In Mali, much like in low-income areas of the US, young men often have to leave their families in order to find work. In an attempt at making a meager wage that will be sent home to their families every month, Malian men move around with the seasons working on farms, at construction sites, or in the rice fields. The work is grueling, and the men often work every day starting at 7 am and going until 4 or 5 pm. Some of the luckier men get Sundays off. Typically, the workers live in small huts with four or more other men/boys. They can’t cook for themselves, so they have a host family that cooks them lunch and dinner, and they make breakfast on their own over a small charcoal “stove.” Most of them do not have a formal education, and a few (especially the younger ones) are paired with a “teacher,” and are taught to memorize the Koran. These men and boys are my neighbors.

I most regions of Mali, people live in what are called concessions. Each concession typically has a small courtyard, an outdoor cooking area, a well, a nyegen (latrine), and several entrances to individual huts. Each entrance door opens up to one or two small rooms with mud walls and a ceiling of mud and branches. Sometimes there is a window, but often there is not. The floor is usually dirt, but can sometimes be cemented. Usually a family of 5 or more can live in one of these small spaces. Within the concession there can anywhere from 3-5 families. In my concession there are three entrances and seven people. I'm lucky. Most concessions, including my site mate’s, have between 18 and 20 people (that’s not counting the donkeys, chickens, and the sheep that are running around!). At first I was nervous about being placed with transient farm workers. As it turns out, they are all really sweet, kind, and love to talk about America with me. Many of them haven’t seen their families in months, others (especially the younger ones), years. They create their own families out of necessity, and learn to share and take care of each other. I like exposing them to American food and teaching them simple things they’ve never heard before, like that the world is round, and that there are these things called germs. It really blows their mind! The sad part is that they have to move on after the season is over. The good part is, as I recently found out, that they come back! Now that it’s rainy season, it’s time to again start working in the fields, and many of the men that I thought I’d never see again have begun trickling back. We exchanged stories from the last season, and talked about who else would be arriving and when. It’s great too, because they can really appreciate how much my Bambara has improved. I was very pleased to hear that a good friend of mine, Arnie Coulibaly, would be coming back. Apparently he just was making a quick trip home to see his family in Mopti. Arnie was 22 with a wife and a newborn daughter. He was the type that would stay home at night when the other guys were out chatting, lost in reverie and endlessly looking over his Barack Obama-bound photo album of his family. The only thing he really wanted was to be back home with his family in Mopti. All of the children in our neighborhood loved Arnie, too. He was kind, curious, and bright-- once dissecting my water filter and making it into a hat. He worked all day, every day, in the fields, but would take the time to help me do things like dig my garden. When Arnie left my village last year, it was when our landlord showed up out of nowhere and said that it was time to get to the next job. It always happens like that. Sometimes I don’t even get to say goodbye, I just wake up and they’re gone. With Arnie, luckily I was there and I got to watch as he and his friends bagged up the last of the rice, excited for a change of pace, and then set off with promises of a quick return.

Today I came home to the news that Arnie Coulibaly has passed away. Apparently, on the quick trip back home, Arnie died of a stomach related illness. Being that it is rainy season, I’m guessing that it was probably due to contaminated well or pump water. If this was the case, left untreated, this type of infection would have caused Arnie to have chronic diarrhea, a severe fever, to become acutely dehydrated, and he would have been in a great deal of pain. Many Malians who cannot afford a trip to the doctor use traditional medicines that can sometimes abate, but often not treat the illness. How does this happen? It happens for many reasons, two of which are: a lack of health education, and a lack of access to clean drinking water. Water.org claims that, “nearly one billion people lack access to safe water and 2.5 billion do not have improved sanitation.” According to the World Health Organization, “3.575 million people die each year from water-related disease.” Arnie’s death was unnecessary, preventable, and heartbreaking.

Please support, or continue to support, the work of Peace Corps volunteers. Their water sanitation and health education initiatives help to prevent unnecessary deaths like Arnie’s. For further information, or to get involved, you can check the Peace Corps website (ww.peacecorps.gov) and read about and/or donate to volunteer projects. You can also get further water sanitation statistics from any of the following websites: water.org, wateraid.org, or thirstrelief.org.

Rest in Peace, friend.
Ala ka da yoro sumaya.

Arnie is the one on the left in orange. This is taken from Seli Ba, which is the big celebration at the end of Ramadan.

Sweatastic

Hot season, and with it a full-body heat rash, has left me feeling less than inspired these last couple of months. With the advent of rainy season, however, my spirit has again lifted, layers have been added, and my rain boots washed off ready to go. After just one rainstorm I was walking around more cheery-- able to think, exercise, SLEEP again. Life was good. The Malians and I have completely discordant feelings on the situation, however. When it rains I find them bundled up in winter jackets and sleeping. Ironically, the cold makes them sleepy. But much to my chagrin (and truthfully theirs’ too), the rain and the coolness that accompanies it, have retreated. I think that seeing my alacrity for the cooling drops has caused Mother Nature to start toying with me. A little wind here, a few clouds there--sometimes even a couple of rain drops. I can hardly stand it! The other day, the wind picked up, they sky clouded over--we thought for sure that the big rain was going to come. I rushed through my bucket bath, got my boots on, and was headed out to work (in Niono you never want to get caught with your boots down), when out of nowhere the sun began to shine. In America, I may have considered this a “Christmas miracle”, if, say, I was going on a picnic, to an outdoor wedding, or a graduation. But here, no rain means humid hot hot heat, lots of dusty wind, and many, many bad smells. I imagine it to be something like NYC in the summer. I kid.

Mother Nature found another occasion to toy with me while I was sleeping outside. I had just finally hand-fanned myself to sleep when it began to sprinkle. I knew it was one of her little tricks so I waited it out and, of course, it stopped. One hour later it began to rain again, this time enough to make me believe it was really coming! Hooray! I took my pillow and sheet inside, folded up my tent, dragged in the mattress, rolled up my dust matt, and headed inside to get some much needed R&R in my soon-to-be rain cooled hut. One hour later I awoke sweating like I had just left a bikram yoga class. Tricked again! After a bit of grumbling to myself, I decided that I had no choice but to… roll out my mat, set up my tent, drag my mattress back out, and bring out my sheet, pillow, fan, keys, headlamp, and whistle. Arg.

As much as I complain about hot season, I have to say that it is still not as painful as a long bitter winter on the East Coast. If any of the Malians were to find themselves in a blizzard in Maine, I’m sure they would be writing home with similar, albeit, reverse complaints. In any case, pray for rain. Thanks.

Here Comes The Sun...do do do do.

When I first came to Africa it was all about me. How difficult it was here for me. How unsanitary everything seemed to be to me. How much better everyone was getting along than me. How much slower my language seemed to be to me. Now, I can clearly see two things: one, the feelings that I was experiencing were totally natural ways of coping with change; two, that this really isn’t about me. I am 8 months into my service and the dust is finally beginning to settle. I look around my neighborhood and it’s as if I am seeing it for the first time. For the first time I can see the mix of cement houses and huts in an interesting juxtaposition of old and new design. Where I would have only seen the streets littered with trash and dirty sewage water, I can now see that each one of my neighbors has taken great care to sweep the area in front of their hut. I can see the old man smiling with great pleasure as he watches me, head wrapped in Malian fabric and ill-fitting containers in my hands, walk by on my way to buy beans from a street vendor. I can see two donkeys and a dog nuzzling one another. I can see people’s faces light up when I greet them in their native tongue while passing on street. I can see the great strength and pride of the Malian people as well as their concealed vulnerability in regard to their lack of education. I can see children who are acutely malnourished. I can see people who have dangerously taken to self medicating for lack of access to healthcare. Every day, I see malnourished young boys begging for food-- graciously mixing together in a small bucket the leftovers from my dinner plate with the ill-assorted food from other neighbors.

As I said before, this isn’t about me. I do, however, want to take a moment to toot my own horn a bit for taking a big leap of faith on my own behalf. I walked away from my life at almost 30 years old, to take on a job/life experience that many take on after college or retirement. I was learning my first foreign language. At first, I felt a little embarrassed for myself. I wanted to go back to my career where I was confident in my abilities, back to my friends and family whom I missed terribly. I also knew that being a part of the Peace Corps was something that I really wanted, not only as a means of self development (because let’s face it everyone knows that there’s no such thing as completely a selfless act), but also because I truly do want to do something that makes me feel like I am making a difference, at least in a way that made sense to me, during the 12 hours a day I am accustomed to spending at work. It’s also my hope that maybe my being here will help show people from every socioeconomic background, that they too have access to programs abroad. While a large population of volunteers have degrees from lauded universities, I have mine from a small state school in Vermont. If you come from a situation like mine where, for the most part, you are totally reliant on yourself to provide your most basic needs, and even that is finically difficult at times-- it can be a bit harrowing to sell the first decent car that you’ve owned; risk losing two critical years of career development (especially after, say, putting yourself through college and acquiring thousands of dollars of debt); and to put faith in yourself that you have the courage to see something through. I can’t say that I was 100% aware of what I was getting myself into, and I can’t say 100% that I do now. What I can say is that this was a calculated risk, and so far it’s working out. Every day here is an opportunity to make a difference in the life of someone who really wants it. Wish me luck!

Livin' the Dream

Never postulate. This is what I've learned. In fact, it may be the single most significant thing a person can learn to accept here in Mali. Just when I assume that I have figured out exactly what is going on at work, or, at the very least, in a conversation, I am surprised to find that I have unwittingly agreed to attend a meeting that I am completely unprepared for. Worse yet, I’ve promised my neighbors that I will dance like a chicken while singing like Celion Dion. You may think I’m kidding, but Malians never kid about Celion Dion. Even the toughest of men can be seen publicly listening to the theme song from Titanic, tiny speaker from his cell phone pressed tightly to his ear. Yes, Celion Dion, Michael Jackson, and Phil Collins are the western artists who dominate the airwaves here. So it goes.

So, I’m sorry that it has taken me so long to update my blog. I’ll try and post something at least once a month from now on. I hope that everyone had a wonderful Christmas and a safe New Year’s. Here’s to a year of health and prosperity!

Since my last post I have settled quite well into my little hut and neighbors. My village's farmers have just finished harvesting the rice fields, so things are quiet right now. When the harvest is finished the rice fields are burned, so things are smoky mess. Otherwise, it’s “cold” season, so I am happy and sleeping soundly! The days are in the 80’s-90’s and the nights and mornings are quite cool. In a month, hot season will be here, where it is rumored to be 125 degrees in the shade, and I am seriously afraid. Basically, you have to sleep outside wrapped in dampened sheets and drink a gallon or more of water a day. Unfortunately, my only mode of transportation is my bike, so that will be challenging in the hot sun. Send me cool thoughts! It only lasts 5 months…

We recently had a big holiday here called Seliba. Seliba is one of the holiest, if not the holiest, holiday celebrated by Muslims. It starts at 9:30 a.m. sharp with group worship. Everyone greets one-another, whishes a healthy and prosperous year, and then leaves to slaughter their respective lamb. The men slaughter the lamb and then they bring it to the women to be chopped up, washed, and cooked. I bravely watch the whole thing, and have posted a few pictures so that you can bravely look at them! My family and I literally sat together for a half day cooking lamb and eating it with raw onions drenched in oil and Maggi. Maggi, in case you’re unaware, is a MSG bullion cube flavored like chicken, onion, or tomato, depending on you preference, and is used in everything that is cooked in Mali. I can’t lie, it’s salty goodness makes me happy. My body has come to crave the MSG, and I’m totally going to have sneak some back to America when I’m done to slowly wean myself off the stuff. As the Maggi commercial says, “everywoman is a star with Maggi.” I want to be a star!!

The day after Seliba it was off to Bamako for a week of meetings, 2 weeks of training, and then almost a week for Christmas. I was recently elected onto VAC, or the Volunteer Action Committee. VAC is a committee of 8 volunteers, each representing his/her region’s administration needs/issues. All totaled, a great time-- Christmas being the apex. Lot’s o’ good food, peeps and cheer! What more could a girl ask for when she spends her first Christmas in a 3rd world country?

Thank you everyone for sending me Christmas packages! I got 8 packages for Christmas, which filled my living room and there‘s a picture of that, too!! I really appreciate all of the support!

Love to all.