OK, all! A great moment is upon us. Caitlin Cohen, Brown '08/MHOP co-founder/personal friend has been nominated to receive $100,000 by DoSomething!, The Brick Awards, and the Teen Choice Awards. She's already gotten $10,000, but an online vote held from now until August 4th will determine who gets the additional $100,000 prize called the Golden Brick Award.
IF YOU WANT TO VOTE: click on the title of this post "Your Vote..." and it will take you directly to the webpage.
Note: You must be born after 1990 in order for your vote to count, but you may use multiple e-mail addresses, it seems...
YOU CAN VOTE EVERY DAY AND HELP BRING BETTER HEALTHCARE TO BAMAKO!
Tell your family! Tell your friends! It's stiff cometition against 8 other great projects.
If you want to help us out to recruit friends by being a captain, you could win some AMAZING prizes, including a trip out to see the awards show LIVE, hand-made customized Malian clothes, etc.
Here is the official press release:
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Caitlin Cohen has been named by FOX's Teen Choice Awards and Do Something Inc. as one of the top 9 youth activists in the US for her for her work on health systems development with government officials and slum residents in Mali, West Africa through the NGO she founded, MHOP.
Online voting will determine if MHOP wins $100,000 to build a model healthcare and education center for 10,000 of the slum's poorest women and children.
So vote daily for to support healthcare and education in Mali! Just 1 click: http://www.dosomething.org/awards
Permanent residents in the USA can vote once per email address and per day until August 4.
Your birthday must be entered as between 1989 and 1995 for your vote to count.
Invite your friends and family and remember to vote!
www.malihealth.org for more info!
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Help us out, guys!!!! Thanks for all your help!
X Adama X
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Friday, 6/28
Wednesday, June 24
Today was an absolutely great day. I woke up at 8AM or so (relatively early for me here, but still late by Malian standards) and went hiking with Katie. All around Bamako are tiny mountainesque hills that are nice for hiking. We took a new route through Sikoroni and went up through the mountains to this pretty little rock formation. It required some Cliffhanger moments to get to the top of all of the formations, but it was a fun little expedition.
Along the way, we ran into a small family (the one from my photos) and we got to meet all of the children. It was nice to just be able to talk to a family and take a picture (I rarely do – it seems impolite somehow), and not be expected to pay. I guess that’s the value of being able to speak a bit of Bambara. It’s just one small way to show that you’ve already made an investment in them and their home.
However, the encounter turned from cute to annoying when the children refused to leave us alone for the rest of our hike. After the initial limited Bambara conversation and laughter, we said goodbye to finish our hike, but they kept following us. The chorus of children’s laughter was a little bothersome and kind of eerie, so I tried multiple times in various forms of Bambara to tell them that we were serious and wanted them to leave. We would point back to their home and tell them we wanted to be alone and that they were being disrespectful, but they would just giggle at us infuriatingly. And I kept getting angrier and angrier until I finally had this strange realization that tied back into the racism theme: they had nothing else to be doing. These children have absolutely nothing they are expected or encouraged to do other than respect their parents and eat. There is no school in the neighborhood, most of them are too young to work, and I am just a form of entertainment for them. Why WOULDN’T they want to harass me? And that’s when it hit me that I can’t let the toubabou comments become personal. These kids are just trying to amuse themselves and have fun in a place where the only fun you get is the fun you make for yourself. And knowing that, I can’t fault them for trying to torture me. It’s like playing with an ant under a magnifying class – what kid can deny himself the simply joy? We descended in a neighboring slum called Sourakabougouni and were promptly invited into a woman’s tiny, decrepit house for a quick respite and good conversation. Surprisingly, she spoke French and had a cell phone, despite living in one of the poorer parts of town. We told her about the microfinance program and asked her to get in touch so maybe she could start a business. I don’t know if she’ll ever go, but it was nice to at least have a resource available like that as a way of thanking her for her hospitality.
When we got back, I got to debrief with Caitlin about the racism issue, which was helpful. We also got to talk for a while alone in general, which was also pretty nice (not to mention the delicious egg/cucumber/tomato/garlic sandwiches… I’m coming to appreciate them right next to Yoplait yogurt sacks). It was really necessary to just debrief about all the frustration and put it out on the table. It’s actually been remarkable how challenging this experience has been. I’m so used to getting work done when and how I want it and this job is all about just going with the flow and letting other people make decisions for me. I have almost no relevance here. The CHAG (community health action group) makes the decisions, the CHAG knows what is best, and I am just providing a skeletal structure for them to work in. As a pseudo-control freak, that’s tough to work with. But Caitlin totally gets it and has been super helpful in dealing with the frustration. Thank G-d for people who get it and know how to explain it to me. As smart as I am, sometimes I just self-destruct if left to my own devices.
At the end of the day, I got a tattoo done by a local artist. When I say tattoo, I mean henna. And when I say henna, I mean she bought a $1 pack of hair dye powder and painted it on my skin. That’s right. I just got a hair dye tattoo for $1. I’d been trying to get it done for a few days, so it was fun to finally do it already. I ended up missing Bambara lessons so she could finish, but who ACTUALLY needs the past tense anyway? Extra studying seems to be in my future…
In other news, I finished a great book I’d been working on, which is actually a major accomplishment. I usually hate reading and rarely have the time for it. So it’s really nice to find a book I love and have all the time in the world to read it. No deadline, no paper to write. Just sponge time with my brain and the words on the page. Now I’m starting What is the What, which is already proving to be quite gripping. Very excited to get into reading again. And it’s good preparation for my first ever literature course this Fall back at Brown. I also got my yarmulke back – not one, but two. I now have a crimson and lime green pair to add to the collection. And surprisingly, they turned out really well – better than my original, actually.
That’s it for now. Off to sleep. Been pretty tired recently. Best to indulge myself – if I won’t, who else will?
X Ben X OK, So the last few days have been rough. I’ve been pretty sick, though I’m not sure what with. Yesterday I was running a fever of 103, which is always a cause for concern. Caitlin took me to the best clinic and town and I got all the meds I needed. Fever is way down, though still present. I’m a little achy and sore, but other than that, I’m on the mend. No need to worry – I got to spend the night in a friend’s house where there is a ceiling fan and a refrigerator, not to mention hot and cold water. It was quite a luxury and really helpful. The good news is it’s not malaria or typhoid, just a bad bacterial infection. Not really anything I can do about it. Street food is all ANYONE eats here and I’m lucky to have running water to drink as it is. I just seem to have been unlucky. These things happen. The important news is that I’m on the mend.
The time in bed has given me a lot of time to get down on myself and want to go home, which is frustrating. I got a message from a friend letting me know I had hurt him and for a while, I was just really upset and wanting to be anywhere but here. There have certainly been times when I have wondered if I really SHOULD be here, if this is the right place for me right now. And then I just have to look around and realize that I AM here right now, so it obviously is. This trip is really challenging so far, but I don’t want to run away from it. At times I love it, at times I hate it. Right now I’m quite literally sick of it. But I’m hanging in there - this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I'm going to do my best to get everything I can from it.
Glad for all the support from friends back home. ☺
X Ben X
Along the way, we ran into a small family (the one from my photos) and we got to meet all of the children. It was nice to just be able to talk to a family and take a picture (I rarely do – it seems impolite somehow), and not be expected to pay. I guess that’s the value of being able to speak a bit of Bambara. It’s just one small way to show that you’ve already made an investment in them and their home.
However, the encounter turned from cute to annoying when the children refused to leave us alone for the rest of our hike. After the initial limited Bambara conversation and laughter, we said goodbye to finish our hike, but they kept following us. The chorus of children’s laughter was a little bothersome and kind of eerie, so I tried multiple times in various forms of Bambara to tell them that we were serious and wanted them to leave. We would point back to their home and tell them we wanted to be alone and that they were being disrespectful, but they would just giggle at us infuriatingly. And I kept getting angrier and angrier until I finally had this strange realization that tied back into the racism theme: they had nothing else to be doing. These children have absolutely nothing they are expected or encouraged to do other than respect their parents and eat. There is no school in the neighborhood, most of them are too young to work, and I am just a form of entertainment for them. Why WOULDN’T they want to harass me? And that’s when it hit me that I can’t let the toubabou comments become personal. These kids are just trying to amuse themselves and have fun in a place where the only fun you get is the fun you make for yourself. And knowing that, I can’t fault them for trying to torture me. It’s like playing with an ant under a magnifying class – what kid can deny himself the simply joy? We descended in a neighboring slum called Sourakabougouni and were promptly invited into a woman’s tiny, decrepit house for a quick respite and good conversation. Surprisingly, she spoke French and had a cell phone, despite living in one of the poorer parts of town. We told her about the microfinance program and asked her to get in touch so maybe she could start a business. I don’t know if she’ll ever go, but it was nice to at least have a resource available like that as a way of thanking her for her hospitality.
When we got back, I got to debrief with Caitlin about the racism issue, which was helpful. We also got to talk for a while alone in general, which was also pretty nice (not to mention the delicious egg/cucumber/tomato/garlic sandwiches… I’m coming to appreciate them right next to Yoplait yogurt sacks). It was really necessary to just debrief about all the frustration and put it out on the table. It’s actually been remarkable how challenging this experience has been. I’m so used to getting work done when and how I want it and this job is all about just going with the flow and letting other people make decisions for me. I have almost no relevance here. The CHAG (community health action group) makes the decisions, the CHAG knows what is best, and I am just providing a skeletal structure for them to work in. As a pseudo-control freak, that’s tough to work with. But Caitlin totally gets it and has been super helpful in dealing with the frustration. Thank G-d for people who get it and know how to explain it to me. As smart as I am, sometimes I just self-destruct if left to my own devices.
At the end of the day, I got a tattoo done by a local artist. When I say tattoo, I mean henna. And when I say henna, I mean she bought a $1 pack of hair dye powder and painted it on my skin. That’s right. I just got a hair dye tattoo for $1. I’d been trying to get it done for a few days, so it was fun to finally do it already. I ended up missing Bambara lessons so she could finish, but who ACTUALLY needs the past tense anyway? Extra studying seems to be in my future…
In other news, I finished a great book I’d been working on, which is actually a major accomplishment. I usually hate reading and rarely have the time for it. So it’s really nice to find a book I love and have all the time in the world to read it. No deadline, no paper to write. Just sponge time with my brain and the words on the page. Now I’m starting What is the What, which is already proving to be quite gripping. Very excited to get into reading again. And it’s good preparation for my first ever literature course this Fall back at Brown. I also got my yarmulke back – not one, but two. I now have a crimson and lime green pair to add to the collection. And surprisingly, they turned out really well – better than my original, actually.
That’s it for now. Off to sleep. Been pretty tired recently. Best to indulge myself – if I won’t, who else will?
X Ben X OK, So the last few days have been rough. I’ve been pretty sick, though I’m not sure what with. Yesterday I was running a fever of 103, which is always a cause for concern. Caitlin took me to the best clinic and town and I got all the meds I needed. Fever is way down, though still present. I’m a little achy and sore, but other than that, I’m on the mend. No need to worry – I got to spend the night in a friend’s house where there is a ceiling fan and a refrigerator, not to mention hot and cold water. It was quite a luxury and really helpful. The good news is it’s not malaria or typhoid, just a bad bacterial infection. Not really anything I can do about it. Street food is all ANYONE eats here and I’m lucky to have running water to drink as it is. I just seem to have been unlucky. These things happen. The important news is that I’m on the mend.
The time in bed has given me a lot of time to get down on myself and want to go home, which is frustrating. I got a message from a friend letting me know I had hurt him and for a while, I was just really upset and wanting to be anywhere but here. There have certainly been times when I have wondered if I really SHOULD be here, if this is the right place for me right now. And then I just have to look around and realize that I AM here right now, so it obviously is. This trip is really challenging so far, but I don’t want to run away from it. At times I love it, at times I hate it. Right now I’m quite literally sick of it. But I’m hanging in there - this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I'm going to do my best to get everything I can from it.
Glad for all the support from friends back home. ☺
X Ben X
Wednesday, 6/24
Today was an absolutely great day. I woke up at 8AM or so (relatively early for me here, but still late by Malian standards) and went hiking with Katie. All around Bamako are tiny mountainesque hills that are nice for hiking. We took a new route through Sikoroni and went up through the mountains to this pretty little rock formation. It required some Cliffhanger moments to get to the top of all of the formations, but it was a fun little expedition.
Along the way, we ran into a small family (the one from my photos) and we got to meet all of the children. It was nice to just be able to talk to a family and take a picture (I rarely do - it seems impolite somehow), and not be expected to pay. I guess that's the value of being able to speak a bit of Bambara. It's just one small way to show that you've already made an investment in them and their home.
However, the encounter turned from cute to annoying when the children refused to leave us alone for the rest of our hike. After the initial limited Bambara conversation and laughter, we said goodbye to finish our hike, but they kept following us. The chorus of children's laughter was a little bothersome and kind of eerie, so I tried multiple times in various forms of Bambara to tell them that we were serious and wanted them to leave. We would point back to their home and tell them we wanted to be alone and that they were being disrespectful, but they would just giggle at us infuriatingly. And I kept getting angrier and angrier until I finally had this strange realization that tied back into the racism theme: they had nothing else to be doing. These children have absolutely nothing they are expected or encouraged to do other than respect their parents and eat. There is no school in the neighborhood, most of them are too young to work, and I am just a form of entertainment for them. Why WOULDN'T they want to harass me? And that's when it hit me that I can't let the toubabou comments become personal. These kids are just trying to amuse themselves and have fun in a place where the only fun you get is the fun you make for yourself. And knowing that, I can't fault them for trying to torture me. It's like playing with an ant under a magnifying class - what kid can deny himself the simply joy? We descended in a neighboring slum called Sourakabougouni and were promptly invited into a woman's tiny, decrepit house for a quick respite and good conversation. Surprisingly, she spoke French and had a cell phone, despite living in one of the poorer parts of town. We told her about the microfinance program and asked her to get in touch so maybe she could start a business. I don't know if she'll ever go, but it was nice to at least have a resource available like that as a way of thanking her for her hospitality.
When we got back, I got to debrief with Caitlin about the racism issue, which was helpful. We also got to talk for a while alone in general, which was also pretty nice (not to mention the delicious egg/cucumber/tomato/garlic sandwiches… I'm coming to appreciate them right next to Yoplait yogurt sacks). It was really necessary to just debrief about all the frustration and put it out on the table. It's actually been remarkable how challenging this experience has been. I'm so used to getting work done when and how I want it and this job is all about just going with the flow and letting other people make decisions for me. I have almost no relevance here. The CHAG (community health action group) makes the decisions, the CHAG knows what is best, and I am just providing a skeletal structure for them to work in. As a pseudo-control freak, that's tough to work with. But Caitlin totally gets it and has been super helpful in dealing with the frustration. Thank G-d for people who get it and know how to explain it to me. As smart as I am, sometimes I just self-destruct if left to my own devices.
At the end of the day, I got a tattoo done by a local artist. When I say tattoo, I mean henna. And when I say henna, I mean she bought a $1 pack of hair dye powder and painted it on my skin. That's right. I just got a hair dye tattoo for $1. I'd been trying to get it done for a few days, so it was fun to finally do it already. I ended up missing Bambara lessons so she could finish, but who ACTUALLY needs the past tense anyway? Extra studying seems to be in my future…
In other news, I finished a great book I'd been working on, which is actually a major accomplishment. I usually hate reading and rarely have the time for it. So it's really nice to find a book I love and have all the time in the world to read it. No deadline, no paper to write. Just sponge time with my brain and the words on the page. Now I'm starting What is the What, which is already proving to be quite gripping. Very excited to get into reading again. And it's good preparation for my first ever literature course this Fall back at Brown. I also got my yarmulke back - not one, but two. I now have a crimson and lime green pair to add to the collection. And surprisingly, they turned out really well - better than my original, actually.
That's it for now. Off to sleep. Been pretty tired recently. Best to indulge myself - if I won't, who else will?
X Ben X
Along the way, we ran into a small family (the one from my photos) and we got to meet all of the children. It was nice to just be able to talk to a family and take a picture (I rarely do - it seems impolite somehow), and not be expected to pay. I guess that's the value of being able to speak a bit of Bambara. It's just one small way to show that you've already made an investment in them and their home.
However, the encounter turned from cute to annoying when the children refused to leave us alone for the rest of our hike. After the initial limited Bambara conversation and laughter, we said goodbye to finish our hike, but they kept following us. The chorus of children's laughter was a little bothersome and kind of eerie, so I tried multiple times in various forms of Bambara to tell them that we were serious and wanted them to leave. We would point back to their home and tell them we wanted to be alone and that they were being disrespectful, but they would just giggle at us infuriatingly. And I kept getting angrier and angrier until I finally had this strange realization that tied back into the racism theme: they had nothing else to be doing. These children have absolutely nothing they are expected or encouraged to do other than respect their parents and eat. There is no school in the neighborhood, most of them are too young to work, and I am just a form of entertainment for them. Why WOULDN'T they want to harass me? And that's when it hit me that I can't let the toubabou comments become personal. These kids are just trying to amuse themselves and have fun in a place where the only fun you get is the fun you make for yourself. And knowing that, I can't fault them for trying to torture me. It's like playing with an ant under a magnifying class - what kid can deny himself the simply joy? We descended in a neighboring slum called Sourakabougouni and were promptly invited into a woman's tiny, decrepit house for a quick respite and good conversation. Surprisingly, she spoke French and had a cell phone, despite living in one of the poorer parts of town. We told her about the microfinance program and asked her to get in touch so maybe she could start a business. I don't know if she'll ever go, but it was nice to at least have a resource available like that as a way of thanking her for her hospitality.
When we got back, I got to debrief with Caitlin about the racism issue, which was helpful. We also got to talk for a while alone in general, which was also pretty nice (not to mention the delicious egg/cucumber/tomato/garlic sandwiches… I'm coming to appreciate them right next to Yoplait yogurt sacks). It was really necessary to just debrief about all the frustration and put it out on the table. It's actually been remarkable how challenging this experience has been. I'm so used to getting work done when and how I want it and this job is all about just going with the flow and letting other people make decisions for me. I have almost no relevance here. The CHAG (community health action group) makes the decisions, the CHAG knows what is best, and I am just providing a skeletal structure for them to work in. As a pseudo-control freak, that's tough to work with. But Caitlin totally gets it and has been super helpful in dealing with the frustration. Thank G-d for people who get it and know how to explain it to me. As smart as I am, sometimes I just self-destruct if left to my own devices.
At the end of the day, I got a tattoo done by a local artist. When I say tattoo, I mean henna. And when I say henna, I mean she bought a $1 pack of hair dye powder and painted it on my skin. That's right. I just got a hair dye tattoo for $1. I'd been trying to get it done for a few days, so it was fun to finally do it already. I ended up missing Bambara lessons so she could finish, but who ACTUALLY needs the past tense anyway? Extra studying seems to be in my future…
In other news, I finished a great book I'd been working on, which is actually a major accomplishment. I usually hate reading and rarely have the time for it. So it's really nice to find a book I love and have all the time in the world to read it. No deadline, no paper to write. Just sponge time with my brain and the words on the page. Now I'm starting What is the What, which is already proving to be quite gripping. Very excited to get into reading again. And it's good preparation for my first ever literature course this Fall back at Brown. I also got my yarmulke back - not one, but two. I now have a crimson and lime green pair to add to the collection. And surprisingly, they turned out really well - better than my original, actually.
That's it for now. Off to sleep. Been pretty tired recently. Best to indulge myself - if I won't, who else will?
X Ben X
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Photos!
Brief, but worth it. Click the title of this posting ("Photos!") to go to the website where I'm adding photos.
Only a few for now - it takes forever to upload. Hope you enjoy. :)
X Adama X
X Adama X
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, 6/24
Tuesday, June 24
Today was a strange mixture of both immense frustration and tremendous release. This seems to be a trend, though I hope I am mistaken and the moments of frustration leave me.
I picked up my boubou last night, just in time for all of our meetings with important healthcare/sanitation officials today. The boubou was indeed gorgeously fabricated and I can honestly say that I think it is the nicest and most intimate piece of clothing I own. The pants are WAY long, so I have to wear them above my belly button to keep them off the ground, but it’s worth the red marks around my waist to complete the ensemble. I mean, almost got mistaken for a Malian today… yeah, right toubabou! The only downside to wearing a boubou in l’hivernage (rainy season) is that it’s only too easy to get mud on my pants. Oh well, another challenge for fashion, I suppose.
Today was one of the first days I was genuinely not feeling well and after a morning of four back-to-back meetings, I was ready to pass out. So I came home and literally did, for like five hours in the middle of the day. It was great.
I also finally got in touch with a feeling I’ve been having of late, specifically my feelings around race relations in Bamako. As a toubabou, it’s understood that I am going to feel like a bit of an outsider, especially in the middle of a relatively poor neighborhood like Sikoroni. However, the more time I spend here, the more I really become cognizant of how I am seen as a white person. Everywhere I go, I constantly feel like the outsider walking the halls of high school – every person seems to be staring straight at me, even as I meet their stares. Groups of children gather together to chant “Toubabou!” in unison, or else small children shout it from their parents’ sides. Adults don’t seem to be so vocal about my skin color, but they look at me the same way as their children do, as if to say, “Why are you here, white boy?”
As someone who comes from a place where people of color are often mistreated, I pride myself on being racially sensitive. Therefore, it is strange to be in a place where despite this desire for equality, I am in fact the victim of racism. It’s something I’ve only experienced in terms of my sexuality, never my race, and I have to be honest, it’s strange and sometimes it hurts. Usually children who shout at me are just looking for attention and when I respond with sassy Bambara quips like, “A toubabou? Where? Show me so I can shout at him!” or “No children, my name is not ‘toubabou’, it’s Adama Diarra,” they usually find humor in the situation.
However, today, I received just one too many toubabou comments and got one to many glares to feel comfortable playing the game anymore. It wasn’t fun anymore and I just felt very alone and hurt. I know these things can’t be taken personally since I’m just a foreigner and these children don’t know me personally, but it’s hard to feel like I should even need that thick skin when the only reason I came here was to help them address their problems and improve their quality of living. I never want to be the self-glorifying toubabou who feels like he walks on water because he works for an NGO in conditions of poverty, but I feel like I’m not the average white person (especially since there are NONE in Sikoroni, usually) and if they knew that, they would give me some credit. I suppose all I can do is continue to try to prove that to every shouting child, but it’s tough to accept that there will always be more shouting children and I just have to keep on keeping on and ignore the catcalls. It’s just hard to feel like the work is rewarding when I feel ostracized by the very people I came to help.
Needless to say, after a day of feeling sick and two weeks’ worth of toubabou comments, I needed a break. Katie and I just took off for the night and went to see a free movie at the French Cultural Center. The audience was almost exclusively white, which at first irked me, as if I had stumbled upon one of those rare cultural hubs for white people who don’t want to associate with the locals and want to isolate. And then I realized that in that moment, that’s kind of exactly what I wanted. It’s strange to admit something like that, given how much we often judge other toubaboux who come through as tourists and never see the way Malians actually live, but then again, that air-conditioned movie theatre was pretty damned nice.
After the movie, we got dinner at the center’s local restaurant – I had a huge hamburger (think hubcap) with a cold grapefruit Djino (think Orangina) and Katie had some delicious looking tabouli. I recognized one of the people in the audience as one of the people I had contacted on CouchSurfing and we all had dinner together. She works with an organization that integrates sports play into school curricula and her friend works on conflict resolution up north in Touareg rebel territory. We all had great discussion about what we’re doing here, the luxury items we enjoy but can rarely afford (cheese… mmm), and just generally had a good time eating with silverware. It was a great way to get away from some of the more irritating encounters of the day.
On a lighter note, our taxi stopped right by the stand where Katie got her egg sandwich today and we were delighted to find a nest of rats in the gutter three feet away as well as all over the premises where the vendors sell from during the day. I could not stop laughing as we realized how completely lucky we are not to have gotten dysentery from eating street food yet. I wanted to laugh at her, but then I realized I had eaten there last week. Dammit. The upside is that I haven’t gotten amoebiasis from the little baggies of hibiscus flower and tamarind juice I love so much. Oh well, that’s why we brought de-worming medicines. That having been said, let’s hope for no worms, OK?
It’s been a long day – time to sleep.
X BEN X (just for today)
I picked up my boubou last night, just in time for all of our meetings with important healthcare/sanitation officials today. The boubou was indeed gorgeously fabricated and I can honestly say that I think it is the nicest and most intimate piece of clothing I own. The pants are WAY long, so I have to wear them above my belly button to keep them off the ground, but it’s worth the red marks around my waist to complete the ensemble. I mean, almost got mistaken for a Malian today… yeah, right toubabou! The only downside to wearing a boubou in l’hivernage (rainy season) is that it’s only too easy to get mud on my pants. Oh well, another challenge for fashion, I suppose.
Today was one of the first days I was genuinely not feeling well and after a morning of four back-to-back meetings, I was ready to pass out. So I came home and literally did, for like five hours in the middle of the day. It was great.
I also finally got in touch with a feeling I’ve been having of late, specifically my feelings around race relations in Bamako. As a toubabou, it’s understood that I am going to feel like a bit of an outsider, especially in the middle of a relatively poor neighborhood like Sikoroni. However, the more time I spend here, the more I really become cognizant of how I am seen as a white person. Everywhere I go, I constantly feel like the outsider walking the halls of high school – every person seems to be staring straight at me, even as I meet their stares. Groups of children gather together to chant “Toubabou!” in unison, or else small children shout it from their parents’ sides. Adults don’t seem to be so vocal about my skin color, but they look at me the same way as their children do, as if to say, “Why are you here, white boy?”
As someone who comes from a place where people of color are often mistreated, I pride myself on being racially sensitive. Therefore, it is strange to be in a place where despite this desire for equality, I am in fact the victim of racism. It’s something I’ve only experienced in terms of my sexuality, never my race, and I have to be honest, it’s strange and sometimes it hurts. Usually children who shout at me are just looking for attention and when I respond with sassy Bambara quips like, “A toubabou? Where? Show me so I can shout at him!” or “No children, my name is not ‘toubabou’, it’s Adama Diarra,” they usually find humor in the situation.
However, today, I received just one too many toubabou comments and got one to many glares to feel comfortable playing the game anymore. It wasn’t fun anymore and I just felt very alone and hurt. I know these things can’t be taken personally since I’m just a foreigner and these children don’t know me personally, but it’s hard to feel like I should even need that thick skin when the only reason I came here was to help them address their problems and improve their quality of living. I never want to be the self-glorifying toubabou who feels like he walks on water because he works for an NGO in conditions of poverty, but I feel like I’m not the average white person (especially since there are NONE in Sikoroni, usually) and if they knew that, they would give me some credit. I suppose all I can do is continue to try to prove that to every shouting child, but it’s tough to accept that there will always be more shouting children and I just have to keep on keeping on and ignore the catcalls. It’s just hard to feel like the work is rewarding when I feel ostracized by the very people I came to help.
Needless to say, after a day of feeling sick and two weeks’ worth of toubabou comments, I needed a break. Katie and I just took off for the night and went to see a free movie at the French Cultural Center. The audience was almost exclusively white, which at first irked me, as if I had stumbled upon one of those rare cultural hubs for white people who don’t want to associate with the locals and want to isolate. And then I realized that in that moment, that’s kind of exactly what I wanted. It’s strange to admit something like that, given how much we often judge other toubaboux who come through as tourists and never see the way Malians actually live, but then again, that air-conditioned movie theatre was pretty damned nice.
After the movie, we got dinner at the center’s local restaurant – I had a huge hamburger (think hubcap) with a cold grapefruit Djino (think Orangina) and Katie had some delicious looking tabouli. I recognized one of the people in the audience as one of the people I had contacted on CouchSurfing and we all had dinner together. She works with an organization that integrates sports play into school curricula and her friend works on conflict resolution up north in Touareg rebel territory. We all had great discussion about what we’re doing here, the luxury items we enjoy but can rarely afford (cheese… mmm), and just generally had a good time eating with silverware. It was a great way to get away from some of the more irritating encounters of the day.
On a lighter note, our taxi stopped right by the stand where Katie got her egg sandwich today and we were delighted to find a nest of rats in the gutter three feet away as well as all over the premises where the vendors sell from during the day. I could not stop laughing as we realized how completely lucky we are not to have gotten dysentery from eating street food yet. I wanted to laugh at her, but then I realized I had eaten there last week. Dammit. The upside is that I haven’t gotten amoebiasis from the little baggies of hibiscus flower and tamarind juice I love so much. Oh well, that’s why we brought de-worming medicines. That having been said, let’s hope for no worms, OK?
It’s been a long day – time to sleep.
X BEN X (just for today)
Monday, June 23, 2008
Sunday, 6/22
Today was the absolute breath of fresh air that I needed to stay sane. For the last few days or so, I’d been getting a little antsy in Sikoroni. All of a sudden, it would get ridiculously hot, to the point where I was drinking literally gallons of water and still not being able to pee because I sweat it all out before it even got there. And in times like this, I would say to myself, “Ben, this is ludicrous, find yourself an air conditioned room and lay down for a while.” And then I would realize that there are none in Sikoroni. And then I would say, “OK, fine, then take a cold shower, idiot!” And then I would realize that the only running water here is even hotter than the air because the pipes are in direct sunlight all day. And then I would realize that my only option is to fall asleep and hope I wake up in a rainstorm.
Similarly, I had this realization when Cari got sick with the ‘mebes that if I were to get sick or just pissed off, I am pretty much stuck here no matter what until mid-August. These are rare thoughts, since usually I am having a good time. But when I get a little frustrated, they rear their ugly heads.
Therefore, our group trip to Siby was much needed and immensely helpful, not to mention spectacularly beautiful. Siby is a relatively tiny town on the road that goes between Mali and Guinea that is famous for waterfalls and a natural arch called Kamadjan that is famous in Malian folklore.
We took a mobili there, which is basically a hollowed out plumbing truck with benches on the sides. The trip took around two hours with the ride to the mobili stand and much of the road was unpaved, so it was a fun and bumpy ride. When we finally got there, we had a delicious bean and onion sauce meal that was truly amazing. By the time we were done, it was high noon and WAY too hot to go hiking safely, so we decided to hang out around the tourist bureau until it cooled off a bit. While we were waiting, we also happened to learn that the sumptuous waterfall we were all so eager to go swimming in had in fact dried up in the last three months of the hot season. Needless to say, after a morning of travel and this news, I was only feeling the same frustration I was trying to cure with much, much greater intensity.
Surprisingly, as it turned out, this day would provide an extremely meaningful experience for me. Despite the heat, we decided to seek shelter in the shade of the arch and the trees surrounding it and with the help of two local farmer boys, we all hiked up to its base. The view from this point was, in no small way, gorgeous. As far as the eye can see is a mélange of flat, golden desert and bushy lollipop tree clusters. There is one road, the road we came in on, and if you follow it all the way into a distant hillside, you can see Guinea. In the presence of this type of view, it’s hard to keep any type of grudge, even against the sun.
However, the best part of the hike was still to come. The arch is big enough that you can actually climb on top of it and walk around a relatively big open rocky space. THIS is the view that changed my life. Kamadjan is known relatively widely as a place of respected spiritual energy and after visiting the top of the arch, I absolutely understand why. I don’t know what about that place I connected with, but I truly felt something greater than myself in that space. All of us were in agreement on that note and it was great to be able to hold a scared space with friends. We set aside some time to meditate and each of us had our own personal ways of loving the moment.
As for me, I had an absolutely exquisite experience derobing, standing on the edge of the cliff face, looking out onto this unbelievable expanse of green and gold and just breathing it all in. Fresh, crisp air, no noise, and the gentlest of breezes on my skin. I suppose part of the allure of the experience was being naked in such an utterly exposed place, but this experience wasn’t about getting away with something – it was about allowing myself to connect as honestly as possible with a new and profound feeling of gratitude. In a place like Kamadjan, it’s hard to feel upset about how hot it is or that your skin can never stay clean or that everything seems to taste like fish. All you can do is shut up and gently try not to forget what life feels like right then. It’s moments like these that I call upon when I get frustrated and need a reminder as to why everything is actually just fine. I think part of it is also that it’s hard to feel grateful for such delicacy when you’re wearing sweat drenched, dirt smeared clothes that reek of a hot midday hike. Regardless of why I did it, the experience was invaluable, not only as someone who was experiencing frustration, but also just as a human being.
As if that experience wasn’t amazing enough in and of itself, Julie and I also had a Garden State moment on the cliff. For those of you who don’t know the movie, there’s a scene towards the end where the two main characters are in this rock quarry in a rainstorm and they stand on a bulldozer, hold hands, and scream at the top of their lungs. And they don’t need to explain why – they just do it because it feels right in the moment. I’ve never yelled like that in my life and it was the most primal scream I think I will be able to manage for a while, but it just calmed my soul to let all the turmoil inside out and leave it there. That, if nothing else, was the greatest gift of Kamadjan.
We ended up leaving pretty late and had a ridiculous ride back. We passed about four stopped/overturned mobili on the road ahead of us, including the very same one we had taken into Siby that morning (our driver recognized Caitlin when we stopped to help – small world, right?). It was essentially a mobili graveyard strip, but Caitlin and co. didn’t seem to mind. In fact, we kept our entire mobili entertained on the ride back with our sometimes good, sometimes not so good renditions of every song we could think of, from South African ritual harmonies to camp songs. With the addition of my attempts to beatbox, we discovered that almost any song can earn Malian applause. It was a long, long ride back, much like our initial journey from New York to Mali, but in the end, we just didn’t care. The day had just been too goddamned great.
We’ve made plans to return before we leave in August so we can camp out under the stars on the top of the arch and visit the waterfall when it’s actually… wet. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to stay through a thunderstorm. I can only imagine the beauty of watching a storm roll in from atop that arch and then letting it drench you. What an amazing experience. Right now, in this moment, I feel so unbelievably lucky to be right where I am, doing right what I am doing. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
X Adama X
Similarly, I had this realization when Cari got sick with the ‘mebes that if I were to get sick or just pissed off, I am pretty much stuck here no matter what until mid-August. These are rare thoughts, since usually I am having a good time. But when I get a little frustrated, they rear their ugly heads.
Therefore, our group trip to Siby was much needed and immensely helpful, not to mention spectacularly beautiful. Siby is a relatively tiny town on the road that goes between Mali and Guinea that is famous for waterfalls and a natural arch called Kamadjan that is famous in Malian folklore.
We took a mobili there, which is basically a hollowed out plumbing truck with benches on the sides. The trip took around two hours with the ride to the mobili stand and much of the road was unpaved, so it was a fun and bumpy ride. When we finally got there, we had a delicious bean and onion sauce meal that was truly amazing. By the time we were done, it was high noon and WAY too hot to go hiking safely, so we decided to hang out around the tourist bureau until it cooled off a bit. While we were waiting, we also happened to learn that the sumptuous waterfall we were all so eager to go swimming in had in fact dried up in the last three months of the hot season. Needless to say, after a morning of travel and this news, I was only feeling the same frustration I was trying to cure with much, much greater intensity.
Surprisingly, as it turned out, this day would provide an extremely meaningful experience for me. Despite the heat, we decided to seek shelter in the shade of the arch and the trees surrounding it and with the help of two local farmer boys, we all hiked up to its base. The view from this point was, in no small way, gorgeous. As far as the eye can see is a mélange of flat, golden desert and bushy lollipop tree clusters. There is one road, the road we came in on, and if you follow it all the way into a distant hillside, you can see Guinea. In the presence of this type of view, it’s hard to keep any type of grudge, even against the sun.
However, the best part of the hike was still to come. The arch is big enough that you can actually climb on top of it and walk around a relatively big open rocky space. THIS is the view that changed my life. Kamadjan is known relatively widely as a place of respected spiritual energy and after visiting the top of the arch, I absolutely understand why. I don’t know what about that place I connected with, but I truly felt something greater than myself in that space. All of us were in agreement on that note and it was great to be able to hold a scared space with friends. We set aside some time to meditate and each of us had our own personal ways of loving the moment.
As for me, I had an absolutely exquisite experience derobing, standing on the edge of the cliff face, looking out onto this unbelievable expanse of green and gold and just breathing it all in. Fresh, crisp air, no noise, and the gentlest of breezes on my skin. I suppose part of the allure of the experience was being naked in such an utterly exposed place, but this experience wasn’t about getting away with something – it was about allowing myself to connect as honestly as possible with a new and profound feeling of gratitude. In a place like Kamadjan, it’s hard to feel upset about how hot it is or that your skin can never stay clean or that everything seems to taste like fish. All you can do is shut up and gently try not to forget what life feels like right then. It’s moments like these that I call upon when I get frustrated and need a reminder as to why everything is actually just fine. I think part of it is also that it’s hard to feel grateful for such delicacy when you’re wearing sweat drenched, dirt smeared clothes that reek of a hot midday hike. Regardless of why I did it, the experience was invaluable, not only as someone who was experiencing frustration, but also just as a human being.
As if that experience wasn’t amazing enough in and of itself, Julie and I also had a Garden State moment on the cliff. For those of you who don’t know the movie, there’s a scene towards the end where the two main characters are in this rock quarry in a rainstorm and they stand on a bulldozer, hold hands, and scream at the top of their lungs. And they don’t need to explain why – they just do it because it feels right in the moment. I’ve never yelled like that in my life and it was the most primal scream I think I will be able to manage for a while, but it just calmed my soul to let all the turmoil inside out and leave it there. That, if nothing else, was the greatest gift of Kamadjan.
We ended up leaving pretty late and had a ridiculous ride back. We passed about four stopped/overturned mobili on the road ahead of us, including the very same one we had taken into Siby that morning (our driver recognized Caitlin when we stopped to help – small world, right?). It was essentially a mobili graveyard strip, but Caitlin and co. didn’t seem to mind. In fact, we kept our entire mobili entertained on the ride back with our sometimes good, sometimes not so good renditions of every song we could think of, from South African ritual harmonies to camp songs. With the addition of my attempts to beatbox, we discovered that almost any song can earn Malian applause. It was a long, long ride back, much like our initial journey from New York to Mali, but in the end, we just didn’t care. The day had just been too goddamned great.
We’ve made plans to return before we leave in August so we can camp out under the stars on the top of the arch and visit the waterfall when it’s actually… wet. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to stay through a thunderstorm. I can only imagine the beauty of watching a storm roll in from atop that arch and then letting it drench you. What an amazing experience. Right now, in this moment, I feel so unbelievably lucky to be right where I am, doing right what I am doing. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
X Adama X
Saturday, 6/21
The first hints of the rainy season are starting to appear and I couldn’t be happier. I have gotten used to sleeping outside since it is so ridiculously hot inside of our tiny tin box room during the night. However, last night, we were awakened at 3AM or so to a Wizard of Oz-worthy dust storm which was then followed by one of the most intense rainstorms I’ve ever witnessed. We woke up immediately and drowsily sought shelter in our little oven of a room, leaving the door cracked just a little bit for a breeze; however, the wind immediately ripped it open again and slammed incessantly against the outside wall until I had to clumsily try to get back out of my mosquito net and lock it. Closing the window an door made for an interesting sensory experience since all that was left was the darkness, the smell of wet earth, and the eerily incessant pounding of rain all around us. Truly intense.
When we woke up in the morning we were pleasantly surprised to find that everything was coated in a fine layer of red dust and the periphery of the room was still a little wet. Ironically, when we went outside, where we had expected to find mudslides and overturned motorcyclists ambling around screaming for medical attention, we found our family starting to cook lunch like they always do and the entire ground was already mostly dry. Hrmph! At least WE thought it was a big deal. I suppose it’s just par for the course for the Malian rainy season – that explains why the Wizard of Oz bombed in domestic box offices…
So if memory serves, I think I initially praised Malian food. I would like to modify that statement. Malian food is good when the taste is new and it’s the first lovingly prepared food you have had in three days of travel. I must admit, it is starting to get a bit old. Malian food really only consists of rice or (rarely) couscous with five different sauces, most of which are rich in palm oil (read: red liquid fatty death juice). The food is fun to eat with your hands, but even that does get a little old after a while, especially when a co-worked gets amoebas and you’re still eating out of the same plate (I love you, Cari and the ‘mebes!). Most sauces are also either distinctly fishy (remember the rotting fish heads from the market?) or make a clear reference to boogers, owing to their high mashed okra pod content. They are all edible and definitely provide sustenance, but it is also nice to have comfort foods sometime too.
On that note, we have started cooking for ourselves three nights a week. The first night was pasta with what turned out to be a delicious red sauce made from the ripest tomatoes, onions, and garlic we could find in the market. Surprisingly, bags of pasta here are easy to find, even though no one really eats it in the way we are used to. We have also made omelet sandwiches which are far less greasy and much more delicious than the ones that street vendors sell. MOST IMPORTANTLY, I have BREAKING NEWS: liquid dairy products DO exist in Mali – THANK G-D! Up until recently, my dairy experience here has consisted of powdered milk in my morning rice and the occasional ice cream from the Malian-American yup-yup café in the nice part of town. However, I just discovered that they sell decently sized bags of flavored Yoplait yogurts in most boutiques and I have to be frank: I almost cried with relief. It is the closest I have come to heaven thus far in Mali (though I anticipate future contenders).
Re: clothing, I also have good news: my boubou is almost ready. A boubou is a traditional knee-length man-dress that every Malian man owns for business functions. I found this beautiful royal blue/turquoise/mustard/sienna fabric in the marketplace that is batik/screenprinted and I’m having it cut, tailored, and embroidered with a pair of baggy brown pants for the ridiculously low price of 7000CFA ($15) – gotta love Malian exchange rates. It’s going to be gorgeous and just in time for Niang’s weddng mid-June!
In work news, we had our first meeting with the CHAG (community health action group) to discuss our project’s agenda and they had some valuable insights. They definitely want us to scale up the programs and they want to combine the two individual programs into a single comprehensive effort. We had planned on doing this, but it is ultimately the CHAG’s decision as to who/what/when/where/why. They also made several suggestions for additional diseases to add to the agenda. Specifically, they have noticed a lot of juvenile diarrhea cases and want us to cover that more specifically within the sanitation part of our program. They also wanted to reinforce our malaria education and scale up the program to include obesity-related health concerns (don’t be shocked – palm oil is super fatty and omnipresent in Malian cuisine), fever treatment, and trash-related health concerns. Now we have to compare these issues to their actual prevalence rates in the community and the advice of trained local doctors.
It’s nice to start the work process here so I can stop feeling like a tourist. We have the beginnings of a good foundation for this program and I’m looking forward to more meetings with the important players to flesh it out as we learn more. In the meantime, I need to go tend to my likely malaria-ridden bug bites so I can get some peace.
X Adama X
When we woke up in the morning we were pleasantly surprised to find that everything was coated in a fine layer of red dust and the periphery of the room was still a little wet. Ironically, when we went outside, where we had expected to find mudslides and overturned motorcyclists ambling around screaming for medical attention, we found our family starting to cook lunch like they always do and the entire ground was already mostly dry. Hrmph! At least WE thought it was a big deal. I suppose it’s just par for the course for the Malian rainy season – that explains why the Wizard of Oz bombed in domestic box offices…
So if memory serves, I think I initially praised Malian food. I would like to modify that statement. Malian food is good when the taste is new and it’s the first lovingly prepared food you have had in three days of travel. I must admit, it is starting to get a bit old. Malian food really only consists of rice or (rarely) couscous with five different sauces, most of which are rich in palm oil (read: red liquid fatty death juice). The food is fun to eat with your hands, but even that does get a little old after a while, especially when a co-worked gets amoebas and you’re still eating out of the same plate (I love you, Cari and the ‘mebes!). Most sauces are also either distinctly fishy (remember the rotting fish heads from the market?) or make a clear reference to boogers, owing to their high mashed okra pod content. They are all edible and definitely provide sustenance, but it is also nice to have comfort foods sometime too.
On that note, we have started cooking for ourselves three nights a week. The first night was pasta with what turned out to be a delicious red sauce made from the ripest tomatoes, onions, and garlic we could find in the market. Surprisingly, bags of pasta here are easy to find, even though no one really eats it in the way we are used to. We have also made omelet sandwiches which are far less greasy and much more delicious than the ones that street vendors sell. MOST IMPORTANTLY, I have BREAKING NEWS: liquid dairy products DO exist in Mali – THANK G-D! Up until recently, my dairy experience here has consisted of powdered milk in my morning rice and the occasional ice cream from the Malian-American yup-yup café in the nice part of town. However, I just discovered that they sell decently sized bags of flavored Yoplait yogurts in most boutiques and I have to be frank: I almost cried with relief. It is the closest I have come to heaven thus far in Mali (though I anticipate future contenders).
Re: clothing, I also have good news: my boubou is almost ready. A boubou is a traditional knee-length man-dress that every Malian man owns for business functions. I found this beautiful royal blue/turquoise/mustard/sienna fabric in the marketplace that is batik/screenprinted and I’m having it cut, tailored, and embroidered with a pair of baggy brown pants for the ridiculously low price of 7000CFA ($15) – gotta love Malian exchange rates. It’s going to be gorgeous and just in time for Niang’s weddng mid-June!
In work news, we had our first meeting with the CHAG (community health action group) to discuss our project’s agenda and they had some valuable insights. They definitely want us to scale up the programs and they want to combine the two individual programs into a single comprehensive effort. We had planned on doing this, but it is ultimately the CHAG’s decision as to who/what/when/where/why. They also made several suggestions for additional diseases to add to the agenda. Specifically, they have noticed a lot of juvenile diarrhea cases and want us to cover that more specifically within the sanitation part of our program. They also wanted to reinforce our malaria education and scale up the program to include obesity-related health concerns (don’t be shocked – palm oil is super fatty and omnipresent in Malian cuisine), fever treatment, and trash-related health concerns. Now we have to compare these issues to their actual prevalence rates in the community and the advice of trained local doctors.
It’s nice to start the work process here so I can stop feeling like a tourist. We have the beginnings of a good foundation for this program and I’m looking forward to more meetings with the important players to flesh it out as we learn more. In the meantime, I need to go tend to my likely malaria-ridden bug bites so I can get some peace.
X Adama X
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