time to time and she still has the prescription though she hasn’t had enough money to fill it. Constance has customers who owe her money as they needed goods even when they did not have the funds to pay for them. One woman owes Constance 20,000 CFA and pays back only a few thousand CFA here and there. Another man left town owing her 5,000 CFA and she’s not sure that he will be coming back.
Yesterday evening I stopped by to see Fa. She was studying for a big test on Monday and so I left after not too long there. She considered taking me back to my place on her brother’s moto but he had the keys and he was up on the roof chatting with two of his friends. Instead of heading back up to the roof she hung her head back and howled something in Bambera. They live in a 2 story apartment building with 3 sections on each level. A few people looked but it took Chaick a while to come to the edge of the roof. He looked down at his sister and frowned and asked, Do you have any sense and dropped the keys down. I laughed because I was thinking the same thing but Fa just fixed her doe eyes on me and flashed a coy, dimpled smile, Oh you understood what he said? Unfortunately the moto was out of gas anyway so we walked. When we got to my place I fried up 2 plantains to snack on while Fa watched astounded. You know how to prepare food, she asked. Yes, I laughed, why not? Because you’re American, she said. You don’t think Americans eat too, I asked. We ate our snack while a dub of Damon Wayan’s family sitcom played in the background and then I walked her back to the halfway point.
From there I went to Constance’s boutique. Constance and Mohammed, Constance’s friend from Algeria, were chatting away and so I sat down and joined them. We got on the subject of the cost of living. Mohammed was shocked that rent is as high as it is in the US. He says he pays 47,000 CFA or $100 for a very spacious apartment. When he askes me questions about the US they tend to be all or nothing questions. I point out that some of everything exists in the US, that there are extremely rich and extremely poor that don’t live too far removed from what I have seen in Mali. He looks at me shocked. I continue to tell him that in some places in the US people don’t have running water or electricity. He tells me he can’t fathom what I am saying, that this exists in the most powerful country in the world. He shakes his head. Constance pipes in with support. She says she has seen it with her own eyes on television.
Is it true that people don’t stop and share pleasantries with each other and have tea, he asks. In some places they do but in the cities they don’t. People are in a rush. That’s one thing I appreciate about being here I said, people have been so hospitable and it’s not quite like that at home. There people have to know you from somewhere, from work, from church, from a social group, from friends etc. before they just invite you over their house for tea or a meal. I think we tend to have more mistrust for strangers…And here I am in Constance’s boutique making change for customers while she is breastfeeding Jean who is especially irritable as he is teething. What would life be if we didn’t take time to greet each other, to talk and inquire about health and family, to take tea together, what would it be if I didn’t share my food if you didn’t have some… It’s capitalism, Mohammed finally says. It makes people only care about money and not other people. Everyone for himself. It’s sad.
I see his point, but I have also seen in Mali that there are blind beggars, that little boys in clothes so tattered and dirty that you can’t even tell their original color go about with buckets singing in their beautiful Viennese choir voices and asking for people to provide blessings (money) from Allah, that women also wait by stoplights with buckets to collect whatever monies passerbys might give, with one baby strapped to their back and another, older or younger no doubt only by 9 or 10 months, strapped to their front. Not everyone here is sharing with their neighbors.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Community Forum
Talking about AIDS and condom usage
Mamadou, Amadou and ??
Current construction
A bit of NY in Bamako
Yesterday as I was coming home from work Amadou, the phone card vendor, asked me what I do during the day. When I told him I am a volunteer at Projet Jeune working in the field of reproductive health, he asked if I could do a presentation for the young people that gather at his stand at night. Good idea Amadou! The work day is never done when we are working with the community... We made an appointment for 10 pm in the evening...
At home I cooked some spinach with onions, tomatoes and garlic to go along with the couscous Andrew made the day before. And I heated up some of the fish I made on Sunday. (Constance had melt-in-your-mouth pork, onions, and plantains waiting for me on Monday. I honestly had forgotten what pork tasted like and didn’t think I would see any in this country.) I was happy to see that Andrew had finally bought some things for the household, although he had not checked to see if we already had some of them. I asked him how his day was and he gave a curt fine. So I said Oh that’s wonderful, drawing it out. He took his food in his room and closed the door. Oh teenaged angst!
I told Rodney about Amadou’s request so he could accompany me. I said I didn’t have a prop for the condom usage demonstration and we searched around for one and decided that the batons for his doumba drums were perfect substitutes. On our way there we was stopped by another group of youth. Never have they stopped us before so I think it had to have been divine providence that they asked where we were going and then requested that I do a presentation for them as well. What are the odds of that happening? I invited them to the presentation but they said they would rather have their own since they were a large group and already had enough seats for everyone. I'll have to see if I can do that one tonight.
When we got down to the phone card stand there were about 6 people total including, Amadou, the phone card vendor, his friend Mamadou, their friend Amadou whom they call Vielle (The Old One), a sixteen year old, another who came later and whose name I didn’t catch, a young woman who lives behind the phone card stand, and 20 year old Tacao (pronounced Taco), who has found a way to communicate with Rodney despite having only a little bit of French in common as far as languages go. Tacao is related to either Amadou or Mamadou and she braids hair and paints nails at the phone card stand.
I started by asking what they knew about AIDS and how it is transmitted. Then we delved into the three part strategy to fight AIDS: abstinence, and in lieu of that fidelity to your partner, and condom usage. They were very attentive although Mamadou wanted to ask about every rumor he ever heard about AIDS including some very off the wall ones. Later I asked Rodney why someone would belive all those crazy rumors and he said drily, We're in Africa. Crazy stuff happens here. Would you believe it if someone came and told you that in the next village strangers were chopping people's hands off? I looked at him and said what? That's exactly what the Belgians did in the Congo to get people to produce more rubber, he said, and those who believed the rumors had a chance to keep their hands. Whoa!
Rumor has it that AIDS was created by a white man who forced an African woman to have sex with an animal, that it was created by condom manufacturers to increase profits, and that manufacturers put the virus in condom lubricant. They wanted to know how it started. I admitted that I didn't know as I hadn't been there but Rodney said the first case was in Tanzania in the 60s. I said that lubricant did not contain the virus and that whether or not it was created to increase profits it was here and had to be taken seriously. That if people were so concerned about the profits they too could go into creating and or distributing condoms to join in on some of the profit-making. They also wanted to know it mosquitoes transmit AIDS or if they can get it and die from it. I said research has shown that mosquitoes do not transmit AIDS and I have no idea if they can die from it, although I suspect that they are not susceptible to human diseases.
We discussed strategies to convince an unwilling partner to use condoms. They wanted to know why more funding was given to AIDS than to malaria which kills more people, according to them, and I let them know the difference between communicable and non-communicable diseases. We played a handshake game that I devised in Brooklyn for my teen girls, with the handshakes symbolizing unprotected sexual relations, and me serving as the starting point for AIDS. It became clear how quickly one person can affect many others.
We also talked about how some traditions including levirat, the tradition of a brother taking on his dead brother's wife as his own, and sororat, the tradition of a sister taking on her dead sister's husband as her own, and even accepted practices such as polygamy and adultery can serve as conduits to further the spread of AIDS. They wanted to know what I thought about levirat, sororat and polygamy. I said that those were practices that were not in my culture but that I wasn't there to judge, but rather to inform them of the dangers. That perhaps if they were to partake in levirat or sororat they should insist on voluntary HIV testing first (and determine the true cause of death) or that when engaging in polygamy or adultery condoms should be used to decrease the risk.
And finally I broke out the doumba baton and did the condom demonstration. This was the highlight and all of a sudden people that had not originally been in attendance came out of nowhere. I did notice that Taco disappeared sometime during the forum. Amadou said he thought it was more important that young women be informed since so many of them refuse to use condoms on the basis that they are not prostitutes. I agreed and said that it was also a function of unequal levels of education. He insisted that I should be talking to a group of young women right now. I said yes but let's be real, it's 10 at night there are no groups of women outside. I have to think of places where perhaps other groups of women congregate but that most often occurs during the daytime. They wanted to know how big of a problem IAIDS really was in Africa and Rodney helped to quote some stats for them, some especially scary ones coming from where he has been in South Africa where it is estimated that 20% have HIV or Botswana or Swaziland where it is estimated that 50% have it. While Mali's incidence rate is still very low, lower even than most communities in the US, the conditions here are ripe for a explosion.
I told them at work that I did what they call an animation last night at the phone card stand. They were so thrilled that they packed my bag full of condoms and gave me a wooden penis on a stand so that I could be that much more effective.
I’ve been looking up more on the ethnicities in Mali and the Puel ethnicity, specifically, the one that I have been told I resemble. And have found the following:
The main ethnic groups of Mali are the Mande, including the Bambara, Malinke, and Sarakole, accounting for 50% of the total population. Other groups include the Peul (or Fulani), accounting for 17%; the Voltaic, making up 12%; the Songhai, constituting 6%; the Tuareg and Moor 10%; and other groups 5%. The Bambara, mostly farmers, occupy all of central Mali bounded by the Côte d'Ivoire frontier in the south and Nara and Nioro in the north. Malinke live chiefly in the regions of Bafoulabé, Kita, and Bamako. The Peul (or Fulani), semi-sedentary herdsmen, are to be found throughout the republic, but mainly in the region of Mopti. The Songhai—farmers, fishermen, and merchants—live along the banks and islands of the Niger River, east of the inland delta. The nomadic Tuareg, of Berber origin, are mainly in the north, in the Adrar des Iforas. The Minianka, largely farmers, populate the region of Koutiala, and the Senufo, also farmers, are found principally in the region of Sikasso. The majority of the peoples in Mali are Negroid; the Tuareg are classified as Caucasoid; and the Puel (Fulani) are of mixed origin.
The Fulani of Mali, also known as the Fulfulde or Peul, are estimated to range between 850,000 to 1,000,000 people. The majority of the Fulani are from a sub-group known as the Futa Jalon. The Fulani people comprise the largest nomadic society in the world covering at least six nations in West Africa. Fourteen million Fulani are spread throughout Northwest and Central Africa. The major concentration of Mali's Fulani population is located within a 150 kilometer radius of the city of Mopti. Most urban Fulani tend to be sedentary, commercial people, whereas the rural Fulani tend to be migratory herdsmen.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Interactions
"Rhythm is the basis of life, not steady forward progress. The forces of creation, destruction, and preservation have a whirling, dynamic interaction." - Kabbalah
On back of Jacques' moto
Dir. of USAID Mali on team as Mieko and Rodney
Elections posters
Another election poster focusing on giving the future back to the youth
Interesting that I am in a clinic with two doctors and an associate and because no one wears uniforms, and because I look Western in dress, people who enter address their questions to me who knows the least. Let's talk about assumptions and stereotypes...
I've been hanging out in Constance's boutique and at Fa's house a lot. Both are ways to interact with a lot of people at the same time and to watch how people interact with each other...
Constance used to have a young woman in the store helping her out. The young woman lived at Constance's house rent-free, enjoyed free food and drink and on top of that was paid almost 20 USD a month to help keep the store. One day I saw the girl with a few tote bags. I asked later and Constance said she let her go. That she was always arguing with her and that she had become concerned about the company she kept. Everyday she was out with a different guy. Hmm I said. Then I wondered what my neighbors must think of me. One day Fa's brother Habib had no sooner walked me home (Fa had an errand to run in the opposite direction) when Jacques appeared because Constance hadn't seen me in a few days. Rather than walk down the street I hopped on the back of his moto and got a ride. Perhaps they have drawn interesting conclusions from my comings and goings but I don't really care since I know the real deal. It's not the same Constance said, Trust me.
Yesterday Jacques came to Constance's store and started following her around and smiling. He told me in English that he had had a flat tire on his moto and he wanted to borrow 2000 CFA (just under 5 dollars) from her. A few minutes later as he continued to follow her around, Constance turned to me and said why is he following me around like this? He only does this when he wants something. And then she turned to him and said I don't have any money today. Let me be. That didn't deter Jacques who turned to me and said, Why won't she give me any money? She knows I restock the store? I didn't want to get in their business so I didn't say anything. Finally Jacques turns to Sophie and Constance's nephew who were standing close to the metal Lipton tea tin that serves as a cash register, and said something to them in Bambera. The nephew started towards the cash box and then he thought better of it and asked for Constance's permission. She didn't give it so he sat back down. If it's money he wants he can dance and sing for it, Constance said folding her arms across her chest. Go on! She kept a straight face until I fell out laughing and then she joined me. Jacques got his money.
I've said before that everything is reused here. There are huge steel junkyards where everything from car parts, to appliance parts to broken umbrellas goes to rest until being resurrected into something grand and resourceful. The railroad cars that we are used to only seeing as part of train cargo have many uses here, most often as storage rooms with ready-made self-locking doors. I have seen men searching amongst the piles for desirable pieces, beating at the steel, fusing it, hammering it into shape, and giving birth to a nex creation which is somthing wholly unlike what it was before.
It is cool and rainy today, although cool is relative. We went to a Togolese restaurant for lunch although restaurant is a bit of a misnomer. We went to a shack with a tin roof and walls and beams of young slim tree trunks. The shcak was held together with nails driven through metal coke bottle tops to keep them from being nailed clean through. The windows were merely half doors in the walls as they were also constructed of metal and wood and were not see through unless they were open. Inside the food was cooked and warmed in pots and pans on old coffee tins filled with live charcoals. Each patron got a plate of rice or To which sort of looks like cream of wheat, either sauce of tomato, spinach, or gumbo (gumbo refers to okra here and the sauce is a little slimy for my taste) and a choice of beef or fish. The food is great and they give you a little woven fan to wave while you eat to keep the flies away. If the fly situation gets bad they throw some incense into a can of live charcoal and the smoke makes the flies go away. The total cost is 400 CFA, less than one US dollar. Of course you can go across the river to the hip places and eat at an indoor restaurant more like the types we are accustomed to and pay 5000 CFA to eat American food. I've only done that once while here and thought it a complete waste of money.
Last friday we had a meetin with representatives from USAID to discuss their involvement in Mali. They support efforts to reduce poverty (focusing on water management, health, and education) and to include women in the democratic proces and encourage them to run for office. The director talked about the difficulty of financing projects not knowing what the funding will be like from year to year. While the democrats normally support financing for USAID projects, the Republicans have extended a lot of support due to the war on terrorism. They have envisioned these types of poverty reduction efforts as a strategic step. USAID Mali recently helped to secure contracts with Hallmark to sell bogolan sacks made here through Bono's Red campaign and with Royal Aho (sp?) a major supermarket in Europe to export mangoes.
Seems no post would be complete without an update on that roommate that everyone loves to hate. Surprise surprise he cooked yesterday, which was just as well because I didn't get home until 10pm. Now we just have to work on getting him to go to the market. However the day did not pass without Rodney noting that Andrew continues to lock his bedroom door every time he leaves but when Rodney came home the other day Andrew said he had borrowed Rodney's DVD which would mean that not only did he enter Rodney's room while Rodney was not there, but he searched and found Rodney's CD case, thumbed through it, and took out his DVD. Meanwhile if Rodney had wanted that same DVD that next day, he wouldn't have been able to get it because Andrew's door was locked and Andrew was gone. Now the question is why would he be in rodney's room while Rodney wasn't there if he has a problem with the situation in reverse.
On back of Jacques' moto
Dir. of USAID Mali on team as Mieko and Rodney
Elections posters
Another election poster focusing on giving the future back to the youthInteresting that I am in a clinic with two doctors and an associate and because no one wears uniforms, and because I look Western in dress, people who enter address their questions to me who knows the least. Let's talk about assumptions and stereotypes...
I've been hanging out in Constance's boutique and at Fa's house a lot. Both are ways to interact with a lot of people at the same time and to watch how people interact with each other...
Constance used to have a young woman in the store helping her out. The young woman lived at Constance's house rent-free, enjoyed free food and drink and on top of that was paid almost 20 USD a month to help keep the store. One day I saw the girl with a few tote bags. I asked later and Constance said she let her go. That she was always arguing with her and that she had become concerned about the company she kept. Everyday she was out with a different guy. Hmm I said. Then I wondered what my neighbors must think of me. One day Fa's brother Habib had no sooner walked me home (Fa had an errand to run in the opposite direction) when Jacques appeared because Constance hadn't seen me in a few days. Rather than walk down the street I hopped on the back of his moto and got a ride. Perhaps they have drawn interesting conclusions from my comings and goings but I don't really care since I know the real deal. It's not the same Constance said, Trust me.
Yesterday Jacques came to Constance's store and started following her around and smiling. He told me in English that he had had a flat tire on his moto and he wanted to borrow 2000 CFA (just under 5 dollars) from her. A few minutes later as he continued to follow her around, Constance turned to me and said why is he following me around like this? He only does this when he wants something. And then she turned to him and said I don't have any money today. Let me be. That didn't deter Jacques who turned to me and said, Why won't she give me any money? She knows I restock the store? I didn't want to get in their business so I didn't say anything. Finally Jacques turns to Sophie and Constance's nephew who were standing close to the metal Lipton tea tin that serves as a cash register, and said something to them in Bambera. The nephew started towards the cash box and then he thought better of it and asked for Constance's permission. She didn't give it so he sat back down. If it's money he wants he can dance and sing for it, Constance said folding her arms across her chest. Go on! She kept a straight face until I fell out laughing and then she joined me. Jacques got his money.
I've said before that everything is reused here. There are huge steel junkyards where everything from car parts, to appliance parts to broken umbrellas goes to rest until being resurrected into something grand and resourceful. The railroad cars that we are used to only seeing as part of train cargo have many uses here, most often as storage rooms with ready-made self-locking doors. I have seen men searching amongst the piles for desirable pieces, beating at the steel, fusing it, hammering it into shape, and giving birth to a nex creation which is somthing wholly unlike what it was before.
It is cool and rainy today, although cool is relative. We went to a Togolese restaurant for lunch although restaurant is a bit of a misnomer. We went to a shack with a tin roof and walls and beams of young slim tree trunks. The shcak was held together with nails driven through metal coke bottle tops to keep them from being nailed clean through. The windows were merely half doors in the walls as they were also constructed of metal and wood and were not see through unless they were open. Inside the food was cooked and warmed in pots and pans on old coffee tins filled with live charcoals. Each patron got a plate of rice or To which sort of looks like cream of wheat, either sauce of tomato, spinach, or gumbo (gumbo refers to okra here and the sauce is a little slimy for my taste) and a choice of beef or fish. The food is great and they give you a little woven fan to wave while you eat to keep the flies away. If the fly situation gets bad they throw some incense into a can of live charcoal and the smoke makes the flies go away. The total cost is 400 CFA, less than one US dollar. Of course you can go across the river to the hip places and eat at an indoor restaurant more like the types we are accustomed to and pay 5000 CFA to eat American food. I've only done that once while here and thought it a complete waste of money.
Last friday we had a meetin with representatives from USAID to discuss their involvement in Mali. They support efforts to reduce poverty (focusing on water management, health, and education) and to include women in the democratic proces and encourage them to run for office. The director talked about the difficulty of financing projects not knowing what the funding will be like from year to year. While the democrats normally support financing for USAID projects, the Republicans have extended a lot of support due to the war on terrorism. They have envisioned these types of poverty reduction efforts as a strategic step. USAID Mali recently helped to secure contracts with Hallmark to sell bogolan sacks made here through Bono's Red campaign and with Royal Aho (sp?) a major supermarket in Europe to export mangoes.
Seems no post would be complete without an update on that roommate that everyone loves to hate. Surprise surprise he cooked yesterday, which was just as well because I didn't get home until 10pm. Now we just have to work on getting him to go to the market. However the day did not pass without Rodney noting that Andrew continues to lock his bedroom door every time he leaves but when Rodney came home the other day Andrew said he had borrowed Rodney's DVD which would mean that not only did he enter Rodney's room while Rodney was not there, but he searched and found Rodney's CD case, thumbed through it, and took out his DVD. Meanwhile if Rodney had wanted that same DVD that next day, he wouldn't have been able to get it because Andrew's door was locked and Andrew was gone. Now the question is why would he be in rodney's room while Rodney wasn't there if he has a problem with the situation in reverse.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Food and Music
"There is no sincerer love than the love of food." - George Bernard Shaw
Posing with Mieko before we eat
Me and Constance posing inside her store
A sotrame like the kind I take to work
Coumba invited me to a tontine last week. A tontine is a gathering of women who meet monthly and give a designated fee to the community pot. Each month the collected fees go to one person, the one who is hosting the gathering. It is a sort of revolving fund wherein everyone benefits. This tontine was made up of a group of women who had graduated from Coumba's high school. We ate and talked. I enjoyed sitting among all the women, admiring their clothing and hairstyles and listening to as much of their storeis as I could understand. When they learned I was from the US they talked about their trips there and commiserated with each other that no one in Washington DC was able to understand French.
Last week Brahms took me to a live music spot featuring Malian Blues. The first song sounded just like blues from the southern US, complete with the BBKingesque guitar. The next song incorporated other Malian instruments to fuse the sounds. I noticed that the beats I moved to were different beats than the Malians move too. I looked around and saw one other person moving to the same beats I was moving to and I would have bet all the money in my purse that he was American as well. I noticed that the walls were well decorated with lots of paintings but I also noticed that all of the men were revolutionaries from around the world: Nelson Mandela, Malcolm X, Che Guevara, Toure (sp?) etc. while the women were all generic half-clothed beauties. I noted this to Brahms and he said well the women in some villages wear this type of dress. I said yes but the men are not men from random villages. They could have depicted famous revolutionary women as well. Revolutionary women, he shouted, like who?
I laughed and said Brahms, just as the accomplishments of people of color have been omitted from history books written by colonizers, the accomplishments of women have been omitted from books written by men. Your ignorance of women revolutionaries is not an indication that none exist. There are too many to name. He looked at me again as if seeing me for the first time. Oh you're a feminist, he finally said. No, I said, I'm a realist. If you promote only men you still only have half the story. It takes both men and women to make the world go round. What will you tell your daughter? That she is not important and cannot contribute to the world because she is female? He looked at me and fell silent and I turned back to the stage and lost myself in the music.
Constance asked me if we have peanuts, cashews, and beans in the US. Someone else asked if we have tomatoes and onions. It's kind of funny to me since I was not surprised that they had these foods here. I wonder what they think we eat. Granted there are some foods that are not in each location but those are the uncommon ones. I didn't know, but was happy to see that they had grits and immediately asked Constance the name so I could buy them at the market. One day when I came to the store Constance had a dish waiting for me. You have to taste haricots (beans), she says. This is a Malian dish. I sit down on a bench inside her store and uncover the dish. Oh black-eyed peas, I say. Oh you have these at home, she asks. Yes, I say, and I translate the name for her. My grandmother insists we eat them on New Year's Day to have good luck throughout the rest of the year. Constance nods her agreement. I taste the beans and they are delicious and the spices used not at all unfamiliar. I have heard that Africans carried with them to the US many of the foods that make up the basis of African-American and Southern cooking. And here I am seeing it for myself.
The next day Constance has a shea butter nut waiting for me. She tells me what it is and I say isn't this used for lotion? She says yes and also for eating. I look at the nut which ressembles an avocado pit and I ask what I do with it. She bites into hers and the outside slides away, unlike an avocado pit, to reveal a yellow fruit underneath. I bite into mine and the yellow fruit of the shea butter nut is soft and fragrant. It smells heavenly and it tastes even better. Why would someone waste the flesh on lotion I wonder and I think back to the shower gel in my bathroom at that moment...I'd rather have the shea butter fruit than shea butter shower gel.
Saturday the 7th of July, we officially celebrated the 4th of July. We had to wait of course for a real celebration since the day is not a holiday here and it fell during the week. The party consisted of a gathering of all Americans related to the Embassy and USAID, including employees, families, and even missionaires in the country. It was held at the American club, a little oasis in Bamako with grass (wow!), palm trees, a pool, tennis and volleyball courts, and a pool table where for just 20 USD a month, or 10000 CFA, you too can pretend you are not actually in Bamako.
Mieko picked us up at our place. That involved a little incident with Andrew snapping at Rodney and I that Mieko was there and they were leaving. I came out of my room and asked what did you just say? Was he seriously thinking that they were going to leave once he got downstairs? Hmph. He changed it a bit to Mieko's here, If you're coming... Of course I'm coming I say. We're all going which is why I told everyone 15 minutes ago that Mieko was on her way. By this time I am just talking to his back as he has turned away and started down the stairs. I hear Rodney tell him to be more mindful of how he talks to people. Aah Andrew... treating me like the parent that every teenager loves to rebel against and grind an axe with for no cause at all and perhaps his mother takes that but I did not give birth to him and have no interest in condoning such behavior. He pouted the rest of the ride and even upon arriving at the party. Everyone had to had ID to get in and in his rush to be the first in the car he had forgotten his. I would not have thought a thing of it if he could not get in but the guard knew Mieko and thus allowed him in.
While Rodney and I commenced to talking to and meeting new folks and reconnecting with old contacts including the Director of USAID in Mali (who plays a mean game of tug of war), Andrew sat off to the side and read a book. I got a contact at Africare which is great because I have been trying to schedule a presentation at Africare for weeks now and couldn't get so much as an email or phone call answered. I also met an 18 year old Jessica who is here with the Southern Baptists for a year before starting college. She said she has learned so much that now she is afraid to go home to South Carolina as none of her friends are interested in how people live around the world. If you looked around you saw a mini representation of America, diverse, although less diverse than the real thing. But there were Asians, Whites and Blacks in attendance, as well as several families with mixed cultures: West African and American/ or Canadian.
Then the volleyball game started and I was in heaven. I hadn't dressed specifically for playing but when did that ever matter? I got in a few spikes and even blocked a few spikes. My vball team would be so proud of me! There was also tug of war, three legged races, sack races, and egg tosses. And we ate baked beans, potato salad, hot dogs, hamburgers, and an assortment of desserts. It was nice to have a little bit of home away from home.
Rodney and I continued that the next day having secured a place on Mieko's schedule. We rose early and went to the market and bought food and went to her place to cook it. Aaah an air conditioner while we cooked, and four eyes on te range, and an array of utensiles and dishes and pots and pans. And she was playing Stevie Wonder... I was in heaven singing while cooking. (Although it was my first time dealing with a whole fish and the experience didn't quite leave me unscathed.) We left a note for Andrew before we left to let him know we were going to Mieko's and what time we would get there. We weren't sure if he was still sleeping or at church. He never came or called. But we enjoyed ourselves and sat down to a meal of grits, baked fish, eggplant ratatouille, fried plantains, cucumber salad and mango. Yum! After that we talked for hours and finally left after dark. When we came home there was an empty tin of tuna in the kitchen from where Andrew had fed himself but had not thought to prepare something for the house for the week. I guess he is/was waiting for us to do that. Since he eats and never offers to pay or asks what we spent at the market, we have to present him with a running tally of what we have spent and what he owes. I'm going to talk to him about the stages of cooking: going to the market, paying for the food, carrying the food back, preparing the food, eating it and cleaning up. His sole contribution cannot be an open mouth.
I love cooking though and it makes me laugh to reflect on the time in my life when I refused to...at least then I knew how to be grateful to those who cooked for me. Special thanks to all those folks: you know who you are!!
Posing with Mieko before we eat
Me and Constance posing inside her store
A sotrame like the kind I take to work
Coumba invited me to a tontine last week. A tontine is a gathering of women who meet monthly and give a designated fee to the community pot. Each month the collected fees go to one person, the one who is hosting the gathering. It is a sort of revolving fund wherein everyone benefits. This tontine was made up of a group of women who had graduated from Coumba's high school. We ate and talked. I enjoyed sitting among all the women, admiring their clothing and hairstyles and listening to as much of their storeis as I could understand. When they learned I was from the US they talked about their trips there and commiserated with each other that no one in Washington DC was able to understand French.
Last week Brahms took me to a live music spot featuring Malian Blues. The first song sounded just like blues from the southern US, complete with the BBKingesque guitar. The next song incorporated other Malian instruments to fuse the sounds. I noticed that the beats I moved to were different beats than the Malians move too. I looked around and saw one other person moving to the same beats I was moving to and I would have bet all the money in my purse that he was American as well. I noticed that the walls were well decorated with lots of paintings but I also noticed that all of the men were revolutionaries from around the world: Nelson Mandela, Malcolm X, Che Guevara, Toure (sp?) etc. while the women were all generic half-clothed beauties. I noted this to Brahms and he said well the women in some villages wear this type of dress. I said yes but the men are not men from random villages. They could have depicted famous revolutionary women as well. Revolutionary women, he shouted, like who?
I laughed and said Brahms, just as the accomplishments of people of color have been omitted from history books written by colonizers, the accomplishments of women have been omitted from books written by men. Your ignorance of women revolutionaries is not an indication that none exist. There are too many to name. He looked at me again as if seeing me for the first time. Oh you're a feminist, he finally said. No, I said, I'm a realist. If you promote only men you still only have half the story. It takes both men and women to make the world go round. What will you tell your daughter? That she is not important and cannot contribute to the world because she is female? He looked at me and fell silent and I turned back to the stage and lost myself in the music.
Constance asked me if we have peanuts, cashews, and beans in the US. Someone else asked if we have tomatoes and onions. It's kind of funny to me since I was not surprised that they had these foods here. I wonder what they think we eat. Granted there are some foods that are not in each location but those are the uncommon ones. I didn't know, but was happy to see that they had grits and immediately asked Constance the name so I could buy them at the market. One day when I came to the store Constance had a dish waiting for me. You have to taste haricots (beans), she says. This is a Malian dish. I sit down on a bench inside her store and uncover the dish. Oh black-eyed peas, I say. Oh you have these at home, she asks. Yes, I say, and I translate the name for her. My grandmother insists we eat them on New Year's Day to have good luck throughout the rest of the year. Constance nods her agreement. I taste the beans and they are delicious and the spices used not at all unfamiliar. I have heard that Africans carried with them to the US many of the foods that make up the basis of African-American and Southern cooking. And here I am seeing it for myself.
The next day Constance has a shea butter nut waiting for me. She tells me what it is and I say isn't this used for lotion? She says yes and also for eating. I look at the nut which ressembles an avocado pit and I ask what I do with it. She bites into hers and the outside slides away, unlike an avocado pit, to reveal a yellow fruit underneath. I bite into mine and the yellow fruit of the shea butter nut is soft and fragrant. It smells heavenly and it tastes even better. Why would someone waste the flesh on lotion I wonder and I think back to the shower gel in my bathroom at that moment...I'd rather have the shea butter fruit than shea butter shower gel.
Saturday the 7th of July, we officially celebrated the 4th of July. We had to wait of course for a real celebration since the day is not a holiday here and it fell during the week. The party consisted of a gathering of all Americans related to the Embassy and USAID, including employees, families, and even missionaires in the country. It was held at the American club, a little oasis in Bamako with grass (wow!), palm trees, a pool, tennis and volleyball courts, and a pool table where for just 20 USD a month, or 10000 CFA, you too can pretend you are not actually in Bamako.
Mieko picked us up at our place. That involved a little incident with Andrew snapping at Rodney and I that Mieko was there and they were leaving. I came out of my room and asked what did you just say? Was he seriously thinking that they were going to leave once he got downstairs? Hmph. He changed it a bit to Mieko's here, If you're coming... Of course I'm coming I say. We're all going which is why I told everyone 15 minutes ago that Mieko was on her way. By this time I am just talking to his back as he has turned away and started down the stairs. I hear Rodney tell him to be more mindful of how he talks to people. Aah Andrew... treating me like the parent that every teenager loves to rebel against and grind an axe with for no cause at all and perhaps his mother takes that but I did not give birth to him and have no interest in condoning such behavior. He pouted the rest of the ride and even upon arriving at the party. Everyone had to had ID to get in and in his rush to be the first in the car he had forgotten his. I would not have thought a thing of it if he could not get in but the guard knew Mieko and thus allowed him in.
While Rodney and I commenced to talking to and meeting new folks and reconnecting with old contacts including the Director of USAID in Mali (who plays a mean game of tug of war), Andrew sat off to the side and read a book. I got a contact at Africare which is great because I have been trying to schedule a presentation at Africare for weeks now and couldn't get so much as an email or phone call answered. I also met an 18 year old Jessica who is here with the Southern Baptists for a year before starting college. She said she has learned so much that now she is afraid to go home to South Carolina as none of her friends are interested in how people live around the world. If you looked around you saw a mini representation of America, diverse, although less diverse than the real thing. But there were Asians, Whites and Blacks in attendance, as well as several families with mixed cultures: West African and American/ or Canadian.
Then the volleyball game started and I was in heaven. I hadn't dressed specifically for playing but when did that ever matter? I got in a few spikes and even blocked a few spikes. My vball team would be so proud of me! There was also tug of war, three legged races, sack races, and egg tosses. And we ate baked beans, potato salad, hot dogs, hamburgers, and an assortment of desserts. It was nice to have a little bit of home away from home.
Rodney and I continued that the next day having secured a place on Mieko's schedule. We rose early and went to the market and bought food and went to her place to cook it. Aaah an air conditioner while we cooked, and four eyes on te range, and an array of utensiles and dishes and pots and pans. And she was playing Stevie Wonder... I was in heaven singing while cooking. (Although it was my first time dealing with a whole fish and the experience didn't quite leave me unscathed.) We left a note for Andrew before we left to let him know we were going to Mieko's and what time we would get there. We weren't sure if he was still sleeping or at church. He never came or called. But we enjoyed ourselves and sat down to a meal of grits, baked fish, eggplant ratatouille, fried plantains, cucumber salad and mango. Yum! After that we talked for hours and finally left after dark. When we came home there was an empty tin of tuna in the kitchen from where Andrew had fed himself but had not thought to prepare something for the house for the week. I guess he is/was waiting for us to do that. Since he eats and never offers to pay or asks what we spent at the market, we have to present him with a running tally of what we have spent and what he owes. I'm going to talk to him about the stages of cooking: going to the market, paying for the food, carrying the food back, preparing the food, eating it and cleaning up. His sole contribution cannot be an open mouth.
I love cooking though and it makes me laugh to reflect on the time in my life when I refused to...at least then I knew how to be grateful to those who cooked for me. Special thanks to all those folks: you know who you are!!
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Breakdown
"Lean on me, When you're not strong, and I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on, For, it won't be long, til I'm gonna need somebody to lean on. " -song
Today I attended a training at Projet Jeune for young leaders in the community to become peer educators with respect to reproductive health. The first morning module was conducted by Coumba, the second by Tchou Tchou, and the third by a woman whose name I can’t remember and it’s no wonder. Let’s call her Aminata.
So Aminata had already made a big deal of me signing the sign-in sheet. If she didn’t want me to sign it she should have just said so. Rather she came to me in the middle of the module saying loudly, You shouldn’t have signed this. I said ok I can cross it out. She said No that won’t work. I said ok and then turned back to the module. She shakes the paper again in front of my face and says You should not have signed this; Don’t sign these in the future. Ok I nod again. And then for good measure she repeats herself a few more times. Are you kidding me? Everyone was staring at us. Ok dear I understood you the first time. Now go away. Of course this last part was not said. When she passed around a new sign-in sheet she stood behind me and hissed when I received it from the person next to me. I ignored her and passed it to the guy next to me.
The sessions were conducted in French but frequently jokes were told in Bambera and everyone, but me, laughed. I, of course, would have liked to laugh and hear the stories and jokes too but no one offered to translate. So I just got the bare facts and none of the interesting tidbits. It is hard enough for me, a very social person, to navigate a second language and then a third here, especially when people who speak the one that I am more fluent in insist on only talking to each other in the one in which I am not fluent. It feels isolating and disturbing even. I’m left to my own thoughts in my own head for most of the day. That is difficult enough but Aminata added insult to injury. And she wasn’t done yet.
While Tchou Tchou included me in the activities when she broke groups out to discuss issues in greater detail, when Aminata was leading the module she pointed to me and said she doesn’t count, don’t include her in the breakout groups. Ooookay. After that she told me I could join any group I wanted but with such an introduction it proved difficult. As I attempted to join one group, they all looked at me, a girl said she doesn’t matter and they all turned their backs and went back to discussing. Wow!
I felt like I was at the receiving end of a childhood game of the silent treatment.
So I grabbed my phone and left. But it was too early to call anyone in the States, so I headed for the clinic to say hello to Coumba and Sogonna and return after the breakout. I got back just as they began presenting and then we had a break where we each got a drink and a snack. I was one of the last to get my food and as I walked outside all of the other attendees were already in small groups. I tried approaching a few but they did not acknowledge my presence (I don't matter remember) and the last straw was overhearing two guys talk about me but not to me. I gathered all my stuff and headed to the clinic for good. Coumba asked if everything had gone well. I nodded. She asked if we were on a break I nodded again. Finally she said what's wrong? I shook my head.
She told me to come in her office where embarassingly enough I ended up displaying just how upset this incident and others over the past month had made me. I guess everyone has a breakdown now and then. All I know is that mine ended with everyone in her office Tchou Tchou, Sogonna, Brahms, and Aminata herself who had been called to task for upsetting me so.
Aminata tried to defend herself by saying that she had not meant to exclude me, only to say that I was a volunteer who would not be engaging in the same work after the training. She softened what she had said in the module and I explained that even if that had been her intention, there was a better way to go about it. That I am clearly a stranger in a foreign land and I need not to be pointed out and excluded anymore than I already am. Tchou Tchou said she understood my point, that a faciliator never singles people out. I graciously said that Aminata had not been the only cause of me being upset and I did not want her to be too upset over the incident. Ugh how tiring and embarrassing. They tried to get me to go back into the training afterwards but I had had enough for the day.
I went straight to Fa's when I got home so I could converse with her and her brothers about music, art, religion, literature, geography, the state of the union and just forget all of this other foolishness.
Today I attended a training at Projet Jeune for young leaders in the community to become peer educators with respect to reproductive health. The first morning module was conducted by Coumba, the second by Tchou Tchou, and the third by a woman whose name I can’t remember and it’s no wonder. Let’s call her Aminata.
So Aminata had already made a big deal of me signing the sign-in sheet. If she didn’t want me to sign it she should have just said so. Rather she came to me in the middle of the module saying loudly, You shouldn’t have signed this. I said ok I can cross it out. She said No that won’t work. I said ok and then turned back to the module. She shakes the paper again in front of my face and says You should not have signed this; Don’t sign these in the future. Ok I nod again. And then for good measure she repeats herself a few more times. Are you kidding me? Everyone was staring at us. Ok dear I understood you the first time. Now go away. Of course this last part was not said. When she passed around a new sign-in sheet she stood behind me and hissed when I received it from the person next to me. I ignored her and passed it to the guy next to me.
The sessions were conducted in French but frequently jokes were told in Bambera and everyone, but me, laughed. I, of course, would have liked to laugh and hear the stories and jokes too but no one offered to translate. So I just got the bare facts and none of the interesting tidbits. It is hard enough for me, a very social person, to navigate a second language and then a third here, especially when people who speak the one that I am more fluent in insist on only talking to each other in the one in which I am not fluent. It feels isolating and disturbing even. I’m left to my own thoughts in my own head for most of the day. That is difficult enough but Aminata added insult to injury. And she wasn’t done yet.
While Tchou Tchou included me in the activities when she broke groups out to discuss issues in greater detail, when Aminata was leading the module she pointed to me and said she doesn’t count, don’t include her in the breakout groups. Ooookay. After that she told me I could join any group I wanted but with such an introduction it proved difficult. As I attempted to join one group, they all looked at me, a girl said she doesn’t matter and they all turned their backs and went back to discussing. Wow!
I felt like I was at the receiving end of a childhood game of the silent treatment.
So I grabbed my phone and left. But it was too early to call anyone in the States, so I headed for the clinic to say hello to Coumba and Sogonna and return after the breakout. I got back just as they began presenting and then we had a break where we each got a drink and a snack. I was one of the last to get my food and as I walked outside all of the other attendees were already in small groups. I tried approaching a few but they did not acknowledge my presence (I don't matter remember) and the last straw was overhearing two guys talk about me but not to me. I gathered all my stuff and headed to the clinic for good. Coumba asked if everything had gone well. I nodded. She asked if we were on a break I nodded again. Finally she said what's wrong? I shook my head.
She told me to come in her office where embarassingly enough I ended up displaying just how upset this incident and others over the past month had made me. I guess everyone has a breakdown now and then. All I know is that mine ended with everyone in her office Tchou Tchou, Sogonna, Brahms, and Aminata herself who had been called to task for upsetting me so.
Aminata tried to defend herself by saying that she had not meant to exclude me, only to say that I was a volunteer who would not be engaging in the same work after the training. She softened what she had said in the module and I explained that even if that had been her intention, there was a better way to go about it. That I am clearly a stranger in a foreign land and I need not to be pointed out and excluded anymore than I already am. Tchou Tchou said she understood my point, that a faciliator never singles people out. I graciously said that Aminata had not been the only cause of me being upset and I did not want her to be too upset over the incident. Ugh how tiring and embarrassing. They tried to get me to go back into the training afterwards but I had had enough for the day.
I went straight to Fa's when I got home so I could converse with her and her brothers about music, art, religion, literature, geography, the state of the union and just forget all of this other foolishness.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Sophie's Bday
"Childhood: the period of human life intermediate between the idiocy of infancy and the folly of youth - two removes from the sin of manhood and three from the remorse of age". - Ambrose Bierce
Sophie and her dad Maxime
Blowing out candles
Me and the bday girl
All smiles after eating cake
Tuesday was Sophie's birthday and that of my grandmother as well. I started out the day still not feeling well from the night before. (And I actually thought I was going to leave Mali without a bout of traveler's sickness.) The day before at work Coumba had asked if I was really not feeling well or if my morale was low. Could be a little of both, but morale certainly had nothing to do with the minor earthquakes I experienced. So I called in and spent a leisurely day in bed reading, sleeping, and taking Immodium - all of which turned out to be the perfect cure for all that ailed me.
When Rodney came back from work he and I went to the market and although he wanted to cook, I started first so I could make a huge pot of food that would last for many days not just one or two nights. The night before when we had come home Andrew had two plates of rather tasteless food (only enough for one serving each) waiting for us. While I was cooking Rodney leaned in and asked if I would please remember to spice the food. I said I don't cook without spices and he was satisfied. Just as I finished cooking Constance's brother Jacques came to our door. He said Constance had sent him, that she hadn't seen me that day and that they were at the house ready to celebrate Sophie's bday. I had already been planning to go so after grabbing a quick bite to tide me over I set off on foot. Of course Jacques left as soon as he stopped by so he could head to town to listen to music and discuss politics with his friends.
I rounded the corner of Constance's street and before I could even see that the door to the courtyard was open a shout pierced the darkness. Fan-ta!! And then a figure came running at me and barrelled into me. I picked Sophie up and wished her a happy birthday. And of course she spied the gifts in my hand before I'd even walked in the courtyard. I had with me the gift Rodney gave to her, the Akeelah and the Bee DVD (it has French subtitles) and I gave her a small coin purse filled with American coins which she kept removing and replacing, saying I'll use these when I go to America. Cringe! I guess she'll find out later what the coins are worth. While I was momentarily worried about my gift since she got real Malian money, the folding kind, from some uncles and cousins, the novelty of my gift was perfect. We sang and Sophie blew out the candles on her delicious chocolate cake fresh from the bakery. We ate the cake first and then dinner and amazingly after a little more excitement Sophie declared she was exhausted and excused herself to go to bed. No kids were in attendance except Sophie's brother Jean. Just various family friends and some country music playing in the background. US country music (Maxime talks a lot about Texas.)
After dinner Maxime exhaled a big loud sigh. I asked if everything was okay and he said no. Maxime was overseeing the exportation of Malian gold to his business partner in Switzerland and somehow the weight of the package was mislabeled and so it was held up in customs, tangling the business deal. Yikes! Until that moment I hadn't known what he did but Rodney and I figured they were well off comparatively if for no other reason than the fact that Sophie just turned 7 and is already learning French and English. I stayed and talked a while longer with Constance and Maxime. Constance pulled out a bag of shoes, saying she had seen a pair of sandals that she thought would look good on me and bought them when she bought her own. I tried them on and oooh were they comfortable. I've already gotten several compliments. How is it Sophie's birthday and I get a present?
Sophie and her dad Maxime
Blowing out candles
Me and the bday girl
All smiles after eating cake
Tuesday was Sophie's birthday and that of my grandmother as well. I started out the day still not feeling well from the night before. (And I actually thought I was going to leave Mali without a bout of traveler's sickness.) The day before at work Coumba had asked if I was really not feeling well or if my morale was low. Could be a little of both, but morale certainly had nothing to do with the minor earthquakes I experienced. So I called in and spent a leisurely day in bed reading, sleeping, and taking Immodium - all of which turned out to be the perfect cure for all that ailed me.
When Rodney came back from work he and I went to the market and although he wanted to cook, I started first so I could make a huge pot of food that would last for many days not just one or two nights. The night before when we had come home Andrew had two plates of rather tasteless food (only enough for one serving each) waiting for us. While I was cooking Rodney leaned in and asked if I would please remember to spice the food. I said I don't cook without spices and he was satisfied. Just as I finished cooking Constance's brother Jacques came to our door. He said Constance had sent him, that she hadn't seen me that day and that they were at the house ready to celebrate Sophie's bday. I had already been planning to go so after grabbing a quick bite to tide me over I set off on foot. Of course Jacques left as soon as he stopped by so he could head to town to listen to music and discuss politics with his friends.
I rounded the corner of Constance's street and before I could even see that the door to the courtyard was open a shout pierced the darkness. Fan-ta!! And then a figure came running at me and barrelled into me. I picked Sophie up and wished her a happy birthday. And of course she spied the gifts in my hand before I'd even walked in the courtyard. I had with me the gift Rodney gave to her, the Akeelah and the Bee DVD (it has French subtitles) and I gave her a small coin purse filled with American coins which she kept removing and replacing, saying I'll use these when I go to America. Cringe! I guess she'll find out later what the coins are worth. While I was momentarily worried about my gift since she got real Malian money, the folding kind, from some uncles and cousins, the novelty of my gift was perfect. We sang and Sophie blew out the candles on her delicious chocolate cake fresh from the bakery. We ate the cake first and then dinner and amazingly after a little more excitement Sophie declared she was exhausted and excused herself to go to bed. No kids were in attendance except Sophie's brother Jean. Just various family friends and some country music playing in the background. US country music (Maxime talks a lot about Texas.)
After dinner Maxime exhaled a big loud sigh. I asked if everything was okay and he said no. Maxime was overseeing the exportation of Malian gold to his business partner in Switzerland and somehow the weight of the package was mislabeled and so it was held up in customs, tangling the business deal. Yikes! Until that moment I hadn't known what he did but Rodney and I figured they were well off comparatively if for no other reason than the fact that Sophie just turned 7 and is already learning French and English. I stayed and talked a while longer with Constance and Maxime. Constance pulled out a bag of shoes, saying she had seen a pair of sandals that she thought would look good on me and bought them when she bought her own. I tried them on and oooh were they comfortable. I've already gotten several compliments. How is it Sophie's birthday and I get a present?
Monday, July 2, 2007
Death and Delight
"And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair." - Kahlil Gibran
The red-tinted dove must be the most dim-witted bird alive. I wonder how it has not gone extinct. I'm not sure whether a new pair of birds has taken over the nest on the windowsill or whether the same unlucky parents are throwing caution to the wind again. My mother suggested that we knock the nest down but it's in a very awkward and hard to reach position so we just watch the drama unfold... a mother bird has now laid an egg that has managed to roll out of the nest and onto the track of the windowsill. I doubt the mother will be able to keep the egg warm because the edge of the nest and the window itself prevent her from actually sitting on it. I wonder what will happen...
Andrew said he saw an accident on the way to work. A man took a spill on his moto and everyone went around him or just watched him struggle to get up from underneath the motorcycle. He had been about to get on a Sotrama to go to work and he stopped. While others tried to urge him onto the bus he went over and helped the man up. And then since the motorcycle was heavy he called others to help move it. He said he was astounded that he was the only one who went to help the man and that even the man appeared surprised and wary of the helping hand extended to him.
Rodney said one of his coworkers spent the weekend in jail. He had been driving down a street at a normal pace when a 3 year old, watched only by a 6 year old, dashed out into the street in front of his vehicle. Having grown up on Hollywood films, I want there to be a happy ending or a miracle resolution, but there isn't in this case. The child died and the driver is in jail, although he is not at fault. Anytime someone dies, someone has to go to jail until everything is sorted out.
Saturday afternoon I was sitting inside Constance's store, drinking a Fanta Fiesta, shelling and eating peanuts, and alternately playing Say-Say-Oh-Playmate with Sophie, when we heard a huge racket outside shouting and blowing horns. We all jumped up and watched as a parade of vehicles streamed by...motorcycles whose passengers waved elections posters of a candidate, cars whose bumpers and side windows were pasted with the same posters, and huge buses whose front and rear doors were open to reveal a tumble of passengers leaning out cheering and waving the posters. They shouted and pointed to the posters as they passed, though I can't be sure of what they said or of who the candidate was since no one had thought to enlarge the candidate's name and face for distance purposes. And then somewhere in the middle of the pack, a white SUV rolled by with its own calm. A man in the front seat wearing a button-down shirt casually waved. I recognized the wave of a politician instinctively and had it confirmed for me when Constance leaned in and said That's him! The caravan continued for what seemed like forever and finally the street was quiet again. Those of us who had stopped what we were doing to come out and watch, looked at each other, and then turned and went back to what we had been doing.
I asked Constance about the issues in this election. She told me that commune representatives for Congress were being elected. All the neighborhoods in Bamako belong to one of 6 communes. People are encouraged to pay dues to their communes but I'm not quite sure for what. Is there anything that distinguishes one candidate from the other, I asked. Judging from the posters they all seem to be promising justice and solidarity. Constance shrugged.
Later she told me we were going to visit her big sister who didn't live far away. She strapped Jean to her back and Sophie walked along side us as we set out. It turns out it was a little further than Constance wanted to walk and so when a cab passed us she hailed it and we hopped in. When the taxi stopped and we got out, the front door swung open and a little boy held the door as we walked into the courtyard. A huge dirt-packed courtyard, walled off from the street, with several large trees, a pen for sheep off to the side, and a cookhouse so that whoever cooked could enjoy a nice cool breeze while they did so.
We took a few steps into the courtyard and a girl I judged to be about ten ran up to me, all shy smile, dimples and adult teeth still coming in. Are you Fanta Sy, she asked almost breathlessly. Yes, that's me, I replied astonished, what's your name. Obviously either Sophie or Constance or both had been talking about me. Awa she said smiling shyly again. When I caught her stealing a few glances at me later I smiled at her and then looked away so she could look her fill. It makes me wonder what was said about me and why she seemed to idolize me in a reverential way that Sophie didn't. Jean seemed to particularly enjoy his older male cousin who picked kept burrowing his head in Jean's stomach to make him laugh. The cousin must have only been 4 or 5 years older and I imagine that when Jean grows a little more, the two of them will have a lot of fun together.
Constance's mother was also there visiting from Kita. I went through the Bambera greetings with her and she asked how long I had been in Mali in French. When I told her I had just made one month she pronounced that I was awfully clever for having learned that much Bambera in such a short time. We sat out in the courtyard in those ubiquitous restrung lawn chairs and talked until darkness fell. Here dusk is only a fleeting thought. It starts to get dark, and then it is. Constance said we should start back.
Her brother-in-law and sister walked us down the street a ways, and then her sister continued with us for a while longer. and then it was just us. Constance pointed to some graffiti on a nearby wall and said she didn't understand why people did that. I looked and then began laughing. Here in the middle of an unpaved dirt road in Bamako, someone had spray-painted the NY Yankees symbol. And that is to say nothing of all the Roc-a-Fella, G-Unit, and 50 Cent graffiti Rodney says he saw in Timbuktu. Sad and funny at the same time. I explained to Constance why I was laughing. And she nodded and said a lot of Malians live in New York for a time and then come back.
With one-quarter of the way left to go, Sophie complained that she was tired. I stopped to lean down to give her a piggy back ride. She's too old for that, Constance said, and she's too big, you'll make yourself sick. It's fine I said. She should really get down, Constance said, the road is rocky you both might fall. Plus she's the one who wanted to see her grandmother and she knows how far it is. Hmm, I said, I'll be careful, hating to think that at 7 one might be too big for piggyback rides. And finally around the corner from the store I lowered Sophie back to her own feet.
I just finished a book Rodney lent me: Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga and I highly recommend it. Tambu, an adolescent living in colonial Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) of the '60s, seizes the opportunity to leave her rural community to study at a missionary school run by her wealthy, British-educated uncle. She slowly reaches some painful conclusions--about her family, her proscribed role as a woman, and the inherent evils of colonization.
The red-tinted dove must be the most dim-witted bird alive. I wonder how it has not gone extinct. I'm not sure whether a new pair of birds has taken over the nest on the windowsill or whether the same unlucky parents are throwing caution to the wind again. My mother suggested that we knock the nest down but it's in a very awkward and hard to reach position so we just watch the drama unfold... a mother bird has now laid an egg that has managed to roll out of the nest and onto the track of the windowsill. I doubt the mother will be able to keep the egg warm because the edge of the nest and the window itself prevent her from actually sitting on it. I wonder what will happen...
Andrew said he saw an accident on the way to work. A man took a spill on his moto and everyone went around him or just watched him struggle to get up from underneath the motorcycle. He had been about to get on a Sotrama to go to work and he stopped. While others tried to urge him onto the bus he went over and helped the man up. And then since the motorcycle was heavy he called others to help move it. He said he was astounded that he was the only one who went to help the man and that even the man appeared surprised and wary of the helping hand extended to him.
Rodney said one of his coworkers spent the weekend in jail. He had been driving down a street at a normal pace when a 3 year old, watched only by a 6 year old, dashed out into the street in front of his vehicle. Having grown up on Hollywood films, I want there to be a happy ending or a miracle resolution, but there isn't in this case. The child died and the driver is in jail, although he is not at fault. Anytime someone dies, someone has to go to jail until everything is sorted out.
Saturday afternoon I was sitting inside Constance's store, drinking a Fanta Fiesta, shelling and eating peanuts, and alternately playing Say-Say-Oh-Playmate with Sophie, when we heard a huge racket outside shouting and blowing horns. We all jumped up and watched as a parade of vehicles streamed by...motorcycles whose passengers waved elections posters of a candidate, cars whose bumpers and side windows were pasted with the same posters, and huge buses whose front and rear doors were open to reveal a tumble of passengers leaning out cheering and waving the posters. They shouted and pointed to the posters as they passed, though I can't be sure of what they said or of who the candidate was since no one had thought to enlarge the candidate's name and face for distance purposes. And then somewhere in the middle of the pack, a white SUV rolled by with its own calm. A man in the front seat wearing a button-down shirt casually waved. I recognized the wave of a politician instinctively and had it confirmed for me when Constance leaned in and said That's him! The caravan continued for what seemed like forever and finally the street was quiet again. Those of us who had stopped what we were doing to come out and watch, looked at each other, and then turned and went back to what we had been doing.
I asked Constance about the issues in this election. She told me that commune representatives for Congress were being elected. All the neighborhoods in Bamako belong to one of 6 communes. People are encouraged to pay dues to their communes but I'm not quite sure for what. Is there anything that distinguishes one candidate from the other, I asked. Judging from the posters they all seem to be promising justice and solidarity. Constance shrugged.
Later she told me we were going to visit her big sister who didn't live far away. She strapped Jean to her back and Sophie walked along side us as we set out. It turns out it was a little further than Constance wanted to walk and so when a cab passed us she hailed it and we hopped in. When the taxi stopped and we got out, the front door swung open and a little boy held the door as we walked into the courtyard. A huge dirt-packed courtyard, walled off from the street, with several large trees, a pen for sheep off to the side, and a cookhouse so that whoever cooked could enjoy a nice cool breeze while they did so.
We took a few steps into the courtyard and a girl I judged to be about ten ran up to me, all shy smile, dimples and adult teeth still coming in. Are you Fanta Sy, she asked almost breathlessly. Yes, that's me, I replied astonished, what's your name. Obviously either Sophie or Constance or both had been talking about me. Awa she said smiling shyly again. When I caught her stealing a few glances at me later I smiled at her and then looked away so she could look her fill. It makes me wonder what was said about me and why she seemed to idolize me in a reverential way that Sophie didn't. Jean seemed to particularly enjoy his older male cousin who picked kept burrowing his head in Jean's stomach to make him laugh. The cousin must have only been 4 or 5 years older and I imagine that when Jean grows a little more, the two of them will have a lot of fun together.
Constance's mother was also there visiting from Kita. I went through the Bambera greetings with her and she asked how long I had been in Mali in French. When I told her I had just made one month she pronounced that I was awfully clever for having learned that much Bambera in such a short time. We sat out in the courtyard in those ubiquitous restrung lawn chairs and talked until darkness fell. Here dusk is only a fleeting thought. It starts to get dark, and then it is. Constance said we should start back.
Her brother-in-law and sister walked us down the street a ways, and then her sister continued with us for a while longer. and then it was just us. Constance pointed to some graffiti on a nearby wall and said she didn't understand why people did that. I looked and then began laughing. Here in the middle of an unpaved dirt road in Bamako, someone had spray-painted the NY Yankees symbol. And that is to say nothing of all the Roc-a-Fella, G-Unit, and 50 Cent graffiti Rodney says he saw in Timbuktu. Sad and funny at the same time. I explained to Constance why I was laughing. And she nodded and said a lot of Malians live in New York for a time and then come back.
With one-quarter of the way left to go, Sophie complained that she was tired. I stopped to lean down to give her a piggy back ride. She's too old for that, Constance said, and she's too big, you'll make yourself sick. It's fine I said. She should really get down, Constance said, the road is rocky you both might fall. Plus she's the one who wanted to see her grandmother and she knows how far it is. Hmm, I said, I'll be careful, hating to think that at 7 one might be too big for piggyback rides. And finally around the corner from the store I lowered Sophie back to her own feet.
I just finished a book Rodney lent me: Nervous Conditions by Tsitsi Dangarembga and I highly recommend it. Tambu, an adolescent living in colonial Rhodesia (Zimbabwe) of the '60s, seizes the opportunity to leave her rural community to study at a missionary school run by her wealthy, British-educated uncle. She slowly reaches some painful conclusions--about her family, her proscribed role as a woman, and the inherent evils of colonization.
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