So I lied. TODAY was glorious. Glorious. GLORIOUS. That hike Julie and I had planned out? Totally happened and turned out to be better than we could have ever imagined. We woke up early, had some delicious rice porridge with powdered milk and chai mix, then headed out on our delicious adventure. As it turned out, we never did make it to the ridge we saw from the cliff yesterday. But we did end up walking for a solid three hours outside of Bamako into the boondocks of towns whose names we could not pronounce and whose beauty we never expected. Early on the trek, we found a little river (read: trickling creek) in the middle of the road and just decided to follow it, since the water had a breeze nearby where it seemed to open up a bit. The riverbed opened up into a flat rock canal of sorts and we just decided it was more fun to follow the water than to find our mystery hill. As we followed, the river opened up and we found people washing their clothes, bathing, playing in the water, and we seemed to be on some of the only waterfront property in all of Bamako (and Mali for that matter), which was strange and nice.
About an hour along this path, the trash heaps just stopped appearing and the houses got more spaced out until suddenly, we looked around and realized that there was GRASS! There were TREES! And in some places, there were even baby farming plots! We stopped for a while under one of said trees and just hung out for a while with our first of many hoards of children to play with us. We played soccer for a bit by the river’s edge, took a brief respite under the minimal shade of the tree, then kept on walking. Surprisingly, the further away we got from Bamako proper, the less we heart toubabou cries, which was great. For the majority of our trip, we got to travel without harassment (though certainly we were noticed). And as our trek brought us more and more visions of this strange green Paradise, that lack of attention became critical and so valuable. Honestly, at points, we both looked around and just said, “WHAT THE HELL? How is this still in Bamako?” It was so unbelievably beautiful. Though most people who might see what we saw would have smelled outdoor toilet water and seen algae blooms in the water, I legitimately felt like I had found the land of milk and honey after forty years in the desert. There was something distinctly holy about the precious quality of where we were and I loved being able to cherish it.
We eventually walked into town from the river and found a food vendor (harder than in in Sikoro, for certain). After turning down a pot of fly-covered fish heads and the oh-so-sour piles of zabans, we found a quaint little shack that was serving our favorite foods ever: tiga dega nah (peanut mush sauce – don’t knock it ‘til you try it), and nadji (generic sauce), both with copious amounts of rice and only costing a quarter for a heaping plateful. It was a great treat.
As if the day couldn’t get any better, an hour or so further down the river, we found ourselves our very own rock climbing gym. WAY bigger than our own rock formation in Sikoro, this place had some INTENSE climbs that were likely too dangerous to tackle, though we did anyway. The fact that dozens of local children could scramble up around us to get to the top in under five minutes made me feel that it was certainly do-able, though we took slightly more strenuous routes. It was so nice to get the exercise and be doing something physically challenging outside. And the views were great. From that formation, we could look back and see all of Bamako from the suburb we were in. It was quite a view – one that really brings it home that Bamako is the fastest-growing city in all of Sub-Saharan Africa.
After a long day, we just high-tailed it back and went to our respective homestays for well-earned bucket baths. But let me tell you, I could not have been prouder of the day’s work. It was so worth it, one of the most satisfying days I’ve had here to date.
Mmmm…
X Adama X
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Saturday, 7/5
Today was a glorious day. Glorious is really one of the only ways to describe it. It was a Saturday and the day was largely filled with fun, as Saturdays should be. It’s strange that almost every day in Sikoroni has the potential to be a Saturday, but it’s still remarkable when that potential is fulfilled. Then again, I suppose that phenomenon is in no way unique to Sikoroni. ☺
I woke up early to help Niang set up our mosquito net impregnation station in one of the communities we work with. We set up a bunch of water containers, brought tons of bloc (mosquito net chemical treatment packages), and basically just set up camp at the top of Sikoroni’s big hill by Caitlin’s house. We were there for about two hours or so and in that time, the combination of our previous attempts to spread word of the impregnation day and the peculiar presence of two toubabous sitting with Niang in an open lot seemed to attract quite a few children with their families’ respective mosquito net collections. I was not surprised, but happy to know that they all knew WHY they were treating their nets and furthermore, that it was necessary. The entire operation went very smoothly and we treated several dozen nets with the supplies we had before we called it quits. All in all, I was really pleased and it was one of the first days I really felt like I was making a measurable impact in Sikoroni, though again, I was really just a spectator.
One of the strange things about this encounter was the duality of being a toubabou trying to help. On the one hand, we are white foreigners trying to bring health equality (and blah blah blah…) to underprivileged Sub-Saharan Africans, yet our identities as toubabous also helped our cause in that the oddity of us being there likely attracted more mosquito nets to be treated. The crowd was appreciated, especially because each packet of bloq came with an educational image pamphlet describing how and why to treat a mosquito net, which we figured was good information to distribute; however, because toubabou were distributing the information, the pamphlets were treated more like baseball cards than actual information. It continues to prove difficult to walk the line of being helpful and being overbearing as a white person here, but again, I am comforted in knowing that this line will never be clear.
After the mosquito treatment extravaganza, the day was wide open and it was gorgeous out. My mama was having a big dinner party in the courtyard for her girlfriends later that night, so I helped prepare food, which was fun. I mashed parsley with garlic in a monstrous mortar and pestle, picked out bad rice grains from the batch, and diced onions just like all the other girls and, while tedious, it was actually really nice. There was a brief moment when I was mashing a few fresh garlic cloves into the parsley paste that I just smelled the courtyard and had to melt a little. It was a great smell, a great feel in that moment – it all just fit somehow.
After food prep, Julie and I decided to go for a baby hike up to our local rock formation, where you can not only see all of Bamako, but also have a few Cliffhanger moments if you dare. We had a few children accompany us for the climb, but the air was cool and they just wanted to listen, so we stayed put. We had an intense and unresolved discussion about the overall difficulty and ambiguity of NGO work in a place like Mali. Specifically, we talked about the fact that it is so hard to know what exactly needs fixing and why we are so certain something is broken in the first place. Again, it’s the fine line of acknowledging that everyone in Sikoro CLEARLY wants running water and electricity, but that doesn’t mean their way of life is crippled for lack of it. There are lots of problems that keep Mali and other similar countries so poor and disenfranchised in a global context, but in the absence of some easily identifiable outcome to be changed, it is so hard to figure out what can and should change to improve the standard of living. In short, it’s hard to feel like you’re making a difference when the problems you are dealing with are not only ubiquitous, but also nebulous and ambiguously camouflaged within cultural norms that seem to be too precious to adjust.
So after we settled that debate (piece of cake…), we decided to just sit on the rock formation and wait for the rain to come. And surprisingly, it never did. It went right on by us and for once, missed Sikoroni, leaving the air heavy with suspense and pleasantly cool in the late afternoon shade. From the top of the hill, we saw two great mounds in the distance and decided we would go there tomorrow. I have no idea where we are taking ourselves, but that’s part of the joy. I hope we figure it out and if we don’t that we at least have fun along the way. We can always take a taxi back if we get totally lost. ☺
On the way back down to Sikoro, we found this neat little climbing tree embedded in the rock and decided to have a treehouse moment right here in Bamako. And then, right in the middle of that great second childhood moment, realized that we were actually in someone’s backyard. And that there were a few people just looking at us from ten feet away wondering why toubaboux were climbing in their tree… So we promptly got to the ground and introduced ourselves only to find we had landed in the yard of one of Sikoro’s own rare artisans who is trained in woodcarving. He invited us to sit and we just watched for quite a while. Admittedly, it was strange watching this many carve the same wooden giraffes that they hock in the grand marche to tourists who will never know that there ARE no giraffes in Mali. But all the same it was fascinating to watch him carve so boldly with his jagged knife tools, not caring where the scraps fell, knowing that he has already carved this giraffe a hundred times before and this one will be just as perfect. We eventually decided to leave, but not before we made him promise to teach us to carve smaller giraffes alongside him the next time we come back. I totally intend to make good on that promise, too. Souvenirs, anyone?
The night came quickly, but not before we met up with Caitlin and Cari to play with Kuma and get a quick 50 cent dinner from Caitlin’s favorite beantigi. I’ll be honest. After watching Batouma and Fifi cook all of these intricate sauce dishes all day long at Niang’s, I still kind of just prefer basic beans with onion sauce and a side of macaroni... That may be because these foods have no fish heads in them. Or because they have less visible amounts of deliciously seductive red palm oil. Or maybe because I eat them less and therefore, I’ve come to exoticize things that I once only picture coming from cans. However, honestly, I don’t care why I love the beantigis. There is just something about waiting for the darkness to come so you can meet your favorite old woman (or young child) at a tiny wooden table to be served these delicious foods in plastic bowls. It’s strangely like having a business meeting on a playground. And just as much fun.
However, without a doubt, the greatest part of today was the balanie. If you’ve never been to a balanie, and I assume most of you haven’t, it’s hard to convey the energy of these parties to you. Don’t think of a dance club. Don’t think of a campfire. Don’t even think of a birthday party. Think of the happiest thing you can. And then rip it apart and blow it up bigger than you possibly think if could ever become. Then step inside and look around and you’re there. A balanie is essentially a block party and during they seem to happen quite frequently, from what I’ve seen, though usually they are in celebration of a marriage or some other great news. The thing about these parties though is that they are an entire community celebration. NOTHING is private in Sikoro and in the case of the balanie, that is a great thing because in the absence of privacy, what would otherwise be a small family gathering is allowed to explode into an entire community’s joy. All balanies are loud and usually have an MC, but the tones vary. Sometimes the energy comes from the endless groups of slum dance teams that take center stage and show off displays ranging from the little girls’ oh-so-popular “bo bara ba” (fatass) booty shakes to tiny boys breaking out the biggest break dance moves I’ve ever seen in my life. Sometimes I swear it’s impossible to believe the ways these kids move – I’m always impressed and intimidated to join them, and that’s saying a lot, given that these kids are all under ten and I love to dance. Regardless, I will eventually be dragged into the circle by either a grinning griotte with a gap-toothed smile or a crowd of eager wives who want to see the white boy dance with them. And that’s fine, because all they want is for me to try and I can handle that, even if it means making a fool out of myself.
The thing about balanies is that they are, in essence, the heartbeat of Malian love and life. I was sitting in the drum circle tonight at a smaller balanie and all of a sudden I literally became aware that my heart was beating in time to the drums and every movement, every smell, every light flicker, just seemed to match my soul dancing inside. Somehow, I’m not sure how, I was invited to take that moment’s pulse with my body and it was an amazing feeling. I just looked around and no longer saw dancers, just energy. My mind immediately ran back to the conversation Julie and I had about the problems of Sikoro and somehow, this moment seemed to explain it without words. These people are likely going to lack things that I know and love for quite some time, but they have something that we don’t: spirit. They can get together every weekend and love the drumbeat with their bodies and just dance. I know that sounds strange, corny, and likely even patronizing, but I think most Malians would agree that there’s a primal and beautiful side of life in Mali that you can only see in the firelight of a balanie. And it was nice to see that side after feeling so helplessly disconnected from this place just a few hours earlier. I think of all the moments I’ve had in Sikoro proper, the balanies will be what I miss most when I leave. Thankfully there will be plenty more before that time comes.
As a side note, my recent faux flirtations with Niang’s sister seem to have backfired. At first she was rather cold towards me and I played off of that with a boy/girl cooties theme until we both thought it was funny. However, it seems that kind flirtation has turned into something altogether different and now I am led to believe that she actually has a romantic interest in me. I have made it clear that I already have “multiple wives” back home and that I am not romantically interested in her, but despite this knowledge, she and the bon (house servant) continue to conspire against me and tempt me to sleep with her. This is not only a sticky situation, but also a really funny and seriously awkward one. For once, I can’t get out of this by just explaining that I’m gay… strange. Let’s hope I end up NOT returning with a Malian bride. I’ll keep you posted on that one.
X Adama X
I woke up early to help Niang set up our mosquito net impregnation station in one of the communities we work with. We set up a bunch of water containers, brought tons of bloc (mosquito net chemical treatment packages), and basically just set up camp at the top of Sikoroni’s big hill by Caitlin’s house. We were there for about two hours or so and in that time, the combination of our previous attempts to spread word of the impregnation day and the peculiar presence of two toubabous sitting with Niang in an open lot seemed to attract quite a few children with their families’ respective mosquito net collections. I was not surprised, but happy to know that they all knew WHY they were treating their nets and furthermore, that it was necessary. The entire operation went very smoothly and we treated several dozen nets with the supplies we had before we called it quits. All in all, I was really pleased and it was one of the first days I really felt like I was making a measurable impact in Sikoroni, though again, I was really just a spectator.
One of the strange things about this encounter was the duality of being a toubabou trying to help. On the one hand, we are white foreigners trying to bring health equality (and blah blah blah…) to underprivileged Sub-Saharan Africans, yet our identities as toubabous also helped our cause in that the oddity of us being there likely attracted more mosquito nets to be treated. The crowd was appreciated, especially because each packet of bloq came with an educational image pamphlet describing how and why to treat a mosquito net, which we figured was good information to distribute; however, because toubabou were distributing the information, the pamphlets were treated more like baseball cards than actual information. It continues to prove difficult to walk the line of being helpful and being overbearing as a white person here, but again, I am comforted in knowing that this line will never be clear.
After the mosquito treatment extravaganza, the day was wide open and it was gorgeous out. My mama was having a big dinner party in the courtyard for her girlfriends later that night, so I helped prepare food, which was fun. I mashed parsley with garlic in a monstrous mortar and pestle, picked out bad rice grains from the batch, and diced onions just like all the other girls and, while tedious, it was actually really nice. There was a brief moment when I was mashing a few fresh garlic cloves into the parsley paste that I just smelled the courtyard and had to melt a little. It was a great smell, a great feel in that moment – it all just fit somehow.
After food prep, Julie and I decided to go for a baby hike up to our local rock formation, where you can not only see all of Bamako, but also have a few Cliffhanger moments if you dare. We had a few children accompany us for the climb, but the air was cool and they just wanted to listen, so we stayed put. We had an intense and unresolved discussion about the overall difficulty and ambiguity of NGO work in a place like Mali. Specifically, we talked about the fact that it is so hard to know what exactly needs fixing and why we are so certain something is broken in the first place. Again, it’s the fine line of acknowledging that everyone in Sikoro CLEARLY wants running water and electricity, but that doesn’t mean their way of life is crippled for lack of it. There are lots of problems that keep Mali and other similar countries so poor and disenfranchised in a global context, but in the absence of some easily identifiable outcome to be changed, it is so hard to figure out what can and should change to improve the standard of living. In short, it’s hard to feel like you’re making a difference when the problems you are dealing with are not only ubiquitous, but also nebulous and ambiguously camouflaged within cultural norms that seem to be too precious to adjust.
So after we settled that debate (piece of cake…), we decided to just sit on the rock formation and wait for the rain to come. And surprisingly, it never did. It went right on by us and for once, missed Sikoroni, leaving the air heavy with suspense and pleasantly cool in the late afternoon shade. From the top of the hill, we saw two great mounds in the distance and decided we would go there tomorrow. I have no idea where we are taking ourselves, but that’s part of the joy. I hope we figure it out and if we don’t that we at least have fun along the way. We can always take a taxi back if we get totally lost. ☺
On the way back down to Sikoro, we found this neat little climbing tree embedded in the rock and decided to have a treehouse moment right here in Bamako. And then, right in the middle of that great second childhood moment, realized that we were actually in someone’s backyard. And that there were a few people just looking at us from ten feet away wondering why toubaboux were climbing in their tree… So we promptly got to the ground and introduced ourselves only to find we had landed in the yard of one of Sikoro’s own rare artisans who is trained in woodcarving. He invited us to sit and we just watched for quite a while. Admittedly, it was strange watching this many carve the same wooden giraffes that they hock in the grand marche to tourists who will never know that there ARE no giraffes in Mali. But all the same it was fascinating to watch him carve so boldly with his jagged knife tools, not caring where the scraps fell, knowing that he has already carved this giraffe a hundred times before and this one will be just as perfect. We eventually decided to leave, but not before we made him promise to teach us to carve smaller giraffes alongside him the next time we come back. I totally intend to make good on that promise, too. Souvenirs, anyone?
The night came quickly, but not before we met up with Caitlin and Cari to play with Kuma and get a quick 50 cent dinner from Caitlin’s favorite beantigi. I’ll be honest. After watching Batouma and Fifi cook all of these intricate sauce dishes all day long at Niang’s, I still kind of just prefer basic beans with onion sauce and a side of macaroni... That may be because these foods have no fish heads in them. Or because they have less visible amounts of deliciously seductive red palm oil. Or maybe because I eat them less and therefore, I’ve come to exoticize things that I once only picture coming from cans. However, honestly, I don’t care why I love the beantigis. There is just something about waiting for the darkness to come so you can meet your favorite old woman (or young child) at a tiny wooden table to be served these delicious foods in plastic bowls. It’s strangely like having a business meeting on a playground. And just as much fun.
However, without a doubt, the greatest part of today was the balanie. If you’ve never been to a balanie, and I assume most of you haven’t, it’s hard to convey the energy of these parties to you. Don’t think of a dance club. Don’t think of a campfire. Don’t even think of a birthday party. Think of the happiest thing you can. And then rip it apart and blow it up bigger than you possibly think if could ever become. Then step inside and look around and you’re there. A balanie is essentially a block party and during they seem to happen quite frequently, from what I’ve seen, though usually they are in celebration of a marriage or some other great news. The thing about these parties though is that they are an entire community celebration. NOTHING is private in Sikoro and in the case of the balanie, that is a great thing because in the absence of privacy, what would otherwise be a small family gathering is allowed to explode into an entire community’s joy. All balanies are loud and usually have an MC, but the tones vary. Sometimes the energy comes from the endless groups of slum dance teams that take center stage and show off displays ranging from the little girls’ oh-so-popular “bo bara ba” (fatass) booty shakes to tiny boys breaking out the biggest break dance moves I’ve ever seen in my life. Sometimes I swear it’s impossible to believe the ways these kids move – I’m always impressed and intimidated to join them, and that’s saying a lot, given that these kids are all under ten and I love to dance. Regardless, I will eventually be dragged into the circle by either a grinning griotte with a gap-toothed smile or a crowd of eager wives who want to see the white boy dance with them. And that’s fine, because all they want is for me to try and I can handle that, even if it means making a fool out of myself.
The thing about balanies is that they are, in essence, the heartbeat of Malian love and life. I was sitting in the drum circle tonight at a smaller balanie and all of a sudden I literally became aware that my heart was beating in time to the drums and every movement, every smell, every light flicker, just seemed to match my soul dancing inside. Somehow, I’m not sure how, I was invited to take that moment’s pulse with my body and it was an amazing feeling. I just looked around and no longer saw dancers, just energy. My mind immediately ran back to the conversation Julie and I had about the problems of Sikoro and somehow, this moment seemed to explain it without words. These people are likely going to lack things that I know and love for quite some time, but they have something that we don’t: spirit. They can get together every weekend and love the drumbeat with their bodies and just dance. I know that sounds strange, corny, and likely even patronizing, but I think most Malians would agree that there’s a primal and beautiful side of life in Mali that you can only see in the firelight of a balanie. And it was nice to see that side after feeling so helplessly disconnected from this place just a few hours earlier. I think of all the moments I’ve had in Sikoro proper, the balanies will be what I miss most when I leave. Thankfully there will be plenty more before that time comes.
As a side note, my recent faux flirtations with Niang’s sister seem to have backfired. At first she was rather cold towards me and I played off of that with a boy/girl cooties theme until we both thought it was funny. However, it seems that kind flirtation has turned into something altogether different and now I am led to believe that she actually has a romantic interest in me. I have made it clear that I already have “multiple wives” back home and that I am not romantically interested in her, but despite this knowledge, she and the bon (house servant) continue to conspire against me and tempt me to sleep with her. This is not only a sticky situation, but also a really funny and seriously awkward one. For once, I can’t get out of this by just explaining that I’m gay… strange. Let’s hope I end up NOT returning with a Malian bride. I’ll keep you posted on that one.
X Adama X
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Thursday, 7/3
Lots got done today. Our survey is completed and we got some interesting information back. While overall, project participants seem to be doing what they can do stay healthy, many individuals are still not sleeping under mosquito nets. When asked why, a lot of them said that they are only free for pregnant women and children, so they don’t want to spend the money or don’t think it’s worthwhile for other family members to use them. In essence, we found that there is an inherent risk in giving away free stuff to people with limited incomes.
We found a few other important things – people don’t always know when (and more importantly WHY) to use soap, most everyone has a trashcan that gets emptied regularly, but they almost never have lids, and people are still throwing waste water into the street. These are not all critical issues, in particular comparison to the mosquito net issue implicated above, but it’s all good information to have. We are going to start working with this to improve the current program as we try to revamp it. In the meantime, we’re still planning with the CHAG.
That’s it for work news today. Other than that, I had a great little walk through the back of Sikoroni and had some good pseudo-Bambara conversations with the people I met along the way. Nothing particularly special, but it was nice to just feel comfortable walking around and being able to say hello to everyone. So I did. And now, after that time in the sun, I’m ready for a nap.
X Adama X
We found a few other important things – people don’t always know when (and more importantly WHY) to use soap, most everyone has a trashcan that gets emptied regularly, but they almost never have lids, and people are still throwing waste water into the street. These are not all critical issues, in particular comparison to the mosquito net issue implicated above, but it’s all good information to have. We are going to start working with this to improve the current program as we try to revamp it. In the meantime, we’re still planning with the CHAG.
That’s it for work news today. Other than that, I had a great little walk through the back of Sikoroni and had some good pseudo-Bambara conversations with the people I met along the way. Nothing particularly special, but it was nice to just feel comfortable walking around and being able to say hello to everyone. So I did. And now, after that time in the sun, I’m ready for a nap.
X Adama X
Tuesday, 7/1
Today was Katie and my second-ever screw “Screw Sikoroni Day” and we had a great time. We did some work in the morning renumbering participants’ houses, nothing too strenuous, then basically had the day off. We decided to go see another free movie at the French Cultural Center (again, toubabou central, but that’s not always a bad thing). They were playing L’Auberge Espagnol, which as a fun distraction in the A/C for two hours. Though perhaps a better highlight was the taxi ride over, which we got from a man who claimed he was the only unimportant member of his family, but that shouldn’t lead us to believe that taxi drivers are stupid. All of this came out totally unprovoked and he basically proceeded to brag about his family and his intelligence for 15 minutes in between leaning out of the window to yell at “bad” drivers that happened to always be swerving around us… When he started playing with the brakes, we realized we were in a bit of a predicament. Luckily we arrived in one piece and he even gave us back the change from our bill, which he informed us that we actually owed him, but because we were intelligent like him, he would give us a treat. What a sweetheart.
The strangeness of the night only arrived once we left, though. Remember Youssouf, the overzealous Malian man who asked me to translate letters to his friends for him? Well guess whose crazy eyes were fixed dead on me as soon as we got out of the theater? Youssouf just happened to be there watching the movie and as soon as he saw me, he pounced. He told me he had tried calling me over and over again (I could never understand him when he did, so I just stopped answering), which made me feel relatively awkward to see him in person again. Then he told me that he had really tried to make good on his offer to invite me over to his family’s house for dinner by just preparing a big meal and calling me multiple times. As you probably guessed, he just figured I would be able to decipher his messages and agree to attend, so they all thought I was coming but when they all sat down for the big meal, I wasn’t there! At this point I am feeling extremely awkward and sheepish.
Until Katie walks out of the bathroom and I realize that Youssouf is actually grabbing my shoulders and his eyes are bloodshot as all hell and for all intents and purposes, he looks like a crack-smoking crazy man. And then I start to realize I need to leave. Pronto. So I explain we have an obligation and have to leave, but I accidentally let it slip earlier in the conversation that we found out the movies are free on Tuesday, so he told me he’d see me next week (yikes!). Furthermore, he tried to catch up with us and explain that he has a friend in Boston who needs to send him a Japanese book and if we could kindly find his address when we return to send it to Mali, that would be a huge help. Now life is officially strange.
No, the strangeness transcended into hilarity when we leave the CCF and a young Rasta man comes over to ask me about my kippah. I explain that I’m Jewish and he tells me he’s heard about my kind before, seen us in movies and stuff, but that I’m the first Jew he’s ever met. He thinks I’m super cool and wants to be friendly with me and I’m all into the cross-cultural exchange… until Katie coolly informs me that he’s probably super high and doesn’t seem to get the message that we were in the middle of a conversation. When I try to explain that we’re in a rush, he thought I was sketched out. And I was, only because I was beoming cognizant of the fact that we were two white people with computers in our backpacks walking down a busy street late at night alone… and we suck at speaking Bambara (let alone French).
We ended up getting away and Katie decided to perk up the evening by taking me to a nice little pizzeria she found in Lost Planet that was only a few blocks away. That having been said, being toubabous in the dark in Bamako, it took us an hour and a half to find it. But let me tell you, when we did, it was SOOOO nice to sit down to this super-hole in the wall gourmet restaurant with gruyere thin-crust pizza and a breadbasket. The whole meal cost less than going to Applebee’s, but it was such a delicacy. Wow. What a nice treat. I had no qualms about spending that money, not that day.
Katie and I also had a great conversation about our expectations of the summer and what we were hoping to learn. We both arrived at the conclusion that we were getting much more than we bargained for and that we had a lot to consider after this experience in terms of career choices and options. In conjunction with some good advice and kind words from family members recently, this is just one of many conversations that have helped in alleviating some brooding stress I’ve had around professional aspirations in the last year. It’s nice to let some pressure out of that dialogue and start reassessing. That having been said, I have no new ideas what I want to do and I don’t even know that it’s not this, but it’s definitely been helpful to step back and realize that there’s more than one way to evaluate my options. ☺
X Adama X
The strangeness of the night only arrived once we left, though. Remember Youssouf, the overzealous Malian man who asked me to translate letters to his friends for him? Well guess whose crazy eyes were fixed dead on me as soon as we got out of the theater? Youssouf just happened to be there watching the movie and as soon as he saw me, he pounced. He told me he had tried calling me over and over again (I could never understand him when he did, so I just stopped answering), which made me feel relatively awkward to see him in person again. Then he told me that he had really tried to make good on his offer to invite me over to his family’s house for dinner by just preparing a big meal and calling me multiple times. As you probably guessed, he just figured I would be able to decipher his messages and agree to attend, so they all thought I was coming but when they all sat down for the big meal, I wasn’t there! At this point I am feeling extremely awkward and sheepish.
Until Katie walks out of the bathroom and I realize that Youssouf is actually grabbing my shoulders and his eyes are bloodshot as all hell and for all intents and purposes, he looks like a crack-smoking crazy man. And then I start to realize I need to leave. Pronto. So I explain we have an obligation and have to leave, but I accidentally let it slip earlier in the conversation that we found out the movies are free on Tuesday, so he told me he’d see me next week (yikes!). Furthermore, he tried to catch up with us and explain that he has a friend in Boston who needs to send him a Japanese book and if we could kindly find his address when we return to send it to Mali, that would be a huge help. Now life is officially strange.
No, the strangeness transcended into hilarity when we leave the CCF and a young Rasta man comes over to ask me about my kippah. I explain that I’m Jewish and he tells me he’s heard about my kind before, seen us in movies and stuff, but that I’m the first Jew he’s ever met. He thinks I’m super cool and wants to be friendly with me and I’m all into the cross-cultural exchange… until Katie coolly informs me that he’s probably super high and doesn’t seem to get the message that we were in the middle of a conversation. When I try to explain that we’re in a rush, he thought I was sketched out. And I was, only because I was beoming cognizant of the fact that we were two white people with computers in our backpacks walking down a busy street late at night alone… and we suck at speaking Bambara (let alone French).
We ended up getting away and Katie decided to perk up the evening by taking me to a nice little pizzeria she found in Lost Planet that was only a few blocks away. That having been said, being toubabous in the dark in Bamako, it took us an hour and a half to find it. But let me tell you, when we did, it was SOOOO nice to sit down to this super-hole in the wall gourmet restaurant with gruyere thin-crust pizza and a breadbasket. The whole meal cost less than going to Applebee’s, but it was such a delicacy. Wow. What a nice treat. I had no qualms about spending that money, not that day.
Katie and I also had a great conversation about our expectations of the summer and what we were hoping to learn. We both arrived at the conclusion that we were getting much more than we bargained for and that we had a lot to consider after this experience in terms of career choices and options. In conjunction with some good advice and kind words from family members recently, this is just one of many conversations that have helped in alleviating some brooding stress I’ve had around professional aspirations in the last year. It’s nice to let some pressure out of that dialogue and start reassessing. That having been said, I have no new ideas what I want to do and I don’t even know that it’s not this, but it’s definitely been helpful to step back and realize that there’s more than one way to evaluate my options. ☺
X Adama X
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
A NOTE ON WORK
So one question I’ve gotten from a few of you is, “So now I now a lot about your introduction to Malian culture, but what about all that healthcare outreach business you kept talking about all Spring?” As it turns out, the answer to that question is simultaneously difficult to answer and answerable in two words: very little. Since I’ve been in Bamako, I haven’t been having the daily meetings and tight schedule I had anticipated before leaving in order to get this project done. I thought this internship would be something along the lines of coming to Bamako meeting with the trained local professionals (e.g. statisticians, doctors, nurses) to find out the actual healthcare situation and then using this information to create a sustainable healthcare system. As it turns out, it is really only our job to use our respected social position as toubabous to collect information and bring it to the CHAG, who then makes any important decisions and does all the necessary work to launch the program. We meet with professional people (most of which we have already met with) to determine what the community should need based on recent reports then meld this information with the first-hand knowledge of the CHAG to create a new outreach program that serves the community best.
Consequently, all of the work required to design the peer health education cards that the CHAG uses in their training sessions are designed by the CHAG members themselves, as is most of the text, though we provide the scientific facts from health manuals. They decide everything from what should go on a poster to advertise the new clinic site to how to conduct a new survey in the community – our only job is to facilitate their work as a community-based think tank. Let me say, as a control freak, it is hard to have a job where I get to make none of the decisions; however, I am also entirely in favor of this arrangement so the program can run independently of our presence as Western “leaders”. As frustrating as it is to feel like I am doing nothing, it is actually the best possible outcome, since the program is still moving forward and it’s due entirely to the CHAG’s hard work.
In concrete terms, one project we are working on this summer is evaluating the current education program, which cannot be done by the CHAG in order to avoid self-biases. We are looking at how effective the current education materials are at getting people from information (e.g. mosquitoes transmit malaria) to actions that can prevent diseases (e.g. using a treated mosquito net every night). This survey has already been designed and is being conducted starting tomorrow. Aside from that, we are just keeping on keeping on and enjoying watching the CHAG do its thing. And honestly, after three weeks of confusion not knowing how I was supposed to be making a difference, it’s nice to finally realize that seeing the CHAG be productive IS being productive.
All that having been said, I have now come to terms with the fact that this summer will not result in a final product. I have a few select concrete tasks to perform to make this project work, but I will not see this project be resolved before I leave. So… I’m just taking this summer as a cultural immersion experience in Mali. I’m walking around the neighborhoods, practicing my Bambara, going hiking, and traveling. As long as the CHAG is getting their work done, I’m getting my work done. And it’s really nice to have that pressure-cooker top off of this entire experience. FINALLY!
So to all of you who wanted to know exactly what I’ve been up to, I hope this helped some. I know it may just sound like I said, “I’m supervising.” But I think that maybe that’s not a bad analogy and even if I didn’t know I was signing up for it, I did. It’s a strange experience and a great one, despite all of its frustrations from time to time. And I’m glad I’m here to experience it all.
P.S. If you have specific questions about the project, just let me know – I have purposely steered clear of details so as not to bore a mixed audience. Some of you want to know about the project and some of you just want to know I’m alive and happy. I’m eager to answer questions from any audience members. ☺
X Adama X
Consequently, all of the work required to design the peer health education cards that the CHAG uses in their training sessions are designed by the CHAG members themselves, as is most of the text, though we provide the scientific facts from health manuals. They decide everything from what should go on a poster to advertise the new clinic site to how to conduct a new survey in the community – our only job is to facilitate their work as a community-based think tank. Let me say, as a control freak, it is hard to have a job where I get to make none of the decisions; however, I am also entirely in favor of this arrangement so the program can run independently of our presence as Western “leaders”. As frustrating as it is to feel like I am doing nothing, it is actually the best possible outcome, since the program is still moving forward and it’s due entirely to the CHAG’s hard work.
In concrete terms, one project we are working on this summer is evaluating the current education program, which cannot be done by the CHAG in order to avoid self-biases. We are looking at how effective the current education materials are at getting people from information (e.g. mosquitoes transmit malaria) to actions that can prevent diseases (e.g. using a treated mosquito net every night). This survey has already been designed and is being conducted starting tomorrow. Aside from that, we are just keeping on keeping on and enjoying watching the CHAG do its thing. And honestly, after three weeks of confusion not knowing how I was supposed to be making a difference, it’s nice to finally realize that seeing the CHAG be productive IS being productive.
All that having been said, I have now come to terms with the fact that this summer will not result in a final product. I have a few select concrete tasks to perform to make this project work, but I will not see this project be resolved before I leave. So… I’m just taking this summer as a cultural immersion experience in Mali. I’m walking around the neighborhoods, practicing my Bambara, going hiking, and traveling. As long as the CHAG is getting their work done, I’m getting my work done. And it’s really nice to have that pressure-cooker top off of this entire experience. FINALLY!
So to all of you who wanted to know exactly what I’ve been up to, I hope this helped some. I know it may just sound like I said, “I’m supervising.” But I think that maybe that’s not a bad analogy and even if I didn’t know I was signing up for it, I did. It’s a strange experience and a great one, despite all of its frustrations from time to time. And I’m glad I’m here to experience it all.
P.S. If you have specific questions about the project, just let me know – I have purposely steered clear of details so as not to bore a mixed audience. Some of you want to know about the project and some of you just want to know I’m alive and happy. I’m eager to answer questions from any audience members. ☺
X Adama X
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday 6/29
As I’ve been sleeping off the last of this sickness, I’ve been having a rare and beautiful chance to dream (and I’m not even on mefloquine!). If I don’t write down my dreams immediately, I often forget them and even if I remember to write them down, by the chance I can, they are sometimes already lost. I just woke up from a strange and fascinating mid-morning nap that provided me with (as strange as it sounds) one of thematically cohesive dreams I have had in a while. To provide some context, the book I just started reading What is the What account of a Sudanese refugee’s experiences in the Darfur conflict, though I also see much of my own recent life experience in the dream too. This is what my mind tells me:
---------------------
I was in a place like Bamako, though it was much more open. The ground was unkempt and muddy in patches, pickup trucks and other machines lined the one road we were following downhill. I do not know why, but I feel I was in Ethiopia. A small group of us was being led against our will down the hill, but we were free to walk as we pleased. Wherever we were going, we were being prepared for the first and most basic level of firefighter training, something that both excited and terrified me. I remember thinking to myself, “but what if I freeze inside and can’t move to fight the fire at all?” I can picture myself in that thought just slowly being enveloped in flames, my skin starting to crack in the heat. And then I come to and step forward, starting to take down the fire, one room at a time. I know I can do it, though I have never had to before, and I know that this is not the last time I will fight for my life. I know I will survive.
This brief daydream evaporates and I am still walking down the hill to basic training. As we walk, I realize I am carrying basic but very heavy firefighter’s gear and that everyone else around me on the hill is already suited up and around my age. We seem to be child soldiers of some sort, but no one is rebelling. I realize that there is no point in escaping and actually wonder if it is even worthwhile, so I offer to help a group of women firefighters that we pass along the road. I don’t have time to help – we’re in a rush. But I think the man in charge, wherever he is, will see this and appreciate my eagerness to help. I recognize one of the girls as a Brown student I know who is a brilliant pre-med student, carrying impossibly heavy objects to her own fire truck, which is actually just a hollowed out van (like a mobili). She declines and we keep walking.
When we pass her van, the scene changes. We are entering a warehouse, sliding under a propped open cargo bay door. I am rushed under first and immediately, six foam mattresses fall on me from some unknown location. It doesn’t hurt – it’s just bizarre and jarring. The inside of the warehouse is humongous and there are young boys scattered around at office desks, each smoking and casually feigning a resemblance of work. They immediately tell me to move the mattresses, which I do. And no sooner have I moved them to one place, they tell me they need to be organized and removed. And it is in this moment that I resign, that I realize this is my new life: I am a slave. But strangely, no more than a split second later, I make a new discovery that changes that: In a desk drawer near where I am, there is a small piece of folded up paper with two decrepit dolls made from trash scraps that I recognize as being mine. And then I remember: I have been here before. These were mine. And I escaped. And I just keep walking. I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but I am going to escape. And somehow the knowledge of that appeases me enough to accept this life as my own with pride. Because I am NOT a slave – I am a master.
-------------------------------------
In so many ways, it was an amazingly empowering experience to have this dream. I don’t often bring it up, but I’m a pretty strong believer in energy and dreams and being flippantly Freudian about it, I do see dreams as a source of strength and knowledge. As I’ve been struggling here, this dream was a great message for me and one I am proud to have contained, even if only briefly. One of my big challenges in life has been running from things that scare me and inherently embedded in that is the fatally flawed believe that I know what I need in any given moment. As I have grown up, it has taken time and a lot of patience to truly admit that I rarely know what I want, let alone what I need. Therefore, all I can do is love what I have and trust that it’s exactly what I was supposed to find all along to get wherever I am going next. Thus, I’m actually quite proud to have had a dream of submission and furthermore, a dream in which I derive power from that submission. It is a way that I try to live my life day to day and after two years of trying to make it work, this is a beautiful sign that it is becoming integrated into my being. What a great gift – not only in the global sense, but also as a sign of the remaining month or so in Sikoroni. All I have to do is the same thing I ever have to do – release my expectations and desires of my current situation and just embrace it.
Last night I came home and danced in the rain. I broke in my new yarmulke, just getting pummeled by torrents of wetness and finally, for the first time in a week, felt like I could breathe again. We played word games and laughed. We went to the only Tex-Mex restaurant in Bamako and told funny stories about our college roommates for hours. We met South African Jews who greeted me in Hebrew and we sat next to Russian whores who worked the brothel in the backroom. It was a surreal night and it was delicious. And for the first time in a week or so, I’m looking forward to many more delicious nights just like it.
X Adama X
---------------------
I was in a place like Bamako, though it was much more open. The ground was unkempt and muddy in patches, pickup trucks and other machines lined the one road we were following downhill. I do not know why, but I feel I was in Ethiopia. A small group of us was being led against our will down the hill, but we were free to walk as we pleased. Wherever we were going, we were being prepared for the first and most basic level of firefighter training, something that both excited and terrified me. I remember thinking to myself, “but what if I freeze inside and can’t move to fight the fire at all?” I can picture myself in that thought just slowly being enveloped in flames, my skin starting to crack in the heat. And then I come to and step forward, starting to take down the fire, one room at a time. I know I can do it, though I have never had to before, and I know that this is not the last time I will fight for my life. I know I will survive.
This brief daydream evaporates and I am still walking down the hill to basic training. As we walk, I realize I am carrying basic but very heavy firefighter’s gear and that everyone else around me on the hill is already suited up and around my age. We seem to be child soldiers of some sort, but no one is rebelling. I realize that there is no point in escaping and actually wonder if it is even worthwhile, so I offer to help a group of women firefighters that we pass along the road. I don’t have time to help – we’re in a rush. But I think the man in charge, wherever he is, will see this and appreciate my eagerness to help. I recognize one of the girls as a Brown student I know who is a brilliant pre-med student, carrying impossibly heavy objects to her own fire truck, which is actually just a hollowed out van (like a mobili). She declines and we keep walking.
When we pass her van, the scene changes. We are entering a warehouse, sliding under a propped open cargo bay door. I am rushed under first and immediately, six foam mattresses fall on me from some unknown location. It doesn’t hurt – it’s just bizarre and jarring. The inside of the warehouse is humongous and there are young boys scattered around at office desks, each smoking and casually feigning a resemblance of work. They immediately tell me to move the mattresses, which I do. And no sooner have I moved them to one place, they tell me they need to be organized and removed. And it is in this moment that I resign, that I realize this is my new life: I am a slave. But strangely, no more than a split second later, I make a new discovery that changes that: In a desk drawer near where I am, there is a small piece of folded up paper with two decrepit dolls made from trash scraps that I recognize as being mine. And then I remember: I have been here before. These were mine. And I escaped. And I just keep walking. I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but I am going to escape. And somehow the knowledge of that appeases me enough to accept this life as my own with pride. Because I am NOT a slave – I am a master.
-------------------------------------
In so many ways, it was an amazingly empowering experience to have this dream. I don’t often bring it up, but I’m a pretty strong believer in energy and dreams and being flippantly Freudian about it, I do see dreams as a source of strength and knowledge. As I’ve been struggling here, this dream was a great message for me and one I am proud to have contained, even if only briefly. One of my big challenges in life has been running from things that scare me and inherently embedded in that is the fatally flawed believe that I know what I need in any given moment. As I have grown up, it has taken time and a lot of patience to truly admit that I rarely know what I want, let alone what I need. Therefore, all I can do is love what I have and trust that it’s exactly what I was supposed to find all along to get wherever I am going next. Thus, I’m actually quite proud to have had a dream of submission and furthermore, a dream in which I derive power from that submission. It is a way that I try to live my life day to day and after two years of trying to make it work, this is a beautiful sign that it is becoming integrated into my being. What a great gift – not only in the global sense, but also as a sign of the remaining month or so in Sikoroni. All I have to do is the same thing I ever have to do – release my expectations and desires of my current situation and just embrace it.
Last night I came home and danced in the rain. I broke in my new yarmulke, just getting pummeled by torrents of wetness and finally, for the first time in a week, felt like I could breathe again. We played word games and laughed. We went to the only Tex-Mex restaurant in Bamako and told funny stories about our college roommates for hours. We met South African Jews who greeted me in Hebrew and we sat next to Russian whores who worked the brothel in the backroom. It was a surreal night and it was delicious. And for the first time in a week or so, I’m looking forward to many more delicious nights just like it.
X Adama X
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Your Vote = $100,000 for Me and the People I Work With.
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:
---------------------
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!
---------------
Help us out, guys!!!! Thanks for all your help!
X Adama X
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:
---------------------
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!
---------------
Help us out, guys!!!! Thanks for all your help!
X Adama X
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