Homecoming

OK. So I’m home. Sorry for that – I imagine it’s relatively anticlimactic to read that all of a sudden. But that’s how it happened – my last week was hurried and I didn’t have time to blog as much as I wanted. So I’m making up for it now.


The last week was good. Strange in that it was both shorter and longer than almost any other week, but that may just because I was more aware of time as my date of departure came closer. Strangely, it was relatively uneventful, though still busy. Lots of loose ends to tie up. Following up on business arrangements, picking up last-minute presents, saying goodbyes. It was all both very surreal, being there but being somewhat absented from the life I had grown to know and expect. It was if suddenly, in anticipation of our leaving, everything stopped to let me and Katie off before kicking it back into the good ol’ Bamako gear.


As anticipated, we were NOT able to finish our project in time. In all actuality, we likely would have if one or both of us had been able to stay as late as we had originally planned, but the circumstances did not work out that way, unfortunately. Instead of spending our last days celebrating the new health ed curriculum with the peer educators, we spent out last days meeting with the artist to re-re-revise images (again) to make them: 1.) helpful and easy to use/understand and 2.) factually accurate (e.g. putting ONLY foods that actually have protein in them on the protein source card). We organized most of the peer educator training session(s) with the key players and even planned out most of the kickoff celebration, even if we didn’t get to start buying supplies and booking deejays. In short, I feel that I feel a little short in delivering having not been able to get everything pulled together nice and neat with a little bow on it, but then again, when is NGO work EVER that easy?


(The answer is no.)


As much as I do feel slightly underwhelmed with the work we did this summer, I am also acutely aware that we absolutely did as much as could have with the resources we had available to us and our ideals. It would have been easy to come in with pre-made health ed cards and beautiful t-shirts and lots of gifts, do a session or two, evaluate for funders and leave. In fact, that’s what many NGOs in Bamako (and elsewhere, for that matter) do. And I’ll tell you – after being on the ground and seeing them in action, I’m not impressed. Nor are most Malians. They want sustainable change and for better or for worse, that type of change comes SLOWLY. Painfully slowly. And that’s how it has to be. The only people who know the situation we’re addressing well enough to fix it are the people who live in the midst of it every day. And they are the ones who need to be given the power to choose how and where aid is used. So if they don’t work as quickly or efficiently as we do, that’s fine. Because it’s NOT our project. It’s theirs. And that is one key thing this internship made me realize.


One of the most important moments in that process of enlightenment came just before the end of my stay in Mali. I was in a CHAG meeting with Niang working out the details of the new curriculum and we asked the CHAG members if they wanted to include diarrhea. Caitlin and every doctor in town said this was a KEY priority. And in fact, so did the CHAG a few meetings ago. Diarrhea is not only a horrible symptom of many diseases, but it is also a symptom that is often left untreated and leads to far too many preventable deaths. How do you fix it? Oral rehydration therapy (ORT), to prevent dehydration. However, when we asked the CHAG whether or not they wanted to teach participants to make ORT at home, they said absolutely not.


My jaw dropped. Everyone else had given us an emphatic yes, but our supposed program heads were adamantly opposed and I was at a loss for words. Until, that is, they explained that the government was already on a huge public health campaign that urged people to go to the CSCOM (clinic) at the first signs of diarrhea no matter what and that any ORT-based campaign would not only make our program look rebellious and underhanded, but it would also undermine the good work that the existing governmental campaign is doing. And that’s when I realized – THAT is why we let locals do the work: they don’t just intellectualize these problems, they GET them. It was the proudest moment for MHOP I have had all summer. There was no question I was working for a solid organization with a good head on its shoulders. In fact, 12 of them - the CHAG members’.


The rest of the days spent in Bamako are best remembered by the food I ate. I essentially decided to celebrate my homecoming and the good food that was sure to follow by eating the nicest food Bamako had to offer. Or at least my favorite. So on Monday, we went to DeGuido’s, the only Italian-owned and operated pizza joing in Bamako (also home of the most delicious pizzas I have ever had not only in Bamako, but in my life). I split basil cream gnocchi and chevre pizza with Katie and I almost peed just looking at it. And it was only $15, I might add. Tuesday I was feeling sick so I skipped dinner, but that morning I treated myself to homemade French toast. It was odd to make it on a propane grill with uninspected raw eggs, but it was delicious: cinnamon, sugar, ginger, and cardamom (my favorite spice in the world, which we had a bit of courtesy of Miss Caitlin!) with honey. Wednesday night was our last day and we had both a good lunch AND a good dinner. Katie and I got burgers at our local ice cream shop, Broadway Café. I also got a scoop of hazelnut, my favorite staple there. And then for dinner, we went back to Appaloosa, the Bamakois equivalent of TGIF (complete with Americana paraphernalia on the walls), the best place in town to get Tex-Mex and bottle-blonde Lebanese hookers. We only indulged in the food – another pizza, actually. Quite good.


Looking at that line-up, you’d think I was being overly dramatic about food in Bamako, but these are the places we can only afford to go to once in a while, so this was a ridiculous splurge to eat out three times in one week (three days, actually). But it was so worth it.


After all that, we went home. I took a shower in the rain (literally) and gave my gifts to the family. To Maasi, cushioned insoles so her feet won’t hurt when her belly starts popping out a bit more. I hope she will find a way to make them work with bare feet/sandals, because when I bought them I thought she might wear some type of sneaker. If not, Niang can use them. To Abba, my broken watch. To Niang, a solid new trapper-keeper style binder and three dirty limerick books to encourage him to keep learning English. Hopefully he doesn’t ask his teacher to translate them in front of the class… Unfortunately, I missed the chance to say goodbye to Mama and Fifi, but I am sending them an e-mail via Julie and Cari in the next day or two.


And then I left. The trip was brutal, but to spare us all, I’ll just give the abridged version. We left for Casablanca at 4AM from Bamako and that flight was great. Since I’ve been sick, I asked to sit in the back next to the toilets and got a whole row to myself to lay out and sleep in. It was great. From Casa to JFK, no such luck. Nine hours in the back of the plane, but this time surrounded by: 1.) 9 overly excited children, 2.) one mommy who refused to pay attention to her kids to keep them occupied, 3.) one mommy who didn’t know that five year olds aren’t supposed to drink five cokes and eat four chocolate bars in two hours, and 4.) one wannabe-mommy who decided to keep them occupied for her for the duration of the flight (right next to me). It actually wasn’t horrible, but in the last hour when I realized I was going to be landing in America after two long months and just wanted out, I almost killed one of them with my plastic lunch utensils. I almost tried. We got off and, remembering that I had checked my bag all the way through to Boston and not thinking it would show up the carousel, I left customs bagless. And found out that I DID need to get it. But now I couldn’t go back to find it because I wasn’t “sterilized”. So customs had to rip my lock off (even though it had a TSA-approved lock on it), go rifle through all of my stuff, and send it along after me.


Flash forward to my wait for the layover. I’m scheduled for 10:10PM, but I want to get on the earlier flights. And then flash forward to the 7:30PM flight leaving at 11. And my flight being postponed until 11:10, then midnight, then just plain old cancelled. At this point, it is 4AM in my head and I want to die. I get reassigned to a 7AM flight and sleep at the gate on a floor clutching both of my bags. I wake up and get a $9 bagel, wait for the plane. It is delayed. I want to kill someone. Again. I finally get on the flight – it ended up taking off at 9, so not too bad. I pass out.


Wake up. And I’m home safe. Easy sailing. No more hitches. Royal Air Maroc did NOT lose my bag (thank G-d! Who knew they had it in them?) and I was just in time to take the Silver Line back to South Station and catch the 10:25 train back to Providence. And here I am, writing away as green tree blurs pass me by through the windows. I did it. Now let’s just hope I don’t get mugged on the way up College Hill. I really don’t want them to take my sweet fabrics. ☺


So what is the summary? How do I respond when everyone asks: “How was AFRICA?” The answer is, “It was long, difficult, but a great and rare chance to learn a lot about myself.” Would I do it again? Not for a while, likely not in Mali. Do I regret it? Not at all – I had a blast, even though parts of it sucked (hard). Best part? Seeing a beautiful new part of the world and feeling like I got to really know their culture well. Worst part? Diarrhea for three weeks. Thing I am looking forward to most in the States? Reliable electricity, healthy and delicious food, and seeing a doctor with equipment that works.


Seriously. I have never been so excited to get a physical in all my life.


That having been said, this internship also made me realize that I have seen what the ideal kind of work I want to be doing looks like and I’m not cut out for it. At least not in West Africa. Who knows? Maybe India or Thailand or Ecuador will shed new light on this perspective, but for now, I’m crossing foreign aid off the potential job list and sticking to being a tourist - a very culturally aware and curious, always respectful, very informed… tourist. Just like many other brilliant minds who work in other fields.


For now. There’s always next summer.


Signing off for now.


One last time.


X Adama “Toubab” Diarra X