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!

Identity Crisis – Or Not?

So people say that moving to a new place is a new chance for a change of identity. You can recreate yourself and change any things you didn’t like about yourself in the past or you can add new elements to your life that would be too far of a leap in your past life. Where am I going with this? I knew that this identity change could happen, but I didn’t necessarily think that living in Mali would change me that much. When you’re joining the Peace Corps you read a lot of literature about how you’re going to go find yourself. Well, what does that even mean? Honestly, two years ago, “finding myself” wasn’t on my list of to do’s in Mali, however, it’s definitely been checked off and done!

It started with something as simple as going to the tailor here and having some Malian clothes made. Or wearing ridiculously big, beaded necklaces, which I’ve recently been called a patron for wearing. The outside appearance was the easy stuff – a change of clothes or wearing new jewelry. Things got complicated when my personality traits started changing and I wasn’t necessarily prepared for it.

So, how do you find yourself? Well, take yourself out of the culture and country that you’re most comfortable in and compromise everything about your life and things start to change. You realize that a lot of your personality traits and idiosyncrasies are a product of your environment. What examples can I give? In America I was pretty uptight about things. There were deadlines, there was money to be made/that needed to be made, there was shit to do. My last year in America I was at school full time, working 30 hours a week (minimum), organizing a conference, having ankle surgery and doing physical therapy and applying for the Peace Corps (which is pretty intense). There wasn’t time to take a step back and look at my life and see what was going right or wrong. I wore black pants and pointy-toed shoes and wore subtle jewelry because everyone else in DC was doing it and why be the fish swimming upsteam in a city where no one else is? I wanted to fit it and I did and it was nice.

So, here I am in Mali, wanting to fit in again. The problem is that fitting in here and in America is totally different. And now that I’ve fit in here, and I’m not uptight about everything and “American” about everything, it’s awesome. I feel great! But, how to I re-assimilate into America? How do I stay Malian in America? I don’t know. It’s going to be really hard. I know who I want to be, even if I wasn’t that person before, but I’m worried about the constraints of American society on who that person is. I also worry that my friends and family will expect me to be a certain person – i.e. the person I used to be – and I want to change. Is that going to be weird for people? Are they not going to know how to react with me or what?

Anyway, I think I’m having an identity crisis – yikes! – and think that this crisis will continue when I arrive in America next year. I just want to ask everyone to be accepting of this change. There will be a lot that has changed and you can accept me and the changes or not. We’ll see how this plays out!

Anything Goes BUT Clothes

The title really says it all, but it was a birthday party for a couple of PCVs. So we had a fete and it went well. Here's the Belushi photo of our last party altogether in San.




Costumes were pretty impressive, I myself sporting some brooms and loofah.



Ah, the Belushi's. What will I do without them?

A Return to Normalcy

Not just a campaign slogan for Warren Harding but also my general state of being for the past 2 months or so. It all started when I went on vacation to Togo and Benin. I mean, things were strange, don’t get me wrong – I was in a ridiculously developed country, comparatively speaking. Things were very strange. But at the same time, things were so normal. Sitting on a bus for 3 days to arrive at a destination, whether we had seats or not, was normal. Sitting on this transport with goats, sheep and chicken both in and outside of the car, is normal. Eating meat, chicken and hot dogs from a street vendor (read, a guy with an empty oil barrel and fire heating a grill on top and sitting on the side of the road) is normal. Walking down the street and getting cat called at and asked to be married is normal. Showering 4 times a day, just to cool off….again, pretty normal. Seeing family’s of 3, 4 or 5 people on a moto, on their way to school is normal. Being so modest that I feel scantily clad if my knees show for a second, is normal. Eating with my hand, and completing boycotting utensils – that’s scarily normal. Drinking water from unknown sources, that’s just survival. But what I want to know is when these things changed from being weird and foreign to being an everyday part of my life. Granted, I’ve been here for two years now, but I still feel like these things should make my head turn and not seem to everyday. I think it’s a survival mechanism. You deal with things as they come at you because if you don’t, you’re going to go crazy. It’s funny how things seem so normal here.

As Usual, Long Time...

Yes, it's been awhile but I just got back from vacation. I may post photos of Benin and Togo later, but no promises.

I want to say that I'm going to start a "series" of blog postings on different subjects here. They'll vary from my feelings about certain things to the differences between Malians and other West Africans to Consumerism, comparatively in Mali/West Africa and America.

That's just a preview.

Things are a little hectic now and will be that way for a couple of weeks. So, these postings will come, but not immediately.