The Kids

I can’t possibly talk about my life in village without talking about the kids. They’re everywhere! Partly because I’m a Toubab and I’m fascinating as such, but partly also because I enjoy their company. I’ve found that hanging out with kids is a great way for me to integrate here. I can practice my language with them. They know I don’t understand a lot, so they’ve gotten pretty good at repeating things slowly, many times if I need it. They’re great to have around for the company, and I don’t have to make sure I’m entertaining them – they’re used to entertaining themselves, plus they can talk to each other. They often introduce me to new things. And they are always willing to help, whether it’s useful, like throwing out my yard waste everyday, or not so useful, like insisting on pulling the needle each time after I’ve stuck it through the cloth while sewing a patch on my skirt. (That particular incident ended with both sides of my skirt being sewn together).

So here’s an overview of some of my favorite kids:

My host family*:
*A note on my host family. All PCVs’ living arrangements are different. The way mine works, I have my own concession, not part of another family. My jatigi (literally “guest owner”) lives with his family in a concession about 30 feet from mine; technically they face each other, kind of like on a cul-de-sac. I prefer to call this family “my jatigi’s family,” wife, kids, grandkids, etc. rather than host dad, sibling, etc. because they don’t feel like “my family” in the same way I had a family I lived with in Mountougoula. However, they are the family I’m closest with and pretty darn fabulous.

Sinali (See-‘nah-lee): My jatigi’s nephew. At 11, he’s the oldest kid who lives at my jatigi’s concession. He can be really helpful, but also really hard to understand for some reason. He’s very funny and charismatic, and very protective of the younger kids. He could kick my butt on the dance floor. He’s also decided that my 14 year old cousin is his muso (woman/girlfriend/wife).

Sinali: Yep, another one. This is my jatigi’s youngest child; he’s 10. I differentiate the two by calling this one Shina (Sheena). He has a lot of patience with me, and with the younger kids, and he’s always willing to try and explain things over and over. He’s really helpful; he offers to cut down my fallen tree braches and hoe the ground where I want to plant sunflowers. He makes sure to check on the sunflowers’ growth every day with me!

Aminata (Ah-mee-‘na-tah): “Minata” is 7 and my jatigi’s granddaughter. (Her parents live in my jatigi’s concession). She’s shy at first but gets super giggly once she opens up. She likes to keep up with the boys. She has perhaps the biggest eyes I’ve ever seen, and combined with her giggle, she can melt hearts!

Seydou (‘Shay doo): He’s 5, and Minata’s younger brother. At first I thought he was kind of sullen all the time, but I think he was just shy. Now he never stops talking! “Michelli, look at me! Michelli, guess what I did today!” Like most little kids, he can be really whiney. But when he’s not whining, it’s hilarious watching him try to keep up with the older kids.

Ami (‘Ah mee): Ami is another grandchild, although her parents do not live in my jatigi’s concession. She is in the running for one of my favorite Malians. She’s 3. She rarely smiles but also rarely cries. Until her mom came for a visit recently, I never heard her talk. I call her my “terimuso” or my female friend. She responds to that now just like her name, and when the family and I talk about her we just call her Terimuso. She gets the biggest, awkward grin and laugh when I throw her in the air, which I do as much as possible because I love to see her smile! I’ve already told everyone I’m taking her back to America with me.

Bourama: Bourama is 2 and Minata and Seydou’s youngest brother. Like his big brother, I used to think he was grumpy all the time, but now I’ve decided that was initial shyness. Now his face lights up into a huge smile when he sees me and he runs over to me and throws his arms around my legs, then raises them up to be tossed in the air. He rarely wears clothes and is usually covered in dirt from rolling around on the ground, so I tend to swing him by his arms only! I’ve recently started calling him Terike, or “male friend.” He doesn’t say much at all, mostly he bounces and screeches, but he does try to say my name, and it comes out as “EeeYell!”


My homologue’s kids:

Alima (‘Al-ee-mah): Alima is my homologue’s daughter, and my Sourountouna equivalent of Moussa; my main sidekick. Or, more than likely, I’m her sidekick. She’s 10 or 12, but I’m leaning toward 12. Sometimes it’s hard to remember she’s that young; with most of my issues or questions I go to her first. I usually take her along when I go for a walk or to the butiki, and she usually takes me along when she plays games with her friends at night, or when she goes to a community social event. People are used to seeing us together and will often come to my house looking for her, or ask her where her “toubab muso” is when I’m not with her. She’s made it her mission to help me do whatever work I’ll allow her to do (she takes my bike to the pump once an evening now) and also to help me learn all the things every self-respecting Malian woman can do: wash clothes, cook Malian food, dance like a Malian woman, etc.

Yaya: Yaya is Alima’s younger brother. He’s somewhere between 5 and 7. He will do whatever it takes to help me (he’s the one who helped me sew my skirt to itself). He tends to get jealous of all the time I spend with Alima and the special privileges she has (like permission to go inside my house), so he tries to make up for it by “helping” and showing off. Like his older sister, he’s quite beautiful; unlike her he’s very shy!



The Coulibaly Boys: They live around the corner from me. All of the Coulibaly kids are spitting images of each other, each with a beautiful smile that’s almost always showing. They have a large family, and all the kids have ventured over to my house at some point or another, but 3 of the boys in particular are at my house every day and were the kids who initially took the most interest in me.

Sidiki (See-‘dee-kee): He’s 10 and has the biggest crush on me. He likes to angle my mirror so he can see both of our faces in it at once. He’s a bit on the quiet side and would rather sit and look through my photo album than play with my soccer ball like his younger brothers. I think “sweet” best describes him.






Amadou: At 8, he is the biggest show-off of all the kids, and has the most mischievous grin to go with it! His was the first name I learned, because he was always in the foreground trying to catch my attention. He's extremely energetic and loves to plan and run around, soccer ball or no. He loves to joke but occasionally his temper flares up and i have to remind him that hitting is not allowed at my house. (I have 3 rules; No hitting, No Speaking Minyanka, and don't lock my door!)

Solo: Solo is 4 and is usually found tagging along with the 2 older boys. He rarely talks to me but he has no problem yelling at his brothers when I’m not looking! His grin is the most captivating. When we play ball, he’s completely silent but his entire body is expressive: grinning, throwing his hands over his eyes, jumping up and down. During Hot Season, he took it upon himself to fan me at every moment; he would take my fan in both of his hands and just pump his little arms up and down over and over and over! He’s always wearing a shirt at least 3x too big, and he’s the kind of kid you could take home with you even if you don’t like kids.



The head doctor’s brood:
Papu and Papu Were: The doctor’s oldest son, and his son’s friend, who has the same nickname. (All his kids go by nicknames). “Were” (where-ay) means “other,” so I just interchangeably call both of them Papu and Papu Were. They’re in their late teens and students in Segou, a city about 4 hours from San , and too old to count as kids, but I’m including them anyway. They’re home on summer break, so I’ve been hanging out with them listening to music, playing cards, and drinking tea while they’re home. It’s nice to have friends closer to my age, and both of them know a little English which can be useful. They’ll head back to Segou in September, unfortunately.

Kolo

Yacou and Kolo: The doctor’s nephew and second-oldest son. Also not really part of the “kids” category, both are in their mid-teens. They more or less keep to themselves other than greeting me and passing over tea when they make it. Both of them are away visiting other family during the summer holiday.

Binke (‘Bin-kay): The doctor’s 13 year old son. He calls me fail muso, “donkey-woman,” and I call him tumuke, worm-boy. He’s a good soccer player, and we occasionally play until I get tired. He’s very easy-going and always in a good mood, as are all of his brothers. He and I joke around a lot. He recently asked me to help teach him English, in addition to the English he learns at school.

Tata: The doctor’s 13 year old niece. She’s a handful! She likes to give me a hard time. Sometimes I sit with her while she does dishes, or I walk around town with her while she goes door-to-door selling clothes. She has no problem ordering me around: “Sit here. Talk to me. Come sell clothes with me!” Ok! :D

Levie (‘Leh-vee-ay): The doctor’s 11 year old son. Like Binke, he calls me fail muso and I call him fali ke (donkey-boy). He’s very mischievous! He’s the one who will come up behind me and steal my head scarf, then come outside a few minutes later wearing my scarf and his sister’s skirt and talking in a high-pitched voice like a girl.

Fatim (Fah-‘teem): The doctor’s 9 year old niece. She’s a troublemaker! She can most often be found making faces at me, which I promptly reciprocate. I have also proven on more than one occasion that I can run her down when need be, even while wearing an ankle-length skirt. She also tries to climb on me like a monkey. If only she had a tail, she could really pull off the act quite well!

Fanta: The doctor’s youngest child and only daughter, and as such, has perfected the skill of “crocodile tears” down to an art. She’s somewhere between 4 and 7, I’m thinking 4. She’s one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen, and very petite. I’ve told her she can come to America with me, but because she’s small she has to go in my bag. She has a wicked grin and loves to show off, especially by dancing. Once I got used to her high-pitched little-girl voice, she became a great conversation partner since we keep it simple!

So those are “My Kids.” There are a lot more that pass in and out of my life on a daily basis, but these are the ones whom I spend the most time with. The kids here really are great. Anytime I need an ego boost, or a morale-raiser, all I have to do is go for a walk, and soon I’ll hear, “Michelli! Michelli! Ça va? Michelli!” from all sides as kids come running toward me to shake my hand and giggle at me. I had a language tutor come stay with me for a week at the end of July and he declared Sourountouna has a new dugutigi (village chief) in addition to the old one – me! He said I’m the dugutigi of the kids – I like that!

The time I spend with the kids has already shown me that kids are the same no matter where you go. They tease their siblings, they love to be the center of attention, and they think farting and fart jokes are hilarious (luckily there’s always a baby or small child around that I can use as a scapegoat for my farts). My favorite times are the dark, moonless nights when all but my favorite kids have gone home, and we all lie in a circle on my big mat, crowding around my lantern. Their dark skin blends into the night and all I can see are their faces and big eyes looking at me as we chat and giggle in the small circle of light. Or when I’m really tired and I collapse on my mat after dinner, and they gather around me, pushing to be the one closest to me and to stroke my arm, play with my hair, and tickle my feet. These are the nights when it’s hard to kick them out! They have really shaped my experience so far.