Members of the 'Ji ni Saniya Tɔn Sigi' (Water and Sanitation Committee) shocking a well after women found red worms living in the water. Left to right: Dramani ('ɲɛmɔgɔ,' or president), Daouda ('warimarala,' or treasurer), and Bayani (our recent addition).

My primary initiative during my Peace Corps service has been to establish a 'Ji ani Saniya Tɔn Sigi' (Water and Sanitation Committee), and to ensure that it is fully-functioning and will last into the future once I am gone. These past couple months have not been particularly busy for the committee, but several significant events have taken place which have me very optimistic for it's future:

Planning for the Building Season

Back when we first began the committee, I completed a formation with the group to assist them in selecting future construction projects, in addition to behavioral change initiatives. We planned to tackle two of these projects, well construction and trash collection areas, in the upcoming 'tilɛma' (hot season), which is the standard construction season due to the absence of agricultural work in the fields.

I have been working with the committee over the past few months to plan the well construction project. I helped Aliwata, our 'sɛbɛnɛkɛla' (secretary), Daouda, our 'warimarala' (treasurer), and Dramani, our 'ɲɛmɔgɔ' (president) to think through all of the costs involved in well construction, from renting the 'bisi mulu' (concrete ring mold) and the 'bisi jigi masinɛ' (concrete ring-lowering machine), to buying cement, gravel, sand, tie-wire, and rebar. We sought assistance from a villager who has significant experience in well construction throughout the process. I then guided Aliwata, Daouda, and Dramani in obtaining cost estimates for the required materials.

I sat down with Aliwata to show him how to set up a budget sheet for the project, which includes columns for item, unit of measurement, unit cost, quantity, and total cost. I then guided him through determining the total cost of one well, and finally the amount each 'du' (household) would have to contribute in order to pay for the project.

During our December 4th meeting, Aliwata presented his findings to the rest of the committee. I then advised them that in order to be successful this coming 'tilɛma,' we need to deceminate this information now.

Since people are currently involved in harvesting their agricultural fields, people are now beginning to sell millet, peanuts, and rice for income. Therefore, people need to know now that they must set aside money to contribute to the well project in the next couple of months.

The trash collection areas we plan to encourage are effectively four-walled, non-roofed structures in order to simply contain trash from being carried off through the village by the wind. Once the bin is full and composted, the compost will be placed in 'wɔtɔrɔw' (donkey/cattle carts) and taken out to the fields.

Within the next 3-4 weeks, people will finish harvesting their fields. At that time, men will begin making mud bricks in order to build new houses, walls, latrines, etc. Therefore, we need to inform people now so that they can plan to make additional bricks accordingly.

The committee members were weary of holding a village-wide meeting during 'ɲɔ gɔsi waati' (millet-beating time), as attendance would be suspect since both men and women spend most of their days in the fields. Their work won't ease for another month. However, people are beginning to make their money now by selling grains as they are harvested.

So I told them that I understand if we meet now, many people might not be able to show up. But we can give the information to those that do, who can then spread the word around to the rest of the village. Next month, when I return from my vacation in America, we can hold an additional meeting with the entire village to decide upon the specifics of these projects.

The villagers decided to hold this initial meeting on Thursday, December 8th. The day before, I met with Dramani, Aliwata, and Daouda in order to make sure they were prepared to run the meeting. We were discussing how best to talk about the well project. I told them that the moment we begin talking about money, the villagers will ask what is Maliki, or America, going to pay. I asked them how they will handle it. It was at this inconspicuous moment that I had possibly my proudest moment thus-far as a Peace Corps volunteer.

Aliwata gave us all a determined look, and delivered a passionate, 5-minute long speech in his own words. He effectively said:

This is how I think we should begin. We should say that Maliki is the third volunteer. Kaja preceeded him, and Fadibi came here first. After him, there is no one else. So his work, as the last volunteer, is different. His role is to teach us how to work on our own, without American money. The other volunteers sought money from America, but since no one will replace Maliki, he needs to make sure that we know how to work on our own. Because if he leaves, and we don't know how to plan work and are used to American money, we will never do any projects, and we will never work on our own. So he is teaching us now to plan a project, how work is done, and he is verifying that we can raise money on our own, so that when he is gone, he knows we can do so. If he doesn't, no work will be done after him.Dramani and Daouda both adamently agreed with him, and added to his speech. They mentioned how the entire village has benefited from wells built with American money in the past, so regardless of how many wells we can build and where, the entire village should contribute to the cause.

I had a grin from ear-to-ear. Aliwata's convincing delivery was strong evidence that they have actually bought into my development philosophy. For over a year now, I have been trying to convince them, through words and actions, that only development driven by the community itself is fully sustainable and can result in true improvement to their way of life. I see this as a huge milestone - the mentality of dependency has seemed to turn, at least within our small committee.

Unfortunately, the meeting on Thursday never happened, as the dugutigi's men forgot to call people to the meeting. So instead, we held the meeting this past Monday morning.

After our committee members spoke about the well project, the men and women in attendance had their say. As was to be expected, there was some heated debate. One man said that until a pump is built in his 'kin' (neighborhood), they will not contribute money to another project. Luckily, this statement was strongly rebutted by everyone in attendance. Others suggested working on different projects, like a solar power station.

But in the end, the village as a whole was convinced by our committee members to move forward with the project, and they promised to raise the money on their own. Aliwata read off the cost estimate he had assembled, and the 7,500 CFA (approximately $15) contribution that would be required for each well. He explained that since one cannot buy a small quantity of sand and gravel, we would have to buy enough for a few wells, so the more wells we build, the less each well will cost.

They began debating the number and the location of wells - some argued for wells within the village, women argued for wells in the women's garden, and the school headmaster suggested a well by the school. I redirected them, saying that we don't need to select specifics at this point. 'We wanted to call this meeting in order to give you all the information only. You all can talk about it amongst yourselves, talk to others. Next month, when work in the fields is less and I have returned from America, we will have another meeting with the entire village in attendance. We will then make the necessary decisions. We wanted to call a meeting now so that you can prepare by setting aside money now to contribute later.'

Nonetheless, they agreed to build only one well this year, and stockpile the extra materials to be used for additional wells in the following year. They mentioned the possibility of 3-4 wells next year, after this initial experience is under their belt.

Everyone agreed to save their money to pay for the project, and regarding the second project, they agreed to make additional bricks in order to construct trash collection areas within their individual concessions.

Pump Rules Enforcement

Back in October, we added Bayani as the 11th member of our committee. This was because in Diarrakɛla, the 'kin' (neighborhood) where one of the two pumps is located, the three members of our committee, Lassana, Korɛ, and Umu, are unable to watch over the pump and enforce the rules effectively. Lassana often leaves the village, and the latter two, being women, have too much work to do during the day. So Bayani was chosen to watch over the pump.

On November 18th, Bayani caught two women fighting at the pump. This violates one of the rules that the village chose back when we installed the pumps. They decided that if anyone fights, each combatant must pay a 5,000 CFA fine (or about $10). This is an absolutely exorbitant amount of money here. As a comparision, people here complain about having to give 100 CFA (or about $0.20) per 'du' (or household), which often includes more than 50 people, for monthly pump dues.

As was previously decided, after the rules violation, both of the village pumps were locked, only to be unlocked once the fine is paid. Dramani decided that if only one of the pumps were locked, people from Diarrakɛla would simply walk over to Katilɛla to fetch water at the other pump. There would be no major incentive to pay the fine.

On November 21st, the village elders held a meeting to discuss the issue. People were not happy that both pumps were locked and thus clean water was not accessible. Yet, the fees had not yet been paid. The elders decided that the committee's decision was correct. The pumps should be locked until the fine is paid. They argued that if this rule is not enforced, all of the rules will be rendered ineffective and the pumps will break early. A couple days without water is preferable to the pumps breaking in a year due to not enforcing the rules.

Sorti, the acting 'dugutigi,' went to collect the money later that afternoon, but was told that it wouldn't be paid. So he went a step further than I expected. He threatened that he would ride his 'moto' out to the nearest gendarme post to send the police to arrest the women. The fines were paid later that night.

When I returned to village after Thanksgiving, Sorti asked that we set aside a small portion of the collected fees for enforcement purposes. This will ensure that in the future, money will be available for his fuel and expenses in calling the police. The village elders agreed to do this.

They are getting serious about rules enforcement. Of course, this is regarding the big-money rule. The key is now to get them to enforce the smaller, yet more damaging, rules such as slamming the pump handle. These are broken way too often, and I am still the only person who has enforced the fines. I plan on making sure our committee members change that starting next month, when work in the fields diminishes.

Well Treatment

Since August, we have been treating all of the village drinking-water wells with bleach. I bought the first case of bleach in order to teach them how to perform the treatment. But after that case was finished, it was on the committee to begin to get accustomed to stocking it themselves, using the committee's 'kesu' (money account) funded by the monthly pump dues. Aliwata made a trip into Ségou late November and purchased another case.

This past Saturday, women went to Dramani and Daouda complaining that 'ntumu bilɛnman' (red worms) were living in the water fetched from one of the village wells. They went to me to ask for advice on how to proceed. I then taught them how to 'shock' a well, which involves adding a high concentration of bleach to the well to kill any and all contaminants and disinfect the walls of the well. The following morning, all of the water is then pulled and discarded from the well. The new water which seeps in through the walls is then safe to drink.

I was encouraged to see that the village is learning to rely and place its trust in its own resources, its own water and sanitation committee, to address all of their water supply issues. And I am also pleased with Dramani, Daouda, Aliwata, and Bayani, who have shown themselves to be dedicated to the committee and to ensuring a quality water supply for the village.

Over the past couple of weeks, during 'ɲɔ gɔsi wati' (millet beating time), I have been helping the villagers with their final tasks of the millet harvest season, and really have had fun doing so. The work is a strongly communal affair, where everyone helps each-other, and to some degree, share in the yield.

The work can be tough, but it is actually made very enjoyable by the company. People are generally in a jovial mood, joking with one another. Knowing that this is the final stretch of a grueling agriculture season surely must be rewarding as well.Bokari, Tayluru, and Omaru prepare their 'gindy/ɲɔ gɔsi yɔrɔ' (millet-beating area) by arranging the harvested 'ɲɔ kungalow' (millet heads) in a large circle on the ground.

What the Bambaran people refer to as a 'ɲɔ gɔsi masinɛ' (millet-beating machine) is actually just a tractor, or a large tractor-trailer truck normally used to transport goods to market, which runs over the millet heads to seperate the grains from the 'kooloo' (stalks). My 'jatigi' (host father) Koka works with the driver of this tractor by planning out the work schedule throughout the surrounding villages.After the first pass, the men 'ɲɔ kooloo bɔ.' They are raising the stalks above the beaten grains so that a second pass by the 'ɲɔ gɔsi masinɛ' will be effective at beating out the rest of the grains.After the millet is beaten, the women go to work to 'ɲɔ shuru.' Every woman that helps in a 'gindy' gets to take a small amount of millet for themselves. So you get much of the village working together in each 'gindy,' making the work go faster. Some women even walk to nearby villages to work in their 'gindyw.' The work in each 'gindy' generally takes about four hours.

The women first measure off portions of millet on the ground. Women, in groups, then work on seperate portions of millet. The younger women scoop up millet, take it to the perimeter of the 'gindy,' and drop the grains through the wind. Due to the difference in weight, the millet grains themselves are then separated from dirt and debris. The older women generally sweep up the millet into larger piles and organize the area.Women working in another 'gindy.' Note the older women sweeping and organizing millet in the foreground, while younger women separate the millet through the air in the background.My good friend Senata and Kaja 'ɲɔ shuru.'Aissetta, our 'muso nakɔ tɔn sigi sɛbɛnɛkɛla,' has some fun with the camera, asking women to 'ɲɔ shuru' on her.This is the traditional way of 'ɲɔ gɔsi' (beating millet) before advent of the 'ɲɔ gɔsi masinɛ.' Women take long sticks and simply beat the grains off of the stalks. The large truck that worked this 'gindy' was not particularly effective, so the women had to complete the job.And this is where I began my assistance... After the women complete 'ɲɔ shuru,' you end up with one large pile of millet grains on the ground. The young men of each 'kin' (neighborhood) work together at every 'gindy' in their 'kin.' I made an effort to work with all of the 'kinw.'

This was my neighbor Youssoufu's 'gindy.' I joined the Katilɛla men in riding 'wɔtɔrɔw' (cattle carts) out to the 'gindy.' The first task is to measure the amount of millet in this year's harvest. This is done using a standardized 'bɛnkari,' or metal container.

The reason for this measurement is two-fold. First, the men like to know how this year's harvest compared with years past. But more importantly, the Bambaran people actually adhere to a sort of informal welfare tax, as part of 'sarakati' (giving to Allah/ helping others) for the muslim faith. For every 20 'bɛnkariw,' 2 'bɛnkariw' worth of millet is set aside to give to others in charity. This includes elders who can no longer farm themselves, teachers, and 'garibu' (children who study the Koran and beg for food).

Women generally fetch the millet from the initial pile, filling up the 'bɛnkari,' which is then counted and emptied by the men when full. As this is going on, the rest of the men begin the process of filling up 'bɔrɛw' (rice sacks) with millet and loading them onto their 'wɔtɔrɔw.' I joined the men in filling up, lifting, and transporting the 'borɛw.'The Katilɛla men working in Sorti's 'gindy.' 'Borɛw' are filled with millet by hand.The Katilɛla men working in my friend Daoudani's (from our water and sanitation committee) family's 'gindy.'The Marakɛla men working in Lamuru's 'gindy.' On this day, I worked with my friend Basounalɛ, who is crouching in the foreground filling a 'borɛ.'My friend Tayluru racing off in his 'wɔtɔrɔ' as a young boy jumps on for the ride.Modibo waits on his 'wɔtɔrɔ' in Youssoufu's concession as men unload 'borɛw' of millet into the 'bundo' (granary of mud construction) from another 'wɔtɔrɔ.' This process is known as a 'ɲɔ don' (to put millet into), and is treated as a sort of holiday/gathering. '

Normally, 'ɲɔ shuru' and 'ɲɔ don' are completed in a single day. If the women finished 'ɲɔ shuru,' but the 'ɲɔ don' cannot be completed in the same day, 'dɛnmisɛnw' (young people) actually camp out in the 'gindy' at night to guard against theft. This is known as 'ɲɔ kɔlɔsi' (watching over the millet), and is generally turned into something of a party, with loud music, dancing, and food.Katilɛla men unloading 'borɛw' into a 'bundo' during Lassana Katilɛ's 'ɲɔ don.'Marakɛla men unloading 'borɛw' into a 'bundo' during Lamuru's 'ɲɔ don.'Lassana (left) inspects his filled 'bundo' at the end of his 'ɲɔ don' as Sidiki and Bayani smooth out the millet.

Most of the villagers found this year's harvest to be better than lasts. For example, Lassana's harvest last year, only filled this 'bundo' up 3/4 full. This year, it was completely filled, and he had about 8 'borɛw' leftover to store indoors.

However, some villagers broke even, and others had a harvest quite a bit worse than last years. For example, Youssoufu's harvest this year filled only 35 'bɛnkariw,' down from 50 'bɛnkariw' last year. It must be difficult to know, in one moment, that your family will have much less food to live on in the coming year than they did in the past.Each 'ɲɔ don' is to some degree a celebration. Treats, including 'bɛndɛgɛ' (sweet and spicy peanut butter balls) and 'farani' (small fried dough nuggets), are given to both the workers and those in attendance. 'Cɛkɔrɔbaw' (elder men) from the 'kin' (neighborhood), too old to work, come to socialize.

After all of the millet is brought in, the portion that was measured as a sort of 'welfare tax' is distributed to those who don't farm. 'Cɛkɔrɔbaw' from distant villages actually come in to simply attend each 'ɲɔ don' in our village, as do 'garibuw' (young muslim children who study the Koran and find food only by begging), simply with hopes of free food.

I have realized that I have a strong distaste for begging in general, and have been rather anxious for these outsiders to leave our village. Malians, in general, are very welcoming and give food willingly to those in need. But I noticed that many people share the same attitude that I have, they just don't often show it.

I overheard men after one 'ɲɔ don' discussing who is and is not a good person, deciding who they will give to. It has got to be awkward to give to one person and deny another while they are sitting next to each other.

Lamuru told me that he only gives out a small portion at his 'ɲɔ don.' He prefers to wait until afterwards, and give it to those people in our own village whom he knows are in true need. This includes elders in the community, as well as teachers.

A 'garibu' came by my 'jatigi's concession while we were eating dinner, and complained that food is very difficult right now. Vieux, a young man who was over at the time, snapped back, 'of course food is difficult, you don't farm! You don't do anything!''Garibuw' swarming around a man handing out millet at my 'jatigi's 'ɲɔ don.'

I just returned to Ségou after spending an enjoyable few days in Sikasso celebrating Thanksgiving with my fellow Mali Peace Corps volunteers. On Saturday, several of us headed out to a nearby set of waterfalls by a village called Woroni, where we spent the day hiking, then camped overnight.

The waterfalls were absolutely stunning, and seemed far removed from the level, monotonous plains of my region. So I figured I would post a few pictures...

The Woroni waterfalls.This is how a few of us made it up to the top of the falls before we discovered a trail that meandered through the woods on the other side of the falls. We had to straddle the log and climb up, over a pretty severe drop. It was a bit nerve-racking. There is actually a second set of equally-impressive waterfalls further upstream.A view along the top of the first set of Woroni waterfalls. I love the natural brown and black contrast in the rocks.

Youssoufu driving his 'misi wɔtɔrɔ' (cattle cart) back from the fields packed with rice stalks, after the grains had been beaten off of them. His younger brother Kasimu is seated on top.Tayluru packs down rice stalks atop his 'gwa' (wooden shelter). The villagers store as much vegetation as possible following harvest in order to provide food for their animals during the dry season.As shown above, the piles can get quite high. Daouda is atop with a tool packing the vegetation down to make it sturdy.I am a huge fan of the 'zɛnasi' (youth committee). They are well-organized and effectively raise rather substantial amounts of money to buy equipment and materials for 'shɛniw' (dance parties) and other activities. Here, the young men are meeting to discuss the procurement of materials to improve their regular soccer games during the hot season. Karamɔgɔ (right center) is holding up a trophy which they purchased in Bamako. They plan to award it to the winning team after each 'konyon' (wedding), when the 'cɛgananw' (unmarried men) play against the 'musotigiw' (married men). They have also raised money to purchase new goal posts and nets, which they will paint in the colors of the Malian flag.A view along the dike surrounding 'kɔlɔn kɔnɔ' (the rice fields). After the lands were cultivated and seeds were sewn, the canals within the fields flood the whole area with water to allow the rice to grow. In about a month or two, the fields will be drained and harvested.My friend Bokari and his 'misiw.' For four months, during the growing season, he walked his family's cattle west approximately 100 kilometers through the fields, not returning until the beginning of November. The reason for this is to bring the cattle to open fields free from crops, such that they can graze at leisure. If they were to stay around village, they would gorge on the villager's crops. Now that the harvest has begun, he has returned with the cattle to allow them to graze on the remnants of the crops after harvest. To prevent them from drifting into unharvested fields, Bokari spends his days herding the cattle, and actually sleeps beside them at night to ensure that they don't fight and break from their pen. Once harvest is complete, the cattle can roam free unattended.Bokari was spending this day alongside a couple 'fulacɛw' (Fulani men), also herding cattle. 'Fula,' or Fulani, are an ethnic group across West Africa who are traditional animal herders. These men are slowly making their way from fields outside Ségou to a village well East of us. Many Bambaran families hire 'fulacɛw' to watch over their cattle, or walk cattle over from distant markets.

A 'fulacɛ' showing off his command over a cow.Two 'fulacɛw,' Bokari, and Omaru, a villager looking after my friend Aliwata's cattle, posing behind a cow.This past Monday, the 'zɛnasi' held one of their 'tɔn bara' (committee work days). A villager hired the organization to 'ɲɔ tigɛ' (cutting/harvesting millet) in his field. In addition to raising money from it's members directly, they also raise money through fees from working agricultural fields. 'Ɲɔ tigɛ' is very grueling work, due in large part to all of the prickers found throughout the fields. I helped them for a few hours, and my hands got tore up.The young women of the 'zɛnasi' assist the cause by carrying buckets of water to serve to the men in the fields. They also served us a tasty lunch of 'kini ni tiga dɛgɛ na.' Brɛnkɛ, the young man in front, was a huge help to me and Daouda (of our Water and Sanitation Committee) in encouraging everyone to wash their hands with soap before eating.

The Muslim holiday of Tabaski (Festival of Sacrifice), or 'Seliba' in Bambara, took place on Sunday, November 6th. The celebration on Sunday involved a communal morning prayer in the fields, followed by a communal breakfast of 'kini ni tiga dɛgɛ na ni misi sɔgɔ' (rice with peanut sauce and cow meat).

Married men spend the following two mornings in groups 'yala yala ka daraka dun' (walking about from concession to concession to eat several breakfasts in succession), then the rest of the day relaxing and chatting in these same groups. Unmarried men get together in one place and pool their money together for a simple communal meal. After cooking, the wives of each group of married men get together to eat a communal meal, then also spend the rest of the day together. The 'yala yala ka daraka dun' tradition, I have since learned, is specific not only to our region, but to our particular village.

Also in my village, the 'denmisenw' (young men and women) hold their 'shɛniw' (dance parties) each day and night.

The following are some pictures I took during the festivities:

Each of the four 'kinw' (neighborhoods) in the village slaughter their own cow. This was my 'kin', Katilɛla.Since we had filled the 'jɛgɛ dumuni yɔrɔ' (fish eating area) primarily with agricultural scraps, the villagers had the idea to empty the undigested stomach contents of the cow, primarily crop stalks and grass, into the area. No part of the cow went to waste!

Young boys were tasked with cleaning out the intestines and miscellaneous guts with water. Since they were already at the pond, they did so there.From left to right, Senata, Lamissa's wife Afu and her child Buba, Lamissa, Koni and her child, and myself. Lamissa is the headmaster at the village's school. Lamissa and Senata have become two of my closest friends. I spend 'tilɛfɛ' (early afternoon) most days chatting with these folks in their concession.A 'shɛni' (dance party) during Sunday afternoon.Three young girls dressed up as men danced during the 'shɛni' Sunday night. They danced with two other girls, and had fun joking and grinding on each other.Myself and Tayluru, one of my best friends in village. Monday afternoon with our 'daraka gɛrɛ' (breakfast group). After finishing our walk-a-bout to eat breakfast at each other's concession, we spend the rest of the day chatting, drinking tea, listening to the radio, and playing cards. After the wives of the men were finished with cooking and their morning chores, they spent the afternoon chatting together by our side.During Monday night's 'shɛni,' Ladji, Isa, and Yacouba dressed up as a rap group, while Seydou dressed up as a 'cɛkɔrɔba' (village elder man), staring straight ahead and sliding Islamic prayer beads in his right hand. The rap group lip-synched a Malian song to the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw.' People from the audience then began giving the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw' money, food, etc. One young man, Yɛ, took it a bit far, standing in front of Seydou, stripping off his shirt and shoes to offer up. It was hilarious.Myself and Aliwata, another good friend of mine and the 'sɛbɛnɛkɛla' (secretary) of our water and sanitation committee. I have been teaching him bookkeeping, accounting, and budgeting techniques regarding dues collection and our impending well construction project.Our 'daraka gɛrɛ' eating our final breakfast on Tuesday.Ladji and Yacouba dressed up as 'fulacɛw' (Fulani men) during the final 'sheni,' Tuesday night. Fulani are an ethnic group found across West Africa. To this day, they are primarily cattle herders.

Malian transport cannot exactly be described as ‘dependable.’ Although inconvenient and uncomfortable, transport in this country can be rather entertaining. Any Peace Corps volunteer in Mali has their share of stories on transport. My favorite personal travel story happened to me on my last trip back to site. The following is my journal entry from that day:

11/3/11 – Thursday

At 5:45AM I biked down to the gas station which Bamu, the ‘mobilitigi’ (bashé driver), told me to be at by 6AM. The Yolo ‘mobili’ (bashé) hadn’t yet arrived, and Bamu’s phone wasn’t on when I tried to call him.

So I waited, soon joined by a woman heading out to a village along the same route, past mine. She called her contact, Soumalɛ, but he said there wasn’t an extra place for me. They claimed another vehicle may be available, so I nervously continued to wait after her 'mobili' left.

Just after 7AM, I was finally able to reach Bamu, who told me to wait there. 15 minutes later, as I was buying an egg sandwich breakfast, he arrived in his empty green bashé. He ended up shuttling me back to the bus station, where his older brother’s ‘mobili’ was to leave shortly.

So I waited there, chatting with the young teenage apprentice Papu, who was very amicable and made good company. I also spoke with a couple women from a nearby village who asked me to greet Koka, my ‘jatigi’ (host father) for them.

A man came around collecting money. When I told him where I was going, he was about to ask the ‘mobilitigi’ for the price, but I told him the standard fare, 2,000 CFA, and he accepted that amount. But he later came back saying that the ‘mobilitigi’ said that it must be 3,000 CFA. I tried to negotiate out of it, thinking this was a ‘white person’ inflated fare, but ended up paying it. I later noticed that he made all of the Malians pay extra as well.

They had been loading up the vehicle throughout the morning, but around 12:20PM, the ‘mobilitigi’ said he called Bamu. Since there was a large number of people queued up to go, they decided that both vehicles would go together.

While we were waiting, a young man was chatting with the two women I spoke of above, when one of the women mentioned that a Bakai from Siyjan is her older brother’s son. Bakai was the name of my ‘jatigi’ (host family) in Siyjan when I stayed overnight for their 'jako bɔ ɲɛnajɛw.' So I asked if his wife is Hawa, and she said yes. So we discussed this common link, and they then asked me to come visit them in their village and stay overnight. I joked that I’d probably show up there and they’d forget they ever knew me.

Papu was also seated with us, and people kept complaining to him about having to pay the inflated 3,000 CFA fare, yet still having to wait an excessive amount of time when we were told we would leave ‘sisan sisan’ (now now). The women joked that he should have to buy us all lunch. Papu then agreed and convinced his ‘mobilitigi’ to give 1,000 CFA ($1) to allow him to buy us all a common dish of rice. But at that moment, around 1:30PM, Bamu pulled up in his green bashé, so we never got our food.

They directed those of us going to my market town to switch to Bamu’s bashé, and proceeded to load it up. While I was seated with the others inside the bashé, a man came in, apparently working in some way for the bashés (but not Bamu nor his apprentice), demanding that I pay an extra 500 CFA for my bike. He told me this in angry French and continually refused to switch to Bambara when I told him I don’t speak French. I refused, saying that I already paid much more than usual. Bamu heard this, and finally called from behind the bashé, ‘Maliki, A ka ɲi’ (Maliki, it’s fine!).

People continued to squeeze into the bashé, five to a row. There were a lot of young men on their way back from working ‘fini gosi’ (beating fabric) during the growing season in Bamako. We finally left around 2:15PM.

While on the road, I was thinking about how inconvenient and uncomfortable, but more so, how entertaining and fraternal travel is here. Although we sat uncomfortably close to each other, practically on each other’s laps, everyone was in good spirits and joking. When we passed through the check point out of the city, where women aggressively hawk food through the windows, most people bought food and they all shared it with those around them, often with people they never even knew before.

Around 3:15PM, while riding along the red clay road to Dioro through millet and bramble fields, we felt a huge jolt down and forward, vaulting us out of our seats, and the ‘mobili’ came to an abrupt stop. Everyone rushed out to see what happened – the front right tire was bent and twisted up. The metal connection between the axle and the wheel had snapped. Bamu, his apprentice, and a couple other men got to work trying to fix it.

About 30 minutes later, I took a look at their work. The men were digging a hole under the wheel, since the jack they had didn’t bring the vehicle high enough, so they could reattach it. I looked underneath the vehicle, and found that they had fixed the connection by lashing the axle and wheel together with rope wrapped several times around the metal pieces.

Shortly thereafter, once the wheel was reattached, they started up the vehicle to try out their repairs, and predictably, the front end promptly fell out again. Bamu said that the ‘mobili’ was now beyond repair for the day, so he told me that he called another ‘mobili’ to come and take us the rest of the way.

For about 45 minutes, Bamu was making calls to other drivers, so I wasn’t confident that he had actually found another ‘mobili’ to take us. People in this country are notorious for lying simply because they are afraid to tell anyone anything they do not want to hear. He certainly seemed to have trouble convincing either the replacement bashé driver or the mechanic to come out. And at one point, he was in the midst of arguing for a man to come when the line abruptly cut out and he said his phone credit was finished.

I ate a loaf of bread I had bought earlier and chatted with the others around the vehicle. Bamu’s apprentice told me that they returned from their route late last night, at 3AM. So they decided to sleep in instead of driving to my market town at 6AM as Bamu had promised.

I was chatting with one young man who joked that people from my village love to dance. He showed me a video on his phone of animated monkeys dancing to one of their standard dance songs, joking that these are my villagers. As you have seen from my other posts, he does speak the truth. They are far from monkeys, but do know how to have a good time.

Despite the circumstances, everyone was in high spirits, joking. Bamu even took the time to transfer music to his phone. Local women in donkey carts would ride by, and the men would joke with them as they passed, mostly about giving them food since we all were hungry from the day. They scrounged up some 'banangu' (edible roots) in the process.

I was waiting outside with the others, now in the dark, when our new bashé arrived around 6:30PM. We all went right up to claim our seats, and I took one against the window in the second-to-last row. Our row ended up with only 4 adults, as opposed to 5 in the other rows. And our 4 adults were younger, smaller guys. So we were fairly comfortable.

A young girl of maybe 7 was handed back to the young man to my right, and another young girl sat between us. A woman in front of us turned around and asked me if I could ‘catch’ her child (‘I bɛ sɛ ka den minɛ?’). I put my pack down on the floor and lifted the young boy of about 4 over the seats and onto my lap.

The man next to me looked over and joked that I have children. I cracked back, ‘I don’t know how it happened. I should have been more careful!’

Around 6:45, all of our gear was transferred to the roof of the bashé, and we were on our way. The young girl next to me immediately fell asleep with her head resting on my chest. I held the boy on my lap, letting him rest his head on my left arm. He promptly fell asleep as well. I found myself guarding his head against outlying branches of shrubbery crashing through the window.

Not long after, the ‘mobilitigi’ got a phone call, then immediately pulled off the road next to a small village at about 7:30PM. I asked what was going on, as the passengers were saying that ‘this mobili is now broken, lots of hardships today!’ They told me that gasoline was leaking from the vehicle. The smell of gas was particularly strong inside.

The ‘mobilitigi’ asked us ’who’s bike is on the roof?’ I told him it was mine. He asked if I had a bicycle pump, and I said yes, but I don’t think it will work on this vehicle. I was confused – is there also an issue of tire pressure?

So I lifted the boy from my lap and sat him down on his own, then joined the others outside. I asked them, ‘what will a pump do?’ They showed me a little compartment inside the floor of the passenger area by the door, which was covered by a metal plate. Within this were two tubes, no longer connected. Instead of gas simply passing from one tube to the other, it was leaking out. They told me my pump could fix it – I failed to understand how. So I grabbed my pump from the roof and showed it to them. They said that it wouldn’t work, disappointed. It was then that I understood their intention – to sever the tubing from a standard bicycle foot pump and use it to mend the connection.

So instead the men went into the nearby village in search of plastic tubing, and returned with some scraps. They were able to repair it, and we were back on our way at about 8:40. Unfortunately for me, however, the two young girls had not returned to our row before a very large, old man took their place, shoving me completely against the window. And the woman in front again passed her child back to sit on my lap. I am not sure why, she had more room than I did!

Finally at 10:30 PM, we arrived in my market town. I collected my belongings, then biked the 4 kilometers on dirt trails through the fields back to Makili in the dark using my headlamp.

The scene in the dugutigi's (chief of the village) concession at the conclusion of Kɔrɔ's 'jako bɔ ɲɛnajɛw.'After being in village for over a year, I have experienced all of the seasons of village life, and therefore most of the major events. However, there is one major festival that had evaded me last year due to training which had kept me in Ségou. This festival is the 'jako bɔ ɲɛnajɛw' (mascot/costume festival).

This event is held each year just before 'ɲɔ tigɛ waati' (millet harvest time). The tradition harkens back to the animist roots of the Bambaran people, prior to their conversion to Islam. Although the Bambaran ethnic group is predominant throughout Mali, 'jakow' are only found in our small, immediate area within the Ségou region. Bambaran people elsewhere in the country have no such tradition.

My village used to hold such a festival every year, but ceased to do so over ten years ago. But two nearby villages in my commune have kept the torch burning, and it is in these villages, Kɔrɔ and Siyjan, where I was able to experience this unique and exceptional event.

The festivals begin at around 10PM at night, and last until 'fajiri waati' (the first call to prayer in the morning, around 4:30AM). Kɔrɔ held their festival twice over two weeks. On the final day, after halting at 4:30AM, we all got a couple precious hours of sleep before beginning again at 8AM for another three hours.

I hitched a ride on a 'misiw wɔtɔrɔ' (cattle cart) commandeered by a group of young kids from my village to get to and from the first festival night in Kɔrɔ. For the Siyjan festival and the second Kɔrɔ festival, I biked out to the villages, meeting my good friends Tayluru and Lamissa there who arrived by motorcycle.

I then stayed overnight with a 'jatigi' (host family) before biking back the following day. On both occasions, I was overwhelmed by the kindness and hospitality of the people I stayed with. They not only prepared a bed for me (read: a bed in the Malian sense, a thatch rug laid upon the ground with a sheet over it), but also prepared bath water for me in the morning, served me tea, and fed me.

Each festival takes place as follows: Music is provided by a 'dununw', a group of three men who play traditional Bambaran drums. The drums are at first accompanied by two male singers, who sing a traditional song specific to the 'jako' that is about to arrive. During this time, young men enter the dance floor to perform traditional, energetic dances which involve a lot of jumping and kicking.

Once the 'jako' arrives, the two men hand the microphones over to two 'jelimusow' (traditional female singers/griots), who sing the same 'jako'-specific song as the 'jako' spins and dances. It is a highly energized affair, and men and women both often surround the 'jako' in dance. Some men also blow into horns made from 'misi bien' (cow horns) as they dance. While the men perform energetic dances involving jumping and kicking, the women perform the 'jantigi,' the same dance which is traditionally performed during 'kɔnyɔnw' (wedding ceremonies).

This process is repeated for each and every 'jako.'

I had lots of fun at these festivals, and the richness of the culture left me fascinated. So I wanted to give you all a sampling of what it was like in pictures:

Kɔrɔ Festival Night 1 - Thursday, October 20th

A 'sama' (elephant) 'jako.'A 'waraba' (lion) 'jako.'A view from the back of the crowd at Kɔrɔ's 'jako bɔ ɲɛnajɛ.'Men from Kɔrɔ proudly posing alongside one of the many 'jako' they made for the festival.Men dancing and jumping to the 'dunun' music at the festival.A zebra 'jako.'Siyjan Festival - Sunday, October 23rd

I believe the Siyjan men made this 'jako' for the soul purpose of beating people upside the head. It would wander around the perimeter of the crowd, then slam it's tall head down onto the audience. It was very amusing.This same 'jako' gearing up for another confrontation. To the left is one of the two 'jelimusow' (female singers/griots).Men performing an energetic traditional dance during the Siyjan festival. The two 'jelimusow' and the three 'dununw' traditional drummers providing the music for the festivities. I loved the woman in green for her energy. She had the widest eyes and a genuine smile on her face as she sung, swinging a traditional broom-like pom pom in one hand as she sung.Not sure what this 'jako' was, but it had a huge tail that nearly took the head off of the 'jelimuso' in green.A horse and rider 'jako.'Maybe I should put an 'R' rating on this post. This 'jako' has something emenating from his pelvis which he thrust back and forth as he lurched around the dance floor with walking-sticks in both hands. He must be some sort of fertility 'jako.'A zebra 'jako.'This 'jako' had a peach-colored man mounted on it's head. The man's hands move up and down, under the control of the man underneath.A 'waraba' (lion) 'jako.'Some sort of a 'kɔnɔba' (large bird) 'jako.' But confusingly, this 'jako' walked around on four legs, the front two being walking-stick type attachments to the man's hands. The man in blue, particularly excited by this 'jako,' is fanning it using a local hand-weaved fan.A 'jako' at the Siyjan festival.The 'jelimuso' singing away as a 'jako' of a peach-colored woman with large exposed breasts, made to clap it's hands together under the control of the man underneath, performs. Men dance and jump excitedly alongside the 'jako.' I later asked the men why all of their human 'jakow' are colored as if caucasian. Are they 'toubabu' (white/french)? They responded yes, but I find that hard to believe, since you don't often see a white woman roaming outdoors bare-breasted. I believe they simply took some artistic license, as the peach color contrasted better with the many browns on the rest of the 'jakow.'The 'jelimuso' sings and swings her traditional broom-like pom pom, as a 'jako' sways to the music and men dance alongside it.Men and women dance around a 'jako.'The 'jelimuso' enjoying herself while singing, as men dance around a spinning 'jako.'Kɔrɔ Festival Night 2 - Thursday, October 27th

Two 20-foot tall 'jakow' spin and twirl on the dance floor. These 'jakow' are made completely of the dried hay/grass, and have defined heads, bodies, and arms which can be swung out to the sides. Tayluru told me they are called 'kɔliw,' but neither Lamissa nor I knew what that was.Siyjan and Kɔrɔ often try to outdo the other for creativity. As an answer to Siyjan's horseman, the Kɔrɔ men made this 'jako' of a colonial-looking caucasian man with a sword that moves up and down, riding a horse.Men performing their energetic traditional dance during the Kɔrɔ festival. This dance involves men pairing up and holding each-other's hands. The men then dive forward, kicking one leg out, before taking a smaller jump backwards and repeating the process. It is rather hyperactive and quite fun.Kɔrɔ Morning Festival - Friday, October 28th

I believe this 'jako' is called the 'nɛgɛniyo.'I assume that the 'nɛgɛniyo,' with it's two heads that are made to constantly fondle each-other, has something to do with love.Kɔrɔ men posing alongside one of their many 'jako.'There was a decent-sized crowd for the event during the daylight, but since there was much work to be done in the fields at this time, it paled in comparison to the nighttime. Nevertheless, there was plenty of energy to be found.Three men play the traditional Bambaran drums of the 'dununw' while two men sing prior to the arrival of a 'jako.'A 'ntilen' (giraffe) 'jako.'Men proudly pose alongside their 'jako,' which features a red man mounted atop the head, with arms that swing up and down from controls underneath.Kɔrɔ villagers dance during the festival.Men performing their energetic traditional dance during the Kɔrɔ festival. This dance involves men pairing up and holding each-other's hands. The men then dive forward, kicking one leg out, before taking a smaller jump backwards and repeating the process. It is rather hyperactive and quite fun.Three men play the traditional Bambaran drums of the 'dununw' while the two 'jelimusow' (female singers/griots) sing, seated, to their right.

A young boy rides atop the back of a 'misi' (cow) 'jako' into the festival grounds.To conclude the 'jako bɔ ɲɛnajɛ' in the village of Kɔrɔ, the villagers all assembled within the dugutigi's (chief of the village) concession, complete with their 'jakow' (mascots/costumes) and drums. Since the dugutigi is very old and rather immobile, he was unable to attend the festivities. So they brought the festivities to him out of respect, for his enjoyment.

Men from the nearby village of Siyjan taking grass back from the fields to use in constructing 'jakow' (mascot-type figures) to be used in their upcoming 'ɲɛnajɛ' (festival), which takes place annually just before 'ɲɔ tigɛ waati' (millet-cutting time).Badama, my 'jatigi dɔgɔcɛ' (host-father's younger brother), grinding peanuts I bought in the market to make my 'tiga dɛgɛ' (peanut butter). This is one of my favorite treats here - better than you can find in the states, natural and unmodified.I spent a day with my friend Senata (right), helping 'tiga bɔn' (pull peanut plants from the ground) in her peanut field. She shares a field with Nyani (left).

Nyani and Senata 'tiga bɔn' (harvesting peanuts).I spent four days watching and chatting with three men engaged in making a couple 'bundow' (granaries). Bakɔrɔba (left) is mixing and pounding mud and straw together, than rolling them into tubular sections. Babokari (right) uses these sections to build up the walls of the 'bundo.' Babokari is a craftsman, who hails from a nearby village. People hire him to come out and build 'bundo,' and during the hot season, houses. He is quite skilled, and takes great pride in his work. He shapes the mud with care, as if he were making pottery, which effectively he is, on a grand scale.Basounalɛ making tubular sections of mud in his concession, aided by his younger brothers.Babokari adding a rope-like decoration to the side of the 'bundo.' These are added in order to mimick the traditional 'jigiɲɛn,' the original graineries which were constructed using thatch/weaved straw and held together with rope-like rings made of straw tied around the exterior. The mud walls of the 'bundo' are said to last ten times as long as the traditional 'jigiɲɛn.'Basounalɛ and Babokari adding a coat of mud to the exterior of the 'bundo.'Bakɔrɔba mixes mud and water with his feet while Babokari adds another layer to the 'bundo' wall. Throughout the day, Babokari would add a layer to the 'bundo' in Basounalɛ's concession, then as that layer dries, he would head to Bakɔrɔba's concession to do the same, such that they are built together.Bakɔrɔba mixes mud and hay while Babokari adds another layer to the 'bundo' wall. The completed 'bundo' in Bakɔrɔba's concession. Now all that is needed is to make and add a thatched roof.Village kids holding up 'jɛw' (large squash, which is similar to butternut squash) recently grown in the garden. This vegetable, and many others now grown in the Women's Garden have made our village's food noticeably better, both in nutrition and taste, compared with last year.I biked out to my friend Daouda's rice fields to try my hand at 'malo kan' (cutting rice). It is notoriously dangerous work, in that nearly everyone ends up with a sliced finger, often with a good deal of the tip sliced clear off. Pictured above are Daoudani (the younger Daouda, whom I served as a 'kɔnyɔnbɛna' during his wedding), his younger brother Adama, and his older half-brother, Daouda.Once the rice is cut from the fields, the next step is to remove the grains from the stalks. There are two ways to do it; the traditional way and the modern way. This is the former. Women in Tayluru's 'du' (household, including several of his brothers) simply bash the stalks with sticks to loosen the grains. Later, they collect the grains off the floor, and by dropping them from a height into the wind, separate the grains from dirt and other impurities. This is normally done only for immediate rice consumption. For the bulk of the harvest, the villagers rent a machine which grinds the grains off with minimal effort.'Misimusow' (female cows) and 'misidɛnw' (baby cows) are now kept in pens made of pricker bushes out in the fields. However, during the growing season, each family sends a young man on foot with the cows, out to pastures up to 100 kilometers away, to watch over them for four months. This is to allow the cattle to graze freely, without risking them doing damage to their crops. The lucky guy spends all his time for that entire duration in the fields, alone, with little human contact. These men are just now trickling back into village with their cattle.I spent an afternoon 'ɲɔ tigɛ' (cutting/harvesting millet) with my friend Tayluru and his 'du' (extended family). Pictured above, Shaka and Tayluru cut the grain heads off the fallen millet stalks using a small hand-held blade called a 'kɔtɛ' as a young boy collects the heads of grain.And how do the stalks fall, you may ask? Baysa tears through the fields pulling and stomping the stalks down.Tayluru collecting the heads of millet in a 'wɔtɔrɔ' to take to the 'ɲɔ gɔsi yɔrɔ' (millet-beating place).Bamousa, a local fisherman, found a surprise while walking through the flooded rice fields. This large lizard, 'kana,' is known to have some of the best-tasting meat. So good, in fact, that when I asked if I could see it, he snapped 'I'm not selling it, you know!' At first, I thought it was a small crocodile. Nope, just a very large lizard.

Throughout my service, I have remained committed to the ideal that my role as a development worker is to teach the villagers skills which they can use in the future to better themselves. Therefore, when our Water and Sanitation Committee members decided that they would like to build additional drinking water wells during the upcoming hot season, I told them that we would obtain all of the funding for this project within the village itself. My reasoning is that, thanks to several projects by the two former volunteers in recent years, the villagers already know how to construct wells. The skills which they now need to learn relate to project management and fundraising. Since I am the last volunteer of three in my village, I feel that my role is to ensure that when I leave, any project which we undertake can be replicated in the future.

Therefore, over the past month I have been working with Dramani, the president of our Water and Sanitation Committee, and Aliwata, the secretary, to begin to plan out this project. We sat down together with a local man well versed on the construction of wells using 'bisiw,' or concrete rings. I guided the men through asking questions on the type and quantity of materials required for construction. As we obtained the information, I taught Aliwata how to create a budget sheet, with columns for the type of material, unit of measurement, unit cost, units required, and total cost.

A look down a well made using 'bisiw' (concrete rings).We then sent villagers to nearby shops to obtain cost estimates for each material. Once this information was obtained, we gathered together to update our budget sheet, total the costs, and determine how much each household would have to contribute to construct one well.

Our next step is to call a meeting with the entire village to discuss how they would like to proceed with this project. Many decisions must be made, including how many wells they would like to construct, where these wells will be sited, and how exactly money will be raised. Although we calculated a rough figure per household, I don't believe that this is a fair way to do it, as some households have about 15 people, while others have over 100 people. But this is a decision the village must make on their own.

The obvious problem in all of this is the scarcity of money in a rural African village. The easy way out is to bend and provide funding, and successfully build a quantity of wells. This approach certainly has it's merit - it would improve water availability. However, this is where I feel I differ, as a Peace Corps volunteer, from other development workers. My role is to foster self-reliance within the community. By again providing funding, I would be reinforcing dependency, and this, I feel, is a major reason why Africa has failed to develop.

I have put a lot of thought into how the funding of this project might go, drifting between optimism and nervousness. In order to comfortably raise money, it is imperative that the village has a successful harvest, since this is where most of their income comes from. As the rainy season progressed, I noticed that the rains were much less than in the previous year. I dreaded that this would have a detrimental effect on the crops, but in actuality, the villagers told me that this was a good thing. Last year, the rains came so often and so heavy that it actually damaged the crops. This year, they got just enough rain, spread out evenly, such that the crops were able to maximize grain production.

The other day, I was going through my normal morning routine of making an oatmeal and peanut butter breakfast while listening to the BBC's morning news program, when a story caught my attention. The program featured experts who spoke of an impending food crises in the Sahel region of Africa; particularly the countries of Mali, Niger, and Burkina Faso. The experts cited that a lack of rain during this year's rainy season has led to a poor yield of crop.

This seemed to be in contrast with my village's situation, where they hailed this season as fairly productive. I told my friend Lamissa about this report, and he said its true. Some regions of Mali will have a good harvest, like my area, whereas others did not get nearly enough rain, and their crops dried out prematurely. Our immediate commune got satisfactory rains, but just beyond it, a mere 20 kilometers away, the rains hardly came, and they are staring down at a very rough year ahead.

This has put into perspective for me just how variable subsistence farming is as a livelihood. I am also very thankful that we happened to be in a favorable weather pattern this year. It appears that our project may have been a mere 20 kilometers away from failure. I hope that thanks, in part, to our luck regarding the weather, our well project can be a success, and it can serve as an example to the villagers that they can accomplish many things on their own, without foreign assistance, if they make the effort.

My host grandfather, Yaya DIarra, passed away in mid-July. On the 40th day after a death, everyone gathers in the deceased's concession during the afternoon for prayer. During this time, the deceased's family also distributes a hand-full of candy and dates, as well as 'takola,' a small sweet-bread treat made of millet, sugar, and water. These women are rolling the dough to make the latter. Each 'takola' consists of four dough-balls pressed together to make a square.The women cook the 'takola' at the bottom of a cauldron in a small amount of oil.Bavieux showing off clothing he had just sewed for his mother for 'selideni.' The 'kalalikɛlaw' (tailors) here in Mali are quite skilled at detailed embroidery.My friend Tayluru bought a young horse last month which he has been training ever since to pull a 'wɔtɔrɔ' (cart). The children in village often go off through the 'kɔngɔ' (fields) to hunt small game with their slingshots. This boy caught a 'kɔrɔ' (large lizard).'Gingy ma sara!' ('Gingy' didn't die!) Soon after my friend Dara left for Abidjan to work, his younger brother Basalifou (seated, in white), amongst others, returned from his studies in a professional agricultural school nearby. So we have taken up our 'gɛrɛ' (group of friends who get together to socialize at night) with a new crowd at his place.Sitafinɛ, Basoumanɛ, Basalifou, Alimami, Bahumu, Aminata, and Haoua from our late-night 'gɛrɛ.'Ladji, Brahman, and Yacouba 'fini kan' (cutting fonio). It is a rediculously small grain that I find difficult distinguishing from a standard weed, but when cooked right, it is very tasty.September 22nd was Mali's Independence Day, the 51st year since their independence from France. During the morning, I went to the commune seat for their ceremony, as I had done last year. This was the scene just after raising the flag while singing the national anthem.The 'dozo,' a group of traditional hunters, then performed a dance as two of them sang a traditional song to a repetitive beat played on the two kora instruments.Following the 'dozo,' a group of young men and women marched into the crowd and performed military-type marching commands at the orders of another man. This was the end of the ceremony in the commune seat this year. It was much more extravegant in year's past (see my post from last year), but was unfortunately cut back due to budgetary restraints. I returned back to my village for their local celebration, which involved a 'shɛni' (dance party) and a communal meal of 'basi ni misi sɔgɔ.' Unfortunately, a significant rainstorm put a damper on these events.

I had originally assumed that all of my significant work would be accomplished during 'tilɛma' (hot season). This is due to the fact that during the rest of the year, the villagers are primarily involved with agricultural practices throughout the day. Therefore, since Water and Sanitation work is generally labor-intensive, such as building pumps, wells, latrines, soak pits, etc., I figured my work would generally be put on hold until January.

But on the contrary, I have found that much of what I would now consider to be my most important initiatives require an effort year-round. These initiatives generally involve mobilizing the villagers to take an active role in the development of their village and building non-labor skills, such as accounting, communication, planning, project management, and leadership.

These are the activities which I feel can have the largest impact on the village long-term. If the villagers learn to organize and plan themselves, they can, in theory, use those skills to internally address any needs which arise in the future.

So with that said, the following is a brief synopsis of my efforts over the past month:

Water and Sanitation Committee ('ji ni saniya tɔn sigi') Monthly Dues Collection

As usual, twice during this month the men of the Water and Sanitation Committee and I walked from concession to concession within the village to collect the monthly dues owed by each household. Generally most households have paid the fee, many in advance. But several continue to hedge, complaining that they do not have the money.

Money is difficult at the moment since harvest has not yet arrived, but even with this consideration, the money that we are collecting is only 100 CFA each month, or 20 cents. This is how much many people pay each day for one round of tea, or a morning snack. So I and our committee members believe that each household does indeed have the money, but are reluctant to part with it.

At the end of each day's work, we sit down together to count the money and compare it to what was noted by the men in their books.

A couple weeks ago, I sat down with Aliwata, our 'sɛbɛnɛkɛla' (secretary), to teach him a bit of basic accounting. I showed him a format to record basic information when money is either added to or paid from the 'kɛsu,' and to keep track of the current balance. This is an important skill which may seem miniscule, but should aid the committee in all of their future endeavors.

Soap-Making Formation

Several months ago, our Water and Sanitation Committee decided to hold a soap-making formation for the women of the village. During the past month, we have proceeded in planning the formation.

We found out that an NGO had previously performed a formation in-village, and therefore several women already know how to make soap. So we ended up enlisting three additional women, in addition to the five women currently on our committee, to make two women from each of the four 'kinw' (neighborhoods) to run the formation.

I decided that since this project is oriented around teaching the villagers a skill which can be used to better themselves, I am willing to provide the funding. I gave Dramani, the president of the committee, and Daouda, another committee member, money to go to the nearby city of Dioro on September 15th to look into purchasing a mold for the process.

They returned after meeting with a woman in Dioro who has created a solid business for herself in making and selling soap. Her process uses 'dɛntulu' (an oil from a palm-type tree) as opposed to 'shitulu' (shea oil), which is the standard for soap-making in Mali due to it's general abundance. Her soap is much softer and works up to more of a lather.

She uses a wooden mold to make a large block of soap, and a table with knife-blades emanating vertically from the surface. The large block of soap is run along the surface of the table, which cut it into neat rectangular bars of soap.

So the two men returned wanting to replicate her process, and everyone agreed. The problem is that her soap also includes several other secondary ingredients. She was not willing to divulge her recipe, due to fears of competition.

However, she learned the process from a man who teaches the skill for a fee. Therefore, in order to obtain the exact recipe, we will need to pay money to run the formation. Dramani is currently working to find out exactly how much, but my fear is that it may be more money than I can afford, since the money is currently coming out of my pocket.

I explained to Dramani that if the teacher's fee is too high, we can try making the soap without the secondary ingredients, since other villagers have evidently done this in the past. So I gave them money to purchase the mold and the table, which was to be completed this past Saturday. Predictably, the craftsman hasn't even begun work yet in making the equipment.

I told the villagers that in America, if a craftsman tells you his work will be done on a certain day, it will be done on that day. Otherwise, the price will be discounted substantially. Bavieux, a friend of mine, joked that in Mali, if work is not done on the promised date, the price will often be increased. Yup, sounds about right...

We discussed our plans following the formation. The committee members had wanted to restrict soap-making only to themselves. They would then sell the soap in the village for a profit. I recommended that we should include the rest of the village. If they are motivated enough to want to make soap themselves, then that is great. They can purchase the equipment to do so, or perhaps they can rent the equipment from the committee for a fee. They agreed with that suggestion.

So the formation is currently on hold, but I am encouraged by the initiative our committee members have shown in the planning process.

Drinking Water Well Treatment

During my last trip to Ségou, I bought a case of bleach to start the committee off in their monthly treatment of all of the drinking water wells in the village. On the night of August 25th, Dramani and Daouda treated the two wells in their 'kin' (neighborhood) of Katilɛla. On August 28th, we treated the six wells in the three remain 'kinw.' Dramani and Daouda took the lead, teaching the other members of the committee in the other 'kinw' the method to treat their wells.

I arrived here in Ségou yesterday. Therefore, the villagers were due to treat the Katilɛla wells last night. I spoke with them before leaving, and they promised to do so.

We originally began this project due to the wishes of the villagers, and I am very happy with the initiative our committee members, particularly Dramani and Daouda, have shown in taking up the task.

Women's Garden Committee Monthly Dues Collection

As I have previously stated, monthly dues collection has been difficult over the past several months. Women often were not available during the day due to travels and engagements during the wedding season, or due to work required of them in the fields.

Added to that, I made the mistake in giving too much freedom to Aissetta, our 'sɛbɛnɛkɛla' (secretary), to format the books. My thought was that she had just learned to write, and I did not want to overwhelm her. But the books became cluttered and difficult to decipher.

So since that time, I had sat down with Aissetta to show her ways to improve her bookkeeping. She then recopied the books, making use of these improvements.

On August 31st, we held a committee meeting where the women of each 'kin' (neighborhood) arrived with the money they collected, and we compiled it together to keep in the 'kɛsu' (account). This includes the months of May, June, and July.

On September 1st, the women decided to hold a meeting with all of the women to announce the money collected, implore women to pay for August and September, and discuss other outstanding issues with the garden.

The women all applauded the money collected, and seemed genuinely excited about the effort. Other issues, such as animals eating crops through the fence and theft of fruits and vegetables by other villagers, were discussed. For the former, the women decided to get their sons to build an earthen berm along the fence to keep animals away. The latter was more contentious; some women wanted to lock the garden at night, others took it a step further, wanting to pay a guard to stand watch during the day. No consensus was reached. Thus far, nothing has been done regarding these two issues.

The committee women have continued to try and collect money for August and September, but the women complain that they do not have any money now, until harvest.

Fish Feed Area ('jɛgɛ dumuni yɔrɔ')

The rainy season began on June 15th, and since that time, we have been getting rainfall regularly every couple of days, although its prevalence has begun to reduce. With all the added rain, the water level in the fish pond has now risen to it's highest level:

A view of the fish pond from September 1st, at it's highest water level to-date (9.75' at it's deepest point).A view of the flooding to the north of the fish pond. Last year, the flooding was much more significant, with water reaching further to the north, and covering the road to the west of the pond. Fortunately, last year happened to be abnormal. This year, the flooding hasn't had a detrimental impact on village life, as no significant roads out the fields have been encumbered with water. And thanks to the work put in by the Fish Pond Committee earlier, no fish have escaped the pond.

I noted in a previous post that the villagers had decided to lash together a raft to repair the fish feed area, since it was 'swallowed' by the waters, as they say. Unfortunately, the water level rose to such a point that that would have been impossible. The men would have had to stand in the 9.5' deep water to repair it, which was not an option.

Instead, we decided to build a second fish feed area, until the water level lowers again, allowing us to utilize the former, larger area. The work did not take place as fast as I had wanted to see, finally taking place on September 10th. I had to stay on them to get it done, but after several delays and moments of forgetfulness, the work did occur.

Sorti, Bamoussa, and Madou thrusting tree branches into the clay bottom of the pond to form the posts of the second Fish Feed Area.Madou and Bamoussa constructing the Fish Feed Area with rice sacks strung along tree branches, to form the walls.The Fish Feed Area is rather small, due to a shortage in the quantity of rice sacks which people were willing to part with for the work. But hopefully it will be sufficient for the time being.

The village purchased two rice sacks full of 'malo bu' (ground rice shells), which we added to the Fish Feed Area along with a half sack of 'caba bu' (ground corn husks) and 'misiw bo' (cow dung).

Ladji, Seydou, and Yacouba playing a little dress up during a 'shɛni' (dance party) held on 'Selideni' (the Muslim holiday at the end of Ramadan).This year, the Islamic holy month of Ramadan lasted from August 1st through August 30th. During this time, Muslim people are obligated to fast during the daylight hours. On August 30th, the fast is broken by the Muslim holiday of 'Selideni' (Eid ul-Fitr).

Since the Bambaran people were traditionally animist, only later to be converted to Islam, there is a constant tension between the religions which can be seen daily in these communities.

I have found that though everyone considers themselves Muslim, they also wear 'boliw' (animist fetishes) for protection or good luck, such as a belt placed on all babies with leather pouches containing such items as the skull of a guinea-fowel, and perform traditional music and ceremonies in contrast to the religion.

In my village, the majority of people actually did not fast during Ramadan. Primarily only the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw' (elder men) participated in the fast. Part of the reason for this is no doubt that the holy month of Ramadan happened to take place during the period in which most of the work in the fields must be done. But despite this, I have found that other nearby villages held to the fast in much stricter fashion.

During the month, I was constantly asked about my religion. In the past, I had listened to the advice of former volunteers in describing myself as Christian. The idea is such that Malians, and religious people in general, have a hard time accepting that someone can believe in nothing. They can relate to you as long as you express some kind of religious sentiment.

But I never felt comfortable telling this lie. With no disrespect to organized religion, I feel that a big part of who I am is that I do not associate myself with any church or religious sect.

As I came to understand the religious tensions within the community, I decided that with the level of respect I have built in my community, as well as my improved language skills, this was the time to express my true beliefs.

So now when people ask me whether I am Christian, I respond 'no. My belief is that if you do good things during your life and strive to help others, while minimizing the bad, you will not burn when you die. Whether you pray or not, it doesn't matter.' I then go on to reinforce my belief with examples of people such as Hitler and Bin Laden, whom have associated themselves with these faiths, but certainly would not be on the right side of any God.

Generally, the response that I have received has been surprisingly favorable. Many of the younger people have told me 'I agree, we are the same. That is my belief too.' Even many of the older men have said 'that is the truth.' However, by outing myself as an atheist, a few elder men have taken it upon themselves to attempt to convert me. But after a few conversations, they seem to abandon the task.

Returning to the holiday of 'Selideni' itself, I was surprised to find that the village celebrated one of the most sacred days of the Islamic calender with a 'shɛni' (dance party), that included some young men dressing themselves up in women's clothing.

My understanding of the Muslim faith is that in it's most conservative form, music for any purpose but worship is forbidden. I understand that in most modern Muslim cultures, this opinion is considered outdated and music is fully embraced as a medium of enjoyment and expression. But it still caught me off-guard to find that my Muslim village held a dance party, with men dressing in drag at one point no less, as a means of celebrating a religious holiday.

I actually broached this subject with some of the villagers, who agreed that traditionally-speaking, this practice is at odds with the religion. It does not occur in any of the neighboring villages that I know of, and none of the other volunteers in the region can attest to having witnessed anything similar.

The people of my village are genuinely kind-hearted, generous people who know how to enjoy themselves and have a good time. They have endeared themselves to me and have made my time here enjoyable.

Pictured below are the festivities of 'Selideni' as celebrated in my small, Bambaran village:

Villagers walking out to a field for a communal prayer held during the morning of 'Selideni' to mark the end of Ramadan. Note that the crowd is assembled in rows with rugs at their feet, facing east towards Mecca. The men formed the first two rows, followed by three rows of young boys, and all the way in the back are the women.Following the morning prayer, all of the men gathered together for a meal of 'kini ni tiga dɛgɛ na' (rice and peanut sauce). Note the men in front washing their hands with soap. I, along with members of our Water and Sanitation Committee, tried to encourage the practice during this event.Young girls singing and clapping a traditional Malian song as the girls in back throw Dili, my host-sister, into the air when she falls back into their arms.The young girls singing another traditional song as they take turns jumping in the middle of the circle.Women braiding each-other's hair prior to the day's festivities. The woman on the left in purple is Korɛ, one of the women on our Water and Sanitation Committee. A 'shɛni,' or dance party, was held on the afternoon of 'Selideni' underneath a large meeting tree in the village.Yacouba brews tea in the foreground as kids dance in the background to music prior to the start of the 'shɛni.'Seydou and Yacouba dance together in a line, passing through a line of a couple 'mɔgɔtigiw' (a term used for unmarried women - the direct translating being 'masters of people'). Generally, the dancers form two lines facing each-other; one of men and one of women. They then dance towards each-other before passing through to the other side.Mama, my host mother, surprised us all by jumping in during the middle of the performance and dropping some urban dance moves. Here she is, in green, dropping to the ground to gyrate her upper body and pump her arms.The crowd was very energetic, clapping and cheering throughout the entire event, as they are with all of the 'shɛniw' held throughout the year. Dramani (far left) manned the stereo equipment and the microphone, calling 'gɛrɛw' (groups of young people who socialize together) and individuals to dance and adding his own stylings on the microphone over some of the songs.Some young girls dancing during the 'shɛni.'All of the 'denmiseniw' (young children) converged into the circle for a mob dance. My camera had something to do with this excitement.Dramani announced that for the last song, a couple 'mɔgɔtigiw' had arrived from Bamako and would like to dance. Ladji and Seydou served as the 'mɔgɔtigiw,' dressed in drag. Yacouba joined them dressed in farmer's clothing on the left.I finally got Kaja, one of my host-mothers who is camera-shy, to take a proper picture with me. Her daughter, Kaja-tou (directly beneath her), is one of the few toddlers who have actually taken a liking to me. Most just scream and run away at the sight of a white man.My host mothers Kaja, Mama, and Bintu posing with me and a few of their kids for a picture during 'Seliba.' These are the three women who cook for me. My host father is Koka, and his younger brother is Badama. Mama is Koka's only wife, while Bintu and Kaja are Badama's wives.During the two mornings following 'Selideni,' groups of men join together to 'yala yala ka daraka dun' (walk-about from concession to concession to eat breakfast). Baba, Badama, Baysa, Dramani, Tayluru, Mohammadu, Vieux, and Daouda (from left to right) formed my group. On August 31st, I served breakfast first in my concession, before moving onto five other concessions. September 1st involved breakfast at five different houses, including Baysa's, pictured above.We had fun joking around throughout the morning, and took some pictures along the way.The men posing with a 'wɔtɔrɔ.'Another shot from the 'Seliba' breakfasts.Following breakfast on September 1st, our Women's Garden Committee held a meeting with all of the village women regarding the monthly dues we are collecting. I took the opportunity to take a picture with some of the women dressed up in their 'Seliba' clothes.My friend Vieux and I. He broke his leg several months ago from a motorcycle accident, and is still recovering. Therefore, since he has been unable to work in the fields with nearly all of the village, I spent a lot of time with him, as well as whomever happened to be around that day, chatting over tea during the day.

This past month in village has seen continued work in the fields, continued migration of the youth into the city to make money, and the first half of the holy month of Ramadan, which lasts from August 1st through August 30th.

The following are some pictures I took during this time. Beneath each picture I provided descriptions and/or stories to help provide insight into village life and what I have been up to:

The final remnants of 'gingy.' From left to right: Dara 'dɔɔni' (Small Dara), Mami, Bahumu, Drissa (her son), and myself. I have given Dara 'dɔɔni' this nickname to his annoyance due to his small stature in comparison to Dara 'bɛlɛbɛlɛ' (big Dara). He has become one of my best friends in village.

All of the 'dɛnmisɛnw' (young adults) in village have their own 'gɛrɛ,' or group of friends who generally gather together every night to chat until about midnight, and each group has given themselves a name. I have generally become a part of 'gingy,' which is Bambaran for owl. They selected this name because the owl stays up all night and makes noise. I greatly enjoy chatting with this group because it involves both men and women. Normally in this culture, the men chat seperately from the women.

'Gingy' used to be about 12 people strong, but unfortunately, with most young men and women leaving for Bamako to make money 'fini gɔsi' (pounding Baizan clothing) or working as housemaids for well-off urban families respectively, our numbers have greatly dwindled. Dara is actually leaving on Saturday, and Mami already left on Wednesday. I joked with them that 'gingy' has died, but will be reborn in December when everyone begins to return.

My host-uncle Badama cutting 'sɛbɛ,' which became my favorite treat in village. This is a hard fruit that is prepared by cutting the fruit into large wedges, and removing the large seed within the fruit. The wedges, with the fruit still on the hard skin, are then cooked in an iron pot over the fire.

You don't actually eat them, but you pull the orange fruit off the skin with your teeth, chew it to suck off the juice, then spit out the actual pulpy fruit. To be honest, I was not impressed the first time I tasted it - it was alright but not worth the hype the villagers placed upon it. But I quickly acquired a taste for it to the point of cravings. Unfortunately, 'sɛbɛ' season is now over. While we were chatting as Badama cut the fruit, he began talking about how people climb the 'sɛbɛ' trees in other parts of Mali and the Ivory Coast. Randomly, he got up and decided to prove to me he could do it.

People don't actually climb these trees for the fruit here. Instead, the fruit fall from the large palm trees on their own. This 'sɛbɛ' tree in my jatigi's (host family's) concession is approximately 50 feet tall, and the fruit themselves are rather large and very hard. They make a huge thud when they fall.

I told my family that a person can easily be killed if they happen to be underneath when a 'sɛbɛ' falls. I was half-joking, but I believe its the truth. They disagreed, and admitted it might kill a small child, but they don't believe it could kill an adult. I joked that it would be a sad phone call to make to tell my family that I died from a falling fruit! After climbing the tree, Badama then sat down on rug to copy a holy muslim text in Arabic onto his wooden tablet. It is the holy month of Ramadan, and Badama is one of the few people in my village actually fasting. Most men and women go to the fields, and since fasting involves not eating or drinking, even water, from sunrise to sundown, fasting can be a death sentence. But even those who stay in village during the day generally don't fast, it seems to be primarily the elder men. I believe this is somewhat of an anomaly - my village isn't as devout as many in the region.

When I was chatting with Lamissa, the school headmaster, his wife Afu, and Yaoussa, a woman from the Water and Sanitation Committee, we talked about the 'jackow' (ceremonial costumed Bambaran 'mascots') used for traditional ceremonies. In current times, they are primarily brought out for Mali's Independence Day.

But Lamissa told me that several years ago, three of the four 'kinw' (neighborhoods) in village designed their own 'jackow' to celebrate the opening of the community savings bank. They weren't terribly elaborate as the ones I have shown on this blog before. Katilɛla was a cow, Diarrakɛla was a very large man who stomps on rice stalks, and Bokomana was simply a group of 'dɛnmisɛnw' who 'chi kɛ'd (plowed) the center of town with a 'misi shɛri' (plow pulled by two bulls). They explained that the fourth 'kin,' Marakɛla, did not participate because they are all 'muslim.'

My entire village, of course, considers themselves Muslim. But this just illustrates how the conversion of the Bambaran people to Islam did not fully remove their traditional animist religion and culture, and there is a constant tension observed in their religious practices. Indeed, every child still wears a 'boli' (fetish/amulet), which involves a leather belt and various small items, such as the skull of a 'cami' (guinea fowel) wrapped in a leather pouch. The 'boli' is said to ward off evil. Baysa and a young boy 'chi kɛ' (plowing) the millet fields. They are actually 'ɲɔ shiɛn/bin bon,' which is removing the weeds and grass from the millet fields that can crowd out the actual crop. First, the men use the 'shɛri' to plow alongside each row of crop, removing all growth adjacent to it. Finally, the men use 'daba' hand tools to hack away at any weeds growing between the plants themselves. My friends Tayluru and Bokari are pictured above. Many of the 'kinw' (neighborhoods) have begun to establish their own 'kɛsu' (savings account) for use in any projects within their 'kin' in the future. In order to raise money for this purpose, the 'kin' acquires several plots of land within the rice fields to work together. All profits from the harvest of the rice then go into the 'kɛsu.'

Pictured above are men of Katilɛla working their 'tɔn bara fɔrɔ' (neighborhood committee work field). Men to the left are 'chi kɛ' (plowing) the land, while the man to the right is casting rice seeds onto the field. It was a rather impressive operation, with 17 different 'shɛriw' (plows) working at once over two hectares of land. A young man casting rice seeds across the freshly plowed fields during Bokomana's 'tɔn bara.' Dara demonstrating the use of an 'ɛrɛshi' during the 'Bokomana tɔn bara.' This is the metal unit being pulled by the bulls above. Emanating from the metal structure are several small blades. As the 'ɛrɛshi' is pulled across the land, it covers the rice seeds that were just casted by hand with soil to prevent birds from eating them. Two young boys, Noohoo (right) and his friend guiding bulls as they pull an 'ɛrɛshi' during the 'Katilɛla tɔn bara.' Millet fields just outside of the village on August 2nd. My friend Senata (center) with her grandmother (left) and sister (right) 'tiga kɔrɔci/bin bon.' Similar to what I described above with the millet fields, these women are using their 'dabaw' to hack away weeds between the peanut plants. Most field work is generally done primarily by the men, although the women do assist in seeding. However, besides plowing, peanut fields are worked by women only.

A couple days before this, I was chatting with Senata along with some other villagers, and she asked me to join her in the fields to 'tiga kɔrɔci.' She rose up out of her seat, grabbed her 'daba,' and proceeded to demonstrate the movement of hacking away at the weeds. But she did so in such an animated way, that she shook her 'juguru' (rear-end) as if she were Shakira as she went along. So I asked, 'If I come, do I have to do that?' They all laughed.

When I came out to the fields with them on this day, I noticed she was much more 'normal' in her motion. But when I was handed a 'daba,' I mimicked her movement from the day before. They all died laughing. I joked, 'why aren't you dancing like you were doing the day before?' Her grandmother joked that the fields had become a 'dɔnkɛ yɔrɔ' (dancing place). I headed out with Ladji on one day to deliver food on bike to the men working the 'Diarrakɛla tɔn bara' in the rice fields. He pointed out this temporary settlement along the banks of the canal which was built to water the rice fields. He explained that it belongs to a family of the ethnic group 'Daga.' These families are nomadic, and move here each farming season from the more arid lands to the northeast to work the rice fields and fish in the canal. This is a picture of the canal as seen next to a bridge. To the right, you can see a 'kurun' (small fishing boat), and a couple small fishing nets floating along the water. Men riding to the next 'Diarrakɛla tɔn bara fɔrɔ' (committee work field) in the afternoon after completing work in another field during the morning. Seydou posing with a dog that followed his 'misi wɔtɔrɔ' out to the fields, surrounded by other young men and boys of Diarrakɛla. The same millet fields just outside of the village on August 17th.

Behavior change and empowering a community to take steps on their own to improve their daily lives are particularly difficult tasks to undertake as a development worker, but I feel they are the most important. While working in this capacity, it is the little things that matter... small steps forward, small steps back. In the end, you simply hope that in aggregate, you are continuing to move ahead.

In this vain, the following is a description of the different activities I've been engaged in over the past month, and how they've faired both positively and negatively:

Hand-washing

I consider the encouragement of proper hand-washing with soap prior to eating to be one of my most important objectives as a water and sanitation volunteer. It may seem like a simple change to make, but getting people to realize the strong correlation it has with the reduction of disease, and to then change their habits, is a very difficult progress.

Whenever I am around anyone who is preparing to eat in village, I first observe what they are about to do. If they bring out soap and water, I enthusiastically applaud their efforts. If they use only an old tomato paste can of water to dip their hands in, with which each person reuses the same dirty water, thus making their hands more dirty than when they began, I emphatically, but not in a rude way, condemn their behavior and ask where the soap is. I then explain how proper hand-washing kills the germs on their hands, which can significantly reduce the occurrence of illness.

A few weeks ago, while I was on a 'yala yala' (walk-about) through the fields, I visited a peanut field where my host-brother Ladji was working. Around noon, we sat down to eat a lunch of 'tɔ pasalɛn' which the women had just brought on foot to the fields. To my astonishment, he pulled out a bar of soap he had kept in a small plastic bag in his pocket. I praised him enthusiastically for this, particularly since he did not know ahead of time I would be joining him. He truly has bought into the practice, this wasn't simply a one-time attempt to impress me.

It is a hard enough task to get people to use soap at home, but in the fields is a another matter altogether, since it means carrying soap with them when they head out in the morning to the fields. So I later asked Ladji what made him decide to begin bringing soap to the fields.

Just before the rainy season arrives, the entire community gathers together for a local holiday called 'Sarakati, ' during which the villagers pray to Allah for significant rainfall to ensure good crop yield in the upcoming growing season. The villagers all gather together in the center of the village to first enjoy a small feast before launching into a series of muslim prayers.

I had brought soap with me and adamantly encouraged everyone around me to use it. The meal consisted of 'basi ni sumala mugu na ni misi sɔgɔ' (millet cous-cous with a sauce made from the bark of a tree and chunks of meat from a cow slaughtered in the morning). The meal was, as always, eaten with the right hand out of communal bowls, each shared by about 8 people. The meat, however, is handled differently. In order to make sure everyone gets their fair share, a 'cɛkɔrɔba' (elder man) is chosen to walk through the mass of people and hand each person a few small chunks of meat.

I had noticed one man, Omaru, eating his meat in a rather peculiar way - he was using both hands. In Mali, people use their right hand only to eat. This is because in Mali, people do not use toilet paper after relieving themselves, but a 'selidaga' (a container for pouring water) and the left hand. And they do not wash with soap afterwards.

Not only that, but I happened to see Omaru licking his left hand clean. So I said to him loudly so that everyone around would hear, 'Omaru, you normally do what type of work with that hand?' Everyone laughed and commented on it being the truth, and Omaru seemed a bit embarrassed by it.

It was this incident that Ladji specifically recalled. He said that my comment really made him think, and he decided from then on he would wash his hands with soap before every meal. This was one of my proudest moments as a volunteer. Just one person in a village of about a thousand, but thats how it begins. Slowly, very slowly, hand-washing does seem to be catching on, person-by-person.

Drinking Water Well Treatment

With the completion of the pump project, the vast majority of villagers now opt to drink the much cleaner pump water, as opposed to the contaminated well water. However, I have realized that several villagers still drink the well water, primarily due to their concessions being rather far from the pumps.

I had held off on teaching the villagers how to treat their drinking water wells primarily because I did not want to overload them by tackling too many behavioral changes at once.

But this past Wednesday, a woman approached me asking for help on how to treat the community well nearest her concession. She had even bought bleach herself from market on Sunday due to her concern.

So I asked Dramani and Daouda, two members of our Water and Sanitation Committee, to join me and I guided them in treating the well. There is a simple method to treat drinking water wells monthly, which can be easily taught to Malians.

You first measure the depth of the water by simply lowering a rope tied to some type of weight, like a rock, until it reaches the bottom of the well while keeping the rope taught. Based upon the depth, the degree of bleach available, and the diameter of the well, you can easily determine how many tea glasses full of bleach to use. The well is treated at night, so that by the time people wake to fetch water in the morning, the bleach has had time to sit and disinfect.

Once we had finished treating this well, Daouda turned to me and said that he would like to begin treating all of the village wells every month, and Dramani agreed. Of course, all of the wells in the village are uncovered, and roaches could be seen all along the concrete walls of the wells. So the bleach will only do so much. But nonetheless, I was very encouraged by their initiative, and said that is a great idea. They plan on using some of the 'kɛsu' money (from the monthly pump dues) to buy the bleach.

I told them that the more effective solution is to convince each family to treat the 'fiɛn' (clay pot used for storing drinking water) in their concession individually, but as Daouda suggested, that will be a difficult sell. He is planning on beginning to do so in his concession, however. And he drinks pump water.

Water and Sanitation Committee ('ji ni saniya tɔn sigi') Monthly Meetings

In a previous post from July 16th entitled 'Raging in a foreign language is fun!,' I covered the issues I was having in regards to attendance at our Water and Sanitation Committee meetings during the months of May, June, and July.

Due to the fact that during the rainy season, nearly all villagers spend every day working their fields, we had opted to meet only once a month during this time, on the first Thursday night of each month at 9:30 PM (Thursday night western calender, Friday night african calender. The new day in the African calender begins at sundown).

A storm arrived on Thursday, August 4th, with rain lasting until about 7:30 PM at night. We had previously discussed that if it were to rain during our scheduled meeting time, we would meet on the following night instead. I wasn't sure what would come of this meeting, since the rain stopped prior to our meeting time. So I went to our meeting place, but found that no one came. Turns out, not only did the rain present an issue, but a man of about 35 years of age had passed away that afternoon.

Due to these issues, I spoke with Dramani, the 'ji ni saniya tɔn sigi ɲɛmɔgɔ,' about selecting a new meeting time for the month. We decided to meet on Sunday night, August 7th (Monday night african calender). We then told Korɛ, our 'mɔgɔwɛlɛla' (person-caller), to inform the other committee members.

Five out of ten of our committee members ended up attending, three men and two women. Lassana was not among them, as he was sick.

I had previously spoken with Dramani about needing to take the lead role in our meetings. Before every meeting, I sit down to discuss with him what we would like to cover during the meeting, and make sure that he knows what he wants to say.

But despite this guidance, he normally begins the meeting with the traditional greetings and blessings, speaks very briefly, then calls for Lassana to speak because of his propensity to talk a lot, even though I had not met with Lassana.

I told Dramani that his work is very good, and I know he can lead meetings and facilitate discussion effectively. But I think he is just shy in front of a group of people. He agreed. I told him that it would be very good to me if he tried to work on this. He agreed that he would not delegate the leading role to Lassana at future meetings.

So during our August meeting, Dramani led the discussions effectively. Of course, Lassana wasn't there as an option for him to turn to, but I was very pleased with his performance. I still had to remind Dramani to discuss certain topics, but once I did he was able to speak on them. And without Lassana there to dominate discussions, I found that everyone was more involved throughout the meeting.

Pump Rules

I am still trying to get the Water and Sanitation Committee members to effectively enforce the pump rules by collecting fines for violations. This is difficult to do, not only because it requires a confrontation approach on their part, but also because most of the members are currently in the fields all day.

But last Tuesday, Dramani took a stand on his own and locked both pumps until Thursday morning. He told me that he was not happy that some people were not respecting the rules. Particularly, both pumps were filthy because they were not being cleaned regularly in the morning by the women in each 'kin' (neighborhood).

On Wednesday, when we were walking together to take a look at soap-making equipment a woman has in village for use in the soap-making formation we are currently planning to hold, Sorti, the acting 'dugutigi' (chief-of-village), actually called over to us saying that we need to unlock the pumps. Dramani, to my delight, stuck to his guns and refused, saying that people need to realize that they need to respect the pump rules in order to have access to them.

Fish Feed Area ('jɛgɛ dumuni yɔrɔ')

Back in July, I assisted the villagers in constructing a fish feed area in the fish pond, which I covered in a previous post from July 16th. That was done towards the beginning of the rainy season, and since that time, the rains have intensified, significantly raising the water level of the pond. The waters have raised to such an extent that the walls of the current fish feed area are not adequately high or long enough to contain the compost. Unfortunately, this has meant that the compost has drifted out of this confined area and into the pond at-large.

The current state of the fish pond. As the rainy season progresses, the water level continues to rise significantly. It is now approximately 7 feet deep. We had anticipated this at the time, and decided upon a date to expand the fish feed area both further up the banks and vertically. Unfortunately, this date kept being pushed back, either due to foul weather or due to lack of manpower. Sorti, the 'jɛgɛ mara yɔrɔ ton sigi ɲɛmɔgɔ' (fish pond committee president), would arrange for men to help with the effort. But if significant rainfall came the night before, they would all go to the fields to take advantage of the supple ground. Additionally, many Malians cannot swim and are scared to go into deep water.

The higher water level means that the walls of the fish feed area are significantly undersized. The tree branch posts you see sticking up out of the water in the foreground are those formerly placed on July 14th, and shown in my previous blog post, for the walls. Back right, floating compost can be seen in the pond, which has escaped past the walls. At this time, the water level in the pond is about 7 feet deep. Understandably, the villagers are concerned about being 'swallowed' by the water. Sorti, however, has assured me that he promised me that the village would expand the fish feed area, so it will be done.

As a solution, the villagers have decided to build a raft by lashing tree branches to large plastic water jugs. They are currently working on procuring the materials. Once this is done, they will use the raft to finish the construction.

Flooding Issues around the Fish Pond

One of the major issues the village has identified to improve with the fish pond is the concern of flooding. Late in the rainy season as the intense rains continue to accumulate, the pond fills up with water to an extent that it also floods the surrounding area. Their major concern actually is not the actual flooding itself, but that the use the flooded land to escape from the pond.

Back on July 1st, the villagers took the initiative to begin constructing an earthen berm to the North of the fish pond where the flooding generally occurs. They had not quite finished this structure at the time. The netted/reinforced inlet within the break in the earthen berm the villagers constructed. On July 30th, Sorti and Kasim, two men on the 'jɛgɛ mara yɔrɔ ton sigi' (fish pond committee), finished this construction by stringing fish netting along the inlet using tree branches and rocks within the berm. This inlet is intended to permit rainwater upstream to enter the pond, while preventing fish from escaping. A close-up of the netting strung along large branches. The bottom of the netting is held in place by burying it into the soil and using small wooden stakes and rocks to weigh it down. They also reinforced the inlets closer to the pond, directly underneath the metal fencing around it's perimeter, with fish netting and stones to keep it weighed down.

This local solution to the problem impressed me and shows that the community, at least the fish pond committee, is beginning to take ownership and buy-in to the project.

Women's Garden Committee ('muso nako tɔn sigi') Monthly Dues Collection

On Wednesday, July 27th, we held one of our bi-weekly Women's Garden Committee meetings. Currently, the only item that has been on the agenda is the collection of monthly dues.

One woman on the committee, Aissetta, our 'sɛbɛnɛkɛla' (secretary), was recently taught how to write by her husband. As she is the only woman able to read and write, the ten women on the committee generally come to the meeting with the money collected within their 'kin' (neighborhood - there are 4 in our village) for the previous month's dues and recite to Aissetta by memory who paid, and for how many months. Therefore, our meetings tend to be long and slow.

By the July 27th meeting, the women were to have collected three months worth of dues: May, June, and July. This was because due to the wedding season and work in the fields, dues were not previously collected during the months of May and June. Two 'kinw' (neighborhoods) succeeded in collecting all three months. Unfortunately, one 'kin' did not yet collect any money, while another collected two months instead of three.

So by our next meeting on Wednesday, August 10th, the women were supposed to have finished collecting dues up until the month of July, and were to begin collecting for the month of August.

Unfortunately, Aissetta was sick and did not show up for the meeting. So I got the notebooks from her husband, and Lassana and I worked to decipher from them what was previously collected, then mark, from the women's memories, who has paid since our last meeting.

I found this process to be exceedingly difficult. The notebooks were not well formatted. An 'X' is placed by each women's name for each month of dues paid. But there was no clear organization, as they were not arranged in columns, and women with multiple plots (and thus responsible for multiple dues each month) were not even indicated.

With this confusion, the amount of money that I counted as previously collected from the notebooks differed greatly from the total money we had on hand.

I realized that I had not given Aissetta enough guidance in how to effectively format her notebooks for proper bookkeeping. So the following day, I sat down with her and discussed ways to improve the notebooks. She agreed, and is now working on recopying the information. At that point, we will then sit down together with the women from each 'kin' to verify the information we had previously received.

I was telling her that it is very difficult, because with her being the only woman that can read and write, she has a whole lot of work to do. She then informed me that there are a couple other women in-village, but not on our committee, that can write. I asked if she would like for us to add one of these women to the committee to assist her, and she said that would be very good to her, sounding relieved.

So I spoke with Mama, the 'ɲɛmɔgɔ' (president), and she agreed to speak with Fatimata, the 'muso jɛkulu ɲɛmɔgɔ' (President of the overall Women's Committee). Fatimata then spoke with the husband of the new woman for permission, then the woman herself, finding that she was interested in the position.

So we now have added a second 'sɛbɛnɛkɛla' to the committee, bringing the total membership to 11 women. This should hopefully ease our work in the future.

Women's Garden Pépinières (Nurseries)

As I had previously covered in April, the pépinières I had assisted the women in preparing were initially a strong success. The seedlings which were grown seemed strong, healthy, and plentiful. We successfully distributed these seedlings to all of the women in the garden.

But unfortunately, I have since learned that all of these seedlings had died once they were transplanted. Our pépinière seedlings were not unique, apparently all of their crops had died. So chalk this one up to a lessen learned - do not start pépinières during the hot season.

My last post dealt with the recent issues I have had with Lassana, my homologue. I wanted to provide an update on how things currently stand.

As soon as I returned to village on July 21st, I sat down with Sorti, the acting 'dugutigi' (chief-of-village), and Dramani, the 'ji ni saniya ton sigi ɲɛmɔgɔ' (water and sanitation committee president). I described to them the current situation with Lassana, and they agreed that his action to call my supervisor was in poor form.

Since Lassana had said that I don't want to work in the community, I also took the opportunity to again clarify my role. I told them that my work is not to give them money. I am not a standard NGO. And because I am not readily dispensing money, Lassana says that I am not working. Which if that is his definition of work, no, I admit I am not.

What I am trying to do is to teach the villagers how to help themselves improve their quality of life. I intend to build capacity within the community by teaching them skills which will enable them to plan, design, and manage projects. This includes budgeting and raising money within the village itself.

Sure, I could throw all kinds of money at the village and we could build a lot in the next year. But once I am gone, the village would be reliant on foreign aid, and if foreign money is not available, they would not do a thing but wait.

I told them that my goal is to ensure that when I am gone, they can work on their own to improve their village year after year. THIS is my work. If, when I return to America, they do not have the skills nor the will help themselves, I believe that I have not done anything.

So I again restated Lassana's position that my work is bad. I told them that 'if you and the majority of the village agree, then I will return to America right now. But if, as I suspect, it is only Lassana that thinks my work is bad, then I want to stay and continue to help the village.'

They both said that my work is very, very good, and Lassana's work is bad. So I promised that I will stay on board and do what I can to help them.

Sorti told me that he decided to call a village-wide meeting and effectively out Lassana in front of the entire community. He wanted to tell them all what he had said about me, and ask the rest of the village if they agree. Once everyone states their disagreement with Lassana's perspective, Sorti would turn to Lassana and say 'if you still think this way, you have to leave all of the village committees.'

Haoua, our sector's APCD and my supervisor, later called to speak with Sorti, Lassana, and I. She, I believe correctly, told Sorti that the confrontational tact Sorti planned to take was very bad, and could lead to much conflict down the road.

Instead, she simply talked to Lassana and emphasized that I am there to work with the entire community, not only with him. Therefore, I am free to choose to work with other people within the community. She also told him directly that he is not my boss, and as an adult, and a volunteer, no one, not even her, can tell me what to do. So for the good of the community, she encouraged him to step aside and not to interfere with my work.

Since that time, I have continued my work with other members of the community, and Lassana has by and large stayed on the sidelines. He is still on the committees, but outside of the meetings, I do not work directly with him.

Lassana has not acknowledged that he made any move against me, and continues to act as if nothing happened. So we have not had any discussions on the matter amongst ourselves. Although I find it irritating, at least there has not been any further conflict.

Haoua is coming out to visit my site on Monday, at which time she will reinforce with Lassana what was discussed over the phone. So it appears that we have weathered the storm, and our work can proceed unhindered.

This past Sunday, I arrived in Bamako to assist in the training of the new volunteers, serving as a guest speaker about pumps. And since I've been in Mali for over a year, I am also taking care of my Mid-Service Medical Examination.

But a fairly mundane trip turned stunning when I got into Bamako and called Adama, the Water and Sanitation Sector's assistant APCD.

Adama told me that Lassana, my homologue, had been calling him since last Tuesday. Lassana told him that I do not want to work for the village, and specifically that I do not want to work on 'his' project of constructing 10 wells. He says that I do not work, instead all that I am interested in is having fun with the young people and going to other villages at night with 'young girls' for mischievousness. He said that he has repeatedly told me to stop doing this, but that I simply told him that he is not my father.

Wow, well coming from a man who's moral record isn't particularly sparkling, I would say he is trying to get me kicked out of the Peace Corps and replaced. A couple reasons that seem to come through in his speech:

1) He is not pleased with my stance that I will not find funding for additional projects within the village. This could be both due to the elimination of his potential revenue stream, but also due to the reduced scope of community projects, which would not give him as much recognition within the community. I have tried to work with the village primarily to build capacity through organizational development, behavioral change, and the teaching of management/fundraising skills. I stand by my stance that that is my most important role as a development worker, in order to ensure projects are sustainable and replicable in the future. Yet Lassana's perspective seems to be that if I am not handing the village money, I am not working.

2) He knows that I am aware of his previous exploitation of the system, and is not happy that I am now working primarily with other members of the community. The only truth to what he has said dates back to May, when I served as a 'kɔnyɔnbɛna' for my friend Daouda's wedding (an experience I detailed in a post from May 12th). I had been sitting with some friends, and even Seykou, the Engineers without Borders mentor, who happened to be in my village at the time. We were discussing what my role would be in the proceedings, when Lassana happened to walk by and overhear us.

He then aggressively told me 'you cannot go. It is against Peace Corps policy to travel at night whatsoever. Al-Qaeda will see a white person riding through the fields, and will capture you.'

So I disputed this, saying that it is not against Peace Corps policy to travel at night. Malian transport isn't reliable enough to prevent this anyways. They recommend that you do not go out at night alone in large cities, and they forbid that you go anywhere on a motorcycle. But I was to travel to a village about 4 kilometers away, either by donkey cart or by a bashɛ, in rural Mali far away from any terrorist activity, with two other men. Seykou and the other men in the discussion all agreed with me. Seykou, a man of about 50 years old who has frequently travelled around the country as a mentor to Americans said that there is absolutely nothing that could happen.

Lassana stuck with his hostile stance, ordering me to stay, saying that 'you cannot go.' So I told him 'you are not my superior. You are not my father. You are my work partner. That means that we are to work together only, but you cannot order me around. You are free to provide guidance or recommendations, but I alone will decide what I will do.'

So obviously, he has embellished this situation a hell of a lot. As far as the timing, that is a big mystery to me. It has been over a couple of months since I have stopped working with Lassana outside of committee meetings. I can't think of anything that has changed over the past couple of weeks to trigger his phone call.

On Monday, when I went into Tubaniso, the Peace Corps Mali training facility, I sat down to meet with Haoua, our sector's APCD and my supervisor, and Adama, her assistant. I explained to them all that has occurred in the past year: my decision not to provide additional outside funding, the transgressions Lassana has committed, the mistrust the community has for him, my travels at night as a 'kɔnyɔnbɛna,' my discussions with Sorti, the 'dugutigi's son (acting chief-of-village), and Dramani, the president of the Water and Sanitation Committee, regarding Lassana, and my subsequent decision to work primarily with other community members.

They understood then what was going on, and agreed with my perspective. Haoua's only concern about my behavior when she heard about Lassana's phone call was that I may have ridden a motorcycle, but since that was not the case, she agreed that I did the right thing. It is highly encouraged that volunteers involve themselves in village social events and ceremonies. Of the Peace Corps' stated three goals, the final two deal with cultural exchange. I know of no better way to do this than to become intimately involved in community events, to share what I have learned with people at home, and to discuss the similarities and differences between America with the villagers.

She also agreed with my assessment of Lassana's anger regarding my stance on funding. She said that I am doing what is smart; she believes that my village is the luckiest of all the villages she has placed volunteers in. The village has received significant funding for two well projects, the fish pond, the women's garden, and two India-Mali hand pumps. She agreed that the important thing to do now is to teach them how to raise money and plan projects on their own.

Haoua and Adama are now trying to reach Lassana, Sorti, and the dugutigi himself to assist in resolving the situation. I had thought that I could resolve the situation on my own, with the village. I do not have to work with my homologue. Once I am integrated, I am free to work with whomever I want. But since he has become combative and is now going over my head to try to remove me, Haoua feels that she must become involved and make a more official break regarding his current role as homologue.

So I have the support of the Peace Corps administration, and I believe I have the support of the community as well, based upon all of the conversations I have had with the villagers. Unfortunately, the community leaders have seemed rather unconfrontational and timid when dealing with Lassana in the past. He is, after all, one of the more argumentative, uncompromising, and imposing Malians I have come across. So I may have their support, but what will happen in Lassana's presence, I do not know.

The situtation is certainly not yet resolved, and I am unsure how things will proceed. But I will continue to keep you all updated as things progress.

A picture of myself with my host family's bulls ('misiw.')On Friday, July 15th, I headed out to the fields, as I have often done these past few weeks, to help out as I could and experience the life of a subsistence farmer in Africa. This time, I spent the day with my 'jatigi sɔmɔgɔw' (host family). I really enjoyed the day, especially the relaxed atmosphere which they brought to the work. Unlike my experience in Tayluru's millet fields, which I previously documented in a post on June 23rd, we actually took a break at noon for a couple of hours to eat and drink tea.

My host family owns several fields in this area, but each of my three host mothers (only one is my host father's wife, Mama. The other two, Kaja and Bintu, are actually his brother Badama's wives. But the three of them live in one concession and cook/work together.) actually have their own field. The women only work in their own fields, but their older sons, who do all of the tilling, work all of the fields together. On this day, the men worked in Bintu's field. Bintu and her daughters seeded ('tiga da') her fields. Mama and Kaja cleared brush from their respective fields, aided by their daughters.

My host brother Ladji gave me a huge thrill at lunch when he pulled soap out of his pocket that he had brought to wash their hands with prior to eating. As I have mentioned before, trying to influence this behavior change of handwashing with soap is one of my major initiatives. The women bring lunch to the men in the fields each day, and since they are eating in the fields, hand-washing becomes an even more difficult habit to instill.

I never gave any indication that I was going to their fields today, and actually surprised them by riding out on my bike. So this shows that he has actually gotten into the habit of hand-washing with soap before every meal!

Below are some pictures I took on the day:

My host-brothers Abdoullaye and Ladji tilling ('chi kɛ') Bintu's peanut field with the 'misiw shɛri' (bull plow/tiller) .

Bintu's daughter and two of her friends demonstrating how to seed a peanut field ('tiga da'). The women use the tools in their right hand to excavate small holes atop the ridges. They then place a peanut seed into the hole using their left hand. Then, using a careful stride, use their feet to cover each hole with soil as they walk along. Unlike seeding the millet field, which is a job for both women and men, only women traditionally seed a peanut field.Aissetta, the secretary of our Women's Garden Committee, seeding her nearby peanut field.I helped Aissetta out, seeding some of her field with her, but I was no match. The women are amazingly quick and efficient at the process. Kaja told me that I should take a picture of Mama's daughters clearing her field of brush. I joked, 'why can't I take a picture of you, seeing as you had previously fleed my camera lens when I tried to get pictures of my entire host family together.' I asked, 'what will I do next year when I return to America and I miss you! I have everyone else's picture.' She said that she would let me take her picture next week once she prepares herself. She then pointed out the field she will be working in next week, and to the urging of her son Lassini, I snapped this quick picture. She didn't even notice until the whole family erupted in laughter.Mama's daughter Dili clearing brush from her peanut field. Once the brush is cleared, the collect them in bundles and set fire to them. Burning the brush serves no purpose other than to rid them from the field. This is done primarily because the brush is full of nasty prickers.Mama's youngest daughter Fatimata also clearing brush. She is one of my favorite young kids in the village. She is generally a shy kid, but is highly motivated to learn and is always singing the songs she has learned at school around dinner time. Plus, I love that smile.A picture of the surrounding fields.A picture of myself tilling ('chi kɛ') Bintu's peanut field with the 'misiw shɛri' (bull plow/tiller) as Abdoullaye guides the bulls by sound and stick. I struggled to keep the 'shɛri' straight in Tayluru's field, but they use a slightly different setup for the peanut fields, since they don't create the same defined ridges in the soil. On this day, I got the hang of it pretty quickly, and was able to plow a good portion of the field.My host brother Ladji with their 'misiw.' To Ladji's urging, we each took turns with this pose.My host brother Abdoullaye with their 'misiw.'

As I mentioned in a previous post, I had been working specifically with Sorti, the 'jɛgɛ mara yɔrɔ ton sigi ɲɛmɔgɔ' (fish pond committee president) and effectively the acting 'dugutigi' (chief-of-village), to schedule and plan the construction of a fish feed area ('jɛgɛ dumuni yɔrɔ'). This feed area should provide fish a source of nourishment, which was not available this past year, hopefully leading to an increase in both the size and the population of the fish. He selected July 1st to begin this work, but instead the villagers opted to construct an earthen berm in an attempt to thwart fish from escaping.

I continued to express to Sorti the importance of constructing the feed area now, before the water level in the pond rises drastically, greatly complicating the work. So this past Thursday, July 14th, was chosen to construct the feed area. Each of the village's four 'kinw' (neighborhoods) was to contribute three men each to the project, but unfortunately large rains arrived the night before, and nearly everyone left for the fields. To Sorti's credit, he stuck by his word and gathered who he could to help in the effort. Below is how the work was performed, in pictures:

Lassana and Sorti laying the tree branch poles to form the perimeter of the fish feed area within the fish pond. The villagers will have to monitor the water level of the pond and increase the footprint and depth of the feed area as the water level increases and creeps up the banks.Sorti and Kasimu cutting open rice sacks (back) while Bokari and Lassana tie them together.

Sorti, Daouda, Lassana, and Bokari stringing the rice sack lining along the outside of the poles. This lining prevents the debris within the fish feed area from floating away and dirtying the rest of the pond.Sorti, Daouda, and Lassana shore up the poles while Kasimu begins throwing 'bin' (straw) into the feed area.Lassana and Daouda affix the lining to the poles by using discarded fabric, cut into strips, as string to tie them together.Sorti carrying 'misiw bow' (cow manure) to add to the fish feed area.Sorti tossing the 'misiw bow' into the fish feed area.The finished fish feed area. The Ministry of Fish, Engineers without Borders, and the other experts we had consulted recommended that we place a mixture of 'malo bu' (rice husks), 'dumuni tɔ' (leftover food scraps), and 'bo' (rotted manure) to the feed area. This compost mixture then would harbor worms, which the fish will then eat. Unfortunately, food is scarce in the village at the moment, and rice husks are not available until harvest. So in the meantime, our feed area consists of 'binw' (straw), 'furaw' (tree branches/leaves), and 'bo' (manure).

Since the rains began on June 15th, the villagers have been engaged in an array of physical labor during the days. Most of this work has been farming, but there has also been a few other village-wide projects that have stolen their attention for a couple of days. As you would expect, the difference between how work is performed in America and in Africa is striking, and I figured that I would post some pictures to help illustrate this:

Construction of an earthen berm/diversion dike around the fish pond

Back when Engineers without Borders came out to my site last May, we discussed with the villagers the need to construct a 'jɛgɛ dumuni yɔrɔ' (fish feed area). I had been working specifically with Sorti, the 'jɛgɛ mara yɔrɔ ton sigi ɲɛmɔgɔ' (fish pond committee president) and effectively the acting 'dugutigi' (chief-of-village) to schedule and plan this work. He selected July 1st to begin this work.

I thought we were going to construct the 'jɛgɛ dumuni yɔrɔ' on this day, but the villagers decided the more pressing concern was that when the rains increase, the area around the fish pond will flood, allowing the fish to escape. So the villagers instead spent the morning of July 1st constructing an earthen berm/diversion dike upstream of the pond along the northern side, where flooding is a major issue. The earthen berm will direct all rainwater to a couple of channels allowing rainwater to enter the pond (this is our only water source), and at these channels fish netting will be installed to prevent fish from escaping. Unfortunately, this work has not yet been completed, and the 'jɛgɛ dumuni yɔrɔ' was tabled for another day.On the right, off in the distance, a dirt stockpile can be seen. The men used 'faliw ni misiw wɔtɔrɔw' (donkey and cow/bull carts) to haul dirt from the stockpile to the dike location, seen on the left.A picture of men working at the stockpile. They used 'falow' (tools with wooden arms and metal blades used for agricultural purposes) to hack away at the stockpile, loosening the material. They then used 'peluw' (shovels) to fill up the carts.A picture of men working at the earthen berm location. On the right, men are unhitching a donkey from the cart to allow the cart to be tipped, unloading the soil.

Construction of a dirt road

As the rains began, a problem with the road leading from our village to one of the small satellite villages, and the adjacent rice fields that most of our villagers work, became evident. A large section of this road regularly floods with the intense rain, making travel difficult. So the villagers decided to begin constructing a new roadbed along this section on July 4th, finishing the following day. I contributed by spending the day shoveling. It is back-breaking work without machinery, that's for sure.

Men using 'falow' to loosen up dirt for a trench on one side of the new roadbed, while other men use shovels to dig out the loosened soil and place it in the center, building up the roadbed.'Faliw ni misiw wɔtɔrɔw' (donkey and cow/bull carts) were also used to haul in additional soil for the new roadbed from a local pit location.This project was a village-wide affair, with many of the men taking a day off from the fields to contribute. It was a tag-team type affair. As one man tires, another is ready to replace him on the 'falow' or shovel. This community-type mentality helps ease what is still an incredibly laborious affair.At about mid-day, the men had the idea that they could speed up work by using a 'misiw shɛri' (bull plow) to dig the trenches on either side of the road. This also helped to lay out the road itself, although this was done by eye. No measurements whatsoever were taken to ensure a constant size.A shot of the new, unfinished elevated roadbed with ditches on either side.Men shoveling dirt onto the new elevated roadbed.The finished product. At the fork in the road, the new road is on the right, while a portion of the old road is on the left. Predictably, compaction was a major issue without machinery, so the new roadbed quickly became afflicted with all sorts of ruts and pot-holes. Therefore, motorcyclists and bicycles have opted to continue to use the old road until the new one settles. The villagers do plan to fill in the ruts with additional dirt at a later date.Work in the 'tiga ninguru' (soybeans, I think) fields

This work is effectively the same as I described in my previous post on June 23rd, but the crop is different. Here, a 'tiga ninguru' (soybeans, I think) field are being tilled ('chi kɛ') and seeded ('dani kɛ') by Baysa and Tayluru, respectively. I assisted them with the seeding.

Work in the 'ɲo' (millet) fields

These men are performing 'ɲo shiɛn.' This process involves the use of a 'falow' to slash away any weeds from the rows of millet stalks. They asked me to help, but I declined. They work awfully fast at this, and I was worried I would slash away at the actual millet plants themselves.

Work in the 'malo' (rice) fields

Shaka Katilɛ tilling ('chi kɛ') his rice field. This process is similar to the one used in the millet fields.The rice fields are found in lowland areas, where canals, such as the one shown here, were previously constructed by NGO's to irrigate the land. Later in the rainy season, these fields will be flooded by use of these channels. In the distance a dike can be seen stretching across the channel. Dikes such as these have been built by local fisherman during the dry season to trap and catch fish.This picture shows the rice fields. In the distance is the large earthen berm built up along the perimeter of the fields. This berm isolates the adjacent village from the waters once the field is flooded.

In the context of a Malian village, I have generally been happy with the Water and Sanitation Committee we have started this year. We had difficulties with attendance at meetings during the month of May and into June, but this was to be expected, since the villages in rural Mali wait to hold all of their weddings during this time, causing people to leave regularly for adjacent villages.

Additionally, on the night of June 15th, the first intense rains of 'samiya' (rainy season) began. As soon as this occurred, nearly all of the villagers, men and women, have been spending all day working the fields, making my work difficult.

But despite these difficulties, during the month of June alone we met on three separate occasions, independent of our regular meeting, to walk from concession to concession together for about three hours to collect the monthly pump dues we had established. All five of the men have been involved with this effort, but only one of the five women. A couple of the women claim that collecting money is 'men's work,' while others have legitimately been too busy with cooking and chores in the morning to join us.

Due to the work in the fields, the committee decided in June to meet only once a month during the growing season. I left the meeting time up to committee members, since they know their schedules and must ensure that they can attend. The committee members decided upon holding their monthly meeting on the morning of the first Monday of each month.

On July 4th, the scheduled meeting time, only four men and one woman arrived. We held a brief, somewhat informal meeting with those who attended, but I told them we must meet again with the entire committee this month. I was concerned that since we had not held a meeting with all of the committee members recently, with all of the seasonal distractions, that the committee might 'break' if people get out of the habit of meeting. I was specifically concerned about the women, since the men have been actively engaged with money collection. So Dramani, the president of the committee, proposed meeting on the following Friday morning, and the others in attendance agreed.

Friday morning came, and not one person showed up. Not one out of ten! It was at this time that I decided to take a different tact. Normally, I would speak with the committee members cooly, explaining their obligations and responsibilities, and the way they address these can ensure either the success or the failure of our committee.

But this time, I decided to unbridle my rage. Malians tend to be very aggressive people, yelling to get their point across, although a shared smile and a laugh are never far away. I figured that by showing emotion and anger, I might be able to better get through to them. I have learned patience in the context of work in Africa. I was disappointed, but not particularly angry. This was simply a conscious decision to try and encourage change.

I walked to each member of the committee and raged at them. In effect, I told them that I never selected a meeting time, they did. If they select a meeting time themselves, they must think ahead and ensure that they have no other obligations. If they cannot attend, then they can simply select another time. Its not hard, simply a little forethought. Both of the former Peace Corps volunteers had set up their own Water and Sanitation Committees, and both failed. This is the village's third shot. If they don't show up to a meeting, then that tells me they don't want to work, and in that case I will go back to America tomorrow because I am not going to work to improve this village if the villagers themselves are not willing to.

Each person reacted by saying I cannot leave, that they will come. They just need to select another time, which they all seemed to agree would have to be at night, with all of the work in the fields.

I especially raged at Dramani. I told him as the president, if he does not come, no one else will. He must set the example. Not only that, he originally proposed the meeting time, and actually told me the night before that he would come. He said that Sorti, essentially the acting 'dugutigi,' told him to come to the fields with him the morning of the meeting, so he had to go. He asked if Peace Corps told me that I had to go to Segou, would I? I said sure, but I would tell people first! 'You couldn't take 5 minutes to do this?'

I then told him the bigger issue is his lack of forethought - he knew he, and most others, would be going to the fields on Friday morning. I explained how he must think ahead before he schedules meetings. He agreed, then decided to hold the monthly meeting this past Thursday night.

I talked with Korɛ, our 'mɔgɔwɛlɛla' (person-caller), and she told me that she had informed everyone in advance, as she always does. But there has been an ongoing issue where the other people claim they had not been told. So I told her what she should do is to tell each person the information, but then make them repeat it back to her. That way she knows for sure they heard the information.

So on Thursday night, seven out of ten members showed up, with only one person arriving on-time. The three people that didn't come were all women. The others claimed that some men in-village do not let their wives leave at night for fear of them visiting another man. I told them we must then talk to their husbands and make sure this does not occur.

During the meeting, in addition to our discussions on ongoing work, I again raged about responsibility, the necessity to attend all meetings, and to come on-time. We agreed to change the regular meeting time to the first Friday of every month, at night. I reminded them of the rules on attendance we had established, regarding fines and replacing a person that does not show for three consecutive times. They argued against the latter for a bit, but I emphasized that the rule allows for valid excuses, if they are communicated in advance. This is not a difficult thing to do!

In addition to our actual committee functions, I have had the opportunity to rage regarding enforcement of the pump rules we had established. Two of the members have been very good about yelling at people when rules are broken, and we are now working to get the others on board. But one thing they all have been hesitant to do is to actually collect fines.

So I have been trying to set an example. When I catch a rule broken, I tell the violator that 'if the fine is not paid within ten minutes, we will lock the pump. When people come and ask why they cannot fetch clean water, we will tell them you are the person who is preventing them from doing so.'

So far, I have caught four people, one being last night. The first two paid prior to the pump being locked, but the third did not pay within an hour. Dramani was very hesitant to lock the pump. I counseled him that if he does notlock the pump our rules will not have any teeth. He kept arguing, so I told him that he can do what he wants, it's his committee. But I strongly recommend that you lock this pump now. He finally did so, and within ten minutes the fine was paid. I left the fourth violator, the one from last night, in their hands, since I left early this morning for Ségou. This instance will be a test to see how they handle the situation if the fine is not paid.

Although I have been more aggressive with the villagers, I feel that I am not compromising my standing in the community due to the level of integration I have achieved by taking a determined interest in its members during my service. I still enjoy a great communal relationship with them and have gained their trust.

I feel that I have actually gotten through to the villagers better by allowing myself to rage sparingly. Not only that, but it has surprisingly been enjoyable. Since raging taxes your speech to be quick, forceful, clear, and sturdy, it takes an improved level of language capabilities to do this effectively. It is a huge point of pride that I have been able to now reach this point, and it is fun!

The most important question any development worker faces is how to ensure sustainability. I have laid out the bedrock for my development philosophy here in previous posts: it is important to teach villagers the skills needed to make improvements within their community, as opposed to making those improvements for them.

With that philosophy in mind, I had decided back when we first formed our Water and Sanitation Committee that, following the Pump Replacement Project, wherein the villagers were taught how to maintain and repair the pumps on their own, I would not seek any more funding during my service from outside sources.

The reason for this hard-line approach is that I feel the most important skill the villagers must learn is how to plan, fund, and implement projects independently, without foreign assistance. During the past 5 years, they have become accustomed to significant foreign aid. Since I am the last volunteer in my village (Peace Corps rules stipulate only 3 volunteers can be placed in succession in any one village), it is important to me that they learn to do this prior to my departure.

Naturally, this has been met with resistance by both my committee members and the villagers as a whole. I documented several such discussions with the Water and Sanitation Committee previously here in the post 'On the role of a development aid worker…' back in April.

Slowly but surely, I have been able to convince more and more people that my approach has merit. Most of my Water and Sanitation Committee seems to be coming to this realization. They rightfully fear that this path will be much more difficult, but they have by and large come around to the idea that this will be better for them in the long run.

On Friday, June 10th, we held a Water and Sanitation Committee meeting, during which we discussed which projects they would like to work on first next year. (We will not be able to actually do any physical work until the growing and harvest seasons are over, which last through December.) My intention is to plan out the projects for next year early such that we can begin to raise money within the village now. I fear that it will be a difficult process, and possibly impossible if we were to wait until the last minute.

The committee decided that the first project they would like to work on is building 10 wells: 3 within the village, 4 within the women's garden, 2 within small satellite villages, and 1 within the fields, where the villagers frequently gather.

Once I explained my intention to plan out this project early in order to determine how much funding we must raise, Lassana, my homologue, asked 'how much will you contribute?' I asked 'in what way, as a part of the community? I will pay my share of any dues required of each community member?' Lassana responded 'No, how much will you give us from America?'

I gave an exaggerated response of shock, and said 'I told you all before, I am not looking for any money in America! You will have to raise all of the money yourselves within the village. I explained this to you all many times before, did you think I was lying?' I then explained once again my reasons for this approach.

Lassana argued that they know how to raise money within the village, they've done it before. But money is hard now, because there is no extra millet now to sell for profit. I explained that if money is hard, they might need to cut down on the initial scope of the project by prioritizing the well locations and constructing them in phases.

Later on, while talking with Dramani, the president of our Water and Sanitation Committee, he assured me that he and most of the other people are on board with my philosophy. Lassana's comment is not representative of the entire group.

I also asked him about last year's growing season, during which we received more rain than usual. He at first agreed that it was difficult, telling me that the excessive rain had damaged some of the crop. But when I asked whether the harvest was better or worse than a normal year, he said it was better. Therefore, if they cannot raise the money this year, they may never be able to.

I have had my doubts of whether we will be able to raise enough money to fund a significant project, seeing that the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw' (elder men) have frequently complained that the monthly 100 CFA (approx. $0.20 US) dues we are now collecting from each household are too high. This notwithstanding that one mango costs 50 CFA, and each Malian tends to eat at least a couple everyday.

But a conversation with my friends Daouda, Dara, and Bokari, who are leaders within the 'zɛnasi' ('dɛnmisɛnw'/youth organization consisting of approximately everyone under the age of 30), brought new information to light that makes me think that in spite of the complaints from the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw,' they actually have the money to fully fund the project on their own.

My friends told me how, last year, the 'zɛnasi' required every male under the age of 30 within the village to pay 7,500 CFA (approx. $15 US) in order to purchase the large radio that they now use for their regular dance parties. Unfortunately, this radio recently caught fire internally, so they now intend on purchasing a new radio this year. In order to do this, each 'zɛnasi' member will contribute 10,000 CFA (approx. $20 US).

These are huge sums of money in the context of village life, and for a project that, although certainly desirable as I can attest to, is not nearly as important as improving water availability within the village. Additionally, since each family within the village has many children, each family is contributing this amount of money several times over. This is just another reason why I continue to be very impressed with the 'zɛnasi,' and their organizational capacities.

This information gives me the confidence that the money to fund these projects is available, but it is now a matter of convincing the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw' that in order to improve their quality of life, it is important that they contribute significantly to any project. America is no longer here to pick up the full tab.

I explained this to Dramani, the president of our committee. As a head-of-household himself, he agreed that each family does have the ability to pay the money required for our projects, but that the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw' are particularly stingy with their money.

I discussed calling a village-wide meeting to discuss the predicament, wherein we could use the 'zɛnasi' as an example of a success story within our village. Unfortunately, my friends in the 'zɛnasi' have asked me not to do so. They told me that the adults would not take kindly to hearing that they had spent so much money on a radio, seeing that most of them are conservative muslims who believe that their dance parties are reprehensible.

So at this time, I am continuing to assist the Water and Sanitation Committee in collecting the monthly dues from each 'dutigi' (head of household). I will also begin gathering information to plan the projects for next year and determine how much money, in addition to the monthly dues, must be raised within the village in order to fully fund the projects. Then comes the hard part, a sort of behavioral change... we must find a way to convince the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw' that by contributing financially to such community initiatives, they can dramatically improve their quality of life. And this is possible to do on their own, without foreign assistance.

I wanted to provide a post describing the significant changes I have made to my current working situation within the village. Over the past couple of months, I have had a 'falling out' of sorts with my homologue, Lassana, by choice.

Throughout my service thus far, we have held several village-wide meetings where money collection for project funding has been on the agenda. Lassana is a larger-than-life type personality, and so within any sort of gathering, he more than makes his voice heard. He tends to becomes the face of any committee we are working with in the eyes of the village.

In every such meeting that we have held, the villagers have inevitably expressed concern in contributing money to our projects. Their frequent assertion is that 'Lassana will eat the money.' At first, I saw this simply as paranoia, that although I have found faults in Lassana's character in the past, he would never do such a thing. But unfortunately, as time has gone by, I have begun to see that not only does this assertion have merit, it is backed up by prior experiences.

This past month, Engineers without Borders visited my site to gather information for future work on the fish pond. Daily, they gave Lassana money to enable his wife, Nafi, to cook for them. One day, Nafi came by to ask their mentor, Sekou, how much money they are giving Lassana, because she is not getting enough money to cook for them. As it turns out, Lassana was pocketing the majority of the money and giving Nafi only a small portion of it to cook with.

This incident on its own is disturbing to me. But coupled with other previous experiences, it becomes a trend.

A couple of months ago when we had installed the two hand pumps, we had paid S.E.TRA, the hand pump manufacturer, to deliver a large kit of tools to keep in-village such that the pump team can maintain and install the pumps on their own, without any outside assistance. Sorti, the 'dugutigi's (chief-of-village) son, who is for all intents and purposes the acting 'dugutigi' due to his father's age, visited me to specifically tell me not to let Lassana hold onto the tools. He told me he is not to be trusted, that I should give them to Dramani, the president of our Water and Sanitation Committee instead. Coming from the acting chief-of-village, that sentiment spoke volumes.

During my time in village, I have repeatedly found incidents where Lassana has attempted to use his role of homologue to milk Peace Corps, and myself, for money.

For example, when I initially told Lassana last year that my sister, Kim, would be coming to visit me last December, the first thing he said to me was 'can she sell bracelets for my family in America?' At the time, I told him that I would ask her, but she has a full time job in the states, so don't anticipate her to do anything beyond buying several for her friends. I was willing, at the time, to make that offer because my understanding was that Lassana's family was involved in making the bracelets in some way.

So the following Sunday in our nearby market, Lassana asked me to follow him to a vendor where he would show me what type of bracelets my sister would sell for him. He took me to the vendor, and showed me long strands of beads. I asked, 'is your family going to cut these down to make individual bracelets out of them?' He said, 'no, they don't know how.' He explained that he would simply buy a huge amount of bracelets in the market, and my sister can sell them at a higher cost in America. In other words, he would sell bracelets to my sister at an inflated cost, even though she could buy them herself for less when she visits this same market. My sister would be doing all of the work as a seller, while Lassana would reap all of the benefits.

So upon hearing this, I laid into him in the middle of the market, making a bit of a scene. I emphasized to him that I am not here to hand out money. My role here is to teach the villagers skills needed to help improve their quality of life on their own.

There was another time last year when I had a brutal digestive illness, and the Peace Corps Medical Officer recommended to me over the phone that I check the nearest CSCM (doctor's office) for a particular type of medication. I was talking to Lassana about it, and I was appreciative when he offered to take his 'moto' (motorcycle) into our market town, just 4 km away, to check for me. I gave him a large amount of money, not knowing how much the medication would cost. He came back empty handed, as the CSCM did not have the medication in stock, nor had they ever heard of it. He handed me back some of my money, saying that the rest he needed to take for gas. The amount that he took for gas was significantly higher than what should have been required for the short trip to our market town.

So with these experiences in mind, I began asking my friends within the village for their thoughts on Lassana, not leading them one way or the other. Of about 20 people, not one of them had anything good to say. They all said that he is not a good person, and should not be trusted. Many said that in previous community projects, he has bought materials and lied about how much they actually cost, thus pocketing Peace Corps and/or village funds.

I met with Sorti and Dramani to specifically discuss Lassana. I expressed my concern that if he is on any committee, we will face significant hardship in raising money, since no one in the village appears to trust him. They agreed with my sentiments, but as it was their call to make, they decided that they did not want to kick him off of any of the committees, which, with village politics, could get messy. Instead, they agreed that Lassana is never to handle any money, and this point should be made clear to the villagers whenever we are asking for money.

So at this stage, I have basically stopped working directly with Lassana, although he may still officially be 'my homologue' (community partner). The way I see it, a homologue serves two primary roles to any volunteer: 1) Serve as the primary partner and liaison for work within the community, and 2) Provide cultural guidance to the volunteer and inform him/her of any events/customs to be attended/respected within the village.

I feel that my level of integration within the village at this point is strong enough that I no longer have a need for a specific 'homologue.' In terms of work within the community, I now prefer to work primarily with other leading individuals within each committee, such as Dramani, the president of the Water and Sanitation Committee, Mama, the president of the Women's Garden Committee, and Sorti and Youssoufu of the Fish Pond Committee. I find these people to be both motivated, respectable, and easy to work with. Lassana is now simply a standard member of these committees whom I only see during meetings.

As for the second role, I have become close friends with many people in the community. It now often turns out that I know of weddings, funerals, or other ceremonies before many of the other villagers do themselves. And when I attend these ceremonies, I always have people who look out for me and tell me what I should and should not do to ensure that I respect the culture. In this way, I feel that my 'homologue' is now the community at-large.

So far, Lassana, to his credit, has seemingly perceived and accepted this shift away from him. There is always the possibility that tensions could flair up in the future, but at this point I feel that if anything were to happen, my standing within the village is such that I will have significant support within the community.

An oncoming storm coming at us on June 13th while in an adjacent village. I had gone to a wedding ceremony there with some friends, and had to wait this sucker out before biking back home. Storms here begin prior to the rains, but these storms are all wind. Due to the dry conditions and barren fields, these storms brew up some hellish sandstorms. It is amazing to me that you can see the storm approaching due to all of the sand well before it actually arrives.The first significant rains since early October arrived during the night of June 15th, signaling the shift from 'tilɛma' (hot season) to 'samiya' (rainy season). This shift results in many changes in the lives of the villagers. For one, the wedding season is now over. More significantly, the work of rural Malians now moves from within the village to the fields.

Work during the hot season mainly involved remudding and building houses, walls, and 'ɲɛgɛnw' (latrines). Because this work is much less plentiful than field work, the villagers had a lot more free time. This not only provided me with ample opportunity to socialize and integrate, but also to work on my primary projects, since the villagers generally did not have many other obligations.

So with the changing seasons, the village, once a hive of socializing and activity during the day, is now mostly empty during the day with everyone working in the fields. My physical work will now come to a general stand-still, but I will continue to work with the villagers to prepare projects and raise money for next year so that we can hit the ground running.

So with the changing seasons, here are some of the differences I described above in pictures...

'Tilɛma' (Hot Season)

Young men having some fun while working on behalf of the 'zɛnasi' ('dɛnmisɛnw'/youth organization consisting of approximately everyone under the age of 30) to re-mud the walls of the 'dɔnkɛ yɔrɔ' (dancing place) before the rains come.

Young men working on behalf of the 'zɛnasi' to re-mud the walls of the 'dɔnkɛ yɔrɔ.' Mud is carried over to the wall after being mixed with water, and is spread across the surface of the wall, sticking to the mud bricks installed in years past to protect them from the rains.Another picture of the work on the 'dɔnkɛ yɔrɔ.'Young men working to mix the mud and water for use on the walls of the 'dɔnkɛ yɔrɔ.'Goofing off during the re-mudding of the 'dɔnkɛ yɔrɔ.'My house was in bad shape during the rainy season last year. Whenever it rained, water would rush into the walls and erode the mud away. Both mud and water would fall into the interior of my house from all sides.Therefore, during the hot season, I pressed the village to help me repair my house. We re-mudded the exterior walls of my house, just in the nick of time. The night after re-mudding, the rains began. This is a picture just after the work was done, before the mud dried. Note the difference in the lower section of the wall to the right.Here is a shot of my house after the mud dried. Unfortunately, more repairs are required. Water is still seeping into the walls through the roof, leading to the same issues of falling mud inside. We are working on this.

'Samiya' (Rainy Season)Men in my market town working to 'fini gɔsi' (pound/beat bazin clothing). This is done to soften up the material after becoming worn and wrinkled, and can also be done to restore the wax that Malians value in their clothing. They prefer their clothing shiny and stiff. Many young men in small villages, mine included, move to Bamako, the capital city, during the rainy season to perform this work every day. There is comparatively a lot of money in this sort of work.The following pictures are from this past Tuesday, when I joined my friends Tayluru, Omaru, Bokari, and Baysa, all brothers, in working one of their millet fields. This field was about the size of a football field, and to my surprise, we completed the work within one day. There are, of course, many, many other millet fields to work. And work on the peanut and rice fields, which many in my village also work, are still yet to begin:

A shot of some millet fields after being tilled ('chi kɛ') and seeded ('dani kɛ'). Tayluru guiding the 'shɛri' (plow/tiller) as two 'misi' (bulls), pulling the 'shɛri,' are guided by a young boy. We arrived early in the morning, about 7:30 AM to begin work. I took a few turns at the helm, but found it difficult to keep it steady.Tayluru (left) and Omaru (right) manning their respective 'shɛri.'Meanwhile, Bokari collected branches with prickers and burned them with millet stalks in order to eliminate them from the fields.At about 11AM, in the heat of the day, the wives of the men joined us in the field, bringing with them our lunch of 'tɔ pasalɛn.' After eating, both the men and the women began to 'dani kɛ' while the 'misi' rested, during the heat of the day. The women use the tools in their right hand to excavate small holes atop the ridges. They then pluck out a small amount of seeds from the small container in their left hand, placing them in the hole. Then, using a careful stride, use their feet to cover each hole with soil as they walk on down the ridge. Once you get the hang of it, it is actually rather quick.Bokari, myself, and Baysa working to 'dani kɛ.' While it can move fairly fast, I found the work very hard on the back, and with the cheap wood tools, also hard on the hands.Around 2 PM, the men tied up the 'misi' again to 'chi kɛ' while the women continued to 'dani kɛ.' Tayluru can be seen working in the foreground, while the women are working in the background. We finished with this field just before 5 PM.

In the small villages of Mali, weddings generally take place only during an approximately month-long period at the end of hot season. This is done to avoid conflict with the planting and harvest seasons in the fields.

During this past hot season, I attended 14 different 'kɔnyɔnw' (wedding ceremonies) in varying capacities. In a previous post, I described my role in my friend Daouda's wedding to his first wife, Sarata. Since that wedding, I served once again as a 'kɔnyɔnbɛna' in my friend Sheni's wedding, and through this experience and the other subsequent weddings, I continued to learn more and more about the many traditions that make up a 'kɔnyɔn.'

The 'dununw' (traditional drumming) during Sheni's 'kɔnyɔn.'I found these ceremonies to not only be a lot of fun, but also very interesting on a cultural level. So, risking this blog becoming the new 'Malian Bride's Monthly,' I figured that I would try to wrap it all up by combining my experiences into one narrative that will touch on all of the aspects of a 'kɔnyɔn' that I have learned about. Amazingly, I was privileged enough to at times have direct involvement in every one of these aspects.

Day 1

'Wulafɛ' (Late Afternoon)

The Slaughter of the Cow

Prior to the festivities getting under way, a 'misi' (cow) is slaughtered in order to provide the meat for the subsequent meals. Men from across the village come with knives and hatchet-type tools to assist in the carnage of peeling away the skin, mashing meat from bone, and separating the meat, fat, and organs for food. Each man present walks away with a small pile of meat which he can take back to his family to add to their dinner. Most of the meat, however, goes with the 'kɔnyɔncɛ's (groom's) family, who will be preparing the meals throughout the 'kɔnyɔn.'

The Wedding ('furusiri')

Prior to Sheni's 'kɔnyɔn,' I was taken to participate in his 'furusiri,' which is the actual wedding. I walked with Bokari and Nba, the other two 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw,' over to Alimami's, the leading 'cɛkɔrɔba's (elder man) concession by the mosque within Katilɛla, Sheni's 'kin' (region of the village).

Once there, Bokari handed the elder a large bag of 'wɔrɔ' (kola nuts) and a smaller bag of many 10 CFA coins. After chatting for a little while, the elder led us down to an area in front of the 'dugutigi's (chief of the village) concession, where the rest of the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw' were currently assembling. Alimami gave the kola nuts and money to the other 'cɛkɔrɔbaw,' who then proceeded to count them to verify the right price was paid.

One man then got up and distributed the kola nuts to everyone assembled, then gave every man one of the small coins. A 'cɛkɔrɔba' then led a muslim prayer, mentioning the names of the groom and the bride. We all cupped our hands and made the motion of washing our faces as each prayer was said.

During the prayer, women began arriving with bowls of 'kini ni tiga dɛgɛ na' (rice and peanut sauce). After the prayer, we all sat down around bowls to eat communally. I was happy to see that my friend Daouda, who is on our Water and Sanitation Committee, actually brought a bar of soap for us to use! That's progress, little-by-little.

Alimami then called for Bokari, Nba, and I to rejoin him in his concession, where he gave us brief instruction on our task for the night, blessed us, and told me that I will roll on the ground tonight. This is something that I had been told by all of the men and women prior to both my stints as a 'kɔnyɔnbɛna.' That in order for the wife to be released into our custody, one of us, in this case me, must roll in the dirt.

'Sufɛ' (Night)

There is variation from village-to-village, and even from wedding-to-wedding, on the musical events within the ceremony. Depending upon the groom's age, whether this is his first wife, and financial considerations, each wedding may have a 'shɛni', a 'dununw,' both, or neither. Fortunately, most of the weddings in my village had both, which made the ceremonies a whole lot of fun, and that is what I will describe here.

The 'Shɛni' ('radioba' or big radio dance party)

After everyone eats dinner, the 'zɛnasi' ('dɛnmisɛnw'/youth organization consisting of approximately everyone under the age of 30) begin to set up for the 'shɛni,' which is organized and run fully by the 'zɛnasi.' The group sets up a circle of chairs, which form a dirt dance floor in the center. Along this circle is a table with radio equipment, and a couple of large speakers. At 9PM sharp, the festivities begin.

I have been pleasantly surprised by the organizational capabilities of the 'zɛnasi.' For one, last year they raised a large amount of money to purchase this stereo equipment. Additionally, they enforce fines on its' members for such violations as failing to attend, failing to arrive prior to 9PM, and failing to dance if called upon. Some of these violations can seem a little ridiculous, but it is impressive in the context of village-life, where such enforcement is normally unheard of. They are keen on enforcing attendance in order to ensure that every 'kɔnyɔn' is well attended out of respect.

The DJ's for the night begin by calling out the names of the people that did not arrive on-time, and are thus subject to fines. People in the audience can call out explanations, such as if the person is sick. They then announce a group of about 4 young men who, armed with sticks, are responsible for crowd control. Normally they do not strike anyone with these, but threaten children who begin to encroach upon the dance circle by beating the ground, causing them to flee.

They then begin to play approximately 3 or 4 minute African club/dance music, which for the most part hail from Côte d'Ivoire. There are only about 10 songs, and they skip between them, playing each about 5 to 10 times throughout the night.

The friends of the groom are called up to dance first, then are groups of friends, each given a group name. Often times, the groups dance in two lines facing each other, often men in one line and women in another. They dance separately, then move forward such that the two lines pass through each other.

The 'shɛni' during Sheni's and Badama's weddings. Both weddings occurred jointly within our village in seperate 'kinw' (neighborhoods).Sheni's wedding was the first time I fully attended one of the 'shɛni,' and I knew I was going to be forced up to dance. Several women kept asking me when I would go up there, and each time I would say 'if you join me, I'm there.' So one of the women agreed to come up and dance with me, and it was a lot of fun. A couple of my friends joined in as well. Throughout the night, I got up a few more times.

Throughout the night, the crowd is provided with 'furanw' (small charcoal grills) and tea settings. A huge bowl of instant coffee is also made and served to the crowd, sharing about 5 cups. I found that I needed these refreshments - it was a particularly long night.

But around 11PM, they begin their main event. Men and women volunteer to each choose a slip of paper with a number at random. Normally about 20 people decide to participate. Once this event begins, the DJ calls up each number at once. When your number is called, you are to get up onto the dance floor, select a song with the DJ, then, as the crowd chants 'jɛniba' (which loosely means select the person of the opposite sex that is good to you), you must pull someone of the opposite sex from the crowd to dance with.

Usually the other person gets up to dance a bit reluctantly, but there are no issues. On occasion, a woman is selected which has no desire to dance. They try to force her up, but if she bails, she has to actually pay a fine!

The couple then begins to dance, usually a good distance apart. But shortly, the crowd begins to chant 'A minɛ!' (Catch her!), calling for the man to close in on the woman and grind on her. Nothing too risqué in the context of an American club, but I was rather surprised to see it in my small African village. Once this happens, the crowd cheers wildly, and my friend Dara, who I have nicknamed 'Spaz,' runs along the perimeter, does backflips and cartwheels, and often runs into people as he returns to his seat.

During Sheni's wedding, when 'Number 4' was called up, an attractive woman of about 18, named Madɛ, got up. As she looked through the crowd, my friends began chanting 'Maliki minɛ!' (Catch Maliki!), and sure enough, she came over to me shyly, grabbed my arm, and pulled me up.

So I had a decision to make... have some fun or play it conservatively and ensure I do not offend the elders that could be watching in the background. We began dancing apart, then side-by-side, then playfully teasing each other by inching together as the crowd chanted 'A minɛ!' I have to admit, I got a little more carried away than I had wanted to, but not approaching what many of the Malians were doing. The crowd loved it, and the whole event was actually a lot of fun.

The 'kɔnyɔncɛ' (groom)

The 'kɔnyɔncɛ' is allowed to attend the 'shɛni,' but at 1AM is ushered over to the 'kɔnyɔnso' (a small mud house which serves as the 'kɔnyɔncɛ's home during the ceremonies), where he must stay inside until 'wulafɛ' (late afternoon) of the following day. Therefore, he is not allowed to experience the rest of the events outside.

The 'dununw' (traditional drumming)

Around 1AM, the 'shɛni' ends and the 'dununw,' or traditional drumming, begins in a nearby concession. The band normally includes a ‘jɛli(w)’ (griot(s)/singer(s), normally female) and a band of traditional drummers, consisting of a large circular drum called a ‘dunun’ played bare-handed, and two smaller djembés played with a stick in one hand and the bare palm of the other.

For Sheni's wedding, Bokari, Nba, and I had work to do during the night, which I will get to in the next section. But as we were waiting, I was chatting and drinking tea with several friends of mine. I asked Dara if we were going to dance with the women at the 'dununw' tonight. So he said how about now, and we got up and walked over to the 'dununw.'

We joined the circle of women and began dancing, but this time, the two female singers just stopped dead and laughed hysterically at the sight of me. Aye!

Within the post on Daouda's wedding, I described a dance that they used to close out the 'dununw' as a drunken stooper, and I stand by that assessment. What I learned later is that this dance is specific to the Katilɛ family, of which there are many in my village and in the region as a whole. Only those weddings involving a Katilɛ will perform this dance.The end of the 'Katilɛ' dance in a neighboring village. The drunken stooper I've previously described leads into a fun leaping frenzy, pictured here. Unfortunately I missed getting a picture of the stooper, as I was having too much fun imitating them, dancing.The 'dununw' usually continues until daylight begins, about 5AM, meaning that normally people get little-to-no sleep the night of a wedding.

The 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw' and 'stealing' of the wife

My experience as a 'kɔnyɔnbɛna' during Daouda's wedding was not fully traditional due to the mayhem which ensued in taking a 'mobili' (vehicle) as opposed to a 'wɔtɔrɔ' (donkey cart). (Within that post I mixed up 'kɔnyɔnbɛna' and 'kɔnyɔncɛ.' 'Koyoncɛ' simply signifies the friends of the groom which sit with him throughout the wedding. I was actually a hybrid between the two for his wedding.) The ceremony was hurried due to women fighting for a free ride from the wife's village to the ceremony in our village.

For Sheni's wedding, however, I did experience all of the tradition. His wife happened to be from our same village, so we didn't have to travel a great distance. Normally, at around 1AM, the 'kɔnyɔnmuso' (wife) is led into the center of her village by female friends and family members. At that time, the 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw' take their donkey cart to meet them.

Bokari, Nba, and I, however, ended up waiting until about 3:45AM before we received word that we should head down. So we set up the 'wɔtɔrɔ,' laying a mattress across the back, and rode it down into the center of town.

Once we got there, a gathering of women were there, surrounding the 'kɔnyɔnmuso,' who was shrouded from head-to-toe in white cloth. They were all howling the traditional siren-sounding cry. However, there was another wedding in the village on this day, and this was the other wedding party.

Shortly, a couple of other men raced up in another 'wɔtɔrɔ.' They got out as the women began yelling for them to roll on the ground. One of the men then dropped to the dirt, laying down, and quickly rolled into the women like a bowling ball. He then got right up, the men quickly grabbed the 'kɔnyɔnmuso,' threw her in the back of the 'wɔtɔrɔ' on the mattress, and sped away. I was thankful that I got to see what to expect before it was our turn.

We continued to wait, as the 4AM call to prayer began at the nearby mosque, signaling the new day. I was exhausted. Finally, about 20 minutes later, our group of women arrived. They all began yelling at me that if I don't roll on the ground, they will not give us the 'kɔnyɔnmuso.' Bokari argued that since they kept us waiting for so long, no one was rolling on the ground. But I decided, what the hell, I can do it. So I dropped to the ground, rolled towards the women, and got up to help Bokari and Nba pick up the 'kɔnyɔnmuso' and toss her on the mattress in our 'wɔtɔrɔ.'

Normally, we would then make the trip to the 'kɔnyɔncɛ's village, but in this case they were one in the same. So we rode on for about 20 yards, laid out a white cloth to the side of the road, and helped the 'kɔnyɔnmuso' onto it, sitting indian-style, where she would wait with a couple of the women who followed us for the 'kɔnyɔncɛ's mother to arrive and lead her back to her house, where she must stay until the following 'wulafɛ' (late afternoon).

Day 2

The 'kɔnyɔncɛw' (the groom and his 'best men')

As I mentioned above, the groom must stay inside the 'kɔnyɔnso' up until the late afternoon. Throughout the day, people can come in to greet him. His best friends, the 'kɔnyɔncɛw,' keep him company inside the house for the whole day. Therefore, for Daouda's wedding, I actually served as a 'kɔnyɔnbɛna' only at night. During the day, I was actually a 'kɔnyɔncɛ.'

Feastin'

Food is provided by the groom's family to everyone who attends the wedding. The 'kɔnyɔncɛw' are served within the 'kɔnyɔnso.' Traditionally, a breakfast of 'kini ni tiga dɛgɛ na ni misi sɔgɔ' (rice, peanut sauce, and beef) and a lunch of 'tɔ pasalɛn ni misi sɔgɔ' (the traditional millet dish with green sauce and beef) is served communally. Food is also served to those who stick around for dinner, as well as those who visit the couple throughout the following week during meal times.

'Sogomadafɛ' (Morning)

The 'kɔnyɔndenw' (the 'kɔnyɔnmuso's family), the 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw,' and the goat

I was able to experience this tradition from both sides. During Sheni's wedding, as the 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw,' Bokari, Nba, and I basically served the wife's family, known as the 'kɔnyɔndenw,' all day. During subsequent weddings in other villages, where the bride came from our village, I sat as a 'kɔnyɔndencɛ.'

The women of the wife's family (the 'kɔnyɔndenmusow') and the men of the wife's family (the 'kɔnyɔndencɛw') are each given two separate houses in the groom's village to spend the day at.

The 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw' began their day by going to the groom's family and taking one of their goats. They then lead this goat to the 'kɔnyɔndencɛw,' where the 'kɔnyɔndencɛw' must approve of it. Traditionally, the first two goats are rejected, until finally the third one, normally larger than the others, is accepted. The 'kɔnyɔndencɛw' say that this goat 'has arrived,' and send the 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw' on to the 'kɔnyɔndenmusow' to show the goat to the women, who must also approve of it.

Once both sides approve of the goat, the 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw' take it back to the 'kɔnyɔndencɛw' who then slaughter it. They begin grilling up some of the meat to enjoy on the spot, while the rest of the meat is given to the women of the groom's family to cook for them and serve with lunch. Being a 'kɔnyɔnden' is a very enjoyable position - I have never eaten more meat in Mali then I did during these events. It was almost as much meet as an Outback Special.

There is, however, a few parts of the goat that the 'kɔnyɔndenw' cannot enjoy. The goat's head, legs, penis, and testicles are given to the 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw' to cook up and eat the following day. No joke.

'Tilɛfɛ' (Early afternoon)

The 'dununw' (traditional drumming)

The 'dununw' during Sheni's 'kɔnyɔn.'

Another rendition of the traditional drumming generally occurs early afternoon the following day. It usually takes place for a couple of hours in the same manner that it does at night.The 'dununw' during a 'kɔnyɔn' in a neighboring village.The 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw,' slave to the 'kɔnyɔndenw'

During the day, the 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw' must serve the needs of the 'kɔnyɔndenw.' If the latter run out of tea or coffee, the 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw' are beckoned to replenish their supplies.

Also part of the duties involves the gifts given to the new couple. These gifts appear to be standard for every wedding, purchased by the groom's family. They generally include such household items as rugs, metal water fetching buckets, wooden 'susufɛnw' (millet-pounding equipment), chairs, a wall clock, a tacky painted wooden dresser, fabric, and dishes. Initially, these gifts are gathered together in a nearby concession.

The 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw' then must load up these gifts into a 'wɔtɔrɔ' (donkey cart), and take it over to show the 'kɔnyɔndenmusow.' But this involves actually unloading it all at the 'kɔnyɔndenmusow's house in order to allow them to peruse it on their own time. Later on in the afternoon, the 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw' must return to again pack the stuff up in the 'wɔtɔrɔ' and take it to the new house the groom built for the wife.

The 'bolomafara'

Every man in the village, as well as any man arriving from another village who knows the groom, traditionally gives a financial gift known as the 'bolomafara.' Each man generally gives either 500 CFA or 1,000 CFA (approximately $1 or $2). Three notebooks are kept by three different people - one for the village's 'cɛkɔrɔbaw,' one for the 'dɛnmisɛnw,' and one for those who arrived from other villages.

Each person's name is recorded next to the amount of their gift. Once all is said and done, the 'dɛnmisɛnw' actually sift through the names to verify that every 'dɛnmisɛn' in the village paid a 'bolomafara.' The names of those who did not are recorded on a seperate list and kept. The punishment is that when their 'kɔnyɔn' rolls around, no one will give them a gift. The threat of this, as well as the embarrassment of being on the list, is a huge deterrent. At the end of the day, people hustled to make sure they were saved from this fate.

'Wulafɛ' (Late Afternoon)

Blessing of the fabric

Amongst the standard gifts given to the new couple by the groom's family are about 15 pieces of assorted fabric and clothing. During the late afternoon, the 'kɔnyɔncɛw,' whom have been sitting with the groom all day, pick up this fabric, wearing it over their shoulders, on their heads, and carrying it. They walk over to the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw,' who are seated someone in the village on rugs, to show them the fabric. The 'cɛkɔrɔbaw' then basically say 'those are very nice pieces of fabric,' then they offer a series of blessings over the marriage.

Additional payment to the wife's family

Later on in the afternoon, the 'kɔnyɔnbɛnaw' head back over to the 'kɔnyɔndencɛw' to deliver 50,000 CFA (approximately $100). This money was raised by the groom's family to be delivered to the wife's family. The men of the wife's family, the 'kɔnyɔndencɛw,' take turns counting out the money to verify that the amount is correct. They then walk over to the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw'of the groom's family, where they offer blessings to the 'kɔnyɔndencɛw' before they return to their village to deliver the money to the bride's father.

The 'gita' (traditional music performed by the women of the wife's family)

Late in the afternoon, women from the wife's family gather a several instruments and head over to the 'kɔnyɔncɛ' (the groom), still at this point walled up in the 'kɔnyɔnso.' These instruments include a percussive calabash which women, kneeling over it on the ground, play by beating it bare-handed. There is also one or more calabashes, also sawed in half, but with shells stitched with string along the perimeter of the calabash. Women take turns passing these calabashes around in a circle as each tosses it in the air, back and forth, creating a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Throughout the performance, the women all sing their traditional songs.

Women from my village performing the 'gita' for a 'kɔnyɔncɛ' in an adjacent village. Since I was from the bride's village, I came to this wedding as a 'kɔnyɔndencɛ.'They perform for about 20 minutes inside the hot mud house. By the time the performance is complete, everyone is soaked in sweat (it is hot season, remember).

Moving the new couple into their new house

Around 4PM, following the 'gita,' the 'kɔnyɔncɛw,' including the groom, then leave the 'kɔnyɔnso' for the wife's new house, which the groom had to build for her prior to holding the wedding. (I say the wife's new house because traditionally, the men and women still live in seperate houses after marriage. This is due to superstitions regarding fetishes which, despite the Bamanan's conversion to Muslim, still exists. Supposedly if women sleep in the same house as these fetishes, the fetishes can 'ruin' and end up doing great harm, like killing someone. However, due to my village being rather poor, most men do share one house.) The gifts I described above are all taken to the house, and the men begin moving them inside.

The unveiling of the bride

Within the couple's new concession, chairs are arranged in a circle. The 'kɔnyɔncɛw,' as well as any other villagers wanting to take a look, take their seats in these chairs. Three chairs are placed in the center of this circle, as the wait begins for the 'kɔnyɔmuso' and the women to arrive.

Shortly, the 'kɔnyɔnmuso' (bride), still covered from head-to-toe in fabric, is guided to the center chair. Her best friend and her mother or grandmother take the chairs to either side of her.

The 'kɔnyɔncɛw' then ask the mother or grandmother for the name of the bride, and after a few words, ask for her to be unveiled as everyone in the circle excitedly fights for a look. One of the wife's friends then comes over to the bride and removes the veil as the crowd erupts in cheers. On one occassion, the wife was so nervous from the situation that she instantly pulled the fabric back over her head, and had to be coaxed back out over several minutes.

Once the bride is unveiled, she is given a cup of water. She traditionally walks in front of her new husband, kneels down subserviently in front of her, and offers up the cup for him to take a drink. This cup is then passed along the circle for everyone else to take a drink from it.

The 'cɛgananw' vs. 'musotigiw' football game

The 'cɛgananw' vs. 'musotigiw' football game.This tradition appears to be specific to my village. Following every 'kɔnyɔn,' around 5PM, the village holds football (soccer, naturally) game where the 'cɛgananw' (unmarried men) play against the 'musotigiw' (married men). This game is always very competitive, and either side erupts in flamboyant celebration at every goal. The villagers then reference this game as bragging rights, whether the bachelors beat the married men, or vice versa.

The 'cɛgananw' celebrating a goal for their side. Naturally, the small children fall into the 'cɛgananw' category.The end of the 'kɔnyɔn'

Once the bride is unveiled, the bride and groom begin a period of 'house-arrest,' where they are not allowed to leave their house for a pre-designated period of time. Other people, however, can come to visit them at the house at any time, and over the next week, there is usually a large amount of people there at all times chatting over tea, and enjoying 'kɔnyɔn' food at meal times.

The amount of time they are required to stay in the house varies from village to village, and even from 'kin' to 'kin' (neighborhood to neighborhood) within each village. In my village, each 'kin' has a different amount of time, ranging from 1 to 7 days.

Last month, a team of engineers from Engineers without Borders, University of Pittsburgh, came to my village for a little over two weeks to collect information and discuss potential solutions to current issues regarding the fish pond with myself and the villagers.

The villagers' primary concern is the flooding which occurs during the rainy season. Water within the pond rises to such a level that it overflows the banks and discharges into the adjacent roads and concessions. Although the inconvenience this presents to the villagers is an issue, the larger problem is that the fish then escape from the pond and are then eaten by animals, are taken by passersby, or die.

The villagers were also adamant about maintaining water in the pond year-round, but based upon conversations we had with local experts, this is not advisable. The pond must be dry, either naturally or by the use of pumps, in order to disinfect the clay from disease.

Now, back in the America, this team of engineers is now working with the information they collected to determine what type of construction can be done to improve the pond. While they were here, we also discussed with the villagers several ongoing maintenance issues that they must account for on their own, such as cleaning the pond of trash, repairing the perimeter fencing, constructing a fish feeding area, and curbing the growth of grass within the pond. Since none of us have raised fish before, it has been a learning process for us all.

This was the first season during which the fish pond was on-line. Generally, the pond will be stocked during the rainy season and harvested prior to going dry in the hot season. This first harvest took place shortly after the Engineers without Borders crew left. Since the fish were not fed, along with the above-noted ongoing maintenance issue, this harvest was not as successful as it should be in subsequent years. Below is a series of pictures depicting how this was accomplished:The fish pond was overgrown with grass. This grass should generally grow only within 10% of the surface area, only around the perimeter. Therefore this is one improvement to be made for next year. Since the grass was not controlled during this harvest, the men and young boys had to first hack away at the grass and haul it away to harvest the fish hiding beneath.

Village fishermen showing off their first haul of 'dɛbɛ' (tilapia). There are two types of fish kept within the pond; 'dɛbɛ' and 'mannɔgɔ' (catfish).The harvest was an all-village affair. Many of the men within the village, fishermen and non-fishermen, got in the waters to fish either with nets or simply by hand. The small children also did not miss the opportunity to get dirty. To the right of the picture is a man throwing a fish onto the banks. Fish were flying through the air as kids ran along the banks to gather them and place them in rice sacks.Another picture of the men and young boys harvesting the fish pond, both by hand and with nets.Another picture of the men and young boys harvesting the fish pond, both by hand and with nets.

Once the fish were caught, the 'dɛbɛ' were laid out in piles. They are traditionally sold in piles of 5 fish. The fish are assorted sizes, but each pile is judged by eye to be of about equal size. Each pile was sold for 250 CFA, or about 50 cents.Badama and Youssoufu weighing the fish using a hand-scale and bucket. The 'mannɔgɔ' were sold for 500 CFA a kilogram, and thus had to be weighed. But we also weighed all of the fish for record-keeping and informational purposes.A small quantity of each type of fish was to be placed within this concrete fingerlings pond in order to reproduce and restock the pond for next season. The villagers however got overzealous, and despite advice to the quantity ended up putting a huge quantity of fish, over 275, into the pond. Unfortunately, all of the 'dɛbɛ' died over the course of a few days, while the 'mannɔgɔ' thrived. The 'mannɔgɔ' can tolerate crowded, dirty water whereas the 'dɛbɛ' are much more sensitive.The concrete fingerlings pond. The villagers built a cover to place atop the structure, as they were concerned that people would walk by and steal the fish.Local men counting out fish to be weighed and sold.During the second day of harvest, the villagers built a mud dam in the center of the pond, and used buckets to drain the water out from one side. They then were able to easily locate and catch the fish in the diminished water.Men and children catching fish in the lowered section of the pond.The villagers then broke open a couple of channels in the dam, along water to flow out of the high side. They then closed the dam back up with mud and grass clumps and used buckets to further drain the water.Youssoufu and young boys skimming the mud for fish at the end of the hot season. The pond was previously harvested over the course of two days, yet not all of the fish were caught. As the pond continued to dry, we noticed many 'mannɔgɔ' still thriving in the soupy mud. So the villagers came back in and filtered through the mud by hand. It was amazing to see how the 'mannɔgɔ' could survive in mud, not water. They certainly are a hearty fish.The rainy season arrived last week, and with it, the pond is once again holding water. Now the villagers must prepare the pond by pulling out grass and trash prior to restocking the pond.

Dancing with the villagers during Daouda's wedding 'dunun' (traditional drumming). (Thanks to Dan with Engineers without Borders for the picture.)Since the time I was last in Ségou for regional in-service training and Easter, it has been a busy and incredibly enjoyable time for me socially in village. I have always felt that I have been well-integrated into the community, but during this time I have made it to a level I never thought possible, to a point where this village truly feels like home, as I have made many friends that will remain with me long after I leave Mali.

During this period, I have hardly opened a book to read, which is a stark departure from the blistering rate at which I had been reading previously. I have spent all my time either working on projects or, primarily, socializing with members of the community. My language has improved to a level where I now feel fluent, which has allowed me to have conversations with the villagers on a similar level as I can with Americans.

Over the past several months, I have gotten particularly close to the young men of about my age in the quartier (region) of the village I live in. Daouda, one of these young men who is also a member of the Water and Sanitation Committee we just formed, as well as one of the men on the village's Pump Team, has become one of my best friends. His uncle had arranged a marriage with a girl from another nearby village, Sarata, approximately three years ago.

In the Bamanan culture, marriage is traditionally arranged by the young man's father, who must make a payment to the father of the wife-to-be. Daouda's father had died when he was very young, so that responsibility shifted to his uncle, who made the payment over three annual installments. The full price was paid off last year, opening the way for the wedding this season.

Prior to holding the wedding, the groom must build his new wife a house. I helped Daouda in doing this, by assisting in building the mud walls, compacting the dirt base for the floor with a wooden paddle, and mixing/laying concrete for the floor. His house was completed last Friday, May 6th, allowing him to hold his 'kɔnyɔn' (wedding ceremony) beginning the following Sunday night, lasting through late Monday afternoon.

I have previously provided a detailed post about how weddings are traditionally held in my village, so I will stick with providing only the details of my specific role in the proceedings.

In the weeks leading up to the ceremony, Daouda had asked me to be a 'kɔnyɔncɛ' for his wedding. This term is tough to translate, as it really has two meanings. 'Kɔnyɔn' means wedding ceremony, and 'cɛ' means man. Hence Daouda is the 'kɔnyɔncɛ' since he is the man to be married. But the 'kɔnyɔncɛ' also traditionally asks one to four of his best friends to go to the village of the 'kɔnyɔnmuso,' the wife-to-be, on the night of the 'kɔnyɔn' to take her to his village. These friends also go by the name 'kɔnyɔncɛ.'

Tayluru, another good friend in the village, and I were to take a 'wɔtɔrɔ' (donkey cart) to Sarata's village to perform this task. Since Engineers without Borders had just come to our village in a 'bashɛ' (small shabby bus/van) to work on the fish pond, we actually convinced the 'bashɛ' driver to take us. So Tayluru and I, along with another friend, Baysa, who joined us at the last minute, made the trip out to Sarata's village on Sunday night.

We arrived early thanks to the speedy transportation, and chatted with local villagers until the time arrived. Just before 1AM, we took the 'bashɛ' into the center of the village, where mainly a large crowd of women, but also some men and children, were gathered. Tayluru was given a gourd bowl, which he placed under one of the 'bashɛ's rear tires such that it would break as we drove away. We then had to fend off women who were trying to secure a free ride in the 'bashɛ' back to our village, so Tayluru finally stood guard at the door, only opened to a crack. We cleared an aisle through the street to allow the 'kɔnyɔnmuso' a travel-way.

As we were waiting for her arrival, the surrounding women kept reiterating what I had been previously told by people in Makili, that as a 'kɔnyɔncɛ' I would be asked to complete a task chosen by the women of the 'kɔnyɔnmuso's family. We would not be permitted to take Sarata until this task is done. The task in question, I was told, would be to roll in the dirt three times from where we stood to the Sarata's location, where she would be seated against a wall, and back.

Several minutes later, I heard a woman making an unnatural screaming sound similar to a police siren. A woman, Sarata, emerged covered from head-to-toe in white fabric, such that she could not see and was completely hidden from view. She was escorted by a couple of elder women, and an uncle who gave her to Tayluru and I.

Tayluru carefully helped her into the front row of the passenger compartment. Immediately thereafter, the women surrounding the 'bashɛ' began fighting their way in, and Baysa, Tayluru, and I quickly had to make sure we had a spot back home. I was taking blows from elbows, knees, and babies strapped to their mothers' backs during the struggle.

I believe that the 'rolling on the ground' part of the tradition was scrapped due to this ensuing may-lay. So we drove off, now with cargo of twenty additional women as Sarata continued to scream and wail for the duration of the ride.

Once back in Makili, we passed through the area near the pump where women were dancing to the traditional drumming of the 'dunun' as we crossed into the quiet center of the village. There, we let the women out, placed a white cloth against a wall, and sat Sarata indian-style upon the cloth. There they waited for Daouda's mother to come and lead them back to her house as we headed back to the 'dunun.'

The 'dunun' was status quo as I described in a previous post, with an organized dance circle about the drummers, until about 4AM. At that time, something just seemed to go off in the minds of the women.

A woman got up, wearing two sandals sticking up like rabbit ears from the sides of her head, tied with a headwrap, and danced wobbly back and forth with a blank stare on her face. The other women soon followed her lead. So we ended up with a large group of women, who as if in a drunkin stooper, wobbled to and fro with no organization and flustered looks on their faces.

One sandal popped out, and a woman picked it up for her and slammed it back into place while pulling her head from front to back. Several women raised her arms in praise. One woman was dancing with an open bowl of water balanced on her head. She spilled half of the water onto the head of another woman, but both continued dancing anyways.

One woman brought out a wooden container and a large-diameter wooden stick that they use to pound millet out onto the dance area. The container was filled with water, and the woman aggressively pounded the water with the beat, casting water off to all sides. One particularly energetic woman was given a long string of beads, and began swinging it wildly, nearly decapitating one of my host mothers as she danced by.The 'dununtigiw' (traditional drummers) at Daouda's 'kɔnyɔn' (wedding ceremony). (Thanks to Helen with Engineers without Borders for the picture.)It was a wild scene, continuing until about 4:45am, and my friends and I just could not stop laughing. I've been joking with them ever since that, despite alcohol being forbidden in muslim culture, their women must be partaking in secret.

I slept for less than an hour before waking and sitting with Daouda and other men, chatting and drinking coffee inside a house that Daouda was banned from leaving throughout the duration of his wedding. In America, it is often said that weddings are more for your friends' benefit than for your own. Here in Mali, that is truly the case. He was not permitted to watch any of the music or dancing.

My day was spent primarily in this house socializing with Daouda and other people, while eating several large meals of rice, sauce, and beef. During midday, the second round of 'dunun' was performed, which I thoroughly enjoyed dancing to.

Dancing with the villagers during Daouda's wedding 'dunun' (traditional drumming). (Thanks to Dan with Engineers without Borders for the picture.)Around 4PM, some of the other young men called me over to where many sheets of fabric were being kept that were gifted to Daouda. We all draped the fabric across our shoulders and heads, and I was told we needed to show them to the 'cɛkɔrɔbaw' (elder men). We walked into the village to where the men were seated, and they said that the fabric was very nice, then said a long string of blessings over said fabric. These blessings did not particularly involve the fabric, but were traditional marriage blessings, such as 'may God grant you many children' or 'may swindles not interfere.'

Throughout this week, the villagers have been constantly discussing my role in the wedding. People have been frequently going up to me to thank me for what I have done, saying that I have done good work, calling me a good person, and saying that I am no longer a 'Toubabu' or an 'American,' but a 'Malian.' These acts have definitely earned me a large measure of respect within the village.

While pumping water one afternoon this week, I found Sarata waiting by the pump. She told me that since I am her 'kɔnyɔncɛ,' if I need anything I can ask her to do it and she must obey me as if I am her husband. This stems from the tradition where the family gives her to the 'kɔnyɔncɛw,' who then give her to the husband. So in affect, I was given a wife, and even though I later passed her along, she is still obligated to me, so says the culture. Except, as I was told, in bed.

While seated with Daouda the day following the wedding, he told me a joke that I find hilarious in the context of this country. Please note that this was said completely in jest. I was sitting with Daouda, Sarata, and friends in his concession the day after the wedding. Daouda pointed out a woman from Sarata's village, Batoma, who was walking by and asked me if I knew her name. He said her name is 'warimisɛnto' (which means change - in the context of money). I asked why, and he said that when you pay too much for your wife, the family will send you another woman as the change. Everyone laughed, including Batoma, who smiling, waved her finger at me while vehemently denying it.

With my participation in the traditional ceremonies this wedding season, my continued work with the Water and Sanitation Committee, the Women's Garden Committee, and the fish pond, and my improved language skills, which have resulted in numerous friendships, I find that I have attained a strong position in the village. Much of this is due to the cultural differences, which encourage a much stronger since of community than is found in the West. I am thoroughly enjoying my time here and cannot wait to see what new experiences await me as my service here continues.

I have previously described the PHAST (Participatory Hygiene and Sanitation Transformation) series of formations I began with my village's Water and Sanitation Committee February 11th. Since that time, over the course of fifteen meetings, we completed the series on May 2nd.

The formations resulted in the village Water and Sanitation Committee members identifying needs in their community and potential projects to alleviate these needs. My intention at this stage is to build further capacity in the community by assisting them in raising all required funds in-village, not through funding proposals. The following is a list of the potential projects, of varying difficulty, that we have begun planning:

Construction of Trash Collection AreasThe intent is to hold a village-wide meeting to inform the villagers of the importance of their construction, as at the moment trash is simply thrown in piles, in the fields, or along the road. The wind, therefore, blows trash all throughout the village, posing a major sanitation concern. We intend on showing them how to construct simple bins made of walls about four feet high with mud bricks. This is the type of construction that is used for all of the houses in the village, so the knowledge is already there. Each concession/ section of the village would be responsible for constructing their own.Construction of Water and Sanitation Facilities at the SchoolThis project includes the construction of seperate 'ɲɛgɛnw' (latrines) for men and women, handwashing stations, and a drinking water well. Currently, there are no such facilities whatsoever near the site, and kids must use the surrounding millet fields as a bathroom.Construction of Well Covers for Existing Village Drinking Water WellsAll of the existing drinking water wells within the village are uncovered. Although we now have two functioning pumps which the majority of the village now uses for their drinking water, wells are still frequently used. This is due to some concessions being located too far from a pump, or at certain times of the day the pump is locked to prevent damage from kids or the wait at the pump is too long. Because the wells are uncovered, food scraps, animal feathers/hair, faeces, insects, and other filth easily contaminate the water.Construction of New Wells within the Village and the Women's GardenWater is still scarce in certain regions of the village, and women constantly complain of water shortages within the garden. Constructing additional wells can help to alleviate this issue.Construction of a Third and Possibly Fourth Pump within the VillageOur village is divided into four quartiers (regions), only two of which have pumps. The other two are rather far away from these facilities. The community has expressed a strong desire to build additional pumps, but unfortunately the cost of such a project is huge. The pump replacement project was feasible because the deep wells were already dug and the concrete superstructure constructed. It would be very difficult to raise such funding within village, or even through funding proposals for that matter.Behavioral Change and Household Hand-washing StationsI consider this project the most important during my Peace Corps service. It involves continued education on the importance hand-washing with soap prior to meals and following trips to the 'ɲɛgɛn,' treating drinking water with bleach, and keeping food covered to protect from contamination from flies. This will be done through, amongst other tactics, further community meetings and 'yala yala's (walk-abouts) through the community by our committee members to educate people on an individual basis.Included in this project is providing a free formation to village women on how to make their own soap, as well as how to prepare their own hand-washing station in their individual concessions.

Mama, my 'jatigi muso' (host-mother) and now the 'muso nakɔ ɲɛmɔgɔ,' handing out tomato seedlings to village women in the garden.When I first decided to assist the women in obtaining a selection of garden seeds from the Peace Corps Mali Food Security program to try for the year, I did not foresee it becoming a major, long-range project. But since that time, the need to teach the women how to manage an effective pépinière (nursery) to grow most of the types of seeds obtained and the need to better organize the women to allow them to develop projects for themselves into the future the became apparent.

On March 9th, we held a meeting with the village women's committee (which consists of all of the women) about setting up a 'muso nakɔ jɛkulu' (Women's Garden Committee) and about pépinière preperation using seeds I had procured. During this time, the ten women were selected for the committee, which provided representation from all of the regions of the village. Women from each village also volunteered to people the pépinières to grow the seedlings to later be distributed amongst all of the women. They also decided during this meeting to collect monthly dues from each of the 150 women with a plot in the garden, which will be used to establish a ‘kesu,’ or savings fund, for use in garden maintenance/ improvement/ seed procurement in the future.

Mama instructing women on how to prepare the planting bed and broadcast the seeds.On March 12th, I spent the day in the garden with the newly formed committee assisting and educating the women on how to prepare a pépinière, and I assisted Mama, my host-mother and the president of the Women's Garden Committee, in seed distribution to the volunteers. The seeds distributed were tomato, lettuce, carrot, cabbage, eggplant, hot pepper, and papaya.

Village women building the 'gwa' (shelter) over their pépinière. The 'gwa' is meant to shield the soil from the sun, retaining moisture in the soil prior to seed germination. Once the seeds germinate, the 'gwa' is removed to allow the plants to receive sunlight.Village women preparing the planting beds for their pépinière.The committee has held several of their own meetings since it’s establishment, as well as a couple of additional meetings with all the women of the village to discuss the particulars of the establishment of the 'kɛsu' (there was a lot of distrust for whatever reason, women talking about the committee members ‘eating’ the money. So safeguards had to be put in place), to distribute okra garden seeds that do not require pépinières, and after about 3.5 weeks after much of the pépinière seeds had germinated, to announce the first round of distribution of the seedlings.

Tomato seedlings 3.5 weeks past germination in one of the pépinières.During the late afternoon on Thursday, April 14th, I headed into the garden with the committee members, where we distributed tomato and carrot seedlings, which were the first to germinated and look strong and healthy, to all of the women. The day was an exciting one for the women, who enthusiastically, if somewhat aggressively, came out to accept the plants.

Jenibu, a member of the 'muso nakɔ jɛkulu,' distributing carrot seedlings to village women.When the women followed my instruction using the advice I had received in Bamako, the pépinières generally turned out well, although lizards did ravage the a couple of the plots following germination. Some pépinières, however, were not properly watered and cared for, and predictably provided pour results.

Since it’s formation, we have since tried to hold bi-weekly Women's Garden Committee meetings, but attendance and tardiness have been major issues. It has been incredibly difficult to ensure attendance, during both committee and village-wide women's meetings, and when they do attend, it is very late.

This past Wednesday during an overall women’s meeting scheduled to discuss collection of the monthly dues and the how the ‘kesu’ should be setup. After waiting for two hours, only fifteen women showed up, including only three from the committee. The women told me that we cannot hold the meeting today because of a wedding. I asked them ‘do you want to work together, because this happens every meeting - do you think the next time will be any different?’ They responded that we can work together, and decided to walk over to the wedding and call the women there over.

There are many difficulties which have contributed to this problem. In Mali, women do not wear watches, and they spend most of their day working in their individual concessions. We have also been affected from the unfortunate circumstances surrounding my host mother’s family in a nearby village. Over the past couple of months, her father and two uncles have passed away, and the funerals have happened to fall twice on our meeting times, which pulled several of the women away.

But despite the extenuating circumstances, I still do not see the commitment I am looking for, particularly from my committee members, to come on-time to all meetings, and to particularly set an example for the other women by coming to the village-wide meetings, which were called by them for their purposes, early. They are very motivated to take a role in helping improve their community, but it has proven especially difficult to instill a sense of responsibility and punctuality in them.

The committee members are also often reluctant to run meetings with the entire community of women, and unfortunately many of the meetings result in a lot of yelling and seeming hostility. But this seems to occur even when a consensus is being reached. And when I ask a spectator to such an argument why they are fighting, I inevitably get a response such as this: 'she is just giving information.' More and more, it appears that this aggressive style may simply be a cultural attribute.

It has therefore proven to be difficult to move the women forward in terms of effective organization, but I feel that we are slowly moving in the right direction. On Wednesday, the women will be gathering to pool together all of the money collected from the first month of dues, and Aissetta, who’s husband has been teaching her to read and write, has recorded the names of all the women in a notebook.

Despite the difficulties, working on this project has provided me with a strong outlet to reach out to the women of my village, and I feel that it has afforded me a stronger position of standing in the community from which to build upon during future projects.

Village women performing a traditional dance around three traditional drummers during the ‘kɔnyɔn.’ Note the brown/red/yellow fabric many of the villagers are wearing. This was the fabric chosen for the ‘kɔnyɔn' and many villagers got clothing made out of this fabric for just this occasion. This past week, a young tailor, Omaru, in my village married his first wife. The actual wedding itself, the ‘furusiri,’ took place Sunday afternoon within the village mosque. As per tradition, the bride and groom did not attend. Only men were present, and the groom was represented by his best friend.

The marriage ceremony began shortly thereafter, and is called a ‘kɔnyɔn.’ In preperation, a cow was slaughtered by the groom’s family early Sunday afternoon, and meat was handed out to other men in the village as a gift. I was given the meat from the cow’s head, which my host-mother cooked for me.

People gathered that afternoon to chat, and a dinner of rice, peanut sauce, and beef was served communally.

That night, the real festivities began. The village ‘dɛnmisɛnw jɛkulu’ (children’s committee, which includes ‘children’ of approximate ages 5 to 30) had recently raised money to purchase a stereo system. For the occasion, they brought out this equipment in the open area near one of the pumps and arranged chairs in a circle, forming a dance area in the middle.

Beginning around 9PM, the villagers began blasting African dance hall-style music, which for the most part was similar to reggaeton with its repetitive beat and yeling, but with Malian style synth instrumentation thrown in. They only had one disc of music, through which they manually skipped between about five three-minute songs, each being played more than ten times, until they mercifully stopped around 2AM.

I was rather disappointed when I first arrived in my village to find that after their traditional drums broke several years ago, they have ceased to have traditional music at any of their ceremonies. For this wedding, however, a ‘jɛli’ (griot/singer) and a band of traditional drummers, consisting of a large circular drum called a ‘dunun’ played bare-handed, and two smaller djembés played with a stick in one hand and the bare palm of the other, were hired from another village.

The three traditional drummers: the 'dunun' is in the center, flanked by the two smaller drums.

Unfortunately on Sunday night, they didn’t begin playing until around 12:30AM when I was dead tired (late nights are a rarity here for me). I did wake up around 4AM to find that the music troupe was still going strong.

The next morning, the ‘kɔnyɔn’ continued with chatting over tea and a communal breakfast of rice, peanut sauce, and beef.

At 11:30AM, the traditional drummers came back out and performed for an hour and a half. Many of the villagers got special clothing made just for this event, with the same matching fabric, which they finally donned at this moment. As the band played, women gathered around the drummers in a circle to perform a traditional dance, swinging their arms with pagnés in hand and facing into, then out of the circle, as they paraded around. Despite the organization, it certainly did not lack for energy.The man in the grey traditional clothing is the 'jeli' (griot/singer), and is backed up by the woman seated to his left with the microphone.Occassionally, some of the younger men would join in, and I knew my turn was coming. Darada, an eccentric young man who the night before dressed himself in a cowboy hat and trench coat, in the crux of hot season no less, called me up to join in. I was more than willing.

Women dancing around the traditional drummers during the ‘kɔnyɔn.’As I danced around the circle, about seven women took turns coming up to me, placing a pagné around my neck, and holding up one of my arms, while grinning at me widely. A couple men did so as well, although sans the pagné. They did this occasionally to others, even last night, I assume as a way to congratulate someone on a good dance.

The women included four of the five women on our newly-formed Water and Sanitation Committee, as well as Fatimata, the head of the village women. These women are the ones that I work with the most, and it made me realize some of the strong connections that I have been able to make with many people in this village up to this point. I really felt good about all of this, although it was difficult to dance with seven scarfs around my neck, especially considering the heat.

It was a lot of fun, and I danced for the rest of the songs – the last one being especially spirited as us men formed our own circle around the women, jumping into the air to the music.

Women dancing around the traditional drummers during the ‘kɔnyɔn.’A communal lunch of ‘to’ and beef was served, then the ‘kɔnyɔn’ ended with groups of men and women chatting over tea.

That evening, the men of the village participated in a very spirited version of their daily evening soccer game. Following each ‘kɔnyɔn,’ the ‘cɛgananw’ (single men) play against the ‘musotigiw’ (married men).

Dramani carted out his sound equipment to the dirt field, which allowed Darada and another young man, Daouda, to call play-by-play for the entire game, with all of the characteristic enthusiasm and breathless witty commentary the position calls for. Only one goal was scored, and spectators celebrated like they had just won the championship, as the kids screamed and cartwheeled onto the field.

The village Pump Team and I standing behind one of the newly installed India-Mali pumps. (From left to right: Aliwata, Lassana, Dramani, Daouda, and myself)As I had previously mentioned, at the beginning of last month I travelled to Bamako to hand deliver money to S.E.TRA., the pump manufacturer/installer. We had scheduled a March 20th start to the pump installation and training formation, during which three of our villagers, Lassana, Dramani, and Daouda, would be trained on pump maintenance, installation, and repair.

I called their office the Friday before to confirm what time they would be coming, but was told that the pump crew was still working on a project in Gao, so they would not be coming on time.

Delays continued, not only due to the work in Gao, but also due to their vehicle breaking down twice. Never once did I receive notification from S.E.TRA. on a change of plans, so I got into the habit of calling every morning to check the status. Unfortunately, this is just par for the course in this country, where people never want to tell you anything you don’t want to hear.

On Thursday, April 7th, the pump crew finally arrived, and finished their installation of the two pumps and the training formation the following evening. After giving the crew a bit of a tounge-lashing, my frustrations were quickly forgotten as I watched Omaru and his team do an incredible job of educating our pump team.

Daouda, Dramani, and Lassana assembling the Katilɛla pump cylinder.

Daouda and Dramani installing the Katilɛla pump as Omaru of S.E.TRA. looks on.

The first task completed was installation of the Katilɛla pump. Omaru put our team to work right away to perform the entire operation as Omaru briefly explained the parts and procedures. Omaru teaching Daouda, Dramani, and Lassana about the different parts of the pump.

Daouda explaining the piston clapet as Dramani and Lassana look on.Omaru (center) explaining the individual tools from the village's new toolkit to our pump team.That afternoon and the following morning was spent in a classroom-type session, where Omaru took the pump components apart and, one-by-one, explained their purpose, what can go wrong, and how to repair the pump in such a situation. Each villager then took turns disassembling and reassembling the pump cylinder and piston while naming and describing each component along the way. This was repeated until Omaru felt confident in their learning. Out with the old, in with the new... Daouda and Lassana removing the old, broken foot pump in Diarrakɛla.Dramani testing the pump piston in water.Lassana, Aliwata, and Dramani working on the piston cylinder while Daouda braces the connected pipe.

Finally, Friday afternoon was spent installing the second pump in Diarrakɛla. Omaru and his crew sat back as our local pump team did all of the work, only to interject with occasional tips and instruction. They were also instructed on how to perform monthly maintenance.Daouda and Lassana lowering the pump cylinder and piping into the deep well.Lassana, Daouda, Aliwata, and Dramani installing the pump while Omaru offers advice.It was impressive to watch our team work, and I was brimming with pride and enthusiasm over my involvement in the newfound knowledge and capacity of these men. And we have water! Daouda pumping the Diarrakɛla pump while others test out the water.I advised our pump team to keep the pumps locked until we could establish rules for use. We held a Water and Sanitation Committee meeting that night, then a village-wide meeting the following morning. Thanks to some strong advice from Omaru, to my surprise, the community decided to assess each family a small monthly fee for the use of the pump. The money raised is to go into a ‘kɛsu’ which can be used for water and sanitation projects in the future.

Ten rules were also decided upon, with fines established for any violations as well as fees paid by other localities for any repair service provided by our pump team, providing the community with a new revenue source. Daouda, Aliwata, Lassana, and Dramani learning how to perform monthly maintenance on the pump.In the end, I could not be more pleased with how this project turned out. The two pumps are now in operation, providing the community with clean drinking water. More importantly, the village now has a team of four men (the fourth, Aliwata, joined us on the second day) capable of installing, maintaining, and repairing pumps into the future, and rules have been established to ensure that these pumps are looked after by the community.

The people of Africa face enormous challenges in their daily lives, and the roots of their problems are certainly complicated. Now living in Mali, it is amazing for me to realize that this country has only had it’s independence from France for 50 years, as the days of empirical conquest had seemed to be ancient history.

The causes of Africa’s lack of development have frequently been debated, but there is little doubt that the period of invasion and exploitation from the west was the most damning. And unfortunately, this exploitation continues today, with foreign companies gobbling up the continent’s vast natural resources whilst its’ people see not a dime of it. The widespread political upheaval we continue to see in the region today is also of grave concern and many of the region’s leaders are corrupted by the money from foreign entities, as their people, seemingly centuries apart, continue to suffer.

So where does this all leave us today, as development workers in Africa? It is well regarded that most of the development work taking place today is heavily flawed and counter-productive. The emphasis continues to be on providing for the people of Africa, as opposed to helping the people of Africa learn the skills to provide for themselves.

Many of the NGOs of today spend all kinds of money to build schools, pumps, health care facilities – but where will the education on how to utilize these facilities come from? Who will train the future generations of educators and doctors? When a pump breaks, will it simply sit unused, as a play-thing for the local children? When the funding runs out, who will feed the hungry or build the new wells required for a growing population?

I subscribe wholeheartedly to the theory that only through educating the African population to provide these facilities and services for themselves can we ever manage to reverse the continued trend of dependency.

I bring all of this up because of my recent experiences in village. During the fourteen Water and Sanitation Committee meetings we’ve held the past couple of months, I have found myself facing the decision of what direction my two years of service will go.

I have been facilitating PHAST (Participatory Hygiene and Sanitation Transformation) with the group, which is a series of activities designed to empower the community to identify vexing issues within their community and select and plan projects to solve these problems.

During an activity entitled ‘Selecting Options: Choosing sanitation improvements,’ the group developed a list of projects they would like to tackle in the next couple of years. At the start of the activity, I emphasized to the group that I would not provide any funding, so they must consider how to raise the money within their community.

The first project that was mentioned was building a doctor’s office by Lassana, my homologue.

I told them that it would be a difficult project to complete properly, even if we could raise the money required, because the government would have to select Makili as a site to send a doctor. This is a tricky proposition, since our village is small and a doctor’s office is currently located 4 kilometers away in our market town, to which most of the village travels anyways every Sunday.

Lassana then answered saying it would not be a difficult project. ‘Peace Corps will build us a doctor’s office and we will find a doctor.’ I raised my voice and exclaimed ‘Corps de la Paix tɛna foyi kɛ! (Peace Corps will not do anything!)’ I then explained my role is as a facilitator to assist them in developing projects, and to help develop the infrastructure required within their village to follow through on their plans, by raising money, seeking materials, and implementation/construction. It is only through this role can I ensure that they can plan and execute projects in the future. This outcome cannot be achieved by handing out money.

Our next activity was ‘Selecting Options: Choosing improved hygiene behaviors,’ during which the group identified which current behaviors in the community they would like to work to change. Nearly all of the villagers do not wash their hands with soap after using the bathroom or prior to eating. This was the first behavior identified.

I asked the question ‘how will you respond when someone confronts you by ‘saying soap is too expensive, we cannot afford it.’’ One of the men then said, in all seriousness, ‘we will tell them Maliki will give us soap.’

So again, I calmly explained my philosophy of development to them. ‘What will you do when I return to America next year?’

The same man then looked me directly in the eyes, and asked ‘how will you help us if you won’t buy us anything?’

I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts. I wanted to make sure I give the right response to this question. I proceeded to again in detail the concept of sustainability, and I told them that there are only certain projects that I am willing to assist in procuring outside funds.

These projects include the Pump Replacement project, where the funds will not only procure two pumps for the village, but also education for three villagers to maintain and repair pumps and the tools to do so. Or another example – the fish pond previously started by the former volunteers. This project will provide the villagers with an annual source of income, by selling fish, to be used not only for the maintenance of the pond, but also for additional projects within the village in the future.

After my speech, I looked around to the sullen faces around me, all looking down towards the ground. I asked them if they understood me, and reiterated that I want to help them into the future, not just during these two years.

Unfortunately, this attitude that I have constantly encountered in my village is the attitude which international development aid instills throughout the African community. It is an attitude which looks internationally not for a partner, but for a provider. I am working to change this perception in my village, and slowly, I hope to do so by example. In working with our Water and Sanitation Committee during the weeks since, I believe they now understand.

I just returned to Ségou after my quick jaunt into Bamako. I had a brief, yet productive trip, accomplishing what I had hoped to. I will be heading back to site this afternoon (Wednesday).

On Monday, I made a trip to the local bank in Bamako and picked up my SPA funds for the 'Pump Replacement' project. I then delivered that money to SETRA, the pump manufacturer/installer, and scheduled the work to begin on March 20th. On that date, the SETRA crew will arrive in my village, and they will begin their work, which includes both the installation of the two pumps, as well as the training of three members of the Water and Sanitation Committee on the proper operation, maintenance, and repair of these pumps. These two tasks will be performed together and should last approximately one week.

I also had discussions with the Environment sector head, Yacouba, while I was in Bamako. We discussed which vegetables should be planted in a pepiniere, and how to properly construct the planting beds for both vegetables that require pepinieres and those which do not. Over the next month, I plan on holding a meeting with the women's committee to distribute seeds, and will try my hand at providing instruction to them regarding planting technique.

Lassana, my homologue, also mentioned that he would like for us to establish a Women's Garden Committee. This committee would be responsible for collecting regular dues that women would be required to pay in order for the right to use the women's garden. This money would then be saved to be used for maintenance, repair, and/or supply purchases in the future. I was thrilled with the idea, which should develop a sense of responsibility and independence within the community for the women's garden, promoting sustainability throughout the future. We hope to begin this process in the coming month as well.

In addition to the pump and garden projects, I will continue to facilitate PHAST activities with the Water and Sanitation Committee, as we continue to move closer to selecting future projects which the committee would like to tackle within the village. As always, the testing and coordination of the fish pond will also proceed.

I left my village today to return to Ségou. Tomorrow, I will be taking transport down to Bamako, where early next week I will kick-start the Pump Replacement project.

Below is a brief rundown of the projects that I have been working on over the past three weeks at site:

Village Water and Sanitation Committee

The Water and Sanitation Committee working on preparing a community map during one of our meetings this month.Since I returned from the festival, we have been holding regular committee meetings twice a week; Monday and Friday mornings. We have held five such meetings this month, making steady progress on PHAST (Participatory Hygiene and Sanitation Transformation Series).

The intent of the PHAST activities are to facilitate discussion amongst the villagers themselves, which allow them to learn on their own about proper water and sanitation practices and analyze their own community’s practices, thus empowering them to later select the projects they would like to work on to improve their community.

Included in the activities we’ve completed thus far are discussions on good and bad hygiene behaviors, investigations of illnesses and diseases found within the community, the development of a community map with current water and sanitation facilities, and the development of charts showing how ‘feces gets to your face’ (This is actually the way you phrase it. The purpose is to force the members to think about their village and how diseases are spread.).

Shortly, the group will be determining what are the ‘barriers’ they can use to prevent disease transmission. They will then rank these barriers in terms of effectiveness and ease of implementation. This analysis will then be used as a tool for selecting their future projects.

Anyone that has been to Mali will tell you that punctuality and reliability are not in the vocabulary. So imagine my surprise when on Friday, February 18th, eight out of ten members were on-time for our 9:30 am community mapping meeting. One woman, who is pregnant, had not been coming due to sickness, and one man has been in Côte d'Ivoire. I was impressed.

Unfortunately, the following Monday, we held another meeting on 'good and bad hygiene behaviors.' Only four out of ten people were on-time at 9:30am. I then found out that the pregnant woman was still sick, the one man was still in Côte d'Ivoire, and a young man had gone to the fields, skipping the meeting. That made three definite no-shows!

At 10am, the remaining man showed up, and the two remaining women came at 10:30am; two claiming to have overslept, and one woman apparently came early, then left for the garden after hearing that some goats had invaded it and began eating the women's vegetables. The committee President and Vice President, to my delight, decided to replace the pregnant woman and the man who left for Côte d'Ivoire without notifying them of his trip in advance (a rule that was set during our first meeting). The two people selected maintained our balance of gender and village regions, and both had actually participated voluntarily in previous meetings on their own accord, simply because they were interested. So we then had our meeting, an hour late, but with nine out of ten members.

At the meeting's close, I took the opportunity for a brief lecture on the importance of attending all meetings, on-time. All of the activities build upon each other, and in order to work effectively and make good decisions, the knowledge base obtained by the group now is vital. Not only that, they've made a commitment to serve their community.

For our meeting the following Friday on 'how diseases spread,' I arrived at the meeting place a half-hour early. Already, six people had arrived, and by our 9:30am start time, all members were present! We shall see what happens as we move forward, but hopefully the commitment is now entrenched. Hearing the stories of other volunteers though, this will likely be a constant battle.

Pump Replacement Project

I am heading down to Bamako tomorrow, and will head to the SETRA (the India-Mali pump manufacturer/ installer) offices on Monday. My hope is that we will begin installation of the two pumps by the end of next week, completing the project during the following week. The village will then have a clean, reliable source of drinking water before the crux of hot season!

Women’s Garden Seed Trial

The cans of vegetable seeds that I will be distributing to the women for their gardens.I have now received two shipments of the seeds I had requested for the women’s garden. For 2.5 hectares of garden area, I expected several large sacks of seeds to be delivered. I was disappointed to find only the small cans pictured above.

Now, I am not a gardener, so all of this is new to me. My understanding was that I would be given enough seeds to distribute to all of the women in my community at once. Apparently, however, the standard practice is to begin by preparing what are called pepinieres, or nurseries.

A pepiniere is a small garden plot that allows seeds to germinate and propagate. The seeds are allowed to grow in this small plot, and once they break through the ground and grow for 3-4 weeks, they are then transplanted to their particular plots in the garden, planted with the required clearances from other plants to allow them to grow.

So now my task is to learn exactly how to construct one of these, and assist the women in doing so when I return from Bamako. I plan on tasking a couple women to tackle each type of vegetable. Once the plants are ready, they can then be divvied up amongst the other women.

Fish Pond

A current view of the fish pond and it's ever-shrinking water level. It still has not rained since mid-October.Lassana and I have continued to test the water quality every other week. Other than that, no actual work has been done to report.

The Fish Pond Committee held a meeting on Thursday night, where they informed me that they only plan on harvesting a significant portion of the fish this year if the pond goes dry. Their strong preference is to leave the fish in the pond for next year to allow the fish to grow and multiply.

The engineers from EWB (Engineers without Borders) plan on coming in May to construct an auxillary retention pond to collect more rainwater, preventing flooding of the surrounding roads while also helping to alleviate the water shortage the pond experiences in the hot season. I am currently serving as the intermediary between EWB and the villagers regarding the specifics of this design.

The seventh edition of the Festival sur le Niger, a music and culture festival in Ségou, took place from Tuesday, February 1st through Sunday, February 6th. Mali is a country well-known for its impressive array of diverse and quality music. Two major festivals showcase this annually within Mali; the Festival au Desert in Timbuktu and the Festival sur le Niger. The Festival sur le Niger is a more recent entrant, but due to the security concerns present in the northern reaches of Mali over the past several years, it has taken it's place as the preeminent music festival in Mali, drawing the top acts within the country, as well as from the region.

I feel privileged to have attended this year's festival. From Tuesday night through Sunday night, each day from 10am through 6pm was filled with concerts on a side stage and several smaller performances put on by different 'troupes' of musicians, griots, dancers, acrobats, 'jacko(s)' (or masks/ mascots), marionnettes (puppets), and the like. These events were free to the public. Each night involved a concert on the main stage with the major acts. Access for the night shows required a ticket, but at a much-reduced rate for Mali nationals. This resulted in a festival that certainly attracted it's share of tourists from across the world, but was heavily enjoyed by the local population.The main stage at the festival, where the nightly 'Concert géant sur le fleuve' took place. The stage is set upon a barge, which was pulled up along the shore of the Niger River.I could not have been more impressed with this festival. The concerts may not have always been on-time, but they were pretty damn close, more-so than most festivals in the states. The setting was incredibly scenic, being along the Niger River. Just a month prior, the Niger River was still brown and swelled, I'm assuming due to sediment runoff from the rainy season, which ended in October. During the festival, the river was stunning, with rather clear, blue water.

Another view of the main stage at the festival.I have always enjoyed live music and festivals, and have been to my share back in the states. But the Festival sur le Niger was by far the most entertaining and enriching festival experience I have ever had. The music was phenomenal and diverse, and the varied aspects of all the diverse cultures represented was incredibly interesting. Below are some pictures of what I would personally consider the highlights. Unless otherwise noted, these are all Malian performers:

Wednesday

A traditional hunter performance troupe dancing and playing wooden whistles during the opening ceremony.A group of Touareg musicians closing out the opening ceremony. A traditional gourd drum provided a constant, monotonous percussive rhythym while a traditional Malian guitar drenched in effects played overtop. The end result was incredibly hypnotic and addictive.Another picture of the group of Touareg musicians closing out the opening ceremony. Towards the end of their performance, a couple male dancers came on-stage and performed impressive acrobatics.Another picture of the group of Touareg musicians performing with the acrobatic dancers.Gnawas d'Agadir (from Morocco) performing Wednesday night on the river. A few of their members played traditional drums and a rather bulky traditional guitar. The majority of them, however, simply played small little hand-held metal 'clankers,' one in each hand. They took turns dancing out in front with them as well.Future Takamba is a group of Touareg musicians, which played alongside a Dutch DJ who treated some of the instruments with effects. This band consisted of one man playing a traditional gourd instrument for the same, monotonous percussion as the other Touareg band earlier in the day and two men playing traditional Malian guitars. Again, I could not get enough of this music - straight-up hypnotic. A man and a woman performed traditional dances during the performance.Thialey Harby performing with his band (Touareg from Timbuktu). Ami Wassidie, who performed just before his set, came on stage to dance with two Touareg children.Thursday

The group Bouanzan performing on the side stage during the morning. This group was stellar and very energetic, with traditional drummers and two 'balɔnfɔn' (traditional Malian wooden xylophone) players. The men also sang in harmony while two women danced.A Bambaran performance troupe, very similar to the performances in my market town for the Cinquantenaire. This group consisted of traditional drummers and female singers, and unleashed several different ‘jackos’ (masks/ mascots) as they performed. They brought out a few ‘jackos’ with coffin-type bodies representing local farm animals, just like in my market town. Others were unique, such as this red devil-type mask.Another picture of the Bambaran performance troupe from Thursday. This ‘jacko’ was an elaborate bird with flapping wings. Note the man out in front, who uses a shaker to guide the bird around, as there apparently are no eye-holes

Bassekou Kouyaté performing with his band. This group had four traditional Malian guitarists, one who sung alongside a female vocalist, and traditional drummers. Sayon Camara and her band of drummers, guitarists, backup singers, backup dancers, and a horn section. This was a very fun, energetic band with songs that were often funky.

Friday

A group of Touaregs performing on the sand in the middle of the festival grounds. The group sat in a square, and one woman slapped a calabash floating in water to provide the hypnotic percussive back-beat. The other women clapped for rhythym, one man played the traditional Malian guitar, and another man sung. All throughout the performance, men and boys took turns individually dancing in their traditional clothing, leaping and squatting to the ground.Another picture of the Touareg performance.Orchestre Régional closing out Friday's afternoon session on the side-stage. The local crowd went wild and rushed the stage when the lead singer came out. He performed alongside a ridiculously talented, rhythmic band with intricately woven music. To the delight of the crowd, as he sung, two dancers (out front) acted out his lyrics in rather playful and comic gestures.Issa Bakayoko, a famed kora player performing alongside a djembé player and an odd backing track. His music was very fun and rhythymic, but it was very bizarre to have the backing track as opposed to backup singers and a bass guitarist.Toumani Diabaté, a famed kora player, performing alongside his Symmetric Orchestra. The Orchestra included a drummer, traditional percussion, a talking drum, guitar, keyboard, and a revolving cast of singers. Their music was very complex and rythymic, and reminded me of some of Youssou N'dour's work in that way. I especially enjoyed the talking drum.Oumou Sangaré performing with her impressive band. Her set was very strong, and worked the crowd into an absolute frenzy. I have been listening to her music before I came to Mali, and she did not disappoint.

Saturday

Yelen Coura performing on the side stage. Their group consisted of traditional percussionists and a couple kora players.A performance by a Bambaran dace troupe with a couple of 'jackos.'

The festival held several 'kurun' (pirogue/boat) races on the Niger River on Saturday afternoon. Each 'kurun' had 15 to 20 people onboard paddling with oars. Here is the start.The victorious group of men celebrating at the finish line.The group Gnawas d'Agadir of Morocco performed again on the side stage Saturday afternoon.A 'kurun' filled with Malian musicians, providing the background music for the 'marionettes' (puppets).One elaborate 'marionette' was a crocodile which drifted down the river while raising and lowing it's tail, and opening and closing it's mouth.

A group of Bambaran men performing a traditional dance with sticks, encircling the traditional percussionists.

Amity Miria, from neighboring Burkina Faso, performing alongside her backup dancers. Her set was strong and varied, mixing energetic dance numbers with melodramatic ballads.

During Saturday's nighttime concert, a slew of 'kuruns' rowed up beside the stage baring lighted torches, adding to the already great ambience.Femi Kuti, from Nigeria, performing his brand of Afrobeat alongside his band The Positive Force. His father, Fela Kuti, had invented the genre. His large band of horns, percussion, drums, and keyboard powered through an energetic set of his funky tunes. I absolutely love Afrobeat. Oddly, however, this was the one set the Malians didn't dig. Whereas throughout every other set over the week, the crowd energy was phenomenal, half of the Malians flat out sat down for this one. Maybe it was the English?

SundayBadenya Percussion from Burkina Faso delivered one of my favorite performances of the week, with high energy traditional music mking use of 'balɔnfɔn,' traditional percussion, guitar, bass, and traditional harmonic vocals.A Bambaran troupe of traditional drummers performing under a festival tent. The old man in the traditional farming hat provided the frail, traditional vocals.Troupe de Yorosso, a Bambaran troupe, performing during the closing ceremony. Their group made use of the standard traditional drummers and singers, but also utilized very odd, distinctive 'jackos' that spun and bobbed like tops.Much to the chagrin of the locals, one of the headlining acts from Sunday cancelled. But in their place performed the local group Balanzan from Ségou. Their performance was a highlight - several traditional percussionists, two male singers, a kora player, and a traditional Malian guitar player delivered a sweltering, high-energy set of rythymic dance music that was over all too fast.Sadio Kouyaté, a female vocalist, performing with her band of traditional Malian guitarists, a talking drum, gourd percussion, and backup singers. Her songs were all very rythymic, whether high energy dance burners or mellow crooners.Amadou & Miriam, the pop stars of Mali, closed out the festival Sunday night. They are a blind couple, and performed alongside a large and uber-talented band. Their music was much more high-energy than I expected, and whipped the crowd into a frenzy of dance.

It has been a productive couple of weeks at site since I finally returned on Wednesday, January 13th after two weeks of training outside of Bamako, three weeks of traveling with my sister across the country, and five additional days in Ségou to prepare my Pump Replacement project proposal, with the transport troubles that followed. I just arrived back in Ségou today to attend the 'Festival sur le Niger,' which takes place from February 1st through the 6th.

Below is a brief synopsis of the projects that I currently am working on at site:

Village Water and Sanitation Committee

The 10 members of the village Water and Sanitation Committee and I following our first meeting on Wednesday, January 26th.The day after I returned to my site, on Thursday, January 13th, Lassana, my homologue, and I met with the 'dugutigi' (chief of the village) and his son in regards to setting up a Water and Sanitation Committee. I told them my intention to select 5 men and 5 women, varying in age, representing all 4 cartés (regions), each with a genuine interest and enthusiasm for improving the lives of the villagers. The men agreed, and decided that the 'dugutigi' would select the 5 men, while the 'musokɔrɔba' (elder woman) would select the 5 women.

On Friday, January 14th, Lassana and I met with the village men's committee, and subsequently on Monday, January 17th with the village women's committee to discuss the formation of a village Water and Sanitation Committee. With the community informed, the selection of the members was completed, and we scheduled our first meeting for Wednesday, January 26th.

The first meeting went on without a hitch. On the agenda was to elect officers, determine rules for the committee, and discuss future meetings. The officers included president, vice president, secretary, treasurer, organizer/community 'crier,' 'secretary of logistics' (meeting place preperation), and, my personal favorite, 'keledabilala,' which in Bambara literally means 'the fight stopper.' Gotta love this language.

The members decided amongst themselves who would take each position, then determined the rules they would abide by as well. I only asked them to make one change... they decided that if a person does not show up to a meeting without informing the president in advance with a valid excuse, they would have to pay a fine. After three occurences, that person would have to pay a bigger fine and buy the committee a bag of candy. I told them that if a person missed three in a row, they probably are not interested in the committee and are adversely impacting the rest of the group. In that case, they should probably be kicked off the committee and replaced by another member of the community to be determined by a vote. They agreed to that change, as appealing as the candy may have been.

When I return to site after the festival, I plan on beginning PHAST with the committee. PHAST stands for Participatory Hygiene and Sanitation Transformation Series. It is a series of activities and discussions which a group of villagers, in this case the Water and Sanitation Committee plus 10 other villagers (each villager will bring one other person of the same gender to each of the PHAST meetings), work through in order to determine for themselves the water and sanitation needs in their community, and later, select strategies and projects in order to address these needs.

At the conclusion of the PHAST activities, my hope is that the committee will then be informed enough to select for themselves the projects they would like to tackle. It will then be my job to simply facilitate the implementation of these projects and assist the committee as required. By allowing the community to take the foremost role, I hope that the projects we tackle together will be sustainable long after I return to the states.

Pump Replacement Project

The pump replacement project is now in the works. The funding for this project will come from two sources; the Small Project Assistance (SPA) grant program of USAID and the community itself.

I submitted my proposal for SPA funding to the Peace Corps office on Tuesday, January 12th while in Ségou. This proposal includes funding for the replacement of the two broken foot-pumps in the village with India-Mali hand pumps, the procurement of maintenance/repair tools for the village to keep on-site, and the training of three members of the Water and Sanitation Committee on the proper operation, maintenance, and repair of the pumps. By providing this training, it is my hope that the project will be sustainable in the future by eliminating the village's dependence on outside assistance for maintenance and repair.

The Peace Corps Mali office has approved the proposal, and I am now waiting for the forms to make their way through the proper channels, and for the money to show up for use.

During the meetings with the men's and women's committees, during which the formation of the Water and Sanitation Committee was discussed, Lassana and I also informed the community of the details of the pump project, including the community financial contribution. The community then selected four men to collect the money from each family.

Once both the SPA and community financial contributions are available, I will then take the money to the SETRA (the India-Mali pump manufacturer/installer) office in Bamako. Within a couple of days, the SETRA workers will arrive in my village, install the two pumps, and train the villagers. The entire project should be completed within a week on-site!

Women’s Garden Seed Trial

Women fetching water from a well within the Women's Garden to water their plants.During my 'yala yala's (walk-abouts) throughout the village over the past several months, women have constantly approached me with two main concerns they have regarding the Women's Garden. The first issue is that the wells within the garden go dry during the afternoons throughout the year, and are often dry throughout the day during the hot season. I am waiting for the Water and Sanitation Committee to get off the ground so that they can decide on their approach to solving this problem.Onion plants (in the foreground) within the Women's Garden.The other issue that the women have raised, however, is the difficulty they have in obtaining seeds for the garden. They have trouble with both obtaining diverse varieties of vegetables, as well as obtaining quality seeds which would lead to thriving, healthy plants.

I got in contact with Karim, the Food Security program coordinator with Peace Corps Mali. He told me that if I could provide him with a list of the types of vegetables the women would like to grow, complete with the land area for each type, a seeding company will provide the village with the seeds for required this year on a trial basis. In other words, the women will be able to try these seeds for free this year, and if they are happy with the results, they will have to buy the seeds in subsequent years.From front to back, hot pepper and onion plants within the Women's Garden.On Tuesday, January 25th, Lassana and I met with the women's committee, and we described the process to them. They were thrilled at the prospects, and are more than willing to pay for the seeds next year if they work out this year. I first asked them to tell me which vegetables they would like to grow. Next, I asked them if 100 'places' are available in the garden, how many 'places' would they like to dedicate to each crop (that was my way of explaining percentages). They decided upon planting onion, lettuce, potato, cabbage, carrot, okra, cucumber, tomato, melon, green pepper, beets, papaya, and hot pepper.Currently unused land within the Women's Garden. Once the new trial seeds are delivered to the community, this land should be put to good use!I just forwarded on the information to Karim, and am now waiting for his response to finalize the project and arrange delivery.

Fish Pond

A view of the fish pond within the village. Since it has not rained since mid-October, and there are no additional water sources, the water level in the pond is currently very low.The village's fish pond was previously constructed through the coordination of Kyle, the first Peace Corps volunteer in the village and the University of Pittsburgh Engineers without Borders (EWB). EWB is still involved with the project, from assisting the community in obtaining fingerling fish to begin the population to designing and implementing changes/improvements to the pond.Sidiki, a village fisherman, casts his net wide into the fish pond.Lauren, the head of EWB Pittsburgh, has been in contact with me regarding the pond, and has asked me to provide them with information to facilitate the project. They asked me to test the water quality on a bi-weekly basis with a chemistry set they provided me, which I have started doing with Lassana. Additionally, they asked me to provide them with measurements and weights of a sample of fish from the pond.Lassana, my homologue, measuring a 'dɛbɛ' fish.There are currently two varieties of fish in the pond, 'dɛbɛ' and 'manɔgɔ.' The latter is effectively a catfish. So during the past couple of weeks, Lassana, Sidiki (a village fisherman), and I did some catch and release of the fish to obtain the required information.A 'manɔgɔ' fish being weighed on a scale.Lassana is concerned at the moment because the pond will likely go dry during this coming hot season. We are also working on improving the fence around the pond to keep small animals from entering and feeding on the fish. So at this point, I am going to continue to assist EWB in monitoring and improving the fish pond as necessary.

My sister's visit to Mali has just come to an end. We had a very eventful and enjoyable 'yala yala' across the country. Below is a brief summary of our excursion:

On Sunday, December 19th, Kim flew into Bamako. We immediately took a bus to travel up to Carrefour, then rode the rest of the way to Djenné on a bashɛ. The bashɛ to Djenné has to cross over the river Niger on a ferry to get into the city, and the bashɛ in front of us actually got stuck on the beach while driving onto it. I had to help the other men pull the bashɛ onto the ferry with a rope - just one of the many nuances with our transportation.

We spent Sunday evening and Monday in Djenné. Djenné is a very scenic and distinctive city full of large mud brick buildings, including the largest of the sort in the world, the famous Grand Mosque of Djenné. It was very cool to see the sights, but the Monday market was a bit overwhelming, as the local traders hassle tourists to no end to buy their goods.The Great Mosque of Djenné is the largest mud brick building in the world, and is the focal point of the city. The weekly market every Monday is situated in front of the mosque.The City of Djenné is a network of narrow alleys winding between multi-story mud-brick buildings. On Tuesday, we took another bashɛ out of Djenné; this time a smoother operation, however uncomfortable it may have been. We arrived in the city of Sevaré, where we waited for another bashɛ to leave for the city of Bandiagara. There, we stayed overnight and began our Dogon hike the following morning bright and early.

Our Dogon hike was 6 days/5 nights, and involved us traveling from village to village along the southern portion of the 'falais,' beginning at Djiguibombo at the South end of the escarpment up to the village of Dourou, veering off the last day to visit the beautiful village of Nombori. I must give a shout-out to our guide, Ibrahim, who is Dogon himself and was incredibly accomodating and informative throughout the trip. If anyone is planning a trip out to Dogon Country, I highly recommend hiring Ibrahim as your guide. Just drop me an email and I will give you his contact information.I cannot say enough about how incredible this experience was. The natural scenery, with the mountains, plains, and encroaching desert lands, was stunning. When you take into account the villages situated upon these lands, and often carved into the sides of the rock cliffs, the result is nothing less than breathtaking. And beyond that, the culture of the Dogon people is just as unique as their architecture, and it was incredibly interesting to hear about their history and take in their customs.

A definitive highlight for me was roaming the villages alone, unguided, where I found that although the Dogon people speak their own language, the majority of them also speak some Bambara. So I was able to effectively communicate with the villagers along the way, learning even more about their culture and their way of life. It was fascinating to me to see the subtle differences between life in a Dogon village and life in a Bambaran village (my village). I plan on returning to Dogon country before my time in Mali is up to hike the Northern section of the falaise we unfortunately did not have time for.

I took many pictures of the sights along our travels, and I feel that this is the best way to share our experiences:Our trek through Dogon Country began in the village of Djiguibombo. This picture depicts the standard construction found throughout these villages - mud and stone. Some villages have an abundance of stone, some of mud, which dictates the style of architecture. This is in contrast to my village, which is all mud construction thanks to the lack of stone.Wood carvings supporting a meeting place 'gwa' in the Dogon village of Kani Kombole.The Dogon village of Teli as viewed from our approach down the sandy trail along the plains at the base of the escarpment. The Dogon people first came to this part of Mali to escape the threat of the Muslim religion, and settled high within the cliffs as a form of protection. The 'old village' was built upon/carved within the center of the escarpment.My sister, Kim, and I on the roof of the Teli campement, with the village of Teli in the background.The old village of Teli built halfway up the escarpment. The buildings you see here were used as houses, kitchens, granaries, and spiritual animist facilities.The buildings in the back were home to 'Ogon,' or spiritual leader of the animists in the village. The painted designs utilize three colors: red representing sacrifice, white representing life, and black representing death. The Ogon was required to live in these houses and never leave, save for once during a festival which takes place every 60 years, in order to remain 'pure.' The animals sculpted into the walls have various symbolic meanings to the Dogon people. The crocodile, always facing up to the sky, represents all that is good, the little man in the middle is a fetish, and the snake represents purity.A view from the 'old village' of Teli along the escarpment. The building depicted in the foreground is a granary. Kim and I in front of the new village of Teli.A view of the escarpment from the sandy trails through farm land.A craftsman in the village of Ende meticulously painting a Bogolan (mud cloth) fabric.A view from our climb up to Indell up the escarpment.

Masked dancers during the Festival of the Masks in the village of Indell. These dancers represent the crocodile, which is a symbol in the Dogon animist religion for all that is good. The masks are traditionally only used during funeral celebrations, which may only be attended by men. However, the Festival of the Masks is now performed as a way to raise money for the villages. During a funeral festival, however, upwards of 70 masks are often used compared to this smaller performance.A masked dancer performing during the Festival of the Masks in the village of Indell. This mask has about a 4-story tall tower, which represents traditional medicine.The house of a traditional medicine man in the village of Indell. The compartments carved into the exterior walls hold the different sacrificial materials and medications used.The beautiful village of Indell as seen from a rocky cliff at the village periphery.Kim and I standing on the rocks at the edge of the village of Indell.A view down the escarpment from the mountain-top village of Konsogou-ley.We did hike over the Christmas holiday, and since the Dogon villages now represent a mix of Muslim, Christian, and animist religions, some small Christmas celebrations did take place. These people of the Christian village of Konsogou-ley organized a small caroling and dancing session of traditional African Christmas songs to the beat of the talking drums.A view along our descent down to the escarpment to the village of Nombori.A view along our descent down to the escarpment to the village of Nombori.

A view along our descent down to the escarpment to the village of Nombori.

The gardens of the people of Nombori, with the escarpment in the background.This masked dancer acted as 'crowd control,' aggressively chasing after kids when they got too close to the circle.Masked dancers performing at the Festival of the Masks in the village of Nombori. These dancers performed high-energy, difficult maneuvers on stilts. They represent a 'bush bird' found in the area. Behind the dancers are the village drummers providing the music for the festivities.After the men finished with their mask dances, it was the women's turn to show off their moves.Behind the villagers gathered for the festival is the village of Nombori built along the rocks at the base of the cliff. Above the current village is the old village of Nombori half-way up the escarpment. Higher still is the houses of the Telem people, who lived in these cliffs before the Dogon people migrated there.A closer view of the Telem houses built into the cliff face of the escarpment.Pictured here is 'togona,' or a 'justice place' found in every Dogon village. This is the place where elder men gather to discuss and address their problems. The roof is purposely constructed too low to deter men from getting angry, as if they stand in a fit of rage, they will hit their head on the roof.A view from the climb back up the escarpment from Nombori to Dourou.After we climbed up from Nombori to Dourou on Monday, December 27th, completing our Dogon hike, we took a bus from Bandiagara back to Ségou. The following morning, we took a bashɛ back to my site, where Kim met some of my fellow villagers (although most of my host family had unfortunately left to work in another village harvesting rice). She also got to try my standard lunch of 'to' (pounded millet and okra sauce) and dinner of 'basi ni tiga dɛgɛ na' (millet cous-cous and peanut sauce), while eating Malian style (communally and with your right hand). Unfortunately, she was not impressed.

We then returned to Ségou Thursday for a few days over the New Year's holiday, where we took a 'kurun' boat ride on the Niger river at sundown and had some good Italian food at a restaurant along the river. We also got some good time and conversation in with my fellow PCVs as we celebrated.

The following Saturday and Sunday were transport days, heading from Ségou to Bamako to Kita, on route to Manantali. The bashɛ ride from Kita to Manantali was unfortunately the low point of our trip. We had to wait at the gare for about 7 hours for the bashɛ to finally leave, then were forced to sit on rice sacks in the back of the vehicle with the other passengers as it took a detour to unload this cargo. We didn't arrive in Manantali until around 1:00AM.

Manantali is a village situated along the Bafing River, just downstream of Lake Manantali and the Manantali Dam. The water looks amazingly clean and clear, but due to the risk of Schistosomiasis, we refrained from taking a dip. The whole area around the river is beautiful, and is home to populations of hippos and monkeys. Unfortunately, the hippos were on a 'yala yala' well downstream of where we stayed at the time, and the monkeys only came by our huts to feed at night. So the only exotic animal sightings I got were a few brief glimpses of a monkey's back side when I spooked him while exiting our hut in the dark.

A view of Lake Manantali from the top of the Manantali Dam. The lake itself is on the other side of the dam from the village we stayed at, but we were able to climb to the top of the dam for some very scenic views.A view along Bafing river downstream of the Manantali Dam. In the foreground are two 'kurun(s)', or small fishing boats.A view along the Bafing river downstream of the Manantali Dam.A view along the Bafing river downstream of the Manantali Dam.A well-to-do farm of a couple people I met in the village of Manantali. They have a rather interesting water tower built upon three railroad/barge containers, which collects river water using a centrifugal pump. The John Deere tractor is also a rare site in this country, which still relies almost single-handedly on hand-tools and animal-pulled plows for agriculture.

We spent Monday and Tuesday in Manantali before heading back out to Bamako on Wednesday. We wandered the streets of Bamako on Thursday to take in the Marché Rose (the grand market in Bamako), the Artisan market, and the traditional medicine market. The Artisan market was particularly interresting, as you are able to watch the craftsman as they practice their trade. However, I find the city itself to be rather dirty, crowded, and overwhelming. It is difficult for me to spend much time there, although there are some amazing restaurants in the city. We were able to gorge ourselves on both Indian and Thai food that would rival some of the best restaurants in the states.A view along the banks of the Bafing river.We spent Monday and Tuesday in Manantali before heading back out to Bamako on Wednesday. We wandered the streets of Bamako on Thursday to take in the Marché Rose (the grand market in Bamako), the Artisan market, and the traditional medicine market. The Artisan market was particularly interresting, as you are able to watch the craftsman as they practice their trade. However, I find the city itself to be rather dirty, crowded, and overwhelming. It is difficult for me to spend much time there, although there are some amazing restaurants in the city. We were able to gorge ourselves on both Indian and Thai food that would rival some of the best restaurants in the states.A stand at the Traditional Medicine Market in Bamako. Included here are bird carcasses, various animal skulls and pelts, and animal noses. One of the men explained that they use the monkey skulls to prepare some sort of an oil to wash over your face to cure ailments.Myself trying out a talking drum in Bamako's Artisan Market. The talking drum is a common instrument across Mali, and is featured prominently during the Dogon animist dances.Friday morning, bright and early at 3AM, my sister flew out of Bamako to return to New York. I took transport back up to Ségou where I will be staying for the next couple days to work on my proposal for the pump replacement project in my village.

The trip certainly had it's highs and lows. Fortunately, the highs far, far outweighed the lows, which only involved the difficulty in taking transportation across the country. (Malian buses and bashɛs always wait until they are filled to about twice the standard capacity of the vehicle. You often have to wait several hours at the gare before the transport actually leaves, and once you do, you can just about always expect a painfully uncomfortable ride.)

But both Kim and I were overwhelmed by the striking beauty and the distinct culture found across this expansive country, as well as the warmth and generosity of its people. The difficulties in transport are definitely worth the experiences you have along the way. And at the end of it all, Kim is even talking about a return trip!

I am now at the end of IST (In-Service Training), a two-week training period at Tubaniso, the Peace Corps' training facility just outside of Bamako. The first week was spent on technical training, such as learning the methods to construct various Water and Sanitation facilities, including latrine slabs (already had that one down!), irrigation systems, drinking water wells, etc. The second week, with our homologues, involved learning meeting strategies in order to better assess the needs of our community and encourage community involvement, and thus sustainability, in our projects.

It has been somewhat of a long two weeks sitting through these training sessions. Quite frankly, I am ready for a vacation, which is great because I am about to embark on a three-week excursion through this expansive country with my sister. Our plans right now include heading East into the city of Djenné on Sunday, December 19th after she flies into Bamako, taking a 5-day guided hike through the cliff-side dwellings of Dogon country, spending a few days at my site, celebrating New Year's Eve in Ségou, enjoying a few relaxing days on the banks of Lake Manantali in Mali's Western Kayes Region alongside monkeys and hippos, before heading back to Bamako for a day or two before my sister flys back out on January 7th. Unfortunately no Timbuktu... there's some sketchy characters up there.

After this vacation, I plan to return to site and begin laying the foundation for my remaining two years of service. The first step is to form a Water and Sanitation Committee in my village. Once we do that, I can hold discussions with the villagers on what projects we will tackle together to improve their living conditions. The first two items on my agenda are hand-washing education and replacing the two broken pumps currently in the village. On Thursday, I received a cost estimate from SETRA, the local pump manufacturer, for the latter. The next step is to discuss with the village their contribution to the project, including financial, labor, and material contributions; then to write a funding proposal through the SPA (Small Project Assistance) program of U.S. AID for the remaining amount.

Pig Pickin', Peace Corps Mali style.After an amazing southern-style Thanksgiving in Ségou, complete with a pig pickin’ and some Eastern North Carolina-style vinegar barbeque sauce I prepared, I had some trouble getting back to site the following day.

After waiting 8 hours, the bashɛ (bush taxi) finally arrived after dark. The driver asked me to pay double the normal fare, sit on the roof, and told me they might not even be able to take my bike. Also considering the fact that after the bashɛ ride, I would have to bike back from my market town in the dark, I decided to cut my losses and spend a couple more days in Ségou before taking another bashɛ back to site the following Sunday.

With my timeframe constrained and only 5 days remaining at site before heading back to Ségou Saturday (today) in order to catch Peace Corps Transport to Bamako for IST (In-Service Training) and my sister’s subsequent visit, I had a busy week ahead of me.

First off, I wanted to complete my Water and Sanitation Baseline Survey, including my supplemental women’s garden survey. I was able to successfully accomplish this task, and in a previous post I went through my intentions from the information gathered therein.

I also wanted to complete an additional Baseline Survey on Food Security, which involved interviewing five men and five women in different concessions throughout the village. I succeeded in completing those by Wednesday morning. I was happy to find that my language has improved to a point where I could be successful on these surveys, even without the aid of my homologue, Lassana, who had gone to Dioro.

Unfortunately, as part of the Food Security survey, I learned some very troubling information regarding the diet of the majority of villagers. Namely, most families have insufficient supplies of food to feed their families during the hot, harvest, and/or farming seasons (covering the months of April through November). This includes millet supplies, the staple of the Malian diet, going bare. When this happens, most families look to borrow food from neighbors while also reducing the number/size of their daily meals. Additionally, most families do not eat enough vegetables throughout the year, often less than once a day, although there isn't a strong consensus on which seasons are the hardest hit.

On Thursday, I began working with Lassana, who had returned from Dioro to work on repairing my ɲɛgɛn (latrine).

Adama, the Assistant Peace Corps Mali Water and Sanitation Sector Head, had come out to perform a routine site visit Saturday, October 30th. While there, after entering my ɲɛgɛn, he asked “Do you ever feel like you are ever going to fall in to your ɲɛgɛn?” To which I replied, “No? Should I?” He then explained that the ɲɛgɛn slab is very weak because the concrete thickness is too small.

My existing ɲɛgɛn slab, with a thickness of about three centimeters, much smaller than the recommended seven centimeters. Behind the ɲɛgɛn hole and platform itself, you can see the hole my foot punched through the concrete while bathing.Well, the day I returned from Ségou after Halloween, I was taking a bucket bath in my ɲɛgɛn, and while walking within it, my foot fell through the concrete. Luckily, not over the actual ɲɛgɛn pit, but it was enough to raise concern. With this hole, any water infiltration could begin to undermine the slab ‘cover’ over the ɲɛgɛn pit. Falling into years of accumulated fecal matter is certainly an experience I could go without.

Lassana with the donkey cart we used to transport sand within the village to my concession.So back to this past week… on Thursday Lassana and I used a donkey cart to collect sand from within the village and pile it into my concession. Normally, concrete is mixed 1 part cement to 3 parts sand to 5 parts gravel. Unfortunately, gravel is not readily available nearby my village. So our concrete was mixed 1 part cement to 4 parts sand.

On Friday, Lassana, Bamadu (another local villager), and I worked on constructing the ɲɛgɛn slab. While the existing slab was only about 3 centimeters deep, the new slab will be 8 centimeters in depth.

My role was primarily to plan, calculate, and measure, while Lassana and Bamadu provided most of the labor. The following is how the construction went, in pictures:

We began with myself and Bamadu tracing the circular footprint of the slab on the ground using string and stakes, which Bamadu and Lassana then dug out.Next, I traced a second circle in the dirt, and began measuring and laying out the steel rebar for reinforcement, as Lassana cut the rebar to size using a metal stake. Once I finished laying out the rebar grid, we all tied the bars together to hold them in place with metal tie-wire.With the form-hole dug and the rebar grid prepared, Lassana and Bamadu proceeded to mix the concrete (first the cement and sand, then adding water to the mix).With the initial 4 centimeters of concrete placed in the form and compacted, we laid the rebar grid atop. But then I noticed we forgot the most important thing, the hole to the ɲɛgɛn pit! Whoops!! What good would that do for a ɲɛgɛn?!With the ɲɛgɛn hole dug and the form successfully laid in place, the rebar was then set, and the final 4 centimeters of concrete placed to finish off the form hole.The ɲɛgɛn hole form was then removed, and plastic placed within the hole, allowing us to pour the cover for the ɲɛgɛn with a handle made from leftover steel rebar. The use of this cover will cut down on odor and flies around the ɲɛgɛn. The wooden board shown was used to lay out the foot platforms, which were then formed atop the slab.A picture of the completed ɲɛgɛn slab. The slab will now be watered and allowed to cure for seven days while I am studying at Tubaniso. The slab should be placed, and the rest of the concrete flooring of the ɲɛgɛn set by the time I return from Bamako, much to the delight of my sister! Lassana decided to leave his mark on the slab, by adding the date in long-hand Bamanakan format.

Malian men and boys are currently in the fields every day, harvesting ‘ɲo’ (millet). Unlike the machinery found in the West, Malians perform all of their agricultural duties with simple, antiquated tools. This is a small blade used for harvesting the millet grains from the stalk. I helped my 'jatigi' Koka for a day, and the work is painstaking and repetitive. Millet is the Malian staple grain in most dishes, such as 'to' and 'basi,' which are both generally served with sauce.Currently we are in the midst of the harvest season, and most of the village men spend every day cutting ‘ɲo’(millet) in the fields, while the women pull peanut plants from the field, bring them back to the concession, and pick them off the roots. The rice harvest season is just beginning, and some of the men in my village are spending time in neighboring villages to help with that harvest, as we do not have rice fields in our village.My 'jatigi' (host-father) Koka, and two of his young boys, Lassana and Abdoullaye, working in the ‘ɲo’ fields.A village woman 'susu(ing),' or pounding, ‘ɲo’ to separate the grain from the stalks.With all of this work, the arrival of the Muslim holiday of Tabaski, also known as Eid al-Adha in Arabic, or ‘Seliba' in Bambara, was a welcome distraction. ‘Seliba’ was Wednesday, November 17th. I have previously described ‘Selideni,’ the holiday commemorating the end of Ramadan, and generally, ‘Seliba’ is celebrated in exactly the same way, with a few subtle differences.The day before 'Seliba,' five 'misi' (bulls) were slaughtered throughout the village. Normally, 'Seliba' involves the slaughter of mainly 'saca' (sheep), but they apparently were not as available in the markets as usual. Refer to my end of Ramadan ('Selideni') pictures for the more gruesome details. I bought two large piles of 'misi sɔgɔ' (beef) to give to my 'jatigi muso' (My host-father's wife) Mama to cook for the next few days, including the breakfast I hosted on Thursday!My spiffy 'Seliba' threads - an outfit I got tailored in Ségou out of the fancy 'baizan' fabric. It is stiff, waxy, and uncomfortable, but stylish in this country.Although Muslims always pray five times a day, the main prayer for 'Seliba' takes place in the morning at 9AM. I joined the villagers, lined up in several rows facing East on rugs, in the field between the two school buildings to participate.My homologue Lassana's twin brother Lassini leading one of their sheep by the ear to be slaughtered just after prayer.Instead of the slaughtering of ‘misi’ (cow), ‘saca’ (sheep) are generally slaughtered. At least one ‘saca’ is normally slaughtered in each concession (extended family) for the feasts of ‘Seliba,’ although five bulls were also slaughtered in addition to the sheep this year, as sheep were harder to come by in the surrounding markets.Around 10:30AM, after the morning prayer service, and just after my homologue slaughtered his sheep, all of the village men gathered in one family's concession for lunch of ‘kini ni tiga dɛgɛ na ni misi sɔgɔ.’Additionally, like ‘Selideni,’ the three mornings after ‘Seliba’ are spent eating several breakfasts each morning at several different concessions. But while every meal is the same during ‘Selideni,’ ‘kini ni tiga dɛgɛ na ni misi sɔgɔ’ (rice with peanut sauce and beef), the meals for ‘Seliba’ are a sort-of ‘best of Malian cuisine.’ We were served a small variety of dishes from the ‘kini ni tiga dɛgɛ na ni misi sɔgɔ,’ to ‘kini ni jaba ji na ni saca sɔgɔ’ (rice with onion sauce and sheep meat), to ‘woso ni saca sɔgɔ’ (sweet potatoes and sheep meat, my personal favorite), and to ‘chau ni saca sɔgɔ’ (beans and sheep meat). ‘ɲo’ (millet), the staple of Malian cuisine, takes a back seat for holidays, although I have grown to really enjoy the grain.A quick picture as I crouched down for a lunch of 'kini ni tiga dɛgɛ na ni misi sɔgɔ' (rice with peanut sauce and beef) with some elder men during the Muslim holiday of 'Seliba.' In the foreground is a man washing his hands, with soap, after I explained to them the importance of doing so - '...Safini bɛ banna faga.' (Soap kills illnesses).So my main intention behind this post was to provide these pictures. Wednesday and Thursday, the villagers put on their finest threads for the event, and I took the opportunity to take some pictures with my host family, and some of the other people I will be spending these two years with…A picture of myself with the 'cɛ kɔrɔbaw' (village elder men) just after lunch. My homologue, Lassana, is the man standing directly to my left.A picture with most of my 'jatigi('s)' family. My 'jatigi' Koka is the man seated directly to my left, and his one wife Mama is seated beside him.A picture with my 'Seliba' breakfast party. This is the group of men I joined for three mornings as we took turns going to each one of our concessions to eat. This was just after eating a breakfast (the fourth of the morning) 'ɲogomi ni misi sɔgɔ' (millet pancakes and beef) in my concession on Thursday. Aisseta, the woman in the picture, delivered the food from my jatigi's concession.Another picture with my 'jatigi('s)' family, including my host-mother Mama to my left, my host father Koka to my right, and Bintu, a woman in the concession who alternates cooking duties with Mama and another woman, Kaja (she dodged the camera), to my left in the yellow shall.Some young village girls in their matching 'seliba' attire.

I am back in Ségou to celebrate Thanksgiving amongst my Peace Corps peers. I am going to get an entry up on the Muslim holiday of Tabaski (‘Seliba’ in Bambara) later, but I first wanted to post an update on the work I am embarking on in my village.

Currently, I am still within the timeframe before IST (In-Service Training, December 6th through the 17th) where we are to spend our time integrating and learning the language. I feel very comfortable on those terms, and I have also nearly completed my Baseline Survey to assist in determining the most critical water and sanitation needs of my village.

However, I am currently working on gathering initial information to repair the two broken water pumps in the village. Through some initial reconnaissance work, I have found out that the two broken foot pumps in the village actually used to be India-Mali pumps, which are the hand pumps widely used across the country, and therefore are more easily maintained.

One of the abandoned, broken foot pumps in my village.Apparently, approximately 7 years ago, there was a widespread outbreak of Cholera in the village, which caused many deaths throughout the village. The Malian government decided that the problem was the hand pumps, so they switched the two pumps to foot pumps in June 2004.

An example of an 'India-Mali' hand pump, common across Mali.I couldn’t understand what logic was behind that, because regardless of what type of mechanism is used, the pumps are still accessing the same aquifer, the same water. But my sector head found out that the concern resulted from the fact that people in my village do not wash their hands with soap as a general rule. A person infected with Cholera could use the hand pump, in-turn infecting the pump, and spreading the disease to the hands of any subsequent users. Then those users would eat with unclean hands, and infect themselves.

Although their reasoning makes sense logically, it seems like the wrong way to attack the problem. The main problem is general hygiene. I plan to attack that issue by educating the villagers on the importance of hand-washing, which I am already beginning to do with some result.

A quick picture as I crouched down for a lunch of 'kini ni tiga dɛgɛ na ni misi sɔgɔ' (rice with peanut sauce and beef) with some elder men during the Muslim holiday of 'Seliba.' In the foreground is a man washing his hands, with soap, after I explained to them the importance of doing so - '...Safini bɛ banna faga.' (Soap kills illnesses).Since we eat our meals communally, out of the same bowl with five to ten other people, I have been able to educate people on a smaller scale, with hopes that those people will then become hand-washing ‘ambassadors’ for the rest of the village. When I eat with any group of people now, be it my host-family or a group of men during a holiday such as ‘seliba,’ I break out my soap before the meal and insist that everyone joins me in washing their hands with it. I subsequently explain why this is important, and even give them the Cholera outbreak in their own village as an example. So far, I have converted my entire host-family, even the women whom I do not eat with (culturally inappropriate), as well as a few other men.

In terms of the pumps, we will be working to replace both broken foot pumps with functioning India-Mali pumps, since they seem to have less issues and are easier to maintain due to their prevalence in the region. The original India-Mali pumps in my village apparently lasted upwards of 20 years without any major issues. I have obtained an initial cost estimate, and will be meeting with the pump manufacturer alongside Lassana, my homologue, and Adama, the Assistant Water and Sanitation Sector Head of Peace Corps Mali in Bamako while I am in Bamako for IST next month to determine our plan of action.

My next move will be to assist the village in forming a Water and Sanitation Committee. Through this committee, I plan on working with them to determine the village’s contribution for the pump replacement project, begin more formal hand-washing education in the village, and assist the villagers themselves in determining which projects we will attack next. By leaving the decision in their hands, I hope to encourage the villagers to really buy into the projects, thus ensuring sustainability.

After the two weeks of IST, my sister will be visiting me for three weeks, which I am very much looking forward to. Therefore, it will be mid-January when I will really begin moving hard on these projects. I am very excited about this potential work and am looking forward to that time.

Over the past few weeks, I have felt many gratifying highs and some dispiriting lows. Fortunately, the lows that I have experienced have only been health related, and once I push them out of the way, I feel confident in my abilities and the experiences to come.

I have felt that over the course of my recent time in village, my language skills have improved ten-fold. I am confident in my abilities to communicate with locals on really any necessary topic, and I am able to understand much more of their day-to-day conversations amongst themselves, even with their fast-paced speech. I still need to continue to work on my skills in order to better harness an ability to have deeper intellectually stimulating conversations, but I have plenty of time to work on that.

I am also excited to report that I have begun work on my baseline survey. The baseline survey is a host of questions I intend to ask the dutigi (head of household) in each concession (each extended family) in my village, and is designed to ascertain the water and sanitation practices currently utilized. These include issues related to drinking water quality and availability, ɲɛgɛn (latrine) availability and construction, common illnesses which affect the community, community organizations currently in-place, the community’s desire for a Water and Sanitation Committee, and the women’s garden. I will compile the results of this survey and use them as a guide to determine where my efforts will be best served.

Thus far, I have learned that several of the precious few wells in village go dry throughout the hot season, making the availability of water scarce. Assisting the villagers in repairing the two broken foot pumps is a high priority for me, but building deeper wells may also be required to further address this concern. I have also yet to come across a family in-village who washes their hands with soap, most only use water before eating, and most do not wash their hands after using the ɲɛgɛn. Therefore, I plan on performing some handwashing animations/demonstrations to convince villagers of the practice’s importance to their health. This is just the tip of what I believe this baseline survey will uncover in the coming months.

And briefly, the reason I am in Ségou right now... I have been battling a bout of Giardia for the past couple of months, and over the past few weeks, it has been flaring up way too regularly. Giardia is a very unpleasant illness which makes it’s presence known through diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, and sulfur burps. It is no doubt a reason for my weight-loss in Mali. I believe I contracted it back in homestay when I ate some fish my host family bought already cooked, but contaminated, in the market. I had taken medication at the time, but apparently it was not the proper medication so the illness kept resurfacing. The medical office sent me the medication Fastogen, which I just picked up here in Ségou, and I feel better already. So I should be able to put that unfortunate stage behind me and focus on all of the positives I continue to experience.

So I am sticking around here for our Ségoukaw (Ségou people) Halloween party, after which I will return to my village until I head back into the city to celebrate Thanksgiving. The following month should be busy, as I intend to make major headway on my baseline survey, in addition to celebrating the Muslim holiday of Tabaski, where I may even slaughter a goat!

Oh, and GO ORANGE! Big wins over South Florida and West Virginia already make this season a success. I knew my footballers would turn things around! If anyone has any ideas for catching the games internationally, please pass them along.

'Sira, a mine.' (The road was bad.) Because of all of the rain we had been getting during the rainy season, the road to the commune seat had large, deep pools of standing water. Normally I would bike, but instead I opted to tag along on this 'misi wotoro' (cart pulled by two bulls). Not the most comfortable ride, but better than the alternative.

The Cinquantenaire de l’Indépendance, the 50th Anniversary of the Republic of Mali’s Independence was September 22, 2010. This was a big deal throughout the country, including my small community 100 kilometers east of Ségou.

My jatigi's son, Abdoullaye Diarra, keeping the steady hand on the bulls during the ride to the festival. It was towards the end of the rainy season, and with all of the rain we had gotten, to bike anywhere required wading knee-deep in standing pools of water. So instead, I took a ‘misi-wotoro’ (bull-cart) into my commune seat/capital, which doubles as my market town, approximately 4 kilometers away from my village. I was surprised to see the richness of the culture that was on display so close to my quaint little village.

Some local children posing for the camera. This was all them... I arrived into the center of town around 11AM. The Mayor of the commune was speaking to the crowd over the loud speaker to fervent ovations. After the mayor finished his speech, a group of local men in traditional hunting/militia clothing fired off sporadic rounds of blanks from their shotguns while dancing along the side of the crowd. A group of teens, one row of men in purple, one row of women in blue and white striped-shirts and green berets, marching into the center of the festivities. Note the shirts the men are wearing: 'My Dream Barack Obama.'

Next, a group of young teens in berets marched into the center of the crowd to perform to a series of military marching commands. My favorite part… note the purple ‘My Dream Barack Obama’ shirts the young men were wearing. Barrack Obama’s face and name is plastered all over everything from sandals and jeans to playing cards and barber shops. But it is especially entertaining to me considering the man has nothing to do with the nation’s independence.The first 'jacko' to make an appearance. This is the 'saca,' which is Bamanakan for sheep. Sheep are raised heavily for meat and wool in the region.This 'jacko' is known as the 'Ginɛ.' I call it the 'toubabu ka jan' (Bamanakan for the tall toubab). Naturally, it represents France's colonial rule over Mali. The 'Ginɛ' grew larger and larger, and when it reached it's final height, it began to wobble until it collapsed.The rest of the ceremony was performed alongside live music involving local drummers and four female singers, which was very traditional, lively, and fun. There were more groups of young gendarmerie officers and teenage school children performing marches for the crowd. But in stark contrast to the rigid, structured marching regimes, there were several opportunities where local men broke out some rather maniacal and energetic dancing in pairs.Local men in traditional militia/hunting attire dancing and firing shotgun blanks into the air following the collapse of the 'Ginɛ,' celebrating Mali's independence.A group of young men and women performing military marching exercises under the command of the man standing to the right in Mali's national colors.Local men and women engaging in celebratory dancing in traditional attire. A brief photo opportunity during the ceremony with men and women in traditional Malian attire gathered around the Malian flag. Village men dancing excitedly in pairs during the celebration. Throughout the ceremony, locals dressed up as ‘jacko(s),’ which appear to be fairly unique to this small commune 100 kilometers East of Segou. Some of them were fairly straight-forward in their representations, such as the ‘saca’ and the ‘misi’, an animal with a coffin-box-type body and a sheep or cow head respectively which bobs around on one side. Additionally, there was a ‘jacko’ known as the ‘ginɛ,’ which was a stereotypical ‘toubabu’ (white Frenchman) figure with arms spread-wide like a crucifix. Naturally, the ‘ginɛ’ is intended to represent colonial rule over Mali by the French. The figure then grew taller and taller until it towered over the procession several stories high, as French once did over the Malian population. Once it reached it’s final height, it began to sway back and forth until final it seemed to collapse, signifying the end of colonial rule and the beginning of Mali’s independence. Local men in militia/hunting attire then engaged in celebratory dancing while firing off shotgun blanks into the air.These traditional drummers provided the music for the afternoon. A 'jacko' representing 'misi' (cattle) on the left, with traditional drummers on the right.The 'misi jacko' and a local man engaged in celebratory dancing.There were two ‘jacko(s)’ however that I have not been able to get a direct answer on what they represent/the history behind the creatures. I have been told that they are representative of Africa and Africans, perhaps the Segou region in particular, but not of what aspects. The first was the ‘Kungalosaba,’ which was a rat-like furry mascot figure that was quickly surrounded by men and women dancing excitedly. Towards the end of the dancing, the ‘Kungalosaba’ seemed to be beaten by men dancing around it.

This 'jacko' resembling a rat is called the 'Kungalosaba.' This picture was taken as village men danced around the 'kungalosaba,' appearing to beat it. I am not sure what the significance of this 'jacko' is.The second jacko is known as the ‘Komo,’ a person in another furry mascot costume, this time wearing a traditional African mask, wielding branches in both hands, and having a large, pregnant-looking belly. My understanding is that the ‘komo’ represents something about African women, but it seems like a rather odd portrayal, especially considering some of it’s provocative dance moves.

This 'jacko' is known as the 'Komo.' Like the 'Kungalosaba,' it represents something about Africa or the Segou region in particular, but I am not sure exactly what that is.It was a very interesting, entertaining event with lots of culture. It appears that most other communes celebrated with dancing, bike races, and eating competitions, but no one I’ve talked to from the Peace Corps experienced anything similar to the ‘jacko(s).’ Congratulations, Mali, on the 50th anniversary of your independence!

Two of the local women singing during the ceremony.

My first experience with a celebration in my new village was Eid ul-Fitr, the holiday celebrating the end of Ramadan, Islam’s holy month of fasting. On Thursday, September 9th, Lassana, my homologue, guided me to an open field between the two primary school buildings in village for prayer. After the hour-and-a-half prayer session, we were led to a small crossroads in the middle of the village, where women from each concession came and placed a meal in the middle of the men gathered. Each meal was served in a communal bowl, and after the elder got up and mixed all of the sauces, there was a mad-dash for the men to grab what they saw was the best-made dish. To my surprise, they even allowed some of the kids to run and swipe the best dishes, deviously running clear across the village to eat away from the elder's gaze. All of the many bowls were the same dish, ‘kini ni tiga dɛgɛ naw’ (rice with peanut sauce).

After the rather rushed/chaotic lunch, men from throughout the village gathered in four separate regions within the village. Each region slaughtered one ‘misi’ (bull/male cow). The afternoon was spent slicing up the bull, making sure to make use of every ounce of meat on it’s hide. Once sliced, the men divided the bull into 85 different piles. Each pile received it’s share of muscle, fat, esophagus/stomach lining, organs, etc. Once sufficiently prepared, a man took orders for piles, and they read out each name, one by one, placing the purchased piles in bags, sacks, plastic bowls, or whatever was available at the time.

I spent the next two mornings with the village men, who bounced from concession to concession for ‘daraka’ (breakfast). For each day, we could eat at about 5 different concessions. To my surprise, each meal was exactly the same: ‘kini ni tiga dɛgɛ naw ni misi sɔgɔ.’ Apparently that is the signature dish in the region, only to be broken out for special occasions. And make no mistake, it is good. But after eating the same meal 5 times in a row, a little variety would be welcome.

The slaughter of the bull in pictures (Disclaimer for the faint of heart: Do not continue if you are at squeamish at the site of butchering):

Village men hold down the bull while the throat is cut.The bull is cut apart, making use of every last scrap of meat.Village men cut up the chunks of meat and divide the different types of cuts.Village men further separate the different cuts of meat into piles.85 distinct piles of meat are arranged on animal hides on the ground. Each pile is sold to a family in the village, and includes a mixture of muscle, fat, organs, esophagus/stomach lining, etc.Each purchaser's name is read aloud, and the piles of meat are placed into containers for the family to bring back to their concession. I purchased two piles, and for a meat-enthusiast such as myself being deprived of the stuff for weeks, it was certainly a celebratory occasion.

My homologue, Lassana Diarra, the tallest Malian I've known, and myself in my new Malian threads, called a bornɛ. I have just completed my first month at site as a volunteer. It has gone rather smoothly, with my time thus far being spent integrating into the community and continuing to learn the local language of Bambara. This past Sunday, I made my first trip into Ségou since being installed. I will be staying here in Ségou for a week for language training with my fellow regional volunteers.

A quick aside about the people of Mali… Tuesday at lunch, I went to get my hair cut. As I was leaving, after negotiating the price of my haircut down by half, the men asked me to stay and drink tea with them. I told them I would, but I am very hungry and want to get something to eat. One of the men then told me his family is about to eat, and asked me to join them. So I walked with him to his family’s house a block away, and ate a very good meal of rice, onion sauce, fish, cabbage, and carrots. They even offered me a spoon, but I told them in Bambara, “I am a Malian now. Eating with my hands is good.” So I ate out of the communal bowl with five other men. But that is just one of many stories which illustrate the uncompromising hospitality of the Malian people.

I figured that I would give you all a quick rundown of my daily activities at this point. Again, Peace Corps encourages us to take at least the first 3 months of service to simply integrate into our communities and learn the language, so there is not much in terms of work happening right now.

Aisseta Traoré, one of the local village women, proudly holding up a peanut plant she grew in her plot of the women's garden. Aisseta is one of the many women who like to constantly joke with me about being a Diarra, her 'joking cousin,' by calling me a donkey, telling me I eat beans, etc.I plan on beginning my baseline survey work shortly after I return from Ségou, which involves walking from concession to concession with my homologue, Lassana, to ask each family about water and sanitation concerns in their family and the community at large. I also hope to facilitate the creation of a Water and Sanitation Committee, made up of both men and women, in my village to decide upon projects and work to construct/implement them. My thought is that our first project at that point will be to begin treating the drinking wells with bleach, since both pumps are broken and the drinking water from the wells are not particularly clean. Next year, I will look to begin the more challenging projects, including possibly repairing the two foot-pumps in village, constructing wells, constructing two nɛgɛns (latrines) and hand-washing stations for the primary school, or any other needs identified in-village. The final project selection will be left up to the village and their priorities.

My jatigi muso (host-mother) Mama. Just about every morning, she fries up some 'farani' (fried dough) or 'furu-furu' (small fried millet or rice dough balls) to sell within the village. Many of the village men, including myself, often gather around to chat and drink tea throughout the day.A normal day for me right now involves waking up just before 6AM for some resistance training down at my ‘workout tree’ by the fish-pond with the resistance bands I brought with me (great, great purchase). The physical activity really helps to keep my mind straight while living in such a foreign environment. I then return to my concession around 7AM to make my breakfast of 3 hard-boiled ‘camifon’ (guinea fowl eggs) and either bread or oatmeal while listening to ‘The World Today’ and ‘Focus on Africa’ on the BBC. The BBC is a lifesaver, my one sure-fire daily connection to the outside world at-large.

Lamissa, my local language tutor who is also the village primary school’s headmaster, will then stop by around 8AM to aid me in my studies for a couple hours. Normally, I then ‘yala yala’, which in Bambara basically means wander the village to chat with people and drink tea (the favorite and delicious pastime in the Malian culture) until I return to my concession around 11AM for some downtime to read. My host family normally brings me my lunch of ‘to’ around 11:30AM, at which point I will eat while listening to the ‘Newshour’ program on BBC. At 1PM, I walk to my jatigi’s (host father’s) concession to return my lunch, then spend the rest of the afternoon on a ‘yala yala,’ sitting and chatting with locals throughout my village in order to both integrate and improve my language skills.

Some of the village men hard at work making 'fifalans' (straw fans) for sale and fishing nets for their use in a nearby river. The man on the left is making tea as we chat.Around 5:30PM, I like to go for a run on the dirt roads through the millet fields. Upon my return, I fetch my bath and drinking water from the well, much to the amusement of the men not used to seeing men do such a thing. I then take a bucket bath, and head to my jatigi’s concession for dinner. Dinner normally is either ‘to’ or ‘bashi’ (another form of millet, a little courser than to) with either ‘gwa naw’ (green sauce made with okra), ‘tiga dege naw’ (peanut sauce), or some sort of ‘jege naw’ (made with small minnow-type fish or fish heads purchased at market).

After dinner, I will stay with my host family to chat and drink tea for a bit, then return to my concession to relax to music, write in my journal, and read before going to sleep around 8:30 or 9PM.

Six of Lassana's many kids. He has three wives in my village, and one in a neighboring village 27 kilometers away. The volunteer before me, Therese, used to hang out with the last two children, Jelica and Safiatou often, so they usually stop by my concession daily. The constant attention from kids has been my biggest adjustment thus far.The adjustment thus far has gone smoothly, and I have gotten accustomed to the millet-rich diet here. I even find myself craving 'to!' My only issue is judging portion sizes becomes difficult while eating with several other people out of a communal bowl. I often eat too much or too little.

I plan on beginning my baseline survey work shortly after I return from Ségou, which involves walking from concession to concession with my homologue, Lassana, to ask each family about water and sanitation concerns in their family and the community at large. I also hope to facilitate the creation of a Water and Sanitation Committee, made up of both men and women, in my village to decide upon projects and work to construct/implement them. My thought is that our first project at that point will be to begin treating the drinking wells with bleach, since both pumps are broken and the drinking water from the wells are not particularly clean. Next year, I will look to begin the more challenging projects, including possibly repairing the two foot-pumps in village, constructing wells, constructing two nɛgɛns (latrines) and hand-washing stations for the primary school, or any other needs identified in-village. The final project selection will be left up to the village and their priorities.

I have many pictures to share from the end of Ramadan and the Cinquantenaire/ 50th Anniversary of Mali’s Independence, which was September 22 that I will work to put up in separate blog posts.

Women in my jatigi's family making pasta for sale in a nearby village. Mama's daughter, Kaja, brought the two pasta hand-cranked machines in from her home in a nearby village.

I am now officially a Peace Corps Volunteer in the Republic of Mali! Yesterday morning, at the American Embassy, myself and 80 fellow Peace Corps Trainees in my stage, including 18 trainees in Water and Sanitation, were officially sworn-in as Peace Corps Volunteers. We spent the night out in Bamako, before coming back to Tubaniso for one last night tonight. Tomorrow, we will be splitting off to our respective regional capitals. I will spend 3 nights in Ségou, after which I will be installed Wednesday in my village for my two-year post. Times, they are a changin'!

2010-2012 Peace Corps Mali Water and Sanitation Volunteers (Thanks, Lindsey for the Pic!)

An old tree in my homestay village. It appears that some other type of vine/tree has overtaken it to give the tree this unique look.Sunday, we left our homestay sites for the last time to head back to Tubaniso before swear-in on Friday at the US Ambassador’s residence, and all of the shenanigans that go along with it. Next Sunday, we will begin the trek to our permanent sites to begin integrating into our respective communities.

Homestay really flew by, and I became fairly close to my host family, considering the language barrier. It was sad to leave so soon, and I am planning on visiting them again when my Bambara improves. Below is a brief summary of the week that was…

My 'immediate' host family. Adema Doubia, my host-father, is back-right. Another one of my 'immediate' host family. In the back row are Adema's two wives, Aminata Coulibaly and Miriam Samake.I arrived back at my homestay village on Friday, August 20th. On Sunday, Isa, my host-uncle of around 21 years of age, took my Bambara-English-French study materials to make copies 10 km away at our market town. He is very motivated to learn English, and plans to go back to school in October, after the growing season. Another picture with my host family. From left, Drissa, Solomen, Isa, Sitafa (or as I call him, 'Stephan'), myself, and Lameen.On Monday, August 23rd, my seven fellow PCTs and I got a ride into our market town to buy food for our cooking session that night with our LCFs (Language and Cultural Facilitators). I also took the opportunity to buy my host-grandfather a ‘Gasio’(!) watch as a gift, since his had broke. That night, with our LCF Haoua’s guidance, I made ‘zamɛ,’ which is a type of rice cooked with oil (previously flavored by frying fish), tomatoes, onions, garlic, salt, and pepper. We also made a delicious onion sauce with onion, green pepper, and carrots to put on top. Tyler, another PCT, made some French toast for a small taste from home, and after hard-boiling some eggs, our meal was complete. I’m going to be doing a lot of cooking due to the food situation at my site, so it was good to learn how to make a good Malian meal.

My host-brother Sitafa ('Stephan'), tying up the family's donkeys. Donkeys became the bane of my existence in this village, as they make a painful, screechy, whine sound at all hours of the day and night.Thursday is market day in my homestay village, but due to the growing season, the market has hardly been present during the time I have been there. But there are many local women who set up tables to sell their prepared foods.

The local women selling prepared foods at the small market in village.Friday, our sector trainers, including current Peace Corps Volunteers, came to our village in order to assist us in building a soak pit and wash area just west of the village market area. Later in the evening, we visited the dugutigi’s house to ‘ask for the road.’ This is required whenever someone leaves the village long-term per Bamanakan culture.

From left, PCT Adam, PCT James, a local villager, PCT Helen, and our LCF, Salif, mixing concrete for the wash area.The completed wash area, located in front of one of the village wells.I had a couple of interesting conversations with my host-grandfather, Samou, and my host-uncle Isa (a young man of about 21 years old). Previously, when I first arrived, like most Malians, Isa was perplexed as to why I am not yet married, being in my mid-twenties. When I flipped the conversation back to him, Isa informed me that he was not married either. Later, when I was working on a family tree for cross-culture class, he told me he had a wife, Setou, and two small children. Setou even confirmed this. Friday after lunch, I was talking with Samou, who was playing with little Karamogo, Isa’s child. I asked Samou if Isa was Karamogo’s father, and he said no. He also said that Isa was not married.

Some of the young women/children in the Doumbia concession.When I confronted Isa about it, he explained that when a brother gets married, his wife in effect becomes your wife too, and his children become your children. So Isa said that he did not lie to me, that he has wives, but no ‘original wife,’ as he termed it. Just another one of those bizarre cultural differences…

The Doumbia men cultivating their millet fields with hand-held 'dabas'.Saturday morning, I took my final Bambara language exam before swear-in. Thankfully, I passed with the required Intermediate-Mid level, so I am now on the fast-track for swear-in on Friday.

Saturday evening, I presented my host-family with a ‘sama’ (gift), which involved three pagnes for the women, 10 kilos of sugar, and a large pack of Malian tea. They were very appreciative. As has been the case throughout the week, my family was telling me to stay in their village for two years and not go on to my site in Segou. I told them that I would like to, but if I were to stay, Barrack Obama would beat me to death. That got a good laugh out of everyone, especially since Barrack is so popular in Africa, where on the streets of Bamako, you can buy Obama sandals, belts, jeans, playing cards… even Obama brand biscuits!

A picture of the young men of the Doumbia family. From left to right: Drissa, Daouda, Sitafa ('Stephan'), Lameen, Isa, Solomen.Saturday night, I went with my family to the mosque for prayer around 7:30pm, after the sun set. We took our shoes off at the mud wall in front of the mosque, and each knelt down at a rug, arranged in neat rows within the courtyard, facing East, to pray. My host-father is the ‘misiiri wɛlɛ’, so every morning and evening, he sings over the loudspeakers to invite people to pray. I also found out that he leads the prayers, singing for a good half an hour within the mosque. This was an interesting cross-cultural experience for someone who has never attended a non-christian religious ceremony.

The mosque at the center of my homestay village.Sunday morning, I packed up my belongings, said goodbye to the family, and made my way down to the pick-up point with my host-father, Adema, and several kids in tow. I am now back at Tubaniso, and will be staying here through swear-in later on in the week. I will be heading out to my permanent site in the Segou region next Sunday.

Loading up the Peace Corps transport vehicle for the ride back to TubanisoA storm rolling through the village. It rained most days while we were there. It is the 'rainy season,' after all.

The Doumbia women pounding millet, as they do every morning.The Doumbia women making shea nut oil, a major cash crop in Mali.

Scattered trees within the agricultural fields just outside of the village.We have just returned from our initial visit to our respective sites for the next two years. I have been placed in a small village of around 1,400 people in the Region of Ségou, approximately 100 kilometers east of the city of Ségou, the regional capital. Due to my very persistent homologue, just after I finally got used to my Malian name in Homestay, I now have a new name… Maliki Jarra. This week certainly had it’s ups and downs, but I am excited about my new village.

The following is a brief rundown of the happenings at site…The small mud-mosque located near the center of the village.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010Myself, my fellow PCTs, and our homologues woke up at Tubaniso, ready to split off to our respective regions and sites. Hannah and I lucked out and got Peace Corps transport into Ségou, instead of having to negotiate Mali’s public transportation system the entire way. After a three-hour ride from Bamako, we arrived at the Peace Corps bureau in Ségou around 12:30pm, where I met Therese, the volunteer whom I am replacing. We then went to a local transportation stop, at which time my homologue, Lassana, left separately on his motorbike to spend a night with his third wife, who lives in a village approximately 30 kilometers from my site/his home.

A bush taxi headed for my market town 4 kilometers south of my village was waiting at the transportation stop when we arrived there around 1:00pm. A throng of people were already there ready to go, but the bush taxi waited for two more people to completely fill out the vehicle, and we left around 4:00pm after Therese pulled off some bargaining/haggling in Bambara.

The trip on the bush taxi was very, well, ‘cozy.’ There were five of us crammed into the last row of the taxi, and half-way through, one of them actually stood up, yelled at the driver to stop, and he went and sat on the roof instead. The bush taxi negotiated some very rough dirt roads, with large sporadic pools of water.

We finally arrived in my market town at around 7:00pm, just as it got dark. Both Therese and I had our bikes, but the road and the surrounding millet fields were incredibly flooded, with up to a couple feet of water in spots. So we had to walk the 4 kilometers to my village, trudging through muddied, standing water in the darkness.

Thursday, August 12, 2010This day was my first experience of what life was like in the village. I was a little overwhelmed the night before by the shear remoteness of the village, but as seems to be the case in all of Mali, the spirits of the people carry you through the day. Much of the day was spent greeting and introducing myself to my new neighbors in the village. Everyone in the village is incredibly welcoming and they seem genuinely appreciative that I am there.

The village itself is rather picturesque. The buildings and walls in village are primarily of mud-brick construction, and provide the village with a very earthy and elemental feel. Miles and miles of agricultural fields surround the village with the tangled limbs of old, large trees sprawling across the vast African sky.A view along an old mud wall on the edge of the village.Today, I also had my first taste of food in my village. In talking with Therese and the other Peace Corps Volunteers in Mali, my village is among the poorest of the Peace Corps sites, and it shows in their food. Most families in my village eat millet for all three meals during the day, regardless of season. My village hardly grows rice, so the food I usually enjoy from homestay is a rare delicacy here. Every morning, I am served ‘moni’ for breakfast, a kind of brown porridge with small balls of millet. It is very bland and the hardest thing for me to put down in-country so far. For lunch, I will usually receive ‘to,’ which is the traditional Malian dish of millet, green with a spongy consistency served with an okra sauce. I am not a fan, but I don’t mind it, and it is actually a fairly nutritious dish for African standards. For dinner, it is normally either ‘to’ again or a dish of millet with another type of sauce. As someone who likes to eat, and eat a lot, this is going to be a tough transition for me. I never realized how good I had it at homestay. So in the future, I am planning to eat only one meal a day with my host family, and I will try to cook for myself the rest of the time.The Malian dish of 'To' (Pounded millet with okra dipping sauce), served Malian 'Family Style.'I learned that a governmental agency from Saudi Arabia had previously installed the two pumps currently found in the village, but both are now broken. Therefore, the people of the village once again get their water from one of five open, untreated, community wells in the village. So during the visit, I had the experience of fetching water for drinking and bathing with a bucket from a well. But this is definitely a big opportunity for me to assist the village in the next two years: pump maintenance, well construction, and water treatment.Village children playing in front of one of the broken foot-pumps, previously installed by Saudi Arabia.

Friday, August 13, 2010This morning, myself, Therese, and Lassana met with the ‘men’s group’ in the village, consisting of about 20 elders. I greeted the men one-by-one as we arrived, and then took a seat beside Lassana as he introduced me to the men and explained why I am here. We then presented the ‘dugutigi’ (chief of the village) with kola nuts. Once my business was attended to, the men began to talk about other issues in the community, including their pleasure with the commune’s decision to allocate funds to construct an additional building for the primary school in the village. This is exciting to me, and brings me to another project I would like to initiate. Currently, the school does not have any ɳagans (latrines). I would like to assist the community in constructing separate ɳagan facilities for boys and girls. Additionally, I would like to construct handwashing stations there as well. As handwashing with soap is not a common practice in my village, either after using the restroom or before eating, I would like to educate the villagers on the importance of doing so.An alley within the village, surrounded by mud walls and buildings.Friday night was my first taste of the beating which mud huts take during the Malian rainy season. I awoke around 4:00am to the sounds of mud and concrete slamming and splattering onto the floor of my house, and the feeling of mud and moisture on my skin. I looked around, and in places along all four exterior walls of my house, the mud bricks had fallen out, even dropping a support beam for the roof by a couple of feet.

This would occur during substantial rain storms each of the next three nights. Therese told me that just a month ago, the house was in great condition. It appears that the problem is the house does not have gutters, and the roof does not extend far enough past the edge of the wall, so when rainwater hits the roof, the water just flows through the walls, eroding them away. This is not a concern whatsoever, as the village will have this repaired before I move in early September. But it did emphasize to me the importance of maintenance in mud-wall construction, and how impressive the largest mud-mosque in the world, found in Djenné, Mali truly is. No wonder it is a major community event, basically a celebrated holiday, to re-mud it's walls every year.

The Great Mosque of DjennéSaturday, August 14, 2010Today, Claudine, a Peace Corps APCD came by to perform the ‘procedurals’ as we met with the dugutigi in my village, the mayor of the commune, and the head of the CSCM (the health center in the nearest market town). Therese departed for good with the Peace Corps vehicle, leaving me with the immediate yet invigorating feeling that this was now my site and my home for the next two years. It was a good feeling to walk around the village and connect with people on my own, but Therese was incredibly helpful to me while she was there.A view from within my concession. At left, my nagan. At rear, my house.Sunday, August 15, 2010Today was market day in the nearest market town, 4 kilometers south. Lassana and I boarded our bikes and rode down the same water-logged road I had travelled down on Wednesday. The market was bustling with activity, and was fairly impressive in size and number of people. We spent about 5 hours in the market, and Lassana and I spent most of the time greeting and socializing with the people of the commune. I did not see any vegetables available, but there was some quality fruit and meat for sale. This town also has a busy market for animal livestock, such as goats, sheep, and bulls. I bought some delicious ‘kini ni tige dige naw’ for lunch, some dates, bananas, and, as gifts for my host family, tea and bread.A view of the agricultural fields surrounding the village.Monday, August 16, 2010Tonight around 7:00pm, 6 students from Pitt and their chaperone, Kyle, the first volunteer in my village, arrived for a two-week stay for their work with Engineers Without Borders. They are working on the fish pond in the village and will be performing tests on the pond and some engineering work to improve it. I will be working with them closely over the next two years on this project. Right now, there are drainage concerns with standing water on three sides of the pond.The fish pond previously expanded by Engineers Without Borders.Tuesday, August 17, 2010Today I got Peace Corps transport out of my village and into the city of Ségou, where I met the other Peace Corps trainees in my region, as well as several current Peace Corps volunteers, at a downtown restaurant called ‘The Shack.’ It didn’t look like much from the outside, but I had the best meal I have had yet in country, and one that would rival many upscale restaurants in America. It was the ‘plate du jour,’ and had two beef kabobs, medium-rare (very key, most Malians cook meet very well done!) with tomatoes, and sides of rice with onion sauce and green beans, perfectly seasoned. We then went on to a nearby hotel to sit by the pool and socialize, before moving on to an Italian restaurant called ‘L'Esplanade’ adjacent to the Niger River, where I got some good lasagna and bruschetta. After a week of millet, this was incredible. Ségou seems like a happening city, but cleaner and less overwhelming than Bamako, and it supposedly has a great music scene. It will be a good escape for me whenever I feel the need to take a break from site.

We then stayed overnight at a hotel, and got Peace Corps transport back to Bamako the next day.

Overall, I am excited about getting started in my new village, and I am anxious to get to know the villagers better through conversation. The people in the village are incredibly warm and welcoming, and the conversations I have had thus far, albeit limited, have been comfortable and engaging. In terms of work, since the village has had two previous volunteers, they seem to understand that I will not be funding or building projects for them. The onus will be on them to fund projects and put forth the effort to learn and construct. I have already thought through several projects that I would like to tackle during my time there that can be of great value to the community.A farmer riding back to the village after a day out in the fields.I was hoping to be in a village that had a strong musical presence. Although the village apparently does not play traditional music during ceremonies, as my homestay village did during weddings, there are a couple djembe players in town, as well as a man who plays some sort of a traditional Malian guitar. The guitarist has said that he is willing to teach me how to play it, which would be a fun and engaging way for me to spend my free time, and a great skill to bring back home.

The food will be a challenge, but I intend to cook for myself two meals out of the day, which will allow me to both gain some culinary skills and add variety to my diet. I will spend the first several weeks at site scouting out the local markets I can bike to, and the butigis in Ségou, for meat and vegetables.

Today, we spent the day at Tubaniso with ‘debriefing’ classes, and we will head back to our homestay sites tomorrow afternoon for the last time, before we come back to Tubaniso on Sunday, August 29th to prepare for swear-in and installation. It went by incredibly fast, and it is sad to be leaving my homestay family so soon, especially before I have the language skills to have in-depth conversations with them. I definitely intend on visiting them at some point when my language skills are improved. I will post again when I come back, and I should have more pictures for you all of my homestay village and family.

Our sites were announced today at Tubaniso. I am headed to a village of approximately 1,200-1,500 people; about twice the size of my homestay village. It is located in the region of Ségou, and is approximately 100 kilometers east of the city of Ségou. It is a Bamanakan village which predominantly practices Islam and speaks Bambara. The villagers are primarily farmers and fishermen. The village has four butigis (small food/supply stores), a primary school, two water pumps (one of which hasn’t worked in four years), and several improved large diameter wells. Similar to my homestay site, the houses are made of mud construction. I will have cell phone coverage in the village through Malitel.

I will be replacing the last of two consecutive volunteers placed in the village. It appears that they have implemented several current projects, which I will be continuing, including a fish farm, a community women’s garden, and community well construction. However, I look forward to evaluating the village’s needs in my first several months and implementing new projects to meet these needs throughout my term of service.

Tonight at dinner, I met my homologue, Lassana. Each volunteer is assigned a homologue, who is a well-regarded member of the village tasked with helping the volunteer implement their projects. He is maybe the only Malian I have met taller than me, and seems to be very outgoing and jovial. He only speaks Bambara, so communication is difficult at the moment.

Over the next couple of days, we will be in classes together here at Tubaniso. On Wednesday, August 11th, we will depart in the morning for my village in Ségou via my first foray on public transportation in Mali. Should be an interesting trip. I will stay at my site until Wednesday, August 18th, at which time I will head back to Tubaniso, debrief on Thursday, and head back to homestay on Friday, August 20th. I will try to post again at debrief.

Today, we took a Peace Corps transport vehicle back to Tubaniso from our homestay village. The dirt road to our village from the national road is in utter disrepair, which even in dry days requires the most rugged of the land rover-type vehicles Peace Corps employees. Last night around 3AM, it began raining, and the rain continued, hard, until about 4PM. The driver had to navigate through several rivers and gullies the rain had caused, but we made it out, soaked gear strapped to the roof be damned.

We just completed our second stint at our homestay villages. Since we last left Tubaniso on Wednesday, July 21st, we have spent 18 days in our small village of 800 people in the Koulikoro Region of Mali. A lot has happened since my last post, so I will try to fill you all in on the details...

An adjacent concession in my homestay village, behind cornfields.The 'kalanyoro' (school) in my homestay village. We spend most of our classes underneath the large tree in the center of the picture.A view of the mud-construction gazebo in my concession.A view of a granary in my concession. This is used to store millet.A view of my concession. From left to right, my ɳagan's wall, one of the kitchen huts, and one of the bedrooms.'N ka so.' My home at the homestay village.The ɳagan in my concession.On Wednesday, July 21st, we made a couple field trips to the S.E.TRA (the primary manufacturer and installer of India water pumps in Mali) and C.R.E.P.A. (a West African research consortium on latrine and hand-washing station construction) facilities in Bamako on our way back to homestay. Afterwards, we made our first quick detour into a Malian market in Bamako, before heading back to our respective villages. The market was bustling with activity, and offered food, clothing, small electronics, hair cutting, and many other products and services. It was an interesting experience, as buying anything here requires much haggling to get a fair price.

When we returned to the village, I walked towards my concession as my host-mother Amineta screamed out my name, ‘Samou! Samou!’, as her and the children ran out to greet me. It felt good to be back, as I have really enjoyed my time thus-far at homestay.

I brought my photo album and my world map back from Tubaniso to show my host-family. They really enjoyed seeing the pictures of my friends and family, and the young women in the concession got a kick out of calling any picture of a girl my age my ‘muso’ (wife). It was also very surprising to them to see pictures of African-Americans, which was a good moment to teach them about our diversity.

I continue to have some fairly intellectual conversations with my host-uncle, 20 year-old Isa. The other day, he asked me, in broken English and French, ‘The world is afraid of America. America is afraid of Chinois. Pourquois?’ I proceeded to explain national debt and economics to him in my broken Bambara and French. A difficult concept for him to understand, as a lifetime farmer living in a country where credit is not available. I acted out a brief skit, showing him how America borrows from China to buy from the world, but he could not understand why China would give money to America without receiving anything immediately in return.

On Friday, July 23rd, myself and the other 8 PCTs in our village performed our first WATSAN exercise when we treated the drinking water wells in our family’s concessions with bleach. It was pouring outside, and we made our way through the village, visiting each well. First, we dropped a rope with a weight tied at the end down the well to measure the amount of water, and then dropped a calculated number of teacups full of bleach in each one, respective to the water level. It was difficult for us to adequately explain the procedure to our families due to our limited language skills at this stage, so we relied on our LCFs (Language and Cultural Facilitator) to do most of the talking. I am very excited about working the teaching aspect of Peace Corps projects as I become more proficient in Bambara.

On the weekends, we have been biking 10 km into the neighboring city to have a drink with other neighboring PCTs. As stated above, the road is in tatters, and by the time we get there, we are covered in mud. Monday is market day in the city. We biked there on July 26th to buy some vegetables to cook up the following day. The market was hectic, and the meat and fish strewn over the counters was just covered in flies. Not the most sanitary conditions, but we bleached the vegetables and slaughtered 4 chickens the following night for a brief retrieve from the starch-filled meals of the village.

On Thursday, July 29th, I awoke to the women in my concession singing and pounding home-made percussive instruments, while dancing around their wooden millet-pounding bowls. They were preparing for one of the three weddings in the village happening during the day and throughout the night. After class that day, us PCTs walked with our LCFs to each of the three respective concessions. At each concession, we greeted the elders and were then offered seats with them. Salif, our LCF, would speak to the brothers and father of the groom in Bambara, one of us would present a gift of 500 CFA, and then each of us would offer a blessing in Bambara for the couple. My blessing was “Ala kana nafigiw don aw cɛ” (May swindles not interfere). In Bamanakan culture, it is important to at least pay a visit and deliver a traditional blessing for any important event in your village. Each family also told us that our presence and blessings meant more to them than any gift, because a gift can be used up, but friendship will last forever.

That night, myself and two of the other PCTs, Roger and Helen, went to the dance party happening at one of the weddings. There were two men playing the balafon (a Malian wooden xylophone), three men playing percussive instruments, and a man in colorful garb singing freestyle. The music was energetic and enjoyable, with an addictive back-beat. Every time a song would start, the women would point to us and say “donkɛ” (dance). We would line up, usually the men in one line, the women in another. The dancing basically involved one line running towards the other, while another ran away, and vice-versa. The two lines faced each other the entire time.

At one point after Helen left, the singer called Roger and I up on our own. He asked both of us our names, where we are from, and a couple of other questions. Roger responded that he was from Mali, which got a roar of laughter from the crowd. But whether a response was correct or not, the crowd laughed regardless, as is commonplace in any of our discussions throughout the village. Just something about an American speaking Bambara.

On Friday, July 30th, I performed a ‘Baseline Survey’ on my host-father. This was basically practice for some of the preliminary research and interviewing that we will complete at our sites. It went much smoother than I expected, and it certainly gave me some insight into my family’s water and sanitation needs/habits that I hadn’t determined even from living with them over three weeks. I am looking forward to working through this process to determine the projects I would like to pursue in my village in the near future.

On Monday, August 2nd, my family gave me fish that they had purchased at the market with my dinner of rice with peanut sauce. The fish was already cooked, cold, and in a plastic bag. The Peace Corps issues us a big warning on eating anything that is not still hot. But I did not want to insult my family, so I ate half of it. The next day, I felt awful with digestive issues. I had some sort of an intestinal bacteria infection, likely Giardia. I had to leave class, and took the Cipro medication from my medical kit. Luckily, the following morning, I felt back to normal. But Tuesday was my most uncomfortable days in Mali thus far.

So far, the biggest challenge for me has naturally been communicating in a new language. But besides that, the change in diet and the constant company of children have also been difficult. My meals generally consist of starch and sauce, whether it is ‘kini ni tige dige naw’ (rice with peanut sauce), ‘woso ni tulo’ (sweet potatoes in oil/sauce), or ‘ƞo’ (millet). I truly enjoy the food here, but the lack of meat and vegetables have been a tough adjustment, as I often feel lethargic during the day. It is also tough to judge portions while eating communal style. It just requires an adjustment period. The barrage of children in village is also a big adjustment, as at least half of the village population must be under the age of 15, and they are always around us, whereas in the states, I was never really around children for any extended period.

Some general observations in the village: The men work in the fields during daylight, and very hard. Being a third-world country in West Africa, the villagers work with very antiquated equipment. I helped them plow one day at lunch, standing behind two bulls as they pulled a plow across the field. It takes a good bit of pressure on the plow to ensure that it is aligned correctly. The women, however, work harder than any people I have ever encountered. My host-mothers are up by 4:00 AM every morning to stoke the fires for the men’s breakfast, and between cooking, cleaning, pounding millet, taking care of children, and many other tasks, they often don’t rest until 9:00 at night. The children in the village have sores from worms and other ailments across their legs, and distended bellies are a common sight. Sanitation is also an issue, as many children will skip the ɳagans and use the fields/center of town for their restroom.

But through all of the hardships, the people in the village have an inspiring work ethic and always maintain a positive outlook. The constant greetings required as you walk through the village may be a little much at times, but it creates a strong sense of community where everyone knows one another and bonds are forged. The time spent with my host-family in my concession, despite the language struggles, is an incredibly rich and rewarding experience. If my site turns out to be half as welcoming as my homestay village, this should be a very fulfilling two years.

So us Water/Sanitation and Health trainees just returned to Tubaniso, the Peace Corps training facility, after our first 10 days of homestay. During homestay, each trainee is paired with a host-family in a local Malian village in order to adjust to the culture prior to our actual deployment to our respective sites. We will stay in our homestay sites for the next two months before we depart to our sites for two years. During the two months in our homestay sites, after a couple of weeks, we will head back to Tubaniso for a couple days for training within the water/sanitation sector. This is where I am now, until Wednesday morning. Just a quick note... I do not have any internet access whatsoever at homestay.

Thursday, July 8th, our stage was informed of our homestay villages. I was headed to a small Bamanankan village of about 800 inhabitants with 7 other Water/Sanitation trainees. Our Peace Corps transport vehicle departed around 2pm, and we headed off through the hectic roads, through Bamako, around 5 miles past the airport. We then turned off onto the most grizzled dirt road, completely unmaintained and marked by huge 3+-foot deep trenches all throughout, filled with muddy water. The road was lined with agricultural fields of the local villagers. After driving down this road for about 7 miles, we were able to see the fringes of our village.

When we drove into the center of the village, we could hear and see the fete that they arranged for us. We were briskly ushered out of our car and into the center of a ring of villagers. Four musicians, two playing the native wooden xylephone, two playing local percussion instruments, were at the front of the circle, providing the music for the fete, while an older man in colorful garb and a large ceremonial hat would sing in spades. Us eight trainees danced in the center of the circle, as the villagers laughed at us Toubabs. Several times, the music would stop, and we would be sent to our seats along the inside-fringe of the circle. A village elder would get up and speak between the dance sessions.

At one point, I was instructed to stand and receive gifts from the village. One man handed me 10 kola nuts, a traditional token of gratitude, while another man handed me two live roosters, held by the legs. I took both of them at the same time, the kola nuts with my right hand and the roosters with my left hand. I heard a gasp from the crowd – the left hand is considered dirty in Malian culture. But they do understand that we are just learning the culture, so all is good.

I am staying with a fairly large family of farmers in the village, with the family name of Doumbia. My host father is a farmer, and also sings at the evening prayer at the village mosque. He has two wives and six kids. Within the same compound lives his father, his father’s two wives, four of his siblings and their wives and kids. Because American names are difficult for Malians to pronounce, we were each given a Malian name. My name here is Samou Doumbia.

Every aspect of daily life here is incredibly different. A normal day for me involves waking up, washing my face and hands as is required by Muslim culture before greeting in the morning, greeting my family and elders, eating my millet porridge for breakfast (and now, after a week, I get two hard-boiled eggs!), attending Bambara language classes from 8am to 12pm, coming home to a lunch of rice with sauce, cleaning and filling my water filter, more language classes from 2:30pm to 5:00pm, playing soccer (basically a game of monkey-in-the-middle) with my host-brothers, being beckoned by my host-mother for to take a bucket bath at around 6:30pm, eating a dinner of potatoes with sauce for dinner, then talking with my host family in spades of broken Bambara/French/English until 8:30pm.

The village is arranged such that each extended family basically has their own compound, with small huts and walls made of concrete/stucco-type construction and corrugated-metal roofs. The ƞagans (latrines) are not covered, and are therefore fairly unusable during intense rain. Farm animals, including donkeys, chickens, bulls, guinea-fowel, goats, and sheep, roam all over the village. Each animal has an owner, but to the naked-eye they seem to act communal.

This is the rainy season in Mali, and it has been raining most nights rather intensely with very strong wind gusts. I never thought I would hate donkeys as much as I now do. They cry and whine throughout the night, along with the constant ‘ba’ of goats, and the crowing of roosters. It is rather obnoxious when trying to sleep at night.

Whenever you walk through the village, at any time or for any reason, custom requires that you greet every villager along the way, whether in the road or seated in their courtyards. Greeting requires a barrage of questions, asking how each member of the family is. The standard response to everyone translates to ‘all is fine.’ It is apparently unacceptable to respond with anything less, no matter what troubles you may be having. Because of this tradition, the village maintains a very community-oriented, tight-knit feel, but walking anywhere becomes a chore.

My host-uncle is about 20 years old, and is trying to learn English. He actually has taken to copying my instructional Bambara to English material by hand to help him learn. While talking with him and my host family every night, he has taken to asking me questions in his broken English, his favorite being “where do you go with wife,” his way of asking me if I am married. This man is fairly emblematic of the people I have met here, very energetic and eager to learn, and I hope that people like this can be afforded the same opportunities that I have been in the future.

Communication is the biggest struggle for me thus-far. When we were dropped off in the village, the only Bambara that any of us knew was basically hello, yes, and no. It is very difficult to get acclimated to a new way of life and to live with a new family with these very limited language skills. My French skills, as limited as they are, have helped me immensely, as much of the younger generation has been taught some French in primary schools. But luckily, with full immersion into the culture and language lessons daily, we are picking up the language relatively quickly. I have been able to have minor breakthroughs along the way in communicating with my family. It is just difficult that I would like to talk to my host family on a deeper, more philosophical level, but the words just are and may never be there.

My time at homestay has been an emotional roller-coaster thus far, but overall I have very much enjoyed the experience. The villagers are all very friendly and patient with us, and the exposure to a new culture and new way-of-life has been priceless. That being said, the language barrier, my indigestion due to my changes in diet, the heat, the lack of variety and nutritional value in food, and just the thought of everything I am missing from back home, including of course family and friends, came to a head last Wednesday, the lowest point thus far in my service. I have since rebounded and am again excited and anxious for the rest of my time in Mali. I know that the intense trials and tribulations have just begun, but luckily, so have the small victories and enriching experiences that await me along the way.