Is it really September back in the states? In so many ways, I feel like time has stopped since I got here. And because its scorching hot in the afternoons, I’m still in July mindset. But you’re all starting back up with school, jobs, getting ready for the leaves to change…It was so hard for me to conceptualize this out in the homestay village for 3 weeks.
But when I returned to the training center- I was bombarded with letters, packages, emails, blog messages, and I spent some amazing hours reading about what you are all up to, and counting my blessings. I’ve gotten a reputation among the Peace Corps volunteers of getting the most letters from home. I love hearing from you all. When Malians greet, they typically ask “How is your family?” before they ask “How are you?” It’s a nice little reminder about the value of having a supportive network of family and friends. And I want to thank you for pulling me though, and for inspiring me- with both your encouraging words and with the work that you yourselves are doing in your lives.
It’s hard also to believe that in less than a week, I will be sworn in as an official Peace Corps volunteer. Training is over. Sunday, I said goodbye to my host family- which was quite awkward. All I wanted to do was hug them, but Malians don’t hug. So we just gave a bunch of blessings and I promised to come and visit. Malians also don’t talk about pregnancy- so having noticed that my host mom was starting to slightly show her third child on the way, I pulled my aunt and grandmother aside and said “Call me for the baptism”- and they burst out in giggles. Oh, she knows! The “malaria” that my host mother had during the last stay, my language tutor claims is what they call “white girl’s malaria”… i.e. there’s somethin cookin in the oven.
Life in Satinebougu was wonderful, and we got some good work done. There have been some pretty hot afternoons which makes work hard for anyone. Plus, toward the end of our stay, Ramadan began and energy levels waned among those fasting. No food, no drink during the day. I awake to Muslim hymns blasting on the radio while my family eats a big meal about 4:30 in the morning, and then as the fast breaks in the evening, they have porridge with tons of sugar to hold over until dinner. Not everyone fasts though, and as the season went on, some people began taking meals during the day because of health reasons. It’s been quite incredible to experience. The night before the first day, I watched my young sisters put on their best head scarves and pray. My grandmother and I then exchanged hymns and spoke about our religions, their differences and similarities, and how we share Abraham as our father.
Before Ramadan is the time to get weddings in and we were lucky enough to attend one within our village. I’ve included some pictures of it. You can see one ritual where an elder woman is washing the face of the bride before she changes into her formal garb. Elders are extremely respected in Malian society that it is said when and old man dies, it is as if a library is burned down. We told them that some Americans think elders are a burden or are loosing their minds a bit, much to their disgust. There was also plenty of dancing at the wedding, with some make-shift musical instruments, like this woman playing a wooden bowl afloat over a tub of water. Later, we feasted on meat, vegetables, and rice. The picture here is of the two other trainees in my village and our two language tutors sitting around the communal bowl. Both the trainees and the teachers have become my close friends. We got to the point that for our language lessons at the end of training, we would basically just girl talk/gossip in Bamabara. I’m going to miss them! The two Malian women I am standing between in the one picture are my language tutor, Fatimata and Kajatu.
Aside from language training, we did some practice health education activities. We taught our families how to treat mosquito nets and we painted a mural to sensitize the community about handwashing. We also had a day of baby weighing (which was quite a scene with 45 babies being shoved at us, one after another, as we proceeded to hang them by rubber shorts to a scale on a tree branch. Good Lord the noise! Well, I’d be screaming my lungs out too if my mother handed me to the scary white girl so she could hang me in a tree swing. The next day, we invited the mothers, especially those with underweight children, to come to an ameliorated porridge making demonstration. Together, we made porridge that opposed to their typical pure-starch porridge, included peanut powder for protein and squeezed fruit for vitamins. It’s a sustainable way to combat malnutrition because it uses resources and techniques already present in the community. Finally, our big hurrah was our health animation. Each of us lead a group discussion about a health topic. A challenge to do in Bambara of course, but really, it went well. The village women came to hear Kira speak of water treatment, Beatrice about malaria, and as for me, I talked about diarrhea and how to make oral rehydration drinks. I concluded my animation with an incredibly cheesy, but in that sense, rather funny, song about diarrhea my guitar. And yes, we all danced, to the diarrhea Bambara song.
These three weeks was not all work though- we got out to Bamako on both Sundays. One was to browse around the national museum, the other was an afternoon by a hotel pool. It was nice to get out of the village, see our pals- almost like the anticipation of a family vacation. Complete with games of sharks and minnows, chicken fights, and drinks by the pool, in a way it was. Besides some stretches of homesickness, these past few weeks have been pretty even keel. The emotional rollercoaster of culture sock has settled a bit, less highs, less lows, almost like everyday life. Almost.
With my improved Bamabara and familiarity with my surroundings, I had the opportunity to become really close with my host family. I suppose I’ll start with Jenabu, the youngest. At 2, I think she might have been sick when I made my first impression of her- crying all of the time. Now whenever she cries I tell her that I am going to cry. I start making a fool out of myself with a fake cry and pretty soon she is running around giggling. She follows around the 4-year-old, Kajatu all of the time- copies what she does and what she says. Kajatu, Jenabu and I have had fun going “fishing” in the road that becomes a river during the heavy rains, chasing each other around playing “car” or “airplane,” and sneaking up on each other just to tickle or laugh. I want to take these two girls home with me, they are absolutely precious (as the pictures almost show) and just the most energetic, adorable girls. I don’t know if they understand that I left pretty much for good though.
It’s customary in Mali to bring back a gift when you go on a trip. So after returning from Bamako one day, I brought my family a large bag of peanuts. And wouldn’t you know it, my enterprising younger sisters (the 7, 10 and 13 year olds, who are actually cousins but live with us…) decided that instead of eating them, they would roast them, divide them up into bags, and sell them to the villagers. I guess its in their genes because everyday I see my father making coal to sell or going out into the fields, my grandmother making shea butter or stacking piles of firewood, or my aunt preparing spices to sell at the market. Anyway, Kajatu was very upset the first time the three older girls went out with trays of peanuts on their heads because her mother said she was too young to go. The next day however, Rokia gave in and on my way back home from school. I hear “Aminata! Aminata! Look! I’m selling peanuts!” And there was little Kajatu leading the line of girls with a small tray of peanuts on her head. I’ve never seen her look so proud!
The older girls are also a riot. They’ve been proudly wearing the friendship bracelets dear Katie Hurley made them, along with the rest of the women in the family (see picture!) One day I gave them some of my colored pencils and girls drew some pictures of Malian life (cows, donkeys, people drinking tea) so I could send them to my family. Afterwords, they demanded that my American family draw THEM pictures of American things. “What kind of things do you want to see?” “We want a picture of an American cow, and American chicken, a stool, a house, people, your dad chopping wood and your mom cooking.” That’s gonna be a fun letter for you guys to send Mom and Dad :). The 10 year old, Aminata, is actually a talented artist. She’s also brilliant (always helping me with my homework) and endearing. I asked her one day what she wanted to be when she grows up and she didn’t understand the question.
“You know, some girls become nurses or teachers. What are you going to become?”
She still didn’t understand.
“Ami- when you become an adult, what are you going to do?”
“Oh!” She says and a big smile comes on her face. “I’m going to make To, and RICE!” with all of the pride and conviction in the world. Deary me, how things are different here. A female in the small village, I suppose those are your childhood dreams for the most part.
My older sisters also started to imitate me when I would go my abs and arms workouts in the compound. By the end of this week, they actually had pretty good push-up form and enjoyed doing jumping jacks and lunges. No, I’m not running a boot-camp.
Generally, I've been healthy but its still a struggle.. Running is like taking one step forward and two steps back. If its not my old track injuries bothering me, it might be the fact that my last six meals were rice. Once my family figured out that I liked rice, I eat rice porridge in the morning with them, rice with a different sauce at lunch, and either rice or anti-To meal (macaroni or potatoes) for dinner. Compared to before though, I’m getting more nutrients because of the sauce, grains, etc. I also survived a minor foot infection that despite being gross to look at, hurt me no more than the minor side effects from the anti-biotics.
I can’t believe this is the last week we will all be together at Tubaniso. I passed my final language test and will be sworn in as an official volunteer at the embassy this Friday. A few days later, it’ll be back to Dombila for real this time. Ready for take off.
Emily
NOTE: Anyone who has sent me packages- thank you SO much! However, once I am in my site, the only way I’ll be able to get packages from the post office to my house is if I can fit them in my backpack or on the back of my bike (which is my main source of transportation). So until further notice, think small. Pictures, letters, maybe a couple granola bars. I’m all set for magic tricks though (thanks to Uncle Steve)… except I think the kids in Satinebugu think I’m a witch now. Oh well.
