Looking to new waters

So I've been absent from this blog - but don't be dismayed! - it's only because I've changed sites. I'll be updating from here on out here - www.jennifermorgandavis.blogspot.com - hope you'll check me out there and thanks for reading!

Let me tell you something - I am one lucky lady. Never has it been more apparent than coming home to America last week.

After arriving in NY tired and with a heavy heart after leaving my sweet love - Annette, a friend I met in Mali, not only welcomed me into her home but also treated me to a delicious Indian dinner. What a sweetheart!

Before

AfterThe next morning I woke up after a few hours of sleep to catch the train down to SoHo for my free haircut with Eli, a stylist in training at the Sam Brocato salon on Wooster Street. What a treat!

Lunch with the beautiful and talented ClaireThen I met up with Claire, an RPCV from Cameroon, for lunch at Hampton Chutney which I found from perusing this blog. So lovely to catch up on our lives over naan and pumpkin chutney!

Dinner with treasures of friends I met at Monica's wedding in Lebanon I worked up an appetite walking around SoHo looking for warmer clothes before meeting the four smiling faces seen above. Aren't they cute?? Michelle, Yamil, Brian and Aneesa all came to Monica and Samer's wedding in Lebanon this past summer and we hit it off instantly. I was so thrilled when they could meet for dinner at Le Zie (thanks for scouting the location Michelle)!

Drinks at Yamil's restaurant in SoHo

After dinner Michelle, Yamil and I headed over to Kittichai for some drinks and Bambara (many of the staff and bartenders are Malian!). It was fun to speak Bambara and have a few drinks in a fancy SoHo bar and pretend to be a grown-up!

Rabayah, another RPCV from Mali, welcomed me into her apartment after drinks. I loved getting the chance to catch up even if I was barely functioning at that point since I was so exhausted. You always have one more battery bar left in you when it comes to sweet friends, don't you??

Annette helped me pack up and kept me company until my metro left at 1:30 a.m. Thursday morning when I headed out for Richmond. So many sweet friends I am so thankful to have - thank you to you all!

"The road of life twists and turns and no two directions areever the same. Yet our lessons come from the journey, not thedestination.”

Don Williams, Jr. (American Novelist and Poet,b.1968)Tombeaux MerinidesAbdoulaye and Iwalk into the foyer of the Hotel Merinides and we immediately feel transported. Richly embroidered couches line the perimeter of the lobby andhand-woven tapestries blanket the floor. Shiny silver and gold teasets are displayed on wrought-iron coffee tables and royal portraitsof Mohammed VI, the king of Morocco, sit quietly in gilded frames bythe front desk and on open table spaces. Porters float by wearingfez caps and gypsy suits as waiters expertly weave between thefurniture while balancing trays of pulpy, fresh-squeezed orange juicedestined for hotel guests on the terrace. We exit the lobby to soakup the panoramic view of Fez at sunset and sigh into white patiofurniture as we order two orange juices. Fresh-squezed orange juice on the patioOur flight leftMali this morning at 2 a.m. and we arrive in Casablanca around 5:30a.m. Customs is a breeze since we are maybe 2 of 4 people not takinga connecting flight to Mecca – our entire flight was filled withMalians making their pilgrimage.We catch the firsttrain out of the station (conveniently located inside the airport) at6 a.m. and settle into our first-class seats (definitely worth the couple dollars more in price for air-conditioning and an almost-private car). We try to nap but aretoo excited to sleep as the Moroccan countryside and city scapes blurpast us beyond the windows. Abdoulaye strikes up a conversation witha Moroccan man headed to his home in Fez and asks what are themust-sees in the city. “You have to visit the Hotel Merinides atsunset,” he says. I nod and tell him I will not forget the name and Abdoulaye agrees. Our plans for our first night in Fez are made!We drop off ourbags at our hotel in Fez and freshen up before heading into the cityto find lunch. After following the flow of mid-day traffic we find astreet side café prime for people watching and settle in. I tellAbdoulaye how much I would like to find a hat and a pair ofsunglasses. A few minutes later a man walks by with straw hats andbags; I buy one of each. Satisfied with my purchases, we order ourlunch and begin to people watch. A few minutes later a man walks byselling sunglasses. I think to myself 'I could ask for a lot ofother things!' but I decide to keep my mouth shut – this game ofask-and-you-shall-receive is getting to be too much!After filling ourbellies we decide to catch a few z's before heading out for dinner. For our first night out on the town I decide to get dolled up andwear an exceedingly cute and equally uncomfortable pair ofespadrilles. I still have the blisters to show for them and theircuteness.... We decide to walk to the hotel recommended to us by our new train-friend and find ourselves on astreet-corner that looks promising and with another tourist couplelooking lost. But tired of walking and with the sun quickly settingin the west, we flag down a taxi and explain the hotel we are lookingfor. “It's on the hill!” I say excitedly while miming a hillwith a panoramic view of the city for our driver since we forgot thename, “and you can see all of Fez!” The taxi driver looksunimpressed with my body language and begins to drive in thedirection of what he understands we are talking about. We pull intothe hotel driveway and I twist my ankle in excitement as I leap outof the taxi to get change from the concierge. We are here!We walk through thelobby of the hotel and then sip our orange juices on the patio whilethe sun sets on Fez. The moon rises in the east and our first daytraveling together outside of Mali has come to a close. As I sit onthe outdoor sofa next to Abdoulaye I think that life could not getany better than fresh-squeezed juice on a hotel terrace overlookingthe former Imperial capital city of Morocco. And then Abdoulaye asksme to marry him so I can enjoy moments like this with him by my sidefor the rest of my life. Life just got better. A carriage ride through Fez our second night in the city

See more pictures from our trip to Morocco here and here!

It is a Saturday afternoon in Bamakoand we are gathered in my boss Thelma's living room. Mom and I spent themorning with the photography club at the National Museum and then metCassie for lunch in town. Abdoulaye and his mom, Foulé, spent themorning shopping for bazin fabric in the grande marchée forFoulé to take back to Guinea as gifts and for small commerce. Everyone is looking thirsty and so Abdoulaye and I excuse ourselves to thekitchen to get some hibiscus juice for the crowd. I take his hand aswe enter the kitchen. I love these private, albeit brief, momentswith him after days that are so public.

Our brief moment is briefer than usualwhen Bobo enters the kitchen behind us and says with a smile and ashake of his finger “Vous deux, allez dehors!” Youtwo, outside! I look at Abdoulaye who purses his lips and nods hishead and I follow him through the living room; I guess the hibiscusjuice will have to wait.

Cassie looks up atus from the couch as we walk by. Foulé sits with her hands in herlap in a chair opposite my own mother who is perched on a loveseat,playing with Bobo's baby girl, Aminata. Bobo takes a seat on the chairopposite Cassie and subtly encourages Abdoulaye and I outside with anexaggerated nod of his head towards the door.

Of course I knowsomething is up as Abdoulaye closes the glass door behind us and wesettle on the patio outside. I think Abdoulaye knows something isup, too, but he is avoiding my questions and feigns ignorance of whatis going on inside. “Come on,” I plead in my usual, charmingfashion, “tell me what is going on!” He shakes his head andsegues the conversation to our respective adventures with our momsthat day. That boy knows how to switch my train of thought! Then Cassiethrows open the door and passes us baby Aminata. “Your mom needsto concentrate!” she says before quickly returning inside. I turnto Abdoulaye for an explanation but his attention is on the baby andI find myself quickly distracted by her baby gurgles, too. Aissetou,Bobo's wife, appears from behind the house and takes Aminata away fora feeding. Then Bobo opens the door and waves us inside. I feel astrange expectation build in my stomach and try to smile it away. Abdoulaye takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

I re-enter theliving room and take a seat on the couch next to Cassie. Abdoulayesits on the loveseat next to my Mom who is wiping away tears that arespilling down her cheeks. A few thoughts run through my head. First, I definitely missed something. Then, 'Oh my goodness, I betsomeone in Guinea passed away and this is the culturally appropriateway to share the news.' And then, wait a minute, how come Cassie gotto stay? I look from my crying mother to a solemn-faced Foulé to agrinning Bobo and finally to Cassie whose face is giving nothingaway. “OK,” I finally say after the awkward silence becomes toomuch, “somebody spill.”

Bobo begins theconversation, situating his body and his words towards my mother. Hebegins by telling her what he thinks of Abdoulaye. He says, amongother things, that he sees a lot of people passing through Bamako andthat Abdoulaye, who he did not know before coming to Mali (both Boboand Abdoulaye are from Guinea), is someone special. I have heardBobo's touching words before but they still give me a little thrilleach time; Abdoulaye really is someone special.

Atthis point in the conversation I am pretty sure I also have somethingto do with all of this but my Mom is still crying on the loveseat andI still think someone may have died. Then, Bobo turns to me and myMom's tears begin to taper off. He talks about how in Africa amarital union is not only between the couple – it is also betweenfamilies. I sit up a little straighter and try to make eye contactwith Abdoulaye who is looking intently at Bobo and only brieflycatches my eye. I definitely have something to do with all of this.

Foulébegins to speak again in Susu and Bobo translates for me into Frenchwhile Cassie translates for my Mom into English. Foulé talks abouthow pleased she is to see her son so happy and continues on with alaundry list appraisal of what she thinks of me now that she has seenAbdoulaye and I together this past week. The list is a good one andI blush and squirm in my seat. Abdoulaye says nothing but looks atme and flashes me one of his heart-melting smiles. I laugh awkwardlyat pauses in the conversation. Mom stands up to get another tissueand I brush my hand against Abdoulaye's. “Won tannara,”I mouth to him in Susu. We are together.

Foulé takes abreath and Bobo clasps his hands. His gaze moves expectantly betweenmy mother and I whose own glistening eyes are moving between me andAbdoulaye. Foulé starts up again in Susu and Bobo grins even largerthan before. I sense that the conversation is quickly reaching itsapex, at least, I hope it is since I am still unsure if the pauses inthe conversation are meant as opportunities for me to respond orsimply dramatic pauses meant as opportunities for Foulé's words tosettle in.

“As therepresentative of Jenny's family,” Bobo continues in French whilelooking at my mother, “do you accept for Abdoulaye and Jennifer tojoin in marriage?” Mom looks at me and tearily shrugs hershoulders and nods (Dad, Sheri and John – I hope you guys are onboard!). I smile until it hurts and give Abdoulaye's knee a squeezebefore standing up to give hugs all around. I thank our translators– it means even more that Bobo and Cassie, two of the peopledearest to Abdoulaye's and my hearts, were there – before I giveAbdoulaye an extra squeeze. We head back to the kitchen to get thehibiscus juice we originally came for – this time to toast Part I of our engagement.

After bargaining for our $4 fare topick up Cassie for lunch, Mom and I step into the taxi. The driverpeers back at us through his slightly askew rearview mirror and asks– his eyes resting first on me and then on my Mom – “Ikoromuso walima I bamuso?” Your older sister or your mother? Ilaugh before tellingthe taxi-man that this is my mother. “An ba,” he says, his facelighting up, “a diarra an ye I na na!” Our mother –we're so glad you came!

When I decided todo a third-year with the Peace Corps and move to Bamako my Mom, thedust barely pedicured off of her feet from her first trip to Mali inJanuary 2010, started planning her return. At first I resisted. “It's too far and it's too expensive,” I protested. But momshave a way of knowing what is best and mine is especially patient. Ieventually agreed that she needed to come back. Annie was alsocurious to check out my life in the big city – and to get a breakfrom village – when she came to visit in May. I told her aboutMom's plans to return in September but that we would not be able tocome back to village this time – her trip being too short and thejourney to village too long. Could she come back to Bamako to helpme welcome her? “No problem,” Annie said, “and I could go toairport with you to pick her up?” “Of course!” I said. “Andthen I could go inside the airplane to see what it looks like!” sheadded. “That might be a problem,” I replied. Around the sametime as Annie's visit Abdoulaye and I hit a point in our relationshipwhere it was no longer 'let's see what happens in October when mythird-year is over' but rather 'let's start planning for apost-October together.' I left for Lebanon to attend Monica andSamer's beyond-beautiful wedding and Abdoulaye left for Guinea todefend his thesis and receive his doctorate in veterinary medicine. He talked with his mom about a trip to Bamako and she was thrilledwith the idea. Vaccination card in hand Foulématou Bangoura startedpacking her Bamako bags.

And so began BamakoMom-fest 2011. Abdoulaye's mom arrived first by taxi from Conakry,Guinea on Thursday. Annie arrived the next afternoon on a bus fromSan with Christine, now a very solid three and ½ year old. My momarrived that evening on the same flight as Axel, my boss's husband. Axel exited the terminal first and as we waited for my mom to emergewith her bags looked at me – his signature ball cap square on hishead – and demanded: “Do you know how I found your mother inParis?” - his German-accented English making his rhetoricalquestion sound more like a quiz. “I saw her in her Malian skirtand did a double-take,” he said, “I thought it was you!”

Doppelganger in towwe headed home with all of our airport companions. Massa andAbdoulaye on motorcycle and the rest of us: Annie, Christine,Foulématou, Jim and me, in the car. After sharing some pumpkin andpotato soup (Foulé's commentary: 'It's tasty and I'm glad Jenniferlikes to cook for a lot!') we all crashed.On Sunday Mom and Igave a Sunday school class to some neighborhood kids (lesson: Blessedis he who prefers his brother to himself) before heading to CommeChez Soi for brunch. Bellies full and one of her Bamako to-doschecked off the list, Mom and I headed to market to collectwatermelons for our Welcome-to-Bamako party that night. Around 30friends came together at my generous boss Thelma's home to say 'awbissimilah' to our treasured mothers. Hibiscus and ginger juice,meat kebabs, watermelon, plantains and french fries – what more doyou need to have a party??

On Monday Abdoulayeand I began our routine of mom shifts. He would head over toThelma's in the morning (where Foulé and Annie were staying) whileMom and I got ready at Sylvaine's (my other generous boss where bothshe and I stayed and where I've been living the past couple months). Around ten we headed over to collect the rest of the crew and head tothe National Park, another must-see in Bamako after the Comme ChezSoi. The rest of theweek included all sorts of excursions and must-sees for Bamako. Atrip out to Titibougou to see Abdoulaye's work and give my lastEnglish class for the year. Pizza and hummus at the Relax. Close-of-Service obligations at the Peace Corps office. A day tripto visit Annie's sister, Esther, in Koulikoro. Dinner at Sous-Boiswith my Bamako-crew. Quality time with Cassie. Drinks at the Zira. A 60th birthday bash for Sylvaine. A few days before ourMoms arrived someone told me I must be super stressed with all thepreparations. While coordinating all the arrivals and places to stayand things to do was not simple, nor was I stressed about what wewould do once they all arrived. Mom is such an easy going companionthat I could just tote her along and know, as long as she was wateredand fed, that she was happy as a clam just to be back in Mali.On one of our lastevenings together, a friend walked in the door who could not make itto our party the previous Sunday. She proceeded to greet all theguests in Thelma's living room and stopped at my mother while lookingat me. “You don't need to introduce me,” she said. “You andyour mother are like two drops of water.”

Zouheirata, Annasoura's little sister, invited us all over for a delicious dinnerLunch in Koulikro. Annie is concerned about Mom and Abdoulaye's techniqueNational Park excursion with Cassie!

Tuckered out after a day of play. And yes, we did travel with a suitcase. Accessories!Fatoumata and ChristineMom, you were great with the girls! :)

You can't see it but I'm pinching Cassie and Abdoulaye to see if it's real - I'm so happy all these folks are in Bamako at once!

You can see it here - Catherine is pulling my hair to see if it's really attached to my head and not weave. It's not weave.

When folks here say "Nice to meet your mom! She's much prettier than you!" I look at this and believe.

My forehead is great for traction...

Big smiles in Koulikoro for a day-visit to Annie's little sister, Esther.

Hard to believe tomorrow marks the last day of Bamako-Mom-Fest 2011. But y'all better believe it because it does! It's been a great visit - I have lots of photos to share - but for now it's off to different waters - more on those waters next week!

With Foulé (Abdoulaye's mom), Annie and Mom (holding Christine)Annie spent a day traveling to Bamako from village to get here. Abdoulaye's mom spent over 30 hours in a car from Conakry. My mom spent over 24 hours in planes and airport terminals from Virginia. I made some pumpkin and potato soup and a cardboard sign to welcome them. After all, I am already here! More posts to follow on our Bamako adventures!

With Abdoulaye and Mom at our mom party chez Thelma

Snacking on watermelon and hibiscus juice at the National Park (Mom with Fatoumata)

Foulé Bangoura

Images found here



A recent photography exhibit spent a week at the the Musée de Bamako. A photographer in London and a photographer in Bamako took photos of activities that happen in both places - taxi drivers, tea drinking, soccer playing, cooking for the family, playing music. It was neat to see the similarities and learn more about the people in the pictures from short interviews accompanying the photos. Learn more here!

Image found here

It's been over 7 months since the revolution began in Libya. Folks tried cease-fire talks a long time ago. They failed. So where is Qaddafi?

Am I right in thinking this is just a knock-off spare-tire cover? Or do all Rav4 tire covers in America have sayings like this?

"It s an outdoor sport that has recently started to shine. To choose sports for fashion or your personality. The basic idea is to enjoy yourself. That is important. Outdoor sport is the sicence to raise spirits."

Creepy or not we had to snap a photo! With Massa and Cassie on the bridge

Don't you want a photo on the bridge of friendship with Abdoulaye, too??Bamako's third bridge, the result of a collaboration with China, was inaugurated last Thursday, September 22nd as one of many commemorations of Mali's 51st independence day. Ironic? Perhaps. Events like this bridge opening encourage me to reflect on the merits (and demerits?) of foreign investment and development in Mali. What are foreign investors/development projects doing in Mali? What, in particular, does China get when they build this bridge?

Image found hereMalians share similar stereotypes of Chinese manufacturing as Americans. Cheap, low-quality products priced to sell that won't last long. A Malian friend, when discussing all the moto accidents in Bamako, made the observation that "the Chinese are just sending us these crappy Jakarta motorcycles to kill us!" Hm....can't say that I agree with that intention, I think Mali just needs some rules of the road (and enforcement of those rules!) but the motorcycles are inexpensive! However, while I often hear Malians complain about low-quality Chinese manufacturing, I haven't heard many folks worried about the quality of their construction - the bridge does appear to be solid, though!

Foreign investment in Mali is low and limited to handfuls of Lebanese owned night clubs and grocery stores, South African and Canadian owned mines and a very large administrative complex built by Muammar el-Qaddafi. The US Embassy in Bamako states there are many sectors the Malian government is seeking to expand through the help of foreign investment. But why, I wonder, does everyone want a piece of Mali?

The Bridge of Friendship in Bamako marks China's largest gift to West Africa and many are already waiting for bridge #4 and #5 to alleviate the capital city's awful traffic. I hear Malians talk about how there are no strings attached to this bridge and that China is just doing a good thing for a poor country like Mali. I have a hard time buying that but then how different is the US from China or Libya? We might not be quite so overt about taking advantage of the country but we do benefit from our relations.

Living here is kind of like being the friend of someone in a bizarre, gossip-y relationship. One day I hear the accolades of USAID, Qaddafi and China - the next day I hear USAID is self-serving (possible), Qaddafi is crazy (yes) and China sends prisoners to work in Mali (also quite likely). Sometimes the best friends are the ones who just listen so I will work on continuing to smile and nod.

But maybe I am looking too much into this bridge. Maybe China's gift of the Bridge of Friendship to Mali really does have no strings attached. Maybe not. While it is possible that China really is just looking for new friends - I think they are looking for a certain kind, as are all foreign investors - friends with benefits.

I haven't seen the movie but I'm sure we all have a few things to learn from Natalie and Ashton

Bon voyage Annasoura! Can't wait to speak English with you when you return!

Annasoura is headed to Ghana to learn English - we're going to miss her a lot here in Bamako! Travel safe and come home safe!

Image found hereFriday night we went to the CCF (French Cultural Center) to see Rokia Traoré in concert. Wow. Beautiful woman. Captivating voice. I would have loved to see more dancing - I hear she's incredible. So glad the CCF is open again for the season!

I'm coveting the back-up singers' dresses...

Here Rokia plays ... what? I can't find the name of this instrument - anyone??

So let's just call last week a wash. On Monday the cute boy sitting next to me had an interview for a tourist visa to visit the US and he (we) got denied. Does bummer really capture how we felt? Um. No. While we are (or rather, were) incredibly upset Abdoulaye won't be able to come home this fall to meet my beautiful family it will all work out in the end. After all, as Abdoulaye says, we're stronger than this, and so I'll keep my head up and we'll keep making alternate plans. We're both so incredibly thankful to our precious family and friends who have been so supportive this past week - thank you from the bottom of our hearts. It would have been so much harder without you.

This week is already looking to be better. The lovely and talented Cassady Walters is officially back in Mali (!!!) there's a photography exhibit opening and the beginning of another round of single-teacher school training sessions. Mom and John will also celebrate 20 years of marriage and then Mali will celebrate 50+1 years of independence.

I haven't felt much like writing these past couple weeks with the build-up to my sweet boy's interview and then the bad news - but I'm back to blogging - thanks for staying tuned.

with baby Ami. is your heart filled? mine is. Ramadan this year was lovely. I felt at home and food-filled. With a wonderful lunch at Bobo's followed by a chill and equally lovely afternoon with Annasoura - Abdoulaye, Massa and I went home with happy and full hearts. Here's some photos from the day:

Annasoura is quite the griller. Who would of thought?

Massa, Aissata, Abdoulaye and Zouheirata

<3

Happy ladies See more pictures from the day here!

At DeGuido's in Bamako with some Cameroon RPCVs

Today is Ramadan in Mali - time to celebrate! Granted, the above photo is not from a Ramadan celebration but it was taken during Ramadan. More to come today or tomorrow on the holiday!

Aminata is three-weeks and some change old! At the end of my street I pass a group of women sitting on colorful mats with frayed edges braiding hair in a line like matryoshka dolls. Little girls dance around them, plastic charms clinking at the ends of freshly plaited hair, and I ask "I be se ka n kundigi kofe?" Will you braid my hair later? They laugh and invite me to come back once they are done with the head they are braiding now. Tiny, tight rows of hair in neat, swirling patterns. I feign disappointment I will not have a turn today and continue on.

It is late afternoon and I greet my neighbors sitting in plastic lawn chairs around empty pots of tea. “Comment se passe le jeune?” I ask. How's the fasting going? “Ça commence à etre serieux-deh!” one man says. It is getting serious. Shopkeepers and fruit sellers I see later share his tired face. I ask Maiga, the proprietor of a nearby grocery store, how he's doing. “I'm just so thirsty!” he says, “All I want is to drink some water – forget the food!”

On the main road I pass tailor shops where the whir of automatic sewing-machine foot pedals does not stop as they complete last-minute and long-standing orders for the upcoming holiday. Shiny bazin outfits hang in storefront windows and mannequins model the newest trends in wax fabric. I make silent guesses as to how much these outfits cost. How much for the fabric? How much for the tailoring? How much for the intricate embroidery? Abdoulaye tugs my hand and I shake away the thoughts – I don't think I really want to know.

Fatumata seems to like baby Ami well enough - lots of pointing and saying 'bébé!' (here with Mom) Abdoulaye and I stop by Bobo and Aissetou's house to visit. We talk about Ramadan and how Aminata is growing. I marvel at Aissetou's french fry cutter and she offers me some porridge even though it is not yet time to break the fast. Esayi sends me a text message and reminds me that one year ago today I left village to come to Bamako. Has it really been a year?

Fatumata won't leave Worokia's side, aren't they beautiful? As the sun sets and a haziness creeps over the city we hear the call-to-prayer. This time of day is my favorite any time of the year but especially during Ramadan. The streets are void of sputtering cars and Jakarta motorcycles driven by Malians not old enough to fast and I can cross the street safely. Women flip rice cakes in solid, cast-iron molds on the side of the road and sell steaming Kinkiliba, a local tea, in plastic to-go bags for those who did not make it home in time. The city is hushed save for competing calls to prayer and it is thrilling to think that in this country, where close to 95% of the population is Muslim, nearly all of the people eligible to fast are eating together around communal bowls at this very moment.

Next week life will resume it's normal pace. Colleagues will not look quite so...well, hungry and the banks will have less crowded masses in their lobbies and parking lots. Music shows and local parties will show up once again on the calendar and we will fall back into the groove of eating in public without fear of reproach and not planning our day around the setting of the sun. That is, until next year.

If this isn't ingenious I don't know what is. Corrugated iron for making crinkle cut fries?!?!

Jeff promotes cultural exchange by showing how American men feed baby goats How about a different talk of the town tuesday today? My mind has been a bit distracted lately with other goings-ons (hopefully a post soon to explain!) so I haven't been on my blog game. Many apologies! Nonetheless, this week's talk of the town, while it won't involve an interview, is slated for a non-Malian and Jeff Nesmith fits the bill so I'll talk about what brought him to Mali.

As a third-year Peace Corps Volunteer in Mali with USAID/PHARE I serve as a 'Communications and Outreach Specialist.' I write success stories to send to USAID to contribute to PHARE's end-of-the-year report (2 per quarter) and take pictures of trainings and events. I also help out around the office with a little bit of this and a little bit of that whenever and wherever my hands are needed. As with many things it isn't the big moments or the job descriptions that are exciting but rather the little things that accumulate to make our work-at-large happen.

One of the recent 'little thats' on my work plate was serving as a translator and assistant to Jeff Nesmith who is a DC-based videographer (among other things - learn more here) contracted by EDC to produce a film on their work around the world. After 15 layovers (!) and filming in the Phillipines and Rwanda, Jeff finally arrived on our Malian doorstep to film some of the awesome work PHARE (and another project, PAJE Nièta) is achieving to improve the instruction of reading and writing in Mali's primary schools.

A boy reads a phone number for his dad While Jeff speaks Portugese and Spanish (after having served as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mozambique), those languages won't get you very far in Mali (nor will English for that matter). And so, since I speak both Bambara and French (and English!), I got to tag along on his trip to Yanfolila, in the Sikasso region, to translate. I enjoyed the opportunity to not only learn about Jeff and share stories from our respective Peace Corps experiences (let's just say my scariest experience in Peace Corps pales in comparison to Jeff's), but also to learn more about his work in the communications field. Through my blog and my work at PHARE I've come to realize I take great pleasure in writing and taking pictures - and maybe I'd like to have a (real :) job one day where I use both skills. Video is a field I haven't dabbled in much but after meeting Jeff and learning some more about the medium I am excited to experiment with it in the future.

Village bard (at right) serenades Jeff and his camera (and seeks 5 minutes of fame!) I'm not much company on a road-trip (the lulling engines of Land Rovers puts me right to sleep) but once we got to Yanfolila, Jeff and I got to chatting. I learned he has his own company, Gypsy Communications, and a beautiful family (wife, daughter and a bun in the oven) back home in DC. Jeff works in print, web, audio, illustration and video and travels the world to produce promotional films for all kinds of companies (among other design work). It makes you stop and think about what you're doing when you see people who work for themselves. There are so many pros and cons to consider when you think about working for yourself or working for someone else and I am appreciating the great opportunity I've been given here in Mali to witness both.

Visiting PAJE-Nièta's project outside of Yanfolila PHARE and PAJE-Nièta selected Yanfolila for us to visit because the teacher who received the highest rating from the newly standardized observation tool (created thanks to the collaboration between USAID/PHARE and the Ministry of Education) lives and works there and also one of PAJE-Nièta's projects was nearby. We filmed interviews (in French and Bambara) with a teacher, parents of students and a school director which we translated afterwards. I also filled the crucial position of sound-assistant. You better believe I know what it means to put a mike on F-1 now.

Flash! Jeff snaps a shot of the lovely ladies who made all our meals during our sejour in Yanfolila Language concerns aside for Jeff once we arrived in Yanfolila, my next matter of import was, of course, food. Not only is food in Mali not incredibly varied - it's also the middle of Ramadan and so food options during daylight hours can be limited. Lucky for us there was a lovely restaurant near our lodging in Yanfolila that served not only hot meals but cold beers, too. And they even had a baby goat named Babette who was fed with a baby bottle and tethered to a hanger. I mean really, what more do you need?

the ladies selling fried goods in Yanfolila loved Youssouf Diakité Our footage all filmed we packed our bags and said goodbye to Yanfolila as charcoal clouds gathered in the distance and eventually made good on their threat of rain. In the car on our way back to Bamako our driver, Mahmadou, broke his fast a bit early and offered some smoked meat and a coca-cola to Jeff in the passenger seat. "I be sogo fe wa?" he asked while shoving a pile of smoked beef wrapped in re-purposed cement-paper packaging in Jeff's face. Jeff mimed back that he was full, rubbing his belly and shaking his head, and added in English "I just ate lunch!" Mahmadou, who doesn't speak English, wrinkled his nose and shook his head back at Jeff and I forgave my translating job for a moment since the boys were getting along quite well with their body language.

Then Mahmadou grunted "An be kelen!" and pulled his cement packaging back to the center console while chewing on a particularly tough piece of meat and re-directing his attention to the road. I did translate that little gem for Jeff - we are the same! - and suggested he take a bite of the offered meat to assuage Mahmadou's generous heart. Jeff then found the meat really was quite tasty and continued to munch on it until he and Mahmadou successfully finished the snack. Mahmadou smiled at Jeff, Jeff mimed that he really liked the meat and I chuckled to myself in the back seat. This interaction is symbolic of one of the things I love most about having lived in Mali a few years now. No, not eating oily meat wrapped in cement-traced butcher paper or bumping along in the back of white Land-Rovers all over the country while laughing to myself (though both are nice) but rather sharing my new home and culture with visitors and witnessing their reactions to Mali. The good and the beautiful - the bad and the ugly. Because when it comes down to it I can't pinpoint one reason I live in Mali - there are a lot. And it's not one 'thing' that keeps me but rather a whole lot of individual experiences and people - I'm glad you could be a part of it Jeff - we look forward to having you back!

More bottle time

Jeff, you may have stayed here in the Phillipines but really - weren't you more comfortable at the Pied à Terre in Yanfolila?

Giving a sample lesson at PHARE's booth at the Festival sur le Niger February 2011 Once I established where I would sit at work, I looked next for where to eat lunch. I was eager to establish work relationships and also curious to learn about professionals in Bamako – I spent two years, after all, with farmers! What were other Malians, especially professional women in Bamako, like?

A cursory glance around the office leaves you with a few significant first impressions: 1) There is a lot of education work going on and 2) There are a lot of men doing it. While the chief-of-party of USAID/PHARE is an (American) woman as is my direct supervisor, there are only 5 Malian women, 3 of whom are secretaries, part of PHARE's staff of about 40. The first friendly female face I fell upon was Fatoumata's. We got to chatting about her kids and she told me how she had story time at her house each night before she sends her kids off to bed and that I should come by to hear them. 'Story time!' I thought, 'who doesn't love a good story?'

Since our story time last September where she recounted traditional Malian fables for her cute kids (and even almost put me to sleep!), I have continued to admire Fatoumata's gumption around the office. After spending her childhood moving around Mali (her uncle with whom she lived was in the military and moved every year for his work), Fatoumata settled in Bamako for her higher education. When I asked if she thought moving around had an affect on who she is today Fatoumata said of course! She recounted a story of how wherever she moved she would have to learn a new way to make porridge. Some of her aunts liked their millet porridge with small millet balls, others preferred larger. Fatoumata said this is symbolic of adapting to wherever you are and situations you find yourself in. I agree!

Fatoumata attended high school at the Lycée de Badalabougou in Bamako at what she and her friends called La Colline de Savoir - the Hill of Hope – before entering University where she studied Anthropology. Her studies eventually focused on gender roles in Mali namely the problems of implicating women in politics. Her thesis is quite fascinating (I haven't read it but from what I learned during our interview the topic is quite interesting). If you'd like to know more, let me know!

After completing her studies Fatoumata began working for radio stations in the Koulikoro region. Her first show was called “Plumes d'Or” - Feathers of Gold – where she discussed poetry and music. Then she moved to a station in Kati where she had multiple shows including “Waati t'a bolo” - The realities of our time – where she discussed topics such as excision and HIV/AIDS; and “Niè ta kènè” - All ahead for progress – where she interviewed NGOs in the region to talk about the work they were carrying out and their successes thus far and with whom they worked, etc. In 2001 Fatoumata left radio to teach French at the Center for Industrial Training of Torokorobougou. Then, in 2009, USAID/PHARE scooped her up as the only female script-writer for the interactive radio instruction shows. Fatoumata also writes for a locally published paper, La Nouvelle Patrie, where she writes each week on various topics including poetry, the news and stories and fables.

While Fatoumata and I haven't become best girlfriends, work schedules and our own obligations at the root, I have enjoyed getting to know her little by little around the office and through work trips. She has a lot of interesting stories to share and is a part of some interesting socially oriented groups in Bamako. I learned a lot about her during our question-answer session for this Talk of the Town Tuesday interview and I hope you'll enjoy learning some more about her as much as I did!

Name: Fatoumata Keita, Madame NiareBirthplace: Farakoro-opération-thé, Mali Birthday: October 27Marital status: Married, 3 children (2 boys, 1 girl)Occupation: Script writer, USAID/PHARE

Langauges spoken: Bambara, French

What are your three favorite places in Mali?Where I was born, for sure! Farako-opération-thé, Sikasso. It's a paradise on earth. It's beautiful and contains, of course, many of my earliest childhood memories. Timbuktu. I visited the city and region on a work trip and love the architecture and sandy dunes. Banko. It's a small village near Koumantou that reminded me of home (see #1) with a peaceful life and lots of mango trees What are two ways that are easy and difficult to be a woman in Mali?

First, I'll discuss the difficulties. It's really hard to navigate the acceptance of relations between women and men in Mali. To not be judged, discriminated against, underestimated etc. It's only compounded living in such a traditional society. Second, the social organization. I'm a writer and therefore need my solitude. But being a woman in Mali, even though I hold a professional job, doesn't mean I relinquish my traditional responsibilities as a woman. I still manage my household and am expected to respond to family obligations and welcome friends and family at any time at my home. It can be hard to carve out the private time I need to write. One could say I've been Westernized but I need my time for me!

As for the ways in which it is easy to be a woman in Mali – I appreciate men's respect for women. If I come into a meeting and all the chairs are taken a man will get up right away and offer me his seat while he looks for another one for himself. I appreciate that respect. I also appreciate and depend on the strong family bonds here, especially as a professional woman who is also a wife and mother. I have people in my family on whom I can always depend. For example, just last week I returned from a 13-day work trip – during Ramadan no less! Normally it's not a problem to leave home for work trips but during Ramadan the cooking responsibilities are much higher. I had to call a sister of mine and she dropped everything to come to my house and look after my children and cook and clean for my husband. It's not everywhere you could do that!

Who are your favorite authors?

I have a lot! When I was young I liked Victor Hugo. Especially his quote “Je veut etre Chateaubriand ou rien,” it's really inspired me in my own writing since obviously Hugo surpassed Chateaubriand! I also like David Diop and his series of poems entitled Coupde Pillons. I like Ahmadou Kourouma not for his style but for what he could do with the French language translating African life into the French language. It's not easy to translate both language and culture and he succeeded at both. Then there is Isai Biton Coulibaly who is simple and concise – most of his works have been turned into films. I also like, of course, Amadou Hampate Ba for his inspiring, rich, traditional tales. His works contain many teachings and life lessons.

Do you have any favorite female authors?

Certainly! I enjoy Adam Ba Konaré, the wife of former president Alpha Konaré, and former first-lady of Mali for her work.

What country would you like to visit?

I'd love to go to the U.S.A and visit Cleveland. Cleveland? Yes! I have a friend there and I'm curious to see what it's like. I'd also love to go to the Caribbean islands and feel what it's like to be on land surrounded by water.

What do you see yourself doing after USAID/PHARE ends in 2013?

A lot of things! I'd like to spend more time researching and writing – there's a lot to discover here in Mali. I would also like to pursue a doctorate.

What do you like about your work at USAID/PHARE?

I love how it's a creative outlet. I use my imagination and work is never the same. I am also learning a lot at once – budgeting for work trips, learning how to write educational radio scripts – it's never monotonous!

What's your favorite proverb?

I be se k'i pan musokoroni bo kunna o te fen ke. Nga ni I panna dalla kan kunna I b'o ye I nie la.

Il faut suivre des conseils des vieux/sages.

You can jump over an old woman's pile of poop and it doesn't do anything. But if you jump over her advice – you'll see the consequences.

Listen to your elders! (this is one of the funniest proverbs I've heard!)

Thank you Fatoumata! I really enjoyed learning more about you!

Before There are a lot of treasures to be had in Mali in the clothes department. Wax prints. Hand woven fabrics dyed with mud and indigo. Outfits tailored just for your body in any style you can imagine... But sometimes you just want to wear synthetic materials, you know? And, while the fabric is truly gorgeous, it can get pricey and be somewhat of a pain to buy all the material, truck it to the tailor's, discuss a plan for the-outfit-that-will-trump-all-outfits and then get home to find one armhole two sizes too big or a hemline that didn't quite get hemmed. Talk with Alys some more about that. Or any girl that's lived here :)

And so I often make my way to Sugu Kura, the new market, in Bamako to go thrifting. Piles upon piles of thrift-store clothes sent from a Salvation Army near you lie in plastic bundles on low-lying wooden tables in a cloistered section of the market. Women sit on their piles of wares and shout out 'bi-naani, bi-naani!' 200CFA, 200CFA to attract passing shoppers with their seductively low prices. The thrift business here is run much like that in the States. The articles are divided by type - women's pants, women's tops, dresses, children's clothes etc. so all you have to do is either 1) know the name of what you're looking for and ask or 2) bring a similar article of clothing you are looking to purchase and wordlessly show it someone while nodding thereby indicating your urgent interest in possessing another article of clothing similar to the one in your hands.

Which is how I found myself in market a few weekends ago with a friend looking for some thrift treasures. Would I tag along, she asked, and show her my favorite spots? How could I say no?! Especially when I found the treasure pictured above for only 500 CFA (~$1USD). A floor length, baby-blue, lace-y and long-sleeved number that I knew I would wear all the time... Well, flash-forward to a few weekends later and I still hadn't worn it (not a unique experience to America in case you were wondering!). And then the dress spoke to me. "Cut off my sleeves and make me shorter - it's too hot for floor-length synthetic dresses here!" it said. Wow, I thought to myself. My dress speaks really good English. Must have been all the time it spent in the Salvation Army in America before coming to Mali. And so I took a pair of scissors and got to cutting. Here's the after:

After. I found the belt at a belt-seller nearby for 200CFA

Voilà! A wearable dress!

“Two tickets to San,” I say to the woman seated behind the barred bus station window. “Names?” she asks. “Jennifer Davis and Abdoulaye Bangoura,” I reply and hand over the money, 12,000 CFA (~$26), as she hands over the tickets. I like the spelling of our names: Jenniphere...and...BamcouraAnd then Abdoulaye and I are San bound! It's our first adventure together outside of the Koulikoro region and we are headed to the village where I spent my first two years in Mali, from 2008-2010, as a Peace Corps Volunteer to visit Annie, Christine and the whole Coulibaly family + Jim. When Annie left in June we promised to come and visit and we wanted to make good on our promise before the school year (and therefore, work) picks back up again. With the weather cool and cloudy it is also the perfect time to travel and we wanted to make the trip before Ramadan began on August 1st because of the following equation:

Ramadan + Traveling on Malian Public Transport = Grumpy Passengers

Best to avoid above equation if at all possible. Because sometimes it doesn't even take Ramadan:

Traveling on Malian Public Transport = Grumpy Passengers

Better to not intensify it.

We pack a suitcase the night before and tuck in gifts for the family between changes of clothes and toothbrushes. Abdoulaye remembers Annie loves potatoes and so he buys 5 kilos to share with the family. I get tea and sugar for Esayi – sometimes guys can be the easiest and also the most difficult to shop for :)

Esayi meets us at the volunteer house in San on Friday afternoon and we load our belongings and selves into his horse cart. Riding out of the city I point out familiar places to Abdoulaye from the two years I spent coming and going to San each week to get groceries, use the internet and have a cold drink in this regional capital. I point out Abu's tailor shop, the direction of market and Bacho's boutique, and the BNDA where I spent many a Monday morning waiting to withdraw part of my Peace Corps stipend to spend at San's weekly market. We marvel, along with Esayi, at how quickly San is building up. The road leading out of San and into the bush is littered with half-built homes and piles of rough, cement bricks demarcating lot lines. The suburbs exist even in Mali!

As we hit the limits of the city we pass a teenage girl. The trot of Esayi's horse hasn't quickened enough to keep us from greeting but before we can she calls out “Blanche Neige!” Snow White! We laugh at her substitute for the standard 'toubabu!' (foreigner/white person) and turn our attention to the packed dirt path ahead. I flop on my stomach to stay in the shade of my straw hat and listen to Abdoulaye and Esayi speak to one another in their respective forms of Bambara.

It's Abdoulaye's first time on a horse cart and we snap photos along the way as we pass fields and families farming beside tiny, tucked away hamlets. I admit to Abdoulaye I did not have much patience for long, painful horse cart rides during my first two years and opted instead to use my Peace Corps issued bike which I would sometimes ride alongside Esayi's cart. When we arrive in village, backsides sore from bouncing on the floor of the cart – a thin mat separating the two – Abdoulaye understands why.

roil and boil.Annie and Christine are freshly coiffed by Batuma, Annie and Esayi's oldest daughter, and are waiting for us along with Jim, Emma and Le Vieux beneath a millet stalk hanger. We unload our bags from the cart and sigh with relief to be on solid ground once again. Jim, who has now been at site close to a year (!), welcomes us to his home, where Tamara and I also spent our service as Environment Peace Corps Volunteers, and we unload our things before re-joining the family outside.

I plop onto a plastic string chair and pick up the comfortable thread of conversation always left with Jim. Abdoulaye joins Annie as she pounds millet and Christine wanders over to check him out, too. Calm, familiar, routine. Words some people really don't like. Feelings I've grown to love.

Then night falls and after a bucket bath Annie serves dinner – beans and bread – on a small, cloth-covered table. “Brussey-kono restauranti,” Annie says cheekily. Bush restaurant. We giggle with her and tell her that it's just like Bamako; we feel right at home. she's a little girl!We retire to bed early, exhausted from waking up at 5 a.m. for an eight hour bus ride followed by an hour-and-a-half horse-cart ride out to village. But it hasn't rained in over a week and the balmy weather makes it difficult to fall asleep. Sleeping inside a mud-hut is like taking a nap in a hot-yoga studio. It's happening alright but your clothes are soaked through at the end of it and you're just left wanting more sleep. We wake up groggy the next morning and eat breakfast, siri porridge, when we sense a change in the weather. We get up to look outside and see a slow, dark mass creeping towards us from the eastern sky. “Rain!” we shout. Esayi looks relieved though not yet convinced rain is actually on its way. Abdoulaye reminds me that every person we've greeted thus far has said they're doing fine and their families are fine but where is the rain?!?

A heavy rain begins to fall and we watch the storm from inside Annie's hut. Thick drops of rain swirl around the compound and bursts of water pour from clay drain pipes into the depressed grooves on Annie and Esayi's packed-earth lawn. The storm slows to a drizzle and we decide to take a nap to catch up on the sleep we missed the night before. When we wake up Abdoulaye and I embark on a village tour. The place has become a ghost town with the onset of the rains this morning – everyone is out in the fields taking advantage of the soft soil – and I am secretly relieved to avoid the prying questions of who Abdoulaye is and what he's doing here. We do meet a few grandparents along the way, those too old for intense farming, but they spend more time remarking my long absence from village and dismiss Abdoulaye's presence once they discover he speaks only a stilted Bambara since they speak no French.

I show Abdoulaye my favorite places around town – Fakoro's garden, baby pig outposts, a big tree on the outskirts of town, Dramane's garden – before we make the loop back home and Abdoulaye marvels at both the breadth and intimacy of the village. As we enter the compound Annie takes note of our scruffy hair and dirty feet and gestures to a boiling pot of water nearby. “Does Abdoulaye want to take a bath?” she asks and I take the hint. I scoop bowl after calabash bowl of cool water into a plastic bucket and add hot water to taste before placing it on the cement floor of the bathroom. By now the sun has set and the first stars of the evening are making their appearance.

Dinner is served again on a table and we fill our bellies with freshly steamed dumplings and a bowl of pasta sent over by our neighbor, Maté. Esayi makes tea and we sleepily chat with one another and absently watch television brought out especially for our visit. Annie knits as we chat about goings-on in Bamako and America and before long we are all yawning and checking the time on my watch. We say goodnight and, having wizened up to the temperature difference, collapse into our mosquito tent set up outside. I quickly fall into a deep sleep but Abdoulaye is too concerned the interior wall we're sleeping behind is going to be charged by a wild cow/donkey/goat and so he does not. At least one of us doesn't wake up groggy!All gussied up and somewhere to goOn Sunday morning Abdoulaye lays in Jim's hammock and practices reading aloud from the new English book we just ordered online and received when Suzy came to visit. Jim doesn't speak French and Abdoulaye doesn't really speak Bambara so the two boys are communicating in a combination of broken Bambara and English (Abdoulaye) and English (Jim). They manage to get their points across.

Then the church bell rings and we head over to sing, clap and sit our way through a two-hour church service before noshing on zamé, me and Jim's favorite rice dish, and packing up to head home, our weekend in village already at a close! Christine insists on joining us for the horse-cart ride to the paved road about 17km away but when we head out around 2 p.m., Abdoulaye pulls her onto his lap and, a few minutes in, she promptly falls asleep. An hour later we have arrived at a bus stop and we wait until 5:30 p.m. when a bus finally passes by from San that has space for two. Annie, Esayi and Christine wave goodbye from their horse-cart and head back to village as we head back to Bamako, the sun slowly dipping in the horizon. On the ride home I gently squeeze Abdoulaye's hand and sneak peeks at him between cat naps. I have now shared my village experience with heavy handfuls of people who are incredibly dear to me in person and through my blog. I'm so happy to add Abdoulaye to the list. See more pictures from our trip here!

Oops! Didn't put up a picture yesterday. Here's a handful to make up for it today. A dear friend of Abdoulaye's and now mine, Bobo and his wife Aissetou, recently had a baby girl (last Thursday to be exact). She's beautiful and we're looking forward to getting to know her!

baby girl

loves peace already

baby girl and her momma

tiny toes all there

Happy one-week-in-this-world baby girl Diallo! I don't know your name yet (baptism happens today and your name hasn't yet been announced) but I'm already smitten!

Jim with the Coulibaly kids - Christine loves him now! Have you ever left a job you loved because it was time? Have you silently (or not so silently) worried if your replacement would be up to the task of what lies before them? Have you wondered how they would adapt to the working environment and if they would love it the way you did? I think it's safe to say the answer to all of those questions are yes if you are a Returned (or current in my situation) Peace Corps Volunteer who has enjoyed their service and site and has been replaced.

Fortunately, my fears were assuaged when I met Jim Cave, the volunteer who replaced me, last August. Leaving village last year to come to Bamako for my third-year with USAID/PHARE was easier after meeting Jim because I no longer worried if he would early terminate his service or not be up to living out in the bush. He fit in from Day One. Born in Great Falls, Montana Jim is the kind of guy that calls his family weekly just to chat and that anyone would want to call a friend because he's so sincere and genuine. He took right away too the simple beauty of the San region and the gentle nature of our village. A mutual Malian friend once said of Jim, “He hasn't integrated into Mali's culture – he's just a part of it.” And it's so true. Whenever I tell other volunteers, when they ask where my site was for the first two years, that Jim replaced me – if they know him – they automatically sigh and say “Jim Cave? He's such a sweetheart!” And it's so true.

After studying Political Science and History at Montana State, Jim came to Mali – his first time leaving America (aside from skipping the border into Canada) – to be an environmental specialist with the Peace Corps. After Peace Corps he's hoping to see the world – maybe by teaching English in Thailand or Indonesia – before studying law at the University of Montana where he hopes to concentrate on worker's rights. Before joining the Peace Corps he spent a summer in Washington D.C. working for Montana Senator JonTester where he was particularly interested in labor and worker's rights and then he spent a month with the Montana Farmer's Union which focuses on small family farms in the state.

He's adorably handsome, kind-hearted and seriously, pretty much loved on the spot by anyone who meets him. This past weekend I went back to village with Abdoulaye and he suggested Jim be the Talk of the Town this Tuesday. But of course, I said! Jim's the Talk of the Town every Tuesday! I could gush about him to anyone willing to listen and even to those who aren't but I'll let you fall for him on your own with his interview:

Abdoulaye & Christine, Me, Le Vieux, Annie Esayi and Jim (back row) Emma and Batuma up front Name: Jim Cave aka Adama CoulibalyBirthplace: Great Falls, MontanaBirthday: April 8, 1988Marital status: The lady who scoops up this treasure is going to be luckyOccupation: Peace Corps Volunteer, Mali

Langauges spoken: English, Bambara

What are you three favorite things about the village where you live?Easily the Coulibaly family (Annie & Esayi et. al). Esayi is not only my best-friend in Mali but quite possibly my best-friend period. They've made me feel such a part of their family and have been so supportive [as I adjust to Mali].Everyone's a farmer here and there's a sense of community with all the communal and seasonal work that takes place like brick making, house building and repair and farming. There's a real sense of helping one another out.I am in biking distance to San. [Which, despite what the Lonely Planet Guide calls “just a truck stop,” is quite possibly the best city in Mali.] (wait, did Jim say that or did I? I think we both did)What's so great about Mali?The people! (are you readers getting the idea that Mali, like Virginia, is for lovers?? (of people that is!) I like how open to conversations people are.Ethnic groups continue to maintain their identity through dress, traditions and language. I like how different the country is depending on where you go.It's a varied country with the Sahara desert in the North and a lush, almost tropical climate in the South. People in San speak legends of what it's like in Sikasso where they sometimes have two growing seasons (gasp!)Where would you like to visit in Mali?I'd like to visit Sikasso and Dogon country and if the security situation were different, Gao and Timbuktu in the north. It's wild to see Tamasheks get on the bus – they look and sound so different than Bambaras!

What's your favorite blessing or proverb?Dooni dooni konon be a ka nid dilanLittle by little the bird builds his nest.Take your time!

Allah k'an kelen kelen wuli. [blessing said before you go to bed]May we rise one by one.

If everyone gets up at the same time it means there's a problem somewhere! Best if we don't all get up at once.

What work are you doing at site?I've helped to coordinate continued training for both the men's cereal bank association as well as the women's cooperative that focuses on shea nut and butter production. I'm hoping next year to work more closely with a Farmer's Field School to focus on field crops and problems like erosion and how to combat pests.

Why should we visit you in Montana? (as though we needed a reason!)If you've only ever been on the East Coast coming out to Montana is like visiting a different country. The animals, the landscape – it's all so different! The cost of living is also reasonable relative to other states so you won't spend a lot on food or accommodations here but can enjoy skiing in the winter and hiking and fishing in the summer. There's also no sales tax!

Any final comments?I'm glad I replaced you – you've been a consistent help. I also know my Mom is going to read this so I'll let her leave a comment. :)

Thank you Jim/Adama! I'm so glad you replaced me, too. And thank you Mrs. Cave for reading :)All we're missing is Tamara!Abdoulaye is Takana-izing Jim and Christine. He liked it!

prove it.So I've joined the August Break! I'm looking forward, and going to try real hard!, to post a picture here everyday. I hope you enjoy!

mm. manouche.

After reading Seth Kugel's article on frugal traveling in Lebanon, I've decided I'd like to go back. Who's with me?

Black or White. My photo taken hereA few weeks back I started receiving text messages from my friend Babette resembling advertisements:"Happy Hour Wednesday at the Black or White!Buy one get one free drinks from 6-9!"Unfortunately, my Wednesdays are already happy enough with English class in Titibougou which is about an hour and change from ACI 2000 and so I haven't been able to find the time go yet! Luckily, last week my friend Ryan asked me to meet him at the Black or White so we could grab lunch in ACI 2000 and I finally got to check out the place and meet the manager, Abdoulaye Doucoure. Picture of ACI 2000 Boulevard found hereThe Black or White offers a menu of traditional Malian dishes and other wares and of course any beverage you might be seeking but more importantly, as Mr. Doucoure notes, it is a place for entrepreneurs of Bamako to meet and share ideas.

While the Black or White hosts Happy Hours each Wednesday, they also have Business Thursday from 6-9. Abdoulaye says the Black or White is "an experimental lounge where entrepreneurs, especially those interested in agri-business, can convene to discuss business plans, feasibility studies and the practical aspects of doing business in Bamako." Are you interested in doing business in Mali? I think this might be one of the first places to look if so!

Abdoulaye is also the head of studies and in charge of procedures for Ammi Marketic (+001 223 07 77 16 87), the primary consultancy for the Black or White, which offers those services listed above to larger corporations looking to invest or work in Mali and looking to put a finger on the pulse of the Malian market. Their firm helps business develop business plans, produce market studies and audits as well as helping with website development, geo-marketing and product distribution for firms outside of Mali looking to market their products in the country.

Born in Paris, France, Abdoulaye holds nationalities in three countries: Guinea (mom), Mali (dad), and France (where he was born). He studied Marketing and Sustainability and has now returned to Mali to cook up some entrepreneurial ideas.

Babette had us over for a most delicious dinner last night and towards the end of the most lovely evening, I had the opportunity to talk with Abdoulaye and learn some more about what he's up to in Bamako. Here's his interview so you can get to know him a little better:

Name: Abdoulaye Doucoure

Nationality: French/Malian/Guinéan

Langauges spoken: Bambara/Malinké, French, English, Spanish and can read and write Latin

Birthday: April 23, 1983

Occupation: Marketing firm consultant/Entrepreneur Marital status: Single What's your favorite place in Bamako?Can I say all of the city? I like Bamako because I know people everywhere!

Ok, you can say you like all of Bamako. But what are three reasons why someone would want to come and visit the city?

First, definitely because of the people that live here - they're great! Second, Malians like foreigners and they'll make you feel comfortable. And third, people do things at their own paces here. Not too slow, not too fast.

What's your favorite city in Mali?Bamako! (Abdoulaye, do you get out much??? :)

What's one place you'd like to travel to?

Boston! It's a city of big thinkers and has the best schools, the best consulting firms but it's not as well known [as New York or Washington, D.C.] but I'm sure it's got a lot going on.

Favorite proverb?Carpe diem! Because living for the moment means more than just the moment - it means enjoying them, too.Thank you Abdoulaye!

Here's a rock and rolly video of ACI 2000 I found on YouTube to give you an idea of what the neighborhood is like:

Bouquet o' Basil. Guess how much I paid for it all? 100CFA!Happy Monday! While I keep reading about heat waves in the States on Facebook and CNN news, Mali continues to be well...just hot as always. This weekend I made a basil spaghetti sauce (not pesto, just spaghetti sauce with a whole stinkin' lot of beautiful basil) after having talked with my friend Alys about basil in market and eaten a delicious pesto chez elle and then Abdoulaye and I went swimming at a friend's place. Aren't pools wonderful? But I think they're kind of like boats - better if your friend has one and not you so you don't have to take care of it... Abdoulaye talks to the water before diving it. Makin' sure it's ready for him.

I hope you had a great weekend filled with basil, pools or whatever else makes your heart happy!

Our English club on the porch of NGO Victory with our books from Darien Book Aid

Last December Abdoulaye invited me to teach an English class at the computer center where he works on the far outer reaches of Bamako. Abdoulaye teaches interested folks how to manipulate computers – from how to use a mouse to how to navigate the 'net – for a very reasonable price (about 2,500 CFA ~ $5 for one month of lessons 4x/week). The center also runs an internet café where people that live nearby can use the internet for super cheap (only 100 CFA/hour ~ .20cents!).

I reluctantly agreed to teach the class – I'd never taught English before and thought 'but how will I do it??' and while it has been a challenge teaching students with incredibly varied levels of English, some are studying at the FLASH – Mali's language school, others have never studied English at all, I am slowly learning to teach to the middle and use the more experienced students to help those with much lower levels. I rely heavily on TEFL blogs and lesson-planning sites and now, English on Wednesdays has now become an activity I look forward to every week!

A few months back our most lovely Peace Corps Resource Center manager, Mado, sent all Peace Corps Volunteers in Mali an email with information about how to receive free English-language books for English clubs from a group called Darien Book Aid. 'How convenient!' I thought to myself as I read the email, 'I know just the group!'

I checked out their website and found they've been donating books to English clubs for over 60 years. I got in touch with their donations coordinator about receiving books for the center and she quickly responded. She requested a description of the recipients (what kind of club, level of English, the types of books they're interested in) and how long I would be in Mali.

Large bag of books from Darien Book AidAbdoulaye Bangoura, Manager of NGO Victory, opens the book bagAlmost!A little more!

There they are! Over 40 books in excellent condition A few weeks later I headed to the Peace Corps bureau and found a 15lb box of books waiting in the package room with my name on it! Inside were over 40 books in excellent condition ranging in topics from Beatrix Potter books to the big book of Questions and Answers. If you're looking for a worthwhile organization to donate to, look no further than Darien Book Aid. We're so excited at the center to start our new mini-library which we're in the process of beginning. Students who have attended English class at least three times will be issued a library card that they'll use to check out books. Then, they'll have a few weeks to read it at home before they can take out another book. If you have any ideas for how to run an informal library, I'd love to hear your advice!Bakari Coulibaly and Aissata Touré check out some of the books



So, if you're a Peace Corps Volunteer or anyone else looking to help start a library with English language books for your English club, all you have to do is:

Send an email to Darien Book Aid expressing your interest.Reply to their email with information about your English club.Patiently wait a few weeks and then pick up your books from the Post OfficeWrite a thank-you blog post to Darien Book Aid! Thank you Darien Book Aid!

While Bamako, Mali, may be one of the fastest growing cities in the world, a visit to the city can leave you feeling like you are in an urban area competing to be one of the most exhausting! Dusty work spaces, fumes from cars and motorcycles long overdue for an inspection and congested streets leave you feeling overwhelmed and gasping for a breath of fresh air. But where in the world can you find fresh air in Bamako?

Hand-tiled pool and plenty of fresh Malian air (lofted lodgings nestled in corner)Fortunately for visitors and residents of the capital city, a stay or dining experience at the Comme Chez Soi gives you just that. With 6 luxurious rooms, a hand-tiled pool, a lounge area and a sprawling roof-top terrace open for dinners and brunch - all designed and implemented with loving care by the owners, Sonja and Gael, and a team of artisans - visitors to the Comme Chez Soi have the ideal spot to recharge from the draining chaos of Bamako to bounce back refreshed to their touring of the country or work in the city. It's also conveniently located in the heart of Hippodrome which, I hear at least, is in the running the be one of the best neighborhoods in the city :)Downstairs outdoor lounge areaBut don't let my subjective review of the Comme Chez Soi convince you, the owners of the hotel are, after all, friends of mine. Check out reviews of the Comme Chez Soi on TripAdvisor where their hotel is rated #1 in Mali (!). Their quality service and 5 star dining experience rank them well above established, swanky hotel chains like the Radisson and the Hotel de l'Amitié (a former Sofitel). Even better, travelers looking to save money need not sacrifice comfort - their prices can't be beat in Bamako. While rooms at the Radisson will cost you an arm and a leg, rooms at the Comme Chez Soi range in price from a reasonable 29,000 CFA a night ~ $62 for a basic, yet perfectly lovely, room to an only slightly more expensive 39,000 CFA ~ $84*, for more luxurious accommodations.

Glassed in upstairs terrace for relaxing after a long day as well as brunch and dinnerThe Comme Chez Soi is great for those of us who aren't just visiting Mali, too. With brunch from 11-3 each Saturday and Sunday, happy hours from 6-7 followed by dinner (Tuesday - Saturday), the Comme Chez Soi has become my Cheers of Bamako. Not only does everyone know my name but I'll run into friends I haven't seen all week at brunch and we'll be reminded that even though we live on opposite sides of the river (read: far away!) we do live in the same city (read: we should hang!)

The Comme Chez Soi is owned by a couple from the States, Sonja and Gael. Here's an interview with Gael:

Where were you born? I was born in Hamburg, Pennsylvania.

What brought you to Bamako?

After a motorcycle trip through Southeast Asia, Sonja and I wanted another adventure so we decided to ride 2 motorcycles this time from Barcelona to perhaps as far down as South Africa. We got to Bamako in April during the hot season and were not looking forward to more hot weather followed by rains. Not the best weather for the bikes so we stayed put in Bamako to rest and then saw the opportunity and decided to try to start a small guesthouse which became the Comme Chez Soi.

What's your favorite restaurant/place in Bamako?

I would have to say the new national park built so beautifully by the Aga Khan Foundation. It's so nice to have a green space to enjoy, something Bamako was really lacking a year ago. I'm looking forward to the new Zoo once they finish it.

Do you have a favorite place in Mali/West Africa/Africa (take your pick or all!)

Weirdly we have done very little exploration of Mali. The hotel business is not very conducive to time off. In terms of our exploration on motorcycles, we enjoyed Morocco, amazing country especially in terms of natural beauty. People tend to think of it as a desert country but it has so much natural beauty. We also loved Guinée, the Fouta Djalon area is beautiful, full of greenery, mountains, and waterfalls. It's such a plentiful area with a pleasant climate and where everything seems to grow.

What are the 3 best and hardest things about running a hotel in Mali?

Defining three concrete best and hardest aspects is difficult. The best aspect for me is simply the ability to realize this type of project considering our limited budget and all the errors we made. We were able to make many mistakes and not have to close down because we are in Mali and the competition is less fierce. Those mistakes allowed us to learn so much.

The construction was both one of the best and hardest aspects. The type of projects we tried to do during construction were very foreign to laborers so finding skilled labor was a struggle. The fact that we did much of the work ourselves and were able to train or find workers from the area to do the rest is something we are very happy with. Training staff is also a difficult aspect considering the lack of hotel management options for people who are interested. You have to start from scratch with training and it does take a lot of time.

Where in the world would you like to visit and why?

There are few places in the world I wouldn't want to visit. If we stay somewhere too long, we just start wanting to move on. That time has come for us and we are looking forward to new experiences. Next up on the agenda seems to be a trip almost around the world to visit parts of Asia, perhaps East Africa, the Carribbean, and areas of Central America to explore the option of starting another business.

What's your favorite quality in a person/client?In a person seems a bit broad so I'll tackle the client part. I guess easy-going? You start to really want those when you run a place. A client who just gets what we tried to do and enjoys it as it was designed. When we first opened the place and we saw the clients using all the spaces we spent so much time creating, it was the reward to all the hard work.

Do you have a favorite proverb or piece of advice?

I guess the fitting one which is one of Sonja's favorites is: "There are no unrealistic goals, just unrealistic time frames." That one really applied to our project since we never thought it would get finished but one day at a time and we got there in the end.

Thank you Sonja and Gael for sharing your business (and for starting it!) and for the interview! I'm already looking forward to visiting the next hotel you open!

Enjoy below some photos of recent trips to Comme Chez Soi's brunch with prices to give you an idea of the menu price range - get ready to drool (and buy your plane ticket to Mali to come and eat with me!) Crêpe Ganache Chocolat 3,000 CFA ~ $6.40

Aerial view :)

Café Americano, 800 CFA ~ $1.70Doesn't Karen's smile make you want to order some coffee??

Shrimp Burger 5,000 CFA ~ $10.70

Crêpe Sallée Crevette Artichaut 5,000 CFA

Eggs Benedict (4,500 CFA ~ $9.60) with a side of hashbrowns (1,200 CFA ~ $2.50)Salade Asiatique (4,500 CFA) with a side of bacon (1,200)*at the current exchange rate of 467 CFA/$1USD

“We wanted to do something beyond our families. We wanted to work for a cause that reaches out to those in need who we don't necessarily see everyday,” said Toussaint Kasongo, President and founding member of Impact Nice Kids, when asked what sparked him to establish Impact Nice Kids, one of Mali's newest NGOs.

Raised in the Congo, Mr. Kasongo studied Economics in his native country before relocating to the Ivory Coast and then, 6 years ago, to Mali where he married and laid the foundation for Nice Kids, a private school operating in Titibougou, a neighborhood on the outskirts of Bamako.

Mr. Toussaint Kasongo with his children in front of Nice Kids

For three years Nice Kids has provided instruction for pre-school through 6th grade (adding a grade each year) and offers an alternative to the public schools in the community to parents willing and able to pay (150,000 CFA/year ~ $320USD). With small class sizes and individual student attention, students at Nice Kids receive quality bi-lingual instruction in both Mali's official language, French, and the language of the 21st century – technology – through sessions where children learn to manipulate instructional computer games and programs.

But when students leave Nice Kid's courtyard at the end of the school day they don't leave with just the abilities to read and write with confidence and manipulate computers – skills the majority of Malian students and most Malians regrettably do not possess – they leave with much more.

“When students leave my school I want them to leave feeling like leaders. I want them to leave with a sense of morality and obligation to their community. While parents often come to me and marvel at the level their children have achieved in French I am still waiting for them to come to me and marvel at their child's sense of community and service,” Mr. Kasongo recently said at a board meeting in Titibougou.

Something else makes Nice Kids stand alone. “What sets our school apart from others in Mali is the way we engage our parents. We don't want them to be passive actors in their child's education but rather active members of the Nice Kids community. We encourage them to attend parent-teacher meetings and fund raise for school supplies,” continued Mr. Kasongo.

But as enrollment increased at Nice Kids, Mr. Toussaint began to notice a disturbing disparity. “I would ask parents to purchase uniforms for their children and some would buy one or two uniforms, all that their child needs, and others were buying up to 6 uniforms, bordering on the excessive. Even among my students and their families I was noticing this great inequality in wealth and I asked myself 'If this inequality exists in Bamako, what's it like in the villages of Mali?'”

Thus was born Impact Nice Kids, the humanitarian branch of Mr. Kasongo's private school, Nice Kids. “When we started this school I sat down with my teachers, as I do every year, and we talked about what kind of school we wanted to be. We talked about the desire for the school to be one that leads by example. For instance, if we want our children to have a high-level of literacy and ability to communicate in French then we need to be speaking to one another in French [rather than Bambara, Mali's dominant African dialect]. If we want our students to be conscious of their communities then we need to be role models who are actively engaged in the well-being of our community,” explained Mr. Kasongo.

With Impact Nice Kids board members in front of the Nice Kids schoolMr. Kasongo and Impact Nice Kids' board members recently honored me by inviting me to a meeting at their office in Titibougou. We spent the morning talking about the school's mission statement, their newly formed NGO, and touring both the school grounds and newly rented office next door. I learned more about the mission of both their school and their NGO, two independent structures that happen to share a similar name and interested board members. I didn't know what to expect when I received the invitation to attend their meeting but I left feeling motivated to continue to encourage the proliferation of primary education in Mali.

While Nice Kids is in the process of seeking financial backing from the international community through organizations like UNICEF and the EU, they are also looking to mobilize the immediate Malian community by looking locally for funding sources. While Mali may officially be one of the poorest countries in the world, a quick tour around Bamako will show you that there is indeed money pouring into this country – and it's not going towards development in infrastructure, education or health as evidenced by the ravaged roads and the country's regrettable rates in both literacy and mortality – it's going into multi-level mansions and villas in the capital.

Impact Nice Kids is hoping to make a difference in that vast disparity by being a catalyst for change to make a difference today that will undoubtedly result in improvements in Mali tomorrow: education.

“When teachers from our school and members from our board go out to village to visit family we are constantly getting asked by community members to help bring schools to their isolated villages, places the Ministry of Education doesn't even know exist!” said Mr. Ngolo Coulibaly, vice-President of Impact Nice Kids. “We wanted to come together and do something to help these communities since it just isn't fair that some kids have access to education and others don't.”

Impact Nice Kids' goals are simple. They want to bring schools to communities in Mali where the Ministry of Education lacks the resources to do so and where the community is committed to education. They want to provide school supplies and instructional materials to villages with rudimentary school structures (i.e. mud schools without benches or chalkboards) to encourage education for all.

“Villages do exist where the chiefs and community members aren't interested in education for their children. While we don't currently possess the resources to conduct sensitization campaigns about the benefits of education, it's definitely on the horizon for our NGO,” said Mr. Coulibaly.

At the close of the meeting Mr. Kasongo continued to explain Impact Nice Kids' purpose when he said “with Impact Nice Kids we are trying to expand the mission of our school, Nice Kids. We want to set an example for our students because a child learns more from what we do than what we say.”

Mr. Kasongo what you and your organization are attempting to do is incredible and if your students decide to follow in your footsteps Mali's future is sure to be a bright one full of leaders committed to doing rather than saying. As Abdoulaye often says, 'Le moment du discours est fini - c'est le moment de passer à l'action.' - The time for talk is over, it's time to make something happen.

Readers! What do you think about all this? Are you interested in helping Impact Nice Kids build schools in Mali? Do you know of organizations interested in contributing to this cause? Please email me at jennifermorgandavis@gmail.com and cc Mr. Kasongo at tskasongo@gmail.com for more information and details.

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Name: Annasoura Touré

Langauges spoken: Songhai (first), Bambara, FrenchBirthday: January 5, 1985Occupation: Travel agency assistantMarital status: Single but already scooped up!

“Come over for lunch and to meet the family,” Annasoura said to Abdoulaye. “Can I bring a friend?” he asked. “Bien sûr,” she replied. Of course.

And so began our friendship with Annasoura Touré. I say our because I was the friend tagging along with Abdoulaye and that lunch was the first time both of us met her. Annasoura is the older sister of a friend of a friend of Abdoulaye's – both of whom became actual friends – neither of whom are legends. Let me explain. Annasoura's younger sister, Zouheirta, was friends with a friend of Abdoulaye's from Guinea. Abdoulaye and Zouheirta chatted on Facebook and when Zouheirta learned Abdoulaye would be coming to Mali for his veterinary research she passed along the number of one of her sisters. “You've got to stop by and say hello,” she wrote, unable to meet with Abdoulaye herself since she was studying in Morocco.Eager to spend more time with Abdoulaye, and curious to meet Annasoura, I immediately accepted his invitation to join him for lunch in the way that we accept to go places early on in relationships we aren't sure we really want to because we're so excited to spend time together. But I was nervous. It is difficult to explain what I will call 'the toubab anxiety factor' but I will do my best.

Sometimes, as wonderful as Malians generally are (and you can generalize here), meeting new Malians can be a little overwhelming. The curiosity about others and immediate interest Malians take in others' lives that we don't have in the States (I hope out of our desire to respect privacy and not that we're just disinterested) is omnipresent in Mali. And while this curiosity facilitates integration into the Malian culture, it also means you have a lot of questions and commentary on your foreignness which sometimes you just don't feel like hearing. Sometimes I would like to walk outside and not have people notice I am not Malian by screaming 'Toubabuuuu!!!!!'. Sometimes I would like to speak and not have someone marvel that I can communicate with them – 'I be bamanankan meh-wa?????' Sometimes I would like to go to the friend of a friend of a friend's house for lunch and to meet her family without becoming the center of attention.* And that's exactly what happened with our visit to Annasoura.

That first lunch with Annasoura, and what has now turned into many dinners, visits and calls to say hello, was indicative of the girl herself and what our friendship has become: relaxed, full of laughter, welcoming. While her family did joke about marrying me off to one of the many Songhai men in their compound; they made the same jokes and in the same tone for Abdoulaye and Annasoura's sisters. Rather than feeling like an extraordinary Djelika I felt like a wonderfully ordinary Jennifer. Her mom embraced, literally, both Abdoulaye and I as we entered the living room and Annasoura's father – reminding me of my own step-father – was content to be left alone on the couch watching television while we gabbed over rice and sauce. Going to her house for lunch felt like going home (that is, if everyone in my home spoke at least 3 languages and had their origins in a city on the border of the Sahara desert – but you get the idea :)

Annasoura studied at the University of Bamako and logistics and transport at a specialty school. She currently works as an assistant at a travel agency called Fly in ACI 2001 (+00 223 2029 4247) and would like to one day work in import and exports. Learn some more about this wonderful girl I'm lucky to call a friend:

Where were you born?

I was born in Bamako but my family is from Gao.

What's your favorite place in Bamako?

My favorite place is Sotuba. It's on the banks of the Niger river and one of the few places where you can experience nature, calmness and clean wind in the city. If it's a question of restaurants my favorite is the Lagoon which I like for the same reasons I like Sotuba except there is also food :)

What's your favorite city in Mali?

That would be Gao, my native region. While I was born in Bamako and most of my family is here, whenever I go to Gao I feel like I am going home. I don't know how to explain it – words escape me! The sense of hospitality is overwhelming – family or not, people you barely know will kill a goat in your honor when you come to visit and then fight over who gets to host you for your next meal. And the stars at night – it's incredible up there. You can sense the adventure with your car getting stuck in the sand – it's total desert there!

What are 3 reasons why Mali is a great place to be?

The hospitality.The sense of family. The desire to help one another.

What is another country you would like to visit and why?

I'd love to visit Brazil since I've seen so much of it on soap operas and films on ORTM (Mali's national television station). Beach Copacabana!! I would also like to visit India since I love the way they dress and the United Arab Emirates to visit Dubai – you can get everything there! I've heard that people in Dubai have so much money they don't know what to do with it and so they build these incredible buildings. I'd love to see the architecture.

What's your favorite quality in a person?

It's important to me that people are nice and have a sense of humor and aren't afraid to smile.

What's your favorite proverb?

Les conséquences corrigent mieux que les conseils.

Consequences teach better than advice.

Let people experience something for themselves to learn what's right and they'll learn more than anything you could have told them.

Thank you Annasoura!

*Some of these experiences can also be wonderful – I don't mean to sound ungrateful – just not all the time.

Three years later I still coo over sleeping babies strapped to women's backs. I still marvel at moon rises and starry nights in village. Bambara continues to challenge and delight me. Baby donkeys continue to be precious. I still love sunsets and the sound of rain on tin roofs. Happy 3 years in Mali – I love you a little more for different reasons each day.

Gael found fireworks in Bamako!b.ab.y Z, Babette and Kevin

Gael, Laura and Sonja cheese it upAlys, Bodil and me. Happy fourth at the Comme Chez Soi!

With pulled pork, hamburgers and cheddar cheese, potato salad and carrot cupcakes, we had a veritable fourth of July in Bamako! Happy (belated) birthday America! Thank you for hosting us Sonja and Gael!

lucky me! kisses from Massa (l) and Abdoulaye (r) Life has a funny way of bringing special people, places and moments into our lives. My life in Mali is no different and it has indeed brought a lot of special people, places and moments into my life.

I met Abdoulaye in October 2010 through my work as a Peace Corps Volunteer at USAID/PHARE. He came, along with a group of young students, to help us at the office prepare training materials for a national teacher training. It was like at first site! Charismatic, charming, intelligent, patient, funny, attentive; everyone wants to be around Abdoulaye and I'm head over heels! After helping out around the office for two weeks, where he was trying to earn the money to return to Guinea (after coming to Mali to conduct research for his veterinarian thesis), he received the news that he had gotten a job at a computer center in Bamako. Rather than return to Guinea where he did not have a job already lined up Abdoulaye decided to stay in Bamako until the defense of his thesis in April when he would return to Guinea. Well, life not only has funny ways of bringing people, places and moments into our lives but also keeping us in places, too! Fast forward to July 2011and Abdoulaye is still here in Bamako accompanied by his friend and fellow veterinary school graduate, Massa, with plans to soon open a veterinarian clinic here in the capital.

Both Massa and Abdoulaye recently received their degrees in veterinary medicine and are living here in Bamako. Here's a double interview for you to get to know them both a little better! Please leave questions and comments below!

Name: Dr. Massa MalévoguiAge: July 21, 1986Marital status: SingleOccupation: Recent graduate of veterinarian schoolWhere were you born?I was born in Macenta, Guinea.

What made you interested in becoming a veterinarian?In Guinea, when you're done with high school you take a test (le concours d'acces a l'enseignement supérieur), and the State decides what you will study. First, you make a list of sixteen areas of study that interest you out of about 20. From that list of sixteen the government looks at your score and decides what you will study based on the results of the exam. Veterinary medicine was my first choice. I put veterinary medicine as my first choice because it was a new field of study and people didn't know much about veterinary medicine, students were only focusing on general practice and I wanted to try something new.

What's your favorite place in Guinea/Bamako?My favorite place in Guinea is Macenta, my native town. My family is there and it's where I was born so it's naturally my favorite place. The place I like the most in Bamako is the National Park of Mali; it's beautiful.

What's great about Guinea/Mali?If you're interested in visiting Guinea, well, it depends on the visitor. In Guinea there are many natural resources, there's the ocean. There are many rivers, mountains and large forests.

What's your favorite proverb?Pélé pélé ka dihri lavé (in Massa's native language, Toma)Ces plusieurs goutes qui remplissent une marmite.It's many drops that fill the pot. With time and patience we achieve our goals.

Final comments?I am very happy to get to know Bamako and to have such lovely friends. Massa and Abdoulaye hamming it up on my porch Name: Dr. Abdoulaye BangouraAge: October 28, 1984Marital status: Single (sort of!)Occupation: Recent graduate of veterinarian school and manager of a computer center

Where were you born?I was born in Conakry, Guinea.

What made you interested in becoming a veterinarian?A lack of choices and of money! When I finished the baccalaureate I wanted to study Communications. But at the time there wasn't a university in Guinea where you could study Communications – you had to go to Senegal and I didn't have the means to go. And then the way the government decides for our studies in Guinea means you don't really have a choice. Making a list of 16 choices out of 20 isn't really making a choice when the government has the final say! Since I couldn't study Communications in Guinea, I decided I wanted to study architecture. However, I put veterinarian medicine as my first choice but more as a pipe dream - I didn't think I had the grades to be selected. Then, I was selected and I began my studies to become a veterinarian. I thought I would study veterinary medicine until I had the means to go to Senegal to study Communications. Well, I never got the means and I learned to love veterinary medicine! I don't regret for a minute having studied veterinary medicine because over the years I have learned to love this career. Overcoming the challenges of veterinary science and all the excitement involved; this is real love! Love that has come over time and that I've been a part of creating myself.

What's your favorite place in Guinea/Bamako?My favorite place in Guinea is Conakry (the capital) because it's where I was born and where my family is and where all my childhood friends are. It's where I feel at home. My favorite place in Bamako? Jennifer's house! Why? Because it's my refuge! It's where I feel at peace, relaxed and loved.

What's great about Guinea/Mali?Guinea is a country of history. It's a country of people. A country of people who live by facts. We're a young country but we are aware of our history and the realities of our country. Poverty, a lack of democracy, injustice, insecurity. We are aware of these problems and we're not ashamed. We recognize that overcoming these problems are just steps in the history of our country that we must surmount them – just like countries around the world have done before us. And, in addition, Guinea is paradise! Everything is beautiful! The men. The women. The landscape. The life. And the joy reflected when Guineans share with others.

Mali is also pretty good :) When you're in Mali, you feel at home and I like that. I like the joking cousins aspect of Mali. We have it in Guinea but in Mali it's even more intense! Also it's important to remember, as our former president, Ahmed Sékou Touré, once said 'Guinea and Mali are two lungs in a single chest.'

What quality would you most like to have?I'd like to be more patient. I think it's an important characteristic.

What's your favorite proverb?Lohré boo ki oki fo ali. (In Abdoulaye's native language, Susu)Quelque soi la durée du jour, ca va venir.Be patient, what you're waiting for will come.

Final comments?I think that what you're (Jennifer) doing is important even for us (the interviewees). These interviews encourage us to reflect, to discover more about ourselves, to learn more about ourselves and to learn from these discoveries. And my last comment? Never stop!

Welcome to a new series on Jennifer in Mali! Talk of the Town Tuesdays where I'll interview friends, colleagues and near strangers to give you a better idea of what my life in Bamako is like and, more importantly, what Mali is like! Enjoy and please leave comments with questions!!

Not only is he dashingly handsome (and married) he's smart, too!

Name:Almamy Moussa TraoréAge: February 7, 1980Marital status: MarriedOccupation: USAID/PHARE Information and Technology Coordinator

During my first weeks at USAID/PHARE, I flitted around from office space to office space trying to find my place. While meeting and greeting colleagues and looking for an open spot to set-up shop I met Almamy and asked if there was any room in his office. After relocating a few dusty computers and arranging some errant cords and keyboards in cubby holes along the back wall, I found my new 'office.' A shared space for internet routers (Almamy), and a work space for Sah Cissé (leader of the madrassa – Koranic school - portion of USAID/PHARE's project), our little annex is a cement rectangle measuring 9ft x 18ft. And while it may be small, there's nothing little about the work that gets done here!

Almamy Traoré attended public elementary school in Bamako before entering private high school where he passed the baccalaureat. He then went on to attend the National School for Administration (L'école Nationale de l'Adminstration) where he spent a year studying economics and management. In September 1999 Almamy received a scholarship to continue his studies in Tunisia in technology. He stayed in Tunisia (coming home for summer breaks) for 6 years before moving back to Mali in the summer of 2005. Here's an interview so you can learn some more about him!:

Where were you born?I was born in Bamako but my family is originally from Sikasso.

What made you interested in technology?I've always naturally been drawn to technology. It's like how Brazilians naturally love soccer; I've just always loved fixing broken things. As a kid I always fixed broken televisions and radios, VHS players and antennaes. Now, I fix broken networks and printers!

What do you like about your work with USAID/PHARE?I love the satisfaction from working with people and helping them solve their problems. When someone has a problem in the office, for example with a printer or with a network that is down, I'm the person they come to. I find great satisfaction in solving these kinds of problems. I also take great pride in my current job that, in some small way, I am a part of a program working to help develop my country. If I had stayed in Tunisia after school ended, I would not be here now helping to install networks and CVFs (Centre Virtuel de Formation – virtual training centers) in IFMs (Institut de Formation de Maitre – Teacher training colleges) throughout Mali. I feel needed here at the office and I like that. It's a real opportunity!

What's your favorite place in Bamako?I like cultural spaces. Places like Espace Bouna, and Savannah where I can listen to live music and eat good food. I don't really like clubs or places like that.

What's your favorite city in Mali and why?If it's a matter of where to live: Bamako. Everything is in Bamako! But if it's for a city that I would like to get to know better and visit more, that would be my native city of Sikasso. Sikasso has the best weather and food options in Mali.

What's great about Mali?I love the hospitality of my country. It's rare to find it anywhere else and it's what made me come back to Mali after my studies in Tunisia. While I could have stayed and worked in North Africa or gone on to France or maybe even the United States, I missed the generosity of my country and wanted to come home.

What's your favorite Malian proverb?Dͻ bé du don, dͻ bé do bah dͻ dͻn. Some people know some things, others know something else.(You can't know everything, someone else will always know more.)

Final comments?Whenever you can do good for others – it's something you should do without reflection. Life is fleeting and you never regret helping someone else.

Saint Preri resort on the Mediterranean Sea

I arrive at Beirut Rafic HaririInternational airport at 2am on Saturday after a series of delayed and missed flights and collapse into bed with thoughts of the Mediterranean Sea in my head. Later that morning Monica* leads Therese, another former PC Mali volunteer, and me downstairs and uphill to buy breakfast. Monica explains the options available for my manouche, or breakfast pizza, along the way: cheese, spices, spinach, meat... and I find myself salivating at the thought of my imminent meal. We arrive at the bakery a few minutes later and are warmly greeted by a man behind a white formica countertop. He welcomes us to Lebanon and specifically Chaouiye, the village we are in, before turning on the half-moon gas oven behind him and beginning to prepare the dough for our manouches. “Is this your first time going to a wedding in Lebanon?” he asks as he spreads the thin circles of dough on the prep board before him. Therese and I nod that it is. “Il n'y a rien commen un mariage au Liban!” he continues. There's nothing like a wedding in Lebanon!

Breakfast pizza! aka manouche!

Monica, the bride-to-be, invited her out-of-town guests (14 in all) to arrive a week before the wedding to sight-see in Lebanon and to get a chance to know one another before her nuptials to her fiancee, Samer, whom she met in Segou while serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mali (her host mom, Nema, and mine, Annie, were buddies at our regional trainings and we spent Easter together one year). While Monica and Samer, who manages the Auberge hotel in Segou, took care of last minute wedding preparations like meeting with the DJ and the florist the week before, her guests loaded into a 30 passenger tour bus each day to take care of touring Lebanon!

On Monday we slip into our bathing suits and sandals before heading to the rocky beaches of Santa Preri in Jbeil, a resort hotel and beach just outside of Beirut. For $12 we have access to the pool, beach chairs and large, yellow umbrellas set out seaside. We unload our beach bags and slather on sunscreen before ordering lunch (a Greek salad, frankfurter and fries for me!) and relaxing on lounge chairs under our umbrellas on the rocky, and windy, beach.

Moussa's castle

Tuesday morning we load back into the bus for some active touring (not that I minded lounging seaside eating hot dogs!). Moussa's Castle, our first stop of the day, reminds me of the wax museums found along the boardwalk in Virginia Beach except that this tourist treat has a cute history. Our second stop of the day is the Beiteddine palace which was built in the early 1800s by Emir Bechir Chebab II. Housed inside are ancient mosaics and modern meeting rooms and outside are small, open-air gardens with towering cedar trees and neatly manicured shrubbery. Aside from our group of 14, we share the grounds with a handful of tourists and a large troop of pre-teen Lebanese girls attending an English-Arabic school who are here on a field-trip. A few shyly approach Therese and I in the garden to practice their English and ask a few questions. “What is your name?” one of the girls asks. We answer and the girls giggle shyly into one another's shoulders. “Those are pretty names,” they say. We thank them, ask their names and return the compliment. We step forward to continue on our way and swiftly dodge their peculiar follow-up question of “Are you rich?” by saying the bus is waiting for us, we must go! Street-side hookah in Byblos And go we must! The cedars are waiting! Our last stop of the day is the cedar forest – home to the symbol of Lebanon. After our bus driver, Mahair, expertly navigates the narrow lanes that are the main thoroughfares in Lebanon, we arrive at the park limits and pick up our guide at the entrance to the park. He has the most endearing broken English of anyone I've met and starts every sentence with “I like and love to...” As we enter the cedar forest thick fog envelops us like a bath of silver soup and our guide asks us to remain silent for one minute as we experience the woods. At the end of the minute he stops us, smiles largely and exclaims “I like and love to make hiking with you all!” In the forest we see cedars ranging in age from a few weeks to over 2,000 years. At the end of our short hike we are all giddy with the beauty of the forest and the fresh, mountain air. But Mahair does not let us linger for long at the edge of the forest, “Monica and her family are waiting!” he says. Byblos

'Home' again, we freshen up and head from Monica and Samer's condominium to Samer's brother's condominium below. The tables are laden with appetizers; artichokes in garlic butter, salmon bites, hummus, pita and crudites, stuffed grape leaves and little meat pastries. Dinner doesn't get started until late, around 10, and we all convene around the table after talking outside to get down to the business of eating. Then, someone turns the music on the stereo up and suddenly there is a dance party! I return to my seat after the round of mid-dinner dancing and Assad, Samer's father, waves me over. I lean in from the other side of the white plastic table which groans under the added weight of meat and chicken kebabs to hear what he has to say. When I get close enough Assad lifts his glass tumbler, ice cubes clinking against one another in an amber bath of Johnny Walker Red Label Whiskey, and smiles. “Mabruk!” he shouts, “to Monica and Samer!” Cheers!

Baalbeck, me and Monica

Wednesday morning we head northeast to Baalbeck where we witness incredible Roman ruins and the set-up of another festival venue. Throughout the country we see preparations for concerts and festivals as Lebanon gets ready for the height of tourism in July and August. During tourist season some of the 14 million Lebanese that live outside the country (4 million live in Lebanon) come back to tour their home country along with tourists from other countries curious to see what Lebanon has to offer. On the way home from Baalbeck we visit the Ksara vineyards where we partake in a wine tasting and tour their subterranean (and natural!) cellars.

High noon at Baalbeck

On Thursday we head to the Jeitta grotto where we are not allowed to take photographs inside but let me tell you, it was incredible. Stalactites and stalagmites dating to the Ice Age hang from the ceiling and grow from the floors of the caves – at some places the distance over 300 feet between them! It is like walking into a secret mountain filled with frosting covered whale teeth and cauliflower growths the size of cars. Maybe that's not appetizing but it was glistening and gorgeous. After lunch nearby we head to Byblos, an ancient Roman port surrounded now by kitschy tourist shops and high-and-low end shopping where I find the perfect book for Monica about what it means to be a Lebanese woman. Not that she needs any help – she is truly a stunner wedding gown or not! Walking around Byblos I feet like I am on the New England coast with a bluer water source and the smell of hummus and olive oil in the air. The classic beauty of the place makes it hard to leave!

Roman ruins at Baalbeck

Thursday night we gussy up and load into the bus yet again – but this time to head to Beirut, the Paris of the Middle East! Tambourines, drums and a functioning microphone make for a lively excursion to the capital and the bachelorette party leaves nothing to be desired – except we could have stayed longer!

We spend Friday recovering from the night before and hanging out at Monica's in-laws, chez Nadia and Assad, who are lovely hosts. I enjoy spending some one-on-one time with Monica – it's her last day as a single lady – as we walk around the village and greet folks here and there and have tea with the mother of a friend. With the warmth of the people and interest in others, it's like being in Mali, there's even a goat tied under a raised porch!, except with more alcohol and more clouds of cigarette smoke in your face.

Saturday morning it is go time! I spend about 4 hours at the hair salon (mostly hanging around and watching the goings on, snapping shots of Monica and her maid-of-honor, Shauna) before we rush back home around 2 to throw on our wedding attire and meet the photographer at a monastery nearby for Monica's portraits with her family. Samer surprises us all by showing up for the session after about 15 minutes and then we get another surprise of a stretch BMW limousine that shows up to take Monica's friends and family to the wedding. We're classy guests!!

my favorite portrait

After receiving guests at Samer's family's home, Samer's family comes to present Monica with a traditional set of jewelry and take her to the church. Her father and father-in-law-to-be escort her downstairs and around the corner to the family's church (with a population of 14,000 Beit Chebab is also home to 14 churches!). A marching band and flame breather announce Monica's arrival, no big deal! :)

The ceremony is elegant – Beit Chebab has never seen a more magnificent bride, that's for sure! After greeting all the guests and taking portraits with close family and friends we head to the reception area at a restaurant about 10 minutes away. Leaping dancers announce the arrival of the bride and groom along with floor fireworks and pulsing Arabic music. Bottles of Johnny Walker Red Label whiskey grace the head and foot of each table and the guests, over 150, snack on labneh, homemade mozzerella, hummus and meat pastries before Monica and Samer arrive. The wedding cake, 6 tiers (!), is eventually cut around midnight – and with a sword! – after hours of dancing and eating. The crowd clears out soon after and everyone in our group of visitors shakes their heads and says to one another how we've never been to such a good party.

On Sunday morning I collect my suitcase and carry-on and carefully close the heavy door to Monica and Samer's condominium as to not wake the other friends and family sleeping on couches and rented beds inside. I make my way downstairs where I buy a manouche from the bakery nearby and hail a cab that will take me to the airport and away from Lebanon and back to Mali. I situate my handbags on the torn floorboard below me and munch happily on my cheesy manouche while the Beit Chebab mountainside unfolds behind me and the Mediterranean Sea and glimpses of Beirut peek out ahead. The taxi driver, Benghara Kassir, starts some small talk and we go through the same conversation I imagine every taxi driver and their client has on the way to an airport. The who, what, where, when and why of my 10-day vacation abridged into a mere 10 minutes for a man whose face I won't remember but whose words I won't forget. Happy couple! “Did you have a good time?” Mr. Kassir finally asks after I finish a rambling paragraph listing all the sites we visited and some exciting details of the wedding. I reflect for a moment and decide to anticipate his response, and what I heard from guests at Monica and Samer's wedding and from other folks in shops and on the street: “Il n'y a rien comme un mariage au Liban!” I say, in all honesty. Benghara nods his agreement and adjusts a small bouquet of fresh wildflowers in a ceramic vase that is attached to the dashboard while continuing to navigate the winding, and nearly empty, road to Beirut on this early Sunday morning. He takes another moment before he begins to speak and when he does it is not what I expect. “Fancy weddings and fireworks are great and make for a memorable event. But there is something more important than all of that and which lasts long after the night is over and the guests have gone home: Love. Do you know love?” he asks, as though it is a word I have never heard before, perhaps an emotion I have never known. I nod that yes, I do. “Love,” he repeats solemnly, “it's not something you can find in the market.” First dance, don't you love her braid and the flowers? Mabruk to you, Monica and Samer! Thank you for showing me the best time in Lebanon and letting me share in the first day of your new life together as husband and wife. Congratulations on finding something in one another that you can't find in any market anywhere in the world!

First dance, complete with floor fireworksI took a lot of pictures while in Lebanon, see below for a selection (divided by theme) from the trip:

See more pictures from the wedding here

Take a peek at folks getting ready for the big day here

Check out some of Lebanon's sites here

*Monica is a friend of mine from PC Mali. We were both environment volunteers from the same group, or 'stage', in July 2008 and we both continue to live in Mali though in different regional capitals.

Can you say Diva? Why, yes, I can. Grobinaid!!

Before moving out of village last September I spent more than a few nights talking with Annie about what my new life in Bamako would be like. Electricity? Running water? Fans and/or air-conditioning? The fantasy list of possibilities was endless! Annie was my host-mom in village and not only nurtured my muddled Bambara to coherency with her patient enunciation but also my belly with rice, porridge, and toh – the staples of Malian cuisine 'en brusse'. A true surrogate mother who has become a truly cherished friend. I can't insist enough on the integral role Annie played in my language acquisition and social integration as an off-the-boat-and-into-the-bush Peace Corps Volunteer in middle-of-nowhere-Mali, West Africa from 2008-2010. Her gentle demeanor, unique role as the only literate woman in our village and willingness to open her mind and heart to new experiences (I'm finding this is a singular trait the world over) all merged together to set the stage for success in both our working and personal relationships. Can you tell I kind of like her??

As I packed my belongings – pots, pans and tchotchkes accumulated over two years in a dusty, mud hut – into a Peace Corps car on my last day in village last summer, I made Annie promise she would come visit me in the Spring – the time of year when her work load is lightest and when people from village often emigrate to larger cities before returning in May or June to begin field-work with the rains. “Ni Allah sonna-ma,” she replied. If God is willing.

It therefore came as no surprise when I received a telephone call from her this past April via Esayi – Annie's husband, my former host-dad and chief of the village – and learned that God indeed was willing for her to visit me. After sharing greetings with Esayi, Annie came on the line. “Djelika?!” she shouted. I could picture her standing under their millet-stalk hanger, the only place Esayi's phone gets service, the phone on hands-free and Annie craning her neck as she spoke and then turning her ear as she listened. I imagined the subtle, crackling sound of termites eating through the branch supports above her and from which Esayi's phone always hangs, a ceaseless soundtrack to accompany the production of village life. “Can I come to Bamako the last Thursday of the month?” she asked. “Of course!” I replied. “And stay until the end of the month?” she went on. I quickly pulled up the iCal feature on my MacBook, “that's only two days, Annie – I sure hope you'll stay until the end of the month!” I shouted back, forgetting my phone was neither on hands-free nor hanging from a millet-stalk hanger. “Not the end of April, Djelika, the end of May!” she hollered back. “Oh,” I thought to myself, “that's quite a bit longer!” After a moment's pause and reflection I followed my gut, which doesn't usually fail me in matters of sustenance or sensibility, and agreed. “Come on down Annie, n be I kono!” – I'm waiting for you!

Annie and Christine, Annie's 3 year-old daughter, transitioned seamlessly into my Bamako lifestyle. Working a 9-5? No big deal, Annie knits through it. Braving cramped, public transport with a toddler? Annie holds on tight and keeps her cool. House parties with raucous dancing? Annie knits right through it while Christine takes a nap. And her only commentary on the party afterwards, aside from insisting that she loved every minute? “Why was that old man dancing like he was a young guy?” “Annie!” I exclaimed, “Old guys have got the right to boogie, too!” She hasn't met my father!

Having Annie and Christine around also gave me the opportunity to reflect on my pace of life. While I feel fully present in my life here in Bamako and love most minutes of it, sometimes I give myself a headache thinking about all the little things I would like to do; I think that's a problem folks have all over the world (or is that a by-product of my being raised in a capitalist society?? oy vey!). Before my routing would look something like this: Work's over – I'll go for a run! And since I'm heading home on the Sotrama maybe I'll stop and pick up some groceries. Well, while I am in market why don't I head over and sift through some thrift-store finds? Oooh, look at that! A shiny new store-front.... You get the idea! (after reading through that and all the references to purchases I'm going to have to go with my un-scientific labeling of being a by-product of a capitalist society) Having a grown woman and toddler in tote made me re-evaluate all those little stops along the way. Those errands had to wait during Annie's visit or I just worked to plan better so I wouldn't exhaust either of us.

Annie and her family also count themselves among the 4% of people that identify as Malian Christians (while googling 'Christians in Mali' I found this. Maybe dated but still interesting!). My friend Ryan is also a devout Christian, along with a colleague at work, Catherine. Both invited us to join them for services while Annie was in town and we gladly accepted. Catherine's church was a Nigerian Protestant service with a sermon delivered in English, translated simultaneously into French and Catherine stood behind Annie, Christine, Ryan and I to translate it, also simultaneously, into Bambara. That's a lot of languages. And a lot of shouting for each one to heard. And there was near constant drumming/keyboarding/banging of other musical devices. Let's just say, Nigerian Protestant churches in West Africa are not for the faint of heart – or eardrum. A photo-op on the grounds of the National Park - I like the man posing in the background, too The week after, we visited Ryan's church which felt just like our village church despite being in the heart of the city (sort of – Kalabancoura, a neighborhood on the other side of town, is quite a haul from where I live!). Annie even found a friend from her childhood, another woman with whom she sang in the choir, whom she hadn't seen in 20 years! Leave it to Annie to make the social network of Mali even smaller! Afterwards we lunched with Ryan's host family on beans, bread and boissons which was just the icing on the cake. I sometimes do get overcome, in a good way, when I get to share in all these special moments like visiting your friend's church for the first time. Even more special when you throw Annie and baby Christine into the mix!

And talk about a mix! I lived next door to Annie and Christine for two years. But living next door to someone and living with someone isn't quite the same. Fortunately for me, living together was even better. Take for instance the opportunity to introduce Christine to watercolors. She liked painting the floor better than the paper (duh, Jennifer!) and then was more interested in pouring water from one jar to the next (duh, Jennifer!). Annie included toddler training 101 as part of her package stay. Christine convinced me that while toddlers are precious – at this time in my life they are definitely better left to the professionals!

All grown-up and putting on big-girl shoes!While having Christine in tote could be a handful and I was constantly reminded of my own actions (Djelika taara! Djelika is leaving! Djelika kora! Djelika just took a bath! Djelika be sigi! Djelika is sitting!) it was also pretty heart-wrenchingly sweet to have her around all the time. I would do my make-up in the morning and have a little chocolate-ball shadow by my side asking me to do the same on her. After getting home from work one day I sat down on my terrace to relax and chat with Annie. Christine was, as I should have known, alarmingly quiet before she wandered out to join us on my patio. “I tun be min Tini?” I asked. Where were you? Before she had the chance to respond I noticed light pink splotches all over her chest and cheeks. Poison ivy, you may wonder? A bizarre rash? I followed Christine inside to show me where she had been and saw that she had, very carefully, squeezed all my cream blush onto a powder brush before marking herself with it. She even put some blush on the mirror in case it was feeling pasty. Make-up artist in the making!

Another most-precious and eye-opening event was when we visited the FrenchCultural Center for a Sunday night movie. They played a documentary on the ocean which, even for someone raised by the ocean like me, was pretty spectacular. Imagine for a moment Annie and Christine who have never left Mali (and rarely the 20km radius surrounding their village) and whose interaction with ocean-related paraphernalia has been, I am pretty confident to say, limited to none. But Annie is a tough cookie to impress and is pretty consistent with keeping a nonplussed demeanor. Skype? No big deal, talking on the computer with folks in another country and being able to see them is normal. My mango cutter that takes the messy work out of pitting and slicing one of the most-delicious products Mali has to offer? Of course someone would invent that. But the ocean – I knew I would get her with the ocean! She kept her eyes glued to the (really large) screen for the duration of the documentary. And Christine? She spent the whole time yelping, “Jege taara! Jacoma taara!” – There goes a fish! There goes a cat! on my lap while I tried to explain, in Bambara that those furry creatures (polar bears, seals, and not-so-furry penguins) aren't cats. But by the end of the documentary I had to let it go. After all, who am I to say a seal is not a cat – those whiskers are deceptive! And do you know how to say polar bear, seal or penguin in Bambara?... Me either!

While I worked during the day, Annie would take my park pass and spend her day in the National Park of Mali across the street. I would meet her and Christine for lunch (rice and sauce and hibiscus juice – ginger juice for Annie) and finish out my afternoon at work before we would head home.

There are many things I am thankful for about her visit but none more than the quality time I got to spend with Annie talking about nothing and everything all at once and also the chance for her to get to know, through observation and sometimes conversation, my Bamako friends. And while living in Bamako with electricity, running water and fans is wonderful – it's sharing this life I am living here with others that makes it truly special. Abdoulaye, Massa, Valerie, Ryan, Alys, Jamie, Laura, Aissata, Bobo, Aissetou, Annasoura, Sonja, Gael, Kevin, Massaran and everyone else we hung out with – thank you so much for letting Annie and Christine into your lives! She loved every minute we all spent together – whether you could communicate with her or not!

On one of the last nights of her visit Annie and I were walking to a photography club meeting at the Comme Chez Soi, an overcast sky hanging low above us, when she called my attention to the barely-visible moon hidden behind a layer of stratus clouds. “It's already a quarter moon?” she asked as she shook her head. “In village, you never miss the rising of the new moon – it's always so dark out just before it appears,” she continued. How sweet, I thought. How nostalgic! The wide open plains of village, the sweeping skies, scores of stars on a jet-black backdrop – of course she would miss these things being in light-and-air polluted Bamako where you are lucky to see a handful of stars and the new moon each month. I nodded empathetically as she spoke, “I miss the dark nights and the starry sky, too,” I said. “Miss the dark nights?” she replied with a confused look on her face as though I had suggested we were walking on the paved streets of America rather than the packed-dirt paths of Bamako, “but here you don't have to search for your flash light or fumble around for pots. I don't miss the dark nights, I just said you couldn't see the moon!” I laughed at myself for assigning more meaning to Annie's words than she intended and we began to talk about other things. I asked, “So do you think you'll come back to Bamako to visit me next Spring?” “Ni Allah sonna-ma,” she replied. If God is willing.

See some more pictures from Annie and Christine's visit here!

5,000 CFA phone card, a SIM card and my cell phoneWhen I moved to Bamako in September I drooled over cheesy pizzas, ice cream and the National Park and just general living in Bamako - the capital city of Mali. I outfitted my kitchen with a refrigerator (granted, a tiny one), an oven (granted, a toaster oven) and a coffee table. I bought patio furniture and basil plants to spruce up my terrace. One thing I couldn't afford: a monthly internet subscription. At close to 30,000/month (about $60 USD), my Peace Corps stipend wasn't cutting it if I wanted to have internet in my apartment and be able to Skype after work-hours. Lucky for me Orange, one of Mali's phone service providers, has folks like me in mind!

Rather than pay for internet to be installed in my apartment and a monthy fee way out of my budget I now use Orange's 3G USB key to have Internet Everywhere. For one month I pay 5,000 - 10,000 CFA ($10-$20 USD), depending on their monthly deals, and can Skype and surf the net to my heart's content. For one person the cost and amount of internet (1GB) are just right! Even luckier is that I didn't have to buy the 3G key - my sweet, generous friend Bodil gave me hers after she finished up a research grant in Mali and moved back home!

I remove my SIM (Subscriber Identity Module) card from my cell phone and insert another one specifically for the internet. Then, I load phone credit onto the internet SIM card before replacing it in the USB key (there's a special slot for the SIM card). Then, I plug the key into the computer, open my internet browser and the browser automatically deducts whatever the rate for internet is that month. The fee for internet is 9,900 CFA/month but lately Orange has been running 1/2 off specials. $10 for internet and unlimited Skype calls? Yes, please!

Remove my cell phone SIM card to replace with internet SIM card

Add credit to internet SIM card

Make sure I have enough for however much internet is per month

Remove SIM card from phone and return to slot in USB key Put key into computer and you're ready to buy internet credit and go!

What do you think? Anyone ever use an internet key like this? Do you think it is more trouble or less than an internet subscription?

August, 2008, 3 months old - the first time I met her!

With Tamara - the volunteer I replaced and who named her

"Djelika-ohh!! Tini be yele!" (Christine is laughing - and what she's shreaking behind me as I type this and she sees her picture)

Malian-muso-ni!

Happy 3rd Birthday sweet baby girl - you've brought a lot of joy into my life!

One of the aspects of my work with PHARE involves continued support and evaluation of the multi-age classroom initiative (Ecole a Classe Unique - ECU). The 35 ECU teachers have now received two trainings on how to manage their multi-age classrooms as well as a trunk of ECU materials. Now it is time for an evaluation to see how the program is really working on the field and make sure those materials haven't been dropped off in a sand dune in the Sahara desert or traded for tea and sugar.

The villages where ECUs are established are Isolated - yes, that's with a capital I. Remote populations off the beaten path (literally). The ones we've visited thus far in the Sevare region are only accessible by boat during the rainy season and until the rains dry up afterward (usually in January). These are truly kids who, if there was not an ECU in their village, would never have the chance to go to school. Pretty powerful stuff if you ask me.

For the past few days and the upcoming week PHARE staff and Ministry officials are traveling all over the country - from Bamako to Kidal (let me tell you - that's a lot of ground to cover) - to visit all 35 ECUs. I'm tagging along to get photos and video footage of the action. Here's some of what we've seen the past couple days:

a multi-age classroomin in the Sevare region. the black trunk at left is from PHARE and the village constructed the walls of the classroom in a shady clearing next to the chief's home. this particular village was in love with their teacher. "don't let him go back to mopti/sevare where he'll find a wife and never come back - he's too good to lose!!" the chief said.working on a language arts lessonSugu in bambara means market

using old bottles for a math lesson to see if 2 small bottles equals the one large bottle at left

Newly circumcised boys staying in an initiation hut by the riverA Bozo (one of the 12 main ethnic groups in Mali) fisherman village - these are isolated villages!

What I have seen thus far is encouraging. The kids are reading and writing with relative ease - a big deal for a Malian student - and even expressing their creativity and imaginations - something else you don't often see here.

Do you have any questions you have about the ECU program? I'd love to hear them so I can address them later!

Annie and ChristineMe, Sheri and Lindsay catching snowflakes in a Farm Fresh parking lot :)Memaw!



Me and Mom at Michael and Courtney's wedding

I have a lot of great Moms in my life - Happy day to all of them pictured here and those who are not, I wouldn't be who or what I am without you!!

“N togoma!” – my namesake – I hear shouted from across the street. After carefully stepping off a Sotrama I situate myself, and my overflowing activity bags, on the pavement and I turn my head towards the voice. It is 9:30pm on a Wednesday and I am making my way home from an English lesson in a neighborhood on my side of town. Djelika, my namesake, stops arranging her bowls, buckets and bags – the empty, stackable containers tactile evidence her business selling brochettes and fried treats today was good – and waves me over to join her where she stands in front of a closed motor-parts shop. The amber light from a nearby street lamp casts deep shadows on her precariously stacked pots and pans piled next to a fruit stand where I can buy grafted mangoes and sweet pineapples. “I sigi yan,” she says and gestures to an already occupied plastic chair on the sidewalk in front of her and her pile of bowls. The occupant of the plastic chair rises and relocates to a wooden stool close at hand and Djelika resumes the rinsing of her silver serving bowls. I gladly accept the hospitality, resting my bags on the cement beside me and stretch out my legs. Balmy night breezes wrap around me as I tuck my dress between my knees to avoid my freshly painted henna. “Wait here for the next Sotrama, n togoma,” Djelika encourages me, knowing what I am here for, “Sooni a be na.”– it will come soon.

“Sooni” is a nuanced Bambara word. It literally means 'soon' but what it often actually means is “be patient, what's the rush?” Etant Américaine – this has been a difficult concept for me to grasp – even after having lived in Mali close to three years. “Sooni” is pronounced “Soh-knee” but is often drawn out to sound like “Sooooooo-kneeeeeee,” the onomatopoeic form echoing itself. Take long enough to pronounce it and maybe what you are waiting for will come soon.

I pass this corner, where my namesake now stands with her empty pots, each Wednesday as I change transportation from a public Bani bus (which has a terminus on this corner) to hail a taxi the rest of the way to the computer center where I teach English once a week. On this corner a group of ladies, like most corners in Bamako, preside over fruit stands and charcoal fires that sizzle under the pressure of large black woks filled with crackling shea and peanut oil. The mouth-watering smells of sweet plantains and seasoned brochettes fill my nostrils as the women yell out “namasa be, brochetti be! Na ka do san ça!” – Bananas here! Brochettes here! Come on and buy some! – as I try to make my way from point A to point B. Sometimes when I pass this corner on my way to class I buy a kilo or two of bananas to share or to use as a vehicle to practice counting (and to have a snack!) during our English lesson. Sometimes when I pass this corner on my way to class I simply wave my greetings and continue on to the center. While I always share greetings and compliments of complets with the women on this corner, and we have obviously shared our names, I have never stopped to sit and wait with them until this evening.

I do not usually make my way home this late at night either. Nor do I usually make the journey back alone. Abdoulaye works at the computer center and participates in my English class, which ends at 6pm, and then we usually share a taxi home. But this month Abdoulaye is in Guinea finishing up work on his veterinary thesis and Aissata, a girl my age who interns at, and lives near, the computer center invited me over for dinner and to do henna. I jumped at the invitation (and may or may not have invited myself!)! After our English lesson I followed Aissata home on foot and sat with her and her cousins as they speed-talked with one another in Songhai, a language from northern Mali. We ate dinner – avocado salad and mangoes, yum!, and I asked for the road home. “Su kora!” – night has fallen! – I pleaded as Aissata encouraged me to spend the night. She eventually conceded that night had indeed come and walked me to the road to catch a Sotrama to Boulkasambougou where the Bani bus dropped me off this afternoon. I thanked her for a wonderful evening and hopped in the bus headed towards my home.

Which is how I find myself, at 9:30pm on a Wednesday, making my way home alone. I am wearing a yellow linen dress I found in sugu kura – the new market – in a pile of thrift store clothes for 400 CFA (a little less than $1USD). When I picked it up and tried it on there in the middle of market I twirled around and thought, “how do folks let go of treasures like these??” before handing over my money and heading back home. The dress has sleeves that hit just above my elbow and a full skirt that ends at mid-calf. With a little black belt and a pair of red, peep-toe flats, the dress makes me feel like an American house-wife from the mid-twentieth century transplanted to Mali in the 21st. One of my American bosses said I looked like sunshine when I wear the dress. Another calls me Dorothy when I wear the red shoes. I love the way the crisp, light linen feels when I walk and how the wind plays with my hemline. A $1 dress from the fripperie and some red flats from Target – my thrills are cheap!

“Jabi nena-deh!” – your henna is great! – the ladies sitting around the fruit-stand squeal as I wave my left hand and wiggle my toes to their, and my, delight. I stand up and give a twirl, my yellow dress puffing out around me like a spin top. The women clap but then point out smudges lining the bottom of my dress. I stop twirling and notice what they are talking about. As usual, I moved too quickly and my not-quite-dry henna has smudged onto my new (to me) dress. Bummer! “A be se ka bo wa?” – will it come out? I ask. Some of the women shake their heads no, that stuff is permanent! Then, one women says I should try eau de javel, the watered down bleach I use to clean my vegetables. I hope it works!

Then, my phone rings and it is Bobo, a friend of Abdoulaye's and now mine, on the other end. “Can you still stop by our place tonight?” he asks and I remember – today is Bobo's and Aissetou's 4-year wedding anniversary! “I just need to catch a Sotrama and I'll be there as soon as I can!” I reply. I hang up the phone and bargain with the fruit-stand lady for two piles of mangoes, each one 500CFA, to offer as a gift to Bobo and Aissetou. My reusable bags are at home and so I am left with no choice but to begrudgingly accept a black plastic bag. I settle my newly acquired mangoes among my collection of hand bags and then look at my watch. It is close to 10 o'clock now. I drop my hennaed, and watch-bearing, left hand and look expectantly in the direction of the passing cars. “Sooni I ka Sotrama be na,” my namesake reassures me one more time.

A taxi from this corner to my apartment usually costs between 750-1000 CFA and takes about 15 minutes. A Sotrama, which makes close to the same trajectory but takes anywhere from 20-25 minutes, costs 125 CFA. While American time may be money, Malian time is about saving it and so I continue to wait. After all, won't the Sotrama be here sooni?

But by 10:15 the ladies manning the fruit stands and my namesake are really starting to pack up their baskets of fruit and empty bowls. “Why don't you take a taxi?” they suggest. Extreme disparity in transportation prices or no, it is getting late and I have to agree, a taxi sounds like a good idea. I open my change purse to count out my taxi fare and come up with 275 CFA. Just enough to get home on a Sotrama now and have enough bus fare to get to work tomorrow. Not enough, however, to take a taxi back to my apartment. I realize I have spent my last 1,000CFA on mangoes that are now sitting next to me, teasingly tranquil in their black plastic bag. “I have to wait for the Sotrama,” I explain to the group of women, “n ka waari baana!” – my money is finished! “What do you mean 'waari baana'?” they protest. I explain that while I do have some money at home, I currently do not have money on my person and therefore, unless I can sell back a pile of these mangoes, it looks like I will be waiting right here for my Sotrama. One of the ladies offers to give me a ride on her moto. I have to decline. “Baara-ka yoro sariya,” I explain. Work rules won't allow it.

Then, the fruit-stand lady gets up and offers me 500CFA. “Hohn,” she says. Here. “But I can't accept this!” I try to refuse. The fruit-stand lady and the others sitting around look at me and shrug. “Bassi-ta la, n togoma,” Djelika says as she encourages me to take the money. Don't worry about it. Before I can continue to refuse, she has flagged down a taxi heading in the direction of my apartment and has begun to bargain with him for the price. She leans inside the passenger door and I hear 'N terice, al barika!' – my friend, that's too much! – and my heart swells as this woman with whom I have shared maybe 15 minutes of my life, and mostly in passing, haggles with a taxi-man to get me home and another woman with whom I have barely spoken is giving me my bus fare – and not expecting to get paid back. Djelika waves me over and gives me a grin and a knowing look. “He wouldn't have given you this price if he'd known it was for a toubab,” she says. Then, she presses 100CFA into my hand and says to me, as she opens the passenger door, “a ko keme-ani-mugan” – he says the fare is 600 CFA. Before I can protest that I have 275 CFA with me, and can therefore spot the rest, she has shut the door and returned to the corner. Close to 45 minutes after arriving on this street corner I am on my way home.

I stop at Bobo's and Aissetou's and wish them a happy anniversary. They are a beautiful, young couple and I love listening to their stories about how they met and how their love, which started out as an arranged marriage, has only grown. Have you gotten the impression I am a sentimental person?? After chatting for a bit and handing over the bag of mangoes to Aissetou, Bobo walks me home. I talk about my apartment and what I am thinking about doing in October when my third-year with Peace Corps is up. He talks about the horses he is trying to send his family in Guinea and we both reminisce about missing Abdoulaye. I thank him for walking me home and enter my compound.

Finally in my apartment I slip off my red flats and sit on the bathroom floor, my yellow linen dress spread out before me. The backs of my legs stick to the cold, grey tiles beneath me. My hair, this morning pulled into a somewhat tidy bun, has long since come undone and now lies in plastered strands on my neck. I tug at my dress and notice the smudges of henna have not only found their way onto the hem of my frock but also the backs of my legs. I'm a mess! I take a bottle of diluted bleach and squirt it onto the henna marks. “Will it all come out?” I mutter to myself. “Sooni,” I think. The marks slowly fade to brown and after a few scrubs with an old blue rag, are barely noticeable. Success! I continue to scrub until I have removed all the errant henna – it's a wonder there is any left on my feet and hands considering how much made it onto my dress! I scoot over to the wall and peel off my dress, resting my back on the cool tiles as I close my eyes. I let my mind wander over today's events and find myself getting caught up thinking: how can I pay back all the people who have been so generous with me today? I shift my legs to cooler tiles and wiggle my hennaed feet. At least I have a guiding principle: Sooni.

Segou moonrise

Once we leave Bamako, thelandscape opens and swallowsus whole. I'm

breathing in our cold-car air.Brush fire flickers catch mygreen eyes as

the flames lick last year's remains.Tidy rows of messy black ashstreak by and

the sun sets in a dustybed. A raincloud grey sky coatsour world. Then,

at 7 Salif says stop.Unfold from the car. Dinnerinside! Full

moon shines through rough lattice-work.Change fish'd from a white bucket.N faa'ra.

San shadows

With other third-year volunteers from my swear-in group, September 2008, also

extending to do third-years

(Zac, me, Amber and Dan - Missing are Audrey and Beatrice)

Less than 48 hours after traveling to Libya to engage in (failed) cease-fire talks with Muammar Gaddafi, alongside two other African Union representatives, Amadou Toumani Toure, president of the Republic of Mali, sits calmly on a tan, leather upholstered chair placed squarely in the center of a burgundy rug in his presidential banquet hall. Sitting in front of him, dressed in crisp bazin, embroidered wax prints and business wear are over 400 Peace Corps staff, volunteers, trainees, RPCVs, embassy employees, USAID staff and Peace Corps partner representatives. Peace in the Middle East or no – the swearing in of 61 Peace Corps Volunteers in Mali is not an event to be missed!

Amadou Toumani Toure claps for one of the volunteers who just delivered

a speech in a Malian language

(speeches were given by 5 volunteers in Peul, Malinke, Kassonke, Dogon and Bambara) 2011 marks the 50th anniversary of the Peace Corps and the 40th anniversary of Peace Corps in Mali. Close to 3,000 volunteers have worked, lived, loved and laughed in this country spanning nearly 500,000 square miles and with a current population of about 13 million. This is the first swear-in ceremony I have attended since my own in September 2008 and I was not disappointed. The current ambassador to Mali, Gillian A. Milovanovic, worked to facilitate the grand honor of having the swear-in ceremony on the presidential grounds – way to go Madame Milovanovic!

When Peace Corps Trainees come to Mali they spend two months in intensive training learning Malian languages (depending on where their site will be), taking part in cross-cultural sessions as well as technical training. At the close of training, one volunteer is selected from each of the language groups to deliver a speech at the swear-in ceremony in the language they learned. This year, five languages were studied and therefore five speeches delivered altogether in Peul, Malinke, Kassonke, Dogon and Bambara. All the speeches were beautifully executed and I sat in amazement as the foreign words flowed so easily from the newly sworn-in volunteers' lips after only two-months of (immersed) language training. It made me so proud to be a Peace Corps Volunteer and know that folks are going to be scattered throughout the country already able to form sentences or at least greet in local languages!

At the end ATT was presented with a cake. And a very large candle.

Somehow seems like this wouldn't fly in the US.

'Here Mr. President! A cake for you! And a fire cracker!' After the speeches by the volunteers, the American ambassador to Mali and the director of Peace Corps Mali, President Amadou Toumani Toure took his turn behind the lectern. He praised Peace Corps and our efforts in integration and language learning. He told a story of going to the States and how his jaw dropped when an American started a conversation with him in his native language, Peul. ATT said, but how do you speak Peul so well? The man said he had been a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mali and then married a Malian woman. “I see,” said ATT. “You didn't travel that far for nothing!” In his speech ATT also stated that the United States has done a lot of good things in the world but, in his opinion, the most important thing they have done for their foreign relations is the Peace Corps. Gave me chills!

He also praised our courage for leaving our homes and the comforts of America to come and live in the harshest conditions even Mali has to offer. “There are Malians who wouldn't go where you go! Coulibaly-kaw b'a la!” In light of the recent world affairs and turmoil in the countries surrounding Mali, with corrupt leaders and dictatorships suppressing the voices of the people, something ATT said struck me. He said, “When you undertake a task, you come to serve others or you come to serve yourself. As Peace Corps Volunteers, you all have come to serve others and I admire and respect you for that.” He went on to say that when he retires from office next year he's going to look into doing the Peace Corps, too. Peace Corps is looking to increase their 'older' volunteers. Maybe Aaron Williams, the current director of Peace Corps, could bend the citizenship rule?

The Kennedys - they're young, handsome and their group has their fair share of intrigue (or so I hear).

It's also the 50th anniversary of Peace Corps begun by John F. Kennedy in 1961

and Peace Corps's 40th anniversary in Mali. Cute!

Afternoon transportation One of my favorite (ok, there are alot) things about living in Mali is sharing how great Mali is with folks outside the country. Last week a friend from college, Lauren, who is teaching at the American school in Damascus, Syria sent me an email with a list of questions from her 7th grade students who are studying ancient Mali.

Here's a sampling of their very insightful questions. Thanks for making me think some more about me and Mali! 2.) Did you like the place you were in Mali before your third year or do you like Bamako better?Good question! I like them both but for different reasons. I enjoy Bamako so much because I already speak Bambara (the majority language spoken here even though French is the 'official' language) and understand the Malian culture – all of which I learned in village. Living in village has hard! No electricity, no running water, no internet! But it also gave me a very rich base in the culture, one that would be harder to gain had I lived only in Bamako. I loved living in village and feeling so connected to a family and sleeping under the stars at night without air pollution and speeding cars passing by.4.) Are you homesick? Not today! The feelings come and go, as with anything. Sometimes I will get an email from a friend or Skype with a family member and I'll miss being home. It's the small things I miss when I begin to miss home. Going out to lunch. Lounging at home and watching movies with my family. I've been lucky this past year though to have gone home twice and I will go home again in October. Also what helps is that I've had a few friends and my mom come visit so it's not so bad.12.) What form of transportation do you use the most?My boss usually picks me up for work in her car and then I take a public bus home. Sometimes, if it's not too hot, I bike to and from work on the bike Peace Corps gives all volunteers. After hours I use taxis which aren't too terribly expensive but aren't cheap either!15.) What is the best thing about being in Peace Corps?The opportunity you're giving to truly immerse in a different culture with a support network behind you. PC provides awesome cultural and language training – no stone is left unturned in either area! They set you up to succeed because with language and culture, you can then try to fit in and develop true relationships with people rooted in understanding. 5.) Do you want to come to Syria and help? What kind of help does Syria need?? :) I'd love to come and visit, that's for sure!11.) Did you feel very different once you arrived in Mali and how did you get used to the change?I feel like Mali hasn't made me a different person but brought out more of the real me. I've learned so much about myself here – who would have thought I could learn a totally different language and live in a culture completely different from my own?? Of course, there was a lot to get used to as well but being adaptable and flexible are great characteristics to have! 12.) What has been your favorite moment while helping people in Mali?The chance to live with the people I work (this being more in village than here in Bamako, I have my own apartment here). It wasn't like I showed up at the office, made some decisions and went home. When I lived in village and worked with the shea butter women's group and cereal bank association – those were people I hung out with at night, went to church with, celebrated marriages, baptisms and funerals with. There is such a sense of connection to your work when you know the people for whom and with whom you work.16.) Are you happy to answer all of these questions? You betcha! What a great opportunity to reflect on my time here in Mali and to share some of what I've learned with a curious group of 7th graders in Syria!

See what I mean when I say false bravado? :)'Est-ce que tu veut aller à Koulikoro le weekend prochain?' Abdoulaye asks me over dinner one night last week. 'Sounds like fun!' I reply. 'À vélo?' he continues. 'Bicycles??' I think to myself; how far are we talking here? The next morning Abdoulaye Googles our destination and sends me a map showing the distance between the capital of Mali (Bamako) and the capital of the region Bamako is in, Koulikoro, as 57 km. I tell Abdoulaye I biked 100 km in 2009 – 57 km (a tad over 35 miles) will be a piece of cake! Abdoulaye brushes aside incredulous commentary from friends that the distance is too far with his winning smile and a dose of false bravado. 'Far?!' he laughingly scoffs. 'Mais on a de la force!' he says as he pumps his lean biceps in the air. After borrowing a bike from our friend Fletcher (thank you!) we add air to our tires, change a flat on mine and pillage my cupboard for snacks (Pringles! Clif bars! Coconut strips!) which we then load into the monogrammed, insulated lunch bag my Mom sent me for my birthday (thank you!). Saturday morning we wake up early and are ready to hit the road.

Morning murmurs of the city slip into our ears and the smells of a Bamako city commute penetrate our noses as we pedal past the city's limits. The racket of honking horns and men shouting at pedestrians to board their commuter bus blend together with the thick smell of hot shea butter oil, fried dough balls and the choking exhaust from cars in disrepair. It is 6:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning and Abdoulaye and I are on our way to Koulikoro, regional capital of its eponymous territory, with enough snacks and water to make it to our final destination 57 km away. L'aventure commence!

Roadside oranges helped us hydrateAbdoulaye insists I lead the way and from a few meters ahead I can hear him as he practices his newest acquisition of the English language: 'Let's rub noses like the Eskimo-ses' in between encouragements to bike faster – the sun is rising! I smile and holler back – 'should we stop and put on some music?' 'Ouaaaiii!' he shouts and we make our first pause. We carefully situate our portable speakers in the discarded fruit basket strapped to the back of my bike and finish up the smoothie we brought along for breakfast. With our smoothie, another addition to Abdoulaye's lexicon, all gone and our helmets secured, we continue on. Scraggly trees and piles of trash catch our attention here and there but it is the glimpses of the Niger river and naked rock formations that make us catch our breath.

Hotel, training space, restaurant and cyber cafeArriving at the Koulikoro city limits 6 hours after we left Bamako, I sense the fatigue in both our voices and body language. Our water is gone and the snacks we brought along no longer satisfying – our bellies need a real meal! The first hotel we visit, the Hotel du Niger, is too expensive at 15,000 CFA/night (about $30) and too far from 'downtown' Koulikoro for a couple without a car. A friend in Bamako suggested we stop at the Maison du Jumelage to get information about goings-on in town and so we climb back on our bikes and slowly pedal further into the city. The Maison du Jumelage happens to be one of the first buildings we come upon that is actually in the city proper and so we pull in to get the Koulikoro scoop. The Maison du Jumelage is also not just an information center – but also a Maison (house) for sleeping. At 7,500 CFA/night, the price is just right. With lunch being served at their outdoor restaurant as we unload our bikes – their timing is impeccable!

Half-way there!After filling our tummies with zamé (a red rice served with cabbage, fish and pumpkin) and Coca-Cola, and taking a much-needed nap, we set off on foot to explore the city. It is late afternoon by now but the unrelenting sun makes sweat drip down our backs and encourages us to seek shade on the western side of the street. We stroll slowly as we take in the French, colonial architecture of the city. I purchase 3 meters of fabric with a design of blue and white bath tubs and we buy hermetically sealed bags of water to quench our persistent thirst. We select a side street at random and head east to check out what is happening down by the river. As we make our way to the Niger, thumping music from powerful sub-woofers scream at us from a wedding, children play soccer in an unexpected clearing and Peul woman braid one another's fine, sturdy, hair into tight plaits in front of a mud-house. 'Regarde tout ça!' Abdoulaye excitedly remarks, calling my attention to these little moments happening all around us. His joy is contagious – I squeeze his hand and we keep walking towards the red sand and lapping blue waves ahead.A woman tending to her shell collection to be sold to chicken feed producersPedaling into the Koulikoro Abdoulaye and I could not help but notice the numerous abandoned factories with rusting signs lining the entrance to the city. After a few minutes by the Niger it appears their workforces have relocated. Hundreds of men shovel, with water up to their knees, piles of sand from sturdy, wooden pirogues into neat mounds on the banks of the river. The mounds are then collected by large dump trucks and taken to Bamako for use in construction. In the middle of the river, gentle splashes draw our attention to men diving and dredging, with their hands, bucketfuls of sand to be paddled back to shore. Women pull pailfuls of shells in from their own pirogues and lay them out to be dried by tomorrow's sun. One woman explains, as poultry cluck around our feet, that the shells are dried and sold to buyers from Bamako who then grind them to be used as chicken feed. The sun is quickly setting and Abdoulaye and I still need to find a riverside bar another friend said we had to visit. We snap a few shots and find an opening in the piles of shells and sand to reach higher ground.

Photo shoot at one of the abandoned factoriesThe riverside restaurant described to us as 'a must-see!' turns out to be the abandoned site of a former USAID project that appears to be inhabited by squatters with a refrigerator and a charcoal fire. After dragging plastic-string chairs closer to the river we re-confirm with the disinterested owner that this is indeed a bar and we have not intruded on his home. 'Oui, oui – c'est un restaurant ici!' he replies. We sit for a few minutes and then remind the owner we are there and could we trouble him for some sodas? A sulky woman saunters over to our table and looks at us as though we have interrupted a very pressing activity of hers. She says nothing and so we offer our own questions: 'Vous avez du Coca-Cola?' we ask. 'Non,' she replies and looks down to the mounds of sand that continue to be shoveled by the river. A few moments of silence ensue. 'Pomme?' we continue – apple soda? 'Non,' she answers, her eyes still fixated on the slowly moving piles of sand below. Clearly customer service is not a forté of Koulikoro's hospitality sector. We finally arrive at an understanding after asking well, what sodas do you have? 'Fanta,' she finally concedes. Yes, please – we'll take two! Night falls around us and we sip our orange sodas as we look for tonight's first stars to peek out. Music pours off the deck of an anchored passenger boat nearby. Next on the to-do list for our adventure? River-boat dancing!

All this for only 7,500 CFA/night!We set our alarm for 11 p.m. and snuggle into twin-sized beds to take a pre-dance party nap. The fan whirls a soothing background noise and I lay my hair carefully around my pillow to keep sweaty strands from sticking to my neck. I nudge Abdoulaye when the alarm goes off a couple hours later and he draws water from the tap to replace the sweat we just expended. We shake the sleep from our bodies and put on our party clothes – the music from the boat now reaches our hotel and is calling us to boogie!

After deciding the dance party on the boat is yet another political rally (we're good on politics for tonight) we follow our ears to a club nearby and also on the banks of the river. Abdoulaye pays 500 CFA (about $1) for his ticket (ladies in free, hoo-rah!) and we slip past the girls flirting with motorcycle-lounging boys outside to enter. Once inside Abdoulaye buys me a warm pineapple soda and we scope out the dance scene. The music is too good to sit still and so I finish what I can of the soda and return the bottle so we can cut the rug. After a few songs, including the African electric slide, and enough giggles to fill a laugh track we take a break on a low-lying wall nearby. Rappers 'de Bamako' clear the dance floor and take turns swaying too and fro with the microphone as they rap in Bambara. We look around the room and decide, at our tender years of 25 and 26, that we are most certainly the oldest people here. The DJ turns on some salsa music and Abdoulaye teaches me some Latin moves. At 1 a.m. we call it a night – we did, after all, bike over 35 miles today – and head back to the hotel with promises to the bouncer that we will return to Koulikoro soon.Don't be fooled like we were! The city is still 5km away! The next morning we sleep in until 11 a.m. and wake up groggy. Maybe hot season was a bad time to bike this far? We settle our accounts at the Maison du Jumelage and bike across town to take a last tour of the city. As we bike through town, a wedding party blasts past us. Hundreds of motos honking simultaneously and some doing tricks. We pull to the side of the road to let them pass and Abdoulaye points to an embankment dividing the river. 'Why don't we bike to the end?' he suggests. We do just that and along the way see an island of goats munching on bright green blades of grass and donkeys sniffing out their own snacks by the river's edge. At the end of the embankment sits a white taxi waiting for folks to cross the small part of the river left open by this mini-dam. We ask the crowd of people waiting under a thatched hanger where the bus station is for Bamako. Our bikes look pretty pooped and so we decide to cut them some slack and let them ride back to Bamako on the roof of a car. We decide we will cut ourselves some slack too and join them. The owner of the white taxi appears and says that Bamako is where this car is headed – and our fare is only 1,200 CFA – cheaper than the Sotrama! 'How much cheaper?' we ask out of curiosity. 'A Sotrama – if you can even find one now – is 1,300 CFA' he replies. Motivated by the big savings and the high-noon sun we laughingly agree. Back to Bamako!

An hour and ½ later, we unload our bikes from the roof of the taxi and carefully cross the traffic-filled streets and train tracks to arrive at the Broadway cafe for lunch. Abdoulaye orders a hamburger for himself, a cheeseburger for me and a Coca-Cola to share. The restaurant's air-conditioning dries our sweat and makes us forget it is well over 100 degrees outside. As Abdoulaye munches on his french fries and I delicately devour my burger we recount our trip from start to finish. Abdoulaye admits that while Koulikoro was great – Bamako does have some nice amenities (like this food!) to offer. We order an ice-cream and I feel my legs ache, asking me for another nap. Abdoulaye grins at me from across the table. 'Where can we bike to next?'

See more pictures from our trip here!

I curl my legs beneath me on my brown, black and gray squiggle-stripe couch (I swear, it's not quite so bad looking as it sounds ☺) and select a trashy magazine from the pile of glossy periodicals on my coffee table. From the soccer field beside my apartment I hear the static-filled sound check of a PA system cough to life and a bassist strum through a collection of chords. I set down my magazine, a cloud of dust rising up from the couch cushion, and walk onto my terrace rooftop overlooking the clearing below. I crane my neck and see groups of Malians arriving in bachées and on foot, descending from sputtering mini-vans and Jakarta-brand motos to arrange plastic lawn chairs in a semi-circle and erect a tarpaulin shelter to protect against the relentless, even in the afternoon, sun. Women sporting outfits in an indistinguishable-design-yet-certainly-matching fabric test out the microphones, greet arriving guests and prepare the dirt clearing with hand-made straw brooms. A wedding party? Another extravagant baptism? Evangelizing Christians? The wind catches a white banner and I read the banderole's blocky letters painted with care on a white sheet: 'Union Pour la Republique et la Démocratie.' No, today we will not be throwing our money into the mouths of hungry griots but rather the empty hands of politicians. It's a political rally!

Bamako is no stranger to political rallies and while they are entertaining and certainly colorful with all their wax print fabrics and singing and dancing – it is the protests and demonstrations elsewhere in the world that are capturing the attention of the media. Lately it is as though the barometer of North African politics is mounting in conjunction with Mali's hot season – la vie commence à chauffer deh! and the barometers of both are rising quickly. From Tunisia to Egypt to Libya, political landscapes around the world are shifting drastically as people who have lived under dictatorships their entire lives begin to speak out against the injustice of suppression and autocratic rule. This malcontent is not isolated, as we have now seen, to North Africa. Middle Eastern countries are playing political dominoes as we watch from afar, and sometimes closer, the toppling of draconian regimes. One can only hope these leaders will be replaced with governments that actually represent the interests of their populations and not just the interests of their off-shore bank accounts.

Politics in the Ivory Coast, south-western neighbor to Mali, are not much better than those of the countries to the north. While the Ivory Coast recently held democratic, multi-party elections, the incumbent president, Laurent Gbagbo, who was defeated by Alassane Ouattara, refuses to hand over the presidency and his control of the Ivory Coast's rich resources (the Ivory Coast is the world's largest exporter of cocoa and home to many other natural resources). Since the elections in November the United Nations has sent over 10,000 troops to prevent more bloodshed in this country that has barely recovered from a civil war just 10 years ago. Over 500 people have lost their lives due to this presidential stale-mate and the number of regionally-internally displaced peoples is estimated to soon surpass 1,000,000 – in a country where the population is just over 21,000,000. 1 in 20 Ivoirians are fleeing their homes. 1 in 20 Ivoirians will soon be flooding the borders of neighboring countries and continents. Is one of them yours?

(image: http://www.diddilydeedot.zoomshare.com/40.html)Mali is a country situated geographically and politically in the middle of the instability surging in both Libya and the Ivory Coast. While I have never been better received as an American than while living in Mali – there has been a palpable shift in some Malian's sentiments towards Americans, at least in Bamako, since the implementation by NATO of the no-fly zone in Libya. Muammar Ghadaffi has invested heavily in Mali and many associate his money with his heart. It is clear, though, as Ghadaffi continues to massacre his own people that this terrorist has no heart.

And with the Ivory Coast as a direct neighbor to Mali, and the previous allure of employment in Abidjan so high, many Malian friends of mine anxiously await news of their family in Abidjan or are finding room in their homes to welcome back relatives fleeing the thieves and insecurity of the Ivory Coast. Just last week I noticed 7 Greyhound size buses parked not too far from my apartment and, I later learned, in front of the Mauritanian embassy in Mali. 'Aw be taa min?' I asked. Where are you going? 'Mauritania,' they replied. 'Nga aw bora min?' I continued. But where are you coming from? 'Abidjan,' they answered. The travelers – tired-looking, dusty and surely hungry from such a long voyage – (and only ½ way to their destination) said they were escaping Abidjan, the Ivory Coast's capital, which had recently fallen to banditry and random shootings.

Ghadaffi and Gbagbo are clinging to power in countries where their people clearly no longer want them there. These autocrats are massacring populations to hold on to authority over a people who have clearly had enough. When will they finally listen to what not only the international community, but their fellow countrymen, are saying so loudly? Relinquish your power and pass it over to a leader of, and for, the people

Orange and Sotelma, two phone-service providers in Mali, broadcast messages from time to time to their customers to advertise for bonus phone credits 'buy 1,000 – 5,000 CFA in credit, get 100% in bonus credit' among other promotions. They also partner with private organizations such as UNICEF to promote events such as International Hand Washing Day and International Women's Day – 'Journée International de la femme! Envoyez FEMME à 3757 et recevez un message pour envoyez à toutes vos proches! (300 CFA/message).' In the car on the way back from a visit from to one of USAID/PHARE's multi-age classrooms, all the phones in the car dinged with their respective text-message indicators. 'Inscrivez-vous sur Facebook pour rester connecter avec vos proches!' Youssouf, the head of USAID/PHARE's training programs, scoffed. 'Facebook? Why would I want to subscribe to facebook? Do they think I want a revolution in my country?!' he said.

Bamako is filled with extravagant mansions, villas with bougainvillea flowers creeping over 10 foot walls and more Hummer and Lexus brand cars than you would expect to see in a country ranking 178 on the UN's poverty index. Bamako is also filled with people just scraping by, literally, to make a living. Malians welcomed multi-party, democratic elections earlier than most in West Africa following a coup d'etat on March 26, 1991. The extreme political instability of the countries surrounding Mali to the North, South, East and West make their democracy appear all the more outstanding. But democracy on paper and democracy in practice are not the same.

Have your gas prices been going up recently? Have you tried shopping in a grocery store in Mali that receives its products via the ports of Abidjan? The reverberations of the political unrest in countries that seem so far away are closer than we think. Political rallies, like the one that took place just below my apartment, are on the rise in Bamako with presidential elections projected to take place in Mali in spring 2012. Maybe that text message from Orange and Soltelma is a prophesy for things to come. Maybe Mali could use a little more Facebook – and a spoonful of revolution – in their lives, too.

The taxi starts and stops in the heart of frenzied rush hour traffic. Motorcycle drivers pull precariously close to our yellow Mercedes taxi and make wordless supplications to our cab driver to join their game of Tetris. The rumble of their engines pours through our open windows as we try to catch a breeze in the steamy, afternoon heat. However, instead of cool breezes to soothe us, our sweating faces are met with a stifling wind that feels more like we have opened the door to an oven. I turn my head to see what is happening beyond the chorus of purring engines and see women weave quickly between the corral of impatient cars while balancing market wares on their heads and babies on their backs à la Africaine.

Deeba Cissoko, a cousin of my friend Worokia, sits beside me in the backseat of the cab in her raspberry bazin complet with light pink – and elaborate – embroidery and looks unfazed by the commotion surrounding us. She is a 6th year medical student at the University of Bamako where she is studying to be a general practitioner. She has a smile that makes me feel welcome and a laugh that makes me want to share in on the joke. I compliment her intricate bazin complet that positively sparkles in the gentle afternoon sunlight peeking over Koulouba hill where Amadou Toumani Touré (ATT) resides in his presidential palace. She looks down and laughs to the door, returning the compliment as she pulls a packet of tissues out of her clutch and gently dabs at the perspiration collecting along her hairline. It is Friday afternoon and we are sharing this cab headed towards the grande marchée to attend the baptism of Worokia’s baby. How Worokia and I, and subsequently Deeba and I, have come to know each other is a story longer than a Bamako commute from Kalabancoura to Hippodrome in a Sotrama. I would like to think it is a story worth telling all the same.

‘An ka taa!’ Haidara calls out from the white Land Rover parked in the PHARE compound. It is early February and we have spent the morning hurrying up to wait as we prepare for our trip to Segou to man a USAID/PHARE table at the music festival. Booth materials in the trunk and gas in the tank and we are finally ready to hit the road. As I buckle up Haidara coaxes the engine into first gear and says ‘before we leave we need to go by my house and pick up my bag.’ Are you serious? I think to myself. We spent all morning waiting to leave and now we are backtracking into what is sure to be a traffic-filled neighborhood to pick up your bag for this trip you knew we were taking the night before?? But just as quickly as I make these silent inquiries I admonish myself for being so hasty. Daylight hours lay before us and I am sitting in the front seat of an air-conditioned Land Rover. Things could be worse.

Haidara, one of the 8 drivers for PHARE, pulls our squeaky clean SUV beside a rusting, red metal door that looks like all the others on this cobblestone street. We lock each of the doors by hand, the automatic lock long broken on our trusty vehicle, and call out ‘aw ni ce!’ to the folks scattered throughout the interior of his family’s compound. Haidara’s mother calls out urgently to me ‘Toubabu!! Ca va?! Ca va bien?! Toubabu!’ while Haidara’s wife shushes her with a belly laugh as she directs me upstairs.

In the living room where I have been directed to sit and wait, Haidara’s younger sisters and nieces, who are about my age, lounge in their pajamas on overstuffed couches as they watch television and make and receive phone calls from fancy looking telephones. I sit awkwardly on one of the uncomfortable, empty chairs and feel, for once, overdressed in this room of pajama-clad women. Toddlers and teenagers wander in and out and look at me with question mark faces. After establishing that I speak Bambara, the rigidity of the room melts away. ‘Eh, I ye bamana-muso deh!’ they decide while choosing from among a selection of hair weaves a man has brought by on his bicycle. ‘Awo, n sonna,’ I say. I cannot help but laugh and agree. ‘When do you come back from Segou?’ one of the girls asks. ‘Saturday afternoon. In ch’allah,’ I reply. If God is willing. They nod their agreement and one of the sisters gets up to retrieve something from her room. ‘You must come to our koromuso’s wedding on Sunday. It is at the National Museum at 9 a.m. and we’ll just cry if you don’t make it,’ declares the sister-who-went-to-retrieve-something. She hands me an invitation printed on shiny paper with a pink satin bow tied through the top. I read in a script-y font about the joyous nuptials about to take place at one of my favorite places in Bamako. The bride-to-be is sleeping in the one of the adjacent bedrooms but nonetheless, without knowing her or really her family, I quickly agree ‘Ni Allah sonna-ma, n be na.’ If God is willing, I will be there.

The morning of the wedding I zip into a newly tailored dress and slip on a pair of shiny, black, peep-toe wedges. After twirling once or twice in front of my full length mirrors I step over my laundry from a week spent in Segou, collect my ID and some CFA and I am out the door. ‘Djelika, I para-la deh!’ Ma calls out as I pass her downstairs – you look good! I pick up a paté on the side of the road and munch on my fried breakfast treat as I walk with purpose, and try to look like a natural in my towering heels, towards the gates of the National Museum. I check my watch – it is 9:03 and, certainly for Mali, I am just on time. I scan the grounds for a wedding party and spy white satin and lace not far in the distance. My invitation in hand – it says after all, par invitation seulement – I approach the wedding party and ask for Fanta Haidara – the bride-to-be I have never met. The sister of a group of women I barely know.

΄Fanta? No, this is not Fanta΄s wedding,’ says one of the many on-lookers. ‘Come and take a picture with us, though. It will be a bon souvenir, quoi,’ the family implores. I take a picture with the bride, whose name I do not know, and her troupe of cotton-candy-colored-bazin clad bridesmaids and continue my quest to find Fanta Haidara – the bride for whom I have gotten up this early on a Sunday.

Seeing no other wedding parties throughout the park or museum, and after confirming with the guards there are no other weddings parties presently on the grounds, I content myself to watch the leaves fall as I sit on one of the many benches in the National Park which is connected to the museum. I periodically take a tour and check if any of Fanta’s wedding party has arrived. I have no one in the family’s phone number, not even Haidara’s, but the guards confirm that yes, Fanta Haidara is having a wedding here today. At 10:30 I spy a woman, entering the museum and dressed to impress, and follow her trail. ‘Are you here for Fanta’s wedding?’ I ask. ‘Yes! And I rushed to get here!’ she said, out of breath and with her head wrap slung over her shoulder waiting to be tied. Rushed? I think to myself… You’re an hour and ½ late… Brushing aside my American notion of time, we seek out the reception area and receive yet another confirmation that yes, Fanta’s wedding will be here but no, the wedding party has not yet arrived. My new partner-in-waiting and I decide, since we have the time, to take a walk around the Park. I learn her name, Worokia, and that she is 8 ½ months pregnant, something I could not tell at first glance due to her large, flowing complet. She talks about her increasingly large belly and some of her fears and delights as she looks forward to the birth of her first child. In the States I am used to seeing very pregnant women and hearing them share stories about birthing classes they are taking and whether they have decided to breast-feed or not. Here in Mali, however, pregnancy is more of a taboo topic and something you do not talk about for fear of jinxing the pregnancy. All that to say – hearing Worokia speak so openly about her own impending ‘accouchement’ took me aback and facilitated our speedy friendship. Once Fanta’s wedding party finally arrived – at 12:30 p.m. and 3 ½ hours after the indicated start time on the invitation – Worokia, a cousin of Fanta’s, took me under her wing and introduced me to all the family I still did not know and made sure I had enough to eat and drink and a shady place to sit. I should have been doing those things for her considering her baby bulge!

And all of that brings us to how I find myself in a taxi with Deeba on a Friday afternoon heading towards the crowded grande marchée for the baptism of a baby of a woman I just barely know who I met at the wedding of a woman I had never met.

Worokia (right) and a friend holding her baby girlDeeba takes my hand as we enter the narrow passageway of a home nestled in the heart of one of the biggest markets in Bamako. Old men sit outside on low-lying benches, waving their greetings to passers-by. Women hawk sweet potato fries and fried plantains from even lower-lying stools positioned behind tables covered with shiny metal serving trays of their afternoon treats. While the entry-way to this home is narrow – the crowd that awaits us conjures even more claustrophobic fears of where I would go were a fire to break out. Women and children, dressed in the crispest and waxiest bazin to be found, sit on all varieties of seating arrangements. Benches, plastic string chairs, stools, woven mats, metal chairs – a rainbow of seats squeezed into all available spaces. Worokia sees Deeba and I enter and waves me over to join her on her mat. My jaw drops at her make-up and outfit. Layers of tulle, eye-shadow and bazin before me – I barely recognize my new friend from the last time I saw her at Fanta’s wedding. I lay down gifts – fabric, soap and a baby outfit – at Worokia’s feet and squeeze out my own seat between an already towering pile of pagnes and boxes of safiné. Settled in, I let my eyes wander and am wowed by the glamour of the occasion.

I quickly scan the compound and estimate there are over 200 women and children – the only men a videographer and a drummer – crammed into this prime real estate with a communal space measuring maybe 50x100 feet. The women all clutch large handbags made from various reflective, synthetic materials on their laps and the children sport too-large-for-their-faces sunglasses and freshly pressed toddler clothes. I am one of maybe 2 other women in the compound wearing simple wax fabric – the rest of the crowd opting instead for the much more expensive and lustrous bazin option. And while I had selected one of my best complets this morning, I am starting to feel very plain-jane in this sea of shine.

Out of the sea of shine, one woman stands up and starts to shout. The praises of the griot have begun and I prepare myself to hear the accolades of Worokia and her new baby girl – as well as those wealthy enough to feed the mouth of the griot. As the praises begin, so does the trail of money between those being praised and those delivering the praises. Crisp 1,000, 2,000, 5,000 and even the occasional 10,000 CFA bills, fresh from the bank, are passed over heads and hands and into the expectant palms of the griots – the one griot having now turned into 4 or 5.

Yay for me! Griot stands behind with her megaphoneAs praises continue from crowded corners of the compound, friends and family of Worokia count and recount the gifts received. Pagnes, soap, cash. ‘Nin waari boora Faransi!’ shouts one of the griots as she shakes 50,000 CFA above her head. There is even money coming from France. A Wall Street fervor coats family member’s voices as they cry out the mounting tally of presents. ‘50 pagnes,’ a sister cries! ‘70 pagnes,’ a griot shouts! I am having a hard time following the series of praises and money tallies while food is simultaneously passed around and am thankful when Deeba waves to me that a chair has opened up next to her. I pat Worokia’s hennaed foot and slowly unfold my legs from underneath me on the mat.

Just a little further... a griot reaches to receive some crisp CFA from Worokia after singing her praises

The final count of gifts puts Worokia, and her new baby, 70 pagnes (over 730 feet of fabric) the better and over 500,000 CFA (over $1,000 USD) richer. I keep asking Deeba to repeat the cries of the griots – their Bambara mumbled and jumbled through the crackling sound system and my ears untrained to catch much beyond the beginnings of the blessings ‘Allah ka…!’ – May God....

counting the bounty! The ‘fitiri’ call to prayer – the sunset prayer – echoes from a mosque nearby and reverberates throughout the market and into the compound where we are celebrating the birth of Worokia’s ‘sirani’ – her first baby. The pigeons, just moments before enjoying the cries of the griots and the crumbs of rice and meat left by absent eaters, scatter to another post, another family’s celebrations to find another roost to rest.

At baptisms in village, where I spent my first two years in Mali, I would offer the same soap and fabric to a new mother as I did to Worokia. If there was an official baptism, we would share rice and sauce with the women of the village and those same women would offer what they could monetarily to the new mother – just like at the baptism for Worokia’s baby girl. 100 CFA (about 25 cents) was an average donation – 200 CFA was generous.

The per capital income for a Malian, according to the State Department, is $470 USD and a skilled laborer’s annual income is $1,560 USD. There are more than a few shock factors present in Worokia’s Bamako baptism equation. First – the average income of a skilled laborer in Mali. Even with a much lower cost of living than say, in the States, that is not a lot of money to feed a family and live in a city. Second – that Worokia received more in one day than what most Malians make in a year. Thirdly, and to me the most shocking, is the incredible disparity between what a woman in village receives at your average baptism and what a woman in Bamako can receive. You know what is also hard to swallow? This disparity in income and standard of living frequently exists within Bamako – just next door a baptism may be taking place similar to those in village.

Worokia's 'sirani'I wave goodbye to Worokia and Fanta Haidara’s sisters who are also in the mix of attendees. The calls of the griots become less frequent and family and friends begin to file out. I catch the videographer’s eye as I navigate the maze of chairs and folds of fabric and knees on my way out. He clicks on his hand-held light to illuminate my shining face in front of his lens as night gently falls around me. ‘Allah ka balon!’ I yelp into his yellow light. May your baby get big! ‘Allah ka den cekani waati be!’ – May your baby always be beautiful. ‘Allah ka lamosidi a somogo ma,’ I continue – may the baby’s parents live long to see the baby grow up. I have run out of blessings and dusk has turned to nightfall. The camera clicks off and I slip out the narrow passageway I used to enter. Women tease me as I leave – ‘When will we be celebrating the birth of your first baby?’ they call out. I smile and wave down a taxi. ‘Allah ka yira an la’ I call back. May God show us the day! While it will take awhile to process the extravagance of the baptism for Worokia’s first baby – the birth of a baby is reason for celebration all the same. My only regret from the day? Amid the cries of the griots and the money tallies shouted by family and friends – I did not catch the baby girl’s name.

Listen to a griot shout Worokia and her baby girl's praises

Where did you come from?? A griot sings praises from a doorway in the compoundFilming the show