10 days into Homestay...

So us Water/Sanitation and Health trainees just returned to Tubaniso, the Peace Corps training facility, after our first 10 days of homestay. During homestay, each trainee is paired with a host-family in a local Malian village in order to adjust to the culture prior to our actual deployment to our respective sites.

We will stay in our homestay sites for the next two months before we depart to our sites for two years. During the two months in our homestay sites, after a couple of weeks, we will head back to Tubaniso for a couple days for training within the water/sanitation sector. This is where I am now, until Wednesday morning. Just a quick note... I do not have any internet access whatsoever at homestay.

Thursday, July 8th, our stage was informed of our homestay villages. I was headed to a small Bamanankan village of about 800 inhabitants with 7 other Water/Sanitation trainees. Our Peace Corps transport vehicle departed around 2pm, and we headed off through the hectic roads, through Bamako, around 5 miles past the airport.

We then turned off onto the most grizzled dirt road, completely unmaintained and marked by huge 3+-foot deep trenches all throughout, filled with muddy water. The road was lined with agricultural fields of the local villagers. After driving down this road for about 7 miles, we were able to see the fringes of our village.

When we drove into the center of the village, we could hear and see the fete that they arranged for us. We were briskly ushered out of our car and into the center of a ring of villagers. Four musicians, two playing the native wooden xylephone, two playing local percussion instruments, were at the front of the circle, providing the music for the fete, while an older man in colorful garb and a large ceremonial hat would sing in spades.

Us eight trainees danced in the center of the circle, as the villagers laughed at us Toubabs. Several times, the music would stop, and we would be sent to our seats along the inside-fringe of the circle. A village elder would get up and speak between the dance sessions.

At one point, I was instructed to stand and receive gifts from the village. One man handed me 10 kola nuts, a traditional token of gratitude, while another man handed me two live roosters, held by the legs. I took both of them at the same time, the kola nuts with my right hand and the roosters with my left hand. I heard a gasp from the crowd – the left hand is considered dirty in Malian culture. But they do understand that we are just learning the culture, so all is good.

After the ceremony, each of us were introduced to a representative from our respective host family. A young man, who I later found out was my host uncle Isa, clasped my hand and walked me to our home, where I met the rest of the family.

I am staying with a fairly large family of farmers in the village, with the family name of Doumbia. My host father is a farmer, and also sings at the evening prayer at the village mosque. He has two wives and six kids. Within the same compound lives his father, his father’s two wives, four of his siblings and their wives and kids. Because American names are difficult for Malians to pronounce, we were each given a Malian name. My name here is Samou Doumbia.

Every aspect of daily life here is incredibly different. A normal day for me involves waking up, washing my face and hands as is required by Muslim culture before greeting in the morning, greeting my family and elders, eating my millet porridge for breakfast (and now, after a week, I get two hard-boiled eggs!), attending Bambara language classes from 8am to 12pm, coming home to a lunch of rice with sauce, cleaning and filling my water filter, more language classes from 2:30pm to 5:00pm, playing soccer (basically a game of monkey-in-the-middle) with my host-brothers, being beckoned by my host-mother for to take a bucket bath at around 6:30pm, eating a dinner of potatoes with sauce for dinner, then talking with my host family in spades of broken Bambara/French/English until 8:30pm.

The village is arranged such that each extended family basically has their own compound, with small huts and walls made of concrete/stucco-type construction and corrugated-metal roofs. The ƞagans (latrines) are not covered, and are therefore fairly unusable during intense rain. Farm animals, including donkeys, chickens, bulls, guinea-fowel, goats, and sheep, roam all over the village. Each animal has an owner, but to the naked-eye they seem to act communal.

This is the rainy season in Mali, and it has been raining most nights rather intensely with very strong wind gusts. I never thought I would hate donkeys as much as I now do. They cry and whine throughout the night, along with the constant ‘ba’ of goats, and the crowing of roosters. It is rather obnoxious when trying to sleep at night.

Whenever you walk through the village, at any time or for any reason, custom requires that you greet every villager along the way, whether in the road or seated in their courtyards. Greeting requires a barrage of questions, asking how each member of the family is. The standard response to everyone translates to ‘all is fine.’ It is apparently unacceptable to respond with anything less, no matter what troubles you may be having. Because of this tradition, the village maintains a very community-oriented, tight-knit feel, but walking anywhere becomes a chore.

Isa, my host-uncle is about 20 years old, and is trying to learn English. He actually has taken to copying my instructional Bambara to English material by hand to help him learn. While talking with him and my host family every night, he has taken to asking me questions in his broken English, his favorite being “where do you go with wife,” his way of asking me if I am married. This man is fairly emblematic of the people I have met here, very energetic and eager to learn, and I hope that people like this can be afforded the same opportunities that I have been in the future.

Communication is the biggest struggle for me thus-far. When we were dropped off in the village, the only Bambara that any of us knew was basically hello, yes, and no. It is very difficult to get acclimated to a new way of life and to live with a new family with these very limited language skills. My first moments at home were especially awkward; gesturing was our only common language.

My French skills, as limited as they are, have helped me immensely, as much of the younger generation has been taught some French in primary schools. But luckily, with full immersion into the culture and language lessons daily, we are picking up the language relatively quickly. I have been able to have minor breakthroughs along the way in communicating with my family. It is just difficult when I would like to talk to my host family on a deeper, more philosophical level, but the words just are not and may never be there.

My time at homestay has been an emotional roller-coaster thus far, but overall I have very much enjoyed the experience. The villagers are all very friendly and patient with us, and the exposure to a new culture and new way-of-life has been priceless.

That being said, the language barrier, my indigestion due to my changes in diet, the heat, the lack of variety and nutritional value in food, and just the thought of everything I am missing from back home, including of course family and friends, came to a head last Wednesday, the lowest point thus far in my service. I have since rebounded and am again excited and anxious for the rest of my time in Mali. I know that the intense trials and tribulations have just begun, but luckily, so have the small victories and enriching experiences that await me along the way.