Deep Thoughts

The fam left last week, and since then I've been diligently searching out interviews and generally enjoying Mali. An insightful, personal comment for you all: The weather here is GREAT. It's reminiscent of summer in Philly, maybe a little hotter -- but it's definitely breezier and nicer than Malian summer temps.

Here's one of Marie's photos. Dad, Mom, and me sipping cool water sachets in front of MHOP's community center. Classy, eh?

The rest of hers are up on facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?ref=profile&id=1014079#/album.php?aid=2031823&id=1477440026&ref=mf

Home in a week, see you then --

J

N be n fini ko: I'm washing my clothes

Doing laundry in Mali is typically not my “thing”. It’s a complicated process that involves buckets, water, a bar of soap, and a special touch that most tubabus don’t have. Two summers ago I had a traumatic experience struggling to wash my clothes in front of a hoard of Malian children, feeling like an incompetent outsider.

Today I did my laundry again. Update: I’m still incompetent, but I feel like much less of an outsider. As I broke out my buckets and dirty clothes, another woman in my compound was incidentally doing the same. I started scrubbing separately from her, across the courtyard. This setup did not last very long, since I felt a bit self-conscious of her watching me with amusement and pity. In response I picked up my buckets and relocated next to her – a non-verbal request for instruction.

She walked me through each step: soak, lather, scrub, dip, squeeze, scrub more, dump water out, repeat, something or other, wring out…okay it’s still a little fuzzy for me. She had so many more suds than I did, and I think she was concerned for the ultimate cleanliness of my clothes. Still, I heard her make multiple clicks of approval (similar to tsk-tsk’s, but with the opposite meaning). Go me.

My laundry experience of yore made me feel alienated; today’s made me feel included. Maybe it’s because there are fewer curious children around this time, or nicer people around to help me out. Maybe it’s because I’m getting more and more comfortable here?

yo

I think that it’s a compliment when someone calls you fat here – at least I hope it is. I’ve gotten this comment from at least two different friends in the past week, always accompanied by an arm gesture reminiscent of Rosie the Riveter’s fist. Ugh. Well these ego-deflaters definitely won’t stop me from eating cheeseburgers whenever I get the chance, because otherwise my diet is limited to fishy sauce and cheap, fried street food.


Mom, Dad and Marie got here on Saturday! I picked them up at the airport at 2:30am with my new taxi driver friend, Papou. Upon their arrival he gave them all Malian names: Mariam, Bakari, and Fatou Coulibaly. For two days we frolicked around Bamako’s grand marché, bargained for taxi fares and fabric, and sat by their hotel’s poolside. Yesterday morning they left for a trip out to Pays Dogon, where they’ll be hiking and sight-seeing until Friday. It’s great having them around, and I love introducing them to this place that is so incredibly different from what they know. We spent an afternoon sitting in Niang’s courtyard (in the home where I’m staying this month), talking a bit with his mother and eating watermelon. They seemed really happy! – if a bit overwhelmed. I know that ultimately, even if Mali exhausts and disgusts them, their trip will leave an invaluable impression. I nagged Mom and Marie to stop taking photos in the Sikoro marketplace, but deep down I’m excited to see my life here through their eyes.


While they’re away this week I am trying to get some interviews done. I had my first one yesterday, with a friend named Sita, in her tiny boutique. I learned a LOT, but as I go back through the recording I think of sooo many more questions that I want to ask her. I will probably schedule a second conversation with her before leaving. I have 2 more tentative interviews lined up for this week, which may or may not happen. Actually, one of them was supposed to take place yesterday. I went to the woman’s house THREE TIMES before catching her at 8:30pm (we were supposed to talk at 1pm) as she was getting ready to take a bath. An early sign that research in Mali is slow-going?


Otherwise I’m keeping myself amused with a book of short stories from the ’60s and season 1 of Alias. I’ve spent some time with MHOP interns, too. Tonight Leona and I went to the American International Club’s trivia night! Not sure I was of much help, except on the “name all seven Harry Potter titles” question. I killed that one. I also had a delicious cheeseburger.


Y’aaaall see you in a few weeks.

oh hellooo there

Bonne année from Sikoro, everybody. In celebration of the New Year and of my second day here, I:

- took my first bucket bath in a year and a half – so much easier, more refreshing, and more exciting than anticipated.

- saw a few chickens’ throats be slit – apparently the norm on New Year’s Eve in Mali. I gather that it’s a tradition here to feast after midnight.

- made a couple house calls to 1) my family from before, the Coulibalys, and 2) a member of MHOP’s community committee, Ami Keita. The Coulibalys had no idea I was coming and I loved watching their surprise when I walked in the door. We talked a little, danced a little, and I helped Fatoum put up new curtains in her living room. Oh, right, so she and her husband Siriki now live in the rooms where Cari and I lived two summers ago. The space is SO pimped out now, and I can’t believe we let ourselves keep it so messy before. (Then again, it probably wouldn’t have been worth it for us to find 3 sofas, a TV, and decorative fake flowers to hang everywhere. Cari I’ll take pictures for you.) Later in the day I visited Ami and her family. She seemed happy to see me, too. She was in the middle of cooking dinner, so we ended up chatting and washing lettuce together.

- arranged my first interview with a friend named Sita! Even though the past couple days have mainly entailed readjusting to the Siks, I feel like I’m still focused on the research that I came here to do. I’ve revised my interview questions and am reading through the “development research” texts from thesis-writing class. No interpreter yet, but I don’t need one for interviewing Sita or Ami who both speak French.

In other news, my Bambara skills are coming back wayyy faster than expected. The pesky kids who yell “tubabu” (white person) at me, similarly, are wayyy more bearable than expected. I felt hardcore yesterday when I used odds, ends, and a Sigg-turned-hammer to set up the mosquito net around my bedposts. The bucket bath was GREAT, even though the bathing area is in the same room as a poo-filled hole. Yum. In summary, I sense that my Mali groove is quickly returning. Stay tuned for more updates.

Ready to takeoff

In a matter of hours I'll be on a similar plane at a similar altitude. I'm looking forward to 30 hours of travel, including 15 hours in the beautiful Casablanca.

Happy new year y'all. See you on the other side...

Love,
Julie or should I say Djeneba

I'm off again

Welp. It's official. I'm returning to the Sikoroni zaban.

It's been a year and a half since I've done any serious globe-trotting, which means I'm starting to feel antsy. So this winter I'll hop on a flight back to Bamako. But this time I won't be working for MHOP. Instead, I'll be interviewing women who live there about microfinance and informal credit networks that they use. It's all for my senior thesis in Development Studies.

Stay tuned for thoughts, musings, and maybe a photo here and there as I prepare for and undertake my next adventure!

home safely!

Hello world! The third and final leg of my flight home landed in Logan airport at 7 last night. I'm writing from Woods Hole, where I'll be until school starts next week.

Photos will be posted to the blog once they're all downloaded to my computer. Hope to see you soon!

Love,
Djeneba

trash day YAY

Nothing like picking up trash to bridge cultural differences. I think it’s gross, you think it’s gross, but we’re both all about getting our hands dirty to clean it up.

Today was Sikoroni’s first ever Journée de Salubrité, organized by MHOP, a youth group, and several local GIEs – unions of trash collectors, sort of. The plan was to get everyone together in the morning and get rid of as much garbage as possible in a central location. We wanted to raise awareness and enthusiasm about picking up trash – all as part of Cari’s project to put a functional waste management system into this town.

Frankly, I thought it would flop. I expected only a few people to show up, and didn’t foresee much enthusiasm. I was pleasantly surprised! In all there were about 20 of us, going from house to house and taking their trash to a central dumpster via wheelbarrow and trash-moto (think motorcycle with a pickup truck bed in the back). We also used shovels and rakes to clear up a couple random trash piles in the area. By 1pm, the dumpster was almost full and people were still coming with buckets-o-trash.

What pleased me most about this event was the mish-mash of people coming together for the same cause. There were a bunch of GIE guys. Most of them were pretty badass, especially this one who would move piles of lord knows what kind of waste – with his bare hands. Some teenage boys and girls came with CAMS, the youth group. A bunch of MHOP’s health committee members showed up… as did two microfinance committee women Nasuru and Maimouna.

These two were great – they came decked out in nice outfits, jewelry, and handbags. Don’t ask me why. (I suppose the microfinance committee ladies are a little more educated than most in the town, and like to keep up a good appearance?) I took one look and mentally gave them 10 minutes before they’d head home. There was one initial episode of slime spilling on Maimouna’s dress. She was not happy about this, and tried to rinse it out with water. Soon, though, they got really into it and proved me wrong. They kicked ass, handling shovels and lifting wheelbarrows like the GIE workers. I have wonderful photos of this, and will post ASAP.

Other people who helped out: Niang, of course (MHOP’s director). Me, the token tubabu. Finally, and to my surprise, a lot of unaffiliated neighbors lent a hand! One guy took my shovel and got right into it. Women and kids practically flocked to the dumpster with buckets of garbage on their heads. The event became a real community effort, and I couldn’t shake Obama’s catch-phrase “Yes we can!” from my mind. Cheesy, but true.

It all put me in a really good mood, and I felt very integrated with the community. We were all trying to do the same thing – there was an unspoken understanding between everyone. Afterwards, we exchanged lots of “A ni baara” ‘s and “A diara!” ‘s. The first means “to you and your work.” The second means “that was super fuckin great, yo!”

the sikoroni zaban

Yo, wow, it’s down to my final week in Bamako. I’m the only one left! Four of the five US summer volunteers have returned to our beautiful homeland. Cari was the last to depart, last Wednesday night. Not gonna lie: at first I felt pretty lonely here. The first few days were rough. But now I’m finally getting into the swing of things, totally owning this city. I spend a lot more time with the fam. I go to the market when I want to, only stopping in the butiki’s where I need to stop. I speak ONLY in French and Bambara – and the thing is, I barely even notice that I’m not speaking English! Clearly the past 2.5 months have made me more comfortable with new languages. In fact, one of the homestay moms just complimented me on the Bambara. I don’t think I can do an exact translation, but she said something like “Your Bambara is finally landing.” Or “starting to land”. Or something. (This is in direct contrast to the cyber café matron, who regularly tells me that I don’t speak French well enough. Don’t even get me started.)

I’d like to revise my previous assertion that Sikoroni is akin to a kumquat. Yes, kumquats are small. They’re nice. But they’re just too exotic and classy for this place. Instead, I venture to say that Sikoroni is like a zaban. What, pray tell, is a zaban? It’s a fruit that, as far as I know, only exists in Bamako. It looks really grody from the outside, but when you crack it open there are tons of delicious sweet/sour (think Warhead) seeds to eat. Similarly, the Siks is indeed grody to look at. Mud, dust, trash, dirty stagnant water, etc. I saw a kid peeing in the middle of the market’s main drag this morning, for example. My house has one bathroom for 30 people, and its courtyard has a dirt floor. Every time I try to enjoy a mango, zillions of flies come and swarm my personal bubble.

Deep down, though, Sikoroni definitely has charm. Once you get past the unappetizing shell. First of all, it has great views of the city. Climbing to the top of the main hill, you can look out on everything and see the Niger river. Secondly, the people couldn’t be more friendly. (That is, excluding the “tubabu”-yelling children. We don’t talk about them.) I’ve befriended a woman who lives in the neighborhood, Sita, who showed me how to make “to” one day. (“To” is a slimy, disgusting Malian food made out of mushed up grains.) She just called me over and said “Hey, you, we’re going to make to tomorrow morning. See you at 9am.” I couldn’t really say no. Since then, I’ve stopped and chatted with her several times. She speaks French, but mostly insists on communicating in Bambara. She’s only 32 but has 4 kids. Anyway, point is that people here are always friendly, always in a good mood, always ready to sit around and chitty-chat. A third thing: culture. Part of me dreads heading back home to strip malls, MTV and consumerism. I’m finding it hard to describe how it’s so different here – maybe it’s that funerals last a week+, involving less caskets and flowers but more gathering, mourning, and laughing together. Maybe it’s that everyone knows which family group their last name derives from, AND the clan’s history. (They use this information to crack jokes at members of other, “rival”, families.) Maybe I’m just exoticizing what I see here, calling it more culturally rich than America because it’s so different. Whatever. But it counts as a tasty seed of the Sikoroni zaban.

a week in the countryside

Hi hi, everyone!

Apologies for the utter lack of communication coming from my end. Cari and I spent the last week exploring outside of Bamako. Since I was living out of my backpack, I thought it best to leave the computer behind. (I did, however, bring my USB key with me. Aaand just realized that it is still in a lovely internet café…in Ségou. Oops.)

Otherwise, our trip was GREAT. We travelled east, stopping one night each in Ségou, Djenné, and Bandiagara. From there, we hiked three days in Dogon Country, a super-isolated and super-beautiful region of the country. Yesterday we bit the bullet and took a 10-hour bus ride all the way back to Sikoroni. Our reward: cheeseburger and banana split at Broadway Café, the one authentic American restaurant here.

I am so happy to have seen Mali’s “bush”, if only because I realized how little there is to see. The bus would go hours and hours passing nothing but fields, grass, dirt, and trees. When it encountered villages it would stop, and people selling snicky-snacks would pile on advertising their wares – “shi be! gateaux be! ji be! shefan be!” a.k.a. shea fruit, sweet bread, water, hardboiled eggs. Not exactly a Mickey D’s off of I-95, but it definitely had a similar feel.

In Ségou we took a boat ride, in Djenné we saw the world’s largest mud structure (a big fat mosque), but the Dogon hike was definitely the highlight of our adventure. We hired a guide, Hamidou, who walked us from village to village along a magnificent cliff side. In some of them we met the dugutigi, giving him a couple kola nuts as a sign of respect. At night we stayed in campements, little tourist lodgements in each town. Very rustic and mostly all outdoors, including sleeping arrangements – which consisted of a foam mattress under a mosquito net. (Catch that, Mom?) Everything was so different from Bamako. Fewer people, fewer – like, zero – stores, less electricity…although at one campement there was a shower-from-above arrangement, instead of the standard bucket bath!

This paragraph clearly does not suffice to describe the trip. I’m having a hard time deciding what to write about. Hopefully these photos will help.

So yeah, now it’s back to BKO for 2 weeks. Crunch time for the microfinance project! I have to finish drafting an info sheet about other microfinance orgs in the city, finalize the borrower profiles, and print out 50 literacy/math workbooks. I was supposed to put together education materials for an entrepreneurship course, but it definitely won’t get done before I leave. Either way, I plan to start on it. There are tons of other little things to finish, and I’m a little intimidated looking at it all. Kind of looking forward to a busy couple weeks, though. Can’t believe I’ll be home so soon!!

Mali-love to you all,

Djeneba

more photos yayy!

Foot henna! From the wedding a couple weeks ago. Most Malians, when they have this done, put some sort of rat poison on top of the normal henna to make it turn black. Preferring not to rub that shit into our skin, we did without.




This is me trying to show you what my living quarters look like. The first room is where Cari and I sleep (note my mosquito net, Mom). The second room is where we keep all our stuff, so we can lock it at night. Just in case. Each is about the size of a Keeney double, if that means anything to anyone.


I like to think that this captures some of the aforementioned Macarena dance party. Front and center is Kadya, one of the family's more francophone children.

Mamuso, Macarena, and microfinance

This is my family’s resident grandma, or Mamuso as we like to call her in Bambara. I like her so much, even though I can never understand what she says thanks to the language barrier – and her dentures.

Cari and I taught the Macarena to our homestay sibs the other day. Best idea EVER, because it’s given us endless amusement since. The kids want to practice all the time, and I see the younger ones doing it by themselves when they think no one is watching. What’s more, kids who I don’t even KNOW approach us from next door like little zombies with their arms out in front of them, wanting to know which move comes next. Apparently word travels fast.

As my summer adventure hits its halfway mark, my to-do list is growing. Yipes! I’m realizing how little time I have left, and how much I want to get done. For example…

Tomorrow morning I’m going to coordinate two random volunteers to help paint our logo on the side of the “multifunctional center” in which many MHOP-related activities take place. Should be a party. In the afternoon I have a Skype-date with the founder of a nonprofit called Global Grassroots. It teaches courses about social entrepreneurship, and we want to potentially form a partnership with it.

Before Tuesday I have to design and print little advertisements for the microfinance center, because we’re going to resume giving out loans this week. These ads are actually really cool, conceptually. They’ll be little slips of paper (think tableslips) that the microfinance committee will distribute in the Sikoroni marketplace. Because most people there are illiterate, we can’t put much written information on them. Instead, they’ll show our brand new logo (yay!!) that depicts a group of women accepting money from a big hand coming from the sky. Looks less ridiculous than I made it sound. I’m only going to print 100. Committee members will explain the slips to whomever they hand them to, and then the news will travel by word of mouth to exponentially more women all over town. American advertising methods take so much for granted – like literacy. (Another publicity option we discussed was employing the town crier. Yeah.)

We’d paused loan-giving because the committee finished selecting the 20 pilot loan recipients, and wanted to make sure the system could run smoothly before expanding. Ten new women will definitively get loans in the next month. I’m hoping that, within that time, we can put into place a system to make loans on a consistent basis. I’ve been playing with numbers on Excel charts and emailing back and forth with finance-guru volunteers back in the States – not to mention talking with Niang, the Malian director – trying to figure out the best plan. Only now, looking at the hard accounting, is it immediately clear why microfinance organizations find it so difficult to be sustainable. It’s possible for us, but we need a lot more start-up funding (i.e. donations). So, forgive this little plug, but if you want to donate a loan it’s only 37500cfa or $93.75. Checks can be made to MHOP, sent to PO Box 20, Westminster Station VT 05159. Credit cards work from the website, www.malihealth.org.

I’m sorry, enough already. Stay tuned for less self-promotion and more exciting stories!

...wait, wasn't she supposed to be WORKING in mali?

I promise, I actually have been doing things related to microfinance here. My life in Mali is not just rock-climbing adventures and homestay family interactions. Let me explain…

MHOP is made up of a bunch of smaller projects, each thought up by a committee of 12 local activists that we call the Community Health Action Group (CHAG). The microfinance branch is one of them, and it was set up last summer by another American volunteer. My job now is to get a handle on how it’s been running and make adjustments as I/the committee see fit. The list of things I could be doing is INFINITELY long, but I’ve narrowed it down a bit and am trying to get through a good chunk of it this summer.

I spent the first few weeks putting together rough profiles of some of our borrowers. Members of MHOP’s microfinance committee (separate from the CHAG; they take loan applications and keep tabs on borrowers) took me with them to visit their 2-3 charges, and I informally interviewed about 7 of them. I asked about their business, how the loan had impacted it, what they would change about MHOP’s operations, etc. The information I got was good, but kind of sparse. I wish I had done something more formal…but I still can! And if I don’t get around to it this summer, I’ll put it on a to-do list for the next microfinance volunteer.

Here’s one profile:

Djeneba Poudubu sells firewood and cold water, and has done so for a long time. She buys the wood from little villages outside of Bamako. She took out a loan to build up her business funds. She claims that it has worked: “mainentant ca va; avant ca ne va pas.” Before, she gained 2,000 cfa from each trip to the country. Now she can get 4,000 cfa. She puts the 2,000 cfa extra in a little box, which she uses to pay her reimbursements. Djeneba wants to take out a bigger loan, with 5,000 cfa more.

When I got here, the director Niang said he was waiting for word from last summer’s volunteer (Mike) before giving loans to the last 8 applicants whom the committee accepted. I asked Mike about this via email, and he said he thought he told Niang to give them out a long time ago. Unfortunately, Mike’s French is TERRIBLE so the point didn’t get across. So I passed word onto Niang, and the remainder of loans were given out a couple weeks ago (see photo below).

Since then we have re-vamped the application form and plan to begin taking them again for at least another 10 more loans. We want to advertise around Sikoroni with illustrated handouts to give people in the market, and with a sign in front of the office – making these is another project I’ll coordinate.

Finally, I’m gathering basic information about other microfinance centers in the area. I’ll get their interest rates, loan sizes, borrower composition, etc. Then I’ll put it into one simple Excel sheet. The idea is to have our center not only give out loans, but give out information about getting loans to women in the area. Hopefully I can start planning informal business courses/consulting, too. That might be another one for the to-do list, though.

Definitely more than enough to keep me busy on the microfinance front. If you’re curious about the other projects, there’s some info on MHOP’s web blog (http://malihealth.org/ht/d/Blogger/pid/211) and on the other volunteers’ blogs.

I have so many ideas for blog entries!! I have to tell you about the food, show you photos of my fam, describe the WEDDING I went to this weekend…it will have to wait.

KEEP VOTING!!! www.dosomething.org/awards!!!

adventures

Ahhhh yes it’s finally raining again! We just had a 2-3 day spell of unbearable heat, and we’ve been desperate for a downpour. And it’s happening at this very moment – I’m watching it out my window.

The heat brought with it several adventures. One, a couple days ago, was a late-night wedding dance party. Right outside my house, 30-40 neighbors were gathered around drummers and a woman singing into a microphone. They all sat on chairs around a circle, except those who were dancing in the center. Anyone could jump in whenever, and Caitlin, Ben, Cari and I definitely took part. I might not have – I might have been too shy, had the singer not come right up to me. She beckoned me out, and then I believe started singing a song about me. What?! I know heard a bunch of “Djeneba Coulibalys”. So bizarre. This D.P. lasted until almost midnight, at which point they brought out bowls and bowls of beans and started eating. I wasn’t hungry, but I was incredibly tired so I just went to bed.

The next day (yesterday), Ben and I went on a hike to end all hikes. We wanted to explore the area, so we started off heading towards two little hills at the edge of town. Before we got there, we encountered an unfamiliar stream running through a neighbourhood. Intrigued, we decided to start following it to see where it came from. We passed people doing laundry, lots of donkeys, and some landmarks like a bridge going halfway across the water. Ben called it a “bridge to nowhere”, which reminded me of the song Miles from Nowhere. Rachers put it on a mix for me (represent, yo) and I had it in my head for the rest of the day. Not a bad choice.

We stopped twice: to find food – we ate rice and sauce (what else) at a side-of-the-road stand in who knows where – and to play soccer with some boys who were following us. Groups of children trailing behind you are NOT rare here, and yesterday Ben and I decided to refer to any such group we came across as “the Experience.” Like, “Oh look, the Experience is coming,” or “Damn it, I’m tired of this Experience!” It’s fun to talk about them in English when they’re right next to you, because they don’t understand! Hah! Take that, Bambara!!

One such Experience:

Two and a half hours after our departure we found ourselves in Djaraconodi (or something), a town that seemed EXTREMELY rural compared to our beloved Sikoroni. Open spaces, farms, trees everywhere. We found an awesome rock structure and explored it for a while, climbing up some really cool inclines. (I’ve done a few spontaneous rock-climbing stints here – it’s so fun!) Eventually we got tired and decided to head back to Sikoroni. We were exhausted and sweaty by the time we got home and I took the most satisfying bucket bath ever.

In other news, I’m almost done watching season 2 of Lost. Miraculously, a previous volunteer left DVDs of both seasons 2 and 3 here! So it’s easy for me to get my American pop culture fix when I need it.

Have you voted yet today?

Love to everyone!

did you vote today? yesterday? tomorrow?

hi. go to www.dosomething.org/awards and vote for caitlin. thanks!

the microfinance office! one desk, one chair, one shelf...classy.

this is my front door, and the fam's pet goats. i think they'll eventually get eaten... foreboding skies before a late afternoon downpour. it's finally the rainy season, so the temperature is now bearable most of the time. however, it also rains once a day.
me, ben, caitlin, and new friend tenzin (he goes to bowdoin M! do you recognize him?) after climbing up a natural arch in siby.

enjoy! and vote!

big news, and i need your help.

MHOP COULD WIN $100,000 THIS SUMMER, and needs your help.

Caitlin Cohen, my peer/co-worker/the founder of the NGO I’m currently working for, is one of 9 finalists for the $100,000 Do Something Award. It’s given at FOX’s Teen Choice Awards (August 4), and the winner is determined strictly by VOTING. Basically, it’s a popularity contest. So we need to get anyone and everyone to VOTE FOR CAITLIN! THIS MEANS YOU!!

Go here: http://www.dosomething.org/awards

Click “vote now” and vote for Caitlin.

Limit one vote per email address per day. You can vote every day and with every email address you have.

As it’s for the Teen Choice Awards, voters must enter a birthday between ’89 and ’96.

Thank you for helping MHOP! Please spread the word, and tell me if you know any teens who might want to be a Get Out the Vote Captain for us – top prize is a VIP ticket to the Teen Choice Awards pre-party in LA

interactions

So I was trying to upload photos, but this computer is too slow. I'll do it next time I'm at the speedy (but far away) internet cafe.



I think it’s worth recording the many different kinds of interactions I have with people here.

One big category: communicating with the host fam. I’m staying in a compound that houses about 35 people. Though I haven’t yet figured out the exact relations between them all, I’m pretty certain that they’re all related somehow. Only a very small percentage of them speak French – one of the dads and two teenage girls. Everyone else speaks strictly Bambara. I’m taking a course in Bambara 3 days/week, but my skillz aren’t quite where they need to be for easy conversation. Give me, like, 6 more months. Anyway, I talk to the two girls a lot. Their names are Aisha and Kadya. They explain a lot and teach me words in Bambara. Very helpful.

My interactions with the women of the household are a little different. Both parties are acutely aware of the language barrier, but I feel like there’s a mutual desire to “bond” or what have you. We exchange a lot of smiles, greetings, and handshakes. Sometimes they say something complicated to me in Bambara, and I respond with a quizzical look. Then they repeat themselves, maybe a little more slowly, and wave their hand around. It’s actually the most frustrating thing ever because the vague hand motions DON’T HELP! I would appreciate something a little more sign language-esque. At least I have a better understanding of how foreigners feel when American tourists yell at them in English.

The little kids in the homestay are adorable but can be downright devilish. Sale is a 2 year old (maybe) girl who runs around in a pair of white underpants all day. She’s very outgoing and has the most adorable smile, but… The other day I was working outside with a bottle of sunscreen next to me. Sale came up next to me and starting playing with it, which was fine. Then she snagged it up, let out a cackle, and ran across the courtyard. Clearly she wanted me to chase her around, but I was like ‘bitch please’ and stood there looking angry. After several minutes – a pretty long time to wait for something like this! – she finally brought the sunscreen back. Sale also pesters my roommate, Cari, to no end. Recently C. had to lock herself in our room to keep the 2 year old from bursting in. Even with a locked door, she continued to make a racket by shaking the doorknob and knocking. Dear lord.

Another big category of interactions: people on the street. Again, the kids are so cute but irritating as well. If you’re white, one of the first things you’ll notice here is that children love to yell “Tu-ba-BU! Tu-ba-BU!” after you wherever you go. Tubabu technically means French person, but it’s come to encompass all of us whities. I’m still figuring out how to react to this. Sometimes I ignore it, sometimes I’ll say “Ayi! N togo Djeneba!” which means “No! My name is Djeneba!” I think the latter response has actually worked – walking around my neighborhood I’m starting to hear more “Djeneba! Djeneba!”s and fewer “Tu-ba-BU!”s.

Random kids also like to run up to you and shake your hand/give you a high five/“pound it” (ie pound your fists together). This is adorable and so fun, and I feel like a celebrity…a celebrity who’s at huge risk for pink eye or some other disease transmittable by touch. Fear not Mom and Nanny, I always keep hand sanitizer nearby.

Other kids will yell out to me “Bonjour madame!” This can be as annoying as the tubabu taunt, so sometimes I ignore it as well. Other times I’ll reply in Bambara and ask them how they’re doing: “I ka kene?” Usually they don’t respond, probably because they’re too shy. (Or too taken aback by a white girl speaking Bambara? Yeah, I’m that badass.)

Most random adults don’t make a spectacle out of my presence, thank the lord. Sometimes store owners will call me over and strike up a conversation, ask me my name, etc. Usually they speak French so I can at least communicate what my deal is. Taxi drivers ALWAYS honk at us white people because they think we’re too lazy to walk…pfff.

Obvi I could write a ton more about the people who I’m living with and around. I’ll save some for later.


Photos to come, I promise!!!

sikoroni is technically a part of bamako, uncle mike...

...but it would be a kumquat.

Hello, blogosphere!

So I’m starting to keep a list of unique situations I’ve gotten myself into in Bamako. To give you a taste:

- The other day I was carrying half of a broken fan through a narrow marketplace. You’d never realize how unwieldy fans are until you try to squeeze them between two rows of stands 3 feet apart. We were on a shopping spree to get things for our homestay rooms –the list also included mattresses and cell phones. (Luckily, we decided to get mattresses another day. Even though they’re way lighter and more fold-able than American ones, they still would have caused trouble in the tight alleyways of the grand marché.)

- One of the sisters of my first host family started giving me cornrows, as we watched a popular Spanish soap opera on Malian TV. If she had finished it would have been HOTT – I mean, as hot as a white girl with corn rows can get – but she took them out because she wasn’t done by the time I had to leave.

- A local mango vendor held her baby up to my face, and he started bawling. I assume he was upset because he didn’t recognize my skin color. The woman, on the other hand, found the situation extremely funny. It made me feel uncomfortable – to state the obvious. I kept walking, while making a face that combined sadness for the kid and amusement for the mother…I guess it must have looked unnatural. I thought this would be enough to end the interaction, but no. She decided to follow me down the street of Sikoroni, holding the poor crying child in front of her. At this point I decided my best plan of action would be to ignore them. So I did, and they went back to their fruit stand, thank God. Seriously though, what would you do if the mere sight of you made babies cry?!? Okay there's a funny joke in there somewhere.

Gotta jet to Bambara class. This list will certainly grow as the summer continues, and I’ll be happy to share it with you.

scattered thoughts

I already feel much more comfortable in the city, and I’ve been here for less than a week. Some snippits from the past few days:

- I got a cell phone!! FYI, the number is 223-693-0304. There’s probably a Malian country code that you have to dial first, if you want to call. It’s funny, though: it's list of contacts already has a ton of names entered in it, none of which I recognize. And, every once in a while I’ll get a call from one of them, pick up, and have a very confusing/short conversation with a mystery person who apparently thought they were calling someone else. A little sketch…but the phone works so I’m not complaining.
- I learned that Malians have their own versions of Sir Mix-a-lot’s Baby Got Back. These pop songs are called “Bobaraba”, and you MUST look them up on YouTube. Bobaraba, for those of you not yet fluent in Bambara, means big butt. We were dancing to them with my host family the other night, and the little girls were shaking their booties quite a bit. In comparison, Katie’s and my moves looked pretty stupid.

Oh, so, I’m here with 4 other American students. Caitlin is in charge; she founded MHOP and graduated from Brown this spring. Ben and Cari both go to Brown. This summer Cari is in charge of a trash collection program, while Ben is working on a public health outreach thing. He’s collaborating with a Harvard student named Katie.

Katie and I are staying in the same homestay right now, in a house outside of the area where we’re working. It’s in a nicer part of town called Hippodrome, but it’s not too swanky by American standards. Either way, we’ll move into Sikoroni (the “slum”) on Thursday. I’m looking forward to the move a lot. I want to be closer to the action, and the family who I’ll be staying with seems wonderful. It’s made up of 30 people, many many many of which are children. The father’s name is Siriki, which I think is appropriate for my last name.

Actually, not many people who I’ve met here call me “Julie”. I’ve been christened with a Bambara name: Djeneba Coulibaly. This happened on our first day in Bamako, at the first outdoor vendor stand we went to. A few men were sitting around, talking to all 5 of us “toubabous” (white people) asking who we were, where we were from, etc. They decided that our American names were not appropriate for living here, and that we needed more familiar ones. Apparently, this is something that Malians do for most toubabous who come to live here. So from now on, it's Coulibaly. Djeneba Coulibaly. (Incidentally, Siriki's last name is also Coulibaly. Meant to be!)

I should note that the above interaction, and in fact the vast majority of my interactions here, have been taking place in French. At first it was a little difficult to get into the groove of speaking and understanding it, but by now it’s already gotten much easier. Almost no one here speaks English, and when they do they can only say things like “How are you?”. Anyway, I love being able to get by, for the most part, in a foreign language.

I want to apologize for the scattered format of these posts, and for the fact that they’re not very well written. If you find yourself itching for more, check out the blogs of Ben and Katie – Ben’s is livingitupinsikoro.blogspot.com (or maybe livingitupinsikoroni.blogspot.com…not sure) and Katie’s is deux-mois.blogspot.com. Yay!

Keep in touch. I just stocked up on postcards, so if you want one send me your address. I'd also love to make a skype date with you. Tell me when you're free.

A bientot,

Djeneba

if casablanca is a pineapple, bamako is a sweet lime

so i had a really great post all typed up yesterday...but it's on my laptop, which i don't have with me at the moment. time to improv.

reasons why i don't like bamako:
- it's HOT, all day and all night. as in, i've been sweating constantly.
- it smells bad, especially near the open sewer-y things that line most roads.
- i don't speak bambara! but i'm workin on it; just came from my first lesson.

reasons why i do like bamako:
- mangos are delish, way better than what i've had in the states.
- the kids are so so cute. i'm making friends with the 5 or 6 who live with my homestay family, and i have photos that i'll upload asap.
- the marketplaces are bustling! started exploring them yesterday and today. though a bit intimidating, i love the excitement and color and people everywhere. many-a-souvenir (as well as fabric for my new malian clothing) will be bought there, have no fear.
- i'm not 100% comfortable by any means. but yes, this is a reason why i AM enjoying myself. i like the challenge of being here. it's building character, or at least some major endurance. i also like the idea that by the time i leave, i'll have grown accustomed to a lot of this.

looks like the pros outweigh the cons. my internet cafe time is about to expire. i love you all! until next time...

(thanks to caitlin for analogy in title)