Greetings,
It's been almost three months since my last post. The reason being that this period of my service has been quite miserable and I was interested neither in incurring your concerns and worries, nor sugar coating my time here. But alas, I do my best to keep an honest portrayal of my life as a Peace Corps volunteer and it's past time I fill you in. I'm yet to even describe The Gambia to you so allow me to start there.
This sliver of a country I'm living in is the smallest on continental Africa. It's literally just The Gambia river and the immediate lands north and south there of. I've heard it's roughly the size of Connecticut, I'm not certain but that sounds about right. It borders the Atlantic Ocean on the west coast and is surrounded by Senegal on all other sides. It was initially a British colony as opposed to French controlled Senegal. Although I'm not sure how Senegal didn't manage to annex it once the two countries gained independence, especially given the fact that the Gambia is more fertile than most of Senegal and the Gambia river is also the largest, most navigable river between the two countries. I understand there was a loose confederation between the two states known as Senegambia. It lasted from 1982 to 1989 when the two countries rather peacefully decided it wasn't worth their time. Another interesting fact, Kunta Kinte, central character of Roots, as well as a whole lot of other West Africans were abducted into slavery from The Gambia.
For the last 18 years, The Gambia has been blessedly guided under the impeccable stewardship of "His Excellency Sheikh Professor Alhagi Dr. Yahya Abdul-Azziz Jemus Junkung Jammeh Nassiru Deen, President of The Gambia, Commander-In-Chief of The Armed Forces, and Chief Custodian of The Sacred Constitution of The Gambia". But you can just call him Jammeh for short. He just won another landslide "election" last year so hooray for him. And if that wasn't awesome enough, he can also cure AIDS and asthma with natural herbs! ...erhm. Anyways, The Gambia is culturally very similar to Mali and the rest of Muslim West Africa. The major language spoken here is Mandinka, a derivative of Bambara. Wollof and Fula are the other common languages in addition to pockets of Jola, Sarahole, and others. English is the administrative language and one of the main reasons I chose to finish my service here rather than Francophone Senegal, Burkina Faso, Guinea, or Cameroon. Perhaps I'm biased, but I have to say, the Gambia cannot touch Mali when it comes to culture. Then again, no country really can seeing as how Mali is the heart of West Africa. Geographically, however, The Gambia does have quite a bit to offer. It has a much wider variety of flora and fauna than Mali as well as a more tropical climate. It's access to the ocean and the Gambia river act as a corridor for an incredible variety of birds. Indeed, it is a bird watcher's paradise. During my first week here I did a 12 K hike around the west coast area. I got to see grasslands, marshes, mangroves, salt flats, and old growth forest all within that range. Monkeys, baboons, hippos, crocodiles and boars are also far more common here than in Mali. It's a pretty beautiful place.
When I first met with my program manager and administration upon coming to The Gambia, I specifically requested a site where I wouldn't need to use local languages and that had projects ready to roll. Having already spent more than half of my service in Mali, I do not have the time to both learn a new language and build up a project or two from scratch. Unfortunately but perhaps unsurprisingly, I was given pretty much the opposite of my request. I was placed in a town called Somita. It's part of the West Coast Region and not far from the capital, Banjul. If I had a full 27 months to spend there, I think it would have been a great site for me but given my aforementioned restrictions, I felt rather useless. In fact, I've been down about a lot of things since coming here. Yes, yes boo-hoo for poor old me. Bare with me as I describe the shit storm that's been my life for the last couple months before we get to my current, slightly more positive outlook... I imagined the transition from Mali would be rough but I didn't realize to what extent. Like any volunteer, I've had my share of challenges throughout my service, but this period has undoubtedly been the hardest yet. I miss Mali a good deal and all my friends there, both nationals and other volunteers. I was hitting a good stride in Mali just before the coup happened with some promising projects in the works. I thought I'd be able to keep that motivation coming here but it quickly vanished. There's good reason we're given 2+ years to work as volunteers. It takes at least a year to reach the point where you feel comfortable not only with the language but also the community you've been placed with. You need to learn which community members you can trust and rely on and the community needs to be able to trust the volunteer. On top of that, it takes a lot of time just to be able to develop a personality within your community. Something obviously taken for granted but rather difficult when you have the vocabulary of a 4 year old. Moreover, volunteers are supposed to have one site throughout their service. Somita was my third and it seems it won't be my last. I have just about no patience or motivation left to go through the customary meet and greet phase of being a volunteer. That should all take place during the first couple months after training ends. August 2nd will mark a year and a half since coming to Africa, and yet here I am, still meeting and greeting yet another new community, in a different country from which i started, and in a new language. Finally, after 18 months of being here, a lot of the adventure's lustre has waned. It's becoming more challenging to deal with the realities of living in the 3rd world. I'm tired of shit food, shitty living conditions, shittier transport and people literally shitting wherever they damn well please.
So what am I still doing here? That's a question I've asked myself ad nauseam. I've been on the verge of quitting a few times. I even went so far as to tell some friends and family as well as my program manager that I wanted to quit. And just when I was absolutely certain I was going to go through with it, I found that I couldn't. Mostly I think it comes down to pride. I signed up for 27 months and I want to see it through. Given how little time I've spent at any one site, I don't feel I've accomplished anything yet. Plus it's not like they're just handing out jobs in America right now. In fact, a lot of the volunteers who went home after Mali say they wish more than anything they could go back to the Peace Corps life. Despite all the stress and frustrations I just described, it's still a pretty amazing way of life I get to enjoy. Perhaps tomorrow I'll wake up and decide I want to travel up country, visit some other volunteers, maybe try to go find some hippos or something. Perhaps I'll save up some of my monthly allowance and take a trip through Guinea and Sierra Leone in the next few months. Or maybe I'll just sit and knock out War & Peace over the next 3 days. There won't be much stopping me.
Immediately after telling my program manager I wanted to leave, I offered the caveat that if he could find a site like the one I initially requested, I might just continue to grace him and The Gambia with my awesome presence... or something along those lines. Luckily, there happened to be such a site. I'll be moving to a nice sized town called Farafenni. It's located about halfway up country on the north bank and is just a couple k from the Senegalese border. I'll be working at a vocational school called the Anglican Training Centre. They focus heavily on sustainable agriculture. I was impressed with their grounds and ambitions. They're clearly motivated and invested. English is pretty much the only language spoken on their campus. They have a couple demo gardens going, a tree nursery, honey cultivation, and poultry production among other projects. Most of these projects are in their infancy and there seems to be ample opportunity for me to assist in and improve the work they are doing. The notion of tackling my 4th site is more than daunting but it does seem that this is perhaps the work opportunity I've been waiting for since coming to Africa. I suppose I'll find out soon enough.
P&L
Rege
Monday, July 30, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
COUP-OCALYPSE NOW or How I Came to be a Volunteer in The Gambia
Shalom,
This post is past due. I've been meaning to get around to it for a minute but there have been quite a few distractions over the past several weeks. That and I've needed a modicum of perspective to help process this whole, um, Mali meltdown thing. So I suppose I'll start from the beginning. Make yourself a tea and get comfy.
I'm going to assume ya'll know there was a coup d'état in Mali about seven weeks ago. Here's a bit of Malian history to catch you up. There's an ethnic minority, the Tuaregs, that have dwelled in the wastelands/Sahara desert for just about ever. They are Arab rather than Black African, nomadic pastoralists, and like many such groups have a colorful and bellicose history full of violent land seizures, rebellions, and general bad-assedness. Not that I want to generalize them too much. They're certainly not all war-mongers. But let's say when you have a group of people marching their camels and cattle through the Sahara, travelling at times hundreds of kilometers in search of a single well or grazing lands, it's not hard to see how a particular environment can mold such an identity. It also didn't help that last year's rainy season was miserable and their part of the country is now drought and famine stricken, even by their standards. So with that in mind, let's turn our attention to Libya.
Yes Libya. You see, before Mali's dear friend and investor, Col. Gaddafi, was torn to pieces by his people this past October, he had managed to recruit a large number of Malian Tuaregs to fight for his side. So after that fizzled a bunch of them returned, largely unwanted, to a famine and drought stricken country with a shit ton of arms. Trouble ensues. Tuaregs, specifically the MLNA (National Movement for the Liberation of Azawad [or colloquialy referred to as Ass-wad] ), moved south from the Kidal region bordering Algeria and have proceeded to advance town by town, humiliating and allegedly massacring the Malian military along the way. Enter the Coup.
On March 21st, a small faction of the military led by a 39 year old Capt. Amadou Sanogo bloodlessly ousted the sitting President, ATT (Amadou Toumani Touré) and proclaimed himself head of state. The reason being: Sanogo felt ATT was corrupt, incompetent, and purposefully allowing the Tuaregs to advance as a ploy to remain President for an unconstitutional third term. All of which is bullshit. ATT's second term was set to expire barely a month after the coup d'état took place and there was little if any indication he was interested in power grabs or extending his reign. In fact, it was ATT who led a rebellion over two decades ago, ending a dictatorship, leading an interim government, refraining from contesting in the country's first two elections and then winning two fair elections as President in 2002 and 2007. He essentially began the strongest democratic movement in Mali's history and what was a shining example of home grown democracy in West Africa up until now. Which of course makes his ouster that much more infuriating and depressing.
Anyways, imagine my surprise the morning of March 21st when I woke up to the news that the country I've been living in for the past 14 months just kicked out its sitting President and was under the command of a military junta. I immediately ran over to Daoda's house (my counterpart) and asked him if he knew what was up. He rather calmly said, "Oh yeah, ATT is on the run, they cut the radio and tv, and the borders are probably closed... So how was your morning? Did you sleep in peace? How is your family? How was your breakfast? What are we gonna do today? What?! You didn't eat breakfast yet? Oh this is very bad, here have some of mine." Perhaps I shouldn't be too surprised, given the checkered political history of many African states, but it seemed I thought this was a bigger deal than anyone else in my village. For the next four or five days, all volunteers were ordered to stay at their villages and keep a low profile. After that, we were consolidated to our regional capitals indefinitely. I spent the following 11 days sharing a tiny transit house with about 13 or so other volunteers. Amazingly, we didn't kill each other, nor was there any sign of coup activity or anything resembling chaos in my region of Mali. Still, spending every waking minute over-analyzing peace corps emails, embassy texts, and international news updates provided plenty of stress. One day we'd interpret the signs to say we were all going to be evacuated and sent home, then duly tried to get our heads in that mind frame. But then the next day brought seven black crows flying to the west and clearly this meant things would blow over and we'd be able to finish our service in Mali, so we duly put our heads back into that mind frame. Day after day, group think and ridiculous analysis of the most minute and seemingly meaningless updates dominated conversation. After day four or so I did my best to say fuck it, let whatever comes come, but I don't have the energy to try to read tea leaves every five minutes. Although, I will say that for the most part I was of the opinion that our time in Mali was quickly coming to an end. I was right... hooray (or not).
Of course the Tuaregs, being of at least average intelligence and reason, took this opportunity of mayhem and disorder in Bamako to strengthen their position in the North. As we read updates about the coup leadership and threats of sanctions from other West African states, we also noticed that the MNLA had sacked the entire northern half of the country including the 3 major cities of Gao, Kidal, and Timbuktu. Additionally, there were reports of fighting as far south as the Mopti region (central Mali) where volunteers were posted. Great job Capt. Sanogo on restoring pride and honor to Mali and the military! Furthermore an organization known as ECOWAS (Economic Community of West African States) was threatening to freeze Mali out of the community's shared currency, the cfa, as well as cut off all oil imports. Want to see a landlocked member of a monetary union come to a screeching halt? Just cut off the money and the gas. Sanogo was given a few days to step down an peacefully transfer power back to duly elected officials or said sanctions would go into effect. Big surprise, Sanogo didn't abide by any of the terms. With the sanctions going into effect, political instability in Bamako and a burdgeoning civil war in the North, our administration both in Mali and Washington decided it was time to go. I am proud to say we were the last international aid organization out of Mali, even some embassies had already closed before our organization decided to pull out. There really isn't any other development program like Peace Corps. Yeah, we're badasses, and we know it.
Next up, we were all (190 of us) consolidated to our training compound, Tubani So, outside of Bamako to prepare for our evacutaion. I think we were there for four or five days and they were my last in Mali. Surreal for too many reasons. We left Tubani So on April 18th for the Bamako airport and arrived in Ghana that evening. We were flown to Ghana so that we could do our COS (Close of Service) conference in a country that wasn't falling apart. Normally, one does this conference right before COSing, crazy right? Regardless of whether we were going to end our service in Mali, transfer to a new post, or take one of the other options, everybody had to do all of the COS paperwork, medical exams, description of service, close bank accounts, financial rigamarole, exit interviews, etc. The whole process went a lot smoother than I thought it would, at least from the business end. It wasn't much fun, however, saying goodbye to the people who at times got me through the last 14 months. We stay in touch though, still have that network. And of course, I had about 24 hours to decide if I wanted to return home or head straight to The Gambia. There were a slew of seemingly major decisions popping up over those five days, but that one was the cheddar (pretty sure I made the right call though). I spent another five days in Ghana doing a bit of travelling. Got to do some rainforest walks, hiked barefoot to the highest waterfalls in West Africa and paddled up the Volta River. Spent those days with some good friends from Mali to boot. And then it was Air Nigeria to Banjul, The Gambia, smallest country on the African mainland.
Seeing as how I've already written half a novel, I'll skim on The Gambia details for now. Suffice it to say that it's a very likeable place in spite of the circumstances in which I entered it. More to come on that later. I'm still transitioning, probably gonna hit a couple more lows before I really feel like a part of things here, but I am feeling better everyday. I move into my permanent site on Monday and can barely wait. Seven weeks of complete upheaval, watching a country I've come to love crumble, endless mind games as to what tomorrow will bring, losing my Malian family and my Peace Corps family, leaving work unfinished, knowing how much this turmoil is going to hurt everyday Malians, reading about new terrorist organizations entering Mali... It's fucked up, simple as that. Timbuktu, a city with one of the most robust cultural heritages in West Africa has succumbed to sharia law. I don't know. It's certainly not the way I envisioned my time ending in Mali, but it is what it is. In spite of this whole shit storm Mali has suffered, I've met enough of them to know that they will overcome. Unnaturally formed from French colonialism, half in the desert, plagued by drought, famine, and malaria, the gateway from Arab to Black Africa, Mali has always been a hard place and a fascinating one. People here have seen worse and carried on. There's no reason to think they'll give up now. So there it is. My favorite Malian saying goes as such: I taara i ka so, I naana i ka so -- You left your home to come to your home. Nothing could be more true. So many Malians I've met, some of the poorest people on this planet, welcomed me without question and made me a part of their family from day one. It's often been embarrassing and humbling how generous they've been to me. I'm so lucky I got to spend time in this part of the world and I can only hope I'll be able to return some day. But for now, let's see what The Gambia has to offer.
Peace and Love,
Rege
This post is past due. I've been meaning to get around to it for a minute but there have been quite a few distractions over the past several weeks. That and I've needed a modicum of perspective to help process this whole, um, Mali meltdown thing. So I suppose I'll start from the beginning. Make yourself a tea and get comfy.
I'm going to assume ya'll know there was a coup d'état in Mali about seven weeks ago. Here's a bit of Malian history to catch you up. There's an ethnic minority, the Tuaregs, that have dwelled in the wastelands/Sahara desert for just about ever. They are Arab rather than Black African, nomadic pastoralists, and like many such groups have a colorful and bellicose history full of violent land seizures, rebellions, and general bad-assedness. Not that I want to generalize them too much. They're certainly not all war-mongers. But let's say when you have a group of people marching their camels and cattle through the Sahara, travelling at times hundreds of kilometers in search of a single well or grazing lands, it's not hard to see how a particular environment can mold such an identity. It also didn't help that last year's rainy season was miserable and their part of the country is now drought and famine stricken, even by their standards. So with that in mind, let's turn our attention to Libya.
Yes Libya. You see, before Mali's dear friend and investor, Col. Gaddafi, was torn to pieces by his people this past October, he had managed to recruit a large number of Malian Tuaregs to fight for his side. So after that fizzled a bunch of them returned, largely unwanted, to a famine and drought stricken country with a shit ton of arms. Trouble ensues. Tuaregs, specifically the MLNA (National Movement for the Liberation of Azawad [or colloquialy referred to as Ass-wad] ), moved south from the Kidal region bordering Algeria and have proceeded to advance town by town, humiliating and allegedly massacring the Malian military along the way. Enter the Coup.
On March 21st, a small faction of the military led by a 39 year old Capt. Amadou Sanogo bloodlessly ousted the sitting President, ATT (Amadou Toumani Touré) and proclaimed himself head of state. The reason being: Sanogo felt ATT was corrupt, incompetent, and purposefully allowing the Tuaregs to advance as a ploy to remain President for an unconstitutional third term. All of which is bullshit. ATT's second term was set to expire barely a month after the coup d'état took place and there was little if any indication he was interested in power grabs or extending his reign. In fact, it was ATT who led a rebellion over two decades ago, ending a dictatorship, leading an interim government, refraining from contesting in the country's first two elections and then winning two fair elections as President in 2002 and 2007. He essentially began the strongest democratic movement in Mali's history and what was a shining example of home grown democracy in West Africa up until now. Which of course makes his ouster that much more infuriating and depressing.
Anyways, imagine my surprise the morning of March 21st when I woke up to the news that the country I've been living in for the past 14 months just kicked out its sitting President and was under the command of a military junta. I immediately ran over to Daoda's house (my counterpart) and asked him if he knew what was up. He rather calmly said, "Oh yeah, ATT is on the run, they cut the radio and tv, and the borders are probably closed... So how was your morning? Did you sleep in peace? How is your family? How was your breakfast? What are we gonna do today? What?! You didn't eat breakfast yet? Oh this is very bad, here have some of mine." Perhaps I shouldn't be too surprised, given the checkered political history of many African states, but it seemed I thought this was a bigger deal than anyone else in my village. For the next four or five days, all volunteers were ordered to stay at their villages and keep a low profile. After that, we were consolidated to our regional capitals indefinitely. I spent the following 11 days sharing a tiny transit house with about 13 or so other volunteers. Amazingly, we didn't kill each other, nor was there any sign of coup activity or anything resembling chaos in my region of Mali. Still, spending every waking minute over-analyzing peace corps emails, embassy texts, and international news updates provided plenty of stress. One day we'd interpret the signs to say we were all going to be evacuated and sent home, then duly tried to get our heads in that mind frame. But then the next day brought seven black crows flying to the west and clearly this meant things would blow over and we'd be able to finish our service in Mali, so we duly put our heads back into that mind frame. Day after day, group think and ridiculous analysis of the most minute and seemingly meaningless updates dominated conversation. After day four or so I did my best to say fuck it, let whatever comes come, but I don't have the energy to try to read tea leaves every five minutes. Although, I will say that for the most part I was of the opinion that our time in Mali was quickly coming to an end. I was right... hooray (or not).
Of course the Tuaregs, being of at least average intelligence and reason, took this opportunity of mayhem and disorder in Bamako to strengthen their position in the North. As we read updates about the coup leadership and threats of sanctions from other West African states, we also noticed that the MNLA had sacked the entire northern half of the country including the 3 major cities of Gao, Kidal, and Timbuktu. Additionally, there were reports of fighting as far south as the Mopti region (central Mali) where volunteers were posted. Great job Capt. Sanogo on restoring pride and honor to Mali and the military! Furthermore an organization known as ECOWAS (Economic Community of West African States) was threatening to freeze Mali out of the community's shared currency, the cfa, as well as cut off all oil imports. Want to see a landlocked member of a monetary union come to a screeching halt? Just cut off the money and the gas. Sanogo was given a few days to step down an peacefully transfer power back to duly elected officials or said sanctions would go into effect. Big surprise, Sanogo didn't abide by any of the terms. With the sanctions going into effect, political instability in Bamako and a burdgeoning civil war in the North, our administration both in Mali and Washington decided it was time to go. I am proud to say we were the last international aid organization out of Mali, even some embassies had already closed before our organization decided to pull out. There really isn't any other development program like Peace Corps. Yeah, we're badasses, and we know it.
Next up, we were all (190 of us) consolidated to our training compound, Tubani So, outside of Bamako to prepare for our evacutaion. I think we were there for four or five days and they were my last in Mali. Surreal for too many reasons. We left Tubani So on April 18th for the Bamako airport and arrived in Ghana that evening. We were flown to Ghana so that we could do our COS (Close of Service) conference in a country that wasn't falling apart. Normally, one does this conference right before COSing, crazy right? Regardless of whether we were going to end our service in Mali, transfer to a new post, or take one of the other options, everybody had to do all of the COS paperwork, medical exams, description of service, close bank accounts, financial rigamarole, exit interviews, etc. The whole process went a lot smoother than I thought it would, at least from the business end. It wasn't much fun, however, saying goodbye to the people who at times got me through the last 14 months. We stay in touch though, still have that network. And of course, I had about 24 hours to decide if I wanted to return home or head straight to The Gambia. There were a slew of seemingly major decisions popping up over those five days, but that one was the cheddar (pretty sure I made the right call though). I spent another five days in Ghana doing a bit of travelling. Got to do some rainforest walks, hiked barefoot to the highest waterfalls in West Africa and paddled up the Volta River. Spent those days with some good friends from Mali to boot. And then it was Air Nigeria to Banjul, The Gambia, smallest country on the African mainland.
Seeing as how I've already written half a novel, I'll skim on The Gambia details for now. Suffice it to say that it's a very likeable place in spite of the circumstances in which I entered it. More to come on that later. I'm still transitioning, probably gonna hit a couple more lows before I really feel like a part of things here, but I am feeling better everyday. I move into my permanent site on Monday and can barely wait. Seven weeks of complete upheaval, watching a country I've come to love crumble, endless mind games as to what tomorrow will bring, losing my Malian family and my Peace Corps family, leaving work unfinished, knowing how much this turmoil is going to hurt everyday Malians, reading about new terrorist organizations entering Mali... It's fucked up, simple as that. Timbuktu, a city with one of the most robust cultural heritages in West Africa has succumbed to sharia law. I don't know. It's certainly not the way I envisioned my time ending in Mali, but it is what it is. In spite of this whole shit storm Mali has suffered, I've met enough of them to know that they will overcome. Unnaturally formed from French colonialism, half in the desert, plagued by drought, famine, and malaria, the gateway from Arab to Black Africa, Mali has always been a hard place and a fascinating one. People here have seen worse and carried on. There's no reason to think they'll give up now. So there it is. My favorite Malian saying goes as such: I taara i ka so, I naana i ka so -- You left your home to come to your home. Nothing could be more true. So many Malians I've met, some of the poorest people on this planet, welcomed me without question and made me a part of their family from day one. It's often been embarrassing and humbling how generous they've been to me. I'm so lucky I got to spend time in this part of the world and I can only hope I'll be able to return some day. But for now, let's see what The Gambia has to offer.
Peace and Love,
Rege
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Festival sur le Niger, Market Days & Winemaking
Aw ne che,
Hope everyone is doing well. It's been a great month and I have a few stories to tell. About 140 of my best volunteer friends and I, as well as thousands of Malians, West Africans, and other travelers descended on Ségou, the old capitol of the Bambara Kingdom, for the Festival sur le Niger. The music and cultural festival is an annual event in its eighth year and featured some of Mali's and Africa's best musicians. Admittedly, this year missed a few of the biggest headliners (eg. Vieux Farka Toure, Baba Salla, and Amadou & Miriam). Regardless, it was still a great time with some awesome performances especially from Salif Keita and Rokia Traore. The main stage was literally built in the shallows of the Niger River, the largest river in West Africa and 3rd largest in Africa after the Nile and Congo rivers. There were beer gardens set up above the river banks where we'd take breathers from dancing front stage on the shore, enjoying sunsets on the Niger and partying on through the wee hours of the night. I don't think the music stopped for 96 hours. In addition to the four days of non stop live music were art shows, cultural demonstrations, and an amazing artisan market featuring traditional clothing, sculptures, fabrics, jewelry, foods, musical instruments, and other wears from across Mali, Ghana, Niger, Burkina Faso, Benin, Mauritania, Guinea, Senegal, and Cote d'Ivoire. I was able to pick up a few souvenirs and perhaps a gift or two. Ségou is a large fishing center and home to the Bozo ethnic minority group, themselves being renowned fishermen and masters of the Niger. Throughout the week traditional pirogue fishing boats, oftened manned by only a boy, carried on as usual fishing for a living. We took a boat ride one of the days and spent about 4 hours cruising around the river, unfortunately my camera was (and still is) out of commission. As is often the case in Mali, I'm ever thankful that my sense of smell dies after about three minutes of exposure to whatever the aroma du jour may be, in this case the lovely bouquet of dead fish and human feces strewn around the Niger. In any case, the festival was amazing and I look forward to next years as it'll be one of the last things I do in Mali.
The day of the festival's opening ceremonies, I hosted a hāngi (traditional New Zealand method of cooking in the ground with hot rocks) at a local bar, Espace Mierra. We ended up having about 70 volunteers and 10 or 15 Malians. Putting it together was a lot more stress and work than I anticipated but everything came out awesome and who knows, perhaps this is the first hāngi Mali has ever seen. With some help, I spent the day before digging out a meter deep pit, finding plenty of wood and rocks, and some last minute haggling for pigs and vegetables. The morning of the hāngi I built up a huge fire with about 10 rocks the size of soccer balls in the middle and kept it aflame for 2 and a half hours. Afterwards we spread the rocks out, wrapped the dressed and shaved pigs, two of them, in soaking wet, white, cotton sheets to keep the dirt off, placed them in baskets made of chicken wire and placed them on the rocks. Next I had 10 k's of potatoes, 10 k's of onions, 5 k's of carrots and 5 k's of yams wrapped in the same manner and placed on top of the pigs. We covered everything back up with dirt and let it cook in the ground for 5 hours or so. I'd also made a couple of bbq sauces. We feasted on delicious pork flesh and drank shitty beer for hours as I cemented my legend into the annals of Peace Corps Mali history. Churs to my New Zealand friends, especially Kai Waka for giving me the inspiration!
I've really come to appreciate market days in Kolondieba. It's the capitol of a cercle (roughly analogous to an American county) and home to about five or six thousand people. It's one of the brusse-est (in the freaken' bush) of cercle capitols. In fact, I believe it's the only one left in Mali that doesn't have a paved road. Moreover, it's a 60 k trek down a dirt road/dried river bed from the paved road. Nevertheless, every Monday Kolondieba comes alive. The market, normally quite empty, is overflowing with vendors and customers from all over the cercle. I like to get there early with my homologue and sit with a couple friends, usually right outside the food area of the market, drink tea, exchange stories, and watch the day unfold. After awhile, I usually roam about a bit, greet friends and members of my women's association, and see if any of the fabrics or clothings catch my eye. In spite of hot season being underway, there's still a great selection of fresh fruits and vegetables. Women meander through the crowd selling ginger juice from huge bowls balanced on their heads, the butchers chop away with their machetes at indiscernible flanks of raw animal as their young apprentices keep flies at bay. Tailors take seats under the shade with their foot powered sowing machines. The smells of street food, fish, and livestock abound. Fried plantains, yams, and dough balls, fish heads, fresh bread, and ground cassava are always in abundance. Other venders are selling metal cauldrons or clay water canneries, freshly made in town. Along the main road is where you can find all your hardware and farming equipment needs. You can even stock up on all your favorite West African aphrodisiacs. Vendor and customer haggling for a better deal whether it be for a new dress or a half k of dried fish. Mangoes ripening overhead as the sun beats down. Ah Mali, it's not the worst place to be, ya know?
After a bit of a hiatus I've finally started another batch of wine. This is batch number 3 after successful experiments with mango and garlic wines. I told my homologue that I made wine and much to my surprise he was so excited about it he suggested I teach the women's association and see if they can start selling wine in addition to their shea products... a most obvious of product combinations. So last week I held a formation where I started a batch of papaya and ginger wine. I kinda made this one up as I went along so we'll see how it turns out. Even though Mali is 90% Muslim they're very open to a lot of ideas including alcohol. This could be a great opportunity for my women to hit an untapped, niche market. Hopefully it'll work out and they can earn a bit more money for themselves with an unusual skill set for Mali.
The oldest class of volunteers currently in Mali are coming to the end of their service. In a few months I'll be saying goodbye to a lot of great friends whom I've only have known for 17 or so months but in many cases feel like I've known far longer. Weirder yet, that'll mean that in a few months my class will be the oldest remaining in Mali. I know I say it in just about every blog post but it's crazy how quickly the time is passing. Just the other day, it hit in for the first time that I'm already on the back end of my service. Feels like I was just bumbling about here in my first week, absolutely dumbstruck and trying to figure out how I'd spend the next 2+ years in one of the poorest of countries. Now in June, the 3rd new class since I came in to country will arrive... Damn newbies. But, it's a bit early to start reminiscing just yet. Without a doubt, the past two months have been my best in country. But I'm finally gonna get a well deserved break from Mali. I have a 16 day vacation in Morocco coming up April 16th. Can't wait.
That's me for now,
Peace & Love
Rege
Hope everyone is doing well. It's been a great month and I have a few stories to tell. About 140 of my best volunteer friends and I, as well as thousands of Malians, West Africans, and other travelers descended on Ségou, the old capitol of the Bambara Kingdom, for the Festival sur le Niger. The music and cultural festival is an annual event in its eighth year and featured some of Mali's and Africa's best musicians. Admittedly, this year missed a few of the biggest headliners (eg. Vieux Farka Toure, Baba Salla, and Amadou & Miriam). Regardless, it was still a great time with some awesome performances especially from Salif Keita and Rokia Traore. The main stage was literally built in the shallows of the Niger River, the largest river in West Africa and 3rd largest in Africa after the Nile and Congo rivers. There were beer gardens set up above the river banks where we'd take breathers from dancing front stage on the shore, enjoying sunsets on the Niger and partying on through the wee hours of the night. I don't think the music stopped for 96 hours. In addition to the four days of non stop live music were art shows, cultural demonstrations, and an amazing artisan market featuring traditional clothing, sculptures, fabrics, jewelry, foods, musical instruments, and other wears from across Mali, Ghana, Niger, Burkina Faso, Benin, Mauritania, Guinea, Senegal, and Cote d'Ivoire. I was able to pick up a few souvenirs and perhaps a gift or two. Ségou is a large fishing center and home to the Bozo ethnic minority group, themselves being renowned fishermen and masters of the Niger. Throughout the week traditional pirogue fishing boats, oftened manned by only a boy, carried on as usual fishing for a living. We took a boat ride one of the days and spent about 4 hours cruising around the river, unfortunately my camera was (and still is) out of commission. As is often the case in Mali, I'm ever thankful that my sense of smell dies after about three minutes of exposure to whatever the aroma du jour may be, in this case the lovely bouquet of dead fish and human feces strewn around the Niger. In any case, the festival was amazing and I look forward to next years as it'll be one of the last things I do in Mali.
The day of the festival's opening ceremonies, I hosted a hāngi (traditional New Zealand method of cooking in the ground with hot rocks) at a local bar, Espace Mierra. We ended up having about 70 volunteers and 10 or 15 Malians. Putting it together was a lot more stress and work than I anticipated but everything came out awesome and who knows, perhaps this is the first hāngi Mali has ever seen. With some help, I spent the day before digging out a meter deep pit, finding plenty of wood and rocks, and some last minute haggling for pigs and vegetables. The morning of the hāngi I built up a huge fire with about 10 rocks the size of soccer balls in the middle and kept it aflame for 2 and a half hours. Afterwards we spread the rocks out, wrapped the dressed and shaved pigs, two of them, in soaking wet, white, cotton sheets to keep the dirt off, placed them in baskets made of chicken wire and placed them on the rocks. Next I had 10 k's of potatoes, 10 k's of onions, 5 k's of carrots and 5 k's of yams wrapped in the same manner and placed on top of the pigs. We covered everything back up with dirt and let it cook in the ground for 5 hours or so. I'd also made a couple of bbq sauces. We feasted on delicious pork flesh and drank shitty beer for hours as I cemented my legend into the annals of Peace Corps Mali history. Churs to my New Zealand friends, especially Kai Waka for giving me the inspiration!
I've really come to appreciate market days in Kolondieba. It's the capitol of a cercle (roughly analogous to an American county) and home to about five or six thousand people. It's one of the brusse-est (in the freaken' bush) of cercle capitols. In fact, I believe it's the only one left in Mali that doesn't have a paved road. Moreover, it's a 60 k trek down a dirt road/dried river bed from the paved road. Nevertheless, every Monday Kolondieba comes alive. The market, normally quite empty, is overflowing with vendors and customers from all over the cercle. I like to get there early with my homologue and sit with a couple friends, usually right outside the food area of the market, drink tea, exchange stories, and watch the day unfold. After awhile, I usually roam about a bit, greet friends and members of my women's association, and see if any of the fabrics or clothings catch my eye. In spite of hot season being underway, there's still a great selection of fresh fruits and vegetables. Women meander through the crowd selling ginger juice from huge bowls balanced on their heads, the butchers chop away with their machetes at indiscernible flanks of raw animal as their young apprentices keep flies at bay. Tailors take seats under the shade with their foot powered sowing machines. The smells of street food, fish, and livestock abound. Fried plantains, yams, and dough balls, fish heads, fresh bread, and ground cassava are always in abundance. Other venders are selling metal cauldrons or clay water canneries, freshly made in town. Along the main road is where you can find all your hardware and farming equipment needs. You can even stock up on all your favorite West African aphrodisiacs. Vendor and customer haggling for a better deal whether it be for a new dress or a half k of dried fish. Mangoes ripening overhead as the sun beats down. Ah Mali, it's not the worst place to be, ya know?
After a bit of a hiatus I've finally started another batch of wine. This is batch number 3 after successful experiments with mango and garlic wines. I told my homologue that I made wine and much to my surprise he was so excited about it he suggested I teach the women's association and see if they can start selling wine in addition to their shea products... a most obvious of product combinations. So last week I held a formation where I started a batch of papaya and ginger wine. I kinda made this one up as I went along so we'll see how it turns out. Even though Mali is 90% Muslim they're very open to a lot of ideas including alcohol. This could be a great opportunity for my women to hit an untapped, niche market. Hopefully it'll work out and they can earn a bit more money for themselves with an unusual skill set for Mali.
The oldest class of volunteers currently in Mali are coming to the end of their service. In a few months I'll be saying goodbye to a lot of great friends whom I've only have known for 17 or so months but in many cases feel like I've known far longer. Weirder yet, that'll mean that in a few months my class will be the oldest remaining in Mali. I know I say it in just about every blog post but it's crazy how quickly the time is passing. Just the other day, it hit in for the first time that I'm already on the back end of my service. Feels like I was just bumbling about here in my first week, absolutely dumbstruck and trying to figure out how I'd spend the next 2+ years in one of the poorest of countries. Now in June, the 3rd new class since I came in to country will arrive... Damn newbies. But, it's a bit early to start reminiscing just yet. Without a doubt, the past two months have been my best in country. But I'm finally gonna get a well deserved break from Mali. I have a 16 day vacation in Morocco coming up April 16th. Can't wait.
That's me for now,
Peace & Love
Rege
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Kolondieba
Hello again,
Just finished up my first 2 weeks at my new site in Kolondieba. My living arrangements have improved markedly and it looks as though this year will be much more productive than last. My role as an environment volunteer has shifted to that of a small enterprise development (SED) volunteer. In that regard, I'm working with a womens association based in Kolondieba. They produce shea products, mostly soap, and are working on a 1 hectare garden which will be used exclusively by association members. I have a new homologue, Daoda Mariko. He's the husband of one of the association members as well as the association's book keeper. Unfortunately, all of the women are illiterate. I also have a host family (finally), easy access to potable water, a good market right down the road, and a much more vibrant community in general.
My house is worlds better as well. It's a cement structure rather than mud brick so I haven't had any of the old pest problems. Goodbye rats, bats, and scorpions. It's a bit bigger as well; I have 15 ft high ceilings but still just two rooms. Still don't have electricity or running water. Although, many people around me have electricity. In fact, I've been watching the Africa Cup with my neighbors every night... Mali's national team is doing pretty well. After they beat Botswana last night they'll definitely make it out of the group stage. Anyways, there's a water pump 100 feet outside of my concession, so again, life is a lot easier in that regard as well.
The host family is great. There are a couple older women, a few younger women, three or four boys in their teens and three or four kids under the age of four. Still trying to figure out who really does live there and what the actual relationships are. Malians call everyone their brothers or sisters, mothers or fathers out of respect so it's often hard to figure out and remember the real family tree. Obviously it's a pretty big concession to handle that many people. I feel like I went from one extreme to another: no host family and nobody in my concession to a huge host family and me sharing their concession. It can certainly be aggravating; like when I'm sitting outside reading my book and a kid decides to pop a squat 5 feet to my left and take a piss, then 5 minutes later another kid does the same thing 10 feet in front of me, or the constant crying and yelling that comes with four kids under the age of four. All in all, it's certainly a net positive though.
I've long since known that women pull far more than their fair share of the work in this country. Living with a Malian family, however, has really defined that for me. Whether they're crushing shea nuts, pounding corn or millet into flour, washing clothes by hand, looking after the children, making the meals, or whatever they never get a break. I must agree with Mr. Sapolsky: "If I had to make a list of who does the work in this country from most to least, it would go like this: Women > Children > Donkeys > Dogs > Men." Yes, it's good to be a man in Mali. But hey, all that tea isn't gonna drink itself, is it? Somebody's got to do it, as well as smoke those cigarettes (can't be a woman, that certainly means she's a prostitute) and keep Mali at the cutting edge of the fine art of conversation. My, they can talk a long time about nothing at all.
Going back to my women's association, I've observed and participated in 3rd world shea oil production. Shea is arguably the most important product in Mali and Senegal with some of the most potential to pull people out of poverty. After collecting nuts (Shea trees are everywhere in this country) they're left to dry under the sun for a couple days, then they're pounded with a machine into a syrup like liquid (the only machine that my women have at their disposal in the whole process). From there, it's a repetitive process of adding water, hand beating, and heating the product until they've reduced the nuts to their essential oil. After that, the oil gets added to whatever the final product is. In my women's case: soap. When I asked the women how I could best help them, they told me they wanted more machines. While at first this sounds like a good idea (and I certainly can't blame the women for wanting to lighten the work load a bit) I've realized that at this point with my women's association (they're pretty small time and unsophisticated just yet) they would never be able to turn a profit after buying the machines, even with Peace Corps paying for 70% which is our policy. Just paying for the gas to run the machine and general upkeep would probably negate any profits. I've been informed that I could be much more helpful if I work with them on improving the quality of their product and their marketing approach. Since I know very little about shea production and business in general, I'm going to do a tech exchange with another volunteer and members of his/her community. So, lot's of exciting stuff going on.
Well, I gotta go catch a bus back to my site so I'm out for now.
Oh yeah, today is one year to the day since I've come to Mali.
Hi-ho.
Peace and Love yo
Rege
Just finished up my first 2 weeks at my new site in Kolondieba. My living arrangements have improved markedly and it looks as though this year will be much more productive than last. My role as an environment volunteer has shifted to that of a small enterprise development (SED) volunteer. In that regard, I'm working with a womens association based in Kolondieba. They produce shea products, mostly soap, and are working on a 1 hectare garden which will be used exclusively by association members. I have a new homologue, Daoda Mariko. He's the husband of one of the association members as well as the association's book keeper. Unfortunately, all of the women are illiterate. I also have a host family (finally), easy access to potable water, a good market right down the road, and a much more vibrant community in general.
My house is worlds better as well. It's a cement structure rather than mud brick so I haven't had any of the old pest problems. Goodbye rats, bats, and scorpions. It's a bit bigger as well; I have 15 ft high ceilings but still just two rooms. Still don't have electricity or running water. Although, many people around me have electricity. In fact, I've been watching the Africa Cup with my neighbors every night... Mali's national team is doing pretty well. After they beat Botswana last night they'll definitely make it out of the group stage. Anyways, there's a water pump 100 feet outside of my concession, so again, life is a lot easier in that regard as well.
The host family is great. There are a couple older women, a few younger women, three or four boys in their teens and three or four kids under the age of four. Still trying to figure out who really does live there and what the actual relationships are. Malians call everyone their brothers or sisters, mothers or fathers out of respect so it's often hard to figure out and remember the real family tree. Obviously it's a pretty big concession to handle that many people. I feel like I went from one extreme to another: no host family and nobody in my concession to a huge host family and me sharing their concession. It can certainly be aggravating; like when I'm sitting outside reading my book and a kid decides to pop a squat 5 feet to my left and take a piss, then 5 minutes later another kid does the same thing 10 feet in front of me, or the constant crying and yelling that comes with four kids under the age of four. All in all, it's certainly a net positive though.
I've long since known that women pull far more than their fair share of the work in this country. Living with a Malian family, however, has really defined that for me. Whether they're crushing shea nuts, pounding corn or millet into flour, washing clothes by hand, looking after the children, making the meals, or whatever they never get a break. I must agree with Mr. Sapolsky: "If I had to make a list of who does the work in this country from most to least, it would go like this: Women > Children > Donkeys > Dogs > Men." Yes, it's good to be a man in Mali. But hey, all that tea isn't gonna drink itself, is it? Somebody's got to do it, as well as smoke those cigarettes (can't be a woman, that certainly means she's a prostitute) and keep Mali at the cutting edge of the fine art of conversation. My, they can talk a long time about nothing at all.
Going back to my women's association, I've observed and participated in 3rd world shea oil production. Shea is arguably the most important product in Mali and Senegal with some of the most potential to pull people out of poverty. After collecting nuts (Shea trees are everywhere in this country) they're left to dry under the sun for a couple days, then they're pounded with a machine into a syrup like liquid (the only machine that my women have at their disposal in the whole process). From there, it's a repetitive process of adding water, hand beating, and heating the product until they've reduced the nuts to their essential oil. After that, the oil gets added to whatever the final product is. In my women's case: soap. When I asked the women how I could best help them, they told me they wanted more machines. While at first this sounds like a good idea (and I certainly can't blame the women for wanting to lighten the work load a bit) I've realized that at this point with my women's association (they're pretty small time and unsophisticated just yet) they would never be able to turn a profit after buying the machines, even with Peace Corps paying for 70% which is our policy. Just paying for the gas to run the machine and general upkeep would probably negate any profits. I've been informed that I could be much more helpful if I work with them on improving the quality of their product and their marketing approach. Since I know very little about shea production and business in general, I'm going to do a tech exchange with another volunteer and members of his/her community. So, lot's of exciting stuff going on.
Well, I gotta go catch a bus back to my site so I'm out for now.
Oh yeah, today is one year to the day since I've come to Mali.
Hi-ho.
Peace and Love yo
Rege
Sunday, January 15, 2012
1 Year Mark
Greetings all,
Where doth the time go? Hard to believe but February 2nd will mark my first year in country. I suppose I'm now one of the old heads in country as two classes of volunteers have been sworn in since I've arrived in Mali. Weirder yet, in 6 months my class will be the oldest one left in Mali. Anyways, let me catch you up on the last month or two.
I spent the holidays up in Mopti region which lies on the southern edge of the Sahara. Three fellow volunteers and I did a three day hike through the Bandiagara escarpment. The escarpment is part of "Dogon country" where the Dogon people, one of the most distinct ethnic minorities in Mali, have historically dwelt. This is my second trip up to this part of the country and it's undoubtedly my favorite part of Mali. I believe we covered about 35 k's over the 3 days. We started at the top of the Dogon plateau, hiked down through the escarpment, and then worked our way back up to the top. A man named Bebe, one of the locals, served as our guide. We spent our 2 nights sleeping in campements within villages we passed along the way. This area is Mali's biggest tourist attraction so it was quite easy finding a guide, who spoke English no less, and places to sleep. Campement is French for encampment and that's more or less what these places were. The word, however, is often used to describe hostels, eco-stays, and even hotels. The campements were quite basic in amenities, lacking even electricity and running water, but more than made up for it in character. Besides, fancy things like electricity would be more than out of place in this little corner of the world. It's a beautiful part of Mali and I hope I'll have another chance to hike through the area again.
New Year's is a big holiday here and we celebrated in fashion. About a dozen volunteers, myself included, rented a traditional river boat and floated around the Niger for a few hours, drinking beer and whiskey, shooting off fireworks, ringing in the new year, and of course almost blowing each other up. Nothing goes together like booze and explosives.
I suppose the biggest news I have to share is that I'm getting a new site on Monday. Site changes are quite common in Peace Corps as initial sites often don't work out for one reason or another. I realized when I first got to my old site back in April that it would provide more challenges than most volunteers encounter. I stuck it out until about mid November, but finally had to request a new site. Among other issues, my old site was a 46 K round trip (on my bike) from food, 4 K's from drinkable water, 23 K's from transport 15 K's from the next volunteer, and the water wells were empty for about 5 months out of the year. The final straw was when my counterpart moved to a different village to be with his wife and kids. Of course, I didn't come to Mali to keep anyone from their family but he obviously shouldn't have been my counterpart to begin with. So it took about two months from my initial request to actually get a new site, which is pretty standard. I'm moving to Kolondieba which was my market/post town. My best Malian friend lives in this town as well. All in all, I think it's a great opportunity and I'm excited to get a project or two underway before I'm out of here.
You may recall I had been planning a trip to Senegal for January but I've decided to scrap that even before I got a site change. Big events coming up though include the Festival sur le Niger; an annual, five day, West African, music and cultural festival in the old capital city, Segou. Some of the bigger acts include Babba Salla, Vieux Farka Toure, and Amadou & Miriam. That starts on February 15th. Then in April or May I'll be spending a couple weeks in Morocco. It's been far too long since I've seen an ocean and it'll be more than welcome come hot season. I'm currently savoring the last month or month and a half of cold season. It's generally in the low 80's during the day and drops down to the mid 50's at night. These days mid 50's is frigid for me.
Another bit of unfortunate news, I had my wallet stolen in Bamako about ten days ago. Most of the volunteers were at a bar called La Terrace for the newbies' swear in party. I had my wallet in a friend's purse which she left laying around somewhere. I lost about 27,000 cfa (about $50) some bank cards, ID, and what not. The worst part was having to file a police report and getting the bank cards and ID replaced. All in all, I didn't lose that much and worse things could happen. So, not that big of a deal.
Finally, for all the Steelers fans out there, I want to share a post with you from my fellow volunteer and good friend, Cary Fontana. All though he's from South Carolina, his family roots are in Pittsburgh and he's as big a Steeler fan as I've ever met. I know we're all still lamenting our early playoff exodus, but hopefully this story of Cary's attempts to extend Steeler Nation to West Africa will ease the pain. http://www.steelersdepot.com/2011/12/steeler-nation-steeler-world/
p.s. here are some links to the photos from my Dogon hike:
Where doth the time go? Hard to believe but February 2nd will mark my first year in country. I suppose I'm now one of the old heads in country as two classes of volunteers have been sworn in since I've arrived in Mali. Weirder yet, in 6 months my class will be the oldest one left in Mali. Anyways, let me catch you up on the last month or two.
I spent the holidays up in Mopti region which lies on the southern edge of the Sahara. Three fellow volunteers and I did a three day hike through the Bandiagara escarpment. The escarpment is part of "Dogon country" where the Dogon people, one of the most distinct ethnic minorities in Mali, have historically dwelt. This is my second trip up to this part of the country and it's undoubtedly my favorite part of Mali. I believe we covered about 35 k's over the 3 days. We started at the top of the Dogon plateau, hiked down through the escarpment, and then worked our way back up to the top. A man named Bebe, one of the locals, served as our guide. We spent our 2 nights sleeping in campements within villages we passed along the way. This area is Mali's biggest tourist attraction so it was quite easy finding a guide, who spoke English no less, and places to sleep. Campement is French for encampment and that's more or less what these places were. The word, however, is often used to describe hostels, eco-stays, and even hotels. The campements were quite basic in amenities, lacking even electricity and running water, but more than made up for it in character. Besides, fancy things like electricity would be more than out of place in this little corner of the world. It's a beautiful part of Mali and I hope I'll have another chance to hike through the area again.
New Year's is a big holiday here and we celebrated in fashion. About a dozen volunteers, myself included, rented a traditional river boat and floated around the Niger for a few hours, drinking beer and whiskey, shooting off fireworks, ringing in the new year, and of course almost blowing each other up. Nothing goes together like booze and explosives.
I suppose the biggest news I have to share is that I'm getting a new site on Monday. Site changes are quite common in Peace Corps as initial sites often don't work out for one reason or another. I realized when I first got to my old site back in April that it would provide more challenges than most volunteers encounter. I stuck it out until about mid November, but finally had to request a new site. Among other issues, my old site was a 46 K round trip (on my bike) from food, 4 K's from drinkable water, 23 K's from transport 15 K's from the next volunteer, and the water wells were empty for about 5 months out of the year. The final straw was when my counterpart moved to a different village to be with his wife and kids. Of course, I didn't come to Mali to keep anyone from their family but he obviously shouldn't have been my counterpart to begin with. So it took about two months from my initial request to actually get a new site, which is pretty standard. I'm moving to Kolondieba which was my market/post town. My best Malian friend lives in this town as well. All in all, I think it's a great opportunity and I'm excited to get a project or two underway before I'm out of here.
You may recall I had been planning a trip to Senegal for January but I've decided to scrap that even before I got a site change. Big events coming up though include the Festival sur le Niger; an annual, five day, West African, music and cultural festival in the old capital city, Segou. Some of the bigger acts include Babba Salla, Vieux Farka Toure, and Amadou & Miriam. That starts on February 15th. Then in April or May I'll be spending a couple weeks in Morocco. It's been far too long since I've seen an ocean and it'll be more than welcome come hot season. I'm currently savoring the last month or month and a half of cold season. It's generally in the low 80's during the day and drops down to the mid 50's at night. These days mid 50's is frigid for me.
Another bit of unfortunate news, I had my wallet stolen in Bamako about ten days ago. Most of the volunteers were at a bar called La Terrace for the newbies' swear in party. I had my wallet in a friend's purse which she left laying around somewhere. I lost about 27,000 cfa (about $50) some bank cards, ID, and what not. The worst part was having to file a police report and getting the bank cards and ID replaced. All in all, I didn't lose that much and worse things could happen. So, not that big of a deal.
Finally, for all the Steelers fans out there, I want to share a post with you from my fellow volunteer and good friend, Cary Fontana. All though he's from South Carolina, his family roots are in Pittsburgh and he's as big a Steeler fan as I've ever met. I know we're all still lamenting our early playoff exodus, but hopefully this story of Cary's attempts to extend Steeler Nation to West Africa will ease the pain. http://www.steelersdepot.com/2011/12/steeler-nation-steeler-world/
p.s. here are some links to the photos from my Dogon hike:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2955767779547.153124.1422031646&type=3&l=cfabde922d
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2957199775346.153160.1422031646&type=3&l=98d5b1882d
That's all I got for now. Uhhhh see ya.
P&L,
Rege
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
I'm Not Dead, I Just Had Malaria
Greetings,
First off, I'll stop being a liar by claiming that I'm going to send out updates more regularly. Clearly, I'm not. Now that I've established something of a routine and the luster of Africa has worn a bit, I'm afraid to report that I can no longer pump out epic tales at my former rate. Secondly, I'm sending this post out via email because I don't think Peace Corps would be too keen on some of the things I'm going to write about. Perhaps I'll post an edited version on my blog later.
So I had malaria about three weeks ago. I can honestly say it was the worst experience of my life. The first couple days my symptoms were quite mild and I didn't realize I had anything serious. Eventually, I started to get high fevers that would cycle in and out. Malaria's symptoms tend to vary widely in any given case. If there is any constant, however, it's that whichever symptoms you have tend to cycle in and out on 3 to 4 hour rotations. So I believe it was 3 Fridays ago that my ailment was getting serious. I had a fever of 101 and hadn't had an appetite for a couple days. Since about a week prior I had been planning to head to a relatively close city, Sikasso, as I had agreed to help a couple volunteers with a project. Of course, Peace Corps would have wanted me to notify them, then haul ass to Bamako where they could observe me. I never did go to Bamako nor tell the Peace Corps that I had malaria (the main reason I'm not posting this on my blog). Regardless of whether I went to Bamako or Sikasso, I first had to bike the 24 k's out of my village and to the highway. Normally this trek takes me about an hour and 15 minutes. This time, it took me over 2 and a half hours. Luckily, the fever hadn't cycled in, nevertheless, I can't recall ever feeling weaker in my life. Amongst the malaria (if I'm not mistaken the main way the parasite attacks your body is by destroying red blood cells until you go into kidney failure ) not eating, and having biked 46 k's two days prior... well, it was a pretty miserable bike ride. I felt more or less ok until I made it into Sikasso but the next three days were hell. My fever, now around 103 degrees, would cycle in and out 2 or 3 times a day for 3 to 4 hour spans. When they hit I couldn't even move. I just laid on a couch with a blanket over me and shivered uncontrollably in a room that was probably 110 degrees. By that point I had realized I probably should have gone to Bamako after all. Bamako, however, was now at best 5 and a half hours away by bus. As you might imagine from some of my previous posts, bus rides in Mali can be a harrowing experience in their own right let alone with malaria to boot. I ended up consulting a couple volunteers who had already had malaria and took the medication that the Peace Corps doctors prescribed. Long story short I was over it in about 48 hours. I think one of the most striking aspects of the experience was that when I was in a cycle, especially towards the end when I was utterly exhausted, I literally had no ability to imagine life as being enjoyable. I tried to recall good memories from the past, both in and out of Africa as well as focusing on things I'd been looking forward to doing in the near future. All of it to no avail. That feeling only ceded with the malaria. So yeah, good times!
Otherwise, life here has been pretty normal, at least by my current standards. Projects are still going frustratingly slowly. After about 3 months of trying to start a pump project in my village, I finally got an estimate from the Malian in charge of the Peace Corps water sanitation sector. In addition to the estimate was a note telling me that this company will not come to my village as it's too far away for them. So now I'm trying to find pump construction companies a bit closer to my neck of the woods. About the only projects I have been successful with thus far are smaller ventures that dont require peace corps admn assistance. I've helped a couple more volunteers complete world maps at schools and hand washing murals as well as hand washing stations. I'm also working with a couple volunteers doing a weekly radio program from our market town, Kolondieba. So far, we've addressed ways to combat malnutrition, personal hygene, and malaria prevention (perhaps I'm not the best person for that last one).
I'd like to address dental hygene during our next radio program as this next story will demostrate its need... So, about a month ago I was just chillin in my concession, reading some books, when a woman and her 5 year old son walked in to see my homologue, Sitafa. Little did I know Sitafa was the village dentist. I'm not sure exactly what was wrong with the kid but he looked like he had a baseball stuck in the right side of his mouth. Sitafa preceded to scurry around the concession until he was able to find a nail. Next, he drew a 3 x 3 grid in the sand. He followed this by breathing gently on the nail, whispering some sort of prayer and then began sticking the nail into different squares of the grid he just etched. Everytime he'd stick the nail in a square, he'd ask the kid if any pain was alleviated. Finally, Sitafa found what must have been the correct square, hammered it all the way into the ground, erased the grid and sent the kid and his mother on their way. To which I just shook my head in disbelief and returned to my reading. Couldn't have made that up if I tried.
Seli Ba, one of the biggest Muslim holidays of the year, wrapped up yesterday. I can't say what it is Seli Ba is actually a celebration of but I can tell you it was a hell of a time. Just about every family slaughters a couple sheep and it's a non stop meat fest for three days. Interspersed between all that meat are drum circles, dancing, and guys who dress up as "kono wulus" (bird dogs). They dawn some traditional African masks, get all done up, and run around trying to whack kids with sticks. One of them actually got me pretty good on the arm. Immediately, he and about 17 other Malians were apologizing profusely and telling me that they were honestly just trying to beat the children. Ah, Mali. Later that evening a DJ set up shop and we were all jamming to some Malian tunes. After awhile I tried to get some of my own music playing. Perhaps I should have seen this coming, but rather than everybody dancing to the new music, all 200 Malian villagers at the party thought it more fun to stand and watch me and another volunteer dance like fools. It was most excellent.
November 2nd marked 9 months in country. I'm now more than a third of the way through my service. The past couple months have made me a bit more cynical and apathetic. That however, is quite normal in this experience. I'm quickly approaching the one year mark and from everything I've heard, it's the toughest part of the service. Most volunteers, myself included, don't feel they have enough to show for all that time spent. You start to get a little sick of being in the 3rd world, miss home, etc. etc. Additionally, with all my time to sit and read lofty tomes on morality, humanity, and social justice as well as ponder the mysteries of the universe (and equally perplexing, development work) certain questions arise: What am I doing here? Am I making a net positive or negative impact on this society? Am I a good volunteer? Is western society really that much better? Do I really want to introduce all the downsides of the culture from which I hail? Can the planet handle the 3rd world catching up to 1st world levels of natural resource consumption? Does that concern trump the basic dignity that people everywhere, including Mali, deserve? On the otherhand, is cultural stasis the answer for these people? What kind of perception of America am I giving to my village? What will be the long term, unintended effects of my 2+ years spent in this country? Where does one draw the line between cultural relativism and human rights abuse? Why do I feel like a neo colonialist at times? Is the fact that I often think all these decisions/problems and their effects lie in my hands a sign that my ego has grown so dangerously large that I should have my head examined? Probably.
My time here continues to be some of the most challenging and rewarding of my life and often for reasons I'd never have guessed. There are days I want to pull out my hair and days when this country and its people inspire the hell out of me. I can't believe a third of my service is already over and I know the next few months will go even quicker. We're gonna throw some big parties for Thanksgiving and Christmas, I'm going to vacation in Senegal in January, there's a huge music festival in February, and we just got the o.k. to travel to Cote d'Ivoire. So if nothing else, I should have a lot of stories to tell over the next few months. In the mean time, I'm gonna keep on truckin. Until next time, friends.
Peace and Love,
Rege
First off, I'll stop being a liar by claiming that I'm going to send out updates more regularly. Clearly, I'm not. Now that I've established something of a routine and the luster of Africa has worn a bit, I'm afraid to report that I can no longer pump out epic tales at my former rate. Secondly, I'm sending this post out via email because I don't think Peace Corps would be too keen on some of the things I'm going to write about. Perhaps I'll post an edited version on my blog later.
So I had malaria about three weeks ago. I can honestly say it was the worst experience of my life. The first couple days my symptoms were quite mild and I didn't realize I had anything serious. Eventually, I started to get high fevers that would cycle in and out. Malaria's symptoms tend to vary widely in any given case. If there is any constant, however, it's that whichever symptoms you have tend to cycle in and out on 3 to 4 hour rotations. So I believe it was 3 Fridays ago that my ailment was getting serious. I had a fever of 101 and hadn't had an appetite for a couple days. Since about a week prior I had been planning to head to a relatively close city, Sikasso, as I had agreed to help a couple volunteers with a project. Of course, Peace Corps would have wanted me to notify them, then haul ass to Bamako where they could observe me. I never did go to Bamako nor tell the Peace Corps that I had malaria (the main reason I'm not posting this on my blog). Regardless of whether I went to Bamako or Sikasso, I first had to bike the 24 k's out of my village and to the highway. Normally this trek takes me about an hour and 15 minutes. This time, it took me over 2 and a half hours. Luckily, the fever hadn't cycled in, nevertheless, I can't recall ever feeling weaker in my life. Amongst the malaria (if I'm not mistaken the main way the parasite attacks your body is by destroying red blood cells until you go into kidney failure ) not eating, and having biked 46 k's two days prior... well, it was a pretty miserable bike ride. I felt more or less ok until I made it into Sikasso but the next three days were hell. My fever, now around 103 degrees, would cycle in and out 2 or 3 times a day for 3 to 4 hour spans. When they hit I couldn't even move. I just laid on a couch with a blanket over me and shivered uncontrollably in a room that was probably 110 degrees. By that point I had realized I probably should have gone to Bamako after all. Bamako, however, was now at best 5 and a half hours away by bus. As you might imagine from some of my previous posts, bus rides in Mali can be a harrowing experience in their own right let alone with malaria to boot. I ended up consulting a couple volunteers who had already had malaria and took the medication that the Peace Corps doctors prescribed. Long story short I was over it in about 48 hours. I think one of the most striking aspects of the experience was that when I was in a cycle, especially towards the end when I was utterly exhausted, I literally had no ability to imagine life as being enjoyable. I tried to recall good memories from the past, both in and out of Africa as well as focusing on things I'd been looking forward to doing in the near future. All of it to no avail. That feeling only ceded with the malaria. So yeah, good times!
Otherwise, life here has been pretty normal, at least by my current standards. Projects are still going frustratingly slowly. After about 3 months of trying to start a pump project in my village, I finally got an estimate from the Malian in charge of the Peace Corps water sanitation sector. In addition to the estimate was a note telling me that this company will not come to my village as it's too far away for them. So now I'm trying to find pump construction companies a bit closer to my neck of the woods. About the only projects I have been successful with thus far are smaller ventures that dont require peace corps admn assistance. I've helped a couple more volunteers complete world maps at schools and hand washing murals as well as hand washing stations. I'm also working with a couple volunteers doing a weekly radio program from our market town, Kolondieba. So far, we've addressed ways to combat malnutrition, personal hygene, and malaria prevention (perhaps I'm not the best person for that last one).
I'd like to address dental hygene during our next radio program as this next story will demostrate its need... So, about a month ago I was just chillin in my concession, reading some books, when a woman and her 5 year old son walked in to see my homologue, Sitafa. Little did I know Sitafa was the village dentist. I'm not sure exactly what was wrong with the kid but he looked like he had a baseball stuck in the right side of his mouth. Sitafa preceded to scurry around the concession until he was able to find a nail. Next, he drew a 3 x 3 grid in the sand. He followed this by breathing gently on the nail, whispering some sort of prayer and then began sticking the nail into different squares of the grid he just etched. Everytime he'd stick the nail in a square, he'd ask the kid if any pain was alleviated. Finally, Sitafa found what must have been the correct square, hammered it all the way into the ground, erased the grid and sent the kid and his mother on their way. To which I just shook my head in disbelief and returned to my reading. Couldn't have made that up if I tried.
Seli Ba, one of the biggest Muslim holidays of the year, wrapped up yesterday. I can't say what it is Seli Ba is actually a celebration of but I can tell you it was a hell of a time. Just about every family slaughters a couple sheep and it's a non stop meat fest for three days. Interspersed between all that meat are drum circles, dancing, and guys who dress up as "kono wulus" (bird dogs). They dawn some traditional African masks, get all done up, and run around trying to whack kids with sticks. One of them actually got me pretty good on the arm. Immediately, he and about 17 other Malians were apologizing profusely and telling me that they were honestly just trying to beat the children. Ah, Mali. Later that evening a DJ set up shop and we were all jamming to some Malian tunes. After awhile I tried to get some of my own music playing. Perhaps I should have seen this coming, but rather than everybody dancing to the new music, all 200 Malian villagers at the party thought it more fun to stand and watch me and another volunteer dance like fools. It was most excellent.
November 2nd marked 9 months in country. I'm now more than a third of the way through my service. The past couple months have made me a bit more cynical and apathetic. That however, is quite normal in this experience. I'm quickly approaching the one year mark and from everything I've heard, it's the toughest part of the service. Most volunteers, myself included, don't feel they have enough to show for all that time spent. You start to get a little sick of being in the 3rd world, miss home, etc. etc. Additionally, with all my time to sit and read lofty tomes on morality, humanity, and social justice as well as ponder the mysteries of the universe (and equally perplexing, development work) certain questions arise: What am I doing here? Am I making a net positive or negative impact on this society? Am I a good volunteer? Is western society really that much better? Do I really want to introduce all the downsides of the culture from which I hail? Can the planet handle the 3rd world catching up to 1st world levels of natural resource consumption? Does that concern trump the basic dignity that people everywhere, including Mali, deserve? On the otherhand, is cultural stasis the answer for these people? What kind of perception of America am I giving to my village? What will be the long term, unintended effects of my 2+ years spent in this country? Where does one draw the line between cultural relativism and human rights abuse? Why do I feel like a neo colonialist at times? Is the fact that I often think all these decisions/problems and their effects lie in my hands a sign that my ego has grown so dangerously large that I should have my head examined? Probably.
My time here continues to be some of the most challenging and rewarding of my life and often for reasons I'd never have guessed. There are days I want to pull out my hair and days when this country and its people inspire the hell out of me. I can't believe a third of my service is already over and I know the next few months will go even quicker. We're gonna throw some big parties for Thanksgiving and Christmas, I'm going to vacation in Senegal in January, there's a huge music festival in February, and we just got the o.k. to travel to Cote d'Ivoire. So if nothing else, I should have a lot of stories to tell over the next few months. In the mean time, I'm gonna keep on truckin. Until next time, friends.
Peace and Love,
Rege
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Mopti, Ramadan, and a Quarter of my Service in the Bag
Hola,
Time for more tales from old Mali. In my last email I mentioned rainy
season's arrival. Rainy season did indeed start about two months ago,
but unfortunately it's turning out to be a very poor one. Luckily
we're not drought ridden like Somalia, yet this lack of water is
certainly going to have an impact on the rest of the year. All the
Malians I've spoken to are quite anxious about their harvests and food
security throughout the upcoming cold and hot seasons. I had heard
horror stories from older volunteers about city and village roads
flooded with latrine run-off during August and September. I don't
think that'll be a problem for me this year. I would take it over a
poor harvest year if I could. Sadly for countries like Mali, there's
not much that can be done for weather and yields like this other than
to be more hungry than usual.
I took some time to travel around Mali a bit and gain a better image
of the place I've called home for the last six months. Mali, I'm
finding, is almost as geographically diverse as it is ethnically. I
started out heading west to Sikasso, near the border with Burkina
Faso, then headed north through Koutiala, Bla (no that's not a typo),
San, and finally into the Mopti region. I spent a night in Koutiala
and then in San, but the focus of the trip was the Mopti region. Once
I got there, I spent time in Sevare, Bandiagara, Fatouma, and
Mopti-ville. The whole Mopti region is beautiful, especially the
Dogon country and Mopti-ville which sits right on the Niger River.
The Dogon people are one of the many minority ethnic groups in Mali.
They're more isolated from other ethnic groups and as such their
language and culture are a bit more distinct. The region is a part of
the narrow geographic belt known as the Sahel, which runs from the
Atlantic to the Red Sea. The Sahel is a transition zone between the
Sahara in the north and the Sudanian Savanna in the south. I believe
I had previously mentioned that my village was in the Sahel, but it's
actually considered part of the savanna. Although Mopti is
technically not in the Sahara, it's pretty damn close and dramatically
different from my neck of the woods. On a side note, I've heard that
the Human Planet mini series features Mali in three different
episodes. One covers the Kidal region which is way up near the border
with Algeria while the other two cover the Mopti region. Anyways, it
looks and feels like a desert up there. Most of the vegetation is
scrub brush and Gum Arabic trees. Aside from that it's sand, red
dirt, naked rock outcroppings ranging from small hills to huge cliffs,
and a big, big sky. Mopti gets the most western tourism in all of
Mali and probably all of inland West Africa. That's no surprise
considering the world class hiking you can do there and ancient Dogon
ruins. I'm sorry to say my camera was out of batteries during this
trip so I don't have any photos to post. Fret not though, I'll
certainly be returning to the region. Some of my best friends in
country live up there, gotta get in on the hiking, and Bandiagara is
where Mali volunteers usually congregate for Christmas. Some
volunteers did a half day hike when I was there but I think I'm gonna
hold out till Christmas and have a proper three or four day outing.
I've been meaning to write about the ferocity of the storms here.
They're not coming as frequently as we'd like but they're unreal when
they do hit. The thunderheads usually roll in quickly, especially for
storms that last as long as they often do here. A couple minutes
before the rain starts pouring the temperature drops dramatically and
terrific winds pick up, easily over 60 mph. Then it's pretty much a
flash flood. Sandy soil doesn't drain all that well. The rains are
even more of a spectacle up north where they are immediately preceded
by sand storms. You just see this reddish brown monster eating up the
sky, coming at you faster than you've ever seen clouds move with the
dark thunderheads looming, barely visible above and behind. The
volunteers who went on the half day hike got chased out of the cliffs
by one of these storms.
The holy month of Ramadan started up about two weeks ago. In case you
haven't brushed up on your Islam lately. It's the ninth month of the
Muslim calendar (they use a 13 month lunar calendar) when they fast
from sun up to sun down for the purposes atonement, spiritual clarity,
and submission to God. That means no food, no water, and no getting
frisky during daylight hours for a month. While I haven't been
participating in the fasting, it's still a pain in my ass. For
starters, there's way less food to be found during day light hours and
every Malian is turning into a huge curmudgeon. I can't really blame
them though, especially when Ramadan falls in rainy season like this
year, for being cranky as hell. I believe Eid ul-Fitr is the official
Arabic term for the celebration that follows the end of Ramadan. It's
referred to as Tabaski (sp?) here in Mali. I understand the streets
run red with sheep blood for the festival. Older volunteers say you
barely get any meat for 360 days out of the year, but you make up for
it in a short week when Tabaski hits. Needless to say, it's a fairly
popular celebration with us toubabs.
Hard to believe, but I'm just about a quarter through my service, give
or take a month. Our official Close of Service (COS) date is left for
us to decide. Some people wrap up a little sooner or a little later
based on how their projects are going vs. job prospects & grad school
starting up back home. I imagine that most of the people from my
class will try to wrap up as soon as possible seeing as we have the
great fortune of suffering through three hot seasons if we COS exactly
24 months after being sworn in. I'm trying to get my first major
project underway by getting my village a new pump. All in all, it's a
pretty easy project which has been done by numerous volunteers in the
past. It's just a matter of finding funding, probably via grants from
USAID, to get the old, broken pump taken out and a new one put in. I
started talking to the Malian in charge of the Peace Corps water
sanitation sector but then took a 10 day tour of the north. In that
time my counterpart, Sitafe, has taken time off to visit his family a
couple hours away and probably won't be back till the end of Ramadan.
Hopefully we won't have any more interruptions and can get this thing
rolling soon. Well, that's the end of my story for now. See ya next
time!
Love and Peace ya'll
Rege
Time for more tales from old Mali. In my last email I mentioned rainy
season's arrival. Rainy season did indeed start about two months ago,
but unfortunately it's turning out to be a very poor one. Luckily
we're not drought ridden like Somalia, yet this lack of water is
certainly going to have an impact on the rest of the year. All the
Malians I've spoken to are quite anxious about their harvests and food
security throughout the upcoming cold and hot seasons. I had heard
horror stories from older volunteers about city and village roads
flooded with latrine run-off during August and September. I don't
think that'll be a problem for me this year. I would take it over a
poor harvest year if I could. Sadly for countries like Mali, there's
not much that can be done for weather and yields like this other than
to be more hungry than usual.
I took some time to travel around Mali a bit and gain a better image
of the place I've called home for the last six months. Mali, I'm
finding, is almost as geographically diverse as it is ethnically. I
started out heading west to Sikasso, near the border with Burkina
Faso, then headed north through Koutiala, Bla (no that's not a typo),
San, and finally into the Mopti region. I spent a night in Koutiala
and then in San, but the focus of the trip was the Mopti region. Once
I got there, I spent time in Sevare, Bandiagara, Fatouma, and
Mopti-ville. The whole Mopti region is beautiful, especially the
Dogon country and Mopti-ville which sits right on the Niger River.
The Dogon people are one of the many minority ethnic groups in Mali.
They're more isolated from other ethnic groups and as such their
language and culture are a bit more distinct. The region is a part of
the narrow geographic belt known as the Sahel, which runs from the
Atlantic to the Red Sea. The Sahel is a transition zone between the
Sahara in the north and the Sudanian Savanna in the south. I believe
I had previously mentioned that my village was in the Sahel, but it's
actually considered part of the savanna. Although Mopti is
technically not in the Sahara, it's pretty damn close and dramatically
different from my neck of the woods. On a side note, I've heard that
the Human Planet mini series features Mali in three different
episodes. One covers the Kidal region which is way up near the border
with Algeria while the other two cover the Mopti region. Anyways, it
looks and feels like a desert up there. Most of the vegetation is
scrub brush and Gum Arabic trees. Aside from that it's sand, red
dirt, naked rock outcroppings ranging from small hills to huge cliffs,
and a big, big sky. Mopti gets the most western tourism in all of
Mali and probably all of inland West Africa. That's no surprise
considering the world class hiking you can do there and ancient Dogon
ruins. I'm sorry to say my camera was out of batteries during this
trip so I don't have any photos to post. Fret not though, I'll
certainly be returning to the region. Some of my best friends in
country live up there, gotta get in on the hiking, and Bandiagara is
where Mali volunteers usually congregate for Christmas. Some
volunteers did a half day hike when I was there but I think I'm gonna
hold out till Christmas and have a proper three or four day outing.
I've been meaning to write about the ferocity of the storms here.
They're not coming as frequently as we'd like but they're unreal when
they do hit. The thunderheads usually roll in quickly, especially for
storms that last as long as they often do here. A couple minutes
before the rain starts pouring the temperature drops dramatically and
terrific winds pick up, easily over 60 mph. Then it's pretty much a
flash flood. Sandy soil doesn't drain all that well. The rains are
even more of a spectacle up north where they are immediately preceded
by sand storms. You just see this reddish brown monster eating up the
sky, coming at you faster than you've ever seen clouds move with the
dark thunderheads looming, barely visible above and behind. The
volunteers who went on the half day hike got chased out of the cliffs
by one of these storms.
The holy month of Ramadan started up about two weeks ago. In case you
haven't brushed up on your Islam lately. It's the ninth month of the
Muslim calendar (they use a 13 month lunar calendar) when they fast
from sun up to sun down for the purposes atonement, spiritual clarity,
and submission to God. That means no food, no water, and no getting
frisky during daylight hours for a month. While I haven't been
participating in the fasting, it's still a pain in my ass. For
starters, there's way less food to be found during day light hours and
every Malian is turning into a huge curmudgeon. I can't really blame
them though, especially when Ramadan falls in rainy season like this
year, for being cranky as hell. I believe Eid ul-Fitr is the official
Arabic term for the celebration that follows the end of Ramadan. It's
referred to as Tabaski (sp?) here in Mali. I understand the streets
run red with sheep blood for the festival. Older volunteers say you
barely get any meat for 360 days out of the year, but you make up for
it in a short week when Tabaski hits. Needless to say, it's a fairly
popular celebration with us toubabs.
Hard to believe, but I'm just about a quarter through my service, give
or take a month. Our official Close of Service (COS) date is left for
us to decide. Some people wrap up a little sooner or a little later
based on how their projects are going vs. job prospects & grad school
starting up back home. I imagine that most of the people from my
class will try to wrap up as soon as possible seeing as we have the
great fortune of suffering through three hot seasons if we COS exactly
24 months after being sworn in. I'm trying to get my first major
project underway by getting my village a new pump. All in all, it's a
pretty easy project which has been done by numerous volunteers in the
past. It's just a matter of finding funding, probably via grants from
USAID, to get the old, broken pump taken out and a new one put in. I
started talking to the Malian in charge of the Peace Corps water
sanitation sector but then took a 10 day tour of the north. In that
time my counterpart, Sitafe, has taken time off to visit his family a
couple hours away and probably won't be back till the end of Ramadan.
Hopefully we won't have any more interruptions and can get this thing
rolling soon. Well, that's the end of my story for now. See ya next
time!
Love and Peace ya'll
Rege
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