1. Rainy Season
They wake up at 5 everyday to farm. Eyes encrusted with sleep, even the 6 and 7 year olds are up, looking for a daba*. The procession to the fields begins: the grandma and grandkids, husband and wives. Around 11 a girl will come with a giant round bowl full of millet mush and steaming leaf sauce. They’ll rinse their dirty hands in a bowl of well water and scoop giant handfuls of mush into their mouths. They’ll farm again until afternoon, then return to the household, tired, proud.
It is easy to understand why Malians believe so strongly in God. If it rains in just the right way, they’ll have a good harvest and enough food for the next year. If not, by May or June of next year they’ll start to go hungry, eating smaller portions and less meals. In a way, they have much less control over their own lives than Americans do. As they say, it’s in the hands of Allah. When their babies die, it’s in the hands of Allah. When their men get severely injured in motorcycle accidents, it’s in the hands of Allah. I’ve never heard anyone in my village blame the more logical causes of their poverty – colonialism or the present incompetent government. They either say “there’s no money here” as if it were a static, unchangeable event or “it’s up to God”.
There is one person in Koyan who gets it: Babo Kulibaly. She’s also the most devout Muslim I know. She would be fasting now for Ramadan but she has a heart condition. She is the matriarch of my host family: she claims to be 55 years old (no one really knows how old they are here) and has 5 children and 10 grandchildren (so far). She gets that what’s missing in Koyan are creativity, dedication, and critical thinking. She’s noticed that I’m very different from the 22-year-olds in Koyan and it’s not just that I’m white or can speak 3 languages – it’s that I show up to meetings on time, participate actively, and even plan and come up with ideas for meetings. She’d never seen a 22-year-old like that before – those kinds of qualities are rarely found in Koyan and if they are, it’s normally in a middle-aged man.
There’s just something about Babo. When I first came to Koyan, she asked me to teach her how to make soap. I organized a soap-making training and now she is running a successful soap business and saving the profits for future community development projects. The dedication and stubbornness she has shown in getting other community members to work with her on this project and working through the kinks in the business are unprecedented in Koyan. And it was Babo’s son, Nfabilen, who came up with an exciting idea for the money we had left over from the desk project: for the School Management Committee to buy party chairs and start a chair rental business.
How do you change a culture from one in which respect is bestowed based on age, wealth, and gender to one in which respect is bestowed based on competence? How do you get people trained either to take orders (women and children) or to give them (men) to function in a democratic way? These are some of the key problems we face in Koyan.
*Farming tool made from a short piece of wood with something like a narrow shovel head attached to it, used for weeding.
2. Desk Project Update
I just got off the phone with my exuberant host, Nfabilen Jara, to learn that the desks are safely on their way to Koyan. I am currently stuck in the Peace Corps volunteer transit house in Bamako with a sprained ankle, unable to make it back to Koyan to see the action. Yesterday the second shipment of desks was supposed to arrive in Koyan, but the road was so muddy that the truck had to stop in Ngalamadiby, a village 5km away from Koyan, and store the desks in that village’s school. Today the villagers of Koyan will haul their donkey-carts with their sad, undernourished donkeys and wobbly wheels to Ngalamadiby and trek back to Koyan’s small mud-brick school with the shiny new desks.
There have been some exciting new additions to the project due to the fact that we found a desk-maker who makes desks for $80 instead of our original projected cost of $90 and the fact that the currency conversion rate worked in our favor. In addition to the 45 desks, 3 teacher’s chairs, and 3 teacher’s desks originally planned for, we are also building a director’s office and equipping it with 2 file cabinets, 2 tables, and 2 chairs. What we’re really excited about, though, is an idea that my host Nfabilen came up with: to buy a large number of the chairs that people here rent out for parties. These will be useful when the School Management Committee or Student Parents Association holds large meetings; more importantly, it will enable Koyan’s School Management Committee to run a business renting out the chairs. With their own small business, the Committee members will have a new source of funding for future projects and will gain valuable business management skills, as well as providing a service to the community (because people in Koyan love to party!). With the leftover project funds as well as a $100 cash contribution from the School Management Committee, we were able to purchase 46 party chairs.
After finally receiving the project funds, the School Management Committee held numerous meetings to evaluate and re-evaluate our action plan. I was really proud of the new ideas that the committee members came up with to make the most out of the project funds and their professionalism in conducting the meetings. In the rainy season, it is not easy to hold a meeting since everyone is busy farming and the rain makes the road very difficult. The committee members trekked through the mud again and again to ensure the success of this project.
I greatly look forward to the start of the new school year in October, when the students will get to use their new desks. Last year there were 180 students in the school; this year the Committee expects there will be 250. Some of the old desks will be moved to the adult literacy center, which is badly in need of them.
Brotherly love
With so much family in one household, you've always got plenty of playmates.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
A Year in Mali
It’s a hot, humid day. I hear the weather’s about the same in New York, but here this weather is a way of life. The humidity signifies the rainy season: a season of hunger, work, and deprivation. This year’s staple crops have been planted (millet, corn, peanuts, and beans) but won’t be ready for harvest until September at the earliest and last year’s crops are running out fast. Families scrape by using whatever means they can: some are lucky enough to have relatives in Bamako who send them a little cash, some sell their livestock, some have enough profits from their vegetable gardens to buy grain. Does this mean people are depressed and worried about their families, tired and visibly distressed? Not at all. People don’t expect to have more food than they need to get by and their bodies and minds are used to it. Life continues at its usual lackluster pace – people farm together, eat together, chat, laugh, and dance. I would never have known that this was ‘hungry season’ in my community if it wasn’t for the food security survey I conducted for the Peace Corps. I’m sure there’s a sense in which people are suffering, but it’s subtler than what we’d expect – the inability to buy a new pair of shoes, getting a little skinnier than you were before, having to put off paying your kid’s school fees for a couple months. For an American, this would cause a great deal of stress and anxiety; Mali is different. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an adult in my village look stressed or anxious.
I’ve been in Mali a year and three days now. It is a Peace Corps cliché that volunteers enter as typically individualistic, efficient, work-driven, consumption-loving Americans and leave having learnt about what is really important in life - family, friendships, and community. Is there a causal relationship in the fact that poor communities often have a stronger sense of community and family values? I’m sure there are a number of contributing factors, including being in a rural location, having an economy based on agriculture, and others, but in general it seems to me that there is a sense of family and community that exists here that is hard to find in developed countries. When I walk down the dirt path that forms the main thoroughfare in my village and every single person spends at least five minutes inquiring into the well-being of my family, my health, and my garden, I know I’ve come a long way from Manhattan. I feel a sense of contentment sitting in my host family’s yard with three toddlers on my lap, eating a disgusting bowl of millet porridge, complimenting my host’s wife’s cooking, and seeing how happy it makes her that I haven’t felt before.
This is not to say that I don’t crave the satisfaction of work accomplished and American efficiency: this is a pleasure you largely have to relinquish in a country where a meeting may be re-scheduled three times before it comes to fruition (due to unforeseen events such as births, deaths, and rain).
The rain here comes as a revelation. The first rain was in mid-June (before that it hadn’t really rained since September) and it felt like the sky was falling. The clouds grew dark and heavy, then opened up in a relentless downpour. You have a new relationship to water after 8 months of drought.
Do we have to give up some community and family ties in order to develop as a capitalist society, valuing the individual, the worker above all else? I’m not sure. My village has very little specialization. Everyone farms, everyone raises animals, everyone builds their own house, everyone engages in the entire food production process. All these are cooperative endeavors and the family members work together on them, divided along gender and age lines. Farming employs everyone and I think there’s a deep satisfaction the family gets from doing this work together.
It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around things here – I rarely have access to the kind of quiet environment I need to sit and process things. Even now, in Bamako, I’m sitting in a volunteer transit house in a room full of chatty Peace Corps volunteers. In Mali, you’re never alone. This has been wonderful for me, but makes it hard to reflect. I know I’ve only conveyed a sliver of my experiences here, but I hope it gives you some idea of what it’s like.
Lastly, I want to announce that we successfully raised $4,234 or 2,258,161 fCFA to provide Koyan’s elementary school with 45 new desks to seat about 135 children. Thank you so much to everyone who supported this project! I can’t wait to tell my village that we can start getting the desks.
I’ve been in Mali a year and three days now. It is a Peace Corps cliché that volunteers enter as typically individualistic, efficient, work-driven, consumption-loving Americans and leave having learnt about what is really important in life - family, friendships, and community. Is there a causal relationship in the fact that poor communities often have a stronger sense of community and family values? I’m sure there are a number of contributing factors, including being in a rural location, having an economy based on agriculture, and others, but in general it seems to me that there is a sense of family and community that exists here that is hard to find in developed countries. When I walk down the dirt path that forms the main thoroughfare in my village and every single person spends at least five minutes inquiring into the well-being of my family, my health, and my garden, I know I’ve come a long way from Manhattan. I feel a sense of contentment sitting in my host family’s yard with three toddlers on my lap, eating a disgusting bowl of millet porridge, complimenting my host’s wife’s cooking, and seeing how happy it makes her that I haven’t felt before.
This is not to say that I don’t crave the satisfaction of work accomplished and American efficiency: this is a pleasure you largely have to relinquish in a country where a meeting may be re-scheduled three times before it comes to fruition (due to unforeseen events such as births, deaths, and rain).
The rain here comes as a revelation. The first rain was in mid-June (before that it hadn’t really rained since September) and it felt like the sky was falling. The clouds grew dark and heavy, then opened up in a relentless downpour. You have a new relationship to water after 8 months of drought.
Do we have to give up some community and family ties in order to develop as a capitalist society, valuing the individual, the worker above all else? I’m not sure. My village has very little specialization. Everyone farms, everyone raises animals, everyone builds their own house, everyone engages in the entire food production process. All these are cooperative endeavors and the family members work together on them, divided along gender and age lines. Farming employs everyone and I think there’s a deep satisfaction the family gets from doing this work together.
It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around things here – I rarely have access to the kind of quiet environment I need to sit and process things. Even now, in Bamako, I’m sitting in a volunteer transit house in a room full of chatty Peace Corps volunteers. In Mali, you’re never alone. This has been wonderful for me, but makes it hard to reflect. I know I’ve only conveyed a sliver of my experiences here, but I hope it gives you some idea of what it’s like.
Lastly, I want to announce that we successfully raised $4,234 or 2,258,161 fCFA to provide Koyan’s elementary school with 45 new desks to seat about 135 children. Thank you so much to everyone who supported this project! I can’t wait to tell my village that we can start getting the desks.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
A day in my life, part one
Now that it is hot season, I sleep outside except when it is raining. I never sleep very well because there’s noise throughout the night – my host playing loud Malian music until midnight and chatting with his friends outside, donkeys braying at every hour, and the odd rooster who doesn’t seem to know it’s nighttime. But it’s better than being inside where it’s so hot you never stop sweating. I wake up with the sun and the roosters. The other day a rooster was standing on the wall that separates my area of the property from my host family’s. This rooster was crowing so loud that I threw a shoe at it. That quieted him down for about 30 seconds.
When I wake up, most of the family has already been up for a while. The women wake up especially early so they can cook breakfast and lunch for the school children. First they pull water from the well, finish pounding the millet, then cook the ceri or millet porridge we eat for breakfast. I put on a pot of water to boil for coffee using my gas camping stove, whereas the women do all their cooking using firewood that they collect daily in the bush surrounding our house. When the ceri’s ready, I go over to the kitchen area and greet the old women of the house, Babo and Nyakuruni, two co-wives of a man who passed away, my host’s father. Every morning they give me a long string of blessings in Bambara. My Malian name is Sali:
Babo: Good morning.
Sali: Good morning.
Babo: Did you have a peaceful night?
Sali: Peace only.
Babo: How is your family?
Sali: Peace only.
Babo: How is your host?
Sali: No problems.
Babo: How are his wives?
Sali: No problems.
Babo: How are his children?
Sali: No problems.
(Note that my host’s wife and children are generally standing a few feet away while this questioning is going on.)
Babo: May God grant you a peaceful day.
Sali: Amen.
Babo: May God give you strength.
Sali: Amen.
Babo: May God protect you from evil things.
Sali: Amen.
Babo: May God give you breasts. (Meaning may you have many children.)
Sali: (reluctantly) Amen.
Babo: May God make peace between you and your husband. (Meaning future husband.)
Sali: (reluctantly) Amen.
Babo: May God make your work develop.
Sali: (enthusiastically) Amen.
Babo: May God make your studies develop.
Sali: (enthusiastically) Amen.
When this is done, I take my piping-hot bowl full of millet porridge back to my house, let it cool, and add peanut butter for a little protein and flavor. Malians eat their ceri plain or with sour milk. Sometimes, Malians will eat breakfast after they have already watered their garden or done some work in the field. Their breakfast is accompanied by strong, sugary green tea that they brew three times.
The morning is a time I like to have to myself, sitting in my separate area of the compound eating my porridge and listening to the BBC. Of course, it’s not that separate and I often have little visitors wander in (my host’s kids), as well as any Malians who have a message to give me about work (to which I begrudgingly grumble a response ), or who just want to say good morning. Then I take my ‘bucket bath’ (each time I bathe I pull water from the well and scoop it over me – no plumbing in Koyan!).
My days are extremely varied. Sometimes I have no definite work to do and I spend my time washing clothes, cleaning my house, reading books, writing letters, and playing with my host’s kids. Washing clothes is pretty tiring since it involves pulling lots of water from the well and scrubbing the clothes on a washboard. Sometimes it’s so hot I can’t do anything but sleep or read.
At least once a week, I attend a meeting. The school management committee meets almost every Tuesday, all the women of Koyan meet up once a month (they base their meetings on the lunar month), the students’ mothers association meets about once a month, and there are other meetings that come up.
My means of transportation is the bicycle. Many of the men in Koyan have mopeds and people don’t understand why I don’t have one or ride other people’s. It is a Peace Corps rule for the sake of safety. Sometimes it is very frustrating and I just wish I could hop on a moped and get somewhere quickly, but I really like the solidarity it creates between me and the less wealthy villagers that I use the same mode of transportation as them. As I ride my bike through Koyan, all the kids in the village run out onto the street or just wave at me and yell “Sali, Saliii, SALLLIII!” until I respond. You’d think they’d get tired of this but they just don’t. They’re still in awe of the one white person in the village.
To be continued.
When I wake up, most of the family has already been up for a while. The women wake up especially early so they can cook breakfast and lunch for the school children. First they pull water from the well, finish pounding the millet, then cook the ceri or millet porridge we eat for breakfast. I put on a pot of water to boil for coffee using my gas camping stove, whereas the women do all their cooking using firewood that they collect daily in the bush surrounding our house. When the ceri’s ready, I go over to the kitchen area and greet the old women of the house, Babo and Nyakuruni, two co-wives of a man who passed away, my host’s father. Every morning they give me a long string of blessings in Bambara. My Malian name is Sali:
Babo: Good morning.
Sali: Good morning.
Babo: Did you have a peaceful night?
Sali: Peace only.
Babo: How is your family?
Sali: Peace only.
Babo: How is your host?
Sali: No problems.
Babo: How are his wives?
Sali: No problems.
Babo: How are his children?
Sali: No problems.
(Note that my host’s wife and children are generally standing a few feet away while this questioning is going on.)
Babo: May God grant you a peaceful day.
Sali: Amen.
Babo: May God give you strength.
Sali: Amen.
Babo: May God protect you from evil things.
Sali: Amen.
Babo: May God give you breasts. (Meaning may you have many children.)
Sali: (reluctantly) Amen.
Babo: May God make peace between you and your husband. (Meaning future husband.)
Sali: (reluctantly) Amen.
Babo: May God make your work develop.
Sali: (enthusiastically) Amen.
Babo: May God make your studies develop.
Sali: (enthusiastically) Amen.
When this is done, I take my piping-hot bowl full of millet porridge back to my house, let it cool, and add peanut butter for a little protein and flavor. Malians eat their ceri plain or with sour milk. Sometimes, Malians will eat breakfast after they have already watered their garden or done some work in the field. Their breakfast is accompanied by strong, sugary green tea that they brew three times.
The morning is a time I like to have to myself, sitting in my separate area of the compound eating my porridge and listening to the BBC. Of course, it’s not that separate and I often have little visitors wander in (my host’s kids), as well as any Malians who have a message to give me about work (to which I begrudgingly grumble a response ), or who just want to say good morning. Then I take my ‘bucket bath’ (each time I bathe I pull water from the well and scoop it over me – no plumbing in Koyan!).
My days are extremely varied. Sometimes I have no definite work to do and I spend my time washing clothes, cleaning my house, reading books, writing letters, and playing with my host’s kids. Washing clothes is pretty tiring since it involves pulling lots of water from the well and scrubbing the clothes on a washboard. Sometimes it’s so hot I can’t do anything but sleep or read.
At least once a week, I attend a meeting. The school management committee meets almost every Tuesday, all the women of Koyan meet up once a month (they base their meetings on the lunar month), the students’ mothers association meets about once a month, and there are other meetings that come up.
My means of transportation is the bicycle. Many of the men in Koyan have mopeds and people don’t understand why I don’t have one or ride other people’s. It is a Peace Corps rule for the sake of safety. Sometimes it is very frustrating and I just wish I could hop on a moped and get somewhere quickly, but I really like the solidarity it creates between me and the less wealthy villagers that I use the same mode of transportation as them. As I ride my bike through Koyan, all the kids in the village run out onto the street or just wave at me and yell “Sali, Saliii, SALLLIII!” until I respond. You’d think they’d get tired of this but they just don’t. They’re still in awe of the one white person in the village.
To be continued.
Update from Koyan's School
Thank you so much to all who have donated to the desk project! We have already raised about 25% of the project funds! Aw ni ce, aw ni baara!
Here is what is going on at the school recently: Sadly, there is a national teacher’s strike. This means that the one teacher provided by the government is not working, although fortunately the two community-paid teachers are working. On Sunday I am starting a program with the sixth grade girls on “Life Skills” which is a curriculum developed by Peace Corps to empower girls. The lessons cover goal-setting, the importance of education, birth-control, and HIV/AIDS. I am really excited about this since I have come to realize what a big problem girls’ self-esteem is here, as well as early pregnancy.
The other night I was sitting chatting with my host family under the moonlight as usual when my host’s second wife, Mama, brought up a subject she returns to constantly: how her husband is no good since he wanders around at night meeting up with his girlfriends instead of staying at home with the family. According to Koyan custom, women cannot leave the house at night (because their husbands are afraid they will have boyfriends) but men can. However, my host is especially bad and is away from home a lot, often spending the night at a friend (perhaps girlfriend)’s house. Mama directly asked me to tell Fablen (my host) to stop going out at night. I told her that it wasn’t my place to get involved in that. I told her that what she should do is start some small business, like selling fried dough at the market, to make her own money. If she is not dependent on Fablen for money, I feel like that would give her more power in their relationship. I also told her to work hard at studying Bambara. Of course, I felt very powerless since in general this is not something I know that much about (marital problems!), but I do feel like there would be less women in Mama’s situation if more girls were educated and able to support themselves financially, which is something I can try to help with.
Here is what is going on at the school recently: Sadly, there is a national teacher’s strike. This means that the one teacher provided by the government is not working, although fortunately the two community-paid teachers are working. On Sunday I am starting a program with the sixth grade girls on “Life Skills” which is a curriculum developed by Peace Corps to empower girls. The lessons cover goal-setting, the importance of education, birth-control, and HIV/AIDS. I am really excited about this since I have come to realize what a big problem girls’ self-esteem is here, as well as early pregnancy.
The other night I was sitting chatting with my host family under the moonlight as usual when my host’s second wife, Mama, brought up a subject she returns to constantly: how her husband is no good since he wanders around at night meeting up with his girlfriends instead of staying at home with the family. According to Koyan custom, women cannot leave the house at night (because their husbands are afraid they will have boyfriends) but men can. However, my host is especially bad and is away from home a lot, often spending the night at a friend (perhaps girlfriend)’s house. Mama directly asked me to tell Fablen (my host) to stop going out at night. I told her that it wasn’t my place to get involved in that. I told her that what she should do is start some small business, like selling fried dough at the market, to make her own money. If she is not dependent on Fablen for money, I feel like that would give her more power in their relationship. I also told her to work hard at studying Bambara. Of course, I felt very powerless since in general this is not something I know that much about (marital problems!), but I do feel like there would be less women in Mama’s situation if more girls were educated and able to support themselves financially, which is something I can try to help with.
Desk Project
The desk project I wrote about in my last post has gone online – any amount you could give would be a great help! Here is the website:
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfmshell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=688-330
A summary of the project is below. If you decide to donate, please email me your mailing address so I can have a student in Koyan write you a thank you letter.
My village is very motivated to get new desks for the elementary school! The school was started 6 years ago by community members so that the village’s children would no longer have to walk one hour to the nearest school. The elementary school is growing every year and currently has grades two, four, and six, with 70 female students and 110 male students. With the project funds, the villagers will buy 45 new student desks (each desk seats 3-4 students), 3 new teacher’s desks, 3 new teacher’s chairs, and will repair 25 old student desks.
As a community contribution, the villagers will be transporting the desks from a town 47km away from our village via donkey-cart as well as providing $300 of their own money for the project, making the total value of the community contribution 25% of the total project cost. The village now needs to raise $4,234 to complete the project. You can donate online at the website listed above. Your donation is tax-deductable. However much you feel comfortable donating will be appreciated! The cost of one desk is approximately $90. Even if you are not in the position to donate to this project, but could pass on the word to someone you think would be able to donate, that would be a huge help! The people of Koyan thank you for your help! Aw ni ce! Aw ni baara!
Please don’t hesitate to email me with questions. I can also give you updates as the project progresses.
I also started a Facebook group for this project, which has photographs of the school and students: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=115242305173596#!/group.php?gid=115242305173596&v=info
Thank you!!!
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfmshell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=688-330
A summary of the project is below. If you decide to donate, please email me your mailing address so I can have a student in Koyan write you a thank you letter.
My village is very motivated to get new desks for the elementary school! The school was started 6 years ago by community members so that the village’s children would no longer have to walk one hour to the nearest school. The elementary school is growing every year and currently has grades two, four, and six, with 70 female students and 110 male students. With the project funds, the villagers will buy 45 new student desks (each desk seats 3-4 students), 3 new teacher’s desks, 3 new teacher’s chairs, and will repair 25 old student desks.
As a community contribution, the villagers will be transporting the desks from a town 47km away from our village via donkey-cart as well as providing $300 of their own money for the project, making the total value of the community contribution 25% of the total project cost. The village now needs to raise $4,234 to complete the project. You can donate online at the website listed above. Your donation is tax-deductable. However much you feel comfortable donating will be appreciated! The cost of one desk is approximately $90. Even if you are not in the position to donate to this project, but could pass on the word to someone you think would be able to donate, that would be a huge help! The people of Koyan thank you for your help! Aw ni ce! Aw ni baara!
Please don’t hesitate to email me with questions. I can also give you updates as the project progresses.
I also started a Facebook group for this project, which has photographs of the school and students: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=115242305173596#!/group.php?gid=115242305173596&v=info
Thank you!!!
Friday, April 2, 2010
Koyan's school, my parents' visit to Mali
Dear friends and family,
Here are some new photos of Koyan:
http://picasaweb.google.com/laurenmbiggs/SiratigiJaraMilletWhacking?feat=directlink
I ni faama! This is Bambara for it’s been a long time! When you see someone you haven’t seen in a while in Mali, you always greet them with this and they may periodically repeat it throughout your conversation. It seems somewhere in between a declaration of happiness that you are finally coming to see them and a reproach for not having come to see them sooner. Well, I haven’t written in quite a while so I am the one who should be reproached! My parents came to Mali at the beginning of February and after that we went to Spain together for two weeks. When I returned from Spain, it was (and continues to be) extremely hot here and difficult to motivate myself to do anything (highs normally around 108 with no fan or AC!). Also, readjusting after Spain was difficult, a bit like coming to Mali for the first time except this time without the excitement and newness of everything. I do feel like my honeymoon with Mali is over and I am getting down to the drudgery of daily life. I still love it, but it’s work!
I realize I have not yet written very much about my work here or specifically the school in my village, which I’m sure many of you are interested to learn about. Part of this is because I haven’t done very much formal work yet and because my work has not really been with the school. But anyways, I’ll tell you something about the school in my village, especially since I am starting to work on a project with the school that I’ll need your help with in the near future!
Sitting in on a class in Koyan’s school, it immediately becomes apparent that the school’s greatest need is teacher training. It is an elementary school and should contain grades one through six, but this year only has grades two, four and six – next year it will have grades one, three, and five. The school is only five years old; this is the first year it has a sixth grade. Up until last year it was a community school, meaning that the community hired the teachers, determined the curriculum, and provided part of the teachers’ salaries, although the government also provided part. Last year the school’s management committee, a group I work with and know well, decided to apply to the government to make the school part of the government system. However, it has not yet fully transitioned to being a government school: this year it has one teacher, who is also the school’s director, who was sent by the government and two teachers who were hired by the community. Although in some ways there are substantial differences between the government and community teachers, for the most part they are all very poor teachers. The government teachers have had more training, it seems, and yet they put less effort into teaching. The reasons they are not very motivated teachers seem to be: they are paid automatically by the government whether or not they actually do their job; there is no supervision (when they are not paid it is because the government is having financial issues, which is often the case and results in frequent teacher strikes), they are often sent by the government to work in communities they do not have any connections to and are moved every couple of years, and many teachers actually wanted to pursue other careers but could not find a job in their field of choice. For example, the English teacher at the middle school nearby (in Dombila) wanted to be a lawyer and the biology teacher at the same school wanted to do scientific research. So now Koyan has one government teacher, who has lots of good ideas, especially about girls’ education (she is a helpful if somewhat controlling member of the Student Mothers Group that I started), but is unmotivated and probably is only actually present in the classroom for 50% of class time (she often leaves Koyan early to go to the big town of Kati for the weekend, where she is from and where her husband and child live, and even when she is in Koyan she spends a lot of time resting in her house instead of teaching – partially because she is obese and has health issues). In addition, Koyan has two community teachers, who spend more time in the classroom but have no better teaching methods than reading out French texts to students and asking the students to repeat the text even though they are completely clueless as to its content. The school is (theoretically) conducted entirely in French – this is the old style; government elementary schools are now supposed to have switched to a new system in which students start learning in their local language (in Koyan that would be Bambara) and during elementary school gradually transfer to French, which is the sole language used in middle and high school. However, the students understand extraordinarily little French (Bonjour!, Comment ca va?, Suivez! is about it) so of course the teachers end up reverting to Bambara to give directions and explain enough of the lesson for the students to grasp at the skimpiest threads of meaning.
Unfortunately, as a Peace Corps Mali education volunteer, I was not trained in teacher training and I don’t feel that I personally have the skills to conduct a training workshop. I would love to find an NGO or other partner to improve the skills of the teachers in my village, but I don’t know about any NGOs that do this. In addition, this is not something that the people in my village have identified as one of their needs. One of the difficulties of being a Peace Corps volunteer is coming to terms with the philosophy that even though you as a volunteer think you know better, and perhaps you do, you have to go with the wishes of the community. You are there to work for them and not to develop the community as you see fit (that would reek of colonialism or religious missions, two foreign influences I can’t help but compare myself to as a volunteer here). In addition to its seeming wrong, if you start a project the people of the village are not motivated to work on, the project is probably going to be unsuccessful. The two top education needs that the people of my village identified are a new school building and new desks. As you can see, these are both material things – obtaining them would certainly be good for the community, but it would not help nearly so much (in my opinion) as if the teachers or other community members were to undergo a training or organize an event that would provide them with new skills. My hope, though, is that the mere fact of organizing these projects (obtaining desks and a new school building) will help them develop their organizational and fundraising skills, which will probably be more valuable to the community in the long run than the desks themselves. Many of the desks the school has now are falling apart and they simply don’t have enough for all the students – some students have to sit on the floor, which is pretty awful. The school building is made of mud with a tin roof. Although admittedly cement buildings (which is what the community wants for the new school they want to build) are better since they are cleaner and last longer, there is something wonderful about the fact that the current building was 100% financed and constructed voluntarily by community members. Very interestingly, I learned recently that 300,000 francs (approx. $667) of the funding to build the school was donated by the women of the community, while only 100,000 francs (approx. $222) was donated by the men. Part of this is because there are more women than men in the community (most men have two wives), but I think part of it is also because the women of the village are better at saving money: many are members of groups that give a standard amount of money to a ‘bank’ every week (that is, a small metal case held by one of the women); this is something only done by the women. Many men in the community have motorcycles or bicycles; no women in the community do. I couldn’t figure out if this was cultural (it is not acceptable for a woman to ride a motorcycle or a bike) or because the women didn’t have enough money. I’m starting to see that it’s not that they don’t have enough money, but that they choose to spend their money on other things or save it. And I’m sure part of it is also cultural.
As I was saying . . . The community is very motivated to build a new, cement school even though I’m not sure how much that would really contribute to the quality of learning. It would contribute somewhat and would make the community feel proud, but it seems like it wouldn’t help as much as finding better teachers or training the teachers that do exist. A big disadvantage for Koyan in the area of education is that very few of the adults in the community have been to school at all and those that have been probably didn’t pass the sixth grade. This means that most people can’t read or write and they’re generally unfamiliar with how a school functions and how to tell whether or not their children are actually learning. They’ve realized that an education is important and that many people who get an education go on to get better jobs. In fact, many of the siblings of the adults in Koyan are living in Bamako, working as a bureaucrat, a police officer, or for an NGO. It is good that these people have gone on to have successful careers in Bamako, but unfortunate that they’re no longer in Koyan to help the community develop.
As to the desks: I have decided to take on this project! I kept hearing this demand from people over and over again and I realized that I should really help them get these desks. I thought it would be a nice, small, easy project to start with (as opposed to constructing a whole school building!), but it turns out these desks are actually quite expensive (about $90 per desk –they each fit three to four students) and the overall project is going to have a pretty high cost (about $5,400). Peace Corps has two methods that volunteers can use to fund their projects – the first is called Small Project Assistance and for this method the volunteer fills out a funding demand form including a budget, project objectives, success indicators, etc. and you pretty much automatically receive the funding. The community must contribute at least 33% of the funding for the project, which can come from in-kind contributions – especially things like food, labor, and transport. Peace Corps Washington distributes a certain amount of money for each sector (education, environment, health, business development, etc.) to its various posts (Mali being one) and this money is distributed to volunteers’ projects through the Small Project Assistance program. The second is called Peace Corps Project Partnership; for this method, the volunteer writes up a similar budget and description of the project and the Peace Corps puts this information up online. Then, donors from the U.S. donate money to the project online. With this method, the community only has to contribute a minimum of 25% of the project’s total cost. That the volunteer will get funding for their project from the States is not guaranteed and may take a very long time – it depends on the volunteer’s ability to fundraise.
So I explained these two methods of getting funding to my school management committee, which is managing the desk project, and they said they wanted to go with the second method, even though it’s not guaranteed, because raising 33% of the total cost would be nearly impossible for them on this project, but f25% is much more feasible. What this means is that once I’ve gathered all the information for the project, I’m going to need to start fundraising online so let me know if you have any brilliant fundraising ideas or know any group that’d be willing to help out! I don’t have all the information yet that I need to write the budget and put the project up online, but I’ll keep you updated.
I am using the first method of fundraising to obtain the funds for a soap-making training that will be held in a nearby village in May that I’m really excited about. A woman is going to come from Bamako to teach the women of my village and two other nearby villages how to make soap and start a soap-making business. I think this could be a really great means to empower the women: they can both start a successful income-generating activity and come together as a group of female community leaders. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I think very highly of the women in my village and am more passionate about working with them than with the men! The women are such hard workers and their work doesn’t seem to get hampered by the political squabbles that go on among the men (I have especially been experiencing this among the members of the school management committee).
I have to briefly describe what happened when my parents came to my village, which was quite remarkable. We found a driver to take us out to Koyan (so that my parents did not have to brave being squished into a sweaty van for two hours and then bike-riding 7 kilometers!). On the way from Bamako, my host, Nfabile Jara, kept on calling me and asking me where I was and how soon I’d be there. I thought it must just be because he was excited to see my parents, but now I realize it must have been because he was trying to coordinate this welcome for them. After driving on a paved road for about an hour and a half, we turn off and enter the bush. It is already starting to get dry and the landscape is made up of red dirt, streaked with boulders and small trees. The road is bumpy and convoluted. At one point we drive down into an empty riverbed, where my parents and I get out so that the car is lighter and doesn’t scrape the ground. Eventually we start to enter Koyan and we hear loud hand-clapping and hundreds of children’s voices. We start to see them lining the road and make out that the high-pitched voices are chanting “Mama, papa.” Then we see the looks of joy and excitement in the faces of the children and also the adults who are there. My mom starts to cry. It is truly the warmest welcome you can get anywhere in the world. We pull into the empty space next to the school that the kids use as a soccer field. Our car is mobbed by children and adults wanting to take our hands and greet us and we are barely able to get out. When we emerge from the mob, we find that the school teachers (who are some of my best friends in Koyan) have set up a table with a table cloth and their best chairs for us to sit in. We all sit and the adults make the children quiet down. The teachers give a short speech welcoming us, which I translate for my parents and then we tell them how happy we are to be there and how wonderful this welcome is. The two xylophone players the village has brought for us start playing and the women start dancing. I start dancing with the women and my parents join in too. They are thrilled that we are dancing. All the kids crowd around and watch. Eventually we went back to my house, where my work partner, Zan Jara, gave a speech to my parents (that I translated) in which he said on behalf of the village how happy they are to have me there, what a good volunteer I am, and that they don’t want me to ever leave. My favorite part was when Zan said “We’ve never seen a woman like Sali before.” (Sali being my Malian name.) My parents only spent one night there, which the Malians found much too short. They made my mom promise to come back before I leave Mali and stay for 12 days. They loved both my parents, but they especially loved my mom. They kept on saying how healthy, happy, and energetic she is. They gave my parents Malian names: for my mom, Nyeba Coulibaly, and for my dad, Brahma Jara (that being the name of my host’s father, who passed away). One of the woman in my host family gave birth to a baby girl on that day and they named it after my mom, Nina. Apparently Nina is actually a name in Mali although I’ve never met a Malian named Nina. Now when I talk to someone about this baby they always refer to it as ‘your mom.’ As in, ‘Sali, your mom cries a lot!’
Well, I hope you all are going to come visit me now!
Best,
Lauren
Here are some new photos of Koyan:
http://picasaweb.google.com/laurenmbiggs/SiratigiJaraMilletWhacking?feat=directlink
I ni faama! This is Bambara for it’s been a long time! When you see someone you haven’t seen in a while in Mali, you always greet them with this and they may periodically repeat it throughout your conversation. It seems somewhere in between a declaration of happiness that you are finally coming to see them and a reproach for not having come to see them sooner. Well, I haven’t written in quite a while so I am the one who should be reproached! My parents came to Mali at the beginning of February and after that we went to Spain together for two weeks. When I returned from Spain, it was (and continues to be) extremely hot here and difficult to motivate myself to do anything (highs normally around 108 with no fan or AC!). Also, readjusting after Spain was difficult, a bit like coming to Mali for the first time except this time without the excitement and newness of everything. I do feel like my honeymoon with Mali is over and I am getting down to the drudgery of daily life. I still love it, but it’s work!
I realize I have not yet written very much about my work here or specifically the school in my village, which I’m sure many of you are interested to learn about. Part of this is because I haven’t done very much formal work yet and because my work has not really been with the school. But anyways, I’ll tell you something about the school in my village, especially since I am starting to work on a project with the school that I’ll need your help with in the near future!
Sitting in on a class in Koyan’s school, it immediately becomes apparent that the school’s greatest need is teacher training. It is an elementary school and should contain grades one through six, but this year only has grades two, four and six – next year it will have grades one, three, and five. The school is only five years old; this is the first year it has a sixth grade. Up until last year it was a community school, meaning that the community hired the teachers, determined the curriculum, and provided part of the teachers’ salaries, although the government also provided part. Last year the school’s management committee, a group I work with and know well, decided to apply to the government to make the school part of the government system. However, it has not yet fully transitioned to being a government school: this year it has one teacher, who is also the school’s director, who was sent by the government and two teachers who were hired by the community. Although in some ways there are substantial differences between the government and community teachers, for the most part they are all very poor teachers. The government teachers have had more training, it seems, and yet they put less effort into teaching. The reasons they are not very motivated teachers seem to be: they are paid automatically by the government whether or not they actually do their job; there is no supervision (when they are not paid it is because the government is having financial issues, which is often the case and results in frequent teacher strikes), they are often sent by the government to work in communities they do not have any connections to and are moved every couple of years, and many teachers actually wanted to pursue other careers but could not find a job in their field of choice. For example, the English teacher at the middle school nearby (in Dombila) wanted to be a lawyer and the biology teacher at the same school wanted to do scientific research. So now Koyan has one government teacher, who has lots of good ideas, especially about girls’ education (she is a helpful if somewhat controlling member of the Student Mothers Group that I started), but is unmotivated and probably is only actually present in the classroom for 50% of class time (she often leaves Koyan early to go to the big town of Kati for the weekend, where she is from and where her husband and child live, and even when she is in Koyan she spends a lot of time resting in her house instead of teaching – partially because she is obese and has health issues). In addition, Koyan has two community teachers, who spend more time in the classroom but have no better teaching methods than reading out French texts to students and asking the students to repeat the text even though they are completely clueless as to its content. The school is (theoretically) conducted entirely in French – this is the old style; government elementary schools are now supposed to have switched to a new system in which students start learning in their local language (in Koyan that would be Bambara) and during elementary school gradually transfer to French, which is the sole language used in middle and high school. However, the students understand extraordinarily little French (Bonjour!, Comment ca va?, Suivez! is about it) so of course the teachers end up reverting to Bambara to give directions and explain enough of the lesson for the students to grasp at the skimpiest threads of meaning.
Unfortunately, as a Peace Corps Mali education volunteer, I was not trained in teacher training and I don’t feel that I personally have the skills to conduct a training workshop. I would love to find an NGO or other partner to improve the skills of the teachers in my village, but I don’t know about any NGOs that do this. In addition, this is not something that the people in my village have identified as one of their needs. One of the difficulties of being a Peace Corps volunteer is coming to terms with the philosophy that even though you as a volunteer think you know better, and perhaps you do, you have to go with the wishes of the community. You are there to work for them and not to develop the community as you see fit (that would reek of colonialism or religious missions, two foreign influences I can’t help but compare myself to as a volunteer here). In addition to its seeming wrong, if you start a project the people of the village are not motivated to work on, the project is probably going to be unsuccessful. The two top education needs that the people of my village identified are a new school building and new desks. As you can see, these are both material things – obtaining them would certainly be good for the community, but it would not help nearly so much (in my opinion) as if the teachers or other community members were to undergo a training or organize an event that would provide them with new skills. My hope, though, is that the mere fact of organizing these projects (obtaining desks and a new school building) will help them develop their organizational and fundraising skills, which will probably be more valuable to the community in the long run than the desks themselves. Many of the desks the school has now are falling apart and they simply don’t have enough for all the students – some students have to sit on the floor, which is pretty awful. The school building is made of mud with a tin roof. Although admittedly cement buildings (which is what the community wants for the new school they want to build) are better since they are cleaner and last longer, there is something wonderful about the fact that the current building was 100% financed and constructed voluntarily by community members. Very interestingly, I learned recently that 300,000 francs (approx. $667) of the funding to build the school was donated by the women of the community, while only 100,000 francs (approx. $222) was donated by the men. Part of this is because there are more women than men in the community (most men have two wives), but I think part of it is also because the women of the village are better at saving money: many are members of groups that give a standard amount of money to a ‘bank’ every week (that is, a small metal case held by one of the women); this is something only done by the women. Many men in the community have motorcycles or bicycles; no women in the community do. I couldn’t figure out if this was cultural (it is not acceptable for a woman to ride a motorcycle or a bike) or because the women didn’t have enough money. I’m starting to see that it’s not that they don’t have enough money, but that they choose to spend their money on other things or save it. And I’m sure part of it is also cultural.
As I was saying . . . The community is very motivated to build a new, cement school even though I’m not sure how much that would really contribute to the quality of learning. It would contribute somewhat and would make the community feel proud, but it seems like it wouldn’t help as much as finding better teachers or training the teachers that do exist. A big disadvantage for Koyan in the area of education is that very few of the adults in the community have been to school at all and those that have been probably didn’t pass the sixth grade. This means that most people can’t read or write and they’re generally unfamiliar with how a school functions and how to tell whether or not their children are actually learning. They’ve realized that an education is important and that many people who get an education go on to get better jobs. In fact, many of the siblings of the adults in Koyan are living in Bamako, working as a bureaucrat, a police officer, or for an NGO. It is good that these people have gone on to have successful careers in Bamako, but unfortunate that they’re no longer in Koyan to help the community develop.
As to the desks: I have decided to take on this project! I kept hearing this demand from people over and over again and I realized that I should really help them get these desks. I thought it would be a nice, small, easy project to start with (as opposed to constructing a whole school building!), but it turns out these desks are actually quite expensive (about $90 per desk –they each fit three to four students) and the overall project is going to have a pretty high cost (about $5,400). Peace Corps has two methods that volunteers can use to fund their projects – the first is called Small Project Assistance and for this method the volunteer fills out a funding demand form including a budget, project objectives, success indicators, etc. and you pretty much automatically receive the funding. The community must contribute at least 33% of the funding for the project, which can come from in-kind contributions – especially things like food, labor, and transport. Peace Corps Washington distributes a certain amount of money for each sector (education, environment, health, business development, etc.) to its various posts (Mali being one) and this money is distributed to volunteers’ projects through the Small Project Assistance program. The second is called Peace Corps Project Partnership; for this method, the volunteer writes up a similar budget and description of the project and the Peace Corps puts this information up online. Then, donors from the U.S. donate money to the project online. With this method, the community only has to contribute a minimum of 25% of the project’s total cost. That the volunteer will get funding for their project from the States is not guaranteed and may take a very long time – it depends on the volunteer’s ability to fundraise.
So I explained these two methods of getting funding to my school management committee, which is managing the desk project, and they said they wanted to go with the second method, even though it’s not guaranteed, because raising 33% of the total cost would be nearly impossible for them on this project, but f25% is much more feasible. What this means is that once I’ve gathered all the information for the project, I’m going to need to start fundraising online so let me know if you have any brilliant fundraising ideas or know any group that’d be willing to help out! I don’t have all the information yet that I need to write the budget and put the project up online, but I’ll keep you updated.
I am using the first method of fundraising to obtain the funds for a soap-making training that will be held in a nearby village in May that I’m really excited about. A woman is going to come from Bamako to teach the women of my village and two other nearby villages how to make soap and start a soap-making business. I think this could be a really great means to empower the women: they can both start a successful income-generating activity and come together as a group of female community leaders. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I think very highly of the women in my village and am more passionate about working with them than with the men! The women are such hard workers and their work doesn’t seem to get hampered by the political squabbles that go on among the men (I have especially been experiencing this among the members of the school management committee).
I have to briefly describe what happened when my parents came to my village, which was quite remarkable. We found a driver to take us out to Koyan (so that my parents did not have to brave being squished into a sweaty van for two hours and then bike-riding 7 kilometers!). On the way from Bamako, my host, Nfabile Jara, kept on calling me and asking me where I was and how soon I’d be there. I thought it must just be because he was excited to see my parents, but now I realize it must have been because he was trying to coordinate this welcome for them. After driving on a paved road for about an hour and a half, we turn off and enter the bush. It is already starting to get dry and the landscape is made up of red dirt, streaked with boulders and small trees. The road is bumpy and convoluted. At one point we drive down into an empty riverbed, where my parents and I get out so that the car is lighter and doesn’t scrape the ground. Eventually we start to enter Koyan and we hear loud hand-clapping and hundreds of children’s voices. We start to see them lining the road and make out that the high-pitched voices are chanting “Mama, papa.” Then we see the looks of joy and excitement in the faces of the children and also the adults who are there. My mom starts to cry. It is truly the warmest welcome you can get anywhere in the world. We pull into the empty space next to the school that the kids use as a soccer field. Our car is mobbed by children and adults wanting to take our hands and greet us and we are barely able to get out. When we emerge from the mob, we find that the school teachers (who are some of my best friends in Koyan) have set up a table with a table cloth and their best chairs for us to sit in. We all sit and the adults make the children quiet down. The teachers give a short speech welcoming us, which I translate for my parents and then we tell them how happy we are to be there and how wonderful this welcome is. The two xylophone players the village has brought for us start playing and the women start dancing. I start dancing with the women and my parents join in too. They are thrilled that we are dancing. All the kids crowd around and watch. Eventually we went back to my house, where my work partner, Zan Jara, gave a speech to my parents (that I translated) in which he said on behalf of the village how happy they are to have me there, what a good volunteer I am, and that they don’t want me to ever leave. My favorite part was when Zan said “We’ve never seen a woman like Sali before.” (Sali being my Malian name.) My parents only spent one night there, which the Malians found much too short. They made my mom promise to come back before I leave Mali and stay for 12 days. They loved both my parents, but they especially loved my mom. They kept on saying how healthy, happy, and energetic she is. They gave my parents Malian names: for my mom, Nyeba Coulibaly, and for my dad, Brahma Jara (that being the name of my host’s father, who passed away). One of the woman in my host family gave birth to a baby girl on that day and they named it after my mom, Nina. Apparently Nina is actually a name in Mali although I’ve never met a Malian named Nina. Now when I talk to someone about this baby they always refer to it as ‘your mom.’ As in, ‘Sali, your mom cries a lot!’
Well, I hope you all are going to come visit me now!
Best,
Lauren
Church in Mali
Jan. 4, 2010
Dear friends and family,
Happy new year! I realized shortly after writing my last email about
funerals that it was quite a depressing and inappropriate topic for
the holiday season. I’m sorry about that. I’ll try to rectify it in my
email today. As anywhere, great joys and great sorrows co-exist here,
although my overall impression of Malians so far is that they are much
more ready to laugh than to cry. Humor, music, and dance play a huge
role in Malian society.
Here are some photos depicting the ngoni playing I witnessed as well
as other images of my life here, including a baby named Obama Jara:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2278967&id=121893&l=9d787784ba
Last Sunday I went for the first time to the church in Dombila, a town
about 5km away from Koyan and the capital of our commune. Although
most people in the community are Muslim, there is a significan
Christian population. The church is a small mud building with a tin
roof and benches made from mounds of mud covered with a thin layer of
cement. The table at the front of the church was covered with bright
African fabric depicting the face of Pope John Paul II with the words
Bamako, Mali, 1994. A small figurine of Jesus on the cross was nailed
to the back wall and on the side was a Madonna figurine. Before the
service began candles were lighted. Someone rang a bell outside the
church and about a hundred people streamed into the church, children
sitting up front on the left side, women behind them, and men filling
the right side of the church. A small stereo played Malian ballani
(xylophone) music while people sat down. There were almost no Malians
chatting, which is very unusual. When I attended the Muslim service
during the holiday of Eid everyone was chatting right up until the
praying began and even while the imam was speaking.
As I walked into the church I was quite shocked to find an elderly
European man standing outside the church greeting people in Bambara. I
was quite mystified and didn't know what language to greet him in but
fortunately he greeted me in French so I went with that. I learned
later that he is the priest of a church in a large town nearby (Kati)
and goes out to the little villages periodically, especially for
Christmas and Easter services. His skin looked awful, worn and
spotted, and his battered white t-shirt was full of holes - at first
I thought he was a Malian albino (albinism is very common here), but
later I realized he was just a European who had been living in Mali as
Malians do for a very long time. The church in Dombila has a local
priest, but on this day it was the European man who conducted the
service, all in Bambara. His age showed in his voice, which was raspy
and quiet, but amazingly enough he had a microphone and speaker system
so he could be understood. Before the service began he put on a black
robe adorned with the Malian chiwara or antelope motif (a design
traditionally used for headresses for masked dances). Unfortunately my
Bambara is not good enough to tell you what his sermon was about. We
sang hymns in Bambara with Western melodies. Some people took
communion, although many people did not.
The friend I went to the church with, Augustine Jara, did not take
communion and I later learned it was because of the fact that he has
two wives. I asked him why he, a Christian, had taken a second wife
and he said that it was because a relative of his had given her to
him. I pressed him on why he had accepted but he gave no further
explanation.
I found it oddly comforting to be witnessing a church service here -
the way I feel comfortable in a Malian classroom or a bank, structures
that I've grown up with in the States and whose customs and norms I
know.
After the service, Augustine and I went to the house of one of
Augustine's friends, a Christian woman named Safi Kone, an 18-year-old
married woman who lives in Bamako and is a fabric vendor, but whose
family is in Dombila and goes there periodically to visit. Her
outgoingness and self-confidence were markedly different from the
personalities of most women in our area, who tend to be passive and
quiet, and I assumed she was much older than 18. I think the
difference in her personality largely stems from the fact that she
lives in a big city and that her line of work is commerce. When I
arrived she was preparing lunch and I started helping her, which she
was happy to let me do. Normally when I try to help the women in my
area cook, they won't let me.
After lunch, about five of us sat inside a room and chatted. Someone
brought us a watermelon they had just harvested and we devoured it. A
man came in who seemed a little crazy, his eyes bulging and lips
curling up in a slight smirk as he spoke to me. I learned that he was
an ngoni player and asked him if I could see his instrument. He went
off and came back with a string instrument made of a guord, pieces of
scrap metal, and plastic strings. Little pieces of metal hanging off
the sides jingled as he plucked the strings. From the inside of the
instrument he brought out a piece of metal with a handle and hatch
marks that could be grated against with another small piece of metal
to create a rhythm. This small instrument got passed around among the
listeners and one man danced throughout the performance. The ngoni
player, Jean-Pierre Jara, squatted down very close to me and sang to
me. It was very intense and a little frightening but mostly wonderful.
He then moved on and sang to everyone in the group. After, we each
placed a small amount of money into an opening in his instrument.
I wish you all much happiness in the new year!
Best,
Lauren
Dear friends and family,
Happy new year! I realized shortly after writing my last email about
funerals that it was quite a depressing and inappropriate topic for
the holiday season. I’m sorry about that. I’ll try to rectify it in my
email today. As anywhere, great joys and great sorrows co-exist here,
although my overall impression of Malians so far is that they are much
more ready to laugh than to cry. Humor, music, and dance play a huge
role in Malian society.
Here are some photos depicting the ngoni playing I witnessed as well
as other images of my life here, including a baby named Obama Jara:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2278967&id=121893&l=9d787784ba
Last Sunday I went for the first time to the church in Dombila, a town
about 5km away from Koyan and the capital of our commune. Although
most people in the community are Muslim, there is a significan
Christian population. The church is a small mud building with a tin
roof and benches made from mounds of mud covered with a thin layer of
cement. The table at the front of the church was covered with bright
African fabric depicting the face of Pope John Paul II with the words
Bamako, Mali, 1994. A small figurine of Jesus on the cross was nailed
to the back wall and on the side was a Madonna figurine. Before the
service began candles were lighted. Someone rang a bell outside the
church and about a hundred people streamed into the church, children
sitting up front on the left side, women behind them, and men filling
the right side of the church. A small stereo played Malian ballani
(xylophone) music while people sat down. There were almost no Malians
chatting, which is very unusual. When I attended the Muslim service
during the holiday of Eid everyone was chatting right up until the
praying began and even while the imam was speaking.
As I walked into the church I was quite shocked to find an elderly
European man standing outside the church greeting people in Bambara. I
was quite mystified and didn't know what language to greet him in but
fortunately he greeted me in French so I went with that. I learned
later that he is the priest of a church in a large town nearby (Kati)
and goes out to the little villages periodically, especially for
Christmas and Easter services. His skin looked awful, worn and
spotted, and his battered white t-shirt was full of holes - at first
I thought he was a Malian albino (albinism is very common here), but
later I realized he was just a European who had been living in Mali as
Malians do for a very long time. The church in Dombila has a local
priest, but on this day it was the European man who conducted the
service, all in Bambara. His age showed in his voice, which was raspy
and quiet, but amazingly enough he had a microphone and speaker system
so he could be understood. Before the service began he put on a black
robe adorned with the Malian chiwara or antelope motif (a design
traditionally used for headresses for masked dances). Unfortunately my
Bambara is not good enough to tell you what his sermon was about. We
sang hymns in Bambara with Western melodies. Some people took
communion, although many people did not.
The friend I went to the church with, Augustine Jara, did not take
communion and I later learned it was because of the fact that he has
two wives. I asked him why he, a Christian, had taken a second wife
and he said that it was because a relative of his had given her to
him. I pressed him on why he had accepted but he gave no further
explanation.
I found it oddly comforting to be witnessing a church service here -
the way I feel comfortable in a Malian classroom or a bank, structures
that I've grown up with in the States and whose customs and norms I
know.
After the service, Augustine and I went to the house of one of
Augustine's friends, a Christian woman named Safi Kone, an 18-year-old
married woman who lives in Bamako and is a fabric vendor, but whose
family is in Dombila and goes there periodically to visit. Her
outgoingness and self-confidence were markedly different from the
personalities of most women in our area, who tend to be passive and
quiet, and I assumed she was much older than 18. I think the
difference in her personality largely stems from the fact that she
lives in a big city and that her line of work is commerce. When I
arrived she was preparing lunch and I started helping her, which she
was happy to let me do. Normally when I try to help the women in my
area cook, they won't let me.
After lunch, about five of us sat inside a room and chatted. Someone
brought us a watermelon they had just harvested and we devoured it. A
man came in who seemed a little crazy, his eyes bulging and lips
curling up in a slight smirk as he spoke to me. I learned that he was
an ngoni player and asked him if I could see his instrument. He went
off and came back with a string instrument made of a guord, pieces of
scrap metal, and plastic strings. Little pieces of metal hanging off
the sides jingled as he plucked the strings. From the inside of the
instrument he brought out a piece of metal with a handle and hatch
marks that could be grated against with another small piece of metal
to create a rhythm. This small instrument got passed around among the
listeners and one man danced throughout the performance. The ngoni
player, Jean-Pierre Jara, squatted down very close to me and sang to
me. It was very intense and a little frightening but mostly wonderful.
He then moved on and sang to everyone in the group. After, we each
placed a small amount of money into an opening in his instrument.
I wish you all much happiness in the new year!
Best,
Lauren
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