So I apologize for not writing in so long! So much has happened since I left training center. I've started on some exciting projects, but more exciting than all of that is MY PARENTS CAME!
Here it is in a nutshell (a real nutshell). You say I should write a book on my experiences, this whole week in itself could be a book. For the dirty details, talk to Gina and Bill. I hereby give you too eye witnesses of the my Peace Corps Experience.
************
I had excitable butterflies all in my stomach as I took the flight to Dakar, Senegal. After a great hug with my parents (Gina cried of course), we went on to spend 4 days at the President Meridian hotel, a beautiful resort on the rocky beaches of Africa's West Coast. Though Mom was scared to leave the hotel for the first 48 hours, she eventually found her nitch in a local artisans market, where Senegalese loved to sell her things and I loved to butt in the way to bargain the price. "You are a very nice lady" they told my mom. "And you-" looking at me- "you are TOO African!"
We eventually ventured out into the city, with the highlight being the colorful island of Goree, where we saw fantastic views of the beach and some historical sites. The old slave house was especially moving, a site that figures like Pope John Paul II, Nelson Mandella and Bill Clinton have visited to pay their respects to slaves of years past.
Another little island gave us a day on a sandy beach, but not without women selling jewlery on their heads and such. Besides that, we spend a lot of time on the grounds of our resort- eating, lounging, catching up. I feel like I'm a little bit more in the loop now with local Rochester gossip and CNN news every day. Though I've never been more clean and well-fed since moving to Africa, the tourist life actually got very difficult for me after a while. At first I joked after getting our dinner bills that I could fill up my stomach for 60 cents in Bamako. But then on the last day when the laundry bill came in, I really had a hard time. My host mother in my village washes my clothes for me by hand. She barely makes a dollar.
When you see my dad, ask him about how his wallet got stolen in Dakar. I also jumped on the bandwagon- someone stole my jewlery! And by stolen I mean we misplaced them in the hotel room, and with the help of the hotel manager and about 6 security gaurd, found them- and a lot of embarassment for the Hurley family.
The plane landed safely in Bamako on Friday at 1:00pm. We checked into the chic Radisson hotel before meeting my friends at the local American bar, the Campinyard. Immediately, my two families messed and we had a great time over belebelebas (large Malian beers). After checking the Peace Corps volunteers into their lost world- the luxary of the Radisson hotel, we had dinner at "Savanahs"- a jazzy, zebra-striped music club where Bill almost got lost coming back from the ATM on the dark streets of Bamako and Gina almost choked on some chicken. Oh dear, how will they do in village?
Breakfast was "filling their stomachs for 60 cents" at an egg sandwhich stand on the side of the road, which they actually thoroughly enjoyed (ask them about eggtiki when you see them) and we then hopped in the car of a very brave taxi driver who agreed to take us to the village of Dombila.
Oh dear, this writing is horrendous and I'm running out of computer time. Please ask the Hurley's to fill in the details about the following:
- The Malian "drive through" at the Kati gare
- The Dio market, and the realization that my father left the bag with most of my personal belongings in it at the Peace Corps office. (I got into my hut via window)
- The zylophone dance party- with 200 villagers, traditional music, and a big welcome for Gina and Bill (Irene made Gina get up and dance in her new pagne)
-Gina's first bucket bath experience, pounding millet, and carrying a baby on her back
-Bill's quest for "Hut Improvement projects" and successful usage of joking cousin bean jokes
-The ultimate cultural exchange: 'Smores in Africa
-Church on Sunday (Catholics are the same here and there)
-Heat stroke and starvation (ok, I hope that's an exaggeration) but overall impressive survival by my young and thriving parents!
-A beautiful exchange of respect and gifts between my American and my Malian families.
Mom and Dad, I hope you find the time to write a little something for posting. I think they'd love to hear your side of the story as well as some pictures!
I'm sorry for the brevity of the past three weeks. Now that I'm back in the "Malian pace" of things I might have some more time for blog writing. Having my parents here was absolutely incredible, and it brought me closer and closer to all the tremendous support that you at home are giving. I too, give you MY support. My parents are telling me of all the exciting things you are all pursuing at home and it was so nice to feel back in touch with it. Saying goodbye was hard, but I stand here thoroughly fulfilled- a great week, a great experience, but most of all, a great blessing to have been given these incredible people as parents. Thanks Mom and Dad! Hope you make it home ok!
All my love from Mali,
Em
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Latrines- an unfinished blog from like three weeks ago
I’ve been back at sitee for a week now- eager to put all of my new ideas into use. Yet it seems like my head is spinning a lot faster than the pace of life in Dombila. I found myself wanting to do everything- from plant a garden full of moringa trees to help two womens’ groups start small businesses without loosing my focus on infant malnutrition. I have to be careful not to let myself get too carried away. After all, it’s their village, it’s their projects, and I must be patient and mindful that small is beautiful. One little thing gone right is better than a dozen things started that gradually fall apart.
That being said, lo and behold, I wound up roping myself into a new project my first week back here. Upon my arrival, I found that the NGO who laid the foundation to build an addition to the school had finally returned to finish the job. A young, enthusiastic Malian engineer called Ibriham was heading up the operation. He took me on a brief tour, and showed me that they were also constructing three new latrines to add onto the 3 already situated at the school. And the ones already there are covered with leaves and dust, unused. Ibriham’s investigative mind rose to the occasion when I challenged: “Why are you building new latrines if the kids aren’t even going to use them?”
What followed was an observation of dozens and dozens of students dashing toward the bushes during 10:15 break time while the latrines stood empty, two focus group discussions with students, a meeting with the school’s director, and a new partnership between me and this engineer. We discovered that not only are the latrines not maintained (never cleaned, not stocked with water), but students are simply embarrassed to go in in fear of being ridiculed. One young girl told me that she used the latrine once and when she came out, all the boys were laughing at her “You just pooped! You came from the poop place!” Instead, students will tell their friends, “Oh, I’m going to take a walk in the fields.” Everyone knows what you’re doing, but it’s not on display in the school-yard.
With some humorous skits about smelly-clothes and hygiene, demonstrations on germs and hand-washing, and explanations on how our small village latrines can improve our health even without the luxury of running water, Ibriham and I performed sensitization lessons in each class. Our next step is to identify one student per class who can be inchage of organizing the duties of our new latrines- getting classmates to fill up the water, etc. We’ve also decided to construct two hand washing stations, hopefully with some funding help from Peace Corps, so that students can wash their hands and feet. Changing behavior like this is not easy, especially with 800 plus kids, 6 latrines, and a lot of embarassment. The biggest opponent to this is Shaka. “Aminata, if you build the hand-washing station, kids will mess with it. It will be broken in a week. Aminata, even if you build new latrines, no one will use them.” During one of our focus groups, I asked the students at the end if the latrines were clean and kids could wash their hands, would you still laugh at kids who used them. I heard I lot of “No! That’d be great!” “I’d use the latrines!” “I wouldn’t be embarrassed!” Shaka is smirking in the back. “Yeah, I’d still make fun of the kids.” Jerk. He’s just been messing with me lately because I’ve been running with Ibriham sometimes. I suggest that the three of us run together, but no, Shaka needs constant attention. We’re in kind of a joking fight- he can totally ignore me and pretend he refuses to talk until I figure out a way for him to crack a smile. I hate to admit it, but that kid’s got me wrapped around his finger.
That being said, lo and behold, I wound up roping myself into a new project my first week back here. Upon my arrival, I found that the NGO who laid the foundation to build an addition to the school had finally returned to finish the job. A young, enthusiastic Malian engineer called Ibriham was heading up the operation. He took me on a brief tour, and showed me that they were also constructing three new latrines to add onto the 3 already situated at the school. And the ones already there are covered with leaves and dust, unused. Ibriham’s investigative mind rose to the occasion when I challenged: “Why are you building new latrines if the kids aren’t even going to use them?”
What followed was an observation of dozens and dozens of students dashing toward the bushes during 10:15 break time while the latrines stood empty, two focus group discussions with students, a meeting with the school’s director, and a new partnership between me and this engineer. We discovered that not only are the latrines not maintained (never cleaned, not stocked with water), but students are simply embarrassed to go in in fear of being ridiculed. One young girl told me that she used the latrine once and when she came out, all the boys were laughing at her “You just pooped! You came from the poop place!” Instead, students will tell their friends, “Oh, I’m going to take a walk in the fields.” Everyone knows what you’re doing, but it’s not on display in the school-yard.
With some humorous skits about smelly-clothes and hygiene, demonstrations on germs and hand-washing, and explanations on how our small village latrines can improve our health even without the luxury of running water, Ibriham and I performed sensitization lessons in each class. Our next step is to identify one student per class who can be inchage of organizing the duties of our new latrines- getting classmates to fill up the water, etc. We’ve also decided to construct two hand washing stations, hopefully with some funding help from Peace Corps, so that students can wash their hands and feet. Changing behavior like this is not easy, especially with 800 plus kids, 6 latrines, and a lot of embarassment. The biggest opponent to this is Shaka. “Aminata, if you build the hand-washing station, kids will mess with it. It will be broken in a week. Aminata, even if you build new latrines, no one will use them.” During one of our focus groups, I asked the students at the end if the latrines were clean and kids could wash their hands, would you still laugh at kids who used them. I heard I lot of “No! That’d be great!” “I’d use the latrines!” “I wouldn’t be embarrassed!” Shaka is smirking in the back. “Yeah, I’d still make fun of the kids.” Jerk. He’s just been messing with me lately because I’ve been running with Ibriham sometimes. I suggest that the three of us run together, but no, Shaka needs constant attention. We’re in kind of a joking fight- he can totally ignore me and pretend he refuses to talk until I figure out a way for him to crack a smile. I hate to admit it, but that kid’s got me wrapped around his finger.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Feb- April Work Plan
I copied and pasted some of my quarterly report for you, because many of you are interested in the projects I'm planning on beginning. This is my official list of work-goals for the next 3 months:
Next quarter, I plan to…:
* …organize some basic water sanitation projects. I plan to do a focus group of potential community water improvement agents to discus problems and the possibility of forming a permanent water sanitation committee. Once problems are identified, we will hold a formation with the help of the Peace Corps water sanitation Program Assistant in order to begin work on a series of basic projects such as soak pits, wash areas, and top-well repairs. All this will be facilitated with the help of Kati’s Rotary Club and Dombila’s ASACO.
* …continue child nutrition education in Dombila and the surrounding villages. I plan to visit at least 6 villages to do baby weighings and ameliorated porridge demonstrations. I will continue to do nutrition counseling in conjunction with vaccinations, and search for new ways to encourage mothers to use CSCOM services in cases of malnutrition. I hope to also help the CSCOM organize an in-patient program where severely malnurished children and their mothers can stay with local host families for close monitoring and rehabilitation at the health center. Village visits will be executed alongside my homologue or a community relay. I plan to paint at least 4 murals on child weaning in our satellite villages, and implement understanding of the growth chart. I also hope to establish good relations with the relais of the villages I visit so that eventually, I can help them organize to do baby weighings and hearth nutrition programs on their own.
*... organized a women's heath committee that consists of one representative from each of the many women's associations throughout Dombilia. Interested women would be trained on one health or income development project each week so as to present to their women's association during weekly meetings.
*... continue various health lessons and animations with my homolouge, involving skits, songs and visual aids during vaccinations and prenatal counseltatinos.
* …begin a health education Sunday night radio show with my homolouge.
*… implement the World Art Exchange program in the local school.
* …to design an HIV/AIDS/STI educational event to be implemented in the following quarter. This would involve procuring such HIV/AIDS funds available until this coming March.
(Ambitious, but possible. Really, it depends on the committment of my community. And as you see, I have a lot of faith in my community. Let's hope I'm not mistaken! Mom sent me a bunch of Barak Obama pictures to hand out- the Africans are obsessed with him. It might be a good time to impliment "Yes we can!" Or as they say in Bambara: "An be se!")
Next quarter, I plan to…:
* …organize some basic water sanitation projects. I plan to do a focus group of potential community water improvement agents to discus problems and the possibility of forming a permanent water sanitation committee. Once problems are identified, we will hold a formation with the help of the Peace Corps water sanitation Program Assistant in order to begin work on a series of basic projects such as soak pits, wash areas, and top-well repairs. All this will be facilitated with the help of Kati’s Rotary Club and Dombila’s ASACO.
* …continue child nutrition education in Dombila and the surrounding villages. I plan to visit at least 6 villages to do baby weighings and ameliorated porridge demonstrations. I will continue to do nutrition counseling in conjunction with vaccinations, and search for new ways to encourage mothers to use CSCOM services in cases of malnutrition. I hope to also help the CSCOM organize an in-patient program where severely malnurished children and their mothers can stay with local host families for close monitoring and rehabilitation at the health center. Village visits will be executed alongside my homologue or a community relay. I plan to paint at least 4 murals on child weaning in our satellite villages, and implement understanding of the growth chart. I also hope to establish good relations with the relais of the villages I visit so that eventually, I can help them organize to do baby weighings and hearth nutrition programs on their own.
*... organized a women's heath committee that consists of one representative from each of the many women's associations throughout Dombilia. Interested women would be trained on one health or income development project each week so as to present to their women's association during weekly meetings.
*... continue various health lessons and animations with my homolouge, involving skits, songs and visual aids during vaccinations and prenatal counseltatinos.
* …begin a health education Sunday night radio show with my homolouge.
*… implement the World Art Exchange program in the local school.
* …to design an HIV/AIDS/STI educational event to be implemented in the following quarter. This would involve procuring such HIV/AIDS funds available until this coming March.
(Ambitious, but possible. Really, it depends on the committment of my community. And as you see, I have a lot of faith in my community. Let's hope I'm not mistaken! Mom sent me a bunch of Barak Obama pictures to hand out- the Africans are obsessed with him. It might be a good time to impliment "Yes we can!" Or as they say in Bambara: "An be se!")
The Hardest Job You’ll Ever Love
We thought it was because we had to poop in holes, live without electricity, and eat mush. We struggled, we survived, and now we’re loving it. Then we thought it was because we had to adapt to a new a culture, a new language, to live in a place where we are different and misunderstood. We struggled, we survived, and now we’re loving it.
But yesterday, my role as a Peace Corps Volunteer took on a whole new meaning and I am really beginning to understand what this is really all about. It is not the hardest job you’ll ever love because of those things I had mentioned, though they were and still are significant adjustment challenges. The job is hard because to do it right, you need to understand that it’s not about building that water well. It’s not about charity, or even development. It’s about empowerment, its about capacity, independence, it’s about promoting social justice through encouraging those oppressed by society to find their own sustainable solutions within their own limited resources. It’s not easy. I could easily announce right now that I wanted to build a well, you could send me the money, and I could hire some people to come in to do it. But then what? The villagers did not decide that this was the best solution to their problem, they have no idea how to fix the well, maintain it, or build new ones in the future. They have no idea how to use their own resources, which despite small, can go along way if people have the skills and intrinsic motivation to put them into good use. This country is ashamedly dependent on foreign aid. And that will never change unless the change comes outside the grasp of this charity bubble. If there’s one community that can do these things, its Dombila.
So Peace Corps has money for projects, you have money and supplies you are anxious to give. And I will do my best to make use of all of these resources. But the resources found within Dombila are so much more valuable. There is fertile soil for growing nutritious food. There are motivated children who can education their peers. There are people with skills, ideas, and capabilities that have not reached their full potential. My job then, is to unearth these resources. I take that back. My job is to provide them with the spark to unearth these resources themselves. It is only then that development can be sustainable, that anything I give to the community will renew itself and keep on giving after I leave. Medical Anthropologist Dr. Paul Farmer, one of my idols, argues that charity tends to “regard those need charity as intrinsically inferior…and ignore or hide the causes of excess suffering among the poor.” Development, he says, is at risk of making the “rich become steadily richer, and the poor become steadily poorer.” The only way out is to shake the system, to find movers and shakers in the lowliest of people.
This, my friends, is what I hope to do here, in the hardest job I’ll ever love. Of course, there will be projects that will need a jump start with some supplies or funds. But when these ideas begin to develop within my community, I hope it is the formation of a sustainable water sanitation committee, or functional baby growth monitoring program that my villagers seek before the prospect of monetary donations.
Irene is not quite there yet, and now there seems to be a misunderstanding between us beyond language. Tubaniso has enlightened her to the many things that can be done in Dombila, but unfortunately, she does not have faith in Dombila’s people to do these things. It seems like she even does not have much faith in the Peace Corps volunteer as someone that can be effectively innovative. My biggest accomplishment in her eyes, is introducing her to some heath and water sanitation experts and Peace Corps, who she wants to harness and bring to our village so they can build It up for us. No Aminata. We can’t do this on our own. The people won’t work, and we will never find the money.
In a way, it’s scary how much money is donated to Africa each year, and how few people are working closely enough with the communities to understand the most effective and sustainable way these contributions can be used. I’m scared myself to be in a position where I am entrusted with these opportunities. I know you want to help. So here’s how:
-Follow my projects. There will be time when we’ll need funds, but only when the community agrees to put in their own effort and resources to make a project successful. This may take a while. But the more you understand what I’m doing, the more your contribution will mean.
- Participate in cultural-exchange. Send American get-well cards or new-baby cards and I’ll give them to our bed ridden patients or new mothers at the health center. Draw or develop a picture, attach it with a letter and I’ll find you a pen-pal. Pray for the enthusiasm of my villagers, and for my own patience with the slow pace at which it is bound to develop by.
-Volunteer. There are plenty of people just waiting for you to inspire them- all around them. Or you can join the Peace Corps :). It’s the hardest job you’ll ever love.
But yesterday, my role as a Peace Corps Volunteer took on a whole new meaning and I am really beginning to understand what this is really all about. It is not the hardest job you’ll ever love because of those things I had mentioned, though they were and still are significant adjustment challenges. The job is hard because to do it right, you need to understand that it’s not about building that water well. It’s not about charity, or even development. It’s about empowerment, its about capacity, independence, it’s about promoting social justice through encouraging those oppressed by society to find their own sustainable solutions within their own limited resources. It’s not easy. I could easily announce right now that I wanted to build a well, you could send me the money, and I could hire some people to come in to do it. But then what? The villagers did not decide that this was the best solution to their problem, they have no idea how to fix the well, maintain it, or build new ones in the future. They have no idea how to use their own resources, which despite small, can go along way if people have the skills and intrinsic motivation to put them into good use. This country is ashamedly dependent on foreign aid. And that will never change unless the change comes outside the grasp of this charity bubble. If there’s one community that can do these things, its Dombila.
So Peace Corps has money for projects, you have money and supplies you are anxious to give. And I will do my best to make use of all of these resources. But the resources found within Dombila are so much more valuable. There is fertile soil for growing nutritious food. There are motivated children who can education their peers. There are people with skills, ideas, and capabilities that have not reached their full potential. My job then, is to unearth these resources. I take that back. My job is to provide them with the spark to unearth these resources themselves. It is only then that development can be sustainable, that anything I give to the community will renew itself and keep on giving after I leave. Medical Anthropologist Dr. Paul Farmer, one of my idols, argues that charity tends to “regard those need charity as intrinsically inferior…and ignore or hide the causes of excess suffering among the poor.” Development, he says, is at risk of making the “rich become steadily richer, and the poor become steadily poorer.” The only way out is to shake the system, to find movers and shakers in the lowliest of people.
This, my friends, is what I hope to do here, in the hardest job I’ll ever love. Of course, there will be projects that will need a jump start with some supplies or funds. But when these ideas begin to develop within my community, I hope it is the formation of a sustainable water sanitation committee, or functional baby growth monitoring program that my villagers seek before the prospect of monetary donations.
Irene is not quite there yet, and now there seems to be a misunderstanding between us beyond language. Tubaniso has enlightened her to the many things that can be done in Dombila, but unfortunately, she does not have faith in Dombila’s people to do these things. It seems like she even does not have much faith in the Peace Corps volunteer as someone that can be effectively innovative. My biggest accomplishment in her eyes, is introducing her to some heath and water sanitation experts and Peace Corps, who she wants to harness and bring to our village so they can build It up for us. No Aminata. We can’t do this on our own. The people won’t work, and we will never find the money.
In a way, it’s scary how much money is donated to Africa each year, and how few people are working closely enough with the communities to understand the most effective and sustainable way these contributions can be used. I’m scared myself to be in a position where I am entrusted with these opportunities. I know you want to help. So here’s how:
-Follow my projects. There will be time when we’ll need funds, but only when the community agrees to put in their own effort and resources to make a project successful. This may take a while. But the more you understand what I’m doing, the more your contribution will mean.
- Participate in cultural-exchange. Send American get-well cards or new-baby cards and I’ll give them to our bed ridden patients or new mothers at the health center. Draw or develop a picture, attach it with a letter and I’ll find you a pen-pal. Pray for the enthusiasm of my villagers, and for my own patience with the slow pace at which it is bound to develop by.
-Volunteer. There are plenty of people just waiting for you to inspire them- all around them. Or you can join the Peace Corps :). It’s the hardest job you’ll ever love.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Irene and Noelle do Tubaniso
As I left Irene and little Noelle on her back in the classroom lined with beds and the handful of quiet matrones passing their time in silent waiting, I worried. She is going to be so bored here. Everyone is just sitting around in this terrible cramped room doing nothing on the first afternoon. But she seemed fairly content as I left her for my French lesson. Upon returning, I could not find her among the other timid matrones.
"Where's Irene?" I asked.
"Oh, she left. Maybe she is washing".
Well Ok. Yet the next moment while passing by the dining hall I found her- no cultural shame- hanging out in what we like to call "the guy's corner". The janitors and shuttle drivers have a little TV where they like to sit around and be rowdy throughout the day. Irene had spotted our choffuer, Mussa, pulled herself a chair, and made herself comfortable sittin back, watching the soccer game, drinking tea, and joking with the guys. And they got a kick out of that little spitfire too. Yup- bean joke central.
It's been fun having Noelle around. He spotted me and calls me "Tata!" But he got wicked confused when a bunch of other white girls came up to him and started calling them all "Tata." He's terribly afraid of my friend Hunter, who keeps wanting to hold and play with him. But being one of the biggest, pastiest-white guys around, I can understand why he's frightening.
So Irene seems happy to be here. Though our sessions have not been that dense since her arrival, she's in to it, and is already walking around Tubaniso like she owns the place. And man does she like to talk! While the other matrones are sitting quietly in the car on the way to our field trip, she's yapping up a storm. "Why didn't that donkey get out of the road? These donkeys here are terrible. I think it's pregnant look at it. It's probably twins. What does it think it's doing? Driver, why don't you run it over? Then the other donkeys will see" And she just cracks herself up- and me too. But I think the other women are a bit intimidated by her, even the other volunteers. She's even made her marks with the trainers, who she throws her baby at if she has to fix her scarf or get her food. We'll see how the rest of the week goes. Thank God she's so enthusiastic!
"Where's Irene?" I asked.
"Oh, she left. Maybe she is washing".
Well Ok. Yet the next moment while passing by the dining hall I found her- no cultural shame- hanging out in what we like to call "the guy's corner". The janitors and shuttle drivers have a little TV where they like to sit around and be rowdy throughout the day. Irene had spotted our choffuer, Mussa, pulled herself a chair, and made herself comfortable sittin back, watching the soccer game, drinking tea, and joking with the guys. And they got a kick out of that little spitfire too. Yup- bean joke central.
It's been fun having Noelle around. He spotted me and calls me "Tata!" But he got wicked confused when a bunch of other white girls came up to him and started calling them all "Tata." He's terribly afraid of my friend Hunter, who keeps wanting to hold and play with him. But being one of the biggest, pastiest-white guys around, I can understand why he's frightening.
So Irene seems happy to be here. Though our sessions have not been that dense since her arrival, she's in to it, and is already walking around Tubaniso like she owns the place. And man does she like to talk! While the other matrones are sitting quietly in the car on the way to our field trip, she's yapping up a storm. "Why didn't that donkey get out of the road? These donkeys here are terrible. I think it's pregnant look at it. It's probably twins. What does it think it's doing? Driver, why don't you run it over? Then the other donkeys will see" And she just cracks herself up- and me too. But I think the other women are a bit intimidated by her, even the other volunteers. She's even made her marks with the trainers, who she throws her baby at if she has to fix her scarf or get her food. We'll see how the rest of the week goes. Thank God she's so enthusiastic!
Mud Wrestling
So there isn't too much to do at Tubaniso, our training center. Movies are great, card games- addicting, and working on project proposals is often cut short by the realization that these will be the last days we see our American pals- many of them until the end of our service.
Then what do we do with our time? Well, with a free Saturday afternoon, a couple volunteers put together a mud wrestling pit out in the garden. There were some settled rivalries and some entertaining moments as people were flipped and slipped- sometimes face down in yummy African mud. I myself was paired with the other smallest girl around here- Sarah- whom, may I added, I conquered. My bucket bath afterwords was quite difficult though, and I still have my muddy clothes hanging on a tree outside my hut. I'll get to those one of these days.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Sama's Baptism
So we've just began the third and final week of in-service training. With not a lot on the schedual today, I hinted around that my host family's new baby was being baptized today and that though my village is close, it is hard for me to get there. So after some begging, pleading and bean jokes, I got myself a driver and a Peace Corps SUV to take me to Dombila for the event. It also worked out in everyone's favor because we also picked up Irene, who is spending this last week training with me here at Tubaniso.
My driver was a riot, and he actually seemed excited that he was going to get to crash our party. We pulled up to the health center first, and the fact that Irene was so happy to see me was just the boost I needed. Arriving at my family's compound was also quite a sight. I couldn't believe how many people were there- 50 or 60 I'd say. And my host mom was so surprised that I actually came after expressing my regrets that I would have to miss it due to training. It was great to see my posse of boys too, aparently they had been scheming when I was gone and came up to me with a brilliant idea. "Aminata- if you buy us candy..." (Oh man here we go again)..."if you buy us candy, we'll sell it at school to the other kids and then we'll give the money back to you." Hmm, have I created little enterprisers? Eh, probably not. They just want to be the cool kids with the pockets full of goodies at school.
So a Malian Muslim baptism- not quite the same as Fr. Gross holding up a kid all in white at St. Paul of the cross. When things got rolling, all the women began to move in a slow, tight, dance circle around a quartet of drummers. Little by little, a line would break of and the women would continue their dance-walk into the house to greet the new baby laying on the bed. As the music picked up, some women went in the middle to go solo. Of course, I was pushed in. They were doing two dances there- one that was like a crazy flapping airplaine-bird, and the other was your everyday tuck jumps. I opted for the tuckjumps. Apartently they were quite impressive. But I soon realized that none of the younger girls were participating. This dance was for mothers only. Ooops. It's ok, Irene says, you have a kid, Fatima (referring to my cardboard baby). Too bad it's dead, i.e. ripped to chards in the field.
So here comes the peculiar part. The godparents of the child stand in the middle of the circle and get their hands tied behind their backs with rope. Then they roll around on the ground. Yup, right in the dirt. Still haven't figured that one out. Next is usually the naming. A special designated person will make the long awaited announcement. What is this baby's name? I refer to this event as a baptism, but what it really is is a "naming ceremony." Muslims don't name their children until a week after they are born, at which time they host this event. Sama however was a special case. Though she was due about a week ago, she was born in Novemeber two months premature. Her twin sister was a still born and her birth weight- 2lbs- was dangerously low. She was also born around the busy Tabaski holiday season, so my host family decided to wait until things settled down, and she was over the hump of gaining some strength. "Sama"- the name they gave her a week after her birth- means "gift".
So I greeted, danced, did my thing, and actually felt incredibly renewed, comfortable, and back to myself. Honestly, these two weeks haven't been as easy as I expected. After recovering from being sick, I still felt out of my element here. It's been nice being with other volunteers, but at times our formerly steady relationships have been tested or simply welded as we ourselves are tested and changing. It's even been difficult expressing myself in English, and finding satisfation in long days of lectures. Now this doesn't mean I want to stay in Mali my whole life or that I'm in any way rejecting American culture. It just means I'm still in an identity search while estabilishing my role in two very differnt worlds. I will come back to the states changed, and I will need time adjusting I know. But being here has also reminded me that I'm not the strange alien my village thinks I am, but that there are 70 people with all the same feelings I have. Every once in a while though, it's nice to go back and be that strange alien. And that's what today was for me.
My driver was a riot, and he actually seemed excited that he was going to get to crash our party. We pulled up to the health center first, and the fact that Irene was so happy to see me was just the boost I needed. Arriving at my family's compound was also quite a sight. I couldn't believe how many people were there- 50 or 60 I'd say. And my host mom was so surprised that I actually came after expressing my regrets that I would have to miss it due to training. It was great to see my posse of boys too, aparently they had been scheming when I was gone and came up to me with a brilliant idea. "Aminata- if you buy us candy..." (Oh man here we go again)..."if you buy us candy, we'll sell it at school to the other kids and then we'll give the money back to you." Hmm, have I created little enterprisers? Eh, probably not. They just want to be the cool kids with the pockets full of goodies at school.
So a Malian Muslim baptism- not quite the same as Fr. Gross holding up a kid all in white at St. Paul of the cross. When things got rolling, all the women began to move in a slow, tight, dance circle around a quartet of drummers. Little by little, a line would break of and the women would continue their dance-walk into the house to greet the new baby laying on the bed. As the music picked up, some women went in the middle to go solo. Of course, I was pushed in. They were doing two dances there- one that was like a crazy flapping airplaine-bird, and the other was your everyday tuck jumps. I opted for the tuckjumps. Apartently they were quite impressive. But I soon realized that none of the younger girls were participating. This dance was for mothers only. Ooops. It's ok, Irene says, you have a kid, Fatima (referring to my cardboard baby). Too bad it's dead, i.e. ripped to chards in the field.
So here comes the peculiar part. The godparents of the child stand in the middle of the circle and get their hands tied behind their backs with rope. Then they roll around on the ground. Yup, right in the dirt. Still haven't figured that one out. Next is usually the naming. A special designated person will make the long awaited announcement. What is this baby's name? I refer to this event as a baptism, but what it really is is a "naming ceremony." Muslims don't name their children until a week after they are born, at which time they host this event. Sama however was a special case. Though she was due about a week ago, she was born in Novemeber two months premature. Her twin sister was a still born and her birth weight- 2lbs- was dangerously low. She was also born around the busy Tabaski holiday season, so my host family decided to wait until things settled down, and she was over the hump of gaining some strength. "Sama"- the name they gave her a week after her birth- means "gift".
So I greeted, danced, did my thing, and actually felt incredibly renewed, comfortable, and back to myself. Honestly, these two weeks haven't been as easy as I expected. After recovering from being sick, I still felt out of my element here. It's been nice being with other volunteers, but at times our formerly steady relationships have been tested or simply welded as we ourselves are tested and changing. It's even been difficult expressing myself in English, and finding satisfation in long days of lectures. Now this doesn't mean I want to stay in Mali my whole life or that I'm in any way rejecting American culture. It just means I'm still in an identity search while estabilishing my role in two very differnt worlds. I will come back to the states changed, and I will need time adjusting I know. But being here has also reminded me that I'm not the strange alien my village thinks I am, but that there are 70 people with all the same feelings I have. Every once in a while though, it's nice to go back and be that strange alien. And that's what today was for me.
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