A year's worth of food, a single day to store...

Over the past couple of weeks, during 'ɲɔ gɔsi wati' (millet beating time), I have been helping the villagers with their final tasks of the millet harvest season, and really have had fun doing so. The work is a strongly communal affair, where everyone helps each-other, and to some degree, share in the yield.

The work can be tough, but it is actually made very enjoyable by the company. People are generally in a jovial mood, joking with one another. Knowing that this is the final stretch of a grueling agriculture season surely must be rewarding as well.

Bokari, Tayluru, and Omaru prepare their 'gindy/ɲɔ gɔsi yɔrɔ' (millet-beating area) by arranging the harvested 'ɲɔ kungalow' (millet heads) in a large circle on the ground.

What the Bambaran people refer to as a 'ɲɔ gɔsi masinɛ' (millet-beating machine) is actually just a tractor, or a large tractor-trailer truck normally used to transport goods to market, which runs over the millet heads to seperate the grains from the 'kooloo' (stalks). My 'jatigi' (host father) Koka works with the driver of this tractor by planning out the work schedule throughout the surrounding villages.

After the first pass, the men 'ɲɔ kooloo bɔ.' They are raising the stalks above the beaten grains so that a second pass by the 'ɲɔ gɔsi masinɛ' will be effective at beating out the rest of the grains.

After the millet is beaten, the women go to work to 'ɲɔ shuru.' Every woman that helps in a 'gindy' gets to take a small amount of millet for themselves. So you get much of the village working together in each 'gindy,' making the work go faster. Some women even walk to nearby villages to work in their 'gindyw.' The work in each 'gindy' generally takes about four hours.

The women first measure off portions of millet on the ground. Women, in groups, then work on seperate portions of millet. The younger women scoop up millet, take it to the perimeter of the 'gindy,' and drop the grains through the wind. Due to the difference in weight, the millet grains themselves are then separated from dirt and debris. The older women generally sweep up the millet into larger piles and organize the area.

Women working in another 'gindy.' Note the older women sweeping and organizing millet in the foreground, while younger women separate the millet through the air in the background.

My good friend Senata and Kaja 'ɲɔ shuru.'

Aissetta, our 'muso nakɔ tɔn sigi sɛbɛnɛkɛla,' has some fun with the camera, asking women to 'ɲɔ shuru' on her.

This is the traditional way of 'ɲɔ gɔsi' (beating millet) before advent of the 'ɲɔ gɔsi masinɛ.' Women take long sticks and simply beat the grains off of the stalks. The large truck that worked this 'gindy' was not particularly effective, so the women had to complete the job.

And this is where I began my assistance... After the women complete 'ɲɔ shuru,' you end up with one large pile of millet grains on the ground. The young men of each 'kin' (neighborhood) work together at every 'gindy' in their 'kin.' I made an effort to work with all of the 'kinw.'

This was my neighbor Youssoufu's 'gindy.' I joined the Katilɛla men in riding 'wɔtɔrɔw' (cattle carts) out to the 'gindy.' The first task is to measure the amount of millet in this year's harvest. This is done using a standardized 'bɛnkari,' or metal container.

The reason for this measurement is two-fold. First, the men like to know how this year's harvest compared with years past. But more importantly, the Bambaran people actually adhere to a sort of informal welfare tax, as part of 'sarakati' (giving to Allah/ helping others) for the muslim faith. For every 20 'bɛnkariw,' 2 'bɛnkariw' worth of millet is set aside to give to others in charity. This includes elders who can no longer farm themselves, teachers, and 'garibu' (children who study the Koran and beg for food).

Women generally fetch the millet from the initial pile, filling up the 'bɛnkari,' which is then counted and emptied by the men when full. As this is going on, the rest of the men begin the process of filling up 'bɔrɛw' (rice sacks) with millet and loading them onto their 'wɔtɔrɔw.' I joined the men in filling up, lifting, and transporting the 'borɛw.'

The Katilɛla men working in Sorti's 'gindy.' 'Borɛw' are filled with millet by hand.

The Katilɛla men working in my friend Daoudani's (from our water and sanitation committee) family's 'gindy.'

The Marakɛla men working in Lamuru's 'gindy.' On this day, I worked with my friend Basounalɛ, who is crouching in the foreground filling a 'borɛ.'

My friend Tayluru racing off in his 'wɔtɔrɔ' as a young boy jumps on for the ride.

Modibo waits on his 'wɔtɔrɔ' in Youssoufu's concession as men unload 'borɛw' of millet into the 'bundo' (granary of mud construction) from another 'wɔtɔrɔ.' This process is known as a 'ɲɔ don' (to put millet into), and is treated as a sort of holiday/gathering. '

Normally, 'ɲɔ shuru' and 'ɲɔ don' are completed in a single day. If the women finished 'ɲɔ shuru,' but the 'ɲɔ don' cannot be completed in the same day, 'dɛnmisɛnw' (young people) actually camp out in the 'gindy' at night to guard against theft. This is known as 'ɲɔ kɔlɔsi' (watching over the millet), and is generally turned into something of a party, with loud music, dancing, and food.

Katilɛla men unloading 'borɛw' into a 'bundo' during Lassana Katilɛ's 'ɲɔ don.'

Marakɛla men unloading 'borɛw' into a 'bundo' during Lamuru's 'ɲɔ don.'

Lassana (left) inspects his filled 'bundo' at the end of his 'ɲɔ don' as Sidiki and Bayani smooth out the millet.

Most of the villagers found this year's harvest to be better than lasts. For example, Lassana's harvest last year, only filled this 'bundo' up 3/4 full. This year, it was completely filled, and he had about 8 'borɛw' leftover to store indoors.

However, some villagers broke even, and others had a harvest quite a bit worse than last years. For example, Youssoufu's harvest this year filled only 35 'bɛnkariw,' down from 50 'bɛnkariw' last year. It must be difficult to know, in one moment, that your family will have much less food to live on in the coming year than they did in the past.

Each 'ɲɔ don' is to some degree a celebration. Treats, including 'bɛndɛgɛ' (sweet and spicy peanut butter balls) and 'farani' (small fried dough nuggets), are given to both the workers and those in attendance. 'Cɛkɔrɔbaw' (elder men) from the 'kin' (neighborhood), too old to work, come to socialize.

After all of the millet is brought in, the portion that was measured as a sort of 'welfare tax' is distributed to those who don't farm. 'Cɛkɔrɔbaw' from distant villages actually come in to simply attend each 'ɲɔ don' in our village, as do 'garibuw' (young muslim children who study the Koran and find food only by begging), simply with hopes of free food.

I have realized that I have a strong distaste for begging in general, and have been rather anxious for these outsiders to leave our village. Malians, in general, are very welcoming and give food willingly to those in need. But I noticed that many people share the same attitude that I have, they just don't often show it.

I overheard men after one 'ɲɔ don' discussing who is and is not a good person, deciding who they will give to. It has got to be awkward to give to one person and deny another while they are sitting next to each other.

Lamuru told me that he only gives out a small portion at his 'ɲɔ don.' He prefers to wait until afterwards, and give it to those people in our own village whom he knows are in true need. This includes elders in the community, as well as teachers.

A 'garibu' came by my 'jatigi's concession while we were eating dinner, and complained that food is very difficult right now. Vieux, a young man who was over at the time, snapped back, 'of course food is difficult, you don't farm! You don't do anything!'

'Garibuw' swarming around a man handing out millet at my 'jatigi's 'ɲɔ don.'