I had that initial worry of coming back- embarrassed for being gone so long, guilty for enjoying myself. I came upon Bouare doing the monthly reports with a loving smile on his face. Like the others, he was enthusiastically happy to see me. I truly felt home, and however many begging children or perverted men make me want to flee from the Malians to a place I better belong, the people in Dombila are family. They know me for who I am, not as a white girl. I finally feel like, with a select group of friends and neighbors, I can have an honest conversation, without hiding who I am, without being ashamed of it, without feeling pressure to be something I’m not. I’m still the Tubab, but I have connected to this village like a home, and feel like I belong as much as the villagers do.
“Bouare, I can’t help but feeling bad. I was out having fun, but you never get a vacation. You are always, always working.”
“If I took a vacation, what would that bring? The sick patients would be mad, and no one else here can really do the work. I can’t take a vacation.”
I knew this was true, however grandiose it might have sounded to an outsider. That first month here I watched the kid die of malaria, who might have been saved if Bouare wasn’t away at a meeting.
And I know I’ve had those feelings too. A lot of villagers think that if I’m not to be found, the malnourished children won’t get treatment. They’ve identified me as inseparable with the program, and many mothers have peered in the door of the CSCOM, failed to spot me, and turned back home, not even willing to ask if any of the other fully capable staff could help them.
I’ve always been worried about the sustainability of my work. Will it continue after I’m gone? It’s hard to say. I came back from my Dogon trip 10 days later to find that the files of the malnourished children were jumbled everywhere, hardly anything was written in the registry, and the monthly report was incomplete. I know they can do the work, I’ve taught them. So why don’t they? They know I’ll be back. They know I’ll take care of it. They have to realize that pretty soon I’m not going to be back. And to just transfer my work to another American volunteer is really not making the best use of their resources. I’d love to see the CSCOM staff fully take charge of the rehabilitation program, and to have the volunteer out in the field more often doing prevention activities. It’s something to strive for. Donni Donni. I suppose that is why I’m being replaced. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither was Peace Corps Mali.
“We’ve been in Mali for 40 years,” one of my PCV colleagues said at a small restaurant out in the Mopti region, “and Mali is no closer to getting out of poverty then it was back then. What are we doing?”
We’ve had this conversation before. All Peace Corps volunteers do. It’s because we’re always questioning what we’re doing. “Peace Corps has an identity complex,” Ryan had said, “are we a cultural exchange program or a development agency?” No one argues against the value of cultural exchange, whatever the government’s underlying diplomacy intentions are. But if we are here to do development work, why do projects continually fail, villages become increasingly dependant on aid, and Mali has still not pulled itself out of poverty?
It’s amazing the harsh words PCVs have to say about charities and NGOs. It drives us nuts that we can’t find the solutions, and many are convinced that we shouldn’t be expected to. It’s their country- their hope, their answers need to come from them. We can’t help but wonder what would happen if all the NGOs, with their corruption, big fancy 4 x 4s, and failed project just got the hell out.
For me, though, I had to play the optimist. Maybe we are getting somewhere with this work, maybe we are learning from our mistakes and moving forward. Development has turned into a science and is always making adaptations. I found a dusty old book in one of the regional Peace Corps libraries and was shocked to read about PC Mali’s program in the 80’s:
“Some of the projects were better than others, but the Peace Corps staff was regularly evaluating the effectiveness of each program. For example, the staff abandoned a program to monitor the weight of babies with a view of reducing infant mortality through nutrition awareness, largely because the mothers considered it a foolish exercise and instantly questioned the qualifications of the volunteers.”
And now look where we are. Amazing. Things move at snails pace here. And it can drive a Westerner crazy. Day to day, year to year, decade to decade, progress in miniscule. But it’s still progress. You have to believe that. My old track coach the great Bernie Gardner once said, “As long as your feet are moving, you’re still in the race.” Keep up the finish chute, Mali’s coming. Slowly but surely. The West has taken off at light speed and left us behind. But we’re still moving.
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