As I Sit in Sikasso...

I sit here at the internet in Sikasso trying to kill some time before I head out to Niena in an hour. I will walk along the side of the road for about an hour waiting for a bus to pass me. I have a day full of hitch-hiking to look forward to; there is nothing odd or sad about it, this is just how one travels when in Mali. Depending on the type of transport that stops to give you a ride, the trip to Niena from Sikasso-ville can take anywhere from one to two hours. These times aren't so bad anymore, especially considering the condition of the road. Just a few weeks ago, the trip could take much longer because the road was streamed with potholes. Cars don't have to worry so much about the zigging and zagging now that most of potholes have been filled. Once I get to Niena, I will head to the post office to pick up our packages. This is a bit of a leap of faith. We know that our families have sent packages, we know that if things went correctly along the way the packages should be there by now. We have a phone number for the Niena post office that doesn't work, and we have information that the sole employee at the post office went on vacation for Tabaski. We actually found this out the hard way - I travelled to Niena on Monday only to find the post office closed and then had to travel back to Sikasso empty handed. Such is life everywhere, but sometimes it seems disproportionately so here in Africa. Yet, in some odd way, I kind of like it this way.

I have been thinking a lot recently about the differences between my world and the world I live in now. Between America and Mali; between the 1st World and the 3rd; between luxury and need; what really matters and what doesn't.

Some things America clearly has better: clean, cheap water for everyone - internet everywhere - a sense that if something is wrong, you can change it, make things right, whether you really can or not. Some things I feel Mali has the upper hand: everyone, and I do mean everyone, greets you on the street as you walk by. This isn't just because I'm white and I stand out in a crowd here; Malians greet other Malians this way as well.

There are plenty of things that bother me about both worlds as well. And I am finding out here that many of the things that bother me about America also bother me about Africa. Recently, Jay-Z, the rapper mogul, came to Africa supposedly out of the goodness of his heart to donate water pumps to some of the people here and then perform concerts. While I do not question why he came (the UN has been saying for a while that one of the most crucial problems facing 60 percent of Africa is access to clean drinking water), I have to question his idiocity and his overwhelmingly arrogant ignorance.

In Blendio, there are two water pumps within a quick bike ride from our house. Both are on the verge of being useless. Why? Because they were gifts to the community. An NGO came in and installed both pumps just a few years ago. These pumps have the capacity to last 20 something years - if they are taken care of. But NGOs don't maintain pumps; they install them and head on to the next town to install more. Now don't get me wrong, these people need water and they need it badly, but the thing is, they need it everyday, not just some days. It is a quote I am going to hate to say when I leave here because we in the Peace Corps say it so damn much: Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day, teach a man to fish and he'll eat for a lifetime. You waltz into these villages to give them a pump and they will break it in 2 years. These pumps are extremely delicate and have a lot of fragile and fancy parts - children play on top of them or bang the lever up and down to hear the echo, the townfolk allow the pump to fall into disrepair because they don't know that moss growing out of it is bad for the pump. They don't know that tightening the screws too much actually wears down the joints and moving parts. It gets to a point where the costly repairs that a community must shell out far too often become too much for these tiny communities to bare on there own. They stop repairing the pump and it rusts over, or rots away. Why does all this happen over and over again in so many African villages here in Mali and in other West African countries? Because the people are not being taught to fish. They are not taught how to take care of their pumps. These people are given these pumps so they do not understand how much the pump costs or how much time and care is invested into the mechanics and installation of such pumps. They don't know to treat them delicately or to keep children away from them.

If I were to try to get a pump installed in my community, the best way to go about it is to make the people here earn it. Yes, the people here are extremely poor and could never afford to completely pay for a pump on their own; so you must seek help from and outside NGO or development program. Get each person in the village to put in some of their meager earnings (many make only a few cents a day) - it isn't the amount that is important, it is the sense of investment that is. When the community strives to raise 1000 dollars, even when some NGO adds the remaining 17,000 dollars required for a pump, the community feels that the pump is something they accomplished. If they feel that it is the product of their own savings and hard work they will take care of it. When you sit them down and take the time to explain to them the small everyday things they can do to prolong its life, they will listen if they know they are helping themselves. These are the pumps that continue working after 2 years.

Jay-Z, like I said, I don't question you're heart. But you are the typical rich ignorant man. People are praising you back home because you are doing something with your riches to help save Africa. But then again, people are pretty ignorant too. You are a fairly successful businessman so I have to assume you've got some brains in you. Next time you come to help Africa, please, I really think you should actually do something helpful.

Wedding in December-- PCV and Malian!

this is the long ass walk we made to the cliffs for pictures















The bride, Julia, in her purple wedding dress.















Me in my new, cute skirt I got made for the occasion. I look weird because Tim is a freak and thinks that he is my personal paparazzi.

















More cave pictures...there were a lot of friends and volunteers there to support her and her new man, Yaya.

Above: Tim hates me, so he took this picture and put it on here for me to comment on... :)

Left: the procession goes on and on... we rode all over the f-ing village folike-ing/greeting every person in her village.

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Above: Julia and her man Yaya... it is customary for everyone in the wedding party to match... so some of the guys have on shirts that match Sara (the only other white chick in the picture)... she is pretty much the designated maid of honor.

Left: Everyone at the mayors 'office'. Julia and Yaya putting on rings.... The mayor was reading out what would happen to Yaya if he broke the monogamy vow, which included 3-10 years of jail time and/or fines from 10,000 CFA-1,000,000CFA------ it was all very romantic, more like Malian way actually.


People crowding around---it was insane!

The Silence of the Rams (The Tabaski Special)

It is picture time! Happy New Year and Happy Tabaski to everyone back home.


Our front yard in Blendio with our recently completed gwa (grass hangar) and children at the gate staring at us.










And our backyard with a view out to the soccer/balontan field in the distance.












Living in Africa is all about improvising: Michele missed putting a star on the top of a tall tree, so here is the other Michele giving her the opportunity to put a star on a tall tree.










A view of one of the tall mosque towers at dusk in Sikasso.












Malian pants are the best. Here is how we have clothes made in Mali: we go fabric shopping and then hand the fabric over to a tailor to make whatever we want. The pants here are so damn comfortable - everytime I go I get several pairs made. This is an example of some of the fabrics that I have recently made into pants (I freakin love my fish pants!)






Yes, kids, Santa does visit Africa.













A day before Tabaski, the last holiday of the year in Islam. People have been hoarding the nicest looking rams for the festivities that start soon. I don't think the rams know what's coming.










We spent Tabaski with a Peace Corps friend, another Michele in the town of Kouro. It is only about 700 people large, so we definitely stuck out(http://www.michelelehman.blogspot.com)

Group prayer on the first morning of the 2 day holiday.








Michele and Michele in their conservative prayer clothing.












The first sacrifice of the day. Several men hold the ram down so it doesn't thrash too much. Hundreds of rams were sacrificed across the village over the next few hours and after that the BBQ began. As the guests of honor everyone kept giving us more meat than we knew what to do with - we ended up giving about 10 kilos away to other people.



















The thrashing....













And the skinning....













The Tabaski balontan match, green shirts (single men) versus non-green shirts (married men); I didn't play so I don't know which shirt I would wear.

Merry Christmas, everyone: here are some pictures!

Merry Christmas from Mali!!!!!

Our house, photo one - trying to look as comfy as possible. This room serves as the kitchen, living room, and garage while we are away.
Our house, photo two.
These are the new bars that the Peace Corps placed on all our windows yesterday. Our house looks slightly more like a prison than usual, but it should be ok.
This is the Blendio dugutigi's grandson, Jaktay. He does ever say anything when around us, but he's crafty enough to try to grab the camera and give high-fives.
This is a wedding that passed through our backyard yesterday while men were fixing our house. They pulled Michele into the circle of women to dance.
Michele and her mosquito net from our stay in Sikasso.

A labor of love.

three days until Christmas----- hello from Mali!

So after some much-needed Mali-hating, I have regained perspective.


I got to see my first woman in labor. Woo--- oh Africa with such craziness in it! So every Tuesday is V-day (vagina day) at the CSCOM... and this week a girl (about 17) came in already having contractions. It was the scariest thing I have ever witnessed. Scarier than half my face not working, scarier than a thief running off with our oreos and underwear.... scarier than the LSAT. First off, the girl was exhausted and nothing had actually happened yet. A tiny portion of the babys head was out, but that was it. So there I am... in this tiny room with the two midwives and this poor girl on the hard, tile floor with nothing to push against; the irony of which being that they actually have one of those pregnancy-helper tables with the stirrups, but they dont really know how to use them. So yeah... i find that I am silently praying for this girl to find the strength to get the baby out.... and then the head pops out just far enough so that we all can see the umbilical cord is wrapped around the babys neck. This is where Michele goes into panic-mode. I step up the praying a bit.... you can see that the baby is not breathing, not moving, and is a freakishly ghostly shade of blue. Then Minata, the head midwife, grabs the baby by the head and neck and pulls him out. (horrifying) Then she unwraps the cord and starts pounding on the babys chest.... and I am freaking out... is this okay? Will it not hurt the baby worse than he is clearly already hurting? Then she grabs a bottle of bleach and starts rubbing it on the baby... why? I have no idea. Then she sucks out all the stuff in the babys mouth and nose and still----- no breathing. Inside I am panicing. What if the baby doesnt live? The young mother is way too exhausted to move... then minata grabs the baby by the arm and pulls him up onto the table she should have given birth on. (horrifying) Then, thank GOD, the baby starts making some faint sounds.... and minata starts pounding on his chest again.... he cries and breathes.
The mother eventually gets up, washes off, and walks to a room where she will be for another hour or so, and then she will walk home. Oh---- in Mali.... they also keep their placenta and bury it so that nothing bad will happen to the baby.

OK---- I love you guys. Merry Christmas!

An Example of the Best and Worst in Mankind...

So to begin with, these past two weeks in Blendio have been rough. After a trip to the Bamako med office for Michele's Bells palsy, we return to our home to realize that someone broke in and ran off with some of our items. Nothing taken was of any great value, but it is more the thought of someone forcing their way into our home that is the trouble. A small hole was punched into the metal shutter of the smallest window so whomever made it into our house could pull off the inside latch. We had returned on a Sunday, a market day in Niena, when we found the house like this. It was the same day we picked up a package sent to us because someone we do not know admires what we are doing here. I want to send a thankyou to Leslie and your family for your thoughts; I am saddened that other unfortunate events have tried to overshadow your kindness.
The worst part of this whole situation was not directly because of our invasion of privacy; Amadou Diallo, the kindest person in our village to us and our jatigi and caretaker, when he heard of the robbery, came to our house alone and was obviously in so much emotional pain he couldn't stand. I brought him a chair and sat next to him in our enclosed front yard and watched him cry - a Malian man and village elder in a country where even mothers are not supposed to show too much emotion in public when a child dies, crying before me, blaming himself for the robbery because he was supposed to be our care-taker, the one watching over us and making us as comfortable as possible in his village... he has been, time and time again, the single kindest person to us this whole stay in Mali, and it seriously pained Michele and I to watch him blame himself over this. And there wasn't much Michele nor I could say to console him. The Peace Corps during Homestay warned us to keep careful watch over our possessions because if anything happened to them, our host family would blame themselves. Anything major or minor that happens to a guest in this country becomes the blame of the host regardless if the host has done everything right.
Amadou has come by our house sparingly since. He seems to be doing better but has been occupied with his family. Several times the past 2 weeks he has travelled to a neighboring village with two of his children for foot problems. With a medical facility just half a kilometer from his house, Michele and I suspect him of travelling 15km to the next village for traditional superstitious medicine and sorcery as cures.
Michele and I came to Africa because we know people here are in need of help. When I first got here and saw how people did not immediately need my help to go about their daily lives, I didn't know what to make of it. Why was I here if people get by just fine on their own? But now that I have lived here a little longer, some of the more subtle things are beginning to pop up at me. I can't do much to tell people to only go to a doctor rather than sorcerer, but it is so ingrained in their culture that they would never heed what I say. What I can do, is influence them through trust. I can live here and become as much a member of the community as I can, do small projects like creating trash pickup and building soak pits to help make them healthier in small increments. This may or may not inspire them that some change is good and to at least keep an open mind about other things that can benefit them in the end...

As for now, Michele's and my pride is still recovering from the robbery. We live just one day at a time, not knowing whether tomorrow will be a lower point or not. At the moment we have decided to stay in Africa because it seems the right thing to do. I want to thank everyone who reads this for all of the kind support you have given. All the little things you have done have made it somewhat easier for Michele and I. Thank you.

We were robbed.

hello from the wonderful world of mali. I am here to report that we were robbed while we were being held in the Peace Corps med office, when i had/still have bells palsy. They took a whole hell of a lot too. Here is a brief list:

1. my tennis shoes
2. my digital camera
3. my columbia rain jacket
4. Tims older digital camera
5. tims spare pair of glasses (the good ones with the transition lenses)
6. tims binoculars
7. all of our food after receiving both of the packages sent by my grandmother and aunt, and tims moms package.... needless to say they took all of the american food along with all of the food we had at home... thank you so much leslie and pam. your package could not have come at a better time.
8. a single pair of my underwear (they were lacey... so yeah it is disgusting)
9. half of a bag of pens i brought from the US
10. half of the pencils grandma and laury sent me


I think there are more things that were taken, but I cannot remember them right now. Anyway... after our long journey and my fun bout with bells palsy, I could not believe that this had happened. We are here to help these people and this is what we get for our efforts? I felt betrayed and disgusted, and honestly wanted to be anywhere but here. The worst part for me was when I realized that whomever broke into our house had been through my underwear. The whole white women-black man thing here is like the sexual holy grail. White women are considered to be more sexual, and easier than the local women so most of the time you are looked at as a primarily sexual object. This fact making my missing underwear more unsettling. In addition to the underwear issue, whomever broke in had to have sat down in our house and ate some things before leaving. My Mom sent me a can of corn and a can of mandarin oranges and they were opened and then throzn back in the food trunk... probably because they had never seen either in that form before. The same was true of a can of tuna, open and wasted along with a couple cans of corned mutton. I have never been so insanely pissed off. In addition to my anger, I have been going through what I believe to be panic attacks due to my fear that the theif might try to come in while we are home. There are many strange noises outside... and there is always something near our house; whether it is an animal or a person... i hear it, procede to freak out, my heart rate jumps through the roof and then i have problems calming back down. It has not been easy staying here. Tim and I, over the past few weeks, have fantasized about returning home... desk jobs not sounding as bad as once initially thought. We are staying here to see if things get better and if we can really make a difference here. Right now it is pretty difficult working up any kind of motivation when half the time I am wondering who amongst these people robbed tim and I. So theres that happy news. yay.

In more recent news, I have started my health survey. I created a health survey in bambara to ask the local women what their concerns are and to figure out what they know about. For example, if they have ever heard of AIDS or not. SAdly, after interviewing about 12 women, most have had a child die, 1 went to school, and 1 knew about aids. Those are just a few of the statistics. What I happen to think is worse however, was the behavior of my homologue during the interview. He was actually scoffing at the women who do not know the answers... he was making fun of them! It was infuriating! What made me even more frustrated is that he is educated; he has information he can share, but he doesnt. How in the hell are these women supposed to know about these things when they were forced into marriages when they were fifteen and have been having children ever since? I also had a couple of other questions with Bakary, my homologue/counterpart, that were equally irritating. I asked him if he liked to read... he said yes, but only named text books. I then asked him if he read to his child. He said no, that he was too young and has not been to school yet. They send their kids to school here when they are 7! 7! I also asked him if he spoke french at home. He said no, his child would learn that at school also. I told him that professors and academics have done studies that show that reading to your child makes them smarter and helps them enjoy reading when the are older. I also told him that tim and i were read to when we were children. He listened, and after my explanations and pleas he simply brushed it all off and said: well, we dont do it like that here. He said the same thing in reference to my asking if he spoke french at home to his child. I told him that he needed to speak to him in french because then it would be easier for him to understand the grammar in school and he would actually be able to speak it before being able to write it, which is more important here anyway. HE smiled, and that was the end of it. How in the hell am I supposed to convince the uneducated with my crazy theories if I cannot even persuade bakary to entertain the thought of change?

On another note,the school system here is ridiculous. They try to learn french for the first '-( years and then if they pass a national exam they can move on to learn science, math, history all taught in french... a language they barely understand. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!


Ok, I believe that is all I have to say right now. I love all of you. Thanks for everything in advance. Miss all of you. Everyone eat some turkey, ham, mash tatoes, etc for me.