Hunter Gray (Kati, education): http://hunteroflifewithnograydays.blogspot.com/
Caroline Nelson (Dombila, small enterprise development) http://carolineonmyway.blogspot.com/
Amanda Misit (Koulikoroville, Health) http://amisiti.blogspot.com/
Saturday, October 25, 2008
The One Who Speaks
Hey all! Guess what? The amazing folks at FACE AIDS Geneseo have carried on the torch and are producing a short play that I worked on adapting from an interview with a young, HIV positive Ugandan girl. The date of the one who speaksis set for Dec 5 (during the week of world aids day) and there is now a facebook group if you are interested in the project. Sweeeeeeeeet!!!
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=32609141023
Send me a videotape!!
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=32609141023
Send me a videotape!!
Where I set my bag
Another week in the brush and I'm beginning to feel at home- though not without some growing pains. The rest of my weekend in Bamako was wonderful- I have become really close with the other volunteers in my region- wonderful but difficult at the same time. Bamako is like the crossroads between the two worlds. When I can look at a computer, talk English, go out to eat at a resturant, it is like a teasing of the Western world. And this past weekend in particular, my homesickness struck me hard. I cried after speaking to my cousins and sister on the phone, part of me refused to go back to my village because I was having such a great time with my American friends. Yet when I returned to Dombila, the clouds cleared. I realized why I was so upset. This time of transition, I don't know where to call home. Is it back in the U.S? Is it here in Bamako with my American friends? Or is it back in the village of Dombila? Dombila in Bamabra means "The place where I set my bag down to rest". Right now, my home is all three of those places. Its just I cannot decide where I want to rest my bag.
Coming back to Dombila though, for the first time, my guilty feelings of leaving town were exterminated upon arrival. I met my homolouge on the road back who invited me for dinner. There, she took me into her bedroom and brought out a brand new dress that she had made for me. It was about as African as you can get- leopard skin from head to toe- and I love it. "When the man comes to market with the camera, he can take a picture of our family and you will wear this dress and be in the picture." And that was the day I finally rested my bag in Dombila. I have been accepted. I have a family here, a home. Though my true home is across the ocean, though I will always be a foreigner, I feel like I am finally settled in. And who knows, if Irene has her way, our families will be one! I will marry her oldest son and my sister will marry her second oldest. (Kate- he's already fallen in love with your picture!) hahaha
But despite feeling so accepted by my host family and my homolouge's family, in many ways I feel like the most popular girl in junior high amongst the rest of the village- worshiped yet resented. Greeted with enthusiasm but gossiped about at the same time. I actually had my first argument in Bambara and though proud of my language skills, I am now even more frightened of the witch-lady who demands that I bring her medicine. I try my best to be friendly with everyone, but I'm a sucker for the "Oh, come back tonight- and sit and chat with us!" The other night I remember coming home from work having promised to sit and talk with 3 different families, play soccer with some teenagers, and run with Shaka and the boys. With only a few hours of sunlight left, I decided, maybe its time to grow a backbone and set few boundaries for myself. Alone time is hard to find, but Im going to need a little if I want to stay sane here..
After a few hard days of homesickness, things started to come together for me in Dombila. My language is improving, especially with the help of my language tutor, the young English-speaking secretary General of Dombila. It's peanut harvesting season, so everywhere you grow there are groups of people sitting around, listening to a radio, laughing as they shuck the peanuts off of the stalks. And just when you think its over, another donkey cart pulls in hauling another load. The women make peanut butter here, but nobody actually eats it straight, especially not in a sandwhich. They water it down to make sause for rice. Tasty for sure, but I've promised them to bring back some bananas from Kati and introduce them to my staple food- peanut butter and banana sandwhichs. The idea though, that you would actually put peanut butter inside bread, is incredibly bizzare.
Not only is my own language getting better, but my host brothers and sisters are picking up a little English. I called my sister this week who was able to have a short converstation with Shaka (How are you, what is your name). Shaka is like the little brother I never had. He helps remind me of people's names, tells me what's going on with the kids in Dombila, at school or in the feilds, and he has already told me that I am to stay in Dombilia for not 2, not 5, but 100 years. And I am to marry him AND his two younger brothers. He asked me how to say "I like you very much" in English, and since I told him, all the little kids in our compound can say it. Even Mussa, the two-year-old, will come up to me when I am reading under my hanger, get right in my face and exclaim in a fast, excited, African accent "I like you very much!"
As for Dombilia, everyday my head fills with more and more ideas. I want to start a water sanitation committee with the village men, I want to get some equipment for the schools... I have so many ideas but I can't keep up with them because every day I discover a new problem with the village. Taxes for instance. The secretary general told me yesterday that only 17% of the people here paid taxes in the last three years. Why? because it's not enforced. And the mayor doesn't want to enforce it in fears of not being re-elected. Talk about backwards thinking. What can the mayor even do when only 17% of the population is paying their $3 a year? It is true though, that some people cannot even afford this.
Out in the expanse of Dombilia, I've been able to ride my bike to some vaccination sites. Yesterday, I did a skit with my homologue about the importance of vaccinations. It was pretty funny. The big-boned Irene gets right in my face and asks me why my child cannot walk. And this little boy I pulled from the crowd, has his head down in shame. I was a bad mother, I did not take him to get his shots. And the crowd of Malians are pointing and laughing. And I am trying to defend myself. Out in the brush, away from the main village, they only get medical services maybe once every month when we got out there. Either that, or they walk for miles and miles to get to the CSCOM. My supervisor has told me just to investigate now, not to start any work until I really know the village deeply. I agree, but after seeing a handful of severely malnourished babies in the distant village of Tomba, I could not just leave. I am returning Monday to teach the women how to make ameliorated porridge. My language skills are going to struggle greatly with this, but I figure it can't hurt to at least give it a try. I think...
My supervisor from the Peace Corps comes to visit Tuesday. I'm going to seriously discuss project ideas from her, and possibly post them in the next blog. (I'd love to get something going that you can all help with, like supplies for the school). I travel again to Bamako next Tuesday to watch the election with my teammates. I just got my two absentee ballots in the mail today. Yes two. I guess I can vote twice...??? Anyway, in Kati now, going to the big church tomorrow morning, and gonna stick around to beg the priest if I can play the piano when the place empties out.
Love you all. Miss you terribly- as I have been brought into the family of Dombila, as have you. Your pictures are known to the villagers, your names, your stories, and as they say in Bambara, Ubee aw fo. (They greet you all).
Emily
PS- pictures will be coming hopefully within the next month!
Coming back to Dombila though, for the first time, my guilty feelings of leaving town were exterminated upon arrival. I met my homolouge on the road back who invited me for dinner. There, she took me into her bedroom and brought out a brand new dress that she had made for me. It was about as African as you can get- leopard skin from head to toe- and I love it. "When the man comes to market with the camera, he can take a picture of our family and you will wear this dress and be in the picture." And that was the day I finally rested my bag in Dombila. I have been accepted. I have a family here, a home. Though my true home is across the ocean, though I will always be a foreigner, I feel like I am finally settled in. And who knows, if Irene has her way, our families will be one! I will marry her oldest son and my sister will marry her second oldest. (Kate- he's already fallen in love with your picture!) hahaha
But despite feeling so accepted by my host family and my homolouge's family, in many ways I feel like the most popular girl in junior high amongst the rest of the village- worshiped yet resented. Greeted with enthusiasm but gossiped about at the same time. I actually had my first argument in Bambara and though proud of my language skills, I am now even more frightened of the witch-lady who demands that I bring her medicine. I try my best to be friendly with everyone, but I'm a sucker for the "Oh, come back tonight- and sit and chat with us!" The other night I remember coming home from work having promised to sit and talk with 3 different families, play soccer with some teenagers, and run with Shaka and the boys. With only a few hours of sunlight left, I decided, maybe its time to grow a backbone and set few boundaries for myself. Alone time is hard to find, but Im going to need a little if I want to stay sane here..
After a few hard days of homesickness, things started to come together for me in Dombila. My language is improving, especially with the help of my language tutor, the young English-speaking secretary General of Dombila. It's peanut harvesting season, so everywhere you grow there are groups of people sitting around, listening to a radio, laughing as they shuck the peanuts off of the stalks. And just when you think its over, another donkey cart pulls in hauling another load. The women make peanut butter here, but nobody actually eats it straight, especially not in a sandwhich. They water it down to make sause for rice. Tasty for sure, but I've promised them to bring back some bananas from Kati and introduce them to my staple food- peanut butter and banana sandwhichs. The idea though, that you would actually put peanut butter inside bread, is incredibly bizzare.
Not only is my own language getting better, but my host brothers and sisters are picking up a little English. I called my sister this week who was able to have a short converstation with Shaka (How are you, what is your name). Shaka is like the little brother I never had. He helps remind me of people's names, tells me what's going on with the kids in Dombila, at school or in the feilds, and he has already told me that I am to stay in Dombilia for not 2, not 5, but 100 years. And I am to marry him AND his two younger brothers. He asked me how to say "I like you very much" in English, and since I told him, all the little kids in our compound can say it. Even Mussa, the two-year-old, will come up to me when I am reading under my hanger, get right in my face and exclaim in a fast, excited, African accent "I like you very much!"
As for Dombilia, everyday my head fills with more and more ideas. I want to start a water sanitation committee with the village men, I want to get some equipment for the schools... I have so many ideas but I can't keep up with them because every day I discover a new problem with the village. Taxes for instance. The secretary general told me yesterday that only 17% of the people here paid taxes in the last three years. Why? because it's not enforced. And the mayor doesn't want to enforce it in fears of not being re-elected. Talk about backwards thinking. What can the mayor even do when only 17% of the population is paying their $3 a year? It is true though, that some people cannot even afford this.
Out in the expanse of Dombilia, I've been able to ride my bike to some vaccination sites. Yesterday, I did a skit with my homologue about the importance of vaccinations. It was pretty funny. The big-boned Irene gets right in my face and asks me why my child cannot walk. And this little boy I pulled from the crowd, has his head down in shame. I was a bad mother, I did not take him to get his shots. And the crowd of Malians are pointing and laughing. And I am trying to defend myself. Out in the brush, away from the main village, they only get medical services maybe once every month when we got out there. Either that, or they walk for miles and miles to get to the CSCOM. My supervisor has told me just to investigate now, not to start any work until I really know the village deeply. I agree, but after seeing a handful of severely malnourished babies in the distant village of Tomba, I could not just leave. I am returning Monday to teach the women how to make ameliorated porridge. My language skills are going to struggle greatly with this, but I figure it can't hurt to at least give it a try. I think...
My supervisor from the Peace Corps comes to visit Tuesday. I'm going to seriously discuss project ideas from her, and possibly post them in the next blog. (I'd love to get something going that you can all help with, like supplies for the school). I travel again to Bamako next Tuesday to watch the election with my teammates. I just got my two absentee ballots in the mail today. Yes two. I guess I can vote twice...??? Anyway, in Kati now, going to the big church tomorrow morning, and gonna stick around to beg the priest if I can play the piano when the place empties out.
Love you all. Miss you terribly- as I have been brought into the family of Dombila, as have you. Your pictures are known to the villagers, your names, your stories, and as they say in Bambara, Ubee aw fo. (They greet you all).
Emily
PS- pictures will be coming hopefully within the next month!
Friday, October 17, 2008
Getting by
Back in Bamako, but won't be returning until Nov. 4 to watch the election. Things are swingin, but I must say it is getting a bit frusterating. I can't go anywhere without at least 3 children following me, I can't ever be alone, and the more Bambara I hear, the less I understand it strangely enough. Rice for two meals a day, and whatever I can scrounge up for dinner, which usually consists of a couple of power-bars. Irene's daughter has left for a tailoring job in Kati, so though the meals are still good, it is rice and sause every day. And at least a half a dozen people everyday tell me how proud they are of me that I am gaining weight. I have a litte, but I am still aching out 50 miles a week on my new running shoes that with great reluctance, gave a mud bath before putting them on so that the boys wouldn't be jealous. One day, I will get them shoes. But for now, I pulled out my ducttape and fixed up their jelli-sandles. For now. I can't complain though- they like me I suppose, and I am learning little by little how to do this job that is totally perfect for me. So as refreshed as I can be sweating like a pig here in the Peace Corps office, I am. I'm with a bunch of my friends, might be looking forward to a cold orange juice sometime today.
Missing you all like crazy. Especailly the Geneseo xc team right now- best of luck with the rest of the season you guys- I miss it so much.
K'an ben. (Bye!)
Em
Missing you all like crazy. Especailly the Geneseo xc team right now- best of luck with the rest of the season you guys- I miss it so much.
K'an ben. (Bye!)
Em
Scandals with subtitles
So I found a language tutor. The secretary general of Dombila, who actually commutes from Kati, speaks fluent English. And though not a villager of Dombila, he has actually been able to explain to me a lot of what goes on underneath the surface here that I would have otherwise glazed over.
Scandal 1: Where are the teachers?
After pushing past the hesitancy of the school director, I finally got him to allow me to come to school one morning and observe. School just started about 2 weeks ago, so during the day the village is swarming with kids- some who have walked as far as 10 or 12 kilometers from neighboring villages. Why was the director so hesitant about me coming?
I arrived early in his office to witness his headache, stacks of paper on his desk, and motivational quotes written in neat French cursive on old construction paper taped to the walls. After asking him plenty of prepared questions, which I couldn't understand the answers too, he took me class by class so as to introduce me to the students. After all, what better place to do health education than a school?
We started at the highest level- the 9th grade, which consisted of your average adolescents and some in their mid-20s who just haven't passed yet. The director is firm with them, demanding they pay me respect, and scolding kids for coming in late. As we descend to the youngest, his voice becomes sweeter- She is from a land far, far away, over the ocean, almost like it was the land of oz. And the kids stare and giggle.
I notice many things about the school- the bareness of the walls, the lack of equiptment and space... what you would expect I suppose. But the one thing I couldn't figure out is- where are the teachers?
No teachers, anywhere. I ask again and again. Something about they are coming later, we have to listen to the radio, the want their salary, and it wasn't until my English speaking friend showed up to my rescue to let me know what was really going on. There has been a country wide teachers strike due to the fact that the govenment is late on paying their salaries. The kids have been coming to school all week, only to be sent home, day after day. When I finally heard that the strike was over, I noticed the next day, the teachers still didn't come. I asked Shaka, my other main source of information, what was going on. "The teachers are all in Bamako, marching the streets and yelling." For real? God, I have no clue. But all I know is I hate to see those kids who have already walked for an hour being turned away with their little lunch pails of To. Well, maybe they can have some fresh To today, and hopefully by the time I get back, they'll be someone to teach them.
Scandal 2:
Well I knew that someone stole money from the maternity. I knew Irene was extreamly upset about it. I knew there were many meetings about this, but I didn't know I almost lost my homolouge.
My subtitle-man explained to me that the chef de poste and the mayor's office were demanding that Irene reimburse the money out of her own pocket. Her salary and the cigarettes she sells out of her house (yes, attached to the health center) is not so much that she can do this. Not only that, it was completely not her fault, and if they did not change the ruling, she would stop working. Not only would I have lost my homolouge, but I would have been stuck in a village with no teachers and no midwife. After some very loud and expressive meetings, it was decided that it was no fault of her own, and she was not oblidged to pay back the stolen money. Thank God for that.
This, by the way, was all over the equivalent of $25.
Scandal 1: Where are the teachers?
After pushing past the hesitancy of the school director, I finally got him to allow me to come to school one morning and observe. School just started about 2 weeks ago, so during the day the village is swarming with kids- some who have walked as far as 10 or 12 kilometers from neighboring villages. Why was the director so hesitant about me coming?
I arrived early in his office to witness his headache, stacks of paper on his desk, and motivational quotes written in neat French cursive on old construction paper taped to the walls. After asking him plenty of prepared questions, which I couldn't understand the answers too, he took me class by class so as to introduce me to the students. After all, what better place to do health education than a school?
We started at the highest level- the 9th grade, which consisted of your average adolescents and some in their mid-20s who just haven't passed yet. The director is firm with them, demanding they pay me respect, and scolding kids for coming in late. As we descend to the youngest, his voice becomes sweeter- She is from a land far, far away, over the ocean, almost like it was the land of oz. And the kids stare and giggle.
I notice many things about the school- the bareness of the walls, the lack of equiptment and space... what you would expect I suppose. But the one thing I couldn't figure out is- where are the teachers?
No teachers, anywhere. I ask again and again. Something about they are coming later, we have to listen to the radio, the want their salary, and it wasn't until my English speaking friend showed up to my rescue to let me know what was really going on. There has been a country wide teachers strike due to the fact that the govenment is late on paying their salaries. The kids have been coming to school all week, only to be sent home, day after day. When I finally heard that the strike was over, I noticed the next day, the teachers still didn't come. I asked Shaka, my other main source of information, what was going on. "The teachers are all in Bamako, marching the streets and yelling." For real? God, I have no clue. But all I know is I hate to see those kids who have already walked for an hour being turned away with their little lunch pails of To. Well, maybe they can have some fresh To today, and hopefully by the time I get back, they'll be someone to teach them.
Scandal 2:
Well I knew that someone stole money from the maternity. I knew Irene was extreamly upset about it. I knew there were many meetings about this, but I didn't know I almost lost my homolouge.
My subtitle-man explained to me that the chef de poste and the mayor's office were demanding that Irene reimburse the money out of her own pocket. Her salary and the cigarettes she sells out of her house (yes, attached to the health center) is not so much that she can do this. Not only that, it was completely not her fault, and if they did not change the ruling, she would stop working. Not only would I have lost my homolouge, but I would have been stuck in a village with no teachers and no midwife. After some very loud and expressive meetings, it was decided that it was no fault of her own, and she was not oblidged to pay back the stolen money. Thank God for that.
This, by the way, was all over the equivalent of $25.
Questions about America
Here are some of the more entertaining questions I get about the Good Ole USA:
-Are there black people in the states? (Ok, that's ligit, but it's almost always followed by:) Do they speak Bambara? (Even within their own country not everyone speaks Bambara!)
-How long did it take you to drive here?
-When people die in the states, can the doctors bring them back to life? (this was actually the pharmasist at the health center, maybe she was thinking of when your heart stops, I'm not sure)
-A group of kids: How do you say kalo in English? (This is moon, but "moon" is how you say "What?" in Bambara. So it was kind of like a "Who's on first" situation. Moon/kalo! kalo! the thing in the sky at night/ moon/ kalo kalo don't you know?/ yes you say moon/ KALO! (stupid white girl)
-Every kind of food and animal: do they have this in america?
-Do women carry their babies on their backs in America? Well then what do they do with them?
-Why can't you marry more than one woman in America? Why do women only have one or two kids. And of course the age old question that is asked at least 5 times a day: Why aren't YOU married and WHO are you going to marry?
-Are there black people in the states? (Ok, that's ligit, but it's almost always followed by:) Do they speak Bambara? (Even within their own country not everyone speaks Bambara!)
-How long did it take you to drive here?
-When people die in the states, can the doctors bring them back to life? (this was actually the pharmasist at the health center, maybe she was thinking of when your heart stops, I'm not sure)
-A group of kids: How do you say kalo in English? (This is moon, but "moon" is how you say "What?" in Bambara. So it was kind of like a "Who's on first" situation. Moon/kalo! kalo! the thing in the sky at night/ moon/ kalo kalo don't you know?/ yes you say moon/ KALO! (stupid white girl)
-Every kind of food and animal: do they have this in america?
-Do women carry their babies on their backs in America? Well then what do they do with them?
-Why can't you marry more than one woman in America? Why do women only have one or two kids. And of course the age old question that is asked at least 5 times a day: Why aren't YOU married and WHO are you going to marry?
I think there's a witch in this town...
So there's this really scary woman who lives near the boutique in my village, and if there is any such thing as witches, she is definately one. Whenever I am near, she comes out of her house with her crooked long back and droopy face and bulges her eyes out to look at me. Then she gets right into my face and swirms her head down like a snake to meet my height.
"Look Aminata- I'm sick, what are you going to do huh? You have medicine, I know you do, you have money." If I refute, she cackles, yes cackles. She questions why I have come and why I cannot speak Bamabara, and trying to do my job, asking her questions about the problems of the village she tells me only, come here tomorrow morning and see our women's gathering.
Well, at least she didn't ask me to come at night, or else I'm sure she'd cook me in her stew. As I pushed by bike down the path to leave, I saw her whispering something to herself, and shooting me a cursing glance. I'm not really scared of the snakes here, but this woman, geez.
But happily, I arrived the next morning to a lovely group of sitting in a circle, most of them ignoring the witch-lady prancing around the outskirts. I'm not exactly sure the logistics of it, but they each give a little money, and they can borrow some from the safe and every so often some one gets a big lump sum to stimulate their small personal buisness of selling their goods in the market. It's pretty cute too, they have a name and a little yaya sisterhood clappy song and handshake they do at the end. Even though I don't quite know how it works, or if it works, I saw a weekly gathering of women who were amenable to the idea of me doing health talks at their weekly meetings.
All these little things I'm discovering in the depths of the millet fields- who wuddathought?
"Look Aminata- I'm sick, what are you going to do huh? You have medicine, I know you do, you have money." If I refute, she cackles, yes cackles. She questions why I have come and why I cannot speak Bamabara, and trying to do my job, asking her questions about the problems of the village she tells me only, come here tomorrow morning and see our women's gathering.
Well, at least she didn't ask me to come at night, or else I'm sure she'd cook me in her stew. As I pushed by bike down the path to leave, I saw her whispering something to herself, and shooting me a cursing glance. I'm not really scared of the snakes here, but this woman, geez.
But happily, I arrived the next morning to a lovely group of sitting in a circle, most of them ignoring the witch-lady prancing around the outskirts. I'm not exactly sure the logistics of it, but they each give a little money, and they can borrow some from the safe and every so often some one gets a big lump sum to stimulate their small personal buisness of selling their goods in the market. It's pretty cute too, they have a name and a little yaya sisterhood clappy song and handshake they do at the end. Even though I don't quite know how it works, or if it works, I saw a weekly gathering of women who were amenable to the idea of me doing health talks at their weekly meetings.
All these little things I'm discovering in the depths of the millet fields- who wuddathought?
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