Update on My Kids

I was finally able to add some photos to the blog about my kids! Make sure to check it out. :)

Rainy Season Stories Part 4: Planting

Planting

More on planting. My second “hands-on lesson” was in planting peanuts. Again, Alima and I went out to the peanut field, just the two of us. This time we tied pieces of cloth around our waists and put the peanuts in the cloth. Peanut planting is great because the nuts are the seeds, so you get to snack as you work! Planting peanuts is similar to planting millet and beans: shoes off, whack the dirt with a club, drop in one peanut, cover the peanut with dirt, stomp on it, move forward a few inches, repeat. A lot.

We actually did a good amount of work in the field that day. We planted for awhile, took a break, and then Djeneba and a few other women came out with the toh for lunch and to help us plant some more after lunch. Back while it was still just Alima and me, she started singing a song I’d heard her sing before while counting the number of bracelets I wear. I asked her to teach it me, so while we went up and down the rows she taught me the words. It’s a counting song much like Amεriki counting songs: it starts with the number one, a few rhyming lines, then moves on to the number 2, etc. I didn’t understand most of the words, but I was able to pick up on the whole song, and with a little practice I had it memorized and we sang together while planting. The lyrics for number 5 were tricky and I had to practice them more than the rest – it was something about the dugutigi (village chief). For some reason, everytime I sang this line Alima would gasp and tease me, “The dugutigi is going to hit you!” Of course I had no idea what she was talking about so I just teased her back by singing it louder and more often. We continued working and planted a whole field before heading home for the day.

Back at home, I went over to my jatigi’s (host family) house to chat for awhile. Alima came over after awhile and told me to share my new song with the family. I did, but when I got to that line about number 5, my host dad started cracking up! I didn’t understand. Alima said again that the dugutigi was going to hit me, and my dad joined in with the joke. Whatever was so funny was made even funnier by the obvious fact that I had no idea what it meant. A bit later my neighbor, the head women’s doctor, came over as well, and of course I was instructed to sing for her. She also started laughing, and eventually she and my host dad were both practically doubled over in tears, they were laughing so hard! I gave up on trying to understand and let them have their fun, but I did refuse to go over to the dugutigi’s house to sing for him! (Although Alima promised me he couldn’t possibly hit me, as his leg had been bothering him and he was using a crutch to walk, and therefore would not be able to catch me).

Later in my house I decided to see if I could find out what the lyrics meant. Chrissy didn’t know when I texted her, but I dug out my old-fashioned print Bambara-English lexicon and looked up anything that might be close to what I’d learned by ear. As I’d heard it, the lyrics were Durru, dugutigi bele kili ba. After some search, I discovered in my lexicon the word kilibara: testicles. And bele is a form of saying “big.” Which means I’d been going around singing about the dugutigi’s big balls. Crap.

Since no one would tell me what the lyrics meant, I decided not to let on that I knew now. Instead, everytime anyone brings it up, I shake my finger at them and say “Amiɲε! N ma famu, n’ga n b’a don k’o amiɲε!” “Bad! I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s bad!” They just crack up and tell me again to sing it. And that the dugutigi is going to hit me.

A few days after I learned the song, I was at the CSCOM (health center) when the head doctor sent his kids to the fields surrounding the CSCOM to plant peanuts. Since I had new skills, I decided to join in. These fields parallel the main road between the two villages, so a lot of people pass by them as they go back and forth. Which means a lot of people saw me planting peanuts. I must’ve really made their day! People would stop walking, talking, and biking to stand in the road and watch me plant. “Michelli! I be se ka dannike?!” “Wow, Michelle, you can plant?!?” (Remember, we state the obvious here). I should really have my own TV show in Mali…apparently I’m entertaining enough!

Anyway, the women’s doctor came out to watch – and started telling everyone about my new song. And of course they all wanted to hear! What could I do? Well, no way did I sing for them! Instead I told everyone she was lying and that I had no idea what she was talking about – which made them laugh all the harder. There’s just no winning!

They still bring it up. Alima and I walk through village and she’ll start to sing the song, and when we get to number five, I change the lyrics to mean, “Alima is BAD!” Then she starts giggling and tells me to sing the real lyrics. When I refuse, she sings it herself, very quietly, and then I yell really loudly, “What? What did you say? I can’t hear you! What did you say about the dugutigi?” and she breaks into giggles and runs away.

Rainy Season Stories Part 3: Market With Virginia

Background:

I come into San usually every 10-16 days to buy groceries, check my email, and catch up with other volunteers. San has a market everyday of the week, but the main market day is Monday. On Mondays people come from all over the area to both buy and sell goods. For my usual, basic needs, I can go to market on any day to get what I need. I only need to go to the Monday market if I want something special. In fact, for the most part the PCVs try to avoid the Monday market. It’s just so crazy, with tons of people shouting at you to come look at their display, tons more people pushing all around you to mingle and shop, and tons of animals for transport and sale. Not worth the stress and hassle on a regular basis, although I do enjoy the atmosphere and the wider selection every now and then.

The Story:

Backup to late August. I came into San for shopping and a few PC meetings, and I ended up getting stuck there much longer than I’d intended due to illness. Monday rolls around and it’s lunch time – I’m hungry. My friend Virginia and I want to go out for street food, which is a pretty typical lunch in San. Unfortunately, we’re still in the middle of Ramadan, when Muslims refrain from eating or drinking during daylight hours. Which means street food is a lot harder to find during the day, and we have to go beyond our usual places to find food. Luckily the San area happens to have a lot of Christians, so it wasn’t going to be impossible to find food, just harder.

It had rained all night and most of the morning and in general was a dreary day. Dreary is good for market though; it can get really exhausting to shop around outside under the hot sun in 100°+ weather. So V and I set out to look for food and stop at the hardware store so I could buy some paint brushes. We made it just fine to the main street through the center of town, but then we had to veer off onto side roads. Side roads. Unpaved. It had rained a lot. And now thousands of people were tramping around all over. It was SOOOO muddy!!! We realized this quite quickly, as we picked our way around giant puddles. We must’ve looked so goofy walking, picking our feet straight up off the ground, high knees, then gingerly placing our feet down again.

Soon our sandals started to get stuck in the mud. They got stuck so much that I had to resort to bending down and lifting them up and out of the mud. Unfortunately I did this with my right hand, leaving it covered in mud, and only my taboo left hand free for exchange. Malians do not give and receive with the left hand. Remember? Since there’s no toilet paper here, the left hand is used for cleaning one’s self. I mean, the left hand isn’t completely taboo. But certain things, like eating and exchanging money, are just not done with the left hand. Now I’m sure the people I was dealing with understood why I was using my left hand – my right hand was clearly a muddy mess – but I was sooo awkward about it and I felt like such a dumb toubab! During one awkward transaction, I dropped my wallet in the mud. As V and I walked down the street, I continued to get stuck. People were pushing past me everywhere. I got so frustrated. It started to drizzle again. I wasn’t feeling well. I started yelling out random curses and “I hate Mali!” (in English) as I walked.

My tipping point came when both of my sandals got stuck at once in a particularly deep pit of mud. Forget this. I stepped out of my sandals, reached down, and plucked them both out of the mud, then continued down the street barefoot. And I kid you not, the entire street started laughing at V and me. The whole street! Not a mean laugh, more of a wow-you-look-silly-but-I-totally-understand! laugh. There was nothing else to do but laugh along with them. Eventually V’s sandals broke and she carried hers, too. People would look at us and laugh and say, “Why are you carrying your shoes, toubab?” We’d laugh and say we couldn’t walk in them! And so, barefoot, we picked our way the rest of the way out of the side streets and back onto the main street where my hardware store is. Thank goodness I’m a frequent customer there. The guys who run it know me and Chrissy and are always really nice to us. V and I approached laughing, muddy, wet, and generally a giant mess, and one of the guys immediately started laughing at us and brought out a bench for us to sit on, then found a selidaga (plastic teapot) and some water so we could wash off our hands and feet. Honestly, we must’ve looked like mud monsters.

The trip home was much less eventful. We were able to stick to paved roads and unpaved roads that were less frequented. We eventually did make it safely. I do have a souvenir – I was never able to quite get all of the mud out of my favorite pair of Malian pants – battle scar!