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.
