Here in Bamako again, frantically trying to get some computer work done. My eyes are throbbing. Work has piled up and our sketchy solar panal fried both my laptop and my CSCOM's. So much for our medical records! But for now, I have to get out of site every so often to work on materials for the big training we have coming in January. A lot of typing in a lot of different languages. Since when did this become a real job and not some exotic adventure?
I was browsing through my blog to see that there are a lot of loose ends. I should probably give you some brief updates as to what's going on with some of that.
- The witch lady and I are now friends. I think. She is still creepy, but after she's done giving me the evil eye, she gives me a big, toothless smile, which I think is genuine.
-The cucumbers in my garden were a mild success, worms ate much of the tomatoes but the urine fertillizer did actually make them more fruitful.(the tomatoes, not the worms) I did end my gardening season with one killer zuccini that we ate on Ramadan.
-Things with Camera, my English speaking friend, are good. He's actually applying for a job with the Peace Corps. Let's hope he has good luck with that!
-Things are also good with Irene. She's a larger than life woman, so I'll always have to deal with that. But I'm not as worried about being at her beckoned call all the time. And she has helped me out a ton.
-My host sister's baby (Aminata) is fat and smiley, though they've moved to another town. My host mother's Sama is still on the small side, doesn't like many people, but is approaching her first birthday and is as cute as ever. Noellie, now 18 months, has a brilliant curiosity that just fascinates me. He's a quick learner, loves to explore and play games, has a confidence that just cracks everyone up. He can even say "how are you? i'm fine" in english! Pacho is 4 now, and we have had our wedding ceremony, presided over by Shaka and Cesalo. He then told me he with take Caroline as a second wife.
-Lauren, my new site mate, is having all her own adventures in the little town of Koyan. She's doing great, and came up to Dombila for a meeting last week. "Wow," she said of my village, "I feel like I'm in a big city!" Oh Lord bless her.
- Caroline has a huge project just starting up- a $16,000 center for shea butter production. I hope it goes smoothly. Hunter is happier too after moving to a new house.
- Shaka is running again. After taking the whole summer off to farm (besides a couple 2 milers a week in the mornings)he's now on fire again. I don't understand it. He sprinted to Dio on market day, and I couldn't keep up with him... ON MY BIKE! I trained for a marathon, but I'm sill nothing next to this deceivingly does this scrawny 75 pound 13 year old. I can still do more push-ups than him though.
- My radio show has been cancelled. It's ridiculous. The higher ups want money, I refuse to give them any, they are just waiting for me to give in and pretend that I can still do my radio show. They turned me, my guitar, and a small choir of 3 children ready to sing about vaccinations away last night. Not until we clear it with the committee (who want my money). I cried. That's just not right.
- Work besides that is great, really. As farming season is over, people actually have time to do other things, like sanitation outreach and work with women's groups. It's exciting, and besides the normal nuiances that come with dealing with Malians, I feel like we might be getting somewhere.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Thanks HFL!
To all the little runners in Lima and Manor, to the teachers and administration who supported the event, to my parents and sister who helped organize, and especially to Debbie Clapp and Kevin O'Connell who brought all the heart and soul of Africa into their gym classes- You guys rock!
Together you raised over $400 for the new well project in Dombila. That means 4 wells can be improved to provide dozens of people with cleaner drinking water. Not only that but we have kids across the world who have a better understanding of each other. We know we're different, but there is something we have in common- we all can run to show our support for good health!
The people of Dombila have heard all about your efforts and are appriciative and excited. Aw ni baaraji!
Stay tuned for the website if anyone want to make any further donations. We can't thank you enough.
Together you raised over $400 for the new well project in Dombila. That means 4 wells can be improved to provide dozens of people with cleaner drinking water. Not only that but we have kids across the world who have a better understanding of each other. We know we're different, but there is something we have in common- we all can run to show our support for good health!
The people of Dombila have heard all about your efforts and are appriciative and excited. Aw ni baaraji!
Stay tuned for the website if anyone want to make any further donations. We can't thank you enough.
A Wild Carpenter Chace- My experience with corruption
I should have seen it coming. Every development worker speaks of the corruption anchor, that undismissingly drags at the cundercurrent of otherwise promising embarkments of development. Sometimes it sinks the ship down. Other times it changes its course. But usually we who try to drive our projects forward just keep treading and pushing, too scared or naive to confront what's happening behind our backs. We are determined to progress, despite the shady activity going on beneath the waters.
So then what did I do when all at once, I was a victim of blatant corruption that not only demanded immediate acknowledgement, but also opened my eyes to a series of wrong-doing I had glazed over during the past year?
"B.", as we call him, is always excited to help with a project. He built the school's handwashing stations, headed up construction on the wells, and has recently shown an interest in my latest project idea: solar fruit dryers for mango preservation. He is after all, Dombila's Mr. Fix-it. Shortly after presenting him with some information, he excitedly told me he had called his friend in Kati who makes these things regularly. "I'm gonig to Kati to learn how to build one with him, then I'll bring it back here as an example for people to see."
But he needed some money. $30.
"That sounds a little steep," I said.
"But he's making a big one!"
"Why?"
"He'll make a big one now and later we'll make smaller ones, and I know the price will lower if we make a lot of them at once." Unfortunately, any suspicians I had were crowded out by my excitement and impatience in starting this project. "Even if you give him $20 now, you can pay the rest later."
"And when we write the project proposal, I'll write it in my budget and get refunded," I reasoned.
"Exactly."
Later that day, B came to my house looking for the money. For a Malian, that's a big chunk of change. Why did he need it now? He fished for an answer and finally said that the guy was here in the market and needed it now. I was busy with a million things as always on market day, but what it comes down to is I'm a sucker. I coughed it up.
It didn't take long before I told Irene and my host family the buisness. "$20?" they exclaimed, "A solar table is not worth $20!" I withheld that there was still $10 to be added to it. Irene was upset I didn't go to her first. Daramane, my host father, told me it's common knowledge that if something costs so much, B will tell you its actually more and put the difference in his pocket. The rest of the actors in the scene confessed to seeing B skipping around the market on a shopping spree shortly after I had given him the money.
This was three weeks ago. After that there were all these excuses about why he hadn't gone to Kati yet and how tommorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow- the same song he sang during the slower period of the well project. I went to Ghana expecting to come back to at least a functional mango drier in my compound.
In the week following, excuses included transportation problems, and a very elaborate story about how he went to Kati, knocked on his friend's door, only to find out that he had left town for a funeral and of course forgot his cell phone so couldn't be reached. He can sense my anger now, and makes a promise to go on Friday.
"Ok," I say, "but I want to go with you and meet this guy." Firday comes, B is in no rush to go to Kati, and rolls in on the hot afternoon having decided it would be better to go sleep in Kati tonight and meet us Saturday morning. We were to meet at 8:00 in Malibougou, a small hamlet of Kati where this mysterious capenter, who cannot be reached by cell phone, has been dilegently working on my solar drier.
I spent the night with Caroline. She made a wonderful stew and we talked theology as we counted shooting stars and slapped mosquitos dead on our legs. We went to find a car for Kati bright and early. I called B.
"Are you in Kati?"
"No I'm still in Dombila. Couldn't go last night but I'm on my way."
"Great, we'll wait for you and we'll all go together."
An hour later, I call to find B still in Dombila. "I'm busy," he says, "Work."
"But we've had this appointment all week." What could he possibly be doing?
"And you need to come to Dombila right away. There's a mother with a malnourished baby thats been waiting for you all morning."
"Well Irene's there, she knew I had other work today. She can see them."
"No, we can't find Irene."
"What about Sali?"
"She's busy. There's a ton of people at the CSCOM. They're going to turn the mother away if you don't come."
What a weapon he pulled! Trying to tug at my heartstrtings like that! He knows my weakness, but at this point I know better.
"We're going to Kati," I say, "what's your friend's name and number?"
"You forgot his name already?"
"You never told it to me."
"Yes I did." Pause. "Daouda Coulibaly. I'll call you back with his number." And that was the last I heard from B that day, even with my persistant calling.
Caroline and I lifter our spirits by pretending we were on the Amazing Race or some wacky scavenger hunt. We spent the whole morning in Malibougou and even the center of Kati asking about this carpenter, Daouda Coulibaly, whom nobody seemed to know. Maybe you can ask here, there, over there, did you try that place? We were told. Once we had combed the area thoroughly and concluded that Daouda Coulibaly really doesn't exist, not to mention our solar drier, we headed back to Dio.
I was angry of course and undecided about how I would handle the situation, but honestly felt like I had accomplished something that morning. Case closed. I know the truth now. And I put some more pieces together in my mind- that extra barrel from the handwashing station, the $60 missing from the last project that I made up out of my own pocket, the extra well cement that had disappeared to the black market, and the $14 loan I stupidly made hime to help a sick relative in one of my first naive months here. (First and last loan I ever made here).
Caroline recommended we talk to her carpenter friend, a firery old bearded guy who fixed her window and made desks for the school. A few days later we had a meeting with him in Dombila. He agreed to help with the project, but was not free of B's pestering. B kept interrupting with his enthusiasm and supposed expertise of the project, on fear that he would be out of a job (or out of access to a pot of potential money from Uncle Sam).
"B., Kalanmoko is going to help with this project. It's easier than having to go all the way to Kati, he can make them right here in Dio."
"I was going to go to Kati this afternoon to get your table!" I gave him a blank stare. "Oh, would you rather I get you your money."
"Get me my money."
He never went, still hasn't, and so rests the fate of another handful of good-intended green ones from the American people.
So then what did I do when all at once, I was a victim of blatant corruption that not only demanded immediate acknowledgement, but also opened my eyes to a series of wrong-doing I had glazed over during the past year?
"B.", as we call him, is always excited to help with a project. He built the school's handwashing stations, headed up construction on the wells, and has recently shown an interest in my latest project idea: solar fruit dryers for mango preservation. He is after all, Dombila's Mr. Fix-it. Shortly after presenting him with some information, he excitedly told me he had called his friend in Kati who makes these things regularly. "I'm gonig to Kati to learn how to build one with him, then I'll bring it back here as an example for people to see."
But he needed some money. $30.
"That sounds a little steep," I said.
"But he's making a big one!"
"Why?"
"He'll make a big one now and later we'll make smaller ones, and I know the price will lower if we make a lot of them at once." Unfortunately, any suspicians I had were crowded out by my excitement and impatience in starting this project. "Even if you give him $20 now, you can pay the rest later."
"And when we write the project proposal, I'll write it in my budget and get refunded," I reasoned.
"Exactly."
Later that day, B came to my house looking for the money. For a Malian, that's a big chunk of change. Why did he need it now? He fished for an answer and finally said that the guy was here in the market and needed it now. I was busy with a million things as always on market day, but what it comes down to is I'm a sucker. I coughed it up.
It didn't take long before I told Irene and my host family the buisness. "$20?" they exclaimed, "A solar table is not worth $20!" I withheld that there was still $10 to be added to it. Irene was upset I didn't go to her first. Daramane, my host father, told me it's common knowledge that if something costs so much, B will tell you its actually more and put the difference in his pocket. The rest of the actors in the scene confessed to seeing B skipping around the market on a shopping spree shortly after I had given him the money.
This was three weeks ago. After that there were all these excuses about why he hadn't gone to Kati yet and how tommorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow- the same song he sang during the slower period of the well project. I went to Ghana expecting to come back to at least a functional mango drier in my compound.
In the week following, excuses included transportation problems, and a very elaborate story about how he went to Kati, knocked on his friend's door, only to find out that he had left town for a funeral and of course forgot his cell phone so couldn't be reached. He can sense my anger now, and makes a promise to go on Friday.
"Ok," I say, "but I want to go with you and meet this guy." Firday comes, B is in no rush to go to Kati, and rolls in on the hot afternoon having decided it would be better to go sleep in Kati tonight and meet us Saturday morning. We were to meet at 8:00 in Malibougou, a small hamlet of Kati where this mysterious capenter, who cannot be reached by cell phone, has been dilegently working on my solar drier.
I spent the night with Caroline. She made a wonderful stew and we talked theology as we counted shooting stars and slapped mosquitos dead on our legs. We went to find a car for Kati bright and early. I called B.
"Are you in Kati?"
"No I'm still in Dombila. Couldn't go last night but I'm on my way."
"Great, we'll wait for you and we'll all go together."
An hour later, I call to find B still in Dombila. "I'm busy," he says, "Work."
"But we've had this appointment all week." What could he possibly be doing?
"And you need to come to Dombila right away. There's a mother with a malnourished baby thats been waiting for you all morning."
"Well Irene's there, she knew I had other work today. She can see them."
"No, we can't find Irene."
"What about Sali?"
"She's busy. There's a ton of people at the CSCOM. They're going to turn the mother away if you don't come."
What a weapon he pulled! Trying to tug at my heartstrtings like that! He knows my weakness, but at this point I know better.
"We're going to Kati," I say, "what's your friend's name and number?"
"You forgot his name already?"
"You never told it to me."
"Yes I did." Pause. "Daouda Coulibaly. I'll call you back with his number." And that was the last I heard from B that day, even with my persistant calling.
Caroline and I lifter our spirits by pretending we were on the Amazing Race or some wacky scavenger hunt. We spent the whole morning in Malibougou and even the center of Kati asking about this carpenter, Daouda Coulibaly, whom nobody seemed to know. Maybe you can ask here, there, over there, did you try that place? We were told. Once we had combed the area thoroughly and concluded that Daouda Coulibaly really doesn't exist, not to mention our solar drier, we headed back to Dio.
I was angry of course and undecided about how I would handle the situation, but honestly felt like I had accomplished something that morning. Case closed. I know the truth now. And I put some more pieces together in my mind- that extra barrel from the handwashing station, the $60 missing from the last project that I made up out of my own pocket, the extra well cement that had disappeared to the black market, and the $14 loan I stupidly made hime to help a sick relative in one of my first naive months here. (First and last loan I ever made here).
Caroline recommended we talk to her carpenter friend, a firery old bearded guy who fixed her window and made desks for the school. A few days later we had a meeting with him in Dombila. He agreed to help with the project, but was not free of B's pestering. B kept interrupting with his enthusiasm and supposed expertise of the project, on fear that he would be out of a job (or out of access to a pot of potential money from Uncle Sam).
"B., Kalanmoko is going to help with this project. It's easier than having to go all the way to Kati, he can make them right here in Dio."
"I was going to go to Kati this afternoon to get your table!" I gave him a blank stare. "Oh, would you rather I get you your money."
"Get me my money."
He never went, still hasn't, and so rests the fate of another handful of good-intended green ones from the American people.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Vacation is over
So I’m back from Ghana and still on cloud nine. That was the best vacation ever. Even my ex-pat friend Mike was impressed with my traveling skills. After the marathon I took off on my own to see some historical sites- the old slave castle in the old British capital of the New World- Cape Coast, the Kakum national part with its canopy walk over the roof of the rainforest. I stayed in youth hostels, took local transportation or hitch-hiked with some more missionaries, found some great Ghanaian street food, and just explored. Beaches, old colonial churches, the rainforest and swamp-lands…it was very liberating traveling around on my own, and a truly amazing experience. When I return, make sure to ask me about the salsa dancing. Some PCVs and I ended up at the hot spot for the beautiful people in Ghana my last night- a large salsa dancing party- me feeling totally out of place in my running shoes and dirty jeans. But nonetheless, I found myself being twirled and dipped by Ghanaian men who despite their tight pants and pretentious sunglasses were actually quite talented dancers.
Now I’m back in Mali. I forgot how dirty it is here. In Ghana, there’s like bathrooms and garbage cans and stuff. And now my legs have that perpetual coat of dirt. Bamako is not my favorite place in the world, so I’ll be happy to get out of here tonight. I wonder what it’s going to be like getting back to village. How long with it take me and my villagers to get back in the swing of things? I feel guilty as always- my villagers, especially my co-workers in the CSCOM work really hard under trying conditions. They never get a vacation to Ghana. And what will my new attitude be toward the work I want to accomplish? Will I have a fresh positive view or be looking at things in a different way? I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
Before I left, the kids in the village did a relay run. We organized it to learn about clean water and the dangers of dehydration. A similar run will be happening in the HFL schools back in my home town too. They will be working to raise money for the expansion of the well project. Keep your eyes open in the next month because I am planning on posting the project soon. We will be trying to raise somewhere between $3,000- $4,000 to do more top well repairs in the village. So, I’m going to need your help. Again, thanks to all who helped with the hand washing stations- I finally got your names so I’ll be working on the thank-you notes soon!
Allah k’a yafa di an ma, ka keneya ni here di an ma. (My God forgive us, and give us health and peace).
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