The Day I Took Off My Shoes

“I kera Bamanan yere yere ye” (You’ve become a real Bambaran). I hear this phrase more and more often these days as my community notices the small changes I continue to make to become cozier in the culture. It’s the way I tie my head-wrap, or the unexpected slang expression I whip out, the stubbornness in bargaining, or my acquired addiction to strong, sweet, local tea. No, I am still never going near toh, and you don’t have to worry about me walking around shirtless, but even after 18 months I’m making small adaptations and feeling more and more comfortable living this once strange life.

I’ll again thank those of you who sent running shoes to my pose of boys last February. The gifts were embraced and appreciated, not just for their usage but as a sign of support for their running. But here is the truth: the boys’ mothers felt that the shoes were too nice to be worn running around the village and insisted they be saved for the big Muslim holidays when everyone gets dressed up. After I begged them, they allowed the excited boys to run in the shoes. So we went on a run, and something was just not right. The boys were stumbling and uncomfortable, and the high tech shoes were weighing down their otherwise effortless stride. It wasn’t long before the shoes took their rightful place, and the boys got many complements as they proudly strutted around the village during the holiday gatherings.

I still run with Shaka and he still runs barefoot. He still politely trots a few steps behind me during 10, 11, 12 mile runs, but lets loose and kicks my butt in sprints down the soccer field. My parents recently sent me a package and in it they included an article about the benefits of running barefoot and a couple new issues of Runner’s Worlds. There was a blurb in one about this guy who does all his running barefoot. I remember he said something like, “if there is a pebble or even a piece of glass, I just relax and let my foot mold to it.”

Hmmm, let your foot ‘mold’ to it. Maybe that’s Shaka’s secret. On a solo run one morning, deep in the millet fields where no one was watching, I decided to give it a try. It reminded me of the day I secretly jumped in a mud puddle in hopes of escaping the fact that my high class feet need new $100 running shoes every 400 miles. One step, dozens of pebbles, another step, more pebbles- ‘mold’ to it darn it!- a third step, I’m on the ground. Falling is not an uncommon occurrence during my runs. At least once or twice a week I get scraped up as a result of the uneven terrain of the savannah. Sheepishly, I put my shoes back on and ran back to my hut.

The next day, I asked Shaka if he likes running barefoot and if it was easy. “Of course,” he replies. I asked him to teach me. This time we went on a smoother terrain of soft dust. The pebbles weren’t too bad and I managed 5 minutes. I always thought barefoot running was reserved for strides on carefully groomed soccer fields after a properly shoed-run. I now take off my shoes frequently, much to the amusement of the villagers, and have built up to about 2 miles. I tell Shaka I’ll do the run to Dio one day barefoot. If I do, n beke bamanan yere yere yere ye. (I’ll have really really really become Bambaran!)

What my friends are blogging about

For some other perspectives, check out the PEACE CORPS MALI blog site:

www.peacecorpsjournals.com/country/ml


My mother especially enjoyed this new volunteers review on Malian cuisine:
http://mattinwestafrica.blogspot.com/2009/11/ive-never-read-article-on-food-before.html

Zanbougou

Sweet potato harvest


I often write of the hurdles of working in development, especially in a foreign culture. I recently gave a class on nutrition to our community health workers. You mention something like, "Eggs are filled will all the nutrients needed for a pregnant woman." And you get a question like, "Well, what do you do if your chicken gets mad at your for taking its eggs?" and you want to smack your head against the wall.
But today, let me write about Zanbougou, one of the most impressive places I've visited in Africa. Behold a success story in small scale development, home-grown solutions, and positive community initiative.
I had never been to Zanbougou, as it is outside our CSCOM's area of coverage and not on our vaccination rotation. But I had been invited by some of the community health workers to come for a baby-weighing and child nutrition session with the woman. The hour and a half bike ride began with me tumbling face first into a mud puddle, much to the delight of those accompanging me. Luckily, I was able to wash up before meeting the village elders.
Zanbougou is a small village, hidden in the back dirt roads in a little valley outside of the commune. Sweet potato and cassava fields stretch as far as the eye can see. My guides were four men, enthusiastic, educated, and extreamly active. I also had two of Dombila's community health workers with me, who are being trained to weigh babies and give health presentations. After I was presented with two dozen bananas, fresh milk, potaotes and a chicken, I was taken on a tour to the village. "Wait until you see the dam!" my guides excitedly exclaimed.
On the hike through the descending back brush, one of the men told me that Zanbougou used to have a lot of problems. "There was no water for many hard years. The wells would all go dry. Women would walk for miles to find water, no matter how diry, and carry it back on their heads. The feilds were dry and dying. We wanted to all get up and abandon this place."
Suddenly I found myself standing on a expansive 30 foot wall of bolders and wire. In front of me was a small lake. The villagers of Zanbougou had built a dam about 3 years ago. 250 men worked for every day three months making the journey to the top of the plateau and carrying down boulders. Some boulders were so big that they required 10 men to carry them. Sunrise to sunset. Day after day. No abled-bodied man in the entire village was exempt. Or woman for that matter, as they would search for water and again walk long distances to carry it to the project site.

"Where did you come up with this idea?" I asked in amazement.

"Well we had heard that Durako (another hamlet of Dombila) had an ONG that was building a water tower. We went to them to ask them what we should do about our drought. They told us that if we were willing to build a dam, we could catch some of the runoff water from the plateau and it would get us through the dry seasons. They gave us some of the wire, but we did all of this work ourselves."

"You don't drink this water do you?" It looked a bit questionable.

"Oh no. But ever since this area filled up, our wells are always full with fresh water and our farmland is so fertile. Did you see all of our sweet potatos?" he asked with a prideful smile.

"I've never seen so many potato fields in my life!"

"We're poor here in Zanbougou, but we ain't hungry!"

We proceeded to the gathering place, where dozens of women showed up to listen to the talk. The women actually participated, answering questions and brainstorming- something that I can usually never get the silent women in Dombila to do. The four men took extensive notes on nutrition, as well as the ages, weight, and nutrition indicator level for 40 babies in the village that were brought in for weighing. Only three of these were severly malnourished, but after an ameliorated porriage demonstration, we found that these three (who had not been started on complimentary foods yet) eagerly drank the porriage. Their mothers prepared a dance and song for me as they were so happy they found a way to give their kids strengh. The team of 4 Zanbougou guys volunteered to track these 3 and the 6 moderately malnourished kids, with home visits and arm measurements, and I have already heard news that all are eating and doing well.

So what's next for Zanbougou?

"What we really want is a maternity," they told me, and asked if I could help. I told them that that's outside of my realm of work, but I would keep my eyes and ears open for other organizations that can build them. "And we're also thinking of something else that would really put Zanbougou on the map."

"What's that?"

"A potato chip factory! We have so many sweet potatos here, all we need to do is get some equiptment and we could package potato chips and send them out all over the world!"

In all my time in Mali, I've never seen a single potato chip. Where did these guys, from the middle of rural African nowhere come up with something like this? I put my chicken on my bike handles and rode home. My host family wanted to cook the chicken that night.

"Hey, why don't we ever save the chickens and eat the eggs?"

"Chickens get mad if you take their eggs."

Oh Lordy. By the time Dombila figures out how to fry an egg, you'll all be eating Zan-Chips instead of Pringles.

How are you all so awesome!

Dombila children lined up for the relay run to raise support and awareness for clean water and sanitation

So here's what happened:
I wasn't even sure if my supervisor at Peace Corps had read through my project yet. But after talking to my family last week, I realized my project had not only been approved, posted on the internet, but it already had over $2,200 of funding! From all of YOU! That is unheard of. Some of my friends have had projects posted for months now and only have very small fraction of that. Unbelievable! I can't thank you all enough, but once the project is fully funded, I will hopefully get a list of your names (didn't happen for that last project) and be able to thank you all individually. Dombila is so excited for this new well project, and it's you all who are making it possible!

If you want to help us chip away at the final $1900, you can donate here: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=688-318

Updates

Here in Bamako again, frantically trying to get some computer work done. My eyes are throbbing. Work has piled up and our sketchy solar panal fried both my laptop and my CSCOM's. So much for our medical records! But for now, I have to get out of site every so often to work on materials for the big training we have coming in January. A lot of typing in a lot of different languages. Since when did this become a real job and not some exotic adventure?

I was browsing through my blog to see that there are a lot of loose ends. I should probably give you some brief updates as to what's going on with some of that.

- The witch lady and I are now friends. I think. She is still creepy, but after she's done giving me the evil eye, she gives me a big, toothless smile, which I think is genuine.
-The cucumbers in my garden were a mild success, worms ate much of the tomatoes but the urine fertillizer did actually make them more fruitful.(the tomatoes, not the worms) I did end my gardening season with one killer zuccini that we ate on Ramadan.
-Things with Camera, my English speaking friend, are good. He's actually applying for a job with the Peace Corps. Let's hope he has good luck with that!
-Things are also good with Irene. She's a larger than life woman, so I'll always have to deal with that. But I'm not as worried about being at her beckoned call all the time. And she has helped me out a ton.
-My host sister's baby (Aminata) is fat and smiley, though they've moved to another town. My host mother's Sama is still on the small side, doesn't like many people, but is approaching her first birthday and is as cute as ever. Noellie, now 18 months, has a brilliant curiosity that just fascinates me. He's a quick learner, loves to explore and play games, has a confidence that just cracks everyone up. He can even say "how are you? i'm fine" in english! Pacho is 4 now, and we have had our wedding ceremony, presided over by Shaka and Cesalo. He then told me he with take Caroline as a second wife.
-Lauren, my new site mate, is having all her own adventures in the little town of Koyan. She's doing great, and came up to Dombila for a meeting last week. "Wow," she said of my village, "I feel like I'm in a big city!" Oh Lord bless her.
- Caroline has a huge project just starting up- a $16,000 center for shea butter production. I hope it goes smoothly. Hunter is happier too after moving to a new house.
- Shaka is running again. After taking the whole summer off to farm (besides a couple 2 milers a week in the mornings)he's now on fire again. I don't understand it. He sprinted to Dio on market day, and I couldn't keep up with him... ON MY BIKE! I trained for a marathon, but I'm sill nothing next to this deceivingly does this scrawny 75 pound 13 year old. I can still do more push-ups than him though.
- My radio show has been cancelled. It's ridiculous. The higher ups want money, I refuse to give them any, they are just waiting for me to give in and pretend that I can still do my radio show. They turned me, my guitar, and a small choir of 3 children ready to sing about vaccinations away last night. Not until we clear it with the committee (who want my money). I cried. That's just not right.
- Work besides that is great, really. As farming season is over, people actually have time to do other things, like sanitation outreach and work with women's groups. It's exciting, and besides the normal nuiances that come with dealing with Malians, I feel like we might be getting somewhere.

Thanks HFL!

To all the little runners in Lima and Manor, to the teachers and administration who supported the event, to my parents and sister who helped organize, and especially to Debbie Clapp and Kevin O'Connell who brought all the heart and soul of Africa into their gym classes- You guys rock!

Together you raised over $400 for the new well project in Dombila. That means 4 wells can be improved to provide dozens of people with cleaner drinking water. Not only that but we have kids across the world who have a better understanding of each other. We know we're different, but there is something we have in common- we all can run to show our support for good health!

The people of Dombila have heard all about your efforts and are appriciative and excited. Aw ni baaraji!

Stay tuned for the website if anyone want to make any further donations. We can't thank you enough.

A Wild Carpenter Chace- My experience with corruption

I should have seen it coming. Every development worker speaks of the corruption anchor, that undismissingly drags at the cundercurrent of otherwise promising embarkments of development. Sometimes it sinks the ship down. Other times it changes its course. But usually we who try to drive our projects forward just keep treading and pushing, too scared or naive to confront what's happening behind our backs. We are determined to progress, despite the shady activity going on beneath the waters.

So then what did I do when all at once, I was a victim of blatant corruption that not only demanded immediate acknowledgement, but also opened my eyes to a series of wrong-doing I had glazed over during the past year?

"B.", as we call him, is always excited to help with a project. He built the school's handwashing stations, headed up construction on the wells, and has recently shown an interest in my latest project idea: solar fruit dryers for mango preservation. He is after all, Dombila's Mr. Fix-it. Shortly after presenting him with some information, he excitedly told me he had called his friend in Kati who makes these things regularly. "I'm gonig to Kati to learn how to build one with him, then I'll bring it back here as an example for people to see."

But he needed some money. $30.

"That sounds a little steep," I said.
"But he's making a big one!"
"Why?"
"He'll make a big one now and later we'll make smaller ones, and I know the price will lower if we make a lot of them at once." Unfortunately, any suspicians I had were crowded out by my excitement and impatience in starting this project. "Even if you give him $20 now, you can pay the rest later."
"And when we write the project proposal, I'll write it in my budget and get refunded," I reasoned.
"Exactly."

Later that day, B came to my house looking for the money. For a Malian, that's a big chunk of change. Why did he need it now? He fished for an answer and finally said that the guy was here in the market and needed it now. I was busy with a million things as always on market day, but what it comes down to is I'm a sucker. I coughed it up.

It didn't take long before I told Irene and my host family the buisness. "$20?" they exclaimed, "A solar table is not worth $20!" I withheld that there was still $10 to be added to it. Irene was upset I didn't go to her first. Daramane, my host father, told me it's common knowledge that if something costs so much, B will tell you its actually more and put the difference in his pocket. The rest of the actors in the scene confessed to seeing B skipping around the market on a shopping spree shortly after I had given him the money.

This was three weeks ago. After that there were all these excuses about why he hadn't gone to Kati yet and how tommorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow- the same song he sang during the slower period of the well project. I went to Ghana expecting to come back to at least a functional mango drier in my compound.

In the week following, excuses included transportation problems, and a very elaborate story about how he went to Kati, knocked on his friend's door, only to find out that he had left town for a funeral and of course forgot his cell phone so couldn't be reached. He can sense my anger now, and makes a promise to go on Friday.

"Ok," I say, "but I want to go with you and meet this guy." Firday comes, B is in no rush to go to Kati, and rolls in on the hot afternoon having decided it would be better to go sleep in Kati tonight and meet us Saturday morning. We were to meet at 8:00 in Malibougou, a small hamlet of Kati where this mysterious capenter, who cannot be reached by cell phone, has been dilegently working on my solar drier.

I spent the night with Caroline. She made a wonderful stew and we talked theology as we counted shooting stars and slapped mosquitos dead on our legs. We went to find a car for Kati bright and early. I called B.

"Are you in Kati?"
"No I'm still in Dombila. Couldn't go last night but I'm on my way."
"Great, we'll wait for you and we'll all go together."
An hour later, I call to find B still in Dombila. "I'm busy," he says, "Work."
"But we've had this appointment all week." What could he possibly be doing?
"And you need to come to Dombila right away. There's a mother with a malnourished baby thats been waiting for you all morning."
"Well Irene's there, she knew I had other work today. She can see them."
"No, we can't find Irene."
"What about Sali?"
"She's busy. There's a ton of people at the CSCOM. They're going to turn the mother away if you don't come."

What a weapon he pulled! Trying to tug at my heartstrtings like that! He knows my weakness, but at this point I know better.

"We're going to Kati," I say, "what's your friend's name and number?"
"You forgot his name already?"
"You never told it to me."
"Yes I did." Pause. "Daouda Coulibaly. I'll call you back with his number." And that was the last I heard from B that day, even with my persistant calling.

Caroline and I lifter our spirits by pretending we were on the Amazing Race or some wacky scavenger hunt. We spent the whole morning in Malibougou and even the center of Kati asking about this carpenter, Daouda Coulibaly, whom nobody seemed to know. Maybe you can ask here, there, over there, did you try that place? We were told. Once we had combed the area thoroughly and concluded that Daouda Coulibaly really doesn't exist, not to mention our solar drier, we headed back to Dio.

I was angry of course and undecided about how I would handle the situation, but honestly felt like I had accomplished something that morning. Case closed. I know the truth now. And I put some more pieces together in my mind- that extra barrel from the handwashing station, the $60 missing from the last project that I made up out of my own pocket, the extra well cement that had disappeared to the black market, and the $14 loan I stupidly made hime to help a sick relative in one of my first naive months here. (First and last loan I ever made here).

Caroline recommended we talk to her carpenter friend, a firery old bearded guy who fixed her window and made desks for the school. A few days later we had a meeting with him in Dombila. He agreed to help with the project, but was not free of B's pestering. B kept interrupting with his enthusiasm and supposed expertise of the project, on fear that he would be out of a job (or out of access to a pot of potential money from Uncle Sam).

"B., Kalanmoko is going to help with this project. It's easier than having to go all the way to Kati, he can make them right here in Dio."

"I was going to go to Kati this afternoon to get your table!" I gave him a blank stare. "Oh, would you rather I get you your money."

"Get me my money."

He never went, still hasn't, and so rests the fate of another handful of good-intended green ones from the American people.