October at Site - Integration and Starting Some Work...

Over the past few weeks, I have felt many gratifying highs and some dispiriting lows. Fortunately, the lows that I have experienced have only been health related, and once I push them out of the way, I feel confident in my abilities and the experiences to come.

I have felt that over the course of my recent time in village, my language skills have improved ten-fold. I am confident in my abilities to communicate with locals on really any necessary topic, and I am able to understand much more of their day-to-day conversations amongst themselves, even with their fast-paced speech. I still need to continue to work on my skills in order to better harness an ability to have deeper intellectually stimulating conversations, but I have plenty of time to work on that.

I am also excited to report that I have begun work on my baseline survey. The baseline survey is a host of questions I intend to ask the dutigi (head of household) in each concession (each extended family) in my village, and is designed to ascertain the water and sanitation practices currently utilized. These include issues related to drinking water quality and availability, ɲɛgɛn (latrine) availability and construction, common illnesses which affect the community, community organizations currently in-place, the community’s desire for a Water and Sanitation Committee, and the women’s garden. I will compile the results of this survey and use them as a guide to determine where my efforts will be best served.

Thus far, I have learned that several of the precious few wells in village go dry throughout the hot season, making the availability of water scarce. Assisting the villagers in repairing the two broken foot pumps is a high priority for me, but building deeper wells may also be required to further address this concern. I have also yet to come across a family in-village who washes their hands with soap, most only use water before eating, and most do not wash their hands after using the ɲɛgɛn. Therefore, I plan on performing some handwashing animations/demonstrations to convince villagers of the practice’s importance to their health. This is just the tip of what I believe this baseline survey will uncover in the coming months.

Mali's Cinquantenaire...

'Sira, a ma ɲe.' (The road was bad.) Because of all of the rain we had been getting during the rainy season, the road to the commune seat had large, deep pools of standing water. Normally I would bike, but instead I opted to tag along on this 'misi wotoro' (cart pulled by two bulls). Not the most comfortable ride, but better than the alternative.

The Cinquantenaire de l’Indépendance, the 50th Anniversary of the Republic of Mali’s Independence was September 22, 2010. This was a big deal throughout the country, including my small community 100 kilometers east of Ségou.

My jatigi's son, Abdoullaye Diarra, keeping the steady hand on the bulls during the ride to the festival.

It was towards the end of the rainy season, and with all of the rain we had gotten, to bike anywhere required wading knee-deep in standing pools of water. So instead, I took a ‘misi-wotoro’ (bull-cart) into my commune seat/capital, which doubles as my market town, approximately 4 kilometers away from my village. I was surprised to see the richness of the culture that was on display so close to my quaint little village.

Some local children posing for the camera. This was all them...

I arrived into the center of town around 11AM. The Mayor of the commune was speaking to the crowd over the loud speaker to fervent ovations. After the mayor finished his speech, a group of local men in traditional hunting/militia clothing fired off sporadic rounds of blanks from their shotguns while dancing along the side of the crowd.

A group of teens, one row of men in purple, one row of women in blue and white striped-shirts and green berets, marching into the center of the festivities. Note the shirts the men are wearing: 'My Dream Barack Obama.'

Next, a group of young teens in berets marched into the center of the crowd to perform to a series of military marching commands. My favorite part… note the purple ‘My Dream Barack Obama’ shirts the young men were wearing. Barrack Obama’s face and name is plastered all over everything from sandals and jeans to playing cards and barber shops. But it is especially entertaining to me considering the man has nothing to do with the nation’s independence.

The first 'jacko' to make an appearance. This is the 'saca,' which is Bamanakan for sheep. Sheep are raised heavily for meat and wool in the region.

Feastin' at Ramadan's end...

My first experience with a celebration in my new village was 'Selideni' (Eid ul-Fitr), the holiday celebrating the end of Ramadan, Islam’s holy month of fasting. On Thursday, September 9th, Lassana, my homologue, guided me to an open field between the two primary school buildings in village for prayer. After the hour-and-a-half prayer session, we were led to a small crossroads in the middle of the village, where women from each concession came and placed a meal in the middle of the men gathered. Each meal was served in a communal bowl, and after the elder got up and mixed all of the sauces, there was a mad-dash for the men to grab what they saw was the best-made dish. To my surprise, they even allowed some of the kids to run and swipe the best dishes, deviously running clear across the village to eat away from the elder's gaze. All of the many bowls were the same dish, ‘kini ni tiga dɛgɛ naw’ (rice with peanut sauce).

After the rather rushed/chaotic lunch, men from throughout the village gathered in four separate regions within the village. Each region slaughtered one ‘misi’ (bull/male cow). The afternoon was spent slicing up the bull, making sure to make use of every ounce of meat on it’s hide. Once sliced, the men divided the bull into 85 different piles. Each pile received it’s share of muscle, fat, esophagus/stomach lining, organs, etc. Once sufficiently prepared, a man took orders for piles, and they read out each name, one by one, placing the purchased piles in bags, sacks, plastic bowls, or whatever was available at the time.

I spent the next two mornings with the village men, who bounced from concession to concession for ‘daraka’ (breakfast). For each day, we could eat at about 5 different concessions. To my surprise, each meal was exactly the same: ‘kini ni tiga dɛgɛ naw ni misi sɔgɔ.’ Apparently that is the signature dish in the region, only to be broken out for special occasions. And make no mistake, it is good. But after eating the same meal 5 times in a row, a little variety would be welcome.

The slaughter of the bull in pictures (Disclaimer for the faint of heart: Do not continue if you are at squeamish at the site of butchering):

Village men hold down the bull while the throat is cut.

A Day in the Life... My First Month as a Volunteer

My homologue, Lassana Diarra, the tallest Malian I've known, and myself in my new Malian threads, called a 'bornɛ.' 

I have just completed my first month at site as a volunteer. It has gone rather smoothly, with my time thus far being spent integrating into the community and continuing to learn the local language of Bambara. This past Sunday, I made my first trip into Ségou since being installed. I will be staying here in Ségou for a week for language training with my fellow regional volunteers.

A quick aside about the people of Mali… Tuesday at lunch, I went to get my hair cut. As I was leaving, after negotiating the price of my haircut down by half, the men asked me to stay and drink tea with them. I told them I would, but I am very hungry and want to get something to eat. One of the men then told me his family is about to eat, and asked me to join them. So I walked with him to his family’s house a block away, and ate a very good meal of rice, onion sauce, fish, cabbage, and carrots. They even offered me a spoon, but I told them in Bambara, “I am a Malian now. Eating with my hands is good.” So I ate out of the communal bowl with five other men. But that is just one of many stories which illustrate the uncompromising hospitality of the Malian people.

I figured that I would give you all a quick rundown of my daily activities at this point. Again, Peace Corps encourages us to take at least the first 3 months of service to simply integrate into our communities and learn the language, so there is not much in terms of work happening right now.

Aisseta Traoré, one of the local village women, proudly holding up a peanut plant she grew in her plot of the women's garden. Aisseta is one of the many women who like to constantly joke with me about being a Diarra, her 'joking cousin,' by calling me a donkey, telling me I eat beans, etc.

Sworn-In!

I am now officially a Peace Corps Volunteer in the Republic of Mali! Yesterday morning, at the American Embassy, myself and 80 fellow Peace Corps Trainees in my stage, including 18 trainees in Water and Sanitation, were officially sworn-in as Peace Corps Volunteers. We spent the night out in Bamako, before coming back to Tubaniso for one last night tonight. Tomorrow, we will be splitting off to our respective regional capitals. I will spend 3 nights in Ségou, after which I will be installed Wednesday in my village for my two-year post. Times, they are a changin'!

2010-2012 Peace Corps Mali Water and Sanitation Volunteers (Thanks, Lindsey for the Pic!).

Homestay: The Final Week

An old tree in my homestay village. It appears that some other type of vine/tree has overtaken it to give the tree this unique look.

Sunday, we left our homestay sites for the last time to head back to Tubaniso before swear-in on Friday at the US Ambassador’s residence, and all of the shenanigans that go along with it. Next Sunday, we will begin the trek to our permanent sites to begin integrating into our respective communities.

Homestay really flew by, and I became fairly close to my host family, considering the language barrier. It was sad to leave so soon, and I am planning on visiting them again when my Bambara improves. Below is a brief summary of the week that was…

My 'immediate' host family. Adema Doubia, my host-father, is back-right. 

Another one of my 'immediate' host family. In the back row are Adema's two wives,  Aminata Coulibaly and Miriam Samake.

I arrived back at my homestay village on Friday, August 20th. On Sunday, Isa, my host-uncle of around 21 years of age, took my Bambara-English-French study materials to make copies 10 km away at our market town. He is very motivated to learn English, and plans to go back to school in October, after the growing season.

Another picture with my host family. From left, Drissa, Solomen, Isa, Sitafa (or as I call him, 'Stephan'), myself, and Lameen.

My Site Visit to the Ségou Region as 'Maliki Jarra'

Scattered trees within the agricultural fields just outside of the village.

We have just returned from our initial visit to our respective sites for the next two years. I have been placed in a small village of around 1,400 people in the Region of Ségou, approximately 100 kilometers east of the city of Ségou, the regional capital. Due to my very persistent homologue, just after I finally got used to my Malian name in Homestay, I now have a new name… Maliki Jarra. This week certainly had it’s ups and downs, but I am excited about my new village.

The following is a brief rundown of the happenings at site…

The small mud-mosque located near the center of the village.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Myself, my fellow PCTs, and our homologues woke up at Tubaniso, ready to split off to our respective regions and sites. Hannah and I lucked out and got Peace Corps transport into Ségou, instead of having to negotiate Mali’s public transportation system the entire way. After a three-hour ride from Bamako, we arrived at the Peace Corps bureau in Ségou around 12:30pm, where I met Therese, the volunteer whom I am replacing. We then went to a local transportation stop, at which time my homologue, Lassana, left separately on his motorbike to spend a night with his third wife, who lives in a village approximately 30 kilometers from my site/his home.

A bush taxi headed for my market town 4 kilometers south of my village was waiting at the transportation stop when we arrived there around 1:00pm. A throng of people were already there ready to go, but the bush taxi waited for two more people to completely fill out the vehicle, and we left around 4:00pm after Therese pulled off some bargaining/haggling in Bambara.

The trip on the bush taxi was very, well, ‘cozy.’ There were five of us crammed into the last row of the taxi, and half-way through, one of them actually stood up, yelled at the driver to stop, and he went and sat on the roof instead. The bush taxi negotiated some very rough dirt roads, with large sporadic pools of water.