When it rains, it pours...

This ferry took me and my bus from Luzon, the main island in the Philippines, to my island of Northern Samar. The 23 hour bus ride is a far cry from the quick 1 hour plane ride I had taken to site originally, but now everything is on my own dime.

Since I returned to Rosario sans Peace Corps, my daily life has changed significantly. Unfortunately, this mainly stems from a string of personal adversity. As the rain fell outside daily, despite this being the ‘dry season’ or ‘summer’ in the Philippines, my luck continued to fail me.

Less than a week after I returned from my resignation, I was the victim of a theft from my home. Sleeping on the second floor of my duplex apartment, I cracked the window due to the heat thinking that no one would scale a wall to enter in my sleep. I was wrong.

I had suspected theft three times within my first month here, each time a few 1,000 pesos would be missing from my wallet. I had assumed that the perpetrator entered through a vaulted entry into the adjacent family’s apartment not properly closed off, so I was trying to handle it internally with the landlord. But then, as I went to pay for transportation to the airport while heading into Manila as mandated by Peace Corps, I noticed that 5,000 pesos, the biggest hit yet, was missing from my wallet; money I absolutely needed just to get to Manila. Fortunately, my counterpart was able to assist me at the time.

Christmas Day in Budalang'i

I spent Christmas Day here in my village of Budalang'i, primarily with the Mango's, my host family. It was a fairly low-key event, but it was enjoyable as they are very good people. We basically spent the day chatting and eating at the house, before heading into town a bit later in the afternoon.

Most families slaughter a goat to mark the holiday. Brothers of John, my host father, carve up the goat as my host mother Angelina and host niece Okampo look on.

Myself, host sisters Mevans and Mercy, 'mama' Angelina, 'baba' John, and brother Peter. Mevan's young daughter Okampo is striking a pose down in front. Angelina and John have another son and daughter, but were away for the holidays.

The Last from Loitokitok

A view of Mount Kilimanjaro (right) and a nearer mountain as seen from downtown Loitokitok, home for the past nine weeks.

The guys of our training class during a hike to a nearby waterfall, dubbed ‘51’ by the locals. We've got a great group here, and we've really gotten tight over the two months of training.

The girls of our training class during that same hike.

Facilitation, Family, and Faith

A picture with my Kenyan family. From left to right, my host brother James, myself, my sister Susan, father John, and mother Jen.

I am now going on six weeks in Kenya, my fifth week with my host family. Homestay and training here in Loitokitok has certainly been a much different experience than in Mali.

During the week, we are generally in language class, learning Kiswahili, each morning. The afternoons are reserved for technical, medical, or safety and security training.

The center of Loitokitok town on an average, non-market day morning.

Dave, my fellow Mali evacuee, and I have been able to skip out on some of the afternoon sessions, either for additional language classes or to prepare to lead water and sanitation-related training sessions with the trainees.

Views from a Sunday Stroll with 'Baba Yangu' (My Host-Father)

A view of Mount Kilimanjaro from the town of Loitokitok as seen with clear skies early in the morning.

Acacia trees line farmland in Loitokitok.

John, my host-father, is the construction supervisor for a three-story supermarket currently being constructed within the town.

Arrested Development - Coup d’État in Mali

Buba (or 'Boi' for short), my friend Lamissa's son, thinks fighting is bad.

On Wednesday I received a couple of text messages from the US Embassy. They mentioned fighting in Kati, the major military base outside of Bamako, and gunshots in downtown Bamako. I talked about it with my friends in village, and they called a friend that is currently working in Bamako. From him, we learned that the national television and radio service was shut down – they assumed by the president, Amadou Toumani Touré (ATT), perhaps because they made a bad comment about him.

But I awoke Thursday morning, surprised to find the BBC World Today radio program leading with ‘Coup d’état in Mali!’ It was a shocking development for a country that has been held up as the leading, model democracy in West Africa. More surprising considering that the presidential election was to take place next month, and ATT wasn’t even running! Sure-fire regime change, no coup required!

Although the coup was not particularly violent and proved to present a very low security risk to us, I began to worry that we could be evacuated. If the civilian government of a country is overthrown and a military government takes over, a military government which America refuses to speak with, can Peace Corps really work in that country?

Social gatherings, local work, and Mali's Independence Day

My host grandfather, Yaya DIarra, passed away in mid-July. On the 40th day after a death, everyone gathers in the deceased's concession during the afternoon for prayer. During this time, the deceased's family also distributes a hand-full of candy and dates, as well as 'takola,' a small sweet-bread treat made of millet, sugar, and water. These women are rolling the dough to make the latter. Each 'takola' consists of four dough-balls pressed together to make a square.

The women cook the 'takola' at the bottom of a cauldron in a small amount of oil.

At the convergence of Islam and drag?

Ladji, Isa, and Yacouba playing a little dress up during a 'shɛni' (dance party) held on 'Selideni' (the Muslim holiday at the end of Ramadan).

This year, the Islamic holy month of Ramadan lasted from August 1st through August 30th. During this time, Muslim people are obligated to fast during the daylight hours. On August 30th, the fast is broken by the Muslim holiday of 'Selideni' (Eid ul-Fitr).

Since the Bambaran people were traditionally animist, only later to be converted to Islam, there is a constant tension between the religions which can be seen daily in these communities.

I have found that though everyone considers themselves Muslim, they also wear 'boliw' (animist fetishes) for protection or good luck, such as a belt placed on all babies with leather pouches containing such items as the skull of a guinea-fowel, and perform traditional music and ceremonies in contrast to the religion.

In my village, the majority of people actually did not fast during Ramadan. Primarily only the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw' (elder men) participated in the fast. Part of the reason for this is no doubt that the holy month of Ramadan happened to take place during the period in which most of the work in the fields must be done. But despite this, I have found that other nearby villages held to the fast in much stricter fashion.

During the month, I was constantly asked about my religion. In the past, I had listened to the advice of former volunteers in describing myself as Christian. The idea is such that Malians, and religious people in general, have a hard time accepting that someone can believe in nothing. They can relate to you as long as you express some kind of religious sentiment.

But I never felt comfortable telling this lie. With no disrespect to organized religion, I feel that a big part of who I am is that I do not associate myself with any church or religious sect.

A day in the peanut fields ('tiga fɔrɔw') with my Malian family...

A picture of myself with my host family's bulls ('misiw.')

On Friday, July 15th, I headed out to the fields, as I have often done these past few weeks, to help out as I could and experience the life of a subsistence farmer in Africa. This time, I spent the day with my 'jatigi sɔmɔgɔw' (host family). I really enjoyed the day, especially the relaxed atmosphere which they brought to the work. Unlike my experience in Tayluru's millet fields, which I previously documented in a post on June 23rd, we actually took a break at noon for a couple of hours to eat and drink tea.

My host family owns several fields in this area, but each of my three host mothers (only one is my host father's wife, Mama. The other two, Kaja and Bintu, are actually his brother Badama's wives. But the three of them live in one concession and cook/work together.) actually have their own field. The women only work in their own fields, but their older sons, who do all of the tilling, work all of the fields together. On this day, the men worked in Bintu's field. Bintu and her daughters seeded ('tiga da') her fields. Mama and Kaja cleared brush from their respective fields, aided by their daughters.

My host brother Ladji gave me a huge thrill at lunch when he pulled soap out of his pocket that he had brought to wash their hands with prior to eating. As I have mentioned before, trying to influence this behavior change of handwashing with soap is one of my major initiatives. The women bring lunch to the men in the fields each day, and since they are eating in the fields, hand-washing becomes an even more difficult habit to instill.

I never gave any indication that I was going to their fields today, and actually surprised them by riding out on my bike. So this shows that he has actually gotten into the habit of hand-washing with soap before every meal!

Below are some pictures I took on the day:

My host-brothers Abdoullaye and Ladji tilling ('chi kɛ') Bintu's peanut field with the 'misiw shɛri' (bull plow/tiller) .

More tales on the wedding front...

In the small villages of Mali, weddings generally take place only during an approximately month-long period at the end of hot season. This is done to avoid conflict with the planting and harvest seasons in the fields.

During this past hot season, I attended 14 different 'kɔnyɔnw' (wedding ceremonies) in varying capacities. In a previous post, I described my role in my friend Daouda's wedding to his first wife, Sarata. Since that wedding, I served once again as a 'kɔnyɔnbɛna' in my friend Sheni's wedding, and through this experience and the other subsequent weddings, I continued to learn more and more about the many traditions that make up a 'kɔnyɔn.'

The 'dununw' (traditional drumming) during Sheni's 'kɔnyɔn.'

I found these ceremonies to not only be a lot of fun, but also very interesting on a cultural level. So, risking this blog becoming the new 'Malian Bride's Monthly,' I figured that I would try to wrap it all up by combining my experiences into one narrative that will touch on all of the aspects of a 'kɔnyɔn' that I have learned about. Amazingly, I was privileged enough to at times have direct involvement in every one of these aspects.

Day 1

'Wulafɛ' (Late Afternoon)

The Slaughter of the Cow

Prior to the festivities getting under way, a 'misi' (cow) is slaughtered in order to provide the meat for the subsequent meals. Men from across the village come with knives and hatchet-type tools to assist in the carnage of peeling away the skin, mashing meat from bone, and separating the meat, fat, and organs for food. Each man present walks away with a small pile of meat which he can take back to his family to add to their dinner. Most of the meat, however, goes with the 'kɔnyɔncɛ's (groom's) family, who will be preparing the meals throughout the 'kɔnyɔn.'

The Wedding ('furusiri')

Prior to Sheni's 'kɔnyɔn,' I was taken to participate in his 'furusiri,' which is the actual wedding. I walked with Bokari and Nba, the other two 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw,' over to Alimami's, the leading 'cɛkɔrɔba's (elder man) concession by the mosque within Katilɛla, Sheni's 'kin' (region of the village).

Once there, Bokari handed the elder a large bag of 'wɔrɔ' (kola nuts) and a smaller bag of many 10 CFA coins. After chatting for a little while, the elder led us down to an area in front of the 'dugutigi's (chief of the village) concession, where the rest of the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw' were currently assembling. Alimami gave the kola nuts and money to the other 'cɛkɔrɔbaw,' who then proceeded to count them to verify the right price was paid.

One man then got up and distributed the kola nuts to everyone assembled, then gave every man one of the small coins. A 'cɛkɔrɔba' then led a muslim prayer, mentioning the names of the groom and the bride. We all cupped our hands and made the motion of washing our faces as each prayer was said.

During the prayer, women began arriving with bowls of 'kini ni tiga dɛgɛ na' (rice and peanut sauce). After the prayer, we all sat down around bowls to eat communally. I was happy to see that my friend Daouda, who is on our Water and Sanitation Committee, actually brought a bar of soap for us to use! That's progress, little-by-little.

Alimami then called for Bokari, Nba, and I to rejoin him in his concession, where he gave us brief instruction on our task for the night, blessed us, and told me that I will roll on the ground tonight. This is something that I had been told by all of the men and women prior to both my stints as a 'kɔnyɔnbɛna.' That in order for the wife to be released into our custody, one of us, in this case me, must roll in the dirt.

Call me an American-African. I think I am becoming Malian...

Dancing with the villagers during Daouda's wedding 'dunun' (traditional drumming). (Thanks to Dan with Engineers without Borders for the picture.)

Since the time I was last in Ségou for regional in-service training and Easter, it has been a busy and incredibly enjoyable time for me socially in village. I have always felt that I have been well-integrated into the community, but during this time I have made it to a level I never thought possible, to a point where this village truly feels like home, as I have made many friends that will remain with me long after I leave Mali.

During this period, I have hardly opened a book to read, which is a stark departure from the blistering rate at which I had been reading previously. I have spent all my time either working on projects or, primarily, socializing with members of the community. My language has improved to a level where I now feel fluent, which has allowed me to have conversations with the villagers on a similar level as I can with Americans.

Over the past several months, I have gotten particularly close to the young men of about my age in the quartier (region) of the village I live in. Daouda, one of these young men who is also a member of the Water and Sanitation Committee we just formed, as well as one of the men on the village's Pump Team, has become one of my best friends. His uncle had arranged a marriage with a girl from another nearby village, Sarata, approximately three years ago.

In the Bamanan culture, marriage is traditionally arranged by the young man's father, who must make a payment to the father of the wife-to-be. Daouda's father had died when he was very young, so that responsibility shifted to his uncle, who made the payment over three annual installments. The full price was paid off last year, opening the way for the wedding this season.

Prior to holding the wedding, the groom must build his new wife a house. I helped Daouda in doing this, by assisting in building the mud walls, compacting the dirt base for the floor with a wooden paddle, and mixing/laying concrete for the floor. His house was completed last Friday, May 6th, allowing him to hold his 'kɔnyɔn' (wedding ceremony) beginning the following Sunday night, lasting through late Monday afternoon.

I have previously provided a detailed post about how weddings are traditionally held in my village, so I will stick with providing only the details of my specific role in the proceedings.

'Seliba' festivities and my 'Malian family'

Malian men and boys are currently in the fields every day, harvesting ‘ɲo’ (millet). Unlike the machinery found in the West, Malians perform all of their agricultural duties with simple, antiquated tools. This is a small blade used for harvesting the millet grains from the stalk. I helped my 'jatigi' Koka for a day, and the work is painstaking and repetitive. Millet is the Malian staple grain in most dishes, such as 'to' and 'basi,' which are both generally served with sauce.

Currently we are in the midst of the harvest season and most of the village men spend every day cutting ‘ɲo’(millet) in the fields, while the women pull peanut plants from the field, bring them back to the concession, and pick them off the roots. The rice harvest season is just beginning, and some of the men in my village are spending time in neighboring villages to help with that harvest, as we do not have rice fields in our village.

My 'jatigi' (host-father) Koka, and two of his young boys, Lassana and Abdoullaye, working in the ‘ɲo’ fields.

A village woman 'susu(ing),' or pounding, ‘ɲo’ to separate the grain from the stalks.

With all of this work, the arrival of the Muslim holiday of Tabaski, also known as Eid al-Adha in Arabic, or ‘Seliba' in Bambara, was a welcome distraction. ‘Seliba’ was Wednesday, November 17th. I have previously described ‘Selideni,’ the holiday commemorating the end of Ramadan, and generally, ‘Seliba’ is celebrated in exactly the same way, with a few subtle differences.

The day before 'Seliba,' five 'misi' (bulls) were slaughtered throughout the village. Normally, 'Seliba' involves the slaughter of mainly 'saca' (sheep), but they apparently were not as available in the markets as usual. Refer to my end of Ramadan ('Selideni') pictures for the more gruesome details. I bought two large piles of 'misi sɔgɔ' (beef) to give to my 'jatigi muso' (My host-father's wife) Mama to cook for the next few days, including the breakfast I hosted on Thursday.

My spiffy 'Seliba' threads - an outfit I got tailored in Ségou out of the fancy 'baizan' fabric. It is stiff, waxy, and uncomfortable, but stylish in this country.

Although Muslims always pray five times a day, the main prayer for 'Seliba' takes place in the morning at 9AM. I joined the villagers, lined up in several rows facing East on rugs, in the field between the two school buildings to participate.

Final Preparations...

So I am sitting at my aunt's house in Boone, NC trying to relax and let everything sink in. I sold my last piece of furniture on Thursday, my last day of work was Friday, I sold my car on Friday, and moved out of my apartment on Sunday.

The past 6 weeks have just been a blur since I officially found out I was going to Mali. Between finishing up at McGill Associates, catching up with friends and family one last time, buying gear and packing for Mali, selling and donating much of what I owned, closing out finances, learning French through Rosetta Stone, and tying up other loose ends for the Peace Corps... it's just been exhausting, but not in a bad way.

At this point, I feel relatively well-prepared for my service half-way across the world. I have a few more financial obligations to fulfill, including paying off my student loans with the money from selling my car (very excited about this one!), but otherwise I should have the next few days to simply relax. The only thing I regret is not obtaining a regular passport, but at least my no-fee passport from the Peace Corps will be good for traveling up to 3 months past service. I think my family would appreciate me coming home at that point, anyways.

I have already packed my bags for Mali, but am right at the weight limit. I am going to try to downsize my gear to give myself a little more leeway and make traveling around the country a little less awkward.

So the next few days will be spent with family and enjoying my final few days in the states. I expect to eat well, enjoy some final hiking in the beautiful mountains here in WNC, and just get my mind right for the big adventure. I will have my cell phone until Friday night, at which point I will dismantle it and throw it away at JFK Airport, symbolizing the shift away from the conveniences of the Western World.

At this point, I can only guess what my emotions will be, and how my experiences will go from that point on. I know my service in Mali will be challenging, fascinating, grueling, exhilarating, and everything in between... but right now I think I can rest assured, knowing I have prepared myself well.

The Home Stretch!

Well time has been flying by ever since accepting my Peace Corps invitation. I feel like I have two full-time jobs right now, my job as a civil engineer in Asheville and my preparation for service in Mali. Seems everyday, there is an essay to write, forms to fill out, a language to learn, belongings to sell, finances to square away, and/or items to buy. It's a mad-dash to the finish-line right now, but the excitement continues to build.

I just got back from a week-long vacation with my sister in Alaska. It was an amazing time, and a great distraction from the hectic pace that is life on the home-front right now. As of now, this was by far the furthest trip I have ever taken (previous was Denver), but of course that is all about to change. We spent our time in the Alaskan wilderness; hiking around Anchorage, sea kayaking in Seward, and, of course, a four-day backpacking trip in the backcountry of Denali National Park and Preserve. Although the weather was less than ideal, in the end we came away with an amazing experience filled with both challenging and rewarding moments and indescribable views. And I survived my own recklessness when I purposely stood less than 20 feet away from a 1,400-pound bull moose, so there's that...

Yup, that's me this guy is sizing up!

For me, Denali was definitely the highlight. I love just about any outdoor excursion, and personally, although sightseeing is certainly enjoyable, nothing beats actually getting your hands dirty and experiencing a place first-hand. Kinda goes along the same lines of my Peace Corps decision... why just visit a region as a tourist when you can actually live the culture and help to make a difference there as well?

My sister and I backpacking through Denali.

A view of mountains and bog from Day 2.