Holidays and Projects

It’s another sunny, blazing hot day during “cold season”. It’s Sunday, which means the men have all put down their daily work in the fields to work on the latrine project. Four of the eight women have also set down their work to undertake the daunting task of feeding 35 very hungry men. If God is willing, this will be their last day digging the latrine holes. They have been working hard each Sunday for the past five weeks. The next step in the process will be to gather sand and gravel for the concrete bricks for the walls and slabs to cover the latrine holes, and digging up boulders to fill the covered waste water areas, aka “soak pits”. At this point in the harvest season, the corn has already been shucked, peanuts dried, and the oranges and guavas are gone. Right now, my friends are off cutting and beating their rice; cutting and beating nawelena, a red seed found in a spiny brown pod that is sold for a good price and turned into oil; digging out their sweet potatoes and slicing them to lay in the sun, amongst other daily chores.

On Monday, December 8^th, the big Muslim holiday, Tabaski, which marks the pilgrimage to Mecca and the day when Abraham’s sacrificial child was switched with a sheep. Everyone who can afford to buy a sheep to sacrifice did so, and the sheep market was especially CRAZY in Bamako, where sheep can go for $100 each. Those who can’t afford sheep will get goats instead, and those unable to afford either will get chickens. I ate my full of meat, and didn’t discriminate this year on parts. I ate everything but the bone, including bone marrow, fat, and I even added stomach and heart (yum!) to my list of strange meat eaten while in Mali. Most of the adults bought new outfits for their children and some for themselves. I put on my nice, new, stiff bazin outfit and joined them at their makeshift mosque at 9 am for the prayer. This year’s fete was a little bittersweet for me. I remember last year’s Seliba Tahiru’s mother came and got me and made sure I was dressed appropriately. Since the death of her son, she hasn’t been the same, and our relationship doesn’t go beyond greetings. I remember it as being a time of happiness and excitement. I was new to the village and it was my first big holiday. It fell close to Christmas, so I could feel the holiday cheer. I also spent most of the day with Tahiru and threw a party at my house where my friends came and played cards and I gave the children gifts. This didn’t happen this year, and not having Tahiru around to celebrate with was a heavy place in my heart. Instead of an exciting day in anticipation of the next year to come, it was a look back at the past year, in which much tragedy has struck my life, and realizing my time in Mali is more than halfway over. The blessing you say this day is “May God show us another year”, and it was always followed by the person noting that I wouldn’t be here next year to celebrate with them. Life moves in mysterious ways.

So I have to apologize for not writing more often, but I realized that if you guys are going to be donating to my projects I owe it to you to let you live vicariously through me. I wanted to write about the other big holiday this year, which had much more significance to me. It was the day that marked the end of Ramadan, the holy fasting month, which fell on September 30^th this year. This holiday was more important to me because of the connection I felt to my village. During Ramadan, Muslims will fast for 30 days. Fasting means waking up at 5am (3am if you’re a woman and need to cook), and stuffing yourself with rice and sauce. Then you go back to sleep until normal waking time. During the day, which fell right in the middle of rainy season this year, you are not permitted to eat or drink anything until the sun sets at around 6:20. People work a bit less and sit around more, but no tea to go with the chatting. I was amazed at the number of people who would leave at the normal 7am and do grueling field work until 4 or 5pm with no water. They say it’s easier to fast when you have your mind off it. In the evening, people are tired and a bit cranky and eager to break fast. Fast is broken when the radio sounds the three bangs (gunshots?) and is followed by some singing. At this time, hot Malian “coffee”, which is extremely sweet chicory tea and bread are consumed. After a few minutes, you drink millet porridge. Most of the time I was full from this food and didn’t eat more, but some would eat corn tô or rice and sauce. Of the 30 days of Ramadan, I spent 17 of them in my village, waking up at 5 am to eat with my host family and breaking fast at sunset with them. The first few days were hardest, but when you put your mind to fasting, it’s really not that bad. By far the hardest part is trying to stay hydrated, as you can only drink water half the day, and those hours are spent sleeping or eating. The festival marking the end of Ramadan, Seliden, for me was a much more exciting time. I got new clothes made, participated in the prayer, and stuffed myself with meat and good food again. It was so great to see everyone’s spirits lifted now that they had gotten in good with God, and can go back to drinking tea and work full time again.

Between Seliden, and Seliba (Tabaski), I had my first visitors to Mali. They arrived in late November and spent two weeks with me. When they first arrived in my village, the WHOLE village came to greet them. I’ve never seen them all in one place at one time before! The next night, we had the first balafone (traditional instrument similar to a xylophone) party in my village since I got here. It was such a delight!! We danced until 2am, when the musicians got tired and had to make their way back home. It was such a beautiful experience to dance with the people of my village. The highlight of the night for me was when I realized none of the elders had danced, that it was all full of young men and women. I urged a few of them to dance, and one by one, they joined the group until finally all of the old men and women were dancing together, and boy can they MOVE! Malian dancing is all pretty similar without much variety but these old people sure put a spark in the night! That is a memory I will not soon forget. After a generous goodbye and giving of gifts, we sadly left my village to head into Sikasso to celebrate Thansgiving with the larger Peace Corps community, where the food and company were fantastic. We next made our way up to Mopti Region, where we drank beers and watched the boats come in and the sun set on the Niger River. The next morning we were off to Dogon Country, where we only had enough time, money, and energy to do a day hike. It was still amazing, and I think my family was able to see enough to get a feel for the life and culture. The next morning we made our way through Djenne, home of the biggest mud structure in the world. Unfortunately, because the mosque is still in use and there is so much tourism, the security was tight, Malian style, the market was full, and the number of people wanting to be our tour guides was overwhelming. We then passed through to Segou (one of my favorite cities) where we relaxed by the pool and watched the sun set over the Niger. We spent two nights in Segou before heading to Bamako where we took a nice boat ride on the river, ate some good western food, and heard some good music. We also took a stop by the museum, which is filled with old artifacts and a cool textile exhibit (although all in French).

Now, it’s Sunday, about a week and a half before Christmas and only a few weeks before my next visitor, a UVM college friend, Lauren, comes to visit. As of yet, I have no Christmas and New Year’s plans, but am not fretting, as I’ve come to understand even the best laid plans get foiled! As for the short term future, a few good friends of mine, and fellow PCVs will be getting married at the Hand of Fatima rock formation in northern Mali, where I plan to get some climbing in. This next 8-9 months or so I have left in country seem seriously packed, as I think I’m the only volunteer who hasn’t left country yet!! I have 48 vacation days to use and two projects to do! Thanks for reading, and thanks even more for your donations, keep them coming! I’ll try my hardest to keep you updated!

Latrine Project

Hello all!

Welcome to a new era of my work in Kadiaradugu. I have just recently completed a proposal for 22 new latrines and bathing areas in my village. This will be enough to supply one per family unit in the village. I've submitted my project through the Peace Corps Partnership Program, which funds projects by donations from friends, family and others in America. In order for this to happen, I'll need YOUR help!! 100% of your donations are tax deductible and go DIRECTLY to the project (no hidden admin fees). The village is very motivated, and has already zoned the village in anticipation of a new electricity project (so the latrines don't get ruined when the lines come through), and has dug all of the holes for the latrines. They are awaiting funding to make the reinforced concrete slabs and build the brick walls. Please help make this a reality for the village!

Some of you will receive in the mail a complete copy of the proposal I have written with instructions on how to donate. If you didn't get one and you would like one, please send me your address. Others have received a letter from my very generous support network back home (Donna Dunn and Mel Danaher). To clear up the confusion as to where to donate, I'd like to explain the objectives of the rest of my service. Our goals for the village during my remaining 10 months in country are as follows: (1) To complete the latrine project (2) To finish the well that was started last year, but had to be stopped due to the rains, and (3) set up the village for a means of finding a pump. The first initiative is underway, a proposal has been submitted, and we're awaiting donations to complete the project (see blog sidebar). The well project cannot be started again until later on in the dry season (April or May) so that we can dig it deep enough to ensure it won't dry up. Because the initial proposal for this project was well repair, and not complete construction, additional funds will be needed. A budget has been completed, and will be submitted when the funds for the latrine project have been collected. Finally, the pump situation is a little more complicated. There is government funding available for a pump, but because of some difficulty in getting the village recognized by the government, it is unclear if they will see that money or not. Either way, because of how spread out the village is, they will need two pumps. Ideally, we'd write a proposal for one and get the other from the government, but we are still unclear if this is possible. I will keep you updated as the pump information is available.

After my remaining 10 months are completed, inshallah (God willing), there will be another water and sanitation volunteer that will replace me to continue work in the village. This is where two donation locations comes in. You can donate directly to the Peace Corps Website to the latrine project, but when that is funded completely, it will be taken offline, and any donations above the needed amount will be donated to another person's project. I'd like to keep fundraising going, so that it will be quicker to collect funds for the well project, which is why the church account is open. As funds come into the church, they will go to the latrine project, until it's funded, and anything above that amount will be saved for future projects in the village, including the pump and well. When I get done in Mali, I plan to come back to America and continue to help fundraising for this village as long as there is a volunteer here to implement the work. Please help me and my community members in making Kadiaradugu a more sanitary and safe place.

If you have any questions, feel free to email me or leave a comment here and I'll get back to you.

Thank you!!

A Tragic Accident

On Tuesday, December 2nd the Peace Corps Mali community lost a very important member. Cristina Nardone had completed her Peace Corps Service and returned to Mali to work on an irrigation project for a medicinal garden near the city of Bandiagara. The article posted in the local newspaper has been translated below:



Bandiagara : Tragic Collapse of a Water Towerl'Essor n°16337 du - 2008-12-04 08:00:00
An American was killed last Tuesday in the collapse of a water tower. The accident occurred in the village of Kokodiougou, 15 kilometers north of Bandiagara in the rural commune of Doucoumbo.
The victim, Cristina Nardone, was the coordinator of the Global System Tourism Alliance (GSTA). Her compatriot, Brenda Adelson was injured in the accident. Christina Nardone was a member of the Federation of Traditional Medicine in partnership with the Regional Center for Traditional Medicine in Bandiagara.
The construction work on the water tower was finished last Monday. The structure measured 4 meters in height; with 2 meters being for the pillars and 2 meters for the portion holding the water. The water tower was entirely constructed of cement.
The day after the construction work was completed, the two women visited the site, along with the builder, to visit the water tower, which was to water medicinal plants in the botanical garden managed by the "Federation of Traditional Therapy" of Bandiagara (FATTB) in the village.
Upon arriving at the site, Christina Nardone asked the builder to fill the basin with water.Several minutes after the water tower was filled, it collapsed on the two women who were unfortunately under it.The collapse led to the sudden death of Cristina Nardone. With respect to Brenda Adelson, she suffered an open fracture on her left leg.
As soon as they were alerted, police agents from Bandiagara arrived on the scene and the victims were immediately transported to Mopti.The builder of the water tower is currently being held at the gendarmerie.
The entire population of Bandiagara prays the victim will rest in peace and for the rapid restablishment of Brenda Adelson. The two women were true friends of the Circle of Bandiagara.



O. GUINDOAMAP-Bandiagara



Christina had a beautiful spirit and through her work and life she inspired many people, including myself. May she rest in peace.

RIP Tahiru Berthe

The morning of Friday, June 13th started off like any day in my tiny village of Kadiaradugu. It was a bit overcast and cool when all the masons gathered in the center of the village to start work at around 8 am. It marked the first day of work repairing the main well in the village, which supplies water to over 50 people, or 1/5 of the village and sits in the dugutigi’s (chief of the village) concession (large family housing group). Work started by setting up the pulley system that would be used to lower the masons in the well. Everyone was excited to begin work, as most of the masons were eagerly awaiting their first descent into a well. By the time the pulley system was in place, it was 9 am and the hot Malian sun was beating down so hard on us that I joked that we should make a gwa (grass roof) to cover the well area while we worked. I was a bit tired and my crankiness was pointed out by my friend, Hadi, so I went to my hut to make some coffee. When I reemerged with my French press full of Ethiopian coffee it became the talk of the concession. I poured some into a small metal cup and let the dugutigi try it. He exclaimed “there’s no sugar!” and immediately handed it back to me. Knowing Tahiru, my homologue, likes coffee I gave the rest to him. I then let a few other brave souls try it, and all gave the same response – a pursed lip look coupled with an exclamation of “there’s no sugar in it!” Tahiru, however, intercepted the cup each time on the way back to me, drinking down every last sip. He had been observant during my PHAST (Participatory Hygiene and Sanitation Transformation Series) formation of my inability to function in the morning without it, and although he was already extremely perky today, he exclaimed “it’s medicine to make me happy!” He was goofy like that and I couldn’t help but laugh.

We started work again with a demonstration of how to handle the pulley system, lowering each mason into the well one by one, starting with Hadi. He’d worked in the diamond mines in Cote D’Ivoire, which are much deeper and narrower, so it was no big deal for him. He was lowered and raised without incident. Next came Dau, who had also been in wells before. He was a bit nervous, but with his determined face, you wouldn’t be able to tell unless you really knew him. When he came up, Tahiru went down. This was the time he’d been waiting for since I first described in my crude Bambara (local language) how the pulley system works. As my main work partner, we had stumbled through our PHAST together, planning each session by flashlight in the evenings. By the end of the PHAST we had determined the most logical steps to take to improve the sanitation of the village. He’d helped me write the proposal, and it was his concession that was to become the model concession for the village. Although he was afraid to get in the well, he knew that everyone else in the village was too, and partly because he feared we wouldn’t make the quota of 5 masons (we surpassed it with 6), he decided to step up to the plate, putting his fears aside and enter the well. He’s a big guy so it took all the masons with all their might to lower him into the well and raise him again. When he got his feet back on solid ground, he gave me that big dimply grin, with the missing front tooth and sparkling eyes that I’d come to know so well, and said “I wasn’t scared!”, but you could tell the adrenaline was pumping through his veins. After him the other three masons were lowered one by one, so that each person would know each position on the rope and as the watchman.

After all the masons had mastered the art of lowering and raising into the well, and been quizzed on what they learned the previous day, we were ready to get the water out of the well, and lower someone in to measure how much repair was needed. Like last time, we decided to start with the pump Tahiru uses for irrigation in the fields. It didn’t work last time, but we had a meter less to go this time, because we’d torn apart the top of the well. We also had the ability to lower someone in the well to work with the motor. So it went, and the motor was lowered in. It didn’t work at first, so Tahiru was lowered in with it. He soon got it to work, and there was a mad rush of women to fill up their buckets. I was watching a child, Bakary, at the moment, but caught out of the corner of my eye that they were pulling Tahiru out, so I got up and walked over to the well just in enough time to see his head and shoulders lift above ground level. Next thing I knew his head slumped to one side, and he released his grip on the rope that held his life and the seat that he was sitting on flew into the air. Mass chaos broke out. The women and children lost control, screaming, pulling their hair, flailing their bodies on the ground, and making noises I didn’t know were human. I remained calm because I knew there was no way anything could happen to him, it was Tahiru after all, my rock. The one who had taken me under his wing, helped me understand his culture, and believed that I knew what I was talking about when everyone else laughed in my face. He was the one who I talked with late into the night every night about everything under the sun; one of the few who could understand my Bambara, and showed patience and insistence when he couldn’t. He physically and emotionally built me a home in a village so far from, and so unlike my own. As the dugutigi’s son and natural born leader, people came to him for advice. He had a family, three young kids, two wives, a mother and father, and numerous brothers and sisters. In my eyes, he was going to be the next dugutigi. He was the village leader. So, nothing could possibly happen to him. We were going to pull him out and I’d do CPR, he’d be okay.

I tried to calm some of the women and children but realized it was no use. I yelled over the chaos at the men that they had to pull up the pump, so they did. I then told them someone had to go down to get him, so Hadi got ready. They all took their positions on the rope and lowered him down. I ran to my house to get my First Aid guide to get a refresher on CPR. I got my phone and called the only people I knew who might be able to help. Peace Corps said they’d call the Sikasso hospital and fire department, and I called the Peace Corps mason, who said someone had to go in after him. By the time I got back, they were fashioning a new wooden seat to put Tahiru on so they could both come up, leaving only a few people on the rope that held Hadi’s life. Shortly after they threw the seat down, Hadi came back out of the well filthy and soaked, with a look of despair and defeat on his face. We looked at each other like that for a minute while the rest of the world melted away. It was then I knew he wasn’t coming out alive. I walked away from the well, and fell to the ground where I lost myself in the chaos of the village. I screamed and cried, pleaded and sobbed. I insisted that I get in since I knew how to swim, and blamed myself for coming to the village. Hadi and Tahiru’s brother, Nuhu, kept their cool and took turns holding my hands and comforting me while I surrendered to the chaos. The next few hours are blurry, but I watched as his other brothers, and the other villagers came home from the fields one by one and were told the news. They all had the same reaction – to try to get away from the other men to get down in the well to retrieve him. They were all held down, and each time, I sobbed again. I felt extreme pangs of guilt about being sent to this village, and helping start this project. Hadi, seeing my despair, took me to the dugutigi, Tahiru’s dad, who held my hands and told me to look into his eyes. Looking into this wise old man’s eyes, I couldn’t help but feel calm right to my core. He said to me “Dry your tears. Don’t cry. God took my son today, you did not. This is God’s will. Even if you never came here, he would have died today another way.”

At this time, I asked where the mason I’d hired from Bamako to help me with this project was. I was led to the concession that he was in. When I came upon where he was, I found him lying on the ground in a concession outside the main part of the village. He grabbed at my ankles, and sobbed “what happened? How did this happen?” I took his hands and told him that it wasn’t him; there was nothing he could have done. I told him exactly what the dugutigi told me, that it was God’s will. This calmed him down for a bit, but as the lead mason on the job, he felt just as responsible as I did. It was then that I found out his body had been pulled from the well. I lost it all over again, and struggled against them to get back to the village to commence CPR, even though I knew it was too late, but again I was restrained.

As time crawled on, the news spread and people started showing up by the hundreds. The whole concession was overflowing, and people spilled out into my area of the village, blocking my concession door. Although the Sikasso ambulance and fire department never came, the doctor from the nearest CSCOM did, and he approached me as I returned to the village. He looked at me and told me that he had checked out the body and that there was nothing that could be done.

As I wandered around the village trying to figure out where I fit in, I felt alienated and longed to find Tahiru to ask how things would proceed. He was the only one I ever asked, and I trusted him to give me the answers I needed. Without him to turn to, I found myself a stranger in my own village with no answers.

I continued wandering and ran into Hadi. He asked me where I was going, and I stated I’d like to see Tahiru. He said okay, and took me to the room he was in. Before I entered he asked me if I’d be scared, and I told him no. As I entered the dark room, I saw him on the far side, covered with a blanket. Hadi removed the blanket so I could see his face. I asked if I could touch him and he said yes. I took his hand in my own and told him how fortunate I had been to come to his village and get to know him. I told him that I understood that God needed him right now, and apologized for letting this happen.

Tahiru, you were an honest mentor and teacher, an eager student, a driven and encouraging homologue, a loving and hard working father, husband, son and brother. Your enthusiasm, leadership and ever present smile will be dearly missed for all who had the blessing of experiencing your presence.

I want to thank the Peace Corps staff and everyone who has helped me through this tragedy, especially the PCMOs, Alkalifa, Kris Hoffer, Alyssa Karp, Christine Sow, and the Sikassokaw.

I just want to thank you
For all of the things you’ve done
I’ve been thinking about you
I just want to send my love

I send my best to you
That’s my message of love
For all the things you did
I can never thank you enough

Feel like I’m falling
Falling off the face of the earth

I just want to tell you
You sure mean a lot to me
It may sound simple
But you are the world to me

It’s such a precious thing
The time we shared together
I must apologize
For the troubled times

Feel like I’m falling
Falling off the face of the earth

~Neil Young

Thanks to the never ending hard work and dedication by two women most dear to my heart, Donna Dunn, and Mel Danaher, there has been a Memorial Fund set up in Tahiru’s name. This Fund will help fund the very water and sanitation projects that came out of the PHAST formation that Tahiru spent so much time dedicated to. As soon as a website is created I’ll post the link. For now, tax-deductible donations can be sent to the following address:

Church of Christ
330 Dorset Street
South Burlington, Vermont 05403

You must put Tahiru Memorial Sanitation Fund on memo line.

Work Project Update (kind of)

Hey guys, it’s been awhile, sorry, life called!! I think most of you have gotten a copy of my proposal via email, (if you’d like to get it let me know). UVM recently contacted me to write something for their Reunion weekend’s theme of the “environmental and sustainability arenas”. So, here is what I wrote:

My name is Chelsea Ransom, and I graduated from UVM in 2005 with a BS in Civil/Environmental Engineering, and a minor in Community and International Development. I’m currently serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Mali, West Africa, where I arrived in July of 2007, and will stay until September 2009. My village is a small Senufo village with about 250 residents. The literacy rate of my village is around 5% which is way below the national average of 24% (reference). The most widely spoken language is Senufo, with over 20 distinct dialects. Despite the many scholars working in Mali to preserve the language, it remains unwritten, and without its own alphabet. The second language is Bambara, a much more widely spoken language, and is what I use to communicate with my community members. A third, much less common language spoken in my village is French, the national language. My job title here as ‘Water Sanitation Engineer’ covers a small fraction of the work I perform in the environmental and sustainability arenas.
A water and sanitation committee has formed in my village, which is in charge of educating the rest of the community members in proper health and sanitation activities such as hand washing with soap after leaving the restroom and before eating, filtering and treating drinking water, sleeping under a treated mosquito nets, decreasing the amount of standing water, and keeping latrine facilities and garbage areas away from drinking water sources. Some of the engineering projects we’re working on include top and bottom well repairs, washing area, soak pit, and slab latrine construction, and hand washing stations.
There is also a women’s shea association who is currently selling shea nuts to raise enough money for a cereal/shea grinding machine, magazine construction, and women’s literacy and numeracy trainings. A majority of these women have also begun working towards creating a community garden space with a central concrete and mortar brick lined large diameter well. The community garden will tie into a two-week long child nutrition and ameliorated porridge demonstration based on the Hearth model, as well a composting and waste management training.
One-third of the Peace Corps Model is based on providing sustainable, technical support to a community. All of our projects aim to be sustainable in the villages which we serve after our two year tour is over.

Ala ka dayoro suma

Hello blog readers (are there any of you out there?)

I was sitting in village about three months ago, when I got a text message from my fellow PCV Christopher Krey. He is one of the first second year volunteers I met here, and ironically enough we have a mutual friend in Ann Arbor. This is besides the point, but he was in the same homestay family in Missalabougou as me the year before, so we've become brother and sister. Anyhow, he sent a text message that our little brother Adama, who was born during his time in Missalabougou got sick and despite taking him to the doctor he didn't make it. As you might recall during a post at the beginning of this blog, this is the same small village that was hit hard with three deaths during a week when I was there. This came as a big shock to me, and naturally my emotions were all over the place, from disbelief to grief, anger, injustice and sympathy. My host family was amazing, one man with only one wife, and this is not thier first child lost. A few years before I came, one of their siblings was swept away during a flash flood on a walk home from the fields. On one of my last days in village, my host brother Ladji took me to her grave, where I stood in silence looking at the now dry river where this young child lost her life. News like this always comes when I seem to have gotten comfortable with my new way of life, and forgotten about the grief and injustice in this world. But the harsh reality is that when my two years are done here I go back to the luxuries of American doctors, running water, and malaria free mosquitos, but Mali will still be here and children will still die every day. So, please, today and every day, call, write, email or hug your children, do anything to let them know they mean the world to you. Don't let that opportunity slip by.

Awa and Adama

For some pictures of baby Adama as Chris knew him, and for his view on the death please check out his blog at http://www.faceyboy.blogspot.com/. It's the Saturday, February 16th entry.

Seliba

When the morning of December 21st, Seliba (Tabaski, or Eid Al Adha, the day of pilgrimage to Mecca) arrived, it felt a little like Christmas, minus the snow. The entire village was alive, with the crackle of frying furu-furu (fried millet cakes), and sight of brand new, pressed, specially tailored, colorful clothes only to be worn once, with stickers still firmly attached. The excited feeling you have when you wake up on Christmas morning and head to the beautifully lit Christmas tree was the same feeling that overcame me as I wandered around Kadiaradugu that morning. Excitement was everywhere, and I felt it arise in me when Géné, one of the children, came up to me with a big toothless grin and said “Seliba is today!”

For me, Seliba started the day before, when all of the women got dressed up to go to the special pre-Seliba market. Our markets are always on Wednesdays, but this was a special market, and what is normally a small, empty marketplace had turned into an almost saturated, bustling place. I walked with the proud women of my village to the market that day, their children strapped snugly to their backs and their empty buckets and bowls safely balanced on their heads. I greeted my usual friends, mingled in the market, drank some dégé (sweet yogurt with millet), and dublini (sweet hibiscus tea), and went home. That night, my friend Wasa came over to apply the jabi (Malian henna) I had bought in market that day. So began one of the best nights in village yet. We pulled my straw mat into my front yard and got to work. The entire process took a few hours, which were filled with the beautiful, distinctive laughs of my female friends. We spent the night chatting in Bambara, and pretending like I can speak Senufo, which elicited multiple howls of laughter from my lady friends. At one point there were four women working on my feet, all lit by the light from a single flashlight gripped between Wasa’s neck and shoulder.

Wasa applying Jabi
My lady friends helping out
Pre Jabi feet
Jabi feet
Post jabi feet

Mine and Wasa's

The next morning found me in bed with jabi, plastic bags and socks on my feet, with Wasa yelling softly to me at 6:30 to get up and remove the jabi. I washed it off, and mixed the rock salt consistency rat poison with ash and water, used to turn the red shade of the jabi into black. When my cuts were taped up and the poison application was finished, I proceeded with my daily activities of pulling water from the well for drinking, cooking and cleaning, and reading. Today was different, however, as I was to be at the mosque by 9 am for the big prayer. I didn’t have much time to heat my water for my bucket bath, bathe, eat, and get my clothes pressed before the big prayer. Luckily, musokoroba came to my house and gave me furu-furu mixed with water and sugar for breakfast, sparing the need to cook. When I was ready, I put on my best Malian outfit, and musokoroba showed up to give me her white shawl (again) and escort me to the prayer area. As I was walking up to prayer, an old woman approached me telling me that my skirt was too short. This skirt was below mid calf, so I was quite surprised, but utterly embarrassed, and after much chastisement, was on the verge of tears. What would happen to me if I disrespected their sacred place? Would I get kicked out, or would they just look at me differently from here on out? Some of the women agreed it was too short, but others said it was okay, so I proceeded to the mosque. Despite the fashion faux-pas, this trip to the mosque was less nerve-racking than the last one, and one musokoroba actually requested I stand in the back and take pictures first, and she would call me to prayer secondly. I snapped some pictures, and then joined in the group. It was much cooler and more pleasant than the first trip to the mosque, and I remembered to bring money this time. After mosque, I was only able to snap a few pictures of my villagers in their special Seliba outfits before they hurried home to change clothes and start preparing the meat for the feasts.


Prayer at the outdoor mosque area.

The old ladies (musokorobas) of the village in their finest clothing
One of the dugutigi's wives, Seitu
My host father, Bakary
One of my host mothers, Korotum
My friend Wasa and her husband, Yacou
Me, in my finest clothing.
Wasa and I
My language tutor, Sidiki and his family

I walked around the village and gave my greetings, and handed out the 5 chickens I bought to Hadi my supervisor, Lasina the village doctor, the dugutigi, Tahiru my homologue, Bakary my host father, and Sidiki my language tutor. I watched a few goats being slaughtered, skinned and prepared, and preceded to my house to prepare for the party I was set to host in the afternoon. Thanks to an EKI package, I had a ton of toys, including gliders, kaleidoscopes, balloons, stickers, jumping frogs, magic writing tablets, amongst others. I made banana bread in my solar hot pot, and a majority of the men and a few women came over, where we made tea and played a Malian card game called 151. It was a day full of laughter as I blew up 100 balloons, with the men watching me in amazement (they couldn’t seem to figure out how to do it). I watched the curiosity and creativity of these men as they looked through a kaleidoscope for the first time, put the gliders together backwards, watched the magic writing disappear with the swipe of a finger. I made many old men and women jump and shriek as I pressed the bum of the jumping frog, causing it to leap at them (there is a strong dislike and even fear of frogs here in Mali). They decided the best use of the plastic frogs was to glue them to their motos. They were equally as fascinated with the stickers of colorful cartoon fish (Finding Nemo?) They couldn’t believe that fish like this existed, and when I tried to explain that smiling fish with googly eyes didn’t really exist, they couldn’t understand the concept, and decided that they just didn’t exist in Mali, but surely they could be found in America.

Slaughtering of a goat
Skinning the goat is an amazingly delicate art. Some men and kids in my yard playing cards.
My homologue Tahiru and my supervisor Hadi have matching clothes on.
Some village boys all dressed up.
And the village girls all dressed up.

As evening fell, the party ended, and people went home, happy with their new toys, and amazed at the things they had discovered about America (including banana bread). When night fell, I went to Bakary’s house where I feasted on goat meat, including liver and who knows what other parts, but turning down the invitation to eat stomach. I went to bed full, happy and exhausted. It was a wonderful holiday, with Christmas just around the corner. Check your email in a few weeks for my Christmas adventures and more photos.