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
