Monday, August 31, 2009

The Good Aunt

On Saturday I took 3 of roughly 7 niece/nephews to my house. The oldest one, Abdoulaye, who is called Boi (like 3 other people in the house - don't ask me why Malians insist on calling people the same names) had been asking me when he was coming home with me. Boi is a funny kid. He is a smart kid. I first met him on my first trip to Mali -when he was about 1. By the time I came back to Mali in 2003, he was already living with my in-laws. Drissa left Mali in 2004. About a year after Drissa was in the US, 4 year old Boi picked up a cell phone and handed it to my father-in-law. He told my father-in-law to call Drissa and tell Drissa to tell me to buy him a bicycle. About 30 seconds later, Drissa called his Dad who was laughing and passed along the important message. To this day, I still can't get my head around his young/acccurate conception of time and space and people. Ironically, work brought me to Mali in 2005 and I brought a bicycle with me in my suitcase. In greeting me, after 2 years out of the country, Boi simply said "Where's my bicycle?"

Boi's new request is to come back with us to the US. It's not so much a request as an order. "Yama, when you go back to the US (Ameriki), we are going back together." When I went to the US this summer, I had to carefully explain that while yes I was stopping by the US, the bulk of my time would be spent in Accra at a conference. Now, everytime I come to visit my in-laws he insists that he is coming back to my house with me. I guess coming to visit me in Magnambougou is a step closer to coming to the US.

Boi is strategic. Whenever I make food, he gobbles it up shooting me a sideways glance as if to say - yeah whatever you throw at me, I can handle - I am ready for the US. It's not that he is particularly fond of me; he likes me well enough, but doesn't climb all over me or ask me for things. He has a secret agenda that I will never fully understand. When he speaks to me - he does it clearly and directly, without begging or trying to be cute. He has a kind of stoic determination that I have never seen in an 8 year old.

On Saturday, I took Boi, and two of his younger sibilings (Mohammed and Saouda - actaully called by their real names) with me to my house. I think the highlight was the car ride in which they were yelling and pointing and giddy. Saouda, who is typically silent, was babbling away in the back.

After running outside and on the roof and through the house with Rex, I coaxed everyone to the table to do some drawing/coloring (I had purchased some color pencils for the special occassion). It was clearly their first time holding colored pencils and I had to arrange their fingers and draw some pictures to try to get them started. I think the exercise was overwhelming for Saouda - who was mocked by her older brothers - "She can't draw anything." In a fit of frustration, she drew some loud bold loops onto the paper - to which I tried to tell her looked awesome. The boys, perhaps cause they are older, caught on quickly. Mohammed who is quiet and introspective - did some cool rothkoesque swatches of color on paper and then tried to draw some chairs and houses. Boi drew all kinds of stuff - dogs, trees, my purse. He was super excited when I wrote out his name and had him copy it underneath. I was shocked and saddened that at 8 - he can't write his name yet. However, he copied my writing quite well and thought- hmmm in a week together I bet I could teach him a lot of stuff.

I had pre-loaded some disney videos on youtube. When I brought out the computer, quiet Mohammed got super animated, and started attacking the keyboard with his fingers and trying to move the mouse with the finger pad. I had to fight him off and explain that we were just watching a video (not playing a computer game). From color pencils to typing in 30 seconds. They got the youtube concept instantaneously. After the Mickey Mouse cartoon ended, they saw the suggested videos pop up and were really excited to pick what they would watch next. Then they asked for dog videos. We looked at big dogs, White german sheperds, and ugly dogs. Then they started chanting for crocodiles. Intially hesitant about what kind of violence might be associated with films under the heading "crocodile," I decided that Malian kids - well familiar with the cycles of life - could handle videos of crocodiles bringing down water buffalos. These films were a hit. They screamed and cheered for the crocodiles - then for the escaping water buffalos.

During the video segment, Saouda had been chanting that she wanted to go home. I enlisted her to help me make pasta and sauce (Look at me already replicated gender roles). She obliged as long as I held her and she got to taste test everything. We made pasta with vegetable sauce. I set it down a large container and the kids sprang into action ready to attack it. I tried to cool it off, but they dove in - probably burning their hands as they devoured it. Saouda declared that she was sleeping at my house.

After mealtime, I was tired. I packed up the kids and their drawings and sent them back home. The luxury of being an Aunt. I am going to recharge my own batteries and invite the next shift of kids over once Drissa gets back.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

The Good Daugther In-Law*


I had my traditional wedding in Mali in 2007. There was a moment, after they had washed my feet in front of an audience of women, when Drissa's family and my host family began negotiating my bride price. A large piece of fabric was draped over my head so I couldn't see anything, but I could here the sing song auction between griots of the two factions. I summarize the negotiation as follows:

My host family's griot: "Check her out. This is some exotic, imported merchandise. You all should pay more, you can't get a wife like this in Mali."

Drissa's family's griot: "That just means that she can't cook."

In many ways, I am a complete failure as a Malian daughter-in-law. I don't cook for my in-laws, or do their laundry, or anything else to relieve the intense physical labor that is involved in running a household. I haven't produced any children. These two facts alone put my utility rating at about 0.

However, my in-laws rock. They somehow "get" me or at least understand that I have goals and skills sets outside of those generally demanded of a Malian daughter-in-law. They are extremely religious and I am agnostic. (I once joked that my father-in-law is the most tolerant dad I know - one of his daughter is married to a Salafist and his son is married to an American.) They know that I am committed to helping the family - but in other ways. Like the taxi that Drissa and I bought to help bring in a little extra income or our current scheme to start up a small bridal shop. I participate in family discussions and decisions and with Drissa still in the US - I get more exposure to the inner-workings of Malian households than ever before.

It being Ramadan and everything I figured that I would try to contribute in a more traditional kind of way. People fast from sunrise to sunset - this means no food or water. Generally in Mali they break they fast around 6:45 pm - Drissa is currently fasting in the US and has to wait until 7:45 - the length is seasonal. They eat an initial meal of tea (kenkelenba), dates, porridge and then after going to mosque, they come back and eat a real meal. Oddly, during this month of sacrifice, Malians tend to spend more on food because they are eating special types of food. I fasted in 2003 (but drank water), this year I am not fasting so far - probably because I am living alone. When you are with families during Ramadan - especially when its time to break the fast - there is an amazing festive and spiritual feeling. There is an excitement in the air and despite the difficulty of going a whole day without food and water - it feels like an exciting, happy, and special time. It's like Christmas morning for a whole month.

I wanted to make a nice, light fast-breaking meal. I decide to make rice paper vegetable wraps with a peanut ginger sauce. I had already bought the rice paper wraps, so I went to the market to buy cabbage, carrots, parsley, vermicelli, ginger, limes, hot pepper, and Malian peanut butter. First step was to soak the vegetables in a bleach mixture to wash away any potential bacteria. Then I soaked them in buckets of water two additional times to get the bleach off. I chopped the vegetables, cooked the vermicelli, and heated some water.

I set up a little assembly line in my living room. A piece of fabric on the floor to blot excess water from rice paper wraps, pile of wraps, warm water, vegetables, noodles, and a table for rolling them up. When you make food for my inlaws you are feeding about 20. Luckily this was a snack and not a full meal. I dipped the first rice paper wrap in the hot water and quickly realized it was too hot as the wrap shriveled up like reverse-dinosaur-capsule. I slowly found my rhythm and eventually found a way to get the wraps at the right texture, blot them, bring them to the table, roll up vegetables, and put them on the platter. The online cook book rated this recipe a medium difficulty scale, but for those of you who know me very well you will understand how my impatience and lack of small motor skills upgraded the difficulty rating severely. After a couple hours of cooking, my back hurt from bending over the floor and table (actually a coffee table). I put the 30 something wraps into the refridgerator and started on the sauce. Peanut sauce is very prevalent here - so I wanted to put some ginger and lime in it to make it a bit different.

Solo my driver came and started laughing at me - I think more amused than anything at the sight of me cooking what he thought was tigatigena (a Malian favorite). Then I had him taste test my wraps - he looked a bit concerned, but ate it all and then exclaimed - "Yama, it's not everyone who can eat this." Great.

I dropped the food off at my in-laws. They were curious and excited. They wanted to know what kind of food it was. My father-in-law seemed particularly interested and I think people definitely approved of me bringing over food. I warned them that Solo said that people might not be able to eat it. They laughed.

I came over today to see what the consensus was. One nephew was holding chicken intestines, another holding a chicken head, and a third holding chicken feet. The kids were cooking the chicken parts as a special Ramadan treat. Feel the holiday magic. My mother in law said that my food was great, but she said it in the way that my husband says whatever I make tastes good as a tactic to encourage me to cook - positive reinforcement. However, my brother-in-laws gave it to me straight and chimed in that it was horrible. They said that the sauce made it tolerable, but without the sauce - "there was no way it would go down." They told me next time I should bring them a big fish. I laughed and immediately started thinking of other crazy recipes that they might hate.

*Assembly line production of rice paper vegetable wraps in my living room.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Isolation and Luxury in Bamako*


After 3 fulls weeks of family-style living in Kayes, I have retreated into a glorious hermit crab existence in my Bamako home. After the completing the obligatory family visits, I have taken to hiding in my home - listening to music, reading Malian political party websites, and actually taking time to reflect upon everything I have been doing over the last 6-7 months. It's amazing. The simple pleasures of not being hot, not being observed, not being hungry. I jump around my house on my time, under the fan - sleeping in, wearing shorts, and fixing myself snacks (Kraft macaroni and cheese) and iced tea whenever I want and I don't have to share with anyone.

My first attempt at solitude (yesterday) was interrupted by a posse of 10 neighborhood kids knocking at my door. They wanted to take Rex for a walk -I said no. Then they wanted to bring some German shepherd over to my house to meet Rex - I said that was fine as long as it was friendly and they watched to make sure Rex didn't get pregnant. I caught myself midway through my warning and wondered if that was an appropriate comment and/or if the kids had any idea what I was talking about it. Probably for the best - the German shepherd never came. I made a compromise with the kids and let them wash Rex. After this 1/2 hour diversion I returned to the inner chamber of my bedroom where I do my work.

Maggie, my best friend and former college roommate, had been staying at my house in Bamako and was kind enough to put a whole bunch of music on my external hard drive - meaning that I can revisit lots of favorite college anthems, explore new stuff - essentially get past all the music on my computer that I have listed to 100 times. It's exhilarating. My current routine has been as follows: wake up, brush my teeth in bathroom, make myself iced coffee (nescafe, milk, and sugar over ice). Facebook check (which turns into facebook in the background of everything I do). Start reading political sites and taking notes, making comments, etc. Rocking out to awesome music - sample highlight play list for today is as follows:
1. Prototype - outcast
2.Big Red Machine - justin vernon and aaron dessner
3.Offering - gil scott heron
4. Carey - joni mitchell
5. Jealousy - slum village
6. Dirty Love Song - zander bleck
7. Fela Kuti and Ginger Baker Track2
8. Green Chimneys - thelonius monk
9. The tallest Man, The Broadest Shoulders - sufjan stevens
10.Take Off Blues -the foreign exchange feat. darien brockington

Today, I fixed myself a tuna sandwich (with fresh onions and carrots from the market) and drank a second ice coffee for lunch. This sustains me until around 6 or 7 when it is time to go exploring. Four days in Bamako and I have already eaten pizza, chicken from my fav rotisserie place, shwarma, visited 3 bars, gone swimming, and attended 2 house parties. Its a life of luxury - recharging the batteries until I launch my next major offensive (probably next week - a quest to get voting data from the territorial administration).

*The picture is of my previous living quarters in Kayes. This is the bed I shared with my host sister. Note the television and audience in close proximity to my sleeping quarters.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Back to Bamako Living: Home Sweet Home

We left Kayes at 4:30 in the morning on Sunday. Since the bridge is out, this required getting a pirogue at 3:00am. Imagine the usual pirogue antics (as outlined in last post) in pitch black, with lots of luggage, and no wooden planks to walk on. The fare doubled to 20 cents for a ride, but there was a lot of do-it-yourself hoisting, slinging and jumping from muddy banks into wooden boat and back. Thank allah that we were a team of 4. My shining moment came when I climbed a steep muddy hill up from the bank wearing two laptops and pulling a heavy suitcase - in flip flops! It was one of those ubiquitous moments in Mali where you close your eyes, attack the present, and don't think of the consequences associated with the risks.

After the pirogues, the bus company - Ghana transport - seemed like limousine service. We were smart and got our tickets early at the station on the Rights side of the bank - instead of downtown - so we got priority seating. The 8 hour ride included complementary croissants and soda (better than any domestic US flight), 2 bathroom pit-stops in brush covered areas, and bumping coupe decale, reggae etc, from the big speakers wired into the bus radio. The one downside of the ride was the driver's strategy of using his horn like an invisible cow-catcher - blasting it at any wildlife, cars, or people in our way - then speeding up as if to put greater pressure on them to get out of the way. For those passengers trying to sleep, the loud bus horn - which i think I have only ever heard in action films - created a harsh alarm signaling danger - but often you would wake to find a couple of birds flying out of the bus' path.

We arrived in Bamako, we dropped my RAs off, I slept for 3 hours and then went to pilot pool party where I ate South African braai and drank sangria. Back to bamako living - hooray!

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Taking stock of the last 18 days in Kayes*


So in 18 days in Kayes, we have so far completed 168 household surveys/interviews. I have done another dozen or so open-ended interviews with educators, religious figures, and community members. The last three days of work have been fairly difficult as we have to cross the river in a pirogue every morning and afternoon. The pirgogues are packed with people, an occassional sheep, and motos. People walk across wooden planks from the muddy banks into the pirogues. These planks tend to shift and move and the "boat capitans" are less than attentive when they start to lift up. People also jump from the narrow boats onto the muddy banks - pushing the boat farther back into the river with every takeoff. Lately, I have bypassed my traditional Malian clothes for more sensible pants, tank top, and the dreaded sports-sandals. I have found that I need to be prepared for the worst - whether jumping from the canoe to the banks, walking between people on narrow benches to find a place and climbing up and down the muddy hills. Like all public transport in Mali - there is tremendous solidarity in the pirogues and people laugh and joke - until its time for the massive and sudden exodus off onto the neighboring river banks. We have one more trip to "Kayes NDyi" and then one more village before we are done. Then we are planning to have sheep party Saturday and then leave Kayes on Sunday.

I have learned/seen a lot in Kayes. It is really to get out of Bamako and to see some regional differences. For the first time, we are seeing preferences for religious school among certain ethnic groups (Soninke and Peule)that are pretty distinct from the rest of respondants. I will leave Kayes with an assortment of bizarre and unknown insect bites (such as that mysterious insect that spewed acid onto my forearm so it looked like I burned myself.) Two days ago a lizard jumped onto me and ran up my head as I was doing an interview. (Malians swear this means I am pregnant - which I have assured them is not the case. Even so, I have heard the women whispering lately - oh she will finally give her husband a child). I met a puppy named Michael Jackson today and our research team almost purchased a baby monkey for $5. The vast majority of people in Kayes have been extremely friendly and the food is great! We might try to go see a former colonial fort this afternoon.

*Picture with village chief - Oumar Diallo- in Madinel

Sunday, August 9, 2009

Madinel: Our very own randomly selected village

We completed 100 household surveys on this side of the river. So yesterday we visited our first rural field site. In accordance with proper political science protocol, I had my host brother make me a list of villages within the Kayes Rive Droit school district that would actually be accessible during rainy season. From this list of villages, we drew cards to figure out which two we would visit (to complement our urban household surveys on the other side of the river). The first village was called Madinel and although on the other side of the river - we were told that we could take a moto taxi down the main road towards Senegal and then cross the river in a Pirogue and then we would be in Madinel.

We left around 8:30 in the morning (I knew even then that this was way too late of a start). We walked 1km to the moto taxi junction and waited for a moto taxi. Eventually we found one that was heading towards Allahhena - the village where we would need to get out and walk to the river. We (4 team members) squeezed into the moto taxi with 6 other people. We jumped out at the Allahena road sign and walked another 1-2km along a dirt trail to a river, where we found a pirgoue to take us across the river. We asked around and we told to follow a dirt trail along the river - we did so for about 3km until a farmer stopped us and asked where we were going. We turned us back around on the right path - we had been heading straight to the fields. He jokingly asked me if I knew how to cultivate. By now its about middway and the Kayes sun is no joke. We forgot to bring water and I left my sunscreen in Bamako. We finally get to the village and have to wade through murky water in order to climb the hill to the village entrance.

This being our first venture into rural zones we know that that their is protocol to follow, but we unsure if we should sacrifice the time needed to find the chief and to get his consent. Since the village is small, we opt to find the chief. We get to his compound and learn that he is at a funeral in a neighboring village - bad sign. My RAs improvise and ask to see his younger brother. He is in the fields. Someone goes to get him -we are waiting. Time is ticking, the sun is hot, and the village has no potable water. So, I decide we should meet the brother in the fields. We march back into the sun to the fields. We find the brother and we all return to the compound. After some negotiation (mad props to RA Guindo for his Pular skillz) and we are allowed to start. It's almsot 1.

People in the village are very friendly and welcoming. Its only probably 10-15km from Kayes, but there is no trace of government services except for torn posters that remain plaster onto the mud houses - reminants from the municipal election campaigns. There is no school or health center in the village. The pump is broken, so they get their water from the river. Last year there was a cholera outbreak. When asked what kind of school they would recommend for a neighbor - many respondents say - any school - madrassa, public, whatever - they just want a school. Oddly, many people are very tied to ADEMA (the dominant political party in Mali). The rates of people claiming affiliation to a party are much higher than in Bamako - interesting as it is hard to see evidence of anything that any party or government official has done. My guess about the strong party affiliation is that poltical parties target villages for campaigns due to high social capital and group affiliation (same way someone would target a church in the US). If you get the chief's vote- you get everyone's vote (almost).

The chief finally returns and an interviewee from early in the day spots me and introduces me (people speak Bambara too - even though they are all Peule). He is extremely nice. Turns out he spent 5 years working in France before independence back when Malians were still French "citizens" and didn't need visas. He seemed very entertained by our presence. He invites us to eat at his house. After 16 or so surveys we are exhausted and retire to the chief's compound to eat some fishy sauce and rice. We buy a sheep - pile into a pirogue and head back to the other side of river. We walk some kilometers to the road. There is little transport. Buses don't want to pick us up because there is a police road block between our new location and Kayes. We walk along the road with our sheep. Guindo and I decide to jog to the police post. We buy water and coke - it tastes amazing. Finally we get a moto taxi to take us home. It's nearly 6pm.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Encounters with the Malian Health System: I don't have Malaria

So, full disclosure, I am a bit of an idiot/rebel/risk taker when it comes to malaria prevention. I have tried, over my 7 years of traveling in Africa, to take my malaria meds. I have tried both Malarone and Doxy (I am too scared of Lariam because I had a couple of friends have very bad experience with it). However, I have never been quite able to complete the recommended dosage. When I took doxy in 2003 - it ended up building up in my stomach. Now, as I try to take Malarone - it gives me an intense headache and literally knocks me out and puts me to sleep for hours. This isn't conducive to getting fieldwork done. In addition, most people around me (Malians) don't take any malarial preventatives, I have opted for the strategy of developing a natural resistance. This- i know is dumb. The CDC website throws red flags everywhere: Do not try it at home. However, it has worked for me up until now.

I found myself in a regional capital - far from "toubab" health care providers in Bamako. It's rainy season aka mosquito season and I live in the mosquito quartier and while I live with a mosquito net - I happened to accumulate a couple hundred bites on my legs just from walking around/taking the occasional beer by the river. I came down with some ambiguous symptoms: nausea, headache, cough, fatigue. I tried to do my due diligence and decided I should find out if I maybe had malaria. After 2 days of symptoms - the image of a cerebral malaria induced stroke was plastered in my head and I told my host family I wanted to get tested.

One of my host sisters - Fatou - who is also one of the prettiest Malians I have ever seen - took me to a health clinic where an aunt had a friend who worked as a doctor. Every bureaucratic encounter I have had in Mali has started and ended like this - find a relation who works in the appropriate office or who knows someone who does and avoid wasting 4 days there trying to get service. It was quite a sight - us on a moto and every guy in town waving to her as she road by. We went to recommended office #1 - which was actually the center for social and economic development (but somehow housed nursing classes) and the known acquaintance was not there. So then we walked to a rather sketchy looking clinic (peeling paint, open windows everywhere, lots of pepople waiting outside) - we learned that the doctor who the acquaintance knows was not there. So finally in checking with a 3rd semi-acquaintance we headed to the actual hospital.

All patients pay $2 to be seen (this charge was $1 until recently). Then you get in a long line in an outside courtyard next to the doctors air=-conditioned consulting rooms. Luckily, we had another connection and skipped the 20 person line and met with a doctor someone knew who was in the surgery consultation center. I told him that I, unlike most toubabs, was not on preventative meds - and he recommended I get a test at the laboratory - which had a 45minute turn around.

So back on the moto (again dodging police officers trying to flirt with Fatou) - we went to the laboratory - which was clean and friendly. I handed over $4 and the nurse sterilized a cotton swab and pricked my finger and put the blood on a slide. I waited for the 45 minutes and then they handed me my results. No counseling, no results, - just a sealed envelope. I asked the nurse if I could open it and he shrugged. I opened the results and to my happiness it read: negative!! Triumph of my immune system. We returned for a courtesy visit to the physician and he confirmed my non-malarial status. I instantly felt better.

Most Malians coming hours and hours on foot or donkey or moto don't know doctors who help them to skip the lines. They sit outside in the sun after their journey. I watched some doctors speak in French although they were capable of communicating in local languages. To their defense, I am sure they are working crazy hours and dealing with many illnesses that their supplies/equipment is unable to heal. I am scared of hospitals in general. I can't imagine what this experience must be like for people who leave their village and travel to such a foreign place. I salute all my friends working to assist and improve the health sector in Mali and across Africa. Mali recently moved from about 6th worst to 12th worst on the human development indicators. We've got a long way to go.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Weekend in Kayes

So after some worried emails from my parents, I was concerned that the image of Kayes I painted in my last two emails might be a bit grim. So this email is dedicated to all the great things about fieldwork. I am currently in the nicest hotel in Kayes drinking $3 imported Belgian beer which is fantastic. I just went swimming in order to recover from an intense Friday night of clubbing (with my RAs and extended household members) and an early 9 am start for 16 household surveys. The club was packed with us, Kaysians, French/Malians back in the homeland for vacation, Canadian nursing students, South African gold miners, and various other Malians out for a good time. We got home around 3:30 and woke up at 8 or so. While painful, it was a kind of wonderful moment of solidarity for our research team (much like 5 am practices for sports teams). After walking house to house, we retired to a delicious lunch at around 1. Then i headed over to the fanciest hotel in Kayes to go swimming and to do work (ie get on the internet). The management of this hotel oddly has a selection of 20 or so different Belgian beers. So here I am - in an air conditioned restaurant drinking $3 Beligian beers. While this seems completely indulgent and almost excessive by my Malian standard of living - I figure this is going to hold me over for the remaining 51 interviews on this side of the river and the 100 we will do on the other side.

People here have been very welcoming and very frank. Every once in a while somebody's response really hit you. It might have been the lack of sleep but I found myself tearing up in our last interview. A woman we had interviewed in Bambara - had been extremely articulate and opinionated. She never had any formal schooling, but her children attend public school in Kayes. When asked if she would ever run for local office she said know. She said that she could never run for office because she never went to school. I am usually the notetaker, but I was struck by her the emotion and authority in the way she spoke. I jumped in to say that she knew how to speak well. Yes - she acknowledged - she knew how to speak well, but she never went to school and thus could never become a politician. How bizarre that in a country where there is approximately 40% literacy in the former colonial language (less than half of that for women) - French language skills become the barometer of who gets to fully participate in democracy. While this is not unlike the NGO community prizes English speakers over those with other kinds of technical competences, this was a shocking, but important reminder of the barriers that remain between the majority of citizens and what is considered to be formal politics.