Wah, Wah, Wah

Q.  What happens when you roast a pig and bake a duck for Thanksgiving?

A.  Salmonella Typhoid

Thankfully, I wasn’t affected, as I mainly focused on the squash pie for dinner.  But others weren’t so lucky and spent the following few days violently ill.  That’s Thanksgiving in Africa for you.

Although eating with 30 Americans was nice, my colleague and I rushed out of dinner a little early and went out for drinks.  Frankly, it just didn’t feel like Thanksgiving (Pork!?) and paying homage to the holiday here made me realize how much I was missing.

So, now I am worried about Christmas.  The question is, should I celebrate it or not?  If I do, it’ll just hit me harder that I am all alone.  If I don’t then, it will pass as if it never existed this year.  I don’t know.  Christmas in Africa isn’t all it is cranked up to be.

Happy Thanksgiving!

I am thankful for…..

• my unconditionally loving and supportive parents
• my ridiculously lovable nieces and nephew
• the relationship I have with my sister
• my brother’s help and advice
• my boyfriend’s love and reliability to be there for me always
• the rest of my family including aunts, uncles, in-laws, grandparents, cousins
• my amazing friends who are still so close to me no matter what the distance
• the cheese, toilet paper, Snickers bars, and yogurt they sell at the red store in my town
• my a/c, electricity, internet and the general comfort of my home
• having a job
• having a job I believe in
• having plans tonight to roast a pig with 50 other Americans who live in the region
• my education
• my health
• my life
• my readers’ comments!

Thank you!

I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

Staying connected in Mali

Just because I live in the desert, does not mean I am “out of the loop.” Au contraire, I’ve managed to send my friends fresh pierogies and kielbasa on their birthdays, delivered a salmon spread breakfast to my boyfriend on our anniversary and and watched every episode of Gossip Girl and ANTM to date.  I get Obama’s weekly videocasts, I blog online and I’ve even managed to sell some graphic designs on Ebay since I’ve arrived.  I have video dates with my boyfriend every night, video morning coffee talks with my parents, and full out video dance parties with my nieces and nephews routinely.

The next time your significant other tells you he couldn’t call because his cell phone ran out of batteries (in America)….send him to me and get rid of him fast.

However, I’ve noticed that, often, us out here in places that are NOT IN AMERICA are discriminated against in the internet sphere.

For instance, ’tis the season to spread holiday joy, and as such, I’ve begun shopping online. I’ve learned, to my great frustration, that some sites pretend your order goes through only to CANCEL it a day later because they cannot verify your purchase (meaning, they can tell your computer is connected in Mali and will not let you shop online even though I am shipping to the states!).  These sites include Walmart and Macys.  Fortunately,  others have won their good graces with me and allow me to shop, purchase and ship presents to my loved ones with the click of a button including Target, Nordstroms and Sephora.  So that’s where all yor gifts are coming from!

As for watching tv shows and movies online, I used to do this all the time in New York.  Although I owned a HD TV, I could never afford cable, so I caught up on my favorite shows like The Real World and Weeds by searching for it on Buttermouth.  All you need to do is type in what show you are looking for a long list of websites pop up where you can begin watching the show without ever needing to download anything.  However, to my great dismay, I’ve learned that many FREE shows sponsored by ABC, NBC and the like, will not let people outside of the U.S. watch their shows online.

A message pops up, under the lines of, ” Sorry sucker, you’re not in America.  Sucks you can’t watch mindless TV even though you could probably use this break from reality more than others who sit on this site all day and watch mindless tv from the comfort of their pristine homes, perhaps eating a freshly delivered pepperoni pizza, and drinking a Diet Coke.  Good luck with your life in the desert, go try to find a cold Coca Cola Light to cheer you up.”

And in fact, when I get these messages, I just click on the Shiba Inus who always cheer me up.

It’s truly AMAZING how connected I am in a place near Timbuktu, a town it took over one hundred years to reach by European explorers, after many failed and tragic attempts.  Next time you or your loved ones travel abroad, don’t be afraid; I can  guarantee it won’t be as “out there” as I am here.  And that being said, they may be even more connected to you than they were living in your own home.

My First MEME

I’m not going to lie.  I am being lazy today.   I should post a fantastic story about Malian culture but I’m tired.  Give me the weekend to rest.  In lieu of something you really want to read, I am going to post my first MEME, which isn’t a real meme, since no one ever tagged me, but I found it on another blogger’s website and tagged myself.  I’ve read online, you should do MEMEs when you first start blogging so your audience gets a better idea of who you are, but I just checked and this will be my 81st post, so this About You meme is a little late, but better late than never.  Have a great weekend.

Meme Response #1: 7 or 8 Random Things About Me
1. I majored in Japanese in college.  And then moved to Africa post college.  Logical?  Not my forte.

2. I’m the middle child.  It’s pretty obvious. I had to go all the way to Timbuktu for to get some attention!  (Ha ha, my sister would disagree arguing I always get attention).

3. I am a dog fanatic, often spending several hours a day perusing dog websites, breed guides, and youtube videos.   My childhood library put a cap on the number of dog breed books I could check out a week.

4. I like to do things myself.  I like to “learn to fish” rather than “buy a fish.”  In other words, I’d rather make my own projects than commission them to others .  I always try my hardest to learn computer software, languages, plan my own vacations, etc so that I can take care of things myself.  That way I know it’ll meet my high expectations.  It doesn’t always work, but I try.  Yes, it’s a tad controlling.  (Disclaimer: this does not apply to mechanics, finance or sports).

5. My first language was German.  Born in Communist Poland, we crossed the border to Austria seeking refuge, just as I was nearing my first birthday. I spent nearly two years there bi-lingual (German and Polish) before setting off for the States where I would grow up.

6. There are times when I wish I was a damsel in distress.  Sometimes, I am jealous of Disney princesses. I wish I could just turn “me” off and pretend like I need help with everything.  I often hear, “Kash, you are so strong, so independent, so together” but really I just want to scream, “I’m tired.  I am weak.  Please help me.” (But then again, see number 4, I’d probably want to do it myself).

7. I survived a traumatic scuba diving incident at age 13.  I lost my breathing device, and had my first panic attack….20 meters deep underwater.  After struggling and looking up at the sun, the last thing I remember thinking before I woke , “Let go, it’s all ok, just let go.”  I woke up to a team of instructors crowded around me on a boat as I was spitting and coughing up water.  For the following hour I was shaking and kept on exclaiming “OH MY GOD” on repeat for nearly an hour before I could say anything else.

8. My first job was at my parent’s hardware store, working Saturdays with my brother and sister.  Besides working the cash register and bagging goods, our favorite task was pretending we were mannequins in the storefront window, holding tools and BELIEVING we were fooling passerby.

The Untouchables of Mali

It’s no secret that West Africans were taken against their will to work as slaves in the Western world; it was a surprise to me, however, to discover that slavery has deep roots in West Africa amongst a few of its own ethnic groups that has continued disputably, to this day.

The first question on our questionnaires during the study, was “What ethnicity are you?”  We explicitly told our interviewers not to list the 12 most numerous ethnic groups in Mali but rather wanted to know how the locals identified themselves.

As my job was to correct the questionnaires and look for errors as soon as they were done, I perused nearly 1000 answers.  During the course of our survey, the three of the most common ethnic groups were Fulani, Tuareg, and Dogon.  However, in the Fulani and Tuareg villages, we often came across people identifying themselves as the ethnicity of, “esclave” or literally, slave.  My initial reaction was one of shock and outrage.  After countless philosophical discussions with my colleagues, I learned that both the Tuareg and Fulani were historically known to have slaves, and that actually their slaves are considered entirely different ethnicities, although they look the same and speak the same languages as their captors.  The Fulani slaves are known as the Rimaibe tribe and the Tuareg slaves, as the “Bella.”  Furthermore, although slavery is outlawed in Mali (outlawed, but is it practiced?  That’s a good question) and was outlawed as recently as the 1980s in Mauritania, it is not uncommon to find the Rimaibe and Bella working still for Fulani and Tuareg families.  Although they are technically no longer slaves, I was informed that to this date, the Rimaibe can’t hold any political power in the country, either nationally or locally, not even in their own villages.  If there are no Fulani in a Rimaibe village, a chief and town committee is selected from a nearby village, managing the Rimaibe’s affairs.  Discrimination?  I think so.

Even if the Rimaibe and Bella are no longer slaves, what bothers me the most is that they identify themselves that way.  Mali has such a rich history of music, culture and so much pride in its ethnic groups, yet the Rimaibe, can’t even call themselves the Rimaibe.

Anyway, just thought I would share with you another heartbreak I experienced while in the field, because it seems no one else is talking about it (I googled the Rimaibe and only found a handful of citations referring to ‘ancient’ slavery.  Um, not so ancient misters.

The Post I said I wasn’t going to Post

When I first started this blog in preparation of my big move back to Africa, I made a promise to myself and to my readers that I wasn’t going to get all sappy.  I thought I had exhausted my ability to transmit the hardships of life in rural Africa when I blogged about them for over two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Senegal.  During that time I lived in a village side by side with the most hospitable, wise and beautiful people I had ever met, yet that was often overshadowed by my tales of disease, accidents, and poverty.  So this time, I took a more light-hearted approach, hoping to prove to you all that Africa is NOT the Dark Continent.

Then I went back to the field.

Again, I experienced that one of a kind West African hospitality.  I saw the most beautiful ornamental women on this side of the continent, saw majestic scenery that looked as if it had been painted in watercolors, and was accosted every day by bubbly, smiling, rambunctious children.  You would have agreed with me that Africa is in fact the continent of Light had you been by my side on this journey (not only because you would have been burnt crisp by the sun).

But there were scenes I witnessed that could not be ignored.

I saw a whole village supply of food for the year literally diminish overnight, when their fields were attacked by crickets a week prior.

Infested millet stalks

I saw the brown, parasite infested ponds that another village uses as their primary source of drinking water.

Muddy manmade ponds of rain water accumulation

And the hardest thing to see, was always the malnourished children.  We came across dozens of acutely malnourished children along the way, and each time we did, we turned a blind eye to work policy, as we immediately rushed the child and their mother to the nearest health clinics, often a hundred kilometers away. The mothers knew their children were sick, but they could not do anything about that.  Imagine that!  Most of the people we interviewed were only eating one or two meals a day, as it was the difficult season, right before harvest.  Their meals usually consist of 150g of millet or rice.  That’s all.

So despite my initial instincts to make this blog more light-hearted, and I hope that you have enjoyed the many lovely and bright stories about life in Mali, I also want to share with you just a few of the reasons I came back.

If the band crosses into the red, it means the child is severely malnourished and must be rushed to a hospital. As you can see, this poor baby was way into the red.

If you’d like to donate money to causes such as this, first of all, I’d suggest you research the poverty levels in the world and donate your money to countries that are always at the bottom, such as Mali.  Although donating to emergencies should be applauded, too often peaceful countries are left to bite the dust.

A great organization often overlooked to donate to in Mali is the Peace Corps.  If you go to the Peace Corps site, you could literally search volunteers by where they are from in their states as well as what project they are raising money for.  Peace Corps volunteers receive no funding so all the money they use for projects is from their own fund raising.  I would bet that 95% of the money donated goes straight to the program they are installing, and in my case it was 100% when I was a volunteer.  Thanks for listening.

Malian Christmas Trees

People come to Africa for the animals, but boy oh boy, if you come to Mali, your eyes will rather feast in the orchestral femininity of Malian women.  Sparkling like Christmas trees in the stark desolate landscape make them seem all the more mystical, decorated from head to toe in vibrant and bold displays of colors, sparkles, bells and whistles.  Ornamental hair coins, yards of yarn strewn throughout their braids, golden nose rings, tattooed mouths, distinct scarring, and heels, always heels! Oh, I felt like such a poor representative of our gender as I sat in my field gear consisting of cargo pants, white t-shirt and sorting a Chicago Cubs cap. Atleast I had my gold sparkly flip flips on. Despite battling sand storms, disease, dirt roads, muddy homes, and working 24/7, beauty remains one thing Malian women don’t skimp on in their lives, or rather, their Men don’t skimp on.  Crop failures, drought, polygamy, run rampant,  yet these men find ways to sell a goat when they need too in order to make that one woman in their lives (or two) feel like a Goddess. They know the secret to staying happily married, I suppose 😉

Of course, the definition of beauty differs in Mali than from in the States.  Nose rings are perceived as dignified and mature, rather than punk rock or trendy.  Women’s jaws are tattooed black, either to make the teeth look whiter or to display their status of wealth.  The more ear piercings you have, the wealthier you are.  The bigger your jewelry, the more your man loves you (well I made that up, but maybe it’s true). What surprised me what that this emphasis on appearance begins at very early ages, with ear piercings done within days of a child’s birth and nose rings a few years later.  Girls become obsessed with changing their hairstyles routinely and wearing beads of necklaces that make noise as they strut through the village, all without the influence of Hannah Montana or Barbie dolls. Here are some photos I took of Malian women in their day to day environment, often in villages hundreds of kilometers away from a road.

Getting old doesn't mean you stop taking care of yourself. Here are two beautiful grandmothers, one with a hair cowrie shell bead and nose ring, the other with the infamous mouth tattoo.

Less is not more. Nose ring, gold beads cascading down off her braids, amber jewels.

I called her the Angelina Jolie of Mali. Just beautiful. And sassy too!

Head beads, head coins, head braids.

Mother and Daughter decked out. Mother wearing the infamous large gold and red Fulani wedding earrings. I noticed Malian women gave their children funky hairstyles such as the Mohawk above. Why? They said, just because it's fun.

Starting early. Scarring, earrings, funky braids.

 

Women begin tattooing their mouths when they reach maraigeable age. This women looks about 13.

The Greatest Job You’ll Ever Hate

The motto of the Peace Corps is The Greatest Job You’ll Ever Love, and as a returned Peace Corps volunteer, I’d say that is dead-on.  I feel the motto can also be applied to my current job, although perhaps calling it The Greatest Job I’ll Ever Hate is a little more accurate.

I’ve just come back from nearly a month “in the field,” as part of a evaluation team that included 15 Malians and one other American colleague, conducting an agricultural and nutrition assessment of 30 villages as part of a bigger multi-year project we will begin implementing this year.  We woke up each morning at 6 and headed out to villages where we spent the day under trees or shade structures interviewing over 50 people each day and measuring just as many children under the age of 5. At night, we would camp out together under the stars and often were out cold by 9pm, due to the long days of activity in the grueling sun.

The villages we interviewed represent just a sample of the 120 villages we will begin assisting, but 30 was more than enough to experience the magnitude of forces we were fighting against: malnourishment, drought, flood, inaccessibility, malaria, disease, no access to schools, lack of resources, etc.

Although I love my job, I wish there was no need for it here.

On the bright side, I witnessed and experienced Mali in all its riches.  Although most villages had very little or no resources, they were brimming with social capital: the beautiful ornamental woman, the mile-wide smiles, the bubbling children, the endless generosity and the friendly hospitality.

I will organize some themes from this experience and begin writing about them this week, but in an effort to give you some context to work with, here is a short (10 minute) video montage of the last four weeks.

p.s. I know the text is corny, but I can’t help it!

“Lorraine of Arabia”

The color of the turban I chose reflects the naivety I possessed regarding the situation.

When I was first asked to accompany the second team to the North-East desert region of Mali (500 km PAST Timbuktu), I was thrilled.  Sure, I had read about the State department warnings of the region insinuating Al Qaeda activity, and also was privy to many stories of NGO car high-jackings through the expat grapevine in Bamako.  Just months ago, I forwarded a BBC story about four French tourists being taken hostage in the area to my Peace Corps friends, and yet, despite all this, I leaped with both feet forward without thinking, thrilled at the possibility of exploring and working in the desert abyss.
Just as naïve as I had been when I joined the Peace Corps 5 years ago in Senegal, when I packed white sundresses hoping to look like Kim Basinger from “Out of Africa,” this time I chose a white turban to wear out in the desert, subconsciously hoping to reenact scenes from “Lawrence of Arabia”.  I should have known that within minutes of entering the desert winds, my turban would turn the color of the Sahara.
Furthermore, there were several red flags just days preceding the trip.   My supervisor decided to leave our NGO car at the military base in the nearest town for protection, instead renting an old crickety SUV for the desert to pass by unnoticed by the “bandits.”
All wrapped up like a mummy, I dove into the desert Sunday morning immediately tackling sand dunes, dust storms, and extreme heat within minutes.  Our destination was a village that would take 5 hours to get too, given we were riding over sand dunes rather than paved roads.  We stopped at a village two hours in, to relax and eat, when the situation turned for the worse.  We were stopped by  the mayor who alerted our team that they should leave me there.  It was unsafe for me to go any further given recent reports of a car jacking nearby and my visibility and attraction as a foreign hostage.
A split decision was made, and I was told that I was going to stay in the village on my own for four days, at a friend’s home, while the rest of the team went on.   Before they left in a flurry, my colleague looked at me with eyes wide open and whispered in English, “Don’t go anywhere. Stay in this compound.  We’ll be back in four days.  Be careful.”
Fear finally struck me.  And with that fear, came action (also known as adrenaline).  Within minutes of the team leaving, I was on the phone (Thank God there was one in town) with staff in Bamako.  With visions of what could happen to me the following four days, I could not risk my safety an longer.  Normally, very laid back and easy going, this time I insisted on hiring a vehicle to come get me, ASAP, whatever the cost.
When the driver arrived 10 hours later, he looked at me and told me to put on long sleeves and to wrap my turban around my head….he was not kidding around.  No signs of my white skin were to be exposed.
So hear I am evacuated to the nearest town, safe and sound, breathing a HUGE sigh of relief that I am out of harm’s way.
In other news, I have SO much to write about, I don’t even know how to begin.  I have had the most amazing three weeks of work of my entire life.  I am still trying to sort out the photos, the days, the villages, the stories, and the messages that I took from this field experience.  When I get back home this weekend, I promise to begin writing.  One thing is for sure, I have definitely seen the real Mali, the good and the bad.