Hard Work: Mali vs America

What's a hard days work in America? While there are several different levels of working - retail, restaurants, offices, manual labor, etc - we each feel as if we put in a hard day's work everyday, right? Even when I was living in Washington, my senior year of college, I was going to school full time and working part time while running a conference the other part time. I considered myself pretty busy. An active day would consist of waking up in my comfortable heated/air conditioned room, checking my email, showering with hot water, eating breakfast or heading out the door to catch the metro to work where I would grab a Starbucks and normally proceed to sit on my butt for the next several hours doing what I called "work." After those hours, I'm sure I would eat some lunch, chill, check my email about a billion times and just hang out. After lunch I would head back to GW, have a class or two, walk around a bit, grab another coffee or a Diet Coke and continue up to the 4th floor of Marvin Center and sit in the IAS office, sometimes doing WAMUNC work, often just sitting around talking. By the time I made it home, sometimes it was late, but I would sit and watch an episode of Family Guy, sit in front of my computer and talk on the phone until it was time for bed. Tough day, huh?

Now, I admit that there were days that were much harder than this one - and we've all had hard days. But lets be honest, we've all had easy days too. Isn't it funny though that with this account above, I would consider it a hard day? Can you imagine what I would have considered it had I actually been doing work?

Well, in Mali, a typical workday is quite different. I know that I've been here for 2 years, but living in Bamako brings a vastly new perspective to things. Bamako, more than New York than DC, is the city that Malian's come to in order to make money. Like any person growing up in Small Town, USA, one thinks that moving to the big city is easy and is going to solve all of life's problems. Well, it doesn't. I've had a lot of work to do in Bamako and since we're not allowed to ride on motorcyles and that riding one's bike in a skirt is a practical death sentence, I've taken to walking or to public transport (more on that in the next blog). While wandering around the really dirty streets of Bamako - we're talking African capitol city here - my eyes are introduced to new sites everyday. The site that prompted this blog entry was the following: seeing a young man, of 25 years old, average height and build, pushing a cart filled with 300 kilos of rice for delivery from market to a person's home. Now, for those of you not familiar with the metric system, 1 kilo=2.2 lbs. That means that we're talking about over 600 lbs of rice being pushed, with all the strength and might of a man who weighs about 150 lbs. The sweat that pours down his face is unbelievable, but there's nothing you can do. The even sadder ending to this story is that he'll make, maximum, $2 for this hard work. Another difficult site to see and watch is a man, normally about 40 or 50, riding the world's most decrepid bike, with up to 50 lbs of cucumbers, feed for the animals or sodas, stacked up on the back. I myself will confess that in my first months here I tried carrying a small child to market on my top of the line, Peace Corps issued bike, and I made it about 3 blocks until I was huffing and puffing wondering how anyone can carry weight on their bike. And now we're talking about 3 huge bags of cucumbers?!?! And what about the women and children - often between the ages of 5 and 10 - who sit at market or along the road where public transport frequently stops, to sell water or peanuts, making maybe an extra dollar a day? The idea that the family doesn't have the money or the interest to send their female children to school, but would rather earn a little extra. I mean, we hear about these things happening in the "3rd world" and in far far away, but, open your eyes people, it's happening right here! I know more people than I would like who wake up at 5 am and don't go to sleep until midnight because they're trying to make extra money for their families.

If nothing else, sit back at your desk while you're reading this, having one your really "hard" days at work, and be thankful that your life is as easy as it is.

Life in Sikoroni - Educating the People

I recently realized that I haven't really told you all about life in Bamako. Scratch that, life in Sikoroni, my neighborhood of Bamako. We all know that Bamako is gritty, expensive and utterly unattractive, but Sikoroni is less of those things. While there is the usual "Toubabu" at every waking moment, I have met some pretty nice people along my street, even people from Sevare/Mopti, so we have an opportunity to sit around and reminice.

Sikoroni - set in this quaint area on the hillside. There's a school in the foreground and Sikoroni extends all the way up the hill.

The community itself is divided into two smaller communities: Sikoroni and Sourakabougou. It's actually in Sourakabougou that we're building the health center. Apparently, I've recently learned, there is a bit of jealousy/tension between the two neighborhoods and while a health center already exists in Sikoroni, a lot of the people from Sourakabougou refuse to go to it, putting their health at greater risk. So, the idea is to give them equal access to care so that they're use it!

Yesterday we had an event called "L'integration des Images," whereby we had an artist create these health posters and the members of our Community Health Action Group (CHAG) got together to present the posters. MHOP normally works on malaria initiatives, but we've recently begun to spread out. So, yesterday's event focused on other health problems that plague the community like hypertension, diabetes, lack of protein and vitamin A, what to do when you have a fever, and other simple health problems that can be easily treated.

Though in Bambara, and therefore can only be appreciated by my Bambara speaking friends, below you'll find a series of the health presentations. Our three star CHAG members, Soukena, Oumou and Adama, totally took charge on a day when our Director, Modibo couldn't be around. They did a great job and here is the fruit of their labors. Oh, and I think the audio is pretty awful, but try to listen anyway!

Taking the Plunge

Well, we had our civil ceremony in Sevare last weekend. There wasn't much pomp and circumstance to it, and it was simple and sweet and low key. Some photos from the day to share with all.

Don't worry, we're still having a fete in America!

Belushi's COS Party

Oh, that time of year that rolls around when those you entered Peace Corps with leave – and leave you behind to continue your journey through Mali. We had our Close of Service Party in Sevare on August 22nd and it was the last time that all of the Belushi’s (my group of volunteers) were together. We had a chill evening with Mexican food and dancing and of course the unveiling of the Group Banner. Every group gets a spot on the banner and it’s something that is created by the group who arrived after you, because they’re the ones that are going to know you better than other groups. So, for us, the Belushi’s, our good friends Christopher and Kate designed and embroidered an amazing rendition of the Blues Brothers. They meaning behind it was that we were all paired up at our sites – Eric and Fikru in Douentza, Christopher and Dan meeting in Sevaré, and Beth and I in Sevaré also. So, it seemed perfect that Dan Ackroyd and John Belushi be on our banner.

Mopti Kaw Belushi's!

Of course we had to pose with our “significant other” for the tribute:

Eric and Fikru - Douentza

Dan and Christopher - or Cran DiKreynco

Me and Beth - or Seth!

To the Mopti kaw Belushis – we’ve had a great 2 years together and lots of memories will remain forever. Thanks for making me a stronger and better person and I hope that we can Mopti kaw reunion in the near future!

My First Visit to Boidié – and to Meet Baba’s Family!

So, right after my Mom and sister left, Baba and I used our position in Bamako to go to his village, Boidié and meet the family. I was pretty nervous, but it turned out to be an awesome couple of days and just really chill.

It’s obviously not the same introducing your future wife to your family here, as it is in America. I mean, we walked up to the house and Baba didn’t even tell me it was his Mom’s house and so some greets us, but I have no idea that it’s his Mom and finally he says, “Oh, this is Oumou.” Thanks, Baba. Despite my limited vocabulary in Bambara, we spoke a little bit, but her accent was different than what I’m used to so Baba was our translator for most of the weekend. I also met Bafi, his older brother, Mah, his older sister, his younger sister and Drissa his younger brother. And a whole lots of Aunts and Uncles who I will probably not remember the next time we’re there!

This is Oumou, Baba's Mom, shelling a fruit called sebe.

Me and Kadidja, Baba's father's first wife. She's really old and really sweet.

Baba's little sister and big sister, Mah, and I doing the meet and greet. Mah and I are best buds.

As you well know, I don’t get the opportunity to spend extended periods of time in small villages, so to come here I was excited. No cell phone reception, millet and toh everyday. Ahh, it was going to be great. Except literally from the moment we arrived there, everyone knew there was a white woman in village. And the “important” people to Baba’s family knew who I was and why I was coming, but not everyone did. So, I was a spectacle for awhile and finally people got used to me. But, the women had no confidence in my being able to work as a village woman. For example, every woman who entered the concession greeted me but then told me that I couldn’t draw water from the well, or pound millet or make toh, and I ensured them all that I could. I mean, if it had been 2 or 3 or 10 women who said this, I would have been fine. But over the course of 4 days, 40 women must have said this to me. So finally, one day, in the middle of a rainstorm, I think it’ll be a bright idea to go to the well and pull water. Well, I totally underestimated the amount of mud and the slipperiness of my sandals because halfway back to the house with a 20 liter bucket of water on my head, I almost wiped out. Again, it wouldn’t have been bad, but some women saw me, and just started busting out laughing. I almost started crying, but composed myself. I made it back to the house with my water and was urged by the women to just sit and relax. I wasn’t in the mood to argue so I sat quietly in the house listening to the rain.

The next day though, I did help make toh, which was fulfilling in both senses of making it and eating it. I know that most American’s have never eaten millet, but I’m addicted to this stuff. It’s only because I haven’t been forced to eat it everyday for two years, but moni (a millet porridge) and toh (polenta-ish stuff) is just delicious. And luckily, that’s all I got to eat in Boidié. People were nice enough to give us chickens as welcoming gifts, so I ate toh and chicken (no better possible combination!) and was quite content.

This is me stirring the toh, which is really thick and hard to do. Finally, people were impressed and felt I was worthy as a housewife.

We walked through the village and it was cool to see the different places that Baba grew up – the school he attended, the soccer field they played in, and meeting different family members and friends who’ve been around forever. We made our way out to the fields today and met Bafi and Drissa who were working to weed the millet. So labor intensive and there is no technology here for farmers. It’s really kind of depressing how much time they spend in the fields just to eat, not even to sell the food they’re sowing. Hopefully the agricultural sector in Mali can improve, but I don’t expect it to make any leaps anytime soon.

Baba's older brother, Bafi, in the fields.

He's a city boy now, but Baba sure knows how to farm. He's using his daba - Bambara for hoe - and weeding the millet.

Baba said he would do this as a child - go into the woods and collect branches and leaves to sell to people as goat feed.

Back in the day, when Baba was a little kid, an old, crazy, mystical man lived in this tree. He was outcast from the village. We went to see if he was still there.

I think everyone liked me, which I wouldn’t normally care about, but this was an important group to make a good impression on. I’ve seen Oumou since and she seems as smitten with me as I am with her (though she was telling strangers of my fateful day with the bucket of water and mud!). I think it’ll be a good family to being a member of.

Ba, me and Hamsa, two of the cutest kids in village!

Mom and Beth in Mali!

August 3rd brought Mom and Beth to Mali, which was a pretty awesome thing. Even though their 2:35 AM flight didn’t arrive until 5:45 AM and there was no air circulation on their plane, and they don’t speak French so had no clue what was going on in Morocco, it was alright. Oh, I forgot to mention how I put them on a 9 hour bus ride, not even an hour after their arrival, to come to Sevaré. So yeah, they loved me the first day! But, they arrived in Sevaré, all safe and sound, if not exhausted, and slept clear till the next morning.

Funniest part about their arrival – I didn’t expect Baba to be at the bus station waiting because it wasn’t part of the plan we talked about. So, we get off the bus and I see him but am speechless, my sister sees him and recognizes him from photos and says hi and then my Mom sees him and is also surprised so she screams out, “FINMAN!” which means “Black” in Bambara. No one paid attention but she was later like, “Sara, I screamed out “Blackie” at the bus station. People must think I’m awful.” It was a great introduction to Sevaré.

Because they were only in town for 9 days, we had to make the best of it. Though I wanted to take them to Timbuktu, on a river trip and throughout the whole country, we decided to focus on Dogon Country. I didn’t realize also how exhausting the heat would be for them, so it was a good thing that we took it slow. So, we eventually headed out to Dogon Country with Hassimi the Fearless, my favorite Dogon Guide. He was awesome and my mom and sister loved him. We did the southern Dogon route, Ende, Teli, and Begimato because time was short. We also visited Songho, the village that is most known for its circumcision rituals for both boys and girls. It was my first time there and pretty interesting to see the process and the meanings for them of these ceremonies.

After two days in Dogon, we were pressé (in a hurry) to get back to Sevaré. The food had been pretty awful and we were pretty starving. So, we decided to treat ourselves and go out to this restaurant that has really good kebabs. So, we arrive there and we’re exhausted but we just want some food and then we can go crash. There was nothing available on the menu except for the kebabs. No sautéed potatoes, no French friends, no green beans, NOTHING. The part that pissed me off the most was that there is a potato market stand right next to the restaurant and the server told me, “No, we didn’t go to market today.” Um, how about exiting your restaurant and cooking me up something good? So, we ate meat, and then went home and cooked because we were still very hungry. Oh, Mali.

After Dogon we headed back down to Bamako and visited my host family in Banankoro before spending an entire afternoon at the artisan market where they bought lots of stuff, including a gorgeous leather and bronze Tuareg chest/trunk. I’m secretly hoping my Mom won’t want it in a few years and that it’ll adorn my house.

It was really great to see them, and I got homesick, but it was good timing. Luckily, I get to go home in less than 2 months, and I’m counting down the days to Mexican food and Cookies and Cream ice cream!

Mom, me and Beth on the way to Bengimato.

Me, in Songho, the quinesential Dogon Country Photo.

These instruments are used by the boys and girls during their right of passage circumcision ceremony.

Beautiful shot of the village.

Hassimi the Fearless talking to us about the circumcision ceremony and the rock paintings that are done during the 3 months the children are there.

Mom and Beth in Songho.

Mom, pounding millet with the Dogon women.

Beth and Mom on the Niger River in Mopti.

Just Married

This is my honey, Baba Fima!

So, remember that movie Lost in Translation? I really hated it when I first saw it, but I’m feeling more and more like I’ll need to watch it again. This past weekend Baba and I went to his village, Boidié, so that I could meet his family, and we left married! I was really looking forward to meeting everyone and seeing where he grew up and was all mischievous as a child. So, after my mom and sister left we headed out there. The other back part of this story is that we had decided back in April/early May that we wanted to get married. So, social ceremonies are huge here in Mali and normally when two Malians want to get married the male’s family brings kola nuts to the female’s family to ask for her hand in marriage. Well, I don’t have a real family here so we improvised a little and just bypassed that step. He and I had thoroughly discussed this whole going to village and going the Kola Ceremony and I felt confident that it meant we were officially engaged – kind of like being proposed to. The closer it grew for us to go to village, it kept sounding more and more like we were getting married. Either way, we already decided we wanted to get married so it’s a non issue really. Plus, living in Africa, things/plans/definitions change about every 30 seconds so I’m constantly ready for change. So, this is how it went down: We arrived on Friday afternoon and spent the day greeting family members and I was introduced to everyone in the village and was aptly named buramuso by everyone. Buramuso is Bambara and is what women who are married to a family member are called. Well, here, everyone is your brother, sister, uncle, aunt and cousin so I’m buramuso to literally the entire village. It’s a name that will stick for life and if I’m called buramuso I can call the person who called me it my buramuso or burace in the case of males. Anyway, needless to say, buramuso is not a word I’ll soon be forgetting! After being asked if I know how to do housework and prepare meals by every woman I met throughout the course of the weekend, I finally got a chance to sit down and talk to Baba’s mom which was awesome. She’s this great lady who is aging but couldn’t stop to rest for a second if you paid her. She goes to markets all around her village to sell fabric and vegetables to other woman. She’s doing well for herself which is really great. So, like most social ceremonies in Mali, the Kola was underwhelming. Baba told me that on Sunday night the men would go to the mosque and pray and give benedictions/blessings and then they would return to the family’s house area and distribute the kola nuts and pay me my dowry and then we’d be married. 100 kola nuts were purchased and distributed and I received 3.750 CFA which is about $8.50. In the past, 3,750 CFA was a lot of money and it gave the woman an opportunity to buy something to start her life with her husband, whether that meant new clothes or a goat or sheep, it didn’t matter, but this money is meant to be used by the woman only and not spent on anyone else. Then benedictions were passed around and “Amen’s” were said and it was over. I’m not joking when I tell you that Baba was at the mosque for maybe 7 minutes, and that the whole thing was done in maybe 20! Underwhelming? Yeah, so I sat at home the whole time staring at the wall wondering how I was going to tell the people in my life that I was married and I hadn’t even found a solution by the time he returned. It was crazy!

So, a little on the wedding process here. Traditionally there are 3 weddings: religious, Mayor’s Office, and traditional fete. It’s not that different than in America, but in America, we do all three of these on the same day at the same time. Here, each group/family is different, but we did the religious ceremony and the Mayor’s Office and traditional will come later. Weddings here aren’t decided by the people getting married. If Baba’s father were alive he would have decided and made all of the arrangements, but instead his oldest brother, Bafi, organized everything. Before there were Mayor’s Offices in Mali, the religious ceremony was the ceremony to be married. So, Baba’s family is still very traditional and so they all consider us to be very married now and we can start our life together. In a couple of weeks, Bafi will call Baba and ask him when we want to have the traditional wedding/fete and together we will decide that. For us, it’ll probably happen next February or March, whenever we’ve saved up enough money, but before we come to America. That just leaves the Mayor’s Office and the only reason that this is so important for us is for visa purposes for Baba to come to America. On this day, which will likely happen here in Sevaré, I will actually have a dress – hand made by my tailor – and we will have a small party after with friends and family here in Sevaré/Mopti, but it’ll be nothing like this big fete in his village next year. Now, I say all of this like I know, but in all reality I have no idea! I also have to prepare myself for these two weddings to be underwhelming or else I’ll get my hopes up and will be let down on the day of. So, let’s just say I will update very frequently about the status of these social ceremonies.

So, the last question is what does this mean for me? Well, I’m 24 and married which is daunting but really exciting. My new name is Sara Berthé (like bear-tey), but that won’t be official for awhile. And I’m ridiculously happy. I know that in America we date and then get engaged and then get married and the whole process can take from 2 to 5 years to longer, all depending, and I also know that a lot of people are going to say, “From meeting to married in a year? What is she thinking?” but when you know you’ve met the person who will care for you and about you for the rest of your life and you’ll do the same, you can’t let that pass you by. In my “ideal sketch” of life, I probably wouldn’t have started looking for a husband until 27ish, but anyone who thinks they can plan their lives to a T is ridiculous and you have to be ready for surprises.

But, I’m definitively going to have an awesome wedding/ceremony in America because it’s not the same getting married in a different country with different customs. I love it here and I understand and respect it, but I want celebrate with my friends and family in America and get married the way I know. So cliché, I know, but whatever, I’m allowed to be cliché sometimes!