Peace Corps Journals

Help us repair the school

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

2012-02-09 22:06:52

Children went to school for the first time in my village in 1998, when the Men’s Association built a large 3-classroom building of their own labor and resources. This building, housing grades 1-3, though still sturdy in structure, is starting … Continue reading →

The Project I Didn't Do

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali E in Mali

2012-02-09 10:59:00

The project Ididn't do is a formation to teach people in my village improvedmethods of producing mango. As of right now, people do nothing toimprove mangoes. They attach small hooks to 15 foot long sticks totry and drag mangoes from the tree and will spend hours doing thisonly to eat every mango the minute it is caught. The mayor's officemen (MOM) claim they want to learn to make dried mangoes or jam sothey can sell the mangoes they get for free and in high abundanceright here in the village. I agree it sounds good.

You might say,then teach them! What are you there for if not to educate people onways to improve their lives? Amongst many thoughts concerning what Iam really here to do and even more concerning what I am capable ofaccomplishing, I have to ask myself if this formation would reallyaccomplish anything.

First, trainingsare just that. They are trainings. I apply for training-on-demand orfood security money, identify a trainer from the city, hire cooks forthe day, arrange for their transportation, etc, etc. and then go tothe training. A one day training is around $250. They can be veryhelpful in sensitizing a community about a particular issue(reproductive safety), teaching people a new role (literacy committeemembers), or skill (teacher training).

What I wouldreally need is a formation and some money to use as in starting thismango production. I would need what is called a Small ProjectsAssistance (SPA). I can still get money for my training, but I couldalso request money to buy jars, sugar, etc. for jamming or solardryers for dried mango production. Training-on-demand is free money.SPAs require a 33% contribution from the village. A PCPP (money fromorganizations, family members) requires a 25% contribution. Thevillage would essentially be putting money towards items to help themstart a new income-generating activity (IGA).

My village doesnot understand the idea that they must contribute to a project. Mytwo teacher trainings were free because they were trainings. Books,chalk, chalkboard, per diem, trainer per diem- a $1500 training allfor F.R.E.E. When I made hand washing stations, the village alsothought it was free. I had combined it with an IGA project to makeand sell soap with my literacy classes. The women bought thesoap-making materials and always supplied lunch when I taught them tomake soap. This turned out to be a 38% contribution. The village as awhole though, just saw me carrying metal stations and buckets to theschool or saw me riding from village to village to make soap. Theydid not make the connection between the two. Not only do theyno know the contribution of the literacy students, but they would notunderstand why they must contribute anything to a project. I camehere to give them stuff. They don't ask me this question, they tellme this is my purpose.

Amisunderstanding about project ownership is problem number one then.Number two goes back to all of the free stuff they have alreadyreceived. It all comes from the US government, meaning you. Not onlydo Malians not see the point of raising funds, they believe myfunding opportunities are never ending. We Americans are so rich intheir minds. I've heard so many tales about our excess of money thatI must regularly ask myself why I am still wearing this see throughskirt or stained, holy shirt if all of these rumors are true.

Despite therumors, I try to keep in mind that this money comes from Americans.$250 or $1500 is very little, but I still keep it in mind. My bigproblem is that, not only do Malians think you should give more ofyour money, many have stopped giving any of their own money. I don'tmean me asking for 100 CFA and being denied because they don't likethe project or don't have the money (they do), I mean they don't paytheir own taxes. 23-28% of my village paid their taxes last year. TheMOM cannot provide the 33% of the SPA money from the treasury becausetheir isn't one. It isn't as if the MOM don't know every person inthe village. There are 3500 people in my village and half of thepeople are under 18. They could collect this money if they put theirminds to it. Instead, 9a-12p, Monday-Wednesday and Friday, they sitat the office, listening to the radio while drinking tea. Once and awhile they do a census (all of those names right there in one place!)or have meetings with organizations offering to come in, give themmoney for a project, and get out. They love the money and the lack ofoversight. No need to collect money if all of this stuff is free! Andso they sit and have tea.

Third, I havegiven them lots of money. I realize these points are all similar anddealing with money, but I think there are slight differences so staywith me. Again, I spent $3000 on two teacher formations, $500 on handwashing stations. What have they done with that new stuff? Last year,we had 250 students. This year that number has dropped to about 100.Poor teaching skills (due to poor training, less than motivatedteachers the village refuses to pay with that tax money they nevercollected, busy home lives, etc.) Other classes are great. Thestudents are on time, stay late when I work with them, and theteachers enjoy their work. I appreciate them more than I can say andlove watching the light bulb click when I am able to teach themthings. Also, half working are the hand washing stations. They runout of soap, which they use to buy with money provided by the MOM orthe kids wash their hands in the dirty water at the bottom of thebucket because the teachers do not reinforce the lessons I havetaught them. In essence, my projects, despite my best efforts, aregoing so-so at best. I don't want to give more money and energy if myvillage promises to put forth the same level of work.

Let me add that Iam not a Small Enterprise Development (SED) Volunteer. Villages thathave SED volunteers have already started businesses before the PCVarrives. The PCV then helps with budgeting or improved methods ofproduct development, advertising, etc. SEDies sometimes arrive to noproject or one that will clearly go bankrupt before their serviceends. Their job is tough. I cannot start something from scratch. Twoyears is not enough.

In my opinion, ifmy village really wants something like the MOM tell me they do, theywould initiate something. Women down the road sell clay pots becausethey want to. I would help my village if they showed initiative. In an attempt togive them this “initiative” a kick start, I gave them severalideas, the main one being that they find a trainer on their own. APCV two hours away by bike (and they would moto) works with a groupthat created an IGA working with mangoes. It is easier for them toset up meetings amongst themselves due to language and culturalissues. They could see a functioning business and ask questions, suchas how much did these dryers cost, how much money did you start with,who is your market, how did you open this up to the village, how muchdo you spend on transportation to get to the market, etc. Then theycould collect some taxes, or consider how much 33% of this projectwould add up to. This would show real initiative. It would showMalians taking responsibility in helping themselves and theircommunity.

When I made thissuggestion to the MOM, offering to set up a meeting through the PCV,what did they do? Some shrugged, others laughed, others kicked aroundsome dirt, and it was agreed. If Asetou won't do it for us, we won'tdo it.

And so has becomethe dependency of Africans. Why buy a mosquito net if USAID willprovide one? They know the risks of malaria and how to prevent it andthey still do not buy nets. Many probably cannot afford it, but noone can even tell me the price of a net. Why make your own rehydration formula (sugar, water, salt) when USAID will hook you up to a neat i.v? Malnourished children? USAID provides a tasty peanut butter packet that the health center works like to snack on once in a while because nobody knows. It seems they have given upwithout even trying. We have created much of this dependency andstereotypes of our limitless wealth. While I get angry with them, theMalians alone are not to be blamed.

I imagine that,eventually, my village will find a way to consistently make money from theirmangoes. One day a car showed up in my village offering the MOM moneyif they could go collect mangoes in the field to take to Sikasso tosell. Obviously the MOM and other people in my village cannot rent acar nor can they travel to Sikasso with enough mangoes on their mototo make any money. They stuck a deal, accepted money from the guys,and kept right on drinking tea and listening to the radio.

Pics of the month!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali One Goal, One Nation: Peace in Mali

2012-02-09 08:08:00

A montage of this past month:

Want to make some lunch?

First you pound the millet

Then you sift it

Cute kids of the month: Hamadi

And Fatoumata

Want to make a house? First you need to make the bricks which are a nice mud/straw mixture...

Make some more mud to stick the bricks together...

Here is the layout/foundation

And make the roof out of some bamboo pole and straw. So all you really need is some mud, more mud, some bamboo, and maybe a little more mud and voila, you have a house!

The afternoon activity...

Hair Braiding

Let's make some soap!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali One Goal, One Nation: Peace in Mali

2012-02-08 22:54:00

Early December some women in my village expressed interest in making soap. Making soap is something that all the women can and do make by using oil from a nut that grows locally. However, they were most enthusiastic about making the "good stuff": Kabakuruni which they use to wash clothes and also toubabou sahuna (literal translation: white man's soap). But, since their work with the harvest was not finished we decided to address the idea in the new year.
You are probably asking yourself, "Does Taz even know how to make soap?" Honestly, I had only seen it been done once during one of our trainings but other than that all I had were a handful of recipies. It seemed simple enough, so I was willing to commit as you should really jump on any idea/project that your village is genuinely interested in as it increases the likelihood of it being sustainable. If they want it to succeed, they will make it happen...but not without a fair share of bumps in the road. This is Peace Corps after all.
I took the opportunity to address the women again when they were all gathered for another meeting held by a local NGO. The floor ended up being all mine as the guy never showed up which turned out to be foreshadowing for what I was to experience. I found out that the women weren't solely interested in learning how to make the soap; they wanted to start a small business and generate income for themselves. Therefore, taking things slowly, I gave the women the task of assembling their group and choosing a President, Treasurer and venders by our next meeting in one weeks time.
On the date of our meeting, my homologue and I waited for approximately 45 minutes before I resigned myself to the fact that no one was showing up, so I went in search of some answers. The response I received: "We forgot." Every single one of them. When working with illiterate people in a culture that has no sense of or need for time, this is a common result. If it weren't for the daily radio communication, I'm sure that my village would be oblivious to the day and date and would honestly be none the worse for it.
I could very easily have reminded the women the day before, but in the back of my mind I think I wanted to test them. To see how dependable and accountable they could be. Since that was a total fail, I decided to start over-- clean slate, no expectations. Since this was my first "project," I figured that we, the women and I, would be learning along the way.
With the small group that I could rally together that morning, we decided who would head the positions (which were met by many objections and essentially forced upon the women because they all shy away from any responsibility of importance which I think is due to their lack of education), decided that they would contribute the 12 litres of shea oil as they can produce that themselves at zero cost, and finally decided on a date and place . Everything seemed to be in order.
However, when I returned from my trip to Kita where I bought the rest of the ingredients (peanut oil, lye, and honey) we were met with another little bump. The formation was to be in 2 days time; however, the machine to grind the shea nets had not yet arrived. It had gone travelling to the surrounding villages (there is maybe one machine for our 4 village radius) and wasn't due to return in time for our formation. Not a huge bump, so we just pushed the date back.
FINALLY, the morning of the formation arrived, and thankfully, so did the women!! At first they trickled in each bringing their contribution, 1 litre of shea oil per woman. We soon had the 12 litres needed, but they kept coming until we had collected 29 litres of shea oil. Compared with the 8 women that I rallied that first failed meeting, this was a vast improvement and more than I expected. I was pleased that so many women were committing. We began the formation with my homologue and I explaining and instructing the women who would then perform the tasks. Its really quite simple to make soap: mix the ingredients together, stir continuously in one direction till it begins to set, pour in the mold, ABANA. So, where did I go wrong!!?? We were stirring for an hour, two, almost three hours and the mixtures were not hardening. It should have taken less than an hour. As time moved on, I slowly became deflated. I was responsible- it was my first project and it wasn't working. I felt like I had dropped the ball. Its a horrible feeling that hits you right in the gut.
I tried to stay poised and figure out a solution, but it was the women who saved the day. They took charge and figured out the problem. As it turns out, it wasn't completely my fault, but most importantly our work was salvagable. I had bought the 2kg of lye needed; however, it seems that I had been deceived and taken advantage of in the market. I bought the lye for 1000 cfa- 500 cfa per kilo, but talking to the women at the formation, 1 kg should cost 800 cfa. I was ripped off. I paid more and received less because I am white. This happens all too often actually. It is assumed that the white person has money so their prices will be inflated.
It took another day for us to acquire the correct amount of lye, so after releasing all the control to the women (which I should have done from the get-go), we finished 2 days later. Even though there were more than our fair share of bumps in the road, I think that I can call this a success. Even when I was ready to claim defeat, the women continued to praise the soap we were making. Their positivity kept me from breaking down, and in the end they were right. The soap turned out great. So great that the women of the formation bought half of the stock right off the bat! As soon as we set the prices, they went grabbing at it. AND, the rest of the product was sold in a day and a half! SUCCESS!!

First the women melted the shea tulu by the fire

Mixing the oil, lye, and honey for the Toubab Soap

The soap is in the mold!

The women hand-molding the Kabakuruni

Final Product!

With the money made from this first round, the women are going to be able to continue production and even have profit left over. Making soap here is very lucrative! The women are motivated and excited, and so am I!

Travel In Mali

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Michelle in Mali

2012-02-07 13:02:00

Travel in Mali. Where to begin… I’ve been working on this postfor ages, and really I probably should’ve just posted it months ago, becausepretty much every time I travel inMali it ends up a story. In fact, writing this is overwhelming, because Chrissykeeps asking, “Did you write about this trip? Did you write about that trip?”You get the point. Or you will by the end of this post.

Back in March, I described my first, long-distance publictransport experience in Mali. It was not fun. Now that it’s not Hot Season thetrip isn’t quite so bad, and I’ve found some strategies to make it morebearable. But when you get down to it, traveling in Mali is just not fun. Itturns some people into Site Rats entirely because they just don’t want to dealwith public transport (Ahem, Chrissy).

A few of my traveling stories:

To begin,among other long trips, I’ve done the San-Bamako or vice versa trip 19 timesnow. Only 5 times have I done it in under 8 hours. It’s funny, that used to seemlike such a long trip. But a few months ago, I was sitting around with a bunchof PCVs and one of the veterans was talking about a film festival in BurkinaFaso. She mentioned that it’s only 17 hours by bus and we all exclaimed, “Ohwow, that’s short!” (A group of friends who recently went to Ghana had a 60hour bus ride coming home – it was supposed to only be 28). How perceptionschange…

Are We Still in Mali?!?

In earlyJune, (still hot season), all the PCVs from my stage (The Kennedys) headed intoBamako, after our first two months at site, for 2 weeks of In-Service Training(IST). Chrissy and I went down to Bko together. We’d heard about this fancy new bus company,Africa Tours Transport, that was super reliable, fast with no superfluousstops, and occasionally air-conditioned! Please understand, all of this iscompletely unheard of in Malian public transport. It’s enough to make your jawdrop when you first hear about it. In addition to all of that, they charge youthe normal price (6000 cfa) but give you a 1000 cfa food voucher for lunch atthe midway point. Brilliant.

We got upin the morning and headed to the bus stop to catch the ATT bus. Unfortunatelythe first bus was full (it’s starting departure is a region farther up north)so we waited for the second bus and were able to get on that. We made thehalfway point in 3 hours, a whole hour quicker than usual. Trips are so muchmore pleasant without stopping constantly and having the bus invaded by womenselling every Malian food item imaginable and beggar boys singing for coins.(I’m going to take a video of this experience one of these days). After lunch,Chrissy and I both slept for a long time. We woke up after several hours andrealized we had no idea where we were. Nothing looked familiar. With the ratewe’d been going earlier, by this point we should have been passing the villageswhere we all lived during homestay, which are about an hour out of Bamako.Nothing. We started joking – where are we? What happened while we weresleeping? Did the bus make a detour? Arewe in Cote d’Ivoire?!?

(That’spretty much impossible. Mali has one main road going from major city to majorcity, and our particular road went straight to Bamako, and only to Bamako).

Despitethe joking, I was slightly worried. We should’ve been recognizing signs, and anhour later, we still didn’t see anything familiar. Eventually we realizedeverything looked so different because it was all green. I hadn’t seen green like this since the previous summer inAmεriki. Rainy Season had begunin Bamako! It was still mango season, and we passed literally thousands andthousands of mangoes lined along the sides of the road, waiting to be bought. Ican’t begin to imagine how many mangoes must go bad every year, simply becausepeople can’t eat them all.

Eventuallywe did make it to Bamako. It took us the usual 8 hours, which means while thefirst leg of the trip was shorter than usual, the latter leg was longer, inspite of the lack of extra stops. Between the weird timing and all the greeneverywhere, it was a very confusing trip! Thank goodness our bus hadair-conditioning. :)

Sick & Traveling/Bashés

AfterIST, Chrissy went back to San (It took her 29 hours, including an unplannedovernight stop. But that’s her story.) and I went with my friend Michaela toManantali for the PCV 4^th of July party. We stopped in Kita,Michaela’s regional capital (mine is San), for a night, as it is about halfwaybetween Bko and ‘Tali. After 6 months in Mali diarrhea-free (believe me, it’squite the accomplishment!) I’d gotten sick that morning. On a travel day. Sonot cool, Mali…so not cool. I managed to sleep the whole way to Kita and mostof the night. The next morning I downed some Imodium and prepared for the trip– I’d heard it wasn’t the most pleasant. Sure enough, we crammed into a bus andenjoyed a fairly pleasant one-hour trip on a paved road, and then turned offonto an unpaved road for the next 4 hours. That’s right. Four hours on an unpavedroad. During rainy season, with pits and ditches and mud everywhere. And I was sick. Good times.

A Bashé

Well, wemade it, thank Allah. And had a great 4 days in ‘Tali. But then we had to gohome again. This time we were on a bashé,a bush taxi. Basically it’s a van with crappy seats in the back – it’s the samepublic transport I can take between San and my site. I was feeling muchhealthier this time, but the trip was much more miserable. The seats weredesigned 5 to a row, 4 rows, but the seats were made with midgets in mind. OrMichaela, but she is an extremely tiny human. No one else could ever comfortably fit in those sillylittle seats! Which means at least one of your shoulders is on top of someoneelse’s, or their shoulder is on yours. Not to mention other body limbs. Youdon’t actually fit on the seat, so you end up sitting half on one seat at oneheight, and half on another seat at another height. My backpack was too big tofit on the ground, so I had to put it on my lap. It was heavy enough that itcut off the circulation in my legs, and after 4 hours on the unpaved, pot-holefilled road, my legs were swollen and I could barely climb out of the bashé and walk to the ɲεgεn. It was miserable. And after we got to Kita,I still had another 4 hours on the bashé back to Bamako. At least this time there were less people and a bit more space.

Malians Are Awesome

I spent anight in Bamako and the next morning headed back to San alone. I found myself acab and told the driver I needed to go to the Sonef Company Bus Station. ‘Whichone?’ he asks. ‘Well crap, there’s 2?!’ I asked the prices for both and pickedthe most reasonable sounding – the cheapest, of course. (In Mali you negotiatetaxi prices before ever getting in the car). So he drove me to the station, andI knew immediately it was the wrong one. I asked him if I could get out and askfor help at the counter. Not only did he agree to wait, but he got out with meto help interpret. Sure enough, I needed to be at the other station across theriver, but at least I could purchase my ticket here. The driver and I got backin the car and he told me he would give me a slight discount on the price to goto the second place. On the way, he taught me how to give directions to thecorrect station for the next time I came to Bamako. Once we got to the right station hegot out of the car, took my 2 heaviest bags, walked with me to find someone whocould point out my bus, and waited with me to make sure my bags got on the bus.And when I paid him, he didn’t even complain that I needed change! (MostMalians use nothing but change. Most people rarely have change. Most banksinsist on giving out the highest bills in existence. It’s all very problematic).Best taxi driver I’ve ever had. And on the bus, my seatmate offered me the seatnext to him when he saw I didn’t know where to go, shared bananas with me, andkept me updated on where we were and what was going on. Moral of this story:Malians are wonderful people!

Totally Normal

Another trip to Bamako a few months ago I again wasn’t feeling welland was traveling alone. A lovely young woman on the bus decided to take meunder her wing. At each stop she sought me out and found a seat in the shadefor the two of us. She watched my bags while I went to the ɲεgεn. When we unexplainablystopped in a particular town for over an hour, she explained to me we had towait because the President of Mali was coming through and all the roads wereclosed until he passed.

The bus I had wanted to take – the fancy ATT – was full, so theyput us on another nearly-full bus. In fact, in order to accommodate for me, twoboys had to squish together into one seat so I could have the other seat. Andlike typical Malian kids, they were used to it and never complained the whole 8hours. They were so cute, the big one taking care of the little one. They wouldfind ways to sleep, the big one with his arms wrapped protectively around thelittle one. I felt bad they had such little space.

It was strange, I kept hearing chicken noises near us.Chickens on the bus are totally normal, but I couldn’t figure out where thesesounds were coming from. Near the end of the trip I realized there was a boxwith chickens in it under the boys’ feet. So in one, little, two-person seat,there was me, two boys, and a box of chickens. Totally normal!

Making My Way

A Bamako Sotroma

Back in September I was in Bamako and had the opportunity tovisit my Homestay family for two nights. The hard part about visiting is thatthe village is not easy to get to. It’s outside of Bamako and another 7km offthe main road. The first visit I was able to take Peace Corps transport most ofthe way there and several Sotromas (similar to a bashé but sort of a city bus system) and a taxi home. This time Iwas already half-way there – I’d gone to a resort for two nights with a groupof friends for a birthday celebration. The resort was located in a town I’donce biked to during homestay to go hiking. So I was pretty close, but stillhad to find transport the rest of the way.

Moto-Taxi

The resort was several km off the main road, and we took amoto-taxi to get to the road. A moto-taxi is a motorbike with a sort of cartattached to the back, and people ride in the cart. They’re pretty fun! Once onthe main road, my friend and I shared a cab – me to the turn-off to my vill,and him continuing on to his vill further down the road. I was able to findanother moto-taxi to take me the 7km into Mountougoula. The cart was full, sothe driver put me on the bench right behind his moto. It was a great ride, andI felt so…Malian! I was breezing into my old town, joking with the men who wereriding in the cart. I’d found my own transport, negotiated my price, and waschatting with Malians, all outside of my comfort zone of San or Bamako. I feltpretty good. :)

Getting out of Mountougoula was more complicated, and I wasn’tsure how I was going to do it. To complicate matters, it was Rainy Season and astorm was approaching, but I needed to leave; I had business to take care ofand I’d already stayed several hours later than I’d intended. My brother Moussawalked me to the main road and almost immediately we saw a pickup truckapproaching. It stopped and the man in the passenger seat moved to the back tojoin another man and a woman so I could have the more spacious front seat. Severalminutes later we picked up another man who also squished into the back, againleaving me alone in the roomier front seat.

I had only asked for a ride to the main road, but when thedriver found out I was actually headed to Bamako, he offered to take me as faras he was going. It was a good portion of the distance I needed to cover so Ihappily accepted. As we turned onto the main road, the wind started to pick upand the sky darkened. Just after we passed the town with the resort, the rainstarted. I was frustrated that my bag was in the back of the truck, gettingwet, but what could I do? Well, it turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Thedriver stopped and one of the men got out to get both my duffel and hisbackpack. He passed his small bag up to me and crammed my bigger duffel intothe back seat with him and the other 3 passengers; and despite my protests thatI had plenty of room up front, he said it was no problem to keep my bag in theback. One by one we dropped off passengers, and by the time it was my turn toget out, the rain had stopped. I was willing to take an expensive cab the restof the way, but the driver passed his turnoff and kept driving until he saw aSotroma where he could drop me off. The remaining man in the back got out andtook my bag onto the Sotroma for me. Then the driver got out and walked me ontothe Sotroma, made sure I had a dry seat, and made sure the Sotroma door guyknew where I needed to go. Again, Malians are wonderful people!

The Sotroma was pretty quiet most of the ride. When the doorguy asked for my money, I had to ask how much I owed, and he answered me insuper-dumbed-down Bambara, obviously thinking I couldn’t understand much. WhenI gave him the wrong amount he clearly thought I was confused, so I explained to himin Bambara that I understand Malian money perfectly, I just didn’t have theproper change. Immediately everyone in the Sotroma swiveled their heads to lookat me and broke out into huge smiles – the toubabspeaks Bambara! After that, everyone wanted to talk: who was I? Where was Igoing? What was I doing in Mali? And as usual, they took care of me; told mewhere we were in the city and when I should get off.

Immediately after I got off the Sotroma in the grand market, aman came up to me, took my bag from me, and asked where I was going. I assumedhe was a taxi driver, so I told him my destination and he said, “Ok, let’s go!” Again, I wastotally willing to take an expensive taxi. But then he didn’t move and Icertainly didn’t know where to go. Turns out he wasn’t a driver, just a guycarrying my bag for money. After a few moments of awkwardness, he asked someoneelse how to get me where I was going, then the two of us walked a few blocks toanother Sotroma. The driver told us it wasn’t the right one, but he did flag downthe right one for me. A woman on this Sotroma overheard where I was going andalso took me under her wing. She made sure I got off at the right stop andpointed me in the right direction for where I needed to go. So by the end ofthis trip it had taken me much longer than a simple cab would have, but it’snot like I had anywhere to go, and thanks to lots of help from some really goodpeople I saved 5x as much money as I would’ve if I’d taken the cab!

Annoyed.

After a trip to Bamako in October, I left with 2 other girlsat 9am, all of us to take 10am buses back to our various sites. The cab driver(who was very nice) said he knew both bus stations where we had to go. Mineshould've been first, but I didn't know the exact turn-off so I didn't realizehe'd gone too far till we were almost at the other station. After we droppedoff the other 2 girls, the driver told me he didn’t know exactly where mystation was. So he asked directions from another cab driver. We went back theway we came for awhile before he made a turn, realized it was wrong, and askeddirections again. We went back the way we had just come (I'm now passing someplaces for the 3rd time) and he once more asked directions as we stopped at anintersection. By the time we actually got to my station, I'd missed my bus andthe company didn’t have any other buses going to San that day.

I called my friend Virginia for help and she promised to sendme phone numbers for some other bus companies. I waited for 40 minutes beforecalling her back. Apparently she had sent the text, but somehow it neverarrived at my phone (Thank you Malian cell service). She said she'd try again,so I waited another 15 minutes before giving up – if I was going to try tocatch a noon bus I needed to leave now! I grabbed a cab to the main busstation and the driver found me a company that was going to San - but not till6pm. I put my name on the list but didn't pay (trial and error has taught methat!) and sat down to wait for 7 hours at the dirty, noisy bus station, allalone with my 4 heavy bags (Don't judge me. We all know I suck at packing).Virginia called back and gave me the other bus company numbers over the phone.My best shot was a bus leaving at 4pm, which meant I still had to wait for 5hours, and then I would be traveling alone at night, and wouldn't get to Sanuntil at least midnight. OR I could go back into Bamako, stay the night, andtake a 6:30am bus in the morning with Virginia and our friend Tom. On thesuper-reliable ATT bus with air-conditioning and nosuperfluous stops, cutting the trip short by 2 hours. Done.

Carrying My Bags

For this particular company you have to personally go to thestation the day before to buy the tickets. I was close by, so I offered to goget the tickets for all of us. I walked out to the main road and decided Icould walk to the station, so I climbed 36 stairs in order to use thepedestrian bridge to cross the busy road. Oh, and all this time I'm carrying mybackpack, my purse, my duffel bag, and my giant pink plastic Malian bag - on my head.Up at the top I realized I couldn’t actually see the station, so I decided towalk back down to the road, suck it up, and take a cab. Well, the cab driverwanted to charge me at least 4x an appropriate price, which was just insulting.I talked him down, but not to the correct price, and I was so pissed off onprinciple that I told him I'd just walk - and I did. I walked for 25 minutes atnoon, in Africa, with all that crap. The bag on my head had soft stuff at thebottom so it kept conforming to the shape of my head and pushing down on myglasses. I kept having to take the bag off my head to pound it back into shapeand then put it up again. I walked past scary motos, around people who wantedme to stop and talk to them despite my obvious struggles, and through trash inthe street. I was so hot and exhausted by the time I got to the bus station,but right next door was an ice cream place! I stopped inside and bought an icecream and ate the whole thing right then and there. The price was almost asmuch as the cab ride would've been, but way more worth it. And the cashier feltsorry for me and gave me a discount. Booyah, stingy cab driver!

I finally bought the bus tickets and grabbed a cab back intoBamako. On the way there, I decided there was no point in going back to the PChouse right away. I had all of my stuff, I might as well go to the AmericanClub and hang out at the pool! So I did. I bought ridiculously overpriced foodand beer (the AC is notorious for that) and hung out at the pool all by myselffor 4 hours. I was the only one out there the whole time. It was awesome.

Kimparana

My friend JClay lives in the town of Kimparana, about 25kmdown the road from me. It’s fairly easy to get between our two sites, so weoccasionally make a day trip to visit each other.

My first visit, I left JClay’s house at 4:30pm. That gave me 2hours to get home – plenty of time. Not. My bashé sat there forever before leaving, and then it took a total of 72 minutesto get home. 72 minutes. To go 25km. That’s approximately equal to 4.6 mph. So.Painful. So much for getting home before dark!

The second time I went to visit JClay, I left even earlier,just in case I got stuck on the bashé from hell again. While we sat in town forever again before leaving, this bashé moved at a normal speed. Thankgoodness, because under my feet was a carpet of goats. In Mali, you quickly getused to animals as travel buddies. This particular vehicle was leavingKimparana on market day and therefore a lot of people had purchased goats.Basically I used a live goat’s head as a footrest. Totally normal, I swear.

Traveling with Moose

A line of bashés at the San bus station

Traveling from San to my site with my puppy, Moose, for thefirst time was dɔɔni(a little bit) ridiculous. He was tiny enough back then that I was easily ableto carry him to the bust station while carrying my other belongings as well.Then we sat down to wait awhile for our bashé to leave. Somehow Moose and I were the last ones to load. I’ll give you arefresher course on bashés. It’simportant to remember a motto I learned in Niger: “In Africa, there’s alwaysroom for one more (in the car)!” These bashésare basically vans with rows of seats in the back. Each row is the width of anormal van – maybe 5 feet or so. And each row has 5 “seats” in it. That’s lessthan a foot of space per person. It’s utterly ridiculous. Malians tend to bepretty thin in general (result of lifelong poor nutrition + physical labor) buteven 5 Malians don’t fit comfortably in a row. In fact, you really don’t evenfit. Four can be a tight squeeze and certainly not comfortable. But if enoughpeople are waiting to take a bashé,somehow they all fit in.

By the time Moose and I loaded, we were put in a row thatalready had 4 adults, plus a toddler sitting on a woman’s lap. We were to sitin the middle. Basically I was sitting on one thigh each of the man and womanon either side of me. I was supposed to put my backpack (which is technicallynormal-sized but pretty large and overstuffed) on my lap but I had Moose on mylap, so the bag was mostly on the lap of the guy next to me. The woman on myright had the toddler on her lap. I was in a middle seat, which has a shortseat-back only about mid-back height that has the ability to fold down to allowfor climbing in and out of the various rows. Since I didn’t have an actualseat, I was doing my best to keep the majority of my weight balanced between mylegs (I was pushing off the floor on my tiptoes) and my back, but I was terrifiedat any moment the seat-back would break and Moose and I would fly backward intothe laps of the people behind us. Thank goodness that didn’t happen!

This was Moose’s first travel experience with me, not tomention in a bashé, and I reallydidn’t know him all that well yet. In that tiny, crowded space I held him in mylap, praying he wouldn’t pee on the lady and toddler next to me. I was so proudof how well he did! He didn’t move at all for the first half of the trip, andhe calmed down pretty well when he got antsy a little later. What a good puppy.:) But I was really grateful when that trip was over!!

Life is Good!

After finding myself sick with malaria, I needed to go toBamako to finish my medical treatment and get the all clear to go back to site.I convinced my friend Lyle to go down a day earlier than he was planning so Iwouldn’t have to go alone. We didn’t buy bus tickets in advance but ratherassumed we’d find transport pretty easy in the morning.

We headed to the San gare(bus station place) and had only just sat down when a bus arrived. We headedover with our bags, only to find that the bus was full. So we went back to ourseats. Again, we’d been sitting for just a few minutes when the bus stationpeople called us over again – but they were pointing at a civilian car. Lyleand I were confused, but we went with the flow. Sharing rides in Mali istotally common, I’ve just never had a bus station-person put me on one before.But the bus people know us and maybe they just wanted to help us get to Bamakoquickly.

Whatever the reason, the driver of the car was given our busmoney, and they started to load our bags in the car. The very small car. With avery small trunk. Which already held 4 people plus their luggage. Allah onlyknows how they managed it, but somehow they got both of our bags in the trunk,tied it down, and moved the few things they’d removed from the trunk to thebackseat. Lyle and I crowded in the back with another man, each of us holdingsomething on our laps, while another man and woman smushed into the frontpassenger seat and the driver settled into his seat. And we were off for our 8hour ride!

A short while down the road, Lyle tried to ask our driver aquestion in Bambara, but the driver seemed to be having a hard timeunderstanding. He responded in French (neither Lyle or I speak much French) andwhen that didn’t work we switched to English. As it turned out, the group we’dhitched a ride with were actually from Cameroon. Our driver was a Cameroonian gendarme (an armed road police officer) currentlyliving in Bamako as a student - not sure what the other 3’s stories were; they didn’t speak muchEnglish.

It turned out to be a pretty fabulous ride. They blasted musicthe majority of the way and our driver either sang or danced most of the 8hours. I’m pretty sure at one point we listened to a marching band version ofthe Cameroonian national anthem on repeat. When we stopped about 2 hours out ofSan for a rest break and food, the Cameroonians bought a bunch of meat (afairly expensive treat) and called us over to help them eat it. “Take food! Eatmeat!” Our driver shared his wisdom: “Life is good. We sing. We dance. We eat.I do not like problems. Life is good!!” Then he pumped up the music and dancedoutside next to the car. Later in the car we were driving along and out ofnowhere he bursts out, “Barack Obama!!!” I replied, “Yes, he is the Presidentof the United States. Do you like him?” The driver answered, “He is not awoman! I like women!” This guy was great. Despite the moderately crampedconditions, it was a pretty sweet trip to Bko.

Chuckie

A fewweeks ago I traveled from Bamako to San. It wasn’t terrible but it also wasn’ta very good trip. The craziest thing that happened? The bus had a TV and playedthe movie Chuckie. In English.

Another typical form of transport which thankfully I have not had to do!

View from behind.

Mali Kalanso on the News.m4v

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali YouTube Videos matching query: "peace corps" "Mali"

2012-02-07 00:27:38

	Mali Kalanso on the News.m4v January 4, 2012. Mali Kalanso on the National news (ORTM) Translation: The construction of a school in a village is the most beautiful testament to its vitality. Here are all those involved in the educational complex composed of three classrooms and a well equipped early childhood development center. These beautiful gifts of 2012 were brought by the foundation Mali Kalanso, created by two former Peace Corps volunteers, and several other partners, namely Plan Mali, UNICEF and the NGO buildOn. Katie Christ, Mali Kalanso: I've been back several times and we've seen that there were children going to school but it was too far and there were no bicycles. So, there were very few children going, especially girls. We wanted to help this village by building a school and a pre-school. The first educational facility of Nienebale Bambara in the District of Meguetan cost more than $85000, not counting the equipment and toys still to come from the Danish companies Kompan and LEGO. With a brand new infrastructure such as this, the political authorities and those of the educational administration could not remain indifferent. Mayor of Meguetan: To inaugurate a school is a major date for the future of a district. To have this privilege, for a Mayor, has a rare significance. Especially for him to intervene at the end of a long process and for the quality to be at the height of our dreams. Director, Regional Board of Education: Truly, it's a sentiment of joy and happiness to see these three <b>...</b>	From: MaliKalanso Views: 17 1 ratings
	Time: 02:15	More in People & Blogs

Happy Anniversary to ME!!! :D

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Michelle in Mali

2012-02-06 21:47:00

Last Thursday, I officially celebrated one year in Mali!!!

Recap:

It’s Been One Year (ormore) Since I’ve…

· Hugged my mom

· Played games with my dad

· Fought with my sister

· Seen snow

· Eaten a variety of foods, including, but notlimited to:

Blueberry waffle cone ice cream
Mango margaritas
Chai Latte
Jif Peanut-Buttered English Muffin
Skim milk

· Been skiing

· Ridden a rollercoaster

· Driven!

· Worn heels

· Flown in an airplane/left the country

· Not slept under a mosquito net

· Channel surfed

· Gone to the movies

· Bowled

· Gone a whole day without lugging around (atleast one) a Nalgene

· Seen a white baby

· Been to a Wal-Mart or a Target

· Attended and understood a church service

· Gone a day without seeing, or hearing, at leastone donkey, goat, or rooster

· Worn contacts 2 days in a row

· Been to a library

· Gone to the beach

· Gone on a date

· Baby-sat (although I do run an unofficial daycare center at my house every day whether I want to or not)

· Experienced weather <50°

· Worn a coat

· Seen or used a washer or dryer

· Been to the chiropractor

· Used a hair brush, dryer or straightener

Surprisingly, I HAVE:

· Consumed the following:

Yuengling beer
My dad’s homemade chocolate cookies dunked incow’s milk
Amεriki-style PB&J (made with Amεriki bread,PB, and jelly!)
Pop-Tarts
Jameson
Delivery pizza
Gelato
Pig (4x!...remember, it’s a 95% Muslim country)

· Salsa danced

· Baked challah

· Gone out dancing till 5am

· Worn my lip ring

· Managed to keep up with 3/6 Amεriki TV shows

· Laid in the grass (once!)

· Ridden an elevator (after 357 days)

· Ridden a boat

· Tried to teach a villager how to use a laptop,in Bambara

· Played Pub Trivia

· Used glitter glue!

· Watched a soap opera

· Learned new Amεriki music from villagers

New Things I’veLearned:

· To like tomatoes, eggplant, cabbage, and beets

· How to plant fields of millet, beans, andpeanuts

· How to harvest peanuts and cotton

· How to balance and carry things on my head

· To speak a new language

· How to walk in a tafe (wrap skirt) withouttripping (usually…)

· How to navigate a country, alone, where I’m aforeigner to the language, culture, food, and pretty much everything about it

· How to eat rice and sauce with my hands

· How to feed milk to a baby goat

· Not to put water into a pan of hot oil unlessyou want to burn down your hut

· How to read the skies: the directions stormsapproach, the movement of the sun, star patterns

· How to play a new card game without a commonlanguage

· How to administer polio vaccines and Vitamin Asupplements

· How to tell the difference between sheep andgoats

· Wash my clothes (ALL my clothes, ALL the time)by hand

· The fine arts of Patience, Sitting, Thinking,and Sleeping

· How to bargain prices

· To make peace with ants and roaches

New Things I’ve Done:

· Lived alone in my very first place! (Sure it’s amud hut with no electricity or running water, and I don’t pay rent, but it’s astep in the right direction…)

· Ridden in donkey carts

· Seen real, live cases of lymphedema, the mostcommon symptom of chronic lymphatic filariasis

· Gained 5 new families (Homestay in Mountougoula,my site host fam, my homologue’s fam, the CSCOM fam, and my Peace Corps fam)

· Ridden a bike with 2 people

· Eaten bugs

· Lived through 4 consecutive months of 100°+everyday without air conditioning, fans, or cold drinks

· Experienced and lived through ‘fun’ diseases:Amoebas, Malaria, and Intestinal Bacterial Infections

· Gotten away with calling my boss, friends, andstrangers a donkey or a farting bean-eater

· Gone to the doctor/dentist ALONE and navigatedthe hospital/appointment with limited language skills

· Gone more than 1 day in a row without email,Facebook, YouTube, OR Wikipedia

· Made travel buddies with goats and chickens

It’s been a great year…may there be much more greatness tocome!! :D

Talking 'bout people: SIT Master of Arts in International Education (Low-Residency)

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali trifles & treasures

2012-02-06 13:01:00

Image source

Adam Weinberg, President and CEO of World Learning - SIT Graduate Institute's parent organization - dropped in on one of our classes last week to speak to the most recent cohort of Low-Residency International Education Students. When my professor said he would be coming by my first thought was 'Wow, we must be important if the CEO is coming to see us!'

And I get it, we are putting forth money - and not a small amount - for our graduate education. Nonetheless, I appreciated hearing from someone so high up in the chain of command and his perspective on the field I am pursuing. His visit to our class made me feel better about the investment me and my family are making in my education.

He proved to not only make an impression on me with his visit but also with his words. After a brief introduction noting some of his significant achievements at World Learning, Dr. Weinberg make a high impact speech in a short amount of time. I will bullet here his speech:

He congratulated us on being wonderful students and contributors to the international education field (a little flattery never hurt anyone :)
He welcomed us to SIT and likened the school and the international education field to Hotel California. You can check out whenever you like - but you can never leave. (I think there are worse places to be stuck.)
He said education reaches its peak with phenomenal faculty - something he strongly feels SIT possesses.

And then he concluded with two points:

International education has the best hope for our generation for creating solutions to the problems our countries face. (OK, let's get to it!)
Then he challenged us to think about the direction of international education. Is it really a good thing, he asked, that we are - at this moment - unleashing 40,000 undergraduates on cities like Florence, Italy for study abroad programs? What is the best direction for international education?

I appreciated his brevity and also the food he gave us all for thought. While I have a few ideas cooking for how I would like to maintain a presence in the international education field before and after I receive my master's, it is inspiring to be surrounded by so many students, educators, and leaders who are pushing me to ask new questions and look at the old ones from a new perspective.

With the low-residency program at SIT, we spend two weeks on campus during our first year establishing rapport amongst students and faculty while taking introduction courses to our first classes. After those first two weeks we return home where everyone is either working or volunteering in the field of international education. Then, much of our work consists around reflecting on and learning from our shared experiences in the field while we simultaneously take courses on theory, practice, and policy as well as research-based courses. I continue to be impressed by the diverse experiences and paths my classmates have had and taken and so I wanted to compile a list of some of the organizations with whom they work. After checking out their websites I am even more excited to learn more from my cohort and the field of international education:

Reboot workshop - helping veterans transition into civilian life.
U.S. Citizen and Immigration Services
SIT Study Abroad
Lewis & Clark Study Abroad
International Student Services at Franklin University
University of Wisconsin Study Abroad Office
World Endeavors Study Abroad (site and blog)
Humboldt University Study Abroad Office
Growing Hope - A VISTA program
AIFS Study Abroad
World Learning. Bridging Cultures. Transforming Lives.
International Student Volunteers.

Second year graduate students have not yet come back to campus but first-year students are here and excited to have us low-residency folks (or so it seems!) around. One of the components I appreciate about our program is the emphasis on recruiting qualified international students to campus. So far, from my program and the on campus program, I have met students from, or with families from, the following countries - not to mention all over the United States!:
Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Senegal, Kenya, Zimbabwe, Egypt, Haiti, Ghana, and Eritrea

And there are only about 75 students on campus! I am looking forward to week two of our seminars and getting a bigger glimpse of what this adventure is all about!

Have you ever done an online degree program? Had you ever heard of SIT/World Learning before?

The World Map Project - A Peace Corps Classic

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali marriage & millet

2012-02-05 22:44:00

When we are not at our "jobs" (Anna at one of four weekly women's savings group meetings and I at our local health clinic), drinking tea with the neighbors, hauling water from the pump down the street, or at our host family's house hanging out, we try to keep busy with other small projects. One such small project was painting a world map. One time-honored Peace Corps tradition is to paint a world map in a local public space or school. After getting permission from the school director, we were given the wall space in the sixth grade classroom to paint ours.

Why a world map? Other than the fact that we like maps and it was a good way to keep busy for quite a few weekends, it creates a simple educational tool that will stick around in our community for a handful of years. Education in our town is quite robust compared to nearby villages and towns, but is nothing like what we have in the States. Most classrooms are spartan cement buildings. This particular sixth grade classroom holds 74 students, 1 teacher. Students copy all subject matter by hand from the blackboard into a notebook. Textbooks and other materials are almost non-existant. Couple that with most peoples' lack of travel, and you get a limited geography knowledge. For example, I am frequently asked questions like, "how long is the bus ride to America?" or when gone for a long weekend, "how was your trip home to America?" and even more frequently villagers confuse the United States and France as the same place.

We spent quite a few weekends working on our map. Like most things here, it ended up taking longer and being harder than planned. I have to admit that I thought my geography was pretty good before this, and was a little surprised by how little I actually knew. Here is a quiz for you - Without looking, name the following: one island between the African and South American continents; which countries replaced the former Yugoslavia; where is Azerbaijan; what countries border El Salvador; and which US state is closest to Bermuda. If you got two of those right you know more than I did.

Kat vs. The Very Small Mountain

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali The Unsinkable Mali Brown

2012-02-05 18:30:00

There is a very small mountain on the outskirts of my village. I have been looking at it for a very long time, partially because it reminds me of Mt. Greylock near my old college – it has a cell tower on top, which is similar to a beacon – but mostly because I just really want to climb it.

Yesterday, after my family shocked me by giving me rice for lunch – I always have it for dinner, I honestly looked at my clock to make sure that I hadn’t blinked six hours away – my butt was kind of sore from sitting in my bamboo chair and reading David Copperfield, so I decided to go for a walk. I put on my walking ensemble –heavy duty sandals, big straw hat and a long sleeve men’s button-down – and got out my door when I decided, I’m going to climb that mountain today. Quickly, I went back in my house and grabbed a few more essential items – camera, phone, water bottle – and started wandering off in the direction of the mountain.

Since I had never been over there before, I decided that I should travel as the crow – or the long-tailed African blackbird – flies. Which meant, basically, I went trudging heedlessly through the African bush, stopping to wonder at a very, very big baobab tree, a green, iridescent bird and the colors of the landscape in general. All the while the mountain looming closer and closer. I had nearly got there when a hill seemed to pop up out of nowhere. Seriously, I have no idea if the mountain in the background helped disguise it or what, but it was like the swamp scene in The Neverending Story when Atreyu is just walking along and BAM, giant turtle.

I looked at it, and it lured me halfway up with a tree that looked more like a twig, leafless and devoid of all life except some yellow balls of fruit hanging in clusters. Naturally curious, I went to examine, half desperately hoping they were oranges. It was only a local fruit – very hard outer shell/peel - I had to whack it against a rock – and the inside looks like a very slimy, brown artichoke. Needless to say, I watched with satisfaction as it rolled, un-tasted, down the hill. Having climbed thus far, I thought it only right to continue climbing to the top of the hill. I was rewarded with a spectacular view, seeing the sun shining on the tiny tin roofs of my village in the near distance. I took pictures, I quoted Kate Winslet from Sense & Sensibility “Is there any felicity in the world superior to this?” and then, like a general, I turned around to study and contemplate my opponent, the very small mountain.

I thought I saw an easy, quick way to make my ascent, taking it gently for awhile and then scrambling over the giant rocks that littered the side of the mountain. I nodded once, bravely in the face of adversity and then looked around me, befuddled. Now how am I going to get down from this hill? Going down the way I came wasn’t really an option, and the side of the hill that would get me closest to the mountain was strewn all over with loose gravel.

A note on loose gravel: I hate loose gravel. It is my sworn and mortal enemy. No other object of nature has so treacherously plotted against me as loose gravel. Roots have occasionally made me look the fool, low hanging branches have occasionally assaulted me – but loose gravel has made me skin knees, fall flat on my ass, and create little, pebble-shaped indents in the palms of my hands more times than I can count. Incidentally, it has also reminded me more times than I can count that all Malians like to do when someone falls is cry Attention! which, even though I know it’s French for “careful”, just always makes me think: Attention! You look like an idiot.

So, I gingerly took a few sideways steps on the slope of the hill, desperately clinging to any bush that didn’t have thorns – there aren’t many that don’t - before I decided that this was utterly, utterly stupid. So instead of risking breaking any of my precious bones – I only have 206 you know – I take off my men’s shirt, tie it around my waist, sit down, and slide down the hill. Not very dignified, I know, but a heck of a lot of fun, with my shirt and pants being the only casualties.

Getting on my feet again, and brushing myself off, I started to close that very small distance between me and the base of the very small mountain.

The gentle, easy track that I had viewed from my hill-top observatory, turned out to be a lot less easy and gentle than I imagined. A lot more scrambling over boulders and less strolling, enjoying the scenery. I reached a clearing and sat down to take a few gulps of water, and heard a rustle in a nearby bush. Every muscle in my body froze and tensed as I saw a patch of dark brown fur through the leaves. Silence, heartbeats, fear. Why did I wander so far from my village on my own? I’m going to be a bloody corpse on a very small mountainside. Is there a big stick nearby that I can hit it with?

It’s a goat. Two goats, to be exact. They look at me - the odd creature sitting with wide, green eyes. I let out a giant exhale. So, I’m not a bloody corpse, good to know. And I continue on my merry way climbing over craggy rocks.

Almost at the apex I stop to perch in a nice shady spot under a twisty tree and take another water break. It proves to be so nice that I decide, if I ever become a Buddhist nun (monk-ess?) or a hermit, this is exactly where I’m going to live and contemplate the meaning of existence. (I’m telling all of you this with confidence that you won’t come and bother me while I try to attain inner peace.)

A very steep set of sharp rocks and I make it to the top at last. Kat conquers the very small mountain! The view is magnificent, beautiful, breath-taking. It amazes me that even way up here I can hear the cars and trucks barreling down the road at twice the speed of light. They’re pinpricks moving in the distance, but the sound echoes for miles in the empty air above us. Lining the horizons are many other small mountains waiting to be explored.

Getting down the mountain isn’t nearly as dramatic, I do indeed find a nice, long, leisurely path that brings me down the easiest side of the mountain and then follows the road back to my village. Nice to know a way to go if ever I decide to bring a picnic backpack up there.

One shirt – torn. One pair of pants – torn. One hand – cut. One foot – blistered. Décolletage – sunburnt.

Yep. Good day.

1978 SEORO, TERRES NEUVES, NIOKOLO KOBA NATIONAL PARK & GAME RESERVE

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali YouTube Videos matching query: "peace corps" "Mali"

2012-02-05 14:16:33

	1978 SEORO, TERRES NEUVES, NIOKOLO KOBA NATIONAL PARK & GAME RESERVE 48. 1978 SEORO, TERRES NEUVES, NIOKOLO KOBA NATIONAL PARK & GAME RESERVE with Hollywood's Safari Hotel , "Ursula Andress Bridge" - SENEGAL ORIENTAL, MALI BORDER - "France-African Cooperation Technique & Culturelle" Faculté de Medecine, Medecines du Monde, Peace Corps, Unicef, Unesco Volunteers for Progress etc. My Beaulieu 16mm film camera had no sound but I could overdub recorded sound later. The Unesco chief of audio-visual projects guy acted like I was nuts to even try: "You can't just get off a plane in Africa with a Camera under your arm and go out into the Brousse, come back with a film! I've been trying to do that for years and never got out the door!" he cried out in disbelief the at Unesco -- "You wanna bet I can? Just watch me!" I retorted brash and sassy. Did it, too! Chose as subject a thesis by a traveling doctor from « Volontaires du Progrès » reached out via regular itineraries visiting medically abandoned scattered outlying sparsely populated rural villages of Eastern Senegal -- educating, certifying and updating skills of medical agents in each village - prepared a Male first aid "Nurse" and a "Matron Accoucheuse, Sage-Femme" in 14 "Terres Neuves" villages of the Sahel where lack of transport, electricity, pharmacies make basic medical care a rarity. scouting and filming 14 villages of the Seoro area of Terres Neuves, to get warmed up. Interviews with Guy d'Aurajo and Michèle Costa at their Tambacounda free clinic, Military Doctor Diouf & the Chief Sage <b>...</b>	From: DetroitAnnie1 Views: 0 0 ratings
	Time: 02:53	More in Howto & Style

Village Briefing

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali journee

2012-02-05 13:23:32

M. DIALLO: It’s Saturday, January 28, 13-hundred hours GMT, and you are listening to Village Briefing. I’m your host, Mussa Diallo. Our top stories tonight, three persons, including two children, have been reported missing. But first here’s our meteoroligist, Nene … Continue reading →

Bobaraba

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali It Was All a Dream

2012-02-05 10:10:00

A few months ago, a neighbor's dog gave birth to an adorable litter of puppies that I admired from afar. A few weeks later, the people I share a courtyard with brought one home. When he first arrived, he was cute and soft, like puppies should be:

But they tied him up in the sun on a short leash without enough food and water, so he got really skinny. He cried a lot, and the neighbors still paid no attention to him. So, when I couldn't watch any more, I took him off the leash and started taking care of him. I was worried the neighbors would get mad at me for implying that they were neglecting their dog, but I don't think they cared one way or the other. Dogs aren't seen as members of the family here. Most don't get fed on a regular basis, and are never played with or exercised. I think their attitude is more as follows: If I want to feed him, that's great. If not, they'll do what they can.

I made him a bed out of a postal box, and a water dish from an old margarine tub, and the neighbors brought him over a plate:

Since then, he's gone through a really ugly big-ears phase:

and a really cute sleeping-in-his-box phase:

For Christmas I made him a chew toy out of some old clothes:

And now he's a happy dog. I buy him dried fish at market, and I brought him some dog treats from one of the fancy grocery stores in Bamako. I am bringing him back some hard-boiled eggs today so he gets nice and fat. He also has a squeaky toy that he mostly just likes to chew on, not so much to make noise with. Other than that, he likes to play with his littermates, who live in the area.

I had been wanting a pet here for a long time, but I couldn't justify doing it because I knew I wouldn't be able to take care of one the way I would want to. (Meaning, the American way. The Malian way is to let animals fend for themselves.) Life here is rough for everyone, animals included, and it's almost impossible to take care of them the way they "should" be. So I think this is a good compromise. He lives a normal Malian life with the added bonus of having a rich person to take care of him when she's around. And I don't have to worry about someone watching out for him when I'm out of town, because the neighbors know that he's ultimately theirs.

He's a good puppy. He comes when I call him, and he accompanies me to the well. He's been adventuring further and further from the house, too. Maybe someday he will come with me on my bike rides; I could always use the company. He's a messy eater and he digs holes in the ground, but he eats from my hand without biting and he likes to be scratched behind the ears. Dogs are the same everywhere.

People have been asking me what his name is. Most dogs here have the same names: Tupas, Patience, or Polici. Seeing as how he was not my dog, and because I couldn't think of anything, I just told people he didn't have a name. One can only go nameless for so long, though, so I finally gave him the name Butt Butt. It was the best I could do. And when I told the Malians his new name, they couldn't pronounce it. So I thought of something even better: Bobaraba. "Bobaraba" means "big butt" in Dioula and Bambara. There is a whole song about it, glorifying women's butts, essentially; very popular all over West Africa:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bobaraba

Needless to say the Malians find this hilarious. And Bobaraba was born.

Winter!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Beyond Timbuktu

2012-02-05 08:41:00

February was the beginning of winter this year in the Netherlands. Doesn't that seem a bit late? The birds and flowers are getting quite the shock right now. Last week there were daffodils blooming by the side of the road. The roses had not stopped in our garden. The thermometer dipped below freezing only a few times.

View from the living room.

This past week, it has not been above zero! The coldest week in 17 years or something. And to top it all off, it snowed on Friday! We got about an inch, but this pretty much shut things down. Trains not running, people not wanting to leave home, etc. Biking home was a bit of an adventure. We helped one truck get going at a stop light - there was a slight incline and it was glare ice. Pushing was tough as we could hardly stand on it.

View from the office.

Yesterday the park across the street was full of kids sledding down the little hill and skating on the ice. Naomi is hoping that they will soon start the skating extravaganza in the north of the NL. This happens once every 10-15 years that it gets cold enough for the canals to freeze over and people from all over the country come to skate (or watch) the 100 some kilometers of frozen canal. Even the royal family gets involved!

View from the kitchen.

10 months later…

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali MereBear in the Peace Corps

2012-02-04 11:34:00

This blog format was inspired by my friend Elizabeth Coomber. Thanks!

A lot has happened since I last posted and instead of writing a long essay about it all I’ll give short summaries.

May 2011. I vacationed at home in America for 3 weeks. Seeing my family, friends, and escaping from West Africa was amazing.

June 2011. I yet again vacationed. This time in Cape Verde with my two best PC friends, Melissa and Elizabeth. 1 week in the West African Island Country was paradise.

July 2011. Back at site I reaffirmed my decision to finish out my Peace Corps service.

August 2011. I cleared my mid-service exam with flying colors. Healthy and happy. Time was spent split between my site, Bandiagara, and Kani Kombole (Lindsey’s site and my second home away from home).

September 2011. Two of my most memorable experiences thus far. A week traveling around France with my sister and a Dogon Hike with Cape Verde volunteers who were backpacking across Africa.

October 2011. A general feeling of malaise forced me down to the medical office in Bamako. I was medically evacuated to Dakar, Senegal. No one had any idea what was wrong with me and I was starting to get scared. After a week in a hospital in Dakar, I found my general malaise had turned into a full blown sickness that no one could diagnose. Even though I got to see the beautiful ocean from my hospital bed and the food was better than anything found in Mali I still felt like I was caught in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. On October 25th I was medically evacuated to America where my parents picked me up from the airport and drove me to the hospital.

November 2011. A diagnosis was finally made and after 2 weeks in the hospital I was discharged. 4 weeks later I was successfully cured and recovered from Neuroschistosomiasis, a very rare form of one of the most infectious diseases in West Africa. Countless doctor’s appointments, never-ending rounds of steroids and having to endure comments such as “you will never walk again” and “such a tragedy” from doctors, I was left with more emotional and mental scars than physical ones.

December 2011. Hopeful to return to Mali at the end of my 45 days on med-evac, I was taken aback by Peace Corps’ decision to medically separate me. They told me I could reapply in 6 weeks if I remained healthy. I’ve never felt less in control, I just wanted to return to my small village and sit with my host family, to at least say goodbye to them and explain how much they meant to me. I was haunted with the fact that the last time I saw and spoke to them I had told them I would be back in 2 days. That was September 23rd. Time spent with my family during the holidays helped me through all of this.

January 2012. A new year and a new start. I was successfully reinstated into the Peace Corps. On January 15th I said bye to my family and flew back to what I now call home. My two best friends were waiting for me at the airport welcoming me back to this crazy country. Looking back on my return to village all I can see is 50 kids surrounding and tugging on me screaming “Meredith came back”. Their happy faces jumping into my arms, I found myself at a loss to keep my emotions in check. Tears rolled down my face and I realized that all those people back in America that didn’t understand my need to come back…they don’t need to understand. But I do. I made a family. I made friends. I’m going to complete my service on my own terms. No sickness, no matter how rare or severe, will stop me from doing that.

So I’ve been back in Mali for almost 3 weeks. Everything is familiar and foreign at the same time. But I’m happy, I’m healthy, and I’m surrounded by people who love and care about me. No one Peace Corps experience is the same as another’s. I never thought mine would be so different from my peers. I hope my time being sick doesn’t define my experience once I return home because although it taught me so much, my time here in Mali has been so much more than just that.

Comment on Meet Souri by Mary B

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali journee

2012-01-09 04:55:50

Oh, it makes me happy to see this! (and to read Rita's post). What a wonderful visit! Eliza, you must be thrilled that your family was able to experience all of this!

Comment on Meet Souri by spacetosimplify

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali journee

2012-01-09 19:36:49

This is absolutely lovely and heartwrenching in the 'many worlds come together and it is wonderful' sort of way. I'm so happy your parents were able to visit you! ~Lauren

Comment on Reflections on our trip to Mali by Betty Schilling

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali journee

2012-01-10 03:53:54

One of my few regrets about our Peace Corps time is that my parents couldn't come and visit. But my husband's parents did and it was amazing too. Thank you for sharing this experience with us the readers.

Comment on Reflections on our trip to Mali by Ann Fate

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali journee

2012-01-30 20:37:53

Beautiful recap of your thoughts surrounding your amazing journey, Rita. I can't wait to see all of your pictures and hear the details. We are all so proud of Eliza. How beautiful to have another family, a new language, and good friends in such a far-away land. I can hardly fathom the complexities of trying to understand and find your place in a vastly different culture with an incredibly complex language.

A Year in Mali: Pictures of the First Twelve Months

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Peace Corps Putnam

2012-02-02 17:46:00

Well folks, if you can believe it, one year ago today my training group (called a stage) arrived in Mali. I personally, cannot believe it. In some ways America, with its many luxuries and conveniences, seems incredibly far away from where I am right now, and in that way the year seems long. That said, I am astonished at how quickly the weeks and months are flying. Already I am starting worry that I may not have enough time to do all that I want to do, just as I am finally feeling competent in my work.

To mark this anniversary of our arrival, I thought I'd post some pictures to help give you an idea of the shape this year has taken. My hope is to give you a sense both for some of the work I am doing and some of the people I do that work with. So here goes:

After arriving in Mali last February, I spent two and a half months studying Bambara in a village just North of Bamako with six other Environment volunteers and two Language and Cultural Facilitators. We studied for eight hours a day, six days a week. It was exhausting. By the end of our training, however, we were all reasonably proficient in the language, at least well enough to move to site. As you can tell, we were all very excited about this. That's me at the bottom left.

To mark the end of our training, we had a ceremony in which we officially swore in as Peace Corps Volunteers. All of the new volunteers had new Malian outfits made for the occasion. Mine (on the far right) was made out of a kind of fabric called bazan, which is typical of fancy Malian clothing. On that day, we also learned that our stage is called The Kennedies. (Right now we have five stages in country: Risky Business, Team America, The Kennedies, The Goodfellas, and the Mad Hatters.)

After swear in, I moved to my village. I live in a modest hut which is part of my homologue, or work counterpart's compound. I have my own gwa, or shade, and a four foot high wall around my area. It's really a very comfortable living situation.

Part of my process in adjusting to village life involved learning to keep house without American tools or conveniences like running water, hoses and sprinkles, vacuums, or refrigerators. Below, from left to right, you can see my watering can, a kind of Malian hoe called a falo, a rope bucket for pulling water from the well, a selidaga or plastic kettle used for hand and dish washing, my broom and dust pan, and a covered bucket that I used to carry drinking water home from the well on my head each day.

Another fun part of settling into life at site was getting to know my homologue, Tahirou, and his family. Tahirou owns a tree nursery in my village where he sells seedlings that he plants and, in some cases, grafts himself. Below, you can see him grafting an improved variety of Ziziphus mauritania, also known as jujube or ntomonon, onto a wild root stock.

I also spent--and continue to spend--a lot of time with Tahirou's kids. They are really cute, goofy, and like to take care of me. There is a picture of Cheik Alou and Aloumoustafa (the two in the center) dancing spiritedly to some music on a cell phone. They dance a lot.

After two months at site, I went back to Tubaniso, the Peace Corps Mali training center near Bamako, for my stage's In-Service Training. I, along with the rest of my stage brushed up on some technical skills, prepared to start our official work as volunteers, and enjoyed some American community. During my time at Tubaniso, I buzzed my head.

By the time I returned from Bamako, the rainy season had begun. I also became more mobile, having completed my "settling in period," and became accustomed to traveling the 12km from site to my market town on my bike, often racing an on-coming storm.

The start of rainy season also meant the beginning of the farming season, so I spent several long days working in the fields with my host brothers. Below, starting at the top left and moving clockwise, you can see Hawa, Fulake, Chaka, Adama, Aloumoustafa, and Cheik Alou, as well as the family's bulls.

By August, my village approached me about some projects they wanted to work on during my service, so I organized a series of meetings to help them assess their needs as a community. Below, you can see Yacouba Diarra, my dugutigi, or village chief, at the center and Chaka Diarra, our village secretary, at the left.

The village's women came together and told me that they wanted to make improvements on their community garden, including building a new chain-link fence. I said OK.

Around this time, I also started work in the sixth grade class at our local elementary school, taught by a man named Idrissa Traore. We talk about the importance of protecting trees and the environment. I also teach them some English.

In November, we had Seliba, called Tabaski in English. Essentially that meant that we killed and ate a lot of goats and spent four days doing nothing but putting on fancy clothing, walking around, and chatting with people.

During Tabaski, I went and greeted at the house of a local doctor named Papa. While I was there, he approached me about some women's health projects in our region. Little by little, we have been gathering information to start some of this work. That's Papa standing in his compound, below, standing next to May, one of my host mothers.

I celebrated Christmas Eve with a group of other PCVs in Segou. We spent the day cooking a huge feast of guinea fowl, roast vegetables, salad, homemade bread, and many different kinds of cookies.

Then, on Christmas Day, my mother, father, and younger sister arrived for a ten day visit to Mali! They were great sports about everything, learning some Bambara, wearing Malian clothing, touring the countryside and the market, and even spending three days in my village. Below, they are standing with the dugutigi holding some chickens given to them by my women's association and Mr. Traore, the school teacher.

In the weeks since my family left Mali, I have been waiting for grant funding to come through so I can start building the fence around the women's garden. In the meantime, I've been working more with the local school. Below, you can see they learned the basics of making a tree nursery. They are learning about Moringa oleifera, called "Couscous Tree" in Bambara, a species of tree whose leaves are incredibly nutritious. Later in the year, we will harvest some leaves together, and the kids will practice adding them to food.

I also have been working with a group of fifth and sixth grade girls. We meet once a week to play games, cook food, and talk about a wide variety of topics from budgeting and basic small business management skills to health and wellness to their hopes and dreams for the future. I think of it as kind of like a make-shift Girl Scouts program.

And for now, that's all she wrote. Soon, I will start work building the community garden fence. I am also continuing to have fun with interacting with and learning about Malian culture. Below are some musician friends I have who are teaching me to play the ngoni, a Malian instrument kind of like a cross between a banjo and a harp. So much fun!

For all of its challenges, this past year as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mali has been incredibly rewarding. I don't want to sugarcoat this; there are still days and weeks that are unbelievably frustrating, when I get fed up with aspects of Malian culture or the difficulties of living without electricity or running water. I am still coping with culture shock, and will continue to do so throughout my service. On the whole, though, I can easily say that I love my job.

This Door Has Closed Earlier Than Expected, and Another Has Opened

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali tracy va à l'Afrique

2012-02-02 17:00:00

It's taken me a while to sift through the medical problems and, even more so, to tackle the personal challenges of what has materialized in the past 5 weeks. On December 30, 2011 I was medically evacuated from Mali, and sent back to Washington, DC for ongoing medical issues. Not so coincidentally, I became quite sick on the plane, and was taken by ambulance from the tarmac to the hospital where I stayed for 5 days. Medical evacuation is a tricky issue in Peace Corps, and I wasn't sure if Peace Corps was going to deem me in good enough shape to go back to Mali, so I made the decision not to tell many friends and loved ones I had returned to the States. I've been in intensive care through Peace Corps and doctors in DC for the past few weeks, and have recently come to the realization that it is not in my best interest or health to return to Mali. This has been an incredibly difficult time, in which I have felt a number of things - sadness, defeat, shame, exhaustion, failure, etc. So many of you have supported me in such wonderful ways through my challenge of getting into the Peace Corps and readying for my departure. This was part of the reason I chose not to inform people I had been evacuated: because I felt ashamed something I worked so hard for ended so quickly, and I didn't want myself to appear to others as someone incapable of not only pursuing but achieving great things for the world. While that shame is still lingering there, I have also come to realize the importance and responsibility of acknowledging my situation and doing what is best for me. I was not in best health in Mali, for a number of reasons, and I don't think I could have performed the way I really needed to for my community. And in all the struggles I have faced, and will continue to face throughout my life, one of the hardest genres of these struggles is the struggle of admitting to yourself what is real and what has to be done. I needed to come back to the United States to take care of myself, and get the needed medical treatment to return to a healthier place. While it is difficult, I am coming to a place of no longer feeling ashamed for this. And I want to share that feeling with all of you. We were raised and continue to live in such a product-focused, end-goal focused, productivity-focused culture, and it often fails to meet our emotional, physical, spiritual needs of personal growth and health maintenance. It is not a failure to admit to yourself something is not working. It is not a failure to change careers mid-way through your life because you find it is not where you need to be, and you start to listen to what your true calling is. Peace Corps will always be a part of my life and I firmly say right now that I will return to Peace Corps at a healthier time in my life. Because I am doing what is best for me now, and I want to encourage everyone to do the same. Start trying to cut out the "should's" and the "what if's" and the "what other people will think's." I waited a few weeks to tell a close friend of mine that I had returned, confessing to her that I was worried she might be disappointed. She nearly started to tear and said that my health and wellbeing was the utmost priority to her, and that I should follow the path that provides the best support for me, that everything happens for a reason, that there are no coincidences. And I think that is true of all of your true loved-ones. It is your health and happiness and wellbeing and fulfillment that reigns as central priority. I worked very hard to get into the Peace Corps and to have my loans deferred (as many of you know), AND (not "but") I am taking the path that is most supportive of me right now. And I still hope so deeply that I have not disappointed anyone, as I keep my promise to continue to share with the world my experiences, to help those in need (as broad as a statement that is), and to follow my calling wherever it shall bring me. In preparing for Plan B (the non-Peace Corps Plan A), I applied to a number of jobs in DC. A wonderful organization, the Art & Drama Therapy Institute of DC, brought me in for an interview last week. The organization works with adults with intellectual and developmental disabilities, incorporating the arts (theater, sewing, dance, singing, etc.) into their developmental therapy. They wish to hire me as a Program Assistant, specifically as a weaving and sewing instructor for 6 individuals with mental retardation. I will be in charge of the care of these individuals and help them with hand crafts skills as part of their larger mental therapy. While I am unable to return to Kadiaradugu in Mali (where I already miss Hady and the community...as well as my homestay family in Sunduguba Koro), I feel drawn to the Art & Drama Therapy Institute to use the skills I have (in sewing, knitting, crochet) to help people on a more local level. I am still mourning the medical separation from Peace Corps, while welcoming this new opportunity to help people in different ways.

Dear Peace Corps,

You have given me so much! I learned Bambara in only two months. What shall I do with this language now? I apologize for having to leave so quickly, but I promise I will return to you in the coming years, much healthier with more skills, experience and education. I promise to continue my urban farming work and newly found passion for human nutrition through the human-nature connection, to be able to serve an international community much better than I can now.

Thank you for everything you have given me,

Tracy

And to all of my loved ones, thank you again SO MUCH for all the support you have given me, and the wonderful inspiring words you've shared with me regarding my struggles and overcoming them.

We can all move mountains! ;)

Does John Hinckley Still Pose a Threat to Society?

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Zacstravaganza!

2012-02-02 04:53:00

(Originally published by the WCL Criminal Law Brief Blog)

In January 2012, Judge Paul Friedman presided over hearings to determine whether to grant John Hinckley extended furloughs from St. Elizabeth’s psychiatric hospital, where he has been committed for the past thirty years. Hinckley’s lawyers petitioned Judge Friedman to grant two seventeen-day furloughs, and then six furloughs of twenty-four days to his mother’s home in Williamsburg, Virginia, with convalescence leave upon the completion thereof. Federal prosecutors challenged the petition, arguing that Hinckley remains a threat to society and that his furlough privileges should not be expanded.

On March 30, 1981, John Hinckley shot President Ronald Reagan and three others at the Washington Hilton in a failed assassination attempt. The United States indicted Hinckley on 13 counts, including attempted assassination of the President of the United States, attempted murder, multiple counts of assault, and various weapons charges. In 1982, John Hinckley was found not guilty by reason of insanity, and involuntarily committed to St. Elizabeth’s psychiatric hospital.

Hinckley has suffered from severe schizophrenia and depression, and has long been obsessed with the delusion that he entertained an unrequited romantic communication with the actress Jodie Foster. Hinckley wrote a letter to her a few hours before leaving for the Hilton Hotel, “[b]y sacrificing my freedom and possibly my life, I hope to change your mind about me . . . Jodie, I’m asking you to please look into your heart and at least give me the chance, with this historical deed, to gain your respect and love.”

Upon admittance to St. Elizabeth’s, John Hinckley underwent psychiatric evaluation and was classified as a danger to himself, Jodie Foster, and any third party whom he believed to stand in the way between himself and his ultimate aims. While confined as a patient, Hinckley has remained tormented by schizophrenia and severe bouts of depression. He attempted to commit suicide at least three times. A 1987 search of Hinckley’s room found writings that revealed that he remained obsessed with Jodie Foster, exchanged correspondence with the serial killer Ted Bundy, and attempted to reach out to the murderous cult leader Charles Manson.

After years of intensive therapy, the psychologists and psychiatrists of St. Elizabeth’s have maintained that Hinckley’s mental illness has been in remission. In 1999, a federal court allowed Hinckley to enjoy supervised furloughs to the house of his aging mother in Williamsburg, Virginia. According to the court order he is required to carry a GPS-equipped cell phone at all times. He has been allowed to visit restaurants, bookstores, and shopping malls without incident.

In 2009, U.S. District Court Judge Paul Friedman considered a petition from Hinckley’s lawyers to extend his furlough privileges to periods of ten days at a time. Judge Friedman wrote in his ruling, “[t]he ultimate question is whether a preponderance of the evidence supports the proposition that Mr. Hinckley will not, in the reasonable future, be a danger to himself or others.” A forensic psychologist testified that “Hinckley has recovered to the point that he poses no imminent risk of danger to himself or others.” Judge Friedman agreed, and extended Hinckley’s furlough privileges to periods of ten days.

Whether Judge Friedman grants the defense counsel’s petition for extended furlough and convalescence leave will turn on whether the court determines that Hinckley, after 30 years of psychiatric treatment and counseling at St. Elizabeth’s, has been sufficiently rehabilitated.

Schizophrenia is a chronic condition which may remit and exacerbate periodically. Persons who suffer from schizophrenia can often mitigate their symptoms with therapy and anti-psychotic medications. However, if a patient suffering from schizophrenia were to be discharged from an institution, neglect to go to follow-up outpatient visits, and refuse to take his medication as prescribed, one could within days to weeks and most probably within a month remit into flagrant psychosis. In many cases, those who present with symptoms of paranoia often fear taking their prescribed medication, believing that it is poison. Many patients stop taking their medications because of the undesirable side-effects.

For more than 12 years, Hinckley’s psychologists and psychiatrists have maintained that his mental illness has remitted to the point that he is no longer an imminent danger to himself or the rest of society. However, there remains the thorny fact that John Hinckley shot the President – the most popular President of the modern era and a Republican icon.

The United States maintains that there should be no changes to the conditions of Hinckley’s involuntary confinement. Assistant U.S. Attorney Sarah Chasson argued before the court at the 2011 hearings that Hinckley has acted deceptively and dishonestly with the St. Elizabeth’s staff during his conditional releases. According to Chasson, Hinckley told the staff that he was going to see a movie, but Secret Service agents observed Hinckley walk to the ticket counter but slip into the nearby Barnes & Nobles. According to the government’s account, Hinckley dwelled in the history aisles and stood fixated on books about Reagan and presidential assassinations.

The prosecutors also noted in their court filing, “Hinckley continues to be deceptive regarding his relationships with and interest in women. In June 2009, Hinckley searched the Internet for photographs of his female dentist. When he was caught, Hinckley claimed, falsely, that the dentist had invited him to view her personal photographs.”

Clearly, John Hinckley remains a troubled man, and one could construe Hinckley’s reported behavior to establish that his pathology remains unvanquished. Cyber-stalking one’s dentist might be deemed by the court of society to be categorically inappropriate. In the context of a man who has resorted to outrageous feats of violence to win the admiration of women, is it evidence of an unreformed aspiring assassin with the intent to kill again?

A parole officer should be concerned that a potential parolee said that he was going to the movies but went to the Barnes & Nobles instead. Telling a parole officer one thing but doing another, no matter how trivial, is a violation of the terms of a furlough. But is it not eminently reasonable for Hinckley to be interested in biographies of the man he tried to kill and scholarly accounts of his walk-on role in American history?

“The risk of danger is decidedly low,” maintains Barry Levine, counsel for Mr. Hinckley, “We must look at the legal standing between mental illness and danger.” Levine told Judge Friedman that “The evidence shows this man is not dangerous.”

However, U.S. Attorney Joseph diGenova, who prosecuted the case in 1982, opines, “I think John Hinckley will be a threat the rest of his life. He is a time bomb.”

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Let's try that again!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali This should be interesting...

2012-02-01 18:42:00

Since the one sentence stream of consciousnesses-esque blog was such a success I'm gonna go ahead and try it again:

While on a mission to find pork in Sikasso, Helen and I instead made friends with 2 Malian Christians, Theodore and Matthew, who gave us free beers and promised to have pig meat for purchase the next time we come.

I've been wearing my hair straightened with a flat iron and out of braids for the past two weeks because I wanted to see how long my hair has gotten; It's about two inches past my shoulder blades!

There is a very good chance I will get three more piercings done in village(3rd holes on both ears and then a cartiledge piercing)... okay more like a definite chance.

Every time I see a white person, or someone who is obviously a foreigner, I can't help but stare and think 'What the hell are you doing here???'

I finally turned in my Small Project Assistance Grant request for my Library (a request for $4000)!

I appreciate the fact that Sikasso has avocados year round, but I have to say they taste gross and are nothing like black Hass avocados in America.

The thought of city skylines in the US, skyscrapers in particular, surprisingly scares me...How can buildings be so tall!?! (Mali doesn't have a single skyscraper)

My mom's birthday is this month, on the 9th, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!!!

I am currently researching transatlantic cruises to take back to America as an alternative to flying and a way to see more of the world!

I'm super into marathoning TV shows right now; I just finished How to make it in America and I am currently watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia (I'm on season 5).

Volunteers in my stage, Team America, are starting to pick their Close of Service dates which means I should know exactly when I'll be leaving Mali very soon!

Since living in Mali I have developed a love of cooking with green bell peppers and fresh cloves of garlic.

Malians, and unfortunately a lot of PCVs who have grown accustom to it, think it's totally cool to pick their noses in public and I'm talking the digging for gold type of nose picking... um GROSS!

My village and the villages around us are starting to prepare for their annual (for my village it's every 2 years) traditional all-village festival where everyone dresses up and dances to balofone music for hours!

The Diva Cup is one of the greatest inventions known to women and I recommend that every girl I know go out and buy one!

My host family made fun of me for paying $4 for a sweatshirt because they say it should have cost $2... seriously I heard them speaking in Senufo and constantly saying my name and "sweatshirt" and "$4!?" for like an hour.

For the past 2 weeks I have listened to 4 songs on repeat, and these 4 songs only: Sexy and I Know it by LMFAO, Rack City by Tyga, Dance (A$$) by Big Sean, and Rain Over Me by Pitbull... seriously, this is no joke.

The African Cup of Nations Soccer Tournament is currently going on in Gabon and Equitorial Guinea and Mali actually isn't doing all that bad.

There is quite a bit of terrorist activity going on in the North of Mali right now (near Timbuktu and in the Gao region) but to be honest I feel safer in my village than I ever did in suburban America.

As my Peace Corps service is coming to a close I have started a journal to document all the things I will miss about Mali as well as all the things I definitely won't miss.

I am trying to read as many "Classic" books as I can while in Mali... I'm currently reading 1984.

I leave for Segou in 10 days to spend 2 days at Melissa's site and then go to Festival sur le Niger which will most likely turn into a 5-day crazy Peace Corps party.

Kubus Continued

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Beyond Timbuktu

2012-02-01 16:37:00

(From Sunday) This week flew by. I can hardly remember if the things I remember were from this week or some other time. I know that I went to the gym once or twice. I also know that I didn’t get to spend much time with Naomi until the weekend.

Friday was supposed to be reserved for a dinner that two of my pupils invited Naomi and me to. They wanted to cook for us because I am their favorite teacher. It is very sweet of them. Unfortunately, one of the boys was sick all week, so we will have to postpone it.

Yesterday Naomi’s best friend came for a visit. We saw the cube houses again as I am obsessed with them still. There are three for sale – and one might be coming up for rent in May. Today we got a lot done around the house that has been postponed for ages. Unfortunately there is still a lot to do. For now it is bedtime. Tomorrow is a new day.

Gemstones of International Education in Brattleboro, VT

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali trifles & treasures

2012-02-01 13:22:00

I like how this map shows the most important cities. Go VB!

After driving three hours northeast of Boston and carefully navigating small, country towns and gas stations equipped with bathrooms of questionable quality, Suzy and I made it to Brattleboro, Vermont. Tucked away in a mountainside with a main street of cute shops, the city bustles with weekend visitors and seasoned locals shopping and grabbing a bite to eat at one of the many restaurants in town.

We peek into the local farmer's market and I find myself drooling over tables laden with homemade savory & sweet treats. Rosy cheeked women with kind eyes and rough, textured hair and a unique piece or two of silver jewelry stand behind tables and invite us to try local breads and jams, syrup tapped from Vermont maple trees and to hold for ourselves hand-knit hats made from local sheep's wool. Places like this make me want to sell my computer (or yours) and move to a farm and wear hand-knit sweaters while making lavender infused goat-milk lotion and soap. One day.

Orientation began Saturday night with a group dinner for myself and the rest of my cohort (the 17 other folks who will complete their Master of Arts in International Education low-residency style along with me). Dinner was a delight and our immediate sharing of experiences showed me what a breadth of diversity our group brings to the table. With backgrounds spanning the globe and languages to match them, I know I have a lot to learn from my fellow students and I also look forward to sharing, and learning from, my experiences in Mali along the way.

We will spend two weeks together this January/February exploring the field of international education while laying the foundations for the courses to follow this Spring. Our first two classes are Foundations of Intercultural Service, Leadership & Management and Practitioner's Inquiry. I will also take a workshop this weekend entitled 'Data-driven Decision-Making' which looks to be quite interesting. After meeting with my adviser I feel more confident about undertaking this degree and reassured that it is something that will help me along my path (be it on a goat farm in rural Vermont or in a study abroad program at a university or otherwise!

One of our professors asked us what made gemstones special. "Their rarity?" I ventured. "Their colors?" said another. "Yes and no," he replied. "I believe it is their multi-faceted nature that makes them special. Their ability to refract light and shine in different ways in different settings." He went on to note that our unique abilities and experiences are what make us distinct, too and if we can harness our ability to communicate those abilities and experiences our time with SIT will be that much richer. I appreciate the analogy and look forward to all the refracting that will be going on!

Add caption

Who knew International Education could look this good?

Here are some of the hot spots around town I've heard are must-dos (I've already gotten to do some!):

Mocha Joe's Coffee
Brattleboro Farmer's Market (I've heard unsubstantiated rumors that a Malian woman named Djeneba sells rice & sauce here in the summers :)
Brattleboro Bowling. $3.25 for one hour of bowling including shoes? Yes, please!
Casual dining in Brattleboro.
Only in the One & Only Brattleboro.

Have you ever been to Brattleboro? Do you have any Vermont favorites?

Sorry for the wait

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Notes from a Cave in Africa

2012-02-01 08:48:00

In Mali things tend to happen slowly. Donni donni, a mantra for life here, translates to something along the lines of “little by little”. This same slowness applys to projects clearing Peace Corps approval. The bridge paperwork is still being looked at by Peace Corps staff, but it should be ready to be funded shortly. I have received a lot of support already and I would like to thank everyone for their help. Expect another post soon with a link to where you can donate.

Hut Food: In which Aichata confirms her status as a hippy

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Peace Corps Putnam

2012-02-01 01:17:00

In the absence of variety in my diet,
sometimes I just long for a grapefruit...

In my last post I gave you a peek at some of the street foods that Peace Corps Volunteers and Malians alike sometimes indulge in, to break up their monotonous diet of millet (inevitably dished up with a side of more millet.) More often than naught, though, I prefer to mix it up by cooking some of my own "Ameriki" meals on the propane camp stove I have in my house. Sometimes these are simple: oatmeal, tomato or cucumber and tuna salads with a simple dressing, scrambled eggs, spaghetti with tomato sauce, and stir fries are all staples. But sometimes, I like to make a day out of the process and prepare something a little more involved: pumpkin oatmeal pancakes, chili cooked over a charcoal fire, or grilled bread (sounds weird, but it's actually pretty good!)

Last week, I embarked on my most ambitious project yet: hut-made tofu.

Now, some of you are probably wondering "Why, of all of the things Laura could choose to make, would she choose tofu? It's slimy and tasteless and weird!" To that, all I can say is that as the child of health-nut hippies, one of whom allegedly made tofu in her own Peace Corps hut in Ecuador in the early '80s, I grew up eating the stuff.* It's one of the foods that I crave that you really just can't find in Mali, not even fake versions made from mixes. Broccoli, kale, Grape Nuts, and unsweetened reduced fat yogurt also fall into this category.

Anyhow, the mood struck, so I set about to make my very own tofu, using soybeans grown in the Koulikoro region of Mali, which is South of where I live, near the border of Burkina Faso. I also used epsom salts and some cheese cloths sent to me by my mother, who was eager to help me to recreate her past hut-tofu-making glories.

A kolo, the tool used in most Malian kitchens
to crush sauce ingredients into a fine powder.
Clearly Sargent Shriver found it to be somewhat
suspect, and came over to investigate.

To start out, I submerged one cup of soy beans in four cups of water and left them to sit overnight. In the morning, I strained off the excess water.

Soybeans, post soak. That's my kitten, Sargent Shriver,
skulking about underfoot and being "helpful."

Once the beans were soft, I put them in a mortar I had borrowed from my host mother (it's called a kolo in Bambara) and then pounded them into a pulp.

Mashed up soy beans. In hindsight, I probably could have pounded them more.

Then I put the soybean pulp into a saucepan with fresh water and cooked them for what seemed like ages. (In reality, I think it was more like 20 minutes.) Meanwhile, I prepared a straining device using some American cheese cloth, a Malian sifter called a teme, and a pan I found in the Segou market that I think is supposed to in some way resemble a wok.

The prepared strainer, camp stove in the background

When the pulp mixture was done cooking, I poured it into the strainer then squeezed all of the liquid from the solid, fibrous bits of beans left in the pulp.

That stuff was hot! I burned my fingers several times during
this stage of the process.

And voilà: soy milk! The milk kind of tasted spicy, probably from the residue of pounded hot peppers, garlic, onions, and various other sauce spices that I couldn't totally clean out of my host mother's kolo. But after a full year without soy milk, I still drank a bunch of it anyway. And it was amazing.

My soy milk may have had considerably more garlic in it than Silk. It also had considerably
less sugar and preservatives. You win some and you lose some, I guess.

Then I put the milk back into the sauce pan and heated it until it was just about to boil. (According to the 1950s version of the Betty Crocker Picture Cook Book, aka the Putnam/Aikman cooking Bible, I suppose you could say that I "scalded" the soy milk. But that would just sound so technical. This is hut-tofu, after all.) At the same time, while the milk was cooking, I dissolved some epsom salts into a glass of cold water.

Dissolving salts and scalding soymilk.

Once the soy milk was properly scalded, I added the salt water in thirds, stirring and waiting for the mixture to settle each time. This separated the milk into curds and whey.

Why Little Miss Muffet found this appetizing,
is one of life's enduring mysteries.

And then, finally, I poured this concoction into yet another cheesecloth-strainer contraption, wrapped up the curds, and put a weight on them to drain out all of the whey. I left this to sit for two hours.

In true feline fashion, Sargent Shriver found
all of this to be terribly tedious
and ultimately proved to be no help whatsoever.

Finally, after several hours of work, I had tofu! Admire:

The fruit of my labor.

OK. So maybe it didn't look very appetizing. And maybe there wasn't very much of it, especially compared to the amount of work that went into making it. But let me tell you, that tofu was FREAKIN DELICIOUS in my stir fry that night, with lots of ginger, cabbage, collard greens, carrots, African eggplant, and some moringa leaves thrown in for good measure. It may also have been the healthiest meal I have had during my service.

Hippy status confirmed.

There's a reason why, at least according to rumor,
the US Department of Defense refers to us as the "Dirty Feet."

*One of my uncles likes to tell the story of walking to my parents' kitchen when I was a baby, seeing me sitting in my high chair eating plain raw tofu served with ketchup, and feeling "awfully sorry for me." Well Uncle Will, to that all I can say is that even now--24 years later--the first thing I did with my freshly made tofu was cut off a little piece and eat it raw, dipped in ketchup.

Thoughts on God/Love

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali The Girl Who Stares at Goats

2012-01-31 23:45:00

I think that one big difference between God and us is that, he gave first and continues to give without expecting anything in return. But, in order for us to give, we have to have had something given to us first. So, God had to give first to make the world go 'round.

I came to this realization today, as a shared three meals with three different groups of people. I've never witnessed this type of sharing in America, and I'm still a tiiiiiiny bit hesitant when food is first offered to me, but this is one particular aspect of Mali that I truly admire and appreciate.

It's the "It takes a village to raise a child mentality," that has such a strong presence here and it's so awesome. Everyone (mostly) invites others to eat with them, because they know that their children are being fed at someone else's home. I see this as a true act of love.

Furthermore, I think that whoever receives, should give, and it doesn't have to go the other way around, but it does, someway or another. Which got me thinking about my service here, as it comes to an end, what else can I do? Who else can I help? With all of my general projects, I like doing them and I see purpose in them, but I would really like to find a young person who I can really pour into and see flourish.

There is this young girl, Awa "Gaffou," who I've taken a real liking too. I've come to know her since I've asked her to help me conduct my Girl's Empowerment course. She's a senior in high school who plans to continue her studies at university to become a lawyer for women and children's rights. Sounds like an awesome girl, right!? She's a nice, respectful and vocal person, who seems to have a good head on her shoulders. And I'd like to help her stay motivated, even after I'm gone.

Okay, so I know I've gone on some tangents here, but my point is, with all this love shown to me over this 1.5 yr, there's still so much I want to give back. And I hope that the love that I plant here will continue to grow, and contribute to the greater good that keeps the world spinning.

What is happiness?

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali The Girl Who Stares at Goats

2012-01-31 23:48:00

The other day, I saw my host brother, Diaxari, helping his younger brother write a correspondance letter to his Canadian pen-pal. First, I read the letter from the Canadian. This young boy recounted stories from his summer. He talked about going to the zoo, going on hikes, swimming at the pool and doing a peace walk. He also gave some info about his family and what his parents do.

In response, Diaxari wrote similar things, but as I read what he wrote, I noticed that some of these were lies. Why was he lying? I asked Diaxari a couple questions about what he wrote, but I felt that he was trying to hide some humility, so I didn't ask him why he was lying. For example, he told the Canadian that over the summer, he went to the National Park, he also did a peace walk and when he talked of his family, he said that his mother was a vendor and she had sold a lot of tomatoes (FALSE FALSE FALSE FALSE FALSE!).

I began to wonder, why he felt the need to lie? What was wrong with saying that he played soccer with his friends, played cards with his American and Canadian friends, and helped his family in the fields? What did he think of the Canadian's letter? How was he imagining the life of this boy? Did he think it was better and so he wanted to fabricate his own life to sound more like the Canadian's? Is he not happy with his own?

I often wonder, what is happiness here? These days, more people have televisions, and they can see the Western life-style. It looks so clean, so shiny, so colorful and there's a bunch of stuff. And then, you look around here and see dust and dirt, rust and cracked ciment, it's dull and there's a whole lot of nothing. It's hard not to compare. Maybe, Diaxari was just trying to make himself feel better......

Africa from A-Z: Burundi

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali trifles & treasures

2012-01-31 16:06:00

Source

When I am putting together these Africa from A-Z posts, I often feel like I am skimping too much on the information. How do you write one blog post about countries with histories and cultures so rich I probably could devote an entire blog to each of them? But I only have but so many fingers and there are only but so many minutes in a day. Nonetheless, I am enjoying the opportunity to hear new languages through YouTube videos and learn a little more about the nuances of the culture - few as I have time to explore!

I like the name of the capital of Burundi, Bujumbura, and the official language, Kurundi. Here is a quick overview of investments in Burundi and if you are looking for natural treasures in Burundi, look no further! There are many links to safari sites as well as national parks and reserves such as Kibira National Park. And if you are looking for unique plants and animals in Burundi- there you go!

I like this blog's use of the word 'treasure' while talking about Burundi and I appreciate his perspective, as an African, on the way African history is taught to Africans. What do you think?

I am also finding it difficult to find normal, day-to-day news about the countries I am researching. Maybe I am not researching properly in order to unearth such news (googling country+good news usually yields a lot of Christian sites). Any tips out there for finding less sad/depressing information on Africa? However, I did find an article about a baby named 'Good News.' Hope she turns out to be a smiler.

Here a few links from around the web and a few videos to peruse:
Public/private sector conference in Burundi
A bar killing of 36 puts 16 people in jail.
Kind of a stretch but this pendant has the edges of a Burundi postage stamp on it!
Life After Violence: A People's Story of Burundi.
Drummers of Burundi.
No more negative images of Africa from Africa - The Good News.

The president, Pierre Nkurunziza, talks about Burundi

Do you have any links to good Burundi sites? What do you think about these Africa from A-Z posts?

on repeat

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali evergreen soul

2012-01-31 10:50:00

let's be honest, it's been a crappy month. i've been in a perpetual bad mood and am about four seconds from breaking at any given moment. that being said, my darling of a friend gifted me three hours of glee where I found this song (and then searched for the original, so sorry for being so behind). this was the last song and i'm working on getting it stuck in my head.

i'll be back later with another couch session. for now, rock on.

Scout and The Second Goal

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Good Golly Miss Mali: Peace Corps and More

2012-01-30 20:28:00

Meet Scout. (Pronounced “Suh-COW” by my villagers)

Scout is my puppy. She’s my first big girl responsibility.She’s my friend, my protector, and a surprising source of cultural exchange andconversation starters. She’s five months old this January, but I got her whenshe was only four weeks old from a fellow PCV whose dog had pups. It’s beenpretty awesome raising a dog, really frustrating, really scary, and exhausting.But of course, I love her and I’m glad I have her. Having a dog around has madesuch a difference in my life here. It’s nice having a companion and feelingsafe at night when I go to bed. She has kept me busy and taught me a lot. Ioften mentioned to my family back home that I feel like just having Scout hasdone more in the way of cultural exchange than any of my conversations,meetings, or behavior have. My brother encouraged me to write about it. I washappy to—because what dog owner doesn’t love talking about their dog? But also,I’ve been boring y’all with overly detailed and Debbie Downer accounts of myactual work here. It’s time to switch it up.

rice stuck to the roof of the mouth is always entertaining

Raising a puppy is a huge responsibility, duh. But sayingthat and living it are two different things. When she was a baby she’d wake upand cry every time every time a donkey brayed. Now she chases donkeys for fun. WhenI got her when she was so young that I had to find milk for her every day untilshe could eat solids. Now I feed her rice, mixed with either some peanutbutter, scrambled egg, or powdered milk. She loves boiled sweet potatoes too,which is convenient since people in my village give them to me in abundance. Ialso spoil her with a little meat I buy in market each Thursday. She’s reallyenergetic (especially when she wakes up to play at 5 AM) and her coat is shiny and she’s healthy, as faras I can tell.

When she was seven or eight weeks, I took her into Sikasso andgot her shots taken care of. She’s vaccinated against rabies and several otherthings, the names of which I can’t remember at the moment. The shot cost me12,000 CFA, which is roughly $24. Cheapest vet visit ever, I’ll wager. Invillage she’s constantly playing with other dogs and puppies, chasing goats andsheep and chickens and guinea fowl and donkeys and cows, so there’s no tellingwhat sorts of crazy diseases she’s exposed to. I do my best to keep her safe,but she’s a village dog and enjoys a degree of freedom that precludes me fromprotecting her at all times.

Training my little Scoutosaurus Rex has been an adventure,to say the least. I have some experience from training my family’s dog back inTennessee. Daisy learned pretty quickly and is smart- she and Scout have thatin common- but there are all sorts of obstacles here in village that were nonissues in suburban Nashville. Take the herds of livestock, for example. Or thelack of Little Cesars doggie treats. Or the fact that people in my villagedon’t actually like dogs. That was an even bigger hurdle than I imagined it’dbe. Since so many dogs here don’t have a particular owner who cares for themthe way we’re used to, dogs here are often scared or aggressive when it comesto their space and their food. Parents teach their children to hit dogs who tryto eat their food or even come near them. I don’t blame them—dogs here are scary sometimes, and often sick. But Ialso realized as I trained Scout and introduced her to my village that I wasn’tgoing to let her be treated like every other dog. It became important to me toteach children and adults alike that dogs need not be whacked for merely approachingsomeone, or sniffing at the food on the ground, for example. (Suggesting thatwe remove the temptation by eating on a raised surface just earned me staresand another notch on The Toubab Is Crazy belt).

Scout comes with me everywhereI go, and everywhere I go gives me opportunities for training. I try my best toexplain my rationale for making her do, or refrain from, a certain behavior. I’vetalked about why I make Scout sit and watch me eat before she can eat, or why Iflip her on her back until she is submissive if she’s getting too aggressive. Iexplained that you have to be judicious about popping a dog on the nose-catching them in the act and punishing them is much more effective than justhitting the dog when you’re mad at something they don’t understand they’ve done.I housetrained Scout in about six weeks, which totally flabbergasted my family.“You let her IN YOUR HOUSE!?” asked my host dad. “Doesn’t she poop there?” andwhen I confidently say “not anymore,” it’s pretty cool. They think it’s cool,too, and little by little I think my close acquaintances in village are judgingme less and are taking interest in my “weird” dog behavior.

i can has friends?

Of course, I’ve made some mistakes and Scout is in no waythe model puppy (just this morning she nearly got her face kicked in by a mommadonkey as she tried to “play with” [AKA chase] her baby donkey), but we’reimproving. Training a dog, as I’ve come to find out, is more like training thehuman. You have to be consistent, praising all the time and discipliningprudently, anticipating their next move and their mood for the most effectivelearning. My friend Ethan has helped me immeasurably, explaining, for example,that if you whack your dog for chewing on your flip flop, they’ll be confused. Thedog thinks you gave it to her, because everything that’s hers always starts out as yours (if you’veever wanted a God complex or an ego boost, get a dog). If you want to teachyour pup not to chew on your shoe or pull garbage out of the basket or chaseyour cows, you have to catch them in the act of going for whatever it is they want. Accompanying it with a command,such as “Leave it!” has worked really well for us (and for all parties involvedwhen Scout begrudgingly left alone a chicken carcass she discovered on our walkyesterday). Score.

Training my villagers has not been as easy. They are stillafraid of dogs, especially the little kids. And, since most of my friends here areunder the age of six, I have had a lot of time to condition the younger generation.I have a few rules at my house that the kids know well. If they help me fetchwater, they get a piece of candy. If they hit another kid, they get kicked outof my compound, and if they hit Scout and she didn’t deserve it, then I get tohit them. Don’t worry, I don’t haul off and wail on these kids-- they learnedpretty fast (and so did Scout) that gentle play makes everyone happy.

just taking my millet stalk for a walk, nbd

Dealing with adults in my village has been somewhat more ofa gray area. Even though I’ve been in village for about ten months and am wellknown, I still hesitate to unilaterally decree that they can’t hit my dog. Culturehere dictates that all possessions are communal- your chairs, your food, yourkids, and especially your dogs- so everyone gets a say in their behavior anddiscipline. For example, do I get upset at the man who hits Scout so hard thatshe rolls across the ground? All she did was approach the man because she wasbeing a friendly puppy. Malian dogs generally don’t approach people, probablybecause they’re hit more than they receive affection. Knowing that, I can understandhow this man may have interpreted her approach as an aggressive move. What Isaw and what he saw were two different things. I know and have taught my dog tobe playful and friendly. Moreover I have learned through my own culture ofbeing surrounded by well-trained and human-friendly dogs to read dog bodylanguage. My dad taught my brother, sister and me at a very young age toapproach a strange dog slowly, get on its level, extend your hand for it tosniff and let it decide whether it wants to be your friend. We unconsciouslyknow that a wagging tail means a happy dog and certain barks and yips are moreplayful than menacing, that looking at a dogs ears can tell you whether they’reafraid, excited, or aggressive. Therefore, my villagers don’t necessarily see the same things I see when I watchdogs and humans interact. In this case, I did yell at the man. It was more myanger in the heat of the moment, a momma protecting her baby, than a lesson,I’ll be the first to admit. The man was even a guest of my host father, definitely not someone I should betalking back to, especially as a woman. But I kind of blew past that faux paswhen I half yelled half screamed that she didn’t do anything and you can’t hither unless she did something wrong, like eat your food or bite you, and shewon’t learn and you could have really hurt her! Not one of my finer moments, tobe sure. But that sure took the man by surprise. Whether he learned that notall dogs mean you harm when they approach you or just that the white girlreally is crazy, I’ll never know. Forsome reason he was disinclined to talk too much to me after that episode.Imagine that.

Scout returned with a horn. She didn't say where she found it.

There’s also another layer of cultural complexity to havingScout in village. The whole point of me being here is to learn the language andculture and play by their rules (wearing pants is one of my few avant gardeshowings of non conformity, whoop de doo) so that I can maximize myeffectiveness as an agent of change. I get that. That’s what I signed up for.But my culture dictates verydifferent mores that often clash with those of my host community. This doesn’tjust apply to owning a dog in Peace Corps—it’s a bigger issue that nearly alldevelopment workers face: where does culture end and human (or in this case,animal) rights begin? Like I said, it’s a gray area. So do I sit back and watchwhen Scout gets whacked for drinking water from the pump because some womandeems it inappropriate? Do I let Scout learn that not every person wants to beapproached and let those people hit her away? Do I let Oumar, my homologue,take her to the woods to hunt hares but chastise her for chasing chickens invillage? It’s hard to say. This is where I fail as a puppy owner and trainer,because I’m not consistent. When I leave village, for example, Oumar takes careof her and she becomes just another village dog without me there to guide herand protect her. When I’m gone, she has to play by their rules, and I have tobe okay with that. But for the times when I’m around, I’m still figuring outwhat’s the best course of action for me, for Scout, for the second goal of PeaceCorps: representing American culture to host country nationals on behalf ofAmericans.

For now, Scout learns a little bit, day by day. So do I. Ialways have a list of dog-related questions to Google when I get back to theinternet, and I’m always looking for advice and training tips to make both ofour lives a little easier and a little more orderly. One day, I hope to takeScout back to America with me. I think she’ll like it there. She might misschasing chickens and taking it upon herself to herd my neighbor’s sheep, butshe’ll find other things to keep her occupied, I’m sure. Besides, now she’s apart of my life as much as I’m a part of hers, for better or for worse, forchickens or for sheep.

Meet Eddy!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Good Golly, Karen in Mali!

2012-01-30 16:29:00

My first few weeks in village have been a great experience, mainly involving getting to know people, getting my house together, starting to form a routine, and getting a puppy!

Most exciting thing first-- meet Eddy! I put the word out around my village that I wanted a puppy, and within a week one of my neighbors found one in another village and brought her back for me. I will never forget my first image of her-- just her tiny little nose poking out of a dented corner of a box that had been strapped to the back of a bicycle. In Mali, all animals have a purpose (not just companionship like the U.S.), and dogs are considered security here-- most dogs I've meet have been named "Police." She's already following me around, and hopefully I will train her well enough that she'll know how to behave in village and continue doing so! She's a great little companion so far, and I love the excuse to speak in English sometimes (rather than just to myself).

See the full gallery on Posterous

My house is coming together! I planted a guava tree, some sunflowers and lavender, and tomorrow I'll be getting a small garden started with the help of an environment volunteer. I'm putting some roots down here, haha. My walls are currently being painted for termites (which is why I am at the stage house, where there's internet-- I can't sleep there until the fumes are gone). I couldn't believe it-- I knew I had termites, so I had placed all of my furniture a good 4-6 inches from the wall and the built a massive bridge to reach my desk and books. Luckily they only ate things I didn't need. I bought some paint in San, so I'll be adding some color to my walls when I get back to village. I also got a second window and another door for security.

My village has been very welcoming and very excited to have me around. It's so small that everything I do spreads quickly-- like, I told a group of kids who were following me around while I greeted people that I don't want to be called "Tubabu" because I am American, not French. Now, all of the kids either call me by my village name, "Fatim" or "Americain!" I also happen to have one of the most common names in Mali, it seems. I've met at least 10 women in my village with my name!

Another fun aspect of being here... my Malian friends ask me to play guitar almost everyday and love to listen, but have been demanding I learn some songs in Bambara. I'm planning on learning a song another volunteer wrote to the tune of "Waka Waka" by Shakira about Moringa, part of the food security program I'm a apart of. What a fun way to disseminate health information! I'm looking forward to seeing how that goes.

Overall, I'm enjoying my new home and taking the challenges that come with all of the adjustments in stride. I'm looking forward to getting back our to village!

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Update: Brick by Brick

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Adventures with the Allens

2012-01-30 13:25:00

The parts of our Peace Corps service that will have the most significant effects are the small changes we make in peoples minds concerning the way they conduct themselves in business, taking care of their children, etc. It’s the fact that my neighbor now adds peanut powder to her children’s breakfast porridge because she believes me that they their bloated bellies are a result of a lack of protein. That people seem to recognize that a husband and wife can treat each other with respect and be friends. That people in Yorosso think about planting trees as a necessity rather than a luxury. A lot of the little lessons and capacity building comes through our radio show, our periodic village wide awareness activities, and school-based trainings. And its through these activities, we have truly come to appreciate the role of a basic education in the ability of a community to develop. It may seem obvious, but often people do not realized that individuals are more organized, efficient, creative, and resourceful when they have basic literacy and mathematic skills.

Therefore, though Peace Corps generally discourages construction projects, we’ve decided to spend a large part of our last 6 months of service focusing on what our community identified as their first priority when requesting a volunteer, building 3 traditional mudbrick classrooms, with the tin roof, cement floors, metal doors, and windows being funded by Peace Corps. Though we have paid teachers for these classes, the courses are currently being taught outdoors due to a general lack of anywhere else to study. Our hope is that these classrooms, though far from ideal in US standards, will serve as a safe, distraction-free, center for study for the next 10-15 years and will improve the overall literacy level in our village. However, the most exciting part of this project is that we are not building the school, but the community is doing 99.99% of the work (See pictures below for the other .01%). As of mid-January, they made 15,000 mudbricks and transported them to the building site by donkey cart. Then this week, 200 men showed up for the ground breaking ceremony and after they dug the foundation, the village chief laid the first mudbrick to kick off building the classrooms. They will be finished with the walls in the next two weeks. Then, hopefully the roofing and cement work can be done at the end of February/early March. We’re thrilled to see our village realize that through unified hard work and goal-setting, they can achieve great things without a huge investment from outside resources.

On another note, Jim has submitted a tree-planting project for approval soon. (Above right) Jim and his workpartner who owns a tree nursury are coordinating a tree planting effort in March that will teach 25 associations a new method to allow trees to be planted in dry season which requires little watering. Around 2000 trees will be planted in our commune do to his hard word, so we certainly have a busy few months ahead of us!

~ Joye (and James)

Boston Beauties (and a little bit o' Salem)

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali trifles & treasures

2012-01-30 13:08:00

Marija took me to the beautiful Bapst Art Library to study. We got lots accomplished! And this might be my favorite picture of us together that we've ever taken. And we've taken a lot.

David is a cousin of mine that lives in Massachusetts with his wonderful wife and family. The last time I saw him he was getting married in Rockport, MA - look at the beautiful babies he and his wife made since!

Karen and Marija are choosy ladies. Jukebox music at Tom English's Cottage and literature for Nellie at the apartment.

Suzy and I became pool sharks :)

What a treat it was to visit Boston! Great food at the likes of The Paramount and The Publick House, and great studying and dart/pool playing at Bapst library and Tom English's Cottage (respectively). I loved getting the chance to see my cousin David and his wife Natalie and their beautiful children while seeing downtown Salem and eating the best chicken wings I've ever had! (David is a chef - and a darn good one at that!) So many thanks to Marija & Chris for hosting me and Suzy for bringing me all the way to Vermont to start grad school! I'm surrounded by treasures!!

See more pictures from my east coast ventures here!

Guest Post: A Parent’s Perspective

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Adventures with the Allens

2012-01-29 22:18:00

Since we’re sure you all are tired of hearing only from us all the time, we asked Joye’s family to write down their observations about Mali. Here are Joye’s Dad’s comments…

Because there is so much I could talk about, I have tried to highlight a few unique things that made a big impression on me during our three week Mali vacation.

Malian Transportation

The bus trip from Bamako to Koutiala on day #3 of our visit was something else. Two seats on the right, two on the left, with a narrow aisle down the middle. Except, this narrow aisle had about 10 jugs upside down for seats to accommodate additional passengers. Nobody yell fire, please. Because it’s “cold season” nobody would roll the window down and it got very hot. But that’s okay because the bus did stop for one 5-minute stretch and potty break about 4 hours into the 7-hour trip. I was afraid to drink anything for fear my tiny bladder would cause a major scene. I sat with Jim, David and Carrie (another PCV) in the back row. There was one Malian guy ahead of me who had his black leather jacket on for the entire trip, dripping in sweat. Jim and Joye do this trip all the time, and in hot season! It was good to experience it (just) once!

Cars, especially taxi cabs, own the road in Mali. If you’re a chicken, dog, pig, goat, sheep, cow, donkey cart, bicycler, moto-biker, moto-taxi, or even a pedestrian, then get out of the way, ‘cause I’m not going to slow down! I may honk to warn you of your impending doom, but my foot’s not leaving the accelerator. Busses trump cars, and large trucks beat busses. Women with babies strapped to their backs were driving motos day and night, dodging in and out of traffic at speeds of probably 30+ mph. Thankfully, we observed no incidents. I noticed that every taxi we rode in had a cracked front windshield except, as David pointed out, the very last ride to the airport! I wasn’t surprised!

Moto-taxis (left) don’t carry the same street clout that a taxi cab does. (Right) Boy on the way to market with chicken to sell

Baobab Tree

Some Baobob trees were lean and gangly, some huge and intimidating, some were happy and some were spooky, but all of them could have played a role in The Wizard of Oz! I have never seen a tree like the Baobab and was fascinated with them the entire trip. Like snowflakes and fingerprints, they are everywhere, come in all shapes and sizes, but there are no two alike. We even sampled the fruit it produces which was entirely new to my taste buds. My favorite photos from the trip include Baobabs. Two are below:

(Left) Baobabs at Sunset on Christmas (Right)Mom, Joye, Jim, and David pose next to an average size Baobab. Some trunks can get much larger!

Malian Dress

Someone’s going to make a lot of money when they figure out how to market Malian clothing into the United States. One of our favorite things to do was pick out fabric at village markets, find a trustworthy tailor, and have the tailor make a variety of shirts, pants, and other articles. I wear the shirts to work now in the States! For the buyer of a shirt you can’t beat the $5 price – for the seller one shirt may provide the profit you need to put food on your table that evening.

(right) Jim’s work partner, Rube Dao, tailored this “Christmas shirt.”

Temperature Swings

One of my first journal entries was “Today’s Weather: mostly sunny, 89-91 degrees, breezy in morning. 60 tonight.” The daily entry for the rest of the trip might as well have been “Weather: see yesterday!” For the locals, the 30-degree day/night temperature drop requires, of course, parkas if they weren’t already wearing them throughout the day. (It is winter, you know.) I kidded Numujo and Ashata (a.k.a., Jim and Joye) that even they have grown thin-skinned and wondered out loud if they will ever move north of Kentucky when they return to the States. Even Cindy, David, and I were there long enough that we started feeling the cold in the morning towards the end of our stay.

Medical

Okay, so I was the bonehead who rolled his ankle during our descent from the Dogon Cliffs, which, on the positive side, makes me partially qualified to rate the medical competency of this country. My left ankle swelled significantly in the next 30 minutes and, as we settled in for lunch, the village medicine man was summoned to manipulate my foot and ensure nothing was broken. In retrospect, he did a pretty good job even though the special leaf ointment he put on my ankle really didn’t do much. He did validate his authenticity by showing us his license (like I had any clue what the piece of paper he held up meant). Five days later in the capitol of Bamako, I visited a French clinic “Polyclinique – Pasteur” to have a more educated doctor’s opinion, and despite an ugly black and blue foot by then, he said I was fit for flying. Other than the swelling, the pain was never that bad.

Final Ponderings and Pictures

Almost every day I’d see women spit, a rare site in America.
The Malian rice and sauce is delicious and nutritious if you can find and afford it (unfortunately, it appears many cannot).
I spotted one Malian child wearing a Michigan State University sweatshirt. It is noteworthy that nowhere on this trip did I see a U of M anything. Go Green!
Malians like loud music, even when it doesn’t make sense such as on a long bus ride when you’d rather nap!
A lengthy trip to Africa is a good place to grow a beard if you have never done so.

Although I struggled more than anybody trying to learn the Bambara language, this was an amazing experience. I am so grateful to have a son-in-law who not only put up with his in-laws for three entire weeks, but wined and dined them with incredible hospitality. Parting was still not easy, but we look forward to their return to the States in six months. We are excited about Jim completing his Master’s thesis, and seeing Joye’s new elementary school building project come to fruition.

Eating Malian Style (with our hands)

Let's Talk About [Food], Baby

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali It Was All a Dream

2012-01-29 09:01:00

…All the good things and the bad things that may be…

I think most people know that I spend a lot of time here thinking about food. I thought I’d try to turn that time into something useful. So, for the month of December I kept track of everything I ate, and took a lot of pictures. Here’s what I discovered.

Number of times I ate toh: 22. I don't hate toh as much as I used to, but the absolute worst toh I've ever had, I had this month. It tasted like eating millet stalks. We must draw the line between human and animal food somewhere; I think this was it.

Number of time I ate popcorn: 22. Breakfast almost every day, thanks to kernels available in San. Also, Clif Bars from home. 14 of them. Thanks, Mom!

Number of tea shots: 14. Tea is a way of life here. It's made uber-concentrated and loaded with sugar. Probably why I just found a cavity last week. The mark of a good tea-maker is whether he or she can master the "long pour". It gets impressive. See here:

Other drinks: 21. Sounds like a lot of drinks, but when compared to the amount of water I drink, it feels like nothing. Malian-made drinks are available at market, frozen in plastic bags. Drinksicles!

Number of times I ate fruit: 27. Gotta love cold season! It’s the time of papaya, watermelon, oranges, guavas, and bananas. Too bad they’re only available on market day, one day a week. But that day and the two days after are always good days.

Number of times I had meat: 37 (26 at site). This is a huge number for most Malian households; most cannot afford to have meat on a regular basis. (Although in my defense, it’s not usually very good. Mostly goat. But the family I eat with most of the time is Catholic (in a predominantly Muslim country), so I have the fortune of eating pork more often than most volunteers.)

Number of vegetables: 32. Once again, thanks to cold season. Lots of salad, cabbage, and sweet potato (is that a vegetable?). Vegetable seasons come and go here. During cold season (the Malian winter), my homologue makes salad every Thursday (kind of the Malian equivalent to a pizza Friday in the US). It’s a pretty great thing. She makes the salad with sweet potato, bread chunks (sometimes they’re really stale; I pretend they’re croutons), tomato, and a vinegar-oil-salt sauce.

Number of times I had beans: 4. This is very sad. See my last post for my thoughts on beans. Bean lady made only one appearance last month, and I haven't seen her since. But bean night lives on! And the kids get so excited, they can't even wait for me to take a picture for my food journal (which I explained to them and they seemed to approve of):

My best meal at site: There is a magical food here called wijila. I've only had it twice in my time here, and both times it came as a total surprise. I can best describe it as a really dense dumpling. It's delicious. We're not much one for food presentation in village, but may I present to you, wijila, with pork and some sort of sauce:

Christmas lunch: I spent Christmas Day in Fangasso to see what a Catholic holiday was like. I'll write a real post about that soon, hopefully. But in terms of food, our lunch was much above par. I bought cabbage, sweet potatoes, and watermelon to share with the family, and my homologue made rice and pork, with delicious results:

Christmas dinner, however, was the following:

That rice look familiar? Leftover from lunch. Cold! With porridge on the side. I just had the porridge because I ate so much at lunch, so there wasn't much loss. But I was sad to see such little celebration on one of the biggest holidays of the year.

Biggest accomplishment: Ethiopian meal of pumpkin-tomato stew, spiced lentils, and potato-cabbage stew. Many of you know of my love for Ethiopian food, but I have never attempted making it myself. It was time-consuming but I had a lot of help from my "sous-chef," Tom, who is actually a far more accomplished chef than I will ever be, and did most of the work. But it turned out well! The bread was difficult to make (I had my mom send special flour from the US), but all in all, pretty good for a first try, if I do say so myself:

Biggest failure: I went to the dairy in San to buy milk and walked away with soured cream without realizing it, thanks to language issues. (The sign was in French, but the seller spoke only Bambara, and I speak little, so...) I put it on my cereal and didn't realize it wasn't milk until it was too late. Waste of Crispix.

Dairy: 15. We've found ice cream in San! Best thing a PCV could ever find. Otherwise most of this "dairy" is Laughing Cow cheese, which is the only cheese to be found in San area. Goes well on toast or when mixed with tuna, available for purchase at fancy stores in San.

Breads: 9. I love cold season for many reasons, partly because fresh foods like bread last a lot longer. I have a friend who sells bread at market, and he gives me a little extra whenever I buy some.

Rice and sauce: 12. Not much special here. Has definitely lost its charm. I think I prefer toh now! It always depends on the sauce. Peanut butter sauce is the best! But it's a rare thing in village.

Other foods that made an appearance during the month of December: coucous, macaroni (every type of pasta here is called macaroni, in any language; this time was more like spaghetti, Mali-style, where the sauce is boiled into the pasta as opposed to being put on top), tortellini and gnocchi (again, thanks to Mom), and a fair amount of junk food thanks to other volunteers' packages, so generously shared in San. I spent six days away from site in December (in San) so some of the foods listed here were eaten in San (Ethiopian and ice cream as prime examples), because we always make an effort to cook good food when we have the chance.

I thought my food situation in Mali was pretty grim, but looking at the results of this "food study" have shown me that it's not so bad. I am lucky to be able to buy nicer foods in San to bring back to site, and I rely on them quite a bit. I still eat two meals a day with my host family, at their mercy. But I choose my own snacks and breakfasts. So, all in all, not so bad. And mango season is around the corner! Soon we will be drowning in them. Being a PCV is all about living like your community lives, but we all have a little advantage over our Malian counterparts. Some they know about, and some they don't. But even if I could make delicious food for myself, I would still eat with my "family" twice a day. There isn't much food culture in Mali, but sharing a meal is still a good way to spend time with people.

All for now!

Put A LIttle Gravel in My Travel

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Life is calling. How far will you go?

2012-01-29 09:25:00

World Fair

Last Monday Pamela and I biked about 20-25 km to another PCVs village to help with a project. Over the past few months some pcvs in the area have been drawing maps at different schools and as part of the project, they wanted to talk with the students about what things are like in other countries. During this trip we visited 2 schools and the 5 PCVs each talked about 1 country (I just tagged along and was the designated photographer since they all had been working on this presentation for a while). The kids learned about Russia, Mexico, Italy, Cameroon, Brazil, and India. After the PCVs finished speaking we let the kids try Mexican food and Cameroonian food that we had prepared. The kids loved it and so did the teachers. I can’t wait to start working with my school.

Money

I’m a dork, and have really wanted to explain the currency system here in Mali, but I was nervous about scaring off readers. Now, I feel like you are all locked in… so here it goes. The Malian currency is called CFA (say-fah) and it is about 500 CFA to $1. The money system here is interesting and also absolutely ridiculous. In the US, if someone tells you your total is 5 dollars, you hand over a $5 bill, in Mali, if someone tells you that your total is 5 (duru), you hand over a 25 piece. If your total is 10 (tan), you give a 50 piece, 20 (mugan)-a 100 piece, 100 (keme)- a 500 piece. Get it? Hint: you multiply by 5. This concept is easy enough especially when you just think of it like 50 (bi-duru) is the name of the 250 piece or 40(bi-nanni) is the 200 piece. The CFA coins come in: 5, 10, 25, 50, 100, 200, 250, and 500. Just to give you an idea of what a mugan or keme can buy:

25- a handful of fries

50- a pile of tomatoes

75- 1 egg

150- 1 loaf of bread

200- Lunch of rice and sauce

250- Soda

500-1 kilo of rice

Now that you have the change down, lets move on to the bills. There is a 1 mil (1,000), 2 mil, 5 mil, and 10 mil…there’s probably more, but it’s impossible to break a 10 mil so I can’t even imagine a 20. Now, I know that you want to start multiplying by 5 again, and you will, but you have to be patient. A 1 mil is called: 100-2 (keme-fila)…if this was a math problem it would look like this: 100 x 5 = 500 x 2 = 1,000 or 1 mil. So, following this logic, 1,500 would be 100-3 (keme-saaba), 2,000 would be 100-4 (keme nanni) and so on. Now I have 1 more wrench to throw in there. 5 mil is not, as you may think, 100-10 (keme-tan), it’s actually called 1000-1 (wa-kelen) and 10,000 is….1000-2 (wa-fila). Here are some examples of costs in big bills:

1,000- public transport from my village to Koutiala (30ish km)

1,500- Tailor to make a full outfit (not including fabric cost) or 6 rolls of TP

1,600- fabric for a skirt

6,500- 1-way bus ticket to Bamako (approx 7 hour trip)

20,000- bed frame

137,000- my monthly paycheck

So now that you are an expert at Malian money you should be able to decipher this:

Wa Kelen ni(and) Keme Saaba, ni Mungan, ani Duru

The first person to put this in number form gets a letter on some awesome Malian stationary.

Koutiala

First of all, thank you for dutifully skimming that last section, though, if you didn’t look close enough you missed a chance for a prize. Anywho, as you can tell I currently have internets and seeing as my village does not even have electricity, I am guessing you have reached the conclusion that I am not currently at my site. On Friday morning, I left my house at about 6:30 am and biked the 4km to Pamela’s village. We left her house around 7am to start on our journey to Koutiala. The bike ride was not eventful, but I will paint a picture for you anyways. The first 8.5 kilometers of our trip is on a sand “road” and takes almost 45 minutes. I am not sure how many of you have experienced riding a bike through sand, but let me tell you, it’s not super fun. When you are driving a car and there is water on the road you hydroplane, when you are riding a bike and there is a pile of sand under you…you also hydroplane (or sandoplane?). I am not very coordinated on a bike to start with, so there were certainly some close calls that resulted in me jumping from my bike as it fell over. (No worries Mom, I always wear my helmet). Once we get to the main road (lovely lovely asphalt) it’s somewhere between 25-30 km to Koutiala and takes a little over an hour. The route is pretty scenic (for Africa). Lots of fields and oddly shaped trees with villages sprinkled around. The scariest part of the trip is the 20ish minute ride through the center of Koutiala to get to the Stage House. Traffic laws in Mali are limited (or non-existent) and bikers share the road with motos, cars, huge trucks, pedestrians, street vendors, and donkey carts. It is absolute madness.

My two days in Koutiala have be spent: cursing at the electricity for being out more than it’s on, skyping with family, watching West Wing with LeeAnn, walking around Koutiala, visiting another volunteer’s workplace (they make awesome bogolan things, like purses and cards), making sangria, pizza, and taco salad, and gossiping with my Koutiala-kaw.

Most volunteers come into to Koutiala once a week to check their email, buy things at the big market, and see each other. I will probably come in every other week or once every 3 weeks. I may continue to bike for now but once hot season and rainy season begin, it may be best to just bike to the main road and catch a bus or sutrama (like a van) into the city. During my time at site I will try to write a few paragraphs every week so that when I am in Koutiala I can inundate you with blog entries (like this weekend!).

PS: We all know I am a terrible cook and lack any culinary skills. Below is a list of things I have access to in village or in Koutiala (or have had sent from ameriki) and I would LOVE to hear some of your recipe ideas…

Supplies:

A 3 burner gas stove, 1 non-stick pan + spatula, 1 pot + ladle, a knife

Food:

Tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, garlic, potatoes, macaroni, canned tuna, mayo, eggs, bread, olive oil, vinegar, regular oil, bananas, peanuts, Bouillon cubes, canned chicken, various spices, tomato paste, flour, salt, sugar, avocados (soon), mangoes(soon), salami, laughing cow-type spreadable cheese, margarine, gravy mixes, rice. That’s all I can think of now.

And so it goes

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Two Years in West Africa

2012-01-29 03:08:02

II am currently in Bougouni, the closest city from me, 32k from my site. Hopefully one day I’ll be able to bike that but until then its public transport although my biking is definitely improving! I came in on Thursday to do some banking, shopping, and we had a regional house meeting today. I will go back [...]

Family Vacation

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Colleen in Mali

2012-01-28 20:16:00

This month, my 12^th in-country, had a major highlight – the visit of Mom, Dad, and Kaitlin. They were here for just over a week, and we packed as much into their trip as possible. Upon their arrival we headed straight down to Bougouni. Everyone was a trooper, cheerfully getting right off their plane and into a car for a few hours of driving in the dark… even when we got a flat tire in the middle of nowhere. Luckily my dad is a total champ and found the spare, found the tools, changed the tire, and got us back on the road in less than 10 minutes. Impressive.

The next day we stopped at the market in Bougouni (where Kaitlin and my mom tried to buy out a whole fabric shop) before heading to my village. The few days spent in village were crammed, fun, exhausting, encouraging, and entertaining. People are still talking about the incredible display of dancing talent shown by all, and it is clear that everyone in my village was thrilled to have the visitors. My imperfect Bambara was put to the test with constant two-way translation. My mom kept saying things like, “Please tell them it warms our hearts that they have embraced you and welcomed you here, and it is a huge relief putting our minds at ease to know you are so well cared for.” For which I would in turn say, “She says, ‘Thank you very much.’” “You have a radiant smile,” becomes, “You shore are purty.” It became a bit of a joke, but all the major points got across. It was a relief to drive away from my village and the frenetic pace set there.

We drove that day up to Segou, which sits on the Niger River, and passed a very pleasant evening before heading up to Bandiagara in Mopti region. It was a lot of driving, but got us up to Dogon country and allowed us to spend a couple days walking (they say “trekking” but it wasn’t all that hard-core) in the truly extreme environment at the edge of the desert. The escarpment, or cliff, is a rocky overlook to the start of seemingly endless sand dunes. The Dogon are aptly referred to as cliff-dwellers since they make their home both out of and into the rocks they chip from the walls or that fall of their own volition. It was amazing to walk in this desolate place and then stumble upon a hidden eden, a crevice hiding a spring and some of the most lush, carefully tended farmland I’ve ever seen. The contrast was amazing and dissonant; while impressive, this contradictory landscape made me glad I live in the more reliably fertile south of the country.

Our trekking done, we shot back down to Bamako for a last day of sightseeing and shopping before my three visitors got back on the plane. It was a whirlwind, wonderful visit, and I’m thrilled to have been able to share some of my experience here with some of the people who matter most to me.

Death Blessings

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali By Golly I'm in Mali

2012-01-28 15:17:00

Death. It is the only thing that is certain in life and it is interesting how death is viewed all around the world. Each culture has their own way of dealing with death. I was visiting Tenna when she told me that we had to go give our death blessing to a family not far from my house. As we started our walk, I could feel Tenna’s mood changing and I knew that I was in for an interesting day. As we entered the concession I was overwhelmed to find almost every single women from my village crowding in the shady spots. Tenna quickly grabs my arms and pulls me behind a woven straw wall before bursting into tears. I quickly noticed that all the women behind this wall were sobbing. In a culture where crying in public in not acceptable, I felt so awkward- like I was intruding on an intimate affair. As most funerals people come and give their death blessings to the family sit or a respectable amount of time before continuing on with the rest of their day, and they most certainly don’t talk about the dead. It became quite obvious that this was no regular funeral. I sat, shocked to be surrounded by sobbing women, looking to Tenna for answers to my unasked questions. Soon I learned that we were there to mourn the death of not one but two of the most respected women in my village. They were known as traditional midwives, and medicine women, and they were best friends

For the next few hours I sat and listened to stories between sobs from women from my village and surrounding villages. Stories of women who were brought here to marry older men when were only 15 and Djenaba came to them with calming teas and promises that they would be taken care of, and everything would be fine, stories of sick crying babies who suddenly found comfort in the arms of Djenaba or Sako. Stories of successful, and some not so successful births delivered into the hands of Djenaba then cleaned and cradled by Sako. One lady with a very swollen belly said she was delivered by the two women as were her 6 other children and she is sad that the one due any day now won’t get the chance. The next lady showed up with one of the tiniest babies I have seen, coming to give her blessings and thanks to Djenaba and Sako for even in their old age, crippled hands, fingers, and backs were able to coach her through a very difficult birth only four days before.

As I sat and listened to the stories of these most respected women of the village knowing I really missed out not spending time and getting to know them- knowing that our relationship never went further than a daily greeting. The longer I sat the more crowded the “crying area” got. When large bowls of rice and sauce came by for the husbands they were followed by a line of curses from the crying women. Out of respect for the ones who have passed loved ones are expected to fast the following day- in a culture where if a husband dies the wife cannot leave the house for 40 days of mourning. And for the two most respected females of the village their husbands show no respect by accepting food and filling their stomachs while the rest of the village mourns.

While the sun floated across the sky I sat and listened to more stories and more sobbing. Having never seen my best friend cry or so sad before, I had no idea what to do or how to comfort her. Before I knew it I had let the stories touch my heart and fill it with love for these two women who I did not even know—took Tenna’s hand and wept with her. The somber mood washed over the village into the evening. Even though the moon was big and bright over us, the night time yalaing had all but stopped so that together the village could mourn the loss of two of its Grandmothers.
To Djenaba, and Sako: May God bless your spirits and May your resting place be cool.

Malian Business Strategy

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali wanderlust

2012-01-28 14:57:00

For Tabaski, the Muslim holiday, my friend invited a woman over to the stage house who could do henna, nails, fake eye lashes and that sort of thing. She was in her early twenties and really sweet. She came over at 9 to just do my friend Paula but as everyone else in the stage house woke up, one by one all the other girls signed up in a list to have henna and things done as well. She did mine, did an awesome job and charged $3. She ended up staying till 9 that night and even came back the next night to do hair. She said it was the best day she had had in a while and felt more respected than she could remember. Turns out, that Paula had run into her in a salon originally, where this woman worked. Paula really liked the job that she did so she asked for this woman’s phone number so that she could do house calls. After Paula left, all the other ladies in the salon got really angry because she had received special attention for the job that they all do. Their jealousy caused this girl to have to leave the salon because the other girls were being so mean. I have seen this many times in Malian business strategy and everyday life- Malian culture seems to crush individualism and individual drive to such a point that no one can succeed. Or if you do manage to succeed alone, you end up having to western union money transfer your income to other family member and tons will move in with you as well. Another example is that in my village, we have 5 boutiques. They all sell the exact same thing. All at the exact same price. And are all within 100 meters of each other. Why not lower ones price, have sales, buy varied merchandise? It makes no sense. They say they don’t want to lower their process because it will hurt the others. Sweet but illogical.

Brousse Life

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Life is calling. How far will you go?

2012-01-27 21:58:00

Well, it’s Sunday January 22, 2012 and I just unceremoniously slipped on my 3 months bracelet (I put a new beaded bracelet on every month I am here). I am currently sitting on my “patio” with a cup of chai tea enjoying my favorite day of the week. At home, my Sunday routine mainly involves coffee, Meet the Press, and a solid book, but this morning I went to visit my neighbor at her street vendor stand (she brings a table and bench and puts them on the side of the road and then makes a fire and starts cooking), changed my bike tire (all on my own), and cooked up some hard boiled eggs. Exciting, I know. What have I been up to?

Photos: :)

Market Day

We have market day every 6 days in my village and there have been 2 since I arrived 10 days ago. Vendors come from surrounding villages and even Koutiala to sell their tomatoes, potatoes, onions, fabric, jewelry, cookware, plastic everything, fried foods, rice and more. There are also different skilled labor men, like tailors, metal workers, tire fixers, and even a guy with a solar panel who charges cell phones (best find ever!). Pamela ( a volunteer that lives in the next village) and I have established a routine of going to market at 11, buying a cold coke and then perusing the fabrics and jewelry. ( I got awesome fabric this week; purple and lime green!) When we get hungry we wander over to Sali’s rice and sauce stand (my homolouge’s wife) and she gives us generous portions of rice and peanut sauce for 100 CFA. After some people watching, we head back into the chaos that is the center of the market and we survey the 40+ women selling veggies and decide who has the best looking tomatoes and cucumbers and buy from her. Though it’s crowded and hectic and it takes up to 10 minutes to get change back because the sellers never have any and have to go searching the market for someone who can make change, the overall market experience has been good. I’m pretty sure the whole market knows my name because it’s constantly being shouted by the women and children who run to greet me.

Dumini (Food)

After talking about the market this seems to be a good time for a food discussion. How to describe Malian food…luckily I only have to eat it once a day? I eat lunch with my host family and most days that means toh. Toh is exactly as gross as its name suggests. It is ground millet (or corn, which is better) that is cooked somehow to give it the consistency of rubbery mashed potatoes with a thick film across the top. You take a scoop, dip it in sauce, and try not to gag as you force it down. Ok, maybe I am being a little dramatic…maybe. Needless to say, I eat as little at lunch as I possibly can. For breakfast I have been making oatmeal or eggs (if I can find the egg man…more on that later). Dinners have consisted of tomato and cucumber salads, macaroni and tuna, potatoes with onions and garlic, or egg salad. Most of you know that I lack any sort of cooking skills, so my ability to whip up these meals without electricity and only a Leatherman and 1 pot is pretty impressive…I think.

Shea

My main service for the next 2 years is working with the Woman’s Shea Association in my village that is part of a larger shea union based in Koutiala. I will be observing their activities for the next few months, but I know that one of the main things they want to help with is becoming more efficient both with time and resources.

As it turns out, the association recently collected a bunch of shea nuts and they waited for me to move in so I could help with processing. Last Tuesday morning Pamela and I (my village invited Pamela so she could see the process and also because they want to team up with her village's association) were picked up by Sali and brought to the association's building to meet the women and start working. The association is made up of about 30+ “older” women. Older is in parentheses because the women do range from late 30’s- 50’s, but in Malian society, even the 35 year old women are already grandmas and treated like elders. Sali and Howa (love her, she is the association President) explained to us that we were going to turn the shea nuts into oil, let it harden over night, and then she was taking it to Koutiala the next day. Now you may (or may not) be asking yourself: How on earth do you turn shea nuts into oil? Well…

1. Grind shea nuts up using giant machine in town.

2. Continuously stir, punch, and abuse these crushed nuts while alternating adding hot and cold water.

3. Eventually (read “After a very, very, long time) the shea begins to develop an airy mousse quality and turns from a dark shade of brown to white (magic).

4. Wash white moussey shea 3 times for high quality goods.

5. Boil to a liquid oil.

6. Let harden overnight and voila, you have a cream that can be used as a base for soaps and lotions.

Our entire day was a lot of fun and these women are hilarious; singing, dancing, chasing each other (lovingly) with sticks, and of course gossiping. Since the work takes most of the day, a few women stayed at home and cooked for everyone. While the oil was cooking, we all ate zame together, drank tea and relaxed. The next morning Howa brought me to see the finished product and gave me a jar to use on my feet!

People

Here are a few kind and key people I have met in village:

My Host Dad or Jatigi

Super sweet man who has dark framed glasses and yells at me for having a small stomach. He does the most random work; some days he is pulling the stems off of dried hot peppers and others he is making (yes, making) rope from the threads of old rice bags.

Egg Man

There is a guy in my village who sells eggs, but he is the worst business man in the word because he is never at his shop. He is only significant because in the hours I have spent waiting for him I’ve made friends with:

Butiki Owner and Butcher

The butiki (like a store that sells salt, soap, macaroni…) owner is very patient with me and even has bought eggs from the egg man and saved them for me! The butcher, and I use that tern lightly, is a funny guy who grills a sheep or 2 a day and sells the meat, but he mostly sits around and drinks tea with the butiki owner.

Mama

Mama is my 28 year old neighbor and my new best friend (in Mali). She is a doctor but is taking time off to raise her 2 daughters. Her 2 sisters and some of her brother’s kids live with her. I’ve gone to hang out with Mama almost every afternoon. We drink tea, play with the kids, and I practice my bambara and teach her English. Mama has a wonderful laugh and is always sending her siblings over to check on me or shoo away the multitudes of kids that I tend to attract. There will be many more stories about Mama to come.

Thoughts and Worries That Go Through My Mind Daily

· Is my food cooked thoroughly?

· Do I have enough drinking water?

· Did I use enough bleach to clean x?

· Is my food sealed up so mice, lizards, etc can’t get it?

· Is my mosquito net tucked in?

· Is the stove gas off?

· Are my solar lamps charged?

· Do I need to pull water from the well?

· No, really, is the gas off?

· AHHHH!!! Huge lizard!

· Am I being social enough?

· Did I put on sunblock? Take all my vitamins? Is it Malaria Medicine Monday?

· Will I have to pee in the middle of the night?

· Have I swept enough? (no, you can NEVER sweep enough)

· I wish those bulls, sheep, kids, donkeys, and/or chickens would SHUT UP.

· Have I done something productive today?

· Did I get at least 1 source of protein today?

· Is the egg man there? (doubtful)

· Have I eaten my weight in carbs today? (Most likely, yes)

· What is the appropriate number of squares of toilet paper?

· 3 times is an acceptable amount of wears before washing…yeah?

· Is that a tan line or dirt on my feet?

· Is 7:30 too early to go to bed?

· Is my phone angled correctly so I have service?

· Eating Nutella out of the jar is normal…right?

· Please no toh. Please no toh.

· Just 1 more trashy/comedic novel, then I promise I will read something with substance.

· Seriously, is the gas off?

Photo

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Mali + Me

2012-01-27 00:51:13

CSCOM - health center where I work

toloman - yum

Numan - my host mom

Dr. Aboubacrine Maiga, work partner

gabugu - kitchen

the kids eating lunch

Reflections, 358 Days

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Waking Up in Mali: Laura Does Peace in West Africa

2012-01-27 00:11:00

Being here in Mali allows me to do so many cool things with my time and my life. When my PC friends express concern that they're not going to obtain a job post-PC, I always remind them that their everyday life is the answer or the story for every interview question out there.

Interviewer: "So, tell me about a time when you had to be self-motivated."
PCV: "Well, that was my life for more than two years! I had to work in the middle of nowhere, barely able to speak the language, in an unfamiliar culture, adjusting to blasting furnace temperatures soaring over 100 degrees, kids screaming "White person!" at me, gawking, pointing, without a boss, a support system, English speakers, an office, written literature in an illiterate culture. Every day was a struggle to be self-motivated. But I did it. And I did it for more than two years."

Interviewer: "Can you describe a time in which you dealt with challenging people?"
PCV: "Well, I have two years of dealing with difficult people and situations. When you're constantly misunderstanding each other and don't speak the language or fully know the culture, it makes every single thing very difficult...When it's the culture not to show up on time and you've spent all week preparing for something only to have to wait for an hour...or four...and then they can barely understand what you say...Well, dealing with challenging people and circumstances was my life for more than two years."

Interviewer: "Tell me about a time you created something from scratch. Describe a time when you solved a problem. Explain a situation in which you showed leadership skills. Describe a situation in which you had to work with little or no resources. Tell us about an experience in which you handled several challenges at once, successfully, or a time you had to work under pressure. Detail a time when you persevered and didn't give up, but wanted to. Explain a time in which you didn't succeed, and how you handled it. Detail a work experience in which you had to think outside of the box. Elaborate on a situation in which you had to work under stressful circumstances and how you handled it..."

The list goes on. Peace Corps coaches us through every "challenge" question life could hurdle our way. When we leave this country, we will not only be better citizens of the United States, but more aware, insightful, alive, dynamic citizens of the world.

I've been in Mali about 358 days now. Yeah, that means that my one year anniversary will commence in one week. In one week, I will step forward from the "One Year Volunteer," to the new shoes of a "Second Year Volunteer."

Some PCVs describe their Peace Corps experience in two intriguing ways. One - it's all a dream. Two - it's a mini life. Agreed. I've described these same sentiments on this blog. In one week, the monumental occasion of my half-life will occur. I will be the equivalent of 50 years old. Wasn't it just a month or so ago, when I hit 37 years old? And I'm already 50??!! Wow, time sure zips by.

The life lessons I've learned here would require a book to illustrate them all.

Patience. Go with the flow. Perseverance. The journey. Have faith that life will connect the dots. Yes, we can. You get what you give. Think big. The secret to life is falling down seven times and getting up eight. Drink more water. It's all about the relationships. Just dance. Smile. A positive attitude is your best friend. Push yourself. The way you think matters. Stressed? Journal, work out, listen to music, talk to friends. Give back...and many more.

I want to write something official on the year mark, so I'm withholding some of the lessons I've really developed here.

My sister emailed me the other day, responding to a previous email of mine during which I asked for her advice. She answered that, "Soon, Laura, I am afraid you won't need my wisdom anymore." Wow...

Living in a third world country with the everyday realities of Mali is not something that anyone just chooses to throw themselves into. This is something that only 200,000 out of the 300,000,000 Americans have taken an oath to uphold regarding their service to their country. This is an elite club of crazy, activists, people who are used to changing the landscape of the world around them, people who are used to getting it done...who come to places such as Mali and Ukraine and Vanuatu...and begin to comprehend the heart-wrenching realities of life on the other side...of the life of the forgotten majority...life of the unacknowledged majority of the world. And oftentimes, we waltz in with idealism and the passion to match, and immediately fathom that...it's not that easy. And that's when the answer to that interview question about dealing with failure and learning from it comes in.

The mornings when the alarm clock is snarling repeatedly. Beep! Beep! Beep! And you think, "Today, I'm just going to sleep in because I can...and because I just don't want to go outside my hut." But, you get up. You think about letting down the little kids you work with, or the street food lady smiling at you when she sees you. You pull on your Malian clothes. You jump on your bike and ride across town, though reluctantly, and you greet and wave excitedly at the locals on the dirt sidewalk. And you go and spend the day, drinking tea, eating with your hands, stuttering through Bambara, chatting and greeting at every corner. And next thing you know, the sun is setting and you did it. And it was a damn good day. That's when you can answer the interview questions with stories about self-motivation.

The late nights in our hut...when the only sound is the crickets or the mosquitoes buzzing in your ear...with thoughts bombarding you like a nagging kid tapping your shoulder. The nights when you sit there and honestly ask yourself if this is what you're made of. When you position your head in your hands and sigh out loud...and seriously ponder what the hell you were thinking of when you locked yourself into this decision. Those late nights...those are the ones that we look back on with strength and power and pride, after the fact. That's when the answer to the interview question about perseverance comes in.

At the end of the day, I know that I can't stride into my town of Kita and change the world. I just can't. Behavior change doesn't occur like that. But, I can do my best. I can make friends and peace. And I think the most valuable thing I will bring back to America in the next 15 months or so...is the character I built within myself. Because I will come back not as Laura Vest, but as a different, renewed, better, more honest, strengthened version of that Laura. And I'll be able to tackle anything life hands to me.

First 3 weeks at site!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali Mali + Me

2012-01-27 00:17:26

my room #1

bedroom + bug hut/bed

waking up/breakfast time

my 2 rooms outside

my family concession

my nyegen

soaking moringa seeds

the (in)famous selidaga

My site!

First 3 weeks at site!

Putting in down on paper: Books on Mali

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali trifles & treasures

2012-01-26 14:31:00

Image source.

While checking out some information on the Fulbright, I found this site and the book pictured above (found on Amazon here). It was written by a woman who completed a Fulbright in Mali on the role of Islam on education. Looks good!

I was inspired to compile a list of books on Mali - have you read any? I've browsed through some - I will try to check them off my list this year!

Monique and the Mango Rains.

A book used by educators in Virgina written by Andrew Prophett, "the esteemed educator responsible for the development of Virginia’s new innovative elementary-level Mali curriculum." Go Virginia!

Sundiata: An Epic of Old Mali.

A book about West African empires - Mali included!

A beautifully illustrated children's book about Mansa Musa: "one of Mali's most celebrated kings."

I am currently reading Segu by Maryse Conde and am learning more about the root of the joking cousins tradition. When I googled 'joking cousins + Mali' this is what I found - neat! Audra (and Ben) and I were volunteers together!

Waiting for Rain.

I bet this book on Bogolan is filled with beautiful images.

Dancing Skeletons - a book by a biocultural anthropologist (never heard of that before!) about working with malnourished children in West Africa. Anyone read it?

Do you have any favorite Mali/West Africa books? Any recommendations for my reading list?

Dogon Country

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali From Mali, with peace.

2012-01-25 19:55:00

Day #1

Our guide, Hassinni, drove us out to this bedrock of sandstone, far as the eye could see which blanketed the entire floor upon which we stood. A huge discrepancy between the elevation we were standing on and the ocean of sand with trees dotting the landscape until they could not be individually identified. He then dropped us off to walk down the cliff we were on, giving us a longer lasting and more enriching hike down to the valley floor. This gave us a sense of how big everything is and how small we fit into it. The wind raced passed us as we descended foot by foot towards our first town. The sandstone glistened like smoothed glass in the sun, showing its age in eons due to water erosion. Once we got to the bottom of the cliff you could see the scope of our descent. Rock walls a few hundred feet high at its best with streaks marking where waterfalls start and end in the rainy season. Our first town was nice, home of a volunteer. We then walked 3km to the next village to see the swellings in the cliffs. Back in the day, dogon people would hide from the Islamic movement and created these villages in the cliffs. Free standing houses and granaries with a network of walkways that connect families to families, this enclave housed many Dogon’s from the persecution of Islam. So long ago that at one time, vines hid this village from sight like a green, living and breathing opera curtain which concealed this village from oncoming invaders. After touring this village in the cliffs, walking in the footsteps of the last inhabitants centuries before, passing the house of the spiritual leader in the village, touring the village hospital, and seeing the remains of hunting trophies still proudly displayed at the hunters house, we moved on to another village that was a few miles away.

Walking along the trail, every step leaving an imprint in the sand as we follow along the base of the cliffs, the redness of the sand, a saturated hue of orange that stains the landscape and gives it its character. Trees are few and thin, offering little relief from the relentless sun. We glance up at the cliff, stout in length and size, appearing as if it’s moving towards us inch by inch, looming over us. At certain places you can see the tiny enclaves of the people thousands of years ago who called the shelves hundreds of feet up the face of the cliff home. They were a race of people that were pygmy in size who somehow managed to climb up to the slots of the cliff where they made their houses way off the deck. Amazed by how they could exist this way but gave my imagination something to simmer on during the long hike.

We get to Ende where we pass the night, looking at the sea of stars, picking out the ones we know and the ones we just learned about thanks to Cheryl and her star chart.

Day 2:

We rise early and eat breakfast consisting of bread, jam, milk, coffee, and tea. We head out for a day trip to the remnants of a village up on the cliff. We see similar structures here with the exception of a grave high in the cliff where they would hoist the dead up to this cave opening with a rope and seal it with mud. After touring the village we purchased some items from the women’s association who make indigo cloth and headed out for our next camp. Along the way we meet people on the road, greet them “hello” in their dialect, (Ay waa na), and smile as our paths cross, our cultures acquainting each other. One sour spot, the village with the pushy kids selling things, the one portion that could have been avoided from our trip. It’s a reminder that giving things away to people does tend to have some negative effects and the kids of the village were used to getting things from visitors year after year. We meet other people; pass through small villages some only consisting of ten or less people until we get to our ascent of the cliff. We start our climb up the stone layered trail heading between the opening of two massive cliff formations. We reach the gorge between the two formations to only be awarded by a fully functioning, lush, beautiful garden. Fern gully in the middle of one of the hottest places on earth, the garden is filled with onions, tomatoes, and eggplant, all being fed by an underground stream. Well organized, it looks unreal. They water by taking two gourds, one in each hand, fill them with water, and walk to their plot where they disperse the water in a fan-like shape using their hand over the gourds opening. It’s beautiful and more impressive that they are dedicated to succeeding. The time and effort they spend in this garden was truly inspiring and the people being so humble and friendly, a memorable experience. We climb to the top where we reach the village built on the rocks. This village is segmented into three parts, Muslims, Christians, and Animists who worship the earth and nature and its connectedness with the person spiritually. We drop our bags at the camp and go hike to the top of the cliff where we will catch the sunset. Along the way we stop in a hunter’s house where on display are his trophy pelts, baboon, another kind of primate, and some ring-tailed cats, with baboon skulls. Also on display are his many guns, decorated with wear and hunting stories of ages hunting in the bush. In his compound there is also a live monkey tethered to a post. When we greet him, he presents a gourd of millet beer (called Chimichama) to us. We drink some and as a welcoming gift he gives us a liter and a half of the stuff. Really nice! We hike to the ridge, rock all around us, its features smooth and sharp bending around each corner like molten taffy, until we reach the edge of the cliff, 30 minutes from sunset. The cliff runs to the west for miles as the bottom drops below us extending for endless miles to the south. No range in sight as its flat, for a very….long....way. We stay to see the sunlight dim on our second day before heading to camp. We pass the night under the veil of stars, finish the millet beer, while the cool desert wind wraps around the rock formations, silencing the rest of the village around us.

Day 3:

Early wake up. We eat breakfast and head out ton our last day in Dogon Country. Our guide takes us along the ridge, over and through passages marked by the evidence of last year’s harvest season. The rock is barren minus a tree or dried grass that has found a home on a flat section of rock. We tour another village that’s on and made of rock. We see a traditional animist house, sacrificial places forbidden by anyone under the age of 60yrs and to all women, and special houses for women who are menstruating, isolating them from the rest of the village. Its believed that when they are having their period, it is bad luck for anyone to touch her or vice versa if she were to touch anything or anyone. Once we pass through, we reach the cliff edge where we start to make our descent to the lower floor of Dogon Country. We travel through this massive crack, walk across a crevasse using tree trunks with steps carved into them, pass a burial with human remains still in it, and descent hundreds of feet by way of a trail that was built using stones. We make it down and pass through a village that was abandoned just a couple of years ago. Once on the floor plain we make it to the camp for lunch while we wait for our Dogon taxi, a wagon pulled by a cow. We load the wagon with our bags and head back to the car with some people riding on the wagon while others walked behind. It’s the peak of the day and the sun is relentless. The walk seems longer than when we first started our hike a few days ago, but village by village we inch closer to the car that awaits us to take us back to Bandiagara. After 3 ½ hours of hiking, 15km+ of trail through rock and sand, we make our way back to the car, our express way out of Dogon. As we leave by way of the single lane road on top of the bedrock, you see Dogon slowly fade away out of sight until it is concealed by the ridge. Descend down the same road to reveal a truly mystical place still woven in the history of their culture, one that even Mali to this day has yet to discover.

Heading North!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Mali trifles & treasures

2012-01-24 13:43:00

had to make this one x-large - I love it!

Mom & Memaw picking me up from Sandy's in October (2011)

Imagine this beautiful trellis surrounded by a few more puddles and heavy rain clouds.

Does this picture make you hungry?

I am making my way up the eastern seaboard (and a little bit inland) on my way to SIT to begin graduate school (the time is finally here!).

On Saturday morning, Mom loaded Memaw and I (and some snacks) into the car and took us to Williamsburg to meet Aunt Sandy for a trade-off and then brunch at the Trellis - what a treat!

Once in Richmond I dropped off my bags and met up with Laura and Jackie (next time, Amanda & Ryan!). After seeing my cousin Dave's beautiful new home, Sandy, Memaw, Megan, Dave & I headed for dinner at Stella's. I shared artichoke moussaka and a kale salad with Sandy that were scrumptious. Later that night Jackie, Laura, Taylor, Seth and I made a late night run to Country Style Donuts for a sweet treat. Food spoiled much?

It is just the beginning of the journey and I am looking forward to the rest - stay tuned for more!