Dolphin fins

Lying on the beach in Sandbridge I rolled over under the shade of my beach umbrella to look out at the ocean and dig my toes in a new patch of cool sand.  A lanky man in swim trunks with an uneven tan stood next to me and my group of college girlfriends as he filmed the slowly moving waves and the steady trail of dolphins making their way South.  He narrated his film for the folks back home: "Here we are in Virginia Beach, Virginia!" and as a group of fins broke the surface he sighed and said "Do you see those fins - this was worth the 12 hour drive!"  My friends and I turned to one another and raised our eyebrows.  That's a long way to travel for a couple of dolphin fins.

I returned to Virginia Beach, Virginia for one month for my brother's wedding after living in Mali, West Africa for two years doing work as an environment volunteer with the Peace Corps.  I flew into Dulles airport in Washington, DC on June 12 where my mom, brother and sister-in-law were waiting for me and I didn't stop moving until my sister dropped me off again at Dulles airport July 12.  Two years of missed birthdays, holidays, lunches with friends, concerts, weekend trips and hugs from my family and friends made for a lot of catching up to do!  I felt privileged to be home and attend the bachelorette party, bridal luncheon, rehearsal bowling and to be a bridesmaid in the wedding with my sister Lindsay.   

After the wedding I headed North to Boston with Dad, Sheri and Lindsay to tour Tufts University and visit my best-friend from college, Marija.  While in Boston we ate scrumptious food and toured the city including a visit to the Boston common gardens, the seals at the aquarium, Paul Revere's grave and some shopping.  On our way back down to Virginia Beach we stopped in New York City to see James Taylor and Carol King live at Madison Square Garden where they performed songs I've heard all my life to a sold-out crowd of 20,000. 

Back in Virginia Beach I spent the 4th of July with Mom and John where we snuggled on our couches after the neighborhood parade and picnic and watched the firework shows on TV live from DC and Boston.  We beached it the next day and I enjoyed watching them both turn different shades of pink from under the shade of my umbrella.    Mom, John and I spent our evenings eating delicious dinners and I spent my days exercising with Memaw and then meeting Mom for lunch.   

Looking back on my trip I think of that man on the beach and the dolphins recorded on his family video.  How quickly one month goes by but how much I was able to do.  A beautiful wedding, concerts with family and friends, lunches with favorite teachers, celebrations and delicious meals.  Thank you to everyone who made my trip home so special - this was more than worth the 12 hour flight!

Some are the melody and some are the beat: my trip home in pictures!

Michael and Courtney sharing their vows at 73rd street in Virginia Beach

June 26, 2010

The bridal party

A Sister Hazel concert at 31st park with Anna, Amanda and Ann and drinks at the Sky bar Hilton - thank you so much ladies for coming to Virginia Beach!

A great trip to Boston to visit the sweet and talented Marija! 

Checking out the dolphins at Sandbridge beach

Tercet(!)

 

Jackie the treasure - I really am blessed to have so many great friends!

Michael Bublé in Norfolk - he's so flat in real life! 

See more pictures from the wedding here

See more pictures from my time home here

Feeling grainy: a cereal bank in my village

Before: Day one of work on the cereal bank

In Mali the principle grains are millet, sorghum and rice.  With these grains women can make the staple dishes of Mali: toh (like firm mashed potatoes), siri (a porrdige) and rice dishes.  Cereal banks are constructed by villages and NGOs (non-governmental organizations) to help ensure food security in places where the fluctuations in the grain market are most deeply felt (i.e. small villages where jobs, and therefore income, are scarce).  According to the USAID website “Food security means having, at all times, both physical and economic access to sufficient food to meet dietary needs for a productive and healthy life. A family is food secure when its members do not live in hunger or fear of hunger."  Food security are two big buzz words in Mali right now and millions of dollars from USAID and the United Nations pour into the country to combat the effects of food insecurity and help to provide food security.   

making progress!
The way a cereal bank should work is a family comes to the cereal bank council (selected by the chief of the village) and pays a joining fee in CFA (the currency in Mali) or with 20 kilos of grain.  Then, when hungry season arrives -typically from August-September – the family can take out 100 kilos of grain to get them through and pay the 100 kilos of grain back after harvest with interest i.e. 120 kilos of grain total.  Hungry season is the time of year when farmers work their hardest to tend to their fields but their personal grain banks empty before their own harvest is ready thus leaving the family without enough grain at a time when there is no money to buy more. 

 

These are what personal graineries look like.  (from Esayi and Annie's compound/yard)

In the fall of 2009 a group of 6 men including Esayi, the chief of the village and my host-dad, drafted a budget for our village's cereal bank.   The budget included requests for funds to cement the floor and walls, iron for the roof, a door with locks and forty-five, 100 kilogram sacks of millet (about 220 pounds each).  After the men drafted the budget I transferred the proposal to an Excel spreadsheet and filed the necessary paperwork to receive a Small Project Assistance (SPA) grant for close to one million CFA (about USD $2,000) from the Peace Corps.  SPA grants require a community contribution of at least 33% which our village contributed in the form of labor. The men hand-made the bricks, transported them to the building site and built the cereal bank for free. We also drafted a time-line for the construction and use of the cereal bank.

This bike is just a restin' its bones
The men took a few months to construct the cereal bank and finished it near the end of April after a ground-breaking in February.  After the completion of the bank an agriculture technician from our area came to deliver a 3-day training on how to manage the cereal bank and keep records of the debits and credits to the bank.  Esayi and I then spent a few week gridding and painting a map of the world onto the front of the bank. 

 

Breaking ground - I didn't last long!

The painting on the front of the cereal bank struck me at first as an incongruous location for a map of the world.  Perhaps it would have been better to paint a mural about nutrition or good farming techniques but I'm not an artist and there is nothing like seeing someone experience the vastness of the world through a map as I witness when villagers pass by and marvel at the distance and proximity of countries to one another.  What better way for Malians (and me!) to learn where the countries are they hear about most: the USA, Spain, France, Canada, China and other West African nations?  What better way to generate discussions about where all this development money is coming from to help ensure food security? The map on the cereal bank reminds me why I live in Mali and do what I do.  I live, and have stayed, in Mali because I have grown to love the people and I have grown to love the country.  The map on the cereal bank reminds of that and the grain inside also ensures that Annie, my host-mom, can make toh for me and her family all year.

Esayi seals up the cracks inside

the final product!

 

After: Esayi gives a tour in Bambara of the new cereal bank in our village.  He's a great host!

See more pictures from the process here!

Moringa with Djelika!

Esther and Cassie came out to my village and helped me make this video; enjoy!*

One of the mini-projects I've worked on as a Peace Corps volunteer in Mali is the cultivation of the Moringa tree. I've planted about 10-15 in my yard and then walk around village giving seeds to folks who are interested (and able to plant them where goats won't eat them). Dramane, one of the more successful farmers in my village, planted about 30 of them last year in his garden and they've taken incredibly to the dry, sandy soil. Some additional uses of the tree include live fencing, wind breaks in fields and fodder for livestock.
Moringa can do so much!  In order to avoid plagiarism, I'll direct you to a great site where you can learn even more about the incredible properties of the Moringa tree:
Moringa.com

Dramane, one of the farmers in my village, planted these moringa trees in April 2009 from seed!  This photo was taken in June 2010. 

Here Batuma is sifting the dried, pounded Moringa leaves

*Since I'm home in America for the next month I have the luxury of speedy uploads and so will be putting up some videos that would take too long to download in Mali. 

We took the Philly flight headin' Mali bound!

To celebrate our close of service we put together a song and dance routine to the beat of 'Don't stop believin'' by Journey.  Our tailor in San, Abu, made all our matching tops.  Enjoy!


Just a toubab girl, livin’ in a toh-filled world

She took the Philly flight headin’ Mali bound

He’s just a brusse-y boy, corn and beans are his first choice

He took the Philly flight headin’ Mali bound

I see you in the conference room,

The smell of cheese and drinks for two.

For a smile we can share the night

It goes on and on and on and on.

Strangers. 2 years.  Meeting at the campagnard

There’s toubabs. Yala-ing in the night

Whereabox.  Didn’t text.  Here comes Admin separation.

Eating. Zamé by moonlight.

Drinking tea to get my fill,

Flag is how I get my thrill

Payin’ anything to not eat rice just one more time.

Some will stay.  Some we’ll lose.

Some are born to be en brusse.

And the mem’ries never end,

Mali lives on and on and on and on.

Don’t stop believin’

Our bachée will be leavin’

COS.  Peace Corps  Oh-oh-ohhhh!

HoBo San Kaw (l to r) Jennifer, Cassie, Alaric, Shelby and Esther

Don't Stop Believin'!

A house of friends

This past weekend I traveled with 5 San volunteers to Teriyabugu, an eco-tourism site nestled in a small village on the Bani river, where we celebrated our impending close-of-service and also the one-year mark for the 2009 group.  After setting down our bags and baskets of breakfast and lunch provisions in our 5,000 CFA/night/person ($10) dormitory we proceeded to explore.  My mom and I came in January for the first time together and coming back made me fall in love with Teriyabugu a little bit more.  After traveling all over Mali I haven't found another place where you can enjoy the beauty of the river in peace and with creature comforts like fans and potable water. There are over 200,000 eucalyptus trees planted on the grounds, roaming peacocks, friendly wild animal statues, a jatropha seed oil press to make bio-diesel fuel and an incredible tree nursery.  With accommodations ranging from camping (3,000 CFA/night/person, $6) to air-conditioned bungalows (29,000 CFA, $60) and the option to bring your own food (the restaurant is a bit pricey) what's not to love?  

 San-kaw on a swinging bench by the Bani river 

In the mornings we bought fresh baked bread from the boulangerie for 50 CFA a loaf (10 cents USD) and ate it warm with mango jam Cassie made in her village or laughing-cow cheese from the toubab store in San.  After filling our bellies and slathering on sunscreen we splashed and aerobicized in the pool before napping on chaises and eating tuna fish sandwiches and sliced cucumbers and mangoes (all imported from San and stored in our baskets).  Cassie's friends and my Kate (Shellnutt) also sent copious amounts of summer sausage in packages right before the trip so we had most delicious sausage sandwiches for dinner (thank you!). 

The bakery at the bugu

On our last night we decided to go all out and spring for a fancy dinner at the hotel restaurant.  Alaric chose the rabbit in a mustard sauce, beef brochettes for Holly and Esther, grilled chicken for Cassie and the fish kebabs for Caitlin and I.  After dinner we gathered our kebab sticks and made a fire by the river to toast s'mores (thank you, Mom for sending the supplies).  It was nice to sit and talk with some of my closest friends in Mali with close to zero distractions.  The stars were incredible and orange dots lined the banks of the river from the Bozo fishermen's fires.  

 

Sunset on the Bani river - view from Teriyabugu

Morning and night men would pass by on pirogues laying their fishing nets and then collecting them for the day's catch.  Sitting on the swinging bench by the river, Esther reading 'A series of Unfortunate Events' or Cassie writing in her journal, I felt satisfied. Teriyabugu means 'the house of friendship' in Bambara and while surrounded by some of my closest friends in Mali I couldn't help but think - It doesn't get much better. 

they're beautiful and so smart!

see more pictures from our trip here

Balimaya - it's all in the family

The hollow, snapping noise of cracking peanut shells fills my ears while the agricultural technician from our arrondisement* capital arranges his papers at the front of the room.  I am sitting in the back of the World Vision literacy classroom on the outskirts of our village waiting for the fourth and final day of the training for the newly formed women's cooperative, Balimaya (meaning of the same family), to begin.  The 16 officers of the cooperative are sitting two by two on benches connected to desks in front of me.  The majority of the women's notebooks sit unopened and their pens unused next to growing piles of shelled peanuts since Anne, my host mom and the cooperative secretary, is the only woman who can read and write.  We have spent the last four days learning what a cooperative is according to Malian law,  officer roles and responsibilities, the work a cooperative can do and how to do bookkeeping and record the ins and outs of cooperative money and members.

My work as a Peace Corps Volunteer has largely been that of enabling people in my community to do things they already know how to do better by organizing technical trainings and applying for funds in the form of Small Project Assistance (SPA) grants to pay for those trainings.  The women's group in my village was loosely formed before I arrived but due to Anne's persistent and patient encouragement 112 women have committed to the association by paying a 1,000 CFA ($2USD) membership fee and agreeing to put another 100 CFA (20 cents USD) per month into the cooperative funds.  Anne also asked the women to commit another 5,000 CFA ($10) over the next year to beef up their coffers and prepare the cooperative for future projects.

Procuring cooperative papers confers legal recognition on the women's organization and will facilitate future relationships with work partners.  The women will also possess a heightened sense of duty and commitment to the cooperative due to the relatively steep financial commitment.  In order for the social worker in San to draw up their legal documents 8 of the 16 women needed to produce birth certificates, proof of residencies and judicial papers proving they have never been in prison or committed a felony.  I hope writing all that in one sentence does not lead you to believe it was an easy or quick process. No one had any of the papers required which meant starting from scratch.  The women used the money from membership fees to pay the administrative costs associated with securing the cooperative papers**.  I used my leg muscles and saucy attitude to bike back and forth from our commune capital and San to hound elected officials and government employees for our requested papers***.  Don't worry, I threw a few bean jokes in the mix for good measure and to calm flustered nerves.      

The four-day training taught me a lot about my work and role as a Peace Corps Volunteer.  I learned I should be more with whom I ask to deliver trainings.  The trainer selected was chosen because of his proximity to the village geographically but also work-wise since he is the agricultural technician for the arrondisement and the cooperative's work will involve agriculture.  Unfortunately, the trainer had an abrasive, disparaging teaching method.  Fortunately, I think the women took a good deal from the sessions and acquired that fired up feeling we all get after a workshop or retreat.  Another lesson learned is that Anne is an incredible shopper and stretched the money for lunch over the four days (onion sauce- jaba-ji, peanut sauce - tigadega-na (2 days) and my favorite - zamé) like a pro.  I was also reminded throughout the training of the power of teamwork and what people can accomplish when they pool their mental and financial resources.  Hearing the women speak passionately about work they could undertake as a cooperative like peanut commerce, soap making, gardening, shea butter and spinning cotton inspired me to want to be with like minded people where I too could speak passionately about my work (preferably also in my native language :)

 

 At the conclusion of our training I stood up and walked to the front of the classroom, sleeping babies sprawled on grass mats and baskets of sweet, sticky smelling mangoes lining my path.  I thanked the trainer for filling our minds and putting us on the right path (ka an ka hakili fa ani ka'an bila sira kan) and asked for blessings for Balimaya's work.  The women's hands, for once, rested stationary on their desks; their piles of shelled peanuts collected in one big bucket in the back of the room.  While I presented certificates to the women to thank them for their participation in the training and their commitment to the cooperative, my heart felt heavy thinking of the work that lies ahead of them and all the obstacles in their path.  Illiteracy.  Being a woman in a patriarchal society.  Bureaucracy and exhausting trips to government offices.  But then I saw Anne taking notes in her cahier and the eager smile on Miriam's (coop president) face and the weight lifted.   I thought of the cooperative name, Balimaya, and crossed my fingers the women will take the name of the cooperative to heart.  Because when it comes to work here, peanut or otherwise, it is all in the family.
*
Mali is divided into 8 regions (Kayes, Koulikoro, Sikasso, Segou, Mopti, Timbuctou, Gao, Kidal) 41 Circles, Arrondisements, Communes and Villages
**

8 birth certificates = 40,000
gas for the mayor's motorcycle to get papers stamped = 1500
8 proof of residency papers = 1600
8 judicial papers = 6000
Social worker fees in San and cooperative papers admin. fees = 35000
Total = 84100 ($210 USD)

***

When I wear a head wrap I mean business!

Toubabu-musoni!!!

The word I hear more than any other in Mali is, without a doubt, 'toubabu!'*  Children shriek 'toubabu' as I bike past villages and fields on my way into San.  Vendors yell 'toubabu' as I pass their stands in efforts to draw my attention to their spread of produce or appliances.  Annie shakes her head and sighs 'ah, toubabu' when she hears about customs in America or outside of Mali to which she is not accustomed.  Hearing the word so much makes it lose its meaning for me and at times 'toubabu' begins to feel like another way of saying 'hello'.  But at other times, like when I listen to the BBC or catch up on the news at the internet café, I am reminded of what 'toubabu' means to a Malian.  It means someone who is different and not of this place.  Someone who does not belong.  I have this strange sense of duality: being a 'toubabu' in Mali and trying to fit in but also seeing and hearing the news as a toubabu while living in Mali.  With only a few weeks left here before touching ground in the States after an absence of a little under two years I have started to think more about what it means to be a 'toubabu' in Mali and also what it will mean to be an anonymous Jennifer in America.

Listening to the BBC one evening a couple weeks back while whipping up a Laughing-Cow cheese white sauce on my bunsen burner stove the correspondent announced that the president of Venezuela, Hugo Chavez, a recent subscriber to Twitter, tweeted an official statement concerning the failure of a government project that had opened the week prior and subsequently failed.  My jaw literally fell open as my super-processed cheese tried to melt in the pan.  Have I been away that long that official announcements are made via Twitter?  I found myself muttering 'ah, toubabu' under my own breath, à la Annie, and feeling both disconnected from (the) America(s) and pondering what other novelties have developed during my absence.  News like this is shocking to me here in Mali not because I live in a 1,000 person village without electricity; Mali is connected with cell phones, internet and satellite TV (in bigger cities) and even has it's own version of Twitter (something called Orange Chat).  It's shocking because the story represents how many things, potentially, have changed since I have been gone and make me wonder what else is different and how will I feel being back home again in a few weeks. 

Chavez's story reminded me of similar news that reach me via packages, internet or the BBC and that make me feel like (the) America(s) are much further than the 5,000 or so miles that already separate us.  I took back a People magazine to village a few months back and gave it to the kids in my host family to look through.  The kids discarded the magazine after looking through the pictures and Annie, who normally ignores such things in favor of her knitting, asked me to explain the picture on front.  I took back the magazine and proceeded to try and explain the meaning of transgender and then how it is possible for a man to give birth to a baby; I had neglected to take care about what was on the cover before passing on the magazine.  Mind you, this conversation was all in Bambara which is not even close to my native language and on a subject that is awkward for most Americans and especially in Mali.  Annie shook her head, true to form, said 'ah, toubabu' and then said how every man should have to go through child birth at least once.  I've learned a lesson from Annie - even though things like the man giving birth to a baby and Chavez's Twitter story shock me here, they are also just stories and Annie's response reassures me that adjusting to strange news once I am stateside again will not be so hard.

In a small village 5 km from mine I slow down my bike on my way into San to take a corner and two children exit a compound.  The older girl takes the younger one by the hand while the little one opens her mouth and screams 'DJELIKA-AHHHHHHHHH!' as though I jumped from around the corner to scare her.  I laugh out loud and keep on biking after greeting them both, my name still ringing in my ears and my smile still beaming that she did not call me 'toubabu muso-ni**!!!'. 

I am 'toubabu' to Malians who don't know me, Djelika to those who do and Jennifer to those who know me best.  All that to say that after my plane lands in DC and my Djelika complet is tucked away in the suitcase and my Jennifer dress is taken out of my carry-on I'm sure I'll look around, take in all the once-again familiar sights, tastes and sounds and say, 'ah, toubabus!'.  If you're not there to see it, don't worry, I'm sure I'll Twitter about it later!



*The definition of toubabu is vague to me.  Some say it's a general term for a white person or someone from the West.  Others say that it comes from the 'tout' in French meaning all and 'babu' in Bambara which means to talk and together meaning one who talks a lot or asks many questions.  Either way, I fit the description!
**Toubabu musoni is funny too because it's like saying 'little foreign woman!!!'  The muso=woman and ni means little. 

Tailor made= A+grade

Before moving to Mali in July 2008 and beginning my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer I had a number of questions that plagued my preparations.  What will I eat in country? What language will I speak?  What work will I do? But the question that gave me the most cause for pause was the 80 pound weight limit on baggage and what I could/should pack and what would be left behind.  Moving to a predominately Muslim country in the Sahel I was concerned about dressing modestly while staying cool and comfortable.  I searched the racks of outdoor stores, thrift shops and friends' closets for linen tops, hardy capris and long skirts that could handle the wear and tear of two years roughing it in a West African country.  Almost two years later, most of the clothes I stuffed into space-saving zip-lock bags and squeezed into my two suitcases are tattered and on their last thread or forgotten on racks in my house, hanging under bolts of Malian fabric. 

After a month or so in country we were let out of our training site on the outskirts of Bamako and into the city and I saw that my REI wardrobe was woefully sub-par and even inappropriate.  While I had been concerned with sun protection and comfort I should have been more prepared to embrace Malian culture through clothes because of Malians high value on appearances.  Now I  cringe at the same outfits I religiously rolled and tucked into my bags and also the short shorts, midriff baring tops and safari outfits of toubabs seen in bigger cities.  It's not because I think their outfits are bad (from a Western perspective) but because they demonstrate such a blatant disregard for the high esteem Malians place on appearance. 

And so, in honor of Mother's Day and all the stylish moms in my life, I have made a 6 step plan (see below) for anyone planning to visit Mali.  Wear a nice outfit on the plane and then get yourself to 'sugu-ba' (big market) ASAP and get ready to rake in the compliments and feel at least a degree less foreign!  I kenne ka koro!

Step 1: An occasion! Annie's brother and his wife with their newly baptized baby girl

Step 2: Pick out your fabric - this is the San fabric for a fish festival in June 

 

Amadou Niangué, a fabric seller in San who always gives us a few CFA off the final price :)

Step 3: Visit tailor Mom hems one of the napkins we got made - Abu got a real kick out of seeing her at the sewing machine

Step 6: Our special occasion outfits - this is the uniform for a village wedding 

To re-cap
1. Determine the occasion for your outfit
2. Purchase at least 3 'tafés' of fabric in market (anywhere from 3,500 CFA - 12,000 CFA = $7-$24 USD)
3. Decide on the 'modèle' with your tailor with the aid of his/her photo album of outfits
4. Talk about style ad nauseum with said tailor to make sure you both understand what you want
5. Pick up outfit 1-2 weeks later and get alterations

6. Celebrate and/or walk around town relishing in the compliments from Malians and toubabs alike! 

 

See pictures from April in Mali here

I know we'll have a good time then

I am lying on a woven plastic mat rolled out on a packed-dirt clearing with my head cradled in Annie's lap as she works on yet another knitted baby hat and I absently swat at termite-sized ants scurrying around us.   My legs are tangled in between her children - Batuma, Emma and Le Vieux - who are working on a 100-piece parrot puzzle Mrs. Shellnutt sent while Christine is curled up on the other side of Annie's legs, fast asleep.  A single kerosene lamp lights the little cove in front of Annie's house and the warm, smoky smell of its fumes fill my nostrils as I snuggle closer to Annie and watch our shadows dance on her mud-brick wall. 

Soap production at Siby a Shea cooperative 45 km from Bamako

My thoughts wander to how everyone in village has been so busy lately.  Annie was recently in the bush everyday collecting firewood and now her days are filled with teaching women to read and write Bambara.  She comes home exhausted from long days of chopping wood or teaching to cook in a smoke-filled kitchen and pull water from the well for night baths.  Esayi has a steady stream of forlorn, blown-out horse-cart tires piled under his hanger waiting to be repaired and his duties as chief of the village, especially between January and May (the non-farming months of the year), frequently take him to meetings at the mayor's office in a village 2km away.  At night Esayi entertains a steady stream of neighbors who install themselves on various lounge chairs and stools in hopes he is brewing a pot of sugary tea to share.  I have been in and out of village since February attending various conferences, trainings and formations on food security and shea as well as planning and implementing our Segou regional training.  I try to be present, physically and mentally, at times when the family is together but the draining heat - it's sometimes still 105 degrees Fahrenheit at night these days - and my daily chores, few as they are, sap my energy and put me in bed by 10 each night just as guests are leaving and it is a prime time for sitting together as a family to talk.  

I think this is just after Esayi finished shaking his head at me for asking a silly question, as Memaw would say - he's a good sport 

When I complain to Annie about our lack of time together she looks at me and frowns - 'Wajibi-don, Djelika' she says - it [work] is an obligation.  While I would like to believe life here is slow and vastly different from life in America, the stresses of work and travel still manage to affect my relationships.  Long days, though not in an office, leave me drained and I struggle for balance between my 'dugu-ba' (big city) life and village living as I am sure I will struggle to balance living away from my parents in the States and my visits back home.  One thing that is different for me here that I will likely not encounter in America is how my work is so finely intertwined and dependent on my (Malian) family.  If I feel like work is not up to pace or that I am not doing enough I only have two places to turn for an explanation: myself and my work partners who also happen to be my host parents.  Thankfully work and family have reached a happy medium this past month with Esayi attending the Segou training and Annie and I traveling together to spend Easter with another volunteer and her Christian village before attending a formation together in Bamako.

Beautiful Easter balloons in the church in Monica's village!

A lonely yet comforting feeling washes over me as I think about the culmination of my work with Esayi and Annie and how I will soon be gone.  The cereal bank is complete (blog post pending!) and a Peace Corps trainer is coming to our village next month to train the council on how to properly manage the grain.  This past week I, along with Miriam, president of the newly formed women's association, and Annie, my host-mom and association secretary, attended a three-day shea butter workshop in Bamako (this one being for 'brusse' Mali women's associations whereas the conference that took place last month included international actors in the shea market).  Upon our return to San we met with a woman to file their cooperative papers thus formalizing their organization and bringing credibility to their future requests for credit to be put towards projects such as a community garden or cotton work.    

Ladies only party on Easter Monday

The flame in the kerosene lamp flickers down and the children abandon Mrs. Shellnutt's puzzle in favor of sleep while Annie sets aside her knitting needles and slides down on the mat, her body becoming a part of the mass, and I am the only one left awake.  I carefully untangle my legs from the collection of sleeping bodies and slip away to my own mosquito net and mattress where I snuggle into my chips-a-hoy sheets and count stars peeking through my straw hanger.  While the urgency of work can be overwhelming, travel for conferences and workshops exhausting and time away from home (both village and America) heart-wrenching, it is nights like this one, snuggled next to Annie and with Christine's little baby arms draped over me, that remind me why all those stresses are worth it.

Segou Regional Training

    

Segou-kaw at the Catholic Mission in Segou

Peace Corps Volunteers spend close to three of our 27 months in country in language and technical training.  This past week we held our Segou regional training in Segou-ville with both new and 'old' volunteers.  We learned about ameliorated porridge from Cassie and her homologue, soak pits from Alaric, neem cream (a mosquito repellent made from shea butter, soap and neem leaves - a tree found in Mali) from Veronique, various awesome projects from Monica, fish farming with Engineers without Borders from Therese and urine fertilizer from Esayi and me. 

It was an exhausting week but we learned a lot and it gave both Esayi and I some much needed energy to push through with the rest of our work in the few months I have left in village and to prepare him some more for the next volunteer who will move in come August!

See more pictures from training here

See more pictures from my past month in Mali here

Global Shea 2010

Here I am at the Global Shea conference 

West Africa Trade Hub works with people to improve transport, access to finance, business environment and ICT to make West African businesses more competitive*.  They recently sponsored a 4 day conference to improve communication and quality at all levels of the shea value chain at Hotel de l'Amitié in Bamako, Mali which touched on topics ranging from maximizing quality to business planning and improved management to research, development and production to bulk trade in shea and expanding opportunities.

a shea tree and shea products from a shea store in San

Actors from all levels of the shea value chain attended including producers, buyers and exporters, from over 22 countries.  Peace Corps Volunteers from 4 countries in West Africa (Mali, Ghana, Benin & Togo) who work with shea in their respective villages - from forming women on improved practices to working on exporting large quantities of butter - also made the journey to the conference.  All forms of transport were exploited from buses on their last leg to first class airplanes and accommodations ranged the gamut from bunk beds at the Mali Peace Corps transit house to 5 star rooms at Hotel de l'Amitié.  

Here a man demonstrates how to make a shea butter pomade with aloe vera - all materials found in Mali/West Africa

The first day of the conference was dedicated to registration, sorting out the kinks of rooms, name tags and orientation as well as informal meetings between participants about their work in the shea field.  Day two is when things really got juicy as conference participants attended sessions ranging from improving the quality of their shea products (soaps, pomades, raw butter) to getting their shea butter laboratory tested, to bulk exporting of nuts and butter.  Participants benefitted from translations in both French and English depending on the nationality of the speaker (or their second language as the case was for those from Japan, Germany and Holland) as well as local language translations by Peace Corps Volunteers into Bambara.  Walking into the conference center on Day 2 booths lined the  second floor where women and men had carefully arranged bars of soap, tubs of shea butter and pamphlets advertising their products.  The back row was filled with women's associations from Mali and bright pagnes of Malian shea fabric were tacked onto the wall displaying the number of women's groups in Mali working with shea.  Other booths were occupied by women and men from Ghana, Burkina Faso, Senegal, Nigeria and England and their respective organizations.  

 Funlayo Alabi is a Nigerian woman living in Maryland who has incredible shea products - check out her products here (she went to Regent University in Virginia Beach, too!)

Leaving the conference, the scent of various body butters and creams lingering on my skin, I thought about what this conference meant for me.  I have never been closer to the source of shea butter than living here in Mali - women in my village collect shea nuts in the fields surrounding our village and sell them to traveling salesmen or whip the ground nuts into butter - and I have never been closer to the raw business side of shea butter than at this conference - buyers coming to the source for a base ingredient included in many products, from cosmetics to chocolate.  At the end of the conference we (PCVs) sat down and talked about problems facing the shea industry.  We concluded that the nut market is unorganized, there is a lack of good business partners, a lack of product diversification and development, and also the number of NGOs with their fingers in the various shea pots is overwhelming.  Also, it is unfortunate that food insecurity forces women to sell their nuts at sub-market prices.  One of the most interesting things I learned at the conference was from The Body Shop representative for Africa who said that 90% of the shea market is for nuts and 10% for shea butter yet 90% of the information exchanged in the industry is about shea butter and only 10% for nuts.  An incredible imbalance!

With buyers for L'Oréal, The Body Shop, Ghana Specialty Fats, export facilitators from Ghana, Senegal and Mali and producers from Mali, Senegal, Burkina Faso and Nigeria (among many others) I saw how much shea really can do for women in West Africa.  That when women can sell their quality nuts and butter at fair trade prices, business and trade really can be key to sustainable development. 

*www.watradehub.com

 Mark, Chrissy and Sam in the hotel lobby

Michael is ready to give you a flash drive!

Drinks after a great week of work

Listening to the translated speeches

See more pictures from the conference here 

24 hours, 24 years

After 10 hours on a poorly ventilated, dusty bus, Sonef transport drops me, Cassie, Joe & Ashley off in  Hombori in an unlit gas station parking lot.  The village, between Mopti and Gao, is surrounded by sheer cliffs and staggering plateaus.  The moon is close to full at 1 am and we scan the horizon trying to pick out which rock formation is Hombori Tondo - the highest point in Mali at 1,155 meters - and the mountain we have come to climb.

Lelele, the owner of his eponymous campement, graciously wakes up and shows us to a terrace where, for 2,000 CFA/night (about $4), we sleep on lumpy mattresses and, after unloading our dusty daypacks, take showers from used oil drums with shower heads welded to the bottom.  Accommodations are sparse but for $4 a night we are not really in a position to complain.

 

Setting out with 6 liters of water each and treats for the trek 

By 6:15 the next morning I wake up to donkeys braying outside the compound (hoping for elephants - one of the last wild herds of them roams from Mauritania to Niger via Mali passing through Hombori) and a trickle of sweat down my cheek.  We lay out a spread of hard boiled eggs, laughing cow cheese and stale bread from San for breakfast and then head downstairs to haggle for a guide to the base of the mountain and gear to cable climb.  The bargaining is exhausting but in the end we settle on 2,000 CFA/person for a guide to the cables (and base of the mountain) and 2,000 CFA/helmet.  After a quick lunch of rice and sauce and double checking I have enough water we set out at 2 in the afternoon for our adventure.

 

All smiles before we clip in!

The hike to the base takes about 2 1/2 hours and I drink 2 of my 6 liters of water.  After a break to catch our breaths and secure our harnesses Joe clips into the first section of the cable and I follow.  Joe retraces his steps to help Ashley through a particularly tricky crevice and I continue on since it's too scary to stay still.  I move steadily but slowly until I come to an area I cannot pass (there is nowhere to put my feet!).  I check to make sure I am securely clipped to the cable and take a look around me.  A flock of birds swoops down and the collective rush of their wings makes me catch my breath.  I look down and hear Joe (a former Yellowstone National Park employee) coach Ashley through another tough spot and then let my eyes wander over the incredible landscape around me.  Silhouettes of imposing rock formations dot the horizon and dried river beds that will fill when the rains come in July snake below.  I have never been so isolated and the beauty of it all is overwhelming (the heights may have something to do with that, too!).  I hear Joe's voice and then he appears from the rocks below and clips in ahead of me to figure out the climb.  After spanning the rock Mission Impossible style I take a deep breath and follow, trusting my harness, carabeeners and the cable with my climbing companions' encouragement.

 

Mission Possible with Joe, Ashley and Cassie! 

After 2 1/2 hours of cable climbing (5 hours total) the sun has set, darkness gently falling around us and we have reached the summit.  After 'bathing' with wet wipes we prepare dinner - stale(r) loaves of bread, laughing cow cheese and a stick of gourmet, pinot grigio summer sausage (thanks Cassie!) with stars above and a handful of solar powered lights in Hombori below.

The night brings winds so gusty I find myself gripping the sloping rock on which I sleep and tucking myself tighter into my sleeping bag.  I wake up after the moon has set and catch my breath at the closeness of the stars weighing heavily above me, crowding one another as they fight to be someone's favorite.  A shooting star flashes by and I close my eyes to wish for more trips like this with these friends sleeping beside me.  In less than 2 years I have been to places I never thought I would go and places I will likely never go again (Sierra Leone, Guinea and Gao) with the Wollersheims and Cassie.  Risking my life on Hombori Tondo is another thing I will add to the list!

 

Joe was a great guide - and he didn't even sing annoying songs!
Soon after dawn, thighs aching from the climb up, we begin the descent.  Since I cannot rely on my (albeit minimal) upper body strength to move from one bolt to the next, as I could for the ascent, the climb down is scarier and I depend more on my faith in the cable and harness.  A group of boisterous Swiss climbers bound up the mountain and, after an animated rendition of a Malian song, continue to scramble up barely having broken a sweat.  It seems Hombori Tondo doesn't hold a candle to the Alps.

 

the summit of Hombori Tondo 

We reach Hombori-ville, dehydrated and delirious from the heat, and I guzzle a warm bottle of water in the gas station parking lot while looking back at Hombori Tondo where I pushed myself harder physically, and perhaps mentally, than ever before.  I make a wish on my bottle of mineral water that my next 24 years will include moments like the ones from the past 24 hours - adventures with dear friends, moments that take my breath away, meals savored to the last bite and water (or other delicious drinks) that quench my thirst.

Safely back in San after another exhausting bus ride, Cassie makes carrot cupcakes for my birthday and I have the chance to make another wish - that I won't have to take Malian public transport anytime soon!



See more pictures from our trip here