Saturday, March 27, 2004
Malaria
Well, I have become a real Malienne now, thanks to a mosquito bite too many and a slight delay in taking my anti-malarial medicine. When you get malaria, you really get it – fever, muscle aches, vomiting, lying on the couch wondering if it will ever end. Meanwhile all your Malian friends and family wish you better health on behalf of Allah, and tell you it will pass. Then, incredibly, it does.
Malaria, I think, is just one of many things that demonstrates differences in American and Malian mentalities. For us, malaria seems like such a scary illness, so foreign, so exotic. Those few days on the couch my family took great care of me, but they were very nonchalant about it – ‘Oh, it’ll pass. It’s nothing.’ And they were right – I had been to the best clinic in Bamako. I had good medicine. I have a mosquito net to sleep under every night, deet to cover myself with, and the moment I begin to get worse rather than better, I can be med-evacuated anywhere in the world. Most Malians don’t have these options. In fact, they sometimes only have their previous bouts with Malaria and perhaps a few traditional medicines to help them get better. And I don’t mean to minimize the disease – it is the number one killer in Mali. But an attitude of acceptance becomes necessary – because everyone has had malaria, and will probably have it again. They know the cycle – three days of fever, pain, they know when it comes back due to a cold or other weakeness in the immune system. The same week I was dealing with malaria, three other people in my compound had it to varying degrees as well. What can people do in this situation except try to protect themselves as best as they can (education about mosquito nets has helped), have a positive attitude about it, and use whatever medicines they may be able to afford ? I don’t know if I’m explaining myself well – I don’t want people to worry about me, because I have the privilige to get better should I get malaria again, and even now I had a speedy recovery thanks to my access to health care and medecine. I feel more solidarity with Malians now that I have experienced such an integral (if unwanted) part of their daily lives, yet even that solidarity is somewhat superficial. People die from malaria, yet every day others survive it. I’m here in a country where it’s impolite to ask how many children a women has, because so often she will have lost so many. Life expectancy is around 50 – malaria and other diseases are a fact of life. So for everyone, malaria is not the fearful foreign concept that it is for Americans – its just something that happens over and over, to you and the people you love, a recurring event that you try your best to survive each time.
In other, less depressing news, life here has been going by quickly late, perhaps because we have passed the halfway point. Our classes and exams ended this week, and tomorrow morning we leave for our ‘Grande Excursion’ to Djenne, pays Dogon, Mopti, and finally, Timbuktu. I’m looking forward to all of it – Mali is such a diverse country and I’ve been fascinated by regional differences we’ve seen thus far. And of course, who wouldn’t be excited to ride camels to the Shangri-la of the Sahara.
After our 10 day voyage, we return to Bamako, and have a month to work on our independent study project. I’m staying here in the capitol to explore community conceptions of poverty in Mali (the 4th poorest country in the world according to the UNDP Human Development Index). I’m really happy about this, because not only do I think that often, development agencies come to places like Mali with a pre-conceived notion of what poverty is without consulting the community, but I am also very moved by the ways families and friends creatively cope with the problems created by poverty, from women’s associations to the way all resources are shared, and so little is wasted.
On that note, I have to go, but in the meantime, here is a related anecdote from yesterday afternoon :
My mom, a friend of hers, and I were washing lettuce, and a cousin came and asked the friend what’s the news in her life. She laughed and said, ‘There’s no news, just the same old poverty !’ then she translated it into French for me, and we all laughed some more. Sometimes that’s all you can do.
Well, I have become a real Malienne now, thanks to a mosquito bite too many and a slight delay in taking my anti-malarial medicine. When you get malaria, you really get it – fever, muscle aches, vomiting, lying on the couch wondering if it will ever end. Meanwhile all your Malian friends and family wish you better health on behalf of Allah, and tell you it will pass. Then, incredibly, it does.
Malaria, I think, is just one of many things that demonstrates differences in American and Malian mentalities. For us, malaria seems like such a scary illness, so foreign, so exotic. Those few days on the couch my family took great care of me, but they were very nonchalant about it – ‘Oh, it’ll pass. It’s nothing.’ And they were right – I had been to the best clinic in Bamako. I had good medicine. I have a mosquito net to sleep under every night, deet to cover myself with, and the moment I begin to get worse rather than better, I can be med-evacuated anywhere in the world. Most Malians don’t have these options. In fact, they sometimes only have their previous bouts with Malaria and perhaps a few traditional medicines to help them get better. And I don’t mean to minimize the disease – it is the number one killer in Mali. But an attitude of acceptance becomes necessary – because everyone has had malaria, and will probably have it again. They know the cycle – three days of fever, pain, they know when it comes back due to a cold or other weakeness in the immune system. The same week I was dealing with malaria, three other people in my compound had it to varying degrees as well. What can people do in this situation except try to protect themselves as best as they can (education about mosquito nets has helped), have a positive attitude about it, and use whatever medicines they may be able to afford ? I don’t know if I’m explaining myself well – I don’t want people to worry about me, because I have the privilige to get better should I get malaria again, and even now I had a speedy recovery thanks to my access to health care and medecine. I feel more solidarity with Malians now that I have experienced such an integral (if unwanted) part of their daily lives, yet even that solidarity is somewhat superficial. People die from malaria, yet every day others survive it. I’m here in a country where it’s impolite to ask how many children a women has, because so often she will have lost so many. Life expectancy is around 50 – malaria and other diseases are a fact of life. So for everyone, malaria is not the fearful foreign concept that it is for Americans – its just something that happens over and over, to you and the people you love, a recurring event that you try your best to survive each time.
In other, less depressing news, life here has been going by quickly late, perhaps because we have passed the halfway point. Our classes and exams ended this week, and tomorrow morning we leave for our ‘Grande Excursion’ to Djenne, pays Dogon, Mopti, and finally, Timbuktu. I’m looking forward to all of it – Mali is such a diverse country and I’ve been fascinated by regional differences we’ve seen thus far. And of course, who wouldn’t be excited to ride camels to the Shangri-la of the Sahara.
After our 10 day voyage, we return to Bamako, and have a month to work on our independent study project. I’m staying here in the capitol to explore community conceptions of poverty in Mali (the 4th poorest country in the world according to the UNDP Human Development Index). I’m really happy about this, because not only do I think that often, development agencies come to places like Mali with a pre-conceived notion of what poverty is without consulting the community, but I am also very moved by the ways families and friends creatively cope with the problems created by poverty, from women’s associations to the way all resources are shared, and so little is wasted.
On that note, I have to go, but in the meantime, here is a related anecdote from yesterday afternoon :
My mom, a friend of hers, and I were washing lettuce, and a cousin came and asked the friend what’s the news in her life. She laughed and said, ‘There’s no news, just the same old poverty !’ then she translated it into French for me, and we all laughed some more. Sometimes that’s all you can do.
Thursday was our final day of classes, with it came exams. Below is my (hastily written, overly philosophical) response to a question which basically asked, 'you come back to Mali 25 years from now - what changes would you like to see, particularly for the status of women?' I had about an hour at an internet cafe to write it, so forgive me for it's inadequacies. I think it's too long and rambling to be interesting to everyone, but I thought I'd post it for those who are interested. It has some translation problems (as I had to translate much of it in my head from French into English) but it is a good indication of many of the thoughts and questions that have been running through my head lately.
How can one change the world? Does it ever really change, or do injustices simply don different masks? Can social changes - changes in conciousness - ever really occur without simultaneous economic and political change? What changes really are good – what is real progress? As an American I have been brought up being told that we live in a world dictated by progress; as an activist I have dedicated my life to positive social change. Yet I came to Mali with the desire to learn before trying to change, and everyday I feel the conflict between noting the aspects of life here that could or should change, and the realization that the Western ideas of “progress” and “civilization” are in many ways responsible for so many of the things that are in fact in need of changing. The modern world is a complicated one with no easy answers, yet regardless of one’s attitude toward progress, one thing is clear – we can’t go back. We have nowhere to go but forward – to tomorrow, next week, next year. For too long, this has been taken to mean progress in the traditional sense, but for me, I think it is an actual sort of freedom, if we are only able to look at it differently. Life goes on, each day passes, but in terms of what we do with it, we have the freedom to decide for ourselves. I realize this idea, too, is one born of American independence and privilege, but when I think about Mali in the future, it is the idea that gives me hope. For almost all Malians, the idea that each day is theirs to decide is not a reality – there are too many economic, educational and societal barriers and obligations. But I believe that, collectively, we do have the power to decide the future. Tout seul, very few people have the resources to truly change what tomorrow looks like, but collectively, with a little creativity, the future really can be different. I have faith that, if only human beings can begin to understand each other on deeper and more fundamental levels, we will begin to find new ways to communicate with each other, and will together begin to imagine, and realize, a better world.
As I write this I recognize my words for what they are – inadequate philosophical musings, without yet any concrete ideas or observations of the Mali I imagine for 25 years from now. But for me the above realizations are a fundamental starting point, because I believe that no matter how different Malian society may be from my own, our futures are interconnected, as indeed are the lives of all humans, and I cannot imagine Mali 25 years from now without also imagining myself at that time, and the world as a whole. Over the course of 25 years change of some sort is inevitable, but not all change is good. For example, over the past 10 years in Mali, what the International Monetary Fund might call “progress” has meant a devaluation in currency, reduced life expectancy and status as one the “pays plus pauvre très endetté.” So much depends on circumstances – weather patterns, the politics of those in power, international economic changes – that I have no desire to predict or forecast on Mali’s future even 5 years from now. Instead I prefer to focus on what positive changes could happen in Mali if people are collectively able to decide more for their futures, and what role I envision for myself and my own country during this time.
To begin with, I believe that positive change inside Mali is intrinsically linked to changes that are necessary in the world at large. Only 40 some years after the official end of colonialism, Mali, like so many African countries, continues to suffer from an international economic system in which the many are controlled by a powerful few. Rich, developed countries like mine control the flow of resources and labor, imposing rules such as privatization and free market economics on the global south, yet the poorer countries can never gain equal footing, due to inconsistencies such as US cotton subsidies, which prevents Mali from selling its cotton at a fair price internationally. This is neo-colonialism, or perhaps even robbery, and most people in the world, including Americans, suffer from it. I think that the struggle against this will be one of the fundamental struggles of the next 25 years, as I think it is a moral and human rights issue that affects us all. I believe that economics doesn’t have to be dictated by efficiency, profit, and bottom-lines. As a human construction, economics can be altered to instead be based on social justice concerns, such as equality, and although this requires an incredible shift in global mentality and practices, it is a shift that, on a fundamentally moral level, would benefit everyone. In 25 years I would like nothing more than to see Mali as a more equal partner in the international marketplace, one where even if the system is imperfect, at least the rules are fair. One with less emphasis on consumption and profit gains in already rich countries, and more attention paid to quality of life for all people, a global economic system where wealth gaps are reduced because not only do poor people have greater access to basic services, resources and employment, but also one where richer people are able to trade some material wealth and economic participation for less hours at the office and more quality time with their families. I recognize that changes like these are incredibly difficult and slow to come, but I also believe we all stand to benefit, and that an economic shift like this is fundamental for Mali to be able to move beyond the dependency created by colonialism. Currently in Mali, internationally-funded NGOs are responsible for approximately 2/3 of schools and health care facilities. This is absolutely unsustainable, and my vision for 25 years from now would be a more equal global economic system where Mali would be able to finance its own health and education systems, and other countries wouldn’t be so much more rich that they could control Mali’s human services due to the “charity” of their financial support. This might take 250 years, not only 25, but I think a just revisioning of global economics is one of the most important changes that could come to Mali.
In many ways, the situation of women in Mali parallels Mali’s situation in the world at large. A lack of economic independence and an historical history of oppression combine to keep intact rigid gender roles and inequality among the sexes. Much of the division of gender roles is based on or perpetuated by culture, and when I discuss this issue I am very wary of being culturally imperialist due to my own Western biases. Because of this very real concern, I see my role not as someone who thinks she has the answers for gender relations in Mali, but as a woman who is still trying to figure out how the negative effects of patriarchy in her own country, and as a human being who wants to question unjust systems through real moments of connection with others. When I speak about women’s issues in Mali I think about my host mother, Anta, and her hopes for Malian women. When I discuss the inferior status of women with the young men who live in my compound, it’s not necessarily to change their minds, but to get them thinking – I do it to start dialogue, to discuss what I percieve to be unjust. Afterwards, we are usually able to find points of agreement, but also touch upon issues that make both of us think about the morality behind cultural practices. In the end, I only hope that our discussions help us both become more moral. And that is what I hope for Malian women in general – for more discussions to occur in which all Malians confront cultural practices which make one group inferior to another. I hope that as the idea of women’s rights continues to spread, and both women and men are recognized for their contributions to Malian life, that women will also attain more freedom of choice and financial independence. As I jokingly say to my male friends here, I think a culture where men are not allowed to cook is not only oppressive to women but to men as well. I would love nothing more than, 25 years down the road, to return and visit a Mali where my male friends could cook for me, where both men and women have the freedom to choose how best to make their lives work for themselves.
Ultimately, my hopes for Mali are both revolutionary and basically human. I think that a revolution of conciousness – how, mentally, humans view and interact with one another – is absolutely necessary. In some ways this seems far-fetched – at what point would US cotton farmers benefitting from subsidies recognize the harm caused to West African cotton farmers and, through a shared sense of humanity, be willing to lose their own economic gain for the sake of a more just world? Yet in other ways it is simple – when people get beyond the surface, sensing one’s shared humanity is easily facilitated and greatly appreciated – the generosity of our Malian host families is just one of many examples. I think many of the specific changes asked about by this essay, in regards to development, the environment, politics and the healthcare system are entirely dependent on Mali’s own independence, that is, its ability to decide its future for itself, and the empowerment of all its people in this process. Whatever changes may come to Mali over the next quarter century, the most fundamental change of all would be for Malians themselves to be deciding the changes, to not be at the mercy of the international economic market or international institutions, for Malian men and women from all social backgrounds being able to collectively decide how their tomorrows will look.
How can one change the world? Does it ever really change, or do injustices simply don different masks? Can social changes - changes in conciousness - ever really occur without simultaneous economic and political change? What changes really are good – what is real progress? As an American I have been brought up being told that we live in a world dictated by progress; as an activist I have dedicated my life to positive social change. Yet I came to Mali with the desire to learn before trying to change, and everyday I feel the conflict between noting the aspects of life here that could or should change, and the realization that the Western ideas of “progress” and “civilization” are in many ways responsible for so many of the things that are in fact in need of changing. The modern world is a complicated one with no easy answers, yet regardless of one’s attitude toward progress, one thing is clear – we can’t go back. We have nowhere to go but forward – to tomorrow, next week, next year. For too long, this has been taken to mean progress in the traditional sense, but for me, I think it is an actual sort of freedom, if we are only able to look at it differently. Life goes on, each day passes, but in terms of what we do with it, we have the freedom to decide for ourselves. I realize this idea, too, is one born of American independence and privilege, but when I think about Mali in the future, it is the idea that gives me hope. For almost all Malians, the idea that each day is theirs to decide is not a reality – there are too many economic, educational and societal barriers and obligations. But I believe that, collectively, we do have the power to decide the future. Tout seul, very few people have the resources to truly change what tomorrow looks like, but collectively, with a little creativity, the future really can be different. I have faith that, if only human beings can begin to understand each other on deeper and more fundamental levels, we will begin to find new ways to communicate with each other, and will together begin to imagine, and realize, a better world.
As I write this I recognize my words for what they are – inadequate philosophical musings, without yet any concrete ideas or observations of the Mali I imagine for 25 years from now. But for me the above realizations are a fundamental starting point, because I believe that no matter how different Malian society may be from my own, our futures are interconnected, as indeed are the lives of all humans, and I cannot imagine Mali 25 years from now without also imagining myself at that time, and the world as a whole. Over the course of 25 years change of some sort is inevitable, but not all change is good. For example, over the past 10 years in Mali, what the International Monetary Fund might call “progress” has meant a devaluation in currency, reduced life expectancy and status as one the “pays plus pauvre très endetté.” So much depends on circumstances – weather patterns, the politics of those in power, international economic changes – that I have no desire to predict or forecast on Mali’s future even 5 years from now. Instead I prefer to focus on what positive changes could happen in Mali if people are collectively able to decide more for their futures, and what role I envision for myself and my own country during this time.
To begin with, I believe that positive change inside Mali is intrinsically linked to changes that are necessary in the world at large. Only 40 some years after the official end of colonialism, Mali, like so many African countries, continues to suffer from an international economic system in which the many are controlled by a powerful few. Rich, developed countries like mine control the flow of resources and labor, imposing rules such as privatization and free market economics on the global south, yet the poorer countries can never gain equal footing, due to inconsistencies such as US cotton subsidies, which prevents Mali from selling its cotton at a fair price internationally. This is neo-colonialism, or perhaps even robbery, and most people in the world, including Americans, suffer from it. I think that the struggle against this will be one of the fundamental struggles of the next 25 years, as I think it is a moral and human rights issue that affects us all. I believe that economics doesn’t have to be dictated by efficiency, profit, and bottom-lines. As a human construction, economics can be altered to instead be based on social justice concerns, such as equality, and although this requires an incredible shift in global mentality and practices, it is a shift that, on a fundamentally moral level, would benefit everyone. In 25 years I would like nothing more than to see Mali as a more equal partner in the international marketplace, one where even if the system is imperfect, at least the rules are fair. One with less emphasis on consumption and profit gains in already rich countries, and more attention paid to quality of life for all people, a global economic system where wealth gaps are reduced because not only do poor people have greater access to basic services, resources and employment, but also one where richer people are able to trade some material wealth and economic participation for less hours at the office and more quality time with their families. I recognize that changes like these are incredibly difficult and slow to come, but I also believe we all stand to benefit, and that an economic shift like this is fundamental for Mali to be able to move beyond the dependency created by colonialism. Currently in Mali, internationally-funded NGOs are responsible for approximately 2/3 of schools and health care facilities. This is absolutely unsustainable, and my vision for 25 years from now would be a more equal global economic system where Mali would be able to finance its own health and education systems, and other countries wouldn’t be so much more rich that they could control Mali’s human services due to the “charity” of their financial support. This might take 250 years, not only 25, but I think a just revisioning of global economics is one of the most important changes that could come to Mali.
In many ways, the situation of women in Mali parallels Mali’s situation in the world at large. A lack of economic independence and an historical history of oppression combine to keep intact rigid gender roles and inequality among the sexes. Much of the division of gender roles is based on or perpetuated by culture, and when I discuss this issue I am very wary of being culturally imperialist due to my own Western biases. Because of this very real concern, I see my role not as someone who thinks she has the answers for gender relations in Mali, but as a woman who is still trying to figure out how the negative effects of patriarchy in her own country, and as a human being who wants to question unjust systems through real moments of connection with others. When I speak about women’s issues in Mali I think about my host mother, Anta, and her hopes for Malian women. When I discuss the inferior status of women with the young men who live in my compound, it’s not necessarily to change their minds, but to get them thinking – I do it to start dialogue, to discuss what I percieve to be unjust. Afterwards, we are usually able to find points of agreement, but also touch upon issues that make both of us think about the morality behind cultural practices. In the end, I only hope that our discussions help us both become more moral. And that is what I hope for Malian women in general – for more discussions to occur in which all Malians confront cultural practices which make one group inferior to another. I hope that as the idea of women’s rights continues to spread, and both women and men are recognized for their contributions to Malian life, that women will also attain more freedom of choice and financial independence. As I jokingly say to my male friends here, I think a culture where men are not allowed to cook is not only oppressive to women but to men as well. I would love nothing more than, 25 years down the road, to return and visit a Mali where my male friends could cook for me, where both men and women have the freedom to choose how best to make their lives work for themselves.
Ultimately, my hopes for Mali are both revolutionary and basically human. I think that a revolution of conciousness – how, mentally, humans view and interact with one another – is absolutely necessary. In some ways this seems far-fetched – at what point would US cotton farmers benefitting from subsidies recognize the harm caused to West African cotton farmers and, through a shared sense of humanity, be willing to lose their own economic gain for the sake of a more just world? Yet in other ways it is simple – when people get beyond the surface, sensing one’s shared humanity is easily facilitated and greatly appreciated – the generosity of our Malian host families is just one of many examples. I think many of the specific changes asked about by this essay, in regards to development, the environment, politics and the healthcare system are entirely dependent on Mali’s own independence, that is, its ability to decide its future for itself, and the empowerment of all its people in this process. Whatever changes may come to Mali over the next quarter century, the most fundamental change of all would be for Malians themselves to be deciding the changes, to not be at the mercy of the international economic market or international institutions, for Malian men and women from all social backgrounds being able to collectively decide how their tomorrows will look.
Wednesday, March 10, 2004
I wrote this a couple weeks ago but only had the chance to type it up now ... I would love to hear how things are going in your parts of the world.
-Oumou
February 16
Today we have started our second week of classes, and it’s hard to believe so much has happened in only 10 days. Bamako’s so different than any place I have ever been before – there’s a kind of chaotic poetry to how people, bicycles, pushcarts, animals, cars, motorbikes and buses share roadspace, a dangerous frenetic dance that everyone (except perhaps us) seems to know the steps to.
I don’t really know where to begin describing my experiences here, but I think that is the best metaphor. For the past 10 days we have been adjusting to rhythms, both literally and metaphorically. Every morning I am awoken by Arabic chanting that is the morning call to prayer, broadcast from a nearby mosques. Then of course there are the rhythms of communication. Already language has begun to return, the ability to speak, listen and think in French, despite the grammatical mistakes and adjustment for the Malian accent. Then there’s the rounded rhythm of bambara spoken everywhere – as greetings, in our families, as the true language of bamako’s streets, music and culture. With our host families’ repetition and our classroom lessons we are slowly learning it, even as we improve our French, and as I switch from language to language to language, I alternate between confusion, frustration, humility and a real sense of accomplishment.
I use the metaphor because there are some literal rhythms we have adapted to as well ... last week, as part of our orientation, we travelled 86 kilometers on an unpaved road (here, rhythm equals bumpy !) to a village called Kangaba, where we visited families in pairs (Beth and I taught hopscotch and Down by the Banks to a dozen kids) and also met with the village chief, who shared the region’s history with us. That night some of the village women taught us their traditional dancing while a crowd of children circled around us, laughing. The atmosphere of the evening had a surreal quality to it and I think we all felt the duality between living in the moment – feeling the drumbeats move through us as we followed the complicated steps and moves, and the awareness that here we were, dancing, sweating, miles from even Bamako, experiencing something very real apart from its stereotypical identity.
There is a rhythm to daily life here as well, and for the women, it is one that starts early and ends very late. At my homestay the women are up by 5 or 6, drawing water from the well, starting the cooking fires, pounding millett with a huge mortar and pestle for the morning porridge or to (basic sustenance food). In our compound there are over 40 people, which means a lot of food to cook, water to draw from the well, clothes to wash and hang on the line, floors to sweep, dishes to wash (all washing is done by hand, in a series of buckets) and children to care for. Even if a woman works outside the home she must do all this, or hire a maid to help, because it is culturally taboo, and in fact against the marriage code, for men to do any of this work.
-Oumou
February 16
Today we have started our second week of classes, and it’s hard to believe so much has happened in only 10 days. Bamako’s so different than any place I have ever been before – there’s a kind of chaotic poetry to how people, bicycles, pushcarts, animals, cars, motorbikes and buses share roadspace, a dangerous frenetic dance that everyone (except perhaps us) seems to know the steps to.
I don’t really know where to begin describing my experiences here, but I think that is the best metaphor. For the past 10 days we have been adjusting to rhythms, both literally and metaphorically. Every morning I am awoken by Arabic chanting that is the morning call to prayer, broadcast from a nearby mosques. Then of course there are the rhythms of communication. Already language has begun to return, the ability to speak, listen and think in French, despite the grammatical mistakes and adjustment for the Malian accent. Then there’s the rounded rhythm of bambara spoken everywhere – as greetings, in our families, as the true language of bamako’s streets, music and culture. With our host families’ repetition and our classroom lessons we are slowly learning it, even as we improve our French, and as I switch from language to language to language, I alternate between confusion, frustration, humility and a real sense of accomplishment.
I use the metaphor because there are some literal rhythms we have adapted to as well ... last week, as part of our orientation, we travelled 86 kilometers on an unpaved road (here, rhythm equals bumpy !) to a village called Kangaba, where we visited families in pairs (Beth and I taught hopscotch and Down by the Banks to a dozen kids) and also met with the village chief, who shared the region’s history with us. That night some of the village women taught us their traditional dancing while a crowd of children circled around us, laughing. The atmosphere of the evening had a surreal quality to it and I think we all felt the duality between living in the moment – feeling the drumbeats move through us as we followed the complicated steps and moves, and the awareness that here we were, dancing, sweating, miles from even Bamako, experiencing something very real apart from its stereotypical identity.
There is a rhythm to daily life here as well, and for the women, it is one that starts early and ends very late. At my homestay the women are up by 5 or 6, drawing water from the well, starting the cooking fires, pounding millett with a huge mortar and pestle for the morning porridge or to (basic sustenance food). In our compound there are over 40 people, which means a lot of food to cook, water to draw from the well, clothes to wash and hang on the line, floors to sweep, dishes to wash (all washing is done by hand, in a series of buckets) and children to care for. Even if a woman works outside the home she must do all this, or hire a maid to help, because it is culturally taboo, and in fact against the marriage code, for men to do any of this work.
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
My Family
So far my host family has been the best part of this trip. My immediate family consists of five people – Ladi and Anta, my host parents, and three younger brothers – Moussa, 10, Kassim, 3, and Amadou, who is four months old. We live, however, with 43 people total, in a compound that consists of four sets of rooms surrounding a courtyard. By American standards it would seem hopelessly crowded but somehow it works, mainly because almost all the rooms are simply a space for sleeping, and although 4 or 5 people might share them, when awake people spread out outdoors. The courtyard contains the well where we draw up all our water, a shed where cooking utensils, pots and pans are kept, mutliple cooking fires, and clotheslines. It’s also the main place for activity – where I play soccer with Kassim and the other young boys, where the young men play scrabble, and where most socializing occurs. The other main center of action is my family’s living room ( I have a small room right beside it, although I don’t spend much time there other than sleeping, as it is very stuffy and has no windows). There’s a tv in there, as well as a ceiling fan (although I think I am the one who appreciates it most) and even a telephone, which is very rare for a Malian family. I think because there are so many people in my compound my family can afford the telephone. I find the tv fascinating, not only because the Malian tv station is so great, but because I think it’s hilarious what people like to watch. No matter what neighborhood in Bamako you are in, around 7 : 30 every evening you will hear Brazilian music coming from every house, because a French-dubbed Brazilian soap opera, « Family Secrets » is like a national addiction. Last night there were 14 people crowded into our living room to watch it. It’s so bad, especially with the dubbing, and it is nothing like the Brazil I visited, but, like most soap operas, it has a ridiculous plot, and I think people are drawn into the intrigue and scandals that would never happen here. I really enjoy the Malian news that comes on after the telenovela, though, because unlike the local evening news in the States, which focuses on fires, robberies, murders etc. the news here actually focuses on real issues, such as a meeting of local women who work with micro-financing instutitions, or a conference held at the university on the negative effects of corporate globalization. The other thing that the Malian station plays are Malian music videos, which can sometimes be so cheesy, but are such a refreshing contrast to the most ridiculous gangsta rap videos that are played on the East African music video station. The other stations we get are Canal + and TV 5, two French stations with programming specific to Francophone Africa, and an international version of CNN in English (that was a shocker) so I have been able to follow a bit of international news.
I really enjoy the various conversations I get to have with the people I live with, and as if 42 other people weren’t enough, I do live just a block away from another student with my program, Beth (also an AU student !) who I guess is now technically my cousin, as our host dad’s are brothers. It’s been good for both of us to have each other so close by, and we’ve had a great many adventures coming to and from school. There are also a lot of visitors who come to my house, including Anta’s younger sister Beita, and younger brother Bavier, who are just a few years older than me. Bavier is just finishing his law degree at the university here, and we’ve had a lot of great political conversations. This weekend I’m actually going with him to San (a town about 6/7 hours away, halfway between Segou and Djenne) where my host grandparents live. I am very close to Anta, so I want to take pictures of her and her children to her parents. Also, my host grandmother speaks French, and I want to interview her for a « life history » assignment we have. Sunday, then, I’ll come back on my own (Bavier is staying for a week with his parents) and then on Monday our group is going for a 5-day village stay in Sanankoraba, which is about 30 kilometers away. I’m a little nervous as the people there will only speak Bambara, not French, but my Bambara has been improving and I’m excited to work on it more. Also we have a lot of interesting activities planned and I’m looking forward to getting a more extended experience in rural Mali.
The weather has been great so far – definitely too hot at times, but the steady 90’s have been bearable because the humidity is so low. I think we’re all a little worried, though, that this is the « cold » season, although in reality it’s getting hotter every day, little by little, and when the hot season really begins, in a few weeks, it won’t be that much hotter than now. Also, we’ll sleep outside then, on the porch. The other good thing about the heat is that the bucket showers with cool well water feel great, and there’s no reason to miss heated water. I do miss running water sometimes though, mainly because our bathroom – mud floor, concrete walls, tin roof and hole – is home to many cockroaches and a few rats. It’s nothing that I can’t deal with, but oh, how I have come to appreciate the simple things in life – namely tile floors.
Today is a « free day » for us to explore the city, which is why I’ve had the chance to write this. I will try to update again soon though. I have to go in a few minutes because Beth (now Nassira Coulibaly) and I (now Oumou Coulibaly) are going into the city to explore some. Later today Bavier is going to show me some of the quartiers non-lotis (shantytowns/almost like S. African townships) because I am thinking of doing my independent study project on this. Like all major cities Bamako has it’s share of shantytowns and slums, and I’m interested in what the different neighborhoods in Bamako are like.
Anyway, I’ve been getting mail quickly, which is so nice. If you send me your address, either by email (emjacobi@mac.com) or on a letter, I will send you postcards.
Hope all goes well wherever you are – feel free to send me updates, because even with the occasional few minutes of CNN, I feel like I am so very far away from what’s happening in the world.
But I’m very, very happy.
So far my host family has been the best part of this trip. My immediate family consists of five people – Ladi and Anta, my host parents, and three younger brothers – Moussa, 10, Kassim, 3, and Amadou, who is four months old. We live, however, with 43 people total, in a compound that consists of four sets of rooms surrounding a courtyard. By American standards it would seem hopelessly crowded but somehow it works, mainly because almost all the rooms are simply a space for sleeping, and although 4 or 5 people might share them, when awake people spread out outdoors. The courtyard contains the well where we draw up all our water, a shed where cooking utensils, pots and pans are kept, mutliple cooking fires, and clotheslines. It’s also the main place for activity – where I play soccer with Kassim and the other young boys, where the young men play scrabble, and where most socializing occurs. The other main center of action is my family’s living room ( I have a small room right beside it, although I don’t spend much time there other than sleeping, as it is very stuffy and has no windows). There’s a tv in there, as well as a ceiling fan (although I think I am the one who appreciates it most) and even a telephone, which is very rare for a Malian family. I think because there are so many people in my compound my family can afford the telephone. I find the tv fascinating, not only because the Malian tv station is so great, but because I think it’s hilarious what people like to watch. No matter what neighborhood in Bamako you are in, around 7 : 30 every evening you will hear Brazilian music coming from every house, because a French-dubbed Brazilian soap opera, « Family Secrets » is like a national addiction. Last night there were 14 people crowded into our living room to watch it. It’s so bad, especially with the dubbing, and it is nothing like the Brazil I visited, but, like most soap operas, it has a ridiculous plot, and I think people are drawn into the intrigue and scandals that would never happen here. I really enjoy the Malian news that comes on after the telenovela, though, because unlike the local evening news in the States, which focuses on fires, robberies, murders etc. the news here actually focuses on real issues, such as a meeting of local women who work with micro-financing instutitions, or a conference held at the university on the negative effects of corporate globalization. The other thing that the Malian station plays are Malian music videos, which can sometimes be so cheesy, but are such a refreshing contrast to the most ridiculous gangsta rap videos that are played on the East African music video station. The other stations we get are Canal + and TV 5, two French stations with programming specific to Francophone Africa, and an international version of CNN in English (that was a shocker) so I have been able to follow a bit of international news.
I really enjoy the various conversations I get to have with the people I live with, and as if 42 other people weren’t enough, I do live just a block away from another student with my program, Beth (also an AU student !) who I guess is now technically my cousin, as our host dad’s are brothers. It’s been good for both of us to have each other so close by, and we’ve had a great many adventures coming to and from school. There are also a lot of visitors who come to my house, including Anta’s younger sister Beita, and younger brother Bavier, who are just a few years older than me. Bavier is just finishing his law degree at the university here, and we’ve had a lot of great political conversations. This weekend I’m actually going with him to San (a town about 6/7 hours away, halfway between Segou and Djenne) where my host grandparents live. I am very close to Anta, so I want to take pictures of her and her children to her parents. Also, my host grandmother speaks French, and I want to interview her for a « life history » assignment we have. Sunday, then, I’ll come back on my own (Bavier is staying for a week with his parents) and then on Monday our group is going for a 5-day village stay in Sanankoraba, which is about 30 kilometers away. I’m a little nervous as the people there will only speak Bambara, not French, but my Bambara has been improving and I’m excited to work on it more. Also we have a lot of interesting activities planned and I’m looking forward to getting a more extended experience in rural Mali.
The weather has been great so far – definitely too hot at times, but the steady 90’s have been bearable because the humidity is so low. I think we’re all a little worried, though, that this is the « cold » season, although in reality it’s getting hotter every day, little by little, and when the hot season really begins, in a few weeks, it won’t be that much hotter than now. Also, we’ll sleep outside then, on the porch. The other good thing about the heat is that the bucket showers with cool well water feel great, and there’s no reason to miss heated water. I do miss running water sometimes though, mainly because our bathroom – mud floor, concrete walls, tin roof and hole – is home to many cockroaches and a few rats. It’s nothing that I can’t deal with, but oh, how I have come to appreciate the simple things in life – namely tile floors.
Today is a « free day » for us to explore the city, which is why I’ve had the chance to write this. I will try to update again soon though. I have to go in a few minutes because Beth (now Nassira Coulibaly) and I (now Oumou Coulibaly) are going into the city to explore some. Later today Bavier is going to show me some of the quartiers non-lotis (shantytowns/almost like S. African townships) because I am thinking of doing my independent study project on this. Like all major cities Bamako has it’s share of shantytowns and slums, and I’m interested in what the different neighborhoods in Bamako are like.
Anyway, I’ve been getting mail quickly, which is so nice. If you send me your address, either by email (emjacobi@mac.com) or on a letter, I will send you postcards.
Hope all goes well wherever you are – feel free to send me updates, because even with the occasional few minutes of CNN, I feel like I am so very far away from what’s happening in the world.
But I’m very, very happy.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Ah, the impersonal anonymity of the web always seems to end in me being overly personal ... it's a question of audience, and when you are unsure of who yours is, you end up being more honest. At least that's the hope.
So the date has finally arrived, Tuesday, February 2. I leave in a few hours - JFK, Casablanca, then Bamako, via Air Maroc. The past weeks I have felt that pre-travel mixture of business, nervousness and excitement. Now I think I am simply feeling calm and happy the day has come.
Well, I must go, but before I do, here is my mailing address in case you need it. Oh, and check out my friend Jenny's site about her time working on AIDS as a Peace Corps volunteer in Mali. I'll be visiting her when I'm in Djenne - http://groups.msn.com/JFlament
Emily Jacobi
c/o Modibo Coulibaly
World Learning/School for International Training
BPE 2953
Bamako, Mali
So the date has finally arrived, Tuesday, February 2. I leave in a few hours - JFK, Casablanca, then Bamako, via Air Maroc. The past weeks I have felt that pre-travel mixture of business, nervousness and excitement. Now I think I am simply feeling calm and happy the day has come.
Well, I must go, but before I do, here is my mailing address in case you need it. Oh, and check out my friend Jenny's site about her time working on AIDS as a Peace Corps volunteer in Mali. I'll be visiting her when I'm in Djenne - http://groups.msn.com/JFlament
Emily Jacobi
c/o Modibo Coulibaly
World Learning/School for International Training
BPE 2953
Bamako, Mali
