The Local Side of Bamako

Every Malian who has ventured to Bamako seems to have taken a few of these pictures. Posed, in front of the gaudiest of backgrounds. Here I am with my friend Bamoussa at their friend's photo studio next to their fini gɔsi yɔrɔ. But I wasn't supposed to smile!

I never felt much of a connection to Bamako, Mali's capital city. But I'll be the first to admit that I had never really given it a chance. Bamako, to me, was always that dirty, crowded, sprawling city that I had to visit on occasion for official Peace Corps business. I always treated it as a transit point. Somewhere I had to pass through to get back to the friendly confines of Ségou.

This trip gave me the opportunity to get to know the real Bamako, outside of the government-dominated quartier of Hamadallaye and the busy market centers. While in Bamako, I stayed with Haoua, my former APCD (Associate Peace Corps Director) for Water and Sanitation. Her family was amazing during my stay, welcoming me into their home and helping me out when going to and from the airport, especially given my lost luggage.

Haoua, my former APCD, helped me out a lot in Bamako, serving as my jatigi (host family). It was great to catch up, and get to know the rest of her family during my time there. 

Tempering Expectations

Over the past year and nine months since I was evacuated from Makili, I have been in regular contact with our committee members over the phone. Despite their many challenges, I was generally pleased with what I heard from them about their work. But being back on the ground, I quickly learned that things were not so cut and dry. The committees remain active, but they certainly have plenty to improve upon.

One of the first things that stood out to me was just how filthy the pumps were. While I was in Makili, the village itself established the following two rules: that people must remove their shoes prior to stepping onto the concrete apron, and that the pumps were to be swept clean every morning prior to them being unlocked. But, as you can see from the picture below, neither task has been happening as of late.

The pumps are still in heavy use, providing the village with a safe, reliable drinking water source. But the water and sanitation committee's rules enforcement has left much to be desired.

More concerning was the lack of enforcement of the rule banning the slamming of the pump handle. Whereas the previous rules were primarily cosmetic in nature, this rule actually has significant ramifications regarding the longevity of the pump. When the handle is slammed, the actual components of the piston within the ground face undue stress which can lead to premature breakage and pump failure. Throughout my three weeks in village, I witnessed user after user slamming the handle without repercussion.

Maliki ka Ɲɛnajɛ (Maliki's Party)

On Friday January 17th, my village threw an incredible ɲɛnajɛ (party) for me. They paid for a dununw (traditional drumming) group, a local jelicɛ (griot), and, for the first time in over 10 years, actually made jakow (traditional mascots/costumes). They also slaughtered a goat for a village-wide meal of kini ni tigadɛgɛna ni ba sogo (rice, peanut sauce, and goat meat).

Everyone had a great time, and the village was clearly buzzing from the excitement of putting such a celebration on for the first time in recent memory. It was just awesome to be a part of something like this, where all of those involved are personal friends. The village as a whole worked very hard to put this together, and I can't express how much it meant to me.

Preperations

Each kin (neighborhood) made their own jakow. Thursday in Katilela, Drissa and Adama stitch together grasses from kɔlɔn kɔnɔ (the rice fields) for a jako while Badaou, Famoussa, and Bala work on tying together the wooden carcass of sticks.

Bala jokingly dances with the jako carcass as others look on.

Return to Makili in pictures...

Yɛ drives his misiw wɔtɔrɔ (cattle cart) through the dry fields of the Sahel outside Makili.

Remudding the walls of the offering site for Dumbashu (Mawlid), the Islamic holiday commemorating the birth of the Prophet Muhammad.

I bɔra i ka so, i nana i ka so

I bɔra i ka so, i nana i ka so. You've left your home, you've come to your home. This traditional Bambaran saying, signifying the enduring hospitality of the Malian people, is the best way I can begin to describe my trip back to my village of Makili.

Having the opportunity to return almost two years after being evacuated was an extraordinary experience. In one sense, everything just felt normal. I've come back home. The village, the environment, the friendships were just as I had left them. Even my house, somehow still vacant after my departure, was returned to me for those three weeks.

I yala yala'd, walking throughout the village, joining people to chat over tea. My language came right back, along with the memories and the names of the people whom I shared them with. I spent all of my time in the company of friends, not really doing much, but doing exactly what I came there to do.

This was not the ideal season for a visit. It is currently cold season in Mali. Although this may bring a welcome reprieve from the intense heat, it also means that the people of my village are busy during the days cutting rice in the fields. But despite all of the work, my friends in Makili really made me feel appreciated.

They gave me a warm reception upon my arrival, and before leaving, threw an amazing ɲɛnajɛ (celebration) in my honor. A goat and several chickens were slaughtered for me during my time there. For the celebration, for everything, they refused any help from me.

Despite all of the positives, I'd be remiss not to mention the harsh realities which face this country. I knew that conditions were difficult, but somehow, after spending time in Kenya and back in the US, everything felt more real. I knew, of course, how dry this region is. But breathing through the incessant veil of dust and trekking through trails of sand after a long reprieve really put the harsh environment into perspective.

From Obscurity to Clarity: School, Down Time, and the Philippines

I returned to America after 3 years in Africa without a plan. It was an intentional move; I chose to, for the first time in my life, focus on the present without worrying about the future. And predictably, it took me a little while to find my footing upon my return.

But over the past three months, I have finally charted what I hope will be a rewarding path for myself. My first decision was to attend graduate school, obtaining a Master's of Public Administration (or equivalent) focused on international development.

Graduate school will allow me to bind together my prior educational, professional, and international experiences and direct them towards my field of choice. I just finished applying to several graduate schools across the East Coast for enrollment next Fall. But given this decision, I still found myself with a large gap to fill.

I continued to apply for jobs both domestically and abroad, and eventually faced a choice between a civil engineering position in New York City and a disaster management position in the Philippines. With some great advice from people currently in the development field, I opted for the latter.

Unless you've been living under a rock (I don't judge, that was me just a little while ago!), the first thing that surely comes to mind at the mention of the Philippines is the devastation caused by Typhoon Haiyan. Interestingly, I accepted this position on November 6th. The category five storm hit the island nation two days thereafter.

I will serve as a Disaster Risk Reduction Program Specialist in the Municipality of Rosario, Northern Samar Province. I will be working with government staff who have faced challenges in implementing their local Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Plan due to a lack of technical and financial support.

My assignment entails completing the following:

1. Enhancement of the municipality’s 5-Year Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Plan
2. Prepared digitized hazard maps for each barangay
3. Enhancement of training module for community disaster preparedness and mitigation
4. Conducted training with DRRMO staff and barangay volunteers on disaster preparedness and mitigation.

Peering Through The Fog

The term 'reverse culture shock' gets a lot of play in Peace Corps circles. In short, readjusting to your own culture after a two or three-year stint immersed in a foreign culture can be just as, if not more, difficult than acclimating to that foreign culture proved originally.

These past couple of months in America have proved rather challenging, but for different reasons altogether. Reasons which are familiar to any one of us, reasons which transcend culture. What I'm alluding to is uncertainty. Finding a new purpose, a new place to belong.

Sure, I've been overwhelmed with the relative ornate characteristics of American life. I've spent ten minutes staring at menu choices, unable to come to a decision as my friends wait. I've marveled at the wonder of a washing machine. I've bemoaned the omnipresence of the iPhone (then quickly caved myself), and the proverbial distance between one another, which African culture could never allow. But those are all trivialities. You wonder, you adjust, you move on.

I don't yet have a place to call home. Before leaving Kenya, I had resolved to live in a city. Preferably New York or DC. And, aside from visits with family, it is there where I've spent my time. Staying with friends, experiencing both places as I try to make some decisions. Both cities, I really enjoy. New York has taken a slim lead, but I've really enjoyed all the diversity, the possibilities, the people in both. For all the flack New York City gets for being impersonal, I've found that's just on the streets. When your at a bar, at any event, people here are less cliquey, more approachable and likely to mingle.

New York City. Doesn't get much different from my village than this, but so far I love it.

But I can't choose quite yet...