According to common myth and totem religion that some people in my village follow, Traores don’t eat panthers. And Kieta’s don’t eat hippos. In case I have already said this, my name here for these 2 years is Awa Traore. I have heard anyone call me Emily or spoke English face to face in a LONG TIME.
I spent the last week in Bamako waiting for the rain to stop and then the end of Ramadan came so I had to wait for that to be over too because my driver had to go to parties and public transport isn’t running because the road is too bad. But the week in Bamako was awesome! I didn’t realize how cool of a city it is. Things are starting to make sense in my head; I am starting to get a sense of direction around there. Hanging out with PCVs is really nice too because then I learn the secrets of Bamako, vacations, and Peace Corps life in general. I know what things bother them, what to expect around my one year mark, and that I definitely want to go somewhere with my family at the one year mark. Maybe visit Lars in Dresden, take the GREs somewhere in Europe, and then travel with my parents. Good time to leave and come back.
Today was funny. So weird. Such an emotional rollercoaster. I thought I felt something earlier but once I got to site, I was hit with a million thoughts. There was a moment when I was like ok; this is it- I can turn around, now or never. Then there were times I just wanted to cry and other times that I couldn’t have been happier.
I am their doll. The dress me up, parade me around in their headscarves and outfits, tell me what to say, pet me and play with my hair. It’s hilarious. It’s hot though. And I hope I don’t have skin diseases.
I forgot how beautiful this place is. The night sky is mind blowing. The hills and greenery. Am I really in Africa? Am I anywhere? It’s weird. Seeing a place on a globe for so long and then actually being in such an odd place. Mali of all places. The people here are wonderful. I can’t wait for my family to visit. My friends here are really excited too. They asked about it again today. I totally forgot that I had said something about my family visiting a few times in the next 2 years the last time I was here. Everyone is so happy to see me. I’m glad they think I have something to offer, because without their faith I would just leave. I’m not sure how I am actually going to help them. Sure, my presence is fun and great, but someone is paying me to do something here. Something tangible. So many ideas.
Tomorrow is September 11th. I wonder if people here know about it. I know I have read in blogs that some people’s villages didn’t know about it, and when they told them, everyone cried and was so upset. Today I was talking to my APCD about how this guy in Gainesville planning to burn Korans is a complete idiot. He is putting me and every other American working in a Muslim country in not only an awkward position but also at risk. But my APCCD was so mad. I actually regretted bringing it up, he got really heated. It started with me asking him if I should be concerned for my safety. He said no but then went off on how the terrorists are not Muslim and how this guy is not a Christian. He had good points, I totally agreed with him. It was a really interesting conversation.
Third night at site. September 11th went by without incident. I was worried. I didn’t bring it up around anyone though. I assume most know it happened. Today was a mile stone. I had been feeling awkward and useless but today I broke the barrier with 3 women in my neighborhood, one could say, and now I feel like it will be easier to hang out with them and form relationships where I could influence them positively and change behavior. I am bummed though because my very pregnant neighbor had her kid while I was gone… I missed it by 2 days. I was totally hoping that they would get me from my house next store so I could see the process and learn about what behaviors may need to be changed, like do they breast feed right after or wash the baby right after. But there are other pregnant women around so I will have to hang out with them. But her new son is so cute and today when I was waiting for my friend to call she asked if I could take pictures. I did and I definitely plan on getting them developed in Bamako and giving them to her. So is the most adorable woman, actually I know 3 women here who just make me smile. I am glad though, excited to form deeper prelateships. And I got to talk to my friend about their experience so far, it was so refreshing to talk to another Peace Corps volunteer from site. I had talked to my friend while I was still in Bamako and she said she had already weighed babies… I don’t think I will be doing that soon. But I have plans to start a baby weighing circle in collaboration with a women’s group but my language skills aren’t there yet. Maybe Fode can help me draft a speech. He I too kind though. Always trying to give me things from his own home and offering to tutor me for free once I pass the 30 hours that Peace Corps will pay for. Everyone here is too kind; they would give me the clothes off their backs if I said I liked them.
Oh man, today was yet another emotional rollercoaster. It started off well enough, heavy rains since 4 am meant a slow morning so I took advantage of that. I had a leisurely breakfast and a little after 8 30, I wandered to Fodes house. Fode is my teacher/friend if I haven’t mentioned that already. He is great, my saving grace. Doesn’t do enough for me to prevent pangs of loneliness, but today was the first time I felt lonely so I guess that pretty good considering I have been here a few days now. But we did our usual tutoring at the school, walked around town, had tea 9 million times, talked to some people, and looked in the maternity. Today was different though because we made plans. We are going to weigh babies on Monday, I can’t wait. And Thursday we are walking 4 K to a nearby town to go to the CSCOM and market day. So then I will meet some people and maybe feel like a health educator and not just a random seemingly stupid tubab. Who hangs around, butchering their language every chance I get. So then it was lunch time, I got stuck eating with a bunch of men, and I was the only one who washed my hands. Ugh. We share a communal bowl for symbolism… and as much as I try to only eat parts that I think haven’t been contaminated with the fecal oral cycle, it is impossible because they do me the favor of stirring my portion around because it’s hot food. AHHH. So after eating a little and then running into my house and stuffing a snickers into my body in less than 30 seconds, I mosey back out and then go to another luncheon. We eat fish. This is fine, till I found out today that they prepare the fish the night before and they don’t have refrigerators. And yesterday I drank cow’s milk by accident. I thought it was powered milk so as I was drinking it I said I like powdered milk, and they were like ‘oh no! Don’t worry! Its cow milk!’ Well, aren’t I lucky. So hopefully they boiled that for the full 3 minutes or else I could have bovine tuberculosis. Yet the 9 millionth time of the day where I just smile and curse under my breath. Then I wander around some more, speaking Bambara in a town where they speak Malinke, and look at some people killing a cow. I told Fode about it later and he said that he doesn’t eat meat, that cow was sick so that’s why they killed it and that’s why they were selling the meat. Super. So I guess unrefrigerated fish and bovine TB it is, because mad cow is probably a disease I will avoid. So then after my lunches I say I’m going to shower, which I haven’t done since arriving here but I use the excuse like 5 times I day to leave, and my homologue follows me into my house and sits down. I can never understand here. She must speak Malinke. I can’t even speak Bambara. So I give her a copy of people magazine and I read my book. She thinks my trashy magazines are hilarious so that’s good. So we sit like that for an hour and then she gets up and starts weeding my yard. So I join her, I guess that’s their way of telling me that my house looks like trailer trash. All the other women are like ‘wow, Awa Traore does yard work!’ so they all line up and tell me how great it is that I’m cleaning and the little kids peer through the cracks. Then my homologue leaves so I finish my book about the PC volunteer in Cote d’ivoire and depression strikes. She talks about how much she did there as a healht volunteer. So I wander around for a second before realizing I am defiantly not in the mood for chatting in Bambara and start reading the journal that the 2 girls before me left. That was a horrible idea, because in the midst of all their accomplishment they chronicle their frustrations, and then I sink deeper. So I call my parents and they are biking in France with friends and looking at castles and I lookout my door at the baby goat eating my Chaco and consider beating it. But I don’t. Instead I take pictures of the new born next door because she loves that. That is a mood lifter for like a second. It seems like I do a lot in my days but really I just do a lot of thinking, planning for things that are a month away, and wishing I could speak Bambara. I know they want me here, but man, I just feel worthless sometimes. But in the end, it’s the people that I value, not the place. So I gotta make some friends. I have been trying to become friends with my neighbor and her new born, so that’s going well. And the boy who lives next door to me and I are going to start English lessons tomorrow afternoon so that’s good. But I don’t know. At dinner I was basically one second away from just crying so I didn’t know what to do so I basically asked Fode for his life story so that I wouldn’t have to talk and sitting in silence was too painful, he could tell my head was a million miles away. I feel so removed. But then the conversation got good, and I asked him if the maternity in this town sells birth control, and he said it does. Fode is awesome. No conversation of off limits with him. He said that all women get BC for 3 months after a delivery and that many continue, with getting the shot. He said that his wife has been getting them for years. That’s great, but what am I supposed to do here? Women already know everything. I’m not going to be able to blow their minds with new knowledge. Changing behavior is great and all but it’s intangible. Sleeping will be hard tonight. When do I get a weekend? I was talking to my friend the other day and said I could see myself being a site rat, staying here for long period’s f time. But days like today, I really need a friend. It’s lonely as hell here sometimes. I feel so so so alone. Maybe it’s just today, I mean today if the first time that the feeling has struck, but man, I need a site mate who is closer. I can’t even visit my site mate till after rainy season because the road is too bad. So I’m stuck here. Day in and day out, no weekend, no time alone. Alone in my head. I would call a friend but most don’t have service and I don’t want to depend on others. Only 2 weeks till the week long language training with friends at tubaniso. But god, that’s far away when there is no escape, no weekend, no movie night. Day by day. These first 3 months are hard because PC is riding our backs making us stay at site all the time to make us integrate. Sue it’s a great idea, and I guess it doesn’t really matter for me because I live on an impossible road anyways so I am isolated by rainy season. But god, I need s break. Though I may seem miserable right now, I am still glad to be in this situation. I am happy to be pushing myself. I want to push myself. I love the friends I have made so far and the relationships and experiences even in the past 3 days are invaluable. And I have already overcome obstacles. But god, I could use a Bamako night.
Ok, things obviously got better. What a depressing day. I can’t even really remember why I was so upset. But I was moping around this afternoon, had just got back to my hut after lunch for the start of another lazy afternoon. I really wanted to break the habit. I got a text from a friend when I turned my phone on and it was about how happy he was and how he was on an awesome bike ride. It whipped me into shape, I realized that if I am going to turn my mood around, then I have to be active, I can’t just sit around. So I hooked my iPod up to my speakers and cleaned my house and started organizing my shelves. Just as I was finishing, my host mom person comes in. Perfect timing. I invite her to sit and she stays for a while. We read magazines, talk about my planes for baby weighing, and talk about her kids and things. Then the creepy guy comes back. While she is in my hut. Which was good maybe, because hopefully she could see that he isn’t my friend. I just stood in the door way and talked to him without inviting him in. Eventually he got the hint that he wasn’t coming in so he left reluctantly after I said goodbye like 5 times. After he left I asked my host mom about him and made it clear that I didn’t know or like him. Apparently he is from guinea and is a sort of migrant worker. So that explains why no one knows him. And makes him even creepier. I was stupid though, when he asked if I wanted to walk around that evening, I said I couldn’t because I was eating dinner with Fode and his family. So then later on today when I went to Fodes house, the creepy guy was there. Ugh. I hate this guy. So I talked to Fode and said look, he came over again, I don’t like or know him and I don’t want people thinking that he is my boyfriend. So Fode gets it but I’m still not sure. I'm not going to allow myself to put up with this like Malian women, it’s not ok but it’s hard not to be polite.
But then later on this evening I found the key to success. If I want to change behavior, I have to make friends and have good conversations and set an example. And today I got invited to cook with Fodes wife and his daughter. Hello beginning of a relationship. But unfortunately, both his oldest daughters got to boarding school in Bamako. Bummer. I would have loved to become close with them.
Today was a big day. It is the 16th of September. Not only is the big 50th Malian anniversary of independence from France in 6 days, (and I have a special outfit made with 50th anniversary fabric) but I went to the market in my market town 4 k away and went to the main CSCOM of the area. In case of emergency patients go 25 k to the bigger CSCOM of the area, in an ambulance donated by an English NGO (the driver is on the wrong side ahahah) but for my village and about 5 others, this CSCOM is it. I had met one of the doctors before; he is young and animated and seems really really great. He is happy and energetic and really fun to be around. Now if only I could communicate with him. I think he speaks French but I was kind of shell-shocked, meeting 9 million people and absorbing so much that I couldn’t formulate any sentences in French so I just stuck to my basic Bambara. There is a prenatal consultation room, a birthing room, a rest room (for a few hours after delivery… A FEW HOURS??! In France you get a week after delivery covered by insurance in the hospital.) A pharmacy room and a consultation room. All the doors lead to the front porch and there is a littering of NGO given flyers in French, good idea guys, about what vaccines are important and why you should use condoms. I also met a matron. I have a hard time shaking these women’s hands because I know that they profit from female circumcision- in most cases, they reform it, and make money off it. I saw in town today a sign in French from an NGO saying that only 70% of girls between 0 an d4 years were circumcised in 2008. This is great and all, but I know that in some cases girls are circumcised 3 days before their wedding- so is that other 30% just being circumcised later? Excuse my word choice- I can’t believe I called it circumcision- female genital mutilation is more accurate but around here, not only am I not allowed to talk about, but when I do, I have to ‘sensitive’. AHHH some things around here are just so frustrating. In Cote d’ivoire, one main reason that the practice continues is because women believe that if they aren’t circumcised, that sorcerers will kill their babies. SORCERERS?!?!? I mean many can’t understand science so it makes sense for them but I just want to bash my head against the wall. But I need to get over myself and work with the ‘sorcerers’. For example, I can tell them that the only a sorcerer can’t give you aids is if you wear a condom. But misinformation is misinformation and it’s hard.
Tomorrow will be good though because I am going to a meeting at the mayor’s office with the chiefs of the surrounding 8 ish villages about what kind of projects they have in mind for the next year. This will be a good basis from which I can launch my baseline survey next month, and just a good reader on what they need and if they see me as a money bank. I have been reading the journal that the girls who volunteered before me left, and they both expressed frustrations about this issue. But in the end, in a way I am a money bank, and if they can match with labor and enthusiasm and effort, then I am more than willing to find funds. Today they had a party planning meeting for the events of the coming week to celebrate the 50th anniversary. I am not allowed to go to Bamako to celebrate, because of the threat of riots (have I already said this) but I don’t mind. In case I haven’t- people are mad because they say "c’est pour nous", it is for us, but in reality, the only people benefiting from the 50th anniversary and all the new roads and monuments that the Chinese are building are rich people. Their nearly nonexistent school system isn’t being revamped and they certainly aren’t reforming welfare or the health care system. Not that I’m comparing or anything.
The last 3 days have been awesome. But a precursor note- it is mid afternoon and I just walked home from my teachers house so I could eat some of my American food stash (thanks again SO MUCH those of you who sent packages!!!!) but I walked by this kid absolutely crying hysterically and running, looking back at this guy who works in the bike shop who was carrying a switch, a little tree branch. Who knows what this kid did but it was really scary. I think he thought the guy wouldn’t hurt him if he was near me so he kind of stayed close which was good. The kid kept running though and then I watched as the guy turned around and walked away. I know people here threaten kids a lot, and I know they probably beat them, but it’s a concept I can’t get my head around to accept as something that actually happens. So then I went to my bathroom and saw him sitting there on the other side of the bushes crying. His back was to me but he was still very rattled, it’s a different kind of crying than the kind that kids do for show. He took off his shirt and his back was destroyed. He had literal whip lashing welts all over his lower and upper back. The skin wasn’t broken on all of them but I don’t know what to do. Should I have called him over and into my house? Probably, I regret not doing so now. But he was a boy of probably 12 and he probably would have been too embarrassed but ah I am so mad at myself for not taking him into my house, teaching him that it’s ok to cry, bandaging him, and letting him know that it was wrong of that man to do that. I’m so mad at myself now. Opportunity missed. Next time, I will act.
But anyways, 2 days ago was a meeting at the mayor’s office 4 k away. We went on our bikes in the morning, left at 9 for meeting that started at 10 that obviously didn’t get rolling till around 11 and then the power went out which added some time to fix the generator and then the meeting lasted till 5 pm at which point we left because it was raining really hard and getting dark…. Fun bike ride. It actually was really nice. But this meeting was interesting to say the least. There were about 20 old men, a few from each of the surrounding villages of about 1500 people or less. The meetings purpose was to update statistics on population, school location, building collapse in the rainy season, accessibility, and needs. All the men were old I wonder If things were altered by my tubab woman presence. The meeting started in Bambara, shifted into French, to impress me probably, then the old men would yell at the presenter to switch back to Bambara, at which point I would be completely lost yet again. But then after lunch which came the typical and expected 2 hours late, we got the generator running and all the word documents were in French so that was good. The needs part was interesting though, to see what types of things people wanted for their towns and what issues concerned them most- granted, this was a group of only men. The women’s needs would have been much different and I would have loved to hear them. But on that note, there is a women’s group here who I am going to meet with and also a Shea butter cooperative group, who I plan to meet with and start an income generating project, maybe to fund a garden or something. But back to the meeting- it was pretty frustrating to see that men wanted electricity, cell phone service, and other things like this. Sure, electricity would light up the streets, but what appliances do they need to plug in? Who is going to pay the bills? The road is too bad tot even get street lamp poles down to these villages. If I could do them one huge favor, it would be pave the roads. Then they could get things to markets easier. It would also be to get women bikes to ride to the markets and not let the men hog them all day to ride to their friends houses and to ride to the store to buy tea. Or even better, for the kid that they send to the store to buy tea to ride the bike. But I know a lot of non profits use bikes as rewards for coming to school and such- if any reading this knows of a nonprofit that gives out bikes- let me know what it is. I want to get some bikes here. The walk to market isn’t too bad but it would be better and more profitable with bikes.
Being that this is the third poorest country in the world, the issue trickles down into the fact that even if I could get supplies for the school, there aren’t enough jobs available so the kids are expected to fail out before high school… which, in full circle form, brings us back to the problem that this is the third poorest country in the world. I have been seeing a lot of negative things left behind from colonialism lately, one of which is the school system. I definitely plan to work in the school in my area. We will have a biology day and even if it doesn’t fit into their curriculum, I as a tubab am the only person who can demonstrate condom use on a wooden phallus without being scorned by the community and lord knows the kids will remember this lesson.
Today I weighed babies. Over the few hours we sat under the straw awning, we weighed 50 babies, all under 5. Baby weighing was great but it brings a few issues to light. One is that if women here don’t register their babies, not only are they not allowed access to government programs, but then the mothers also don’t know how old their kid is which hurts the accuracy of my baby weighing. And like I said earlier, sometimes just looking isn’t enough; normal looking kids can be in the red zone. But baby weighing was awesome and made me think that I might actually be a useful presence around here. When I get back from tubaniso in mid October I am going to do a follow up weighing to see if my advice helped and then have a follow up meeting form mothers of kids in red and yellow zones on how to add oil to food to make it fattier. And a lesson about increasing protein intake and how to keep themselves healthy while breastfeeding. And maybe there is a way to make women whose breasts have stopped producing milk start again, because it is really painful to see little kids who should be breast feeding not be because their mom is so malnourished that she can’t produce milk. Turns into a potential death sentence for the baby. There is no money to buy powdered milk and the water here is dirty anyways so it’s a problem. But then this afternoon after lunch I hung around my teacher’s house with the women. I finally got in with them. I made Shea butter with them yesterday morning for a few hours and today had a nail painting party for like 15 little kids and then took my camera out so now not only are the kids more comfortable around me, I am a welcome distraction for the moms to get away for a little and I can hang out with the women because they think I am good with kids and therefore a real woman. So now after doing laundry, making Shea, weighing babies, and getting in with the kids, I think relationships are coming much faster and easier. Thank god. It would suck to friendless for 2 years. And that would hardly make me an effective volunteer. And I forgot to say that in the afternoons when I used to be bored, now I have a regular English club for an hour of 2 with the 2 boys near me who are so cute and eager to learn, and the annoying creepy guy but the other boys don’t like him either so maybe he will get the hint sooner. But this one boy named Modybo is 18 and going back to Bamako for school in early October, so we decided that every afternoon till then we would get in at least an hour of English review. He is so good after just 4 years and definitely one of my favorite people in this village.
And a week from Friday I get to go into Bamako. I am happy here actually, I feel comfortable and am making groups of friends now, but I cannot wait for some tubab time. Right now I am feeling good but I know there will be a few dips before October first. I am so happy with the people in my region and I can’t wait to see them all. And from there, 2 months of intense site time… minus Halloween/my friend’s birthday and thanksgiving, which I am hoping to get invited to the embassy for. I hear their pies are to die for. And then after thanksgiving… freedom!!!! 2 weeks of IST in tubaniso and then I am a free volunteer, free to travel and visit friends and I will maybe even be able to speak Bambara by then. Then I can get some projects up and running before February when I go to Senegal for WAST. And looks like I will be going home to London slash wandering Europe to visit my sister in Dresden or meet her somewhere so friends, if you are in Europe next summer, let me know! I am going to take the GRE from somewhere in Europe because it is annoying to take in Mali, they only offer it twice a year and its paper form which I hear is easier but the dates are bad. This way if I can or want to, I can enter grad school fall 2012. University of Washington in Seattle is my top choice right now, global health is really big out there and they have a whole new program that started in 2007. I feel like I have already talked about this so I apologize but I am really excited and I hear that being a returned Peace Corps volunteer out there is awesome and there are tons. And regardless, I just always wanted to live there so I may as well start fresh out there for a little. We will see. But it’s fun to plan.
Things that are getting really annoying- little kids bringing their siblings into a 10 meter radius of my presence just to get them to cry and then laugh at them. GET USED TO IT. And then they talk about me and things and look at me and laugh and assume I can’t understand and it’s rude and frustrating. I am tired of always playing the fool and providing comic relief. Along the language issue line, my teacher and his colleagues have conversations in Bambara, even though both speak French, about birth control and interesting things but I can’t understand anything but the names of medicines that they drop and can’t participate at all. Ugh. But for god’s sake, a tubab has lived in this house for 5 going on 6 years… along those lines the thought is just reinforced at how stubborn these people are and how hard it will be to change anything. I mean my host family, who has had a health volunteer living here for the last 5 years still doesn’t wash their hands before eating. Even when I am with them and they know they should. And kids still don’t use negens, ever. Actually no one does for that matter but at least adults go deep into the corn fields. NO WONDER OUR WATER IS COMTAMINATED AND ALL KIDS HAVE DIAHREA ALL THE TIME! AHHH. This could be a long 2 years. I have already had multiple people barrage me for tubab medicines and special presents from Bamako but come on. It doesn’t bother me so much when Its random people who have nothing to lose but even my teachers wife has literally given me a shopping list of expensive things like coffee and the nice powdered milk to buy her. How many times do I have to say I AM NOT MADE OF MONEY? I am not going to buy respect and friendship. Of course, the problem is that this fact isn’t really true. Relatively, I am made of money and in certain situations, like a sick poor child or a good friend; I will buy presents or pay for medical care. But that isn’t sustainable in the least. Ethical dilemmas plague my mind all day long.
Anyways, sorry to vent. The other day was really great. Every Thursday is market day in the town 4 k from me. This is also where the CSCOM is and most of my teachers colleagues. So I rode my bike while Fode rode his old motorcycle next to me into town. We went to the CSCOM and then Fode left… so I was wandering around hanging out with this one nice doctor. But we did some baby checkups and it was really sad and hard to be there for. The mothers are always so young and quiet and especially this one little girl, her skin was just hanging off her and wrinkling everywhere. I don’t know what she had, maybe marasmus (spelling?) and severe malnutrition but her mom was healthy and had breast milk so I don’t know. He eyes looked really cloudy so that’s scary. To be blind in Mali would be nearly a death sentence. For that matter, any issue apart from normalcy is tough. There are a few older mentally handicapped people here and it is really hard for them and their families. In most situations, the person is forced to go to Bamako, since it is a capital city and that is where most other physically or mentally handicapped people go. Not for the government programs obviously but just because it is easier to hide, blend in. Just as it is in all countries, people flock to the cities. Then he introduced me to the matron and she was doing some prenatal consultations. Thursdays are huge because all the women come to market so they normally go to the CSCOM then if they need to. And it is also PNC day. Unfortunately, as usual something conflicted so there weren’t too many pregnant women there. The 50th Malian independence anniversary was the day before so women were still busy cooking and things. But the pictures I got from that are unreal and I will write about it later. But anyways, I sat with this young matron all morning and helped test women for malaria, take information and measurements, and hand out medications. It was really cool. She also worked with the 2 volunteers before me and she said that they could do the PNCs by themselves sometimes. And it’s also good because she gets it, and knows what I can and cannot do I think. Bed side manner is pretty nonexistent here. She didn’t do introductions, jabbed shots into their arm reaching across her desk to where they were sitting without swabbing the area first, and didn’t hide her frustrations from one patient to the next. Sometimes she would pull out the needle too fast and the tetanus vaccine would just be dripping down their arm but she didn’t care and obviously the women didn’t say anything. She ever wore gloves either but she did at least put all the needles in a bow to burn later and she did use a new needle every time so that was good. Pretty much all the materials in the CSCOM are donated by everyone from UNICEF to IPPF so I am not sure if they ever suffer shortages, but I would imagine they must and the pressure to conserve materials is definitely present. But then after the PNCs were done I went with Fode to this lady named Suzanne’s house to have lunch and hang out. She is really fun and cool and so interesting. She sends her kids to university in Bamako, boys and girls, believes in family planning and birth control, and is a working woman. I cannot wait to talk to her more. She is so cute too and asking me all these questions and it was so fun. It was just like we had been friends forever and were gossiping about friend’s ad kids and husbands and boyfriends and why we thought the other was prettier hahaha true story. So I will definitley be spending every Thursday afternoon at her house, maybe I can even spend the night sometimes just for fun and to get some alone time with her. She is going to teach me how to cook too. I am bummed though because on Thursday I am going to Bamako so I can’t go to her house but every Thursday I can, I will be there. It’s too bad because they have already had their allotted 3 health volunteers so there is currently no volunteer there, or even within a 2 hour radius of me. But I am hoping that Peace Corps will put one near me in the new stage in February. Man I can’t get over how cool it is to be a part of peace corps- such an incredible organization. Anyways, that thought just popped into my head.
Yesterday during my afternoon English chub with my neighbor we had an interesting conversation about his feelings towards France, China, and Arab investors. He said that first of all, he strongly dislikes France and Sarkozy. He is a really smart kid but no matter what, he says that unless he was the presidents kid or very wealthy, that there is now way France is ever going to let him in to study live or work. He hates the idea of colonization and thinks that France threw Mali under the bus. He says, if you notice, that there are no French NGOs working here. And it’s true. All the NGOs are American and Arab he says, and all the new roads and development is being done by china. He says that china and America are his best friends and he does not question Chinas motives, no matter how hard I pushed him with questions to say otherwise. I continued this conversation Fode during dinner and he said the same thing. We also had a really interesting conversation about marriage ceremonies and the lead up to them and how it differs from Mali. He thought it was hilarious that no dowries of any sort were paid. I said that in England most people don’t even bother getting married anymore, since it is a religious ceremony and there aren’t that many differences in government benefits for the single and married. He scowled at his but he is all for his daughters choosing their own husbands, with his approval of course, but he has the same opinions as my parents basically on the matter. His daughters are very lucky to have him as their father. Who knows what the neighbors daughters will have to go through to marry who they want.
I have a current plan of action. While I cannot start projects until January or ask for funding, I have a tentative list of projects. First of all, tomorrow Fode and I are going to build a mud stove in his compound. Unlike open stoves (3 rocks to lace the bowl on above an open fire) these mud stoves use less wood, heat food faster, reduce the work load of collecting wood for women, and reduce deforestation. There was apparently an NGO that came here to build those years ago and Fode was the main presenter. So when I said that I wanted to do that today, before I knew how involved h had been with the idea in the past, he was ecstatic. We use the dirt from old termite mounds though so I am definitely not looking forward to collecting the dirt. Also, I plan to treat and shock wells. During rainy season especially, wells can be very dirty. Last year there was a cholera epidemic about 3 hours from here so when I told Fode this idea, he was again very excited about it. By treating and shocking wells we can increase the amount of safe water around here and hopefully reduce the number of people who chronically suffer from diarrhea and dehydration as a result of this. A bigger project idea is to do some cervical cancer awareness programs and have the doctor in my town become trained. There is a very inexpensive way to visually check for precancerous cells that another volunteer a few hours north of me has developed so I am going to email her for some documents in Bambara on the matter so I can explain it more in depth to Fode. He was really excited about the new project idea though and had never even heard of cervical cancer and was alarmed by the statistics that do exist in Mali. We are also going to plant fruit bearing trees around the maternity to subsidize the nutrition for children and pregnant women. I need some money to build a fence though to keep out animals so this may have to wait a while but we have started planting seeds in plastic bags to get the baby trees going. We are also going to do some well top repairs to fix the wells whose walls are caving in. If we cement it, less debris and dirt will fall in; it will be cleaner, and safer. Small children and animals won’t fall in. Also, starting in mid October, I am going to buy paint just with my own money and paint a mural at the school. I am going to do Mali, Africa, and the world on 3 different walls. Fode is excited about this too. So far so good! Day to day things are pretty slow but in the long run, things will happen fast. Aside from these projects, I plan to do monthly baby weighing and follow up formations once every 2 weeks or so on health lessons. I am not yet sure who my audience will be but I haven’t met the women’s groups yet so maybe they will help. But in my audience will at least be the children and their families in the yellow and red zones. I also plan to do a HEARTH pretty soon but not till January maybe. But until then, I keep forgetting about my baseline survey where I talk to each family in my town about health issues. I observe their cooking habits, negen use, and ask if they are aware of STDs and proper weaning practices and such to gage what things are most urgently need around here. And Fode wants to do some AIDS stuff but he says that people always refuse to get tested so for now I will just focus on prevention and erasing the stigma and fear from the topic.
Also, on a very important note- today the subject of circumcision came up and not only does my town apparently not excise its women, they also apparently use a different blade for each boy that they circumcise. Way to go- now I just hope that this is true. He said that not only is the practice gone but it is also illegal. It is not illegal in Mali, only in government funded hospitals, so maybe I mistranslated his French/Bambara. But I just hope that it is true and that they practice what they preach and brag about to the tubabs. Fode is the coolest guy. I just could not have more respect for him. There is no conversation that is off limits and he is so so so smart and passionate about helping this community. I don’t know what this place would be without him.
Arrived in Bamako today after 3 weeks at site! WOO HOO I did it! Next time I will break it up with a visit to my site buddy and spend the night up there, but it’s about a 3 hour bike ride. And I’ll definitely be spending more time at this lady’s house 4 k away to detox and hang with some of her kids who are my age. (Prime suspects for my family planning brainwashing scheme!) But they probably already get it from their mom so I can ask them about their friends and how it is to grow up in Mali with liberal parents versus the alternatives. But, today was as usual absolutely ridiculous. There is nothing typical about public transport except that one thing stays constant- you will always be taken care of no matter what and you can definitely trust the drivers to get you where you’re going no matter what. Now maybe this isnt all drivers, but the ones who I take, everyone in my town knows them so they have a checks and balance system of sorts. So the plan was that I was going to go to Fodes house at 5 and wait for the bush taxi that would come at maybe 5 30. But Fode shows up at my window at 4 am, scares me half to death, and as I round up my things he says it’s time to go. About 3 minutes after he whispers in my window, I hear the honking of the bush taxi as it rolls through town. So we run over and load my things inside. This one actually has rows of seats parallel to the steering wheel instead of along the edges of the hollowed out van!! And something that relatively looks and feels like a cushion! Too bad there was a guy next to me who has obviously smoked a pack of cigs every day for the past 90 years who didn’t know the meaning of personal space and refused to stay on his side, but what can you do. Gotta pick your battles around here and on a bush taxi on the border of Guinea at 4 am where no one speaks English, he was as good a friend as I could ask for. So we bustle along the road in the darkness shifting gears as though we were on a paved road but instead we would shift up and down every 4 seconds which could explain the problems that we encountered 4 hours later. So we travel 1 k towards Bamako to get people. Then we turn around going back towards my town, away from Bamako… pick up people in my town and head towards guinea, through my market town where we get people and then keep going… towards guinea. At this point I am a little concerned because PC is currently not working in guinea because of security issues, I believe. But after a few more kilometers, we turn north… literally into the bush. I confirm with my new friends that we are in fact going to Bamako and not leaving the country and they give me the classic “you silly tubab laugh” and say that of course we are. This road is literally in the bush though. Not even one lane, with golden head high grasses on either side… I was in Tanzania in a game reserve in national geographic. It was actually quite beautiful, especially 2 and a half hours later when the sun started to rise. So now it is 7 am. Fode told me that if you catch the 4 am bush taxi then you get to Bamako at 7 am. Minutes later I find myself on the highway. Looking back, I know what he did- he went north through the bush for 3 hours because the road parallel to my road is paved and ours is not. So maybe he thought this would save time since the president is coming near my town tomorrow and maybe he thought the road was already closed. But this morning, this thought had not yet occurred to me and I had no idea where I was or what was going on, as usual. The car is vibrating like a ride at Disneyland but this one isn’t safe the water that splashes up through the floors when you hit puddles may have diseases. I just pray that we make it to Bamako, no matter how slow, every time we stop and have to push start the car again. Eventually, expectedly, the car dies. It is makes dying sounds and I’m concerned about carbon monoxcide because I had just read that scene from Slaughterhouse 5. So… I have no idea where we are, kids have gathered to look at me from behind bushes, some daring to near the tubab exhibit that has visited their town. We ironically break down next to a CSCOM so I took the opportunity to look around and greet the doctors. Nice office. Creepy posters, as usual. This is definitely not a good place for a hypochondriac (I have been having problems with this lately… but time will ease it off). So we wait around and I wonder what the protocol for this is, as they take apart the engine but I figure the driver knows what to do. Eventually he takes our money and then we wait for another bus, to which he gives the stack of money and we all head in. Sad day for a bush taxi driver. So we finish out the ride smoothly and arrive in Bamako about 7 hours after it began. Not bad, I would say. People here are just so friendly and trustworthy that even though there were a few times today when I was pissed off, it is a beautiful country. These guys have my back a hell of a lot more than the bus drivers in Copenhagen ever did.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
emily in the mango rains
Precursor- I am writing this from a flooded stranded land cruiser sitting in the middle of a river that was once a road. I am on my way to site, to be installed and essentially start being a peace corps volunteer, but the car got stuck and I have been sitting here since 1 30… its almost 7 now. The road is littered with dead cars, busses, burning starter engines and batteries, and people walking. Apparently there was a lot of rain yesterday. This was supposed to be a 4 to 8 hour drive but as usual, we are now pushing 12 hours and the weird part is that there is no end in site, so that is why I am using this time to type of my blog from this incredible week. Doesn’t help that today was one of the two days since being in Africa that I have had to pound Imodium… oh well, this is Peace Corps and I love the unpredictability. But it’s fun because I am sitting in the car with this APCD who is really cool and I’m getting his life story out of him. Our driver decided to walk to a nearby town through the floods but I don’t want to get infections from the water… so I’m hanging out in the flooded land rover watching the fish swim by my door. The day got funnier. After many attempts at trying to push the car out of the water, the engine finally died and then so did the battery. Apparently it is a bad sign when the engines died. Lots of motorcycle engines were dead and same with cars, all you could hear was the starter engine going and going. Then they wanted to plug in the electrical cord into the car that was in waist deep water to pull out the tow cable… fortunately we convinced them not to do that. They kept making fun of me, saying I looked scared, and I wanted to be like yeah obviously because you guys are trying to jump a car battery in standing water. So after all the many varying efforts, we were still stuck there and we decided to wait for a Peace Corps car to come from Bamako. So we waited, it got dark, our driver decided he wanted to walk to a town. I didn’t want to walk. Going to the bathroom was a fun experience, it’s inevitable if you sit in a car all day, and the water was basically up to my hips so I definitely broke some codes of Malian decency as I stood there with my skirt around my waist. I hope I didn’t get schisto. The driver returned a few hours later with a giant truck that he paid to pull us out, backwards, from the sink pit we were in. Once we were out, the water was only thigh deep, so the car could drain out and that was good. Then we waited some more and then the Peace Corps car came to rescue us!
I spent this past week at tubaniso, finishing up things before we are inducted into Peace Corps as volunteers and leave for our 2 years at site. This week was so so so much fun; I don’t even know where to begin. Saturday we had our final language test at our home stay villages and we all had to get intermediate mid in Bambara in order to be sworn in at the embassy. Fortunately we all did, though I don’t really feel confident in my language skills yet, time will tell. I’m not worried, it will come. Then Saturday we hung around the home stay village and went to the bar/restaurant for a little to get some food, celebrate, and get things at the tailors to wear at swear in so that we look integrated. People from a neighboring village rode their bikes to the bar too. Typical Africa story- some of the guys wanted to get hair cuts before swear in so they asked the bar tender where the barber shop was. He said it was down the street so they said ok, let’s go after we eat. Then ten minutes later this guy on a moped shows up with a bag full of hair cutting gear. With the lack of electricity, I had to wonder how he was going to buzz cut a tubab. He pulls out a pack of razor blades and a fine tooth comb, and manages to give an awesome buzz cut, complete with neck and forehead trimming, the skin of which he poured bleach on afterwards. Saturday night was sad; I hung out with my host brother for a while and tried to absorb the people as much as possible. I also think I encountered my first drunk Malian. My host brother and I were sitting outside his hut on benches chatting and his friend comes over. He is wobbly and his pants are unzipped, and his is fumbling with the zipper trying to zip them during this whole story about ‘gerens’ and weird giggles, and weird touchy feeling actions towards my brother. Gerens are kind of scandalous places where men hang out in secret with mistresses or friends, but they do this never with their wives and never near other family members. For example, my teacher has his own geren but his brother has a different one. I told my host brother that I understood what they were talking about and he starting laughing and asked me how I knew about those.
But Sunday! Finally. The day of reunion with all my friends. Sure I had seen them recently, but this was the week that I had been looking forward to for so long. A week of care free time with all 80 of us, looking forward to swear in and excited/really scared for the day when we all go to site. I got back and went to my hut to unpack and things, after the hectic morning of leaving homestay, which was really sad. I can’t imagine leaving after 2 years.
I spent this past week at tubaniso, finishing up things before we are inducted into Peace Corps as volunteers and leave for our 2 years at site. This week was so so so much fun; I don’t even know where to begin. Saturday we had our final language test at our home stay villages and we all had to get intermediate mid in Bambara in order to be sworn in at the embassy. Fortunately we all did, though I don’t really feel confident in my language skills yet, time will tell. I’m not worried, it will come. Then Saturday we hung around the home stay village and went to the bar/restaurant for a little to get some food, celebrate, and get things at the tailors to wear at swear in so that we look integrated. People from a neighboring village rode their bikes to the bar too. Typical Africa story- some of the guys wanted to get hair cuts before swear in so they asked the bar tender where the barber shop was. He said it was down the street so they said ok, let’s go after we eat. Then ten minutes later this guy on a moped shows up with a bag full of hair cutting gear. With the lack of electricity, I had to wonder how he was going to buzz cut a tubab. He pulls out a pack of razor blades and a fine tooth comb, and manages to give an awesome buzz cut, complete with neck and forehead trimming, the skin of which he poured bleach on afterwards. Saturday night was sad; I hung out with my host brother for a while and tried to absorb the people as much as possible. I also think I encountered my first drunk Malian. My host brother and I were sitting outside his hut on benches chatting and his friend comes over. He is wobbly and his pants are unzipped, and his is fumbling with the zipper trying to zip them during this whole story about ‘gerens’ and weird giggles, and weird touchy feeling actions towards my brother. Gerens are kind of scandalous places where men hang out in secret with mistresses or friends, but they do this never with their wives and never near other family members. For example, my teacher has his own geren but his brother has a different one. I told my host brother that I understood what they were talking about and he starting laughing and asked me how I knew about those.
But Sunday! Finally. The day of reunion with all my friends. Sure I had seen them recently, but this was the week that I had been looking forward to for so long. A week of care free time with all 80 of us, looking forward to swear in and excited/really scared for the day when we all go to site. I got back and went to my hut to unpack and things, after the hectic morning of leaving homestay, which was really sad. I can’t imagine leaving after 2 years.
"You're an emotional rollercoaster"
Well, first night back at home stay post site visit and site announcement and everything else that is revolutionary. Tons of events have happened in the past week or so that have made pretty big impacts on my Peace Corps life as I knew it. First of all I met my homologue and such as you know from my last post. Those were simply first impressions. I am still deep in the first impression stage of the Peace Corps; I don’t have a routine anywhere yet. But by IST (in service training) in December though, things should be relatively normal.
Nothing too revolutionary has happened since returning yesterday. We are reviewing our Bambara to get ready for the big test next Saturday. While I feel confident alone, I still can only carry out the most basic conversations where I already know the answer and have a problem with comparing myself to others and then feeling bad about my skills. But this week we learn how to do baby weighing to scan for malnourished kids, so that will be really interesting. I am curious to see what percent of the kids actually are dangerously malnourished, and how my perceptions have changed since getting here. A child in this town who is relatively ok may be malnourished but I just don’t see it yet. We also will teach the women how to make ameliorated porridge to feed the kids on the lower end of the scale. It is oatmeal beefed up with corn and rice and peanut powder, providing extra calories and nutrients. The only problem is that most kids don’t actually get to drink it. Sometimes, when the woman comes home with it or makes it for her family, it goes to the old person because of seniority but they aren’t the ones who will benefit most from it. Being a child under 5 here is like being a grass eating dinosaur. Everyone else is beating you to the food and it’s accepted that you’ll get chased away from the food bowl before you get any of the good stuff. Maybe that not the best analogy but it’s the first thing that popped into my head. Kids here are sent straight from breast feeding and into the food group with the other kids. Then the little 2 year olds forced to fend for himself. They eat slower and less. A good solution is to give them their own bowl. Many women here do not practice good weaning techniques so the babies quickly drop weight after they are denied breast milk. Then they are exposed to dirty water and a carb heavy diet that lacks variety. Women here don’t always exclusively breast feed until 6 months either, sometimes they add in water and other things thinking that it’s ok, but the little babies aren’t ready for all the diseases present, thus starting a cycle of diarrhea and all kinds of parasites and dehydration. Another problem is that women believe that breastfeeding while pregnant is bad, so if a woman gets pregnant while still breastfeeding then she will cut the kid off breast feeding cold turkey. Contributing to this issue is that women think that breast feeding is a form of birth control, which I don’t think it is. In the book I am reading right now, 9 hills to niamambuka (spelling?) She talks about this. This book is really good and is written by a Cote d’Ivoire health volunteer in the late 1990s I think. It’s great though and I definitely recommend it. I personally find it better than Monique in the mango rains, though both are good reads. But I am also in a rush to finish this blog post because I am reading ‘extremely loud and incredibly close’, and I really love this guys writing style. He makes me think of so many things at once and it written in a very natural tone. Makes me want to narrate my own life this way. There are tons of good quotes that I am writing down in my book since I am reading this off a friends kindle. I totally should have gotten one of those.
Some funny things that happened soon after arriving back at home stay last night: I was bored and feeling antisocial so I got out my nail polish and rounded up the kids in my compound and painted all their nails. Even the boys wanted it but I called my host brother over for a second opinion and he said that was a bad idea. He will be coming with me to tubaniso in September for the swear in dinner and things, I am really excited. Each volunteer brings one member of their family and while I would love to bring my sister, all my time has been spent with my host brother so I asked him already. Another funny thing was when I got back; obviously my house had become the home of many animals, ranging from lizards to many obscenely huge spiders. So I opened the door, stepped back, watched some scatter, then rounded up the kids yet again and sent them in storm trooper style to get them all. Single file they came out with an assortment of dead animal body parts, some with only wiggling lizard tails and others carrying spiders by one leg. Successful mission. Then they all sat in my door way and watched me unpack… typical. I love these little kids. I will certainly visit this town at least once a year to stop by, since its relatively close to Bamako and I will be around pretty often to get things done in the city. Once at site, I will be there 3 months essentially with the exception of maybe 4 days before I am allowed to leave my region. This means 4 days of internet in 3 months, so September through December should be interesting. But another funny thing was that they shot down this giant hawk like bird for my return. My host dad had apparently been hunting with his revolutionary era rifle and managed to shoot down this giant oversized parakeet looking bird. It looked like a bird that you would see in the Amazonian rain forest but bigger and with giant claws, hopefully for killing snakes (side note- at tubaniso they found 3 black mambas and a king cobra…. These can reach 15 feet) but anyways, the kids were messing with me and the bird so I sat in my hut for a little while they put a leash on it and ran around with it in the air pretending that it was flying. Then they started hitting it against rocks to get some feathers off, and then these 5 year old boys lit it on fire to start plucking it. So basically they just manhandled it for 2 hours and then lit it into a flaming torch and ran around some more. Then they started plucking it and I could see the bullet hole in the wing. … Then I ate it for dinner. What is becoming of me? I don’t know but I miss American meat… I will never scoff at meat in Publix again after eating this for 2 years. It’s hard enough trying to gain weight in America… But I’ll give it till December and then assess whether or not I should start eating ameliorated porridge.
Is it better not to know? I remember when I wrote my Peace Corps essay I quoted this song that I think about a lot that says that ‘living is easy with eyes closed’. Strawberry fields I think. And I think he had a point. In my essay I said how he is right, but that I don’t want to live with eyes closed. Sure, a documentary is nice, I love watching those. But do I want to live one? Every time I leave my room, be confronted by more and more issues? Never get a break? When will I get a break? Do I have to do this? It’s hard. I hide in my room in my bug hut under the UNHCR blanket they give us because it’s the closest I can come from removing myself from the present. But is this far enough? Have I gone far enough? Can I go back, but that doesn’t make me feel good. Today is a free day. I rode 30 min down the road to visit friends. It was really nice. I love Peace Corps people. So different but all on the same page. We all jumped through hoops to be here but we all want it, need it. I rode home at the last possible minute before dark and as I changed out of my sweaty shirt in the negen, I see my host dads breaking truck crumble into the compound. Out pour 900 kids and all the women he took to the fields with him. Then he takes out two monkeys. It is a dad and a son, they boast. I smile and say that we don’t have those in America and that we don’t eat them. I grab my camera and take a picture, thinking, well this is Africa. They are all thrilled. Then I notice that the baby monkey is still alive. Fatally injured, but rolling around on his dad and making monkey noises, tail flailing, pushing its little hands into his dad. The kids, all probably 15 of them, are surrounding it. They are poking it with a knife, torturing it. My host dad is sitting off in a chair yelling at them every so often but I don’t know what he was saying. We were all standing around a dead dad monkey and a dying baby monkey. It felt so weird to be standing so close to something dead. I felt like I had killed it, standing above it. I don’t know how it felt but I had never felt so out of place and removed in my life. Then I snapped. Berated these kids in English and French and Bambara and told them how ridiculous it is that they are enjoying this. How inhumane and unnecessary to promote suffering for sufferings sake. Just kill it, just eat it already. My one host brother who speaks French was unfortunate enough to be next to me and I yelled at him in French too but unlike the kids, he could understand me. Then I knew I was going to start crying so I went and got my already full water bottle and said I was going to my friend’s house to fill it. On the way out I say my other host brother who I am closest with and told him that I can’t be here, near people who will poke and prod a living animal and how it is very important to kill it fast. But they don’t care and they don’t understand. Will they ever understand? Am I being unreasonable? Just add it to the reasons to laugh at the emotional tubab with her nalgene and chaccos and tubab medicines. So I get myself together and I’m petting my dog that has become a lap dog and its so cute. Then I go in my house and then I hear him crying. So I run out and I see the dog running around crying, dragging his butt on the ground. No one cares and everyone is laughing. I run to my house and they laugh at my urgency. I get my flashlight and roll the dog over and see something giant and white stuck to her butt. I thought maybe it was a scorpion but it looked more like a giant white play dough starfish. I didn’t know what it was so I told my host dad to get it off with the stick he was holding. I know the dog has been having issues lately because it has been constantly biting its butt and I could tell it was itchy or burning. But then the host dad pulls out this giant white thing out of the dog. I don’t know of this was some sort of female dog issue or what but it was disgusting. I went and washed my hands. Then the dog was laying there. People beat their kids and wives behind closed doors for the most part. But animals they don’t care. This is why I snapped- because I saw. So what am I not seeing? Will there come a point when I know enough, to not want to know? Will my naïve curiosity turn into a realistic knowledge? When will that happen? I hope it happens. When I no longer want to know, when I can’t do anything; when I no longer want to know just for the sake of knowing. It doesn’t help anyone.
But I love the Peace Corps. I can’t stress it enough. I have never been happier. If anyone is reading my blog and thinking what I was thinking a year ago- start the application process some rainy night and you will see. I can’t believe I am here. There are reasons that I am here. We did a baby weighing yesterday. Literally all of the kids that showed up looked pretty good. But I was amazed to find out their ages. A normal looking kid, who doesn’t even look underweight, can be in the red zone meaning that he is critically malnourished. They have to go to the CSCOM asap. We had a 26 month old who weighed 7 kilo. He looked normal, but not when you factor in his age. That’s what blows my mind though. He wasn’t skinny. But he was in bad shape. So today we had an ameliorated porridge making session to teach women about construction foods that will help their kids stay in the green. There are lots of behaviors to be changed and I keep hearing the Peace Corps beat it into our brains- we are here to change behavior.
Side note- Ashley- remember the incident which I can’t explain for politically correct reasons when we were standing in our door ways in muscle beach and I said something stupid then you clapped to kill a bug but I was mistaken? Jajajajajj I would call you right now and tell you that right now if I had phone credit. You lie like a bug.
Last day at home stay. It’s sad saying good bye but I am so, so ready to get a routine and cook for myself and have a say in what I do. Today I learned that my 16 year old sister is married and that her husband lives in Bamako but she lives here, until she is done with some school and wants kids. I had no idea. I was just talking to my host brother about when people get married here, and he said that the average for girls is about 18, but that it varies based on puberty and things. And he said that men get married around the age of 30, to the 18 year old. He had some interesting explanations for this age gap. I said I want a husband near my age. Another experience today was when my host mom came home from the doctor’s office. Her one year old has been sick lately and he doesn’t look too good. So he went to the CSCOM today and she came back with 5 bottles of medicine. I looked through them, the instructions to which were in English and French and while she can’t speak either language I don’t think she can read either. But the instructions were obviously translated from Chinese or something because they made no sense and basically said to follow the doctor’s instructions. But she had medicine for everything from amoebas and giardia to malaria. I hope the pharmacist didn’t rip her off, because a blood test could have narrowed down the medicine list for sure. But she’s giving this poor kid the medicines and he doesn’t want any of it and it says to take with food and milk and things but she doesn’t know that… it was depressing to watch. Her breasts dried up so the kid has been sucking on nothing for too long now and I am trying to be optimistic for the kid but it’s hard. The other one year old in my family came back from some time away and its skin looks like kwashiorkor to me. I don’t think it is because its limbs aren’t swollen but it isn’t looking too healthy either… and as usual, every kid has eternal amounts of snot dripping on their faces and coughs akin to TB. Being a kid here is hard- I look around at the teenagers and wonder how many didn’t make it that far. I was happy to see that my host mom could afford the medicines though and that she didn’t depend on only African traditional medicine. I know she had been using it a few weeks ago, but I am glad to see that she went to the CSCOM. I wish I was going to be around for long enough to see this kid get better, but I am off to my new site. I do plan on visiting though and I have my host brother’s phone number.
And a BIG THANKS goes to AUNT SUE, CARIN GREENE, MY MOM, AND THE LEARS!!! THANKS SOOOOOO MUCH for the packages- I cannot express how much my friends and I enjoyed that. THANKS!!!
Nothing too revolutionary has happened since returning yesterday. We are reviewing our Bambara to get ready for the big test next Saturday. While I feel confident alone, I still can only carry out the most basic conversations where I already know the answer and have a problem with comparing myself to others and then feeling bad about my skills. But this week we learn how to do baby weighing to scan for malnourished kids, so that will be really interesting. I am curious to see what percent of the kids actually are dangerously malnourished, and how my perceptions have changed since getting here. A child in this town who is relatively ok may be malnourished but I just don’t see it yet. We also will teach the women how to make ameliorated porridge to feed the kids on the lower end of the scale. It is oatmeal beefed up with corn and rice and peanut powder, providing extra calories and nutrients. The only problem is that most kids don’t actually get to drink it. Sometimes, when the woman comes home with it or makes it for her family, it goes to the old person because of seniority but they aren’t the ones who will benefit most from it. Being a child under 5 here is like being a grass eating dinosaur. Everyone else is beating you to the food and it’s accepted that you’ll get chased away from the food bowl before you get any of the good stuff. Maybe that not the best analogy but it’s the first thing that popped into my head. Kids here are sent straight from breast feeding and into the food group with the other kids. Then the little 2 year olds forced to fend for himself. They eat slower and less. A good solution is to give them their own bowl. Many women here do not practice good weaning techniques so the babies quickly drop weight after they are denied breast milk. Then they are exposed to dirty water and a carb heavy diet that lacks variety. Women here don’t always exclusively breast feed until 6 months either, sometimes they add in water and other things thinking that it’s ok, but the little babies aren’t ready for all the diseases present, thus starting a cycle of diarrhea and all kinds of parasites and dehydration. Another problem is that women believe that breastfeeding while pregnant is bad, so if a woman gets pregnant while still breastfeeding then she will cut the kid off breast feeding cold turkey. Contributing to this issue is that women think that breast feeding is a form of birth control, which I don’t think it is. In the book I am reading right now, 9 hills to niamambuka (spelling?) She talks about this. This book is really good and is written by a Cote d’Ivoire health volunteer in the late 1990s I think. It’s great though and I definitely recommend it. I personally find it better than Monique in the mango rains, though both are good reads. But I am also in a rush to finish this blog post because I am reading ‘extremely loud and incredibly close’, and I really love this guys writing style. He makes me think of so many things at once and it written in a very natural tone. Makes me want to narrate my own life this way. There are tons of good quotes that I am writing down in my book since I am reading this off a friends kindle. I totally should have gotten one of those.
Some funny things that happened soon after arriving back at home stay last night: I was bored and feeling antisocial so I got out my nail polish and rounded up the kids in my compound and painted all their nails. Even the boys wanted it but I called my host brother over for a second opinion and he said that was a bad idea. He will be coming with me to tubaniso in September for the swear in dinner and things, I am really excited. Each volunteer brings one member of their family and while I would love to bring my sister, all my time has been spent with my host brother so I asked him already. Another funny thing was when I got back; obviously my house had become the home of many animals, ranging from lizards to many obscenely huge spiders. So I opened the door, stepped back, watched some scatter, then rounded up the kids yet again and sent them in storm trooper style to get them all. Single file they came out with an assortment of dead animal body parts, some with only wiggling lizard tails and others carrying spiders by one leg. Successful mission. Then they all sat in my door way and watched me unpack… typical. I love these little kids. I will certainly visit this town at least once a year to stop by, since its relatively close to Bamako and I will be around pretty often to get things done in the city. Once at site, I will be there 3 months essentially with the exception of maybe 4 days before I am allowed to leave my region. This means 4 days of internet in 3 months, so September through December should be interesting. But another funny thing was that they shot down this giant hawk like bird for my return. My host dad had apparently been hunting with his revolutionary era rifle and managed to shoot down this giant oversized parakeet looking bird. It looked like a bird that you would see in the Amazonian rain forest but bigger and with giant claws, hopefully for killing snakes (side note- at tubaniso they found 3 black mambas and a king cobra…. These can reach 15 feet) but anyways, the kids were messing with me and the bird so I sat in my hut for a little while they put a leash on it and ran around with it in the air pretending that it was flying. Then they started hitting it against rocks to get some feathers off, and then these 5 year old boys lit it on fire to start plucking it. So basically they just manhandled it for 2 hours and then lit it into a flaming torch and ran around some more. Then they started plucking it and I could see the bullet hole in the wing. … Then I ate it for dinner. What is becoming of me? I don’t know but I miss American meat… I will never scoff at meat in Publix again after eating this for 2 years. It’s hard enough trying to gain weight in America… But I’ll give it till December and then assess whether or not I should start eating ameliorated porridge.
Is it better not to know? I remember when I wrote my Peace Corps essay I quoted this song that I think about a lot that says that ‘living is easy with eyes closed’. Strawberry fields I think. And I think he had a point. In my essay I said how he is right, but that I don’t want to live with eyes closed. Sure, a documentary is nice, I love watching those. But do I want to live one? Every time I leave my room, be confronted by more and more issues? Never get a break? When will I get a break? Do I have to do this? It’s hard. I hide in my room in my bug hut under the UNHCR blanket they give us because it’s the closest I can come from removing myself from the present. But is this far enough? Have I gone far enough? Can I go back, but that doesn’t make me feel good. Today is a free day. I rode 30 min down the road to visit friends. It was really nice. I love Peace Corps people. So different but all on the same page. We all jumped through hoops to be here but we all want it, need it. I rode home at the last possible minute before dark and as I changed out of my sweaty shirt in the negen, I see my host dads breaking truck crumble into the compound. Out pour 900 kids and all the women he took to the fields with him. Then he takes out two monkeys. It is a dad and a son, they boast. I smile and say that we don’t have those in America and that we don’t eat them. I grab my camera and take a picture, thinking, well this is Africa. They are all thrilled. Then I notice that the baby monkey is still alive. Fatally injured, but rolling around on his dad and making monkey noises, tail flailing, pushing its little hands into his dad. The kids, all probably 15 of them, are surrounding it. They are poking it with a knife, torturing it. My host dad is sitting off in a chair yelling at them every so often but I don’t know what he was saying. We were all standing around a dead dad monkey and a dying baby monkey. It felt so weird to be standing so close to something dead. I felt like I had killed it, standing above it. I don’t know how it felt but I had never felt so out of place and removed in my life. Then I snapped. Berated these kids in English and French and Bambara and told them how ridiculous it is that they are enjoying this. How inhumane and unnecessary to promote suffering for sufferings sake. Just kill it, just eat it already. My one host brother who speaks French was unfortunate enough to be next to me and I yelled at him in French too but unlike the kids, he could understand me. Then I knew I was going to start crying so I went and got my already full water bottle and said I was going to my friend’s house to fill it. On the way out I say my other host brother who I am closest with and told him that I can’t be here, near people who will poke and prod a living animal and how it is very important to kill it fast. But they don’t care and they don’t understand. Will they ever understand? Am I being unreasonable? Just add it to the reasons to laugh at the emotional tubab with her nalgene and chaccos and tubab medicines. So I get myself together and I’m petting my dog that has become a lap dog and its so cute. Then I go in my house and then I hear him crying. So I run out and I see the dog running around crying, dragging his butt on the ground. No one cares and everyone is laughing. I run to my house and they laugh at my urgency. I get my flashlight and roll the dog over and see something giant and white stuck to her butt. I thought maybe it was a scorpion but it looked more like a giant white play dough starfish. I didn’t know what it was so I told my host dad to get it off with the stick he was holding. I know the dog has been having issues lately because it has been constantly biting its butt and I could tell it was itchy or burning. But then the host dad pulls out this giant white thing out of the dog. I don’t know of this was some sort of female dog issue or what but it was disgusting. I went and washed my hands. Then the dog was laying there. People beat their kids and wives behind closed doors for the most part. But animals they don’t care. This is why I snapped- because I saw. So what am I not seeing? Will there come a point when I know enough, to not want to know? Will my naïve curiosity turn into a realistic knowledge? When will that happen? I hope it happens. When I no longer want to know, when I can’t do anything; when I no longer want to know just for the sake of knowing. It doesn’t help anyone.
But I love the Peace Corps. I can’t stress it enough. I have never been happier. If anyone is reading my blog and thinking what I was thinking a year ago- start the application process some rainy night and you will see. I can’t believe I am here. There are reasons that I am here. We did a baby weighing yesterday. Literally all of the kids that showed up looked pretty good. But I was amazed to find out their ages. A normal looking kid, who doesn’t even look underweight, can be in the red zone meaning that he is critically malnourished. They have to go to the CSCOM asap. We had a 26 month old who weighed 7 kilo. He looked normal, but not when you factor in his age. That’s what blows my mind though. He wasn’t skinny. But he was in bad shape. So today we had an ameliorated porridge making session to teach women about construction foods that will help their kids stay in the green. There are lots of behaviors to be changed and I keep hearing the Peace Corps beat it into our brains- we are here to change behavior.
Side note- Ashley- remember the incident which I can’t explain for politically correct reasons when we were standing in our door ways in muscle beach and I said something stupid then you clapped to kill a bug but I was mistaken? Jajajajajj I would call you right now and tell you that right now if I had phone credit. You lie like a bug.
Last day at home stay. It’s sad saying good bye but I am so, so ready to get a routine and cook for myself and have a say in what I do. Today I learned that my 16 year old sister is married and that her husband lives in Bamako but she lives here, until she is done with some school and wants kids. I had no idea. I was just talking to my host brother about when people get married here, and he said that the average for girls is about 18, but that it varies based on puberty and things. And he said that men get married around the age of 30, to the 18 year old. He had some interesting explanations for this age gap. I said I want a husband near my age. Another experience today was when my host mom came home from the doctor’s office. Her one year old has been sick lately and he doesn’t look too good. So he went to the CSCOM today and she came back with 5 bottles of medicine. I looked through them, the instructions to which were in English and French and while she can’t speak either language I don’t think she can read either. But the instructions were obviously translated from Chinese or something because they made no sense and basically said to follow the doctor’s instructions. But she had medicine for everything from amoebas and giardia to malaria. I hope the pharmacist didn’t rip her off, because a blood test could have narrowed down the medicine list for sure. But she’s giving this poor kid the medicines and he doesn’t want any of it and it says to take with food and milk and things but she doesn’t know that… it was depressing to watch. Her breasts dried up so the kid has been sucking on nothing for too long now and I am trying to be optimistic for the kid but it’s hard. The other one year old in my family came back from some time away and its skin looks like kwashiorkor to me. I don’t think it is because its limbs aren’t swollen but it isn’t looking too healthy either… and as usual, every kid has eternal amounts of snot dripping on their faces and coughs akin to TB. Being a kid here is hard- I look around at the teenagers and wonder how many didn’t make it that far. I was happy to see that my host mom could afford the medicines though and that she didn’t depend on only African traditional medicine. I know she had been using it a few weeks ago, but I am glad to see that she went to the CSCOM. I wish I was going to be around for long enough to see this kid get better, but I am off to my new site. I do plan on visiting though and I have my host brother’s phone number.
And a BIG THANKS goes to AUNT SUE, CARIN GREENE, MY MOM, AND THE LEARS!!! THANKS SOOOOOO MUCH for the packages- I cannot express how much my friends and I enjoyed that. THANKS!!!
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
... this is weird.
Things that I think are funny: condom, literally translated back into English, is an “important hat”. I need to remember not to say that hoods are important hats when it is raining… people might get confused. Another thing is the tea. I hate the tea. I like it sometimes when they use a certain kind, but I never know which it is until I’m stuck drinking it with everyone watching me. I have learned to turn off my taste buds but by the second or third sip the I get curious but taste still creeps in and it is like sipping a shot of bitter ever clear, for those of you who know how bad that is, you know who you are. Or kind of like the rice vodka that Bryon brought back from china. But you have to sip it and it’s bitter and has chunks of tea in it. Another funny and awkward thing is that the third question I get asked by people when I meet them is whether or not I am married. In America this would be rude and I find myself kind of like, ‘what did you just say?’ But whatever, this is Africa. So I’m like no, I’m not married. ‘why? How old are you?’ Then I don’t know what to say because I don’t know how to explain in Bambara. To say that I’m too young and that I don’t want to be married yet, at all, would be hard to explain without them thinking something was wrong with me. It wouldn’t be so bad if this didn’t happen at every one of the nine million houses in my town. Sometimes I’m just like whatever yeah I’m married; I have 4 husbands but no kids. Then they get really confused. And another funny thing is that every time I’m sitting down, drinking this gnarly tea, like 5 million kids come up and pet my hair. They stroke the parts that have fallen out of my hair thing and play with them… I’m kind of scared of their skin infections but oh man. As long as I can avoid having them braid it I will be happy. They always say ‘kunsigi? Kuntigi?’ Which means hair? Braids? Or something like that and I just run away. And Ashley, the crickets that lived in your bathroom in muscle beach are nothing compared to the mutant monster crickets that live in my house here… nothing. And then today I spotted a giant skink lizard under my bed… sleeping tonight will be interesting. Good thing I have my bug hut. And people here are obsessed with bathing 3 times a day, which you wouldn’t believe if you passed someone too close on the sidewalk, but they seem to think that freckles are dirt so maybe that explains why they think I don’t bathe well. Hmm. But tomorrow I head out of here in the early morning to get to Bamako alone, which will be real funny when it’s over and I know that I didn’t die or puke on anyone. But then once I get through the supposed bush taxi transfers, and if I find my bike, then I go to stage house and hang out for a little then go to this peace corps volunteers house for a regional party so that will be real fun. Tubab time! Then Wednesday back to tubaniso, yay. I can’t wait to hear the horror stories that have come out of this week at site visit, there are bound to be some good ones.
First night at my future site! This week we are visiting our sites for the first time. We have to set up bank accounts, meet people, and figure out public transport. My site is awesome though. I really think I got so lucky- I have cell service, pump water instead of just a well, the men speak French… the only thing I wish is that there was another peace corps volunteer kind of close to me. The closest one is 30 k away, and after today’s public transport experience, that is no easy feat. I think I’ll be riding my bike there and then spending the night and returning the next day when I go see him. Some people have site mates like 6 k away and stuff like that which would be nice for those days when you just really need a tubab, but I guess this is good. I have met 2 people in my family who are close to my age and friendly so maybe friendships will form with them. I mean friendships will form, but I hope they turn out to be really good ones. Driving in was so crazy though. When we finally pulled into my town, I was like oh my god; I’m going to be here for TWO YEARS. But while that is long and scary- it is also relaxing because there is really no rush. I can take my time, get to know people, learn the languages… its going to be awesome. I met a group of men who are some sort of medical board and they are all cool and can speak French. Then I met the dugutigi and all his old blind friends who have an assortment of weird visible diseases, including missing body parts (remember body parts man Ashley? Ahahhaha). Then we went to the maternity center- a 2 room building in a field that I don’t think even has electricity- but tomorrow i will get a tour. They also do everything else that doctors do there, but it is meant to be for maternity care. The closest CSCOM is like 30 k so I guess they do what they can. I have to say, I was kind of surprised when I met the doctor. He was a very well spoken, smart man. I was surprised because I have heard so much about the problem of smart educated people, especially in the health field, who leave their country because they can get better pay in others. This guy chose to stay here though and work in this center… it’s really refreshing. This town is beautiful though. Big trees, neon green fields, big sky, beautiful friendly people.
African public transport. Oh. My. God. I’m so glad I didn’t die today. But really. So I show up at the ‘bus station’ at 7 30 with my homologue lady who only speaks Bambara. They drop us off in this swarm of people and my homologue leads me to our bus. It is a really old rapist van, stripped bare inside and re welded to ‘reinforce’ the roof so it can hold more. Then they welded wooden benches around the perimeter and had one in the middle that was removable. I had seen these bush taxis before but I knew my site was between 4 and 8 hours away… so needless to say I was confused. We give the guys our stuff and they put it on top, and then we wait three hours, literally, for the bus to fill. Keep in mind that this is your average plumber car. We had 27 people in it, no joke, and a 200 kg diesel engine in the middle of us where the removable bench usually is that had just been brought in from china, obviously. I decided that this couldn’t be real so I took what my homologue said to mean that we were taking this part way, where we would then switch onto a real bus. So we pull out into traffic, I’m so scared and people are laughing at me, for many reasons, one being that in the white tubab in a van of 27 Malians. The little girl next to me is COVERED in little blisters and her scalp is peeling- I wanted to die. I didn’t think it could be contagious until I saw that both her siblings also had it. Oh my god I hope I’m vaccinated against whatever that was. Ew. She wouldn’t stop scratching. So then for the next 7 hours, yes, I sat on a wooden bench next to 26 other people and all their ‘carry on luggage’ as we barreled down the unpaved, sometimes under water ‘highway’. After about the first hour I realized that maybe it wasn’t definite that I would die so I started to relax. Then we stopped to get gas and filled up with the car running while a tanker backed in. But I also survived that so then I was pretty happy. It was funny though because by the end of the ride I felt really comfortable around all the strangers sitting around me. One boy spoke French which really helped when this guy stopped our car and made us all give 10 dollars and I had no idea what was going on. Apparently it was a transport tax…. Ironic.
But now I’m in my new house! Alive!!Did I mention they broke my bike? Yeah that was a bummer, they bent the back wheel outta shape so the peace corps is supposedly coming to get it tomorrow… good thing my bike is going to see public transport 3 more times in the next 3 weeks. This could be expensive. And my god, my lower back has never been so sore. And I better not have measles or whatever those girls were carrying. Ew. But my house is awesome, the girl who lived here last in 2009 but she left all her furniture (double bed hell yeah!) and lots of books and things. Tomorrow I am going to clean and organize, I can’t wait. I’m using my bug hut for the first time, the bug tent, and it’s the best thing ever, I’m definitely sticking to it. Everyone I have met I have really liked though and I feel like I can definitely do this, and I can’t wait to get integrated and start experiencing things. So much to look forward too!! We have this week here; a few days at Peace Corps office, 9 days at home stay, and then swear in! swear in is going to be so much fun and we get to spend the night in hotels with pools and bars and we get the next day free. First free day everrrrr. Peace Corps office (tubaniso) is always so fun though because we finally get o see all our friends and be free. It’s still packed days but we can hang out late and things. And plan ahead for things like WAST (West Africa softball tournament)… PCVs (Peace Corps volunteers) organized it a long time ago and it is legendary. It is in Dakar so we bus out there (30 hours) in teams and I cannot wait. Apparently there is a form of it in dc too because the returned PCVs miss it so much. And then the new stage gets sworn in in April, yay!
Wow, I was definitely in the honey moon phase this morning. The thought actually crossed my mind that I was ‘too’ happy. But looking back, it’s because it was raining so I got to organize my room alone and she had just brought me a snack of the legendary green snot sauce but I really liked it and used a fork. I’m still happy but interacting with people in Bambara is a rollercoaster, an ‘emotional rollercoaster’, a term that we use all too often around here. So this morning I woke up and went to this guys house for breakfast. We had mango jam and milk, it was awesome. Then we explored a little and went to see the maternity center. I was talking to the doctor, the only doctor in the surrounding 5 or so villages and I asked him what difficulties he faces. He said that they need lights (that would be good for the surgeries they do) and forceps. They don’t have forceps in maternity ward?!?! Aunt Sue/ Aunt Carol, I would love to hear your thoughts on how and if it’s even possible to run a maternity ward without these. Their invention saved so many babies lives; I can’t imagine how that hasn’t reached this town yet. The family who invented forceps tried to keep it a secret and managed to for like 100 years, I don’t remember the statistics but they are astounding at how incredible they are. Anyways, maybe those 2 things can be project ideas. This town has a lot but there is another pcv doing a cervical cancer thing and I want to do that here. The only surgeries that they can do here are hernia repairs and some other small things. C-section have to go 30 kilometers away on the back of a moped- that is bad considering that C sections here are only used in emergency situations. From what I know, I know that part of the reason that C section rates are so high in the US is because forceps are a very feeling based tool; it takes a special feel to get it so many people opt for a c section instead of the doctor using forceps. So if they had forceps here and if the doctor could use them, couldn’t that prevent a lot of women from having to make the 30 k trip to the nearest CSCOM? I need to get some of these things, especially if that’s true. They see a lot of malaria, heart disease, and some other words that I don’t know what they are in English. Take this as you will- right behind this tiny, 2 room medical center for the whole 5 village area is a brand new giant mosque being built even though there are already multiple in this town. Needless to say, typical. It was cool though because when we were walking back towards the center of town we passed by this guy who worked for MSF (doctors without borders). He comes here every Friday to test people and treat them for malaria. It’s great to know that I will get to work with organizations like PLAN, IPPF, and MSF. I can’t wait to meet the other people. Then we were walking along and this dog looks at me and walks toward me confidently and I wasn’t sure what it was doing but it turns out that it was the former volunteers dog and I guess it recognizes white people because he came straight to me and knew I would love on him, he’s so cute and his name is Puppy. I love him already and I look for him all day. Then we went home and I organized and started cleaning my house. The last girl left a year ago but has been working in Bamako and has visited a few times since. Today I found lots of good books in the stuff that she left and this awesome journal. Both the previous volunteers who lived here wrote in it and it’s so cool. They both chronicle advice and thoughts throughout their service to help their replacements. I’m totally gonna continue that. I also found these funny books written by volunteers, for volunteers, as support books and full of fun things to do in each city and advice. Then this PC staff woman came and I had no idea what was going on as usual but we get in the land rover and it turns out that we were going to the mayor’s office. We went and she introduced us and we chatted. Bambara, French, and English all got mixed together because each of us spoke a combination of the 3 so things were getting passed around the circle in all 3 languages, it was cool. Then we went back via land rover which was awesome because the road was horrible so we got to test the land rovers skills at fording small rivers. Reminds me of Oregon Trail. Turns out that the guy who broke my bike on the bus yesterday came back and took my bike tire that got destroyed with the intention of fixing it. This is weird and news to me for like 9000 reasons. Not only are the bike parts needed not made in Mali but I didn’t even know he was taking it. Apparently my friend explained this to me but now that I think about it, when he said that the chauffeur was coming to fix my bike, I definitely assumed that they meant Peace Corps car driver, not bush taxi driver…. Lost in translation. So needless to say, I have a one wheeled American bike in Mali and I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here because I’m pretty sure I need to ride my bike to the bus station, basically a place on the mud road, and I don’t know how I’m going to do that. I gave my bike with one wheel to this Peace Corps lady today but I don’t really know what’s going on…. Fortunately it seems that things always work out in the Peace Corps. So far atleast. My brain is heavy, yet another bipolar year long day has passed. Ohhh mannnn. I really need to start typing this stuff when I’m in the honey moon phase of my day. Right now I’m just overwhelmed and really wonder if I will make any lasting difference that a Malian couldn’t do whether or not I was here. One thing that keeps me going is that my friend’s tour guide in the dogon country up north and many Peace Corps staff can speak English and have gotten jobs because Peace Corps volunteers lived in their town. I just need to be friends with one girl here and convince her to use birth control and not have 7 kids in 7 years and I’ll be happy. And this cervical cancer thing has me really excited too. I have to talk to the girl who started it and maybe visit her site for a tech exchange. Tomorrow will be cool though because it is prenatal consultation day. They happen every 3 months (doesn’t make sense because you need 4 prenatal consultations) but I’m really excited to start seeing my future. I’m so glad that I’m only here for a week because I am really looking forward to some tubab detox time. I’m scared for the first 3 months. Oh man. But also really excited to see how things come together and once I get used to the transport route of visiting friends. I also read in the book from the other PCVs who lived here that tubab holidays are some of their fondest memories. Halloween!! I’m definitely using some Bamako nights for that.
Sometimes I wonder what Peace Corps is doing to me. Its creating a precedent- is it setting me up to always be looking for something more? Is it making my life complete, by risking everything that I know and love to start over in a mud hut in Africa? It is starting from scratch. Some would say that this is living. Will I be overly judgmental of others when I get back? Will I be a social outcast and just want to stay on the move? Will I look down upon people who haven’t done Peace Corps but work for NGOs that do things in Africa and think that they don’t understand first hand? Will my ego become huge? Maybe ill become socialist? Or maybe I'll become a home body and want nothing more than the most stable life that any average American wants. It’s invigorating to know that being here is starting my brain over, questioning and reinforcing everything I have ever formed an opinion on. Will I see where the socialist teachers that I disagreed with in college are coming from? Will I become religious? It’s cool, knowing that I am living to the max I guess. Risking. Potentially dying of malaria, I’m not really sure. Round 2 of cipro has just begun, following a sudden fever which hit 103 in the span of 3 hours before I took max dosages of Tylenol… peace corps is a love hate relationship but I have to say, I enjoy the pain of a fever because I know I’m doing something, I know I’m creating a story and an experience that when I do fall into a routine lifestyle back in America, I can look back on this and know I can do it. I just wonder. In the beginning here when I was actually wondering if I was meant to do this, I realized that going home wouldn’t make me magically happy. Then I wondered, if I’m not happy here, then where will I be happy? Am I even the humanitarian women’s rights loving person that I thought I was? We will see. Right now I think so but I have only been here 6 weeks. I am curious to see what I will be thinking in a year. But already, I love the friends I have made here and there is so much to look forward to. The friends we make here are friends of a whole different sort, we don’t know anything about each other’s personalities and material belongings in America, all we know is why we are here and that makes us all connected. I know I sound retarded right now but it’s true. So many ups and downs to look forward to but even the downs I enjoy. But will I be able to enjoy the downs when I return to America? Right now the downs are exciting and adventurous and I feel free because I am in Africa and I’m speaking Bambara. But will all my feelings be muted once I return to the life I was living? Will I ever go back? Will I be forced to seek this adrenaline for the rest of my life, thus forgoing all plans of a family and a golden retriever? Can I have both; I guess is what I really want to know. And only time will tell. But I’ve got time on my hands to wonder. Like in the book the Lunatic Express, he wonders if his life style is what has made him who he is, the adventurous fun guy, or has it made him torn between 2 worlds, the world of being exhilarated by being so alone and the world of having family. I love the feeling of Africa because I am so alone, I’m free and I’m growing alone. Can I find a balance and have both? Have I created a wall? I don’t think so but I don’t know. Has Peace Corps in a way opened Pandora’s Box and ruined my life? I say that laughing but seriously. Time will tell and I’m excited, even as I pound cipro and lay in the fetal position in my bed taking my temperature every 5 minutes to see if it’s rising again. It’s still so unreal when I get lost in my thoughts and look up, out my screen door and see the mud huts around me- is this a dream? I have wanted and wondered and talked about the Peace Corps so long but I really don’t think that I ever actually thought I would do it. And why should I feel at all special, when I am getting paid to do something that everyone living here does for free, normal? Why do I feel so entitled and experienced by being here when to all the people in my village, this is the only life they know? Why is this even hard for me? Oh boy. I can totally see why 70 percent of all Peace Corps volunteers marry other volunteers… because we all go a little insane.
First night at my future site! This week we are visiting our sites for the first time. We have to set up bank accounts, meet people, and figure out public transport. My site is awesome though. I really think I got so lucky- I have cell service, pump water instead of just a well, the men speak French… the only thing I wish is that there was another peace corps volunteer kind of close to me. The closest one is 30 k away, and after today’s public transport experience, that is no easy feat. I think I’ll be riding my bike there and then spending the night and returning the next day when I go see him. Some people have site mates like 6 k away and stuff like that which would be nice for those days when you just really need a tubab, but I guess this is good. I have met 2 people in my family who are close to my age and friendly so maybe friendships will form with them. I mean friendships will form, but I hope they turn out to be really good ones. Driving in was so crazy though. When we finally pulled into my town, I was like oh my god; I’m going to be here for TWO YEARS. But while that is long and scary- it is also relaxing because there is really no rush. I can take my time, get to know people, learn the languages… its going to be awesome. I met a group of men who are some sort of medical board and they are all cool and can speak French. Then I met the dugutigi and all his old blind friends who have an assortment of weird visible diseases, including missing body parts (remember body parts man Ashley? Ahahhaha). Then we went to the maternity center- a 2 room building in a field that I don’t think even has electricity- but tomorrow i will get a tour. They also do everything else that doctors do there, but it is meant to be for maternity care. The closest CSCOM is like 30 k so I guess they do what they can. I have to say, I was kind of surprised when I met the doctor. He was a very well spoken, smart man. I was surprised because I have heard so much about the problem of smart educated people, especially in the health field, who leave their country because they can get better pay in others. This guy chose to stay here though and work in this center… it’s really refreshing. This town is beautiful though. Big trees, neon green fields, big sky, beautiful friendly people.
African public transport. Oh. My. God. I’m so glad I didn’t die today. But really. So I show up at the ‘bus station’ at 7 30 with my homologue lady who only speaks Bambara. They drop us off in this swarm of people and my homologue leads me to our bus. It is a really old rapist van, stripped bare inside and re welded to ‘reinforce’ the roof so it can hold more. Then they welded wooden benches around the perimeter and had one in the middle that was removable. I had seen these bush taxis before but I knew my site was between 4 and 8 hours away… so needless to say I was confused. We give the guys our stuff and they put it on top, and then we wait three hours, literally, for the bus to fill. Keep in mind that this is your average plumber car. We had 27 people in it, no joke, and a 200 kg diesel engine in the middle of us where the removable bench usually is that had just been brought in from china, obviously. I decided that this couldn’t be real so I took what my homologue said to mean that we were taking this part way, where we would then switch onto a real bus. So we pull out into traffic, I’m so scared and people are laughing at me, for many reasons, one being that in the white tubab in a van of 27 Malians. The little girl next to me is COVERED in little blisters and her scalp is peeling- I wanted to die. I didn’t think it could be contagious until I saw that both her siblings also had it. Oh my god I hope I’m vaccinated against whatever that was. Ew. She wouldn’t stop scratching. So then for the next 7 hours, yes, I sat on a wooden bench next to 26 other people and all their ‘carry on luggage’ as we barreled down the unpaved, sometimes under water ‘highway’. After about the first hour I realized that maybe it wasn’t definite that I would die so I started to relax. Then we stopped to get gas and filled up with the car running while a tanker backed in. But I also survived that so then I was pretty happy. It was funny though because by the end of the ride I felt really comfortable around all the strangers sitting around me. One boy spoke French which really helped when this guy stopped our car and made us all give 10 dollars and I had no idea what was going on. Apparently it was a transport tax…. Ironic.
But now I’m in my new house! Alive!!Did I mention they broke my bike? Yeah that was a bummer, they bent the back wheel outta shape so the peace corps is supposedly coming to get it tomorrow… good thing my bike is going to see public transport 3 more times in the next 3 weeks. This could be expensive. And my god, my lower back has never been so sore. And I better not have measles or whatever those girls were carrying. Ew. But my house is awesome, the girl who lived here last in 2009 but she left all her furniture (double bed hell yeah!) and lots of books and things. Tomorrow I am going to clean and organize, I can’t wait. I’m using my bug hut for the first time, the bug tent, and it’s the best thing ever, I’m definitely sticking to it. Everyone I have met I have really liked though and I feel like I can definitely do this, and I can’t wait to get integrated and start experiencing things. So much to look forward too!! We have this week here; a few days at Peace Corps office, 9 days at home stay, and then swear in! swear in is going to be so much fun and we get to spend the night in hotels with pools and bars and we get the next day free. First free day everrrrr. Peace Corps office (tubaniso) is always so fun though because we finally get o see all our friends and be free. It’s still packed days but we can hang out late and things. And plan ahead for things like WAST (West Africa softball tournament)… PCVs (Peace Corps volunteers) organized it a long time ago and it is legendary. It is in Dakar so we bus out there (30 hours) in teams and I cannot wait. Apparently there is a form of it in dc too because the returned PCVs miss it so much. And then the new stage gets sworn in in April, yay!
Wow, I was definitely in the honey moon phase this morning. The thought actually crossed my mind that I was ‘too’ happy. But looking back, it’s because it was raining so I got to organize my room alone and she had just brought me a snack of the legendary green snot sauce but I really liked it and used a fork. I’m still happy but interacting with people in Bambara is a rollercoaster, an ‘emotional rollercoaster’, a term that we use all too often around here. So this morning I woke up and went to this guys house for breakfast. We had mango jam and milk, it was awesome. Then we explored a little and went to see the maternity center. I was talking to the doctor, the only doctor in the surrounding 5 or so villages and I asked him what difficulties he faces. He said that they need lights (that would be good for the surgeries they do) and forceps. They don’t have forceps in maternity ward?!?! Aunt Sue/ Aunt Carol, I would love to hear your thoughts on how and if it’s even possible to run a maternity ward without these. Their invention saved so many babies lives; I can’t imagine how that hasn’t reached this town yet. The family who invented forceps tried to keep it a secret and managed to for like 100 years, I don’t remember the statistics but they are astounding at how incredible they are. Anyways, maybe those 2 things can be project ideas. This town has a lot but there is another pcv doing a cervical cancer thing and I want to do that here. The only surgeries that they can do here are hernia repairs and some other small things. C-section have to go 30 kilometers away on the back of a moped- that is bad considering that C sections here are only used in emergency situations. From what I know, I know that part of the reason that C section rates are so high in the US is because forceps are a very feeling based tool; it takes a special feel to get it so many people opt for a c section instead of the doctor using forceps. So if they had forceps here and if the doctor could use them, couldn’t that prevent a lot of women from having to make the 30 k trip to the nearest CSCOM? I need to get some of these things, especially if that’s true. They see a lot of malaria, heart disease, and some other words that I don’t know what they are in English. Take this as you will- right behind this tiny, 2 room medical center for the whole 5 village area is a brand new giant mosque being built even though there are already multiple in this town. Needless to say, typical. It was cool though because when we were walking back towards the center of town we passed by this guy who worked for MSF (doctors without borders). He comes here every Friday to test people and treat them for malaria. It’s great to know that I will get to work with organizations like PLAN, IPPF, and MSF. I can’t wait to meet the other people. Then we were walking along and this dog looks at me and walks toward me confidently and I wasn’t sure what it was doing but it turns out that it was the former volunteers dog and I guess it recognizes white people because he came straight to me and knew I would love on him, he’s so cute and his name is Puppy. I love him already and I look for him all day. Then we went home and I organized and started cleaning my house. The last girl left a year ago but has been working in Bamako and has visited a few times since. Today I found lots of good books in the stuff that she left and this awesome journal. Both the previous volunteers who lived here wrote in it and it’s so cool. They both chronicle advice and thoughts throughout their service to help their replacements. I’m totally gonna continue that. I also found these funny books written by volunteers, for volunteers, as support books and full of fun things to do in each city and advice. Then this PC staff woman came and I had no idea what was going on as usual but we get in the land rover and it turns out that we were going to the mayor’s office. We went and she introduced us and we chatted. Bambara, French, and English all got mixed together because each of us spoke a combination of the 3 so things were getting passed around the circle in all 3 languages, it was cool. Then we went back via land rover which was awesome because the road was horrible so we got to test the land rovers skills at fording small rivers. Reminds me of Oregon Trail. Turns out that the guy who broke my bike on the bus yesterday came back and took my bike tire that got destroyed with the intention of fixing it. This is weird and news to me for like 9000 reasons. Not only are the bike parts needed not made in Mali but I didn’t even know he was taking it. Apparently my friend explained this to me but now that I think about it, when he said that the chauffeur was coming to fix my bike, I definitely assumed that they meant Peace Corps car driver, not bush taxi driver…. Lost in translation. So needless to say, I have a one wheeled American bike in Mali and I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here because I’m pretty sure I need to ride my bike to the bus station, basically a place on the mud road, and I don’t know how I’m going to do that. I gave my bike with one wheel to this Peace Corps lady today but I don’t really know what’s going on…. Fortunately it seems that things always work out in the Peace Corps. So far atleast. My brain is heavy, yet another bipolar year long day has passed. Ohhh mannnn. I really need to start typing this stuff when I’m in the honey moon phase of my day. Right now I’m just overwhelmed and really wonder if I will make any lasting difference that a Malian couldn’t do whether or not I was here. One thing that keeps me going is that my friend’s tour guide in the dogon country up north and many Peace Corps staff can speak English and have gotten jobs because Peace Corps volunteers lived in their town. I just need to be friends with one girl here and convince her to use birth control and not have 7 kids in 7 years and I’ll be happy. And this cervical cancer thing has me really excited too. I have to talk to the girl who started it and maybe visit her site for a tech exchange. Tomorrow will be cool though because it is prenatal consultation day. They happen every 3 months (doesn’t make sense because you need 4 prenatal consultations) but I’m really excited to start seeing my future. I’m so glad that I’m only here for a week because I am really looking forward to some tubab detox time. I’m scared for the first 3 months. Oh man. But also really excited to see how things come together and once I get used to the transport route of visiting friends. I also read in the book from the other PCVs who lived here that tubab holidays are some of their fondest memories. Halloween!! I’m definitely using some Bamako nights for that.
Sometimes I wonder what Peace Corps is doing to me. Its creating a precedent- is it setting me up to always be looking for something more? Is it making my life complete, by risking everything that I know and love to start over in a mud hut in Africa? It is starting from scratch. Some would say that this is living. Will I be overly judgmental of others when I get back? Will I be a social outcast and just want to stay on the move? Will I look down upon people who haven’t done Peace Corps but work for NGOs that do things in Africa and think that they don’t understand first hand? Will my ego become huge? Maybe ill become socialist? Or maybe I'll become a home body and want nothing more than the most stable life that any average American wants. It’s invigorating to know that being here is starting my brain over, questioning and reinforcing everything I have ever formed an opinion on. Will I see where the socialist teachers that I disagreed with in college are coming from? Will I become religious? It’s cool, knowing that I am living to the max I guess. Risking. Potentially dying of malaria, I’m not really sure. Round 2 of cipro has just begun, following a sudden fever which hit 103 in the span of 3 hours before I took max dosages of Tylenol… peace corps is a love hate relationship but I have to say, I enjoy the pain of a fever because I know I’m doing something, I know I’m creating a story and an experience that when I do fall into a routine lifestyle back in America, I can look back on this and know I can do it. I just wonder. In the beginning here when I was actually wondering if I was meant to do this, I realized that going home wouldn’t make me magically happy. Then I wondered, if I’m not happy here, then where will I be happy? Am I even the humanitarian women’s rights loving person that I thought I was? We will see. Right now I think so but I have only been here 6 weeks. I am curious to see what I will be thinking in a year. But already, I love the friends I have made here and there is so much to look forward to. The friends we make here are friends of a whole different sort, we don’t know anything about each other’s personalities and material belongings in America, all we know is why we are here and that makes us all connected. I know I sound retarded right now but it’s true. So many ups and downs to look forward to but even the downs I enjoy. But will I be able to enjoy the downs when I return to America? Right now the downs are exciting and adventurous and I feel free because I am in Africa and I’m speaking Bambara. But will all my feelings be muted once I return to the life I was living? Will I ever go back? Will I be forced to seek this adrenaline for the rest of my life, thus forgoing all plans of a family and a golden retriever? Can I have both; I guess is what I really want to know. And only time will tell. But I’ve got time on my hands to wonder. Like in the book the Lunatic Express, he wonders if his life style is what has made him who he is, the adventurous fun guy, or has it made him torn between 2 worlds, the world of being exhilarated by being so alone and the world of having family. I love the feeling of Africa because I am so alone, I’m free and I’m growing alone. Can I find a balance and have both? Have I created a wall? I don’t think so but I don’t know. Has Peace Corps in a way opened Pandora’s Box and ruined my life? I say that laughing but seriously. Time will tell and I’m excited, even as I pound cipro and lay in the fetal position in my bed taking my temperature every 5 minutes to see if it’s rising again. It’s still so unreal when I get lost in my thoughts and look up, out my screen door and see the mud huts around me- is this a dream? I have wanted and wondered and talked about the Peace Corps so long but I really don’t think that I ever actually thought I would do it. And why should I feel at all special, when I am getting paid to do something that everyone living here does for free, normal? Why do I feel so entitled and experienced by being here when to all the people in my village, this is the only life they know? Why is this even hard for me? Oh boy. I can totally see why 70 percent of all Peace Corps volunteers marry other volunteers… because we all go a little insane.
... this is weird.
Things that I think are funny: condom, literally translated back into English, is an “important hat”. I need to remember not to say that hoods are important hats when it is raining… people might get confused. Another thing is the tea. I hate the tea. I like it sometimes when they use a certain kind, but I never know which it is until I’m stuck drinking it with everyone watching me. I have learned to turn off my taste buds but by the second or third sip the I get curious but taste still creeps in and it is like sipping a shot of bitter ever clear, for those of you who know how bad that is, you know who you are. Or kind of like the rice vodka that Bryon brought back from china. But you have to sip it and it’s bitter and has chunks of tea in it. Another funny and awkward thing is that the third question I get asked by people when I meet them is whether or not I am married. In America this would be rude and I find myself kind of like, ‘what did you just say?’ But whatever, this is Africa. So I’m like no, I’m not married. ‘why? How old are you?’ Then I don’t know what to say because I don’t know how to explain in Bambara. To say that I’m too young and that I don’t want to be married yet, at all, would be hard to explain without them thinking something was wrong with me. It wouldn’t be so bad if this didn’t happen at every one of the nine million houses in my town. Sometimes I’m just like whatever yeah I’m married; I have 4 husbands but no kids. Then they get really confused. And another funny thing is that every time I’m sitting down, drinking this gnarly tea, like 5 million kids come up and pet my hair. They stroke the parts that have fallen out of my hair thing and play with them… I’m kind of scared of their skin infections but oh man. As long as I can avoid having them braid it I will be happy. They always say ‘kunsigi? Kuntigi?’ Which means hair? Braids? Or something like that and I just run away. And Ashley, the crickets that lived in your bathroom in muscle beach are nothing compared to the mutant monster crickets that live in my house here… nothing. And then today I spotted a giant skink lizard under my bed… sleeping tonight will be interesting. Good thing I have my bug hut. And people here are obsessed with bathing 3 times a day, which you wouldn’t believe if you passed someone too close on the sidewalk, but they seem to think that freckles are dirt so maybe that explains why they think I don’t bathe well. Hmm. But tomorrow I head out of here in the early morning to get to Bamako alone, which will be real funny when it’s over and I know that I didn’t die or puke on anyone. But then once I get through the supposed bush taxi transfers, and if I find my bike, then I go to stage house and hang out for a little then go to this peace corps volunteers house for a regional party so that will be real fun. Tubab time! Then Wednesday back to tubaniso, yay. I can’t wait to hear the horror stories that have come out of this week at site visit, there are bound to be some good ones.
First night at my future site! This week we are visiting our sites for the first time. We have to set up bank accounts, meet people, and figure out public transport. My site is awesome though. I really think I got so lucky- I have cell service, pump water instead of just a well, the men speak French… the only thing I wish is that there was another peace corps volunteer kind of close to me. The closest one is 30 k away, and after today’s public transport experience, that is no easy feat. I think I’ll be riding my bike there and then spending the night and returning the next day when I go see him. Some people have site mates like 6 k away and stuff like that which would be nice for those days when you just really need a tubab, but I guess this is good. I have met 2 people in my family who are close to my age and friendly so maybe friendships will form with them. I mean friendships will form, but I hope they turn out to be really good ones. Driving in was so crazy though. When we finally pulled into my town, I was like oh my god; I’m going to be here for TWO YEARS. But while that is long and scary- it is also relaxing because there is really no rush. I can take my time, get to know people, learn the languages… its going to be awesome. I met a group of men who are some sort of medical board and they are all cool and can speak French. Then I met the dugutigi and all his old blind friends who have an assortment of weird visible diseases, including missing body parts (remember body parts man Ashley? Ahahhaha). Then we went to the maternity center- a 2 room building in a field that I don’t think even has electricity- but tomorrow i will get a tour. They also do everything else that doctors do there, but it is meant to be for maternity care. The closest CSCOM is like 30 k so I guess they do what they can. I have to say, I was kind of surprised when I met the doctor. He was a very well spoken, smart man. I was surprised because I have heard so much about the problem of smart educated people, especially in the health field, who leave their country because they can get better pay in others. This guy chose to stay here though and work in this center… it’s really refreshing. This town is beautiful though. Big trees, neon green fields, big sky, beautiful friendly people.
African public transport. Oh. My. God. I’m so glad I didn’t die today. But really. So I show up at the ‘bus station’ at 7 30 with my homologue lady who only speaks Bambara. They drop us off in this swarm of people and my homologue leads me to our bus. It is a really old rapist van, stripped bare inside and re welded to ‘reinforce’ the roof so it can hold more. Then they welded wooden benches around the perimeter and had one in the middle that was removable. I had seen these bush taxis before but I knew my site was between 4 and 8 hours away… so needless to say I was confused. We give the guys our stuff and they put it on top, and then we wait three hours, literally, for the bus to fill. Keep in mind that this is your average plumber car. We had 27 people in it, no joke, and a 200 kg diesel engine in the middle of us where the removable bench usually is that had just been brought in from china, obviously. I decided that this couldn’t be real so I took what my homologue said to mean that we were taking this part way, where we would then switch onto a real bus. So we pull out into traffic, I’m so scared and people are laughing at me, for many reasons, one being that in the white tubab in a van of 27 Malians. The little girl next to me is COVERED in little blisters and her scalp is peeling- I wanted to die. I didn’t think it could be contagious until I saw that both her siblings also had it. Oh my god I hope I’m vaccinated against whatever that was. Ew. She wouldn’t stop scratching. So then for the next 7 hours, yes, I sat on a wooden bench next to 26 other people and all their ‘carry on luggage’ as we barreled down the unpaved, sometimes under water ‘highway’. After about the first hour I realized that maybe it wasn’t definite that I would die so I started to relax. Then we stopped to get gas and filled up with the car running while a tanker backed in. But I also survived that so then I was pretty happy. It was funny though because by the end of the ride I felt really comfortable around all the strangers sitting around me. One boy spoke French which really helped when this guy stopped our car and made us all give 10 dollars and I had no idea what was going on. Apparently it was a transport tax…. Ironic.
But now I’m in my new house! Alive!!Did I mention they broke my bike? Yeah that was a bummer, they bent the back wheel outta shape so the peace corps is supposedly coming to get it tomorrow… good thing my bike is going to see public transport 3 more times in the next 3 weeks. This could be expensive. And my god, my lower back has never been so sore. And I better not have measles or whatever those girls were carrying. Ew. But my house is awesome, the girl who lived here last in 2009 but she left all her furniture (double bed hell yeah!) and lots of books and things. Tomorrow I am going to clean and organize, I can’t wait. I’m using my bug hut for the first time, the bug tent, and it’s the best thing ever, I’m definitely sticking to it. Everyone I have met I have really liked though and I feel like I can definitely do this, and I can’t wait to get integrated and start experiencing things. So much to look forward too!! We have this week here; a few days at Peace Corps office, 9 days at home stay, and then swear in! swear in is going to be so much fun and we get to spend the night in hotels with pools and bars and we get the next day free. First free day everrrrr. Peace Corps office (tubaniso) is always so fun though because we finally get o see all our friends and be free. It’s still packed days but we can hang out late and things. And plan ahead for things like WAST (West Africa softball tournament)… PCVs (Peace Corps volunteers) organized it a long time ago and it is legendary. It is in Dakar so we bus out there (30 hours) in teams and I cannot wait. Apparently there is a form of it in dc too because the returned PCVs miss it so much. And then the new stage gets sworn in in April, yay!
Wow, I was definitely in the honey moon phase this morning. The thought actually crossed my mind that I was ‘too’ happy. But looking back, it’s because it was raining so I got to organize my room alone and she had just brought me a snack of the legendary green snot sauce but I really liked it and used a fork. I’m still happy but interacting with people in Bambara is a rollercoaster, an ‘emotional rollercoaster’, a term that we use all too often around here. So this morning I woke up and went to this guys house for breakfast. We had mango jam and milk, it was awesome. Then we explored a little and went to see the maternity center. I was talking to the doctor, the only doctor in the surrounding 5 or so villages and I asked him what difficulties he faces. He said that they need lights (that would be good for the surgeries they do) and forceps. They don’t have forceps in maternity ward?!?! Aunt Sue/ Aunt Carol, I would love to hear your thoughts on how and if it’s even possible to run a maternity ward without these. Their invention saved so many babies lives; I can’t imagine how that hasn’t reached this town yet. The family who invented forceps tried to keep it a secret and managed to for like 100 years, I don’t remember the statistics but they are astounding at how incredible they are. Anyways, maybe those 2 things can be project ideas. This town has a lot but there is another pcv doing a cervical cancer thing and I want to do that here. The only surgeries that they can do here are hernia repairs and some other small things. C-section have to go 30 kilometers away on the back of a moped- that is bad considering that C sections here are only used in emergency situations. From what I know, I know that part of the reason that C section rates are so high in the US is because forceps are a very feeling based tool; it takes a special feel to get it so many people opt for a c section instead of the doctor using forceps. So if they had forceps here and if the doctor could use them, couldn’t that prevent a lot of women from having to make the 30 k trip to the nearest CSCOM? I need to get some of these things, especially if that’s true. They see a lot of malaria, heart disease, and some other words that I don’t know what they are in English. Take this as you will- right behind this tiny, 2 room medical center for the whole 5 village area is a brand new giant mosque being built even though there are already multiple in this town. Needless to say, typical. It was cool though because when we were walking back towards the center of town we passed by this guy who worked for MSF (doctors without borders). He comes here every Friday to test people and treat them for malaria. It’s great to know that I will get to work with organizations like PLAN, IPPF, and MSF. I can’t wait to meet the other people. Then we were walking along and this dog looks at me and walks toward me confidently and I wasn’t sure what it was doing but it turns out that it was the former volunteers dog and I guess it recognizes white people because he came straight to me and knew I would love on him, he’s so cute and his name is Puppy. I love him already and I look for him all day. Then we went home and I organized and started cleaning my house. The last girl left a year ago but has been working in Bamako and has visited a few times since. Today I found lots of good books in the stuff that she left and this awesome journal. Both the previous volunteers who lived here wrote in it and it’s so cool. They both chronicle advice and thoughts throughout their service to help their replacements. I’m totally gonna continue that. I also found these funny books written by volunteers, for volunteers, as support books and full of fun things to do in each city and advice. Then this PC staff woman came and I had no idea what was going on as usual but we get in the land rover and it turns out that we were going to the mayor’s office. We went and she introduced us and we chatted. Bambara, French, and English all got mixed together because each of us spoke a combination of the 3 so things were getting passed around the circle in all 3 languages, it was cool. Then we went back via land rover which was awesome because the road was horrible so we got to test the land rovers skills at fording small rivers. Reminds me of Oregon Trail. Turns out that the guy who broke my bike on the bus yesterday came back and took my bike tire that got destroyed with the intention of fixing it. This is weird and news to me for like 9000 reasons. Not only are the bike parts needed not made in Mali but I didn’t even know he was taking it. Apparently my friend explained this to me but now that I think about it, when he said that the chauffeur was coming to fix my bike, I definitely assumed that they meant Peace Corps car driver, not bush taxi driver…. Lost in translation. So needless to say, I have a one wheeled American bike in Mali and I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here because I’m pretty sure I need to ride my bike to the bus station, basically a place on the mud road, and I don’t know how I’m going to do that. I gave my bike with one wheel to this Peace Corps lady today but I don’t really know what’s going on…. Fortunately it seems that things always work out in the Peace Corps. So far atleast. My brain is heavy, yet another bipolar year long day has passed. Ohhh mannnn. I really need to start typing this stuff when I’m in the honey moon phase of my day. Right now I’m just overwhelmed and really wonder if I will make any lasting difference that a Malian couldn’t do whether or not I was here. One thing that keeps me going is that my friend’s tour guide in the dogon country up north and many Peace Corps staff can speak English and have gotten jobs because Peace Corps volunteers lived in their town. I just need to be friends with one girl here and convince her to use birth control and not have 7 kids in 7 years and I’ll be happy. And this cervical cancer thing has me really excited too. I have to talk to the girl who started it and maybe visit her site for a tech exchange. Tomorrow will be cool though because it is prenatal consultation day. They happen every 3 months (doesn’t make sense because you need 4 prenatal consultations) but I’m really excited to start seeing my future. I’m so glad that I’m only here for a week because I am really looking forward to some tubab detox time. I’m scared for the first 3 months. Oh man. But also really excited to see how things come together and once I get used to the transport route of visiting friends. I also read in the book from the other PCVs who lived here that tubab holidays are some of their fondest memories. Halloween!! I’m definitely using some Bamako nights for that.
Sometimes I wonder what Peace Corps is doing to me. Its creating a precedent- is it setting me up to always be looking for something more? Is it making my life complete, by risking everything that I know and love to start over in a mud hut in Africa? It is starting from scratch. Some would say that this is living. Will I be overly judgmental of others when I get back? Will I be a social outcast and just want to stay on the move? Will I look down upon people who haven’t done Peace Corps but work for NGOs that do things in Africa and think that they don’t understand first hand? Will my ego become huge? Maybe ill become socialist? Or maybe I'll become a home body and want nothing more than the most stable life that any average American wants. It’s invigorating to know that being here is starting my brain over, questioning and reinforcing everything I have ever formed an opinion on. Will I see where the socialist teachers that I disagreed with in college are coming from? Will I become religious? It’s cool, knowing that I am living to the max I guess. Risking. Potentially dying of malaria, I’m not really sure. Round 2 of cipro has just begun, following a sudden fever which hit 103 in the span of 3 hours before I took max dosages of Tylenol… peace corps is a love hate relationship but I have to say, I enjoy the pain of a fever because I know I’m doing something, I know I’m creating a story and an experience that when I do fall into a routine lifestyle back in America, I can look back on this and know I can do it. I just wonder. In the beginning here when I was actually wondering if I was meant to do this, I realized that going home wouldn’t make me magically happy. Then I wondered, if I’m not happy here, then where will I be happy? Am I even the humanitarian women’s rights loving person that I thought I was? We will see. Right now I think so but I have only been here 6 weeks. I am curious to see what I will be thinking in a year. But already, I love the friends I have made here and there is so much to look forward to. The friends we make here are friends of a whole different sort, we don’t know anything about each other’s personalities and material belongings in America, all we know is why we are here and that makes us all connected. I know I sound retarded right now but it’s true. So many ups and downs to look forward to but even the downs I enjoy. But will I be able to enjoy the downs when I return to America? Right now the downs are exciting and adventurous and I feel free because I am in Africa and I’m speaking Bambara. But will all my feelings be muted once I return to the life I was living? Will I ever go back? Will I be forced to seek this adrenaline for the rest of my life, thus forgoing all plans of a family and a golden retriever? Can I have both; I guess is what I really want to know. And only time will tell. But I’ve got time on my hands to wonder. Like in the book the Lunatic Express, he wonders if his life style is what has made him who he is, the adventurous fun guy, or has it made him torn between 2 worlds, the world of being exhilarated by being so alone and the world of having family. I love the feeling of Africa because I am so alone, I’m free and I’m growing alone. Can I find a balance and have both? Have I created a wall? I don’t think so but I don’t know. Has Peace Corps in a way opened Pandora’s Box and ruined my life? I say that laughing but seriously. Time will tell and I’m excited, even as I pound cipro and lay in the fetal position in my bed taking my temperature every 5 minutes to see if it’s rising again. It’s still so unreal when I get lost in my thoughts and look up, out my screen door and see the mud huts around me- is this a dream? I have wanted and wondered and talked about the Peace Corps so long but I really don’t think that I ever actually thought I would do it. And why should I feel at all special, when I am getting paid to do something that everyone living here does for free, normal? Why do I feel so entitled and experienced by being here when to all the people in my village, this is the only life they know? Why is this even hard for me? Oh boy. I can totally see why 70 percent of all Peace Corps volunteers marry other volunteers… because we all go a little insane.
First night at my future site! This week we are visiting our sites for the first time. We have to set up bank accounts, meet people, and figure out public transport. My site is awesome though. I really think I got so lucky- I have cell service, pump water instead of just a well, the men speak French… the only thing I wish is that there was another peace corps volunteer kind of close to me. The closest one is 30 k away, and after today’s public transport experience, that is no easy feat. I think I’ll be riding my bike there and then spending the night and returning the next day when I go see him. Some people have site mates like 6 k away and stuff like that which would be nice for those days when you just really need a tubab, but I guess this is good. I have met 2 people in my family who are close to my age and friendly so maybe friendships will form with them. I mean friendships will form, but I hope they turn out to be really good ones. Driving in was so crazy though. When we finally pulled into my town, I was like oh my god; I’m going to be here for TWO YEARS. But while that is long and scary- it is also relaxing because there is really no rush. I can take my time, get to know people, learn the languages… its going to be awesome. I met a group of men who are some sort of medical board and they are all cool and can speak French. Then I met the dugutigi and all his old blind friends who have an assortment of weird visible diseases, including missing body parts (remember body parts man Ashley? Ahahhaha). Then we went to the maternity center- a 2 room building in a field that I don’t think even has electricity- but tomorrow i will get a tour. They also do everything else that doctors do there, but it is meant to be for maternity care. The closest CSCOM is like 30 k so I guess they do what they can. I have to say, I was kind of surprised when I met the doctor. He was a very well spoken, smart man. I was surprised because I have heard so much about the problem of smart educated people, especially in the health field, who leave their country because they can get better pay in others. This guy chose to stay here though and work in this center… it’s really refreshing. This town is beautiful though. Big trees, neon green fields, big sky, beautiful friendly people.
African public transport. Oh. My. God. I’m so glad I didn’t die today. But really. So I show up at the ‘bus station’ at 7 30 with my homologue lady who only speaks Bambara. They drop us off in this swarm of people and my homologue leads me to our bus. It is a really old rapist van, stripped bare inside and re welded to ‘reinforce’ the roof so it can hold more. Then they welded wooden benches around the perimeter and had one in the middle that was removable. I had seen these bush taxis before but I knew my site was between 4 and 8 hours away… so needless to say I was confused. We give the guys our stuff and they put it on top, and then we wait three hours, literally, for the bus to fill. Keep in mind that this is your average plumber car. We had 27 people in it, no joke, and a 200 kg diesel engine in the middle of us where the removable bench usually is that had just been brought in from china, obviously. I decided that this couldn’t be real so I took what my homologue said to mean that we were taking this part way, where we would then switch onto a real bus. So we pull out into traffic, I’m so scared and people are laughing at me, for many reasons, one being that in the white tubab in a van of 27 Malians. The little girl next to me is COVERED in little blisters and her scalp is peeling- I wanted to die. I didn’t think it could be contagious until I saw that both her siblings also had it. Oh my god I hope I’m vaccinated against whatever that was. Ew. She wouldn’t stop scratching. So then for the next 7 hours, yes, I sat on a wooden bench next to 26 other people and all their ‘carry on luggage’ as we barreled down the unpaved, sometimes under water ‘highway’. After about the first hour I realized that maybe it wasn’t definite that I would die so I started to relax. Then we stopped to get gas and filled up with the car running while a tanker backed in. But I also survived that so then I was pretty happy. It was funny though because by the end of the ride I felt really comfortable around all the strangers sitting around me. One boy spoke French which really helped when this guy stopped our car and made us all give 10 dollars and I had no idea what was going on. Apparently it was a transport tax…. Ironic.
But now I’m in my new house! Alive!!Did I mention they broke my bike? Yeah that was a bummer, they bent the back wheel outta shape so the peace corps is supposedly coming to get it tomorrow… good thing my bike is going to see public transport 3 more times in the next 3 weeks. This could be expensive. And my god, my lower back has never been so sore. And I better not have measles or whatever those girls were carrying. Ew. But my house is awesome, the girl who lived here last in 2009 but she left all her furniture (double bed hell yeah!) and lots of books and things. Tomorrow I am going to clean and organize, I can’t wait. I’m using my bug hut for the first time, the bug tent, and it’s the best thing ever, I’m definitely sticking to it. Everyone I have met I have really liked though and I feel like I can definitely do this, and I can’t wait to get integrated and start experiencing things. So much to look forward too!! We have this week here; a few days at Peace Corps office, 9 days at home stay, and then swear in! swear in is going to be so much fun and we get to spend the night in hotels with pools and bars and we get the next day free. First free day everrrrr. Peace Corps office (tubaniso) is always so fun though because we finally get o see all our friends and be free. It’s still packed days but we can hang out late and things. And plan ahead for things like WAST (West Africa softball tournament)… PCVs (Peace Corps volunteers) organized it a long time ago and it is legendary. It is in Dakar so we bus out there (30 hours) in teams and I cannot wait. Apparently there is a form of it in dc too because the returned PCVs miss it so much. And then the new stage gets sworn in in April, yay!
Wow, I was definitely in the honey moon phase this morning. The thought actually crossed my mind that I was ‘too’ happy. But looking back, it’s because it was raining so I got to organize my room alone and she had just brought me a snack of the legendary green snot sauce but I really liked it and used a fork. I’m still happy but interacting with people in Bambara is a rollercoaster, an ‘emotional rollercoaster’, a term that we use all too often around here. So this morning I woke up and went to this guys house for breakfast. We had mango jam and milk, it was awesome. Then we explored a little and went to see the maternity center. I was talking to the doctor, the only doctor in the surrounding 5 or so villages and I asked him what difficulties he faces. He said that they need lights (that would be good for the surgeries they do) and forceps. They don’t have forceps in maternity ward?!?! Aunt Sue/ Aunt Carol, I would love to hear your thoughts on how and if it’s even possible to run a maternity ward without these. Their invention saved so many babies lives; I can’t imagine how that hasn’t reached this town yet. The family who invented forceps tried to keep it a secret and managed to for like 100 years, I don’t remember the statistics but they are astounding at how incredible they are. Anyways, maybe those 2 things can be project ideas. This town has a lot but there is another pcv doing a cervical cancer thing and I want to do that here. The only surgeries that they can do here are hernia repairs and some other small things. C-section have to go 30 kilometers away on the back of a moped- that is bad considering that C sections here are only used in emergency situations. From what I know, I know that part of the reason that C section rates are so high in the US is because forceps are a very feeling based tool; it takes a special feel to get it so many people opt for a c section instead of the doctor using forceps. So if they had forceps here and if the doctor could use them, couldn’t that prevent a lot of women from having to make the 30 k trip to the nearest CSCOM? I need to get some of these things, especially if that’s true. They see a lot of malaria, heart disease, and some other words that I don’t know what they are in English. Take this as you will- right behind this tiny, 2 room medical center for the whole 5 village area is a brand new giant mosque being built even though there are already multiple in this town. Needless to say, typical. It was cool though because when we were walking back towards the center of town we passed by this guy who worked for MSF (doctors without borders). He comes here every Friday to test people and treat them for malaria. It’s great to know that I will get to work with organizations like PLAN, IPPF, and MSF. I can’t wait to meet the other people. Then we were walking along and this dog looks at me and walks toward me confidently and I wasn’t sure what it was doing but it turns out that it was the former volunteers dog and I guess it recognizes white people because he came straight to me and knew I would love on him, he’s so cute and his name is Puppy. I love him already and I look for him all day. Then we went home and I organized and started cleaning my house. The last girl left a year ago but has been working in Bamako and has visited a few times since. Today I found lots of good books in the stuff that she left and this awesome journal. Both the previous volunteers who lived here wrote in it and it’s so cool. They both chronicle advice and thoughts throughout their service to help their replacements. I’m totally gonna continue that. I also found these funny books written by volunteers, for volunteers, as support books and full of fun things to do in each city and advice. Then this PC staff woman came and I had no idea what was going on as usual but we get in the land rover and it turns out that we were going to the mayor’s office. We went and she introduced us and we chatted. Bambara, French, and English all got mixed together because each of us spoke a combination of the 3 so things were getting passed around the circle in all 3 languages, it was cool. Then we went back via land rover which was awesome because the road was horrible so we got to test the land rovers skills at fording small rivers. Reminds me of Oregon Trail. Turns out that the guy who broke my bike on the bus yesterday came back and took my bike tire that got destroyed with the intention of fixing it. This is weird and news to me for like 9000 reasons. Not only are the bike parts needed not made in Mali but I didn’t even know he was taking it. Apparently my friend explained this to me but now that I think about it, when he said that the chauffeur was coming to fix my bike, I definitely assumed that they meant Peace Corps car driver, not bush taxi driver…. Lost in translation. So needless to say, I have a one wheeled American bike in Mali and I don’t know how I’m going to get out of here because I’m pretty sure I need to ride my bike to the bus station, basically a place on the mud road, and I don’t know how I’m going to do that. I gave my bike with one wheel to this Peace Corps lady today but I don’t really know what’s going on…. Fortunately it seems that things always work out in the Peace Corps. So far atleast. My brain is heavy, yet another bipolar year long day has passed. Ohhh mannnn. I really need to start typing this stuff when I’m in the honey moon phase of my day. Right now I’m just overwhelmed and really wonder if I will make any lasting difference that a Malian couldn’t do whether or not I was here. One thing that keeps me going is that my friend’s tour guide in the dogon country up north and many Peace Corps staff can speak English and have gotten jobs because Peace Corps volunteers lived in their town. I just need to be friends with one girl here and convince her to use birth control and not have 7 kids in 7 years and I’ll be happy. And this cervical cancer thing has me really excited too. I have to talk to the girl who started it and maybe visit her site for a tech exchange. Tomorrow will be cool though because it is prenatal consultation day. They happen every 3 months (doesn’t make sense because you need 4 prenatal consultations) but I’m really excited to start seeing my future. I’m so glad that I’m only here for a week because I am really looking forward to some tubab detox time. I’m scared for the first 3 months. Oh man. But also really excited to see how things come together and once I get used to the transport route of visiting friends. I also read in the book from the other PCVs who lived here that tubab holidays are some of their fondest memories. Halloween!! I’m definitely using some Bamako nights for that.
Sometimes I wonder what Peace Corps is doing to me. Its creating a precedent- is it setting me up to always be looking for something more? Is it making my life complete, by risking everything that I know and love to start over in a mud hut in Africa? It is starting from scratch. Some would say that this is living. Will I be overly judgmental of others when I get back? Will I be a social outcast and just want to stay on the move? Will I look down upon people who haven’t done Peace Corps but work for NGOs that do things in Africa and think that they don’t understand first hand? Will my ego become huge? Maybe ill become socialist? Or maybe I'll become a home body and want nothing more than the most stable life that any average American wants. It’s invigorating to know that being here is starting my brain over, questioning and reinforcing everything I have ever formed an opinion on. Will I see where the socialist teachers that I disagreed with in college are coming from? Will I become religious? It’s cool, knowing that I am living to the max I guess. Risking. Potentially dying of malaria, I’m not really sure. Round 2 of cipro has just begun, following a sudden fever which hit 103 in the span of 3 hours before I took max dosages of Tylenol… peace corps is a love hate relationship but I have to say, I enjoy the pain of a fever because I know I’m doing something, I know I’m creating a story and an experience that when I do fall into a routine lifestyle back in America, I can look back on this and know I can do it. I just wonder. In the beginning here when I was actually wondering if I was meant to do this, I realized that going home wouldn’t make me magically happy. Then I wondered, if I’m not happy here, then where will I be happy? Am I even the humanitarian women’s rights loving person that I thought I was? We will see. Right now I think so but I have only been here 6 weeks. I am curious to see what I will be thinking in a year. But already, I love the friends I have made here and there is so much to look forward to. The friends we make here are friends of a whole different sort, we don’t know anything about each other’s personalities and material belongings in America, all we know is why we are here and that makes us all connected. I know I sound retarded right now but it’s true. So many ups and downs to look forward to but even the downs I enjoy. But will I be able to enjoy the downs when I return to America? Right now the downs are exciting and adventurous and I feel free because I am in Africa and I’m speaking Bambara. But will all my feelings be muted once I return to the life I was living? Will I ever go back? Will I be forced to seek this adrenaline for the rest of my life, thus forgoing all plans of a family and a golden retriever? Can I have both; I guess is what I really want to know. And only time will tell. But I’ve got time on my hands to wonder. Like in the book the Lunatic Express, he wonders if his life style is what has made him who he is, the adventurous fun guy, or has it made him torn between 2 worlds, the world of being exhilarated by being so alone and the world of having family. I love the feeling of Africa because I am so alone, I’m free and I’m growing alone. Can I find a balance and have both? Have I created a wall? I don’t think so but I don’t know. Has Peace Corps in a way opened Pandora’s Box and ruined my life? I say that laughing but seriously. Time will tell and I’m excited, even as I pound cipro and lay in the fetal position in my bed taking my temperature every 5 minutes to see if it’s rising again. It’s still so unreal when I get lost in my thoughts and look up, out my screen door and see the mud huts around me- is this a dream? I have wanted and wondered and talked about the Peace Corps so long but I really don’t think that I ever actually thought I would do it. And why should I feel at all special, when I am getting paid to do something that everyone living here does for free, normal? Why do I feel so entitled and experienced by being here when to all the people in my village, this is the only life they know? Why is this even hard for me? Oh boy. I can totally see why 70 percent of all Peace Corps volunteers marry other volunteers… because we all go a little insane.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
chacco tan lines and foot diseases
Forward: the first entry into this is the day of a malnutrition center visit so it’s a pretty depressing story. But keep reading because it gets better!! But things are great; I couldn’t love the peace corps more or be any happier. I can’t even believe I’m here.
First day of the second stint at home stay. Longest day ever, with as many emotions and bumps as I probably normally experience in a year. We woke up early because we had to drive to a malnutrition center in Bamako and get dropped off at our home stay sites again. And of course we had to also make time for lunch at the Broadway café, a Peace Corps favorite restaurant opened by an American expat. Long story short, I got a burrito and a strawberry milkshake… good way to follow up the visit to the malnutrition center.
But on a more serious note, today was defiantly a turning point. It could have either been the day that we realize there is too much sadness and that we can’t be here any longer, or the day that we realize that it is because we are now aware of this sadness in the world that we cannot leave. We pulled up to the hospital in out Peace Corps van and the 12 or so of us health volunteers entered into the hospital. It was an open square with scattered buildings around the perimeter, labeled everything from radiology to the morgue. We waited an hour, average Africa time, and then looked at some of the check out rooms and observed as they weighed and measured babies and children to see where they fell on the malnutrition scale, from OK to severe. Then we walked through the center square, past infected feet and new born babies, and into the malnutrition wing. First was the assessment and storage room. As usual, it was one million degrees and the fan was useless. We looked at the different treatment methods that we would later be educating women about in our villages. However, on a side note, most of our work will be preventative care. But if we should refer a case to a hospital, it could go here. Then we went into the treatment room, with about 10 beds crammed into the small sweaty room. This was the scary part. It was real life photojournalism. The first bed was a case of a small girl who refused to breast feed so they had to give her a feeding tube. She looked about average for Mali, which is malnourished but not too severe. The second bed was kwashakor- I think I misspelled that but I will try to correct it later. This severe protein deficiency causes the limbs to swell so much that the skin breaks and stretches and turns into a black ash. She was extremely weak and emaciated, ribs poking through but very puffy, black ashen limbs. The mother’s eyes were unforgettable. The next bed was a case of cerebral malaria. He was probably about 10, but guessing ages in children who are malnourished is hard. His eyes rolled back into his head about every ten seconds and they constantly probed him with needles. I am not sure what will happen to him and did not ask. The next bed was eight month old twins. Rare in Mali and these two were severely dehydrated, as noticed by the black gum like substance all over the top of their head. I don’t yet know why but this is a tell tale sign of dehydration. The mother was also malnourished and receiving treatment. All of this is free, though it is still hard to get women to bring their children in and especially to get them to stay for the whole treatment period. The next bed was the worst. I don’t even really want to type about it. It was absolutely unreal to see that this is real life and no longer a picture in a magazine. The baby was 8 months old but much smaller than even the other 4 month olds. But I can’t describe how malnourished this baby was- its cheeks and chin were more severe than those of a holocaust photo. How can this exist in our world today? The mother’s breasts had never produced much milk but they had stopped all together when the baby was 3 months old. Since then, for the following 5 months, she had tried to feed it adult food but it must not have eaten anything. Her eyes were unforgettable. My god. But there was little time to dwell because in the next bed was a baby whose mother had died. There was a woman there breast feeding it but I don’t know who she was in relation to him. The next few beds were assorted cases of cleft lip and general malnourishment, and one more case of kwashiorkor. Like I said, this could have easily gone 2 ways. We could either say wow, there is too much sadness in the world and I can’t live like this. Or, one could say that now that we have seen it, we will be haunted forever if we don’t try to educate mothers and families on how to prevent things from getting this bad. It still blows my mind that I am on the same planet as the life I used to lead. But there’s no turning back now. The rest of the day we waited for the shock to subside temporarily at least. We ate lots and then got dropped off at site. We translated a survey about health into Bambara to practice taking tomorrow. We ask women and families about hand washing, food variety, school level, and if they are aware of STDs or family planning. My brain is heavy. I just can’t wait to find out my site in a few weeks and then get started in September on my job.
Today was the wedding of one of the host sisters of another Peace Corps trainee living in my village. The girl getting married is 20, has one kid and is pregnant, and the man is 40. I asked my host brother if it was common for girls to get pregnant out of wed lock and he said that while not common, that it was ok because in some cases the money just isn’t there for marriage but they want kids. Marriage here is different because the girl never seems happy. Sure, emotions here are kind of taboo, especially sadness, but the men are always happy for marriage. Opposite of the US it seems. We watched and joined the party earlier this afternoon though when she gets picked up by a caravan of all her husband’s friends and taken to a friend’s home until the evening. My host dad is close friends with her family so she stayed here. Covered and in silence, as usual. So many things here will taint and change how I experience things back in the US: at weddings I will think of today, funerals, births…. Everything will be changed by what I experience here.
Today was a classic “lost in translation moment.” I was talking to my host mom (I can actually have a conversation now!!) and I thought she said something about tigedegas, or peanut butter. So i asked her and she said that she said nothing about peanut butter. I didn’t know how to say what I wanted so I just told a dumb story about how I eat lots of peanut butter in America. Then I knew I had made a mistake… next thing I know, one of my host moms brings out a big old mayonnaise jar covered in untreated water and full of peanut butter. Damn. This reminds me of the time I told her I liked her out fit and then she almost gave it to me until I convinced her that I was going to buy one the next day. And also of the time that someone said they like rabbits in America and bunnies, and then their family fed them one. Lost in translation… my roommate at tubaniso was doing laundry one day when her host mom offered to do it for her. She protested but to no avail, the mother took the clothes and began washing them. Then she insisted that she give over the shirt she was wearing. So my friend slowly unbuttons her shirt, saying, is this what you want?! And the host mom laughs and takes her shirt even though my friend told her that it was her last one. Then she had to spend the rest of the lunch break in her bra until the host mom understood and loaned her a shirt. My host family also gets a kick out of when I say I’m going to wash their dog with good smelling soap. Or when I say I want to go to the fields and pick peanuts with them… they just die. Man, humor is cultural. The biggest joke here in Mali is telling someone “you are a bean eater” or “I am your mom”. I personally love both; especially “I am your mom”. of the 5 or so last names in all of Mali, each one has another last name that they joke with in all situations. It can get you good deals on stores and resolve conflicts, simply by being a joking cousin.
Oh man another incident today occurred which will make my host family think I’m insane. I hope nothing bad happens, or else they may thing I cursed them. I was tired of sterilizing my water with my Steripen in corners. This thing is like a light saber that I stir around in my nalgene for a minute and it kills all the germs. It is this or bleach, and I don’t like the thought of drinking bleach for 2 years. But I finally was like whatever, I don’t care, and just used the steripen right in my door way. One kid walked by and came back…. I have never seen someone’s eyes get so big when they weren’t being sarcastic. It was hilarious. I have no idea how to explain water sanitation in Bambara so I just said over and over, to the growing crowd paralyzed in silence, “N te jinogo min!!” “I don’t drink dirty water!!” I hope I didn’t insult them, because they drink this water….
Today I got back to my home stay site after a short vacation at the Bamako Peace Corps health center. Really, it was just at the stage house, a hostel style half way house for Peace Corps volunteers to use for free when in Bamako. We get 24 per year for recreational use, such as catching a flight the next morning, or in my case, when death feels near.
But before I go into that story of adventure, I have to type about yet another intelligent conversation I have had with my host family. I got home around 9 because we had dinner at our teachers house. I sat outside on the mat watching the car battery powered TV for a little, trying to tell them about my visit to Bamako and that I am longer ill. The stars here are incredible by the way. I see shooting stars almost nightly and can see so much of the Milky Way. It’s incredible how big the sky is. But anyways, in awkward silences, I have a habit of listening to their conversations or the TV and just repeating a word that I recognize and hen forming sentences with it. This has gotten me into many uncomfortable situations, but there nothing else I can do but sit in silence which is a worse alternative I think. One of my fellow Peace Corps trainees names in my village is sorofan, translated meaning ‘trash pile’. This is what people name their kid after a few have died, hoping that god won’t want this one. But I heard the person on the TV say her name so I repeated it and said that it was my friend’s name. Then after a long confusing conversation I realized that it was not in fact my friend’s name, but a dinner dish, and I had no idea what was going on until a few minutes into their laughter…. Typical.
But these past few days were quite the adventure, but I have come out feeling not only the most healthy I have since arriving in Africa, but also with a new sense of ability. In the beginning, the smallest head ache would get me thinking of going home. But I realize that after this whole affair with what was probably bacterial dysentery, I didn’t once wish I was home and now feel invincible... it’s nice to know I made it through my first sickness. But after a week of uncomfort, Saturday was unbearable so I finally called the doctor in tears. I told her my symptoms and she said she would send a car… I wasn’t sure if her urgency was a good thing or a bad thing but I walked over to my teacher’s house and waited for the car, within crawling distance of a nyegen. Crying is really taboo in Mali, but my family was really great. They were really helpful and concerned during my hasty, tearful packing and dashing to the land rover. Apparently they even went to my teacher’s house a few times to ask how I was doing. But I get in the car and we drive to Bamako. We arrive at the stage house and I get out with my backpack, purse, and a zip loc freezer bog of puke… the guard did not quite know what to make of me. This led to an odd exchange of what to do with it, eventually we found a trash can after he tried to get me to drop it down a toilet hole, but it wouldn’t fit…. I don’t even know. But I went inside and passed out for a few hours and then the doctor came for an initial evaluation. I slept for a long time and the next day started cipro. I wish I had been coherent because I didn’t realize until later in my stay that there was internet, a kitchen, a TV…. A whole western world that I was too sick to enjoy. But on Monday morning I was feeling good and living the dream. I even managed to walk to this bakery to get me and my other immobilized sick friends pain au chocolats. This was a harder task than I had imagined, Bamako is not like New York, despite what I though. It has dirt roads and open sewers and does not yield for pedestrians. Elon did not prepare me for that. But I obviously got hopelessly lost on the way home and was pretty concerned. I found signs for another nearby Peace Corps building that I went to and then a guard walked me the 2 blocks to my house laughing. Then on the drive back to my village today I got to enjoy the scenery, so that was nice. I also realized that driving in a car here is like wake boarding. We weave down the road avoiding giant pot holes, especially on the unpaved roads. When the driver is in a rush we may catch some air going down the face of the pothole. We may do some cut backs and try to jump the wake but this is not so great when you’re not in the 4 wheel drive land rovers. But overall, very similar experiences to cruising down the intercoastal waterway on a wake board.
Along with surviving my first bout with something akin to bacterial dysentery this week, I survived my first bike accident! Woo hooo. I don’t even remember when the last bike accident I had was. Needless to say, this is Africa, and life pretty much starts over as soon as you get here. Learning how to do everything from going to the bathroom to eating to speaking from scratch. Today I don’t know what happened, maybe my pant strap got stuck in the chain, it’s a mystery. But whatever the problem was, it caused me to catapult over the handle bars, bike in tow, onto the dirt/hook worm infested mud path. My bike was ok after a quick tune up and all is well minus regular scratches which hopefully won’t get infected. This happened right in front of the girl in our village who is a little unsure of her biking skills, even better. But the best part of injury-less bike accidents is having someone see it happen because I’m sure it was pretty cool looking.
Today was a milestone for many reasons. I survived a bike accident unscathed, and I bonded with my family more. I feel bad I didn’t buy them anything at the market I went to, but I go so often that I can’t do it every time on my Peace Corps stipend. That’s one of the problems with being a white person here- people think you are made of American dollars and that I am here to give money of build a school and leave. I have no money and will be showing people that they can do it themselves instead, but I have heard it takes a while to get your village to see that. A long frustrating time of getting people to build the school themselves and such. But I was sitting outside and my host brother invited me to come sit at his hut so that was good. And then I sat and watched TV with 100 little kids looking at me instead of the TV calling me a tubab. I made a few jokes in bamanankan so that’s a big move- they think it’s hilarious that I treat their dog so nicely so today i told them my child’s name was polici, their dog’s name. My host mom was dying… Malian humor is easy to please. Then I told all the kids that they were the biggest tubabs and that they were bean eaters…. And now I’m famous. And tomorrow when I bring them back candy from market, I will be famous forever. The last Peace Corps trainee my family had was in 2008 so I asked them about the person today. My host brother went on and on about how awesome he was… oops.
The first 3 months at site are dedicated to integrating and to doing our baseline surveys. These ask people about their hand washing habits, toilet facilities, how well they eat, and their knowledge of STDs and family planning. I practiced on my family and they said that they never, ever wash their hands except when they eat with me. Ew. They also don’t have covers on their toilets (holes in the ground) and this allows fly’s to go in and out carrying disease. Bad. No wonder I was sick and had to zap my body with cipro. Neither of the 2 moms in my family have ever had a prenatal consultation. I want to ask how many, if any children they have lost, but I didn’t. They do not sell condoms in this town. Birth control is a woman’s responsibility here and she can get information on that in the main town, 30 minutes by bike up the road. This may be too far for most women though. But at this town she can get the shot or the pill. My host brother said that everyone had heard of AIDS but that no one in my town has had it. This is more likely because no one has ever been tested. Testing is optional at the CSCOM health center, but many women opt out because what would they do if they had it? It’s really about prevention here. But unfortunately, condoms are supposedly only used until marriage. But after marriage is when most women become infected with HIV. There are many women who live here and their husbands work in Bamako, probably leading to him bringing home STD’s. But in a culture where pregnancy is normally the goal, what can you do? Pregnancy in Bambara translates back to English as ‘to get lucky’. In whose opinion? I don’t have a problem with the fact that the average woman has 7 kids. I have a problem with the fact that she starts often times too young before her body is ready and doesn’t get pre or post natal care. I also have a problem with the fact that families have as many kids as they can in many village situations, without regard to when it would be appropriate to stop so that the kids can have enough food and go to school. I think about 6 of the 9 kids in my compound are under 5- it’s just not good planning to do this with the limited saving of the average family. Birth’spacing’ as they call it here would make the families children more spaced out so that there would be a better ratio of kids working the field to kids who are too young. But one thing I have noticed is that all the essays and reports I have read are really being tested right now. It is harder to be so critical when things actually do make a little but more sense that I thought and are just so rooted in society.
But while sitting outside watching the TV hooked into the open hood of the communist era looking truck, surrounded by all these tubab mocking kids, I realized unprovoked for the first time this is definitely really nice. It’s so relaxing here. I shower under the stars, watch the sunrise; sit in the nice weather all the time…. I am actually living the dream. My dream atleast. But I was thinking wow; I don’t want to go home. I can see how going home is the hardest part- I can’t even imagine. I really can’t. This life is so nice. So far at least. I haven’t had giardia or rabies yet, but I love it here. But I plan on going home (London) in July, maybe, we will see. I wonder if that will be a wakeup call as to how much I miss- but hopefully it will be a wakeup call of how settled in I am and how much I love it and have to do. I was talked about my future site with my host brother today and I sensed sadness in the conversation that I would be leaving. It is sad. I can visit, but it is sad. I love this family. It’s been a month now, about one third through my time spent Copenhagen on my semester abroad- but in this case, there is no end in sight. I didn’t think there was with Copenhagen, but this 27 month stint in Mali puts those three months to shame. Peace corps puts a lot in perspective, to say the least. But today, we were all talking about how even if we early terminated, there would be nothing to regret from doing this and certainly a ton gained. And that’s saying a lot, as one of us was puking today, 1 has something a kin to what I had, and of the other 6 of us, there a variation of opinions. It was a good day for me, but certainly not or everyone- like I said, Peace Corps volunteers become very bipolar towards the whole experience, during training at least. I hear the road is paved from swear in on out.
Today was funny. We had a field trip to a CSCOM that also had an AIDS/HIV ward and to a radio station. Typical Africa time, the 90 minute car ride was actually 3 hours. But it was awesome because no one was feeling car sick and we were in a bus with all the other health Peace Corps trainees. We don’t see each other outside of those tubabs in our village very often so when we do there is lots of gossip and stories to catch up on. This one girl who by luck got to live in a house with electricity with a woman a Christian couple where the mother is an accomplished doctor had some stories from her most recent weeding visit. She went to a rather wealthy persons wedding and there were like 400 people there- t eh size of my whole town- and they had a dj, beer, and people wearing western style clothes. She obviously missed the memo and showed up in her nicest most conservative Malian matching outfit, complete with head scarf, so she was not only the only non-Bambara speaking tubab but also the only wearing Malian clothes… but she said the party go crazy and there was a dancing circle where the dj would announce a song and then 2 people would have a dance off. She said there were chairs and other props being used and the most sexual dancing she had ever seen in her life, even in America. What a party! She eventually got pushed into the circle when shakira (hips don’t lie) came on and got stuck having a dance off with a pre teen 14 year old boy. Everyone was chanting TUBABOO TUBABOO the whole time and she said she won. Poor kid. Weddings here are crazy. I spent the car ride near a Peace Corps volunteer who shared the story of her most recent fight with tape worms. Sounds gross but these stories are hilarious and hearing them makes getting these weird diseases a lot better. And of course it makes a good story to tell to new baby Peace Corps trainees later. We went to the AIDS clinic and this was depressing because of all the barriers they face. Due to the stigma, many people cease treatment half way through when they start feeling better or never start treatment at all. Any are shunned by their communities if word gets out so the fear is real. The ARVs are free, as well as a bunch of drugs to treat opportunistic diseases. On the off chance when a person will actually have to pay for their own drugs to treat an oopporitunsitic disease whose treatment isn’t covered, the people get angry. This was frustrating to hear. Many people here do not believe that AIDS exists and have a host of explanations for this. It was engineered by white racists, it is caused by curses, can be cured by some disgusting measures…. Lots of theories. Perhaps the most disturbing is that there are those who don’t use condoms because they don’t believe in the disease and then there are those who believe that condoms will give you the disease, that something is on them. And this is why I am a health education extension agent. Even more concerning than all these things previously stated is that people here don’t connect germs with disease. So therefore, why use soap? Oh boy. Maybe I’ll find a good smelling soap that people will use just because it smells good. Who knows.
But the visit to the radio station was really uplifting. I hadn’t expected too much as I hadn’t really even thought about the impact that radios have on illiterate populations without electricity. The radio is the only source of entertainment or connection to the outside world for many. This radio station spoke of all the success they had had with recent movements. They had done a series on FGM ad why the practice should be stopped. Of the 9 surrounding villages, 4 stopped and the other 5 said they planned to. And this actually did happen. This did include visits to these sites by ngos and the showing of graphic movies on the topic, but it proved effective. I had been thinking of doing something like this but to be honest I am scared to breach the topic. The change on something that sensitive cannot come from a tubab. I don’t want opposition forming against me on an issue that controversial. I feel I would become scared for my own safety- maybe I’m paranoid but it’s no joking matter. I know I will encounter it but I am not sure yet how outspoken I will be or with whom. In many papers I have read on this, it takes convincing the male leader of the village against this. Turns out though that Peace Corps volunteers are actually not supposed to do anything against this practice. The town I am in now has apparently stopped recently too, supposedly, so that is good. The same goes for bringing birth control into town and getting families used to the idea- first must convince the dugutigi or male leader. At least this is what I have read about being done in other more conservative Muslim countries. Birth control has to be called birth spacing here because otherwise people will think that white people are trying to suppress their population.
Today I really had to do laundry so that was an adventure that ended with my mom trying to take over and a crowd of kids around laughing at me whenever I tried to push my mom away long enough to show here that I could do it too. And now I have a bunch of still soapy, still brown clothes hanging on the line outside and all my underwear hanging inside. Oh man do I miss the washing machine! I looked at all my clothes though and collectively I have 4 shirts, 4 pairs of underwear, and 2 skirts and a pair of pants. It’s really all I need. Africa really makes you realize that wow, 2 weeks have gone by and you haven’t missed your 120 dollar pair of designer jeans or anything else really. I do miss certain things that make me feel pretty but only for a second. It’s not like I have a mirror to remind me that I don’t shower. But we are going to the American club on Sunday funday with all 80 of us trainees together once again so it’s going to be awesome. I will shave my legs for that…. Second times since being here. Oh man, I can see already how assimilating back to America will be hard. Today at lunch I sat with 2 volunteer boys one year in, a volunteer girl 2 years in, and my trainee friend. Its great talking to volunteers about life post training. Apparently they throw us parties at our site capital when we get there in 2 weeks and again after swear in on the way to our sites again. I can’t wait to see who else is in my region. That is a huge deal. Those will be the people I will see the most. Right now we are all just dying to find out our sites. By the time I post this blog entry, I will know ahhhh. All I know is that of the 8 people in my village, 2 of us need to bring our bikes to site visit, which lasts a week. I don’t exactly know why but I assume it is because there is no public transport at these sites and maybe they are either close enough to bike/too far to walk from a larger market town or the nearest CSCOM. So I want to be closer to everything- and I am one of the 2 people that need my bike- so hopefully this means that I am close enough that I can bike instead of take the bush taxi to the market town. But I don’t know…. I have to stop thinking about it. All I know is that all health volunteers will either be replacing or joining current PCVs (peace corps volunteers) so that is good. Some people will have a site mate. One boy I ate lunch with today had his own site for a year but then last month a girl from his staging class moved to his site because her homologue (mentor person) killed her relay (outreach educator boss) (I am not quite sure if these names are even right) or vice versa via hit man from Burkina Faso- so long story short, she got moved. But sounds like the best of both worlds to me, I would like to have a site mate… maybe. We will see next Sunday. August 8th!
IT’S SO HOT. I’m sweating profusely even just laying here in my bug hut. So, it turns out that for the past few weeks that I have lived in this town, I have been telling my family about my big, golden, hairy, American… penis. Yes, true story. So much makes sense now. Apparently there is a very fine line between talking about my dog and… yes, the more unfortunate alternative. Bambara has a very special possessive rule. It is used on certain things but not others. Apparently, it is used not on body parts but on dogs. So yes, I have a big hairy American dog. But it is not as simple as it seems. Sure my 20 year old host brother never laughed at me but now I see that my 5 little brothers all are. Today I was watching the TV with them post finding out about the difference and they were all joking and making fun of me, asking me about it and provoking me to say it wrong. I made a point to say no…. it’s actually a dog I was talking about. Ah, little boy humor. They were complete with hand gestures. Apparently the same mistake can happen when talking about the fields so I just avoid the subject all together. It’s unfortunate because there are fields and dogs everywhere so I always want to talk about them…. Someday I will be able to sound like I have a college degree. Someday.
This is like the time that I spent 7 weeks telling my French host family that I was pregnant every night after dinner thinking that ‘I am full’ was actually what I was saying. ‘Want more food?’ ‘no thanks, I’m pregnant” Every night.
On a better note, today I was sitting in my room right after being served wondering if I was eating alone or if my host brother would be joining me. Yesterday in my one man bike accident my handle bar impaled my belly button area and it has been hurting. I am never alone long enough anywhere to inspect the damage, since we don’t really shower or have light in our huts, so since my door was open it was kind of light. I figured no one was coming and lifted my shirt a little over my belly button and out of my skirt that it had been tucked into. I grabbed my flashlight for extra examination and as looking at my stomach and belly button, poking around because some of my belly button has turned purple… but then I looked up and saw no other face through my screen door than my 20 year old host brothers. Needless to say, I ate alone today. Turns out that he was entertaining guests and was simply getting the chair from in front of my house but no doubt he saw my exposed navel. This town probably thinks all tubabs are prostitutes.
But regardless, our friendship is actually getting really good and has definitely crossed into the very comfortable zone. I am really sad to be leaving this town soon. Tomorrow we are going to paint a mural about hand washing at the CSCOM. Since my language skills don’t allow m to explain, everyone there thinks I am a doctor…. I hope that doesn’t bite me some day. Sunday we are going to the America club supposedly- ahh I hope so!
Finally, a month has gone by. Things are really good. I find that everything gets better after a month. Starting to form friendships and have a routine. We have a bar restaurant about 30 min bike ride away where we meet the other 2 neighboring villages about once a week. Overall, Peace corps is the best thing ever.
One day in class one of our teachers asked us if people who are born in America and never leave, ever get sick and die. I think he was asking if we have any diseases- we said sure, heart disease, cancer… but it’s funny to think that he probably imagined this country where no one ever dies of disease, since we don’t have malaria and such.
One of my friends in the village came to school today with a funny story. Apparently last night after tea he told his dad he was going to the bathroom. No big deal. His host dad acted surprisingly happy and odd, so when my friend came back the host dad explained himself. Apparently Peace Corps volunteers never go to the bathroom at bight, despite the unusual amounts of water that we drink. The host dad said how he thought this was so weird and how he was proud of my friend for going to the bathroom at night. I never go to the bathroom at night because between my house and the neygen bathroom lie sleeping donkeys, dogs, roaches, and all kinds of other scary things. That is why all Peace Corps volunteers get extra buckets for their house. So far, so good.
Even though abortion is illegal in Mali, there are apparently CSCOMs who do practice it. This si scary because those who are practicing are not educated on the process and have patients die or become sterile. Richer people can go to Bamako for the procedure but they have to have connections and enough money. Not to mention they will need a good excuse to leave town. Abortions in Bamako are about 30 dollars. Apparently here in Mali there is a lot of corruption in the medical system though, so many doctors have not really gone to med school and passed and many also just pocket the money. They make extra money by performing procedures which they are not licensed or trained to do.
Anyways, I miss and think of you all!!! Thanks for all your good feedback and good wishes!!
First day of the second stint at home stay. Longest day ever, with as many emotions and bumps as I probably normally experience in a year. We woke up early because we had to drive to a malnutrition center in Bamako and get dropped off at our home stay sites again. And of course we had to also make time for lunch at the Broadway café, a Peace Corps favorite restaurant opened by an American expat. Long story short, I got a burrito and a strawberry milkshake… good way to follow up the visit to the malnutrition center.
But on a more serious note, today was defiantly a turning point. It could have either been the day that we realize there is too much sadness and that we can’t be here any longer, or the day that we realize that it is because we are now aware of this sadness in the world that we cannot leave. We pulled up to the hospital in out Peace Corps van and the 12 or so of us health volunteers entered into the hospital. It was an open square with scattered buildings around the perimeter, labeled everything from radiology to the morgue. We waited an hour, average Africa time, and then looked at some of the check out rooms and observed as they weighed and measured babies and children to see where they fell on the malnutrition scale, from OK to severe. Then we walked through the center square, past infected feet and new born babies, and into the malnutrition wing. First was the assessment and storage room. As usual, it was one million degrees and the fan was useless. We looked at the different treatment methods that we would later be educating women about in our villages. However, on a side note, most of our work will be preventative care. But if we should refer a case to a hospital, it could go here. Then we went into the treatment room, with about 10 beds crammed into the small sweaty room. This was the scary part. It was real life photojournalism. The first bed was a case of a small girl who refused to breast feed so they had to give her a feeding tube. She looked about average for Mali, which is malnourished but not too severe. The second bed was kwashakor- I think I misspelled that but I will try to correct it later. This severe protein deficiency causes the limbs to swell so much that the skin breaks and stretches and turns into a black ash. She was extremely weak and emaciated, ribs poking through but very puffy, black ashen limbs. The mother’s eyes were unforgettable. The next bed was a case of cerebral malaria. He was probably about 10, but guessing ages in children who are malnourished is hard. His eyes rolled back into his head about every ten seconds and they constantly probed him with needles. I am not sure what will happen to him and did not ask. The next bed was eight month old twins. Rare in Mali and these two were severely dehydrated, as noticed by the black gum like substance all over the top of their head. I don’t yet know why but this is a tell tale sign of dehydration. The mother was also malnourished and receiving treatment. All of this is free, though it is still hard to get women to bring their children in and especially to get them to stay for the whole treatment period. The next bed was the worst. I don’t even really want to type about it. It was absolutely unreal to see that this is real life and no longer a picture in a magazine. The baby was 8 months old but much smaller than even the other 4 month olds. But I can’t describe how malnourished this baby was- its cheeks and chin were more severe than those of a holocaust photo. How can this exist in our world today? The mother’s breasts had never produced much milk but they had stopped all together when the baby was 3 months old. Since then, for the following 5 months, she had tried to feed it adult food but it must not have eaten anything. Her eyes were unforgettable. My god. But there was little time to dwell because in the next bed was a baby whose mother had died. There was a woman there breast feeding it but I don’t know who she was in relation to him. The next few beds were assorted cases of cleft lip and general malnourishment, and one more case of kwashiorkor. Like I said, this could have easily gone 2 ways. We could either say wow, there is too much sadness in the world and I can’t live like this. Or, one could say that now that we have seen it, we will be haunted forever if we don’t try to educate mothers and families on how to prevent things from getting this bad. It still blows my mind that I am on the same planet as the life I used to lead. But there’s no turning back now. The rest of the day we waited for the shock to subside temporarily at least. We ate lots and then got dropped off at site. We translated a survey about health into Bambara to practice taking tomorrow. We ask women and families about hand washing, food variety, school level, and if they are aware of STDs or family planning. My brain is heavy. I just can’t wait to find out my site in a few weeks and then get started in September on my job.
Today was the wedding of one of the host sisters of another Peace Corps trainee living in my village. The girl getting married is 20, has one kid and is pregnant, and the man is 40. I asked my host brother if it was common for girls to get pregnant out of wed lock and he said that while not common, that it was ok because in some cases the money just isn’t there for marriage but they want kids. Marriage here is different because the girl never seems happy. Sure, emotions here are kind of taboo, especially sadness, but the men are always happy for marriage. Opposite of the US it seems. We watched and joined the party earlier this afternoon though when she gets picked up by a caravan of all her husband’s friends and taken to a friend’s home until the evening. My host dad is close friends with her family so she stayed here. Covered and in silence, as usual. So many things here will taint and change how I experience things back in the US: at weddings I will think of today, funerals, births…. Everything will be changed by what I experience here.
Today was a classic “lost in translation moment.” I was talking to my host mom (I can actually have a conversation now!!) and I thought she said something about tigedegas, or peanut butter. So i asked her and she said that she said nothing about peanut butter. I didn’t know how to say what I wanted so I just told a dumb story about how I eat lots of peanut butter in America. Then I knew I had made a mistake… next thing I know, one of my host moms brings out a big old mayonnaise jar covered in untreated water and full of peanut butter. Damn. This reminds me of the time I told her I liked her out fit and then she almost gave it to me until I convinced her that I was going to buy one the next day. And also of the time that someone said they like rabbits in America and bunnies, and then their family fed them one. Lost in translation… my roommate at tubaniso was doing laundry one day when her host mom offered to do it for her. She protested but to no avail, the mother took the clothes and began washing them. Then she insisted that she give over the shirt she was wearing. So my friend slowly unbuttons her shirt, saying, is this what you want?! And the host mom laughs and takes her shirt even though my friend told her that it was her last one. Then she had to spend the rest of the lunch break in her bra until the host mom understood and loaned her a shirt. My host family also gets a kick out of when I say I’m going to wash their dog with good smelling soap. Or when I say I want to go to the fields and pick peanuts with them… they just die. Man, humor is cultural. The biggest joke here in Mali is telling someone “you are a bean eater” or “I am your mom”. I personally love both; especially “I am your mom”. of the 5 or so last names in all of Mali, each one has another last name that they joke with in all situations. It can get you good deals on stores and resolve conflicts, simply by being a joking cousin.
Oh man another incident today occurred which will make my host family think I’m insane. I hope nothing bad happens, or else they may thing I cursed them. I was tired of sterilizing my water with my Steripen in corners. This thing is like a light saber that I stir around in my nalgene for a minute and it kills all the germs. It is this or bleach, and I don’t like the thought of drinking bleach for 2 years. But I finally was like whatever, I don’t care, and just used the steripen right in my door way. One kid walked by and came back…. I have never seen someone’s eyes get so big when they weren’t being sarcastic. It was hilarious. I have no idea how to explain water sanitation in Bambara so I just said over and over, to the growing crowd paralyzed in silence, “N te jinogo min!!” “I don’t drink dirty water!!” I hope I didn’t insult them, because they drink this water….
Today I got back to my home stay site after a short vacation at the Bamako Peace Corps health center. Really, it was just at the stage house, a hostel style half way house for Peace Corps volunteers to use for free when in Bamako. We get 24 per year for recreational use, such as catching a flight the next morning, or in my case, when death feels near.
But before I go into that story of adventure, I have to type about yet another intelligent conversation I have had with my host family. I got home around 9 because we had dinner at our teachers house. I sat outside on the mat watching the car battery powered TV for a little, trying to tell them about my visit to Bamako and that I am longer ill. The stars here are incredible by the way. I see shooting stars almost nightly and can see so much of the Milky Way. It’s incredible how big the sky is. But anyways, in awkward silences, I have a habit of listening to their conversations or the TV and just repeating a word that I recognize and hen forming sentences with it. This has gotten me into many uncomfortable situations, but there nothing else I can do but sit in silence which is a worse alternative I think. One of my fellow Peace Corps trainees names in my village is sorofan, translated meaning ‘trash pile’. This is what people name their kid after a few have died, hoping that god won’t want this one. But I heard the person on the TV say her name so I repeated it and said that it was my friend’s name. Then after a long confusing conversation I realized that it was not in fact my friend’s name, but a dinner dish, and I had no idea what was going on until a few minutes into their laughter…. Typical.
But these past few days were quite the adventure, but I have come out feeling not only the most healthy I have since arriving in Africa, but also with a new sense of ability. In the beginning, the smallest head ache would get me thinking of going home. But I realize that after this whole affair with what was probably bacterial dysentery, I didn’t once wish I was home and now feel invincible... it’s nice to know I made it through my first sickness. But after a week of uncomfort, Saturday was unbearable so I finally called the doctor in tears. I told her my symptoms and she said she would send a car… I wasn’t sure if her urgency was a good thing or a bad thing but I walked over to my teacher’s house and waited for the car, within crawling distance of a nyegen. Crying is really taboo in Mali, but my family was really great. They were really helpful and concerned during my hasty, tearful packing and dashing to the land rover. Apparently they even went to my teacher’s house a few times to ask how I was doing. But I get in the car and we drive to Bamako. We arrive at the stage house and I get out with my backpack, purse, and a zip loc freezer bog of puke… the guard did not quite know what to make of me. This led to an odd exchange of what to do with it, eventually we found a trash can after he tried to get me to drop it down a toilet hole, but it wouldn’t fit…. I don’t even know. But I went inside and passed out for a few hours and then the doctor came for an initial evaluation. I slept for a long time and the next day started cipro. I wish I had been coherent because I didn’t realize until later in my stay that there was internet, a kitchen, a TV…. A whole western world that I was too sick to enjoy. But on Monday morning I was feeling good and living the dream. I even managed to walk to this bakery to get me and my other immobilized sick friends pain au chocolats. This was a harder task than I had imagined, Bamako is not like New York, despite what I though. It has dirt roads and open sewers and does not yield for pedestrians. Elon did not prepare me for that. But I obviously got hopelessly lost on the way home and was pretty concerned. I found signs for another nearby Peace Corps building that I went to and then a guard walked me the 2 blocks to my house laughing. Then on the drive back to my village today I got to enjoy the scenery, so that was nice. I also realized that driving in a car here is like wake boarding. We weave down the road avoiding giant pot holes, especially on the unpaved roads. When the driver is in a rush we may catch some air going down the face of the pothole. We may do some cut backs and try to jump the wake but this is not so great when you’re not in the 4 wheel drive land rovers. But overall, very similar experiences to cruising down the intercoastal waterway on a wake board.
Along with surviving my first bout with something akin to bacterial dysentery this week, I survived my first bike accident! Woo hooo. I don’t even remember when the last bike accident I had was. Needless to say, this is Africa, and life pretty much starts over as soon as you get here. Learning how to do everything from going to the bathroom to eating to speaking from scratch. Today I don’t know what happened, maybe my pant strap got stuck in the chain, it’s a mystery. But whatever the problem was, it caused me to catapult over the handle bars, bike in tow, onto the dirt/hook worm infested mud path. My bike was ok after a quick tune up and all is well minus regular scratches which hopefully won’t get infected. This happened right in front of the girl in our village who is a little unsure of her biking skills, even better. But the best part of injury-less bike accidents is having someone see it happen because I’m sure it was pretty cool looking.
Today was a milestone for many reasons. I survived a bike accident unscathed, and I bonded with my family more. I feel bad I didn’t buy them anything at the market I went to, but I go so often that I can’t do it every time on my Peace Corps stipend. That’s one of the problems with being a white person here- people think you are made of American dollars and that I am here to give money of build a school and leave. I have no money and will be showing people that they can do it themselves instead, but I have heard it takes a while to get your village to see that. A long frustrating time of getting people to build the school themselves and such. But I was sitting outside and my host brother invited me to come sit at his hut so that was good. And then I sat and watched TV with 100 little kids looking at me instead of the TV calling me a tubab. I made a few jokes in bamanankan so that’s a big move- they think it’s hilarious that I treat their dog so nicely so today i told them my child’s name was polici, their dog’s name. My host mom was dying… Malian humor is easy to please. Then I told all the kids that they were the biggest tubabs and that they were bean eaters…. And now I’m famous. And tomorrow when I bring them back candy from market, I will be famous forever. The last Peace Corps trainee my family had was in 2008 so I asked them about the person today. My host brother went on and on about how awesome he was… oops.
The first 3 months at site are dedicated to integrating and to doing our baseline surveys. These ask people about their hand washing habits, toilet facilities, how well they eat, and their knowledge of STDs and family planning. I practiced on my family and they said that they never, ever wash their hands except when they eat with me. Ew. They also don’t have covers on their toilets (holes in the ground) and this allows fly’s to go in and out carrying disease. Bad. No wonder I was sick and had to zap my body with cipro. Neither of the 2 moms in my family have ever had a prenatal consultation. I want to ask how many, if any children they have lost, but I didn’t. They do not sell condoms in this town. Birth control is a woman’s responsibility here and she can get information on that in the main town, 30 minutes by bike up the road. This may be too far for most women though. But at this town she can get the shot or the pill. My host brother said that everyone had heard of AIDS but that no one in my town has had it. This is more likely because no one has ever been tested. Testing is optional at the CSCOM health center, but many women opt out because what would they do if they had it? It’s really about prevention here. But unfortunately, condoms are supposedly only used until marriage. But after marriage is when most women become infected with HIV. There are many women who live here and their husbands work in Bamako, probably leading to him bringing home STD’s. But in a culture where pregnancy is normally the goal, what can you do? Pregnancy in Bambara translates back to English as ‘to get lucky’. In whose opinion? I don’t have a problem with the fact that the average woman has 7 kids. I have a problem with the fact that she starts often times too young before her body is ready and doesn’t get pre or post natal care. I also have a problem with the fact that families have as many kids as they can in many village situations, without regard to when it would be appropriate to stop so that the kids can have enough food and go to school. I think about 6 of the 9 kids in my compound are under 5- it’s just not good planning to do this with the limited saving of the average family. Birth’spacing’ as they call it here would make the families children more spaced out so that there would be a better ratio of kids working the field to kids who are too young. But one thing I have noticed is that all the essays and reports I have read are really being tested right now. It is harder to be so critical when things actually do make a little but more sense that I thought and are just so rooted in society.
But while sitting outside watching the TV hooked into the open hood of the communist era looking truck, surrounded by all these tubab mocking kids, I realized unprovoked for the first time this is definitely really nice. It’s so relaxing here. I shower under the stars, watch the sunrise; sit in the nice weather all the time…. I am actually living the dream. My dream atleast. But I was thinking wow; I don’t want to go home. I can see how going home is the hardest part- I can’t even imagine. I really can’t. This life is so nice. So far at least. I haven’t had giardia or rabies yet, but I love it here. But I plan on going home (London) in July, maybe, we will see. I wonder if that will be a wakeup call as to how much I miss- but hopefully it will be a wakeup call of how settled in I am and how much I love it and have to do. I was talked about my future site with my host brother today and I sensed sadness in the conversation that I would be leaving. It is sad. I can visit, but it is sad. I love this family. It’s been a month now, about one third through my time spent Copenhagen on my semester abroad- but in this case, there is no end in sight. I didn’t think there was with Copenhagen, but this 27 month stint in Mali puts those three months to shame. Peace corps puts a lot in perspective, to say the least. But today, we were all talking about how even if we early terminated, there would be nothing to regret from doing this and certainly a ton gained. And that’s saying a lot, as one of us was puking today, 1 has something a kin to what I had, and of the other 6 of us, there a variation of opinions. It was a good day for me, but certainly not or everyone- like I said, Peace Corps volunteers become very bipolar towards the whole experience, during training at least. I hear the road is paved from swear in on out.
Today was funny. We had a field trip to a CSCOM that also had an AIDS/HIV ward and to a radio station. Typical Africa time, the 90 minute car ride was actually 3 hours. But it was awesome because no one was feeling car sick and we were in a bus with all the other health Peace Corps trainees. We don’t see each other outside of those tubabs in our village very often so when we do there is lots of gossip and stories to catch up on. This one girl who by luck got to live in a house with electricity with a woman a Christian couple where the mother is an accomplished doctor had some stories from her most recent weeding visit. She went to a rather wealthy persons wedding and there were like 400 people there- t eh size of my whole town- and they had a dj, beer, and people wearing western style clothes. She obviously missed the memo and showed up in her nicest most conservative Malian matching outfit, complete with head scarf, so she was not only the only non-Bambara speaking tubab but also the only wearing Malian clothes… but she said the party go crazy and there was a dancing circle where the dj would announce a song and then 2 people would have a dance off. She said there were chairs and other props being used and the most sexual dancing she had ever seen in her life, even in America. What a party! She eventually got pushed into the circle when shakira (hips don’t lie) came on and got stuck having a dance off with a pre teen 14 year old boy. Everyone was chanting TUBABOO TUBABOO the whole time and she said she won. Poor kid. Weddings here are crazy. I spent the car ride near a Peace Corps volunteer who shared the story of her most recent fight with tape worms. Sounds gross but these stories are hilarious and hearing them makes getting these weird diseases a lot better. And of course it makes a good story to tell to new baby Peace Corps trainees later. We went to the AIDS clinic and this was depressing because of all the barriers they face. Due to the stigma, many people cease treatment half way through when they start feeling better or never start treatment at all. Any are shunned by their communities if word gets out so the fear is real. The ARVs are free, as well as a bunch of drugs to treat opportunistic diseases. On the off chance when a person will actually have to pay for their own drugs to treat an oopporitunsitic disease whose treatment isn’t covered, the people get angry. This was frustrating to hear. Many people here do not believe that AIDS exists and have a host of explanations for this. It was engineered by white racists, it is caused by curses, can be cured by some disgusting measures…. Lots of theories. Perhaps the most disturbing is that there are those who don’t use condoms because they don’t believe in the disease and then there are those who believe that condoms will give you the disease, that something is on them. And this is why I am a health education extension agent. Even more concerning than all these things previously stated is that people here don’t connect germs with disease. So therefore, why use soap? Oh boy. Maybe I’ll find a good smelling soap that people will use just because it smells good. Who knows.
But the visit to the radio station was really uplifting. I hadn’t expected too much as I hadn’t really even thought about the impact that radios have on illiterate populations without electricity. The radio is the only source of entertainment or connection to the outside world for many. This radio station spoke of all the success they had had with recent movements. They had done a series on FGM ad why the practice should be stopped. Of the 9 surrounding villages, 4 stopped and the other 5 said they planned to. And this actually did happen. This did include visits to these sites by ngos and the showing of graphic movies on the topic, but it proved effective. I had been thinking of doing something like this but to be honest I am scared to breach the topic. The change on something that sensitive cannot come from a tubab. I don’t want opposition forming against me on an issue that controversial. I feel I would become scared for my own safety- maybe I’m paranoid but it’s no joking matter. I know I will encounter it but I am not sure yet how outspoken I will be or with whom. In many papers I have read on this, it takes convincing the male leader of the village against this. Turns out though that Peace Corps volunteers are actually not supposed to do anything against this practice. The town I am in now has apparently stopped recently too, supposedly, so that is good. The same goes for bringing birth control into town and getting families used to the idea- first must convince the dugutigi or male leader. At least this is what I have read about being done in other more conservative Muslim countries. Birth control has to be called birth spacing here because otherwise people will think that white people are trying to suppress their population.
Today I really had to do laundry so that was an adventure that ended with my mom trying to take over and a crowd of kids around laughing at me whenever I tried to push my mom away long enough to show here that I could do it too. And now I have a bunch of still soapy, still brown clothes hanging on the line outside and all my underwear hanging inside. Oh man do I miss the washing machine! I looked at all my clothes though and collectively I have 4 shirts, 4 pairs of underwear, and 2 skirts and a pair of pants. It’s really all I need. Africa really makes you realize that wow, 2 weeks have gone by and you haven’t missed your 120 dollar pair of designer jeans or anything else really. I do miss certain things that make me feel pretty but only for a second. It’s not like I have a mirror to remind me that I don’t shower. But we are going to the American club on Sunday funday with all 80 of us trainees together once again so it’s going to be awesome. I will shave my legs for that…. Second times since being here. Oh man, I can see already how assimilating back to America will be hard. Today at lunch I sat with 2 volunteer boys one year in, a volunteer girl 2 years in, and my trainee friend. Its great talking to volunteers about life post training. Apparently they throw us parties at our site capital when we get there in 2 weeks and again after swear in on the way to our sites again. I can’t wait to see who else is in my region. That is a huge deal. Those will be the people I will see the most. Right now we are all just dying to find out our sites. By the time I post this blog entry, I will know ahhhh. All I know is that of the 8 people in my village, 2 of us need to bring our bikes to site visit, which lasts a week. I don’t exactly know why but I assume it is because there is no public transport at these sites and maybe they are either close enough to bike/too far to walk from a larger market town or the nearest CSCOM. So I want to be closer to everything- and I am one of the 2 people that need my bike- so hopefully this means that I am close enough that I can bike instead of take the bush taxi to the market town. But I don’t know…. I have to stop thinking about it. All I know is that all health volunteers will either be replacing or joining current PCVs (peace corps volunteers) so that is good. Some people will have a site mate. One boy I ate lunch with today had his own site for a year but then last month a girl from his staging class moved to his site because her homologue (mentor person) killed her relay (outreach educator boss) (I am not quite sure if these names are even right) or vice versa via hit man from Burkina Faso- so long story short, she got moved. But sounds like the best of both worlds to me, I would like to have a site mate… maybe. We will see next Sunday. August 8th!
IT’S SO HOT. I’m sweating profusely even just laying here in my bug hut. So, it turns out that for the past few weeks that I have lived in this town, I have been telling my family about my big, golden, hairy, American… penis. Yes, true story. So much makes sense now. Apparently there is a very fine line between talking about my dog and… yes, the more unfortunate alternative. Bambara has a very special possessive rule. It is used on certain things but not others. Apparently, it is used not on body parts but on dogs. So yes, I have a big hairy American dog. But it is not as simple as it seems. Sure my 20 year old host brother never laughed at me but now I see that my 5 little brothers all are. Today I was watching the TV with them post finding out about the difference and they were all joking and making fun of me, asking me about it and provoking me to say it wrong. I made a point to say no…. it’s actually a dog I was talking about. Ah, little boy humor. They were complete with hand gestures. Apparently the same mistake can happen when talking about the fields so I just avoid the subject all together. It’s unfortunate because there are fields and dogs everywhere so I always want to talk about them…. Someday I will be able to sound like I have a college degree. Someday.
This is like the time that I spent 7 weeks telling my French host family that I was pregnant every night after dinner thinking that ‘I am full’ was actually what I was saying. ‘Want more food?’ ‘no thanks, I’m pregnant” Every night.
On a better note, today I was sitting in my room right after being served wondering if I was eating alone or if my host brother would be joining me. Yesterday in my one man bike accident my handle bar impaled my belly button area and it has been hurting. I am never alone long enough anywhere to inspect the damage, since we don’t really shower or have light in our huts, so since my door was open it was kind of light. I figured no one was coming and lifted my shirt a little over my belly button and out of my skirt that it had been tucked into. I grabbed my flashlight for extra examination and as looking at my stomach and belly button, poking around because some of my belly button has turned purple… but then I looked up and saw no other face through my screen door than my 20 year old host brothers. Needless to say, I ate alone today. Turns out that he was entertaining guests and was simply getting the chair from in front of my house but no doubt he saw my exposed navel. This town probably thinks all tubabs are prostitutes.
But regardless, our friendship is actually getting really good and has definitely crossed into the very comfortable zone. I am really sad to be leaving this town soon. Tomorrow we are going to paint a mural about hand washing at the CSCOM. Since my language skills don’t allow m to explain, everyone there thinks I am a doctor…. I hope that doesn’t bite me some day. Sunday we are going to the America club supposedly- ahh I hope so!
Finally, a month has gone by. Things are really good. I find that everything gets better after a month. Starting to form friendships and have a routine. We have a bar restaurant about 30 min bike ride away where we meet the other 2 neighboring villages about once a week. Overall, Peace corps is the best thing ever.
One day in class one of our teachers asked us if people who are born in America and never leave, ever get sick and die. I think he was asking if we have any diseases- we said sure, heart disease, cancer… but it’s funny to think that he probably imagined this country where no one ever dies of disease, since we don’t have malaria and such.
One of my friends in the village came to school today with a funny story. Apparently last night after tea he told his dad he was going to the bathroom. No big deal. His host dad acted surprisingly happy and odd, so when my friend came back the host dad explained himself. Apparently Peace Corps volunteers never go to the bathroom at bight, despite the unusual amounts of water that we drink. The host dad said how he thought this was so weird and how he was proud of my friend for going to the bathroom at night. I never go to the bathroom at night because between my house and the neygen bathroom lie sleeping donkeys, dogs, roaches, and all kinds of other scary things. That is why all Peace Corps volunteers get extra buckets for their house. So far, so good.
Even though abortion is illegal in Mali, there are apparently CSCOMs who do practice it. This si scary because those who are practicing are not educated on the process and have patients die or become sterile. Richer people can go to Bamako for the procedure but they have to have connections and enough money. Not to mention they will need a good excuse to leave town. Abortions in Bamako are about 30 dollars. Apparently here in Mali there is a lot of corruption in the medical system though, so many doctors have not really gone to med school and passed and many also just pocket the money. They make extra money by performing procedures which they are not licensed or trained to do.
Anyways, I miss and think of you all!!! Thanks for all your good feedback and good wishes!!
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