There really are only about 2 good months in Mali. Initially, I had been excited for the beginning of the rainy season because it would bring greenery and cooler temperatures. This, so far, has proven to be true. But along with the greenery and cooler temps comes a massive influx of flies, gnats, mosquitoes, ants, etc. They are really no fun. Remember when I wrote about the powdered donut effect? The hot temperatures where you sweat, followed next by the intense dust storms, and finally followed by the rain... yup, it's here. And when the rain comes, it doesn't go anywhere. The ground has been baking under the sun for the last 10 months and has become like an impenatrable concrete floor. Everywhere you walk, there are just giant lakes of water mixed with the runoff from pit latrines and garbage piles that are a common feature outside EVERY home in Douentza (and most of Malim for that matter). You try your best to dodge, but sometimes you are left with no other option but to trudge on through to the other side. Or you have to fight a herd of oncoming cows for that last little island of mud.
Anyway, last night Phil, Fikru and I left the house in Douentza to get dinner by the main road. Clouds were rolling in, but we figured if we were fast, we might just beat the storm. About 10 minutes into the walk, the sand storm came in with a vengence and we couldn't see 2 feet ahead of us. This proved to make the walk through the lakes of pit latrine runoff even more difficult than it should have been. Arriving at the main road, we took cover in a tin-roofed hut and bought some roasted sheep meat, It was probably the best sheep meat I've had since I got here. We waited out the storm for about an hour and then had to make our waiy back. By the time we got to the house, the entire yard was flooded. What this means is that we must sleep inside. Inside the house, there are mosquitoe clouds thicker than porridge and the temperature is about 15-20 degrees higher. Yes, I now hate the rainy season. Like I said before, there are only 2 "good" months here (December and January). I say "good" because, like everything else here, it is relative compared with your constantly lowered standards of everything.
On another note, I have my "Dogon rock gym" at site. It is this really nice area on top of a hill that no one ever goes to, so I can relax and lift rocks, do pushups, situps, etc without a thousand kids watching me in wonderment (what's the white guy doing? what's the use in that?). My Dogon rock gym is great. I have different rocks picked out for different lifts, different types of pushups, for dips, and everything; it's perfect. Or at least it was perfect. The other morning I went for my run and ended up at my gym as the sun was rising in the distance. The view is so serene, as you can watch the sun rise and the air is still cool. Along the ridge of mountains, breakfast fire smoke rises in large puffs where villages stick out from the valleys. On my other side, I can always count on watching a herd of goats, sheep and cows traverse a ridge across the way. This is all before I have coffee to start my day and I really enjoy it. Last time I was up there, I was stretching and heard my name called from off in the distance. Looking up, I could see Hama coming towards me waving. I like Hama; he's a good friend of mine here, but this hour in the morning is my time. Well, he stopped about half way to me and, as he waved, squatted and pulled his pants down. He used my dogon rock gym as a bathroom! Plus, he didn't even bring the ass-kettle (plastic teapot used for bathroom runs...otherwise known as a salidaga or saatella) to wipe with. There are no leaves up here and toilet paper is unheard of. I didn't stick around to find out how he was going to clean up after himself. The peace, the tranquility, the serene view... it's all ruined by the uncleanly dumping of one man named Hama.
Maybe you are wondering what is going on with my projects now. I did receive the seeds for the millet test plots, but ICRISAT messed up big time. Instead of receiving 16 packets of seeds (4 different varieties for each of the 4 farmers), I received just 4 packets (and only 2 varieties!). My plans for a big scientific field plot research project have been stomped out. Now each othe the 4 farmers will only get one packet, which he will plant next to the local millet variety. By no means is the project completely ruined, just mostly ruined. I am wicked bummed about that, and felt like an idiot going back to village and explaining the problem to the farmers after promising them this big new millet variety project. But, in order to be successful here, enthusiasm is the key. So, I keep it positive with them. The blog can sort of be my area to vent, and maybe you all will find some of this funny.
I bought wood on Sunday in market to build a large lid for the mud brick rabbit hutch. Right now, it is only covered with chicken wire tied to rocks. This is obviously not a very good deterent to wild animals. The lid will do a much better job. I bought the wood and gave it to some guys from village. They said it would be no problem to take it back to village in the local transport bus, as I can't ride a bike with 10 foot long pieces of wood. Thinking the problem of transport was solved, I went to relax and pat myself on the back for a job well done. I patted too early. That night around 8 I went back to the market to get dinner and what was propped up against a building with no one around to watch it? My wood for the rabbit lid! They just left it there in the middle of market, where anyone could just pick it up and go. I asked a guy sitting by the wood where the guys from Dimbatoro were. They had all left, he said. Now I am in Douentza still with this wood and no way to get it back to site until next market day. The two girl rabbits are pregnant, I think. I need to protect them, but I am getting no help here.
I just have one more gripe, hopefully. All the cement I bought for the cereal bank has been sitting in Douentza for weeks now. I have been attempting to work with the village to get it delivered, but they had been of no help up until recently. They arranged a car to take it back and would charge 150 CFA per sack, or 3,000 CFA total. I agreed to this price and assumed we were good to go. Late in the afternoon, the car pulls up to ge the cement and the mobel-tigi (car chief... aka guy in charge from village) says he can't do it for any less than 7,000 CFA. I yell at him, call him a thief, tell him off and he won't lower the price. he just laughs in my face. At this point, I am stuck, My hands are tied. The rainy season is here, the cement is getting wet, it NEEDS to get to village, and he knows this. I end up paying the 7,000 CFA as he walks out laughing. That guy sucks. I swear, everywhere I turn in this country, I get hit up for extra surcharges for no reason beyond the fact that I am looked upon as being Mr. Moneybags due to my complexion. I serisouly need to get out of this country. Thank god this trip to Spain and Morocco is coming up soon. I need it.
But on a positive note, I have taken on a big project that will be very beneficial to Douentza, and probably really stressful to me. Fikru, who has volunteered in Douentza for the last two years, is leaving in August. He has worked with an association to build a library in Douentza, but has ultimately run out of time. The proposal is written, the materials are all accounted for, the land has been donated next to the school here, the mason is waiting for the go ahead and the the plans have been drawn up for the building. My role in this project will be to acquire funding and dole out the money. I will be working with a man named Baga Cisse, who heads up the library association and will be the main librarian once the project is finished. There is currently no library in Douentza. There are multiple schools. The kids here are able to study at home and at school, but they have very limited access to books. The hope is to get books in French, English, Fulfulde, Songrai, Bamabara, as well as in Dogon dialects. Te research for the project has been completed and all of the right people are waiting for the signal to begin. The original plan for the library does not include electricity, but I will be looking into that because I want to give the kids access to computers and the internet. There are volunteers in Mali who have worked to provide computer and internet access to students throughout Mali. I plan to work through their contacts to bring internet access to the students of Douenza. It's a big idea and a big project, but the bulk of the organizational work has been done. With a year-plus here, I can accomplish this project.
15 July 2008
06 July 2008
Fun with the brothers in Mali
It’s been a while since my last post mainly because I have had a lot going on. Also, there was a 3 or 4 week time frame when there was just no available internet. Ask my brothers, they were here for the tail end of it. The biggest news is that Mike and Zack made it. After 3 full weeks in Mali, I do believe they were ready to go home. I kept them busy and constantly entertained (although they may not know it, they were my entertainment for the 3 weeks as well!) When they arrived in Bamako, I met them at the airport amidst a brawl outside the main terminal. In the ensuing fight, no one was injured, but it was fun to watch as women attacked each other with heels and men pounded each other to the ground. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good fight!
Mike and Zack came out of the terminal all grins and greetings (not Malian greetings, but the more appropriate American style). They then informed me that the bag they brought for me full of climbing equipment, new shoes, and a grab bag mix of American goodies was lost in between time zones. Without asking for assistance, we had “well-wishers” and “helpers” working for us and eventually blocking the door until we paid them. Mike offered to pay, but I would not allow it. No wonder the Malians see us as suckers for cash (Mike!). The Peace Corps (mainly our financial manager Alyssa) was extremely helpful in getting the bag back (and she even bought me lunch). It turns out the bag was offloaded from the plane due to weight and was brought the next day. They figured I could wait…. Thanks, Royal Air Maroc.
The first leg of our trip took us down to Bougoni and Sikasso where Zack freestyle rapped in a night club called Alcatraz and then threw up all over Mike’s face in a taxi the next day. I promise that the two events are not related. And we can’t forget Sophie accidentally spitting chewed up nut kernels into a woman’s face after kindly asking her to move. Maybe the Bambara didn’t translate? We stayed with Sophie in Bougoni for a night. She helped show us around Sikasso region and took care of the Bambara and French, for the most part. In Bougoni, Zack jumped into a pickup game of soccer as soon as we arrived. His integration skills are impeccable. After Bougoni, we headed to Sikasso to camp by the waterfalls for a night. After being in the north for months, I have become very accustomed to a dry desert-like landscape and was completely caught off guard by the Jungle Book landscape of Sikasso. Mogli didn’t pop out swinging on a vine, but we were met my many curious onlookers at the waterfalls as we jumped in to escape the humidity. At night, we brought out the iPod and speakers to accompany our meal of canned chicken, mango jelly, peanuts, and dates (it was REALLY good). The air was so humid by the falls and none of us could really sleep. I felt submerged in a fog all night, which is not an ideal sleeping condition by any means.
The next day we hiked back to the main road for a little over an hour and I was given a chance to practice more Bamabara, but found myself in a Senufo village. Not much luck there. But, I did end up finding multiple Fulfulde speakers by the main road and felt right at home. I can speak Fulfulde really well and am extremely confident in my abilities. Mike and Zack thought it was funny to see me attract a crowd everywhere I went as I had them rallied around me while I told stories and joked around. I don’t know what I’ll do when I go home and am anonymous again; I enjoy this quazi-celebrity status that I hold here. Plus, I have become a little more proficient in both French and Bambara… mainly bar, restaurant and taxi language. The rest will come with time. Speaking a slew of languages is very taxing on the brain, but fun, nonetheless.
On the 10 hour ride between Sikasso and Sevare, I slept for the majority, but Mike and Zack were crammed and apparently experienced hell. You’ll have to speak to them for more details. My only qualm was stepping into a huge puddle of pit latrine water in Koutiala at around 3am. That put a damper on the ride and seriously downgraded the status of my new shoes. We saw the Darjeeling Limited at one point, which was perfect considering we were three brothers meeting up in a strange place after a long absense. I even had our itinerary worked out perfectly and was on pain killers by the end of the trip!
We hit up Sevare and Douentza quickly before making it to my village. The ride to Douentza was memorable because Mike was sick. We thought he might just make it the two hours, but 20 minutes before Douentza he looked at me with his pale face and said, “I’m not gonna make it.” I whipped out a pair of pants from my backpack and tied the legs together, creating a makeshift puke bag. As soon as the pants were open and in his hand, he let loose and I just laughed. Sorry, but I have very little sympathy for throwing up and/or diarreah in Mali. If you get Malaria, then I’ll send you a get well card.
We got to village the next morning. At the main road, we were met by two guys around my age (Hama and Mamadou) who carried the boys’ bags for them. They sent a kid ahead to notify the villagers that we had arrived. Waiting under a small shade tree and making small talk, we heard the beginnings of drums beating and guns firing. Within minutes, the entire village had assembled and come out to greet our arrival. What sounded like the coming of war ended up being the most hearty and warmest welcome I have ever experienced in my life. The entire village came out with guns blazing into the air and drums beating out rhythms. I introduced everyone and we were paraded into the village with such fanfare that I could have sworn we were in a movie. The villagers sang, danced, and jumped sporadically into the air as they accompanied us to all of the main house holds in village to greet the elders. Once the hooplah calmed down a bit, we were left at my house to unwind and relax a bit. We at some toh, a goat was killed, and the kids inundated us with questions. Shortly before the sun was setting, the drums and guns started up again and we were rushed back out to the main center where singing and dancing was at full force again. We all had our turn at dancing, but the dust was choking and we were tired.
The following day we hiked up into the mountains behind site and explored the ancient Tellem houses in the rocks and caves. Tijani and Ousman gave us a lot of information that I translated for the boys. They were looking for artifacts to sell to tourists, but found nothing remarkable. On the other hand, I was able to climb around and do some bouldering. I actually climbed up a large face without thinking of the consequences (very typical of me) and found that there was no way down. It was all overhangs and straight faces. I eventually pulled a Spiderman-esque move to get down and gave everyone a good scare.
That afternoon, it was time for me to kill the goat I had bought for Mike and Zack’s arrival. The goat was brought to my house and thrown onto the ground. Zack was squeamish and couldn’t watch, but Mike was ready with the camera. The guys in village made sure his angles and lighting were right and gave me the go-ahead to slaughter the goat (so long as I said the correct prayers). I grabbed the goat’s horn, pulled his head back as he faced Mecca and let out a loud “Bisimillah!” Slicing into the goat’s neck, he reeled back, but we had a tight grip on him. As instructed, I said “Allah akbar” as the blood came out, and everyone was happy. I sliced and sliced away until I could feel his spine. I was confused as one guy yelled “keep cutting!” while another yelled “enough!” I eventually came to a happy medium and stopped cutting. It was weird killing a goat; I almost felt out of my own body. I didn’t really feel like I was all there, but the dead goat at my feet and blood all over me confirmed the fact. Anyway, we roasted the goat and he tasted great. We dined on goat head soup with rice the next morning (not so great).
After leaving village, we met up with other PCVs and headed north to Hombori for rock climbing. We arrived around 1 in the morning and planned to climb up this one block to set the top rope for the morning, but Kevin was scared by mass quantities of bats. A rabies-laden bite is no way to start a climbing trip, so we put it off until the morning. The wind was fierce and we eventually found three camping sites to set up our tents where we wouldn’t blow away. I slept well until Kevin woke me up at first light to begin climbing. Mike really impressed me this day. On his first climb, he said it would be his last due to his fear of heights. But before I knew it, he was down on the ground and then strapped in on the other side for another climb! Go Mike! Zack was also really impressive. He got off to a slow start, but was consistently making it to the tops of his climbs. The second day he really came through. We had set a top rope on this face with tiny little holds. I belayed Zack on his climb and he just plugged away until he reached the top with no problems. I was a big fan of this rock because it was were I learned to repel myself down. It was like I was in a military commercial. Wearing my harness, I had the rope doubled up in my belay device and repelled down the rock with one hand above and one hand below. It was awesome having complete control of my decent.
That second morning, we were about to leave the campement we stayed at when I saw some odd looking clouds approaching. Hell’s chariot was on its way in the form of a sand storm. Imagine rolling clouds of sand thousands of feet tall engulfing huge rock spires in the distance barreling directly towards you. It’s scary and exciting, especially when your only shelter is a dried millet stock bungalow. Although Hell’s chariot never reached us, we were in for a neat treat as everything around us turned a bright yellowish-reddish-orangish hue. I don’t know how the storm missed us, but it did.
Leaving Hombori, we caught a ride to Boni in the back of a large truck full of people. Standing room only. A goat peed on Zack, Mike hit people in the face with his giant backpack and I was berated with questions in too many languages. We made it to Boni and negotiated a too-high price to go out and see elephants. Mike, Zack, Braxton (a fellow PCV) and I hopped into a 4X4 van (aka piece of junk) and rode out into the bush to search for elephants. At one point, the van was stopped by locals and we were hassled for the “local people tax,” which was complete bull and I told the guy we had already paid it to the local elephant association. He backed off. Our guide apparently thought we wanted to see a dead elephant and took us on our way. He then asked to make sure, and I said it would be preferable to see live elephants and avoid a large decomposing carcass. He agreed and turned the van around to go back nearly to where we began.
Again, we drove out into the bush in another direction until we found fresh elephant droppings, which where succinctly collected and deposited into the van (Braxton thinks they were selling them… for what purpose, he’s not sure). In time we found a Fulani watching over his animals who claimed to have seen elephants this morning. He jumped into the van and we were off again. Bringing us to a thicket of small trees, we exited the bus and headed downwind as not to be discovered by the elephant. Quietly, we tracked down an elephant near a watering hole and followed him for a short while. Stepping out from a patch of trees, we found ourselves face to face with the elephant himself (it was definitely a “him.” The Fulani pointed this out to me with much enthusiasm). The elephant stood there for a while and threw his trunk around. After we snapped a few photos, the elephant decided it was time for us to move on. He puffed his ears up and took a few steps forward, just to let us know we were on his turf. Yes, we got out of there very quickly. We saw our elephant, so all was a success.
The remainder of the trip was pretty anticlimactic. The boys made it on their own from Sevare to Bamako, which I found to be impressive. Due to an odd set of circumstances, I ended up on a different ride with all of the bags while they were on a bus. The end of the trip was spent in Bamako where Zack enjoyed playing pool and eating the Campagnard’s tex-mex pizza while Mike sipped cokes and made friends with PCVs. On Thursday I sent them off to the airport in a taxi cab and waited to hear that they had made it home safe. They did, so all is good.
As for me, I am still in Bamako under “medical arrest.” Something bit my finger and it became infected. My hand swelled up like a Mickey Mouse glove, so I’ve been bidding my time taking antibiotics and ibuprofen until the doctor gives me the OK to go back to site. I am anxious to get back to site in order to begin the millet field tests and make sure the rabbits are ok. I should also transport all the cement to village, as well. This must all be done in July before I head out to Spain and Morocco in August to rock climb, cliff jump, and see Erica at the very end. I really can hardly wait. Until my next blog post, adios!
Mike and Zack came out of the terminal all grins and greetings (not Malian greetings, but the more appropriate American style). They then informed me that the bag they brought for me full of climbing equipment, new shoes, and a grab bag mix of American goodies was lost in between time zones. Without asking for assistance, we had “well-wishers” and “helpers” working for us and eventually blocking the door until we paid them. Mike offered to pay, but I would not allow it. No wonder the Malians see us as suckers for cash (Mike!). The Peace Corps (mainly our financial manager Alyssa) was extremely helpful in getting the bag back (and she even bought me lunch). It turns out the bag was offloaded from the plane due to weight and was brought the next day. They figured I could wait…. Thanks, Royal Air Maroc.
The first leg of our trip took us down to Bougoni and Sikasso where Zack freestyle rapped in a night club called Alcatraz and then threw up all over Mike’s face in a taxi the next day. I promise that the two events are not related. And we can’t forget Sophie accidentally spitting chewed up nut kernels into a woman’s face after kindly asking her to move. Maybe the Bambara didn’t translate? We stayed with Sophie in Bougoni for a night. She helped show us around Sikasso region and took care of the Bambara and French, for the most part. In Bougoni, Zack jumped into a pickup game of soccer as soon as we arrived. His integration skills are impeccable. After Bougoni, we headed to Sikasso to camp by the waterfalls for a night. After being in the north for months, I have become very accustomed to a dry desert-like landscape and was completely caught off guard by the Jungle Book landscape of Sikasso. Mogli didn’t pop out swinging on a vine, but we were met my many curious onlookers at the waterfalls as we jumped in to escape the humidity. At night, we brought out the iPod and speakers to accompany our meal of canned chicken, mango jelly, peanuts, and dates (it was REALLY good). The air was so humid by the falls and none of us could really sleep. I felt submerged in a fog all night, which is not an ideal sleeping condition by any means.
The next day we hiked back to the main road for a little over an hour and I was given a chance to practice more Bamabara, but found myself in a Senufo village. Not much luck there. But, I did end up finding multiple Fulfulde speakers by the main road and felt right at home. I can speak Fulfulde really well and am extremely confident in my abilities. Mike and Zack thought it was funny to see me attract a crowd everywhere I went as I had them rallied around me while I told stories and joked around. I don’t know what I’ll do when I go home and am anonymous again; I enjoy this quazi-celebrity status that I hold here. Plus, I have become a little more proficient in both French and Bambara… mainly bar, restaurant and taxi language. The rest will come with time. Speaking a slew of languages is very taxing on the brain, but fun, nonetheless.
On the 10 hour ride between Sikasso and Sevare, I slept for the majority, but Mike and Zack were crammed and apparently experienced hell. You’ll have to speak to them for more details. My only qualm was stepping into a huge puddle of pit latrine water in Koutiala at around 3am. That put a damper on the ride and seriously downgraded the status of my new shoes. We saw the Darjeeling Limited at one point, which was perfect considering we were three brothers meeting up in a strange place after a long absense. I even had our itinerary worked out perfectly and was on pain killers by the end of the trip!
We hit up Sevare and Douentza quickly before making it to my village. The ride to Douentza was memorable because Mike was sick. We thought he might just make it the two hours, but 20 minutes before Douentza he looked at me with his pale face and said, “I’m not gonna make it.” I whipped out a pair of pants from my backpack and tied the legs together, creating a makeshift puke bag. As soon as the pants were open and in his hand, he let loose and I just laughed. Sorry, but I have very little sympathy for throwing up and/or diarreah in Mali. If you get Malaria, then I’ll send you a get well card.
We got to village the next morning. At the main road, we were met by two guys around my age (Hama and Mamadou) who carried the boys’ bags for them. They sent a kid ahead to notify the villagers that we had arrived. Waiting under a small shade tree and making small talk, we heard the beginnings of drums beating and guns firing. Within minutes, the entire village had assembled and come out to greet our arrival. What sounded like the coming of war ended up being the most hearty and warmest welcome I have ever experienced in my life. The entire village came out with guns blazing into the air and drums beating out rhythms. I introduced everyone and we were paraded into the village with such fanfare that I could have sworn we were in a movie. The villagers sang, danced, and jumped sporadically into the air as they accompanied us to all of the main house holds in village to greet the elders. Once the hooplah calmed down a bit, we were left at my house to unwind and relax a bit. We at some toh, a goat was killed, and the kids inundated us with questions. Shortly before the sun was setting, the drums and guns started up again and we were rushed back out to the main center where singing and dancing was at full force again. We all had our turn at dancing, but the dust was choking and we were tired.
The following day we hiked up into the mountains behind site and explored the ancient Tellem houses in the rocks and caves. Tijani and Ousman gave us a lot of information that I translated for the boys. They were looking for artifacts to sell to tourists, but found nothing remarkable. On the other hand, I was able to climb around and do some bouldering. I actually climbed up a large face without thinking of the consequences (very typical of me) and found that there was no way down. It was all overhangs and straight faces. I eventually pulled a Spiderman-esque move to get down and gave everyone a good scare.
That afternoon, it was time for me to kill the goat I had bought for Mike and Zack’s arrival. The goat was brought to my house and thrown onto the ground. Zack was squeamish and couldn’t watch, but Mike was ready with the camera. The guys in village made sure his angles and lighting were right and gave me the go-ahead to slaughter the goat (so long as I said the correct prayers). I grabbed the goat’s horn, pulled his head back as he faced Mecca and let out a loud “Bisimillah!” Slicing into the goat’s neck, he reeled back, but we had a tight grip on him. As instructed, I said “Allah akbar” as the blood came out, and everyone was happy. I sliced and sliced away until I could feel his spine. I was confused as one guy yelled “keep cutting!” while another yelled “enough!” I eventually came to a happy medium and stopped cutting. It was weird killing a goat; I almost felt out of my own body. I didn’t really feel like I was all there, but the dead goat at my feet and blood all over me confirmed the fact. Anyway, we roasted the goat and he tasted great. We dined on goat head soup with rice the next morning (not so great).
After leaving village, we met up with other PCVs and headed north to Hombori for rock climbing. We arrived around 1 in the morning and planned to climb up this one block to set the top rope for the morning, but Kevin was scared by mass quantities of bats. A rabies-laden bite is no way to start a climbing trip, so we put it off until the morning. The wind was fierce and we eventually found three camping sites to set up our tents where we wouldn’t blow away. I slept well until Kevin woke me up at first light to begin climbing. Mike really impressed me this day. On his first climb, he said it would be his last due to his fear of heights. But before I knew it, he was down on the ground and then strapped in on the other side for another climb! Go Mike! Zack was also really impressive. He got off to a slow start, but was consistently making it to the tops of his climbs. The second day he really came through. We had set a top rope on this face with tiny little holds. I belayed Zack on his climb and he just plugged away until he reached the top with no problems. I was a big fan of this rock because it was were I learned to repel myself down. It was like I was in a military commercial. Wearing my harness, I had the rope doubled up in my belay device and repelled down the rock with one hand above and one hand below. It was awesome having complete control of my decent.
That second morning, we were about to leave the campement we stayed at when I saw some odd looking clouds approaching. Hell’s chariot was on its way in the form of a sand storm. Imagine rolling clouds of sand thousands of feet tall engulfing huge rock spires in the distance barreling directly towards you. It’s scary and exciting, especially when your only shelter is a dried millet stock bungalow. Although Hell’s chariot never reached us, we were in for a neat treat as everything around us turned a bright yellowish-reddish-orangish hue. I don’t know how the storm missed us, but it did.
Leaving Hombori, we caught a ride to Boni in the back of a large truck full of people. Standing room only. A goat peed on Zack, Mike hit people in the face with his giant backpack and I was berated with questions in too many languages. We made it to Boni and negotiated a too-high price to go out and see elephants. Mike, Zack, Braxton (a fellow PCV) and I hopped into a 4X4 van (aka piece of junk) and rode out into the bush to search for elephants. At one point, the van was stopped by locals and we were hassled for the “local people tax,” which was complete bull and I told the guy we had already paid it to the local elephant association. He backed off. Our guide apparently thought we wanted to see a dead elephant and took us on our way. He then asked to make sure, and I said it would be preferable to see live elephants and avoid a large decomposing carcass. He agreed and turned the van around to go back nearly to where we began.
Again, we drove out into the bush in another direction until we found fresh elephant droppings, which where succinctly collected and deposited into the van (Braxton thinks they were selling them… for what purpose, he’s not sure). In time we found a Fulani watching over his animals who claimed to have seen elephants this morning. He jumped into the van and we were off again. Bringing us to a thicket of small trees, we exited the bus and headed downwind as not to be discovered by the elephant. Quietly, we tracked down an elephant near a watering hole and followed him for a short while. Stepping out from a patch of trees, we found ourselves face to face with the elephant himself (it was definitely a “him.” The Fulani pointed this out to me with much enthusiasm). The elephant stood there for a while and threw his trunk around. After we snapped a few photos, the elephant decided it was time for us to move on. He puffed his ears up and took a few steps forward, just to let us know we were on his turf. Yes, we got out of there very quickly. We saw our elephant, so all was a success.
The remainder of the trip was pretty anticlimactic. The boys made it on their own from Sevare to Bamako, which I found to be impressive. Due to an odd set of circumstances, I ended up on a different ride with all of the bags while they were on a bus. The end of the trip was spent in Bamako where Zack enjoyed playing pool and eating the Campagnard’s tex-mex pizza while Mike sipped cokes and made friends with PCVs. On Thursday I sent them off to the airport in a taxi cab and waited to hear that they had made it home safe. They did, so all is good.
As for me, I am still in Bamako under “medical arrest.” Something bit my finger and it became infected. My hand swelled up like a Mickey Mouse glove, so I’ve been bidding my time taking antibiotics and ibuprofen until the doctor gives me the OK to go back to site. I am anxious to get back to site in order to begin the millet field tests and make sure the rabbits are ok. I should also transport all the cement to village, as well. This must all be done in July before I head out to Spain and Morocco in August to rock climb, cliff jump, and see Erica at the very end. I really can hardly wait. Until my next blog post, adios!
28 May 2008
There's work to do!
To everyone that helped fund the cereal bank project: thank you very much! The construction of the building is well under way and should be completed within the next few weeks. The guys in village have been getting together every Monday and Friday to do "golle suudu baba" (the dogon equivalent of community service... "work for dad's house"). The majority of the building materials have been local, so there haven't been any issues regarding where to find things. Plus, I ordered and delivered the windows, received notification that the cement is in, and have nothing but good news. When the construction began, the guys let me help out a little, but being the outsider, they're not too comfortable with letting me get down into the work so much. They really see me as an organizer and fund finder, which works, but leaves a hell of a lot of down time on my part. Once the construction is complete, we'll move into the education phase in order to ensure that everyone associated with the cereal bank has the know how to run it effectively and keep it sustainable. Overall, projects are going well here for me and I have not hit any obstacles. With everything going on, one would think I was busy all of the time. That's not the case, but I am happy to be accomplishing things here.
Here I am surveying the work from the top as the old building is being torn down
This is Daouda. He's ready to help out with his hammer.
Tijani, Amadu and Djugal were able to salvage the door from the old building.
The guys watching on and working to take down the building.
Amadu testing out the fit of the new windows.
Kids bringing water over to make mud for the walls.
Also, thanks to everyone that contributed to my "slush fund" account. The biggest problem with starting even small scall projects here is the lack of available funds. It is extremely difficult to convince someone to put a few dollars worth of CFA into an idea when they need that money to feed there families. With the additional money I received, I have begun a low-input, small-scale rabbit raising project with two guys in village. I purchased wood and chicken mesh wire to build a portable hutch. After building it in a few hours, the villagers were impressed that I was able to do something with my hands! If they only knew I had these kinds of skills... sure I may be worthless with work relating to rocks and mud bricks (actually an entire rock wall fell on my back the other day. I'm all cut up and bruised, but I'll get better), but give me some wood, a hammer, saw and nails, and I'm set! The hutch itself cost around $25 plus however long it took me to build. A few days later I bought 4 rabbits and had them carted up from Bamako for about $5 a piece. We're currently working on a more permanent home for the rabbits made from mud bricks and stone. The portable hutch will come in handy when the rabbits breed and they are carried into market to be sold. Having a hutch that they can't get out of and other animals can't get into will be especially important (no rabbit meat for Rufus!) when it comes to mangy dogs running around.
Here's Adura watching over the rabbits. I am raising them with his and his uncle's help.
Lounging rabbits
I also was given six pigeons to be raised for consumption. If you remember an earlier post, I actually slaughtered one myself a few months back. They're really tasty. Seriously.
Mike and Zack will arrive in Bamako in 2 weeks, so you can imagine how excited I am for that. I have planned out a trip for them that includes the Sikasso waterfalls, rock climbing in Hombori, Elephants and Camels in either Boni or Gossi, and a little time spent at my site. Site should be interesting because I purchased a nice big goat to slaughter and will be getting ready to begin planting the millet for the season. They'll really get the whole Mali experience. Although I am excited to show off my Fulfulde skills, I am nervous about getting around the rest of the country with them considering my near-zero French and Bambara skills. It'll definitely be a test of smarts and patience.
10 May 2008
Some updating
Just a quick update. The good internet place is down, so now I have to pay double the price at a slower location. That's no fun.
But, I did just get back from rock climbing in Hombori again. I'm going to try to get up there about once a month because it's only a two hour ride away and the campement there is super cheap. I ordered climbing shoes and a harness from EMS that Mike and Zack will bring to Mali when they come in a few weeks. It's gonna be awesome playing Mali tour guide with my brothers for three weeks. So far I've put together a tentative schedule for us. As this is Mali, nothing is permanent and everything is relative. We'll just kind of go where we go with a few definite destinations once they get here.
The cereal bank project has officially begun. Last week the villagers tore down the old building and began to construct the new one. Yesterday, I picked up the windows I had ordered in Douentza and will bring them to site tomorrow. The guys there will be excited to have everything they need within the next few weeks.
Rufus disappeared for a week and a half, but he's back now. I found him a few towns over chasing some girl dogs around. When he was gone, the village kids dropped a cat (Sally) off at my house. Now that Rufus is back, I had to give the cat to Derek. Rufus goes in to crazy attack mode when he sees the cat. So that's too bad. I has hoping the cat would keep away the scorpions, spiders, and mice. I found a huge white spider with claws crawling on my stomach IN my tent the other night.... no where is safe! The same kind of spider (bigger than my hand) ran out of my house the other night, but I couldn't throw rocks fast enoughto kills him. I unfolded some sheets and a 4 inch long yellow scorpion fell out and ran straight at my feet... but I stomped him out fast. I've yet to find any snakes in my house, but it's only a matter of time. There are some sersiously poinsonous snakes in Mali. Yes. I'm just a little nervous.
I'm trying to find a way to get to Morocco to meet up with Erica in August, but it's hard to find travel deals flying out of Bamako. This place is like a black hole... you can get in, but leaving is a trick I haven't yet discovered. If anyone has info, please let me know.
But, I did just get back from rock climbing in Hombori again. I'm going to try to get up there about once a month because it's only a two hour ride away and the campement there is super cheap. I ordered climbing shoes and a harness from EMS that Mike and Zack will bring to Mali when they come in a few weeks. It's gonna be awesome playing Mali tour guide with my brothers for three weeks. So far I've put together a tentative schedule for us. As this is Mali, nothing is permanent and everything is relative. We'll just kind of go where we go with a few definite destinations once they get here.
The cereal bank project has officially begun. Last week the villagers tore down the old building and began to construct the new one. Yesterday, I picked up the windows I had ordered in Douentza and will bring them to site tomorrow. The guys there will be excited to have everything they need within the next few weeks.
Rufus disappeared for a week and a half, but he's back now. I found him a few towns over chasing some girl dogs around. When he was gone, the village kids dropped a cat (Sally) off at my house. Now that Rufus is back, I had to give the cat to Derek. Rufus goes in to crazy attack mode when he sees the cat. So that's too bad. I has hoping the cat would keep away the scorpions, spiders, and mice. I found a huge white spider with claws crawling on my stomach IN my tent the other night.... no where is safe! The same kind of spider (bigger than my hand) ran out of my house the other night, but I couldn't throw rocks fast enoughto kills him. I unfolded some sheets and a 4 inch long yellow scorpion fell out and ran straight at my feet... but I stomped him out fast. I've yet to find any snakes in my house, but it's only a matter of time. There are some sersiously poinsonous snakes in Mali. Yes. I'm just a little nervous.
I'm trying to find a way to get to Morocco to meet up with Erica in August, but it's hard to find travel deals flying out of Bamako. This place is like a black hole... you can get in, but leaving is a trick I haven't yet discovered. If anyone has info, please let me know.
21 April 2008
I'm still in Douentza. To be honest, I am afraid to go back to village in this heat. At least here I can find cold water, drinks and ice. It was 117 degrees in the sun yesterday, and 102 degrees in the shade. This is only the beginning of the hot season. I was told to wait for the sandstorms, which bring a "powdered doughnut" effect. Apparently, you sit and sweat all day. Then a breeze comes to cool you off. But this breeze should not be welcomed, as it hails the beginning of a major sand storm. Your sticky, sweaty body is the perfect recepticle for all that flying sand. Hence, the "powdered doughnut" effect. I will go back to village today where I will find myself surrounded by rocks that collect heat and don't let it escape. I'm not sure if it's some sort of a heat hostage situation. What do the mountains have to gain from it? It's even hot at night now. There really is no reprieve from this heat during the hot season. I lay in my tent in a half sleep, sweating, praying a cool wind will pass by. It does, occasionally. The rains will be here in a few months, so I have something to look forward to. I haven't seen rain since September. When it finally returns, I promise to sit outside in the rain for as long as it falls.
I haven't been getting a lot of exercise lately and I put a few pounds back on when I was in Bamako. As I was greeting the guys from my village yesterday in Douentza, they were impressed with the little belly I acquired. They said, "You look so healthy and fat! You must have eaten such good food! Was there meat? Salad? Pasta? Rice? Did you drink coffee and eat bread EVERY day???" And then they proceeded to rub my belly and push in with their fingers. Needless say, it was wierd. But everything here is wierd, so I take it all in stride. I started to work out this week, too. I don't have any wieghts to lift, so I've made due with what I've got. Rocks! I searched around and found some rocks that seem to be evenly wieghted, and they're working out all right. Lots of pushups, situps and rock lifts. Hopefully the village guys won't push in my belly after a few weeks.
Talk about bed head! I woke up very surprised this morning.
What are you looking at? Fikru and I have been bored and trying to entertain ourselves in this heat. So, here we are being all bad ass and what not.
Look at all this sand in Douentza just waiting to be whipped up in a storm!
These women are outside my house everyday making oil for their hair. They start a small fire under the rock and press seeds and leaves over it to extract the oil. They massage it into their braided hair in order to keep the hair tight and close to their heads.
The oil goes into the plastic jar.
19 April 2008
Life in Dimbatoro
At the base of the mountains that lie behind Dimbatoro is a stream where the villagers grow fruits, vegetables, wash clothes, and get drinking water. This photo was taken next to the stream. The kids love to hang out there, bath, play and pluck mangoes from the trees. Although the mangoes are not yet in season... we still have to wait a few more weeks... these kids used a little teamwork to reach up and grab the bitter green mangoes.
Here is the mosque in front of my house. It is made from mud bricks and covered with more mud. The large triangle in the back is made from mud and it's shape and height are achieved by layering mud and sticks. This building technique is common to the Sahelian Muslims. The small structure in front of the mosque is built low to the ground for two reasons. First, it offers shade during the majority of the day. And two, only men are allowed to hang out there. If an argument turns violent, the men can not stand quickly to fight. If they rise in anger, they will hit their heads and fall back down. Also, there are lots of mini pillars inside for both support and to stop swinging arms. Apparently their were a lot of fights in the past.
This is Boucari and he is the craziest, yet awesome, old man I have ever met. When I first arrived in village, my Fulfulde was definitely not up to par. One time I responded to a greeting with "baasi fuu wala" ...there are no problems... but I put too much emphasis on the "fuu" and he thought that was the funniest thing he's ever heard. To this day, we greets me with the fully emphasized "baasi fuuuuuu wala."
This picture was taken around 4pm in the gardens behind Dimbatoro. There are two old men facing east praying towards Mecca. They are in the shade of a tree, but you can see one kneeling and one standing. There is a good selection of vegetation in this photo. You can see manioc, baobab, mango, a papaya tree, and lemon trees in the background.
Here I am in the garden with my friend Amadu. We have the same name here in Mali, so we refer to each other as "toccara." This means "namesake." He was very excited to pose for the photo while standing next to a mango tree.
This is the main street in Dimbatoro. Once you enter into the village, this is the first thing you will see. Of course, there is the ever present donkey cart in the corner!
This is the original cereal bank in Dimbatoro. The roof caved in, so we're working on building a new grain storage house. If you haven't donated to my project, please go to http://www.peacecorps.gov/ to donate. You can click on "donate now" and then "donate to volunteer projects." My cereal bank project can be found under Mali, D. Munsell, MA, Agriculture, Cereal Bank, etc. As of today, I have received over $1200 of the total $2159 needed. We are well on our way to making this project a reality.
The mango collectors.
The stream where the majority of Dimbatoro's water needs are met. Kinda small, huh?
If you remember from a previous post, I went climbing up in Hombori in March. When I went to Bamako last week I got my hands on some pretty good pics from Jared's camera. The next two pics were taken from Jared's belay spot. He strung up a pendulum top rope and beleyed from a perch half way up the climb. Here I am just hanging in the balance.
I'm going up!
Still going up!
18 April 2008
What I find amusing
This is Balo. He is a really good guy in my village that spends all day carving statues and other traditional Dogon arts. There are a bunch of guys in village that sit in this spot behind Tijani's house and carve all day every day. I enjoy sitting with them, talking about life in the village, drinking tea, and cracking jokes. Maybe one day I'll try my hand at the carving.
Here's Hama and Djugal playing cards at my house. They're playing 151, which I just recently picked up. It's a fun and simple game that helps to pass the time. Djugal is a bit of the cheat when he plays, so I have to keep him in line.
This little guy's name is Oumar and I made the mistake of teaching him to say "What up, buddy?" in a Pauly Shore kind of way back in August. I came back in September, and not only had he not forgot the greeting, but he had taught it to all of the other little kids. It's now April, and all the kids just love to scream "What up buddy?" EVERY single time they see me.
These are all unrippened mangoes that grow just outside my village. All day long, the youngest kids in the village run around collecting and eating the unrippened mangoes. It's kind of like their job. I was sitting up by the stream this day and the little kids just kept bringing me mango after mango after mango. I ate a few, but probably took a few layers off my teeth due to the acidic level of the mangoes. I now have no further questions regarding the whereabouts of the villagers' teeth.
Because cars are few and far between in Mali, most people that can afford their own private transportation choose motorcycles. They are cheap and easy to maintain. But how much can you actually fit on a motorcycle? A lot! Have you seen those Michellin tire commercials with the guy made out of tires? Malians have perfected the art of riding motorcycles with up to 3 tires around their waists (depending on how tall he is), and smaller ones on their arms. On numerous occasions, I've even seen up to 4 people on on moto here. But what about this goat I just bought? How do I bring him all the way back to village? Tie him up and strap him to the back of the moto. One guy actually tied a sheep to his shoulders and rode back because he had another passenger on the back of the moto!
On my way to Koyra, a local market town a few km from my village, I came across a group of Fulfani herders on their way west. One of the younger herders wanted to greet me, so we started walking over. The Fulfani (Peuhl) are the traditional cow herders of West Africa. They lead a relatively nomadic lifestyle compared to many of the other local ethnicities. The man walked over to me in his long green and yellow robe, turbaned head and flip flop shoed feet. Although he was young, he had a small scruffy beard, which means he had probably recently taken his first wife. Like many of the traveling Fulanis, he had a radio tied around his neck. We greeted each other in a very respectful manner, but I could hardly contain my laughter. Despite all of the formalities and manners, I just couldn't get over the 50 Cent - "In da Club" blasting from his radio! Yes, much of the traditional culture has been saved here in Mali, but you can't deny that Western culture is making a pretty big impression over here.
As long as you use your left hand, picking your nose is fine in Malian culture. There are just way too many occasions where I find myself speaking with a Malian friend, stranger, prominent community member, etc, when that left hand just reaches up and begins to dig. Do I look away? Do I offer a tissue? Where's he gonna flick that thing? It's huge! The left hand is the dirty hand, and there are really no limits to what you can do with it. Due to the extreme dust here, people often have stuffy noses. The left hand makes a great tissue. Just reach up, cover the nose, blow, wipe it on the closest wall, tree, animal, and you're done! What really kills me is that, despite the left hand being the dirty hand, people will still clasp your hands with both of theirs, walk hand in hand left to right, touch everything in site, etc. The left hand is also used for cleaning yourself after going to the bathroom. Sadly, soap is overrated in Mali, and plain water is the preferred method of cleanliness. I've come to the conclusion that Mali is just covered in snot and feces. Wonderful.
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