It was the best of times; it was the worst of times…

I have yet to get past page one of Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities, which has been gathering dust on my bookshelf for the past six months. The first sentence rings true though in Kourouma right now. It is the best of times because…mangoes are here! My impatient waiting for the last few months has finally come to an end. Unfortunately however; with mangoes come the worst of times: hot season. I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that there are beads of sweat covering my face from 8 am to 8 pm and it is steadily in the 90’s.

I am in Sikasso after spending over four weeks at site. The reason I stayed in Kourouma for so long was so that I could do a HEARTH, a twelve-day program with women who have malnourished babies. There were twelve women and babies in this HEARTH. We came together every day to prepare an ameliorated porridge together, to then divide and feed to the kids, and discuss different health topics, such as the food groups, weaning, diarrhea, malaria, and family planning. The women themselves provided corn, peanut, soybean, millet and rice powder, and we also added Moringa tree powder every day, along with bananas, mango or papaya almost every day. The idea for ameliorated porridge is to include all three food groups (here we emphasize only three: protection foods such as fruits and veggies, construction foods such as protein and dairy, and energy foods, mostly carbs) and use local ingredients so that the women will hopefully continue to make ameliorated porridge even after HEARTH is over. I weighed the babies on the first and last days, and while there were a few who didn’t gain weight, no one lost weight. Despite attendance issues (on average about eight women showed up each day) and time (we were to meet at 2 o’clock each day but usually didn’t start until 4) I am overall very pleased with how HEARTH turned out. Hopefully the women now understand the importance of ameliorated porridge in getting a variety of nutrients into their babies, and now are more educated on different health topics. For me personally, it was great to get to know a group of women whom previously I recognized through baby weighings but wasn’t on a first-name basis with.

One piece of exciting news is that Maminatta had a baby boy on March 18th. I was honestly very worried about her pregnancy because she already has a herd of kids and her youngest, Sanata is only a year and a half old and underweight (she’s not walking on her own yet). Now that she’s had the baby though, I think things will be okay. And guess who the baby is named after – my dad! After she delivered, I asked how they would name the baby (a couple of her kids were named by the Imam and other kids were named after family members). She said that her husband’s older brother who is chief of their concession would pick out the name. She said the baby might be named Lamine, after her husband’s father who just died two weeks ago. Then she said that if that didn’t happen, I could think of a Christian name for him. I said that I would have to think of some names, and she said, “Well what’s your old man’s name?” I said Thomas and she said, “Thomasi Traore – that sounds pretty good.” Almost everyone I know with a Christian name has an “i” at the end, for example Moniqui and Ivertti. So Maminatta asked her husband who asked his older brother and there is now the first Thomasi in Kourouma and probably all of Mali. I feel honored that she would think to name the baby after my family.

There have been several deaths and thus plenty of greeting to do. In early February I greeted at a Sarakati (held seven days after the person dies) for an old Muslim man who owned a butiki that is right across the street from my homologue’s house. I got there at about 8 am and sat on a mat with some other women. The men were clustered together in another part of the concession. We sat for about forty-five minutes; some women chatting, others silent. At one point a man walked around with an offering basket for people to make small gifts, and later on women walked through passing out hard candies. Communal bowls of rice and sauce were also dispersed, but I followed some people and got up to leave as rice and sauce early in the morning wasn’t very appealing to me.

I wrote earlier that Maminatta’s father-in-law, Lamine, died a few weeks ago. He was Animist, so funeral greetings were slightly different. He died on a Wednesday afternoon and beginning Thursday morning, men from the concession began playing traditional instruments such as drums and a guitar-like instrument. I went to greet at noon and there was a line of people slowly dancing in an area next to the concession, led by the musicians who were wearing mud cloth outfits. Towards the back of the line were Lamine’s daughters, their clothing covered in mud. I asked Maminatta why they were covered in mud, but she just said that it was tradition for the daughters of a deceased Animist male to cover their clothes in mud. The line of people entered the concession, where the musicians stopped to play for a group of old men. They took a brief break and then continued playing music and dancing until late afternoon.

A few weeks ago a young pregnant woman came to the CSCOM from another village. When I saw her she was clearly in severe pain with malaria. She was put in a bed and attached to an IV. That afternoon, when I walked into the CSCOM concession to get water, I was surprised to see about twenty old men sitting on mats next to the pharmacy and in another cluster, a group of old women. I asked around and learned that the pregnant woman had died and a group of men had already taken her to the edge of village to bury her. Some women placed buckets filled with water outside of the CSCOM so that the men returning from the burial could wash their hands. I sat for a few minutes, offered blessings, then got my water and went home. As soon as I got home, a wind storm blew up. I stood in my kitchen, watching the CSCOM entrance through the crack between the wall and door. Pretty soon, a group of men returned from the burial site, and I could just make out their outlines as they struggled to walk through the heavy winds. As I was watching them bend down to wash their hands, I wondered if the woman’s husband was among them; the man I had given a blessing to that very morning, that his wife and unborn child would get better. Tragic deaths like that are so common in Mali that they’re not even a huge deal. It’s amazing to think of differences like that between here and the US.

After all this writing of death, I shall finish with a more humorous story. There isn’t a lot that shocks me anymore in Mali, but a few weeks ago I saw something that I just couldn’t get over. I was hanging out with this funny old woman named Ma, who likes to annoy me by only speaking in Senoufo when she knows perfectly well that I can’t understand. At one point, this little girl named Biba, who is about five years old, walked up. She was crying softly and Ma called her over. She hugged Biba to her and Biba leaned her head against Ma’s chest. Slowly, Biba reached her hand down Ma’s shirt collar, pulled out a sagging (milk less) breast, and proceeded to suck/chew on the nipple for about five minutes. Now I’ve seen babies or toddlers suck on a grandmother’s breast before, but never a child as old as Biba. I asked Biba if she wasn’t old, and Ma just laughed, pulling out her other breast and explaining that there was indeed, no breast milk there!

I hope everyone is happy and content in the US of A. I want to send a shout out to Emma and Alex who are about to depart for Peace Corps Ukraine - please keep our mother in your prayers that she doesn't have a nervous breakdown what with all of her kids out of the country at the same time! Also, GO HEELS - sweet 16 woo!

O-BAM-A, O-BAM-A!

It’s 10 am in Sikasso, and I’m still cold! For the past three weeks, I’ve been wearing long skirts at site, sleeping under a wool blanket and heating my bath water. Every evening at my homologue’s house, we gather around a small bonfire. I have a clock in my house that measures temperature - it usually reads in the low 70’s, which isn’t that cold, but is certainly not hot. I love it!

I’ve just spent two and a half weeks at site, after my long vacation to the States. Going back to Kourouma after such a long time wasn’t as bad as I’d anticipated. Yes, a lot of people told me I’d been gone for a long time, yes some people told me I’d gained weight, but other people told me that my skin looked really good which was a nice compliment. There was of course lots of news to catch up on, mostly deaths. One old man who had died was the chief of one of the major fetishes, the Waara fetish. Forty days after a person dies, there is an event called a Sarakabo, where community members gather in the concession of the deceased in order to greet their family. For this man’s Sarakabo, the Waara fetish was out the entire day. At around 1 am on the morning of the event, I heard gunshots, drums and singing which lasted until late morning. The fetish came out again in the afternoon and stayed out until evening. After dinner, my homologue and I walked over to watch. I’d seen the Waara fetish several times before, but it never ceases to hold my attention. There were a bunch of women and men dancing in a circle. Some of the men were wearing the traditional outfit of white shorts and no shirts. Many were holding burning branches. My homologue had her six month old baby strapped to her back, and at one point when a guy holding a bunch of burning sticks started walking toward us, she turned around and sprinted fifty yards down the road. It was one of the funniest things I’d seen in a long time.

There was another Sarakabo which took place for a young woman who had died of malaria. I didn’t know her, but am friends with her father and a couple of other people in her concession. When I went to greet her father, he and about seven other old men were sitting in a room. They offered me millet beer and were just hanging out. A couple men had spools of cotton and were sewing shirts. A couple men were trimming branches to weave into mats, and a couple men were sleeping. After I left the concession, I went over to Maminatta’s to hang out with her. I told her about cremation and she was shocked. The thought that someone would have their body burned was just inconceivable to her. In Kourouma, if someone dies, they are wrapped in white and buried immediately. There is no viewing. Visitation occurs immediately after the death and later at the Sarakabo. We also got on the subject of suicide. Maminatta was also interested to learn about this, and then told me that in Mali, if an old man or woman dies, and one of their children is extremely unhappy; they can ask the dead parent to kill them, and then they’ll die as well.

A few days after getting back to site, I went to visit another friend whose name is also Maminatta. She had a little girl, Wassa, who was about a year and a half old. Wassa was underweight and had attended a porridge-making session last Spring. When I got to Maminatta’s, I casually asked how Wassa was doing. Maminatta hesitated and said that Wassa had left. Not really thinking, I asked where she had gone. Maminatta said that she had died. Apparently she had malaria, although I’m sure the fact that she was malnourished didn’t help. Although Wassa was scared of me and wouldn’t let me hold her, I knew her well, and so her death was harder to hear about than any other child’s deaths that I’ve heard about since coming to Mali.

I spent one week at the school, wrapping up HIV/AIDS animations. I want to turn my focus now to family planning, as teen pregnancy is a major problem in the commune. One day, I had started speaking with one of the 7th grade classes but they would not settle down and listen. The 2nd cycle school director walked in holding a rubber strap. I thought he was just going to threaten the students, but he walked over to a boy and gave him a quick swat on the head. Then he turned to a girl who was talking and smacked her one, two, three times on the back with the strap. Some of the kids around her were kind of smiling and laughing, so I thought it must not hurt that bad, but when I looked at the girl, she had tears running down her face. So yes, there are a few differences in school discipline between the United States and Mali.

There are a couple of young teachers in Kourouma who are huge fans of Barack Obama. Anyone who regularly listens to the radio knows who Obama is, but these two men absolutely love him. I gave each of them an Obama sticker to put on their motorcycles, and an Obama/Biden poster to hang in their house. They were really excited about these gifts. On January 20th, as I was returning to my house from the water pump, I heard “Awa” and then “O-BAM-A, O-BAM-A” and turned to see one of the teachers, Amadou, looking over his concession wall and pumping his fist in the air. I went over and he and the other teacher, Coulibably, were listening to the inauguration ceremony on the radio. They switched it to an English station so I could listen for a few minutes. I know there are some concerns about the pressure that people in African countries may place on Obama, but the enthusiasm of these two men was fun to see nonetheless!

Here’s looking at you, kid.

I like the movie Casablanca, but after spending fifteen hours in the city I can safely say that I will never live there! It’s a fairly clean city with little trash, and it’s located right on the Atlantic coast, with a beautiful beach. The second largest mosque in the world (next to Mecca in Saudi Arabia) is there and it is stunning with doors and other decorations made from tiny, colorful mosaic tiles. There are many patisseries and shops, reminding me of Paris. The traditional Moroccan food that I tried was also very tasty. But then there was the traffic. I thought Bamako traffic was bad – not compared to Casablanca. There are a gazillion cars on the road, all rushing and never really paying attention. I have never been more scared for my life!

Overall my day in Casablanca was good. I was there on layover from New York to Bamako (I spent three weeks in North Carolina for the Christmas season). On the flight, I was sitting next to a Moroccan woman named Souad who had lived in South Carolina for ten years but was going home to spend three weeks with her family. When she heard that I had a fifteen hour layover in Casablanca, she basically took me under her wing and suggested that I go home with her. We met her parents and two siblings at the airport and the six of us squeezed into her father’s tiny car for the forty minute drive to the city. They lived in a nice apartment with a view to the ocean. Her mom made enough breakfast to feed an army, consisting of crepes and honey butter, hard-boiled eggs, homemade English muffin-type things with cheese, and lemon bunt cake. After the meal I took a three-hour long nap and awoke to a heaping plate of couscous with vegetables and a glass of buttermilk. Needless to say I had my fair share of traditional Moroccan food. That afternoon, Souad and I walked to the coast, went to see the mosque, and wandered around the shops downtown.

My fear of the traffic was justified that evening when I got in a taxi to go to the train station. It was dark at that point and drizzling. I was sitting behind the driver and there were two other passengers in the car. At one point we ended up in the middle of a busy intersection (I don’t know how). There was one car parallel to us on the right side, thus blocking the driver from being able to see cars driving toward us from the right. The taxi driver inched forward at first and then must have thought we were in the clear, and pushed harder on the gas to go forward. Unfortunately we were not in the clear and a car ran into the side of our taxi. I hit my head a little bit and the lady sitting next to me hit hers pretty hard, but luckily no one was injured. I got out to see a big dent on the right side of the car and then caught another taxi as quickly as possible and kept my eyes shut for the rest of the drive to the train station. The second taxi got there safely and I got a train to the airport. So now I can not only say that I’ve been to Casablanca, but that I was in a car accident in Casablanca!

Right before boarding the plane to Bamako, I was suddenly switched to first class which was pretty awesome. The seat was roomy and we got a three course meal, including a cheese sampler consisting of brie and two other types of cheese. I ate every bite of the cheese, anticipating the only available cheese in Mali: Laughing Cow which has a consistency similar to plastic. I’ll be honest; I wasn’t incredibly eager to get back to Mali. When the plane landed though, and I started hearing more Bambara and seeing familiar sights, I was happy. I’m not looking forward to my immediate return to site where I already know for a fact that I will be bombarded with comments on how long I was gone and how much weight I gained, but after settling in, it will be good to be at my house and see my friends. It was great to see some of you over Christmas. I truly had a wonderful time catching up with family and friends, eating lots (avoiding rice, corn, potatoes and pasta when possible), listening to and singing carols, going to the Winston-Salem Candle Tea, playing on the Wii, running outside in cold weather, and hiking in the mountains. Happy New Year!

Awa

...and may God give you lots of beans!

What’s new in Mali? Well it’s the end of November, and therefore cold season has begun. Either it’s colder than it was last year or I’ve just been in Mali too long; either way, I’ve already broken out the long-sleeved shirts for mornings and evenings, have been sleeping indoors, and heat my bath water. And, I tried to wait until after Thanksgiving, but haven’t had enough willpower and have been listening to Christmas music for two and a half weeks now.

Life is still chugging along in Kourouma, with simple pleasures such as joking cousins and bean jokes to make me smile. As I was giving blessings to one of my favorite old men in village, who happens to be a Diarra and therefore my biggest joking cousin, I prayed that he would have a peaceful afternoon and also that God would give him lots of beans!

I still hang out with my best friend at site, Maminatta, pretty much every day. Because of the slow work schedule, if Maminatta wasn’t around I think I would go crazy some days! We got together again to make Dege one day and went to watch a fetish dance another day, which is always entertaining. The men had come out the night before and I woke up at 2 am to hear their drums and singing. They held a small dance the next afternoon which women could watch. Some men came to the dance carrying these huge bags on their heads. Because they had sacrificed a chicken the night before, I thought that the bags were full of chicken bones or something but apparently they are where traditional medicines are stored.

The week after the US Presidential election (yay!) was full of vaccinations and baby weighings in Kourouma and the surrounding villages. A lot of times I wonder if the women actually listen to my advice, but the other day a woman whose baby gained half a kilo told me excitedly that after I told her to start giving her baby porridge, she did, and now her child’s heavier! This past week was slow in the mornings, but I walked around a lot greeting folks whom I haven’t seen in a while. In one huge concession, from the time I entered to the time I left, I was literally surrounded by about twenty young kids – “Toubabou Awa, Toubabou Awa!!!” I did one week of AIDS animations in the school, which went alright, although I was pretty frustrated that only one out of eighty or so 9th graders could tell me what AIDS stands for – even though we went over it at least three times last school year!

Even though I’ve been in Mali for almost a year and a half, there are still culture shock moments. One came a few weeks ago when I learned that one of the women who work at the Kourouma CSCOM is a fourth wife! I thought that she was her husband’s only wife, but apparently he has three others in a nearby village. And the other day, an unmarried teenage girl in Maminatta’s concession gave birth to a one kilo (about two pound) baby girl. Despite how tiny the baby was, the mother went home pretty much immediately after giving birth.

Thanksgiving has arrived. I hope that you all have a wonderful Holiday with lots of good food and people to share it with!

Anna / Awa

It’s been several months since I’ve written actual Kourouma news, so here goes…Rainy season was in full swing for July and August, so most of the village (everyone except young kids and really old folks) were out in the fields all day every day farming peanuts, corn, millet, rice, peppers and soybeans – to last until next rainy season. Luckily the rains were plentiful so the harvests are large. Ramadan began the first of September and just ended on the 30th, so many people fasted from dawn to dusk. I personally like Ramadan because a millet-based porridge called Seri is prepared every day to break the fast. It’s delicious and I could drink it all day long!

The biggest event of the past few months was the 48th Malian Independence Day. The fête kicked off with a dance competition the night before. A group of teens from different villages in the commune would each dance and the judges eventually narrowed it down to the three best girls and guys for the entire commune. The dance basically consists of the individual moving his/her legs back and forth as fast as possible. It got a bit repetitive but most of them put Michael Jackson to shame. One guy did his dance with a cigarette hanging from his mouth which reminded me of Fred Astaire – and anyone who can bring Fred Astaire to mind has my vote! I ended up going home before it was all over, and it was 2:45 am! Despite the late night though, everyone was up by 7 am to see the start of a 46 km bike race. While the biking was going on, other events took place in the school courtyard, such as this one game where little kids had to try to climb or jump high enough on a soap-coated pole to reach prizes of candy or crackers dangling from a hoop at the top. The Mayor, village Chief, school teachers and all the other bigwigs of the commune were sitting in the middle of the courtyard watching everything. When the bikers returned racing to the finish line, everyone went running to the road to see who would win – 2,500 plus people running in a fairly small area equals total pandemonium! I was thankful not to get trampled and ruin my new complet of Independence Day fabric. The bikers then came to the area where the leaders were sitting and the Mayor commenced to give a looong speech about Independence Day, what all Kourouma has accomplished and different organizations (he mentioned Peace Corps which made me happy). Afterwards, prizes were given to the winners of the dance competition and bike race. There may have been no funnel cakes or fireworks, but it was a fun Independence Day nonetheless!

I have a best friend in village! Her name’s Maminatta. She said she’s my age, is married with four boys and two girls, has a co-wife and hasn’t spent a day in school. She is fun and easy to talk to and we hang out pretty much every day. We talk about day to day goings on, have boy talk, and even delve into subjects such as AIDS. One day she mentioned that if a guy has a lot of girlfriends they could get sick. I asked her which sickness and she said the one which can make people lose weight or get skin sores. I asked what the name of this illness was. She asked me if I knew, and I said yes but I wanted to hear her say it. She got kind’ve flustered but after a few seconds, whispered SIDA. She knows some basics, such as that you can’t get it just from eating with someone and it can take years to get symptoms. It was nice to have this frank, open conversation with her, because most people shy away from the subject.

There are still occasional reminders that I’m living in the 3rd poorest country in the world. In the last month, I’ve heard of two young kids in my village dying of kwashiorkor, or protein deficiency. One little girl I knew. Birth rates are extremely high and I just heard about a 9th grader in another village who died from an overdose of pills she had taken to try and give herself an abortion. There is an awful section of road leading into my village and it floods with heavy rain. One morning it had poured for several hours and I walked down to see the road. It was flooded but the water didn’t stop people from going to their fields. They picked up their bikes, rolled up their pant legs or hiked up their skirts, and waded across. One woman walked across with a bowl of food balanced on her head and a baby who couldn’t have been more than a couple of weeks old strapped to her back. Then along came a couple of young boys who led an entire herd of cattle across!

As for work, well there hasn’t been much. My big project for the quarter was to paint a mural of the three food groups on a wall at the CSCOM, and then I’ve been doing animations to explain it with the women who come to baby weighings. I’ve gone to a couple other villages to do baby weighings, but other than that there hasn’t been a lot to do. So I spend my days greeting and reading. I went to the fields one day to help pick peanuts and have done other random things such as one day helping women beat shea butter and another day helping to form balls of crushed soybeans which are later sold and used in sauce as flavoring. Maminatta and I prepared Dege one morning. Dege is a millet and milk porridge which is my favorite food in Mali, but isn’t that common in village. I passed my one-year at village point the other week, which is still hard to believe. Time really does fly by! For those of you who are still reading my blog, I hope things are going well and remember that I really appreciate comments!

Alla k'aw keneya soro (May God give you health),

Anna

Finally, you all can read about my family’s trip here in Mali! Here are Emma’s and Mommy’s thoughts, first with Susan: Thoughts on Mali Trip, July 2008 One thing I really learned on this trip was that I am not a 3rd world country traveler. It’s not that I mind roughing it; it’s just that what I consider roughing it is nowhere close to what traveling in Mali is like! There are none of the basic conveniences or services that we so much take for granted. For the most part we didn’t have banks, electricity, cold food/drinks, bathrooms, running water, phone reception, etc., etc. Using a teller card, Visa, Travelers Checks, just didn’t work at all. We basically had to figure out how much money we’d be spending during the entire trip of 3 weeks, go to a Teller machine in Bamako (the one & only in Mali where our teller card worked) and carry the CFA all with us, cash! I’m not used to walking around with wads of cash in my money pouch even with it hidden under my shirt. With Anna we traveled near Timbuktu, the Dogon Region, and Djenne. We traveled by van, taxi, bus, car, ferry, camel, baché (van size public transports), dump truck, pinasse (very small long boat), taxi, and on foot. Thomas said that he thought all old vehicles in the world were sent to Mali when they were worn out. We traveled on some old buses, but they always got us where we were going. The vans or bashes were always packed with as many people as they could fit inside with luggage and maybe more people sitting up on top. They were always hot with windows open (hopefully) for air to flow, but letting in the red dust as well. The roads in Mali are pretty rough. Our road in the Ashe County boonies is 3 times nicer than the highway between Sikasso & Bamako (the two biggest cities in the country). We rented a car & driver for the 7 hour trip from Mopti to an area near Timbuktu. After the first 2 hours on a horrible paved road full of pot holes we made a turn onto an unpaved sand road for the rest of the trip. That was a true “washboard” type road, at times so bad the driver went off the side to drive through the sand. It was the about the worse drive I’ve ever been on, all I could do was pray we wouldn’t break down and that the trip would end safely. It did, but then we had to do the same trip again in 2 days when we left Timbuktu to go back to Mopti! The 3 day cruise on the Bani River was actually pretty nice, and luckily the weather was great. If it had rained we really would have been stuck “up the creek”. The sad thing about the river was that it was too polluted to even dip our hand in. The erosion is really bad so the rivers are dirt colored to begin with. Add to that a lot of people washing themselves and vehicles, animals, trash, etc. and it’s pretty bad. We did enjoy the time on the river, sights along the way, and beautiful sunsets. The boat owner cooked nice meals for us (with fresh fish), we read & played cards, and enjoyed quiet time together. Though there were some pushy sales type people in the tourist areas, the people in Mali were really nice. We felt safe everywhere we went. The pollution on the other hand was really bad. There doesn’t seem to be any system of trash pickup or removal (other than at the hotels or Anna’s house we never saw a trash can). They use a lot of plastic bags of all sizes for food items etc. and they all end up on the ground. Animals are roaming around loose all over and their droppings are everywhere too. A lot of places had open sewers and we even saw sewage running on the road. I thought the cleanest place we saw was actually Anna’s village. (Maybe because of the medical center and presence of Peace Corp there, I’m not sure.) After 11 days on the road spending each night in a different place we finally arrived in Kourouma for a 7 day stay. From the minute we got to Anna’s village we were welcomed by everyone with open arms. The neighbors came out to greet “Awa’s family” with smiles all around. Anna taught us to greet in Bambara, and people were so happy when we made attempts to talk in their language. Greeting is very important & formal and we spent a lot of time in Kourouma greeting people. The children were wonderful too, and there were bunches of kids everywhere. Any time the gate to Anna’s concession was open children would come in just to sit and visit, or check to see what the Toubab’s (translated French people since most white people in Mali are actually French) were up to. Since we were in Mali during rainy season most of the adults were out in the fields during the days. The babies are with their mothers (actually tied on their backs) and the school age kids are working along with the adults. That leaves the pre-school age children in the village basically on their own running around wherever they want. Coming from the safety conscience American world it was very different. We had more than enough to eat in Mali, though it was quite a bit different from what we are used to. My favorite was the pasta with onion sauce. A lot of chickens met their fate while we were in Mali; small ones are cooked in a lot of the sauces. I didn’t care for the millet porridge, but was happy to eat up Anna’s oatmeal packets. We were lucky to be in Mali when mangos were in season and ate them for dessert about every meal. It was nice to be able to buy cold yogurt (liquid in a plastic bag) when we were in bigger towns. (I must admit I was happy to get on Air France and enjoy a wonderful meal with a glass of wine on our flight out of Bamako!) My favorite thoughts of Mali include: friendly smiling faces; my handmade Peace Corp Mali bag; cold Mali beer (in bottles); laughs as we all got “up” on our camels for the ride into the desert; beautiful views during our hike in the Dogon; sleeping under mosquito nets “up on the roof” under the stars; our guide Oumar “it’s complicated”; the clear waterfall near Ende; the endless patience of the local people; card games on the Bani; our chicken dinner in Djenne; beautiful children wanting to hold our hands wherever we walked; Nutella; Anna’s wonderful front porch (great shade all day long); having a 3 week old baby tied on my back after her mother “went home”; seeing the children with their Carolina dollies; “Mexican dinner” with the PCV’s in Sikasso; the little bead bracelets; the wedding women on the baché in Bamako; and too many others to mention. It was wonderful to see how Anna has adapted to her new home. We were amazed at: the way she was able to communicate in both French and Bambara; how she negotiated prices for us, even walking away when she thought the price was too high; how she pumped her water and carried it home on her head; watching her play with the children and handle the babies; and watching her greet everyone with respect. We are so proud of her and the work she is doing in Mali. I am so glad to have seen her village and been able to meet her friends. It’s so nice to know where she is, to have a picture to put with her words. I feel very comfortable about her safety and the people she’s around. It was an interesting trip. I was so very glad we got to go, and I was so glad to come home. We love you Awa, Aminatta “It's complicated.” That's what our Dogon Country guide, Oumar, said a number of times during our three days with him. Usually when he was trying to describe part of the Dogon culture that was too complicated both for us to understand and for him to translate. Once when he was trying to describe a romantic relationship. I find the phrase helpful when trying to describe our trip to Mali. Of course, it doesn't help you understand Mali, but it's the best I can do. On one hand, Mali is beautiful. The northern part is the Sahara Desert. Looking out from the plane on our ride in, I saw waves upon waves of brown sand – not a body of water or green patch in sight. We visited the edge of the Sahara near Tombouctou: light brown sand, small trees, scrub brush. Dogon Country, further south, was unbelievable. Huge red rocks interspersed among green fields and huge baobab trees. Clear streams and waterfalls. Then, in the southern part of the country, around Anna's village of Kourouma, green. Green fields, green fruit trees, green hills. A contrast to the red dirt of the roads, the concessions, the ground peeping out in between rows of crops. On the other hand, Mali is dirty and ugly. I saw zero trash cans. Trash littered the ground, especially in the cities, even mere feet from the amazing Djenne Mosque. Sewage ran (or pooled) in open ditches and across alleys. The Sikasso market was a mud pit even on a dry day. People live and work in this environment, and they are dirty. Children run and play in the dirty streets without shoes. On one hand, the Mali people are not well off. This is one of the poorest nations in Africa, in the world. From a young age, children work hard: taking care of younger siblings and helping in the fields. School kids memorize their lessons in French (although they don't truly understand the language), in classrooms of 100 students, with teachers who may not care about them at all. Of those who are able to stay in school until the ninth grade, only a few will pass the test that allows them to go on to attend high school in the nearest city – if they can afford to live away from home. Women and girls marry young and are not well informed of contraception methods. In addition to raising children, they do all the work around the house and work in the fields. (The men work in the fields when the season is busy. Otherwise, they do very little manual labor.) Malians are susceptible to many dangers and diseases, from children who run around within feet of open wells to adults who must sleep without mosquito nets. On the other hand, Malians are lucky. They live simple lives without all the extra stuff that distracts us Americans and gets in the way of our enjoyment of life. They get up, go to work, and go to bed, and that's okay. They are very close and connected to their families. “Vacation” often means visiting family in some nearby town or city. They laugh and work and laugh and greet one another and laugh and talk and laugh. They are happy. There is something very attractive about such a life. Finally, on one hand, Mali is a very difficult place to visit, coming from our privileged American lifestyle. No running water (except in the cities), little drinkable water, no refrigeration, definitely no air conditioning, few “normal” toilets, and no toilet paper. It is hot; it is dusty. At the end of the day, all I wanted was to sit in a cool spot, drink a cold beverage, and eat a cool meal. Yes, the shade was cool, and we occasionally got a cool drink, but the food was always steaming. Huge pots of rice and couscous and macaroni, covered with sauce and meat that had been cooking for hours. On the other hand, Mali is an easy and delightful place to visit. The people are incredibly nice and welcoming, and they will go out of their way to greet you. Anna's neighbors and people of Kourouma provided us with more food than we could eat. The children are intrigued by the white folks and either react with tears or laughter when we look at them or speak to them. The brave ones walk right to grab hold of a white hand. Despite the difficulties of travel, I look back fondly on our time in Mali and the people we met there. As happy as I was to get back to the comforts of home, I was slightly sad that I couldn't spend more time truly getting to know such an amazing people of such a different world. I am thankful for the opportunity to get a small glance into the different, difficult, happy, complicated lives of those in Mali. Bintou (Emma)

I’ll never think of powdered milk the same again…

At the end of July, I departed for Ghana with two fellow PCV’s, Katie and Becky. We knew it would be a loooong trip overland, and it certainly turned out to be. We left Bamako on a Tuesday morning. The first leg of the trip through Mali was fine. Once we got to the border of Burkina Faso however, the troubles began! We had to get off the bus at a couple of different spots along the border. At the first stop we got our Visa’s and checked luggage was examined. At the next stop, several guards got on the bus to look through our carry-on’s. There were a couple of guys who had with them huge plastic bags filled with tons of packets of Vivalait powdered milk. The guards took the milk off the bus, and as all of us enthralled passengers watched, they announced that the content of the Vivalait packets was actually cocaine! So…for some nonsensical reason, we had to backtrack about 45 minutes to a prior checkpoint, where the cocaine dealers were taken into a room and questioned for about an hour. Then we learned that our bus would have to stay put for further examination, so we had to sit in the dark and wait two more hours for a second bus to come pick us up. We got to Bobo-Dioulasso at midnight, and found out that we’d missed our connecting bus to Ouagadougou, the capital where we would later get buses for Ghana. Luckily Becky had been smart enough to bring her big mosquito net tent, so we set it up in the station waiting room and got some sleep. The next morning we were up early to get tickets for the first bus to Ouaga – but it was full! I planted myself next to the bus door and as it turned out, about four people who had previously reserved tickets didn’t show up – so we got on!

We got to Ouaga on Wednesday afternoon and got a bachée (small bus) to take us to the North of Ghana. Well, let me just say that going to Ghana served as an indicator of the reverse culture shock I’ll probably experience when I go back to the United States. Here were some of the reactions that we had while on the road entering Ghana: “Two-story houses!”, “White lines painted on the sides of the road!”, “Lawns!”, “GUARDRAILS!!!”. We had a short return to reality when we transferred to a larger bus and were packed like sardines for the 9 hour trip to Kumasi. After a smelly, uncomfortable and sleepless night on that bus, we finally made it to Kumasi on Thursday morning. We spent Thursday wandering around Kumasi, an interesting market city with just about everything imaginable being sold on the side of the road, including washing machines and diapers. Despite how busy the city is, it was remarkably clean, with no about-to-overflow sewage and dirt. We were amazed to get back to our hotel after a full day of walking around and not have to scrub our feet for ten minutes.

It was very interesting coming to a Christian country. We saw knees and even thighs! As Ghana is an English speaking country, we were able to notice that about 80% of the shops had Christian names, such as GIGA – God is Great Academy, King David Pharmaceuticals, How Great Thou Art art store, and my personal favorite: Except God phone store (and that’s really how it was spelled). We saw signs for breast enhancement and weight loss, along with posters for the lottery.

On Friday we spent most of the day again on transport – the driver played bad country music and we saw two young Ghanaian women pull out lunch that they’d packed into Tupperware containers – complete with spoons and napkins (in Mali if you’re going to pack a lunch it’s piled into a plastic bag and eaten with the right hand). We spent Friday night in a coastal town called Axim and on Saturday finally made it to the beach! The next few days were very relaxing, with lots of sun (of course I got burnt on the first day), waves and good food.

On Tuesday we packed up yet again and left for Cape Coast. Once we got there, we spent the afternoon looking at Cape Coast Castle, which served as an old slave fort. There were dungeons where hundreds of slaves were packed together, with no bathrooms and only tiny windows for ventilation. They would go through an examination and the cream of the crop would be picked for the slave ships. Then they would be moved through an underground tunnel leading to the dock. Slaves that were hostile would be moved to a jail cell where they were kept until they starved to death. There was an interesting plaque that had been inscribed since the abolition of the slave trade, stating basically that the past was past and no hard feelings were had; along with a prayer that nothing as abominable as the slave trade would ever occur again.

Wednesday morning was spent walking through Kakum National Park. We didn’t see any animals but it was fascinating to learn about all the uses of the trees – from usage to make sponges and eye drops to serving as a cure for diarrhea and impotence!

On Thursday we left for the capital of Ghana, Accra. The next few days were spent eating, walking around, eating, shopping, and eating. There is a Champs Sports Bar in Accra – and we had real nachos! We got together for drinks with some Ghanaian PCV’s. It was interesting to hear about Peace Corps life in another country. I think they were a bit annoyed with a stereotype that Ghanaian volunteers have it “easy”. Like my friends and I, most people coming into Ghana spend all of their time in the more touristy areas which are of course going to be more developed. So even though we found luxuries in Ghana that we can't find in Mali, Ghana still has a long way to go in terms of education, health care and sanitation.

By Sunday it was time to go home. Unfortunately we still had over two days of bus travel ahead of us. We ended up breaking out the mosquito net tent again Sunday and Monday nights and finally made it to Sikasso on Tuesday. It was a nice vacation and Ghana is truly amazing, but it’s honestly good to be back in Mali!