Tiga ka di de!

Peanuts.  Arachis hypogaea.  Tiga. L'arachide.  They're a way of life in my village.  I was even told by our Dugutigi that former President of Mali, Moussa Traore, nicknamed my village "Tigabugu" (village of peanuts) after being given several rice sacks full of peanuts on his arrival.  Peanuts are an important source of protein in everyone's diet (including mine).  There is rarely a day where peanut butter (tiga dege) is not added to our sauce at lunch time.

Peanuts are an interesting crop here because the women are primarily responsible for growing them.  All other food staples (millet, sorghum, rice, sweet potatoes, etc.) are grown by men.  I'm often told that's the man's main responsibility in a marriage - to provide food for their family.  It's unfortunate that women are put in charge of obtaining any (and often all) of the more vitamin-rich food (fruits, veggies, even protein-rich peanuts)...men don't seem to view that as their responsibility in my village.  Okay, let's put feminism aside for a moment.  Women are responsible for growing and processing peanuts.  Many break up their fields by hand (men are generally busy with the few cow-driven plows until long past the time that peanuts need to be planted).  Women generally plant a 1/2 to full hectare of peanuts to provide extra nutrition for their family and an extra source of income when they prepare and sell small parts of the harvest. 

The peanut plant itself is quite interesting.  It has a yellow flower, and once pollinated, the plant sends shoots into the ground.  If all goes well and the rains don't end early, each of these shoots will produce a mature peanut fruit (found underground) by the end of the growing season.  This is the same peanut that we know and love in the United States.  Sometimes, Malians seemed shocked to learn that the United States is one of the biggest producers of peanuts in the world...and even more shocked to find out that we use machines for most of the planting and harvesting.  Here in my village, the ground has generally dried up when it's time to harvest the peanuts.  It is a man's job to break up the ground and dig up the peanuts with a daba.  I hate to admit it, but this really is a man's job.  I tried digging some peanuts up in my host family's field, and found that half of the peanuts on each plant were still in the ground.  After a short time, I figured out that I was hindering their progress more than helping, so I went to help the women with their job of gathering all of the harvested peanut plants together. 

Mamidou and Momo harvesting peanuts:



My host brother, Mamidou, and his father Momo.



 My host Mom, Nba, gathering peanut plants together to dry in the sun.



Nba, my host Mom, who cooks me lunch every day:






More of my host family: Yacouba, Dabi and Hawa:



My other host mom (Momo's wife), Gundo, with her daughter Nandi and newborn baby girl.



My host sister Hawa and her little baby brother, Papa, gathering peanuts. 



Peanuts!  I was told by my language tutor long ago, that I would learn how to cook peanuts over one hundred different ways from living in a Malinke village.  I would say it's pretty close to that.



My other host Dad, Nfa, preparing tea in the fields.  He is Nba's husband.



This year, as a part of the seed trials conducted in my village, I gave 10 women a new, drought-resistant variety of peanuts.  They planted this variety next to their own, local variety.  I would call the trials a semi-success because this new variety seemed to have greater insect damage and a much lower yield than the local variety.  Even so, the new variety matured almost 2 weeks earlier than the local variety...so the new variety has some potential as far as a climate-changed future with more frequent drought periods and shorter rainy seasons.  Even so, the new variety wasn't good enough for my work partner to save for planting next year.  She roasted the peanuts up the other day and shared them with me as a snack.  Sometimes, I question the value of my efforts here...especially when they just get eaten up. 

This is Kadia, one of the women who received the drought-resistant peanut variety.  She and I worked together to prepare her peanut fields for planting. 





Partly because I'm Malinke (we're known for eating and loving peanuts more than any other ethnic group in Mali - at least joking cousin-wise), partly to be able to say I was farming peanuts when asked (at the beginning of rainy season, I was asked 5-10 times per day whether or not I was growing one of the main staple crops), and partly to be in some sort of solidarity with the women, and to understand more about their work, I grew peanuts in my garden during the rainy season.  I grew three beds of peanuts, a miniscule area compared to the areas grown by each woman here.  It was really fun for me to go through the whole process of growing peanuts, from planting to harvesting.  So fun,that I decided to go all the way to processing the peanuts into peanut butter - a main sauce ingredient in our village. Here is the peanut butter process:

My garden early in the year, when the peanut plants were very young.  I had worked on weeding half of the plot the morning this picture was taken.



Here is one of my peanut beds, just before harvesting:



And, the yield from the above bed.  I had a huge smile on my face the day I harvested these, because I considered these peanuts one of the first real successes I've had in my garden.



After harvesting, I dried the peanuts in their shells for 3-4 days in the sun, then worked on shelling the peanuts by hand.  This is an important social activity in my village - you can bring a bucket of peanuts anywhere to meet with a group of women and spend a couple hours shelling peanuts together.  My young host brothers and sisters also liked to help out during their breaks from school.  Once shelled the real fun of making peanut butter began.  The first step is to roast the peanuts (ka tiga jiran).  Here are the peanuts ready to be roasted, followed by me and my host Mom, Gundo, roasting the peanuts. 







Next, you rub the skins off of the roasted peanuts, and shake the skins off using the wind (ka tiga fe).  I'm no good at this step, so my host Mom did it all:



Next you pound the peanuts (ka tiga susu):



And, take them to the manual grinding machine to process them into delicious peanut butter.  If you have a lot of peanuts, you can take them to the gas-powered machine to process them into a much smoother, delicious peanut butter, which is closer to what we eat in America.  Without the added salt and sugar anyway.



Yum, delicious peanut butter.  I put it in my oatmeal every morning, or make peanut butter, honey, banana sandwiches.  These two uses are considered weird by my neighbors, who add peanut butter to their okra, leaf, or straight peanut butter sauces, to be eaten with millet or rice.  To make sure people didn't think I was too strange, I made peanut butter, honey, banana-sandwiches for everyone who helped me the other day...they all loved it.  If you want to learn more about the amazing peanut plant, here is yet another widipedia link...

It's a problem of time and "Lahidu"

I've realized more and more over the last couple of months that there are some huge cultural divides between American and Malian cultures (duh, right?).  Unfortunately, we as volunteers often blame the slowness of development and projects on these cultural differences.  I'm not saying one culture or another is "better" than another, I'm just saying differences between cultures can make working together and mutual understanding difficult. Especially when you are more familiar with one set of customs and beliefs than another. 

Before volunteering in Mali, I was unaware of what American "culture" is; I think I even accused the US of lacking culture because we don't have some of the vibrant, colorful, musical and ancestral traditions that you find in civilizations older and more "exotic" than our own.  I realize now that I was completely wrong - so many parts of how I act and conceptualize my surroundings are based on American culture.  And, you have only to respect events like Bumbershoot, Folklife Festival or even a Grateful Dead concert to realize how "colorful" our culture can be.  I would like to start including cultural differences on my blog every once in awhile.  Keep in mind my observations are based on living in one small village in Mali and one bigger city in the US.

While working in my village, I have been faced with the issue of time on more than one occasion.  In America, we are obsessed with time.  Our planners are packed to the brim, sometimes we have every last 15-minute period of the day planned.  Unfortunately, this means that we have to plan get-togethers weeks or months in advance to be sure we get the attendance we desire.  And, it's important to be on time.  If you're late, you can mess up someone's 15 minute by 15 minute plan for the day.  I remember job interviews where I arrived to the building early, but was unsure whether I should go to the interview room 5 minutes early, 3 minutes early, right on time, 3 minutes late or 5 minutes late.  What is the etiquette on that anyway...and does it really matter?  I am sure someone has written a book on it at one time or another.

In Mali, this is not the case.  For instance, meetings with the women's group are held at night because it is the only time all of the women are available.  But, the word sufe (night) lasts from sunset until early morning.  And, hours aren't used here.  Last May, sufe meant to meet at 9 PM.  When I showed up for a meeting at 8:30 PM a few weeks ago (October), I was rebuffed by women who had arrived before 8 PM.  As far as the men, we were to meet "sogomadafe" one morning, and I was still eating breakfast at 7:15 AM when a man came by and said they were ready for me.  This week, I showed up at 7:30 AM for another "sogomadafe" meeting, and the first man didn't show up until 9 AM. Hard for an outsider to know.

Impromptu gatherings are also common here.  I can show up at any friend's house and expect a warm reception and food.  I don't even have to call in advance.  It is incredibly important to sit for 2 hours and share tea with friends on occasion.  If you only show up for work, they'll start to resent your presence. 

Another side of the time issue is "lahidu", which as far as I can tell might be translated as "commitment."  I went to tell Terena, the farmer I was working with, that I had received affirmative responses from all 10 men I had spoken with that day.  Each man replied that they would attend the meeting I had scheduled for the next morning.  Terena laughed, saying Malians lack "Lahidu".  Because of embarrassment or something else I can't understand, they will look me in the eye and say to my face that they will be there, even if they know that they won't.  Terena said I would be lucky if 5 men showed up.  I guess I was lucky, because 5 men did show up.  I have had people tell me they would be in in village for an important event, and to prepare for their presence, only to not show up.  The other side of this is that people sometimes get offended if I say I can't do something - even if I'm absolutely sure I won't make it to an event.  People seem more satisfied with, "Ni ala sonna (if God wills it), I will be there."  I find myself saying "maybe" all of the time, even when I know maybe means no. 

My friends tell me that Americans have a lot of Lahidu.  If we say we will do something or be somewhere, we will be there, barring unforeseen circumstances.  They also puzzle at how I know my schedule and/or what time it is.  I leave time behind to some extent while living here, but still find it important to plan out my activities to be sure that everything can get done when it needs to be.  As far as I can tell, Lahidu is one of the most important aspects of American culture, and is something largely missing from the village I currently live in. 

Let's go for a run

Following the Independence Day celebrations, I left for Bamako and I jumped on a plane with 11 other PCVs from Mali to go to Accra, Ghana. The main purpose of the trip was to run in the Accra International Marathon (4 runners) and Half-Marathon (myself and one other runner). Everyone else came along to support us as rowdy spectators.

We arrived in Accra in the afternoon on Saturday September 25, having woken up at 2:00 AM to catch our plane. We were all exhausted, so super early to bed that night and up early again on Sunday to run the half-marathon! The bus picked us up at 5 AM to take us to the race course; the race was supposed to start at 6 AM, but didn't start until after 7, which did nothing to help our pre-race preparations...

At 7, my friend Josh and I began the half-marathon. About 1 minute into the race, I was side-swiped by a handicap hand-cyclist, a group of whom had begun the race 3 minutes ahead of us to avoid such incidents. Luckily not too much harm done, despite being laid flat upon the pavement. Nerves shaken a bit, Josh and I got going again. 2 hours and 12 minutes later, I finished my first-ever half-marathon! While perhaps not a wonderful time, I was proud to have finished and not to have walked during the race, which were my two main goals during training. Having trained every day in village, where I have no idea of time over distance – I ran slightly faster than the 10:30 minute mile I was planning for. Also, I am hopeful that I can run faster if I ever decide to run a half in America. Just an idea of the race conditions: no mile markings until a mis-marked final mile marker that led me to nearly bonk out in the last 5 minutes, infrequent water stops (water only, no rehydration drinks/bananas/what have you), the HOT Ghanaian sun on your back because of starting one hour late, running through neighborhoods and along busy, exhaust-filled streets with no sidewalks and people gaping saying either, “Walk Walk! You're tired!” or “White person!” (one friend was even told she was “late” by a person handing out water...imagine hearing that when you're 20 miles into a marathon!). Even with all of that, it was nice to get a coconut and soy milk at the end of the race and to wait and cheer for the full marathoners as they arrived.

Running is not my favorite thing to do for physical activity by any means, but this was a great opportunity to stay active in village. I have no desire whatever to run a full marathon, but it might be fun to train to run a faster half marathon when I get home to America. Really I just want to start rowing again when I get home. Thanks to all of the fellow runners (Josh, Holly, Colleen, Kat and Jeremy) for their support, sometimes training runs and inspiration. And, big thanks to Chris and Gloria for the water, gel packs and bananas on the road – and for taking pictures as we ran.

After the half-marathon, 5 of us traveled to the Green Turtle Lodge on the coast, a great place to relax for a few days, especially with legs that felt like jelly. From there we traveled to Cape Coast and Elmina, sites of two “slave castles.” We visited Elmina Castle, a very haunting place. Slaves from all over West Africa were held here in inhumane conditions prior to being traded to the Americas. We also traveled to Kakum National Park, where you can walk along a bridge in the forest canopy, 30 m off of the ground. The bridge was overpriced and uninformative, but a few of us did a nature walk with a Park guide, where we learned about the medicinal uses of all sorts of trees...some make you have diarrhea, some stop diarrhea, some have beautiful fragrance, and some give you good breath if you chew the bark.

Later, Josh and I traveled to the Kumasi area. Highlights of that trip were staying with an amazing couple we met at the Green Turtle Loge, Coy and Kacie. They are on sabbatical and in the process of writing a very creative children's story. Thanks for being such great hosts! Coy and Kacie knew a lot about the area, and helped us get to Ntonso (a village known for their Adinkra-printed cloth), Adanwomase (a village known for its Kente cloth) and into Kumasi (the Kejetia Market was an enormous mass of goods, you can't walk anywhere without being knocked over by merchandise sitting on top of a woman's head).

From Kumasi, Josh and I traveled to Tamale and Mole National Park with the hope of seeing elephants. Unfortunately, we didn't see any elephants on the hike we did (our friend Colleen had seen them just the week before), but we did see all sorts of monkeys, antelope, warthogs, etc. In the afternoon, some elephants were spotted with telescopes, way off in the distance. Pretty cool. By the end of this part of the trip, Josh and I were pretty tired and ready to go home to Mali. We traveled back to Accra and met up with Chris for the flight back home to Bamako. Good times.

One of the most striking things for me about Ghana was the omnipresence of Christianity. In the south of Ghana, it seemed like every store had a name related to Christianity... “Downtown Virgin Liquor Store,” “Watch and Pray Hair Salon,” “Don't Judge” (plastered on the back of a public transport van double passing on a curve), and many other gems. Funerals are elaborate occasions, and everywhere you look there seem to be posters advertising someone's funeral. In Cape Coast, there were huge nightly gatherings next to our hostel, with gospel and sermons hosted by Ministry International. I guess I am not used to such in-your-face expression of faith. Not necessarily a bad thing, but certainly something that is suppressed to a great extent in the United States. I think it is probably a good thing to suppress it to some extent so as not to offend/discriminate those people with beliefs different from your own. Okay, enough of that, enjoy some pictures:

Kat, Jeremy, Josh, Holly, Colleen and I waiting for the bus at our hostel before the marathon:

View from the beach at the Green Turtle Lodge:

Gloria, Josh and Jeremy on the canopy bridge in Kakum Naitonal Park:

View of Elmina Castle:

Josh and I in Elmina:

Josh practicing Adinkra stamping in Ntonso...there was a Peace Corps Volunteer working in that village who recently had a Peace Corps stamp made and let Josh buy it:

Kente cloth weaver in Adanwomase:

Our tour guide dressed me up in traditional Kente cloth...these cloths are in the range of $150-200 each. We were even shown a very intricate cloth that was close to $1000. A huge amount of work goes into the production of each cloth, and the cloth is worn for weddings and other festivities in the area:

A curious monkey in Mole National Park. I am pretty sure this same monkey swiped at a tourist eating in the hotels restaurant later that day.

An elephant through the telescope:

An ye an yere ta...

On September 22, 2010, Mali celebrated it's 50^th anniversary of independence. We've had a lot of celebrations in my village over the last year, but this truly beat them all. There was a lot of anticipation for the day...the start of the school year was delayed 2.5 weeks so that people could focus on Independence. At least a month in advance, people started talking about the huge party we would have, frequently asking to make sure I would be in town.

My village is the commune seat (think: county seat), and representatives from each village within the commune met to plan and contribute money to the festivities. Our Mayor and Commandant were very clear in pointing out that no money was provided by the government for this to take place – everything had to come from the general population. When the day came, I was proud to be living where I am – they were able to do a lot with the money they raised.

The start of festivities began with the opening of a new “cultural centre” in my village. Dances (think: exactly like a high school dance, and just as corny, with just as bad of music) are very important to the youth in my village. During the dry part of the year, dances are held 2-4 times per month at the donke yoro (dancing place), and can be found around village much more frequently than that. A new donke yoro was built this year; basically a giant enclosed space for dances and theater to take place. On the night of September 21, a dance party was held to open the new dance hall. As part of all this I was asked to be the donba (mother of the dance) and to open the dance with the Mayor, who was the donfa (father of the dance). This involved dancing to a Celine Dion song while students formed a circle around us. All in front of 200-300 people...just my kind of thing, right? It was a lot of fun though, the new cultural center is great, and I had the chance to see many friends I hadn't seen in awhile at the dance. Unfortunately I don't have any photos. We danced unitl 2:30 AM, when the gas in the generator ran out. Probably a good thing it ran out when it did because we all had to get up for the real festivities the next morning.

On Wednesday September 22^nd, the town woke up with smiles on their faces. Neighboring communities had spent the night in my village and were parading through the streets drumming and dancing. The Mali flag had been draped in as many places as possible, and a crowd was gathering at the nyenaje yoro (literally: fun place). I walked over with my chair and got a seat towards the front in the “invitees” area. I was glad to get a seat there because I was able to take lots of photos. By now nearly 600 people had arrived, I wouldn't be surprised if the number was greater than that.

Let's step back and picture this for a moment...There I was, a little over half-way through my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer. And, at about half-way, you really start to question what in the world you're achieving by being away from your friends, family and things you know for 2 years. You wonder if your presence is doing anything to help the people you're living with, and whether or not it's worth it to stick through another year. As I sat watching the Malians of my village come together for this celebration, I was struck more than usual by how awesome this PC opportunity is, and how lucky I am to be here in mali. The depth of Malian culture and the generosity of Malian people has no bounds. This celebration of Independence displayed what Mali and her people are all about. A celebration of where they've come from, and how far they've come since gaining Independence. When Malians tell me how their country has no money and no work, I gety frustrated because I want them to understand the huge value of the assets they do have. As the theatric performances and dancing went on during the afternoon, I was proud to be “Malian,” at least for these 2 years. And, it's worth staying another year, not just to dig a well and help the shea association, but to continue to build relationships and understanding with these amazing people.

Moving on...the festivities began. The young men of my village raised the flag and sang the national anthem. Then, the Mayor and Commandant planted a tree and made long speeches about the importance of the day. Each village that is part of our commune paraded by the mayor to “greet” him. This involved drumming, dancing and singing. Men running everywhere doing flips, some dressed as clowns. The young women of my village wrote a song about how “An ye an yere ta,” (Kind of translated as: We took control of ourselves). 50 years ago that day, Malians were no longer under the control of a colonial power, and were able to take decisions into their own hands. They accompanied the song with dancing, both synchronized dancing and some amazing solo performances. Perhaps I' prejudiced, but my village made the best show of them all. The karate masters from our village also did a demonstration, which was a lot of fun.

In the midst of all this, the hunters paraded through the crowd. These men are part of the Hunter's Association, and are particularly known for their "nyenaje" (fun). The pace slowed as they came through dancing and shooting off their guns at random moments. There was a man playing a kora-like instrument and others blowing whistles and playing bells. All were dressed head to toe in bogolan, carrying their guns as they traipsed along. They came to the front of the crowd and sat down, while the leader of the group sang a song (I didn't understand a word). Others creeped around as if hunting, shooting off their guns when you least expected. Then, they got up and moved off as slowly as they had arrived.

To finish the morning's fun, there was a bicycle race, sack races, and attempts by kids to climb a greased pole to get candy. For the little kids, there was a blindfolded game where they tried to cut down candy that was hanging by a string. Unfortunately, the donkey races were canceled because the morning activities had taken too long, and it was too hot for a donkey race. After these games, everyone went off to eat - food had been bought and prepared so that everyone who attended received food.

After a couple hours rest, the day's celebration was ended with a soccer game: my village vs. all of the other villages combined. We won 3-1 in a good game, which saw the coaches nearly in a fist fight shortly after half-time. The mayor had to call them over and tell them to mind their manners in front of all of the dignitaries that were present.

And so the day ended, everyone ridiculously tired and satisfied with all of the activities that had gone on. Now, for your viewing pleasure:

This is my good friend Papou and I just before the celebrations began. Papou's last name is Kouyate, which makes him a Jeli, otherwise known as a griot in Mali. In Malian culture, the griots have many important roles, such as acting like an MC at funerals, weddings, baptisms and other special occasions, acting as third parties (when I eat lunch with the mayor or sit in at his office, he always has a griot with him. People who talk to the mayor will actually talk through the griot, even though everyone present can hear and perfectly understand what is being said. It's a hard thing to get used to as an American sometimes), etc. Papou acted as the MC for the Independence day celebrations, announcing all the activities and trying to keep people within their time limits (pretty much impossible).

Some of the performers parading through prior to the opening of the celebration.

Young men of my village raising the Malian flag and singing the national anthem of Mali.

Young women from a nearby village performing a dance for Independence day celebrations.

Some of the hunters during their performance on Independence day.

Another hunter...Playing a kora as he dances along (some debate among PCVs as to whether this is an ngoni, kora, or both, or what...forgive me if I am wrong).

This guy was responsible for most of the gun powder shots going off. Huge clouds of smoke would follow the shots of his gun as he skipped away smiling giddily.

And here come the proud young women of my village. They had the best dance and song by far...but I am biased.

Dancing mid air to the Djembe beat.

Trying to climb the greased pole to get the prizes at the top. This kid was lucky because a lot of the oil had been wiped off the pole by previous contestants...I'm pretty sure he won a bag of soap for his slippery efforts.

The bicycle racers lining up for the big race. Approximately a 4 mile “sprint” ride on a poor dirt road.

Have I ever mentioned that we have karate lessons in my village on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays? I should really take it up. Karate is hugely popular, especially with many of the younger kids. The karate masters demonstrated their sport shortly for the crowd.

San mana keme bo....

Written in September 2010

My second Ramadan in Mali has come and gone by now. We celebrated “selifitini” last Thursday. I feel a little weird writing about Ramadan since I am not a Muslim. But, I realize that I probably know more about Islam than 90% of people who read my blog, so anything I can share might be helpful for creating a better environment for understanding, especially in the United States where Islam has tended to be represented in a negative manner as of late. So, with that said, here's my attempt to explain what I have come to understand from one year of living here. Ramadan, or “sunkalo,” is a month of abstaining from food, water and sex during the daytime hours for Muslim people. This fast represents a sacrifice for Allah, and a month of reflection on Allah and your relationship to him. I noticed that men in my village spent far more time praying during this month than I normally see.

I did not participate in the fast for various reasons – mostly the fact that I am training for a half-marathon, and on a normal basis can hardly make it through the heat of the day without a liter of water at lunch time. That's part of the sacrifice though, to do something in the name of God. My friend told me, “Fasting is more difficult that running...so you should fast.” Perhaps, but not being a Muslim myself, you could say my participation might demean the sacrifice that so many people around me were making.

My two host mothers were not participating (one is pregnant, and the other gave birth recently), and neither were their husbands. But, I did notice that our food was much better than usual (this, I think, is my opinion only...but they regularly made foods that we've rarely eaten during the rest of the year).

It is interesting that Sunkalo/Ramadan coincide with the rainy season this year and last. Rainy season is known as the hunger season in Mali because people's crops are in the ground, but have not yet matured. Last year's food stores are dwindling or gone. And money, which is mostly earned from farming and/or hot season labor, is running short. So, people have no money with which to supplement their food stores. Even if you have money, it's hard to get good food in village right now – for awhile the only vegetables available were leaves from the forest, hot peppers and a local eggplant variety.

Even with the hungry season in effect, we had delicious food to celebrate the end of Ramadan last week. Unfortunately, people did not know until 3 AM the morning of Selifitini that the celebration would take place. “Officials” in Bamako were waiting to see the moon (the phases of the moon are the basis of the calendar used here, and therefore determine when the month of fasting begins and ends); they did not see the moon until 3 AM. In fact, I had promised to fast the last day of the month, which everyone expected to be Thursday. When I showed up at my homologue's house at 4 AM to prepare for the fast, she looked at me and said, “Sunko banna, sun te ke bi. Taa k'i da.” (The fasting is over, there is no fast today, go back to bed). Because the moon wasn't seen until 3 AM, people complained they did not have enough time to prepare the feast well. At any rate, I thought my host family made the most delicious okra sauce we've had in awhile (some will be surprised that I just called any sort of okra sauce delicious), and they gave me more meat than I've had from them in my entire last year of meals with them combined! And, we ate that way for 2 days! In some ways, I think of that feast as a respite from hungry season. Everyone was able to eat vitamin-rich, protein-filled food for two days, hopefully adding to their health to help get them through rainy season.

After lunch, I walked around village greeting every person I know. Blessings for the long lives and health of our parents, brothers and sisters, children, hosts, etc. were exchanged. One of my favorite blessings is, “San mana keme bo, an ka je ka seli nogonfe.” When 100 years have passed, may we celebrate this day together again. Amiina.

Disclaimers: Lots of pictures from this day to come, ni ala sonna.

It's been a long time

Disclaimer: I know it's been awhile, but I did have blog entries written! Unfortunately, my computer caught a virus, and I just finished fixing it this morning (well, I hope I'm finished). And, the internet in Kita hasn't been working very well when I've been in town – even the internet cafes! Enough excuses, and at long last, a blog entry:

Written sometime in August, 2010

The last time I wrote, every farmer in my village was worried because the rains weren't coming. That seems so long ago now as we are now into the season where it rains everyday. It's hard to do work in the fields (or in my garden), because the ground is so soggy! I don't think the streets have dried out for at least a month now. Quite a change – sometimes nice because it's cool enough to sleep with sheets at night and running in the misty mornings is quite pleasant; sometimes not so nice when you find your clothes never dry and your house floods on a daily basis.

During the last 2 months, my time as a PCV has come full circle. Well, half circle really, sine I'm only half way done. Yesterday, my village celebrated selifitini, or the end of the fasting month of Ramadan. It was on that day last year that I arrived to be officially “installed” in my home for 2 years. I have spent the last two months with frequent trips (more frequent than I would like) to Bamako to help train the new group of volunteers about our PC Mali Food Security Program. It has been so fun to meet with some of the new volunteers as their enthusiasm is infections. Could I have possibly been that enthusiastic and full of ideas when I arrived here a year ago? Quite possibly. I think I came with 100 ideas of how I could help my village take a step away from “poverty.” Now, I struggle on a daily basis to determine whether project ideas are worthwhile and sustainable. PC funding is not much, though it is enough to do some substantial projects. I lean more towards knowledge-giving. I would rather build the capacity of the people in my community to help themselves, rather than giving them something just for the purpose of being able to say “I did that, I gave them X.” I would much rather hear the President of the Women's Association say, “Look what we accomplished, and how much we can continue to accomplish in the future,” rather than to hear her say, “Aminata, if you build us a magasin [storage house/work, area for shea processing], we'll remember you forever – even after you've left to America and found a husband.” She doesn't understand that doesn't mean anything to me, because I won't have truly succeeded in what I came here to do. At the same time, does simple “knowledge-giving” achieve what I came here to do?

Now, with that said, the difficulty becomes determining what the best path for capacity development within my village is. I have some ideas, but my work partner says yes to any suggestion I give... “Of course, if you're going to give us something, we want it.” So, I haven't really given anything, at least I've tried not to.

It can also be difficult when you are trying to complete community assessment with a group, and they say to you, “Why are you asking us what we have in our village? We don't need to go over this, we can telly you exactly what we need...build us X.” But in reality, X is something that they want, not what they necessarily need. Where can an outsider draw the line though, even after one year of working with these groups?

Today I was told by my neighbor that the money-making machine is in America, that's why we're so rich. She also said that's why we should give Malians a lot of money. She blamed some of Mali's poverty on the fact that there's no money-making machine in Bamako. I tried to explain that the presence of a money machine doesn't make one rich, and that if you print too much money you'll likely become poor. You can be sure I was not understood.

The most exciting event over the last couple of months was the arrival of new volunteers in the Kita area, and going with one of them to visit their new site. It was incredibly hard to say goodbye to Ryan, Joelle and Jackie – our steady 2nd-year volunteers who were always around for vent sessions, advice and getting together to make delicious food. But, with 6 new volunteers, I think Kita Kaw (the Kita family) will be fine. I traveled with a volunteer named Matt, and spent 2 days with him at his new site. It was so much fun to see a different village – far different than mine, being only 300 people, much farther from Kita, and no electricity at all. My village has 4,000+ people, is 20 km from Kita, and we have electricity 3 hours per night (and apparently might get cell phone service this month). The people in Matt's village were so friendly and excited to have someone there to help them. It was like a whole other world compared to my village. What was really great about this visit is that his homologue's brother works for an NGO in my village – I had met him before, but we hadn't talked much. Since traveling to Matt's village, I have had the opportunity to eat and chat with him and his wife many times, which has been a treat. They speak Bambara very clearly for me and are as eager to ask questions of my culture as I am of theirs. I look forward to developing this friendship!

I may have mentioned this previously (don't have internet access to check...)...I am currently working with 10 men and 10 women to test new seed varieties in small plots in their fields. 10 men received sorghum seeds and 10 women received peanuts seeds. In the majority of the men's fields, there is a clear difference between seed varieties, and most have found that at least 2 varieties are better than their own seeds (so far). Very good news! Because I have been in Bamako so much, I haven't made it out to all of the farmer's fields, but I hope to get to everyone's fields soon. The harvest will occur in another couple of months, and it will be exciting to see whether or not these new crop varieties can be of use to these and other farmers in the future.

On a personal note, I have been training for a half-marathon every day since early July and will be running a half-marathon in Ghana in 2 weeks (ni ala sonna)! This is something I never thought I would do because, honestly, I don't like running very much. I would much rather row (can't do that here) or ride a bike (I do that frequently here, but hard to get a good workout on the rough roads). The opportunity to go to Ghana for this marathon presented itself, and it seemed like a great idea. I think the running has had great side effects on my health – I've hardly been sick these last 2 months! Knock on wood that continues. After running the marathon, I hope to travel around Ghana for a few weeks, we'll see how that pans out.

In an effort to keep my blog readable, I'll stop myself here and do a couple of separate entries.

Other disclaimer: I have so many pictures, but there is only one internet connection in the house right now and others need to use it, and I want to get back to site. So, I promise lots of pictures in the next month! As long as I can get to the internet!

It looks like rain and it feels like rain...

Except it’s not raining. In the time since my last blog entry, the weather in Mali has changed from the unbearably hot month of May to a decently rain-filled June, to a cool and dry July. The rain arrived early this year; we even had several big rain storms to break the heat in May. Farmers in my village were excited, thinking this was going to be a great year for rain – they were going to get a big harvest! Some began plowing their fields and planting seeds earlier than they might do on a normal basis. At the beginning of June, those who hadn’t yet started planting their crops were considered lazy.

Now, we’re into July. In the last 3 weeks we’ve had 3 rainstorms, only one of which was substantial enough to keep the ground wet for more than an hour. Everyone keeps saying “dugu jalendon” (the ground is dry). Millet and other crops that were planted in June are wilting and being destroyed by insects. I gave 10 farmers new varieties of sorghum to test in their fields (seeds from ICRISAT) 3 weeks ago. Most haven’t been able to plant their seeds yet; some haven’t even been able to plow the area in which they are going to plant the seeds! The ground is too hard and dry to work with. One friend came back from the fields before lunch time today, saying “There’s nothing to do until it rains – the ground is too dry.” Normally, people would be in their fields from morning through afternoon at this time of year.

Granted, this is only my 2^nd rainy season in Mali. And last year in training, I had no idea what was going on, or what should be going on. This year, I still don’t know what a normal rain pattern is for the area, but I do know that people in my village seem scared and antsy. Hopefully the rains will return soon and all of this will be moot. I asked one farmer what he would do if the rain didn’t come, his response, “Nothing, it’s God’s will.” I guess there’s not much you can do when you’re entire livelihood is based on rain-fed agriculture and having a successful harvest.

Other than a lack of rain, things have been going well on this side. Even though it hasn’t been raining, clouds are rolling through every day, which drops the temperature to a livable 90-something degrees. We’ve had some beautiful, overcast, Seattle-like days over the last few weeks (except 30-40 degrees warmer.

My brother Ben and sister-in-law Kelly came to visit Mali for a week during June. We had a really good, although very short, visit. We spent a couple of days in Bamako, and spent most of their time at my site. Ben and Kelly were given live chickens on three separate occasions, which were all made into delicious dinners. We visited the fields the day after a big rain (this was before the rain stopped) and saw everyone plowing and preparing their fields for planting. Since both Ben and Kelly are doctors, we visited the health center, so that they could get an idea of what the health issues at my site are. Most of their visit was spent greeting my friends throughout the village; I hope I didn’t tire Ben and Kelly out too much. It was so good to see Ben and Kelly, it meant a lot to have family come to visit and begin to understand a little bit about what Peace Corps is about, and about my experiences in Mali. Thanks Ben and Kelly!

I’ve been working hard in my garden over the last 3 weeks. The early rain in June replenished the ground water to some extent, so I am able to get well water for my garden. I used a daba (hoe) to dig up all the grass that had taken over. This week, I’ve been preparing new beds and planting peppinieres (nurseries). I have a little of everything – peanuts, corn, beans, squash, cucumbers, tomatoes, eggplant, hot peppers, green peppers and a compost pile. I hope it works better than my previous gardening attempts. I harvested a lot of tomatoes, onions, green peppers and lettuce from my last round of planting, but I’ve also had huge problems with insects. I am slowly learning how to deal with all of the problems that come with growing a garden in Mali.

I forgot to comment about the hot season in my last blog entry. I dreaded the month of May starting in February, when the cold season seemed (to me) to end early. It got hot fast. From mid-February onwards it must have been above 100 degrees every day. As late April/May approached, the temperature was 105-110 degrees every day. That’s hot. It got even hotter in other areas of Mali. I think the hottest I experienced was ~115 degrees. When it’s that hot, you drink 7-8 liters of water per day, and learn to follow Malians' examples of showering 3-4 times per day, sitting and doing nothing during the hottest parts of the day, and eating mangoes – 4-6 mangoes per day! The most delicious mangoes you could ever imagine (available in all sorts of varieties) made sticking around through the hot season almost worthwhile. Mangoes may have trumped oranges as my favorite fruit, though it has been over a year since I ate my last delicious orange.

Hope you’re happy and healthy. I’ve been here a year now, and I appreciate all the letters, phone calls, notes, emails and packages that have helped me try to keep in touch with home. Thank you. I’ll leave it at that, here are some pictures for the road:

Watching the World Cup in my village was a pleasure. Until the United States played Ghana, I was able to convince everyone to cheer for the US. Because we don't have electricity more than 3 hours a night, there are very few televisions in town. I watched the games at my language tutor's house. This is a picture from just before the start of the World Cup Final. At one point I counted over 70 people watching the game on the single, small-screen TV.
Some pictures from Ben and Kelly's visit. First, Ben and I on the Niger River:

Kelly and I on the river:

My good friend Oumou and her son Bu. All dressed up for the students vs. villagers soccer game. Oumou sponsored a big dance that was held the evening following the soccer game.

Here is the student side of the soccer game:

Ben and Kelly gave out lots of stickers to the kids in my village. Quite a hit, though it turned into kids trying to trick us into giving them more and more stickers. And, as we all know, stickers are meant to be put all over your face.

Ben and Kelly with one of their 3 chickens:

Papa, Ladji and Mamidou - my homologue's sons - plowing their field after one of the big rains in June.
Ben and Kelly's visit attracted more kids to my compound than are normally there. Kids I had never seen even showed up!

And, there were kids constantly standing in my doorway watching Ben and Kelly's every move (until I, ehem, politely, would tell them to get out of there).