This blog post will be a compilation of stories as opposed to a fluid essay. I have been at site a month now and will go into Bamako Wednesday, October 4th… can’t wait! I’ll stay that night at my friends Greg and Rebecca, they are a married ex-pat couple and I met Greg through Peace Corps because he wanted to sponsor a maternity clinic. He did Peace Corps Mali in the 70’s, he was the second group that dame in. A group of two men… very different from the Peace Corps that I know now. Rebecca works for USAID. They have lived all over the world, really great people. They have a beautiful house stocked with food from Costco and comfortable furniture and showers, I cannot wait. Then Wednesday Cary gets in town, so we will have a few days together before he leaves for a vacation in London on Friday night. Then Anderson comes in for a low key birthday on the eight- his real party is on the 15th but I don’t blame him for not wanting to spend it at site. So that will be fun, small group dinner and drinks and then back to site Sunday. October is a crazy month though, especially compared to this one where I was at site the entire time. Saving money! Once I hit my savings goal, I am going to get the 20 dollar brunch at the Radisson hotel. But anyways October 15th I'll be back into Bamako for Andersons real birthday party, joint with my friend Beth’s who also went to Elon strangely enough. Then back into Bamako the 22nd for Cary’s return and maybe back to my site for a few days with him, or we might go to SIBY, this beautiful ‘suburb’ of Bamako with great climbing, hiking, waterfalls, and relatively touristy standard activities minus the annoyance of big dirty crowded Bamako. Then Halloween in Bougouni, a small town two hours outside of Bamako where it has been decided that the party will be. Then site, Seliba (a giant festival) is November seventh, then thanksgiving in Sikasso. Sikasso is in the south, practically in Cote d’Ivoire, and it has fruit and greenery and waterfalls. Thanksgiving there is an annual thing, with a week of activities. I couldn’t go last year so I am really excited for this year. Even my teacher at site was like, ‘oh, you’re going to Sikasso in November right? Everyone does it. Teneba and Djeneba went too. SO fun!’ Teneba and Djeneba, or Lindsey and Becky, were the volunteers before me. Then off to London on December 19th for a few weeks. So the next few months will fly by, for better or for worse.
But anyways, below are the stories from things that have happened recently that I have no written about. I hope it doesn’t seem like I only write about sad things- there are more happy times than sad for sure. Like the afternoons that I spend watching mad men on my computer with my host sisters and host mom, who just sleeps with two or three babies on her lap. Or my new hobby of taking kids heights on the door frames of their house- they love it. Could be a good way to get kids to eat well to get taller.
One thing that I have been noticing around here is that a lot of people have large, raised, scars on the center of their breast bone. 2 inches square, sometimes bigger, but the part that is so strange is that they are so raised. It is obvious that it was not accidental. Not everyone has these. I can’t find a pattern in age or location, so it must just be some villages and then in Bamako it gets all mixed up, or when someone marries into another village. But turns out that the scar was to prevent tuberculosis. I wonder what happened when the person died regardless. Scarification has many roles in Mali but this is not the only example of when it is used to prevent or treat disease. For example, the other day I went to my homologues house and her second wife’s new baby had three razor cuts on his forehead. I asked why and she said that it was because he had a head ache. And she is a supposed village health worker. The best part is that she paid for this treatment. People here justify paying for a lot of seemingly ridiculous things- the amount of money that my host father makes spitting and rubbing peoples stomachs is absurd. And more absurd is the distance at which people travel to see him, in directions opposite that of the hospital. But death is never analyzed; it is all gods’ will.
Back in late august was the end of Ramadan festival, Seli Ni. On this day everyone makes a lot of food, but not too much because this is the ‘hungry season’. People only grow enough food for maybe 6-9 months of the year, so the other months, people or borrowing or depending on relatives and finding any work they can to try to find ways to get food. Harvest is beginning now though so I guess things will be good for a little while. Why they haven’t evolved their ways is beyond me. It all comes down to not enough money, but that doesn’t explain the cigarettes and tea. The women are so much smarter than the men (the majority). Women stretch every cent and invest in the family. Men show off to their friends with cell phone music. I have read it in reports before and now I see it’s true. But anyways, the purpose of this story was to tell about some girl time that I was spending at my homologues house with other older ladies. Maybe 30s and 40s. Few teeth, many babies. We were sitting around and then my favorite old lady comes by and makes a grab at my boob, massaging it, and starts telling all the ladies that now that Ramadan is over and people can have sex again, that my husband is going to give me tons and tons of babies and so she is going to help ‘get me ready’. It was really funny.
A few weeks ago I went to a 3 day formation at the mayor’s office put on by a Malian NGO about female circumcision. They had two females and two males from 6 villages around my market town. I was pretty excited, I thought that the meetings would really motivate the Malians present to go back to village and talk about what they learned. These were, after all, selected people from each village who supposedly really wanted to be there. Then I found out that we each got ten dollars for being there, which explains a lot. But the meeting turned out to be a stunning waste of opportunity. No one cared. There are so many ways which they could have given the people present a plan of action, a speech to read, shocking facts; but everyone left as bored as they came. Peace corps tells us not to get involved with this issue because the Malian government said that the change had t some from Malians. This they have right. But it’s not just Malians, it has to come from the village people itself, and so far nothing has worked. I know they stopped doing it in my friend’s village after thirty girls died in one year from it. They were all circumcised together in December, as tradition follows. But that night I was shelling peanuts with my neighbor Nantene and asked her about it. She said that she knows that it is really bad, that there is no point, and that it is really painful. I wanted to ask if she would subject her daughters to it but I know it isn’t her choice, it’s her old bipolar mother in laws choice. It doesn’t look promising. The only good thing is that the woman who does the cutting is really old, so maybe when she dies no one will pick it up. But she makes good money so I am sure someone will seize the job. I’ll have to ask.
A few nights ago we have one of our village dance parties at the ‘dancing place’. They bring in massive speakers, a generator, lights, chairs, and tons and tons of people come from the surrounding smaller villages. Always cracks me up when I remember that my village is a sort of commercial capital. But all ages come, little kids dance early and then slowly teenagers and unmarried men come, and then the married women with their babies might come see but it is really only for single people. It never occurred to me that the people at these parties were looking to meet other people to have sex with; I always just thought they were flirting and dancing. But I was walking home to get my camera and a boy, maybe 15, stops me and asking if he can ask me a question. He was very polite and asked me if I had any condoms. I Sid no but said that the boutique did. I told him that if he gave me money that I would go buy them. He got embarrassed and said that he would find me later. So I bought a ton of condoms at eh store and then told Fode hat had happened and asked if he thought it was ok for me to kind of hand them out at random to boys, in an un-noticeable manner. He said sure. So I stood outside and watched some boys flirting with some girls and when the girls left and it was just the two boys, I said that I was a doctor working in this town and asked if they wanted free condoms. I didn’t realize that these boys weren’t from my village and therefore didn’t know me, and I didn’t know them. It went poorly, they were stuck up teenage boys, and I wasn’t sure if they were messing with me or not when they said that they didn’t know how to use them. So I told them to ask their friends and left quickly in search of Fode because I didn’t like the tone they had. They were telling me that condoms aren’t for Africans and started pestering me about getting my phone number so I said my husband was waiting. I told Fode and asked if he could hand them out, and he said sure again. I watched him for a minute before I left and he was really good- he knows everyone and everyone knows him, and people apparently ask him for them all the time so he was perfect for the job. Before the next dance party I’ll have to give condoms to my friends and tell them to tell their friends to buy them from Fode. Seems word is spreading because the day after I was trying to find my friend who sells beans and one of her friends asked me to step into her house. I thought that was weird and figured she was going to ask me to look at a sick kid, but she asked where she could get the birth control shot. So that was good. I told her to go to the doctor’s office so I hope she goes. She wanted me to give it to her; I hope she isn’t too scared or embarrassed to ask the doctor.
Fodes mom boils these leaves every night and I asked her what they were and she said medicine. Then the other night I asked her again and Fodes wife explained that it is to keep the Jellies away- the ghost type fairy things. Thought that was funny. Some old people get really scared when they see white people for the first time because they think that we are jellies. There is a lady in Cary’s town who drops what she’s doing and runs away screaming every time she sees him.
The other night Nakoya, Fodes wife, all the sudden got really excited. It was pitch black, no moon, and after dinner quit, chatting time. She had just bathed and was wearing her towel thing when she ran over, grabbed a plastic bag and was jumping around until she triumphantly yelled, ‘I got it!!!’ She had caught this giant gross bug and was in the process of ripping off its legs so that she could give it to her yen year old boy so that he could roast it and eat because they are ‘soooo gooood”. The set him on a piece of plastic next to me and went to get dressed and find Mohamadou. I was concerned about the bugs close proximity to my chair so a few minutes later I told Fode that we should move him. He turned on the flash light and the giant legless bug was gone. Bummer. Disappointment to all Fode and his family.
One of my favorite men in village is Mansa. He is humble, quiet, gives me guinea fowl eggs all the times, and is just really genuine. Especially compared to all the people who treat me strange or just see me as money. But he is really great so the other day when I ran into him and he told me that his one year old daughter was sick with a fever, I knew that he was serious and not just trying to get free medicine. And it was refreshing to hear the truth, something other than ‘I'm fine’. So that afternoon I walked over and saw his little one year old daughter. She didn’t look bad so I was relieved but decided to offer to pay for her medical care anyways. This is big no no in Peace Corps, but this was a special case and I love this family. She wasn’t skinny or anything, just feverish. I have seen way worse. She was a little bleary eyed but again, I had seen worse. Then I looked over at his little son, maybe 3 or4, and asked why he looked so uncomfortable. I lifted the sheet off his leg and saw that 75% of his leg to his waist was raw burnt skin. Turns out that the day before some kids were in the kitchen getting warm after a bath and the boiling water spilled on him where he was sitting. But again, there was no money, and he had rubbed dirt and some sort of African medicine all over it, making it green and scaly. So we took both kids to the doctor. I don’t know why he didn’t even mention the burn victim. The doctor came and cleaned and dressed the little boys leg, he will be fine if it doesn’t get infected and if he eats and drinks fluids even though h is in pain. He looks skinnier, I saw him yesterday… but the leg is healing so I hope it turns out ok. The girl got some syrup for the malaria and had a shot- cloroquine I am guessing. Our malaria is quinine resistant. The next day we went for more shots for her, morning and night, and the little boy went every other day. Then I got an intestinal infection and was house bound for a few days while the cipro kicked in. But I only missed one day of visits with Mansa and his little girl. So when I was walking there in the evening and passed by the doctors mom on the road, I said where I was going and she gave me a dead person blessing- turns out the little girl had died, the malaria had gone cerebral. They had just buried her by the house. So I went to the doctor and asked if this was true, it was, just malaria. Not unusual in the least. He was angry that Mansa had waited, angry that he had assumed that since he had no money that he couldn’t talk to the doctor. So I went to Mansa, gave him so blessing, checked on the burn victim. I was crying and it was awkward so I left. Malians women have a weird way of smiling sometimes when they are sad, so I left. Mansa was visibly distraught and as I was walking away yelled, ‘don’t cry Awa!’ So I went to the fields for a little to relax before dinner with Fode. We are so lucky that we have a doctor and a maternity clinic- while it is barely anything, I can’t imagine how much worse it is in the other villages around us, 8, 9, 10 kilometers away from even our little clinic.
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