So that last post wasn’t the end of my journey to site… it’s just the part that all of us shared as a group. Once I got to Sevaré I, along with 7 other Dogon PCTs, had to take another car for an hour into Bandiagara, which is our banking town. Sevaré is our ‘regional capital,’ so this is where I will go in the case of an emergency, if I ever get sick and need a place to crash, when I have grant writing or other computer-necessitating projects, or (definitely more likely and more frequently) to party with all of my fellow volunteers… which we’ve already begun. Mopti Caw seem to be notorious for getting a little rowdy, so I guess they placed me well. Currently two of the volunteers in this area are under threat of being administratively separated for riding motorcycles (not allowed) and/or public drunkenness (also technically not allowed, but it seems like this one isn’t enforced except under the most extreme situations). Bandiagara is going to be rowdy as well—this is one of the most touristy sites in Mali because of the draw of Dogon country, all of the hiking, etc. As such, there are a few really nice and reasonably priced hotels (one with a swimming pool!) and restaurants, as well as a couple of internet cafés. I imagine this will be my oasis when I’m starting to go crazy from being en brousse all of the time.
I spent a night in Bandiagara at a nice hotel with the other volunteers, and the next day they let us all loose to go to our individual sites! We were each paired up with our counterparts and our “site buddies” – current volunteers who live/work in the region, who came to site for a day or two with us to show us the ropes. I met my counterpart, Hassim Kansayi, who is a gardener in Pelleni, a few days prior for training. He is wonderful and enthusiastic and funny as hell. I went with him and a girl named Ashley, a PCV who lives nearby in a town called Kalibombo (villages have the best names here) with her husband Joe. We crammed into a bush taxi bus with about 20 other people, and with multiple rice sacks, buckets, bags and goats on the roof. These buses (really just gutted out vans) are so janky, they’re basically nothing but the bare minimum. Shocks/brake pads worn down, no power steering, no upholstery, body beat up. Everyone was staring at me, wondering what the hell a Tubab was doing going out into the bush. They’re used to tourists out there, but not ones who get off the beaten path. As such, volunteers are a bit of a novelty and generally people are really interested to know what we’re doing—they’re very welcoming. The ride was beautiful. The road on the 40 km route to my town, Pelleni, is mostly unpaved. But part of it was constructed with flat stones, which gives it a kind of old Europe feel. The area I’m living in is a series of rolling hills and valleys. The climate is definitely semi-arid, it feels to me like a mix of Arizona savannah and Moab, Utah. There are rocks everywhere, and virtually no topsoil, which makes for a beautiful landscape and incredible stone architecture, albeit sometimes impossible gardening. After about an hour in the bus, we got dropped off in what looked like the middle of nowhere… oh wait, it is the middle of nowhere. There isn’t a road that goes directly to my site, so I have to walk 3 km from the road to get to my village of 450 people. Since it’s the rainy season, I had to forge through a river on the way, dangling my bags around my neck and back, trying to pull my skirt up out of the water. The town is pretty (although admittedly not as pretty as I expected), nestled beneath a set of low rocky hills in a valley, surrounded (right now) by millet fields and tall towering trees. All of the fences are built of stone, and the huts are made of mud.
My house is great for the most part. I have my own concession, blocked off by a bamboo-looking gate and stone wall, with a space large enough to have a small garden and a chicken coop, and a cat to catch the mice (plans brewing already). There is a brouse ladder (a log with notches etched in it for steps) leading to the roof, where I will probably spend most nights staring at the immense sky—so many stars out there!—and sleeping in whatever breeze there is. I have a 2-room mud hut with 3 windows, and a ceiling that is perfect for sleeping on top of but not underneath. The rainy season has wreaked havoc on my poor roof, and each time the rains come I end up having to set up buckets and tarps to catch the flood of water and mud that falls down from above. We’re working on getting that fixed. I have a palace of a nyegen (poop hole), it is made from stone and raised up, with spiral stairs leading to the entrance, because they can’t break through the bed rock easily and dig down. The former PCV I’m replacing, Ryan Shaw (or Bara Yele, here), was kind enough to leave behind a lot of supplies for me, including some great brousse furniture, a stove and gas tank, pots/pans/dishes, and (my favorite) three morenga trees he planted in the corner of my concession.
I spent most of my time at site either walking/hiking around to check out the area, playing with the village kids, or in the field cultivating millet with everyone—which is their main livelihood—or, finally, taking the time to sit alone in my concession and breathe. This was the first time that I’ve really been able to just relax and let go of everything, imagining myself living and thriving in this place for the next two years of my life, and smiling. It’s going to be a good two years.
But at the same time, there are some things related to this seclusion and poverty that I didn't even think about, and that I'm realizing will undoubtedly have a big effect on my life. One big part of this is my physical health-- there is virtually NOTHING to eat out there. They eat the same shit 3 times a day out there, which is a millet-based mush called toh, with a slimy green sauce made from Baobab leaves. I can't stomach the sauce. I'm going to have to do a lot of my own cooking. The problem with this is that the closest market to me is 7 km away in a town called Kendie (which is BEAUTIFUL), and only once a week. Aside from this, there are only 2 boutiques in my village to buy supplies from, and they have no food other than crackers/cookies, tiny little onions, and canned tomato sauce, and occasionally peanuts/rice. Veggies don't grow well out there because it’s so dry, so I'm going to have to work hard at supplying myself with good food year round. I’m going to buy a solar oven, and hopefully build a dehydrator, so I can become more self-sufficient.
After a few days at site, I headed back into Bandiagara, solo this time, to meet back up with my fellow PCTs, commiserate/bitch/rejoice over beers and cocktails, and head back to Bamako to finish training. We went to Sevaré together and met up at the stage house, where I finally got to meet all of the current PCVs. We have a fun group. They made us a delicious dinner and threw us a big party, we danced all night long to 90s American hip hop and stumbled home. Great night.
Well that’s all I can muster for this time, I’ll update you all after this last stretch of homestay. As always, I send you much love! Thanks SO much to all of you who have been sending me letters and packages, it makes me feel so loved!
August 25, 2009
Some Pictures.... More coming soon!
Me making food at homestay
Jeremy and Ali making food
Ambaga, my language tutor, during a rain storm
My homestay family at Diallakorobougou
This is part of the Beninois family in my homestay complex... the little baby girl is teething right now, and is going to grow up to be a man-eater she's so beautiful.
Some beautiful cliffs near Bamako on a hike
Jeremy and Ali making food Rice Sack Gardens
My homestay family
Host brothers
Ambaga, my language tutor, during a rain storm
My homestay family at Diallakorobougou
This is part of the Beninois family in my homestay complex... the little baby girl is teething right now, and is going to grow up to be a man-eater she's so beautiful.
Some beautiful cliffs near Bamako on a hike A waterfall west of Bamako on the hike
Mopti Caw Site Visit
(picture from Tubaniso, the PC training site in Bamako)Five years of living in Portland, and it turns out I had to come all the way to Mali to find my Oregon Trail adventure: the Mopti Caw site visit. The potential mishaps of the Oregon Trail are all apparent here, with some amendments to be sure... Replace the risk of scarlet fever with yellow fever, and the threat of your driving ox's heart giving out in the mid-day heat with the potential for your bush taxi's engine blowing out. The other potential risks are all there: having to forge a river and losing all your cargo on the way, having a giardia attack (necessitating a swift departure to go shit up a storm en brousse), encountering bribe-demanding bandits (a.k.a. Malian gendarmes), being peed/vomited on by a small child thrust upon your lap. Oh the joys of sub-Saharan African public transit.
So here's what that translated into for us, the 18 new Mopti PCTs, on our first visit to the villages we'll be living in for the next two years...
Most of us woke up at Tubaniso at the ungodly (un-Allah-y?) hour of 5am to the militant sound of our trainer's trumpet-- only a smidgen better than the usual loathesome donkey/rooster wakeup call. As was impressed upon us, at 6am precisely we trudged through the early morning rain and mud to the refectoire to catch our buses. Instead, we were greeted by a room void of the promised coffee and breakfast, and absent of anyone deluded enough to think that ANYTHING in Mali can be organized that early in the morning (except for praying or going to work in the fields).
We, the Mopti Caw (Caw means people in Bambara), finally loaded up at about 7:30am and hit the road in our air condition-less Spanish bohemouth of a van. Fourty-five minutes later, we roll up to the gare for Gana Transport... and stop. After some time we learn that we're waiting for them to "replace a tire," which I learned is Bambara for "wait around to fill the seats with as many passengers as possible." Once we got going again, we make periodic stops to fill up on gas, actually replace a tire, stop at a market, etc. At around 9:30 we finally get out of Bamako, which should've only taken about 40 minutes. Layilah. But, no crying babies, no livestock on the roof, and our driver doesn't visibly appear to be drunk: so far all is well by Malian standards.
A few hours later we roll through a part of Mali called Blah (not joking), and by now the lack of A.C. has started to hit. Funteni fuckin be, as my friend Chris would say (explitive Bambara for it's fucking hot). We pull over to unload some luggage for a PCT who will be staying in this godforesaken place, and chu-chu-phhhhh... the engine fails. The driver tries putting it into neutral and letting it roll backwards, then forwards, to give it a running start. To no avail. Eventually about 15 of us jump off the bus to go push the massive thing (okay, the Malians were pushing, the Tubabs were taking pictures/smoking cigarettes/laughing hysterically). Et voila, we finally get going again.
Hereafter, we begin repeatedly encountering a problem called "Jeremy Lhoir." This is a Belgian-American PCT (my friend) who insists on sprinting out of the bus at every opportunity to go... well, who knows what he does... thus delaying our departure time multiple times throughout the day, pissing several people off, and dramatically increasing the smell of b.o. in the bus (every time we stop, so does the airflow).
We make it to Seygou around noon, and get off to have lunch. Bad sign-- the driver opens up the hood of the bus. He sends someone to go get repair parts for something. We sit there in the midday heat, attacked by street vendors and garibous (street kids asking for alms), for THREE hours. The sound of the bus finally honking for us to get on was the sweetest noise I have heard here.
On the road again, and night starts to fall. Spirits are rising and the temperature is going down. We all are drifting in and out of a peaceful sleep. Then, all of the sudden the driver slams on the breaks and starts to swerve a bit.... THWAK! We hit a cow. Luckily our driver's skill prevented us from even coming close to tipping over or anyone getting hurt. No such luck for the cow.
Shortly thereafter, another storm rolls in, firing up the otherwise pitch-black sky with lightning and red dust, and slowing down the pace of our bus.
FINALLY, at about 9pm, we arrive in Sevare. Alxamdulilahi. Now the only thing we have to worry about is Yacouba (a trainer) having a heart attack...
Quite the intro to Malian transport. Still, I think we had it pretty good. The PCVs told us to stop bitching, that it ain't no thang. Personally, my only regret is that we hit a cow, not a donkey.
August 13, 2009
One month down, 25 to go
Back at Tubaniso, and the 11th marked one month of my Peace Corps training in Mali, and one month until I swear in as an official PCV. I've already become so absorbed in village life here that the outside world is fading away into the ether. There are far less radio waves swimming overhead, telling news of worldly politics, for me to snatch up whenever I like; fewer daily reminders of the constant hum of the rest of the world. It's frustrating to feel the reality of not having access to knowledge in that sense-- to realize that while this is the way I will be living for the next two years, it is a life-long reality for Malians. But I, on the other hand, occasionally am thrust back into the thick of the world, with an email or a news clip or a memory. Coming back into Bamako, then, was a shock for me: hopping into a van full of Tubabs, blasted with air conditioning, switching on the BBC world news with the quick flick of a finger.
One of the things that jolted me out of this state was hearing the news that my friend and former mentor at Aprovecho (the permaculture farm/community I lived at last year), Josh Fattal, was one of the three American travelers who was arrested along the Iraqi-Kurdish-Iranian border and is been detained in Iran. It's all over the news right now, as I imagine a lot of you've heard. One of those things that seems so surreal that you can't really fully connect to it, but that sends your stomach and heart into a swirl of knots. He is a good and vibrant person, one who I learned a lot from and who has a lot to give to the world. I pray that he is released soon.
A lot of things here have been bringing me back to my time at Aprovecho, actually, and I'm realizing that that was some of the best training I could've had for this experience. I wish that I had had the opportunity to take advantage of more of the resources I had at my fingertips then-- especially in relation to Appropriate Technology. It would be invaluable for me to have more formal experience constructing things like solar cookers/dehydrators, improved fuel-efficient mud stoves, rain water catchment systems, etc. Now those resources are a bit harder to get a hold of, since I rarely have internet access.
Nonetheless, my training thus far has been really hands-on and useful-- moreso than for a lot of the other sectors. Right now it is just about getting by day to day, learning and being and taking everything in. Dooni dooni, little by little, as they say. Because of all this, I find it easy to forget why I'm here-- all of the grandeur of ideology and joint anger/hope about the state of the world that pushed me to do this. But I'm realizing that THIS is what truly grassroots, bottom-up development work is about. Starting at the basics. Really learning a place. Experiencing first hand, and slowly, the effects of decades of colonialism, deforestation, climate change, and restrictive regimes/trade policies on everyday people. ASKING what the needs of the community are, and then implementing projects.
I leave tomorrow to FINALLY go visit my site, Pellini! They just announced site locations for everyone a few days ago, so we're all pretty fired up. Yesterday all of our 'homologues' (a.k.a. Malian counterparts from our respective villages) made their way to Bamako for our official introductions and some group training. Pretty intimidating, but rewarding as well. My homologue's name is Kassim Kansayi, and he is a Bambara teacher for secondary school, probably in his late 20s. He speaks enough French to have good conversation, and we get along really well. We went to villages that current PCVs are located and did some community assessment projects in the last couple of days, which was eye-opening. The way that we function/are trained to think and analyze problems in the States is very different from here. Over and over, we are learning that perhaps the greatest way in which we will grow here is in becoming extremely patient.
Tomorrow will open up an entirely new world for me, hopefully one that does not include getting violently ill on the 12 hour bus ride to Dogon country, running over any livestock (although I wouldn't mind hitting a donkey), or getting pickpocketed. All of the people that have been placed in my region are amazing, so I'm feeling really lucky. We have all of the good French speakers as well, since we're going to a place with so many dialects. But then again, some of my best friends here have been placed on the opposite side of the country. C'est la vie.
I won't have internet access for another two weeks (seeing a trend yet?), so until then, drink a nice iced cocktail in my name, while I sip on lukewarm piss-water African beer, thinking of you.
BISOUS!
One of the things that jolted me out of this state was hearing the news that my friend and former mentor at Aprovecho (the permaculture farm/community I lived at last year), Josh Fattal, was one of the three American travelers who was arrested along the Iraqi-Kurdish-Iranian border and is been detained in Iran. It's all over the news right now, as I imagine a lot of you've heard. One of those things that seems so surreal that you can't really fully connect to it, but that sends your stomach and heart into a swirl of knots. He is a good and vibrant person, one who I learned a lot from and who has a lot to give to the world. I pray that he is released soon.
A lot of things here have been bringing me back to my time at Aprovecho, actually, and I'm realizing that that was some of the best training I could've had for this experience. I wish that I had had the opportunity to take advantage of more of the resources I had at my fingertips then-- especially in relation to Appropriate Technology. It would be invaluable for me to have more formal experience constructing things like solar cookers/dehydrators, improved fuel-efficient mud stoves, rain water catchment systems, etc. Now those resources are a bit harder to get a hold of, since I rarely have internet access.
Nonetheless, my training thus far has been really hands-on and useful-- moreso than for a lot of the other sectors. Right now it is just about getting by day to day, learning and being and taking everything in. Dooni dooni, little by little, as they say. Because of all this, I find it easy to forget why I'm here-- all of the grandeur of ideology and joint anger/hope about the state of the world that pushed me to do this. But I'm realizing that THIS is what truly grassroots, bottom-up development work is about. Starting at the basics. Really learning a place. Experiencing first hand, and slowly, the effects of decades of colonialism, deforestation, climate change, and restrictive regimes/trade policies on everyday people. ASKING what the needs of the community are, and then implementing projects.
I leave tomorrow to FINALLY go visit my site, Pellini! They just announced site locations for everyone a few days ago, so we're all pretty fired up. Yesterday all of our 'homologues' (a.k.a. Malian counterparts from our respective villages) made their way to Bamako for our official introductions and some group training. Pretty intimidating, but rewarding as well. My homologue's name is Kassim Kansayi, and he is a Bambara teacher for secondary school, probably in his late 20s. He speaks enough French to have good conversation, and we get along really well. We went to villages that current PCVs are located and did some community assessment projects in the last couple of days, which was eye-opening. The way that we function/are trained to think and analyze problems in the States is very different from here. Over and over, we are learning that perhaps the greatest way in which we will grow here is in becoming extremely patient.
Tomorrow will open up an entirely new world for me, hopefully one that does not include getting violently ill on the 12 hour bus ride to Dogon country, running over any livestock (although I wouldn't mind hitting a donkey), or getting pickpocketed. All of the people that have been placed in my region are amazing, so I'm feeling really lucky. We have all of the good French speakers as well, since we're going to a place with so many dialects. But then again, some of my best friends here have been placed on the opposite side of the country. C'est la vie.
I won't have internet access for another two weeks (seeing a trend yet?), so until then, drink a nice iced cocktail in my name, while I sip on lukewarm piss-water African beer, thinking of you.
BISOUS!
July 28, 2009
Three weeks in...
Wow. I can't believe it's only been three weeks. It seems like so much has happened-- I've met so many new people and have been thrust into such a dramatically different culture. I've been back at Tubaniso, the PC headquarters, for the last two days. I've been trying to update this blog, but there's always a rush amongst the 66 PCTs here for the three lone computers in the small amount of time that we're here. Another aspect of life that delays communication and, unfortunately, that we've all become too familiar with, is a little thing we refer to as Mr. D / Mrs. C.... or less fondly, diarrhea and constipation. There is a smorgasbord (am I allowed to call it that?) of horrible g.i. problems one can encounter in Mali, from amoebas to worms to giardia and parasites. As the current volunteers tell us, you can not be fully inducted into Peace Corps Mali without shitting your pants at least once. Oh the joys of development work! I've actually been pretty lucky, as I've only spent one day bed-ridden and occasionally having to sprint to the nyegen (shit-hole in the ground). There are some people who haven't been able to keep anything down for almost a week. Once again, they say these attacks will become fewer and further in between. Inshallah (god willing), this is true.
Other than this nasty aspect of life, my time here has been great. I'm living in Dialakorobougou, taking language classes 7 hours a day, drinking lots of tea with my host family, and laughing/being laughed at for silly cultural differences. I've been given a Malian name-- Khadija Samake (the 3rd wife of Mohammed, and my last name means elephant). My family is actually Bambara, and as such do not speak the language I'm learning. This sounds more frustrating than it actually is though, because it is good to know some Bambara, as it is the lingua franca of Mali. Nonetheless, it is pretty exhausting to learn Doguloso at school all day, and then go home to a family that can't understand why my Bambara isn't improving substantially. Luckily my host brothers speak French, so I can speak on more than an infantile level with some people at the end of the day. Doguloso, the language I'm learning, is absurd. I honestly laughed the first time I heard it, and I imagine you will all think I'm making it up when I come home. No, there's no clicking or tongue smacking. But it's tonal and bizarre. To give you a taste, "what is your name" is "ino ohn ayahn gineh neh?" So sweet.
I live in a concession, or compound, with a Malian family comprised of my one-legged host mother Ramata (who manages to do EVERYTHING from cooking to laundry to cleaning, all day long), her four sons (Muhammed, Modibo, Modi, and Didi) who just sit there and listen to Akon on their cell phones, her daughter Oumou, and Oumou's 6 month old baby boy. The women are truly amazing here, they work all day long for little reward. My host mother's husband passed two years ago, and in the cultural tradition the younger brother of her husband married her after the death, to provide support to the family (although I haven't seen him-- or Oumou's baby's daddy-- a single time since being there). I get along with all of them wonderfully, and I feel truly lucky to have been placed here.
My technical training is very hands-on and thus far, rewarding. We planted a community vegetable garden in a neighboring town, and are learning soil restoration/composting/gardening techniques for this semi-arid climate. Coming from Oregon and a permaculture/organic farming background, this can seem sad and ridiculous at times. The compost here is not the beautiful houmous we're used to in the northwest, but rather a mixture of sand, clay, and 'compost' that is actually burnt trash. We have to sift through the compost to remove pieces of glass, plastic and junk. But we're learning techniques that are available to, appropriate and sustainable for local people, such as found container/rice sack gardens, pepinieres (tree nurseries planted in used plastic water bags), seed saving, and live fencing to keep the animals out.
Oh god, the animals. There's another topic. The damn 'fali' (donkeys) will be my downfall. They are the most pathetic creatures on earth, I swear. They just sit there and make the most ridiculous, loud and annoying squealing sounds ALL DAY long. (HeeehAAAAAAAw, heeehAAAAAw!) Starting at 5am. Before that are the considerably confused/mentally delayed roosters, who announce the sunrise far before it actually happens, at about 3am. Then we have the ratpack of dogs who are ostensibly guarding our compound, but I'm pretty sure they just bark and mate and bark and mate and bark some more. At all hours. THEN we have the bats. The bats that swoop down about a foot away from your head while you drink tea at night. We have a nest of baby bats in my room at the PC headquarters, they sound like mice and poop everywhere just like them too. There are also tons of goats and sheep, but they don't bother me so much, except for when I see my neighbors cooking their heads on a fire outside every once in a while.
Anyway, that is a bit of my life thus far. I will be going back to my homestay sight tomorrow morning, where I have no electricity or internet. I apologize for being so disconnected, but that's the way life is here. I'll be at homestay for another two weeks, then back to HQ for another couple of days, which is when you'll hear from me next. I 'swear in' with the Peace Corps and actually become an official volunteer on September 10, when I'll be moving to my site in Dogon country.
I send my love to all of you. I miss you all already-- you are in my waking thoughts and my dreams. Til next time...
Other than this nasty aspect of life, my time here has been great. I'm living in Dialakorobougou, taking language classes 7 hours a day, drinking lots of tea with my host family, and laughing/being laughed at for silly cultural differences. I've been given a Malian name-- Khadija Samake (the 3rd wife of Mohammed, and my last name means elephant). My family is actually Bambara, and as such do not speak the language I'm learning. This sounds more frustrating than it actually is though, because it is good to know some Bambara, as it is the lingua franca of Mali. Nonetheless, it is pretty exhausting to learn Doguloso at school all day, and then go home to a family that can't understand why my Bambara isn't improving substantially. Luckily my host brothers speak French, so I can speak on more than an infantile level with some people at the end of the day. Doguloso, the language I'm learning, is absurd. I honestly laughed the first time I heard it, and I imagine you will all think I'm making it up when I come home. No, there's no clicking or tongue smacking. But it's tonal and bizarre. To give you a taste, "what is your name" is "ino ohn ayahn gineh neh?" So sweet.
I live in a concession, or compound, with a Malian family comprised of my one-legged host mother Ramata (who manages to do EVERYTHING from cooking to laundry to cleaning, all day long), her four sons (Muhammed, Modibo, Modi, and Didi) who just sit there and listen to Akon on their cell phones, her daughter Oumou, and Oumou's 6 month old baby boy. The women are truly amazing here, they work all day long for little reward. My host mother's husband passed two years ago, and in the cultural tradition the younger brother of her husband married her after the death, to provide support to the family (although I haven't seen him-- or Oumou's baby's daddy-- a single time since being there). I get along with all of them wonderfully, and I feel truly lucky to have been placed here.
My technical training is very hands-on and thus far, rewarding. We planted a community vegetable garden in a neighboring town, and are learning soil restoration/composting/gardening techniques for this semi-arid climate. Coming from Oregon and a permaculture/organic farming background, this can seem sad and ridiculous at times. The compost here is not the beautiful houmous we're used to in the northwest, but rather a mixture of sand, clay, and 'compost' that is actually burnt trash. We have to sift through the compost to remove pieces of glass, plastic and junk. But we're learning techniques that are available to, appropriate and sustainable for local people, such as found container/rice sack gardens, pepinieres (tree nurseries planted in used plastic water bags), seed saving, and live fencing to keep the animals out.
Oh god, the animals. There's another topic. The damn 'fali' (donkeys) will be my downfall. They are the most pathetic creatures on earth, I swear. They just sit there and make the most ridiculous, loud and annoying squealing sounds ALL DAY long. (HeeehAAAAAAAw, heeehAAAAAw!) Starting at 5am. Before that are the considerably confused/mentally delayed roosters, who announce the sunrise far before it actually happens, at about 3am. Then we have the ratpack of dogs who are ostensibly guarding our compound, but I'm pretty sure they just bark and mate and bark and mate and bark some more. At all hours. THEN we have the bats. The bats that swoop down about a foot away from your head while you drink tea at night. We have a nest of baby bats in my room at the PC headquarters, they sound like mice and poop everywhere just like them too. There are also tons of goats and sheep, but they don't bother me so much, except for when I see my neighbors cooking their heads on a fire outside every once in a while.
Anyway, that is a bit of my life thus far. I will be going back to my homestay sight tomorrow morning, where I have no electricity or internet. I apologize for being so disconnected, but that's the way life is here. I'll be at homestay for another two weeks, then back to HQ for another couple of days, which is when you'll hear from me next. I 'swear in' with the Peace Corps and actually become an official volunteer on September 10, when I'll be moving to my site in Dogon country.
I send my love to all of you. I miss you all already-- you are in my waking thoughts and my dreams. Til next time...
July 14, 2009
The storm before the calm
I've finally found some time to sit down and jot down some thoughts about the first week of my Mali/PC experience.... the few minutes I've been able to capture now came only because of the rolling in of some deep purple and brown clouds, a massive wind storm and a sudden downpour of sideways rain, thunder and lightning, which chased the monkeys into the trees and virtually stopped all productivity here. (Luckily we have a generator here at the Tubaniso Peace Corps training site here in Bamako, so the computers are still up in one building.) It has only ceded for a couple of bouts in the last few hours-- long enough to scramble through the red mud from shelter to shelter.
When I wrote this I was sitting in my mud hut listening to dull dhut dhut dhut sound of the rain on the tin roof, which is the only thing that can crowd out the noises regularly heard around here: the constant hum, tweet and chirp of the birds and bugs, the croaking of the frogs (which are to be watched here, I learned: it is bad luck to catch frogs because they can steal your soul, or for women, hop up into your vagina. I kid you not.)
I've been amazed by the life here. Much is similar to what I remember of West Africa from my time in Senegal. But I have never been here during the rainy season. This plot of ground-- maybe 30-some hectares-- which has been granted to the Peace Corps by the Malian government, is proof of the biodiversity this land could support if given the chance. Unfortunately the need to make a profit off of natural resources to feed mouths is too strong. This is why I am here ostensibly, as a Natural Resource Management volunteer.
I've only been here for a week and already all of us have had so much turbulence in our emotions that the only thing we can do is find a rock to hold on to-- to stabilize us. On top of the emotional mess of being torn from one life and stitched into another that is unrecognizably different, we've all been host to the artificial psychological/physical mash-up of 6 different types of vaccines and a triple dose of malaria medication in the past three days. Despite the laundry list of adverse side effects, Mefloquine is required by the Peace Corps / U.S. govt. and has the benediction of the WHO. The first day I felt diziness, the second my ears alternated between ringing and being mute, and by the third I felt like I was hallucinating. They say this will pass, and I do feel better now.
With this in mind, ironically enough, they've assigned me to a post to study native medicinal herbs! I'm really excited about my placement. I have been assigned to a small rural town in Dogon country called Pelini, home to about 500 people. This region is famous for its cliff-dwelling animist population and great hiking-- Senegal friends, you know how amazing this area is! Here I will be learning a language that only 3,000 people speak, called Doguloso. I'm the only PCT (Peace Corps Trainee-- they have an acronym for everything here) learning this language or going to my site, and I will be 40 km away from the closest Tubabu (interchangeable for white person/foreigner/PCV). No one else will be learning a language that no other PCVs speak. So basically, I have one of the hardest posts of the entire group and have already been dubbed a badass. Luckily the PCV formerly at my site (he's leaving this year) has spent the last year assessing community needs and developing a three-part project plan that I will be able to jump on. They want me to connect them with a local NGO to assist in rebuilding a road, build a granary/seed bank, and build a water pump. I'm also hoping to create a traditional herbal medicinal garden for the community, and have my own vegetable garden as well. The nearby larger town, called Bandiagara, also has a local traditional herbalist shop that produces medicine for retail in Mali. I will be working here part time as well in whatever way I can. Another PCV and I have talked about trying to create a book/resource compiling all of the local medicinal herbs in each of our regions.
Basically, A LOT has been going on. Tomorrow I leave the PC headquarters to go live with a host family in Bamako who speak Doguloso and are from the region I will eventually be moving to. I will be in Bamako with this family for the next two months, trying to soak up as much language as possible and stay sane. I am so excited and happy right now, although it is hour-to-hour and often I question why I am here and miss everyone at home more than I can stand. Write to me, I would love your support. I will have a cell phone soon if there is an emergency and you need to get a hold of me.
I love you all! K'an ben (goodbye in Bambara)!
When I wrote this I was sitting in my mud hut listening to dull dhut dhut dhut sound of the rain on the tin roof, which is the only thing that can crowd out the noises regularly heard around here: the constant hum, tweet and chirp of the birds and bugs, the croaking of the frogs (which are to be watched here, I learned: it is bad luck to catch frogs because they can steal your soul, or for women, hop up into your vagina. I kid you not.)
I've been amazed by the life here. Much is similar to what I remember of West Africa from my time in Senegal. But I have never been here during the rainy season. This plot of ground-- maybe 30-some hectares-- which has been granted to the Peace Corps by the Malian government, is proof of the biodiversity this land could support if given the chance. Unfortunately the need to make a profit off of natural resources to feed mouths is too strong. This is why I am here ostensibly, as a Natural Resource Management volunteer.
I've only been here for a week and already all of us have had so much turbulence in our emotions that the only thing we can do is find a rock to hold on to-- to stabilize us. On top of the emotional mess of being torn from one life and stitched into another that is unrecognizably different, we've all been host to the artificial psychological/physical mash-up of 6 different types of vaccines and a triple dose of malaria medication in the past three days. Despite the laundry list of adverse side effects, Mefloquine is required by the Peace Corps / U.S. govt. and has the benediction of the WHO. The first day I felt diziness, the second my ears alternated between ringing and being mute, and by the third I felt like I was hallucinating. They say this will pass, and I do feel better now.
With this in mind, ironically enough, they've assigned me to a post to study native medicinal herbs! I'm really excited about my placement. I have been assigned to a small rural town in Dogon country called Pelini, home to about 500 people. This region is famous for its cliff-dwelling animist population and great hiking-- Senegal friends, you know how amazing this area is! Here I will be learning a language that only 3,000 people speak, called Doguloso. I'm the only PCT (Peace Corps Trainee-- they have an acronym for everything here) learning this language or going to my site, and I will be 40 km away from the closest Tubabu (interchangeable for white person/foreigner/PCV). No one else will be learning a language that no other PCVs speak. So basically, I have one of the hardest posts of the entire group and have already been dubbed a badass. Luckily the PCV formerly at my site (he's leaving this year) has spent the last year assessing community needs and developing a three-part project plan that I will be able to jump on. They want me to connect them with a local NGO to assist in rebuilding a road, build a granary/seed bank, and build a water pump. I'm also hoping to create a traditional herbal medicinal garden for the community, and have my own vegetable garden as well. The nearby larger town, called Bandiagara, also has a local traditional herbalist shop that produces medicine for retail in Mali. I will be working here part time as well in whatever way I can. Another PCV and I have talked about trying to create a book/resource compiling all of the local medicinal herbs in each of our regions.
Basically, A LOT has been going on. Tomorrow I leave the PC headquarters to go live with a host family in Bamako who speak Doguloso and are from the region I will eventually be moving to. I will be in Bamako with this family for the next two months, trying to soak up as much language as possible and stay sane. I am so excited and happy right now, although it is hour-to-hour and often I question why I am here and miss everyone at home more than I can stand. Write to me, I would love your support. I will have a cell phone soon if there is an emergency and you need to get a hold of me.
I love you all! K'an ben (goodbye in Bambara)!
May 31, 2009
the low-down
Cheers everybody, I have entered the 'blogosphere' and become a tech nerd: a sacrifice I deemed necessary for my service in the Peace Corps for the next two and a half years. I LEAVE IN just over 5 WEEKS! I decided that forcing mass emails upon my friends and family like so much mushy banana baby food is a much worse solution than creating a site where you can come check up on me whenever you please. So here we go....
It's a strange thing to wrap my mind around, but blogging may be the best way for me to share my life with you for a long time. In all likelihood, I will be placed into a rural area in Mali with no access to running water, electricity or toilets — much less the internet or a reliable phone. This means I'll probably only be able to add a blog post once a month or so. But if you've made your way to this blog, it means that I want to continue to be a part of your life while I'm in the Peace Corps. And with that said, I have an important request for you, as per the advice of many former Peace Corps volunteers that I've talked to: Send me mail while I'm gone! I'm not talking behemoth boxes stuffed with dollar-store nonsense and food (that shit perishes, kids)... and even if you tried, the price by weight to mail things to Africa will quickly have you turning on your heels and booking it from the post office. All I ask is for a letter every once in a while with a word of comfort so that I can keep track of your lives and remember where I came from, and who I love.
For the first 3 months (until September) I will be in training at the PC headquarters of Mali, in the capital, Bamako. My address there is...
Sara Litke, PCT
Corps de la Paix
B.P. 85
Bamako, Mali
One thing you'd probably be interested to know — make sure you send any mail by air, because they say the ground mail service takes "from 6 months to a year, or more" to get anything from you to me. I know that getting word from you all will be like a breath of fresh, non-trash-burning-polluted air.
Only six weeks state-side left! I'm getting SO excited. The anticipation outweighs any anxiety, so far that is. So here's the breakdown for you — the A, B, C of my soon-to-be life:
Where again, Bali? Sweet! nope folks, I'll be in Bamako, Mali, in West Africa. The country in Africa with the epic title of the musical epicenter of the continent. Here's some stats:
- 12th poorest country in the world, according to the Human Development Index
-65% of its territory is desert or semi-desert (a.k.a. the Sahara or the Sahel)
- 90% Muslim, 1% Christian, 9% "indigenous beliefs" -- a lot of idol-worship/animism /superstition
- Democratic Republic since 1992
- Peace Corps has been there since 1971, and there are currently about 100 volunteers there
What the hell are you doing out in the desert? My job title will be "Natural Resources Management Extension Agent" -- which means.... well who knows? I could be doing anything related to (here's the laundry list) reforestation, agroforestry and environmental education. This could be programs like building nurseries, soil conservation structures, erosion control programs/education, fruit tree production, grafting, and building fuel-efficient wood stoves.
When do you leave, how long will you be there, do you get time off, do you get paid, are you an indentured slave? I'm leaving July 6th or 7th, and I'll be gone for two years and three months. I get a miserly stipend and 'work compensation' that will probably total a whopping $6,000/year. Yeah guys, I'm buying everyone drinks. I also get a portion of my student loans paid off. I get about one month off per year, and I'm STOKED to go travel around Africa as much as possible. And yes, I am an indentured slave.
Alright, well that's enough for now. I'll hit you all up again in a few weeks, when this whole thing really starts to settle on me... If any of you have other questions, comments, or straight up concerns about my choice to do this, feel free to post a comment and I'll answer, so everyone can get the low-down.
paix de sara
(peace from sara / sara's peace)
It's a strange thing to wrap my mind around, but blogging may be the best way for me to share my life with you for a long time. In all likelihood, I will be placed into a rural area in Mali with no access to running water, electricity or toilets — much less the internet or a reliable phone. This means I'll probably only be able to add a blog post once a month or so. But if you've made your way to this blog, it means that I want to continue to be a part of your life while I'm in the Peace Corps. And with that said, I have an important request for you, as per the advice of many former Peace Corps volunteers that I've talked to: Send me mail while I'm gone! I'm not talking behemoth boxes stuffed with dollar-store nonsense and food (that shit perishes, kids)... and even if you tried, the price by weight to mail things to Africa will quickly have you turning on your heels and booking it from the post office. All I ask is for a letter every once in a while with a word of comfort so that I can keep track of your lives and remember where I came from, and who I love.
For the first 3 months (until September) I will be in training at the PC headquarters of Mali, in the capital, Bamako. My address there is...
Sara Litke, PCT
Corps de la Paix
B.P. 85
Bamako, Mali
One thing you'd probably be interested to know — make sure you send any mail by air, because they say the ground mail service takes "from 6 months to a year, or more" to get anything from you to me. I know that getting word from you all will be like a breath of fresh, non-trash-burning-polluted air.
Only six weeks state-side left! I'm getting SO excited. The anticipation outweighs any anxiety, so far that is. So here's the breakdown for you — the A, B, C of my soon-to-be life:
Where again, Bali? Sweet! nope folks, I'll be in Bamako, Mali, in West Africa. The country in Africa with the epic title of the musical epicenter of the continent. Here's some stats:
- 12th poorest country in the world, according to the Human Development Index
-65% of its territory is desert or semi-desert (a.k.a. the Sahara or the Sahel)
- 90% Muslim, 1% Christian, 9% "indigenous beliefs" -- a lot of idol-worship/animism /superstition
- Democratic Republic since 1992
- Peace Corps has been there since 1971, and there are currently about 100 volunteers there
What the hell are you doing out in the desert? My job title will be "Natural Resources Management Extension Agent" -- which means.... well who knows? I could be doing anything related to (here's the laundry list) reforestation, agroforestry and environmental education. This could be programs like building nurseries, soil conservation structures, erosion control programs/education, fruit tree production, grafting, and building fuel-efficient wood stoves.
When do you leave, how long will you be there, do you get time off, do you get paid, are you an indentured slave? I'm leaving July 6th or 7th, and I'll be gone for two years and three months. I get a miserly stipend and 'work compensation' that will probably total a whopping $6,000/year. Yeah guys, I'm buying everyone drinks. I also get a portion of my student loans paid off. I get about one month off per year, and I'm STOKED to go travel around Africa as much as possible. And yes, I am an indentured slave.
Alright, well that's enough for now. I'll hit you all up again in a few weeks, when this whole thing really starts to settle on me... If any of you have other questions, comments, or straight up concerns about my choice to do this, feel free to post a comment and I'll answer, so everyone can get the low-down.
paix de sara
(peace from sara / sara's peace)
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