Just a quick post to explain what will be happening next in my journey. Recap: Homestay is finished, training is finished, Swear-In is finished, and I am officially a Peace Corps Volunteer! I’ve left Bamako and brought all of my things to San, and in about half an hour I will be moving to my new village to begin my 2 years of service.
For the first 2 months of service I am required by Peace Corps to spend as much time as possible with my community. I’m not allowed to travel, other than limited trips to my banking town or perhaps a market town if needed. Which means my communication will be severely limited. I’ll be in San a few times over the next two months, and I’ll post a few blogs when I do come. After those first 2 months I’ll probably be moving around more, but I’ll still be living in a village without internet access, so in theory, my posts will be much fewer from here on out. Please continue to ask questions when you have them, and I will continue to answer as I am able.
For those of you who are wondering how I’m feeling about all of this…I’m super nervous! My mom asked me today, “How are you going to know what to do? When to go to work, what to be doing when?” And the answer is: I don’t know. I have no idea what to do and when. I’m on my own now, with very little structure or direction. This is going to be a huge challenge for me. I like having structure and goals, and right now my only goal is to learn to speak Bambara and to get to know my community. How to do those things is up to me. So I ask you all to wish me lots of luck! If you are of the praying persuasion, that’s something I appreciate immensely. And if you aren’t, sending positive thoughts out my way is just as good.
And in response to people who ask me what I need, there are a few different answers to that question.
Regarding my service here and the Malian people, right now I don’t need anything. It will be quite awhile before I start to set up projects, and the time may come when I will be asking for donations from back home. But that time is still way in the distance, once I have a better idea of what my community needs and how I can help.
Regarding myself, there isn’t anything I actually need. However, want is a whole other concept! I have a great list of things that are always good to send, and as it turns out, missing packages/contents don’t appear to be a problem here, and customs fees are pretty reasonable.
Some ideas:
1. Letters/Cards/Postcards. These are easy to send and so very well received! It’s so comforting to hear news from home, even if it doesn’t seem like interesting news to you. Keep in mind that letters tend to take longer to arrive than packages, but they nearly all show up in the end.
2. FOOD!!! PCVs LOVE getting American food. Including, but in no way limited to: tuna packets, protein-enhanced granola bars (I get very, very little protein here), electrolyte/protein drink mixes (anything but fruit punch or cherry), cookies, pudding/jello mix (our stage house in San has a refrigerator and stove but no microwave), candy (Jolly Ranchers send well and are delicious), chips, pretzels, cashews, crackers, flavored oatmeal, anything blueberry or strawberry flavored (those fruits don’t exist here), Eclipse spearmint gum, powdered cheese, dried fruit, etc. You get my point. Anything and everything. A word of warning: since it is now hot season, chocolate may (*will*) melt. No biggie, we have no reservations toward licking a candy wrapper clean; however, it’s best to pack chocolate in a Ziploc baggie in case it does melt.
3. Other things: pictures, baby wipes, face wipes, cleaning wipes, hand sanitizer, stationery, journals, magazines (especially People magazine), glow sticks, books (we have TONS of books here but if there’s a special one in mind we do read A LOT!), small games, art supplies, travel size toiletries for traveling purposes, fun home décor (no Bed Bath and Beyond here!), pens, BATTERIES BATTERIES BATTERIES (both AAA and AA; the ones here are really cheaply made and don't last long, and even good-quality ones don't last as long as they would in the States because of the heat) masking tape, duct tape (fun colors are obviously appreciated), surprises…
Get creative! We will find use for it. My mom sent me a microwave brownie mix, not knowing there wasn’t a microwave at the training center, and I stopped opening my package to add the water and eat the batter with my finger. And then I drooled a lot.
Once again…thank you thank you thank you!!
Saturday, April 16, 2011
The Ethics of Blogging
During that last week at the Training Center I somehow got guilted into attending an optional session on the Ethics of Blogging. It sounded super boring, and I had already planned to spend the time blogging (ironic, no?), but I went anyway, and as it turns out, I’m really glad I did.
The session was facilitated by one of our trainers who is currently a PCV. We were a small group sitting in a circle and just talking, bringing up thoughts and discussing them. We brought up a lot of issues I'd never thought of before, and I’d like to share some of them with you.
I’ve written previously that I want to relay as much of my experience here as possible to people back home. I think that’s an important part of what Peace Corps is. And a big part of my approach has been sharing stories, not just facts. But there’s a fine line between sharing my experiences and sharing others’ personal lives. So where do you draw the line? If I were in America, writing about my experiences with Americans, I would write from the perspective of knowing that they could very well have full access to the stories and pictures I publish about them. In fact, I’ve been doing that when writing about my experiences with the other Americans here. So in theory, it shouldn’t be any different when writing about Malians. Sure, they may never have access to this information. But that doesn’t take away their right to privacy. This may be especially important because I write so much about and post so many pictures of kids. If these were American children, would their parents be ok with me talking about their kids, and putting their pictures online for the world to see? Am I accurately portraying Malian culture with what I choose to publish, or am I distorting – good or bad – what is most likely the only personal perceptions many people will ever have of Mali?
Part of our discussion revolved around our responsibility to inform Malians of what we’re doing. Explain what the Internet is. Describe what it means to write a blog, and to post pictures on Facebook. Ask permission to include our Malian friends and family in these things. But how, how can I do that, when I barely have enough language skills just to function? How on earth do you explain the Internet without experiencing it, to someone who may know what a computer is but has never actually seen one?
I find that my anthropology background is creating conflicting views. On one hand, like I’ve said, I feel a responsibility to share this experience with people back home. That’s part of my job here, after all. On the other hand, there are indeed ethics involved. I don’t want to sugar-coat my time here, but I don’t want to irrationally bash it either. I want to relay my experiences as objectively and realistically as possible. But I can’t really be objective, as everything is from my own perspective. And unlike if I were writing a book about my experiences after returning to the States, I don’t have that time lapse to look back and reflect and understand before sharing. I don’t have an ethics committee or board to review my work. I don’t have an editor to fine-tune my writing. It’s just me, here and now, living this life and wanting to share it.
I try to compromise by writing blogs posts onto a Word Document and waiting a bit to post them so I can reread them later. For my last post, about the Third Goal of Peace Corps, I edited it several times and had a friend read it to make sure it was coming across the way I intended it. And from here on out, I’ll think twice before I share a story. I still want to share as much as possible, but at the same time, I want to be respectful. The Malian people, have invited me to their home: their country, their community, the houses they live in. And I need to respect their privacy just as I would respect the privacy of an American who invited me into their home. So bear with me as I strive to find a balance. I have a feeling this will be an ongoing activity for the next 2 years, but I hope along the way I can find a way to satisfy both sides of the conflict, and portray a full and rich experience without compromising privacy and objectivity.
The session was facilitated by one of our trainers who is currently a PCV. We were a small group sitting in a circle and just talking, bringing up thoughts and discussing them. We brought up a lot of issues I'd never thought of before, and I’d like to share some of them with you.
I’ve written previously that I want to relay as much of my experience here as possible to people back home. I think that’s an important part of what Peace Corps is. And a big part of my approach has been sharing stories, not just facts. But there’s a fine line between sharing my experiences and sharing others’ personal lives. So where do you draw the line? If I were in America, writing about my experiences with Americans, I would write from the perspective of knowing that they could very well have full access to the stories and pictures I publish about them. In fact, I’ve been doing that when writing about my experiences with the other Americans here. So in theory, it shouldn’t be any different when writing about Malians. Sure, they may never have access to this information. But that doesn’t take away their right to privacy. This may be especially important because I write so much about and post so many pictures of kids. If these were American children, would their parents be ok with me talking about their kids, and putting their pictures online for the world to see? Am I accurately portraying Malian culture with what I choose to publish, or am I distorting – good or bad – what is most likely the only personal perceptions many people will ever have of Mali?
Part of our discussion revolved around our responsibility to inform Malians of what we’re doing. Explain what the Internet is. Describe what it means to write a blog, and to post pictures on Facebook. Ask permission to include our Malian friends and family in these things. But how, how can I do that, when I barely have enough language skills just to function? How on earth do you explain the Internet without experiencing it, to someone who may know what a computer is but has never actually seen one?
I find that my anthropology background is creating conflicting views. On one hand, like I’ve said, I feel a responsibility to share this experience with people back home. That’s part of my job here, after all. On the other hand, there are indeed ethics involved. I don’t want to sugar-coat my time here, but I don’t want to irrationally bash it either. I want to relay my experiences as objectively and realistically as possible. But I can’t really be objective, as everything is from my own perspective. And unlike if I were writing a book about my experiences after returning to the States, I don’t have that time lapse to look back and reflect and understand before sharing. I don’t have an ethics committee or board to review my work. I don’t have an editor to fine-tune my writing. It’s just me, here and now, living this life and wanting to share it.
I try to compromise by writing blogs posts onto a Word Document and waiting a bit to post them so I can reread them later. For my last post, about the Third Goal of Peace Corps, I edited it several times and had a friend read it to make sure it was coming across the way I intended it. And from here on out, I’ll think twice before I share a story. I still want to share as much as possible, but at the same time, I want to be respectful. The Malian people, have invited me to their home: their country, their community, the houses they live in. And I need to respect their privacy just as I would respect the privacy of an American who invited me into their home. So bear with me as I strive to find a balance. I have a feeling this will be an ongoing activity for the next 2 years, but I hope along the way I can find a way to satisfy both sides of the conflict, and portray a full and rich experience without compromising privacy and objectivity.
The Third Goal of Peace Corps
Dear Friends,
I think I’ve mentioned the Third Goal of Peace Corps before: “Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.” This is often the most overlooked goal of Peace Corps, but it’s just as important as the other two (1. Helping the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women and 2. Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served). PCVs strive to meet this goal in different ways, some more than others. For me, I feel a responsibility to communicate, to the best of my ability, my PC experience to my family and friends back home. This is largely due to the incredible amount of support I’ve gotten, and continue to get every day, from all of you. It’s an honor for me to share my experience with you!
That being said, I can only achieve this goal if I have an interested audience. I know there are lots of you out there reading this blog – thank you so much!!! I also know that at times I may not explain something clearly. If you have questions, please ask! Even if you aren’t signed in and able to leave a comment, you can always email me at mksurdyk@gmail.com. My internet access will be somewhat limited, but I’ll do my best to answer questions. Comments and suggestions are also greatly appreciated, on anything from the content of my blog to the aesthetics of the site. I’m no web designer, so if there’s something I can do to improve the reading experience, I am totally open to suggestions! Of course you shouldn’t feel obligated to always comment or question, just if there is something I can do to help you understand Mali and the Malian people, please let me know!
I’ve realized through a few conversations with friends that I never quite explained a lot of the logistics of training in Peace Corps. Some Peace Corps countries do all of their training at a Training Center and then the PCVs go out into their communities where they’ll live for the next 2 years. PC Mali, for the last 5 years, uses what's called Community Based Training. For the first 9 weeks in Mali, during what’s called “Pre-Service Training”, or PST, we live with host communities to become integrated into Malian life: both language and culture. We live 6-8 people per village because we're doing language and technical training, and we're close to Bamako because we come back to the Training Center every few weeks for group sessions. Using Community Based Training actually cut the total training time by about 3 weeks because we learn so much faster! At the end of training, we go out across the country to our various sites for our actual service period. Typically volunteers are the only PCV in their permanent site. The next volunteer may be 3 km away or 80 km away. We all have different sites and different experiences.
I hope this helps! Again, thank you so much for your support and for reading this blog. You are so important to my experience here.
Love,
Michelle
I think I’ve mentioned the Third Goal of Peace Corps before: “Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.” This is often the most overlooked goal of Peace Corps, but it’s just as important as the other two (1. Helping the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women and 2. Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served). PCVs strive to meet this goal in different ways, some more than others. For me, I feel a responsibility to communicate, to the best of my ability, my PC experience to my family and friends back home. This is largely due to the incredible amount of support I’ve gotten, and continue to get every day, from all of you. It’s an honor for me to share my experience with you!
That being said, I can only achieve this goal if I have an interested audience. I know there are lots of you out there reading this blog – thank you so much!!! I also know that at times I may not explain something clearly. If you have questions, please ask! Even if you aren’t signed in and able to leave a comment, you can always email me at mksurdyk@gmail.com. My internet access will be somewhat limited, but I’ll do my best to answer questions. Comments and suggestions are also greatly appreciated, on anything from the content of my blog to the aesthetics of the site. I’m no web designer, so if there’s something I can do to improve the reading experience, I am totally open to suggestions! Of course you shouldn’t feel obligated to always comment or question, just if there is something I can do to help you understand Mali and the Malian people, please let me know!
I’ve realized through a few conversations with friends that I never quite explained a lot of the logistics of training in Peace Corps. Some Peace Corps countries do all of their training at a Training Center and then the PCVs go out into their communities where they’ll live for the next 2 years. PC Mali, for the last 5 years, uses what's called Community Based Training. For the first 9 weeks in Mali, during what’s called “Pre-Service Training”, or PST, we live with host communities to become integrated into Malian life: both language and culture. We live 6-8 people per village because we're doing language and technical training, and we're close to Bamako because we come back to the Training Center every few weeks for group sessions. Using Community Based Training actually cut the total training time by about 3 weeks because we learn so much faster! At the end of training, we go out across the country to our various sites for our actual service period. Typically volunteers are the only PCV in their permanent site. The next volunteer may be 3 km away or 80 km away. We all have different sites and different experiences.
I hope this helps! Again, thank you so much for your support and for reading this blog. You are so important to my experience here.
Love,
Michelle
“…I will well and faithfully discharge my duties in the Peace Corps. So help me God.”
After moving back into the Training Center, we had 9 days until moving out again. We were in kind of a unique situation in having so many days – usually it wouldn’t be so long, but because we were having our Swear-In at the Presidential Palace, we had to work around the President’s schedule.
We spent most of our time continuing with Peace Corps sessions. Everything from medical to safety and security, to a talk with the US Ambassador to Mali, etc. (By the way, she’s awesome and has such a good relationship with Peace Corps!) Our last official session was on Saturday – I almost couldn’t believe after all this time that was it! Friday night we held a talent show, which was followed by a 2-hour impromptu dance party. Let me just say that our stage is very talented! Saturday night we each invited one member of our host family to come for a “thank-you” dinner at the Training Center. Of course Moussa was my guest, and it was wonderful to see him again, and so hard to say goodbye again!
On Sunday we convinced our training director to arrange a shuttle to take us into Bamako to go to the “Suguba” – which literally translates to “big market.” I’ve been to small markets in the Dominican Republic and Mexico, but I’ve never been to anything quite like this. It was so intense! It goes on and on and winds around all over the place. I got totally lost. We just wandered from one shop to another, both looking for specific items as well as “window shopping.” Sometimes people followed us, trying to get us to go to their shops or buy their products. Sometimes we had friendly conversations and sometimes we got annoyed and wanted to be left alone.
I bought a ring, two new headwraps, a pencil sharpener, an extra cell phone battery, and fabric. And out of all of those things, I managed to bargain a little bit and the fabric guy was the only one who totally ripped me off! My friend and I left his shop extremely frustrated and upset, but we decided to take it as a learning experience, and we did get some beautiful fabric out of it. I also had an awesome chicken chwarma for lunch…mmm…
Monday was our big celebration day, since it was our second-to-last day with all of us together. We went back to the American Club for lunch and a few fabulous hours at the pool. When we left the Club, Peace Corps vehicles drove us to a hotel and then bowed out for the night. After that, the rest of the night was run by current PCVs and transportation was through a private company and paid for by us. At the hotel we split up into rooms of 4-6, got ready, and all went out to various places in the area for dinner.
Two of my friends and I found a delicious Vietnamese restaurant of all places! It was fancy and completely empty, so we had all the service. It was crazy, I felt like I was back in Boston. We were served water in wine glasses and the waiter kept coming back to refill our glasses. We ordered 1 appetizer and 2 entrees to split, and the meal was sooo delicious! Unfortunately we had to scarf it down in order to sprint – literally – back to the shuttle on time, but we made it!
The shuttle drove us across the city to a bar with a huuuuge dance floor – my dream come true! Swear-In is an awesome time for Trainees and current volunteers to meet each other for the first time, and over the course of the night lots of people showed up. As for me, I spent all 3 hours at the first bar on the dance floor (I had no idea my body could physically produce that much sweat), and by the time we went to the second bar, my knee had had enough and I was confined to a booth for most of that place before shuttling back to the hotel for some much-needed sleep. The next day I was able to finagle some ice from our kitchen staff, and I walked gingerly up and down stairs for a few days, but it was totally worth it!
And of course, the next day was Swear-In! I was so excited to wear my new outfit that had been carefully tailored for the occasion. And for the special event, I had my makeup done by a professional make-up artist – my lovely friend from way back as roomies in DC, Miss Ashley Tiffany! It was so cool to see all 61 of us dressed in our finest, most of us in Malian clothes.
We loaded onto a big bus and drove to the President’s house. Known as Koulouba, the Presidential Palace was gorgeous. It sits on a hill overlooking the city and is big and white and beautiful. We filed into the room where we’d be sworn in as official volunteers, mingled with current PCVs, RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers), PC staff, our teachers, and each other.
The ceremony was attended by the President of Mali, His Excellency Amadou Toumani Toure, the President’s full cabinet, and the American Ambassador to Mali (who had come to the Training Center to speak with us earlier that week), Mrs. Gillian Milovanovic. Over the course of the ceremony, speeches were given by our Training Director – the fabulous Mr. Bocar Bocoum, PC Mali’s Country Director – Mr. Mike Simsik, Madame Ambassador, six of the trainees who each gave their speech in a different Malian language, and finally the President himself. Each speech was excellent. While all of the speeches were given in French (the official language of Mali), some of it was translated to us in English, and sometimes the speaker spoke directly to us in English. The Ambassador is a wonderful person and a huge supporter of Peace Corps. She administered our oath, and we all stood, raised our right hand, and repeated the oath after her. As I said it:
It felt so good to say those words and then be called an official volunteer! I have finally completely the last stage of actually becoming a PCV. I’m no longer a Trainee, but a full-fledged volunteer. I’ve made it this far! And better than that – we’ve made it this far. The 60 other people who have become my newest family, who have shared my struggles, my accomplishments, my frustrations and fun. I could look around and see myself surrounded by an amazing group of people – fellow Peace Corps Volunteers. Those who had completed their service decades ago, those in service now, and those of us who have just barely begun. What an honor to be a part of this community.
The ceremony finished with the President’s speech. It was clear, even in French (which I don’t understand), that he is a genuine and charismatic man who was hosting and attending this ceremony because he wanted to and because he truly believes in Peace Corps. He was both serious and funny and I wanted so badly to know what he was saying! My friend Chris translated bits and pieces for me. Some of the highlights (forgive me if I get any of it wrong): The President praised Peace Corps and its mission, saying it is one of the greatest aspects of American foreign policy. He applauded PCVs for going to some of the harshest villages where even some Malians won’t go, to try and improve the lives of the people. And he said if he were American he’d want to join the Peace Corps! I hope eventually someone in PC is able to give us a full translation of the President’s speech.
After the President had finished speaking, the final touch on the ceremony was wheeled out – a cake with a giant “sparkler-style” candle, to celebrate Peace Corps’s 50th anniversary, and Peace Corps Mali’s 40th anniversary. And then it was over! We all rushed outside to take a quick picture of all of us with the President, and then we hurried on to the food…delicious! We also had a little bit of time to mingle and check out the view from the backyard balcony overlooking the city before climbing back into the buses to journey back to the Training Center where we had one final dinner waiting for us, our last meal together.
(Our Training Director Bocar and I)
A final important piece of information: Our Stage Name!!
Each stage is given a group name at the end of training. The name is chosen by the current PCVs who help train the new stage. It’s a pretty big deal, as the name become part of your Peace Corps identity from there on out. Previous stage names: The Breakfast Club, Honey Bunches of Oats, Risky Business, and Team America (that’s as far back as I know). The PCVs who trained us (and who will be returning to the States over the summer and fall) are from Risky Business, and the group who came last July is Team America (lame name, sorry Team America!). Every time we meet a new PCV one of the first questions is, “What stage are you?” So you can see how important the name is.
We were highly anticipating receiving our name. We had already unofficially given ourselves a name – “Moustage.” Somehow the guys in our group banded together and grew out full beards and moustaches for the last 3 weeks of training, and then all shaved right before Swear-In to display fabulous full moustaches. (On a related note, several of the girls cut off their long hair!) We even got T-shirts made with a moustache on the front and “Moustage 11” written on the back.
Anyway, back to our official name! It was announced by our trainers at the first bar during our night out. We are officially…The Kennedys!! Everyone loves our name!! Reasons why we’re Kennedys:
1. We are currently celebrating PC’s 50th anniversary when it was begun by President John F. Kennedy.
2. More than any other stage, our stage, like The Kennedys, is a family. And even when there’s drama, we keep it in the family!
3. We’ve received soooo much special treatment:
*Aaron Williams, Director of Peace Corps and the Malian Ambassador to the US both came to, and spoke at, our staging in Washington DC.
*The US Ambassador to Mali came to, and spoke at, both our training and our Swear-In.
*Our Swear-In was at the Presidential Palace!
*We were often accommodated by our wonderful staff, agreeing to shuttle us to Bamako for shopping trips, etc.
Basically, we’re Peace Corps royalty! And let’s face it, the other stages all kind of want to be us. (These are their words, not mine!)
So what better way to celebrate such an iconic family, and monumental anniversaries, than to name us after our founder? And so we are the Kennedys, and Kennedys we shall forever be.
*You can read a press release of the Swear-In Ceremony here.
We spent most of our time continuing with Peace Corps sessions. Everything from medical to safety and security, to a talk with the US Ambassador to Mali, etc. (By the way, she’s awesome and has such a good relationship with Peace Corps!) Our last official session was on Saturday – I almost couldn’t believe after all this time that was it! Friday night we held a talent show, which was followed by a 2-hour impromptu dance party. Let me just say that our stage is very talented! Saturday night we each invited one member of our host family to come for a “thank-you” dinner at the Training Center. Of course Moussa was my guest, and it was wonderful to see him again, and so hard to say goodbye again!
On Sunday we convinced our training director to arrange a shuttle to take us into Bamako to go to the “Suguba” – which literally translates to “big market.” I’ve been to small markets in the Dominican Republic and Mexico, but I’ve never been to anything quite like this. It was so intense! It goes on and on and winds around all over the place. I got totally lost. We just wandered from one shop to another, both looking for specific items as well as “window shopping.” Sometimes people followed us, trying to get us to go to their shops or buy their products. Sometimes we had friendly conversations and sometimes we got annoyed and wanted to be left alone.
Monday was our big celebration day, since it was our second-to-last day with all of us together. We went back to the American Club for lunch and a few fabulous hours at the pool. When we left the Club, Peace Corps vehicles drove us to a hotel and then bowed out for the night. After that, the rest of the night was run by current PCVs and transportation was through a private company and paid for by us. At the hotel we split up into rooms of 4-6, got ready, and all went out to various places in the area for dinner.
The shuttle drove us across the city to a bar with a huuuuge dance floor – my dream come true! Swear-In is an awesome time for Trainees and current volunteers to meet each other for the first time, and over the course of the night lots of people showed up. As for me, I spent all 3 hours at the first bar on the dance floor (I had no idea my body could physically produce that much sweat), and by the time we went to the second bar, my knee had had enough and I was confined to a booth for most of that place before shuttling back to the hotel for some much-needed sleep. The next day I was able to finagle some ice from our kitchen staff, and I walked gingerly up and down stairs for a few days, but it was totally worth it!
And of course, the next day was Swear-In! I was so excited to wear my new outfit that had been carefully tailored for the occasion. And for the special event, I had my makeup done by a professional make-up artist – my lovely friend from way back as roomies in DC, Miss Ashley Tiffany! It was so cool to see all 61 of us dressed in our finest, most of us in Malian clothes.
The ceremony was attended by the President of Mali, His Excellency Amadou Toumani Toure, the President’s full cabinet, and the American Ambassador to Mali (who had come to the Training Center to speak with us earlier that week), Mrs. Gillian Milovanovic. Over the course of the ceremony, speeches were given by our Training Director – the fabulous Mr. Bocar Bocoum, PC Mali’s Country Director – Mr. Mike Simsik, Madame Ambassador, six of the trainees who each gave their speech in a different Malian language, and finally the President himself. Each speech was excellent. While all of the speeches were given in French (the official language of Mali), some of it was translated to us in English, and sometimes the speaker spoke directly to us in English. The Ambassador is a wonderful person and a huge supporter of Peace Corps. She administered our oath, and we all stood, raised our right hand, and repeated the oath after her. As I said it:
I, Michelle Surdyk, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge my duties in the Peace Corps. So help me God.
It felt so good to say those words and then be called an official volunteer! I have finally completely the last stage of actually becoming a PCV. I’m no longer a Trainee, but a full-fledged volunteer. I’ve made it this far! And better than that – we’ve made it this far. The 60 other people who have become my newest family, who have shared my struggles, my accomplishments, my frustrations and fun. I could look around and see myself surrounded by an amazing group of people – fellow Peace Corps Volunteers. Those who had completed their service decades ago, those in service now, and those of us who have just barely begun. What an honor to be a part of this community.
The ceremony finished with the President’s speech. It was clear, even in French (which I don’t understand), that he is a genuine and charismatic man who was hosting and attending this ceremony because he wanted to and because he truly believes in Peace Corps. He was both serious and funny and I wanted so badly to know what he was saying! My friend Chris translated bits and pieces for me. Some of the highlights (forgive me if I get any of it wrong): The President praised Peace Corps and its mission, saying it is one of the greatest aspects of American foreign policy. He applauded PCVs for going to some of the harshest villages where even some Malians won’t go, to try and improve the lives of the people. And he said if he were American he’d want to join the Peace Corps! I hope eventually someone in PC is able to give us a full translation of the President’s speech.
After the President had finished speaking, the final touch on the ceremony was wheeled out – a cake with a giant “sparkler-style” candle, to celebrate Peace Corps’s 50th anniversary, and Peace Corps Mali’s 40th anniversary. And then it was over! We all rushed outside to take a quick picture of all of us with the President, and then we hurried on to the food…delicious! We also had a little bit of time to mingle and check out the view from the backyard balcony overlooking the city before climbing back into the buses to journey back to the Training Center where we had one final dinner waiting for us, our last meal together.
A final important piece of information: Our Stage Name!!
Each stage is given a group name at the end of training. The name is chosen by the current PCVs who help train the new stage. It’s a pretty big deal, as the name become part of your Peace Corps identity from there on out. Previous stage names: The Breakfast Club, Honey Bunches of Oats, Risky Business, and Team America (that’s as far back as I know). The PCVs who trained us (and who will be returning to the States over the summer and fall) are from Risky Business, and the group who came last July is Team America (lame name, sorry Team America!). Every time we meet a new PCV one of the first questions is, “What stage are you?” So you can see how important the name is.
We were highly anticipating receiving our name. We had already unofficially given ourselves a name – “Moustage.” Somehow the guys in our group banded together and grew out full beards and moustaches for the last 3 weeks of training, and then all shaved right before Swear-In to display fabulous full moustaches. (On a related note, several of the girls cut off their long hair!) We even got T-shirts made with a moustache on the front and “Moustage 11” written on the back.
Anyway, back to our official name! It was announced by our trainers at the first bar during our night out. We are officially…The Kennedys!! Everyone loves our name!! Reasons why we’re Kennedys:
1. We are currently celebrating PC’s 50th anniversary when it was begun by President John F. Kennedy.
2. More than any other stage, our stage, like The Kennedys, is a family. And even when there’s drama, we keep it in the family!
3. We’ve received soooo much special treatment:
*Aaron Williams, Director of Peace Corps and the Malian Ambassador to the US both came to, and spoke at, our staging in Washington DC.
*The US Ambassador to Mali came to, and spoke at, both our training and our Swear-In.
*Our Swear-In was at the Presidential Palace!
*We were often accommodated by our wonderful staff, agreeing to shuttle us to Bamako for shopping trips, etc.
Basically, we’re Peace Corps royalty! And let’s face it, the other stages all kind of want to be us. (These are their words, not mine!)
So what better way to celebrate such an iconic family, and monumental anniversaries, than to name us after our founder? And so we are the Kennedys, and Kennedys we shall forever be.
*You can read a press release of the Swear-In Ceremony here.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Saying Goodbye
Somehow 8 weeks at homestay came and went in a flash, and suddenly it was time to leave. I’d been dreading leaving, as I had become so attached to my family. To make things worse, 3 of my siblings were gone (2 before I could take their photos, sad face) and my aunt had also left to go visit her family. So my family had dwindled in numbers and I wouldn’t even get to say goodbye to everyone, but in the meantime, I was trying to make the most of the time I had left.
Two days before we left, Mountougoula held a farewell party for us. We returned to the same community meeting space where just 8 short weeks earlier we had sat, knowing next to no Bambara, nervous as to which man was our dad, which family would be ours, and how we could possibly survive the next 2 months. I look back on all that has happened since the last time I sat in that room, and I amazed at the progression we all made. I came in so nervous to live with a group of strangers, and I leave so heartbroken to leave a family. I can hold a conversation in Bambara on a varietyof topics. Sure, my level is basic and I need my conversation partner to speak a bit slowly and clearly, but I can do it! I have health education knowledge and experience, cultural knowledge and experience, and a family to visit whenever I can.
We started with speeches. Kaba, our PC representative. The dugutigi (village chief). Abu, one of our teachers. Several of the host parents and grandparents. And finally, us, the PCTs. We had prepared a speech in advance, with the help of our teachers, and each of us took a few sentences to tell the village of Mountougoula how much we thank them for their hospitality and patience! It’s customary for each side to ask the other for forgiveness for any wrong or offense that may have been unknowingly committed, so I guess now I’m pardoned for my “zame” mistake and any other wrong I may have done. After the speeches, drinks were passed around. It was pretty cool to be sitting on mats on the floor in a meeting hut in Africa, watching my African granny sit on the floor in a pagne and an American college T-shirt drinking a bottle of Coca-Cola.
After the farewell meeting finished, it was time to dance!! Mountougoula provided half of the entertainment: music, and we provided the other half: dancing toubabs! The dancing was so much fun! We danced with each other, our families, and other Mountougoulans. My granny brought some serious boogie to the floor! She would wait till the circle was open and then hop on in with an African shake. Kaba did a dance with scarves that kicked up 2 lungs full of dust and later sent him to the hospital with a dislocated shoulder. Andrew and I had a dance off and I lost after he got low. And my favorite moment of all, my brother Moussa, who has told me from week 1 that he doesn’t dance, and who worried me that he wouldn’t show up at all, unexpectedly jumped into the circle while I was dancing and danced with me for a few precious moments before laughingly darting out again.
It was a wonderful party, and when it had finished we all went home, back to our daily lives. The women prepared dinner while the men, children, and Americans sat outside making tea and chatting. Clare and Andrew joined my family and we talked until sunset when my mom came and told me it was time for my bath. Unfortunately I never did get a picture of my entire family. I never seemed to be able to collect everyone at once, and 4 of my family members were gone anyway. So I took as many individual photos as I could, which wasn’t hard since the kids love to pose for pictures!
In preparation for saying goodbye, each PCT bought a sack of 25 kilos of rice for their family, and some of us chose to give other gifts as well. I included tea and sugar for the men, bracelets for the women, and a soccer ball, candy, and the beloved dice game for my siblings. Additionally, my American mom asked me to buy a gift on her behalf, so another sack of rice was added to the list. It’s not necessary to give gifts, but like in America, it is a nice gesture, and of course I was incredibly grateful for all my family had done for me. My gifts were well received. It was wonderful to see the smiles on the face of each member of my family. While bittersweet, it was definitely a favorite moment of homestay.
My family had their own gifts for me. While not tangible, the words they spoke as I prepared to leave will stay with me forever. My uncle has repeatedly told me that I am a good person and therefore my parents must be good people as well because they raised me. He has mentioned on at least 5 different occasions that before I go back to America in 2 years, I have to call him and meet up with him so that he can give me a bag to bring to my American dad as a gift. My Malian dad tried to give me a speech, but it was too much for me to grasp it all, and since he really wanted me to understand we walked over to my school together so my teachers could translate. My dad said that since his father died 5 years ago, he’s been in charge of the family and has been honored to receive many visitors, and that I in particular have been a special guest. He appreciated my integration into his family and culture, and says the family will miss me. When I go back to America and get married, he said I can return to Mali and he will give me land so I can live as part of their family! His words touched me deeply, and I responded with the Bambara words I could come up with; that earlier that day Moussa and I had gone to the butiki to buy Kleenex because I knew I was going to cry a lot the next day! Everyone laughed a lot, but I hope my dad knew what I was really trying to say.
That night there was another party, not for us, but for the kids who were returning to school in 2 days following the end of Easter Break. A few of us decided to crash the party, and crash is definitely the right term! When we got there, tons of kids were dancing to Akon. (Malians LOVE Akon, Bob Marley, and Michael Jackson). But as soon as we started to dance, everyone stopped and formed a tight circle around whichever toubab happened to be breaking it down, usually me. We felt bad that we were stopping everyone else’s fun, so we sat out a lot of the time. Later in the evening, after the kids were booted out for the older teenagers, the emcees for the night called up about 15 girls one by one to do a short dance in front of the crowd, and then form 2 lines on the sides. At the end of the line up he called each of us in turn! The Malian girls were dressed like it was a homecoming dance, and we were all wearing our pajamas, but we went out with enthusiasm and did our thing! Later, they called us out to dance alone, just the three Americans, so we danced to Akon with everyone watching. Good thing the three of us aren’t too shy when it comes to dancing! It was a great end to our stay at Mountougoula. I went to sleep looking up at a sky full of stars, and listening to the music of the kids who had outdanced me and carried on late into the night.
The next morning was our last. We were scheduled to leave around 8:30, so I woke up at 6:30 to finish getting ready. Unfortunately it took longer than I had anticipated, so I didn’t get to spend as much time with my family as I would have liked, but I did play a little bit of soccer with my brother and his friends. You can be sure I truly became a part of the family when I tell you I tried to kick the ball and instead stepped on it, falling flat on my face and inciting howls of laughter from the boys. No more fragile toubab here!
When it came time to leave, I gathered up a plethora of kids to help me carry my things to the Peace Corps jeep. There were few family members to say goodbye to: my dad had said the day before that they would not be around, as they didn’t want to have to say goodbye. So Moussa and the neighbor boys walked me to the car. Along the way, we happened to pass my dad who had already left the compound. We stopped and shook hands and he said goodbye, finishing the shake with a touch of his hand to his chest, an extra sign of respect. I tried to thank him and say goodbye, and although I’d been doing well up to this point, I started to cry as we parted. Moussa had been telling me that crying was bad, and in turn I kept telling him, “Too bad, I’m going to cry!” He looked at me and said, “Damadje, amiɲe!” (Damadje, bad!) We both started laughing, which helped a little, but not much. I managed to pull it together as we reached the jeep and joined the throngs of Americans and Malian families, all trying to load our things on top of the car.
I said goodbye to the families I had come to know so well. Hannah’s sister who made us tea and fried plantains and gave us hugs. Clare’s brothers, the younger one who sweetly pressed 100cfa (about 10 cents) into her hand, the only gift he could give her, and the older one who always gave her a hard time but cried as he hugged her goodbye. Ashley’s mom, whose special handshake I always knew to do, and her brother who spoke English and helped us with our vocab. He shook my hand with his forbidden left – not a sign of disrespect, but rather a custom for those who are leaving, so you’ll be sure to come back and redeem the bad for the good.
And finally, I said goodbye to Moussa, the stranger boy who became my brother, who taught me and teased me and laughed with me day after day. We had been avoiding each other since we reached the van, but when I knew it was time to go, I went over to him and hugged him hard, then turned away through tears to climb into the back of the car. Just before we left, he came around and grabbed my hand and held it for several moments before they shut the doors and we pulled away. As we left, everyone waved goodbye and I could see Moussa wiping at his eyes. It was a hard goodbye for all of us, and a fairly silent trip home as we all pulled out our iPods to sit and reflect silently.
For some reason I always have to pee a lot when I’m nervous or upset, and by the time we reached the Training Center I really had to go, and the bumpy, unpaved road wasn’t helping! Ashley’s puppy, Legend, was sitting quietly on her lap the whole way home, sleeping like a baby. He woke up right as we turned into the driveway of Tubaniso. I reached under his chin to give him a scratch, and just as I reached toward him, he opened his mouth wide as if to yawn and immediately threw up into my outstretched palm. That finally broke the sadness in me and I cracked up with humor and disgust, and additional impatience that I had a new problem to take care of before running to the ɲεgεn! Thank you, Legend. Groan.
Two days before we left, Mountougoula held a farewell party for us. We returned to the same community meeting space where just 8 short weeks earlier we had sat, knowing next to no Bambara, nervous as to which man was our dad, which family would be ours, and how we could possibly survive the next 2 months. I look back on all that has happened since the last time I sat in that room, and I amazed at the progression we all made. I came in so nervous to live with a group of strangers, and I leave so heartbroken to leave a family. I can hold a conversation in Bambara on a varietyof topics. Sure, my level is basic and I need my conversation partner to speak a bit slowly and clearly, but I can do it! I have health education knowledge and experience, cultural knowledge and experience, and a family to visit whenever I can.
We started with speeches. Kaba, our PC representative. The dugutigi (village chief). Abu, one of our teachers. Several of the host parents and grandparents. And finally, us, the PCTs. We had prepared a speech in advance, with the help of our teachers, and each of us took a few sentences to tell the village of Mountougoula how much we thank them for their hospitality and patience! It’s customary for each side to ask the other for forgiveness for any wrong or offense that may have been unknowingly committed, so I guess now I’m pardoned for my “zame” mistake and any other wrong I may have done. After the speeches, drinks were passed around. It was pretty cool to be sitting on mats on the floor in a meeting hut in Africa, watching my African granny sit on the floor in a pagne and an American college T-shirt drinking a bottle of Coca-Cola.
After the farewell meeting finished, it was time to dance!! Mountougoula provided half of the entertainment: music, and we provided the other half: dancing toubabs! The dancing was so much fun! We danced with each other, our families, and other Mountougoulans. My granny brought some serious boogie to the floor! She would wait till the circle was open and then hop on in with an African shake. Kaba did a dance with scarves that kicked up 2 lungs full of dust and later sent him to the hospital with a dislocated shoulder. Andrew and I had a dance off and I lost after he got low. And my favorite moment of all, my brother Moussa, who has told me from week 1 that he doesn’t dance, and who worried me that he wouldn’t show up at all, unexpectedly jumped into the circle while I was dancing and danced with me for a few precious moments before laughingly darting out again.
It was a wonderful party, and when it had finished we all went home, back to our daily lives. The women prepared dinner while the men, children, and Americans sat outside making tea and chatting. Clare and Andrew joined my family and we talked until sunset when my mom came and told me it was time for my bath. Unfortunately I never did get a picture of my entire family. I never seemed to be able to collect everyone at once, and 4 of my family members were gone anyway. So I took as many individual photos as I could, which wasn’t hard since the kids love to pose for pictures!
In preparation for saying goodbye, each PCT bought a sack of 25 kilos of rice for their family, and some of us chose to give other gifts as well. I included tea and sugar for the men, bracelets for the women, and a soccer ball, candy, and the beloved dice game for my siblings. Additionally, my American mom asked me to buy a gift on her behalf, so another sack of rice was added to the list. It’s not necessary to give gifts, but like in America, it is a nice gesture, and of course I was incredibly grateful for all my family had done for me. My gifts were well received. It was wonderful to see the smiles on the face of each member of my family. While bittersweet, it was definitely a favorite moment of homestay.
My family had their own gifts for me. While not tangible, the words they spoke as I prepared to leave will stay with me forever. My uncle has repeatedly told me that I am a good person and therefore my parents must be good people as well because they raised me. He has mentioned on at least 5 different occasions that before I go back to America in 2 years, I have to call him and meet up with him so that he can give me a bag to bring to my American dad as a gift. My Malian dad tried to give me a speech, but it was too much for me to grasp it all, and since he really wanted me to understand we walked over to my school together so my teachers could translate. My dad said that since his father died 5 years ago, he’s been in charge of the family and has been honored to receive many visitors, and that I in particular have been a special guest. He appreciated my integration into his family and culture, and says the family will miss me. When I go back to America and get married, he said I can return to Mali and he will give me land so I can live as part of their family! His words touched me deeply, and I responded with the Bambara words I could come up with; that earlier that day Moussa and I had gone to the butiki to buy Kleenex because I knew I was going to cry a lot the next day! Everyone laughed a lot, but I hope my dad knew what I was really trying to say.
That night there was another party, not for us, but for the kids who were returning to school in 2 days following the end of Easter Break. A few of us decided to crash the party, and crash is definitely the right term! When we got there, tons of kids were dancing to Akon. (Malians LOVE Akon, Bob Marley, and Michael Jackson). But as soon as we started to dance, everyone stopped and formed a tight circle around whichever toubab happened to be breaking it down, usually me. We felt bad that we were stopping everyone else’s fun, so we sat out a lot of the time. Later in the evening, after the kids were booted out for the older teenagers, the emcees for the night called up about 15 girls one by one to do a short dance in front of the crowd, and then form 2 lines on the sides. At the end of the line up he called each of us in turn! The Malian girls were dressed like it was a homecoming dance, and we were all wearing our pajamas, but we went out with enthusiasm and did our thing! Later, they called us out to dance alone, just the three Americans, so we danced to Akon with everyone watching. Good thing the three of us aren’t too shy when it comes to dancing! It was a great end to our stay at Mountougoula. I went to sleep looking up at a sky full of stars, and listening to the music of the kids who had outdanced me and carried on late into the night.
The next morning was our last. We were scheduled to leave around 8:30, so I woke up at 6:30 to finish getting ready. Unfortunately it took longer than I had anticipated, so I didn’t get to spend as much time with my family as I would have liked, but I did play a little bit of soccer with my brother and his friends. You can be sure I truly became a part of the family when I tell you I tried to kick the ball and instead stepped on it, falling flat on my face and inciting howls of laughter from the boys. No more fragile toubab here!
When it came time to leave, I gathered up a plethora of kids to help me carry my things to the Peace Corps jeep. There were few family members to say goodbye to: my dad had said the day before that they would not be around, as they didn’t want to have to say goodbye. So Moussa and the neighbor boys walked me to the car. Along the way, we happened to pass my dad who had already left the compound. We stopped and shook hands and he said goodbye, finishing the shake with a touch of his hand to his chest, an extra sign of respect. I tried to thank him and say goodbye, and although I’d been doing well up to this point, I started to cry as we parted. Moussa had been telling me that crying was bad, and in turn I kept telling him, “Too bad, I’m going to cry!” He looked at me and said, “Damadje, amiɲe!” (Damadje, bad!) We both started laughing, which helped a little, but not much. I managed to pull it together as we reached the jeep and joined the throngs of Americans and Malian families, all trying to load our things on top of the car.
I said goodbye to the families I had come to know so well. Hannah’s sister who made us tea and fried plantains and gave us hugs. Clare’s brothers, the younger one who sweetly pressed 100cfa (about 10 cents) into her hand, the only gift he could give her, and the older one who always gave her a hard time but cried as he hugged her goodbye. Ashley’s mom, whose special handshake I always knew to do, and her brother who spoke English and helped us with our vocab. He shook my hand with his forbidden left – not a sign of disrespect, but rather a custom for those who are leaving, so you’ll be sure to come back and redeem the bad for the good.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Stories
A few more stories from homestay:
Apples and Peanut Butter
One night at dinner I asked Moussa what foods he likes. I wanted to buy him a special gift, separate from the rest of the family, since we’ve been so close the whole time. I know he doesn’t like toh, and I can’t imagine eating the exact same things every day, day after day, is that exciting. But all he could come up with were potatoes and apples! Neither food is available in the Mountougoula market, but I was able to get ahold of two apples from a nearby village market. I also bought a baggie of peanut butter to go along with it, as any respectable American would do. When I gave the apples to Moussa he was so excited! Apples are definitely a treat. Like I said, they aren’t available in Mountougoula, and on top of that, they’re relatively expensive. Two apples cost me the same as about 10-14 mangoes. He had of course never heard of eating peanut butter with apples (even the Australians thought I was weird for doing that) but I explained the deliciousness of it and he tried it – and loved it! I gave him the apples when we were alone so he wouldn’t have to share if he didn’t want to, but he shared one of the apples with all of the kids, including a few who don’t actually belong in the family but are always playing with my siblings. They were so adorable. They were all confused by the addition of the peanut butter, but they loved it! In fact, after the apple was gone, they each stretched out their hand to receive a dollop of peanut butter in their palm to lick off. (The health worker in me was inwardly cheering – protein!!!) My little brother Le, who is 2, wasn’t wearing a shirt and spilled peanut butter on his huge round baby tummy, so his older sister Bi scooped it off to eat. It was so wonderful to sit there and watch them share and enjoy a new kind of special treat!
Le
I mentioned Le above. He’s so adorable. At 2 years old, he just never quite understood the strange white girl that was living in his home. He liked to look at me, but if I looked back and waved, or tried to approach, he always ran away, and occasionally cried. I was only able to come close to him a few times without him crying. And he has the biggest eyes that communicate so many expressions!
One night in my last week while we were playing the dice game, I was sitting in my chair with my brothers and sisters lined up on the bench in front of me. Le had come over and was sitting near the end of the bench, straddling it. I was so excited he had come so close to me! I figured he must be getting used to me, so I reached over to tickle his tummy.
As soon as he realized what was happening, his eyes widened huge with fear and he scooted back away from me as fast as his little arms could push him. Unfortunately he was sitting on the end of the bench, and he scooted right off the end of it! Then the crying started and my hopes of making friends with Le before I left were yet again dashed. Even so…he was so cute with those big eyes and scurrying limbs!
Sunday Holiday
The Sunday before we left homestay, Peace Corps arranged a sort of holiday for us. The PC vans picked us up in the morning and took us to Bamako for the day. We spent a few hours at the Malian National Museum and then went to the American club for the afternoon. I ate pizza!!! It wasn’t that great, but it was pizza, and it made me happy. And…the American Club has a swimming pool!! I can’t begin to tell you what an incredible afternoon that was. It was so nice just to escape for a day. To go to a pool and hang out with 60+ friends, play music and games, and just generally relax was so wonderful, and I’m very grateful to Peace Corps for arranging it for us.
Later that night, back at homestay, I wanted to show Moussa our soak pit, so shortly before dusk I asked him to walk over to the CSCOM with me. As we made the 3 minute walk I looked at the sky and said, “Moussa, is it going to rain? The sky looks dark.” He responded, “Lala!” (Maybe). We went in the CSCOM, looked at the soak pit, and a few minutes after entering we exited. It was like a completely different day. The entire sky was dark and a wall of dust was heading our way. Moussa covered his nose and mouth with his shirt and I took off my headscarf to do the same. We hurried home and passed my friend Clare’s house along the way. She was standing at her gate watching the dust come and yelled, “Damadje! Get home!” As she turned to go inside I yelled, “I feel like I’m in the Wizard of Oz!” Later when we talked about it, I found out almost all of the PCTs in my village had thought the same thing.
Moussa and I hurried home and I quickly took my bucket bath before the dust really hit. I was still wearing my contacts which I’d put in that day for the pool and I was worried about all the dust flying around. I’ve only worn contacts 3 times in Mali, and only for special occasions. I worry about eye infections from the dust and my hands just don’t feel clean enough to be all up in my eyes. (Yesterday I took out my contacts and there was a bug right in the center of one of them. No wonder my eye was burning). So I ran back to my room to take out my contacts while my hands were still clean from my bath. And I didn’t leave my room again for several hours. There was no way I was about to go out into a swirling mass of dust. The wind was blowing hard and rattling my tin roof and it slammed my door shut several times. Moussa brought dinner into my room and we ate sitting on my floor, but it was still sooo hot in my room and it was miserable to eat in there. It was a lose-lose situation! But we had fun eating in my room together and I shared with him my new favorite Malian snack: dates. I like when I’m able to share food with him that’s not toh.
Eventually the wind died down and the dust settled. I had been worried that I’d have to sleep inside that night, but luckily we were able to sleep outside as usual. It’s crazy how the storm just came and went like that, and I’m sure I’ll be seeing plenty more of that in the years to come!
Apples and Peanut Butter
One night at dinner I asked Moussa what foods he likes. I wanted to buy him a special gift, separate from the rest of the family, since we’ve been so close the whole time. I know he doesn’t like toh, and I can’t imagine eating the exact same things every day, day after day, is that exciting. But all he could come up with were potatoes and apples! Neither food is available in the Mountougoula market, but I was able to get ahold of two apples from a nearby village market. I also bought a baggie of peanut butter to go along with it, as any respectable American would do. When I gave the apples to Moussa he was so excited! Apples are definitely a treat. Like I said, they aren’t available in Mountougoula, and on top of that, they’re relatively expensive. Two apples cost me the same as about 10-14 mangoes. He had of course never heard of eating peanut butter with apples (even the Australians thought I was weird for doing that) but I explained the deliciousness of it and he tried it – and loved it! I gave him the apples when we were alone so he wouldn’t have to share if he didn’t want to, but he shared one of the apples with all of the kids, including a few who don’t actually belong in the family but are always playing with my siblings. They were so adorable. They were all confused by the addition of the peanut butter, but they loved it! In fact, after the apple was gone, they each stretched out their hand to receive a dollop of peanut butter in their palm to lick off. (The health worker in me was inwardly cheering – protein!!!) My little brother Le, who is 2, wasn’t wearing a shirt and spilled peanut butter on his huge round baby tummy, so his older sister Bi scooped it off to eat. It was so wonderful to sit there and watch them share and enjoy a new kind of special treat!
Le
I mentioned Le above. He’s so adorable. At 2 years old, he just never quite understood the strange white girl that was living in his home. He liked to look at me, but if I looked back and waved, or tried to approach, he always ran away, and occasionally cried. I was only able to come close to him a few times without him crying. And he has the biggest eyes that communicate so many expressions!
One night in my last week while we were playing the dice game, I was sitting in my chair with my brothers and sisters lined up on the bench in front of me. Le had come over and was sitting near the end of the bench, straddling it. I was so excited he had come so close to me! I figured he must be getting used to me, so I reached over to tickle his tummy.
As soon as he realized what was happening, his eyes widened huge with fear and he scooted back away from me as fast as his little arms could push him. Unfortunately he was sitting on the end of the bench, and he scooted right off the end of it! Then the crying started and my hopes of making friends with Le before I left were yet again dashed. Even so…he was so cute with those big eyes and scurrying limbs!
Sunday Holiday
The Sunday before we left homestay, Peace Corps arranged a sort of holiday for us. The PC vans picked us up in the morning and took us to Bamako for the day. We spent a few hours at the Malian National Museum and then went to the American club for the afternoon. I ate pizza!!! It wasn’t that great, but it was pizza, and it made me happy. And…the American Club has a swimming pool!! I can’t begin to tell you what an incredible afternoon that was. It was so nice just to escape for a day. To go to a pool and hang out with 60+ friends, play music and games, and just generally relax was so wonderful, and I’m very grateful to Peace Corps for arranging it for us.
Later that night, back at homestay, I wanted to show Moussa our soak pit, so shortly before dusk I asked him to walk over to the CSCOM with me. As we made the 3 minute walk I looked at the sky and said, “Moussa, is it going to rain? The sky looks dark.” He responded, “Lala!” (Maybe). We went in the CSCOM, looked at the soak pit, and a few minutes after entering we exited. It was like a completely different day. The entire sky was dark and a wall of dust was heading our way. Moussa covered his nose and mouth with his shirt and I took off my headscarf to do the same. We hurried home and passed my friend Clare’s house along the way. She was standing at her gate watching the dust come and yelled, “Damadje! Get home!” As she turned to go inside I yelled, “I feel like I’m in the Wizard of Oz!” Later when we talked about it, I found out almost all of the PCTs in my village had thought the same thing.
Moussa and I hurried home and I quickly took my bucket bath before the dust really hit. I was still wearing my contacts which I’d put in that day for the pool and I was worried about all the dust flying around. I’ve only worn contacts 3 times in Mali, and only for special occasions. I worry about eye infections from the dust and my hands just don’t feel clean enough to be all up in my eyes. (Yesterday I took out my contacts and there was a bug right in the center of one of them. No wonder my eye was burning). So I ran back to my room to take out my contacts while my hands were still clean from my bath. And I didn’t leave my room again for several hours. There was no way I was about to go out into a swirling mass of dust. The wind was blowing hard and rattling my tin roof and it slammed my door shut several times. Moussa brought dinner into my room and we ate sitting on my floor, but it was still sooo hot in my room and it was miserable to eat in there. It was a lose-lose situation! But we had fun eating in my room together and I shared with him my new favorite Malian snack: dates. I like when I’m able to share food with him that’s not toh.
Eventually the wind died down and the dust settled. I had been worried that I’d have to sleep inside that night, but luckily we were able to sleep outside as usual. It’s crazy how the storm just came and went like that, and I’m sure I’ll be seeing plenty more of that in the years to come!
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Hot Season
Hot Season is in full swing in Mali! Let me tell you how I know:
Reason #1: Moussa and I had been sleeping outside since hot season started. It was just miserable in my room, so every night we would set up our mosquito nets, our mats, and everything else, and every morning we would take it all down again. We got a really good system going and we were able to do it pretty quickly (and without talking in the morning!). My brother Salif left a week before I did to spend the week with his parents. (He’s my aunt’s younger brother). He lives with us because his town doesn’t have school past 6th grade, and Mountougoula’s school was on Easter Break for a week (yes it’s called that, despite the fact that it’s not Easter and they’re Muslim). After Salif left, I decided I wanted to bring my actual bed mattress out every night, as I was sore from sleeping on my little air mattress night after night. I figured as long as I wasn’t using it, I’d let Moussa use my air mattress, along with the travel pillow and blanket that a certain air line so graciously loaned me for 2 years. So every night we pulled out two sets of my bedding and we’d joke about Moussa being a toubab. In turn, I said I’m African because I can walk the paths at night without a flashlight. Moussa protested that Africans can run at night, so I ran a few steps before he stopped me so I wouldn’t trip. :)
Anyway, back to hot season! So Moussa and I slept outside every night and most nights I would fan myself to sleep but put my wool blanket on in the middle of the night and wake up comfortable. One night Moussa woke me up at 3am because he needed my flashlight. Apparently he was sleeping near a bunch of ants and they were biting him so he wanted to bring the bench over to sleep on that. And he didn’t want to scare me by grabbing the flashlight and waking me up, so he woke me up ahead of time. A perfectly legitimate reason, but I still gave him a hard time in the morning! Anyway, when he woke me, it was so hot still at 3am!! I couldn’t believe it! Usually by that time it’s cooled down enough to sleep comfortably. I had to fan myself back to sleep again, and I didn’t use my blanket at all that night.
Reason #2: I’ve mentioned that Malians don’t use toilet paper, but instead carry into the ɲεgεn a plastic teapot-style container called a salidaga to use for cleaning. We have salidagas at school for various purposes, including for washing hands. They sit out in the sun all day, and if you use one to wash your hands in the afternoon you have to be careful – the water feels like you’ve turned a tap on hot as high as it will go! Seriously, there have been times when I feel like the water is burning my hands. And that’s in a plastic container!
Reason #3: This is the best one. I have a travel alarm clock that my dad bought me back in high school. It’s pretty awesome. It runs off of Double A batteries and says the time in regular or military time, the date including day, month, date, and year, the temperature in F or C, and it has a push light. I’ve taken it on all kinds of trips and it’s what I use here. I had been wondering 3 things: 1) if it was working properly because my room always seemed to be at a pretty standard 93-95 degrees, 2) if it had the ability to go into triple digits, and 3) what the temperature was outside in the heat of the day. So one day we were out at the CSCOM with all 22 of the health PCTs building a soak pit – a giant hole filled with rocks with pipes leading from the ɲεgεn and wash area to catch the waste water from showering and washing clothes and dishes so it doesn’t become standing water (aka a mosquito breeding ground). We didn’t have to do the super hard work, like digging the 8 foot deep hole, but we did move rocks, shovel sand, help spread concrete, and in general stand around a lot in the sun, taking turns resting in the shade. I brought my clock out and set it in the direct sun and left it there for about 15 minutes. When I came back, the entire bottom half of the clock had turned solid black, obliterating the date and temperature! I was so mad! I love that clock! I moped for a few minutes and then picked it up to look again, and the black had disappeared! And the temperature read…127° F. That’s right. 127°. Now granted, it had been sitting in direct sun, baking, so I can’t defend that it’s an accurate reading. But still…that’s really hot!! To get a more accurate reading, I brought the clock into the shade with me while we were eating lunch. It settled on 106°.
That’s still pretty hot if you ask me. Now you’ll understand why I use a wool blanket when I sleep outside at night, and why I’m shivering when I wake up and it’s 66°, which happened a few mornings my last week of homestay!
For all these reasons, my first package from home arrived while I was in school, and I was going to be a good student and let it sit until I finished class…until I remembered the battery-powered, mister fan that was awaiting inside. After that, I tore into the box as fast as I possibly could, and continued to carry the fan everywhere with me for the rest of homestay!
Photos of Building a Soak Pit
Reason #1: Moussa and I had been sleeping outside since hot season started. It was just miserable in my room, so every night we would set up our mosquito nets, our mats, and everything else, and every morning we would take it all down again. We got a really good system going and we were able to do it pretty quickly (and without talking in the morning!). My brother Salif left a week before I did to spend the week with his parents. (He’s my aunt’s younger brother). He lives with us because his town doesn’t have school past 6th grade, and Mountougoula’s school was on Easter Break for a week (yes it’s called that, despite the fact that it’s not Easter and they’re Muslim). After Salif left, I decided I wanted to bring my actual bed mattress out every night, as I was sore from sleeping on my little air mattress night after night. I figured as long as I wasn’t using it, I’d let Moussa use my air mattress, along with the travel pillow and blanket that a certain air line so graciously loaned me for 2 years. So every night we pulled out two sets of my bedding and we’d joke about Moussa being a toubab. In turn, I said I’m African because I can walk the paths at night without a flashlight. Moussa protested that Africans can run at night, so I ran a few steps before he stopped me so I wouldn’t trip. :)
Anyway, back to hot season! So Moussa and I slept outside every night and most nights I would fan myself to sleep but put my wool blanket on in the middle of the night and wake up comfortable. One night Moussa woke me up at 3am because he needed my flashlight. Apparently he was sleeping near a bunch of ants and they were biting him so he wanted to bring the bench over to sleep on that. And he didn’t want to scare me by grabbing the flashlight and waking me up, so he woke me up ahead of time. A perfectly legitimate reason, but I still gave him a hard time in the morning! Anyway, when he woke me, it was so hot still at 3am!! I couldn’t believe it! Usually by that time it’s cooled down enough to sleep comfortably. I had to fan myself back to sleep again, and I didn’t use my blanket at all that night.
Reason #2: I’ve mentioned that Malians don’t use toilet paper, but instead carry into the ɲεgεn a plastic teapot-style container called a salidaga to use for cleaning. We have salidagas at school for various purposes, including for washing hands. They sit out in the sun all day, and if you use one to wash your hands in the afternoon you have to be careful – the water feels like you’ve turned a tap on hot as high as it will go! Seriously, there have been times when I feel like the water is burning my hands. And that’s in a plastic container!
Reason #3: This is the best one. I have a travel alarm clock that my dad bought me back in high school. It’s pretty awesome. It runs off of Double A batteries and says the time in regular or military time, the date including day, month, date, and year, the temperature in F or C, and it has a push light. I’ve taken it on all kinds of trips and it’s what I use here. I had been wondering 3 things: 1) if it was working properly because my room always seemed to be at a pretty standard 93-95 degrees, 2) if it had the ability to go into triple digits, and 3) what the temperature was outside in the heat of the day. So one day we were out at the CSCOM with all 22 of the health PCTs building a soak pit – a giant hole filled with rocks with pipes leading from the ɲεgεn and wash area to catch the waste water from showering and washing clothes and dishes so it doesn’t become standing water (aka a mosquito breeding ground). We didn’t have to do the super hard work, like digging the 8 foot deep hole, but we did move rocks, shovel sand, help spread concrete, and in general stand around a lot in the sun, taking turns resting in the shade. I brought my clock out and set it in the direct sun and left it there for about 15 minutes. When I came back, the entire bottom half of the clock had turned solid black, obliterating the date and temperature! I was so mad! I love that clock! I moped for a few minutes and then picked it up to look again, and the black had disappeared! And the temperature read…127° F. That’s right. 127°. Now granted, it had been sitting in direct sun, baking, so I can’t defend that it’s an accurate reading. But still…that’s really hot!! To get a more accurate reading, I brought the clock into the shade with me while we were eating lunch. It settled on 106°.
That’s still pretty hot if you ask me. Now you’ll understand why I use a wool blanket when I sleep outside at night, and why I’m shivering when I wake up and it’s 66°, which happened a few mornings my last week of homestay!
For all these reasons, my first package from home arrived while I was in school, and I was going to be a good student and let it sit until I finished class…until I remembered the battery-powered, mister fan that was awaiting inside. After that, I tore into the box as fast as I possibly could, and continued to carry the fan everywhere with me for the rest of homestay!
Photos of Building a Soak Pit
Site Visit
I could describe my time in site day by day, but I think that would quickly get boring for all of us. There just isn’t a whole lot to do during a site visit. My house was built, but empty. I was in the care of my homologue, and therefore nearly always with her, but she has a job and had to work. So if I wasn’t in my own, empty house, I was pretty much always at the CSCOM (community health center).
My day would begin pretty normally. I’d wake up around 7, haul my bug hut inside for the day, pour myself a buck of (not heated) water for a bucket bath, and eat breakfast, which was always leftover dinner. Actually, there is one pretty major difference in what I just described. My ɲεgεn has an unfortunate flaw: there’s no door to it, and it doesn’t have a spiral entrance to protect the inside from being viewed by the outside. Add that to the fact that I have no compound door and people are constantly coming in and out of my courtyard whenever they want, and you can understand my apprehension at using a bathroom/shower where anyone can see in. I’ll wind up my Sourountouna ɲεgεn descriptions by saying that I minimized use of it as much as possible, and immediately jetted to the shower upon my arrival in San 4 days later. And yes, that is being fixed!*
*Note that this is part of the objectives of site visit, to find out what repairs need to be done before we move in permanently. There are almost always little things that need to be worked out, and we’re prepared for that.
Anyway, after getting ready for the day, Djeneba would come pick me up and we would go to the CSCOM after running any errands that needed to be done along the way. At the CSCOM, I observed as Djeneba and 1-2 other women performed Prenatal Consultations for women in varying stages of pregnancy. One of the other women who works at the CSCOM is one of my closest neighbors, and presumably one of Djeneba’s closest friends. Her name is Safi and she is striking in more ways than one. She’s tall and gorgeous and always beautifully dressed, but she’s also a no-nonsense kind of woman. With her I can’t get around my poor Bambara skills by smiling and laughing and saying the occasional “N se” (a woman’s response to being spoken to; men say “n ba”) or “ɔwɔ” (yes). She expects an actual answer! She’s in no way rude or mean if I can’t provide one, she’s just holding me accountable for what I should be able to do, which I appreciate. She also was insistent that I learn from my observational sessions – she had me help measure a pregnant woman’s stomach, listen to the fetus’ heartbeat, and take the blood pressure of another pregnant woman. I’m predicting that Safi will be good to have around, as she won’t let me take the easy way out.
Of course, I would eventually get bored, as I couldn’t understand the actual conversations, and the checkups were more or less routine: weigh the woman, take her height, have a brief conversation. Have her lay on a table to measure her belly and listen to the fetus’ heart. Sit her back down for more conversation, the occasional shot, and a 3-dose round of malaria prophylaxis. It was a rather quick process, and the repetition quickly grew boring. I learned to always carry a book with me, and I read a lot during those 3 ½ days.
During training at Tubaniso, Djeneba was instructed that part of her duties were to introduce me to the community. So that first day, she took me around to visit the important people: the dugutigi (the village chief), the mayor, the other dugutigi (it’s uncommon to have more than one but since my village is divided by ethnicity, each side has its own), the village council, again the sous-prefect, and the CSCOM staff. Sourountouna’s CSCOM is headed by a man named Oussé Diarra. He doesn’t have the required amount of schooling to be considered a doctor, but he’s the next step down from one (maybe like a PA?) and our highest-educated employee. He assists in seeing patients, performing consultations, overseeing vaccinations, prescribing medicines (we have our own pharmacy and pharmacist), and referring severe cases to the hospital in San. Overall, my site seems to have quite the functional CSCOM. Ouseé runs it well, the ladies do their PNCs and baby deliveries, the Vaccinator vaccinates, and the Pharmacist…Pharmacizes? It’s a little intimidating that they seem to have their act together so well, but hopefully that just means I’ll have lots of support on my side! Actually, all of the authority figures I previously mentioned were very welcoming and told me to come to them if I need anything. I am one lucky soon-to-be PCV!
That was pretty much my week at site. On Tuesday, a PC staff came to check up on me, make sure everything was ok with my site, and formally introduce me to all those important members of the community that I had met the day before. My PC staff just so happened to be the Assistant Program Manager of the Health Sector, N’Tossama. So not only did I have a familiar, friendly face to greet me; on top of that, “Toss” used to work for World Vision (a large, international NGO) in the San area and already knew several people in my town. My hope is that on top of my status as a PCV, the good people of my village will also associate me with Toss, a man they already know and like and who has done good things for their community. The brownie points sure can’t hurt!
I have a bit of an identity crisis at site. When Djeneba came to the Training Center for our mutual training, she told that me when I would come to site my name would be Bintou Coulibaly. I respectfully protested: my name is Damadje. I’m ok with switching last names, to fit in with my community, but I’m Damadje. Somehow, when we actually arrived in our village, it ended up that Djeneba introduced me to everyone as Michelle Doumbia. It’s funny, I’ve been Michelle my whole life. I’ve never even had a nickname that was popular enough to catch on with more than just a few people. But in Sourountouna, everytime someone called me Michelle, I inwardly cringed. It felt so wrong! I kept thinking, “No, that’s not me! I’m not Michelle! I’m Damadje!” At the same time, I was introducing myself as either “Damadje Doumbia” or “Michelle Surdyk,” based on which name they asked for. So I’m pretty sure I’m causing confusion already, and that the town as a whole has no idea what my name is. I’m going to have to work on that.
On a related note, Djeneba and Safi both yell at the kids who call me “toubabu!” (which is all of them) and tell them my real name (Michelle, not Damadje). The kids at site seem intrigued by me. I’m pretty sure I’m the Malian version of the American crazy cat lady down the street who inspires kids to dare each other to run up, ring her doorbell, and run away again. One afternoon I woke up from a nap because at least 20 kids were sitting immediately outside of my house door. What were they doing? Were they waiting to see me? What did they think I was going to do, do a little dance? In reality, I came out an yelled at them and they ran away. Normally I indulge little-kid fascinations with the white girl, but at this point I was tired and overwhelmed and annoyed and just wanted to sleep!
On a more adorable note, sometimes the little tiny children, like maybe age 3, will see Djeneba and I pass by, and they’ll call out cheerfully, “I ni ce Djeneba! I ni ce toubabu!” Which roughly translates to, “Hey Djeneba! Hey white girl!” Those little ones have no intentions other than just saying hi! It’s so adorable, I can’t possibly be annoyed, or really do anything other than giggle for awhile.
I do have one friend so far. Her name is Alima and she’s 10 years old. She’s Djeneba’s daughter and she helped me out all week, bringing me hot water for tea in the morning, sweeping my courtyard, fetching water. Djeneba told me later that Alima was fascinated by me and wanted to see the white woman, so it worked out pretty well. My last night at site, I was already in my concession alone for the night when Djeneba and Alima came back. Alima had asked her mother if she could spend the night at my house, so they came to ask my permission, which of course I gave. It’s nice to have company sometimes! So they brought Alima a mat and blanket and she slept about as close to my tent as she could get. I’m excited to see her again soon.
And that’s it for my site visit! When it was time to leave, Djeneba helped me catch a ride to San, where I spent 2 nights at the Peace Corps house, getting acclimated to San and the PCVs in the San area. Everyone in PC says San has a good crew, so I’m excited to be part of it for the next 2 years. The bus ride back to Bamako was about the same as the ride there, except I didn’t have a window seat and wasn’t able to sleep much. I’m sure bus rides will be much more tolerable once the hot season passes…here’s hoping, anyway!
My day would begin pretty normally. I’d wake up around 7, haul my bug hut inside for the day, pour myself a buck of (not heated) water for a bucket bath, and eat breakfast, which was always leftover dinner. Actually, there is one pretty major difference in what I just described. My ɲεgεn has an unfortunate flaw: there’s no door to it, and it doesn’t have a spiral entrance to protect the inside from being viewed by the outside. Add that to the fact that I have no compound door and people are constantly coming in and out of my courtyard whenever they want, and you can understand my apprehension at using a bathroom/shower where anyone can see in. I’ll wind up my Sourountouna ɲεgεn descriptions by saying that I minimized use of it as much as possible, and immediately jetted to the shower upon my arrival in San 4 days later. And yes, that is being fixed!*
*Note that this is part of the objectives of site visit, to find out what repairs need to be done before we move in permanently. There are almost always little things that need to be worked out, and we’re prepared for that.
Anyway, after getting ready for the day, Djeneba would come pick me up and we would go to the CSCOM after running any errands that needed to be done along the way. At the CSCOM, I observed as Djeneba and 1-2 other women performed Prenatal Consultations for women in varying stages of pregnancy. One of the other women who works at the CSCOM is one of my closest neighbors, and presumably one of Djeneba’s closest friends. Her name is Safi and she is striking in more ways than one. She’s tall and gorgeous and always beautifully dressed, but she’s also a no-nonsense kind of woman. With her I can’t get around my poor Bambara skills by smiling and laughing and saying the occasional “N se” (a woman’s response to being spoken to; men say “n ba”) or “ɔwɔ” (yes). She expects an actual answer! She’s in no way rude or mean if I can’t provide one, she’s just holding me accountable for what I should be able to do, which I appreciate. She also was insistent that I learn from my observational sessions – she had me help measure a pregnant woman’s stomach, listen to the fetus’ heartbeat, and take the blood pressure of another pregnant woman. I’m predicting that Safi will be good to have around, as she won’t let me take the easy way out.
Of course, I would eventually get bored, as I couldn’t understand the actual conversations, and the checkups were more or less routine: weigh the woman, take her height, have a brief conversation. Have her lay on a table to measure her belly and listen to the fetus’ heart. Sit her back down for more conversation, the occasional shot, and a 3-dose round of malaria prophylaxis. It was a rather quick process, and the repetition quickly grew boring. I learned to always carry a book with me, and I read a lot during those 3 ½ days.
During training at Tubaniso, Djeneba was instructed that part of her duties were to introduce me to the community. So that first day, she took me around to visit the important people: the dugutigi (the village chief), the mayor, the other dugutigi (it’s uncommon to have more than one but since my village is divided by ethnicity, each side has its own), the village council, again the sous-prefect, and the CSCOM staff. Sourountouna’s CSCOM is headed by a man named Oussé Diarra. He doesn’t have the required amount of schooling to be considered a doctor, but he’s the next step down from one (maybe like a PA?) and our highest-educated employee. He assists in seeing patients, performing consultations, overseeing vaccinations, prescribing medicines (we have our own pharmacy and pharmacist), and referring severe cases to the hospital in San. Overall, my site seems to have quite the functional CSCOM. Ouseé runs it well, the ladies do their PNCs and baby deliveries, the Vaccinator vaccinates, and the Pharmacist…Pharmacizes? It’s a little intimidating that they seem to have their act together so well, but hopefully that just means I’ll have lots of support on my side! Actually, all of the authority figures I previously mentioned were very welcoming and told me to come to them if I need anything. I am one lucky soon-to-be PCV!
That was pretty much my week at site. On Tuesday, a PC staff came to check up on me, make sure everything was ok with my site, and formally introduce me to all those important members of the community that I had met the day before. My PC staff just so happened to be the Assistant Program Manager of the Health Sector, N’Tossama. So not only did I have a familiar, friendly face to greet me; on top of that, “Toss” used to work for World Vision (a large, international NGO) in the San area and already knew several people in my town. My hope is that on top of my status as a PCV, the good people of my village will also associate me with Toss, a man they already know and like and who has done good things for their community. The brownie points sure can’t hurt!
I have a bit of an identity crisis at site. When Djeneba came to the Training Center for our mutual training, she told that me when I would come to site my name would be Bintou Coulibaly. I respectfully protested: my name is Damadje. I’m ok with switching last names, to fit in with my community, but I’m Damadje. Somehow, when we actually arrived in our village, it ended up that Djeneba introduced me to everyone as Michelle Doumbia. It’s funny, I’ve been Michelle my whole life. I’ve never even had a nickname that was popular enough to catch on with more than just a few people. But in Sourountouna, everytime someone called me Michelle, I inwardly cringed. It felt so wrong! I kept thinking, “No, that’s not me! I’m not Michelle! I’m Damadje!” At the same time, I was introducing myself as either “Damadje Doumbia” or “Michelle Surdyk,” based on which name they asked for. So I’m pretty sure I’m causing confusion already, and that the town as a whole has no idea what my name is. I’m going to have to work on that.
On a related note, Djeneba and Safi both yell at the kids who call me “toubabu!” (which is all of them) and tell them my real name (Michelle, not Damadje). The kids at site seem intrigued by me. I’m pretty sure I’m the Malian version of the American crazy cat lady down the street who inspires kids to dare each other to run up, ring her doorbell, and run away again. One afternoon I woke up from a nap because at least 20 kids were sitting immediately outside of my house door. What were they doing? Were they waiting to see me? What did they think I was going to do, do a little dance? In reality, I came out an yelled at them and they ran away. Normally I indulge little-kid fascinations with the white girl, but at this point I was tired and overwhelmed and annoyed and just wanted to sleep!
On a more adorable note, sometimes the little tiny children, like maybe age 3, will see Djeneba and I pass by, and they’ll call out cheerfully, “I ni ce Djeneba! I ni ce toubabu!” Which roughly translates to, “Hey Djeneba! Hey white girl!” Those little ones have no intentions other than just saying hi! It’s so adorable, I can’t possibly be annoyed, or really do anything other than giggle for awhile.
I do have one friend so far. Her name is Alima and she’s 10 years old. She’s Djeneba’s daughter and she helped me out all week, bringing me hot water for tea in the morning, sweeping my courtyard, fetching water. Djeneba told me later that Alima was fascinated by me and wanted to see the white woman, so it worked out pretty well. My last night at site, I was already in my concession alone for the night when Djeneba and Alima came back. Alima had asked her mother if she could spend the night at my house, so they came to ask my permission, which of course I gave. It’s nice to have company sometimes! So they brought Alima a mat and blanket and she slept about as close to my tent as she could get. I’m excited to see her again soon.
And that’s it for my site visit! When it was time to leave, Djeneba helped me catch a ride to San, where I spent 2 nights at the Peace Corps house, getting acclimated to San and the PCVs in the San area. Everyone in PC says San has a good crew, so I’m excited to be part of it for the next 2 years. The bus ride back to Bamako was about the same as the ride there, except I didn’t have a window seat and wasn’t able to sleep much. I’m sure bus rides will be much more tolerable once the hot season passes…here’s hoping, anyway!
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