Tabski Festivities

I spent the Tabaski/Eid festivities in both Douentza and Dimbatoro this year. The parties began on Monday in Douentza, where they apparently had a better glimpse of the moon than the brousse villages. Antony, another PCV, came up and we ate until we were stuffed. Our neighbors, especially Sira Cisse, were bringing over entire roasted goat legs, racks of lamb, widjula (steamed bread with an oily meat sauce, rice dishes and various snacks all day. Basically, the streets ran red with blood due to the sheer number of animals slaughtered for the fest. If you are a married man, you are supposed to kill a fattened sheep. If you are short on cash, a goat will work. Slaughtering a cow is apparently good for up to seven people (the equivalent of 7 sheep). Being unmarried and non-muslim, I was exempt from the ritual animal slaughtering. Although, I did buy a hefty goat to eat when my parents and Hilary arrive in village next Monday.

On Tuesday, Antony and I picked up our engorged stomachs and headed out to my village for another day of festivities, eat meating and tea drinking. Because my village is so small, it is really like one big family. Each house is like just another room in a large family house. If we had a pool table in the basement and a football game going on in the living room, it would be just like Grandma and Papa's house on Thanksgiving. We arrived in village and were promtly given a steaming bowl of zame, fried tomato rice with dried fish, "fresh" fish and meat. Despite the fishiness, it was slightly edible. After teh zame, we followed the men out to the fields were they pray. The Al Iman led prayers for an hour and offered his many blessings to the village for a prosperous new year, health to friends family and everyone, etc. As would be expected, the village men all showed up late, the kids fired off their mock guns during the prayers and complete disorganization ensued. The best part was watching Djougal scream at the kids for being disrespectful during the prayers... it is similar to taking unruly kids to Catholic church, but on a much grander scale. The rest of the day was spent wandering and greeting from house to house as the animals were slaughtered, drinking tea and eating grilled meats loaded with MSG powder (tastes great, but I often wonder how my blood pressure is doing).


On Wednesday, Antony and I went hiking into the mountains with Tijani and had a great view of the surrounding areas. Cold season is amazing here because we are actually afforded the opportunity to view the beautiful landscape and not sweat to death. As ususal, I scrambled to the top of the mountain as fast as I could to get a great view. Antony and Tijani lagged behind. I climbed so much faster and higher than they did that they couldn't even get my attention screaming; I gave them a good scare. But I finally caught a glimpse of them from my perch up top and quelled their fears with a big wave and poking fun at how slow they were.


Anyway, enough of my ramblings, here are some pics of the fun with explanations.

Djougal holding up a freshly peeled goat skin as I tend to the roasting meat.

This is my host family (Jah Tigi). They slaughterd three goats, one sheep and a cow.

Here, Al Hadji (His real name is Gibreel, but he made the Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca in 2000 to obtain his title) is slaughtering a goat as two other guys help to hold it down.

Rocks and mountains behind my village

Antony is standing on one of the rocks mid-frame. You can make out his green shirt.

Here's Antony after drinking some chobal. His face shows the obvious displeasure with the sour taste. Chobal can be fermented into millet beer. As my village is Muslim, they only ferment it enough to make it sour.

These are some women and children helping to prepare food for the festivities.

Ousman, a neat little kid

Firing guns in the town square

Post-prayer walk back from the fields to the village

I am wearing a traditional Fulani hat and carrying a cow-beating stick (saure)

More gun firing directly after the prayers

And even more gun firing

Why not one more gun firing picture...

Dogons love their guns... No bullets, just as much powder as they can cram into them. You'll occasionally see guys with bits of fingers blown off. Guess why.

Al Imam, Youssef, leading the prayers with the Muezzin, Oumar, holding an umbrella for shade.

Mamadou is the guy with the umbrella. He is an awesome guy in village.

These are the guys heading out to the fields to pray in the morning. The guy directly in front of me is Moussa. His house is right next to mine and he rocks. He's got a little kid, Abadeena, with down syndrome. He's a fun little guy, but I feel so bad for him because there is no structure in place to help kids like him. The village looks after him very well.

I'm dressed like a real Fulani.

Same attire, minus the hat and stick.

My continuing Malian adventure

The last few weeks have been extremely productive in terms of getting work done and making things happen. But, this is Mali, so there are the normal, everyday obstacles to get over. In addition to the time being productive, an equally applicable word would be frustrating. We held the formation for cereal bank management over the course of three days and conveyed a lot of important information and work. The biggest obstacle in running the formation has been to get over the education barrier. The committee running the cereal bank consists of 7 village men. Three of them are literate and semi-educated, but even that can be a stretch. I have had my first lesson in non formal adult education. In the States, we tend to take lower education for granted and see it as a give in. But here, it is not always possible for kids to go to school and learn the basics of alphabetization and mathematics. The main problem lies in the fact that there is just too much work to be done when you’re stuck in a cycle of subsistence living. If the boys go to school, then there is no one to go out and herd the animals to ensure they are fed properly, watered and don't stray. There will not be enough hands in the fields, either. As for the girls, they gather fire wood, take care of the babies, prepare food and help with general upkeep of the family compound. Schooling is put on the back burner; the kids grow up without knowledge of the outside world and without a formal education. The cycle of subsistence living continues. In my village there are very few children who attend school regularly. As for the few kids that do go to school, it is not their primary concern. The children that are able to attend school are from the bigger families that have enough younger kids to work the fields, herd the animals and take care of the homes. But, if some of these younger children are sick and can’t take care of their responsibilities, the students must stay home from school and take over the work.

Amadou as the teacher

The formation was held to teach the basics and the importance of record keeping. We scheduled the formation for 2 consecutive nights and hoped they would run smoothly. We planned to start at 9pm. By this time, everyone has completed the fifth prayer moment of the day, taken their nightly bath, and eaten dinner (In’sh’Allah). That’s what I thought, at least. I show up at 8:30pm. Everyone else shows up by 10:30pm. There are the usual excuses of forgetfulness, the completion of tea making, run away animals, etc. Eventually we get going and all is well. Amadou taught the lessons in Najamba, the local dialect, and would then go over the important details in Fulfulde to allow my input. My role in the lessons has been to provide examples, make sure people understand the work and to give specialized math tutoring on the side. This has proved difficult, but it’s going. I gave the guys one problem and split them into two groups. I said, a man shows up to the cereal bank and wants to buy six 100kg sacks of millet. The cost per sack is 12,500 CFA. How much is the total? After nearly an hour of deliberation, the two groups had somehow meshed into one and had come up with a grand total of 10,750 CFA. How they got that total cost, which is less than the cost of one sack, I am still not sure. I do have my work cut out for me.

The cereal bank assosiation learning at night

Doing the math

As per usual, this week has been filled with mishaps, hilarious misunderstandings and the usual debauchery that plays into the life of a Peace Corps volunteer. On Saturday, Terriya (the old woman that cooks the food for the family I eat with), said she was going to market the following morning. Taking advantage of this situation and seeing an opportunity to increase the quality of the meals we would eat, I gave Terriya some money and told her to buy rice, beans, oil, vegetables, spices, etc… whatever she wanted, just get it. Sunday night, she comes back and cooks dinner. It’s the usual millet-based toh, so I am disappointed and wonder where the money went to. I decide to wait it out. Maybe she just didn’t get back early enough to incorporate the new ingredients into the meal. The next morning, I show up at the house and sit down on the mats with Adura, Unissa, Abadou, and Ousman for breakfast. Terriya brings the bowl over, places it n the middle of our circle and walks off. My hopes are high, but I don’t want to be set up for disappointment. After all, breakfast is usually re-heated toh from the previous night. Ousman says “Allah bisimillah” with his usual guttural flourish and lifts the straw lid off the bowl to reveal not toh, but a big bowl of beans. Yea, I was definitely excited. As Ousman is the oldest member of the family present, we wait until he takes his first handful of food and then dig in. I’m in heaven. These are beans with spices and oil. Handful after handful is stuffed down my throat and I can’t be happier. I’m dancing in my head, singing praise to the sheer awesomeness of beans and proclaiming their superiority over toh. Then, as with everything in Mali, it was ruined. This little kid waddles over with tears streaming down her face and squats down next to me. Within seconds, it is apparent that she means business. She lets out a huge groan and the poop shoots out her backside with the force of the Harmattan winds. The proximity of the child to me is mere inches. What do you do in this situation? You can’t just ignore the poop and continue eating. The excitement of beans is forever gone and my breakfast was ruined.

Much of my time in village is spent attempting to dispel myths black and white people. For instance, the villagers are convinced that white people are inherently smarter and have far more God given intelligence than black people. They tell me that black people don’t know what computers are, that they can’t build airplanes, that they don’t know how to make money. This is all white people work, and it is the job of the white person to pass these works onto the black person. They proclaim that the evidence is all around them. The white NGO workers come to Mali in big fancy cars, throw money at the villages, build schools and wells, increase the rain “footprint” through cloud seeding, etc. The villagers see themselves as the child recipients of this giving and have resigned themselves to second rate due to their physical characteristics. According to Amadou, the most educated man in village, the physical characteristics of a person are the best way to measure intelligence. And what are these physical characteristics? Pale skin (but not albinos… they are a “mistake from Allah”), straight hair and, the biggest teller of them all, fat on your forehead. He tells me that this is why Malians attempt to bleach their skin and straighten their hair. If not to make them smarter, than at least to make them appear smarter. As for the fat on the forehead, that one is beyond me. Eat more, I guess. I ask where this information about pale skin, straight hair, and fat foreheads come from. Amadou assures me that it is fact, straight from the Koran, the Bible and from legitimate media sources. I tell him that is bogus, makes no sense, and give examples of ridiculously stupid things white people do and the major achievements of blacks throughout history. He tosses my notions aside as flukes and tells me there is nothing I can say that will change his mind. Going along with his reasoning, I tell him we will just have to disagree and he will never change my mind. End of story. Hopefully I can convince him that we, as people, all have an equal intelligence capacity. Until that day, he will be stuck in his mode of thinking and be convincing the other villagers of his correctness. If you have a fat forehead, pale skin and straight hair, you can rest assured that you will be considered a natural genius in Dimbatoro.

Here are some unrelated pics just for fun.... Like, a kid playing with a tire in downtown Mougui...

I got hold of a ram at one point.

This is my road to site. I took this picture after about a month of rains; you can see the millet starting to come up and the grass taking over the cement-pack dirt.

This is another view of the road to my site. Three kids are walking back with firewood on their heads.

Millet

Abadou and Mira

I've been spending my days out in the fields harvesting the millet with my homologue, Ousman, and his family. We cut the millet one by one with a knife tied to the wrist. Some people put leather or cloth over their hands to protect against cuts and blisters. I opted for a bandana this day. Your hand gets cut up quickly because you use the knife and your thumb in a scissor motion. Once the millet panicle is cut, you place it in your leather cut satchel over your shoulder and cut the next one. The work is tough, but it is nice to have something to do all day.

Ousman preparing his donkey for a day of field work. He was unhappy that I took a pic of him working, but I said it was better this way.

Abadou holding a sorghum stock. These are filled with a sweet, sugar like center. You chew it and spit it out like sugar cane.

Back to work in Mali

I've been back in Mali for a while now since my trip to Europe/Morocco. Life is definitely status quo here and I am waiting (nearly patiently) for cold season to begin in a few months... late November or early December. Rainy season is coming to a close, but I was told this year has been a season "especial" because there have been more consistent rains than in recent memory. The millet is green, tall and healthy... Allah is smiling down up on the people of Mali.

Getting back to my village at the beginning of Ramadan was a bit of a trip. For the most part the villagers thought I had disappeared and wasn't coming back. Sometimes I am surprised that I came back, but I actually do enjoy what I am doing here and my friends from village and Peace Corps are awesome. It is strange to think how a year from now I will be leaving and will, most likely, never see any of these people again. Not seeing my Malian friends is pretty much a given, but it will also be difficult to keep up with PCV friends as we'll probably spread out around the world when we're done here. But that's not a subject to dwell on at this moment.

Work related, projects are going at the typical Malian snail pace. Regardless of the speed, I am really just happy that the projects are actually running as planned. As anticipated, the cereal bank project is definitely turning out to be long term. The building is nearly complete. We had to halt work in order to make way for the rainy season. You can't very well build a mud and stone house when it is raining and storming on a sort of regular basis. The roof has gaping holes that we will plug with dung, mud and sticks and we must now clear the mud from the floor and lay the cement down. Once this is completed, we'll build the pallets and buy the grains after the harvest season (late November). What's exciting is that we have chosen the members of the association that will be charged with running the cereal bank. Now that Ramadan is over and the harvest season has yet to begin, my tutor and I will begin the education phase on proper cereal bank management over the next couple weeks. It will take no more than a few days, but we need to finish up the prep work, ensure that everyone can attend, purchase educational materials and make sure that the association "gets it." It'll be a challenge to teach in Fulfulde, but I am ready for it and am excited to have something big to do.

As for the drought resistant millet project, it has pretty much tanked. The seeds came late, we did not nearly receive as much as we needed and we ended up planting late due to odd rains early in the season. The millet is growing, but there does not seem to be much of a difference between the Niger millet varieties and the local varieties. The local variety is actually better. What is neat is that the villagers are pumping themselves up with the pride of their own millet actually growing better. So, you can see that from this little experiment, the result has not been more, better millet, but local empowerment. A curveball, but a good one at that.

My rabbits haven't had any litters yet, but I am waiting. I really just want to eat them, but I have put in this much effort already. I will continue to play this one out. They aren't a cost burden, it has just added extra work for my homologue with no results after 5 months. We'll give it a few more.

Next on the project agenda is gardening. I bought about $30 worth of seeds (carrot, lettuce, onions and peppers) today and will work with a few guys in village to plant early. We want to get the gardening going early this year in order to beat the market glut that inevitably occurs during the cold season. Hopefully we can produce some veggies a few weeks early and capitalize on the market demand.

Unrelated to work issues, I turned 24 this past Saturday and it was a blast. I shared my birthday with another volunteer from Mopti region and everyone got together to show us a good time. We all met up in Bandiagarra for a big 'ole fiesta. In the picture below you can see Kate and I with our personalized birthday cakes.

This is my cake... I am truely integrated into Malian culture. "Happy birthday Amadou!" I don't know how or where they got these cakes, but they tasted so good. Seriously good. Thanks guys!

This picture is a must because the birthday boy has always got to be the ladies' man. Aren't I the lucky one?

Trip photos (just a taste)

Bull fight in Malaga (Southern Spain)Paulo, Duwayne (Iain's Dad) and Iain (Spanish) outside the Ann Frank house in Amsterdam
Canal-side in Amsterdam my first day there. I was not run over by any bicycles (thank Allah).
I ate some seafood paella in Tangier and actually enjoyed it, which is odd because I generally hate seafood. Then, I continued my taste testing that night at a tapas bar with fried fish, calamares and bull teticles to top it all off.

On the beach with Erica in Casablanca... I stole her old-man blue blocker sunglasses

Monkey in the market in MarrakechErica in Marrakech monkey heaven.... she loved it. Just look at that smile.The market in Marrakech at night. Djemma al Fna Square with the monkeys, food vendors, fortune tellers, snake charmers, and the ever-present tourists (I am one to blame).

The adventure continues

This has been one interesting trip so far. I started out in Madrid and then made my way to Malaga for a few days on the beach. The hostel I stayed in there was full of Spaniards and Italians and none of them spoke English. My days were spent at the beach and my nights were spent going to see bull fights. I definitely had a good time, but what I really wanted was to be able to speak English! I´ve been holed up in Mali for a year and it would be nice to have regular contact with English speakers. Walking around Malaga on my last day there (or so I thought) I was kicking myself in the butt for not going to Amsterdam to meet up with my friend Iain from college. He had planned a trip with his dad and buddy Paulo for the August 11 - 16, and I was walking around Malaga with nothing to do on the 12th. So, I ran to the nearest internet and found a roundtrip flight leaving the next morning and coming back on the 16th. What the hell, I thought, and bought the ticket. This turned out to be a seriously awesome idea. The hostel I stayed at hooked me up with a ride to the airport the next morning at 6am, I had a layover in Madrid and then flew right on to Amsterdam. Freezing at the airport, I hopped on a train to Central Amsterdam for 5 Euros, checked out a map and compared it to the address of the apartment Iain was renting, and started walking.

Amsterdam all looks the same to me. Nearly every street is accompanied by a canal and the houses are thin, 3 storie tall buildings complete with a hook and rope. The reason for this is that when the houses were being built, the city collected a tax based on the width of the house, but not the height. People in turn built tall, thin homes with limited staircases. In order to raise furniture to the upper levels, the rope and pulley system was devised. Despite the similarities of the streets, I am a pretty good traveler and was at Iain´s apartment within 2 hours of flying in. Knocking on the door, I wondered if they were home and planned to settle down outside the house if they weren´t. Why not just wait? After a few minutes, Iain opened the door and was surprised to see me. They were very welcoming, offered me a Heineken and showed me how they had brought a computer hooked up with Comcast digital cable straight from Boston! That meant Red Sox games every night at 1am!

Amsterdam definitely rocked. We attempted to do something cultural like go to the Anne Frank house, but the line was down the block and around the corner. Plus, I´ve been there before the last time I was in Amsterdam (2006 for a school fieldtrip). Instead, we walked around, went to the park, and had some awesome Argentinian steaks (they were apparently imported straight from Argentina...). All in all, it was a good 3 days and I was very happy to see a friend.

I woke up early on the 16th and headed to the airport for my trip back to Malaga. Upon arriving, I planned to stay a night and then head out. Stupidly, I had neglected to write down the name of the hostel I booked, and ended up arriving on the biggest party day of the year. The bus took me to the center of Malaga and I walked around through the crowded streets full of drunken Spaniards yelling, screaming, singing, toasting, etc. Getting through the crowds with my big backpack was a challenge and I received a quite a few angry glances. Because it was such a big party day, absolutely nothing but bars were open and I needed to figure out where I was staying. I eventually walked into a square and a guy wearing a pink frilly apron (obviously wasted) asked me if I was lost. Confessing that I was, hedecided to be wicked helpful and brought me to a hostel where I was able to use the internet and find a map to where I was staying.

This hostel was all Italians, but they spoke English well enough. I hung out with a guy named Marco who spoke a little English and a little Spanish, so we had to communicate through a mix of the two. Soon we found some girls at the hostel from Italy that spoke English really well and went out for tapas and some beers with them. I stayed two nights and have no found myself in Algeciras. Today I will find a place to stay and then head to Tangier tomorrow, and then on to Casablanca.

Rock and Roll... ¿Spain?

After over a year sweating and bitching in Mali, I have finally left for a vacation of sorts. I arrived in Madrid 3 days ago and have been enjoying every aspect of it. It is seriously like coming out of a coma or prison; everything tastes better, smells better, feels better... Life is just that much better in Spain. Walking near Parque Buen Retiro this morning I caught a wiff of freshly cut grass and couldn´t help but reach down for a handful of it. Fresh cut grass is so incredibly nice when you haven´t smelled it in over a year. As you can imagine, there isn´t much fresh cut grass in Mali. Also, I have seen two baseball games (neither of which were very good), eaten more good food than one can imagine (therefore spent too much money already), and enjoyed the weather to it´s fullest. People are walking around Madrid complaining about the heat, but to me, it´s like a calm spring day. I survived the Malian hot season, right?

Right now I am killing time waiting for a midnight bus to Malaga where I will hopefully see a bullfight or two. As of now, I have no plans for when I arrive. Looking for hostels and hotels online, I could only find places for $40 plus a night. That´s way above my budget. But, not to fear, I´ve got my tent and some blankets and I can lock my bag up in the bus station terminal if necessary. If I can´t find a campsite, I´ll crash on the beach. Either way it´s gonna be an adventure. After Malaga I want to get to a town called Alora where I can go rock climbing at El Chorro, but that means actually finding someone to climb with. Or I can just go bouldering alone but that´s not nearly as fun. From Malaga-Alora I take a ferry to Melilla, Morocco and meander down to Casablanca where I meet up with Erica on the 22nd. It´s a ways off, but I will definitely be filling the time with some fun and adventure.

My language ability is so messed up right now. I can understand nearly everything that is said to me in Spanish, but actually formulating responses is practically impossible. I have this mix of Fulfulde, Bambara, Najamba and French running through my mind pushing English and Spanish all around. I tried to convert some money from Central Africa the other day and I must have gave the dude responses in at least 3 languages, which just confused me so I have no idea what it did to his head. Plus I am so Malian it hurts now. I refuse to do anything with my left hand even though it is completely acceptable here. The problem is that the faux-pas is so ingrained into me that I can´t let it go. To make matters worse, I am continually clicking for agreement, and making all those wierd Malian noises that happen in conversation or just general activities. Say a plate comes to the table, I, without thinking, emit one of two phrases... ´´Waaaallaahhh´´ or ´´uhh huuuuhhh!´´ It´s really quite embarrassing that I can´t stop this.

I am trying to drop these Malian characteristics for the time being, but it´s hard. Attempting to focus on solely Spanish has been difficult as well, but also rewarding. I picked up a English-Spanish dictionary the other day and it has helped tremendously. I spent about 3 hours wandering through the Prado Museum today with my dictionary in hand trying to figure out what was written under each painting. I gotta say, I amaze myself with how quickly I can learn and relearn languages... it´s just fun.

I had this new idea lately. I need to learn Arabic in order to ensure an awesome job in the future. I could work for the State Dept or some other agency and study Middle Eastern affairs and the ways of terrorism. This would first require learning Arabic in an intensive setting, studying Islam in all its forms, learning Middle East policy, etc. This is just an idea that has been mulling through my head, but I like where it´s heading. We´ll see where I can take it after the Peace Corps. If there is some agency that will invest time in me to learn Arabic than I believe I could do it and do it well. Plus, having this Peace Corps background proves that I am willing to stick it out, learn languages and not be afraid to use them and generally work through a whole slew of difficulties. Anyone got any ideas for how I can get this started?

Hasta Luego!

It rained!

The rain has finally arrived in Dimbatoro! It's a few weeks late, but it has come. You can't imagein the smiles on the villagers' faces when the rain actually arrived. Every day they would proclaim, "I am sweating. The rain is coming... Do you see those clouds? Those are rain clouds!" For weeks, this went on and the rain never came. But, July 26th at around 6pm, the sky blackened, thunder and lightening boomed, and the rain fell in buckets. For the duration of the night, the rain fell and my house flooded (but that's another issue for another time). The next day, the rain continued until 10am. Ousman, Difru and I sat in my wet, leaking house drinking coffee and tea until our heads were about to explode from all the caffeine. The rain stopped and we went out to assess the situation; Where the footpath between my house and mosque is, I was confronted by a gushing river of brown water, grass, leaves and bits of garbage (just a little) washing down from the moutains. Next to my house, the rabbits were emerging from their shelter amd seemed to be in pretty good shape. Thankfully, their house had not flooded. But, as I was walking around my house a gust of wind blew in and I heard a rumble and a crash. The wall next to the rabbit hutch collapsed from the wind and rain, but it fell on the opposite side, thus saving the rabbits from an avalanche of rock and mud.

What will we ever do?

Seeing that the rabbits were still alive and in the hutch, I immediately knew what to do. Ousman was bugging out wondering what to do. Why did this have to happen, he wondered out loud. Quickly, I summarized the problem in a language tht the villagers would understand. I told them that this was all Allah's work. The rabbits, being the good Muslims that they are, prayed to Allah for a bigger house. When he saw the rain coming, he knew this was his opportunity. The rain fell and weakened the wall. Soon thereafter, Allah sent the wind in to finish the job. The wall came down, and the rabbits now had their chance for a bigger home. Telling this to Ousman and Difru, they laughed, yet understood completely; We were to build the rabbits a larger home. Gathering up the fallen rocks and some new ones from around my house, we extended the wall out to twice the original size. Digging out the new extended floor, I lined it with rocks and then covered it with sticky mud, leaving a gutter for drainage. Now, the rabbits have a much larger home that they are unable to dig out of. Believe me, they tried.

The new and improved rabbit hutch

Ousman and Tijani laughing at my story and working on the wall

Rabbits munching on some greens in their new big home.

Thanks to the rain, I was also able to plant all of the millet I received from Bamako. The day it rained, I organized the farmers I was to work with and let them know that we would begin planting the following morning. As the ground was sufficiently soaked, they agreed. We had planned on planting many times before, but the ground was always too dry. The seedlings would never "hatch" in those conditions. The next morning, I ate breakfast at Ousman's house early, grabbed my notebook, and headed for the fields. We started in his field, planted 10 rows of 15 plots of the drought resistant millet and then planted 10 rows of 15 plots of the local variety next to it. In order to not lose track of the fields, we marked them out with giant rock lines. This will benefit in two ways. One, we'll know exactly where the fields are, and two, the rocks will catch debris washing out of the field during rain storms. Ousman and I then moved on to Yaya's, Amadu's and Difru's fields, where we planted the same exact way. The morning progressed like this through all 4 fields and we finished up by about 1pm. After lunch, I spent the afternoon translating the millet test field papers into Fulfulde and drawing out copies and maps for the 4 farmers. We're going to keep track of rainfall, growth patterns, and the differenced between the varieties (if all goes as planned). Filling out the forms may bea a little troubling as the guys aren't completely literate, but I will help them along with the process and make sure that everything is written out correctly. They were excited to get the millet planted, but are unconvinced that the drought resistant millet will be any better than the local variety. What can I say? They've got pride in their own stock, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Now it is once again time for the waiting game.

It's almost time to go on my big trip to Spain and Morocco, and the villagers are getting nervous. They know that I will be meeting up with Erica in Morocco, and they're afraid I won't come back! They've seen pictures of her and know she's a beautiful girl and they're all afraid I won't be able to leave her side. They are complelely convinced I will follow her back to America. I have tried to convince them I can't leave without finishing my projects. That has quelled their fears a little, but it hasn't stopped them from stepping up their wife-giving efforts. It seems like every day they are bringing a new girl to my house for me to take as a wife. Each day I give a new complaint. She's too young, she's too old, she's too fat, she can't cook, she's too tall, etc. You get the point. Hopefully I will have enough excuses until they finally run out of girls to give me. The hope is that I will takea wife in Dimbatoro and either won't be able to leave, or will be able to take her to America with me. I just smile, laugh and come up with a complaint for each girl.

Fikru standing in the first big rain in Douentza

Waiting out the rain last week with Fikru and Eric

Sunrise in Dimabatoro this morning

Hey!