All I think of is food.

Initially, I had planned to stay at site for an extended amount of time due to the fact that I had been traveling with Mike and Zack for a while, plus I will be leaving for all of August. I have a responsibility to my village, but responsibilities can, evidently, be put on hold. I am here in Douentza, albiet only 2 days, for multiple reasons. First, two of my good friends will be leaving Mali soon and I would like to spend time with them before they leave. Second, I decided I need to buy more wood for the rabbit hutch lid. But mostly, I was hungry. Literally hungry.

As posted in my last blog, it is now the rainy season. One is led to believe that the rainy season is a time of abundance in food and general happiness and well being. This is not so true. It is more true to say that the rainy season is a dirty, smelly, hungry, dire time for the Sahelian peoples of Mali. To begin with, the food that was grown during the last rainy season is nearly gone. What happens is the grains are grown from July to October, harvested and then sold off at a relatively low price because there is such a glut in the local markets. Farmers generally attempt to predict how much grain they will need to survive until the next harvest season, and then sell the rest off in order to bank on the available cash (as little as it is). The grain is eaten, eaten, and eaten and the pressure is briefly alleviated during the cold season (December - March) when people are able to grow (limited) amounts of vegetables such as tomatoes, lettuce, onions, garlic, cucumbers, eggplant, etc. Unlike the grains, the vegetables have a very short shelf life and are unable to be stored for very long. Garlic and onions are dried and stored, but who wants to live on garlic and onions alone?

Now, we're on the last available stores of millet left over from the harvest season. Once these run out, the villagers will be forced to buy back their own grains from the local "entrepreuers" who bought the grain in the first price, but at a much higher price. As you can imagine, the villagers are stretching their grain supplies to the max, which leaves most hungry, especially considering that this is the time when the most work is being done. And to compound all of this, many of young family members (ages 15-30) have returned to village in order to help out with all of the extra work in the fields. Before, I ate with my homologue and his nephew. Now, I eat with those two, plus 4 other young guys. The quality of food has decreased, the number of eaters has increased and the amount of food has remained the same. This leads me to why I am in Douentza this weekend. As stated above, I was just really hungry.

Of course, I can cook at site, or so I thought. I have a stove, I know how to cook, and I usually have access to food. Not now, though. Sitting at site, hunger pangs kicking in, I thought some pasta might help me out. To my great dissapointment, I sent little kids running all around village to scour for garlic, onions, oil, anything! There was nothing to be had. Maybe some powdered milk? No, that was all gone too. How about some ground millet to make a porridge (serisouly a last resort)? All but gone! So here I am. I sat in my rock hut, sweating and hungry, and made my escape from village while everyone was out in the fields in order to avoid the million and one greetings/goodbyes. (Don't worry, Peace Corps, I told my tutor and some local kids... I swear they don't think I am AWOL... which seems like a pretty sane option at this time.)

Dounetza is the land of plenty. I arrived arund 6pm, bought some roasted sheep meat, fried dough, beans, a soda, and then had two beers at night. I still wasn't full, but it helped. Eric, Fikru and I talked of lasagna and pizza for hours, but that did nothing to alleviate the hunger. That night I dreamed of more food. In my dream, Kyle was announced over the radio that he had invented a new type of pizza. With Mike and Steve, we headed off to Kyle's pizza place to sample this new pizza, the "Pizza-Wu." It was delicious (reminder: I'm dreaming) and full of terriaki chicken and pineapples.

After reading my previous statements, I am no more than a big jerk. My village has so little, and I have access to so much. I don't know what to tell you beyond the pure an simple facts that I was hungry. I am, by no means, saving one little African village at a time. I can't defend myself on any accounts here, but that food was good and much needed.

So, today I will go back to village and eat little amounts of millet "toh" and drink the slimy, bitter cobal. What has been neat about this time of year is that I actually have something to do each and every day. Everthing in Mali tends to become very stagnant very quickly. Luckily, living in an agricultural based society, life does not stay stagnant for long; there will always be a new job to do with the coming season. Harvest season was filled with, well, harvesting grain. Shortly there after, the cold season came and we worked in the gardens. During the hot season, we built new homes and brought compost to the fields. Now it is rainy season and time to prepare the fields for the millet growth. Once the millet is all planted, we can then go through and plant beans and ground nuts. Of course, we will play the waiting game again. But you can always count on the harvest season after the rainy season (praying their isn't a huge drought like all of the 1980s). Every day in village, I have been going out to different fields with different families from village. We have been plowing, weeding, planting, and working hard. Each day I go to a different field to prove that I can do the work. Sound familiar, Mike? "Dave won't do that! He can't!" "Oh yea? Well watch this! I'll prove you wrong!" Story of my life. Walking the cow plow is wicked difficult, but I am better at leading the cows. The cement-like ground doesn't take to the plow very well, leading the spade into the previously dug row. This is a test of endurance, strength, and a fight against the cows. Taking reign of the cows is no cake walk, either. You have 1200 lbs of live bull behind you that want to do nothing but sit in the shade. In your hands are two ropes tied through the bulls' noses. You pull, tug, lead and, generally, piss them off. Reluctantly, they follow, and you pray to Allah that they don't just ram one of those big sharp horns up your butt!

Notice how the wood over their necks angles their heads dirrectly towards your behind in ramming position.

Cautiously, I check the bulls to make sure I am still safe. I hope that Bukil has my back.

Working with different families has given me the opportunity to, let's say, sample more of the local cuisine. What have I discovered? As I had known, everyone eats the same millet-based foods, but the quality can highly change from household to household. As it turns out, my homologue's wife cooks the absolute worst food in all of village! Each day I eat a different "toh," and each day I am amazed at the quality and lack of rotting fish taste. Where did I go wrong in the first place and how can I go about getting a new family to feed me?

Because the rain has nowhere to go, it tends to pool in low areas. Here is one of the low-lying areas near the main road outside my village. What is really neat is that crocodiles are attracted to these pools where they wait for unsuspecting dogs, livestock, birds, and possibly small children to wade in and cool off. As elusive as the crocodiles are, I have managed to spot a few of them over the last couple weeks. They're a wiley bunch, yarrgghhh!

Grass is almost starting to grow out near the fields. In the upcomming months, the cows will beable to eat again, hopefully thus hiding their ribs. I only want to see the ribs on my plate, not walking beside my house. Fresh milk is in my future, too.

Mousa plowing a field with two of his kids. Just look at how dry the ground is.

Kids running outside my house as a sand storm approaches the village.