Let's baroke! (let's talk!)

Me and baby Christine in my most recent knitting creation.
Communication and community are the centerpieces of my life here in Mali. Everyday I work to navigate my way through Malian culture and chores using Bambara while striving to be connected to the village in which I live by being apart of ceremonies and getting to know my neighbors by compound hopping and peeking in on gardens. The heat and tight-knit nature of the people here mean that a lot of time is spent outside. Relaxing under a shaded hangar, drinking tea, applying fertilizer to the fields in preparation for farming season, pounding millet for the day's meals, washing clothes - everything is done together and it's this sense of community that I revel in and try to transfer to my own relationships with other American Peace Corps volunteers and my sweet family and friends back home.

Cheese!
After almost a year here, it's just in the past few weeks/month that I'm starting to feel not only a part of the community but that my presence at village events and ceremonies isn't a novelty - it's expected. This past week brought the deaths of two older men in village and funerals here, like in the states, mean a coming together of loved ones of the deceased. The difference here is that every single person in the village is considered a close family friend and therefore comes to the funeral to pay their respects to the grieving family as soon as they find out. The night of the death, all the women bring their mats to the family's compound and set up to have a sleepover of sorts as well as to dance and sing in honor of the dead. Talk about a true celebration of life. Annie and I headed over to the compound this past week around 10 p.m. and set up our mat with Aminata, Annie's sister-in-law and Marte, our neighbor. With their babies nestled us and fast asleep we settled down for the night as other women set up the generator, microphone and lights for an evening of celebration. While the attitude of the women was somber and tear-filled during the day, the night was filled with laughter and women lining up to dance. When I woke up at 5 a.m. Annie was sitting up next to me, knitting away and unable to sleep with the women's singing and loud dancing. Baby Christine's arm was sticking straight out into my face and her little leg kicked in my direction as I rolled over to see the sun rise on our sleepover.

Here you can see the little booties
As farming season gets ready to kick off again and Peace Corps Mali gears up to welcome another group of volunteers (including another UMW grad - Jeremy Jordan!) I'll continue to work hard to be aware of my surroundings and live in the present as I continue to learn about Mali and all the nuances that make up this rich culture.
Also, can hardly contain myself that in only 6 days Marija will be here! Wedding season is upon us (in Mali as in America) and one of the first things Marija and I will do together is go to my village's wedding party, pictures to follow!

eggplants and bubbles, is there a better combination? Thank you Heather for the bubbles and Mrs. Shellnutt for my oh-so-cool organic gray t-shirt
Pictures for the previous blog post - the internet was being slow and wouldn't post them so here they are!

Shea butter- whipping the mix

this is what ground shea nuts look like

Cooking lunch for 40 women isn't easy! here's rice and sauce

Shea nuts on our homemade solar dryer

I've got to admit it's getting better...shea butter that is!

I picked Umu up at the bus station at 3:30 - only a couple hours behind schedule since her bus broke down on the way from Bamako. We found a boy with a push cart to load her bag and rice sack filled with shea nuts and headed over to the taxi area to catch a van to meet Esayi who was waiting on his moto to take Umu back to Zana (I followed on my bike which was safely secured, sort of, onto the roof of the car). Once enough people had reserved all the seats in the van about 8 men threw their weight into the back of the 10 seater van (comfortably filled with 20 people) to kick start the alternator (I'm assuming). Once the engine caught, the driver threw the van into reverse and and we scrambled to get our seats before the car decided it didn't want to run anymore. We sputtered and jerked through a flash rain and wind storm to get to a village on the paved road about 5 miles from Zana where we unloaded our bags and I proceeded to huff and puff on my bike behind Umu and Esayi to get to Zana. A project proposal was approved to buy food for the shea butter formation the money for which I had given Annie before I left for Guinea. Once I arrived, Annie showed me the itemized list with all the purchases she and Esayi made for the formation and how much each item cost. We settled in our formatrice, Umu, who travels around Mali during the hot season doing formations on improved shea butter practices and how to start associations and shared a hot meal before collapsing under our mosquito nets and going to bed. Umu and I got up early Wednesday morning to prepare for the formation. Annie and Baissata, the head of the informal women's association, invited 10 women from each quartier in Zana (there are 4) and 10 extra women to cook the lunch. Esayi and Bachary set up extra desks from the school under the shade of mango trees by the village bank and a chalkboard for talking points. About 6 women pound millet in this area each day and since the mortars in which they pound the grain are so heavy and shade is at a premium, we had a nice rhythm of thump thump thump throughout the formation. By 10:00 a.m. only about 20 women had showed up. Annie was acting nervous and called me over to help pound some millet and shared her concern that no one else was going to show despite her repeated instructions to the women about when and where to show up. She said, Djelika, I'm going to cry! If these women don't want to learn new things, so be it! Annie doesn't normally have a flair for the dramatic so I panicked a little but tried to hide my concern and calm her down by saying that surely the women would show. Sure enough, by 10:15 most of the women had come, though 2 hours later than expected. Umu expressed her dissatisfaction with the women's tardiness and set a ground rule that if they were late again tomorrow each person who came after the start of her formation would have to pay 50 cfa (about 10 cents). However, once Umu got rolling talking about why shea work is important, how proper collection of shea nuts leads to the creation of good shea butter and why it's important to preserve shea trees, the women were all ears. I kept notes during the formation and marked names when women spoke out of turn (another finable offense of 50 cfa). It was pretty funny how the women would hold one another accountable and point out to Umu women who were nodding off or speaking without raising their hand. It's pretty incredible to see women sitting and learning something when they've never had the opportunity for formal education. I hope that their children, especially their daughters, see them learning and say, yeah, me too! I want to learn! I couldn't help but beam at Annie who did an incredible job orchestrating the formation. Ever tried making rice and sauce for over 40 hungry women in pots the size of mini-bathtubs over wood? Me either, but I know it's not easy but no big deal for Annie!
Day one taught us about associations and how Together Everyone Achieves More (doesn't exactly translate in Bambara into such a clean acronym - Nogon Fe An Be Barra Caman Were Ke!) and that pooling our resources (namely, labor) you can get some pretty good butter our of those shea trees. Day two of the formation consisted of taking the ground up shea nuts Umu brought from Bamako and whipping them into a paste similar to the consistency of marshmellow fluff (yum!). It took about 30 minutes to hand whip the 20 kilos of shea nuts and we then put the mixture into a big pot to separate the oil from the residue. This took awhile and Umu used the opportunity to re-emphasize the importance of cleanliness and that all the pots and bowls used were cleaned with soap and water, hands washed similarly and hair wrapped up and sleeves pushed back. Annie had seen this method of shea butter extraction twice: Once with Tamara, the volunteer I replaced, and then again with me this past January at our training in Bamako. The other women usually just boil the shea mixture they get once they grind the shea nuts without whipping it and once they saw the oil that came out of just a few minutes of whipping (per woman) and then boiled they were truly amazed and kept coming up to me saying, i ni baara! (Good work!) An nenya kosebe! (Really cool!). At the end of the formation, Umu spoke to all the women to encourage them to pursue this technique (it's not as radical as I'm maybe making it out to be but education is all about repetition, right?). Then Annie got up and made my heart swell a little. She's such a beautiful woman who works tirelessly to provide for her family but also for her village. She told the women how she'd wanted them to see this technique since she and Tamara had seen it first together in Bamako and now that they finally had, how excited she is to move forward and start an association. She told the women how at the beginning of the formation she wanted to cry but now she was happy again and proud of the work they did.
In the end, Umu collected 1,000 cfa (hey, that's kind of a lot!) in late fees from the women so we were able to buy candy at the end for everyone to enjoy. As rainy season fast approaches (thank goodness, the heat is getting oppressive!) and shea work will begin again, I'm crossing my fingers the women will keep Umu's formation tucked in the back of their minds when collecting shea nuts and processing their butter so they can increase the quality and yields of their work thus providing more and better butter for their family and potentially, an outside market.

A trip to Guinea and Sierra Leone

Seeing the sites of Guinea and Sierra Leone on a recent vacation with fellow volunteers Joe, Ashley and Cassie - River #1 & #2, Banana Island, both capital cities Freetown and Conakry, the Fouta of Guinea opened my eyes to the raw beauty in West Africa and also how from one country to the next life can be so different. It's easy to lump regions together from a distance and even from within Mali I thought things wouldn't be much different in Guinea or Sierra Leone but I was in for a wake-up call! Sporadic running water and electricity in Conakry, the capital of Guinea and a bustling Freetown with big buildings and colonial architecture still intact drew stark contrasts to Bamako where there's almost always electricity/street lights and running water in hotels.
It was worth spending over 30 hours in a tightly packed car with red dirt coating our entire bodies and bags to get to the beach in Freetown, Sierra Leone and then spend 5 days on the beach, turn around and head back to Mali through Guinea, stopping in the Fouta Djallon for hiking and site-seeing.

I'll let the pictures speak for me because words are failing and no matter how hard I try to describe what I saw, it can't come through!

the Fouta Djallon in Guinea


Tokeh Beach near Freetown, Sierra Leone

Banana Island, Sierra Leone

River #1, Sierra Leone

Our taxi from Bamako, Mali to Kankan, Guinea. We were celebrating making it through all the border check points.



See more pictures here :)

(every) 6 days a week...

Catherine Dembele - the pastor's wife and a crocheter with a pretty smile and inviting laugh.

Market is every six days in my village and I always look forward to weaving in and out of the small hangars to greet the old women and men who hang around chatting with one another, greeting folks they only see on market day who come in to sell their various treasures. Things get started as the day cools off so around 4:30 I peek in the direction of the two dead baobabs that designate our market to see if all the vendors have gathered. Go too early and run the risk of lingering too long. Go too late and all the best produce could be snatched up by the early birds. Timing is everything and I'm looking to fill my canvas bag with tasty treats to last me a few days as well as some gifts for Annie, Esayi and the kids.
Commerce is always going on in village and it's fascinating to see the laws of supply and demand at work. Annie is on constant commission to knit baby outfits for new and soon-to-be-born babies and business is booming as evidenced by the little ones sporting her handiwork around town - dainty hats, tops and booties knitted into delicate patterns of red, yellow, green and white - colors favored by the women and the colors of Mali's flag. Annie also buys peanuts, okra and yarn in bulk and resells them for a small profit. Esayi fills a 20 liter jug with gas in San and then redistributes it into recycled, one-liter wine bottles he sells to moto owners who find themselves in the middle of the bush and with no gas station for at least 15 miles. Catherine, the pastor's wife, crochets large doiley-esque pieces for women to lay on the cement benches at church so their fancy fabric doesn't get mussed by the dirt and dust that coats all surfaces this time of year; a souvenir from the persistent harmattan winds whipping around.

These two were hanging out in Esayi's horse cart - had to snap a photo.

The market in my village is different than San by leaps and bounds. Whereas San is humming and buzzing with people and all kinds of trinkets, village market is subdued and the variety is limited. You can find small stacks of tomatoes, onions, hand carved stools, tightly woven straw mats, bread, dried fish, baggies of salt and women who repair broken calabash bowls in exchange for millet. As I buy stacks of tomatoes or dried fish, the women selling it will load them in my bag, pick up an extra tomato or scoop of fish, and then knowingly look at me as they add it to my bag; an encouragement to come back to their spread the following week with an unspoken promise of another gift for her "terimuso" (girlfriend). Women also make fried dough balls and spaghetti which they sell in little plastic baggies for pennies a pop. Traveling salesmen bike in from neighboring villages and San, peddling things like rope, medicine, baby clothes and powdered soap; an ever-expanding market for their goods found in distant villages like mine.
After making my rounds I make one last loop of the market to make sure I've greeted everyone and gotten everything I need. Satisfied with my purchases and carrying my "shopping" bag filled with the deals of the week I wave goodbye to the crowd of women and children and navigate the dirt path back home, carefully dodging traffic along the way - cattle and donkey carts crowding the way, indifferent to shoppers like me.

Technical training in Segou

Joel is a volunteer in the San region, like me. His counterpart developed the Plasa method which is a tree planting method for the dry season. Here he demonstrates how to do it for other volunteers and their counterparts. The man helping him has a tree nursery and hadn't heard about the method before - he's now really excited to try it out on his own trees.

Esayi and I went to Segou this past week along with other volunteers from the region and their counterparts for a more focused technical training on things like tree grafting, soak pits, the Plasa method (a method for planting trees in dry/hot season developed by Jude Thera), shea work and solar dryers as well as how to draft project proposals and funding sources. It was a great opportunity for volunteers to share what projects they are trying to get started in their villages and for our counterparts to meet one another and discuss their ideas. We did a lot of round table discussion and also met with over 15 NGO's represented in the Segou region.

It's incredibly fascinating seeing our counterparts get so excited about projects and also talk with one another about work going on in different areas of Mali. Communication isn't easy here - electricity is sparse and while lots of people have cell phones, that doesn't mean they have a disposable income to make a lot of calls. With volunteers all over Mali there's an instant network of people and volunteers who are well connected to one another and can work to connect people who specialize in tree grafting or planting and shea work to come and do formations in our village and vice versa.

Happy Easter

Anne's beautiful niece Nema came to celebrate Easter with us "en brusse" She said that in San, they only celebrate Easter on Sunday (the audacity!) but in Zana it's a three day celebration. We danced Saturday night-Sunday morning, church on Sunday and then more dancing on Monday.

Sweet baby Christine in her Easter dress. Her bottom two teeth are coming in (Anne says her kids teeth come in slower than others) and is a speedy crawler!

Anne looked better in this outfit than I could ever hope to so we traded Easter outfits. Jackie, please note the green t-shirt that says "Sweet Baby." Made me think of all the sweet babies back in the states, namely you!

the whole fam damily as Memaw says. And folks may look grumpy/not smiling; don't worry, that's just the Malian way! I'll bring out my camera to a group of laughing kids and as soon as they group up for the picture they give me the saddest frown-y face you've ever seen. Then, when I show them the picture they smile and say what a great picture it is...guess I just cheese it a lot!

A lot of the kids get matching outfits - here is Ibrahim, Emmanuel and Samuel. Emma is my host brother and the other two are his cousins.

Classy folks in village

Me and the garden boys. These are my host brothers who help me pull the over 40 sacks of water needed to water my garden of lettuce, okra, tomatoes, eggplant and corn.

I check the time on my cell phone that hangs in my door frame (the only place I get reception). It's 9:52 and I've got 8 minutes to make it to the other side of village before the women's Bambara class begins. I peek through the window in my kitchen to Annie's compound to see if she's ready just as she slips into the outdoor bathroom with her bucket of water for a quick bath. I'm reminded of most of my mornings in college when I'd hop in the shower 10 minutes before class would start and my sweet roommates would roll their eyes as I dashed around grabbing lunch, books, keys and cellphone with sopping hair and running out the door to get to class on time. I realize not much has changed after living in Mali for 9 months as I grab my little day pack filled with activities to keep me busy while I sit in on the women's Bambara class in my village. I've got my journal, letters to respond to, a book, my nalgene and I'm out the door. I lock up and shut the gate to my area so chickens can't eat any more of my moringa trees and by the time I get to Annie's house she's donned a full complet with headwrap and her knitting is in hand, baby tied to her back like she's been waiting for me all morning. I think "Didn't I just see you going to take a bath..." but there's no time to waste contemplating Anne's quickness - we've got to get to class! We set off at a quick clip for the free standing classroom World Vision built at the edge of the village and where Annie and Bachary teach a class of about 30 women and girls who are too old to start school to read and write Bambara. Class starts at 10 and if you're late you have to pay 50 CFA (about 10 cents). Annie and I aren't late today - but it was close! The dedication of these women and Bachary is incredible. Starting from square one on February 17 with most of the women, now they can all write letters and read, albeit haltingly, words and simple sentences. For Aminata, Annie's sister-in-law, this past week the lessons got to be too much so she stopped coming to class. I pleaded with her - "but Aminata, won't your daughter Rachel go to school? Don't you want to be able to help her read?" but to no avail. (Annie was going to a training, also led by World Vision, on clean water and hand-washing). Aminata said class was too hard and she was no good. I went over to Bachary's compound and he said he was going to talk to Aminata about why it was important for her to come to class. I wished him luck but said that I had tried and she still said no. But you would believe the next day, there she was. I don't know what he said but whatever it was, it worked and hopefully she'll stick with it until the end.

Annie likes long walks in the millet fields, knitting cute baby complets and teaching women to read and write when she's not busy cooking for her family or washing clothes.

Annie learned to read and write Bambara from a missionary when she was 18. She's the exception to the rule here where a vast majority of the population is illiterate, especially women. I asked Bachary where he went to school and he laughed bashfully and said his dad didn't send him to school. How did you learn then? I asked. He said he would stand by the window of the school and copy the lessons from the board. I asked him how old he was and once again, a shy smile and a laugh. A lot of people don't have formal birth certificates and don't know, to the year, how old they are. They'll instead give dates relative to when a certain president was in power or a major event took place when pressed for a specific date. I offer that maybe he's in his mid-20's and he says he's at least 30 but I'm not so sure; he looks pretty young to me. No matter how old he is, I am impressed everyday with his and Annie's dedication to literacy in our village and the efforts folks make all the time to make a better life for their children.

Mai is too old to start school but she's learning to read and write and is cute as the day is long.

Everyday I wake up and do the chores around my house - pull water for the garden, water the flowers, sweep the house and wash dishes all knowing that this is temporary. After two years my time will be up here and I'll return to having water from a tap, refrigeration and paved roads. But my heart aches thinking about basic needs not being met for people like clean water, access to education and health care. However, all it takes to bolster my spirits is to take a look around me, at people like Annie and Bachary who work tirelessly to improve the lives of those around them and foster an environment, as much as they can, for their own children to learn and hopefully one day, things we take as givens (because they should be!) like schools, doctors and paved roads will be the rule instead of the exception.

Attention: Toubab gets a great deal

Lovely travel companions to Goree Island.


A view from the ile de Madelaine, a nature reserve off the coast of Dakar.

In Dakar en route to Mali after a root canal, I visited the market with two other Mali PCVs, Amy and Liza. Here’s a story from our visit.

And so we plunge into the frenzy that is the market in Dakar. Tight dark denim jeans stretched on mannequin legs, cheap baubles and jewelry tacked onto cardboard displays propped up on rickety card tables. There are vendors setting up shop and dusting off their random assortment of goods with a rag or feather duster, as if one more cleaning could keep off the constant kicking up of dust and sand from the cars whizzing past. Minibuses deftly navigate the narrow alleys, brushing dangerously close to women selling little plastic bags filled with peanuts and the garibous with their old tomato paste cans used for collecting food or money slung over their shoulder. Calls of “good price here” rain down on us from the shops and we get swept into the fabric corner where bags and fabric samples hang from every open space. A man who introduces himself as Aboudou Faye says he’d be happy to give us a tour of the factory where bags and outfits are being churned out on foot pedal sewing machines. We weave through the rows of sewing machines and see all the wholesale shop has to offer. I pick up a bag and Aboudou swoops in on my admiring gaze, “I give you good price when tour is done.” We follow him upstairs where his Malian “brother” is sitting among shelves of mud cloth bags and batik wall hangings. The bags and outfits are being feverishly sewn as though an army of toubabs (foreigners) are going to rush into Dakar demanding boubous and over-the-shoulder bags with red, yellow and green motifs and rasta men beating drums in a dizzying pattern. This seems unlikely so I’m curious for whom all these bags are being so quickly sewn, it is the off-season after all.

So jumping photos are way more fun than you'd think...
Aboudou says there is one more shop we must see, it’s just across the street. We head over, carefully dodging mid-day traffic and the other shoppers milling in and out of the endless boutiques. The shops in the area across the street have more jewelry and mud cloth bags than rasta fabric and elephant bags. I find a bag I like and pick it up. We’re at the end of our tour so I sit down with Aboudou to discuss a price. When I ask how much he says “23,000 CFA” (roughly $46). I hear myself cough in surprise – you can get a personalized mud cloth wall hanging for 7,500 CFA in San; this bag shouldn’t be more than 3,000 CFA, or so I’m convinced. I tell him I’m reconsidering his sanity giving me a price like that and I get up, ready to go. He laughs and says “Ah, my sister, that’s how it is in Senegal. Bargaining is a game. I give you a high price, you offer yours and we meet in the middle.” Bargaining is nothing new but it’s also a time consuming process not made for the weak of resolve (my bargaining skills pale in comparison to some of my friends here). Today I’ve decided to stick to my guns – I’m a casual shopper and while I do love the bag, I’m also willing to walk away and that’s what gives me an edge in Aboudou’s game. After going back and forth a few times I repeat to Aboudou my price is 3,000 CFA; I’m not budging. I thank him sincerely for his time and walk to meet my friends Amy and Liza (proud owner of a new print shoulder bag) who are waiting outside. I get as far as the women selling wood statues and bead necklaces and Aboudou follows me from the store and says, “ok my sister, 4,000 CFA.” When I say 3,000 is my offer, he says, “My sister, I came down from 23,000 CFA to 4,000, at least you can meet me at 3,500?” What incredible marketing! Aboudou is right, it is pretty incredible to see the price of something change from $46 to $8 in a matter of 15 minutes. I agree he has come a long way and since I really do like the bag, I hand over my money and we slap hands and he flashes a big smile. I turn around to find Liza and Amy and when I look back, Aboudou has reabsorbed into the frenzy of the market. I hear him call out “My sister, follow me, I give you nice price.” Another toubab is about to get a great deal.

Midnight Wedding Crasher

Biking to the village next door this past Tuesday I greeted the people in a compound that had more folks gathered under various shady spaces than usual. They called out for me to stop and greet so I got off my bike and walked around the compound greeting the separate groups of people. The old women on stools finishing up their porridge under the mango tree, giggling teenager girls by the huts cleaning breakfast dishes and preparing for lunch and the old men relaxing on a mat next to a grainery after what I'm sure was a taxing morning of eating breakfast. Nana, one of the old women, took me by the arm to greet the men and she explained that I pass through each Tuesday to go to the health center when they asked what I was up to. I asked them why there were so many people in their compound and the men said they were celebrating a wedding tonight and that I should come back later to join in the festivities. When I agreed that I would, one of the women piped in that they'd be sending someone to find me if I didn't so to make sure I came back.

When I got home that afternoon I told Annie about my chance encounter with the wedding party and got her blessing to return later that night (they don't get started until 11p.m. or midnight!). After dinner I take my knitting over to Annie's hut and we sit outside to knit and talk about the day, Christine's cuteness and when we think she'll start walking or get her first teeth. My eyes got heavy around 9:30 so I curled up on the mat next to Annie's chair and took a cat nap alongside my already fast asleep host sister Batuma and host brother Emmanuel until about 10:30 when I got up to get ready for the wedding. With a full moon and a cloudless sky I didn't need a light to navigate the dirt path between my village and the one 2 miles away where the wedding was. Usually when I bike anywhere people pop out from the fields or compounds to say "Hey Djelika, where are you going?" and then we greet one another as I bike on and they say "Greet them for me!" But tonight it was just me and the dark outlines of the shea and baobab trees and it didn't matter if my wrap skirt flapped in the breeze since no one was around to see. As I approached the village, I could hear the rapid beat of the drums inviting me to come and dance. I arrived at Nana's compound and admired the shine and glimmer of the women's wedding complets in the moonlight and went to sit on an open stool. Nana came to sit beside me after we'd greeted the half-awake wedding guests lying on mats spread out around the compound. I found myself instantly surrounded by about 20 little girls who kneeled around me and laughed shyly at one another when I would return their polite stares. Nana went around and introduced each of the girls, relying on promptings from her own girls when she couldn't remember one of their first names. I could still hear the drums beating and asked Nana if it was time to go. She said, soon, soon and continued to laugh heartily as I told her that no, I wasn't married and no, I didn't have children and that yes, having more than 3 kids in America was considered a lot as she said she had 8 herself.

Somehow Nana decided it was time to go to where the actual wedding party was (at this point, I was still unclear as to whose wedding we were attending...actually, I still am...) so we gathered up our stools and trooped over to a large clearing next to the mosque where folks had already set up mats and lounge chairs around spotlights and speakers powered by a humming generator. We set up shop next to the man with the microphones and Nana got started singing along with a few other older women she introduced as her sisters. A few men at a time would pair up and start dancing to the women's chants and the beat of the hand drums. The bride stays closed up in a hut somewhere else while the groom sat surrounded by his buddies next to the dust-bowl of a dance floor. Someone would periodically pour water from a jug onto the dancing area so the fast moving feet wouldn't kick up so much dust. One of Nana's sisters handed her microphone to another muso-koroba (old woman) and pulled me onto the dance floor. We walked in front of the groom and knelt down to touch the ground in front of him and then went to dance in front of the drummers. I felt the laughter pour out of me as I tried to imitate the women around me and was only encouraged by the belly laughs of the old women shimmying and shaking faster and with more rhythm than I could ever hope for. This went on until about 3 a.m. when I found an open lounge chair and curled up once again for another nap. My friend Hawa gently woke me up around 4 and walked me to my bike so I could go home to catch a couple more hours of sleep before the call to prayer broke the spell of the evening and a slightly pulsing headache from too little sleep reminded me I'll opt for an early reception when I get married.

Can I get a slice of humble pie?

Annie doing a urine fertilizer formation for the women's association this past week.
I went back to site unsure what to expect after being away for a month and a half. How do you all of a sudden just get started doing projects and formations in a village...? Well, have a great counterpart, that's how! Annie called a women's association meeting as soon as I got back and we did a urine fertilizer formation and talked about improved shea butter techniques. Then, the men's and women's association met to talk about future projects including buying cattle to fatten and then resell and building a community cereal bank.
Annie and another man, Bachary, are also teaching a class of 30 women and a handful of teenage girls to read and write Bambara 5 days a week, 3 hours a day (I do NOT know where the women get the extra time- they're already so busy!). The women are starting from square one with letters and then building up to words (I go and sit in the back of the classroom and play with babies, read or knit). I feel my heart clench up seeing them practice before the teacher calls them up to the board to read aloud to everyone else. They called my name up out of the blue to read and I started to get nervous because while our alphabet is essentially the same, the letters are pronounced differently. I stumbled over a couple words and at the end all the women clapped. For me. I couldn't stop beaming and all the women broke out into laughter at my giddyness.

Of course, no event is complete without a timed photo to remember it by!
Here are the women with a jug soon to be filled with urine then let to sit for 2 days, mixed with water and then applied to gardens and fields! (I swear it's legit :)

The 3rd graders from North Landing Elementary School in Virginia Beach sent school supplies and games for the kids in my village (Thank you!). I was at a loss for how to distribute them but the teachers decided to give the first box to the top students in the class. Each month (there's a whole suitcase more of things to share) they will re-evaluate the students rankings (I'm not wild about the idea of ranking students but so it is) and will give the supplies out accordingly. The kids were really excited to receive the treats and hopefully will feel encouraged to keep working hard. Education is definitely lacking in Mali - it's neither universal nor mandatory (in that it's enforced) so it feels good encouraging what we take for granted in the states.
I had a great birthday yesterday (big 2-3) and thank everyone for the great birthday wishes! I couldn't do this without the incredible support I'm receiving from back home. Thank you!

Mali to Mallorca

I'm back from a week vacation in Mallorca, Spain with my mom, John and Memaw. Mallorca offered peaceful walks along the Mediterranean, breakfasts at cafes, spectacular mountains and rolling countryside and, most importantly, a week with my sweet family!

Mallorca is a lovely island in the Mediterranean Sea and is the largest of the Balearic islands. With only 800,000 residents, Mallorca welcomes over 12 million tourists a year (!) four of which decided to come and enjoy it during the off season :) Cycle tourism is big in Mallorca which made me want to hop on a bike and join in. Mom and I tried to walk on the wild side and rented bikes but only lasted an hour before our good senses caught up with us and we went back to the hotel for lunch :)


The Sunday before I left I visited my Bambara teacher's house and his family gave me all these gifts (the pink outfit and jewelry) because they knew I would soon be traveling and wanted me to look good (I imagine) in transit because Malians always dress up when they go on trips. I was flabbergasted by their generosity. I went over for lunch and left looking like a Malian princess (If I can say so myself :) It's incredible the response I get when I wear a full Malian outfit too. Women smile at me and will initiate a conversation. Men are more respectful of me and will have a normal conversation with me instead of starting it out with a marriage proposal. I'm heading back to site now with sweet memories of a great trip with my mom, John and memaw and looking forward to future visitors and work in village.

Meeting Malick!!

Today is the third time I've gone by Malick Sidibe's studio and the first he was there. As we got closer to his studio and I tried to summarize my art history thesis for Joe and Ashley I felt my stomach tighten up and my heartbeat quicken thinking about meeting the man who won the Golden Lion for Lifetime Achievement at the 2007 Venice Biennale and who has received numerous international awards for his photography. All my anxieties melted away as we walked up to his inconspicuous studio where we found him sitting on an upholstered chair wearing a royal blue boubou and a green skull cap with chairs arranged expectantly around him. Sidibe regularly welcomes friends, fans and even clients into his studio which is shaded from the sun by a corrugated iron roof and an outdoor area separated from the street by an unfolded room divider that also displays some of his photographs.

After the Wollersheims and I greeted, Sidibe wasted no time in sharing with us the history of the women's greeting "Nse" in Mali and stories about the Dogon people (since Ashley and Joe live in Dogon country). I was nervous I should have prepared more questions or comments about his photographs but he took the lead of the conversation (as old, cute men are wont to do) talking about Mali and social commentary in general. His sons who help out around the studio lounged nearby laughing with him at stories I'm sure they've heard a million times and which reminded us of our own dads and grandfather's stories. Sidibe made us feel at home with stories about his mentor GG and his thoughts on divorce, money, children "these days" and technology. He repeated stories I'd read about him in catalogues of his work and I learned some things I didn't know about Mali like the war that pushed the Dogon people out of Guinea and into the cliffs they continue to inhabit.

My flavor-of-the-day dream job would be to work for Art in Embassies curating shows for ambassador's and diplomat's homes and embassies. Before I left Fredericksburg in July I took a quick trip up to DC to meet with the AIE staff and tour the office and received a catalogue from the permanent show most recently installed in the US Embassy in Bamako. The show features works by artists from Mali and America to highlight both country's talents and interest in Mali. Malick had not yet seen the catalogue which I brought for him to sign so I'm now on a quest to get another one from the Embassy for him to keep. He had no idea his pictures were in the embassy (maybe those details are taken care of by an agent?) and as he opened it up and looked at the pictures in the show he giggled at seeing his own quotes and pictures in print. Malians are incredibly proud of pictures taken of them. One way you can know Malians really like you or are trying to impress you is if they bring out their mini photo albums with yellowing pictures from celebrations taken by party photographers like Malick Sidibe once was. It feels great to think about Sidibe's photography in a different way - to now understand photography's place in the Malian culture and get a fuller idea of Sidibe's own personality.

I asked if he could take my picture and said I'd worn my Malian Independence Day complet in honor of the occasion. He said I could come back tomorrow morning for my picture and that while he liked my fabric it was important to know that the departure of the French from Mali in 1960 was a liberation of the leaders of France and not the actual people. He later showed me a framed photo of a Malian Ministry official he took in the 60s who was later killed by the president in office at the time. Tidbits like this about Malian politics and the dynamic between French colonization and the current state of affairs are poignant because it's rare to hear folks speak openly about their dissatisfaction with the government. During the election in the States a Malian man commented to me how incredible it was indeed to be able to transition power peacefully from one leader to the next (consistently) and that if the people don't like the president - they can speak openly about their dissatisfaction.

While I'm not ultra busy here and my time is pretty unstructured, I feel like everyday is a learning experience with many opportunities for cultural exchange. Meeting Malick Sidibe today confirmed my love for and interest in this fascinating culture, country and people and, like my three week training outside of Bamako, got me more excited about the time I have left here in Mali.

I'm in Bamako for the week and everyday I see these kids with their homemade kites running around. Children never cease to amaze.

What if the mightiest word is love?

I'm putting on a bee suit to collect honey from the hives (killer African bees!). My suit ended up having a hole in it so I just walked around wearing the suit...

This is at the Peace Corps training site in Bamako. We're learning by doing which is great for folks with short attention spans :) Here we learned how to make mud stoves so when women cook they use less firewood which means less strenuous trips out to collect firewood.



The first week I was in Mali all the new trainees (soon to be volunteers) took an oral language test to gauge our level in French if we had studied it previously. The questions became increasingly difficult to encourage the use of complex verb tenses and vocabulary and my test ended with a question about terrorism and war and what I thought a solution could be. I thought for a minute and then tentatively responded "Love?" My interviewer looked at me and said "Precisement."
As I sat and watched the inaugural address from a club in Bamako I was brought back to that first week of training over 6 months ago (!) when Elizabeth Alexander asked in her inaugural poem "What if the mightiest word is love?" It was so exciting to sit with my fellow Mali volunteers and listen to President Obama's powerful speech and the prayers and poem that accompanied it. The Malian response to Obama's election is overwhelming. I'd wager a guess that most Americans don't know where Mali is on a map let alone who the president is (Amadou Toumani Toure) but you better believe folks here know who our president is.
Life in Mali is worlds away from my life in Virginia. But some things are universal. I've laughed and cried with my new family (both American and Malian) and seen that families here want the same things we want in the states. Better lives for their children. Jobs to provide for their families. Communities to share in joys and lessen the sorrows. Why do people want all of these things? I think the answer is simple - love. I can't wrap my mind around how these needs aren't met for people here and am hoping that over the next two years I'll find some answers to my own questions about poverty and development in Mali.
As independent as I sometimes feel, I know I depend a lot on the support and love of my family and friends. And as I get ready to jump into two years of projects and cultural exchange here in Mali I'll keep in mind that for me, love is the mightiest word.

January in Mali

This is in Tonka - a small port town on the Niger. These camels are sassy.

I'm at the beginning of a three week technical training with the 70 other volunteers I came with in July learning skills specific to our sectors. Each day I meet with the other environment volunteers for morning and afternoon sessions to learn about making garden plans, beekeeping, chicken raising, nutrition formations, live fencing, mud stoves, ecotourism, GPS tracking of shea trees, grafting and starting garden associations just to list a few. It's certainly exhaustive in terms of subjects covered but the general feeling of the volunteers is give me technical skills so now I can use the language I've been trying to master these past 6 months.
Our role as volunteers is becoming clearer as we meet with handfuls of researchers from the countless NGO's here in Mali to learn how to implement projects like an improved rice planting technique and how to conduct Farmer's Field Schools. There's a unique relationship between these researchers and Peace Corps volunteers because we're eager to find out new information and they're looking to move their information from the lab to the field (or to find new locations to implement their practices). While I'm still no expert and not trying to be, I am making invaluable contacts and learning new information to share with my village who wants to increase crop yields, build a cereal bank, install pumps, basically improving upon techniques they already practice. I'm excited for Annie (and baby Christine) to come in a week when we'll focus on shea work and hopefully she'll teach me how to knit baby booties (we've spent the past 4 months doing hats, sweaters, shirts and pants).
It's been great to hear what volunteers who have already been here a year are doing (or have done) for projects and learn about the struggles and successes they've encountered in their service. Sometimes it feels like I'm non-stop processing what I'm doing with other volunteers which can get a bit repetitive - sometimes negative - and exhausting but maybe that's just life.

As an unrelated (to this post) side note, I had a great New Year's with the Wollersheims, Joelle and Bubba - Ashley's brother, in Dogon country. I didn't hike with the other volunteers over Christmas but we did take a wonderful boat trip on the Niger. It's incredible the power of surrounding yourself with positive people who love being goofy. I've certainly been blessed with friends here (and of course at home in Ameriki!) which has made living here a lot easier.

Christmas in village

Making peanut butter to use in our sauce

All the kids from my compound in their new Christmas clothes

Look at that sweet baby :)

Batuma, Christine and I outside her house before we went to church

Ride on the "Bamako Express"; it was anything but.

Joelle showing off Christmas decorations we found on the side of the road in Bamako :)

Discharged from the Peace Corps medical unit in Bamako with antibiotics and advice to keep brushing and flossing (I had a tooth situation), I headed to the nearest gare to catch an afternoon bus to San. Bamako can be overwhelming and going to the bus station is no exception. Men rush at taxis shouting station names whose buses are leaving "Sisan, sisan!", 'now, now', and they quickly escort you and your bag to the ticket seller before you have time to think twice. At least that's what happened to me (and others after I shared my story with fellow passengers). But after the painfully long bus ride I just endured I'll be firmer next time and only go to the bus station I know is best. Here's a time line of how I spent the last 24 hours and a great example of how patience and a good book and knitting needles can make anything OK.

Dec. 22, 12:00 p.m. arrive at station and buy ticket
2:00 p.m. promised time of departure
4:30 p.m. actual time of departure
4:45 p.m. false start, just moved to another bus station outside of town to pick up more passengers
7:30 p.m. after bus fills up, we finally leave
8:00 p.m. flat tire
8:30 p.m. back on the road
8:45 p.m. loud crack, another flat tire
9:00 p.m. - Dec. 23 10:00 a.m. various breakdowns and run out of gas multiple times
Dec. 23 1:00 p.m. - arrive in San after almost 24 hours sitting in "Bamako Express" bus

So, what should have taken 8 hours (in a Mali bus on a good day, but is really 6 hours in a car going non-stop) took me almost 24. There were many times where I said to myself, Jennifer, what were you thinking when you bought this ticket? But I wasn't alone! There was a bus full of Malians thinking the same thing right along with me. While I don't like to generalize, even in stressful situations I've found that Malians have proven to take things in stride. Not that folks weren't upset about the constant setbacks but there really wasn't much we could do unless we wanted to wait on the side of the road and hope another bus came by. So instead, I tried to smile at my new bus friends as much as I could and it really made the journey that much better. I also befriended a precious little 8 year old named Batuma. She insisted on sitting next to me after we got acquainted when the first tire popped and then she fell asleep on my shoulder as the bus lulled us into a stilted slumber.

Coming back to San really felt like coming "home", especially after such a tiring journey. I took comfort in the familiarity of the boys selling bread by the station and stopping in to pick up packages from Miriam at the post office. Vincent, my tailor, had finished two outfits for me and they fit perfectly (pictures to come!) which put a smile on my face and his. Then, I stopped to have a soda at one of the "boutigi's" and lamented about my journey with Moulie who owns the store. He shared with me one of his own horror travel stories which made my experience feel less singular. Finally, what put the biggest smile on my face and laugh on my lips was the gift waiting for me back at the volunteer house. I started to tell my bus story to two of the other volunteers in the house when Geoffrey, the guard, (since volunteers aren't always at the house, Peace Corps hires three rotating guards to always be there) gave me a present wrapped in cellophane that said "Best wishes!" and was tied with ribbon. I opened it and found a bouquet of fake flowers and baby's breath from one of his friends who hangs outside with him. His friend is perhaps pushing 60 (nothing against older men, but a little out of my range) so the gesture really made my day more than concerned me (as it would if a younger guy gave them to me).

While I'm still rubbing my eyes with sleepiness and cursing the "Bamako Express" for being more like the "Bamako Broke", today (and yesterday) prove to me that I (and Malians) smile a lot more than frown and that's what matters most.

These are a few of my favorite things...

As the Christmas and holiday season come upon us, I thought I'd post some of the things that make me happiest here in Mali. Not pictured are the other Peace Corps volunteers with whom I've spent countless hours processing my experiences here, my lovely family and friends who've sent emails, letters and treats making me feel special, Skype, the list goes on.


Christine is a surefire way to brighten any day

I pass these two (and many other) trees on my bike ride into San each week and whenever I see them I think they look like two friends laughing together.

My cat, Caya, had kittens. While I'm not wild about having all the cats in my bed, they can be pretty cute.