Site Visit

Yes, it is long winded. But I won't be able to write again for three weeks. So you can take that long to read it if you need to!

So again, my world has been turned upside down and I made it out alive, healthy, and happy. But I’ve never been challenged like this before…

I began my site visit departing Tubaniso with N’ji Djarra, who to me is still some random old guy from my site of Dombila that the village sent to pick me up. He’s pretty educated though, and I was able to talk to him in French and my limited Bambara. My homologue, Irene, was at a training could not make it to pick me up, so I followed around this little old man on a bus, then another bus, to a market, to a random person's house for lunch, and then on a donkey cart for 7k to make it out to Dombila. Yes, donkey cart. Yes, 7k, in the heat of the day with a 15 year old boy who was so proud to chauffeur me around and kept asking me to marry him.

Dombila is 37k away from Bamako, but the travel took over 6 hours and by the time I got to my site- I was in shock. The region was beautiful, yes. I have a home to myself with two rooms and a negen. And I look around and see endless hills and fields of millet and peanuts, family's concessions out in the distance, faces that as opposed to the warm traditional greeting of Satinebougu, stared at me with blank looks. Who is this girl? Why has she come to our village. And suddenly, I was alone. I was terrified. I am in the middle of nowhere- and I will be living here for two years.

The first three days were among the hardest days of my life. Dombila is a new site, which means I am the first Peace Corps volunteer to ever work in the village. Being so far off the main road, I am the first white person that a lot of the citizens have ever seen. But they know about white people- they have money, they are rich. So I walk along the dirt path to the CSCOM- I greet good morning in the friendliest way I can. They are friendly too. "Good morning" they respond- and then what follows way usually- "Give me your watch" "Give me your bag" "You have money, give me your shoes". They speak differently here than I've been trained in. The kids taunt me as I try to rest in my house. I am different- I am here to help them somehow, but nobody besides the higher-ups really understands why. I was resented. And the one thought that pulled me through was that Christ was resented too, but eventually people came to believe in him.

My host family at site is nice enough. My house is a part of their concessions and just a few minutes walk from the CSCOM (community health center) that I will be working at. Though I still had not met my homolouge, I decided to wander to the CSCOM to see what it was all about. My supervisor is the one doctor that works there. He is extremely nice and very patient with me. He showed me around, and because the CSCOM does all of its record keeping and technical work in French, I found it much easier to understand than the day to day exchanges in the village. There are about 5 girls who are my age that all work at the CSCOM as well, helping with book-keeping, shot and vaccinations, and the like. They are pretty cool, and nice to me so far, but its almost like middle school again. They are their own clique and I am just trying to be a part of it, knowing they are laughing at me when I am not around. And with them it was the hardest. "I like your necklace- give it to me". If I say no, they get upset- but I want friends, I need friends! What do I do?

Granted, this is also a cultural thing. It is perfectly normal for girlfirends to ask each other for things. When I say to them I like their skirt, the response is, "Oh, I'll give it to you." But in my situation, I can't let anyone get used to me giving things. They are beginning to understand this, but for this reason, I can't yet take my camera out to take pictures, I can't fund any major projects out of my own pocket anytime soon, I need to keep my status on the downlow or else I'll never be respected for what I am really here to do- bring them my knowledge, skills, and time.-

My first impression of the CSCOM was disheartening- but for the wrong reasons. They're doing fine. They know what they're doing. They know how to treat diseases. They know how to weigh babies, give vaccinations- what the hell do they need me for? Why am I here?

So to segway into those moments of "self-reflection"- I began to ask myself some hard questions- did I expect to come here and see a village full of sick and dying people that I would somehow be able to save? Am I disappointed that the health center is doing a good job? Well here I am, wanting to do something, but completely unable on so many levels.

And then I saw it.

The baby had bones for arms with a thin piece of black leathery skin holding it together- like fabric you could rip off. It's stomach was full- with rice porridge- but without proteins, fats or minerals- its limbs were about to break off. Its hips and pelvic area had been shrunken and its legs were not attached to a glutus, but maybe a single fiber. Its sunken in cheeks and thinning hair made it look almost elderly.

This is why I'm here. This doesn't have to happen. The baby will be given formula here- but what about prevention? I'm going to go out there, talk about this, and educate mothers so their babies don't end up like this.

And then came more self-questioning- Am I happier now that I just saw a malnourished child? I certainly felt a bit more purposeful, a bit more sure of my placement. But really- is that what it took? Its that feeling- when you unexpectedly see something horrific that you don't experience many times in your life. Your blood almost shocks and freezes through your entire body. This is truly suffering.

I would see at least 4 more of these cases in the next few days.

So I spent some time wondering alone, thinking about all of this. I know that that there is potential here for my work, which is both good and horrific at the same time. And they high expectations that the villagers have placed on me causes much anxiety. N'ji gave me a children's Bamabara book and basically expects me to speak fluently when I return in September.

But after I spent some time alone- I spent some time with people. Drinking tea, joking with my joking cousins, dancing with the kids, talking with the ladies at the market. Things were getting better, people were beginning to take me in, whether or not they understood me yet. I remember walking out into the fields to help my oldest sister, 17 year old Awa, collect special tree branches that they can use to clean their teeth. "Will you take me to America with you" she asks, as everyone asks in the village constantly. But before I could give my "I'm not going to America for a very long time" long winded explanation, she surprised me. "But isn't it hard to be a black person in America?"

"Yes. I said, it's a little hard. Just like its hard to be a white person in Africa."

And as much as I'd like to say that there was this profound moment of mutual understanding between us- eh, we're not quite there. Not yet. But eventually, I know, they'll slowly come around. I'll always be a bit misunderstood, but even in a week, things got a lot better.

The turning point was definitely Tuesday, my fourth day at site, when a Peace Corps employee came to assess things. He was actually born and raised in Dombila, so the people really respected what he had to say. Though the villagers had to push his car out of the mud in the teaming rain, they still sat down to listen as he explained my role, how I don't have money to give, and how cultural misunderstandings will be natural. We then went to my banking town, Kati, to open an account with the other two volunteers in my area. Just to vent with them, who are having their own various issues of illness or boredom, was well worth the day.

If food was the challenge of homestay, coping with my status was the challenge of site visit. In the city, a boy came up to us singing to us, asking for money. At that point, we were so tired of beggars. That one of the guys I was with said to the kid in perfect English "I don't like that song- Do you know any Timberlake? If you Bring Sexy Back I got 1000 CFA for you." Now this kid wasn't starving. He was just selling his wares- his song was like the banana woman selling bananas. It's hard to justify the situation to you now, but I had to take a step back from it all and give a little laugh.

When I returned, I finally met Madame Irene Sangare, the matron at the CSCOM and my homolouge. About 40 years old, she is the definition of matron- big boned, tough love, a gentle mother but serious worker, someone who speaks and EVERYBODY perks up to listen. We could speak alright with each other, in a Bambara/French mix about my job, expectations, etc. And she stopped, right in the middle of our conversation and looked at me:

"Aminata- when you marry, you will have twins. One girl and one boy."

So this took me a back quite a bit. "How do you know?"

"I just know these things. I can see it written on your forehead".

Now some of the PCVs I told this too asked me if there was twins in my family. My dad has a twin sister, and apparently sometimes it skips a generation. It's also ironic that her name is Irene, my grandmother's name. So, I guess we'll wait and see. All I know is whatever I may possibly birth- I want this woman to take it out of me!

The next morning I helped with baby weighing and vaccinations. By "help" I mean she tossed me a baby to hold while the mom stepped on the scale, the baby peed all over me, I was sent home to change and besides filling out a few forms, I was told to just kind of sit and watch. The kids here are kinda freaked out by me around here. That might be a problem.

I also helped with some basic aspects of prenatal visits- weighing, asking about medical history... Man these women, all they do is give birth. From teenage years on. One woman came in- 42, but looked 62. Her 9th baby on the way, 7 surviving. She is so tired of this, and I pray for her health.

We also gave a quick lesson on mosquito nets to the women. I was able to basically say, in totally broken Bambara- "Mosquitos bite at night. Malaria is bad. I sleep under a mosquito net." The girl doing the talk says "Look, even the white girl does it. You should too." Obviously, lots of room for my own improvement here. But the CSCOM is a great start, they do good work here.

Wednesday midday, Irene motioned for me midday to come into her house. The next day as well. And soon, it became an established habit- I would be eating lunch here daily. And HOLY CRAP it is DAMN GOOD FOOD! Her daughter makes beans. She makes rice with meat and vegetable sauce! Hallelujah! My host family eats similar to my family at homestay- lots of To. Perhaps the Sangare household is just using enough MSG so that my brain thinks its good but I really don't care. I have my porridge in the morning from my host family, my lunch with Irene, and once I get my kitchen set up, I'll cook dinner on my own. Don't worry about sending anymore emergency granola bars- I'm gonna be just fine. But I'm still drawing the line at Toh. Not gonna do it. Sorry guys.

I left my site Saturday morning feeling pretty good about things. Of course, the road is rough (donkey cart speaking and metephorically) but compared to my initial fears, I'm now really excited about working in Dombila. When I come back, I'll have a bike, a stove- I'll be living pretty independently. I'll be helping Irene with her activities at the CSCOM in the morning, and going around to households doing my baseline survey in the afternoon. Then, I'll compile my information and get some projects going. The donkey cart dropped me off on a busy street (Market day in the neighboring town) and somehow I was able to make it up to another regional town, Koulikati, by mid-afternoon. Public transportation in Mali is quite an experience. You never really know when you'll get there, how many times you'll get off and have to find another bus... but you just have to make friends, and put your trust in them because with no knowledge of the area, you're pretty much screwed.

At Koulikati, I stayed with a PCV who has a larger house and some running water. A bunch of PCVs and PCTs met up there for a regional gathering. It was nice to relax with some Americans for a while, but we were also able to get some taste of Malian culture. The local Catholic church was celebrating the Feast of the Assumption. When I heard we were going to watch traditional dancing- I pictured a bunch of people dancing in a circle like in our village. But seriously, people would pay $50 to see this kind of thing in Vegas. 5 guys in traditional outfits and masks, accompanied by xylophones and a griot, were doing the most incredible acrobatics. Back-flips, throwing each other, twisting themselves up like cirque-du-soleil but better- because it had the energy of the heart of Africa. The audience was completely into it, and again, I was back to the romantic phase of cultural immersion. Africa's a pretty cool place to be.

We made it back to Bamako, treated ourselves to a great restaurant, and headed back to Tubaniso for one brief day of workshops.

Tonight they had a birthday cake for me. I also got some really nice mail that made me miss all of you incredibly. Now its back to the Bougs (Satinebougu, our homestay village) for more language lessons and also do go some practice health education workshops. 20 days- here we go.

Love you all and I'm sending my best wishes-
Em