The New Stage Arrives

Still on the rollercoaster. It’s been long enough, you know? On this day, I find myself sitting in the stage-house in Koulikoro. It’s a weekend party welcoming the new trainees at the end of their site-visit week. Being with 25 Americans freaked me out for the first night. I felt like an awkward 13-year old. How do I converse with these people? Do I even fit in with them? I don’t really know what came over me, just extreme discomfort. So I called my sister, the most socially outgoing person I know, took a walk alongside the Niger river, and then gradually settled in to the social scene. It ended up being a fun weekend. Oh yeah, so these are “my people”.
My new sitemate, Lauren Biggs, arrived in town this past Sunday. She is stationed in the town of Koyan, part of the commune of Dombila, just about 5k away from me. I admit, I was skeptical about the decision to put a volunteer in Koyan. It’s out there. Reeeaaaallly out there. No market. No store which means no bread or biscuts, no CSCOM or Mayor’s office, no real center of town, and the houses are all so spread out that you need to wander through a corn-maze for a good chunk of time before you get to another concession of huts. Only about 1,000 people spread out along the gradually rolling hills of millet and corn, the little river in the gully of shady mango trees, and a three-room school-house- where Lauren will begin her service as an education volunteer. Beautiful, friendly, as cute as can be… but out there.
I waited for her in Dio and together we biked the 8k bumpy path to Koyan, at one point having to forge a small stream of water with a decent current. I tried to imagine what she was thinking as we walked our bikes through water up to our knees. But she kept a calm exterior, and I never let my smile down.
“How do you get shisto?” she asked, a common disease that can infect anyone wading in the dirty waters of Malian streams.
“Don’t think about it,” I said, “we don’t have much choice.”
She took the first step into the gray, cloudy, rushing water. “Oh,” she exclaimed, “this actually feels pretty good!”
Peace Corps learned from last year. After volunteers came back from their villages during site visit week, it was obvious that those who had a “buddy” (another volunteer to show them the ropes for the first couple of days) had a much better experience than those who were sent out into the wilderness on donkey carts alone. I remember how hard of a week that was for me last year, so the least I could do was be as positive and helpful to this new girl as I could be. Koyan is out there, but who knows, she may learn to love it.
I learned that Lauren was actually born in Rochester, NY, then moved to Saudi Arabia, returned for a few years to go to Pittsford Middle School, and then moved to Hawaii for high school. She found herself back on the East Coast until this spring where she graduated with a philosophy degree from Columbia University. A bit shy, with a cute little giggle to cover up her nervousness, but as sweet as can be, I felt really lucky to have another buddy around here. When I told Dalfinie that I had a new friend, a girl who’s working in Koyan, she was happy but said, “They couldn’t have made it a boy? To be your new BOYfriend?” That would have kept the villagers gossiping for months! Not that I didn’t consider that possibility.
I already have a lot of friends in Koyan, and knew that her host family was fabulous. Actually, her host family is the family of N’tossama Diarra, Health Education Program Assistant for the Peace Corps, so I’m sure that connection with the Peace Corps helped the little hamlet of Koyan get on the volunteer site map. N’tossama’s older brother, Fablen, is Lauren’s host dad. Fast-talking, big toothy smile, little gotee, and surprisingly naïve about the outside world, Fablen is a loveable character, and just sitting with him makes me laugh. His two young sons are like “Thing 1” and “Thing 2”- Fablen doesn’t even use their real names, but calls them “Old” and “Small”. His dog also has the very affectionate and creative name of “Dog.”
I stayed two nights with Lauren, introducing her to people, talking to her host family about little improvements for her house, answering her questions about life out in village, and translating. It was a bit weird because I already had all of these preconceptions about her site and experience with these people but I wanted to keep my comments neutral. As much as it’s nice to have a buddy, there’s nothing more important than exploring and discovering on your own. I wanted desperately to get inside her head- when they put the green-slime toh in front of her for lunch, when she stumbled upon her Bambara, when she insisted on drawing her own bath water from the well. “Oh I’m fine!” she’d happily chirp whenever I’d ask her how she was doing. Koyan’s out there, but I think she genuinely likes it. And the village is estatic to have her. All of the old men of the village gathered for a meeting one of her first mornings there with their round Muslim caps sitting cross-legged on the colorful mats under the straw hanger. They gave endless Bambara blessings, and spent a good time of the meeting discussing how during this week, she has no food. “We must all give her food. Warm food. Much food. Not cold food, but warm, good food.” I translated to Lauren and she shot me a worried but amused look- Does this mean everyone in the village is going to constantly be bringing me toh? Probably.
Even I was presented with a chicken for my good work. I tied it to my handlebars to bike back the winding bush road to Dombila. Worked out nice- I got to have a nice chicken dinner for my 23rd birthday. “That is Allah’s work,” the villagers would commonly say, “born in the same village, separated, and then brought back to the same village in another part of the world.” Lauren quickly changed her last name to Diarra- she’s one of us now.
Back in Dombila, I walked the small market, remembering my disappointment during my site visit last year. They weren’t kidding about the scarcity of our market during rainy season- froo-froos (fried milled dough) only. And it was honestly a strange moment. I’m different. I speak the language, I know these people. I’m not trying to impress, to fit in, this is my home, and I’m comfortable here. But as much as I have changed, the thing that suddenly struck me was that Dombila has not. This is the same market I walked last year. These are the same malnourished kids I saw last year, the same people frustrated that the have no money to buy malaria medicines. I’ve been here for a year and nothing has changed. That morning, I felt as out of touch with my purpose as I did that very first market day last year. With one difference, I went in to talk with Irene, my eyes welling up, to be comforted by her and another friend Josephine.
“The whole village knows of your good work. Don’t you see? Mothers come from far off villages to see you, the wells are clean, the people are understanding new things.” And I look at Boare, the motivated doctor of the CSCOM and feel ashamed for having these delusions of grandeur. He has the most unwavering dedication and optimism I have ever seen, and he has been here for years. And he believes in his work and boy does it show. Us second-years need a reminder, a burst of new energy, and we’re lucky to be able to have this group of new, enthusiastic volunteers to give us that boost. I asked a couple girls how they liked their rural sites. “Oh!” they said with loving eyes, “it’s like an African fairy land!” For us veterans, not quite a fairy land. But we like it well enough.