Back in Bamako, but won't be returning until Nov. 4 to watch the election. Things are swingin, but I must say it is getting a bit frusterating. I can't go anywhere without at least 3 children following me, I can't ever be alone, and the more Bambara I hear, the less I understand it strangely enough. Rice for two meals a day, and whatever I can scrounge up for dinner, which usually consists of a couple of power-bars. Irene's daughter has left for a tailoring job in Kati, so though the meals are still good, it is rice and sause every day. And at least a half a dozen people everyday tell me how proud they are of me that I am gaining weight. I have a litte, but I am still aching out 50 miles a week on my new running shoes that with great reluctance, gave a mud bath before putting them on so that the boys wouldn't be jealous. One day, I will get them shoes. But for now, I pulled out my ducttape and fixed up their jelli-sandles. For now. I can't complain though- they like me I suppose, and I am learning little by little how to do this job that is totally perfect for me. So as refreshed as I can be sweating like a pig here in the Peace Corps office, I am. I'm with a bunch of my friends, might be looking forward to a cold orange juice sometime today.
Missing you all like crazy. Especailly the Geneseo xc team right now- best of luck with the rest of the season you guys- I miss it so much.
K'an ben. (Bye!)
Em
Friday, October 17, 2008
Scandals with subtitles
So I found a language tutor. The secretary general of Dombila, who actually commutes from Kati, speaks fluent English. And though not a villager of Dombila, he has actually been able to explain to me a lot of what goes on underneath the surface here that I would have otherwise glazed over.
Scandal 1: Where are the teachers?
After pushing past the hesitancy of the school director, I finally got him to allow me to come to school one morning and observe. School just started about 2 weeks ago, so during the day the village is swarming with kids- some who have walked as far as 10 or 12 kilometers from neighboring villages. Why was the director so hesitant about me coming?
I arrived early in his office to witness his headache, stacks of paper on his desk, and motivational quotes written in neat French cursive on old construction paper taped to the walls. After asking him plenty of prepared questions, which I couldn't understand the answers too, he took me class by class so as to introduce me to the students. After all, what better place to do health education than a school?
We started at the highest level- the 9th grade, which consisted of your average adolescents and some in their mid-20s who just haven't passed yet. The director is firm with them, demanding they pay me respect, and scolding kids for coming in late. As we descend to the youngest, his voice becomes sweeter- She is from a land far, far away, over the ocean, almost like it was the land of oz. And the kids stare and giggle.
I notice many things about the school- the bareness of the walls, the lack of equiptment and space... what you would expect I suppose. But the one thing I couldn't figure out is- where are the teachers?
No teachers, anywhere. I ask again and again. Something about they are coming later, we have to listen to the radio, the want their salary, and it wasn't until my English speaking friend showed up to my rescue to let me know what was really going on. There has been a country wide teachers strike due to the fact that the govenment is late on paying their salaries. The kids have been coming to school all week, only to be sent home, day after day. When I finally heard that the strike was over, I noticed the next day, the teachers still didn't come. I asked Shaka, my other main source of information, what was going on. "The teachers are all in Bamako, marching the streets and yelling." For real? God, I have no clue. But all I know is I hate to see those kids who have already walked for an hour being turned away with their little lunch pails of To. Well, maybe they can have some fresh To today, and hopefully by the time I get back, they'll be someone to teach them.
Scandal 2:
Well I knew that someone stole money from the maternity. I knew Irene was extreamly upset about it. I knew there were many meetings about this, but I didn't know I almost lost my homolouge.
My subtitle-man explained to me that the chef de poste and the mayor's office were demanding that Irene reimburse the money out of her own pocket. Her salary and the cigarettes she sells out of her house (yes, attached to the health center) is not so much that she can do this. Not only that, it was completely not her fault, and if they did not change the ruling, she would stop working. Not only would I have lost my homolouge, but I would have been stuck in a village with no teachers and no midwife. After some very loud and expressive meetings, it was decided that it was no fault of her own, and she was not oblidged to pay back the stolen money. Thank God for that.
This, by the way, was all over the equivalent of $25.
Scandal 1: Where are the teachers?
After pushing past the hesitancy of the school director, I finally got him to allow me to come to school one morning and observe. School just started about 2 weeks ago, so during the day the village is swarming with kids- some who have walked as far as 10 or 12 kilometers from neighboring villages. Why was the director so hesitant about me coming?
I arrived early in his office to witness his headache, stacks of paper on his desk, and motivational quotes written in neat French cursive on old construction paper taped to the walls. After asking him plenty of prepared questions, which I couldn't understand the answers too, he took me class by class so as to introduce me to the students. After all, what better place to do health education than a school?
We started at the highest level- the 9th grade, which consisted of your average adolescents and some in their mid-20s who just haven't passed yet. The director is firm with them, demanding they pay me respect, and scolding kids for coming in late. As we descend to the youngest, his voice becomes sweeter- She is from a land far, far away, over the ocean, almost like it was the land of oz. And the kids stare and giggle.
I notice many things about the school- the bareness of the walls, the lack of equiptment and space... what you would expect I suppose. But the one thing I couldn't figure out is- where are the teachers?
No teachers, anywhere. I ask again and again. Something about they are coming later, we have to listen to the radio, the want their salary, and it wasn't until my English speaking friend showed up to my rescue to let me know what was really going on. There has been a country wide teachers strike due to the fact that the govenment is late on paying their salaries. The kids have been coming to school all week, only to be sent home, day after day. When I finally heard that the strike was over, I noticed the next day, the teachers still didn't come. I asked Shaka, my other main source of information, what was going on. "The teachers are all in Bamako, marching the streets and yelling." For real? God, I have no clue. But all I know is I hate to see those kids who have already walked for an hour being turned away with their little lunch pails of To. Well, maybe they can have some fresh To today, and hopefully by the time I get back, they'll be someone to teach them.
Scandal 2:
Well I knew that someone stole money from the maternity. I knew Irene was extreamly upset about it. I knew there were many meetings about this, but I didn't know I almost lost my homolouge.
My subtitle-man explained to me that the chef de poste and the mayor's office were demanding that Irene reimburse the money out of her own pocket. Her salary and the cigarettes she sells out of her house (yes, attached to the health center) is not so much that she can do this. Not only that, it was completely not her fault, and if they did not change the ruling, she would stop working. Not only would I have lost my homolouge, but I would have been stuck in a village with no teachers and no midwife. After some very loud and expressive meetings, it was decided that it was no fault of her own, and she was not oblidged to pay back the stolen money. Thank God for that.
This, by the way, was all over the equivalent of $25.
Questions about America
Here are some of the more entertaining questions I get about the Good Ole USA:
-Are there black people in the states? (Ok, that's ligit, but it's almost always followed by:) Do they speak Bambara? (Even within their own country not everyone speaks Bambara!)
-How long did it take you to drive here?
-When people die in the states, can the doctors bring them back to life? (this was actually the pharmasist at the health center, maybe she was thinking of when your heart stops, I'm not sure)
-A group of kids: How do you say kalo in English? (This is moon, but "moon" is how you say "What?" in Bambara. So it was kind of like a "Who's on first" situation. Moon/kalo! kalo! the thing in the sky at night/ moon/ kalo kalo don't you know?/ yes you say moon/ KALO! (stupid white girl)
-Every kind of food and animal: do they have this in america?
-Do women carry their babies on their backs in America? Well then what do they do with them?
-Why can't you marry more than one woman in America? Why do women only have one or two kids. And of course the age old question that is asked at least 5 times a day: Why aren't YOU married and WHO are you going to marry?
-Are there black people in the states? (Ok, that's ligit, but it's almost always followed by:) Do they speak Bambara? (Even within their own country not everyone speaks Bambara!)
-How long did it take you to drive here?
-When people die in the states, can the doctors bring them back to life? (this was actually the pharmasist at the health center, maybe she was thinking of when your heart stops, I'm not sure)
-A group of kids: How do you say kalo in English? (This is moon, but "moon" is how you say "What?" in Bambara. So it was kind of like a "Who's on first" situation. Moon/kalo! kalo! the thing in the sky at night/ moon/ kalo kalo don't you know?/ yes you say moon/ KALO! (stupid white girl)
-Every kind of food and animal: do they have this in america?
-Do women carry their babies on their backs in America? Well then what do they do with them?
-Why can't you marry more than one woman in America? Why do women only have one or two kids. And of course the age old question that is asked at least 5 times a day: Why aren't YOU married and WHO are you going to marry?
I think there's a witch in this town...
So there's this really scary woman who lives near the boutique in my village, and if there is any such thing as witches, she is definately one. Whenever I am near, she comes out of her house with her crooked long back and droopy face and bulges her eyes out to look at me. Then she gets right into my face and swirms her head down like a snake to meet my height.
"Look Aminata- I'm sick, what are you going to do huh? You have medicine, I know you do, you have money." If I refute, she cackles, yes cackles. She questions why I have come and why I cannot speak Bamabara, and trying to do my job, asking her questions about the problems of the village she tells me only, come here tomorrow morning and see our women's gathering.
Well, at least she didn't ask me to come at night, or else I'm sure she'd cook me in her stew. As I pushed by bike down the path to leave, I saw her whispering something to herself, and shooting me a cursing glance. I'm not really scared of the snakes here, but this woman, geez.
But happily, I arrived the next morning to a lovely group of sitting in a circle, most of them ignoring the witch-lady prancing around the outskirts. I'm not exactly sure the logistics of it, but they each give a little money, and they can borrow some from the safe and every so often some one gets a big lump sum to stimulate their small personal buisness of selling their goods in the market. It's pretty cute too, they have a name and a little yaya sisterhood clappy song and handshake they do at the end. Even though I don't quite know how it works, or if it works, I saw a weekly gathering of women who were amenable to the idea of me doing health talks at their weekly meetings.
All these little things I'm discovering in the depths of the millet fields- who wuddathought?
"Look Aminata- I'm sick, what are you going to do huh? You have medicine, I know you do, you have money." If I refute, she cackles, yes cackles. She questions why I have come and why I cannot speak Bamabara, and trying to do my job, asking her questions about the problems of the village she tells me only, come here tomorrow morning and see our women's gathering.
Well, at least she didn't ask me to come at night, or else I'm sure she'd cook me in her stew. As I pushed by bike down the path to leave, I saw her whispering something to herself, and shooting me a cursing glance. I'm not really scared of the snakes here, but this woman, geez.
But happily, I arrived the next morning to a lovely group of sitting in a circle, most of them ignoring the witch-lady prancing around the outskirts. I'm not exactly sure the logistics of it, but they each give a little money, and they can borrow some from the safe and every so often some one gets a big lump sum to stimulate their small personal buisness of selling their goods in the market. It's pretty cute too, they have a name and a little yaya sisterhood clappy song and handshake they do at the end. Even though I don't quite know how it works, or if it works, I saw a weekly gathering of women who were amenable to the idea of me doing health talks at their weekly meetings.
All these little things I'm discovering in the depths of the millet fields- who wuddathought?
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