Site Visit

Yes, it is long winded. But I won't be able to write again for three weeks. So you can take that long to read it if you need to!

So again, my world has been turned upside down and I made it out alive, healthy, and happy. But I’ve never been challenged like this before…

I began my site visit departing Tubaniso with N’ji Djarra, who to me is still some random old guy from my site of Dombila that the village sent to pick me up. He’s pretty educated though, and I was able to talk to him in French and my limited Bambara. My homologue, Irene, was at a training could not make it to pick me up, so I followed around this little old man on a bus, then another bus, to a market, to a random person's house for lunch, and then on a donkey cart for 7k to make it out to Dombila. Yes, donkey cart. Yes, 7k, in the heat of the day with a 15 year old boy who was so proud to chauffeur me around and kept asking me to marry him.

Dombila is 37k away from Bamako, but the travel took over 6 hours and by the time I got to my site- I was in shock. The region was beautiful, yes. I have a home to myself with two rooms and a negen. And I look around and see endless hills and fields of millet and peanuts, family's concessions out in the distance, faces that as opposed to the warm traditional greeting of Satinebougu, stared at me with blank looks. Who is this girl? Why has she come to our village. And suddenly, I was alone. I was terrified. I am in the middle of nowhere- and I will be living here for two years.

The first three days were among the hardest days of my life. Dombila is a new site, which means I am the first Peace Corps volunteer to ever work in the village. Being so far off the main road, I am the first white person that a lot of the citizens have ever seen. But they know about white people- they have money, they are rich. So I walk along the dirt path to the CSCOM- I greet good morning in the friendliest way I can. They are friendly too. "Good morning" they respond- and then what follows way usually- "Give me your watch" "Give me your bag" "You have money, give me your shoes". They speak differently here than I've been trained in. The kids taunt me as I try to rest in my house. I am different- I am here to help them somehow, but nobody besides the higher-ups really understands why. I was resented. And the one thought that pulled me through was that Christ was resented too, but eventually people came to believe in him.

My host family at site is nice enough. My house is a part of their concessions and just a few minutes walk from the CSCOM (community health center) that I will be working at. Though I still had not met my homolouge, I decided to wander to the CSCOM to see what it was all about. My supervisor is the one doctor that works there. He is extremely nice and very patient with me. He showed me around, and because the CSCOM does all of its record keeping and technical work in French, I found it much easier to understand than the day to day exchanges in the village. There are about 5 girls who are my age that all work at the CSCOM as well, helping with book-keeping, shot and vaccinations, and the like. They are pretty cool, and nice to me so far, but its almost like middle school again. They are their own clique and I am just trying to be a part of it, knowing they are laughing at me when I am not around. And with them it was the hardest. "I like your necklace- give it to me". If I say no, they get upset- but I want friends, I need friends! What do I do?

Granted, this is also a cultural thing. It is perfectly normal for girlfirends to ask each other for things. When I say to them I like their skirt, the response is, "Oh, I'll give it to you." But in my situation, I can't let anyone get used to me giving things. They are beginning to understand this, but for this reason, I can't yet take my camera out to take pictures, I can't fund any major projects out of my own pocket anytime soon, I need to keep my status on the downlow or else I'll never be respected for what I am really here to do- bring them my knowledge, skills, and time.-

My first impression of the CSCOM was disheartening- but for the wrong reasons. They're doing fine. They know what they're doing. They know how to treat diseases. They know how to weigh babies, give vaccinations- what the hell do they need me for? Why am I here?

So to segway into those moments of "self-reflection"- I began to ask myself some hard questions- did I expect to come here and see a village full of sick and dying people that I would somehow be able to save? Am I disappointed that the health center is doing a good job? Well here I am, wanting to do something, but completely unable on so many levels.

And then I saw it.

The baby had bones for arms with a thin piece of black leathery skin holding it together- like fabric you could rip off. It's stomach was full- with rice porridge- but without proteins, fats or minerals- its limbs were about to break off. Its hips and pelvic area had been shrunken and its legs were not attached to a glutus, but maybe a single fiber. Its sunken in cheeks and thinning hair made it look almost elderly.

This is why I'm here. This doesn't have to happen. The baby will be given formula here- but what about prevention? I'm going to go out there, talk about this, and educate mothers so their babies don't end up like this.

And then came more self-questioning- Am I happier now that I just saw a malnourished child? I certainly felt a bit more purposeful, a bit more sure of my placement. But really- is that what it took? Its that feeling- when you unexpectedly see something horrific that you don't experience many times in your life. Your blood almost shocks and freezes through your entire body. This is truly suffering.

I would see at least 4 more of these cases in the next few days.

So I spent some time wondering alone, thinking about all of this. I know that that there is potential here for my work, which is both good and horrific at the same time. And they high expectations that the villagers have placed on me causes much anxiety. N'ji gave me a children's Bamabara book and basically expects me to speak fluently when I return in September.

But after I spent some time alone- I spent some time with people. Drinking tea, joking with my joking cousins, dancing with the kids, talking with the ladies at the market. Things were getting better, people were beginning to take me in, whether or not they understood me yet. I remember walking out into the fields to help my oldest sister, 17 year old Awa, collect special tree branches that they can use to clean their teeth. "Will you take me to America with you" she asks, as everyone asks in the village constantly. But before I could give my "I'm not going to America for a very long time" long winded explanation, she surprised me. "But isn't it hard to be a black person in America?"

"Yes. I said, it's a little hard. Just like its hard to be a white person in Africa."

And as much as I'd like to say that there was this profound moment of mutual understanding between us- eh, we're not quite there. Not yet. But eventually, I know, they'll slowly come around. I'll always be a bit misunderstood, but even in a week, things got a lot better.

The turning point was definitely Tuesday, my fourth day at site, when a Peace Corps employee came to assess things. He was actually born and raised in Dombila, so the people really respected what he had to say. Though the villagers had to push his car out of the mud in the teaming rain, they still sat down to listen as he explained my role, how I don't have money to give, and how cultural misunderstandings will be natural. We then went to my banking town, Kati, to open an account with the other two volunteers in my area. Just to vent with them, who are having their own various issues of illness or boredom, was well worth the day.

If food was the challenge of homestay, coping with my status was the challenge of site visit. In the city, a boy came up to us singing to us, asking for money. At that point, we were so tired of beggars. That one of the guys I was with said to the kid in perfect English "I don't like that song- Do you know any Timberlake? If you Bring Sexy Back I got 1000 CFA for you." Now this kid wasn't starving. He was just selling his wares- his song was like the banana woman selling bananas. It's hard to justify the situation to you now, but I had to take a step back from it all and give a little laugh.

When I returned, I finally met Madame Irene Sangare, the matron at the CSCOM and my homolouge. About 40 years old, she is the definition of matron- big boned, tough love, a gentle mother but serious worker, someone who speaks and EVERYBODY perks up to listen. We could speak alright with each other, in a Bambara/French mix about my job, expectations, etc. And she stopped, right in the middle of our conversation and looked at me:

"Aminata- when you marry, you will have twins. One girl and one boy."

So this took me a back quite a bit. "How do you know?"

"I just know these things. I can see it written on your forehead".

Now some of the PCVs I told this too asked me if there was twins in my family. My dad has a twin sister, and apparently sometimes it skips a generation. It's also ironic that her name is Irene, my grandmother's name. So, I guess we'll wait and see. All I know is whatever I may possibly birth- I want this woman to take it out of me!

The next morning I helped with baby weighing and vaccinations. By "help" I mean she tossed me a baby to hold while the mom stepped on the scale, the baby peed all over me, I was sent home to change and besides filling out a few forms, I was told to just kind of sit and watch. The kids here are kinda freaked out by me around here. That might be a problem.

I also helped with some basic aspects of prenatal visits- weighing, asking about medical history... Man these women, all they do is give birth. From teenage years on. One woman came in- 42, but looked 62. Her 9th baby on the way, 7 surviving. She is so tired of this, and I pray for her health.

We also gave a quick lesson on mosquito nets to the women. I was able to basically say, in totally broken Bambara- "Mosquitos bite at night. Malaria is bad. I sleep under a mosquito net." The girl doing the talk says "Look, even the white girl does it. You should too." Obviously, lots of room for my own improvement here. But the CSCOM is a great start, they do good work here.

Wednesday midday, Irene motioned for me midday to come into her house. The next day as well. And soon, it became an established habit- I would be eating lunch here daily. And HOLY CRAP it is DAMN GOOD FOOD! Her daughter makes beans. She makes rice with meat and vegetable sauce! Hallelujah! My host family eats similar to my family at homestay- lots of To. Perhaps the Sangare household is just using enough MSG so that my brain thinks its good but I really don't care. I have my porridge in the morning from my host family, my lunch with Irene, and once I get my kitchen set up, I'll cook dinner on my own. Don't worry about sending anymore emergency granola bars- I'm gonna be just fine. But I'm still drawing the line at Toh. Not gonna do it. Sorry guys.

I left my site Saturday morning feeling pretty good about things. Of course, the road is rough (donkey cart speaking and metephorically) but compared to my initial fears, I'm now really excited about working in Dombila. When I come back, I'll have a bike, a stove- I'll be living pretty independently. I'll be helping Irene with her activities at the CSCOM in the morning, and going around to households doing my baseline survey in the afternoon. Then, I'll compile my information and get some projects going. The donkey cart dropped me off on a busy street (Market day in the neighboring town) and somehow I was able to make it up to another regional town, Koulikati, by mid-afternoon. Public transportation in Mali is quite an experience. You never really know when you'll get there, how many times you'll get off and have to find another bus... but you just have to make friends, and put your trust in them because with no knowledge of the area, you're pretty much screwed.

At Koulikati, I stayed with a PCV who has a larger house and some running water. A bunch of PCVs and PCTs met up there for a regional gathering. It was nice to relax with some Americans for a while, but we were also able to get some taste of Malian culture. The local Catholic church was celebrating the Feast of the Assumption. When I heard we were going to watch traditional dancing- I pictured a bunch of people dancing in a circle like in our village. But seriously, people would pay $50 to see this kind of thing in Vegas. 5 guys in traditional outfits and masks, accompanied by xylophones and a griot, were doing the most incredible acrobatics. Back-flips, throwing each other, twisting themselves up like cirque-du-soleil but better- because it had the energy of the heart of Africa. The audience was completely into it, and again, I was back to the romantic phase of cultural immersion. Africa's a pretty cool place to be.

We made it back to Bamako, treated ourselves to a great restaurant, and headed back to Tubaniso for one brief day of workshops.

Tonight they had a birthday cake for me. I also got some really nice mail that made me miss all of you incredibly. Now its back to the Bougs (Satinebougu, our homestay village) for more language lessons and also do go some practice health education workshops. 20 days- here we go.

Love you all and I'm sending my best wishes-
Em

Culture Shock Stage 2

Hanging out at the compound- L to R (Grandpa's friend, Grandpa Sacko, Kajatu Sako, Grandma Sako, and my cousin Aminata Coulibaly)



Me and my host sister Kajatu

Back at Tubanioso for a couple of days- but it has been crazy. There have been a lot of info sessions and we’ve had almost no free time. I guess that’s just making up for all of the free time we are going to have at site visit starting Sunday. For eight days, I will be just hanging out in Dombila- trying to get used to the area, get to know the people, set up my bank account, and shadow my homologue (counterpart) at the CSCOM (health center). I’m a little nervous- I’ll be all alone and since I am at a new site, the people there will have very little idea about my culture and the why I have come to live with them.

The best part of coming back to Tubaniso was that I got mail for the first time! I got some things from my family, and letters from Karen, Taryn, and Aunt Janet. I don’t think I’ve smiled so much- I just kept reading them over and over- I absolutely love it you guys. I miss you all so much, and I will try to keep in touch as best I can. I can’t believe I’m missing out on the trip to Uncle Jeff’s in Cape Cod, Al/Col/Mike/Mer: I saw pics and the new puppy is adorable!… I miss you all- but I also miss yogurt, pianos, toilets, and cold things.

This past week was a lot easier than the first couple, but not without challenges. Language classes have gotten more intense, and I find myself always one step behind the other two girls in my homestay village. Foreign Languages have always been the one academic subject that I struggle with- so why did I pick to do this with my life? That said, being in a small village where we have nothing else to do but talk to people all day, I’m up to snuff with the rest of trainees according to my mid-training test. It’s just that Kira and Beatrice (the girls in my village) have stellar French, a lot of confidence, and are miles ahead of the game. Confidence, though, is 75% of my problem. So if you’re at all praying for me- this is really what I need now. The confidence to go ahead and chat it up, even knowing that they won’t understand until the 3rd or 4th time I try to explain- if they understand that at all. Bambara itself is a simple language- almost too simple. One word could have 12 different meanings. Everything is so literal as well, quite amusingly. Teacher is “study person”, school is “study place”, student is “study baby.” And just for your own laughs, “condom” is literally translated into “your important hat”.

What has gotten better is my health. My family figured out that I like spaghetti and I like potatoes and eggs. So that is what I eat. Every day: porridge and bread for breakfast, spaghetti with MSG for lunch, and potatoes (sometimes with eggs) for dinner. By the last few days my body was getting pretty worn from it, but at least I can keep it down. I also managed to log a 50 mile week, though I had to sacrifice many of my precious granola and protein bars so that my body could be up to the task. It was worth it though. I feel like myself again. Let’s just hope I can keep it up.

I’m really starting to feel like part of my family. Though they cannot compare to my family at home of course, we have some good times together. This week has been a little strange because my host mom has malaria, and her sister-in-law has come to stay and help out while she recovers. She doesn’t look so good (my mom that is)- she lays around outside a lot but she also still cooks and goes about her day. She’s been going to the local CSCOM regularly to get medicine and also to a local traditional healer who gives her these special leaves that she makes tea and bathing water with. She’ll be alright I think. Doni doni. I give her blessings in Bambara, but that is the most I can do at this point. The family doesn’t seem super-concerned.

My little sisters are hysterical. The 10-year-old (also Ami) loves to help me with my homework. At night, I’ll take out my Bambara and she goes to school after the rainy season, so she can read. She gets really excited when I say things that make sense, and she especially loves when I’ll write a little skit (like the banana seller or ‘namasa-tiki’ that sells expensive bananas) and act it out with shadow puppets.

The younger girls are really warming up to me too- Kajatu, the four year old, is always teasing with me. Pretty much all I have to do is look at her and she cracks up and runs away. A lot of times when I play guitar in the village, the older girls don’t really let her dance in the circle. So the other night, after a bunch of older kids left our house, she whispered to me “guitari” and I got out my guitar and played quietly so that her and Jenabu (the 2-year old) could dance. Kajatu wanted me to sing about how everyone’s name was hers. So I started singing “My name is Kajatu Sako, her name is Kajatu Sako, the chicken’s name is Kajatu Sako” and so on. She loved it. Jenabu smiles a lot at me too, but sometimes I look at her and she cries. Sometimes one of the cats will look at her and she cries. It would be annoying even if we didn’t also have crying donkeys who sound like butch babies with megaphones.

With my sisters, I can now return from Tubaniso or a day trip to Bamako or the market town and they will come sprinting toward me, give me hugs and carry my bags back to the compound.

The oldest sister, (the other Kajatu) is 13 and really runs the show. She keeps the other girls in line and they really look up to her. She does so much to help her mother- and works hard all day long. She is also starting to, shall I say “develop”- much to the approval of the entire compound. Breasts are not really considered private around here, women breast feed in public all the time. So the other day, she was walking around topless, and everyone in the compound was pointing out to me that she was starting to grow a little. Not only that, but they were all touching them and playing with them, and she thought it was hysterical and great.

And I can’t show my knees here.

Culturally as well, it is very strange to everyone here that we are not married and don’t have children. I have a quasi friend (as much as a friend can be when I can’t really talk to her) in the neighboring village. She is one of my cousins- she is close to my age, pretty modern, and really nice to me. She took me to the tailor the other day to get some traditional clothes made. Her name is Aminata too (there isn’t a lot of variety of names around here). And she’s got babies that she’s always carrying around. (They are pretty freaky looking too because she paints eyebrows on them- I guess that’s the thing to do). Just the other day I went to visit a family to do a practice health survey and they introduced me to their 9-year-old daughter. Her husband has already been chosen for her (a custom not widely practiced but still going on in Mali) and she is to be wed when she reaches age 15.

Another bit about names. Last names in Mali are indicative of ancient tribes that used to fight with each other. These rivalries still exist in the Malian society, but are in the form of ‘joking cousins’. For example, my last name is Samake, and I am supposed to joke with Coulibaly, Doumbila, etc. And since there are not too many last names around, you run into joking cousins everywhere. And generally you say one of two things “You eat beans” (which basically means you are poor and you pass a lot of gas) or “You are my slave.” This joke has been going on for centuries, all over Mali, and it never gets old. Just the other day, we were journeying to a neighboring town on a “boshe” which is kind of like a bus, put basically just a little sardine pack of people piled in the back of this oversized SUV. Beatrice and Kira are really good at it- they’re fun girls to travel with. And we just went on and on with the people there, asking their last names and cracking jokes. It’s how these people smooth out tensions and conflict- and it means your connected to someone everywhere you go.
Another interesting cultural practice is that it is a huge compliment to tell a woman that she has gotten fat. It is a sign of wealth and good health. So anyway, there is this super-annoying lady who just yalayalas (wanders) around selling medicine in a basket on her head. She comes about once a week because she knows my mother is sick and she’s pals with my aunt. And she basically thinks I’m a performing monkey, and always asks me to sing and dance and play the guitar (which I politely say sorry, I’m studying now) and then she’ll persist to ask my annoying questions like I’m a two year old- “Where’s Aminata? Where’s Aminata? Right here” Ahhhh she’s so annoying. So she came back this week and was like “Aminata you got fat!” And my whole family was so happy they were like “Yeah! Yeah! You got fat! Way to go!” So I went along with it and said “Cool! I’m fat- you guys are fat too!” And everyone was pleased. (In fact, I’ve actually lost a couple pounds… which I know is of precious muscle. My main source of protein right now is my powdered milk in the morning- yummy. God I can’t wait until I can cook for myself…).

So the other exciting part of my week was our field trip to Bamako to see the AIDS center. I was surprisingly impressed. The center does very well with the little resources it has, and I am more than willing to refer the people I will be working with to its services. They have psychosocial, community, nutritional, and family programs, and I am now an even huger fan of the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, TB, and Malaria. The Global Fund in the past couple of years has made it possible for everyone to get antiretrovirals free of charge. The only problems are a) you cannot get them until you are fairly far along in the disease and b) getting people to come to the center in the first place. There is still a lot of stigma and lack of education- but I guess that is where I come in. So anything any of you can do to support the Global Fund- politically, financially, anything- this is where its at.

My dreams a wild. Especially on the really rainy nights when the roosters don’t start crowing at 4 am. I dreamed my host grandmother- the nutty old woman who always blesses me- came back to America with me, was speaking perfect English, and lived in my grandmother’s old apartment on Hickory lane. She almost died of laughter when I told her this. I also have reoccurring dreams about my past. Katy Hylton- you and I have gone to clean out our high school lockers at least 4 times. If that’s not loaded I don’t know what is.

But in all seriousness, (or cheesiness), my real dreams are to get going with something. It’s difficult being babied and not being able to do any substantial work yet- and it won’t be for a while either. I guess that’s why I’m here for 2 years. I know, I KNOW that experiencing Mali is going to be worth it to me. What I don’t know yet, is if I am going to be worth it to Mali. But as of now, I’m willing to stick around to try to find out.

Doni, doni.

-Ami