I heart Africa

At this rate, the two years are going to fly by. Last week, we split up into groups to do a “community assessment” project in different villages. Some of us went “brusse” and others stayed close to the capital. My group had an overnight visit in a town about two hours south of Bamako, where a Madagascar transplant had been for four months. His site was breathtakingly beautiful. No trash, vast sweeping fields and tons of baobob, mango and shea trees (it doesn’t take much to impress my eyes these days). He was less impressed by the scenery since his last site in Mada was next to a waterfall. Damn him.

The most important thing for us to do first when we arrived was to greet the important people in the community (around two hundred in the whole village). We walked around for about an hour, stopped at most concessions and sat, said hello, thanked them for letting us come to their village and so on. I had heard that they bought a goat for us, and had yet to find out what exactly that meant. (Are we going to ride the goat? Pet it?... oh no.)

As we waited for lunch to be prepared, we went ahead and started the “workshop” of sorts in the village’s school building. Seventy people attended, which apparently was a lot. The volunteer there wasn’t sure if people came for the program, the food or the white people, but it didn’t matter as long as people showed. We figured we could get about 20 attendants per white person and should use our “star quality” as a strategy.

The first part of the project was a “community map” where villagers simply draw a map of their village, and highlight important landmarks. Peace Corps Volunteers act as a facilitator for these communities to do their own assessment. Each volunteer is paired with a counterpart at their site who they empower to run these sessions independently of Peace Corps once the volunteer goes back to the states. We just ask the right questions and give them a big pad of paper and a sharpee. I didn’t realize just how amazing this part would be until we split the group into men and women. I sat in with the women while they drew their version of the community map. For the first ten minutes they discussed who should be the one to draw and didn’t know if any of them had actually held a pen before. Finally, three or four of them escorted the one woman they deemed educated enough to the front of the classroom and watched as she drew the beginnings of the map. While they all were seemingly shouting at her, they were supporting her every move. I don’t know why I thought this was so remarkable, but seeing this woman portray her version of a “tree” was nothing short of a spectacular stick figure. I almost cried.

What they were proud of: their water pump, the school, fields, mango groves, vegetables, the well, “protectors of the field”, hunters, the mosque, animals, farmers, teachers, and the road. After the two groups drew their respective maps, they got together to present. This part was very important to them: presenting their drawings and affirming that they did a good job. Every few words the presenter would say, the group would respond with a short “owo (yes)” or “mm-hmmm.” The call and response demonstrated their immeasurable respect for one another.

Judging by what we were told to expect from our session, our group did well. People paid attention and it all happened quickly and efficiently.

After the first part of the session, we had lunch. No more goat prancing around the concession, but alas I should have seen that coming. But where was all the meat? All I saw were organs and bones. I’ve gathered now that Malians rarely eat the meat, they throw that to the dogs and save the really “good” stuff for their guests. We had another session after lunch and a rain storm (All Malians activity stops when it rains). When the second session was over, the village elders thanked us one hundred times over. One man said, “We know what you’re doing is very important. We know that health, food, security and success comes only after knowledge and you are here to bring that to us.” He went on to say, “You have left home, and now you have come home.”

They all stood up and started clapping and singing and put our trainer in the middle of the circle and sang her a song with lyrics that were, “The moon is God’s messenger and you are its star.” My God, these people really know how to pull on heart strings.

Needless to say they liked us enough to slaughter two more goats (yes that’s three total in 24 hours). As I watched one of the sacrifices I realized this would be the first of many and I had better get used to it.

That field trip was the beginning of all good things for me. After being here a month and a half, I’ve finally gotten a taste of freedom and control of my life. The next day I was brought to my site for a five day “site visit” with my community counterpart (An elder Malian man named Makona Diarra (my joking counsin! We make “fart” jokes to each other constantly and it’s our sole form of communicating. He’s a total rock star and reminds me of “Mufassa” from the Lion King.) I’ll be living in a community of about 6000 people along the main road between Bamako and the old French capital, Segouville. I couldn’t be happier. It’s a small enough village where I get to feel a part of the village, and big enough for some anonymity. I’m set up to work with a women’s cooperative that makes shea butter and also to help with a community garden that is 7km away. My banking town is Segouville, which has a Europian/Arabian nights feel: wide tree lined cobblestone streets, huge markets with rugs and beautiful cloths for sale, and sunsets over the Niger. Oh, and white people. White people! And most locals speak French.

I set two main goals for myself at this site visit: first was to find my core group of women/my new best friend and second was to find the best cook in town and have her cook for me, or show me how to cook. If anyone knows me, that didn’t take long. I live in a three room cement house with electricity and share a courtyard with a family. The wall of our courtyard is shared with a family of all women right next door. Perfect. I immediately went over to them, sat down on a mat, drank tea and tried my hardest to tell them in my broken Bambara/French that they were my best and only friends in all the world. They understood me perfectly and gave me five guinea fowl eggs as a welcome gift.

The second goal happened with no effort on my part at all. My new host dad, Braima Diarra took me over to a woman’s house the first day for lunch. He kept calling her the “jatigi muso” which I’m guessing means some sort of “important classy woman”, and her name is Tante. She speaks perfect French, Bambara and Tomaschek, her house has tile and her children are the cleanest babies I’ve seen in Mali. I later found out her daughter lives in Chicago and she’s been to visit her frequently. Seeing the few luxuries in her home made me feel so happy and safe, but guilty at the same time. I shouldn’t like this woman exponentially more because she knows the importance of hand washing and not eating “to” for every meal, but I do.

The last five days have been nothing short of blissful. One thing I’m certain of is that I’ve learned from my mistakes at homestay and have set clear boundaries for personal space in my new living situation. No one is allowed in my house, and when I want to go to bed, I don’t have to kick out a gaggle of women that insist they can sit on my bed for hours and chat and fan me til midnight. My house is my own little sanctuary. I’ve got a bedroom, a kitchen and a yoga room. Yes, I’ll be burning incense (f***ing hippies).

I’ve set up my house as best I could with what the previous volunteer left me: a comfy double bed, gas stove, bookshelf, trunk, mirror, (did I mention I have electricity? POSH CORPS!) Also, I’ve been fed so well it’s ridiculous. Gotta pack on all those pounds the amoebas got rid of! I have a routine set up where I spend mornings alone, my host mom, Jeneba, brings me some porridge, I do yoga, take a bucket bath, then walk over to Tante’s house for lunch, spend a little time with my counterpart and his family, back to my house for midday nap, then next door with the ladies and drink tea. (My host mom thought it was hilarious when she found me over there drinking tea. “You’re Malian already, Alima!”)

To top it all off, I found my new best friend on my last night at site. I had been introduced to her on a tour with my counterpart two days before, but paid her house a visit again on my own after walking around town one evening. She’s Peulh, so she’s practically one of the most beautiful people in the world. Additionally, she impressed me with her elegant tea preparations. I walked into her concession and sat down to greet, drink tea and awkwardly chat. We met in the middle somewhere between French, English and Bambara. I’ve gathered that she’s twenty two, and lives with her husbands family even though he lives in South Africa most of the time for business. Her family lives in the same village as she does, but a few blocks away, but she has to live with his family because she is his wife. When I come back to live for good, she’s going to braid my hair and teach me how to cook “zame” (my favorite dish). In a long pause in our conversation I thought, “this is her, this is my new BFF” and in that moment she turned to me and said, “tu es mon ami premier!” Ah, yes. Biggie??? Where are you???

She went on to ask me if I’d help her learn English in exchange for Bambara lessons and of course I agreed. The first and most important thing I thought to teach her was “You are my BFF.” She said it flawlessly.

Two days ago was the one month mark from leaving home (but who's counting!?) While most days have seemed to drag on as some of the longest days of my life, the month has flown by. I owe my salvation and sanity to the medical unit in Bamako. I had heard of this magical place with comfy mattresses and AC, but never allowed myself to think of it for long. Finally, after a four day escalated bout with amoebas, I checked myself in. What a good idea! Movies and ice cream and pizza! Oh My!



As it turns out, Africa's pretty dirty and it's hard to avoid getting poop in your food.



Four gatorade packs and an antiparasitic later, I was back with my homestay family. They insist I must have gotten sick from the clean bleached water at Tubaniso, but I just don't have the language (or the heart) to tell them otherwise...



I now realize that I have become a complete characature of myself. Everything involves a huge hand gesture or body movement that accompanies my broken Bambara. "Hello! How are you? how is your family? and your husband!? I am on my way to the place that I study! With my American friends! Then I will eat, and then I will dance! May God increase the blessings of this day!" Seriously, I've said all that... a lot.



Each morning I wake up to my host sister, Mama, saying my name about 8 times before I answer. I haven't thought of a clever enough way to tell her to stop bothering me a 6:30 am, so I just say, "No, mama! I am sleepy. I want to wash myself" And then I get up, carry my things for the shower outside, grab my bucket of water and head to the Nyegen. Bucket baths are my best alone time, so I cherish them. Balancing clothes and toiletries on the wall, delicately soaping up while trying not to drop the bar down the hole in the cement floor (I've lost one brand new lavender oatmeal soap and two razors... I have nightmares about dropping my toothbrush and sunglasses down there too). When I get back to my room accross the courtyard, Mama is there waiting for me. She has made my bed, swept my floor, and has tea and an assortment of "breakfast" items waiting for me.

"Drink tea Alima. Drink it, Drink it." she says. She's got the most attitude I've ever seen in a sixteen year old and I kinda like it.

"Ok mama! let me put my clothes on first."

I'm sweating by now, since I've been out of the shower for 8 seconds, and I'm trying to decide if I should put mosquito lotion on first or sunscreen, but it all just mixes with the sweat and runs off my skin by the time I leave for school. "Eat the bread, Alima. Eat it. Eat the Siri (rice porridge). Eat. Eat Alima." I try to curtail the lb of sugar and cup of powdered milk she puts in everything, but fail. Then I scarf, so as not to be rude, say I'm full about 4 times before she believes me, and head off to school in my diabetic coma.



Recently, I've discovered that my new BFF, "Muso Kura" (Amanda, who also went to CU Boulder and who's mother's name is Kathy Duncan. I'm not kidding, Mom! totally a "Parent Trap" moment.), gets the best food because her host mom is an amazing cook. This is where my life in the states has translated perfectly into my Malian lifestyle. I stop by her house around meal time every day and graze, then get my second supper of "to" and onion sauce with my family. It's great becuase it's rude not to eat when you pay a visit during meal time, and this way I don't offend my host mom who doesn't know how to cook anything but millet gluten yuckiness!

I had one of those strange moments a few days ago when I realized my eating situation was dire in comparison to Amandas. I went over to her house almost to tears after being served rancid four day old rice without much of an appetite due to the parasites. She was just getting ready to eat and said, "That's it, we're having beans and you're eating here from now on." Her mother brought her a table. A table! "WHAT???????" I said, "You eat off a table!?" Well, yeah Alima, what do you eat off of? "THE GROUND!" We laughed. She even had a table cloth. Needless to say her family is happy to serve me because I eat A LOT when i'm there.



Originally, when the children saw a group of us walking through town they'd yell, "Toubabu! Toubabu!" (white person! white person!) but now, because I have pretty much become the poster child for integration, the new word for "white person" is, "Alima Jan! Alima Jan!" The other volunteers tell me that the little children yell that to them, even when I'm not there. Well, atleast I'm integrating!

Homestay

I just got back to Tubaniso after twelve days living with a Malian family in a nearby village. Eight of us from the Small Enterprise Development stayed in the same village and met each day for Malian culture and Bambara classes. My host family is the Traores. My host dad, Adama, was not at the initial welcoming cermony, so I was taken to my house by my sisters, Mama and Umu. They gave me a Malian name, Alima and showed me to the room in their house that peace corps had set up for me. (They named me Alima after the grandmother of the family, Alima Diara. I later found out my name is the same as a famous Malian women's rights activist, Alimata Traore.) After about 20 minutes of mixed hand gestures and awkward pauses of just staring at eachother, we set up my room and had a silent lunch. The meal was "to", a form of millet pounded to death, turned into gluten and eaten with your hands. Your right hand. The left hand is considered "dirty." My first hurdle. We have "to" or rice or pasta with every meal and an onion sauce. Some other trainees have had peanut sauce, which sounds divine, but I haven't had it yet.

My host dad is a farmer, so he brings me cucumbers and melon every day from the fields and they are an awesome source of vitamins in an otherwise carbo loaded diet. Beans are the absolute best thing Malians make, but there's a cultural joke around them so you get made fun of if you eat them. I don't care, they are great! Can you tell I'm having some cravings right about now?

My family is all women. I live in a compound of four houses all with courtyards and the gaggle of women sit and talk and pound millet and braid eachother's hair and make me dance and sing. (sound familiar?) Sometimes we walk aorund the village to the market and they parade their american and tell me what to say.

Greetings are very important and a huge part of Malian culture. Each greeting is a long exchange of questions and answers that varies depending on what time of day it is, "Good morning! How are you? how did you sleep? how is your family? how is your father and your mother? What is your family name? ooooo, Traore? you eat Beans!!! hahah, No you do!!!" And you have to do that with EVERYONE you see on the street or you are considered impolite.

It's exhausting, but those moments where I understand what's going on and I can actually particpate in the exchange are worth it. I am really lucky. I LOVE my host family. They are always so excited to see me when I get home from class and we mess around with eachother, joking and dancing and making fun of eachother. My little sisters are the coolest chicks I have ever met. One of them, Batama, is so hard core. She can pump water with a baby on her back and abucket balanced on her head while laughing at me. Awa, is the best dancer around and knows all the Malian hip hop songs so she's teaching me some new moves. I spend the most time with Mama. I think she was kind of put in charge of me, so we eat together and she gets me my bucket of water in the morning for my "shower."

Everyone asks me who my husband is and when I reply that I don't have one, they assume it is because I would not make a good wife, so they are actively trying to make me a good wife. I am learning how to cook and clean and carry water in the bucket on my head and never get tired from it. They do all these things and never sleep! The women are so strong and wonderful. They laugh a lot and eat, and eat and eat. They want me to get fat so they can show that they are providing for their American. Which would be great, except that everything is going straight through me, so I 'm not exaclty living up to their expectations.

Being back at Tubaniso is a much needed break from our village stays where we live in a fish bowl, followed around constantly by little children screaming, "alima jan! Alima jan!" (Alima, the tall one) Which is so adorbale for the first five minutes. Thank god it's socially acceptable and encouraged to beat children... (no I haven't! but i'm close)

Things I wish I had brought: yoga mat and yoga pants! duh. Emergen-C's acai berry flavored. Pro bars! Craisins. Ice. can you ship that to me? There is no ice in this country and it's 100 degrees.

I made it!

It's been almost a week now since I left the states with 66 other peace corps invitees headed to Mali. When I arrived in Philadelphia for initial orientation (staging) I was not ready to believe I was actually going to Africa until I held that plane ticket in my hand. The flights were long, tiring and exciting. Everyone in the group getting to know one another; chatting, cracking jokes, nervous and anxious. I think it was a total of 30 hours before we finally landed in Bamako, the capital of Mali. We walked down a flight of stairs off the plane right on to the runway and I can still feel the heat and I just remember the flatness of the landscape. This was such a huge moment. Two years I've been talking about joining the Peace Corps and going to Africa and it had finally happened...

Peace Corps trainees met us at the airport and directed us through the scene that was baggage claim. (pretty similar to Key West only aboud 200 people all trying to get their bags off of one belt) We drove to our Peace Corps camp training site "Tubaniso" dropped our luggage in our huts and got a crash course on the bathroom situation (Nyegen = cement structure with hole in the ground. Oh, and shower!) I vaguelly remember eating something in the refectoire (dining hall) and then laying down on the bed in my hut (glamorous living digs huh?) and just wanting to sleep so I could wake up in the morning and feel differently.

The past few days have been the longest of my life. Endless training/orientation sessions, language tests, interviews for possible sites and on top of that, adjusting to my malaria medication has me on a rollerscoaster of emotions. Most of them good, some of them great! Some of them really low, but the support network from the other volunteers has been really comforting.

The Malian culture is one of the friendliest and warmest I've ever interacted with. All the trainers I talk to and Malians are just so excited and happy that we are here. The orientation and interacting with the group of peace corps trainees feels a lot like those first days of boarding school, only less crying. haha We're in the romantic stages of the culture shock I think. Everything is new and exciting and the smells are exotic and, well, sometimes disgusting, but hey!

I LOVE my hut mates Ryne and Meggan, our laughter gets me through the mefloquin hangovers that I've been trying to deal with the past two days.... awful.

We leave for our homestays tomorrow morning and I am really nervous, but know it's going to be awesome. There are eight of us going to the same village and apparently there's a huge celebration when they welcome "tubabs" (white people). AND there's a wedding in the village the next day!

The worst part is the unknown, so I'm trying to stay present and take my time with the language and integrating because I know it will come.

The best part is that I know the Peace Corps staff here is really good at what they do and have been holding our hands through it all. I feel very comfortable talking with them about concerns and expectations and know they respect my interests.

I'll be without internet starting tomorrow but I'm getting a phone and will have reception! Email me for the number! I'll be learning the francophone national language which is Bambara and also getting a french tutor for doing business in the regional cities. Although I don't know where my site is I know I'll be near a city and working with Women NGOs and cooperatives. I'm hoping to be placed near a health sector PCV so I can help out with some of their projects too.

Well, there's a lot more I could say, but it's hard to gather my thoughts with everything going on. Love to all! Email me!

New Assignment, Mali

Soon after my trip home from staging I received another invitation for the Peace Corps to a new country in Africa. Mali. Still in the throws of my disappointment from Madagascar, Mali sounded like the last place on earth where I would want to spend two years with the Peace Corps. However, it is now nearing the end of June and I've had almost three months to marinate. While Mali is a landlocked HOT African country with one of the highest rates of poverty in Africa, there are really amazing things about the Malian culture and attitudes that I feel I can really have one of those amazing experiences everyone keeps telling me i'm going to have. It is the epicenter for African music and the people are said to be warm, and very American friendly, especially in light of Obama. I am left wondering now if I am still as excited as I was when I started this process over two years ago. So much has changed in my life that I'm struggling to keep my faith that this is the right path for me. Some days I believe it is something I want to do and other days I have serious doubts. Today is a good day. A day when I am motivated and have had enough rest not to go into complete emotional shut down. So,,, I'm thinking i'll move to Africa in two weeks. Two weeks!!!! omg. yes, omg.

I leave July 7th for Philadelphia where hopefully I'll get a little closer than last time and actually go through introductions, immunizations, get my passport and seat assignment on the plan to Mali. (Not Bali, by the way. That seems to be a common misunderstanding)

I'm already packed, so I'm not really worrying about all of that. Although I've already been able to subtract a few things from my bag in the three months of revising my life and readjusting priorities.

The next two weeks are going to be filled with sleep, volunteering a little more at WomanKind in Key West, (a non profit women's health clinic) and soaking up the family time.

Trip Delayed

Since my last post, there has been political upheaval in the main city, Antananarivo, in Madagascar. Peace corps has since notified me and the other prospective volunteers that all Peace Corps volunteers in the country are safe and accounted for, but they are postponing our trip until the dust settles.

Some articles include last week's NYtimes

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/03/world/africa/03madagascar.html?_r=1&hp

and the latest from CNN

http://edition.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/africa/02/07/madagascar.protest.deaths/

As of now, my new departure date is March 9th. Here's hoping things are smoother by then, I will try my best to keep everyone posted!

Getting ready to leave for Madagascar!

I'm now starting to feel a little more pressure as I get ready to leave in something like two weeks! I've been strictly instructed by Peace Corps to make my goodbyes meaningful and make sure to load up on all my favorite foods before I leave... So I've been doing just that. Even though I feel totally underprepared to speak Malagasy and expand Malagash small businesses, atleast I've fattened up over the holidays. (Just kidding uncle john, i've been doing some reading on Madagascar too and I won't embarass our family)

I'll be leaving February 11th for Philadelphia to go to Pre-service training, called "staging". This is where we'll fill out paperwork, get shots, meet the other PCVs et c. Then we fly out of JFK on the 13th to Johannesburg (17 hours!) then to Madagascar the following day. I have mostly all my essential packing items together and am pretty confident that I won't regret packing light. ALTHOUGH, care packages will be greatly appreciated and can be sent to:

Jessica Alice Duncan, PCT Peace Corps
Corps de la Paix
B.P. 12091
Poste Zoom Ankorondrano
101 Antananarivo
Madagascar

This adress is for the first three months of training, after that I'll be relocated to my permanent site. For training, we'll be about an hour outside of the main town, Antananarivo. I'll have access to a phone while training but will rarely be able to use it, but I'm planning on getting a cell phone once I get to my site. I've heard the people in my program are located in larger towns with service, and some texting is free or cheap.

For email, I'll still use my jessicaaliceduncan@gmail.com account, but I have a new peace corps account that I may be checking more while I'm over there, it's pcvjessicadmg@yahoo.com. I think facebook is going to be an outlet for me to keep in touch. And Skype!

Well, for now, I'm in Colorado spending some time with my dad, then back to the keys Feb 2nd until I fly out on the 11th. Hopefully I'll be posting again before we leave the country.