K'an sooni!

On Friday at dusk Modibo, a Peace Corps driver, turned the familiar corner of the mud-wall lined path outside my hut to arrive at Esayi’s compound. Modibo, along with Esayi, Bakari and a handful of other capable, strong, young men, loaded his white SUV with all the treasures I accumulated in village the past two years. Tables, chairs, trunks, suitcases, pots, pans, a bike, a gas tank and stove all piled creatively into the back and top of the truck. Waati sera! The time has come!

Esayi and I in front of my house

I spent the last two weeks at site throwing out papers, packing my belongings and saying my goodbyes to folks. After knitting with Annie through the heat or rain of the day I would strap Christine to my back and head from compound to garden, garden to compound and greet people and explain one more time that soon I would be leaving and soon a new volunteer, Jim (AKA Adama), will arrive. Women would look up from sifting millet flour or corralling a child to say, ‘eh, kelen??’ – Already??. I would laugh and say two years isn’t already! Old men would grin or frown, offer one their hand (or their oldest sons’) in marriage one last time and say ‘eh, an be deli ka soro i be ta’ – Just as we get used to one another, you go. It’s hard to imagine it taking so long to truly feel a part of somewhere and in truth, I’ve felt a part of the village for much longer. But the comfortable interactions, the greeting and knowing people’s names and their families, the knowing where to go in village for milk powder, dried fish, batteries and flour – that really did take a long time and even up until the last week I continued to learn about the village and its varied dynamics.

Christine getting ready for the party

Esayi and Annie agreed it would be best to have a farewell party the night before I left. On the Monday before I sent money with Esayi to the San market to buy sugar, tea, cigarettes and gasoline for the fête. Annie met with the women’s association a few weeks earlier to discuss renting strip lights, speakers and a generator. Wednesday night I sat down with Annie to knit and Baissata, the president of the women’s group, joined us so I offered her my chair and sat behind Annie on a low-lying mud wall. They began to speak quickly and I followed words, expressions and body language to figure out my party had some problems. Annie said the woman in charge of coordinating the lights and speakers forgot to rent them. ‘An be na mun ke?’ she asked me. What will we do? I shrugged, and said well, no party? I didn’t know what to say or what to do. Disappointed, I left to make a phone call and when I returned Annie said we had another problem. I smiled and said let’s hear it. She said Baissata had come back to tell her an old woman in village died. That her funeral would be tomorrow, Thursday, the day before I leave. In my village, where animism is a predominant religion (akin to spiritualism), the whole village is expected to go out to the fields and bury the body together. And so, after greeting the family of the woman in the morning, we all headed out to the fields to bury her body and dance next to the grave. That night heavy rains came and the celebration of her life didn’t start until 3 am. I woke up at 5:30 and headed over for the last song, just before dawn. While not having a party was too bad, I’m not really leaving yet and so we’ll save the party for another visit (in ch’Allah!) and hopefully we’ll have a good time then.

A rainy season sunset as I bike into site for the last time

Modibo got in the truck, anxious to get back to San to break the fast of the day (it is Ramadan) and Annie and Esayi quickly said their farewells: ‘Allah ka sira numan ye; Allah ka nogon ye nogoya.’ for a blessed my trip to Bamako and a quick return to Zana. A small crowd had gathered around the truck to witness the hubbub and as I looked back, Modibo’s white SUV leaving the way it came but with me in it, I saw the small crowd dissolve as night began to fall. The men to Shaka’s for tea and talking. The women back into their compounds to take care of dinner and wash the kids. The children chasing after old bike tires with sticks in the well-worn ruts in the road. After two years it’s nice to know that while some things have changed because of me, (hopefully for the better) life here is the same. Waati sera.

Two of the treasures I had to leave behind

See more pictures from my last week here!

Fumbles, Food and Fun!

When writing my blog posts I often feel like waving my arms around me and saying, 'See??!!'  because my words fail me.  I spent these past 3 weeks waving my arms around and saying 'See??!!' but it was to a friend.  I spent these past 3 weeks talking until I was blue in the face but it was with someone next to me.  Exploring Mali with one of my best friends, Sarah, we talked about our lives in Mali and France and she got to see the country she's been reading about for 2 years on my blog in person.  Seeing her nod and get a real grasp on my life here was touching and an incredibly rich experience for us both. 

Sarah and Maridee checking out mud cloth in Koutiala

The day after arriving in Bamako and staying at my friend Ryan's place (thank you!) Sarah and I loaded into an NGO pick-up truck with my overweight bags and her carry-on size suitcase and headed to Koutiala.  Once there we relaxed at the volunteer house and tried to catch up on some sleep - I was pretty fuzzy after a 12 hour flight and a bumpy truck ride.  The next day, watered and fed, we headed with Maridee, another PCV who is based in Koutiala, to the mud-cloth association where she works.  We learned where the dyes come from, how the mud-cloth is made and some of the history behind the designs before making some purchases and taking a few lovely pictures.

From Koutiala we traveled to San in a friendly mini-bus where the other passengers loved Sarah (of course!) and taught her lots of things in Bambara in between questions about her man and reasons for being in Mali.  In the span of the few days we spent in San Sarah learned to greet in Bambara, purchased many bolts of fabric to be made into gifts and matching outfits and ate a large amount of peanut-butter-sauce-covered rice.  While passing through a plastic-sheet covered stall in the fabric section of market an old, frail man took one look at me and Sarah and made me promise I would take her inside in case of strong winds to prevent them from blowing her away.  I happily agreed and Sarah nudged me to say the same about him!

 

Tea at Uncle's (left) was a mainstay of our visit to San

After biking the 20km to village (it's part of the travel ritual :), Sarah finally got to give baby Christine snuggles, Annie hugs and Esayi confirmations that yes, she was in good health and happy to be here.  We collected shea nuts with Annie one morning, tried to help pound millet into flour, toured the village to meet all of my friends and folks I work with and spent a morning in the cereal bank as the last of the grain was issued to families in my village. 

Sarah is a trooper biking through the marsh from my village!

We were then honored to attend Cassie's farewell party at her site and next headed to Djenné to see the largest mud mosque in the world on Djenné's market day.  The mosque is pretty much all there is to see in Djenné so after a day there we headed to Mopti and stayed with a volunteer, Susan, (thank you!) and then to Sevaré where we purchased treasures (of course!) and prepared to leave for our Dogon hike.  The 3-day Dogon hike took us on a beautiful tour of the lush cliffs with breathtaking views of the encroaching desert and scrubby brush below for only 8,000 CFA/day (about $16) from Dourou to Telly. 

 

Checking out the scenery in Dogon country
Carefully navigating the rocky terrain ahead of us I lagged behind the group on our Dogon hike.  I heard Oumar Guindo, our sailor-mouthed guide and comedian for the trip, holler back to the rest of us 'Got it?!' after his inaudible commentary on the landscape around and below.  I waved my arms around and said 'See??!!' to Sarah and she turned back and smiled.  I have been truly blessed to have Marija, my Mom and now Sarah come and share in my experiences here and actually see for themselves this beautiful country and the people I know (and all the ones I've yet to meet!) in it.  Because when it comes to Mali - sometimes there just aren't words. 

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