We just completed our second stint at our homestay villages. Since we last left Tubaniso on Wednesday, July 21st, we have spent 18 days in our small village of 800 people in the Koulikoro Region of Mali. A lot has happened since my last post, so I will try to fill you all in on the details...
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| An adjacent concession in my homestay village, behind cornfields. |
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| The 'kalanyoro' (school) in my homestay village. We spend most of our classes underneath the large tree in the center of the picture. |
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| A view of the mud-construction gazebo in my concession. |
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| A view of a granary in my concession. This is used to store millet. |
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| A view of my concession. From left to right, my 'ɲɛgɛn's wall, one of the kitchen huts, and one of the bedrooms. |
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| 'N ka so.' My home at the homestay village. |
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| The ɳagan in my concession. |
When we returned to the village, I walked towards my concession as my host-mother Amineta screamed out my name, ‘Samou! Samou!’, as her and the children ran out to greet me. It felt good to be back, as I have really enjoyed my time thus-far at homestay.
I brought my photo album and my world map back from Tubaniso to show my host-family. They really enjoyed seeing the pictures of my friends and family, and the young women in the concession got a kick out of calling any picture of a girl my age my ‘muso’ (wife). It was also very surprising to them to see pictures of African-Americans, which was a good moment to teach them about our diversity.
I continue to have some fairly intellectual conversations with my host-uncle, 20 year-old Isa. The other day, he asked me, in broken English and French, ‘The world is afraid of America. America is afraid of Chinois. Pourquois?’ I proceeded to explain national debt and economics to him in my broken Bambara and French. A difficult concept for him to understand, as a lifetime farmer living in a country where credit is not available. I acted out a brief skit, showing him how America borrows from China to buy from the world, but he could not understand why China would give money to America without receiving anything immediately in return.
On Friday, July 23rd, myself and the other 8 PCTs in our village performed our first WATSAN exercise when we treated the drinking water wells in our family’s concessions with bleach. It was pouring outside, and we made our way through the village, visiting each well. First, we dropped a rope with a weight tied at the end down the well to measure the amount of water, and then dropped a calculated number of teacups full of bleach in each one, respective to the water level. It was difficult for us to adequately explain the procedure to our families due to our limited language skills at this stage, so we relied on our LCFs (Language and Cultural Facilitator) to do most of the talking. I am very excited about working the teaching aspect of Peace Corps projects as I become more proficient in Bambara.
On the weekends, we have been biking 10 km into the neighboring city to have a drink with other neighboring PCTs. As stated above, the road is in tatters, and by the time we get there, we are covered in mud. Monday is market day in the city. We biked there on July 26th to buy some vegetables to cook up the following day. The market was hectic, and the meat and fish strewn over the counters was just covered in flies. Not the most sanitary conditions, but we bleached the vegetables and slaughtered 4 chickens the following night for a brief retrieve from the starch-filled meals of the village.
On Thursday, July 29th, I awoke to the women in my concession singing and pounding home-made percussive instruments, while dancing around their wooden millet-pounding bowls. They were preparing for one of the three weddings in the village happening during the day and throughout the night. After class that day, us PCTs walked with our LCFs to each of the three respective concessions. At each concession, we greeted the elders and were then offered seats with them. Salif, our LCF, would speak to the brothers and father of the groom in Bambara, one of us would present a gift of 500 CFA, and then each of us would offer a blessing in Bambara for the couple. My blessing was “Ala kana nafigiw don aw cɛ” (May swindles not interfere). In Bamanakan culture, it is important to at least pay a visit and deliver a traditional blessing for any important event in your village. Each family also told us that our presence and blessings meant more to them than any gift, because a gift can be used up, but friendship will last forever.
That night, myself and two of the other PCTs, Roger and Helen, went to the dance party happening at one of the weddings. There were two men playing the balafon (a Malian wooden xylophone), three men playing percussive instruments, and a man in colorful garb singing freestyle. The music was energetic and enjoyable, with an addictive back-beat. Every time a song would start, the women would point to us and say “donkɛ” (dance). We would line up, usually the men in one line, the women in another. The dancing basically involved one line running towards the other, while another ran away, and vice-versa. The two lines faced each other the entire time.
At one point after Helen left, the singer called Roger and I up on our own. He asked both of us our names, where we are from, and a couple of other questions. Roger responded that he was from Mali, which got a roar of laughter from the crowd. But whether a response was correct or not, the crowd laughed regardless, as is commonplace in any of our discussions throughout the village. Just something about an American speaking Bambara.
On Friday, July 30th, I performed a ‘Baseline Survey’ on my host-father. This was basically practice for some of the preliminary research and interviewing that we will complete at our sites. It went much smoother than I expected, and it certainly gave me some insight into my family’s water and sanitation needs/habits that I hadn’t determined even from living with them over three weeks. I am looking forward to working through this process to determine the projects I would like to pursue in my village in the near future.
On Monday, August 2nd, my family gave me fish that they had purchased at the market with my dinner of rice with peanut sauce. The fish was already cooked, cold, and in a plastic bag. The Peace Corps issues us a big warning on eating anything that is not still hot. But I did not want to insult my family, so I ate half of it. The next day, I felt awful with digestive issues. I had some sort of an intestinal bacteria infection, likely Giardia. I had to leave class, and took the Cipro medication from my medical kit. Luckily, the following morning, I felt back to normal. But Tuesday was my most uncomfortable days in Mali thus far.
So far, the biggest challenge for me has naturally been communicating in a new language. But besides that, the change in diet and the constant company of children have also been difficult. My meals generally consist of starch and sauce, whether it is ‘kini ni tige dige naw’ (rice with peanut sauce), ‘woso ni tulo’ (sweet potatoes in oil/sauce), or ‘ƞo’ (millet). I truly enjoy the food here, but the lack of meat and vegetables have been a tough adjustment, as I often feel lethargic during the day. It is also tough to judge portions while eating communal style. It just requires an adjustment period. The barrage of children in village is also a big adjustment, as at least half of the village population must be under the age of 15, and they are always around us, whereas in the states, I was never really around children for any extended period.
Some general observations in the village: The men work in the fields during daylight, and very hard. Being a third-world country in West Africa, the villagers work with very antiquated equipment. I helped them plow one day at lunch, standing behind two bulls as they pulled a plow across the field. It takes a good bit of pressure on the plow to ensure that it is aligned correctly. The women, however, work harder than any people I have ever encountered. My host-mothers are up by 4:00 AM every morning to stoke the fires for the men’s breakfast, and between cooking, cleaning, pounding millet, taking care of children, and many other tasks, they often don’t rest until 9:00 at night. The children in the village have sores from worms and other ailments across their legs, and distended bellies are a common sight. Sanitation is also an issue, as many children will skip the ɳagans and use the fields/center of town for their restroom.
But through all of the hardships, the people in the village have an inspiring work ethic and always maintain a positive outlook. The constant greetings required as you walk through the village may be a little much at times, but it creates a strong sense of community where everyone knows one another and bonds are forged. The time spent with my host-family in my concession, despite the language struggles, is an incredibly rich and rewarding experience. If my site turns out to be half as welcoming as my homestay village, this should be a very fulfilling two years.
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