It’s Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas

In Mali, I realize that that’s hard to believe. But, you haven’t seen my house yet! After my trip en brusse, we swung through San and stopped by the stage house there to use the facilities. They had loads of decorations and had stockings mounted for each San volunteer. I was jealous. Our Sevare bureau doesn’t have crap. So, I decided that that night I would start to decorate my house.

Granted, I have no Christmas tree or Christmas lights, or even construction paper which would have taken me a long way. But what I did have was white paper, a ton of Crayola markers and ambition to be in the Christmas spirit. I put on the only Christmas music I had at the time – I’ve since downloaded lots more – a CD I bought Freshman year at Starbucks called Golly Get Jolly and I started out to work. Though I’m not done, I thought I’d share the fruits of my labor, thus far. Any interior decorating ideas, using computer paper and markers, would be appreciated!

Peanuts Advent Calendar that my sister sent. No chocolate, but it's an ADVENT CALENDAR. Awesomeness, anyone?

I took me the whole night to decorate and cut out each letter, but Merry Christmas was in order.

This guy was a late inspiration, but look how delicious he turned out. If only we could make gingerbread cookies here.

And, despite not having a real tree and presents, at least these turned out well.

Merry Christmas, Mali.

Sara Goes Brussey-la

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. I knew that the proverbial grass would be greener on the other side and I would have to go check it out. Not to mention that I love not having electricity and running water. I know that might be taken as sarcastic, but it really isn’t. The idea of going to the well or pump everyday to get water and then heating it up for a bucket bath under the stars is so appealing. Using flashlights, lanterns and candles is also really soothing. But, my friends, I digress.

Seeing that MaryVirginia is by far my best friend in country, and seeing that she had already trekked up here to Sevare to visit me, it was long past due that I went to her site. I was in luck, because it happened to be en brusse, as they say here (middle of nowhere, for you non-French speakers). After arriving in her market town, it was about a 10 km ride to Debela. I didn’t think I would make it. I’m just not used to biking 10 km anywhere. But, we arrived. It’s a quaint little village and I loved it. It was dark/late when we got there so we showered and chilled and greeted every single member of her family who gave me each a million blessings. It was nice to have a family to come home to. Needless to say, the week en brusse was spent meeting her friends and counterparts and getting to see what her every day life if. She always says there’s nothing to do en brusse – which is true – but for me, coming from the busy city, it was a welcomed change/relief. Here are some highlights from the week:

Field Work:

I haven’t had the opportunity to go out into the fields and bring the year’s harvest in. Well, in Debela I sure did! The women were working on either millet or sorghum and though it had already been taken off of the stalks, now was the sifting time. Mixed altogether was millet, dirt, pebbles/rocks, stalks and probably other stuff that I ignored. So, earlier in the morning before I got there a car came out and drove over all of the millet to break it up and off of the stalks. What was left needed to be swept into piles and then sifted until only the good part – the millet was left. Of course, we only worked for maybe a little over an hour because they were all like, “Oh, you poor thing, you must be tired. We know you’re not used to this, why don’t you go sit down and rest.” Um, okay.

Using the power of wind and gravity to separate the millet from the sand and other debris.

Love this photo - all of the women working together.

And then there's me, sweeping millet into piles to later to separated.

Cotton Fun:

Also being in my comfy city – in the North might I mention – I haven’t seen cotton growing, let alone huge piles just asking to be jumped in. After biking back from MaryVirginia’s market town, we spotted the cotton and politely asked the farmer if we could “look at the cotton.” Either MaryVirginia didn’t know how to ask if we could jump in the cotton in Bambara, or she already knew the answer. Before he could think twice about saying yes, the fun had already started.

On our ride back from M'Pessoba.

Piles of cotton ready to be piled in a big truck and taken away. Not before they could be jumped around in though!

MaryVirginia taking flight and landing in the cotton.

These action shots are great - me landing in a pile of cotton while Malians watch and think that we're crazy.

MaryVirginia took this picture of me and later exclaimed, "This should be in National Geographic!" I'm thrilled and throwing cotton in the air.

MaryVirginia and me getting into trouble!

MaryVirginia in her Element:

Like I said, any part of going to village is meeting and greeting all friends and family and pretty much anyone MaryVirginia has ever mentioned. I love this though, because you get to put a name – and stories – with a face and plus, we’re all proud of our site friends and family. So, here is the Debela rundown…

This is Randy - that's his American name, named after MaryVirginia's brother - and he's apparently either teething or starving because her arm sure was tasting good.

MaryVirginia with her matron's daughter.

I could make something ridiculous up for this photo, but it's just MaryVirginia loving the Debela donkies.

Greetings are important and photos of them are too. Her Dad even changed into nice clothes just for the photo.

Mom and Police...look how cute he is.

I had an awesome time en brusse and I can’t wait to go back. Especially because we told her family I would be coming back, it looks like I have to now! I’m not sure if I can endure hot season out there without my ceiling fans and ice water, but it could be a nice test. We’ll see.

The debauchery continues after Christmas and for New Years when MaryVirginia and I will get together again. Stay tuned.

AIDS Day in Sikasso

As you know – or should know – International AIDS Day is December 1st. Here in Mali, though the AIDS rates aren’t nearly as bad as in other parts of the continent, there still are awareness campaigns and a drive to protect yourself again contracting the disease. My friend Trinh – oddly enough who I went to school with at GWU – lives in the southern part of Mali, the region called Sikasso. She lives in the regional capital and had been working really hard on putting together an AIDS Day event with a local youth group. After vacillating back and forth, I finally decided to get my butt on public transport and get down to Sikasso. Her event was a great success. There was a lecture in the morning and a basketball tournament in the afternoon with an information fair.

Here's Trinh giving her introduction speech. So nervous, but she did a great job!

Apparently Malians wanted to see American girls play basketball so some PCVs got together and played. Of course, they didn’t know they were playing against Malian men, but, what’s a little surprise here and there. Of course, afterwards there was a men’s game and a women’s game. The women kicked ass!

PCVs and Malians shaking hands before the game. We lost, 4-0, but it was only a 5 minute game. It could have turned around!

Here's part of the girls' game where they kicked butt!

The information fair was really awesome too. There were stands handing out free condoms with demonstrations of how to use both the male and the female condom. PCVs headed tables giving the facts about contracting HIV/AIDS and asking kids to define themselves using, “I am…” as a beginner. That was a little tougher to convey, but we got some good ones.

This table was dedicated to putting acts, both sexual and non sexual, into the risk categories of contracting HIV/AIDS. I think it was brilliant.

Here's Sarah trying to get Malian kids to define themselves using "I am," "I can," or "I want" as leading statements. She wasn't too thrilled with the outcome, but it's an interesting exercise nonetheless.

Here they set up a tent to do confidential HIV/AIDS testing. We were in charge of getting people testing, but it's a difficult job.

It was a really great event and Trinh put a lot of work into it. So, thanks to her for dealing with Mali and thanks to all of the other PCVs who showed up to support the cause.

Some Fun - Questionnaire Style

My sister emailed this to me and I actually thought it'd be cool to put up on my blog. So, enjoying learning a little about me:

This is fun, please respond...directions at the end...

A) Four jobs I have had in my life:
1) Peace Corps Volunteer
2) McDonalds
3) Retail Galore
4) Working for “The Man” at DOJ

B) Four movies I would watch over and over:
1) Shrek
2) Kal Ho Naa Ho (Bollywood Movie)
3) Bring it On
4) Mars Attacks

C) Four places I have lived:
1) Washington, D.C.
2) Chennai, India
3) Brussels, Belgium
4) Mali, West Africa

D) Four TV Shows that I watched (before moving to Mali):
1. What Not to Wear
2. Project Runway
3. America’s Next Top Model
4. Family Guy

D.2) Four TV Shows that I watch (since moving to Mali):
1. The Office
2. Scrubs
3. House
4. How I Met Your Mother

E) Four places I have been:
1. The Taj Mahal
2. Machu Pichu
3. Timbuktu – yes, it exists!
4. The Parthanon

F) Four of my favorite foods:
1. Tigidigina, or peanut butter sauce for you non Bambara speakers.
2. Chipotle burritos, with lots of cheese and sour cream.
3. Cookies and Cream ice cream
4. Pad Thai

G) 4 places I'd rather be right now:
1. Right where I’m at – I’m living my dream!
2. Milan, Italy
3. A beach in Thailand
4. Home with Mom.

H) Things I am looking forward to in 2008:
1. New development projects
2. Mom and Beth visiting!
3. Seeing where a relationship goes
4. Enjoying every moment in Mali!

Dr. Fatoumata Cisse - or so they say!

One of my very first blog posts was about garibouts and their plight here and how I hate it. I’ll often get into heated arguments with Malians about garibouts because the situation is just something I don’t believe in. Send your child to Koranic school, not to live as a beggar on the streets with a “teacher” who – based on the following story – doesn’t give a damn.

As PC Baba’s is in the center of town, and because he’s very gracious with garibouts, dozens pass by each day. Whether it’s just to ask for a sip of water or ask for some money or greet, they’re always around. I’ve befriended quite a group because I’m never too shy to say hello to them and ask how they are. I don’t give money – because that goes directly to the marabout - , I occasionally give food, but it’s important for me to at least say hi. They’re just kids. Anyway, about two or three months back at Baba’s, I saw one garibout who looked really sick. Very skeletal and just his gait showed that things could have been better. I didn’t give him anything bit I continued to see him around. I would greet him and he would sadly reply that he was fine – this is very Malian, you always say that all is well – in a very low voice. With being really busy the last month or so, I haven’t seen him around. Last Thursday, all of that changed. I was standing at my friend the leather worker’s boutique and I saw him. It’s not uncommon for the garibouts to wear tattered clothes and be dirty, but what I saw went beyond any of this. He stood there looking at me with his mouth hanging open like he was too weak to keep it closed; his clothes were filthy and ripped; his arms and legs had lesions all over them, some of them infected. His general state of hygiene was terrible. I immediately demanded where he lived and who his marabout was because I needed to talk to him about the health of this child. The people standing near me said that they didn’t know but that they would find out for me, even possibly talk to the marabout, and let me know. That night I got a call saying that the marabout had been located and told that I wanted to help this little boy. The marabout refused my help for no good reason. I didn’t know what to do at that point. It didn’t think it was culturally appropriate to just take this boy to the clinic myself and I didn’t want to rub anyone – let alone a religious figure – the wrong way. The next day I was at Baba’s and this boy came by. I immediately told Baba the story of what had happened and he said, “Okay, no problem, we’ll take care of it.” We called Sacko – someone who works with us at Farafina Tigne – over and we talked to the boy. His friend was standing next to him and we found that he had a very infected sore on his neck – like he was hit was something. Sacko and I took both of these little boys to the hospital next to Baba’s – which I didn’t know existed until that day – and they had consultations and I was given the prescriptions that they needed. They waited at the hospital while I went to the pharmacy to pick up the medicine. For the first garibout, we were given a couple of different oral medications along with a powder that needed to be mixed with water for bathing. The second was a pill along with some betadine and bandages. Okay, problem solved. We took care of both of them, bathed them and got them going. It was easy. We told them to come back twice a day – in the morning and evening – to get their medicine and like that, all would be well. This shouldn’t have been a problem considering they’re told to go out in the morning and evening to beg for food. Well, for the next few days it was hit or miss – sometimes they came in the morning and not the evening, sometimes only one of them came, sometimes neither of them came. It gets better. The first day that we went to the hospital I bought real good and hot food for them. They all sat around and ate until their stomachs were full. However, while we were in the process of getting the food the second boy said, “I’m not hungry, give me money instead.” Talk about frustrating! The good news is that even today, though the medicine isn’t finished, both of them are looking healthier. The first boy’s lesions have started to heal and he’s walking around with more confidence. The second’s infection is going away and I even played doctor and changed the dressings yesterday myself.

Now, I’m not looking for a pat on the back for this. It was my humanitarian duty to take care of a child who – I honestly thought by looking at him – was going to die. Even though these kinds of acts of kindness aren’t sustainable, sustainability and kindness don’t always have to go hand in hand. Well, now that I’ve given the heartwrenching and endearing side of the story, here’s the part where I get pissed. And here’s the big question – why can’t these marabouts take care of the children they’re “given?” I understand that they can’t be given the most expensive foods or bought expensive things. And somewhere in the back of my heart, I understand the reasoning for sending these kids to beg and have to endure the hardship of those less fortunate. What I don’t understand is how these children are huddled together sleeping on the ground – a mat if they’re lucky, not bathed, not given water or soap for bathing, don’t have their clothes washed, often have clothes with gaping holes in them, don’t wear shoes, are given a certain amount of money they have to come home with on a daily basis or their beaten, and how if they don’t find food by begging the don’t eat. The most glaring thing for me is to see a child who is so obviously sick and you don’t do anything about it. Again, I’m not asking that each kid takes his daily Flinstone’s vitamin, but what I am asking for is some compassion. Where’s the problem with someone wanting to give you the medicine for one of your sick kids? How are you going to dismiss that and say, “No thanks?” My mind is spinning so quickly because I can’t understand any of this. We were forced to keep the medicine and bandages at Farafina Tigne in case the marabout wouldn’t administer them to the two ailing kids. Is that normal? Someone gives you medicine for free and you’re going to throw it away and not help a child? I’m baffled. And for this, I’ve been a little more than negative about the plight of humanity. These people are supposed to be here for a higher religious purpose and yet you beat your children if they don’t bring home money and you can’t take care of their basic necessities in life? What is happening to us?

Le Mali à Paris : Fête de l’Artisanat et du Tourisme du Mali

As some of you may know, I recently traveled to Paris. It almost didn’t happen thanks to Air France’s strike and the closing of the airport here in Bamako, but a day later and several degrees colder, we arrived in Paris.

Basically, after the Hallmark order with Farafina Tigne, I’ve decided to stick around for awhile and actually do some Small Enterprise Development work and help with accounting and bookkeeping systems. Because PC Baba does so much of his work at trade shows overseas, I wanted to go with him and see how he works and see how we could improve things. I was also hoping it would be a mini vacation – it wasn’t! I worked the entire time and saw the Eiffel Tower from the metro every morning and Notre Dame during my last 10 minutes on my way to the airport.

So, how did it go? It went pretty well – from my point of view. There were about 75 stands and artisans present to sell their goods. Things varied from West African cloth to beads to Tuareg leather/silver work and jewelry to sculptures and woodworking. A little bit of everything. The major complaints were that shows in the past were better organized. For this specific fair, it’s the Ministry of Artians and Tourism of Mali who pays for the space, the stands and the publicity. They lacked – a lot – on the publicity end of things. Even the entire week I was in Paris, I didn’t see one advertisement for it. That’s clearly a problem when 75 artisans pay $800 for a plane ticket to Paris hoping to at least recuperate the price of their plane ticket by selling their goods. From the handful of artisans I interviewed, there were mixed reviews about whether their plane ticket money was made. Some made it, some didn’t. But, in the end, it’s also an opportunity to go to France and have a cultural exchange. They get to see that Bamako is nowhere near Paris in terms of development and that it’s actually years away. They get to visit friends and family who now live in Paris. And, if they’re lucky, they make some money to bring back to their family in Mali.

Here are some photos from set up, through the show and spotlighting some artisans and their specific booths:

Held at the Bourse de Commerce, the fair began.

Stands were all empty and we were one of the first to arrive. Artisans filled in rapidly and set up their stands.

I thought we had a lot of luggage! Understandably, cloth is bulkier than beads.

Arial view of the fair.

Cisse, all dressed up, waiting to invite clients over to explain his products.

This is Dia who sells the most awesome bogolan I've seen. I'll definitely be visiting his shop in Bamako.

My good friend Mohammed with his leatherwork.

Aissata with her bazzin outfits ready to sell.

And, of course, Peace Corps Baba with his authentic clothes and ridiculously large hat.

This was part of our booth with manequins and necklaces galore!

Tuareg men - some of whom came all the way from Kidal - show their culture and sell their leather and silver work.

At these fairs there is apparently always a fashion show. Not going to lie, I was a little scared when PC Baba told me about this and his lofty ideas of what I would wear. In order to highlight Farafina Tigne’s involvement with the bogolan bag order, it was decided that I would have a bogolan outfit made. I was vehemently opposed to only bogolan, so we mixed it with some rich red fabric and it turned out awesome – see below. But, here are some photos from the fashion show highlighted of course by the presence of PC Baba and his assistant, me:

Bogolan fashion - not in the form of handbags.

Interesting takes on Malian fashion. I wonder what Malians here would have to say about this? They're pretty conservative.

Me and Haramba ready for the fashion show. Me in my bogolan and her as a true Peulh.

PC Baba and Cisse all decked out. Words don't exist to even explain how awesome they look.

Me and Cisse during the fashion show. Admittedly, I didn't know what I was doing and I was nervous.

Baba and Haramba during the fashion show. Everyone thought he was a hoot, which he normally is.

In the end, it was a really great time and a good experience to see crazy Baba in his element at trade shows selling his gorgeous jewelry. He did a great job and I’m happy I was able to go and help and support him in his enterprise.

What’s next for me? I want to stay put in one place – Mali – and get some new projects/work going. This includes getting back to my personal life and reading and relaxing. I almost want to completely forget what bogolan looks like, Men in Black style. We’ll see. As always, I’ll be sure to update with any new developments.

Farafina Tigne Shout Outs

It’s been a long road but there are people who stood out all along the way. Here’s my tribute to the following people at Farafina Tigne who made the Hallmark bogolan bag project happen.

First of all, I wish I had a group photo of our tailors. Without them, literally nothing would have gotten done. Thanks

Peace Corps Baba – what else is there to say? Without his energy and enthusiasm everyday, the team couldn’t have stayed together. With his confidence boosters and his ever famous, “Do you see it?”, we made it!

Sembe, Farafina Tigne’s manager. His diligence to working on Quality Control and eventually managing the Mopti workshop paid off.

Amadou Cisse. This is Baba’s little brother who’s in charge of money for Farafina Tigne. Without him and his endless trips to the bank to get ‘the sauce,’ we couldn’t have paid any of the tailors or other expenses. Just because he’s resting on top of our bags ready to be shipped to Bamako, doesn’t mean that he didn’t work hard the rest of the time.

Baba Fima is PC Baba’s apprentice who fills in for Baba when he’s away. On his two trips to America, PC Baba left Baba Fima in charge of going to Bamako and dealing with the final leg of the packaging and shipping of the bags. Trips Sunday through Thursday to Bamako 3 and 4 weeks in a row aren’t easy for anyone, but he made it through.



Alpha Toure, the best tailor in all of Sevaré. Alpha gave us the idea to set up our own workshop and get a production/assembly line started. He also worked all day at his own shop and joined the team of Farafina Tigne every night from 6PM until 4AM to help out. Talk about dedication. He’s also my tailor who does the best job, ever!



Bozo, called that after his ethnic group, was a lifesaver. Constantly running up and down the stairs with bogolan bags in hand, there was never 5 minutes that passed without hearing someone scream, “BOZO!!!” An all around good guy, Bozo’s time and investment into the project have been wonderful.

Thanks to everyone in San, Mopti and Sevaré who produced and helped to create the final version of our bags.

Thanks to Vina and Mali Chic in Bamako for dealing with Malian customs and ministries to get all of our packages out in a timely manner and for all of their “ground support” when we couldn’t be there.

It’s been a crazy ride. Stay tuned for Hallmark bogolan bag publicity and websites/information. It’s definitely forthcoming!

Life and Death – Fatoumata and Sida

*Note: Despite being really excited about Hallmark and bogolan, I couldn't wait to post this. Continue below for bogolan information.

About a month ago, I got a phone call from someone in Douentza telling me that my host Mom had given birth. I was so excited but I was so busy with Hallmark that I couldn’t go for the baptism and to visit. I sent some money but I was really excited when Peace Corps was headed out to Douentza to visit the new volunteers because I hopped a ride with them. On Wednesday, October 3, I headed out to Douentza with gifts in hand. I got to see my new baby sister, who incidentally was named after me, and she is gorgeous!

Baby Fatoumata.

It was hot, she was tired.

Precious, tiny, little feet!

I saw Umu and the rest of the gang, and I got some good home cookin’ and it was a great day. I came back to Sevaré the same day, despite Umu wanting me to stay the night. I plan on going back to visit and see everyone, but with being in the middle of projects I just can’t right now.

Then Monday, October 8, I got a phone call from the volunteer who replaced me in Douentza. He lives at my house and with Umu and called with really bad news. He said he didn’t know what happened but that my host sister died. I immediately thought it was Fatoumata because it’s so easy for babies here to die. But he told me it was Sida, the 5 year old, not Fatoumata. I was devastated. I love that little girl. She’s so beautiful and full of life and had such an energy about her that I couldn’t believe it. I talked to Umu and she was just so matter of fact, “Fatumata, Sida is dead.” There wasn’t any sadness in her voice, nor did it sound like she had been crying or that it had even taken a toll on her. Life and death here are just so different. We think that Sida had malaria, but all Umu said was that she had a fever in the morning and died by the afternoon. So, with one new life, someone has to die also. It’s tough when those people are close to you.

So, in an effort to honor Sida and show her off to everyone, here are some photos I’ve taken of her.

Sida washing dishes.

Being hesitant of the camera.

Her and that sassy attitude. Has 'model' written all over it, doesn't it?

After crying, trying to calm down inside of her house.

Mango eating. Food pictures are the best!

Standing with her brothers, Hassin and Hama.

The last day that I saw her, she wasn't sad or sick - despite how she looks - and we had a great time.

I'll miss you, Sida.