A Bad Day to be a Sheep

Sweet and happy sheep, before 9 AM. We didn't kill them all, don't worry!

***Warning: Photos for Tabaski are BLOODY. Don't say I didn't warn you***

Tabaski has finally arrived. As part of my countdown until I get to Bamako, I'm really excited! Tabaski, which takes place 70 days after the Ramadan fete in the Muslim religion is celebrated here on December 30th, or 31st, depending on where you live. The reason for this is that when the moon was seen in Bamako for Ramadan, some of the people living in brussey villages didn’t believe the religious authorities and waited to either see it themselves or for another brussey village to see it. Therefore, the bigger towns/cities celebrate when Bamako celebrates, and the brussey villages celebrate together. This year, Bamako – and Douentza – celebrated December 30th. Basically, it’s the day to slaughter lots of sheep and feast – at least that’s what it is here in a “Muslim lite” country.

In preparation for the fete, my djatigi’s family bought and fattened up 7 sheep. All of the men went to the mosque this morning at 9 and promptly came home to slaughter the mutton. I missed the first one because I wasn’t paying attention, but lined up in time to get the whole thing on film. Yeah, a little gross I know, but I’m integrating into the culture here and I needed proof of my integration! It was pretty sad and the first time I’ve ever seen anything killed like that. I won’t go into details, and if you want the video, just ask. So, we decided to slaughter 4 today and then have a repeat tomorrow and do the other 3.

The process of killing the sheep is to cut its throat and let all the blood run. This was sheep #1.

Unfortunate sheep #2.

So, after they were all killed, the skinning started. That was odd just because I’ve never seen it before. They’ll use the skins after they’re dried and cleaned for prayer mats.

The skinning process of one of the four sheeps. It takes awhile, but the kids are eager to help out. Unfortunately, I don't think they washed their hands before eating.

Then came time for gutting them, which was pretty gross. I got to see everything that a mammal is made of – the stomach, intestines, kidneys, liver, etc. – and hoped that one of those pieces wouldn’t be put on my plate later.

Thanks to Adama for posing and holding the sheep open while it's insides are removed. This photo is the reason that people are vegetarian.

I didn’t know how much 4 sheep would yield, but good God there was a lot of meat. Then a grill area was built and the grilling began, while the women added some of the meat to the lunchtime meal. It’ll take all day for the meat to grill and so I assume tonight it will eaten by someone. The nice thing about the communal style of living is that we’re not going to eat it all today. The family will portion it off and deliver it to less fortunate family members, acquaintances and friends. So, it’s a pretty good system.

So, like on Ramadan the afternoon and evening and the next two days will bring little kids dressed in the best, new and clean outfits coming around to all the concessions and singing or dancing a little bit in hopes of getting some candy or small coins. I played into this on Ramadan, but for each kid that calls me a Toubab, I’m actually going to take money from them. We’ll see how that works.

Happy New Year!

A Very Dogon Christmas

4 days of happiness and fun leads to a long entry – be prepared!

Christmas in Sangha – Well, let’s just say that Christmas in Sangha was perhaps the most necessary and amazing thing that has happened in months. I knew I was getting giddy before we even left, but I didn’t know how great it would be to meet other volunteers and party our asses off together. Lots of people came from all around the country and the group was just the right size. We squeezed 22 into the bachee which was crazy and scary and made our way on the journey. The road from Sevare to Bandiagarra wasn’t bad, but then from Bandiagarra to Sangha was long, bumpy, motion sickness filled and I probably could have done without it. But, finally after a slow 40 km, we finally arrived in Sangha to see all the Dogon’s in their Dogon greatness.

The first day there we got settled into the Mission Houses – basically, Sangha has been a Protestant mission settlement for awhile and there have been missionaries living there forever. So, the houses are pretty nice. We ate some lunch and chilled but got ready to go on our first walk. Now, I don’t remember the names of the villages we visited, but it was a pretty low key walk. Nothing too strenuous and it was nice. It was a preview of Dogon Country and it was great to see a little of the culture there. We saw the bright green onion fields and then the hard rock of the Falaise along with the Hogon’s house, sacred alters for sacrifices, little kids that were nuts and much, much more.

The first night not too much happened. A lot of us were tired and plus there was a 4 hour hike the next day at 7 AM which was pretty intimidating. So, most of us went to bed pretty early. The next morning we all got up and got ready for the hike. We went with Amadou, Cristina’s friend, but unofficial guide, and it was awesome. I didn’t know if I could make it all because we walked all the way down the cliff which didn’t seem possible, but we did. We passed all sorts of crazy rock formations and Tellem Caves and other burial sites, but what was by far the best and most interesting thing was seeing the women walking up the cliff. They walk on the same paths that we and other tourists walk on, but they have 50 kg sacks of rice, huge buckets of water, cases of soda and beer, and other assorted, really heavy things on their heads. The amusing this is that while I’m holding on for dear life in order not to fall up or down, they’re not holding onto anything except the goods on their heads, and then sometimes not even that. The problem with living on a cliff, you can imagine, is the lack of water. It’s so dry there, and the only water is on the plateau beneath all of the villages. So, women descend the falaise in the morning with their bucket and then hike back up. Sometimes it can talk 4 hours just to fetch one bucket of water. As far as the soda and beer go, Sangha is really touristy, so they have to keep the tourists happen. The women are paid 500 CFA, about $1 to carry up a case of drinks. It’s just really crazy. I know it sounds crazy, but seeing it is something else entirely. I would love to include a photo of it here, but the funny thing about touristy places is that people demand money if you take pictures of them (it’s the same in Peru, South America) and I didn’t carry any to pay the women. So, maybe later. I can’t say I paid all that much attention to the explanations of certain things. I was just having a good time with the other PCVs and I didn’t feel like paying attention in French. Here are some great pictures of the rocks and Dogon villages along the way.

Dogon Village houses and graneries, overlooking the Plateau.
Dogon Village embedded into the cliff.
Amadou, Emily, Jackie and Beth - hiking down the Falaise, overlooking the Plateau.

So, I’m going back in about a month and a half, so I’ll listen better then. Later the night, we went to Cristina’s house. We all climbed on her roof using a traditional Dogon ladder which is basically a tree limb with notches carved in it – scary! We all chilled up there with 20 litres of beer and it was great. At first we were drinking of a couple of shared cups and calabashes, but toward the end, we started drinking out of the bucket! Check back soon for that photo! I think it tastes good – a lot like a light Belgian beer, and could even be made with guavas or mangoes for some flavor. It’s not very alcoholic though, so no one got drunk which was good because we had to descend that tree limb too! We went back to the Mission Houses and got ready because we were having a pig BBQ. Before dinner though, we all started singing Christmas carols and it was awesome. Someone busted out a hymn book and so we even had the words! One of the guardians watching over the house plays a major role at the nearby church and invited us to sing the next morning, and we accepted.

Christmas morning we arrived at church a little after 10 and stayed there until 12:30! Not a Catholic church, but Protestant, though in French/Dogon, I couldn’t really tell the difference. It was awesome though. Almost all the women bought the same Malian material for their outfits and were all matching, and it was churchy mixed with African. We sang songs like, “Angels on High” in French, but with African drums in the background and kids dancing and swaying their hands. It made me smile. It was a long service and most of us were getting antsy but we finally got up to sing and sang “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” and “Joy to the World” – serious and fun. Now, I know Malians are poor, but some of these people had digital cameras/phones and promptly got up to take our picture. A little embarrassing, but whatever! Shortly after our singing, we all snuck out of the church to go to lunch at the Femme Dogon. After a couple of us headed out for cell service which was sketchy at best and then headed over to the Auberge Castor for the Dogon Masked Dance. We missed the beginning, but it was really cool. I was afraid my photos wouldn’t turn out too well because we were kind of far away, but we were invited up after to get closer and take photos and get an explanation of each mask. I can’t remember them all, but this one is a representation of the most important woman who has to be present at every Dogon gathering. Again, I look forward to paying more attention next time!




Probably the best thing about Christmas this year was that a lot of volunteer’s families came to Mali to spend the fete and we all met them in Dogon Country. So, they were all decked out in their Malian complets/boubous and they just looked so great. They were even nice enough to bring things like crackers and salmon from Duty Free and M&Ms and Chips Ahoy – always welcomed to PCVs. So, we hung out with everyone for awhile and drank some more millet beer and waited for dinner. We killed a sheep to splurge on with everyone and it was pretty good. Even though we waited awhile for dinner, it was good to build up our appetites. After we ate, the Auberge Castor was kind enough to let us stay there until 2 AM for a crazy PCV dance party. Now, being my first PC dance party, I was pretty excited. Unfortunately, the DJing was terrible and we spent more time waiting than actually dancing. Oh well! I still managed to have a great time with the other PCVs dancing the night away. It got really cold and the wind was blowing and the party was dying, so some of us headed back to the houses. I thought we were going to go to a different establishment and continue the fun, but it was closed. Instead, we went back and decided to set some fireworks off. Never let 20something men play with fireworks after beer. No one got hurt, but there were some close calls. Hearing things like, “Oh shit, RUN!” from the window is always a bit alarming. We all stayed up late talking and getting to know one another.

The next morning we headed back to Sevare and to our respective areas of the country.
All in all, even though I couldn’t spend Christmas – perhaps the most family oriented holiday – with my friends and family in the states, I was able to spend it with my friends and PC family here in Mali. It was absolutely wonderful and I can’t wait for more PC parties!

Neverending Book List

Well, despite doing my best to "save the world," I'm also reading like a fiend. So, I wanted to keep an ongoing list of all the books I read while I'm here. Check back often to see the updates:



On the Road by Jack Kerouac
The Kalahari Typing School for Men by Alexander McCall Smith
Morality for Beautiful Girls by Alexander McCall Smith
Tears of the Giraffe by Alexander McCall Smith
The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith
Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracey Kidder
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
Segu by Maryse Conde
The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan
Wicked by Gregory Mcguire
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
Angels and Demons by Dan Brown
The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger

My Holiday "Miss" List

Instead of a "Wish List" for Santa this year, I just thought I'd post a list of things I miss from home. Not that I think, want or expect any of them to show up in a package, but I'm hoping that at the time of reading this, you might get a hankering for one or two things and indulge, while thinking of me.

2006 Holiday "Miss" List:

Christmas carols
Christmas baking
Christmas Tree decorating
Chilling with my Mom
Cookies and Cream Ice Cream
Grande skim peppermint no-whip mocha from Starbucks
White walls and ceiling
Online shopping (and inevitable returning!)
Searching for pointy-toed black flats
Winter coats and scarves
Wearing tweed and feeling sophisticated
Argyle sweater vests
Family Guy
Microwaves
Diet Coke
M&M Cookies
Soup and crackers
Bathtubs
Curling up on the sofa and napping
Quiet time
Au Bon Pain
Washington, D.C.!
ChipotleHaving stuff to do on the weekend that’s different than the week.

WAIT and Animations en Brusse

I recently took a two day excursion en brusse with Radio Dande Douentza to do some animations in two rural villages, one Dogon and one Peulh. First, let me explain the purpose of the animation. The animations are a way of teaching and informing the public different topics insofar as health, agriculture, democracy, etc. are concerned. So, Radio Daande Douentza, in collaboration with PDIHK-MELM, another NGO, got together and made this animation and visited these two villages. They made it into a type of game and brought prizes to the participants and winners. Soap, flashlights, batteries, shoes, cloth and salt were the prizes. The question that was posed was, “There a big tree in your village that can provide a lot nutrients and good things in your life, but it’s sick. If it dies, it will be a huge catastrophe for the village because you’ll lose all of these things. What do you do and who do you call?” People offered answers of the doctor, women, the Project who works with the village. After this question, based on the answers given and those who produced the right answer (which was apparently Doctor, tree doctor maybe?), the list was narrowed down and more in depth questions were asked, the details of which I didn’t understand. By the end, the winners were chosen by who had the correct answer and who gave the most convincing display of their knowledge. Now, the great thing is that just because only a couple of people had the correct answers and won prizes, the entire community was able to benefit from the knowledge and learn the right things to do in certain situations. So, all in all, I think that these animations/public service announcements are a really great benefit to the communities here, especially when they deal with pressing issues such as health and AIDS or even agricultural ways to improve the land. It’s a different way of informing the public, but I think it works all the same.

The problem with this two day trip is that it was scheduled on "West African International Time" (WAIT) not on "Sara's used to things being timely in America" time. So, Monday morning I woke up early and got ready and went to the Radio. Boucary said the vehicle was leaving at 8 or 8:30, which I knew meant like 10, but I wanted to check email, etc. I surfed the web until 10, and then took a nap. Needless to say, time wasn’t pressing and we didn’t actually leave until 2 PM, putting all of our alleged “program” off quite a bit. The ride there wasn’t too bad, it was on the guidrone for awhile and then off the guidrone, going to the Dogon village Diamaga. It was still kind of a road when we traveled there so I thought this is how brussy villages were. I was so wrong. When we got there, I got out and said hello and we took all of our baggage out and all this stuff. Jiawara and Amadou Pulo stayed there, but Boucary said there was some business to take care of and I could come to see the landscape if I want, which I wanted to. So, I got in the car, but in the back this time, and the problem was that the driver was a maniac and went really fast over these holes in the ground. Well, I wound up flying out of my seat and I hit my head on the roof. But immediately after I hit my head, my spine felt a little funny. So, I’m hoping there aren’t any irreparable damages there, because that would be really bad. Anyway, so I thought we were on this short little trip, but it turned out to be Indiana Jones meets Mali and the Falaise going to Boni.

Photo taken in the car on the Indiana Jones Adventure

We had to pick up this generator and other stuff and I wanted to kill myself. We weren’t on a road, but rather a path that has been cleared by one or two vehicles that pass by and maybe some bikes and motos. It was crazy. After an hour of wishing I had stayed at the Dogon village, we arrived in Boni and got the stuff and headed back – even more challenging because it was getting dark and we didn’t take the same route – because it’s not actually a road! – and I think it took longer than it should have. So then Boucary and Amadou set up the electricity and we ate some and then the show started. It was cool because it was there were traditional Dogon’s dancing and singing and then all of these kids around waiting for the animation-like stuff to happen. It took awhile! I mean, WAIT is nuts. We probably started around 8 PM, or later, and the show didn’t end until after midnight. When we finally ended, I was happy because I could go to sleep. Unfortunately, we packed more people than could fit in the car and then headed back to Boni and then off to some other random village to sleep. I wasn’t really too happy about this, but whatever, what choice did I have? So, long story short, it took us until after 3 AM to get to our destination at which time, I set up camp, ate a couple bites of food, and hit the sack. The guys felt the need to talk and I wanted to murder them, but I resisted and finally fell asleep. They told me that I could sleep until noon because there was nothing to do, however woke me up surprisingly early to eat. So, we ate and then Boucary left somewhere (Boni, I think) to get more stuff. When he told me the program didn’t start until noon, I thought he would be back at noon and we’d start the animation at the next village. However, I laid around all day and read Segu and they didn’t get back until like 4 PM. WHAT! Oh, that's right, WAIT again! So, we packed up the car and went to Feto Sambo, a traditional Peulh village. It was around 5 PM, still light out and it was cool because I got to look around a bit.

Feto Sambo Peulh Kids
My Favorite Photo - Peulh huts in the back, and cow shit everywhere - with a Peulh herder and his Peulh hat!

They only have the Peulh huts there, but I finally went inside of one and it’s really interesting. In the two I entered, there was a big bed and not much more. But, they’re raised off of the ground on pretty elegant beds, and it was great. A lot of the kids were afraid of me, which is amusing but not at the same time. I tried to touch one, and she freaked out and ran away. So, that was the end of that. For once, I hung out with only the women and girls. They were enthralled by me and me by them. Like I said, it was traditional, and they all had their noses/septum pierced, and their mouths tattooed and wore the gold earings and had their braids done very Peulh-like. It was just great. I wanted to take profile shots of each of them, but that’s kind of weird, n’est pas? So, we hung out for awhile and then it got weird because I don’t speak Peulh yet and I went and read my book waiting for the animation to start. I assumed, obviously incorrectly, that we would be done really early and get home early, etc. The animation ended pretty early, but I didn’t get home until 1 AM.

So, based on all of this WAITing and mismanagement of time and life on Monday and Tuesday, I decided that the Radio and I need to have a meeting and talk about some things, being that I'm their consultant. Also, I never, EVER, want to go en brusse with them again. I think I'll leave the brussy adventures to the Guide's Association!

Division of Labor – Men vs. Women and Feminism

While we all know that there is an international idea that men are the breadwinners and go out and get the money and bring it home and then the women cook and take care of the kids, I never imagined I would be exposed to the idea so directly. As I interact a lot with Amadou and Haoua Maiga, I will use their family and all those who live there as the primary example.

Each morning Amadou goes to “work” at the Radio/CLIC. I must say “work” because he doesn’t do a whole lot of it. Maybe he’ll check in to see how the Radio is doing or make sure that the computers are running well. Most days, however, he sits at his laptop and plays Scrabble or Spider Solitare. I don’t mean one or two games – I mean all day. From 9 to 1 and then from 4 to 7. How much Spider Solitare can one really play? When someone comes in to the CLIC to pay and he’s sitting right next to the paying area, he’ll scream someone else’s name for them to come and deal with it. While I don’t fully understand the patron system yet, I’ll go out on a limb and say he’s a patron – full fledged. For lunch and dinner he rides his moto to his house, parks it, parks himself on the sofa to watch satellite news and then eats and relaxes. Talk about a taxing day. Additionally, he’s constantly traveling to Segou and Bamako (he’s been four times since I’ve been here) for “work related” meetings, which I’m pretty sure don’t exist. I think it’s just an excuse to get away from his family. He’s never showing any affection to Haoua, and barely even talking to her ever. Maybe he’s unhappy with his marriage, I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s fair that he’s never home to spend time with his wife or the kids.

Each morning Haoua wakes up and takes care of the kids, making breakfast and sending them off to school. Some days she goes to volunteer at the CSCOM (health center) but most days she stays home and watches TV for a better part of the morning. If Dado (the cook/maid) isn’t there, she’ll make lunch, which usually takes a couple of hours. After, she likes to rest and watch Maria Ines, and maybe takes a nap. At night she’s usually cooking something – either toh or meat. Basically, she’s always occupied doing something. There’s always cobbal to make or dendi to pound or something. But all in all, the life of African women is hard. She has to tend to every little problem that comes up and Amadou doesn’t do anything to help her, except give her money for food for the family.

Haoua sifting some millet

Now, I’m not saying that either of them are Saints or demons. In fact, I think they’re both pretty lazy. They’ve hired Dado and Haoua to do their cooking and cleaning, which is great because it gives them food to eat and some money, but bad because it makes Haoua patron-like and lazy. Additionally, the introduction of satellite television into their lives is ridiculous and evil and I don’t like it. I think it’s really bad. It’s obvious that Amadou makes good money – he’s the head of Radio Dande. But just the other day Haoua was saying she wishes she had some money to do things. That she’d really like to start a small boutique. I wanted to offer to help her, but the truth is, I’d rather use extra money here to help people that don’t have anything. The main problem is that I know Amadou has the money, but he’s obviously being selfish and spending it on himself and his trips to Bamako instead of giving some to his wife and kids (I don’t consider clothes and food as generosity).

Nonetheless, I agree that the life of women here is hard. This is perhaps the reason that I’d like to get involved with some sort of women’s organization and help them to make some extra money and start doing the things they want to do. Things they find enjoyable. I hope that happens because it’s really important to me to see these women happy.

I’ve never really considered myself a feminist. I obviously have my own beliefs and ideas about how things should be done and about the way that women should be treated, but I never put myself on the Feminism bandwagon. Here though, it’s different. You see these women struggling everyday just to have 30 minutes to rest from cooking, cleaning and taking care of the children – not to mention the ones who are out in the fields or the Peulh women who sell their milk all day – and you want to help. You proclaim yourself as a feminist because here it matters. In America we argue over things like better pay and the right to choose. But here, many are fighting for freedom of oppression.

Women in my concession mortar and pestaling millet.

Just as a side note, the last time I came to Sevare I took the bus, but I was forced to sit on the floor because they overbooked their seats. It was fine, no problem. But the problem was the man and woman sitting next to me. She was young and looked very sad, almost like she was forced to be sitting on this bus with her very young infant on her lap. Then there was this man, potentially her husband in a forced marriage, who was sitting behind her and insisted on reaching around to the front of her and grabbing her breasts. She seemed very, very uncomfortable with him doing this to her, and I was heartbroken that I sat here but couldn’t do anything. I kept looking out of the corner of my eye and the man noticed me and continued to grab at her. I just wanted to reach out and say, “Hey, it’s okay. Why don’t you come sit next to me? I don’t think it’s okay that he’s grabbing you like that and you don’t have to tolerate it if you don’t want to.” But I couldn’t, for several reasons, the least of my worries being the language barrier. Culturally I shouldn’t interfere, but morally I should. I don’t quite know where to draw that line yet.

Douentza to Sevare

I’ve now travelled a couple of times between Douetnza and Sevare and both the last time and this time I made some pretty nice mental notes and just had a pretty serene trip. It’s a gorgeous countryside. The cliffs of the Falaise and the barren land, it’s indescribable to me. But more than that, it’s what you see as you’re passing by. Often there are herds of animals: cows, goats, sheep, but often donkeys and even camels. Camels! Who thought that riding down a stretch of land a herd of camels would be the norm? Certainly not me. These animals are either in herds with their herder or just randomly galavanting around. It’s just really beautiful the way nature works and the way they are so free to roam and do their business.

But more than the animals are the people you see. On a normal day it’s not too many people, but today there were a lot. Families and friends travelling from market to market with their dagos (mats) on donkey carts with nothing more than their colorful complet, their Peulh hat to ward off the sun, and a couple of bidons of water to quench their own thirst and that of their donkeys. There are the random lakes and the kids who help their families by washing the laundry in the dirtiest of waters. One has to wonder if the clothes are getting cleaner or dirtier. The ever present children also playing in these bodies of water that are definitely full of parasites like schisto. There are small villages scattered throughout the countryside, often comprising of maybe 200 people with small mud homes or more often a stick/Peulh hut. The dominating structure of the village, however, is a mud mosque. It’s just unreal. Every so often, like today, you’ll see dead animals lying on the side of the road. Today it was dead donkey – really, really sad. There were birds and other animals feeding off of its carcus. I know it’s all a part of the food chain and the circle of life, but you must admit that it’s sad too. (I just learned today from Andrea that there is a problem in the vulture bird life. Due to pollution and other such environmental factors, the biggest vultures, or the ones that break dead animals open, are being eliminated and thus the rest of the vultures are suffering because they can’t access the food. Pretty interesting, let’s be honest. I never knew there was more than one type of vulture, let alone different types that have different functions and areas of the animal to eat. You really do learn something new everyday, don’t you.)

While driving on the guidrone to Sevare, it’s easy to wonder what’s going on in these plains and on the escarpment and also hard to imagine why people have stayed here. There’s little or nothing to do to support a job, there’s little food, usually only millet and maybe one or two other staples. They are miles away from any market town, making me wonder how often they have access to things like fresh fruit and vegetables. I know it’s not important to some people, but it’s pretty important to have those vitamins in the grand scheme of things. So, maybe a lack of knowledge is keeping them there, who really knows. They don’t know what’s better in Sevare or Mopti or Bamako. I doubt that many of them have ever even been that far. It doesn’t appear that there are any schools there, so they probably don’t know about other African countries, let alone Europe, Asia and the America’s. You can say that it’s sad, but I don’t know if it is. It’s naivete and ignorance, but not of a negative nature. In many aspects, I think that they are better off not knowing the evil that lurks in the world. It’s depressing. They live a much more simple way of life and it’s admirable, really.

Arriving in Sevare, of course is a completely different story. A bustling city with hotels and restaurants – real ones – so many cars and bachees and bikes and tourists and everything you can imagine really. My favorite thing about Sevare is the electricity. Why? Well, of course I have electricity in Douentza, but even though the city is wired, not everyone can afford it. That’s understandable. The remarkable thing, however, is what happens at night, under the illumination of street lamps. Kids from school sit out on the roads in Sevare until whatever hour, studying under these lamps. I’m sure all they have at home is a petrol lamp, and from experience I know the difficulties of using that in trying to study. I think it’s really great that they think to use a state resource instead of using their own resources. I mean, why don’t we see people doing this in America? Of course, I prefer the setting of the quiet library, but that’s not an available luxary here. To introduce the idea is probably crazy. I know that all cultures have their ways of hanging out and spending time with their friends, etc., but I really think it’s creative that kids come to use the street lights for studying. It’s innovative. And if people from other cultures did that too, it could save on energy and costs and it would be great. Maybe that trend can move to America, but I doubt it.

Public Transportation

One of my biggest worries coming to Mali was the public transportation. For those of you who know me well, you know that I don't do well with motion sickness. Hell, if I can't even make it on a 30 minute car ride, how do I expect to make it across Africa. My fears were soon realized upon arrival here that travel would be no easy task. There are potholes the size of craters on the moon and people here are worse than drivers in Massachusettes and Quebec - combined!

After riding on a bus for 12 hours I hated it and I never wanted to do it again. Unfortunately, that's not an option for me. Mali is twice the size of Texas, so you can imagine just how long I'll be spending on the bus. There is a train, but it doesn't service the half of the country where I live. It's probably better - I've heard horror stories. So, I'm still new, still learning the bus system. The thing that gets me the most are the "characters" on the bus. Normally this would mean crazy people but here it refers to anything under the sun that you need transported across the country. I haven't seen anyone go as far as transporting cattle, however, goats and sheep are fair game. My language professor, Daou, just bought two sheep to take to Bamako to have slaughtered for the Tabaski feast. We had to drag them from our house to the bus gare, tie them up in bags and put them in the holding area under the bus. The ride is 12 hours long, meaning that they don't eat, drink or pee for that long. It's kind of sad, right? But on the other hand, it's pretty amusing to be sitting at the gare, waiting for a bus to come by and see a bus with either 50 goats on the top or 200 chickens tied on and holding on for dear life.

Above you can find a photo of "Mysterious." Someone will enjoy this sheep for a fete in less than a month. Tear.

Toubab, ca va, cadeau?

Well, thanks to French influences in Mali, there’s a terrible habit that people have picked up. I’m going to call it the “Toubab Syndrome.” When the French were here, way back when, there were mostly only French doctors around. For whatever reason, they were called toubabs. However, the Toubab Syndrome refers to the fact that everyone who is white is now called a Toubab, despite whether or not you’re from France. Well, when I was living in Banankoro, I think I got called a Toubab maybe two or three times. When I came to Douentza, that all changed! Because it’s slightly more touristy here, Douentza being close to Dogon Country, Timbuktu and the Gourma Elephant Reserve, there have historically been more white people here. My first few days it was the worst because I wasn’t used to it. I’d walk down the street and hear, “Toubab! Donnez-moi un cadeau,” meaning Toubab, give me a gift. The first few times, I just looked at these kids like they were crazy. But when one kid calls you a Toubab, it’s like smoke signals to the entire community and kids come out from places you didn’t even know existed to say “Toubab! Donnez-moi un cadeau.” And they don’t say it once and leave you alone for ignoring them, the same kid repeats it at least 6 times. Annoying!

There are variations to this increasingly annoying sentence, however. Often you can replace “cadeau” with “100 francs, ton velo” meaning some money or your bike. The best, however is when they say, “Toubab! Donnez-moi... ” and then pause and look around to see what you’re carrying to figure out what they want. If I happening to be biking back from the market, they demand my bread or my bottle of water or other various things they might see. It’s crazy.

So like I said, at first it would bother me like crazy, and eventually I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve tried to tell them that my name isn’t Toubab, but that it’s Fatumata and that seems to have worked a little bit. I’ve also enjoyed turning to them and saying, “Donnez-moi un cadeau,”or I ask them to give me their notebook or backpack or shoes or something equally as ridiculous. They just laugh at me. When I see they have some money lie 10 or 25 francs, I’ll tell them to give it to and usually they do. I don’t know if it’s out of fear or respect. I obviously don’t take it, but I’ll walk away from them and make them wonder if I’m coming back, and then turn around and return it.

I’ve thought about making one of my projects a trip to the school to teach them not to call me a Toubab, but I was told it was a waste of time. Oh well, it looks like if that’s the most annoying thing in two years, I can handle it.

Marabouts and Garibouts

"This is Abobocar and his garibout friends - they helped out with Daou when he was here. It's the morning and it's cold, which is why they're shirts are like that. It's a good day for them, we gave them our empty bottles."

Being that Islam is the main religion here, there are certain systems in place that I’m not accustomed to. Now, I’ve talked to a bunch of people and for all intents and purposes, we’re going to consider Mali “Muslim-lite.” By that I mean that almost everyone is Muslim, but they’re not strict. Not everyone prays five time per day, not that many people fasted during Ramadan, a lot of them drink beer, and I’ve even seen some eat pork. In the same vein, there’s no Shar’ia law here and women can show their skin, though they are encouraged to stay covered up. I thought I wouldn’t be able to show any skin but I wear tank tops and skirts (below my knee). So, it’s not that strict. That said, there are those Malians who are diehard Muslims and have their systems. Before I get into the Marabout and Garibout discussion, I will say that I respect each person and the choices they make insofar as religion in their life is concerned. I’m especially culturally sensitive here, though sometimes it’s difficult.

A very common practice in Muslim countries is the existence of Marabouts. A Marabout is a religious figure in the community who knows the Koran and who studies it every day and reads from it everyday. He can also counsel people if they have religious questions and they go to him for advice and for help. In some places, like in Senegal, the Marabouts have a huge say in political issues (yes, Prof. Lambright, I remember the paper I wrote!). Here, however, they’re just the go to people for questions and problems. The other half of the system is the garibouts. Parents can send their children to live with the Marabout and to study the Koran. They lead the hardest lives here that I’ve seen. They are given to the Marabouts and then the Marabouts move around and sometimes these kids will walk for weeks or months, carrying their small belongings and the Marabouts belongings to his final destination. Once they’ve reached the place they’ll live, such as my home Douentza, the Marabout lives in his home and the garibouts live there too, but the Marabout doesn’t take care of the children. They are required to beg for food and/or money and they are allowed to eat the food but they are supposed to give the money to the Marabout. They are seen as the epitome of Muslim. They pray five times per day, they study the Koran for several hours a day, and it’s a crime and a sin to hurt them. So, everyday at lunch and dinner when I’m sitting with my family eating, several garibouts will come to the door/gate and say, “Bido allah garibout,” meaning “garibout friend of Allah.” At this point, people choose whether or not to give them a handful of the rice or toh that we’re eating and they take it and move on to the next house in hopes of more food. This said, most people give food because it’s for the direct benefit of the garibout, but some give money. Okay, so maybe this doesn’t seem heart wrenching yet, but let me finish painting the picture. In a town like Douentza, there are hundrends of garibouts. They wear the most tattered clothes and probably only own two pairs of pants and two shirts, and sandals if their lucky. I’m not sure how often they bathe, some of them maybe once or twice a week because they can’t afford to buy soap. They are easily spotted because they carry around a small bucket for collection of the food they are able to find. Now, let me talk about the relationship between the Marabout and garibout. The Marabout is there as the teacher for the garibout, to teach him Arabic and the Koran. He is supposed to take care of the garibouts also, in so far as clothes and health are concerned. He doesn’t though. He uses the money that the community gives to him to further his own needs and doesn’t take care of the kids. When I first arrived here, I saw a few garibouts who were really sick; you could just tell by looking at them. It’s really sad. Then, about three weeks ago here, I found out that a Marabout beat one of the garibouts so badly that he died. That Marabout is in prison now. As hard as this is to think about, you must understand that being a garibout is an honor to the child and to the family. He is being the supreme religious figure, and has an opportunity to become a Marabout later on.

All that said, you may be sitting here thinking, “Wow, this is a really messed up system.” I don’t agree with it 100% and it’s so difficult to see hundreds of them per day asking for food. And where do you draw the line? If you give one of them some rice and sauce and there are 10 others who see, they rush over to you and expect you to give them food too. Other volunteers have said that I’ll get over how sad it is and realize it’s just a part of everyday life, but I don’t want to lose the compassion in my heart for these kids. I give what I can, and many people pity them and help them out. For example, at my house where I live, the woman who watches over me has taken one named Amadou under her wing. He comes over and helps to wash dishes and bring water from the well and sweep and other household chores. In exchange, he always has food and never has to beg. A picture of Amadou is on its way. If I could bring him home, I would. He’s great to me. Always brings me water for drinking and fills up my bucket for a shower everyday. I can’t wait to really talk to him and get to know him.

If I hear one more rooster at 4 AM...10.17.06

Greetings from the hottest country in the world – I actually think that's true and if not, I'm not exaggerating. I knew it would be hot here, but I didn't really grasp how hot it would be. I'm surviving quite well in my new home and slowly adapting to the change of climate. It's very dry here because I'm pretty much in the desert, but it's gorgeous. I'm surrounded by the falaise, which means the cliffs and the Falaise de Bandiagara is where the Dogon people live and they are the cliff dwellers. I haven't visited yet, but I have some fellow volunteers who live in Dogon villages in the cliffs. I cannot wait to see that, it's going to be spectacular.

After some initial problems with my house, including some bad water leaking, things seem to have been patched up quite well and I'm trying to get situated. I took a trip to Sevare, my regional capital, to order some bamboo furniture, so I have to wait until about November 10th to get that here. So, it's kind of a pain still sleeping on the floor or ground, but it's like camping…for two years. But my goal is to have all things here situated by the end of November, so that will be really good I hope.

I haven't really been up to a whole lot. Between now and January when I return to Bamako for more training, my job here is to integrate into the community and learn and practice my languages. So, I don't have any work to do which is difficult. I went from being super busy at school to having a scheduled life here to nothing now. I've been going to the radio station everyday to hang out though and get to know my working counterparts, so it's good. All and all, things are well and I'm really starting to like it here so that's exciting. I'm sure that after I'm comfortable with my surroundings and language skills I'll really love it here.

I hope you're all doing well and that school/work/life is treating you well.

Take care and we'll talk soon!

Photos of Mali - 09.27.06

Hi Again Everyone -

Just a quick note sending my photos in Mali so far. There are a bunch and if you have any questions, let me know.

http://community.webshots.com/user/SarainMali

Mali - the Land of Wonder - 09.25.06

I know that it's been over a month since I've last written, so bear with the length of this letter! I think the last I told of was my visit to my future site. I spent a week in Douentza and it went okay, but I didn't love it. Luckily, I'm with another volunteer and it's a town of about 10,000 so I'm sure it's going to be fine. I had a huge language barrier when I was there, but I know I'm going to pick the language up really quickly and it's not going to be a problem. After site visit, we returned to our training site, Tubaniso for about a week. It was so frustrating to be here because after a week away from my homestay family, I missed them like crazy and wanted to go back very badly. So, after a week of dealing with it here, we finally returned back to Banankoro, my homestay village. I don't think I can express how happy I was to be there! Just seeing my huge, fun and crazy family was amazing, but sad at the same time. The day we returned, I knew I only had 17 more days to spend with them before leaving for good. So, I spent the next two and a half weeks spending as much time with them, just sitting and talking and laughing and joking. Also, we moved into Phase II of our training, which meant that I would be having less language class and more "technical" training. For me, this meant that my team and I would have to create, market and sell a product in our village. But this was good, we decided to make soap with the women's association and teach them how to make soap and hopefully create a sustainable project for them to generate some income. At the end, we wound up making soap and selling it to all the women who helped us and then we even had a profit to give to the women in order to continue doing this soap project. So, I'm really hoping that my little mark, thus far, can leave a bit of an impression. My host Mom, who was really integral in helping us figure out our project, was so happy in the end and so, whether or not is lasts, I know that I've helped a little and that I made someone happy.

Sunday was probably my hardest day in Mali, so far. It was my last day at my homestay village and really emotional. Saturday night I wanted to sit around and chat with my family, but it's rainy season here and that got cancelled with the torrential downpour. I wound up sitting in my Mom's house with her and eating dinner – the family slaughtered a chicken and cooked it for me. My friend Columba who speaks French and was so important in Banankoro for helping me communicate with my family, came over and helped me thank my host Mom for everything she had done. Until this point, I didn't think Malians cried. But my host Mom started crying and I got really sad too, but I kept it together. After we got past the emotions we joked all night and it was great. In the morning, however, a bunch of my family helped me carry all of my stuff to the school to be picked up. Two of my Mom's came and they cried and I was on the verge of tears too. However, it wasn't until my little brother, Seguba – who I want to bring home – started crying that I couldn't contain myself. I started crying and my host Dad made some people go home so we wouldn't all cry. It was ridiculous, but it was so nice. It's weird that after two months and not speaking a language with people that you can bond so much and cry when leaving. So, I'm definitely going to visit Banankoro when I go to Bamako and especially when I have friends/family visit.

So, now as I'm writing this we're back at Tubaniso for a week before our big day – Swearing In. It's held at the Ambassador's House and it'll take place Friday morning followed by a pool party and then partying all night in Bamako. So, on Friday I officially become a volunteer, having successfully completely my French exam and my cultural immersion. It's going to be great because almost all of us had Malian clothes made for the event. I have a cute dress that I'm wearing, and a headwrap – amazingly funny pictures to follow! Then on October 1st, I leave for Douentza, my new home. It's nice because Peace Corps transport will take me and my site mates to the Douentza area instead of having to deal with public transportation. This whole process is called Installation and perhaps one of the scariest moments here will be when the Peace Corps vehicle drops all of my stuff off and leaves me to figure out my life. It'll be okay, and I am looking forward to it and looking forward to learning my new language and building relationships with everyone – it really is the opportunity of a lifetime.

On a slightly sadder note, some relatively old news: At the beginning of September two Peace Corps Mali volunteers were killed in a boating accident on the Niger River. It was a really rough night when we found out. Most of us knew these two volunteers in some capacity and both of them were very close to the end of their service. Being in a country half way across the world, we are all united here and so it was a huge tragedy in the Peace Corps community. On the upside, I wanted to reassure any of you who might have heard, that I'm fine. My health has had its ups and down – nothing grave though. I'm doing my best to keep it this way!

Thanks for everyone who has written, it's so nice to hear from you and your stories and your news. Please continue to tell me how your lives are going. I miss you all but I can wait to come home. One last thing, for anyone wanting to send mail, my new address is:

Sara Rosen, PCV
Corps de le Paix
Douentza, Mali

I know it's the most generic address, but I guess it works! I look forward to hearing from you soon. I promise I'll put pictures up online as soon as I'm situated at site and I'll send some even sooner.

One Month in Mali - 08.26.06

Well, it's been about a month since I've been here and a lot has stayed the same, but there are some new developments. The major thing is that I'm leaving tomorrow to visit my permanent site! It's a city called Douentza, east of Mopti about 2 hours. I'm going to be working with a radio station and internet cafe, as a primary project, and also working on tourism in my freetime. The information I was given wasn't too descriptive, so I don't know everything that's going on. However, after my 12 to 13 hour bus ride tomorrow, I should know a little more. It's great because I'm going to be going with a whole new group of people that I don't really know yet. So, it's exciting to meet and get to know the people who I'll be spending the next two years with. The other really good thing is that I'm at the same site with someone else. His name is Fikru, and he's Ethiopian-American and his French is amazing! So, it'll be really good for the first couple of weeks until I really get on my feet with my language skills. I'm also starting my new language this week, and that'll be interesting also because I have a tutor who I can work with all week.

I know it's not too much of an update, but my mind is kind of all over the place preparing myself for tomorrow's travel! I'll be back in a week though, and be sure to let you all know how my new site is.

I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier - 08.15.06

Wow, I know it's been awhile since I've left, but I wanted to write to you and tell you what's been going on. I arrived safely in Mali three weeks ago and it's been pretty interesting since then. We had a week at our training site, Tubani So, which means House of the Doves (Peace Corps logo has doves on it) and it was kind of like summer camp. We had a lot of cross cultural sessions, some Philosophy of the Peace Corps, etc. and some language lessons. It was a pretty sweet life there with really good food and forks and toilet paper. Two weeks ago we found out where our homestay would be and mine was in a village called Banankoro. Its south of the capital about a half hour and it's pretty rural. We have about 2500 people in the village and my family is interesting, to say the least. My family is Muslim, so I have a Dad and four Moms, plus a couple Uncles and a boatload of kids. In my concession there are about 30 people. So, it's never a slow time! I've been given a Malian name, which is Fatumata (or Fatim for short) Coulibaly and it's been really good. No, I don't have electricity or running water, but I don't find it difficult at all. I have bucket baths everyday and I have a lantern that I use to read and do work at night. The problem is that I have a tin roof (which is a sign of wealth) and it makes my room unbearably hot, especially with a kerosene lantern going. In general, I'm finding it to be difficult to speak with my family. The local language here is Bambara, but I'm actually buffing up on my French right now. The problem is that my family only speaks Bambara.
Therefore, we play a lot of charades. It's good though, I mean, I'm able to get my point across and when I can't, a friend of the family is often there to help translate, and he speaks French. I actually just found out the other day that after I reach a certain level of French that I'll be taking Fulfide, or Peul, which is the language spoken in Mopti/Djenne (the famous mosque if you know of it), which is great. Almost no one knows where they're going yet and so the fact that I know is exciting. Now that I'm back at Tubani So I'll have the chance to read up on the area. What else can I tell you? Well, about the food – barely anyone in my village (other volunteers, there are 13 there) has utensils to eat, but it's awesome. I'm usually eating rice with fish and sauce or macaroni. Breakfast is standard – a French loaf of bread with tigidigi (peanut butter, which they make here!) or eggs. But it's cool – it's not Indian style where I had naan or chipathi to gather the food, it's just scooping a bunch into your hand and getting it in your mouth without making a mess – it becomes much easier that it sounds. Even when we had dinner here tonight, I grabbed a fork, but I didn't use it. I'm definitely immersing myself!

Let me tell you a little about my "culture shock." Other than living in a polygamous community, I'd have to say that so far, Mali is pretty "African." The kids run around in a constant state of dirtyness, wearing western clothes that are ripped and in a pretty bad state. It's really hard to know that some of the clothes that we donate in the states are being sold wholesale to African companies who sell them for cheap at the markets here. So, if you've ever thought that your old clothes are going to a good cause – they're not – they're going to fuel an American business. I'm not saying I have a solution, but it pisses me off. The only other thing that has really caught me off guard is the garbage around. There isn't any semblance of sanitation here, like a municipal garbage collection, so in my concession there is a large pile of garbage where our donkeys, chickens, goats and sheep live and eat. It's just new, you know? So the idea is to create as little garbage as possible.

All in all, everything really is going well. It's hotter than hell here, but you know, it's going to get better. We have ceiling fans here at Tubani So, so I'll be living in luxury until Thursday. We visit our sites soon, which is good because I'm really excited to meet my new host family and struggle to speak a language I don't know. Maybe they'll speak French! Anyway, for now, I'm going to be done. I hope you're all well and I hope to hear from you soon. Please let me know what's new with you and what's going on. I look forward to the latest developments!

Love always,
Sara