I often write about the concept of solidarity. But there is one aspect of Malian culture that’s not so “solid.” Talibizey as they are called in Gao, are garibou, or young students of the Koran who study under a Maribou. To learn humility and to gain their daily bread, they are forced to beg door to door for either a portion of cooked food, some grain or a few coins. Whatever they earn they are instructed to bring back and share with all the other garibous and of course so that the Maribou can take his share. Certain harsher Maribou will chain hands or feet of garibou who ate from their bowl before returning to the house, which makes it all the more difficult for them to beg the next day. They are often filthy, and I was particulalry appalled once when, for lack of a hand washing bowl, a group of men filled a garibou’s bowl with water, rinsed their hands, and began to eat. Garibou literally means “foreigner” in Arabic. In Islamic teachings, Muslims are to feed, house, and clothe any “strangers” who come by. Though, it is understood that if you stay longer than three days, you are considered to no longer be a foreigner. The problem in Mali, aside from harsh treatment of legitimate garibou, is that there are many children (almost all boys) who are sent away (or who run away) who know nothing of the Koran yet beg just like the garibou do. This is why often Aliou would demand the garibou to recite the Koran before giving anything. Non-garibou would then be comically teased until Aliou thought they had earned their dinner. For example, Aliou would ask Dave if this was the little punk who threw the rock at him today (untrue of course) and Dave would exclaim, “Yeah, yeah that’s the one, get him!” The garibou would promptly run out of the courtyard. Similarly, if Aliou would call to Zubbu to bring a nice, sharp knife, for garibou liver is what would cure his child’s sickness, the garibou would also run (screaming sometimes) from the courtyard. Because, even in Ansongo, most of the garibou were originally from Gao gourma (the villages on the right bank of the river or as it flows between Gao and Ansongo, the West bank), Aliou would quiz them on exactly where they were from or who their father’s father is. Once, a garibou thoroughly confused by the barrage of questions, ended up telling us he was from both the West and East banks of the river. Right. Once, Aliou found a garibou from his village of Boya (commune of Gabero in the gourma), and began to feed him well. He was surprisingly a legitimate talibize. When I was at restaurant recently in Douentza, coming back from Timbuktu with CARE, ATN Plus, and Nouveaux Horizons staff, we were appalled by the behavior of the town’s garibou. These were surely not students of the Koran. When one table had finished their bbq’d meat, the server held up the pile bones on a platter to keep it from the groping hands of almost 20 garibou. Almost each one got a bone that they started to happily gnaw on. Mahamane turns to me and says what a tragedy these garibou/beggars are. Why can’t an NGO (or the government) build centers to house and feed them and teach them a skill. Another colleague commented that if the system continues, these beggars, once adults, would also send their children out to beg. I understand certain families cannot afford to take care of all of their children, or in the case of an orphaned child, take him or her in because their parents were relatives. It is the norm, but it is not easy. Therefore, though to most Malians it is culturally appalling, I find it necessary to started building orphanages/vocational training centers for these unwanted kids. In the case of the talibizey who are trying to learn the Koran, there needs to be a system of community involvement to support the Maribou in taking care of his students. Buddhism also promotes begging and a simple life in order to learn humility; nevertheless, in learning this lesson, these children shouldn’t have to act like dogs. 

One of the most important things my fiancé has helped me to understand is why people call me anasara or tubob. Greetings are incredibly important here. So important, if you don’t greet someone, they think you are mad at them, not just that you forgot to greet them or didn’t notice them passing by. Even before buying something you have to go through the greetings—from their spouse and children to the state of their cows. Additionally, ethnic identity is still very strong here—and relatedly, family names carry much more significance than they do elsewhere. Often when greeting, people address each other by their family name. If they don’t know the person’s name, they’ll address them by the name the most common to the ethnic group (Bambara = Coulibaly, Peuhl = Diallo, Songhoy = Maïga). If a person greets someone not from their ethnic group, they will call out the name of the ethnicity. Therefore, Diallo is often greeted as fula ce ! (among Bambaras) and fulan aru ! (among Songhoy). And I am greeted equivalently as tubob or anasara. It’s not meant to be a slur because I’m white, but merely a way to classify and greet me. During the lunch break of the training I was in Monday and Tuesday, one of the trainers asked me if I get bother by people refering to me as anasara (just before my colleague had told the server the anasara doesn’t eat that much, so don’t fill her plate). I said it used to bother me but no longer does because I’ve come to realize that everybody uses certain terms to identify and refer to people here. I think it only becomes a problem when people use the terms to generalize about certain ethnicities and do so out of the context of joking cousins (for example, the artisan who made our wedding rings is a Peuhl of the blacksmith class of forgerons who joke with Peuhls, so he joked about the significance of my fiancé’s small fingers and the fact that all Diallo’s are traitors). Sadly, two groups excluded from the joking cousins/ethnicities (Diarra’s joke with Traoré’s, all Dogon joke will Songhoy, etc) are the Touaregs and the Bella. These are the only two groups I’ve heard being seriously slurred against here in the North. And they are the ones you hear about most on RFI. 

On est Ensemble is a West-African French phrase which literally means « We’re together » but more figuratively speaks to the system of solidarity that is deeply imbedded in the culture. For example, when I forgot to grab money out of my safe for the week, I found myself broke, 4km away from home, and with a blazing sun outside. Lunch costs 500F ($1,20). But I didn’t even have a 5F piece on me. So when I went to our usual restaurant, I asked the lady if I could pay tomorrow. She gave me a heaping plate of rice and red-fish sauce and said, On est ensemble. You don’t let your neighbor go hungry here. It’s one of the aspects I like most about Malian culture—even if it may cause a certain level of indolence.    

The more time I spend around French people (or other Europeans who speak French) the more I realize I speak very West African French. On est ensemble, the subject of my last entry, is a quintessential West African French phrase having largely to do with the fact that it represents the Neighborhood Watch aspect to the culture here. It’s not really used in France in this sense, probably because the system of solidarity isn’t as strong in the West (I know, I know, France is in fact north northeast of Mali). Présentement  is widely used to say « Currently » but French people find it awkward. Maybe this too is a result of me using the equivalent to « Presently ». Usually, when searching for a word I don’t know, I say the english word with French pronubciation (especially if the word is more than 3 syllables long) and it works. In this case, it doesn’t. On est où là ? Literally meaning «One is where ? », has become a greeting or a way to warm up a crowd. It doesn’t really mean anything. But it became popular in the West African hour of guests and music on RFI because the Sénégalese host uses it profusely.  Peinturer  in West African French means « to paint ». However, they took the actual verb peindre and made it into an easy to congugate regular –er verb. So instead of being lazy and saying Le nouveau maire a coupé tous les arbres dans la cour de la mairie et peinturé le batiment conformément à son hôtel (true story), you should say Le maire a peint la mairie desagréablement. Often, to designate an event or action that has not happened yet but is expected to happen, West Africans say, Je n’ai pas fini à préparer d’abord. I thought this was perfectly acceptable French. It is not. I have now learned that the construction comes from Bambara (or the more widely spoken sister language of Dioula), in which for an action that has not yet occured you simply tack on folo to the end of the sentence. Folo translates best to d’abord. But, a proper French housewife would use encore to say she has not yet finished cooking : Je n’ai pas encore fini à préparer. Quoi is added at the end of phrases so often it's become a habit, quoi. Similar to "like" in English. While watching Bienvenue Chez les Chtis, I found that it is also used in this north northwestern French dialect. To the point where a southerner gets quite confused and the two actors get into a loop much like a "Who's on First?" bit. Quoi literally means "what" and therefore, with the intonation of the Chtis, it is as if you are always asking a question rather than confirming a statement. Here, there is no confusion over intonation, so it becomes an extraneous word at the end of phrases, as in, Je vais terminer ici, quoi. 

First rain in Gao and I discovered another human universal: kids love to puddle stomp. 

Though it is tiring to be going around town on a bike—from my house along the river to work one way is over 4km—I enjoy how it allows me to observe and interact with people, especially the kids: "Ni go foonda ra !" I said to a toddler IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD, he looks up at me and starts to bawl. A young woman comes over and says his mother was out and there was no one looking after him. "Nice rhythm" I shout over to a kid, who, surely sent by his mother to get water, was sounding out beats on the 4 over turned 20L water jugs strapped over his shoulders. I sure hope he wouldn’t be the only one carrying that load back… One toddler pulling another out ofthe way of a speeding moto by the back of his oversized shirt.

The Dogon are a people unique to Mali. It is said they sought refuge from wild beasties in the cliffs of the Bandiagara Escarpement when it was still a forested region. Now, you can see the desert approaching once you descend the fallaise into the plain where dunes encroach from the northeast. The Dogon chased out the Pygmies (who liked the forest and therefore ran off to the Congo River basin) and settled in villages along the 200km escarpement. With the Peuhls to their west, on the top of the ridge and in the plains beyond, the Dogon were introduced to Islam but have generally held fast to their animist beliefs. Many villages still retain their traditional religious chiefs who are in contact with the Creator, Ogon (all this I learned from our guide and from what my fiancé had learned in school, so forgive me if there are errors) ; though, in nearly every village we visited there was a Catholic mission and often schools supported by the Church. Still, we chanced upon a traditional mask ceremony for two funerals. 

When there is work to be done in the fields, people who pass away are burried but there is no passing ceremony to recognize their accomplishements. These two elders were very accomplished and therefore merited an elaborate ceremony. Women born during the Dogon fête of the year become the master of the ceremony. They hold large, decorated calabashes (gourd spoons) and are the only ones allowed to dance along with the masked men. Each mask represents either fertility (these male dancers are equiped with breasts), rain, hyenas, lions, hunters, and life (the tallest of them all…this dancer must have an amazingly strong neck to raise and lower the tree-trunk of a mask attached to his head). The men drink millet beer before starting the ceremony and a few dancers had to be removed from the circle for drunkeness. I was amused by certain more modern decorations on the masks : colored plastic mirrors, « Nihe » sneakers, and other « chinoiseries ». The rest was made from Baobab and monkey-fruit wood, grass and natural dyes. 

The Baobabs of Pays Dogon are huge and numerous. You can see the scars from where bark was harvested for masks and uses in the home (rope or baskets). The trees really do resemble a tree pulled up roots and all and planted upside down. One of my favorite quotes from the trip was to Diallo as he sat under the shade of a Baobab : « Hey, does this thing that resembles a Peuhl speak Fulfulde? » (a Poullo woman passing by selling milk). He responded in Fulfulde, of course, and we decided to buy some milk. From then on we refered to him as « this thing here ». It was interesting to see him playing tourist in his own region. He had never visited Dogon Country before and enjoyed himself. 

The hiking wasn’t so rigourous, but on the way back you end up scalling the escarpement quite quickly (it’s no more than a 1km climb) so a few in our group got vertigo. The force of the wind made some passes precarious, particularly how it has over the years carved rocks down to perfectly round boulders wedged into crevasses just waiting to fall on the innocent passerby…we had difficulty imagining how the Dogon lived in the cliffs (the oldest villages were literally caverns dug out from the cliff face)—how would they have transported water ? How did they use the toilet ? We joked how the sleep walkers of the tribe most certainly had been selected out. Our guide explained the Dogon knew how to fly and therefore the height of the cliff posed no problem. That was how they beat the former Pygmy dwellers of the region. To us, it was certainly a task to climb through the villages to reach areas reserved for the religious chiefs. Each village has a meeting shelter/hangar (still used today) to settle disputes and discuss village matters. The roof is so low no one can get angry and abruptly stand up to intimidate others. Plus, most of these structures were carefully constructed along cliff edges to be more visible to passerby ; therefore, making a ruckous would also result in a tumble. I was amused by a c.1904 French oil canister turned into a drum. There were often signs explaining local laws such as « No widowers allowed for three years » and you have to wonder what dispute that sign settled. We also noticed the Dogon sensibly had houses for the women to retreat to each month. I wonder what has changed in society that women no longer get 5 days to themselves each month?? 

The populations were very accostommed to tourists. Especially the children. We were left alone for the most part, though were still asked to buy things or to give them things. Craig enjoyed beat-boxing with the kids, leading them in rhythms and songs as we hiked along the base of the plateau to our campement. We asked a few students to show us their notebooks. A 4th grader couldn’t answer simple questions in French nor write clearly. It seems they focus on local language and teach it orally reminding me if Mali wants to truly be independent of aide they need to improve basic education first. We especially enjoyed observing the daily work : drying and pounding onions into balls to store them all year (a Frenchman introduced this type of onion to the area and it grows in abundance); watering of gardens with gourds ; pounding millet ; cloth dying (I bought some indigo) and guiding. We ran into many other tourist groups with their guides. I hope to go back and hike for more than two days, possibly towards Sangha and the north part of the escarpement. There is certainly more to discover, particularly about the regions geology. The guide explained it was underwater, then a forest, and now it is slowly being turned into desert. But much of the rock and its coloring led us to believe there was volcanic activity. Pumice and other igneous rock doesn’t just fall from the sky. But, to support the guide, there was a lot of evidently sedimentary stone with bits of shell and evidence of sealife petrifed. I can believe why Pays Dogon is the most visited area of Mali : beautiful terrain, interesting culture and great trails. The people for one, yeech ! A bunch of donkeys ! 

I’m sorry, as a koyraboro, in the name of joking cousins, I just had to. 

How would you determine a child’s age who has neither a birth certificate nor a vaccination record and how the father (who was probably off in Ghana trying to make a living during the birth), the grandmother, the mother and the neighbor remember the period of the birth are all different ?? You count their teeth, have them fold their left arm over their head and reach for their ear, or try to coax the information out of the family using local events (had Abdoulsalaam gotten married yet ?) and seasonal calendars (was the tabacco flowering ? Had the river dried up ? Where were the cows at the time ?) You check for contradictions (the local names of the moons change from zone to zone) and hope you’ve made a good approximation. Because when calulating various forms of malnutrition (acute/starvation, chronic/stunting and ponderal insufficience) you need height, weight AND age. Our team of surveyors, doctors and sociologues became well versed in the science of age-determination by the end of the two-week CAP (connaissances, attitudes, pratiques) survey. The « training » we had in Gao was somewhat worthless, but did give me a good refresher on college statistics…random sampling, determining sample size, bell curves…etc etc. The problem with the methodology was that the southerners (we had hired the government’s public health consultants) are used to villages that get built up around a central point. In the communes of Bamba and Téméra, the villages are split up into « neighborhoods » of 100-200 residents stretched along the river. Each village is only a few huts up from the banks, but a few kilometers long. So, the method of random sampling to which they were accostommed of finding the central point of the village, throwing a pen in the air, walking to the periphery of the village in the direction of the pen’s cap and numbering the houses as you go, drawing a number from the range of houses numerated and starting from there…wasn’t gonna fly. From the first house on, you continue to the nearest house to the right. But that too posed a problem—the « houses » (which we begun to label « economic units » because there are multiple huts/tents/structures to one family) are not in a compact area. Even near water points there aren’t really conglomerations. The river is their livelihood : rice paddy, fishing, water for cooking, cleaning, bathing, drinking. You have to live near the river. Period. « Fractions » of villages off in the dunes and pastures (herdsmen and Tamacheqs) weren’t surveyed due to their distances. We had a difficult enough time finding sleeping arrangements and clean drinking water in the more established villages ; I couldn’t imagine treking out to campements where they live off milk and pond water (if that). A pastoral/livelihoods Oxfam staff member told me he was out in the fractions during the drought of the 2004-05 season and asked for water. Among all the campement residents, they couldn’t find enough water to fill his 4L jug. The average daily need for water (and what most « Access to Water » projects target) is 15L per person. An entire village couldn’t come up with 4L !

In two weeks, we visited 26 villages, measured over 600 children under five and surveyed their mothers. The most interesting part other than testing my limits in supporting the broussey-life was investigating food security indicators (this experience has reinforced my desire to pursue a specialisation/masters in foodsec). I’d always try and get the chance to chat with some of the mothers after the survey about their livelihood, well, if they didn’t run away from me! We had a few women who had probably never seen a foreigner let alone one who speaks their language. These informal discussions allowed me to learn that, for example, the sheep get woozy when they eat the tobacco. Bamba is the largest tobacco producing region of Mali—a cash crop for the families and one of the few agricultural jobs sonrai women manage entirely from planting the seedlings in the rich mud along the bank of the river to de-flowering, harvesting, drying and pounding the leaves. I found that there is no lack of protein in the diets due to a constant supply of fish and therefore it is a poor indicator of a good or bad year (the question posed was how many days of the week the “economic unit” eats meat or fish). Most of the families rely on wild crops—barley, bourgho grass and its grain, water lillies (flower, stalk, root and grain found in the bulb are all consumed), and burrs. When the birds eat the rice seedlings, the population will still eat the paddy (what’s left of the grain). One mother told me, Zankey ma duu ka dungay. She looks to keep her children quiet with what they can find and nothing more. The state food-sec annual analysis found both Bamba and Téméra as food secure— with Bamba fairing slightly better. The problems we found weren’t directly related to quantity, quality or frequency. No, they were structural problems such as dikes that break every year leading to flooding of the traditional paddies, a lack of irrigation (they just wait for the river water to flow into the paddy after planting in October), and grain storage. Even when it’s a good year, said one woman, they’ll just eat more. There is no sense of saving up for next year in case of a bad harvest. One of the better indicators of a good or bad year we found was the selling of animals. The sonrai only sell animals as a last resort. Their herds are their pension plan. So in a sense, they do have savings, it just moos and has four legs and can die if there’s not enough pasture or water.

Once again, I found that Mariama Cissé, the white woman who speaks koyraboro senni, is very well known from Titilane to Gareygoungo (villages along a 45km stretch of the Niger). In Zamane, women from the village came to dance and play the nzarka for me. After having introduced the methods of the survey and the Oxfam project on the radio in Téméra (the commune next door to Bamba) with the help of the mayor, we could say that stretch has now expanded to 75km. I was impressed with Téméra : nearly all of the villages were informed of our schedule and many women had their child’s birth certificate and vaccination information in hand upon our arrival. And this was without the aide of our trained village health workers ! People say it is a less politicized commune and people are more open to helping us help them.

All the surveyors and I got along well—always joking and telling stories as we travelled from village to village. Crossing into the gourma (always the territory up from the right bank of the river as it flows) of Hamgoundji, the chief arranged a canoe for us. As the river water is drying up, our larger pinasses have to fandi farther and farther from the villages. Our canoe, though a long-boat with a shallow hull, got stuck in the mud and bourgho roots. So we had one of the larger surveyors get out. On the way back, he insisted on helping the child pole the canoe along. Of course he got off balance and fell in. We couldn’t help but laugh at him, a chain smoker, throw one-by-one, his soaked cigarettes into the chanel. Walking back from the second chanel to the island where we had lunch cooking, I got covered in mud up to the knee provoking various comments of how Mariam is getting broken in (as if I hadn’t already lived here for 2 ½ years). « Baa ni ga jiiri fo teeeeee haro raaaaa, ni si ni darbaway naaaaang jeso gaaaaaa » was their taunt that they’d continuously sing for the rest of the survey : « Even if you keep swimming in the water for a year, you don’t forget your clothes on the shore when you get out. » That is to say, even if I’m well-adjusted, speak koyraboro senni, accept to eat greasy rice-shuck (not the grain, but what’s left of the grain after pounding it to open the husk), and bathe in the river, I’m still an anasara and I can always go back to the Good Life.

Finding our lunches and dinners was always interesting. The question « Hamiisa go no wala ? » became somewhat of a greeting for us : as soon as we anchoered at a village, we’d yell out to see if there was fish to be had. On market day, we ordered a sheep by phone. In the middle of the Niger, I placed the call back to our driver in Téméra. Often, the villagers would make us labbadja, one of my favorite sonraï meals, consisting of rice piled high with roasted sheep or goat and smothered in fresh cow butter. Though most of the time for lunch, in the name of finishing off a « grappe » (the sample of kids necessary for that village), we’d just get tomatoes from a nearby garden—in one village there were tomatoes the size of softballs—and make cold porridge from dried manioc powder.

The southerners were used to families serving as one grappe. But here the norm is less of polygamous marriages, and women often only have 1 to 2 children. Though that isn’t to say she hasn’t tried for more. Even with most of the women answering they had been pregnant 5-7 times (the average in Mali), the majority only had 2 living children. We did come upon one island near Téméra of fishermen which was two brothers, their wives and all their children and grandchildren, coming to a total of 83 people. The two brothers had originally come up from Ségou (5 hrs from Bamako). We quickly finished our grappe that day.

Since the survey, the temps we hired from Gao still greet me in town and typically yell out « Wa’dungay ! Dungay ! » Because while out in the boat on a particularly blustery day I was nervous of capsizing and was calling out to the pinassier to determine whether or not we should keep going but couldn’t hear, so I was yelling at the team for silence. They’ll never let it go. One said to me he had never seen an Anasara so afraid before. Especially an anasara who knows how to swim traveling by a pinasse conducted by a descendent of the sorkos who traditionally are friends of the water spirit, talk to the hippos and know how control the currents of the river.

Those currents will soon change with the construction of a dam between Bourem (the circle seat) and Téméra. The water level behind the dam will rise, consumming all the islands of Bamba and Téméra and most of the houses along the banks. Meaning the large portion of the population will be forced to relocate up into the dunes. Though the dam will bring irrigated fields, eventually, the livelihoods of these people are entirely dependent on what they grow in the flood plain and the islands. Can the sandy soil of where they’ll relocate to produce enough ? Will the state actually pay for new homes ? When asked what they think of the changes to come, most of the villagers replied, « God will help us».

Irkoy m’ir kul faaba indeed…

I do believe the number of motos in the capital has increased noticeably since I've been here. Especially the Chinese made "Jakarta" motos. I can't imagine what it would be like to a Malian, like the one who I met in CDG, who had left for France in 1988 and hasn't been back until now. What amuses me are the items one frequently sees being carried/dragged with a moto:

- The family (Mommy, Daddy, and three kids)

- A sappling

- Meters and meters of rebar, dragging behind, sending up sparks

- A HUGE mess of bean leaves

- A sheep

- Crate of bread

- 4 chickens

- A 4m plank of wood

From the moment I heard the loud Ivorian music and Bambara, I knew I was already almost home. And this was only in the CDG gate for the flight to Bamako.

There's the good: Lebanese falafel and silly Bambara women amused with me for trying to speak their language while buying bananas (100F for 3!!) or flip flops, warm sunshine (not too hot yet!) and cute babies...and the Bad: open sewage, mosquitoes, scary taxi drivers (um, **thanks** for the statistic on car accident related fatalities abroad, Kev) and barely breathable air...but at least most of those things I only have to deal with here in the capital.

Thanks to both the Malians and the dear citizens of Awesomeland for sharing me!!

Have you ever been in McDonald's and at a loss for what to order?

Been startled at the automatic toilet flushing as you stand up? 

Paid $5 for chocolat chaud and realized you could have lived a couple days off that?

Been wide-eyed in a shopping mall? 

Been appalled at the size of portions and then making 3 meals of it? 

Thought how delicious some people would find that nice, fat cat who was voguing on the sidewalk?

Been amazed at the choices of wild rice in the supermarket? 

Giggled at the cowboys stepping out of their truck in button-up shirts, jeans and boots when you are FREEZING pumping the gas in 3 layers, a hat, mittens and a turban in Somwhere Off of I94, MT?

Been unable to pick first which margarita (out of 8 flavors), then what kind of salsa (at least 20 options from mild to spicy, fruity or sour), then what kind of meat (ground beef, chicken, pulled pork, vegetarian, or spicy marinated beef), what kind of beans (black or pinto) and finally, unable to say if you were ready to pay the bill or not? 

Pausing to realize how many white people were on the bus with you?

Forgetting to close cupboards and to turn off the oven? 

Using the affirmative "ayyo" to agree with someone or say "diplôme" for diploma and ONG for NGO? 

It has been an interesting month on home leave, most accented by realising the vast amount of choice one has in the states. 

Time with family and friends has been so incredibly wonderful. I've realized me and my friends have grown up a bit in the last 3 years and yet it seems as if it was just yesterday I flew off to Mali. And the parents...well, they've adopted certain habits I find quaint. Like watching the news during dinner, facebooking, and rotating who does the daily Sudoku Calendar page. Above all, the scrabbling, the laughing, the eating of ice cream, the joys in playing "I opened my grandmother's trunk..." and "Hide n' Seek" with young cousins, and the hugging have given me the strength and love I need to keep going. Thanks!

The walk over to Diallo's house the morning of Tabaski was not for the faint of heart. Everyone had been to mosque for the mass-prayer and had already sacrificed their sheep. Therefore, it was a matter of dodging pools of blood and various entrails in the road as I made way through the Château d'Eau neighborhood in my basin dress all nicely embroidered and shiny. It's fun to suppay for festivals.

The only frustrating part of the day was because Orange (cell phone service) has already been difficult lately, and everyone and their mother was calling relatives to wish them kaa yeesi (literally, "may the new year come"), I was unable to talk to most of my friends and family. Aliou had smartly called the night before, and I finally got through with Albekaye (Bamba), Bébé (Ansongo) and Kanté (Bamba) today. Mostly, the greetings go something like this: 

War kaa yeesi! May the new year come!War kaa yeesi, m'ir alhaanan! Yes, may the new year come and may God pardon us!Irkoy m'ir cebbe yeesi! Irkoy m'ir dam tamawey ra kang ga dii yeesi! May God show us the new year! May God favor us as a part of those who see the new year!War ma hansa k'ay alhaanan. Pardon me.

Man ay jingar gooro? Now, where's my gift?

I gave out 10F pieces to kids and some milk/tea/sugar "baskets" to others. 

Diallo and I celebrated and ate sheep meat with his friends, mostly from the hospital. Then we greeted his cousin in the 8th neighborhood and got a leg of sheep. We greeted a PCV over there and we found out Diallo happened to have delivered his host mom's twins. We spent the afternoon digesting and then cooked up our sheep leg into a yummy soup for me, Diallo and two other PCVs. As we were eating, we heard a Tamacheq band tune up, and therefore headed over to watch. I enjoy Tamacheq music as opposed to Takamba (Sonraï) because of the use of guitar. And it was fun to see all the ladies in beautiful tungus (full body wraps). 

The following morning my neighbor gave me another portion of sheep meat and though I graciously accepted I am still wondering what I should do with it. I can't just give raw meat to a garibou...

I would have to say this was the most enjoyable of Tabaski's because it was more low key but I still managed to greet and suppay and thank God for all the happy I have in my life right now. 

I was entirely all too amused by the SONEF (Société Nema et Frères) bus coordinator who boarded on the checkpoint leaving Bamako. He was definitely Arab (the company is based in Gao and run by N. Malian Arabs) and yet spoke Bambara, Sonrai, French, and a little English. He was yelling at people (yalla! yalla! yalla!) trying to get them to get off and on smoothly to make last minute purchases. I only wanted to buy a water but the door was blocked by all the vendors yelling: Bene be! Bene be! Jisuman Jiiiiiiisuman! Buru be, keme ni mugan! (Get your seasame seeds! Cold water, cold cold water! Bread here, 600F!) and so I say to the guy, "Ah, I'm afraid to get off!" In sonrai. And he responds, "Yalla!" And practically pushes me out the door. I buy my water and get back on, only having to tell one pushy vendor off and yell at a guy trying to speak to me in English to get me to buy his ticket. Soon the animated bus coordinator was taking money for tickets, and trying to prevent anyone else from leaving...so when I tried to help the elderly Peuhl behind me buy some bread I was swiftly rejected. Goro! Sit! Then another Peuhl got on the bus and headed toward the back. The prendtigi (ticket taker/baggage handler) didn't hear the Arab guy's calls for the gentleman's name, so he just goes, "Oh, well it's a Peuhl, Diallo it is. Yes, Sidi Diallo. Voilà." Everyone was ready to go and so the Arab yelled to us a few benedictions in Sonrai, "May you all arrive safely! May God protect even the Bambara's on board!" 

I heart companies run by Northerners...Yalla!

"May God help us on the road to good health!"

Those were my "last words" at every site where our theater troupe performed during the last 3 weeks. I got warm fuzzies when later, sitting in a meeting with our Programme Manager and ECHO Coordinator, when the PM suggested as a Sonraï title "Baani foonda" for the Projet Intégré Eau et Nutrition...it's so fitting because it already came naturally as a theme for the project. And baani means health, peace, happiness; foonda can mean road or means--so it is exactly what we preach, you find the means to peace and happiness through good health!

The theater festival which I had been preparing since August went incredibly well. Outside of generator issues, communication to chefs (aside from litterally sending a child to give a heads up to the villages...the word just doesn't spread even with radio announcements, a communiqué by the mayor's office, letters to the schools, phone calls etc etc), and the fatigue of the actors, I was impressed. We built the troupe from the ground up. Meaning even content--health messages they were communicating for us--had to be taught to them first. Since the whole troupe aside from the organiser is illiterate, that meant creativity. I recorded a series of cassettes with the necessary information and we practiced practiced practiced. I enjoyed how kids would perch up on the 2m wall to watch practices and already began to sing the educational songs we wrote before the performances began. 

My favorite moments were seeing the evolution of the troupe. They really began to play off of each other. Especially the two girls--I was worried about them in the beginning because of their shyness and giggles but they convinced me by the end. I also enjoyed how the comedy just continued to grow. By the last show on the island of Bania (the Niger is very very wide for the 75km stretch in the commune of Bamba) the father character was just hamming it up making jokes about his wife; the other father added an element of jealousy when he found his friend speaking with his wife about the health of their kids; the two wives discussing porridge began to ask why it isn't their hubbies who get busy and do some of the work (Fact: when speaking with a women's group in Kermanssawe, a woman said, "for every month a man works, a woman works 3"). The doctor character mastered his monologues--he was the key player in the troupe to get our messages across. 

Now, they want more trainings including literacy classes, health/hygiene basic training, and music lessons. Working with youth is so encouraging because they are so excited to learn. I really think it will be possible to create an orchestre de Bamba with traditional instruments--drums, guitars, nzarka violins, gourd drums, etc. Because half the troupe also animates on the radio, we have great potential to cut an educational cd and play it around the commune, maybe the region. 

I enjoyed getting to know the troupe (when you rehearse and then travel by boat together from village to village for 3 weeks you get close) and it was touching when I came back to see the last show in Bania (I had to go back to Gao to work at the office before going back out en brousse) the two girls came running down the dune to meet me at the river's edge with hugs. I love my job. 

Man ti koyra no. This isn’t a village, says our agent. I am so tired it’s not even funny. And feeling ill. The stress, the work, the people! Ah! The secretary general at the mayor's office comes to ask one of our staff members to go out in our boat to wish a family well—one of the counsellors to the mayor died in Bahondo. And yet when the 1er adjoint asked me last Wednesday, I said no because our boat conductors are already exhausted and we have the big theater festival coming up. Still, they come and ask someone else, more forgiving, and of course he not knowing my refusal earlier, said ok. But it was up to them to find gas. So the secretary approaches me this evening to say there is NO gas in Bamba and was hoping I could loan him 7L and he’ll reimburse it later. I pause and call an agent for advice. The secretary leaves the courtyard. The gas vendor, whose house I was in cause he rents to one of our agents, and with whom I work to organize the youth and the theater festival, comes over to tell me the secretary 1) told him to lie to me and say if I ask, that there is no gas in Bamba; when in fact there is easily a 1000 liters he could have tonight and 2) that the secretary would never reimburse the gas he just wants to get it for free. When we’re already giving him the boat which I didn’t even want to do in the first place. If you give a jackal a baby goat’s leg…

Then the artist troupe who did our launch (very well I could add) is still complaining to everyone and their mother about the fact that we gave the theater festival contract to local youth. It's called capacity building my dear friend. 

Later in the evening, I called over one of our comediens to help get the panels (huge informational signs we'll be putting up in the villages) from the boat in from Gao to the courtyard. He does it semmingly for free. Then he asks me later if it is me or the boatman who will pay him…gah, and another comedien told me today ay ga baa afor??? Me? I like it easy?? Nooo….ce n'est pas possible!

At least me and the agents get along. They make me laugh. Two of the male agents had gone out in search for food because I was on strike as the cook--just too tired and busy really, but we have a good time with it--and stopped by where I was eating to see where I was. Well, I happened to be enjoying tigadege with Ami…she welcomed him to the bowl, but like a small child he said ay ši shrugging the one shoulder. No. 

Back at the house I tell Ami, much to everyone's amusement, ganda hasaraw with those two out and about disturbing the peace!

I'm starting to see why my people back in Ansongo warned me about Bamba...

It’s as if everywhere I go now I give a little health talk. The woman who makes fries for the school kids to snack on (and who is the treasurer for Bamba's Comité de Gestion de Pointe d'Eau) called me over as I was on my way to the radio. Soon there is a small gathering of women on the way back from the market. An elderly woman asks me what is wrong with her pregnant daughter who doesn’t see well at night. Vitamin A deficit! Tati Cissé, the fry lady, gives most of the health talk. Evidently she studied in Gao under the Red Cross when they were here (during the 80s famine maybe?) Then the old woman asks about dried mangoes. I guess they heard about them on the radio and didn’t understand so they want to hear more. Cool. I explained that you soak them in water after drying them really really well and eat them. Or pound them into a powder and mix into a bita for kids. Yum! I love it when people are eager to learn...because sometimes I feel I must be like a broken record: wash wash wash your hands hands hands with with soap soap soap soap soap...

NB: Does anyone else find the idea of "sensitizing" disturbing? It is the direct translation from the French sensibilisation which is my work here...health talks and radio shows and theater etc etc. But I can't help but think of little white lab mice getting injections when someone says sensitize. And yet "awareness campaign" is too awkward. Maybe I'll start encouraging people to use "canvassing" in financing proposals...

The prehistoric bellows of the camels gathered just beyond the courtyard wall reminded me it’s market day in Bamba. I decided to conduct a market survey to determine this year’s prices in comparison to last year. Rice, millet, meat, yams, oil, onions, almost everything has gone up substantially in price. Still, there is a lot available for the moment, especially with the new harvest of rice coming in. I learned the word for blowfish “talibonbon” which is pricy here compared to the tilapia or catfish. I ended up at my Spice Ladies to chat for a bit in the shade. Leleisha and her mom Aminata are great fun. Other women gathered, and I ended up giving a talk on bouillie enrichie. I really enjoy my work!! It gives me such energy to be with the people learning about them, speaking and hearing their worries and ideas. Everyone seems to know me here. But sadly I don’t often recognize people. The woman who made my beaded headband came up to see me as I was buying some charcoal, and said her child died. She said she had tried to look for me but I had gone back to Gao. When? It was after my last trip here—early this month. I asked if she had gone to the CSCom. Yes, but it didn’t help. What could I have done?? That is the sad thing, my skin color gives people the idea I am able to fix everything. Even extremely ill kids. Sadly, no.

With my market purchases I made for the first time fakuhoy. That'd be the classic koyraboro black, viscous sauce made from the faku leaf found in the bush of northern Mali. And it was delicious.

First, Happy Birthday Boy! And he was all nice and called me...but at the time I was helping explain the pompe à corde (a new low-cost technology Oxfam is introducing to the region) to the visitors. Our mission coincided with the arrival of 4 Oxford/London Oxfam workers. So I had a jolly good time explaining northern culture, Bamba and our projects. And lots of official meetings and translation so they could collect their testimonies! It’s nice even at the point where I am in my service and understanding of Malian life/politics, I am still learning new things. 

We heard nzarka music (a traditional violin) at Temera/Takamba (evidently the origin of the dance). We drank mangshi and ate borgho hawru because that is all our host family had--both are made from the seeds of the river grass which grows wild in the shallows. I bathed in the garden at sunset with river water--also a first and I hope I let it sit long enough to let the ick settle. One of the younger Brits brought his trumpet and the kids loved it. Then even a few tried playing and got some sound out of it! Ah, cultural exchange. When in Bamba we got to see a kamba hooray a rhythmic clap/stomp dance only performed by the former slave-class. The participants organise themselves in a circle and chant and clap. A few go to the middle to dance--where often the women go into trance. It was interesting hearing the mayor's wife's descriptions of who was leading the rhythm, the pairs of dancers (one was mother-son, her only child, a rarity) and which of the women often go into trance. Luckily, no one did, otherwise we would have been there all night! 

The guests got some great interviews with leaders and chiefs and people affected by Oxfam’s work. At the CSCom, I almost died when the president of the comité de gestion asked, "Wait, what does Oxfam do in our CSCom?? We don’t work together…do we?" Gah! At least Moustaph, the nurse had good, informed commentary to make because he's the one we directly work with. But it baffles me there is not more communication between management and service. I feel like a lot of what we do here is contingent on the internal funtioning of the government offices/services. We're starting to talk about good governance and transparency, but before most offices get a complete make-over, I feel like the information, though important, will fall on deaf ears. The way the system is currently organized props up the corrupt officials at the top, so why would they want anything to change?

A genral theme was the difficulties this year caused by last year’s poor harvest and that people’s animals were dying for lack of food. Often, Bamba folk are only eating one or two meals a day. But it will get better they said, soon, when the rice comes in. The women’s groups were a disaster because they ALL came when in essence the guests only wanted a few testimonies. So politically charged here! And of course the mayor’s wife wanted to be interviewed. We ended up in small focus groups. Sadly, she was with our group. And she was definitely influencing answers. Then she brought up the coordination of women—to which not all groups belong. I don't think I’ve never heard so many raised voices arguing in Sonrai and French and Tamacheq! At least as one of the Oxford visitors commented, the women are active and vocal!! Though, as usual the men came in to sort things out. And I was reprimanded by the chef during the opening meeting (me and our agents, with the mayor and his counsellors, plus the guests at the front of the room on chairs facing the women waiting on mats) for not translating everything he was saying. I was, really...it's just that he kept repeating how difficult life is here and how much they need help. We know. As soon as the men left, the women became talkative despite my entreaties for them to contribute to the opening commentaries. Despite my ability to cross lines through language and the fact that they see me as a koyra izo I'm still identified as siding with the power brokers. After the dust settled, the Tamacheq and Bella women were complaining because we didn’t have a Tamacheq tranlator. Our agent later explained to me he attemped to respect the hierarchy of status in Bamba, inviting a group of Songhoy women from the high society and another of Bella, but despite his efforts, all the women showed up. Nevertheless, I think the guests were pleased. If anything the experience showed them how difficult it is to work in Bamba! They continued onto T2, though one left his Songhoy hat behind. So we sent it down to Bamako on the boat. Hmm….I wonder if he ever got it?

In preparation for my mission to Bamba, I went to market with our logistician (in the car…gah, I get so pampered now!) to buy rice and beans because there are rumors there is nothing in Bamba for eating. At the bean vendor I was speaking with the woman making sure there weren’t worms in my beans. She later follows me to the rice vendor marvelled at my lack of accent, “n’ga šenno, wallahi, žiibi kul š’a ra.” "Her language, my God, it's not dirty at all!"

Later, when helping the people from Oxford get situated with their host family in Bamba, the women gathered said to me I was one of them—“these people here are strangers, but you Mariam, you’re a koyra izo!” 

Warm fuzzies. 

We managed to sensitize both the populations of the “village of my fathers” (Abbakoïra) and Zorhoye (actually in the Timbuktu region but it is a large market and attracts the populations from the villages we're targeting). The Relais were annoyed we didn’t inform them better—despite phone calls to the chief by our agent stuck in Gao (he was to originally come with us) AND radio announcements since Wednesday. Being so isolated makes communication difficult.

It was still a successful dance party/informational presentation on the typical themes of malaria prevention, clean/potable water, and childhood nutrition focusing on proper breast-feeding. We gathered 250 people. The wind picked up, just like in Garbamé, and I was COVERED in sand by 4am the next day when we moved on to Zorhoye. The men had slept in the boat. Crazy. The following day was great. I really enjoyed interviewing people in the market (full of produce despite Bamba being in crisis and it is only 37km away by river) on malaria, breastfeeding, and hygiene. The dialect was even more similar to that of Timbuktu, so I tried to greet in what I remember from Goundam. Our party was tamed by the fact that the chief forbade us from playing music (he said the only "music" they need in Zorhoye is that of the Imam preaching in the mosque). Luckily the Tamacheq DJ from the radio was there for market and he helped translate. We did the public broadcast from the CSCom, where the aide soignant (a step below nurse with typically a 6th grade education at best) was running the place. After all the questions and answers posed at the CSCom and in market were collected and judged, a young boy of 12 or 13 won the radio because he answered every question perfectly. It’s good to see such enthusiasm.

The culture, naturally, is more like T2 out here…I don't know how to explain it but the feeling of the town reminded me a lot more of Goundam than of Bamba or Gao. The chief's wives were very nice, one tamacheq rouge like him and the imam, the other one Bella, who luckily spoke Bamba-sonrai. They were both named Mariam. The tamacheq rouge Mariam gave me 5 bracelets which I thought she wanted me to buy because other vendors had already come into the courtyard to sell a goat-skin water bag, bracelets, cakes etc. But no, this was simply a way for me to remember Zorhoye. And she jammed them on my wrist so I don’t think they’ll be coming off soon. 

I went to fete the end of Ramadan with Kate in Bara. We ate a lot of fakuhoy, drank fresh milk, tried to teach the women to sew (after Bébé was making things difficult in Ansongo I ended up sending one of “her” machines to Bara) and quizzed the children demanding for their jingar gooro. “Gooro” actually means kola nuts; a tribute or gift during festivals, weddings, baptism, and funerals. Now it means money, or for the kids candy. Well, before any of the children got their “gooro” Kate and me asked them health questions or trivia. Why should you wash your hands with soap? What water is clean water? Who’s the president of Mali? What’s your father’s name? Can you count to 10? The daughter of the school director got that one perfectly. In French. And then we asked fairly easy questions to young kids, all in Sonrai, like: “What are you wearing on your feet?” And though the child had on shoes, he goes “Nothing.” My favorite: Who’s the “chief” of Mali”? "My Mom." What gives you malaria? Swimming in the river. Okaaay….well, we don’t want you doing that either…but mosquitoes give you malaria dear. Anyway, it was good times. We had lots of fun greeting. It seems like everyone in this village is related! The first day of the fete Kate and I went out with all the village to a field (rather outside the town limits where because this is the sahel, it is just empty flat space) to pray. We didn’t do the whole prayer but we did kneel and give benedictions. Labbadja (rice with mutton and a lot of homemade butter) for lunch.

Baby weighings were kinda of a bust cause people know there isn’t any flour so they don’t come. Jem. I enjoyed playing with the few cuties who couldn’t get enough of the plumpy nut though. I miss this work! Too bad the CSCOM staff especially the matrone won’t work…she actually rolled her eyes when I told her to come help me explain the program to the women. The following day, sitting out on the side of the road...I liked how Ibrahim the Chef de Poste summed up my inability to find transport “we are so underdeveloped!” I mean seriously, even the guy who runs the transport consortium for the village (town really, almost 7000 residents) said a bus would come. A few NGO cars passed me by as did private cars and I didn’t hop on the camion but probably should have. It didn’t have a windscreen tho! So Kate and I sat on the side of the road all day long, got delivery fakuhoy, and chatted. Eventually by Thursday morning I was able to get SONEF to Gao. The assistant of the education program almost thought I had quit my job because I had been stuck en brousse...

The security situation is more of a nuisance than threatening. There are rumors constantly about bandits and carjackings. And then as I go out of my house on Sunday night, I start to hear gunfire, but think it is just firecrackers. I get to the next block and see three tracers whiz through the air. I pause. I ask someone. And the woman, running past, goes willi ka koy hugeydo! Get inside! I went a block back and saw a broussey truck zoom past on the gravel road. Still more gunshots. But people are outside, breaking the fast, saying it is just stupid kids playing with firecrackers. I get to where I normally eat dinner and they are afraid to go out. We conclude it is the rebels. We find out later, yes, some armed Tuaregs came into town looking for someone. The gendarmes arrested 3 men and rounded up many others. I don’t think this is an escalation. It’s unrest, yes, but this is the Wild Wild North.

Some articles from the Malian press, my comments are in red.

Security: Confrontation in Fafa; The army attacks the Gandaïso

Le Républicain - Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Yesterday afternoon a clash took place between the Malian army and the Gandaïso. There have been deaths on both sides. The army, determined to get their hands on the alleged head of the armed group called the Gandaïso, carried out thirty arrests in Fafa.

The alleged head of the Gandaïso, Mr. Amadou Diallo, is a native of Fafa, a village located 75 kilometers south of Ansongo on the national highway between Gao and Niamey.

According to our sources in Gao, the closure of the "Chateau" district (sector 3) by the army on Sunday resulted in the arrest of six people. Hence, the army has embarked on a concerted effort to apprehend the head of the armed group (most people think what happened in Gao and the Gandaïso are unrelated).

Reached by telephone, concerning the question of the existence of militias in Mali, the Director of Information and Public Relations for the Malian Army (DIRPA), Colonel Abdoulaye Coulibaly, was firm in saying that "militias do not exist in Mali. Everything must be done to restore peace. The army will never accept the existence of a militia. It is not possible to support the existence of a militia in our country." Concerning Gao, Colonel Coulibaly maintains that "the army is now patrolling the area and there is no question that people will be allowed to create disorder." (Really? Wouldn't you say shooting off guns in the middle of the city creates disorder?)

Gao: Army fire breeds panic

By B. Daou - Le Républicain - Tuesday, September 16, 2008

The "Chateau" district of Gao (sector 3) was cordoned off by the Malian army at sunset, Sunday, September 14 after gunfire, which terrified the population for nearly an hour (it was a few rapports followed by a few more periodically for 10 minutes and then a few more isolated rapports 30 minutes later; and, like I said, people kept going about their lives, breaking the fast, listening to music/the radio, and even playing at the foosball tables in the road). The army was, we learn, looking for members of the Gandaïso militia, which resulted in two arrests (in the article above didn't they say the arrested 6? And I heard it was only 3...). During the day yesterday (Monday), it was learned that all of the gunfire of the previous day was a diversion; firing in the air which created a panic (not really, all the people I talked to thought first of hooligans with firecrackers before rebels with guns) among the population of Gao. Has the existence of militias in the north of Mali become a reality? (It has been a reality since the rebellion. They just haven't been active).

Sunday evening, it was panic in Gao, just at the time of the breaking of the fast: gunfire was heard. The "Chateau" sector had been identified by the military and the army covered the city of Gao.

The population, meanwhile, was relieved of their fear, the fear of a rebel attack. Or was it the Gandaïso, which took the city? (I seriously dislike the politics of fear in these two paragraphs--southerners will read this and panic not knowing what actually happened! One neighborhood where 3-6 men/soldiers shot guns off into the air is NOT taking the city).

According to some comments in the town of Gao, it was the security service in the region of Gao, headed by the governor, who took part in the gunfire.

For others, it was a threat of attack that targeted the residences of the Director General of the Agency for Integrated Development in the North (ADIN), Aklinin and the President of the Chamber of Agriculture of the Gao Region, Mr. Mohamed Ag Hatabo. The armed troops included elements of Ganda Koy (or Gandaïso), according to the rumors resulting from the panic.

In this confusing situation, there have been arrests. According to our sources, citing the names of two persons who were reportedly arrested. It is Mr. Aliou Maïga, a former policeman and native of Labbezanga (near the Mali-Niger border) and a custodian of the Norwegian Church in Gao (whose name was not known).

In the "Chateau" area of Gao, which was cordoned off, families have been searched and throughout the night, the army patrolled the city of Gao, our sources indicate.

It was yesterday that the population realized that the shootings did not occur by chance, but was the result of the army itself that shot into the air, indicated a source in Gao. "They created the attack in order to carry out the arrests," says one.

According to our source, at the time of shooting, (i.e. the alleged attack), the head of military operations, Colonel El Hadj Gamou, was camped at the time with his family in the stadium, which is located on the way out of town. This makes people believe that the attack was only a simulation (A local NGO rep who works with good governance agrees that it was simply a posed "attack" to help the governor, who is currently a colonel, attain the status of general. He even said that they used some firecrackers as distraction, hence the confusion of whether it was gun fire or not).

In the opinion of some, this military operation created a psychosis and leaves the door open for the settling of scores. Sources indicate that the head of Gandaïso (Mr. Amadou Diallo) is the target.

Activities resumed yesterday during the day, but after 6:00 p.m., people hid in their homes, leading to a de facto curfew (the 100s of people I passed while out in the evening weren't exactly hiding). According to the Governor Amadou Baba Touré, he participated on Sunday, September 14, in Ouatagouna (80 kilometers south of Ansongo, on the road to Niger), along with the Minister of Environment and Sanitation, Mr. Alhassane Ag Agatham, at the launching of an activity to protect the environment.

I'm enjoying working with my colleagues of the PHP team—and because I am interested in actually seeing the work succeed, I work hard. Sometimes though, I get the feeling that as a result people assume I can do everything. Not true. 

It's fun figuring out everyone's truc (French for "thing"). Our guardian in Bamba is Monsieur pas de problème, another agent is all about kanga cirey. They were joking about it so frequently, I finally demanded one night, and learned it literally means “under the palm trees” and they let me figure out the "other" sense. We have Madame n'importe quoi who is always commenting on the seemingly chaotic unfolding of the projects. I especially like Monsieur ça va aller, which is a way of saying there's still hope. 

It was great going out to Garbamé in the pinasse (long, wooden boat with grass mat-canopy). Well, beyond the poorly timed sand storm, the non-operational generator which was "fixed" after the lancement, and the lack of good sleeping quarters, it was a good mission. ALL the relais (community health relays/first response team) showed up. Even having only been informed the night before and it being Ramadan. Our animator did really well and the morning question-answer was great, though it was the doctor's wife who won. She did answer practically all the questions perfectly. More women than men answered, and no kids replied. The riddle we came up with as a "challenge" was figured out too quickly: Adamize kaŋ kaa aduñya ra, a si hin ka huna nda haya kul kala n’ga. Macin ti hayadin?” Fafa wawa. Translated roughly as "A child who has come into the world can't live but for one thing." Two guys said water, and another just said their mother. The answer we were looking for was breast milk. The sun gave me a nasty burn even in my tungu (blue full-body wrap). It was funny that with my way of dress an agent commented on the trip over that I resembled the bride when her cousins take her away from her family to go live with her husband. I guess I had the lounging, sad look going. It was beautiful to see the wind play at the blue tunics of the men as they stood and knelt on the side of a dune at the edge of the river to pray. The dedication of the fishermen casting their nets. The hopeful look of the farmers in the rice paddies. And the rare sight of two women poling a pirogue along. 

The whole week reminded me of what a gift it is to be able to speak like a koyraboro. From radio shows to informal chats with my "spice girls" (who both got their high school diploma this year; one wants to go to Gao for health school and the other to FLASH--the English program at the University of Bamako). Even one butcher recognized me from Sala! (Speaking of Sala, my training host-family called to say the daughter-in-law gave birth to a little boy). The evening the Timbuktu boat came was great—well, interesting to see the commerce come and visitors and how Bamba borey actually got more animated. Because honestly, it is a village that sleeps after the sun goes down. Or they’re just good at retreating into their homes. A woman I knew in Ansongo was there to greet the boat, she’s actually from Bamba and was there with her family for vacation before she goes back for the school year. I was voluntarily the cook for the mission. Once the driver even asked, "Are all Americans like you? Doing nice things for people?" It was funny how each meal they told me there was not enough salt—to the point where it has become I joke. So now I'm Madame ciiri mana wasa. 

Little by little we are making progress. People definitely listen to the radio in the commune of Bamba. My celebrity continues to spread--even out to the smallest of villages. And people often approach to ask about what I said in the radio shows. Our theatre tour should go well, as should the HEARTHs (nutrition-oriented support groups) I am going to start with women. The agents are working on following-up on the relais (whether they actually retained what we taught them) and will soon do a household baseline survey on nutrition. I am really enjoying my work. It gives me such energy.

::Applause:: Our program manager is still receiving phone calls about last Friday’s "lancement" (kick-off of activities) in Bamba. Despite some difficulties with the generator, a sick cameraman, and changes in the program, we presented messages on cholera, malaria, and good breast feeding to over 50 officials/chefs and easily 200 community members. The audience especially loved the bit when the cholera "microbe" was trying to get into the wooden replica of the pump (access to clean water is one of our main interventions) and the giant mosquito attacking people who don't sleep under nets. I translated our coordinator's address directly from French to Sonrai much to the amusement of the crowd. It's been replayed on the radio too many times--and now with the messages I recorded on good health that play morning and night, Mariama Cissé is very well known along this stretch of river! It amazes me how many people rely on the radio, a result of isolation I suppose. It's a great tool for our information dissemination. The children were excited to sing our educational song, and get a Tshirt for their work (others "won" Tshirts if they answered questions properly during the evaluation part of the program). The idea is to our 25 singers hooked and then they will sing in school, in the road, while playing etc. and other kids will learn the message...goodness, it's like a shady propaganda scheme...

Question du jour: Who? Who will it be, to make change? Everyone accepts the system status quo, even the West and Development. It has to start with individuals who will demand higher standards for their own children. Education is key. And then if we can get the system to change--I feel it would be better to build a few well-supplied schools with strict admission standards. I am starting to realize you can’t have equality. There will always be a ruling class. And it is good, important to society, to have an order: to have those who provide services, those who think, those who educate, those who lead. It is crazy to want universal primary education because it does nothing to change the country—saying after everyone, boys and girls have a basic RRR level they will develop themselves. In fact, it is the cause of a lot of unemployment. Once a farmer is enlightened, albeit only a little, he refuses to continue his work in the fields and goes to the city to find work. But without industry, there is no work. And without a base, farming and cultivating, there is no industry. The education he got closed doors. Especially because the quality is still poor. Ansongo passed everyone, no questions asked. Students in Bourem got their DEF (9th grade diploma which is the basis for most positions in the civil service) this year without ever getting basic math, physics or chemistry. The French system could work because it is a more vocational, tracked approach, but the students of this broken system (post-colonial, Development created dependency, poor funding) are today's teachers. So the quality continues to descend...

I had a difficult but incredibly educational mission en brousse. First of all, lots of staff were in the field, but literally, all men. Except for our PHP officer, but she was out in a village for the Nutrition training. It gets unnerving sometimes. 

I appreciate the radio director because he takes the time to understand what we’re looking for. The president of the assoc. that runs the radio is somewhat of a formality and most decisions are made by the director unilaterally--so I hope to talk to them a little about management and governance. The Mayor amuses me—a typical politician who speaks in a very exact French of France (the South near Marseilles according to a friend of mine from Lorraine). It will take me awhile to learn the politics of the town and who to go to for what service. Such as organising. The animators of the radio asked for 100.000F CFA! And here I thought working as a white person is tough—working with an NGO known to dispense cash is even harder! Gah, some of the precedents we’ve set like say, paying chefs to come in from village to participate, bother me. Coming back through Bourem I saw the costumes and the work the theater group had accomplished. It will be interesting to see how they "play," especially one cross-dressing actor who will also play the mosquito.

The Mayor said something that I think is one of the biggest barriers to development. The population has never been decolonized. They are still accustomed to having everything come from outside. The only solution as I see it? Stop all interventions. All funding. And I know, White Man’s Burden and our guilt persist. Well, we need to stop making it worse. Can we let them develop themselves for a generation according to their mores and objectives and see what happens?

What an auspicious day for the Chinese, 8-8-08 and the opening ceremonies of a day they have been waiting and preparing forever it seems...their debut on the international event-planning and execution stage.

For me, it is another day at a great job—Oxfam (I work in the bureau of Gao) has named me sensibilisatrice to their Promotion Santé Publique project based in Bamba. Bamba is a commune seat (where the mayor works) situated between massive dunes and the banks of the Niger River. So I ask myself when they build the hydroelectric dam in Tausa on the road between Bourem (circle seat where the Prefecture is) and Bamba, where will the displaced persons go? Nearly all agricultural production is situated on large islands where the water is sufficient to cultivate rice, the aliment du base; this poses a problem when the islands are submersed as water levels rise due to the damming. WFP finds the commune food secure; and yet, many prefer to grow the cash crop of tobacco rather than rice. Little to no gardening is pursued during the cold season when most villages along the river produce carrots, manioc, potatoes, squash, beans, tomatoes, eggplant, and sweet potatoes. This is probably the cause of the 16.1% rate of acute malnutrition in children under five—a rate higher than found in crisis regions of Niger during the 2004-2005 locust/price/flooding induced drought and food crunch. Mali’s global acute malnutrition rate is 13.3%. This measures height versus weight. When you take into consideration chronic malnutrition or stunting, the statistics point to a larger problem: 33.9% of Malian children 6 – 59 months are chronically malnourished. With high fertility rates and low literacy rates I wonder without industry and most support coming in from NGOs or Malians abroad (and by abroad that includes not just Western countries but also Cote d’Ivoire or Senegal as well where many Malian men flee to find work), how will things improve? The global increases of prices, climate change and disease epidemics are all working against these farmers and herdsmen. The Prefet in Bourem tells us there has not been a sufficient amount of rain this year either. And granaries, which were filled in 2005, are empty. Infrequently WFP or a local group funds a few tons of millet or rice for the granaries but it is never enough. Not only that, but it is not local production and therefore hardly sustainable. A sack of millet (20kg) is up to 15,000F and rice sells at 550F per kilo (up from 300F in 2006). He feels like food security is a question of simple survival—no planning, no economizing. In this inch’allah culture it is for God to decide what tomorrow will bring.

Bamba itself is lovely. The roller coaster ride through the dunes was difficult to bear, but suddenly when you cross the Zan-Zan plain (where camels and goats roam) and surmount the last thread of dunes it is the vast flood plain and rice paddies of the Niger dotted with fishermen and farmers that lies before you. Hippos peak their ears out of the water and kingfishers dive for lunch.

In between visits to the Mayor, village level health centers, and the radio I enjoyed speaking with the locals as facilitated by my Songhoy (evidently being close to the origins of the ethnicity in Ansongo—only 40km from the former seat of Koukia where the askias or kings resided during the Songhoy empire—I speak a pure koyraboro versus Bamba-borey speak a mix of Gao šenni and Timbutu ciini--note the difference even for the word for "language"). A man approached the butcher where I was buying meat for lunch and says Bonjour! so I reply to him in Songhoy. Eh! He goes. “You scared me! How does an anasara come to speak our language?” I told him how long I’ve been here and where I used to work. He says, “Now this is truly peace, thank you.” He appreciated that Peace Corps bothers to actually give us the tools to work with locals. The women selling spices and oil also enjoyed very much meeting me. Especially because when they asked, “Why, what will you be cooking?” And I replied that “Oh, you must be able to tell…look what I bought!” And she coyly goes “No, you tell me!” So I starting explaining the traditional fried-rice dish surruntu I’d be cooking. Laughs all around. The salt vendor asked the Oxfam guardian I was with (a local who watches our house for us in between missions) if he has himself a hondo yooizo or “a camel calf from the hills”—in Bamba ciini this is equivalent to “chick” or young lady. I think I made good first impressions particularly at the Radio Zan-Zan where I will be working.

Using the resources provided by GeekCorps and USAID, we’ll be producing a weekly show on good health and hygiene practices with the goal of helping families reduce the rates of malnutrition in village. I worked on improving the treatment of malnutrition in Ansongo and now I will focus on prevention. I have designed a T-shirt, written short radio messages to play daily along with a “grabber” which I may or may not be singing…and soon with the help of an artist troupe from Bourem we will launch the program with a grand soirée at the Mayor’s éstrade. The mayor himself is very content and laughed how I am indeed Peuhl with the name of Cissé but also because of my stature (tall and thin). Even another doctor on our team has taken to calling me Peuhlette. I am excited to work in Bamba—despite warnings from Ansongo folk that these are difficult people—and hope with village and household visits we will get a sense if people are listening and taking our advice. The Radio director believes if you can succeed in Bamba, you can succeed anywhere.

I’ve survived precisely two years in Mali. I feel like I need to throw a little party for myself. But the day will be nothing more than church, laundry, animation typing, naptime, running, street food, and then bed. But I am incredibly excited to start at Oxfam tomorrow.

It is well with my soul. I am serving. I am learning. The food is fresh and without processing and packaging. I get to work with my hands. I am close to God and my beliefs are daily challenged. It is easier to become apathetic in the states I feel. Here everything and everyone is in your face. And now with certain perks like a computer, an ipod which I can actually keep charged on fairly reliable electricity, a fridge and a nice house in Gao where I am able to easily hang out with friends or other expats. I have a social scene, I have access to air conditioning!

And I am well-adjusted to my celebrity status. While out running a little kid started running along with me. I couldn’t help but smile. So I go Ir ma koy! Let's go! and started sprinting. He was pretty fast and laughing, so I let him enjoy himself then slowed back down to my jog. Joy.

I've spoken a lot about slavery and captives which exist in Malian society up to present day lately; mostly due to an article my brother sent me and therefore I was curious to hear what Malians think. A friend of mine is a Peuhl (Fulani) and therefore noble. There is work that noble Peuhls, to this day, simply refuse to do. He tried to explain it is a poor choice to call the class system of Mali an enforced slavery because 1) There is work certain ethnicity do and certain others don’t. It is a way of organizing society. The Bozos fish, the Peulhs herd, the Bamana farm, North Africans/Arabs are businessmen, the Songhoy cultivate rice and the Bellas are blacksmiths or are bound to noble (mostly Tamacheq) families. And 2) captives (in the sense their ancestors were taken as spoils of former tribal wars) are proud of their position in society. Particularly when you think of the alternative. If they were to leave their master—which they are free to do—they would not be fed, clothed, or housed. So really, he finds the "free" Bella squatters in their tent-huts in Gao sadder than captives. I'd agree--no latrines, no enclosures for animals, and a way of life that makes the koyraboro ("village people" or what the Songhoy call themselves) look down upon them. He does agree that it is a mindset which lingers and grandsons of captives still identify themselves as such—even this Peuhl says he has friends who say they are not as high status-wise as he is. Therefore that is why you see the marginalization of Bella. But it is they who keep themselves down, so says a friend of mine in Ansongo. Yet I still cringe when I hear hospital staff yell "Hey, you dirty Bella, come over here!" They tell me it is all in good fun. In Bamana society there is no noble-slave class distinction anymore because the slaves once overthrew the king in Segou. It was a captive who became friends with a son of the king and then other nobles and royal family members took notice and forbid the captive to play any longer with royals. So he left and amassed horses and troops and staged a coup. Bitter much? But it has relegated “slave” to only a joke in Bamana society. Whereas in the north it is true with certain people like captives and Bella you can’t really talk openly about it. It is certainly true the article my brother sent me was trying to play into Westerners comprehension of slavery—it’s not forced labor and the selling of persons as commodities like we had in America. It is a product of poverty and how society has been aligned. You would stay with a master too if life was better even as a captive.

The next person to tell me ganda si boori will convince me it is as Aliou said, "The great fear has installed itself." Kidal, precisely Abeïbara, was attacked with a force of 80 vehicles full of marginalized, gun-toting rebels. There were casualties on both sides and the rebels killed the Commandant. Then yesterday, rumors were spreading that Labbézanga, on the boarder would be attacked, so the government sent reinforcements (good thinking, after the Ansongo attack where there was ONE guardian in the gendarmerie courtyard). Everyone is saying this is an escalation. Us volunteers aren't panicking, but it is hard ignoring rumors. These people have seen and know war. 

The gandakoye rebel leader of the 1991-92 coup d'état has returned from Senegal. He sits and drinks his tea outside along the road near the phone-charging boutique here in Ansongo. And now as I am finally typing this entry, 3 months later, does the Malian media circulate the following article: 

Security: Northern Mali, another rebel front is being born

By Abdrahamane KEÏTA

While the open front led by Ibrahim Ag Bahanga begins the process of its disintegration, another hotbed of tension is trying to take over. It has to do with a rather faint copy of the "Gandakoye" Movement, as isolated veterans who have had difficulty in succeeding are drawing inspiration from the May 23 Alliance.

"Ganda Izo." This is what the former "Gandakoye" veteran, Cheybou Diallo, has named a new movement of ethnic revindication that nearly missed the 7th Region (Kidal). The diplomat, after a long stay in Dakar, has chosen to settle in "the City of Askias" (Gao) where his multiple offensives of charm directed toward the youth in Gao has only managed to stir up wind.

Mr. Diallo's plan, according to our sources, was first to recreate from its' ashes the mother movement, while attracting the sympathy of a youth lost through the shimmering favors comparable to those obtained by the May 23 Alliance. But after lengthy and unsuccessful attempts to bring people together around the same ideals, the prophet of violence retreated to the village of Fafa in the Ansongo Circle, not far from the Niger border, where he seems to have sufficiently labored for the needs of his cause.

According to our sources, Mr. Diallo finds himself finally at the head of a more or less formidable rebel battalion, composed mainly of young Fulani men from Mali and Niger. But unlike the former Gandakoye Movement, where he had once carved out a somewhat mixed reputation, the new front has nothing to envy to a rebel position. He openly chose to use the same methods that Ibrahim Ag Bahanga used to impose on the Malian government the same concessions made to the fighters from Kidal.

Our sources affirm that the former "Gandakoye" activist has already established cooperative ties with the Malian and Nigerian branches of the rebellion, which in turn, agreed to strengthen its capacity for creating a nuisance with an endowment of appropriate materials. To begin with, Ag Bahanga, add our sources, had already provided him with a satellite telephone (Thuraya) and three all-terrain vehicles.

The problem is that all these threats of destabilization and conflagration have free rein, with the knowledge and in view of everyone, without appropriate measures from the highest Malian authorities. Which obviously prefers to extinguish fires rather than stifle crises in their infancy.

This is my teammate's attempt at translating "If you give a mouse a cookie..." into an understandable story for my dear koyraboro friends who know so well how to "eat." This is the slang in both French (bouffer) and in koyraboro to explain how people try to profit in community development projects, or skim off the top, or accept bribes. 

It bothers me even people with whom I've closely worked for the last year or more choose to sabotage my work with others because they don't directly profit. And all I am trying to do is appropriate resources according to those who actively approach me and to those who may not be active but whose need is readily apparent. One thing I've learned, okay like 377th thing I've learned while working in Ansongo, is that you can't trust anyone (always get a second or third opinion in regards to someone's character) and that negligence never solves anything. If you forget about it, no, it won't just go away. I know I am speaking in rather vague terms; my attempts to fairly divide USAID-donated sewing machines amongst townsfolk have been stressful. Two planned projects (those who originally requested the machines) essentially failed and now six months later I am trying to better the situation. I am sure of the causes of failure which at least will help me prevent a similar situation in the future. One group of women is beyond their "golden age" of association work and choose instead to play solely the role of mother; the other never got off the ground due to illnesses in the leadership and lack of time. People who are often more capable of project management are those who also seek to take on too many projects. Also, in the face of want, most people are desperate to profit. At least the angst and fire-fighting was worth it and in the end the machines were placed with two deserving groups: Yehiya Ag Mohammed representing the artisans and Aissata of the women's group "subaa naffa" (meaning Choosing to Benefit). 

Assoc+subaa+naffa2.jpg 

It was Aissata who said, upon receiving the machines for her group of youth, korombata toosi ga tonton bangu ra or "The peeing toad adds to the pond." This warmed my heart--that she was truly appreciative of even the little help I could provide.

In response to a posted comment...

The following is a traditional Northern dish, Ouijila, which I have learned to make alongside my good friend Zeinaba Adama. For those of you reading in country, I do take requests for Ouijila making kits complete with pounded spices and non-perishable ingredients. The recipe below, converted to Ameriki measures makes enough for a family-style meal for 6-8 people.

NB: It may take a few times to get the following in a good tastey balance because the conversions were made off of the typical market measures which change from vendor to vendor and are based on the monetary amount of the item you are purchasing. For example, you buy 100FCFA of "tawatl albashar" the date paste.

Ouijila dough:

10 cups wheat flour

4 T active dry yeast

1 T salt

4 cups water

Clean out a large basin or bowl. Mix water into 8 cups flour until the gluten forms. Mix in yeast. Add flour by the 1/2 cup-full if it is too sticky. Mix in salt. Kneed until when poked the dough returns to it's pre-poked form. Let dough rise for 1hr in the Malian heat, it may take longer in cooler temperatures. Wait until dough has doubled in quantity. Shape into small rounds. Lie out on counter-top or clean grass mat to rise again.

As the dough-balls are rising, begin the sauce:

2lbs beef (steak-cut style not ground) or mutton, cut into chunks

2 large onions, chopped

1/2 cup oil

1t cumin

1/2t black pepper

1/4t red pepper

2t ground cinnamon

1t gound sun-dried tomatoes (for those in Mali, make sure you dissolve dried tomato powder in water and strain, there is always grit in it)

1/4 cup tomato paste, dissolved in 1 cup water

4 T date paste dissolved in 1 cup water (or whole dates, pitted and mashed, diluted w/water)

2-3 bay leaves

4 cloves garlic, crushed

1 clump of "kabe" moss, pounded and rolled between palms to remove black underside (tree bark remnants)

1 cube maaji chicken flavor, 1 cube Jumbo (Elsewhere chicken boullion and MSG will do)

Salt to taste

Set a pot on the stove or cook-fire  full of water to boil for steaming. For the sauce, in a large cookpot, sautée meat with one of the chopped onions in the oil. When browned, add cumin, both peppers (increase red pepper if you like spicier foods), cinnamon, and sun-dried tomato powder. Sautée until aromatic. Add reconstituted tomato paste and date pastes. Bring sauce to a boil. If too thick add water a cup at a time. It should be a soup-like consistency. Add remaining ingredients. For those of you opposed to MSG, I'd just like to say, "Maaji et moi, le secret de bonheur!" Let the sauce simmer (add water if it is sticking) as you steam the dough.

At this point the dough balls should have doubled in size again unless you went to a boutiki that sold you old yeast. Prepare a double-boiler of sorts--with the pot of boliling water upon which you affixed a metal collander with strips of damp cloth to seal the two together. Or, you go to your local garasa/blacksmith in market and have him pound many holes in the bottom of a wok-style metal pan or furno top to serve as a collander. Or, if you are elsewhere and have access to Chinese-style bamboo steamers, use them. Basically the dough balls should be place in the collander in a dampened cloth or dampened rice sack and covered with the lid of the pot so the hot air doesn't escape. Steaming for each batch of 8-10 depending of the size of the steamer should take about 10 minutes. If you are cooking over a fire, watch you don't catch the steaming cloth on fire. It adds to the excitement but ruins a perfectly good rice sack :)

When the ouijila is steamed, serve 2-3 per person with the sauce for dipping. If you don't feel up to the whole steaming process, once the sauce is prepared, place balls of dough directly into the sauce pot until the sauce is covered with dough. Close the pot and simmer until dough is cooked through. This is known as toosa-toosa in the Gao region or toukas in Timbuktu. It is just as delicious and saves time. Enjoy!! A ma ni naffa!!

We had a good laugh realizing as we made the brownie batter it was already halfway to boiling in the heat. We were making comfort food for the "consolidation." It seems I bring unrest where ever I go! 

Early Monday morning, I awoke to gunshots and tracers flying overhead. And then I went back to sleep. So, now my teammates and even PC staff joke I deserve a T-shirt which reads "I survived a rebel attack on my town and all I got was this stupid T-shirt." 

It wasn't until 5am when Aliou called (I ignored it), then my teammate up in Gao saying rebels attacked Ansongo, then Aliou again asking me if I was safe inside my house, then another teammate in Gao, then PC staff etc etc that I started to get worried. Thankfully, I was escorted by Aliou to the last bus leaving town. 

N.B.: 2 years ago today Robyn and I were running down Commonwealth Avenue in the rain, soaked to the bone, upon graduating from Boston University!Both of us volunteers in Ansongo got offered early COS with full benefits--and both of us turned it down. The work is more important; not to mention the chance of another attack very low. I just hope with recent attacks in northern Segou region (boarders with Mauritania) this isn't a general escalation...Alaafiya ma kaa!

Youssouf Haïdara, formerly the Chef of the Bazi Gourma CSCOM says, "Manna dey?" I told him I bought one, it didn't please me, so I returned it. And I don't have the patience to try another. Much to the amusement of the hospital staff lounging around after work. 

Because of my work at the hospital I wasn't able to get tenda completion materials--the grass and reed vendors sell out early. But I chased down the boat of hoobu vendors and got one for 300F. My water jar had cracked and with hot season you can't go without cool water. 

The basketball girls have stopped playing. I assume it is the heat. 

I don't blame them. Friday, I slept and relaxed at home all day. When I did stop by the hospital to greet later in the afternoon, people were asking where I had been all day. I said, "Sometimes people don't know where Mariama is and that's a good thing!" 

With dinner, we ate hippo. I guess the guy who has hippo skulls on either side of his concession's entrance shot another menacing hippo last week and sent Bébé her bagga. The meat is very very chewy. They had to pound it so I could eat it. 

The school children have gone insane. Basically, rioting because the teachers aren't giving homework or compositions or exams. On Thursday the high school students marched into town and harassed the elementary school teachers and students. I have never seen so many kids hike a 6ft wall so quickly (the hospital and school share a wall). All the students, wielding rocks and torches marched to the commandant's place up on the hill. But the gendarmes did nothing. Friday evening, Bazi kids were marching and chanting through the streets. It is interesting to see the students demanding better treatment--it is especially serious for high school students who count on passing the BAC to get into the university in Bamako or vocational school. Even 9th graders who will go straight into trades still need their DEF to get into nursing school or accounting school. But will this rabble-rousing come to anything? 

This is getting ridiculous. It makes me not wanna do nice things for people anymore. The cell phone charger guy (guy under a tenda with a generator and lots of power strips) told me to get him some medicine. Of course I refused. This time when I dropped off my phone, and then when I went to pick it up, he refused to give it to me until I gave him some medicine for malaria. I tried to explain 1) I’m not a doctor and 2) the hospital is right there!! Not kidding you, he sits kitty-corner from the hospital gate. Finally a friend of his intervened and I got my phone.

The wife of my landlord’s younger brother says she is worried her child is eating too much dirt. I told her typically this a sign of a lack of iron or a general mineral deficiency. There is multivitamin syrup in the pharmacy (where her brother in law works) or she should boil some liver for him. Give him a mango or some green leafies like okra. When I passed the pharmacy I told my landlord to bring her the vitamin syrup. She comes by again after dinner because my landlord forgot. So I told her when she goes to the market tomorrow, go get the vitamin syrup. Then, this morning, she sends another child to get a prescription. Again, I had to explain I’m not a doctor and quite frankly she needs to go get the vitamins herself—I already helped by telling her why her kid is eating dirt, now use the knowledge and help yourself!

At the hospital I was number crunching and found we have all “alarming” statistics. Abandons, deaths, non-responses are all too high and treated/released as healthy kids are too low. At least the number of kids we consult are up from last month. Plus, the Chef is deciding to change the national protocol. We should only give wheat flour to malnourished pregnant women or breastfeeding women instead of the norm of CSB plus oil and sugar. We do mix it before giving it out so the women don’t use the sugar for tea and the oil for cooking…but why can’t we even try to respect the norms? Because, Bébé tells me, “There is no protocol in Ansongo.”

Our dear neighbors, the Community Radio Nata, had a “rap” concert last night. This consists of the same basic beat playing over and over with various youth attempting to rap in either Songhoy or French. It’d be entertaining if it wasn’t from midnight until 3 am! I took the time to call Le Boy.

Back in Ansongo (I ended up waiting until the Monday morning Niamey bus because halfway down the road out of town on Sunday I realized I left all my drugs back at the house. Oops), we received 52 babies for weighing. The ACF doctors came for a supervision in the CSCOMs, but stop by to see how we were doing. A girl who was only moderately malnourished 3 weeks ago came, now severely malnourished with complications. She had been marked abandoned because the mother had stopped coming in for visits. The child didn’t even react to the VAA/VAR needle prick. She drank some milk, but was clearly beyond help. I went to go make some sugar water while Bébé was trying to get her to take her medicine; I come back, and she had stopped breathing. Bébé just says: “That’s destiny.” Cause of death filled-in as “destiny” is not an acceptable answer for me.

People are starting to think about my departure scheduled in um, another 5 months. I think it is because I am pressuring them into working by saying I’m not going to be here forever. So someone asked for my stove, another for my radio, I’ve received plenty of requests for the bike, the women in Djéfilani asked for a sewing machine. Once again, “if you give a mouse a cookie…”