“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.

Rainbows in the Desert

Just as programming in villages has unanticipated results, hiring a French teacher does as well.

I joined the Peace Corps 5 years ago because I always left vacations on sad notes. It was never enough time to see everything, never enough time to meet everyone, and just as I would begin to learn and pick up words and cultural tidbits, it was time to leave. I longed for an experience that would allow me to “walk in someone else’s shoes” and really become part of a fascinating culture so different from my own (fascinating) culture.

This was accomplished in the Peace Corps. I truly feel I am part “Serer” (my Senegalese ethnicity). I was bestowed a Serer name by the chief, ate and cooked the food, spoke the language(s), plowed the fields, performed the dances, and knew the riddles. I relished every new detail I learned throughout my two years. However, while I was serving, I always imagined how perfect life would be if I could be one with the culture AND have my own house, A/C, Diet Coke, internet, etc 🙂

So here I am 5 years later with the latter in Mali. I definitely am grateful for all the amenities I have in my current experience and truly love the type of work I am doing. However, I have been missing out on all those things I loved in the Peace Corps because of my independence and access to convenience.

I realized this just a few hours ago when I stepped into my tutor’s home. I drove through sandy, sandcastle like streets to get to his house.

Entering the old town in Mopti

The only direction I received was “Get to the soccer field in town.” As promised, he was there to then lead me to his house. Upon arrival, dozens of beautiful children came running out shouting warm welcomes. His wife with one child on her back and the other feeding on her front, hurried to bring me a cold soft drink and take my bag.

Meanwhile, ridiculously beautiful women began walking past us, eying me conspicuously, on their way home from the market looking like rainbows in the desert wearing vibrant colorful garments, their hair decadently strewn with multi-colored beads, large red and gold jewelery pierced in their ears and noses, their hands hennaed in intricate designs, and their mouths tattoed in a dark shade of black accentuating their white teeth. I gasped and had that, “OMG, I am in Africa” moment I used to get when I’d see a ritual performed, pass a warthog on my jog, or participate in a village drumming dance. You don’t see this in the office. These women are SPECTACULAR. I need to show you guys…but how do you get the audacity to ask them to take their photos? Here are others’ photos of similar women in Mopti.

Similar to the women I saw today

A woman in Mopti

Also similar (sans the earrings) however these earrings are worn by the women during ceremonies. Amazing.

After two hours of passe compose my tutor insisted I stay for dinner. There, along with 20 other “family” members I ate beans and meat my hand and discussed the differences between Senegalese and Malian cultures.

The best part came when I asked him his last name which he replied was”Ba,” and happening to be familiar with that name from Senegal, I commented “Tu dois aimer du lait! (You must like milk!).” There was a pause….and then the whole room erupted in laughter saying “You really know us! You know our culture. You are really African.”

I love that all it takes is a joke to receive acceptance here. I love that I have a new African host family in Mali.

There is a saying, “You go to East Africa for the animals, to West Africa for the people.”

The people here truly are rainbows in the desert.

Money doesn’t grow on toubobs

It was confirmed by my colleagues today that I am in fact a walking flashing neon dollar sign.

No need for costumes here

My Malian colleagues took me out for lunch today to their favorite local restaurant beautifully located on the banks of Niger River. They have been going there regularly for years and wanted to introduce me to this gem as well. We all ordered the same thing they have ordered dozen times before: the plat du jour (rice) and a soft drink. Except this time, it was double the price. Any guesses why?

After one of my colleagues realized this, he pulled me up off my chair in a fury and demanded to see the manager.

“See this toubob (white person),” he asks the manager, “She lives here, works here, and is not made out of money. Don’t ever overcharge us, or her again. Remember this face. Remember!”

That’s right buddy. I’ll be back, but next time, I’m leaving the bling chain at home.

Lost in Frenchlation

I understand about 25% of what people say here. Actually, even less, considering they often mix Bambara or other local languages into their speech. Let’s say 20%. I am constantly anxiety ridden about improving my French. Before I arrived, I listened to 24 hours worth of French lessons on my iPod. I spent 10 hours of my 20 hour flight going through grammar lessons in order to make a good first impression. I teach myself a lesson a day after work in order to improve. Yet, it seems to be a fruitless endeavor.

Yesterday, I was driving in the market and about to come to the end of a road when another car turned head on to my street right in front of me. I made my way around him and proceeded to run over a board. Just a 2×4 wooden board. 3 guys start running after my vehicle screaming. I stopped the very big visible NGO white vehicle (which probably is the equivalent of driving a bright yellow hummer in the States) and proceeded to talk with the men.

I thought they began demanding that I replace their board, that I own up to breaking their board, but all I really heard was just screaming in general. I had no idea if they were trying to get money out of me or what. So I began defending myself. Then they told me they were going to the Police. Or I believe that’s what they said. At that point I got out of the vehicle to survey the damage but when I saw it was in fact a small wooden board (of many), I got angry because it wasn’t a big deal.

I told the guy that I am sad he is acting so harsh with me, since it was not my fault and no real damage was done. But he kept on screaming. Before I knew it, a few tears were trickling down my face. All my frustrations must have leaked at that moment. I pulled out some money and thrust it in his face. He immediately took a step back shocked and said, “No way, I don’t want any money, I am Malian, we want you to feel welcome in our country, I don’t want your money.” I still don’t understand what all the ruckus was about. But what I do know is that we ended up shaking hands and he invited me to drink tea with him.

I will probably never know what all the commotion was about. But I will still work on my French. I begin lessons with a French tutor tonight. Wish me luck!

Market Mudbath

So I’m behind a few days with writing, but it was only because I was transitioning…into my new home. I’ve finally moved in, yipee!

My new home is about a ten hour ride from the capital, Bamako. It is a medium sized town near all the main tourist attractions including Timbuktu, Dogon Country, and Djenne. The reason I am working and living out of our field office is because 90% of our development programs occur in this region. As our boss says, “It’s where all the action is.” This will enable me to better understand our programs with site visits and access to partners.

Anyway, I serendipitously met an American guy who lives in my town last week. He invited me to a party his friends were throwing last Saturday night. I arrived in town at 7pm, and made it to the party by 9.

I was having a nice time, meeting other Americans living in the region, until drama struck. One of his friends comes rushing into the party screaming for help. His guard, a Malian man, had malaria and just took a turn for the worse. As I was the only one with a vehicle at the party, I, of course, agreed to drive him to the hospital. Indeed, poor man was sweating bullets one minute, and shivering the next…signs of acute malaria. Fortunately, we got him to the hospital on time and am happy to report that today, he is recovering well.

I wanted to start off my first Sunday morning on a different note. I blasted iTunes and cleaned the heck out of my place. 4 hours later and 3 piles of mouse dung richer, I ventured off in my company issued vehicle to explore my town and shop for things I still had outstanding.

I had a list. I thought it was reasonable, i.e. noodles, oil, salt, clothespins, ground beef, wine, sugar, coffee, etc. I thought I would drive around looking for some stores to purchase these supplies and in addition, make an effort to note key places around town such as the post office, restaurants and markets. I thought it would take me only an hour given the small scale of the town. I definitely underestimated how hard it is to concentrate on driving stick shift while looking for key places left and right while dodging a myriad of video style obstacles coming at you, as seen in the video below.

I drove around and around and around the four paved streets that make up my town for 3 hours (I definitely must have confused the police who sit at each corner of the rectangular grid) until I acquired 70% of my list (most importantly, I found the only Coca-Cola Light dealer in town, BONUS!)

You can only get meat in this town at the market. So I went…right after a big rainstorm. This is also when my trip was cut short. The market is not on the paved road, but on side dirt ones. What do the dirt paths turn into when it rains? Mudbaths. Literally 2 minutes after venturing into the market, I slipped and fell butt first into the mud (amongst other things). I guess my gold metallic Steve Madden flip flops did not have enough friction.

Market Mudbath

On the bright side, a bunch of people first laughed at me, but then helpfully offered to instruct me on how to buy meat. They selected which part of the cow I should get my cut from at one stand and then took me to another stand where I had it ground (for 50 cents).

I made it back home safely andand proceeded to boil some noodles and cook some ground beef until I realized I never bought tomato paste/sauce. So although my first dinner at my new home was pasta, beef with olive oil and salt, it was nonetheless quite a reward after my first day of exploration.

Words of Wisdom

I was reading the evaluations today from Malian women who participated in one of our programs that meets weekly in a very poor rural community.  As a result of their participation, most of them acknowledged similar benefits such as an increase in income, an improved diet and better knowledge of preventative practices.  These were our goals, so were happy to see them confirmed.  However one of the points of  evaluations is learn other outcomes of the program, positive or negative, that we hadn’t predicted may happen.

This is an example of one in particular that caught my eye:

Participating in a (…..) group requires bathing before and dressing well for weekly meetings, which causes our husbands to notice and treat us differently (better).

Looking good