Water can also be good for the heart.

Home is Wherever When I'm With You

2011-10-26T16:34:00.000Z

I made it back to the ridge, to my sister, to "home." Who knows what that really means, though? My heart is in so many places I can't even list them all. Seeing my father, mother, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparent(s), and other family is a delight. It's so exciting to meet all the new additions, young and old, to my family. My friends are laughter and reminiscences and reassurances that some things don't change. But some do. I've visited some of my favorite places again, and ate my favorite foods. There's new beautiful babies to kiss, and a whole new world to readjust to.

I'm used to going out of my way to fit in. I've spent two and a half years trying to change myself to become more like the people around me. That's what cultural integration is. That's how I assimilated into Malian culture. Unfortunately, Americans go out of their way to avoid fitting it, and value individuality over conformity. This adds a level of discomfort to a lot of situations I'm already uncomfortable in, like being in grocery stores and malls. There's an acceptable range of differences between one and ones neighbors that's ok: neither too like them, nor too far from normal. I don't know the limits of the range and feel like I'm constantly over-correcting one way or the other. At least I know I'm still nerdy. And there are constants like Becky to balance myself against. And there are safeties like Doug to experiment with. And little by little, I'm re-familiarizing myself with the balance between space and socialization in public places. You can smile at most anyone, but only wave at other drivers you don't know in you're in Tennessee (not New York). They really need to write a cultural manual for the US... but it would be prohibitively long. Maybe they could just write, "Just be yourself." And include a definition of who that is...

I miss my friends from Mali. Rache's infant nephew died two weeks ago, and it tears my heart out not to be able to be there with the family. Grieving always sucks even more by yourself. I've spoken with Rache on the phone, but I wish I could do more. I just miss her in general, too. It's strange to be disconnected from the other volunteers, too. Every so often I think of something funny to tell Jeff, or a recipe idea for Claire, or a nerdy thing to say to Colleen... and while I could email them these comments, they really lose a lot of value crossing the Atlantic. I worry about how Pamela and Samuel are getting on. What's that about a pillar of salt?

Now I am trying to find a job. I've applied a few places, but it's probably time and past to ramp my search up a little. Engineering jobs in CNY, even environmental engineering jobs, don't grow on trees. I just bought a car that's older than I am. It's a diesel, and I hope to run it on homemade biodiesel some day when I've gotten my life together. There's commercially available biodiesel around, even in Syracuse, too. Doug and I and another couple are looking for a place to live together in Syracuse. I'm backseat driving for that quest, since I'm down in TN with my mother for a little longer, but I'm very excited about it. It's going to be so amazing to really unpack for the first time since August began. One of the things I noticed about myself while in Mali is that I enjoyed living there, but I don't really like traveling. I like being established someplace.

So that's where I am. Wherever 'home' is, I'm headed that way. Maybe I'll see you there.

This is Goodbye

2011-09-03T14:45:00.000Z

This is the time to ask forgiveness, and to pray for togetherness. This is the time to look one more time at the sun going down over the rice fields, and one more time to bike across the sun rise. This is the time to buy two goats and a pig for a party, and time to write a speech about everything I've done. This is the time to buy fancy Malian clothes to go home with. This is the time to apply for jobs and pray I don't get callbacks before I get to Ameriki and pick up my phone... This is the time to spend one more moment with the people I love. This is the time to get excited about seeing the people I love again after long separation.

In 1 week, I have a going away party in Koutiala. In 2 weeks, I have a going away party at site. In 3 weeks, I'll be on a plane heading to NY. But part of my heart will always stay here.

Finally, A Post! (but no pictures)

2011-04-22T22:26:00.000Z

At long last! I'm updating you all on my life! I'll start with what we've been doing work-wise, then talk about my personal life, including some things I've seen and done, and dream of what come next. I'll try not to be too verbose, nor too brief. Hold on tight...

My homologue and my supervisor have been working overtime on well repairs for the last few months. Every work day that I've been home, I've gone with them to help or just to watch. The amount of physical labor involved is truly daunting! The day before yesterday we finally laid the bricks for the last of the wells for this season! All 15 are done! Mostly. The top-slabs haven't been installed yet, so that people can clean out the bottoms first. Once the wells are pristine inside, they'll be lidded and sealed! Now we're back to work on latrines again. We've got something like 15 left to go. My counterpart is doubling up most days trying to get these last few latrines battened down.

My rockstar counterpart made me an insta-superstar in the Peace Corps panoply. It happened way back in December, before Ella visited (more on that in a moment). Honestly I had so little to do with this I don't even know important things like "where" and exactly "when." He came to me and asked permission, and then later on let me know they were done. That was it. But here's what happened. The church in my village decided as a whole, or maybe some executive committee, or maybe just the pastor, someone at any rate decided that they needed more sanitation infrastructure. Noticing that my counterpart had been making all those awesome latrines, they approached him (or maybe he was part of the potential committee, like I said, I wasn't there) to do the same for them. He knew that Peace Corps doesn't do projects for religious organizations, and our current project was all doled out already anyway, so he told the church they'd have to fund it themselves. This was no problem, they got the cement, got the rebar and pipe and sand and gravel, they supplied the workers, and they used my counterpart's skills. All without me there. An entire set of improved latrines completely locally initiated and completed. Actual skill transfer. Done. I can go home now! Well... soon, anyway.

Back to that tidbit about Ella. Yes! Ella came all the way to Mali to see me! You know how people talk about finding the sister of their soul, or being as close as sisters? Well the sister of my soul is the sister of my heart and the sister of my body. Her visit was a delight! It turns out that I don't really like traveling (I like being here, but not leaving here even to go across the country...), so we mostly hung out at my site. She learned to do basic greetings in Bambara, and wore Malian outfits, and discovered the joy of head-scarves. I was in paradise the whole time, although at the end I was completely drained. It was the best Christmas present ever!

One thing that could compete (but never win! nothing trumps Ella!), was the best birthday present ever. Doug came to visit me. Not just that, but he brought me a California Burrito all the way from Syracuse to Bamako. And yes, we're dating now. That evolved over the course of his visit. There's something about waking up to a waterfall at dawn and then biking 30km that reminded us we're in love with each other. We both knew it already, but now you all know it too! The Malian name I gave him is the name of Bebe's late father, so everyone had a blast commenting on how he's the spitting image of his namesake and calling him Bwa or Papa. He was there during site visits for a new stage of volunteers, including my new site mate!

Koutiala is pumping up the volume of volunteers. I'm very excited to have someone so close to my site so I don't have to be the one and only American in the market. We've gone from 5 to 11! We had to rent more space. We've got poor C running in circles and exhausted, trying to coordinate the expansion and help people get settled. Everyone's coming to her (myself included) because she's our central house mommy, and she hasn't got a minute to rest. I'm going to work on stepping up a little more in these last few months to ease her workload.

I've got less than 5 months before my Close of Service (COS), and it feels too short but far too long! I'm trying to do a photo project with one photo for each of my last 169 days here. We have our COS conference in late June, where we talk about how to find jobs and what's culturally appropriate in the USA in case we forgot. I think I'm going to need remedial American. I wasn't that good at our culture before I left, and now I am not even certain it IS my culture... But I'm going to do my best.

I want to be back in time to celebrate La's birthday with her in September. I plan on starting my job search before I even leave, but I'm not really expecting to find a job right away. I want to work in a water or waste water treatment plant, and I want it to be close enough to someone that I can live with him or her. Potential someones include my sister, my boyfriend, or any of my best friends, of which there are several. Even better would be a combination of those! I won't be taking a COS trip, unlike many of my coworkers. That aversion for traveling will save me a bit of money, at least, and I'm hoping I'll have enough readjustment allowance to get me settled in somewhere and allow me to visit my friends and family and catch up. I'm looking forward to a lot of glorious reunions, right after a lot of tearful partings. That's pretty much how life works, right?

As I quite nearly had an introduction, I'm skipping a conclusion altogether.

Peace!

Sooni...

2011-04-04T06:28:00.000Z

Dear Avid Reader of my Blog,

I'm sorry! I haven't updated in months and months, and facebook has probably been telling you all sorts of tantalizing things that you want the juice about... Truthfully, my life isn't that exciting, anyway. And I will update my blog with every relevant fact. Soon. Right now, however, I need to get back to my village for a little R&R&Well Construction.

Thanks for your understanding,
XOXO
Pilar

My Visit to Bebe

2011-01-15T20:21:00.003Z


Bebe and I over the summer at her brother's wedding.

So at the beginning of November, I went to visit my Malian friend. She lives out in the bush even further than I do, now. Her village farms rice and the typical Malian crops (millet, corn, peanuts, etc...). She teaches 2nd grade.

I went out on a Monday, Market Day in the larger town near the paved road. She met me there, and led me back out the twisting paths, across the seasonal river, and through several other small villages on the way to her home. Her village was incredibly welcoming. She had told them I was coming, and they were excited. She and I were ecstatic to see one another. We spent the whole rest of Monday after that grueling ride in just squealing and jumping up and down together, it seemed. We couldn't even sleep that night because we couldn't stop talking to each other.

I met the head of the Malian version of the PTA, who acts sort of like a host-father for the teachers in the village. Actually, her situation reminded me of being a PCV. Yeah, teachers get paid for their work, but I don't think anyone chooses a teaching career in rural Mali as a get rich quick scheme! I met the two other teachers, and the director of the school, too. The PTA is responsible for making sure their living conditions are 'up to snuff.' They seem to work pretty hard at it. They even had a meeting while I was there.

Unfortunately, all is not well in the Parent-Teacher land. The thing is, Bebe is an unmarried woman. Never mind that if she WERE married, she'd have to leave her post to be with her husband, so that little village would be down yet another teacher when they already don't have enough. That's besides the point. The point is that I got a step by step lesson in disenfranchisement via my dear friend and the way her coworkers treat her.

It starts with the physical environment she lives in. Unlike the other teachers, there's no real latrine at her house. There's a very nice one at the director's house, so if Bebe or her niece has to go 'number 2,' they've got to hoof it over there. Even in the middle of the night, with the dogs growling outside. There's no shade structure at her house, either. Or a wall. If she were a Peace Corps Volunteer, Peace Corps would have pulled her out of there and moved to her another site long ago. As it is, they're improving her house slowly, and she's putting up with it. If that were the end of it, I'd say, "Oh, well." Malians don't rush in to capital improvements at any time.


Some of Bebe's coworkers.

My second day in her village, Bebe told me a story. She said that she was running low on cash one day, because she's trying to save up the salary the school district pays her in the bank in Koutiala. The director runs into Koutiala almost every week, so she asked him if he could cash a check for her on his next visit and bring it back to her. He said it was no problem. He took the check (for around $16 or so), went to Koutiala, and came back the next day. He gave Bebe $2. He said that he'd give her the rest later. $2 more were forthcoming, and then he said he used the rest up. The actual expression he used translates directly as, "I ate it." Malians don't apologize, as a rule, so I wasn't too surprised to hear that that was all he had to say about it. At least one of the other teachers, when he learned about this, stood up for Bebe, telling this dude that not bringing back all of her money was pretty uncool, although not in so many words. I was wondering why Bebe needed more money from town when her coworkers seemed to be doing fine (and able to afford to moto into Koutiala all the time, too!). Then I found out why. The PTA puts together money every month. Each family sends in $0.50 per child to the PTA. The money is split up among the teachers. I mean, the male teachers. After being handed off to the director (oh, there he is again!), Bebe never saw a cent. Again. The PTA also voiced the opinion that this was a jerk move, but they couldn't very well make the director un-spend it.

After a late-night meeting where Bebe and I fell asleep, the PTA put together $8 to give to Bebe to make up for the money the director stole from her. This sop didn't fix the problem, in my mind, but it helped a bit. I've heard more than one person say, "It would be different if she had a husband..." I hate that that's true.

However, Bebe herself is philosophic about it. She's really glad to be living with her niece. She enjoys working with the children. She has the opportunity to move to a job in Koutiala next year, and I hope she takes it. Several of her sisters live there. I won't be around to visit her, but I'll be glad to thinking about her in the slightly more forward-thinking world of the city rather than in that tiny out-of-the-way village. And God willing, maybe there's a worthwhile man in the city....

My last day of my first visit...

In the meantime, I'm planning to go visit her for her birthday at the beginning of February, and I'll definitely throw any weight I have around on her behalf. It's a dooni dooni process, after all.

Things I Thank God (and You!) For

2010-11-30T00:09:00.000Z

First, I'd like to thank everyone who helped either to spread the word or donate to my project. We're now fully funded, and we can really get down to work!

I am always every day and every way thankful for my sister. She's always the most wonderful person in my life, and I'm so delighted beyond words that I get to share my Malian experience with her soon!

Both my mother and my father are always so supportive of me, from packages to text messages to letters. My whole extended family, in fact, is amazing. I love getting all of your facebook messages and emails. My friends make this whole experience possible. Doug's perceptive packages and cheery text messages, laughing conversations with Becky, cute cards from Sally, bracelets and other smile inducers from Lorie, long facebook-mail messages from Jessica, Dave's enabling of my facebook sillyness, and every other friend that reaches out to me in any medium; I love all of these. I don't think that was grammatically correct, but it's at least in English, so I'll let it ride.

Peace Corps, and Mali are also on the list. I've just had the most delightful week of Thanksgiving festivities (complete with pumpkin pie!) that one could imagine. Plus dancing! Sikasso folks went all the way with the hospitality and I really appreciated it. My village is definitely my Home, and my heart goes there. Even in the midst of overdue drunken revelry, I think fondly of the tranquility of my village. My easy access to Koutiala enables me to get paperwork and reconnecting out of the way quickly and easily, but I'm safe in my cozy little village within 2 hours when I want. I already raved about my energetic homologue and his loving family. And my dear darling friend from village, despite being away teaching second graders in another village, makes her presence felt through her loving mother and charming nieces and nephews when I visit them. I actually visited her, but the recounting of that visit belongs in a different post.

Simply put, I'm grateful. I'm looking forward to another wonderful year, and I love you all! Thank you.

We're At Peace - An Bε Hεrε La

2010-08-26T23:00:00.000Z

Can you believe Babi was so little last year?

My project is live! Fund it here, pretty please.

I figured you deserved a peek into how I, personally, am doing. It's hard to describe exactly. I'm very happy, with every part of my life. Of course, I get upset and go off in Bambara at a prantigi every so often. I cry once in a great while over something stupid like a Peace Corps Response flier or a lecture about greeting at the pump before putting down my bidon. However, I find that my general happiness is greater than it was even in the states, and more consistent. My life is segmented into two, really. There's Ane's life in village, and there's Pilar's life out on the town.

Ane

Bro and Me

Village life is precious, timeless, and always too short. I love waking up to my cat crying outside my tent. Jenn, upon leaving, passed me down a two person bug tent which is infinitely superior to the one-man dealie I bought last year. I unzip a little space, Babi crawls in and curls up by my feet, and I lie back and listen to the sound of women pounding the morning millet across the way. I'm usually up and dressed by 7, but I almost never get anything done before 9 or so. Life is slow, gloriously slow here. I got a dog. I've been calling him Bro, my little brother. In the afternoons, as the sun is going down, I'm startled, pleased, and heartily amused to see him silhouetted against the sky standing up on my wall. He hops up and looks out over the land, doing sentry duty like the good guard dog that he is. Babi hates him passionately. A month in, and he still blows up like a puffin fish and howls as if I shut his tail in the door every time the dog walks out of the kitchen to check up on what's going on. Once, when they both wanted food out of the same dish, I saw the dog snap at the cat, but other than that, he's been nothing but casually disinterested. Babi (who, by the way, is male, oops), continues his campaign of hatred undismayed.

Rache and Me

Long hugs with Rache. Laughing with her. Crying with her. Talking about boys. Talking about life. Talking about anything. Not talking at all. Without qualifications (eg, Malian, in Africa, since Peace Corps), she is one of my best friends. Her whole family is made up of such good people, so real and comfortable. Her mom's house, out on the edge of town, is my oasis whenever I'm feeling out of sorts. No one there is into that particularly Malian humor that so annoys me if I'm unprepared. Even when Rache and her brothers are away teaching, and the younger ones are all in school in Koutiala, and the rest of the horde is off where ever they live, Ba (what everyone calls her mom, which is Bambara for... mom) welcomes me with literal open arms like her own child.

Koro, the boy who keeps the cows, and Ama

My lucky talisman is to get blessed by my Ama, my homologue's mom. Any day I don't greet her, with the ritual stream of blessings that entails, I feel at loose ends and vaguely threatened by unnamed calamity. I don't even know what a geresogo is or why I'd want God to untie mine, but I 'Amiina!' like I mean it, because I do. I'm starting to know people's nicknames. The old-mother is Ama, my homologue is Benogo (akin to Papa), his wife is Bajeni (something like Ma-whitey, maybe). The third daughter sometimes gets called Koro (Oldie). The second daughter's name isn't really Nekuru, which I didn't know until March or later! Nekuru is just something you call 8-12 year old girls, pretty much. The youngest - Zybie my Zybie! She's my nison fura - my mood medicine. I merrily throw my back out tossing her into the air again and again. I let her yank on my hair as many times as she wants. I come back from market every week with as much good food as I can carry to give to Bajeni so that she will grow up strong and healthy. Seeing her smile makes all of it worthwhile every time. When she sees me and yells, "Ma! Ma! Ane pa!" or her baby approximation thereof, and then runs up to grab my hands in greeting... my heart melts. Then, Bajeni (babies in Mali calls their moms 'Ma', too), who doesn't click with me like Rache does, but is a close second for best Malian friend, looks up and says, "Who, Ane? Ane's here?" and then goes back to work. When she's done with whatever she was doing, and Ama is done blessing me, she'll come over and greet me.

Bajeni doesn't mess around. She's direct - "You didn't come to dinner last night!" or "You sneezed, do you have a cold?" and without being fussy, she takes care of me. When she can see I'm cranky and tired, she'll give me an out: "You are tired, why don't you go home and lie down?" Whenever I show up, I get fed. Whenever I want to go, no problem. We make weak attempts at bean-eating jokes, and she makes the same demand-jokes that drive me crazy from other people. From her, they're both actually funny and things that I'm actually willing to fulfill. When a stranger on the street demands I give him my shirt off my back (literally, this happens fairly often, although usually people just demand money, sometimes they want my clothes, jewelry, phone, bike, etc.), I find it hard to remember it's just a joke and laugh. Probably, Malians don't realize how pervasive it is, each of them thinks they're being inventive and witty. Bajeni, on the other hand, says things like, "Come back from market with lots of presents!" after I came home with at least a kilo of veggies from each of the last two markets. She knows I'm a sucker for Zybie, and I know it, and I know she feeds me every day without being willing to take any kind of payment, so it's easy to laugh and say we have to see how the market goes first, while mentally agreeing wholeheartedly. Benogo (her husband, my homologue, Sam) is also a baller. He never stops. Give him pink ears and a drum and call him the Energizer Bunny. We haven't been able to do much work lately - funding roadblocks, farming, and my own lack of A-game slowed us down. Also, some of the households aren't doing their bit of the work that we need to get the latrine slabs installed. Still, he's always willing to take anything on. He's got a say in almost everything that gets decided in the village, or so it seems to me. He listens to me. He knows how I roll, when I can be teased safely, and what drives me up a wall.

Bajeni laughs at Koro's grumpiness, Zybie is confused

The rest of my village... they're all my people. I know them, even if I don't know everyone's names. They greet me in Minanka. Sometimes I laugh and answer in that minority language, which is the mother tongue for most in my village. Sometimes I just pretend I didn't hear them, and answer as if they greeted me in the Bambara that has become second nature to me. Sometimes I get grumpy, and complain that I've worked so hard to learn Bambara, and now they want me to speak Minanka, too, but they don't know a single English word. Is that good? I demand. Grudgingly, they say, "No, no that's not good." Still, they'll greet me in Minanka the next time they see me again. When I answer it back, they all love it. Better to chance the lecture and get to hear the white girl speaking their real language than to stick to boring old Bambara any day. Who knows? Maybe in my second year I'll advance in Minanka beyond simple greetings and things to yell at children (eg, Sit down! Go home!).

Pilar

The road out from my site

I've been back and forth so much lately that I feel like I'm never at site. People say that I would know if I were really not at site enough. I don't think my friends at site or my homologue think I'm gone too much. Mostly, I am just missing the comfort of being home and the relaxing breathing space that the village is for me. Since March, I've been to Bamako a couple of times, down to Sikasso more than twice, I'm always going out to San, and I even went to Manatali of hydro-electric hippo fame for the Fourth of July.


Me and Jenn at WAIST in February

Volunteers from my year (Risky Business-ers), the year before (HBO-ers) a few delightful 3rd-years from the Breakfast Club-ers, and already some of the yet-unnamed new crop of volunteers have become my fast friends. We Pants-Off-Dance-Off in San (no wonder I go so often, right?). We have deep conversations or veg out watching TV shows in the Bamako Stage House. We use dark magic tricks to create real delicious food in Sikasso. Every where I go, I find myself bonding with my fellow volunteers and being happier to see them. Not that I was ever unhappy to see them, mind you, just that I'm even fonder of them now than before. Of course, now that I'm finally getting to know the HBO-ers and Breakfast Clubbers, they're leaving me. Our house-mommy in Koutiala left ages ago in June with her fiancee. A witty friend who writes novels was out right after Manantali in July. At the beginning of this month, Zac and Jenn closed their services the same week, robbing me of two out of three of my closest site buddies. I only get to keep the third until December, too! But I've hardly had time to feel lonely with all the running around I'm doing. I barely have time to greet, get the termites off my walls, and get the grass out of my yard (each of those takes at least a day, mind you!) in village before I'm packing up to take another trip.

Grumpiest cat ever watching the sun set

New Funding Proposal

2010-07-14T00:15:00.002Z

Here's a sneak-peak at my next funding proposal. Let me know what you think! It's live now!

Donate here.

The project is to improve 30 latrines over 12 weeks in a rural village with virtually no sanitation infrastructure. In addition to preventing surface water from entering the latrine pit and pulling contamination into the groundwater, improved latrines avoid the danger of wood and clay slabs breaking and dropping people into latrine pits. This level of infrastructure will be a new step forward for the poor farmers who live in the village. Some of the villagers currently must wait for dark to defecate in a nearby field because they have no latrine at all.

The community will provide all of the labor and the locally available materials for the project for a total of 27% of the project cost. The money from the Partnership Program will go toward purchasing cement and tools to complete the work. Once the project is complete, the standing Water and Sanitation Committee will continue to utilize the skills and knowledge of latrine improvement gained during the project to improve other latrines in the village.

In an earlier project, the Peace Corps Volunteer and her homologue installed 10 reinforced concrete latrine slabs, leaving roughly 75 households without improved sanitation infrastructure. The rest of the households are eager to "keep up with the Joneses" in the American vernacular. The volunteer has received many requests to install slabs in other households; some households going as far as to dig the pit before the volunteer could tell them ‘no’.

The village of Zamblala has a population of roughly 1200 people. It is located in rural Mali, in the cercle of Koutiala. Most of the villagers are subsistence farmers. During much of the year (November through June), precipitation is negligible. There is little or no infrastructure in the village, including a complete lack of water delivery infrastructure or sanitation infrastructure. Most latrines have neither a reinforced slab nor any kind of lining, causing erosion at the mouth, and allowing surface water to enter the latrine pit and pull contamination into the groundwater. There is also the alarming possibility of the wood and clay slab breaking and dropping one into the latrine pit itself!

The village chief and 15 villagers have formed a Water and Sanitation Committee, with the goal of improving access to clean water for the entire village. The committee is headed by the Peace Corps Volunteer’s homologue, and several of the members are prominent in the community. There are 6 women on the committee, and the members range in age from early twenties to a gray-haired member in her mid sixties.

As described, there are virtually no improved latrines in the village. Some households have an unimproved pit latrine with simple wood and clay slab, while other households simply wait for dark to defecate in a nearby field. The community is aware of the implications to health and well-being of the unimproved sanitation situation, both through a PACA session, and one-on-one sensiblizations done by the volunteer.

Although there are no instant, dire ramifications if the project does not go forward, the benefits are substantial if this request is granted. Though it is difficult to discretely measure the health benefits of ending open defecation for the entire community, they are real and significant nonetheless. This is in addition to the pride felt by any homeowner who can invite guests to use the facilities without fear of horrifying them.

In an earlier project, the Peace Corps Volunteer and her homologue installed 10 reinforced concrete latrine slabs, leaving roughly 75 households without improved sanitation infrastructure. The rest of the households are eager to "keep up with the Joneses" in the American vernacular. The volunteer has received many requests to install slabs in other households; some households going as far as to dig the pit before the volunteer could tell them ‘no’.

The Water and Sanitation Committee, feeling the eagerness of the community, formally requested that the volunteer submit a new project proposal. The volunteer's homologue conferred with two other PCV homologues in the area to determine an efficient and lasting method for latrine improvement.

The community contribution is all of the unskilled labor and the locally available materials in addition to paying for the skilled labor. This includes digging both the latrine and soak away pits, and collecting the sand, gravel, and rocks. It also includes supplying at least two people to assist with concrete mixing and simple masonry tasks. Transport of materials from the market town 3 kilometers away is also a community contribution. The community portion, both cash and in kind is roughly 27% of the total project cost.

The project will take approximately twelve weeks to complete. Each latrine improvement will take two weeks, on average, but the portion of the project which must be completed by trained Water and Sanitation Committee members will only be a day and a half if the household has done its part. This means that work could go on in as many as 4 households in one week. Considering urgent farm work, weddings, funerals, and other days off, 2.5 households per week is a safer estimate, meaning 30 households will receive latrine improvements.

There is an initial phase involving the purchase of the brick mold in the capitol and the first wave of supplies in the local city. After that, cement will be purchased as necessary. Transport from the city where it is available each week is reliable and storage in village during the rainy season can be problematic. The initial purchase will be done with the volunteer's homologue and the treasurer of the committee. After that, when a rapport has been established with the supplier and transporter, the volunteer will be able to travel to the city alone and purchase additional supplies.

The actual process begins when each household spends 2-3 days digging the latrine pit and collecting the raw materials. The trained Water and Sanitation Committee member then arrives with the cement, brick mold, rebar, and tools necessary to construct the bricks and slab, making sure to measure the dimensions of the pit and it's distance from the closest well. After that, the household must water the bricks and slab every day for a week. During that week, the soak away pit should also be dug, if it was not initially dug. At the end of the week, the committee member will return to lay the bricks and add the slab. At this time, the remaining floor space in the latrine will be covered with a layer of concrete and the rocks and pipe will be installed in the soak away pit. If the latrine area is small, and there is concrete left over at the end of the day, the household will be invited to use it for finishing the surface of an associated urination and washing area.

The project directly builds skills by training committee members in masonry techniques and project design and management. In addition, each household in the community will learn about latrine maintenance and will be able to learn or practice simple masonry techniques often used in sanitation work. As the project cost includes the brick mold, the community will have the capacity to build new improved latrines long after Peace Corps has gone.

The community will have all the knowledge and skills, as well as all of the tools to repeat any and every part of the project. Not all members of the community will be able to purchase the cement or rebar to complete the project in its entirety, though. Each household will know to sweep the latrine and washing area every day and wash the areas down once a week. They will know what should and should not go in the latrine and soak pits, and what to do when one or the other fills up. In this way, the sanitation benefits will be long-lasting.

The volunteer and committee have committed to designing a long-term plan for sanitation in the village including a plan for safe waste transportation and treatment when a latrine has filled up. It will be the committee's role to enforce compliance with the plan when the volunteer has gone.

Rising Water

2010-06-23T00:16:00.000Z

First off, we got a well done! Yay! However, considering the rising water table and lack of workers (they're out in the fields), we're changing the rest of the project into latrine slab-laying. More details to come in an excitingly coherent fashion some other time. Check facebook for pictures of the well that got done!
<3!

One Step At A Time

2010-06-03T22:23:00.000Z

So we're making progress on the wells! The progress is as follows:

The dugutigi's bricks have all been made.

And,

Half of the well shaft for the dugutigi's well has been excavated.

The Flanjola well-tigi has gathered some gravelly sand. Last week Sam and I brought the screen up there, so theoretically they now have all of their sand and gravel clean and separated. If this is true, their work can begin whenever people get some breathing room between hectic farming activities.

I am, however, worried. The fact that the rains have come doesn't just mean that everyone has to go out to the fields and plow and plant. It also means that there's water - in the air, on the ground, and filling up the wells that I'm trying to repair. So, we probably won't make any more progress once the dugutigi's well has been finished. I will, however, push forward with wash-areas and soak pits for puddle reduction, since it's mosquito season again. Yay!

I'm sorry...?

2010-05-17T21:45:00.001Z

So I've taken a little heat and felt a little guilty about my project not being available for you to fund. This isn't my fault. I assure you that none of my less than $300 a month went toward funding this well-building effort. Well, actually, I spent about a dollar buying my homologue lunch after he helped me buy all the supplies today... but I certainly didn't donate on the Peace Corps web page. I hear that you didn't get a chance to either.

What happened was this: an organization called Water Charity swooped in and funded my project. It wasn't a huge project to begin with, so the whole thing was funded within a day. I can't start another funding request until I've finished the current project. That may take a while, as it's about to start raining and rainy season means farm-or-starve season. I'm not going to ask my villagers to put off farm work for this project, so it won't get completed until it dries up again next winter. So you're out of luck there. You didn't get to help me with my small well project.

Don't give up hope! There are other ways to help. I'm sure I'll do another partnership project. There's a very similar well project going on just up the road from me at my friend Jenn's site. Every one of the PC Mali projects is being done by a friend, and you're welcome to ask me about any of them if you're interested. If you are feeling more hands-on, there are things that you could send me. I currently give 'my' kids candies when they come over and help around my house. A friend suggested chewable vitamins might be a healthier option, but they're not found over here. I'm sure my kids would love anything you wanted to send over in the way of school supplies or little toys (but remember there's an entire village of them, so send shareable things).

But right now I'm tired, and I need to get up early, so that's all I've got for you. Thank you so much for wanting to help, and I'll try to give you more opportunities soon. Be well! Always with love.

Build a Well for Real!!

2010-04-20T12:49:00.001Z

My project is live!! Find it here!!!!

Want to Build a Well With Me?

2010-03-23T13:15:00.000Z

So, I’m finally doing a project!! Look at me doing work!

OK, that’s just me learning to make latrine slabs. My work is going to be a well project. I’ve included basically my entire project request here (which hasn’t yet been approved). When it is approved, it will be available to find on the Peace Corps Partnership Program website. If you’re looking for a way to help my village, this is your chance.

The project is to line, cover, and reinforce five wells in my rural village. In addition to preventing further erosion and cave-ins at the mouth of the well, this will prevent contaminated surface water (and chickens!) from falling in the well. The project also includes a pulley system to make drawing water easier. This level of infrastructure will be a new step for the poor farmers who live in the village.

The community will provide all of the labor for the project and a percentage of the materials. I have requested money from the Partnership Program to go toward purchasing cement and tools to complete the work. Once the project is complete, the standing Water and Sanitation Committee will continue to utilize the skills and knowledge of sanitary water supply gained during the project to improve other wells in the village.

The five wells selected for this initial project belong to respected community leaders. Improving the wells of prestigious people converts a household utility item into a status symbol and increases general interest in sanitation. Four of the wells are topped by a slab of timbers and packed earth, with an old donkey cart tire forming the mouth. Only two are lidded even occasionally. The fifth well has suffered extensive erosion at the mouth, and gapes to 3 meters (nearly 10 feet) in diameter at the surface. Large puddles of churned muck are a feature of several of the wells, because clothes washing and dishwashing take place next to the wells so that women don’t need to carry water a long distance before doing their work. Animals are watered at the well for the same reason. The addtion of a concrete wash-area with associated infiltration pit will greatly ameliorate this problem.

My village, the village of Zamblala, has a population of roughly 1000 people. It is located in rural Mali, in the cercle of Koutiala. Most of the villagers are subsistence farmers. During much of the year (November through June), precipitation is negligible. There is little or no infrastructure in the village, including a complete lack of water delivery infrastructure or sanitation infrastructure. Most wells have neither reinforcement nor lining, causing erosion at the mouth, and allowing surface water to contaminate the well.

The village chief and 15 villagers have formed a Water and Sanitation Committee, with the goal of improving access to clean water for the entire village. The Committee is headed by the Peace Corps Volunteer’s homologue, and several of the members are prominient community members. There are 6 women on the Committee, and the members range in age from early twenties to a grey-haired member in her mid sixties.

The vast majority of wells in the village are hand-dug, unlined, and uncovered. The commonest method of preventing cave-in at the mouth of the well is to make a cover-slab of timbers with an old tire as an opening, and then pack clay between the timbers to stand on when drawing water. This structure is prone to erosion, difficult to effectively cover, and unsanitary. Villagers consider it a luxury to improve their wells. With the implementation of a repair project, the villagers will be able to see and understand the process of reinforcement. Community members directly involved will gain confidence in their own ability to improve their situation. They will also gain the skills involved in assesing the problem, determining an appropriate solution, planning a project, and the physical skills involved in well repair.

The project was directly requested by the chief of the village. He proposed the idea to the Water and Sanitation Committee, which was initiated by the Peace Corps Volunteer and peopled by the chief. The Committee supported the idea, and the Volunteer presented well-repair options. The Committee and the Volunteer together selected the top well repair presented in the Volunteer’s Water and Sanitation handbook, based on well conditions and feasibility.

The Volunteer prompted the Committee to form a budget and timeline. Each beneficiary household has voiced approval of the selected type of repair, added pertinent details about the extent of current erosion, and voluntarily promised to supply labor and available materials. The Committee has divided responsibility according to the positions of the Committee members, with the treasurer handling finances, the secretary recording project meetings, and so on.

The Water and Sanitation Committee members have committed to providing the semi-skilled labor for the project. Each household with a well to be improved has committed to providing the locally available resources and the unskilled labor for the project. Local transport will also be provided by the villagers. The contribution of the community will equate to roughly 35% of the total project. A complete budget is available here.

The first phase of the project is to collect locally available materials such as sand, gravel, and timbers. This will be done by each of the five well owners, who will also prepare the well area for work by removing existing superstructures and clearing the area of debris. The Peace Corps Volunteer and her local supervisor will go to the city to purchase supplies and arrange for them to be transported to the market town. From there, Water and Sanitation Committee members will take supplies to the village by donkey cart.

Once the supplies have been mobilized, bricks and well-cover slabs will be cast by the Water and Sanitation Committee members. The slabs will be reinforced and cast with a metal door included. Each well owner will water the bricks and slab for his well over the next week to cure them. While the cement is curing, excavation will begin on the wells. Well owners will carefully remove soil, timbers, old tires, and any other obstruction from the mouth before digging out the shaft. The excavated shaft will be 1.2 meters in diameter wider than the finished well diameter and will be 4.0 meters deep.

The next phase, which will be shared between Water and Sanitation Committee members and the well owners, begins with leveling off the base of the wide excavated shaft. A concrete anchor is poured on the base, with rebar reinforcements. The anchor is watered and allowed to cure for two days before bricklaying begins. Bricks are mortared together from the base to two layers of bricks above the surface. As bricklaying procedes, backfill is added behind the new well lining, and thoroughly compacted.

The final phase takes place above ground, and is done by the well owner. The cover slab is added, the support timbers are installed for the pulley, and a creped wash-area is situated nearby at the discretion of the women in the household. A soak-pit is dug and filled with large rocks to catch the wash-water. A family meeting moderated by the volunteer to discuss sanitary well use and well treatment, completes the process for each well.

The Water and Sanitation Committee will learn about project management by managing the project, with support from the voluntter. They will also learn or improve their skills for brick and slab casting, bricklaying, and general concrete work. Well owners (and their families) will also be able to practice those skills.

More importantly, the wells themselves will serve as examples of safer and more hygenic water sources that can be made by the villagers themselves. The demystification of the repair process and the success achieved in this small initial project will boost the confidence of the entire community in relation to improving one’s own situation.

Ultimately, it will be a lack of interest in improving a well rather than lack of funding that will prevent a family from going through the process themselves. Because of that, the selection of wells owned by several of the most prestigious villagers was an intentional attempt to make improved wells into status symbols that people will be proud to own and motivated to care for.

If you have any questions at all, please get in touch with me! When the project is approved it will be found on the Peace Corps Partnership Program web page. You search for Mali and Water and Sanitation, then look for my name. I'll announce when the project is live, here, too. I encourage you to donate to it, please!

24 Years

2010-02-25T06:21:00.001Z

So it's now just one month until my birthday. You may be wondering what would make me happy. The following are recommended:

Email me or send me a Facebook message filled with cheery details about your life
Call me! Try with Skype or brave a phone card (my phone number is on facebook, and any time of night or day would be fine by me, though I don't always have my phone on)
I have a Mali wish list on Amazon here (my address is on facebook)
Cake mix and frosting would make any celebration I had perfect
All the tried-and true things on my wish list work, too

<3 Peace!

Yes, that IS my American name

2010-02-24T21:42:00.002Z

So I went to WAIST. And I got wasted, I guess.
Note: WAIST is the West African Invitational Softball Tournament, held annually for PCVs and other expatriates in Dakar, Senegal. It took me three days to get there, I spent President's Day weekend (Fri - Mon) there, and then I spent three more days to go home.

I had to explain several times that while Pilar really is my American name, my Malian name is Anna (Americanized for my new friends' benefit) if they wanted to call me that. No one bit. Actually, I didn't make any new friends. Correction, I didn't meet any new friends.

I did decide that I already had some friends I didn't realize were delicious awesome. This led me to say some things like, "I didn't like you before, but now I think you're great." If you've ever told a slightly drunk and possibly a little insecure friend (who was secure that weekend? I think we were all a little unbalanced) you didn't like them, you'll realize that the second half of my statement was negligible in the light of the first half. ...Oops. Still, we seemed to get past that, and I for one was focused on the now I think you're great part. So maybe she and I will see one another again. Because there's not a guarantee on that. Anyone outside of my own region is a hit-or-miss-or-make-actual-plans kind of person right now. This is sad. I like these people. But, the ones who matter the most to me will stay in my life. That's how it goes.

Another new friend, again thanks to my stolen place staying in the Peace Corps Senegal Country Director's house, got us a free hour-long meander through the city of Dakar in some ex-pat's posh SUV after the club on Friday night. She's in my region, so I'll see her again at then end of March. But so many of the wonderful people here are on their way out. You think 8 months is a long time, until you realize you went 2 months without seeing non-Koutiala types and didn't even notice... And it's not nothing. Friends are so important, like water - good for the heart. There's very little that is further from 'nothing' than a good friend. For example, Owen, who finally finished The Little Prince, and returned it to my box in Bamako. This is a good reason to go to Bamako (in April, because I'm going to San next month and that's enough travel for me for a while, even if it's only a few hours away), whereas I haven't had a good reason for that up until now.

Actually, I may go sooner if I'm to be money point-person for Koutiala's Take Your Daughters To Work day. Then, if I put up the funding request, you will all rush to the web site to send us a few dollars. We'll take your dollars to create a three-day conference where young women come into the city to learn about career options, see the technical school, and shadow women working at the health center, the artisan cooperative, and other good places. But this is all theoretical at the moment. When I come back to town next week to collect my new outfit (I can't stop collecting scarves or new clothes... it's a problem, I'm out of 'closet' space), I'll have a chat with the volunteer here to see what I need to do. Won't you all be excited if I finally do something resembling 'work'?

I've actually been doing some work, at least the preliminary footwork on the way to starting up some kind of project. There's a lot of different desires going on, and I need my new water and sanitation committee to unite behind just one idea. Compromise is a skill that can be taught, right? Well I'm going to use the tools Peace Corps gave me during training, like matrices to determine optimality. That sounds appropriate, doesn't it? Maybe I'll go with 'raise your hand if you want to fix wells'. I don't have any flip-chart paper, anyway.

So, I'm tired, and all the witty things I thought of on the 3-day bus ride back from Senegal last week are gone, so goodnight.

Ala ka hεrε di. Matigi k'i dεmε.

There and Back Again

2010-01-03T20:25:00.001Z

Originality fails me after more than 48 straight hours of travel, but that title is pretty classic. And true. I made it to Ghana, and now I'm back in Koutiala. There was no bitter quest, of course, but I did get some treasure, and I certainly had a lovely group of companions for the non-long-distance-traveling bit. I don't want to do the math and find out if I spent more hours in transit than enjoying my friends, but if it's true, I still had a wonderful break from my day-to-day life. To a degree, I actually enjoyed the bus rides.

So let's see; I left Koutiala last Sunday (just a week ago!)... I started out early, to no avail, hoping the bus to Ouagadougou (Burkina Faso's capitol, henceforth Ouaga) would take off sunrise-time-ish as to make the most of the day. Instead we didn't get underway until close to 1pm, which facilitated a sort-of-nap and some computer puttering. Once on the bus, I sort of dozed, perhaps. The bus rides are pretty mixed up in my head now. I believe there was a nice old man across the aisle from me, and I had two whole seats to myself. Getting into Burkina was slow but easy, just a long form and 10 mille cfa (about $20). Joking with the gendarmes while I waited for the other non-residents to fill out their own forms turned out to be invaluable (or at least worth another 10 mille) today, as you will see. At a larger town on the road I bought a SIM card and some bread. Almost all I ate while traveling was bread and eggs. I tried to drink water only when I was excessively thirsty, slight dehydration being preferable to too many road-side ɲεgεn stops. I called the Ouaga Peace Corps transit house to reserve a berth there in the afternoon. We stopped in Bobo, perhaps, but all I remember is interminable bumping along in the dark, fires burning in the bushes on the roadside (cheaper than lawn-mowers?), numerous stops for one person at a time to go out and pee in the dark, and a feeling that I'd gotten in over my head.

Ouaga is a big city, with real infrastructure. I thought we spent half the night getting across it, although it was probably more like 25 minutes. In the small gare we finally arrived at, I argued and was generally disagreeable to the really helpful man insisting I'd rather spend the night in the gare. Turns out that he was right, and I spent a very comfortable, if short, night there on a plastic mat on the floor. They roused us at 3:30, so that those with an onward journey could continue. I had no bus onward at the time, but I stayed awake, reading and thinking, until my helpful friend returned around 7. We walked together to the big gare (gare is french for station, implying train in France, but typically a motor vehicle gathering point in West Africa). He helped me find a bus, buy my ticket, find breakfast, and pass the time until the bus was leaving. I bought his breakfast, and that was apparently enough. His unasked for and mostly unrewarded help spoiled me, so that later on in the journey people who hadn't done nearly as much for me shocked me with their demands for recompense. But at any rate, I have a friend in Ouaga, and if I ever go back I really will look him up, if only for more bus station help.

I rode down to Accra with some Canadians. I don't remember much of the ride, although we were bus-bound from 9:30 or so in the morning until 6:30 or so the next morning. [Added in on 4 Jan: After all my worries and stress and efforts over my Ghana visa, it was anticlimactic at the border. An annoyed gendarme questioned me sharply about why I didn't have it, then escorted me ominously into the big boss' office. He was big, unkempt-looking somehow, and busily eating peanuts. Upon being told I didn't have a visa, he asked me to fill out the same form all travelers must fill out, signed and stamped my receipt and my passport without further ado. Oh, and charged me 60 mille ($120ish). So it was simpler (no forms in quadruplicate, no passport photos handed over, no waiting) but three times as expensive as it should have been. But most of all, it's well-behind me now!] Distinctly, I recall spending several hours in the small of the night in a gare in Kumasi, changing buses twice without going anywhere. We did finally embark again, and came to Accra as the sun rose. I got a taxi to the hostel Rocco said he'd be at, and indeed when I arrived the guard at the gate knew my name and escorted me to 'our' room. Rocco was gone (off to the airport because he didn't know the flight was delayed 4 hours), but the other Liberia volunteers sleepily welcomed me. I didn't pay much note though, because the siren song of running water was drowning my thoughts. What a glorious shower I had (although at no time in this trip did I get hold of the coveted luxury of hot water), and just in time to greet Rocco's un-triumphant return.

From that point on Tuesday, the theme of my trip shifted from travel to food. We started with smoothies, then a burger joint, then Rocco and I went off to retrieve Chris again. Success this time, although there was a snag with their onward travel plans which hasn't been cleared up yet. Once our group had reunited, we visited the artisan market and then went to a cliff-side bar to have a few drinks and eat meat on a stick. We dallied, arriving in our hostel's neighborhood as night fell, and proceeded to a rooftop sports bar. We mocked gymnasts, and applauded gymnasts, and there was more meat on a stick. Also spring rolls from a lady on the street, and frozen yogurt from a gas station. Maybe I should delay continuing this post until I've eaten again...

OK, some bananas left from the return trip have been gorged. On to Wednesday. The morning started out in a bus station, again, but this time I had grumpy companions to gripe with. Once boarded (shoved on by a pointy woman with no patience for her own company's bureaucratic delays), we zonked for a bit. Awakening at an actual rest stop was a wholly new feeling experience here, although their meat pies were a little weak. Back on the bus, I was reading until I realized how amazing the movie they were showing was. Perhaps I was just delirious from lack of sleep and too much bus, but The Gods Must Be Crazy utterly enchanted and riveted me. You should check it out. One of the Liberia volunteers with us had originally served in Namibia (?) where the film was made. He was very excited about that aspect. I was excited about the whole thing.

Kumasi, when we arrived, was bustle-y and gray. We walked to our digs, a rather graceful place in my opinion. Once again, the six of us bunked together, literally in bunk beds, I with the one other girl. I got top! I don't know if it was an especial accomplishment, but I enjoyed my dangerous proximity to the fan. We set out in search of (you'll never guess...) food a little before noon. We ate on a third-floor balcony overlooking a busy street. I slept while the food was cooked, and gorged when it arrived. Spaghetti Bolognese (Ella, you'll appreciate that almost as much as I did...). We later traipsed off to the big market and poked around a little. Returning split up our group, and we sampled some beers at a bar near the hotel. When we mostly reunited that night we promised to sleep in, then went to an excessively classy mislabeled 'dive' bar. The food was good, but the beer was too expensive. More meat on a stick was the proper after-dinner balm, clearly. We went to sleep fairly early, so 8 A.M. found us getting ready for New Year's Eve on Thursday. Oy.

To while away the hours after our early start we first searched for some food. Of course. We found a delightful and helpful egg-tigi right across from our bar, and I had two heaping egg sandwiches. Continuing on, we took a tro-tro out to a cloth-crafty sort of village and looked at how fabric was made. I didn't make any purchases, although some of it was quite beautiful. On our return, 'Vito and I went off solo (or duet, really) to the artisan park place, where we looked at lots of crafts being crafted and I still didn't purchase anything. Actually, what little money I didn't spend on transportation, I spent on food. I bought almost nothing at all outside of those things. Coming back to the hotel, I needed a shower so I chied (sent) 'Vito to fetch me a box of Don Simone Sangria. Magical stuff, that. Once refreshed, I rested a little, and then we all six went down to the little patio of our hotel and played two games of kings in a row. We all finished our drinks by the end (that would be an entire liter of sangria for me, plus what I needed to mooch from other people to finish the game). It was riotous. We were those Americans. I don't know how the other, older guests felt about it, but we ran into a couple from Denmark getting ready to celebrate and invited them down to our bar with us. More drinks, lots of loud music, the Denmarkers jumped off of chairs at their midnight. We asked where to go and got sent back to that same non-dive bar. More loud music. More, much more expensive drinking. I called Mommy from the bathroom. I kissed everyone in our party at the moment (some had gone off to seek a less classy more happening celebration). We went back to the hotel. We slept.

Friday, I awoke shockingly healthily. I felt that very little was wrong with me, and went off to seek an egg sandwich and some water. I only found water, and returned home defeated to await reinforcements. Eventually, the others stirred, and together we found an even better egg-tigi and thus fortified, we prepared to leave. Since they were heading south, and I wanted to get back north, I left them as we checked out of the hotel. I got a taxi, found a bus station, waited interminably, and had the most uncomfortable bus ride to date on my way up to Tamale. I managed to get to the transit house there via angry gestures and sheer bribery, as I had run out of Ghanian cedis and only had cfa again, needing to promise well over the actual fee to make up for someone else having to convert my money later on.

Early early on Saturday morning, a short-haired Ghana PCV helped me get back to the station, where I took a tro-tro (these are also called bosches in Mali and bush taxis, they are gutted vans with questionable seats crammed in). Again, I had to do the cfa-conversion rigmarole. I was squashed in a most uncomfortable seat, and I don't remember much about leaving Ghana, except that I saw the big boss again in passing. Getting into Burkina was memorable because the border guard informed me that my visa there expired that night, so I had better hoof it across his fine country. I freaked, fairly certain I wouldn't make it out in time. They laughed at my concerns, but a gendarme who spoke Bambara reassured me that if that happened, I could just buy a new visa from another gendarme. This sounded sketchy to me, but less terrifying. Getting to Ouaga again was full of taxi nonsense, bosche cramming, and long delays. There was a bus, but it wasn't leaving until 6 P.M. Clearly, I wasn't crossing most of the country in the remaining 6 hours.

I did make it to Bobo by midnight. People there speak Bambara, and it was a shocking relief to simply greet again, after too long without asking about anyone's family or peoples. The bus people tucked me in a room with two other American young women, and I slept briefly. Again with the 4 A.M. rigmarole, and an obnoxious kid trying to converse me to death despite my increasingly vehement protests that I did not want to be having that (or any) conversation right then. Eventually I retreated from the snack bar to sit in a corner in peace. Just a few hours later I was on the last leg of my journey. I had been told the bus didn't go to Koutiala, and half-resigned myself to going to Segou first, although that seemed spatially unlikely. The driver assured me, however, that no such thing was true, and in fact dropped me off faithfully in Koutiala. I was terrified as we approached the border, with my now 10-hour-expired visa. I tried to be casual. The same gendarmes as crossing the other way were there. They were glad to greet me, and we exchanged blessings. I handed my passport over, expired visa and all, and sat quietly on the bench waiting. They processed mine and one other passport before all the others, and handed mine back to me with another blessing and cheery greetings. I was shaking (despite it probably not being that big of a deal even without their unexpected help) when I got back on the bus.

After that, we dallied at the Mali border crossing (there's a gap, unexpectedly sizable) over some confusion with other people's passports. Once we were on our way again, the last half-hour or whatever it was passed in a whirl. Suddenly I was on the ground, marching away from the bus, taxi drivers and concerned idle young men shouting 'i bε taa min?' at me from every direction. I just kept telling them that I was going home. Being back in Koutiala, I feel almost there. Tomorrow before noon, I'll be all the way there. It's going to be beautiful. And for now, I have to go sort through my things to find what's worth biking in. I need to leave plenty of room on my bike to fit the package someone told me is waiting in the Poste. Yay!!!

Love you all. Happy new year! May the new year be glorious, peaceful, and much improved!

Coming Back Down

2009-12-21T19:40:00.001Z

Thanks to two straight weeks of Clemente, I was tempted to make the title of this a double entendre encompassing nrbs and nkbjs, but I'm actively trying to move away from the influences he and others have had on my language and thoughts this week. I spent three months without even a whisper of such things (I assure you, by the way, that if you're not 'in' on those particular contributions to the alphabet soup we engineers love so dearly, you're much better off that way). It took me so long to get up to the energy level required for all the fun going on here, and now, abruptly, I need to shut back down so I can go home to my kitten and relaxing without feeling lonely or deprived. (The one caveat is that I'm going to Ghana(!!!!), but that's for the end of this post.)

Now I'm finally feeling back in the social swing of things, wanting to be around Americans, wanting to hit the bar (!), wanting the rush from the shenanigans my crazy friends are up to. And it's over. It took me over a week to get myself going (or for my friends to get me out of my shell?), and now I'm alone in a ghost town. Think about what your summer camp looks like in early October - fallen leaves, doors shut tight, decorations slowly deteriorating in the dining hall - and then throw in an almost dead sheep (we found it on the road on the way back from our final field trip this afternoon), the concept of nyegens, and a handful of dirty toubabs. Granted, those dirty toubabs include Colleen the dugutigi of my heart, the aforementioned Clemente, Owen of the room-lighting smile, beautiful hula-hooping Kat, sagacious Chris, brawny John, and a delicious sampling of others; but the energy has dwindled, and I'm feeling cast away before I've even set sail.

But we had fun, koiy! I actually made new friends (notably a Guinea refugee newly converted to the wonders of WatSan, who struck me as fun incarnate, but who has now gone off to do her own thing). I really think I've learned some valuable things (which I'm sure I'll remember when I'm finally back to the peace of simply being in Zamblala). I got to be tasumatigi one night (which means I kept the fire from going out until my liter of boxed wine was finished). I even got to visit Soundougouba again, with Colleen. This time I pretty much only hung out with togoma, which didn't become too difficult (she speaks really quickly if she gets going with a topic) because we couldn't stay long. I got some really good hugs, which one has to stock up on because they're few and far between out in village. I ate mountains of delicious (and mediocre) food to the point of being able to leave off my belt when I wore my jeans. I went to a Christmas/Hanukkah party. I scored two new t-shirts and a new shawl/scarf dealie. I danced myself silly. I read a Dick Francis novel I had never read before. I got The Little Prince back and then gave it away again. Most of all, I was reminded that I do have a support network here, there are ways to feel connected to my roots without having to be back on my native soil, and I can still speak English at least a little bit.

And now, on to next week. Ni Ala sonna, tomorrow I will get my visa for Ghana. Except I don't really believe that it will work. I hope against hope it gets done, but I'm not convinced. If not, I'm stuck in Bamako another day (for quite a few more dollars, and likely giving up a free spot on the PC shuttle back up to site), and I don't know if I'll make it home for Christmas, and I certainly won't have much fun Christmas Eve. (Home meaning my hut in Zamblala, with my cat and my villagers, of course.) But either way, the day after Christmas (a Saturday) is pretty much fixed as an afternoon trip to Koutiala to Skype my father's family at their Christmas party, and procure transport to Accra (or at least into Burkina Faso, but all the way seems simpler to me). Sunday or Monday (depending on the bus schedule) will find me happily ensconced in a hot cramped bus with too many cfa francs strapped inside my (new!) dress and my heart all aflutter for the dulcet, Long Island flavored, no-nonsense tones of 'Vito. A mere 40 or so hours later, I'll be arriving in Accra just in time to greet 'Vito as he gets off his airplane and meet up with his brother and several Mali PCVs including my PST roommate.

I have no idea what happens next.

But it sounds beautiful so far, right? I'm hoping I'll get a dip in the ocean, a bit of tasty food, some nightlife, and some xmas presents. But if not a single of those things happen, I don't care as long as I'm with 'Vito. So I haven't worried about it. Once I'm there, things will take care of themselves. I haven't worried about getting back, either. Ni Ala sonna, I'll be a fully capable, energized, integrated, organized, and on-the-ball volunteer by the first full week in January. If not, Zamblala kaw are a forgiving crowd, and they have been patient so far. And as long as Sam is on, I'm ideally behind-the-scenes brain power, anyway. And when is Sam not on? Never. So an ka taa. Let's go!

As dinner time is fast approaching, and I'm getting less and less coherent (a decline from meager heights to begin with), I'm out. Peace, always. Love. Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year!

The Baseline

2009-12-11T22:20:00.001Z

Here are a few more disconnected things from my head:

I finally (just this evening) put something together to present my (unfinished) baseline survey to the world. If you're interested in a little more in-depth information on water and sanitation issues in my village, send me a message and I'll hook you up with my data.

Last Saturday, I went back to my homestay village for a night. They kicked the boyz out of 'my' room so Nagnouma and I could sleep in there together (although I would have been happy jammed into her room), and before I left on Sunday, Nagnouma cooked me really amazing lunch (they killed a chicken for me!) and everyone was super nice. I didn't get to see my togoma, as she was out of town, but I may go back next week with the other Sba PCVs. They treated me like I still couldn't say the most basic things in Bambara, and kept speaking around me without expecting me to comprehend. It made me feel both incompetent and smug at once, because I was once more a child in their eyes, but I knew I understood more than they guessed. I don't know if I wanted more pomp than I got or not, but it was just as if I had never left in so many ways. I spent a good chunk of the time just sitting with my little brothers making tea and chatting about ridiculousness.

Going from that back to Tubaniso for IST made the last three months tend to fade away almost to nothing. Except that I'm still in the hermit habit, so being here at training is hard for me. I feel obliged to socialize, but I'm spending most of my time alone (on the computer) or in one-on-one conversations (and not that many of those). The sessions, however, have so far been well planned and relevant. Most of them have even been interesting. Of course I got some requisite back-at-Tso sickness, but it's just the edges of a mild cold, so it hasn't really slowed me down. Except that I almost fell asleep in class today, but I took a long nap afterward, and I want to get a good chunk of sleep again tonight.

Seeing all these people again, with whom I had all those formative experiences in pre-service training, and now after three months we're all a little calmer... it's overwhelming. Seeing Colleen again, seeing all the Sba-ers, delights me, but I feel like a stranger amongst all these people. To be honest, I feel more isolated here than I do in my village. Even if I don't have even a language in common with some, there's a proprietary feeling that I belong (to? in? is it important in this context?) with the people of Zamblala. That being said, I'm not especially isolated either here or there, and I'm still feeling good. I think my mental state has actually improved over the last three months, to a higher plateau of good-feeling, if you will. You know sometimes you're really up, sometimes you're really down, and the rest of the time you're just at that neutral level? Well my neutral level is happier than it was in the states. Of course, this makes the plummet and the climb much more intense when I do get down, but it's not very often.

And for the moment, there's dance music pumping and relaxing to be done. God grant you the peace of the night!

In Service Training

2009-12-07T18:45:00.002Z

I'm aware that it's been over a month since I posted. I would apologize, but it's un-Malian. There isn't even really a translation for, "I'm sorry," in Bambara. What follows are some disconnected updates from the various sectors of my life.

The Monday before Thanksgiving, I went to a thoroughly American (at least as far as the food) Thanksgiving celebration in Sikasso Ville, with about 50 other PCVs and ex-pats. I ate my own weight in turkey, mashed potatoes, and pie. No cranberry sauce was forthcoming, but I was too full to complain (or do much of anything but lie on the couch). It was my intention to do lots of internetty good things on real Tgiving, but the internet died, so no dice. Now I'm back for more training in 'summer camp,' so I have internet access every day if I so choose.

I've attended a few Malian celebrations, including a wedding and several funerals. There was more crying than I expected at the former and less than I expected at the latter. Everyone has been working all day every day (except Sundays, funeral days, and other feast days) to bring the harvest in and assure nutrition for their families for another year, so an old man heading off to Heaven is treated like a holiday by those not in his immediate family. On the flip side, I was assured that it was a good tradition for the bride to spend the night before her wedding in tears - because she is leaving her family's home for good to go live in her groom's concession with his parents, grandparents, and other extended family members. I tend to suspect it had more to do with FGM for the bride who was moving half a kilometer across town than any fear of never seeing her mother again. Made me a little queasey, but she was smiley enough after the ceremony the next day, and it's important to be married in Mali. With rigid gender roles, neither men nor women can fully function alone, and to the extent that it enforces cooperation and togetherness I appreciate the idea.

To my family and anyone else feeling sorry for lil ole me out here, i nison diya! Cheer up! I'm feeling great. I'm quite happily at peace in my little village, and when I have to leave it's always for some happy thing like coming here to training to see all my PC friends again or going to Ghana to see 'Vito after Christmas (!!) or heading into Koutiala for some banking/post office-ing/interneting. I have everything I actually need, and a fair number of comfort items on top of that. I haven't started any projects yet, funded or otherwise, and thus have no need for that sort of support. Although I've been convinced that funded projects can easily do more harm than good if handled poorly, I probably will subsidize some soak pits or well repairs, and I solemnly promise to hit you ALL up for money when my project hits PCPP.

If you're thinking, "Not do funded projects? How could they be bad??" I recommend you look at some of the literature on development that is abundant in Peace Corps circles and probably available to the rest of the world showing that paternalisitic giving of things slows development down instead of helping people. If the community doesn't want something enough to work - to struggle even - they will not maintain it, repair it, replicate it, or really benefit from it. After all, I'm not here to fill Mali's need for trained professionals personally, but to enable Malians to do the work themselves. If you're really curious about this theory, I can recommend a book or two to you.

On a side note, my hair is like early '90s Lackey cover art and I kind of like it.

Peace and Love!

Lemons, I Have Down...

2009-11-06T16:53:00.004Z

But what do you do when life gives you boiled peanuts? Or more specifically, your friends and neighbors notice that since you haven't harvested any peanuts, you've escaped the inundation they are currently suffering, and help you out there. And you can't just say thanks and put them in a cupboard. I don't have cupboards, for one, and for two, boiled peanuts need care. They mold, and get sticky... it's just bad.

Anyway, the answer is: make peanut butter cookies! Except I can't for numerous reasons (I didn't have a recipe, you can't make peanut butter from boiled peanuts, you can't make peanut butter without either the appropriate rock configuration or a food processor (ha!)), so I made butter balls with lots of nuts in them. They fell apart; they tasted funny, especially the first batch with the mayonnaise and cinnamon; and I gobbled them down before they even cooled. Then I got lazy and just crushed some up and roasted them with a little oil and sugar, why bother with the flour and the mixing?

And with spare yams, which Sam's wife insists on giving me at least once a week, you can boil them, mash them, and bake them into your bread. Very interesting, especially if in between steps you seasoned them up for potato salad.

Tiganikuru (I thought they were chick peas, but now I don't think so, because they grow underground like peanuts and have to be shelled just like peanuts and come in steaming big recently-boiled-need-to-be-dried bags from helpful neighbors, just like peanuts) can be made in to hummus that is rather stellar, regardless of their status as actual chick peas or not. Just add oil and garlic and cook a little more (for sanitization of kitty chewing and grimy children hands helping with the shelling).

And now, after all this talk of food, it's time for my grilled cheese sandwich and a nap, maybe not in that order.

But perhaps I'll let you know what's going on in my life, first. I've actually started to do some work, in the shape of picking out exactly which questions I want to ask in my baseline survey and writing them all out to the best of my ability. I'm going to discuss them all with my homologue tomorrow after the market, which I would have done already if he hadn't had to go out of town for a funural this week. That's why he's not in any of the cotton-picking pictures, even though I took them all at or near his house.

Other than that, I'm simply living simply, trying to be a good Malian housewife (sweeping, cooking, washing dishes, washing clothes... all by hand and with very few shortcuts) while also being a good Malian good ol' boy (drinking tea, asking how ones whole family is, talking about what America is like and how to clean water), and sometimes staying sane. My bike helps a lot, because when I'm on it, the endorphins kick in, and even when it's just sitting in my yard looking pumped to go, it makes me feel free, like this whole country is my playground if I want to go there (even though I never do actually go anywhere unfamiliar alone - I don't trust my sense of direction).

As far as missing goes... It helps so much to know that you're safe and sound in America, eating good food every day you found at the grocery store (I dream of shopping Ameriki style at least twice a week), drinking clean water that came into your house on its own, peeing inside where it goes back away to get treated on its own, driving a car (or riding a bike, or even walking) on even, maintained, paved roads with rules that protect you and real safety features, and generally living where your life isn't predetermined by your gender, where you were born, or who your parents are. So please, go on living the good life, because it helps me out here. I miss you, but I'm always happy when I think of you. What I really want is to know that you're doing well. I know I have that long wish list, but while those things delight me, it's more important to get letters, cards, wall posts, text messages, and emails full of day-to-day good news about your lives in America. They say the people who disconnect the most do the best, but I am not far-sighted enough to see harm in cheery messages of little successes and happy chances. So please write when your dog graduates from Obedience Class 1, and let me know that you got a 96 on your last exam, and write about snow (it makes me smug, and only when I dream do I consider that I miss snow, too). I in turn, will try to send you little cards with my cheery day-to-day news, of the bugs my cat can catch now, of the new food my friends are heaping on me, of the schweet new dish I bought at market to store yams in.

My mind is a little hazy right now, it's been a long day of biking 30k on not enough sleep, eating food that upsets my stomach (but it tastes SO GOOD), and trying to cram two weeks of communication into one afternoon. My plan is to nap, to chat with my parents on Skype, and to get myself to sleep for real again by midnight here (6pm in TN, 7pm in NY and points east; now that Daylight Savings Time has ended). Tomorrow morning I am catching a ride all the way to the dirt track into my village, so I can afford to skimp on sleep a second day in a row, but my head and stomache will disapprove strongly if I don't rest soon. And nobody wants that.

Therefore, may your village find the morning peacefully, god grant you the peace of the night, and please tell everyone I say hi!

Soft Eyes

2009-10-21T12:24:00.002Z

This is an old man in a big tree. Consider yourself warned, children. The baobabs are out there.

I can not now remember whether it was in a letter, email, phone call, or meflaquine dream (I have extremely vivid but often pleasant dreams on the second or third day after I take my anti-malarial medication) but my mother reminded me to keep my eyes soft recently. This means to look ahead to the goal, but not be so focused that I don't see the obstacle before me or the dangers beside me. It's a literal thing, good for horseback riding and other moving sports (for example biking), but I've been thinking about it in a more figurative way lately. That's all.

I had a dream (exceedingly vivid, of course, because if it were like my normal dreams I would never have remembered it) about coming home from my service. In typical dream fashion, I met up with Daddy, Ella, and Dougie on Main Street in Pine Bush (not the airport...) and we happened to bump into Scott H, who in my dream owned a restaurant. We invited him out for pizza, but he said he had to go relieve his wife at the restaurant so we went with him and we all had steaks, even Dougie. This struck me as pretty odd because in my dream both Dougie and Scott were vegetarians, and I actually sort of sat back and wondered about it breifly before we got up and left the restaurant and Scott. Then we went to the library and snow was falling.

I bought some colored pencils and sometimes I sketch things now. Maybe by the time I get back I'll be an artist like Ella. Probably not, though. It's all good. It makes me happy to sit and sketch sometimes, so a banna. Other than that, nothing much has happened to me. Life is village is peaceful, and the things that seemed so exciting, so pressing... they don't qualify for a blog post, methinks. For example, I spent 4 or 5 hours at the butiki, chatting with some people, and in order to show his gratitude, the butiki owner gave me a big bag full of beans the next day. In the Malian way, he gave it to Sam to give to me. Sam's checking up on my cat for me this evening, in case any of you were worried about her all alone in my house. Not that I'm worried. Ahem.

Anyway, in general I'm quite well and I hope you're all equally well! Send me a message sometime soon! Happy early Halloween, in case I don't get back here before then. There are new photos in my facebook album if you're interested.

I am The Woman Who Rides With Pants

2009-10-09T19:33:00.005Z

First of all, I'm extraordinarily happy out here in my little village. I feel healthier, stronger, and more stable than I have in a long time. Syracuse can be hard on the soul and the immune system. So can giardia, but I'm finding that ample sunshine and cheerful people are balm for that. I miss my family, my friends, my familiar places, eating cheese whenever I want, sure. But it's not an overwhelming ache or something that interferes with my day-to-day. I think about my family, and I'm so glad to know that they're in America with clean water to drink every day and always enough healthy food, easy access to good education, and they never have to bargain to get their groceries. So I'm happy for them. I'm also happy for me, because even though every day there's something that pushes me, nothing is presse in Mali, so I can respond, work hard, and get past something (even if it's just teaching myself to ask Sam for help when I need it), or I can leave it for another day. There's so much room for Baobabs here. I was going to take a photo of one, but I haven't found the perfect one when I have a convenient scale. Someday soon, you'll see. The point is that there's no rushing here. No stress. Not for me just yet anyway.

Of course, in my whole month (minus a few hours) of being a Volunteer, I have yet to do anything but move into my house, essentially. I've greeted a few people, and biked around the area a little, but most of my time has been spent adjusting myself to my house and vice versa. Also, I got a cat, but that's a recent development. I'm calling her Babi, which was my nickname in Soundougouba. And I made a friend. That's pretty much the best thing to happen so far, Rache. She makes me laugh. We have some common ground. I love hanging out at her house; I love the way her mom already feels like some one's mom I've known forever, earthy and able to laugh at herself; I like that her brother doesn't hit on me, but treats me like another sister. She's always helpful, but not in a way that demeans what I can do for myself. She just wants to give me room to land on my feet, I think. I imagine that having spent time in the cities going to school and living alone gives her a perspective that many Malians haven't had a chance to see. We joke about how when you live alone, asking how the people in your house are is a silly question, so instead she asks me about my dishes, my cat, and my lizards. She doesn't mind when I ask stupid questions, and she understands that I don't know everything about Ameriki, or anything else for that matter, but she respects what I do know. If she's making assumptions about me, they're fair ones. She has a lot of faith, and although she shows it to me and offers to share it with me, she doesn't force anything. OK, enough praise for now. I promise you'll hear more good things about her and her family later.

Moving on to things I've been thinking about. I know, you want to hear more about the lizards that live in my house, the squashed hedgehogs all over the paved road (they come out when the moon is laughing, which it has been for the last several nights), and the blue-green birds with the long long tails that live in my neighbor's tree. However, they haven't been on my mind. The flora and fauna of Mali are, but they aren't on my mind. What is on my mind is how much this is like so much of what I love about fantasy novels. I like the complex societal rules that govern who defers to who on what matters, the unfamiliar ways of doing daily tasks, a great deal of dependence on others, with examples of how independence can both liberate and cripple me. And it's all real. If you bend your mind a little to the idea that cell phones and motos are magical, then I am actually living a fantasy novel. I am Alanna, teaching children about technology (magic) and gender equality, and being an example for the whole village, slowly getting accepted by the elders, battling my own inner problems quietly (if I should come upon a cursed sword, that is), and in the end everyone comes out better for it and I travel around and do other good deeds in another book. ...Or something like that.

And just like Alanna struggled with the religion of the people she lives with, because it has familiar elements, but isn't what she's accustomed to, I've been thinking a lot about religion. My village is Christian, but when I thought about it at all, I just assumed that it meant that we didn't fast for Ramadan and we could eat pork. But it isn't something they just say and ignore, these people FEEL their religion. I once read something about religion being resurgent among the poorest people in the world (and Malians certainly qualify there) because fatalism sounds much nicer when you're probably going to die soon anyway, but then you can hang out with Jesus. And the young people, the educated people, the people who get out of my village to study and then to work in the cities... those people are so grateful for their opportunities, their health, the chance to support their families in the village and make a future for their children. It's overwhelming, really, the gratitude and the fatalism all swirled together. And being that our church is Evangelical, we spend a full hour singing every Sunday morning before we even begin to pray or give donations or anything else. We sing joyous songs and everyone claps and dances. I don't understand all of the words, but I get a lot of them, and they're words of thanksgiving and faith. I really like it.

This is the side of Christianity I've always been attracted to, and so far (although this could be due to my only understanding the last word of each sentence due to the acoustics and my lack of language skills) no one has dwelled on fires of any kind, or sin, or damnation. Not that I know the Bambara for damnation, but I don't think anyone's mentioned it to me, because they would probably have made it clear. People who worry about that kind of thing don't tend to be ambivalent. Instead, it's the 'I shall fear no evil' side of things. I think about when Edie told me once that she knew she believed in God because she wasn't afraid to walk alone at night; he was there with her. I went to Rache's in the dark the other day and they asked me if I was afraid, and I wasn't. Not because I was thinking about God, but because I moved across the Atlantic alone, so what was half the village to cross? And yet, it applies, because I don't feel alone here. I don't know if it's God... but maybe. Maybe I'll find Yesu here. Or maybe I'll still be as faithless as before. But it's on my mind.

And there you have it. My first month as a volunteer: New Friend, Kitten, Alanna, and Jesus. And being happy.

I love you all, and I hope that you are well. Please greet your family for me!

Startling News

2009-09-29T22:26:00.003Z

Brace yourself. You knew things would change. I'm going through a lot of stuff, and I need to adjust, OK? Don't judge me! So I requested a cucumber-tomato salad for dinner for a second night in a row. So what??

OK. It's strange. But they're fresh and juicy. And they're pretty much the only vegetables I can get.

Also, I may find Jesus. My town is Christian. Very very Christian. We say grace. We spend at least 3 hours in church every Sunday. We pray every time we want something. For example, we prayed for my new best Malian friend Rach to find a good husband. I have pretty much always struggles with blind faith, but I'm not that into lip service either... so I either need to try to start believing or find a graceful way to bow out of services.

Back to Rach: She's incredibly selfless, smart (has her teaching certificate), hardworking, and fun to be around. I highly recommend her. Her brother asked me to find her an Ameriken cε. He also asked if my mom were interested in a Malian husband (thinking of himself...). I told him that she might be too old for him, but he said he was still interested! But that family likes to tease. They're sort of set away from the rest of the village, so it's nice to go there to escape the steady stream of visitors I get and just relax. I have napped there, read a book there, eaten quite a few meals there. Eating with that family is kind of like seeing a unicorn. They all wash their hands with soap before and after every meal. Not just the ones I'm eating with, not just the young educated ones... all of them. Even the musɔkɔrɔba. It's beautiful. Even if it only happens when I'm there. And Rach soaks her veggies in bleach-water before she eats them in salad! Hope springs eternal!

Anyway, I'm only here for one day, so I'm not actually updating . I just wanted to let you all know I'm still here and post that bit about the tomatoes and cucumbers.

Also: New photos filε.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELLA!!!!

Tasty Dinner

2009-09-16T22:20:00.003Z

I went to someone's house for dinner tonight, and as I was munching I realized that I should share some of the authentic Malian cuisine cooked by authentic Malians that I have eaten. So here's tonight's feast:

Salad: Lettuce, tomatoes, and onions, drenched with oil, sprinkled with Maggi (like bullion), drizzled with vinegar, and topped with fried plantains. Yup, you read that bit right. Fried plantains. Don't forget to dip your french bread into this, even if you don't think this is a bread-dipping kind of food. There's enough oil in it to soak your bread chunks.

Main Course: This is boring in comparison, but we had big elbow macaronis with chicken on top. The seasoning was mild, which I heartily appreciated. There was enough so that none of us could finish it.

I realize this doesn't sound overwhelming, but I promise it's delicious and filling.

OK, I'm sleepy. Goodnight!

Glossary

2009-09-15T14:49:00.007Z

Here are definitions of many terms I may use that are Peace Corps-ian, Malian, or simply me-ian slang. Please comment and let me know if you need anything else defined!

AdminSep: Administratively Separated - what happens when you do something really bad and against the rules. This is like being fired, essentially.
American Club: A recreation facility run by Americans in Bamako where PCVs can go to swim in the pool, play tennis, and eat cheeseburgers
Ameriki: Bambara for America
Ane Dembele: My Malian name at my site. Pronounced as if all the 'e's were accented (é) (the sound is 'ay' in English)
Bamako (Bko): The capital city in Mali. While it's not exactly NYC, it is a large city with some shiny sky-scraper type buildings and the like. Being shy of cities, I avoid it, although there is real ice cream to be had in there.
Bambara: The main language spoken in Mali. Although it is not universal, it tends to be the most useful language for getting around in. This is the language I studied during training. In Bambara, it is called Bamanankan
Basi tε: No trouble
BCamp: This is short for a village near my home stay village that is slightly larger than Soundougouba
bff / nbf: best friends forever / new best friends
Boukari Diarra: My original Malian name from my home stay village. The name of my cat.
Concession: Concession is the word for the whole of someone's 'house' including any buildings and the courtyard. This is typically walled in. People don't necessarily spend much time inside the buildings, but instead treat the whole courtyard as their home, eating and socializing primarily out of doors.
COS: Close of Service, which I will probably do in September of 2011 or near to then.
cε: Both man and husband. Also used in relationship words like older and younger brother.
Donni donni (dɔɔni dɔɔni): Bambara for small small which means everything from 'slow down!' to 'little by little'
Dugutigi: The chief of the village
Dulai: One of the boys who lived in my concession in my home stay village, and the one that I spent the most time chatting and practicing Bambara with. Also, Dura's little brother
Dura: Someone from my home stay village who speaks English
ET: Early Termination, what it is called when someone leaves the Peace Corps without completing their two years of service without an extenuating circumstance.
Fali: Bambara for donkey - both a common means of transport and an insult
filε: "Is here" or "look at this thing I just said" when preceded by a noun
Greeting: This is an important social activity for Malians, consisting of asking repeatedly after one's health, the health of one's whole family (by name if you know them), and the peacefulness of the preceding time. If someone is ill, has been or is about to travel, has had some kind of life change, or possibly just for the heck of it, you bless them several times.
Hangar: This includes many wall-less structures that might be called gazebos, sheds, pavilions, or something else entirely that serve to keep sun and rain off of us without slowing down any breezes (or any bugs)
Hehreh (Hεrε, ka su hεrε caya): Peace / May you have a peaceful night
Home stay: The small village about an 40 minutes outside of Bamako where I lived during some of training.
Homologue: The person I will work with on just about everything all of the time. He is my go-to person for cultural questions, job questions, and every-day life questions.
I ni tile!: Good day, roughly
Jatigi: My host-father, a rather gruff man who sometimes looks at me as if he has no idea what the hell I'm doing wherever I am, even though I am starting to get into the Malian habit of announcing really obvious actions (like when I carry my empty bucket toward the pump, I tell people I'm going to get water).
jellies: Jelly shoes. They're all the rage here. For men. Yup.
kaw: The people of wherever precedes it, for example, I grew up as part of Orange County Kaw, even though my house was in Ulster County
kɔrɔba (cεkɔrɔba & musɔkɔrɔba): Very old (very old man & very old woman) and therefore deserving of respect and deference
Koutiala: The city nearest my site. I go there for my bank, the post office, the gendarme station, to see other volunteers, to use the internet, and to buy cheese.
med unit: The Medical Unit in Bamako, where PCVs go to get patched up or to do regular check-ups with the PCMOs
MedSep: Medically Separated - what happens when someone has a long-term health issue that can not be dealt with in country, of which there are many
Minanka: This is the first language of most people in my village. I don't know very much (read: any!) of it yet, but I hope to learn some. The fact that my villagers don't speak Bambara as their mother tongue makes their Bambara very deliberate and slang-free, which I appreciate thoroughly
Munsoro: Bambara for head-scarf, I've really taken to this head-wrapping thing
musɔ: Both woman and wife. Also used in relationship words like female friend and sister.
Nanyuma: My home stay village little sister. She makes delicious food!
Nyegen (ŋεgεn): This is Bambara for latrine. Basically this means a pit with a slab over it behind a wall. You do your business into the hole in the slab, although often urine simply runs out of the nyegen into the streets. This is called nyegen-ji or latrine-water. This is why soak-pits are so important
ORS: Oral Re-hydration Salts - basically water, sugar, and salt. Period. Ick. However, with the heat and basically any kind of disease, it's very easy to get dehydrated and end up needing some.
PC: Peace Corps
PCMO: Peace Corps Medical Officers
Rache: One of my best friends in village, who is unfortunately not actually in village any more, as she has gone off to work in a school 50km outside Koutiala in another direction.
Risky Business: The name of my stage, or the sixty-something people I swore in as a volunteer with
Salidaga: Basically, a salidaga is a plastic teapot filled with water that is the basic sanitation method used instead of toilet paper here. This is why washing ones hands with soap is such an essential thing to do.
Sam: My homologue (see homologue), who has 4 kids, an awesome wife, and a really nice old mother who blesses me rapidly every time I visit.
Site: The small village, 30 kilometers outside of Koutiala when I live and work.
Skype: A telephone-through-internet service that I use. If you should need to get in touch with me urgently, I recommend using Skype to text-message my Malian cell phone with a call-back number, which I will respond to within 24 hours, probably. Also, we can video chat when I am in Koutiala, if you need to see me to believe that I'm still ok.
Soak Pit: Soak pits are basically 2 cubic meter covered holes filled with big rocks (bigger than your head) where water is piped in and allowed to infiltrate slowly without puddling in the street or providing mosquito breeding grounds. In my training facebook album I have a few pictures of soak-pit construction.
Soundougouba: The name of my home stay village
Stage: A 'class' of volunteers. This is a French word pronounced staaj. Each year the previous year's volunteers give the new stage a name. I am in the 2009 stage, and we are called Risky Business.
Stage House: Someplace to sleep when I go to my banking town, also to get internet, talk to another volunteer, get a real shower, and use a real stove/oven.
Tafe: Bambara for a wrap skirt. Also called a pagne.
tɔgɔma: Someone with the same name as you. I chose my jatigimusɔ's name when I moved to my village so my host mom is my tɔgɔma's (Ane also). She's the sort of little old woman who doesn't put up with nonsense, but is easy to please with little gestures of appreciation.
tigi: The boss of whatever precedes it (for example, I am often considered he Excel-tigi… I even keep this glossary in Excel)
Toubab: What Malians call white people, especially French people, the French language is even called Toubabakan sometimes
Tubaniso: The training center Peace Corps uses. It is extremely similar to summer camp with huts for sleeping in (although no bunk-beds), a dining hall (called the refectoire, usually), a medical office, classrooms, a small library, and many hangars for learning under.
w: w is added at the end of words to make them plural the way we add s
Waari (tan, mugan, bi-naani, kεmε, mille): Money. They use a base-5 system that means a kεmε is 500 cfa and worth about one USD. The thing is that kεmε means '100'. Don't think too much about it, because you'll get a headache. I certainly do.
WAIST: West African Invitational Softball Tournament - Many PCVs from all over West Africa go to this event in Senegal every February. Since I haven't been here for one yet, that's all I really know.
WatSan: Water and Sanitation, my Peace Corps Sector, basically consisting of soak pit building and teaching people about hand washing
Zamblala: My permanent site, a village of around 1000 people with one India-Mali pump and a lot of sketchy wells, two dams, very very few soak pits, a few solar panels, a really big church, and zillions of mango trees